WHEN Mr. Herbert returned from his walk, and met the curate, and his little family at supper, Sophia, who heedfully observed him, saw an alteration in his countenance, which realized all her melancholy apprehensions, and convinced her that some new misfortune awaited her: his eyes, which studiously avoided her’s, expressed nothing but grief and confusion; but he retired so early to his chamber, that Sophia, finding there was no hopes of his explaining himself that night, passed it in an anxiety of mind which suffered her not to taste the least repose. Early in the morning he knocked at her door, and desired her to join him in the garden; she was already drest, and instantly complied.
As soon as she came up to him, he took her hand, and pressed it affectionately, but spoke not a word.
Sophia, who feared, as much as she wished to know what had happened, had not power to ask for an explanation; so they both continued silent for some minutes.
At length Mr. Herbert told her he was going to London: Sophia, in a faultering accent, asked him what had happened to occasion this sudden resolution?
‘Alas! my dear child, said the good old man, in great emotion, I am ashamed and grieved to tell you that —Sir Charles has, I fear, deceived me.’
Although Sophia had reason to expect some sad reverse of fortune, and had endeavoured to prepare herself for it, yet this fatal confirmation of her fears shocked her so much, that Mr. Herbert, who saw a death-like paleness overspread her face, and felt her hand cold and trembling, fearing she would faint, made haste to lead her to a little bench of turf which was near them.
Sophia recovering, saw so much concern in his looks, that struggling to repress her own anguish, she endeavoured to comfort him, and smiling through the tears that filled her charming eyes, ‘Let not this instance of my weakness alarm you, sir, said she; and doubt not but, with the assistance of heaven, I shall bear this strange insult with proper fortitude.’
‘How worthy are you, my good child, of better fortune!’ said Mr. Herbert; then taking a letter out of his pocket, ‘My first design, pursued he, was to seek some explanation of this mysterious letter before I made you acquainted with it, but I perceived that my too apparent uneasiness had alarmed you, and I thought it would be less cruel to inform you of the whole matter, than to leave you in doubt and uncertainty: this letter was delivered to me yesterday in the evening, by one of Sir Charles’s servants, just as was walking out towards the road, in hopes of meeting his master. My surprise at receiving a letter when I expected to see himself, made me open it instantly, without asking the servant any questions, and while I was reading it he went away, doubtless being directed to do so.’
Mr. Herbert then gave the letter to Sophia, who unfolding it with trembling emotion, found it was as follows:
SIR,
Since it is impossible my marriage with Miss Sophia can ever take place, I wish you would look upon all that passed between us upon that subject, as a dream: I dreamt indeed when I imagined there was a woman in the world capable of a sincere attachment; and I ought to be ashamed to own that upon so delusive a hope I was ready to act in opposition to the general maxims of the world, and be pointed at as a silly romantic fellow. However, I beg you will assure the lady, that as I have no right to blame her conduct, so I have not the least resentment for it, and am so perfectly at ease on this occasion, that I can with great sincerity congratulate her on her approaching happiness. I am, Sir,
Your humble Servant,
CHARLES STANLEY.
Although this letter gave Sophia a sad certainty of her misfortune, yet it relieved her from those worst pangs which a heart in love can feel, the belief of being abandoned through indifference, or inconstancy: unperceived by ourselves, pride mixes with our most tender affections, and either aggravates or lessens the sense of every disappointment, in proportion as we feel ourselves humbled by the circumstances that attend it.
This ill-disguised jealousy, the personated calmness, the struggling resentment that appeared in this letter, convinced Sophia that Sir Charles was far from being at ease, and that to whatever cause his present unaccountable behaviour was owing, yet she was sure at least of not being indifferent to him.
It was not difficult to perceive that he had been deceived by some malicious reports, and her suspicions fell immediately upon Harriot; but rejecting this thought, as too injurious to her sister, she returned the letter to Mr. Herbert without speaking a word, but with a look much more serene and composed than before.
Mr. Herbert, who saw nothing in this letter like what her penetration had discovered, and who conceived it to be only a poor artifice to disengage himself from promises which he now repented of, was surprised to find her so much less affected with it than he expected, and asked her what she thought of it?
Sophia told him, that she was fully persuaded Sir Charles had been prejudiced against her.
‘Do you think so, my dear, said he, after a little pause; then it is your sister to whom you are obliged for this kind office.’
‘I hope not, sir, replied Sophia, sighing; that circumstance would aggravate my concern—indeed I think it would be a crime in me to suspect her of being capable of such unkindness.’
