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Modern
Algorithms for
Image Processing
Computer Imagery by Example Using C#
—
Vladimir Kovalevsky
 Modern Algorithms for
Image Processing
Computer Imagery by Example
Using C#

Vladimir Kovalevsky
Modern Algorithms for Image Processing: Computer Imagery by Example Using C#
Vladimir Kovalevsky
Berlin, Germany

ISBN-13 (pbk): 978-1-4842-4236-0 ISBN-13 (electronic): 978-1-4842-4237-7

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-4237-7
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018965475

Copyright © 2019 by Vladimir Kovalevsky

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Dedicated to my wife, Dr. Baerbel Kovalevsky
Table of Contents
About the Author����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� ix

Acknowledgments��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� xi
Introduction����������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� xiii

Part I: Image Processing�������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 1

Chapter 1: Introduction�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 3

Chapter 2: Noise Reduction�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 5

The Simplest Filter������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 6
The Simplest Averaging Filter������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 6
The Fast Averaging Filter�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 8
The Fast Gaussian Filter������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 14
The Median Filter������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 17
Sigma Filter: The Most Efficient One������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 18
Suppression of Impulse Noise���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 23

Chapter 3: Contrast Enhancement�������������������������������������������������������������������������� 43

Automatic Linear Contrast Enhancement����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 43
Histogram Equalization��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 45
Measuring the Lightness of Color Images����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 49
Contrast of Color Images������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 52
Manually Controlled Contrast Enhancement������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 53

Chapter 4: Shading Correction with Thresholding�������������������������������������������������� 65

Thresholding the Images������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 75

Chapter 5: Project WFshadBinImpulse������������������������������������������������������������������� 81

v
Table of Contents

Part II: Image Analysis��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 85

Chapter 6: Edge Detection�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 87
Laplacian Operator���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 87
The Method of Zero Crossing������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 89
Are Zero Crossings of Laplacian Closed Curves?������������������������������������������������������������������������ 89
How to Eliminate Irrelevant Crossings���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 91
Noise Reduction Before Using the Laplacian������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 92
Blur During the Digitization and Extreme Value Filter����������������������������������������������������������������� 93
Fundamental Errors of the Method of Zero Crossing in the Laplacian���������������������������������������� 98

Chapter 7: A New Method of Edge Detection�������������������������������������������������������� 101

Means for Encoding the Edges������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 102
The Idea of an Abstract Cell Complex��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 103
A Simple Method of Encoding Edges���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 105
Improvements of the Method of Binarized Gradient����������������������������������������������������������������� 107
Further Improvements of the Method of Binarized Gradient����������������������������������������������������� 120
The Edge Detector of Canny������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 122
Edges in Color Images�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 123
Conclusions������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 125

Chapter 8: A New Method of Image Compression������������������������������������������������ 127

Using a Cell Complex for the Encoding of Boundaries�������������������������������������������������������������� 128
Description of the Project WFcompressPal������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 131
The Project WFrestoreLin���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 150

Chapter 9: Image Segmentation and Connected Components������������������������������ 167

Segmentation by Quantizing the Colors������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 168
Connected Components������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 168
The Graph Traversal Algorithm and Its Code����������������������������������������������������������������������������� 171
The Pseudo-Code of the Breadth-First Algorithm���������������������������������������������������������������� 172

vi
 Table of Contents

The Approach of Equivalence Classes�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 173

The Pseudo-Code of the Root Algorithm����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 177
The Project WFsegmentAndComp��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 179
Conclusion�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 186

Chapter 10: Straightening Photos of Paintings���������������������������������������������������� 187

The Principle of Straightening�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 189
Codes of Most Important Methods�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 196
Conclusion�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 203

Chapter 11: Polygonal Approximation of Region Boundaries and Edges������������� 205

The Problem of Polygonal Approximation��������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 205
Schlesinger’s Measure of Similarity of Curves������������������������������������������������������������������������� 206
Statement of the Approximation Problem��������������������������������������������������������������������������� 207
Algorithms for Polygonal Approximation����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 207
The Split-and-Merge Method���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 208
The Sector Method�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 209
The Improvement of the Sector Method������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 210
Replacing Polygons by Sequences of Arcs and Straight Lines������������������������������������������������� 211
Definitions and the Problem Statement������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 211
The Approximate Solution��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 212
The Project WFpolyArc�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 217
Methods Used in the Project WFpolyArc������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 218
Precision of the Calculation of the Radii����������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 225
Conclusion�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 226

Chapter 12: Recognition and Measurement of Circular Objects��������������������������� 227

Mathematical Foundation of the Method���������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 228
The Project WFcircleReco��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 232
The Form of the Project WFcircleReco�������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 233

vii
Table of Contents

Chapter 13: Recognition of Bicycles in Traffic������������������������������������������������������ 243

Mathematical Foundation of Ellipse Recognition���������������������������������������������������������������������� 243
The Project WFellipseBike��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 247
Another Method of Recognizing the Direction�������������������������������������������������������������������������� 258

Chapter 14: A Computer Model of Cell Differentiation������������������������������������������ 261

Conclusion�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 266

References������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 267

Index��������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 269

viii
About the Author
Vladimir Kovalevsky received his diploma in physics from the Kharkov University
(Ukraine), his first doctoral degree in technical sciences from the Central Institute of
Metrology (Leningrad), and his second doctoral degree in computer science from the
Institute of Cybernetics of the Academy of Sciences of the Ukraine (Kiev) where he
headed the Department of Pattern Recognition for more than a decade.
Vladimir has been living in Germany since 1983. He was a researcher at the Central
Institute of Cybernetics of the Academy of Sciences of the GDR, Berlin, a professor
of computer science at the University of Applied Sciences Berlin, and a scientific
collaborator at the University of Rostock.
He has been a visiting researcher at the University of Pennsylvania, a professor at
the Manukau Institute of Technology in New Zealand, and a professor at the Chonbuk
National University in South Korea. He has reviewed for the journals Applied General
Topology, Computer Vision and Image Understanding, IEEE Transactions on Pattern
Analysis and Machine Intelligence, and others.
Vladimir has been a plenary speaker at conferences in Europe, the United States, and
New Zealand. His research interests include digital geometry, digital topology, computer
vision, image processing, and pattern recognition. He has published four monographs
and more than 180 journal and conference papers on image analysis, digital geometry,
and digital topology.

ix
Acknowledgments
I wish to acknowledge valuable and fruitful discussions with Boris Flach, Reinhard
Klette, Ulrich Koethe, Alexander Kovalevsky, Volkmar Miszalok, and Peer Stelldinger.
These discussions have significantly contributed to this work.
I would like to express my special appreciation to Alexander V. Kovalevsky, who
helped significantly as an experienced programmer in the development of my projects.

xi
Introduction
This book presents a collection of algorithms and projects for processing two-­dimensional
images. I developed and investigated the algorithms. Special emphasis is placed on
computer solutions of problems related to the improvement of the quality of images,
with image analysis and recognition of some geometrically definable objects. New data
structures useful for image analysis are presented. The description of all algorithms
contains examples of source code in the C# programming language. Descriptions of
projects contain source code that can be used by readers.
With this book I intend to help you develop efficient software for processing
two-­dimensional images. There are a lot of books on image processing, but important
algorithms are missing from these books. I have developed many efficient algorithms as
a new and important contribution to this area.
I have paid great attention to solutions of problems in image analysis. On the other
hand, problems of improving the quality of images are important for the arts. My wife is
a recognized specialist in the history of the arts, and her publications often use copies
of famous pictures and drawings. The photographs of these artworks are often of low
quality. Often photographs of historical drawings illustrating the work of a painter are
of such low quality that it is almost impossible to clearly see the contents of the image.
Improving these images is therefore very important. In such cases, the programs I have
developed for improving the quality of pictures are very useful.
I have developed efficient algorithms for recognizing circles and ellipses in
noisy images. These algorithms can be used for recognizing objects with a shape
approximating a circle; for example, apples, mushrooms, and so on. They can also be
used for recognizing bicycles in images of traffic because the wheels of bicycles are ideal
circles, but if the bicycle is positioned in such a way that the plane of its frame is not
orthogonal to the viewing ray, then its wheels look like ellipses rather than circles. I was
therefore forced to develop efficient algorithms for recognizing ellipses in noisy images
as well. My efforts were successful and the book contains a chapter devoted to the
recognition of bicycles in noisy images.
The book contains descriptions of numerous algorithms for image analysis,
including these:

xiii
Introduction

• Manually controlled thresholding of shading corrected images.

• A fast algorithm for simultaneously labeling all connected

components in a segmented image.

• A new efficient method of edge detection.

• A fast algorithm for approximating digital curves by polygons and for

estimating the curvature of circular arcs approximating the curve.

• Algorithms for recognition and measurement of circular or elliptical

objects in color images.

Among the algorithms for image improvement, the most important are the following:

• The algorithm for rectifying photographs of paintings taken at an

oblique angle.

• An algorithm correcting images of nonuniformly illuminated scenes.

• The algorithm for improving the contrast of images of nonuniformly

illuminated scenes.

• The best algorithm for reducing Gaussian noise (the so-called

Sigma-­Filter).

• The algorithm for reducing impulse noise.

All descriptions are followed by a pseudo-code similar to the C# programming

language. Most of the descriptions contain source code that can be copied from the text
and used directly in a Windows Forms program written in the C# .NET language.
All source code and figures are included in a download file (which you can access via
the Download Source Code button located at www.apress.com/9781484242360) so you
can see the colors.

xiv
PART I

Image Processing
CHAPTER 1

Introduction
This book contains descriptions of algorithms for image processing such as noise
reduction, including reduction of impulse noise, contrast enhancement, shading
correction, edge detection, and many others. The source codes of the projects in the
C# programming language implementing the algorithms are included on the book’s
companion web site. The source codes are Windows Forms projects rather than
Microsoft Foundation Classes Library (MFC) projects. The controls and the graphics in
these projects are implemented by means of simple and easily understandable methods.
I have chosen this way of implementing controls and graphics services rather than those
based on MFC because the integrated development environment (IDE) using MFC is
expensive. Besides that, the software using MFC is rather complicated. It includes many
different files in a project and the user is largely unable to understand the sense and
usefulness of these files. On the contrary, Windows Forms and its utility tools are free
and are easier to understand. They supply controls and graphics similar to that of MFC.
To provide fast processing of images we transform objects of the class Bitmap, which
is standard in Windows Forms, to objects of our class CImage, the methods of which are
fast because they use direct access to the set of pixels, whereas the standard way of using
Bitmap consists of implementing the relatively slow methods of GetPixel and SetPixel
or methods using LockBits, which are fast, but not usable for indexed images.
The class CImage is rather simple: It contains the properties width, height, and nBits
of the image and methods used in the actual project. My methods are described in the
chapters devoted to projects. Here is the definition of our class CImage.

  class CImage
  { public Byte[] Grid;
     public int width, height, nBits;

     public CImage() { } // default constructor

3
© Vladimir Kovalevsky 2019
V. Kovalevsky, Modern Algorithms for Image Processing, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-4237-7_1
Chapter 1 Introduction

     public CImage(int nx, int ny, int nbits) // constructor

     {
        width = nx;
        height = ny;
        nBits = nbits;
        Grid = new byte[width * height * (nBits / 8)];
    }

    public CImage(int nx, int ny, int nbits, byte[] img) // constructor
    {
        width = nx;
        height = ny;
        nBits = nbits;
        Grid = new byte[width * height * (nBits / 8)];
        for (int i = 0; i < width * height * nBits / 8; i++) Grid[i] = img[i];
    }
  } //*********************** end of class CImage *****************

Methods of the class CImage are described in the descriptions of projects.

