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"Jf
i^^AwMm^^^^'^^s'^^
\
% BY
A Tale of Truth,
Late of tfie JSTew- Theatre y Philadelphia'-^uth$n
of Victoria^ The Inquisitor, Fille de
She was her parents' only joy;
They had but one — one darling child.
^^ * Romeo and Juliet.
Herlfernrwa^taultless,' and lier mind
i ^n tainted yet by art,
Was*noDle, just, humane and kind;
And virtue warm'd her heart.
But ah! the cruel spoiler came, . . .
HALto^ELL, ^. C.
Printed and Published by /. Wllsoih
m
r
- ■■ ■*' iiiiiiiHrlMii«"iii " '
w. <»'SSSft
^iH^iaaiD^^^ ^iBsaiPiKa^
CHAPTER I.
A BOARDING SCHOOL.,
•^ A"RE you for a walk,'* said Montraville to his
companion as they arose from table; '' are you for a
walk? or shall we order the chaise and proceed to
Portsmouth?" Belcour preferred the former; and
they sauntered out to view the town, and to make
remarks on the inhabitants, as they returned from
church Ti 1
Montraville was a lieutenant in the army: *>ei-
cour was his brother officer: they had been to take
leave of their friends previous to their departure for
America, and were now returning to Portsmouth
whore the troops waited orders for embarkationt
They had stopped at Chichester to dine; and know-
ing they had sufficient time to reach the place of
destination before dark, and y^^t allpw them a walk,
had resolved, it being Sunday afternoon, to take a
survey of the Chichester ladies as tbey returned
from their devotions. ^
They had gratified their curiosity, and were pre-
pared to return to the inn without honoring any of
the belles with particular attention when Madame
^»^«X.OTTB XB:ap^^,
the church s K " ^""^^•
S'^i iookedZ Mi^f '"^ 'heir hS ^/''^'^' a Wt
« he entered the^?^''' /'f^ ''^ *e S^V'- .^ , I
*^f notice hep p„ '"• ^e^coiirQfaJ; , * saidfte I
friends fii^ 4 ^ ^^^cour *« « *^v ■
• «!«;«„ f^»i<»i..rl, f "J"*" ball r„_ I
^E.
bllARLOTTE TE3IPLE.
[y^^'^h and in
'S soldiers: tC
^ P'^' Aer only
^ac/e in her
J'cJ? suffused
^ ^^s bosom
n^.to thint,
^J^ht have
'^i ^nd the
rain.
/, ^?i^he, ■ hicfhjand perhaps the Argusses, who guarded the
l^Jdyou I Hesperian fruit within, were more watchful than
she had --
^i: ^yes of
^eeJ dev-
■''om our
> monthF
Contra-
f of the
'^h any
*e girl
inter-
?. and
up to
vd to take leave of Chichester and its fair inhabi-
tant, and proceed on their journey.
But Charlotte had made too great an impression
on his mind to be easily eradicated: having: there-
fore spent three whole days in thinking on her, and
endeavoring to form some plan for seeing her, he
determined to set off for Chichester, and trust to
chance either to favor or frustrate his designs. Ar-
riving at the verge of the town, he dismounted, and
sendi7ig the servant forward with the horses, pro-
ccedecftowa.d the place, where, in the midst of an
extensive pleasure ground, stood the mansion v/bicii
contained the lovely Charlotte Temple. Montra-
ville leaned on a broken gate, and looked earnestly
at the honse. The wall which surrounded it was
those famed of old.
'' 'Tis a romantic attempt," snid he, " and should
I even succeed in seeing and conversing with her,
it can be productive of no good: I must of necessity
leave England in a few days, and probably may
never return; why then should I endeavor to en-
gage the affections of this lovely girl, only to leave
her a prey to a thousand inquietudes, of which at
present she hris no idea? I will return to Ports-
mouth, and think no more about her.
The evening v/as nov/ closed; a serene stillness
reigned; and tlie chaste queen of night, with her
f>iivcr crescer.t, faintly illuminated the hemisphere.
The mmd of Montravilte was hushed into compo-
sure by the serenity of the surrounding objects. " I
«r;ii <ii;,^ir or» n^r no mnrp." RHid he. and turned
.ti;:*. \J
\
m
th nn intention to leave the place; but as he turn-
■^■.
rmm^y
m.
fi
f^
CHARLOTTE Ti-3I1.I.E.
«^J» ho saiv the o-afo „i • , ,
groundsope„,a«d£/o^.Lo' ''^ '^^ '>'<-'''^"-
ed arm in arm across the fieJd » ' °"'' ''^'' ^' "^k-
overtoS;t'Sr;i;t%tr'''-'-^l.e. He
the evening, beared le^l 7' '^"^ '^o'^PHments of
^^ore frequented fes of'Z to'„ '"", '''I'" '"'« «"^
ered, under the conce .if i?', "? ^?'"'^'-' h« discov-
iaceofChariotto Tenmle '^ ' ^"'•^^ '^"'^'^^^ ^he
He soon found mpo^o \ •
J'er companion, who «1 '"p-atiatc h:mseJf „.f;f,
school, and at purt J. l!tn'^I/^T^ *«"'^''er at t e
Posey written, intog,Sl^'^»«'' ^^ h,d „u !
fas ^uo that of M..de;SL ^ '"'^ ^'^^^ S"'"-
»-ouId endeavor to htinlZft' '"''^ ^'^'^''^e^ *!'«
^^eJda^ain the nc:;t evenint' ^ '^'■'"o charoc into the
^^^AS^TICH, 12".
l>03iE3riC CCIVCERIVS.
Mr. TEMPLE
the antiquity, grandeur tiL''?"^-'-^. ^d'^q.«te to
--?'
— , v.^i^icpjt men. vFnp<ia ^.-fi. ^ -^ r^'^^autuu
quence in the eyes ^f f e wp.h'' ^'^'T ""^"' ^'"•"^>-
ence rendered tfiem soJendidk ^- "''' ^'-^^^ •'«'^'-
«ot sacrifice interrmfiS^^^'i'^^^'-f ^- _ "1 >vil!
center
' <. '
iJiiJ, ii
Ii
Hid h
'VV,
cr iii
out indigent i ^^
confining his o
t
;i cottage, will embrace her ^vilh as much cordiality
n« ! should if seated on u thr 'ne.
4 v-^t:::' inT^irt^tt^iv^
rprS rreTntp7nTe'n'ce!"to marry where the feel-
nio Ws heart should direct hmvand to confine
his expenses within the limits of his mcomc. He
K./n hc-irt onen to every generous feeling of hu-
manity aii aCd read^ tf dispense to those who
Wanted, part of the blessings he en,oyed himself.
Afhe was universally known to be the friend of
the'^^SoTtunate, his advice and bom^y were fre-
quently.solicite- -^ . -^Sn^ SsSy;
■ases within a very narrow
'< vou are a very .enevolent fellow," said a
young^fficer t^ hini^ one day; » and I Jave a grea
mind to give you a subject to cxerc.se the goodness
^^r^^u'crnToMige me more,»sa^^^^^^^^^^
« than to point out any way, by which I can be ser
viceable to my fellow creatures.
"Come along then," said the young man ' J e
will go and visil a man who is not '"/« |°?f/j,J^'j
ing as he deserves, and, were it not t^athehasan
an^^el with him, who c<>m orts and supi,orte hm he
must long since have sunk under his misfortunes.
The vounp- man's heart was too full to proceea,
;;;rTe'm"^el"willing to irritate Wsfee^ing^^ by „ja-
king further inquiries, followed him m silence, tm
they arrived at the Fleetprison. ■ ^,^^.^_ ^
peioalTSer^S'severalpairc- dirty^airs. m
compass.
" You are a ver>
Ift.
tn
-'■I
8
The officer ,vf,n "^ '"*'
«'e door, and' vasL"i''"'''''*'^^-«"'^-V (ann ^
ai?ed man in a f .„,'''' '^^ '^P^n before k' *"'" ^^'^'^
"iread bare.s ""Vi^^^nt's uniform ^l- 1"' ^'•»*a"
■ <« the £ 'f 1?"''^ ^°"»e'- call H bTush nf \ ^''^"gh
'-•heeks of h-ii^ \^^*'«= "f confusion^;^*'' ,'^''^' '"e^'t=
. BesidSmsr'rr^f ^^'^ ^^^^'^^ ^^^^^
^n§: a fan mount S""^ ^ creature, busied .n „ •
sorroMT had mnf fl ''^ ^^^ fair asX r/," P^''^*"
half blown H. "'^ ""''^ '" her cheek h'f^'"^ • ''"'
^vhichwa;hV?r»,^y^« ^ere blue ' f °.!'*' '* ^^««
dPF o J^i • '^"* brown w-.c i" i : ^'^'^ her hair
c"?at4""'Sni^'^^^^^^ arose from hfs
'«^ b« L^^r^^ Temple^ Z cil^^d^? ^'"^^^
«f 4i3 mhhV,\^,fJ^?}' seated hh««!f.^„*f^« h-'
gagg ,*j:itg -
CUARI.OTTE TE.'SIPX-E.
i)
-This is a strange place," said he to Temple,
. to receive visiter^of ^-^^V^X^^^
\i our feelings to our station. >Vhiie i am not a
Im'd to ow'n the cause v.»]ich bvought -e ^ere
whv should I blush at my S't'-i='^'°" .,""f r™ ,,^^t
S. are not our faults ; and were it not for that
^'°Het'\he philosopher wa^. , :.t in the father. He
rose hastilj from his seat, walked towards the wnv
dow and Jiped off a tear which he was afraid would
famish the cheek of a sailor. . ,
Temple ca.c his eye on Miss Eldridge; a peluc.d
drop hid stolen from her eye.and fallen upon arc. e
she was painti£>g. It blotted and discolored ttie
flower. - 'Tis emblematic," said he mentally,
the rose of youth and health soon fades when water-
edbv the tear of affliction." .
-Mv friend Blakeney,'' said he, addressing the
old man, ' told me I could be of service to you: be
:« kS'then, dear sir as to point out jme way m
which I can relieve the anxiety of ^ your heart antt
increase the pleasures of my o^yn
«Mv good young man," said Eldridge, «'you
know not^whatvou offer. While deprived of my
uSy Iclnot be free from anxiety on my own
account^ but that is a trifling concern ; my anxious
SuS extend to one more dear a thousand times
thanlife: I am a poor, weak, old man, and must ex-
pect in a few years to sink in silence and oblivion,
EwhenIamgone,whowifl protectthat fairbud
of innocence from the blasts of adversity, or trom
the cruel hand of insult ana dishonor ? .,.^
Oh! my j?atiierr' cneu x»iio3 jl^^^^^^ --- .
taking his hand, « be not onxious on that account ,
♦i*i
JO
L
f»
CIIARl^OTrE TE^iptj..
'to» pSSe eta, *'?•?)'. »v fS 'r r
•«'ands,"J/'?£"': cred^^^^^^ what were ^ • ^^''^
there are °Z''' '^'"'''" said Mr Vi^.-.
J>eartbJreIv?o '^"■^''^"'^'•s w£ S"^^^-' "^"^t
friennl-^ ^ remember • vJtl^ ^'" ^''"ne- mv
addressina- h;i^- ^"' my child » ! T-^ P'^^sent
?e, to enjovTl^i ^A ^M^^V ihSL ^.J:"?."
*o take this om,oS' ':^^*'««
enjoy the hn^^' ^'^^'e-my friend;"."" ^°"
« ; Vave Le r? '''" '''" and — -•'^'"^ ^'t''
WlVilfcr °°'^'' ^-^orrot Tr'- ««
^ Miss EdridZT y^"- " ^'''"" """^J
'^«^^^^ecS?:„K53!o„hischee.the;.^^
CHAPTER Jn.
, "Mrhre'^f'!trr^'' ^^«^ORTpwE.
SZoi'z.ir^'^^^ ?*i?n:;«« -t^in these
^«««mng: notice. L.rJ^^H'^J'^^.oircum^
-- V -"iwacert the Ii%
chARLotti: TErJLPl-E.
11
^^<^n that our
^^t, andono
I live when
'' You will
1 hope see
^3 cheerly;
t've anJyto
■^sing. But
«ave told
e their de-
5 3'our iib-
S^; ''but
^^ing my
e offers of
'd. I will
' present
lued he,
on you
are with
se. Go
^r usual
' Jdss of
these
cum-'
5 life
of a sailor, and have served -Y ^^"^^^^^^
"S^'^^^^tZ left us, --f the fruits o^^^^^^^^^
*^ • TvL hnv had eeiiius and spirit. 1 slraigni-
S"n.y'ft.eTn?:mf to give him a Ub-^^^f--
tSn- but the rapid progress he made la his studies
^Ur ronme' sited for the.incoaveiuence. At the
''"'^^l.vvluTe he received his education, he com-
'n'elcX a S: nt'Le with a Mr Lewis a young
pan of Vm>ieut fortune: as they grew "P. their ""
Zacy ripe-.ed i>.to friendship, and they became ai-
riest insepi-.rable companions.
'••" ' George chose the profession oi a sold.e ^ I had
reither fnerds nor money ^ procurf h.m a com
;Lion, and had wished ^""^0 embrace a^^^^^^^^^^^
liu>: but this was repugnant _ to his wishes, ana i
/.f>i«pH «o ur-^e him on the subject. .
'•""The fH.:;idsh>p. subsisting between Le^v^sar^d
c o..oii a riitiirp as cave lum uee uu-
mvsonWBSoi sdcn a naiure as ^^ „., i,;. minner
r,U to ovr ft'mi'iv; '^'nd so specious was his manner,
hat we he-itated not to state to him all our httle
Sculties in regard to George's future views. He
ste.-.ed.to us with atte..lion, and offered lo advance,
' nv sum ..ecess.ry for his first setting out.
- I embraced the offer, and gave lum my note for
■ Ihe iym;nt of it; but he would not suffer me to
mention any stipulated time, as he said I m^ht
Toit whenever most convenient to myself. About
this time my dear Lucy returned ^^ N^'^'i^hlV w ffi
looa began to imagine Lewis looked >J h^^J'"
eyos of affection. 1 gave my child caution to be
/ f !,;„> ^rri tolnok on her mother as her triend.
«ic was un^fTectedly artless; and when, ab
12
S.
^•"A^I.OTT£ ,,B,,^,^^
^"% submJf f " *^'« favor, and ^ ^''■"^ 'vas per-
concerning- f> ;• '^ ''PPortunitv n f „
state of he. hir^'?°°" for some f/m •
and I sawl^t 'V'^™^'^ she vvas L ''^'^'^'^'^ «"d int
^«ftmy oTvnT ^'"* '■" the arms o? ^'"P^'""'' *° hear-
f'>r us both . P?'" ^^"cy. diiZT?"^^^'' '^alls of a
'detain me b'v ""''■ T «»e floor 'f? "-'^^ h«r fears
forced Z„\ ''«'• feeble e/rort's- l^^'^^^^-orcd to
^Nl^
CHARLOTTE TE3IPLK.
13
, ..No," said Temple; "but the truly brave soul
is tremb inffly alive to the feelings of hurnaraty
! i' True," replied the old man, (something like sa-
tisfaciSTdarti^ across his ieat -es) ^'and painful .
4 S^feelin I would not exchange them
foStop^^^^^^ stoic mistakes for philoao«
Sv^^ How many exquisite delights should I ha.^c
Sed by unnoticed, but for these keen sensations^
Es quick sense of happiness or misery? Then
e us my friend, take the cup of hfe as it is pre-
sented to^ us, tempered by the hand of a ^ylse
Provided be thankful for the good, be patieii^
under the evil, and presume not to enquire why the
latter predominates." „ . , rr. i ^
•* This is true philosophy," said Temple.
*« 'Tis the only way to reconcile ourselves to tne
cross events of life," replied he. -But I orgot
myself. I will not longer intrude on your patience ,
but proceed in my melancholy tale."
«* The very evening that I was taken to prison,
mv son arrived from Ireland, where he had been
some time with his regiment. From the distracted
expressions of his mother and sister he learned by
whom I had been arrested; and, late as it was, flew
on the wings of wounded affection, to the house ot
his false friend, and earnestly enquired the cause ot
this cruel conduct. With all the calmness of a cooJ ,
deliberate villian, he avowed his passion for Lucy;
declared her situation in life would not permit him
to marry her; but offered to release me immediate-
. %, and make any settlement upon her, il George
would persuade her to live, as he impiously termed
it, a life of honor. _ ,
,^ l?*^- J -X aU^ :«s!„14^ ^fPe^vaA fr* ?» THftT^ 911(1 a SOI*
► *.
