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his dear wife's own maid, and who was now transferred to Emilia,-that was quite out of the question; and the services of the kitchen-girl were absolutely necessary,-besides, her wages were so very trifling. For these reasons, therefore, was the Doctor, as usual, utterly at a loss. But now, as there would be an addition to the family, he resolved to make himself perfectly easy, and to feel convinced, malgre some certain misgivings, that it was right and proper to let matters go on as usual until the time should arrive for Charles's departure for Oxford. And then, when his family would be reduced to only two persons, he might easily curtail his expenditure.

It was some months before our return that young Blackwell became an inmate of the Rectory. He was a strange fellow; alternately bashful and presuming; awkward and uncouth in his manners, yet aping every mincing dandy, of a certain grade, that fell in his way, and ever talking of this, that, and the other thing, custom, and mode, being "gentlemanly." He had withal an exceeding good opinion of himself, and seemed to consider the situation in which he stood as a tacit acknowledgment of his superior abilities, though it afterwards appeared that he had barely passed his examination.

During the progress of these events, poor Emilia had been suffering from the effects of her parent's "What's to be done?" system. Left entirely to herself, her time was divided be tween the contents of the circulating library (then much more "trashy" than at present) and hearing and telling town "news ;" and the latter occupation being more amusing, and perhaps rendering her more acceptable in society, soon engaged almost the whole of her time. The worthy Rector too, at first, listened with interest to her town and village gossip, inasmuch as it served to beguile the tedious progress of time, which ever marches heavily along with the man who has no pursuit or settled plan of

action. But, it is due to the character of the Rector to add, that, when his daughter's news assumed the character of scandal, as, in due course, it inevitably did, he was exceedingly alarmed, and began to think seriously upon the manner in which the dear girl was spending her time. The result was, as usual, "What's to be done?" Divers plans, ay and excellent plans too, flitted before him as he lay cogitating on his pillow, or "daundering" in his garden with his hands in his pockets. He would write to an accomplished lady whom he had formerly known, who resided at Bath, and received into her establishment a limited number of young ladies, who had the advantage of the best masters, and were introduced into the best society under her own eye. But then the state of his finances, considering that Charles must go to Oxford, compelled him to relinquish that idea for the present; and other schemes were abandoned for similar reasons.

It may perhaps appear that we are unworthily reflecting upon the Doctor for an indecision for which poverty were a sufficient excuse. But the fact is, that the state of his finances was the consequence of his want of decision. He knew that if his children lived, they must arrive at years of maturity and he knew that unto him only could they look for support; and when he dared to think, he felt that he was not treading in a path that was likely to terminate in their happiness.

:

Knows it at forty, and reforms his plan;

"At thirty man suspects himself a fool

At fifty blames his infamous delay;
Yet lingers on till sixty-and again,
In all the magnanimity of thought,

Resolves and re-resolves. Then dies the same."

This was the state of the Doctor's mind. He spent his days in fruitless conviction of error, ever inquiring "What's to be done?"

He never, but on one occasion, attempted to justify his procrastination to our uncle, who was acquainted with

the exact state of his affairs; and then he averred that, considering the position which he held in society, he really did not know how he could consistently do otherwise than he did; for that any reduction in his establishment would have a very strange look, and really he didn't know what people would think. There would have been no difficulty, he allowed, if he had never kept more than one man-servant, and so on; but now "it" would have a very strange appearance. To all this, and more of the like calibre, the veteran listened with a considerable degree of pain, and then responded in this wise. "My dear Doctor, you and I have known each other too long to render it necessary that we should talk nonsense, and endeavor to bamboozle one another. Show me the man that would think the worse of you for doing your duty to your wife and children, and I'll prove the fellow to be unworthy of your friendship. Your position in society indeed! Have you a friend or acquaintance who is ignorant of the value of your living? It is worth eight hundred, and by G—!—I beg your pardonhow the devil you have muddled that sum away every year lately, seems marvellous; but no matter, so it seems to be.

What would be your opinion of a general who allowed his men to stand upon a hill to be swept away by the enemy's fire, because he didn't know what they might think of his taking a fresh position behind it? But I know how you argue. You endeavor to wheedle yourself into an approval of delay which you feel and know to be dangerous; but you cannot-nor can you deceive your real friends, every one of whom would think much more highly of you if it were not for this blot-I would not heedlessly wound your feelings-this foible in your character. Zounds, man! if you don't change your cursed position, as you call it, very soonand you may do so now with honoryou'll be forced from it in disgrace. By Heaven! I cannot think of the thing with patience, so I'll say no 47 ATHENEUM, VOL. 2, 3d series.

more about it. I shall swear if I do I know I shall. God!- -bless you! There, there's my hand, Doctor; you know you may command me in any way;-but here comes InglisI want to speak to him-the fellow has got an idea of committing matrimony."

