 IV. This was only one out of innumerable instances that every day seemed to multiply, of petty mortifications which Mr. Terrell was destined to endure on the part of Mr. Falkland. In all of them Mr. Falkland conducted himself with such unaffected propriety, as perpetually to add to the stock of his reputation. The more Mr. Terrell struggled with his misfortune, the more conspicuous and inveterate it became. A thousand times he cursed his stars, which took, as he apprehended, a malicious pleasure in making Mr. Falkland, at every turn, the instrument of his humiliation. Smarting under a succession of untoward events, he appeared to feel, in the most exquisite manner, the distinctions paid to his adversary, even in those points in which he had not the slightest pretensions. An instance of this now occurred. Mr. Clare, a poet whose works have done immortal honour to the country that produced him, had lately retired, after a life spent in the sublimest efforts of genius, to enjoy the produce of his economy and the reputation he had acquired in this very neighbourhood. Such an inmate was looked up to by the country gentlemen with a degree of adoration. They felt a conscious pride in recollecting that the boast of England was a native of their vicinity, and they were by no means deficient in gratitude when they saw him, who had left them an adventurer, returned into the midst of them, in the clothes of his days, crowned with honours and opulence. The reader is acquainted with his works. He has, probably, dwelt upon them with transport, and I need not remind him of their excellence. But he is, perhaps, a stranger to his personal qualifications. He does not know that his productions were scarcely more admirable than his conversation. In company he seemed to be the only person ignorant of the greatness of his fame. To the world his writings will long remain a kind of specimen of what the human mind is capable of performing, but no man perceived their defects so acutely as he, or saw so distinctly how much yet remained to be affected. He alone appeared to look upon his works with superiority and indifference. One of the features that most eminently distinguished him was a perpetual swabity of manners, a comprehensiveness of mind, that regarded the errors of others without a particle of resentment, and made it impossible for any one to be his enemy. He pointed out to men their mistakes with frankness and unreserve. His remonstrances produced astonishment and conviction, but without uneasiness, in the party to whom they were addressed. They felt the instrument that was employed to correct their irregularities, but it never mangled what it was intended to heal. Such were the moral qualities that distinguished him among his acquaintance. The intellectual accomplishments he exhibited were principally a tranquil and mild enthusiasm, and a richness of conception which dictated spontaneously to his tongue, and flowed with so much ease, that it was only by retrospect you could be made aware of the amazing variety of ideas that had been presented. Mr. Clare certainly found few men in this remote situation that were capable of participating in his ideas and amusements. It has been among the weaknesses of great men to fly to solitude, and converse with woods and groves, rather than with a circle of strong and comprehensive minds like their own. From the moment of Mr. Falkland's arrival in the neighborhood, Mr. Clare distinguished him in the most flattering manner. To so penetrating a genius there was no need of long experience and patient observation to discover the merits and defects of any character that presented itself. The materials of his judgment had long since been accumulated, and at the close of so illustrious a life he might almost be said to see through nature at a glance. What wonder that he took some interest in a mind in a certain degree congenial with his own? But to Mr. Terrell's diseased imagination every distinction bestowed on his neighbor seemed to be expressly intended as an insult to him. On the other hand, Mr. Clare, though gentle and benevolent in his remonstrances to a degree that made the taking offence impossible, was by no means parsimonious of praise, or slow to make use of the deference that was paid him for the purpose of procuring justice to merit. It happened at one of those public meetings at which Mr. Falkland and Mr. Terrell were present that the conversation in one of the most numerous sets into which the company was broken turned upon the poetical talents of the former. A lady who was present and was distinguished for the acuteness of her understanding said she had been favoured with a sight of a poem he had just written, entitled, An Ode to the Genius of Chivalry, which appeared to her of exquisite merit. The curiosity of the company was immediately excited, and the lady added she had a copy in her pocket, which was much at their service, provided its being thus produced would not be disagreeable to the author. The whole circle immediately entreated Mr. Falkland to comply with their wishes, and Mr. Clare, who was one of the company, enforced their petition. Everything gave this gentleman so much pleasure as to have an opportunity of witnessing and doing justice to the exhibition of intellectual excellence. Mr. Falkland had no false modesty or affectation, and therefore readily yielded his consent. Mr. Terrell accidentally sat at the extremity of this circle. It cannot be supposed that the turn the conversation had taken was by any means agreeable to him. He appeared to wish to withdraw himself, but there seemed to be some unknown power that, as it were, by enchantment, retained him in his place, and made him consent to drink to the dregs, the bitter potion which Envy had prepared for him. The poem was read to the rest of the company by Mr. Clare, whose elocution was scarcely inferior to his other accomplishments. Simplicity, discrimination, and energy constantly attended him in the act of reading, and it is not easy to conceive a more refined delight than fell to the lot of those who had the good fortune to be his auditors. The beauties of Mr. Falkland's poem were accordingly exhibited with every advantage. The successive passions of the author were communicated to the hearer. What was impetuous and what was solemn were delivered with a responsive feeling and a flowing and unlaboured tone. The pictures conjured up by the creative fancy of the poet were placed full to view, at one time overwhelming the soul with superstitious awe, and at another transporting it with luxuriant beauty. The character of the hearers upon this occasion has already been described. They were, for the most part, plain, unlettered and of little refinement. Poetry in general they read, when read at all, from the mere force of imitation and with few sensations of pleasure. But this poem had a peculiar vein of glowing inspiration. This very poem would probably have been seen by many of them with little effect. But the accents of Mr. Clare carried it home to the heart. He ended, and as the countenance of his auditors had before sympathized with the passions of the composition, so now they emulated each other in declaring their approbation. Their sensations were of a sort to which they were little accustomed. One spoke, and another followed by a sort of uncontrollable impulse, and the rude and broken manner of their commendations rendered them the more singular and remarkable. But what was least to be endured was the behaviour of Mr. Clare. He returned the manuscript to the lady from whom he had received it, and then addressing Mr. Falkland, said with emphasis and animation, Ha! This is as it should be. It is of the right stamp. I have seen too many hard essays strained from the labour of a pedant, and pastoral ditties distressed in lack of a meaning. They are such as you, sir, that we want. Do not forget, however, that the muse was not given to add refinements to idleness, but for the highest and most invaluable purposes. Act up to the magnitude of your destiny. A moment after Mr. Clare quitted his seat, and with Mr. Falkland, and two or three more withdrew. As soon as they were gone, Mr. Trell edged further into the circle. He had sat silent so long that he seemed ready to burst with gall and indignation. Mighty pretty verses, said he, half talking to himself, and not addressing any particular person. Why, I, the verses are well enough. Damnation! I should like to know what a ship-load of such stuff is good for. Why, surely, said the lady who had introduced Mr. Falkland's ode on the present occasion, you must allow that poetry is an agreeable and elegant amusement. Elegant quother! Why, look at this Falkland, a puny bit of a thing. In the devil's name, madame, do you think he would write poetry if he could do anything better? The conversation did not stop here. The lady expostulated. Several other persons, fresh from the sensation they had felt, contributed their share. Mr. Trell grew more violent in his invectives, and found ease in uttering them. The persons who were able in any degree to check his vehemence were withdrawn. One speaker after another shrunk back into silence, too timid to oppose, or too indolent to contend with the fierceness of his passion. He found the appearance of his old ascendancy. But he felt its deceitfulness and uncertainty, and was gloomily dissatisfied. In his return from this assembly he was accompanied by a young man, whom similitude of manners had rendered one of his principal confidence, and whose road home was in part the same as his own. One might have thought that Mr. Trell had sufficiently vented his spleen in the dialogue he had just been holding. But he was unable to dismiss from his recollection the anguish he had endured. "'Damn, Falkland,' said he, "'what a pettiful scoundrel is here