UNIVl ILLINCr BOOK; Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2010 witin funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.arGhive.org/details/margaretpercival01sewe NTRAl CmCUlAtlON B00KSIACK5 ook is $50.00. AUG 1 S 19W' FEB 3 1935 When renewing by phone, previous due date. ,rite new due date below L162 NEW WORKS ON RELIGIOUS SUBJECTS, Lately Published, and Preparing for Publication, by Messrs. Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans. IN THE PRESS. I. Christmas Holydays in Rome. By the Kev. W. Kip, A.IM. Edited by the Rev. William Sewkll, B.D. Fellow aiid Tutor of Exeter College, Oxford, Ecp. 8vo. 5s. [Read;/. II. From Oxford to Rome ; And, How it fared with some who made the Journey. By a Companion Traveller. Ecp. 8vo. with Plate. III. Or, The New St. Francis : A Tale of the Times. Fop. 8vo. " Shun the insidious arts That Rome provides; less dreading from her frown Than from her wily praibe, her peaceful Rown, Language, and letters. These, though fondly viewed As humanising graces, are but parts And instruments of deadliest servitude. " WoauswoBTH. IV. Frank Faitlifid ; Or, High Churi'h and Low (Church Pai-ty Tendencies cxliibited, as observed during the last Twelve Years. ]i'j a Clergyman. Fcp. 8vo. New Works on Religious Subjects, LATELY PUBLISHED. BT THE AUTHOR AND EDITOR OF " MARGx\.RET PERCIYAL. I. Amy Herbert* New Edition. 2 vols, foolscap 8vo. 9a. II. Gertrude : A Tale. New Edition. 2 vols, foolscap 8vo. 9s. III. Laneton Parsonage : A Tale for Children, On the practical use of a portion of the Church CatecHism. New Edition. Foolscap 8vo. 5s. BY THE REV. CHARLES B. TAYLER, A.M. AUTHOR OF " RECORDS OF A GOOD MAN'S LIFE," ETC. IV. Margaret ; or^ the PearL New Edition. Fcp. Svo. Os. V. Lady Mary ; Or, Not of the World. Fcp. 8vo. 6s. 6d. VI. Tractarianism Not of God : Sermons. Fcp. Svo. 6s. EDITED BY THE REV. CH.\RLES B T.WLER, A.M. VII. Dora Melder ! A Story of Alsace. By jNIeta Sander. A Ti-anslation. Fcp. 8vo. with 2 Illustrations, 7s- Published by Longman, Brown, and Co. -^ VIII. NEW WORK ON BIBLICAL CRITICISM. A Spiojjsis of Criticisms Upon those Passages of the Old Testament in which ]Mocleru Commentators have diflcred from the Authorised Version : Together with an Explanation of various DitHculties in the Hebrew and English Texts. By the Ilcv. Richard Barkett, ]M.A. Fellow of King's College, Cambridge. [la January^ IX. The Domestic Liturgy And Family Chaplain. The First Part being Church Services adapted for Domestic Use, with Prayers for every Day in the Week, selected exclusively from the Book of Common Prayer. Part II. comprising an appropriate Sermon for every Sunday in the Year. By the Rev. Thomas Dale, A.M. Canon Residentiary of St. Paul's, and Vicar of St. Paerceive and correct delV*cts ; and if this perpetual interference [)artook of tlie natur« 1$ li 6 Mz\.RGAKET FERCIVAL. of {I petty tyranny, it was a fault known only to her family. She was too well bred to obtrude her domestic grievances upon her friends ; and, no one seeing any thing of the machinery by which so per- fect an establishment was regulated, Mrs. Per- cival's household was universally held up as a pattern for imitation in the town of Staunton and the adjoining neighbourhood. And Mxs. Percival was not an unamiable woman ; she had a kind heart, and never turned aside from any cases of distress. She did not trouble herself to seek them out ; that was the duty of the rector and the curate, and the district visitors ; and when they were found, she did not exert herself to make personal enquiries; but her purse was always open to those who ap- plied to her for relief. She was liberal by nature and habit, and to give was far more easy than to refuse. Of these points of character IMi's. Per- cival was fully conscious ; yet she was not what would be called conceited. She did not in general over estimate her judgment and common sense, nor believe herself a pattern of benevolence. Her self- confidence was merely that which enabled her to decide quickly for her own family, and authorita- tively for others. But there was one thing on which she prided herself — a plan for the education of her children. Siie had persuaded her hu;iano, the harp, French, Italian, German, mathematics : there was nothing that any one of her acquaintance had ever learnt which Agatha Percival did not learn also. It was an outlay at first, but it was to be anqily repaid in the end ; for when her education was MAKGARKT TERCIVAL. 7 finished, Agatha was to return to be the Instructress of the remainder of the family. No scheme couhl have been devised more pru- dently; but, unhappily for its success, Mrs. Pcrcival never made any enquiries into that very essential requisite, Agatha's own qualifications. Agatha had learnt, and of course she must be able to tcacli. And Agatha had indeed learnt, and not super- ficially. She was well read, a fair linguist, an ex- cellent musician ; her good natural abilities had been carefully cultivated, and at eighteen slie was considered not merely elegant and beautiful, but a very superior person in mind. Mrs. Pcrcival was proud of her daughter, and her husband was still more so. lie was engrossed in his profession, en- gaged without a single day of entire rest ; and, with such constant and harassing occupations, his life would have been irksome beyond endurance but for his delight in his family. Altliough there were few hours in which he could enjoy their society, and those liable to frequent interruption, yet the stolen intervals were full of refreshment to his wearied spirits ; and to hear that Agatha had been called lovely, or that Philip had been thought a fine little fellow, or indeed that praise had been bestowed upon any one of his children, gave him strength to endure all fatigue, whether mental or physical. lie agreed entirely with his wife in believing that Agatha was more than competent to take charge of her brothers and sisters. Margaret, who was then seventeen, would, it was imagined, require but little attention. She was uncommonly clever, and had profited wonderfully by country masters ; and a little advice, a few hints, would be all tliat could be necessary for her. As to her mind, INIargaret had managed, no one knew how, to read, and think, and study by licrself, so as almost to rival Agatha in 8 MARGARET PERCIVAL. some persons' opinion. As a child her mother had taught her, as she did all the rest ; but from the age of fourteen, Margaret had outstripped her teacher. She read history and made notes ; she dived into the mysteries of Dante, and spent her leisure hours in mastering the difficulties of Ger- man ; she was even occasionally seen with a Latin Testament in her hand ; and though her father laiiglied at her, and called her a smatterer and a blue-stocking, and her mother wished that she would pay a little more attention to work ; still, both were in their hearts well pleased. Margaret was no common character, and it was possible that she might some day excite as much admiration by her learning as Agatha did by her beauty and showy accomplishments. Agatha's instructions, therefore, would not be required by her ; and there were two sons, one in the army and another at Eton, who were equally beyond the need of home- tuition ; but Harriet, and Grace, and Philip, and little Juliet, when she was old enough, might be expected to make rapid progress. Agatha heard of the plan, and offered no objection to it. It was not worth while when it was only an idea, and might, like many other of her mother's projects, come to nothing ; but when, on the morning after she had finally left school, IVIi'S. Percival addressed Iier with — " Well ! my dear, when do you intend to begin ? I suppose you will require about a week to make arrangements, and then you can take possession of the school -room " — her declaration, that she had neither the power nor the inclination to undertake the office assigned her, was made so decidedly, that even Mrs. Percival's will was obliged in a degree to give way. She insisted, entreated, threatened ; but she did not MARGARET PEUCIVAL. 9 know the character with which she had to deal. Agatha Percival was weak and vacillating in prin- ciple, but obstinate to immovability. She had quickness of intellect, but no depth ; her temper was considered good, because her feelings were not easily roused ; and the S3'stem under which she had been educated had rendered her selfish, by teaching her that she was to be the centre of admiration. Hers was a disposition which nothing but high religious motives would ever have stimulated to real energy and usefulness, and, instead of religion, she had heard only of the world, — v,liat would be said and thought — what was considered etiquette — what was the general fashion ; — she had not an idea beyond^ The vain dream of this mortal life was to her a vivid reality; and the one object of her existence, for which every other consideration was to be sacri- ficed, was a fortunate marriage, including, of course, a handsome house and establishment of servants and carriages ; rank superior to her own ; money to gratify every wish ; and, as the last desideratum, a husband. AVith such views it was hopeless to talk to her of the value of time, the necessity of employ- ing her talents, the advantages that might accrue to herself, as well as to her sisters, from the plan pro- posed. To spend her days in the school-room would be banishment from all that could give her happi- ness ; her home would be a prison, her life a burden ; — she was excited even to eloquence upon the occa- sion, and Mrs. Percival shrank back, alarmed at the unexpected torrent of words she had encountered fr( contrived to render her society eagerly and generally coveted. The privileged circle which constituted the " haut ton " in the vicinity of Staunton was, as is the case in many country places, dilficult of access ; but Dr. Percival's position w^as, like his house, in the border country. He was of an old family, and one that was much respected : it had been tlie custom from time immemorial for the Percivals to visit every where ; and even when in the commencemect of his practice Dr. Percival had taken uj) his nbode in a small house in the principal street in Staunton, his dignity as a pliy- 22 MARGARET PERCR'AL. sician, and the universal tradition of society, gave him admission to houses which