14
I
/CHARLOTTE TEJUPJLB.
neighborhood, and wro "e lon^^ff'^^^^^^ '" N
to me blaming himself setel"lf ^^^'^^'^nate letter
duced Lewis into the famT^o? n"' '''/'"^ '"t^^-
confer an obligation, ^vhichhJ\f^''T^f^ ^'"^ 4
ruin on us all.^ He begged ^ .S T'^' inevitable
the eveat of the ensuiS mo^^^"^^^'^"" "'^ht be
regret or unavailing sorroiS- % "°' *" «"ffer
the anguish of my heart X,. I' ^''^' *° 'n^rease
wasah-eadyinsup^portable ^'^^ greatly feared,
1 ms letter was deliverpH f^
morning. It ^ould be X? valn^ 1 ^''''y '° ^e
cnbe my feelings on the Lr. t. ^ •*^"'^* ^° ^««-
«ay, that a me "ci'ul Provwl ?^ '*' '^"ffice it to
was for three weeks iSlnsZ" ,'''''^^'f'^' «''d I
l>eyond the strength of hu mn ? """^"^^ «''n«st
^"A fever and ^strong riWur".'' ^T^P'^'-*-
y life was-tlespaired of At lln ..f "^^'^ ™«' ^n^
powered with fktigne ;ra4 w^*/ "l^"''^' «^er-
Power of rest, and a Quif t\l„ t^ *° *^ ««'«tary
restored me t^ reason t^o^1.^^'■ °' ^"""^ hours
ness of my t,,me prev'e tedSv r' r ^""^'"^^ ^^^^>^-
so ac^utely as I otherwise S,u^J ^'"'^"^ '"J' ^'^^ress
L«cy|.^-%-t th^^^^^^^^^^^^^ ^^^^
the first thing ftaT'4„^^^,-^;-cd from him,C
degrees the rist return^H^ i *** "^ memory. By
rested, but could noTai aceoT^^i^'^'f'' ''^'«& "^
apartment, whither ThT ,^"°"nt for being in this
iny illness! ^*' ^^''^ ^ad conveyed me duS
* was so twnnlr «« i.^ !._
- .-^^.- a. .o De almost unable to speak:
mmm
CHARI-OTTE TEMPLE
15
pressed Lucy's hand, and looked earnestly round '
S Tpartmelt in search of another dear object.
'' Where is your mother?" said I faintly.
, c. ^h'e "00/ girl could -^a„swer;sh^^^^^^^^^
head in expressive silence ; -^J, «'^°^'''°„^ ^^t
on the bed, folded her arms about me, ana du
into tears. ,, • j t
"What! both gone, saidl. ,„ rp„f rain her
« Both," she replied, endeavoring to restram ner
emotions: " but they are happy "o/o"°*\.„tio„ of
Here Mr. Eldridge paused: the recollection o
the scene was too painful to permit him to proceeit-
CHAPTER IV.
CHANGE OF FORTUNE.
« It was some days," continued Mr- Eldruige re^
roverine himself, « before I could v«pture to en
qS the particul'ars of what had happened during
?,r; illness: at length I assumed co"r»g« ^ef h^^
rl/ar ffirl how long her mother and brotner naa
SniSd: she tolS me. that the 7'";^«;,g -ffaS
arrest, George came home early to enquire a«e^
his mother's health, staid with tbem but a lew
minutes, seemed greatly agitated at Paru^ J^J
gave them strict charge to keep up J^^ir spmts, and
hope every thing would turn out ^^ ttie best. In
about two hours after, as ^^y^^'^^^'S^S** break
fast, and endeavoring to strike out some plan to
attain my liberty, they heard a loud rap at fee d^r.
.which Lucy running to open, she met the Weeding
fcodv of her brother, borne in by two men who had
lifted him from alitor, on whicu me
• i
i6
■
1 . — ■*«^*.is.
turn fro:ii tj,e „»>
'''°ther, P.-e,-xkoi'ed'. '"^r*^ *« fought »
t^e Precedinn^n^^l'^J' '""ess and If. .^^^'"Poor
shock: i?a.sp ^ j"ff *' "'as not abie « "'"^^^«s «f
carried her dt^i^ '^^ apartraentil '^'^'^ ^nd hae--
^W'iii nnf K ^^ ''and, 'avri. i '"e bedside-
'^"^J^ at once ^ f ^'■"''' fro'n ?jfef^°'rr^°^' «^''d she'
^'"''efelJ S i ''• • • -father of ml. ^"^^and.' son .'
^''•essed Geor^i '" "^e mean (im A *^ ''^Pw-eJ in
g'"ationasS;«'«"''d«> but (£^1'^^'"" '^^^
He never was sph. -k^ /'"aHest hone, 7 ' ' ""^^ a
jo^e, andSTafef''"'^^ '''' ^te wafr'^''^'- i
tor. ''''^^^"^"e-inthearSfe-'
bie^on&S?S. :- f^eati, embarrassed "
^^3' >nfe and
utterly
una-
^oxi were com-
'"^m
(Htm
cUAXiJLOlXf: TiuMPL.C»
17
^' , ^^er poor
^^^^ggles of
"'"PPort this
''^^ ^nd hag.-
f, ^^ey had
^^e bedside;
^ said she,
oand / son !
spare ine'^
^^Pired in
^?eon had
^- such a
recoverjr,
sbrou^'f^f
•ace, my
neglect,
ns v/ith
one3 to
coin-
where
have
? ino-
her;
«t in
/the
sed
ina-
3in*
mittedto the kindred earth, my creditors seized my
house and furnitiue, which not being sufficient to
discharge all their demands, detainers were lodged
against me. — No friend stepped forward to my re-
lief; from the grave of her mother, my beloved Lu-
cy followed an almost dying father to this melan-
choly place.
*'Here we have been nearly a year and a half. —
My half pay I have given up to satisfy my creditors,
and my child supports me by her industry: some-
tmies by fine needle-work, sometimes by painting.
She leaves me every night, and goes to a lodging
near the bridge: but returns in the morning, to
cheer me with her smiles^ and bless me by her du-
teous affection. A lady once offered her an assylum
in her family; but she would not leave me. *^ We
are all the world to each other,'* said she. "I thank
God, I have health and spirits to improve the talents
with which nature has endowed me; and I trust
if I employ them in the support of a beloved parent,
I shall not be thought an unprofitable servant. —
While he lives I pray for strength to pursue my
employment; and when it pleases heaven to take
one of us, may, it give the stxrvivor fortitude to
bear the separation with due resignation; till then
I will never leave him."
•'But where is this inhuman persecutor?" said
Temple.
"He has been abroad ever since,'* replied the
old man; ** but he has left orders with his lawyer
never to give up the note till the utmosi farthing is
paid."
And how much is the amount of your debts in
all?" said Temple.
a3
IS
^H.
•^
CHARLOTTE T*;.,xpi,b.
i^nZey"T ''.''' ^«ar out her S ^^-^ " *at
arpfKf . ^'"''*^ '"■e "ot morp ho ?, "^ y°"'' spirits-
When they o-ot w.fh^ * , " s'lence. I
had a n:.,.f • , ^ ^ character- ^n/* „• "^^^"^111^ I
And what i«5 f k I
0"s WealJh ^'r«»ce, continued jl « ''"' " "ot I
gence of V^f n compare? S thl '^ '"P".''fl"- I
serve eaL ^."'^S^^- and what h.. r Z®""® in<Ji- I
for all 1 ' ^hree hundrp.? o .^^ officer starves I
■^ "e rehered. " "^® ' at any rate. EMrW^^ ■
-«W«#«^«Si»I^i
ttii|[|fiW"lliailiil|MrrHliii ■■ "
"i"
Q.
1
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
19
'? expected.-^
^i^ ^e• '' that
re in prison.
fnend/> said
\your spirits;
^^^nded than
the horrors
'P^endour of
^ EJdridge.
f those that
^ney ivent
nee.
^he prison
ntroducing
^g him he
Y> "Wished
'edman.?'*
e HiJl._
«^ould en-
what ex-
s of Lucy
»er's de-
•ut is not
'uperflu-
rie indi-
' to de-
starves
efficient
Mridge
When the heart has will, the hands can soon find
means to execute a good action.
Temple was a young man, his feelings warm and
impetuous; unacquaiiited with the world, his heart
had not been rendered callous by being convinced
of its fraud and hypocrisy. He pitied their suffer-
ings, overlooked their faults, thought every bosom
as generous as his own, and would cheerfully have
divided his last guinea with an unfortunate fellow
creature. "^
No wonder then that such a man, (without wait-
ing a moment for the interference of Madam Pru-
dence) should resolve to raise money sufficient for
therejief of Eldridge, by mortgaging part of his
fortune.
We will not inquire too minutely into the motive
which might actuate him in this instance: suffice it
to say, he immediately put the plan in execution ;
and in three days from the time he first saw the
unfortunate Lieutenant, he had the superlative fe-
licity of seeing him at liberty, and receiving an am-
ple reward in the tearful eye and half articulated
thanks of the grateful Lucy.
" And pray, young man," said his father to him
one morning, '* what are your designs in visiting
thus constantly that old man and his daughter?"
Temple was at a Joss for a reply: he had never
asked himself the question: he hesitated, and his
father continued. . .
" It was not till within these few days that I
heard in what manner your acquaintance first com-
menced, and cannot suppose anv thins: but attach-
ment to the daughter coMld carry you such impru-
dent lengths for the father; it certainly must be her
v>r
20
CHAnLOTTE TE3lPi,E.
*'"clge h '^'frJl^^ '^^'"P^« eagerly <. t ^
erro| .tl/f!l«J? "' ^ «^e is & ;4-i fj;
•" your o^intnTE^'j,";' ^^^^^ 'Sdoubl"
Jjer sex to follow ; but com! " "'^ ««ellence for a I
fording E Sj/Sr Son V ^^^ ^"PP^'-t her ac
formed to insure happiness „ S""^ " ^^«'»^» "ore
,, ;; Tnen prithee, my dear . .^f^'"^'^'^ ^^^te."
since your rank and tVH.nV '*' ^^^ ^is father
What your /''•»V»c«rmSt exn'JV'L™""^ ''enS
turn your eyes to Miss w. i^*^.*' ^e so Icind as to
onJyanestat^ofthShousS?^' ^''•'' having
2cit.iT' ""i* J'°". and whose f^?^'"' '' "''''' "P^
icited the mighty honor ofvoJ u' ^^^^'erday so-
Joave you to consider «« Z "^ alhance. I ghalJ
member, that yQur^un'rw^^ff-^^and P^^'^^
put It m your power tn hJ ^^^ »^eatherbv wi'fl
0"tofthorlom"Td"Tr¥'^ '° ^^'ately manner
-i^i* astonishilloItTm^^nX^Jr ^^^^^^^^
(21 )
of your for-
•'*Lucy El-
every other
•vely," said
'' no doubt,
ence for all
jJ me, what
I hope you
y marrying
ort her ac-
nian more
state. '*
lis father,
beneath
'ind as to
> having"
more up-
^rday so-
I shall
3ray re-
'% will
'6 friend
manner
•etrified
ca
k'
. CHAPTER V.
StJCH THINGS ARE, V
Miss Weatherby was the only cliild of a
•wealthy man, almost idolized by her parents, flatter-
ed by her dependants, and never contr?idicted even
by those who called themselves her friends: I can-
not give a better description than by the following
lines :
The lovely maid whose form and face
Nature has deck'd with every grace,
But in whose breast no virtues glow.
Whose heart ne'er felt another's woe.
Whose hand ne'er smoothed the bed of pain,
Or easM the captive's galling chain;
But like the tulip caught .the eye,
Born just to be admirM and die;
When gone no one regrets its loss, I
Or scarce remembers that it was.
Such was Miss Weatherby ; her form lovely as
nature could make it, but her mind uncultivated,
her heart tmfeeling, her passions impetuous, and her
hrain almost turned of flattery, dissipation and
pleasure; and such was the girl, whom a partial
grandfather left independent mistress of the fortune
before me rationed.
She had seen Temple frequently; and fancying
she cculd never be happy without him. 5 nor once im-
agining he could refuse a girl of her beauty and for-
tune, 5he prevailed on her fond father to offer ihe
23
«'
■
r
m
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
-, Mr. Temple's
a'Jiance to the old Earl of D-
£ri^^ Offer courteous,, ; ,e|
fehuonable a man to suppi a w:7' "\*^ '^^ ^°°
impediment to the FrieSn . '^^ 5**"''' ''e any '
<«r%e and his daughter! '^'P ''^ P'-ofessed for EK
erSlhrS;!;ta!;a^
ftther, discovered to h m th -^^"^^ had with h^
and he round that tt'^Zt'^^lTiT f"'' "^^
^orthe woman trwhomL- "^'"*"'"'^'g '"Se^N
, ^'-edts^rSStd"' '' ^°"=^''"« father
Ke^ 'PP'^^ i« t preir/ ^T-^^r-^d never
;«ft the house precipitatelv^ I / ^™ *» «PeaJc : he
the cause of his sortowc fc\^ hnstened to re/ate
^^"i^We daughter^' '"^^ ««°^ «^d frienJaad
-ch a'a: sSdt ?^/ T^*^ ^'> *e 30U, that
hiWa candidatetr j5?s^^g^. determined to offer
Wiiat MTonderfuI 7hfnZ. *^'^y'^ ^^vor.
reigning Do«r^r L..^^^^^ ^e wrought h.r .i,„.
E.
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
23
M^'- Temple 'sj
irteonsly ; he
and was too
ould be any
sssed forEl-
^* quite oth-
•ad with his
of his heart;
tune would
» Lucy Ej.
^;y of his
^his father
=> other rea-
une would
r in spleii-
' devoted:
'^f by, and,
^^d hand,
ii's father,
hd never
' ^owed:
^ak ; he
^o relate
^end and
'oul that
to offer
or.
c girl,
wept.
raved, tore her hair, and vowed to found a protest-
ant nunnery with her fortune; and commencing
abbess, to shut herself up from the sight of cruel un-
I grateful man forever.
Her father was a man of the world: he suffered
this first transport to subside, and then very dehb-
erately unfolded lo her the offers of the old Earl,
expatiated on the many benefits arising from an ele-
vated title, painted in glouinu: colors the surprise
and vexation of Temple when he should see her
figuring as a Countess and his inotlier-in-law, and
begged her to consider well before she made any
rash vows.
The distressed fair one dried her tears, listened
patiently, and at length declared ^he believed the
surest method to revenge the slight put on her by
the son, would be to accept the father: so said, so
done, and in a few days she became the Countess
D .
Temple heard the news with emotion : he had
lost his father's favor by avowing his passion for
Lucy, and he saw now there was n;. hope of regain-
ing it: ' But he shall not make me miserable/'
said he. " Lucy and I have no ?'Tibitious ;.otions:
we can live on three hundred a year for some little
time, till the mortgage is paid off, and then we shall
have sufiident not only for the comforts but many
of the little elegancies of life. We will purchase a
little cottage my Lucy," said he, "and thither, v^rith
your reverend father, we \/ill forget that there are
such things as splendor, profusion and dissipation:
^n-A tXTiU VkA«r<-i nr<krviA t^fwvja rk-nri tr/Mi Grinll n(^ miPeii Ol
the dairy; in a morning, while I look after my gar-
den , you shall take a basket on your arm, and sally
'*.#-4
24
W ■ t
CUAHLOTTE TEMPJLE,
smoke his pipe in a wooS" i '/*'" ^''*'^^'- ^''-^S
ment^^^'-' thitherTa Sid^'^ « cottage suit!
men, the happy trio re irM . t ^^ 'oveand hv-
yearsofunint/rrupte^lbStv S?'"' *^""°g "^aZ
beyond the little boundaries 5^',?^^ '''''^ ""t a wish
Plenty, and her handS nr ?h '' °^" tenement
the r board; hospitality slXf^-^' P'"^«'<ied at
««"!ed on each face, LtS rel?"/. ^^te, peace
««id love and health strewed V ^"^'^ "'^ ^'^ch heart
Such were the pareSro^rn'^' °" *^^''- P«lom
at the earnest entreaty of a « *^' '°^®' ''"d who
CHAPTER VI.
Madame Du Ponf «r.o
school without proner «1 ^''"'=^*^''« ^^ » numerous"
-«^3ataon m «ora£ were Sfc^i^ ^''''- eo„.
^ filter round
«• fother shaJ[
. 3nd viewinfi i
^eJ such rear
® h^m forget I
^as the smile
cottage suit-
^veand hy-
^fing many
f not a wish
^ tenement,
presided at
»ate, peace
^ach heart,
'ij' pillows,
mple- who
and v/ho,
friend was
other had
® we first
reader.
CHARLOTTE TEMPL3E.
25
vvay cal-
had that
Was im-
imerous
' assist-
5se con-
parents
of delicacy and refinement would wish a daughter to
copy. Among: the te ichers at Madame Du Font's
school, was Mademoiselle La Rue, who added to a
pleasing person and insinuating address, a liberal
education and the manners of a gentlewoman. She
was recommended to the school by a lady, whose
humanity overstepped the bounds of discretion: for
though she knew Miss La Rne had eloped from a
convent with a young officer, and, on comi^o* to
England, had lived with several different meii in
open defiance of all moral and religious duties ; yet
finding her reduced to the most abject want, and
believing the penitence which she professed to be
sincere she took her into her own family, md from
thence recommended her to Madame Du Pont, as
thinking the situi^ion more suitable for a woman of
her abilities. But Mademoiselle possessed too much
the spirit of intrigue to remain lon<]( without adven-
tures. At church, where she constantly appeared
her person attracted the attention of a youno- m-.Ti
who was upon a visit at a gentleman's 'seat in the
neighborhood : she had met him several times clan-
destinely; and being invited to : orne ort that eve-
ning, and eat some fruit and pastry in a summer-
house belonging to t^ e gei-tleman he was visitino-
and requested to bring some of the ladies with her'
Charlotte being her favorite, was fixed on to accom-
pany her.
The mind of youth easily catches at promised
pleasure; pure and innocent by nature, it thinks not
ot the dangers lurking beneath those pleasures, till
too late to avoid them; when Mademoiselle asked
nian as a relation, and spoke in such high terms of
■II
26
CHARLOTTB TEMPLE.
the elegance of his gardens, the sprightlincss of his
conversation, and tlie liberality witli which ho cul
tertamed his guests, that Charlotte thought oi;lv of
the pleasure she should enjoy in tht visit, not on the
imprudence of going without her governess's knowl-
edge, or of the danger to v. hich she exposed heisejf
in visiting the house of a gay young man of fi-.sh.
ion.