The reason why we have chosen to speak of the worthy Doctor, rather than of some others of the class of "What's to be done?" people who have come under our cognizance, is, that from the certainty of his resources he seemed to be in less danger of suffering from giving way to habitual procrastination. His duties were simple and specific: well understood and admitted even in the midst of neglect. When these are numerous and complicated, the abandonment of mind to that miserable state of weakness which we have endeavored to describe, must be more speedily fatal to happiness. Besides, this one, if such a mode of speaking of any mortal being may be allowed, was the Doctor's only failing. All his other duties, wherein this master-vice did not interfere, were performed with the strictest and most conscientious exactness; and his name will not cease to be spoken of with respect, till the present generation shall be gathered to their fathers.

Never was the assertion, that "as the twig is bent the tree's inclined," more fully proved than in the case of Emilia and Charles Smithers. The latter felt that he had lost much time; but, notwithstanding, lost much more before he went to Oxford; and, when there, exhibited a complete counterpart of his father's conduct, neglecting, and ever bewailing the neglect of his duties.

The event was as might be expected. After putting off the evil day from time to time, he at length went up for his examination, and was "plucked." He was then transferred to Cambridge, where, it was hoped, his classics might pass ; but there, the mathematics started up as a lion in his way; and truly it might be said, that, when poring, or rather dreaming, oyer what appeared

a chaos of figures and problems, he knew not "What was to be done?"

From amid these difficulties, the poor fellow was summoned home to a scene of deep distress. His father was on his deathbed on his arrival; and a few weeks terminated his mortal career. Then was poor Charles left in the world, in his twenty-fourth year, without profession or property; for it appeared that the Doctor's estale was not even adequate to defray the expenses of dilapidations which had been for years in progress at the Rectory, unheeded or neglected.

The Colonel, with his usual goodness of heart, resolved to uphold him at college, provided his pecuniary assistance was likely to be serviceable; but he never took a step without previously reconnoitering; and after exchanging some letters with Cambridge friends, was compelled to abandon the idea, as being little better than sending the poor youth on a "forlorn hope," in which his character afforded small chance of success; and where defeat, after past occurrences, would stamp him with irremediable disgrace.

From that period, Charles Smithers's life has been one of a very different nature from that which he might in his youth have fairly anticipated would have been his lot. His first useful occupation was that of an assistant at the grammar-school where we were both educated; but the worthy clergyman at its head was compelled to tell our uncle, that he could not retain him in that situation, consistently with the duty he owed to his pupils. Perhaps the painful feelings which must have been his lot, in the midst of those whom he had known and felt upon an equality with in happier days, might have rendered him unfit for his office. They must have been acute; for, till his parent's death, he had no idea of his circumstances, or perhaps he might, ere habit had grown too strong, have shaken off his hereditary apathy.

The next effort made by our uncle was, perhaps, injudicious, for he never

reflected thereon with pleasure, and we have often thought, was persuaded into it contrary to his better judgment; but he was not of those who, when they have taken an active part in anything that is unsuccessful, endeavor to throw the odium of defeat upon their colleagues. Among the intimate friends of the late Doctor, a sum was raised, sufficient to purchase for poor Charles a share in an academy in the vicinity of London, where the higher classics were not read. This sum was to be considered as a loan, in order that feelings of gratitude and honor might stimulate him to exertion. All went on well apparently for some years; and Emilia went to live with her brother, having no other resource, in consequence of the very superficial nature of her education.

The next time we heard of Charles was when his partner died, and he became, in consequence, sole proprietor of the establishment; and, shortly afterwards, he took unto himself a wife, as a matter of course one of the "What's to be done?" species. Thus left to himself, old and incurable habits assumed their ancient sway, if, indeed, they had ever been conquered; and in a very short space of time, his school dwindled away, and left him, like his poor father, to lament over his darkening prospects, and saunter about, inquiring and wondering "What was to be done?" thing was done; or he might, even then, have repaid his friends, and retained their confidence and respect; but he lingered on, with the expenses of a large and useless establishment, till "poverty came upon him like an armed man."

No

The first intimation we received of his difficulties was from the London Gazette, where our uncle discovered his name in the list of bankrupts, when looking over its pages for military intelligence. It appeared afterwards that the poor fellow had been gradually sinking; that he paid his tradesmen's bills very honestly as long as his capital lasted, and then began to contrive excuses, which answered

the purpose very well for a certain length of time, at the end of which, as he had not even then quite made up his mind about "What was to be done?" his landlord settled the point for him by making a seizure for rent, whereupon the butcher, baker, grocer, cheesemonger, &c. upon that hint, did speak," in terms by no means so respectful and polite as whilom they had used when "soliciting his favors," in their various and respective "lines." This failure made a sad impression upon all of us. We had learned, from the best authority, that the late inaster of the academy left behind him no less a sum than seven thousand pounds, the whole of which he had accumulated in the house where Charles Smithers became a bankrupt, while his friends were congratulating themselves on the success of their endeavors in his behalf. It seems that, at the death of his partner, he might be said, after deducting the amount of his debts, and of the bond held by our uncle, (which the parties concerned agreed should never be demanded,) to have been worth fifteen hundred pounds, besides the "goodwill" of the school, which he might have retained, with all its advantages, to this day, had he taken a partner more competent than himself, to superintend the duties. To this course, divers friends had urged him in vain, although he acknowledged that he frequently felt his own deficiency. He could not be charged with extravagance nor inattention, if staying at home, and letting things go on in their old course, were an adequate defence against these imputations. His was an abandonment and sheer wreck of property, respectability, and future prospects, in the face of conviction, merely because he never could decide the question, "What's to be done ?"