would have been hermetically sealed against persons of much greater pretension. But in process of time, as his practice increased, Dr. Percival removed from the three- storied house, with its back and front parlours, and its two small drawing-rooms, one of which had been converted into a bed-room, to serve the needs of his family, into another dwelling of a very different description. The Grove was a low, red-brick edi- fice, having stone facings and mullioned windows, and occupying a considerable extent of ground. It was not a handsome house, and, though at some little distance from the town, commanded no view, except over some meadow land, and the adjacent village and church of Deering. But it was a man- sion of much respectability, owning a pretty shrub- bery, a large garden, and a paddock ; and sheltered on the north and east by some fine old elms, from which its name had been derived. The inte- rior was of the same description ; good-sized rooms, rather dark, but capable of affording much comfort, especially in the winter evenings, when the thick crimson curtains in the drawdng-room were closely drawn, the sofa wdieeled near the blazing fire, the table covered with books, the piano opened and the harp uncovered, and the bright lamp lighting up the oak wainscot and throwing an air of cheerful- ness over the most distant corner of the apartment. When Dr. Percival removed to the Grove, his ce- lebrity was well established ; and, satisfied in the certainty, as he believed, of being able to provide comfortably for his large family, he shook off all cares except tliose connected with his profession, and resolved that the remainder of his life should be happy. And it was happy as far as outward prosperity could render it so; and for inward anx- MARGARET TERCIVAL. 23 icties Dr. Percival had no time. It certainly was very gratifying to a father's pride to know tliat his children were fitted by their talents, manners, and accomplishments, for the first society in the land ; and the pleasure which he derived from the invita- tions and the applauses that followed Agatha's intro- duction into the world was unbounded. Yet neither Dr. Percival nor his wife would have gone aside to seek for society beyond their natural sphere -, though when it was forced upon them they entered into it willingly. And who could blame tliem ? Who could even think of danger in such a position, ex- cept those who know the imperceptible degrees by which w^e slide from acquiescence in enjoyment into the craving for its possession ; or by which, when, in conformity with custom, we bow down be- fore the idols of the w^orld, rank, and wealth, and fashion, we at last pay them the homage of the heart, and suffer them to usurp that sway over our actions which belongs to God alone ? In the opinion of their friends, Dr. and Mrs. Percival led innoceni and useful, even virtuous, lives ; and few who had witnessed the glow of maternal pride, which passed over I\Irs. Percival's countenance as she pictured her daughter driving through Staunton, the chosen companion of the elegant Mrs. St. Aubyn, would have thought it necessary to ask whether a friend- ship, or even an intimacy, based upon the vain d(i- sirc of exciting envy and admiration, could possibly be worthy the ambition of a Christian. But Mrs. Percival's complacent equanimity was soon rufliied. A visit to tlie school-room roused, as it generally did, every latent feeling of irrita- tion. The apartment was a picture of disorder; the books whicli liad been used were scattered on the table and the fioor in wild confusion ; tlic ink- stand had been upset upon the carpet, a stool over- 24 MARGARET PERCIYAL. turned was lying witli its face to the ground, Grace was in the corner, Philip was sobbing, and Harriet reading out in a rapid inaudible voice to Margaret, who, reclining in her chair, was turning over the pages of a novel. Mrs. Percival's movements wer^ energetic. Grace was called up, slightly repri^. manded and forgiven ; Harriet and Philip wei^ summoned from their employments to put the rooc? in order ; and Margaret received a reproof for neglect, given before her pupils and couched in no very gentle terms. It was an unfortunate for- getfulness, or it might have been ignorance, on ^Ii-s. Percival's part, which caused her to overlook the fact that the best mode of ensuring respect for another is by exhibiting it in our own conduct. She wished her children to look up to Margaret and obey her ; but she took the most effectual steps towards rendering her authority utterly nugatory. Margaret felt this keenly. It did her harm, by inducing her t& believe that nearly all the defects which she lamented in the present system of education were ascribable to her mother's interference. " What can be done whilst Grace is so spoilt ? " was an excuse constantly made to herself ; and, even in cases with which Mrs. Percival had no concern, Margaret had always an apology at hand. It was hopeless to attempt any thing unless she had full control. If she were to form good plans one day, they might all be destroyed the next. On this occasion, however, she had some doubt whe- ther she was entirely blameless, and the novel was pushed aside from shame. " This will never do, Margaret,'' was I\Irs. Per- cival's conclusion of her angry remonstrance : " Your father and I must adopt some other plan, if this is to be the mode of instruction.*' Margaret could have replied with equal irritation ; MARGARET PERCIVAL. 25 but, tliough her temper was not good, she was never wanting in filial respect, — at least in words. She said something in a low tone about sor- row and tiresome children, and then recalling Harriet, who had succeeded in making the room look neat, told her to go on reading. But her troubles were not ended. Mrs. Percival wished to make some inquiries about Harriet's studies : she thought the book too old for her ; Harriet was not clever, and it was not well to force her mind. The observation was made, and supposed to be for- gotten ; but it was carefully treasured up by the little girl about whom it was spoken ; and many times afterwards, in seasons of despondency or indolence, it recurred to crush her energy, or foster her natural defect. Margaret, in theory, under- stood her sister's character tolerably well, an(? felt directly that her mother gave an opinion with- out knowledge or consideration : but remonstrance would have been useless. The history was put aside, and another substituted ; though Harriet, in an entreating voice, stated that she had only just finished it, and had been allowed to begin the new one two days before as a reward. " It does not signify, my love ; I don't choose to be argued against : she will read this, Margaret, over again. A year hence will be quite soon enough for RoUin. If it were Grace, it would be different." Grace heard as quickly as Harriet ; and bridled her neck, and smiled ; her memory, too, was good for all observations made about herself. " And now, my dear," said Mrs. Percival, sooth- ingly, " I have only one more thing to say. I do hope you won't keep the carriage waiting this evening : it worries your father excessively." "Tlie carriage, mainmn !" repeated Margaret. VOL. 1. V 26. MARGARET PERCIVAL. " Yes, my clear, the carriage. How sadly forget- ful you arc! We dine at the parsonage this evening." "Oh! I remember now — but must I really go?" " You are provoking, Margaret ; of course you must. The invitation has been accepted." "But I said at the time I did not wish it," re- plied Margaret. " Nonsense, my love ; I won't hear of these fancies ; why should your father and I give our- selves the trouble of going out, and asking people here in return, if it were not for you and Agatha ? At our age it would be much more comfortable to be quiet." " Agatha likes it," said Margaret. " And so must you, my dear. I will never believe, in fact, but that you do ; it is not natural." " The parsonage is so very dull," sighed Mar- garet. " Well, so it is ; there is no doubt of that : but we must take invitations as they come." The Stanleys are excellent people ; and you know it is quite right to pay respect to one's clergyman." " The dinners are so long," sighed Margaret again. " Very long, and badly sent up ; which I wonder at, for I know they always have a cook when they give a dinner party ; but INIrs. Stanley, as a girl, never did know any thing of management." " And they have such a tiresome set of people always," continued Margaret. " That is the same fault ; bad management and short invitations, so that they have no time to choose. But it will be better to-day: we shall have Mrs. St. Aubyn and Colonel Clivc." Margaret's sinile was very satirical. " You may look, my dear ; I know what you MARGARET riCKCIVAL. 27 mean, but you are mistaken indeed. Mrs. St. Aubyn has a great deal of sense wlien you come to talk to her ; and tlie Colonel must know a good deal, he has been abroad so much." " Possibly," said Margaret, while the same smile played on her lips ; " but they are Agatha's friends, not mine." " Your own fault, Margaret ; Mrs. St. Aubyn admires you extremely. She said to me, only the other day, that, if it were not for your sister, you would be the belle of tlie neighbourhood." " But as I have a sister, I am nobody," replied INIargaret ; whilst the expression of her counte- nance changed from sarcasm to amusement. " Dear mamma, I have not the slightest wish for ]Mi-s. St. Aubyn's praise." " You need not despise it," said Mrs. Percival ; if ISIrs. St. Aubyn does not talk Latin and Greek, she belongs to a very good family, and she dresses beautifully, and has a handsome establishment ; and these are points, Margaret, not to be thought lightly of : they go a great way in the opinion of the world." "A great way, indeed," said Margaret, thought- fully; and, turning to Harriet, she put a stop to the conversation, by appearing to give her whole attention to the history. Mrs. Percival went away, after delivering one more injunction, that Margaret should, on no account, keep the carriage waiting. There is good arising out of every evil, — even out of a dull dinner party. Margaret's chief satisfaction from an invitation was found in the knowledge that it would ensure her a quiet afternoon ; ibr a part, and a most irksome part, of her daily duties was to take the children for a walk ; Init when there was any