In the afternoon, when the company were assembled in the drawing-room, the conversation turned on various subjects. Mr. Flam, feeling as if he had not sufficiently produced himself at dinner now took the lead. He was never solicitous to show what he called his learning, but when Miss Sparkes was present, whom it was his grand delight to set down as he called it. Then he never failed to give broad hints that if he was now no great student, it was not from ignorance, but from the pressure of more indispensable avocations.

He first rambled into some desultory remarks on the absurdity of the world, and the preposterousness of modern usages, which perverted the ends of education, and exalted things which were of least use into most importance.

"You seem out of humor with the world, Mr. Flam," said Mr. Stanley. "I hate the world," returned he. "It is indeed," replied Mr. Stanley, "a scene of much danger, because of much evil."

"I don't value the danger a straw," rejoined Mr. Flam; "and as to the evil, I hope I have sense enough to avoid that: but I hate it for its folly, and despise it for its inconsistency."

"In what particulars, Mr. Flam?" said Sir John Belfield.

"In every thing," replied he. "In the first place, don't people educate their daughters entirely for holidays, and then wonder that they are of no use? Don't they charge them to be modest, and then teach them every thing that can make them bold? Are we not angry that they don't attend to great concerns, after having instructed them to take the most pains for the least things? There is my Fan, now, they tell me she can dance as well as a posture mistress, but she slouches in her walk like a milkmaid. Now as she seldom dances, and is always walking, would it not be more rational to teach her to do that best which she is to do the oftenest? She sings like a siren, but 'tis only to strangers. I, who paid for it, never hear her voice. She is always warbling in a distant room, or in every room where there is company; but if I have the gout and want to be amused, she is as dumb as a dormouse."

"So much for the errors in educating our daughters," said Sir John, "now for the sons."

"As to our boys," returned Mr. Flam, "don't we educate them in one religion, and then expect them to practice another? Don't we cram them with books of heathen philosophy, and then bid them go and be good Christians? Don't we teach them to admire the heroes and gods of the old poets, when there is hardly one hero, and certainly not one god, who would not in this country have been tried at the Old Bailey, if not executed at Tyburn? And as to the goddesses, if they had been brought before us on the bench, brother Stanley, there is scarcely one of them but we should have ordered to the house of correction. The queen of them, indeed, I should have sent to the ducking-stool for a scold.

"Then again, don't we tell our sons when men that they must admire a monarchical government, after every pains have been taken, when they were boys, to fill them with raptures for the ancient republics?"

"Surely, Mr. Flam," said Sir John, "the ancient forms of government may be studied with advantage, were it only to show us by contrast the superior excellence of our own."

"We might," said Miss Sparkes, in a supercilious accent, "learn some things from them which we much want. You have been speaking of economy. These republicans, whom Mr. Flam is pleased to speak of with so much contempt, he must allow, had some good, clever contrivances to keep down the taxes, which it would do us no harm to imitate. Victories were much better bargains to them than they are to us. A few laurel leaves or a sprig of oak was not quite so dear as a pension."

"But you will allow, madam," said Sir John, smiling, "that a triumph was a more expensive reward than a title?"

Before she had time to answer, Mr. Flam said: "Let me tell you, Miss Sparkes, that as to triumphs, our heroes are so used to them at sea, that they would laugh at them at home. Those who obtain triumphs as often as they meet their enemies, would despise such holiday play among their friends. We don't to be sure reward them as your ancients did. We don't banish them, nor put them to death for saving their country like your Athenians. We don't pay them with a trumpery wreath like your Romans. We English don't put our conquerors off with leaves; we give them fruits, as cheerfully bestowed as they are fairly earned. God bless them! I would reduce my table to one dish, my hall to one servant, my stable to one saddle-horse, and my kennel to one pointer, rather than abridge the preservers of old England of a feather."