Miidanie Du Pont had gone out for the eveninff-
and the rest of thekdics retired to rest, when (^h- r-
lotte and the teacher stole out of tl)e back ovite ' and
m crossing the field, were ac -osted bv Moiitraville
as mentioned in the lirst ctiapter. " '
Charlotte v\ as disappointed in the i>leasure she
had promised herself from this visit. The levitv of
tr,e gentlemen and the freedoui of their conversation
disgusted her. She was astonished ;.t the liberties
Mademoiselle pern.itted them to take ; grew thcudit-
lul and uneasy, and heartily wished herself at home
again m her own chamber.
Perhaps one cause of that m,h might he, an
earnest desire to see the contents of the letter which
had been put into her hrnd by Monlravilie
Any reader, who has the ie«st kncwle.Jpe of the
en7i?'-^^" easily imagine the letter was mile up of
encomiums on her beauty, nr.d vows of everlasting
Jove and constancy; nor will he be surprised that a
probable that ler mind might revert to the a«-reea-
ble person and martial appearance of Montraviiie
.v.±f^[i °L'°^*^' ^. > ^""g .h«=^rt is never in more
— .«v. UI..U v.uenauacKed by a handsome young *-
CHARLOTTE TEMPI-E.
27
x man of indifferent appearance, will,
voMier. A man o' j.^^^ 5,0^ to adv?.ntage;
wlien arrayed in ^ ^''^Jf >/'^, ' nee of manner, and
l,ut when bf^^*^ y;/S! coSiments, are united
,, easy "Jf^f °/j^St coeSe, and military sash,
to the sc;»rlet coat, siu" ^ on
ali! well-a-day f^'^.f 'f^ P^-er biTt if she listens
^'T-= titUtXe" aUo"v^:r'withher,andfrom
£at moment'lrhas' neither eyes nor ears for any
^^'^'w^^vdear sober matron, (if a sober matron
Now, my aeai .« T)a<res, before she
shouW deign to turn over th^-f P^-^ ^^t,,.) ,et me
tr„sts them to ttie eye ^f J darln ^^^„ ^^^ ^^^^^
entreat you "«* t° Pf^/^'^^Ma declare 'tis enough
down the book m * P"^^'/° "' ' j^i, i^ Enelaad; I do
to turn the heads of halff^.,|' ^^ \" .^^an no more
solemnly protest m^^^^ \,,,, ,0 ridicule
by What I have b^ ^. .^^^^ ^ j
^^'""f 'h a^Werl^paule constitute the fine gent e-
coatandasuverepaut j make half a
r"i,'fitreeches to hL, they will imagine
dozen twe speet-iic» f^ncv it a moritP-,
themselves so much in love as to tancy ^^^.^^
vious action to J""^P.";jj;,\Strit entirely to
window, abandon their t"^'-;^*' rhj^,.ji ^pows the
the hov.or of a man, who f J^P-jJ^^^'y^in fee too
meaning of the word ^f ^^'^ ^^'^^^^^^^^^^ it
much the modern man of reLnemcm, vo ^
in their favor. , . , ^Y^e miseries
Gi-acious heaven! ^' "^^^ I ^^J"^^^^^^ when
that must rend the he^^f a doaUng pa^^^^^,^ ^^^^
he sees the darling of h'^^fee at l^^^^,,^^^ ^y ^he
\^\a nrotection, and aueiwaiwo^ ^ a^^^.t^a Tier
r v^r/wretch whose F^n^^^^^ ^' '^^^ ^""""^^ ^^"
Ir^
• i-
I
i
1 :
28
w>
CHAHLOTTE TEJipj,]^
from the paternal roof—when I.^ c» .
wretched, her bosom torn betvv.J^' I'erpooranc!
cnme and her v.le betrayer-when T"''^ '""^ ^'^^
me the good old man stooSt„ " /''"•^y ?"'"*« ^
penitent, while every teaTfrL u"^ ''^^ keeping
ed by drops fromZ b eedS J^" ^ '^ ""'^''^'•^
glows w ith honest indignrtlon ^. w ?'''• 1"^ ^««o™
er. extirpate tho. Jn^ e/^SS ^J
by paternal approbation^ be t Ld "f •''"'=*'"^'^^
the days of romance: no womfn ' V' "o^^Past
with contrary to her mvn^ r ^'^^ *'« ^un away
down each momS Tnd r^n '"'!'*?" •" *«« '^"eel
l^epyou free from tf^Sin ^ ^'l '''"'* ^^^^^en to
suffer you to be tSerpCfor'S^V''' '* P'-««e to
natural inclination whR n.nf ''"'^^ *« ""^^'s' *e
cepts of religion and Sue ''°'"''^'' *'' *<^ P^e-
CHAPTER VII.
NATURAL SENSP^ #^r, «
.-in.i::,trife've'n.^J '^K""- T^''^ "^'^* -
lo"e, spiting herself whe!,?!"""'^"^'" ^^W Char-
ge- 1: «. nay, I an sure f/ '^ ^"^^''^^ ^er apart-
pected to be^Very haZ L^' "*'' "S^'' ^^^ I ex-
ed." , ^ "^P^' •'"' was sadly disappoint-
«erve to render the «vl°n5 ll"°' "«.? ^at conld
JJ„»-T,,^»>**«k .
CHARLOTTE TEM^LIZ.
29
"True," said Charlotte: "but I thought the
gentlemen were very free in their manner ; I won-
der you would suffer them to behave as they did.**
" Prithee, don't be such a foolish little prude,'
said the artful woman, affecting anger ; " 1 invited
you to go, in hopes it would divert you, and be an
agreeable change of scene; however, if your deli-
cacy w^as hurt by the behaviour of the gentlemen,
you need not go again; so tliere let it rest."
" I do not intend to go agnin, said Chaltotte,
gravely taking off her bonnet, and beginning to
prepare for her bed; I am sure, if Madame Du Pont
knew we had been out to night, she would be very
angry; and it is ten to one but she hears of it by
some means or other."
" Nay Miss," said La Rue, " perhaps your migh-
ty sense of propriety may lead you to tell her your-
f?elf : and in order to avoid the censure you would
incur, should she hear of it by accident, throw the
blame on me : but I confess I deserve it: it will be
a very kind return for that partiality which led me
to prefer you before any of the rest of the ladies.
But perhaps it will give you pleasurer" co. anued
she, letting fall some hypocritical tears, *' to see me
deprived of breid, and, for an action which by the
most rigid could be esteemed an inadvertancy, lose
my character, and be driven again into the world,
where I have already suffered all the evils attend-
ant on poverty."
This was touching Charlotte in the most vulnera-
ble part ; she rose from her seat, and taking Made-
mo^'selle's hand — *'you knov/, my dear La Rue,"
i*ai(J bi.e /• I love you too well, to do any thing that
#
♦
Ill'
so
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
would injure you in my governess's opinion: I am
only sorry we went out this evening."
"I dont believe it, Charlotte,'' said she, assuming
a little vivacity ; " for if you had nut gone out, you
would not have .^een the gentlemen who met us
crossing the field ; and I rather think you were
pleased with his conversation."
I had seen him once before," replied Charlotte,
'' and thought him an agreeable man; and you know
one is always pleased to see a person with whom
one has passed several cheerful hours. But," said
she, pausing, and drawing the letter from her pock-
et, while a gentle suffusion of vermillion tinged
her neck and face, " he gave me this letter: what
shall I do with it ?*'
•• Read it, to be sure," returned Mademoiselle.
'« I am afraid I ought not," said Charlotte: *« my
mother has often told me, I should never read a let-
ter given me by a young man, withont first ffivintr
it to her." '^
" Lord bless you, my dear girl," cried the teach-
er, smiling, *«have you a mind to be in leadii'^
«trnigs all your life time.^ Prithee open the letter
read it, and judge for yourself; if you show it to
your mother, the consequence will be, you will bo
taken from school, and a strict guard kept over you:
so you will stand no chance of ever seeing thesinart
young officer again.
^ *' I should not like to leave Fchool yet," replioil
Charlotte, " till I have attained a greater proficien-
cy in my Italian and music. But you can if you
please Mademoiselle, take the letter back to JVfontni-
ville, and tell him T wiah Iiitti ytrr^M j^^* ^^.^^,^* •^-•♦s
any propriety, enter into a clandestine ccrresion^
i,-a||»
CHARLOTTE TEMfLl!.
81
deuce with him." She laid the ietter on the table,
and bes;aii,to undress herself.
« Well." said La Rue, « I vow you are an unac-
countable girl: have you no curiosity to see the in-
Se now ? For my part I could no more let a letter
oHrlressed to me lie unopened so long, than I could
tSracieT; he writes a good hand," contmued
le turning the letter to look at the superscription.
« 'Tis well enough," said Charlotte, drawing it
*°«Heis^I"eenteel young fellow," said La Rue,
carelessly folding up her apron at the same tme;
" but I think he is marked with the small pox.
" O vou are greatly mistaken," said t^harlotte,
eagerly," he has a remarkable clear skin and a fine
'"^tteyes, if I could judge by what.I saw'" said
T a Rue " are grey, and want expression.
"By nometns;" replied Charlotte. «« they are
the most expressive eyes I ever saw.
"Well, child, whether they are grey or black IS
nf no ronseauence ; you have determined not to
reaThLlS; so it is likely you will never either
gee or hear from him ap;ain." , ,r j • n^
Charlotte took up the letter and Mademoiselle
■ '"« He1s"most probably going to America: and if
ever you should hear any account of him, it may
JoSbly be that he i^^'.^^^^^^^^^f^h'shS
vou ever so fervently, though his last breath shall be
SenHn a prayer for V h ^ess, jt cmi be not^
4 to you: you can feel nothing for the fate ot
a man, whose letters you wiu noi vyi^n '*""• "Tim
sufferings you will not alleviate, by permitting him
,■1.
_ A'
: 11
1.5 !
'''& ' ^Ht^iMlB^B
HHfffi^
*lj|?
^ S Ma 1
^^'''' ' n ^ 1
W^' ■ k' f i
^V ' 1 " ' '
r ?
*■ ■ ^
*■
*
R.
t^ i '
Ir 1 f
52
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
pray 'ShS^t^^t''^'^^'"^-'^- -^- =^^«ent. an<I
Charlotte still held the Ipffpr ,*« i,. i, i ,
" The wafer is not drv vet " «i;^ =!,» « j
there can be no great harm ' ^ cu ' l^"-** '"''«
La Rue was silenT - iTaT^Tad it m',^' -'"^.l^-
and return it afterward''^ ^ Mademoiselle,
;; Certainly » replied Mademoiselle.
cc^nit, TA .' ^""^ determined not to answe-it "
continued Charlotte, as she opened the letteT
Here let me stop to make one remark and *r„cf
S TU'H^'''' '''''' ^'"1*^ I S it; but ce
sight of the basis rwhcT^e^Sfation'l''^" ^""^ '°^*
thing that should be dear fnth^f,' *l°"°''' ^^^"^
she frows hardened in guiir td w^t^"'*' '"'^^'
(33)
CHAPTER VIII.
t>0ME3TI> PLEASUKE PI.ASNED. .
«' I think, my dear," said Mrs. Temple, laying:
her hand on her husband's arm as they were walk-
in- together in the garden, " I think next Wednes-
day is Charlotte's birth day: now I haveformeda
little scheme in my own mind, to give her an agree-
able surprise; and if you have no objection, we will
send for her home on that day." Temple pressed
his wife's hand, in token of approbation, and she
proceeded, " You know the little a cove at the bot-
tom of the garden, of which Charlotte is so fond? I
have an inclination to deck this out ma fanciful
manner, and invite all her little friends to Par ake
of a collation of fruit, sweetmeats, and other things-
suitable to the ?reneral taste of young gf sts : and
to make it morl pleasing to Charlotte ^^,'51^
mistress of the feast, and entertain her visitors in
Sis alcove. I know she will be dehghted ; and to.
complete all, they shall have some music, and hnisft
'''*^A ve"y fine pla^ indeed," said Temple smiling;
<« and yoJreally suppose,! will wink a yo^^jn^u j
ging the girl in this manner ? You will quite spoil
her Lucy; indeed you will." -i-vrrcTom.
" She is the only child wehave," said Mrs. J^"".'
ple,'«ie whole tenderness of a "Jf^er^^'^IXl
mation to her fine countenance; but »* was withal
+»n,r.«r«^ «f. swfifitlv with thc mcck aifection ana
kind compliance of a wife, that as -^he pausea, «x.
pecting her husband's answer, he gazed at her ten
34
CMAHLOriK TEMPLE.
I I
I
'• She is a good girl," said Temple.
, She IS indeed," replied the fond mother evnlf
.ngy." a grateful, affectionate girl; aTdTa™
^^jll^neverlose s.ght of the dut/sh^ owetterTa-
SJ^^^^u°^t" l^'^ ^^' " she must forget the ex-
"^"S ^^ *'^'' ^y *e best of mothers."
Mrs. Temple could not reply: but the deliVhffi,!
^sensation that dilated her hern,' spa kS in ht fn
^elhgent eyes, and heightened the'verSo„ "^niel
<iiiu expands the bosom, when we arp li^f^nir... *^
<^mmendations bestowed upon u^by a iZy&t
ject, and are conscious of having deserve? tE
n»If ^'1f^ ^"""'•^'•^ '» *e fanfastic round of dissi-
pation who eagerly seek pleasure in the loftv Hnml
rich retreat, and midnight revel-tpll m« l^ T!'
l^s daughters of foUyTh^vey^''^eTfo^X:
?rasp f nd " £n if "°* ''^'''y' ^'"**«*1 y""^
f,v„ *!, ' "^ . ° y^'' J^ave reached vour hand fn
take the cup she extends to < her deluded voSrie?
cheek « 'I 'ji"°'^/°V ''T^ ^««« it in the wan
Illusion, she draws you on to a fhr.»oo«^ r^]i, .„ Jl
depK vJ,^ f^ say vices, and then leaves you to
"•-pwre your thoughtless credulity.
iaw^Sto...
CHARLOTTE TBMPLl!-
S&
Look, my dear friends at yonder lovely yrgm ar-
rayed in a white robe, devoid cf ornament; behold
(he meekness of her countenance, the modesty of
her ffait; her handmaids ^cf Humility, t lUai Piety,
Coniugal Affection, Industry and Benevolence; her
name fs Content; she holds in her hand the cup
of true felicity, and when once you have formed an
intimate acquaintance with these her attendants,
nay. you must admit them as your bosom Iriends
and chief counsellors, then, whatever may be your
situation in life, the meek eyed virgin will immedi-
ately take up her abode with you.
Is poverty your portion? she will ho;ht i your
labors, preside at your frugal board and watch your
quiet slumbers. .„ ■ • i *„ „„^
Is your state mediocrity .'-she will heighten evo-
TV blossinff you enjoy, by informing you how gi-ate-
ful vou should be to that bountiful Providence who
lai^'hl have placed you in the most abject situation,
and by teaching you to weigh your blessings against
your deserts, fhow you how much more you re-
ceive, than vou have a right to expect.
Are vou possessed of affluence?— what an inex-
haustible fund of happiness will she lay bef?re you
To relieve the distressed, redress the injured, in
short, to perform all the good works of peace and
"'content, my dear friends, yviUblunt even the ar-
rows of adversity, so that tliey canno materially
hnrm YOU. She will dwell m the humblest cottage
she will attend you-evcn to a pnsoiu Her Parent is
Religion; her sisters Patience and Hope. She wiU
pass v.ith you througn me, Bmuiju.i"& "-- . -•"^-
paths, and treading to earth those thorns which o\-
I pt '
;^
I
ciiahlotte temple.
IMI
«ry one must meet with as they iourncv onwi-rl f„
.he appomted goal. She wilLXrthe S S
selhsh churl, who romemberin/the l^le b4e
"^gs of anger, en.y, and fifty other disa"reeablos to
which fra,l mortality is subje/t. would wiS'to aver ^e
the affront which pride whispers him he las ^ec^C
sin' wSir- *"- °' '"i»'y -cchLriS
- • ^- ^- ^u lu uay j DCiore Mr. Eldridge.
(37)
CHAPTER IX •
WE KITOW NOT WHAT A DAY MAY BRl^a
FORTH !
Variors were the sensations which agitated tlic
mind of Charlotte, during the day preceding the
evening which she was to meet Montraville. Sev-
eral times did she almost resolve to go to her gov-
erness, show her his letter, and be guided by her
advice. But Charlotte had taken one step in the
ways of imprudence; and when that is once done,
there are always innumerable obstacles to prevent
the erring person returning to the path of rectitude :
yet these obstacJes however forcible tley may ap-
pear in general, exist chiefly in the imagination.
Charlotte feared the anger of her governess: she
loved her mother, and the very idea of incurring her
displeasure, gave her the greatest uneasiness; but
there was a more forcible reason still remaining;
should she show the letter to Madame Du Pont, she
must confess the means by which it come into her
possession; and what would be the consequence?
Mademoiselle would be turned out of doors.
" I must not be ungrateful," said she; " La
Rue is very kind to me; besides, I can, when I see
Montraville, inform him of the impropriety of our
continuing to see or correspond with each other, and
request him to come no Haore to Chichester'*
However prudent Charlotte mierht be in these re^
solutions, she certainly did not take a proper meth-
od to confirm herself in them. Several times in the
course of the day, she indulged herself in reading
r^
I ■
( JIARLOTTB TE3IPLE
38
m
over the letfcr and each time she read it, the con-
tents sunk deeper in her heart. As evening drew
near, she caught herself frequently consulting her
watch. '«! wish this foolish meeting was over,"
said she, hy way of apology to her own heart; '« I
wishitvv'^js over; for when I have seen him, and
convinced him that my resolution is not to be shak-
en, I shall feel my mind much easier."