engagement for the evening, Mrs. Per- 1) 2 28 MARGAIIET PERCIVAL. cival preferred having the charge of them herself, or even sending them out with a servant, or allowing them to play in the garden. She did not like Mar- garet to be fatigued, lest it might destroy her vivacity ; and besides, if the walk were a long one, the toilette would certainly be hurried over, and Margaret would be dressed without those marks of elegance and finish which were absolutely essen- tial, if she wished to appear to any advantage in Agatha's company. The bell rang as usual for the early dinner: IVIi's. Percival proceeded to superintend it, for she would alloAV no one to interfere wdth an aifair which she believed to be important to her children's health; and Margaret's luncheon being soon finished, she retired, and, shutting herself up in her room, oc- cupied herself with a book, until the pattering of feet on the stairs, the inquiries for gloves and bon- nets, and, finally, the loud closing of the house door, proved that the way of escape was open. If she had met her mother she might probably have been told not to go beyond the garden ; and that which Margaret above all things required was change of scene — something which should be free from the associations of books and slates. Mrs. Percival did not forbid a solitary walk, but she would not do any thing to further it ; and Margaret's afternoons had often been spoilt by having a companion forced upon her against her will. Either an acquaintance, or her sister, or perhaps even one of the children, — an order being given at the same time that she was on no account to go fiirther than a mile from home. Happily for Margaret, her wishes seldom went be- yond. There was only one direction which she ever felt much inclination to take, and this was to- wards the park and gi*ounds of the family residence of the Viscount do Lisle, lli^uningsley was a square MAIJGAKET PEKCIVAL. 29 baronial-looking mansion, with curious castellated walls, and corner turrets, standing on a projecting elevation in the centre of a large and undulating park. On one side the immense mound bore every appearance of being artificial, from its remarkable precipitousness ; but the road which led to the front of the house, winding upward by degrees, reached at length a broad space, overlooked by still higher ground, and forming the lower part of a range of hills which extended about a mile beyond the outskirts of the domain. There was beauty in the park, and its noble trees, and quiet glades and copses ; and there was antiquity and something of deserted grandeur in the massive irregular style of the edifice, forming a whole which few persons would have undertaken to alter with any view to improvement. But in detail, the building was de- void of all architectural merit. Sash windows and a Grecian portico exhibited themselves as if in dis- dain of a Gothic archway and an ornamental niche ; windows in the drawing-room opened nearly to the ground, and windows in the dining-room were deeply set and mullioned. There was a handsome modern conservatory falling to decay, and before it a strip of garden bordered by a low yew edge, and trees cut into uncouth figures of lions and peacocks. There was a pleasure ground also, the turf of which had once been daily trimmed, and the shrubs carefully nurtured. Now, weeds grew around the sturdy roots of the old laurels ; and arbutus and ilex, holly and acacia, mingled their thin spreading branches, sha- dowing tlic dank grass, and threatening in time to overrun and destroy the few remaining patches of the open lawn. The place was desolate and v.- retched: many said so at least. Margaret owned that it was the former, but she would never allow it to be the latter. To her it was full of romance. I) ;j 30 MARGARET PERCIVAL. Slic could walk without weariness hour after hour upon the broad stone pavement wliich ran along the length of the building, and was bordered by a heavy ballustrade built upon the edge of the steep hill; sometimes allowing her eye to wander vaguely over the cheerful wooded landscape which for many miles lay before her ; and sometimes turning her thoughts to the dim ghost-like rooms, as they were seen through the dusky windows, and pondering upon the lives and the fortunes of those who, not many years before, had spent within those walls an existence active and hopeful, it might be f\ir hap- pier than her own. The house was kept by a sour- visaged woman, who was its sole occupant ; but the general answer to any request for admittance was a sullen shake of the head, and an admonition, that " young folks shouldn't want old folks to do what they was ordered not." Margaret, however, knew that she had nothing to regret. The interior was rambling, dark, and inconvenient ; suites of rooms opening one into the other, and piled with unwieldy, tapestried chairs, and cumbrous cabi- nets, and pictures turned to the walls, and empty frames from which some costly works of art had been from time to time removed. The furniture of the house was an heir-loom, and could not be sold ; but it was disposed in as unsightly a manner as could well have been devised, and Margaret had found but little satisfaction in groping about amongst the masses of lumber which prevented <)er from entertaining any idea except that of the danger of falling. One thing, however, the house contained, which was a constant source of interest. It was a pic- ture which could be seen, as she looked through the diuing-room window, hanuing over the carved MAUGARET PEIICIVAL. 31 Stone mantel-piece, in a richly wrought antique frame : the whole-length figure of a young girl ap- parently not more than fourteen years of age. The hair turned over the forehead, and the dress of white satin with tlie stiff bodice, short sleeves, and deep ruflies of some centuries back, might have naturally given an air of formality even to so early a period of life ; but the skill of the painter had succeeded, not only in sketching each fold of the rich dress, each line of the transparent lace, but likewise in retaining the clear dazzling complexion and elastic elegance of figure with which the idea of youth and enjoyment are so intimately connected. She was represented standing in a garden with i basket upon her arm, over the edge of which a few of the flowers with whioli it was filled were carelessly drooping. Lightheartedness and hope, and the fulness of delight of a spirit untaught by care, were delineated even in the graceful ease of the figure, which seemed as if about to spring for- ward in ecstasy; but the expressive features of the face portrayed all that words could have described. The stamp of nobility was traced upon the fair young brow; and intellect, and purity, and refinement were written in the large full hazel eyes and the deli- cate outline of the nose and mouth. It was a coun- tenance which at one glance must have inspired emotions of affection and admiration ; but there was something deeper within. Was it scorn which caused the slight, almost impcrcei)tible, curl of the lip ? and the lofty upraising of the head, and the turn of the long neck, could they be indications of pride? Probably few but Margaret would have suggested it, fur few besides herself had gazed and dwelt upon the features till they had become en- graven u[)on her heart, even as the features of a 32 MARGAKET rERCIYAL. living being with wliom she had lived, and walked, and held daily converse. The picture was without a name, without a history, at least to her know- ledge ; but she had formed her own story of early happiness, and a luxurious home, and difficulty and sorrow, and the struggles of a noble but a haughty mind in after years ; and now it stood before her, as truly the prophecy of events which had occurred within her own knowledge, as if she had been assured that the facts she imagined were realities. But there was no need to turn to the distant past for associations which should render Henningsley a place of interest. It had been left by its owner, not indeed from any circumstance of crime, or of sudden misfortune, nor from any secret cause which might give rise to curious speculation ; but those who remembered the days when the Viscount de Lisle, (the representative of one of those ancient aristocratic families which in Eng- land have always adhered to the faith of the llomish church,) had, with his beautiful and gentle wife, kept up a splendid establishment, and offered their hospitality and their benevolence to all, of every degree, within the range of their acquaintance or their knowledge, could not but breathe a sigh of regret, as they thought of the change which linger- ing disease had made in that once happy household ; of the years of exile in a foreign land, visited at first in search of health, and then adopted as a home because the climate of England was ill-suited to the Viscountess's delicacy of constitution ; and of the deathbed of both, unsoothed by the sympa- thies of their friends, though hallowed by the ten- derness and devotedness of their cliiid. Both the Viscountess de Lisle and her husband had died in Italy within a few months of each other ; but for MARGARET PERCIVAL. 