Principle and Practice, the Orphan Family, by Harriet Martineau. 

________________________________________________________________________This book was written in the earliest part of the nineteenth century, and its author was only in her twenties when she wrote it. Basicallythe story illustrates how at that time an ordinary decent family, perhaps with its finances already a bit stretched with the effort ofeducating several children, would be completely ruined if thewage-earner were to die. If there was any income at all it might bereckoned in tens of pounds a year, and the greatest economy would haveto be exercised to make this go round. Anyone in the family group whowas able to earn a little did their best to do so. For instance one ofthe girls might be able to draw attractively, and could sell some of herpictures; another might be able to create nice useful items; anothermight be able to teach the younger children, thus avoiding the expenseof sending them to school. It was lucky if there was a wealthy friendor relative who was prepared to pay for the education of one of theboys, to the stage where he could in turn become a wage-earner. 

Miss Martineau followed this book up with several more on suchpolitico-economic themes, and indeed made her name in this way by thetime she was thirty. 

As so often with Miss Martineau there is a large cast: family members, friends, relations; and unless you spend some time listing them you maywell not get the full impact of this book. 

________________________________________________________________________PRINCIPLE AND PRACTICE, THE ORPHAN FAMILY, BY HARRIET MARTINEAU. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

Let none sit down to read this little tale, whose interest can only beexcited by the relation of uncommon circumstances, of romanticadventures, of poetical perplexities, or of picturesque difficulties. No beauties of this kind will be here found. I propose to give a plain, unaffected narrative of the exertions made by a family of young persons, to render themselves and each other happy and useful in the world. Thecircumstances in which they are placed are so common, that we seepersons similarly situated every day: they meet with no adventures, andtheir difficulties, and the remedies they procure for them, are of sohomely a description, as to exclude every exertion of poetical talent intheir illustration, and to promise to excite interest in those readersonly, who can sympathise with the earnest desires of well-disposed andindustrious young persons striving after usefulness, honourableindependence, and individual and mutual improvement, amidst real, andnot imaginary, discouragements, and substantial, not sentimental, difficulties. I proceed at once to my narrative. 

Mr Forsyth was a merchant, who lived in the city of Exeter. He hadbeen a widower for a few years, and had endeavoured to dischargefaithfully a parent's duty to five young children, when he too was takenaway from those who depended upon him, and whose very existence seemedbound up in his. He was taken from them, and no one knew what wouldbecome of these young helpless creatures, who, it was thought, wouldinherit from their father nothing but his good name, and who possessednothing but the good principles and industrious habits which his careand affection had imparted to them. They had no near relations, and thefriends whom their parents' respectability had gained for them, hadfamilies of their own to support, and could offer little but advice andfriendly offices: large pecuniary assistance they had it not in theirpower to impart. One of these friends, who was also Mr Forsyth'sexecutor, took the children into his house till the funeral should beover, and some plans arranged for the future disposal of each of them. 

The eldest girl, Jane, was of an age to understand and feel thedifficulties which surrounded them. She was sixteen, and from havingbeen her father's _friend_ as well as housekeeper, she had a remarkablymatured judgment; she was of a thoughtful, perhaps an anxious, disposition, and the loss of her father, together with the anxiety shefelt as being now the head of his helpless family, were almost too muchfor her. Though she was supported by her religious principles, it waswith difficulty that she could rouse her mind from dwelling on herperplexities, to form plans, and looking round to see what could bedone, and in what way she was to exert her powers for the benefit of herbrothers and sisters. She was sometimes oppressed by the thought thatthe only prospect before her, was a melancholy one of long years ofstruggles against poverty, and all the grievous evils of dependence. Her brother Charles, who was a year younger than herself, tried withsome success to cheer her; he was of an active, enterprisingdisposition, full of hope and cheerfulness. This disposition subjectedhim to frequent disappointments, but his father had wisely guardedagainst their bad effects by forming in him strong habits ofperseverance. Charles had been intended by his father for the samebusiness as himself, and he had therefore never been removed from underhis parent's eye. It was well now for the whole family that Charles hadbeen so carefully trained. His natural disposition, his acquiredhabits, and his sense of responsibility, joined to his strong affectionfor his sisters, made him the object on which Jane fixed her best hopesfor the future prosperity of the family. Charles encouraged her hopes, and expressed confidence in his ability to maintain himself at present, and to assist the younger ones when a few years should have matured hispowers of usefulness. Jane and Charles anxiously desired someconversation with Mr Barker, the kind friend who had taken them intohis house; and were very glad when he invited them, the day after thefuneral, to a consultation on the state of their affairs. He told themthat it was his intention always to treat them with perfect openness, asit had been their father's custom to do. He was the more inclined to doso, from the knowledge that they were worthy of his confidence, thatthey possessed prudence beyond their years, and that whatever exertionsthey might make, would be more efficient if they knew perfectly whatthey had to do, what objects were to be accomplished, and on whatsources they were to depend. 

Mr Barker told them that when the affairs were all settled, theirincome, he feared, would not exceed eighty or ninety pounds a year. That he thought the first object ought to be to give the youngerchildren such an education as would fit them for supporting themselveswhen they were old enough: that for this purpose the assistance offriends would be required for a few years, and that he knew of some whowere willing to assist, believing, from the good principles of thechildren, that their assistance would be well bestowed, and that theirendeavours would be in time rewarded by the usefulness and happiness ofthose who now required their care. 

Jane acquiesced in Mr Barker's proposal, but expressed her hope thatthey might not be separated. The one thing that she desired more thanany other, was, to remain with, and watch over the little ones, and beas far as possible a mother to them. If they were separated, thechildren would forget her, she said, and that she was sure she could notbear. She did not mind any labour, any privation, any anxieties, ifthey could but keep together. 

"I knew you would think so, my dear, " said Mr Barker. "You areperfectly right. You must not be separated, if it can possibly beavoided. I have been consulting with my wife about it, and we havedevised a plan for you: but it is yet only a scheme; it is very doubtfulwhether we can carry it through. I am afraid, however, that Charlesmust leave you. "

"I have been telling Jane, Sir, " said Charles, "that I should mostlikely have to go to some situation where I may maintain myself. Ihope, Sir, that that is what you mean. "

"And do you think, Charles, that at your age you can work for your ownsupport?"

"Yes, Sir, I do, because others have done it before me. My fathertaught me enough of business to qualify me for a situation in amerchant's warehouse. At least, he said, only a few weeks ago, that ifI was but industrious, I need never be dependent, and that therefore hewas easy about me. I hope you think so too, Sir. "

"I do, my boy, " replied Mr Barker: "as far as skill and industry go, you are to be trusted. But you have not considered, you do not know, the difficulties and dangers which are met with when young men leavetheir father's house, and go by themselves into the world, especiallyinto the London world, to which you may be destined. "

"If you mean temptations to do wrong, Sir, " said Charles, "I have beenwarned by my father about them. But, O, Sir, is it possible, do youthink, with all the advantages I have had, with my father's examplealways before me, with all that is now depending upon me, being, as Iam, the brother on whom three sisters rely for support and assistance, is it possible that I should neglect them? that I should disgrace them?that I should forget all my father has done for me? Jane will trust me, I am sure. "

He looked towards his sister, and a few proud tears swelled into hiseyes. 

"No doubt, Charles, your sister feels that she can trust you; and, youngas you are, I believe that I can too. But there are many difficultiesto be encountered besides direct temptations to crime. "

"If I am made fairly to understand, Sir, what is to be required of me, the extent of my trust, I hope I shall meet with no difficulties whichhonourable principle, industry, and perseverance cannot overcome. "

"We will talk more of this, my dear boy, when we have some situation inprospect for you. I hope it may not be difficult to procure one. Yourfather's name will be a good passport. Then, I hope, I understand thatyou both approve this first scheme of ours?"

Charles assented at once: Jane, with some exertion to repress her tears. 

"And now, my dear Jane, what do you think yourself capable of doing?"

Jane very modestly doubted whether she could do any thing but take careof the children. If they were to live together, she could keep house, she thought, carefully and economically, so as to spend no more thancould not possibly be avoided. She thought she could also teach hersisters a little more than she had yet imparted to them: but she hoped, from what Mr Barker had said, that they were to have better teachingthan she could give them. 

"We have certainly been planning, my dear, " said he, "to send Isabellato school, as she is now too old to learn of you only. She is twelveyears old, I think?"

"Yes, " said Jane; "and Harriet is nine. "

"Very well. If Isabella goes to school, Harriet may as well do so too, as the additional expense will not be very great, and may be met by yourexertions, if you think as I do about the matter. Your sisters havegiven you experience in teaching young children, suppose you try yourskill again as a daily governess. "

Jane was quite willing, if she did but think herself capable of it. MrBarker thought she had already proved her capability, and advised her, at least, to try the plan. 

He told her that a very small house in the outskirts of the town was herfather's property. A very little expense would make it habitable forthem: furniture was ready, and he could see no objection to their allliving in it together. Jane was certainly rather young to become ahousekeeper, but the nursemaid, who had lived in the family for someyears, was much attached to the children, and had declared her wish to"stay by them, " if possible; and Mr Barker had little doubt that shewould do all the servant's work of the house, and make their friendstolerably easy with respect to their domestic safety and comfort. 

Jane was pleased with the plan, and accordingly it was put in executionwith as little delay as possible. In two months' time the house wasready for them. The little furniture and house-linen which was requiredwas put into it, and all the family, except Charles, removed to theirnew abode. Jane was awfully impressed with the sense of responsibility, when she took her place as mistress of the house, and when she lookedupon the three children who depended on her for their domestic comfort, and for much more than this; for guidance in the formation of theirhabits and characters. But she also felt the great relief of beingalone with her brother and sisters, and of having once more a home. Thehouse was tolerably comfortable, though very small. The parlour andkitchen were on the ground floor; over them were two bed-rooms, one ofwhich was occupied by Jane, the other by Isabella and Harriet. Overthese were two attics, occupied by little Alfred and the servant. Thefurniture was scanty, but good of its kind, and likely to last for someyears. The only luxurious article in the whole house was a small set ofbook-shelves, filled with books, which Mr Barker would not allow to besold off with the other effects. They were not many, but well chosen, and therefore valuable to Jane at present, and likely to be so to hersisters when they should be old enough to make use of them. 

Mrs Barker wished that Jane should set out on her new plan of life, aslittle oppressed by domestic cares as possible, and had thereforeassisted her before the removal, in overlooking her own and thechildren's wardrobe. They were all comfortably supplied with everything necessary. Their mourning of course was new: perfectly plain, butsubstantially good, it was intended to last a long time, and that formany months their clothing should be very little expense to them. Janewas an excellent workwoman, and her sister Isabella had been in thehabit of assisting her, by keeping her own clothes in very good order. With respect to the little cares of housekeeping, Jane was easy: she hadbeen so well taught, and so long experienced, that she felt herselfquite capable of discharging this part of her duty. It was theresponsibility of her new office of daily governess which made her mostanxious. A situation had been obtained for her, which answered in allrespects to Mr Barker's wishes. Jane was to devote six hours a day tothe care of her young pupils, who were children of Mr Everett, asurgeon. Mrs Everett was so occupied with the cares of a large family, that she needed assistance, and Jane was to have under her charge fourchildren from the ages of three to twelve: she was to teach them, tosuperintend in their play hours, and to walk with them. She was toattend from nine till three, and her salary was to be twenty-five poundsa year at first, and afterwards more, if her services were foundsatisfactory. She stipulated for a fortnight's holiday at Christmas, and also at Midsummer: not for the sake of her own pleasure, but fromthe fear that her home business would accumulate faster than she coulddischarge it, so as to render it necessary to devote a short timeoccasionally to clear it away, and set things straight again. Beforeshe entered on her new engagement, she laid down a plan for theemployment of her days, to which she determined to adhere as strictly aspossible. It was as follows: for the summer season, which was nowapproaching, she rose before six o'clock, and set apart two hours forstudy. Study was absolutely necessary, if she was to keep up, orimprove, her ability to teach; and she found that the hours beforebreakfast were the most quiet and undisturbed that she could devote tothis purpose. At eight o'clock the little family assembled in theparlour, to join in prayer, and in reading a short portion of Scripture;after which, they breakfasted. Jane then saw her sisters and littlebrother off to school, and went into her kitchen to give her householddirections before she went out. It was some inconvenience that shecould not dine at the same time with the rest of the family; but itcould not be helped. The children were obliged to be back at school bytwo o'clock, and she did not leave Mrs Everett's till three. Afterdinner, she sat down to her work, of which it may be supposed there wasalways plenty to be done. The children learned their lessons beforetea-time, and after tea they went out to walk all together, whenever theweather would allow of it. They generally returned in time to read alittle before nine o'clock, when the younger ones went to bed. The dutyof evening, as well as morning prayer was never omitted. Jane sat downto her work again till ten, when she put every thing away, locked up herclosets, and went round the house with the servant, to see that all wassafe, and as it should be, and then retired to her own room, to enjoythe rest which was fairly earned by the previous hours of activity andusefulness. She was very careful to adhere as closely as possible tothe whole of this plan, especially to the hours of walking and going tobed. She was sometimes tempted to think that the children could walk aswell without her, and that she was too busy to accompany them: but shenever would give way to her inclination to stay at home; for her reasontold her that it would be injurious both to herself and her sisters, togive up her accustomed walk. She could not expect to keep up her vigourof mind and body without exercise and relaxation, and it would be wrongto deprive the children of her society in their rambles. A greatertemptation still was to sit up late: the quiet hour at night wasprecious to her; it was the only time she could give to the formation ofher plans, and to reflection on her present circumstances andanticipation of the future. The previous exercise of prayer, left hermind in a soothed and tranquil state; and however oppressed, at othertimes, with fears and cares, this was to her an hour of hope andcheerfulness. She rejoiced that it came at the close of the day, as itenabled her to lay her head on her pillow in that frame of mind which isthe best preparation for peaceful sleep and for a cheerful waking. Often was she tempted to prolong this happy hour, but she never did. She was aware of the duty of early rising, and also of taking sufficientrest, and that in order to do both she must keep to the right time ofretiring to rest; and accordingly, the moment the clock struck ten, thework was put away, and the train of thought, whatever it might be, wasbroken off. 

The school at which Isabella and Harriet were placed, was one of thebest of its kind, and it was not long before a rapid improvement wasobserved in them both. Isabella's talents were remarkable, but neitherherself nor her family were sufficiently aware of this while theyreceived only an irregular and imperfect cultivation. She wasremarkably modest, and inclined to be indolent when she had noparticular object in view; but set one before her, and her perseverancewas unconquerable. She had always been a great reader, and hadtherefore an excellent stock of general information; but till she wentto school, she never could give her attention to any of the drudgery oflearning. She wished to learn French and Italian as she had learned hermother-tongue, by _picking up_, instead of beginning at the beginning, and learning grammar. She did _pick up_ wonderfully well, to be sure, but she found that would not answer at school. When once convinced ofthis, she set to work at the grammar with all diligence, and conquereddifficulties every day, till she was surprised at her own progress. Hergreat ambition now was, to make herself a companion for Charles andJane; not merely to be their friend, but to help them in earning moneyand obtaining independence, instead of being, as she now was, the mostexpensive of the family. Jane urged her to be patient, and to think atpresent of her own improvement only: but she could not help forming manyplans for future doings, some reasonable, some much too grand. She hadno taste for music, and, by her own desire, therefore, the great expenseof musical teaching was not incurred: but drawing was her delight, andshe soon made such progress in the art, that Jane was really inspiredwith her sister's hope that this talent might be turned to good account. 

Isabella's very judicious instructress exercised her pupils incomposition, and also in translation, much more than is the custom inmost schools. To Isabella this was particularly useful; first, inshewing the necessity of accurate knowledge, and her own deficiency init, and afterwards in serving as a test of her improvement, and, consequently, as an encouragement. She liked this employment much, andsoon excelled in it. Her general knowledge was brought into play; andher compositions were, at sixteen, what many at six-and-twenty need notbe ashamed of. Her translations were also remarkably spirited andelegant; and a hint from Jane, that this talent might prove useful inthe same way as her drawing, was quite sufficient to insure Isabella'sparticular exertions in its improvement. 

Mr and Mrs Barker called frequently to see their young friends, andthey never quitted the door without leaving happy and grateful heartsbehind them. They rewarded Jane's exertions with something better thanpraise--with their friendship and confidence. Mr Barker talked to herabout her affairs without any reserve, and the gratitude this excited inher was great. Her kind friend told her, one day, that Mr Rathbone, anold friend of her father's, who lived in London, had been enquiringabout the family of Mr Forsyth, and, on hearing of their circumstances;had expressed his desire of being useful to them. "I told him, mydear, " said Mr Barker, "that his kind offices would be more acceptableby and by than at present. We now see our way clear for two years, Ihope; and it is well to keep a stock of kindness in reserve, to be drawnupon in case of need. "

Jane expressed her gratitude for the kindness which had assisted themthus far, and said she feared she must make up her mind to be a burdento her friends for some time to come; but she could answer for herbrothers and sisters, as well as herself, that no exertion on their partshould be wanting. 

"So we see already, my dear, " said Mr Barker. "Mr Rathbone madeenquiry about each of you; and I sent him, in return, a full descriptionof you all. I think it most likely that he will keep his eye uponAlfred, and that whatever he may do hereafter will be for him. "

"I am sure, " said Jane, "Mr Rathbone's kindness is most unlooked for;for it must be many years since he has known our family. I have heardmy father speak of him, but I do not remember ever to have seen him. "

"It is only two years, " replied Mr Barker, "since he returned fromIndia, where he passed twenty years, losing his health, and growingimmensely rich. He tells me that he was under considerable obligationsto your good father for some exertions on his behalf during his absence;but of what nature these exertions were he does not say. Well, my dear, I must be going. Have you any thing more to say to me? Is allcomfortable here, and as you like it?"

"Quite, Sir, thank you: we are only too comfortable for ourcircumstances, I am afraid. "

"No, no, my dear; I hope Hannah and you go on comfortably together. Your house looks very neat and orderly, " said he, looking round him. "Is that her doing or yours?"

"All Hannah's doing. We could not be better or more respectfullyserved, if we were as rich as Mr Rathbone. But I grieve to think thatsuch a servant should make such sacrifices for us; she would be prizedin any house. "

"Depend upon it, Jane, she will find her reward in time. I am muchmistaken if she does not find it now, day by day. You will beprosperous one day, and then she will share your prosperity, you know. "

"We will hope so, " said Jane. "Will you thank Mr Rathbone, Sir, forus, or shall I write myself?"

"No occasion at all, my dear, I am obliged to write to him to-morrow onbusiness. Good-bye to you. "

About a week after this, as the young people were busily employed, asusual, before tea, Jane mending stockings, Isabella translating French, Harriet learning geography, and Alfred frowning over his Latin grammar, Hannah brought in a large box, which had just arrived from London by thecarrier, carriage paid. It must be a mistake, Jane thought; but no, itwas not a mistake, the direction was plain and full: "Miss Forsyth, Number 21, South Bridge Street, Exeter. " The stockings and books werethrown aside, and the whole family adjourned to the kitchen, to open thewonderful box. After the removal of several sheets of paper, a letterappeared at the top, addressed to Jane. She hastily opened it, and readas follows:

 "My dear young Friend, --

 "You must allow me thus to address you, though you have never seen me, and probably have never heard of me. My husband's old friendship with your father is, however, a sufficient ground for the establishment of an intercourse between us, which may be advantageous to you, and I am sure will be very pleasant to us. We owe too much to your excellent father, not to desire to be of use, if possible, to his children. I cannot tell you now, but if we ever meet, you shall know how deep is the debt of gratitude due to the friend who incurred difficulty and hazard for the sake of our interests, and who, for many weeks and months, was subjected to anxiety and fatigue on our account, when we were in India, not aware of our obligations to him, and therefore unable to express or to testify our gratitude. That friend was your father. You must accept our good offices, my dear young friend, and tell us how we can be useful to you. Mr Barker tells us that our assistance will be more acceptable hereafter than at present. Remember, then, if you please, that we expect to be applied to whenever you can give us the pleasure of serving you, or any of your family. In the mean time, we hope that the contents of this box will be useful to you, and that its arrival will afford as much pleasure to your young brother and sisters, as I remember experiencing in my childhood from similar accidents. 

