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 THE THREE PATHS.
 
 LONDON: 
 GILBERT & BIVINGTON, PRINTERS, 
 
 ST. joun's square.
 
 THE THREE PATHS 
 
 TRUTH, 
 VANITY, AND PROFESSION. 
 
 THE HON. IVIES. ANDEESON. 
 
 The soul's weak dwelling, batter'd and decay'd, 
 Lets in new lights through chinks by sickness made. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 FRANCIS & JOHN RIVINGTON, 
 
 ST. Paul's church yard, axd Waterloo place. 
 
 1852.
 
 
 d l)initatt& 
 
 CO 
 
 5 TO 
 
 S'LADT CHAELOTTE MATILDA GEEYILLE. 
 
 ,1^ 
 
 EVER READY TO WEEP WITH THOSE THAT WEEP, 
 
 AND TO REJOICE WITH THOSE THAT REJOICE, 
 
 HER SINCERELY AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 
 
 CAROLIxVE D. ANDERSON.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 All who take up this Work merely with a 
 view to amusement will pronounce it dull ; 
 those who expect wit or learning will he dis- 
 appointed : hut those who seek for the " truth 
 as it is in Jesus/' will not, the Author hopes, 
 lay it down without acknowledging its power. 
 They must regard it as imperfection address- 
 ing imperfection. The principles inculcated 
 are not of man's invention, hut the stream 
 that flows from a higher source — "the Word 
 of God.'' 
 
 It has heen written under much bodily and 
 mental suffering, with constant interruptions, 
 which have often occasioned long intervals be- 
 tween the different parts. Many who write 
 will recognise their own expressions; for when- 
 ever the Author has met with sentiments likely
 
 Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 to impress truths in a better manner than she 
 could represent them, she has not hesitated to 
 adopt them. The desire to exemplify the love- 
 liness of true religion, in opposition to the 
 principles of the world, or to those of opinion 
 or prejudice, is the Author's only object : the 
 characters are intended as mere representatives 
 of different motives of action. Although no 
 individual in the story is drawn from life, there 
 are few who have mixed in general society 
 who will fail to recognise the faults and mis- 
 takes of each. The Author hopes that many 
 may find an Ellen Somerset among their friends 
 or relatives: to her it is no imaginary cha- 
 racter. 
 
 If these unpretending volumes should be the 
 means of leading one heart to higher aspira- 
 tions than the selfishness which is the pre- 
 vailing fault of the age, the Author will be 
 perfectly satisfied.
 
 THE THREE PATH: 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The evening sun had wrapped itself in clouds 
 of deep violet tinged with gold, divided here 
 
 and there bv the exquisitely delicate and 
 scarcely defined blue of the pure sky, when 
 Ellen Somerset, slowly returning firom a ramhle 
 in the park, of which the wide-spreading beauty 
 was all her own, retired to her boudoir, her 
 countenance saddened, and the tears gently 
 forcing themselves through her long dark eye- 
 lashes. She had passed the time of life when 
 beautv is the first attraction, and had attained 
 the still doubtful and unascertained period, 
 called middle age. What period that may be, 
 will ever remain a mystery, for few acknow- 
 ledge it till it is forced upon them, and we see 
 childish, not childlike ^mplicity and girlish af- 
 fectation at fifty, while the sober mind and 
 manner sits as unpleasantly on fifteen. To 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 appear simply what we are is far more graceful 
 and pleasing. Whatever is borrowed is not 
 our own, and seems never to have its natural 
 place while with us. When returned, from 
 having been identified with its temporary pos- 
 sessor, it leaves an awkward vacancy. Ellen 
 Somerset was six-and-thirty at the time which 
 we thus venture, with great deference to the 
 feelings of all who are approaching the same, 
 to denominate middle age, and she had been a 
 widow five years. From her appearance she 
 might have passed for twenty-six, for her light 
 and elastic figure, graceful motions, and still 
 fresh complexion, gave her a youthful contour ; 
 but there was no levity in her manner, and in 
 her dress she had all the dignity of the mother 
 of her children. She had no wish to pass for 
 an elder sister, but preferred the repose and 
 respect due to the guide and protectress of their 
 early years. Like most women who have been 
 deprived by death of the support and happiness 
 which a really happy union must bestow, she 
 had at first drooped and faded, but the natural 
 strength of her character had stimulated her 
 to exer£ion ; and though the still lovely Ellen 
 Somerset, with her large jointure, had not been 
 without many opportunities of returning to the 
 world as a gay bride, she had declined all such 
 temptations, and cheerfully devoted herself to 
 the education of her children. She knew that
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 3 
 
 though she might again be a wife, she would 
 not find the husband she had lost ; and that, 
 while called upon to practise all the duties of 
 wedded life, she should find the absence of the 
 companionship which made happiness of that 
 which, without it, would become a weariness. 
 She had immediately returned to Staunton 
 Park, where, with few interA^als, she had re- 
 mained ever since her husband's death. To 
 this estate Ernest Somerset had retired shortly 
 before. It had been his intention to pass the 
 remainder of his life in the exercise of the 
 Christian duties entailed upon him by so large 
 an inheritance. Hitherto his time had been en- 
 gaged in a career of political excitement. From 
 his father. Lord George Somerset, he had inhe- 
 rited a good name and a small fortune, to both of 
 which he had added considerably by conduct 
 and talents, establishing the first and increasing 
 the latter. He had been fortunate in his choice 
 of a wife, and in Ellen Stapleton, whose father. 
 Lord Hawksbuiy, had been his first political 
 friend, he had found a companion to brighten 
 and cheer his domestic hours, while she shared 
 with pleasure in the brilliant success of his 
 public career. The great exertions he had 
 made, and the constant fatigue of long debates, 
 which night after night had interfered with 
 rest, acting upon a weak constitution, had 
 greatly impaired his health, and at the close 
 B 2
 
 4 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 of the session he had returned to Staunton, 
 equally exhausted in mind and body. Ellen 
 watched him with the anxious eyes of real 
 affection ; and as she daily witnessed his failing 
 strength, many were the bitter tears she shed 
 in secret. It was in vain that she urged the 
 necessity of more repose and care ; for, with 
 the excitement peculiar to pulmonary disease, 
 he would daily take long rides to the various 
 parts of his estate, unwilling to leave the care 
 of souls, as well as that of the rents, to his 
 agent. 
 
 It was after a day of unusual fatigue that he 
 returned more exhausted than he had felt for 
 some time, and before Ellen could join him, he 
 had fainted on the stairs ; which, as she uncon- 
 sciously ascended, she found streaming with 
 blood. Far from fainting or screaming, as weak 
 women always do, she flew to his side, and 
 carefully raising his head, she endeavoured to 
 stanch the crimson stream which was still flow- 
 ing from his mouth, while she called loudly for 
 assistance. Fortunately one of the servants was 
 at the moment in his master's dressing-room, 
 and hearing something fall heavily, had imme- 
 diately descended, and found him perfectly un- 
 conscious, though the blood no longer issued 
 from his mouth. He was tenderly conveyed to 
 the sofa, but all efibrts to restore life were in 
 vain. He recovered his consciousness for a few
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 5 
 
 Lours, but was too feeble to speak. He could 
 only press his Ellen's hand, and commend her 
 and his children to God, when a second fainting 
 fit came on, and he never spoke again. It would 
 be vain to dwell upon the hours or days and 
 months of deep sorrow that followed — 
 
 *' It is not the tear at the moment shed, 
 WTien the cold turf has just been laid o'er him, 
 That can tell how beloved was the soul that is fled, 
 Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him. 
 'Tis the tear through many a long day wept. 
 Through a Hfe by his loss all shaded ; 
 'Tis the sad remembrance fondly kept 
 When all lighter griefs have faded. 
 
 " Oh ! thus shall we mourn, and his memory's light, 
 While it shines tlirough our hearts, shall improve them ; 
 For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright, 
 WTien we think how he lived but to love them. 
 And as buried saints the grave perfume, 
 "WTiere fadeless they've long been lying. 
 So our hearts shall borrow a sweetening bloom 
 From the image he left there in dying." 
 
 Friends crowded around the sufferer, but 
 though her heart was grateful, it could not beat 
 in response to the affection they manifested. 
 VYliile she received it with gratitude and kind- 
 ness, she found no comfort but in communing 
 in silence with her God. The spring of life 
 was gone, and for some time even the perform- 
 ance of her duties was a most painful effort. 
 She was gifted with no common mind. She 
 had nothing to expect from time. In her case
 
 6 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 it would only make reality more real. It could 
 not bring the dead to life, it could not make 
 her younger, it could not make her a rejoicing 
 wife ; but it could make her faithful to the trust 
 committed to her care, and to that trust she 
 determined in faith and prayer to devote her 
 life. Some people accused her of want of feel- 
 ing, because she bore her sorrow without any 
 great demonstration of grief, and, like most 
 strong-minded people, she was regarded as no 
 longer in need of sympathy. They left her (as 
 they called it contemptuously) upon her pedes- 
 tal. What others denominated want of feeling, 
 was, in fact, an absence of selfishness. She felt 
 for others, while self is the prevailing passion 
 of most. She knew that her sorrow was not 
 theirs, and that after a time a veil must be 
 drawn over the heart ; but Ellen Somerset's 
 grief was an inward bleeding, which, while the 
 smile was on her lips, drew the life from her 
 heart, and left her dry and sapless. It is a 
 mistake to suppose that those who make the 
 greatest demands upon public sympathy feel 
 the most. The nerves are weak, and instead 
 of arousing and strengthening the mind, by 
 opening it to passing rays of light, they shut 
 themselves up in morbid sensibility, destroy- 
 ing the happiness and comfort of all around 
 them, and rendering themselves useless and 
 burdensome to their families. The strong mind,
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 7 
 
 on the contrarTj views all aright in God's sight, 
 and while the suffering to themselves is more 
 acute, though less deadening, they still take 
 their part in the daily routine of life, gently 
 bending to meet the storm, and thus, by 
 non-resistance, they find a calmer passage 
 through the rough road of life. What is God's 
 will is theirs, and by cheerfully acquiescing and 
 thankfully receiving all the kindly influences 
 He sheds around them, the mind is gradually 
 restored to a wholesome state, though it may 
 never regain its joyful elasticity. " It is as in 
 cares and kindness, small ones float up to the 
 tongue, and great ones sink down into the heart 
 in silence.'"' 
 
 " For he who has but tears to give, 
 Must weep those tears alone." 
 
 Conscious that, after any great affliction, the 
 mind is for a time under a cloud, Ellen Somer- 
 set made no plans for the future, no rash re- 
 solves. She gave the time which custom and 
 propriety allow on such occasions, to retirement 
 and consideration, admitting none but relatives 
 or friends. Instead of flying after excitement 
 either of a religious or a worldly nature, to make 
 up for the loss of interest at home, she contem- 
 plated the deprivation as one sent by God for 
 her good, and calmly received the cup, cheer- 
 fully willing to drink it to the dregs. She
 
 8 THE THREE PATHS 
 
 knew and felt all its bitterness, but it was not 
 consistent with her well-regulated and well- 
 informed mind to push it aside. As in the case 
 of the paschal lamb, which was to be eaten 
 unbroken, she dealt with her trial. She re- 
 ceived it whole, neither salving it over with 
 false hopes, endeavouring to lessen it by quack 
 remedies, nor running from it. By constant 
 meditation and prayer, by the instruction de- 
 rived from really sound writers, she kept her 
 mind in a calm and peaceful state. Over this 
 world the shadow was deep ; but there was 
 light in the distance, and on that gleam her 
 eye was steadily fixed. Conscious that while 
 all earthly affections, pleasures, or interests are 
 subject to death or extinction, she knew that 
 the light which comes from above burns steadily, 
 imparting a clear gleam to others, whilst its 
 own is never lessened. To her friends she was 
 kind and gentle, not visiting upon them the 
 sorrows of her heart, which they would gladly 
 have alleviated, but could not prevent. She 
 endeavoured to interest herself in others, and 
 in their happiness to feel the reflection on her 
 own heart. Hers was not a selfish sorrow ; self 
 had no part in her. Her grief was too deeply 
 seated for lesser trials to afl'ect it, but not such 
 as to deaden her perceptions of right and wrong, 
 or to do injustice to others, because God had seen 
 fit to afilict herself. Ellen Somerset was of a
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 9 
 
 truly Christian character. Hers was not a pro- 
 fession which, while it made the world hate 
 her, was too little to secure the love of God. 
 She carried her sense of duty into the merest 
 trifles. In her appearance there was no neglect. 
 She dressed not to be admired, but as a part 
 of the position in life to which she belonged. 
 To be untidy or ill-dressed would have excited 
 a consciousness of error, to be the contrary was 
 second nature: it cost her neither time nor 
 trouble. Her income was too large to compel 
 her to that strict attention to economy which 
 the necessity of a suitable appearance occasions 
 when means are small, and her taste too refined 
 to wish observation. All was in accordance 
 with her station. Her desire was to take her 
 responsibilities upon herself, not to lessen them 
 by adding to those of others. In her household 
 the same regulation of mind appeared. There 
 were no flaunting, ^nilgar sers^ants to be seen, 
 no impertinent footmen to measure attention 
 to her guests according to their dress or equi- 
 page, no undue watchfulness, which chafes the 
 mind without lessening evil. Visitors were 
 never entertained with histories of practical 
 deceptions among the maids — the quantity of 
 food consumed — or their evening strolls and 
 flirtations. Hers was a " rule of the head 
 and not of the heels,'' while no opportunity of 
 sowing seed on the way was neglected. Her
 
 10 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 desire was to implant an acting principle, 
 which required no external propelling beyond 
 natural means. She had books, inculcating 
 rules for daily living, which she lent, not such 
 as are written only for persons supposed to be 
 of inferior capacity, nor such as raised ideas 
 beyond station ; but books which, by elevating 
 the mind above the trifling incidents which 
 destroy the happiness of little minds, enforce 
 the necessity of having " a mind to the condi- 
 tion, if the condition is not to the mind."' Her 
 first wish was to make all around her happy in 
 the true sense of the word : happy in a cheer- 
 ful submission to the will of Grod at all times, 
 in a simple resignation and confidence in 
 the hour of trial, and in the conviction that 
 by a steady pursuance of the path of duty, in 
 reliance on Divine assistance, a blessing is sure 
 to rest on the endeavour. " He that walketh 
 uprightly, walketh surely." Although most 
 attentive to the externals of our Reformed 
 Church, no ascetic discipline was enforced. 
 Daily duties must be performed, and the 
 hours of meditation and prayer she regarded 
 as the preparation for their being well done. 
 Family prayers morning and evening, a strict 
 attention to the Sundays and festivals, and a 
 regular reception of the Holy Communion were 
 neglected by none. Her own conduct was a 
 speaking lesson ; and none who witnessed her
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 11 
 
 unaffected humility, accompanied by love and 
 charity to all around her, could for a moment 
 doubt the pureness of the source from which 
 the stream flowed. Her true humility, like the 
 tree loaded with fruit, showed itself in lowli- 
 ness. It is only the light and unfruitful 
 branches which are easily raised by the wind. 
 She never despised lower attainments, or al- 
 lowed herself to form uncharitable judgments. 
 Her object was to win by love, and to deal justly 
 by all. There was such a reality in her cha- 
 racter that even " the vulgar recognized her as 
 a superior being by some mysterious sign. 
 They admired without comprehending, as the 
 blind enjoy the sunshine who have never seen 
 the sun.'' Her eldest child, Geraldine, was, at 
 the time of Mr. Somerset's death, ten years old, 
 a lovely and promising girl, with a refinement 
 of feature, delicacy of complexion, and beauty 
 of expression, which made her an object not 
 only of admiration, but love. She was fair and 
 rather pale, with rich brown hair hanging in 
 clustering ringlets over her intellectual fore- 
 head. She promised to be tall, but was so 
 beautifully and delicately formed, that she 
 seemed shorter than she was. From constant 
 association with superior minds, her ovm was 
 far in advance of those of other girls of her age, 
 but she had lost none of the charm of child- 
 hood, and could take pleasure in the simplest
 
 12 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 and most innocent amusements. Indeed, all 
 her young friends welcomed her with pleasure, 
 as her quickness, intelligence, and invention, 
 were of the greatest assistance in their games. 
 Her mother had always encouraged her in the 
 innocent amusements of her age, fully per- 
 suaded that it conduced to a healthy tone of 
 mind. " Man could no sooner see than he saw 
 himself happy: his eyes' sight and reason 
 were both perfect at once, and the objects of 
 both were able to make him as happy as he 
 v/ould. When he first opened his eyes he saw 
 heaven above him, earth under him, the crea- 
 tion about him, God before him ; he knew what 
 all these things meant, as if he had been long 
 acquainted with them all. He saw the heavens 
 glorious but far off, his Maker thought it re- 
 quisite to fit him with a paradise nearer home. 
 If God had appointed him immediately to 
 heaven, his body had been superfluous ; it was 
 fit his body should be answered with an earthen 
 image of that heaven which was for his soul. 
 Had man been made only for contemplation, it 
 would have served as well to be placed in some 
 vast desert on the top of some barren moun- 
 tain ; but the same power which gave him a 
 heart to meditate, gave him hands to work, 
 and work fit for his hands. Neither was it the 
 purpose of the Creator that man should but 
 live. Pleasure may stand with innocence. He
 
 THE TEREE PATHS. 13 
 
 that rejoiced to see all He had made to be good^ 
 rejoiceth to see all He hath made to be well, 
 God loves to see His creatures happy ; our law- 
 ful delight is His ; they know not God, that 
 think to please Him with making themselves 
 miserable \" 
 
 Hitherto, Ellen Somerset had been her own 
 governess, as no other duties or relations inter- 
 fered w^ith this most interesting occupation ; 
 and she much preferred superintending herself 
 the mental direction of her children in early 
 life, while she secured the attendance of a 
 respectable and superior servant for their exer- 
 cise and play hours. Ernest was a noble boy, 
 and it was a great amusement and interest to 
 Geraldine to share in his instruction, while it 
 was a good lesson for herself Few things call 
 out the faculties more than teaching clever and 
 intelligent children. Their questions enforce 
 attention and research, while the patience and 
 kindness called into practice soften and improve 
 the character of the teacher. Little occurred 
 under present circumstances to disturb the daily 
 routine. Friends had naturally returned to their 
 own duties and occupations, and Mrs. Somerset 
 never for a moment supposed herself neglected 
 by their doing so. She felt, it is true, alone in 
 the world, but this was no reason for obliging 
 others to devote themselves to her. She faced 
 
 ^ Hall's Contemplations.
 
 14 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 the painful truth, and at once determined to make 
 herself independent as much as possible of ex- 
 ternals, grateful for society when it was given, 
 and content to be alone when the comfort of 
 others was affected by her enjoyment. In the 
 village and schools she had a deep interest, and 
 a most judicious and pious clergyman was ever 
 ready to assist her benevolent actions and. 
 views for the improvement of all around her. 
 Well aware how often things are undone by 
 the way in which they are done, she was care- 
 ful never to hurt the feelings of any. Hers 
 was sympathy, not condescending kindness. 
 She carried a " vial of delicacy,"' of which she 
 poured out the contents when about to confer 
 a favour. The simple accident of being greater 
 or richer never inclined her to patronise or 
 tyrannize. Her object was to do good, not to 
 distress by impertinent, intrusive, or irrelevant 
 questions, not to make the poor discontented 
 with their own, or envious of her position ; but 
 to lessen the evils of poverty to them and of 
 sorrow to herself, by giving pleasure to others. 
 While " sorrow is a contraction, joy is a diffu- 
 sion of the heart ;'' and " the prayer of hungry 
 souls and poor," was a balm to her wounded 
 spirit. Many of her friends wondered that she 
 did not lessen her establishment after Mr. 
 Somerset's death. Lady Sophia Cumberland 
 in particular, thought her very wrong to retain 
 it, as she might give away so much more.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 15 
 
 This was no part of Mrs. Somerset's religion. 
 She would on no account "have wronged in 
 the least that noble estate wli^ich was to de- 
 scend to others after her, and was therefore at 
 vast expense in keeping it up. Though none 
 were more ready to recede from their own 
 right, when personal interest alone was con- 
 cerned, she would be justly tenacious in what 
 concerned her successors ; always saying, that 
 whatever she lost herself, she would never give 
 occasion to those who came after her to com- 
 plain.'' She remembered that the poor live by 
 the rich, that with her station and fortune she 
 inherited its duties, and that, in a careful super- 
 intendence of her household, she fulfilled her 
 part far more consistently than in depriving 
 them and their families of the means of sup- 
 port, that she might exercise almsgiving, where 
 lawful gains would have both added to the 
 respectability and happiness of the objects of 
 her compassion. " Where others gave to their 
 dependents, she placed hers, by employment, 
 above the necessity of her bounty.'' She was 
 more disposed to increase than to lessen her 
 establishment ; and while Lady Sophia Cum- 
 berland's name appeared in all the lists of sub- 
 scriptions to charitable institutions, Mrs. So- 
 merset's desire was, by providing employment 
 for honest and hard-working people, to diminish 
 the number of those requiring such refuges.
 
 16 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that she in any degree 
 despised such noble witnesses of benevolence 
 and liberality. Far from this being the case, 
 there were few to which she did not either 
 secretly or publicly contribute. Wherever her 
 name or influence could benefit, she freely lent 
 them ; but if this could be avoided, the injunc- 
 tion of our Saviour, "Let not thy left hand 
 know what thy right doeth,'' was the rule in 
 her charities. In all her other actions the 
 same spirit prevailed. Her delight was to 
 prove her love to God, by showing love to His 
 creatures. She desired the praise of God. 
 The praise of man could never influence her, 
 though she received it in the same spirit of 
 humility and love, which so strongly marked 
 her whole deportment. She never thought it 
 beneath her to converse with the humblest 
 of her servants, and with the younger ones 
 made it a rule to meet them once or twice a 
 week for catechetical and Scriptural instruc- 
 tion. The effect of such an influence was visi- 
 ble on all around her ; and none who came to 
 Staunton Park left it without feeling, that 
 whatever difference of opinion might exist, the 
 system worked well, and that Mrs. Somerset, 
 her establishment, her village, and its schools, 
 were a model for a Christian rule — 
 
 " By their fruits ye shall know them."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 About ten miles from Staunton arose the 
 noble Abbey of St. Omer, which had for ages 
 been in the family of Lord Rockingham, and 
 althouo'h still retainino; much of its ancient and 
 venerable appearance, the building had gradu- 
 ally approached to modern taste, and during 
 the present Lord Rockingham's time had been 
 materially altered. He was a nobleman of 
 the old school, and not all the changes or ex- 
 pediency of the present day could alter his 
 habits, or the real integrity of his character. 
 He had been born and lived upon his estate, 
 though at certain seasons of the year the 
 family coach wended its way to London in old- 
 fashioned state, and he was still as rooted as 
 ever in the good old way. It had been his 
 misfortune in early life to marry a distant re- 
 lation of a poor and comparatively unknown 
 and insignificant family, to whose members 
 the idea of being cousins to the great Lord 
 Rockingham was a constant source of delight 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 and imaginary consequence. Instead of living 
 as she might have done, respected and respect- 
 able, Mrs. Carrington was incessantly talking 
 of " my cousins Lord and Lady Rockingham/' 
 and "when I was last at the Abbey/' a circum- 
 stance which had happened when she was 
 about seventeen. She had soon after married 
 Mr. Carrington, a country squire of small for- 
 tune, in Devonshire ; and Mrs. Carrington, 
 whose ideas retained the recollection of the 
 manners and habits of certain lords and ladies 
 at " the Abbey,'' spared no pains in endeavour- 
 ing to make the lovely Matilda, her daughter, 
 fashionable. It is true that she had a most 
 apt scholar ; Matilda promised in all respects 
 to satisfy her mother's expectation. Mrs. Car- 
 rington having formed her notions of educa- 
 tion at a distance from the world, and never 
 having herself been initiated into the mys- 
 teries of fashion, had very vulgar and mistaken 
 ideas upon the subject. A total absence of 
 refinement was evident in all she said and did. 
 Her furniture was massive, not elegant ; her 
 dress smart, not graceful ; and instead of the 
 delicacy and regard to the feelings of others, 
 Avhich alone give good manners, she thought 
 only of displaying herself and her possessions 
 to the best advantage. There was none of the 
 quiet grace, the perfect ease, the abandon of 
 real good-breeding. All was effort; her presence
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 19 
 
 as a lady was proclaimed, not felt. If slie gave 
 a dinner, the splendour of her plate, the supe- 
 riority of her cooking, and the names of her 
 guests were her only object. Intellect, talent, 
 or goodness, were equally disregarded ; and it 
 naturally followed, that Mr. and Mrs. Carring- 
 ton, whose own position gave them influence 
 and respectability, by pushing where they 
 might have walked quietly, had never fitted in 
 properly. Rough edges destroyed all propor- 
 tion and symmetry, and but from an unwil- 
 lingness to give offence, the neighbours would 
 gladly have declined their invitations. " All 
 who in their air, treatment of others, or habi- 
 tual arrogance, give themselves credit for more 
 -vvit, wisdom, and goodness, than they really 
 possess, if called upon to produce it, will find 
 the world break in upon them, and consider 
 them as having cheated them of all the esteem 
 they had before allowed them. This brings a 
 commission of bankruptcy upon them ; and 
 those who might have gone on to their life's 
 end in a prosperous way, by aiming at more 
 than they ought, are no longer proprietors of 
 what they really had before, but their preten- 
 sions fare as all other things do which are torn 
 instead of divided \^' 
 
 Matilda Carrington was a very handsome girl, 
 
 1 Steele. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 and it was her firm determination to make 
 what the world calls a good marriage, which 
 implies good fortune and a coronet ; character, 
 mind, appearance, or feeling being quite se- 
 condary considerations, if ever remembered at 
 all. Those who venture to consider them, are 
 regarded as poor sentimentalists, who have 
 partially lost their senses. A poor curate was 
 her horror, a rector only a degree better ; and, 
 in short, she had set her mind upon finding 
 in some way a road to London and all its 
 gaieties. How to accomplish this purpose was 
 not a little difficult, for although Mr. Carring- 
 ton's fortune enabled him to maintain a most 
 respectable position in the country, the ex- 
 pense of a London season was out of the ques- 
 tion ; and Mrs. Carrington had worldly wisdom 
 enough to know that unless her daughter could 
 make some sort of appearance, she had much 
 better stay at home. Circumstances, however, 
 favoured her wishes, for Mr. Turner, the rector 
 of their village, received pupils, and it was with 
 great delight that, on entering the church on 
 Sunday, Matilda saw a handsome-looking youth, 
 apparently much older than the young gen- 
 tlemen who had hitherto occupied the rector's 
 pew. It was a wet Sunday, so that much to 
 her vexation she was dressed in her old bonnet 
 and cloak. She was careful not to be seen, 
 but in the mean time, her eyes were not idle,
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 21 
 
 and she was well satisfied that no common 
 youth stood before her. On her return home, 
 her first inquiry was for her maid, whom she 
 closely questioned, and to her surprise and no 
 small satisfaction heard that it was her own 
 cousin. Lord Rockingham, whom she had seen. 
 She immediately communicated the interesting 
 fact to her mother, who was as pleased as her- 
 self, and nothing else was talked of till the 
 time of afternoon service. To the great de- 
 light of both mother and daughter the rain 
 ceased, and a bright sun succeeded the clouds 
 which had obscured the morning. Matilda se- 
 lected her prettiest bonnet and most fashion- 
 able mantilla, and having carefully smoothed 
 the bands of her hair, set out on her walk to 
 church. Of the real object of that solemn 
 assembly she thought little. She had been 
 trained wholly for this world, and thoughtless 
 as she was, was more worthy of compassion 
 than blame. Had she been instructed in the 
 truth, she would not have been the vain, fri- 
 volous creature she was: from her earliest 
 years, she had been taught to consider it a 
 duty to gain a good establishment, and that if 
 this desirable end were not attained, she would 
 sink into comparative neglect and poverty, as 
 her father's property was chiefly entailed on a 
 distant relation. When Matilda reached the 
 church, she saw Mrs. Turner with Lord Rock-
 
 22 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 ingliam in the churchyard, and to the no small 
 surprise of that lady, whom she had seldom con- 
 descended to notice, although her superior in all 
 but fortune, she smiled most graciously ; Mrs. 
 Carrington followed her daughter, and requested 
 an introduction to her cousin. Lord Rocking- 
 ham looked astonished, as he had never heard of 
 Mrs. Carrington's existence, but on her explain- 
 ing the relationship, he was too courteous to 
 show his surprise, and at once accepted her prof- 
 fered hand. He had been sent to Mr. Turner's 
 to read during the vacation, and partly to sepa- 
 rate him from a lovely but penniless girl, to 
 whom he was disposed to show attentions very 
 displeasing to his lady mother. Her son, who 
 had no love for study, found the rectory very 
 dull, and had little sympathy with the boys 
 who were Mr. Turner's pupils. It was with 
 much pleasure, therefore, that he accepted 
 Mrs. Carrington's invitations, and was wel- 
 comed by the pleasant smiles of her daughter. 
 With no amusement or society, and no watch- 
 ful eye upon him, it was easy for this artful 
 mother and daughter to entice a boy (for Lord 
 Rockingham was not of age), and one whose 
 natural integrity of character made him unsus- 
 picious of others. It has been truly said by 
 Dr. Johnson, that " if any two young people 
 are so separated from society as to make them 
 derive their whole pleasure from each other,
 
 THE THEEE PATHS. 23 
 
 they will inevitably fall in love, as it is called, 
 with each other ; but at six months' end. if 
 thrown into public life, when they raight 
 change partnei-s at pleasure, each would soon 
 forget that fondness which mutual dependence 
 and the paucity of general amusement alone 
 has caused, and each would separately feel 
 delighted by the release/' 
 
 How many unhappy and ill-assorted mar- 
 riages have been consequent upon such circum- 
 stances, and how cautious those to whom 
 young people are committed should be not to 
 trifle thus with the most imponant event of 
 their lives ! How many hearts have been 
 broken, and years of misery occasioned by the 
 carelessness and heartlessness of guardians or 
 parents in these matters ! Young people are 
 allowed to be together with no regard to its 
 danger, and often with the cruel conviction 
 that it is of no consequence how the son or 
 brother amuses himself, as the connexion can 
 be easily broken off by the father, when it 
 comes to settlements. In this case Lord 
 Rockingham was not to blame, for though 
 when his mother heard that he had proposed 
 and been accepted by Matilda Carrington, her 
 indignation was uncontrollable, it was in vain 
 to remonstrate. He had bound himself in 
 honour, and nothing that she could urge had 
 the slightest effect. She also withdrew him
 
 24 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 from Mr. Turner's, much to Matilda's vexation 
 and to Mrs. Carrington's terror. Judging of 
 Lord Rockingham by herself, she doubted his 
 remaining constant ; but she was wrong ; and 
 though it cannot be denied that occasionally 
 doubts and misgivings arose in his mind as to 
 the wisdom of his choice, Matilda played her 
 part so well, that her real character was never 
 displayed till it was too late to remedy his 
 fatal mistake. Nothing could induce Lady 
 E-ockingham to show the slightest attention to 
 her cousins, and it might have been supposed 
 by her conduct that her son had been about to 
 make a degrading connexion. The idea of 
 the daughter of a relation whom she had 
 always treated with neglect and contempt 
 taking precedency of herself was dreadful, and 
 she immediately left the Abbey and took re- 
 fuge in her dowry-house in a distant part of 
 the county. Even this proved too near, as 
 she was constantly provoked by the mention of 
 her odious daughter-in-law's name, and on one 
 occasion actually met her at a county ball. 
 She was also greatly vexed and sui-prised 
 to find that far from taking part with her, 
 the larger number of the company paid the 
 most assiduous attentions to the rising sun, 
 and that, with the exception of a few anti- 
 quated dowagers like herself, who had nothing 
 to gain by deserting the ancient standard, she
 
 THE THBFE PATHS. 2o 
 
 was left alone witli her anger. She had never 
 for a moment in the days of her splendour sus- 
 pected that all the attention and affected ad- 
 miration she received was given to the mistress 
 of the Abbey, and not to herself. Her cold and 
 haughty manners had distanced aitection, her 
 condescending kindness had monified more 
 than obliged, and she had yet to learn that in 
 the world men and manners are not judged by 
 merit, but by weight and measure. Calcu- 
 lation takes the place of esteem, and interest 
 of affection. The Dowager Lady Rockinsrham 
 had no longer any thing to give. Her join- 
 ture, though considerable, was not enough for 
 splendid entertainments ; and her four stiff and 
 uninteresting daughters, who had TOhered on 
 the stem, because dukes and marquises had 
 not sufficiently abounded, were too dull and iq- 
 sio-nificant to attract in their wanin? years 
 what had been withheld before age had in- 
 creased the rigidity of their forms and man- 
 ners. It was a melancholy family. The world 
 had receded while they would gladly have stiQ 
 basked in its sunshine. Lord Rockingham's 
 marriage had completely ovei-shadowed the 
 last lingering ray upon their departed great- 
 ness. Xothing remained to them but a hollow 
 sound, which they had not wisdom enough to 
 turn into a haiTiiony which would Lave whis- 
 pered peace to their blighted hearts. The un-
 
 26 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 kind manner in which their brother's wife had 
 been received into the family, had made a 
 breach which would never be healed in so 
 worldly a mind as hers. Had the young Lady 
 Rockingham been trained in Christian prin- 
 ciples, she would have felt how much more 
 noble it would be to return good for evil ; and 
 even viewing it in a less exalted light, she 
 would have consulted her own dignity more by 
 endeavouring to draw her husband's family 
 within the pale of kindness and consideration. 
 Aifection is not in our power, but the expres- 
 sion of anger or rudeness may be restrained, 
 and nothing lessens respectability more than 
 family dissension. Every member suffers ; and 
 those who most encourage bitterness and dis- 
 cussion, are the first, when self-interest is 
 concerned, to turn against the very persons 
 to whom they have apparently listened with 
 complacency, and with whom they have seemed 
 to agree. In this Lady Rockingham made 
 a great mistake, for the contempt and ridi- 
 cule she endeavoured to cast on her mother 
 and sisters-in-law, recoiled on herself Many 
 who had disliked them in their day of prospe- 
 rity felt for them now. Had they in that day 
 been amiable and considerate, no sensible, well- 
 regulated mind would have quarrelled with 
 them for keeping up the attributes of station. 
 On the contrary, they could only have gained
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 27 
 
 greater respect, but this had been accompanied 
 with so much haughty selfishness, that they 
 had no friends. Outward respect and atten- 
 tions can be bought and paid for, but affection 
 and esteem are pearls of too great price to be 
 found in shallow water, and only to be attained 
 by real merit. The Dowager Lady Rock- 
 ingham did not survive her son's marriage 
 many years, and was for the first time since it 
 had taken place received at the Abbey in the 
 style she would have wished, when followed by 
 the pomp and trappings of affected woe she 
 was consigned to the family vault, to be for- 
 gotten, as though she had never lived. Great- 
 ness gave her a monument. Goodness could 
 alone have given her an epitaph. 
 
 After her death the four Ladies Mertoun sank 
 into the insignificance consequent upon fallen 
 fortunes and advanced life, where none of the 
 higher qualities have adorned the character. 
 " Then indeed we may be deserted by little 
 fashionable admirers and followers, but will 
 ever be had in reverence by souls like our own.'' 
 " The branches of the oak endure all the sea- 
 sons of the year, though its leaves fall off in 
 autumn, and these too will be restored with the 
 returning spring." So it is with all who have 
 not lived to themselves. Neither sickness, age, 
 nor sorrow can estrange real affection ; and 
 friendship founded upon principle and regard,
 
 28 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 like the shadow of the evening, strengthens 
 with the decay of life, or the loss of other ex- 
 ternal circumstances which may, more or less, 
 have conduced to its growth. It is not so much 
 what we lose that makes our unhappiness, as 
 the value we attach to what is past, and the 
 way we make use of the present. If all were 
 content to take the enjoyments each position 
 afforded, they w^ould find that each season has 
 its charms. Spring may be more attractive, 
 but summer is more settled and enjoyable. 
 " Though autumn, like a faint old man, sits 
 down by the way-side aweary,'" winter, with its 
 snug home-comforts, has its many charms. So 
 it is with life. Every thing here is as we esti- 
 mate it, and the changes in our hearts make 
 the changes that we feel. We must expect to 
 be forgotten by the world in general, and are 
 indeed no longer ourselves useful, ornamental, 
 or perhaps agreeable, excepting to those who 
 are endeared to us by association or kindred. 
 " For time is like a fashionable host, that 
 lightly shakes the parting guest by the hand, 
 and with his arms outstretched as he would fly, 
 greets the new comer.'' Had the Lady Mer- 
 touns ceased to care for fashion, and established 
 themselves in some quiet corner where they 
 could live to do good, they would soon have 
 found a new kind of happiness. As it was, 
 they remained like stunted trees in a new plan-
 
 THE THKEE PATHS. 29 
 
 tation, eveiy body wondering what tliey did 
 there, and why they remained. "With none 
 belonging to them to chaperon, they had no 
 call into general society ; and if such claims had 
 existed, althou^'h the vouno-est of them was 
 five-and-thirty at the time of Lady Rocking- 
 ham's death, not one fancied herself old enough 
 for the office. 
 
 It is sui-prising that so many years and so 
 much painful reminiscence should be necessary 
 to teach us our age. How far more sensible calmly 
 to contemplate the figures that make it, guide 
 ourselves by them in dress and manner, and go 
 off the stage with a composed and steady gait, 
 instead of tripping off with girlish airs, or being 
 unceremoniously hissed or pushed off like worn- 
 out actresses. It is wiser to face a difficulty 
 than to run away from it, and those who grow 
 old gracefully will find their reward even in 
 this world. Lady Rockingham had attained 
 the summit of her ambition ; but was she happy? 
 The answer is soon given — she was not. It was 
 her own fault that it should be so, for her 
 husband was kindness itself He had deeply 
 regretted the estrangement between his wife 
 and mother, and had in every possible way 
 endeavoured to lessen it ; but when two proud 
 spirits meet, it is like two adamantine rocks 
 hurled upon each other ; no impression is made 
 on either. To tne Dowager Lady Rockingham 
 she was cold and cynical, to her sisters con-
 
 30 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 temptuous, caring for notliing but her own 
 consequence, and for those who were mean 
 enough to make her feel their sense of it by 
 obsequiousness and flattery. Totally incapable 
 of appreciating her husband's noble and gene- 
 rous mind, and feeling that she appeared to dis- 
 advantage among his friends, she would have 
 gladly separated him from them. In this en- 
 deavour she was unsuccessful; and if she 
 had possessed a grain of common sense, or any 
 regard for her own real interest, by sharing in 
 the superior society in which he moved, she 
 would have become a part of him, and thus 
 raised the tone of her own mind and feel- 
 ings. She never felt at ease in her position. 
 With her equals she was uncomfortable, with 
 her inferiors patronising and condescending. 
 She expected to be of as much importance 
 in London as she had been in the village 
 where her father's superiority of fortune had 
 given her precedency ; and on finding herself 
 disappointed now that she was reset among 
 jewels of equal value, she preferred remaining 
 at the Abbey, where, as lady of the house, her 
 opinions w^ere not opposed, -and she could be 
 the first. The consequence was, that Lord 
 Rockingham went to London for his parliamen- 
 tary duties without her, at first with regret, 
 but by degrees he became so accustomed to 
 being alone, that he ceased to think about it. 
 Like all selfish people, when she found herself
 
 THE THREE PATHS. SI 
 
 left to do as she liked, she felt aggrieved. Re- 
 proaches followed, and by degrees she com- 
 pletely extinguished an affection which had 
 never possessed any real foundation beyond cir- 
 cumstances and imagination. His kindness 
 never varied, but he had too much sense to 
 allow his respectability to be injured by the 
 folly of a weak woman. "It is only in the 
 sickness or decay of love that ceremony is de- 
 manded or used ;'' and while Lord Rockingham 
 redoubled in attention, his heart had long 
 ceased to respond. He would gladly have taken 
 her with him, but, like a spoiled child, if 
 invited she refused, if not she was angry. 
 Like all weak women, she trifled with affection 
 till it was gone, and then cried after it. In- 
 stead of making herself agreeable to the friends 
 he invited to return with him, she appeared 
 angry at his filling his house after his long ab- 
 sence, was silent and distant, casting a gloom 
 upon the circle, and making a cold sepulchral 
 grandeur of what might have been a most bright 
 and cheerful society. As might be expected, 
 Lord Rockingham dreaded a tete-a-tete, so that 
 the house was always full of company, much to 
 Lady Rockingham's real satisfaction, as in her 
 heart she delighted in showing her magnifi- 
 cent dresses, and exhibiting herself as the mis- 
 tress of the Abbey, though she never allowed it 
 to be visible, and affected lassitude and disgust.
 
