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 B U T Y, 
 
 A NOVEL, 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 MRS. ROBERTS, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "rose AND EMILY:" 
 INTERSPERSED WITH POETRY 
 
 AND PUECEDED BY A CHARACTER OF THE AUTHOR 
 
 BY MRS. OP IE. . 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 ?Lontion : 
 
 PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, ANB 
 BROWN, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 1814.
 
 ikinted by Richard and Arthur Taylor, Shoe- Lane, London.
 
 %X3 
 
 SKETCH OF THE CHARACTER 
 
 OF 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 ' It is not uncommon to see prefixed 
 
 ' to the works both of dead and living 
 
 .^ authors, an engraving of their face 
 
 '\ and form ; and as many persons are 
 
 .4soUcitous to know all that can be 
 
 •■4 
 
 t known of those whose hours have 
 
 been devoted to the instruction or 
 amusement of the world; such ex- 
 hibitions of the external appearance of 
 ^writers are probably surveyed with 
 ;j interest and attention, however insig- 
 nificant the sketch, and however im- 
 i; perfect the resemblance. 
 a2
 
 It is this conviction that has led me 
 to undertake the difficult though 
 soothing task of endeavouring to de- 
 lineate the character of the lamented 
 and admirable v/oman whose manu- 
 script work I am about to give to the 
 world ; for, if the person of an author 
 be interesting to the reader, the charac- 
 ter and the conduct must be infinitely 
 m.ore so ; especially as we gaze on the 
 portrait prefixed to a work, chiefly 
 perhaps v^ith a desire of tracing in it 
 some clue to the mind and disposition 
 of the being whom it represents. 
 
 Margaret Roberts was the youngest 
 daughter of a respectable clergyman 
 of the name of Wade, who resided at 
 Boxford in Suffolk ; and in the year 
 1792 she became, after a long and 
 mutual attachment, the wife of the
 
 Reverend Richard Roberts, third son 
 of Dr. Roberts, late Provost of Eton''\ 
 Immediately after their union she 
 went to reside with her husband at 
 the village of Mitcham, in Surry. I 
 have passed over the period of my 
 lost friend's residence under the roof 
 of her father, because, though well 
 aware that she must have been all a 
 daughter ought to be, as virtue is 
 commonly consistent with itself, and 
 the duties are usually inseparable com- 
 panions, I am most anxious to exhibit 
 her as a wife, that character which is 
 best calculated to call forth the virtues 
 of a woman, and in which the heart 
 and the temper are most tried and 
 most displayed to view. 
 
 * Author of Judah Restored, and other poe- 
 tical pieces.
 
 Mrs. Roberts had not the happiness 
 of being herself a parent j but the situ- 
 ation which it was her lot to fill, was 
 such as to awaken in her affectionate 
 nature much of the tender anxiety of 
 the maternal character, as Mr. Ro- 
 berts had under his tuition seventeen 
 or eighteen boys (chiefly sons of the 
 nobility) from the age of seven to 
 fourteen, over whose health and com- 
 fort she watched with tenderness the 
 most endearing. This tenderness was 
 repaid by them by feelings of affec- 
 tionate gratitude, which survived the 
 presence of the object that called them 
 forth, since many a youth and many 
 a man has continued eager to own, 
 and anxious to return, his obligations 
 to that care which constituted so great 
 a part of the comforts of his child- 
 hood.
 
 On this scrupulous attention to the 
 welfare of the children committed to 
 the care of her husband, I might rest 
 Mrs. Roberts's pretensions to the cha- 
 racter of an excellent wife ; but her 
 claims to that title did not end there. 
 
 The manner in which she fulfilled 
 her arduous duties as mistress of a 
 family, was equally worthy of imita- 
 tion. Like one of the heroines of her 
 own novel, she was never idle, never 
 for a moment unemployed • and to 
 the conscientious employment of her 
 time is to be attributed her power of 
 doing more in a day with less appa- 
 rent effort, than any one who had not 
 witnessed it can be easily led to be- 
 lieve. 
 
 Though she had to conduct a very 
 large and troublesome establishment 3 
 a5
 
 8 
 
 though during the occasional short 
 absences of Mr. Roberts she had to 
 preside in the school, no one heard 
 her complain of want of time for any- 
 useful or pleasant occupation. No 
 one staying at the house ever missed 
 her at the hour of projected amuse- 
 ment ; and though every domestic 
 duty was regularly fulfilled, she 
 seemed, when in the company of her 
 guests, to have nothing to do but to 
 amuse herself and them. 
 
 Never were her necessary avocations 
 an excuse for any neglect of her per- 
 son or her dress. 
 
 She w^as neat, even to ^laker neat- 
 ness, in her appearance and her appa- 
 rel ; and the same presiding spirit of 
 nicety was visible in her house and in 
 her grounds.
 
 It was remarkable also that, though 
 she had so many serious claims on her 
 time, she had more correspondents, 
 and wrote more and longer letters, 
 than almost any other person in a 
 private situation. 
 
 Such is the practical usefulness re- 
 sulting from a resolution to allot to 
 every passing moment some rational 
 employment, or some salutary recre- 
 ation. 
 
 It was this resolution which enabled 
 Mrs. Roberts to be in the space of one 
 little day the superintendant of a large 
 family, the delight of a circle of 
 friends, the punctual correspondent, 
 the elegant work- woman, the instruc- 
 tive writer, and the admirable reader 
 of poetry or prose. 
 
 About eight or nine years ago she
 
 10 
 
 was induced to write, and then to 
 publish, a Httle work called '* The 
 Telescope, or Moral Views," for chil- 
 dren ; which was a promising proof 
 of those talents for that line of writ- 
 ing, which she afterwards displayed 
 in '* Rose and Emily," a work with 
 her name to it published two years 
 ago. 
 
 She has left behind her some other 
 manuscripts, among which are several 
 admirable songs ; but at present, at 
 least, the work which I am editing is 
 the only one designed for the public 
 eye. 
 
 But to return to the contemplation 
 of her as a woman and a wife. 
 
 Though constant occupation was 
 the great secret by which she effected 
 so much, method and order were two
 
 11 
 
 of her principal agents ; and like the 
 magic wand, whose touch made the 
 labours of Psyche easy in a moment, 
 method and order operated on every 
 busy department in her household, 
 and every thing was ready at the hour 
 appointed, as if guided by some certain 
 though invisible agency. 
 
 It must be supposed that super- 
 intending a family consisting of so 
 many children of various dispositions 
 and habits, must have been very try- 
 ing to the temper as well as to the 
 feelings. 
 
 But the temper of Mrs. Roberts was 
 equal to any trial ; and unimpaired, 
 or rather perfected by trials, it shone 
 in the benign expression of her dark 
 and animated eye, it dimpled her 
 cheek with a smile the most endearing
 
 12 
 
 and benevolent, and spoke in the mild 
 and tuneful accents of a voice which 
 no one ever heard without feeling dis- 
 posed to love the being who possessed 
 it. 
 
 Nor was the benevolence which ir- 
 radiated her countenance, which gave 
 grace to her manner and sweetness to 
 her voice, displayed in a less positive 
 degree in her sentiments and her ac- 
 tions : with bcr^ kindness was not a 
 habit of manner, but a habit oimind. 
 She spoke affectionately^ because she felt 
 benevolently. 
 
 I scarcely know any one so averse 
 as she uniformly was to believe a tale 
 to the disadvantage of another ; and 
 when forced to give credit to such 
 tales by incontrovertible evidence, it 
 is certain that she never took pleasure
 
 13 
 
 in repeating them. When communi- 
 cations were of doubtful authority, 
 she never fell into that common fault 
 of saying to her conscience, " I am 
 sure I do not btUeve it, it cannot pos- 
 sibly be true, hut I have heard so and 
 so :" weakly imagining, as persons in 
 general do, that the affected candour 
 of disbelieving the tale ' takes away 
 the guilt of relating it. And when in- 
 disputable evidence authorized her to 
 relate what she had heard, she was 
 never eager to spread the information; 
 for her good taste, as well as her good 
 feelings, made her dislike to dwell on 
 the crimes or foibles even of those of 
 whom she had no knowledge; and as 
 she was certainly not less generous 
 to her acquaintances and friends, she 
 inspired confidence as well as affection
 
 14 
 
 in all who approached her. Those 
 who knew her the best were the most 
 inclined to rely upon her candour, as 
 on a staff which would always support 
 them ; and they also knew that hers 
 was the " charity that covereth a mul- 
 titude of sins ;" and hers the piety 
 which led to that forbearing charity 
 also, which suffereth long, and is kind, 
 "which is not easily provoked ;" but 
 which thinketh no evil, but ever keeps 
 in remembrance that holy rule for the 
 government of the tongue, " Judge 
 not, that ye be not judged." 
 
 The most suspicious, the most ap- 
 prehensive, left her presence devoid 
 of fear lest their departure should be 
 the signal for an attack on their man- 
 ner, their person, their dress, or their 
 character J they knew that, if she spoke
 
 15 
 
 of them at all, it would be to praise 
 them, and to call into notice some 
 good or some attractive quality. Yet 
 her kindness to the absent was not the 
 result of want of power to amuse the 
 person by exhibiting the foibles or 
 peculiarities of the departed guests in 
 a ludicrous or powerful manner ; for, 
 if ever Justice warranted her to be se- 
 vere on the vices or follies of others, 
 no one could hold them up to ridicule 
 with more wit, or greater success. In- 
 deed, it is commonly those who are 
 most able to be severe with effect^ 
 whose benevolence and whose princi- 
 ples forbid them the frequent and in- 
 discriminate use of their power. 
 
 If it was thus safe and pleasant to 
 be the acquaintance of Mrs. Ro- 
 berts, how much more delighful was
 
 16 
 
 it to be her friend and her compa- 
 nion ! 
 
 She always seemed to prosper her- 
 self in the prosperity of her friends ; 
 she identified herself so intimately 
 with them, that their joy was her joy, 
 their sorrow her sorrow, their fame 
 her fame. Never did she abuse the 
 familiarity of friendship so far as to 
 wound the self-love of those whom 
 she professed to regard, by needlessly 
 uttering to them mortifying truths ; 
 never did she make herself the vehicle 
 of others' malice, by repeating to them 
 a cruel or severe remark which she had 
 heard concerning them. Her lips, her 
 eyes were guiltless of 
 
 *^ The hint malevolent, the look oblique. 
 The ol)vious satire, the implied dislike, 
 The taunting word whose meaning kills.**
 
 17 
 
 It was the constant v/lsh of her be- 
 nevolent nature to be the means of as 
 much innocent enjoyment as she could 
 to all with whom she associated ; and 
 one felc so certain that her kindness 
 was ever on the alert to veil one's foi- 
 bles, and show one's good qualities to 
 the best advantage, as moonlight casts 
 a favourable shade over mean objects, 
 and adds new beauty and new gran- 
 deur to objects of importance, that to 
 be with her was a gala time to one's 
 self-love ; and perhaps some of the 
 charm which her society possessed was 
 owing to her wish and her ability, not 
 only to appreciate her associates ac- 
 cording to the exorbitant demands of 
 self-approbation, but also to her power 
 of making them fiel that she did so. 
 Yet still she was nojiatterer. Where she
 
 18 
 
 bestowed praise, or felt affection, she 
 had first reasoned or deceived her un- 
 derstanding into a belief that praise 
 and affection were most righteously 
 deserved. 
 
 She seemed indeed to live more than 
 any one I ever saw, in a little world of 
 her own creation ; whose inhabitants 
 were clothed by her beneficent fancy 
 in virtues, talents, and graces, such 
 as real life scarcely ever displays ; and 
 losing her natural acuteness of dis- 
 crimination in her wish to believe 
 her dreams realities, she persisted 
 often to reject the evidence of her ex- 
 perience, 
 
 ^* And thought the world without like that 
 within/' 
 
 The other line of this couplet applies
 
 19 
 
 to her with equal justice; for her mind 
 
 was 
 
 ^^ So pure, so good, she scarce could guess at 
 sin." 
 
 Nor was it Hkely to run any risk of 
 contamination ; since she possessed 
 that qtiiet^ mild dignity of carriage 
 and expression, which had power 
 without offending to awe the boldest 
 into propriety, and to give the tone 
 insensibly to the conversation even 
 of the volatile and the daring. 
 
 To have known a woman so ami- 
 able and so admirable, will always be 
 amongst the most pleasing recollec- 
 tions of my life, and to have lost her 
 so soon, one of my most lasting re- 
 grets. Similarity of pursuits endeared 
 us to each other, and did for our inti-
 
 20 
 
 macy what is usually effected only by 
 the slow hand of time. When we 
 first met, we soon forgot that we had 
 not met before, and a few years gave 
 to our friendship a solidity and a 
 truth, commonly the result of long 
 acquaintance alone. 
 
 But the regret which I still feel for 
 her loss, has been in some measure 
 solaced by my having been called 
 upon, at the earnest desire of her hus- 
 band, anxious for the fame and 
 soothed by the contemplation of the 
 virtues of his wife, to pay this tribute 
 to her memory, and give the follow- 
 ing manuscript to the world. The 
 latter task is one which I seemed 
 peculiarly fitted to undertake, be- 
 cause my lamented friend read the 
 MS. aloud to me during the last mo- 
 ments which I passed in her society.
 
 21 
 
 and she confided to me her intentions 
 with respect to the principal charac- 
 ters. 
 
 I have merely to add, that after an 
 illness of only three weeks duration, 
 and one to all appearance not attended 
 with danger, she sunk unconsciously 
 into the grave, lamented not only by 
 the husband and the friend who fond- 
 ly watched beside her bed of death, 
 but by a far far-spreading circle of 
 friends and acquaintances, over whose 
 prospects the unexpected loss of such 
 a joy-diffusing being cast a thick and 
 sudden darkness, and which must 
 have been felt in order to be con- 
 ceived. 
 
 She was buried in the family-vault 
 at Boxford, by the side of her parents 
 and of her sister, the sister of her vir- 
 tues and her talents, Louisa Carter,
 
 22 
 
 who departed this life on the 23d of 
 November 18 IQ, whom she survived 
 only two years and ten months. 
 
 The liiemorandum which she left 
 behind her relative to the disposal of 
 some of her effects after her death, 
 began with the following words, which 
 she designed should be her epitaph : 
 " I look for the resurrection of the 
 dead, and the life of the world to 
 come;" testifying thereby her belief 
 in that gospel, according to whose 
 precepts she regulated her life, and 
 whose hopes, had consciousness been 
 permitted to her, could not have failed 
 to irradiate the closing scene of her 
 existence. 
 
 AMELIA OPIE.
 
 DUTY, 
 
 ** There are moments when these idle gossipings may 
 please ; when the mind wearied with thought, and 
 little capable of reasoning, is glad to find refuge 
 where it is employed without labour, and enter- 
 tained without exertion." 
 
 Winter was past, snow-balls and skalting, 
 forfeits and dancing, had ceased to amuse 
 the young, though cards and backgammon 
 still maintained their power over the old : 
 the light of heart and light of heel com- 
 menced not only their morning but their 
 evening rambles ; for in the little sylvan re- 
 treat which is the scene of this narrative, 
 evening began at five o'clock ; the blue eye 
 of the modest violet was peeping from under 
 its leafy lash, the primroses were decking 
 every sunny bank, and the daisy, though the 
 flower of every season, was bursting forth 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 DUTY. 
 
 in renovated beauty ; all animal as well as all 
 vegetable nature seemed to rejoice in the re- 
 turn of spring, and the little village of Al- 
 bany shone with happy human faces and 
 lovely blossoms. 
 
 "Where is Albany ? Search the map, and 
 you may not find it ; make the tour of Eu- 
 rope, and it may escape your observation ; 
 geographers have given it no place in their 
 charts, though the stranger may have found 
 himself at home in it. But we will suppose 
 such a place to exist, and tenanted by such 
 people as I shall describe. If you cannot find 
 them, I will not quarrel with you. If you 
 should find them, and your opinion prove 
 contrary to mine, still I will be in good hu- 
 mour; for the human mind presents as many 
 varieties as the human countenance, and the 
 same objects, and the same circumstances, 
 acting upon different persons, produce very 
 different effects ; a truth which is very forcibly 
 illustrated by Sir Walter Raleigh, who when 
 a prisoner in the Tower of London wit- 
 nessed from his window a quarrel between
 
 DUTY. S 
 
 two men In the court below. A short time 
 afterwards a friend called upon him and re- 
 lated the adventure, describing the whole in 
 a manner so different to that in which Sir 
 Walter had viewed it, that it is said he re- 
 plied to his visitor, " If the same circum- 
 stances admit of such totally different repre- 
 sentations, who will believe what I have 
 written?" — and immediately was going to 
 throw his History of the World, on which 
 he was then employed, into the fire. — But to 
 return to Albany. Such was the situation of 
 its inhabitants, and such the season of the 
 year, when a post-chariot attended by a man- 
 servant on horseback was driven into the 
 inn-yard — I say the, for there was but one in 
 the place. 
 
 A lady " of no particular age," and an- 
 other who appeared about eighteen, with a 
 female servant, alighted from the vehicle. 
 In a little lim^e the two former were seen 
 walking towards the White Cottage, a small 
 but elegant house, which in repairing, fur- 
 nishing and decorating, had occupied the 
 B 2
 
 4 DUTY. 
 
 thoughts and exhausted the finances of a 
 tasty widow, who at the end of six years, 
 when this fabric of her fancy was completed, 
 and when the trees and shrubs that shaded 
 it were beginning to reward the hand of the 
 cultivator by a luxuriant growth, was com- 
 pelled to withdraw from the spot of her own 
 creation, to dismember it of all its internal 
 ornaments and furniture, and to dispose of 
 it to the best bidder. Another and another 
 inhabitant succeeded ; and though the beauty 
 of the place pleased for a time, its retire- 
 ment generally produced that ennui from 
 which only minds active or studious, and at- 
 tached to rural scenes and rational habits, 
 can hope to escape. It was now again va- 
 cant ; and an advertisement in one of the 
 London papers attracting the attention of 
 Mrs. Sinclair, she was induced to look at a 
 place which appeared from its description 
 exactly suited to her immediate wishes. For 
 this purpose she set out from the metropolis, 
 where she then resided, and at the end of 
 the second day arrived at Albany. Of the
 
 DUTY. 5 
 
 village, or its inhabitants, she was entirely 
 ignorant ; but from its geographical situa- 
 tion she imagined it must be healthy, and 
 this with its retirement was her principal con- 
 sideration. As she descended one of the hills 
 into the village, she could not forbear ad- 
 miring the lovely valley in which it stood. 
 The church, " pointing with taper spire to 
 heaven," rose in the centre, and high hilly 
 and irregular fields, rich in cultivation, sur- 
 rounded it on every side; a small stream 
 ran through the meadows, in which grew in 
 proud luxuriance the tall and graceful arbeal. 
 The first impression of the situation was fa- 
 vourable, and she proceeded to the White 
 Cottage with expectations of approving it. 
 Fastidious indeed must have been that taste 
 which did not find beauty there : yet its si- 
 tuation, simply considered, had no particular 
 advantages ; but the combination of art, 
 taste, and judgement, had given to a fiat 
 surface the mingled beauties of light and 
 shade. Laurels of which Apollo might have 
 been proud, blended with the cypress, arbor
 
 DUTY. 
 
 vitas, and other perennial plants, defended 
 it from the north-easterly blasts of winter : 
 —high above these, the birch, sycamore, 
 elm, and graceful poplar, raised their aspiring 
 heads^ and courted the summer sun. A vi- 
 randa gave at once shade and elegance to 
 the south-east. The vvindou^s opened upon 
 a little lawn, which was terminated by a 
 thick boundary of laurel and firs which en- 
 closed it from the road. Thus secured from 
 observation, thus retired within itself, like 
 many a fair and modest character, stood the 
 White Cottage of Albany, and was soon 
 engaged by Mrs. Sinclair as the future abode 
 of herself and Julia Douglas, her niece, who 
 resided with her. As they remained that 
 night at the inn, they walked about the vil- 
 lage, and were pleased with the air of neat- 
 ness and simplicity that characterized both 
 the hatitations and the people : in some they 
 saw an attempt at decoration and fashion ; 
 but the general appearance was such as they 
 expected in a village seventy miles distant 
 from London, and ten from any populous
 
 DUTY. 7 
 
 town; yet it had a post-office, which to Mrs. 
 Sinclair was a very great local recommenda- 
 tion. The parsonage, at a short distance 
 from the church, stood in the valley, embo- 
 somed in venerable trees which had shaded 
 the gray heads of many predecessors of the 
 present rector : some of younger growth 
 were planted on the lav;n, through a few 
 openings of which the house was discovered, 
 or rather indistinctly seen ; for, like the cot- 
 tage, this seemed also to withdraw from ob- 
 servation. The green latticed porch, covered 
 with clematis, honeysuckle, and jessamine, 
 wao a perfect arbour ; every plant that could 
 attach itself to the front of the house united 
 to form a verdant covering ; and in this em- 
 bosomed dwelling lived the worthy rector, 
 Mr. Herbert, with his wife and daughter. 
 
 The baronet's house rose prominently, 
 both in situation and colour, about a mile 
 from the village, over which 'it seemed to 
 throw a disdainful glance. Red as the 
 reddest earth could form the bricks, square, 
 tall and commanding, with green-houses
 
 DUTY. 
 
 and hot-houses, and walls and shrubberies, 
 and plantations and canals, and statues and 
 obelisks, and temples and towers, and tur- 
 rets and summer-houses, in heavy magni- 
 ficence and gorgeous grandeur proudly 
 peered the mansion — the mansion of Sir 
 Thomas Wills, colonel of the county militia, 
 sheriff for the county, and one of his ma- 
 jesty's justices of the peace for the said 
 county — where he resided nine months in 
 the year with his lady and eight daughters, 
 all unmarried. 
 
 With these observations made by Mrs. 
 Sinclair, and the intelligence gained by her 
 maid-servant, the next morning she left Al- 
 bany, with an intention of taking up her 
 abode there in about a month. 
 
 '* Did you see the lady who has been to 
 lock at the White Cottage?" said Arabella 
 Hopkins, the attorney's daughter, to Ca- 
 therine Foster, the apothecary's daughter. 
 " Yes." '• And what do you think of 
 her ?" " Papa says she is very like the 
 countess of , whom he was called in to
 
 DUTY. 9 
 
 about ten years ago, when she sprained her 
 foot as she jumped from her carnage to walk 
 down the hill into the village — very like her 
 indeed !" "I wish, my dear Catherine, you 
 would not always bring in the countess and 
 her sprained ankle — every body is like her^ 
 or not like her." " Very well, I will of- 
 fend you no more," said Catherine rather 
 haughtily. " Pray did you see this lady?'* 
 " I did — and 1 think her one of the finest 
 women I ever saw." " So my papa says — 
 the countess — but I beg pardon — " " O, 
 I find," replied Arabella laughing, " I 
 shall hear of nothing else but the countess 
 to-day, so good bye ; and yet (desirous of 
 telling all she had remarked) I may as well 
 tell you what I think, and what others think. 
 Though a fine figure, she was so plainly 
 drest that no one could have supposed she 
 rode in her own carriage : and as for the 
 young lady with her, who the maid said 
 was her niece, I am sure I should never have 
 guessed she came from London ; for she had 
 nothing on but a plain pelisse, and a close 
 B 5
 
 10 DUTY. 
 
 Straw bonnet as mean-looking as Ellen 
 Herbert's." " Perhaps they travel incog." 
 replied Catherine, " for my papa says great 
 people often do ; and Mrs. Sinclair, as she 
 calls herself, had two servants wiih her — an 
 
 outrider as the " '* And an iniider," 
 
 said Arabella, partly apprehending some- 
 thing was again coming out about the coun- 
 tess. Catherine, vexed to be interrupted, 
 continued : " Mrs. Sinclair, as she calls her- 
 self^msiy do right to travel incog." "I dare 
 say you believe she is really Mrs. Sinclair.** 
 *' Why, what reason have I to believe other- 
 wise ?" "My papa says we should never 
 believe what people say of themselves.'* 
 " And my papa," returned Catherine, " says, 
 * we should live with a friend as if he were 
 one day to become an enemy* ; — but I should 
 not like to be so suspicious." " Well, we 
 shall see who this Mrs. Sinclair is when she 
 lives amongst us/' replied Arabella, with a 
 sarcastic smile that intended to convey a 
 great deal. 
 
 In a fortnight the furniture arrived at the
 
 DUTY. 11 
 
 cottage, and a servant to give directions and 
 to assist in ai ranging it. Before this was 
 completed, Mrs. Sinclair and her niece ar- 
 rived, and with them two other women-ser- 
 vants and a footman ; who formed, with a 
 gardener, the whole of her establishment. 
 
 Greatly was the curiosity of the villagers 
 excited by their new resident. " Who can 
 they be?" inquired one; but none could 
 answer. Then " was she married, or single, 
 or a vi^idow?" At last it was known that 
 she was unmarried. " But who was the 
 young lady, called her niece ?^* She bore so 
 strong a resemblance to her aunt, that she 
 might be taken for her daughter : — some 
 doubted whether they should do these new 
 comers the honour of a call ; whilst all were 
 anxious to form their opinions from closer 
 observation, — " We shall see if Sir Thomas 
 and Lady Wills visit them," said one ; " Or 
 if Mr. Herbert," said another. " Oh ! he 
 will, I have no doubt," replied a third ; " he 
 thinks it right to be acquainted with all who 
 reside in his parish." " But he should con--
 
 12 BUTY. 
 
 sider he has a daughter, and be cautious of 
 the acquaintauces he makes for her.'' " And 
 that he has a son too ; there may be more 
 danger for him, I think." " I dare say Mrs. 
 Sinclair will be too much of a fine lady to 
 attend church frequently, and perhaps will 
 not condescend to come at all ; and there- 
 fore those who might visit her will not have 
 an opportunity." 
 
 While scandal, suspicion, and conjecture 
 were spreading their hints and surmises 
 throughout the village circle, the unconscious 
 objects of them were busily engaged in little 
 tasteful decorations for the interior of the cot- 
 tage, placing their books and pictures, and dis- 
 posing the furniture conveniently and ele- 
 gantly. 
 
 • . " Julia," said Mrs. Sinclair, " do you 
 think you shall be happy in this retirement, 
 with no other society than your aunt, your 
 books, and your music?" "Can my aunt 
 doubt it?" replied Julia; "with my aunt 
 only I could be happy ; I would find books 
 in the running stream, sermons in stones,
 
 DUTY. 13 
 
 and good in every thing. Let me but see 
 your health restored, and your spirits cheer- 
 ful, I shall be happy." A tear swam in the 
 eye of Mrs. Sinclair; and after a few moments 
 of thoughtful silence, she said, "We shall 
 be visited, I have no doubt; and I hope you 
 will find some companion whom you will 
 like, that you may ramble about the beauti- 
 ful fields which appear to surround us. I 
 hope soon to have a low chaise, and a sober 
 jog trot horse, and then I will explore the 
 highways and lanes with you ; but till 
 then" — '' Till then, dearest aunt, I will sit 
 with you, stroll about the garden with you, 
 read to you, sing to you, paint with you. 
 Oh ! fear not that I shall want amusement ! 
 Even though the village oflers no associate 
 for me, I have never in my life felt dull or 
 gloomy ; and now — 
 
 * Ah ! where shall I so sweet a dwelling find^ 
 For all around, without, and all within, 
 Nothing, save that delightful is, and kind. 
 Of goodness savouring and a tender mind, 
 Rises to view. ' 
 
 " These are poetical flights, my Julia," re-
 
 14 DUTY. 
 
 plied her aunt ; " and though they may 
 sometimes elevate our feelings above com- 
 men circumstances, yet they cannot long sus- 
 tain us; and situation, such as it really is, 
 will have its influence: but we will endea- 
 vour to find amusement in ourselves, and in 
 each other." *' How brightly does the sun 
 welcome us in a morning when we enter the 
 breakfast parlour ! It is like the smile of a 
 friend, my aunt, and 1 rejoice to meet it." 
 " There breathes the social spirit," thought 
 Mrs. Sinclair ; " 1 fear 1 have been wrong in 
 seeking this retirement for that dear girl ; 
 but the sun is a friend, my Julia, and a pa- 
 rent too." ^^ A parent I*' repeated Julia, 
 and her fme eyes were lifted up to Heaven, 
 
 "have I a parent? perhaps there " "And 
 
 here too, my child," exclaimed Mrs. Sinclair, 
 holding out her arms. Julia flew to her em- 
 brace, and tears of undefined emotion stream- 
 ed from her eyes. — " When will the mystery 
 that attends me be unfolded?" her voice 
 murmured as her head lay on the bosom of 
 her aunt. " In time it will : but be patient ^
 
 DUTY. 15 
 
 we must not yield to these feelings ; recover 
 yourself, and we will return to our employ- 
 ment of arranging the books and pictures." 
 Many of these were dear and precious me- 
 morials of friends divided from them by di- 
 stance, but attached, closely attached by sen- 
 timent ; and as they v/ere suspended on the 
 wall, many a fond thought, a tender sigh, 
 or silent tear, was given to these mute 
 images. " I should like to know the history 
 of them all," said Juha ; " for the expression 
 of many greatly interests me. I think, my 
 dear aunt," she continued, resuming her 
 gaiety, " that you may be compared to the 
 great Fingal himself, as he sat in his airy 
 hall surrounded by the shades of his heroes.'* 
 " And pleasant yet mournful to my soul is 
 the remembrance,'* said Mrs. Sinclair. Seve- 
 ral landscapes and flowers, scenes of pecu- 
 liar interest, or the painting of some dear 
 friend, with ornamental china and flower 
 baskets, finished the interior of this room. 
 Some more sacred resemblances were re- 
 served for the sanctuary, a small light closet
 
 16 DUTY. 
 
 that joined Mrs. Sinclair's apartment, and to 
 which no one had access without her permis- 
 sion. These employments occupied the fir€t 
 three or four days after their arrival ; and 
 when they rested from them, the piano forte 
 of Mrs. Sinclair and the harp of Julia mingled 
 their delightful sounds in sweetest harmony. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair, though the aunt of a tall 
 girl of eighteen, was not an old woman 
 " rouged and repaired for an ungrateful pub- 
 lic" — she might even have appeared a young 
 one— but she disdained to deceive by artifi-- 
 cial colourvS, and through a pure transparent 
 complexion the motions of a mind as pure 
 frequently betrayed themselves. Though she 
 was 
 
 " Just in the zcr/iih of her golden days, 
 When the mind ripens, ere the form decays,** 
 
 she had adopted the brevet rank of Mistress. 
 Numerous were the conjectures upon the 
 assumption of a title which is generally 
 adopted with reluctance, though willingly 
 accepted ; and in this instance neither Time 
 nor Hymen appeared to have conferred the
 
 DUTY. I r 
 
 distinction. Mrs. Sinclair, however, as she 
 was denominated, looked forward to a lira of 
 " single blessedness," wiihout dread or re- 
 proach ; and the chief object of that hfe was 
 Julia, to whom she was a mother, guardian, 
 friend, cherishing and admonishing, protect- 
 ing and supporting, enlivening and indulg- 
 ing her. Her face was stili so beautiful that 
 it was difficult to suppose it had ever been 
 more so. The spirit of a fine and brilliant eye 
 was chastened by the softness and benevo- 
 lence of her heart ; yet, when it was neces- 
 sary, it could assume an expression that at 
 once repulsed the forward and awed the 
 daring. Her person was tall, and, though 
 rather large, finely proportioned ; the tones 
 of her voice were peculiarly expressive ; and 
 all she uttered bore the stamp of a superior 
 and cultivated intellect, combined with the 
 richest powers of imagination. Her man- 
 ners were easy and dignified, and though 
 polished by early association with the high- 
 est circles, yet possessed a native charm and 
 originality, that strength of character will
 
 18 DUTY. 
 
 in inany points retain, whatever may be the 
 artificial tints it receives from the hand of 
 fashion. 
 
