Chapter II: Part 2

Lionel was charmed with the brother and sister on his first introduction to them. He liked the frank cordiality of Adrian, and became the professed slave of Amaranthé's beauty. It required no length of time for penetration like Lionel's to discover his error in regard to Adrian; he found he had mistaken vivacity for genius, and frankness of manner for generosity of heart, when in fact his favourite proved unformed and untaught, indifferent to the opinion of all whom he ought to have valued, and given up to idleness and self-indulgence. Such a companion was quitted without any effort of resolution, but the sister's power over him did not yield so easily. Amaranthé's vanity had been too much flattered by such a conquest, for her to endeavour to conceal the satisfaction it afforded her, and the enamoured Lionel was willing to attribute the approbation she evinced, to genuine affection. He confessed himself disappointed in her mental qualities, but he laid all that to the want of education, and the blame upon those who brought her up. He delighted in the thought of instructing and cultivating her mind himself, and dwelt with rapture on the prospect of possessing such a creature, formed exactly to his own taste, and according to his own rules of right. The devoted lover indulged himself, in these pleasing expectations during several interviews that he had with his idol, when not interrupted by the presence of any other candidates for her favour; but when he saw her in company with some of her previous adorers, and observed the evident pleasure and complacency with which she listened to them all by turns, nothing could exceed his surprise and indignation. What! had she no more regard for him than for any of these senseless coxcombs? Were the smiles and attention that had so captivated him to be equally shared by them? This was not to be borne. He could have endured her ignorance, even a fool might be tolerated, but an unfeeling coquette never could. From that moment Amaranthé, with all her beauty, was dismissed from his heart for ever.

During his attendance on Amaranthé, Lionel had often remarked with approbation the meek and unaffected demeanor of Claribel. He had never indeed heard her converse much, but he judged that her silence was owing to timidity, and fancied that under so retired a manner, might be concealed solid sense, taste, and judgment. Her person, though not strikingly handsome, was pleasing, and her temper and disposition appeared to be perfectly amiable. He began therefore to pay her very serious attention, but here again poor Lionel had only to lament his mistake. He found Claribel quite as untutored as her cousins, without a spark more desire of improvement. He was not likely to meet with a repulse from so gentle a creature, but the acquiescence with which she received his assiduities seemed more the result of habitual passiveness than of reciprocal attachment. She betrayed no emotion of pleasure at his approach, or of concern at his departure. She listened to his conversation as he hoped with interest, but when describing what he considered as requisite points to insure happiness and respectability, he could perceive no symptoms of regret that their sentiments so little corresponded, nor could his avowed opinions awaken in her any exertion to render herself more acceptable to him. When he had taken sufficient time to study her character, he decided that the inelegant mirth, and ungoverned vanity of Amaranthé were preferable to the dawdling insipidity of Claribel. After this decision Lionel ceased to be a visitor at the castle.

The pride of Amaranthé had never before experienced so severe a wound. Her consequence was lessened in her own eyes, and she felt that it would be so in those of others, by the desertion of such a lover, for she had sense enough to discern the superiority of Lionel over all her other admirers. She could appreciate his worth, but she could not controul her own too long indulged inclinations, and was still too artless to conceal the wrong bias they had taken. The disappointment had a visible effect upon her temper: she grew peevish, and dissatisfied with every thing about her. She resolved to leave no means untried to regain the heart of Lionel, and the suggestion of a rival in his affection made her absolutely outrageous. She had so little considered Claribel in that light, that she had not deigned to notice Lionel's attention to her, which indeed her vanity whispered was merely a feint to pique herself, and to give him an opportunity of still hovering near her. The gift of the fairy, which had operated so much to Claribel's disadvantage in the opinion of her lover, secured her from sharing the keen mortification of her cousin at his loss.