 "I am not one, Miss Forsyth, who can reconcile it to myself to gain the affections of young people by flattery; but I cannot withhold the encouragement of an expression of approbation, when I really feel it to be deserved by the exercise of self-denial and honourable industry. I am told that you are now earning such approbation from all who feel an interest in you. Believe, therefore, that it is with as much sincerity as good-will, that Mr Rathbone and myself add the word _respect_ to the affection with which we subscribe ourselves, --

 "Your friends, --

 "F. And S. Rathbone. "

Jane had escaped to the parlour almost as soon as she began this letter, and her eyes were so dimmed by tears that she could scarcely proceed. Isabella, who was far more anxious about Jane and the letter, than aboutthe box, immediately followed her, and they finished it together. Isabella was almost as much pleased, quite as much touched, with thepart which concerned Jane, as with that which respected her father. Shekissed her affectionately, and rejoiced that others were aware of hermerit; others who could encourage it as it deserved, and reward itbetter than those in whose behalf her self-denial and industry wereexerted. 

In the mean time Alfred and Harriet were extremely impatient to proceedwith the examination of the box, but Hannah would not allow it till Janeand Isabella were present. They soon returned to the kitchen, and itwould be difficult to say whose countenance exhibited the mostastonishment as the various presents were brought forth to view. Alittle card-paper box, well stuffed with cotton-wool, contained ahandsome plain gold watch, which, with its seal and key, were intendedfor Jane. A drawing-box, well fitted up with colours and pencils of allkinds, and accompanied with a large quantity of drawing-papers, and twosketch-books, was directed to Isabella. A pretty writing-desk, filledwith all the comforts and luxuries which can appertain to that prettyarticle of furniture, bore Harriet's name; as did also a large quantityof music, which astonished her not a little, as, though she much wishedit, she had not yet begun to learn, and had no prospect of such anindulgence for a long time to come. Her sisters thought it a verylikely mistake for Mrs Rathbone to make: as one sister drew, she mighteasily imagine that another played. But Harriet could not help hopingthat, _some how or other_, it was to come to pass, that she should learnmusic directly. And she was right, as we shall see. Imagination camenearer the truth than reason, for once. 

By this time Alfred began to be dismayed lest there should be no presentfor him; but Hannah had not yet got to the bottom of the box. When shehad, she took out several packages of books, two of them directed toAlfred, and the others to the Miss Forsyths. Alfred's present consistedof some beautiful editions of the classics, so valuable that the ownerof them was likely to be long before he understood how rich he was intheir possession. There was also a large cake directed to him, to whichhe was disposed to pay a more immediate attention than to his books. The girls found that their library was to be enriched by the bestforeign editions of Tasso and Alfieri, and of Racine, and by a beautifuledition of Shakspeare. They were bewildered by the splendour of thesepresents, so far exceeding in value any thing they had before possessed. Their usual tea hour was long past before they thought of any thing butthe wonderful box. At length, however, they determined to finish theirmeal as quickly as possible, and to go and tell their kind friends, theBarkers, of their good fortune. It was vain to think of putting theirriches out of sight, so the watch was hung over the chimney-piece, thedesk, drawing-box, and books, stuck up wherever room could be made forthem. While they were at tea, however, Mr and Mrs Barker called, probably with some suspicion of what they were to see, for Mr Barkerglanced round the room as he entered it. "Why, young ladies, " said he, "you are so splendid I dare not come in, I am afraid. My dear, we havenothing like this to shew at home. What good fairy can have done allthis?"

"Two good fairies from India have sent us these beautiful things, Sir, "said Isabella. 

"From India! I did not know you had any such acquaintance in India. "

"From India, by way of London, Sir, " said Jane, "now you can guess. "

"Yes, yes, my dear, I know well enough. I had some idea of finding anexhibition when I came to-night, but not such a one as this, I own. Alfred, my boy, how comes your cake to be on this chair, instead of onthe tea-table?"

"We are not going to cut it to-night, Sir. "

"I hardly know when we shall, " said Jane. "It is too large to eat itall ourselves. "

"It does look very good, to be sure, " said Mr Barker. "My mouth waterswhen I look at it. "

Isabella ran for a knife to cut it directly, but Mr Barker stopped her. "Not now, my dear; but I hoped you would have asked us to tea, to tasteyour cake. "

"And will you really come, Sir?" asked Jane. "Mrs Barker, will youcome to-morrow, and drink tea with us? And the children too. We haveno amusement to offer but the cake: but we shall be quite delighted ifyou will come. "

"With all my heart, Jane. We and two of the children will come, and wewill take a long walk afterwards if you please. We shall have more timeto look at your presents than we have now; we cannot stay longerto-night. "

Jane put Mrs Rathbone's letter into Mr Barker's hand, and he wentaside to read it. He returned it to her in silence. She obtained MrRathbone's address, that she might, this very evening, write her thanksfor his munificent kindness. 

When their friends were gone, the young people found it was too late totake their usual walk; besides, their lessons were not finished, andthey resolutely sat down to their business: Alfred, with the fear of thebottom of the class before his eyes; Harriet, with the mixed motive ofthis fear, and the wish to do right; Isabella, influenced by the wishalone. Alfred asked Jane to hear him his lesson, and the two words, "quite perfect, " at length repaid his labours. 

"But, Jane, " said Alfred, "you have two watches now; you will not wantthem both. "

"Certainly, " said Jane. "Isabella shall have the old one; she willvalue it as having been my mother's; though it is not a very serviceableone. "

"O! thank you, Jane, " said Isabella. "I had not thought of such athing, I am sure. I had no idea of having a watch for many years tocome. "

"If you will undertake to get Harriet and Alfred off to bed, Isabella, Iwill. And a watch-pocket for you. Or you can make one in an hour. Situp with me for this one evening, and we will consult what to do with ourbooks; and I will write my letter before breakfast to-morrow: my headwill be clearer then. "

No sooner said than done. The girls found room in a closet for theirshabbiest books, and in the morning the new ones were installed in theirplaces on the shelves, much to the satisfaction of their owners. Jane'sletter was written and dispatched, and she was more comfortable when shehad attempted to express her gratitude to her father's faithful friends, though she felt that nothing she could say could do justice to herfeelings. When she had put her letter into the post-office, she turnedher attention from the subject, that her head might not be running onother things when she ought to be attending to her pupils. 

They all got forward with their business this day, that they might beready with a clear conscience to receive their friends on the firstoccasion when they had to exercise hospitality. Isabella found herwatch a prodigious assistance, she declared. 

The Barkers enjoyed the evening as much as their young host andhostesses. The weather was charming, the country looked beautiful, thechildren were merry, and, "though last, not least, " the cake wasdelicious. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

"But where is Charles all this time?" my readers will ask. Charles isin London, endeavouring to discharge, to the best of his ability, theduties of a situation which had been procured for him in the warehouseof a general merchant, who had had dealings with Mr Forsyth, had alwaysesteemed him for his integrity, and was, therefore, willing to maketrial of the services of the youth who had been brought up under the eyeof such a father. 

Charles found his situation a laborious one; and his salary was so smallthat he could only by great frugality subsist upon it himself. He foundthat he must wait till his character had been tried, and till he grewolder, before he could afford any substantial assistance to his family. His state of mind and circumstances will be better understood from hisletters to Jane, than from any account we could give. Here, therefore, are some of them, with Jane's answers. 

 "My dearest Jane, --

 "I am glad that the day appointed for writing has arrived: you cannot conceive the comfort your letters are to me, and the pleasure I have in answering them. I suppose that in time I shall get accustomed to the silence I am now obliged to observe with respect to the subjects I love most to talk upon; but I sigh sometimes for some one to whom I can speak of my father, and of times past; or of you, and time present, and to come. My companions here are good-tempered enough, and we go on smoothly and easily together, and I know that this is a great thing to be able to say; and that many in my situation would be glad to say as much: but yet I cannot help feeling the want of some friend to whom I can speak of what is nearest to my heart, and there is not one person in this wide city who knows you, or who could possibly feel much interest in hearing me talk of you. Consequently I hold my tongue, and your name has never passed my lips since we parted. But, dearest Jane, my thoughts of you are all the more frequent and the more dear, on this account; and on this account, I feel the more deeply, the privilege of opening my heart to the One friend who loves you better than any mortal can, who cares for your interests, more than any earthly friend can care, and who can provide for them when I can do nothing but love you, and pray for you. I continually determine that I will not be anxious about you; that we will all trust and be cheerful; and I generally keep my resolution. I hope you do the same. Whatever anxious thoughts you may have, must be for yourselves: you may be quite easy about me. I am well, very busy, and of course very cheerful; my comfort is attended to, and I have nothing to complain of in any body near me. I enjoy many privileges, and shall be able to make more for myself, when I become better acquainted with my situation. In short, the present is very tolerably comfortable, I have the prospect of increasing comforts, and may in time do grand things for you, as well as for myself. You shake your head as you read this, I dare say: but I do not see why, by industry, I may not do as grand things as others have done before me; especially as I am blessed with good friends at my setting out, which is an immense advantage to begin with. To shew you that I am not dreaming about any _luck_ happening to me, and that I only mean to depend on skill and industry for my prosperity, if I ever am to be prosperous, I will tell you how I spend my three hours in the evening--I am actually hard at work at the French and Spanish grammar. Yes, at grammar! though, I dare say, that is the last thing you would have thought of my applying to. I want to rise, as fast as possible, from trust to trust, in this house, and it can only be done by duly qualifying myself: so I mean to learn first every thing requisite for the proper discharge of the most responsible situation of all; and then, if I have time left, I will learn other things, to which my wishes begin to tend, for the sake of general cultivation and enlargement of mind; which, I am convinced, is as great an advantage to the man of business, as to the professional man, or the private gentleman. I will tell you always how far I am able to carry my plans into execution, and you will give me what encouragement and assistance you can. I wonder whether you like Mrs Everett as well as I like Mr Gardiner. He is a most kind friend to me on the whole: I say `on the whole, ' because there is the drawback of a fault of temper, which will occasionally try my patience; but this is all. I should not have mentioned it, except that I wish you to know every particular of my situation, and that, I am sure, what I say goes no further, at least where _character_ is concerned. Mr Gardiner makes a point of speaking to me every day, and seems to like to call me by my surname, doubtless because it was my father's. One day he called me Alfred Forsyth: he begged my pardon, and said he had been used to that name. He has asked me to dine with him next Sunday. This is very kind of him, I am sure. 

 "Now, Jane, be sure you tell me every thing about yourself, and the other dear girls, and Alfred. Every little trifling particular is pleasant to read about. I am very glad that Isabella's drawing prospers so well: I wish she may be able to send me a drawing soon; it would be quite a treasure to me. May I not see some of her hand-writing in the next letter? There is only one thing more I wish particularly to say. I entreat you, my dearest sister, not to work too hard or too anxiously. Take care of your health and spirits as you value ours. Give my best love to all at home, and my affectionate respects to Mr and Mrs Barker, if they will accept them. I am, dearest Jane, --

 "Your most affectionate, --

 "Charles Forsyth. 

 "Remember me kindly to Hannah. "

_From Jane to Charles_. 

 "Exeter, September 5th. 

 "Dear Charles, --

 "We all thank you for your long letter. It has made us, on the whole, easy and comfortable about you. As long as you are as active and enterprising as you are now, you will be happy, for I believe that the grand secret of happiness consists in having a good pursuit, which can be followed with some success. To ensure this success, the pursuit must be rational; and I assure you, that so far from shaking my head at your hopes of doing `grand things, ' I think your hopes are very rational, provided that by `grand things, ' you and I mean the same. I suppose you mean no more than that, by qualifying yourself for higher situations than the one which you now hold, you hope to rise in rank and riches high enough to assist your family, and to enable them to work in the same manner for their own independence hereafter. This prospect is quite grand enough for us at present. We must never dream of being very rich; I am afraid that we must not even hope to discharge our very heavy obligations to our friends in any other way than by our gratitude, and by making the best use of their kindness. The weight of obligation sits heavy on me: I am afraid I am proud, and therefore it may be well for me that I am obliged to submit to dependence; but I will never rest till I can relieve our friends from a charge which extreme kindness has induced them to take upon themselves, but which must in time become burdensome. How happy should I be to do any kind of service to any of them! Amidst the chances and changes of the world, who knows but we may? But I must not think and write in this way. We must cheerfully and willingly, as well as most gratefully, accept the kindness which they so cheerfully and willingly offer. We go on very comfortably on the whole. We work very hard, but not more so than is good for body and mind, as you would be convinced if you could see how well we look and how happy we are together. The only unpleasant circumstance which has occurred lately, is a misunderstanding between Mrs Everett and myself. I really cannot tell you, for I do not know myself, what it was about; but she was, for two or three days, so dissatisfied with me, that I was afraid of being obliged to give up my charge. I told no one of it, but determined to bear it quietly for a few days, and to do my best for the children, and see whether matters would not come round again. My plan answered: we go on tolerably smoothly again, though not so very comfortably as before. I must recollect, however, that in my inexperience I may commit errors in my management of the children, and that Mrs Everett may justly feel that she has something to bear with in me. I wish, however, that she would tell me the causes of her discontent, and then the evil might be remedied without any ill-will on either side. Before this time, she was as kind as possible, and will be so again, I hope. I cannot help seeing that the children improve, and I have the satisfaction of knowing that Mr Everett thinks so too. He told Mr Barker so, and I think I could have guessed it from his manner towards me. 

 "Isabella desires her best love to you, and she will send you a drawing by the first opportunity that offers. She has sketched your favourite Bubbling Spring for the purpose, thinking you would like it better than any other subject. I am sure you would think it beautiful, independently of the sweet associations which endear that spot peculiarly to us. I am really astonished at Isabella's progress in drawing: her pencil sketches are beautiful, and she succeeds as well or better in water-colours. She finishes very highly in the latter, and yet she is quick. If she spent as much time as many girls do on her drawing, I should not think it right to let her sacrifice other things to this accomplishment, though it is useful and beautiful, and may, she hopes, be turned to some good account. Harriet and Alfred are as good as children can be. Their affection is delightful to me. It is quite sufficient to repay all my cares for them. They get on very well at school, though at their age their progress cannot be so remarkable as Isabella's. 

 "Isabella is now come into the room, and she begs to fill the little that remains of this sheet. She has a very fine subject to write about, which I kept to the last, as being the most remarkable event which has happened to us for a very long time. Farewell, my dearest brother, we think of you hourly, and one of our greatest delights is to talk over the probabilities of our meeting. O, when will it be?

 "Ever your affectionate, --

 "Jane Forsyth. "

The subject on which Isabella wrote to her brother, was that of Mr andMrs Rathbone's noble present. As my readers are already acquaintedwith the circumstances, there is no occasion to weary them with arepetition. We also omit three or four of Charles's letters, whichcontain no detail of new events, and proceed to one which he wrote onChristmas-day. 

 "Dear Jane, --

 "I address this letter to you, merely because I can express myself better when writing to one person than to several; but the contents of this are wholly, or in part, as you may see fit, for the public good: by the public, meaning the inhabitants of Number 21, South Bridge Street. In the first place, I offer you all my love, and best wishes for a cheerful Christmas, and much enjoyment of your holidays. I am afraid, dear Jane, that your holidays will be somewhat busy ones; but you have Isabella to help you to make `a clearance of business, ' as you say. I do not know what you will say to me for providing more work for you. I will explain presently what I mean by this. I hope the beautiful bright sun of this happy day brings as much cheerfulness to your hearts as it does to mine. There is no day of the year which so forcibly reminds us of the great number and magnitude of our blessings as this; and consequently there is no day on which we can feel so happy. I am more impressed than ever with this feeling to-day. It is the first Christmas-Day that I have ever passed away from home; but so far from this making me melancholy, I am most happy in the full tide of affection which is flowing towards you all, and not less so, in the overflowing gratitude which I feel toward that Parent who has blessed us in each other, in the love which is our happiness here, and which, we hope, will make our joy hereafter. God bless you all, and make you as happy as I wish you to be; as happy as I am at this moment. 

 "I can quite imagine how you will spend this day. You will take a long walk, and enjoy a long talk, in which I hope to come in for a share; though, alas! too far off to have the benefit of what you are saying. You will go to church, and I think I know what your feelings will be there. The rest of the day will be spent at Mr Barker's, I conjecture: but will good Hannah be at home alone? I am going to dine at Mr Rathbone's, but as they dine late, I shall have time for a long walk after church. You cannot imagine, no one who has not lived in London can imagine, the delight of a country walk to me. I rejoice that the day is so fine. Mr Gardiner was so kind as to ask me to dine with him to-day: so you see there was no danger of my being solitary, much less, melancholy. 

 "But now to my business, for even to-day I have business to write about. You know when I arrived here, at Midsummer, Mr Gardiner paid me my first quarter's salary in advance: he bid me not mention the circumstance, for fear of others expecting the same favour. He said at the same time, that he hoped I would make a friend of him in case of any difficulty which might occur in money matters, as I was, he thought, very young to manage for myself on a small salary. Knowing that I was necessarily at some unusual expense on my first arrival, he has frequently asked whether I wanted any assistance. I have always said, no; for I have been really well off. Mr Barker sent me up with ten pounds in my pocket, after my travelling expenses were paid, and this, with my quarter's salary, has been more than sufficient for me. Besides this I have the ten pound note that Mr Rathbone gave me still unchanged, so that I have every reason to hope that I shall get on till Midsummer, without taking any more money of Mr Gardiner; and from that time, I shall take my salary half-yearly. Now, I think, I have found a very good occasion for changing my note: I hope you and Isabella will approve of my plan; as it is intended for your advantage, I am anxious that it should succeed. I had occasion to go last week, on some business of Mr Gardiner's, to a large toy-shop in Holborn, and while I was waiting to speak to the owner, I saw the shopman unpack a basket, which seemed to have arrived from the country. It contained a great variety of work-bags and boxes, card-racks, and such things, ornamented in various ways; many of them with drawings. When I had finished my business, I enquired whether a ready sale could be found for such articles, and what would be the probable success, if some friends of mine, who could draw very well, were to send up some specimens of their talents, like those on the counter. The owner of the shop, Mr Blyth, said, that he found it easy to obtain a supply of such articles, but that the best and prettiest would always command the best sale. He told me I might, if I chose, shew him what my friends could do, and that if their work was approved he might employ them occasionally; but of course could promise nothing at present. Now, my dear girls, I think you might make a little money these holidays by trying your hand on these things: you, Isabella, can draw all kinds of pretty things; and you, Jane, can make up the bags, etcetera, very neatly. Let me know, by the next post, whether you are inclined to try, and I will send you a few patterns and materials. I have the opportunity of getting remnants of coloured silk and ribbon cheap; so cheap that you need not grudge the carriage of them. Suppose you make at first, with all your skill and care, about a dozen bags, and netting-cases, and card-racks; and pray, Isabella, let one of your card-racks have a sketch of the Bubbling Spring on it, and another the cottage at the foot of Elston Hill. Do not scruple, my dear girls, on account of the risk, the very little risk to be incurred. If our scheme answers, I promise you that you shall repay me; if not, I can spare the small sum needed. Let me know exactly how your accounts stand this Christmas, and be easy and hopeful, whatever may happen. I wanted to say a great deal about Mr and Mrs Rathbone, but it is just time for church, and I must close my letter. I can write again by the parcel, if you authorise me to send it. --Farewell, my very dear sisters and brother. 

 "I am your most affectionate, --

 "Charles Forsyth. "

"What a comfortable letter!" exclaimed Jane, as she finished it. "DearCharles is as happy as we are!"

"And just as kind as ever, " said Isabella: "he will never be spoiled byliving in London. He will never forget, or be ashamed of us. How readyhe is to set his head and hands to work in our service! But we are towrite by this day's post our answer to this proposal: what shall we do, Jane?"

"Try, by all means, I think, " said Jane. "What do you say, Isabella?"

"Try, by all means, I say too, and I have very little doubt of success. The sooner we begin the better, so we will write immediately. I thinkMr Barker will not disapprove of it. "

"Certainly not, " said Jane. "But, if you please, we will tell no oneabout it till we see whether the plan answers or not. I am not fond ofa hasty communication of plans; and besides, I wish that our friends, instead of considering us as schemers, should see, that, while we formplans, we have patience and industry to carry them through, or that theyshould know nothing of the matter. When we can go with earned money inour hands to Mr Barker, we will tell him how we got it: in the meanwhile, we will not trouble him, or run the risk of interruptionourselves. "

"Very right, " said Isabella. "What shall we do about Harriet andAlfred? May we tell them?"