4
CHAPTER 2

Noise Reduction
Digital images are often distorted by random errors usually referred to as noise. There
are two primary kinds of noise: Gaussian noise and impulse noise (see Figure 2-1).
Gaussian noise is statistical noise having a probability distribution similar to a Gaussian
distribution. It arises mainly during acquisition (e.g., in a sensor). It could be caused
by poor illumination or by high temperature of the sensor. It comes from many natural
sources, such as the thermal vibrations of atoms in conductors, referred to as thermal
noise. It influences all pixels of the image.
Impulse noise, also called salt-and-pepper noise, presents itself as sparsely occurring
light and dark pixels. It comes from pulse distortions like those coming from electrical
welding near the electronic device taking up the image or due to improper storage of old
photographs. It influences a small part of the set of pixels.

Figure 2-1. Examples of noise: (a) Gaussian noise; (b) impulse noise

5
© Vladimir Kovalevsky 2019
V. Kovalevsky, Modern Algorithms for Image Processing, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-4237-7_2
Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

The Simplest Filter

We consider first the ways of reducing the intensity of Gaussian noise. The algorithm for
reducing the intensity of impulse noise is considered later in this chapter.
The most efficient method of reducing the intensity of Gaussian noise is replacing
the lightness of a pixel P by the average value of the lightness of a small subset of pixels
in the neighborhood of P. This method is based on the fact from the theory of random
values: The standard deviation of the average of N equally distributed random values
is by the factor √N less than the standard deviation of a single value. This method
performs a two-dimensional convolution of the image with a mask, which is an array of
weights arranged in a square of W × W pixels, and the actual pixel P lies in the middle
of the square. Source code for this filter is presented later in this chapter. This method
has two drawbacks: It is rather slow because it uses W × W additions for each pixel of the
image, and it blurs the image. It transforms fine edges at boundaries of approximately
homogeneous regions to ramps where the lightness changes linearly in a stripe whose
width is equal to W pixels. The first drawback is overcome with the fast averaging filter.
However, the second drawback is so important that it prevents use of the averaging filter
for the purpose of noise removal. Averaging filters are, however, important for improving
images with shading (i.e., those representing nonuniformly illuminated objects), as we
see later. I propose another filter for the purpose of noise removal as well.
First, let us describe the simplest averaging filter. I present the source code of this
simple method, which the reader can use in his or her program. In this code, as well
as in many other code examples, we use certain classes, which are defined in the next
section.

The Simplest Averaging Filter

The nonweighted averaging filter calculates the mean gray value in a gliding square
window of W × W pixels where W is the width and height of a square gliding window.
The greater the window size W, the stronger the suppression of Gaussian noise: The filter
decreases the noise by the factor W. The value W is usually an odd integer W = 2 × h + 1
for the sake of symmetry. The coordinates (x + xx, y + yy) of pixels inside the window vary
symmetrically around the current center pixel (x, y) in the intervals: −h ≤ xx ≤ +h and
−h ≤ yy ≤ +h with h = 1, 2, 3, 4, and so on.

6
 Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

Near the border of the image the window lies partially outside of the image. In this
case, the computation loses its natural symmetry because only pixels inside the image
can be averaged. A reasonable way to solve the border problem is to take control of the
coordinates (x + xx, y + yy) if they point out of the image. If these coordinates are out
of the image the summation of the gray values must be suspended and the divisor nS
should not be incremented.
An example of the algorithm for averaging the colors is presented here. We often use
in our code comments denoted by lines of certain symbols: lines marked with = label the
start and the end of a loop, lines with minus signs label if instructions, and so on. This
makes the structure of the code more visible.
The simplest slow version of the algorithm has four nested for loops.

public void CImage::Averaging(CImage input, int HalfWidth)

{ int nS, sum;
  for (int y=0; y<height; y++) //================================
  { for (int x=0; x<width; x++) //==============================
    { nS=sum=0;
      for (int yy=-HalfWidth; yy<=HalfWidth; yy++) //=======
      {  if (y+yy>=0 && y+yy<input.height )
          for (int xx=-HalfWidth; xx<=HalfWidth; xx++) //===
          { if (x+xx>=0 && x+xx<input.width)
            { sum+=input.Grid[x+xx+width*(y+yy)];
               nS++;
            }
          } //====== end for (xx... ===================
      } //======== end for (yy... =======================
      Grid[x+width*y]=(sum+nS/2)/nS; //+nS/2 is for rounding
    } //============ end for (x... ========================
  } //============== end for (y... ========================
} //****************** end Averaging ****************************

This is source code: The reader can copy it and put into its C# source, and it will
work.
The parameter HalfWidth is half the width of the gliding window. The width and
height of the window are both equal to 2*HalfWidth+1. The variables x and y in the
preceding code are the indexes of pixels in Grid, and xx and yy are the indexes of the
pixels inside the gliding averaging window.
7
Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

The computation of sum in the innermost for loop needs W × W additions and
W × W accesses to the image for each pixel of the input image, which is quite time
consuming.
Let us remark once again that averaging filters, although they are very efficient
at reducing the intensity of Gaussian noise, strongly blur the image. Therefore they
should not be used for noise reduction. I suggest using the sigma filter described later
in this chapter for this purpose. Averaging is used for the purpose of shading correction
(see Chapter 4). Therefore it will be mostly used with a rather large gliding window, as
large as half the width of the image. Then the simplest averaging routine becomes so
time consuming that it is practically impossible to use it. For example, in the case of a
grayscale image of 1000 × 1000 pixels and a gliding window of 400 × 400 pixels, which is
typical for shading correction, the runtime of the function Averaging on a standard PC
can take about 20 minutes.

The Fast Averaging Filter

The simplest averaging filter makes W2 additions and one division for each pixel of
the image. For example, it makes 5 · 5 + 1 = 26 operations for each pixel in the case of a
gliding window of 5 × 5 = 25 pixels. There are applications (e.g., the shading correction)
that are using much greater gliding windows; for example, one of 400 × 400 = 160,000
pixels. If an application uses the simplest averaging filter with such a great gliding
window, it can run for several minutes.
It is possible to accelerate the averaging filter using the following basic idea: It is
possible to calculate first the sums of gray values in small one-dimensional windows of
1 × W pixels. We call the arrays of these sums the columns. In the following description
of the basic idea we use a Cartesian coordinate system, the index of a column of the
image being the abscissa x and the index of a row being the ordinate y. We consider
the ordinate axis as directed downward, from top to bottom, which is usual in image
processing and different from the direction of the ordinate axis in mathematics.
The fast averaging filter solves the same problem as the simplest filter, but it is much
faster. The fast filter blurs the image in the same way as the simplest filter does. Therefore
its main application is shading correction rather than noise suppression.
When using the basic idea just mentioned, it is possible to reduce the number of
operations per pixel from W × W to ≈4: The fast filter calculates and saves the sum of the
gray values in each column of W pixels, and the middle pixel of each column lies in the

8
 Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

actual row of the image (Figure 2-2). The filter then directly calculates the sum over the
window having its central pixel at the beginning of a row; that is, by adding up the sums
saved in the columns. Then the window moves one pixel along the row, and the filter
calculates the sum for the next location by adding the value of the column sum at the
right border of the window and by subtracting the value of the column sum at the left
border. It is necessary to check whether the column to be added or subtracted is inside
the image. If it is not, the corresponding addition or subtraction must be skipped.

Old
window
Old column
W×W
1×W - - - -
New
column
1×W New
window
- + W×W
Actual row

+ + + +
+Y

Figure 2-2. Explanation of the functioning of the fast average filter

Due to applying a similar procedure for the calculation of the column sums, the
average number of additions or subtractions per pixel is reduced to ≈2 + 2 = 4. The
sum inside the window must be calculated directly (i.e., by the addition of HalfWidth + 1
sums of columns) only for a pixel at the beginning of each row. The sums of columns
must be calculated directly only for the pixels of the first row of the image.
The filter updates the values of the columns when proceeding to the next row of
the image by adding the gray value below the lower end and subtracting the gray value
at the upper end of each column (Figure 2-2). In this case it is also necessary to check
whether the gray value to be added or subtracted is in the image. The filter divides (with
rounding) the sum by the number of pixels in the intersection of the window with the
image as soon as the sum of the gray values in a window is calculated and saves the
result in the corresponding pixel of the output image.

