Appendix (1)

Examples of the Remaining Situations

Situation (2): Jane: But that teacher, Miss Scatcherd, is so cruel to you? Helen: Cruel? Not at all! She is severe: she dislikes my faults. Jane: And if I were in your place I should dislike her: I should resist her, if she struck me with that rod, I should get it from her hand; I should break it under her nose. Helen: Probably you would do nothing of the sort: but if you did, Mr. Brocklehurst would expel you from the school; that would be a great grief to your relations. It is far better to endure patiently a smart which nobody feels but yourself, than to commit a hasty action whose evil consequences will extend to all connected with you__ and, besides, the Bible bids us return good for evil. Jane: But then it seems disgraceful to be flogged, and to be sent to stand in the middle of a room full of people; and you are such a great girl: I am far younger than you and I could not bear it. Helen: Yet it would be your duty to bear it, if you could not avoid it: it is weak and silly to say you cannot bear what it is your fate to be required to bear. Jane: You say you have faults, Helen: what are they? To me you seem very good. Helen: Then learn from me, not to judge by appearances: I am, as Miss Scatcherd said, slatternly; I seldom put, and never keep things in order; I am careless; I forget rules; I read when I should learn my lessons; I have no method; and sometimes I say, like you, I cannot bear to be subjected to systematic arrangements. This is all very provoking to Miss Scatcherd, who is naturally neat, punctual and particular. Jane: And cross and cruel. Helen: (kept silent) Situation (3): Jane: A great deal: you are good to those who are good to you. It is all I ever desire to be. If people were always kind and obedient to those who are cruel and unjust, the wicked people would have it all their own way: they would never feel afraid, and so they would never alter, but would grow worse and worse. When we are struck at without a reason, we should strike back again very hard; I am sure we should so hard as to teach the person who struck us never to do it again. Helen: You will change your mind, I hope, when you grow older: as yet you are but a little untaught girl.

163 Jane: But I feel this, Helen: I must dislike those who, whatever I do to please them, persist in disliking me; I must resist those who punish me unjustly. It is as natural as that I should love those who show me affection, or submit to punishment when I feel it is deserved. Helen: Heathens and savage tribes hold that doctrine, but Christians and civilized nations disown it. Jane: How? I dont understand. Helen: It is not violence that best overcomes hate nor vengeance that most certainly heals injury. Jane: What then? Helen: Read the New Testament, and observe what Christ says, and how he acts make his word your rule, and his conduct your example. Jane: What does he say? Helen: Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that hate you and despitefully use you. Jane: Then I should love Mrs. Reed, which I cannot do; I should bless her son John, which is impossible. Situation (4): Jane: Helen, why do you stay with a girl whom everybody believes to be a liar? Helen: Everybody, Jane? Why, there are only eighty people who have heard you called so, and the world contains hundreds of millions. Jane: But what have I to do with millions? The eighty I know despise me. Helen: Jane, you are mistaken: probably not one in the school either despises or dislikes you: many, I am sure, pity you much. Jane: How can they pity me after what Mr. Brocklehurst said? Helen: Mr. Brocklehurst is not a god; nor is he even a great and admired man: he is little liked here; he never took steps to make himself liked. Had he treated you as an special favorite, you would have found enemies, declared covert, all around you; as it is the greater number would offer you sympathy if they dared. Teachers and pupils may look coldly on you for a day or two, but friendly feelings are concealed in their hearts; and if you persevere in doing well, these feelings will ere long appear so much the more evidently for their temporary suppression. Besides, Jane, Jane: Well, Helen? Helen: If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends. Jane: No; I know I should think well of myself; but that is not enough: if others dont love me, I would rather die than live I cannot bear to be solitary and hated,

164 Helen. Look here; to gain some real affection from you, or Miss Temple, or any other whom I truly love, I would willingly submit to have the bone of my arm broken, or to let a bull toss me, or to stand behind a kicking horse, and let it dash its hoof at my chest, Helen: Hush, Jane! You think too much of the love of human beings; you are too impulsive, too vehement: the sovereign hand that created your frame, and put life into it, has provided you with other resources than you feeble self, or than creatures feeble as you. Besides this earth, and besides the race of men, there is an invisible world and a kingdom of spirits: that world is round us, for it is every where; and those spirits watch us, for they are commissioned to guard us; and if we were dying in pain and shame, if scorn smote us on all sides, and hared crushed us, angels see our tortures, recognize our innocence (if innocent we be: as I know you are of this charge which Mr. Brocklehurst has weakly and pompously repeated at second hand from Mrs. Reed; for I read a sincere nature in your ardent eyes and on your clear front), and God waits only the separation of spirit from flesh to crown us with a full reward. Why, then, should we ever sink overwhelmed with distress, when life is so soon over, and death is so certain and entrance to happiness: to glory? Jane: (I was silent) Situation (7): Rochester: Now you know that it is the illegitimate offspring of a French opera-girl, you will perhaps think differently of your post and protge: you will be coming to me some day with notice that you have found another place that you beg me to look out for a new governess, &c. eh? Jane: No Adle is not answerable for either her mothers faults or yours: I have a regard for her, and now that I know she is, in a sense, parentless forsaken by her mother and disowned by you, sir I shall cling closer to her than before. How could I possibly prefer the spoilt pet of a wealthy family, who would hate her governess as a nuisance, to a lonely little orphan, who leans towards her as a friend? Rochester: Oh, that is the light in which you view it! Well, I must go in now; and you too: it darkens. Situation (12): Nelly: I see no reason that he should not know, as well as you, and if you are his choice, hell be the most unfortunate creature that ever was born! As soon as you become Mrs. Linton, he loses friend, and love, and all! Have you considered how youll bear the separation, and how hell bear to be quite deserted in the world? Because, Miss Catherine Catherine: He quite deserted! We separated! Who is to separate us, pray? Theyll meet the fate of Milo! Not as long as I live, Ellen for no mortal creature. Every Linton on the face of the earth might melt into nothing, before I could consent to