 32 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 She had now been married fifteen years, and was 
 the mother of a son and two daughters. Lord 
 Cornbury was the eldest, and his two sisters 
 were twelve and eight. Lady Catherine was a 
 fine handsome girl, and promised to be an im- 
 proved edition of her mother. Lady Matilda 
 was more delicate and interesting in her ap- 
 pearance, and much more like her father in 
 disposition and mind. Lord Cornbury as yet 
 promised well. He had been at Eton, and was 
 then going to a private tutor's, preparatory to 
 college. Although extremely proud of him, his 
 mother, most happily for him, did not think it 
 necessary to interfere in his studies. Her 
 daughters were all her care, and in them she 
 hoped to have her vanity fully gratified. Cathe- 
 rine was her favourite, as by far the most apt 
 scholar in worldly wisdom. Of the wisdom of 
 the world to come she knew nothing. Her 
 treasure was not in heaven, and she left such 
 folly to old women and sick people. She had 
 wanted the impress of fashion herself, and this 
 she was determined to give to her daughters. 
 She had no respect for the old-fashioned aris- 
 tocracy of the Abbey. She had learned that in 
 the small coterie called the fashionable world 
 no respectability or birth is any thing without 
 fashion ; so that as soon as her daughters were 
 old enough, she announced her intention of 
 going to London, engaged an elegant and
 
 THE THKEE PATHS. 83 
 
 accomplislied French governess, with no regard 
 to her being a Romanist or to her character, 
 the best masters, and the most recherchee mo- 
 diste. All this was well. Mrs. Somerset also 
 went to London, and to all appearance there 
 was no difference, but the motives of action 
 were widely apart. She took the greatest pains 
 to inquire into the principles and character of 
 the lady she engaged — her morals and her sen- 
 timents. She constantly conversed with her, 
 that she might ascertain these important points, 
 and improve her by imparting her own superior 
 thoughts and feelings. ConArLnced that " know- 
 ledge is the parent of love, and wisdom love 
 itself/' she was anxious to share both^ and by 
 so doing gained a friend as well as an instruc- 
 tress for her daughter. While Lady Rocking- 
 ham's groundwork was vanity, Mrs. Somerset 
 had higher ends in view. Dancing was taught 
 not as an exhibition, but because an agreeable 
 and graceful deportment is the attribute of a 
 lady, and a means of usefulness in recommend- 
 ing good. " Good manners are a perpetual 
 letter commendatory."' " No great mind," says 
 Dr. Johnson, " despises little things, but is 
 great in great things, elegant in little things." 
 And a greater than he has said, " He that con- 
 temneth little things, shall fall by little and 
 little." The one proceeds from a disregard to 
 all feelings but our own, while true courtesy 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 consists in shrinking from unnecessarily giving 
 pain. With other accomplishments and dress, 
 Mrs. Somerset acted on the same principle: 
 they were, in her opinion, component parts of 
 education in all persons whose birth or fortune 
 placed them in an independent position. To 
 fashion she was- indifferent. There was no cause 
 to suppose she would be unsought ; for, in ad- 
 dition to the sweetest manners and a most 
 pleasing appearance, " affection, kindness, and 
 the sweet offices of duty and love, had been 
 from her tenderest years as needful to her as 
 her daily bread ;'' and these she imparted so 
 freely to all around her, that while her supe- 
 riority was generally acknowledged, none were 
 made to feel that she considered any inferior 
 to herself. The Abbey was only ten miles from 
 Staunton, and Lord Rockingham and Mr. So- 
 merset had always maintained a friendly inter- 
 course. With Mrs. Somerset Lady Rockingham 
 had also been on terms of intimacy, for though 
 she could not patronise her, she considered her 
 an agreeable acquaintance. There could be little 
 congeniality between two such minds ; but Mrs. 
 Somerset was always anxious to make allowance 
 for the want of education, prejudice, and early 
 influences. '' The true Christian temper does not 
 showitself in mountains of pride and self-opinion, 
 but dwells low in the valleys of humility, self- 
 denial, and spiritual dejection ; and as it behaves
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 35 
 
 itself thus towards God, so it demeans itself with 
 a proportionable condescension to men too. The 
 tnie Christian is apt to think others better and 
 holier than himself, for his conscience teaches 
 him to think the worst of his own heart, and 
 his charity prompts him to judge best of his 
 neighbour's ^/' At first she had hoped to do 
 good, but finding no opening for the admission 
 of better feelings, she still felt that where 
 no open immorality exists, separation is un- 
 justifiable, and while it makes good be evil 
 spoken of, will never be the means of winning 
 souls to God. Although not an advocate for 
 girlish association, she allowed her daughter 
 to accompany her in her visits to the Abbey. 
 In Catherine she found no companion. Her 
 pleasure was in the exhibition of her talents, or 
 in the hope of being admired. She had early 
 imbibed the notion that beauty was the only 
 real attraction, and her constant occupation 
 was its preservation and adornment ; her only 
 conversation, the efiect she hoped to pro- 
 duce. In Mademoiselle Soissons, her French 
 governess, she found a ready listener. She 
 was a true Frenchwoman, knew the last 
 Parisian fashion, and would not for worlds 
 have worn a last year's dress or bonnet. 
 In her Catherine found a kindred spirit ; 
 and whenever Geraldine Somerset, who was 
 
 * South's Sermons. 
 D 2
 
 S6 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 still dressed as a school-room girl, came to 
 the Abbey, her remarks were full of ridicule 
 and contempt when she was out of sight. 
 There was something too dignified and self- 
 possessed in both mother and daughter, not to 
 force her to keep within the bounds of courtesy 
 in their presence. She was tall and finely 
 formed, with a clear complexion, high colour, 
 dark hair, and flashing black eyes. Her fea- 
 tures were delicate, and if the mind had not 
 reflected its unamiable character, she might 
 have been pronounced beautiful. Matilda, on 
 the contrary, was a sweet, gentle-looking girl, 
 with soft blue eyes, dark eyelashes, and light 
 brown curls. Quite as graceful in her move- 
 ments as her sister, she was more modest and 
 retiring. While the one commanded admira- 
 tion, the other seemed to ask for affection. Ca- 
 therine read nothing but novels, while Matilda 
 steadily improved her mind by the study of 
 useful and instructive books. Of religious works 
 she knew little ; but by degrees Geraldine in- 
 troduced her own library, in which her mother's 
 judicious mind and elegant taste had placed all 
 that could refine and elevate the feelings, con- 
 firm the judgment, and instruct the under- 
 standing. In Matilda Mertoun Geraldine found 
 one whom she could love, and the two were 
 constant companions during the interchange of 
 visits between the Abbey and Staunton Park.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 37 
 
 Gcraldine was a lovely girl, tall, and beautifully 
 made. Her beauty was of that intellectual and 
 spiritual nature that draws all into the sphere 
 of its attraction without desiring or perceiving 
 it. " There are some natures, like the suns of 
 some moral system, obliging the looks, thoughts, 
 and hearts of others to gravitate around them. 
 Their moral and physical beauty is a spell, 
 their fascination a chain, love is but an emana- 
 tion.'' Such was Geraldine. Hers was more than 
 beauty — an expression of heavenly graces, which 
 disarmed even envy itself "While Catherine 
 excited envious and jealous feelings from her 
 assumption of superiority, while Matilda's ab- 
 sence of all pretence and extreme gentleness 
 exposed her to the slights of more energetic 
 minds, there was in Geraldine that influence 
 which mind has over matter, and none could 
 be in her presence without a feeling of reve- 
 rence, love, and admiration. Her wish was 
 always to make others happy, and to do good; 
 and if any one who saw how invariably her 
 appearance gave pleasure ventured to detract, 
 it met with no response. Catherine, who could 
 bear no rival near her, found that " where there 
 is real merit, it is not robbed by artifice or detrac- 
 tion, and that it does but increase by such endea- 
 vours of its enemies. The impotent pains which 
 are taken to injure, or diffuse it among a crowd 
 to its injuiy, naturally produces the contrary
 
 38 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 effect: the fire will blaze out, or burn up all 
 that attempt to smotlier what they cannot ex- 
 tinguish/' Although Catherine might be an 
 earl's daughter, she was not in reality better 
 born than Geraldine Somerset, and it was only 
 the vulgar pride of her ill-educated mother 
 which made her suppose that she was her 
 superior. To Geraldine, equality of mind and 
 refinement of manner were far more than mere 
 name or station. She gave the latter its proper 
 due, but in the former she found a continued 
 stream of enjoyment. It may be in some minds 
 a proud thing to be nobly descended, but to be 
 such that none ask who you are, is far beyond 
 it. In the one case, " like some vegetables, the 
 best part is under ground ^ f in the other, the 
 tree is ever flourishing, shadowing with its 
 branches, and nourishing with its fruit. Occa- 
 sionally Lady Rockingham allowed Matilda to 
 remain at Staunton Park, for she felt her a re- 
 straint upon her. Although Matilda manifested 
 no disapprobation of her mother's frivolity or her 
 sister's vanity, the simple fact of her appearing 
 uninterested was a tacit reproof, so that she 
 was not sorry to be freed from what she re- 
 garded as an unpleasant surveillance. Mrs. So- 
 merset always encouraged her in the greatest 
 deference to her mother's wishes. It was no part 
 of her religion to teach the daughter to despise 
 
 ^ Dr. Johnson.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 39 
 
 the mother ; on the contrary, she invariably en- 
 deavoured to soften her glaring defects, and gloss 
 over such as Tvere less upon the surface. Her 
 object was to teach truths and leave condemna- 
 tion to Him, " who judgeth not by the seeing of 
 the eye, or the hearing of the ear, but judgeth 
 nghteous judgment.'' If Matilda saw her mo- 
 ther's faults, it was with sorrow, and a desire 
 by the most winning manner, and attention to 
 her wishes, to gain her over to better thoughts. 
 Time passed on, whilst things still remained in 
 this state, and we must now ask the reader to 
 accompany us to another part of the country, 
 and visit Langdale Park, where a very different 
 kind of family resided.
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 Langdale Park was a very lovely spot, with no 
 pretensions to size or splendour, but containing 
 all in itself that could give enjoyment to a cheer- 
 ful and contented mind. Happiness consists 
 not so much in what a man has, as in what he 
 can enjoy ; and if this were the world's esti- 
 mate, how much less disappointment and sor- 
 row there would be ! " Our neighbour's eyes 
 are the most expensive of all articles, and what 
 our neighbour thinks, the most important. In 
 the mean while, the present is past, and we 
 live in hope of a future which may never 
 come, or, if realized, may be such as to occasion 
 a sad retrospection of lost enjoyments, and 
 an utter destruction of the foolish expecta- 
 tions in which we have indulged. The child is 
 impatient to become a man, the man hopes for 
 honour and riches, and the aged still live in a 
 visionary state. Each neglects the time for sow- 
 ing seed in the expectation of the fruit which 
 is never to come. Such was the case with Lady
 
 THE THREE PATES. 41 
 
 Sopliia Cumberland. In the possession of a 
 kind husband, two sons, a naturally amiable 
 daughter, and a handsome fortune, she was 
 a disai^pointed and a discontented woman. 
 The only daughter of the Marquis of Arlington, 
 she had inherited the beauty and fortune of her 
 mother, about five thousand a year, while her 
 father's title and estate had gone to the son of 
 his younger brother. Her mother died when 
 she was an infant, and she was left to the 
 doating affection of her father, who never mar- 
 ried again. He could not bear to have her 
 contradicted, and it was only by management 
 and promises of indulgence, that her governess 
 could make her learn even the commonest rudi- 
 ments of instruction. She was warm-hearted, 
 and not by any means of a bad disposition, but 
 from always living with older persons who gave 
 way to her in eveiy thing, she was unconsciously 
 a most selfish child. As an only one, she was 
 treated with the greatest deference ; and if ever 
 with other children, her manner was so over- 
 bearing and disagreeable, that her absence 
 was never regretted. She was quite without 
 accomplishments, for she disliked the trouble 
 of acquiring them ; and her father, w^ho was 
 little more than an aristocratical farmer, could 
 see no use in them. Having no home inte- 
 rest, all her time was passed in seeking excite- 
 ment and amusement. She was never happy
 
 42 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 witliout a pleasure in possession or one in pros- 
 pect, and Miss Darton, her governess, had no 
 rest. As she grew older, it was more difficult 
 to satisfy or even please her. Her pony, her 
 doll, her garden, out of which no bouquet ever 
 arose, for no sooner had she planted a flower 
 than she constantly uncovered the seeds to 
 watch their progress ; all these innocent amuse- 
 ments were becoming insipid. Though a very 
 beautiful girl, she would scarcely allow her maid 
 time to dress her ; and it was not until she acci- 
 dentally discovered in her father's library a store 
 of old novels, where love, as it is called, is made 
 the business of life and the end of all earthly 
 existence, that she learned to appreciate her 
 loveliness, or think it necessary to set it off. 
 Hitherto, Miss Darton had vainly endeavoured 
 to impress uponher the propriety of smooth curls, 
 and at least a tidy appearance ; for Sophia would 
 often appear before Lord Arlington's guests 
 with her disordered ringlets floating over her 
 shoulders, her shawl falling off, her frock torn 
 with attempts to penetrate impassable hedges, 
 and her feet wet from wading like one of her 
 favorite heroines through sparkling rivulets. 
 Most fortunately for her, when she had attained 
 her seventeenth year, a distant cousin, a young 
 officer in the Guards, came on a visit to Arling- 
 ton, for the shooting season. To his great sur- 
 prise, on bringing his horses to the stables, he
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 43 
 
 found Sophia busily engaged, witli the assist- 
 ance of a small groom, in combing her horse's 
 mane and making his bed. It would be impos- 
 sible to describe Henry Cumberland's astonish- 
 ment, and but for the youthful appearance of 
 her companion, he would have imagined that he 
 had inten'upted an interesting flirtation with 
 one of the servants. There was, notwithstand- 
 ing the circumstances, something in Sophia's 
 look and manner which could not be concealed 
 by her extraordinary dress or the strangeness of 
 her occupation ; and when she raised her large 
 laughing eyes to the young tiger, who, to do 
 her justice, had grown up under her care as the 
 gardener's son, while her rich brown curls fell 
 carelessly over her delicate but rosy cheeks, and 
 her white and prettily-formed hand rested on the 
 neck of her horse, he thought he had never seen 
 a more lovely creature. Sophia for the moment 
 felt ashamed and blushed deeply, but soon reco- 
 vering herself, she remembered how often he- 
 roines appeared in strange situations, and her 
 gaiety returned. Making a low curtsey, with a 
 demure face belied by a merry eye, she asked to 
 whom she might have the pleasure of doing the 
 honours of the stable. " I must, indeed, fair 
 lady, return the question," replied Henry; 
 " for though to judge by what my eyes see, 
 I should suppose you to be a friend of our young 
 esquire's, a deeper thought reveals to me my
 
 44 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 fair cousin." Sophia, who delighted in fun, 
 soon caught his humour, and a very few 
 minutes placed them upon the most amicable 
 terms. It was not, however, Henry Cumber- 
 land's intention to encourage her in such vaga- 
 ries. While he laughed with her, he took every 
 opportunity of making her feel the extreme 
 impropriety of such conduct at her age : he 
 represented to her father the necessity of her 
 being properly introduced, and offered his mother 
 as a chaperone. By degrees he gained an in- 
 sensible but powerful influence over Sophia ; and 
 by representing all the pleasure and amusement 
 London affords in the season, and especially the 
 delight of exhibiting her beautiful horse Gazelle 
 in the park, he succeeded in persuading Lord 
 Arlington to take possession of the family man- 
 sion in Grrovesnor Square, in the spring. As 
 her will was her father's law, all was soon 
 arranged. The antediluvian maid was replaced 
 by a fashionable lady's-maid, who filled her 
 young mistress's ear with accounts of balls and 
 parties, till she sighed for April, the time fixed 
 upon for their moving. The contempt with 
 which Sophia's wardrobe was regarded was un- 
 bounded ; and she assured her that it was posi- 
 tively necessary that she should go to London to 
 be properly dressed, before the house was filled 
 with winter company. Sophia was quite willing. 
 It was a new kind of excitement, and a secret
 
 THE THKEE PATHS. 45 
 
 desire to please her cousin had taken possession 
 of her mind. Accustomed from her earliest 
 years to society, she was by no means ungrace- 
 ful in her movements, and, when dressed by Mrs. 
 Murray, nobody would have recognized the wild 
 girl, who had hitherto seldom been seen otherwise 
 than as a romp, peeping slyly into the drawing- 
 room, or tearing across the park on her pony. 
 The first day she came in to receive her father's 
 friends, dressed by the careful hand and taste of 
 her new maid, every eye was turned towards 
 her, and none more admiringly than that of 
 Heni-y Cumberland. A suitable dame de com- 
 pagnie took the place of Miss Darton, who was 
 not neglected or forgotten. She had a hand- 
 some pension settled on her by Lord Arlington, 
 and many presents from Sophia, who took much 
 pleasure in preparing a small cottage which be- 
 longed to her father as a home for her. On 
 arriving in London, Lady Mary Cumberland was 
 ready to receive her cousin, anxious, if possible, to 
 prevent her doing any thing extraordinary : but 
 Sophia's quickness and intelligence soon made 
 her sensible of the importance of attending to 
 the etiquette of society, added to which she was 
 most anxious to please Henry, who had not 
 passed so many weeks at Arlington without be- 
 coming an object of interest to her. Admirers 
 of an heiress of Sophia's rank and fortune are 
 not wanting, particularly of the latter. Earls
 
 46 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 and marquises' daughters are abundant, but five 
 thousand a year, accompanied by good connex- 
 ions, is a rare accident in the fashionable world, 
 more especially with youth and beauty added 
 to it. Many were the pauper coronets laid at 
 her feet, but she had a secret talisman against 
 them, and, while she smiled on all, her heart was 
 not hers to give. Henry Cumberland was a 
 younger son it is true, and had little besides his 
 pay as a captain in the Guards, but she had 
 enough for both, and was, as yet, too unsophis- 
 ticated not to prefer an unincumbered income 
 with a man she loved, to repairing the scattered 
 patrimony of some heartless man of fashion, 
 who would regard her only as a part of a bargain, 
 with which he would willingly dispense, were it 
 possible to possess the fortune without her. Her 
 cousin was an honourable man, and had taken 
 no undue advantage of the many opportunities 
 his relationship gave him to secure her affection. 
 He left her wholly at liberty ; and though he 
 danced with her when they met, and dined often 
 at Lord Arlington's, no word or look had led 
 her to suppose him more than a cousin. Acci- 
 dent favoured her wishes, for during one of the 
 rides in the park, " Gazelle,'"' who, like his mis- 
 tress, was perfectly untamed, became so excited 
 by the presence of so many of his species, and so 
 alarmed by the band, that he suddenly became 
 quite unmanageable, and dashed down Rotten
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 47 
 
 Row at liis greatest speed. Sophia was a perfect 
 horsewoman, but all was in vain, for coming in 
 contact with a cabriolet, he fell with the greatest 
 violence and precipitated her under the wheels 
 of a carriage. Had it not been standing still 
 nothing could have saved her life. She was 
 taken up quite insensible, while her distracted 
 father, who had lost all presence of mind, could 
 do nothing. Henry had, however, followed her 
 as near as he could without exciting her horse 
 to greater speed, and was now at hand to rescue 
 her from her perilous position. He lifted her 
 gentlv, and having placed her in the carriage 
 under which she had fallen, saw her home, 
 and did not leave the house till he had the 
 happiness of hearing that consciousness was 
 restored, and that the physician spoke confi- 
 dently of her recovery. Lady Mary never left 
 her ; and it was when he was allowed to go into 
 her boudoir, and in the intimacy and absence of 
 form in a sick room, that he was betrayed into 
 showing feelings to which Sophia was not slow 
 in responding. Lord Arlington at first was 
 much disappointed that his beautiful daughter 
 should throw herself away upon a younger son, 
 but as he cared more for quiet than any thing 
 else, and was conscious that he had no control 
 over his daughter or her fortune, beyond that of 
 affection, his consent was not long withheld ; and 
 Sophia's marriage, with the lace dress, orange-
 
 48 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 flower wreath, and veil, was duly announced in 
 tlie " Morning Post/' The happy pair set out for 
 Langdale Park, and fancied themselves at the 
 summit of happiness. For a short time the 
 delusion was a pleasant one. It had been on 
 both sides what is called a love-marriage ; but 
 love that has no foundation beyond admiration 
 is apt to pass away quickly, leaving little but 
 coldness and disappointment in its place. In 
 likes and dislikes people and things are too 
 often associated. They are the medium of present 
 amusement, when, if separated from association, 
 little but the name would be left. Those who 
 view life at a distance are far better judges of 
 reality, than the actors in the scene ; to them 
 each performer is unveiled. No borrowed lustre 
 surrounds them, while the sharers in all that 
 accompanies certain individuals are apt to 
 imagine that the giver, and not the gift, is the 
 object of their love. Like the man wlio bought 
 Punch, they find the actors puppets. All that 
 gave life is gone with the showman. Thus it was 
 with Lady Sophia Cumberland : she had had no 
 mother to guide her. Miss Darton, like many re- 
 spectable elderly maidens, thought love and mar- 
 riage no subject of conversation for young ladies. 
 Her own notions on this most important part 
 of education were abstract, and the few ideas 
 she had received drawn from books or her own 
 dear old-fasbioned mother, so that she was quite
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 49 
 
 unfit to instruct a young girl in Sopliia's posi- 
 tion. She had only novels as lier guide, and 
 imagined that as all the cares and vexations of 
 the heroine ceased as soon as the maniage ring 
 encircled her finger, it was the same in real life. 
 How many make shipwreck of happiness by 
 similar mistaken notions. Far from being the 
 death of care, a wedding-day maybe truly called 
 its birth ; and it rests perhaps in the first three 
 months after that event, whether marriage be- 
 comes what it should be, the most perfect union 
 on earth and one for eternity, or a miserable 
 bondage, two unfortunate beings dragging a 
 chain through life, which sin or death can alone 
 loosen. After a time, and often a veiy few 
 weeks are enough, the lover becomes the hus- 
 band. The excitement of mere admiration 
 passes, but where there are essential qualities 
 is changed into deep-rooted esteem. Instead of 
 foolish compliments and childish toying, the 
 bride becomes the wife, the companion of her 
 husband's domestic hours, the sharer of his plea- 
 sures, honours, and occupations. Her home is 
 always bright, and she is ever ready to receive 
 him with the cheering influence of unselfish 
 love. Secure in his affection, no mean jealousies 
 interfere to destroy confidence. His friends are 
 hers, her friends are his. Their pleasures are 
 mutual. She has no female confidants, the sure 
 destroyers of all domestic comfort, to whom she 
 
 \'0L. I. E
 
 50 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 details all her husband's faults and her own 
 imagined wrongs. — "Perfect love casteth out 
 fear.'' If she has difficulties of temper to con- 
 tend with, she keeps them to herself. She no 
 longer expects undivided attention. It is not in 
 the nature of things that it should be so ; and if 
 it were, where would be our statesmen or lawyers, 
 in short, any men of use in their generation ? 
 The wife is a part of her husband, and, in being 
 so, she alone secures a lasting aifection. It 
 would have been happy for Lady Sophia, if she 
 could have responded to such feelings ; while 
 she fancied that she loved her husband, she was 
 only loving herself Any person who can desire 
 the object of their affection to give up all for 
 them, is a selfish person. It is not the happiness 
 of another that is rejoiced in, but that our own 
 is secured by the devotion of that other to our- 
 selves. Real aifection is that which desires the 
 good of another, and is anxious to give pleasure, 
 whether or not any return is made — to live out 
 of self, in others — to make their enjoyment ours 
 — content to share it when legitimately given, 
 but not to monopolize it. By so doing, two 
 become one in heart and mind. The pleasure 
 of communication where feelings are understood, 
 the delight of sympathy, warms the heart ; and 
 the consciousness of one ever near, on whom 
 our happiness is a reflected light, gives a pos- 
 session in the heart, which all the exacted
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 51 
 
 attentions produced bv tears and discontent can 
 never gain. A spoiled and petted child from 
 infancy, lier every word, thought, and action of 
 the first importance, Lady Sophia had no idea 
 of ever being a secondary consideration, and 
 when, after six weeks of uninterrupted seclu- 
 sion, her husband expressed a wish that his 
 mother and sisters should be invited to Langdale 
 Park, she thought herself grievously ill-used, 
 and indulged for some hours in a most unamia- 
 ble fit of sullenness. Unconscious of any wish, 
 but that of making Lady Mary and his sisters 
 better acquainte'd with his young wife, Henry 
 Cumberland could hardly understand how he 
 could have ofiended. It was therefore with 
 much surprise, that, on returning from his usual 
 ride, in which Lady Sophia had refused, on the 
 pretence of a headache, to accompany him, he 
 found a cold reception, which was soon followed 
 by tears and reproaches. He represented the 
 difficulty of explaining to his mother, wliy the 
 invitation she had herself so freely given, should 
 not be sent, now that a longer time had passed 
 than her own wishes had assigned to their retire- 
 ment. He also tried to persuade her that society 
 had its claims, and that as a married woman 
 and the mistress of Langdale Park, hospitality 
 was part of her duty, and that she could not 
 expect to pass her whole time in amusement 
 as she had done at Arlington. All this was 
 e2
 
 52 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 very unpalatable to tlie ungoverned mind and 
 feelings of Ladj Sophia, but seeing that her 
 husband was really in earnest, she consented 
 with a bad grace, and the invitation was sent. 
 The frequent recurrence of such scenes soon 
 alienated the affection, though it could not 
 diminish the kindness, of her husband, and he 
 constantly endeavoured to please her, whenever 
 her requirements were not ridiculous or irra- 
 tional. It was, however, quite thrown away ; 
 and finding that her continued ill-temper had 
 the effect of lessening rather than increasing 
 their opportunities of meeting, she turned her 
 mind towards other excitements. Many was 
 the time when her husband would have gone to 
 her boudoir on his return from hunting or 
 shooting, if he had not dreaded his reception, — 
 many were the hours passed in the stable or the 
 kennel, which would have been given to his 
 wife. How often is a noble and generous affec- 
 tion thus frittered away ! How much happiness 
 lost ! If instead of foolish reproaches for the loss 
 of attentions which after a time mean nothing, 
 a real solid affection were grafted on principle, 
 by the wife proving herself a component part 
 of her husband's comfort and happiness, we 
 should seldom see the miserable marriages and 
 disjointed affections so sadly frequent in the 
 world. Neither Captain or Lady Sophia Cum- 
 berland were religious people. He was what
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 53 
 
 is called a kind-hearted man of the world. Had 
 he married Ellen Somerset, he might, and pro- 
 bably would, have become a valuable character. 
 As it was, his affections were wasted, his habits 
 became restless, and both were anxious to turn 
 from themselves and find excitement elsewhere. 
 Leaving Langdale Park — where they had the 
 means of surrounding themselves with agreeable 
 society, where they might have found happiness 
 in active benevolence, where their position se- 
 cured them esteem and regard — they took a 
 house at a fashionable watering-place for the 
 winter. Lady Sophia, like many weak women, 
 determined to excite, if possible, jealousy in her 
 husband's mind by flirting with every man she 
 met. Even if Henry Cumberland had really 
 treated her with neglect, or insulted her by 
 immorality, such a proceeding could only lessen 
 her in his regard, make her less worthy of it, 
 and injure herself It is to such feelings that 
 many a young creature is sacrificed. Disap- 
 pointed in her husband as a lover, she seeks 
 attention elsewhere ; and without a thought 
 beyond that of giving pain, finds herself involved 
 in inextricable difficulty, and perhaps lost for 
 ever. Happily for Lady Sophia she still loved 
 her husband, in her own selfish way, too much, 
 for more than a cold and heartless flirtation, 
 which, while it fed her vanity, led to nothing more 
 fatal than the contempt of many, and the avoid-
 
 54 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 ance of the modest and well-conducted. The 
 winter was followed by years of London and 
 Paris gaieties. Two sons and a daughter had 
 much added to her husband's happiness ; who, 
 while he deeply regretted his wife's folly, and 
 by his constant presence protected her from 
 more serious consequences, turned with interest 
 and refreshment to the innocent pleasures of his 
 children. It was after the birth of the youngest, 
 Edith, that Lady Sophia had a most alarm- 
 ing illness. For many months she hovered be- 
 tween life and death, and many more passed 
 before returning health appeared. During the 
 time of her convalescence she met, at one of 
 the many places she tried for change of air, 
 with Mrs. Watson. This lady was the wife of a 
 clergyman in the neighbourhood, one whose 
 profession of religion, at a time when it was not, 
 as it is now, a fashion, had been her passport 
 into a sphere of society from which an unrefined 
 mind and want of education would have excluded 
 her. She found an easy dupe in Lady Sophia. 
 No longer young, her beauty, which had never 
 been of an intellectual kind, was nearly gone, 
 and her mind in a wandering and uncomfortable 
 state. She was like a person turned out of one 
 habitation without having secured another, 
 ready to accept the first offer of a home. No 
 longer an object in a world which values people 
 and things according to the end to be gained,
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 55 
 
 in her own sphere of comparatively little im- 
 portance, she welcomed any body who would 
 satisfy her insatiable appetite for praise or ad- 
 miration. Mrs. Watson approached her at first 
 by compassion. She commiserated her delicate 
 state of health, and incessantly praised her 
 wonderfid patience. She then gently touched on 
 the aj^parent indifference of her husband, a sub- 
 ject which drew tears from Lady Sophia's eyes. 
 "Oh, Mrs. Watson, you cannot think how deeply 
 I feel it, and how cruelly he neglects me ! " and 
 she raised her eyes to Heaven, as if she were 
 the most pitiable of mortals. If Mrs. Watson 
 had been a really right-minded person, she 
 would have endeavoured to soften such feel- 
 ings, and have gently led her suffering friend 
 to the contemplation of her own heart, the 
 real source from whence her unhappiness arose. 
 This was no part of her system. Her desire 
 was to gain an influence ; and, being artful 
 as well as clever, her first attempt was to im- 
 press upon Lady Sophia's weak and uninstructed 
 mind that all around her were wrong, and that 
 in trying to please her husband she was turning 
 from her Grod. She humoured her in her illness, 
 which had become purely imaginary, nervous- 
 ness and temper being all that remained. She 
 flattered her incessantly, secured herself con- 
 stant access to her boudoir, where she intro- 
 duced mawkish and enervating books, under the 
 name of religion, being little more than the
 
 56 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 reflection of diseased and morbid feeling, totally 
 unfitting her for the active duties of life, without 
 in the least assisting to correct her temper or 
 making her useful. By degrees she introduced 
 her husband, a prejudiced man who constituted 
 his opinion as the true religion, and looked upon 
 all not wholly guided by himself as unworthy 
 of regard. Instead of directing Lady Sophia 
 in her own path of duty, he levelled her to his, 
 unmindful that the duties of each were of an 
 entirely different character. Unaccustomed to 
 the elegancies which to her were second nature, 
 he was constantly inveighing against dress or 
 ornament of any kind, disregarding the fact 
 that there is more pride and vanity in an 
 affected singularity, than in an appearance 
 which, from its similarity to others, leaves the 
 wearer one of the multitude, and consequently 
 unobserved. Lady Sophia being a weak and 
 impressible woman, and so ignorant that she 
 was ready to receive any absurdity willingly, 
 followed his advice, and passed a great deal 
 more time than she had done in her gayest days 
 in describing the peculiar shape of her gown, 
 more especially as its extreme plainness ren- 
 dered its exact fitting of more importance. 
 Her lady's-maid was in despair. Hitherto a 
 simple order had been given and no more 
 thought attached to it, but now consultations 
 were unceasing. All the ornaments were dis- 
 missed from the drawing-room, to the delight of
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 57 
 
 the housemaids, who had much more time on 
 their hands for less rational occupation than that 
 of keeping them in order, and misused it, greatly 
 to their satisfaction, by reading miserable novels 
 from a poor circulating library, and in flirting 
 with the men-servants. Lady Sophia vainly 
 endeavoured to persuade her husband that it 
 was his duty to dismiss his coachman and 
 grooms, and sell the horses ; but being a man of 
 plain common sense, and his income a large 
 one, it was impossible to persuade him that 
 it would be right to make beggars of their 
 wives and children, to drive the men to ale- 
 houses, or to other places where they might 
 be exposed to far worse temptations than in his 
 quiet and regular establishment. His mind had 
 undergone a serious change, which might have 
 been lasting had it been founded on principle, 
 or met with encouragement. The total absence 
 of all domestic comfort, and the dislike he had 
 to the disagreeable people by whom his wife 
 was constantly surrounded, had led him to more 
 useful occupations. He read a good deal, took 
 much interest in the welfare of his tenants and 
 dependents, became an active magistrate, and 
 found much pleasure in the society of his chil- 
 dren. By making himself the companion of his 
 eldest son, who was about twelve, he had be- 
 come his friend ; and had he continued to do 
 so, the sad effects of his neglected education
 
 58 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 might have been prevented, but his constant 
 absence from home led to much evil. Those 
 who would maintain a lasting sway over young 
 people, must, by softening the distance of age, 
 steal into their confidence. Love and respect 
 are united ; but if fear once closes the avenues 
 to the heart, no other sentiment ever overcomes 
 it ; obedience is then never led by inclination ; 
 and we rejoice to escape from haughtiness to 
 austerity, however venerable the form they may 
 assume. From what trifles spring the purest 
 pleasures of life. A prospect, a flower, a song, 
 can dilate the heart while the passions are yet 
 hid in it, nor have poisoned its simplicity, nor 
 curtailed its enjoyments ; but where there is a 
 want of confidence, concealed pleasures will take 
 the place of those which become greater when 
 shared with those we love. In many minds, to 
 deceive the watchful reflects a compliment on 
 our own sagacity, and renders them insensible 
 to the error. " The immense defect that want 
 of sympathy is, may be strikingly seen in the 
 failure of the many attempts that have been 
 made in all ages to construct a Christian cha- 
 racter without it. It has produced numbers of 
 people walking up and down one narrow plank 
 of self-restraint, pondering over their own 
 merits and demerits, keeping out, not the 
 world, but their fellow-creatures from their 
 hearts, and caring only to drive their neigh-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 59 
 
 bours before tliem on this plank of theirs, or to 
 push thera headlong. Thus, with much hard 
 work in the formation of character, we have 
 had splendid bigots, or censorious small people.'' 
 Of this latter class Lady Sophia was one ; for 
 she passed the greater part of her time in 
 talking of the defects of her neighbours, in 
 censuring their dress, style of living and habits, 
 and in measuring their expenses. She had with 
 much difficulty persuaded Colonel Cumberland 
 to give the living of Langdale, which had be- 
 come vacant, to Mr. Watson. Nothing but the 
 consciousness that in real point of fact it was 
 his own, would have induced him to consent. 
 The struggle was a painfid one, for he foresaw 
 all the consequences, and that his peace and 
 comfort would be disturbed more than ever. 
 Langdale Park was not more than five miles from 
 Staunton, and about ten from the Abbey. It was 
 therefore natural that there should be an inti- 
 macy between the families, though one more of 
 circumstances than choice. Mrs. Somerset was 
 always ready to hold out the right hand of fel- 
 lowship ; and while she deeply regretted the 
 miseiy consequent upon Lady Sophia Cumber- 
 land's mistaken notions, she beheved her sin- 
 cere, and was always kind and cordial. She 
 hoped to conciliate by kindness, and without in 
 the least departing from the received principles 
 on which she invariably acted, she was ready to
 
 60 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 yield in matters of little importance. Though 
 principle gives birth to rule, motives may justify 
 exceptions ; and those only follow our Saviour's 
 example who are "kindly aiFectioned to all.'" 
 It is the absence of steadiness in our own prin- 
 ciples more than the want of it in others, that 
 makes association dangerous. In judging of 
 others, three things should be considered ; jus- 
 tice, charity, and generosity. Much allowance 
 should be made for ignorance and prejudice. 
 Whdii may be a great offence in one may be 
 comparatively little in another, when the relative 
 advantages and disadvantages of each are taken 
 into consideration. Narrow-minded people who 
 have not a thought beyond the sphere of their 
 own vision, measure all others by their own idea, 
 without any regard to totally different circum- 
 stances, position, or education ; and by thus 
 doing others injustice, destroy all the influence 
 they might otherwise have had. The snail sees 
 nothing but its own shell, and thinks it the 
 grandest place in the world. So it is with nar- 
 row minds. All feelings are ground down to 
 their own preconceived notions ; and placing 
 their minds and circumstances in others, they 
 measure them accordingly. It would be well 
 were they to try themselves by the same test, 
 for reflected faults present themselves in their 
 true light, and when seen in others, expose 
 their deformity. We often unconsciously tole-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 61 
 
 rate in ourselves what we cannot bear with 
 common patience in others, and generally con- 
 demn what is deficient, forgetful that the defect 
 may be in ourselves. 
 
 It was at the time of our introduction to 
 these families that the daughters of each house 
 were on the eve of that eventful period, com- 
 monlv called "comino'-out."" The feelino-s of each 
 were very different. Lady Catherine Mertoun 
 looked forward to it as a season of triumph and 
 conquest. Her object was to secure a brilliant 
 establishment. Her whole education had tended 
 to this end ; and Lady Rockingham had every 
 hope of being gratified. Her daughter had no 
 heart, or, if it existed at all, it had never been 
 called into action. All her pleasures were 
 centred in worldly gratifications. Grreat care 
 had been taken that she should be seen as little 
 as possible in general society during the last 
 year of her noviciate, and it was with a palpi- 
 tating heart that her mother, " rouged and re- 
 paired for an ungrateful public,'' prepared 
 herself and her daughter for her first campaign 
 in the fashionable world. Catherine was in 
 ecstasies. The greater part of every day was 
 passed in earnest consultations with Mademoi- 
 selle Soissons, a constant correspondence main- 
 tained with the sister modiste in Paris, and the 
 last and newest fashions secretly imported. It 
 was the height of their puerile ambition to be
 
 62 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 seen in what nobody else had worn, and they 
 would on no account have given a pattern. The 
 dancing-master was in daily attendance, that 
 the curtsey at the presentation might be per- 
 fect ; so that in her over-anxiety to produce an 
 astounding effect, nature was entirely extin- 
 guished ; and Catherine came out almost as 
 stiff and formal as her aunts, with a beauty 
 that dazzled rather than charmed. Her proud 
 and cold manner kept affection at a distance, 
 and none but an elder son dared approach her. 
 Still the possessor of twenty thousand pounds was 
 not to be despised ; and many adorers of money 
 and rank were to be seen at her feet. Mrs. 
 Somerset, who, since her husband's death, had 
 lived in comparative retirement, and who would 
 gladly have remained in the shade, felt it her 
 duty to introduce her daughter, and by return- 
 ing to her place in society, make agreeable 
 friends for her son, who was sixteen, and would 
 in a few years, from his large fortune and ex- 
 pectations as the next heir to the Duke of Or- 
 manton, be an object of considerable importance. 
 Affection was her only hold upon him ; and she 
 was determined to make his home agreeable, so 
 as to lessen the desire for amusement abroad. 
 Geraldine Somerset had realized the promise of 
 beauty she had given as a child. The cultiva- 
 tion of her mind had given a thoughtfulness to 
 her lovely features, the sweetness of her dispo-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 63 
 
 sition an expression wliicli touched the heart. 
 To her " coming out '' had no magic sound. She 
 had always been her mother's companion, and 
 as she grew older had become her friend. They 
 had no secrets ; and while Mrs. Somerset avoided 
 saddening her youthful feelings by her own 
 painful recollections, she had shared in the ex- 
 perience and occupations to which her separa- 
 tion from worldly excitements naturally gave 
 rise. There were no grand preparations. What 
 had been her early habit easily returned, and, 
 accustomed to society, Mrs. Somerset only felt 
 as if she were returning after a residence else- 
 where to old associations. She had no desire to 
 produce a sensation, no wish that Geraldine 
 should eclipse others ; and while Lady Rock- 
 ingham was anxiously desiring that Catherine 
 might far surpass all others, Geraldine was only 
 anxious to pass quietly and unobserved, in a 
 crowd from Avhich she rather shrank with timid- 
 ity. The eventful day at last arrived. Lady 
 Rockingham and Mrs. Somerset presented their 
 daughters, and had no reason to be dissatisfied 
 with the effect. It was with pleasure that Mrs. 
 Somerset saw Catherine admired ; and she con- 
 gratulated her mother, who was far from sharing 
 in her amiable feelings, as her keen eye had 
 detected the much more lingering looks cast 
 upon Geraldine. While every body exclaimed, 
 and almost started at the magnificent beauty of
 
 64 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 her daugliter, the eye rested with pleasure on 
 her companion ; and Lady Rockingham could 
 scarcely restrain her indignation when some 
 good-natured friend kindly insinuated that the 
 Queen had admired the simple elegance of Miss 
 Somerset more than the elaborate toilette of 
 Lady Catherine, 
 
 " I thought/' said an old lady sitting next to 
 Lady Rockingham, " that Mrs. Somerset was too 
 serious to bring her daughter out in London V 
 
 *' Oh no/" she replied, " she has only been 
 keeping her out of sight to make her more re- 
 markable as a novelty/' 
 
 " I wonder,'' added Lady Yerney, " how she 
 contrives to know so well how to dress her ; 
 any body would think that she had just come 
 from Paris." 
 
 " I don't know, for I can assure you that it 
 has been an impenetrable mystery. Catherine 
 made several vain attempts to pierce the se- 
 cret, but whenever she called, Geraldine affected 
 to know nothing about her dress, and to leave 
 it all to her mother. Indeed, Catherine says 
 that she never saw any thing but books and 
 music on her table, and nothing in her private 
 sitting-room but frocks for poor children." 
 
 "What affectation ; and all the time it is 
 plain that she thinks about it quite as much as 
 we do. All Miss Somerset's affected simplicity 
 is only a superior art. I had much rather see
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 65 
 
 your beautiful daughter, wlio pretends to no 
 such nonsense/' 
 
 " Oh, Catherine is just what I like. There 
 is no nonsense in her, and no danger of her 
 falling in love with any body not able to give 
 her position ; but I really do believe that 
 young Lord Lornton is actually talking to 
 Geraldine, while Catherine is all alone." 
 
 With this distressing sight in view. Lady 
 Rockingham sailed away in majestic style, 
 while Lady Verney turned round and observed 
 to her neighbours : 
 
 "What a proud, disagreeable woman Lady 
 Rockingham is, and that haughty-looking 
 daughter, I wonder how any body can admire 
 her ; I hope she will be disappointed, I hate her: 
 but here comes Mrs. Somerset.'' 
 
 She immediately arose from her seat, and ap- 
 proaching her with an aifected smile, praised 
 Geraldine in the most unmeasured terms, 
 making contemptuous comparisons between 
 her and Catherine. Mrs. Somerset, much too 
 acute to be taken in by her insincerity, was 
 not indifferent to Lady Verney's unkind re- 
 marks, and observed, that she thought it un- 
 fair to judge a young girl on her first introduc- 
 tion into society ; that Catherine had been 
 brought up to consider herself of great impor- 
 tance, and to attach much consequence to her 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 beauty, but that a little general association 
 would teacli lier to view tilings in a different 
 light. 
 
 *' Oh/' said Lady Verney, " you are so kind 
 and considerate. How different to Lady Rock- 
 ingham, who is always saying ill-natured things ; 
 but pray let me have the pleasure of being 
 introduced to Miss Somerset.'' 
 
