THE the better was I pleased with it. It certainly set me regretting I had not considered more attentively the chances of my future before I suf fered myself to be betrothed to Mr. Bracebridge. I could never be brought to regard love as anything more than a useful auxiliary to ambition; and in my eyes the man that should have the largest estate and the loftiest position, would come best recommended. I do not doubt, could I have been certain of catching Dr. Aston, I could easily have brought my passion to let loose Mr. Bracebridge. But I was not sure of winning him; nor could I clearly see my way to make love to Dr. Aston while feeding the passion of Mr. Bracebridge. Our attachment was quite complicated enough by the fear of detection and the labour of concealment; and I had no taste for encumbering my abilities with a behaviour which should sit too heavily to enable me to perform my part with the nice skill and easy conduct the situation demanded. I was a little curious to observe the behaviour of Mr. Bracebridge when he should call and find Miss Aston and me together. Happily, Miss Aston's blindness would render concealment but necessary in the voice. Poor thing! in reviewing the past I own I must have had an uncommonly hard heart to betray so much sweetness, candour, and goodness. I believed she loved me; but then 'twas no compliment; for as a flame converts into flame whatever feeds it, so her heart converted into an affection whatever it admitted. She was full of sweet sympathies, which made her smiles as truthful as the words of Holy Writ. She had no experience of evil, and was therefore not to know it until it had struck her. Her pale face is often present to the mind's eye. I see it now a face whose serenity was not solemn; too sweet to be majestick; 'twas the calmness of a May day, a softness not without light, yet a light that subdued rather than tinted, as I have marked a moonbeam lying on the face of a statue. I converse with Miss Aston. 233 Being alone in the library, whither we had repaired for the convenience of the books, we fell into a conversation. "'Tis surprising," she said, "how soon trouble becomes a habit; and how, when it has become a habit, it ceases to gall and fret us. It is God's goodness that makes provision for every evil that can befall us. But sure the greatest blessing in life is a contented heart that can turn misfortunes into benefits, like the grave, which, receiving the tears of the mourners, will presently return them in flowers." "But it is the nature of misfortune," said I, "to discontent the heart, by which evil is magnified." "'Tis a poor heart that knows not how to distil philosophy from the evil that enters it. Besides, what is misfortune but an angel who brings us all the deeper pleasures our common humanity enjoys? 'Tis misfortune, my dear, heads the train of all our fairest qualities. 'Tis she who summoneth virtue from her secret dwelling-place; who instructs us in those tender sympathies which breed among us a love for one another; who ravishes from the hardened soul the tear that proclaims all its divinity has not fled; who teaches us to believe in our Father in heaven; and who paints our blessed Lord in that garb of compassionate sorrow which moves our hearts to adore him for his love of us. For, like the night that discovers the glories of the spangled firmament, she darkens life that we may witness those pure, white, and shining virtues, which 'tis impossible we can behold when the strong sunlight of happiness envelopes us." "Madam," said I, "it profits me to hear you discourse thus; and that I may be further instructed in that knowledge of peace (which is a satisfaction 'tis impossible to know when I may want), will you suffer me to ask a question ?” "Nay, ask it," said she sweetly. "You just now spoke with pity of the heart that could not extract philosophy from woe. I would ask you, madam, if Mr. Bracebridge were to deceive you, could your heart draw satisfaction from his deception?" Her countenance worked as though a pain had taken her; but it soon cleared. She smiled tenderly, and not without a kind of triumph, as though she should say, ""'Tis a foolish question, for he'll not desert me.” Then growing I converse with Miss Aston. 235 grave, she pondered awhile; and presently answered, I "It would be a great blow to me, dear. know not if my heart could bear it. I cannot controul my physical structure: I could not prevent my heart from breaking. But if it depended on my spirits I could controul them. If my heart bore up, I could master my grief: and when once I had got my grief under, I could compel it to procure me what solace I might demand. us not speak of it," she added softly. But let I enjoyed a secret laugh at this illustration of her theories. "Ah, madam," said I gravely, "'twas truly writ by Monsieur de Rochefoucauld, that philosophy triumphs over past ills and future ills, but that present ills triumph over philosophy. And 'tis proper it should be so. I should, for my part, distrust the heart that was too quickly resigned to its sorrow. Give me the nature that will break through all the restraints of philosophy, and confess no jurisdiction but those of its own laws, which, as they come from God, cannot but be wise and good." "You are partly right," says she, “but it is for religion to minister to nature. Besides, nature is |