The appointed hour arrived. Charlotte and Ma-
demoiselle eluded the eye of vigilance; and Montra-
ville VvT.o hadvv^aited their coming witli imp:^tience,
receive them with rapturous and unbounded ack-
novi'ledgment for their condescension: he had wise-
ly^brouglit Belcour with him to entertain Mademoi-
selle, while he enjoyed an uninterrupted conversa-
tion with Charlotte.
Belcour was a man wdiose character might be
comprised in a few words; and as he will make
some figure in the ensuing pages, I shall here des-
cribe him. He possessed a genteel fortune, and had
had a liberal education; dissipated, thoughtless, and
capricious, he paid little regard to the moral duties,
and less to religious ones: eager in the pursuit o(
pleasure, he minded not the miseries he inflicted on
others, provided his own wishes, however extrava-
gant, were gratified. Self, darhng self, was the
idol he worshipped, and to that he w^ould have i-ac-
rificed the interest and happiness of all mankind.
Such was the friend of Montraviile: will not the
reader be ready to imagine, that the man who could
regard such a character, must be actuated by the
same feelings, follow the same pursuits, and be
equally unworthy with the person to whom he thus
gave his confidence?
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
afr
ave sac-
Bat Montra\ ille was a different character: gener-
ous in his disposifion, Uheral in his opinions and
good natured almost to a fimlt; yet eager and impet-
uous in the pursuit of a favorite object, ho staid not
to reflect on the consequences which might follow
the attainment of his wishes ; with a mind ever
open to conviction, hacl he been so fortunate as to-
possess a friend who would have pointed out the
cruelty of endeavoring to gain the heart of an inno-
cent artless girl, when he knew it was utterly im-
possible for him to marry her, and when the gratifi-
cation of his passion would be unavoidable infamy
and misery to her, and a cause of never ceasing re-
morse to himself : had these dreadful consequences
been placed before him in a proper Hght, the hu-
manity of his nature would have urged him to give
up the pursuit: but Belcour was not this friend; he
rather encouraged the growing passion of Montra-
ville; and being pleased with the vivacity of Mar,
demoiselle, resolved to leave no argument untried,
which he thought might prevail on her to be the
companion of their intended voyage; and he made,
no doubt but their example added to the rhetoric of
Montraville, would persuade Charlotte to go with
them.
Charlotte had when she went out to meet Mon-
traville, flattered herself, that her resolution was not
to be shaken, and that conscious of the impropriety
of her conduct in having a clandestine intercourse
with a stranger, she would never repeat the indis-
cretion.
But alas, poor Charlotte ! she knew not the de-
ceitfulness of her own heart, or she would have
_i ji.
r I.
avoiaea ine iriai oi ner stability.
i f
40
i? i
I i
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
VeSSfllf "^TJ'fr- ,^'°1"«"t' ardent, and
ii 1 hf ^fir '• T ^^"^[^ "°* ^'•' yo" once more,"
saulhe, before I leave England? will you not bless
«e by an assurance that when we are divided bv a
^""iZrr ^^^"^'^ '^'''' "°t be forgotten !" ^
Cnarlotte sighed.
Jer mvS/K/'^^ ™^/^"'' Charlotte? could I flat-
my welfare occasioned it, how happy would it make
she-'" Sr^' ''''f' y°" '^*'"' MontraviUe." said
f<'f» ''"t^^e'^ust meet no more."
I lcavp'l^,"°V^''?yi''''^'ysirl: reflect, that when
m^vty- "^.'"''^ »«nd. perhaps a few short weeks
^ean T^i^ ""^ existence; the perils of the
^Ji^tJdn . , , tne dangers of war '*
Jous in.t1^?r "° "??*''" '"''' Charlotte in a tremu-
Jous voice, «' I must leave you."
' Say you will see me once again. "
' I dare not, said she,"
,«« 1^1'^ ^^^ ""^ ^^^^ ^°^^ to-morrow evenino- 'tis
cffit'eT''*- ^ ''''''' never trouble youaga.n,
"1 knoiw not what to say, cried Charlotte, strug-
glmg to draw her hands from him: "let me leave
.you now."
vine^"*^ ^'" ^°" *'°'"® to-morrow," said Montra-
"Perhaps I may," said she. ~
meefagdn.*" '""'" "'^ "P°" that hope until we
catchinhnlJ'^rW- ^^^ sighed an adieu, and
>f, S, l^.^l'' °!^^''^«'»'>'selle's arm, hastily enter-
aie.
m.
C^i)
CHAPTER X.
WHEN WE HAVE EXCITED CUIIIOSITY, IT 1»
BUT AN ACT OF GOOD NATURE TO GRAT-
IFY IT.
Montraville was the youngest son of a gentleman
of fortune, whose family being numerous, he wa»
obliged to bring up his sons to genteel professions,
by the exercise of which, they might hope to r iso
themselves into notice. . ,,.,
" My daughters (said he) have been educated like
ceutle women; and should I die before they are set-
tied, they must have some provision made, to place
them above the snares and temptations, which vice
ever holds out to the elegant accomplished female,
when oppressed by the frowns of poverty and the
sting of dependence: my boys with only moderate
incomes, when placed in the church, at the bar, or
in the field, may exert their talents, make them-
selves friends, and raise their fortunes on the basis
of merit.'* ^ . ^
When Montraville chose the profession of arms,
his father presented him with a commission, and
made him a handsome provision for his private
purse.—" Now, my boy, (said he) go! seek glory
in the field of battle. You have received from me
all I shall ever have it in my power to bestow: xt is
certain I have interest to gain you promotion; but
be assured that intierest shall never be exerted, un-
less by your future conduct you deserve it. Ke-
member therefore your success in life appends en-
tirely on yourself. 'I'here is one tuing * uiins.*-
b2
42
CHARLOTTE TB3ip|;,B.
my duty to caution you against: the precipitancy
with which young men frequently rush into matri-
monial engagements, and by their thoughtlessness
draw many a deserving woman into scenes of pov-
erty and distress. A soldier has no business to
think o^a wife, till his rank is such as to place him
above the fear of bringing into the world a train of
helpless innocents, heirs only to penury and afflic-
tion. If, indeed, a woman, whose fortune is suffi-
cient to preserve you in that state of independence,
which I would teach you to prize, should generous-
ly bestow herself on a young soldier, whose -chief
hope of future prosperity depended on his successes
in the field — if such a woman should offer— every
barrier is removed, and I should rejoice in an union
which would promise so much felicity But mark
me, boy, if on the contrary, you rush intoa pr cipi-
tate union with a girl of little or no fortune, take
the poor creature from a comfortable home, and
kind friends, and plunge her into all the evils that a
narrow income and increasing family can inflict, I
will leave you to enjoy the blessed fruit of your
rashness; for by all that is sacred, neither my inter-
est nor my fortune shall ever be exerted in your fa-
vor. I am serious," continued he: '* therefore im-
print this conversation on your memory, and let it
mfluence your future conduct. Your happiness will
always be dear to me; and I wish to warn you of a
rock on which the peace of many an honest fellow
has been wrecked; for believe me, the difficulties
and dangers of the longest winter campaign are
much easier to be borne than the pangs that would
seize VOlir llftarf lX7l^/ir» -.r^i, V^rvl,r^l^ 4.U ^ .-4 ^^
your choice, the children of your afTection involved
CHARLOTTE TKMPLE.
43
in penury and distress, and reflected Aat it was yowr
own folly and precipitancy which had bee« the
prime cause of their suffering." t.„,„„i,-.
'* As this conversation p^^^^ ''"V^wl.r Tt w";
fore MontraviUe took leave of his father, it was
deeply impressed on his mind: when therefore.
Sour came with him to the place of assignation
with Charlotte, be directed him to enquire of the
?reich woman what were Miss Temple's expecta-
tions in rearard to fortune. ^ , ^.
Mademoiselle ii:formed him, that though Char-
lotte's father possessed a genteel nidcpendonce, it
was by no means probable that he could give his
dauehter mcire than a thousand pounds; and in case
Sid not marry to bis liking, it was possible he
might not give her a single sous; nor did it appea
the^least likely, that Mr. Temple would agree tohci
union vvUh Jyonng man on the point of embarking
'''£j:^itv:..^or. concluded it was i-POS^
blehe should ever marry Charlotte Temple, sna
what enJhe proposed to himself by cont« the
acouaint^nce he had commenced with hei, lie dia
SaUhat moment give himself time to enqua'c.
it'
tBll
u
CHAPTER XI.
CONFLICT OP LOVE AN» DOTY.
Almost a week was now gone, and Charlotte con-
tinued every evening to meet M^^fraviHe a.d in
her heart every meeting was resolved to be th'- 1-*^^^
v„* „i„„i ,inK«n Montrnville at parting, would earn-
estly" entreat^^ne more inter^'iew, that treacherous
^ ■ r '
44
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
Se'S'i'5^*^''''J-fu°'^ forgetful of its resolution
pleaded the cause of the enemy so ^werfullv that
olhSr.7'' ""^''.^ J° ''^'^'- Another ;';^:dt
o her meeting succeeded; and so well did Montra-
viHe mprove each opportunity, that the heedless
«^rl at length confessed no idea could be so painful
to Was that of never seeing him again. ^
.. Ik £r"'!*'^!l "^"'^'^ ^^ parted," said he.
smile <'^nw """•?•," '•eplied Charlotte, forcing a
smile, how can it be avoided ? My parents would
be hl,T.T* ''^ ""-^ ""'«"•' and even could they
inarSf *° "P^T-^ ^^ '*' '^^^ ^^ould I bear to hi
separated from my kind, my beloved mother?"
inc CharfoS' °'' ^'°"' P'"'^'^*^ """'' '"^'^ y°" <^-
down • '"f hi ^°" '^'1 *^' blushing and looking
flown, 'I hope my affection for them will ever
"^r./TK'"f™^'"S the laws of filS duty." ''
nn^ i!;^ • Charlotte," said MontraviUe gravel v
and letting go her hand «' since that is the^cS
I had feTf "^T^i "Jy^^'f ^"tf^ fallacious h^p'es
thouihMh /" ^"^ *'?'"8 '» th« ^°rtd besides. I
daSs S thf" ''""'l^*^^ "^y ^^'^^ h^^« braved the
aangers of the ocean—that you would, bv vour af
vT^nd tdth ' ""''' f ^^-^ the^haffi; of
war, and, had it been my fate to fall, that vour ten.
m7p?LTe"S """'Z "^^ ^°"^ °f cleatllra'nS smcLth
ffi r !! ^"°*^'" "'°'^''^- ^"t farewell. Char-
lotte ! I see you never loved me. I shall now w4
Sfmtt;"?.'^ '^" ''''' *^^P"^- me of rsrnse
in<r hrdoFA "'"''"'* ^T*''^^'"^'"«"e<' she, cafch-
m^ hold of his arm. as he pretendei to leave her;
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
45
a stay, and to calm your fears, I will here protest
that was it not for the fear of riving pam to the b^t
of parents and returning their kindness with ingrati-
tude, I would follow you through every danger,
and, in studving to promote your happiness, insure
my own. But I cannot break my mother s heart,
Montraville; I must not bring the grey hairs of my
doatincr grand-father with sorrow to the grave, or
make my b-loved father, perhaps curse the hour
that gave me birth.'' She covered her face with
her hands, and burst into tears. m w^ ^>
«« All these distressing scenes, my dear Charlotte,
cried Montraville," ** are merely the chimeras of a
disturbed fancy. Your parents might perhaps grieve
at first; but when they heard from your own hand,
that you was with a man of honor, and tiiat it was
to ensure your felicity by an union with him, to
which you feared they would never have given their
assent, chat you left their protection, they will, be
assured, forgive an error which love alone occasion-
ed, and when we return from America, receive you
with open arms and tears of joy."
Belcour and Mademoiselle heard this last speech;
conceiving it a proper time to throw in th^ir advice
and persuasions, approached Charlotte, and ^ well
seconded the entreaties of Montraville. that finding
Mademoiselle intended going with Belcour, and
feelinff her own treacherous heart too much mcun-
ed to Iccompany them, the hapless Charlotte con^
sented in an evil hour that the next evening they
should bring a chaise, to the end of the town, and
that she would leave her friends, and ttoow herseit
entirely on the protection of Montraviue. - ^ui
should you," said she, looking earnestly at him, hep
I
^
40
CHARLOTTE TEMPL^;
r''ii'F
eyes full of tears, « should you, foreetful of vft„r
foreign shore " ^ °" **
mnmin^*^® "°' so meanly of me," said he. " The
moment we reach our place of destination, Hymen
shal sanctify our love: and when I shall forffet v^ur
goodness, may heaven forget me " ^
anil' Is'ihef Sf ^"'' '^'"5 on Mademoiselle's
«»rm, as tliey walked up the garden toffethpr <« r
coZntiTJ^\!^''- 'r§^' toliave reSbeTed. iu
consenting to this intended elopement. "
n*.rpr r "® * ^^"^^ S'rl, said Mademoiselle- vou
never knew your own mind two .ninutes at a iime
Just now you declared Montraville's happines* w!;
whai you prized most in the world: and now r «nn
Sre'eCto'^'"' '^"'"^ insuredl^atlpjni X
agreeing to accompany him abroad » ^
mv so1.pt,,! '^? -^Pf"^' '"^P"^'^ Charlotte. « from
S V "* '^'"'^ discretion points out the imcro:
pnety ofmy conduct, inclination urges meZtJ
no't'K?' fi^^'^.lf ti<=k!» said Mademoiselle: "am
qualmf"'"^ "''^ y^"' ^"'^ ^° ^ ^^^1 ^ny of thes^
er'la^d ChSe'"''''"'^' ' tenderfather and moth-
whlt^i"do''>st'^ .?''l°*^' " ^"* y«» ''« »ot feel
147)
#
CHAPTER XII.
Nature's last, best gift:
Creature in whom excell'd whatever could
To sight or thought be nam'd
Holy, divine! good, amiable and sweet,
How art thou fall'n ! —
When Charlotte left her restless bed, her languid
eye and pale cheek discovered to Madame Pu Pont
the little repose she had taken.
" My dear child,'' said the affectionate governess,
«< what is the cause of the languor so apparent in
your frame? Are you not well?"
" Yes my dear Mauam, very well, replied Char-
lotte, attempting to smile: but I know not how it
was; I could not sleep last night, and my spirits are
depressed this morning."
" Come, cheer up my love, said the governess;
I believe I have brought a cordial to revive them.
I have just received a letter from your good mam-
ma, and here is one for yourself." . . -,
Charlotte hastily took the letter: it contained
these words: , n ^ t^
" As to-morrow is the anniversary of the nappy
day that gave my beloved girl to the anxious --shes
of a maternal heart, I have requested your go rn-
ess to let you come home and spend it with us ; nd
as I know you to be a good affectionate child, and
make it your study to improve in those branches ot
^^.,^of;r.r. xirVki/^ii vrnii l^nnw Will ffivB most pleasure ;s
to your delighted parents, as a reward for your mu-
ence and attention, I have prepared an agreeable
§
48
CbABLOTTS rxMvx.r.
*'
lt'<
I'f
surprise for your reception. Your erandfatber «
ger to embrace the darling of his SS w^J
f,T» • • -^ ''™ ^y "•"« o clock. Your dear
fufureScVtv 'XW"''' '•''!!! ^^your health and
juiure »elicity, which warms the heart of mv dear
Charlotte's affectionate mother, myaear
„r. • ,. . ^- TEMPLE."
x.),.r» k"'""''''^''!"- ^"^•^ Charlotte, forgettinc
S'r 1*°"^^' *« '^««r ^oZ have rSed^
instead of distressing you. " »^«y oicea,
orinJ*,*!"^" rejoice me," 'replied Charlotte, endeav-
oring at composure, " but I was praying for merit
parStsT'*' "°''*'"'"^'' attentio'os^oftie bSof
ocilT''" '?''/'i^ht'" said Madame Du Pont " to
tf dtrvTS; ?''"T '''^' y°" -ayTon'tinue
Wf^ f lu "^ '°^®- Continue my dear Char-
lot te, ,n the course you have everpursued and vm^
;; I A foSeStSt;evef rSirm^^^^^^^^^^
*!"^«^°cf e step is not yet taJen u"' not . .
late to recede from the briik of a prec p ce from
sw/nSTen^S'/e.'^^^'^ *^ '^'^^'^^^^^ ^
of La^Rue ^'""^i^i/!?*' ^^d flew to the apartment
sL^Xfr.:. 13 Mademoiselle !» said she, «« lam
ierharraZrr''"^fl^*™™ destruction! This let-
ftas saved me: ,t has opened my eyes to the folly
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
49
Ler, ea-
rt, win
n readi'
ur dear
ilth and
Qy dear
getting
B8 as in
' these
Jeming
joiced,
ndeav-
r merit
best of
, " to
itinue
Char-
id you
)wn."
h her,
jfle-
Ot I* J
from
ruin^
ment
lam
I let-
folly
I was so near committing. I will not go, Mademois-
elle ; I will not wound the hearts of those dear pa-
rents who make my happiness the whole study of
their lives.'