165 forsake Heathcliff. Oh, thats not what I intend thats not what I mean! I shouldnt be Mrs. Linton were such a price demanded! Hell be as much to me as he has been all his lifetime. Edgar must shake off his antipathy, and tolerate him at least. He will when he learns my true feelings towards him. Nelly, I see now you think me a selfish wretch, but did it never strike you that if Heathcliff and I married, we should be beggars? whereas if I marry Linton, I can aid Heathcliff to rise, and place him out of my brothers power. Nelly: With your husbands money, Miss Catherine? Youll find him not so pliable as you calculate upon: and, though, Im hardly a judge, I think thats the worst motive youve given yet for being the wife of young Linton. Catherine: It is not, it is the best! The others were the satisfaction of my whims; and for Edgars sake, too, to satisfy him. This is for the sake of one who comprehends in his person my feelings to Edgar and myself. I cannot express it; but surely you and everybody have a notion that there is, or should be, an existence of yours beyond you. What were the use of my creation if I were entirely contained here? My great miseries in this world have been Heathcliffs miseries, and I watched and felt each from the beginning; my great thought in living is himself. If all else perished, and he remained, I should still to continue to be; if all else remained, and he annihilated, the Universe would turn to a mighty stranger. I should not seem a part of it. My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods. Time will change it, Im well aware, as winter changes the trees my love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath a source of little visible delight, but necessary. Nelly, I am Heathcliff hes always, always in my mind not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself but, as my own being so, dont talk of our separation again it is impractical; and Nelly: If I can make any sense of your nonsense, Miss, it only goes to convince me that you are ignorant of the duties you undertake in marrying; or else, that you are a wicked, unprincipled girl. Situation (13): Catherine: But does it not show weakness? Im not envious I never feel hurt at the brightness of Isabellas yellow hair, and the whiteness of her skin; at her dainty elegance, and the fondness all the family exhibit for her. Even you, Nelly, if we have a dispute sometimes, you back Isabella, at once; and I yield like a foolish mother I call her darling, and flatter her into a good temper. It pleases her brother to see us cordial, and that pleases me. But they are very much alike: they are spoiled children, and fancy the world was made for their accommodation; and, though, I humour both, I think a smart chastisement might improve them all the same. Nelly: Youre mistaken, Mrs. Linton. They humour you I know what there would be to do if they did not! You can well afford to indulge their passing whims, as

166 long as their business is to anticipate all your desires you may, however, fall out, at least, over something of equal consequence to both sides; and then those you term weak are very capable of being as obstinate as you! Catherine: And then we shall fight to death, shant we, Nelly? No! I tell you, I have such faith in Lintons love that I believe I might kill him, and he wouldnt wish to retaliate. Situation (17): Heathcliff: What is it to you? I have a right to kiss her, if she chooses, and you have no right to object Im not your husband, you neednt be jealous of me! Catherine: Im not jealous of you, Im jealous for you. Clear your face, you shant scowl at me! If you like Isabella, you shall marry her. But, do you like her, tell the truth, Heathcliff? There, you wont answer. Im certain you dont! Nelly: And would Mr. Linton approve of his sister marrying that man? Heathcliff: Mr. Linton should approve. He might spare himself the trouble. I could do as well without his approbation And, as to you, Catherine, I have a mind to speak a few words, now, while we are at it I want you to be aware that I know you have treated me infernally infernally! Do you hear? And, if you flatter yourself that I dont perceive it you are a fool and if you think I can be consoled by sweet words you are in idiot and if you fancy Ill suffer unrevenged, Ill convince you of the contrary, in a very little while! Meantime, thank you for telling me your sister-in-laws secret I swear Ill make the most of it and stand you aside! Catherine: What new phase of his character is this? Ive treated you infernally and youll take revenge! How will you take it, ungrateful brute? How have I treated you infernally? Heathcliff: I seek no revenge on you. That is not the plan the tyrant grinds down his slaves and they dont turn against him, they crush those beneath them you are welcome to torture me top death for your amusement, only, allow me to amuse myself a little in the same style and refrain from insult, as much as you are able. Having leveled my palace, dont erect a hovel and complacently admire your own charity in giving me that for a home. If I imagined you really wished me to marry Isabella, Id cut my throat! Catherine: Oh, the evil is that Im not jealous, is it? Well, I wont repeat my offer of a wife it is as bad as offering Satan a lost soul your bliss lies, like his, in inflecting misery you prove it Edgar is restored from the ill-temper he gave way to at your coming; I begin to be secure and tranquil; and you, restless to know us at peace, appear resolved on exciting a quarrel quarrel with Edgar if you please, Heathcliff, and deceive his sister; youll hit on exactly the most efficient method of revenging yourself on me.

167

Situation (21): Nelly: You wont go tomorrow, recollect, Miss! You are not dreaming of it, are you? Cathy: (smiles) Nelly: Oh, Ill take good care: Ill have that lock mended, and you can escape by no way else. Cathy: I can get over the wall. The Grange is not a prison, Ellen, and you are not my jailor. And besides, Im almost seventeen. Im a woman and Im certain Linton would recover quickly if he had me to look after him Im older than he is, you know, and wiser, less childish, am I not? And hell soon do as I direct him with some slight coaxing Hes a pretty little darling when hes good. Id make such a pet of him, if he were mine We should never quarrel, should we, after we were used to each other! Dont you like him, Ellen? Nelly: Like him? The worst-tempered bit of a sickly slip that ever struggled into its teens! Happily, as Mr. Heathcliff conjectured, hell not win twenty! I doubt whether hell see spring, indeed and small loss to his family, whenever he drops off, and lucky it is for us that his father took him The kinder he was treated, the more tedious and selfish hed be! Im glad you have no chance of having him for a husband, Miss Catherine! Cathy: Hes younger than I, and he ought to live the longest: he will he must live as long as I do. Hes as strong now as when he first came into the North, Im positive of that! Its only a cold that ails him, the same as papa has You say papa will get better, and why shouldnt he? Nelly: Well, well, after all we neednt trouble ourselves; for listen, Miss and mind, Ill keep my word if you attempt going to Wuthering Heights again, with or without me, I shall inform Mr. Linton, and unless he allows it, the intimacy with your cousin must not be revived. Cathy: It has been revived. Nelly: Must not be continued, then! Situation (24): Mrs. Markham: Well, Mrs. Graham, well, you surprise me! I really gave you credit for having more sense the poor child will be the veriest milksop that ever was sopped! Only think what a man you will make of him, if you persist in Mrs. Graham: I think it a very excellent plan. By that means I hope to save him from one degrading vice at least. I wish I could render the incentives to every other equally innoxious in his case. Mr. Markham: But by such means you will never render him virtuous. What is it that constitutes virtue, Mrs. Graham? Is it the circumstance of being able and willing to resist temptation; or that of having temptations to resist? Is he a strong