to make all this bustle about! But women and fools always will be fools. There is no help for that—those that set them on having most to answer for. And most of all Mr. Clare. He is a man that ought to know something of the world and past being duped by Gugas and Tinsel. He seemed, too, to have some notion of things. I should not have expected him hallowing to a cry of mongrels without honesty or reason. But the world is all alike. Those that seem better than their neighbours are only more artful. They mean the same thing, though they take a different road. He deceived me for a while, but it is all out now. They are the makers of the mischief. Fools might blunder, but they would not persist, if people that ought to set them right did not encourage them to go wrong. A few days after this adventure Mr. Trell was surprised to receive a visit from Mr. Falkland. Mr. Falkland proceeded, without ceremony, to explain the motive of his coming. Mr. Trell said he, I am come to have an amicable explanation with you. Explanation? What is my offence? None in the world, sir, and for that reason I conceive this is the fittest time to come to a right understanding. You are in a devil of a hurry, sir! Are you clear that this haste will not mar instead of make an understanding? I think I am, sir. I have great faith in the purity of my intentions, and I will not doubt, when you perceive the view with which I come, that you will willingly co-operate with it. May hap, Mr. Falkland, we may not agree about that. One man thinks one way, and another man thinks another. May hap I do not think I have any great reason to be pleased with you already. It may be so. I cannot, however, charge myself with having given you reason to be displeased. Well, sir, you have no right to put me out of humor with myself. If you come to play upon me and try what sort of a fellow you shall have to deal with, damn me if you shall have any reason to hug yourself upon the experiment. Nothing, sir, is more easy for us than to quarrel. If you desire that, there is no fear that you will find opportunities. Damn me, sir, if I do not believe you are come to bully me. Mr. Terrell, sir, have a care. Of what, sir? Do you threaten me? Damn my soul, who are you? What do you come here for? The fireiness of Mr. Terrell brought Mr. Falkland to his recollection. I am wrong, said he. I confess it. I came for purposes of peace. With that view I have taken the liberty to visit you. Whatever, therefore, might be my feelings upon another occasion. I am bound to suppress them now. Ho! Well, sir, and what have you further to offer? Mr. Terrell, proceeded Mr. Falkland, you will readily imagine that the cause that brought me was not a slight one. I would not have troubled you with visit, but for important reasons. My coming is a pledge how deeply I am myself impressed with what I have to communicate. We are in a critical situation. We are upon the brink of a whirlpool which, if once it get hold of us, will render all further deliberation impotent. And unfortunate jealousy seems to have insinuated itself between us, which I would willingly remove, and I come to ask your assistance. We are both of us nice of temper. We are both apt to kindle and warm of resentment. Precaution in this stage can be dishonorable to neither. The time may come when we shall wish we had employed it, and find it too late. Why should we be enemies? Our tastes are different, our pursuits need not interfere. We both of us amply possess the means of happiness. We may be respected by all, and spend a long life of tranquility and enjoyment. Will it be wise in us to exchange this prospect for the fruits of strife? A strife between persons with our peculiarities and our weaknesses includes consequences that I shudder to think of. I fear, sir, that it is pregnant with death, at least to one of us, and with misfortune and remorse to the survivor. Upon my soul you are a strange man. Why trouble me with your prophecies and forebodings? Because it is necessary to your happiness. Because it becomes me to tell you of our danger now, rather than wait till my character will allow this tranquility no longer. By quarreling we shall but imitate the great mass of mankind who could easily quarrel in our place. Let us do better. Let us show that we have the magnanimity to condemn petty misunderstandings. By thus judging we shall do ourselves most substantial honour. By a contrary conduct we shall merely present a comedy for the amusement of our acquaintance. Do you think so? There may be something in that. Damn me if I consent to be the jest of any man living. You are right, Mr. Terrell. Let us each act in the manner best calculated to excite respect. We neither of us wish to change roads. Let us each suffer the other to pursue his own track unmolested. Be this our compact. And by mutual forbearance let us preserve mutual peace. Saying this Mr. Falkland offered his hand to Mr. Terrell in token of fellowship. But the gesture was too significant. The wayward rustic, who seemed to have been somewhat impressed by what had preceded, taken as he now was by surprise, shrunk back. Mr. Falkland was again ready to take fire upon this new slight. But he checked himself. All this is very unaccountable! cried Mr. Terrell. What the devil can have made you so forward, if you had not some sly purpose to answer, by which I am to be overreached! My purpose, replied Mr. Falkland, is a manly and an honest purpose. Why should you refuse a proposition dictated by reason, and an equal regard to the interest of each? Mr. Terrell had had an opportunity for pause, and fell back into his habitual character. Well, sir, in all this I must own there is some frankness. Now I will return you like for like. It is no matter how I came by it. My temper is rough, and will not be controlled. May hamp you may think it is a weakness, but I do not desire to see it altered. Till you came I found myself very well. I liked my neighbours, and my neighbours humoured me. But now the case is entirely altered, and as long as I cannot stir abroad without meeting, with some mortification in which you are directly, or remotely concerned, I am determined to hate you. Now, sir, if you will only go out of the country or the kingdom, to the devil, if you please, so as I may never hear of you any more, I will promise never to quarrel with you as long as I live. Your rhymes and your rebuses, your quirks and your conundrums, may then be everything that is grand for what I care. Mr. Terrell, be reasonable. Might not I as well desire you to leave the country as you desire me? I come to you not as to a master, but an equal. In the society of men we must have something to endure as well as to enjoy. No man must think that the world was made for him. Let us take things as we find them, and accommodate ourselves as we can to unavoidable circumstances. True, sir, all this is fine talking, but I return to my text. We are as God made us. I am neither a philosopher nor a poet, to set out upon a wild goose chase of making myself a different man from what you find me. As for consequences, what must be must be. As we brew, we must bake. And so, do you see? I shall not trouble myself about what is to be, but stand up to it with a stout heart when it comes. Only this I can tell you, that as long as I find you thrust into my dish every day I shall hate you as bad as Senna and Valerian. And, damn me, if I do not think I hate you more for coming to-day in this pragmatical way, when nobody sent for you, on purpose to show how much wiser you are than all the world besides. Mr. Terrell, I have done. I foresaw consequences and came as a friend. I had hoped that, by mutual explanation, we should have come to a better understanding. I am disappointed. But perhaps when you coolly reflect on what has passed you will give me credit for my intentions, and think that my proposal was not an unreasonable one. Having said this, Mr. Falkland departed. Through the interview he, no doubt, conducted himself in a way that did him peculiar credit. Yet the warmth of his temper could not be entirely suppressed. And even when he was most exemplary, there was an apparent loftiness in his manner that was calculated to irritate. And the very grandeur with which he suppressed his passions, operated indirectly as a taunt to his opponent. The interview was prompted by the noblest sentiments, but it unquestionably served to widen the breach it was intended to heal. For Mr. Terrell he had recourse to his old expedient, and unburdened the tumult of his thoughts to his confidential friend. This cried he as a new artifice of the fellow to prove his imagined superiority. We knew well enough that he had the gift of a gab. To be sure, if the world were to be governed by words, he would be in the right box. Oh, yes, he had it all hollow. But what signifies preting? Business must be done in another guess-way than that. I wonder what possessed me that I did not kick him. But, that is all to come. This is only a new debt added to the score which he shall one day richly pay. This Falkland haunts me like a demon. I cannot wake but I think of him. I cannot sleep but I see him. He poisons all my pleasures. I should be glad to see him torn with tenterhooks and to grind his heartstrings with my teeth. I shall know no joy till I see him ruined. There may be some things right about him, but he is my perpetual torment. The thought of him hangs like a dead weight upon my heart, and I have a right to shake it off. Does he think I will feel all that I endure for nothing? In spite of the acerbity of Mr. Terrell's feelings, it is probable, however, he did some justice to his rival. He regarded him indeed with added dislike. But he no longer regarded him as a despicable foe. He avoided his encounter. He forbore to treat him with random hostility. He seemed to lie