 Though in London she received the visits 
 of gentlemen without the usual sanction of 
 the presence of a married female; and though 
 she was in correspondence with many, yet 
 £0 unequivocal had been her conduct through 
 life, so extensive was the circle of her ac- 
 quaintance, so well was she understood, 
 that, like Judith, " there v/as never known 
 an evil report of her/' The only subject of 
 surprise which she excited was, that with 
 all her attractions of person, and the still 
 greater charms of fortune, she had remained 
 unmarried, though it was well known her 
 hand had frequently been solicited. Some 
 generously ascribed her refusals to a resolu- 
 tion of devoting her life and bequeathing her 
 property to Julia, the orphan daughter of a 
 beloved sister, who it was reported was dead, 
 and dying commended her child, then an 
 infant, to her care, until the father who was 
 absent should return to claim her. Such
 
 D.UTY. 19 
 
 was the report ihat had gained the greatest 
 currency, and had settled into a kind of 
 belief, though occasionally there would arise 
 a few varieties of opinion, which tended to 
 attach a mystery to the birth and connec- 
 tions of Julia. 
 
 In a place so retired as Albany^ Mrs. Sin- 
 clair imagined curiosity would not seek to 
 inquire any further than as to names and 
 fortune 5 and whatever were her motives for 
 wishing the investigation to extend no fur- 
 ther, her opinion that it would not, certainly 
 operated as a recommendation to the place. 
 In this opinion she deceived herself ; for ne- 
 ver is curiosity so keenly awakened, conjec- 
 ture so busy, or invention so ingenious, as in 
 a village or a small town. It is there that 
 envy, malice and all uncharitableness walk 
 their daily rounds. With few objects to 
 engage attention, vices and virtues, which 
 are disseminated over society in general, are 
 attributed in a double or treble proportion to 
 the few unfortunate individuals who compose 
 this village world. Every look, every v/oid
 
 20 DUTY. 
 
 is marked, commented upon, and interpreted ; 
 nothing is spoken but of each other; a rib- 
 band cannot be changed without being no- 
 ticed, or a phrase uttered without being re" 
 peated : but, as it travels from mouth to 
 mouth, it becomes so garbled that all its ori- 
 ginal connections and dependencies are lost. 
 The metropolis and its vicinity, however un- 
 favourable they may be to individual simpli- 
 city of manner, have every social advantage ; 
 the understanding is better cultivated, the 
 mind more stored with images, science has 
 more students, the liberal arts more patrons, 
 genius more admirers, and converi;ation 
 more competitors ; public topics engage the 
 attention of society, politics, business and 
 pleasure are discussed, and domestic incidents 
 are not required to supply subjects for con- 
 versation or animadversion. 
 
 Though Mrs. Sinclair had been a resident 
 of Albany but four days, and though every 
 article of furniture had not found its proper 
 appointments ; though her house was not in 
 every part complete ; yet she did not consi-
 
 DUTY. 21 
 
 der these as sufficient reasons to absent her- 
 self from church in order to avoid receiving 
 visits until every thing was finally arranged. 
 "What was the surprise of the congregation, 
 and the pleasure of Mr. Herbert who had 
 just ascended the desk, v/hen they beheld 
 the graceful dignified figures of Mrs. Sinclair 
 and her niece enter their seat, which was 
 next to that belonging to the parsonage ! 
 Even two of her servants were also there. 
 Every one was astonished, and could scarcely 
 restrain their whispers during service : but 
 they knev/ that Mr. Herbert required at 
 least the decorum of silence in his congre- 
 gadon ; and indeed his manner was suffi- 
 ciently solemn to command it even from the 
 most irreverent. In a voice deep, manly, 
 and impressive, he began the exhortation. 
 The penitential seriousness with which he 
 read the confession, the solemn tone of the 
 absolution, and the pious supplication of the 
 Lord's prayer, fixed the entire attention of 
 Mrs. Sinclair, and impressed upon her mind 
 feelings and sentiments of the highest respect
 
 22 DUTY. 
 
 and admiration. He observed the devotion 
 which she and her niece showed during the 
 service, and entertained a favourable opinion 
 of his new parishioners. When he ascended 
 the pulpit, no longer absorbed by her own 
 particular devotions, Mrs. Sinclair directed 
 her eyes as well as her attention to the 
 preacher ; and as she gazed on his benign 
 countenance, on his silver locks that parted 
 on his open forehead, and fell in short 
 waving curls upon his temples ; his clear 
 complexion, the result of health and tem- 
 perance ; his fine upright figure, that seem- 
 ed to mark a conscience void of offence both 
 to God and man ; — she could have fancied 
 some venerable patriarch had stood before 
 her, or that she heard and beheld the divine 
 preacher and apostle at Athens. The ser- 
 mon, both in style and subject, was exactly 
 suited to his auditors ; he inculcated moral 
 duties by divine precepts, and gave that il- 
 lustration of our Saviour's commands in such 
 a manner as to prove the practice of them easy. 
 He seemed exhorting his hearers as a friend.
 
 DUTY. 23 
 
 rather than a ruler, yet with an earnestness 
 that expressed how deeply he felt the im- 
 portance of his office, and of his being the 
 servant of Him whose word is our law. He 
 painted the Christiaa religion as he felt, be- 
 lieved, and practised it ; and all his precepts 
 were founded upon the example of its divine 
 original. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair remained in her seat till he 
 had left the pulpit, considering it a want of 
 respect to the clergyman, and an indecorous 
 indication of impatience, to hurry away the 
 instant the service is ended. On crossing 
 the churchyard, Mr. Herbert had stopped 
 to speak to a person ; and as she passed 
 him, from an involuntary feeling of respect, 
 she curtsied. Julia did the same; and tak- 
 ing his hat quite off, he lowly bowed his 
 venerable head to his new and amiable-look- 
 ing parishioners. Mrs. Sinclair from early 
 habits, impressions, connections, and associa- 
 tions, had a particular respect for the clergy ; 
 and when they really performed their duty, 
 she thought noprofessionof so much impor-
 
 24 DUTY. 
 
 tance to society, or capable of imparting so 
 much comfort to individuals. What a bless- 
 ing to a parish is one who will "go about 
 doing good ;" who will inquire into the sor- 
 rows and wants of his parishioners ; who 
 will succour, soothe, counsel, and instruct 
 them ; who will reconcile animosities, and 
 strengthen friendship ; who will establish 
 peace, good will, and charity, amongst his 
 neighbours ; who will encourage industry, 
 neatness, and sobriety ; who will practise 
 what he preaches, and confirm his precepts 
 by his example ! Such a one she fancied 
 she saw in Mr. Herbert ;. and she congratu- 
 lated herself on the residence she had choseo. 
 She had observed also Mrs. Herbert and her 
 daughter, and vi^as pleased with the appear- 
 ance of both, 
 
 " Who,'' said Julia as they walked home- 
 ward, " can say than age is dark and unlovely? 
 When I looked at the tall upright figure of 
 Mr. Herbert, and at his open and heavenly 
 countenance, I thought of a fine Doric co- 
 lumn, sublimed not impaired by time/' " It
 
 DUTY. 23 
 
 is indeed fine," said Mrs. Sinclair. " And 
 did you observe his daughter, my dear aunt ? 
 how mildly did her soft brown eye beam 
 from under her modest straw bonnet ! how 
 simply, yet how becomingly, was she drest ! 
 I thought her figure almost elegant." " I 
 thought so too, Julia ; and I hope we shall 
 like them as well on further acquaintance as 
 we do on this first glance." — In the mean 
 time the persons they were discussing were 
 also commenting upon them ; and the im- 
 pression each had made was reciprocally fa- 
 vourable. 
 
 " I wish you, Maria, to call upon them 
 soon," said Mr. Herbert. " But we do not 
 yet know who they are," replied his wife, 
 " They are my parishioners," answered Mr. 
 Herbert, " and as such entitled to our at- 
 tention. If they prove unworthy of it, it must 
 be withdrawn ; but the shepherd should 
 know all his flock." Mrs. Herbert con- 
 tended not with her husband's wishes, and 
 adapted her conduct to them, if she could 
 not exactly coincide in his opinion. She 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 DUTY. 
 
 therefore promised to call with him the next 
 day. 
 
 Miss Arabella Hopkins and Miss Cathe- 
 rine Foster and their mammas were in the 
 midst of their wonderings at seeing the new 
 comers at church. " 1 am sure," said Ara- 
 bella, " I wish I had known they were 
 coming, and I would have put on my new 
 bonnet and feather," " And so would I, " 
 said Catherine; " they will take us for dow- 
 dies." " Well/' said Mrs. Hopkins, " you 
 both look smarter than they, I can assure 
 you : — I never saw people so plainly drest." 
 " But did you see how nice and fine their 
 gowns were, mamma ? I really think both 
 were India muslin, — and such a lace veil ! 
 Mrs. Sinclair had quite real lace, and put over 
 quite a plain bonnet !" "I am surprised,'* 
 said the notable Mrs. Foster, " that they 
 could think of coming to church so soon — 
 it is impossible their house can be ready to 
 receive company — it must be quite in con- 
 fusion, I think, though they have three 
 maids, and I am told they rise early, which
 
 DUTY. 27 
 
 gives their servants time ; nay, I did hear, — 
 it was the carpenter himself (who was nail- 
 ing down a carpet) who told me, — that the 
 young lady, Miss Douglas as she is called, 
 absolutely got a hammer, and was knocking 
 in nails and hanging up pictures herself, 
 singing, he said, so sweetly as she did it I*' 
 " Shall you visit them ?" said Mrs. Hopkins. 
 " I really can't tell, — I think so, — ^just to see 
 how I like them, and who they are." " As 
 to who they are^ that will not be easily found 
 cut, I believe, — 'though the servants give 
 them a prodigious good character, and say 
 they have all lived four^ six, and ten years 
 with them, and would not live any where 
 else for double the wages — (I v^ish I could 
 keep mine as many months, but they are 
 such idle girls hereabouts !) — that Mrs. Sin- 
 clair is the best and kindest lady ; so good 
 when they are ill, so considerate at all 
 times! and that on a Sunday evening she 
 reads a sermon to them, and explains the 
 lessons of the day ; which is very proper, we 
 must allow, though I should think rather 
 c 2
 
 28 DUTY. 
 
 -troublesome : however, it looks well. Miss 
 Julia, they say, is the nicest young lady that 
 can be, very fond of her aunt, and (between 
 ourselves) she sometimes calls her mother.'* 
 " Dear me !" exclaimed Mrs. Foster, " then 
 depend upon it it is so. No, indeed, I shall 
 not visit any such people; for the servants all 
 say that Mrs. Sinclair, though she does not 
 look old enough to be called Mistress other- 
 wise, never was married. 1 shall not visit them, 
 you have said quite enough for me-. Yet 
 any body might know that she was mother 
 to the young one ; for I never saw so great 
 a resemblance in my life, the same eyes, 
 only Miss Douglas's, are rather larger, ex- 
 actly the same nose and mouth, certainly 
 very handsome ; — but we must not be led 
 away by beauty — though beauty, poor thing ! 
 may have led her away. Well, I am sorry, but 
 not surprised. Mf. Hopkins said he could 
 find no arms on her carriage, only a crest. It 
 was 2i friend's carriage, I dare say — I suppose 
 he will visit her and her daughter some- 
 times," And with this charitable supposition.
 
 DUTY. 29 
 
 nods, winks, and smiles, the two amiable 
 friends parted. 
 
 On the morrow Mr. and Mrs. Herbert 
 and Ellen called at the White Cottage, and 
 were admitted, though the house was not in 
 complete order : not even one apology was 
 offered because the curtains w^ere not all put 
 up, the carpets nailed down in all the rooms, 
 nor was any information given upon the sub- 
 ject. The little breakfast parlour was tastefully 
 arranged ; and as this was the one Mrs. Sin- 
 clair intended principally to sit in, she there 
 received her visitors with that ease which 
 marks a well -bred woman, and a degree of 
 cordiality that expressed as w^ell as invited 
 friendship. Notwithstanding the silver locks 
 that prematurely graced the brow of Mr. 
 Herbert, he did not appear to be sixty years 
 of age, and Mrs. Herbert was many years 
 younger. If Mrs. Sinclair had been delighted 
 with him in his official capacity, she was as 
 much charmed with him as a companion. 
 Well read in the learning of the schools, 
 both ancient and modern, sacred and pro-
 
 so DUTY. 
 
 fane, intimately acquainted also with our 
 best authors, and not disdaining even the 
 lighter walks of imagination, he was at once 
 the enlightened scholar, the sound divine, 
 and the entertaining companion. His Ian* 
 guage was fluent and elegant ; his opinions, 
 however just, free from all dogmatical or 
 dictatorial positiveness ; and whilst his man- 
 ners possessed all the courteous gallantry of 
 the old school, the very spirit of philanthropy 
 flowed from his lips. In Mrs. Herbert there 
 was a thoughtful abstraction of manner, a 
 pensive seriousness of countenance, and an 
 appearance of extreme delicacy of health ; 
 she spoke little, and seemed to be mora 
 deeply occupied by reflection than observa- 
 tion. " Maria/* said the good rector, as if 
 to awaken her from a reverie the source of 
 which he but too well understood, " Maria, 
 have you observed this picture?*' and his 
 eye and smile seemed both to chide and to 
 encourage her. A faint blush crossed her 
 cheek, and she made an effort to recover 
 herself. Ellen in the mean time v\as in con-
 
 DUTY. 31 
 
 versation with Julia. Though occasionally it 
 was general, music, books, painting and ru- 
 ral pleasures were the subjects ; and though 
 with the first, as a science, she was unac- 
 quainted, yet she professed herself extremely 
 fond of it, and lamented that she had never 
 had a favourable opportunity of learning on 
 any instrument^ as she thought it would of- 
 ten amuse her father and mother, who were 
 particularly delighted both with vocal and 
 instrumental music. " I hope," said Julia, 
 '' they will permit us sometimes to amuse 
 them J my aunt plays finely on the piano- 
 forte, and I accompany her on the harp ; we 
 have great pleasure in our own little concerts, 
 and, I believe, love as much to hear ourselves 
 play and sing as Corporal Trim loved to hear 
 himself read." The playfulness, candour 
 and good humour of the comparison pleased 
 Mr. Herbert, and he gave Julia one of his 
 most approving smiles ; whilst Ellen's cheek 
 glowed with the warmth of her heart, and she 
 longed but dared not to take her hand. 
 An hour glided away in conversation on
 
 32 DUTY. 
 
 various topics, without the speakers having 
 once recourse to village news ; and when 
 they arose to take leave, even Mrs. Herbert 
 expressed a hope of intimacy. The rector 
 held out his hand, " May I thus presume,'* 
 said he, " to present you with my hand be. 
 fore our friendship has seen one sun set ? 
 But there are some countenances which we 
 seem to understand in a moment, some cha- 
 racters of which we carry the touch-stone in 
 our own hearts ; and I feel, dear madam, as 
 as if we already had been seven years ac- 
 quainted.'' Mrs. Sinclair pressed the offered 
 hand between hers, and presented her other 
 to Mrs. Herbert, who accepted it with a 
 faint smile. 
 
 Ellen Herbert was about seventeen, timid 
 and retiring in her manner, but without the 
 slightest awkwardness. Her complexion was 
 of a clear brown j and though her features 
 were not regularly beautiful, her counte- 
 nance was beyond the painter's art to imitate. 
 No one could exactly define what was the 
 charm she possessed j it was a something in
 
 DUTY, S3 
 
 the tone of her voice, in the touching sweet- 
 ness of her smile, or in her mind- illumined 
 eye. She and a brother were the only two 
 remaining of a large family ; and the suc- 
 cessive deaths of five children within the 
 short space of three years had so agonized 
 the feelings of Mrs. Herbert, that her spirits 
 were broken and her health was undermined. 
 Mr. Herbert sustained these losses with more 
 apparent firmness, in order to support the 
 spirits of his wife : but whilst the christian 
 leaned on the staff of consolation, and looked 
 to another and a better world for a reunion 
 with the treasures he had lost in this, his 
 heart was torn with all a father's feelings. 
 Four years had now elapsed since the last of 
 these treasures was wrested from them, and 
 still the countenance of Mrs. Herbert indi- 
 cated the grief that had settled in her bosom : 
 she did not yield to her sorrow without an 
 effort to subdue it ; and she endeavoured to 
 draw such comfort from the living, as would 
 teach her to cease mourning for the dead : 
 — ^But there were moments when every 
 c5
 
 34f DUTY. 
 
 source of consolation failed in its effect, ex- 
 cept that which we derive from supplication 
 and prayer 5 and this she sought in the soli- 
 tude of her own chamber. She would then 
 return to her family with the calmness of re- 
 signation, and sometimes the cheerfulness of 
 hope painted upon her countenance ; but in 
 general her air, her voice, her features indi- 
 cated a mind wedded to calamity. 
 
 Edm.und Herbert/ who was about tvvo-and- 
 twenty, and the eldest of their children, was 
 still at college, di^^tinguished alike by talents 
 and virtue : in him the pride and affection of 
 his parents found a just object. Several times 
 had he borne off prizes .vhich proved him to 
 be the profound uiathematicicn, the well in- 
 formed classic, and the elegant poet. He had 
 just taken his bachelor's degree, and was 
 studiously reading in order to enter the list of 
 candidates for another university honour. 
 
 Several visits had passed between the rec- 
 tor's family and the inhabitants of the White 
 Cottage, every succeeding one strengthening 
 the favourable impression of the former, be-
 
 DUTY. S5 
 
 fore Mrs. Hopkins or Mrs. Foster or any other 
 person of the village had called. Poor Mrs. 
 Hopkins was in an absolute state of " gum 
 velvet/' fretting herself into a fever with her 
 curiosity to see Mrs. Sinclair and her niece, 
 to know what sort of people they were, 
 and how they had fitted up the house, and 
 her doubts whether Sir Thomas Wills's fa- 
 mily would condescend to notice these new 
 comers, these strangers, or not. Lady Wills 
 was the model, in manner, dress and opinion, 
 on which Mrs. Hopkins formed her own ; 
 and as copying her ladyship was an infalli- 
 ble proof of approbation^ Lady Wills, however 
 provoked she might be at seeing the awkward 
 resemblances of her caps and bonnets, and 
 her caricatured airs and graces, found so 
 many sources of amusement in the gossip 
 that this lady detailed to her, and received so 
 many honeyed words of compliment, that 
 she treated her with peculiar marks of di- 
 stinction, and Mrs. Hopkins believed herself 
 her dearest friend. " It strikes me that 
 I am the person the most to her taste of
 
 36 DUTY. 
 
 any hereabouts/* she would say. Lady Wills 
 was pleased in finding an associate to whom 
 she could communicate all her petty vexa- 
 tions, all her domestic troubles, the pro- 
 voking and teasing way of Sir Thomas, the 
 . unmanageableness of her children, and all 
 the thousand griefs which she imagined 
 were peculiarly her own. Then she would 
 relate all the history of her London life, the 
 balls, the routs^ the operas, the gaieties of 
 the metropolis, the admiration excited by 
 her ov/n taste and her daughter's beauty, with 
 all the scandal of high life, " the which to 
 hear would Mrs. Hopkins seriously incline.'' 
 Now whilst she was vacillating between 
 curiosity to see Mrs. Sinclair, and doubt 
 whether Lady Wills would visit her, it 
 struck her that her ladyship would certainly 
 know who Mrs. Sinclair was. If she had 
 lived in Grosvenor-square, as the servants 
 said, and in a more splendid style than she 
 did at Albany, — if she were a lady comme 
 ilfaut, or if not, — Lady Wills, who knew 
 all the world, would certainly know her. But
 
 DUTY. 37 
 
 to wait for Lady Wills's information would 
 be wearing out some months in impatience. 
 Curiosity therefore prevailed over caution, 
 (what woman would not have done the 
 same ?) and she determined to call on Mrs. 
 Sinclair. If Lady Wills's report was unfa- 
 vourable, she could plead her own ignorance; 
 and at all events she should be better able 
 from ocular observation, than from report, 
 to describe to her ladyship who and what she 
 seemed to be. Thus reasoning, she arrayed 
 herself in her blue pelisse trimmed with 
 pink, and a pink bonnet trimmed with blue ; 
 and as the sun was intense, she put over her 
 ruby-coloured complexion a thick white 
 muslin veil, such as she had seen Lady Wills 
 wear in an open carriage, — so thick shecould 
 scarcely see through it, and so warm as great- 
 ly to incommode her breathing, and add to 
 the effect of a sultry day. But she was drest, 
 she thought, properly for a morning call, 
 and had she died she would not have re- 
 moved it. Arabella's white satin bonnet 
 with a feather hanging down over her shoul-
 
 38 DUTY. 
 
 der gave no shade whatever to her tawny 
 complexion; but thinking it looked very ele- 
 gant, she would not add a veil : and thus 
 adorned, Mrs. Hopkins and her daughter 
 sallied forth to the White Cottage the se- 
 cond week after the arrival of Mrs. Sinclair. 
 They found her writing, and Julia painting a 
 very beautiful border for a dress. Mrs. Sin- 
 clair put away her desk and received her vi- 
 sitors with that graceful ease for which she 
 was so distinguished, at the same time with 
 a dignity and reserve which prescribed to 
 them their due boundary. They felt this ; 
 and even the free and loquacious Mrs. Hop- 
 kins dared not indulge in that volubility 
 which she did at the very first to Lady Wills. 
 Arabella admired the trimming vastly, and 
 asked her when she meant to wear it. " It 
 is not for myself," Julia replied, " but for a 
 friend in town.'* " Dear me ! how good of 
 you to paint it for her 1" Julia smiled, and 
 Arabella wondered what she could smile at. 
 Mrs. Hopkins talked of Lady Wills and 
 her family, and wished to appear a person
 
 DUTY. 39 
 
 of vast importance in the eyes of Mrs. Sin- 
 clair, by the very intimate terms on which 
 she was with Lady Wills : they were like 
 sisters — exactly like. She said "Sir Thomas 
 was a very odd man — really very odd ; and 
 poor Lady Wills, if she was not the sweetest 
 temper in the world, could not live with him. 
 He kept carriages and horses; but sometimes 
 he would not let her have either to pay a 
 morning visit, even if her life depended upon 
 it. Then he would have his dinner to a mo- 
 ment, or there was such rating the servants ! 
 such storming ! And if his lady and daughters 
 were not ready, he would scold them all din- 
 ner-time. She had even seen Miss Lavinia 
 and Miss Anna Maria, two sweet, amiable, 
 gentle creatures, go into strong hysterics at 
 the same time, and Sir Thomas would only 
 order them out of the room till they reco- 
 vered." "Such scenes must be very un- 
 pleasant to witness," said Mrs. Sinclair. " Oh, 
 distressing beyond description !" " I think," 
 replied Mrs. Sinclair, "that when it is known, 
 as it must be by a wife and family, that the
 
 40 DUTY. 
 
 master of it has these peculiarities, which 
 merely interfere with the common amuse- 
 ments or employments of the day, it is better 
 to conform to them than to provoke com- 
 plaint, and incur displeasure by opposition." 
 *' Certainly : but then not to have the car- 
 riage!" '"Being denied the use of a car- 
 riage and horses may often be inconvenient ; 
 and regularity, carried to that excess of punc- 
 tuality which you describe, unavoidably oc- 
 casions inconvenience to some of the parties 
 concerned. But w^hen we consider how much 
 time is saved by the regular observance of 
 stated hours for meals in a family, I could 
 almost say it is a failing which leans to the 
 side of virtue, and I o\^n I-should most cheer- 
 fully comply with this command of Sir 
 Thomas's y and! dare say Lady Wills does.'* 
 " O yes — Why no, not exactly ; for you 
 know a lady cannot say how long she may 
 be dressing for dinner ; cannot tell exactly 
 to a minute." " Then she had better allow 
 herself half an hour for any extraordinary 
 demands, than incur the frowns or reproofs
 
 DITTY. 
 
 of her husband." "So I have often told 
 her; but, between ourselves, she has not 
 much respect for Sir Thomas/* 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair, not wishing for any confi- 
 dential communicationsj changed the sub- 
 ject, and spoke of the scenery around them ; 
 but as Mrs. Hopkins had no taste for simple 
 and natural beauties, she soon took her leave. 
 
 "Mrs. Sinclair," said Mrs. Hopkins as 
 she walked homewards with her daughter, 
 " is a very agreeable woman certainly — but 
 there is something in her I can't understand, 
 and what I don't like.'' " Oh, she is very 
 handsome, mamma," said Arabella, " and so 
 is Miss Douglas." "Yes; handsome — both 
 are handsome; but it strikes me there is 
 something very satirical in Miss Douglas. 1 
 observed her smile a little several times, and 
 could not tell at what ; but I suppose at 
 something we said or did. I would have you, 
 Arabella, be very much upon your guard be- 
 fore her, as I shall be, I can tell you." " O 
 mamma, pray do not fear that I shall commit 
 myself; I know better. But what a beauii-
 
 42 DUTY. 
 
 ful trimming ! I declare I thought they were 
 real heart's eases." " Yes, very well ; but 
 Miss Anna Maria Wills to my mind paints 
 better ; her colours are richer and stronger, 
 and her strokes more bold." 
 
 Presently they met Mrs. Foster, and all that 
 passed at the visit was repeated; particular 
 stress laid upon the satirical smile of MissDou- 
 glas. " Well, I shall call however," said Mrs, 
 Foster; " and if she smiles or looks so at me, 
 I shall tell her my mind as sure as I am here, 
 for I always will speak my mind. I have no 
 notion of being laughed at by such people.'* 
 "No, she did not laugh — it was only a smile : 
 I cannot tell how, but it was a smile, and I 
 did not know what she smiled at." " In- 
 deed, mamma,'' said Arabella, who had a 
 marvellous desire to visit them again, " she 
 did not smile much. I thought she looked 
 serious ; I wanted sadly to ask her to play 
 me a tune on the harp." *' Oh, ten to one if 
 she could have played ; she would have said 
 it was out of tune, by way of excifse. It 
 strikes me there is a great deal of sliow there.
 
 DUTY. 43 
 
 A grand piano forte open — ;books every 
 where — writing-desks — pictures — flowers — 
 and even some work lay upon the table — 
 beautiful muslin work, as if Mrs. Sinclair had 
 just put it down." '*' Well, 1 shall call and 
 see these wonderful people/' said Mrs. Foster, 
 " and then you shall have my opinion." 
 " Aye, do, do, and let us know what you 
 think." 
 
 The next day began the scrutiny of Mrs. 
 Foster ; and the same unaccountable sojne- 
 thing which checked in a great degree the 
 volubility of Mrs. Hopkins, and so greatly 
 perplexed her on what list of qualities to 
 place it, had also its influence on Mrs. Foster. 
 Even her candour was awed into a decent 
 reserve, and she found no opportunity of 
 speaking her mind. She looked around her 
 in the hope of finding something to disap- 
 prove, but her eye only met with objects to 
 admire. 
 