33 many years before Henningslcy had been unte- nanted. The Viscount had always entertained the idea of returning to his native country, and would never consent that the family place should be occu- pied by strangers, and his last words to his daughter had been an injunction that she should on no ac- count forget the claims of her English property, and the ties which bound her to the land of her fa- thers. But the words fell upon an unheeding ear. The young Countess Novera, the wife of an Italian nobleman, educated in the communion of the Roman Catholic church, and nurtured in the sunny regions of the south, felt little inclination to view, what she was accustomed to call, the bleak, dark country of heretics, from which her rank and wealth had been derived. Once, indeed, upon the call of positive legal necessity, she was induced, with her husband, to visit England for a few weeks ; but neither the attractions of society, nor the kindness of her English relations, could prevail on her to extend her stay beyond the time which was abso- lutely required. Before her return to Italy, an order was given that Ilenningsley should, if possible, be let, but there was no one willing to inhabit it. In its desolate, and partly decayed state, it required a larger outlay of money to fit it for a residence than the Countess's agents thought it advisable to expend; and year after year it remained in the same, or rather in a worse condition than before, waiting for some fortunate chance, which might bring forward a tenant willing to make a present sacrifice for the sake of enjoying the place on very -woderate terms when it should be restored and re- paired. Margaret had heard, as had every one else in the neighbourliood, of the first visit of the countess to England ; but she was then a mere cliild, and tlic 31 IIARGAEET PERCIA^AL. circumstance excited no particular attention. Tlie lovely portrait in the dining-room had for her even then a much more real existence than the wife of a foreign nobleman, of whose character she knew nothing, and whom she could never expect to meet : and when, as she grew older, tidings reached England that the Countess Novera was a widow at six-and-twenty, and speculations were afloat as to whether this event vrould be the means of bringing her to her native country, Margaret was no further affected by the observation than as it in- volved the probability of Henningsley being shut out from her solitary rambles. Two years had now elapsed since the death of the Count, and the existence of his young widow was almost forgotten, except by those whom business brought in contact with her name. Margaret roamed through the woods, and paced the terrace at Henningsley with a feeling of proprietorship. She never retained the idea that any thing could occur to disturb her en- joyment of the place, and even the cross house- keeper owned at last that Miss Margaret Percival seemed quite to belong to it. It was not without surprise, therefore, and something like indignation, that on the day Mdien she was left, for the first time during a whole week, to follow her own pleasure, and directed her steps as usual to her favourite terrace, she perceived that two strangers had taken possession before her, and were walking up and down with a steady, business-like air, 2)ointJng to the windows, measuring lines, tapping the walls with their sticks, and then noting down observations in their memorandum books, with all the freedom of well-established right. ^largaret's lady-like feelings instantly suggested the fear of intrusion, and, hastening away, she proceeded to the kitchen to make some inquiries of the housekeeper. MARGAKET PERCIVAL 35 The woman, however, was cither ignorant or sulky : she would give no information. " Miss Margaret knew," she said, '' that people were down every week to look at the house ; and how should she tell any thing about them ? They must he sent by the agent, Mr. Prior, and if Miss Margaret wanted to know about them, she had better call and ask." Margaret professed herself not at all curious ; she only desired to learn whether there was any reason why she should not walk on the terrace as usual. " None at all," that Mrs. Collins knew ; " but she wouldn't take upon herself to say. Miss Mar- garet might go and try." Margaret, however, was not inclined to " go and try ;" above all things, she disliked placing herself in a situation where her right might be called in question, and considerably disappointed, she walked away. Mrs. Collins' observation was tolerably true. Persons were at Henningsley, not exactly every week, yet certainly very frequently ; but they were generally visitors for amusement, and she had not been incommoded by them. The two strangers were clearly men of business, and Margaret was afraid lest an old threat should at length be about to be carried into execution, and Henningsley be doomed to be pulled down. The thought made her very melancholy, for she began to be aware how great a portion of her daily pleasure had been de- rived from it. Lut so it was in every case; hope as she might, it was useless to shut her eyes to the conviction that change v/as written ui)on all things liere below. Even at eighteen, the world was not ])i"ight as it had been in childhood ; and what would it be at eighty? And IMargarct's mind passed with a sensation of repugnance over the long years that 36 MARGARET PERCIVAL. must intervene, whilst the question, wliat would have happened before that time should arrive? pressed upon her more and more. She would then have willingly seized upon the fatal gift which only the young can ever venture to desire, — the know- ledge of the future that lay before her. WAnGAUET rLKClVAL. 87 CHAPTER III. The park -gate closed behind Margaret with a cheer- less sound, and caring little for any walk now that the one which slie preferred was stopped, she me- chanically turned along the high-road towards Deer- ing. The church was her parish church ; and Sunday after Sunday Dr. Percival's family filled the square pew which was attached to the Grove. No one was ever absent except from absolute neces- sity, and Dr. Percival prided himself upon his regularity in attending the service at least once in the day. Margaret believed it to be her duty to go to church, and there was a certain satisfaction, therefore, arising from its performance : but she felt little pleasure in it. Her thoughts wan- dered during the prayers, and the sermon was long and uninteresting. It was impossible, she said to Iierself, to keep her attention fixed, and there was nothing external to assist lier. The building was hideous. On the outside a glaring brick excrescence, with circular windows, joined to an old grey tower, partly overgrown with ivy ; and in the inside, an awkward ill-arranged conventicle, dirty and neg- lected, crowded with pews, and dark with galleries. The altar, hidden by three unsiglitly pulpits, one for the preacher, another for the reader, and a third for the parish clerk ; and the font (a carved wooden stand containing a china bason), set aside in a corner of the north aisle, as if neither deserving nor requiring notice. Margaret had never tra- velled : she had seldom been away from home for VOL. I. K 38 MAIIGAKI.T TERCIVAL. more than a day in the immediate vicinity of Staunton ; she could make no comparisons there- fore, but natural taste suggested that spmething more was required for a place dedicated to the worship of God ; that in an age when men build " ceiled houses " for themselves, the temple of the Most High should not be allowed to lie waste. She sometimes thought that the chapel of the Ply- mouth brethren at the entrance of the village was a more decorous house of prayer than the church. It was at least clean ; there were no rank weeds growing around it, as the nettles overspread the churchyard ; and it was light and airy ; the persons who went there could both see and hear, and the singing, when they passed on a Sunday, was full and effective. In the church more than a third of the congregation were buried beneath the oppres- sive galleries ; where the voice of the preacher, even if it had been the voice of the most exciting eloquence, could scarcely have reached them ; and where the only effect of Mr. Stanley's sermons was to lull them into repose; whilst the singing, dis- cordant and harsh, a perpetual contest between the barrel-organ and the untaught school-children, was, even to unpractised ears, a trial of patience much more than an incitement to devotion. The service of the church, in Margaret's opinion, was a burden upon, rather than an assistance to, the spirit of piety ; and as she threw the odium of the children's defective education upon her mother's mismanage- ment, so she too often cast the blame of her own lukewarmness upon the clergyman of her j^arish. But on this day, as she stood by the churchyard gate, gazing upon the worn tombstones, many of which were nearly buried beneath tall grass and weeds, her meditations were less upon the fiiults of others, than upon her own. Margaret did some- MARGARET PERCIVAL. . 39 times enter upon tlie task of self-examination, slie did occasionally enquire to what purpose she was living ; and the enquiry, though never satisfactorily answered, and seldom followed up by resolutions of amendment, yet served to keep in her mind the remembrance that an object there ought to be — that there were persons in the world whose conduct w^as regulated according to some grand aim, which was constantly kept before them ; and that whilst she allowed herself to be swayed by every passing impulse, to live without an end in view% her mind must be unstable, and her existence profitless. But this end, what was it to be ? what had it been for the hundreds wdiose names met her eye as it wan- dered over the tombstones before her ? They had passed into the unseen world] their earthly hopes, and joys, and sorrows, had ceased : one thing alone had they carried with them, — the memory of the governing principle of their lives. Margaret's thoughts, sobered by a momentary disappointment and a short reflection, carried her forward to the day when the account of that principle should be demanded from all. With some it might have been the desire of fome ; with others, of money ; with others, the impulse of a petty vanity ; with many, very many, the mere wish of satisfying their daily needs; and with a few — was it not so with lier- self? — the gratification of a dreamy, self-indulgent spirit, wrapt in its own fancy, and heeding neither the pleasures nor the pains of the beings amongst whom it dwelt. Margaret felt that her life was not innocent, and she sighed ; and the sigh was echoed as if in amusement by some one near her. She tinned quickly. A very gentlemanly person, seem- ingly about eight-and-tliirty, stood at a few paces distant, leaning against the wall, ami watching her with interest, lie was of the middle heigiit ; but E 2 40 SIARGAllET PERCIVAL. a slight figure gave him the appearance of being much taller. His countenance, though not un- marked bj care, was peculiarly attractive ; less, however, from the regularity of the features than from the sweetness of expression which pervaded them, and which softened the effect of the indica- tions of a powerful intellectual mind, given by a liigh projecting forehead, and a searching deep blue eye. Margaret's face brightened with no ordinary l^leasiire as she perceived him. " My dear uncle ! how very delightful ! When did you come ? " " My dear Margaret ! how very delightful, too ! 