in wait for his victim, and to collect his venom for a mortal assault. Chapter 5 It was not long after that a malignant distemper broke out in the neighbourhood which proved fatal to many of the inhabitants, and was of unexampled rapidity in its effects. One of the first persons that was seized with it was Mr. Clare. It may be conceived what grief and alarm this incident spread through the vicinity. Mr. Clare was considered by them as something more than mortal. The equanimity of his behaviour, his unassuming carriage, his exuberant benevolence and goodness of heart, joined with his talents, his inoffensive wit, and the comprehensiveness of his intelligence, made him the idol of all that knew him. In the scene of his rural retreat, at least, he had no enemy. All mourned the danger that now threatened him. He appeared to have had the prospect of long life and of going down to his grave full of years and of honour. Perhaps these appearances were deceitful. Perhaps the intellectual efforts he had made which were occasionally more sudden, violent and unintermitted, than a strict regard to health would have dictated, had laid the seed of future disease. But a sanguine observer would infallibly have predicted that his temperate habits, activity of mind and unabated cheerfulness, would be able even to keep death at bay for a time, and baffle the attacks of distemper, provided their approach were not uncommonly rapid and violent. The general affliction, therefore, was doubly pungent upon the present occasion. But no one was so much affected as Mr. Falkland. Perhaps no man so well understood the value of the life that was now at stake. He immediately hastened to the spot, but he found some difficulty in gaining admission. Mr. Clare, aware of the infectious nature of his disease, had given directions that as few persons as possible should approach him. Mr. Falkland sent up his name. He was told that he was included in the general orders. He was not, however, of a temper to be easily repulsed. He persisted with obstinacy, and at length carried his point, being only reminded in the first instance to employ those precautions which experience has proved most effectual for counteracting infection. He found Mr. Clare in his bed-jamber, but not in bed. He was sitting in his night-gown at a bureau near the window. His appearance was composed and cheerful, but death was in his countenance. I had a great inclination, Falkland, said he, not to have suffered you to come in. And yet there is not a person in the world it could give me more pleasure to see. But upon second thoughts I believe there are few people that could run into a danger of this kind with a better prospect of escaping. In your case, at least, the garrison will not, I trust, be taken through the treachery of the commander. I cannot tell how it is, that I, who can preach wisdom to you, have myself been caught. But do not be discouraged by my example. I had no notice of my danger, or I would have acquitted myself better. Mr. Falkland, having once established himself in the apartment of his friend, would upon no terms consent to retire. Mr. Clare considered that there was perhaps less danger in this choice than in the frequent change from the extremes of a pure to a tainted air, and desisted from expostulation. Falkland, said he, when you came in I had just finished making my will. I was not pleased with what I had formally drawn up upon that subject, and I did not choose in my present situation to call in an attorney. In fact it would be strange if a man of sense, with pure and direct intentions, should not be able to perform such a function for himself. Mr. Clare continued to act in the same easy and disengaged manner as in perfect health. To judge from the cheerfulness of his tone and the firmness of his manner, the thought would never once have occurred that he was dying. He walked, he reasoned, he gested, in a way that argued the most perfect self-possession. But his appearance changed perceptibly for the worse every quarter of an hour. Mr. Falkland kept his eye perpetually fixed upon him, with mingled sentiments of anxiety and admiration. Falkland, said he, after having appeared for a short period, absorbed in thought. I feel that I am dying. This is a strange distemper of mine. Yesterday I seemed in perfect health, and tomorrow I shall be an insensible corpse. How curious is the line that separates life and death to mortal men? To be at one moment active, gay, penetrating, with stores of knowledge at one's command, capable of delighting, instructing, and animating mankind? And the next, lifeless and loathsome, an incumbrance upon the face of the earth, such is the history of many men, and such will be mine. I feel as if I had yet much to do in the world. But it will not be. I must be contented with what has passed. It is in vain that I muster all my spirits to my heart. The enemy is too mighty and too merciless for me. He will not give me time so much as to breathe. These things are not yet, at least, in our power. They are parts of a great series that is perpetually flowing. The general welfare, the great business of the universe, will go on, though I bear no further share in promoting it. That task is reserved for younger strengths, for you, Falkland, and such as you. We should be contemptible indeed if the prospect of human improvement did not yield us a pure and perfect delight, independently of the question of our existing to partake of it. Mankind would have little to envy to future ages, if they had all enjoyed a serenity as perfect as mine has been for the latter half of my existence. Mr. Clare sat up through the whole day, indulging himself in easy and cheerful exertions, which were perhaps better calculated to refresh and invigorate the frame, than if he had sought repose in its direct form. Now and then he was visited with a sudden pang, but it was no sooner felt, than he seemed to rise above it, and smiled at the impotence of these attacks. They might destroy him, but they could not disturb. Three or four times he was bedewed with profuse sweats, and these again were succeeded by an extreme dryness and burning heat of the skin. He was next covered with small, livid spots. Symptoms of shivering followed, but these he drove away with a determined resolution. He then became tranquil and composed, and after some time decided to go to bed, it being already night. Falkland, said he, pressing his hand, the task of dying is not so difficult as some imagine. When one looks back from the brink of it, one wonders that so total a subversion can take place at so easy a price. He had now been some time in bed, and as everything was still, Mr. Falkland hoped that he slept, but in that he was mistaken. Presently Mr. Clare threw back the curtain, and looked in the countenance of his friend. I cannot sleep, said he. No, if I could sleep it would be the same thing as to recover, and I am destined to have the worst in this battle. Falkland, I have been thinking about you. I do not know anyone whose future usefulness I contemplate with greater hope. Take care of yourself. Do not let the world be defrauded of your virtues. I am acquainted with your weakness as well as your strength. You have an impetuosity and an impatience of imagined dishonour that, if once set wrong, may make you as eminently mischievous as you will otherwise be useful. Think seriously of exterminating this error. But if I cannot, in the brief expostulation my present situation will allow, produce this desirable change in you, there is at least one thing I can do. I can put you upon your guard against a mischief I foresee to be imminent. Beware of Mr. Terrell. Do not commit the mistake of despising him as an unequal opponent. Petty causes may produce great mischiefs. Mr. Terrell is boisterous, rugged and unfeeling, and you are too passionate, too acutely sensible of injury. It would be truly to be lamented if a man so inferior, so utterly unworthy to be compared with you, should be capable of changing your whole history into misery and guilt. I have a painful presentment upon my heart, as if something dreadful would reach you from that quarter. Think of this. I exact no promise from you I would not shackle you with the fetters of superstition. I would have you governed by justice and reason. Mr. Falkland was deeply affected with this expostulation. His sense of the generous attention of Mr. Clare at such a moment was so great as almost to deprive him of utterance. He spoke in short sentences and with visible effort. I will behave better, replied he. Never fear me. Your admonitions shall not be thrown away upon me. Mr. Clare adverted to another subject. I have made you my executor. You will not refuse me this last office of friendship. It is but a short time that I have had the happiness of knowing you. But in that short time I have examined you well, and seen you thoroughly. Do not disappoint the sanguine hope I have entertained. I have left some legacies. My former connections, while I lived amongst the busy haunts of men, as many of them as were intimate, are all of them dear to me. I have not had time to summon them about me upon the present occasion, nor did I desire it. The remembrances of me will, I hope, answer a better purpose than such, as are usually thought of, on similar occasions. Mr. Clare, having thus unburdened his mind, spoke no more for several hours. Towards morning Mr. Falkland quietly withdrew the curtain, and looked at the dying man. His eyes were open, and were now gently turned towards his young friend. His countenance was sunk, and of a death-like appearance. I hope you are better, said Falkland, in a half-whisper, as if afraid of disturbing him. Mr. Clare drew his hand from the bed-clothes, and stretched it forward. Mr. Falkland advanced, and took hold of it. Much better, said