 Mrs, Sinclair, who possessed in a very 
 extraordinary degree the talents for conver- 
 sation, though she did not condescend to
 
 44 DUTY. 
 
 any facetious familiarity, preserved that dig- 
 nity of manner which, never presuming to 
 take a liberty with another, prevents a liberty 
 being offered. She yet had such a readiness 
 of language, and such a peculiarly happy tact 
 of discriminating character, that, without de- 
 parting from herself, she could adapt her 
 subjects and conversation to her visitors so as 
 to delight whilst she inspired respect. 
 
 Mrs. Foster thought her a very iigreeable 
 woman, but certainly proud. — Pride was 
 the something which poor Mrs. Hopkins 
 could not find a term for. " However," add- 
 ed Mrs. Foster with a self-satisfied air and 
 tone of voice, as she seated herself in Mrs. 
 Hopkins's parlour, " I have no reason to say 
 that; for she was extremely pleasant to me; 
 and so was INIiss Douglas to Catherine ; I 
 should not wonder if we were to be very in- 
 timate." Mrs. Foster had not been so 
 warmly patronized by Lady Wills, on account 
 of her unfortunate talent of speaking her 
 mind on all occasions, as Mrs. Hopkins had ; 
 and the preference shown to the latter had
 
 DUTY. 45 
 
 occasioned certain emotions of envy and 
 mortification to rankle in Mrs. Foster's mind, 
 and frequently to burst forth into violent ex- 
 pressions ; she would in the most ingenuous 
 terms speak her mind of Lady Wills to Mrs. 
 Hopkins, and of Mrs. Hopkins to herself. 
 She now believed an opportunity offered for 
 retaliation ; and that she should be able, by 
 establishing herself upon good terms with 
 Mrs. Sinclair, to play her off upon Mrs. 
 Hopkins against Lady Wills. It is true, 
 Mrs. Sinclair had no title to boast of ; but she 
 had lived in high style in Grosvenor-square, 
 and, she said, looked much more of a lady 
 than Lady Wills did — "and as for Miss 
 Douglas, she is as far superior to any of the 
 Miss Willses, — nay, to all of them put to- 
 gether, — as the sun is to a farthing rush- 
 light." She was sure Mr. Foster would ad- 
 mire her vastly, for he was so fond of fine 
 women ! and Mrs. Sinclair appears quite the 
 gentlewoman, though she was only drest 
 in a plain white gown. " I declare I thought
 
 46 DUTY. 
 
 she looked like a queen. I shall very soon 
 make a party, and invite her niece to it.*' 
 " Her niece ! " said Mrs. Hopkins scornfully. 
 " Yes, Mrs. Hopkins ; her niece. I know 
 what you mean, but I don't think her at all 
 like her — not at all." — " O my stars 1" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Hopkins j " not like her ! — 
 Why, it struck me the first moment I saw 
 her ; and it must strike every one who 
 does not wilfully shut her eyes." " I am 
 not so keen as you, I suppose," said Mrs. 
 Foster. 
 
 Mrs. Foster was one of those characters 
 who imagine the greatest virtue consists in 
 an openness of manner that holds the mir- 
 rors up to every one's view, whether it re- 
 flects personal deformity, mental incapacity, 
 or any peculiarities of dress or manner. But, 
 with all this love for truth, the qualities we most 
 love and admire in others were not brought 
 before her all-reflective mirror, and she loved 
 to notice defects rather than beauties, and 
 the disagreeable rather than the agreeable.
 
 DUTY. 47 
 
 Her praise of Mrs. Sinclair arose as much 
 from a spirit of opposition to Mrs. Hopkins, 
 as from any genuine admiration she felt. 
 
 While these visits of curiosity and cere- 
 mony were passing, Julia and Ellen were 
 almost daily associates; every day developed 
 to each other their tastes and sentiments, 
 and cemented more closely their bond of 
 friendship. 
 
 " I almost beUeved myself," said Ellen, 
 ""of an ungrateful nature, or incapable of 
 any attachment beyond that I entertain for 
 my parents and brother; for, much as I have 
 endeavoured to find pleasure in the society 
 of Arabella Hopkins or Catherine Foster, I 
 have never succeeded. I believe them very 
 well meaning girls, particularly the latter ; 
 but I could not enjoy their conversation, — 
 and I fear they have thought me fastidious 
 or unkind." — " How have you employed, 
 how have you amused yourself, Ellen ?" 
 *' My dear mother was my monitress, till 
 our sad misfortunes, so rapidly succeeding 
 each other, rendered her incapable of at-
 
 48 DUTY. 
 
 tending to me. I was then my father's pu- 
 pil ; and, O Julia ! I fear you will think 
 me an odd and perhaps an ungrateful girl, 
 when I tell you that I had more pleasure in 
 my father's than in my mother's instructions. 
 I not only read to him, but I had access to 
 his library, and I literally banqueted like 
 a little book- worm on his pages. I had no 
 taste or order in my selections ; I wished to 
 read all, and I have frequently sat for an 
 hour looking at them before I could deter- 
 mine what volume to read. I have wan- 
 dered over the pages of Orlando Furioso 
 simply because it told of high heroic deeds ; 
 and my infant eye was delighted with the 
 war horses and knights in armour that were 
 represented in the engravings. Even Chau- 
 cer, though in black letter, I used to pore 
 over ; and often I had lost myself and my 
 wits amongst volumes I could not fully com- 
 prehend, but which delighted me from the kind 
 of amazement they produced, and perhaps by 
 the marvellous events they described. I used 
 to give my whole soul to the plays of Shake-
 
 DUTY. 49 
 
 spear. How often have I walked up and 
 down the long grass walk in our garden 
 (fortunately it is straight) with a volume of 
 this immortal bard, forgetful of our hours 
 for meals and even prayer ! and when I have 
 closed it, I have thought * O never can I 
 read any thing else!' — But when I have in 
 the folly of my heart talked of these things 
 to my young companions here, they have 
 laughed or wondered, and their mothers 
 would tell me I should certainly lose my 
 senses if I continued the habit of reading 
 such odd books. My dear father, who used 
 frequently to see the authors I was perusing^ 
 would only smile ; and thus, as I was un- 
 checked by him in my favourite pursuits, I 
 could not feel much respect for the advice 
 of others : so I grew up the strange girl you 
 find me, Julia, believing myself to be so 
 unlike any other human being, that I was 
 neither formed to love or to be loved by any 
 but my parents and my brother. O Julia, 
 such a brother ! so kind, so indulgent, 
 so obedient, so good, so clever ! — But you 
 
 VOL. !• D
 
 so DUTY. 
 
 will see him in a few weeks.'* " I am not 
 only curious but anxious to see him ; for 
 goodness and talents combined form a cha- 
 racter we all must love. But let me hear 
 a little more of yourself, my dear Ellen ; for, 
 odd as you may have been, or as you fancy 
 you are, I feel that I love you, and I am 
 sure my aunt does : therefore you have 
 gained two friends beyond the circle of your 
 own family. Do you understand French or 
 Italian ? 1 know you draw." " I can read 
 French — my brother taught it me when at 
 home ; but I am afraid I must confess that 
 my passion for reading English authors made 
 me prefer books in that language which I 
 understood; and I submitted to the study 
 of acquiring another, more to please my bro- 
 ther than to gratify myself. I associated 
 with no one who spoke it, and therefore it 
 was not useful ; and in truth I believe my 
 taste is too English to permit me to enjoy 
 many French authors ; I cannot like their 
 poetry, though I often admire the sentiments. 
 Of Italian I am totally ignorant, and I draw
 
 DUTY, 51 
 
 very little, though you mentioned that as one 
 of the things, the very few things, Julia, which 
 I have attained. I possess no accomplishment 
 of any kind : in truth, I am a plain unles- 
 soned girl, unschooled, unpractised. Rappy 
 in this, I am not yet so old but I may learn." 
 " Happier in this, not bred so dull but you 
 may learn i" replied Julia. " Bat you sing, 
 Ellen, and sing sweetly.*' " They are wood 
 notes wild," said Ellen ; " and though my 
 simple songs delight my father and mother, 
 they cannot please an ear of taste and science 
 like yours, Julia." " We will not talk of 
 my taste and science, Ellen. My aunt, who 
 possesses both, loves the simple melody of 
 your voice, and wishes you sometimes to sing 
 with us." « Does she?" said Ellen: « If 
 I have courage, I shall be delighted. How 
 pleased will Edmund be if I am improved 
 in singing, or any thing !*' " Does he like 
 music ?" " It is a passion with him ; and 
 much as he has applied himself to study, he 
 has found some time to devote to music, 
 and, I think, plays on the violin and sings very 
 d2
 
 52 DUTY. 
 
 finely." " We shall have charming con- 
 certs," said Julia. ** I wish, Ellen, you 
 would read French with me — I want an in- 
 ducement to pursue it. And will you draw 
 with me ? I shall love every employment 
 better if you participate in it." Ellen was 
 happy to profit by her friend's offer of in- 
 struction; for so it really was, as Julia's edu- 
 cation had been received from the very first 
 instructors. Formed both upon a religious 
 and moral basis, and under the immediate 
 control and observance of her aunt, it had 
 all the exterior polish that the highest ac- 
 complishments could bestow, and all the 
 solidity that intellectual studies could pro- 
 mote. The mind was stored as well as 
 graced ; and whilst her person and manner 
 had every attraction of fashion, the native 
 charm of pure benevolence, cheerfulness, 
 kindness, and playfulness, shone conspicu- 
 ously in every act and word. To such a 
 one neither Mr. nor Mrs. Herbert could re- 
 fuse the society of their daughter j and they 
 believed that she would derive advantages
 
 DUTY. 55 
 
 from Julia such as their retired situation had 
 prevented her from attaining; that her amuse- 
 ments would be varied, her ideas expanded, 
 and that she would at the same time enjoy the 
 social sweets of friendship. A part of every 
 day was devoted to French, drawing, and 
 singing ; and when Ellen would lament that 
 the obligation was solely hers, that she re- 
 ceived all without imparting any pleasure, 
 Mrs. Sinclair desired her to read to them, 
 for here Ellen particularly excelled. To a 
 voice of the sweetest modulation, a pronun- 
 ciation elegant and correct, she added judge- 
 ment and feeling. Mrs. Herbert would 
 sometimes join the little party with her 
 work, and Mr. Herbert take up the book to 
 relieve Ellen. 
 
 Julia inquired what kind of girls the Miss 
 "Willses were. But Ellen said, though they 
 were upon perfectly easy and familiar terms 
 with them, there was no attachment of con- 
 genial minds ; and that, as she could not 
 either approve or admire, she had rather not 
 describe them. Bertha, the youngest, she
 
 54 DUTY. 
 
 said, who was about thirteen, though a sadly 
 neglected child, was the only one she felt an 
 interest in ; and she often wished she could 
 play the gipsy and steal her away from her 
 parents, who seemed to dislike her ; and 
 her sisters were perfectly indifferent about 
 her. The poor girl was therefore left to 
 run wild about the house and grounds, and 
 be the companion of the servants, who see- 
 ing her disliked by the family, and driven 
 from the parlour, treated her with little re- 
 spect in the kitchen. " Does she feel this 
 unkindness ?'* said Julia. " She begins to 
 feel it, 1 think," replied Ellen ; " but she 
 is a very shy girl, and does not say much." 
 Mrs. Sinclair had now her "jog trot horse" 
 and low open chaise ; and in roads so little 
 frequented by travellers as those about them, 
 she had no fear of driving herself and 
 Julia, attended by a servant on horseback. 
 In this manner they explored the beautiful 
 lanes, admired the picturesque views, the 
 little villages, and the neat cottages. Some- 
 times when a prospect of peculiar lovelinese
 
 DUTY. 55 
 
 attracted them, and they were unable to ex- 
 amine all its features in the common track> 
 they would alight, and walk across a field or 
 climb a hill. Ellen occasionally supplied the 
 place of Julia, and, being better acquainted 
 with the country, was the guide and enter- 
 taining companion of Mrs. Sinclair, who was 
 pleased with these opportunities of more 
 fully understanding her mind and character. 
 Formed in retirement upon the strong base 
 of virtue, with no model for imitation, it had 
 at once simplicity, strength, and originality. 
 Never having met with a companion whose 
 tastes and pursuits assimilated with her own, 
 and timidly shrinking from observation, she 
 had acquired a habit of silence and reserve ia 
 the society of every person but her parents. 
 In the first two or three interviews, Mrs. 
 Sinclair could scarcely extract a sentence 
 from her ; and even Julia talked io her ra- 
 ther than ivith her. But they saw intelligence 
 in her eye, read the language of a warm and 
 feeling heart in the varied expression of her 
 countenance, and saw the sweetness of her
 
 56 DUTY. 
 
 temper in a mild and beautiful mouth, so 
 that her silence never could be interpreted 
 into vacancy or ignorance. But as her re- 
 serve wore off, and her character began to 
 develop itself in its own unstudied lan- 
 guage, they loved and admired its simpli- 
 city and energy ; they found how replete her 
 mind was with fancy and information ; that 
 she had talents which amply rewarded them 
 for those attentions which had drawn them 
 forth from their concealment. There was a 
 peculiarity that pervaded her whole manner 
 and conversation, but not the slightest aflcc- 
 tation ; it was the charm of an original mind, 
 acting from its native impulse, united to su- 
 perior talents and fascinations. There was an 
 usefulness that rendered Ellen valuable to 
 her parents as well as neighbours ; an ac- 
 tivity both of mind and body, that quickly 
 perceived and as quickly executed, ^lie luas 
 never idle ; and it was wondered at by the 
 young ladies of the village^ " hoiv she could 
 read so much^worh so muchyiualk so much, do 
 so much — there were only tiventy-four hours
 
 DUTY. 51 
 
 in the day for her as well as for them ^ and sht 
 must sleep as well as they : — but they could not 
 find time for half so many employments as 
 she did^ and they wondered how it cou d be /'* 
 The secret might have been easily ex^ 
 plained : — she luas never idle ; and from 
 this habit of being constantly employed^ 
 she never felt any thing a task, any thing 
 a business : her duties were amusements, and 
 her amusements ivere instructions. Of this 
 Mrs. Sinclair fully appreciated the value and 
 beauty. However captivating may be the 
 display of a woman's abilities, however liberal 
 may be her benefactions, however strict her 
 attendance on religious worship ; if she neg- 
 lect her domestic and relative duties as a 
 wife, mother, daughter, or mistress of a fa- 
 mily, her talents, charity, and religionare 
 vain. Independent of the Sunday school, 
 Mrs. Herbert had established a weekly one, 
 where a limited number of childn^n were re- 
 gularly taught by a widow and her daughter 
 who had once known better days, and to 
 whom this appointment was now a comfort 
 D 5 >
 
 58 DUTY. 
 
 and maintenance. She and Ellen general- 
 ly gave their attendance and instruction 
 every day, and Mrs. Sinclair and Julia now 
 added theirs. With their whole time at their 
 own disposal, they considered it a duty, and 
 found it a pleasure, to contribute a portion 
 of it to the benefit of their fellow creatures. 
 ** I do not feel it enough, my Julia," Mrs. Sin- 
 clair would say, *' merely to give my pecu- 
 niary support ; money is not the sole talent 
 whose account we must one day render up 5 
 that of time will be still more rigorously de- 
 manded ; and the hours we have wasted will 
 appear a more awful charge against us than 
 the money we have squandered. How large 
 a part of it is frequently lost by numbers in 
 idle wishes and absurd speculations, when 
 they ought to think and reiect in order to 
 act I'* 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Herbert not only felt at- 
 tachment but gratitude towards Mrs. Sin- 
 clair, for the assistance which she gave to 
 their benevolent endeavours to mitigate the 
 evils of poverty by inculcating instruction, of
 
 DUTT, 59 
 
 which they made religion the root, and mo- 
 rality the branches. But it was not only 
 the mind which these amiable people en- 
 deavoured to inform, or the heart which- 
 they sought to amend ; they were equally 
 attentive to every personal want, and in sor- 
 row or suffering they ministered kindness 
 and counsel, food and medicine. 
 
 The blessings of the poor had long fol- 
 lowed Mr. and Mrs. Herbert and Ellen; and 
 now they were extended to Mrs. Sinclair 
 and Julia, Vv'ho visited the cottages, inquired 
 into the situation of the families, and withi 
 their own hands conferrcd their benefits; 
 soothing by their kindness as much as they^ 
 relieved by their charity.. In acts of mutual 
 benevolence^ and in the frequent intercourse 
 which these occasioned between the inhabi- 
 tants of the Rectory and of the White Cot- 
 tage, approbation and respect gradually and 
 insensibly increased into the warmest attach- 
 ment ; and friendship thus cemented by vir- 
 tuous habits cannot easily be shaken. Mrs* 
 Hopkins no longer was solicitous to search
 
 60 DUTY. 
 
 f 
 
 into the mystery attending Mrs. Sinclair or 
 Julia, though in fact no mystery existed, but, 
 as residents in London, they chanced to be 
 strangers to all at Albany ; and though their 
 names had probably appeared among the 
 crowd of fashionables at routs and assem- 
 bles, they had not extended so far into the 
 country, and if seen in the papers they were 
 forgotten. Mr. and Mrs. Herbert saw them 
 only as two amiable women, and as such 
 respected and loved them ; but with Mrs. 
 Hopkins and Mrs. Foster there was no end 
 of wonderings ! 
 
 The post-office at Albany was kept by a 
 woman. Tormented by all the curiosity 
 usually ascribed to her sex, few letters, and 
 much leisure, gave her opportunities it was 
 impossible to pass over, of a very close inves* 
 tigation into the affairs of her neighbours. 
 Mrs. Sinclair's letters were amongst the 
 number that were most scrutinized. She 
 dared not break a seal ; but by a little female 
 stratagem she contrived to peep in at the 
 ends, and the discovery of a few words gave
 
 DUTY. 61 
 
 a ready clue to many reports. Several co- 
 ronets appeared on the seals, a mitre also 
 was of the number : it was therefore •soon 
 circulated that Mrs. Sinclair was in cor- 
 respondence with earls, viscounts, and a 
 right reverend. Who could she be to have 
 such great friends ? The Willses were not 
 yet arrived to satisfy these doubts; and while 
 curiosity was in some more active than ever 
 — at the Rectory the strangers had become 
 friends, and were loved, cherished, and con- 
 fided in. Ellen instructed Julia in the culti- 
 vation of garden flowers and shrubs, and it 
 became her favourite pursuit. "I really blush 
 at my ignorance,*' said Julia, " and am afraid 
 to askforinformation,lest I should be thought 
 to affect ignorance, and to wish to appear 
 a town-bred miss. But you will not laugh at 
 me, or suspect me of such folly, Ellen, even 
 if I mistake a carnation for a sweet pea, 
 &c., and therefore I submit myself to your 
 guidance and instruction." " As for Ellen/* 
 saidMr. Herbert with a good-humoured smile, 
 and patting her on the cheek, " she forms
 
 62 DUTY. 
 
 amongst her flowers a little society, a little 
 world of her own ; I dare not pluck a bud 
 or a branch, lest I wound some ideal image, 
 or some dear representative." " My dear 
 father," said Ellen, " do not make me appear 
 so very ridiculous. But I fear it is partly true ; 
 the garden is my hobby horse as much as uncle 
 Toby's bowling-green was his ; and surely 
 like him I ride it, * jostling no creature on my 
 way.'" "You do, my dear girl,'* said her 
 father, *' and you shall ride it without rein or 
 curb of mine. But tell me, Ellen,'* still jesting 
 with her fancy, "who is this tree, this arbor 
 
 vitae ?" "It is," said she smiling,"Dr. .'* 
 
 *' And why is it he ?" "May I not consecrate 
 the tree of life to him who saved my mother ?" 
 Mr. Herbert kissed her affectionately. " Dear 
 girl 1" he exclaimed. " And this poplar^ 
 who is it ?" " Edmund my brother," said 
 Ellen proudly and emphatically:, "so does 
 he tower above his sex as that tree above 
 its brethren of the grove : so does he lift 
 his graceful and aspiring head high above 
 every other 5 yet neither overshadowing
 
 DUTYi 6^ 
 
 them by his superiority, nor humbling them 
 by his eminence. In native dignity he 
 stands alone my prick** " And who is this 
 honey-suckle next to Edmund? for I sup- 
 psoe I must not call even the tree poplar." 
 " Laugh if you choose, my dearest father, 
 since you do not chide. That Kttle insignifi- 
 cant woodbine is myself; Edmund indulg- 
 ing my whim planted it there." ^'Well,. 
 my child," said Mr. Herbert, " like the good 
 vicar of Wakefield, I cannot discourage those 
 harmless illusions, which serve but to make 
 us more happy. Juha, you may expect ta 
 be planted in this garden, and to grow be- 
 neath our eyes, either in the form of a tree, 
 a shrub, or a flower." " Let me then be 
 worn in your bosom," said Julia; "gather a lit- 
 tle branch of me, and fear not that my spirit 
 will complain ; tear rae to pieces if you will, 
 but place a bit of me near your heart." 
 " You will ever be there,'' replied Mr. Her- 
 bert. Julia took his hand, and pressed it in 
 silent thankfulness. 
 The piano forte of Mrs. Sinclair and the
 
 e4f DUTY. 
 
 harp of Julia continued to charm their friend- 
 ly visitors. PLven Mrs. Herbert, whilst a tear 
 stole down her cheeks, would feel her bosom 
 soothed by the powers of music. Ellen sung 
 with them, and her enchanting voice became 
 more expressive and touching under the in- 
 structions of Julia. She also sang ; and when 
 their voices mingled, the parents and the 
 friends thought noihing could be sweeter. 
 
 The mitred letter Vv'hich had been remark- 
 ed at the post-office was soon followed by 
 the noble writer himself; and never was so 
 extraordinary a sensation excited in Albany, 
 as when his carriage was seen to drive through 
 the village, and stop at the White Cottage. 
 
 It was soon rumoured that the Bishop of 
 
 B and one of his daughters were to 
 
 pass some days there,- and that he would 
 preach the following Sunday at the church. 
 Perhaps not one of the parishioners had ever 
 heard a bishop preach ; and early in the 
 morning a numerous congregation had as- 
 sembled, for the news circulated swiftly; and 
 every one in the neighbourhood who had a
 
 DUTY. 6S 
 
 horse to ride, a cart to drive, or a foot to 
 walk upon, came to Albany. Expectation 
 waited in awful silence when the bishop as- 
 cended the pulpit, and never was the dignity 
 of the prelate or the simplicity of the man 
 more impressively united. His language, 
 though clear and comprehensive to the low- 
 est capacity, possessed a sacred sublimity that 
 charmed the highest. This great man and 
 good preacher was the friend and guest of 
 Mrs, Sinclair. Suspicion instantly vanished 5 
 and it was now as much a wonder that she 
 had condescended to return the visits of 
 those who had called upon her, as it once 
 was, whether they should condescend to 
 call. 
 
 Mr. Herbert's family dined at the White 
 Cottage during his lordship's visit ; and Mrs.. 
 Sinclair, JuHa, and her noble guest and his 
 daughter, honoured the Rectory with a visit 
 also. The windows were filled with all eyes 
 of the village, to see the bishop drive out 
 Mrs. Sinclair in her low chaise, or walk with 
 Julia hanging fondly and familiarly on his
 
 66 DUTY. 
 
 arm. It was rumoured that he was a relation 
 •—he must be a relation, or he could not 
 love them so much as he seemed to do ; for, 
 when he met and parted from them, the ser- 
 vants said he embraced them both affection- 
 ately and tenderly, and almost shed tears 
 when he bade them adieu. 
 
 Now was Mrs. Sinclair firmly established 
 in the good opinions of the village. A bishop, 
 
 and the Bishop of B , had visited her, 
 
 and his friendship could not come *' in a 
 questionable shape." She therefore was really 
 Mrs. Sinclair, the aunt of Julia ; had once 
 lived in Grosvenor- square, and was come to 
 reside at Albany for the benefit of her health 
 and the pleasure of the country. The return 
 of Lady Wills was not regarded as of any im- 
 portance to Mrs. Sinclair's reputation : all 
 mystery had ceased, except as to the exactly 
 ascertaining who were Julia's parents, whe- 
 ther living or dead, and where living or 
 where buried. All they knew — and this they 
 now firmly credited — was, that she had really 
 a claim to the appellation of niece to Mrs,.
 
 DUTY. 67 
 
 Sinclair, though she frequently and unre- 
 servedly would bestow upon her the fond 
 and tender epithet of mother. And indeed her 
 actions corresponded with her words; for 
 never had a mother a more dutiful or attach- 
 ed daughter, anticipating her wishes, and 
 with prompt obedience executing every 
 command. Mrs. Sinclair was in ill health j 
 country air had been for some time pre- 
 scribed to her : but considering the educa- 
 tion of Julia as of the most importance, she 
 was unwilling to check its progress by a re- 
 moval from the spot where she had the ad- 
 vantages of the best masters. She therefore 
 remained in London till this was completed, 
 and till nearly one winter of fashionable in- 
 troduction into society had transpired. She 
 then, at the earnest entreaties of Julia herself, 
 and the positive injunctions of her physician, 
 consented to remove into the country until 
 her health was re-established. With resources 
 both of elegant accomplishment and men- 
 tal acquirement, Mrs. Sinclair and Julia felt 
 assured that they should find no situatioa
 
 68 DUTY. 
 
 (however retired) dull, or their hours heavy; 
 and though Mrs. Sinclair feared that a young 
 person just come from the gaieties of the 
 metropolis, and accustomed to the society 
 of those of her own age, might sometimes 
 feel '' an aching void" in her heart, or in her 
 time ; yet, from the state of her health, so 
 pressing was the necessity for a trial, that 
 she could no longer hesitate to make it ; 
 secretly however determining that, if she 
 found Julia's spirits depressed or her temper 
 changed by retirement, she would sacrifice 
 her own benefit and return again to society. 
 But even to doubt Julia was not to know 
 her. Ardent and sanguine in her nature, 
 she was yet patient and submissive under any 
 restraint. Though with a fortitude that 
 could sustain calamity, and heroism that 
 v,^ould not shrink from any trial, she was 
 tender in her affections and playful in her 
 spirit. She enjoyed conversation and society 
 — but she loved reading, and had such a va- 
 riety of amusements in herself, that she was 
 neverwearyof them. Above all, she possessed
 
 DUTY. 6P 
 
 an unvarying sweetness and cheerfulness of 
 temper; and her aunt often would think her 
 disposition was thus happily constituted, in 
 order to meet the peculiar ordinations of Pro- 
 vidence, and the trials that awaited her. Her 
 person was formed in beauty's loveliest 
 mould; and with the same look of dignity 
 that her aunt possessed, what elevation of 
 soul shone in her eye ! what sweetness played 
 in her mouth ! and what grace and elegance 
 adorned every action ! 
 
 They had been about two months at Al- 
 bany, with no other society than the rec- 
 tor's family, and occasional visits and calls 
 from Mrs. Hopkins and Mrs. Foster and 
 their daughters. These they would glad- 
 ly have dispensed with, and thought them 
 " more honoured in the breach than in 
 the observance;" but Mrs. Sinclair parti- 
 cularly wished to avoid the appearance of 
 hauteur^ or the assumption of that superiority 
 which would disdain an intercourse with 
 any who solicited an acquaintance, when 
 there were no moral motives for declining it.
 
 TO DUTY. 
 
 She wished to be on good terms with all her 
 neighbours, and though not too familiar she 
 was easy and friendly. 
 
 When the time of their residence was one 
 day mentioned by Mrs. Sinclair, she was de- 
 lighted to hear Julia exclaim, "Two months, 
 my aunt I have we been two months at Al- 
 bany ? They have then glided away on san- 
 dals of down, or old Time has worn two 
 pair of wings ; it seems but a little day. I 
 am rejoiced you came to Albany, for never 
 have I thoroughly enjoyed existence till now; 
 no dread of morning visitors interrupting us 
 every moment ; no formal dinners, long and 
 tedious; but ///e, liberty^ 2Lnd fresh air J" 
 *' But operas, balls, routs, — these are relin- 
 quished, Julia." " Ah, true, my aunt, and 
 I love the opera and love dancing; but never 
 have I found so much enjoyment in any one 
 of these amusements, as I do in the conver- 
 sation and affection of Ellen Herbert. Her 
 mind is so cultivated, her judgement so good, 
 her ideas so rapid, and her fancies so play- 
 ful, that she seems to me to be in herself a
 
 DUTY. 71 
 
 little world of variety ; and if I were to be 
 doomed to spend my days in a desert, I 
 should say, Give me my aunt and Ellen, and 
 the desert will be a world.*' Mrs. Sinclair 
 gave her one of her fondest looks and bless- 
 ings. " I wonder," continued Julia thought- 
 fully, " if her brother is like her ?" Mrs. 
 Sinclair smiled. " And if he be, Julia, 
 what then ?" Julia blushed, — but gaily said, 
 *' Why, then he must be very agreeable* 
 But come, my dear aunt, shall we walk 
 about the garden, or drive out this morning? 
 I am ready tor either." 
 