 Geraldine received her proffered hand without 
 empressement She had felt sorry for Catherine, 
 and would have been too happy if she could 
 have made any impression on her. She com- 
 forted herself with the consciousness of having 
 been of use to her yojunger sister ; and Lady 
 Rockingham would scarcely have forgiven Mrs. 
 Somerset, had she known how completely she 
 had succeeded in winning Matilda over to pure 
 and elevated views of life. She was the greatest 
 comfort to her father, the cheerful companion 
 of her brother, and the friend of all the poor 
 and afflicted around her in the country. It is 
 not the intention of this little book to give a 
 detailed account of the career of fashionable 
 amusements in which Lady Rockingham and 
 her daughter were constantly engaged. There 
 was nothing to which they did not go. Operas, 
 plays, races, public balls of all kinds, dejeuners^ 
 matinees dansantes, and the park on Sundays. 
 They occasionally met Mrs. Somerset, but
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 67 
 
 although she wished to give Geraldine plea- 
 sure and to perfect her mind, by the education 
 of life, she had no intention of allowing her 
 to take part in any amusement in itself objec- 
 tionable, so that she was never seen at public 
 places : not that she blamed others for going ; on 
 the contrary, she felt that many who attended 
 them might be better than herself ; but to her 
 they were wrong, because she felt them to be so, 
 and by countenancing them she would have 
 sinned against her conscience. To Greraldine 
 she could scarcely explain all her reasons, but she 
 met with no opposition from her. She always 
 saw her mother act on principle ; she was under 
 no bondage to party or opinion. Her desire was 
 to do right, as in God's sight, and " she would 
 much rather silently influence events serviceable 
 to others, than have the praise of a multitude, 
 whose dispraise might in all probability be far 
 more to her credit. "" The onl}^ way " to silence 
 envious tongues, is to preserve the virtue which 
 occasions their malice, and those who expect to 
 meet their reward in this world will be griev- 
 ously mistaken." Little minds " hate the ex- 
 cellence they cannot imitate,'' and in trying to 
 lessen it by detraction hope to raise themselves. 
 There is no greater trial to a noble and ge- 
 nerous mind than to be the subject of remark 
 to little minds, who are wholly unable to ap- 
 preciate the principles by which persons of ele- 
 F 2
 
 68 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 vated and refined feelings are guided ; and 
 among the trials of her present situation this 
 was one from which Mrs. Somerset had much 
 to bear. Lady Rockingham especially, who 
 had very high ideas of the merits of a coronet, 
 was greatly provoked to find that while she 
 and her splendid daughter were invited to 
 the crowded balls and state dinners, Mrs. 
 Somerset and Geraldine were the intimate 
 friends of persons who only interchanged com- 
 mon civilities with them. Attaching as she 
 did all attraction to externals, the plain car- 
 riage and the establishment which in London 
 as a widow Mrs. Somerset considered more 
 suitable than great display, — the quiet, unosten- 
 tatious, but elegant dress, and the entire sim- 
 plicity and ease of her manners in a society in 
 which she had breathed and moved from her 
 earliest years, — were more or less subjects of 
 contempt and envy to Lady Rockingham's 
 parvenu notions. Fitted to take part in in- 
 tellectual as well as in lighter conversation, 
 Geraldine was always happy and at ease, 
 wherever she was. She was neither servile 
 with her superiors, nor forward. She neither 
 felt honoured by attention, nor humbled by 
 neglect. Fashionable she might be made, but 
 nothing could increase or diminish her real 
 position in the eyes of the right-minded. If 
 neglected, she was amused and indifferent ; if
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 69 
 
 praised and admired, never elated. She was 
 neither made or "unmade by the smiles or 
 frowns of self-elected queens, while she was 
 happy in the affection and regard of all whose 
 opinion she valued, and in the attentions which 
 spring from esteem. Lady Rockingham in vain 
 attributed the different reception she met with, 
 to Mrs. Somerset's art or toadyism. All would 
 not do ; and though her rank and the grand par- 
 ties she gave, made her sufficiently courted to 
 gratify her vanity, the quiet, unpretending 
 Mrs. Somerset, and the amiable and unaffected 
 Geraldine, made friends of all whose friendship 
 was worth gaining, amused themselves in ge- 
 neral society, and understood its nature and 
 constitution too well to be made ridiculous by 
 it. It is only the ignorant and weak who are 
 ever caught by its glitter. The surface may be 
 fair, but all who trust in it are lost. The vain 
 and self-sufficient cannot believe that the same 
 fate will be theirs, that has made victims of 
 others. They take all the unmeaning things 
 that are said for realities, and think that 
 they are valued for themselves ; whereas, 
 the attentions are either given, because plea- 
 sure from the association is received, or some- 
 thing is to be gained by them. From the 
 really great impertinences are never met with. 
 Even if the heart may not respond, refine^
 
 70 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 ment gives courtesy to the manner ; the cer- 
 tainty of position, repose ; and thus prevents 
 that contention for place and notice, which 
 all who are made or unmade by the notice of 
 the great invariably exhibit. No women make 
 such good wives to poor men as the well-born ; 
 for though they may equally suffer from depri- 
 vation, and indeed from previous delicacy in 
 their nurture are more susceptible, they never 
 feel really lessened by an attention to their 
 new duties, by simplicity in dress, or establish- 
 ment. The mind which feels itself lowered by 
 such self-denials is essentially vulgar, and, con- 
 sidering money and appearance as the only pass- 
 ports into society, naturally regards them as of 
 the first importance. "It is too often found, 
 that the fate of men of singular gifts of mind, is 
 to be destitute of those of fortune. This in no 
 way affects the spirit of wise judgments, who 
 thoroughly understand the justice of the pro- 
 ceeding, and being enriched with higher dona- 
 tives, cast a more careless eye on those vulgar 
 parts of felicity. It is a great mistake to adore 
 these complimental and circumstantial pieces 
 of felicity, and undervalue those perfections 
 and essential points of happiness, wherein we 
 resemble our Maker."' While the admiration 
 of the crowd is for the " richness of the gild- 
 ing,'' the virtues of the poor are like those
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 71 
 
 of a good picture ill-framed. How many a 
 sad and aching heart has driven from the 
 church weeping over a ceremony which con- 
 signed it to splendid misery ; while the reci- 
 tal in the newspaper has excited the envy 
 of thousands, and the smiles of gratified 
 pride and vanity in the relatives. On the 
 other side, a marriage which has secured the 
 satisfaction of every feeling of the heart some- 
 times excites the contempt of the world, the 
 pity of friends, and the anger of relations. 
 For those who have been accustomed to habits 
 of refinement and riches to marry into poverty 
 and vulgarity, merely from a foolish and pass- 
 ing feeling, unsanctioned by judgment, discre- 
 tion, or the approbation of friends, it is the 
 height of folly, and will, in most cases, be fol- 
 lowed by reproach and misery. There must be 
 reality of some kind, character and compe- 
 tency, talents and a profession. But where 
 these exist, and a marriage is made in faith 
 and prayer, a blessing will rest upon it. 
 Trials there may and must be ; but love of a 
 pure and holy kind rather tightens than loosens 
 the bonds by these difficulties. Each takes 
 pleasure in lessening the care of the other. 
 The approving smile, the answering mind, the 
 delight of feeling that the affection and kind- 
 ness of friends is disinterested, that the hus-
 
 72 THE THREE PATHS- 
 
 band is appreciated for his real worth, and not 
 by what he gives, produces lasting happiness, 
 when cemented by the only real bond of 
 union, a Christian spirit. It is the love of 
 Christ which constraineth, first purifying, then 
 ratifying the most perfect of all unions, when 
 it is thus consecrated by the grace of God.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The London season was now nearly over, and 
 after staying for the last ball, Lady Rocking- 
 ham found herself obliged, most unwillingly, to 
 return to the Abbey. It was a great mortifi- 
 cation to take her daughter back with no pros- 
 pect of a settlement, and she would often 
 reproach her for mismanagement : a reproach 
 Catherine received by no means gently, so that 
 mutual recrimination was constantly taking- 
 place. Her brother would laugh at her and 
 taunt her with her airs, while some more fortu- 
 nate mother completed her mortification by 
 affected sympathy. How bitter are the trials 
 which pride and ambition are doomed to suffer ! 
 and how many a pang is spared to those who 
 simply enjoying life as it is, can leave events in 
 the hand of Grod! who, instead of struggling 
 for pre-eminence, are content with the notice 
 they receive, and by not seeking more than is 
 freely given, escape the mortification which in- 
 variably falls to the lot of those who are always
 
 74 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 tliinlving of tliemselves. " What breaks a proud 
 man's heart, will not disturb a poor man's 
 sleep/' The affectionate Matilda took no part 
 in the jokes of her brother, or the taunts of the 
 mother, and was delighted to show her sister 
 every possible kindness, pitied her listlessness, 
 gave up her own occupations to pass her time 
 with her, and affected an interest she could 
 not feel, in her incessant repetition of all the 
 foolish things she had said or heard at her balls 
 and parties. Although Catherine seldom ap- 
 preciated her devotion, it made no alteration 
 in her conduct. She acted on principle, and 
 never thought of return, except in the consci- 
 ousness of having tried to do her duty, and in 
 the hope that in time she might win her sister 
 to love and happiness. Lord Rockingham was 
 too much engrossed with his farm and other 
 country amusements, to know much of what 
 was going on around him ; but as soon as the 
 shooting season came. Lady Rockingham per- 
 suaded him to invite a large party, and among 
 them a stupid, half-witted young marquis, 
 whom she hoped with a little manoeuvring to 
 make her son-in-law. 
 
 The Marquis of Davenport, without an idea 
 of his own, or one created by education, with 
 nothing pleasing in his person or manner, being 
 very short, with a pale and sickly appearance, 
 had been the victim of a foolish mother. In-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. iO 
 
 stead of impressing liim witli the great impor- 
 tance of the duties annexed to his position, and 
 raising his mind to it, the fact of his being 
 a rich nobleman, was the only one she con- 
 sidered of importance ; that his nobilitv gave 
 him the privilege of being ignorant, selfish, 
 and unfeeling ; and that to marry a wife who 
 would add to his dignity, was all he need seek. 
 He was on no account to sacrifice one iota of his 
 magnificence by grafting intellect, talent, and 
 sense on his coronet. A great match was to be 
 his object. It was, therefore, with no small 
 delight that Lady Davenport saw his prefer- 
 ence for Lady Catherine Mertoun, and re- 
 ceived with great satisfaction the invitation 
 to the Abbey. Catherine was equally pleased 
 to find that he had accepted it, and on the 
 evening of his arrival she made the most 
 recherchee toilette. To increase the dazzling 
 whiteness of her skin, she arrayed herself in 
 black velvet, and with a head-dress of pearls 
 which softened her colour, she hoped, not to 
 touch the heart, but to turn the head of her 
 admirer. When the eventful day arrived, and 
 the Abbey in all its splendour was thrown 
 open for the large party expected, Catherine 
 was careful not to be seen till the candles were 
 lighted. Her maid found it very difficult to 
 please her, and many were her attempts before 
 she could succeed. Thouo'h dressed lono^ before 
 the hour for assembling in tlie drawing-room,
 
 76 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 she contrived to delay her appearance until all 
 the party had met, and then gracefully gliding 
 in, she presented herself in her splendid beauty 
 before Lord Davenport, who stood with eyes and 
 mouth distended, making so ridiculous a figure, 
 that Matilda and Geraldine, who were quietly 
 sitting in a distant part of the room, could 
 scarcely conceal their smiles, particularly when 
 Lord Cornbury came up, and observed, that 
 " Davenport looked like an expiring fish/' 
 Both Matilda and Greraldine felt so much 
 pained at the idea of such a sacrifice, that the 
 feeling of merriment soon passed away ; and 
 when they saw the self-satisfied air of Cathe- 
 rine, and the happy face of her mother, 
 Matilda could scarcely repress her tears. Day 
 after day passed, till Lady Rockingham was 
 beginning to tremble, when accident favoured 
 her wishes, for one day as the youthful part of 
 the company were walking in the park, they 
 were overtaken by a violent shower. Matilda 
 and Geraldine ran at once to the gamekeeper's 
 lodge ; but Catherine, far too dignified to run, 
 took refuge under a large weeping-willow. 
 Whether the sentimental character of the tree 
 influenced Lord Davenport's unsentimental na- 
 ture, or whether the tenderness with which he 
 enveloped the fair Catherine in his cloak, pro- 
 duced a sympathetic influence, it is impossible 
 to say ; but he delicately insinuated that he 
 hoped his present permission to protect her,
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 77 
 
 might be allowed to continue ; and tlie rejoicing, 
 not blushing lady, after a little well-acted pertur- 
 bation, granted the petition, and consented to a 
 contract in which she gave up herself to folly 
 and sixty thousand a year, without a regret or 
 even the sense of shame. In the mean time a 
 carriage had been sent for her, and the satis- 
 fied pair returned home. Catherine immedi- 
 ately flew to her mother's boudoir, totally for- 
 getful of her usual stately walk, and announced 
 with the greatest delight, the happy termina- 
 tion of her anxiety. All disagreement between 
 mother and daughter was at an end. Vanity, 
 the rei2:ninoc feelino^ of both, was o-ratified. The 
 prospect of diamonds, carriages, and the means 
 of all other worldly gratification, engrossed 
 every thought. As to Lord Davenport he was 
 wholly disregarded ; or if a wish passed through 
 Catherine's mind that he had been better look- 
 ing, or more agreeable, or a little less foolish, 
 she dismissed it directly, considering him merely 
 as the means to an end. 
 
 " For, oh, what a world of vile iU-favoured faults, 
 Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 How much more then would such faults be 
 concealed under sixty thousand ! Matilda, 
 fully aware of the entire uselessness of all 
 remonstrance, determined to make the best 
 of it ; conscious that the safest path is that of 
 silence, she received all remarks without reply,
 
 78 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 and only observed that lier sister had a right to 
 please herself. In this Catherine had perfectly 
 succeeded, for she could no more understand 
 Matilda's noble and generous mind, than the 
 latter could comprehend hers. The one lived 
 for the eyes of the multitude, and could expand' 
 and flourish on envy and admiration, while 
 Geraldine Somerset and Matilda had minds 
 formed to love and be loved. 
 
 " To do good, and live 
 By soft endearments in kind strife, 
 Lightening the load of daily life." 
 
 On her return from London, Geraldine had en- 
 tered with renewed interest on all her duties and 
 occupations. She and her mother were received 
 with the greatest demonstrationof heartfelt joy. 
 The school children met them at the gate of 
 the park. Mothers gazed with affection and 
 blessings as they passed their cottages, and the 
 rector of Staunton, Mr. Delville, with his wife 
 and daughter, were ready as dear friends to 
 receive them. Geraldine sprang from the car- 
 riage into Louisa Delville's extended arms. 
 There was no sense of condescension on one 
 side, or of favour on the other. If Mr. Delville 
 had not been the perfect gentleman, and Mrs. 
 Delville an elegant and refined woman, Mrs. 
 Somerset would have felt, that as the minister 
 of God, and the rector of her village, it was her 
 duty to uphold him in every way. As it was, 
 there existed an equality of mind which ren-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 79 
 
 dered the whole family congenial, and without 
 appearing to do so, Mrs. Somerset contrived in 
 many ways to add to the little luxuries which 
 Mrs. Delville before her marriage had been 
 accustomed to see around her, and to lessen her 
 labours by allowing her daughter to share in the 
 instruction of Geraldine's governess. She w^as 
 ever willing to make Mrs. Delville feel the 
 favour on her side, as her daughter would find 
 a companion a great enjoyment. With the 
 delicacy of real refinement, she seemed the 
 obliged, while in fact she was conferring a last- 
 ing benefit. Nor w^as it lost upon Mrs. Delville, 
 who, though fully sensible of the amiable feelings 
 of her friend, was equally alive to its cause, and 
 accepted with pleasure, what, if done in a dif- 
 ferent w^ay, would have given pain. There is 
 nothing in which vulgarity or refinement is 
 more exhibited than in giving and receiving. 
 The vulgar take pleasure in impressing the obli- 
 gation, in speaking of it, and in self-appreciation ; 
 while refinement desires no return but the con- 
 sciousness of having given pleasure and the satis- 
 faction of lessening anxiety, — the acceptance 
 is considered a witness of afiection and regard. 
 In a noble and generous mind, the obligation is 
 rendered double by the way in which it has 
 been confen-ed ; while in the other case a painful 
 sense of humiliation is occasioned, which in a 
 proud spirit causes anger and rejection ; and 
 in the humble Christian, an acute sense of
 
 80 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 pain, in accepting what is evidently given with- 
 out affection or consideration. "They that 
 would increase must share/' and " there is that 
 scattereth, and yet increaseth.'' 
 
 As neither Mrs. Somerset nor Geraldine had 
 gone to London with any view but that of re- 
 newing old friendships and making new ones, 
 they had returned quite satisfied and happy, 
 although no brilliant match was in prospect, 
 and Louisa Delville listened with much interest 
 to her friend's descriptions of her innocent en- 
 joyments. No envy disturbed their intercourse. 
 Mrs. Somerset would have gladly taken Louisa 
 to London and treated her as a daughter, but 
 her father preferred her remaining at home till 
 her principles were more settled. To her the 
 scene might be more exciting than to Geraldine, 
 who from circumstances had been earlier accus- 
 tomed to mixed society than herself, and Louisa 
 had cheerfully acquiesced in the decision of her 
 parents, whose wishes were always a law to her. 
 Geraldine had not forgotten her. A selfish 
 pleasure was none to her, and many pretty 
 tokens of love found their way to the rectory. 
 The presents were proportioned to their con- 
 nexions, and not to their fortune. God always 
 sends necessaries to those who "walk uprightly \' 
 but as is quaintly observed by a German writer, 
 " though the ravens brought Elijah the food, it 
 was not sent in silver dishes.'' Although silver 
 dishes may be, and are quite unnecessary in a
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 81 
 
 quiet rectory, the absence of tlie little nothings 
 which give a charm to the drawing-room, strikes 
 those who have always been accustomed to 
 them. Delicate minds take pleasure in supply- 
 ing them ; while the vulgar like the poor to 
 look poor, that their own superiority may be 
 more complete. Mis. Watson, to whom Lady 
 Sophia never gave any thing but common vege- 
 tables or old dresses, viewed with much envy 
 and indignation the elegant little drawing-room 
 at Staunton rectory, though she did not think 
 it at all strange, if Mrs. Somerset, who never 
 wished to wound the feelings of any, occasion- 
 ally presented her with some token of remem- 
 brance. Lady Sophia, whose delight was to pa- 
 tronise, and who had never found any opening 
 for the exercise of this favourite passion with 
 the Delvilles, who neither desired to be patro- 
 nised nor cared for neglect, was extremely in- 
 dignant that Louisa Delville should look as nice 
 as her daughter, and she and Mrs. Watson passed 
 much of their time in wondering how and where 
 she got her dress : Mrs. Somerset on one occa- 
 sion found them in vehement discussion as to 
 the price of a gown, in which Louisa had 
 called the day before, and both appealed to her 
 to decide the important point. Mrs. Somerset, 
 shocked at such meanness and want of delicacy, 
 quietly answered that as Mrs. Delville had never 
 asked her to pay her bills, she had not thought 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 it necessaiy to inquire into her expenses \ It 
 was in vain that Lady Sophia endeavoured to 
 find out who sent her boys to school, and who 
 paid the lady's-maid. Mrs. Somerset w^as im- 
 pervious, and found it difficult to bear with such 
 littleness. Such indeed was the nature of most 
 of the nominally religious conversations between 
 Lady Sophia and Mrs. Watson, and her evil in- 
 fluence was daily more and more visible. Colonel 
 Cumberland finding no society at home, gra- 
 dually withdrew himself, and was almost always 
 visiting in the county or on shooting excursions. 
 In consequence of his absence, the sons who 
 were not to go to public schools from the fear 
 of bad association, passed the greatest part of 
 their time in the stables, were j>roud and over- 
 bearing, and, from being constantly with infe- 
 riors, had the most ridiculous notions of their 
 consequence. Their father who at one time had 
 enjoyed their company, now that they had 
 ceased to be interesting as children, took little 
 notice of them, w^hile they regarded him with 
 no affection and little respect. Indeed the 
 eldest often began to think of the time when 
 the "governor,'' the disrespectful term now 
 ajDplied to the endearing name of father, Avould 
 walk off the course. He might be daily seen 
 lounging at the park gates with his hands in 
 his pockets, his cigar in his mouth, jesting with 
 
 1 A fact. 
 
 I
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 83 
 
 and rudely staring at the simple country girls 
 as they passed. The sen^ants hated him, 
 and all persons of refinement avoided him as 
 much as possible. Edith, the daughter, was a 
 sad looking girl ; she saw little of her mother; 
 was denied all books of enteitainment and all 
 amusement, and having no other occupation, 
 became listless and dissatisfied. Mrs. Watson 
 had persuaded Lady Sophia that Geraldine was 
 too worldly-minded, and that her mother was 
 quite unworthy of her friendship. She had even 
 tried to insinuate that Colonel Cumberland's 
 constant visits to Staunton Park were encou- 
 raged by her with feelings which did not do her 
 credit, and many disagreeable scenes between 
 her and her husband were the consequence. 
 Such insinuations did no harm to any body but 
 herself, and she was a miserable woman. ^Irs. 
 Somerset found it impossible to make the least 
 impression, for Mrs. AVatson, well aware that if 
 once Lady Sophia were permitted free inter- 
 course with her superior mind, the influence of 
 truth and knowledge would prevail, instilled so 
 much prejudice against her. that all attempts 
 were vain. She would allow her to read no book 
 but such as she provided for her, so that in entire 
 ignorance of all but narrow-minded writings 
 and party feelings. Lady Sophia was taught to 
 consider all who thought differently to herself 
 in the wrono-. Even the publisher's name was 
 g2
 
 84 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 enough to deter lier from reading a book. She 
 would have received a Bible or Prayer Book 
 with suspicion from Burns, and it is very much 
 to be doubted if she would have read them. 
 Edith was carefully watched, which made her 
 cunning ; and it was with the greatest surprise, 
 that, on meeting her one evening in a distant 
 part of the park, Louisa Delville found herself 
 seized upon with expressions of extreme hap- 
 piness, on their having escaped from parental 
 surveillance. 
 
 *'Why,'' said Louisa, "should you be afraid of 
 your mamma ? I never think of running away 
 from mine, and have no secrets from her/' 
 
 "Oh, but then Mrs. Delville is so different, 
 she and Mrs. Somerset are more like kind elder 
 sisters ! How I do envy you and Geraldine I" 
 
 "Do you not think/' replied Louisa, affection- 
 ately, " that the fault may be partly your own ? 
 Are you quite sure that you try to please your 
 mamma V 
 
 "Lideed I did try,'' said Edith ; "but whenever 
 I went to her room, I found her closeted with 
 that odious Mrs. Watson, and really she is so 
 disagreeable that I cannot bear her. She 
 drives papa from home, disgusts my brothers, 
 and makes me miserable. Oh, how I wish 
 Mr. and Mrs. Delville were her friends instead ! 
 I cannot think how mamma can like her, but all 
 the people she likes are of the same kind. The
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 85 
 
 truth is, that mamma is no longer young or 
 pretty, and likes to be a great lady, and these 
 kind of people flatter her because they benefit 
 byit.- 
 
 " Stop, stop, dear Edith,'' said Louisa, " even 
 if Lady Sophia is mistaken, you should never 
 speak of her in this way. Is she not your mother? 
 and no daughter should publish the faults of a 
 parent, however deeply she may deplore them ; 
 your only remedy is in affection to her, prayer 
 for her, and in forbearance with Mrs. Watson." 
 
 " As to affection, that is quite impossible, for 
 I can never please her. Although I am not 
 allowed to dance, she is always finding fault 
 with me for being awkward and dressing ill, 
 and every thing I do or say is wrong. How 
 can I know what is right or proper from that 
 odious Mrs. Watson, or those dreadful Miss 
 Morningtons, whom she thinks models of fa- 
 shion ? Why, my maid, who lived once with Lady 
 Verney, tells me that they dress like actresses."' 
 
 " Well, dear Edith, I am quite sure that both 
 Geraldine and I shall be most happy to lend 
 you any patterns you may like, and if you will 
 send your maid to the rectoiy, at any time, I 
 will tell our Sarah to show her some of the 
 pretty things Mrs. Somerset brought me from 
 London." 
 
 " But when I have them, mamma will say that 
 I am growing fond of dress ; and Mrs. Watson 
 has already tried all she can to persuade her
 
 86 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 that I ought to make my own clothes, and give 
 what my maid costs to her working society. 
 Mary is quite in despair, as she and her sisters, 
 who are in service, entirely maintain their 
 mother, and apprentice their youngest sister to 
 a dressmaker. I found her crying yesterday, 
 but comforted her by telling her that papa 
 would not allow it : besides you forget how far 
 we are from Staunton, and that I cannot send 
 Mary five miles.'' 
 
 " Well, but when you return our visit of to- 
 day, which Lady Sophia will do, I can show you 
 my presents, and Geraldine is always delighted 
 to give patterns. She has none of the mean- 
 ness which fears to see others like herself How 
 I wish you could see more of her. She is so 
 gentle and superior, that she would do you much 
 more good than I can." 
 
 "So do I, for I have lived with saints till I 
 am tired of them. They are so dull They take 
 all away that is agreeable in this world, and give 
 nothing in return but twaddle. Nothing makes 
 me so cross as the incessant discussion I hear 
 between mamma and Mrs. Watson, as to who is 
 good and who is not ; as far as I can make out 
 they think nobody good but themselves. Be- 
 cause Geraldine looks like a lady, and occasion- 
 ally goes to a ball, she is every thing that is 
 bad ; and you are worse than all, because, as 
 mamma only likes people she can patronise, 
 she is angry thai any body likes you ; that you
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 87 
 
 always look so nice, and your house so pretty, 
 and every thing about you so mucli more as it 
 should be, than it is at home ; and all the time 
 Mrs. "Watson gets all she can out of mamma ; 
 and Mr. Watson tried very hard to have the use 
 of papa's horses, but Charles took good care 
 that he should not succeed ; and when we went 
 away last summer had them turned out to grass. 
 how glad I was ! What would I give to get 
 away !" 
 
 She had fairly talked herself out of breath, 
 and bursting into tears, threw herself on a 
 green bank, and covered her face with her 
 handkerchief Louisa was deeply pained ; for 
 while she was sensible of the truth of much 
 that she had heard, she was equally conscious 
 that it was very wrong in Edith to talk of her 
 mother as she had done, or for herself to listen 
 to it. At the same time she felt that if no 
 allowance were made she might lose all influ- 
 ence, and silently raised a petition for guid- 
 ance to her Father in Heaven, strongly feeling 
 the sin of setting a daughter against her mother. 
 She waited till Edith was more composed, and 
 then kissing her affectionately, said, "I feel 
 very much for you, dear Edith, and the more so, 
 as it grieves me that you should attribute to 
 relio'ion what has nothino' to do with it. The 
 word you speak so lightly, ' saints,' cannot be 
 applied to Mr. and Mrs. Watson. They are, I 
 fear, far from being such, and your mamma is
 
 88 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 too simple-minded to see through them ; but do 
 not, I pray you, confound the beautiful religion 
 taught us by our Saviour, with the opinions of 
 such weak and ignorant people. If you wish to 
 win over Lady Sophia, you must do it by kind- 
 ness and consideration, by making yourself of 
 use to her. Perhaps, if you appeared more to 
 need her love, she would gradually be more 
 disposed to give it. Opposition seldom does 
 good. It is better to undermine than uproot. 
 Counteraction will often cure what violence 
 only injures. Do not be angry if I tell you 
 that you should never talk slightingly of your 
 mamma : try to please her whenever you can 
 without a compromise of principle ; and if she 
 expects what is unreasonable, such as the dis- 
 missal of your maid, or your dressing unlike 
 other people, you can tell her that your papa 
 would not allow it. Above all, pray for God's 
 grace, and you will find it much more easy to 
 bear what is unpleasant, if you once feel that 
 the trial is from God.'' 
 
 " Oh, Louisa ! how I wish I could feel as you 
 do ! I will try to be more like you and Geral- 
 dine ; but somehow, when I meet Mrs. Watson 
 at all hours on the stairs, and see the discom- 
 fort she occasions, it makes me so angry, that I 
 cannot help tossing my head and answering her 
 in a short and rude manner. Charles declares 
 that he will stand it no longer ; and Edward is 
 so stupified, that he seems half an idiot. Even
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 89 
 
 our old butler and housekeeper say that they 
 will leave us if Madam Watson interferes as 
 she does/' 
 
 " Allowing all that you say to be true/' Louisa 
 replied, " patience, submission, and prayer arc 
 your only remedies. Silence will, I assure you, 
 be far better than reproach ; and instead of 
 dwelling upon your mamma's or Mrs. Watson's 
 faults, try to think of your many blessings, and 
 pray, dear Edith, do not encourage the servants 
 in talking of Lady Sophia : it is, I can assure 
 you, very wrong, and it can only injure your- 
 self Much can be done in all difficulties, and 
 if 1 can ever be a comfort to you, I shall be too 
 happy to be so, and so would Mrs. Somerset 
 and Geraldine. Perhaps we may meet oftener 
 than we have done." She then kissed her affec- 
 tionately, and remembering that she had a 
 little book called " A Trap to catch a Sunbeam," 
 she gave it to her. 
 
 At this moment Mr. Delville, who had left 
 Louisa in the park, while he made some pasto- 
 ral visits in a distant part of the parish, was 
 seen in the distance. She ran to join him, and 
 mounting her horse, which the groom was 
 holding, rode away, happy in the perfect love 
 and confidence subsisting between her and her 
 parents, and sad at the recollection of the un- 
 happy girl she had just left. She gave an ac- 
 count of her conversation to her father, anxious 
 to know if she had done right, and received
 
 90 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 with tlie greatest satisfaction his approval. It 
 was a lovely summer's evening ; the moon was 
 shedding its chastened light around them ; the 
 song of the nightingale was the only sound, ex- 
 cept the bleating of a sheep or the bay of a 
 watchdog, as she and Mr. Delville rode side 
 by side, in the calm and peaceful certainty of 
 mutual aifection. He was pleased but not proud 
 to be the father of such a daughter, and felt 
 more than repaid for all the care and anxiety of 
 her education, in seeing her daily " learning to 
 lave that which God commands, and desiring 
 that which He promises.'' As they drew near 
 the rectory, Mrs. Delville was standing on the 
 lawn, surrounded by a group of merry, well- 
 ordered children, delighted to welcome them. 
 Many glances of affection had shed their genial 
 influence on them as they passed through their 
 village ; for Mr. and Mrs. Delville lived among 
 their people ; they gave their time and thoughts 
 to their spiritual and temporal wants. Mrs. 
 Somerset and her daughter were always ready 
 to second them in every good work, their hearts 
 and purses equally open to the cry or need of 
 the poor. It was impossible for any school to be 
 better ordered. The children were not made to 
 feel their dependence by any particular dress : 
 they were required to be neat and clean. By 
 the assistance of clothing-clubs and other means, 
 by the constant occupation given to the parents, 
 and by the absence of intemperance, their wages
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 91 
 
 enabled them to dress respectably. They were 
 taught to read well, to write a good hand, keep 
 accounts, and well grounded in Scriptural and 
 practical truth. Their duty to God and their 
 neighbour was made really comprehensible. 
 Mrs. Somerset felt that she had thus secured 
 to them the power of gaining their living 
 honestly, and that if any had superior talents, 
 the improvement of then:^^ and consequent ele- 
 vation in the scale of society, was in their 
 power. While none were made to feel them- 
 selves contemptible because of their poverty, 
 but, on the contrary, self-respect was strongly 
 inculcated, she left talents and merit to work 
 their own way. If real, and equal to the sup- 
 position, they invariably bring their reward ; 
 but talent without industiy or discretion is as 
 a sword without a sheath ; and the instilling 
 high notions into the lower classes where there 
 is neither power, talent, nor money, is a cruel 
 and mistaken kindness. In Staunton village 
 means of all sorts were given, events were left 
 to God. The boys were taught trades, or put 
 into farmers' houses ; the girls were fitted to be 
 useful servants, not vulgar iine ladies, but good 
 wives and mothers, able to make their own 
 clothes, cook their husbands' dinners, and make 
 their shirts, instead of sitting with their hands 
 before them to look genteel, dying of ennui,
 
 92 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 and dreaming of sin \ The duties of the Church 
 were so zealously performed by Mr. Delville and 
 his curate, and they were so universally beloved, 
 that no dissenting meeting was to be seen at 
 Staunton ; while in the smaller village of Lang- 
 dale there were two, and the church almost 
 deserted. Twice during the week his people 
 assembled in the evening, that being the time 
 when the working classes can find time to 
 attend, and he was rewarded by seeing himself 
 surrounded by his parishioners, who knew that 
 it might be said of their pastor, as was once 
 said of another, that "his sermons were his 
 text, and his life the sermon." The effect was 
 visible. Instead of revelling in drunkenness at 
 the alehouse, of which sinks of iniquity only 
 one for necessary supplies existed, in Staunton 
 the labourers came to church. By a judicious 
 selection of books for lending, amusement was 
 provided for the idle hours of the winter even- 
 ing. In the summer every healthy and innocent 
 recreation was encouraged, and by thus filling 
 up the vacant mind, no space was left for ill 
 weeds to grow : 
 
 *' For Satan finds some mischief still 
 For idle hands to do." 
 
 ^ In one case known to the author, the ladies'- maids were 
 obliged to take to embroidery and cross-stitch, to pass the time 
 which they were too grand to give to their duties.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 93 
 
 If, instead of providing so many receptacles 
 for vice, more care were thus taken to prevent 
 their necessity — if half the money given to 
 charitahle institutions were spent in increasing 
 the means of employment, minds would be 
 elevated, rather than depressed, as they are, 
 by a sense of degradation as objects of charity. 
 " The shilling earned gives far more pleasure 
 than ten given \' and the parent or sister sup- 
 ported by the industry of the son, brother, or 
 sister, regards herself with far more happy feel- 
 ings than the miserable inmate of the work- 
 house. The charity may be less conspicuous, but 
 is more in accordance with that inculcated by 
 our Saviour. Little do we know how exten- 
 sively it ranges, how the circles widen, how a 
 good character which secures a good place is 
 more than money. A dress made out as a first 
 step to some young dressmaker, even at the 
 risk of its being less well made, may perhaps 
 be the means of support to a whole family, 
 when a five-pound note would have only given 
 temporary relief There is more trouble in this 
 method, and many would shrink from it. The 
 condescending kindness which gives a guinea, 
 the loss of which is not felt, is far easier. The 
 look of a name printed in large letters in a list 
 of subscriptions may be more gratifying to a 
 proud mind ; but those who sacrifice time and 
 thought with the desire of helping others to
 
 94 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 help themselves, exhibit a much higher degree 
 of benevolence. 
 
 The sick or afflicted were never forgotten at 
 Staunton. Both Geraldine and Louisa passed 
 many an hour in reading to the aged, comforting 
 the sad, and ministering to the sick ; but they 
 never felt justified in intruding at all times 
 into the cottages of their dependents, merely be- 
 cause they were poor, or in requiring an account 
 of the expenditure of money fairly their own. 
 
 We must now return from this long digres- 
 sion to Edith, whom we left lying on the bank 
 at the departure of Mr. Delville and Louisa. 
 For a time her mind seemed impressed with 
 what Louisa had said ; and she read the little 
 book, and acknowledged to herself that things 
 which are disagreeable are rendered more or 
 less so by the way in which we take them, and 
 that, by a httle eifort on our part to soften 
 others, many rough edges may be removed. She 
 made many good resolutions, but she was with- 
 out an acting principle, and consequently easily 
 turned from her purpose. For a few days she 
 endeavoured to follow Louisa's advice. Her 
 manner was more gentle to her mother, more 
 courteous to Mrs. Watson ; she devoted more of 
 her time to books and work, and was more 
 orderly in her dress and arrangements ; but 
 finding that all her endeavours passed unob- 
 served, she gradually relapsed into her old
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 95 
 
 habits, forgetting that in her duties the first 
 object was the praise of God, and not of man. 
 If this principle were more inculcated, how 
 much oftener real characters would be seen ! 
 What " the J say " is unfortunately of much 
 greater importance than what the Bible says. 
 It is the destruction of thousands. It would be 
 well if the standard of truth were made our test ; 
 by that, and that alone, we shall be tried here- 
 after. . If boys at school have not learned the 
 grammar used, however the}^ may fancy them- 
 selves instructed, they are found wanting in 
 their examinations ; and so it will be hereafter. 
 It is the grammar of the Bible we must learn, 
 not the grammar of the world. The one is the 
 truth as it is in Jesus ; the other a delusion, and 
 a fearful one. 
 
 A few weeks after Louisa's conversation with 
 Edith, Charles Cumberland met his sister on 
 the stairs, and seizing her by the hand, dragged 
 her into the library. He declared that she was 
 moped to death, and proposed a plan for her 
 amusement, which, he added, would drive non- 
 sense out of her head. He then went on to tell 
 her that a regiment was quartered at AVinton, 
 a town about five miles ofi*, that there were 
 capital good fellows in it, and that she should 
 have some rides ; moreover, that Mrs. Storeton, 
 the coloners wife, was to give a ball, and that 
 it would be fine fun to have her there ; indeed.
 
 96 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 that he had promised to bring her under a 
 feigned name. Edith at first was disposed to 
 be shocked. An innate feeling of delicacy made 
 her shrink from the plan ; but the total absence 
 of all confidence in her mother, and the pleasure 
 of setting Mrs. Watson at defiance, gradually 
 chased away her better feelings, and she con- 
 sented. How often are young people thus led 
 to ruin, and how many are lost for the sake of 
 a joke, or what is falsely called a bit of fun. 
 While Edith thought only of the pleasure of 
 deceiving others, she was herself under " a delu- 
 sion to believe a lie.'' The very men for whom 
 she was thus sacrificing all delicacy of feeling 
 would be the first to despise her, and to turn 
 her into ridicule. The girls with whom men 
 laugh and flirt are seldom chosen as wives ; and 
 while their own wives and daughters or sisters 
 are carefully guarded, the former are encou- 
 raged for a momentary amusement to do what 
 in their hearts they despise, and what they 
 would rather die than see done by those they 
 love. No men are so particular about their 
 daughters as those who have been most irregu- 
 lar themselves. They know the world, and 
 rdead it ; and from having been accustomed to 
 minds without delicacy or refinement, can 
 scarcely imagine, much less understand, the 
 natural feelings of propriety, which, when ma- 
 tured by a right feeling mother and education,
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 97 
 
 become too pure to understand the motives 
 which influence others, or the manners and 
 ideas of less delicate or cultivated minds. Edith 
 rode well and o-racefullv, for in the art of ridino* 
 her father had instructed her ; and in the happy 
 days when he shared in his children's innocent 
 pleasures, his delight had been to see her on her 
 pony, and accompany her in her rides. Now he 
 was driven from his cold and comfortless home, 
 where, under the mask of religion, Lady Sophia, 
 who believed herself sincere and was uncon- 
 scious of her selfish indulgence, was led to give 
 up reality and all domestic enjoyment for the 
 opinions of persons whose interest it was to 
 maintain them. 
 
 Charles Cumberland fixed the next day for 
 the first ride. The habit was to be sent to the 
 lodge, and the horse to wait outside the gate. 
 It was sad to think that Edith could condescend 
 to so degrading a proceeding, as inconsistent 
 with the dignity of her character as wicked for 
 its deception. It was a bright day, and with 
 the uncomfortable feelings of all who in the 
 slightest degree depart from integrity, she crept 
 out through a back door, and found her maid, 
 in whose power she was obliged to put hei^self, 
 at the lodge. Even Mary felt the impropriety 
 of the proceeding, and gently insinuated that 
 Mr. Charles was not a safe guide for her. But 
 Edith's spirit was up ; she could see no great 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 harm in the ride, and she was sure that it 
 would do her good. Her brother had declared 
 that the officers were gentlemen ; if so, it was 
 even worse, for what would they think ? She 
 stopped one minute before she passed the gate, 
 half afraid to proceed ; but Charles caught her 
 by the arm, and dragged her forward. It is an 
 old saying that " in doing right, it is the first 
 step that costs ;" but in doing wrong, it is the 
 last. When the consequences are felt, we look 
 back with bitter regret to the first dereliction 
 from the path of duty. It is seldom that it is 
 retrieved. The world is the severest of all 
 judges. It stands by and laughs while the 
 barque is hastening to destruction. It watches 
 its movements, but stretches no hand to save; 
 and when it sinks or is dashed upon a rock, 
 stays not a minute to rescue the drowning crew. 
 They are only condemned for their folly in 
 trusting themselves to so frail a vessel. Edith 
 was soon equipped and mounted, and she and 
 her brother dashed gaily down the hill from the 
 park gate, where they found a large party 
 waiting for them. Fortunately for Edith, the 
 colonel, who had once known her father, and 
 who had some regard to her reputation, had 
 persuaded his wife to accompany them, so that 
 altogether she was better protected than could 
 have been expected, and all passed ofi" quietly. 
 For several days the same plan was pursued.
 
 THE THKEE PATHS. 99 
 
 and arrangements were made for the ball. This 
 was more difficult, as Edith had no dress fit for 
 the occasion, and her allowance had hitherto 
 been a small one. Recourse was again had to 
 falsehood ; and under the pretence of ordering 
 some books and music, she persuaded her father 
 to give her ten pounds. During one of the 
 rides, Mrs. Storeton took her to a mantua-maker 
 in Winton, and passing her off for her niece, 
 ordered her dress. She also showed her the 
 figure of a quadrille at her lodgings ; and though 
 her movements were rather awkward, she hoped 
 to pass tolerably in a crowd. The difficulty was, 
 how to get out without detection. She was 
 scarcely known at Winton, and had only been 
 occasionally at the Abbey or Staunton Park, 
 the inhabitants of which places or of the Rec- 
 tory would certainly not be present, so that she 
 had no fear of being recognized. Charles had 
 no scruples, and it was agreed that advantage 
 should be taken of an evening in which Lady 
 Sophia was to attend a working-party at Mrs. 
 Watson's, from which she always returned late, 
 and never thought of inquiring for Edith. She 
 was to dress at Mrs. Storeton's. One of the 
 servants was to sit up for them ; and as Charles 
 often stayed out late, a slight noise would ex- 
 cite no suspicion. Colonel Cumberland had 
 been absent for some weeks, and his return 
 home likely to be at a distant period, and 
 H 2
 
 100 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 Edward was too stupid to be feared. Edith 
 passed the day in great trepidation, but the 
 evening came at last ; and as soon as Lady 
 Sophia and her shadow, Mrs. Watson, were 
 fairly out of sight, Charles came to her room, 
 and they walked to a small gate leading out 
 of the garden, where a carriage was waiting for 
 them. They soon arrived at Winton. The ball 
 was to be held in a large room at the only inn 
 in the town. Edith, when dressed, looked very- 
 pretty and elegant, and, as the supposed niece of 
 the colonel, received great attention. Still she 
 was not happy. Conscience would be heard, and 
 the fear of discovery oppressed her spirits. Ap- 
 parently all passed off pleasantly. She and 
 Mrs. Storeton parted with mutual professions of 
 aifection, while both in their hearts despised 
 the other. As the elder and a married woman^ 
 Mrs. Storeton was more to blame. She ought 
 to have been the last to have encouraged Charles 
 in so disgraceful a frolic ; but she was neither 
 a religious nor a refined woman, and cared little 
 for any thing but pleasure. All prospered ac- 
 cording to the wishes of the party, till, on their 
 arrival at home, they were horrified at finding 
 their father had returned, and was waiting for 
 them. Edith turned as pale as ashes, and 
 trembled so violently, that she could not stand ; 
 while Charles, like all mean spirits, would have 
 gladly slunk away, and left his sister to bear
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 101 
 
 all the reproach of her foolish and improper 
 conduct. To this his father would not consent, 
 and he ordered him to walk into the library, 
 while he led Edith by the hand. Looking se- 
 verely at Charles, he said, " Sir, a brother should 
 be the protector of his sister ; her name should 
 be sacred in his mouth ; but you have made her 
 a by-word, an object of contempt and ridicule, 
 where she should have been regarded as above 
 being mentioned. Do not for a moment suppose 
 that you have escaped detection ; for having 
 looked into the ball-room when I was waiting for 
 supper, and seen your sister dancing, I heard her 
 called by another name, and spoken of as the 
 colonel's niece. I therefore silently and sorrow- 
 fully withdrew, unwilling to betray her publicly, 
 and was most unavoidably a party to a conver- 
 sation among the officers, for whose amusement 
 you had thus paraded Edith. It would be 
 beneath me as a gentleman to repeat all the 
 remarks on you both which I heard. It is 
 enough for me to say that they were far from 
 complimentary. I thank them so far that it has 
 opened my eyes to the necessity of securing to 
 you, sir, the education of a gentleman, and of 
 controlling Edith's actions more than I have 
 done hitherto." 
 
 Charles was much disposed to indulge in 
 furious expressions against the officers, and 
 declared that he would call them out.
 
 102 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 "You must then/' replied his father, "call out 
 half the regiment ; for nearly the whole of them 
 were assembled, and the conversation was so 
 loud that it w^as impossible for me not to hear 
 through the slight partition that intervened. 
 Although I greatly blame Colonel Storeton for 
 allowing his wife to take any part in the affair, 
 I cannot but think that it will be more to your 
 sister's credit, not to have her brought before 
 the public as the object of a duel, and to pass 
 by in silence what I am not supposed to have 
 heard. My return was accidental, in conse- 
 quence of my friend's being called away ; and I 
 only stopped at tlie inn for half an hour, think- 
 ing that I should not be at home in time for 
 supper. I little expected to find my daughter 
 out at such an hour, and in such company. 
 You may both retire. To-morrow shall not pass 
 without arrangements, which will I hope secure 
 better conduct in future.'' 
 