‘Well, resumed Mr. Herbert, I will, if possible, discover this mystery before night; you shall hear from me to-morrow; in the mean time calm your mind, and resign yourself entirely to that providence, which while you continue thus good and virtuous, will never forsake you.’
Mr. Herbert now left her, to go and take leave of the curate and his family; and Sophia, whose fortune had undergone so many revolutions in so short a time, retired to her chamber, where she passed great part of the day alone, at once to indulge her melancholy and to conceal it from observation.
In the afternoon Dolly came up, in a great hurry of spirits, to acquaint her that Mrs. Gibbons was come to wait upon her, that she had been met at the door by her mother, and that several courtesies had passed between them.
The poor girl, though transported with joy at this favourable beginning, no sooner perceived by the pensive air in Sophia’s countenance, and the sighs that escaped her, that her suspicions of some new disappointment having happened to her were true, than instantly forgetting the prosperous situation of her own affairs, her sweet face was overspread with tender grief, and a tear stole from her eyes; but Sophia, whom nothing could have awakened from that stupifying sorrow in which any great and sudden misfortune plunges the mind, but the desire of being useful to her friends, soon assumed a more chearful look, and hastened to receive her visitor.
Mrs. Gibbons was in full dress, and had omitted no superfluous ornament that could serve to shew Sophia how well she understood every sort of punctilio. As soon as the first compliments were over, ‘You see, madam, said she, what affluence your commands have over me; I once little thought that I should ever have entered this impolished house again; my nephew attended me to the door, but I would not suffer him to come in, because I am not sure that you are willing to let these people know the honour you do him by receiving his adorations.’
Sophia, though a little startled at these words, yet supposed she had no particular meaning in them, and ascribed all to her fantastick manner of expressing herself; but Mrs. Gibbons being resolved to hasten the conclusion of an affair which she had very much at heart, spoke so intelligibly at last, that Sophia could no longer be ignorant of her design, all the ill consequences of which suddenly striking her imagination, she exclaimed in a tone of surprise and terror, ‘Sure I am the most unfortunate creature in the world! is it possible, Mrs. Gibbons, that you can be serious? have you really given any cause for a report, that I receive your nephew’s addresses? if you have, you have done me an irreparable injury.’
Sophia’s spirits were so greatly agitated that she did not perceive how much of her situation these words discovered; so that Mrs. Gibbons, who saw the tears flow fast from her eyes, immediately comprehended the whole truth.
‘I see plainly, said she, in great concern, that I have been deceived, and others perhaps have been so too; I shall never disculpatemyself for being the cause of any misfortune to you: some more advantageous treatise has been on the tapestry, and this unlucky affair has done mischief.’
‘Give me leave to ask you, madam, interupted Sophia, with some peevishness, what foundation you had for believing that I considered your nephew as my lover? you know his heart has been long since engaged.’
‘I acknowledge I have been to blame, my dear miss, resumed Mrs. Gibbons, I was too sanguinary in my hopes; but I beg you will disclaimno more, this will do no good, only tell me if it is possible to repair the harm I have done by my foolish schemes.’
To this Sophia made no answer; but Mrs. Gibbons, who wanted neither tenderness nor candor, and who was greatly concerned at the uneasiness she saw her under, urged her so frequently, and with so much earnestness, to tell her if she could be of any use in clearing up a mistake that had possibly been disadvantageous to her, that Sophia, still attentive amidst all her own distresses to the interest of her friend, thought this a favourable opportunity to serve her; and therefore told Mrs. Gibbons, that if she was really sincere in her offers, there was one way.
‘I understand you, madam, interrupted Mrs. Gibbons, and I believe I may venture to say that I thought of this expedition before you did. I cannot, indeed, Miss Darnley, I cannot consent to my nephew’s marriage with the young woman here; you know I have been affronted.’
Sophia now urged some arguments in favour of Mrs. Lawson, but chiefly rested her defence upon her ignorance of those form’s of politeness and good breeding which Mrs. Gibbons was so perfectly mistress of.
This compliment put the old lady into so good a humour, that she cried out, ‘Well, my dear Miss Darnley, in regard to you, I will take off the probition I laid on my nephew to visit here no more; and this I hope, added she smiling, will set matters right in another place; as for the rest, I shall take no resolution till I see how they behave.’
Sophia, in her transport at having succeeded so well with the old lady, felt all her own griefs suspended; and indeed when she reflected upon what had happened with regard to herself, she found she had less cause for reflection than Mr. Herbert, or her own fears, had suggested.