 A few evenings afterwards, Mrs. Sinclair 
 having letters to write, Julia and Ellen went 
 out for a long walk. In returning home- 
 ward the sun had set, and they were lean- 
 ing upon a gate, watching its radiant reflec- 
 tions in the sky, when they were startled by 
 the trampling of horses at a little distance. 
 
 " But soft ! what messenger of speed 
 Spurs hitherward his panting steed ?** 
 
 said Julia. In a moment the rider had turned 
 the corner of the road where they were stand-
 
 72 DUTY. 
 
 ing, and came directly in sight. " *Tis Ed- 
 mund, 'tis my brother," exclaimed Ellen. 
 He had thrown his reins into the hands of 
 his servant, and was dismounted just in time 
 to catch her in his arms. Her head sunken 
 his bosom, and a shower of tears relieved the 
 effect which surprise and joy had on her 
 quickly-feeling heart. "My dear silly Ellen," 
 he said in a tone of tender reproach, " why, 
 you are the same little trembler you ever 
 were." Then turning to Julia, '' Miss Dou- 
 glas, I presume ?" She curtsied. '^ Julia,'* 
 said Ellen, " forgive me ; I had forgotten 
 you." Julia took her hand with a smile 
 which quite forgave her — and they proceed- 
 ed homeward. — " My father and mother?" 
 said Edmund in an accent of inquiry. — 
 •' Quite well," returned Ellen. " And did 
 you not expect me this evening ? I wrote." 
 •' We have received no letter; we knew you 
 would soon be here, but not this evening. 
 Welcome, a thousand times welcome. And 
 you, Rover," said Ellen to a favourite ter- 
 rier, the constant companion of her bro-
 
 BUTY. 73 
 
 ther, " welcome to you also, my faithful fel- 
 low." 
 
 In their way to the Rectory they passed 
 the White Cottage; and Julia, bidding them 
 adieu at the gate, ran into the house, 
 '* Well, my dear aunt, I have seen him — 
 seen this son, this brother, this Edmund 1** 
 " And what think you of him, Julia ? Is he 
 as handsome as we have heard ?** *' I can 
 scarcely tell whether he is handsome or not; 
 I listened more than looked. Oh ! never did 
 I hear a voice so kind, so sweet, as he chid 
 and soothed Ellen, who was greatly agitated 
 at his unexpected appearance. Such a bro- 
 ther must be a blessing ; — would that / had 
 one !" said she sighing. " Julia," said 
 Mrs. Sinclair, " this is a weak and an idle 
 wish ; what we have not it is generally use- 
 less to lament ; and what cannot be attained 
 it is folly to desire. Rejoice that your friend 
 has such a brother ; but do not imply a dis- 
 contented feeling, my beloved girl, by wish- 
 ing him your brother." " Not hirn^ my 
 aunt," replied Julia quickly, — ** not him my 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 DUTY. 
 
 brother." '^ I understand you, Julia/* said 
 Mrs. Sinclair ; " you wish you had a brother ; 
 that you were not such a forlorn being as you 
 find yourself with me." " O my dear aunt! 
 pardon the hastily expressed wish. I feel 
 it must have appeared lil>:e discontent ; but 
 indeed it was but for a moment I saw the, 
 happiness of Ellen — it was of a kind I had 
 never known — and I fear I almost envied 
 her — at least I wished it mine. But though 
 I have no brother, I am already rich in bless- 
 ings. I have my aunt, and m.any many dear 
 friends ; and I will strike my harp in their 
 praise," said she, sitting down to the instru- 
 ment ; — " and do you, my dear aunt, join 
 me in a duet." 
 
 In witnessing the rapture and emotion 
 of Ellen at the sudden meeting with her bro- 
 ther, Julia experienced sensations of astonish- 
 ment. She could not help thinking how 
 sweet must be the ties of affection and con- 
 sanguinity united : — she had no brother, no 
 sister, no relation but her aunt ; and though 
 she fondly loved and respected her, yet she
 
 DUTY. 75 
 
 was the only one with whom she was con- 
 nected by bonds of nature ; and as she re- 
 flected upon the different situation of herself 
 and her friend, she could not help feeling 
 comparatively forlorn ; and hence arose the 
 wish she hastily and impulsively expressed. 
 But Julia's disposition was not of a kind to 
 encourage discontent, or express repinings ; 
 her spirits were naturally buoyant ; but if at 
 any times depressed, the sweetness of her 
 temper, and the apprehension of distressing 
 her aunt, taught her to forbear every species 
 of complaint ; and a ivish was the utmost she 
 ever uttered. In a little time she found the 
 powers of melody had restored her spirits to 
 their wonted equilibrium ; her " bosom's 
 lord again sate lightly on his throne ;" and 
 all she had felt vanished " like a mist that 
 melts on the sunny hill." — Mrs. Sinclair 
 understood what had passed in her mind, 
 and secretly rejoiced at the httle victory over 
 heriielf. 
 
 The next morning the whole family from 
 the Rectory called at the White Cottage. — 
 E 2
 
 *76 DUTY. 
 
 " I have reserved to myself the pleasure of 
 introducing my son to Mrs. Sinclair," said 
 Mr. Herbert as he entered the room ; " and 
 if he inherits his father's taste and sentiments, 
 he will feel such an introduction an honour 
 and a pleasure." Mrs. Sinclair smiled at the 
 gallantry of the good rector, whilst she ad- 
 mired the graceful elegance of his son ; and 
 could not wonder at the pride of his parents, 
 the fondness of his sister — or that Julia wish- 
 ed she had such a brother. 
 
 After this introduction was over, " Let 
 me," said Ellen, " present to each other my 
 brother and my friend. I have been chidden 
 for omitting it yesterday ; but I was so sur- 
 prised, so agitated, so overcome with joy, 
 that I forgot every thing but the cause of it." 
 Julia's cheek was dyed with the deepest crim- 
 son: — ^'Should I have blushed thus at a 
 London presentation?*' thought she : "O 
 no ! — there it is a mere matter of form." 
 
 It was impossible to see Edmund Herbert 
 without admiration. To a figure of the 
 most perfect manly symmetry was added a
 
 DUTY. 77 
 
 countenance equally handsome. Yet fine 
 as were his features, their expression consti- 
 tuted their greatest charm. Yet his person, 
 incomparable as it was, derived its chief 
 power of attraction from his manner; he 
 was at once well-bred and easy, attentive to 
 forms without formality, dignified without 
 haughtiness, and fashionable without affec- 
 tation. In conversation his subjects were 
 well chosen ; his language correct yet un- 
 studied, and often sportive but never trifling ; 
 delicate in his attentions to women, respect- 
 ful to his parents, and affectionate to his sis- 
 ter : and to these high qualities of mind and 
 person was superadded a voice both in speak- 
 ing and singing peculiarly expressive : its 
 deep and mellow tones delighted every ear, 
 and penetrated every heart. 
 
 Such was Edmund Herbert, who was now 
 come to pass the college recess at home, 
 " Three months with my beloved brother ! " 
 said Ellen: " three months of happiness I'* 
 and the most animated joy was diffused over 
 her countenance*
 
 78 DUTY. 
 
 Edmund was destined for the church. 
 His early inclinations would have led him to 
 pursue a military life ; but as this was op- 
 posed by his parents, he solaced himself with 
 study, gained several prizes, and became an 
 honour to the college where he was placed. 
 Though thwarted in his first wishes, he never 
 expressed a murmur ; but considering it his 
 duty to devote himself to the plans pointed 
 out by those to whom he owed his being, 
 and knowing that the many losses they had 
 sustained in their children had more closely 
 endeared them to those that remained, he 
 stifled every selfish feeling, and not only 
 reasoned but acted like a philosopher. 
 
 The family of Sir Thomas Wills was daily 
 expected at his seat at Albany. The day 
 arrived, — and post-coaches, post-chariots, 
 and post-chaises, fraught with the Willses 
 and their trunks, band-boxes, and servants, 
 rattled through the village. 
 
 It is now necessary to introduce to my 
 readers the dramatis personas of the man- 
 sion.
 
 DUTY. 79 
 
 Sir Thomas Wills was really of an old and 
 respectable family ; could boast some ances- 
 torial consequence, when tilts and tourna- 
 nientSjarmour and gilt spurs, were the amuse- 
 ments, the costumes, and rewards of youth. 
 Through successive generations, from ple- 
 beian marriages, luxury and effeminate ha- 
 bits, the race of the Wiilses had degenerated 
 both in size of person and dignity of charac- 
 ter ; and though Sir Thomas still showed 
 with pride the armour that his great great 
 great great and many times more great 
 great grandsire wore, which was large enough 
 for John of Gaunt, he could scarcely lift 
 even the visor. " 'Tis surprising,'' he would 
 say, " to think what men were, and what 
 they are now-a-days ; why, I am a pigmy 
 to the Sir Thomas who wore this, and I don't 
 think George will be much bigger; we don't 
 drink ale and eat roast beef enough, that's 
 my opinion.'* 
 
 Sir Thomas had received an indulgent 
 education from an indulgent mother; that 
 is, he was never compelled to learn any thing
 
 BO DUTY. 
 
 he did not choose, and he did not choose to 
 learn any thing. His father died when he 
 was very young; and as he was to be the sole 
 coinfort of his mother, he was never to be 
 vexed, though perhaps no child ever shed 
 so many tears, or fancied so many hardships. 
 He had a tutor in the house, who for four 
 years enjoyed his sinecure, and then accom- 
 panied his pupil to Eton, where he assisted 
 him through his labours. Collegewas thought 
 of no use. " Sir Thomas would possess a 
 Very large income, therefore why should he 
 be teased with any more study ?" said his 
 judicious mother. " I wish him to be a 
 gentleman, and therefore he shall travel ; he 
 will then learn without the trouble of read- 
 ing." And Sir Thomas went abroad. He 
 travelled through France, saw the Louvre 
 at Paris; he went through Italy, saw St. 
 Peter's at Rome, Mount Vesuvius at Naples, 
 and the Gallery at Florence. He travelled 
 into Switzerland, saw the Glaciers; he went 
 into Germany, and saw the falls of the Rhine; 
 and then he came back again to England a
 
 DUTY. 81 
 
 travelled gentleman. " Home-keeping youths 
 have ever homely wlts;"^ but Sir Thomas 
 might as well have kept at home, for any 
 advantage his wits had derived from travel. 
 *' It was all wonderful/* he would say, 
 *' really it was surprising to see what a num- 
 ber of curiosities there were at Paris, what 
 a prodigious size Saint Peter's was, what a 
 great smoke there was from Mount Vesu- 
 vius, and what a quantity of cinders it threw 
 up ; what a beautiful gallery there was at 
 Florence ; what a deal of snow and ice upon 
 the Glaciers, and what a large river was the 
 Rhine !" 
 
 It was thought proper that Sir Thomas 
 should marry ; and he selected, or rather his 
 mother selected. Miss Gordon, a fair girl of 
 sixteen, with a good fortune, who had just 
 left school, and was as much delighted to 
 become at once a lady, and with an establish- 
 ment of her own, as she was to quit the 
 nursery for a fashionable school. Sir Thomas 
 had not the least dishke to her, nor she to 
 him ; they married therefore with a better pro- 
 E 5
 
 82 DUTY. 
 
 spect of happiness than people thus assorted 
 by parents generally do ; and continued to 
 live upon very amicable terms, except now 
 and then when Sir Thomas would have his 
 own way and my lady a hysteric : but there 
 really was never any very loud quanelling, 
 any changing of apartments, or any threats 
 of separation ; they went to London at a 
 proper season, and regularly returned in the 
 summer, or made an excursion for the be- 
 nefit of sea air, or to enliven and enlighten 
 the minds of their daughters by the sights 
 and scenery of their native country. 
 
 Lavinia, their eldest daughter, was beau- 
 tiful as the finest form and features could 
 make her ; but uninformed by mind, she 
 looked as cold and inanimate as a statue. 
 She moved elegantly but mechanically; every 
 thing she practised had been assiduously 
 taught ; every thing she repeated was by 
 rote ; she believed herself beautiful, for she 
 had been told she was so, and thought that 
 she had only to be seen to be admired. 
 
 Lady Wills had penetration enough to
 
 DUTY. SS 
 
 discern that her daughter was deficient in 
 those charms that render women dear and 
 valuable as companions ; but she flattered 
 herself, and she flattered her daughter also,, 
 that the attractions of person would soon se- 
 cure her a great alliance. For this purpose 
 she was taught to bend her body in the most 
 bewitching attitude, to present her hand in 
 a graceful manner, to direct her eyes wdth 
 the most expressive softness upon the person 
 who spoke to her, to smile just to a certain 
 extent of mouth which displayed a dimple,, 
 and to look as if she could weep when she. 
 wished to show sensibility. But schooled as 
 she was in the science of the graces^ Lavinia 
 had passed the age of thirty without a single 
 proposal of marriage ; she was brought into 
 public, gazed at, admired, flattered, and for- 
 gotten. 
 
 Sacharissa, the second daughter, about a 
 year younger, possessed an equal degree of 
 beauty, but of a more commanding charac- 
 ter ; and whilst her sister sighed and lan- 
 guished in the drawing-room, and swept her
 
 84 DUTY. 
 
 white arms over the harp gracefully and 
 discordantly, Sacharissa was in the stable 
 with her favourite horse, caressing her fa- 
 ther's hounds, or practising with her bow 
 and arrow; but alas! her beauty was brought 
 to an untimely end at the age of seventeen. 
 In attempting a desperate leap as she was 
 one day hunting, she was thrown from her 
 horse, and with a mangled countenance 
 conveyed into the nearest cottage. Time, 
 however, repaired in some measure the ra- 
 vages of accident ; and the domestic habits 
 which a long confinement to the house in- 
 sensibly created, tamed that impetuosity and 
 daring, that love of hunting and deeds of 
 high enterprise, which had formerly distin- 
 guished her; and she softened into some- 
 thing of a Lavinia. Though but small traces 
 of beauty were visible to impartial eyes, her 
 own were more favourable in their decision, 
 and she hoped yet, " with all her imperfec- 
 tions on her head," to be married before 
 her elder sister. She had more vivacity, and 
 found that the beauty of Lavinia was often
 
 DUTYi 85 
 
 deserted for the pleasure of a little lively chat 
 with her. Her features, it is true, were 
 changed, but her eyes still remained entire ; 
 and with these she imagined she shot forth 
 a whole artillery of flames and darts from 
 Cupid's magazine of mischief. In the bridge 
 of her nose there had been a slight breach, 
 but tolerably well repaired ; and it was still 
 high, lofty and commanding, something like 
 that described in the pictures of William the 
 Conqueror — therefore, she thought, a con- 
 quering nose. One side of her face was 
 very tolerable indeed j and as she knew 
 which this was, she generally contrived 
 to present it to the spectators, and fire 
 principally from this eye, shading, as did 
 Poppasa the wife of Nero, the other by a 
 drooping feather or veil. But all these little 
 stratagems to win the hearts of the other sex 
 had failed ; and poor Sacharissa had nearly 
 reached that terrible climax of unmarried 
 life, the age of thirty, as unsolicited and un- 
 loved as Lavinia. But she did not submit to 
 her destiny with so much fortitude, so much
 
 86 DUTY. 
 
 patience, or so much apathy. Lavinia still 
 looked kindly and pensively, and srill prac- 
 tised every air that had been taught her ; she 
 was a piece of mechanism, so worked up as 
 to be always ready to be set in motion ; she 
 was neither offended nor mortified ; she was 
 surprised she was not married, as her miother 
 had so often told her she must soon be ; but 
 she had no ill-humour, and surprise was all 
 she felt when she felt any thing, Sacharissa 
 began to be indignant at the neglect she ex- 
 perienced, and hated all men, because noae 
 had loved her. 
 
 Anna Maria, the third daughter, had less 
 beauty, but not less vanity, than her sisters. 
 She very early read novels and romances, 
 and always arrayed herself in the dress, and 
 assumed the character, of her last favourite 
 heroine. She was alternately the majestic 
 Cecilia, the artless Evelina, the playful Glor- 
 vina, the intellectual Corinna, and a thou- 
 sand others ; but when she had read Scott's 
 matchless poems, she suddenly became a 
 Margaret or a Lady Heron, a Clara or a
 
 DUTY. 87 
 
 Constance ; she had a little vocabulary of 
 her own ; said iss for yes ; contended for the 
 propriety of the pronunciation of some words, 
 because she thought it pretty ; wrote what 
 she called poetry ; talked of sentiment and 
 Platonic love ; played on the harp, and, as 
 she thought, sung. 
 
 Deborah Ruth, the fourth daughter, was 
 so called in compliment to a rich friend, who 
 proposed herself as godmother on condition ' 
 that she received these unpoeticaftitles, for 
 which she promised to make her an ample 
 compensation at her death ; and indeed the 
 calamity of bearing the burden of such bar- 
 barous names throughout one's life requires 
 some mitigation : the lady thought so — her 
 request was complied with, and her promise 
 fulfilled. Deborah Ruth was therefore in- 
 dependent, had 20,000/. at her own disposal; 
 and though she resided with her parents, 
 she had her own exclusive servants, drove a 
 curricle, and indulged herself in all her in- 
 clinations, however extraordinary or expen- 
 sive. She particularly devoted herself to the
 
 88 DUTY. 
 
 science of chemistry, attended Sir H. Davy's 
 lectures at the Institution when in London, 
 had a laboratory furnished with every neces- 
 sary apparatus for the analysing, solving, 
 and concocting the different earths and fluids, 
 vegetable, animal, and mineral bodies, which 
 she could collect ; and to see her in the per- 
 formance of her various experiments, the 
 simple and credulous might have imagined 
 her in the midst of some mystic rites, and 
 attributed to her, as they formerly did to 
 Roger Bacon, dealings with supernatural 
 agents. She had not despaired of discover, 
 ing the philosopher's stone, and the univer- 
 sal panacea. She talked of oxygen, nitrogen, 
 and hydrogen gas ; of all that ended in ous 
 and ic ; of caloric substances j of the nine 
 earths, silica, alumina, zirconia, glucina, 
 yttria, barytes, strontian, lime, and magnesia; 
 alkalies, acids, salts, combustibles, and metals; 
 and with these 
 
 ** She amaz*d the unlearn'd, and made the learned 
 smile." 
 
 Sir Thomas was very fond of agriculture,
 
 DUTY. 89 
 
 and Deborah easily persuaded hini what 
 considerable knowledge he would gain for 
 the improvement of his lands, by the study 
 of chemistry also. He was pleased to have 
 something clever to do, something clever to 
 talk of, and entered with avidity into the 
 scheme proposed, and into all the analysa- 
 tions necessary to perfect him in the science 
 of agriculture. He would have a laboratory 
 also, where samples of manure and earths, 
 fluids gaseous and aqueous, were daily intro- 
 duced, diffusing so many odours throughout 
 the house, that *^ not all the perfumes of 
 Arabia'' could overcome them. Poor Lady 
 Wills deluged her rooms with lavender water, 
 steeped her handkerchief in otto of roses ; 
 but Sir Thomas's and Deborah's laboratories 
 prevailed over all. It was in vain to expos- 
 tulate, he would have his own way in this 
 " useful science," and '^ no one need turn 
 up their nose at it if they were not more nice 
 than wise/* 
 
 George Frederic Augustus Thomas was 
 the fifth child, the son and heir and hope of
 
 90 DUTY. 
 
 the house of Wills. Born on the same day 
 as our beloved regent, Lady Wills insisted 
 upon his being called by the same names, 
 and not Thomas as had been intended. Sir 
 Thomas expostulated ; " all his ancestors 
 had been Thomases ; there never was a Sir 
 any body Wills, but a Sir Thomas, and 
 Thomas it must be." My lady wept, Sir 
 Thomas entreated ; My lady had a hysteric, 
 Sir Thomas consented — and George Fre- 
 deric Augustus Thomas was baptized ; for 
 the worthy baronet, much as he loved his 
 wife, had a something pertinacious and po- 
 sitive in his nature, and, unwilling totally to 
 give up the ancestorial distinction, whispered 
 to the clergyman to add Thomas; for, though 
 last, it was better than entirely omitted. 
 When in the course of time the discovery 
 was made by her ladyship, the shock was 
 terrible ; but as Sir Thomas wisely observed 
 ** What's done cannot be undone'* — the lady 
 as wisely acquiesced, stipulating only that 
 he should answer to the name of George. 
 The difference of tastes and opinions, that
 
 DUTY. 91 
 
 distinguished the sisters in all their habits, 
 extended even to the fancy of a name ; and 
 whilst by his parents he was denominated 
 George, one sister would call him Frederic, 
 another Augustus^ and Deborah called him 
 Thomas, These various titles perplexed the 
 object of them as well as the hearers, and 
 made himappear almost as questionable acha- 
 racter as John alias — alias — alias — alias. 
 George Frederic Augustus Thomas at a 
 proper age had a private tutor, was sent to 
 Eton (because Sir Thomas had been there), 
 and from thence to Oxford. He was not di- 
 stinguished for his abilities or application; but 
 he had good humour, and was free from any 
 vicious propensities. 
 
 Henrietta,the next in succession, was mode- 
 rately pretty, moderately wise, and moderate- 
 ly accomplished ; she played a little and sung 
 a little, understood a little of French and a 
 little of drawing ; but had a marvellous de- 
 sire to appear clever and agreeable; and talk- 
 ed a great deal to every person, and upon 
 every subject, betraying her ignorance whilst:
 
 92 DUTY. 
 
 she fancied she was displaying her judge- 
 ment. But her desire of obliging rendered 
 her generally more liked than her sisters, 
 and her follies and absurdities were forgiven 
 for the sake of her good humour. 
 
 Laura and Lauretta, aged seventeen, were 
 twins — and, though sickly in their infancy, 
 became tolerably healthy as they grew up. 
 Dressed precisely in the same manner, it was 
 difficult to distinguish one from the other, 
 but by their bracelets — one of which was 
 clasped with a portrait of Sir Thomas, and 
 the other with that of Lady V/ills: hence they 
 received the appellation of papa's darling 
 and mamma's darling. Fondness and in- 
 dulgence seemed striving for ascendency in 
 the breasts of the parents, and it was as dif- 
 ficult to tell what darling was the most 
 spoiled, as to distinguish one from the other. 
 Though it was expressly ordered that they 
 were to receive every thing in the same pro- 
 portion, and if possible at the same moment, 
 yet their own contentions too often disturbed 
 the order enjoined 5 and whilst they pro-
 
 DUTY. 95 
 
 duced a beautiful and harmonious effect by 
 their dress, fondness and affection before ad- 
 miring visitors ; in the nursery, quarrels and 
 dissentions were perpetually arising, and 
 proved that, however twins by birth^ they 
 were not twins in heart. Their personal 
 resemblance in face, size, and height, con- 
 tinued undiminished until the age of twelve; 
 when no longer " like to a double cherry 
 seemlngparted," one suddenly started up like 
 a poplar, leaving the other like a little dwarf 
 shrub below her. This was an insult not to 
 be endured ; Laura could not forgive her 
 sister the many inches she had risen above 
 her; and their animosity strengthening, com- 
 plaints were referred to mamma by her dar^ 
 ling, and the same to papa by his — and 
 "Kiss and make it up" was the injunction 
 hourly repeated. 
 
 Charles, now fifteen, was the next child, 
 healthy, spirited, active, h\d good-humoured, 
 full of frolic and fun, the delight of his 
 father, the pride of his mother, and the 
 dread of his sisters, upon whom he never
 
 94 DUTY. 
 
 failed to play off his mischievous tricks when- 
 ever he was at home for the holidays. 
 
 Bertha was the youngest, and at the time 
 this narrative commences was between thir- 
 teen :.nd fourteen, though still denominated 
 by her parents "the child." In her infancy she 
 was the plainest of any of the family, to whom 
 she scarcely bore the least resemblance. She 
 was extremely brov/n, with dark eyes and 
 hair, and so unlike both the Willses and the 
 Gordons, that she appeared almost an alien 
 to their blood, and, strange to say, really 
 became so to their affections. 
 
 "I cannot think who she is like," said Lady 
 Wills. " Nor I," replied Sir Thomas, '^ un- 
 less it was my great aunt Gertrude by my 
 mother*s side, who was run away with : she 
 had black eyes, I think — but the Willses arc 
 all fair." ''And so are the Gordons, Sir 
 Thomas. As for being run away with, that 
 child will never find any one to give himself 
 that trouble. 1 wonder how any person can 
 admire black eyes and a dirk complexion.*' 
 
 Poor Bertha's dark eyes and tawny hue
 
 DUTY. 95 
 
 were faults that lier parents, could not for- 
 give : she was therefore consigned to the 
 care of servants, seldom permitted to come 
 into the drawing-room, or indulged with a 
 kind look or a kind word either from her 
 parents or sisters. All regarded her as a 
 stranger, as an alien, almost as a child of 
 colour. The servants seeing her thus disre- 
 garded treated her with disrespect, and she 
 wandered from nursery to kitchen, and from 
 kitchen to nursery, solitary and unattached. 
 Her twin sisters had had a governess; but 
 when they were old enough to mix in so- 
 ciety she was dismissed, as it was not worth 
 the expense of keeping her for " ilie child,'' 
 Lady Wills said, who would never learn any 
 thing ; and Bertha had been left about a 
 year to follow her own inclinations, so long 
 as she did not obtrude herself too much into 
 the presence of the family. Her inclinations 
 led her principally into the stable-yard^ 
 among the dogs and horses ; but she could 
 not visit these favourites without encounter- 
 ing the grooms and servants. She used
 
 S6 DUTY. 
 
 therefore to retire into the room which had 
 formerly been the school-room, and, withsuch 
 books as she could find, sit reading for hours. 
 
 In this apartment there was an old instru- 
 mentj and for the sake of amusement she 
 contrived to teach herself the notes, and 
 by dint of application could play several airs. 
 She even attempted to sing ; and had she 
 been a fair girl, instead of a brown one, 
 Lady Wills would have been proud to cul- 
 tivate a voice of such promise as Bertha's. 
 But she had never heard her sing, and indeed 
 seldom speak, and still more seldom had 
 she seen her smile. 
 
 Discouraged and disregarded, she now 
 almost shunned the family as much as they 
 avoided her ; and if summoned into her mo- 
 ther's room, or the parlour, she would go so 
 slowly, with her head down and her shoul- 
 ders up, that she was generally dismissed 
 with some remark upon her awkwardness, 
 or a reproof upon her reluctance. Her 
 only happiness was during the holidays when 
 her brother Charles was at home. Her eyes
 
 DUTY. 97 
 
 and complexion and awkward manner had 
 no influence over his affection; he would 
 even say,^ *' If Bertha did not hold down her 
 tiead and look so glum, she would be the 
 best looking of you all." Such remarks 
 did not tend to bring poor Bertha more into 
 favour with her sisters. 
 
 Charles did not understand why she spent 
 her time so much alone, but partly thought 
 it was, as they had asserfed, because she was 
 ill-humoured and shy in the parlour — '^ Not 
 that I ever saw her ill-humoured in my life,'* 
 he said ; " nor is she shy to me, — so I will go 
 to her. ' 
 
 " I can't think,'* said Laura, " how she 
 spends her time up in that garret, for the 
 schoolroom is no better.'' — "Why, I will 
 tell you," replied Charles: " she reads all the 
 old books you have left, French, English^ and 
 Italian, and she plays on the old piano, and 
 sings better than any of you." — '' Dear me! 
 Charles, what are you talking about ?" — 
 " I am saying nothing but what is true," said 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 DUTY. 
 
 Charles, "and I only wish you would go and 
 hear her.'* " I shall do no such thing," said 
 the tiuins, 
 
 " I desire," said Lady Wills, " you will 
 talk no more about her, Charles. If Bertha 
 was a good girl, and like her sisters, she 
 should be as much with me, though she is 
 only a child ; for every body knows how I 
 dote upon my children. But she has no af- 
 fection, and is really so awkward, so sulky, 
 and so uncouth, that at present she is better 
 where she is.*" 
 
 Charles was not so young, or so weak, as 
 to be entirely deluded by this sophistry. He 
 did not quite understand why Bertha should 
 be banished, and left entirely to herself, and 
 he felt there was something wrong and un- 
 kind in it. "Poor girl!" he thought — "if 
 she is awkward and sulky when she is with 
 my sisters, they don't go the right way to 
 cure her. I am sure she loves me, and Til 
 go to her, however." 
 
 One day he found her in an agony of 
 grief, weeping over and fondling a dead
 
 DUTY. 99 
 
 kitten, which had been her little pet and 
 companion for some weeks. 
 
 " Why, how is this ?" said Charles. " O 
 Charles, Charles! Deborah has been making 
 an experiment upon my kitten. She has 
 pumped all the breath out of its poor little 
 body, and cannot pum.p it in again : she gave 
 It to Jenny to throw away." — " Has she ?" 
 said Charles. " Well, then, I shall see what 
 can be done for her :" and catching up the 
 kitten he was rushing out of the room. " O ! 
 stop, stop!" cried Bertha: " don't take it 
 away, don't take it from me." " Why, 
 it can't feel now, Bertha," said Charles 
 in a tender accent : " if it could, do you 
 think I wDuld take it, I would hurt it ?" 
 " No, no, I know you would not. Take it 
 then, Charles :" and she again sobbed vio- 
 lently. 
 
