The Rebels; or, Boston before the Revolution/Chapter XI

O, luve will venture in, where it daur na weel be seen; O, luve will venture in, where wisdom ance has been.
 * Burns

Leaving the young Canadians to enjoy "the sacred lowe o' weel placed love," we will return to the quiet library of the pious Mr. Osborne; the republican simplicity of which afforded so striking a contrast to the splendid apartment of Governor Hutchinson.

On the afternoon of the same day that Wilson commenced his journey to Quebec, Grace was seated at her father's table, busily engaged in painting glass,---a fashionable amusement at that period.

The door gently opened, and the good-natured countenance of Lucretia Fitzherbert presented itself to her view.

"Why, Grace, how long it is since I have seen you," exclaimed her animated friend. "For three long days we have been expecting you. Captain Somerville at last grew quite angry,---so, to please him, I came to-day to see what could have offended your ladyship."

"Offended! and with you?" said Grace, in a reproachful tone. "I assure you, I have wished to come; but I have been so very busy---"

"I wonder what has busied you so suddenly," interrupted Lucretia. "Have you been making linen for brother Henry? or knitting warm night-caps for papa?"

"The first," rejoined Grace, smiling; "and then all the leisure moments I have had, I have been practising on my spinnet, trying to learn those pretty songs that--- you like so well."

"Umph," said Lucretia, with the most provoking significance. "You are taking likenesses, too, I see. What is this you are copying?"

"It is the head of a young naval officer; Sir---somebody--- I have forgotten whom."

"How much it looks like Somerville," said Lucretia.

"Does it?" rejoined Grace, blushing deeply. "Perhaps it may, a very little."

"Captain Somerville is enthusiastic about painting," said Lucretia. "How I do wish I could sketch as well as you can."

Grace, in her turn, smiled significantly.

"I know you laugh because he is always the burden of my song," observed Lucretia; "but really if you lived in the same house with him, you could not but admire,--- very much admire, his sparkling intelligence, his ready wit, and his open gallantry."

"And my enthusiastic friend places so much confidence in her native good sense, that she is not at all afraid of admiring him too much, I suppose?" inquired Grace.

"I think nothing about it," rejoined Lucretia. "I am very happy; and that is all I am sure of. As for the good sense you are pleased to talk of,---Minerva's shield has withstood many a fierce attack; but I believe one of Cupid's minikin arrows might shiver it."

"Oh, Lucretia, how little need there is of a window to your heart."

"Yours is carefully muffled in a thick screen, dear Grace; but the flame will shine through."

The tears started to Miss Osborne's eyes, and forgetting that her remark would imply a keen reproof to her thoughtless friend, she said, "What have I done, that you should accuse me of being deficient in the delicacy which should ever characterize a lady?"

"Who would think of defending herself from a charge that has no foundation?" rejoined Lucretia, putting her arms round her neck, with girlish affection.

"What is the matter, young ladies?" inquired Henry Osborne, who entered the library at that moment.

"Nothing,---only I have offended Grace, as I often do the Graces," answered Lucretia; "and so I hav been trying to atone for it. What news, Henry?"

"None that will particularly interest such a staunch little tory as you are."

"Nay, I will not be called names," said she, gaily striking him with her parasol; "unless you can warp your conscience enough to call me by the old-fashioned name of angel. In good earnest, what has happened in the political world?"

"Accidents similar to those which happen every day," rejoined Osborne. "Merely a few mischievous tricks upon the tories. Mr. Paxton's horse, after being lost some days, was found shut up in the Town House, almost starved to death; and Doctor Byles, when entering his house this morning, was assailed by a violent shower of soot and water."

"How did he bear such treatment?" asked Lucretia.

"Just as you would suppose. He made a very low bow, and said, `My friends, you have entirely sooted me.' "

"I should like to walk there," said Lucretia, smiling; "it is several days since I have seen him."

Grace soon arranged her neat little gipsey hat, beneath which her golden ringlets escaped in the most enchanting luxuriance; and the shawl was just pinned about her neck with Quaker simplicity, when Somerville entered. "You are all for a walk I see," said he, bowing to the ladies. "I have arrived most fortunately."

His arm was offered to Grace, and he was not a little gratified at the slight tremor she betrayed on again meeting him; nor could she, with all her diffidence, help being a little vain of her infantile beauty, since it had so evidently fascinated Somerville.