168 man that overcomes great obstacles and performs surprising achievements, though by dint of great muscular exertion, and at the risk of some subsequent fatigue, or he that sits in his chair all day, would nothing to do more laborious than stirring the fir, and carrying his food to his mouth? If you would have your son to walk honorably through the world, you must not attempt to clear the stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly over them not insist upon leading him by the hand, but let him learn to go alone. Mrs. Graham: I will lead him by the hand, Mr. Markham, till he has strength to go alone; and I will clear as many stones from his path as I can, and teach him to avoid the rest or walk firmly over them, as you say; for when I have done my utmost, in the way of clearance, there will still be plenty left to exercise all the agility, steadiness, and circumspection he will ever have. It is all very well to talk about noble resistance, and trials of virtue; but for fifty or five hundred men that have yielded to temptation, shew me one that has had virtue to resist. And why should I take it for granted that my son will be one in a thousand? and not rather prepare for the worst, and suppose he will be like his __ like the rest of mankind, unless I take care to prevent it? Mr. Markham: You are very complimentary to us all. Mrs. Graham: I know nothing about you I speak of those I do know and when I see the whole race of mankind (with a few rear exceptions), stumbling and blundering along the path of life, sinking into every pitfall, and breaking their shines over every impediment that lies in their way, shall I not use all the means in my power to ensure for him, a smoother and a safer passage? Mr. Markham: Yes, but the surest means will be, to endeavour to fortify him against temptation, not to remove it out of his way. Mrs. Graham: I will do both, Mr. Markham. God knows he will have temptations enough to assail him, both from within and without, when I have done all I can to render vice as uninviting to him, as it is abominable in its own nature. I myself, have had, indeed, but few incentives to what the world calls vice, but yet, I have experienced temptations and trails of another kind, that have required, on many occasions, more watchfulness and firmness to resist, then I have hitherto been able to muster against them. And this, I believe, is what most others would acknowledge, who are accustomed to reflection, and wishful to strive against their natural corruptions. Mrs. Markham: Yes. But you would not judge of a boy by yourself and my dear Mrs. Graham, let me warn you in good time against the error the fatal error, I may call it of taking that boys education upon yourself. Because you are clever, in some things, and well informed, you may fancy yourself equal to the task; that indeed you are not; and, if you persist in the attempt, believe me, you will bitterly repent it when the mischief is done.

169 Mrs. Graham: I am to send him to school, I suppose, to learn to despise his mothers authority and affection! Mrs. Markham: Oh, no! But if you would have a boy to despise his mother, let her keep him at home, and spend her life in petting him up, and slaving to indulge his follies and caprices. Mrs. Graham: I perfectly agree with Mrs. Markham; but nothing can be further from my principles and practice than such criminal weakness like that. Mrs. Markham: Well, but you will treat him like a girl youll spoil his spirit, and make a mere Miss Nancy of him you will indeed, Mrs. Graham, whatever you may think. But Ill get Mr. Millward to talk to you about it: hell tell you the consequences; hell set it before you as plain as the day; and tell you what you ought to do, and all about it; and, I dont doubt, hell be able to convince you in a minute. Mrs. Graham: No occasion to trouble the vicar. Mr. Markham, here, thinks his powers of conviction at least equal to Mr. Millwards. if I hear not him, neither should I be convinced though one rose from the dead, he would tell you. Well, Mr. Markham, you that maintain that a boy should not be shielded from evil, but sent out to battle against it, alone and unassisted not taught to avoid the snares of life, but boldly to rush into them, or over them, as he may to seek danger rather than shun it, and feed his virtue by temptation, would you Mr. Markham: I beg your pardon, Mrs. Graham but you get on too fast. I have not yet said that a boy should be taught to rush into the snares of life, or even willfully to seek temptation for the sake of exercising his virtue by overcoming it; I only say that it is better to arm and strengthen your hero, than to disarm and enfeeble the foe; and if you were to rear an oak sapling in a hothouse, tending it carefully night and day, and shielding it from every breath of wind, you could not expect it to become a hard tree, like that which has grown up on the mountain-side, exposed to all the action of the elements, and not even sheltered from the shock of the tempest. Mrs. Graham: Granted; but would you use the same argument with regard to a girl? Mr. Markham: Certainly not. Mrs. Graham: No; you would have her to be tenderly and delicately nurtured, like a hot-house plant taught to cling to others for direction and support, and guard it, as much as possible, from the very knowledge of evil. But will you be so good as to inform me, why you make this distinction? Is it that you think she has no virtue? Mr. Markham: Assuredly not. Mrs. Graham: Well, but you affirm that virtue is only elicited by temptation; and you think that a woman cannot be too little exposed to temptation, or too little acquainted with vice, or anything connected therewith. It must be, either, that you

170 think she is essentially so vicious, or so feeble-minded that she cannot withstand temptation, and though she may be pure and innocent as long as she is kept in ignorance and restrained, yet, being destitute of real virtue, to teach how to sin, is at once to make her a sinner, and the greater her knowledge, the wider her liberty, the deeper will her depravity, whereas, in the nobler sex, there is a natural tendency to goodness, guarded by a superior fortitude, which, the more it is exercised by trials and dangers, is only the further developed Mr. Markham: Heaven forbid that I should think so! Mrs. Graham: Well then, it must be that you think they are both weak and prone to err, and the slightest error, the merest shadow of pollution will ruin the one, while the character of the other will be strengthened and embellished his education properly finished by a little practical acquaintance with forbidden things. Such experience, to him (to use a trite smile), will be like the storm to the oak, which, though it may scatter the leaves, and snap the smaller branches, serves but to rivet the roots, and to harden and convince the fibers of the tree. You would have us encourage our sons to prove all things by their own experience, while our daughters must not even profit by the experience of others. I would have both so to benefit by the experience of others, and precepts of a higher authority, that they should know beforehand to refuse the evil and choose the good, and require no experimental proofs to teach them the evil of transgressions. I would not send a poor girl into the world, unarmed against her foes, and ignorant of the snares that beset her path: nor would I watch and guard her, till, deprived of self-respect and self-reliance, she lost the power, or the will to watch and guard herself; and ask for my son if I thought he would grow up to be what you call a man of the world one that has seen life, and glories in his experience, even though he should so far profit by it, as to sober down, at length, into a useful and respected member of society I would rather that he dies to-morrow ! rather a thousand times! Mr. Markham: Well! You ladies must always have the last word, I suppose. Situation (27): Mrs. Markham: My dear Gilbert! I wish you would try to be a little more amiable. You say there is nothing the matter with you, and nothing has happened to grieve you, and yet, I never saw any one so altered as you within these last few days: you havent a good word for any body friends and strangers, equals and inferiors its all the same. I do wish youd try to check it. Gilbert: Check what? Mrs. Markham: Why, your strange temper. You dont know how it spoils you. Im sure a finer disposition than yours, by nature, could not be, if youd let it have fair play; so youve no excuse that way. Gilbert: (I wished to have nothing to say on the matter).