9
Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

Here is the source code of the simplest version of the fast averaging filter designed for
filtering grayscale images.

public int FastAverageM(CImage Inp, int hWind, Form1 fm1)

// Filters the grayscale image "Inp" and returns the result in 'Grid' of the
// calling image.
{
    width  = Inp.width ; height = Inp.height; // elements of class CImage
    Grid = new byte[width  * height];
    int[] SumColmn; int[] nPixColmn;
    SumColmn = new int[width];
    nPixColmn = new int[width];
    for (int i = 0; i < width ; i++) SumColmn[i] = nPixColmn[i] = 0;

    int nPixWind = 0, SumWind = 0;

    for (int y = 0; y < height + hWind; y++) //=============================
    {
      int yout = y - hWind, ysub = y - 2 * hWind - 1;
      SumWind = 0; nPixWind = 0;
      int y1 = 1 + (height + hWind) / 100;
      for (int x = 0; x < width + hWind; x++) //===========================
      {
        int xout = x - hWind, xsub = x - 2 * hWind - 1; // 1. and 2.
addition
        if (y < height && x < width )
        {
          SumColmn[x] += Inp.Grid[x + width  * y];
          nPixColmn[x]++; // 3. and 4. addition
        }
        if (ysub >= 0 && x < width )
        {
          SumColmn[x] -= Inp.Grid[x + width * ysub];
          nPixColmn[x]--;
        }
        if (yout >= 0 && x < width )
        {

10
 Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

          SumWind += SumColmn[x];
          nPixWind += nPixColmn[x];
        }
        if (yout >= 0 && xsub >= 0)
        {
          SumWind -= SumColmn[xsub];
          nPixWind -= nPixColmn[xsub];
        }
        if (xout >= 0 && yout >= 0)
          Grid[xout + width  * yout] = (byte)((SumWind + nPixWind / 2) /
nPixWind);
      } //===================== end for (int x = 0; =====================
    } //====================== end for (int y = 0; ======================
    return 1;
    } //************************* end FastAverageM ***********************

I present next the universal source code of the fast average filter designed both for
color and grayscale images. It uses the variable int nbyte, which is set to 3 for color and
to 1 for grayscale images. We define for the sum of color intensities in the gliding window
of (2*hWind + 1)2 pixels an array SumWind[3] of three elements for sums of red, green,
and blue intensities. In the case of a grayscale image, only the element SumWind[0] is
being used. We use the following variables as described next.
The location with the coordinates (c+nbyte*x, nbyte*y) is the location of a
color channel, one of red, green, or blue channels whose intensity is added to the
corresponding element of the array SumColmn. The location (c+nbyte*x, nbyte*ysub)
is that of a color channel whose intensity is to be subtracted from SumColmn. The
variable c+nbyte*x is the abscissa of the short column whose contents are to be added
to SumWind[c]. The variable c+nbyte*xsub is the abscissa of the short column whose
contents are to be subtracted from SumWind[c].

public int FastAverageUni(CImage Inp, int hWind, Form1 fm1)

// Filters the color or grayscale image "Inp" and returns the result in
// 'Grid' of calling image.
{ int c = 0, nByte = 0;
   if (Inp.N_Bits == 8) nByte = 1;
   else nByte = 3;

11
Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

   width  = Inp.width ; height = Inp.height; // elements of the class "Cimage"

   Grid = new byte[nByte * width  * height];
   int[] nPixColmn;
   nPixColmn = new int[width];
   for (int i = 0; i < width ; i++) nPixColmn[i] = 0;
   int[,] SumColmn;
   SumColmn = new int[width, 3];
   int nPixWind = 0, xout = 0, xsub = 0;
   int[] SumWind = new int[3];
   for (int y = 0; y < height + hWind; y++) //=============================
  { int yout = y - hWind, ysub = y - 2 * hWind - 1;
     nPixWind = 0;
     for (c = 0; c < nByte; c++) SumWind[c] = 0;
     int y1 = 1 + (height + hWind) / 100;
     for (int x = 0; x < width  + hWind; x++) //============================
     { xout = x - hWind;
        xsub = x - 2 * hWind - 1;    // 1. and 2. addition
        if (y < height && x < width) // 3. and 4. addition
       { for (c=0; c< nByte; c++)
            SumColmn[x, c] += Inp.Grid[c + nByte*(x + width*y)];
         nPixColmn[x]++;
      }
      if (ysub >= 0 && x < width )
      { for (c=0; c<nByte; c++)
            SumColmn[x, c] -=Inp.Grid[c+nByte*(x+ width*ysub)];
        nPixColmn[x]--;
      }
      if (yout >= 0 && x < width )
      { for (c = 0; c < nByte; c++) SumWind[c] += SumColmn[x, c];
         nPixWind += nPixColmn[x];
      }
      if (yout >= 0 && xsub >= 0)
      { for (c = 0; c < nByte; c++) SumWind[c] -= SumColmn[xsub, c];
         nPixWind -= nPixColmn[xsub];
      }

12
 Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

      if (xout >= 0 && yout >= 0)

        for (c = 0; c < nByte; c++)
          Grid[c+nByte*(xout+width*yout)]=(byte)( SumWind[c] / nPixWind);
    } //============= end for (int x = 0;  =============================
  } //============== end for (int y = 0;  ==============================
  return 1;
} //***************** end FastAverageUni ********************************

This source code can be used in a corresponding Windows Forms project. It is not
the fastest version; it can be made 50 percent faster by removing the multiplications from
the interior loop. Some multiplications can be performed before starting the loop; some
others can be replaced by additions. A still faster version can be made containing the
following nine loops instead of the two loops with the indexes y and x in FastAverageM
or in FastAverageUni:

for (int yOut=0; yOut<=hWind; yOut++)

{ for(int xOut=0; xOut<=hWind; xOut++){...} //Loop 1
   for(xOut=hWind+1; xOut<=width-hWind-1; xOut++) {...} //Loop 2
   for(xOut=width-hWind; xOut<width; xOut++) {...} //Loop 3
}
for(yOut=hWind+1; yOut<=height-hWind-1; yOut++)
{ for(xOut=0; xOut<=hWind; xOut++) {...} //Loop 4
   for(xOut=hWind+1; xOut<=width-hWind-1; xOut++) {...} //Loop 5
   for(xOut=width-hWind; xOut<width; xOut++) {...} //Loop 6
}
for(yOut=height-hWind; yOut<height; yOut++)
{ for(xOut=0; xOut<=hWind; xOut++) {...} /Loop 7
   for(xOut=hWind+1; xOut<=width-hWind-1; xOut++) {...} //Loop 8
   for(xOut=width-hWind; xOut<width; xOut++) {...} //Loop 9
}

Each of the nine loops processes a part of the image (see Figure 2-3) that is either
hWind + 1 pixels wide or hWind + 1 pixels high.

13
Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

hWind+1

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

hWind+1

Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Figure 2-3. The nine parts of the image corresponding to the nine loops

This version of the fast averaging filter can be used only if the condition hWind ≤
min (width, height)/2 - 1 is fulfilled. In such a version of the routine the interior loops
with the variable xOut contain no multiplications and no if instructions. The routine
is about 60 percent faster than the previously described FastAverageM. However, it
is much longer and much more difficult to debug. The gain in speed is not essential:
This code uses 0.7 seconds to process a big color image of 2448 × 3264 pixels with the
gliding window of 1200 × 1200 pixels, whereas FastAverageM takes 1.16 seconds. These
calculation times are almost independent from the size of the gliding window: They are
0.68 and 1.12 seconds correspondingly for the case of a gliding window of 5 × 5 pixels.

The Fast Gaussian Filter

The averaging filter produces a smoothed image in which some rectangular shapes not
present in the original image can be seen. These shapes appear because the averaging
filter transforms each light pixel to a homogeneously light rectangle of the size of the
gliding window. As soon as a pixel has an outstanding lightness strongly differing
from the values of adjacent pixels, the rectangle becomes visible. This is an unwanted
distortion. It can be avoided when using the Gaussian filter that multiplies the gray
values to be added by values that decay with the distance from the center of the window
according to the two-dimensional Gauss law. In addition, the Gaussian filter provides a
better suppression of noise. An example of the weights is shown in Figure 2-4.

14
 Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

-Y

0.011 0.018 0.023 0.023 0.018 0.011

0.018 0.030 0.039 0.039 0.030 0.018

0.023 0.039 0.050 0.050 0.039 0.023

-X +X

0.023 0.039 0.050 0.050 0.039 0.023

0.018 0.030 0.039 0.039 0.030 0.018

0.011 0.018 0.023 0.023 0.018 0.011

+Y

Figure 2-4. Example of weights in the gliding window of the classical Gauss filter

These values are called the weights of the filter. The weights corresponding to the
two-dimensional Gauss law are floats less than one:

w(x, y) = (2πσxσy)-1exp(-x2/2σ2x - y2/2σ2y).

They can be calculated in advance and saved in a two-dimensional array whose

size corresponds to the size of the gliding window (Figure 2-4). Then the gray values
or color channels of the filtered image are multiplied with the weights and the sum of
the products is calculated. This procedure needs W2 floating point multiplications and
W2 ­additions per pixel of the grayscale image to be filtered where W is the width of the
gliding window. In the case of a color image, this number is 3W2.
There is a possibility of obtaining approximately the same results using the knowledge
of the statistics that says that the convolution of many equivalent probability distributions
tends to the Gaussian distribution. The convergence of this process is so fast that it is
sufficient to calculate the convolution of only three rectangular distributions to obtain a
good approximation. A rectangular distribution has a constant density in an interval and a
zero density outside the interval. If an image is processed with a filter three times, the result
is equivalent to the filtering with weights being convolutions of three rectangular weights.
Thus to perform approximately a Gaussian filtering of an image it is sufficient to filter the
image three times with a fast averaging filter. This procedure requires 4 × 3 = 12 integer

15
Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

additions per color channel of a pixel independent from the size of the window. We have
calculated that the standard of the equivalent Gaussian ­distribution is proportional to the
half-width of the gliding window of the averaging filter. In Table 2-1 hWind is the half-width
of the averaging window, and Sigma is the standard of a random variable whose distribution
corresponds to the weights calculated by the triple filtering with the fast filter.

Table 2-1. Relation Sigma/hWind tending to 1 with

increasing hWind

hWind 1 2 3 4 5

Sigma 1.414 2.456 3.459 4.456 5.49

Sigma/hWind 1.414 1.218 1.153 1.114 1.098

You can see that the relation Sigma/hWind tends to 1 when the width of the window
increases.
Figure 2-5 shows how the weights of the approximate Gauss filter differ from true
Gauss weights.

weights after one filtering

weights after two filtering
weights after three filtering
true Gaussian weights

Figure 2-5. Weights of the approximate and true Gauss filters

16
 Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

The Median Filter

The averaging and the Gaussian filters provide the most efficient suppression of Gaussian
noise. The averaging filter with a gliding window that has the width of W = 2h + 1 pixels
transforms steep edges of homogeneous regions to ramps of the width W. In the case of
a Gaussian filter, the ramp is steeper. However, both these filters blur the image, so they
should not be used for noise suppression.
Most textbooks on image processing recommend using median filters for noise
suppression. A median filter sorts the intensities of colors in the gliding window and
replaces the intensity in the middle of the gliding window by the intensity staying in the
middle of the sorted sequence. Median filters can also be used for suppressing impulse
noise or salt-and-pepper noise.
Almost no textbook, though, draws the attention of the reader to very important
drawbacks of the median filter. First, it heavily distorts the image. A median filter with a
gliding window of (2 * h + 1)2 pixels deletes each stripe of the width of less than h pixels.
It also deletes a triangular part of approximately 2h pixels at each corner of a rectangular
shape. Even more, it inverts a part of the image containing some parallel stripes of
the width h if the width of the spaces between the stripes is also equal to h (compare
Figure 2-6 with Figure 2-7). This is easily understandable if the reader notices that
median makes decisions according to the majority: The central pixel becomes dark if the
majority of pixels in the gliding window are dark.