1 arrived about a quarter of an hour ago : " and then, looking laughingly around to see tliat no one was near, Mr. Sutherland said, as he kissed her affectionately, " I found the Grove deserted, but I shall not quarrel with a cold reception if I have a walk with you to make up for it." " We did not mean it," said Margaret, eagerly ; " we did not hear any thing of your coming." " No, because I had no time to give you notice ; I am here on speculation. A friend in the neigh- bourhood offered to take my Sunday's duty, and I resolved to give myself a holiday: but you must tell me, are you engaged ? is the house empty ?" " Yes, quite ; and we have no engagements whatever, except — that is, I forgot — a dull dinner party at the parsonage this evening." " Which will not be in my way, more than by taking you from me, if I may have a mutton chop, and some tea with the children, instead of a state dinner by myself" "So like you," exclaimed Margaret, "always thinking how you can avoid giving trouble ; but mamma won't hear of tliat." "Yes, she will, when I have talked to her a little. MARGARET PERCIVAL. 41 Besides, it will give me an opportunity of noting pi'ogrcss. We will have an examination of the young ideas. What do you say, Margaret? are they advancing?" Margaret shook her liead, and could not smile. Mr. Sutherland noticed tlie expression. " It is a troublesome task," he said ; " but you will manage it by and by. And Agatha — how is she ? as gay as ever ? " " Gayer," replied Margaret ; " she is become an intimate friend of Mrs. St. Aubyn." "AVhat! Mrs. St. Aubyn, the widow of Lord Delamerc's nephew? How long has that been ?" " About six weeks, or so ; but I thought I told you of it when I wrote." " You mentioned something-; but I fancied it was only one of Agatha's numerous conquests. I did not know it had reached to a friendship." " A friendsliip, according to Agatha's notions, not mine," said Margaret. " Well ! but at any rate, name it friendship, or what you will, I suppose it is an intimacy." " Yes, indeed it is. Mrs. St. Aubyn calls every otlier day; and Agatha is driving about with her and Colonel Olive constantly." " A.nd ^vho is Colonel Clive?" "An old, tiresome bachelor-brother just come into possession of the Ashington property. You need not smile, uncle Henry ; he is really an old bachelor — horridly ugly, and very ill-tempered : so Agatha is quite safe." " AVe will hope so; and Mrs. St. Aubyn, is she very charming?" " Very elegant, and fashionable^ and good na- tured. She really docs like Agatha, I believe, for it can be no object to her to take her about as she does." V. 3 42 MAUGAKET PERCIVAL. "Elegant, and fashionable, and good natured — ** began Mr. Sutherland. " And brainless," added Margaret ; " she has not an idea in her head." " And so you arc all very fond of her," con- tinued Mr. Sutherland. " Oh, no ! not I, nor mamma, nor any one but Agatha : and you know what her fondness means." Mr. Sutherland walked on a few paces in silence. " And Grace is still very troublesome ? " he said, at length. " Worse every day," replied Margaret. " I wish, yes, I wish from the bottom of my heart, that I could give up the whole thing." " You would not be happier," said Mr. Suther- land, mildly. "But you cannot judge. Each person must know best what is likely to conduce to his own in- dividual happiness." " Nay, Margaret ; look around, and see if each jjcrson does know best. The whole world is rush- ing after happiness, and yet, what mistakes are every day made in endeavouring to find it I" " Happiness is intended to be the object of our lives, though," said Margaret. " No ; there I must differ from you. It is an old argument of ours : happiness is not to be our object; and if we make it such, we shall n(}ver ob- tain it. And when I said just now that you would not be happier in giving up teaching the children, I was merely putting forward a motive for con- tentment which miglit suit you, not one which I should consider satisfactory myself." " You would require duty, I know," said ]Mar- garet ; " but we are so different. You are a clergy- man, and a good deal older ; and you don't care for things in the same way that I do. You don't mind MARGARET PERCIVAL. 43 «■ plodding on from day to day at Alton by yourself; but really, I don't think you can understand any thing about me." " Let me try," said jMr. Sutherland, as he turned into a shady lane, which led away from the high road ; " or are you tired ? Perhaps as you are to dine out this evening, we had better walk back." " No, no," exclaimed Margaret ; " you don't know half the pleasure it is to have you all to my- self: and if I am tired, I shall only be like every one else." " Well, then, we will go on ; and now, tell me, what would you do if the children were taken away from you to-morrow ? " " Sit by myself in my own room all day to in- dulge in the luxury of quietmess." Mr. Sutherland smiled. " I grant you that would be perfect enjoyment for the time being ; but the next day, what would you do ?" " I don't knoAv exactly : you take me by sur- prise ; but I should have more than enough to occupy me ?" " An embarras de richesses, in fact," continued her uncle. " German, I suppose, as a study in the morning." " Yes, certainly ; and I should have time for read- ing then, I should begin with a regular course of it : and I want to understand something of natural history ; I rather think I should take up botany, because it would give me an interest in my walks ; and besides, I should be able to go on with my draw- ing ; I should sketch a good deal, and practise. Agatha is always complaining that I never play or sing with her. Now, is there any harm in all this?" And Margaret looked up in her inicle's face with a sweet earnest smile of eufjuir}-, which even to an inditierent person must have been very winning. 44 MARGARET PERCIVAL. " My dear child," he said, as he placed his hand fondly upon hers, "I cannot bear to damp all this longing for improvement. These things are very good, very pure ; no one can find fault with them." " And they would make me happy," said Mar- garet. " No. Margaret, there is the mistake ; they would not make you happy. Taken up as you would take them up, constituted from inclination only the business and object of life, they would but render you miserable." "But why?" " For the very reason that they are so pure and good in themselves. When you once grew weary of them you would have nothing to fall back upon." " But that is assuming a case," said Margaret. " It is only assuming what must happen, sooner or later, with every object in life, except one." " I need not trouble myself till the time arrives, though," said Margaret. A sigh from her uncle, as she spoke the words, recalled her to other thoughts. " I am vexing you," she said ; " I always do when 1 talk to you." " No ; I was wrong to sigh. I feel, I know, that you will think differently by and by." Mr. Sutherland stopped, and walking aside to a gate which opened into some meadows, stood ap- parently intent upon the view which was to be seen from it. Margaret followed him, and resting her hand upon his shoulder, said, in a low voice : " I do think differently, sometimes." Mr. Sutherland turned towards her and smiled. But she could not know the thouglits which were passing in his mind. She could hot then have understood them ; for the hope Avhich is felt by tliose who have given up tlieir hearts unreservedly to MARGARET PERCIVAL. 45 their Maker, when tlie first awakening of a holier spirit is perceived in the friends wliom tliey have loved and sorrowed over, can only be comprehended by minds which have learnt to read truly the lesson of this mortal life, and can realize, though but in a faint degree, the immeasurable destinies that are dependent on it. Mr. Sutherland loved his niece more dearly than any other earthly being. He was a man whom the world envied ; unmarried, popular in society, respected, and even admired. His income indeed was very small, but his parish was not large, and he had no claims upon him beyond ; and for all these reasons he was frequently instanced as an example of comparatively perfect human pros- perity. That he had no wife was, of course, his own choice ; and people had really learnt to believe at length, that he never intended to have one, and was quite contented without. And Mr. Sutherland was contented. He was thankful that he had been strengthened to submit without repining to the de- cree, which had consigned to an early grave one whom he had hoped might have been the solace of his life ; and now, after the lapse of twelve years, when he could trace the current of events, and ses how they had all contributed to good, he could ac- knowledge that such a dispensation was best for his own character ; that it had enabled him to devote himself more fully to his duties, and to live without that absorbing interest in things belonging to this world, which from his natural disposition might otherwise have proved a snare to him. But the world could not know the struggle which preceded the peace tliat Mr. Sutherland now enjoyed ; and Margaret, who was just beginning to i)rizc his alfection, and to consider it as something j)eculiarly licr own, from hearing it constantly asserted tliiit she was his favourite, little imagined that it had 46 i\L4_RGARET PERCIVAL. grown up by slight degrees ; because, iii the depth of his affliction, when he shrank from exposing his feelings to common observation, her quickness, and simplicity, and childish love, had served to divert his tlioLights, or to cover the agony of a secret grief. Mr. Sutherland cherished Margaret as a child, more perhaps for the sake of another than for her own ; but even an absence of several years did not diminish his affectionate recollection of her ; and when, a short time previous to their present meeting, he returned to the neighbourhood to take possession of a living, and renewed his intercourse with his sister's family, his early predilection strengtliened into a fondness, which had in it something of a father's proud delight, and of a brother's warm unreserved intimacy. Margaret was now almost a woman, and her uncle was still in feel- ing a young man. They were more on a par, more like a sister and an elder brother, at every meeting ; and the charm of Margaret's character was daily increasing. Mr. Sutherland saw her faults ; he knew her to be irritable, self-willed, and visionary ; and he heard his sister's complaints of her neglect, and love of seclusion, and want of interest in com- mon afliiirs ; but he saw that these defects belonged to a noble mind. Margaret was not only winning in manner, and more tlian pleasing from the vary- ing expression and striking intelligence of her countenance, but she was also generous and candid, and humble in her opinion of herself; pure and simple in her tastes, and possessing a delicacy of feeling which he had never seen equalled. She could appreciate goodness, though she did not follow it ; and her enthusiasm in favour of all that was noble and beautiful in history or fiction required but one principle to elevate it into a devotion to true MARGARET TERCIVAL. 