“Give my love to my dear little boy and girl. How can I thank you and Mrs. Darford enough for all you have done for them? There is another person whom I should wish to thank, but scarcely dare to name; feeling, as I do, so unworthy of her goodness. “Adieu, yours sincerely, “CHARLES DARFORD, again, thank God.” It is scarcely necessary to inform our readers, that Mr. William Darford received his penitent friend with open arms, took him into partnership, and assisted him in the most kind and judicious manner to re-establish his fortune and his credit. He became remarkable for his steady attention to business; to the great astonishment of those who had seen him only in the character of a dissipated fine gentleman. Few have sufficient strength of mind thus to stop short in the career of folly, and few have the resolution to bear the ridicule thrown upon them even by those whom they despise. Our hero was ridiculed most unmercifully by all his former companions,--by all the Bond-street loungers. But of what consequence was this to him? He did not live among them; he did not hear their witticisms; and well knew that, in less than a twelvemonth, they would forget such a person as Charles Germaine had ever existed. His knowledge of what is called high life had sufficiently convinced him that happiness is not in the gift or in the possession of those who are often, to ignorant mortals, objects of supreme admiration and envy. Charles Darford looked for happiness, and found it in domestic life. Belief, founded upon our own experience, is more firm than that which we grant to the hearsay evidence of moralists; but happy those who, according to the ancient proverb, can profit by the experience of their predecessors! _Feb_. 1803. THE CONTRAST CHAPTER I. “What a blessing it is to be the father of such a family of children!” said farmer Frankland, as he looked round at the honest affectionate faces of his sons and daughters, who were dining with him on his birthday. “What a blessing it is to have a large family of children!” “A blessing you may call it, if you will, neighbour,” said farmer Bettesworth; “but if I were to speak my mind, I should be apt to call it a curse.”