"I think they must know, " replied Jane. "You must make use of theday-light for your drawing, and they must see what you are doing. Wemust trust them. It will be a good lesson in keeping a secret. "

The whole plan was soon settled. The letter was dispatched to Charles, and, by the earliest possible hour, the parcel with its pretty contentsarrived. Charles had most completely supplied all the necessarymaterials, so that there were no purchases to be made, and nothinghindered their setting immediately to work. During the first eveningJane and Isabella very carefully cut paper patterns from the articleswhich were sent as patterns, and marked them very exactly on thepasteboard before they cut it. When the different sides of the bags, etcetera, were cut out they were found to fit exactly; so that so farall was right. This was all that they could do by candle-light, andIsabella longed for the morning that she might begin her drawing. Shewas pleased to see that the drawings on the pattern bags did not nearlyequal what she was capable of doing, though Charles had said that hepurposely picked out those which appeared to him the best done. 

The next morning breakfast was soon over, and the table placed in thebest light by the window. Isabella was seated at her drawing, Jane atwork beside her, and the children at their amusements, very carefullyavoiding the table, lest they should shake it and spoil Isabella'sdrawing. They were proud of their secret, and it was to be part oftheir business to watch and give notice of the approach of anyuninitiated person, from whose sight all tale-telling materials were tobe quickly swept away. 

By two hours before dinner one beautiful little drawing was finished. It was duly admired, and Jane congratulated her sister on the success ofher first day's exertion; but she was surprised to see Isabella sittingdown to begin another. "My dear Isabella, you have done for to-day, surely?"

"No, Jane; I must outline another. I can finish the outline and thefirst shades before dinner. "

"But when do you mean to walk? You do not, surely, mean to stay at homethis beautiful day?"

"Only this one day: you can do without me this one day. I cannot leaveoff now, indeed. "

"O, Isabella, how often have I gone with you when I had much morenecessary things than these trifles to do at home! Depend upon it, youwill not do the second so well as the first, if you sit so long at it;you will bring on a headache, too, and make me sorry that Charles everdevised this plan for us. "

"Do put it by, Isabella, " said Harriet, "and go with us. "

"I will, directly, " said Isabella. "I beg your pardon, Jane; I wasselfish, and you never are. There, they are locked up till to-morrow, and now let us make haste, and go for our walk. "

When Isabella had done a few drawings, and became more accustomed to theemployment, she found that she need not be so absorbed in it, as to beunable to attend to her sisters while they read aloud. This added greatpleasantness to their morning employment, and both Jane's work, andIsabella's drawing, got on fast while they listened to Harriet andAlfred, who took it in turn to read. But when the pasting together oftheir work began, there was an end of reading. It was too anxious abusiness to admit of any division of attention. The gilt edges must beexactly even, the sides must go exactly together, the bottoms must beexactly flat; or they would be deformed and unsteady. Jane was the onlyone careful enough to undertake this most difficult part of thebusiness, and she bestowed great pains upon it. In general, shecompletely succeeded; but it was a work of time, and the fortnight ofher holidays was over before their task was more than two-thirds done. Eight articles out of the dozen were finished, and she longed to seethem completed. It was with a sigh that she left the busy and happyparty at home, on the morning when she resumed her charge at MrsEverett's, and she could not help fancying that Mrs Everett was lesskind than usual, that the children were far from improved by theirrelease from her authority, that they had never been so troublesome, andher task never so irksome. This was in part true; the children werenearly as unwilling to be managed, as Jane was to manage them, and theywere fully as sorry as she, that the days of lessons and work, ofauthority and obedience, were come again, after the romping hours oftheir Christmas revellings. 

A strong effort at patience on Jane's part, and something like anendeavour to be good on the children's, soon restored things to theirusual state, and teacher and learners were on their old terms again. When Jane returned home, she found that Isabella had put away herdrawing in time to take Harriet and Alfred a walk before dinner. Theevening was passed busily and happily, and the finishing stroke was putto two more of the bags and baskets. In a week more all were completed. Jane was glad of it. The last two or three drawings had not been quiteso well done, and it was easy to see that Isabella began to be tired. She owned that she was a little, a very little; but said, that, after aweek's rest, she should be able to begin again with as much relish asever. Jane was sorry that she had worked so hard, and recommended herto think no more of drawing for the rest of the holidays. Ten days onlynow remained before school should begin again; and Isabella passed thetime very happily between books, walking, and work. We must not forget, also, a long letter which she wrote to Charles, by the box which carriedtheir work. It will be in vain to guess at the hopes and fears, thealternate confidence and anxiety which these industrious girls feltabout the probable reward of their labours. They calculated the numberof days which must pass before a letter from Charles could arrive, tobid them rejoice or be patient yet longer. They told each othercontinually that they were looking for a letter too soon; that it wasnot likely they should have an answer till the things were sold. Theirkind brother could imagine their anxiety, and the very first moment thathe could send them intelligence of their success he did so, in thefollowing letter. 

 "My dear Girls, --

 "I hope I have not disappointed you by delaying my letter for a few days, but I thought it would be quite a pity to write till I could give you Mr Blyth's opinion, and that of the public, about your works. I have just been to the shop, and though it is late at night, I cannot go to bed till I have offered you my congratulations. I have in my pocket three guineas, which Mr Blyth thinks a fair price for your work. I hope you will think so too, and be as well satisfied with your gains as I am. Mr Blyth gave me an order for as many more as you like to send up, for he has eyes to see that your things are prettier, and better made, than any articles of the kind in his shop. I hope you will be encouraged by your deserved success, and that the next parcel you send will keep up your credit. I know you cannot get on so fast when the holidays are over. Indeed I scarcely know how you will find time at all; but as you desire me to send you more work, I conclude you will make time for it some how or other. Your leisure hours can hardly be better spent, I think; and I have no fear but that you should overwork yourselves. That you will neglect your duties of teaching and learning, I never, for a moment, supposed; so your assurances on that head, my dear girls, are quite unnecessary. Now, pray take care of your health and spirits: take exercise and amusement, and remember that there is not the least hurry in the world for these things. If they are not finished till Midsummer, it will be of much less consequence than your over-working yourselves. I do not send you the money. I can get your materials so very cheap that the carriage of them will answer again. I have, according to your desire, paid myself: so now you stand on your own ground, and are, in this matter, under no obligations to any body, not even to your own brother; so I hope my proud sisters will be satisfied. I laid out only eighteen shillings. I have taken that sum from your three guineas, and will lay out the remainder in silk, ribbon, paper, etcetera. It is pleasanter, I know, to see money at once, than materials for further work; but I think your present success, and especially your darling independence, will afford you pleasure enough for this time, and that you will be willing to wait awhile for more substantial gains. You deserve all you can get, my dear girls, and I am sure you cannot desire success so earnestly, or rejoice in it so heartily, as I do for you. My concerns prosper: that is, I am busy, well, and cheerful, and independent. Some little rubs I meet with, like any body else; but I wonder sometimes to think how happy I am. Anxious thoughts for you sadden me now and then; but I try to remember, that the same kind Parent who has hitherto protected us, is still about our path, and that we have nothing to do but to labour and trust. We are doing now what we can, and therefore we ought to be satisfied with the present and hopeful for the future, and grateful, day by day, hour by hour. 

 "Your last letter was written in such a spirit of cheerfulness, that if I had been miserable, I could not have shut my heart against its influence: but I was not miserable. I was sitting alone, my thoughts far from myself, from you, from every body; for I was absorbed in a Spanish book which I was translating. You may imagine how readily it was thrown aside when the postman knocked at the door, and how joyously the full tide of my thoughts turned towards home, and how my affection rested on each of you in turn, and blessed each of your names as it rose, accompanied with a thousand sweet recollections, to my remembrance. I hope you will give me the pleasure of such another evening soon. I met Mr Rathbone in the street the other day. He enquired how you all were, and said I must go and dine with him soon, as he has something to say to me. He says that he has requested Mr Barker to allow Harriet to learn music, as he hears she has a taste for it. He hopes that dear Harriet will come to London some time or other and play to him, as music is his passion. I cannot describe to you how kind his manner is, nor how dearly I love the very sight of this good man. And yet even he does not escape slander. I have heard it said, often and often, that he is a perfect tyrant to his inferiors, that as long as he is treated with deference, he is unwearied in kindness, but that the least opposition enrages him, and that once displeased he is an irreconcilable enemy. Of course I believe nothing of all this, and have shewn no little indignation when I have heard such things said. What a world it must be, when such a man as Mr Rathbone is slandered! I do not intend to be curious about what he has to say to me till the time comes. Perhaps he will tell me what was the nature of the service which my dear father rendered him. But I will not think more of the matter: it may be only a trifle after all. 

 "I am very sorry to conclude, but I must be off to bed; it is very late, and I must be at the warehouse two hours sooner than usual to-morrow. I hope you will be satisfied with what I send you, and that Harriet will be pleased at her musical prospects. Farewell, all of you; let me hear soon, and believe me, --

 "Your very affectionate brother, --

 "Charles Forsyth. 

 "P. S. I have now received a note from Mr Rathbone, in which he says that he and Mrs R. Are obliged to leave town for some weeks: and that therefore they must defer seeing me at present. He asks whether Alfred has ever shewn any taste for mathematics, and expresses his hope that his attention will be directed that way without delay. What can this mean? You had better ask Mr Barker. "

Mr Barker was no better able to guess Mr Rathbone's designs thanCharles himself; so they were all obliged to wait in patience till theirkind friend should return to town, which did not take place till thefollowing autumn. In the mean time, however, his directions wereobserved, and Alfred began to learn mathematics. 

Jane and Isabella had so little time now for the employment which theirbrother had provided for them, that March was past before another boxwas prepared for Mr Blyth. Their brother had the pleasure oftransmitting five guineas to them, as the reward of their industry; andwe may imagine the complacency and satisfaction with which they revealedthe history of their labours and earnings to their friend Mr Barker. He was as much pleased as they expected, and even more surprised. Heasked them how they intended to apply the money. They replied withouthesitation, to the children's school expenses; for their only object wasto make themselves less burdensome to their friends. Mr Barker wouldnot allow of this. He recommended them to lay by their earnings as aseparate fund, to be applied when any extraordinary occasion shouldarise. He kindly added, that money so earned should bring some pleasurein its expenditure to those who had obtained it by industry, and that hedid not see why their parlour should not in time be graced by a pair ofglobes, or even a piano, honourably obtained by their own exertions. This was a splendid prospect, and an animating one for these good girls, and they determined to set to work again, as soon as the holidays shouldafford them leisure. It was now necessary, however, to try their handsat something else, as Mr Blyth had given notice that it would be somemonths before he should want a further supply of the articles on whichthey had hitherto so profitably employed their ingenuity. 

What should they next attempt? This was a difficult question to answer, and the girls determined to look about them, and observe, and wait forthe present, and not expect to earn more money before the holidays. Sothey spent their leisure time through April and May in reading anddrawing for improvement, and in work, of which their hands were alwaysfull. 

When Midsummer came, and Jane made up her accounts at the close of herfirst year of housekeeping, she thought she had every reason to besatisfied and grateful. She had the encouragement also of Mr Barker'swarm approbation of her self-denying industry, and of her excellentmanagement. He gave her encouragement of another kind also. He toldher that Mr Everett had expressed his entire satisfaction in herconduct to the children under her care, and his intention of eitherraising her salary, or doing something equivalent to this, at the end ofthe next year. The lady whose school Isabella and Harriet attended, also spoke in praise of the girls to Mr Barker, and told him that theirgood principles, their influential sense of religion, which was evincedby their uniform good conduct, afforded a certain proof of excellentmanagement at home. She made many enquiries concerning Jane, anddetermined to keep her eye on her, and to find some opportunity of doingservice to one who so well merited kindness and assistance. Mr Barkerdid not tell Jane all this; but he told her enough to cause tears ofpleasure to swell into her eyes, and emotions of unspeakable gratitudeto arise in her heart. She reserved the expression of this gratitudetill, alone in her chamber, she could pour out her whole soul before Himwho had directed and upheld her steps on the narrow path of duty, andwho was now showering rich blessings upon her, and filling her heartwith peace and hope. She thanked him that he had preserved them to eachother, and yet more, that their family peace was unbroken: that theywere closely united in the love of Him and of each other. She felt thatas long as this love subsisted she could bear any trials that came fromwithout; and though she looked forward to probable anxieties anddifficulties, the prospect did not dismay her, so strong did she nowfeel in an Almighty support, and in perfect reliance on the goodness andmercy which was now about her, and which, she trusted, would follow herall the days of her life. It was not indeed to be expected that everyyear should pass away so smoothly. They had all enjoyed health andcomfort at home, improvement and pleasure abroad. They had gained newfriends, and so far from suffering want, their affairs bore a morecheering aspect than they could have hoped. Their income amounted, as Ihave said, to eighty pounds a year, and they had besides a house oftheir own. They had been at scarcely any expense for clothes, and theirgood servant Hannah had very low wages. Their expenditure this year, under Jane's excellent management, was only fifty-six pounds: the restof their income, with Jane's salary of twenty-five pounds, wenttherefore towards the fund which their friends had raised for theeducation of the three younger ones. Charles managed to be independent, as we know, and Isabella hoped that in four or five years she might beso too. Jane never expected to spend so little again. She could nothope that their house would be always so free from sickness, or thattheir wants would always be so few. 

Mr Barker, after examining her accounts, and praising the accuracy withwhich they were kept, congratulated her on the result. "I am glad, mydear, " said he, "that the first year has been so smooth an one. I hopeyou find it an encouragement, and that you will not be dismayed if youshould meet with a few rubs before long. We all meet with rubs, and youmust expect your share. "

"Certainly, " replied Jane. "I am only surprised that we have done wellso far. We owe it to your help, Sir. We could have done nothingwithout you. "

"You can do some things without me, though, Jane. Remember you earnedfive guineas, without my knowing any thing of the matter. I cannot tellyou how glad I am that Isabella is likely to prove a good help to you. She is a sweet girl, and will do us honour, when a few years havebrought out her talents. But, my dear, she works very hard, and she istoo young to work all day long. My wife is going to take the childrento the sea, in July: if you will spare Isabella, a fortnight's run bythe sea will bring more colour into her cheeks, and make her ready tobegin school with new spirit. "

Jane was beyond measure gratified by the indulgence offered to Isabella. She most thankfully accepted the kindness; and we cannot better closethis part of our little history than by leaving our readers to imaginethe actual happiness and hopeful anticipations of Jane, her sisters andbrother, at the close of the first year, which had bound them togetherin those ties, the tenderness and strength of which only the fatherlesscan understand. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

Few events worth recording happened during the next summer, autumn, andwinter. The return of Mr Rathbone to London, which did not take placetill the month of May, was the first remarkable circumstance which Ihave to relate. He asked Charles to dine at his house the Sunday afterhis arrival at home, and various and most kind were the enquiries hemade about the whole family. He saw some specimens of Isabella'sdrawings, which pleased him much, and he expressed great satisfactionwhen he heard that Harriet was making excellent progress in music. Helistened with benevolent interest when Charles spoke of Jane'sexertions, of the mother's care which she bestowed on those who stoodalmost in the place of children to her. This was a subject on whichCharles loved to speak, when he could find an auditor who couldcomprehend and would sympathise with his feelings. Such a listener hewas aware that he now had, and his heart warmed more and more towardshis benefactor with each moment in which he was allowed to dwell on asister's praises. At length Mr Rathbone enquired how he who was soready to make known the exertions of others, was himself going on in theworld. "If you do not object to give me your confidence, Charles, " saidhe, "I am as much interested in your concerns, as in your sisters. "

Charles thanked him, and said there was but little to tell; and thatlittle he communicated at once. He told Mr Rathbone the amount of hissalary, and that of his expenditure. He told him how he wasendeavouring to qualify himself for a higher situation, and what werethe hopes which he ventured to indulge of affording his sisters somesubstantial assistance in time. At present he could do but little: thefirst year he had by great self-denial saved three pounds. This year hehoped to send Jane a five pound note on Midsummer Day, and in a year ortwo he had the prospect of a large salary. 

Mr Rathbone questioned him closely as to his manner of living, and hisplans of economy. Accustomed as he was to a very lavish expenditure, such economy as Charles's struck him with wonder; and he was surprisedto find that so far from being despised by the young men among whom hewas thrown, Charles was regarded with respect by all, with affection bysome. He did not live in close, grudging solitude: he had lost none ofthe spirit of generous sociality which he brought with him to London, and preserved there, in spite of its chilling and counteractinginfluences. He was benevolent; he was generous. His purse he could inconscience open to none but his sisters; but his heart was open, hishead was busy, and his hands were ready, whenever an opportunity ofdoing good occurred. Some of the young men with whom his situationconnected him, gave entertainments to their friends, or made parties togo to places of public amusement. Charles could not do this; nor did hewish to offer, or accept, obligations of this kind; but all hiscompanions readily acknowledged, from their own experience, that Charleshad both the power and the inclination to do good. One had been ill, and had been nursed by Charles night and day, or as much of the day ashe could call his own, so carefully and tenderly, that he owed hisrecovery in part, and the whole of what alleviation his diseaseadmitted, to his benevolent care. Another had displeased Mr Gardiner, it was feared irremediably; and the young man would have gone to ruin, if Charles had not with indefatigable patience brought down his high andperverse spirit to the tone of apology and due humiliation; and, moreover, ventured to moderate his master's somewhat unreasonable anger. He got no thanks from either of them at the time: but he did not wantthanks, and gained his end, which was, to see the youth re-establishedin his respectable situation. The hour of gratitude came at last, andCharles now knew that he might command every possible service from theyouth whom he had obliged, and who was now proud to call him friend. Hehad rendered Mr Gardiner an essential service by informing him of themalpractices of some of the inferior people on the premises, which noone else had the courage to expose; and the widow with whom he lodgedwas obliged to him for her release from the oppression of a tyrannicallandlord, who dared not trouble her, when he found that a spirited youthwas her friend, who would not sit still and see her ill treated, whilecourage and activity could procure a remedy. 

When we think that to these important services were added hourlykindnesses, most acceptable in the intercourses of social life; when weremember that where Charles was, there was cheerfulness, kindness, anopen heart, a quick eye, and a ready hand to do good; we shall notwonder that he was beloved, though poor, and respected, though humble. Mr Rathbone was not, could not be, aware of all these things, but heheard Charles speak of the kindness that he experienced, and then it waseasy to guess that it was earned by kindness shewn. 

"I forget, " said he, "how long it is exactly, since you came to London. "

"Two years next month, Sir. "

"And have you not seen your sisters in all that time?"

"No, Sir; nor have I any near prospect of seeing them. I do not ventureto wish it, for fear of growing discontented. The girls are happy, andso am I; and we do not repine because we cannot reach an unattainablepleasure. "

"I will try, Charles, whether it be unattainable. Two years of industryand self-denial deserve a reward. I will call on Mr Gardinerto-morrow, and beg for a fortnight's holiday for you. If I can obtainit, we will send you down to Exeter in a trice. "

Charles's gratitude was inexpressible. In spite of his struggles, thetears started from his eyes. In a moment, his home and its belovedinmates rose up to his memory, and awakened his affections with anenergy and vividness which he had never experienced before, in thedeepest of the many reveries in which they had been presented to hisfancy. Mr Rathbone understood his feelings, and so little doubted ofbeing able to obtain this favour, that he tried to work up still morethe ecstasy of hope which he had excited. "I have no doubt Mr Gardinerwill spare you, Charles: you can be off by to-morrow night's coach. "

But Charles had not so far forgotten common things in his joy, as to beunmindful that Jane would lose half the pleasure of his visit, if it waspaid while she was engaged for the greater part of the day with herpupils. He knew that she was to have a fortnight's holiday atMidsummer, and he felt that it would be but justice to her, and the besteconomy of pleasure for himself, to defer his visit till that time, ifpossible. He did long, to be sure, to be off at once, and to take themby surprise, and he was afraid the intervening month would appeardreadfully long; but he felt that this was childish. He stated the caseto Mr Rathbone, and begged that the request might be for the last weekof June and the first of July. 