47 That principle Mr. Suthei-land gently but unceas- ingly strove to infuse ; yet less by talking of religion directly than indirectly. His wish was rather to convince Margaret of the unsatisfactory nature of lier present life than to bring before her, when her mind was not prepared for it, the prospect of a better; and often when his own heart was filled with thoughts of piety and gratitude, he would listen to and sympathise with her complaints of the insipidity of life, and scarcely do more than insinuate that the defect lay in herself, and not in the arrange- ments of Providence. Margaret's taste, though fastidious to a fault, was never offended by any thing her uncle said. At times, when the conver- sation had given a higher tone to her mind, she would bear from him remarks, and even reproofs, which would have chilled and repelled her, if they had been spoken without caution by any other person. Her reserve was never intruded upon, and she was not distressed by descriptions of per- sonal feelings which she could not comprehend. Mr. Sutherland's voice was the more calm, his words were the more guarded, as his interest became excited ; and it w^as only by a deepening tone, or a reverent earnestness of manner, that Margaret could see how fervent was the zeal, how unwearied and devoted the affection, which had been awakened in her behalf. So it w^as in the present case. Mr. Sutherland's reply to his niece's confession was simple, almost unconcerned. " You will soon thiidc differently always," he said, as he turned home- wards. "I have pro[)hesied it, have I not, often? and I think the time is coming." " Do you?" said INIargaret, gravely. " I believe I should be hnp})ier if it were." " 1 do not only believe it, but I know it. The 48 MA.RGARKT PERCIVAL. human mincl, Margaret, was not formed for earth, and eartli cannot satisfy it." " But," replied Margaret, " that is my difficulty. There are some persons whom I can see to ha^ e important duties ; I can imagine their having ex- alted ideas, and living, as I sometimes hear you say, above the world. It is a pleasure to fancy myself like them; but daily life, eating and drinking, and teaching the children — what greatness is there in such things ? " " And what greatness is there in studying Schiller and Dante, and practising music and drawing?" inquired Mr. Sutherland. " No greatness," said Margaret, sighing, " only amusement, and that they lead to great thoughts, that they give one a feeling of inspiration." "And when the feeling is passed, what then?" " Yes, I know ; I allow that it is all momentary; but at the time it is superior." " No, Margaret, not so, — at least according to my ideas. All things are, in themselves, petty alike." Margaret looked up in surprise. "But that is very unlike your usual way of talking. What do you mean ? " " Let us carry on our thoughts a few years," re- plied Mr. Sutherland. " You wall not be angry, Margaret, I know, to be told that you cannot be young for ever. Suppose yourself grown old, — a wrinkled woman of eighty, — with white hair, hob- bling about on crutches." " Or leaning on a gold-headed cane," said Mar- garet : crutches are so plebeian." " Well, a gold-headed cane if you will. Now you are to look back upon the eighty years ; and you shall have been, if you like, a very wise woman, or say, perhaps, more truly, a learned one : a lin- MAKGAUKT PERCIVAL. 49 guist, and a metaphysician, and a beautiful artist, and a splendid musician, — any thing and every thing, in fact a female admirable Crichton. Now, at eighty years old, what will remain of all this knowledge?" " Good to others, perhaps," said Margaret. " But good of what nature? When these others have reached the same age, what will they them- selves be the better? or — for it is the question which we must come to at last — what portion of it will they carry with them into another state of existence ?" Margaret was silent. " We were reading together a most striking part of the book of Ecclesiasticus when I was here last," said Mr. Sutherland ; " do you remember it ? There was one verse which spoke of a hope or an object in life, which is 'like dust that is blown away with the wind ; like a thin froth that is driven away with the storm ; like as the smoke which is dis- persed here and there with a tempest, and passeth away as the remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but a day.' " " The hope of the ungodly," said Margaret, thoughtfully : " yes, I remember the passage very well." " Ungodly means not grossly wicked, but simply not godly," said Mr. Sutherland. And there was a long pause. " 1 cannot feel it," exclaimed Margaret at length. "I know all you would say; but it docs not come home to me ; and there seems a fallacy at the bot- tom of it. The very instincts of our nature teacli us to find pleasure in knowledge and art, and culti- vation of the mind." " There is pleasure, pure and lasting pleasure, VOL. I. F 50 MAKGAKET PEUCTVAL. to be found in all ; but not in the way in wliich you would seek it." " I know no way of finding it but one," said Margaret, — " studying, because I like it." "Then you delight in inanimate beauty, a body without a soul. AH that is admirable in reality or imagination can be but like the statue of Prome- theus, until we have caught the fire from heaven which is to gift it with life." " If studying satisfies me," said Margaret, " what can I want more ? " " But, Margaret, you mistake your own feelings. The insipidity you complain of, the weariness at your daily occupations, prove that you are not sa- tisfied." " Not with my daily occupations, certainly, but I have a world of my own which no one can enter." " A world of phantoms, — and your spirit is im- mortal, and the craving for truth is rooted in the very depths of your being," Margaret quickened her steps. It was the sign of the disturbance of her mind. Mr. Sutherland feared he had pressed the subject too far. " Perhaps, I teaze you," he said : " our conver- sation always seems to turn upon this one subject." " It is impossible to be otherwise," replied Mar- garet, " for I believe it is uppermost in both our thoughts." " In mine, I own ; but I can scarcely think that it is in yours." " Yes, when I am with you ; when you are ab- sent I can forget, and go on in my own way ; but the very sight of you brings a sense of doubt. My life is a dream then, because I know that you think it so. " How can I help it ? " I see you resting upon M.VKGAIIET rEROIVAL. 51 shadows. You are imagining happiness, when you might be enjoying it." " Are you happy ? " said Margaret, turning quickly round. Mr. Sutherland waited before replying, and a slight flusli passed over his face. " Yes, Margaret," he said, at length, in a deep, subdued tone, " I am happy. So far as I have learnt to dwell in the world which is invisible, I am quite happy ; but the lesson is yet miserably imperfect, and while it is, there must still be trial." Margaret's heart smote her, She had forcibly intruded herself into the sanctuary of those feel- ings Avhich were reserved only for the eye of God ; and the lowliness of her uncle's words was painful to her. She could not yet appreciate humility. " I know I do not understand you," she said, as they came in view of the Grove, and she saw that the conversation must soon be terminated. " Your notions are as unreal to me as my world of fancy appears to you." " My meaning will soon be told," he said, " if you will bear to hear it. I would say that the higher qualities of our being, the admiration of the beautiful and noble, the craving for affection, the desire of immortal fame, and all that raises our thouglits above the needs of our animal life, are so many remnants of that perfect nature which was given to us at our creation, and degraded, not ut- terly lost, at the fall. That these instincts must be either satisfied or crushed ; and that God, when he deigned to work out the restoration of mankind, provided for their full gratification." IMargaret's attention was excited, and as her uncle stopped before the entrance gate, she gently drew liim on. 52 JLA.RGARET PERCIVAL. " There is no hurry," she observed ; " w« will turn again." Mr. Sutherland readily assented to the proposal. " I need not say to you, Margaret," he continued, " how strong these principles are, nor how great is the pleasure of indulging them : upon that point, at least, we are agreed." " And upon many others, I trust," said Margaret, affectionately. " Yes, upon many ; but there is one on which we are essentially at variance. You say that you find your happiness in the imaginative exercise of these feelings, that you form your own world, and people it with your own characters, and that you enact in it scenes which interest you. I say, that where the foundation is unreal, the pleasure must be unenduring." "I will grant that," said Margaret, in a thought- ful tone. " But there is a world," pursued her uncle, " it is in part invisible like yours, and it is peopled with beings, some perfected by trial, others struggling to become so ; and in this world scenes are enacted upon which depend the destinies, not of years, but of eternity. If we would seek for persons to ad- mire, Margaret, where shall we find them but amongst those who have lived on earth the lives of saints ? And if we wish for an object to set be- fore us, where can we find a greater than that of training ourselves and others for heaven ? And for love — it is the strongest instinct of our nature — there is One now looking upon us, who gave up heaven for our sake." Mr. Sutherland spoke rapidly, and then stopped liimself, as if fearful of being carried away by his own earnestness. IVLVRGARET PEKCIVAL. 