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who had not unfrequently, when viewing this scene from the bower, taken occasion from it to speak of his native country, and to describe the events of his infancy; such as he recollected, when residing at a country-house, possessed by his paternal grandfather, on the heights of the Dole.

The shattered hut, therefore, with its beautiful environs, and the lovely view which it commanded, were impressive to his heart; and the powerful associations of his mind entirely overcame him; yea, such was his agitation, that he staggered to a mossy seat within the round bower, and placing his open hands upon his knees, laid his burning forehead upon them, and yielded to the violence of his feel. ings by a flood of tears.

How long he had remained in this position he knew not ; but, if time were to be calculated by the progress of thought, it was long, very long, (for the whole life of the unhappy youth had passed in review before him during this interval,) when he was suddenly roused by a rustling noise and the sound of approaching steps. He started and looked up, and saw Emily approaching him. And now, as I am anxious that the reader may have a view of this lovely child, and there remains no way of presenting her to him, but by my feeble powers of description, I feel inclined to attempt such a portrait of her as may be given with the inaterials I possess.

She was, at that time, not more than thirteen years of age, and, though taller than many young persons of her age, yet, from the lovely simplicity of her habits, the modesty of her deportment, and the delicacy of her form and features, she was looking younger than she really was. She wore no cap or hat, having come out in haste in pursuit of her brother; and though sorrow and anxiety were expressed on her countenance, still, the agitation of her mind, together with the quickness of her motion, had added a glow to her cheeks, which had rendered her native beauty still more pleasing. A profusion of chesnut hair hung in ringlets over her face and neck, and her dark blue eyes and dimpled features, though indicative of the most affecting tenderness, were now strongly marked by the distress which agitated her bosom. She came with such quickness, that Christopher had no time to conceal from

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her the tokens of his distress; in vain he hastily rubbed his eyes as she approached him; the evidences of his trouble were still too apparent, even through the smiles which now beamed on his countenance. “0, my brother!" she said, as she entered the bower and came closer to him, “0, my Christopher, you are unhappy! what can I do to comfort you?" and she threw her arms around him as he sat, and pressing his head against her affectionate breast, wiped away the tears which moistened his cheeks with her mus

Christopher was so wholly overpowered by this affection, that his tears again gushed forth, and he sobbed aloud.

“What new sorrow troubles my brother?” said Emily ; “ tell me, O tell me, what afflicts you, my brother! Is it any thing in which our father is concerned ? if it is, (and she hesitated,) I will run to him; I will kneel to him: I will not rise till he has granted all you wish.”

“No, no, Emily,” he replied: “no, my sister, my friend, my beloved; in one word, my Emily, you can do nothing for me.”

“ But tell me,” she said, “ has any thing new arisen? Has my father ?" and she hesitated again.

In reply to this, her brother assured her that he had no additional cause of sorrow to what he had known for many days past; and concluded by kissing away the tears of sympathy which were flowing down her cheeks.

Then, my dear brother,” she said, “ there really is nothing new which afflicts you?”

“ Nothing, my Emily, nothing," he replied: “only be comforted; I can bear every thing but to see you unhappy: be happy, my sister, and I cannot be miserable."

She looked inquiringly at him. His countenance seemed, even in her inexperienced view, to indicate something she could not understand. But, at the age of Emily, doubts and fears, however well grounded, have only a transient effect on the mind; and, as she had often seen her brother rendered uneasy by her father's manner, she tried to beJieve that this uneasiness would now pass away without other consequences than she had witnessed on former occasions; and therefore, when he attempted to rouse himself, and talk of ordinary things, she congratulated her self on seeing him in better spirits; and when he proposed

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to her to walk with him to a stile at the end of the wood, saying that he had some little business at a cottage a little beyond, she consented with cheerfulness, and commenced her walk with some composure. Nevertheless, as they proceeded through the narrow wood-ways, she observed that he relapsed into gloom; and when they arrived at the end of the wood she was startled at the hurried manner in which he embraced her; the moment afterwards bounding over the stile, and running down the slope towards the cottage with a swiftness which soon removed him from her view.

It was late in the day when Emily was left by her brother;

and she stood looking towards the spot where he had disappeared, till the sun sinking suddenly behind the hills, the freshness of the evening breeze reminded her of the lateness of the hour, and her solitary situation. Casting one more glance towards the cottage, to see if her brother might yet be returning, she hastened her steps towards her home; and not being in a condition to appear before her father, (who would immediately have discerned the traces of tears on her cheeks,) she withdrew to her chamber, and soon lost the remembrance of the melancholy scene in the wood in a deep sleep.

