“It would be the pride of my life to have--to deserve such a friend,” cried Caroline: “I feel all the condescension of this kindness. I know you are much too good to me. I am afraid you think too highly of me. But Mrs. Hungerford’s praise does not operate like flattery: though it exalts me in my own opinion, it shall not make me vain; it excites my ambition to be--all she thinks me.” “You _are_ all I think you,” said Mrs. Hungerford; “and that you may hereafter be something yet nearer than a friend to me is the warmest wish of my heart--But, no, I will not indulge myself in expressing that wish; Such wishes are never wise where we have no power, no right to act--such wishes often counteract their own object--anticipations are always imprudent. But--about my niece, Lady Mary Pembroke. I particularly admire the discretion, still more than the kindness, with which you have acted with respect to her and Mr. Barclay--you have left things to their natural course. You have not by any imprudent zeal or generosity hazarded a word that could hurt the delicacy of either party. You seem to have been fully aware that wherever the affections are concerned, the human mind is most tenacious of what one half of the philosophers in the world will not allow to exist, and the other half cannot define. Influenced as we all are every moment in our preferences and aversions, sometimes imperceptibly, sometimes avowedly, by the most trifling and often the silliest causes, yet the wisest of us start, and back, and think it incumbent on our pride in love affairs, to resist the slightest interference, or the best advice, from the best friends. What! love upon compulsion! No--Jupiter is not more tenacious of his thunderbolt than Cupid is of his arrows. Blind as he is, none may presume to direct the hand of that little urchin.” Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a servant, who brought the post-bag, with many letters for Mrs. Hungerford. CHAPTER XVIII. The arrival of the post was at this time an anxious moment to Mrs. Hungerford, as she had so many near relations and friends in the army and navy. This day brought letters, with news that lighted up her countenance with dignified joy, one from Captain Hungerford, her second son, ten minutes after an action at sea with the French. “Dear mother--English victorious, of course; for particulars, see Gazette. In the cockle shell I have, could do nothing worth mentioning, but am promised a ship soon, and hope for opportunity to show myself worthy to be your son. “F. HUNGERFORD.” “I hope I am grateful to Providence for such children!” cried Mrs. Hungerford. Mrs. Mortimer darted upon Captain Hungerford’s name in the Gazette--“And I cannot refrain from mentioning to your lordships the gallant manner in which I was seconded by Captain Hungerford.”