CHAPTER II.

THE DISAPPOINTMENTS IN THE FRIENDSHIPS OF A MAN OF THE WORLD, AS RELATED BY MR. MANNERS.-HIS ACCOUNT OF A MODERN PHARISEE, AND OF CERTAIN MODERN FEMALE CHARACTERS.-THE VISITING BOOK OF A LADY OF FASHION.-HIS

OPINION OF THE PROFES

SION OF AN AUTHOR.

It is a pretty mocking of the life.

Here is a touch! Is't good?

I'll say of it,

It tutors nature.

SHAKSPEARE.-Timon of Athens.

WHEN I first set out to re-visit the Grange, nothing promised fairer than the weather; but the gathering of summer clouds, at first fleecy and light, and emitting a few heat drops, soon thickening into dark heavy masses, and pouring down torrents, compelled me to look for shelter.

I found it in one of the pretty cottages that throng the forest, the mistress of which, a welllooking young woman, beckoned me to her door, and begged me to come in. I did So, and found an epitome of neatness and comfort which always

pleases. She had two children, whose appearance, as well as her own, exhibited the same neatness. Yet she was engaged in menial offices; in fact, by the pots on the fire, preparing food for her little ones, and, as I supposed, her expected husband.

I asked if this was not the case, which brought a gloom over her countenance, when she told me she was a widow.

"So young?" said I.

"Yes," she replied; and she and her babes might have sunk under it, for they had had misfortunes, and the creditors were hard with them, and all her means had failed with her husband's life. "But God," said she, "raised me up friends."

As I liked this sort of conversation, I asked who? and she replied,

"Two gentlemen in the neighbourhood, Sir William Thompson, who lived in the great house I had just passed, and Mr. Manners, of the Grange."

Struck a little with this, I wished to hear more of her benefactors, and as I needed no information as to Mr. Manners, inquired about Sir William.

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They be both good," replied the poor woman, "and will, I hope, both go to heaven for what they did for the widow and orphan; I am sure I should be the most ungratefullest wretch upon earth if I did pray for them both, particularly Mr. Manners."

not

Here she became embarrassed, as if she had said something improper, and began to explain that she did not mean any thing particular by that against Sir William, for it was most true, that both were excellent gentlemen, and "God knows,” she added, "to me have been blessed benefactors, for they preserved me and my infants from sinking beyond redemption nor do I really know as to their goodness that there can be any difference between them, for both are good, and give away a deal of money; and yet yet—"

Here she paused again, as if in thought, and fearful to go on.

"And yet what?" said I, wishing to hear her story.

"O! I am afraid I am very ungrateful, and therefore very wicked, to make the least distinction between these good gentlemen, who have both wiped the widow's tears, and comforted her and her babes against the wind and cold, when they had no house, nor bread to eat."

At this she looked around her neat and warm apartment, where every thing was so comfortable. "No," she proceeded, "Sir William has even done more for us, as to money, than Mr. Manners; and I must be a bad creature to like one better than t'other, if indeed I do so."

Here again she looked rather distressed, as if taking herself to task, and sighed not a little.

"My good woman," I observed, desirous to encourage her not to think ill of herself, "I am sure one who seems so sensible to kindness, and so grateful, can have no reason for self-blame."

"Ah! Sir," she replied, "I believe it is because I am so sensible to kindness that I feel I do like one better than the other; and that's what makes me so angry with myself; for I am not more grateful to Mr. Manners, though I cannot help liking him best; and I am sure I pray God to bless them both, for both deserve it."

A tear stood in her eye as she said this, and as she wiped it away, she added

"God forgive me, I have been very foolish to talk so. I hope, sir, you are not a friend to Sir William. I am sure I would rather die than offend him after all he has done for me."

To comfort her, I told her I was not at all acquainted with Sir William, but was the friend of Mr. Manners, to whose house I was going; and I asked her to tell me why she preferred the one to the other, when both were so good.

"I am sure," answered she, "I be not able to tell, except that Mr. Manners be more kind-like(no-that's not it neither, for Sir William, as I say, is very kind), but Mr. Manners be more free, and talks to me like a father, and planned my little garden for me himself, and often comes into the cottage and hears the children read; and when I

first fell into misfortin, Sir William only sent his man to me, who rather huffed me; but Mr. Manners cum himself, and was as gentle as a lamb. Besides, though Sir William gave me a good deal of this furniture, I never saw him but once, for he seldom calls, and never comes in when he does, and always holds himself high; and his butler, who sometimes brings messages, be higher still. Poor folks can always distinguish these things by the pleasure or pain it give them.”

"Well, my good woman," said I, "you have explained this perfectly well, and I can easily understand it; nor would Sir William, I dare say, himself take it ill, when he heard that Mr. Manners seemed like a father to you, which he must know he did not."

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"O! Sir," she replied, "if you be going to Mr. Manners's, I hope you will not mention any thing I have said of him; but I must always love him as a pattern for all other gentlefolks."

The demeanour of this good creature really affected me, and gave me a good lecture to boot on the mistake of those who, however generous as to money, think that the mere giving it away suffices to all the requisites of charity. It gave me, too, the best comment on what St. Paul says upon the subject, "that though a man give all his goods to feed the poor, and hath not charity, it profiteth him nothing."