Some time after this had happened, an invitation was sent to the inhabitants of the castle to an entertainment, which was to consist of a trial of skill in archery in the morning, and a ball in the evening. Adrian, who was now wholly devoted to his ill-chosen companions, had made some engagement he liked better with them, and would not go, and Claribel was confined at home by indisposition. Amaranthé looked forward with the most flattering anticipation to this proving the scene of her triumph, and restoring all her power over Lionel, who she knew was to be a principal guest there. She exhausted all her invention in contriving the most becoming dresses for both occasions, and selected every ornament that she thought would add lustre to her beauty. The anxiously expected morning arrived, and Amaranthé set forth in all her glory. She found a large company assembled in the part of the grounds marked out for the archery, where a tent was erected ingeniously fitted up, and a handsome collation prepared in it. The gentlemen who were to engage in the contest were all properly equipped for the purpose. Amongst the most conspicuous was Lionel, who with his bow in his hand and quiver on his shoulder, was compared by some of the company to the god of love. In a group of ladies opposite to her, Amaranthé discerned Ethelinde very simply attired, but looking so elegant, so unaffectedly good humoured, and desirous to please and be pleased, that no one could behold her without being prepossessed in her favour. She accosted Amaranthé with the utmost kindness, who very coldly accepted her proffered hand, for she felt an inward acknowledgment of superiority that fretted her beyond endurance. Nor could she at all account for it, having settled in her own mind, quite to her satisfaction, that she had never seen any thing half so ugly or so ill dressed.

The game began, and after each candidate for victory had exerted his strength and skill, Lionel was unanimously proclaimed the conqueror. The mistress of the feast had tastefully entwined a wreath of laurel, which stepping forward she, with an appropriate and polite compliment, placed upon the head of Lionel. Amaranthé's heart beat violently, for she felt assured of receiving her accustomed homage, and had ready all her sweetest smiles, and most engaging complaisance, as she saw Lionel approach the spot where she was seated. She found, however, that she might as well have reserved them for a fitter occasion, for he passed her without notice, and with a graceful bow, and look that bespoke respect and esteem, laid his trophy at the feet of Ethelinde. Amaranthé had no strength of mind to command herself on such a trial, nor could she conceal the disappointment and vexation it cost her, and was still more insupportably irritated by the general murmur of approbation that accompanied this action of Lionel. She refused to partake of the refreshments, and went home burning with feelings of resentment against him, and of most malignant animosity towards Ethelinde. Still her vanity was not subdued: she determined that the ball, where she meant to appear in a blaze of glittering ornaments, that she believed would render her beauty irresistible, should repay her for all the mortifications of the morning. She recounted the insult, as she thought fit to call it, that had been offered to her, in terms of bitter wrath to Claribel, who attended her toilet; but comforted herself with the near prospect of recrimination, and declared she should have far more pleasure in crushing the pride of that insolent little ugly moppet Ethelinde, than in captivating the first lord in the land. Claribel listened with patience and pity to the detail of her lamentable misfortunes, and disclosure of her amiable intentions, and at last ventured to say--"But, my dear cousin, are you not afraid of incurring the displeasure of the fairy, by falling into the errors she cautioned you against? You may remember she threatened to withdraw her favour if you were guilty of jealousy and envy, and do you know, I do not think you look near so well as you used to do."

To this remark Amaranthé for some moments answered only by surveying her cousin with a look of ineffable scorn, at last, her lips quivering with anger, she said--"Really, my dainty Claribel, whatever the fairy may do by me, I am afraid her precious gift to you has failed in its effect. I thought _you_, at any rate, were to be secured from the dominion of envy and spite." "Upon my word, cousin," answered Claribel mildly, "I am unconscious of ever having been subject to either. Since the fairy first appeared to us, I never felt less disposed to envy her favours to you than at this moment, and what can there be spiteful in thinking you do not look so well as you used to do?"

Ursula, who was present, assented to the opinion of Claribel. "Indeed, my sweet young lady," said she, "your cousin is right. I have lately observed, with pain and apprehension, your altered looks. I believe the racketing life you have led so long disagrees with you, and am seriously fearful that you will injure your health if you continue it."

