"Not quite, I think. Tell me any other. I only wish to please you.'

"And this pleases me most, dear Catharine, since" he stopt.

"Since what?"

"Nothing."

"Are you now keeping your promise to be quite plain with me, Mr. Dunallan ?" asked Catharine, rather reproachfully.

In

"Yes, dearest Catharine, I have been too plain; but I see too well how it is. I must leave you, and in that event, your wishes are exactly mine; and may the God of heaven be your guide, support, and happiness." He then hastened from her, and Catharine, surprised and moved, retired to her own apartment to think on what had passed. She had never before seen Dunallan so much agitated; and she found it was infectious. "What can he mean," said she to herself, "is it possible that parting from an aunt and two children, can move such a man as Dunallan ?" She dared scarcely admit the idea that separation from herself could have caused emotions so painful. deed she could not believe it, for she had been accustomed to the devoted attentions of others, and gentle, considerate, and ever attentive as he was, Dunallan had never till the last half hour betrayed one emotion that she could have construed into what she considered that kind of regard. Yet why such emotion? Why, if he wished it indeed, did he not ask her to accompany him? Surely he could not expect her to offeruninvited. Impossible. In vain she attempted to account for his extreme agitation. She could not, however, altogether banish the idea that she herself was the cause. At one moment her gra

titude to him, and her increasing admiration for his character, joined to this softening thought, led her to long for an opportunity of proving to him how much she valued that character, and that regard; but the next, she shrunk from the idea of any explanation that might lead to her leaving her country, her father, Elizabeth, every person, every thing, she had ever known or loved, to accompany alone that being whom she had, till within the last few days, regarded with dread and aversion. Again the idea of Dunallan's kindness would return-his gentleness, the enthusiastic affection he inspired in those around him, his solitary feelings amongst strangers in a strange land. It was from reflections of the last kind that she was again called to meet Dunallan. His manner, however, soon chased them away. All appearance of unusual tenderness and emotion was gone. He was even less gentle than usual. He seemed again that Dunallan whom she had so long regarded with dread. His manner, however, soon became as gentle as usual, and his countenance, though still thoughtful, resumed those mild and feeling expressions which had been gaining on Catharine's affections every moment since she had left her father's roof; and when he entered into conversation with his friends, she soon forgot all that was past or future while listening to him. The subjects of conversation were not new to her, but many of the opinions expressed by Dunallan and his friends were entirely so. They all seemed anxious to engage her to join in what passed, and soon succeeded. She began with great animation to defend those opinions she had been accustomed to consider just, but which she now heard regarded as erroneous&

Her looks and manner had more effect, perhaps, than her arguments, but Mr. Gower in vain attempted to follow her half playful, half serious, sometimes fanciful, but always ingenious and lively defence of her own sentiments. He was lost in the maze, though quite unconvinced; and she turned from him to Mr. Walderford, declaring she had converted one opponent, and gaily demanding whether he too did not find her arguments quite unanswerable?

He smiled, and asked "on what subject ?" "On every subject we have conversed upon," replied she," but particularly respecting candour, and charitable opinions of others."

"You say, I believe, Madam," replied he, "that charity consists in-may I ask you to repeat what? I may perhaps do injustice to your definition."

"Why I think it consists in-in-. I do not remember that I said what it consisted in. I only said I thought it very uncharitable to suppose people devoid of religious principle when we were ignorant of their opinions on the subject -a subject which is with many, and I think ought to be with all, confined to their own hearts."

"How is that possible, Madam ?" asked Walderford, fixing his mild but inquiring eyes on Catharine.

"Why not?" replied she. "I think"She hesitated, Walderford looked so serious, though very mild.

"Do we not imply, when we talk of a principle," continued he in a gentle tone of voice, "something which is the source or motive of action; and is it possible that our actions or opinions

132

a

99

will not betray it, if any strong principle has possession of our minds and hearts. We have simple but infallible rule to judge by in this case,' added he, smiling, "when we see a bush produce nothing but thorns, we are not uncharitable in concluding that it cannot be a vine.”

"But the person of whom we spoke is one of the most inoffensive of human beings," said Catharine; "your simile of thorns applies very ill to him."

"I confess it does; but still, let me ask, what good to himself, or to any living creature, has his life produced? He is good-tempered, I allow, and, to his fox-hunting friends, very agreeable perhaps; but what account, were he called on for it, could he give of what he has done with his immense fortune, and naturally not deficient understanding ?"

"What account could any of us give ?" replied Catharine, "but that we have put our fortunes to no bad use that we are conscious of."

"Ah Catharine," said Dunallan, "you have if you no chance of success in the argument, bring forward such a plea as that.'

"Will you assist me ?" asked she, smiling sweetly.

"I fear I cannot I should be found to join your opponent."

"Ah, then, I shall take refuge in flight," said she, "if Mrs. Oswald will come with me."

Mrs. Oswald rose immediately, and though Dunallan's looks seemed to intreat their stay, refriend. tired with her young

"And now, my dear Madam," said Catharine when they had reached the drawing-room, "tell me what Mr. Dunallan finds so amiable in this

Mr. Walderford ? for I think I never saw any young man with such grave and severe manners. "Are they more so than you found Dunallan's at first, my dear ?"

"Why perhaps not; but what is this ?" exclaimed she, observing a harp placed at the other end of the room, "my harp! impossible!.it could not have reached me. No it is not mine."

"It is one Edward ordered for you, my dear; it ought to have been here sooner."

Catharine touched the strings, and sighed deeply.

'Why that sigh, Catharine ?”

"Because this attention of Mr. Dunallan's reminds me of its cause," replied she; "he wishes kindly that I may be amused in his absence; but this will assist me to express the only feelings I shall experience," added she, beginning to play a melancholy air, while the tears stood in her eyes.

Mrs. Oswald smiled and said, "I cannot wish you to feel otherwise, dear Catharine."

Catharine blushed and left the harp, saying, "Mr. Dunallan seemed to think the argument I used before we left the dining-room a very bad one, my dear Mrs. Oswald; pray what does he think we ought to do with our fortunes-give them all to the poor ?"

"No, my love, he does not do that himself; and many people who are otherwise very worthless have so much humanity of disposition, that they cannot witness suffering without relieving it if it is in their power. What Edward considers right is this--that each individual should attempt to form an idea of what good it is within his power to do in the situation in which he is placed, with VOL. I.

12