Figure 2-6. Original image and the gliding window of 5 × 5 pixels

17
Chapter 2 Noise Reduction

Figure 2-7. The same image after filtering with median of 5 × 5 pixels
Using the median for the suppression of impulse noise is also not recommended
because it will delete objects having the shape of thin lines that have nothing to do with
noise. I suggest an efficient method in a later chapter.

Sigma Filter: The Most Efficient One

The sigma filter reduces noise in the same way as the averaging filter: by averaging many
gray values or colors. The idea of the sigma filter is averaging only those intensities
(i.e., gray values or intensities of color channels) in a gliding window that differ from
the intensity of the central pixel by no more than a fixed parameter called tolerance.
According to this idea, the sigma filter reduces the Gaussian noise and retains the edges
in the image not blurred.
The sigma filter was suggested by John-Sen Lee (1983). However, it remained almost
unknown until recently: It has been mentioned in no textbook for image processing that
I am aware of. It was mentioned in a professional paper only once Chochia (1984).
A filter similar to the sigma filter was suggested by Tomasi and Manduchi (1998),
which they called the bilateral filter. They suggested assigning two kinds of weights
to the colors being averaged: a domain weight becoming smaller with the increasing
distance of the averaged pixel from the central pixel of the gliding window and a range
weight becoming smaller with increasing difference between the intensities of colors
of the pixel being averaged and that of the central pixel. Both weights can be defined as
densities of the Gauss distribution. The filter works well: It reduces the Gaussian noise
and preserves the sharpness of the edges. However, it is essentially slower than the sigma
filter; for example, to process a color image of 2500 × 3500 pixels the bilateral filter needs
30 seconds, whereas the simplest sigma filter needs only 7 seconds. Thus the bilateral
filter is approximately four times slower than the sigma filter. The authors of the bilateral
filter did not mention the sigma filter among the references.
18
Other documents randomly have
different content
to bestow the strong affections, that glowed consciously
within me, upon a few."18 Love, in minds of any elevation,
cannot be generated but upon a real, or fancied, foundation
of excellence. But what would be a miracle in architecture, is
true in morals—the fabric can exist when the foundation has
mouldered away. Habit daily produces this wonderful effect
upon every feeling, and every principle. Is not this the theory
which you have taught me?

'Am I not sufficiently ingenuous?—I will give you a new

proof of my frankness (though not the proof you require).—
From the miserable consequences of wretched moral
distinctions, from chastity having been considered as a sexual
virtue, all these calamities have flowed. Men are thus
rendered sordid and dissolute in their pleasures; their
affections vitiated, and their feelings petrified; the simplicity
of modest tenderness loses its charm; they become incapable
of satisfying the heart of a woman of sensibility and virtue.—
Half the sex, then, are the wretched, degraded, victims of
brutal instinct: the remainder, if they sink not into mere
frivolity and insipidity, are sublimed into a sort of—[what shall
I call them?]—refined, romantic, factitious, unfortunate,
beings; who, for the sake of the present moment, dare not
expose themselves to complicated, inevitable, evils; evils, that
will infallibly overwhelm them with misery and regret! Woe
be, more especially, to those who, possessing the dangerous
gifts of fancy and feeling, find it as difficult to discover a
substitute for the object as for the sentiment! You, who are a
philosopher, will you still controvert the principles founded in
truth and nature? "Gross as is my folly," (and I do not deny it)
"you may perceive I was not wholly wandering in darkness.
But while the wintry sun of hope illumined the fairy frost-work
with a single, slanting ray—dazzled by the transient
brightness, I dreaded the meridian fervors that should
dissolve the glittering charm." Yes! it was madness—but it
was the pleasurable madness which none but madmen know.

'I cannot answer your question—Pain me not by its

repetition; neither seek to ensnare me to the disclosure.
Unkindly, severely, as I have been treated, I will not risque,
even, the possibility of injuring the man, whom I have so
tenderly loved, in the esteem of any one. Were I to name
him, you know him not; you could not judge of his qualities.
He is not "a model of excellence." I perceive it, with pain—
and if obliged to retract my judgment on some parts of his
character—I retract it with agonizing reluctance! But I could
trace the sources of his errors, and candour and self-
abasement imperiously compel me to a mild judgment, to
stifle the petulant suggestions of a wounded spirit.

'Ought not our principles, my friend, to soften the asperity

of our censures?—Could I have won him to my arms, I
thought I could soften, and even elevate, his mind—a mind,
in which I still perceive a great proportion of good. I weep for
him, as well as for myself. He will, one day, know my value,
and feel my loss. Still, I am sensible, that, by my
extravagance, I have given a great deal of vexation (possibly
some degradation), to a being, whom I had no right to
persecute, or to compel to chuse happiness through a
medium of my creation. I cannot exactly tell the extent of the
injury I may have done him. A long train of consequences
succeed, even, our most indifferent actions.—Strong energies,
though they answer not the end proposed, must yet produce
correspondent effects. Morals and mechanics are here
analogous. No longer, then, distress me by the repetition of a
question I ought not to answer. I am content to be the victim
—Oh! may I be the only victim—of my folly!

'One more observation allow me to make, before I

conclude. That we can "admire, esteem, and love," an
individual—(for love in the abstract, loving mankind
collectively, conveys to me no idea)—which must be, in fact,
depending upon that individual for a large share of our
felicity, and not lament his loss, in proportion to our
apprehension of his worth, appears to me a proposition,
involving in itself an absurdity; therefore demonstrably false.

'Let me, my friend, see you ere long—your remonstrance

has affected me—save me from myself!'

TO THE SAME.
[In continuation.]

'My letter having been delayed a few days, through a

mistake—I resume my pen; for, running my eye over what I
had written, I perceive (confounded by the force of your
expressions) I have granted you too much. My conduct was
not, altogether, so insane as I have been willing to allow. It is
certain, that could I have attained the end proposed, my
happiness had been encreased. "It is necessary for me to love
and admire, or I sink into sadness." The behaviour of the
man, whom I sought to move, appeared to me too
inconsistent to be the result of indifference. To be roused and
stimulated by obstacles—obstacles admitting hope, because
obscurely seen—is no mark of weakness. Could I have
subdued, what I, then, conceived to be the prejudices of a
worthy man, I could have increased both his happiness and
my own. I deeply reasoned, and philosophized, upon the
subject. Perseverance, with little ability, has effected wonders;
—with perseverance, I felt, that, I had the power of uniting
ability—confiding in that power, I was the dupe of my own
reason. No other man, perhaps, could have acted the part
which this man has acted:—how, then, was I to take such a
part into my calculations?
 'Do not misconceive me—it is no miracle that I did not
inspire affection. On this subject, the mortification I have
suffered has humbled me, it may be, even, unduly in my own
eyes—but to the emotions of my pride, I would disdain to
give words. Whatever may have been my feelings, I am too
proud to express the rage of slighted love!—Yet, I am sensible
to all the powers of those charming lines of Pope—

"Unequal talk, a passion to resign,

For hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost, as mine!
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate;
How often hope, despair, resent, regret,
Conceal, disdain, do all things but forget!"

'But to return. I pursued, comparatively, (as I thought) a

certain good; and when, at times, discouraged, I have
repeated to myself—What! after all these pains, shall I
relinquish my efforts, when, perhaps, on the very verge of
success?—To say nothing of the difficulty of forcing an active
mind out of its trains—if I desisted, what was to be the
result? The sensations I now feel—apathy, stagnation,
abhorred vacuity!

'You cannot resist the force of my reasoning—you, who are

acquainted with, who know how to paint, in colours true to
nature, the human heart—you, who admire, as a proof of
power, the destructive courage of an Alexander, even the
fanatic fury of a Ravaillac—you, who honour the pernicious
ambition of an Augustus Cæsar, as bespeaking the potent,
energetic, mind!—why should you affect to be intolerant to a
passion, though differing in nature, generated on the same
principles, and by a parallel process. The capacity of
perception, or of receiving sensation, is (or generates) the
power; into what channel that power shall be directed,
depends not on ourselves. Are we not the creatures of
outward impressions? Without such impressions, should we
be any thing? Are not passions and powers synonimous—or
can the latter be produced without the lively interest that
constitutes the former? Do you dream of annihilating the one
—and will not the other be extinguished? With the apostle,
Paul, permit me to say—"I am not mad, but speak the words
of truth and soberness."

'To what purpose did you read my confessions, but to trace

in them a character formed, like every other human character,
by the result of unavoidable impressions, and the chain of
necessary events. I feel, that my arguments are
incontrovertible:—I suspect that, by affecting to deny their
force, you will endeavour to deceive either me or yourself.—I
have acquired the power of reasoning on this subject at a
dear rate—at the expence of inconceivable suffering. Attempt
not to deny me the miserable, expensive, victory. I am ready
to say—(ungrateful that I am)—Why did you put me upon
calling forth my strong reason?

'I perceive there is no cure for me—(apathy is, not the

restoration to health, but, the morbid lethargy of the soul) but
by a new train of impressions, of whatever nature, equally
forcible with the past.—You will tell me, It remains with
myself whether I will predetermine to resist such impressions.
Is this true? Is it philosophical? Ask yourself. What!—can even
you shrink from the consequences of your own principles?

'One word more—You accuse me of brooding in silence over

my sensations—of considering them as a "sacred deposit."
Concealment is particularly repugnant to my disposition—yet
a thousand delicacies—a thousand nameless solicitudes, and
apprehensions, sealed my lips!—He who inspired them was,
alone, the depositary of my most secret thoughts!—my heart
was unreservedly open before him—I covered my paper with
its emotions, and transmitted it to him—like him who
 whispered his secret into the earth, to relieve the burden of
uncommunicated thought. My secret was equally safe, and
received in equal silence! Alas! he was not then ignorant of
the effects it was likely to produce!

'Emma.'