 Presently her brother returned — " Well, 
 I have done for some of her things, how- 
 ever,'* said he. " What have you done, 
 Charles ? I hope, no mischief, no harm to 
 Deborah ?" « Why, what business had she 
 
 F 2
 
 300 DUTY. 
 
 with your kitten ? No; it was not I; it was 
 the kitten that has revenged itself, though 
 it is dead, and that has broken her receiver 
 and a few other of her rattle-traps.*' " I am 
 sorry for itj" replied Bertha, " because she 
 will be so angry ! and she did not think of 
 vexing me, perhaps. But my poor poor little 
 kitten, it was all I had in the world," again 
 sobbed Bertha. " Come come," said Charles 
 soothing her," don't cry anymore, Bertha; 
 1 will give you something that you will love 
 as well as you did the kitten, and that will 
 love you ^ great deal better." " My kitten 
 loved me," said Bertha : " it lay in my lap 
 and in my bosom, it licked my hands and 
 face, and purred, and played with me, and 
 I am sure it knew me." " Well, never mind 
 it now. I will give you a dog, anlce litt le 
 dog, I know where to get one, and you shall 
 call it Carlo for my sake." " Oh, but my 
 mamma will never let me have a dog, to live 
 with me up stairs," said Bertha. " But she 
 need not know it." '' Oh, but she will know 
 it j and I must not, dare not have it."' " But
 
 DUTY. 101 
 
 you shall," said Charles: and after a few mo- 
 ments of thought, " I've hit upon it: it shall 
 be my dog, Bertha, and I leave it with you 
 to take care of for me ; and then let us see 
 who will dare to say any thing about it." 
 
 The boy knew his power over his parents, 
 and in the family ; but he had too good a 
 heart and temper to exercise it offensively 
 towards them: he loved mischief, and he 
 loved Bertha: he saw she was unnoticed ; and 
 he had the courage, because he knew he had 
 the power, to soften the severity of her lot. 
 
 Whilst he w^as consoling his poor sister, 
 and promising her a new favourite whom 
 nobody dared to molest, he heard a violent 
 clamour in the gallery, and his name loudly 
 vociferated by Deborah. " Come this instant, 
 sir," she exclaimed, '' come and tell m^ 
 what you have done." " What, don't you 
 know?" replied Charles tauntingly. "Good 
 God, sir 1" continued Deborah, for she w^as 
 not scrupulous in her ejaculations and apo- 
 strophes, '•'• what do you mean by breaking 
 my receiver and my retort ?'* " To retort
 
 102 DUTY. 
 
 upon you, Deborah, the cruelty you have 
 shown to Bertha in killing her kitten. But 
 it was the kitten that broke it after all/' said 
 he carelessly. " I ccnjaued up its ghost, and 
 sent it flying amongst your things in order 
 to revenge itself the death it had received at 
 your hands. That's what I did. So now what 
 do you say ?'' ''^ Say ? Why, that you are 
 a most abominable, diabolical — '* " Stop, 
 stop, Deborah ! If you say any more, if you 
 provoke me, I will go again into your labo- 
 ratory and finish what I have only begun.'* 
 " Do if you dare, sir." ^' Don't dare me, De- 
 borah ; for I can tell you, if you do, if you 
 ever touch any thing again that belongs to 
 poor Bertha, or vex her in any way, I ivill 
 too:'' and away he flew, leaving Miss Debo- 
 rah swelling with passion, and apprehensions 
 lest some further mischief should be prac- 
 tised upon her property. In this instance, 
 however, Charles only threatened : he felt he 
 had sufliciently revenged the cause of Bertha 
 for this time, and he had no malice in his 
 nature.
 
 DUTY. ]03 
 
 This event occurred during the last holi- 
 days he was at home ; and finding that 
 Charles was become the champion of his 
 youngest sister, a little more attention was 
 paid her by her mother, who so doted upon 
 this boy, and so indulged him, that, had he 
 not possessed a good disposition and good 
 sense, his power might have been unlimited 
 throughout the house. 
 
 Bertha vt^as now oftener admitted into the 
 parlour with her sisters, was rather better 
 dressed j and though she was never called 
 my love or my darling, (except before com- 
 pany^) she was not so pettishly spoken to 
 as '' cliildJ' 
 
 Such was the situation of Sir Thomas's 
 family, and such its members, at the time of 
 their return to Albany; and now was the 
 opinion of Mrs. Hopkins respecting Mrs. 
 Sinclair to be established by that of Lady 
 Wills. She therefore scarcely slept all night, 
 so anxious was she to inquire and to learn 
 every circumstance that might be known of 
 her and Julia, and of their affairs. In the
 
 104 BUTY. 
 
 morning, as early as she could with any pro- 
 priety, she bustled into her lilac pelisse ; and 
 though the sun was flaming in Cancer — and 
 though the good lady, like Johnny Gilpin, 
 " carried weight," she yet toiled up the long 
 sandy hill that led to the mansion ; and after 
 uttering a thousand kind welcomes to the lady 
 and her daughters, in return for thecivillycool 
 reception bestowed up©n her, she was happy 
 to find herself safely seated in the break- 
 fast room. She assured her ladyship that 
 there had been no spirit, no life, no pleasure 
 of any kind since their departure; that every 
 body had seemed dead; but now they revived 
 again: she was delighted to see how well 
 her ladyship and all the young ladies look- 
 ed, — though poor Lady Wills declared she 
 had a shocking cold, andtheyoung ladies were 
 all dying with fatigue. However, it was all 
 one to Mrs. Hopkins : she came furnished with 
 a dose of flattery, and was determined to ad- 
 minister it^ that the ladies might be in good 
 humour, and disposed to be communicative 
 upon the subject of Mrs. Sinclair. She was
 
 DUTY. 305 
 
 meditating in what manner to introduce her 
 name, when Lady Wills relieved her by in- 
 quiring who had taken the White Cottage, as 
 in passing it she perceived it was inhabited. 
 Then did Mrs. Hopkins give utterance to 
 all which laboured in her bosom, 
 
 " Mrs. Sinclair, with her niece Miss Dou- 
 glas — but who they are no one exactly knows 
 — pray does your ladyship ?'* " Sinclair — 
 Sinclair — Douglas," repeated Lady Wills 
 several times to herself in a tone of careless 
 recollection. '* I cannot recollect such names 
 upon my list, nor do I know such upon any 
 other." " I thought as much," said Mrs. 
 Hopkins quickly and conceitedly, " I thought 
 as much : from the first I suspected them, 
 and always said so : but somehow they kept 
 me — I know not how, I did not like to say 
 all I thought — but now your ladyship knows 
 nothing of them I am quite sure, though the 
 
 Bishop of B has visited them." " Has 
 
 the Bishop of B— visited them ?" inquired 
 Lady Wills. " Then it must be Mrs. Sinclair, 
 sister of General Sinclair, who, dying in the
 
 106 DUTY. 
 
 East Indies, left her a very considerable 
 fortune which he acquired there. The 
 bishop was his most intimate friend." " But 
 there is a niece," said Mrs. Hopkins^ " Miss 
 Douglas ! dges your ladyship know her ? " 
 *' 1 really cannot charge my memory with the 
 names of all the misses whom I meet — but, 
 Lavinia, perhaps you may recollect a Miss 
 Douglas ?'* " The beautiful Miss Douglas ? 
 O yes, mamma, I remember her : she was 
 brought out at the beginning of this season." 
 " She blazed upon us suddenly like a co- 
 met," saidSacharissa,"andas suddenly disap- 
 peared : but in what region she sunk we ne- 
 ver knew ; it was reported she was gone into 
 the country." " Oh, I remember her," re- 
 plied Lady Wills : " she was at Lady Court- 
 ney's grand assembly with Mrs. Sinclair. I 
 shall visit them immediately." " But who is 
 Miss Douglas ?" " That is no concern of 
 mine," said Lady Wills carelessly. " Bless 
 me I" exclaimed Mrs. Hopkins with well 
 feigned rapture, " how delighted I am to find 
 they ar« what they ought tobe ! though appear-
 
 DUTY. 107 
 
 ances at first might be against them." " How 
 so ?'' inquired Lady Wills -coolly ; for some- 
 times she had a petty pride and pleasure in 
 piquing the forward and conceited Mrs. 
 Hopkins, and in attesting her own superiority, 
 " pray how so ? '' '' Why, your ladyship 
 knows they took the house, and nobody 
 knew who they were — then they furnished it 
 so handsomely, and nobody could tell where 
 the money came from.'* " And pray,'* said 
 Lady Wills scornfully, " whose business was 
 it to inquire ? Let me tell you, good woman, 
 you live in this village till you have not two 
 ideas in your head j and all which you cannot 
 account for as plainly as you cast up a 
 tradesman's bill is marvellous and suspi- 
 cious. I shall call on Mrs. Sinclair to-mor- 
 mow." 
 
 The contemptuous epithet of * good woman/ 
 the implication cast upon her understand- 
 ing, her want of discrimination and liberality 
 of opinion, rankled in her mind j but smooth- 
 ing her countenance she replied, *' her lady- 
 ship must know better than she did in every
 
 JOS DUTY. 
 
 respect — Mrs. Sinclair and Miss Douglas 
 were charming people, as she would find :" 
 and mortified and disappointed she took her 
 leave, " Good woman" still swelled in her 
 bosom, and she resolved she would not be 
 such a good woman for the future as she 
 had been to Lady Wills, nor carry her the 
 tittle tattle of the village. But such reso- 
 lutions formed by such a character are not 
 durable; and a few smiles, famiuar i.ods, and 
 civil speeches of Lady Wills soon rendered 
 her as courteous and communicative as ever. 
 In such a village, what could Lady Wills do 
 without her ? Her mind would stagnate for 
 want of exercise. With vacant characters, any 
 gossip is preferable to no news. 
 
 The proposed visit of her ladyship was 
 in a few days paid; and she found Mrs. 
 Sinclair and Julia the very identical persons 
 whom she had stated they were. Delighted 
 at such an acquisition in Albany — to find two 
 of her own ivorld ( as she termed it) in such 
 a desert — she rather more profusely than 
 was her custom poured forth hopes of fre-
 
 DUTY. 109 
 
 qiient intercourse and friendly intimacy. 
 Though Mrs. Sinclair did not meet these 
 flattering testimonies of approbation with 
 very evident marks of encouragement, she 
 received them with some acknowledgements; 
 for, ever anxious for the happiness of Julia, 
 she thought that in the numerous family of 
 the Willscs there might be some who 
 would be pleasant to her, and occasionally 
 vary the monotony of their amusements, and 
 give a little novelty to their society. But a 
 very short time served to convince them 
 both, that there might be intimacy without 
 friendship, and intercourse without sympa- 
 thy. 
 
 In so contracted a circle as Albany pre- 
 sented, visits were frequently interchanged, 
 Mrs. Sinclair found Lady Wills in general- 
 terms a well-meaning woman, though in her 
 family partial to some, and therefore unjust 
 to others ; indolent and ostentatious, but in- 
 dulgent and liberal. She never refused the 
 aid of her purse if appealed to, but would 
 have thought a moment of personal attention
 
 110 DUTY. 
 
 to the sufferings of a fellow creature a sacri- 
 fice of her time, and a stigma upon her dig- 
 nity. She wished every one well, and gave 
 money to those who asked for nothing more. 
 
 Julia endured with good humour and 
 good breeding the frivolous conversation of 
 the Miss Willses, and was even amused with 
 their eccentricities. There was a sufficient 
 variety of character to afford her entertain- 
 ment for half an hour ; and then with what 
 delight did she turn to Ellen, to that rich 
 and inexhaustible vein of sense and imagina- 
 tion that ran through her mind ! Edmund 
 also was now fixed at home for three months ; 
 and reading, walking, and music furnished 
 occupation and amusement for every hour. 
 With him for their guide and protector, 
 Mrs. Sinclair with Julia or Ellen and some- 
 times Mrs. Herbert took a wider circuit in 
 their rides, and not a wood or lane or field re- 
 mained unexplored by foot or carriage. 
 
 Mrs. Herbert's health and spirits began to 
 revive under the influence of gentle exer- 
 cise, and rational, cheerful and amusing so-
 
 DUTY. Ill 
 
 ciety ; while the kindliest feelings of her 
 heart expanded towards her new and estima- 
 ble friends. Her mind was soothed, and 
 her soul elevated, as she listened to the pious 
 and sublime strains of Handel in the fine 
 and rich voice of Julia, vi^hile with maternal 
 pride and pleasure she heard her own little 
 Ellen unite her touching tones in a sim- 
 pler strain, and her beloved Edmund assist 
 these concerts both by his inf:trumental and 
 vocal skill. 
 
 The son observed the beneficial effect which 
 Mrs. Sinclair and Julia had upon his mother, 
 and his regard for them partook of as much 
 gratitude as tenderness. Of Mrs. Sinclair's 
 wealth Lady Wills had circulated a lavish 
 report. Her Indian richesmust be immense, 
 and it was believed that she might have 
 paved her rooms with rupees. Julia, who- 
 ever she was, was considered her heiress : — 
 and Edmund regarded her as he would "a 
 bright particular star,'* admirable, but unat- 
 tainable. This idea was established in his 
 mind very soon after his first introduction to
 
 112 DUTY. 
 
 Julia, and proved In a great measure the pre- 
 server of his peace. He who has early ha- 
 biiuatcd himself to combat with his wishes, 
 who has, as Edmund had, once conquered 
 powerful inclinations, n.ay still by the same 
 exertions suppress the feelings of his heart, 
 if he cannot quite subdue them. Honour 
 and pride were two powerful principles in 
 his mind : for the sake of riches he would 
 not barter the integrity of his affections, or 
 impose upon the credulous and unsuspicious. 
 But those who looked on Julia could never 
 suppose that the fortune her aunt intended 
 to bestow upon her was the charm that at- 
 tracted ; — yet Julia herself might think so. 
 He reflected also, that he was but the son of 
 an obscure clergyman, whose living though 
 good was his only possession ; from which 
 alone was his father able to make any pro- 
 vision for him and his sister. This he knew 
 that he strictly and conscientiously attended 
 to, putting aside every year such a portion 
 of his income as would not encroach upon 
 their comforts or their charities. Their
 
 DUTY. 113 
 
 habits were simple, their wishes few, their 
 table though plain was elegant, and liberali- 
 ty governed by oeconomy presided in every 
 department of their domestic concerns. 
 
 To the church Edmund was destined : 
 he had been promised patronage, and he 
 hoped for preferment ; but on the uncer- 
 tain issue of life or death he knew it was 
 folly to build an expectation. All he had 
 to do, was to wait with as much patience as 
 he could the fulfilment of promises, and 
 the realization of liis hopes ; and if he ever 
 dared to aspire to the hand of Julia, the re- 
 ward would be even ^rejiter th^n the stake* 
 In the mean time he could not deny him- 
 self the luxury of gazing upon her, of list- 
 ening, of attending to her : but he deter- 
 mined to be silent ; not a word or look had 
 yet betrayed the feelings of his heart, and 
 he resolved that not a wcrd or look should. 
 But even a philosopher in love may deceive 
 hin^sclf (if a philosopher ever were in love). 
 But was it possible every day to see a love- 
 ly girl, to sit with her, to read to her, to sing
 
 114 DUTY. 
 
 with her, to walk with her; to observe her 
 respectful and tender attentions to his pa- 
 rents, her affectionate manner to his sister; 
 to be enlivened by her cheerfulness, to listen 
 to her pure and virtuous sentiments, to wit- 
 ness the tear she shed for suffering, to hear 
 of her benevolence j — was this possible, and 
 not to love ?— But whatever were the emo- 
 tions of his heart, his tongue still preserved 
 the honourable silence which his principles 
 had imposed. 
 
 Julia esteemed him as the brother of her 
 friend, respected him as the best of sons, 
 and admired him as the first of men : and 
 though she wished she had such a brother, 
 as a lover she never thought of him. She 
 sung, talked, and laughed, with careless 
 confidence ; and while every hour developed 
 to his eyes some new charm of character, she 
 was totally unconscious of her power and 
 effect. 
 
 Whilst every sun rose a witness of the 
 happiness of the inmates of the White Cot- 
 tage, and sunk to shed repose upon their
 
 DUTY. 115 
 
 pillows ; whilst Julia and Ellen thought 
 nothing more on earth was wanting to their 
 felicity, than what they possessed ; Mrs. Sin- 
 clair received a letter from her nephew. Cap- 
 tain Conway, informing her of his intention 
 to ruralize a few weeks in the shades of Al- 
 bany, to fall in love with some of the pretty 
 rustics, and to laugh and romp with his 
 cousin Julia. " Very obliging indeed !" said 
 Julia. Edmund, who chanced to be present 
 when the letter arrived, was thoughtful ; and 
 Ellen was vexed at an addition to their little 
 parties, and an interruption to their present 
 pleasures and pursuits. 
 
 Conway was the only son of Colonel Coa- 
 way, who married a younger sister of Mrs. 
 Sinclair. Dying he bequeathed to him — often 
 a soldier's only possession — (and it was only 
 his) his sword. Mrs. Conway did not long 
 survive him, and the orphan boy was prin- 
 cipally supported at school by Mrs. Sin- 
 clair. From thence he went to a military 
 academy; and thus regularly trained to arms, 
 he thought of battle as he would of a ball ;
 
 116 DUTY. 
 
 of glory, as a soldier's certain meed. In 
 Portugal, that field for promotion ! he had 
 rapidly risen to the command of a company ; 
 but receiving, as he led them on, a wound 
 in his arm, he was compelled to ask for leave 
 of absence. Impatient to see his aunt whom 
 he idolized, and Julia whom he loved, as 
 soon as he had had advice and assistance 
 from an eminent surgeon in London he 
 hastened down to Albany. 
 
 He had been absent from England about 
 two years. " Yet toil had done the work of 
 time," and though scarcely twenty he look- 
 ed several years older. His were the charms 
 of manly beauty, and his countenance pos- 
 sessed the fine and open expression of an 
 ingenuous nature. Neither pain nor fatigue 
 had subdued the buoyancy of his spirit : 
 his gaiety was the efl'usion of genuine hila- 
 rity, and his good-humour the result of 
 benevolent feelings. 
 
 His aunt and cousin welcomed him with 
 unfeigned joy, and presented him with 
 pride and pleasure to the Rector's family.
 
 DUTY. 117 
 
 Edmund surveyed him with admiration ; 
 and whether he feared a rival or not, his 
 generous nature treated him as a friend. 
 
 With a disposition to assimilate with 
 all whom he liked, with an adaptation of 
 character that conformed to every one's 
 habits without effort or affectation, Con- 
 way never failed to please ; and even 
 Ellen, who feared an intruder, found him an 
 auxiliary to their pleasures, rather than an 
 interruption. His cheerfulness was a sun- 
 beam that dispelled every cloud, and the 
 whole party began to wonder how they had 
 been so very happy without him. 
 
 Few people possess that discriminating 
 tact, that synonym of nice feeling, which 
 teaches them to avoid any act or allusion 
 wounding or offensive to others. Conway 
 did possess this rare and happy faculty ; and 
 when any jarring chords sounded dissonantly 
 in society, by a nice vibration in his own 
 breast he instantly discovered the discord in 
 another; and by a gaiety of spirit, and a 
 never-failing fund of pleasantry, he gene-
 
 118 DUTY. 
 
 rally succeeded In restoring harmony. And 
 though he sometimes descended into a pan- 
 tomimic play of humour, into a species of 
 bufFoonery, which, however it may- amuse, 
 always derogates from the true character of 
 the gentleman, and the dignity of the m an; 
 yet for the sake of the effects it produced, 
 even Pvlrs. Sinclair would smile, though she 
 afterwards reproved him. She knew he was 
 capable of better things, and by a point of 
 wit, or by starting some universal topic, 
 might as effectually have " attuned the jar- 
 ring spirits into peace," — as by a quaint- 
 ness of tone, an absurdity of gesture, or a 
 distortion of feature. 
 
 " I think, my dearest aunt," said Eilen, 
 ** you almost exalt cheerfulness and good 
 humour into cardinal virtues, when I should 
 place them among the minor qualities of the 
 mind, contributing to rather than consti- 
 tuting the happiness of social intercourse." 
 *' Ah! then, my Julia," replied her aunt, 
 *' you have never, as I have, witnessed the 
 painful consequences that result from their
 
 DUTY. 119 
 
 absence. You think probably that good 
 sense, liberality, wit, politeness, and many 
 other qualities which we meet with, are 
 sufficient to render society agreeable. They 
 may be so in a great degree ; but observe, 
 where cheerfulness and good humour shed 
 their influence over these^ there is a super- 
 added charm which every heart acknow- 
 ledges ; and which is to the soul like the 
 blessed light of heaven to the eye, illami- 
 nating every object and enlivening every feel- 
 ing. The highest powers of the understand- 
 ing, the most brilliant conversation, do not 
 compensate in my opinion for the want of 
 these qualities : yet these I think may atone 
 for the want of some of them, inasmuch as 
 they form so great a part of our own happi- 
 ness, and promote that of others. If we 
 would be as assiduous to cultivate these 
 amiable dispositions of the bosom, as we are 
 to acquire exterior accomplishments, we 
 should not only be better but wiser, and 
 sooner attain the object for which we labour; 
 for no ornamental science, no tutored grace.
 
 120 DUTY. 
 
 can bestow such an attraction to the person, 
 as that which emanates from a cheerful dis- 
 position and a sweet temper.*' 
 
 " It is all true, my aunt," said Julia: " but 
 shall we play a duet ? I feel rather senti- 
 mental this evening," said she laughing, 
 " and must charm away the sighing spirit 
 with music. Come," striking her harp, 
 '^ away with melancholy." 
 
 Edmund and Conway were of different 
 characters ; but they each appreciated the 
 other, and soon entertained sentiments of 
 mutual esteem. The high and graceful re- 
 serve of Edmund yielded to the gaiety of 
 Conway, whilst that very gaiety was some- 
 what chastened by the dignified manner of 
 his friend. Thus each serving as a check 
 and an encourager, they derived a mutual 
 advantage from association. 
 
 The introduction of so handsome a young 
 man excited a tremulous delight in the bo- 
 soms of the young ladies of the village j 
 and the black scarf which supported his dis- 
 abled arm was an object too interesting to be
 
 DUTY. 121 
 
 contemplated \\ ithout a sigh ; nay, some 
 eyes even shed tears : but his gay counte- 
 nance soon dispelled these drops of pity, 
 and he was gazed at with the most lively 
 admiration. Some called him exquisite j 
 others beautiful ; others handsome ; others 
 charming. Lavinia thought him divine ; 
 Sacharissa, a youthful Mars ; Anna Maria, 
 a Henry of Cranstoun, de Wilton, or Mal- 
 colm Grasme ; Deborah, an electrical ma- 
 chine ; Henrietta, an Apollo. Laura and 
 Lauretta thought nothing, only that they 
 hoped to dance with him at the ball. Ara- 
 bella Hopkins determined to sport all her 
 finery every day to captivate him, and Ca- 
 therine Foster wished she was as intimate at 
 Mrs. Sinclair's as Ellen was. 
 
 It was now the end of July, and nothing was 
 talked of in the village but the coming of 
 age of George Frederic Augustus Thomas 
 Wills, and the vast preparations that were 
 making to celebrate this extraordinary event. 
 Cards of invitation were sent to Mrs. Sinclair, 
 Julia, and Conway, and to the Rectory ; and 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 DUTY. 
 
 poor Arabella and Catherine were distracted to 
 know how they were to be dressed. They 
 came to consult with Julia on this important 
 point ; for her taste^ they believed, must be 
 good, as she had lived so long in London. 
 Julia recommended simple white : but they 
 would have colours — white looked so dowdy 
 and common ; and after a long discussion, 
 like many persons who ask advice, they de- 
 termined to follow their own, and " adorn 
 themselves with much art." " For myself," 
 said Ellen, " I shall certainly wear nothing 
 but white : when we are not well acquainted 
 with what is fashionable, the least conspicu- 
 ous dress we can choose is to be preferred. 
 I should feel miserable if I fancied myself 
 fine, and I had always rather be the least 
 than the most drest in a room." " There 
 is good sense in this," said Mrs. Sinclair : 
 *' but you will not, my love, on this occa- 
 sion, refuse to wear the same as Julia does ; 
 and my two girls shall be the lilies of our 
 valley," showing a beautiful trimming of the 
 flower which Julia had painted. " Edmund
 
 DUTY. 123 
 
 will not like me to wear this, I fear," said 
 Ellen, timidly surveying the border. " Then 
 I will not wear mine," said Julia. " He shall 
 decide, my Ellen, and his choice shall be 
 ours." Ellen thanked her for leaving it to 
 his arbitration. The trimming was displayed, 
 its modesty, simplicity, and beauty admired, 
 and the compliment of its being appropriate 
 to the wearers gratified them both. Thus 
 sanctioned by the opinion of one whose taste 
 and judgement were deemed by them infal- 
 lible, their sister dresses were completed. 
 
 The day but one preceding the ball, 
 Charles Wills, who was just returned home 
 from a visit, came running to the Rectory 
 to inform Ellen that Bertha was ill, and en- 
 treated her to go and see her, as his mother 
 and sisters were all out. In her way she 
 called upon Julia ; and they proceeded to- 
 gether to the mansion, where all was bustle 
 and preparation for the approaching festivi- 
 ties. On inquiring for Miss Bertha's room, 
 a maid servant, who was dusting the ba- 
 nisters of the splendid staircase, directed 
 g2
 
 124 DUTY. 
 
 them to the end of a long gallery, from 
 which a door led to a narrow flight of stairs 
 which communicated with the old part of 
 the mansion : these they were told to ascend, 
 and they would find her apartment. The 
 stairs were so dark, steep, and narrow, that 
 it was with some difficulty the two friends 
 reached the top : they proceeded along a 
 passage, without finding the room in which 
 they imagined Bertha was. In one they saw 
 packing-cases and trunks, and in another 
 dirt and lumber of various descriptions. 
 
 *' We must certainly be mistaken," said 
 Julia as she gently opened the last door 
 which she perceived in the passage. " No, 
 you are not," replied a faint voice, which 
 she knew to be Bertha^s. " Is it you, Julia ? 
 you, Ellen ? This is very good ; I was 
 quite alone. Who told you I was ill ?*' 
 " Charles." " Ah, he is but just returned 
 home 1 Had he been here before, I should 
 not have been so ill." And the poor girl 
 buried her face in the bedclothes, and sobbed 
 piteously. " We are come to comfort you.
 
 DUTY. 125 
 
 not to make you cry," said Ellen, scarcely 
 able to control her own tears as she looked 
 on the low mattress and the shabby furniture 
 of the bed. " Have you been long ill?" 
 " Some days." " And who sits with you ?" 
 " No one." " No one ! " they exclaimed. 
 " No: my mamma's maid is too busy, and so 
 is my sister's maid, making dresses for the 
 ball ; and the housekeeper says she has not 
 time to send me any thing : the only person 
 who brings me a little tea and dry toast is 
 Jenny, the under servant of all ; but she 
 has not time to stay with me j and Carlo 
 went away with Charles." 
 
 Julia and Ellen could no longer restrain 
 their tears ; and as poor Bertha perceived 
 them, she faintly smiled, and said, " Now 
 I must comfort you ; you must not cry for 
 me : I am better than I was, and I hope 
 soon to come and see you." " Is this your 
 room ? " " Yes : when I asked my mam- 
 ma to let me have a room to myself, because 
 I did not like sleeping any longer with two 
 of the maids, she said she could not spare
 
 126 DUTY. 
 
 me any other." " But the rooms we looked 
 into in this passage are larger and better than 
 this." " But they are wanted for the carri- 
 age-trunks and boxes and other things : — I 
 like this very well when I am not ill — but 
 now it is so far from every body !" 
 
 The bed on which this poor neglected 
 girl lay was in a corner of a dark garret, on 
 a wooden bedstead, with ragged and dirty 
 curtains ; but even thiS;, uncomfortable as it 
 was, she said she greatly preferred to being 
 the associate of the servants. Ellen thought 
 she appeared faint and exhausted, and left 
 her to go to ask for something nutritious. 
 As she crossed the gallery, she again saw 
 the servant who had directed her to Bertha's 
 room. 
 
 " Did you know Miss Bertha was so ill ?" 
 said Ellen. " Yes, miss, we knew she was 
 not very well ; but we have all been so busy 
 we had no time for nursing ; and my lady 
 said she could not have a doctor coming 
 backwards and forwards to the house at this 
 time : so w^e did not think much about her.'*
 
 DUTY. 127 
 
 " She IS very ill," said Ellen ; " and if you 
 were as ill, Jenny, you would be glad of a 
 little attention. I wish you would ask the 
 housekeeper for a bason of broth, or a little 
 gruel, for she is quite faint for want of 
 nourishment." " You had better ask her 
 yourself, miss; for she is so cross to be spoken 
 to now, that I durst not go for the life of 
 me." 
 
 Lady Wills and her daughters were all 
 gone to the market town to make purchases 
 of finery for the ball j for the sisters boasted 
 of their different tastes, which variety they 
 thought indicated fancy and judgement : con-, 
 sequently they never intrusted the important 
 choice of a cap, feather, flov/er, or ribband, 
 to one another, but each selected for her- 
 self. Ellen therefore had no other person 
 to apply to but the housekeeper, and she 
 proceeded to her room. On rapping at the 
 door, it was opened by Mrs. Stubbs heiself, 
 who seemed ready charged wuh a sharp 
 scolding for the intruder ; but seeing Ellen, 
 she checked herself, and half curtsied.
 
 3 28 DUTY. 
 