True, his compliments were less frequent than formerly; for Henry, with the affectionate earnestness of an auxious brother, had cautioned him against the flattery so likely to tarnish the purity and artlessness of her character. Still, however, his delighted eye acknowledged her power, and she was not ignorant of its meaning. During this walk, it seemed as if he exerted his uncommon powers of pleasing, to the very utmost. Now "his broad sail was set in the full, deep stream of argument;" and, now, every one was watching the eddies of his wit, as they sparkled, and broke, and whirled away.

The rein was held with as graceful a hand, whether he spurred his majestic war-horse to the battle, pranced by a lady's side over hill and dale, or appeared on the parade ground in gala dress, performing its complicated evolutions with careless dexterity.

The whole company were in high spirits when Doctor Byles met them at his door.

"Was there ever such an evening?" said he, as he came out to welcome them. "It is as light as a cork. I am glad you have come, my young friends; for Mrs. Byles and the girls have gone to see a sick neighbour, and I was just wishing somebody would come and take a glass with me."

"A most unclerical wish," observed Henry Osborne.

"Not as much so, as you think, young man," replied the clergyman, displaying a fine brass telescope, and motioning them to follow him up stairs.

"This is the glass I offer my friends," continued he, fastening one end in the window-shutter, and placing the other in Somerville's hand.

"I call this chamber my observatory; for, stationed here with my telescope, I can observe-a-tory all over Boston."

"I wish the search was as seldom rewarded as that of Diogenes with his lanthron," answered Henry.

"No doubt; but `the prayer of the wicked availeth not,' " replied Doctor Byles.

"How extremely beautiful!" interrupted Somerville, placing the telescope in Mr. Osborne's hand. "The bay of Naples hardly surpasses this."

Indeed, beneath the rich gush of autumnal twilight, the scene was indescribably enchanting.

The broad, blue harbour, like the ocean god, reposing on his own bright throne; the numerous islands, that seemed like infant Naiads waiting in his presence; the neighbouring churches, like youthful devotees, pointing the finger of faith to heaven; the foliage, rich with the hues of autumn; the herds, quietly grazing on the adjoining hills; and all so delightfully mellowed in distance and sunshine, formed a landscape that Claude would have delighted to copy.

Each one, in succession, gazed upon it till the strained vision was wearied. As they laid aside the telescope, Somerville glanced at Grace, and said, "To look beyond the smoke and din of the town, to a scene so lovely and placid as that, is welcome to the heart, as it is to meet unpretending goodness and unaffected beauty in the midst of this selfish, artificial world."

"Here," said Doctor Byles, "is something that precisely resembles the mind of a whig; for their reflections are all upside down;"---and he placed a large concave mirror before the young ladies.

"If the images are inverted, they are increased in beauty," observed Henry Osborne.

"At a distance, I grant ye; but examine closely, young man, and the defects are glaring enough. My dear girl, step up, and shake hands with yourself."

The figure of the little sylph seemed to come forth from the glass, as she advanced toward its focus.

"Nobody can say there is not a shadow of grace about that mirror," said the clergyman.

"But you can say there is not a shadow of beauty now," rejoined Lucretia, as she herself moved to the glass.

"If I did say it," replied Doctor Byles, "I would unite with the learned Bishop of Cloyne, and say, it is no matter---all is mind."

"How brilliant you are to-night," exclaimed Lucretia.

"Nay, it is you, ladies, who are bright," rejoined he. "When you both came in, lounging on a gentleman's arm, I could not but think you spark-led."

"Your ammunition is never exhausted," said Somerville; "one may always be sure of a corps de reserve . There is one of my acquaintance, the famous Samuel Johnson, to whom I should like to introduce you; but, with his invincible hatred of puns, it might prove dangerous."

"Wit is the least of Doctor Byle's qualifications," said Henry Osborne.

"Young man, I am not a woman. My constitution does not need the gilded pills of flattery," replied the Doctor. The suddenness with which he changed from playfulness almost frivolous, to dignity bordering on sternness, produced a momentary embarrassment in the whole company.

Lucretia, who knew him well, was the first to break silence. "It is the way the Doctor sometimes chooses to cut his best friends," said she.

Doctor Byles looked very angry; and Somerville perceiving it, answered, "The friends of Doctor Byles are never cut, though often wit-led."

"It is contagious," exclaimed Henry Osborne, rising. "Let us depart by all means."

"I should never suspect that Mr. Osborne had a predisposition to the disease," replied the clergyman, with his usual dry, sarcastic manner. "But come into my study, Lucretia. I have Goldsmith's celebrated Chinese Letters; and you say, you have never seen them."

