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cap, black stuff-gown, and a white apron, tucked up sideways, stood before him.

"And who is your mistress, pretty one?" said Charles, with that indescribable smile of his, for there was a something in the girl's manners and appearance which operated like a charm-" Who is your mistress, and where does she live?" "Over the way, if you please, sir. Her name is Mrs. Saville."

"I don't know her, my dear," replied Charles.

"I know that, sir," and a sort of awkward blush diffused itself over her countenance, called there as much by the strange meaning of Charles's gaze, as by his flattering epithets of "dear," and "pretty one."

"Are you sure you are right?" he continued.

"Quite sure, sir," she replied; "my mistress said, 'Mary, do you see that poor young man sitting there?--he seems ill-go and tell him I want to speak with him.'-So I have come to tell you."

The innocence and simplicity of this mode of authenticating her embassy left no doubt upon Charles's mind, that Mrs. Saville, whoever she might be, did "want to speak with him ;" and he followed his conductress to a large, old-fashioned, but substantially-built mansion, which stood back twelve or fifteen yards from the public road. He was ushered into a spacious parlor, solidly rather than elegantly furnished, where he found Mrs. Saville. She was considerably advanced in years, somewhat below the middle height, with flaxen hair, and a remarkably pale, but delicately-transparent complexion.

Her

air was courteous and refined, and bespoke the gentlewoman of the old school. There was a clear silvery tone in her voice, coupled with a certain emphatic precision in her mode of talking, and a quiet ease in her stately unembarrassed manner, which forcibly reminded Charles of his own beloved mother; nor was 44 ATHENEUM, VOL. 5, 3d series.

this impression weakened by a peculiar character of benignity and goodness which dwelt upon her still interesting countenance.

Benevolence and pity, when they are of the right quality, (equally remote from the parade of doing good, and the impertinence of worthless curiosity,) perform their task with a gentle impatience to hasten relief, by sparing the unfortunate every anxious feeling of suspense. Mrs. Saville, in a few kind words, informed Charles of her motive in sending for him. He was touched to the very heart. It seemed as if the years of his infancy and boyhood had returned; for, never since his mother's death, had the voice of man or woman reached his heart. It seemed, too, as if here were a being the heart might trust; one who would not fling upon its breathings the churlish spirit of a selfish world, nor interpret its desires by the cold cunning of sordid calculation; one whom even he, with all his proud scorn of unrequited benefits, could be coutent to call and feel his benefactor. He related what had befallen him on the road, and how it had hence chanced that he was in his present plight. But this was only half the tale; his expressive features, his natural grace, and the simple eloquence of ingenuous truth, told for him, while, as he partook of refreshments he so much needed, Mrs. Saville extracted in detail the "story of his life.”

"You have spoken much of your mother," said Mrs. Saville; "but nothing of your father."

"I never knew him; he died when I was in my cradle."

"That was a sad mischance." "My mother felt it so," replied Charles; "for as often as she talked to me of him, it was with a grief as fresh as when he died."

"Then you know the manner of his death?"observed Mrs. Saville.

In answer to this question, Charles related all the circumstances of that event, as he had heard them from his mother. Mrs. Saville appeared

greatly interested with the narra- river, by the aid of stepping-stones,

tive; for it partook of that deeptoned melancholy with which it was ever invested by her from whose lips alone he had listened to its recital.

"I do think," said she, when he had concluded, "it were a thousand pities you should not have a friend at this critical moment of your life." "It is a wide world, madam," replied Charles, thoughtfully," and there are paths enough for all who are in it sooner or later, I shall find my way into one of them."

"So I doubt not you will," answered Mrs. Saville; "but it is because the world is wide, because there are many paths, and because of those many, there be some that are very bad, that they who are entering upon it, and have their path to choose, stand in need of those who have gone before them to direct their steps."

"I have been the child of misfortune hitherto by decree," said Charles; "henceforth, I elect my self the child of fortune by choice, and bind myself upon her wheel, the seeker of all its giddy turns."

His features brightened, and a bold daring flashed from his eyes, as the still fascinating vision of a troubled destiny dimly floated before his fancy.

"I will not seek to turn you from your choice," continued Mrs. Saville, with the same unperturbed and mild tone of expostulation she had all along maintained; “I would only ask to be permitted to give, myself, one of those turns of fortune's wheel, of which you are so enamored."

Charles was silent.

"Come, young man," added Mrs. Saville, "let me have power to persuade you, there is an overruling Providence that guides (and to fulfil its own inscrutable purposes) all the seeming chances of this life. Compare our journey through it, from the time when we commence it alone, to a traveller having to cross a broad and rapid

placed at irregular, and sometimes hazardous, distances. You are that traveller; you have arrived at the margin of this river; you are considering how you shall cross it; let me place your foot on the first of these stepping-stones. How you are to reach the next, and the next, and the next, and whether you are to find them many or few, that so your passage shall be easy or difficult, nor you nor I can tell ; but Fortune, your chosen goddess, offers you the first."