Mr. Clare, in a voice inward and hardly articulate. The struggle is now over. I have finished my part. Farewell! Remember! These were his last words. He lived still a few hours. His lips were sometimes seen to move. He expired without a groan. Mr. Falkland had witnessed the scene with much anxiety. His hopes of a favourable crisis, and his fear of disturbing the last moments of his friend, had held him dumb. For the last half-hour he had stood up, with his eyes intently fixed upon Mr. Clare. He witnessed the last gasp, the last little convulsive motion of the frame. He continued to look. He sometimes imagined that he saw life renewed. At length he could deceive himself no longer, and exclaimed with a distracted accent. And this is all? He would have thrown himself upon the body of his friend, the attendance withheld, and would have forced him into another apartment. But he struggled from them and hung fondly over the bed. Is this the end of genius, virtue, and excellence? Is the luminary of the world thus forever gone? Oh, yesterday! Yesterday! Clare, why could not I have died in your stead? Dreadful moment! Irreparable loss! Lost in the very maturity and vigour of his mind, cut off from a usefulness ten thousand times greater than any he had already exhibited. Oh, his was a mind to have instructed sages and guided the moral world. This is all we have left of him. The eloquence of those lips is gone. The incessant activity of that heart is still. The best and wisest of men is gone, and the world is insensible of its loss. Mr. Terrell heard the intelligence of Mr. Clare's death with emotion, but of a different kind. He avowed that he had not forgiven him his partial attachment to Mr. Falkland, and therefore could not recall his remembrance with kindness. But if he could have overlooked his past injustice, sufficient care, it seems, was taken to keep alive his resentment. Falkland, forsooth, attended him on his deathbed as if nobody else were worthy of his confidential communications. But what was worst of all was this executorship. In everything this pragmatical rascal throws me behind, contemptible wretch that has nothing of the man about him. Must he perpetually trample upon his betters? Is everybody incapable of saying what kind of stuff a man is made of, caught with mere outside, choosing the flimsy before the substantial, and upon his deathbed too? Mr. Terrell, with his uncultivated brutality mixed, as usually happens, certain rude notions of religion. Sure, the sense of his situation might have shamed him. Poor wretch! His soul has a great deal to answer for. He has made my pillow uneasy and whatever may be the consequences. It is he we have to thank for them. The death of Mr. Clare removed the person who could most effectually have moderated the animosities of the contending parties, and took away the great operative check upon the excesses of Mr. Terrell. This rustic tyrant had been held in involuntary restraint by the intellectual ascendancy of his celebrated neighbour. And notwithstanding the general ferocity of his temper, he did not appear till lately to have entertained a hatred against him. In the short time that had elapsed from the period in which Mr. Clare had fixed his residence in the neighbourhood, to that of the arrival of Mr. Falkland from the continent, the conduct of Mr. Terrell had even shown tokens of improvement. He would indeed have been better satisfied not to have had even this intruder into a circle where he had been accustomed to reign. But with Mr. Clare he could have no rivalship, the venerable character of Mr. Clare disposed him to submission. This great man seemed to have survived all the acrimony of contention, and all the jealous subtleties of a mistaken honour. The effects of Mr. Clare's suavity, however, so far as related to Mr. Terrell, had been in a certain degree suspended by considerations of rivalship between this gentleman and Mr. Falkland. And, now that the influence of Mr. Clare's presence and virtues was entirely removed, Mr. Terrell's temper broke out into more criminal excesses than ever. The added gloom which Mr. Falkland's neighbourhood inspired overflowed upon all his connections. And the new examples of his sulleness and tyranny, which every day afforded, reflected back upon this accumulated and portentious feud. End of Chapter 5 of Volume I. The consequences of all this speedily manifested themselves. The very next incident in the story was in some degree decisive of the catastrophe. Hitherto I have spoken only of preliminary matters, seemingly unconnected with each other, though leading to that state of mind in both parties, which had such fatal effects. But all that remains is rapid and tremendous. The death-dealing mischief advances with an accelerated motion, appearing to defy human wisdom and strength to obstruct its operation. The vices of Mr. Terrell, in their present state of augmentation, were peculiarly exercised upon his domestics and dependence. But the principal sufferer was the young lady mentioned on a former occasion, the orphaned daughter of his father's sister. Miss Melville's mother had married imprudently, or rather unfortunately, against the consent of her relations, all of whom had agreed to withdraw their countenance from her in consequence of that precipitous death. Her husband had turned out to be no better than an adventurer, had spent her fortune, which in consequence of the irreconcilableness of her family, was less than he expected, and had broken her heart. Her infant daughter was left without any resource. In this situation the representations of the people with whom she happened to be placed prevailed upon Mrs. Terrell, the mother of the squire, to receive her into her family. In equity, perhaps, she was entitled to that portion of fortune which her mother had forfeited by her imprudence, and which had gone to swell the property of the male representative. But this idea had never entered into the conceptions of either mother or son. Mrs. Terrell conceived that she performed an act of the most exalted benevolence, in admitting Miss Emily into a sort of equivocal situation, which was neither precisely that of a domestic, nor yet marked with the treatment that might seem due to one of the family. She had not, however, at first been sensible of all the mortifications that might have been expected from her condition. Mrs. Terrell, though proud and imperious, was not ill-natured. The female, who lived in the family in the capacity of housekeeper, was a person who had seen better days and whose disposition was extremely upright and amiable. She early contracted a friendship for the little Emily, who was indeed for the most part committed to her care. Emily, on her side, fully repaid the affection of her instructress, and learned with great docility the few accomplishments Mrs. Jakeman was able to communicate. But most of all she imbibed her cheerful and artless temper, that extracted the agreeable and encouraging from all events, and prompted her to communicate her sentiments, which were never of the cynical cast, without modification or disguise. Besides the advantages Emily derived from Mrs. Jakeman, she was permitted to take lessons from the masters, who were employed at Terrell Place for the instruction of her cousin, and indeed, as the young gentleman was most frequently indisposed to attend to them, they would commonly have had nothing to do, had it not been for the fortunate presence of Miss Melville. Mrs. Terrell, therefore, encouraged the studies of Emily on that score, in addition to which she imagined that this living exhibition of instruction might operate as an indirect allurement to her darling Barnabas, the only species of motive she would suffer to be presented. Force she absolutely forbade, and of the intrinsic allurements of literature and knowledge she had no conception. Emily, as she grew up, displayed an uncommon degree of sensibility, which, under her circumstances, would have been a source of perpetual dissatisfaction, had it not been qualified with an extreme sweetness and easiness of temper. She was far from being entitled to the appellation of a beauty. Her person was petite and trivial, her complexion savoured of the brunette, and her face was marked with the smallpox, sufficiently to destroy its evenness and polish, though not enough to destroy its expression. But, though her appearance was not beautiful, it did not fail to be in a high degree engaging. Her complexion was at once healthful and delicate. Her long dark eyebrows adapted themselves with facility to the various conceptions of her mind, and her looks bore the united impression of an act of discernment and a good-humoured frankness. The instruction she had received, as it was entirely of a casual nature, exempted her from the evils of untutored ignorance, but not from a sort of native wildness, arguing a mind incapable of guile itself, or of suspecting it in others. She amused, without seeming conscious, of the refined sense which her observations contained, or rather, having never been debouched with applause, she set light by her own qualifications, and talked from the pure gaiety of a youthful heart, acting upon the stores of a just understanding, and not with any expectation of being distinguished and admired. The death of her aunt made very little change in her situation. This prudent lady, who would have thought it little less than sacrilege to have considered Miss Melville as a branch of the stock of the Tyrells, took no more notice of her in her will than barely putting her down for one hundred pounds in a catalogue of legacies to her servants. She had never been admitted into the intimacy and confidence of Mrs. Tyrell, and the young squire, now that she was left under his sole protection, seemed inclined to treat her with even more liberality