 Too glad to escape so easily, Charles marched 
 off in a sulky manner ; while Edith, burning 
 with shame, slowly crept up stairs, and closing 
 the door, threw herself on the bed in an agony 
 of tears. The folly of her conduct presented 
 itself in its true light. The degradation to 
 which she had exposed herself, the shocking 
 example she had given her young maid, the 
 triumph to Mrs. Watson, like so many spectres, 
 arrayed themselves before her. Then she re- 
 
 1
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 103 
 
 membered all Louisa had said ; compared her 
 gentle and refined manners, and modest deport- 
 ment, with those of the bold and vulgar women 
 she had left ; and her heart died within her. In 
 an agony of shame and distress she threw her- 
 self on her knees, and earnestly prayed for for- 
 giveness and strength for the future. She arose 
 comforted and calmed. She had turned to the 
 true refuge, and had not been rejected. How 
 much suffering would be avoided if we oftener 
 thus confided our sin and sorrow to God, instead 
 of running to our fellow-creatures ! 
 
 Colonel Cumberland was what is called a 
 respectable man of the world. He was conse- 
 quently much more distressed at his daughter's 
 conduct as an offence against society, than 
 morality. If he could prevent the disagreeable 
 consequences of the foolish affair, he cared little 
 for the fault ; and most fortunately for this 
 wish, the regiment was ordered abroad in a few 
 days. As he had positively forbidden his son to 
 mention his knowledge of what had past, the old 
 butler and Mary having promised silence, he 
 trusted that it might not become a subject of 
 conversation. Edith in her rides, and at the ball, 
 had passed for Mrs. Storeton's niece, on a visit 
 to Langdale Park ; so that her being with Charles 
 Cumberland had excited little surprise in the in- 
 ferior set of a small county town like Winton, 
 where less strictness in association and habits
 
 104 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 would be observed than among persons of a 
 different sphere. From Lady Sophia the whole 
 business was studiously concealed. Mrs. Watson, 
 although her piercing eyes discovered some 
 secret, vainly endeavoured to penetrate it ; and 
 Mary, whom she closely questioned, hated her 
 too cordially to betray her young mistress. 
 
 It was however necessary to take some de- 
 cisive step to remedy so much evil, and prevent 
 the recurrence of such scenes ; and Colonel 
 Cumberland boldly announced his determina- 
 tion of sending Edith to school for a year, and 
 Charles to college. Lady Sophia was at first 
 very angry, and many consultations took place 
 between her and her confidante on the subject ; 
 but finding resistance vain, consent was forced, 
 rather than given ; and it was decided that 
 Edith should be sent to a fashionable school at 
 Brighton, under certain restrictions. She was 
 to learn to dance steps, but not figures ; a 
 minuet, but on no account a quadrille. The 
 ridicule such an absurd order brought upon her 
 was immense, for how was it possible that com- 
 mon sense could see the difference between a 
 slow or a quick motion, more especially as in 
 Eastern countries the dances considered so ob- 
 jectionable are all of the slow kind. 
 
 A sharp, pert girl at the school, whenever 
 she met Edith, raised her fingers before her, 
 first slow and then quick, asking her which she
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 105 
 
 thought most correct. She was on no account 
 to wear more than two flounces, and they were 
 to be narrow, as Mrs. Watson pronounced three 
 wide ones inconsistent. On the evening when 
 the parents of the girls came to see them dance, 
 Edith was to go to bed. On the Sunday she 
 was to attend a particular church, as there was 
 only one out of twelve or fourteen where truth 
 was preached. One was a Puseyite, another 
 only fit for lawyers and fashionable people, and 
 another might do as a stepping-stone \ Edith 
 felt deeply the absurdity of such regulations ; but 
 the lady under whose care she was placed was 
 a sensible woman ; and she so strongly repre- 
 sented to Colonel Cumberland their evil conse- 
 quences, that he interfered ; and Mrs. Jervis was 
 allowed to follow her own judicious arrange- 
 ments. With her every thing was to be done 
 on principle. Display, or the desire to surpass 
 others, formed no part of her system. The 
 duty of obedience was strongly inculcated. 
 The desire to do right, and not emulation, was 
 her standard. Talents were considered as a 
 gift of Grod, to be improved for his glory, and 
 not for the admiration of our fellow-creatures. 
 Accomplishments were taught as the mental 
 luxury of the rich ; as the occupation which 
 
 * Ridiculous as these restrictions may appear, the relation is 
 a fact ; and the mischief done to the ignorant by such to the 
 real cause is incalculable.
 
 106 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 takes the place of manual labour among the 
 poor, when more important duties are not called 
 out. Dancing was regarded as an innocent and 
 healthy amusement, suitable to youthful spirits, 
 a means of giving grace to the carriage, and 
 an additional charm to conversation, by the at- 
 traction of manner. Many a word of admonition 
 or instruction will be received from one of 
 pleasing manner and expression, which would be 
 carelessly passed by, but for the opportunity 
 thus afforded. If older persons remembered 
 our Saviour's prayer for his disciples, — " And 
 now / am no more in the world, but these are 
 in the world, I pray not that thou shouldest 
 take them out of the world, but that thou 
 shouldest keep them from the evil,'' — the young 
 would not be driven from religion as they are. 
 His example Avould make it as lovely to them, 
 as it is now often hateful. To the old and 
 afflicted the world appears in its true colours, 
 but the young and gay cannot see it with 
 the same eyes. If they were therefore more 
 guided than driven, we should soon see them 
 cease to take pleasure in that which pleases 
 for a while, but in a very short time to a culti- 
 vated mind or an affectionate heart becomes 
 weariness. It has been wisely and well said, 
 that the education of life perfects "the thinking 
 mind, and only degrades the frivolous." Seeing 
 is believing. The character of our Saviour is
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 107 
 
 beautifully drawn by Bishop Patrick ; and as 
 the object of this story is to do good, rather 
 than to amuse for an hour, the good bishop 
 shall speak for himself. "And first, I must set 
 this Jesus before your eyes as one that was 
 dead to these outward things, while He lived 
 among them ; and that withdrew his heart 
 fi'om the world, while He conversed with it. He 
 was not a person cloistered and retired from the 
 society of men ; He led not an anchorite's life, 
 which obliged Him to shun their company ; 
 nor did He put on a sullen gravity that should 
 affright men from his fellowship ; but He used 
 the greatest freedom, and treated men with such 
 familiarity, that He invited them into it. He did 
 eat and drink as other men do ; He refused not 
 their invitations, when they were desirous to en- 
 tertain Him ; and even at a marriage He denied 
 not to be a guest, when his presence was welcome 
 to them. He walked into cities and towns, but 
 kept Himself still as unspotted from the world, 
 as He were in a wilderness. He Hved in the 
 thickest of its temptations, but none of them 
 could fasten or stick upon Him. He lived in the 
 sense of the spiritual world, while He was a man 
 of this ; and encompassed about with our infir- 
 mities. He was a stranger to all the evil man- 
 ners and customs of men, while He was familiar 
 with themselves ; and He testified against their 
 wicked deeds while He kept them company ;
 
 108 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 nay, He purified many by liis example, remain- 
 ing uncorrupted by any of theirs. And truly 
 such a life it is we should lead. This I would 
 have you to think is the more perfect life, and 
 more like to our Saviour's, and therefore aspire 
 to it : and stay not in solitude any longer than 
 to fit you and prepare yourself for this. And 
 tell me, I beseech you, do you not think it pos- 
 sible for a man to leave his heart in the world, 
 when his legs and arms are out of it ? May it 
 not dwell in his fancy when he sees it not with 
 his eyes. May he not please himself in the 
 shadow and image of his old friend, which he 
 says is dead and buried. May not one leave 
 his soul behind, when he withdraws his body 
 from all the world ? I wish there be not many 
 of such religious men and women ; as, on the 
 contrary, I hope there be not a few whose minds 
 and hearts are shut up from the world, though 
 they are with it every day ; who have made 
 a cloister for their souls, while their bodies are 
 at liberty ; who bridle their appetites, and lay 
 restraints on their desires, though they live at 
 large. Consider, therefore, how ridiculous it is 
 to imitate another sort of men, who, hearing 
 us, speak of forsaking the world, and renouncing 
 all its pomps and vanities ; imagine that they 
 should throw away their rich garments, forbear 
 the civility of a compliment, or so much as 
 a salutation, with abundance of such follies.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 109 
 
 AVhat have these things done that we should 
 revenge ourselves upon them ? What is their 
 guilt that we should be so severe and fierce 
 upon them ? No, we must turn the blow 
 another way. We must cut off our affections 
 from these worldly enjoyments ; we must walk 
 in the flesh, but not after it. We may feel its 
 desires, but not follow them. We must labour 
 to become poor in the midst of abundance, to 
 be humble in high places ; to be temperate 
 amongst the baits of pleasure. To use those 
 things well which custom has abused ; to think 
 of ourselves in fine clothes, just as we did before 
 they came on our backs ; and, in a few words, 
 to withdraw ourselves from all the inveiglements 
 of the world, not in the common way of re- 
 moving our persons, but by remo\dng it from 
 our esteem and affections. I cannot see by what 
 merit the secluse do assume to themselves the 
 title of religion more than others ; seeing that 
 they give a far greater proof of their virtue who 
 are in the world, and the world not in them, 
 than those in whom indeed the world is not, 
 but they also are not in the world. It is more 
 glorious to beat an enemy than to fly from him ; 
 and it requires a greater spirit to maintain a 
 breach, than to hold out within the walls \'' 
 This is the true spirit of the Gospel; but the 
 
 ' •' The Parable of the Pilgrim," by Bishop Patrick.
 
 ] 1 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 standard is so high, that few can attain unto 
 it ; and vet " he who aimeth at the sky, has 
 more chance of hitting the bush than he that 
 aims below it,' 
 
 We bring down our Saviour to our compre- 
 hension ; and because we cannot and will not 
 trv to walk as He walked, make Him as one of 
 ourselves. How much more beautiful is that 
 holiness, which, Uke the sun, shines on the evil 
 and on the good ; and while impaning life and 
 wannth to alk loses none of its own. 
 
 L
 
 CHAf1[£:R T. 
 
 thiiiwiiiimwiii 
 
 afn»5L- 
 
 WSSOBD 
 
 TT- 
 
 ; <sxM OS 
 
 lee- iTui. 
 
 .mtfniL.
 
 112 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 would be vain. All that she valued would be 
 hers. She might have parts, but had no un- 
 derstanding ; and she was more gratified by 
 the stupid astonishment, and weak admiration 
 of persons wholly indifferent to her, than with 
 all that heart and head would give. She lived 
 for externals, of the life within she knew 
 nothing ; so that it was useless to represent 
 what she could not understand. Lord Cornbury 
 was in a constant state of merriment. Losing 
 all sense of propriety, or of the fearful sacrifice 
 of happiness his sister was about to make to 
 the shrine of vanity, he indulged himself in the 
 most inexcusable expressions of ridicule. Lord 
 Davenport was remarkable for his sallow com- 
 plexion and small stature. He scarcely reached 
 Catherine's shoulder when he walked by her 
 side ; while she seemed desirous to make the 
 inequality more conspicuous, by drawing her- 
 self up to her full height. Lord Cornbury would 
 appear at the breakfast-table with a faded lily 
 and a full-blown rose in the button-hole of his 
 coat. He harnessed a pony with a large horse 
 in his phaeton, under pretence of breaking him 
 in, and occasionally asked his sister if she were 
 not afraid of stepping over Lord Davenport. 
 Catherine generally treated his remarks with 
 silent contempt, in which she was fully justi- 
 fied, as her brother was inexcusable in the 
 expression of such feelings, now that the mar-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. ITS 
 
 riage was settled. Sometimes she would retort 
 upon him ; and as he was particularly amiable 
 in his manners with all who approached him, 
 observed with a supercilious smile, " I expect, 
 Cornbury, Avith your noble ideas, that I shall 
 see you marry the steward's daughter, and 
 Matilda walking off with a country curate ; — 
 I cannot stoop to such creatures/' 
 
 " Well, Catherine, when we do, our first visit 
 shall be to Davenport Castle. I shall come in a 
 buggy ; and as to Matilda, a pillion behind her 
 husband will suit her best.'' 
 
 Catherine drew up her short upper lip, 
 snuffed the air with her expanded nostrils, and 
 with a dignified look retired to console herself, 
 not with Lord Davenport, but with her maid. 
 The contemplation of wedding dresses, jewels, 
 and the delightful thought of soon being her 
 own mistress, quickly drove away all recollection 
 of her brother's raillery. As to her future hus- 
 band, she never for a moment dreamed of 
 his being otherwise than an attendant when 
 needed, or her humble slave at other times. 
 Matilda, Geraldine Somerset, Louisa Delville, 
 and Edith Cumberland were to be her brides- 
 maids. She thought it rather condescending 
 to ask Louisa, but the hope of astonishing her 
 with her magnificence, reconciled her to the 
 idea. Lord Davenport's two sisters were to 
 complete the number. Catherine knew little 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 ]14 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 of Louisa's real feeling. Of envy she was inca- 
 pable ; and when she compared her high-minded, 
 holy, and intellectual father with the silly 
 Lord Davenport, and her gentle and refined 
 mother with the proud and ignorant Lady 
 Rockingham, she thought of her humble home 
 with rapture, and would not have exchanged it 
 for all that rank and riches could have given, 
 unless accompanied by higher endowments. 
 There was a simple air of elegance and refine- 
 ment surrounding it, which mind alone can 
 give ; and though this is generally visible in 
 the mansions of the great, it was not to be 
 found at the Abbey, where the presiding ge- 
 nius was so unsuitable, excepting in Matilda's 
 private apartment, where the same spirit pre- 
 vailed. 
 
 The eventful day at length arrived. It was 
 a lovely May morning ; all nature seemed re- 
 joicing, while art shared in her sunshine, but 
 not in her grace. There was little of nature in 
 Catherine, but Matilda's tears flowed freely. 
 In her it had formed the heart, which grace 
 had perfected ; while art, which forms the sur- 
 face, and is exercised but for the eyes of men, 
 was all that her sister possessed. Guests ar- 
 rived. The children of the village school, all 
 newly arrayed for the occasion, strewed flowers 
 on the churchyard path. Carriages-and-four 
 rolled gaily along. A bishop performed the
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 115 
 
 ceremony, for how could any less dignified 
 churchman marry Lady Catherine Mertoun. 
 The bride, dressed in all the splendour of white 
 satin and lace, entered the church, leaning on 
 her father's arm. The bridesmaids, in white, 
 followed, and a long procession of grandeur 
 and indifference brought up the rear. While 
 many eyes rested on Catherine's majestic figure 
 for a minute, they turned with a feeling of re- 
 pose upon the gentle Matilda, the graceful and 
 intellectual Geraldine, the modest and elegant 
 Louisa, and the quiet and unpretending Edith. 
 The Ladies Granby, Lord Davenport's sisters, 
 were mere fashionable fine ladies, with nothing 
 to interest or recommend them but their dress. 
 The villagers had no sympathy with them ; but 
 Matilda had too often visited the fatherless and 
 widows in their affliction, not to be an object of 
 love and prayer. There was no child in the 
 school who had not felt the influence of her 
 kindness and instruction. Geraldine, who in 
 her visits to the Abbey had always shared in 
 her works of love, was with herself regarded 
 with the most devoted affection. The cere- 
 mony proceeded, but where was the prayer that 
 flows from the heart? How could the bless- 
 ing of God rest upon such a union ? No ! The 
 world might smile and envy, the newspaper 
 spread far and wide the gorgeous array ; but 
 the sacrifice to the shrine of wealth and gold, 
 I 2
 
 316 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 where no affection or respect cements tlie bond, 
 is not reo^istered in heaven. All was over. 
 Marriages, christenings, executions, and fu- 
 nerals are soon over. The crowd disperses, and 
 the actors and sufferers are forgotten. The 
 bride may have been made miserable or happy 
 for life ; the criminal, for we dare not limit 
 God's mercy, saved or lost; and the dead de- 
 parted from the mourner for ever, and yet the 
 world goes on as before. The crowd disperses, 
 and our fellow-creatures in life or death are as 
 nothing to it. How much oftener might the 
 mourners return from the funeral with smiles, 
 than the bridal party. The one has entered 
 into rest, if death has been met in the Chris- 
 tian's hope; but the other is too frequently the 
 beginning of sorrow, and often ends in an un- 
 blessed death. 
 
 A splendid dejeuner awaited the party at 
 the Abbey. The park resounded with rejoicing. 
 Sounds of merriment by no means the effect of 
 natural, but consequent upon the excitement 
 of ardent, spirits, disturbed the peace of the 
 village. Lord and Lady Davenport drove off, 
 as is usual, in a chariot-and-four, in the midst 
 of shouts and acclamations. Matilda and her 
 sister bridesmaids regarded her with kindness 
 and compassion. The Ladies Granby thought 
 too much of themselves to care for others, and 
 were engaged in flirting, hoping that their turn
 
 117 
 
 miglit be Hie next Editk was sad, 
 
 the bride was hidj aS, ledred widi MaliMai to 
 
 her quiel room to weep and to 
 
 •«Wet«far] 
 
 The reception of tlie noble Marqins and 
 Marchioneas at Bawenport Cb^lle, was sndi as 
 might be expected. Bonfires, feasting games 
 of all kinds aboonded. The bdls rang menSfy, 
 those bells whidi ring for all tbinga^ — 
 
 The erening dosed amidst tbe soonds of re- 
 velry and mirtb. Two bands bad been nnited 
 in the morning. Two beads bad ratified tbe 
 treaty. Hearts bad nerer existed. Nor were 
 there any beating hearts at Baxenport. Tbeie 
 was no relation between landlord and tenant, 
 no widow's blessing or prayeiSy no thanks 
 from the poor, no child's loTa No soeb fet^ 
 ings had taken root All was cold solemn 
 grandenr. Alwajs firom home, Lord BaTen- 
 port's tenants paid their rents, not like the 
 drops to return in refiresbing showers on than- 
 selv es, but to go to tbe race-course, the gam- 
 bling-table^ and tbe opera-dancer ; encouraging 
 the pleasures of sin, which are but tor a mo- 
 ment, and forsaking all those pure and holy 
 enjoyments which —
 
 118 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 ** Like the dew-drops in glory reset, 
 'Mid the jewels of heaven are glittering yet. 
 Then are we not taught by each beautiful ray, 
 To mourn not earth's fair things, tho' passing away. 
 For tho' youth of its beauty and brightness be riven, 
 All that withers on earth, blooms more sweetly in heaven." 
 
 Like all weak people, Lord Davenport was 
 the victim of the cunning of others, and his 
 own vanity. From the fear of being thought 
 careful of his money, he threw it away on 
 worthless things and still more worthless peo- 
 ple, who flattered and toadied him. None are 
 so mean as the extravagant. They have plenty 
 to throw away and nothing to give. What is 
 in the world called a fine generous spirit, is in 
 fact nothing more than recklessness and selfish- 
 ness. The man who gives what belongs to his 
 tradespeople and servants, is little better than 
 a thief. While he lavishes thousands on his 
 pleasures, he leaves honest people to starve. 
 " He that giveth to the poor, lendeth unto the 
 Lord ; and look, whatsoever he layeth out shall 
 be paid him again ;'" but " he that oppresseth 
 the poor to increase his riches, and he that 
 giveth to the rich shall surely come to want." 
 What is it but oppressing the poor, to leave 
 just debts unpaid, while we are entertaining 
 the rich at the expense of others. The poor 
 man is laughed at for his folly, and the rich and 
 great for some other reason. The world would 
 go to neither, but for its own amusement. As 
 regards the poor, the fear of hurting the feel-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 119 
 
 ings of others will sometimes influence a deli- 
 cate mind, wliile tlie lovers of good eating will 
 go any where for the sake of a dinner, or rather 
 than stay at home alone ; but the moment 
 that misfortune shuts the door of hospitality, 
 the loss of self-gratification shuts the door of 
 desire, which is turned to the next open house, 
 with a total forgetfulness of the nominal friend, 
 who has believed himself the object of regard. 
 Then it is that real and false profession appears. 
 The Christian hastens to the deserted hall of 
 pleasure, to the sick or sorrowing, in whose 
 prosperous hours he has borne a part ; while the 
 miserable worldly mind shrinks from contact 
 with what brings reality before him, and buries 
 the past obligation in oblivion. And yet for 
 such all real comfort and happiness is too often 
 sacrificed. But to return to Lady Davenport. 
 For a few days she found amusement in putting 
 her house in order, and in contemplating her 
 grandeur and magnificence ; but this soon led 
 to the desire of exhibition, and she longed to 
 show herself as mistress of the Castle. She 
 had no interest in the beautiful scenery around 
 her, no companionship in her husband; and 
 occasionally, even the Marchioness of Daven- 
 port and sixty thousand a year could feel ennui, 
 and long for the gentle Matilda as a patient 
 listener. After a fortnight had passed her so- 
 litude became insupportable, and the constant 
 contemplation of the very disagreeable hus-
 
 120 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 band to whom she had consigned herself, pro- 
 bably for life, became hateful to her. As is 
 generally the case with weak people, he was 
 very obstinate, and from having been trained 
 with the highest sense of his own importance, 
 was far from unconscious of the advantages he 
 had conferred. It was only by attacking his 
 vanity that she persuaded him to open his 
 house. Invitations were sent to all the neigh- 
 bours in turn ; and the desire manifested to see 
 the bride, of whom report as usual spread most 
 exaggerated accounts, was great. Her first 
 step gave much dissatisfaction, for instead of 
 managing a meeting between the less important 
 families and the greater, which without in the 
 least detracting from the great, gives much 
 pleasure to those in a less exalted position, 
 who like. to see what they hear of, she invari- 
 ably invited them to meet each other. This 
 was no amusement ; and many felt that if at 
 Davenport Castle they only saw their imme- 
 diate neighbours, with whom they lived in 
 daily intimacy, it was not worth the trouble of 
 going many miles to do what could have been 
 more easily accomplished at home : added to 
 which they could enjoy themselves much more 
 at a distance from the contemptuous and pa- 
 tronising Lady Davenport. Those who live 
 within the fences of their own dignity and posi> 
 tion, little know how much attentions are valued 
 by those beneath them. Far from lessening
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 121 
 
 respect and esteem, it gains freely what is 
 otherwise withheld altogether, or given grudg- 
 ingly. In all well-regulated minds, the defer- 
 ence to exalted station is a fixed principle, 
 supported by custom and taught by Scripture. 
 In this there is no sacrifice of independence, 
 and it is only the proud who refuse it. The 
 proud and self-sufficient begin by desiring the 
 notice of the rich and great, which w^hen with- 
 held changes their wdsh into the contrary one, 
 of dragging them down to their own level. 
 None are so tyrannical as the advocates of 
 equality. They expect the greatest deference 
 from those below them, while they give none 
 to those above them ; and the very persons who 
 rail against the man of rank one day, are the 
 first to bend the lowest, if a smile or any de- 
 gree of attention is given afterwards. It is 
 only the vulgar who presume upon kindness, 
 or condescend to be patronised. The really 
 refined never give pain, and by at once making 
 those in a less elevated position in good hu- 
 mour with themselves, place them at ease. 
 This was no part of Lady Davenport's system. 
 She would generally secure to herself an agree- 
 able neighbour from her own set, with whom 
 she kept up a whispered conversation, while 
 her unfortunate guests were left to feel them- 
 selves asked as a duty and regarded as an 
 incumbrance. Lord Davenport was too silly to 
 think of any thing but his magnificent plate
 
 122 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 and recherche dinner. As miglit be supposed, 
 each day lessened any feeling of interest, and 
 by degrees, all but her own set ceased to accept 
 the invitations, much to their own satisfaction, 
 and rather to the opposite feeling in Lady 
 Davenport, who, though she was totally indif- 
 ferent to her guests, liked to exhibit herself, 
 and found it difficult to secure that object. 
 
 After a few months had passed away, she ex- 
 pressed her wish to visit her parents, not from 
 any affectionate yearnings, but from the same 
 desire of exhibition. With the exception of her 
 mother, no particular gratification was received 
 in the announcement of her intended visit 
 to the Abbey. Lord Rockingham and her 
 brother dreaded Lord Davenport ; and Matilda 
 felt more and more the total uncongeniality 
 between herself and her sister, though she 
 neither expressed it to others, or allowed Lady 
 Davenport to perceive it. Lord Cornbury's 
 love of fun would have led to much absurdity 
 in the reception, if it had been permitted ; but 
 Matilda impressed upon him, that what was 
 allowable before marriage was unjustifiable 
 afterwards, that it would be dangerous to assist 
 in unveiling Catherine's eyes, and that jokes, 
 however innocent in themselves, should never be 
 indulged in at the expense of another. It is not 
 the merry-hearted or thoughtless speaker who 
 does the mischief, but the uncharitable hearer ; 
 and thus many a friendship has been destroyed,
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 123 
 
 bv a word or action wliicli was only said in fun. 
 We should be sure of our company before we 
 venture on dangerous ground. It was late in 
 the day when Lord and Lady Davenport ar- 
 rived at the Abbey. Matilda hastened to wel- 
 come her sister, who, coldly expressing her 
 surprise that she should thus rush to the door, 
 touched her lips and passed on. Lord Corn- 
 bury could not restrain himself from giving a 
 profound bow, and gracefully raising her hand, 
 touched it with his lips. Lord Davenport, who 
 had been almost extinguished by the height 
 of his wife and the breadth of her skirts, at 
 length emerged, looking smaller and more in- 
 significant than ever. Lady Rockingham was 
 soon made sensible that her influence was over, 
 while her good and kind father welcomed his 
 daughter with sadness and aff'ection. After 
 she had thrown herself affectedly into a hergere, 
 the folds of her gown gracefully arranged, the 
 shawl negligently falling off her shoulders, and 
 the pocket handkerchief held exactly in the 
 proper position, her delicate feet encased in 
 velvet slippers, lined with fur, she cast her 
 eyes around and observed, that she had no 
 idea that the furniture was so old-fashioned. 
 
 " I wonder, mamma, how you can bear such 
 antediluvian furniture: I wish you could see 
 how beautiful the drawing-room is at Daven- 
 port ; and my boudoir, oh, it is lovely ! "
 
 124 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 "Perhaps/' answered Lord Cornbury, "you 
 have more time to look at it than we have ; as 
 for me, I seldom have a moment unoccupied, 
 and when I come into the house it always 
 looks very cheerful and comfortable, particu- 
 larly when Matilda is in it." 
 
 " Oh, I dare say that you can find pleasure 
 in such dull association ; I like to look like 
 other people. Your ideas never seem to me to 
 grow, you only vegetate.'' 
 
 " No, dear sister ; we grow, and you run to 
 seed. One comfort is, that we have tried our 
 old friends, while yours are new. Perhaps 
 when your chairs and tables are old they may 
 not look so well. The finest things or the 
 finest friends are not always the best." 
 
 " Oh, I shall never let mine come to that test, 
 for as soon as they cease to please me I shall 
 change them." 
 
 "And pray, dear Catherine, may I ask, if 
 you intend to do the same with your friends ? " 
 
 " Why, I dare say that I shall. If people do 
 not conduce to our amusement, I can see no 
 use in them." 
 
 " Nor no use perhaps in sacrificing an hour 
 to give pleasure to those from whom we have 
 often received it, without making any return." 
 
 "Oh, Catherine," said Matilda, "you little 
 know the happiness of giving pleasure. It is 
 far beyond that of receiving it. The feelings
 
 THE THREE PATHS. IZD 
 
 of the unpl easing are frequently more suscep- 
 tible than those of the fascinating and lovely. 
 One values a kind word or a kind thought 
 more than the other would the attentions of a 
 crowd. While one half-hour is given up at 
 little cost to ourselves, to please another, we 
 perhaps secure a friend for life, and at some 
 future period may find that it was not thrown 
 away.'' 
 
 "How long is it since Matilda has turned 
 preacher ? I suppose that she is preparing to 
 assist in the duties of the curate, whose house 
 she intends to honour with her presence.'' And 
 asking what time they dined, and whether 
 they were to be alone. Lady Davenport re- 
 quested to be lighted to her rooms, and casting 
 a look of contemptuous pity on Matilda, left 
 her family to feel that they had lost all place 
 in her affections, the first-fruit of her interested 
 marriage. 
 
 Upon reaching her apartments she threw her- 
 self on a couch, and calling her maid, consulted 
 her as to the most becoming dress, considerably 
 disappointed to find that no addition to the 
 family party was expected. To a person with no 
 mind, the idea of a quiet evening is dreadful, 
 while to the cultivated and affectionate it brings 
 a feeling of refreshment and happiness. Those 
 who are always in society have no time for 
 thought. The mind becomes vacant, the con- 
 versation frivolous, resting solely on the events
 
 126 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 of the day, generally scandalous. " What the 
 ear and eye receive, the tongue so rapidly 
 extends, that nothing is digested."' " It is not 
 pleasure which corrupts us, but we who corrupt 
 pleasure. Pleasure is in itself good. It is the 
 seasoning which Grod the All-wise gives to 
 useful things and needful acts, in order that 
 we may seek them."" It is only in the abuse 
 of it that we make it sinful, and " If good 
 people would but make goodness agreeable, 
 and smile instead of frowning in their virtue, 
 how many would they win to the good cause ^." 
 Lady Rockingham was already beginning to 
 feel the difference between Matilda and the 
 cold and heartless Catherine. Matilda was ever 
 ready to walk with her, to drive her little pony- 
 carriage, and assist in all the smaller offices of 
 love, which are so endearing. "It is in the 
 minute circumstances of life, that the real cha- 
 racter is displayed : in these we are under the 
 influence of our natural disposition, and act 
 from ourselves ; while, in the more open and 
 important actions, we may be drawn by public 
 opinion, and many other external motives, from 
 that bias which our disposition would have 
 taken. "Who can tell the value of a smile ? It 
 costs the giver nothing, but is beyond price to 
 the sad or forsaken. It disarms malice, subdues 
 temper, turns hatred to love, revenge to kind- 
 ness, and paves the darkest paths with gems of 
 
 * Archbishop Usher.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 127 
 
 sunliglit. A smile on the brow betrays a kind 
 lieart ; a pleasant friend and affectionate brother; 
 a dutiful son and a happy husband. It adds a 
 charm to beauty ; it decorates the face of the 
 deformed, and makes beauty more than beauty.'' 
 This was the charm of Matilda. She was the 
 sunshine of all around her. Her father, whose 
 health had been declining for some time, found 
 in her at all times the pen of a ready writer, the 
 quick eye of affection, and the pleasant and 
 cheerful reader. She had also been the means 
 of much good to her brother, whose naturally 
 lively disposition might otherwise have led him 
 into many indiscretions. By being ever ready 
 to share in his amusements when consistent 
 with feminine propriety, by using her varied 
 accomplishments so as to cheer his evenings, by 
 guiding his choice of books, so as to combine 
 entertainment without immorality, and instruc- 
 tion without dryness, she led him from vicious 
 pursuits. Lord Cornbuiy was never seen looking 
 like a jockey or puffing smoke in a lady's face, 
 swaggering along with his hands in his pockets, 
 and rivalling stablemen in slang and vulgar ex- 
 pressions. To his father his manner was always 
 deferential ; and it never entered into his mind to 
 wish " the old gentleman in his coffin,'' or think it 
 time for the " governor" to walk off the course \ 
 
 ^ Such expressions may seem almost incredible, but are not 
 imaginations of the author.
 
 128 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 He was too thankful to profit by so noble an 
 example, and glad to keep liim, sensible that he 
 was as yet too inexperienced to fulfil the duties 
 and responsibilities which would devolve upon 
 him. " It is the most beautiful object the eyes 
 of man can behold, to see a man of worth and 
 his son live in entire unreserved correspondence. 
 The mutual kindness and affection between 
 them, give an inexpressible satisfaction to all 
 who know them. It is a sublime pleasure, 
 which increases by participation. It is sacred 
 as friendship, as pleasurable as love, and as 
 joyful as religion. This state of mind does not 
 only dissipate sorrow, which would be extreme 
 without it, but enlarges pleasure which would 
 otherwise be contemptible. The most indif- 
 ferent thing has its force and beauty, when it 
 is spoken by a kind father, and an insignificant 
 thing has its weight when offered by a dutiful 
 child. I know not how to express it, but I think 
 I may call it 'a transplanted self-love.' All 
 the enjoyment and sufferings a man meets with, 
 are regarded only as they concern him in the 
 relation he has to another. A man's very 
 honour receives new value to him, when he 
 thinks that when he is in his grave, it will be 
 had in remembrance, that such an action was 
 done by such a one's father. Such considera- 
 tions sweeten the old man's evening, and his 
 soliloquy delights him, when he can say to him-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 129 
 
 self, ' No man can tell my child, his father was 
 either unmerciful or unjust. My son shall meet 
 many a man who shall say to him, I was obliged 
 to thy father ; and be my child a friend to his 
 child for ever/ It is not in the power of all 
 men to leave illustrious names or great fortunes 
 to their posterity, but they can very much con- 
 duce to their having industry, probity, valour, 
 and justice. It is in every man's power to leave 
 his son the honour of descending from a vir- 
 tuous man, and add the blessings of heaven to 
 whatever he leaves him \'' 
 
 We left Lady Davenport meditating upon her 
 evening dress ; but had she no other reflections? 
 Those who could have read her heart, would 
 have seen a small cloud already rising above 
 the horizon. The seed^ of disappointment was 
 sown. She could not fail to perceive that she 
 was not altogether so much envied or admired 
 as she expected, that her husband was an object 
 of contempt and ridicule, and that, like the 
 water in the Curse of Kehama, affection and 
 ease receded on her approach, leaving coldness 
 and formality in its place. Matilda^s elevated 
 mind and sentiments were totally incomjDre- 
 hensible to her, and her simple and wholesome 
 amusements and occupations insipid. Without 
 spectators she was miserable : her father she 
 thought ill and dull, her mother old and twad- 
 
 1 Steele. 
 VOL. I. K
 
 180 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 dling : her brother, thougli restrained by Matilda, 
 still showed plainly how much he pitied her ; 
 of all things the most galling to a proud spirit, 
 and ungrateful to all. Sympathy cheers and 
 comforts, while pity humbles ; but there is a 
 great gulf between the two. If Lady Daven- 
 port could have aroused any lively feeling of 
 envy or admiration, it would have satisfied her, 
 but at home there was nothing to excite it. 
 All were her equals. Accustomed from birth 
 to rank and riches, they attached none of the 
 vulgar ideas to them which little minds do ; 
 and her mother's admiration, proceeding as it 
 did from having been grafted and not indige- 
 nous, gave her no pleasure. Her maid com- 
 forted her by assuring her, that when she went 
 to London siie would be properly appreciated ; 
 but that at the Abbey, Madam Somerset's 
 stupid nonsense had dummified the whole 
 house, "Why, milady. Lady Matilda was quite 
 a different lady till that tiresome woman put 
 all her new-fangled notions into her head, and 
 after all, I believe, that at heart she thinks 
 quite as much of all these fine things as any of 
 us. Why, how handsomely she dresses, and 
 how elegant her house is, and her carriage, and 
 I am sure, between ourselves, milady, she has 
 an eye to Lord Cornbury." 
 
 Just as she uttered these words, Matilda 
 opened the door, and hearing the last sentence,
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 131 
 
 could scarcely repress her surprise at lier im- 
 pertinence, or her astonishment that her proud 
 sister should allow her maid to talk so familiarly 
 with her. Nobody could be more kind or con- 
 siderate to her maid than Matilda, or more 
 truly her friend, but instead of allowing her to 
 talk of persons or dress, she contrived to give a 
 pleasant and useful turn to her conversation. By 
 relating interesting anecdotes, or repeating, in 
 a cheerful way, some of the impro\ang remarks 
 she read; by taking a kind interest in her family 
 affairs, and encouraging her in being careful 
 with her money and dressing suitably to her 
 station, so as to be a respectable servant and 
 not a vulgar lady, she gained an influence over 
 her for good. Without making her feel as an 
 inferior, she secured that respect which is only 
 given from the heart. Lady Davenport's smart 
 and conceited fine lady, who condescended to 
 accept wages and perform the part of a maid, 
 was hated by all in her own station of life, and 
 ridiculed by those above her. 
 
 Upon the entrance of Matilda, Mrs. Perkins 
 bounced out of the room, slamming the door 
 after her, and muttering to herself, " What 
 stupid people those methodists are."" 
 
 Lady Davenport turned towards her sister, 
 and with a supercilious smile, asked how long 
 Mrs. Somerset had been trying to catch Corn- 
 bury ? 
 
 k2
 
 132 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 " Dear Catherine, how can you allow your 
 maid to put such ideas into your head ; I do 
 not believe that Mrs. Somerset has ever thought 
 of such a thing. I am quite sure that she 
 would never condescend to catch any body."' 
 
 " Oh, you need not flatter yourself,'' replied 
 Catherine ; " those quiet methodistical people 
 are just as bad as others, only they do it in a dif- 
 ferent way. Now there is your friend, Lady 
 Vavasour, with her snug little tea-parties, to 
 which none but elder sons are invited." 
 
 " That is not Mrs. Somerset's way. I have 
 often heard her say, that while she should con- 
 sider it wrong to shut out Geraldine from society, 
 she ever felt that art seldom succeeded ; that 
 when it did, it might make a marriage, but not 
 a happy one ; and that the man who has been 
 duped as a lover will be apt to fancy himself 
 duped as a husband." 
 
 " Oh, Matilda, that is only to blind your eyes ! 
 Mrs. Somerset is sharp-witted enough, with all 
 her aifected goodness, to take advantage of your 
 simplicity." 
 
 " No, Catherine, this is the worst part of the 
 world, that it never can suppose a pure motive, 
 but puts its own bad thoughts and feelings into 
 the hearts of others. Mrs. Somerset's whole 
 conduct shows wliat she is, and no envy or 
 malice can injure her. Where do you see a more 
 perfect girl than Geraldine, or a more really
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 133 
 
 amiable youth than Ernest ? Her ser\^ants have 
 been with her since she married ; and as to all 
 her dependents and tenants, they adore her. 
 Oh, dear Catherine, why should ' we hate the 
 excellence we cannot imitate V Why should we 
 try to injure one who never injures us ? Who 
 ever hears Mrs. Somerset say one unkind word?'' 
 
 "Oh, I have often heard her talk of Lady 
 Sophia Cumberland's faults, and Edith's defects, 
 and the vulgarity of the sons I" 
 
 " So have I, but not with envy or uncharita- 
 bleness. The want of discrimination in charac- 
 ter is weakness. She has talked with us upon 
 the subject with regret that so much real good 
 should have been obscured by early neglect, left 
 to waste in the atmosphere of the world, in its 
 worst shape, and now extinguished by the art 
 of an interested and vulgar woman like Mrs. 
 Watson. I have heard Mrs. Somerset speak 
 with deep sorrow of Lady Sophia, but never 
 with unkindness. It pains me to see religion, 
 which is so beautiful in itself, disfigured, and its 
 cause injured, by notions and opinions which 
 have no part in it." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure that she is very charming, 
 but I know that in London she only excites 
 ridicule with her extreme particularity in some 
 things. The worldly people say, that she only 
 keeps Geraldine from public places, and will not 
 let her polk and valse, just to make her more
 
 184 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 remarked, and then your good ones are all 
 furious because she goes to balls/' 
 
 " So it has ever been/' replied Matilda. " In 
 the world it is not what is right or wrong, but 
 do you do as I do ? and if you do not, you are 
 good for nothing. It was the same in our 
 Saviour's days ; John the Bapfist was called 
 mad for leading a solitary life, and our Sa- 
 viour a drunkard and a wine-bibber because He 
 mixed more generally. Lady Sophia is blamed 
 for shutting up Edith, while Mrs. Somerset 
 is equally blamed for allowing Geraldine to 
 go into society. I cannot but think that we 
 should leave our neighbours alone, and win 
 more by ' the spirit we are of,' than drive away 
 people, Avho are, perhaps, in God's eyes much 
 better than ourselves, by severity and ill nature : 
 while Lady Sophia's ill-judged separation, not 
 from sin, but from people, makes every body 
 around her uncomfortable, and brings discredit 
 upon her profession, Mrs. Somerset's truly Chris- 
 tian spirit in all societies, and engaging manner, 
 have been the means of happiness to numbers ; 
 to none more than myself I often wish, Cathe- 
 rine, that you knew her better." 
 
 " Oh, Matilda ! you really plague me to death 
 with that tiresome Mrs. Somerset ; and, what is 
 worse, papa and Cornbury are grown just as 
 stupid as yourself, and even mamma seems to 
 care less for the world than she did."
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 185 
 
 '' And how happy it is that it should be so. 
 I only wish that it were really so. Wliat does 
 the world care for old people : excepting as a 
 protection to the young they are only regarded 
 as useless incumbrances, — wall-flowers, as I 
 have heard old ladies contemptuously called: 
 while what can be more beautiful than a re- 
 spectable old age, surrounded by the love of 
 children and grandchildren — 'the victory fought, 
 the battle won' — quietly waiting their sum- 
 mons. Oh, it is a beautiful sight ! " 
 
 "Well, Matilda, I cannot go into raptures 
 over these old wrinkled bodies : I think the 
 young ones much better worth looking at. 
 Now, do not you even think that I am a more 
 pleasant contemplation than old Lady Daven- 
 port?" 
 
 " Oh, Catherine, you surely do not call hers 
 a respectable old age ; why, she is an awful 
 sight. Whenever I meet her, at seventy-five 
 rouged up to the eyes, her ringlets flowing over 
 her withered cheeks, dressed like a girl, and 
 talking like a child, it makes my heart ache. 
 IIow different Mrs. Delville's mother is, with her 
 silvery grey hair, her plain black silk gown, her 
 gentle and kind manner surrounded by love and 
 respect ; all her work done and herself at peace 
 with God and man, and then say if old age is 
 not respectable.'' 
 
 " Oh, those dreadful Delvilles, I am even
 
 136 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 more tired of tliem than of the Somersets ! I 
 declare that I hate them from never hearing 
 any thing but good of them. I never go any 
 where without having Delvilles and Somersets 
 dinned into my ears. However, it reminds me 
 that I must call upon them.'" 
 
 And Lady Davenport comforted herself with 
 the idea that there was somebody to whom she 
 could display her finery. With such component 
 parts a family soiree could have little charm ; 
 for it was as impossible for Catherine to appre- 
 ciate the minds and feelings of her family, as it 
 was for them to sympathize with hers. Lady 
 Rockingham was too insignificant a person- 
 age to excite even the vanity of her daughter; 
 so, while Matilda and her brother devoted them- 
 selves to their father's amusement by reading 
 and music, and Lord Davenport snored after 
 the dinner which he had been rejoicing over, 
 discussing its merits and defects, and gloating 
 over its delicacies, Lady Davenport took up a 
 " Tale of Fashionable Life," upon which her eyes 
 rested, while her mind wandered upon her own 
 future action in similar scenes, and Lady Rock- 
 ingham sat with her arms folded and her eyes 
 fixed on vacancy, wishing that her youth could 
 be restored. 
 
 The next morning Catherine ordered her 
 britscha-and-four, to pay her visits, accompanied 
 by two outriders. She had made a point of
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 137 
 
 bringing her ovm horses, although her father^s 
 stables were full, as she would on no account have 
 lost the opportunity of exhibiting her superior 
 coronet on the harness, or her lighter or more 
 fashionable equipage. Her toilette was elabo- 
 rate ; and when she made her appearance. Lord 
 Cornburj stood in amaze, and asked her whether 
 she was going to court. To this she deigned no 
 reply. Matilda, who was to accompany her, 
 was dressed with the simple elegance which 
 good taste directs; and although she said no- 
 thing, she was vexed at the want of tact and the 
 love of display which guided her sister's actions. 
 Accustomed as she had been all her life to the 
 attributes of station, she scarcely appreciated 
 them. The absence of them might have been 
 felt, but not the possession. Of the vulgar 
 pride which courts astonishment and envy, she 
 knew nothing. Self-respect was natural to her; 
 and while all loved her, none denied her the 
 consideration which was her due. 
 