< Well,' said Mademoiselle, ' do as you please,
Miss; but pray understand that my resolution is ta-
ken, and it is not in my power to alter it. I shall
meet the gentlemen at the appointed hour, and shall
not be surprised at any outrage Montraville may
commit, when he finds himself disappointed. In-
deed I should not be astonished was he to come iin-
mediately here, and reproach you for your instabili-
ty in the hearing of the v/hole school; and what
will be the consequence ? you will bear the odium
of having formed the resolution of elopiiig, and ev-
ery girl of spirit will lau^h at your want of fortitude
to put it in execution, while prudes and fools will load
you with reproach and contempt. You will have
lost the confidence of your parents, incurred their
anger, and the scoffs of the world; and what fruit
do you expect to reap from this piece of heroism,
(for such no doubt you think it is ?) You will have
the pleasure to reflect, that you have deceived the
man that adores you, and whom in your heart you
prefer to all other men, and that you are separated
from him forever.*
This eloquent harrangue was given with such
volubility, that Charlotte could not find an oppor-
tunity tg interrupt her, or to offer a single word till
the w^p4 was finished', and then found her ideas so
conftr' /that she knew not what to say.
V ^th she determined that she would go with
.ihofselle to the place of assignation, convince
utraviile of the necessity of adhering to the res^
c
II
50
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
r.*.
olution of remaining behind; assuring him of her af:
fection, and bid him adieu.
Charlotte formed this plan in her mind, and ex-
ulted in the certamty of its success. « How shall I
rejoice,' said she, 'in this triumph of reason over in-
clination and when in the arms of my affectionate
parents, hit up my soul in gratitude to heaven as I
look back on the danger I have escaped !'
The hour of assignation arrived : Mademoiselle
put what money and valuables she possessed in her
pocket and advised Charlotte to do the same; but
she refused; 'm- resolution is fixed,' said she: I
will sacrifice lovt to duty.'
Mademoiselle smiled internally; and they pro-
ceeded softly down the back staire and out of the
garden gate. Montraville and Belcour were read-
to receive them. *v^"j
' Now,' said Montraville, taking Charlotte in his
aims, • you are mine forever.'
'No,' said she, withdrawing from his embrace
1 am come to take an everlasting farewell '
It would be useless to repeat the conversation that
here ensued; suffice it to say, that Montraville used
Chailottes resolution began to waver, and he drew
her almost imperc ^ptibly towards the chaise.
1 cannot go,' said she : « cease dear Montraville
^Cru^ru *,r'^""*: '•^"gion. duty forbid.'
Cruel Charlotte,' said he, ' if you disappoint mv
ardent hopes, by all that is sacred, ftis ha^ '.hall Z
wC^r^^^-^^^^"^^- ' -n„ot-wi%y 'r
I act?''*''"' '"^ *''"' ''^'''•' '^'^ Charlotte, hot'shall
^SBS^*'*«j5
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
SI
her af^
md ex-
shall I
ver in-
tionate
en as I
loiselle
in her
e; but
she; I
y pro-
of the
reail3''
in his
brace,
n that
3 used
Jssful,
drew
aville
[.'
it my
il put
live
shall
' Let me direct you,' said Montraville, lifting her
into the oiaise.
'Oh! my dear forsaken parents'/ cr d Ciiar-
lof;^
he chaise drove off. She shrieked, and fainted
into the arms of her betrayer
CHAPTER XIII-
CRUEIi DISAPPOINTMENT.
< What pleasure,* cried Mr. Eldridge, as he step-^
Dcd into the chaise to go for his grand-daughter,
what pleasure expands the heart of an old man
when he beholds the progeny of a beloved child
crrowinff up in every virtue that adorned the mmds
of her parents. I foolishly thought, some few years
since, that every sense of joy was buried in the
crave of my dear partner and son. But my l^ucy,
bvher filial affection, soothed my so-1 to peace; and
this dear Charlotte has twined herself round my
heart, and opened such new scenes of dehght to my
view, that I almost forget that I have ever been un-
^When the chaise stopped, he alighted with the
alacrity of youth. So much do the emotions ot the
soulinfluence the body. , ,. ^
' It was half past eight o'clock. The ladies were
assembled in the school room, and Madanre Du
Pont was preparing to ofter the morning sacrihce^ot
prayer and praise, when it was discoverer -.«av
Mademoiselle and Charlotte were missing.
^ She is busy, no doubt,' said the governess
52
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
r-J
.preparing Charlotte for the little excursion; but
pleasure should never make us forget ouf duty to
our Creator. Go, one of you, and bid them both
attend prayers.'
The lady that went to summon them, soon re-
turned and informed the governess, that the room
was locked, and that she had knocked repeatedly,
but obtained no answer.
* Good heaven!^ exclaimed Madame Du Pont
* this is very strange:' and turning pale with terror!
.she went hastily to the door, and ordered it to be
forced open. The apartment instantly discovered,
that no person had been in it the preceding night'
the beds appearing as though just made. The house
was mstantly a scene of confusion. The garden, the
pleasure grounds, were searched to no purpose. Ev-
ery apartment rung with the names of Miss Temple
and Mademoiselle; but they were too distant to
near; and every face wore the marks of disappoint-
ment. ^^
Mr, Eldndge was sitting in the parlor, eagerly
expecting his .grand-daughter tc descend, ready-
equipped for her journey. He heard the confusion
that reigned in the house; he heard the name of
Charlotte frequently repeated.—' What can be the
matter ?' said he rising, and opening the door ; ' I
fearsome accident has befallen my dear girl.'
The governess entered. The visible agitation of
her countenance discovered that something extraor-
dinary had happened.
• Where is Charlotte?' said he. * Why does not
my child come to welcome her doating parent?'
' Be composed, my dear sir,' said Madame Dn
ront, * do not frighten yourself -jinnecessarily. She
CHARLOTTB TEMPLB.
&a
i^^ not in the house at present: but as Mademoiselle
is undoubtedly with her, she will speedily return in
safety; and I hope they will b^th be able to account
for this unseasonable absence in such a manner as
shall remove our present uneasiness.*
< Madam/ cried the old man with an angry look,
* has my child been accustomed to go out without
vour leave, with no other company or protector than
that French woman ? Pardon me, Madam, I mean
no reflections on your country, but 1 never liked
Mademoiselle La Rue; I think she was a very im-
proper person to be entrusted with the care of such a
girl as Charlotte Temple, or to be suffered to tako
her from under your immediate protection.'
« You wrong me, Mr. Eldridge,* said she, * if j'ou
impose I have ever permitted your grand-daughter
to go out, unless with the other ladies. ! would to
heaven I could form any probable conjecture con-,
cerning her absence this morning; but it is a mys-
tery to me which her return aloue can unravel.'
Servants were now dispatched to every place
-where there was the least hope of hearing any tid-
ings of the fugitives, but in vain. Dreadful were
tlie Lours of horrid suspense which Mr. Eldridge
pa?sed till twelve o'clock, whtn that suspense was
reduced to a shocking certainty, and every spark of
hope, which till then they had indulged, was in a
moment extinguished.
Mr. Eldridge was preparing, witn a heavy heart,
to return to his anxiously-expecting children, when
Madame Du Pont received the following note with-
uut either name or date. >- ^ .
* Miss Temple is well, and wishes to relieve the
anxietv of her parenis, by Ictiljjg theai knowtiie
%%
<&4
iJllAULOTTE TEMPLE.
! m
.) ,>i
has voluntarily put herself under the protection of a
man whose future study shall be to make her happy.
Pursuit is needless; the measures taken to avoid
discovery are too eftectual to be eluded. When she
thinks her friends are reconciled to this precipitate
step, they may perhaps be informed of her place of
residence. Mademoiselle is with her.'
' As Madame Du Pont read these cruel lines, she
turned as pale as ashes; her limbs trembled, and she
was forced to call for a glass of water. She loved
Charlotte truly; and when she reflected on the in-
nocence and gentleness of her disposition, she cdn-
ciuded that it must have been the advice and ma-
chinations of La Rue, which led her to this impru-
dent action. She recollected her agitation at the
receipt of her mother's letter, and saw in it the con-
flict of her mind.
* Does that letter relate to Charlotte?' said Mr.
Eldridge, having waited some time in expectation
of Madame Du Font's speaking.
* It does,' said she. ' Charlotte is well, but can-
not return to-day.'
*Not return, Madam? where is she? who will
detain her from her fond expecting parents?'
* You distract me with these questions, Mr. El-
dridge. Indeed I know not where she is, or who
has seduced her from her duty.'
The whole truth now rushed at once upon Mr.
Eldridge's mind. • She has eloped then,' said he,
* my child is hetrayed; the darling, the comfort of
my aged heart, is lost. Oh would to heaven I had
died but T^psferdi^vr'
A violent gush t)f grief in some mea<?ure relieved
CHARL0TT3 TEMPLE
Od
l.im. and. ufter several vain f ^-^P^^^^J^o^ ^^^
Smed sufficient composure ^ ^J^J^,"?^; ^
« And how shall I return to my '^"'^^'J^g {.a^ita-
he, ' how approach that "^^'"^^^"V^Jtow^^^^^^^
tion of peace ? Alas! my ^^^ Lucy, now j^ ^
t^^it'::^fy::'^o'£^oZX consul.
%7old man returned to the chaise, but the «gj^
step and cheerful countenance .^ere Jo mo^^'^^^,.
row filled his heart, and S^'f^^^i^'Se & reclin-
ed himself in the chaise, his venerahlc nea
ed upon his hosom. his hands were folded, h« y
fixed on vacancy, and the large droP^^^^^^^
ed silently down his cheeks. There was
ofanguishand resigna-n gcj^^ -^i^^ ,,,„w
nance, as if he wouia say, "J" . . , „ contem-
dare to hoast his happiness o'«!„^°l"'2SiS heart
plate his treasure, lest m the ^fj mom'^nt ms^ ^^
fs exultine in its own felicity, the objeci wnii-u v
S"Sai felicity should be torn from him.
CHAPTER XIV.
MATERNAL SORROW.
Slow and heavy P-f Ij^-S^i t ^,%
riagewas conveying Mr. Eltodgen ' ^^^^^ j,
when he came in sight of «ie house. ^ j^g
longer reprieve from he ^/f^ff"^ ^^^hter's elope-
Mrf and Mrs. Temple of their daugmer "»-
ment. . . _«;„»,. n( these affection-
It is easy to judge the anxiety of ttiesc a ^^^.^
-■»■
n
k
ite parent
f?, -when
mm^
56
'('HARLOTTE TEMPLK.
fiither
beyond
expected
delayed mu(
They were now mei ^ ^ ^ ^ _
eral of the young people who had been invited were
already arrived. Each different part of the compa-
ny were employed in the same manner, looking out
at the windows which faced the road— At length the
long expected chaise appeared. Mrs. Temple ran
out to receive and welcome her darling — her youno-
companions flocked round the door, each one eager
to give her joy on the return of her birth day. The
door of her chaise was opened: Charlotte was not
there. * Where is my child ?' cried Mrs. Temple,
in breathless agitation.
Mr. Eldridge could not answer: betook hold of
his daughter's hand and led her into the house; and
sinking on the first chair he came to, burst into
tears, and sobbed aloud.
^ * She is dead,' cried Mrs. Temple. ' my dear
Charlotte.^' and clasping her hands in an agony of
distress, fell into strong hysterics.
Mr. Temple, who had stood speechless with sur-
prize and fear, now ventured to enquire if indeed
his Charlotte was no more. IMr. Eldridge led him
into another apartment: and putting the fatal note
into his hand cried, ^ Bear it like a christian:' and
turned from him, endeavoring to suppress his own
too visible emotions.
It would be vain to attempt describing what Mr.
Temple felt while he hasUly ran over the dreadful
Imes: when he had finished, the paper dropt from
his unnerved hand. « Gracious heaven !' said he,
• could Charlotte act thus ?' Neither tear nor sigh
ilcaped him; and he sat the image of mute sorrow,
till roused from his stupor by the repeated shrieks of
■""Miff"
"JZ^atiJ^aiii^ ' .JSSkJk,
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
r>T
Mrs Temple. He rose hastily, ana rushing into
;t Vartment where she was, folded 1»« ,-"««, ''^';;'^.
her and suying-' Let us be patient, my dear Lucy.
nSure iSved his ahnost bursting heart by a friend-
'^ Cw anTone, presuming on his own philosopV.^
ic temper>ok with an eye of contempt on the ina«
'^ho cS ".dulge a ~;s weakrjss le^^^^^^^
.nPinher that man was a father, and ne wuimen
St^he misery which wmng those drops from a no.
'''MfsTrpKeginning to be a little more com-
posed but 5 in^4nin/her child vvasd^d her
Lsband, gently tal^i«£^er har>d "'^d- Jou are
'"f Br'alm'r^y'de^rest'^^^^^^^^^ I will tell yon
alL'^s'ai^Mr'.TLple 'You must not go.mdeed
y^^¥rv^y^i^:u:^ZSi.^oo^.of firmness
and composure? ' tell'me the truth. I beseech you
Uannot bear this <lreadful suspense.-Wh^^^^^^^^
fortune has befallen my child? Let me know u.«-
wS and I will endeavor to benr ^^as I ought.
' Lucv.' replied Mr. Temple, "»?g'Vf. ^^ ^
dauffi alire. and in no danger of death, what
misfortuno would you then dread
•There is one misfortune, ^^h^jsworse^^^^^,
death. But I know my child wcr ,v cj; w su^i— -
• Be not too confident, Lucy-
58
CIIABLOTTS TEMPLE.
V
r*
5¥ f «
« Oh heavens!' said she, " what horrid images do
you start: is it possible she should forget — '
*< She has forgot us all, my love; she has prefer-
red the love of a stranger to the affectionate protec-
tion of her friends.'
< Not eloped ?' cried she eagerly.
Mr. Temple was silent?.
« You cannot contradict it,' said she; *Isee my
fate in those tearful eyes. Oh Charlotte ! Char-
lotte ! how ill have you requited our tenderness 1
But, Father of Mercies,' continued she, sinking on
her knees, and raising her streaming eyes and clasp-
ed hands to heaven * this once vouchsafe to hear a
fond, a distracted mother's prayer. Oh let thy
bounteous Providence watch over and protect the
dear thoughtless girl, save her from the miseries
which I fear will be her portion, and oh I of thine
infinite mercy, make her not a mother, lest she
should one day feel what I now suffer.'
The last words faultered on her tongue, and she
fell fainting into the arms of her husband, who had
involuntarily dropped on his knees beside her.
A mother's anguish when disappointed in her ten-
derest hopes, none but a mother can conceive. Yet,
my dear young readers, I would have you to re^d
this scene with attention, and reflect that you may
yourselves one day be mothers. Oh, my friends,
as you value y6ur eternal happiness, wound not, by
thoughtless ingratitude, the peace of the mother who
bore you: remember the tenderness, the care, the
unremitting anxiety with which she has attended to
all your wants and wishes from earliest infancy to
the present day; behold the mild ray of affectionate
applause that beams from her eye, on the perform-
CHARLOTTE TKMPLK.
59
ance of your duty: listen to her reproofs with sile^nt
So^; they^ceed from a Je/-t™u« for
your future felicity: you mast love her n^ture^U
powerful nature has planted the seeds u. filial al
'"TheVVn^moreTead over the sorrow.of poor
Mr's'TemJK ^d remember «»« mother ,j^om you
«o flpirlv love and venerate will feei the same,
should vou forgetful of the respect due to your
Maker Jnd yourself, forsake the paths of virtue for
those of vice and folly.
CHAPTER XV.
KMBAHKATION.
Ttwa«%vith the utmost difficulty that the united
effortr^f Mademoiselle and Montr- "e could s^^^^
nort Charlotte's spirits during their shor. r'^e "o"'
ChichesTer to Portsmouth, where a hoa ^ya»ted to
ut them immediately on board the ship m which
fv.nxr w'^ve to embark for Araenca.
' Is s;on as she became tolerably composed she ,
entreited pen and ink to write to her parents. This
ent.e.ueu 1";" '^ nffectinji, artless manner, en-
S°.?it tU r p'rtn Stl^^^^ and describing
lettSdS^^ of her mind, the confl^t she
suffered in endeavoring to f o^^'^^f ^his mif«^^^
attachment, and concluded with s^Y'^S' J^^^^^^^
»snn,. of future comfort consisted m the (perhaps tne
Ssh^tidea ^he indulged of bf .once more fod^
i:<\ in their protecting arms, and h..-aung the woia
of i^eace and paraon r— -- - -- ■
'I'h.- tears sticami
\-\)i\\ lli^
d incesscDtly ^vhile Siie w
as
60
CHARLOTTK TEMPLK.
I
• m
writing, and she was frequently obliged to lay down
her pen; but when the task was completed and she
had committed the letter to the care of Monti'aville,
to be sent to the post-ofiico, she became more calm,
and indulging the delightful hop*^ of soon rcccivinsT
an answer that would seal her pardon, she in some
measure assumed her usual cheerfulness.
But Montraville knew too well the consequen-
ces that must unavoidably ensue, should this letter
reach Mr. Temple: he therefore craftily resolved to
walk oa the deck, ted): it in pieces, Had coiiimit tl)e
fragments to the care of Noptunc, who nii,i>:ht or
might not, as it suited his convenicncCj convey thcni
on shore.
All Charlotte's hopes and wishes were now cen-
tered in one, namely, that the fleet might be detain-
ed at Spithead till she could receive a letter from
her friends: but in thii? she was disap])ointed; for
the second morning after she went on board, tho.
signal was made, the fleet weighed anchor, and in
a few hours (the wind being favorable) they bid
adieu to the white cliffs of Albion.
In the mean time every enquiry that could be
thought of was made by Mr. and Mrs. Temple; for
many days did they indulge the fond hope that she
was merely gone offtc^be married, and that whex;
the indissoluble knot was tied, she would return
with the partner, she had chosen, and entreat their
blessing and forgiveness.
* And shall we not forgive her?' said Mr. Tem-
ple.
* Forgive her!' exclaimed the mother= Oh ves.
whatever bo her errors, is she not our child? "iUJtl
.though bowed even to the earth with ^h.uiie and
A'"*^'
CHARLOTTE TKMPI.K.
