knowing that the
requisites to bring or to keep happiness in the married state were
numerous and indispensable; and that the display of a particular
excellence, however good in itself, was by no means conclusive as to
character; in short, that we perhaps as often meet with a favorite
principle as with a besetting sin.

Chapter XIV.

Sir Edward Moseley had some difficulty in restraining the impetuosity of
his son, who was disposed to resent this impertinent interference of young
Jarvis with the conduct of his favorite sister; indeed, the young man only
yielded to his profound respect to his father's commands, aided by a
strong representation on the part of his sister of the disagreeable
consequences of connecting her name with such a quarrel. It was seldom the
good baronet felt himself called on to act as decidedly as on the present
occasion. He spoke to the merchant in warm, but gentleman-like terms, of
the consequences which might have resulted to his own child from the
intemperate act of his son; exculpated Emily entirely from censure, by
explaining her engagement to dance with Denbigh, previously to Captain
Jarvis's application; and hinted the necessity, if the affair was not
amicably terminated, of protecting the peace of mind of his daughters
against any similar exposures, by declining the acquaintance of a neighbor
he respected as much as Mr. Jarvis.

The merchant was a man of few words, but of great promptitude. He had made
his fortune, and more than once saved it, by his decision; and assuring
the baronet he should hear no more of it, he took his hat and hurried home
from the village, where the conversation passed. On arriving at his own
house, he found the family collected in the parlor for a morning ride, and
throwing himself into a chair, he broke out on the whole party with great
violence.

"So, Mrs. Jarvis," he cried, "you _would_ spoil a very tolerable
book-keeper, by wishing to have a soldier in your family; and there stands
the puppy who would have blown out the brains of a deserving young man, if
the good sense of Mr. Denbigh had not denied him the opportunity."

"Mercy!" cried the alarmed matron, on whom Newgate (for her early life had
been passed near its walls), with all its horrors, floated, and a
contemplation of its punishments had been her juvenile lessons of
morality--"Harry! Harry! would you commit murder?"

"Murder!" echoed her son, looking askance, as if dodging the bailiffs.