 The first visit was to be at Staunton, where 
 they found Mrs. Somerset, as usual, engaged in 
 cheerful occupation with Geraldine. It was 
 their custom to read much together, and their 
 mornings Avere always devoted to improvement. 
 By thus keeping part of each day employed, 
 their minds were stored with information and 
 new ideas. They had subjects of conversation 
 without detraction and scandal. It was never
 
 138 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 necessary with them to destroy the characters 
 of acquaintance, or deteriorate from the value 
 of friendship, merely for something to say. No 
 false reports, ill-natured surmises or inuendoes, 
 emanated from Staunton. Without appearing 
 to do so, Mrs. Somerset had the happy art so 
 few possess, of giving a turn to conversation, so 
 as to introduce useful suhjects, and raise its 
 tone. Wliile all phraseology or religious dis- 
 cussion were avoided, a spirit of love and refine- 
 ment prevailed, which insensihly attracted and 
 pleased. What was in her heart was diffused 
 through all her words and actions ; " discreetly 
 witty, and gaily wise/' her humour and her fun 
 were never at the expense of others. None of 
 her visitors were gratified by witty descriptions 
 of the mistakes or want of manner, or accident- 
 ally ridiculous or thoughtless actions of friends 
 or acquaintance for whom she professed regard. 
 Although none could be more sensible of defects, 
 she was equally careful to conceal them. How 
 many friendships are destroyed by the ill-na- 
 tured repetition of an innocent joke. A cheer- 
 ful, kind heart thoughtlessly allows itself some 
 simple remark upon a friend, which, if heard as 
 it was said, would have produced no unkind 
 feeling, but repeated with malice and a peculiar 
 emphasis, perhaps only on one word, makes the 
 whole appear in a different light. Who has 
 not in a moment of anger or vexation said
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 139 
 
 what has been afterwards deeply regretted, 
 and which, but for some malicious repetition 
 or interpretation, would have been unheeded ? 
 How often are false conclusions made from out- 
 ward circumstances, which, if the real causes 
 were known, would perhaps gain approbation 
 rather than condemnation. There is nothing 
 more certain, than that half the world is as un- 
 justly praised as dispraised ; and that many of 
 the actions which men have applauded, have 
 been rendered by the motive hateful in God's 
 sight, while others which have been despised or 
 condemned may have been ennobled for the 
 same reason. 
 
 The arrival of Lady Davenport's splendid 
 equipage excited neither surprise nor remark 
 at Staunton, and she was not a little disap- 
 pointed at the simple and affectionate manner 
 of her reception. From her childhood she had 
 been Geraldine's companion ; her marriage had 
 not altered the intrinsic value of either. Ernest 
 Somerset, who was now seventeen, gratified her 
 vanity by a silent gaze of amazement, which 
 she mistook for admiration. She would have 
 been mortified had she known how painful was 
 the contrast in his mind between his own sweet 
 sister and Matilda, and the arrogant beauty 
 before him. Lady Davenport was herself sub- 
 dued by the ease and good taste of Mrs. Somer- 
 set, and she soon tired of her visit. She was
 
 140 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 in vain pressed to stay for luncheon, but alleging 
 that she should not be at home in time, she 
 took her leave with what she considered grace- 
 ful condescension ; and calling Matilda, who 
 was enjoying a cheerful and innocent conversa- 
 tion with Geraldine, drove off, much to the in- 
 dignation of the postilions and outriders, who 
 feared that they should find less good cheer at 
 the rectoiy. 
 
 There Lady Davenport found more to her 
 satisfaction ; for the neighbours, who loved Mr. 
 and Mrs. Delville for themselves, and had no 
 wish to parade the superiority of their fortune 
 before the quiet inhabitants of Staunton, sel- 
 dom imposed their servants and horses upon 
 their small establishment. It is not to be sup- 
 posed that there was any want of order, plenty, 
 or comfort ; but what constituted these at the 
 rectory were little compared to the luxurious 
 style of living in servants' halls, and among 
 London fine gentlemen, miscalled servants. All 
 was elegant and simple ; and though Mr. Del- 
 ville's income scarcely exceeded Catherine's pin- 
 money, it would have been impossible to have 
 found any member of the family or the house 
 unfit at any time for the reception of their 
 visitors. The prancing horses tore up the well- 
 rolled carriage- drive, and the commotion brought 
 out innumerable heads projecting from the win- 
 dows. One of the maids, a regular rustic, poked
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 141 
 
 lier head through a small side door, and her 
 eye resting upon the splendidly embroidered 
 flounces of Lady Davenport's dress, greatly 
 amused Matilda by exclaiming, " Lauk, what a 
 sparky tail the woman has got ^ ! '"' 
 
 When the drawing-room door opened, Mrs. 
 Delville, who had been surprised at the unusual 
 bustle, was giving one of her younger girls a 
 music lesson, Louisa was reading German with 
 another, while a sweet little boy of five years of 
 age was spelling his lesson with an elder brother 
 in the corner. It was " the abode of industrious 
 peace;"' and Matilda blushed when she thought 
 of the ridiculous display her sister had brought 
 upon them, and how much more comfortable 
 she should have been, had her own little ponies, 
 which she drove herself, been waiting for them. 
 Mrs. Delville was not at all disturbed at the 
 unexpected visit. She quietly gave orders for 
 their accommodation, telling Lady Davenport 
 that she must remember that rectory fare was 
 not like that of the Abbey, but that all were 
 welcome. Lady Davenport smiled condescend- 
 ingly, which was quite lost upon Mrs. Delville. 
 To her it was rather amusing to see her 
 humble abode thus made the scene of display ; 
 and Matilda was too happy with Louisa to 
 watch her sister. Accustomed as the family 
 was to meet at table at one o'clock, no altera- 
 
 * This remai-k was really made.
 
 142 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 tion was made in the daily arrangements. The 
 children assembled as usual, perfectly at ease, 
 though quiet and retiring. No private injunc- 
 tions were required, no change of dress. Al- 
 though, compared with the sumptuous elegance 
 before them, they were simply dressed, they 
 looked what they were — the children of a gen- 
 tleman. Indeed, nature had adorned them with 
 that which art never gives. Tlie delicate fea- 
 tures and the fine skin and hair of all the Del- 
 villes, gave them an air of refinement which fine 
 clothes in vain attempt ; and the sweetness of 
 their dispositions, directed as they had been in 
 faith and prayer by the guiding hand of love 
 and good sense, gave a singular charm and pro- 
 priety to their manners. There was no loud 
 talking, no improper haste, no asking for deli- 
 cacies. All witnessed to the regulation of mind 
 which principle alone can give. Mrs. Delville 
 felt that although for a time circumstances 
 might limit them to a contracted circle, it had 
 not changed their real position. Without am- 
 bition, she was too conscious of her husband's 
 superior talents not to feel it possible that she 
 might one day be called upon to move in a 
 different sphere, and that her children would 
 certainly not remain as they were. It was 
 therefore her desire that neither they nor her- 
 self should lessen the respect due to the minis- 
 ter of God, by an appearance inconsistent with
 
 ]44 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 ambitious and worldly mind resents it. The 
 future account for sucli contempt of tlie ser- 
 vants of God will be fearful. " Inasmuch as 
 ye did it unto them, ye did it unto me," will 
 sound in a different sense to that in which our 
 Saviour applied it to the humble and charitable, 
 who could not believe that what they had done 
 in secret should thus be brought to light. Mr. 
 and Mrs.Delville were not among the number of 
 those thus reduced to suffering, for they were 
 well off, though not what the world calls rich, 
 and the love of friends and relations supplied 
 " conveniences, our second necessaries,'' so that 
 every thing around them was elegant and 
 simple, without being fine or extravagant. Al- 
 though no silver dishes adorned the table, the 
 china was pretty ; the table-cloth of a fine tex- 
 ture and exquisite whiteness ; the plate bright, 
 and all laid according to the taste which inva- 
 riably accompanies early refinement in habitj; 
 and manners, which no change of circumstances 
 will affect in regulated minds, and which, while 
 it costs little, has an insensible and important 
 effect upon all under its influence. 
 
 Mr. Delville came out of his study with a 
 face beaming with love and kindness, gracefully 
 welcomed Lady Davenport on her first visit 
 after her marriage, and by the dignity of a 
 noble mind awed even her vulgar pride. His 
 conversation had an indescribable charm. It
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 145 
 
 was full of information pleasantly given, anec- 
 dote liglitly introduced, quotations which flowed 
 naturally ; and while religion was never forced 
 on unwilling hearers, it was the spirit of every 
 word and look. Matilda thoroughly appreciated 
 and valued him ; but her sister's total want of 
 mind rendered all his elevated sentiments in- 
 comprehensible to her, and all she could see 
 was, that he was tolerably gentlemanly and 
 agreeable for a country clergyman ; that Mrs. 
 Delville had no right to look so like a lady ; 
 and that the children, whom she considered 
 only fit for governesses or stewards, were ridi- 
 3ulously brought up. In the mean time, Mrs. 
 Delville, wholly regardless of her aifectation, 
 )nly wondered at the littleness of mind which 
 jould thus sacrifice all reality for a shadow. 
 C!old civilities and unmeaning compliments are 
 I sad exchange for all the warmth of real affec- 
 tion. " It is indeed wonderful that people can 
 ret over the natural existence and possession 
 of their own minds so far as to take delight 
 either in paying or receiving such cold and 
 repeated civilities. But what maintains the 
 humour is, that outward show is what most 
 men pursue, rather than real happiness. Thus 
 both the idol and the idolater equally impose 
 upon themselves in pleasing their imaginations.'' 
 Mrs. Delville had given up much of what the 
 world values when she married ; but when she 
 
 VOL I. L
 
 146 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 contemplated the spiritual and intellectual 
 beauty of her husband, as the reflection of his 
 mind, she cared little for the spacious rooms of 
 her father's mansion, nor regretted the vapid 
 conversation of silly triflers, whose ideas, like 
 crawling insects, never rise from the earth. 
 
 In the cheering influence of her husband's 
 exalted, sober, and cultivated mind — his ele- 
 vated sentiments and extensive knowledge on 
 all subjects — she walked as it were in an ethe- 
 real atmosphere ; and while she never despised 
 others less gifted, she rejoiced in her possession, 
 and was satisfied in his affection. To gain the 
 approbation so well worth having, no effort was 
 painful, and her happiness consisted in making 
 his home a resting-place after his labours. On 
 his return from pastoral visits, no domestic 
 cares were forced upon him, no wearisome tales 
 of disorderly servants. If such existed, she 
 never troubled him, but she ever greeted him 
 with the smile of a heart at peace with God — 
 with that unrufiled aspect which resignation to 
 His will alone can give. Her children were 
 taught to feel that their father's presence was 
 to bring sunshine, and disperse any clouds 
 which might have obscured his absent hours. 
 Many an anxious moment was chased away 
 by the question, " How will this look a year 
 hence ^ ? " It was not to be supposed that 
 
 ^ Dr. Johnson.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 147 
 
 anxious moments were not liers. Her children 
 all nearly dependent upon their father's exer- 
 tions, were a careful comfort ; but when she 
 remembered the promises made to the seed of 
 the righteous, she could look up "in hope of 
 promised spring/' and leave the future to her 
 God. 
 
 ** Live for to-day ; to-morrow's light 
 To-morrow's cares will bring to sight ; 
 Go sleep like closing flowers at night, 
 And Heaven thy morn shall bless." 
 
 How much domestic happiness is destroyed 
 by the absence of such a spirit ! Weary, and 
 often dispirited, the Christian pastor returns to 
 his home, and there, instead of leaving his cares 
 outside, he is exposed to the weak repinings 
 and lamentations of a selfish woman. All the 
 details of the day's trials are put before him ; 
 his children noisy and uncontrolled; so that, 
 instead of entering his study with a clear head 
 and a warm heart, his thoughts are oppressed 
 with sorrow for the wife upon whom he has 
 entailed such worries, and his affections chilled 
 by incessant complaints. How different " the 
 transplanted self-love " which lives in the hap- 
 piness of another — that devotion which makes 
 a care or pain the only concealment — that 
 delicacy of feeling which places the choicest 
 blossoms of affection before the loved one, and 
 keeps the refuse out of sight. How much are 
 L 2
 
 148 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 our trials lessened or increased by the way in 
 which we receive them ! and how often do we 
 destroy all present enjoyment by fears probably 
 never to be realized ! Should they be so, our 
 minds have become weakened by taking them 
 in advance, whereas God ever sends strength to 
 bear the burden. By living in faith and prayer, 
 the ground of the heart is prepared for what- 
 ever seed God may put into it. Should it be 
 sorrow, " As is thy day, so is thy strength.'' 
 Should it be joy, it will be chastened by fear, 
 and thus nothing can find us unprepared. 
 
 Matilda and Louisa walked out together after 
 luncheon in the village, and many a poor cot- 
 tage was cheered by their presence. Neither 
 were too proud to converse in a kind and sym- 
 pathizing manner, and the " great lady,'' as the 
 poor people called Matilda, seemed to feel so 
 completely that the poor and rich owned one 
 Lord and Master, that while no proper respect 
 was wanting, none were made to feel that an 
 immeasurable distance existed between them. 
 Many a voice blessed Louisa as she passed, and 
 all regarded her companion with humble admi- 
 ration. 
 
 Lady Davenport, tired of sitting so long in 
 one place, condescendingly stepped into the 
 garden ; and conscious that many concealed 
 eyes were upon her, reconciled herself to its 
 small dimensions, which, she afterwards con-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 149 
 
 temptuously observed to lier sister, were little 
 larger than one of her parterres. As soon as 
 the horses were rested, she rose to leave, and 
 entering her splendid equipage, drove off, with 
 the comfortable conviction that if Mr. and Mrs. 
 Delville were mean enough to be contented in 
 so humble a lot, Louisa at least must greatly 
 enTy her. 
 
 " Oh, how I should like such a beautiful car- 
 riage!'' cried one of her younger sisters; " should 
 not you, Louisa ? " 
 
 " I do not know that I should,'' answered 
 Louisa. " I am not at all sure that I do not 
 think our little pony-carriage more convenient. 
 It is so easy to get in and out ; besides it is 
 buying such a carriage at a high price with 
 Lord Davenport." 
 
 " Oh, I forgot that horrid little man ; why, 
 he reminds me of the yellow dwarf! I would 
 much sooner walk all my life than be tied to 
 such an ugly little thing." 
 
 " And look," cried one of the boys, " at our 
 nice, well -rolled carriage-road! Why, those 
 twenty-four hoofs have torn up all poor John's 
 work ; and as to that great proud Lady Daven- 
 port, I hate her." 
 
 " You should hate nobody or nothing but 
 sin, dear brother," said Louisa ; " and I do not 
 think that either papa or mamma would like 
 to hear you talk in this way. Lady Davenport 
 is more to be pitied than blamed ; and as to
 
 150 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 the road, dear Albert, it was made to be tram- 
 pled upon ; so run and bring your rake, and 
 you may surprise John by having repaired all 
 the mischief before he returns." 
 
 The boy soon came back radiant with plea- 
 sure, and was charmed to see the hoof-prints 
 gradually disappear. By the time that the last 
 was effaced, Mrs. Delville came out, and calling 
 her children around her, alluded to the conver- 
 sation which she had overheard. 
 
 " It is not right, my dear children, to laugh 
 at Lady Davenport, and there is nothing un- 
 suitable in her carriage ; her keeping up her 
 position is not objectionable. On the contrary, 
 she took its duties with it ; and our dear Ma- 
 tilda graces it as much as her sister disfigures 
 it. It is not the possession or the enjoyment 
 of rank or riches which is wrong, but our set- 
 ting our hearts on them. Our pony-carriage is 
 suitable for us, and it would be ridiculous to 
 see your father and me returning Lady Daven- 
 port's visit in such an equipage as hers ; but as 
 there is a great difference in the claims of our 
 positions, there is no doubt but that she has a 
 right to do as she likes ; and perhaps ten miles 
 of a dusty road may be more pleasantly accom- 
 plished in a light carriage- and-f our than with 
 our fat little ponies." 
 
 " But surely, mamma," said Albert, " those 
 smart footmen and outriders are not necessary !" 
 
 "Well, dear boy, the footmen cannot help
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 151 
 
 being smart ; and though I should think the out- 
 riders in the wav, we have no concern in the 
 matter. If Lady Davenport likes the look of 
 them, there is no reason why she should not 
 have them, and perhaps some wife or child 
 benefits by what appears useless and absurd. 
 At the same time, my dear children, we should 
 never laugh at the habits of the rich and great. 
 It may look like envy. Each chooses their 
 own road to happiness. Lady Davenport, from 
 her earliest years, has been taught to consider 
 show and admiration all that is worth lining 
 for. You have been taught that though none 
 of Grod's gifts are to be despised, true happi- 
 ness does not consist in these things, which all 
 ' perish with the using.' You should, therefore, 
 be thankful if you are above caring for them, 
 more especially as God has not given them to 
 you, but never pass rash judgments on others. 
 In God's sight, many of whom we judge only 
 from what we see, may be far preferable to the 
 self-righteous. We may be as severe as we 
 please to ourselves, but should be tender to- 
 wards others. The fault we should hate, but 
 not the person who commits it.'' 
 
 " But then, mamma,'' said Louisa, '* how 
 different Mrs. Somerset is. She would have 
 been a duchess if Mr. Somerset had Hved, and 
 yet she never gives herself airs. I always like 
 going to Staunton Park as much as I dislike
 
 152 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 going to tlie Abbey, when Matilda is not at 
 home. What with Lady Rockingham's affected 
 dignity, and Lady Catherine's impertinence, 
 whenever I was there I watched the clock to 
 see if I had sat long enough for civility." 
 
 "Well, my dear child, I can quite under- 
 stand your feelings ; for it certainly is not plea- 
 sant to be regarded with contempt, when 
 perhaps pride would whisper that accident 
 alone had made the difference ; but if you look 
 into your heart, you will, I dare say, find that 
 this feeling is uppermost in your mind. At 
 Staunton Park, Mrs. Somerset and Geraldine 
 treat you with affection and consideration. 
 Now, Lady Davenport would extinguish you 
 with her magnificence and with the vulgarity 
 of a little mind, and incessantly reminds you 
 that you live in a parsonage, and she in a 
 palace. Your visit to the Abbey, dear Louisa, 
 is a lesson of humility. It is well occasionally 
 for those who meet with so much love and 
 kindness as you do, to be reminded that it is 
 not a right, but Grod's present, and one which 
 may be given or withheld at His pleasure. We 
 must love a taking as well as a giving God, 
 humbled by all He gives, and cheerfully accept- 
 ing any vexations or trials He may think good 
 to send us/' 
 
 Louisa kissed her mother affectionately, and 
 acknowledged the truth of all she had said.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 153 
 
 Mr. Delville joined tliem, and as lie and Mrs. 
 Delville contemplated the simple and elegant 
 form of their daughter, her sweet and intellec- 
 tual beauty, and thought of her affectionate 
 heart and elevated mind, it was difficult not to 
 make an unfavourable comparison with the 
 stiff and haughty manners of Lady Davenport ; 
 but Mrs. Delville rejected the thought, and 
 dwelt upon the unpretending and beautiful 
 character of Matilda. She discouraged all 
 further comments on the visit, and Louisa 
 checked in a kind but decided manner the re- 
 marks which her brothers and sisters were 
 disposed to make. 
 
 The carriage-and-four rolled gaily along, and 
 Lady Davenport, by no means satisfied with 
 the degree of incense her vanity received in 
 the country, where she had been known as a 
 child, determined to make her way to London 
 as soon as possible. Even the dread of being 
 unfashionably early, could not lessen her desire 
 to find herself there, and on pretence of new 
 furnishing her house, in Berkeley Square, where 
 the family had lived for ages, she took leave 
 of her affectionate relatives, and left the only 
 hearts in the whole world ^vhich cared for her, 
 and prepared for worldly conquests. 
 
 On her arrival she was much disappointed in 
 the family mansion. Far from rivalling the 
 lofty rooms and noble staircases of Belgrave
 
 154 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 Square, it was neither grand nor convenient. 
 To add to lier discomfort, she found that her 
 mother-in-law had considerable influence over 
 the weak mind of her son, who, too much habi- 
 tuated to it, had not power to throw it off. 
 It was in vain that she tried to persuade him 
 to change the house for one of more modern 
 style. Not only so, but with the tenacity of weak- 
 ness, he fancied himself particularly attached to 
 certain queer chairs and sofas, which had been 
 there in his childhood ; and, although remark- 
 ably short, he thought it necessary that there 
 should be plenty of space, and resolutely resisted 
 the removal of the said chairs and sofas from 
 their adhesive propensity to the wall. He had 
 also been accustomed to the empty tables of his 
 mother, and could not understand why it 
 should be necessary to cover them wholly with 
 bijouterie and fanciful ornaments, stoutly 
 maintaining that his house should not be 
 turned into Howell and James's. Lady Daven- 
 port was in despair, and spared no entreaties, 
 even condescending to shed a few pearly drops. 
 Had they fallen on a hard substance they 
 might have softened it, but being received into 
 a sponge, they were swallowed up. All she 
 could gain was the permission to arrange her 
 boudoir as she liked, and she so wholly filled it 
 up that there was scarcely space for more than 
 herself; and Lord Davenport's terror lest he
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 155 
 
 should demolish china, be buried in cushions. 
 
 or be bitten by the lap-dog, effectually pre- 
 cluded all attempts on his part to enter it. 
 She still hoped that time would effect a change; 
 but she had sold herself for the mammon of 
 unrighteousness, and upon that hard and indi- 
 gestible food she was condemned to starve. 
 " It was her error and her punishment.'" Even 
 when two people thus united hide their misery, 
 it is but " a grand well-acted lie.'' The absence 
 of affection excites jdalousy, and the want of 
 communion of thought produces coldness. If 
 either possess a heart, it is a bleeding one ; if 
 neither, the home is a sepulchre. What is seen 
 at a distance, however it may glitter, looks 
 very different on a nearer approach. No bless- 
 ing can rest on a marriage of interest. It may 
 be, and is, folly to marry imprudently ; but to 
 sacrifice body and soul for that which " maketh 
 itself wings and fleeth away'' is sin. Although 
 Lady Davenport was far too proud to acknow- 
 ledge it even to herself, she began to feel 
 that a rich coroneted simpleton was a poor ex- 
 change for her father's noble and generous 
 mind, her mother's admiration and affection, 
 her brother's talent and kindness, and her 
 sister's devotion. " She had sown to the wind, 
 and would reap the whirlwind."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Spring had again returned ; that season when 
 the country is deserted, although — 
 
 " The bright-hair 'd morn is glowing 
 O'er emerald meadows gay, 
 With many a clear gem strewing 
 The early shepherd's way." 
 
 This lovely season has no attraction compared 
 with the dry and barren streets of London, 
 crowded rooms, and faded parks. And yet 
 society has its claims, and the quick inter- 
 change of thought and feeling is as healthy to 
 the mind, as a free circulation of air to the 
 body. " The nature of man requires lucid in- 
 tervals, and the vigour of mind would flag or 
 decay, should it always jog on at the rate of a 
 common enjoyment, without being sometimes 
 quickened or exalted with the vicissitudes of 
 some more refined pleasures \'" How narrow, 
 contracted, and prejudiced minds become, which 
 live wholly shut up in a small circle of their 
 
 ^ South's Sermons.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 157 
 
 own. What possession trivial things take of 
 their thoughts, what small matters irritate 
 them, how false is their estimate of others. 
 Wholly separated from the contentions and 
 rude shocks to which those who sail on the 
 ocean of life are exposed, they know nothing of 
 its dangers, and are, consequently, incapable of 
 guiding others, whose quicker intelligence, or 
 greater animal spirits, lead them to venture out 
 of the still waters into which age, disappoint- 
 ment, or a false view of life has forced them. 
 Mrs. Somerset felt that it would be selfish in 
 her to expect Geraldine to feel with her. Her 
 own happiness had been blighted early in life. 
 It had cast a shade, but not obscured her 
 brighter views of this world. She remembered 
 that she had once been young, and joyless and 
 painful as she had found her return to society, 
 she was willino- to foro^et herself and allow her 
 daughter the same opportunity of making 
 friends which had been permitted to herself 
 She therefore decided upon going to London 
 again. Her object in the education of her 
 children had been fully answered, and Geral- 
 dine understood the constitution of the fashion- 
 able world too w^ell to be injured by it. Her 
 principles had been strengthened by witnessing 
 the struggles of which her beloved mother had 
 so often told her. Like one who forms a ma- 
 chine, Mrs. Somerset had watched its gradual
 
 158 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 progress. Grieved at the sad failures she saw, 
 she had endeavoured in faith and prayer to 
 follow the instruction of Him whose "truth 
 sets free.'' It was now the time to prove the 
 work ; for how can the defects of the instru- 
 ment be ascertained till it has been tried ? It 
 is not till the engine runs that its powers can 
 be known. If it be well formed, it will run 
 well ; but if the machinery proves imperfect, it 
 fails altogether, seriously injuring itself, or en- 
 dangering the lives of others. Should it be 
 kept for ever in the workman's yard, it de- 
 cays and is useless. So it is with the mind. 
 The formation, if grounded upon reality, will 
 never fail ; but if only preserved from evil by 
 being constantly confined within narrow limits, 
 it either finds a way to emancipate itself from 
 childish thraldom, or withers for want of nou- 
 rishment. " Harmless mirth is the best cordial 
 against the consumption of the spirits, so that 
 it is not unlawful if it does not surpass in 
 quantity, quality, or reason \'' Had Mrs. So- 
 merset consulted her own feelings, she would 
 have much preferred her quiet round of domes- 
 tic duties, occasionally cheered by friendship 
 and afi'ection ; but in sharing in the amuse- 
 ments of her children, she became their friend 
 and companion, and was at hand to check them 
 
 ^ South's Sermons.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 159 
 
 whenever the exuberance of youthful spirits 
 might lead them beyond the bounds of pru- 
 dence and discretion. Her object was not to 
 watch what was wrong in anger, but to pre- 
 vent it in love. Anxious to show every possi- 
 ble kindness to Mr. and Mrs. Delville, in whose 
 congeniality of mind and feeling she had an 
 unceasing enjoyment, she proposed this year to 
 take Louisa to town with her. She was now 
 eighteen, and a lovely girl. The advantages 
 which her mother's early education and ideas 
 had given her, had been imparted to her 
 daughter. Although little money had been 
 spent on her instruction, she had profited by 
 the rich stores of her father's noble mind, and 
 attained many accomplishments which Mrs. 
 Delville had taught her. In Geraldine's go- 
 verness she had also found a friend, so that 
 they had studied together. With the free and 
 full afi'ection of a generous heart, Geraldine 
 had brought her all the newest music, lent her 
 the new publications, even showed her the 
 fashionable steps ; so that although Louisa 
 Delville had, with the exception of an occa- 
 sional visit to her uncle and aunt. Sir Thomas 
 and Lady Jane Delville, been entirely confined 
 to the humble rectory of Staunton, few could 
 compete with her either in beauty or in grace. 
 Perfectly satisfied tliat Mrs. Somerset would in 
 the fullest sense be a mother to their child, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Delville consented to her ac-
 
 160 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 companying her. It is seldom that such confi- 
 dence can safely be given. Few consider the 
 importance of the trust, and regard lightly 
 that which may be the misery or happiness 
 of a young person for life. Intimacies are 
 allowed which neither parents nor prudence 
 would sanction ; thoughtless levity of conduct, 
 which a kind word would check, is permitted, 
 and made a subject of amusement to indifferent 
 spectators, till disagreeable consequences fol- 
 low. Then there is no measure of condem- 
 nation ; and those who have encouraged the 
 steps which have led to an unpleasant result, 
 are the first to neglect and blame. The young 
 are far less in fault than those to whose care 
 they are intrusted. When a daughter is com- 
 mitted to another, the deposit should be re- 
 garded as sacred, and the duty faithfully 
 performed. Such was Mrs. Somerset's feeling 
 towards the child of her friend ; and Louisa felt 
 that repose which an ingenuous and well-regu- 
 lated mind enjoys, in the consciousness of pro- 
 tection and guidance. The young girl who 
 prefers independence, is wanting in good feel- 
 ing ; and she who will deceive a parent, who 
 wishes to escape the eye of her mother, will 
 not prove a faithful wife, 
 
 " For truth's a gem that fire contemns, 
 *Tis counterfeits that fail." 
 
 A few days after the invitation from Staun- 
 4;on Park had been accepted, Mrs. Delville
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 161 
 
 received a letter from Mrs. Armstrong, a dis- 
 tant relation of lier husband's. To the displea- 
 sure of her family she had married an attorney 
 of small practice in a country town. At the 
 time of her marriage, he had little more than 
 four hundred a year, and as it had taken place 
 before she was of age, her fortune had been 
 withheld. She was one of a large family, and 
 had never lived in good society, as her father 
 had made a low connexion, — a fatal mistake 
 as regards the future position of the children. 
 The mother forms the home association. It is 
 in vain to send children to grand schools to 
 make friends and learn manners, if the mother 
 is unrefined and ill-educated. Her influence 
 will be painfully visible. Even the servants feel 
 it. It may be seen in the arrangement of every 
 room, in every look, or expression. It is the mind 
 which forms the manners, and bad manners are 
 bad "morals.'' A common mind may be detected 
 in every action, and felt at each moment. Mrs. 
 Armstrong was not in fact out of her element 
 as the wife of an attorney, and if she had not 
 been a foolish woman and proud of the name 
 of Delville, she would have been respected and 
 respectable. By despising herself, she placed 
 herself in a false position ; and, by affecting to 
 consider herself superior to the other residents 
 of Downton, the small country town in 
 which she lived, she gained ill-will from her 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 equals, while her aiFectation and pretension 
 made her less acceptable to her superiors. Her 
 husband was not an upright man, and was 
 consequently little esteemed. He had no ob- 
 jection to making a fortune by the dishonour- 
 able, but too often permitted means of pro- 
 fessional money-makers. By taking undue 
 advantage of secret information, by dangerous 
 speculations, buying and selling to his unfair 
 advantage, he had in a few years accumulated 
 an immense fortune ; and Mrs. Armstrong had 
 the inexpressible happiness of seeing herself 
 established in a magnificent mansion in Bel- 
 . grave Square, where crowds of money and din- 
 ner worshippers were daily to be seen at her 
 door. The consciousness that many a broken- 
 hearted father, many a widow's tears, many a 
 ruined son were sacrifices to her husband's 
 shrine of wealth, never for a moment disturbed 
 her self-complacency. The possession of twenty 
 thousand a year was delightful ; and as long as 
 she could minister to the amusement of others, 
 she would not be made to feel the want of a 
 friend, or rather, of professors of friendship. 
 
 " Surrounding throngs the millionaire re- 
 vere \' and as in the days of Timon of Athens, 
 so it is now ; but there is a " woe against those 
 who make haste to be rich."" Though slower 
 and less full in its progress, the silent brook is 
 the surest. It glides along in a gentle but
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 163 
 
 continued stream. Though never overflowing 
 it is seldom dry, while the rushing torrent 
 spends itself in its fury, and exhausted by its 
 own violence is no more seen. It was some 
 months since Mrs. Armstrong had been esta- 
 lished in a princely style in London, when she 
 suddenly recollected her relations, the Delvilles, 
 and thought how pleasant it would be to 
 astonish them with her magnificence. 
 
 " My dear,'' she said to her husband one 
 morning as she sat luxuriously ensconced in 
 a hergere, sipping her coffee from the most 
 delicate Sevres china. " My dear, I really 
 think it would be kind to take compassion 
 upon my cousin Delville. You know that the 
 unfortunate man has six children ; and I dare 
 say that that poor girl Louisa is worked to 
 death, and would be too glad to see a little of 
 the world. I wonder what she is like ? " 
 
 " What/' said Mr. Armstrong, " those proud 
 cousins of yours. Why, they have never noticed 
 you since your marriage. Perhaps, however, they 
 may condescend to remember us now that we 
 can live as we do. I have no objection to your 
 asking Louisa. She can sit with our Jane ; and if 
 she is in the way she can always be sent to the 
 school-room. I hope she will be decently dressed. 
 Poor Delville, he is desperately poor ; keeps only 
 a pony-carriage and one man of all-work." 
 
 " Why, they have little more than a paltry 
 M 2
 
 164 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 thousand a year besides their living, which is a 
 small one ; and then that proud Mrs. Delville 
 is much too fine a lady to do any thing but stay 
 at home and take care of her children. I know, 
 for I heard it through a certain Mrs. Watson, a 
 friend of mine whom she neglects shockingly, 
 that she always sits up as grand as the queen, 
 and that her room is full of knick-knacks. It 
 is no wonder that they are so poor. It really 
 would be kind to do something for Louisa.'' 
 
 " Well, perhaps it might, so do as you like ; 
 though I think it very ridiculous to see those 
 poor people and their families affecting to 
 live like gentlemen; and then they contrive, 
 I am told, to make themselves so agreeable, 
 that their great neighbours are very conde- 
 scending, and treat them as if they were like 
 themselves ; but I forgot, my dear, I must see 
 about the Opera-box for the season, and your 
 new set of diamonds. There is to be a necklace 
 for Jane as well ; and I have promised her a 
 pony-carriage. Pray see about the masters, 
 and be sure that you engage none under a 
 guinea a lesson. It will be no use if they have 
 not the reputation of it \ Pray write to Mrs. 
 Delville this morning. How delighted they 
 will be ! I am sorry that I cannot afford to send 
 
 ^ This remark was really made, and the master rejected 
 when he offered to receive a guinea, because he had not the 
 reputation of it.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 165 
 
 them a hundred pound, but I am really with- 
 out ready money/' 
 
 Away walked Mr. Armstrong, perfectly satis- 
 fied with himself, and justified in spending his 
 fortune as he pleased, but not in neglecting the 
 claims of the poor. In this case his benevolence 
 was uncalled for, for Mr. Delville's circum- 
 stances were not such as to require charity, 
 and he would have accepted nothing from him. 
 " Things are undone by the way in which they 
 are done ;'' and it was not to be expected that 
 any but the patronising kindness which wounds 
 instead of healing, would emanate from such a 
 mind as Mr. Armstrong's. 
 
 It was a few mornings after this conversation 
 that the post brought a letter to the rectory. 
 Mrs. Delville was sitting with her husband and 
 children in their pretty morning-room, opening 
 upon a well-mown lawn, fragrant with the per- 
 fume of spring flowers. A table covered in the 
 most simple, but elegant manner, and cheered 
 by the flow of lively and instructive conversa- 
 tion, was surrounded by a group of bright little 
 faces. Louisa, in her well-made muslin gown, 
 her beautifully shining and well-arranged hair, 
 her white and delicately- shaped hands, was pre- 
 siding over the breakfast-table. All was in order 
 without effort ; for it was the daily habit of 
 their minds. Some surprise was exhibited 
 on the servant presenting the waiter with an 
 official looking document. An enormous seal
 
 166 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 caught the eyes of the younger ones, besides 
 a variety of Cupids and Psyches on the enve- 
 lope. Mrs. Delville contemplated it for a minute, 
 and then, breaking the seal, prepared to gratify 
 the curiosity of the party. The contents ex- 
 cited as much entertainment as astonishment ; 
 but our readers shall judge for themselves. 
 
 " My dear Cousin, — 
 
 " I dare say that you have long forgotten 
 Maria Delville, your husband's cousin. If you 
 remember, his great grandfather was first cousin 
 to mine, and I have often thought with much 
 pleasure of our relationship. We are now living 
 in Belgrave Square, Armstrong having made a 
 large fortune. Only think, dear cousin, of 
 twenty thousand a year ! I can imagine you 
 scarcely able to realize such an income, and we 
 think it right to share our abundance in some 
 way. It is true that our house is not large. 
 We have only three drawing-rooms, and what 
 with boudoirs for Jane and myself, a school- 
 room, and other apartments which are all occu- 
 pied, we have little room to spare ; but it must 
 be so dull for Louisa to be always in a village, 
 that we are willing to receive her for a short 
 time. I do not suppose that the fine people 
 who visit us will ask out two girls, but she shall 
 go to the play, races, and to the Opera, when 
 our box is not full. Of course she cannot ex- 
 pect as much attention as our Jane, who has
 
 THE THREE TATHS. 167 
 
 a handsome fortune, but this she will not mind. 
 Armstrong would have gladly sent a hundred 
 pound for her outfit, but we have so many 
 necessary things to buy, that rich as we may 
 appear to you, we are really poor. My diamonds 
 alone have cost more than a quarter of my in- 
 come ; and I find it very difficult to dress upon 
 my pin money, which is only six hundred a 
 year. We cannot give money, but the run of 
 our house is at your service. Of course Louisa 
 has no maid, but the under-housemaid's girl 
 shall wait on her. Our ladies' maids will be too 
 busy. I hope, dear cousin, Delville and the 
 children are well ; no scarlet-fever or measles, 
 which are always in poor people's houses. I 
 have sent some frocks and scarfs. They have 
 been little worn, as I never let my children 
 appear more than three or four times in the 
 same clothes. If they do not fit they can be 
 easily altered. And now, dear cousin, you 
 have only to fix your own day. As the boxes 
 would scratch our carriage, and flys are expen- 
 sive, one of our servants shall be at the station 
 to call a cab. Armstrong sends his love, and 
 Jane desires me to tell Louisa that she shall be 
 glad to see her ; and, 
 
 " I remain, dear coz, 
 
 " Your attached relation, 
 
 " Maria Armstrong. 
 "P.S. As a hack-cab will not look well
 
 168 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 at our door, Louisa can get out round the 
 corner/' 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the amuse- 
 ment this letter occasioned. Far from being 
 offended, Mr. and Mrs. Delville were extremely 
 entertained. The children were in ecstasies of 
 delight at the importation of cast-off clothes 
 that were hourly to be expected. There was 
 something so original in the plain straight- 
 forward communication of cousin Armstrong, 
 that there was but one feeling in all the party. 
 Albert, the eldest boy, took off Louisa running 
 round the corner, while Henry carried a sofa- 
 cushion as a trunk, and Annie, the youngest 
 girl, personated the under-housemaid's girl. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Delville allowed them to amuse 
 themselves for some time, and then assuming a 
 more serious tone, told them that they must not 
 let their spirits run away with them, for that it 
 was not right to ridicule the foibles of others, still 
 less those of relations, however distant ; that Mr. 
 Armstrong having been made by his money, 
 attached much importance to the golden cement 
 which fastened him on his self-created pedestal, 
 and that it was only his assumption that made 
 him ridiculous. " All, my dears,"' said Mr. Del- 
 ville, " must have a beginning ; and if Mr. Arm- 
 strong had become rich by fair and honourable 
 means, there is no reason why he should not pur-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 169 
 
 cbase station. Refinement and intellectual ac- 
 quirements are the growth of years, and these 
 might be given to his children. The man whose 
 talents and energies have raised him from an ob- 
 scure origin, is worthy of the highest esteem, if 
 they have never been unjustly used, and the good 
 of his fellow-creatures, more than personal ag- 
 grandizement, has been his first consideration. 
 In the case of cousin Armstrong, we cannot feel 
 that wealth has been accumulated on such 
 grounds. It has been mere gambling. Still, if we 
 cannot say good, we can be silent ; unless we are 
 called upon to speak the truth in the cause of 
 justice or self-defence. Then, indeed, it is the 
 height of meanness to conceal what is right, 
 merely from the fear of bringing discomfort on 
 ourselves. It is the wise saying of Lord Bacon, 
 that ' it asketh a strons: wit and a stronof heart 
 to know when to tell the truth ;' but be sure, 
 my beloved children, that it is the safest plan. 
 A plain straightforward course always brings 
 its blessing, while one false turning leads to 
 inextricable difficulties. ' Crafty councils pro- 
 mise fair at first, but prove more difficult in the 
 managing, and in the end do pay the under- 
 takers thereof with desperate son'ow.' 'Do 
 what is right, and trust,' should ever be your 
 maxim ; and all, dear children, who ask in sim- 
 plicity and faith, setting aside their own incli- 
 nation, will generally, if not always, find them- 
 selves strengthened to choose, and guided to
 
 170 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 use the right way. No after considerations or 
 persuasions should influence you. In this world 
 we must prepare for trial. It is not a time of 
 rest when we first begin to feel the importance 
 of doing right or wrong. It is then that we 
 must put on our armour. The advice of the 
 son of Sirach should be yours. *My son, if 
 thou come to serve the Lord, prepare thy soul 
 for temptation. Set thy heart aright, and con- 
 stantly endure, and make not haste in time of 
 trouble.' We must not, my dear Albert,"" he 
 added, looking at him aflectionately, " be like a 
 cowardly soldier, who, after performing well on 
 a field-day, runs away in the day of battle ; but 
 you will think that papa has forgotten that he 
 is not in his pulpit, and mamma must order 
 dinner, or you will all look very cross when two 
 o'clock comes.'" 
 
 "Mamma,"' said Louisa, when Mr. Delville 
 had left the room, " how is it possible to go 
 through the world without seeing faults ? We 
 might as well be blind."" 
 
 " It is not intended, my dear, that we should 
 be thus insensible to the faults of others ; but 
 there is a great difierence in the way in which 
 we see them. If we regard them with com- 
 passion and regret, and the desire to correct in 
 love, we only imitate our Saviour's example. 
 If we regard them as a warning to ourselves, it 
 is a duty ; but if we view them with self-com- 
 placency, and talk of them with satisfactioRj
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 171 
 
 we are wrong. The sins of tlie tongue are of 
 more importance than most, and their conse- 
 quences the most fatal. It is generally from a 
 desire to raise ourselves in the estimation of 
 others, that ill-natured comments are made ; 
 but in the end they invariably return upon 
 those who originate them. If they have had no 
 foundation, they will not be allowed to injure.'' 
 
 " And how is it possible,'' replied Louisa, 
 " not to be disgusted with such low pride as 
 Mrs. Armstrong's, or the ill-natured and spite- 
 ful remarks of Lady Sophia Cumberland and 
 Mrs. Watson." 
 
 " It is, as you say, my dear child, very un- 
 amiable in the one, and spiteful in the other ; 
 but in reality they are alone to be pitied. Lady 
 Sophia is an unhappy woman. She has given 
 up one world without finding another. Her 
 head is filled with notions and prejudices, while 
 her heart is untouched. She is more angry 
 with others for not agreeing with her, than at 
 their not doing what is right. In short, she is 
 a victim to her own ignorance and to the cun- 
 ning of a designing woman, while of real spiri- 
 tual life she knows nothing. She is like a 
 person who has lived for years upon stimulants, 
 and who suddenly leaves them off For in the 
 midst of all the restraints she has imposed on 
 herself, her mind is as uncontrolled as ever. 
 She has tied her hands, but grace has not
 
 172 THE THEEE PATHS. 
 
 changed her lieart. I often feel for lier, and 
 long to open her eyes, but it is impossible while 
 Mrs. Watson is her keeper. I never forget to 
 pray for her. On the other side, Mrs. Armstrong 
 will be equally disappointed in ]ier expectations. 
 She will not find that money alone will make 
 her happy. The very persons who eat her din- 
 ners and attend her balls will laugh at her and 
 despise her ; her daughter will be sought by 
 some ruined man of rank for her fortune, who 
 will cease his attentions as soon as he has 
 gained his end, and spend it in self-indulgence. 
 Mrs. Armstrong will find herself a ball in the 
 hands of others, to be tossed here and there 
 according to their pleasure, and little to her 
 own. Ignorant of the w^orld, it wall delight in 
 making her ridiculous. If for a time she is 
 amused, she will soon find that she has laboured 
 for that which is not bread. Her letter is too 
 absurd to be thought of for a moment. If it 
 had been her intention to insult, she has failed; 
 and if, as I really believe, she intended it as a 
 kindness, it may safely be received as such. 
 Under no circumstances would I have exposed 
 you, my dear child, to so vulgar a mind. We 
 may not be rich, and may be what the world 
 calls poor ; but you are far better at home un- 
 less you can leave it in a respectable way. In 
 Mrs. Somerset you have a true friend, and in 
 the delicacy of her refined mind you will never
 
 r z r-zz i^rzi 173 
 
 be made to feel that the absence of ricLrs i? 
 despicable. It is onlj when we are ashamed of 
 ourselYes that we become worthj of contempts 
 Bnt I hear ten o'clock striking while I haTe 
 been finishing dear papa's sermon. Go, Louisa^ 
 dear ; jon must be sole goTemess this morning, 
 for I must answer Mrsw Armstrong^'s letter." 
 