61
remorse, is it not our duty to raise the poor penitent,
and vvhisper peace and comfort to her despond.ns
5' would she but return, with rapture would I
Sw heTto my heart, and burj- every remembrance
of her faults in the dear embrace.' ru„riotte
But still day after day passed on, anaCh^'^'X
did not appear, nor were any tidrngs to be heard of
her Yet each rising morn was welcomed by soni*.
new hope-S eve^ug brought with it d ^o- -
n,ent. At length hope was no more; despair usur
pedher place; and the mansion ,^lMf\.Tnfmle
the mansion of peace, became the habitation of pale,
dejected melancholy. ,,
The cheerful smile that was wont to adorn the
face of Mrs. Temple, was fled,,and had ,t not heen
for the suDDort of unaflfected piety, and a concious-
nes of hSg set before her child the fairest exarn-
ple, she must have sunk under this heavy, afll.c-
^"'"since ' said she, ' the severest scrutiny cannot
charge me wUh any breach of duty to have deserv-
ed tS ^vere chastisement, I will bow before the
Jower thaUn'flicts it with humble rcggj^'-^^^ J«
«riii • nnv shall the duty of a wife be totally aosoroeu
Se fLlin"s of a mother. I will endeavor to
L'm morrcheerful, and by appearing m some
nieasure to have -n'luered g ow„ sorro^^^^^^^^^^
2L*\hTttrpo? into'^hS' ti; Sfsfortune ha«
plunged hir^My father too ^e— ^^e' of
attention. I must not, by a selfish indulgence oi
1„ nwn .rrief. foreet the interest those_ two dear
V:K:«7f7take in mv happiness or misery, i win weui
Se on my £ tSJugh the thorn rankles m tny
62 .
CHARLOTTB TKMPl^B.
heart: and if by so doing I contribute in the small-
est degree to restore their peace of mind, I shall be
amply rewarded for the pain the concealment of my
own feelings may occasion.'
Thus argued this excellent woman: and in the ex-
ecution of so laudable a resolution we shall leave her
to follow the fortunes of the hapless victim of im-
prudence and evil counsellors.
CHAPTER XVI.
NECESSARY DtGRESSIOIV.
On board the ship in which Charlotte and Made-
moiselle had embarked, was an officer of large and
\niincumbered fortune and elevated rank, and whom
I shall call Cray ton.
He was one of those men who, having travelled
in their youth, pretend to have contracted a pecu-
liar fondness for every thing foreign, and to hold in
contempt the productions of their own country: and
this atFected partiality extended even to the wom-
en.
With him, therefore, the blushing modesty and
unaffected simplicity of Charlotte passed unnoticed;
but the forward pertness of La Rue, the freedom of
her conversation, the elegance of her person, mixed
with a certain engaging Je ne ^ \is ituoi, perfect-
ly enchanted him.
The reader, no doubt, has already developed the
character of La Rue; designing artful and selfish,
she had accepted the devoirs of Belcour, because she
was heartily weary of the retired life she led at the
school, wished to be released from what she deem*
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
68
ed a slavery, and to return to that vortex of folly
and dissipation which had once plunged her into the
deepest miseries. But her plan, she flattered her-
self, was now better formed. She resolved to put
herself under the protection ot no man, till she had
first secured a settlement. But the clandestine
manner in which she left Madame Du Font's pre-
vented her putting this plan in execution, tho' Bel-
cour solemnly protested he would make her a hand-
some settlement the moment they arrived at Ports-
mouth. This he afterwards contrived to evade by a
pretended hurry of business; La Rue readily con-
ceiving he never meant to fulfil his promise, deter-
mined to chixuge her battery, and attack the heart of
Colonel Crayton. She soon discovered the partial^
ty he entertained for her nation; and having impos-
ed on him a feigned tale of distress, represented
Belcour as a villain who had seduced her from her
friends under promise of marriage, and afterwards
betrayed her, pretending great remorse for the er-
rors she had committed, and declaring that whatev-
er hsr affection might have been, it was now entire-
ly extinguished, and she wished for nothing more
than an opportunity to leave a course of life which
her soul abhorred; but she had no friends to apply
to; they hid all renounced her, and guilt and mise-
ry would undoubtedly be her future port) on through
life.
Crayton was possessed of many amiable qualities:
though the peculiar trait in his character, which we
a shade over them. He was beloved for his humani*
tyand benevolence by all who knew him; but he
#
:A
Hi
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
«f
it'
was easy and unsuspicious himself, and became u
dupe to the artifice of others.
He was when very young united to an amiable
Parisian lady, and perhaps it wa? his affection for
her that laid the foundation for the partiality he ev-
-er retained for the whole natjon. He had by her
one daughter, who entered into the world but a few
hours before her mother left it. This lady was uni-
versally beloved and admired, being endowed with
all the virtues of her mother, without the weakness
s|||, of the father: she was married to major Beauchamp,
' *"'■ and was at this time in the same fleet with her fath-
er, attending her husband to New- York.
Crayton was melted by the affected contrition and
distress of La Rue: he would converse with her for
hours, read to her, play cards with her, listen to all
her complaints, and promise to protect her to the
utmost of his power. La Rue easily saw his char-
acter; her sole aim was to awaken a passson in his
bosom that might turn out to her advantage; and in
tins aim she was but too successful. For before the
voyage was finished, the infatuated colonel gave
> er from under his hand, a promise of marriage on
their arrival aC New- York, under the forfeiture of
five thousand pounds.
And how did our poor Charlotte pass her time
during a tedious and tempestuous passage ? Natu-
rally delicate, the fatigue and sickness which she
endured, rendered, her so weak as to be almost en-
tirely confined to her bed. Yet the kindness and
attention of Montraviile in some measure contribut-
ed to alleviate her sufferings; and the hope of hear-
ing from her friends soon after her arrival, kept ug
her spirits, and cheered many a gloomy hov^r.
CHAALOTTE TEMPLX.
65
But during the voyage a great revolution took
place, not only in the fort^jneof La Rue, but in the
bosom of Belcour. Whilst in pursuit oi his amour
with Mademoiselle, he had attended little to the in-
teresting, unobtruding charms of Charlotte. But
when cloyed by possession, and disgusted with the
art and dissimulation of the one, he beheld the sim-
plicity and gentleness of the o&er, the cotitrist be-
came too striking not to fill him t once wi^i 8ur-
prise and admiration. Be frec^uently conversed
with Charlotte. He found her sensible, well inform-
ed, but diffident and unassuming. The languor
which the fatigue of her body , and perturbation of
her mind, spread over her delicate features, served
only in his opinion, to render her more lovely. K^
knew that MontraviHe did not design to xnatrif her,
and he formed a resolution to endeavor to gain Jier
himself •^rhenever Montraville should leave her.
Let not the reader imagine Bdcour'a designs
were honoraWe. Alas! whaa once a woman has
tbrgot the respect due to herself, by yielding tD the
solicitations of illicit love, she loses all iier conse-
quence, even in the eyes of the man t^^hose art has.
betrayed her, and for whose sake she has ^acri&ed
every valuable con^deration.
The heedless Fair, who stoops to guilty joys.
A man may pity— -but he must despise.
Nay, every libertine will think he has a rfght ^'i
insult her with his licentious passion; and, should
the unhappy creature shrhik from the insolent over-
fnvA iio will dtiPAi-inffiv taunt her wi& t>retencei>f
modestj'. ,
. C2 •
II
'^'^l
ft* i>
'•t^
(66)
III
.It
U-
h'
CHAPTER XVII.
A TVEDDING.
Oo tbe day before their arrival at New- York after
dinner, Crayton arose from his seat, and placing
himself by Mademoiselle, thus addressed the com-
pany —
* As we are now nearly arrived at om^ destined
porta I think it but my duty to inform you, my
friends, that this lady,* taking her hand, * has plac-
ed herself under my protection. I have seen and
severely felt the anguish of her heart; and through
every shade which cruelty or malice may throw
over her, can discover the most amiable qualities.
I thought it but necessary to mention my esteem
for her before our disembarkation, as it is my fixed
resolu^on, the morning after we land, to give her
an undoubted title to my favor and protection, by
honorably^unitingmy fate toher's. I would wish
every gentleman here, therefore, to remember that
her honor henceforth is mine. And,' continued he,
looking at Belcour, ^ should any man presume to
epeak m the least disrespectfully of her, I shall not
hesitate to pronounce him a scoundrel.'
Belcour cast at him a smile of contempt, and bow-
ing profoundly low, wished Mademoiselle much
joy in the proposed union; and assuring the colonel
that he need not be in the least apprehensive of any
one throwing the least odium on the character of his
lady, shook bim by the hand with ridiculous gravity,
apd left the cabin.
The truth was hn Trns crlnrl in o-ftf TiA €\f Til T?n*. •
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE
67
k after
lacing
com-
stined
U my
3 plac-
Q and
rough
throw
ilities.
steem
fixed
e her
>n, by
wish
r that
3d he,
me to
til not
bow-
much
Lionel
>f any
ofhis
ivity.
and so he was but freed from her, he cared not who
fell a victim to her infamous arts.
The inexperienced Charlotte was astonished at
what she heard. She thought La Rue had, like her-
self, o.ly been urged by the force of her attach-
nient to Belcour, to quit her friends, and to follow
him to the seat of war. How wonderful then, she
should resolve to marry another man ! it was cer-
tainly extremely wrong. It was indelicate. She
mentioned her thoughts to Montraville. He laugh-
ed at her simplicity, called her a little ideot, and
patting her on the cheek, said she knew nothing of
the world. .
* K the world sanctions such t}iing:s, < tis a very
I bad world, I think,' said Charlotte. ' Why I always
understood that they were to have been married
when they arrived at IN ew- York. I am sure Made-
moiselle told me Belcour promised to marry her."
* Well, and suppose he did?'
* Why, he should be obliged to keep his word, I
think.'
* Well, but I suppose he has changed his mind,
said MontravilJe, ' and then, you know, the case is
•altered.'
Charlotte looked at him attentively for a moment
\ full sense of her own situation rushed upon her
mind. She burst into tears, and remained silent. ^
Montraville too well understood the cause of her
tears. He kissed her cheek, and bidding her not to
make herself uneasy, unable to bear the silent but
keen remonstrance, hastily left her,
The next morning by sun-rise they found them-
fielves at anchor before the city of New-York.^^ A
boat was ordered to convey liie ladies Qn
SUwi «" I
68
CHARLOTTB TEMPLE.
Cray ton accompfinied them, and they were shewn
to a house of public entertainment. Scarcely were
they seated, when the door opened, and the colonel
found himself in the arms of his daughter, who had
landed a few minutes before him. The first trans-
port of meeting subsided, Cray ton introduced his
daughter to Mademoiselle I^a Rue, as an old friend
of her mother's (for the artful French woman had
really made it appear to the credulous colonel, that
she wjis in the same convent with his iirst wife,
and though much younger, had received many to-
kens of her esteem and regard.)
* If, Mademoiselle,' said Mrs. Beauchamp, * y6u
were the friend of my mother, you must be w orthy
the esteem of all good hearts.*
* Mademoiselle will soon honor our family,' said
Cray ton, * by supplying the place that valuable
woman filled; and as you are married, my dear, J.
think you will not blame — '
* Hush, my dear sir/ replied Mrs. Beauchamp.
* I know my duty too well to scrutinize your con-
duct. Be assured, my dear father, your happiness
is mine. I shall rejoice in it, and sincerely love the
person who contributes to it. But tell me,' contin-
ued she, turning to Charlotte, ' who is this lovely
girl ? Is she your sister, Mademoiselle r '
A blush, deep as the glow of the carnation, suf-
fused the cheek of Charlotte.
*itis a young lady,' replied the colonel, *who
came in the same vessel with us from England.'
He then drew his daughter aside, and told her in
a whisper, that Charlotte was the mistress of Mon-
traville. vr
* What a pity ! «aid Messrs. Beauchamp softly,
a
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
69
/casting a most <5Dmpassionate glance at her.) But
surely her mind is not depraved. The goodness of
her heart is depicted in her ingenuous counte-
nance.' , . ^ 4 J «rv^ T ol
Charlotte caught the word pity. , * And ani l al-
ready fallen so low ?' said she. A sigh escaped her,
and a tear was ready to start, but Montraville ap-
peared, and she checked the rising /n?otion.--
Mademoiselle went with the colonel and his daugh-
ter to another department, Charlotte remamed with
Montraville and Belcour. The next morning the
colonel performed his promise, and La Rue became
indue form, Mrs Crayton; exulted m her ow .
good fortune, and dared to look with an eye of con-
tempt on the unfortunate, but far less guilty Char-
lotte.
CHAPTER XVIII.
aEFLECTIONS.
" And am I indeed fallen so low," said Charlotte,
^' as only to be pitied? Will the voice of approba-
tion no more meet my e^.' ? And shall I never a-
gain possess a friend, whose face will wear a smile
of joy whenever I approach? Alas! how thought-
less, how dreadfully imprudent have I been ! I know
not which is most painful to endure, the sneer ot
contempt, or the glance of compassion, which is de-
picted in the various countenances of my own sex:
they are both equally humiliating. Ah ! my dear
parents, could you now soe the child of your affec-
tions, the daughter whom you so dearly l^ved,^a
poor solitary being without society, here weanng
70
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
out her heavy hours in deep regret and anguish of
heart, no kind friend of her own sex ,to whom she
can unbosom her griefs, no beloved mother, no wo-
man of character to appear in her company ; and,
low as your Charlotte is fallen, she cannot associate
with infamy."
Th('se were the painful reflections, which occupi-
ed the mind of Charlotte. Montraville had placed
Her in a small house, a few miles from New- York.
He gave her one female attendant, and sapplied her
with what money she wanted. But business and
pleasure so entirely occupied his time, that he had
little to devote to the woman whom he had brought
from all her connections, and robbed of innocence.
Sometimes, indeed, he would steal out at the close
of evening, and pass a few hours with her; and then
so much was she attached to him, that all her sor-
rows were forgotten while blest with his society.
She w ould enjoy a walk by moonlight, or sit by him
in a little arbor at the bottom of the garden, and
play on the harp, accompanying it with her plain-
tive, harmonious voice.— But often, very often, did
he promise to renew his visits, and, forgetful of his
promises, leave her to mourn her disappointment.
What painful hours of expectation would she pass I
She would sit at a window which looked towards a
iield he used to cross, counting the minutes, and
straining her eyes to catch the first glimpse of his
person, till blinded with tears of disappointment,
she would lean her head on her hands and give free
vent to her sorrows. Then, catching at some new
hope, she would again renCwher watchful position,
till the shades of evening enveloped every object m
a dusky cloud. She would then renew her com-
icM
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
71
plaints, and with a heart bursting with disappointed
love and wounded Bensibility, retire to a bed which
remorse had strewed with thorns, and court in vaiu
that comforter of weary nature (who seldom visits
the unhappy) to come and steep her senses in ob-
livion.
Who can form an adequate idea of the sorrow
that preyed upon the mind of Charlotte? The wife,
whose bosom glows with affection for her husband,
and who, in return, meets only indifference, can
but faintly conceive her anguish.— Dreadfully pain-
ful is the situation of such a woman ; but she has
many comforts, of which poor Charlotte was de-
prived. The duteous, faithful wife, though treated
with indifference, has one solid pleasure within her
own bosom: she can reflect that she has not deserv-
ed neglect— that she has ever fulfilled the duties of
her station with the strictest exactness; she may
hope, by constant assiduity and unremitted atten-
tion, to recall her wanderer, and be doubly happy
in his returning affection; she knows he cannot
leave her to unite himself to another: he cannot
cast her out to poverty and contempt. She looks
around her, and sees the smile of friendly welcome,
or the tear of affectionate consolation, on the face
of every person whom she favors with her esteem ;
and from all these circumstances she gathers com-
fort; but the poor girl, by thoughtless passion led
astray, who, in parting with her honor, has forfeit-
ed the esteem of the very man to whom she has sac-
rificed every thing dear and valuable in life, feels
his indifference to be the fruit of her own folly, and
laments her want of power to recall his lost ^affec-
tion: she kfiows, there is no tic but lioiior. and that,
rr,-
II
72
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
I-
3|l,
.it-
in a man who has been guilty of seduction, is but
very feeble: he may leave her ma moment of
shame and want ; he may marry and forsake her
forever- and should he do so, she has no redress, no
friendly soothing companion to pour mtu her
wounded mind the balm of consolation, no benevo-
lent hand to lead her back to the path of rectitude;
she has disgraced her friends, forfeited the goud
opinion of the world, and undone herself, bhe feels
herself a poor solitary being in the midst of sur-
rounding multitudes; shame bows her to the e urth,
remorse tears her distracted mind, and guilt, pover-
tv and disease close the dreadful scene; she sinks
unnoticed to oblivion. The finger of contempt
may point out, to some passing daughter ot youth-
ful mirth, the humble bed where lies this frail sister
of mortality: and will she, in the unbounded gaiety
of her heart, exult in her own unblemished fame,
and triumph over the silent ashes of the dead ! Oh
no! she has a heart of sensibility; she will stop, and
thus address the unhappy victim of folly :—
" Thou hadst thy faults ; but surely thy suffer-
ingshave expiated them; tlune errors brought thee
to an mitiraely grave ; thou wert a fellow-creature
— ttiou hast been unhappy; then be those errors for-
g;otteii." , , ., . 1
Ther> , as she stoops to pluck the noxious weed
from off the sod, a tear will fall, and consecrate the
spot to charity.
^ For ever honored be the sacred drop of humanity.