The major was a late riser, and made a point of taking his last meal at a late hour in the evening; therefore, though Emily was often asleep before nine o'clock, the domestics were commonly in motion till nearly twelve; the outer door being frequently open, or at least unbarred till a very late hour. Such being the case, it was not difficult for Christopher to execute a project which he had formed on parting with Emily at the stile. This was, to return, and see her once more, whether sleeping or waking; resolving, if he found her in the former situation, to cut a lock of her hair, and leave a letter with her, which should contain his farewell, and give the reasons of his departure. He accordingly wrote the letter with a pencil at the cottage, and returning, as soon as it was dark, to his father's house, which was no longer to be his home, he stole up to Emily's apartment; and there, having gently kissed her forehead, as she lay asleep, and cut one lovely ringlet from her head, he laid the letter on her pillow, and withdrew . but years passed away before it was known where he slept

that night, or where he found a home or resting-place, after he quitted his father's house.

Thus, the selfishness and inconsideration of the parent effected the temporary ruin of a hopeful child. And here we might suitably adduce the caution of the Apostle-Fathers, provoke not your children to anger, lest they be discouraged. (Col. iii. 21.) Nevertheless, it may be well to remark, in this place, that for one instance of a child ruined by a father's insensibility, as in the case of Christopher Muller, thousands may be found of undutiful and ungrateful children who ruin themselves.

As soon as the morning rose on Emily, after the departure of her brother, she observed the letter on her pillow, and opened it, full of apprehensions, which were too fully confirmed before she read the first line; and, early as it was, she hastened to her father's room, and imparted to him the cause of her anguish, by supplicating him to send some one to seek her brother, and bring him back, though he had left no clew by which he might be traced.

The major was evidently agitated on the first reception of this intelligence; but soon relapsed into a state of indifference, which rendered it impossible for those about him to determine how far he felt for his son. One thing, however, was remarked, that Wietlesbach was immediately dispatched in search of Christopher, and did not return for several weeks; and many epistles, uncouthly directed, were received from him during the interval.

In the mean time, Emily was inconsolable, and, for a length of time, never entered her father's presence without evincing her sorrow. Christopher-her beloved Christopher-seemed to occupy her whole thoughts, and even in her sleep she frequently called upon him; being strongly impressed, no doubt, with the remembrance of his last visit to her in her chamber. Many were the efforts made by this lovely little girl to trace her brother, but in vain. She often stole out alone, and inquired at the neighbouring cottages; she even expended all her pocket-money in promoting inquiries; and, as her last resource, she wrote to Charles Harrington, who had entered the army, and who was then in Ireland.

The conscience of Emily was somewhat wounded at the necessity under which she lay of carrying on this cor

respondence privately; for her father had forbidden her to mention her brother's name before him; but she felt what she did to be a duty, and so conquered her reluctance.

The answer from Charles was what Emily might have expected—replete with sorrowful and affectionate expressions, and abounding with assurances, that he would do all that in him lay, among his many acquaintance and connexions, to trace his unhappy friend; while the last paragraph brought new sorrow to her heart, by informing her that he himsalf was on the eve of embarking, with his regiment, for the West Indies : the dangers of which she knew too well, by the description she had received of those fatal islands from her father.

After a while, Wietlesbach returned, and brought no tidings of Christopher; and the major then resolved upon leaving his present residence, and taking Emily with him. This intention was no sooner conceived than put in execution, with the precipitancy of one who was weary of all about him. The house and furniture, now become the property of Emily, were placed in the hands of her trustees ; and the father with his daughter, and Wietlesbach as their only attendant, set out for London.

Émily, though grieved to part with many things and persons whom she had known and loved from infancy, was not displeased at this arrangement; for she entertained the hope that she might perhaps, during her travels, discover the object of her anxiety; and, to a heart not at ease, a change of place often affords some relief.

I shall not enter into a very detailed account of the various movements of the major and his family, from the time of their leaving the birth-place of Emily, till their final settlement in a place which I shall have occasion to describe at large in a future part of my history. The family first removed to London ; whence, after a short residence, they proceeded to Dover and Calais; and from this last place to Paris. There the major occupied handsome apartments, near the Palais Royal; and, as it was his plan to take all his meals at the cafes and restaurateurs, he placed Emily as a pensionnaire in one of the most fashionable seminaries in that capital—by this means leaving himself at liberty to pursue his own plans of amusement.

During her residence at Paris, Emily saw little of her

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