53 " That world is for the good," said Margaret ; " it is beyond me." " Yet you have been admitted into it : its claims are upon you, and you cannot escape from tliem." " Yes, of course, I know," and Margaret blushed slightly ; " but this is so vague. We are all Chris- tians certainly, and I am sure we ought to be a great deal better than we are ; I mean to try some day. But the ideas which you put forward are, as I said before, beyond me : still I can entirely agree with you, that it is necessary to do one's duty and go to church ; and I really believe, though per- haps you will scarcely give me credit for such a principle, that nothing but a wish to do what is right would induce me to go on teaching the chil- dren." " I do give you credit for it, sincerely : my only wish is to make it a pleasure as well as a duty ; to save you from the perpetual struggle between ima- gination and reality." " Ah ! if you could — but two things so op- posed ! " " We argue in a circle," said Mr. Sutherland ; "but you shall do me one favour, Margaret. You shall take St. Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians, and exercise your imagination by fancying that you are reading it for the first time. You have an Italian Bible, I know ; read it in Italian, or German, or any thing which will give the words the force of no- velty. Do not stop at the chapters, but go on to the end ; and then ask yourself, honestly, Avhat its pur- port is. And I would say," he added gently, but very impressively, "that if you will, before you begin, pray for the guidance of the Holy S[)irit, there will be no furtlier need of my words to con- vince you, tliat truth contains more to salisly us thiui fiction. You will i)ray, dear Margaret, won't r 3 54 MAKGARET PERCIVAL. you ? " he repeated again, as they once more stood at the Grove gate : " it would make me so happy to be certain that you would." Margaret's eyes glistened. " You need not fear," she said : and, withdrawing her arm quickly, she entered the house. MARGAKET PERCIVAL. 55 CHAPTER IV. The dinner parties at Deering parsonage were, as they had been described, most commonly dull in mental, and inferior in physical qualifications. Mr. Stanley was a good-natured, liberal man, having a great dread of innovation, and no very elevated idea of the duties of his profession. He distributed blan- . kets and coals at Christmas, and gave the school children a feast on the lawn &t Midsummer. When he was sent for he attended to his poor parishioners, and when he was invited he never failed to visit his rich ones. Some persons criticised, and ob- served that the latter was a more favourite duty than the former; but, be this as it may, Mr. Stanley was properly alive to the reciprocal duties of hospi- tality. Regularly as the year passed, the circle of his acquaintance were in turn invited to dinner, and having provided plentifully for their bodily needs, Mr. Stanley felt himself under no other obligation for their amusement. His wife occupied herself with the business of arrangements, the smallness of her rooms, and the awkwardness of her servants ; and had but a divided attention to bestow upon her guests. There was an effort about her, an air of indifference about him ; and the homeliness which would have been unregarded when accom- panied by a sincere welcome, was iji consequence exaggerated and ridiculed. Margaret endured, but inipaliently, the weari- ness of the long dinner, and tiic lingering trial 56 MARGARET PERCIVAL. of the talking evening, looking over prints which she had seen twenty times before. She had no in- terest in any thing, and was only once aroused to attention by hearing a few words of conversation between Agatha and IMi-s. St. Aubyn. Agatha's countenance was lighted up with pleasure, whilst Mrs. St. Aubyn said something about a flying visit, and an absence merely of a week : — a propos to what Margaret could not find out; but Colonel Clive was required to add his entreaties ; and Agatha was looking at her mother, as if desirous even then of making a request, when the carriage was announced. Mrs. St. Aubyn's manner was very kind, and Margaret could not help acknow- ledging that, notwithstanding her insipidity, she was really pleasing from her good nature. The short drive home was a silent one. Margaret re- ceived no explanation to satisfy her curiosity, for Agatha was not in a communicative mood, and the conversation was left to Dr. and Mrs. Percival, Margaret being afraid of making remarks before her mother, lest it should bring upon her a lecture on the duties owning to society. ]Mi\ Sutherland was waiting for them in the library. He would not allow that he had been lonely, for the children had stayed with him till nearly nine o'clock ; and since then he had been reading : but he was pleased to see them return so soon, and expected a full de- scription of their gaiety. Agatha gave it in ra- ther exaggerated terms ; even the mistakes of the new man-servant, and tlie blunders of the cook, were not forgotten ; and Margaret grew uncomfort- able. It did not suit Mr. Sutherland's look of thoughtful attention. His smile w^as sweet, it was never otherwise, but ho was soon satisfied ; and jNIargaret felt, as she had often done before, that the afiairs of common life, even the routine of MAllGAllET I'EKCIVAL. 57 a dinner party, assumed a different aspect when lie was present. " I have a secret for you, Margaret," said Agatha, as they stood together, lighting their candles, before separating for the night. "Forme? why? what?" " Yes, for you ; but you are not to hear now." Margaret would not appear to care, though her sister evidently meant that she should. " If I am not to hear, there is no use in inquiring," she said ; " so, good night." '' But you will like it, though I am not sure it v/ill come to pass. You have talked of it very often ; so we have both. If it does happen, you won't find fault with Mrs. St. Aubyn again." "Agatha, how extremely ^childish ! If Grace were to behave so, I should punish her." Agatha looked pleased. She had a weak love of tormenting in trifles, particularly where Margaret was concerned ; for it was the only way in which she could prove that she had any power over her. " Good night," she said, taking up her candle ; " I must go and talk to mamma. You need not trouble yourself to think, — you will never guess." Margaret miglit have made a hm-ty reply ; but Mr. Sutherland appeared from the drawing-room, and the impulse was checked. She did not know why. It was not shame merely, for that miglit have kept her silent, but it coukl not have made her amiable ; yet she did really feel forgiving to- wards Agatha, and their sisterly embrace Avas cor- dial. Agatlia ran up stairs, and Margaret lingered by the liall table. " Are you tired, my dear child ?" said her uncle, as he marked the change of her countenance from its usual bright expression. " Dinner parties make one tired, — and thouglitful too," said Margaret. 58 MAUGAllET TERCIVAL. " I tliink tliey often do ; but I am not sure that that is an objection against tliem." " Not only tired, but disgusted, discontented." " The dinner parties ! are you certain of that?" " What am I now ?" said Margaret, half smiling ; " and what has made me so ?" " Ah ! that is the question : what has made you so?" " Dull realities," replied Margaret, archly ; " Soup and mutton, tea, coffee, wine, and whist." " Nay : they are satisfying realities ; you can have no fault to find with them." " Well, if you will, jMr. and Mrs. vStanley, Colonel Clive, Sir James Dermot, &c. &c. ; but I was afraid you would scold me for saying it." " No, I never scold : it seldom does any good." " Specially to me," observed Margaret : " the proud Percival spirit rebels against it." "And you would not wish it to do otherwise. You are a little proud of your pride, Margaret." Mr. Sutherland spoke lightly, but Margaret saw- that there was a deeper meaning underneath. " I am never proud of it with you," she said. " And some day you will not be with any one : you will have a new code of morals." " But till that day comes," — began Margaret. " It must come soon, or it may come never. Margaret, love, this world was not meant for delay." Margaret lighted her uncle's candle, and bent forward for his kiss. " Thank you, God bless you, my child," he said, and they separated. " This world was not meant for delay." The words rang in Margaret's ear ; they pained and oppressed her, and she turned from them ; but they haunted her, — spoken in the serious tone, and accompanied l)y the look of affection, deeper than MAPtGARET PErtCIVAL. 59 could be told, which so frequently impressed Mr. Sutherland's casual remarks upon her mind. Mar- garet was in truth, as she had said, disgusted and discontented ; but her thoughts were directed into a new channel. The dinner party was, in a manner, forgotten. She was not inclined to criticise it ; for it was only when incited by the wdsh to produce a laugh that she was ever really satirical. Her mind was too candid to be severe, and when aware, as in solitude she constantly was, of at least some of her own imperfections, she had no will to dwell upon the frailties of others. With a sensation of greater mental tlian physical fatigue she seated herself at her dressing-table, and gave way to a train of wan- dering reflections which gradually settled into deep self-reproach. Could Mr. Sutherland be right ? was it true that her code of morals, her principle of action, was a false one? It was an hour when, if ever, conscience must assert its supremacy. Silence and repose were around her, there was no distrac- tion, either from business or pleasure, — no glitter of vanity, no beauty, even of the external world, to call her attention aside. The question would be answered. And for the moment it was answered, by the memory of childish offences, and the sins of advancing years ; passion and pride, irreverence and undutifulness, selfishness and frivolity, and the long list of ignorances and errors, which make the days of our youth a burden even to the most innocent ; whilst still, amidst them all, came the same warning voice, but sterner and more urgent, — " Tliis world was not meant for delay." An Italian liible lay beside lier. It w^as occasionally read, and ISTargaret