He was much surprised to see a dark cloud pass over Mr Rathbone's browwhile this explanation was being made: he could not believe it caused byany thing he had said, and therefore took no notice of it. The replywas, "It is not likely, _Sir_, that Mr Gardiner should let you chooseyour own time. I will mention it, however, and see what he says. Isuppose you will not refuse to go now, if you cannot be sparedafterwards?"

Poor Charles said what he thought best; but he was so astonished andgrieved to have given offence, that his words did not come very readily. He tried in vain to forget Mr Rathbone's look and words; but, in spiteof himself, he could not help endeavouring to account for what wasunaccountable, and watching his benefactor's looks with intense anxiety. 

The coldness passed off, and Mr Rathbone dismissed Charles with hisusual kindness. Mrs Rathbone desired him not to trouble himself tocall, if he should go the next night; but that, if his departure shouldbe delayed for a month, she should wish to see him again. He would findher at home any morning before one o'clock. 

The next day, about noon, Charles received a note, the contents of whichwere as follows. 

 "Dear Charles, --

 "I have called on Mr Gardiner this morning, and he grants you leave of absence from the moment you read this till Wednesday fortnight; so that you have two clear weeks' holiday, and two days for going and coming. Mr G. Can better spare you now than afterwards; so I hope you and your sister will find or make time for what you have to say to each other. I do not intend that this journey should break your five pound note. Let your sister have it, as you intended, and pay your expenses with that which is inclosed. I hope you will get a place in this night's coach, and that all will go well with you till we meet again. 

 "Mrs Rathbone wishes you much pleasure, and requests you to take charge of the accompanying letter to Jane. 

 "I am yours very sincerely, --

 "Francis Rathbone. "

The inclosure was a ten pound note. Charles stood bewildered. Thepressure of the time, however, made him collect his thoughts, anddetermine what was to be done. He first ran to the counting-house tothank Mr Gardiner briefly, but gratefully, for his indulgence. He nextwrote a note, warmly expressive of his feelings, to Mr Rathbone: one ofhis friends in the warehouse engaged to leave it at the door thatevening. Then Charles ran as fast as possible to secure a place in thecoach. After some doubt and anxiety, he succeeded. He then bid hiscompanions good-bye, and went to his lodgings to pack his little trunkand pay his bill. He then dined at a chop-house, and found that he hada clear hour left before it was time to depart. He did not hesitate howto employ it. There was a poor, a very poor family, who lived a littleway from his lodgings, whose misery had caused Charles many aheart-ache. The mother was a daughter of the widow who was Charles'slandlady, and it was through her that he knew any thing of them. Sometrifling services he had been able to render these poor people, but withmoney he had not been able to assist them. Now, however, he felthimself so rich, from Mr Rathbone's bounty, that he thought he mightindulge himself by bestowing a small present before his departure. Heknew that one of the children was ill, and required better nourishmentthan their poverty could afford. He went to them, saw the child, satwith it while the mother went out to buy food with the half-crown whichhe had put into her hand, and left them with a light heart, followed bytheir blessings. 

Who was ever happier than Charles at this moment? Whichever way hismind turned, it met only thoughts of peace and hope. The novelty of ajourney, the freshness and beauty of the country in the brightness of asweet evening in spring, the thought of two whole weeks of leisure, andof the sweet family intercourse which was to endear it, gratitude forbenefits received, the sweet consciousness of benefits bestowed, allconspired to make him inexpressibly happy. His imagination representedto him all the possible situations in which the meeting with his familymight take place. He was well enough acquainted with the house to fancywhat the interior looked like; and he planned, in his fancy, where eachof the family would be sitting, what each would be doing, and how eachwould express the astonishment and pleasure which his arrival mustexcite. 

At length he fell asleep, and continued so, except for the occasionalintervention of some pleasant dreamy thoughts, till the sunrise againroused him to the observation of the exquisite beauties of the freshmorning. The hours now passed less rapidly away, and he found hisemotions becoming so tumultuous, that he tried to turn his thoughts uponindifferent subjects, and to enter into conversation with hisfellow-passengers. As the day advanced, he became impatient of beingshut in, so that he could catch only a confined view of the beautifulcountry through which he was passing, and he therefore took his seat onthe roof of the coach. He sat next to a young man, who soon madeacquaintance with him, and whom he found a very agreeable companion. His name Charles could not ascertain, but he found that he lived atExeter, and it was interesting to them both to talk of persons andplaces with which both were familiar. In the afternoon, when they werestill busy talking, and reckoning that four hours more would bring themto their journey's end, the coach stopped at a public-house by the roadside, which the coachman entered, leaving a man at the horses' heads totake care of them. Some one called the man, and he left his charge, andthe passengers did not for some moments perceive that he had done so, till something passed which caused the horses to start. Several men ranat once to catch the reins: this frightened the leaders yet more, andthey set off at full gallop. Charles was sitting in front, and hiscompanion, with much presence of mind, got over and seated himself onthe box, and caught the reins. He attempted to pull in, but the screamsof some of the passengers were enough of themselves to terrify anyhorses, and the young man's strength began to fail before they relaxedtheir speed at all. Still there was a wide road before them, with noapparent obstruction, and Charles, who tried to keep himself calm, hopedthat the horses would soon be tired, and slacken their pace. He saw hiscompanion's strength failing, and he leaned over and said, "Keep on oneminute more and we shall do, " when, most unfortunately, a waggon turnedout of a field by the road side. The leaders turned sharp round, andupset the coach close by the hedge. Charles's fall was broken by thehedge, and he rose in a moment, with no other hurt than a few scratchesfrom the briars; but such a dreadful scene of confusion met his view, that, though his first thought was to give help, he knew not where toturn. He looked for his companion, but could not see him, and hearingthe most dismal screams from the inside of the coach, he entreated oneor two persons, who were standing shaking their limbs, and apparentlyunhurt, to help him to get out the passengers. It was some time beforethey comprehended what he meant, and longer still before they couldcollect their senses sufficiently to be of any use. At length, however, Charles and another man climbed on the body of the coach, and pusheddown the window. Two young ladies and a Quaker gentleman were inside. The latter said to Charles, "Lend me thy hand, for I am uppermost, andthen we will rescue the others: there is not much harm done, I hope. "

One of the ladies continued to scream so loud, that it was difficult tomake her understand that she must use her own limbs in getting out. Bymain force, however, she was hauled through the window, and set on herfeet. The Quaker gentleman said to her, "I recommend thee to be morequiet, if thou canst; if not, thou hadst better go a little out of theway, that we may know what we are doing. There is a stile yonder: sitthere, and I will bring thy friend to thee. "

The lady was able to comprehend this, and she accordingly moved away. There was more difficulty in rescuing her companion, who was reallyhurt: her arm was injured, and she was in great pain. She was quiet, however, and exerted what strength she had. Charles led her to somegrass at a little distance: he hastily spread her cloak, and laid herdown, and called her companion to her. When he reached the scene ofdisaster again, he was shocked to find that an outside passenger waskilled. He was a dreadful object, and nothing was to be done, but tomove him out of sight as quickly as possible. Still Charles lookedround in vain for his companion; but when the noise had a littlesubsided, he thought he heard a faint groan from beneath the hugebox-coat which was lying close by. Charles lifted it, and saw hiscompanion lying with a large trunk upon one leg. He seemed in greatagony, and unable to move. Charles called the Quaker gentleman. Theygently lifted the trunk, and saw a sickening sight. The leg wasdreadfully crushed. Charles for a moment turned away, but, ashamed ofhis weakness, he, with the Quaker's approbation, loosened the shawlwhich he wore round his neck, and wrapped it about the injured leg. They then raised the poor youth, and seated him on the trunk, and triedto ascertain whether he had received any other injury. They could notdetect any, but the sufferer was in so much pain, that they could not besure. Charles beckoned to the waggoner, who was assisting the otherpassengers, and enquired whether there was any house nearer than thepublic-house which they had left, where the wounded passengers could betaken in for the present. 

The man answered that there was none, and that they were three milesdistant even from that. 

Charles engaged him to convey the ladies and the young man in hiswaggon, which was filled with straw, and the people from thepublic-house having by this time reached the scene of disaster, theQuaker gentleman was able to accompany them. They therefore looked outtheir luggage, deposited the young man and the two ladies in the waggon, and returned to the public-house on foot. By the way they agreed whatwas further to be done. The Quaker thought the two ladies would be ableto reach Exeter that night, and would prefer doing so to remaining inthe inconvenient and crowded public-house. If the coach was able toproceed, so much the better; if not, a chaise could probably beprocured. As for the young man, he must certainly remain; he was in nocondition for travelling. 

"I do not know, " said Charles, "how you are circumstanced. We must notleave this poor youth; one of us must take charge of the ladies, and theother remain with him. Will you take your choice?"

"My wife is ill, " replied the Quaker, "and I fear would be in terror, ifshe should hear of the accident, and not see me, even if I assured herof my welfare by my own hand. I should therefore prefer returning. Butperhaps thou hast calls equally pressing?"

"No, I have not, " replied Charles. "No one expects me: my family do notknow that I am on my way to them: the matter therefore is decided. "

"Not quite, " said the Quaker. "The one who remains will have somepainful scenes to go through. Thou art young: canst thou bear them?"

"I will _try_ to bear them, " replied Charles. "My heart aches for thisyoung man, but it will be a comfort to be of service to him. We mustlearn his name, and you will call at his house as soon as you arrive, and inform his family; and some of them had better return in the chaisewith a surgeon; for I suppose there is no medical advice to be hadhereabouts. "

"Probably not, " replied the Quaker. "It is now nearly six: if we canprocure a chaise without delay, in nine or ten hours hence his friendsmay be with him, and thou wilt be in part relieved from thy charge. "

"He will be able to command himself, " said Charles, "at least, if I mayjudge from his presence of mind at the time of the accident; and I shalltherefore know better what to do, than if he were as unmanageable asthat young lady. "

"Her agony was so great, " replied the Quaker, "that it would make onethink that fear is, for the time, a greater evil than actual pain. Hersister (for I conclude they are sisters) was quiet enough; but it wasbeyond my power to stop her screams. Tell me how thy companion acted, for, being inside, I do not know. "

Charles related how the youth had endeavoured to stop the horses. 

"He indeed shewed self-command, " said the good man, "and I am afraid hewill have occasion to exercise all his resolution. I have no hope thatthat leg can be cured; but I hope his life is not in danger!"

"Can you, " said Charles, "give me any directions respecting histreatment? Is there any thing to be done besides making him as easy asI can?"

"Nothing, that I am aware of, " replied the Quaker. "I think thou wiltnot have much need of thy purse for these few hours, or I would ask theewhether it is well filled?"

Charles thanked him, and assured him that no assistance of that kind waswanted. 

By this time they had reached the public-house, and the young man wassoon laid on a bed, in a decent though not very quiet apartment. Onenquiry being made, it was found that no chaises were to be had there, but that a return chaise would probably pass very soon. The ladies wereso incapable, one from pain, the other from terror, of judging what wasbest to be done, that the Quaker gentleman decided every thing for them. He directed the lady's arm to be bathed and hung in a sling, andadvised them to accompany him in the chaise to Exeter, as soon as itshould pass. Charles meanwhile was sitting by the bedside of theinjured man, trying to ascertain the necessary particulars of his name, place of residence, etcetera. He was now able to speak, and said hisname was Monteath, that his father and mother lived in -- Street, Exeter, and that Mr Everett was the surgeon whom he wished to attendhim. He said, "Are you going directly? must you leave me now?"

"I shall not leave you till your friends arrive, " replied Charles. "Some of our fellow-passengers will carry our message to Exeter. "

"Thank you! God bless you!" were the only words in answer. Presentlyhe said, "Who are you? You have not told me your name. "

Charles told his name. 

"Forsyth!" exclaimed Mr Monteath; "surely you are the brother of MissForsyth, whom I have seen at Mr Everett's!"

"I am, " said Charles. 

"Then do not stay with me, " said the youth; "your sister will beterrified when she hears of the accident. "

Charles explained that his sisters did not expect him. He then enquiredwhether he did not suffer less than at first. 

"Yes, I am rather easier, " replied Monteath, "but still it is dreadfulpain. However, I shall have worse to go through before I am better. Isee what is before me: I do not wish to be blind to it. "

"I am glad you are not blind to it, " replied Charles. "You havestrength of mind and self-command, and if you can keep up for a fewhours, the worst will be over. Your present calmness assures me thatyou will keep up. "

"I know not, " replied Monteath. "Thoughts come crowding upon me fasterthan I can bear. This pain is not the worst: yet Oh! how it weakens me!I ought to feel, even at this moment, that all is right, that thissuffering is for my good. "

"It is, " said Charles; "and it is this thought which has comforted mefor you. In a few hours you will, I trust, be at ease, and, after that, all will come easy to you. In the mean time, think whose hand hasbrought this evil upon you, and remember that he is pitying your pain. He also gives strength and courage to those who ask for them. "

"I will seek for them, " replied Monteath. "Leave me for a while: I willtry to compose my mind, and strengthen myself for these hours of pain. "

Charles drew the curtains round the bed, and sat down in thewindow-seat. He did feel sick at heart. His head throbbed, and hisheart beat thick, when he thought of the agony he had witnessed, of whatwas yet to be undergone by his companion, and of the dreadful disclosurewhich must be made to the father and mother, who were now probablycounting the minutes as they flew, in the hope of a joyous meeting withtheir son. By degrees, he became aware that he was looking only at thedark side of the picture. He reproached himself for overlooking themercies which had attended this dispensation. His own preservation, that of many besides, that only one life was lost among so many, thatthe suffering had fallen upon those who were apparently the best able tobear it; and he was not forgetful that the warning which was affordedthem all of the uncertainty of life, and health, and peace, was ofitself a great mercy. He now remarked the sun disappearing behind thehills, and remembered how he had watched it declining in the heavens, with the confident expectation that the hours of succeeding darknesswould be spent in the home of his sisters; that, before the sun shouldrise again, he would have embraced them, have looked on their faces, andheard their voices, and exchanged affectionate greetings with them. Nowthe night was to be passed beside the bed of pain, and the sunrise wouldfind him, probably, exhausted and spiritless, and still far from thosehe loved. "What a little way can we see!" thought Charles: "howuncertain should we ever feel of the future! how prepared for whatevermay happen! how grateful for every exemption from suffering! I am nothappy now; I cannot be happy while one is near me who is sufferingseverely: but let me be grateful: let me remember my preservation frompersonal injury, and let me trust that those who suffer will findstrength and comfort from Him who has blessed and preserved me. "

While these thoughts passed through his mind, tears coursed each otherdown his cheeks. He did not check them, for he found relief from thesequiet tears. He was, meantime, not forgetful of his charge: he listenedto his breathing; it was, at first, loud and irregular, as of one inpain, and now and then a deep sob could be heard. Still Charles satquiet, for he judged rightly that Monteath would be better able tocompose himself, if left undisturbed. By degrees, his breathing becamemore regular, and all was so quiet, that Charles hoped he was at ease, if not asleep. Meanwhile it was becoming dark, and as night advanced, the public-house was more quiet, and Charles entertained the hope thathis friend might be strengthened for his approaching suffering, by a fewhours of repose. When the last tinge of brightness had faded from theclouds, and was succeeded by total darkness, Charles still remained inthe window-seat: he would not procure a light for fear of noise; and hecontinued to look out, though nothing was to be seen, but a servantoccasionally crossing the yard with a lantern, which cast a dim gleamthrough the room. The ticking of his watch was the only sound that heheard. It was too dark to see what time it was, but when he imagined hehad been sitting about two hours, the loud ringing of a bell broke thesilence, and disturbed poor Monteath, who had really been asleep. Heattempted to move, but the attempt extorted a deep groan. Charlessprang to the bedside, and spoke to him. "You are in pain again, " saidhe, "but you have been easier, and will be so again soon. "

Monteath could not answer him. 

Charles rang for a light. It was brought, and Monteath asked whato'clock it was. It was near eleven. "No more!" said he, and heenquired how soon his father and mother could be with him. Charlesthought in four or five hours, and he told his friend that if he wouldbe prevailed on to take a little refreshment, he thought he might sleepagain. 

"O, no, do not ask me to move, " replied Monteath. 

"You need not move, " replied Charles. "I will give it you, while youlie still: but indeed you need it. "

"I will, " said Monteath. "But have you been beside me all this time, without any refreshment? You must be quite exhausted. Pray go down andhave some supper: I shall not want you just now: why did you not leaveme?"

Charles, though little inclined to eat, consented to have some supperbrought up, but he would not leave his friend. He asked Monteath if hehad not enjoyed his repose. 

"It was a great rest, " was the reply; "but I believe I have had my poormother in my mind almost all the time. I am afraid she is more unhappythan I am at this moment. "

"But when she hears that you have slept, and when she sees you able tospeak, and even to comfort her, as I think you will, she will berelieved. "

"They will have Mr Everett with them, " said Monteath, "and he is a kindand judicious friend. It is he who must free me from this pain, " addedhe. "I hope I shall not hate him for the office, as I have heard thatsome people hate their surgeons, in spite of themselves. "

"No fear of that, " said Charles. 

"I hope they will not delay it, " said Monteath. "I would fain hope thatin twelve hours, it will be over. I almost think it cannot be worsethan what I suffered when I was lying on the road, before you found me. "

"Probably not so bad, and most probably much sooner over. Some peoplewould think me wrong in letting you speak of this, but I think it willdo you no harm. You would think about it at all events, and it makesanticipated evils less, to talk rationally about them. "

"You are right, " said Monteath. "I have been looking steadily at thewhole matter, and I want to ask you one thing. Mr Everett will perhapsbring no assistant. If he does not, will you, can you, stand by, andprevent my father from being present? I know he will insist on it, ifno friend is at hand but Mr Everett. "

"I can, and I certainly will, " replied Charles. "I have never attemptedany thing of the kind, but I think I can make my resolution equal to theoccasion. If I can be of use, I shall not think of myself. "

"Thank you, thank you, " replied Monteath. "Things might have been worsewith me yet. There might have been no one who would have had compassionon me, no friend who would have comforted me as you are doing. "

"I can do little, " said Charles. "There is a better friend with you, who can yield support when earthly friends are far away, or too feebleto give comfort. I hope you feel this. "

"I do now, more than ever in my life before. Just now, I was in toomuch pain to think of any thing: but I am easy enough to think, andspeak, and listen, at present. Have you a Bible with you?"

Charles instantly produced his Bible, and asked his friend what heshould read. 

"The forty-second and forty-third Psalms first, " said Monteath. 

Charles read them, and afterwards chose a chapter in the New Testament, and with pleasure he perceived that Monteath appeared more and moretranquil, and in a little time he enjoyed the repose which his exhaustedframe required. 

He slept till three o'clock, and was then too anxious for the arrival ofhis father and mother to rest again. Charles attempted to interest himin conversation, and he was interested; but he started at every littlenoise, and to say the truth, Charles was little less nervous thanhimself. At length, almost before they could reasonably expect it, theydistinctly heard a chaise drive up. 

"O, go, go!" cried Monteath. "Go and bring them to me!"

"Not yet, " said Charles, firmly. "I will go to them, but they must notsee you till I can tell them that you are more calm. Compose yourself, and remember that the best comfort you can give them is to see youtranquil. I will tell them that you have slept, and in a few minutesyou shall see them; in the mean time compose yourself. "

Charles went down stairs, and the first meeting with Mr and MrsMonteath was very painful. He was glad, however, to give them somecomfort, and he spoke as cheerfully as he could of the night which hisfriend had passed. Presently he conducted them to their son's chamber, and left them at the door. Mr Everett enquired the particulars of theaccident, and the extent of the injury, as far as Charles could judge ofit. He shook his head, when he had heard the particulars, and said hefeared there was no help for it, but that the leg must be amputated. 

"Thinking this would be necessary, " he said, "I brought an assistantwith me; and I am glad I did, for delay would be dangerous; and Isuppose there is no surgeon near. Is your friend prepared for it?"

"Perfectly, " replied Charles: "and he thinks the sooner it is done, thebetter. How soon will it be, Sir?"

"Directly, if it has to be done, " replied Mr Everett, "but you know Ihave not seen him yet, and therefore cannot be sure that it will benecessary. "

Mr and Mrs Monteath came down presently, and told Mr Everett thattheir son wished to see him. Before he went, he told them that heshould recommend their trying to get some rest. 