171 Situation (29): Mrs. Graham: I will not condescend to explain myself to one that can make a jest of such horrible suspicions, and be so easily led t entertain them. Mr. Markham: I d not make a jest of them, Mrs. Graham. I heartily wish I could find them a jesting matter! And as to be easily led to suspect, God only knows what a blind, incredulous fool I have hitherto been, perseveringly shutting my eyes and stopping my ears against everything that threatened to shake my confidence in you, till proof itself confounded my infatuation. Mrs. Graham: What proof, sir? Mr. Markham: Well, Ill tell you. You remember that evening when I was here last? Mrs. Graham: I do. Mr. Markham: Even then, you dropped some hints that might have opened the eyes of a wiser man; but they had no such effect upon me: I went on trusting and believing, hoping against hope, and adoring where I could not comprehend. It so happened, however, that after I had left you, I turned back drawn by pure depth of sympathy, and ardour of affection not daring to intrude my presence openly upon you, but unable to resist the temptation of catching one glimpse through the window, just to see how you were; for I had left you apparently in great affliction, and I partly blamed my own want of forbearance and discretion as the cause of it. If I did wrong, love alone was my incentive, and the punishment was severe enough; for it was just as I had reached that tree, that you came out into the garden with your friend. Not choosing to shew myself, under the circumstances, I stood still, in the shadow, till you had both passed by. Mrs. Graham: And how much of our conversation did you hear? Mr. Markham: I heard quite enough, Helen. And it was well for me that I did hear it; for nothing less could have cured my infatuation. I always said and thought, that I would never believe a word against you, unless I heard it from your own lips. All the hints and affirmations of others I treated as malignant, baseless slanders; your own self accusations I believed to be overstrained; and all that seemed unaccountable in your position, I trusted that you could account for if you chose. Mrs. Graham: You should have come to me, after all, and heard what I had to say in my own justification. It was ungenerous and wrong to withdraw yourself so secretly and suddenly, immediately after such ardent protestations of attachment, without ever assigning as reason for the change. You should have told me al no matter how bitterly it would have been better than this silence. Mr. Markham: To what end should I have done so? You could not have enlightened me farther, on the subject which alone concerned me; nor could you have made me discredit the evidence of my senses. I desired our intimacy to be discontinued at once, as you yourself had acknowledged would probably be the case if I knew all; but I did not wish to upbraid you, though (as you

172 acknowledged) you had deeply wronged me. Yes, you have done me an injury you can never repair or any other either you have blighted the freshness and promise of youth, and made my life a wilderness! I might live a hundred years, but I could never recover from the effects of this withering blow and never forget it! Hereafter You smile Mrs. Graham! Mrs. Graham: Did I ? I was not aware of it. If I did, it was not for pleasure at the thoughts of the harm I had done you Heaven knows I have had torment enough at the bare possibility of that! it was for joy to find that you had some depth of soul and feeling after all, and to hope that I had not been utterly mistaken in your worth. But smiles and tears are so alike with me; they are neither of them confined to any particular feeling: I often cry when I am happy, and smile when I am sad. Situation (31): Mr. Boarham: My dear young lady, I have your guardians permission Helen: I know, sir, and I am greatly obliged for your preference, but must beg to decline the honour you wish to confer; for, I think, we were not made for each other as you yourself would shortly discover if the experiment were tried. Mr. Boarham: I know, my dear, that there exists a considerable disparity between us in years, in temperament, and perhaps some other things, but let me assure you, I shall not be severe to mark the faults and foibles of a young and ardent nature such as yours, and while I acknowledge them to myself, and even rebuke them with all a fathers care, believe me, no youthful lover could be more tenderly indulgent towards the object of his affections, than I to you; and, on the other hand, let me hope that my more experienced years and graver habits of reflection will be no disparagement in your eyes, as I shall endeavour to make them all conductive to your happiness. Come now! What do you say? Let us have no young ladys affections and caprices, but speak out at once! Helen: I will, but only to repeat what I said before, that I am certain we were not made for each other. Mr. Boarham: You really think so? Helen: I do. Mr. Boarham: But you dont know me you wish for a further acquaintance a longer time to Helen: No, I dont. I know you as well as I ever shall, and better than you know me, or you would never dream of uniting yourself to one so incongruous so utterly unsuitable to you in every way. Mr. Boarham: But my dear young lady, I dont look for perfection, I can excuse Helen: Thank you, Mr. Boarham, but I wont trespass upon your goodness. You may save your indulgence and consideration for some more worthy object, that wont tax them so heavily.

173 Mr. Boarham: But let me beg you to consult your aunt; that excellent lady, I am sure, will Helen: I have consulted her; and I know her wishes coincide with yours; but in such important matters, I take the liberty of judging for myself; and no persuasion can alter my inclinations, or induce me to believe that such a step would be conductive to my happiness, or yours and I wonder that a man of your experience and discretion should think of choosing such a wife. Mr. Boarham: Ah, well! I have sometimes wondered at that myself. I have sometimes said to myself, Now Boahram, what is this you are after? Take care man look before you leap! This is a sweet, bewitching creature, but remember, the brightest attractions to the lover, too often prove the husbands greatest torment! I assure you my choice has not been without much reasoning and reflection. The seeming imprudence of the match has cost me many an anxious thought by day, and many a sleepless hour by night; but at length, I satisfied myself, that it was not, in very deed, imprudent. I saw my sweet girl was not without her faults, but of these, her youth, I trusted, was not one, but rather an earnest of virtues yet unblown a strong ground of presumption that her little defects of temper, and errors of judgment, opinion, or manner were not irremediable, but might easily be removed or mitigated by the patient efforts of a watchful and judicious adviser, and where I failed to enlighten and controul, I thought I might safely undertake to pardon, for the sake of her excellencies. Therefore, my dearest girl, since I am satisfied, why should you object on my account, at least? Helen: But to tell you the truth Mr. Boarham, it is on my own account I principally object; so let us drop the subject, for it is wore than useless to pursue it any farther. Mr. Boarham: But why so? I would love you, cherish you, protect you, &c. &c. Helen: Ill tell you plainly, that it cannot be. No consideration can induce me to marry against my inclinations. I respect you at least, I would respect you, if you would behave like a sensible man but I cannot love you, and never could and the more you talk the farther you repel me; so pray dont say any more about it. Situation (32): The Aunt: Do you remember, Helen, our conversation the night but one before we left Staningley? Helen: Yes aunt. The Aunt: And do you remember how I warned you against letting your heart be stolen from you by those unworthy of its possession; and fixing your affections where approbation did not go before, and where reason and judgment withheld their sanction? Helen: Yes, but my reason