The first object that met their view on the library table, was a frightful mask, with a lighted candle within it, surmounted by the Doctor's wig.

It had been placed there by some mischievous boys. "You see the spirit of rebellion penetrates to our very closets," observed the minister. "However, the wig does but cover what it always has, `a burning and a shining light.' "

After examining the books and some beautiful philosophical apparatus, the young people departed, highly delighted with their visit.

"The evening is so pleasant," observed Henry, "that I see no reason why we should not extend our walk to Roxbury."

"I trust we shall return better pleased than my uncle did from his nocturnal excursion," said Somerville. "No one cares how much old Townsend is tormented; but it is really carrying the joke too far, when such men as Governor Hutchinson and Doctor Byles are harassed in this way."

"When one side carry a joke too far, it must be expected that the other will return it by such means as lie in their power," rejoined Osborne.

"You must not begin to talk politics," said Lucretia; "for Captain Somerville never speaks all he thinks, before you. One would hardly believe he could be the same man that I sometimes hear talk with uncle Hutchinson."

Somerville looked, as if he did not thank her for thus lowering him in the estimation of Miss Osborne; and Henry replied, "I think he begins to be a proselyte to the righteous cause. I have a mind to have him stop to see John, on purpose to give him a good commentary on American feeling. He lives the next door to Mr. Townsend."

The man of whom he spoke, had once been a servant at his father's; but had, to use his own expression, "laid by a trifle for a wet day," and was now a thriving New England farmer.

Every thing within their doors indicated industry and prosperity. The wife, a buxom, sweet-tempered looking matron, was supplying four or five white-headed children with bountiful slices of brown bread; and if she did not perform the simple office with as much grace as Werter's Charlotte, it was certainly very delightful to watch her look of maternal love, as she said, "Hearty souls! it does one good to see you eat. But hush, boys, hush; here are strangers coming."

The mother drew her cap down over her ears, and smoothed her checked apron,---then, after giving them a most cordial greeting, she showed the way into a neatly white-washed room, the floor of which was profusely sanded, and marked with a variety of fantastic figures, according to the fashion of the times.

The children in the mean time stationed one to peep at the door, who would now and then run to report proceedings to his laughing companions.

"They have over much of a good thing," said the father. "The rogues love liberty. Away with you, boys!---and, waving his hand, he cleared the door in a moment. An instance of the good old-fashioned obedience, seldom practised in these degenerate days.

"I must tell you," continued the farmer, "that you are heartily welcome, Miss Grace, and Mr. Henry, and Miss Fitzherbert, and the stranger gentleman."

"I forgot to mention that he was Captain Somerville, Governor Hutchinson's nephew," observed Henry.

"Perhaps you are from England, then?"

"I am," replied Somerville.

"And may be you will tarry some time in the Colonies?"

"That is entirely uncertain, sir."

"Well, it is none of my business, surely. It is a good country that you came from, and a good country that you have come to. Both the Englands are good; but I am sometimes afeard they will try to patch the old with the new, till they make the rents worse."

"England has no need of patches, my good sir," rejoined Somerville.

"I doubt that somewhat. They say the young king has some German notions, which he would be much better without. Then there is a heavy debt will go near to break the collar-bone, if it is carried much longer; and them who have the care of it, are, in my humble opinion, no more fit to set the broken bones of a nation, than my cows are to climb a ladder."

"Which I trust they never will do," said Lucretia, laughing. "Mr. Townsend would doubtless be sadly grieved to have a blade of his grass devoured by them."

"A queer man, that Mr. Townsend, beside being a tory," answered John Dudley; "but he that is with him is far worse."

"Who is it?" asked Grace.

"She is young," rejoined the matron. "The matter of seventeen, or thereabouts. May be you will come and see her, young ladies? Her heart will no doubt be sad in a strange land. Whist, Hancock! will ye not whist?"

"What do you call your sick little babe?" asked Lucretia.

"It was George, for the king, you know, Miss; but the stamp act a'nt likely to be taken off, so my good man would change it to John Hancock." Miss Fitzherbert smiled, and looked significantly at Somerville, as she said, "You see the spirit of the land."