It was in vain to urge any arguments against the self-conceit of Amaranthé: that her beauty could be in any degree diminished was a supposition that she would not admit into her thoughts. She added more ornaments to the profusion that already glittered on her person, and doubted not that, with such aids, she should eclipse every belle who would appear at the entertainment. Under this happy persuasion she entered the ball-room, but did not long remain under its cheering influence. No emotion seemed excited by her appearance, no gaze followed her footsteps; those of her former admirers, whom she saw there, rather shunned than approached her, and those who were strangers did not appear to notice her. After she had been seated some little time however, she was in joyful expectation of having her best wishes fulfilled, for she saw Lionel advancing, who, on coming opposite to her, stopped short, and fixed his eyes intently upon her.

Much as her heart fluttered, and her cheeks glowed at this almost unhoped for circumstance, she could not avoid discovering that his looks betrayed more of astonishment than of admiration. Suddenly seeming to recollect himself he slightly bowed, and passing on went up to Ethelinde, whom he immediately engaged for his partner. Fortunately for Amaranthé the bustle and confusion of the dance just then beginning, screened her from the observations that her violent agitation must otherwise have drawn upon her. The dance indeed began, but no one solicited the honour of her fair hand. Amazed, appalled, she knew not what to make of it, at length, rising up, she drew near a party who were in earnest conversation, and did not perceive her. "Is it possible," she heard one of them say, "that that ordinary awkward looking girl, so bedizened with finery, should be the beautiful Amaranthé, of whom I have heard so much, and who my chief purpose in coming hither was to see?" "Believe me," answered another, "what I tell you is true. What has happened to her I cannot conjecture, but I do assure you that not many weeks ago she was the most beautiful creature my eyes ever beheld."

"Oh, oh," said Amaranthé to herself, "now I discern the truth. This is a vile conspiracy amongst my enemies. Some of my wicked rivals, unable to submit to my superior attractions, have planned this scheme on purpose to mortify me, but they shall find themselves defeated in their atrocious designs." She then reared up her head, and stalked along the room with all the stately airs she could assume, but all in vain. Few of the company noticed her at all, and to those who did, she was evidently an object of ridicule. She had not command enough over herself to endure this long with patience. Abruptly quitting the assembly, she returned home in a state of mind and temper that threatened her with insanity. When arrived there she tore off all her gaudy apparel without once looking in the glass, and threw herself into bed, where for some hours she lay tumbling and tossing, but at last fell into a doze, from which she did not awake until mid-day. As soon as she arose she summoned Claribel, that she might give vent to her fury at the detestable events of the evening. Claribel heard the relation of her disgrace with unfeigned concern, but all the time she was speaking looked earnestly at her with marks of excessive surprise. After some hesitation, she, trembling as she spoke, said, "Pray, cousin, have you lately looked at your hyacinth?" The question operated like an electric shock upon Amaranthé. The truth flashed across her mind. She considered a moment, and then rushed to the cabinet where Felicia's pernicious gift was deposited. There indeed she found it with its "bright tint turned to a sickly and disgusting hue." She contemplated it with an aspect of wild despair, then with an effort of desperate resolution flew back to the glass, where, for the first time for many months, she looked at herself with eyes not blinded by vanity. What a spectacle presented itself to her view! Gladly would she have found herself only reduced to her original plainness. Her eyes then, though they sparkled not with the lustre with which the fairy afterwards endowed them, were yet brightened by the vivacity of youth. The texture of her skin was not so delicate, but her cheeks glowed with ruddy health, and though no fascinating dimples accompanied her smiles, they were the playful smiles of innocence. Now, sad reverse! her eyes were dimmed and sunk in her head, her cheeks hollow and of ghastly paleness, and the malevolent passions that had corroded her heart, were traced in deep furrows over her countenance. Almost frozen with horror she uttered a piercing shriek, and fell lifeless on the floor. Claribel affrighted, endeavoured to raise her, and called for assistance, but no one came near her. She thought she heard an unusual disturbance in the castle. Sounds of strange voices speaking loud, trampling of feet, and clapping of doors met her ear, and appeared as if a general uproar prevailed throughout. After she had for some time tried in vain to recover Amaranthé, Ursula hastily entered the apartment, her face pale with terror and dismay, which were increased by seeing the alarming state of her young mistress. Claribel, while she assisted in restoring her, briefly related what had happened, and the poor governess, on hearing it, broke out into bitter lamentations. "Ah! wicked, treacherous fairy," said she, "how have you abused my poor innocent children! would that you had never appeared with your vile gifts, only to betray them to their ruin, and plunge them into a thousand times greater misery than they could have experienced had they never seen you."