Mr Francis continued his humane and friendly attentions; and,

while he opposed my sentiments, as conceiving them destructive of
my tranquillity, mingled with his opposition a gentle and delicate
consideration for my feelings, that sensibly affected me, and excited
my grateful attachment. He judged right, that, by stimulating my
mind into action, the sensations, which so heavily oppressed it,
might be, in some measure, mitigated—by diverting the course of
my ideas into different channels, and by that means abating their
force. His kindness soothed and flattered me, and communications
relieved my thoughts.

17: Godwin's Caleb Williams.

18: Godwin's Caleb Williams.

CHAPTER XIII
The period which succeeded these events, though tedious in
wearing away, marked by no vicissitude, has left little impression
behind. The tenor of my days resembled the still surface of a
stagnant lake, embosomed in a deep cavern, over which the
refreshing breezes never sweep. Sad, vacant, inactive—the faculties
both of mind and body seemed almost suspended. I became weak,
languid, enervated—my disorder was a lethargy of soul. This was
gradually succeeded by disease of body:—an inactivity, so contrary
to all the habits of my past life, generated morbid humours, and
brought on a slow, remitting, fever. I recovered, by degrees, from
this attack, but remained for some time in a debilitated, though
convalescent, state. A few weeks after my disorder returned, lasted
longer, and left me still more weakened and depressed. A third time
it assailed me, at a shorter interval; and, though less violent, was
more protracted, and more exhausting.

Mrs Denbeigh, alarmed by my situation, wrote to Mrs Harley,

expressing the apprehensions which she entertained. From this dear
friend, who was herself in a declining state of health, I received a
pressing invitation to visit, once more, the village of F——; and to
seek, from change of air, change of scene, and the cordial
endearments of friendship, a restoration for my debilitated frame,
and a balm for my wounded mind.

My relation, at this period, had letters from her husband, informing

her, that the term of his residence in India was prolonged; pressing
her to join him there, and to come over in the next ship. To this
request she joyfully acceded; and, hearing that a packet was about
to sail for Bengal, secured her passage, and began immediately to
make preparations for her departure. I no longer hesitated to comply
with the entreaties of my friend; besides the tie of strong affection,
which drew me to her, I had, at present, little other resource.

After affectionately embracing Mrs Denbeigh, wishing a happy

issue to her voyage, thanking her for all her kindness, and leaving a
letter of grateful acknowledgement for Mr Francis, I quitted the
metropolis, with an aching heart, and a wasted frame. My cousin
accompanied me to the inn, from whence the vehicle set out that
was to convey me to Mrs Harley. We parted in silence—a crowd of
retrospective ideas of the past, and solicitudes respecting the future,
occupied our thoughts—our sensations were too affecting for words.

The carriage quitted London at the close of the evening, and

travelled all night:—it was towards the end of the year. At midnight
we passed over Hounslow and Bagshot heaths. 'The moon,' to adopt
the language of Ossian, 'looked through broken clouds, and
brightened their dark-brown sides.' A loud November blast howled
over the heath, and whistled through the fern.—There was a
melancholy desolation in the scene, that was in unison with my
feelings, and which overwhelmed my spirits with a tide of tender
recollections. I recalled to my imagination a thousand interesting
images—I indulged in all the wild enthusiasm of my character. My
fellow-travellers slept tranquilly, while my soul was awake to
agonizing sorrow. I adopted the language of the tender Eloisa
—'Why,' said I, 'am I indebted for life to his care, whose cruelty has
rendered it insupportable? Inhuman, as he is, let him fly from me for
ever, and deny himself the savage pleasure of being an eye-witness
to my sorrows!—But why do I rave thus?—He is not to be blamed—
I, alone, am guilty—I, alone, am the author of my own misfortunes,
and should, therefore, be the only object of anger and
resentment.'19

Weakened by my late indisposition, fatigued by the rough motion

of the carriage, and exhausted by strong emotion, when arrived at
the end of my journey, I was obliged to be lifted from the coach, and
carried into the cottage of my friend. The servant led the way to the
library—the door opened—Mrs Harley advanced, to receive me, with
tottering steps. The ravages of grief, and the traces of sickness,
were visible in her dear, affectionate, countenance. I clasped my
hands, and, lifting up my eyes, beheld the portrait of Augustus—
beheld again the resemblance of those features so deeply engraven
on my heart! My imagination was raised—methought the lively
colours of the complexion had faded, the benignant smile had
vanished, and an expression of perplexity and sternness usurped its
place. I uttered a faint shriek, and fell lifeless into the arms of my
friend. It was some time before I returned to sense and recollection,
when I found myself on the bed, in the little chamber which had
formerly been appropriated to my use. My friend sat beside me,
holding my hand in her's, which she bathed with her tears. 'Thank
God!' she exclaimed, in a rapturous accent, (as, with a deep sigh, I
raised my languid eyes, and turned them mournfully towards her)
—'she lives!—My Emma!—child of my affections!'—sobs suppressed
her utterance. I drew the hand, which held mine, towards me—I
pressed it to my bosom—'My mother!'—I would have said; but the
tender appellation died away upon my lips, in inarticulate murmurs.

These severe struggles were followed by a return of my disorder.

Mrs Harley would scarcely be persuaded to quit my chamber for a
moment—her tenderness seemed to afford her new strength;—but
these exertions accelerated the progress of an internal malady,
which had for some time past been gaining ground, and gradually
undermining her health.

Youth, and a good constitution, aided by the kind solicitudes of

friendship, restored me, in a few weeks, to a state of convalescence.
I observed the declining strength of my friend with terror—I accused
myself of having, though involuntarily, added to these alarming
symptoms, by the new fatigues and anxieties which I had
occasioned her. Affection inspired me with those energies, that
reason had vainly dictated. I struggled to subdue myself—I stifled
the impetuous suggestions of my feelings, in exerting myself to fulfil
the duties of humanity. My mind assumed a firmer tone—I became,
once more, the cheerful companion, the tender consoler, the
attentive nurse, of this excellent woman, to whose kindness I was so
much indebted—and, if I stole a few moments in the day, while my
friend reposed, to gaze on the resemblance of Augustus, to weep
over the testimonies of his former respect and friendship, I quickly
chased from my bosom, and my countenance, every trace of
sadness, when summoned to attend my friend.

19: Rousseau.
 CHAPTER XIV
The winter came on severe and cold. Mrs Harley was forbidden to
expose herself to the frosty air, which seemed to invigorate my
languid frame. I was constituted her almoner, to distribute to the
neighbouring poor the scanty portion, which she was enabled, by a
rigid œconomy, to spare from her little income: yet the value of this
distribution had been more than redoubled, by the gentler charities
of kind accents, tender sympathy, and wholesome counsels. To these
indigent, but industrious, cottagers, I studied to be the worthy
representative of their amiable benefactress, and found my reward
in their grateful attachment, and the approving smiles of my friend.

By degrees, she ventured to converse with me on the subject

nearest her heart—the situation of her son. He had been obliged to
yield to the proofs produced of his marriage, which he had, at first,
seemed desirous of evading. He had written, with reserve, upon the
subject to his mother; but, from the enquiries of a common friend,
she had reason to apprehend, that his engagement had been of an
imprudent nature. Two children, were, already the fruits of it: the
mother, with a feminine helplessness of character, had a feeble
constitution. The small fortune, which Augustus had originally shared
with his family, was greatly reduced. His education and habits had
unfitted him for those exertions which the support of an encreasing
family necessarily required:—his spirits (her friend had informed her)
seemed broken, and his temper soured. Some efforts had been
made to serve him, which his lofty spirit had repelled with disdain.

This narration deeply affected my heart—I had resigned myself to

his loss—but the idea of his suffering, I felt, was an evil infinitely
severer. It was this conviction that preyed incessantly on the peace
and health of his mother. My fortitude failed, when I would have
tried to sustain her; and I could only afford the melancholy
satisfaction of mingling my sorrows with her's.
 The disorder of my friend rapidly increased—her mind became
weakened, and her feelings wayward and irritable. I watched her
incessantly—I strove, by every alleviating care, to soften her pains.
Towards the approach of spring the symptoms grew more
threatening; and it was judged, by her physician, necessary to
apprize her family of her immediate danger. What a trial for my
exhausted heart! I traced, with a trembling hand, a line to this
melancholy purpose—addressed it to Mr Harley, and through him to
his younger brothers and sisters.

In a few days they arrived in the village—sending from the inn a

servant, to prepare their mother for their approach. I gently
intimated to her the visitants we might expect. The previous
evening, a change had taken place, which indicated approaching
dissolution; and her mind (not uncommon in similar cases) seemed,
almost instantaneously, to have recovered a portion of its original
strength. She sighed deeply, while her eyes, which were fixed
wistfully on my face, were lighted with a bright, but transient, lustre.

'My dear Emma,' said she, 'this is a trying moment for us both. I
shall soon close my eyes, for ever, upon all worldly cares.—Still
cherish, in your pure and ingenuous mind, a friendship for my
Augustus—the darling of my soul! He may, in future, stand in need
of consolation. I had formed hopes—vain hopes!—in which you and
he were equally concerned. In the happiness of this partially-
favoured child—this idol of my affections—all mine was
concentrated. He has disappointed me, and I have lost the desire of
living—Yet, he has noble qualities!—Who, alas! is perfect? Summon
your fortitude, collect your powers, my child, for this interview!'

She sunk on her pillow—I answered her only with my tears. A

servant entered—but spoke not—her look announced her tidings—It
caught the eye of Mrs Harley—

'Let them enter,' said she; and she raised herself, to receive them,
and assumed an aspect of composure.
 I covered my face with my handkerchief—I heard the sound of
footsteps approaching the bed—I heard the murmurs of filial sorrow
—The voice of Augustus, in low and interrupted accents, struck upon
my ear—it thrilled through my nerves—I shuddered, involuntarily—
What a moment! My friend spoke a few words, in a faint tone.

'My children,' she added, 'repay to this dear girl,' laying her hand
upon mine, 'the debt of kindness I owe her—she has smoothed the
pillow of death—she is an orphan—she is tender and unfortunate.'

I ventured to remove for a moment the handkerchief from my

eyes—they met those of Augustus—he was kneeling by the bed-side
—his countenance was wan, and every feature sunk in dejection; a
shivering crept through my veins, and chilled my heart with a
sensation of icy coldness—he removed his eyes, fixing them on his
dying mother.

'My son,' she resumed, in still fainter accents, 'behold in Emma,

your sister—your friend!—confide in her—she is worthy of your
confidence!'—'Will you not love him, my child,'—(gazing upon me,)
—'with a sisterly affection?'