"Now that your son has seen you, he will sleep again, " said he, "and Iwish to remain alone with him for two or three hours. He will not restif you are beside him, so you must trust him with me, and our youngfriend will bring you news of him from time to time. "

The father and mother were obliged to consent: they retired, and Charlestook his station in the next room to his friend. In a few minutes MrEverett's assistant came out of the chamber, and soon after returnedwith a servant, and there were signs of preparation which were sickeningto poor Charles. He made a great effort to forget himself, however, andgently opening the chamber door, asked if he could be of use. 

"You can, Sir, if you think yourself able, " replied Mr Everett. "Ibelieve we may trust you, for you are aware of the importance ofself-command just now. I advise you to take a glass of wine, and thengo and speak to your friend, and we will call you when we want you. "

Charles did so. 

"Your mother has gone to lie down, " he whispered; "by the time shewakes, we shall have comfort to give her, and you will be better able tosee her. "

Monteath pressed his hand. "I am better than I was, " said he; "strongerin mind, too. I do believe I dreaded seeing my mother more than anything else. "

Mr Everett now approached the bed, and in a short time, which, however, appeared to Charles as if it never would be over, the painful thing wasdone, and Monteath was in bed again. Charles remained beside him, andin an hour the patient was once more in a sound sleep. Mr Everett wentthen to tell his father and mother what had been done. They weredreadfully agitated at first, but the sight of their son in deep reposecalmed them, and every thing was soon so comfortably arranged, thatCharles thought his assistance was no longer needed. He went to bed, rested till the middle of the day, and in the afternoon proceeded withMr Everett to Exeter, the assistant being left behind with the patient, and Mr Everett promising to return the next day but one. Monteath didnot | know how to express his gratitude, and his parents'acknowledgments were painful to Charles, who felt that in commonhumanity he could not have done less than he had done. They howeverthought differently, and were grateful, not only for what he had done, but for the manner of doing it; and felt very sure, that, painful asthat night had been to Charles, every recollection of it would bringpleasure as long as he lived. He promised his friend that he would notreturn to London without seeing him, and then set off, wondering when hethought that his acquaintance with Monteath had been of only twenty-fourhours' standing, and that, in that time, he had been called on toperform more painful offices of kindness, than generally devolve uponintimate friends during a connexion of many years. 

"At this hour yesterday, " thought Charles, "we met for the first time, and now we are perhaps friends for life. It has been proved, by a fierytrial, that Monteath has many virtues. I know, beyond a doubt, that heis religious, that he is attached to his family, that he is considerateto others, that he is courageous and patient. This is a great deal tohave learned in twenty-four hours. If I were to consider myself alone, I might rejoice in this accident. I have gained a valuable friend, andreceived a lesson which I shall never forget, at the expense of only afew hours of salutary pain. But I am the last person to be considered. Better fruits even than these may spring from this calamity, to thosewho have at present suffered more from it. "

The journey with Mr Everett was cheerful and pleasant. Charles had nowthe opportunity of learning a great deal about his sister Jane; and allthat he heard gave him pleasure. His home and its inmates had beenforgotten for some hours, but now he began again to anticipate thepleasures of meeting, though with much less confidence than before. Atfirst he felt almost sure that something would yet happen to delay theirmeeting; but when they were within five miles of the city, he began torecognise some well-known object at every step, and to feel a quieterhope that at length he should reach his journey's end in peace. Hestarted up at the first sight of the Cathedral towers, and gazed at themtill he actually passed them. Then he looked for familiar faces, and asthe chaise turned the corner into the market-place, a boy looked up fromthe foot pavement, who, tall as he was, could, Charles was sure, be noother than Alfred. "It _is_ Alfred, " said Mr Everett, "going home totea, I guess. You will find them just sitting down to tea, the lessonsall learned, the business all done, and nothing to do but to talk andlisten. "

The chaise stopped, and Charles was soon on his way home, with hislittle trunk under his arm. When Hannah answered his knock, she knewhim instantly, and started back, calling, "Miss Jane, Miss Jane!"

Miss Jane rose from the tea-table, and she and Charles met at theparlour door. "Charles! my dear, dear Charles! What can have broughtyou? What are you here for?"

"I am come to see you, my dearest; and you, and you, " added he, turningto the others, as they pressed round him. "I am come for a wholefortnight. Now, dearest, I have taken you too much by surprise, " forJane's tears flowed fast. "Come, come, compose yourself. Look up, andsmile at me. "

Jane hung on his shoulder. He led her to a chair, Isabella seatedherself on the other side, and Harriet sprung on his knee. "I shouldnot have startled you so, " said Charles, "but I had no time to write, and give you notice. I did not know myself, till a few hours before Ileft town, that I was coming. "

"But _how_ did you come?" asked Isabella. "This is not the time whenany of the coaches arrive. "

"My dear, I must explain all that by and by: there is a long and sadstory connected with that. "

"I am glad we knew nothing about your coming, " said Alfred; "for theLondon coach was overturned yesterday, and we should have been afraidthat you were in it. "

"It _was_ overturned, and there was a man killed, " said Charles; but hesaid no more about it, for he did not feel inclined to enter at onceupon that sad subject. 

"I am afraid, Jane, I am not come at the pleasantest time for you: yourmornings are, I suppose, fully engaged, but we must make long evenings. "

"And here is one to begin with, " said Jane. "We have you all toourselves for this evening at least. But how very tired you look! Areyou quite well?"

"Perfectly, " replied Charles, "I am only tired. "

"Come and have some tea, " said Isabella. "Let me make tea to-night, Jane, and do you sit beside Charles. "

So the happy party gathered round the table, and it would be in vain forus to attempt to follow them through the variety of subjects which theytouched upon, or to record half that was said. After tea, Charles wentinto the kitchen to speak to Hannah, and to delight her by hisaffectionate remembrance. Then Jane and Harriet had to settle theimportant affair of where Alfred was to sleep. He was to give up hisbed to Charles, and a little bed was made up for him, in a corner of thesame room. He declared that he would sleep on the floor rather thanthat Charles should seek a lodging out of the house. 

Late in the evening a note arrived from Mrs Everett: an unusuallygracious one for her. It said that, as Miss Forsyth and her brother hadnot met for so long, Mrs Everett would be sorry to keep them asunder, for the few first days of his stay, especially as Mr C. Forsyth mustrequire cheering and relaxation, after the melancholy circumstances ofhis journey. Mrs Everett therefore would not require Miss Forsyth toresume her daily charge till the next Monday, and in the mean timewished her much enjoyment of her brother's society. 

"How very kind!" exclaimed Jane. 

"How perfectly delightful!" said Charles. 

"But how should Mrs Everett know that you are here, Charles?" saidIsabella. "News must fly faster than I thought it did, if any body hastold her that you are come. "

"I will explain it all in the morning, " said Charles, "it is too long astory to tell now. "

"I wish, " said Harriet, "_we_ had a holiday till Monday. If the newshas got to Mrs Everett's, it might as well spread a little further:just as far as Mrs --'s ears. "

"I should like a holiday very well, " said Isabella, "but Charles andJane had rather be alone, I suppose; and I had rather they should, forpart of the time. "

Charles thanked her by a kiss, for her consideration. 

It was with a deep feeling of gratitude and delight that he this eveningjoined in family worship for the first time for two years. Jane readthe Psalm and chapter with a somewhat tremulous voice this evening, andsweet and touching was that voice to her brother's ear, and he deeplyfelt the words of thanksgiving which were uttered by it. "_Bless theLord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless his holy name. Blessthe Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits: who forgiveth allthine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy lifefrom destruction; who crowneth thee with loving-kindness and tendermercies_. "

What words could be so apt as these to express thankfulness for thepreservation of life, and for the subsequent bestowment of the sweetestblessings which endear it to the pure and uncorrupted heart? Sweet wasit also to join with his best friends in a prayer for the continuance ofthese mercies, and for the blessing of their Giver upon their enjoyment. The weight of sadness which had still pressed upon Charles's mind, andwhich nothing else had availed to lighten, was now removed by theexercise of prayer, and with a light as well as thankful heart heretired to rest. He awoke from refreshing sleep when Alfred rose thenext morning; and when they were assembled at breakfast, he told hispromised tale of the extraordinary events of his journey. The name ofMonteath was not unknown to the Forsyths, and Jane had seen this veryyouth at the Everetts' more than once, and knew that he was a greatfavourite in their family. Charles expressed his intention of callingon his Quaker friend, if he could find him, and also at Mr Monteath'shouse, to learn if any further account of his friend had arrived. MrBarker also was to be seen, and plans were to be laid for the employmentof the precious days of Charles's stay. Before these were halfarranged, it was time for the younger ones to be off to school; and whenthe brother and sister found themselves really alone, Charles producedMrs Rathbone's letter, which he rightly judged must be partly onbusiness. It was indeed of considerable importance. 

Mrs Rathbone wrote in her husband's name, as well as her own. She saidthat Jane had probably heard through Mr Barker that they hoped to be ofuse to Alfred whenever it should be time to think of placing him out:that it was time the boy should have some idea of his futuredestination, and that his family should know what to look forward to. She went on to say, --

 "Mr Rathbone has influence in India, and if Alfred's talents are what we understand them to be, there can be no doubt of his distinguishing himself in the Company's service, and of procuring solid advantages to his family. Our views for him are these. We shall take the charge of his education at the Company's military schools, where he will be qualified for being a military engineer in the forces in India. In five years he will be sent out, and then he will only have to exert himself to get forward, to distinguish himself, and probably to enrich his family, for there are perhaps no other means by which wealth can be so easily acquired. It appears to us that there is no other way in which we can so effectually assist you as this; and few things can give us more pleasure than the anticipation of the time when you will be easy and prosperous, and look back on your present labours and cares as on a long past dream. Alfred will rejoice to promote the prosperity of that kind sister who devoted herself to his welfare when he was too young to repay her cares, and that sister will rejoice in the honour and wealth which his well directed exertions will be the means of conferring on his family. 

 "As you are all bound together by even closer ties of affection than usually unite those of the same family, it is natural that you should grieve at the prospect of a separation from Alfred of many years. These separations are certainly sad things; but I have too good an opinion of your sense and your self-command to suppose that you will set the gratification of even your dearest and most cherished feelings against the solid interests of the family who depend upon you, and of whom you are the head. This is the only objection to our plan which we anticipate from you, unless it be the consideration of health. But this is a thing so entirely uncertain, so many die at home, and so many sustain the trial of a foreign climate, and live to old age in it, that we cannot foresee and calculate, and therefore should not suffer our plans to be deranged by too much regard to this consideration, but should trust, that, whether at home or abroad, all will be well with those whom we love. You will let us know soon what you think of our plan, and you will make up your mind to part with Alfred at the end of a year from next Midsummer. In the mean time, he had better continue at the school where he now is, and the only direction we have to give is, that he will continue to devote his attention to mathematics. If tolerably advanced in this branch of study, he will set out with the more advantage in his new studies next year. 

 "We should like to see Alfred, and form our own judgment of him; and for this purpose, and also to afford him some pleasure, we hope you will not object to his spending a fortnight with us in the approaching holidays. Charles will let us know when to expect him, and we will make him as happy as we can. We have chosen the present opportunity of developing our plan to you, as we thought you would like to have Charles by your side to talk to concerning it. Wishing you much enjoyment together, and assuring you of our interest in all your concerns, I am, my dear young friend, --

 "Most truly yours, --

 "Sarah Rathbone. "

Charles and Jane looked at each other when they had finished readingthis letter. "Well, Jane, " said Charles, "what is your opinion of it?"

"O, Charles, I do not at all like it. But we cannot judge till we havethought about it. "

"Let us think about it then, " said Charles. --"In the first place, couldyou part with Alfred for many years, if you were thoroughly convincedthat it would be for his good and ours?"

"I could, I hope, _if_ I were convinced of that. But what good couldcounterbalance all the evils of such a separation to him and us?"

"Let us consider the good first, Jane, and then we will weigh the evilagainst it. This is not a new idea to me; I had some suspicion of MrRathbone's plans, and so I have thought a little about the matter. IfAlfred goes, we may have it in our power to repay our friends here theobligations we are under to them now; (I mean, of course, the pecuniarypart of the obligation;) and we may be able to place Isabella andHarriet in a situation in society where their talents and virtues may beexercised with as much benefit to others, and without such painfullabour and care as will probably be their lot, if, as we have hithertoexpected, they have to work for their own subsistence. Are not thesereal, solid advantages?"

"I believe they are, " replied Jane. "And you too--"

"O, I am out of the question just now, and so are you, Jane. We mustnow forget ourselves, and even each other, if we mean to decide coollyfor the good of those who depend on us. Are there any other advantages?Is honour, fame, or whatever else we call it, a good?"

"What kind of honour will it be?" asked Jane. "The honour of bravery, Isuppose--a soldier's glory. "

"More than that, " said Charles. "He may have the reputation of talent, of industry, and of general honourable principle. "

"This kind of reputation is valuable in many respects, " said Jane; "butit may be had at home as well as in India, better perhaps: for I do notknow how to reconcile the rapid acquisition of wealth with honourableprinciple. "

"Nor I, " said Charles. "Well, do you reckon this honour an advantage?"

"I think not, " said Jane. "I do not desire a mere soldier's glory forany one I love, since it is bought by violence, and must thereforeharden the heart: and honour of a better kind may be had, as far as itis desirable, at home. "

"I quite agree with you, " said Charles. "Then again, the increase ofknowledge, and enlargement of mind, which is obtained by travelling, andintercourse with foreign nations, is, in my opinion, a real advantage, though Mrs Rathbone does not mention it. We are not considering how itis counterbalanced; but is it not in itself a good?"

"It is, " said Jane; "and now I fancy we have come to the end of thelist. For power, influence, high connexions, the ability to exercisebeneficence, all come under the heads of wealth and honour: and as tothe benefit to Alfred of exerting himself for his family, that also maybe had at home, and may be all the more beneficial for the wealth notbeing got so easily as in India. But _health_ is the grand objection. I do wonder at the way in which Mrs Rathbone speaks of this. Shespeaks of many who die in England as well as in India: but who does notknow the difference in the proportions? And she speaks of _trust_ too, as if foresight and precaution were inconsistent with it. "

"And of those who live, " said Charles, "how few, if any, return inhealth! Mr Rathbone himself is rich: but who would take his riches inexchange for the health he has sacrificed?"

"Have we any right to consent to such a probable sacrifice for Alfred?"said Jane. 

"Certainly not, in my opinion, " said Charles. "But there is anotherquestion of greater importance still--Alfred's moral welfare. His earlyseparation from his family would be a sad thing; but not half so fearfulas the risk of sending him into the society of the dissolute, or, atbest, the careless, where his duty will lie in scenes of bloodshed anddevastation, where his employment will be to contrive and execute plansfor spreading ruin and wasting life. Can we devote him to an employmentlike this? Some may represent the matter in a different light, and saythat he is promoting the prosperity of his country and the extension ofcommerce by his services. But I say, let him, if he serves his country, serve it by innocent means; by means reconcileable to the law of God, and to the duty which man owes to man: let him do this, even if he liveand die in hardship and poverty, rather than corrupt his mind, andharden his heart, and become such a one as we could not love, though hewere to make himself and us as rich and powerful as the most worldlycould desire. "

"Oh, Charles, if this is all true, who could doubt for a moment? Howcould Mr Rathbone think of such a plan for a moment?"

"Different people, " said Charles, "see things in a different light. MrRathbone has not experienced these dangers, because he has made hisfortune by commerce, not by war. Besides, I must think Mr Rathbone avery rare instance of the power of principle against temptation. Thereare few indeed who spend their Indian wealth so generously for others, though every one who goes out with any principle to direct him, hopesthat _he_ shall be able to hold a straight course, though almost allothers have gone astray. I could not, neither, I am sure, could you, encourage this confidence with respect to Alfred. If he were to beseparated from us for five years before he left England, and were tohave no prospect of seeing us again for twenty or thirty years, how weakwould be the family ties, and how easily chilled the family affection onwhich we should wish to depend as a safeguard to higher principles! Andas to those higher principles, _we_ could have little influence informing or strengthening them: we must, at the end of one other year, commit them to the care of strangers. How little knowledge we couldhave of them; how little confidence that they could be firm enough toresist the attacks of temptations, renewed from day to day, under whichthe strong have sunk, and before which the fortified have given way. "

"But Charles, my dear Charles, is this all true? Are you sure there isno mistake? If but one hundredth part were true, I would not hesitatefor a moment. "

"Ask those who know, dear Jane: let us ask Mr Barker. Let us tell ourthoughts to Mr Rathbone himself. This is too important a matter to bedecided on our own judgments, without further knowledge; but MrBarker's knowledge of the fate of many youths who have been sent out toIndia, will, I believe, lead him to encourage us in declining MrRathbone's offer. Whatever we may think of the offer itself, Jane, wemust not forget the generosity which has been shewn in making it. "

"Certainly, " said Jane, "it will be very difficult to express our senseof such kindness; and more so still to decline it: but I hope they willunderstand and even approve our feeling about it. "

The brother and sister then talked over other circumstances connectedwith their affairs. Charles asked whether any new plan was in view forthe girls to earn a little more money. Jane smiled, and said thatIsabella had not been idle, but that what she had attempted was yetunfinished, and that if Charles had not visited them, he would haveknown nothing of the matter till the work was completed. The thing wasthis: a French lady who had been staying at Mr Everett's in the autumn, had shewn Jane an elegant little French work on plants. A variety offlowers were arranged according to various peculiarities, which hadcaused them to be adopted as emblems, some of royalty, others of naturalor moral qualities, etcetera. There were plates of many of the flowers, some well executed, others very indifferently. It struck Jane at oncethat Isabella might translate this work, and she borrowed it of theFrench lady, that they might examine it at home. They thought, on closeexamination, that the work might be improved in the translation: thatvarious floral emblems might be added, and that drawings, very superiorto the plates of the work, might increase its value. When Jane returnedthe book, she asked its owner whether it had been translated intoEnglish. The reply was, that the original work had only been publisheda few weeks, and could not yet be well known in England. Thisdetermined Isabella at once to make the trial. The drawings were themost important and the most difficult part; but by the interest andassistance of a few friends, Isabella obtained access to some excellentbotanical works and plates. Many, indeed most of the flowers, she wasable to draw from nature during the eight months that the work was inprogress; and where the flowers were so rare as to be out of her reachaltogether, there was nothing to be done but to copy from the plates ofthe original work. With the translation she took great pains, and hereJane helped her. Jane had an excellent and well-cultivated taste, andshe was therefore well fitted to judge of style, and she assistedIsabella to re-write and polish her translation, till no foreign idiomcould be detected, and till there was no trace of the stiffness orpoverty which characterises most versions from the French. When thiswas done, Jane, who wrote a much better hand than Isabella, transcribedit, by degrees, as the drawings were finished, one by one, so that thework was complete as far as it went. At this time, only four drawingsand about twelve pages of copying remained to be done, and then it wasto try its fate in the hands of a London bookseller. 

Charles was delighted with the plan, as Jane described it; but she wouldnot let him see the work till Isabella was present. She said that if itdid not answer she should be quite grieved, for that it had been theobject of chief interest to Isabella for many months, and she had beenunwearied in her application to it during all her leisure hours in thattime. They could form no idea of the sum it ought to bring them; butJane said she would not take less than ten guineas, and she hoped formore. Charles shook his head, and was afraid she expected too much; buthe promised to take charge of it when he returned, if it could befinished by that time, and to do all in his power to dispose of itadvantageously. He then enquired whether the five guineas which theyhad already earned remained untouched; and on being told that it was tolie by till they were rich enough to purchase a piano, or till someunforeseen emergency should call it into use, he presented his own fivepound note to Jane to add to the little fund. 

Jane was most unwilling to receive the fruits of his labour andself-denial; but she knew that he spoke the truth when he said that noother use to which he could apply it would give him half so muchpleasure. It gave him pleasure, he said, to think that they had alittle sum of their own to go to, instead of having to apply to theirfriends in case of sickness, family mourning, or any other incidentalexpense likely to occur in a family consisting of several members, andwidely, though distantly, connected with many more. "It is not beingover-prudent, Jane; it is not being worldly-minded, I hope, to think inthis way, is it?"