174 The Aunt: Pardon me and do you remember assuring me that there was no occasion for uneasiness on your account; for you should never be tempted to marry a man who was deficient in sense or principle, however handsome or charming in other respects he might be, for you could not love him, you should hate despise pity anything but love him were not those your words? Helen: Yes, but The Aunt: And did you not say that your affection must be founded on approbation; and that unless you could approve and honour and respect, you could not love? Helen: Yes, but I do approve and honour, and respect The Aunt: How so, my dear, is Mr. Huntingdon a good man? Helen: He is a much better man than you think him. The Aunt: That is nothing to be to the purpose. Is he a good man? Helen: Yes in some respects. He has a good disposition. The Aunt: Is he a man of principle? Helen: Perhaps not, exactly; but it is only for want of thought: if he had some one to advise him, and remind him of what is right The Aunt: He would soon learn, you think and you yourself would willingly undertake to be his teacher? But, my dear, he is, I believe, full ten years older than you how is it that you are so before-hand in moral acquirements? Helen: Thanks to you, aunt, I have been well brought up, and had good examples always before me, which he, most likely, has not; and besides, he is of a sanguine temperament, and a gay, thoughtless temper, and I am naturally inclined to reflection. The Aunt: Well, now you have made him out to be deficient in both sense and principle, by your own confession Helen: Then, my sense and my principle are at his service. The Aunt: That sounds presumptuous! Do you think you have enough for both; and do you imagine your merry, thoughtless profligate would allow himself to be guided by a young girl like you? Helen: No; I should not wish to guide him; but I think I might have influence sufficient to save him from some errors, and I should think my life well spent in the effort to preserve his so noble a nature from destruction. He always listens attentively now, when I speak seriously to him (and I often venture to reprove his random way of talking), and sometimes he says that if he had me always by his side he should never do or say a wicked thing, and that a little daily talk with me would make him quite a saint. It may be partly jest and partly flattery, but still The Aunt: But still you think it may be truth?

175 Helen: If I do think there is any mixture of truth in it, it is not from confidence in my own power, but in his natural goodness. And you have no right to call him a profligate, aunt; he is nothing of the kind. The Aunt: Who told you so, my dear? What was that story about his intrigue with a married lady Lady who it Miss Wilmot herself was telling you the other day? Helen: It was false false! I dont believe a word of it. The Aunt: You think, then, he is a virtuous, well-conducted young man? Helen: I know nothing positive respecting his character. I only know that I have heard nothing definitive against it nothing that could be proved, at least; and till people can prove their slanderous accusations, I will not believe them. And I know this, that if he has committed errors, they are only such as are common to youth, and such as nobody thinks anything about them; for I see that everybody likes him, and all the mamas smile upon him, and their daughters and Miss Wilmot herself are only too glad to attract his attention. The Aunt: Helen, the world may look upon such offences as venial; a few unprincipled mothers may be anxious to catch a young man of fortune without reference to his character; and thoughtless girls may be glad to win the smiles of so handsome a gentleman, without seeking to penetrate beyond the surface; but you, I trusted were better informed than to see with their eyes, and judge with their perverted judgment. I did not think you would call them venial errors! Helen: Nor do I, aunt; but if I hate the sins, I love the sinner, and would do much for his salvation, even supposing your suspicions to be mainly true which I do not and will not believe. The Aunt: Well my dear, ask your uncle what sort of company he keeps, and if he is not banded with a set of loose, profligate young men, whom he calls his friends his jolly companions, and whose chief delight is to wallow in vice, and vie with each other who can run fastest and farthest down the headlong road, to the place prepared for the devil and his angels. Helen: Then, I will save him from them. The Aunt: Oh, Helen, Helen! You little know the misery of uniting your fortunes to such a man! Helen: I have such confidence in him, aunt, notwithstanding all you say, that I would willingly risk my happiness for the chance of securing his. I will leave better man to those who only consider their own advantage. If he has done amiss, I shall consider my life well spent in saving him from the consequences of his early errors, and striving to recall him to the path of virtue. God grant me success! Situation (33): (She (i.e. the aunt) beckoned me into another room, where she once more commenced a solemn remonstrance which, however, entirely failed to convince me that her view of the case was preferable to my own).

176 Helen: You judge him uncharitably, aunt, I know. His very friends are not half so bad as you represent them. There is Walter Hargrave, Milicents brother, for one: he is but a little lower than the angels, if half she says of him is true. she is continually talking to me about him, and lauding his many virtues to the skies. The Aunt: You will form a very inadequate estimate of a mans character if you judge by what a fond sister says of him. The worst of them generally know how to hide their misdeeds from their sisters eyes, and their mothers too. Helen: And there is Lord Lowborough , quite a decent man. The Aunt: Who told you so? Lord Lowborough is a desperate man. He has dissipated his fortune in gambling and other things, and is now seeking an heiress to retrieve it. I told Miss Wilmot so; but youre all alike: she haughtily answered she was very much obliged to me, but she believed she knew when a man was seeking her for her fortune, and when for herself; she flattered herself she had had experienced enough in those matters, to be justified in trusting to her own judgment and as for his lordships lack of fortune, she cared nothing about that, as she hoped her own would suffice for both; and as for his wildness, she supposed he was no worse than others besides he was reformed now. Yes, they can all play the hypocrite when they want to take in a fond, misguided woman! Helen: Well, I think he is about as good as she is. But when Mr. Huntingdon is married, he wont have many opportunities of consorting with his bachelor friends; and the worse they are, the more I long to deliver him from them. The Aunt: To be sure, my dear; and the worse he is, I suppose, the more you long to deliver him from himself. Helen: Yes, provided he is not incorrigible that is, the more I long to deliver him from his faults to give him an opportunity of shaking off the adventitious evil got from contact with others worse than himself, and shining out in the unclouded light of his own genuine goodness to do my utmost to help his better self against his worse, and make him what he would have been if he had not, from the beginning, had a bad, selfish, miserly father, who to gratify his own sordid passions, restricted him in the most innocent enjoyments of childhood and youth, and so disgusted him with every kind of restraint; and a foolish mother who indulged him to the top of his bent, deceiving her husband for him, and doing her utmost to encourage those germs of folly and vice it was her duty to suppress, and then, such a set of companions as you represent his friends to be The Aunt: Poor man! His kind have greatly wronged him! Helen: They have! And they shall wrong him no more his wife shall undo what his mother did! The Aunt: Well! I must say, Helen, I thought better of your judgment than this and your taste too. How you can love such a man I cannot tell, or what pleasure