 The children ran gailj to the school-room, 
 well pleased to be under the care of thdr affec- 
 tionate sister, while Louisa was equallj happj in 
 being of use to her mother. Mm. DeiyiQe wrote 
 a Teiy kind but decided refusal to Mr& Ann- 
 strong's iuTitation, much to this lad j's disap- 
 pointment, who had fi)r some days made her 
 charitable intentions to her poor cousin the 
 s - lier couTcrsation with all her Tisitors. 
 
 I ^-cci.rt she had hoped to reap considerable 
 
 . : rage from Louisa's superior connexi<ms, 
 and was bj no means pleased at the result. 
 She greatlj bemoaned the pride of poverty, and 
 expressed her hope that her poor cousin would 
 not be injured bj living in Mi& Somerset's set. 
 If she had come to her, she should have con- 
 sidered it a duty to make Louisa feel the differ- 
 ence of her position; and she sighed and looked 
 sad: aU of which acting left the impression 
 upon the friends to whom she had thus opened 
 her heartj of her being exceedingly envious of 
 Louisa's appealing under such very diffierent 
 auspices to her Jane, and made them more 
 kindly disposed to the poor o ousia.
 
 174 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 At Langdale Park another system had been 
 adopted. Lady Sophia, who did not dare to 
 resist Mrs. Watson's authority, was afraid to 
 take Edith into society, while she was equally 
 angry that others should enjoy it. She would 
 not have thought it absurd that Geraldine 
 should go to London, though she considered it 
 wrong to take her ; but Louisa's going was a 
 crime in her eyes. Mrs. Watson was quite sure 
 that no good could come of it, and would not 
 have been sorry that her prophecy should prove 
 true. In the mean while, Mr. and Mrs. Delville 
 went on quietly with their duties, only anxious 
 to do what was most likely to conduce to the 
 real forming of their child's mind. They had 
 seen so much evil consequent upon the denial 
 of innocent amusement to the young, that they 
 dreaded it. In the Word of God, the wisdom 
 of the serpent is not separated from the harm- 
 lessness of the dove ; and when it is, it often 
 becomes wickedness or weakness. United, the 
 character is well formed. Ignorance of the 
 world renders half our goodness useless ; and 
 those who are forced into restraints which they 
 neither understand nor appreciate, and which 
 they hate, are as " an unclean bird caged up. 
 For as no raking nor harrowing can alter the 
 nature of a barren ground, though it may smooth 
 and level it to the eye, so neither can those 
 early disciplines of parents and tutors extirpate 
 the minute appetites of the soul, and turn the
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 175 
 
 bad heart into a good. They may indeed draw 
 some plausible lines of civility upon the outer 
 carriage and conversation ; but to conquer a 
 natural inclination is the work of a higher 
 power ^/' If the spirit of excitement exist, it 
 will find vent ; and there is often as much dis- 
 sipation and as little profit in the incessant 
 chase after preachers, religious meetings, gos- 
 siping working -parties, and ill-timed visits 
 among the poor, and charitable institutions, as 
 in the votary of fashion. If the mind is as it 
 should be — 
 
 " The trivial round, the common task, 
 Would furnish all we ought to ask ; 
 Room to deny ourselves — a road 
 To bring us daily nearer God." 
 
 And in seeking greater things, we often do our- 
 selves more harm than good. How grievous 
 is the remark so often made, that no children 
 turn out so badly as those of professing Chris- 
 tians ! And how deeply must all lament that 
 it should be too often the case ! The children 
 are neglected, and left to servants or strangers, 
 while the mother is giving her whole time to 
 the instruction of the offspring of others. The 
 domestic hearth is deserted for the lecture 
 or prayer-meeting, and the children perhaps 
 dragged to hear that which they cannot under- 
 stand — their minds strained and their spirits 
 
 1 South's Sermons.
 
 176 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 wasted, till tliey learn to attach these weari- 
 some scenes to religion, and to hate that which, 
 if presented to them in its true shape, is " alto- 
 gether lovely/' The young cannot feel as those 
 do who are advanced in life ; and if the bough 
 is rudely bent, it either breaks or grows 
 crooked, while, if carefully and tenderly guided, 
 humoured and directed instead of being forced, 
 it becomes a luxuriant branch. Others may 
 then sit under its shadow, and its fruit will 
 be sweet to them. After a time, the mind, 
 if not entirely devoid of understanding, feels the 
 w^orld to be unsatisfying ; like the dove, it finds 
 no rest for the sole of its foot. It is only the 
 carrion crow that will take refuge on the car- 
 cases. The pure and elevated mind, after a 
 short flight, returns to the ark, and, anxious as 
 it had been to try its powers, no longer wishes 
 to stray. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Delville had passed many anx- 
 ious hours in meditation on this subject — many 
 an earnest prayer for guidance had been offered 
 up ; and their conclusion, both from observa- 
 tion, experience, and good sense, was, that it 
 was better, as the opportunity had offered with- 
 out being sought, to allow Louisa to judge for 
 herself, than to keep her away from that which 
 her lively spirits and inquiring mind would 
 naturally lead her to wish., There are some dull 
 and automaton spirits which can be moulded at
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 177 
 
 will, and with such, indifference makes the way 
 plain ; but where God has put a steel, and not 
 a wooden, sword into the scabbard, it will either 
 rust or force its way through. The one does no 
 harm and no good ; the other may occasionally 
 do mischief, but, if properly directed, preserves 
 the life of its owner and of others. " If the eye 
 be single, the whole body shall be full of light.'' 
 " Neither do men light a candle and put it 
 under a bushel, but on a candlestick, and it 
 giveth light to all that are in the house." As 
 the salt prevents corruption, so by mixing, as 
 our Saviour did, with men, our light, if it be a 
 pure one, will so shine before men, that they, 
 seeing it, will glorify God. It is the absence of 
 salt in ourselves, more than the corruption of 
 others, which injures us. " To the pure all 
 things are pure/' By separation our Saviour 
 evidently implied a separation from sin, a dif- 
 ference in spirit, of motives, and in our con- 
 versation, not in our dress, manners, or common 
 intercourse. By so doing we lower His standard, 
 when our endeavour should be to attain unto 
 it ; nor should we condemn those who, by con- 
 stant watchfulness and prayer, are able to wit- 
 ness to this far higher degree of grace — 
 
 " Who are in the world, aud yet not of it." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It is some time since we have heard of Edith 
 Cumberland, who, in accordance with her father's 
 determination, had been sent to school. The 
 change had, in some respects, been of use to 
 her. It had softened the asperities of her cha- 
 racter, and taught her more self-control. In all 
 external advantages she had gained consider- 
 ably, and on her return to Langdale, her father 
 was pleased with the improvement in her ap- 
 pearance and manner. He strongly urged the 
 propriety of her being properly introduced into 
 society ; but Mrs. Watson, well aware that all 
 her influence depended upon the exclusive pos- 
 session of Lady Sophia, counteracted all his 
 persuasions, and Edith had the mortification of 
 seeing both her young friends go to London, 
 leaving her alone in her unhappy home. Had 
 it been otherwise, the case would have been 
 different ; for the interchange of feeling and 
 the " sweet aspect of love'' in domestic life have 
 an inexpressible charm. None such existed at
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 179 
 
 Langdale. There " tlie heart of the righteous 
 was made sad, whom God hath not made sad/' 
 It was vacancy, not an exchange of excitement 
 for rational amusement and interest. Colonel 
 Cumberland, finding it impossible to alter Lady 
 Sophia's determination, went to London alone, 
 as usual. The brothers were absent, and Edith 
 wandered about in idleness and solitude, open 
 to any passing impression that might present 
 itself. She was not a ofirl of strong^ mind, or 
 she might have found amusement and instruc- 
 tion in her father's library, and occupation in 
 the village ; but she had no kind friend to 
 direct her. From being incessantly chided and 
 told that she was very wicked, an accusation 
 which she considered unjust, her feelings were 
 hardened, and she was disposed to think reli- 
 gion a cold, hard, and diy duty, and one in 
 which she found no pleasure. What she saw 
 under its name was of this nature ; for how can 
 it for one moment be supposed that our faculties 
 were given us to be extinguished ? It is not 
 the use but the abuse which is dangerous, and 
 nothing exposes to sin more than ignorance. 
 " Light itself is faith, but the armour of light 
 is knowledge. An ignorant man is a disarmed 
 and naked man." He is open to every man's folly, 
 believes every thing he hears, and has nothing 
 to oppose to false arguments and imaginary 
 theories, while the well-instructed have the 
 N 2
 
 180 THE THREE PATHS, 
 
 head so well stored, that the understanding is 
 strengthened, and the ground so pre-occupied, 
 that stray seeds and wandering notions find no 
 place. 
 
 As Lady Sophia was sitting in her boudoir, 
 Mrs. Watson rushed in almost breathless, and 
 with a look of mystery and a screwed-up 
 mouth took possession of her usual chair. 
 Lady Sophia's curiosity was excited, and look- 
 ing up from one of the morbid, sentimental 
 books over which she dreamed away her exist- 
 ence, as her mind could receive little else, she 
 asked, what could be the matter ? 
 
 Mrs. Watson gave a deep sigh, and answered : 
 
 "Only think of Louisa Delville's going to 
 London with Mrs. Somerset ; can you imagine 
 any thing more shocking?" 
 
 Lady Sophia raised her hands and eyes in 
 horror, and repeated, " Louisa Delville going to 
 town with Mrs. Somerset ! Can it be possible V 
 
 " Oh, I know it is true, for a young woman 
 who works in our village has been sent for to 
 the rectory, to help in preparing her dresses. 
 Only think of the expense, and then the ideas 
 it will give her ; and the Delvilles are proud 
 enough already. My Susan would never think 
 of such a thing!'' 
 
 Even Lady Sophia could not refrain from 
 making a comparison in her own mind, be- 
 tween the graceful sylph-like Louisa, and the
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 181 
 
 great, awkward, red-faced Susan Watson ; but 
 her indignation at tlie idea of Mrs. Somerset's 
 taking Louisa was too great to allow of any 
 other feeling. 
 
 " And this is what all Mr. Delville's profes- 
 sion comes to, to allow his daughter to go to 
 London.'' 
 
 In her heart, Mrs. Watson was dying of 
 envy. She had vainly endeavoured to get a 
 footing at Staunton Park, but had been treated 
 with civility and coldness. Mrs. Somerset 
 found no pleasure in being toadied. She was 
 quite above it. She neither wished to pa- 
 tronise nor be patronised. She sought equality 
 of mind, and this was not to be met with in 
 Mrs. Watson. If her practice and profession 
 had agreed, she would have received her gladly 
 as the wife of a clergyman, and, as such, treated 
 her with respect. As it was, she was of that 
 class who, according to Dr. Johnson, have lost 
 the civility of a tradesman, without having 
 gained the politeness of a gentleman. Her 
 religion was her outside garment, and had 
 been her passport into society. It had nothing 
 to do with the heart. She was especially en- 
 vious of Mrs. Delville, whose reality in all 
 things, from the least to the greatest, was 
 visible in every thought, word and work ; who 
 without pretence or presumption was in her 
 proper place, either at Langdale, Staunton, or
 
 182 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 the Abbey, indifferent if vulgar minds slighted 
 her, and at ease wherever she was received. 
 The respect and affection with which the 
 family were regarded was a perpetual thorn to 
 Mrs. Watson, and she would have gladly less- 
 ened it if possible. It was utterly incompre- 
 hensible to her, that without station or fortune 
 Mr. and Mrs. Delville and Louisa should be 
 generally sought and appreciated, while she 
 was passed by without the slightest acknowledg- 
 ment. She was bursting with envy, — " Envy 
 which makes us see what will serve to accuse 
 others, but not to perceive what may justify 
 them. A truly good man is always disposed 
 to excuse what is evil in others, as far as truth 
 will suffer him.'" This was not the case with 
 Mrs. Watson. So elevated a mind as Mr. 
 Delville's was quite beyond her comprehension, 
 and so she put her own littleness into his 
 greatness, and judged him accordingly, 
 
 " I have no doubt," she continued, " but that 
 Mr. and Mrs. Delville hope to catch Mr. Somer- 
 set for Louisa. You know that he is to be 
 Duke of Ormanton." 
 
 " I can quite believe it,'" observed Lady 
 Sophia, " and I know that Lady Davenport 
 suspected it long ago. At all events, she 
 hopes to find some great match for Louisa.'"' 
 
 ** I had sometimes hoped, madam, that your 
 Edith might have married Mr. Somerset,'*
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 183 
 
 smilingly observed Mrs. "Watson. " I hear that 
 notwithstanding his mother's dreadful worldli- 
 ness, he promises to be a useful member of 
 society."' 
 
 " Oh no/' said Lady Sophia, " Mrs. Somerset 
 would not like him to marry Edith. She would 
 prefer one of her own set." 
 
 " Wliy to be sure she is very proud ; but I 
 can hardly imagine that though she treats me 
 with such contempt, she could despise your 
 daughter." 
 
 Just as these words were spoken, Mrs. So- 
 merset and Geraldine were announced, and 
 Mrs. Watson, all smiles and courtesy, left her 
 seat to lead her to the sofa of the malade ima- 
 ginaire. After the usual greetings had passed, 
 she asked Mrs. Somerset if it were true that 
 Louisa Delville was going to town with her. 
 
 " Certainly," she answered ; " and Greraldine 
 and I are looking forward with the greatest 
 pleasure to so agreeable an addition to our 
 party." 
 
 Mrs. Watson nodded her head, in the way 
 vulgar people alone can do, and looked myste- 
 riously at Lady Sophia. Geraldine, finding 
 that Edith was in the garden, asked if she 
 might join her, and gladly escaped from a con- 
 versation to v/hich she could find no response 
 in her feelings. 
 
 *' Do you not think," said Lady Sophia,
 
 184 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 " that it will put notions into her head incon- 
 sistent with her position in life ?" 
 
 " In what way?'' said Mrs. Somerset. "Be- 
 yond the simple accident of fortune, there is 
 little difference between Mr. and Mrs. Delville 
 and myself ; and it will be a decided advantage 
 to Louisa to see a little of the world, in which 
 she will probably take part at some future 
 time. Were she unfitted for society, or were she 
 to return to a vulgar home, I should act difier- 
 ently. I should not have thought of inviting 
 Susan Watson,"' (Mrs. Watson had left the 
 room,) — and Mrs. Somerset added, " whenever 
 Louisa is with her own relations, her associates 
 and friends are the same as she will meet at 
 my house, as her parents were well known 
 formerly." 
 
 " Suppose," replied Lady Sophia, " that Mr. 
 Somerset should become attached to her. I 
 am assured that her father and mother hope it 
 may be so." 
 
 "You are quite misinformed, I assure you. 
 Such sordid motives have no part in their con- 
 sent to my taking Louisa. Besides, Ernest is 
 scarcely nineteen ; he will be at College nearly 
 all the time that we are in London, which at 
 once disproves the ill-natured report which has 
 reached you. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Delville 
 are ambitious for their children ; but they feel 
 that a knowledge of the world is the best
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 185 
 
 remedy for its evil influence, and I hope that I 
 shall justify the confidence they have reposed 
 in me, hy returning* their dear child as pure 
 as she leaves them. Some years hence, if 
 Ernest should choose Louisa, I should rejoice 
 in receiving her as my daughter. These things 
 should be left to themselves ; and unless my 
 son were to make a disgraceful connexion, I 
 should not interfere. Interference seldom does 
 good, and many a mother has suffered much 
 for it in after years, by her child's making a 
 worse marriage than the one she prevented.'' 
 
 Lady Sophia, finding it useless to insinuate 
 suspicion into Mrs. Somerset's upright mind, 
 turned to other subjects, till the carriage was 
 announced, and she and Greraldine took leave 
 and proceeded to the Abbey. 
 
 As they drove up the avenue, which led 
 through Langdale Park, both felt pained by the 
 ill-natured remarks they had heard. Far fi'om 
 having received the slightest impression unfa- 
 vourable to Mr. and Mrs. Delville, the supe- 
 riority of their character became more striking, 
 for no want of charity was ever evinced in 
 their conversation. They only reproved by 
 example, and witnessed to the glory of God by 
 a "good conversation coupled with fear," not 
 the fear of a slave, but the fear of grieving the 
 Spirit of Him whose name is Love. Lady 
 Sophia, totally unconscious of her own sin in
 
 186 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 breaking the greatest of all spiritual graces — 
 charity — gave way to the most unkind feel- 
 ings towards others. Our Saviour's precept, 
 " Judge not, that ye be not judged/' formed no 
 part of her religion, and she spent the greatest 
 part of her time in criticisms on her neighbours, 
 who often left her house, with the remark, that 
 instead of hearing Christian conversation, they 
 were no where entertained with so much ill- 
 natured gossip. 
 
 Geraldine had found Edith in a most un- 
 happy state of feeling, and felt quite anxious 
 about the result of the pernicious system of 
 which she was the victim. Her residence with 
 a variety of other girls, though it might have 
 chastened the expression of her feelings, had in 
 no degree corrected them. On the contrary, it 
 had increased her sense of the injustice done to 
 her; 
 
 One morning as she was strolling in a senti- 
 mental mood through a shady path in a small 
 wood outside the park gate, she saw a little bird 
 on the path, which appeared injured. She had 
 been reading some of the beautiful, but most ener- 
 vating and unhealthy poetiy of Byron, a volume 
 of which had been secretly conveyed to her 
 through one of her former associates at school, 
 such a proceeding being one of the sad effects 
 of the want of confidence in a mother. In 
 stooping to raise the bird, she dropped her book,
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 187 
 
 and unconscious of the loss, walked on. She 
 had not however been unobserved, for, concealed 
 behind one of the trees stood a youth of three 
 or four and twenty, and immediately upon 
 seeing the book fall, he rushed forward and 
 following her, presented it with a respectful bow. 
 He was tall and handsome. A large deep blue 
 eye was shaded by long lashes, resting upon a 
 pale cheek. His dark hair curled naturally over 
 a high intellectual forehead. The nose was 
 slightly aquiline and delicately formed, with a 
 short upper lip, but not so short as to denote 
 weakness of character. His motions were grace- 
 ful, and it was evident that he was of gentle 
 blood. In dress there was no affectation, and 
 his manner of giving the book, was that of ease 
 and respect. This was quite an event in Edith's 
 dull and uninteresting life. During the whole of 
 the day, her thoughts wandered towards the 
 handsome stranger, and the next morning her 
 steps naturally turned into the same shady path. 
 A little more time and attention was given to 
 her dress, which was elegant and negligee. On 
 this point her father was determined to have 
 his way, and, as he paid her allowance himself, 
 Mrs. Watson had no power to prevent her look- 
 ing like an elegant girl. In a simple muslin, 
 with a black silk mantilla, and a pretty little 
 straw bonnet, she looked very lovely. Her 
 complexion was dehcate, her countenance soft,
 
 188 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 and her hair as smooth and shining as a raven's 
 wing. Bien chaussee, and bien gantee, the 
 fair Edith set out on her way. Lady Sophia 
 breakfasted in bed, — her father was absent ; no 
 tender mother's eye, no settled principle was at 
 hand to direct her wandering steps. As she 
 entered the path, her expectations were not 
 disappointed, for the same handsome youth was 
 reclining on a mossy bank, with his eyes appa- 
 rently fixed on a book, but in reality intent 
 upon watching Edith. She walked on gravely, 
 but as she approached the spot where he sat, 
 she stumbled over a projecting branch, and 
 would have fallen, but for his arm which checked 
 her progress. This brought on a short conver- 
 sation. He hoped that she had not hurt herself, 
 and she blushingly thanked him for his assist- 
 ance. Indeed, on attempting to walk she 
 found her foot was hurt, so that she could not 
 refuse his proffered arm. At first she was un- 
 willing to do so, for the still small voice of con- 
 science would be heard, and whispered, that it 
 would have been wiser and more prudent to 
 have declined it. She also remembered the 
 painful result of her former dereliction from the 
 path of duty, but whoever stops to dally with 
 conscience, will find its remonstrances become 
 weaker and weaker. Inclination is an earnest 
 pleader, and they who. walk in their own 
 strength will inevitably fall. Thus it was with
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 189 
 
 Edith, and she succeeded so far in quieting her 
 mind as to accept the offered arm. She found 
 an elegant and refined mind. The conversation 
 turned upon poetry, and, as she listened to his 
 high and sentimental flow of eloquence, she felt 
 new life. As she approached the park gate, 
 her sense of propriety, or rather the fear of dis- 
 covery, returned, and saying that she had ap- 
 pointed her maid to meet her at the lodge, she 
 gracefully bowed her thanks, and contrived to 
 slip in unobserved. The pain in the foot had 
 been quite forgotten, but she remained station- 
 ary till the receding figure of the stranger had 
 disappeared, and then floAv like a lapwing across 
 the park. She reached the house just in time for 
 luncheon. Mrs. Watson made some remarks on 
 her heightened colour, which tended to increase 
 it still more, but Edith was too much pre-occupied 
 to resent it as usual. "When she retired to her 
 room she had again recourse to her maid, and 
 asked her if she had heard of any new families 
 in the neighbourhood. 
 
 The maid answered that she had heard one 
 of the gardeners say, that the small house called 
 " Vine Cottage,'' about a mile from the village, 
 had lately been taken ; " but I should not think, 
 miss,'' she added, "that such as you would notice 
 the people who may live there." 
 
 " Why ?" said Edith^ " many very nice people
 
 190 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 live in cottages, and I should like you to find 
 out who lias taken it/' 
 
 "Why, miss, what can it signify to you? 
 I heard Madam AYatson say that they must be 
 mean people, for that their butcher's bill was 
 almost nothing, and their washing still less/' 
 
 " Such things, Mary, are no proof of gentility 
 to any but common minds. On the contrary, 
 superior people eat to live, and do not live to eat ; 
 so I beg, Mary, that you say no more, but do 
 as I bid you."' 
 
 Mary went grumbling out of the room, won- 
 dering to herself why her young mistress should 
 trouble herself about that trumpery Vine Cot- 
 tage. For her part, she was sure that she would 
 not condescend to speak to the servants. How 
 could maids living in a cottage be of the same 
 material as those of the great house ? 
 
 She went, however, to her particular friend, 
 John the gardener, and consoled herself with a 
 pleasant flirtation. On questioning him, her 
 curiosity was fully satisfied. The cottage had 
 been taken by Mrs. Melcombe, the widow of an 
 officer, a lady of respectable connexions, but of 
 small income. 
 
 " I'll warrant,'' said John, " that Miss Edith 
 has spied Master Melcombe, for he's an uncom- 
 mon fine gentleman to look at," 
 
 "Oh! that accounts," said Mary, "for her
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 191 
 
 fine colour this morning. Well, poor dear lad j, 
 I hope she may find somebody to amuse herself 
 with, for it really makes my heart ache to see 
 her moping about all alone as she does. Why, 
 it is enough to stifle all her ideas.'' 
 
 " I understand now,'' said John, " why Mas- 
 ter Melcombe gave me half-a-crown to let him 
 peep into the garden the other evening, when 
 the family were at dinner. I thought there 
 must be something in the wind." 
 
 Thus had this sweet and delicate girl exposed 
 herself to the comments of two low minds. 
 How do such thinofs deo-rade ! how dark and 
 muddy are the paths that lead to sin ! How 
 much happier Edith would have been, had she 
 turned her mind to useful occupation. Why 
 was her mother's folly to be visited on herself? 
 But where was the anchor ? She had none, 
 and the sea on which she was about to launch 
 herself, was a most dangerous one. She ascer- 
 tained that young Melcombe was a barrister, 
 and on a visit to his mother, who had retired 
 to Vine Cottage, to enable her to meet the 
 necessary expenses of his education. He was 
 intelligent and clever ; full of enthusiasm, but 
 \dthout the foundation which keeps it within 
 the bounds of prudence and discretion. Great 
 talents, without wisdom and learning, are as 
 dangerous as an engine without a driver. " Wit 
 is brushwood ; judgment is timber. The first
 
 192 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 makes the brightest flame, but the other gives 
 the most lasting light/' So it was with Alger- 
 non Melcombe. With great powers of mind, he 
 was idle ; and while he should have been looking 
 as his highest hope to the pleasure of relieving 
 his mother of his expenses, and of becoming 
 distinguished in his profession, his time was 
 passed in sentimental reverie, or in reading and 
 repeating poetry. In the mean time his studies 
 were neglected, so that though idleness may 
 travel leisurely, poverty, which soon overtakes 
 her, was rapidly approaching. It was an unfor- 
 tunate day for him when he first saw Edith, for 
 his imagination was fired and his vanity flat- 
 tered, and he immediately formed plans for the 
 future, which were neither rational nor justifiable. 
 With the selfishness peculiar to most men, he 
 never for a moment thought of all the sacrifices 
 Edith must make, should she be persuaded to 
 leave the comforts and luxuries to which she 
 was accustomed. The comparison between 
 Langdale Park and a miserable lodging in Lon- 
 don, did not occur to him. Self-gratification 
 and the eclat of carrying her ofl", was all he 
 thought of. The day of retribution was in his 
 idea far distant, but there is an eye that never 
 sleeps. " Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith 
 the Lord.'' Many a secret sin, many a wrong 
 done to the widow and fatherless, — many a be- 
 trayed parent or a deceived child will rise up in
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 193 
 
 judgment. Even in this world the payment 
 seldom fails, and those who watch the ways of 
 Pro\ddence may generally trace it, though it 
 may not be equally visible to indifferent ob- 
 servers. " He that walketh uprightly walketh 
 surely/' but the way of the sinner leads to de- 
 struction. Day after day, Edith might be seen 
 stealing into the wood to meet Algernon Mel- 
 combe, while his deserted mother wondered why 
 he no longer accompanied her in her walks, or 
 cheered her at home. She had given" up a most 
 comfortable residence, where the happy days of 
 her married life had been passed, for the humble 
 cottage which she now occupied, that she might 
 be enabled to make a larger allowance to her 
 son. At a time of life when the transplanting 
 of an old tree leaves no hope of new branches or 
 fresh leaves, she had left all that was dear to her, 
 with no prospect of forming new connexions. A 
 widow no longer young has few charms for youth 
 and gaiety. Early friends will not leave her 
 alone in age, and if she be a child of God, she will 
 cease to be dependent upon her fellow-creatures 
 for enjoyment ; but those who are in the morn- 
 ing of life have little sympathy with the way- 
 worn traveller, though now and then — 
 
 " God's gracious care will send that way 
 Some spirit full of glee, — yet taught 
 To bear the sight of dull decay, 
 And nurse it with all-pitying thought." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 Editli possessed no sucli spirit. She knew no- 
 thing of the love which brightens the sorrow- 
 ing heart. Her affections had never been 
 drawn out. They had found no opportunity 
 for expansion. They were like a pent-up 
 stream which at last bursts the bounds not 
 formed by nature, and rushes through for- 
 bidden channels. Of Mrs. Melcombe she never 
 thought. Her own parents occupied no place 
 in her heart. To her father she was almost a 
 stranger ; from her mother, an alien. Her 
 brothers were worse than nothing, and would 
 have encouraged her in doing wrong. The 
 elder was leading a gay and disreputable life 
 at college ; the younger had little sense, and 
 was not of an age to have any influence over 
 her. With all these disadvantages, she was 
 under the fatal influence of a gifted mind with- 
 out principle. Louisa Delville was absent ; and, 
 excepting a yearly formal visit to Langdale 
 Park, Mr. and Mrs. Delville never called on her 
 mother. Lady Sophia found no congeniality of 
 feeling in them. It would have been fortunate 
 for Mrs. Melcombe had her lot been cast at 
 Staunton. There neither sickness, poverty, or 
 widowhood would have separated her from 
 sympathy and kindness. Far from it, — they 
 would have been so many additional claims 
 upon the attention of both families. Instead 
 of being drawn from her, her son would have
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 195 
 
 been an object of interest to all, and in Mr. 
 Delville he would have found a guide and 
 friend. The time for his return to London 
 was nearly come, and yet he lingered. His 
 temper became irritable and excitable, and 
 Mrs. Melcombe vainly endeavoured to regain 
 the love which she seemed unconsciously to 
 have estranged from her. Edith had more 
 time than ever to herself, for Lady Sophia was 
 incessantly occupied with the daily details 
 brought her by Mrs. "Watson of all that 
 Mrs. Somerset, but more especially Louisa 
 Delville, was doing. This lady acted the part 
 of jackal to the lion. She had some obscure 
 relations, living in a very unfashionable 
 street near the Regent's Park, with whom 
 she corresponded daily. The natural conse- 
 quence was, that all her information having 
 been filtered through the minds and mouths of 
 ladies'-maids and footmen, each adding and 
 subtracting according to the sources from 
 which it flowed, was generally incorrect, or 
 without foundation. The most absurd stories 
 were told and freely believed, and if, when 
 Lady Matilda Mertoun called, she ventured to 
 deny them from a real knowledge of facts, she 
 was contradicted as partial and interested. She 
 herself had declined going to Lady Davenport, 
 preferring to stay at the Abbey to cheer her 
 parents. Lord Rockingham, who had been an 
 2
 
 196 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 invalid, was unable to move ; and her mother, 
 convinced that she should never make her 
 any thing beyond a good girl, and somehow 
 finding her as such a greater comfort than a 
 fine lady, was contented to occupy her arm- 
 chair, and enjoy the sweets of her garden, in- 
 stead of the asperities of fashion. Matilda was, 
 therefore, completely established as a nurse to 
 them both. It was a real pleasure to her; and 
 though nobody enjoyed society more, or was 
 more fitted to give and receive pleasure, she 
 was always cheerful and happy. On hearing 
 that Mrs. Melcombe was living in the village of 
 Langdale, she made a point of visiting her, 
 whenever she called on Lady Sophia. Had it 
 not been for the conviction that God would 
 not permit injury to Louisa from the envy and 
 malice of Mrs. Watson, Matilda would have felt 
 much vexed at her ill-natured reports. Satis- 
 fied of their untruth, she left them to contra- 
 dict themselves ; while Louisa, safe under the 
 protecting love of Mrs. Somerset, and the affec- 
 tionate companionship of Geraldine, was ex- 
 tremely entertained with the wonderful things 
 she was supposed to have said or done. Con- 
 scious that a person must be insignificant in- 
 deed who escapes detraction, and equally con- 
 vinced, that though its object, reality never 
 becomes its victim, Mr. and Mrs. Delville were 
 not disturbed. They contented themselves
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 197 
 
 with daily letters of affection and advice, and 
 satisfied that Mrs. Somerset would never sanc- 
 tion or allow any thing not strictly correct, 
 they left envy and detraction to itself For as 
 David writes, " Their own tongues shall destroy 
 them \' and another wise man observes, that 
 " Envy, like chickens, always returns to its 
 own roost.'* Mrs. Watson would have shown 
 more wisdom and discretion, if, instead of gos- 
 sipping with Lady Sophia, she had remained 
 at home and taken care of her children. 
 Susan Watson would not then have been 
 hanging out of the w^indow all day in the 
 hope of seeing Algernon Melcombe, and her 
 brothers and sisters would not have been in 
 the kitchen or in the stable. It might truly 
 be said of her, that " Keeper of vineyards, 
 mine own have I not kept."" While she was 
 w^atching all Louisa's actions, her own charge 
 was left to run wild. Susan could never gain 
 one look from Algernon ; and as the wood in 
 w^iich he walked with Edith w^as on the other 
 side of the park, she had not succeeded in 
 tracing him. Every day made Algernon and 
 Edith less sensible of the impropriety of their 
 conduct. Neither stopped to consider the gulf 
 of misery into which they were plunging. 
 Surrounded from her infancy with every luxury, 
 Edith had no real conception of the sacrifices 
 she would be obliged to make. She forgot
 
 198 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 that apart from her parents she had nothing ; 
 that if she offended them, they were at libert}^ 
 to withhold her fortune, and that she knew 
 nothing of Algernon's character, habits, or 
 associates. His mother, whom she had only 
 seen at church, was a quiet, lady-like looking 
 woman; and her cottage, though small, had 
 evident signs of good taste in the arrangement 
 of the garden. The servants looked respect- 
 able, and all about her proclaimed the gentle- 
 woman. Still, Edith knew nothing of her 
 family, and it was evident that she was far 
 from rich. From the Avish to avoid suspicion, 
 Algernon had denied his mother even a visit 
 from Edith, so that she had never heard her 
 speak, the surest test of real refinement. Had 
 she for one moment stopped to consider, she 
 would have felt that the man who under any 
 circumstances will tempt a girl to deceive her 
 parents, can never be trusted ; that one who 
 will decoy her into misery from the desire of 
 self-gratification, cannot have a generous mind ; 
 and that when the excitement of imagination 
 is over, he will not respect the wife who has 
 proved to him how artful she could be. In- 
 stead of appreciating the artifice she has prac- 
 tised, and the sacrifices she has made, mutual 
 reproaches will follow ; and in all probability, 
 when the discomforts become serious, hatred 
 will take the place of that which was unworthy
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 199 
 
 of the name of affection. No kind motlier liad 
 ever placed these truths before Edith, and she 
 was thus left to self-destiiiction, without one 
 voice to whisper in her ear "beware," or one 
 arm extended to save her. When the charm of 
 mystery ceased, when Edith no longer ap- 
 peared as the representative of rank and fortune, 
 but looked the poor man's wife — when Algernon 
 became again a student, the romance of the 
 present time would be all over. It was not his 
 being a briefless barrister, nor his poverty, that 
 made the marriage objectionable. If he had 
 presented himself openly and honourably at 
 Langdale Park ; if Edith had rested her hopes 
 of comfort in industry, integrity, and principle, 
 her fortune, which was twenty thousand pounds, 
 added to his allowance and the blessing of her 
 parents, would have been enough for real hap- 
 piness, even though luxuries might be denied. 
 Both were too infatuated to see their danger. 
 Edith, from the morbid state of her mind, was 
 wholly engrossed by this, her first and only 
 subject of interest. " Solitude,'' says Dr. 
 Donne, '' is the devil's scene, and we never sin 
 so much as when we are alone." One train of 
 ideas fixes itself in the mind, nothing diverts 
 it, and whether it be anger, affection, or fear, 
 the solitary, unless under the influence of 
 Divine grace and strong powers of mind, finds 
 himself the victim of one thought, and at last
 
 200 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 becomes incapable of sound judgment. All 
 who are much alone will acknowledge this to 
 be the case ; and in a clever work by a pious 
 physician, insanity is mentioned as a frequent 
 consequence of too great seclusion, or separa- 
 tion from innocent amusement in young people. 
 Edith's is not an imaginaiy story ; the original 
 is far more painful than her departure from the 
 " straight path/' It was at last decided that 
 the elopement should take place, and it was 
 only necessary to make the arrangements so 
 as to escape detection. Edith resolutely re- 
 fused to go to Scotland, or to travel any dis- 
 tance alone with Algernon. Mary, her maid, 
 had been taken into her confidence, and she 
 was determined to take her with them. Her 
 allowance, which was two hundred a year, had 
 not been spent, and as her father had just 
 added another half year, she was not without 
 money. Algernon, under the pretence of re- 
 turning to London, had received a hundred 
 pounds from his mother, so that they were 
 tolerably well provided for the present. Lovers 
 have no future in prudential considerations. 
 The name of Melcombe was totally unknown at 
 Winton ; the clergyman was a stranger, and 
 knew none of the neighbouring families, so 
 that by a little management the banns were 
 published without detection. It was settled 
 that Edith, under some pretence, should drive
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 201 
 
 lier pony-carriage to Win ton, and that with 
 Mary as her bridesmaid, and a friend of Alger- 
 non's from town, the ceremony should be per- 
 formed, and that afterwards they should pro- 
 ceed to London, where lodgings had been 
 engaged for them. When the eventful morn- 
 ing arrived, Edith's heart nearly failed her, 
 and she was tempted to turn back. A sense of 
 degradation crept over her, the fear lest her 
 father should wholly cast her off, the conscious- 
 ness that she should lose the respect of Mrs. 
 Somerset and of the Delvilles for ever, 
 crowded upon her mind. No higher principle 
 protected her. The fear of man alone arrested 
 her, and then the remembrance of Algernon's 
 last words, his beauty, his enthusiasm, con- 
 trasted so strongly with the misery of her posi- 
 tion, that, jumping into her pony-carriage, she 
 drove " dull care away,"' and dashed recklessly 
 on her way. On her arrival she found the two 
 friends awaiting her. The groom who accom- 
 panied her was ordered to water the horses, 
 and she walked, unsheltered by a parent's love, 
 to the altar. Nothing disturbed the ceremony 
 but her conscience, though the clergyman 
 looked suspiciously at the party. As all was 
 correct, the fees paid, and the marriage regis- 
 tered according to law, he could not interfere ; 
 but where was the blessing on such a union, 
 imagined and contracted in falsehood, — dread
 
 202 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 of exposure destroying even momentary enjoy- 
 ment, — future discomfort and retribution frown- 
 ing in the distance. It was the grave of in- 
 tegrity, to be watered by the widow's tears and 
 cursed by a father's rage.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 It is time tliat we should inquire into Mrs. 
 Melcombe's history, and, leaving the fugitives to 
 their fate, retrograde for a while. Maria Grantley 
 was the daughter of one of a class which in 
 fashionable vocabulary is called " nobody " 
 that is to say, her father, Mr. Grantley, and his 
 ancestors had for centuries occupied the same 
 estate, maintaining it in respectability and 
 comfort, without diminishing or dissipating the 
 rents by gambling, extravagance, or vice. 
 Each proprietor in his generation had inter- 
 married with some family of equal condition, 
 but, indifferent to the fashionable impress which 
 is often given to coin of inferior metal and light 
 weight, they had preferred living esteemed and 
 loved among their own friends, to placing 
 themselves under the patronage of some fine 
 lady in London, who, under pretence of in- 
 troducing them into her set, would expose them 
 to laughter and contempt. The Grantleys re- 
 spected themselves too much to descend from
 
 204 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 their real position, one which had been theirs 
 for ages, and however they might be " nobody'' 
 in fashionable slang, they were " somebody " in 
 the estimation of all who prefer gold to tinsel. 
 Maria was their eldest daughter, and, without 
 being remarkable for beauty, was an interesting 
 girl. Her father's fortune was considerable, 
 and being a sensible man, he had ordered his 
 establishment according to his station, without 
 attempting or wishing to vie with those whose 
 rank requires more display. He had conse- 
 quently been able to lay by handsome fortunes 
 for his daughters and younger boys, without 
 injuring his estate, which he hoped to transmit 
 to his son as unencumbered as he had received 
 it. He was greatly beloved and respected. No 
 cottage was unknown, to him, and he had 
 endeavoured to discharge faithfully the trust 
 committed to him. He regarded his dependents 
 as " souls committed to his charge, that he 
 might watch over them as the sheep of Christ, 
 whom He bought with His death, and for 
 whom He shed His blood," and yet he was 
 " nobody ;" and if he exposed himself to the 
 gaze of the fashionable world, the noble-minded 
 country squire, with his old-fashioned Christian 
 courtesy, and a heart overflowing in love to 
 God and man, would be pointed at as an object 
 of ridicule, and his son almost ashamed to own 
 him, because men loaded with vice and im-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 205 
 
 morality would compare his country -made coat 
 and unfashionable gait with their own courtly 
 manners and dress. Mrs. Grantley had been a 
 devoted wife and mother, and was as much 
 beloved as her husband : " Her children arise 
 up and call her blessed, her husband also and 
 he praiseth her.'' 
 
 Such was the home of Maria Grantley. When 
 in her twenty-first year, a regiment was quar- 
 tered in the neighbouring town after some 
 years of service. In those days, soldiers were 
 really soldiers, — not effeminate youths receiving 
 commissions for the pleasure of a few years of 
 idleness and amusement, indignant even at 
 the painful effort of a drill, and after a short 
 time worn out, not by service, but by ennui ; 
 selling-out to waste the remainder of their lives 
 in listless idleness and genteel poverty. Charles 
 Melcombe, although scarcely thirty, had fought 
 many battles, and, young as he was, might be 
 called a veteran. With the hospitality of a good 
 old-fashioned country gentleman, Mr. Grantley 
 visited the officers who had proper introduc- 
 tions ; and while the house was only opened to 
 them at regular hours, and Mr. Grantley allowed 
 no morning loungers or familiar rides and walks, 
 he was ever ready to welcome them at his 
 dinner table. It was in this way that Maria 
 became acquainted with Captain Melcombe, and 
 each almost unconsciously felt drawn to the
 
 206 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 other by mutual sympathy. Far too honourable 
 to wish to engage her affections without the 
 sanction of her parents, and deeply sensible of 
 the sacrifices she must make, as he had little 
 beside his pay, he gradually withdrew from 
 the intimacy, and found excuses when he re- 
 ceived invitations. Mr. Grantley, who liked 
 him, and had seen nothing to excite suspicion 
 in his manner to his daughter, was grieved at 
 the loss of his society, and on meeting him 
 accidentally playfully reproached him with his 
 absence from his table, and hoped that he 
 would join their party as usual, adding that 
 Mrs. Grantley and his daughters would always be 
 glad to see him. He was the more pressing, as 
 there was nothing in Charles Mel combe's cir- 
 cumstances which could justify the supposition 
 that he was seeking a husband for his daughter. 
 He made a hesitating answer, but as the 
 colonel rode up at the moment, it passed un- 
 observed, and alleging that he had an engage- 
 ment he rode off. 
 
