o throw before her own eyes
was removed, she would cease to respect, and of course cease to love him,
when too late to remedy the evil, she greatly feared. But in the
approaching fate of Jane she saw new cause to call forth her own activity.

Emily Moseley had just completed her eighteenth year, and was gifted by
nature with a vivacity and ardency of feeling that gave a heightened zest
to the enjoyments of that happy age. She was artless but intelligent;
cheerful, with a deep conviction of the necessity of piety; and uniform in
her practice of all the important duties. The unwearied exertions of her
aunt, aided by her own quickness of perception, had made her familiar with
the attainments suitable to her sex and years. For music she had no taste,
and the time which would have been thrown away in endeavoring to cultivate
a talent she did not possess, was dedicated under the discreet guidance of
her aunt, to works which had a tendency both to qualify her for the
duties of this life, and fit her for that which comes hereafter. It might
be said Emily Moseley had never read a book that contained a sentiment or
inculcated an opinion improper for her sex or dangerous to her morals; and
it was not difficult for those who knew the fact, to fancy they could
perceive the consequences in her guileless countenance and innocent
deportment. Her looks--her actions--her thoughts, wore as much of nature
as the discipline of her well-regulated mind and softened manners could
admit. In person she was of the middle size, exquisitely formed, graceful
and elastic in her step, without, however, the least departure from her
natural movements; her eye was a dark blue, with an expression of joy and
intelligence; at times it seemed all soul, and again all heart; her color
was rather high, but it varied with every emotion of her bosom; her
feelings were strong, ardent, and devoted to those she loved. Her
preceptress had never found it necessary to repeat an admonition of any
kind, since her arrival at years to discriminate between the right and the
wrong.

"I wish," said Doctor Ives to his wife, the evening his son had asked
their permission to address Clara, "Francis had chosen my little Emily."

"Clara is a good girl," replied his wife; "she is so mild, so
affectionate, that I doubt not she will make him happy--Frank might have
done worse at the Hall."

"For himself he has done well, I hope," said the father, "a young woman of
Clara's heart ma