Mrs. Gibbons acknowledged that she had flattered herself with the hope of her nephew’s being well received by her; and that, in consequence of it, she had talked of their marriage as an event which was very likely to happen, and which would give her great joy. Sophia, being fully persuaded that these reports had reached Sir Charles, though by what means she was not so well able to determine, easily accounted for that jealousy and resentment which had produced so strange an inconsistency in his behaviour, and which Mr. Herbert considered as a piece of artifice to palliate his lightness and inconstancy.
The good old man, animated by his affection for the poor afflicted Sophia, rode with the utmost speed to town, and alighted at the house of the young baronet. The servants informed him, that their master was in the country, which was all the intelligence they could give him; for they neither knew where he was, nor when he would return. Mr. Herbert, perplexed and concerned at this new disappointment, repaired immediately to Mrs. Darnley’s, hoping to hear some news of him there.
Harriot, in answer to his enquiries, told him with an air of triumph, that the same day they returned from visiting Sophia, Sir Charles had waited on her mamma and her, and had as usual past great part of the afternoon with them.
Mr. Herbert, who was struck with this incident, endeavoured to make some discoveries concerning their conversation, and Harriot’s malice made this no difficult matter: for she could not forbear throwing out some sarcasms against her sister, whose extreme sensibility, she insinuated, had already found out a new object.
Mr. Herbert, by his artful questions, drew her into a confession of all that had passed between her and the baronet upon this subject; and was convinced that her malignant hints had poisoned his mind with suspicions unfavourable to Sophia.
He went away full of indignation at her treachery, and still doubtful of Sir Charles’s sincerity, who he could not suppose would have been so easily influenced by Harriot’s suggestions, (whose envious disposition he well knew,) if his intentions had been absolutely right.
The next morning he received a letter from Sophia, in which she acquainted him with the discoveries she had made; and modestly hinted her belief that Sir Charles had been imposed upon by this report of her intended marriage, which she found was spread through the village, and which, as it was very probable, he had intelligence from thence, had confirmed any idle raillery to that purpose, which her sister might have indulged herself in.
Mr. Herbert reflecting upon all these unlucky circumstances, began to suppose it possible that Sir Charles had been really deceived. He went again to his house, but had the mortification to hear from a servant whom he had not seen the day before, that the baronet was at his seat in—
Thither the good old man resolved to go; the inconveniencies and expence of such a journey, which in his years, and narrow circumstances were not inconsiderable, had not weight enough with him to make him balance a moment whether he should transact this affair by letter, or in person. The happiness of his dear and amiable charge depended upon his success: he therefore delayed no longer than to make the necessary preparations for his journey, and, after writing to Sophia to acquaint her with his design, he set out for Sir Charles’s seat, where he met with a new and more severe disappointment. The first news he heard was, that the baronet was not in that part of the country; and, upon a fuller enquiry of his servants, he was informed that their master had the morning before set out for Dover with an intention to go to Paris.
Mr. Herbert, dispirited with this news, and fatigued with his fruitless journey, retired to his inn, where he passed the lonely hours in melancholy reflections upon the capricious behaviour of Sir Charles, and the undeserved distresses of the innocent Sophia.
Sir Charles, however, notwithstanding appearances, was at present more unhappy than guilty. His resolution to marry Sophia, though suddenly formed, was not the less sincere: he had always loved her with the most ardent passion, and had not the light character of her mother and sister concurred with those prejudices which his youth, his fortune, and his converse with the gay world led him into, his heart, which never ceased to do homage to her virtue, would have sooner suggested to him the only means of being truly happy.
An overstrained delicacy likewise proved another source of disquietude to him. The inequality of their circumstances gave rise to a thousand tormenting doubts: he was afraid, that dazzled with the splendor of his fortune, she would sacrifice her inclinations to her interest, and give him her hand without her heart; and when doing justice to the greatness of her mind, and the real delicacy of her sentiments, he rejected this supposition as too injurious to her, his busy imagination conjured up new forms of distrust: he trembled left, mistaking gratitude for love, she should be deceived by her own generosity and nice sense of obligation, and imagine it was the lover she prefered, when the benefactor only touched her heart.
Such was the perplexed state of his mind, when Mrs. Darnley and Harriot proposed making her a visit. With some difficulty he conquered his desire of accompanying them; but his impatience to hear of her, carried him again to Mrs. Darnley’s much earlier in the evening than it was likely they would return; presuming on his intimacy in the family, he scrupled not to go up stairs, telling the servant he would wait till the ladies came home.