Claribel earnestly enquired her meaning, and the cause of the confusion she had heard, and with difficulty, amidst her sobs and moans, gathered what Ursula had herself learned from Gabriel. The creditors of Adrian, hearing of the extravagant style in which he lived, concluded he must soon expend his fortune, and that they should then have no chance of receiving what was due to them. They, therefore, determined to come in a body, and insist upon immediate payment. Adrian, though extremely enraged, resolved, in spite of the opposition of his associates, to satisfy all their demands at once that he might be rid of them. He accordingly repaired to the coffers where his treasures were secured, but on opening found them all empty. He exclaimed loudly that he had been basely robbed; then flew to every chest, desk, or bureau in which he had been used to seek a supply, but found not a single piece of money, or article of value of any kind: while searching the last place of safety he could think of, he was suddenly struck with the sight of his rose, which had fallen from the stalk, and every leaf withered and dead: frantic with despair, he rushed all over the castle proclaiming himself ruined, but hardly sensible of what he said or did. On hearing this, the profligate crew, who had called themselves his friends, speedily made off, nor would stay even to offer him consolation. The creditors incensed at being thus defrauded of their right, thought it best to make themselves what amends they could, and began tearing away all the costly furniture, and seizing upon every thing valuable they could find. The servants too, thinking they should have no other method of being paid, had joined in the general plunder, and were all taking their departure as soon as they could secure what they had pillaged.

Amaranthé revived before Ursula had finished her dismal narrative, but she attended not to it, nor seemed conscious of any thing that passed. Claribel and Ursula continued administering restoratives to her, when the door opened, and the form of Adrian, but far more resembling that of a spectre, slowly entered. He placed himself on a seat, and fixed his haggard eyes upon his sister. She raised her's to him, but no sound gave utterance to the feelings their looks mutually expressed. It was not the mild grief that could be soothed by sympathy; it was the gloomy anguish of remorse, the humiliating sense of unworthiness, the incurable torture of shame. Claribel and Ursula looked at them in speechless sorrow, for no ray of comfort presented itself to alleviate their sufferings.

Thus were these unfortunate young people, by the indulgence of their own wishes, and the attainment of what they supposed could produce only gratification and happiness, reduced to a state of apparently irremediable distress. Even Claribel shared in the general misery. Not that the gift of the fairy had lost its influence upon her; the lily was fresh as ever. She was contented in her own person, and formed no wishes for herself; but she could not behold the wretched condition of her friends unmoved. Though not subject to strong emotions, her heart was tender and affectionate. Her cousins were her sole objects of attachment, and it was still unabated towards them. Ursula could do nothing but bewail their sad destiny; she was weak and helpless. Gabriel was the only rational person of the party. He collected together the little that remained out of the wreck of the possessions, and tried to put things in some order to make them more comfortable. The generous old man never reminded them of the advice he had given, or took to himself the credit that was his due for his better judgment.

Claribel had used all the arguments she could devise to reconcile Amaranthé to her altered state, but with little success. One remarkably fine day she prevailed upon her to go out into the air: they walked to a part of the grounds that had in their childhood been appropriated as their play place. Here, while resting on a bench, they were joined by Adrian. The brother and sister now found words to relieve the weight of woe that oppressed them, but it was by heaping invectives on the deceitful Felicia. From accusing the fairy they began to upbraid each other. "You, Amaranthé," said Adrian, "have no right to complain: you might at least have been spared the misfortune of poverty. Had it not been for your abominable vanity and coquetry, you might have been happily and nobly settled."