"That is a fine man, that John Hancock," said the farmer. "He is a true friend to liberty; and though he is college larnt, and though he had more money than I could reckon, left him a year ago, he is as ready to stop and say, `How do you do, John Dudley,' as my own wife would be. Poor, dear little Hancock," continued he, taking the child from his mother, and rocking him gently in his arms, "I hope you'll be as good a man. You must make haste,---yes you must, Hancock,--- you must make haste, and grow strong enough to be a soldier." With a more sober look, he added, "May be they'll be wanted in this oppressed land, before you are able to buckle on a canteen."

"Hancock, dear Hancock," whispered Grace, as she offered him an orange, and kissed the bright red spot on his sickly cheek.

"Oh, yes, Grace can kiss him, now she knows his rebel name," said the laughing Lucretia.

"Almost thou persuadest me to be a rebel," observed the gallant Englishman.

Henry looked serious and uneasy. He did not like Scripture quoted with so much irreverence; and he feared the effects of a kind of gallantry to which his sister had been so entirely unused.

"I believe I must bid you good night, John," said he, rising.

"Surely not, sir, till you have tasted a drop of cider that I made on my own farm. The king has none better, though I say it that should not say it."

Upon this hint, his wife took a plate and a large silver can, and left the apartment.

In a few moments, the children in the kitchen were heard crying, "Give me some, mamma, give me some;" and, having supplied their wants, the good-natured mother re-appeared, with her rosy-cheeked pears and foaming cider.

"It may seem strange for the like of me to have a silver mug," said the farmer; "but it has more value in it than the metal tells for. Governor Dudley brought it over himself; and there has not been many a better man to drink after."

His ancestor, his can, and his cider having received abundance of praise, he urged the young people to take as much fruit as they would, and bade them good night.

The young gentlemen, in terms of unqualified approbation talked of the frank hospitality and downright good sense of their host; and as the farmer closed his gate after them, he could not refrain from saying, "They are all gentle-folks, every soul of them; and that is a name that means a good deal to them that understand it right."

"That's true, my good man," said his wife. "That Captain Somerville has a frank way with him; and don't show a speck of pride,---though he is Hutchinson's nephew."

On their way home, Somerville walked with Miss Osborne; and Lucretia, of course, accepted the proffered arm of Mr. Osborne.

Oh, how dangerous may one brief evening prove to the sliding hearts of the youthful and the guileless; and how tasteless is every thing in life, compared with the sparkling cup that young love offers before we know his name.

Grace returned home with an elasticity of spirit unusual to her placid nature; and when, after the family devotions were concluded, she stooped to kiss her venerable father, before she retired to rest, he could not but speak of the beaming happiness her angelic countenance expressed.

"Dear Grace," said Henry, passing his arm round her neck, "I have something to say to you; and I will say it in the presence of our good father."

His sister looked up inquiringly.

"You must have suspected how much interest Doctor Willard takes in you?" said he.

"I know he is a friend to us all," replied she, with extreme embarrassment.

"Yes, dear sister, he is a friend to us all; and for your sake, he loves us all. With a brother's frankness, he has commissioned me to tell you so."

"And what does my daughter say to this?" asked her father, in a tone of anxious tenderness.

"I feel very, very grateful to Doctor Willard; but---"

"But what?" interrupted her brother. What can a woman desire in a lover, that is not united in his character? There is virtue, genius, a good family, genteel manners, personal beauty, and a generous heart, that has long been most sincerely devoted to you."

"He is more than I expect---more than I deserve," rejoined Grace.

"And what shall I tell him?" whispered Henry.

"Tell him to seek some one who deserves his affection, and can return it."

"Are you aware," said her father, in a tone of severe disappointment, "can you be aware what a treasure you are throwing from you?"

"I am---I am," exclaimed Grace, bursting into tears; "but I cannot love him."

"Will you tell me why?" asked her brother, in an insinuating voice.

"I have no reason to give," she replied.

"Has no one else won your pure heart?"

"Oh no, indeed; no other one ever sought it."

"I know it would never unsought be won, if you were aware of it," rejoined Henry. "But you are very young, and I fear you will allow `a passing pleasing tongue,' and the fascination of a polished manner, to outweigh goodness of heart and dignity of character."

"Talents and education are of great value," interrupted her father; "but we must not forget that the tree of knowledge yields not the same fruit as the free of life. Fixed religious principles and an amiable disposition are of more consequence to domestic happiness than all that wealth, or beauty, or genius can offer. It was these qualities in your dear mother, that for thirty years made me the happiest of men. It was these inestimable qualities that made you what you are, my children." As he spoke, the tear that fell upon his hand, betrayed how dear was the wife that had for years lain in the silent grave.

