A NOVEL. BY THE AUTHOR OF "EMILIA WYNDHAM," "TWO OLD MEN'S TALES," &c. No common object to your sight displays, IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. ANGELA. CHAPTER I. Oh, come with me And we will all the pleasures prove A BRIGHT, sunny day, at the end of April, and a light, open travelling-carriage, with gay, prancing post-horses, and two very pretty girls within one in a bonnet and feathers, and a rich, travelling pelisse lined with sables; and the other with a small mourning bonnet over her beautiful face, and covered up in a large warm cloak, which hides her own, and which her companion keeps tucking up about her to keep her warm. For though the sun is so bright there is a sharpness still in the wind. That was a pretty sight! To see the patroness so careful of the depen VOL. III. B dant, tending her, and petting her, and looking after her comforts. And why? Because the young dependant was delicate, and shivering with cold, and just recovering from a nervous fever, and because she herself was hale, and hearty, and well. Pride never does such things as these. Pride argues quite in a different manner, and teaches us to claim all these services from others as due to our station, and to dispense with them to others, as not suited to theirs. Pride teaches us to look at ourselves and others--not as we are, but as we stand-not as we want, but as we have-hardening the heart, and perverting the head: the devil's own passion it is. It was the absence of pride which rendered them both so happy. Augusta had found a friend; and a friend was an equal: Angela had found a sister; and a sister was an equal. It was not pride; but it was the rescue from that humbling and false position in which she had found herself in Mrs. Usherwood's family, that rendered this sort of instinctive, rather than avowed equality, so exquisitely delightful to her. And if you never were in such a position yourselves, don't pretend to be philosophical, and "don't care" about other people's mortifications. Mortification is always a very painful thing; and to a fine temper far more painful than any of the material privations of poverty. And this, I hope, you will remember in your dealings with those not so well off as yourselves. But as for my describing the sweet feeling of devotion and gratitude with which Miss Darby's generous conduct filled Angela's heart, I despair of it, though I repeat myself in attempting it. You might see it in those sweet, grateful eyes, and in that affectionate smile, when she looked up and spoke to her, in answer to the many kind, considerate attentions that were lavished upon her. They were very sweet, and not more sweet than necessary; for Angela was still weak and nervous, and a little thing was sufficient to weary or overset her. But the day was so fine; the pleasant crispiness of the air from a slight frost so animating; the corner of the carriage she occupied so easy; and the large wadded cloak so warm, that, added to the cheerful talk of her lively companion, she found this journey of a few hours perfectly delightful. It was evening before they arrived at Donnington. It is an ugly country is the neighbourhood of Newmarket, with its wide downs, its unenclosed tracts of corn-fields, and its black clumps of trees scantily appearing from time to time, and looking like spectral, rather than verdant, groves in the landscape. Woods in these situations scarcely diminish the bareness and dreariness of the view at all. They look only like great black blocks |