177 you can find in his company; for What fellowship hath light with darkness; or he that believeth with an infidel? Helen: He is not an infidel; an I am not light, and he is not darkness, his worst and only vice is thoughtlessness. The Aunt: And thoughtlessness may lead to every crime, and will but poorly excuse our errors in the sight of God. Mr. Huntingdon, I suppose, is not without the common faculties of men: he is not so light-headed as to be irresponsible: his Maker has endowed him with reason and conscience as well as the rest of us; scriptures are open to him as well as to others; and If he hear not them, neither will he hear though one rose from the dead. And, the remember, Helen, The wicked shall be turned into hell, and they that forget God! And suppose, even, that he should continue to love you, and you him, and that you should pass through life together with tolerable comfort, how will it be in the end, when you see yourselves parted forever; you, perhaps, taken into eternal bliss, and he cast into the lake that burneth with unquenchable fire there for ever to Helen: Not forever, only till he has paid the uttermost farthing; for If any mans work abide not the fire, he shall suffer loss, yet himself shall be saved, but so as by fire, and He that is able to subdue all things to himself, will have all men to be saved, and will in the fulness of time, gather together in one all things Christ Jesus, who tasted death for every man, and in whom God will reconcile all things to Himself, whether they be things in earth or things in Heaven. The Aunt: Oh, Helen! where did you learn all this? Helen: In the Bible, aunt. I have searched it through, and found nearly thirty passages, all tending to support the same theory. The Aunt: And is that the use you make of your Bible? And did you find no passages tending to prove the danger and the falsity of such a belief! Helen: No: I found indeed some passages that taken by themselves, might seem to contradict that opinion; but they will all bear a different construction to that which is commonly given, and in most the only difficulty is in the word which we translate everlasting or eternal. I dont know the Greek, but I believe it strictly means for ages, and might signify either endless or long-enduring. And as for the danger of the belief, I would not publish it abroad, if I thought any poor wretch would be likely to presume upon it to his own destruction, but it is a glorious thought to cherish in ones own heart, and I would not part with it for all the world can give! Situation (35): Helen: (I begged he would not mention her, for I detested the very sound of her name). Not because you loved her, Arthur, mind, but because she injured you, and deceived her husband, and was altogether a very abominable woman, whom you ought to be ashamed to mention.

178 Arthur: (He defended her by saying that she had a doting old husband, whom it was impossible to love). Helen: Then why did she marry him? Arthur: For his money. Helen: Then that was another crime, and her solemn promise to love and honor him was another, that only increased the enormity of the last. Arthur: You are too severe upon the poor lady. But never mind, Helen, I dont care for her now; and I never loved any of them half as much as I do you; so you neednt fear to be forsaken like them. Helen: If you had told me these things before, Arthur, I never should have given you the chance. Arthur: Wouldnt you, my darling! Helen: Most certainly not! I wish I could convince you of it now! Arthur: Helen, do you know that if I believed you now, I should be very angry? but thank Heaven I dont. Though you stand there with your white face and flushing eyes, looking at me like a very tigress, I know the heart within you, perhaps a trifle better than you know it yourself. Helen: (Without another word I left the room). Situation (36): Arthur: Because my wife doesnt love me. Helen: She would love you with all her heart, if you deserved it. Arthur: What must I do to deserve it? Helen: If she gives you her heart, you must take it thankfully, and use it well, and not pull it in pieces, and laugh in her face because she cannot snatch it away. Arthur: Come then, Helen, are you going to be a good girl? Are you going to forgive me, Helen? Situation (37): Arthur: It is all nonsense, Helen a jest, a mere nothing and not worth a thought. Will you never learn that you have nothing to fear from me? that I love you wholly and entirely? or if I ever give a thought to another you may well spare it, for those fancies are here and gone like a flash of lighting, while my love for you burns on steadily, and forever like the sun. You little exorbitant tyrant, will not that Helen: Be quiet a moment, will you Arthur? and listen to me and dont think Im in a jealous fury: I am perfectly calm. Feel my hand. You neednt smile, sir. You may think it all very fine, Mr. Huntingdon, to amuse yourself with rousing my jealousy; but take care you dont rouse my hate instead. And when you have once extinguished my love, you will find it no easy matter to kindle it again. Arthur: Well Helen, I wont repeat the offence. But I meant nothing by it, I assure you. I had taken too much wine, and I was scarcely myself, at the time.

179 Helen: You often take too much; and that is another practice I detest. Yes, I never mentioned it before, because I was ashamed to do so; but now Ill tell you that it distresses me, and may disgust, if you go on and suffer the habit to grow upon you, as it will, if you dont check it in time. But the whole system of your conduct to Lady Lowborough is not referrible to wine; and this night you knew perfectly what you were doing. Arthur: Well, Im sorry for it, what more would you have? Helen: You are sorry that I saw you, no doubt. Arthur: If you had not seen me, it would have done no harm. Helen: You think not? Arthur: No. After all, what have I done? Its nothing except as you choose to make it a subject of accusation and distress. Helen: What would Lord Lowborough, your friend think, if he knew all? Or what would you yourself think, if he or any other had acted the same part to me, throughout, as you have done to Annabella? Arthur: I would blow his brains out. Helen: Well then, Arthur, how can you call it nothing an offence for which you would think yourself justified in blowing another mans brain out? Is it nothing to trifle with your friends feelings and mine to endeavour to steal a womans affections from her husband what he values more than his gold, and therefore what it is more dishonest to take? Are the marriage vows a jest; and is it nothing to make it your sport to break them, and to tempt another to do the same? Can I love a man that does such things, can coolly maintains it is nothing? Arthur: You are breaking your marriage vows yourself. You promises to honour and obey me, and now you attempt to hector over me, and threaten and accuse me and call me worse than a highwayman. If it were for your situation Helen, I would not submit to it so tamely. I wont be dictated by a woman, though she be my wife. Helen: What will you do then? Will you go on till I hate you; and then accuse me of breaking my vows? Arthur: You never will hate me. You cannot hate me, as long as I love you. Helen: But how can I believe that you love me, if you continue to act in this way? Just imagine yourself in my place: would you think I loved you, if I did so? Would you believe my protestations, and honour and trust me under such circumstances? Arthur: The cases are different. It is a womans nature to be constant to love one and one only, blindly, tenderly, and forever bless them, dear creatures! and you above them all but you must have some consideration for us, Helen; you must give us a little more license, for as Shakespeare has it
However we do praise ourselves, Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm, More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won Than womens are.

180

Helen: Do you mean by that, that you caprices are lost to me, and won by Lady Lowborough? Arthur: No; Heaven is my witness that I think her mere dust and ashes in comparison with you, and shall continue to think so, unless you drive from you by too much severity. She is a daughter of earth; you are an angel of Heaven; only be not too austere in your divinity, and remember that I am a poor, fallible mortal. Come now, Helen; wont you forgive me? Situation (38): Arthur: You have not a thought to spare for nothing else, I may go or come, be present or absent, cheerful or sad; its all the same to you. As long as you have that ugly little creature to doat upon, you care not a farthing what becomes of me. Helen: It is false, Arthur; when you enter the room, it always doubles my happiness; when you are near me, the sense of your presence delights me, though I dont look at you; and when I think about our child, I please myself with the idea that you share my thoughts and feelings, though I dont speak them. Arthur: How the devil can I waste my thoughts and feelings on a little worthless idiot like that? Helen: It is your own son Arthur, or, if that consideration has no weight with you, it is mine; and you ought to respect my feelings. Arthur: Well, dont be cross; it was only a slip of the tongue. The little fellow is well enough, only I cant worship him as you do. Situation (39): Mr. Hargrave: I am your nearest neighbor, your sons god-father, and your husbands friend: may I not be yours also? Helen: Intimate acquaintance must precede real friendship: I know but little of you, Mr. Hargrave, except from report. Mr. Hargrave: Have you then forgotten the six or seven weeks I spent under your roof last autumn? I have not forgotten them. And I know enough of you, Mrs. Huntingdon, to think that your husband is the most enviable man in the word, and I should be the next if you would deem me worthy of your friendship. Helen: If you knew me more, you would not think it or if you did, you would not say it, and except me to be flattered by the compliment. Situation (40): Milicent: What does it amount to Ralph? Only to this, that though you admire Annabella so much, and for qualities that I dont possess, you would still rather have me than her for your wife, which merely proves that you dont think it necessary to love your wife: you are satisfied if she can keep your house