With kindness which seemed like cruelty, Henry said, "Some people admire beauty wherever they find it. Doctor Willard would love you, if you should lose that fading flower. Other friends may have lofty and generous feelings,---they may be greatly gifted by nature; but their worth has not been tried like his. Something novel in character, or more rare in loveliness, may erase a transient impression. A meteor may be dazzling, but we cannot calculate its orbit."

"I understand you," said she; "but indeed you wrong me. If I do not love Doctor Willard, I ought not to marry him, if I would. But indeed, indeed, I have no such reason as you suppose."

"My dear child," said Mr. Osborne, tenderly taking her hand, "you have never in your whole life told me an untruth. Do not let me go to my pillow with the fear that you have deceived your earthly father, and sinned against your heavenly one."

Tears fell fast on the heaving bosom of the timid and ingenuous Grace. She burst from the embrace of her excellent parent, saying, "Some other time, dear father, some other time, we will talk of this."

Pitying her extreme distress, neither of them attempted to prevent her departure. Both retired to rest exceedingly anxious concerning a delusion, which, from the character of its object, they could not imagine would terminate happily for the fair being that indulged it.

"He calls himself Harry Wilson; but such men have a name for every port. I feel scared to look at that house, when I think of the sin there is between its four walls. Odds luck, it was a sight to see, and a sound to hear, the night the whigs sent the tories there on such a Tom fool's errand. There were wheels rattling---and knocking at the doors,---and laughing, and swearing,--- and there were lights glimmering round in corners that never saw a light before. The old man was sick three days, to think of the money it cost him. Wilson tells folks that he holds a whip over his back, and that he knows how to get the silver out of his grip."

"Has this man a family?" inquired Lucretia. "How comes he to be so much with Mr. Townsend?"

"There is but little known about him in these parts," replied Mrs. Dudley; "but a body needs only look in his eye to see that he is bad enough. Howsomever, there is One above us, who knows all things, and will manage them as seemeth good to him."

"Mr. Wilson came here t' other day, and told us that his daughter was coming from Quebec; and he wanted us to let her have one of our tidy chambers, as he called them;---and when we were at a stand, as it were, on account of his character, you know, he said that if she was his daughter, she was a lady, and had had gentle usage. He said she was going to stay here only a few weeks; and he seemed so affected like, that I was fain to let her come. So I have whitened the counterpane, and put the patch curtains up at the window, and sanded the floor of the best chamber."

"Poor young creature!" said Grace.

"She is young," rejoined the matron. "The matter of seventeen, or thereabouts. May be you will come and see her, young ladies? Her heart will no doubt be sad in a strange land. Whist, Hancock! will ye not whist?"

"What do you call your sick little babe?" asked Lucretia.

"It was George, for the king, you know, Miss; but the stamp act a'nt likely to be taken off, so my good man would change it to John Hancock."

Miss Fitzherbert smiled, and looked significantly at Somerville, as she said, "You see the spirit of the land."

"That is a fine man, that John Hancock," said the farmer. "He is a true friend to liberty; and though he is college larnt, and though he had more money than I could reckon, left him a year ago, he is as ready to stop and say, `How do you do, John Dudley,' as my own wife would be. Poor, dear little Hancock," continued he, taking the child from his mother, and rocking him gently in his arms, "I hope you'll be as good a man. You must make haste,---yes you must, Hancock,--- you must make haste, and grow strong enough to be a soldier." With a more sober look, he added, "May be they'll be wanted in this oppressed land, before you are able to buckle on a canteen."

"Hancock, dear Hancock," whispered Grace, as she offered him an orange, and kissed the bright red spot on his sickly cheek.

"Oh, yes, Grace can kiss him, now she knows his rebel name," said the laughing Lucretia.

"Almost thou persuadest me to be a rebel," observed the gallant Englishman.

Henry looked serious and uneasy. He did not like Scripture quoted with so much irreverence; and he feared the effects of a kind of gallantry to which his sister had been so entirely unused.

"I believe I must bid you good night, John," said he, rising.

"Surely not, sir, till you have tasted a drop of cider that I made on my own farm. The king has none better, though I say it that should not say it."

Upon this hint, his wife took a plate and a large silver can, and left the apartment.

In a few moments, the children in the kitchen were heard crying, "Give me some, mamma, give me some;" and, having supplied their wants, the good-natured mother re-appeared, with her rosy-cheeked pears and foaming cider.