"Signal exploits, if nationally beneficial," said Sir John, "deserve substantial remuneration; and I am inclined to think that public honors are valuable, not only as rewards but incitements. They are as politic as they are just. When Miltiades and his illustrious ten thousand gained their immortal victory, would not a Blenheim erected on the plains of Marathon, have stimulated unborn soldiers more than the little transitory columns which barely recorded the names of the victors?"

"What warrior," said Mr. Carlton, "will hereafter visit the future palace of Trafalgar without reverence? A reverence, the purity of which will be in no degree impaired by contemplating such an additional motive to emulation."

In answer to some further observations of Miss Sparkes, on the superiority of the ancient to British patriotism, Mr. Flam, whose indignation now provoked him to display his whole stock of erudition, eagerly exclaimed: "Do you call that patriotism in your favorite Athenians, to be so fond of raree-shows, as not only to devote the money of the state to the play-house, but to make it capital to divert a little of it to the wants of the gallant soldiers who were fighting their battles? I hate to hear fellows called patriots who preferred their diversions to their country."

Then erecting himself as if he felt the taller for being an Englishman, he added—"What, Madam Sparkes, would your Greeks have said to a Patriotic Fund by private contribution, of nearly half a million, in the midst of heavy taxes and a tedious war, voluntarily raised and cheerfully given to the orphans, widows, and mothers of their brave countrymen, who fell in their defense? Were the poor soldiers who fought under your Cimons, and your ——, I forget their names, ever so kindly remembered? Make it out that they were—show me such a spirit among your ancients, and I'll turn republican to-morrow."

Miss Sparkes having again said something which he thought tended to exalt the ancient states at the expense of our own country, Mr. Flam indignantly replied—"Tell me, madam, did your Athens, or your Sparta, or your Rome, ever take in seven thousand starving priests driven from a country with which they were at war; a country they had reason to hate, of a religion they detested? Did they ever receive them, I say, maintain them like gentlemen, and caress them like friends? If you can bring me one such instance, I will give up Old England, and turn Greek, or Roman, or—any thing but Frenchman."

"I should be inclined," said Mr. Stanley, "to set down that noble deed to the account of our national religion, as well as of our national generosity."

Miss Sparkes said, "In one respect, however, Mr. Flam imitates the French whom he is abusing. He is very apt to triumph where he has gained no victory. If you hear his account of a defeat, you would take it, like theirs, for a conquest." She added, however, that there were illustrious men in other countries beside our own, as their successes testified. For her part, she was a citizen of the world, and honored heroes wherever they were found, in Macedon, in Sweden, or even in France.

"True enough," rejoined Mr. Flam, "the rulers of other countries have gone about and delivered kingdoms as we are doing; but there is this difference: they free them from mild masters, to make them their own slaves; we neither get them for ourselves or our minions, our brothers, or cousins, our Jeromes, or Josephs. We raise the weak, they pull down the prosperous. If we redeem kingdoms, 'tis to bestow them on their own lawful kings. If we help this nation, 'tis to recall one sovereign from banishment, if we assist that, 'tis to deliver him from captivity."

"What a scene for Spain," said Sir John, "to behold in us their own national Quixotism soberly exemplified, and rationally realized! The generous theory of their romantic knight-errant brought into actual practice. The fervor without the absurdity; the sound principle of justice without the extravagance of fancy! Wrongs redressed and rights restored, and upon the grandest scale! Deliverance wrought, not for imaginary princesses, but for deposed and imprisoned monarchs! Injuries avenged—not the ideal injuries of ridiculous individuals, but the substantial wrongs of plundered empires!"

Sir John, who was amused with the oddities of Mr. Flam, was desirous of still provoking him to talk; much effort indeed was not required to induce him to do what he was fond of doing, whenever there was an opportunity of contradicting Miss Sparkes.

"But, Mr. Flam," said Sir John, "you were interrupted as you began to enumerate the inconsistencies which you said had put you out of love with the world."

