Miss Emmerson had a brother residing in the city of New-York, who was a man of eminence at the bar, and who, having been educated fifty years ago, was, from that circumstance, just so much superior to his successors of his own sex by twenty years, as his sisters were the losers from the same cause. The family of Mr. Emmerson was large, and, besides several sons, he had two daughters, one of whom remained still unmarried in the house of her father. Katherine Emmerson was but eighteen months the senior of Julia Warren; but her father had adopted a different course from that which was ordinarily pursued with girls of her expectations. He had married a woman of sense, and now reaped the richest blessing of such a connexion in her ability to superintend the education of her daughter. A mother's care was employed to correct errors that a mother's tenderness could only discover; and in the place of general systems, and comprehensive theories, was substituted the close and rigorous watchfulness which adapted the remedy to the disease; which studied the disposition; and which knew the failings or merits of the pupil, and could best tell when to reward, and how to punish. The consequences were easily to be seen in the manners and character of their daughter. Her accomplishments, even where a master had been employed in their attainment, were naturally displayed, and suited to her powers. Her manners, instead of the artificial movements of prescribed rules, exhibited the chaste and delicate modesty of refinement, mingled with good principles – such as were not worn in order to be in character as a woman and a lady, but were deeply seated, and formed part, not only of her habits, but, if we may use the expression, of her nature also. Miss Emmerson had good sense enough to perceive the value of such an acquaintance for her ward; but, unfortunately for her wish to establish an intimacy between her nieces, Julia had already formed a friendship at school, and did not conceive her heart was large enough to admit two at the same time to its sanctuary. How much Julia was mistaken the sequel of our tale will show.
So long as Anna Miller was the inmate of the school, Julia was satisfied to remain also, but the father of Anna having determined to remove to an estate in the interior of the country, his daughter was taken from school; and while the arrangements were making for the reception of the family on the banks of the Gennessee, Anna was permitted to taste, for a short time, the pleasures of the world, at the residence of Miss Emmerson on the banks of the Hudson.
Charles Weston was a distant relative of the good aunt, and was, like Julia, an orphan, who was moderately endowed with the goods of fortune. He was a student in the office of her uncle, and being a great favourite with Miss Emmerson, spent many of his leisure hours, during the heats of the summer, in the retirement of her country residence.
Whatever might be the composure of the maiden aunt, while Julia was weeping in her chamber over the long separation that was now to exist between herself and her friend, young Weston by no means displayed the same philosophic indifference. He paced the hall of the building with rapid steps, cast many a longing glance at the door of his cousin's room, and then seated himself with an apparent intention to read the volume he held in his hands; nor did he in any degree recover his composure until Julia re-appeared on the landing of the stairs, moving slowly towards their bottom, when, taking one long look at her lovely face, which was glowing with youthful beauty, and if possible more charming from the traces of tears in her eyes, he coolly pursued his studies. Julia had recovered her composure, and Charles Weston felt satisfied. Miss Emmerson and her niece took their seats quietly with their work at an open window of the parlour, and order appeared to be restored in some measure to the mansion. After pursuing their several occupations for some minutes with a silence that had lately been a stranger to them, the aunt observed —
"You appear to have something new in hand, my love. Surely you must abound with trimmings, and yet you are working another already?"
"It is for Anna Miller," said Julia with a flush of feeling.
"I was in hopes you would perform your promise to your cousin Katherine, now Miss Miller is gone, and make your portion of the garments for the Orphan Asylum," returned Miss Emmerson gravely.
"Oh! cousin Katherine must wait. I promised this trimming to Anna to remember me by, and I would not disappoint the dear girl for the world."
"It is not your cousin Katherine, but the Orphans, who will have to wait; and surely a promise to a relation is as sacred as one to an acquaintance."
"Acquaintance, aunt!" echoed the niece with displeasure. "Do not, I entreat you, call Anna an acquaintance merely. She is my friend – my very best friend, and I love her as such."
"Thank you, my dear," said the aunt dryly.
"Oh! I mean nothing disrespectful to yourself, dear aunt," continued Julia. "You know how much I owe to you, and ought to know that I love you as a mother."
"And would you prefer Miss Miller to a mother, then?"
"Surely not in respect, in gratitude, in obedience; but still I may love her, you know. Indeed, the feelings are so very different, that they do not at all interfere with each other – in my heart at least."
"No!" said Miss Emmerson, with a little curiosity – "I wish you would try and explain this difference to me, that I may comprehend the distinctions that you are fond of making."
"Why, nothing is easier, dear aunt!" said Julia with animation. "You I love because you are kind to me, attentive to my wants, considerate for my good; affectionate, and – and – from habit – and you are my aunt, and take care of me."
"Admirable reasons!" exclaimed Charles Weston, who had laid aside his book to listen to this conversation.
"They are forcible ones I must admit," said Miss Emmerson, smiling affectionately on her niece; "but now for the other kind of love."
"Why, Anna is my friend, you know," cried Julia, with eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "I love her, because she has feelings congenial with my own; she has so much wit, is so amusing, so frank, so like a girl of talents – so like – like every thing I admire myself."
"It is a pity that one so highly gifted cannot furnish herself with frocks," said the aunt, with a little more than her ordinary dryness of manner, "and suffer you to work for those who want them more."
"You forget it is in order to remember me," said Julia, in a manner that spoke her own ideas of the value of the gift.
"One would think such a friendship would not require any thing to remind one of its existence," returned the aunt.
"Why! it is not that she will forget me without it, but that she may have something by her to remind her of me – " said Julia rapidly, but pausing as the contradiction struck even herself.
"I understand you perfectly, my child," interrupted the aunt, "merely as an unnecessary security, you mean."
"To make assurance doubly sure," cried Charles Weston with a laugh.
"Oh! you laugh, Mr. Weston," said Julia with a little anger; "but I have often said, you were incapable of friendship."
"Try me!" exclaimed the youth fervently. "Do not condemn me without a trial."
"How can I?" said Julia, laughing in her turn. "You are not a girl."
"Can girls then only feel friendship?" inquired Charles, taking the seat which Miss Emmerson had relinquished.
"I sometimes think so," said Julia, with her own good-humoured smile. "You are too gross – too envious – in short, you never see such friendships between men as exist between women."
"Between girls, I will readily admit," returned the youth. "But let us examine this question after the manner of the courts – "
"Nay, if you talk law I shall quit you," interrupted the young lady gaily.
"Certainly one so learned in the subject need not dread a cross-examination," cried the youth, in her own manner.
"Well, proceed," cried the lady. "I have driven aunt Margaret from the field, and you will fare no better, I can assure you."
"Men, you say, are too gross to feel a pure friendship; in the first place, please