than his mother had done. He had seen her grow up under his eye, and therefore, though there were but six years difference in their ages, he felt a kind of paternal interest in her welfare. Habit had rendered her in a manner necessary to him, and in every recess from the occupations of the field and the pleasures of the table, he found himself solitary and forlorn without the society of Miss Melville. Nearness of kindred and Emily's want of personal beauty prevented him from ever looking on her with the eyes of desire. Her accomplishments were chiefly of the customary and superficial kind, dancing and music. Her skill in the first led him sometimes to indulge her with a vacant corner in his carriage when he went to the neighbouring assembly, and in whatever light he might himself think proper to regard her, he would have imagined his chambermaid, introduced by him, entitled to an undoubted place in the most splendid circle. Her musical talents were frequently employed for his amusement. She had the honour occasionally of playing him to sleep after the fatigues of the chase, and as he had some relish for harmonious sounds, she was frequently able to soothe him by their means from the perturbations of which his gloomy disposition was so eminently a slave. Upon the whole she might be considered, as in some sort, his favourite. She was the mediator to whom his tenants and domestics, when they had incurred his displeasures, were accustomed to apply, the privileged companion that could approach this line with impunity in the midst of his roaring's. She spoke to him without fear. Her solicitations were always good-natured and disinterested, and when he repulsed her he disarmed himself of half his terrors, and was contented to smile at her presumption. Such had been, for some years, the situation of Miss Melville. Its precariousness had been beguiled by the uncommon forbearance with which she was treated by her savage protector. But his disposition, always brutal, had acquired a gradual accession of ferocity since the settlement of Mr. Falkland in his neighbourhood. He now frequently forgot the gentleness with which he had been accustomed to treat his good-natured cousin. Her little playful arts were not always successful in softening his rage, and he would sometimes turn upon her blandishments with an impatient sternness that made her tremble. The careless ease of her disposition, however, soon effaced these impressions, and she fell without variation into her old habits. A circumstance occurred about this time which gave peculiar strength to the acrimony of Mr. Terrell, and ultimately brought to its close the felicity that Miss Melville, in spite of the frowns of fortune, had hitherto enjoyed. Emily was exactly seventeen when Mr. Falkland returned from the Continent. At this age she was peculiarly susceptible of the charms of beauty, grace, and moral excellence, when united in a person of the other sex. She was imprudent, precisely because her own heart was incapable of guile. She had never yet felt the sting of the poverty to which she was condemned, and had not reflected on the insuperable distance that Custom has placed between the opulent and the poorer classes of the community. She beheld Mr. Falkland, whenever he was thrown in her way at any of the public meetings, with admiration, and without having precisely explained to herself the sentiments she indulged, her eyes followed him through all the changes of the scene, with eagerness and impatience. She did not see him, as the rest of the assembly did, born to one of the amplest estates in the county, and qualified to assert his title to the richest heiress. She thought only of Falkland, with those advantages which were most intimately his own, and of which no persecution of adverse fortune had the ability to deprive him. In a word she was transported when he was present. He was the perpetual subject of her reveries and her dreams, but his image excited no sentiment in her mind beyond that of the immediate pleasure she took in his idea. The notice Mr. Falkland bestowed on her in return appeared sufficiently encouraging to a mind so full of prepossession as that of Emily. There was a particular complacency in his looks when directed towards her. He had said in a company, of which one of the persons present repeated his remarks to Miss Melville, that she appeared to him amiable and interesting, that he felt for her unprovided and destitute situation, and that he should have been glad to be more particular in his attention to her, had he not been apprehensive of doing her a prejudice in the suspicious mind of Mr. Terrell. All this she considered as the ravishing condescension of a superior nature, for if she did not recollect with sufficient assiduity his gifts of fortune, she was, on the other hand, filled with reverence for his unrivaled accomplishments. But while she thus seemingly disclaimed all comparison between Mr. Falkland and herself, she probably cherished a confused feeling as if some event, that was yet in the womb of fate, might reconcile things, apparently the most incompatible. Fraught with these prepositions, the civilities that had once or twice occurred in the bustle of a public circle, the restoring her fan which she had dropped, or the disembarrassing her of an empty teacup, made her heart palpitate, and gave birth to the widest chimeras in her deluded imagination. About this time an event happened that helped to give a precise determination to the fluctuations of Miss Melville's mind. One evening, a short time after the death of Mr. Clare, Mr. Falkland had been at the house of his deceased friend in his quality of executor, and by some accidents of little intrinsic importance, had been detained three or four hours later than he expected. He did not set out upon his return till two o'clock in the morning. At this time, in a situation so remote from the metropolis, everything is as silent as it would be in a region wholly uninhabited. The moon shone bright, and the objects around being marked with strong variations of light and shade gave a kind of sacred solemnity to the scene. Mr. Falkland had taken Collins with him. The business to be settled at Mr. Clare's being in some respects similar to that to which his faithful domestic had been accustomed in the routine of his ordinary service. They had entered into some conversation, for Mr. Falkland was not then in the habit of obliging the persons about him by formality and reserve to recollect who he was. The attractive solemnity of the scene made him break off the talk somewhat abruptly, that he might enjoy it without interruption. They had not ridden far before a hollow wind seemed to rise at a distance, and they could hear the hoarse roaring of the sea. Presently the sky on one side assumed the appearance of a reddish brown, and a sudden angle in the road placed this phenomenon directly before them. As they proceeded it became more distinct and was at length sufficiently visible that it was occasioned by a fire. Mr. Falkland put spurs to his horse, and as they approached the object presented every instant a more alarming appearance. The flames ascended with fierceness. They embraced a large portion of the horizon, and as they carried up with them numerous little fragments of the materials that fed them, impregnated with fire, and of an extremely bright and luminous color, they presented some feeble image of the tremendous eruption of a volcano. The flames proceeded from a village directly in their road. There were eight or ten houses already on fire, and the whole seemed to be threatened with immediate destruction. The inhabitants were in the utmost consternation having had no previous experience of a similar calamity. They conveyed with haste their movables and furniture into the adjoining fields. When any of them had affected this as far as it could be attempted with safety, they were unable to conceive any further remedy, but stood ringing their hands and contemplating the ravages of the fire in an agony of powerless despair. The water that could be procured, in any mode practiced in that place, was but as a drop contending with an element in arms. The wind in the meantime was rising, and the flames spread with more and more rapidity. Mr. Falkland contemplated this scene for a few moments, as if ruminating with himself as to what could be done. He then directed some of the country people about him to pull down a house, next to one that was wholly on fire, but which itself was yet untouched. They seemed astonished at a direction which implied a voluntary destruction of property, and considered the task as too much in the heart of the danger to be undertaken, observing that they were motionless he dismounted from his horse, and called upon them in an authoritative voice to follow him. He ascended the house in an instant, and presently appeared upon the top of it, as if in the midst of the flames. Having, with the assistance of two or three of the persons that followed him most closely, and who by this time had supplied themselves with whatever tools came next to hand, loosened the support of a stack of chimneys. He pushed them headlong into the midst of the fire. He passed and repassed along the roof, and having set people to work in all parts, descended in order to see what could be done in any other quarter. At this moment an elderly woman burst from the midst of a house in flames, the utmost consternation was painted in her looks, and as soon as she could recollect herself enough to have a proper idea of her situation, the subject of her anxiety seemed, in an instant, to be totally changed. Where is my child? cried she, and cast an anxious and piercing look among the surrounding crowd. Oh, she has lost! She is in the midst of flames! Save her! Save her, my child! She filled the air with