He sat down in the dining room, where he gazed on Sophia’s picture a long time. At last a sudden fancy seized him to visit her apartment, which he knew was on the second floor: he ascended the stairs without being perceived, and with a tender emotion entered the room where his beloved Sophia used to pass so many of her retired hours.
It was still elegantly neat, as when its lovely inmate was there; for Harriot, who hated this room, because it contained so many monuments of her sister’s taste and industry, never went into it; and it remained in the same order that she had left it.
The first thing that drew the young baronet’s attention, was a fire screen of excellent workmanship; it was a flower-piece, and executed with peculiar taste and propriety: the wainscot was adorned with several drawings, neatly framed and glassed. In this art Sophia took great delight, having while her father lived, appropriated all her pocket-money to the payment of a master to instruct her in it. Sir Charles considered the subjects of these drawings with peculiar pleasure. The delicate pencil of Sophia had here represented the virtues and the graces, from those lively ideas which existed in her own charming mind.
Her little library next engaged his notice: many of the books that composed it he had presented her; but he was curious to see those which her own choice had directed her to, and in this examination he met with many proofs of her piety as well as of the excellence of her taste.
Several compositions of her own now fell into his hands; he read them with eagerness, and, charmed with this discovery of those treasures of wit, which she with modest diffidence so carefully concealed, he felt his admiration and tenderness for her encrease every moment.
While he was anxiously searching for more of her papers, a little shagreen case fell from one of the shelves upon the ground. He took it up, and as every thing that belonged to her excited his curiosity, he opened it immediately, and with equal surprise and pleasure, saw his own miniature in water colours, which was evidently the performance of Sophia herself.
Had it been possible for her to imagine the sudden and powerful effect the sight of this picture would have upon the heart of Sir Charles, she would not have suffered so much uneasiness for the loss of it as she really had; for forgetting where she had laid it, she supposed it had dropt out of her pocket, and was apprehensive of its having fallen into her sister’s hands, who she knew would not fail to turn this incident to her disadvantage.
While Sir Charles gazed upon this artless testimony of Sophia’s affection for him, the softest gratitude, the tenderest compassion filled his soul. ‘Oh my Sophia, said he, do you then truly love me! and have I cruelly trifled with your tenderness!’
This thought melted him even to tears; he felt in himself a detestation of those depraved principles which had suggested to him a design of debasing such purity! he wondered at the hardness of his own heart, that could so long resist the influence of her gentle virtues, and suffer such sweet sensibility to waste itself in anxious doubts, and disappointed hope.
Being now determined to do justice to her merit, and make himself happy, his first design was to go immediately to Mr. Lawson’s; but, reflecting that Sophia had great reason to be dissatisfied with his conduct, and that to remove her prejudices, the utmost caution and delicacy was to be observed, he conceived it would be more proper to make a direct application to Mr. Herbert, whom she loved and reverenced as a father, than to present himself before her, while her mind yet laboured with those unfavourable suspicions for which he had given but too much cause; and hence new fears and doubts arose to torment him. He dreaded left her just resentment for his injurious designs should have weakened those tender impressions she had once received, and that in the pride of offended virtue every softer sentiment would be lost.
Impatient of this cruel state of suspense and inquietude, he left Sophia’s apartment, and repairing to the dining-room, rang the bell for the servant, of whom he enquired where Mr. Herbert lodged. Having obtained a direction, he went immediately to the house; Mr. Herbert was not at home, and Sir Charles grieved at this disappointment, and at Mrs. Darnley’s not returning that night, from whom he hoped to have heard some news of Sophia; the agitation of his mind made him think it an age till the next day, in which he determined to put an end to all his perplexities, and to fix his fate.
After his interview with Mr. Herbert, and the good old man’s departure to prepare Sophia for his intended visit, the young baronet resigned his whole soul to tenderness and joy. His impatience to see Sophia encreased with his hope of finding her sentiments for him unchanged, and he regretted a thousand times his having suffered Mr. Herbert to go away without him.
Mean time a card came from Mrs. Darnley and Harriot, acquainting him that they were returned, and thanking him for the use of his servants and chariot. Sir Charles, eager to hear news of his Sophia, went immediately to wait on them, and scarce were the first compliments over, when he enquired for her with such apparent emotion, that, Harriot mortified to the last degree, resolved to be even with him, and said every thing that she thought would torment him, and prejudice her sister.