"Why, it makes me mad," replied he, "to hear men who make the loudest outcry about the dangers of the state, cramming their houses with French governesses, French cooks, and French valets; is not this adding flame to the fire? Then I have no patience to see people who pretend great zeal for the church, delighted that an Italian singer should have a larger revenue than the highest of our own bishops. Such patriots might have done well enough for Athenians," added he, looking exultingly at Miss Sparkes, "but they make miserable Englishmen. Then I hate to see fellows who pay least taxes, complaining most of the burden—those who most lament the hardness of the times, spending money in needless extravagance, and luxury increasing in exact proportion as means diminish.

"Then I am sick of the conceit of the boys and girls. Do but observe how their vanity imposes on their understanding, and how names disguise things. My son would start, if I were to desire him to go to London in the stage coach, but he puts himself into the mail with great coolness. If I were to talk to Fan about living in a small house, she would not give me the hearing, whereas she is quite wild to live in a cottage."

"I do not quite agree with you, Mr. Flam," said Sir John, smiling, "as to the inconsistency of the world, I rather lament its dull uniformity. If we may rely on those living chronicles, the newspapers, all is one faultless scene of monotonous perfection. Were it otherwise, I presume those frugal philologers would not keep a set of phrases ready cut and dried, in order to apply them universally in all cases. For instance, is not every public place from St. James's to Otaheite, or the Cape, invariably crowded with beauty and fashion? Is not every public sermon pronounced to be excellent? Is not every civic speech, every provincial harangue, neat and appropriate? And is not every military corps, from the veteran regiment of regulars, to the volunteer company of a month's standing, always declared to be in the highest state of discipline?"

Before the company went away, I observed that Mrs. Carlton gave Lucilla a significant glance, and both withdrew together. In spite of my thorough belief of the injustice and absurdity of my suspicions, a pang darted through my heart at the bare possibility that Lord Staunton might be the subject of this secret conference. I was perfectly assured, that Miss Stanley would never accept him, while he retained his present character, but that character might be improved. She had rejected him for his principles; if these principles were changed, there was no other reasonable ground of objection. He might be reformed. Dare I own, even to myself, that I dreaded to hear of his reformation. I hate myself for the thought. I will, said I faintly, endeavor to rejoice if it be so. I felt a conflict in my mind, between my principles and my passion, that distressed me not a little. My integrity had never before been so assailed. At length they returned; I earnestly examined their countenances. Both looked cheerful, and even animated; yet it was evident from the redness of their eyes that they had been weeping. The company immediately took their leave; all our party, as it was a fine evening, attended them out to their carriages, except Miss Stanley: she only pressed the hand of Mrs. Carlton, smiled, and looking as if she durst not trust herself to talk to her, withdrew to the bow window from whence she could see them depart. I remained in the room. As she was wiping her eyes to take away the redness, which was a sure way to increase it, I ventured to join her, and inquired with an earnestness I could not conceal, what had happened to distress her. "These are not tears of distress," said she, sweetly smiling. "I am quite ashamed that I have so little self-control; but Mrs. Carlton has given me so much pleasure! I have caught the infection of her joy, though my foolish sympathy looks more like sorrow." Surely, said I, indignantly to myself, she will not own Lord Staunton's love to my face?

All frank and open as Miss Stanley was, I was afraid to press her. I had not courage to ask what I longed to know. Though Lord Staunton's renewed addresses might not give them so much pleasure, yet his reformation, I knew, would. I now looked so earnestly inquisitive at Lucilla, that she said, "My poor friend is at last quite happy. I know you will rejoice with us. Mr. Carlton has for some time regularly read the Bible with her. He condescends to hear her and to invite her remarks, telling her, that if he is the better classic, she is the better Christian, and that their assistance in the things which each understands must be reciprocal. If he is her teacher in human literature, he says, she must be his in that which is divine. He has been very earnest to get his mind imbued with scriptural knowledge; but this is not all.