181 and take care of your child. But Im not cross; Im only sorry for, if you dont love me, you dont, and it cant be helped. Ralph: Very true: but who told you I didnt? did I say I loved Annabella? Milicent: You said you adored her. Ralph: True, but adoration isnt love. I adore Annabella, but I dont love her, and I love thee Milicent, but I dont adore the. Milicent: Do you really Ralph? Ralph: To be sure I do, only you bother me rather, sometimes. Milicent: I bother you! Ralph: Yes, you but only by your exceeding goodness when a boy has been cramming raisins and sugar-plums all day, he longs for a squeeze of sour orange by way of a change. And did you never, Milly, observe the sands on the sea-shore; how nice and smooth they look, and how soft and easy they feel to the foot? But if you plod along, for half an hour, over this soft, easy carpet giving way at every step, yielding the more the harder you press, youll find it rather wearisome work, and be glad enough to come to a bit of good, firm rock, that wont budge an inch whether you stand, walk, or step upon it; though it be hard as the nether millstone, youll find it the easier footing after all. Milicent: I know what you mean, Ralph, I know what you mean, but I thought you always liked to be yielded to; and I cant alter now. Ralph: I do like it, you mustnt mind my talk Milly. A man must have something to grumble about; and if he cant complain that his wife harries him to death with her perversity and ill-humour, he must complain that she wears him out with her kindness and gentleness. Milicent: But why complain at all, unless you are tired and dissatisfied? Ralph: To excuse my own failings, to be sure. Do you think Ill bear all the burden of my sins on my own shoulders, as long as theres another ready to help me, with none of her own to carry? Milicent: There is no such one on earth (said she seriously, and then, taking his hand from her head, she kissed it with an air of genuine devotion, and tripped away to the door). Ralph: What now? Where are you going? Milicent: To tidy my hair (smiling through her disordered locks), youve made it all come down. Situation (44): Helen: Think of what she was five years ago, when you married her, and what she is now. Ralph: I know she was a little plump lassie then, with a pretty pink and white face: now, shes a poor little bit of a creature, fading and melting away like a snow-wreath but hang it! by Jupiter, thats not my fault!

182 Helen: What is the cause of it then? Not years, for shes only five and twenty. Ralph: Its her own delicate health, and confound it, madam! what would you make of me? and the children, to be sure, that worry her to death between them. Helen: No, Mr. Hattersley, the children give her more pleasure than pain: they are fine well dispositioned children Ralph: I know they are bless em! Helen: Then why lay the blame on them? Ill tell you what it is: its silent fretting and constant anxiety on your account, mingled I suspect, with something of bodily fear on her own. When you behave well, she can only rejoice with trembling; she has no security, no confidence in your judgment or principles; but is continually dreading the close of such short-lived felicity: when you behave ill, her causes of terror and misery are more than any one can tell but herself. In patient endurance of evil, she forgets it is our duty to admonish our neighbours of their transgressions. Since you will mistake her silence for indifference, come with me, and Ill show you one or two of her letters no breach of confidence, I hope, since you are her other half (and she shows him the letters). Ralph: Ive been a cursed rascal, God knows. But you see if I dont make amends for it G d d n me if I dont. Situation (46): Helen: Now Gilbert, you must leave me not this moment, but soon and you must never come again. Gilbert: Never again, Helen? just when I love you more than ever! Helen: For that very reason, if it be so, we should not meet again. I thought this interview was necessary at least, I persuaded myself it was so that we might severally ask and receive each others pardon for the past; but there can be no excuse for another. I shall leave this place, as soon as I have means to seek another asylum; but our intercourse must end here. Gilbert: End here! Helen: You must not come again. You must know why I tell you so, and you must see that it is better to part at once: if it be hard to say adieu forever, you ought to help me. Will you promise not to come? If you wont, and if you do come here again, you will drive me away before I know where to find another place of refuge or how to seek it. Gilbert: Helen, I cannot discuss the matter of eternal separation, calmly and dispassionately as you can do. It is no question of mere expedience with me; it is a question of life and death! But Helen! that man is not your husband: in the sight of Heaven he has forfeited all claim to Helen: Gilbert, dont. For Gods sake, dont you attempt these arguments! No fiend could torture me like this! Gilbert: I wont, I wont!

183 Helen: Instead of acting like a true friend and helping me with all your might or rather taking your own part in the struggles of right against passion you leave all the burden to me; and not satisfied with that, you do your utmost to fight against me when you know that I Gilbert: Forgive me, Helen! I will never utter another word on the subject. Situation (47): Gilbert: But may we not still meet as friends? Helen: It will not do, you must know that as well as I. Gilbert: Then what must we do? Ill do whatever you desire; only dont say that this meeting is to be our last. Helen: And why not? Dont you know that every time we meet, the thoughts of the final parting will become more painful? Dont you feel that every interview makes us dearer to each other than the last? I have power to bid you go, now: another time it might be different. Gilbert: But we may write. You will not deny me that consolation? Helen: We can hear of each other through my brother. Gilbert: Your brother! Your brother will not help us. He would have all communion between us to be entirely at an end. Helen: And he would be right, I suppose. And as a friend of both, he would wish us both well; and every friend would tell us it was our interest, as well as our duty, to forget each other, though we might not see it ourselves. But dont be afraid, Gilbert, there is little chance of my forgetting you. But I did not man that Fredrick should be the means of transmitting messages between us, only that each might know, through him, of the others welfare; and more than this ought not to be; for you are young, Gilbert, and you ought to marry and will some time, though you may think it impossible now: and though I hardly can say I wish you to forget me, I know it is right that you should, both for your own happiness and that of your future wife; and therefore I must and will wish it. Gilbert: And you are young too, Helen, and when that profligate scoundrel has run through his career, you will give your hand to me Ill wait till then. Helen: And if I am young in years I am old in sorrow; but even trouble should fail to kill me before vice destroys him, think, if he reached but fifty years or so, would you wait twenty or fifteen in vague uncertainty and suspense through all the prime of youth and manhood and marry at last a woman faded and worn as I shall be without ever having seen me from this day to that? you would not, or if you would you should not. Trust me, Gilbert; in this matter I know better than you. You think me cold and stony hearted, and you may, but Gilbert: I dont Helen. Helen: Well, never mind; you might if you would but I have not spent my solitude in utter idleness, and I am not speaking now from the impulse of the