"I think not, " replied Jane. "I am often afraid of becoming so, Iassure you, and I try to keep this fear in mind from day to day. Atpresent, however, we have been led on so easily, our path has been sosmoothed for us, that it seems hardly possible that we should beunmindful _who_ it is that has disposed all things for us. _Now_ I amreminded, day by day, how grateful I ought to be: if I become worldly, it will more probably be when I have greater labours and anxieties toundergo. If we can meet in this way, dear Charles, from time to time, it will be as strong a safeguard against worldliness as we can have. "

In the course of the morning Charles called on his Quaker travellingcompanion, and gave him an account of the night which he had passed withpoor Monteath, and of the circumstances under which he had left hischarge. The excellent man was much interested, and said he wished thathe could himself have remained, and saved Charles the pain of theseanxious hours. 

"My wife, " said he, "was saved much fear by my speedy arrival, I hopethy friends had no fear for thee?"

"My sisters, " replied Charles, "were not aware of my journey, as itfortunately happened. "

"And thy father and mother: hadst thou not a father and mother to awaitthy arrival?"

Charles shortly explained his family circumstances. 

"Thy sister must have a strong mind, like thine, to conduct a household, and to employ herself in another responsible situation also; consideringthat she is yet young. Thou wilt come again?" said he, seeing thatCharles was preparing to depart, "thou wilt come again? Uncommoncircumstances have made us acquainted, and I should be unwilling todiscontinue our acquaintance, as it may be pleasant to both of us. "

Charles promised to call again. 

"My wife, as I told thee, is ill, " said Mr Franklin, (for that was hisname, ) "and therefore cannot go to see thy sister; but if thou wilt takethy tea with us to-morrow, and if thy sister will disregard ceremony, and come with thee, we shall be glad. "

Charles accepted the invitation with great pleasure, as he thought thatthis respectable family might prove pleasant and valuable friends toJane. 

He next called on Mr Barker, who was not a little astonished at thesight of him. Charles told him that Jane and he were anxious to havehis advice on the important subject of Mrs Rathbone's letter. MrBarker promised to devote the first leisure time he had to them. Charles next called at Mr Monteath's door, to enquire concerning hisfriend; but no account had arrived, or was expected before the evening. 

When the messenger arrived, he brought a favourable report. The patientwas easy, and all was going on right. He sent, by his mother's letter, an affectionate message to Charles, and said, he hoped by the time hisfather returned to Exeter to be able to write a note himself to hisfriend. 

Mr Barker called in the evening to see Mrs Rathbone's letterrespecting Alfred, and to consult with Jane and her brother on thesubject. They plainly told him their feelings upon it, their dislike tothe military profession, especially. 

Mr Barker was silent, and looked thoughtful. 

"Are we wrong, Sir?" asked Charles. "Have we got high-flown or mistakennotions about this? or is it presumptuous in us, who are so poor, andunder great obligations, to affect a choice for our brother?"

"No, my dear boy; none of these. I was silent because I was thinking ofa sad story, and wondering whether I should tell it you. Have you quitemade up your minds to reject Mr Rathbone's offer?"

"That depends on your opinion, " said Jane. "If you shew us thatCharles's ideas of the hazard and probable misery of such a destination, are mistaken, we must deliberate further: but if what I have heard betrue, I would as soon see Alfred in his coffin as incur so fearful aresponsibility. "

"I think what Charles has said is all true: but, my dears, you mustprepare yourselves for something which will be to you very terrible. "

"Mr Rathbone's displeasure, " said Charles. "I feared that: butgrateful as we are and ought to be for his most disinterested generosityto us, we ought to look on his gifts as curses, if they take from us theliberty of unbiassed choice, where the moral welfare of a brother is inquestion. "

"Say so in your reply to him, Charles. "

"But it may be, " said Jane, "that he will not be displeased. We takefor granted much too readily, I think, that he will misunderstand us. "

"Mr Rathbone's temper is peculiar, " replied Mr Barker. "A somewhathaughty spirit was rendered imperious by the power and rank he possessedin India. Considering this, it is wonderful that he should retain sogenerous a disposition as his is; but every one knows, and Charleshimself must have observed, that he cannot bear to be opposed, especially in any scheme of benevolence. "

Jane sighed. "At any rate, " said she, "he cannot prevent our beinggrateful for what he has done, and for his present kind intentions. Itis hard to be obliged to estrange such a friend, but it would be harderstill to devote Alfred to danger, and to temptations stronger than wedare encounter ourselves. "

"The estrangement will not be your work, but his own, Jane: that is, ifyou write such a letter as I expect you will. Do not let your fear ofoffending cramp your expression. Speak your gratitude freely, and alsoyour resolution of independence. Write as freely as you have beenspeaking to me. "

"May I shew you my letter, Sir, and have your opinion of it?" askedJane. 

"By all means, " replied Mr Barker, "and the sooner it is done thebetter. "

"We have been saved much pain, " said Charles, "by your entire agreementwith us. I thought you would think as we did; but yet it is generallybelieved a very fine thing to get a young man out to India. "

"It is, " said Mr Barker: "and in my young days a brother of my own wassacrificed to this mistaken belief. So you will not wonder that I viewthe matter in the same light as you do. It is a very common story. Heleft home as good and promising a youth as could be, but too young. Fine visions of wealth and grandeur floated before him: poor fellow! hedesired them more for his family than for himself when he set out on hiscareer; but his affections gradually cooled as time rolled on, and theprospect of seeing his home again was still very distant. As he thoughtless of his family he thought more of himself, and gave more and moreinto habits of self-indulgence. He got money very fast, andoccasionally sent some home, but squandered much more on his ownpleasures. Then, as might be expected, his health failed: he dragged ona miserable existence for many months, till an attack of illness, whichwould formerly have been overcome in two days' time, carried him off, afeeble and unresisting prey. He was thought to have left a largeproperty, but it could never be got at; and I have heard my poor fathersay that he was glad we never had a farthing of it, for it would haveseemed to him the price of blood. It was a mistake, however, and only amistake; for his welfare was the object of his parents: but it was amistake whose consequences weighed them down with sorrow to their dyingdays. "

After Mr Barker was gone, this little family gathered together to closethe day with an hour of pleasant intercourse. Isabella's work wasproduced, and extremely did Charles admire it. "Will it bring her tenguineas?" asked Jane. 

"Twenty, or nothing, " said Charles. "Only, I am no judge of thesethings. You must get it done for me to take back with me, Isabella. "

Isabella thought it was impossible she could have earned twenty guineasso easily. Not very easily, Charles thought: the leisure hours of eightmonths had been spent upon this, and great efforts of perseverance andresolution had been required. Add to this, the uncertainty and delayand hazard which she yet had to encounter, and he thought that twentyguineas was no more than a sufficient recompense. He told her that allwould not be over when the work was finished, but that she might have towait many months before she knew its fate, and it was even very possiblethat it might remain on her hands. Isabella, however, had made up hermind to be patient and to hope for the best. 

When they separated for the night, Jane whispered to her brother, --"Yes, we will keep together and be happy. Better is poverty in this house, than wealth in India. " Charles kissed her in sign of agreement. 

The next morning Jane sat down to write her letter, with her brother byher side. He approved the simple account which she gave of theirfeelings and opinions upon the important matter, and made her add, thatshe and her brother had the sanction of Mr Barker's experiencedjudgment. Mr Barker had given her permission to say this, and whenCharles shewed him the letter, he approved the whole of it, and it wastherefore sealed and dispatched. Jane endeavoured to forget her fearsabout the answer, and determined to bear it patiently, whatever it mightbe, knowing that she had acted to the best of her judgment. During thewalk which she afterwards took with her brother she forget this subjectand every other, for he told her over again, and more completely, thehistory of the night he had passed with poor Monteath. On their returnhome they made enquiry again at Mr Monteath's door, and heard that theyoung man was going on so well, that his father would return to Exeterin two days. 

Charles heard from Mr Franklin that evening some further particularsrespecting Monteath's family, and respecting himself. He was inbusiness with his father, and had lately become a partner. They werenot supposed to be rich, but were universally esteemed for theirintegrity. There were several sisters, one older, and the rest youngerthan their brother; but he was the only brother, and the pride anddelight of the family. The good Quaker was evidently affected when hespoke of the sorrow which this sad accident had brought among them, andyet more when he spoke of an attachment which was supposed to existbetween Monteath and a young lady who was at present staying with hissisters. Mr Franklin had been at the house that morning, and the youngladies had expressed in strong terms their gratitude to Charles, and thedesire they had to see this friend of their brother. When their fatherreturned they hoped to be able to shew that they were not insensible andungrateful. Mr Franklin told them that Charles was to be at his housethat evening, and he promised to take him to call, if he would beinduced to go. Charles only thought himself too much honoured for whathe believed any one of common humanity would have done in hiscircumstances, and he accordingly left Jane with Mrs Franklin, andaccompanied his friend to Mr Monteath's. He saw the two eldest ladies, but not their friend, which he was glad of, for he would have foundhimself tongue-tied before her. 

The wish of the young ladies was to learn, as distinctly as possible, every thing that passed on that terrible night; and Charles related, with perfect simplicity, every circumstance, except one or two, which hethought would affect their feelings too deeply. He could not helpexpressing his admiration of the rational and manly courage with whichhis friend had met so sudden a misfortune. 

"We were not surprised at this, " said his sister: "we always believedthat our brother's strength of mind would prove equal to any occasion, however he might be tried. "

"And now, " replied Charles, "it has been proved that you were right; andyou have the comfort of knowing that he is equal to any trial, for nonecan now befall him more sudden and more terrible. "

"No, indeed, " replied Miss Monteath; and she passed her hand over hereyes, as if the thoughts of her brother's misfortune were too painful tobe borne. 

"I mean, " continued Charles, "more terrible _at the time_: for thoughyou will not now be inclined to agree with me perhaps, I do not think itwill prove a very great lasting misfortune. I have known many instancesof similar deprivations, where usefulness and activity have been verylittle if at all impaired. "

Miss Monteath shook her head. 

"I incline to think that my young friend is right, " said Mr Franklin. "I believe that the worst is over with thy brother and with his friends. When he becomes accustomed to his new feelings, when he finds that artaffords valuable helps to repair an accident like this, when he findsthat he can pursue his usual employments without impediment, and thatthe affection of his friends, especially of the nearest and dearest, isenhanced by sympathy and approbation, I will even say admiration, dostthou not think that he will be happy? I think he may be quite as happyas he has ever been. "

"There is one thing more that you have not mentioned, " said MissMonteath, "the acquisition of a new friend. "

"True, " said the Quaker, "of a friend whose faithfulness was singularlyproved during the first hours of intercourse. "

Charles became anxious to change the subject, and asked Miss Monteathwhether she had any idea how soon her brother would be able to returnhome. 

"Not for five or six weeks at the soonest, " she said; and, after a fewmore enquiries, Charles rose to take his leave. 

Meantime, Jane had enjoyed a very pleasant hour with Mrs Franklin. This good lady expressed some fear lest Jane should think herimpertinent; but she was really so much interested in her situation andcircumstances, that she could not help informing herself, as fully asher young friend would allow, of their manner of living. Jane made nomysteries, for she was well enough acquainted with Mrs Franklin'scharacter to be very sure that it was not idle curiosity which made hertake so deep an interest in herself and her brothers and sisters. MrsFranklin ended by saying, "When I am well, I will come and see thee; butin the mean time, thou wilt bring thy sisters here, I hope. I wish tosee them, and we have some fine prints, which will perhaps pleaseIsabella, as she likes such things. "

Charles and Jane congratulated each other, as soon as they were alone, on the acquisition of such friends as the Franklins appeared inclined tobe. 

The following week passed away happily and quietly. The only remarkablecircumstance which occurred was a call from Mr Monteath and hisdaughter. Jane was gratified by this mark of attention from MissMonteath, and Charles was no less pleased by receiving a short note fromhis friend. It was as follows. 

 "My dear Friend, --

 "It is with some difficulty that I have obtained permission to write a few lines to you. The purpose of them is to entreat you to spend a day or two with me on your return to London, if you can spare the time to one who has so slight a claim in comparison with your family. On many accounts I wish to see you; but especially that I may express something of the gratitude and friendship which I feel, but cannot write, and which will remain a weight on my mind, unless you will come to me. Do give me the greatest pleasure I can now enjoy. I hope I am not selfish in urging it. Farewell. 

 "Ever your grateful friend, --

 "Henry Monteath. "

Charles had pledged himself to be in London by Wednesday; and hetherefore determined to leave Exeter on the Monday morning, and to spendthe half of Monday and Tuesday with his friend. His sisters weregrieved to lose a whole day of his society, but they made no oppositionto his plan, ready, as they always were, to give up their own wisheswhen the sacrifice was required. Isabella worked hard to finish herlittle book; too hard, Jane feared, for she did not look well, and wasobliged to acknowledge frequently that her head ached. On the Saturdayshe set to work as soon as she returned from school, and was busy at thelast drawing all the afternoon. She completed it just before dark, andher brother and sisters heartily congratulated her on having put thefinishing stroke to her work: but she seemed to feel little pleasure;and as she was putting away her pencils, Jane observed that her handshook violently, and that her face was flushed. Charles gentlyreproached her for her too anxious diligence; and she owned that shefelt very unwell, but she did not think it owing to her laboriousapplication. Jane urged her to go to bed; but she would not consent tolose so many hours of Charles's society, and she persisted in sitting upto tea. She was however unable to eat, and her headache became soviolent, and was accompanied with so overpowering a sickness, that shecould hold up no longer, and was conveyed to her bed. Jane was veryuneasy, but Isabella and Hannah both thought it might be a common sickheadache, and persuaded Jane not to send for Mr Everett that night. 

At bed-time she was very feverish, and passed a miserable night, andwhen Jane went to her bedside at four o'clock the next morning, she wasterrified to find her slightly delirious. Of course she remained withIsabella, and before breakfast-time she sent to request Mr Everett'sattendance, as soon as convenient. At six o'clock she gave her patientsome tea, and then Isabella spoke sensibly again; but she was restless, and suffering much from headache. 

This was sad news for Charles when he came down to breakfast; and thislast day with his sisters promised to be but a melancholy one. MrEverett came early, and he was most anxiously questioned about hispatient. He said that she was extremely unwell certainly; but whetherit would prove a short and sharp attack of fever, or an illness of moreserious consequence, he could not at present tell. He advised that noone should go into her room except Jane and Hannah, till they could bequite sure that there was no fear of infection. He desired Jane not tothink of resuming her employments at his house for a week at least, bothbecause it would be too painful to her to leave her sister, and becausehe had rather ascertain the nature of the disorder, before he exposedhis children to the least risk of infection. This did not serve to makepoor Jane less anxious. She sat by Isabella's bedside, trying to keepdown melancholy thoughts, while Charles took Harriet and Alfred tochurch. The whole of the day was spent with them, and he scarcely sawJane at all. In the dusk of the evening, he was sitting by the parlourwindow, talking to his little brother and sister, when he saw thepostman come up to the door. The arrival of a letter was a rareoccurrence, and the first idea which entered Charles's mind was thatperhaps a further leave of absence had come to cheer him and Jane, whencertainly such a comfort would be most welcome. But his heart sunk whenhe saw Mr Rathbone's hand-writing on the letter which Hannah broughtin. He reproached himself for his ill-bodings as they arose, and heasked himself why he dreaded a communication from one who had been thekindest of friends to him, and he anticipated the shame he should feelif, as was very likely, the letter should contain nothing but kindness. He requested Hannah to bring candles, and then to sit with Isabella, while Jane came down to read her letter, for it was addressed to her. Jane opened it with a trembling hand, and Charles at once guessed itscontents when he saw it consisted of only a few lines. He caught it asit fell from his sister's hand, and read as follows:

 "Mr Rathbone is sorry that he was prevented by an unavoidable accident from opening Miss Forsyth's letter till yesterday. Mr R. Would have rejoiced to afford substantial assistance to the children of an old friend; but they who can set the romantic whims of unformed judgments against the knowledge and experience of a friend who has passed a long life in the world, prove themselves incapable of being guided by advice, and of profiting by well-meant and willing kindness. Mr R. Has therefore only to regret that he can be of no further service, and to hope that Mr and Miss Forsyth will meet with other friends, and will know better how to value and retain them. "

Jane had hid her face in her hands, and was sobbing violently, whileCharles read the letter. 

He was almost choked with emotion. 

"My poor Jane, " he exclaimed, as he hung over her, "that this cruelletter should have come just now, of all times. What a heart must thatman have who could write to you in such a way. I wish he could see younow, that he might repent it as he ought to do. "

"O Charles!" said Jane, "remember all his kindness to us. "

"Remember it!" cried he, "it will stick in my throat as long as I live. O that I could send him back his bank-notes and his presents, and befree of all obligation!"

"Nay, dear Charles, do not let us be ungrateful because he is hasty. His former kindness is not the less noble because of the presentmisunderstanding. We must be neither ungrateful nor proud. "

"It is plain enough that he never saw you, Jane, or he would haveblushed to insult such a nature as yours. I wish he could hear youspeaking of his kindness just when it is most painful to remember it: hewould feel how little he understands you. "

"Never mind what he thinks of me, " said Jane, raising her head andattempting to smile. She saw that poor Harriet was in tears, and thatAlfred was standing beside her chair with a look of deep concern. Theyboth felt that all seemed to go wrong with them this day, though theyknew not the cause of their sister's unaccustomed tears. 

Jane threw her arm round Alfred's neck and kissed him again and again. "Never mind, " she said again, "what Mr Rathbone thinks of us: we haveAlfred safe; we have not sacrificed him; we have done what we think isbest for our happiness; and shall we not willingly abide by our choice?"

"Surely we will, " replied her brother, "and willingly pay the price ofour independence, though it be a heavy one. "

"It is a heavy one, indeed, " said Jane. "I grieve for you the most, Charles. We can go on living as we have lived, and be only remindedthat we once had such a friend by the proofs of his kindness which wesee every day. But it is hard upon you, separated from your family asyou are, to lose your only friend in London. "

"Do not think about that, Jane; I have friends, and can make more. Ifyou are able to get over this pretty easily, we need only be sorry forMr Rathbone: it must give him great pain to think us really ungrateful. Harriet, dear, come and tell me what is the matter. What makes you cryso?"

"Because you are going away, Charles; and Isabella is ill; and Janecried so; I am sure something is the matter. "

"But Isabella will be better to-morrow perhaps, and Jane is not unhappynow; look at her, she is not crying now. Go and kiss her. "

"All will come right again soon, I dare say, " said Jane. "Charles willcome again some time when we are all well. "

"And I shall not go to-morrow now, " said Charles. "I cannot leave youso full of care. "

"O, Charles! you will, you must go, " said Jane. "You have promised, andyou must go. "

"I could not tell when I promised, that Isabella would be ill, and youso anxious. I cannot turn my back on you at such a time. "

"You can do us no good, if you stay, indeed. I must be with Isabella, and Harriet and Alfred will be at school; so you would be of no use, andit would make me uncomfortable to think you were breaking your promise. O, indeed, Charles, this is mistaken kindness. "

Charles did not know what to think: he proposed to consult Mr Barker. 

"Do, " said Jane, "he will tell us what is right. "

Charles put on his hat. 

"I wonder whether we shall see you again?" said Alfred. "Harriet and Iare going to bed presently. "

Charles kissed them tenderly. "I dare say I shall see you at breakfastto-morrow, " said he: "if not, you will remember all the better what Ihave been saying to you this evening. You will be grown and alteredmuch before I see you again. I hope I shall be able to love you then aswell as I do now, or even better. "

Mr Barker was much concerned to hear Charles's little tale ofanxieties. He advised him, however, to adhere to his promise respectinghis return to London. Charles acquiesced at once in the decision of hisfriend, and was relieved by the kind promises he received that hissisters should be watched over with as much care as if their brotherwere beside them; especially that Jane should not be allowed to try herstrength too much, in case of Isabella's illness proving long ordangerous. Charles with much emotion bid farewell to his good friend, who said, "I cannot do for you what Mr Rathbone would have done: butyou may depend on me as a _sure_ friend at least. I hope, for his ownsake, that he will come round again: in the mean time we must be moresorry than angry. "

"I _was_ angry, " said Charles, "but Jane made me ashamed of myself: sheis as grateful to him as ever, and I will try to remember only his pastgenerosity. "

"Jane is a good girl, and will be made all the better by these rubs, "said Mr Barker. "However, we will smooth things for her as well as wecan. "

Charles called at Mr Monteath's to say farewell, and to take a parcelfrom the young ladies to their brother. He said nothing about hissisters, as he knew Jane had rather be left in quietness, than have herattention to her patient interrupted, even by the kind enquiries offriends. Mr Monteath took down Charles's address, and said he hoped tocall on him in London before long; and he earnestly desired that any ofthe family would apply to him in any case where his advice or assistancecould be of service. 