"It may seem strange for the like of me to have a silver mug," said the farmer; "but it has more value in it than the metal tells for. Governor Dudley brought it over himself; and there has not been many a better man to drink after."

His ancestor, his can, and his cider having received abundance of praise, he urged the young people to take as much fruit as they would, and bade them good night.

The young gentlemen, in terms of unqualified approbation talked of the frank hospitality and downright good sense of their host; and as the farmer closed his gate after them, he could not refrain from saying, "They are all gentle-folks, every soul of them; and that is a name that means a good deal to them that understand it right."

"That's true, my good man," said his wife. "That Captain Somerville has a frank way with him; and don't show a speck of pride,---though he is Hutchinson's nephew."

On their way home, Somerville walked with Miss Osborne; and Lucretia, of course, accepted the proffered arm of Mr. Osborne.

Oh, how dangerous may one brief evening prove to the sliding hearts of the youthful and the guileless; and how tasteless is every thing in life, compared with the sparkling cup that young love offers before we know his name.

Grace returned home with an elasticity of spirit unusual to her placid nature; and when, after the family devotions were concluded, she stooped to kiss her venerable father, before she retired to rest, he could not but speak of the beaming happiness her angelic countenance expressed.

"Dear Grace," said Henry, passing his arm round her neck, "I have something to say to you; and I will say it in the presence of our good father."

His sister looked up inquiringly.

"You must have suspected how much interest Doctor Willard takes in you?" said he.

"I know he is a friend to us all," replied she, with extreme embarrassment.

"Yes, dear sister, he is a friend to us all; and for your sake, he loves us all. With a brother's frankness, he has commissioned me to tell you so."

"And what does my daughter say to this?" asked her father, in a tone of anxious tenderness.

"I feel very, very grateful to Doctor Willard; but---"

"But what?" interrupted her brother. What can a woman desire in a lover, that is not united in his character? There is virtue, genius, a good family, genteel manners, personal beauty, and a generous heart, that has long been most sincerely devoted to you."

"He is more than I expect---more than I deserve," rejoined Grace.

"And what shall I tell him?" whispered Henry.

"Tell him to seek some one who deserves his affection, and can return it."

"Are you aware," said her father, in a tone of severe disappointment, "can you be aware what a treasure you are throwing from you?"

"I am---I am," exclaimed Grace, bursting into tears; "but I cannot love him."

"Will you tell me why?" asked her brother, in an insinuating voice.

"I have no reason to give," she replied.

"Has no one else won your pure heart?"

"Oh no, indeed; no other one ever sought it."

"I know it would never unsought be won, if you were aware of it," rejoined Henry. "But you are very young, and I fear you will allow `a passing pleasing tongue,' and the fascination of a polished manner, to outweigh goodness of heart and dignity of character."

"Talents and education are of great value," interrupted her father; "but we must not forget that the tree of knowledge yields not the same fruit as the free of life. Fixed religious principles and an amiable disposition are of more consequence to domestic happiness than all that wealth, or beauty, or genius can offer. It was these qualities in your dear mother, that for thirty years made me the happiest of men. It was these inestimable qualities that made you what you are, my children." As he spoke, the tear that fell upon his hand, betrayed how dear was the wife that had for years lain in the silent grave.

With kindness which seemed like cruelty, Henry said, "Some people admire beauty wherever they find it. Doctor Willard would love you, if you should lose that fading flower. Other friends may have lofty and generous feelings,---they may be greatly gifted by nature; but their worth has not been tried like his. Something novel in character, or more rare in loveliness, may erase a transient impression. A meteor may be dazzling, but we cannot calculate its orbit."

"I understand you," said she; "but indeed you wrong me. If I do not love Doctor Willard, I ought not to marry him, if I would. But indeed, indeed, I have no such reason as you suppose."

"My dear child," said Mr. Osborne, tenderly taking her hand, "you have never in your whole life told me an untruth. Do not let me go to my pillow with the fear that you have deceived your earthly father, and sinned against your heavenly one."

Tears fell fast on the heaving bosom of the timid and ingenuous Grace. She burst from the embrace of her excellent parent, saying, "Some other time, dear father, some other time, we will talk of this."

Pitying her extreme distress, neither of them attempted to prevent her departure. Both retired to rest exceedingly anxious concerning a delusion, which, from the character of its object, they could not imagine would terminate happily for the fair being that indulged it.