The angel of mercy shall record its source, and the
o/^..i from \xj\\at\r(*. it sDruns* shall be immortal.
My dear Madam, contract not your brow mtaa
frown of (igapprobatign* I mean liot to extenuate
1 ?4* ' 3
CHARLOTTE Ti:Mri-E.
73
mt of
ce her
2SS, no
u her
mevo-
itude;
goud
e feelF
)f sur-
earth,
pover-
I sinks
iten^t
youth-
1 sister
gaiety
I fame,
I! Oh
)p, and
sufFer-
ht thee
feature
ors for-
I weed
ate the
nanit}'.
md the
f inta^a
tenuator
the faults of those unhappy women who fall victims
to guilt and folly. But surely, when we reflect how
many errors we are ourselves subject to, how many
secret faults lie hid in the recesses of our hearts,
which we should blush to have brought into open
day (and yet those faults require the lenity and pity
of a benevolent judge, or awful would be our pros-
pect of futurity) 1 say, my dear Madam, when we
consider this, we surely may pity the faults of oth-
ers.
Believe me, many an unfortunate female, who
has once strayed into the thorny paths of vice,
would gladly return to virtue, was any generous
friend to endeavor to raise and reassure her ; but
alas! it cannot be, you say: the world would deride
and scoff. Then let me tell you. Madam, 'tis a
very unfeeling world, and does not deserve half the
blessings which a bountiful Providence showeis
upon it.
Oh! thou benevolent Giver of all good! how
shall we, erring mortals, dare to look up to thy mer-
cy in the great day of retribution, if we now un-
charitably refuse to overlook the errors, or alleviate
the miseries, of our fellow creatures.
CHAPTER XIX.
A MISTAKE DISCOVERED.
Julia Franklin was the only child of a man of
large property, who left her independent mistress of
an unincumbered income of seven hundred a year,
of fV»/» Afff* nf piahtppn. She was a ffirl of a lively
disposition, and humane susceptible hearty She re-
-II
f ' . ■'■
4
I
I
i'
I
74
CHARLOTTE TEMPLi;.
sided in New-York with an uncle, who loved her
too well, and had too high an opinion of her pru-
dence to scrutinize her actions so much as would
have heen necessary with many young ladies, who
were not blest with her discretion. She was at the
time Montraville arrived at New- York, the life of
society, and the universal ioa&i. MoBtraville was
introduced to her by the following accident:
One night when he was upon guard, a dreadful
fire broke out near Mr. Franklin^s house, which, in
a few hours, reduced that and several others to ash-
Fortunately, no live* were lost, and by the as-
es.
siduity of the soldiers, much valuable property v/as
saved from the flames. In the confusion, an old
gentleman came up to Montraville, and, putting a
small box into his hands, cried,— «^ Keep it, my
goodSir, till I come to you again;" and then rush-
ing again into the thickest of the crowd, Montra-
ville saw him no more. He waited till the fire was
quite extinguished, and the mob dispersed: hut in
vain: tl.e old gentleman did not appear to claim his
property; and Montraville, fearing to make an en-
quiry, lest he should meet with imposters who might
lay claim, without any legal right to the box, carried
it to his lodgings, and locked it up; he natarally.im-
agined that the person who committed it to his care,
knew him, and would in a day or two reclaim it;
but several weeks passed on, and no enquu'y being
made, he began to be uneasy, and resolved to ex-
amine the contents of the box, and if they were as
he supposed, valuable, to spare no pains to discover
the owner, and restore them to him, ^ Upon open-
ing it, he found it contained jewels to a large amouiit,
about two hundred pounds in money, and a nainia-
- iOf,.. '' ■»• '.roHKlft^' ' ,*fW!iiiiJ!"'Wr'
CHARLOTTB TEMPLE.
75
ture picture, Fct for a bracelet. On examining the
Se. he thought ho had «omewhere.een feature,
verv like it, but could not recollect where A tew
days after, being at a public assembly, he saw M.s^
Franklin, and the likeness was too evident to be
misSen he enquired among his brother ofli.W
anv of them knew her, and found one who was up-
nn terms of intimacy with the family: « then in-
troduce me to her immediately," said he, for I am
certSn I can inform her of something which will
^^ZS^^t^f^^: ^und .le was
¥hs4oL evening Montravmewa^^^^^^
Julia's l^-d;*e lively ^^^^^^^^ J- wU. flje el^e^
Tg" ciTtrand Slged ^^^^^^^^
er/thing that was polite and tender t^Juha Bu
«n retirinff, recollection returned.—" What am i
Xn?"" laid he- '• though 1 cannot marry Char-
ge cannot be villain fnough to forsake her , nor
ff' T <i ,rp to trifle with the heart of Julia Frank-
IL IwJ^etSXLx." said he, "winch ha,
Cen the source of so much uneasiness already, and
in the evenin- pay i visit to ray poor melancholy
ChSotte. an^ Ldeavor to forget this ftscmating
'^"He'lroae. dressed himself, and taking the picture
nnt « I wi 1 reserve this from the rest.'' said he.
- Ind by presenting it to her when she thmks it »
1.= "" nhance the 4lue of the obligation. -He re-
paired To Mr. Franklin's, and fouua JUiia m ui^
ijrfiakfast parlor alone.
76
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
m
it
It
*' How happy am I, Madam," said he, ** that be-
ing the fortunate instrument of saving these jewels,
has been the means of procuring me the acquaint-
ance of so aini.tble a lady There are the jewels,
and money all safe.*'
" But where is the picture, Sir ?" said Julia.
*• Here, Madam. I would not willingly part with
it'*
** It is the portrait of my mother," said she, tak-
ing it from him: * 'lis all that remains.' Sh« press-
ed it to her lips, and a tear trembled in her eyes.
Montraville glanced his eyes on her grey night
gown and black ribbon, and his own feelings pre-
vented a reply.
Julia Franklin was the very reverse of Charlotte
Temple: she was tall, elegantly shaped and possess-
ed much of the air and manher of a woman of fafh-
ion: her complexion was a clear brown, enlivened
with the glows of health: her eyes, full, black and
sparkling, darting their intelligent glances, through
long silken lashes; her hair was shining brown, and
her features regular and striking; there was an air
of innocent gaiety that played about her counte-
nance, where good humor sat triumphant.
*^ I have been mistaken," said Montraville. ** I
imagined I loved Charlotte; but alas! I am too
late convinced my attachment to her was merely the
impulse of a moment. I fear I have not only en-
tailed lasting misery on that poor girl, but also
thrown a barrier in the way of my own happiness
T
A>^1 T
love Julia Franklin with ardor and sincerity; yet,
when in her presence^ I am sensible of my own in-
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE,
77
ability to offer a heart worthy of her acceptance,
'^"rrof thSaiLM thought., Montraville walk-
Pd out to see Charlotte. She saw him approach,
i ran out to meet him: she banished from her
countenanci the air of discontent -1-J. -^ JP^
peared when he was absent, and met him with a
^"alhfetyou had forgot me, Montraville,"
«aidshe " and was very unhappy .
- I shall never forget you, Charlotte," replied he.
^TJrL'commoi gravity of his countenance, and
^^?.Srfn»;?'' :r£^1ourhand ishot.
y^S^'^Sy'SiZ^, as he turned
''T^t ile ' 'coSueTshe, tenderly. «' you
sh 11 go to bed', and I will sit by and watch you;
vou will be better when you have slept.
eide.sunk into a profound sleep, tiom wait
awoke not till late the next mommg.
m
"
iV
liSJ
(78)
HF;
CHAPTER XX.
Virtue never appears so amiable as when reaching
forth her hand to raise a fallen sister.
CHAPTER OP ACCIDENTS.
When Charlotte awoke, she missed Montraville.
B>it thinking he might have arisen early to enjoy the
beai -iesof the morning, she was preparmg to lol-
lov him, when, casting her eye on the table, she
saw a note, and opening it hastily, found these
words :— , • , a :p
" Mv dear Charlotte must not be surprised, it
she does not see me again for some time; unavoida-
ble bMsiness will prevent me that pleasure. Me as-
sured, I am quite well this morning; and what your
fond imagination magnified into illness, was noth-
ing more than fatigue, which a few hours rest has
entirely removed. Make yourself happy, and be
assured of the unalterable frie^J^^Jj^P^yiLLE."
«' Friendship!" said Charlotte emphatically, as
she finished the note, '« is it come to this at last
Alas poor forsaken Charlotte I tl.y doom is now but
too apparent. MontraviUe is no longer interested
in thy happiness: and shame, remorse, and disap-
pointed love, will henceforth be thy only attend-
'■^Thouph these were the ideas that involuntarily
rnsb«d nnon the mind of Charlotte as she perused
'the'fataf note, yet af'era few hours had elapsed tua
(jvren Hope, again took possesion ofher bo?oro, ai.a
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
7»
ung
y the
) fol-
she
these
d, if
oida*
►e as-
yoiir
noth-
st has
id be
^*
ly, as
last ?
w but
rested
disap-
ttend-
itarily
3riised
ed the
Dj ur44
^flattered herself she cou^^^^
discover an air of tenderness mine ^^ ^^^
left, which had at first e^aped ner ^^.^
certainly cannot be so base ^^^o J^^ does he not
she; «' and in Bf "S J^^^f ^ S tm^«'^* '"Y^f "
promise to protect me? ^ win no ^^^j._
^ith these causeless fears? J ^^^J P ^^ ^e so un-
dence in his honor; and sure ne win
just as to abuse it'' ^^^^^ ^f reasoning
Just as she naa oy "'",,, jiesrree of com-
broughther mind tosome tolerable degree
posure, she. was «MX'^f„^c\^Xtte's countenance.
The dejection visible »« Cto'Xe, at once told
her swoln eyes and n«g»f t^^^/^noubt but Mon-
him she was ^n^appy he made no -^i^ns,
traviUe had, by ^^.f^^^^J^'lto rouse her jealousy.
and was resolved, ^^Vo^^*^^^ that means occsaion
urgeher to reproach hun, and by ina ^^^^.^^^
a breach between them "^'^^. ^^^ willUsten
her that she l^'^.^ "^f^;,,/trre^'enge his slights.''
to my P^^™' l\VlitUe of the female heart ; and
Belcour knew but "tiie oi u ^^ j,g.
what he did know, was^ordy tho^e Jt
solute lives. He ^^^J "^^f ^^J" et retain so strong
fall a victim to ^'^P^'^^^f^YS ho"or and con-
.. ,ense of honor and reject with ^^ ^^^,
of tevdnge. ^ , jj,<„e he went, he
S» 3««e?X?ie hour of herWe.
mt^.
fl
80
CHARLOTTE TEMPLK.
%
We will now return for a moment to Colonel
Cray ton. He had been three months married, and
in that little time had discovered that the conduct of
his lady was not so prudent as it ought to have been;
but remonstrance was vain; her temper was violent;
and to the Colonel's grea;t misfortune he had con-
ceived a sincere affection for her; she saw her own
power, and with the art of a Circe, made every ac-
tion appear to him in what lighi; she pleased ; his
acquaintance laughed at his blindness, his friends
pitied his infatuation, his amiable daughter Mrs.
Beauchamp, in secret, deplored the loss of her fath-
er's affection, and grieved that he should be so en-
tirely sw^ayed by an artful, and she much feared, an
infamous woman. .
Mrs. Beauchamp was mild and engaging; she
loved not the hurry and bustle of a i.ity, and had
prevailed on her husband to take a house a few miles
from New- York. Chance led her into the same
neighborhood with Charlotte: their houses stood
within a short distance of each other, and their gar-
dens joined: she had not been long in her new hab-
itation before the figure of Charlotte struck her; she
recollected her interesting features she saw the
melancholy so conspicuous in her countenance, and
her heart bled at the reflection, that perhaps de-
prived of honor, friends, and all that w^as valuable
in life, she was doomed to linger out a wretched ex-
istence in a strange land, and sink broken hearted
into an untimely grave.—* Would to heaven I oould
snatcn her from so hard a fate,' said she; * but the
merciless world has barred the door of compassion
against a poor weak girl, who, perhaps, had she but
f.^^ \riT,A AvJonrl fn ri^isp and re-assurc her, would
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
SI
oladly return lo peace and virtue, ^ay, even the
woman who dares to pity, and endeavor to recall a
wandering sister, incurs the sneer of contempt and
Sule, for an action in which even angels are said
^° The longer Mrs. Beauchainp was a witness to the
solitary lite Charlotte led, the more she wished to
SeakTo her. And often, as she saw her cheeks wet
Sh tear of anguish, she would say-' dear suffer-
er how sladly would I pour mto your heart the
Salmo] consolation, were it not for the fear of de-
"'fiutan accident soon happened, which made her
resolve even to brave the scoffs of the world, rather
than not enjoy the heavenly satisfaction of comfort-
in «• a Hpsnonding fellow creature,
'"^rs Beauciimp was an early riser. She was one
TT^orn nff walking in the garden, ieamng on her hus-
Mnd's arm when the%ound of a harp attracted
their not ce Ttey lissened attentively and heard
I soft melodius voice distinctly sing the following
stanzas:
Thou glorious orb, supremely bright,
Justrising from the sea,
To cheer all nature with thy light;
What are thy beams to uie ?
In vain thy glories bid me rise
To hail the new born day ;
Alas my morning sacrifice
Is still tn weep and pray.
For what are nature's charms combin'd
To one, whose we^ry breast
82
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
Caii neither peace nor comfort find,
Nor friend whereon to rest.
Oh! never! never! whilst I live,
Can my heart's anguish cease:—
Come, friendly death, thy mandate give,
And let me be at peace.
* 'Tis poor Charlotte,' said Mrs. Beauchamp, the
pellucid drop of humanity stealing down her cheek.
Captain Beauchamp was alarmed at her emotion.
* What Charlotte?' said he; ' do you know her?'
In the i>ccents of a pitying angel did she disclose
to her husband Charlotte's unhappy situation, and
the frequent wish she had formed of being servicea-
ble to her. ' I fear,' continued she, ' the poor girl
has been basely betrayed; and if I thought j^u
would not blame me^ I would pay her a visit, offer
her my friendship, and endeavor to restore to her
heart that peace she seems to have lost,, aiid so pa-
thetically laments. Who knows, my dear, laying
her hand affectionately on his aim, ' w^ic knows,
but she has left some kind, dflfectioiate parents to la-
ment her errors; and would she ret 1 3 n, they might
with rapture receive the poor perdient, and wash
away her faults in tears of joy. Oh! vvhat a glori-
ous reflection it would be forme, couM I be the
happy instrument of restoring her. Htr hcuit may
not be depraved, Beauchamp.' ,
« Exalted woman !' cried Beauchamp, embracing
her, * how dost thou rise every moment in my es-
teem. FoUow^ the impulse of thy generous heart.
My Emily. Let prudes and fools censure, if they
dare, and blame a sensibility they never felt^ I wiU
exultingiy telii them that the truly virtuous h^ut is
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
83
op, the
r cheek,
motion,
her?'
disclose
on, and
ervicea-
poor girl
ight you
sit, offer
-e to her
id so pa-
r, laying
knows,
nts to la-
y might
nd wash
a glori-
[ be the
Suit may
nbracing
I my es-
iis heart,
, if they
t: I wilK
ever inclined to pity and forgive the errors of its fel-
low-creatures.'
i A beam of exulting joy played round the animat-
ed countenance of Mrs. Beauchamp, at the^e enco-
miums bestowed on her by a beloved hi'sband; the
most delightful sensations pervaded her heart, and
having? breakfasted, she prepared lo visit Charlcte.
/'
CHAPTER XXI.
A BENEVOLENT V131T.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see-
Tliat mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.— pope.
\\TicnMrs. Peaucliamp w^as dressed, she began
to feel embarrassed at the thought of beginning an
acquaintance with Charlotte, and was distressed
how t3 make the .irst visit. ' J cannot go without
some introductif 1,' said she, < it will look like im-
pertine it curiosity.' At length, recollecting her-
self, shf: stepped into the garden, and gathering a
few fine cucu'nbers, took them in her hand by v/ay
of apology for her visit. A glow of conscious i^hame
vermillicaed Charlotte's face as Mrs. Beauchamp
entered.
' Yo'- \vill pardon me. Madam,' said she, Mor not
having before paid my respects to so amiable a
neighbcr: but we English peo,:le always keep up
wher^iver we go, that reserve which is the charac-
tiristic of our nation. Ihavo t^ken the libeT-^y to
biiDo:you a few cucumbers; io^ observed you >ad
none in your garden.'
J. 1 ^
h^ujri IS
^y
^w-^
Si
CHARt-OTTE TEMPLK.
'»
3£!f,U il
Charlotte, though naturally pohte and «^" ^^f ' •
was so confused she could hardly speak. Her kmd
visitor endeavored to relieve her, by not noticing
her embarrassment. ' I am come Madam con-
tinued she, ' to request you to spend the day with
me. I shall be alone; and as we are both strangers
in this coimtry, we may hereafter be extremely hap-
nv in each other's friendship.'
' Your friendship, aiadam,' said Charlotte, b ush-
ine- ♦ is an honor to all who are lavored with it.
Little as I have seen of this part of the world, I am
no sttanger to Mrs. Beauchamp's goodness ot heart
and kno- ^ humanity ; but my friendship—-- ane
paused t. meed her eye upon her own visible situ-
ation, a.. • spite of her endeavors to suppre&s them,
burst into tears.' ,
Mrs. Beauchamp guessed the source from whence
those tears flowed. ' You seem unhappy. Madam,
said she: 'shall I be thought worthy your conh-
dence? will you entrust me with the cause of your
sorrow, and rest on my assurances to exert my ut-
most power to serve you? Charlotte returned a look
of gratitude, hut could not speak, aud t«lr*. «eau-
champ continued-' My heart was uiterc-ted lu
vour behalf the first moment i saw you; and 1 only
lament I had not made earlier overtures towards au
acquaintance; but I flatter myselt you will hence-
forth consider mc as your friend. '
'Oh, Madam?' cried Charlotte, <• I have forfeit-
ed the good opinion of all my friends. 1 have tor-
sakenthem and undone myself.'