I hid my face upon the pillow of my friend—I threw my arms

around her—'Your request is superfluous, my friend, my more than
parent, ah, how superfluous!'

'Forgive me, I know the tenderness of your nature—yielding, in

these parting moments, to the predominant affection of my heart—I
fear, I have wounded that tender nature.' 'Farewell, my children!
Love and assist each other—Augustus, where is your hand?—my
sight fails me—God bless you and your little ones—God bless you all!
—My last sigh—my last prayer—is yours.'

Exhausted by these efforts, she fainted—Augustus uttered a deep

groan, and raised her in his arms—but life was fled.
 At the remembrance of these scenes, even at this period, my heart
is melted within me.

What is there of mournful magic in the emotions of virtuous

sorrow, that in retracing, in dwelling upon them, mingles with our
tears a sad and sublime rapture? Nature, that has infused so much
misery into the cup of human life, has kindly mixed this strange and
mysterious ingredient to qualify the bitter draught.

CHAPTER XV
After the performance of the last melancholy duties, this afflicted
family prepared to separate. I received from them, individually,
friendly offers of service, and expressions of acknowledgment, for
my tender attentions to their deceased parent. I declined, for the
present, their invitations, and profferred kindness, though uncertain
how to dispose of myself, or which way to direct my course.
Augustus behaved towards me with distant, cold, respect. I
observed in his features, under a constrained appearance of
composure, marks of deep and strong emotion. I recalled to my
mind the injunctions of my deceased friend—I yearned to pour into
his bosom the balm of sympathy, but, with an aspect bordering on
severity, he repressed the expression of those ingenuous feelings
which formed my character, and shunned the confidence I so
earnestly sought. Unfortunate love had, in my subdued and softened
mind, laid the foundation of a fervent and durable friendship—But
my love, my friendship, were equally contemned! I relinquished my
efforts—I shut myself in my chamber—and, in secret, indulged my
sorrows.
 The house of my deceased friend was sold, and the effects
disposed of. On the day previous to their removal, and the departure
of the family for London, I stole into the library, at the close of the
evening, to view, for the last time, the scene of so many delightful,
so many afflicting emotions. A mysterious and sacred enchantment
is spread over every circumstance, even every inanimate object,
connected with the affections. To those who are strangers to these
delicate, yet powerful sympathies, this may appear ridiculous—but
the sensations are not the less genuine, nor the less in nature. I will
not attempt to analyse them, it is a subject upon which the language
of philosophy would appear frigid, and on which I feel myself every
moment on the verge of fanaticism. Yet, affections like these are not
so much weakness, as strength perhaps badly exerted. Rousseau
was, right, when he asserted, that, 'Common men know nothing of
violent sorrows, nor do great passions ever break out in weak minds.
Energy of sentiment is the characteristic of a noble soul.'

I gazed from the windows on the shrubbery, where I had so often

wandered with my friends—where I had fondly cherished so many
flattering, so many visionary, prospects. Every spot, every tree, was
associated with some past pleasure, some tender recollection. The
last rays of the setting sun, struggling from beneath a louring cloud,
streamed through its dark bosom, illumined its edges, played on the
window in which I was standing, and gilding the opposite side of the
wainscot, against which the picture of Augustus still hung, shed a
soft and mellow lustre over the features. I turned almost
unconsciously, and contemplated it with a long and deep regard. It
seemed to smile benignly—it wore no traces of the cold austerity,
the gloomy and inflexible reserve, which now clouded the aspect of
the original. I called to my remembrance a thousand interesting
conversations—when

'Tuned to happy unison of soul, a fairer world of which the

vulgar never had a glimpse, displayed, its charms.'
 Absorbed in thought, the crimson reflection from the western
clouds gradually faded, while the deep shades of the evening,
thickened by the appearance of a gathering tempest, involved in
obscurity the object on which, without distinctly perceiving it, I still
continued to gaze.

I was roused from this reverie by the sudden opening of the door.
Some person, whom the uncertain light prevented me from
distinguishing, walked across the room, with a slow and solemn
pace, and, after taking several turns backwards and forwards,
reclined on the sopha, remaining for some time perfectly still. A
tremor shook my nerves—unable either to speak, or to move, I
continued silent and trembling—my heart felt oppressed, almost to
suffocation—at length, a deep, convulsive sigh, forced its way.

'My God!' exclaimed the person, whose meditations I had

interrupted, 'what is that?'

It was the voice of Mr Harley, he spoke in a stern tone, though

with some degree of trepidation, and advanced hastily towards the
window against which I leaned.

The clouds had for some hours been gathering dark and gloomy.
Just as Augustus had reached the place where I stood, a flash of
lightning, pale, yet vivid, glanced suddenly across my startled sight,
and discovered to him the object which had alarmed him.

'Emma,' said he, in a softened accent, taking my trembling and

almost lifeless hand, 'how came you here, which way did you enter?'

I answered not—Another flash of lightning, still brighter, blue and

sulphurous, illuminated the room, succeeded by a loud and long peal
of thunder. Again the heavens seemed to rend asunder and discover
a sheet of livid flame—a crash of thunder, sudden, loud, short,
immediately followed, bespeaking the tempest near. I started with a
kind of convulsive terror. Augustus led me from the window, and
endeavoured, in vain, to find the door of the library—the temporary
flashes, and total darkness by which they were succeeded, dazzled
and confounded the sight. I stumbled over some furniture, which
stood in the middle of the room, and unable to recover my feet,
which refused any longer to sustain me, sunk into the arms of
Augustus, suffering him to lift me to the sopha. He seated himself
beside me, the storm continued; the clouds, every moment parting
with a horrible noise, discovered an abyss of fire, while the rain
descended in a deluge. We silently contemplated this sublime and
terrible scene. Augustus supported me with one arm, while my
trembling hand remained in his. The tempest soon exhausted itself
by its violence—the lightning became less fierce, gleaming at
intervals—the thunder rolled off to a distance—its protracted sound,
lengthened by the echoes, faintly died away; while the rain
continued to fall in a still, though copious, shower.

My spirits grew calmer, I gently withdrew my hand from that of Mr

Harley. He once more enquired, but in a tone of greater reserve,
how I had entered the room without his knowledge? I explained,
briefly and frankly, my situation, and the tender motives by which I
had been influenced.

'It was not possible,' added I, 'to take leave of this house for ever,
without recalling a variety of affecting and melancholy ideas—I feel,
that I have lost my only friend.'

'This world,' said he, 'may not unaptly be compared to the rapids
on the American rivers—We are hurried, in a frail bark, down the
stream—It is in vain to resist its course—happy are those whose
voyage is ended!'

'My friend,' replied I in a faultering voice, 'I could teach my heart

to bear your loss—though, God knows, the lesson has been
sufficiently severe—but I know not how, with fortitude, to see you
suffer.'
 'Suffering is the common lot of humanity—but, pardon me, when I
say, your conduct has not tended to lessen my vexations!'

'My errors have been the errors of affection—Do they deserve this
rigor?'

'Their source is not important, their consequences have been the

same—you make not the allowances you claim.'

'Dear, and severe, friend!—Be not unjust—the confidence which I

sought, and merited, would have been obviated'—

'I know what you would alledge—that confidence, you had reason
to judge, was of a painful nature—it ought not to have been
extorted.'

'If I have been wrong, my faults have been severely expiated—if

the error has been only mine, surely my sufferings have been in
proportion; seduced by the fervor of my feelings; ignorant of your
situation, if I wildly sought to oblige you to chuse happiness through
a medium of my creation—yet, to have assured yours, was I not
willing to risque all my own? I perceive my extravagance, my views
were equally false and romantic—dare I to say—they were the
ardent excesses of a generous mind? Yes! my wildest mistakes had
in them a dignified mixture of virtue. While the institutions of society
war against nature and happiness, the mind of energy, struggling to
emancipate itself, will entangle itself in error'—

'Permit me to ask you,' interrupted Augustus, 'whether, absorbed

in your own sensations, you allowed yourself to remember, and to
respect, the feelings of others?'

I could no longer restrain my tears, I wept for some moments in

silence—Augustus breathed a half-suppressed sigh, and turned from
me his face.
 'The pangs which have rent my heart,' resumed I, in low and
broken accents, 'have, I confess, been but too poignant! That
lacerated heart still bleeds—we have neither of us been guiltless—
Alas! who is? Yet in my bosom, severe feelings are not more painful
than transient—already have I lost sight of your unkindness, (God
knows how little I merited it!) in stronger sympathy for your sorrows
—whatever be their nature! We have both erred—why should we not
exchange mutual forgiveness? Why should we afflict each other?
Friendship, like charity, should suffer all things and be kind!'

'My mind,' replied he coldly, 'is differently constituted.'

'Unpitying man! It would be hard for us, if we were all to be

judged at so severe a tribunal—you have been a lover,' added I, in a
softer tone, 'and can you not forgive the faults of love?'

He arose, visibly agitated—I also stood up—my bosom deeply

wounded, and, unknowing what I did, took his hand, and pressed it
to my lips.

'You have rudely thrown from you a heart of exquisite sensibility—

you have contemned my love, and you disdain my friendship—is it
brave, is it manly,' added I wildly—almost unconscious of what I said
—forgetting at the moment his situation and my own—'thus to
triumph over a spirit, subdued by its affections into unresisting
meekness?'

He broke from me, and precipitately quitted the room.

I threw myself upon the floor, and, resting my head on the seat
which Augustus had so lately occupied, passed the night in cruel
conflict—a tempest more terrible than that which had recently spent
its force, shook my soul! The morning dawned, ere I had power to
remove myself from the fatal spot, where the measure of my
afflictions seemed filled up.—Virtue may conquer weakness, but who
can bear to be despised by those they love. The sun darted its
beams full upon me, but its splendour appeared mockery—hope and
joy were for ever excluded from my benighted spirit. The contempt
of the world, the scoffs of ignorance, the contumely of the proud, I
could have borne without shrinking—but to find myself rejected,
contemned, scorned, by him with whom, of all mankind, my heart
claimed kindred; by him for whom my youth, my health, my powers,
were consuming in silent anguish—who, instead of pouring balm into
the wound he had inflicted, administered only corrosives!—It was
too painful! I felt, that I had been a lavish prodigal—that I had
become a wretched bankrupt; that there was but one way to make
me happy and a thousand to make me miserable! Enfeebled and
exhausted, I crawled to my apartment, and, throwing myself on the
bed, gave a loose to the agony of my soul.