"Last Saturday he said to her, 'Henrietta, I have but one complaint to make of you; and it is for a fault which I always thought would be the last I should ever have to charge you with. It is selfishness.' Mrs. Carlton was a little shocked, though the tenderness of his manner mitigated her alarm. 'Henrietta,' resumed he, 'you intend to go to heaven without your husband? I know you always retire to your dressing-room, not only for your private devotions, but to read prayers to your maids. What have your men-servants done, what has your husband done, that they should be excluded? Is it not a little selfish, my Henrietta,' added he, smiling, 'to confine your zeal to the eternal happiness of your own sex? Will you allow me and our men-servants to join you? To-morrow is Sunday, we will then, if you please, begin in the hall. You shall prepare what you would have read; and I will be your chaplain. A most unworthy one, Henrietta, I confess; but you will not only have a chaplain of your own making, but a Christian also.'

"'Never, my dear Lucilla,' continued Mrs. Carlton, 'did I know what true happiness was till that moment. My husband, with all his faults, had always been remarkably sincere. Indeed, his aversion to all hypocrisy had made him keep back his right feelings and sentiments till he was assured they were well established in his mind. He has for some time been regular at church, a thing, he said, too much taken up as a customary form to be remarkable, and which therefore involved not much; but family prayer, adopted from conviction of its being a duty, rather pledged a man to consistent religion. Never, I hope, shall I forget the joy I felt, nor my gratitude to that 'Being from whom all holy desires proceed,' when, with all his family kneeling solemnly around him, I heard my once unhappy husband with a sober fervor begin:

"'To the Lord our God belong mercies and forgivenesses, though we have rebelled against him, neither have we obeyed the voice of the Lord our God, to walk in his laws which he set before us.'

"He evidently struggled with his own feelings; but his manly mind carried him through with an admirable mixture of dignity and feeling. He was so serenely cheerful the rest of the evening that I felt he had obtained a great victory over himself, and his heart was at peace within him. Prayer with him was not a beginning form, but a consummation of his better purposes."

The sweet girl could not forbear weeping again while she was giving me this interesting account. I felt as if I had never loved her till then. To see her so full of sensibility without the slightest tincture of romance, so feeling, yet so sober-minded, enchanted me. I could now afford to wish heartily for Lord Staunton's reformation, because it was not likely to interfere with my hopes. And now the danger was over, I even endeavored to make myself believe that I should have wished it in any event, so treacherous will the human heart be found by those who watch its motions. And it proceeds from not watching them that the generality are so little acquainted with the evils which lurk within it.

Before I had time to express half what I felt to the fair narrator the party came in. They seemed as much puzzled at the position in which they found Lucilla and myself, she wiping her eyes, and I standing by in admiration, as I had been at her mysterious interview with Mrs. Carlton. The Belfields knew not what to make of it. The mother's looks expressed astonishment and anxiety. The father's eye demanded an explanation. All this mute eloquence passed in an instant. Miss Stanley gave them not time to inquire. She flew to her mother, and eagerly repeated the little tale which furnished matter for grateful joy and improving conversation the rest of the evening.

Mr. Stanley expressed a thorough confidence in the sincerity of Carlton. "He had always," continued he, "in his worst days an abhorrence of deceit, and such a dread of people appearing better than they are, that he even commended that most absurd practice of Dean Swift, who, you know, used to perform family prayers in a garret, for fear any one should call in and detect him in the performance." Carlton defended this as an honorable instance of Swift's abhorrence of ostentation in religion. I opposed it on the more probable ground of his being ashamed of it. For allowing, what however never can be allowed, that an ordinary man might have some excuse for the dread of being sneered at, as wanting to be thought righteous overmuch; yet in a churchman, in a dignified churchman, family prayer would be expected as a customary decency, an indispensable appendage to his situation, which, though it might be practiced without piety, could not be omitted without disgrace, and which even a sensible infidel, considering it merely as a professional act, could not say was a custom