184 moment as you do: I have thought of all these matters again and again; I have argues these questions with myself, and pondered well our past, and present, and future career; and, believe me, I have come to the right conclusion at last. Trust my words rather than your own feelings, now, and in a few years you will see that I was right though at present I hardly can see it myself. And dont argue against me any more: all you can say has been already said by my own heart and refuted by my reason. It was hard enough to combat those suggestions as they were whispered within me; in your mouth they are ten times worse, and if you knew how much they pain me you would seize at once, I know. If you knew my present feelings, you would even try to relieve them at the expense of your own. Gilbert: I will go in a minute, if that can relieve you and NEVER return! But, if we may never meet, and never hope to meet again, is it a crime to exchange our thoughts by letter? May not kindred spirits meet, and mingle in communion whatever be the fate and circumstances of their earthly tenements? Helen: They may, they may! I thought of that too, Gilbert, but I feared to mention it, because I feared you would not understand my views upon the subject I fear it even now I fear any kind friend would tell us we are both deluding ourselves with the idea of keeping up a spiritual intercourse with hope or prospect of anything further without fostering vain regrets and hurtful aspirations, and feeding thoughts that should be sternly and pitilessly left to perish of inanition Gilbert: Never mind our kind friends: if they can part our bodies, it is enough; in Gods name, let them not sunder our souls! Helen: But no letters can pass between us here without giving fresh food for scandal; and when I departed, I had intended that my new abode should be unknown to you as to the rest of the world; not that I should doubt your word if you promised not to visit me, but I thought you would be more tranquil in your own mind if you knew you could not do it; and likely to find less difficulty in abstracting yourself from me if you could not picture my situation to your mind. But listen, in six months you shall hear from Fredrick precisely where I am; and if you still retain your wish to write to me, and think you can maintain a correspondence all thought, all spirit such as disembodied souls are impassioned or unimpassioned friends, at least, might hold, write, and I will answer you. Gilbert: Six months! Helen: Yes, to give your present ardour time to cool and try the truth and constancy of your souls love for mine. And now, enough has been said between us. Why cant we part at once! Gilbert: And must we never meet again? Helen: We shall meet in Heaven. Let us think of that.

185 Gilbert: But not as we are now. It gives me little consolation to think I shall next behold you as a disembodied spirit, or an altered being, with a frame perfect and glorious, but not like this! and a heart, perhaps, entirely estranged from me. Helen: No Gilbert, there is perfect love in Heaven! Gilbert: So perfect, I suppose, that it soars above distinctions, and you will have no closer sympathy with me than with any one of the ten thousand thousand angels and the innumerable multitude of happy spirits round us. Helen: Whatever I am, you will be the same, and therefore, cannot possibly regret it; and whatever that change may be, we know it must be for the better. Gilbert: But id I am to be so changed that I shall seize to adore you with my whole heart and soul, and love you beyond every other creature, I shall not be myself; and, though, if ever I win Heaven at all, I must, I know, be infinitely better and happier than I am now, my earthly nature cannot rejoice in the anticipation of such beatitude, from which itself and its chief joy must be excluded. Helen: Is your love all earthly then? Gilbert: No, but I am supposing we shall have no more intimate communion with each other, than with the rest. Helen: If so, it will be because we love them more and not each other less. Increase of love brings increase of happiness, when it is mutual, and pure as that will be. Gilbert: But can you, Helen, contemplate with delight this prospect of losing me in a sea of glory? Helen: I own I cannot; but we know not that it will be so; and I do know that to regret the exchange of earthly pleasures for the joys of Heaven, is as if the groveling caterpillar should lament that it must one day quit the nibbled leaf to soar a loft and flatter through the air, roving at will from flower to flower, sipping sweet honey from their cups or basking in their sunny petals. If these little creatures knew how great a change awaited them, no doubt they would regret it; but would not all such sorrow be misplaced? And if that illustration will move you, here is another: we are children now; we feel as children, and we understand as children; and when we are told that men and women do not play with toys, and that our companions will one day weary of the trivial sports and occupations that interest them and us so deeply now, we cannot help being saddened at the thoughts of such an alteration, because we cannot conceive that as we grow up, our own minds will become so enlarged and elevated that we ourselves shall then regard as trifling those objects and pursuits we now so fondly cherish, and that, though our companions will no longer join us in those childish pastimes, they will drink with us at other fountains of delight, and mingle their souls with ours in higher aims and nobler occupations beyond our present comprehension, but not less deeply relished or less truly good for that, while yet both we and they remain essentially the same individuals as

186 before. But Gilbert, can you really derive no consolation from the thought that we may meet together where there is no more pain and sorrow, no more striving against sin, and struggling of the spirit against the flesh; where both will behold the same glorious truths, and drink exalted and supreme felicity from the same fountain of light and goodness that Being whom both will worship with the same intensity of holy ardour, and whose pure and happy creatures both will love with the same divine affection? If you cannot, never write to me! Gilbert: Helen, I can, if faith would never fail. Helen: Now, then, while this hope is strong with us Gilbert: We will part. You shall not have the pain of another effort to dismiss me: I will go at once; but Situation (48): Lawrence: Its easily done, to abuse your friend and knock him on the head, without any assignable cause, and then tell him the deed was not quite correct, but its no matter whether he pardons it or not. Gilbert: I forgot to tell you that it was in consequence of a mistake. I should have made a very handsome apology, but you provoked me so confoundedly with your . Well, I suppose its my fault. The fact is, I didnt know that you were Mrs. Grahams brother, and I saw and heard some things respecting your conduct towards her, which were calculated to awaken unpleasant suspicions, that allow me to say, a little candour and confidence on your part might have removed; and at least, I chanced to overhear a part of a conversation between you and her that made me think I had a right to hate you. Lawrence: And how came you to know that I was her brother? Gilbert: She told me herself. She told me all. She knew that I might be trusted. But you neednt disturb yourself about that, Mr. Lawrence, for I have seen the last of her! Lawrence: The last! Is she gone then? Gilbert: No, but she has bid me adieu to me; and I have promised never to go near that house again while she inhabits it. Lawrence: You have done right! And as for the mistake, I am sorry for both our sakes that it should have occurred. Perhaps you can forgive my want of candour, and remember, as some partial mitigation of the offence, how little encouragement to friendly confidence you have given me of late. Gilbert: Yes, yes, I remember it all: nobody can blame me more than I blame myself in my own heart at any rate, nobody can regret more sincerely than I do the result of my brutality as you rightly term it. Lawrence: Never mind that, let us forget all unpleasant words on both sides, as well as deeds, and consign to take my hand or youd rather not?