 His brother officers, who had been aware of 
 the interest he felt in Norton Court, and 
 one of whom had overheard Mr. Grantley's 
 invitation, advised him to take advantage of it ; 
 adding, with the absence of delicacy so much 
 to be lamented, that if the old gentleman was 
 such a fool as to make it, he would be a greater 
 to neglect such an opportunity of gaining
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 207 
 
 Maria's affections, more especially as there 
 seemed plenty of " tin/' This was quite in- 
 consistent with his high sense of honour, 
 and to the surprise and unmeasured ridicule 
 of all his associates at the mess he wrote 
 to Mr. Grantley, to say that after the kind 
 invitation he had given, he could not take 
 advantage of it without first acknowledg- 
 ing his preference for his daughter, which 
 his circumstances might render unacceptable. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Grrantley were taken by surprise ; 
 but upon consideration, they were willing to 
 see Captain Melcombe, and ascertain from him- 
 self what his prospects were. At the same 
 time they judged it prudent not to mention it 
 to Maria until they were satisfied on this point. 
 Hers was too well-regulated a mind, and she 
 was too much the intimate friend of her mother, 
 to have given her affections unasked, so that 
 although she might feel an interest in Captain 
 Melcombe, she was not engrossed with his 
 image. It appeared that Charles Melcombe 
 was a younger son of Sir Henry Melcombe's, 
 whose baronetcy had been given him upon his 
 retiring from the office of lord mayor. This 
 had taken place before his marriage ; and some 
 years afterwards his fortune and gentlemanly 
 manners had gained him the hand of Lady 
 Selina Melmoth, the daughter of a poor Irish 
 peer with a large family, too thankful to have
 
 208 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 one of his eight daughters so well provided for. 
 He bought a large estate in Yorkshire, where 
 by his good sense and knowledge of business 
 he secured the regard and respect of his neigh- 
 bours. His eldest son had succeeded him ; 
 Charles was the second, and to him and his 
 other children he had left ten thousand pounds. 
 As Maria would have a similar fortune, added 
 to his pay it was enough for happiness. The 
 knowledge of her being beloved by Charles 
 Melcombe, and that her parents would not 
 withhold their consent to the marriage, had 
 changed her regard into affection, and he was 
 soon the accepted lover. His noble conduct in 
 not taking advantage of her father's incon- 
 siderate advances, as a witness to his probity 
 and honour, had tended more to rivet her 
 chains than all the tender words that could 
 have been said. It is as a symptom of the 
 mind that lesser things are of so much import- 
 ance. What the world laughs at and calls 
 clever, the Christian views with horror ; and 
 yet from the earliest years "taking in,"' as 
 schoolboys call it, is too often encouraged by 
 parents as a joke. Fagging, which is nothing 
 more than selfishness and tyranny of the strong 
 over the weak, is supposed to be a good in- 
 gredient in the formation of an amiable cha- 
 racter, — fighting, a proof of high spirit. How 
 much more scriptural it is, to instruct the elder
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 209 
 
 in kindness and consideration to tlie younger 
 boy, to make him his peculiar care, when if 
 the little one loves, he will gladly serve him in 
 return. If the rule over the spirit were incul- 
 cated, we should no longer hear of children 
 permitted to murder each other ; for fighting, 
 when death ensues, can he called by no milder 
 name, or men fighting duels from wounded 
 pride : '^ Besides, that which they suppose loss 
 of honour is no such thing ; the measure of 
 honour is the judgment of the knowing, and 
 the pious, and the virtuous, who will value and 
 applaud the passive magnanimity of such an 
 one, that durst look a duty in the face in 
 spite of scorn, and conquer the scoffs of the 
 world, of which the most reputed for valour are 
 afraid ; all that he loses is the opinion of those 
 who rate honour by a false rule, and measure 
 gloiy by the standard of their own ignorance, 
 vanit}^ or rashness; and the same persons who 
 condemn him for this, would slight him as 
 much for not talking obscenely or scoffing at 
 religion and whatever is sacred, and for not 
 drinking himself to the condition of a barrel or 
 a sponge, or not swearing. Those indeed who 
 look upon not doing of such things as pedantry 
 would, no question, account all refusal of a duel 
 poorness and pusillanimity. I neither will nor 
 dare pronounce any thing in limitation of God's 
 mercy, but this I shall say, that according to 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 the standard rule and tenor of God's revealed 
 will, he that dies in a duel, undertook from an 
 unjust cause, affords no ground for any one to 
 judge that he is saved ; for he dies in his sin, 
 directing his sword to his brother's heart, so 
 that there is nothing but his last breath pass- 
 ing between his murderous intention and the 
 final giving up of his accounts to God, before 
 whom he has no other cause to allege for his 
 dying in this manner, but that he was proud, 
 passionate, or revengeful ; sad qualifications to 
 recommend a man to the tribunal of his 
 Judge \" 
 
 It is the want of moral courage which makes 
 so many mean and cringing characters. Self- 
 preservation and expediency are the rules of 
 conduct. If more would act like Charles Mel- 
 combe, we should never hear of clandestine 
 marriages, or false claims of honour, or the 
 other mean tricks and low cunning which 
 worldly minds call honest, but which the Chris- 
 tian without hesitation pronounces false. There 
 are no white lies in scriptural truth, no preva- 
 rication which serves the purpose of a lie. Yea 
 is yea ; nay is nay. " Call him wise whose ac- 
 tions are a clear ' because," to a clear * why/ " 
 
 It has been said that " a man is the son of 
 his actions, not of his position in life ;" for how 
 much may his own conduct and disposition im- 
 
 ^ South's Sermons.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 211 
 
 prove, or alter, or injure liis position, if his 
 efforts are made in faitli and prayer : and this 
 was Charles Melcombe's case. Although his 
 father might not boast of a long line of an- 
 cestors, his son might be thankful that he 
 was an honourable man, one who feared Grod, 
 one whose fortune had been made, not by ar- 
 tifice and fraud, but by talents and industry. 
 Thankful for his riches, as a means of making 
 others happy and of doing good, he took no 
 pride in them, nor was he of that sordid nature 
 that turns a man's mind into his money's mer- 
 cenary. He regarded money as the means to an 
 end, not as the only object to be attained. His 
 profits had been fair and honourable, and were 
 consequently sure ; while many who had passed 
 him with mockery for his slow progress, were 
 now too thankful to eat of the crumbs which 
 might fall from his table. 
 
 All was soon settled, and though the mar- 
 riage ceremony was quietly performed in the vil- 
 lage church, although no favours were to be seen, 
 no coroneted carriages rolled majestically to the 
 humble porch, though no newspapers recorded 
 the magnificent dress of the bride or the brides- 
 maids, — there was the silent aspiration of the 
 tender mother, the blessing of the father, the 
 affectionate though weeping smile of the sisters, 
 the manly greeting of the brothers, the sym- 
 pathy of all the tenantry, and a noble and gene- 
 p'^2
 
 212 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 rous heart ready to receive the bride, contem- 
 plating her as a sacred charge committed to his 
 care, to cherish for life with the hope of a last- 
 ing union for eternity. Nor did Charles Mel- 
 combe ever fail in the performance of the vows 
 he had taken upon him. It is true that they were 
 not without trials, and Mrs. Melcombe had many 
 long and painful separations to bear, for her hus- 
 band's duty called him far away, where it was 
 impossible for her to follow him without increas- 
 ing his anxiety, particularly when the little Al- 
 gernon was added to her care. Time had passed 
 on ; the love of friends, and the affection of her 
 own family, were a constant balm to her spirit 
 under her severest trials. At home she always 
 met with sympathy. Of her husband's family 
 she saw little. Sir Henry, unlike his father, was 
 a purse-proud man ; the sisters were married, 
 and were little congenial to her, and the younger 
 brothers were dispersed. Charles Melcombe, 
 whose mind was formed in a different mould, 
 found Mrs. Melcombe's family more congenial 
 than the proud Lady Melcombe, who notwith- 
 standing the earldom of the grandfather, could 
 never forget that her husband's father had been 
 lord mayor, and by her ridiculous affectation 
 and earnest endeavour to ascertain who every 
 body's grandfather was, constantly reminded 
 the world of what had long been forgotten, or, 
 if remembered, could only increase respect for
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 213 
 
 the son of a man whose father's life had been 
 an honour to him. 
 
 They had been married some years. The 
 birth of a daughter had increased the happi- 
 ness of their domestic hearth, when Charles 
 Melcombe was again required by the call of 
 duty to leave his now grieving wife. Both 
 seemed to feel a fatal presentiment that they 
 should never meet again, and, for the first 
 time, Mrs. Melcombe found it impossible to 
 maintain the composure which had hitherto 
 supported her husband. The fatal day came 
 when the dreaded parting must take place. 
 Who has not felt the awful stillness of the de- 
 serted hearth ? the vacant chair ? the absence 
 of the cheerful voice that has so often glad- 
 dened the heart ? — but when the beloved one is 
 exposed to the perils of war, then, indeed, it 
 may be called the bitterness of death. So it 
 was with Maria Melcombe ; she clasped her in- 
 fant to her breast, and tried to smile at Alger- 
 non's little feats of bravery, but it was in vain. 
 The arrow had pierced her inmost soul, and she 
 could only weep and pray. Day after day 
 passed ; the post, which she watched in agoniz- 
 ing suspense, brought affectionate and cheering 
 letters from her husband, and by slow degrees 
 she resumed her daily duties and regained the 
 composure of her mind. Her father and mother 
 had wished her to return to Norton Court, but her 
 feelings were not attuned to so high a key as to
 
 214 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 be able to share in gay spirits, or to be witli 
 light hearts, and she was too unselfish to wish 
 to cast a shade upon the happiness of others. 
 She therefore took a pretty cottage at Fulham, 
 so as to be nearer the Horse Guards, that she 
 might hear the first intelligence from the scene 
 of warfare. At last she received the dreadful 
 news that a battle had been fought, and her 
 husband taken prisoner. It was a day of days 
 to his afflicted wife. A few days later she 
 heard that there was to be an exchange of pri- 
 soners, and that he was among the number. 
 Another week of painful suspense passed, when 
 the dreaded, and yet longed-for postman came 
 to the door, and with the usual unconcern 
 with which he carries life or death, handed in 
 the fatal message of woe to a heart already 
 bursting. The first glance satisfied her that 
 it was not her husband's writing ; a black 
 seal was still more ominous, but she broke 
 it with a trembling hand, and her eye had 
 scarcely rested on its contents, when one 
 agonizing scream rent the air, and proclaimed 
 her a widow. A widow indeed, not one whose 
 tie was merely broken, — not a gay widow, — not 
 an indifferent widow, but a widow indeed : " One 
 whom the Lord hath written desolate.'' To her 
 the sun would never seem so bright, for it would 
 shine upon her husband's grave. The world 
 would be nothing, for he was not in it. It may 
 be well said, " 'Tis the survivor dies." A little
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 215 
 
 sympathy, some love, a great deal of excitement, 
 and all is forgotten ; all goes on as before ; out- 
 wardly all is the same, but the heart is withered ; 
 the smile of the lips no longer has its spring 
 from the heart, and while friends talk and say 
 how well the trial is borne, the suiFerer is like 
 one who feels death inevitable and resigns him- 
 self to the will of God, conscious that ''upon 
 them who will not do the will of God, the will 
 of God is done/' The will of God had indeed 
 been fearfully performed on Maria Melcombe, 
 for her husband, on hearing of his probable re- 
 lease, just as he was being dragged to an igno- 
 minious death, thoughtlessly exhibited more 
 exhilaration than his ciiiel captors approved of, 
 four of whom seized him, and with the most un- 
 relenting brutality, hung him to a lamp-post \ 
 His voice died in a prayer for Maria, and her 
 name was his last word. It was many hours 
 before his afflicted widow became conscious of 
 her dreadful loss, and weeks before she left her 
 room. Then came an additional sorrow, for her 
 infant pined and died, and was consigned to its 
 early grave. Mrs. Grantley had immediately 
 joined her daughter, but understood and re- 
 spected her grief too much to do more than 
 soothe and follow nature in love. There was no 
 anger in her grief, for she had turned to Him 
 " who is a very present help in time of trouble.'' 
 The wound which was too deep to be healed 
 
 * This is no fiction, but really happened.
 
 216 THE THREE P/iTHS. 
 
 closed slowly under the influence of Divine 
 grace, leaving a calm and peaceful sadness 
 vrhich would never cease till death closed the 
 door to this world's burden, and opened that 
 which would unite her to her husband in His 
 presence, where is " fulness of joy/' 
 
 From that time she had wholly devoted her- 
 self to her son. All her associations with Ful- 
 ham being of a painful nature, she returned to 
 Maidenhead, to the home where her happy 
 years of married life had been passed. There 
 she felt that her husband's spirit still breathed, 
 that she should still be where his foot had trod, 
 his voice had been heard, where her child 
 might yet be reminded that he had once known 
 a father's love. In her circumstances she was 
 at ease, for the cruel manner of her husband's 
 death had excited so much sympathy, that a 
 pension of two hundred a year had been added 
 to her income. In friends she was rich, for 
 her gentle and unaffected manners, with her 
 kindness and consideration for the feelings of 
 others, and her husband's upright conduct, added 
 to a peculiar charm of manner, had secured 
 them the attention which proceeds from love. 
 He-r return to Woodbine Cottage was welcomed 
 with a melancholy pleasure by all her neigh- 
 bours. Each vied with the other in decking 
 out her pretty drawing-room. One had worked 
 her a chair, another an ottoman : vases of the 
 most beautiful exotics covered her tables, and
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 217 
 
 when she arrived, her heart, warmed by such 
 proofs of affection, could have ahiiost expanded 
 with fresh hopes, but that he wdio would have 
 rejoiced in seeing her thus tenderly cherished, 
 was no longer by her side. For a few days deli- 
 cacy and sympathy withheld all but silent tokens 
 of affection. Such a grief was too sacred to be 
 disturbed. Her feelings on this her first return 
 to her old home w^ere fully appreciated ; and her 
 neighbours were not offended at a continued 
 seclusion. They found no pleasure in gratify- 
 ing idle curiosity at her expense, and were 
 more pleased by the confidence she evinced in 
 their affection, than if she had proved the con- 
 trary, by distressing herself from the fear of 
 giving offence. How seldom is this the case, 
 and how many of the sick and sorrowing are 
 victimized to a self-love, which regards itself as 
 slighted, if not admitted at all hours, and under 
 all circumstances ! How few consider the suf- 
 ferer and not themselves, and how^ many would 
 sooner exclude or drive away the nearest and 
 dearest friend or relative than give up self-ap- 
 preciation ! Mrs. Melcombe's mother remained 
 with her suffering daughter, and in her society 
 and tender sympathy she could be calm. Alger- 
 non at the time of his father's death was six years 
 of age, and a noble boy. His rich brown hair, 
 tinged with gold, hung in clustering curls upon 
 his rosy cheek. His large blue eyes and long 
 black lashes gave him a poetical air, while his 
 
 1
 
 218 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 manly limbs and noble bearing proclaimed him 
 to be the soldier's child. His mother loved him 
 too well to spoil him, and watched over him with 
 the greatest care. More anxious for his well- 
 doing than for her own selfish gratification, and 
 deeply conscious of the great disadA^antages to 
 which an only child is exposed, she sent him 
 when he was eight to a clergyman in the neigh- 
 bourhood, who received a limited number of 
 pupils. Of animal courage Algernon possessed 
 his full share. No boy could strike him with 
 impunity, no boy insulted him without a bold 
 retort. Endowed with great talents, he was, 
 as is too often the case, extremely idle. Con- 
 scious of his powders, he allowed time to pass on 
 w^hich should have been employed, trusting that 
 he should make it up at last, and thus con- 
 stantly failed. It was in vain that his mother 
 endeavoured to persuade him that if his talents 
 were greater than those of other boys, it was 
 more essential for him to exercise them, as 
 otherwise, they would gain by time, properly 
 given, what he lost by negligence. Infirm of 
 purpose, he promised much and performed little; 
 and thus he passed from his first school to Eton, 
 and from thence to college, without having 
 in any way distinguished himself Still Mrs. 
 Melcombe hoped that as he grew older, he 
 would become wiser ; but the love of self-indul- 
 gence is an inherent principle, and resolutions 
 made in our own strength are as light as air.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 219 
 
 Though Algernon might not yet neglect the act 
 of prayer, he never prayed. There is a great 
 difference between praying and saying prayers. 
 It is true that his lips moved, and his knees 
 bent, but the thoughts wandered, and the heart 
 gave no response ; so the prayers ascended not 
 on high, and no blessing was returned. Many 
 were the hours passed in earnest supplication 
 by his widowed mother, and although for a 
 season " H^ answered her not a word," she lived 
 in the hope that "the bread cast upon the 
 waters," would be found some day. Time passed 
 on, and the boy became a man, at least in his 
 own estimation, and he went to college, and 
 considered himself no longer subject to his 
 mother, though still bound to her in love. 
 Quite forgetting that Oxford was a place for 
 study, and not of amusement, unmindful of all 
 the sacrifices made by his mother to maintain 
 him in respectability, he passed his time in 
 idleness or self-indulgence. Instead of Greek 
 and Latin, he studied English poetry and the 
 lighter branches of literature, which, while they 
 refined his mind, and exalted his feelings, would 
 be of little use in procuring independence. On 
 his first return home, the change in his manner 
 was painfully visible to Mrs. Melcombe. The 
 love that is unwilling to make sacrifices for the 
 object of its afiection, is not genuine. The son 
 who, while he affects tenderness to his parent,
 
 220 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 is ruining lier by his extravagance, has no real 
 regard for lier. She was grieved to find that he 
 had been led into expenses far beyond his al- 
 lowance, and that the assurance of his compa- 
 nions, that, as his uncle Sir Henry Melcombe 
 had no son, he would at some future time in- 
 herit his property, had led him into this excess. 
 Mrs. Melcombe vainly impressed upon him the 
 folly of this expectation. She had hitherto 
 purposely kept him in ignorance of its possibi- 
 lity, as she considered it wrong to "wait for 
 dead men's shoes.'' She assured him that his 
 uncle might yet have a son, — that he might not 
 outlive him, and that then she should be an- 
 swerable for his debts. 
 
 " You are, my dear son, grasping at the sha- 
 dow, and losing the substance. Use what God 
 has given you, and do not w^aste your present 
 possession in the expectation of a future that 
 may never come. Remember, my beloved child, 
 that ' those who would walk fast through life 
 and advance to some end, have little time to 
 gather flowers during their progress, or to re- 
 pose on beds of roses.' " 
 
 " Still, my dear mother, flowers are very 
 sweet and tempting ; and don't you know an- 
 other saying, that ' All work and no play makes 
 Jack a dull boy ;' and after all, there is no harm 
 in turning the eye towards the broad lands of 
 uncle Melcombe."
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 221 
 
 " Much, mj dear Algernon/' said his mother ; 
 " it leads you to rest on a false foundation, per- 
 haps to wish another dead, and afterwards to 
 despair, if disappointment should follow. How 
 much I wish that I could persuade you to set 
 steadily to work, and to use the talents which 
 God has so freely bestowed on you.'' 
 
 Algernon was touched by the earnestness of 
 his mother's manner, and by her pale and tear- 
 ful countenance. For a moment he believed 
 himself sincere in his promises, but though 
 strong in body, he had little power of mind. 
 Moral courage was wanting, and his career at 
 college, though marked by no open dereliction 
 from the path of duty, was unsatisfactory and 
 unprofitable. From thence he was entered at 
 Lincoln's Inn, and, painful as was the effort, 
 Mrs. Melcombe gave up her pretty residence at 
 Maidenhead, and moved into a small house in 
 London, where she could make a home for her 
 son. For two years she had lived in this vain 
 hope, but finding that lie seldom returned to 
 dinner, and that, night after night, it was morn- 
 ing before his knock was heard, she began to 
 feel that she had made a useless sacrifice. In 
 addition to this painful conviction, he distressed 
 her by constantly asking for money. Duns were 
 frequently at her door, and it was this unplea- 
 sant state of things which had obliged her to 
 lessen her establishment, and to retire with an
 
 222 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 old servant, who had lived with her since her 
 marriage, to the village of Langdale. Here, 
 with two additional maids, and a man-of-all- 
 work, she established herself, and was, as we 
 have seen, an object of speculation, if not of 
 suspicion, to Mrs. Watson's uncharitable mind ; 
 both of which were greatly increased by her 
 evident desire to remain in seclusion, and Al- 
 gernon's total indiiference to the nut-brown 
 charms of the robust Susan. 
 
 The commotion consequent upon the disap- 
 pearance of Algernon and Edith can be more 
 easily imagined than described. It was Alger- 
 non's birthday. Mr. and Mrs. Grantley had long 
 been dead, but one of Mrs. Melcombe's married 
 sisters and her two daughters had come to stay 
 with her. The little drawing-room had been 
 carefully dressed with flowers, the usual meagre 
 fare had been exchanged for various little luxu- 
 ries. Mrs. Melcombe had discarded her customary 
 sad garments for a gayer dress. Even old Jane, 
 the maid, had fresh trimmed her cap, and put 
 on her Sunday gown. All was bright; the 
 sloping lawn was radiant in the sunshine, and 
 blooming with flowers. The cousins were an- 
 ticipating a pleasant stroll with Algernon, and 
 with their mother rejoiced to see their much- 
 loved aunt look more like her former self, than 
 she had yet done. She was still a handsome 
 woman. Although grief had turned her dimples
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 223 
 
 into long furrows, and all trace of her former 
 bright colour had disappeared, expression and 
 feature remained : — that expression which 
 arises from 
 
 " Self-devotion, high and pure ; 
 Thoughts that in thankfulness endure, 
 Though dearest hopes are faithless found, 
 And dearest hearts are breaking round." 
 
 Her's was a nature perfected, not corrected by 
 grace, and she ever shed a calm and cheerful 
 light on all around her. There was such a 
 grace in all that she did and said, that though 
 her weekly bills might not amount to Mrs. 
 Watson's estimation of gentility, she needed 
 no such letters of recommendation to mark her 
 as a true gentlewoman. Three o'clock was the 
 dinner hour, it being in the middle of a hot 
 July when it was impossible to walk till towards 
 evening. It was seldom that Algernon's morn- 
 ing stroll was prolonged after twelve, but one 
 o'clock struck, and made Mrs. Melcombe look 
 up from her embroidery-frame with surprise and 
 an expression of astonishment. Wlien two 
 sounded in her ear, it was exchanged for one of 
 anxiety. The needle no longer plied its way 
 wittingly, and she rose to inquire who had last 
 seen her son, and which road he had taken. 
 Her servants told her that he had as usual gone 
 into Langdale Park, but that he had said some- 
 thing about extending his ramble, to see the
 
 224 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 view from a distant hill. This tranquillized 
 her, but many a time did she turn anxiously 
 towards the door, and every sound filled her 
 with apprehension. At last a horse came dash- 
 ing down the road from Langdale Park, and the 
 rider, seeing the servant standing at the gate of 
 the Cottage, stopped to inquire if Miss Cumber- 
 land had been seen, as she had driven out early 
 in the morning, and had not returned. It was 
 feared that some accident had happened. Mrs. 
 Watson, too glad of an excuse to penetrate into 
 Vine Cottage, rushed in without ceremony, and 
 engrossed as she apparently was w^ith her sub- 
 ject, took in at a coup d'oeil that which she 
 afterwards called the ridiculous extravagance of 
 the furniture, the walls covered with pictures, 
 and the table with ornaments, rivalling Lady 
 Sophia's boudoir. The dreadful state of distress 
 in which she found Mrs. Melcombe,the painful an- 
 xiety of her sister and her daughters, the evident 
 fear of the servants, made no impression upon her 
 obtuse mind, and it was not till Mrs. Melcombe 
 was carried, unconscious of all that was passing, 
 to her bed-room, that she found it necessary to 
 cease her innumerable suggestions, her sly hints, 
 and covert inquiries for Mr. Melcombe. 
 
 Thus the hours passed heavily on till towards 
 evening, when Edith's pony-carriage appeared 
 slowly w^ending its way up the hill that led to 
 Langdale village. Every body rushed out to
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 225 
 
 await its approach, and eager and loud were the 
 voices that assailed the driver. All that he could 
 tell was, that after Miss Cumberland and Marj 
 had left the carriage, he had proceeded, accord- 
 ing to her orders, to water the horses. He had 
 waited till five o'clock, when he began to won- 
 der at the delay. He had often accompanied 
 his young lady before, but had never remained 
 more than an hour. At last, anxious and sur- 
 prised, he had set out to inquire at the difierent 
 shops at which Miss Cumberland was accus- 
 tomed to call ; but nobody had seen her. He 
 had, however, met another seiTant, who told 
 him that he had seen the ladies alight ; that 
 immediately after the carriage had turned the 
 corner of the street, two gentlemen had joined 
 them ; that curiosity had led him to follow, 
 and that he had traced them to the church ; 
 that he had crept in, and concealing himself 
 behind one of the pillars, had witnessed a mar- 
 riage ; but that his master having ordered his 
 horses at a particular hour, he had been unable 
 to stay after the ceremony. This led to further 
 inquiries, and the boy had ascertained that the 
 whole party had set off by railway to London. 
 The servant's description exactly answered to 
 that of Algernon. Here indeed was the con- 
 firmation of Mrs. Melcombe's fears. The blow 
 was too much for her exhausted frame ; and 
 before a letter from her son reached her, she 
 
 I VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 was seized with a nervous fever, and became 
 for a time lost to all sense of suffering. 
 
 A despatch was immediately sent for Colonel 
 Cumberland. Mrs. Watson sat with Lady Sophia, 
 artfully endeavouring to insinuate that Mrs. 
 Melcombe had been in her son's confidence ; 
 and with no self-reproach for the part she had 
 acted in driving Edith into so sad a step, she 
 found no vent for her indignation. For the 
 first time. Lady Sophia did not altogether re- 
 spond to her unkind remarks and animadver- 
 sions. Conscience would be heard. She could 
 not but feel that Edith had not been treated 
 with either the affection or attention which a 
 child had a right to expect. Mrs. Watson ap- 
 peared in a new light, and she rather dreaded 
 her husband's view of the matter. Still she en- 
 deavoured to comfort herself by false assurances. 
 Mrs. Watson administered a double dose of flat- 
 tery and camphor julep; and by the time Colonel 
 Cumberland arrived, Lady Sophia had decided 
 that Edith was a hard-hearted, ungrateful girl, 
 Algernon a monster, Mrs. Melcombe artful and 
 designing, her husband a tyrant, and Mrs. Wat- 
 son an angel. Colonel Cumberland's rage was 
 unbounded. Like all worldly minds, he quar- 
 relled with consequences of which he alone was 
 the cause. He need not have neglected his 
 daughter because her mother was too much en- 
 grossed with herself to think of her. His chil-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 227 
 
 dren were Lis own, and lie had a right to do as 
 he liked. Why were they to be the victims of 
 a foolish mother, when he could have prevented 
 it ? His character was in his own keeping, and 
 must necessarily suffer from the misconduct of 
 his children. If he had placed a responsible 
 person about Edith, an educated and sensible 
 woman, capable of guiding her affections and 
 directing her understanding, she would not have 
 been exposed as she had been to danger. For 
 the sake of peace he had allowed Lady Sophia 
 to have her own way ; but the moment that 
 her folly touched himself, his feelings were 
 aroused. His daughter's pale cheek, listless 
 manner, and weary life had never affected 
 him ; but now that she had disgraced him by 
 leaving his house in so unceremonious and 
 indelicate a manner, his indignation was un- 
 bounded. Having clearly ascertained that 
 the marriage had been performed in proper 
 form and order, he left Edith to her fate, 
 and turned all his anger upon Mrs. Mel- 
 combe. Nothing could persuade him that she 
 had not been a party to her son's conduct ; and 
 although every servant, and even the villagers^ 
 maintained that Edith had never been inside 
 Vine Cottage, and that, excepting at church, 
 Mrs. Melcombe had never seen her, he remained 
 in the conviction of her concurrence. She was 
 still unconscious of her own or his loss ; and for 
 q2
 
 228 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 more than a week remained in a state of total 
 ignorance of all the passing events of life. 
 
 Edith had written to her mother, and can- 
 didly confessed that the melancholy life she 
 had led, with no companionship, affection, or 
 occupation, had driven her into the course 
 she had taken. She earnestly requested her 
 forgiveness, and mentioned that she was in 
 lodgings in a small street leading into Lin- 
 coln's Inn-fields. To this letter no answer was 
 returned. Colonel Cumberland, in a rage, de- 
 clared that as Mr. Melcombe had carried off his 
 daughter, he might maintain her, and he re- 
 fused to assist her in any degree. Disgusted 
 with Langdale Park, where he had known no- 
 thing but discomfort, he determined upon leav- 
 ing it for an estate in Devonshire, which he 
 had lately inherited by the death of his elder 
 brother. To add to his trials, he heard in a 
 few days that his eldest son, who had been 
 leading a life of vice and immorality at Oxford, 
 after raising enormous sums upon his mother's 
 property, which was entailed, had married a 
 young milliner, and was gone abroad. The 
 youngest gave every promise of living the life 
 of a dormouse. His energies, checked by the 
 absence of all manly exercises, so necessary to 
 youth — his mind closed to all that could ex- 
 cite, instruct, or enlarge it, for ever poring over 
 some sentimental stories, the fruit of morbid
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 229 
 
 feeling, in which all the good children die, and 
 all the bad ones live and enjoy themselves — he 
 had become a kind of drone, useless from igno- 
 rance. 
 
 It is much to be regretted that so many sto- 
 ries with this result should be written. Dying 
 and goodness become so intimately associated 
 in the mind of the young, that it is difficult 
 to persuade them that the more serious 
 thoughts and the ripeness of age in a child 
 whose health is failing are the consequence 
 and not the cause of illness. It is not un- 
 common for children to express a dread of 
 being too good, lest they should die. A young 
 mind can scarcely distinguish between con- 
 sequence and causes, and draws its own con- 
 clusions. It is indeed too true that — 
 
 " The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd 
 Must fall the earliest prey ; 
 Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, 
 Its leaves must drop away." 
 
 For to those whom God considers fitter 
 company for heaven than for earth, He gives 
 glimpses of spiritual light, which, as an em- 
 anation from a Grreater light, reflects its lustre 
 on all around, and renders so doubly dear the 
 child who is thus on the wing to the pure 
 and ethereal regions of eternity. " Of such is 
 the kingdom of heaven." But to those whose 
 business is yet on earth, the duties, the chari-
 
 230 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 ties, the occupations of life, should be the lesson 
 taught. He that lives well will die well. Love 
 is the essence of spiritual life — the love of God 
 diffusing itself in love to man. Not what the 
 world calls love, which is only another name 
 for selfishness. We love them that love us, not 
 because we desire their happiness, but because 
 they conduce to ours. This miscalled love is 
 the torment of its object, and becomes a miser- 
 able slavery instead of a willing affection. The 
 love our Saviour inculcates is an expansive 
 feeling ; the earnest desire for the good of an- 
 other, the wish to give pleasure, whether it be 
 to the old or ugly, the young and pretty, the 
 interesting and uninteresting, the agreeable or 
 stupid; in short, to do as we would be done by, 
 instead of altering this injunction as Louisa 
 Delville once did to her mamma, into " doing to 
 others as they do to us.'' This would be a dan- 
 gerous guidance, and one which would lead to 
 fatal results ; and yet such were the feelings 
 that influenced all at Langdale Park each 
 doing wrong because another had erred ; and 
 such are the feelings which actuate too many 
 of us. 
 
 It has been well said that " wise silence is 
 the soul's harmony ;" and to this Mrs. Melcombe 
 responded. As soon as she was sufficiently re~ 
 covered to think, she bore her grief in silence. 
 Conscious of her integrity, neither Colonel Cum-
 
 THE THREE PATHS- 231 
 
 berland's unjust accusations, Lady Sophia's con- 
 tempt, nor the waspish stings of Mrs. Watson, 
 disturbed her. She was, in fact, the greatest 
 sufferer. Hers was the deep wound which the 
 loss of affection and the absence of integrity in 
 one near and dear must occasion. "Just re- 
 sentment is the child of integrity;'" and she 
 felt justly angry with her son for his deception, 
 with Edith for her duplicity, and with Colonel 
 Cumberland for his injustice. It was a sorrow- 
 ful anger for the breach of honour, for the proofs 
 such conduct gave of her beloved child's failure 
 in principle, for the sin against God, not for 
 the injury to herself The difference is great 
 between such a sorrow and the sorrow of the 
 world. The one is a pure stream of wounded 
 love, and pity for the offender ; the other is 
 hard and unbending. Memory conjures up every 
 exciting circumstance, every stinging word. The 
 triumph of the malicious, the mockery of the 
 weak, wounded pride, mortified self-love, com- 
 bine to shoot a deadly hate into the heart. 
 While godly sorrow weeps and prays, and tries 
 to soften to itself the causes of anger, worldly 
 sorrow expends itself in violence, till it sinks 
 into a cold and sullen stream of concealed 
 hatred. 
 
 The departure of Colonel Cumberland was a 
 sad day for Mrs. Watson. He had never liked 
 her, and was determined effectually to prevent
 
 282 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 her ever entering into his new residence. 
 There he felt that he had a right to be master, 
 a right which he had scarcely liked to assert 
 hitherto. He secretly accused her of all the 
 domestic miseiy that had overwhelmed him at 
 Langdale Park, and all her hints of poor Lady 
 Sophia's need of a companion were in vain. 
 The carriage drove from the door, the house 
 was closed, the servants chuckled with delight 
 at Madam Watson's discomfiture, and she turned 
 her steps slowly and sadly to the vicarage, 
 mourning not over the loss of her friend, but 
 over all the lost advantages the separation en- 
 tailed. 
 
 " For little souls on little shifts rely, 
 And coward arts and mean expedients try ; 
 The noble mind will dare do any thing but lie."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Vine Cottage and the callage of Langdale had 
 become painfully disagreeable to Mrs. Melcombe. 
 All that had given it charm was gone. She 
 had written sadly but kindly to her son, willing 
 to receive Edith, whom in her heart she re- 
 garded more as an object of compassion than 
 blame. Under other circumstances she would 
 have felt differently ; for the mind must be 
 degraded, and lost to all sense of duty and 
 affection, which forsakes a tender mother or an 
 affectionate father, and practises the meanest 
 deceit, regardless of all the distress her dis- 
 appearance must occasion, to elope with a man 
 whose very wish that she should act in so im- 
 proper a manner proves him unworthy. Even 
 Algernon might be partially excused, for his 
 deep compassion for Edith's unhappy position 
 had touched his heart, his want of moral courage 
 had led him on, and his neglect of prayer had 
 left him open to temptation. In his devotion 
 to Edith he had forgotten the cruelty to his
 
 234 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 mother, and thus, his eyes being blinded, he 
 had fallen into a snare from which it was im- 
 possible to extricate himself. 
 
 The distance between the two villages and 
 the constant occupations which a faithful 
 pastor finds for each day, had hitherto pre- 
 vented much intercourse between the Delvilles 
 and Mrs. Melcombe, but sorrow or sickness was 
 a call to which Mr. Delville was always willing to 
 lend a listening ear. Perfectly satisfied that the 
 mother was wholly blameless, and her previous 
 history having been related to him by a mutual 
 friend who had requested him to visit her, he 
 mounted his horse, and was soon at Mrs. 
 Melcombe's door. She welcomed him gladly, for 
 her heart was yearning for sympathy. His 
 kind and manly voice cheered her, and when 
 he came into her sick room, and took her hand 
 with the beaming expression of Christian love 
 which the God of love alone can give, her 
 heart was softened, her dry eyes were refreshed 
 by tears, and she seemed to receive new life. 
 Their conversation was long and interesting, 
 and closing the interview with a short but 
 most impressive prayer, he left her, not alone 
 with her sorrow, but cheered by the sensible 
 presence of a protecting and merciful God. 
 Her heart was elevated by a calm and holy 
 feeling, and strengthened for future trial. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Delville daily brightened her lonely
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 235 
 
 residence witli the cheerful influence of their 
 happy minds. No feelings of jealousy dis- 
 turbed their domestic peace. The wife was 
 only anxious that others should share in the 
 treasures of her husband's mind, and in the 
 spiritual consolation he so well knew how to 
 impart. As Mrs. Mel combe's health improved, 
 her dislike to Langdale increased. It was im- 
 possible to find the slightest congeniality of 
 mind in Mrs. Watson, still less in her husband. 
 She could take no pleasure in the spiritual or 
 temporal gossip which formed the only subject 
 of their conversation ; she could not share in 
 their uncharitable judgments, or erroneous 
 conclusions, more especially as, like all upright 
 minds, she instinctively shrank from a double 
 tongue. There was no other society in the vil- 
 lage ; so that she was wholly dependent on her 
 own resources. Mr. and Mrs. Delville felt deeply 
 for her, and were anxious, if possible, to remove 
 her to Staunton. There was only one farm- 
 house vacant, but this, with Mrs. Somerset's 
 consent, might be turned into a most com- 
 fortable residence. It was pleasantly situated 
 on a slightly sloping lawn, where the bright 
 sun might ever be seen from its windows. 
 The garden was in tolerable order. A pleasant 
 orchard was on one side, and a meadow on the 
 other. The house was far enough from the 
 road to be wholly concealed by some large
 
 236 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 trees whicli grew at the bottom of the lawn. 
 It was a pretty old-fashioned building, with 
 gable ends, latticed windows, and a porch with 
 a seat on either side. Careful not to excite 
 Mrs. Melcombe in her weak state by hopes 
 which might not be realized, Mr. Delville re- 
 presented the circumstances to Mrs. Somerset, 
 who was in London. She most willingly 
 acquiesced, too thankful that neither power nor 
 will were wanting to lessen the many cares and 
 anxieties of their widowed friend. In the 
 mean time, Mr. Delville persuaded Mrs. Mel- 
 combe to come to the rectory till her house could 
 be put in order. To this she thankfully acceded, 
 and in the cheerful and delightful atmosphere of 
 Christian kindness she regained a composure 
 unknown to her for years. Algernon frequently 
 corresponded with her, and as Colonel Cumber- 
 land had resolutely refused to give Edith one 
 shilling of her fortune, his letters were far 
 from satisfactory. Her tender feelings would 
 have led her to despoil herself for his sake, but 
 the good sense of Mr. Delville interposed, and 
 he advised her to allow him to feel for a time 
 the discomforts which his rashness had brought 
 upon him. It might, he added, be the means 
 under the blessing of God of making both 
 Algernon and Edith more reasonable, of bring- 
 ing them to the conviction that life was not a 
 romance, but stern and often painful reality ;
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 237 
 
 and lie promised to ask Mrs. Somerset to keep 
 her eye upon them during her stay in London. 
 This she was quite willing to do ; and imme- 
 diately after the receipt of Mr. Delville's letter 
 ordered her carriage, and drove to the lodgings 
 where Edith had been established. She did 
 not communicate her intentions to Geraldine 
 and Louisa, or allow them to accompany her. 
 Conscious as she was, that Edith's mistaken 
 education had been the entire cause of her 
 misconduct, and recognizing a right feeling in 
 her determination to be married before she 
 placed herself in Algernon's power, she still 
 felt it to be desirable that she should not be 
 admitted into free intercourse with her former 
 friends, until she had proved by continued 
 good conduct, that this one false step was to 
 be her last. She found her in poor lodgings, 
 miserably furnished, Avith no carpet on the 
 stairs, but in a splendid dress, the gift of 
 Algernon, on a wretched horsehair sofa, with few 
 chairs around her, and none of the little com- 
 forts which to her were almost become necessaries. 
 With the usual improvidence of young people 
 who have known no self-denial, her husband 
 had presented her wdth bouquets and perfumes, 
 which appeared sadly out of place in the dirty 
 bare apartments they occupied. He had yet 
 to learn what are really necessaries, and that 
 all that they had hitherto regarded as such.
 