 " Will you be so kind, Mrs. Stubbs, as to 
 give me a small bason of broth for Miss 
 Bertha, who is very ill in bed ?" " I have 
 no broth, miss," said she, endeavouring to 
 speak civilly, vi^hile her face became every 
 moment of a brighter flame colour ; " 1 
 have only soups, which 1 don't suppose you 
 think proper for her." " Will you weaken 
 some with a little water ?" said Ellen. " 1 
 have no time to make such messes,*' replied 
 Mrs. Stubbs in kindling wrath ; " and I can't 
 spare any soup for her. I can't think how 
 the child came to be so ill now. I am sure 
 I know nothing about her, and it is very in- 
 convenient to trouble me now with sick- 
 ness/* 
 
 Ellen had no wish to reason or remonstrate 
 at such an inconvenient season : she came 
 to request, she was obliged to demand, and 
 was resolved at all events not to go away 
 without something for the poor girl. " I 
 will thank you for a jelly, then, since you have 
 no broth ;*' and was advancing towards a 
 table on which were placed some dozens in
 
 DUTY. 129 
 
 glasses, and many well filled dishes. " Oh, 
 I cannot spare one jelly!" screamed Mrs. 
 Stubbs. "Excuse me," said Ellen calmly: 
 *' if you have no broth, I must have a jelly. 
 The illness of a fellow- creature is both my 
 reason and apology." And whilst Mrs. 
 Stubbs stood swelling with rage and astonish- 
 ment to be so defied in the territory where 
 she was accustomed to hold undisputed 
 sway, Ellen deliberately walked off with 
 her prize. As she crossed the hall she met 
 a man servant with a tray most abundantly 
 filled with cold fowl, ham, cakes, dry toast, 
 and chocolate ; and stopping, she said, 
 "John, will you give me a small piece of that 
 toast for Miss Bertha, who is ill ? " " Yes, 
 miss, take it all if you please. I can easily 
 make a bit more." " Thank you, John," 
 said Ellen with her sweetest smile and voice, 
 " How different are tempers ! '* thought she, 
 and ran up stairs to the poor sick girl, who 
 eagerly took the jelly, and attempted to eat 
 the bread ; but she had been too long with- 
 out food to swallow even that light morsel. 
 G 5
 
 130 DUTY. 
 
 Ellen, timid as was her nature, and re- 
 tiring as were her general habits, was daunt- 
 less as a heroine when her feelings were 
 aroused in the cause of humanity and justice, 
 and she resolved to represent the situation 
 of poor Bertha to Lady Wills herself as soon 
 as she returned home. Her ladyship was 
 not unacquainted with her illness ; but having 
 ordered her to be put to bed, that she might 
 not stand shivering and shaking about like 
 a ghost, and having sent her own maid a 
 few times to see her, who always reported 
 that she found her dozing, Lady Wills con- 
 sidered it a good sign of amendment, and 
 ''dared to say she would sleep it off j" with 
 which comfortable belief, she gave herself 
 no further trouble about her. 
 
 After sitting with Bertha for two hours, 
 they left her, cheered by their kindness and 
 the little sustenance she had taken j and 
 finding Jenny, they begged of her to attend 
 to her young mistress j which the girl pro- 
 mised to do. 
 
 Lady Wills was not yet returned, and
 
 DUTY. I SI 
 
 Ellen therefore hastened home to commu- 
 nicate the state of poor Bertha to her mo- 
 ther. Mrs. Herbert, whose feelings of hu- 
 manity, and particularly for children, were 
 quickly awakened, determined to call on 
 Lady Wills, and invite the invalid to her 
 house, till the important ball was over^, be- 
 lieving that she would gladly consent to part 
 with her. Nor was she mistaken, though 
 many were the words of concern for the 
 trouble a sick child would be to her ; and 
 how her own feelings had been torn to pieces 
 by not being able to attend to her herself ! 
 but the house was in such a bustle she could 
 not. Sir Thomas, every body knew, would 
 have his own way in that and every thing 
 else ; — with a great deal about the unlucki- 
 ness of the child's illness at such a time, her 
 own maternal solicitude, Mrs. Herbert's kind- 
 ness, with a few other digressions about Sir 
 Thomas, and her son coming of age, and 
 the necessity there was for a ball, &c. till 
 she thought she had sufficiently impressed 
 Mrs. Herbert with a high opinion of her
 
 132 DUTY. 
 
 anxiety for Bertha, and her own and her 
 son's importance. She then rang the bell, 
 and desired a servant would go to her poor 
 dear child, and tell her she must get up, as 
 Mrs. Herbert was come to take her home 
 with her. 
 
 " We shall see you at the ball, I hope ? " 
 said Lady Wills : " it will be very grand, I 
 assure you : there will be My lord Arling- 
 ton and the countess, his son Lord New- 
 berry, and his three beautiful daughters." 
 '^ I have heard they are very plain, and the 
 eldest extremely deformed," said Mrs. Her- 
 bert in her matter of fact way. " O poor 
 thing ! I believe she is ; but the second is 
 very pretty." "Does she not squint?" 
 ** A little, perhaps ; but I think it looks 
 only roguish in her. The third is a prodi- 
 gious fine girl." "I am told she is lame." 
 ** Rather lame, but she passes it off very 
 well indeed, quite with a grace -, and I as- 
 sure you I have seen many people imitate 
 her, just as Alexander's courtiers did his 
 wry neck." " Just so," said Mrs. Herbert
 
 DUTY. ^33 
 
 half smiling. But as she had no pleasure 
 in enumerating the defects of any person, 
 and had merely mentioned those of the 
 ladies in question in order to check the false- 
 hoods which Lady Wills was uttering, she 
 no longer interrupted her loquacity, but 
 heard a list of the great and the humble who 
 were to grace and fill the ball-room. " Now 
 you will come, will you not?" said the lady 
 with surprising condescension. " My health 
 will not permit of my sitting up late, and 
 therefore I never venture on joining any 
 evening parties : your ladyship musl ex- 
 cuse me." " But Miss Ellen will come, 
 and Mr. Herbert has promised to dine here. 
 We shall have two oxen roasted whole, 
 twenty sheep, ten hogs, and thirty barrels of 
 ale." " I dare say there will be a very good 
 dinner/' replied Mrs. Herbert^ not attending 
 to the words Lady Wilis was uttering, but 
 supposing their import was dinner, — " I am 
 sure there will be enough." "Enough!" 
 exclaimed the lady, — " why, Mrs. Herbert, 
 Mrs. Herbert, you surely do not imagine I
 
 134* DUTY. 
 
 intend Mr. Herbert to dine with the mob ; 
 with all the vulgar people who are to eat of 
 these things ! " 
 
 Mrs. Herbert, roused from her reverie on 
 poor Bertha, who she was anxiously wishing 
 would make her appearance, by the shrill 
 voice of Lady Wills, which was raised to 
 its highest pitch of anger and surprise at be- 
 ing unattended to, replied, " I beg pardon, 
 ma'am ; what did I say ? " " Why, that 
 there would be enough for dinner of the 
 oxen, and such things, — as if they were for 
 my company." " I really beg pardon,*' said 
 Mrs. He:bert again, — "I was thinking of 
 Bertha, and that we shall be late. Do you 
 think she can walk so far as our house ?" 
 " O yes, I dare say she can.*' " If not," 
 replied Mrs. Herbert, " I must beg the fa- 
 vour of a carriage." At that instant the 
 poor child crept into the room, leaning on 
 the arm of the maid-servant. — " How are 
 you, child ?" said Lady Wills. Then suddenly 
 recollecting she was a fond mother, and per- 
 ceiving the eyes of the child turned towards
 
 DUTY. 135 
 
 Mrs. Herbert, "Come hither, my darling, 
 and let me look at you ; come walk, can't 
 you?** The child quitted the maid's arm, and 
 fell on the floor. Mrs. Herbert caught her up, 
 and some drops and water revived her. As it 
 was seen she could not walk, the carriage 
 was obliged to be ordered ; and whilst it 
 was getting ready, Mrs. Herbert recom- 
 mended a little wine and water and a bis- 
 cuit for her ; which was given. Lady Wills 
 was scarcely restrained by the presence of 
 Mrs. Herbert from chiding the child for giv- 
 ing herself such airs. When the carriage 
 was ready the little trembling girl was lifted 
 into it, and, sobbing, instantly sunk into 
 the arms of Mrs. Herbert. — " How good, 
 how kind!" was all she could articulate. 
 
 The incumbrance of a sick child re- 
 moved, preparations for the ball went on 
 without interruption. The poor girl, who had 
 witnessed them as merely for the pleasure 
 of others, quitted the spot without regret. 
 She knew that, though she might have been 
 a spectator at the ball, she should not have
 
 136 DUTY. 
 
 been permitted any participation of its 
 amusement, even had her health allowed her. 
 But ill and weak as she was, the kind at- 
 tentions of Mrs. Herbert and Ellen satisfied 
 every feeling of her heart ; and she heard 
 Charles's animated description of the ap- 
 proaching festivities, and his sincere and af- 
 fectionate regrets at her absence from them, 
 without a wish to be present. 
 
 At length the day, the important day ar- 
 rived, big with the fate of George Frederick 
 Augustus Thomas Wills ! The morning 
 was" ushered in by the ringing of all the 
 bells in the steeple, and the firing of can- 
 non, not eighteen pounders, but eighteen 
 ouncersy whose brazen throats, after having 
 above forty times this day brayed out the 
 years of our gracious Regent, was now pre- 
 pared to proclaim also those which the hero 
 of the day had numbered in this nether 
 world. 
 
 Sir Thomas considered these cannon as 
 some of his proudest distinctions : no one 
 in the country within many miles of the
 
 DUTY. 137 
 
 mansion had such ornaments to his grounds, 
 or could give such loud-sounding proofs of 
 loyalty. On the birth-days of their majes- 
 ties, and all the royal family, uhen Sir 
 Thomas chanced to be at the mansion, they 
 popped out the whole story of their different 
 ages, like a parish register, too often telling 
 *' a tale of the times of old :" they were 
 indeed arrant gossips. On coronation days 
 they told the number of years their majesties 
 had reigned ; and onany glorious event, either 
 by sea or land, they were equally vociferous. 
 Thus placed " even in the cannon's mouth'' 
 was every circumstance of importance foreign 
 and domestic. 
 
 To give eclat to the hours of their public 
 report, the heir arrived in the midst of it. 
 As soon as the half maddened mob perceived 
 his carriage, they supphed the place of his 
 horses^ and, at the peril of terminating his 
 earthly career at once, dragged him up the 
 hill to the mansion, just as Sir Thomas was 
 putting the last match tothetouch-hole, toan- 
 nouncethe attainment of his son's twenty- first
 
 138 DUTY. 
 
 year. But seeing him, he insisted upon his 
 alighting, and firing off the last cannon for 
 himself, — a command with which the dutiful 
 youth complied. At length the firing ceased, 
 and the bells took up the note of joyance. 
 
 Oh, how busy was the village of Albany 
 on this eventful day ! Those who were not 
 invited to the dinner and ball went to sur- 
 vey the preparations, and regale their eyes 
 and no:rs with the fragrant incense of the 
 sacrifices of oxen, sheep, and hogs, offered 
 on the altar of haronetical pride. Rivers of 
 ale and fountains of punch flowed in plen- 
 tiful libations to the noisy peasantry. To 
 the dinner succeeded the sports : not such 
 as those with which the gallant Leicester en- 
 tertained the royal Elizabeth at Kenilworth 
 Castle, — such as tilts and tournaments, 
 masqueradings on land and on water, — but 
 with the more refined pleasures of the nine- 
 teenth century ; running in sacks ; grinning 
 through horse collars ; eating hot dump- 
 lings ; catching hold of pigs with their tails 
 soaped : these were amongst the amuse-
 
 DUTY. 139 
 
 ments of this festive day : and even females, 
 laying aside the blush of modesty, entered 
 the h'sts as competitors for a prize, and ran 
 like Atalantas — (but not for the golden ap- 
 ple) — in order to divert the hero of the day 
 and his numerous guests. 
 
 Five was the hour appointed for dinner. 
 Sir Thomas, who was the very minute hand 
 of punctuality, had made it an established 
 rule never to wait for any guest, however 
 great might be his rank, or ho\vever long 
 the distance he had to come. Every one's 
 watch ought to go as his did, and every 
 body ought to be half an hour at least be- 
 fore the time, rather than half a minute 
 after : " Punctuality is the soul of busi- 
 ness," was a phrase he had continually at 
 the tip of his tongue; and how many hours 
 of his life had he lost by vvaidng and watch- 
 ing for the very moment which was to set 
 him down at some place, to keep some ap- 
 pointment, to commence some unimportant 
 operation, or to perform some meditated 
 act ! But others not being possessed with the
 
 140 DUTY. 
 
 same spirit, and who would rather yield to 
 circumstances than vainly attempt to govern 
 them, were perpetually, though unintention- 
 ally, inflicting upon him vexation and disap- 
 pointment. On this day, in consideration 
 of the many miles some of the visitors had 
 to travel, and the delays that might occur 
 on the road, in order to preserve the peace, 
 Lady Wills had previously requested him 
 to name five o'clock for dinner, but in re- 
 ality to delay it for half an hour; which being 
 promised to a minute, the petition was 
 granted. At five, the worthy baronet began 
 to fidget; not half the company had as- 
 sembled ! His splendid gold watch was 
 taken out and returned again to his pocket 
 every second : at a quarter after five he be- 
 gan to fret ; many of the guests were still 
 wanting, and My lords Arlington and New- 
 berry were amongst the absentees. At half 
 past five he became furious, he would have 
 the dinner : — '' But My lord Arlington is 
 not come, nor Lord Newberry," exclaimed 
 My lady. " Arlington or Darlington, New-
 
 DUTY. 141 
 
 berry or Oldberry/' replied Sir Thomas — 
 '^ I will wait for no one a minute longer 1 
 They know my hour, they know my ways, 
 and they ought to be here : — I do not like 
 town fashions in the country." Then ad- 
 vancing to the bell, he seemed by his deter- 
 mined air to be going to pull it violently. 
 Poor Lady Wills, whose spirits had been 
 agitated by the impatience of Sir Thomas, 
 gave a short shrill scream; and seizing 
 hold of his arm with a kind of galvanic 
 motion, " Sir Thomas, what would you do! 
 We cannot sit down without Lord Arling- 
 ton." At that moment one of the company 
 said, that he and his retinue were approach- 
 ing. " Then we may order the cook to dish 
 up/' cried the baronet, again attempting to 
 catch hold of the bell rope. " I tell you. 
 Sir Thomas," screamed the lady more vio- 
 lently than ever, " you shall not ring till My 
 lord is in the house. Would you insult a 
 nobleman ?'* — " Shall not !" muttered Sir 
 Thomas, a little dismayed by his lady's 
 heroic look. But taking courage by the
 
 142 DUTY. 
 
 sight of so many friends surrounding him, 
 half in jest and half in anger, " Would you, 
 madam, insult a baronet ? I tell you I will 
 always have my own way in my own house.'* 
 And the master of the mansion was again 
 approaching the bell, when Mr. George 
 Frederic Augustus Thomas Wills, seeing 
 an hysteric gathering in the hemisphere 
 of his poor mother, ventured to interpose, 
 andj as hero of the day, claim the boon 
 of ten minutes delay ; for the equipage 
 supposed to be Lord Arlington's proved to 
 be that of another person. " Well, George, 
 to please you, I will wait ten minutes ; but 
 not one more, not a second, not an instant 
 longer." This brief respite partly recovered 
 the lady ; and by means of her fan and 
 smelling-bottle she again breathed freely. 
 Lord Arlington fortunately arrived before the 
 ten minutes expired, but no Lord Newberry. 
 As it was known that entreaties for a fur- 
 ther delay would be unavailing, none were 
 made : dinner was ordered, and the com- 
 pany proceeded to the dining-room. Sir
 
 DUTY. 143 
 
 Thomas would not even allow the destined 
 seat next to Lady Wills to be kept vacant 
 for his lordship. ^- First come first served," 
 he said ; and though the right was graced 
 by Lord Arlington, she w^as compelled to 
 have on her left hand Mr. Herbert. 
 
 As the second course was serving up, and, 
 according to the rules of the haut ion, about 
 an hour after the time appointed for dinner, 
 arrived Lord Newberry. " Glad to see you, 
 My lord, but wait for nobody ; sit down 
 where you can." And My lord, with many 
 apologies, squeezed himself in between two 
 young ladies, who kindly made room for 
 him. The dinner passed, like a thousand 
 other dinners of the same kind, in elaborate 
 discussions upon the different dishes, the fla- 
 vour of the wines, and such variety of topics 
 as the objects immediately present to their 
 senses afforded. 
 
 And now came the ball, the long an- 
 ticipated ball. Carriages with their fair car- 
 goes, well-dressed beaus, and anxious cha- 
 perons, rattled in the court-yard. The hearts
 
 144 DUTY. 
 
 of the young beat high with hope ; every 
 eye sparkled with delight, every foot was in 
 practice, every togue in motion. 
 
 The floor of the ball-room was chalked in 
 various colours and devices, with the initials 
 of Mr. George Frederic Augustus Tho- 
 mas Wills in the centre, and the years he 
 had completed. The same characters and 
 the same intelligence were registered also 
 by coloured lamps at one end of the room ; 
 intertwined with wreaths of laurel, though 
 Fame had never recorded his deeds of glory, 
 or assigned to him the meed of victory — but 
 there were numbers to admire and extol the 
 taste and elegance of the decorations. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair, Julia and Ellen had mixed 
 in the general examination, and had with- 
 drawn to a seat, where they were soon joined 
 by Edmund and Conway, who beheld our 
 lilies of the valley with affectionate admira- 
 tion. Julia w^as flattered and gratified by 
 Edmund's approval of his sister's dress; for 
 it was her taste that directed, her hands that 
 executed it ; and the praises he bestowed
 
 DUTY. 145 
 
 belonged to her. Of Ellen and her sim- 
 ple attire he spoke y on Julia he only gazed; 
 but his " eloquent eye " conveyed more than 
 volumes of words — and she, who was the 
 object of such attention, must have been 
 more or less than woman, not to have un- 
 derstood in some degree its meaning : — but 
 the emotions of joy which such conjecture 
 gave, were in a moment calmed by the re- 
 flection that she but shared his admiration 
 with Ellen. "He regards me as his sister," 
 she thought, " and I am happy in such a 
 distinction from such a man." Thus she 
 reasoned, though in a ball-room ; and she 
 persuaded herself she was satisfied with a 
 sister's regard. 
 
 But now the musicians took their places, 
 and all was flutter and expectation. Lord 
 Newberry opened the ball with Miss Wills, 
 the eldest hope and long celebrated beauty 
 of the house of Wills. On that nighty Time 
 seemed to have rubbed off all his old scores, 
 and gave her to the admiring spectators in 
 the beauty of nineteen. Lady Wills looked, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 DUTY. 
 
 hoped, and exulted in her ah'-bullt eastles — 
 in which Lavinia had no participation. She 
 went through the movements of the dance 
 like an automaton, and, 'when her partner 
 spoke, replied only by a look of languor, or 
 a simper. 
 
 When the two first dances ended, and 
 the gentlemen were to make their own 
 elections unbiassed by form or etiquette, the 
 next were anxiously expected both by mo. 
 thers and daughters. With what astonish- 
 ment and pique did they then behold My 
 lord Newberry lead out the blushing Ellen, 
 and Mr. George Wills, Julia Douglas ! 
 
 The heart of Lady Wills swelled with 
 rage and mortification; for though Julia 
 might ultimately possess a large fortune, of 
 her parentage there were some doubts — and 
 to have the son and heir of the house of Wills 
 select a girl of such dangerous attractions 
 alarmed her pride, and agitated her spirits. 
 Taking the first opportunity of speaking to 
 him aside, she said, " For Heaven's sake, 
 George, what could you mean by dancing
 
 DUTY. 147 
 
 with Miss Douglas?" "I meant to select 
 the loveliest girl in the room, and the best 
 dancer." " But a girl whom nobody 
 knows 1*' " So much the better, she is the 
 more to my taste ; I do not like girls whom 
 
 every body talks of.'* " Oh, as for that " 
 
 " Come, come, my dear lady mother," said 
 George good- humouredly, " no more of 
 this — no lecturing to-night — am I not of 
 age ?" said he slily and laughing. " O 
 George !'' exclaimed the lady in an ago- 
 ny of apprehension, " you surely do not 
 
 mean " "I mean nothing unless you 
 
 provoke me to it. But this is being too serious. 
 Do you forget, my dear mother, the time 
 when you yourself was a beauty, and wonder 
 that another should excite admiration? Come, ' 
 do not look so grave : my heart is safe, and 
 will serve many a campaign to beauty yet, 
 before it surrenders itself prisoner." 
 
 His mother recovered herself, but sudden- 
 ly said, — " Then there is Ellen Herbert ! I 
 am quite astonished that Lord Newberry 
 should think of dancing with her, only a 
 H 2
 
 145 DUTY. 
 
 clergyman's daughter !" "And why not, 
 mother ? Is there a prettier girl in the room ?" 
 " Yes, I think many ; your sisters, for in- 
 stance. Butj George, you are getting quite 
 romantic. I don't approve of this conver- 
 sation." "Nor I;, madam," replied he, and 
 was walking away. "Stop," cried she, 
 *' stop, my dear George, I must beg you will 
 oblige me, and dance with Miss Sylvester, 
 the rich heiress of Birmingham." 
 
 Unwilling to interrupt the pleasure of the 
 evening, he suffered himself to be led to the 
 lady in question — who was short, fat, and 
 of a swarthy complexion. Her neck, ears, 
 and arms were hung round and absolutely 
 set with ^ profusion of ornaments, the un. 
 doubted manufactory of her native place. 
 Thus glittering in all the brass of Birming- 
 ham, he led his partner to the dance. But 
 here the poor girl, who had never received 
 any education either useful or ornamental, 
 was totally at a loss how^ to conduct herself in 
 this great assemblage. She wished to ap- 
 pear easy, and became forward 5 she saw
 
 DUTY. 149 
 
 some laughing, and she laughed also. In 
 dancing she Vvas ignorant of time, figure, and 
 step : sometimes she ran, sometimes jumped, 
 sometimes stood still ; would turn round 
 whenshe ought tohave gone straight forward, 
 and advance when she ought to retire. By the 
 assistance and manual exertions of her part- 
 ner she at length reached the bottom in safety. 
 But desirous of being spared another ex- 
 hibition of the same kind, he endeavoured to 
 persuade her she must be very much fatigued, 
 had therefore better relinquish the next 
 dance^ and he would have the superior gra- 
 tification of conversing with her. This pro- 
 posal, with its implied compliment, succeeded, 
 and they seated themselves as if for conver- 
 sation : but here she was as little successful as 
 in dancing, and all her remarks and answers 
 were ill timed and ill expressed. 
 
 Lady Wills had for some time secretly 
 destined her for her eldest son, thinking that 
 her fortune would give splendour to the ba- 
 ronetcy, and might even purchase a peerage. 
 
 In the course of the evening, Lord New-..
 
 150 DUTY. 
 
 berry regained the favour of Lady Wills, by 
 selecting as his future partners the ivhole 
 series of her daughters. The handsome 
 Conway alternately excited envy and admira- 
 tion in the breasts of both men and v^omen ; 
 while Edmund, who did not experience 
 much amusement from the light fantastic toe, 
 after dancing with Julia, and one of th€ 
 Miss Wilkes, became merely a spectator : — 
 *' How much of character ^'^ thought he, " js 
 displayed in the movements of the body, 
 in the air and attitudes of a dancer I" In La- 
 vinia's affected languor, and still more af- 
 fected languishments, he sav^r the simpleton 
 from head to foot ; in Ellen, the modest 
 retiring nature, diffident of its own powers, 
 anxious to escape from observation, and di- 
 stressed when she met it ; but at times forget- 
 ful of herself in the hilarity of the exercise, 
 when the cheering eye of Julia gave her en- 
 couragement. Julia, he thought, united that 
 easy confidence which education gives, with 
 the delicacy of a fine and ingenuous mind. 
 Her steps were perfect, her ear was correct;
 
 dutV. 151 
 
 she exhibited no extraordinary gestures, at- 
 tempted no uncommon graces, but In every 
 air and attitude was modest and unaffected. 
 She dances, thought Edmund, like a woman 
 of good sense and refmement. 
 
 Nothing very remarkable occurred during 
 the evening, except ( but such an event can 
 scarcely be termed remarkable) that Anna 
 Maria fainted in the most interesting and affect- 
 ing manner, just as Conv/ay leading Ellen 
 Herbert was passing her. Her pathetic oh ! 
 caught his ear^ and his arm caught her trem- 
 bling form as it was sinking to the ground. 
 In vain were salts and vinegar applied to her 
 nostrils, she neither spoke nor opened her 
 bright eyes ; and she might very long have 
 remained in this distressing situation, with her 
 fair head reclining on the shoulder of Con- 
 way, had not her father strongly urged her 
 being removed to her chamber ; and adding 
 his assistance to his advice, the beauteous 
 sufferer revived in time to oppose such cruel 
 counsel ; and on Conway's lamenting her ill- 
 ness as depriving him of the happiness of her
 
 152 DUTY. 
 
 hand in the ensuing dances, she miracu- 
 lously recovered all her energy, and with an- 
 gelic sweetness assured him it was at his 
 service. 
 
 Mrs. Hopkins, who had been for some 
 time during the evening in close conference 
 with her, now seated herself by Mrs, Sinclair, 
 and remarked what a lovely couple Captain 
 Conway and Anna Maria would make, in- 
 deed did make! She had never seen two 
 people who looked so well together j they 
 were both so handsome, so amiable, danced 
 so well, and were so Tery much alike ! "I 
 can see no resemblance," said Mrs. Sinclair : 
 " Captain Conway is dark. Miss Wills fair — 
 he is very tall, she is very short — his hair is 
 extremely dark, hers " " a beautiful au- 
 burn," interrupted Mrs. Hopkins, " not red, 
 as you were going to say.'' Mrs. Sinclair 
 smiled at the quick anticipation of what she 
 was going to say, and the defence of her 
 friend's hair. Mrs. Hopkins resumed the 
 subject. " I cannot help looking at them ; 
 but perhaps Captain Conway is engaged ? It
 
 DUTY. 15S 
 
 is scarcely possible so very handsome a man 
 should not have made many conquests.** 
 " But his conquests do not imply an engage- 
 ment, rather the contrary." " Oh, then he 
 is free ?" "I did not say he was," answered 
 Mrs. Sinclair. *' But I am sure you know, 
 you must know, you must be in his confi- 
 dence!" "Then, madam," said Mrs. Sin- 
 clair gravely, and perceiving her aim, *'I 
 can make no communications on the sub- 
 ject.*' Mrs. Hopkins, disappointed in the 
 effect of her premeditated scrutiny into the 
 state of Captain Conway's affections, fanned 
 herself with great vivacity ; and Mrs. Sin- 
 clair, rising, left her to her conjectures and 
 confusion. 
 
 At length dancers and spectators, fiddlers 
 and fiddles, became drowsy^ the evening 
 closed after themorning had dawned; the com- 
 pany departed for their respective habitations, 
 and the village once more sunk into repose. 
 
 While all was gaiety at her father's house. 
 Bertha passed the evening with Mrs. Herbert 
 H5
 
 154 DUTY. 
 
 cheerfully and contentedly. They read, 
 worked, and chatted ; and though she was 
 much better, she expressed neither regret 
 at being absent from the ball, nor anxiety 
 about it. She once only simply wished she 
 could see Charles and Ellen dance, and 
 hoped they were happy. 
 
 Lord Newberry, who had remained all 
 night at the mansion, lounged the next 
 morning with Mr. George Wills to the Cot- 
 tage and the Rectory. They had both admired 
 Julia at the ball, and were still more capti- 
 vated to find her morning face as lovely as 
 her evening one. Lord Newberry in parti- 
 cular gave such unequivocal testimonies of 
 admiration, that Julia was both offended and 
 distressed ; for even praise unsanctioned by 
 intimacy is freedom, and flattery imperti- 
 nence. Yet Lord Newberry was in general 
 terms a well-bred man and a man of fashion ; 
 but he sometimes presumed a little upon his 
 rank, to those whom he considered as his infe- 
 riors. Lady Wills had suggested the probabi-
 
 DUTY. 155 
 
 ♦lity of Julia being the daughter of Geneneral 
 Sinclair; and as he was' never married, her 
 ignoble birth, though it could not diminish 
 the lustre of her charms, diminished the 
 value of the possessor ; and he gazed at her 
 and addressed her ^^ith a familiarity that 
 offended her, and called forth all the pride 
 of her character. He had penetration enough 
 to perceive that, whatever was the disgrace 
 attached to her birth, her mind was high 
 and elevated ; and insensibly his manner and 
 conversation assumed a tone of respect, ex* 
 cited by the graceful dignity of hers. At 
 his first request she had played and sung : 
 he threw himself into ecstasies, exclaiming, 
 " Ift music be the food of love^ play on," 
 This familiarity, which he thought gallantry, 
 though veiled under a quotation, changed 
 the ease of her manner into reserve. He 
 bestowed the highest praise upon her paint- 
 ings, and the tasteful decorations of the apart- 
 ment ; and gazed with such open admiration 
 upon her person, as proved he feared neither 
 to avow his sentiments nor doubted their re-
 
 156 DUTY. 
 
 ception. Many a woman would have been 
 gratified by such flattery and such distinction: 
 but the innate delicacy of Julia's mind, and the 
 proud principles of female dignity which she 
 had partly derived from her aunt and partly 
 from nature, made her shrink from the least 
 familiarity, and her brow assume its awe-com- 
 pelling frown. 
 