could feel intense i)leasure in some parts from their awful beauty and simplicity. Now it was taken up with a different view. She turned to the epistle of which her uncle had spoken : the study 60 MARGARET PERCIVAL. of that, at least, she would not delay ; and the reso- lution afforded her a transient satisfaction. But Mr. Sutherland had given her another injunction ; he had spoken of prayer, and this also must be obeyed. Margaret was in no presumptuous mood : how can we ever be when tlie phantoms of our buried faults are crowding around us ? It was not the wil- fulness of pride which made her shrink from the idea of prayer ; but " God was in heaven, and she was upon earth ;" and the duty which had so often before been performed without preparation seemed suddenly to require an earnestness of devotion which she felt herself wholly unable to give. The Bible was resumed, in the hope that after reading it her mind might be in a better tone ; but she was not at ease, and it was closed again, and as she knelt to ask what she still hesitated to express in her own words, the prayer which from childhood she had heard as duly as the Advent season returns to bid the Christian world prepare for the coming of its Lord recurred to her recollection. Margaret had said it often before ; it had been learnt as a lesson for the Sunday, and written in the blank page of her first Bible : but at that moment it seemed fraught with a deeper meaning. Humbly and sincerely, and with no hope of acceptance for her own sake, it was uttered as the language of the heart ; and then Margaret rose, and once more opening the volume of inspiration commenced her appointed task. The hour of midnight had gone by, and Margaret was not at rest: her weariness had passed away, and the whole energies of her mind were awakened. They were indeed wonderful words which lay before her, telling of that eternal counsel of the Most High, by which the chihlren of His adoption, the redeemed and forgiven, are gathered together in one body MAKGARKT PEUCIVAL. 61 under Christ their Head, and made to be "the ful- ness of Him that filleth all in all." They spoke of the " riches of a glorious inheritance," of " access by one Spirit unto the Father," and of the mighty change whereby they who had once been " strangers and foreigners " were made " fellow-citizens with the saints " and parts " of the household of God." Margaret read, as she had been advised, without pausing at separate chapters, without even endea- vouring to master the difficulties which they con- tained. Much -was incomprehensible to her, as it had always been; but the purport of the wiiole could not be doubted. It was addressed to persons whose position was totally different from that which it could have been by nature. It gave them a motive for action, not from what they were expecting to obtain, but from what they had already received. It reminded them of the privileges and responsibilities of a high vocation, and after detailing, even to minute- ness, the course of daily life which they were to pursue, it warned them that in that life, in the struggle against " bitterness, and wrath, and anger, and clamour, and evil speaking," and the tempta- tions of a corrupt nature, they were contending not merely against the weaknesses and impulses of their own hearts, but " against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places." There was something strange to ISfar- garet's own mind, in the new form which the well- known words had assumed ; and as she pondered upon them, a glow of elevation and hope passed over her. There was, then, something to make life important ; a rank to maintain, even that ot the child of an Almighty Father ; an object, even the defeating the temptations of that spirit of dark- voi,. T. G 62 MAllGAULT PLRCIVAL. ness, wlio till then had been to her more a chimera of the imagination than a living being. The love which, through shame and agonj, had removed the curse from a sinful world, and made her, at her baptism, a member of the Christian church, was to be the spring of her gratitude and her exertions ; and the crown which awaited her in heaven, the hope that was to animate her ambition. Were they new tidings? Was Margaret Per- cival, with her talents, and enthusiasm, and energy, uninstructed in the fundamental principles of reli- gion ? In a Christian country, admitted into the Catholic church, and taught to conform to its out- ward rules, this could not be. Margaret knew all that was required to be known and believed " for her soul's health ;" and yet on that night, as she tasked all the powers of her intellect to realise the truths of whicli she had read, they came to her with the stunning overwhelming force of a fact, awful yet not to be doubted, which is heard for the first time. Many must have felt the same. Many must have known the vivid clearness with which words, learnt from childhood, will sometimes flash upon the mind ; bringing with them, in their hidden meaning, a light to shine upon the darkness of our ignorance. " The heaven which lies about us in our infancy" does indeed " fade into the light of common day" as we advance farther into life ; but it exists, though unknown, save in a nominal belief, and when our eyes have been re-opened to behold it, there is nothing but our own wilful sin which can again hide it from our sight : — Magaret's feel- ings could not, however, be lasting. We may rejoice in newly acquired honours and privileges ; but when they have long been oiu-s, yet neglected, they can be viewed only with shame. The same MAKGAKET TERCIVAL. 63 apostle wlio spoke of the mystery of GotVs will, and the " exceeding riches of His grace," spoke also of holiness, meekness, long-suffering, forbearance, — the signs of that new nature which, "after God, is created in righteousness and true holiness." — Wliere were they? — Once more, Margaret's conscience answered sincerely, and tears of real repentance rose to her eyes. They were not the first which she had shed, for she had often thought of good- ness, and longed to practise it ; but they flowed from a deeper source — for it w^as the sense of her own ingratitude which touched her. There was little, however, that was overpowering in this self-reproach. Margaret accused herself, and justly, of coldness ; for it is not until we have been tauglit fully to appreciate our blessings, that we can really understand the extent of devotion which is due from us ; and Margaret had no glaring sins to humble her, at first sight, to the very dust. She was young, and simple-minded ; and ignorant of much of the w^orld's evil. Yet when, at length, exliausted by mental and bodily fatigue, she pre- pared for her short night's rest, and confessed, in the accustomed words, that she had "erred and strayed from God's ways like a lost sheep ;" tlie acknowledgment Avas made as it had never been before, and her hope of forgiveness rested not upon the trust which had so often deceived her, the reso- lution of future amendment, but upon the merits and intercession of the Saviour, in whose name her petitions were ofiered. G 2 64 JJAKGAllET PERCIVAL. CHAPTER v.* IVIargaret had advanced a step, a great step, in her knowledge of the truth. So she was conscious of having done, when she awoke the following morn- ing, and faintly and gradually the recollections of the preceding night came to her mind. But if there had been only a passing excitement then, there was still less remaining now. The words which had so forcibly struck her, when read in the silence of midnight, lost much of their impressive- ness when remembered in the light of day. Yet their meaning was the same — the fault lay in herself, and she felt it painfully. Mr. Sutherland's mind had so far formed his niece's, as to teach her that feeling is to be stimu- lated by action ; and when Margaret found herself cold and insensible, scarcely able to comprehend the force of expressions which, but a few hours before, had seemed to give a new impulse to her existence, there was no endeavour to arouse herself by any unnatural effort. Her prayers seemed miserably imperfect, but she tried to fix her attention, and her wandering thoughts were recalled as often as per- ceived. She opened her Bible, and whilst hurried from being late, read over a few verses, and forced herself to bring the import before her under- standing, though tliey made but little impression upon her heart ; and before descending to the breakfast table, she considered the circumstances which would, most probably, arise to try her temper, and asked that she might be able to subdue MARGARET I'ERCIVAL. 65 herself. It was a beginning, and made in sincerity; and upon all such beginnings the blessing of God will assuredly rest. Margaret was not the last of the party who appeared. Agatha's place was still vacant, and Margaret was glad, for it saved her from a possible reprimand. Mr. Sutherland had kept a vacant scat for her, and offered her the little attentions which bespeak affection much more than words. Perhaps he scarcely knew himself how clearly his partiality was shoAvn, but it caused neither envy nor remark. Margaret received so little notice in general, in comparison with her sister, that no one thought of grudging her the love of an uncle. His kindness was felt now more than usual, for Margaret's heart was burdened. All things were in appearance the same ; the room, the furniture, the party, the signs of opulence and comfort ; and to the outward eye she was the same also, but there were thoughts within her mind upon which the whole current of her future life might depend. It is strange, yes, almost surpassing belief, were it not for our daily experience, the contrast between the movements of the world within our own breasts, and that which lies open to our senses. We eat and drink, we meet and converse, we mingle in the pursuits and interchange the courtesies of life, and call ourselves friends and brothers ; and on the neu- tral ground of earth's interests and of our connnon hopes of heaven, we may and ought to be such. But how few, how very few, are ever permitted to pass the barrier wdiich separates the inward and the outward man, — to gaze ui)on that region where dwell side by side the secret motives of vanity, selfishness, and ambition, and the silent but unutter- able yearnings of affection ; the fervent aspirations of devotion, an