CHAPTER II.

THE parting kiss and affectionate embraces of parents and relatives, with the scenes and tender recollections of childhood, threw an "air of sadness" over the youthful countenances of the cousins, as they silently pursued their journey, meditating on the past, and fearful of the future even the forest of Sherwood failed to excite their notice or observation, and they unconsciously found themselves at the door of their new abode; a spacious, old-fashioned house, the birth-place, and former residence of a late noble lord, celebrated for writing his "Advice to his Son."

Miss Phillips, who in early life was the intimate friend of Mrs. Harris, was of a decidedly religious character. In youth she had been somewhat gay and thoughtless; but a succession of losses and disappointments, led her to see the folly of

leaning upon this earth for support and comfort, which is

"A broken reed at best, but oft a spear."

She renounced the world with its allurements, and consecrated her superior talents to the service of piety, proving the consolations of the gospel alone able to heal her wounded mind. Naturally affable, kind, and generous, her urbanity of manners soon gained the affections of the poor, to whom she was at all times a disinterested friend and counsellor. Accustomed to maintain her authority in the school-room, she was sometimes led insensibly to slide into the character of dictator in the social circle; but her frank and ingenuous acknowledgment of error, quickly removed every unpleasant feeling, and her society was universally desired and sought. She received her new pupils with affectionate tenderness, and tried every effort, by administering to their gratification and happiness, to make them forget the pain of separation from relatives.

They were soon introduced to their fu

ture companions, Louisa Anderson, Marianne, and Charlotte Norwood, and Sophia Bailey, who anticipated much pleasure in the society of the new-comers.

Louisa was early deprived of parental care the lingering consumption which terminated her father's existence, was speedily followed by the delirious fever of her mother, who in a few days became also an inhabitant of an unseen eternity. Thus left an orphan at the age of five, she became an inmate in Mr. Sander's dwelling; he being left sole guardian in her father's will. Her romantic turn of mind, did not meet with any counteraction in the early part of her education, and at the age of fifteen, when committed to the care of Miss Phillips, she was a strange melange of good and evil. Possessed of a lively imagination, she would abandon herself to its wayward fancies, forget all that is actual, and being more occupied with the ideal than the presert, she contemned the realities of life, as unworthy of her attention, and consequently was a

perfect slattern.

Having gained some exalted notions of human nature from attending the Socinian ministry, which well agreed with the natural pride of her own heart, she viewed herself as quite competent to practise virtue and to shun vice. Though affectionate and generous, she could seldom boast of having friends, the ardency of her attachment soon giving place to poetic effusions, of brighter regions in her imaginative Elysium: very susceptible, she formed many hasty intimacies, but they were no sooner formed than broken, for she appeared more anxious to gain the favour of many, than to secure the affections of one.

Marianne and Charlotte Norwood had been trained in a boarding-school from their infancy: their step-mother, considering this the most effectual way of silencing the censorious world, in her suspected partiality towards her own children. Marianne was loquacious, sarcastic, and witty; ever ready to make all the objects of her satire, and resembling touch

wood in taking offence from others, she seldom allowed the natural affection of her heart to disclose itself, but was generally engaged in some petty feud or quarrel; the latent energies of her mind were never called forth, and she that loved no one, had no one to love her.

Charlotte was inferior to her sister in her capacity for learning, had been frightened in her childhood with ghost-stories, which still retained a cowardly influence over her mind; and she was selfish, morose, and revengeful.

Sophia Bailey, a good-natured, passionate girl, had been papa's pet, and mamma's favourite, for the last twelve years, and was now sent to school for fear of being spoiled.

Miss Phillips congratulated herself on the characters of her new pupils, who free from all affectation, were modest, unassuming, and truly amiable; she sedulously renewed her efforts to correct those errors in their companions, that had been allowed to grow unrestrained, until all around