"You are unjust to say so, Adrian," retorted his sister; "you know very well it was your refusing to bestow a fortune upon me, that prevented many of my lovers from soliciting my hand in marriage; but you were given up to selfishness, and cared not what became of me."

"For pity's sake, my dear cousins," cried Claribel, "do not quarrel. Remember, destitute orphans as we are, we have nothing left in this world but each other, and if we are not united, what is to become of us?"

Adrian was touched; looking tenderly on his sister, "Claribel is right," said he. "We are, indeed, bereaved of every thing else, and shall we forsake each other? Ah, Amaranthé!" he continued, his eyes swimming in tears, "time was when all our joys and all our wishes centred in each other. How fondly you once loved me--and is it at an end? Will you love me no more?" The native good feelings of Amaranthé's heart, that had so long lain dormant, were now revived. Bursting into an agony of crying, she threw her arms round her brother's neck, and sobbed out, "Yes, yes, dear Adrian; I love you better than ever. Oh, do but be kind to me, and I will cease to deplore the loss of my beauty." After embracing her affectionately, Adrian, looking mournfully round, observed--"This was the scene of our childish sports. How joyously we bounded like fawns over this lawn! When turning our hoops or tossing our balls, how little cared I for riches or you for beauty! And there," pointing with his hand, "is the shrubbery where we used to play at hide and seek, and laugh at poor Claribel for not being able to find us. See the woodbine that you and she used to twine round my hat and crook, when I played at being a shepherd."

"And those," said Amaranthé, "are the trees you so often climbed to get birds' eggs for Claribel and me to string, when we pretended to be hermits, and called them our rosaries!"

"Happy, happy days of blessed innocence!" groaned out her brother; "would to heaven ye could be recalled! Never again would I barter ye for grandeur and licentiousness!"

While the unhappy trio continued weeping over these painful recollections, they suddenly observed an extraordinary appearance in the air. A large machine, resembling a car, was hovering in it, and at length descending slowly to the earth fixed itself at no great distance from them. They then saw a lady clad in a purple robe, with a long white wand in her hand, step out of it and advance towards them. They were immediately struck with the belief that it was the fairy, but with what different sensations did the brother and sister now greet her, to those which her first appearance had occasioned! Confused and dismayed, they would have fled from her presence had not terror rendered them motionless, for they doubted not that she was come to reproach them, if not to punish their ill conduct. When she drew nearer, and they ventured to look at her again, they discovered that the figure was taller and more dignified than that of Felicia. Her face was not so fair, and its expression was more solemn, but her countenance was more commanding, and her aspect altogether inspired awe and veneration. "Perhaps," whispered Claribel, "it is the fairy Benigna." The minds of her cousins assented to this suggestion, but it by no means diminished their apprehensions. If they had so much cause to dread the censure of Felicia, what had they to hope from the severe Benigna?

Trembling, and not daring to speak or move, they stood before her, while she regarded them for some time in silence, with looks that lost much of their solemnity, and expressed pity and benevolence. Then, in a mild tone, said, "Poor hapless victims of ignorance and error, your consciences tell you that I am come to inflict the chastisement due to your folly and guilt; but lay aside your fears. I can allow for and compassionate the offences of feeble mortality. I am come to take you from this scene of desolation and disgrace, which can only remind you of lost happiness. Are you willing to trust yourselves with me?" Whatever the private inclinations of the party might be, they were too much in awe of this powerful being to offer any resistance to her will: they only bowed in token of submission. She then placed them all in the car, and mounting it herself after them, waved her wand when the machine arose with a gentle motion into the air, which it wafted them through, but at what rate, or whither to, they could not judge. They were so amazed, and their senses so bewildered, that they almost doubted if they were awake, or whether all that had passed were not a dream!

