4

to use her best endeavours to restore his health
and cheerfulness. The faults of his character
and errors of his life, if not totally concealed,
were at least so palliated by the partial affection
of his mother and the generous nature of her
husband, that she looked upon him as "more
sinned against than sinning," and pitied, more
than she blamed the frailties of a too impetuous,
too ardent temper. His apearance was more
than pleasing -- it was interesting -- it did not
elicit admiration, but excited sympathy, the most
irresistible of all attractions. The exuberance
of his imagination -- the quickness of his perceptions
had at College obtained him the reputation
of genius -- but his deficiency in sound judgment
and practical common sense, had deprived him
of the advantages such a reputation might have
gained, and left him the sport of his passions and
his fancies.

Mary had hitherto been the inseparable companion
of her children; she was not only their
instructress, but their playmate. As their noise
and restlessness evidently disturbed the shattered
nerves of the invalid, after giving them their
lessons, Mary consigned them to the care of their
nurse, while with her work-stand placed beside
the cushioned chair in which Charles reclined,
she passed most of the day in reading to or conversing
with him, whilst his fond mother sat by,
proud of the talent her son displayed. She
dared to make no enquiries into late occurrences,
nor indulge herself in reminiscences of the past,
and therefore said little herself, but watched with
delight the kind attentions lavished on him by
Mary. When she read, Charles leaning back
in his chair, and shading his eyes with his hands,
would gaze on her sweet, expressive face, that
mirrored every emotion described by the poet or
the novelist. And then her voice! How soothingly
did its soft tones fall on the perturbed
spirits of the invalid! What power has the
voice! Can the forms or colours of beauty so
sway the soul -- exalting, exciting, soothing its
every emotion?

Charles Lovel had known woman only in her
most frail and frivolous aspect. The daughters
of fashion and folly and frailty. He had admired,
loved and followed, but never respected them.
He looked on the whole sex as alike weak and
vain -- the slaves of caprice and inclination, and
thought virtue but a name.

The endearing attentions Mary bestowed, with
all the frankness of a sister, he mistook for evidences
of less pure and holy feelings, and therefore
yielded unresistingly to the delightful sensations
such tender cares excited. To the infinite
gratification of his mother his health rapidly improved.
The dejection of his spirits had fled,
and been succeeded by the most animating
cheerfulness. His dimmed eye regained all its
sparkling intelligence, and spoke more eloquently
than his tongue. Mrs. Murray had feared
that with renovated health his desire for company
and amusement would have revived, and she saw
with surprise her restless, pleasure-seeking son
contentedly passing days and weeks in their quiet
family circle without even evincing a wish for
change or variety.

Mr. Murray, buried in his office among his
dusty books and papers, wholly engrossed with
his professional duties, seldom or ever joined his
family except at meals. The tea-table detained
him longest; he would then sometimes forget
business, and linger to talk over with his friend
the scenes of their boyhood, always recalling
such incidents as exhibited the character of
Charles in the fairest point of view.

"I never envied you but once," said he one
evening, "though you so often bore off from me
the College honours, and that was the moment
when you fearlessly plunged into the water to
rescue a poor boy who had fallen through the
ice. Yes, when you brought him ashore and
was hailed by the acclamations of our companions,
a sensation of bitter envy stung my bosom.
But thank God it was short-lived. I loved you
too well for it to last long. But once did I say?
Alas! I remember one other rash, weak and criminal
moment. It was on an occasion when
you were unjustly accused at school, and rather
than betray the real culprit, you bore a severe
flogging to save the poor little fellow. I felt
every stroke in my heart's core, and wept bitterly,
but when I witnessed the enthusiastic admiration
of the scholars, who were aware of the
truth, and the passionate gratitude of the real
offender, I envied you the strokes, for which I
had before wept, and was jealous of the popularity
you acquired. Charles I am still your
debtor," continued he, stretching out his hand
and cordially grasping that of his friend.

"But, my dear fellow, you forget all the
shocking tricks I played you -- all my mad frolics,
in which you suffered much more than your
share, were the account fairly cast up. It is I,
who ever was, and ever must remain your
debtor."

The candour and frankness of his confessions,
added to the traits of courage and generosity,
related by her husband, could not fail of charming
and interesting Mary.

As Mr. Lovel's health returned, walks and
rides through the beautiful country which surrounded
the village where they lived, most pleasantly
diversified their quiet lives. The innocent
and artless Mary, sincerely attached as she
was to her worthy husband, continued long unconscious
of the new feelings awakened in her
bosom. She never dreamed that too much tenderness
could be felt by a wife or mother, for
one she called her brother. Her intuitive delicacy
made her shrink from the liberties which, under
this title, Charles sometimes attempted to take.
Free as were his opinions and habits respecting
the sex, her unpretending simplicity and purity
had a restraining influence which secured her
from any avowal of the unhallowed sentiments
he cherished, and thus unconscious of the danger
that lurked beneath the flowery path she
trod, she pursued her way, delighting and delighted.

