THE

DECISION.

PART I.

A small apartment in Mrs. Aberley's house.

GERTRUDE alone.

(Seated near a Table, and deeply occupied in readA gentle tap is heard at the Chamber Door.)

ing.

GER. (Starting and turning towards the door.) So, my promised hour of enjoyment is cut short. (Rises and opens the door, at which stands ANNA, a splendid dress in one arm, and a work-box in the other.)

GER. Anna! What is all this? I hope you are not come to consult me about your dress. You know I have lost all interest in such things.

ANNA.

Oh! Gertrude, have pity on me! Just look at this dress! Mrs. Dalton sent it to me so loaded with trimming, that I sent Morley to alter it, and only see what a thing she has made of it! I do not know what to do, for this dress I must wear to-night. I have a most particular reason for doing so, and yet I have little more than one hour left to try to improve it— and to dress. As for Morley, she is now so cross and displeased, that, should I leave it to her, she would only make it worse. Do look at this trimming; did you ever see any thing so heavy and ugly? Besides, it hangs so low, I shall certainly tread it down if I dare venture to dance. (Throws herself into a chair.) What on earth shall I do! You laugh, Gertrude. Well, that is really ill-natured; and, if your new religion has taught you to be so, it has indeed changed you.

GER. (attempting to suppress a laugh.) No, Anna, my new religion has not taught me to be ill-natured; but it has taught me the absurdity of being made wretched, as you at this moment are, by such a trifle. I beg pardon, however, for laughing. And now, in reparation, what can I do for you?

ANNA. (Rising with animation.) Oh, if you undertake the matter, all may be well yet. Tell me only how to alter this. Ah! there it is in your hands, and soon all will be grace and

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beauty. Dear Gertrude, this is very kind. But what were you reading? I have interrupted you. (Opens Gertrude's book—reads.) Spiritual mind-Self-denial," (turns over the leaves,)— What close, small print! It seems a very long book. Is it all on one subject, Gertrude?

GER. It is, Anna: all on a subject which makes me doubt whether I am right in even assisting you in preparing to spend an evening, or rather night, in a manner so trifling.

ANNA. Ah! then we shall think no more of this gloomy book. (Closes and puts it away.) Now, dear Gertrude, do not fall into a brown study over my poor dress.

GER. Well-for this once-what do you wish. me to do?

ANNA. Nay, you must decide. I have in vain puzzled over it.

GER. And what whim has made you determine so positively to wear no other dress than this?

ANNA. Now, Gertrude, what a question! You know I must have some very strong reason; and how you trifle away the few moments left me. I am sure Mamma is nearly ready.

GER. (smiling.) Some strong reason! but come then, we must be busy. See, I think this will do, (arranging the trimming.)

ANNA. Oh, delightfully. Dear Gertrude, how perfect is your taste! And yet to give up every thing to sit moping here!

GER. Not moping, Anna. I never knew happiness till now, because I never before knew the source of happiness.

ANNA. How gracefully you are arranging that, Gertrude. What return can I make you for leaving your dear old book, and your newfound happiness, to assist me in doing what appears to you so foolish?

GER. Will you promise to make one return, my dear Anna, which it is in your power to do this very night?

ANNA. Most assuredly, provided it is not to stay at home.

GER. No: But it is to try, during the whole evening, to remember that God is present where you are; and that your inmost heart, as well as outward manner, and words and looks, are marked by him.

ANNA. Now that is so like Cousin Ashton: and do you know, Gertrude, I think you have asked me to do what would be almost profane. The Bible itself says there is a time for every thing.

GER. Does the Bible say there is a time, Anna, in which we may place ourselves in circumstances where the very recollection of God would be irreverent? Can such circumstances be innocent?

ANNA. Now, Gertrude, are you going to say that a ball is not an innocent amusement?

GER. It is not I who have said so, Anna; but I think you have.

ANNA. You always say something gloomy to me just before I go out. I do not think this is kind, Gertrude.

GER. I mean kindness only, Anna.

ANNA. I believe you; but you damp my spirits.

GER. Where do you wish to spend eternity, Anna?

ANNA. Now what a question! and how solemnly you pronounced that word, "Eternity." You are really very gloomy, Gertrude.

GER. Why should the idea of eternity be gloomy? But answer me, Anna, where do you wish to spend it?

ANNA. In heaven, to be sure.

GER. And with God? Do you not suppose he is for ever present there?

ANNA. To be sure I do.

GER. And do you suppose there will be times when you will be permitted to be free from restraint, and happy, and get out of his presence to amuse yourself for a little?

ANNA. I understand you, Gertrude-but hush-I hear Mamma's voice inquiring for me, (listening.) It is indeed. Gertrude, you have

ruined my enjoyment for this night by that request of yours, and those strange gloomy questions. But here comes Mamma.