She told him that Sophia was the most contented creature in the world, and that she was so charmed with her present way of life, and her new companions, that she seemed to have forgot all her old friends, and even her relations. ‘She is grown a meer country girl, said she, is always wandering about in the fields and meadows, followed by a young rustic who has fallen in love with her. I rallied her a little upon her taste; but I found she could not bear it, and indeed he is extremely handsome, and she says, has had a genteel education.’
Harriot was at once pleased and grieved at observing the effect these insinuations had on Sir Charles; his colour changed, he trembled, and fixing his eyes on the ground, he remained pensive and silent, while Harriot, notwithstanding her mother’s significant frowns, proceeded in a malicious detail of little circumstances partly invented, and partly mistaken, which fixed the sharpest stings of jealousy in his heart.
If in dealing with cunning persons we were always to consider their ends, in order to interpret their speeches, much of their artifice would lose its effect; but Sir Charles had so contemptible an opinion of Harriot’s understanding, that although he knew she was malicious, he never suspected her of being capable of laying schemes to gratify her malice, and did not suppose she was mistress of invention enough to form so plausible a tale as that she had told.
Impatient under those cruel doubts which now possessed him, he resolved to go, late as it was in the evening, to Mr. Lawson’s house, and taking an abrupt leave of Mrs. Darnley and her daughter, he went home, and ordered his horses to be got ready. He scarce knew his own design by taking this journey at so improper a time; but in the extreme agitation of his mind, the first idea of relief that naturally presented itself was to see Sophia, who alone could destroy or confirm his fears; and this he eagerly pursued without any farther reflection.
The servant to whom he had sent his orders, made no haste to execute them, as conceiving it to be a most extravagant whim in his master to set out upon a journey so late, and in that manner. While he with studied delays protracted the time, hoping for some change in his resolutions, Sir Charles racked with impatience, counted moments for hours; message after message was dispatched to the groom. The horses at length were brought, and Sir Charles with only one servant gallop’d away, never stopping till he came to the place where Sophia resided.
It was now night, and the indecorum of making a visit at such a time in a family where he was a stranger first striking his thoughts, he resolved to alight at an inn which he saw at a small distance, and there consider what it was best for him to do.
A guest of his appearance soon engaged the attention of the host and his wife. They quitted two men with whom they had then been talking, and, with a great deal of officious civility, attended upon Sir Charles, who desired to be shewn into a room. As he was following the good woman, who declared he should have the best in her house, the two men with whom she had been talking, bowed to him when he passed by them; the salute of the younger having a certain grace in it that drew his attention, he looked back on him, and at the sight of a very handsome face, and a person uncommonly genteel, his heart, by its throbbing emotion, immediately suggested to him, that this beautiful youth was the lover of his Sophia.
The jealousy which Harriot’s insinuations had kindled in his heart, now raged with redoubled force; this rival, whom she had called a rustic, and whom he fondly hoped to find such, possessed the most attractive graces of form, and probably wanted neither wit nor politeness. Sophia’s youth, her tenderness, her sensibility wounded by his dissembled indifference, and the cruel capriciousness of his conduct, all disposed her to receive a new impression, and who so proper to touch her heart as this lovely youth, whose passion, as innocent as it was ardent and sincere, banished all doubt and suspicion, and left her whole soul open to the soft pleadings of gratitude and love?
While he was wholly absorb’d in these tormenting reflections, and incapable of taking any resolution, the officious landlady entered his chamber to take his orders for supper.
Sir Charles, surprised to find it was so late, resolved to stay there all night, and after giving the good woman some directions, his restless curiosity impelled him to ask her several questions concerning the old man and the youth whom he had seen talking to her.
The hostess, who was as communicative as he could desire, told him, that the old man was one farmer Gibbons, of whom she had been buying a load of hay; that the young one was his son, and a great scholard. ‘His aunt, pursued she, breeds him up to be a gentleman, and she has a power of money, and designs to leave it all to him, much good may it do him, for he is as handsome a young man as one would desire to see. Some time ago it was all over our town that he was going to be married to the parson’s youngest daughter, and she is a pretty creature, and disarves him if he was more richer, and handsomer than he is; but whatever is the matter, the old folks have changed their mind, and his aunt, they say, wants to make up a match between him and a fine London lady that boards at the parson’s; but I’ll never believe it till I see it, for she and the parson’s daughter are great friends, they say, and it would not be a friendly part to rob the poor girl of her sweetheart. To say the truth, I believe there is some juggling among them; but this I keep to myself, for I would not make mischief; therefore I never tell my thoughts to any body, but I wish the young folks well.’