heart-rending shrieks. She turned towards the house. The people that were near endeavored to prevent her, but she shook them off in a moment. She entered the passage, viewed the hideous ruin, and was then going to plunge into the blazing staircase. Mr. Falkland saw, pursued, and seized her by the arm. It was Mrs. Jakeman. Stop! he cried with a voice of grand yet benevolent authority. Remain you in the street. I will seek and will save her. Mrs. Jakeman obeyed. He charged the persons who were near to detain her. He inquired which was the apartment of Emily. Mrs. Jakeman was upon a visit to a sister who lived in the village, and had brought Emily along with her. Mr. Falkland ascended a neighbouring house, and entered that in which Emily was, by a window in the roof. He found her already awaked from her sleep, and, becoming sensible of her danger, she had that instant wrapped a loose gown round her. Such is the almost irresistible result of feminine habits. But having done this, she examined the surrounding objects with the wildness of despair. Mr. Falkland entered the chamber. She flew into his arms with the rapidity of lightning. She embraced and clung to him with an impulse that did not wait to consult the dictates of her understanding. Her emotions were indescribable. In a few short moments she had lived an age in love. In two minutes Mr. Falkland was again in the street with his lovely, half-naked birthing in his arms. Having restored her to her affectionate protector, snatched from the immediate grasp of death, from which, if he had not, none would have delivered her, he returned to his former task. By his presence of mind, by his indefatigable humanity, and incessant exertions, he saved three-fourths of the village from destruction. The conflagration being at length abated, he sought again Mrs. Jakeman and Emily, who by this time had obtained a substitute for the garments she had lost in the fire. He displayed the tenderest solicitude for the young lady's safety, and directed Collins to go with as much speed as he could, and sent his chariot to attend her. More than an hour elapsed in this interval. Miss Melville had never seen so much of Mr. Falkland upon any former occasion, and the spectacle of such humanity, delicacy, firmness, and justice in the form of man, as he crowded into this small space, was altogether new to her, and in the highest degree fascinating. She had a confused feeling as if there had been something in decorous in her behavior or appearance when Mr. Falkland had appeared to her relief, and this combined with her other emotions, to render the whole critical and intoxicating. Emily no sooner arrived at the family mansion, than Mr. Trell ran out to receive her. He had just heard of the melancholy accident that had taken place at the village, and was terrified for the safety of his good-humored cousin. He displayed those unpremeditated emotions which are common to almost every individual of the human race. He was greatly shocked at the suspicion that Emily might possibly have become the victim of a catastrophe which had thus broken out in the dead of night. His sensations were of the most pleasing sort when he folded her in his arms, and fearful apprehension was instantaneously converted into joyous certainty. Emily no sooner entered under the well-known roof than her spirits were brisk, and her tongue incessant in describing her danger and her deliverance. Mr. Trell had formerly been tortured with the innocent eulogims she pronounced of Mr. Falkland, but these were lameness itself compared with the rich and various eloquence that now flowed from her lips. Love had not the same effect upon her, especially at the present moment, which it would have had upon a person instructed to feign a blush, and inured to a consciousness of wrong. She described his activity and resources, the promptitude with which everything was conceived, and the cautious but daring wisdom with which it was executed. All was very land and enchantment in the tenure of her artless tale. You saw a beneficent genius surveying and controlling the whole, but could have no notion of any human means by which his purposes were affected. Mr. Trell listened for a while to these innocent effusions with patience. He could even bear to hear the man applauded, by whom he had just obtained so considerable a benefit. But the theme by amplification became nauseous, and he at length, with some roughness, put an end to the tale. Probably upon recollection it appeared still more insolent and intolerable than while it was passing. The sensation of gratitude wore off, but the hyperbolic praise that had been bestowed still haunted his memory and sounded in his ear. Emily had entered into the confederacy that disturbed his repose. For herself she was wholly unconscious of offence, and upon every occasion quoted Mr. Falkland as the model of elegant manners and true wisdom. She was a total stranger to dissimilation, and she could not conceive that anyone beheld the subject of her admiration with less partiality than herself. Her artless love became more fervent than ever. She flattered herself that nothing less than a reciprocal passion could have prompted Mr. Falkland to the desperate attempt of saving her from the flames, and she trusted that this passion would speedily declare itself, as well as induce the object of her adoration to overlook her comparative unworthiness. Mr. Trell endeavored at first with some moderation to check Miss Melville in her applause, and to convince her by various tokens that the subject was disagreeable to him. He was accustomed to treat her with kindness. Emily, on her part, was disposed to yield an unreluctant obedience, and therefore it was not difficult to restrain her. But upon the very next occasion her favorite topic would force its way to her lips. Her obedience was the acquiescence of a frank and benevolent heart. But it was the most difficult thing in the world to inspire her with fear. Conscious herself that she would not hurt a worm, she could not conceive that any one would harbor cruelty and rank her against her. Her temper had preserved her from obstinate contention with the persons under whose protection she was placed. And, as her compliance was unhesitating, she had no experience of a severe and rigorous treatment. As Mr. Trell's objection to the very name of Falkland became more palpable and uniform, Miss Melville increased in her precaution. She would stop herself in the half-pronounced sentences that were meant to his praise. This circumstance had necessarily an ungracious effect. It was a cutting satire upon the imbecility of her kinsmen. Upon these occasions she would sometimes venture upon a good humored expostulation. Dear sir, well, I wonder how you can be so ill-natured. I'm sure Mr. Falkland would do you any good office in the world. Till she was checked by some gesture of impatience and fierceness. At length she wholly conquered her heedlessness and inattention. But it was too late. Mr. Trell already suspected the existence of that passion which she had thoughtlessly imbibed. His imagination, ingenious in torment, suggested to him all the different openings in conversation, in which she would have introduced the praise of Mr. Falkland, had she not been placed under this unnatural restraint. Her present reserve upon the subject was even more insufferable than her former locacity. All his kindness for this unhappy orphan gradually subsided. Her partiality for the man who was the object of his unbounded abhorrence appeared to him as the last persecution of a malicious destiny. He figured himself as about to be deserted by every creature in human form. All men under the influence of a fatal enchantment, approving only what was sophisticated and artificial, and holding the rude and genuine offspring of nature in mortal antipathy. Impressed with these gloomy presages, he saw Miss Melville with no sentiments but those of rankerous aversion. And, accustomed as he was to the uncontrolled indulgence of his propensities, he determined to wreak upon her a signal revenge. CHAPTER VII Mr. Terrell consulted his old confidant respecting the plan he should pursue, who, sympathizing as he did in the brutality and insolence of his friend, had no idea that an insignificant girl, without either wealth or beauty, ought to be allowed for a moment to stand in the way of the gratifications of a man of Mr. Terrell's importance. The first idea of her now unrelenting kinsman was to thrust her from his doors, and leave her to seek her bread as she could. But he was conscious that this proceeding would involve him in considerable obliquy, and he at length fixed upon a scheme which, at the same time that he believed it would sufficiently shelter his reputation, would much more certainly secure her mortification and punishment. For this purpose he fixed upon a young man of twenty, the son of one Grimes, who occupied a small farm, the property of his confidant. This fellow he resolved to impose as a husband on Miss Melville, who, he shrewdly suspected, guided by the tender sentiments she had unfortunately conceived for Mr. Falkland, would listen with reluctance to any matrimonial proposal. Grimes he selected as being, in all respects, the diametrical reverse of Mr. Falkland. He was not precisely a lad of vicious propensities, but in an inconceivable degree boorish and uncouth. His complexion was scarcely human. His features were coarse and strangely discordant and disjointed from each other. His lips were thick, and the tone of his voice broad and unmodulated. His legs were of equal size from one end to the other, and his feet misshapen and clumsy. He had nothing spiteful or malicious in his disposition, but he was a total stranger to tenderness. He could not feel for those refinements in others, of which he had no experience