This unexpected and irresistible appeal, urged with such singular adroitness and delicacy, urged, too, in tones, and with a persuasive gentleness, that strangely recalled thrilling remembrances of his mother, overpowered the feelings of Charles. A thousand emotions struggled for utterance; but all he could say, or rather attempt to say, was a stammering acknowledgment of gratitude, without accepting or refusing the kindness that excited it.

"Your agitation," continued Mrs. Saville, after a short pause, "convinces me I have struck the chord whose vibrations are in unison with my desires. I take your answer from the unerring oracle of awakened feelings which have no words, but express themselves in the trembling language of the eye, or the burning of the flushed cheek. You are my guest to-day. Tomorrow, you shall depart upon an errand that I dare promise myself will not disappoint mine or your hopes. Remain here," she added, rising from her chair, "I will return directly." With these words she left the room.

Before Charles could recover from the spell-trance into which this address had thrown him, Mrs. Saville re-entered the apartment, with an open letter in her hand.

"I feel assured," said she, "I am only fulfilling an appointed duty in what I have done, for these things are not the work of chance.

This is a letter to my brother. He is an excellent man, and has the power, where he sees the propriety, of befriending the friendless. If he take you by the hand, it must be your own fault should you not adequately benefit by the introduction. You shall hear what I have said, that you may know precisely the circumstances under which you will present yourself to him."

Mrs. Saville then read the letter. It was little more than a statement of the manner in which she had become acquainted with Charles and his history, and a simple, but earnest entreaty, that he would endeavor to complete what she had begun.

"Now," continued Mrs. Saville, "you shall depart with this early to-morrow. If you are at the first mile-stone, beyond the turnpike where the two roads meet, a little before five o'clock, the stage will pass in which you may proceed to London."

"I am utterly unable, madam" -exclaimed Charles, with an agitated voice

"Spare yourself and me," interrupted Mrs. Saville. "I should be sorry if you were able to say what it is natural you should feel, on an occasion like this. So here let us dismiss the subject. We shall not be at a loss, I dare say," she added, smiling, "for others;" and immediately led the conversation into various channels, till the excitement of Charles's mind gradually subsided. He then entered with animated freedom into discourse; and it was easy to perceive how her first favorable impressions were deepened, as she insensibly drew from him the authentic transcript of his mind.

When night came, he took leave of Mrs. Saville. His farewell was imprinted on the hand extended towards him, with a silent fervor that would have satisfied the excellent Mr. Cranfield his heart was indeed "in the right place." In his bedroom he found the letter lying on

the table, sealed and directed; and beside it a neat silken purse containing twenty guineas.

Charles sat down to think; to live over again the extraordinary day he had passed. He was too young and inexperienced to read its eventful history, by the sober light of reason. The world and its concerns, the human heart and its mysteries, the holy deeds of unobtrusive virtue, were to him all unknown. What had happened, therefore, seemed more like a tale of fairy-land, than that thing merely which men call good fortune; of which the instances are so many, that were they all recorded, we should cease to write romance, as less romantic than truth. Thought could not help him out of his perplexity. "View it how I will," he exclaimed, at the close of his meditations, "it is a miracle; but at all events I will see the end of it."

With this declaration he retired to bed. In the morning he awoke refreshed and cheerful. When he descended from his room, the only person he saw was the pretty doveeyed lass, who had been the ambassadress of Mrs. Saville the preceding day. She looked as if she knew all that had happened, and rejoiced in her knowledge. A passing word of gallantry escaped his lips, as she opened the door for him; and hastening to the "first mile-stone beyond the turnpike-gate," the stage soon arrived in which he was conveyed to London.

It should be here mentioned, that when Charles entered the village, and seated himself upon the old stone, in the way already described, Julia Montague, a young lady in her eighteeth year, and the niece of Mrs. Saville, was standing at the parlor window, while her aunt was busy settling the accounts of the week in another part of the room. It is not meant to be insinuated, that if, instead of Charles Coventry, (and the reader remembers what sort of a looking person Charles Coventry was,) a poor, decrepid,

aged man, had rested his weary limbs on that same piece of antique stone, there would have been the least difference in Julia Montague's humanity. Be that as it may, however, it was entirely owing to her humanity, in the first instance, that Mrs. Saville saw Charles at all; for the weekly accounts were very long, and it is exceedingly probable he would have left his seat before they were finished, had not her niece been the first to pity his distressed condition. Oh, the unsearchable depths of woman's sensibility!

