in a dashing, spirited, thoroughbred way—that
she had a clear voice, with a ring of the right
metal in it, and a smile that began very prettily
in her eyes before it got to her lips—and there
behold the portrait of her, to the best of my
painting, as large as life!

And what about her disposition next? Had
this charming creature no faults? She had
just as many faults as you have, ma'am—
neither more nor less.

To put it seriously, my dear pretty Miss
Rachel, possessing a host of graces and
attractions, had one defect, which strict
impartiality compels me to acknowledge. She was
unlike most other girls of her age, in this—
that she had ideas of her own, and was stiff-
necked enough to set the fashions themselves
at defiance, if the fashions didn't suit her views.
In trifles, this independence of hers was all well
enough; but in matters of importance, it carried
her (as my lady thought, and as I thought) too
far. She judged for herself, as few women of
twice her age judge in general; never asked
your advice; never told you beforehand what
she was going to do; never came with secrets
and confidences to anybody, from her mother
downwards. In little things and great, with
people she loved, and people she hated (and
she did both with equal heartiness), Miss
Rachel always went on a way of her own,
sufficient for herself in the joys and the sorrows of
her life. Over and over again I have heard my
lady say, "Rachel's best friend and Rachel's
worst enemy are, one and the other—Rachel
herself."

Add one thing more to this, and I have
done.

With all her secresy, and all her self-will, there
was not so much as the shadow of anything
false in her. I never remember her breaking
her word; I never remember her saying, No,
and meaning, Yes. I can call to mind, in her
childhood, more than one occasion when the
good little soul took the blame, and suffered
the punishment, for some fault committed by a
playfellow whom she loved. Nobody ever knew
her to confess to it, when the thing was found
out, and she was charged with it afterwards.
But nobody ever knew her to lie about it,
either. She looked you straight in the face,
and shook her little saucy head, and said
plainly, "I won't tell you!" Punished again
for this, she would own to being sorry for
saying "won't;" but, bread and water
notwithstanding, she never told you. Self-willed
—devilish self-willed sometimes—I grant; but
the finest creature, nevertheless, that ever
walked the ways of this lower world.
Perhaps you think you see a certain contradiction
here? In that case, a word in your ear.
Study your wife closely, for the next four-
and-twenty hours. If your good lady doesn't
exhibit something in the shape of a
contradiction in that time, Heaven help you!—you
have married a monster.

I have now brought you acquainted with
Miss Rachel, which you will find puts us face
to face, next, with the question of that young
lady's matrimonial views.

On June the twelfth, an invitation from my
mistress was sent to a gentleman in London,
to come and help to keep Miss Rachel's birthday.
This was the fortunate individual on
whom I believed her heart to be privately set!
Like Mr. Franklin, he was a cousin of hers.
His name was Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite.

My lady's second sister (don't be alarmed
we are not going very deep into family
matters this time)—my lady's second sister, I
say, had a disappointment in love; and taking
a husband afterwards, on the neck-or-nothing
principle, made what they call a misalliance.
There was terrible work in the family when the
Honourable Caroline insisted on marrying plain
Mr. Ablewhite, the banker at Frizinghall. He
was very rich and very good tempered, and he
begot a prodigious large family—all in his
favour, so far. But he had presumed to raise
himself from a low station in the world—and
that was against him. However, Time and the
progress of modern enlightenment put things
right; and the misalliance passed muster very
well. We are all getting liberal now; and
(provided you can scratch me, if I scratch you)
what do I care, in or out of Parliament,
whether you are a Dustman or a Duke? That's
the modern way of looking at it—and I keep up
with the modern way. The Ablewhites lived
in a fine house and grounds, a little out of
Frizinghall. Very worthy people, and greatly
respected in the neighbourhood. We shall not
be much troubled with them, in these pages—
excepting Mr. Godfrey, who was Mr.
Ablewhite's second son, and who must take his
proper place here, if you please, for Miss
Rachel's sake.

With all his brightness and cleverness and
general good qualities, Mr. Franklin's chance
of topping Mr. Godfrey in our young lady's
estimation was, in my opinion, a very poor
chance indeed.

In the first place, Mr. Godfrey was, in point
of size, the finest man by far of the two. He
stood over six feet high; he had a beautiful red
and white colour; a smooth round face, shaved
as bare as your hand; and a head of lovely long
flaxen hair, falling negligently over the poll of
his neck. But why do I try to give you this
personal description of him? If you ever
subscribed to a Ladies' Charity in London, you
know Mr. Godfrey Ablewhite as well as I do.
He was a barrister by profession; a ladies' man
by temperament; and a good Samaritan by
choice. Female benevolence and female
destitution could do nothing without him. Maternal
societies for confining poor women; Magdalen
societies for rescuing poor women; strong-
minded societies for putting poor women into
poor men's places, and leaving the men to shift
for themselves;—he was vice-president, manager,
referee to them all. Wherever there was a
table with a committee of ladies sitting round
it in council, there was Mr. Godfrey at the