 238 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 had become unattainable luxuries in their 
 altered circumstances. Edith received Mrs. 
 Somerset with an affectionate but anxious 
 manner. She knew that she must disapprove 
 her conduct ; but when her sad appearance 
 presented itself, and she remembered her as 
 she used to be at Langdale Park, her heart 
 opened towards her, and she kissed her tenderly. 
 It was then that Edith gave way, and in 
 broken accents opened her heart to this kind and 
 sympathizing friend, who, while she felt for her, 
 gently pointed out to her the greatness of her 
 fault. Mrs. Melcombe had continued her son's 
 allowance of three hundred a year, but to Edith, 
 who had "seen it rain plum-puddings'' at 
 Langdale, and who had imagined as too many 
 do that things come of themselves, it was as a 
 drop in the ocean. They had already expended 
 , the money they had brought with them, and it 
 would be some weeks before the next quarter 
 would be due. It was true that necessity had 
 forced Algernon to exertion, and he now passed 
 the greater part of the day at his chambers ; 
 but it is more easy to retain a good character 
 than to regain a lost one, and he was so well 
 known as a lover of pleasure, that he was a 
 briefless barrister. Those who on former occa- 
 sions had so constantly found his room empty, 
 no longer came now that he was at his post. 
 He returned day after day with a disappointed
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 239 
 
 look, and Edith vainly endeavoured to cheer 
 him. Happily for her, circumstances had de- 
 tained Mrs. Somerset in town long after the 
 fashionable season was over. Louisa Delville 
 had returned to her happy home ; all her 
 duties were resumed, her brothers and sisters 
 were delighted to have their young governess 
 again, and she with equal pleasure gathered 
 them around her at their daily lessons. At 
 other times, she would amuse them with the 
 account of all she had seen in London, and 
 delighted them with the pretty presents she 
 had brought them. Nobody was forgotten, and 
 many a poor villager received the prettiest and 
 newest cotton, the value of which Avas doubled 
 in their eyes by its coming from London, and 
 by the act of remembrance. All set to work 
 to prepare some articles of ornament or comfort 
 for Mrs. Melcombe's new house. Seeds were 
 sown in the garden, plants transplanted, and 
 no pains spared to make it look gay. The 
 younger ones gladly obeyed Louisa's presiding 
 genius, and it was with unmingled pleasure that 
 they looked forward to the day when Mrs. Mel- 
 combe should see it all. But we must return to 
 Edith's less pleasant abode. Although she was 
 daily annoyed with the discomforts of her 
 position, the kind advice which she had re- 
 ceived from Mrs. Somerset had lessened her 
 diflSculties. She spent less on her dress, and
 
 240 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 more on comforts. In lier simple well-made 
 cotton, and her hair carefully smoothed, she 
 looked far better than in shabby finery. With 
 the assistance of Mary, she contrived to make 
 her poor lodging look less cold and miserable ; 
 and though she found her fingers suffer by their 
 unusual application to the needle, and the air 
 of a close street very different to the free and 
 pure breezes of Langdale Park, she yet found 
 a secret pleasure in doing her duty, and was 
 rewarded by feeling less weariness during the 
 day, and by seeing Algernon refreshed after 
 his labours by her improved cheerfulness. 
 Mrs. Somerset would have gladly at once pro- 
 vided her with better lodgings, and many 
 comforts, but she considered it more desirable 
 that for a time she should realize her situation, 
 and the punishment consequent upon a dere- 
 liction from the path of duty. At the same 
 time, she secretly desired the landlady to put 
 some additional articles of furniture into the 
 bare rooms, apparently from herself She sent 
 Edith some improving books, such as would 
 strengthen her character, and fit her for the 
 duties of a wife or mother. She strongly im- 
 pressed upon her that this season of separation 
 from worldly excitements might be the means of 
 future blessing to her for life, and that she was 
 young enough to redeem the past, by proving 
 that the absence of consideration, more than sin,
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 241 
 
 had led to so wrong an action. More especially 
 she pointed out to her the danger of losing her 
 husband's affections, which he had evidently 
 shown to be without a sure foundation, — that 
 this could only be done by making his home 
 cheerful and comfortable, and by raising her 
 mind to his, which, although wanting in disci- 
 pline, was singularly gifted and talented, — that 
 she should now make up for the defects of her 
 early education, which she was young enough 
 to do, and by constant and earnest prayer she 
 would be enabled to follow up her good reso- 
 lutions. The winter was long and dreary, and 
 when Mrs. Somerset left London, she was quite 
 without friends. The solitary life she had led 
 at home had given her no opportunity of 
 making acquaintance or friends, and she was 
 so out of the way, that she was wholly passed 
 by. Algernon, who was proud, did not like 
 Edith to be seen in such miserable lodgings by 
 the few men whom he knew, and rejected all 
 offers of introductions to their wives. With 
 a pride unworthy of his natural advantages, he 
 would not allow her to accept civilities which 
 he was unable to return, forgetful that the 
 society of a richly-endowed mind is a far better 
 repayment than a well-covered table which 
 may be seen at any club or hotel. All this was 
 a great trial to Edith, but Mrs. Somerset con- 
 tinued her support by constant correspondence ; 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 and though she shed many tears, and could not 
 at times restrain a feeling of reproach towards 
 her husband for having put her into so painful 
 a situation without preparing her for it, she 
 by degrees became reconciled ; and when she 
 saw him going on more steadily, and employment 
 slowly creeping towards him, she felt that the 
 clouds were dispersing, and that hope beamed 
 through the mist and darkness which had sur- 
 rounded them. Lady Davenport had never 
 condescended to visit them. It was impossible 
 for her fashionable equipage to be seen 
 in such a neighbourhood. Her career had 
 been a splendid one ; and vanity, the ruling 
 principle of her heart, had been gratified, for 
 she had been admired and envied. By attack- 
 ing her husband's weak point, vanity, she had 
 succeeded in persuading him to new furnish 
 her drawing-rooms, and otherwise improve the 
 house. To her inexpressible delight, on exa- 
 mination, it was discovered that it was so im- 
 pregnated with dry rot, that it would require 
 to be rebuilt. The consequence was, that she 
 was established in Carlton Terrace, where her 
 splendid dinners, magnificent balls, and elegant 
 dejeuners at her villa near Richmond, supplied 
 objects of interest and conversation to the 
 fashionable world. All who were not invited 
 hid their diminished heads, and were obliged 
 to be content to be nobody. It was on the
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 243 
 
 morning of one of these splendid fetes, that the 
 announcement of the Dowager's death was re- 
 ceived. Although nearly eighty, the poor old 
 lady, covered with diamonds and rouge, had 
 nightly sat at the card table ; her withered 
 fingers glittered with jewels, her shrivelled 
 neck and shrunken arms were still uncovered, 
 and false ringlets hung upon her rouged cheek. 
 It was at one of these card parties that, the 
 evening before, her head had fallen on her 
 breast, the cards dropped from her hand, and 
 the world closed on her for ever. It was true 
 that she still breathed, and on being bled 
 appeared more or less conscious, but she gave 
 no sign, and died as she had lived, without 
 acknowledging her God, or scarcely knowing 
 her Saviour. Lady Davenport's first feeling on 
 hearing of her mother-in-law's death was vexa- 
 tion, and her first exclamation : 
 
 " How provoking that she should liave died 
 to-day, when all is prepared for our party. 
 Why did not she die to-mon'ow^?" She burst 
 into tears ; and Lord Davenport, who had 
 really loved his mother, gave her credit for 
 natural feeling. She soon consoled herself, 
 when she remembered the considerable jointure 
 which would be added to their fortune, that 
 mourning particularly suited her complexion, 
 
 * This remark was really made. 
 E 2
 
 244 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 and that the London season was nearly at an 
 end. The Dowager had a splendid coffin, which 
 the servants exhibited as a show to all their 
 acquaintance. The hearse, drawn by six horses 
 with their nodding and sable plumes, and a 
 long train of empty carriages, represented the 
 mockery of a woe unfelt by any. Mourning 
 coaches filled, not with sorrowing friends, but 
 with servants weeping over the loss of a good 
 place, proclaimed to the world, that the Dowager 
 Marchioness of Davenport was gone on her last 
 earthly journey. As soon as the procession 
 reached the outskirts of the town, the long 
 train of hired mourners returned. All the 
 paraphernalia was huddled into the hearse with 
 the body. The attendants mounted on the 
 top, the horses trotted gaily, while laughter 
 and merriment accompanied the remnant of 
 mortality it contained. " The funeral was 
 performed,'' as far as London was concerned, 
 but tlie same aifectation of solemnity would be 
 resumed as soon as it approached Davenport 
 Castle. Among the unsophisticated natives of 
 the country, death, though only in the shape 
 of a dowager of eighty, might remind them 
 that a soul had returned to the God who gave 
 it ; but no such feeling disturbed the minds of 
 those whose trade was made by death. In 
 Eaton Place, the steps were well washed as 
 soon as the hearse left the door, the hatchment
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 245 
 
 was put up, and no trace was henceforth to be 
 seen of one who had lived and died in the 
 service of the world, and the world alone, — an 
 idol which demands all the heart and in the 
 end forgets its devotees, leaving them to 
 vacancy and woe in their fading days, and to 
 oblivion when death has claimed its own. — 
 Beyond the grave we dare not look.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 All proceeded pleasantly at Staunton. A 
 more happy party could scarcely be imagined. 
 No envy or secret jealousies disturbed a har- 
 mony wliicb Lad its spring from "the truth 
 that sets free." Each rejoiced in the happiness 
 of the other. The sad were cheered, the sick 
 were comforted, the happy met with sympathy. 
 How seldom is this the case, and how much 
 more easy it appears to be, to " weep with 
 those that weep,"' than to rejoice with those 
 that rejoice and yet how much higher an 
 attainment it is. The heart must be hard 
 indeed that can witness sorrow or suffering 
 with indifference, and none would wish to share 
 in it. It is pitied but not envied. It is far dif- 
 ferent with the prosperous. Then another 
 possesses what others covet, whether it be 
 rank, riches, or beauty, or, what excites far 
 more angry feeling, love and esteem, where 
 these justifiable causes do not exist. In the 
 first there is something comprehensible, but to
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 247 
 
 be loved and admired merely as an unadorned 
 individual, is a crime against society. Mrs. 
 Watson deeply resented all the fuss made about 
 Mrs. Melcombe ; Mrs. Somerset was ricb, but 
 she could not understand what people could 
 see in that poor, dull, sick woman, or in those 
 Delvilles, who were not a bit better than her- 
 self; and as for Louisa, she really could see 
 nothing to admire in her pale baby face. She 
 thought her Susan, with her bright red cheeks, 
 worth a hundred of her, and she comforted 
 herself by sitting down to lier desk, and giving 
 vent to her spleen in a letter to Lady Sophia, 
 which, that our readers may understand her 
 character, shall be communicated to them : — 
 
 " Dear Madam, 
 
 " Your departure from Langdale Park 
 has left a blank which can never be filled up. 
 Mr. "Watson and I pass half our time in sighs 
 and tears. It is shocking to think of that 
 wicked Mrs. Melcombe having driven you 
 away. Nobody would know us to be the same 
 people, for you know that the Staunton fami- 
 lies never would notice us. You will be sur- 
 prised to hear that the Delvilles, not content 
 with showing their contempt of you by pa- 
 tronising Mrs. Melcombe, have actually carried 
 her off, and I am told, are fitting up Heath 
 Farm for her. It is to be turned into a beau-
 
 248 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 tiful house, and her atrocious son and your 
 ungrateful daughter are to live with her, and 
 will I have no doubt be made a great deal of. 
 A nice encouragement to runaway girls. I 
 only hope that my sweet Susan may not be 
 injured by such near neighbourhood — think of 
 there being only five miles between them ! I 
 am rejoiced to tell you that all their fine ex- 
 pectations about Louisa Delville are disap- 
 pointed, and she is come back from London 
 just as she went, to the great vexation of her 
 father and mother. Mrs. Delville — so the 
 postman told the gardener, who told the dairy- 
 maid, who told my nursery-maid, who told 
 Susan — is constantly in tears. Mr. Delville 
 groans, and says, that nobody marries now 
 except for money. Mrs. Somerset is quite in 
 disgrace, and Louisa looks paler and thinner 
 than ever. It serves them all right. Why 
 should she be made a fuss about ? Mrs. Mel- 
 combe keeps very much in her room, and 
 makes a great deal more of her illness than 
 she need, for I hear that all who see her, say 
 that she is very cheerful. When people are 
 really ill, as I know by seeing your ladyship, 
 they cannot talk and laugh. 
 
 "I know you will be pleased to hear that 
 we enjoy your excellent fruit and vegetables, 
 which are far superior to Mrs. Somerset's ; and 
 sometimes use the pony-carriage. Dear Susan,
 
 TPIE THREE PATHS. 249 
 
 poor thing, likes now and tlien to drive into 
 the town. She has no fine friends, like certain 
 people, to take her about. As far as I know, 
 I have not much ill-conduct at the great 
 house to relate, though I did hear that the 
 housekeeper was seen on Sunday evening 
 taking a walk Avith the baker. Of the Abbey 
 I know nothing ; for though I drove the pony 
 there one day, and questioned the lodge- 
 keeper very closely, I could get nothing out of 
 him, but a long history of the good Lady 
 Matilda did. I only hope that it is in the 
 right way, and not after the Delville fashion, 
 encouraging vice and immorality by pity and 
 compassion. The groom told the grocer that 
 he thought it would be a match between Mr. 
 Somerset and Lady Matilda. It will be a fine 
 disappointment to the Delvilles. Your lady- 
 ship will agree with me that it ^vill be a good 
 lesson for them. I hope your precious health 
 is improving, and that Colonel Cumberland is 
 more considerate. Mr. Watson and Susan send 
 their respectful regards, and 
 " I remain, 
 *' Your Ladyship's devoted friend, 
 
 " Maria Watson. 
 "You may depend on my finding out all 
 that goes on at Staunton, and letting you 
 know/'
 
 250 THE THREE PA-THS. 
 
 Sucli was the misrepresentation made by 
 Mrs. Watson, and, strange as it may seem to 
 the simple-minded, to whom all things are 
 pure, honest, and of good report, it is no un- 
 common specimen of the way in which false- 
 hood is propagated. The extraordinary stories 
 that are invented, repeated, and believed, are 
 incomprehensible to the upright in mind and 
 the charitable in heart. The pleasure and 
 satisfaction of lessening the merit of all who 
 stand in the coveted place, seems one of the 
 sweetest that can be enjoyed, and detraction 
 the most refreshing of draughts. Those who 
 have been praised and loved in the shade, lose 
 all attraction in the sunshine. Silence and 
 inuendo take the place of approbation, and 
 when the merit is too established to receive 
 increase by individual commendation, even the 
 deserved tribute is withheld, and animadver- 
 sion succeeds to previous regard. It has been 
 truly said, that the dead alone receive just 
 judgment. They can no longer lessen by supe- 
 riority, or supplant by merit. When shut up 
 in the darkness of the tomb, good rises to the 
 memory, and the evil which malice invented 
 being no longer fed by envy, rests in the 
 grave — 
 
 " Ah, sweetly they slumber, nor hope, love, or fear, 
 Peace, peace, is the watchword, the only one here."
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 251 
 
 While Mrs. Watson pierced tlie intervening five 
 miles with the eye of envy, malice, and unchari- 
 tableness, no such feelings influenced the peace- 
 ful occupants of Staunton Park or the rectory. 
 It was herself, and not they, who caused a 
 separation. Totally incapable of comprehend- 
 ing the higher views which influenced both 
 families, and finding no response to her illibe- 
 rality or vulgarity, she felt lowered in their 
 society. They were ever ready to meet her on 
 common grounds, but the contracted sphere 
 and narrow limits to which her intellect and 
 society were confined, afforded no subjects of 
 conversation, so that unless they had conde- 
 scended to take part in hers, with every wish 
 to be so, it was scarcely possible to be friendly. 
 Still all were willing to show her eveiy atten- 
 tion in their power, and now that the family 
 were wholly insulated, they were frequently in- 
 vited both to Staunton and the rectoiy, and 
 a carnage always sent for them. Far from 
 having the effect of softening Mrs. Watson's 
 feelings, it only irritated her ; and after every 
 meeting she filled her letters to Lady Sophia 
 with remarks upon the extravagance and 
 folly of the Delvilles, and the pride of Mrs. 
 Somerset. 
 
 Among others we have selected the folio w- 
 ino' : —
 
 252 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 " Dear Madam, 
 
 " It is in vain for me to assure you that 
 I am in any degree reconciled to your absence. 
 It is true that the Staunton people pretend to 
 be kind to me, but it is a very different kind- 
 ness to that to which I have been accustomed. 
 Mrs. Somerset is proud, imperious, and patro- 
 nising, and what is the worst part of her, she 
 sails under false colours. Lady Davenport is a 
 comprehensible person and pretends to nothing, 
 so that it is easy to keep her at a distance ; but 
 the Somersets and Delvilles are regular make 
 believes, and when I compare them to yourself 
 with your meek and gentle spirit, I can scarcely 
 imagine that they are of the same nature. I 
 keep out of their way as much as I can, but I 
 am obliged to be civil to them, as we live so 
 near. Susan will I fear be injured by associa- 
 tion with Miss Somerset and that pert Louisa 
 Delville, but the poor girl would have nobody 
 to speak to, so that I am obliged to tolerate it. 
 Mrs. Melcombe is more cockered up than ever, 
 and I really think that it is quite worth while 
 to be ill to be made so much of I rejoice to 
 find that her son is fully punished for his con- 
 duct. I hear that he looks half-starved, and is 
 very shabbily dressed, and that if it were not 
 for Mrs. Somerset's charity they would both be 
 in prison. I hope your ladyship will never be 
 tempted to forgive so very ungrateful a daughter.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 2do 
 
 You Spared no pains to make her dutiful, and 
 even so humble an individual as myself may 
 hope that I neglected nothing in my power to 
 make her what she ought to be, — but none are 
 so deaf as those who will not hear. 
 
 " I am soriy to say that I saw the gardener 
 give some peaches away last night, under some 
 false pretence, no doubt. He was very imper- 
 tinent when I ventured to reprove him. Dear 
 Mr. Watson is sadly worn out with all his du- 
 ties, and desires me to express his great regard 
 for you. 
 
 " I hope you do not suffer too much from the 
 cruelty of him who calls himself a kind husband, 
 but who is quite blind to the perfections of so 
 excellent a wife or to his own interest. 
 
 " I see some of the Staunton set coming, so I 
 must receive them, much against my will, as you 
 will believe, and 
 
 " I remain, dear Madam, 
 
 " Yours with sincere respect, 
 
 " Maria Watson/' 
 
 Immediately after closing her letter, Mrs. 
 Watson might have been seen rushing up stairs 
 to put on her best gown and cap, as she was 
 never tidy excepting when dressed for company. 
 
 Heath Farm was rapidly progressing, and the 
 joy of the children in the prospect of the holiday 
 which was to be devoted to Mrs. Melcombe's
 
 254 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 introduction to her new residence was un- 
 bounded. Nobody could have recognized the 
 rough-looking farm-house in the elegant cottage 
 into which the fairy wand of love had changed 
 it. Mrs. Melcombe was enchanted, and though 
 too weak to do more than admire it from the 
 window, she did full justice to the affectionate 
 interest which had been so freely manifested. 
 The pleasure intended had been given and ac- 
 knowledged, and this was all that any desired. 
 Those who are too proud to be thankful, are 
 unworthy of the kindness they have received ; 
 for as David sings, " yea, a joyful and pleasant 
 thing it is to be thankful.'' It is only the proud 
 who withhold it. Far from being elevated in 
 her own estimation by all the consideration she 
 met with, Mrs. Melcombe's only feeling was one 
 of overflowing gratitude to God, who after per- 
 mitting her to be for years in storm and tem- 
 pest, had at last provided her with a peaceful 
 refuge for the few remaining years of her life. 
 Her son's misconduct had added to the grief of 
 her already broken heart. The measure of her 
 cup of sorrow was full, and she was gradually, 
 but surely, approaching to that haven 
 
 " Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
 And the weary are at rest." 
 
 She could not have imagined that this ray of 
 light upon her benighted path could have ex- 
 cited envy ; but believed that others would feel
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 255 
 
 as slie would have done had another been 
 cheered in a similar manner. Although Alger- 
 non was beo-innino^ to exhibit more steadiness 
 of principle, and Edith daily proved that she 
 had profited by the lessons of wisdom and ex- 
 perience she had received, Mr. Delville had 
 advised Mrs. Melcombe to leave them for a 
 longer time to themselves, in the hope that it 
 might be the means of confirming them in their 
 good resolutions. Both had undergone a change 
 of feeling. It was impossible for a naturally 
 generous mind like Algernon's not to feel deeply 
 pained at all the sacrifices Edith was called 
 upon to make. Her pale cheek and languid 
 manner show^ed that she was sufiering from the 
 closeness of the atmosphere, and the confine- 
 ment to which she was subjected by his neces- 
 saiy absence as a walking companion, and the 
 impossibility of her going out alone. Mary was 
 little older than herself, and though neither 
 complained, and nothing would have induced 
 the faithful creature to leave her young mis- 
 tress, both saw the inroads of suffering marked 
 in the appearance of the other. Mary secretly 
 wrote to the old housekeeper at Langdale Park, 
 who contrived to send her various little com- 
 forts which had belonged to her young mistress, 
 and which her father had ordered to be des- 
 troyed, but which the good old woman had 
 carefully preserved. She also added fruit,
 
 256 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 flowers, and vegetables, whicli Edith did not 
 find grow on her table in London, as she had 
 fancied they had done in former days at her 
 home. Mrs. Purvis, the housekeeper, thought 
 that her former young lady had a much 
 better right to them than Madam Watson, who 
 seemed to consider the garden her OAvn. She 
 would gladly have sent many other things, but 
 did not feel justified in doing so. It was a joy- 
 ful sight to Edith, when her own little cargo of 
 comforts was brought to her door. She and 
 Mary passed nearly the whole day in arranging 
 her room. An arm-chair, book-cases, work-box, 
 writing materials, her books, and all the little 
 bijouterie which had belonged to her own bou- 
 doir, had transformed her poor sitting-room into 
 what appeared to her eyes a palace. Her ward- 
 robe had also been sent, and it was with a 
 beating heart that she dressed herself in one of 
 her many handsome gowns, which Mary took as 
 much pleasure in altering to look fashionable, 
 smoothed her hair, and took out her work, the 
 same which she had left unfinished, and waited 
 for her husband. She had also a better dinner 
 than usual, for Mrs. Purvis had sent some 
 fowls from her husband's farm, which, with fruit 
 and vegetables, made a very different meal to 
 the one to which poverty was beginning to 
 accustom them. Mary was not forgotten, and 
 shared in the abundance. Since she had un-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 257 
 
 derstood her duties, and her better feelings had 
 been called into exercise, Edith had become 
 much more interesting and companionable. 
 She was not what would be called a beauty, 
 but her expression was pleasing, and her counte- 
 nance one which, lighted up as it now was with 
 pleasurable sensations, was unusually attractive. 
 Although she constantly retained a sense of the 
 impropriety of her conduct, which Mrs. Somer- 
 set had not failed to place before her, her mind 
 had acquired a composure which it had never 
 known before, and there was a repose in her 
 manner which greatly improved her. She daily 
 felt more and more thankful to her heavenly 
 Father, for having preserved her from the more 
 fatal consequences which are almost always 
 the fruit of a clandestine marriage. But for 
 her husband's sake, she little regretted the loss 
 of her fortune ; riches had never given her 
 happiness, and though at times during her long 
 and solitary day she might feel her deprivations, 
 the contrast between her present peaceful state 
 of mind and her restless and miserable wan- 
 derings through her father's handsome park, 
 was a pleasing one. On the day on which she 
 had decked out her humble lodgings, Algernon 
 returned in high spirits, and was quite willing 
 to express as much pleasure in witnessing her 
 efforts to please him, as Edith had experienced 
 in her preparations. Each felt that most de- 
 YOL. I. s
 
 258 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 lightfiil of all feelings, the consciousness of 
 having wished to do right. How much more 
 enjoyment there was at that moment in their 
 hearts, in the renewed comforts that surrounded 
 them, and in the mutual satisfaction each ex- 
 perienced in seeing the pleasure of the other, 
 than in the cold and heartless profusion which 
 surrounded Lady Davenport. It is true that 
 they had much to struggle with, that their diffi- 
 culties were still great in prospect, and, more 
 than all, his mother's sufferings distressed Al- 
 gernon, but they anticipated better days ; Edith 
 fondly hoped to make up to her hereafter, by 
 the affection of a daughter, for the loss of her 
 son ; while Algernon, whose talents were daily 
 bringing him into notice, hoped to assist in 
 supporting her declining years. He was be- 
 coming a steady attendant at his chambers, and 
 a few weeks after the happy evening we have 
 described, he made so able a defence for one of 
 his clients, that he attracted the attention of 
 all the clever lawyers present. The hope that 
 at last he might be permitted to take Edith to 
 Staunton, the earnest desire to relieve his 
 mother from the large demand upon her income 
 which his present poverty occasioned, and the 
 yet stronger wish of regaining her esteem, were 
 powerful incentives. Mrs. Somerset still corre- 
 sponded regularly with Edith ; and Mr. Delville 
 neglected no opportunity, either by letters or
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 259 
 
 occasional visits when he was in London, of 
 strengthening Algernon's good resolutions. 
 His mother's prayers were already answered ; 
 and though it must be a work of time, exerj 
 day seemed to give earnest of a future har- 
 vest. Her heart yearned towards her son, 
 but her love was for his soul, so that she forgot 
 herself in her desire for his good, and was 
 willing to be guided by Mr. Delville, whose 
 judgment was always tempered by mercy. The 
 idea of remaining inexorable when repentance 
 had been proved by after good conduct, was not 
 one so truly Christian a mind as his could en- 
 tertain. Those who do not forgive cannot hope 
 to be forgiven, and " he who is content to go to 
 heaven alone Avill not go there at all.'' It is 
 true that confidence, in some cases, cannot with 
 prudence be returned, for as the wise man writes, 
 "Never trust thine enemy, for like as iron 
 rusteth, so is his wickedness : though he humble 
 himself, and go crouching, yet take good heed 
 and beware of him, and thou shalt be unto him* 
 as if thou hadst wiped a looking-glass ; and 
 thou shalt know that his rust hath not been 
 altogether wiped away." "Set him not by 
 thee, lest when he hath overthrown thee he 
 stand up in thy place ; neither let him sit at 
 thy right hand, lest he seek to take thy seat, 
 and thou at the last remember my words and 
 be pricked therewith." 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 It is weakness to put ourselves into the power 
 of one who has been proved unworthy of trust, 
 either from ignorance or wickedness ; but former 
 injuries should not be allowed a place in our 
 memory, excepting for self-preservation. Those 
 who have committed them are alone to be 
 pitied ; they can do us no harm without G od's 
 permission, but our anger can seriously injure 
 ourselves. It is perhaps one of our hardest les- 
 sons, but the grace of God is all-sufficient ; and 
 he who lets the sun go down upon his wrath, is 
 not a true Christian. The right hand of Chris- 
 tian fellowship may always be held out, and 
 how dwelleth the love of God in him who re- 
 fuses to give it ? And yet how many who would 
 not be seen at " music and dancing for the 
 world," are angry at the prodigal's being again 
 received into his Father's house, and turn their 
 faces from him, — who live at enmity with a 
 brother or sister, and call themselves followers 
 of our Saviour. There cannot be a greater 
 stumbling-block to the worldly-minded, many 
 of whom, without any profession of religion, 
 dwell together in love. It may truly be said 
 that while " they strain at a gnat, they swallow 
 a camel," and forget what is so forcibly written 
 by St. John ; " He that saith he is in light, and 
 hateth his brother, is in darkness even until now. 
 He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, 
 and there is none occasion of stumbling in him ;
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 261 
 
 but he that hateth his brother is in darkness, 
 and walketh in darkness, and knoweth not 
 whither he goeth, because the darkness has 
 blinded his eyes/' 
 
 Lady Matilda Mertoun made frequent visits 
 to Staunton Rectory, although her time was 
 much occupied by attendance on her parents. 
 Lord Rockingham had for a considerable time 
 been a great invalid, but the sweet and cheerful 
 spirit of his daughter was ever at his side. 
 The merely honourable upright man of the 
 world had become a practical Christian. Un- 
 able to attend his public duties, he devoted all 
 his time and thoughts to the improvement of 
 his estate, in the true sense of the word ; not by 
 adding field to field, and house to house, for his 
 own personal aggrandizement, but by bettering 
 the condition of his tenantry in mind and body, 
 and in giving them every spiritual advantage. 
 The livings in his gift were not thrown away 
 merely to provide for idleness and stupidity, or 
 because they were the only patronage in his 
 own power when asked for assistance. He was 
 not too proud to ask a favour for another when 
 not able to confer it himself ; his desire was to 
 do good, not to encrease his own consequence 
 In providing for a really faithful minister, he 
 provided for the souls of all in his parish. 
 While his living was his maintenance, his teach- 
 ing was the living water, of which those who
 
 262 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 drink will never thirst again. The tithes of 
 bodily food would only be changed into that 
 which is spiritual, and thus it would be a mu- 
 tual gain. Those who took the livings were 
 expected at the same tipie to take all their 
 responsibilities. 
 
 Matilda was the friend of all her father's de- 
 pendants, and in the daily exercise of Christian 
 duty, and the happiness of ministering to the 
 comfort and amusement of her parents, she 
 never knew a sad hour. Even her mother, 
 though incapable of understanding her mo- 
 tives, was too happy in the effect to quarrel 
 with them. The cold and heartless conduct 
 of her favourite daughter had completely es- 
 tranged her from her, and she turned with 
 childlike pleasure to the never-varying devotion 
 of Matilda. Her brothel* was equally under her 
 influence ; for consistency invariably gains re- 
 sjiect, even when a difference of opinion may 
 exist. It is never our Saviour's religion which 
 disgusts, but the inconsistency of its professors. 
 " They say and do not.'' All who witness it in 
 its true character cannot fail to wonder and 
 admire, if they do not love. Our own evil na- 
 ture grafted on this beautiful stem is what dis- 
 figures the flower. In itself it is first " pure," 
 then " lovely," and " of good report ;" and he 
 only is happy who sits under its shadow and 
 feeds on its fruit. Such was Matilda. Hers
 
 THE THREE PATHS 263 
 
 was cliarity in its true sense, — love that made 
 itself felt, and a faith showing itself in love to 
 God and man. Even the most malicious owned 
 her power; and Mrs. Watson could never hear 
 or see any thing to animadvert upon, but her 
 ridiculous condescension in choosing to be so 
 intimate with those Delvilles, in whom she 
 could see nothing to love or admire, and who 
 set themselves up to seem more than their 
 neighbours, merely to make themselves noticed. 
 It was an offence she could never forgive ; though 
 when Lord Rockingham's carriage occasionally 
 drove up to her own door she found no fault, 
 still less when a pine, or melon, or grapes found 
 their way to Langdale rectory. Then Matilda 
 was charming ; and after such visits she gene- 
 rally set off for Staunton to announce the great 
 kindness and attention she received from the 
 Abbey, and was extremely mortified to find 
 that, instead of exciting envy, all were pleased 
 that she had not been forgotten. Heath Farm 
 was a sad heartburning to her, particularly 
 when, instead of the poor place she thought 
 Mrs. Melcombe deserved, she saw it the picture 
 of comfort and of simple elegance. She told 
 Mr. Watson that she was quite sure that she 
 could not pay for it, and wondered how it was 
 possible she could have made it so pretty. She 
 questioned all her acquaintance as to her means 
 of maintaining herself, and doubted whether she
 
 264 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 did ever pay any body. To her great surprise 
 and considerable disappointment, Mrs. Mel- 
 combe continued to live on in respectability 
 and comfort, and was daily more and more 
 appreciated by all about her. 
 
 While Mrs. Watson was thus constantly busy 
 about her neighbours' affairs, her own did not 
 prosper. Susan, in her various drives to the 
 neighbouring town, had made some most un- 
 desirable acquaintances. Upon one or two occa- 
 sions she had gained permission to stay on a 
 visit of a few days with an old maiden aunt, 
 who had established herself at Winton to be 
 near her relations at Langdale. When there, 
 she secretly attended the theatre, where she 
 met one of the actors, a mere strolling player, 
 and to the inexpressible horror of her parents, 
 disappeared with him. At Langdale she was 
 never seen or heard of more. Mrs. Watson's 
 real distress excited the commiseration of all 
 at Staunton. None reproached or neglected 
 her, but by every act of kindness heaped coals 
 of fire on her head. With others it was very- 
 different ; for her want of charity, her spiritual 
 pride and self-sufficiency, had made her so 
 many enemies, that they rejoiced in her misery. 
 She was treated with contempt by some, and 
 with reproaches by others. The parish church 
 was deserted, and a dissenting chapel erected. 
 The absence of the family from Langdale Park
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 265 
 
 left the village without protection, and it soon 
 became a scene of disorder. Mrs. Watson could 
 no longer teach with advantage in the \allage 
 school, when her own children disgraced her by 
 their manners and ill-conduct. She had sacri- 
 ficed her duties to the pleasure of passing her 
 time with Lady Sophia, who, like all selfish 
 people, was perfectly happy without her. The 
 absence of all other amusement, and no real 
 congeniality of feeling, had made her a neces- 
 sary appendage, a sort of daily food, which, 
 though insipid and mawkish, had become a part 
 of her daily routine. Since she had left Lang- 
 dale Park, the increased consequence of her 
 present position, her new equipages, and the 
 determination of Colonel Cumberland to en- 
 tertain his neighbours and fill his house, had 
 forced her into exertion. Her nervous ailments 
 had taken flight, and she was a new creature. 
 Edith's presence no longer reminded her of her 
 age, so that since she had discarded her peignoir 
 and interesting invalid cap, she might have 
 passed very well for ten years younger than 
 she really was. Mrs. Watson was wholly for- 
 gotten, her letters unanswered and often un- 
 read ; for the small gossip which had amused 
 her ennui at Langdale, appeared very contemp- 
 tible in the larger sphere of action to her tongue 
 and ears which a constant succession of visitors 
 supplied. This is no uncommon case. Circum-
 
 266 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 stances throw persons altogether uncongenial 
 into each other's society, with no bond of union 
 but the absence of other subjects or objects of 
 interest. An intimacy of necessity is formed, 
 which becomes irksome when its causes cease 
 to exist The attempt to maintain it is vain ; 
 for when the interests, friends, and connexions 
 of each are unknown to the other, there re- 
 mains little for conversation, unless literature 
 or public matters have been sufficiently stu- 
 died to become its subject. Coolness and in- 
 difference arise unconsciously, and the accusa- 
 tion of fickleness is the consequence. There 
 are three sorts of intimacies, which spring from 
 necessity, propinquity, or choice : the last can 
 alone become a friendship ; the others will ne- 
 cessarily cease with the circumstances which 
 occasioned them, or, if continued, can only be 
 a well or ill-acted part, equally uninteresting 
 to both parties, as wanting warmth or flow. 
 Prudence, and the habit of taking society as 
 an accident, and not as essential to existence, 
 tend in a certain degree towards making it a 
 matter of less importance. It is the desire of 
 passing idle time which so often exposes to 
 these unnatural intimacies. Acquaintance it is 
 impossible for those who live in the full tide of 
 life to control ; even intimacies cannot always 
 be avoided ; but friendship must have higher 
 grounds to stand upon, and before we dash
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 267 
 
 into it a general view of all around should be 
 taken. It lias been well said by Pascal, 
 "que tout le mallieur des hommes vient de 
 ne savoir pas se tenir en repos dans une 
 cliambre.'' 
 
 In judging of cbaracter, personal liking must 
 be separated from tlie scale, until we have 
 ascertained how it stands in all its other rela- 
 tions ; for those who are unfaithful in one will 
 be unfaithful in all. Those whom we respect 
 are not always the most loveable. " Those per- 
 sons who creep into the hearts of most people, 
 who are chosen as the companions of their softer 
 hours, and their reliefs from care and anxiety, 
 are never persons of shining qualities or strong 
 virtues. It is rather the soft green of the soul 
 on which we rest our eyes, that are fatigued 
 with beholding glaring objects.'" In strong and 
 firm characters " we have much to admire, 
 much to reverence, and perhaps something to 
 fear : we respect its possessor, but at a distance. 
 With the being of a softer and tenderer nature 
 we become more familiar, and he leads us where 
 he pleases. Those virtues which cause admi- 
 ration and are of the sublimer kind produce ter- 
 ror rather than love ; such as fortitude, justice, 
 wisdom, and the like. No man is amiable by 
 the force of such qualities alone. Those which 
 engage the heart, which impress with a sense 
 of loveliness, are the softer virtues ; easiness of
 
 268 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 temper, compassion, kindness, and liberality ; 
 but these are in reality of mucli less immediate 
 and momentous concern to society, and of less 
 dignity. It is for this very reason that they 
 are more amiable. The greater virtues turn 
 principally on dangers, punishments, and trou- 
 bles, and are exercised rather in preventing the 
 worst mischiefs than in dispensing favours, and 
 are therefore not lovely, though highly vene- 
 rable. The subordinate turn on reliefs, gratifi- 
 cations, and indulgences, and are therefore more 
 lovely, though inferior in dignity \" Their very 
 attraction makes them the more dangerous ; 
 but when tried in the time of danger or diffi- 
 culty, the strong becomes a support and comfort, 
 while amiable weakness, by its incompetency 
 in the season of action, becomes contemptible. 
 It may pass in sunshine, but emits no light in 
 the hour of darkness. Indeed none are so 
 mischievous as what are called good-natured, 
 well-meaning people : their good-nature is folly, 
 and their well-meaning an absence of all dis- 
 crimination or tact. 
 
 In losing Lady Sophia, Mrs. Watson lost all. 
 In herself she had nothing. She was an ab- 
 stract being, a kind of excrescence upon a more 
 important foundation. She had been made by 
 the attentions of her patroness. She had no 
 
 1 Burke on the Sublime and Beautiful.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 269 
 
 friends to fall back upon, and in lier season of 
 sorrow all those whom she had cast aside, for 
 the sake of being tolerated at Langdale Park, 
 rejoiced in her disgrace, and in the disappoint- 
 ment of her pride. Although it was impossible 
 for her not to feel grateful for the delicacy, 
 kindness, and consideration of all at Staunton, 
 her conscience made her feel humbled in the 
 society of minds and manners so different to 
 her own, though every endeavour was used to 
 make her at ease. It was, therefore, a great 
 comfort to her when a distant relation, a Liver- 
 pool merchant, offered her husband the curacy 
 of a chapel in that town, the emolument of 
 which would be equal to the living of Langdale. 
 The family took their departure without a tear 
 of regret on either side ; and Mr. Herbert, a 
 neighbour of Colonel Cumberland's in Devon- 
 shire, being anxious for a living for his son, it 
 was presented to him, to hold till Edward Cum- 
 berland was of an age to take it. 
 
 Alfred Herbeii; was in earnest in his profes- 
 sion. Uninfluenced by mercenary motives, he had 
 entered into holy orders with the fullest sense 
 of the responsibility entailed upon him. He 
 had not taken these sacred vows upon him 
 merely as a provision in a worldly sense, nor 
 had he been selected by his parents because 
 he was the plainest or the least talented of 
 their sons. Far from it, his appearance and
 
 270 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 manners would have graced an earthly court, 
 as much as they adorned the ministrations 
 devoted to a higher sphere. His noble dis- 
 position, independence of mind, and courageous 
 temperament, would have made him as good a 
 soldier of war as it fitted him to be the 
 champion of the Grreat Captain of his salvation, 
 but he neither affected the courtier nor the 
 soldier. He was the clergyman and the Chris- 
 tian gentleman. His was not the miscalled 
 independence which merely follows inclination, 
 with no regard to decency, order, or the 
 claims of society, nor that which denies it to 
 all others, retaining it for himself alone, but 
 the determination to do what is right at all 
 cost. At the time when he accepted the living 
 of Langdale, he was about six-and-twenty, with 
 a strikingly intelligent and pleasing coun- 
 tenance, one which bespoke love and kindness 
 without weakness, firmness without severity, 
 intellect and talent under the influence of sound 
 principle and discipline. Unlike Algernon, 
 there was no absence of moral courage. The 
 love of ease or peace could never make him com- 
 promise principle. The weak would call him obsti- 
 nate, because nothing could force him to give up 
 a just cause ; the timid would call him stern, be- 
 cause he boldly denounced sin ; the proud would 
 call him proud, because, though always courteous 
 and sympathizing, he was not familiar, respect-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 271 
 
 ino' his office and himself. But as he was better 
 known, and his character developed itself, the 
 steadiness of principle, the pleasant and con- 
 tinued calm which followed upon his deter- 
 mined adhesion to the path of uprightness, and 
 the absence of contention, which was prevented 
 by his consistent kindness, erected a lasting 
 respect and esteem, followed by a love which 
 neither lessened, nor was blighted. Its found- 
 ation was truth, and its ramparts simplicity, 
 faith, humility, and prayer. He had none of 
 the morbid feeling of the present day, which 
 in -compassion for the sinner, forgets the hei- 
 nousness of sin. There was no absence of the 
 first, but the character of crime cannot be 
 changed ; and when expediency takes the place 
 of integrity all discipline is at an end, — that 
 discipline so beautifully described by the wise 
 man, " For at first she will walk with him by 
 crooked ways, and bring fear and dread on 
 him, and torment him with her discipline until 
 she may trust his soul, and try him by her 
 laws. Then will she return the straight way 
 unto him, and shew him her secrets. But if 
 he go \NTong she will forsake him, and give 
 him over to his own ruin ^." It was T\dth deep 
 concern that he found the village of Langdale 
 in so neglected a condition. The church, in 
 
 » Eccles. iv. 17—19.
 
 272 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 itself a handsome edifice, had been allowed to 
 fall into decay, and would require to be ahnost 
 rebuilt. Its internal appearance at once 
 announced the indifference of his predecessor 
 to "doing all things decently and in order." 
 The altar cover was worn out and hung in 
 tatters, scarcely concealing the unseemly legs 
 of a common deal table. The font no longer 
 existed, and a bason supplied its place. The 
 surplices bore witness to the same neglect ; the 
 hassocks and cushions were moth-eaten. The 
 school had been for some time wholly neglected ; 
 and the poor would have been equally uncared 
 for, but for the dissenting minister, who was a 
 really good and respectable man. Mr. Watson 
 had pleaded ill-health, and passed most of his 
 time in smoking, gardening, or hunting after his 
 tithes. Mrs. Watson thought Lady Sophia's 
 nerves of far more consequence than the souls 
 of the whole village. Susan could not teach 
 what she did not know, and what she knew 
 was better untaught ; so that altogether, little 
 remained but weeds, or some uncultivated 
 flowers, running to seed for want of nurture. 
 In a few months nobody would have recognized 
 it as the same village. The church was repaired ; 
 the unsiglitly pews, so deservedly termed by 
 an abler pen than this " cattle pens,'' were re- 
 moved, and the system of locking them, once so 
 common in country churches, wholly prevented.
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 273 
 
 The school was remodelled, and Colonel Cum- 
 berland and Mr. Herbert, Alfred's father, will- 
 ingly seconded him in his good work by an 
 ample supply of the means. The effect was 
 soon visible ; the outworks having been 
 strengthened and repaired, the inward and 
 spiritual part was not neglected. By constant 
 intercourse with his people during the week, 
 and his earnest and deeply spiritual addresses 
 on the Sunday, the congregation rapidly re- 
 turned, and in a very short time the dissenting 
 chapel was closed, and the minister, towards 
 whom, as a sincere and upright man, Alfred 
 Herbert had always shown kindness and atten- 
 tion, had been gradually brought back into 
 the Established Church, and was installed as 
 schoolmaster. It had been necessity more 
 than conviction which had led him to desert 
 her standard, and partly the idea of raising 
 himself in the scale of society, which often leads 
 to dissent among the lower orders. In Mr. 
 Herbert's ministry he had soon seen the error 
 of his way, and setting aside pride and pre- 
 judice, the two great promoters of schism, he 
 became a sound churchman and a most useful 
 assistant to the rector in his parish. It was a 
 pleasant change for Staunton ; and in the 
 mutual intercourse enjoyed, Alfred was thank- 
 ful to profit by the experience and superior 
 knowledge of Mr. Delville. He was not too 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 proud to bow to tlie opinion of one so much 
 further advanced in the Christian walk than 
 himself, more especially as it was founded upon 
 the received writings of the wisest and the 
 best ; — not the fanciful interpretation of self- 
 sufficiency and want of discipline, which is 
 always dangerous, and generally leads astray. 
 Years had established in Mr. Delville what 
 was only a promise in Alfred. 
 
 As " morning dew is a pawn of evening fat- 
 ness,'' so is early goodness an earnest of future 
 power. Far happier are they who offer their 
 first freshness to God, than those who only bring 
 their worn-out spirits and disappointed hopes 
 as a fit offering to the Author and Giver of all 
 good. Though they may, and we have every 
 reason to believe will, be accepted at the 
 eleventh hour, it is dangerous to trust to this 
 expectation. It is far safer to begin with the 
 day which is ours, than to wait for an evening 
 which may never come. The pleasures of sin 
 are but for a moment, and leave a sharp sting 
 in their train ; but the happiness that arises 
 from love to God in Christ, is one that nothing 
 can disturb : — 
 
 " True happiness is not the growth of earth, 
 The search is useless if you seek it there : 
 'Tis an exotic of celestial birth, 
 
 And only blossoms in celestial air." 
 
 It is not religion that saddens, but the con-
 
 THE THREE PATHS. 275 
 
 templation of sin. The really holy man has no 
 wish to travel heavenward alone, — his heart 
 yearns after the souls of others. He longs to 
 share his peace and joy with them ; to save 
 them from the precipice towards which they 
 are blindly hastening. It is a withering and 
 awful spectacle to see them bent upon self- 
 destruction, and one that brought tears from 
 our Saviour's eyes. Many might say with 
 Him, " If thou hadst known, even thou at 
 least in this thy day, the things w^hich belong 
 unto thy peace ; but now they are hid from 
 thine eyes.'' 
 
 Note. — Bossuet has so beautifully expressed the rapidity of 
 life, that I cannot refrain from imparting to my readers what I 
 have derived so much pleasure from myself. 
 
 " La vie humaine est semblable a im chemin dont Tissue est 
 un precipice affreux ; on nous avertit des le premier pas, mais la 
 loi est prononcee, il faut avancer toujours. Je voudrois retoumer 
 sur mes pas : ' Marche, Marche.' Un poids in\incible, una 
 force invincible nous entraine ; U faut sans cesse avancer vers le 
 precipice. Mille traverses, mille peines nous fatiguent et nous 
 inquietent dans la route ; encore si je pouvois eviter ce precipice 
 affreux. Non, non, il faut marcher, il faut courir, telle est la 
 rapidite des annees. On se console pourtant, parce que de 
 temps en temps on rencontre des objets qui nous divertissent, 
 des eaux courantes, des fieurs qui passent. On voudroit arreter. 
 * Marche, Marche.^ Et cependant on voit tomber derriere soi 
 tout ce que^on avoit passe, — fracas efFroyable, inevitable ruine. 
 On se console parce qu'on emporte quelques fieurs cueiUies en 
 passant, qu'on voit se faner entre ses mains du matin au soir, 
 quelque fruits qu'on perd en les goutant. Enchantement tou- 
 jours entraine, tu approches du gouffre. Deja tout commence
 
 276 THE THREE PATHS. 
 
 a s'efFacer ; les jardins moins fleuris — les fleurs moins brillantes, 
 leurs covileurs moins vives, les prairies moins riantes, les eaux 
 moins claires, — tout se ternit, tout s'efFace, I'ombre de la mort se 
 presente. On commence a sentir I'approche du goufFre fatal. 
 Mais il faut aller sur le bord encore un pas. Deja I'horreur 
 trouble les sens, la tete tourne, les yeux s'egarent : ilfaut mar- 
 cher. On voudroit retourner en arriere : plus de moyen ; tout 
 est tombe, tout est evanoui, tout est echappe. Je n'ai pas be- 
 soin de vous dire que ce chemin c'est la vie ; que ce goufFre 
 c'est la mort." — Bossuet. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Gilbert & Rivington, Printers, St. John's Square, London.
 
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