“Yet has his aspect nothing of severe, But such a face as promised him sincere. Nothing reserved or sullen was to see, But sweet regards, and pleasing sanctity, Mild was his accent, and his action free. With eloquence innate his tongue was arm’d, Though harsh the precept, yet the preacher charm’d; For, letting down the golden chain from high, He drew his audience upwards to the sky. He taught the Gospel rather than the law, And forced himself to drive, but loved to draw. The tithes his parish freely paid, he took; But never sued, or curs’d with bell and book. Wide was his parish, not contracted close In streets--but here and there a straggling house. Yet still he was at hand, without request, To serve the sick, and succour the distressed. The proud he tamed, the penitent he cheer’d, Nor to rebuke the rich offender fear’d. His preaching much, but more his practice wrought, A living sermon of the truths he taught.” Lady Delacour wished that she could find a chaplain, who in any degree resembled this charming parish priest, and Dr. X----promised that he would the next day introduce to her his friend Mr. Moreton. “Mr. Moreton!” said Belinda, “the gentleman of whom Mr. Percival spoke, Mrs. Freke’s Mr. Moreton?” “Yes,” said Dr. X----, “the clergyman whom Mrs. Freke hanged in effigy, and to whom Clarence Hervey has given a small living.” These circumstances, even if he had not precisely resembled Chaucer’s character of a benevolent clergyman, would have strongly interested Lady Delacour in his favour. She found him, upon farther acquaintance, a perfect contrast to her former chaplain; and he gradually acquired such salutary influence over her mind, that he relieved her from the terrors of methodism, and in their place substituted the consolations of mild and rational piety. Her conscience was now at peace; her spirits were real and equable, and never was her conversation so agreeable. Animated with the new feelings of returning health, and the new hopes of domestic happiness, she seemed desirous to impart her felicity to all around her, but chiefly to Belinda, who had the strongest claims upon her gratitude, and the warmest place in her affections. Belinda never made her friend feel the weight of any obligation, and consequently Lady Delacour’s gratitude was a voluntary pleasure--not an expected duty. Nothing could be more delightful to Miss Portman than thus to feel herself the object at once of esteem, affection, and respect; to see that she had not only been the means of saving her friend’s life, but that the influence she had obtained over her mind was likely to be so permanently beneficial both to her and to her family.