The exertions and interest of friends, after a while, procured for him a subordinate situation in one of the public offices, which he yet retains, and above which he is never likely to rise, unless he can overcome

his hábitual inanity, of which there seems little probability. He is now the father of four children, who are brought up in such a manner as to render it too probable that the third generation of Smitherses will pursue the steps of their forefathers, and go forth into the world without knowing "What's to be done ?"

Emilia was kindly invited, from respect to her father, to spend a few months, after her brother's misfortunes, with several families in our neighborhood. It was a painful sight to see that poor girl. Many people thought her handsome, and she was herself of that opinion; and, in the weakness of her poor untutored mind, deemed that, having lived near the metropolis, (to her, synonimous with living among the "world" therein,) she must be superior to the country ladies around her. She was at that critical age when the unmarried fair are said to change the question of, "I wonder whom I shall have ?" into that of, "I wonder who will have

me ?" And truly she did seem determined to solve the question, and set about it with a spirit to which we had not supposed any of the family could have been roused. She made some desperate lunges; and, we really think, might have carried the point with a good-tempered foxhunting squire, had it not happened that, one rainy morning, they were left tête-à-tête together, accidentally, for two long hours. Determined to make the agreeable, the poor girl rattled on with town-talk and gossiping nonsense, and the squire laughed and seemed well pleased; for the learned and deep blue among the daughters of Eve found no favor in his eyes and so far all went on well; but, alas! Emilia knew not where to stop, and thinking mayhap of rivals, or having nothing else to say, she ventured upon divers of those evil reports, usually as false as malicious, which, ever and anon, disgrace every petty gossiping circle in the united kingdoms. Squire Henchman, whose heart lay, as folks say, "in the right place," listened at

first with surprise, then with pain, and took leave with pleasure; and thenceforth was no more seen dangling after the fair Emilia, who felt much at a loss about "What was to be done?" As time rolled on, matrimonial views gradually assumed the aspect of a forlorn hope. At our uncle's decease, he left her a small annuity, by the assistance of which she is enabled to live with two elderly maiden ladies of a somewhat similar mental calibre; and, though we may risk the chance of being accused of scandal for the

avowal, we much fear that their time is not spent in such conversation as becomes Christians who are instructed to "do unto others as they would that others should do unto them."

Much as we abominate such sort of discourse, truth, however, compels us to say, that we verily believe it hath not its rise so frequently from feelings of envy, hatred, and malice, as in the stagnant and noisome wilderness of an uncultivated mind, ever seeking, but apparently never knowing, "What is to be done?"

TO A FRIEND ON HIS BIRTH-DAY.

"Virides fecere merendo."-Old Motto.

HAVE you walked in the fields, when the sun
Through the trees is really burning,
And the village children, one by one,
To their cottage homes are turning?
Hast thou not bow'd to their laughing
mirth,

As they toss'd the wild-flowers far and
nigh,

Their voices ringing over the earth ;They cannot have gone unheeded by. Their thoughts are fresh, and their hearts are green,

Oh, they have not seen what thou hast seen!

Have you not mark'd in the quiet aisle Of Tintern church, the sweet and fair, The wandering leaf of the ivy smile,

In gladness on the pulpit stair? You have not forgot the aged man,

With shepherd staff, and hoary hair, You turn'd from your homeward path to

scan,

So old, and yet so free from care— His soul was bright, tho' his eyes were dim, The God of his youth was light to him.

Thou art sad! thy heart is journeying back

To the guide of thy early day,Hast thou stray'd so far from his peaceful track,

Are all his foot-prints worn away?
Have you walked in a path benighted,
Beguiled by a flickering spark;
The lamp of joy your father lighted,

Oh, is its bright flame burning dark?
Surely, oh surely it cannot be,
The thought of that face hath gone from
thee!

The green nest of the bird will perish,

The violet know its place no more,— The ivy of virtue will cherish

The greenness it cherished of yore. Friend of my youth! 'twere sweet to bor

row

The soft gleam from that ivy leaf, "Twill be a light on the eye of sorrow,

"Twill be a smile on the cheek of grief. The peace of God on that ivy will be Father and mother, yea more, to thee.

THE SECOND BEST.

EVELINE MEYNELL, daughter of Sir John Meynell, was possessed of a mind and heart equally noble; the former strong, clear and cultivated, the latter running over with the milk of human kindness. The character of this admirable woman, who had acquired the appellation of "the Second Best," and who well merited all the praise which this comprehensive title can imply, is more fully exhibited in the

following letters. They are written by different persons, and spread through nearly five-and-twenty years of time. The first is from her father to his lady-wife. He was with the army in Germany, during the SevenYears'-War.

"I fear, my worthy love, there is but distant prospect of my being able to return to you. Would that I had

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