 Edmund and Ellen, who had been present 
 during the greatest part of his lordship's 
 visit, and had observed all the changes of 
 Julia's countenance and manner, left her in 
 the climax of her dignity. As Ellen took 
 her hand her eye softened, and a tear swam 
 in its orb. " Do not go,'* she whispered, 
 *^ do not both leave me." '^ We must," re- 
 plied Ellen ; " my mother is waiting for us." 
 Edmund bowed with respectful tenderness, 
 and the contrast between her visitors she not 
 only saw but feh. 
 
 As Edmund and Ellen returned home- 
 wards, the serious pensiveness of his coun- 
 tenance, and a deep sigh which burst from 
 his bosom, alarmed his sister. " My bro-
 
 DUTY. 157 
 
 ther ! " she exclaimed, — " my dear brother ['* 
 she more softly murmured. He spoke not. 
 Then, as if penetrating into the secret re- 
 cesses of his heart, " Julia cannot love Lord 
 Newberry." " Who, my little conjurer," 
 said Edmund affecting to smile, " taught 
 you the art of divination and of prophecy?" 
 " Affection and sympathy," replied Ellen : 
 " surely a sister ought to read a brother s 
 heart." '' Ellen," he answered in a deep 
 and serious tone, " you have read mine : 
 this is a subject on which I am no philoso- 
 pher ; but though I cannot forbear to feel, I 
 may forbear to speak ; and I require the 
 same reserve from you. I know I must not 
 presume to think of, to name Julia but as 
 my sister's friend, and I hope as mine too j 
 but as my friend only. Fortune has placed be- 
 tween us a barrier which I cannot attempt to 
 overcome : she must not descend to my situ- 
 ation, and 1 cannot aspire to hers. But were 
 she poor and I rich, I might then encourage a 
 hope. O Ellen, what a treasure would she 
 be ! what a companion ! This is the first
 
 -158 DUTY. 
 
 time my lips have given utterance to these 
 feelings : the confidence is sacred ; and now 
 farewell for ever to the subject ! I shall soon 
 return to college." 
 
 Ellen pressed the arm she held, and wept 
 in silence. She knew that to any deep emo- 
 tion words could minister little consolation, 
 and sjie had none indeed to offer. She rea- 
 soned as Edmund did ; but she had some 
 gleams of hope which he had not, because 
 she knew Julia better than he did. Though 
 she indulged in many whimsicalities of fancy, 
 as affording amusement to her mind, and 
 variety to her employments, yet she never 
 attempted to act upon them in the serious 
 duties of life. She formed no chimerical 
 plans of conduct, raised no ideal fabrics, 
 formed no Utopia ; she separated, with the 
 skilful hand of judgement and reason, 
 the solid from the superficial, the real from 
 the imaginary ; and much as she would 
 have rejoiced at the union of her brother and 
 friend, the same insurmountable impediments 
 that presentedthemsel ves to him^ appeared also
 
 DUTY. 159 
 
 to her. Julia they believed to be an heiress, 
 destined probably to move in the circles of 
 rank and fashion : he, the son of an obscure 
 clergyman, with no other expectations than 
 moderate preferment ; and whatever were 
 the virtues that dignified, the talents that 
 distinguished, or the graces that adorned 
 him, she well knew that in all worldly and 
 lasting connections these are not alone suffi- 
 cient to constitute happiness; nor would 
 they authorize her brother to address Julia, 
 as a woman either sinks or rises to the situa- 
 tion of the man she marries. 
 
 Ellen in her heart thought it impossible 
 for any one who had seen Edmund as inti- 
 mately as Julia had, not to love him ; in- 
 stances of her approbation and marks of her 
 preference she thought she had observed ; she 
 had seen the glow of pleasure mantle on her 
 cheek at her brother's approach, her eyes 
 sparkle with admiration, or melt with tender- 
 ness, as he spoke or sung : but so, she thought, 
 would her own, and these were no more 
 than a sister's feelings, — nor even so much.
 
 160 DUTY. 
 
 for when Edmund had left the room Julia 
 would resume her music, her drawing, or 
 her work j would sing or talk as cheerfully 
 as when he was present ; whilst Ellen remem- 
 bered how her thoughts dwelt upon all he 
 had said, and to indulge them she would 
 gladly have abstracted herself from every 
 thing. But Julia continued the same. She 
 did not therefore love him, and she was de- 
 termined sacredly and inviolably to preserve 
 the secret of his attachment. She would 
 not, she thought, condescend to win even 
 Julia for her brother, by persuading her to 
 love him. The heart that was worthy of his 
 must be spontaneously given ; and thus, as 
 pride and tenderness reasoned, she found 
 that reserve would be no effort, and a de- 
 posit so sacred as that which had been in- 
 trusted to her could not be yielded up. 
 
 Julia would gladly have left the room at 
 the same time that Edmund and Ellen did ; 
 but, compelled to remain, she listened to 
 all that Lord Newberry chose to utter to 
 her, with an unrelenting air of reserve.
 
 DUTY. 161 
 
 which checked and disconcerted him; and 
 as Mrs. Sinclair was weary of her visitors, 
 she did not attempt to support any conver- 
 sation, and they soon took their leave. 
 
 " Prudery, all prudery !" said George 
 Wills as they left the house. Lord New- 
 berry affected to laugh, but the prudery had 
 wounded him. Accustomed like Cassar to 
 come, to see, and to conquer, he had no idea 
 that any girl could be so insensible as Julia 
 was to the honour his attentions conferred ; 
 and to be baffled even in the most trifling 
 point of gallantry, mortified his vanity. He 
 saw no one, whom, if she could see, she 
 could prefer to him. Conway was like a 
 dear familiar brother ; Edmund a college 
 soph ; and George Wills a merely good- 
 natured fellow. But as there was some dif- 
 ficulty in gaining a reluctant heart, so he 
 thought there would be more glory ; and he 
 was determined to attempt and attain the 
 conquest, however he might dispose of the 
 spoils. 
 
 Julia in the mean time, rendered uneasy
 
 162 DUTY. 
 
 by his freedom and impertinence, and at the 
 sudden and ill-timed departure of Edmund 
 and his sister, could not resume her cheer- 
 fulness after they were gone ; and finding 
 the sportive good-humour of Conway, and 
 the conversation of her aunt, ineffectual to 
 restore her spirits, she walked into the shrub- 
 bery, and, throwing herself into a seat, burst 
 into tears. The salutary shower relieved 
 her oppressed bosom, and she was returning 
 towards the house when she met Ellen, who, 
 holding out her hands, said, " My mother 
 could not walk out this morning, my father 
 is in his library, my brother gone out rid- 
 ing ; and I flew to pass another hour with 
 you, Ji-iia, for we so suddenly left you." — 
 but perceiving the swollen eyes of her friend, 
 and her still dejected countenance, she 
 stopped — Julia pressed her hand, and at- 
 tempted to smile. 
 
 " 1 have been weaned with that cox- 
 comb,'* she said, " and, I believe, out of 
 humour. This kindness, my Ellen, will sooth, 
 and restore me." But her spirits had been
 
 DUTY. 163 
 
 subdued, and the tears again flowed down 
 her cheeks. " I am angry with myself for 
 being so annoyed by impertinence and folly : 
 but we will talk on other subjects, and forget 
 this." Julia made an effort to beguile the 
 thing she was, by seeming otherwise , and 
 the effort partly succeeded. Her bosom be- 
 came more tranquil ; and though she some- 
 times sighed, she conversed with her accus- ^ 
 tomed ease. 
 
 Though Ellen's simple heart had never 
 experienced a warmer feeling of affection 
 than for her parents and brother ; though she 
 was unacquainted with love as a passion ; 
 yet she was not such a novice in its theory 
 as to beHeve that all Julia's uneasiness pro- 
 ceeded from Lord Newberry's attentions. 
 The object of her highest admiradon was 
 her brother ; and with a sister's fond par- 
 tiality, she thought that every one must be- 
 hold him with sentiments similar, if not so 
 exalted as hers. She had observed that 
 Julia had turned to him from Lord New- 
 berry during their visit, and now she saw
 
 164} DUTY. 
 
 her agitation she caught fresh rays of hope. 
 But she meant not to communicate them to 
 Edmund, lest they should prove illusive. 
 
 The intercourse between the two families 
 continued as usual, and a part of every day 
 was generally passed together. Edmund 
 only was not so constantly with them to 
 participate in their domestic amusements of 
 reading and music, or to attend them in their 
 walks. Julia was often thoughtful and abs- 
 tracted, and Ellen prudent but observing. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair and her niece were begin- 
 ning to be annoyed by the frequent visits of 
 Miss Anna Maria Wills, who under the 
 most frivolous pretences would call at the 
 Cottage, sometimes alone, and sometimes 
 with her friend Mrs. Hopkins. The gallant 
 Conway often attended the ladies home ; for 
 though he could not allay the sun's intem- 
 perate heat, quell the fury of the winds, 
 turn aside the clouds in their descent, or stem 
 .the tempest, yet all these penalties of the 
 season were not only cheerfully endured, 
 but sought, if he were present.
 
 DUTY. 165 
 
 Amongst the numerous terrors of the 
 young lady, that of a thunder storm was one 
 of the most troublesome. One evening when 
 the sky wore, as she thought, rather an 
 ominous appearance, she rushed into the 
 Cottage with Mrs. Hopkins, and petitioned 
 for a little alielter with all the energy and 
 eloquence of alarm. No one had observed 
 any terrific aspect of the clouds, and imme- 
 diately inquired what was approaching. " A 
 most dreadful thunder-storm," said Mrs, 
 Hopkins, " and Miss Anna Maria is terrified 
 like a child in a tem,pest ; so I persuaded 
 her to run in here, for I dare not proceed 
 another step lest she should faint with fright." 
 *' I cannot see even a cloud," said Julia look- 
 ing out of the window : " Frederic, you are 
 weather-wise, come and give your opinion." 
 " Oh ! indeed," said Mrs. Hopkins, ''there 
 is a terrible black cloud." " Where, ma'am ?'* 
 — " I see it," replied Conway, humouring 
 her assertion,—" it is very like a whale, and 
 'Nvill presently spout hurricanes." 
 
 Anna Maria, who had seen no terrible
 
 166 DUTY. 
 
 cloud, and was displeased with Mrs. Hop- 
 kins for asserting a falsehood which any 
 eyes might detect, summoned up sufficient 
 spirit to say, " I did not say there was a ter- 
 rible cloud, Mrs. H. ; but you know I always 
 can tell when a storm is coming, and I am 
 sure we shall have one this evening." — 
 "At what hour?'* said Julia. '•' O Miss 
 Douglas, you are not afraid, you have no 
 nerves." — " None for imaginary terrors," 
 thought Julia. 
 
 The young lady waited two hours for the 
 coming of the storm, prepared with smelling- 
 bottle, little shriel^, starts, and, if she found 
 a favourable opportunity, a fainting fit ; but 
 after she had partaken of tea, the sun most 
 perversely set in cloudless splendour, and all 
 pretence for a longer visit was at an end. 
 But this, though more brief and less effec- 
 tive than Anna Maria had hoped it would be, 
 partly answered its purpose, as Conway es- 
 corted them home, and had the happiness 
 of guarding her safely through the dangers 
 of a flock of sheep, of saving her from
 
 DUTY. 167 
 
 the fury of a frog, and from being devoured 
 by a goose, whose open mouth and terrific 
 hiss in its mother tongue occasioned such 
 an extraordinary tremor in her susceptible 
 frame, that any one less good-humoured than 
 Conway might have questioned to which of 
 the animals the epithet of goose best applied. 
 " I wonder," said Conway in the sim- 
 plicity of his heart, " you ever attempt to 
 walk in the country, since there are so many 
 objects in it that excite your apprehension, 
 and which you are exposed to meet at every 
 step." — '' I wonder so too," said Mrs. Hop- 
 kins, " and often tell her she has too much 
 sensibility. I wished her not to go out this 
 evening ; but I could not prevail. Perhaps 
 you may have more power, Mr. Conway." 
 
 Anna Maria looked down to blush, and 
 she looked up to sigh ; and on looking 
 up €he met his eyes, and again cast hers 
 down. But Conway did not withdraw 
 his. He could not believe that there was any 
 artifice in a blush and a sigh ; neither 
 did he entirely flatter himself that he was
 
 168 DUTY. 
 
 the exciting object of either. But he was cu- 
 rious to trace their source, if possible ; and 
 he continued to observe every thing her fea- 
 tures expressed, and her words conveyed: but 
 of words she was not so profuse as her 
 companion ; who, eloquently and fluent- 
 ly, lamented her extreme sensibility, and 
 the misery to which it would expose her 
 through life, — she felt every thing with such 
 acuteness, was so timid, so gentle, so ami- 
 able 1 And she looked at Conway as if she 
 expected him to assent to her praises ; but he 
 listened in silence, as did Anna Maria. He 
 was taking his leave at the gate of the planta- 
 tion, when Mrs. Hopkins entreated him to see 
 them safe to the house, for there might be peo- 
 ple lurking about. Conway thought it strange 
 that they should not be secure in their home 
 premises ; but he could not refuse the request 
 of female fear, and he saw them in perfect 
 safety to the steps of the mansion. " Such 
 women," he thought, "ought to have a band 
 of soldiers to attend them, if they are so ap- 
 prehensive of danger at every step." He
 
 DUTY. 169 
 
 thought Anna Maria's timidity absolute fol- 
 ly : but he remembered the sigh, the blush, 
 the soft glance of her eye directed towards 
 him''; and he changed folly into weakness, 
 and at last weakness into delicacy, and with 
 his usual indulgence compassionated her ter- 
 rors, and thought himself rather favoured by 
 the clinging tenderness and confidence with 
 which she sought his protection. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair and Julia, having no such 
 fears, were not very indulgent to those who 
 had. They would watch the approach of a 
 tempest, mark its sublime and grand effect in 
 the sky, listen to the awful rolling of the 
 thunder, in adoration of the Deity, and in 
 confidence in his protecting power. They 
 knew that some persons were constitution- 
 ally agitated and affected by its atmospheric 
 influence ; and though bodily sensations could 
 not be altogether removed, their fears, they 
 thought, by the exertion of their reason, 
 might be in some measure checked and sub- 
 dued. 
 
 Anna Maria remained in close conference 
 
 VOL, I. I
 
 170 DUTY. 
 
 with Mrs. Hopkins for some time after they 
 returned to the mansion, and was fully per- 
 suaded by herself and her confidante that she 
 was in love with Captain Conway ; she was 
 determined also to tell her love, and not, 
 like the gentle Viola, " pine in secret," and 
 " let concealment like a worm in the bud 
 feed on her damask cheek." 
 ' Mrs. Hopkins applauded this noble can- 
 dour, this generous spirit, this disinterested 
 affection ; for, independent of Sir Thomas, 
 every child had by the will of their maternal 
 grandfather the sum of 4000/. at their own 
 disposal ; and this, to a soldier of no other 
 fortune than his commission, might be con- 
 sidered an object too advantageous to be re- 
 jected : it would certainly enable him to pur- 
 chase a majority ; and then, Mrs. Hopkins 
 told her, she was so charming, that she did 
 not doubt he would find her and her fortune 
 irresistible. 
 
 Mrs. Hopkins im.agined herself an able 
 negotiator in every affair that required ad- 
 dress and circumspection j had a high opin-
 
 DUTY. 171 
 
 ion of her own skill in searching into and dis- 
 covering motives, meaning, and all the secret 
 workings of the human heart, even before 
 they v/ere known to the heart itself. She 
 proposed first to learn if Captain Conway 
 had an attachment ; for she must say that 
 she did not like his being so much with 
 Ellen Herbert, though that girl was so 
 wrapped up in her books and her brother, 
 that she did not think she cared for any 
 thing else in the w^orld : however, she would 
 find all out. Mrs. Sinclair had certainly a 
 great deal of reserve, and would not always 
 speak to the point, or answ^er the exact ques- 
 tion put to her; but she thought she could 
 manacre to draw her out — without her su- 
 specting it. Thus enumerating all the diffi- 
 culties of her enterprise in order to enhance 
 the merit of its success, with a profusion of 
 compliments to her sweet young friend upon 
 her delicate and generous attachment, she 
 left her to indulge her visions of romantic 
 folly. 
 
 In the morning, Mrs. Hopkins sallied forth 
 l2
 
 172 DUTY, 
 
 to the Cottage ; and gladly as Mrs. Sinclair 
 would have escaped from such an intruder, 
 she did not like to introduce in the country 
 the town system of denial, by desiring her 
 servants to say not at home. She was alone ; 
 and Mrs. Hopkins, unwilling to lose so favour- 
 able an opportunity of speaking by any delay, 
 with a few preparatory sentences opened her 
 mission. 
 
 How good Captain Conway was to attend 
 them home last night ! But for him, she ve- 
 rily believed Miss Anna Maria would never 
 have had the courage to go, she was so re- 
 markably timid, and afraid of every thing! — 
 but then she knew he would protect her. 
 " Protect her from what?" interrupted Mrs. 
 Sinclair with real but rather ill-timed surprise. 
 *' I did not mean to say,*' replied Mrs. Hop- 
 kins, '' that there was any real danger ; but 
 the thunder storm had so alarmed her ! and 
 though it was gone off — though in fact it did 
 not quite come on — yet it might have done 
 so, and she is frightened at every dark 
 cloud. But then her nerves are so delicate.
 
 DUTY. 173 
 
 that the frogs and sheep and cows and all 
 the animals she sees she is afraid of; so that, 
 as I said, she was, I mean / was so happy to 
 have Captain Conway to take care of her, and 
 I wish with all my heart she always had him, 
 or such a person, for her protector/' "I 
 think she requires some one indeed," said 
 Mrs. Sinclair : " she ought not to be out 
 of leading-strings, and never should go out 
 of the house." " O Mrs. Sinclair, that would 
 be hard, never to go out! I only wish she had 
 somebody like Captain Ccnway to take care 
 of her." " It is a pity she has not," replied 
 Mrs. Sinclair carelessly, and without per- 
 ceiving the drift of Mrs. Hopkins*s discourse. 
 *' Do you really think so, Mrs. Sinclair, and 
 do you think his heart is disengaged ? " 
 "That can be of little consequence to Miss 
 Anna Maria, I should suppose, if his arm is.'* 
 " It is of more consequence than you ima- 
 gine," replied Mrs. ?Iopkins. " I believe I 
 must be plain with you ; for I am come here 
 on purpose to ask you, as his friend and re- 
 lation, if his affections are disengaged ?"
 
 174 DUTY. 
 
 "And why this question, ma'am?" said Mrs. 
 Sinclair gravely. " Why, to tell you the 
 truth/* whispering though no one was pre- 
 sent, '' my sweet young friend Anna Maria, 
 who never was in love in her life, — though 
 she walks by moonlight till twelve o'clock 
 with Lord Newberry who is dying for her, — 
 as soon as she saw Captain Conway, knew 
 he was the only man she could ever give 
 her heart to ; and she is now quite pining 
 herself away lest he should be engaged to 
 any one, though we are sure there is nobody 
 hereabouts for him to love." 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair felt both surprise and dis- 
 gust at this indelicate disclosure, and her 
 countenance and manner expressed both. 
 " Does Miss Wills," she said, " sanction 
 this communication, and authorize these in- 
 quiries?" " Yes, she knows I am come." 
 '' And 2vhy are you come ?" said Mrs. Sin- 
 clair with high disdain in her look. " Why, 
 my dear ma'am," said Mrs. Hopkins, '' we 
 should make allowance for young ladies ia 
 love ; we have been in love ourselves, 1 dare
 
 DUTY. 17^ 
 
 say, and we know what it is : we are none of 
 us so wise and so discreet and reserved then 
 as at other times ; and this poor thing I real- 
 ly believe will die, if Captain Conway does 
 not return her love — unless indeed he is en- 
 gaged, and then she will not think of him, 
 I am sure." " Poor thing indeed !" repeat- 
 ed Mrs. Sinclair contemptuously. 
 
 Mrs. Hopkins, baffled and confused, half 
 hangry and half ashamed, saiJ^ " I see 
 you have no pity for her, so I may as well 
 go. But perhaps you don't know, ma'am, that 
 she has a fortune of 4000/. at her own dis- 
 posal ; and when Sir Thomas dies, though he 
 has a large family, I know he will provide 
 handsomely for them all. It breaks my 
 heart, I am sure,'' added she in an affected 
 whine, " to think that 1 have no hopes to 
 give her, for I am her confidante." "I see 
 you are, madam," said Mrs. Sinclair. 
 
 Mrs. Hopkins, with mingled feelings of 
 rage, shame, and disappointment, left the 
 house, and proceeded to the mansion, to im-
 
 176 DUTY. 
 
 part what had passed, with as much more as 
 she thought proper to add, to her love-sick 
 friend. "Well, dear Hopkins," said she in 
 a languid tone, *' what have you to tell me ?*' 
 *' Oh ! there is nothing to be done with 
 Mrs. Sinclair, she would give me no an- 
 swer ; she has a heart like a flint ; she never 
 can have loved ; she cannot feel for those 
 who do love — as I do, my dear." "But 
 what said she ? have you not found out whe- 
 ther he is engaged or not ?" " I have found 
 out nothing." " Then," said the gentle 
 fair one rather sharply, " why did you come 
 away till you had known something ? what 
 do you think I sent you for ?*' " Come, 
 come, my dear, be patient : I know he is not 
 engaged. Mrs. Sinclair did not actually tell 
 me so, but I am sure from her manner he Is 
 not ; and I can always guess as ipuch from 
 manner as from words. Then sh-e pities you 
 — Oh ! if you had but heard in what a sweet 
 manner she said 'Poor thing !' you would ne- 
 ver forget it." " But I thought you said she
 
 DUTY. 177 
 
 would give no answer? How came she to 
 pity me then ?" " Yes, I did say she would 
 give no answer ; that is, she would not speak 
 to the point at once^ as I would have had 
 her ; but when I represented you, my dear, 
 as you are, so gentle and amiable and unhap- 
 py, she pitied you." " I don't like to be 
 pitied, I don't want her pity.'* " But you 
 would not have thought her pity like other 
 people's pity; it was quite different. However, 
 never mind that; I find she will not interfere 
 in the business, for particular reasons which 
 she did not choose to tell me : but she will 
 not oppose it, that I can see. I think we 
 had now better contrive some way to get 
 him to visit here a little oftener, and by 
 himself ; for at present he has done nothing 
 but drive out his aunt, and walk about with 
 his cousin and Ellen Herbert, though it is 
 plain he does not care a pin for either. 
 Therefore my advice is, that your brother 
 call upon him sometimes, and invite him 
 here; and then we shall see,'* said she signi- 
 ficantly. The advice was thought excellent, 
 15
 
 178 DUTY. 
 
 and it was agreed to lure Conway to the 
 mansion. 
 
 George, who good-humouredly acquiesced 
 in any plan which gave him no trouble, pro- 
 mised to call upon him, and ask him to din- 
 ner ; though he said he did not much like 
 to encounter the haughty looks of either of 
 the ladies, particularly of Miss Douglas, after 
 the airs she had shown to Lord Newberry. 
 The net was spread, Mrs. Hopkins promised 
 to assist in its management, and already 
 congratulated herself and Anna Maria upon 
 the success of her labours. 
 
 Mrs. Hopkins's long visit had banished Ju- 
 lia and Conway ; but seeing her at length de- 
 part, they returned to the house. " Is she 
 gone?" said Julia in a whisper, ''quite gone?'* 
 "What a gadfly!" exclaimedConway. "And 
 you the cause, Frederic," said Mrs. Sinclair. 
 "How so ? What blue spirits and gray could 
 throw such a spell over me, and I be uncon- 
 scious of it ?" " I do not like to make sport 
 even of the weaknesses and follies of my 
 own sex j but, really, there is something so
 
 DUTY. 119 
 
 ridiculous in this woman's intelligence, so 
 forced and so affected in her own sympa- 
 thy that I cannot forbear laughing, and treat- 
 ing the whole as an absurd jest. But pre- 
 pare yourself to hear the awful secret : You 
 are beloved — beloved by the beautiful Anna 
 Maria Wills, with a fortune of four thousand 
 pounds at her own disposal, and great expec- 
 tations at her father's death, which^ with her 
 own sweet person^ are all dedicated and of- 
 fered to you!" 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair, disgusted as she was with 
 the young lady and her confidante, had yet 
 .considered the whole affair as so silly, that 
 she did not scruple to impart it in the same 
 light in which she viewed it to her nephew ; 
 but was astonished when he looked serious, 
 and replied in a most heroic tone, " They 
 jest at scars who never felt a wound.*' " But, 
 my dear Fred, what wound have you re- 
 ceived? except (she ad Jed in a pathetic tone) 
 in that poor dear arm ; for that I do feel/* 
 *' There may be others more deep," he said 
 with an affected sigh. " But what say you
 
 180 DUTY. 
 
 to the lady and her four thousand pounds ?" 
 " That it is more than I deserve." " The 
 lady or the fortune?" " Both.'' " Very 
 humble, truly ; but believe me, Frederic, 
 there will be a close siege laid to you, and 
 What will you do — retreat ? '* " Retreat ? 
 what, before a force I fear not, — one whom 
 I even long to meet ? Leave the management 
 of it to me ; let us have no ambuscade." 
 " Frederic, I dislike these schemes," said 
 Mrs. Sinclair, "these plots and counterplots." 
 " Now, my dear aunt," said Conway in an 
 accent that begged indulgence, " this is too 
 bad. I have been here a fortnight — I ex- 
 pected to fall in love with some of the little 
 rustics, and have been disappointed of the 
 amusement I promised myself. As for Julia, 
 she is my cousin, and I could not be in love 
 with a relation, though sanctioned by the 
 rubric. Ellen Herbert could love nothing 
 whom she considers inferior to her brother. 
 ArabellaHopkins and Catherine Foster are lit- 
 tle better than nonentities ; and now the only 
 tender object that presents itself to my af-
 
 DUTY. 181 
 
 fectlons you would cast a ridicule upon, and 
 make me despise. If Bertha were but a 
 year older, I should certainly be in love with 
 her ; there is a something in her eye which 
 bewitches me; but she is a child, and an awk- 
 ward one. Now here's a dear sweet tender 
 soul who condescends to take pity upon my 
 hapless state, and offers me her hand filled 
 with four thousand pounds — with a majority, 
 my aunt!" "Frederic," said she seri- 
 ously, " rather trust to the chances of pro- 
 motion than accept a hand thus offered ; the 
 money may purchase you a majority, if she 
 permits it : but be a soldier of fortune rather 
 than incur a debt for which the severest in- 
 terest of the heart will be exacted, if. but 
 
 let me not think a woman's forward whims 
 can fascinate you. I should feel some pity 
 for her, had she not authorized the commu- 
 nication; and as I do not consider it the 
 folly of a girl who is guided by an artful 
 confidante, I must abhor an indecorum." 
 " You judge too severely, my dear aunt." 
 " My ideas you may perhaps call old maid-
 
 182 DUTY. 
 
 ish and antediluvian. I do not think wo- 
 men should ' unsought be won.' Custom 
 has established this rule amongst the civilized 
 and refined part of every nation, and to in- 
 fringe it is a violation of women's greatest 
 ornament, delicacy. It would be unnatural 
 to imagine that they are not to feel a pre- 
 ference for an amiable object, even if unas- 
 sured of a return. But to make a first ad- 
 vance to a man, either through the medium 
 of friends, or by the more unequivocal tes- 
 timony of their own declaration, is a want 
 of that propriety which if not a principle is 
 often an useful substitute for it. 'Not lov- 
 ing first ^ but loving wrong, is shame,' is a 
 sentiment which I fear has been supposed to 
 sanction an avowal of affection, instead of its 
 being an apology for first feeling it ; and on 
 this I suppose the delicate and timid Anna 
 Maria is acting : but I should be sorry, Fre- 
 deric, to see you the prize of the forward, or 
 the dupe of the designing." " Do not fear 
 for me,'* he said carelessly. But Mrs. Sin- 
 clair perceived, or at least imagined she per-
 
 DUTY. 183 
 
 celved, that his thoughts dwelt more upon 
 the circumstances she had imparted to him 
 than they deserved. She could not believe 
 he fancied it possible to return the affection of 
 such a frivolous girl ; nor that the few thou- 
 sands she possessed could be sufficiently at- 
 tractive to induce him to offer her his hand; 
 nor could she think his vanity was flattered 
 by being thus distinguished, thus solicited. 
 But in the last supposition she was mistaken 
 — his vanity was flattered ; and though he 
 had no preference for Anna Maria, curiosity 
 prompted him to investigate further the sen- 
 timents she had professed, and self-love led 
 him to encourage them. 
 
 The plan of invitation to the mansion suc- 
 ceeded to Mrs. Hopkins's fullest wish : she 
 had a pride also in having counteracted what 
 she imagined Mrs. Sinclair's schemes ; for she 
 evidently perceived the attachment would 
 not be sactioned by her : in fact, she triumph- 
 ed in the success of her stratagems, boasted 
 of her discernment, and congratulated her
 
 184 DUTY. 
 
 friend upon having the handsomest man in 
 the world at her feet. 
 