Sir Charles, who had listened to her with great emotion, dismissed her now, that he might be at liberty to reflect on what he had heard, which although it did not lead him to a full discovery of the truth, yet it suggested thoughts which relieved him in some degree from those dreadful pangs of jealousy with which he had hitherto been tortured, and balanced at least his fears and his hopes.
His impatience to free himself from this state of perplexity and suspence, allowed him but little repose that night; he rose as soon as the day appeared, and it was with some difficulty that he prevailed upon himself to defer his visit till a seasonable hour; and then being informed that Mr. Lawson’s house was scarce a mile distant, he left his servant and horses at the inn, and walked thither, amidst a thousand anxious thoughts, which made him dread as much as he wished for an interview, which was to decide his fate.
As he drew near the house, he perceived a young man sauntering about in an adjacent field, whose air and mien had a great resemblance of the youth whom he had seen in the inn. Sir Charles, eager to satisfy his doubts, followed him at a distance, and the youth turning again his wishing eyes towards the house, the baronet had a full view of his face.
At the sight of his young rival his heart throbbed as if it would leave his breast: he hastily retreated behind the hedge, determined to watch his motions; for he imagined, and with reason, that he came there to meet his mistress; and who that mistress was, whether Sophia, or the curate’s daugher, was the distracting doubt, which he now expected to have satisfied.
He walked along by the side of the hedge, still keeping William in sight, who suddenly turning back, rather flew than ran to meet a woman who beckoned to him. Sir Charles saw at once his Sophia, and the fatal sign, which planted a thousand daggers in his heart. Trembling and pale he leaned against a tree, which concealed him from view, and saw her advance towards his rival, saw her in earnest discourse with him; and, to compleat his distraction and despair, saw the happy youth throw himself at her feet, doubtless to thank her for the sacrifice she made to him of a richer lover.
Such was the inference he drew from this action; and now rage and indignation succeeding to grief, in these first transports, he was upon the point of discovering himself, and sacrificing the hated youth to his vengeance; but a moment’s reflection shewed him the dishonour of a contest with so despicable a rival, and turned all his resentment against Sophia, who having quitted her supposed lover, took her way back again to the house. Sir Charles followed her with disordered haste, resolved to load her with reproaches for her inconstancy; then, unwilling to gratify her pride by such an acknowledgment of his weakness, he turned back, cursing love, women, and his own ill fate. In this temper he wandered about a long time; at last he again returned to the inn, where after giving orders to have his horses got ready, he wrote that letter to Mr. Herbert, in which he so well disguised the anguish of his heart, that the good old man believed his breaking off the affair was the effect of his lightness and inconstancy only, though Sophia’s quicker penetration easily discovered the latent jealousy that had dictated it.
Sir Charles ordered his servant to deliver the letter into Mr. Herbert’s hands; then mounting his horse, he bid him follow him as soon as he had executed his commission. The young baronet, who retired to his country seat to conceal his melancholy, and fondly flattered himself that he should soon overcome that fatal passion which had been the source of so much disgust to him, found his mind so cruelly tortured with the remembrance of Sophia, that he reassumed his first design of going abroad, and unfortunately set out for Dover, the day before Mr. Herbert’s arrival.
The good old man being obliged to send Sophia this bad news, filled his letter with tender consolations, and wise and prudent counsels: he exhorted her to bear this stroke of fortune with that dignity of patience which distinguishes the good and wise.
‘The virtue of prosperity, said he, is temperance, the virtue of adversity fortitude; it is this last which you are now called upon to exert, and which the innocence of your life may well inspire you with; for be assured, my dear child, that it is the greatest consolation under misfortunes to be conscious of having always meant well, and to be convinced that nothing but guilt deserves to be considered as a severe evil.’
Sophia in her answer displayed a mind struggling against its own tenderness, offering up its disappointed hopes, its griefs, and desires, in pious sacrifice to the will of Providence, and seeking in religion all its consolation and support.
‘Can a virtuous person, said she, however oppressed by poverty, and in consequence neglected by the world, be said to want friends and comforters who can look into his own mind with modest approbation, and to whom recollection furnishes a source of joy? Every good action he has performed is a friend, every instance of pious resignation is a comforter, who cheer him with present peace, and support him with hopes of future happiness. Can he be said to be alone, and deprived of the pleasures of society, who converses with saints and angels? is he without distinction and reward whose life his almighty Creator approves?’
[To be continued.]
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