As Charles went home he thought with pleasure how his circle of friendsappeared to be widening. He who was poor, and could only do good byseizing accidental occasions, he who had, in his own opinion, nothing torecommend him to the notice of his superiors, had gained friends whosepresent kindness was delightful to him, and on the steadiness of whoseregard there was every reason to rely. He and his sister agreed, beforethey separated for the night, that, though they had some cares, they hadpeculiar blessings; that, though one friend was unhappily estranged, newand valuable supports were gained: and that valuable as these supportswere, there was One infinitely more precious, whose love no error canovercloud, no repented sin alienate; who in sorrow draws yet nearer thanin gladness, and sheds his own peace over the hearts which humblethemselves under his chastening hand. 

It had been arranged that Hannah should sit up with Isabella for thefirst half of the night, and that Jane should take her place at threeo'clock in the morning: as by this means she might see Charles beforehis departure at five o'clock. 

Mr Everett had called again in the evening. He saw no signs ofimprovement in his patient, and was sorry to observe the great reductionof strength which had taken place within a few hours. He was now prettysure that the fever would prove a serious one. What he said had givenJane no comfort; but she endeavoured to brace up her mind to meet hercares, and she found, as most in her situation do find, that herstrength proved equal to her trial. In a melancholy, but not a restlessstate of mind, she laid her head on her pillow, and having enjoyed therelief of expressing her cares and fears to Him who alone could removethem, she fell asleep, and continued so, till Hannah called her at fouro'clock, instead of three, as she had been desired. Jane afterwardsasked her the reason, and good Hannah declared that she could not findin her heart to disturb so refreshing a repose, till it was time to callMr Charles also. 

"Thank you, Hannah, " said Jane; "but the next time we divide the night, I must take the first half, and you the last. "

Isabella had slept but little, and though not delirious, was restlessand uncomfortable. Her mind was full of Charles's departure, and of herwish to see him again. She even wished to get up and meet him at theroom door, if Jane would not allow him to breathe the air of the sickchamber. Jane was more prudent, however, than to expose Charles to therisk of infection, and she brought Isabella to be content with acheerful message of love, which she knew Charles would send. Charleswas yet more grieved than his poor sister to depart without exchanging aword or a kiss; for he could not keep off the thought that he mightperhaps see her no more. There was no knowing; she might perhaps be nonearer death than the others; but it was a great grief to leave her soill, and without saying farewell. He sent her a note, however, andpromised to write frequently to her, and with this she was obliged to besatisfied. 

Never had poor Jane felt the trial of separation so much: the trialitself was greater, and she had no liberty to indulge her feelings. Shecould not leave Isabella, and she could not give way to tears beforeher, nor even speak to her of her sorrow. She smiled and spokecheerfully, though her heart was heavier than it had ever been. Charleswas not much happier; but they had both the consciousness of beinguseful to cheer them, and Charles really expected much pleasure fromintercourse with Henry Monteath. He arrived at the well-knownpublic-house by breakfast-time: he had recognised the very spot on theroad where the coach was upset, and was himself surprised at theinvoluntary shudder which the sight of it caused. 

Mrs Monteath met him on the stairs, and welcomed him kindly. She saidthat her son was impatient to see him, and would be on his sofa, andprepared for a long day of pleasure, by the time Charles had finishedhis breakfast. In the mean time she conveyed to Henry the parcel whichCharles had brought from the young ladies. 

In answer to his very anxious enquiries, Mrs Monteath said that herson's recovery had been as favourable as possible: this was partly owingto the cheerful state of his mind, of which, she said, Charles would beable to judge when he conversed with him. She said she was surprisedevery day to find how easy she herself was: but she supposed that thepleasure of witnessing his daily progress, made her unmindful of whather son had gone through, and of the trials and deprivations he yet hadto encounter. Charles thought this a very natural and happy thing, andhe told Mrs Monteath, what he himself believed, that these deprivationswould be much less formidable in reality than in anticipation. MrsMonteath was an anxious mother, and she asked Charles many particularsabout her family: how they were in health and spirits; how they spokerespecting their brother; and many other things. Charles told her allthat had passed the evening before, during his visit, and observed thatwhen he mentioned Miss Auchinvole, the friend of the young ladies, MrsMonteath's countenance expressed peculiar interest. Charles had notmuch to say about her, for she had scarcely spoken, but he could nothelp saying how much he had been struck by her appearance and manner. She looked pale and anxious, but she smiled occasionally; and there wasa sweetness in that smile which Charles thought must make its way to anyheart. He freely told Mrs Monteath what he thought, and far as he wasfrom wishing to learn from her manner any family secrets, he could nothelp believing from the tears which rose to her eyes, and the mournfulsmile with which she listened to the praises of Margaret Auchinvole, that the friendship between her and Henry Monteath was of a dearernature than that in which his sisters bore their part. Charlesearnestly hoped that this might be the case, and that when restored tohealth, a happiness, to which this accident need, he thought, oppose noimpediment, might be in store for his friend. 

Charles observed that there was much more appearance of comfort in thelittle parlour now than when he saw it before. Mrs Monteath told himthat the people of the house were willing and obliging, and that she hadcontrived by various means to collect comforts round them, and to maketheir two rooms fit for the accommodation of an invalid, in preferenceto hazarding a removal, which might have been dangerous, and which herson dreaded more than any thing. She hoped in another week to removehim to lodgings in a farm-house, about four miles off, and in a month orfive weeks to take him home. 

When Charles entered Monteath's chamber, he saw him lying on his sofa, looking very pale and weak, but with a cheerful countenance. He eagerlyheld out his hand to Charles, and welcomed him with a smile and words ofgreat kindness. Mrs Monteath left them together. 

"I rejoice to see you so much better and happier than when I left you, "said Charles. 

"Much better and much happier, " replied he. "I am glad that you haveseen me again; for I am sure all your thoughts of me must have beenmelancholy thoughts; and I wish that my friend should see me in otherhours than those of weakness and misery. "

"So far from having none but melancholy thoughts about you, " saidCharles, "I have been drawing a very fine picture of your futureusefulness and happiness, for your sisters' consolation. "

"And did they believe you?"

"I hope so, for I am sure I said nothing unreasonable. "

"And did they all hear you?"

"No, only two of them that evening. Last night, however, I saw thewhole party, and they were all well and happy, as I dare say they havetold you themselves. "

"They have. When we get to our lodgings in the country next week, someof them will come to us. Much as I long to see them, I almost dreadstirring. "

"O you will recover much faster when you are in quiet, and when you cango out every day. You can hardly feel here the delight of returninghealth. I know from experience that the first sight of the face ofnature, in a season like this, after days and weeks of illness, is oneof the most exquisite pleasures that life can afford. "

"_I_ believe it, " said Monteath. "I expect to enjoy it much; though, with me, all cares will not be over when health returns. I have alreadymade up my mind to every thing, however, and am determined to make thebest of my lot. It is astonishing how soon one's mind becomesreconciled to circumstances. At this hour, a fortnight ago, I shouldhave shuddered at the very thoughts of what I have yet to go through:but I am pretty well reconciled to it now, and do not see why I shouldnot be tolerably happy. To be sure, this fortnight has seemed longerthan any year of my life before. "

"I do not see, " said Charles, "why you should not be _very_ happy, whenyou have once got into the round of your occupations again. In the meantime you will meet with some painful circumstances no doubt; but thenyou have consolations which have supported you in a far worse trial thanany you are likely to meet with again. "

"True; those consolations are worth any thing: it makes me quite ashamedto set my fears and troubles in opposition to such comforts. "

"If it is not painful to you, " said Charles, "I should like to know whatyour fears and troubles are; and perhaps by bringing yourself to speakfrankly of them, you may find that your imagination has magnified them. "

"It is selfish to talk so much about myself, " replied Monteath. 

"I came on purpose to hear you, " said Charles, "and nothing can interestme so much. "

"Well, then, " said Monteath, "I have been thinking how far my usualpursuits will be hindered by this accident. I am afraid that my fatherwill not allow me to take on myself, as I used to do, the most laboriouspart of our business concerns. I have, to be sure, spent a great partof my time in the counting-house; but there is a great deal of activebusiness to be done besides, and journeys to be performed; and I amafraid that my father will take more upon him than at his age he can dowithout fatigue. "

"I do not see, " said Charles, "why you should not be almost as active asyou have ever been; and as to journeys, unless this accident has made acoward of you, which I do not believe, you seem to me just as able totake them as ever. If not, it is no difficult matter to procure atraveller. Depend upon it, your father will spare himself for hischildren's sake. So you see business may go on as well as ever. Nowfor pleasure. Do you keep a horse?"

"No, but I mean to do it now; that is no difficulty. There is one more, which I am almost ashamed to mention; but I will. I never could bear tobe conspicuous, to be unlike other people, to attract notice; in short, to be stared at. "

"Do not be ashamed of feeling that, " said Charles: "in my opinion, thisis the worst evil of all. "

"Is it, really?" said Monteath. "Worse than having one's usefulness andindependence impaired?"

"No, " replied Charles. "But I see no reason why your usefulness andindependence should be impaired. If you had lost an arm, the case wouldhave been different: but art affords such helps in your case, that it isonly on occasions of extraordinary danger that you would not be able toexert yourself as well as ever. "

"I hope you are right, " replied Monteath. "You think, then, that I amnot wrong to dread being made an object of curiosity for the first timein my life?"

"I do not wonder at it, certainly, " said Charles: "but, remember, itwill be only a temporary inconvenience: your acquaintance will soon getaccustomed to the sight of you; and, if you will condescend to takepains at first with your manner of walking, there will be nothingremarkable in your appearance. I conclude you will throw aside yourcrutches as soon as you can?"

"Of course, " replied Monteath. "You will see me in London for thatpurpose as soon as I am allowed to go. Now do you think me weak fordwelling on these trifles, as some people call them?"

"Trifles they are not, " said Charles: "and therefore it is any thing butweakness to bring them out, to face them, and make up your mind how theyare to be met. In my opinion, a great deal of mischief is done bycalling these things trifles, and putting them out of sight as fast aspossible, instead of affording that help to those who suffer under themwhich is largely dispensed on occasions which have not nearly so greatan effect on happiness. "

"That is exactly what I have often thought lately, " said Monteath. "Inhow many books, where the loss of fortune is described, the minutestdifficulties which such a loss occasions are detailed at length! but if, as seldom happens, the loss of a limb is mentioned, we never get beyondthe first part of the story, and the little daily difficulties andprivations, which are of more importance than the lesser evils ofpoverty, are quite left out of sight. I imagine there are some ideas ofridicule attached to them. "

"Perhaps so, " replied Charles; "but such associations are false, andought to be broken through. Blindness is frequently made interesting inbooks: deafness seldom or never. There are interesting and poeticalassociations connected with blindness; ridiculous, low, or common onesonly with deafness. A blind heroine is charming; but would not all theworld laugh at the very idea of a deaf one? And yet this seems to meunjust: for I question whether, in daily life, both would not have anequal chance of appearing ridiculous on some occasions, and interestingon others. "

"Do you mean partial or total blindness and deafness? A heroine totallyblind is certainly thought more interesting than one partially deaf: butwould not a deaf and dumb person make a better figure than one extremelyshort-sighted?"

Charles laughed. "They are both as far from picturesque as need be, certainly, " said he: "but still I think blindness has the advantage inexciting interest. "

"Well, " said Monteath, "nobody is likely to make a hero of me. I am inno danger of finding my own likeness in a novel or on the stage. "

"No, " replied Charles, "nor yet in books of any other kind. If you hadlost a friend or your fortune, you might find the most exact directionshow to comfort yourself, and plenty of medicine of the soul to suit yourparticular case. As it is, you must look in books for generalconsolation, and elsewhere for what more you may need. "

"This is no desperate condition to be in either, " said Monteath. "Ithink I could do without the general consolations you speak of. I havebeen on my sofa here this fortnight, with only one book (which of courseyou mean to except) and my own mind to draw consolation from, and I havefound enough for my need. I expect, however, to be in greater needhereafter. "

"Surely not, " said Charles. "Surely you have gone through the worst!"

"I know not, " said Monteath. "The colour of my whole future life hasperhaps been changed by this accident; and I must expect this convictionto come upon me painfully from time to time. "

"What do you mean?" said Charles. "The whole colour of your futurelife! You surely do not mean that you will not marry?"

"That is what I was thinking of, certainly, " said Henry, in a very lowvoice. 

"My dear friend, " said Charles, "this is the scruple of a sick man'sbrain. Put it out of your head for the present, I advise you, and Iwill answer for it that, six months hence, you will feel verydifferently. The woman would but little deserve you who could raisesuch an objection; and you have just as much power now as ever to make awife happy. "

Charles wished to turn the conversation, for he saw that his friend wasagitated; but he could think of nothing to say at the moment, exceptabout Miss Auchinvole, and that was the only subject which would not do. At length he said, "You must not let me weary you with talking. Youknow I cannot tell what you are equal to, and Mrs Monteath will neverforgive me if I set you back in the least. Had I not better leave you?"

"O no! do not go!" said Monteath; "you do not know how strong I am. Ishall sleep in the afternoon, but I hope to have you with me all daybesides. I do not scruple saying so, for I cannot conceive that youwill find amusement elsewhere in a place like this. "

"If I could, " said Charles, "I am not much inclined for it to-day. Conversation with a friend is a great cordial in times of anxiety, and Iown that I am anxious now. "

He said this for the purpose of drawing his friend's attention from asubject which appeared to agitate him too much. Charles was not wrongin expecting his ready sympathy. Isabella's illness was mentioned, andMonteath forgot himself in his anxiety for Charles. He asked manyquestions about the girls and Alfred. 

"How old is Alfred?"

"Nearly eleven. "

"What do you intend him for?"

"We have no present intentions about his future destination, " saidCharles. "He will remain at school till he is fifteen; so we need be inno hurry about it. "

"Then your sister will continue on her present plan till that time?"

"Yes, " replied Charles; "for Harriet will not be old enough to go outbefore five years from this time. Isabella wishes to be independent intwo years, and I think she will be well qualified; but it will be agrievous thing to Jane to part with her. "

"It must, indeed, " said Monteath. "You know I have seen your sisterJane, more than once, and she fixed my attention immediately by the wayin which she managed those spoiled children of Mrs Everett's. Nobodyever had any control over them but your sister; but they are in muchbetter order than they used to be. "

"It gives Jane much satisfaction to think so, " said Charles. 

"But it must be very discouraging work, " said Monteath, "to do her bestfor them, for half of every day, and to be obliged to surrender them tobe spoiled for the other half. "

"I should find it so, " replied Charles: "but Jane makes as little aspossible of discouragements. Her temper used to be an anxious one too:but she has had so much to do and to bear, that she has learned not tolook from side to side in hope or fear, but to go on, straight forwards, in the road of duty, whether an easy one or not. "

"She is an enviable person then, " said Monteath. 

"All things are by comparison, " said Charles, rather confused when herecollected what he had said about his sister. "I do not mean that shenever flags: I was only speaking of her in comparison with myself, andwith her former self. "

"Nothing but religious principle could enable her to do this, " saidMonteath. "This is the secret of her superiority, is it not? Withoutthis her trials would have produced depression, instead of renewedenergy. "

"Certainly, " replied Charles. "There are many who pity her under herweight of cares, and who are grieved when they think that she is anorphan, and that she has more arduous duties to perform than many canget through under the guidance and with the assistance of parents orexperienced friends. But Jane knows that she is guided, thoughinvisibly, by the best and wisest of Parents, and the Bible is to her asHis manifest presence: she has recourse to it on all occasions ofdifficulty, and can never want confidence or feel forlorn, while such adirector is at hand. "

"Those whose reason is matured enough, and whose religious affectionsare cultivated enough to attach their heart and soul to such a guide, may well do without other support, " said Monteath. "`The integrity ofthe upright shall guide them!' But there are few of your sister's agewho are thus advanced in the ways of wisdom. "

"If so, " said Charles, "her superiority is to be ascribed to thepeculiar circumstances in which the Father of her spirit has placed her. And, surely, trials which produce such an effect should be endured withsubmission and remembered with gratitude. "

"That comes home to my conscience, " said Monteath: "_I_ am now undertrial, and such ought to be its effect upon me. But your sister'scircumstances have been such as to draw her attention from herself, tocarry out her affections and fix them on various objects: but I amafraid the direct tendency of personal suffering is to produceselfishness. "

"It may either do that or the reverse, I believe, " said Charles: "I haveknown instances of both. I have heard of a cousin of my mother's, whowas a cripple from disease. She passed through life very quietly. Shenever complained of her deprivations: her temper was placid, and shefound employment for her cultivated intellect in studies of variouskinds: but nobody was ever the better for them. She did no good, thoughshe never did any harm: she never seemed to love any one person morethan another, and of course nobody was particularly attached to her. She lived to the age of sixty, and went on with her own pursuits to thevery last, but she left no trace behind her of beneficent deeds, and shelived in the memory and not in the affections of those around her. Ihave always grieved over the wasted talents of this lady. Half herlearning communicated to those less informed than herself, half her time(of which she had abundance) devoted to the assistance of herneighbours, half her affections exchanged with those who were disposedto love her, would have made her wise instead of learned, useful insteadof harmless, beloved rather than served, and mourned rather than merelyremembered. "

"But she could not have been a pious woman, " said Monteath. "A life ofselfishness is inconsistent with piety. "

"Nobody can say that she was not religious, " replied Charles; "becausenobody knew what she felt and thought: some say that she must have beenpious, or she could not have been placid and contented under herdeprivations. I should therefore suppose that she had just enoughreliance upon Providence to prevent a naturally cheerful mind from beingcorroded by discontent: but it is easy to see that she had not thosecomprehensive views, which teach that the very best of selfishpleasures, those of intellectual cultivation, are to be pursued as ameans only, not as an end, and that the grand design for which we arecreated is to diminish continually our concern for ourselves in anincreasing love of God and our neighbour. "

"I cannot help, " said Monteath, "applying cases like these to myself, just now. I want to place as many guides and as many warnings before meas possible. I hope it is not selfish to think of these things with areference to myself, and to tell you that I do so. "

"By no means, " replied Charles; "for I imagine that you feel the presenttime as a kind of crisis in your character. I think you must enter theworld from a bed of pain, either better or worse than when you left it, and you are right to make use of all the helps you can. "

"Then give me, " said Monteath, "some instances of benevolence promoted, of hearts and hands opened by personal suffering. It will do me good tohear them. "

Just as Charles was beginning to speak, Mrs Monteath came into theroom, and the conversation was turned into a different channel. Charlesregretted this, but she had something quite different to ask her sonabout. The greater part of the day was spent in cheerful chat, and inreading aloud, which Mrs Monteath proposed, that Henry might not exerthimself too much in talking. In the evening the young men were againleft alone for awhile, and Monteath asked his friend to read a little tohim from the Bible. Charles did so with much satisfaction, and after hehad done, Henry tried to express to him what comfort and support theirreligious exercises had afforded him on his night of suffering. Charlesrejoiced to hear him say so, but stopped him when he wished to speak ofhis obligations and his gratitude. They parted for the night with aswarm feelings of interest and esteem as one day could produce, andanother confirm. 

In the morning they met only for a few moments. They agreed tocorrespond occasionally, and to look forward to a time, not very fardistant, when Monteath's visit to London might give them an opportunityof meeting again. Charles then mounted the coach, and sighed when hethought of the friends he had left behind, and of the small number whowould greet him with pleasure on his return to London. 

CHAPTER FOUR. 

When Charles returned to his usual employments, and mixed again withcompanions who had no peculiar interest in his concerns, he couldscarcely for an instant keep his thoughts from dwelling on the home hehad left, and his anxiety to know more of Isabella became painful. 