CHAPTER XVI
Under pretence of indisposition, I refused to meet the family. I
heard them depart. Too proud to accept of obligation, I had not
confided to them my plans, if plans they could be called, where no
distinct end was in view.

A few hours after their departure, I once more seated myself in a

stage coach, in which I had previously secured a place, and took the
road to London. I perceived, on entering the carriage, only one
passenger, who had placed himself in the opposite corner, and in
whom, to my great surprize, I immediately recognized Mr Montague.
We had not met since the visit he had paid me at Mrs Harley's, the
result of which I have already related: since that period, it had been
reported in the village, that he addressed Sarah Morton, and that
they were about to be united. Montague manifested equal surprize
at our meeting: the intelligence of my friend's death (at which he
expressed real concern) had not reached him, neither was he
acquainted with my being in that part of the country. He had not
lately been at Mr Morton's, he informed me, but had just left his
father's, and was going to London to complete his medical studies.

After these explanations, absorbed in painful contemplation, I for

some time made little other return to his repeated civilities, than by
cold monosyllables: till at length, his cordial sympathy, his gentle
accents, and humane attentions, awakened me from my reverie.
Ever accessible to the soothings of kindness, I endeavoured to exert
myself, to prove the sense I felt of his humanity. Gratified by having
succeeded in attracting my attention, he redoubled his efforts to
cheer and amuse me. My dejected and languid appearance had
touched his feelings, and, towards the end of our journey, his
unaffected zeal to alleviate the anxiety under which I evidently
appeared to labour, soothed my mind and inspired me with
confidence.

He respectfully requested to know in what part of the town I

resided, and hoped to be permitted to pay his respects to me, and to
enquire after my welfare? This question awakened in my bosom so
many complicated and painful sensations, that, after remaining silent
for a few minutes, I burst into a flood of tears.

'I have no home;' said I, in a voice choaked with sobs—'I am an

alien in the world—and alone in the universe.'

His eyes glistened, his countenance expressed the most lively, and
tender, commiseration, while, in a timid and respectful voice, he
made me offers of service, and entreated me to permit him to be
useful to me.

'I then mentioned, in brief, my present unprotected situation, and

hinted, that as my fortune was small, I could wish to procure a
humble, but decent, apartment in a reputable family, till I had
consulted one friend, who, I yet flattered myself, was interested in
my concerns, or till I could fix on a more eligible method of
providing for myself.'

He informed me—'That he had a distant relation in town, a decent,

careful, woman, who kept a boarding house, and whose terms were
very reasonable. He was assured, would I permit him to introduce
me to her, she would be happy, should her accommodation suit me,
to pay me every attention in her power.'

In my forlorn situation, I confided, without hesitation, in his

recommendation, and gratefully acceded to the proposal.

Mr Montague introduced me to this lady in the most flattering

terms, she received me with civility, but, I fancied, not without a
slight mixture of distrust. I agreed with her for a neat chamber, with
a sitting room adjoining, on the second floor, and settled for the
terms of my board, more than the whole amount of the interest of
my little fortune.

CHAPTER XVII
I took an early opportunity of addressing a few lines to Mr Francis,
informing him of my situation, and entreating his counsel. I waited a
week, impatiently, for his reply, but in vain: well acquainted with his
punctuality, and alarmed by this silence, I mentioned the step I had
taken, and my apprehensions, to Montague, who immediately
repaired, himself, to the house of Mr Francis; and, finding it shut up,
was informed by the neighbours, that Mr Francis had quitted
England, a short time before, in company with a friend, intending to
make a continental tour.
 This intelligence was a new shock to me. I called on some of my
former acquaintance, mentioning to them my wish of procuring
pupils, or of engaging in any other occupation fitted to my talents. I
was received by some with civility, by others with coldness, but
every one appeared too much engrossed by his own affairs to give
himself the trouble of making any great exertion for others.

I returned dispirited—I walked through the crowded city, and

observed the anxious and busy faces of all around me. In the midst
of my fellow beings, occupied in various pursuits, I seemed, as if in
an immense desart, a solitary outcast from society. Active,
industrious, willing to employ my faculties in any way, by which I
might procure an honest independence, I beheld no path open to
me, but that to which my spirit could not submit—the degradation of
servitude. Hapless woman!—crushed by the iron hand of barbarous
despotism, pampered into weakness, and trained the slave of
meretricious folly!—what wonder, that, shrinking from the chill blasts
of penury (which the pernicious habits of thy education have little
fitted thy tender frame to encounter) thou listenest to the honied
accents of the spoiler; and, to escape the galling chain of servile
dependence, rushest into the career of infamy, from whence the
false and cruel morality of the world forbids thy return, and
perpetuates thy disgrace and misery! When will mankind be aware
of the uniformity, of the importance, of truth? When will they cease
to confound, by sexual, by political, by theological, distinctions,
those immutable principles, which form the true basis of virtue and
happiness? The paltry expedients of combating error with error, and
prejudice with prejudice, in one invariable and melancholy circle,
have already been sufficiently tried, have already been demonstrated
futile:—they have armed man against man, and filled the world with
crimes, and with blood.—How has the benign and gentle nature of
Reform been mistated! 'One false idea,' justly says an acute and
philosophic writer,20 'united with others, produces such as are
necessarily false; which, combining again with all those the memory
retains, give to all a tinge of falsehood. One error, alone, is sufficient
to infect the whole mass of the mind, and produce an infinity of
capricious, monstrous, notions.—Every vice is the error of the
understanding; crimes and prejudices are brothers; truth and virtue
sisters. These things, known to the wise, are hid from fools!'

Without a sufficiently interesting pursuit, a fatal torpor stole over

my spirits—my blood circulated languidly through my veins.
Montague, in the intervals from business and amusement, continued
to visit me. He brought me books, read to me, chatted with me,
pressed me to accompany him to places of public entertainment,
which (determined to incur no pecuniary obligation) I invariably
refused.

I received his civilities with the less scruple, from the information I
had received of his engagement with Miss Morton; which, with his
knowledge of my unhappy attachment, I thought, precluded every
idea of a renewal of those sentiments he had formerly professed for
me.

In return for his friendship, I tried to smile, and exerted my spirits,

to prove my grateful sensibility of his kindness: but, while he
appeared to take a lively interest in my sorrows, he carefully avoided
a repetition of the language in which he had once addressed me;
yet, at times, his tender concern seemed sliding into a sentiment still
softer, which obliged me to practise more reserve: he was not
insensible of this, and was frequently betrayed into transient bursts
of passion and resentment, which, on my repelling with firmness, he
would struggle to repress, and afterwards absent himself for a time.

Unable to devise any method of increasing my income, and

experiencing the pressure of some daily wants and inconveniencies,
I determined, at length, on selling the sum invested, in my name, in
the funds, and purchasing a life annuity.

Recollecting the name of a banker, with whom my uncle, the friend

of my infancy, had formerly kept cash, I learned his residence, and,
waiting upon him, made myself known as the niece of an old and
worthy friend; at the same time acquainting him with my intentions.
—He offered to transact the affair for me immediately, the funds
being, then, in a very favourable position; and to preserve the
money in his hands till an opportunity should offer of laying it out to
advantage. I gave him proper credentials for the accomplishing of
this business, and returned to my apartment with a heart somewhat
lightened. This scheme had never before occurred to me. The
banker, who was a man of commercial reputation, had assured me,
that my fortune might now be sold out with little loss; and that, by
purchasing an annuity, on proper security, at seven or eight per cent,
I might, with œconomy, be enabled to support myself decently, with
comfort and independence.

20: Helvetius.

CHAPTER XVIII
Some weeks elapsed, and I heard no more from my banker. A
slight indisposition confined me to the house. One evening, Mr
Montague, coming to my apartment to enquire after my health,
brought with him a newspaper (as was his frequent custom), and,
finding me unwell, and dispirited, began to read some parts from it
aloud, in the hope of amusing me. Among the articles of home
intelligence, a paragraph stated—'The failure of a considerable
mercantile house, which had created an alarm upon the Exchange,
as, it was apprehended, some important consequences would follow
in the commercial world. A great banking-house, it was hinted, not
many miles from ——, was likely to be affected, by some rumours, in
connection with this business, which had occasioned a considerable
run upon it for the last two or three days.'
 My attention was roused—I eagerly held out my hand for the
paper, and perused this alarming paragraph again and again, without
observing the surprize expressed in the countenance of Montague,
who was at a loss to conceive why this intelligence should be
affecting to me.—I sat, for some minutes, involved in thought, till a
question from my companion, several times repeated, occasioned
me to start. I immediately recollected myself, and tried to reason
away my fears, as vague and groundless. I was about to explain the
nature of them to my friend—secretly accusing myself for not having
done so sooner, and availed myself of his advice, when a servant,
entering, put a letter into his hand.

Looking upon the seal and superscription, he changed colour, and

opened it hastily. Strong emotion was painted in his features while
he perused it. I regarded him with anxiety. He rose from his seat,
walked up and down the room with a disordered pace—opened the
door, as if with an intention of going out—shut it—returned back
again—threw himself into a chair—covered his face with his
handkerchief—appeared in great agitation—and burst into tears. I
arose, went to him, and took his hand—'My friend!' said I—I would
have added something more—but, unable to proceed, I sunk into a
seat beside him, and wept in sympathy. He pressed my hand to his
lips—folded me wildly in his arms, and attempted to speak—but his
voice was lost in convulsive sobs. I gently withdrew myself, and
waited, in silence, till the violence of his emotions should subside. He
held out to me the letter he had received. I perused it. It contained
an account of the sudden death of his father, and a summons for his
immediate return to the country, to settle the affairs, and to take
upon him his father's professional employment.

'You leave me, then!' said I—'I lose my only remaining friend!'

'Never!'—he replied, emphatically.

I blushed for having uttered so improper, so selfish, a remark; and

endeavoured to atone for it by forgetting the perils of my own
situation, in attention to that of this ardent, but affectionate, young
man.—His sufferings were acute and violent for some days, during
which he quitted me only at the hours of repose—I devoted myself
to sooth and console him. I felt, that I had been greatly indebted to
his friendship and kindness, and I endeavoured to repay the
obligation. He appeared fully sensible of my cares, and, mingled with
his acknowledgments expressions of a tenderness, so lively, and
unequivocal, as obliged me, once more, to be more guarded in my
behaviour.