in himself. He was an expert boxer. His inclination led him to such amusements as were most boisterous, and he delighted in a sort of manual sarcasm which he could not conceive to be very injurious, as it left no traces behind it. His general manners were noisy and obstreperous, inattentive to others, and obstinate and unyielding, not from any cruelty and ruggedness of temper, but from an incapacity to conceive those finer feelings that make so large a part of the history of persons who are cast in a gentler mould. Such was the uncouth and half-civilised animal which the industrious malice of Mr. Terrell fixed upon as most happily adapted to his purpose. Emily had hitherto been in an unusual degree exempted from the oppression of despotism. Her happy insignificance had served her as a protection. No one thought it worth his while to fetter her with those numerous petty restrictions with which the daughters of opulence are commonly tormented. She had the wildness, as well as the delicate frame, of the bird that warbles unmolested in its native groves. When, therefore, she heard from her kinsmen the proposal of Mr. Grimes for a husband, she was for a moment silent with astonishment at so unexpected a suggestion, but as soon as she recovered her speech she replied, No, sir, I do not want a husband. You do? Are not you always hankering after the men? It is high time you should be settled. Mr. Grimes, no indeed. When I do have a husband it shall not be such a man as Mr. Grimes neither. Be silent! How dare you give yourself such unaccountable liberties! Lord, I wonder what I should do with him. You might as well give me your great rough water-dog and bid me make him a silk cushion to lie in my dressing-room. Besides, sir, Grimes is a common laboring man, and I am sure I have always heard my aunt say that ours is a very great family. It is a lie, our family! Have you the impudence to think yourself one of our family? Why, sir, was not your grand-papa my grand-papa? How then can we be of a different family? From the strongest reason in the world, you are the daughter of a rascally scotchman who spent every shilling of my aunt Lucy's fortune and left you a beggar. You have got an hundred pounds, and Grimes's father promises to give him as much. How dare you look down upon your equals. Indeed, sir, I am not proud, but indeed and indeed I can never love Mr. Grimes. I am very happy as I am. Why should I be married? Silence your preting! Grimes will be here this afternoon. Look that you behave well to him. If you do not, he will remember and repay when you least like it. Nay, I am sure, sir, you are not in earnest. Not in earnest? Damn me, but we will see that. I can tell what you would be at. You had rather be Mr. Falkland's miss than the wife of a plain downright yeoman. But I shall take care of you. Aye, this comes of indulgence. You must be taken down, miss. You must be taught the difference between high-flown notions and realities. May have you may take it a little in dudgeon or so, but never mind that. Pride always wants a little smarting. If you should be brought to shame, it is I that shall bear the blame of it. The tone in which Mr. Tyrell spoke was so different from anything to which Miss Melville had been accustomed, that she felt herself wholly unable to determine what construction to put upon it. Sometimes she thought he had really formed a plan for imposing upon her a condition that she could not bear so much as to think of. But presently she rejected this idea as an unworthy imputation upon her kinsman, and concluded that it was only his way, and that all he meant was to try her. To be resolved, however, she determined to consult her constant advisor, Mrs. Jakeman, and accordingly repeated to her what had passed. Mrs. Jakeman saw the whole in a very different light from that in which Emily had conceived it, and trembled for the future peace of her beloved ward. Lord bless me, my dear mama! cried Emily. This was the appellation she delighted to bestow upon the good housekeeper. You cannot think so. But I do not care. I will never marry Grimes. Happen what will. But how will you help yourself? My master will oblige you. Nay, now you think you are talking to a child indeed. It is I am to have the man, not Mr. Tyrell. Do you think I will let anybody else choose a husband for me? I am not such a fool as that, neither. Ah, Emily, you little know the disadvantages of your situation. Your cousin is a violent man, and perhaps will turn you out of doors if you oppose him. Oh, mama! it is very wicked of you to say so. I am sure Mr. Tyrell is a very good man, though he be a little cross now and then. He knows very well that I am right to have a will of my own in such a thing as this, and nobody is punished for doing what is right. Nobody ought, my dear child, but there are very wicked and tyrannical men in the world. Well, well, I will never believe my cousin is one of these. I hope he is not. And if he were, what then? To be sure I should be very sorry to make him angry. What then? Why then my poor Emily would be a beggar. Do you think I could bear to see that? No, no, Mr. Tyrell has just told me that I have a hundred pounds. But if I had no fortune, is not that the case with a thousand other folks? Why should I grieve for what they bear and are merry? Do not make yourself uneasy, mama. I am determined that I will do anything rather than merry grimes. That is what I will. Mrs. Jakeman could not bear the uneasy state of suspense in which this conversation left her mind, and went immediately to the Squire to have her doubts resolved. The manner in which she proposed to the questions sufficiently indicated the judgment she had formed of the match. That is true, said Mr. Tyrell. I wanted to speak to you about this affair. The girl has got unaccountable notions in her head that will be the ruin of her. You, perhaps, can tell where she had them. But be that as it will, it is high time something should be done. The shortest way is the best, and to keep things well while they are well. In short, I am determined she shall marry this lad. You do not know any harm of him, do you? You have a good deal of influence with her, and I desire. Do you see that you will employ it to lead her to her good? You had best. I can tell you. She is a pert vixen. By and by she would be a whore, and at last no better than a common troll, and rot upon a dung-hill if I were not at all these pains to save her from destruction. I would make her an honest farmer's wife, and my pretty miss cannot bear the thought of it. In the afternoon Grimes came, according to appointment, and was left alone with the young lady. Well, miss, said he, it seems the squire has a mind to make us men and wife. For my part, I cannot say I should have thought of it. But, being as how the squire has broke the ice, if so be as you like of the match, why, I am your man. Speak the word, an odd is as good as a wink to a blind horse. Emily was already sufficiently mortified at the unexpected proposal of Mr. Turrell. She was confounded at the novelty of the situation, and still more at the uncultivated rudeness of her lover, which even exceeded her expectation. This confusion was interpreted by Grimes into diffidence. Come, come, never be cast down. Put a good face upon it. What, though? My first sweetheart was bit butter-filled. But what of that? What must be must be grief will never fill the belly? She was a fine, strapping wench, that is the truth of it. Five foot ten inches and as stout as a trooper. Oh, she would do a power of work. Up early and down late, milked ten cows with her own hands. On with her cardinal, rode to market between her paniers, far weather and foul, hail blower snow. It would have done your heart good to have seen her frost-bitten cheeks, as red as a beefen from her own orchard. Ah, she was a maid of metal, would romp with the harvest men, slap one upon the back, wrestle with another, and had a rogue's trick and a joke for all round. Poor girl, she broke her neck downstairs at a christening. To be sure, I shall never meet with her fellow. But never you mind that. I do not doubt that I shall find more in you upon further acquaintance. As coy and bashful as you seem, I daresay you are rogue enough at bottom. When I have tuzzled and rumpled you a little, we shall see. I am no chicken-miss, whatever you may think. I know what is what, and can see as far into a millstone as another. I, I, you will come to. The fish will snap at the bait never doubt it. Yes, yes, we shall rub on mainwell together. Emily by this time had in some degree mustered up her spirits, and began, though with hesitation, to thank Mr. Grimes for his good opinion, but to confess that she could never be brought to favour his addresses. She therefore entreated him to desist from all further application. This remonstrance on her part would have become more intelligible had it not been for his boisterous manners and extravagant cheerfulness which indisposed him to silence, and made him suppose that at half a word he had sufficient intimation of another's meaning. Mr. Terrell in the meantime was too impatient not to interrupt the scene before they could have time to proceed far in explanation, and he was studious in the sequel to prevent the young folks from being too intimately acquainted with each other's inclinations. Grimes, of consequence, attributed the reluctance of Miss Melville to maiden coiness, and the skittish shyness of an unbroken filly. Indeed, had it been otherwise, it is not probable that it would have made any effectual impression upon him, as he was always accustomed to consider women as made for the recreation of the men, and to exclaim against the weakness of people who taught them to imagine they were to judge for themselves. As the suit proceeded, and Miss Melville saw more of