They could not calculate how long they had been travelling in this easy manner, when they found the vehicle again descending to the earth, where it rested before a white house, that had every appearance of neatness and comfort, though not of magnificence.

It was situated in the middle of a garden, laid out in excellent taste, and well stored with fruits, flowers, and shrubs of all kinds, bounded by verdant meadows, with a fine river passing through them, and the surrounding country richly cultivated, and luxuriantly beautiful.

Their conductress desired them to enter the house, where the first objects that met their view, were Ursula and Gabriel, who had been conveyed thither by the agents of the fairy, and who welcomed them with raptures of joy.

Benigna led them through the apartments which were sufficiently spacious for convenience, and fitted up with elegance and propriety. The last she introduced them into was, a library, furnished with a large collection of books, maps, globes, &c. "And now, my young friends," said she, "do you think you can be happy in such a habitation as this?" Adrian, willing to ingratiate himself in her opinion, promptly replied, "Ah, Madam, we shall be most happy to receive any favour from you. You, no doubt, will always continue your generous kindness, and not desert us like the treacherous Felicia."

"Presumptuous mortal!" answered Benigna, with a frown, "what right have you or your sister to call Felicia treacherous? Did you not obstinately persist in choosing the gifts she warned you against? And did either of you practise the good precepts she gave you with them? Had they been observed, you are conscious that you might still have been rich, and Amaranthé handsome. But come," she added, observing the effect her words had upon them, "be not alarmed. My design is not to arraign, but to instruct. The fact is, my sister is not treacherous, but she is injudicious. Her power is very limited, and the few gifts she has to bestow, are more likely to ensnare than to benefit those whom she means to serve. She gave you, indeed, good advice, but she could not endow you with the good sense that would enable you to follow it. Even you, my quiet Claribel, have not, I fancy, profited much by her favor. Say, were you very happy in the possession of your lily?" Claribel, after considering a little, answered, "I do not know that I was absolutely happy. I was, indeed, always contented, as she promised I should be, and never felt inclined to repine, or be vexed at any thing; but I do not remember ever experiencing any particular pleasure." "No," returned the fairy, "nor would any one under such circumstances. The content Felicia bestowed on you, was not the happy result of a well-regulated mind, satisfied with its own exertions, and the performance of those duties incumbent on all rational beings. It was indolence, mistaken for a virtue. A being endued with reason, of which it obeys not the dictates; with faculties, of which it makes no use, but is content to occupy its station in life without fulfilling the purposes for which it was placed there, is scarcely less censurable than those who waste their time in riot and dissipation. Others may reap some advantage from their follies, but no benefit can be derived from a mere moving machine."

The vaunted favorite of Felicia found herself no higher in the esteem of Benigna than her indiscreet cousins, and felt ready to sink under her reproving eye; but, resuming her benevolent aspect, the fairy continuing her discourse, said, "take courage, my children, you are none of you irreclaimable, and may hope, by your future conduct, to make some amends for past transgressions. The fault has not been so much in yourselves, as in those whose duty it was to have prepared you for the trials and temptations, that you had little chance of passing through the world without encountering. Now, let me try if this wand cannot confer more lasting happiness than the roses and hyacinths of my sister." So saying, she waved it gently over their heads. In a moment, they all felt like new-created beings. They seemed to awaken to a different sense of existence. They became painfully sensible of their own deficiencies, and of the deplorable want of education, yet the pain was alleviated by the cheering influence of the light let in upon them, and the earnest desire they felt for improvement.

"You are now," said Benigna, "all conscious of the folly and uselessness of your past lives; and if my wand has done its duty, you are equally willing to repair the evils they have been the cause of. As I before said, you have been less to blame than others. You wanted instruction in every thing, but the chief and most important instruction you wanted, was--principle! Had that been properly inculcated into you, all the ills that have befallen you, might have been avoided. In this apartment, (looking round,) you will find store for your minds, and employment of the most pleasing kind for your time; but this (placing her hand on a very large volume that was on a desk before her) must be your first and most assiduous study. In these writings you will find how unnecessary is the aid of fairies to your welfare, when by humbly imploring that of the all-powerful Being who never forsakes those who resort to him, you will secure those endless blessings that magic has not to bestow.