The letter which Charles carried with him was directed to Nicholas Howard, Esq., Thames Street. Thither he proceeded the moment he arrived in London. Mr. Howard was at home. He read the letter, and there was a smile upon his features, as if mentally exclaiming, "another of my good sister's benevolent whims !" Mr. Howard, however, though, as Mrs. Saville had said, "an excellent man," was very much a man of the world. His reception of Charles, therefore, was marked by a degree of caution which appeared cold and repulsive. It was evident, too, from the questions he put, (and which Charles answered frankly but haughtily, because they were tacit impeachments of his veracity,) that he did not quite believe the story of himself as related by Mrs. Saville. At the close of the interview, he said he must inquire further of Mr. Cranfield, before he could promise to attend to his sister's request, offering him, meanwhile, some small pecuniary aid, if he stood in need of it.

"I do not, sir," said Charles respectfully; "Mrs. Saville has placed me beyond the reach of immediate difficulties; but were it otherwise, I could not consider myself worthy of your bounty, till you thought me worthy of your confidence."

Mr. Howard smiled, as men in whom experience has worn off the

4

first fine edge of ingenuous feelings are apt to smile, when they listen to sentiments which they remember as once their owa, and remember, too, how, like the perfume of a gathered flower, they are hastening to decay in the beaten paths of life. He named a day when Charles was to call again, and they separated.

"What a difference between brother and sister!" he exclaimed, as he left the house; ignorant that their hearts might be cast in the same mould, but that the brother knew the world, and the sister did not. "Nothing will come of this, I see," he added, "for he has suspicions of me, which I would rather sweep the streets than condescend to remove "-and his proud blood mantled into his cheek.

Charles repeated his visit at the appointed time, armed with premeditated dislike-almost with an irritable spirit of predetermined offence. Mr. Howard's altered manner dissipated in a moment the petulant humors of a week's nursing. was a man of few words; but his words, like his dealings, were direct, and to a given purpose.

He

"Mr. Coventry," said he, when Charles had taken a seat, "I can now give you my confidence. I have seen Mr. Cranfield; I have also, unexpectedly, had opportunities of making other inquiries; and the best proof of their result is, the offer I at once make of receiving you into my employment." What followed may be briefly described. The situation was one of small emolument; but to Charles, (who accepted it with silent contrition for his ungenerous suspicions of Mr. Howard at their first interview,) it was an estate, compared with his earnings in the service of Cranfield.

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trophe of the old comedy;" but there was a sober, steady, progressive improvement, which, by the time he was three-and-twenty, trebled his original salary. Nor was this because Mr. Howard was liberal. It was because Charles was diligent, to render himself worthy of advancement. Had he been without that stirring quality which will not let its possessor keep the valley, while others tread the heights, his merely faithful services would have reaped the harvest which thinly strews the garners of negative virtue, while bolder, if not always better, husbandry, gathers in its abounding crop. But he had in his composition the first element, the fundamental basis of all prosperity in life, where prosperity waits upon desert-a fixed determination to be master of his situation whatever it might be. Had he been only a shoe-black, he would infallibly have been the best shoe-black of his time or place.

This impulse led him to widen the range of his studies, so as to embrace those comprehensive principles of commerce, which, in their practical application, produce that combination so rare in every country save England, the merchant statesman; who makes knowledge the handinaid of enterprise; and surveys, with a philosophic mind, the rational and artificial wants, the physical resources, the moral characteristics, and the political institutions, of all nations, to render all tributary to the prosperity of his own. Mr. Howard quickly discovered the expanding resources of Charles's mind, and insensibly began to treat him with that deference which intellectual superiority, in whatever shape it manifests itself, enforces alike from those who can, and those who cannot, estimate its precise value. Charles was gradually admitted to his confidence, consulted upon specific undertakings, and referred to for facts, connected with complicated questions of foreign or domestic trade. In

no one case did Mr. Howard find this confidence misplaced, or the advice he sought, or the information he required, inapplicable to its purpose.

Thus fortified in his opinions of his eminent qualities, and satisfied, from experience, that his prudence, and his cautious habits, were in no way injuriously affected by the impetuous energy of his general character, he confided to his management an affair of vital importance, as connected with both the honor and the stability of the house. A voyage to India, however, was necessary; and thither Charles went (then only in his five-andtwentieth year,) entrusted with full power to act upon his sole responsibility, in a matter of such vast magnitude that it might have added furrows to a brow already wrinkled by a long life spent in adjusting similar transactions. But he approached the question undismayed; not from any over-weening reliance upon himself, but because, having deliberately investigated it, he believed he clearly saw where the justice of the case lay, and in that (if he were right) he had determined his strength should lie. He was right: and he stood like a rock. One by one, he obtained, from the adverse parties, the admissions which built up the defence of his own position; and when the whole was complete, they had no alternative but to concede the issue, or deny their previous acquiescence in all the premises upon which it was legitimately established.

At the expiration of three years, Charles returned to England. Mr. Howard received him with warm congratulations, being already apprised, by his letters, of the course and issue of the negociation. The sum which it involved was little less than half a million sterling; and this had not merely been released, but the mode of its release had completely effaced every mark of apparent dishonor, which eager enemies and cold friends had sought

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