her new admirer, her antipathy increased. But though her character was unspoiled by those false wants, which frequently make people of a family miserable while they have everything that nature requires within their reach, yet she had been little used to opposition, and was terrified at the growing sternness of her kinsmen. Sometimes she thought of flying from a house which was now become her dungeon, but the habits of her youth and her ignorance of the world made her shrink from this project, when she contemplated it more nearly. Mrs. Jakeman indeed could not think with patience of young grimes as a husband for her darling Emily, but her prudence determined her to resist with all her might the idea on the part of the young lady, of proceeding to extremities. She could not believe that Mr. Terrell would persist in such an unaccountable persecution, and she exhorted Miss Melville to forget for a moment the unaffected independence of her character, and pathetically to deprecate her cousin's obstinacy. She had great confidence in the ingenuous eloquence of her ward. Mrs. Jakeman did not know what was passing in the breast of the tyrant. Miss Melville complied with the suggestion of her mamma. One morning immediately after breakfast she went to her harpsichord and played one after another several of those heirs that were most the favourites of Mr. Terrell. Mrs. Jakeman had retired. The servants were gone to their respective employments. Mr. Terrell would have gone also. His mind was untuned, and he did not take the pleasure he had been accustomed to take in the musical performances of Emily. But her finger was now more tasteful than common. Her mind was probably wrought up to a firmer and bolder tone by the recollection of the cause she was going to plead. At the same time that it was exempt from those incapacitating tremors which would have been felt by one that dared not look poverty in the face. Mr. Terrell was unable to leave the apartment. Sometimes he traversed it with impatient steps. Then he hung over the poor innocent whose powers were exerted to please him. At length he threw himself in a chair opposite, with his eyes turned towards Emily. It was easy to trace the progress of his emotions. The furrows into which his countenance was contracted were gradually relaxed. His features were brightened into a smile. The kindness with which he had upon former occasions contemplated Emily seemed to revive in his heart. Emily watched her opportunity. As soon as she had finished one of the pieces she rose and went to Mr. Terrell. Now have not I done it nicely, and after this will not you give me a reward? A reward? I. Come here and I will give you a kiss. No, that's not it. And yet you have not kissed me this many a day. Formerly you said you loved me and called me your Emily. I am sure you did not love me better than I loved you. You have not forgot all the kindness you once had for me? added she anxiously. Forgot? No, no, how can you ask such a question? You shall be my dear Emily still. Ah, those were happy times, she replied a little mournfully. Do you know, cousin, I wish I could wake and find that the last month, only about a month, was a dream. What do you mean by that? said Mr. Terrell with an altered voice. Have a care. Do not put me out of humour. Do not come with your romantic notions now. No, no, I have no romantic notions in my head. I speak of something upon which the happiness of my life depends. I see what you would be at. Be silent. You know it is to no purpose to plague me with your stubbornness. You will not let me be in good humour with you for a moment. What my mind is determined upon about Grimes, all the world shall not move me to give up. Dear, dear cousin, why but consider now. Grimes is a rough rustic lout like Orson in the story-book. He wants a wife like himself. He would be as uneasy and as much at a loss with me as I with him. Why should we both of us be forced to do what neither of us is inclined to? I cannot think what could ever have put it into your head. But now, for goodness sake, give it up. Marriage is a serious thing. You should not think of joining two people for a whim, who are neither of them fit for one another in any respect in the world. We should feel mortified and disappointed all our lives. Month would go after month and year after year, and I could never hope to be my own, but by the death of a person I ought to love. I am sure, sir, you cannot mean me all this harm. What have I done that I should deserve to have you for an enemy? I am not your enemy. I tell you that it is necessary to put you out of harm's way. But if I were your enemy I could not be a worse torment to you than you are to me. Are you not continually singing the praises of Falkland? Are not you in love with Falkland? That man is a legion of devils to me. I might as well have been a beggar. I might as well have been a dwarf or a monster. Time was when I was thought entitled to respect. But now, debouched by this French-ified rascal they call me rude, surly, a tyrant. It is true that I cannot talk, in finical phrases, flatter people with hypocritical praise, or suppress the real feelings of my mind. The scoundrel knows his pitiful advantages and insults me upon them without ceasing. He is my rival and my persecutor. And at last, as if all this were not enough, he has found means to spread the pestilence in my own family, you whom we took up out of charity, the chance-borne brat of a stolen marriage. You must turn upon your benefactor and wound me in the point that of all others I could least bear. If I were your enemy, should not I have reason? Could I ever inflict upon you such injuries, as you have made me suffer? And who are you? The lives of fifty such cannot atone for an hour of my uneasiness. If you were to linger for twenty years upon the rack, you would never feel what I have felt. But I am your friend. I see which way you are going, and I am determined to save you from this thief, this hypocritical destroyer of us all. Every moment that the mischief is left to itself it does but make bad worse, and I am determined to save you out of hand. The angry expostulations of Mr. Terrell suggested new ideas to the tender mind of Miss Melville. He had never confessed the emotions of his soul so explicitly before, but the tempest of his thoughts suffered him to be no longer master of himself. She saw with astonishment that he was the irreconcilable foe of Mr. Falkland, whom she had fondly imagined it was the same thing to know and admire, and that he harboured a deep and rooted resentment against herself. She recoiled, without well-knowing why, before the ferocious passions of her kinsmen, and was convinced that she had nothing to hope from his implacable temper. But her alarm was the prelude of firmness, and not of cowardice. No, sir, replied she, indeed I will not be driven any way that you happen to like. I have been used to obey you, and in all that is reasonable I will obey you still. But you urge me too far. What do you tell me of Mr. Falkland? Have I ever done anything to disserve your unkind suspicions? I am innocent, and will continue innocent. Mr. Grimes is well enough, and will no doubt find women like him. But he is not fit for me, and torture shall not force me to be his wife. Mr. Terrell was not a little astonished at the spirit which Emily displayed upon this occasion. He had calculated too securely upon the general mildness and suavity of her disposition. He now endeavoured to qualify the harshness of his former sentiment. God damn my soul! And so you can scold, can you? You expect everybody to turn out of his way and fetch and carry just as you please? I could find in my heart, but you know my mind. I insist upon it that you let Grimes court you, and that you lay aside your salks, and give him a fair hearing. Will you do that? If, then, you persist in your willfulness why there I suppose is an end of the matter. Do not think that anybody is going to marry you, whether you will or no. You are no such mighty prize I assure you. If you knew your own interest you would be glad to take the young fellow while he is willing. Miss Melville rejoiced in the prospect which the last words of her kinsmen afforded her, of a termination at no great distance to her present persecutions. Mrs. Jakeman, to whom she communicated them, congratulated Emily on the returning moderation and good sense of the squire, and herself on her prudence in having urged the young lady to this happy expostulation. But their mutual felicitations lasted not long. Mr. Terrell informed Mrs. Jakeman of the necessity in which he found himself, of sending her to a distance, upon a business which would not fail to detain her several weeks. And though the errand, by no means war an artificial or ambiguous face, the two friends drew a melancholy presage from this ill-timed separation. Mrs. Jakeman, in the meantime, exhorted her ward to persevere, reminded her of the compunction which had already been manifested by her kinsmen, and encouraged her to hope everything from her courage and good temper. Emily on her part, though grieved at the absence of her protector and counsellor at so interesting a crisis, was unable to suspect Mr. Terrell of such a degree, either of malice or duplicity, as could afford ground for serious alarm. She congratulated herself upon her delivery from so alarming a persecution, and drew a prognostic of future success from this happy termination of the first serious affair of her life. She exchanged a state of fortitude and alarm for her former pleasing dreams respecting Mr. Falkland. These she bore without impatience. She was even taught, by the uncertainty of the event, to desire to prolong, rather than abridge, a situation which might be delusive, but which was not without its pleasures. End of chapter 7 of Volume I