Emily Moreland, or, The maid of the valley . riage, in addition toother causes of discontent, were rendered very un-happy by Reginalds disappointment, as well as myown, of the hopes of a family. I was always pas-sionately fond of children, and I envied every mo-ther I saw, and fancied that in the caresses and affec-tion of one of those little innocents, I should havefound a compensation for every care, and a never-failing source of pleasure. Often and often the ideaof adopting and rearing one as my own occurred tome, and at length an opportunity offered, whichseemed to piomise every gratificat
Emily Moreland, or, The maid of the valley . riage, in addition toother causes of discontent, were rendered very un-happy by Reginalds disappointment, as well as myown, of the hopes of a family. I was always pas-sionately fond of children, and I envied every mo-ther I saw, and fancied that in the caresses and affec-tion of one of those little innocents, I should havefound a compensation for every care, and a never-failing source of pleasure. Often and often the ideaof adopting and rearing one as my own occurred tome, and at length an opportunity offered, whichseemed to piomise every gratification to my wishes,without any of the inconveniences which had de-terred^me in other cases. We were residing one summer at a beautifulromantic village in Sussex, not far fr->m the coast—1 said we, but it was principally myself, for LordHaviland passed but little of his time there ; and T,being just then suffering from one of those fits oflanguor and despondence which frequently drove meto shun l\\^ society, passed most of my tmc in waii-. ^KSo^c ^/ . ////(/ [ (? ////// // V v/ ; /r(/ // ?//// • ^ /^f //. Zi/ndon. J-uilishgd iu &. Yirt?/. 25, Imla/w EMILY IWORELAND. 631 (iexing alone about the lovely country whit h sur-rounded my residence. In one of those excursions,on a very hot day in Juno, I sought refuge from theoverpowering heat of the sun in a delightful grove,about a mile and a half from home, in which I hadbefore, with a book, or sometimes no other compa-nion than my own melancholy thoughts, thrown my-self on the smooth green turf, and free from all fearof interruption, reposed for hours. On this day, tomy surprise, however, I found my favourite spotpre-occupied ; for, on putting aside the branches, Ibeheld a beautiful boy, apparently Avearied with play,buried in a profound sleep. He was seemingly aboutfour years old, and though dressed with perfectneatness, was evidently, from the texture of hisclothes, not above the condition of a cottagerschild. Never, however,
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