He received a letter from Jane the day after his arrival, but thetidings were not pleasant. Isabella was in great danger: her fever ranhigh, and for many hours she had been delirious. Charles was to hearagain by the next post. The next post brought a letter from Mr Barker. Isabella was not better, and Mr Everett thought that if a great changefor the better did not take place in forty-eight hours, she could notlive. After giving these particulars, the letter continued:

 "Do not be too anxious about Jane: she is surrounded by kind friends; who are willing to help her, but she needs no assistance. She will relinquish the care of her sister to none but Hannah, and never even to her, except when a few hours of rest are absolutely necessary to her. She seems strong in mind and body, quite aware of the danger, and quite prepared for every thing. She has allowed her friends to take charge of Harriet and Alfred: they are with us just now. Mr Monteath and his daughters are much concerned at this illness, and so are the Franklins. Mrs F. Shews her kindness in a very acceptable manner. She has sent a dinner ready cooked, every day, to your sister's house, that Jane may have as much of Hannah's assistance as possible. Mr Monteath sent some excellent Madeira, on hearing that wine was ordered, and his daughters have procured foreign grapes and various other luxuries for the invalid. I mention these things to prove to you that your sisters will want no assistance that friends can give, and even at this time it will be a great pleasure to you to be convinced that their worth is appreciated, and that their claims to esteem are allowed. 

 "We are very sorry for you, Charles, that you must be away just now: but you did right in going at the time you promised, and we will still hope that you will be rewarded by hearing better tidings than I am able to communicate to-day. You shall hear by every post. All your friends here send their love to you, and so do I, my dear boy. Farewell. 

 "P. S. My wife has just been to your sister's. Mr Everett was there, and he thought he perceived a slight improvement in the state of the pulse and skin. May he be right!"

Charles longed to write to Jane, and this postscript encouraged him todo it. He wrote cheerfully, earnestly hoping that before his lettershould arrive, such an improvement might have taken place as shouldrender his expressions of hope not ill-timed. Mr Barker wrote againthe next day. Isabella was not worse, perhaps a little better, but in astate of such extreme weakness, that there were yet but very slighthopes that she could get through. After this, the accounts were betterfor a day or two; the fever was gone, and she had gained a littlestrength. In two days more, Jane wrote herself, as follows. 

 "At length, dearest Charles, I can write to you again with my own hand. I could not till yesterday leave Isabella's bedside for an hour. Now, however, she sleeps a great deal, and therefore does not require such constant watching. She is certainly better, much better; but still so weak, that she cannot move a limb. O! I was so glad when her delirium ceased. Weak as she was, she was incessantly attempting to rise, and was never quiet for an instant. Now she lies quite still, generally with her eyes closed, so that we can scarcely tell when she is asleep; but I think she dozes for many hours in the day. She takes very little nourishment yet, but we have got down more to-day than yesterday. Our friends have sent all kinds of delicacies to tempt her, but I do not think she knows one thing from another yet. She opens her eyes: I must go to her. O, dear Charles, she has spoken for the first time since her delirium ceased! I could scarcely understand her. `Are you writing?' she said. `Yes, I am writing to Charles, to tell him you are better. '--`My love to him: I _am_ better. ' `May I say you are comfortable now?'--`O yes!'

 "My hopes have risen much since yesterday; but we must beware of too early hope: there is much to be done yet. I have _trusted_ throughout. I have tried to be hopeful, even while I contemplated the danger. Now that things look brighter, let us hope yet more; I need not say, let us be grateful; I am sure you are, and my own heart is now full of gratitude. Farewell. 

 "Jane Forsyth. 

 "P. S. You shall certainly hear, in a day or two: if not to-morrow, you may conclude that we go on well. "

Slowly, very slowly, Isabella continued to gain strength, and in threeweeks from Jane's last letter, Charles allowed himself to dismiss allapprehensions. At that time, Isabella added two lines to a letter ofJane's, to shew that she _could_ write, though the almost illegiblecharacter of the writing shewed how much even this exertion cost her. This was the signal for Charles to write to her, but he wished first toknow the opinion of the bookseller to whom he had taken Isabella'slittle volume. He called at the shop, accordingly, but could obtain nodecided answer. The bookseller approved it, on the whole, and thoughtit might make a very pretty volume, if he could be certain that it wouldanswer the expense of printing handsomely, and so forth. Charles askedhim how soon he could make up his mind: he really could not tell, butCharles might call again in a week. Charles agreed to do so, and saidthat he should wish to have the manuscript back at that time, or adecisive answer. He was sorry not to be able to give Isabella a moresatisfactory account of her book; but he had previously warned her thatshe would probably have need of much patience. 

At the end of another week Charles went again. The bookseller hadthought no more of the matter; and Charles, not choosing to be anylonger put off in this way, insisted on the manuscript being restored tohim, and he could not help sighing as he pocketed it. It was not in themost cheerful mood that he left the shop, and his eyes were bent on theground as he walked. On turning the corner of a street, however, helooked up, and saw at a little distance, on the opposite pavement, agentleman approaching, who, he was pretty sure, could be no other thanMr Rathbone. A second look convinced him that it was, and he could notresist the impulse which the sight of his old friend inspired, to runtowards him. Mr Rathbone looked full at him, and then turned quicklyoff the pavement, crossed the street, and pursued his way up anotherstreet. Charles was quite certain that Mr Rathbone had seen and knownhim, and had deliberately avoided him, and with this conviction a floodof bitter feelings came over him which almost overwhelmed him. Hestruggled against them, but tears would force their way, and his kneeseven bent under him. There was a print-shop behind him, and he turnedround and leaned against the window, while he tried to recover himself. 

This was indeed bitter enmity in return for what he could not even allowto be an offence. This thought--that there was, in reality, no offence, helped to restore his courage, and he was just dashing away the lasttear that remained upon his cheek, and turning away from thepicture-shop, on the beauties of which he had not bestowed a singleglance, when a person at his elbow spoke to him. Charles looked up. Itwas Mr Blyth, who had purchased Isabella's work-bags and boxes. 

"It is a curious thing, is it not?" said he to Charles, "that theyshould have got that sketch up at a print-shop. You see it is the verysame as your sister's drawing, that group of people and all. "

Charles looked again, and saw a beautiful print of his favouritelandscape, the Bubbling Spring. It was the very same indeed, and thefigures exactly copied from Isabella's drawing. They could not bemistaken: there were Jane and Harriet seated on the bank, and Alfredkneeling on a stone, and looking into the basin which was formed alittle way below the fountain-head. 

Charles uttered an exclamation of surprise. 

"Why, did not you see it till I pointed it out?" said Mr Blyth. 

"No, indeed, " replied Charles. 

"Where were your eyes, man? But are you sure that your sister did notcopy from this print? You told me it was her own sketch, but you mightbe mistaken. "

Charles explained that the figures represented his sisters and brother. 

"Well, it is a singular thing: but if her sketches are thought so good, it is a pity she should waste her drawings on workboxes, which hundredsof people can make as well. I think she might turn her talents togreater advantage. May I ask, whether she has been doing any thing ofthe kind lately?"

Charles hesitated for an instant whether he should confide to Mr Blythhis anxieties about Isabella's little volume. A moment's thoughtdecided him to be open about it. He knew Mr Blyth very well: hethought he might obtain directions and assistance from him better thanfrom any one else in London. He accordingly said, "I have some of mysister's handiwork now in my pocket. I do not quite know what to dowith it. If we were not in the street, I would shew it you and consultyou. "

"Come in here, then, " said Mr Blyth, and he entered the shop, and firstbought the print and gave it to Charles, and then was ready to hear whathis young friend had to say. When he had heard of the unsuccessfulapplication to a bookseller, he asked his name. 

"Is he the only one you have applied to?"

"Yes, at present. "

"Then perhaps I can help you. You know Mr -- is a great publisher. Well: he is a friend of mine, and, if you like it, we will ask hisopinion. He will not, at all events, neglect your business. If thevolume is not worth the expense of publication, he will tell you so atonce; if it is, he will give you a fair price for it. "

Charles was much pleased. 

"If you have time, " said Mr Blyth, "we will go to him now, for he livesnear. I shall be very glad to help you, " he added, kindly, "for youlook rather too anxious. "

Mr Blyth represented to the publisher that it was important to hisyoung friend to know soon the fate of his work. An answer wasaccordingly promised in a week: and Charles, once more full of hope, took leave of Mr Blyth with many thanks. 

The bookseller was as good as his word. When Charles called again, atthe end of a week, he received twenty guineas for the copyright of thevolume. He was quite satisfied, and it gave him much pleasure totransmit the money to Isabella. Jane told him, in her answer, that shehad considered the money as disposed of before it arrived, as both sheand Isabella thought that the expenses of the latter's illness ought tobe defrayed out of their own little fund. But to her agreeable surpriseMrs Everett had told her that her salary was increased to thirty-fivepounds a year. Such an increase as this was quite unexpected, and Janeat first refused to receive it, as she had not attended her charge forsome weeks, while she was nursing Isabella. Mrs Everett would notlisten to her objection, and thus Jane was able to pay her very moderatesurgeon's account without breaking into Isabella's earnings. 

Jane also laid before her brother a very important plan which herfriends, the Everetts and Monteaths, had been forming for her, when theyfound that Isabella was really likely to be restored to health. It wasproposed that Isabella should be sent to a London school for two years, to perfect her in some accomplishments, and that, on her return toExeter, she and Jane should take a house in a better situation thantheir own, where they should open a day-school, on an excellent plan. Mrs Everett promised them three pupils from her own family to beginwith, and the Miss Monteaths doubted not that their influence wouldprocure more. Jane liked the plan very much, because she and Isabellawould not be separated, and they could still afford a home to Alfred forsome years. "I need not, " said Jane, "tell you the delightfulanticipations which I have for the future, if this plan can really becarried into effect. We two have always dreaded a separation, andconsidered it as unavoidable; for Isabella only looked forward to goingout as a private governess, as soon as she felt she couldconscientiously engage to teach, and I always regretted having nodefinite object in view for myself. Now I have, and I must work harderthan ever to make up the many deficiencies of which I am sensible, in myqualifications for teaching. I have had a good deal of experience, andI may in that way prove a help to Isabella, and I have tried to make themost of the two hours which I have daily set apart for study. Stillmuch remains to be done; but two years of application may do much for myimprovement. I scarcely think at all about the separation from mysister, so pleasant is the prospect of living together afterwards, andin independence too. One thing, however, rather troubles me. I amafraid Isabella's expenses will be considerable, and a new tax upon thekindness of our friends. I think that our little fund, joined to what Ican save from our household expenditure in consequence of her absence, may make up the difference for one year: how shall we manage to raisethe rest? Can you put me in any way of doing it? She is to go atChristmas. What a pleasure it must be to you, to think of seeing her sosoon! You cannot possibly be much together, but a few happy hours youmay enjoy occasionally. If Mr Rathbone indeed--but it is wrong torepine at that one sad circumstance when we are so surrounded withblessings. Never, never let us forget to whom we owe them: never againlet us repine at the present, or fear for the future. I almost fancythat I can see the time, dearest Charles, when you may begin to work foryourself. If Isabella and I get forward as our friends hope we may, Alfred will be the only remaining charge, for Harriet will be first ourpupil, and afterwards our partner, we hope. Tell me, without delay, what you think of our plans. "

Charles was much pleased with the scheme, and, before Christmas arrived, he was able to send his sisters the delightful intelligence, that hecould assist as well as approve it. Mr Gardiner had given him asituation of greater trust, with an enlarged salary, so that he found heshould henceforth be able to spare twenty pounds a year to his sisters. This removed Jane's anxiety with respect to the increased expense whichmust be incurred by Isabella's London advantages. Still she was afraidthat Charles denied himself necessary comforts, and was not satisfiedtill Isabella had seen his lodgings, and ascertained by closeexamination that his self-denial was not too severe. His little parlourwas found to be the picture of comfort. His sisters had compelled himto accept a share of the beautiful books with which Mr Rathbone hadpresented them, and he had added a few from time to time, till hislittle shelves made a very pretty figure. A few of Isabella's sketchesand the print which Mr Blyth had given him, ornamented the walls, andhis careful landlady was scrupulously neat, as to the furniture of hisparlour; so that he was by no means ashamed to let his sister see hislittle dwelling. 

He had another visitor too, about the same time. Henry Monteath hadgone to London, according to his plan, and as he was detained threeweeks, he and Charles had many opportunities of meeting. Monteath hadquite recovered his health, and, what was better, his spirits. Heseemed quite happy, took pains to obviate, as far as he could, allinconveniences which arose, and bore cheerfully those deprivations whichcould not be avoided. He soon walked very well with his new leg, andwas so active and strong, that Charles asked him whether he expected tobe pitied any more, and if he did, on what account. Monteath replied, that the misfortune was no great one, to be sure, but that no one buthimself knew how many and how various had been the little trials he hadhad to go through since he had last parted with Charles. They wereover, however, and he hoped had produced their proper effect, as hecertainly felt the wiser for them. Charles was encouraged by his mannerof speaking to ask whether he still thought that this accident hadchanged the colour of his whole future life. Monteath smiled, and saidthat his fears had misled his judgment, in a case where his interest hadbeen too strong to let him judge impartially. Charles rejoiced at this, and longed to hear something of Miss Auchinvole. Monteath did notmention her at that time, but at another he asked Charles how much hehad seen of her during his visit to Exeter. She had returned toScotland in the autumn, and Monteath was to take two of his sisters tospend some time with her the next summer. 

Charles afterwards expressed his obligations to the Miss Monteaths, forthe kind interest they had taken in his sisters' plans. Henry wouldhear no thanks, but asked whether any thing was yet in view for Alfred, and on learning that there was not, said that his father and he had beenthinking that they should like to secure the services of a youth so wellbrought up, under their own eye, and that they proposed to take him, atthe age of fourteen, into their warehouse. They would require nopremium, but would qualify him for business, and accept his services forfive years, during which time he could live with his sisters, and theywould then take care to provide him with a responsible and profitablesituation in their own establishment. Charles's pleasure in thisprospect was inexpressible, and he more than ever rejoiced that he haddeclined Mr Rathbone's offer. If he had given his wishes full scope, he could not have framed a more delightful scheme. The prospects of hisfamily seemed brightening before them. In two years more they wouldperhaps be independent, and if Charles had been in the habit of thinkingmuch of himself, he might have added that in seven years he might beginto work for himself: but neither were his own interests importantobjects with him, nor did he think it wise to look forward very far, knowing as he did how many things might intervene to frustrate plans anddestroy hopes, in the course of seven years. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

In two years from the time that Isabella went to London, she returnedfrom school, improved in appearance and manners, well qualified forassisting Jane in the management of their new establishment, and, thoughaware of the importance of the situation she was to fill, as simple, affectionate, and sweet-tempered as ever. All was in readiness for themto set out on their new way of life after Christmas. Jane and MrBarker had fixed on a pleasant small house, in a good situation, in themiddle of the city. Jane was sorry to be obliged to take so important astep as engaging a house, without either Charles's or Isabella'ssanction; but with such a friend as Mr Barker at hand, her choice couldnot be much amiss. Happily, Charles was allowed the seasonable pleasureof a week's holiday at Christmas, and he accordingly visited his sistersafter they had removed, and just before they opened their school. Thearrangement of the house pleased him much. The large school-room wasornamented with their pretty little library, and with a very handsomepair of globes, which Mr and Mrs Everett had presented to Jane as aparting gift, when she quitted the situation in their family which shehad filled with so much credit to herself and satisfaction to them. Thelittle parlour was fitted up with plain new furniture, which had beenpurchased with the remains of the funds which the friends of the youngpeople had raised for their education, on the death of their father. One year's schooling for Alfred was all that remained to be defrayed, asHarriet was to receive the rest of her education from her sisters, andMr Barker thought that what was left could not be better applied thanin the purchase of furniture for the parlour and school-room. Thetwenty-five guineas which the girls had themselves earned was the meansof procuring them a good piano-forte; a thing which was quite necessaryin their new establishment, but which could not at present have beenafforded if their own industry had not given them the means. 

Their number of pupils was at first ten, and they wished to increase itto twenty. The school hours were from nine till three; an hour beingallowed in the middle of the time for a walk in fine weather, and playwithin doors when it rained. 

By this means, Jane and Isabella secured the whole afternoon and eveningto themselves, and their purpose was to devote a portion of it regularlyto their own improvement. If they could obtain the appointed number ofscholars, their income, though small, would be amply sufficient fortheir wants, without any assistance from Charles. He would not hear ofthis, but insisted on their accepting twenty pounds the first year, andafterwards ten pounds a year for Alfred, till he too should becomeindependent. 

It may be imagined with what pleasure Charles saw his sisters thusestablished, and with how much gratitude he looked on their presentsituation and future prospects. These feelings were confirmed by aletter which he received from Jane a few weeks after she had begun toexperience the toils and satisfactions of school keeping. 

 "Our employments, " she said, "afford just the anxieties and pleasures which we expected from them. I find less fatigue in my present duties, arduous as they are, than in my situation of daily governess, and Isabella is indefatigable. The children are very fond of her. She seems peculiarly fitted to engage their affections, and that is the grand point of all. We have difficulty in establishing sufficient order and quietness, without introducing formality, which, of all things, we wish to avoid; but in time we hope to get over this, and all our other little difficulties. Our difficulties are all _little_ ones now, and the delightful consciousness of independence which attends us, animates all our exertions, and makes every day pass happily. 

 "We feel as if a great weight were taken off our minds, now that we are at liberty to use our powers for our own support, instead of being burdensome to others. You have long known and enjoyed this feeling; to us it is new and inexpressibly delightful. For the future we have no fears, and no further desires than to go on living as we are living now, only with the additional satisfaction of seeing that our endeavours to be useful are not in vain. Think what it will be, dear Charles, to send our pupils into the world with firm principles, cultivated minds, and amiable manners, fitted to perform their duties, and to do good in their turn. Is not this a satisfaction worth working for? Is not this an end worthy of all our pains, of the employment of all our powers in its accomplishment? Our heavenly Father has blessed us in various ways, in so many that it makes my heart swell with gratitude to think over the few years of our orphan life, and our present situation: but surely, if He makes us the means of administering religious and moral blessings to others of His offspring, his _last_ will be his _best_ gift. If we can always feel this, we shall be always happy; but we must not expect that it can be so. We shall meet with much disappointment: we shall have to lament the ill success of our labours in some instances, and, in all, shall feel occasional humiliation that we have not done more, instead of complacency that we have done so much: besides, there is a kind of ardour and enthusiasm in us just at present, which will subside in some degree after a time, and make us more painfully aware than we are now, of the difficulties and labours of our employments. We are, however, abundantly happy at present, and full of hope for the future. 

 "One reason why I write to you to-day, instead of at the regular time, is, that you may know, as soon as possible, that Alfred has gained great honour at the school examinations this week. He has taken his place pretty high in the next class, and when Mr Barker called on Mr --, to settle the school-account, he was pleased to hear very high praise of Alfred. Mr Monteath is very kind to him: he asked him to dinner last week, and made him very happy. Alfred likes the idea of being in the warehouse much, and I am glad he knows what he has to look forward to. I have heard, through the Miss Monteaths, of two more pupils who are to come to us at Midsummer, and Mrs Franklin has told us that an application is about to be made for another, at the same time, from a friend of hers: so we are likely to begin with fifteen next half-year. 

 "Mr and Mrs H. Monteath return from Scotland in a week or two. Their house is very near ours, and they have frequently expressed a wish that we may be good neighbours. This will be a great privilege to us and to you in your occasional visits. I think you will henceforth be able to come once a year, and it is possible, that if we go on prosperously, you may see us in London some time or other. We have no plan at present for any thing of the kind; but it would certainly be a great advantage to Isabella to have lessons from London masters occasionally. This, however, must be left to the future to arrange. In the mean time, we are very happy that so many of us have been allowed to live together. I once thought that we should be all dispersed: you where you are; Isabella as a private governess; Alfred in India; and myself--I did not know where. But now four out of five of us are living under one roof, and with no fear of being separated. O what a privilege! But I must stop my pen. I sat down intending to shew you how happy we are. Have I succeeded? If I have, join me in thanksgivings to the `Father of the fatherless, '

 "I am your most affectionate, --

 "Jane Forsyth. "

FINIS.