"But you probably wish to know where you are. Learn then that this abode, and the fortune annexed to it, is no gift of mine; it is the bequest of your uncle, who died in a foreign country. He, as well as the rest of her friends, disapproved of his sister's connexion with a person who had always conducted himself very ill towards him; and when the marriage took place, his resentment was so great, that he forsook his native country, accompanied by the friend whose return to it cost you the loss of your parents. On his death-bed, your uncle's heart relented in favour of his sister, to whom and her children, he bequeathed his property, with an equal portion to his niece, Claribel. He consigned the deed of gift to that friend, exacting a promise from him, that he would deliver it only into your mother's hands. You already know how he was prevented doing that; and when the priest, to whom he entrusted it, also died, I took care to secure the deed for the purpose of restoring it to your mother; but death defeated all our intentions.

"I should not have withheld your own property so long from you, had not my sister taken you so hastily under her protection; but as I surmised what the result of her patronage would be, I determined to reserve this resource against the hour of distress, to which I had little doubt her favours would reduce you. And now, my children, it only remains for you to make a right use of these valuable possessions. You have not boundless riches, but have sufficient to satisfy all your own reasonable wants, and to administer to the wants of your suffering fellow beings. I have furnished you with the means, as well as the desire of improvement. Let the remembrance of your past errors, and the folly of your first wishes, operate on your future conduct. Fail not to observe these injunctions, and you will secure the love and esteem of all whose good opinion you wish to obtain; and though I may never appear to you again, my attendant spirit and good offices shall not be withdrawn."

So saying, the excellent fairy Benigna, casting on them all a look of maternal affection, again gently waved her powerful wand, and vanished!

The fairy indeed vanished, and the wand was seen no more; but their influence was still felt by the now happy and deserving orphans. They assiduously obeyed her commands in seeking knowledge and instruction and took care that their first study should be that volume to which she had directed their attention. There Adrian learned that "in Godliness is great riches," and Amaranthé found in "the beauty of holiness"--that pure gratification and unabated happiness, that beauty of person, had no chance of bestowing. Claribel, by "faith and good works," experienced content, accompanied by real enjoyment, instead of the negative satisfaction derived from her lily. She became as animated and active as she had before been indolent and helpless.

Adrian, in acquiring wisdom, was able to indulge his natural good propensities. He knew how to manage the fortune he possessed, and by learning to be frugal could afford to be generous. His vivacity, now tempered by good sense, was the delight of all to whom he was known; and the happiness springing from a cultivated mind and corrected heart, rendered him once more a joyous, but never a licentious spirit.

Amaranthé, though never restored to the radiant beauty of the hyacinth, regained her original healthy and sprightly looks. The ease of her heart was manifested in her countenance. She could behold beauty in others without a repining sigh, nor coveted any other admiration than what her uniform good conduct and commendable desire to please and oblige, always procured for her.

Ursula had often the gratification of seeing her sweet young ladies employed in the embroidery she had so industriously taught them for the benefit of their indigent neighbours; and the faithful Gabriel enjoyed the exquisite delight of knowing that his honoured young master and mistresses obtained the blessings of the poor, and the respect of the rich.

Thus these children of the old castle, whose lives began under such unpromising auspices, and for whom I hope my young readers are excessively interested, ended them as prosperously as mere human beings can ever hope to do. They were happy because they were rational; and being rational, they felt well disposed to laugh heartily at all absurd stories about Fairies, Flower Baskets, and White Wands!

THE END.

BARNARD AND FARLEY,
_Skinner-Street_, _London_.

Transcriber's Note:

Spelling variations for choose/chuse, as well as archaic spelling for controul and pourtrayed have been retained as the appear in the original publication.