Her sense of duty, however, was [unimpaired];
and when she perceived that her constant cares
and attendance were no longer necessary, now
that Mr. Lovel's health was perfectly restored,
she determined to resume her usual occupations.
But she was surprised to find that they no longer
had the interest that they once had; surprised
that her thoughts often wandered from
her book -- that she felt an impatience she had
never before felt while instructing her children
-- that she was annoyed by their prattle when,

Reproduced with permission of the copyright owner. Further reproduction without permission.

to use her best endeavours to restore his health and cheerfulness. The faults of his character and errors of his life, if not totally concealed, were at least so palliated by the partial affection of his mother and the generous nature of her husband, that she looked upon him as "more sinned against than sinning," and pitied, more than she blamed the frailties of a too impetuous, too ardent temper. His apearance was more than pleasing--it was interesting--it did not elicit admiration, but excited sympathy, the most irresistible of all attractions. The exuberance of his imagination--the quickness of his perceptions had at College obtained him the reputation of genius--but his deficiency in sound judgment and practical common sense, had deprived him of the advantages such a reputation might have gained, and left him the sport of his passions and his fancies.
Mary had hitherto been the inseparable companion of her children; she was not only their instructress, but their playmate. As their noise and restlessness evidently disturbed the shattered nerves of the invalid, after giving them their lessons, Mary consigned them to the care of their nurse, while with her work-stand placed beside the cushioned chair in which Charles reclined, she passed most of the day in reading to or conversing with him, whilst his fond mother sat by, proud of the talent her son displayed. She dared to make no enquiries into late occurrences, nor indulge herself in reminiscences of the past, and therefore said little herself, but watched with delight the kind attentions lavished on him by Mary. When she read, Charles leaning back in his chair, and shading his eyes with his hands, would gaze on her sweet, expressive face, that mirrored every emotion described by the poet or the novelist. And then her voice! How soothingly did its soft tones fall on the perturbed spirits of the invalid! What power has the voice! Can the forms or colours of beauty so sway the soul-exalting, exciting, soothing its every emotion?
Charles Lovel had known woman only in her most frail and frivolous aspect. The daughters of fashion and folly and frailty. He had admired, loved and followed, but never respected them. He looked on the whole sex as alike weak and vain--the slaves of caprice and inclination, and thought virtue but a name.
The endearing attentions Mary bestowed, with all the frankness of a sister, he mistook for evidences of less pure and holy feelins, and therefore yielded unresistingly to the delightful sensations such tender cares excited. To the infinite gratification of his mother his health rapidly improved. The dejection of his spirits had fled, and been succeeded by the most animating cheerfulness. His dimmed eye regained all its sparkling intelligence, and spoke more eloquently than his tongue. Mrs. Murray had feared that with renovated health his desire for company and amusement would have revived, and she saw with surprise her restless, pleasure-seeking son contentedly passing days and weeks in their quiet family circle without even evincing a wish for change or variety.
Mr. Murray, buried in his office among his dusty books and papers, wholly engrossed with his professional duties, seldom or ever joined his family except at meals. The tea-table detained him longest; he would then sometimes forget business, and linger to talk over with his friend the scenes of their boyhood, always recalling such incidents as exhibited the character of Charles in the fairest point of view.
"I never envied you but once," said he one evening, "though you so often bore off from me the College honours, and that was the moment when you fearlessly plunged into the water to rescue a poor boy who had fallen through the ice. Yes, when you brought him ashore and was hailed by the acclamations of our companions, a sensation of bitter envy stung my bosom. But thank God it was short-lived. I loved you too well for it to last long. But once did I say? Alas! I remember one other rash, weak and criminal moment. It was on an occasion when you were unjustly accused at school, and rather than betray the real culprit, you bore a severe flogging to save the poor little fellow. I felt every stroke in my heart's core, and wept bitterly, but when I witnessed the enthusiastic admiration of the scholars, who were aware of the truth, and the passionate gratitude of the real offender, I envied you the strokes, for which I had before wept, and was jealous of the popularity you acquired. Charles I am still your debtor," continued he, stretching out his hand and cordially grasping that of his friend.
"But, my dear fellow, you forget all the shocking tricks I played you--all my mad frolics, in which you suffered much more than your share, were the account fairly cast up. It is I, who ever was, and ever must remain your debtor."
The candour and frankness of his confessions, added to the traits of courage and generosity, related by her husband, could not fail of charming and interesting Mary.
As Mr. Lovel's health returned, walks and rides through the beautiful country which surrounded the village where they lived, most pleasantly diversified their quiet lives. The innocent and artless Mary, sincerely attached as she was to her worthy husband, continued long unconscious of the new feelings awakened in her bosom. She never dreamed that too much tenderness could be felt by a wife or mother, for one she called her brother. Her intuitive delicacy made her shrink from the liberties which, under this title, Charles sometimes attempted to take. Free as were his opinions and habits respecting the sex, her unpretending simplicity and purity had a restraining influence which secured her from any avowal of the unhallowed sentiments he cherished, and thus unconscious of the danger that lurked beneath the flowery path she trod, she pursued her way, delighting and delighted.
Her sense of duty, however, was [unimpaired]; and when she perceived that her constant cares and attendance were no longer necessary, now that Mr. Lovel's health was perfectly restored, she determined to resume her usual occupations. But she was surprised to find that they no longer had the interest that they once had; surprised that her thoughts often wandered from her book--that she felt an impatience she had never before felt while instructing her children--that she was annoyed by their prattle when,