In consideration for the situation of Mr Montague—I had forgotten

the paragraph in the paper, till an accidental intelligence of the
bankruptcy of the house, in which my little fortune was entrusted,
confirmed to me the certainty of this terrible blow. Montague was
sitting with me when I received the unwelcome news.

'Gracious God!' I exclaimed, clasping my hands, and raising my

eyes to heaven—'What is to become of me now?—The measure of
my sorrows is filled up!'

It was some time before I had power to explain the circumstances

to my companion.

'Do not distress yourself, my lovely Emma,' said he; 'I will be your
friend—your guardian—' (and he added, in a low, yet fervent,
accent)—'your husband!'

'No—no—no!' answered I, shaking my head, 'that must not,

cannot, be! I would perish, rather than take advantage of a
generosity like yours. I will go to service—I will work for my bread—
and, if I cannot procure a wretched sustenance—I can but die! Life,
to me, has long been worthless!'

My countenance, my voice, my manner, but too forcibly expressed

the keen anguish of my soul. I seemed to be marked out for the
victim of a merciless destiny—for the child of sorrow! The
susceptible temper of Montague, softened by his own affliction, was
moved by my distress. He repeated, and enforced, his proposal, with
all the ardour of a youthful, a warm, an uncorrupted, mind.

'You add to my distress,' replied I. 'I have not a heart to bestow—I

lavished mine upon one, who scorned and contemned it. Its
sensibility is now exhausted. Shall I reward a faithful and generous
tenderness, like yours, with a cold, a worthless, an alienated, mind?
No, no!—Seek an object more worthy of you, and leave me to my
fate.'

At that moment, I had forgotten the report of his engagement

with Miss Morton; but, on his persisting, vehemently, to urge his
suit, I recollected, and immediately mentioned, it, to him. He
confessed—

'That, stung by my rejection, and preference of Mr Harley, he had,

at one period, entertained a thought of that nature; but that he had
fallen out with the family, in adjusting the settlements. Mrs Morton
had persuaded her husband to make, what he conceived to be,
ungenerous requisitions. Miss Morton had discovered much artifice,
but little sensibility, on the occasion. Disgusted with the apathy of
the father, the insolence of the mother and the low cunning of the
daughter, he had abruptly quitted them, and broken off all
intercourse with the family.'

It is not necessary to enlarge on this part of my narrative. Suffice

it to say, that, after a long contest, my desolate situation, added to
the persevering affection of this enthusiastic young man, prevailed
over my objections. His happiness, he told me, entirely depended on
my decision. I would not deceive him:—I related to him, with
simplicity and truth, all the circumstances of my past conduct
towards Mr Harley. He listened to me with evident emotion—
interrupted me, at times, with execrations; and, once or twice,
vowing vengeance on Augustus, appeared on the verge of outrage.
But I at length reasoned him into greater moderation, and obliged
him to do justice to the merit and honour of Mr Harley. He
acquiesced reluctantly, and with an ill grace, yet, with a lover-like
partiality, attributed his conduct to causes, of which I had discerned
no traces. He assured himself that the affections of a heart, tender
as mine, would be secured by kindness and assiduity—and I at last
yielded to his importunity. We were united in a short time, and I
accompanied my husband to the town of ——, in the county of ——,
the residence of his late father.

CHAPTER XIX
Mr Montague presented me to his relations and friends, by whom I
was received with a flattering distinction. My wearied spirits began
now to find repose. My husband was much occupied in the duties of
his profession. We had a respectable circle of acquaintance: In the
intervals of social engagement, and domestic employment, ever
thirsting after knowledge, I occasionally applied myself to the study
of physic, anatomy, and surgery, with the various branches of
science connected with them; by which means I frequently rendered
myself essentially serviceable to my friend; and, by exercising my
understanding and humanity, strengthened my mind, and stilled the
importunate suggestions of a heart too exquisitely sensible.

The manners of Mr Montague were kind and affectionate, though

subject, at times, to inequalities and starts of passion; he confided in
me, as his best and truest friend—and I deserved his confidence:—
yet, I frequently observed the restlessness and impetuosity of his
disposition with apprehension.

I felt for my husband a rational esteem, and a grateful affection:—

but those romantic, high-wrought, frenzied, emotions, that had rent
my heart during its first attachment—that enthusiasm, that
fanaticism, to which opposition had given force, the bare recollection
of which still shook my soul with anguish, no longer existed.
Montague was but too sensible of this difference, which naturally
resulted from the change of circumstances, and was unreasonable
enough to complain of what secured our tranquillity. If a cloud,
sometimes, hung over my brow—if I relapsed, for a short period,
into a too habitual melancholy, he would grow captious, and
complain.

'You esteem me, Emma: I confide in your principles, and I glory in

your friendship—but, you have never loved me!'

'Why will you be so unjust, both to me, and to yourself?'

'Tell me, then, sincerely—I know you will not deceive me—Have
you ever felt for me those sentiments with which Augustus Harley
inspired you?'

'Certainly not—I do not pretend to it—neither ought you to wish it.

My first attachment was the morbid excess of a distempered
imagination. Liberty, reason, virtue, usefulness, were the offerings I
carried to its shrine. It preyed incessantly upon my heart, I drank up
its vital spirit, it became a vice from its excess—it was a pernicious,
though a sublime, enthusiasm—its ravages are scarcely to be
remembered without shuddering—all the strength, the dignity, the
powers, of my mind, melted before it! Do you wish again to see me
the slave of my passions—do you regret, that I am restored to
reason? To you I owe every thing—life, and its comforts, rational
enjoyments, and the opportunity of usefulness. I feel for you all the
affection that a reasonable and a virtuous mind ought to feel—that
affection which is compatible with the fulfilling of other duties. We
are guilty of vice and selfishness when we yield ourselves up to
unbounded desires, and suffer our hearts to be wholly absorbed by
one object, however meritorious that object may be.'
 'Ah! how calmly you reason,—while I listen to you I cannot help
loving and admiring you, but I must ever hate that accursed Harley
—No! I am not satisfied—and I sometimes regret that I ever beheld
you.'

Many months glided away with but little interruptions to our

tranquillity.—A remembrance of the past would at times obtrude
itself, like the broken recollections of a feverish vision. To banish
these painful retrospections, I hastened to employ myself; every
hour was devoted to active usefulness, or to social and rational
recreation.

I became a mother; in performing the duties of a nurse, my

affections were awakened to new and sweet emotions.—The father
of my child appeared more respectable in my eyes, became more
dear to me: the engaging smiles of my little Emma repayed me for
every pain and every anxiety. While I beheld my husband caress his
infant, I tasted a pure, a chaste, an ineffable pleasure.

CHAPTER XX
About six weeks after my recovery from childbed, some affairs of
importance called Mr Montague to London. Three days after he had
quitted me, as, bending over the cradle of my babe, I contemplated
in silence its tranquil slumbers, I was alarmed by an uncommon
confusion in the lower part of the house. Hastening down stairs, to
enquire into the cause, I was informed—that a gentleman, in
passing through the town, had been thrown from his horse, that he
was taken up senseless, and, as was customary in cases of accident,
had been brought into our house, that he might receive assistance.
 Mr Montague was from home, a young gentleman who resided
with us, and assisted my husband in his profession, was also absent,
visiting a patient. Having myself acquired some knowledge of
surgery, I went immediately into the hall to give the necessary
directions on the occasion. The gentleman was lying on the floor,
without any signs of life. I desired the people to withdraw, who,
crowding round with sincere, but useless sympathy, obstructed the
circulation of air. Approaching the unfortunate man, I instantly
recognised the well-known features, though much altered, wan and
sunk, of Augustus Harley. Staggering a few paces backward—a
death-like sickness overspread my heart—a crowd of confused and
terrible emotions rushed through my mind.—But a momentary
reflection recalled my scattered thoughts. Once before, I had saved
from death an object so fatal to my repose. I exerted all my powers,
his hair was clotted, and his face disfigured with blood; I ordered the
servants to raise and carry him to an adjoining apartment, wherein
was a large, low sopha, on which they laid him. Carefully washing
the blood from the wound, I found he had received a dangerous
contusion in his head, but that the scull, as I had at first
apprehended, was not fractured. I cut the hair from the wounded
part, and applied a proper bandage. I did more—no other assistance
being at hand, I ventured to open a vein: the blood presently flowed
freely, and he began to revive. I bathed his temples, and sprinkled
the room with vinegar, opened the windows to let the air pass freely
through, raised his head with the pillows of the sopha, and sprinkled
his face and breast with cold water. I held his hand in mine—I felt
the languid and wavering pulse quicken—I fixed my eyes upon his
face—at that moment every thing else was forgotten, and my nerves
seemed firmly braced by my exertions.

He at length opened his eyes, gazed upon me with a vacant look,

and vainly attempted, for some time, to speak. At last, he uttered a
few incoherent words, but I perceived his senses were wandering,
and I conjectured, too truly, that his brain had received a
concussion. He made an effort to rise, but sunk down again.
 'Where am I,' said he, 'every object appears to me double.'

He shut his eyes, and remained silent. I mixed for him a cordial
and composing medicine, and entreating him to take it, he once
more raised himself, and looked up.—Our eyes met, his were wild
and unsettled.

'That voice,'—said he, in a low tone, 'that countenance—Oh God!

where am I?'

A strong, but transient, emotion passed over his features. With a

trembling hand he seized and swallowed the medicine I had offered,
and again relapsed into a kind of lethargic stupor. I then gave orders
for a bed to be prepared, into which I had him conveyed. I darkened
the room, and desired, that he might be kept perfectly quiet.

I retired to my apartment, my confinement was yet but recent,

and I had not perfectly recovered my strength. Exhausted by the
strong efforts I had made, and the stronger agitation of my mind, I
sunk into a fainting fit, (to which I was by no means subject) and
remained for some time in a state of perfect insensibility. On my
recovery, I learnt that Mr Lucas, the assistant of my husband, had
returned, and was in the chamber of the stranger; I sent for him on
his quitting the apartment, and eagerly interrogated him respecting
the state of the patient. He shook his head—I related to him the
methods I had taken, and enquired whether I had erred? He smiled
—

'You are an excellent surgeon,' said he, 'you acted very properly,
but,' observing my pallid looks, 'I wish your little nursery may not
suffer from your humanity'—

'I lay no claim,' replied I with emotion—'to extraordinary humanity

—I would have done the same for the poorest of my fellow creatures
—but this gentleman is an old acquaintance, a friend, whom, in the
early periods of my life, I greatly respected.'
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