 " But he does not tell me he loves me," 
 said Anna Maria. " He tells you by his 
 eyes," replied her confidante, "he shall soon 
 tell you so by words." Here she was mis- 
 taken. Conway observed much ; and the 
 more he observed, the more doubtful was he 
 whether to meet the lady's kindness or not : 
 yet he thought such disinterested affection 
 should be returned. Caressed, courted, 
 and indulged as he was by the whole family 
 (for his gaiety and good humour found a 
 passport to every heart), he wished to evince 
 his gratitude ; and in what manner could he 
 so strongly show it as by becoming one of 
 its members ? Still something always pre- 
 vented the intended proposal. He knew his 
 aunt's sentiments upon the subject, and he 
 had too much respect for her to act in direct 
 opposition to them. She thought Miss Wills 
 negatively good, but so full of absurd pre- 
 tensions, that even the man who attached
 
 DUTY. 185 
 
 himself to her would in some degree partici- 
 pate in her folly. But having once expressed 
 her opinion to her nephew, she forbore any 
 further attempt at influencing his decision in 
 this affair ; and he was a daily visitor at the 
 mansion without having his motives inquired 
 into, or his conduct canvassed, by either his 
 aunt or cousin. 
 
 One evening when he returned he threw 
 himself into a chair, indulging a violent fit of 
 laughter: as soon as he could speak, he 
 began thus: " I have witnessed some philoso- 
 phical experiments that produced the most lu- 
 dicrous effect upon the parties w^ho made them. 
 This was the inhaling of the nitrous oxide gas. 
 Sir Thomas, at the desire of Deborah, was 
 the first subject upon which it was tried. 
 He danced about the room with a kind of 
 tipsy delight, and made many odd grimaces, 
 much to the amusement of the spectators, 
 who indulged their mirth at his expense ; so 
 that, when he recovered, the good baronet 
 insisted upon Deborah, who was the projec-
 
 186 DU7*y. 
 
 tor of this experiment, trying it also. She 
 was very averse to it, and the contest occa- 
 sioned high words between the ])artiesj but 
 Sir Thomas would have his own way. ' She 
 a chemist, and shrink from any experiment ! 
 Why, experiments are the very soul of che- 
 mistry,' he said, repeating her own words ; 
 and Deborah, after much resistance, yielded. 
 The effect upon her was that of phrensy : — 
 she tossed about her arms, slapped her fa- 
 ther's face (an insult which the worthy ba- 
 ronet did not submit to with so much dig- 
 nity as a philosopher ought, or with so many 
 allowances as were due to an experimentj, 
 and committed so many extravagancies, that 
 every one present trembled for the conse- 
 quences to themselves, and rejoiced when it 
 was over. Charles was the only one who could 
 be prevailed upon to repeat the trial; he threw 
 the bladder into the face of Anna Maria, who 
 happened to be near him, [but he did not 
 add what followed, — that the gentle creature 
 was very nearlv resenting this affront, by
 
 DUTY. 187 
 
 giving him a sharp slap on the face; her fair 
 hand was lifted up to strike the blow ; but he 
 jumped away like a wild thing; and in a 
 moment recovering herself, she gave a slight 
 scream, and her head sunk on the shoulder 
 of Conway,] and so the farce ended.'* 
 
 " And most amusing it must have been," 
 said Julia. " I should have liked to have seen 
 the effects of this experiment on AnnaMaria; 
 for,if the natural disposition has any influence 
 upon the action produced, I think she would 
 commit the most laughable absurdides." 
 "Hush, Julia, do not be severe ; she is very 
 good-humoured." ''Are you sure of it?" 
 "Yes; I have no reason to think otherwise." 
 '' Poor Bertha has," said Julia. 
 
 Bertha was now at home, quite recovered 
 from her illness ; and Conway, who had 
 played and chatted with her at the Rectory, 
 continued to treat her with the same famili- 
 arity. One day when there was a scarcity 
 of seats in the summer house, and he had 
 taken Bertha on his knee, he observed that
 
 188 DUTY. 
 
 the gentle Anna's countenance assumed a 
 look of rather severe displeasure, and a 
 glance was directed to Bertha, which indu- 
 ced her instantly to quit her seat. But as 
 nothing was said, and Bertha had vanished, 
 the disturbed countenance of the angry and 
 mortified fair one soon assumed its placidity, 
 and the circumstance was forgotten till Ju- 
 lia's observation revived it in his memory. 
 He however did not mention it ; but he de- 
 termined to watch the reflection on this 
 mirror of the mind, before he intrusted his 
 happiness to one whose temper might be 
 bad. His own was so sweet, his opinions so 
 kind^ and his nature so indulgent, that little 
 pettishnesses he could easily excuse in any 
 one. He continued to caress and notice 
 Bertha ; but he found she usually fled from 
 him J and as he constantly heard it repeated 
 in the family, what an odd, disagreeable, bad- 
 tempered girl she was ! and frequently a 
 wish expressed that Mrs. Herbert would take 
 her, as she was happy with no one else,
 
 DUTY. 189 
 
 he partly believed she tvas an odd-, and not 
 perhaps a veri/ good-humoured girl j but 
 disagreeable he could not agree to. 
 
 The progress of the arts practised to lure 
 and attach Conway was not so rapid as Mrs. 
 Hopkins and her friend had flattered them- 
 selves they would be. He fluttered round 
 the blaze, but always contrived to keep his 
 wings uninjured, and escape just at the mo- 
 ment when they thought him devoted. How 
 much longer he might have been safe from 
 the dangers of tenderness unsolicited, atten- 
 tions the most seductive, hints the most spe- 
 cious, and expectations the most obvious, it 
 is impossible to say, had not a circumstance 
 occurred which for a time annihilated every 
 scheme and every pleasure. 
 
 Sir Thomas and his lady always received 
 him with a friendly welcome, the elder young 
 ladies with politeness, Anna Maria with a 
 drooping sensibility, and Deborah conferred 
 upon him the highest honour by admitting 
 him into her laboratory — her sanctum sanc- 
 torum. George met him with a shake of the
 
 190 DUTY. 
 
 hand, that meant any thing or nothing ; 
 Henrietta, Laura, and Lauretta, with rather 
 more pleasure than the generality of people 
 who visited them, because he made them 
 laugh more. Charles loved him ; and Ber- 
 tha beheld with interest the relation of Mrs. 
 Sinclair and Julia, and the friend of Edmund 
 and Ellen. His own cheerful disposition 
 and easy manners diffused an hilarity when- 
 ever he appeared, and every one at the man- 
 sion became sensible of their powers. Yet still 
 his attentions were so general, that it was dif- 
 ficult to know to whom the palm of prefe- 
 rence was given ; whether to the languishing 
 Lavinia, the disdainful Sacharissa, the sigh- 
 ing Anna Maria, the insipid Henrietta, the 
 philosophic Deborah, the tender twins, or the 
 child Bertha : to each he had something kind 
 or pleasant to say. Every one could per- 
 ceive the fond attention bestowed upon him 
 by Anna Maria, but that he took more notice 
 of Bertha, with whom he talked, played, and 
 laughed with the ease of a friend and the 
 familiarity of a brother.
 
 DUTY. 191 
 
 Anna Maria made some remarks upon her 
 conduct, and severely reproved her for en- 
 couraging such liberties : " It is true you are 
 but a child, though I can tell you you are 
 grown a very forward one since you were at 
 the Rectory ; and if you go on thus with 
 Captain Conway, I shall complain to my 
 mother." A complaint to her mother she 
 knew w^ould be a decree of banishment to 
 her garret, and a prohibition of all inter- 
 course with the Rectory ; and poor Bertha 
 not only loved the friends she formed there, 
 she began to enjoy the sweets of society ; 
 and alarmed at this threat, she fled from 
 Conway whenever she saw him approach, 
 resigning the pleasures of his good humour, 
 to avert the evils whch she dreaded. He 
 observed and regretted these sudden flights 
 of his favourite ; but she so dexterously elud- 
 ed him, that he had no opportunity of asking 
 for an explanation. 
 
 To laugh and chat with Bertha, was in 
 fact the greatest amusement he had at the 
 mansion, whatever vi'as the interest he felt
 
 192 DUTY. 
 
 for Anna Maria ; for he met with no inte- 
 lectual conversation, no touching charms of 
 native feeling, no captivations of fancy, no 
 buoyant vivacity, such as he found at the 
 Rectory and the Cottage ; yet he received 
 kindness and hospitaUty, was treated with 
 ease and familiarity, and he was grateful for 
 their attentions. He persuaded himself he 
 was rather distinguished ; he saw he was a 
 favourite ; and though he was not perfectly 
 satisfied with the quota of sense and conver- 
 sation that he met with, yet it sufficed for 
 the time, and he was sure of being delighted 
 with his aunt and Julia when he returned to 
 the Cottage. 
 
 Mrs. Hopkins, sometimes, when she saw 
 him passing, would call him into her parlour 
 to have a Ittle chat, wo uld descant upon 
 the virtues of Anna Maria, — that she w^as 
 worth all the rest^ — and whoever gained her 
 would gain a prize. She knew but one who 
 was worthy of her. And the one must have 
 been blind indeed, had he not seen who was 
 meant in this solitary clause. Though Con-
 
 DUTY. 19S 
 
 tray's good sense, purity of feeling, and 
 judgement, did not approve of such open 
 and direct declarations, yet his heart pleaded 
 in favour of the victim whom his attractions 
 had overcome ; and vanity, that povi^erful 
 principle in most bosoms, that passion of 
 no sex, or of either, lent a too willing ear to 
 ^very thing addressed to it. Still his incli- 
 nations were unfixed, and his mind undeter- 
 mined, whether to meet and to reward the 
 disinterested attachment he heard professed 
 for him. There was a disparity of five years 
 between him and the lady, and she had the 
 ascendancy ; but she looked much younger 
 than he did, as Mrs. Hopkins had taken oc- 
 casion to observe, and therefore this was of 
 little consequence. 
 
 Whilst every argument was vacillating ia 
 his mind, and various feelings acting upoa 
 his heart, he was suddenly called up to Lon- 
 don upon particular business ; so suddenly, 
 that it barely allowed of his things to be 
 packed up, and his bidding adieu to the Rec- 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 194 DUTY, 
 
 troy and the Mansion. Anna Maria had an 
 hysteric, and he was obliged to tear himself 
 from her at this interesting moment, and set 
 out on his journey. Mrs. Hopkins was soon 
 summoned to her assistance, and the most 
 palatable consolation administered to her re- 
 lief., 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair and Julia were sorry to lose 
 one whose many virtues they sincerely loved, 
 and whose little faults they affectionately 
 forgave ; but after a few hours of silence 
 and regret, thr-y resumed their cheerfulness 
 and their employments. 
 
 Lord Newberry, who still remained at the 
 mansion, and who had availed himself of 
 every opportunity to see and converse with 
 Julia, notwithstanding the reserve which he 
 always found, and the disdain v/hich he often 
 im.?gined, in her manner, really began to en- 
 tertain for her, sentiments not only of admi- 
 ration but of affection ; and insensible as 
 she had appeared to his assiduities, and his 
 implications of attachment, he thought her a
 
 DUTY. 195 
 
 treasure worth possessing, and he determin- 
 ed to secure it to himself by the irrresistible 
 offer of his hand. He knew some mystery 
 was attached to her birth, but who she was 
 was immaterial : every eye acknowledged her 
 beautiful, every tongue proclaimed her ami- 
 able, and report declared her to be rich. His 
 father had selected a lady for the first reason 
 only ; yet he might object to his choice from 
 doubts of the respectability of her birth : he 
 shouldnotthereforeconsuit him upon the sub- 
 ject. Once his wife, Julia would be received 
 into his family; and with his resolutions form- 
 ed, he wrote an elaborate avowal of his love, 
 and an offer of his hand ; to v;hich a prompt, 
 Jaconic, but respectful answer was returned 
 — declirjing the honour he proposed. " This 
 is very strange," he thought : " she has not 
 taken even an hour to consider of it ; and 
 yet I do not believe her affections are en- 
 gaged. I cannot guess to whom, if they are.'' 
 The rejection however disconcerted him, it 
 was one that admitted no hope of repeal, it 
 was in the most definitive terms ; and having 
 
 K 2
 
 196 DUTY. 
 
 no longer any motives for remaining at Al- 
 bany, and weary of the insipid and affected 
 beings who composed Sir Thomas's family, 
 he returned to his father's. 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair was informed of his lord- 
 ship's declaration, and saw the answer. She 
 expressed no surprise at either. Julia was 
 formed to be admired and beloved ; but 
 Lord Newberry's claims to admiration and 
 esteem were not so unequivocal ; and what- 
 ever was the honour his rank would have 
 conferred upon her, she secretly rejoiced it 
 had had no influence in her decision. The 
 whole affair had begun and ended in so short 
 a space of time, that it scarcely made an im- 
 pression upon the mind of either Mrs. Sin- 
 clair or Julia, though the whole village were 
 wondering at it ; for (by what means I pre- 
 sume not to say) the contents of the letter 
 written by his lordship, and that returned by 
 Julia, were circulated and commented upon, 
 
 " Miss Douglas must certainly be engaged 
 before she came to Albany, perhaps be- 
 trothed to some one when she was in her
 
 DUTY. 197 
 
 cradle, or she never would have refused such 
 an offer : it was very mysterious," said Mrs. 
 Hopkins. 
 
 Mrs. Foster, who pretended to have as 
 much penetration into the affairs of the Cot- 
 tage, as Mrs. Hopkins had into those of the 
 Mansion, said " it was not at all mysterious 
 to her ; she could understand it, though she 
 should say nothing." 
 
 The Miss Willses were all astonished; 
 not one, except the chemist Deborah and 
 the child Bertha, but wished herself in the 
 place of Julia. 
 
 The refusal was canvassed also at the Rec- 
 tory. Mr. Herbert bestowed the warmest 
 eulogiums upon his favourite for rejecting 
 rank and fortune if she could not esteem 
 the possessor of them. Mrs. Herbert thought 
 there must be some latent preference for 
 another. Ellen's heart beat high with hopes 
 for her brother ; while his, in spite of all 
 his reasoning to the contrary, cherished simi- 
 lar feelings. 
 
 The days now glided on as usual. Julia,
 
 1J^8 DUTY. 
 
 who was in no respect either elated or affect- 
 ed by th-^ conquest she had made, seemed 
 entirely to have forgotten Lord Newberry ; 
 and his name was never mentioned by her or 
 her aunt. Conway's departure had left them 
 at liberty to follow their accustomed pur- 
 suits without interruption ; and the daily do- 
 mestic intercourse beween the Rectory and 
 the White Cottage was now resumed with 
 new delight. Edmund could not resist the 
 pleasure of again assisting at their little con- 
 certs ; of listening to the voice of Julia ; of 
 gazing on her ; of attending to her j of as- 
 sociating vAth her. '^ It is but for a short 
 time," he would say to himself, " and then 
 I shall quit her perhaps for ever. The dan- 
 ger is alone mine, and I will dare it.'* 
 
 Letters arrived from Conway, informing 
 them of the conclusion of his business in 
 town, and of his almost immediate return to 
 the Peninsula, as his wound was well, and 
 his leave of absence nearly expired. lie 
 mentioned the Willses in general terms ; and 
 Mrs. Sinclair hoped the machinations of
 
 DUTY. 199 
 
 IN'ks. Hopkins and the artifices of Anna 
 Maria had been in vain, and that the toils 
 of war would soon banish every softer in- 
 terest from his bosom. 
 
 Several weeks had passed, and the time 
 approached for Edmund's return to college. 
 Every face at the Rectory wore an expression 
 of sorrow. Mrs. Herbert could not mention 
 his departure without tears ; and Ellen's na- 
 turally bright and beaming countenance was 
 shaded by a melancholy gloom. 
 
 Julia possessed in a very eminent degree 
 the happy art of taking likenesses. Bh;: had 
 drawn a fine miniature of Ellen, and the de- 
 lighted parents expressed a v;isb to have one 
 of Edmund as its companion. Julia blush- 
 ed ; but such a wish at such a moment she 
 could not refuse ; and if by the exercise of 
 her talents she could do any thing 'j^hich 
 should mitigate their grier when absent from 
 the object of their hetirt s fondest affections, 
 she thought die should be ungrateful and 
 unkind not to attempt it. She therefore 
 promiced to comply with their wit.lics, and a
 
 200 pUTY. 
 
 time was fixed for the first sitting. Every 
 thing was prepared : — the palette spread, the 
 ivory ready, the chair placed, the attitude 
 chosen, and the pencil trembling in her hand, 
 when she felt to a degree of agony, how ar- 
 duous was the task she had undertaken, and 
 how impossible it would be for her to execute 
 it. To gaze intently on that face, of which 
 she had hitherto stolen but hasty glances; 
 to meet the full expression of that eye, be- 
 fore which her own had always drooped ; to 
 trace the outline of a mouth, whose w^ords 
 had always delighted, were difficulties in- 
 surmountable; impossibilities she felt her- 
 self unable to attempt ; and she was going 
 to give up the task in despair, when she re- 
 membered the mother's request, the father's 
 expectation, the sister's hope ; and she re- 
 solved at least to make the trial : but her pen- 
 cil was so unsteady, that she made little pro- 
 gress in this first sitting. Edmund could not 
 help observing her agitation : his own was 
 scarcely less in feeling, though it was less 
 obvious. He attributed her emotions to the
 
 DUTY. 201 
 
 native delicacy of her character, which made 
 her shrink from the task she had under- 
 taken ; and he wished for her sake it had 
 never been requested : but every moment 
 with Julia was so precious, that he could not 
 deny himself the luxury of such as these, 
 when he might watch her in silence, and 
 read the various movements of her mind in 
 her ingenuous countenance. At length the 
 picture was completed, the resemblance ac- 
 knowledged, and the delighted parents gave 
 to the happy artist their warmest thanks. 
 
 The evening preceding Edmund's depar- 
 ture, he proposed to Ellen and Julia taking 
 his favourite walk. The sister*s heart was 
 agonized at the thoughts of a separation from 
 her brother, and tears, which she could 
 scarcely restrain, swam in her eyes. Ed- 
 mund's spirits were also depressed. Julia 
 attempted to divert both j and though she 
 shared in their dejection, she more effectu- 
 ally struggled with her emotions. " When 
 shall we three meet again ?" she said in the 
 liveliest accent she could assume. " Not. in 
 
 7L5
 
 202 DUTY. 
 
 thunder, lightning, and in rain," replied Ed- 
 mund ; " but in idea I hope we shall often 
 be present to each other : you must not let 
 this little girl forget me," he said smiling, 
 and looking at Ellen, whose hand he affec- 
 tionately held in his. Ellen's tears flowed 
 fast. " Come, come, my sister, have more 
 fortitude ; we part but for a short time, I 
 hope, and I leave you with a friend who will 
 console you for my absence, and will even 
 supply my place." " O no 1 that is impos- 
 sible," said Julia emphatically ; " though 
 there may be a friend who sticketh closer 
 than a brother, it cannot be such a brother 
 as Edmund Herbert." She blushed at her 
 own warmth of expression, but could not 
 recall the words ; and she had no ready stra- 
 tagem, no little artifice to counteract their 
 effect, had she wished for it. An expression 
 of joy diffused itself over the countenance 
 of Edmund ; and though it was the brotlier 
 Julia had addressed herself to, a gleam of 
 hope, bright but undefinable, darted across 
 his heart.
 
 DUTY. 203 
 
 As they \vere pr.ssing a cottage, Ellen was 
 accosted by a little boy, who said his mother 
 wished to see her ; and she left them to fol- 
 low the child. They waited for her reJiarn 
 at a gate, from which they had a fine ex- 
 pansive view of cultivated land, spires and 
 hamlets. They had stood for a few minutes 
 admiring the scene, when Julia, whose hand 
 had been resting within Edmund's arm, sud- 
 denly seeming to be sensible of its situation, 
 gently withdrew it. He sought for a mo- 
 ment to retain the treasure ; but seeing an un- 
 usual glow upon her cheek, and a look of 
 embarrassment, he yielded it without further 
 reluctance ; but continued to watch the 
 mantling colour, the softened eye down- 
 cast and pensive ; and if he did not gather 
 from these observations an absolute hope 
 that he was beloved, he obtained a conviction 
 that he was not indifferent to her ; and he 
 experienced emotions of delight such as he 
 had never before felt. 
 
 It was a bright October evening ; the sun 
 had just set, and the moon had taken up
 
 204 DUTY. 
 
 " its wondrous tale" in the heavens. They 
 watched it for some time in silence, which at 
 last Julia interrupted : "If, as some philo- 
 soyhers have asserted, our thoughts are re- 
 gistered uponthe moon's disk, what a consola- 
 tion would it be in absence to read those of 
 a friend !" " Were Julia's to be traced 
 there,'* said Edmund, " and could / read 
 them, I should become a worshipper of 
 night, and of the moon." It was the first 
 time he had ever called her Julia, and she 
 thought the name had never sounded so 
 sweet. The familiar appellation, pronounced 
 in a tone of the tenderest respect, his own 
 peculiar tone, thrilled on her heart. She 
 made no reply ; but she wished for an echo 
 to have repeated the word. " I fear," he 
 continued, laying his hand on hers, *' that 
 we must not hope to be such favoured mor- 
 tals, as there to find the sentiments of those 
 we esteem, the wishes of those we love, the 
 many hopes and fears which those from 
 whom v/e are separated feel for us ; the 
 parent's anxiety, the sister's tenderness, the
 
 DUTY, 205 
 
 friend's : what may I say?" added he, 
 
 looking at Julia. " Kind ihoughtSy'* she 
 answered with some hesitation. " The 
 friend's kijid ihoughts,'^^ he repeated : " though 
 this is denied us, yet to know that the eye 
 which has met our own is fixed upon this 
 planet \ that the remembrance of a friend 
 with whom we have viewed it is accompa- 
 nied by kind thoughts, then it becomes an 
 object of the dearest interest, of the most 
 soothing consolation. I do not allow my- 
 self to be romantic ; and yet, if I dared to 
 hope that sometimes when you look at the 
 moon, you will remember the friend with 
 whom this evening you saw it rise, and will 
 recall this conversation, to me it would be a 
 planet of more than Indian adoration." " I 
 will watch it every evening," said Julia, 
 " and " she paused, " will — remem- 
 ber yoiu' " Bless you then," said Edmund 
 tenderly and emphatically. Ellen just then 
 returned J and observing that the evening was 
 growing chill, Edmund advised Julia to wrap 
 her shawl more closely about her j and his
 
 20G DUTY. 
 
 arm, under pretence of assisting her to do so, 
 half encircled her waist, and defended her 
 from the cold. He and his sister attended 
 her into the cottage, and the last adieu was 
 uttered before Mrs. Sinclair, whose hand he 
 respectfully kissed, while JuHa's he only 
 pressed. as he pronounced an imperfect "God 
 bless you i" 
 
 Mrs. Sinclair knew that his loss would be 
 felt by all, but she little suspected how much 
 by Julia. She retired early that evening to 
 rest, and her niece found a solace in the un- 
 observed indulgence of her regrets. That 
 the tears she shed had their source in affec- 
 tion, she could no longer disguise from her- 
 self ; and she wept the more at this convic- 
 tion. She dared not flatter herself that he 
 loved her, though she could recall many in- 
 stances of marked kindness ; still it was only 
 "a course of small, quiet attentions, not so 
 pointed as to alarm, and (she thought) not 
 so vague as to be misunderstood." They 
 might be only the customary observances 
 of politeness j such as he would pay to any
 
 DUTY. 207 
 
 woman. Yet when she particularly reflected 
 upon them, a look of tenderness, an accent 
 of solicitude, rushed to her remembrance ; 
 and she believed she possessed some portion 
 of his regard. She recollected also, that 
 when her eye has suddenly turned towards 
 him, she has often found hie fixed attentive- 
 ly upon her : wh^n he has presented his 
 hand to her, she has felt a tremor that com- 
 municated itself to her own ; he had called 
 her that evening " Julia," and the name v.as 
 uttered in a tone peculiarly tender : but he 
 knew she was the friend, the cherished 
 friend, of his sister ; and it might be simply 
 to Ellen's friend he addressed this dear fa- 
 miliar title. She could not satisfy herself 
 with her investigation, and at last concluded 
 it with quoting, " U amour n'a rien de si 
 tendre, iii V ami tie de si dou.i\^' 
 
 There is not^ in the secret history of the hu- 
 man heart, a period which we retrace with so 
 much interest and pleasure as the com- 
 mencement and course of attachment ; when 
 a word, a glance, a touch, will awaken our
 
 208 DUTY. 
 
 hopes, and impart rapture to our bosoms : 
 even fears and apprehensions aid the general 
 charm of this interesting period. The at- 
 tainment of the object beloved, does not af- 
 ford to the heart so sweet a retrospect as 
 the first dawning and gradual progress of 
 affection, when a look was bliss, and a smile 
 reward. 
 
 The families met the next day ; and the 
 sincere sympathy which Mrs. Sinclair ex- 
 pressed for the loss they had mutually sus- 
 tainedj gave consolation to the parents and 
 sister. The former dwelt with pride and 
 delight upon their son's virtues and talents, 
 and found a ready auditor and an assenting 
 friend ; for Mrs. Sinclair esteemed, admired, 
 and loved him. Ellen and Julia were talk- 
 ing apart. " What a treasure to my dear 
 mother is the miniature T' said Ellen : " but 
 it is only so to her, for she keeps it in her 
 own cabinet ; and this morning I found her 
 with it in her iiiind^ looking at it as if for 
 consolation. I would I had such a one!" 
 " Perhaps/' replied Julia, touched with El-
 
 DUTY. 209 
 
 len's affectionate wish, *' I could paint an- 
 other, if your mother would spare this.'' " I 
 dare not ask her at present," said Ellen. "I 
 think," said Julia after a pause, "I could 
 do one without it." " Have you then his 
 features by heart ?" said Ellen quickly. ^' Not 
 perhaps by heari^^ replied Julia blushing, 
 " but I think I have by memory^ and for your 
 sake I will endeavour to retrace them." The 
 employment was sweet but dangerous — the 
 delighted sister hung over her as she exe- 
 cuted her task. If the features were not so 
 correct as in the former one, the character 
 was superior. She gave the eye its most 
 eloquent expression, the mouth its sweetest 
 smile, and Ellen exclaimed, " This is our 
 own Edmund, so does he look when he con- 
 verses with us. Ten thousand thanks, my 
 Julia, for this inestimable treasure !" It was 
 a treasure she almost reluctantly yielded up ; 
 but she felt a consolation in knowing that his 
 featuresweresofaithfullyimprintedon her me- 
 mory, that she could at any time sketch them. 
 Mrs. Sinclair made her silent observations
 
 210 DUTY. 
 
 Upon the ready and happy execution of the 
 picture ; but whilst she saw Julia apparently 
 as cheerful as usual, or affected by his de- 
 parture in no greater degree than sympathy 
 for her friends ir.ight naturally excite, she 
 forbore mali'i.g any particular remarks to 
 her. Every thing now went on as during 
 the first tlvee liionths of their residence at 
 Albany, except the occasional intercourse 
 with xh2 Wiils€3^many of whom were di- 
 spersed on different visits, or to fashionable 
 watering-places. But Bertha was stationary, 
 at the Mansion ; and her only happiness was 
 to run when she could to the Rectory or the 
 Cottage, as there she was always sure to find 
 friends who affectionately welcomed her. 
 Reserved and shy at home, where she was 
 perpetually chidden or neglected, here she 
 was candid and cheerful, delighted to render 
 any one a little service, and anxious to be- 
 come what they wished her. Her av.'kward 
 stoop had been kindly noticed by Mrs. Her- 
 bert and Ellen, and she had endeavoured to 
 correct it :- her low half tones and inarucu-
 
 DUTY. 211 
 
 late accent they taught her to conquer ; 
 they bestowed praises upon her attempts, and 
 encouraged her to hope they might be suc- 
 cessful : she began to feel some confidence 
 in herself; and to be approved by friends 
 whom she so warmly loved was her highest 
 ambition, and her constant aim. She was 
 more attentive to her dress, for she observed 
 that Ellen was like a little quaker in the 
 purity of hers ; and Julia was always neat 
 as well as elegant ; and she had heard Ed« 
 mund say he could not love any one who 
 was not nice. The slatternly finery of her 
 sisters she began to dislike, their dirty and 
 idle habits she resolved never to follow. 
 Julia and Ellen were striking contrasts to 
 every one whom she saw at home, both in 
 their person and manners ; and she resolved 
 to take them as her model. In this excellent 
 resolution she was aided by the attentions 
 they always paid her; for they loved the qua- 
 lities that gradually unfolded themselves to 
 their observation, they pitied her situation^, 
 and wished to correct ker faults.
 
 212 DUTY. 
 
 In the amended health of Mrs. Sinclair 
 Julia found a constant source of gratitude 
 and happiness ; and for this alone, had there 
 been no Ellen, no Edmund, would she have 
 blessed the day on which they first came to 
 Albany : but to see the friend, the relation 
 whom she loved as a parent, and who pro- 
 tected and watched over her, restored to 
 the enjoyment of life's best blessing, called 
 forth her liveliest feelings of joy and thank- 
 fulness. 
 
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