' Come, come, my dear,' said Mrs. Beauchamp,
- vou must not indulge these gloomy thoughts. -
V .... „.„ „,-) T >,nno CO nnhannv as vou imaguio
UU aic
CIIARLOTTC TCMPLE
85
I
yourself. Endeavor to be composed, and let me be
favored with your company at dinner, when, if you
can bring yourself to think me your friend, and re-
pose a confidence in me, I am ready to convince you
that it shall not be abused.* She then arose, and
bade her good morning.
At the dining hour Charlotte repaired to Mrs.
Beauchamp's, and during dinner assumed as com-
posed an aspect as possible. But when the cloth was
removed, she summoned all her resolution, and de-
termined to make Mrs. Beauchamp acquainted with
every circumstance preceding her elopement, and
the earnest desire she had to quit a way of life so
repugnant to her feelings.
With the benignant aspect of an angel of mercy
did Mrs Beauchamp listen to the artless tale. She
was shocked to the soul to find how large a share
La Rue had in the seduction of this amiable girl,
and a tear fell, when she reflected so vile a woman
was now the wife of her father. When Charlotte
had finished, she gave her a little time to collect
her scatte.ed spirits, and then asked her, if she had
ever written to her friends.
' Oh yes, Madam,' said she, ' frequently. But I
have broke their hearts: they are all either dead or
have cast me off for ever; for I have neve? received
a single line from them.'
* 1 rather suspect,' said Mrs. Beauchamp, * they
have never had your letters; but suppose you were
to hear from them, and they were willing to receive
you, would you then leave this cruel Montraville,
and return to them ?'
'Would I?' said Charlotte, clasping her hands.
'f !
%l
VVWUi'vi lk\Ji,
uiu \f\j\jk sa,kk\Jk p iv%jfc w** M x--.»-jp--_-' —
CHARLOTTE
8G
CHARLOTTE TEMPLi:.
': k
'1
ocean, threatened every moment with death, gladly
return to the shore he had left to trust to its deceit-
fuSmness? Oh. my dear Madam I would re-
turn thou<rh to do it I were obliged o walk bare-
foot,' and beg a scanty pittance of each traveller to
support my existence. I would endure it all cheer-
fu ly, could I but once more see my dear blessed
mother, hear her pronounce my pardon, and bless
me before I died; but alas! I shall never see her
more; sie has blotted the ungrateful Char otte from
her r^emembrance, and I shall sink to the grave
loaded with her's and my father's curse.
Mrs. Beauchamp endeavored to soothe ler.-
<' You shall write to them agam," said she, ' and
will see that the letter is sent by the first packet tha
sails for England. In the mean time, keep up your
spirits, and hope for every thmg, by daring to de-
•i. 99
''^She'then tamed the conversation, and Charlotte
having taken a cup of tea, wished her benevolent
friend a good evening.
CHAPTER XXII.
SORROVSr OF THE HEART.
^\'hen Charlotte returned home, she endeavored
to coUect her thoughts, and took up i^^rvenjn-rle^
to address those dear parents, Y^^'f '^'fj^^^^ Zi
rors, she still loved with the u most tendef ess^"'
in vain was every effort to write with the least co^
herence- her tears fell so fast they almo.c blinded
fi*i»r' find nS She DrUCCUueu VkJ U\.,:3V/iii--^ — -> - - -i r
Suatithrbecame ..o agitated, that she was obhg-
ed to give over the atteri
where, overcome with the
(lerg:one, she fell into a slu
freshed her. She arose in
more adequate to the paii
form, and after several atte
ed the following letter to h
TO MRS. '
*« Will my once kind, i
deign to receive a letter fi
tant child? or has she, jus
tude, driven the unhappy
membrance? Alas! tho\
8houldst thou even disowi
because I know I have
lieve me, guilty as I am,
appointed the hopes of th^
ever had, even in the m(
my duty, I fled from you
loved you most, my hei
what you would suffer.
1 hav^ existence, will tb
erased from my memor
tionofsoul from hody.-
cuse for my conduct? al
my seducer is but too t
passion is, when operatii
ing with sensibility, it n
ed my affection to you i
not been encouraged, "
step by one of my own i
friendship, drew me on
Charlotte was go lost a
I-
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE
87
B over the attempt, and retire to bed.
rercome with the fatigue her mmd had un-
jhefell into a slumber which greatly re-
jr. She arose in the morning with spinta
luate to the painful task she had to per*
after several attempts, at length concludv
owing letter to her mother:
TO MRS. TEMPLE,
NEW-VORK.
my once kind, my ever beloved mother,,
receive a letter from her guilty, but repen-
I? or has she, justly incensed at my ingrati-
venthe unhappy Charlotte from her re-
ice? Alas! thou much injured mother!
thou even disown me, I dare not complain,
[ know I have deserved it. But yet be-
, guilty as I am, and cruelly as I have dis-
d the hopes of the fondest parents that gir!
, even in the moment when, forgetful ot
, I fled from you and happiness, even then I
lu most, my heart bled at the thought of
u would suffer. Oh ! never I never ! while
existence, will the agony of that moment be
rom my memory. It seemed like separa-
loul from body .—'What can I plead in ex-
my conduct.? alas? nothing! That I loved
aceris but too true: yet powerful as that
is, when operating in a young heart, glow-
h sensibility, it never would have c^^^^®^:
aiffection to you my beloved parents, had 1
n encouraged, nay, urged to take the fatal
one of my own sex, who under the mask ot
bip, drew me on to ruin. Yet think not your
tte was go lost as to voluntarily rush into a
mh
M\
K^
88
CHARLOXTE TEMPLE.
|D!|
■I.
^H
Ri
' '^^^B
111
■'
mt
I
I||H
8bIi
wl^Hi
liilH
Mi
«.»
f t
m
life of infamy : No, my dear mother, deceived by
tlie specious appearance of my betrayer, and every
suspicion lulled asleep by the most solemn promises
of marriage, I thought not those promises would so
easily be forgotten. I never once reflected that the
man who could stoop to seduction, would not hesi-
tate to forsake the wretched object of his passion,
whenever his capricious heart grew weary of her
tenderness. When we arrived at this place, I vain-
ly expected him to fulfil his engagements; but was
at last fatally convinced he had never intended to
make me his wife, or if he had once thought of it,
his mind was now altered. I scorned to claim from
his humanity what I could not obtain from his love.
J was conscious of having forfeited the only gem
that could render me respectable in the eye of the
world. I locked my sorrows in my own bosom, and
bore my injuries in silence.— -But how shall I pro-
ceed?— -This man, this cruel Montraville for whom
I sacrificed my honor, my happiness, and the love of
my friends, no longer looks upon me with affection,
but scorns the credulous girl whom his art has made
miserable.— Could you see me, my dear parents,
without society, without friends, stung with re-
morse, (and I feel the burning blush of shame die
mv cheeks while I write it) tortured with the pangs
of disappointed love; cut to the soul by the indiffer-
ence of him; who, having deprived me of every
other comfort no longer thinks it worth his while to
soothe the heart where he has planted the thorn of
never ceasing rescret. My daily employment is to
think of you and weep, to pray for your happiness,
and deplore my own folly: my nights ^re scarce
more happy; for if by chance I clo^e luy ncary eye?,
CHARLOTTB TEMPIJ5.
8»
Bvery
mises
uldso
at the
i hesi-
ssion ,
)f her
vain-
it was
ded to
of it,
1 from
3 love.
of the
n,and
I pro-
whom
love of
action ,
smade
atrents,
ith r^-
me die
5 pangs
idiifer-
every
rhile to
iiornof
it is to
ipiness»
scarce
and hope some small forgetfulness of sorrow, some
little time to pass in sweet oblivion, fancy, still
waking, wafts melhome to you; I see your beloved
forms: I kneel and hear the blessed words of peace
and pardon. Extatic joy pervades my soul ; I reach
mv arms to catch your dear embraces- the motion
chases the illusive dream; I wake to real misery.
At other times I see my father angry and frowning,
noint to horrid caves, where on the cold damp
S-ound. in the agonies of death, I see my dear moth-
er and my revered grandfather. I strive to raise
vou- vou push me from you and shrieking cry;
< Charlotte; thou hast murdered me!' Horror and
despair tear every tortured nerve; I start and leave
my restlessbed, weary and -unrefreshed.
« Shocking as ihese reflections are, I have yet
one more dreadful than the rest. Mother ! my dear
mother! do not let me quite break your heart when
I tell you, in a few mouths I shall hnng into the
world an innocent witness of my gmlt.— Oh my
bleeding heart! I shall bring a poor httle helpless
creature, heir to infamy and shame.
« This alone has urged me once more to address
vou to interest you in behalf of *is poor unborn,
and beg you to extend your protection to the child
of voOT lost Charlotte : for my own part I have wrote
so often, so frcquentiy have pleadedfor forg»vene^,
and entreated to be received once more beneath the
paternal roof , that having received no answer, nor
even one line, I much fear you have cast me from
^^u b5 sure you cannot refuse to protect my, in-
nocent infant: it partakes not of its mother s guilt. '
vh my iatHer, on uciu* cu uiuiuvi ? wv ,» v.v * -
j>2
%■ t
'4
li
^il
~ ■ IT
n
90
CHARLOTTE TBMPI.«.
anguish I inflicted on your hearts rccoihng with
double force upon my own.
«« If mv child should be a girl (which heaven for-
bid) tell her the unhappy fate of her mother, and
teach her to avoid my errors; if a boy, teach him
to tement my miseries, but tell him not who ...he-
ed them, lest, in wishing to revenge his mother e
injuries, he should wound the peace of his father.
•« And now, dear friends of my soul, kind guardi-
an- "f my infancy, farewell. I feel I never more
must hope to see you: the anwiish of my heart
strikes at the strings of life, and m a short time I
shall be at rest. ! could I but receive your bles-
sine and forgiveness before I died, it would smooth
my passage to the peaceful grave, and be a blessed
foreteste If a happy eternity. I beseech you curse
me not,myadore5 parents; hut let a tear of pity
and pardon fall to the memory <>f gf J^^StTE."
CHAPTER XXIII.
A MAN MAT SMILE, AND SMILE AND BE A
VILLAIN.
While Charlotte was enjoying some small ie£ee
of comfort in the consoling friendship <»» fAis.
Beauchamp, Montraville was advancing rapidly m
his affection towards Miss Frankhn. Jul'^^.^^^an
amiable girl; she saw only the fair side of his char-
acter; she possessed an independent fortune and re-
fHved to be happy witft wie m*»u ui iiw ut^su '. w^- -^6,=-
18 rank and fortune were by no means so exaiteu
•■-^
'»^-
.n.<mr-.
CHABI.OTTB TEMPLE-
91
ng with
aven for-
her, and
eacf him
lo ii iiict-
mother'8
father.
id guard!-
ver more
my heart
ort time I
your bles-
lid smooth
i a blessed
you curse
sarof pity
it
)TTE/*
ND BE A
nail de^^ee
ip of Mis.
r rapidly in
ulia was an
of his char-
une and re-
b so exalted
t. u ^ o rJrriif Hq exncct; she saw the passion
Sed .t hi. timidiflr, but ;!»»5>°^^Sj„^Ss L*
with Charlotte s s"^""" • r-„„i.:n» her at such a
would be a double "4^,!y»"Sn while honor,
time: and to marry M>99 F'^'Jr\™'^^J»^^ gtiU to
humanity, every ^cred law. ^^^^^ him^^^^ ^^
protect and support Charioue, waa
which his soul shuddered. ^
He communicated his "uejme^^^^^^
ed with somebody else if she h^J not wun y
..Would to heaven," said Montraviue,
neve'seen her; W^^J^^SSl lo?e andTe-
mentary passion of desire; but I shall lo ^^^^^^
vere Julia Franklin as long as » {J!', y'^^uid be
poor Charlotte in her present situation wu
tjruel beyond description.
M o»- T" """^ KAptimental fnend, saia k '^"-^ >
i
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TEST TARGET (MT-3)
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PhntnoranViir
Sciences
Corporation
23 WEST MAIN STREET
WEBSTER, N.Y. MS80
(716) 872-4503
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92
CHAni.VTTB TSMPl.tS.
r
.iifj^ii
iiii
* !■
LiL_
«' do you imagine no body has a right to provide for
the brat but yourself?"
Montraville started. " Sure/* said he, <« you
cannot mean that Charlotte is false."
*« I doji't insinuate it;" said Belcour^ " I know
it.'*
Montraville turned pale as ashes. « Then there
is no faith in Woman," said he.
*' While I thought you attached to her," said Bel-
cour with an air of indifference, I never " wished to
make you uneasy by mentioning her perfidy; but as
I know you love and are beloved by Miss Franklin,
I was determined not to let these foolish scruples of
honor step between you and happiness, or your ten-
derness for the peace of a perfidious girl, prevent
your uniting yourself to a woman of honor."
'' Good heavens!" said Montraville, «* what poig-
nant reflections does a man endure who sees a love-
ly woman plunged in infamy, and is conscious he
was her first seducer; but are you certain of what
you say, Belcour?
" So far" replied he, that '' I myself have receiv-
ed advances from her, which I would not take ad-
vantage of out of regard to you; but hang it, think
on more about her. I dined at Franklin's to-day, and
Julia bid me seek and bring you to tea; so come
along, my lad, make use of opportunity, and seize
the gifts of fortune wliiie they are within your
reach."
Montraville was too much agitated to pass a hap-
py evening even in the company of JuHa Franklin:
he determined to visit Charlotte early the next
morning, tax her with her falsehood, and take an
e^rrlasting leave of her; but when the morning
CHARLOTTB T2HPLC*
93
came, he was commanded on duty, and for six
weeks was pi^evented from putting his designs in
execution. At length he had an hour to spare, and
walked out to spend it with Charlotte: it was near
four o'clock in the afternoon when he arrived at her
cottage ! she was not in the parlor and without call-
ing the servant, he walked up stairs, thinking to
find her in her bedroom. He opened the door, and
the first object that met his eyes was Charlotte
asleep on the bed, and Belcour by her side.
* Death and distraction, said he,' stamping * this
is too much. Rise, villain, and defend yourself.*
Belcour sprang from the bed. The noise awoke
Charlotte: terrified at the furious appearance of
Montraville, and seeing Belcour with him in the
chamber, she caught hold of his arm as he stood by
the bed side, and eagerly asked what was the mat-
ter?
<« Treacherous, infamous girl," said he " can you
ask? How came he there?" pointing to Belcour.
" As heaven is my witness," replied she weep-
ing, *' I do not know. I have not seen him for
these three weeks.
** Then you confess he sometimes vbits you?'*
** He came sometimes by your desire."
«« 'Tis false; I never desired him to come, and
you know I did not: but mark me Charlotte, from
this instant our connection is at an end. Let Bel-
cour, or any other of your favored lovers, take you
and provide for you; I have done with you forev-
er.*
He was then go'-^g to leave her; but starting
wildly from the bet., she threw herself upon her
knees before him;? protested her innocence, and ei^i*
94
eHARLOTTU TEMPX.B,
treated him not to leave her. *' Oh Montraville,**
said she, " kill me, for pity's sake kill me, but do
not doubt my fidelity Do not leave me in this hor»
rid situation; for the sake of your unborn child, oh!
epurn not the wretched mother from you."
" Charlotte," said he, with a firm voice, *' I shall
take care that neither you nor your child want any
thing in the approaching painful hour; but we meet
no more." He then endeavored to raise her from
the ground, bat in vain; she clung about his knees
entreated him to believe her innocent, and conjured
Belcour to clear up the dreadful mystery.
Belcour cast on Montraville a smile of contempt;
it irritated him almost to madness. He broke from
the feeble arms of the distressed girl; she shrieked >
and fell prostrate on the floor. Montraville instant^
ly left the house and returned hastily to the cit}\
CHAPTER XXIV.
MfYSTERY DEVELOPED.
TJnfortunately for Charlotte, about three weeks
before this unhappy rencontre. Captain Beauchamp,
being ordered to Rhode Island, his lady had accom-
panied him, 90 that Charlotte was deprived of her
friendly advice and consoling society. The after-
noon on which Montraville had visited her she had
found herself languid and fatigued, and after making
a very slight dinner had lain down to endeavor to
recruit her exhausted spirits, and contrary to her ex^
pectations, had fallen asleep. She had not long been
lain down, when Belcour arrived, for he look eve-
ry opportunity af visiting her^ and striving to awa-
m
but do
lis hor«
Id, oh!
I shall
nt any
e meet
;r from
I knees
mjured
tempt;
:e from
rieked,
nstant^
jit\\
-is^
weeks
3hamp,
accom-
of her
after-
he had
making
ivor to
her ex^
ig beeR
3k eve-
^o awa-
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
0ft
ken'ier resentment against Montraville. He en-
quired of the servent where her mistress wasj and
being told she was asleep, took up a book to amuse
himself : having set a few minutes, he by chance
cast his eye towards the road, he saw Montraville
approaching; he instantly conceived the diabolical
scheme of ruining the unhappv Charlotte in his
opinion forever; he therefore stole softly up stairs,
and laying himself by her side with the greatest
precaution, for fear she would awake, was in that
situation discovered by his credulous friend.
When Montraville spurned the weeping Char-
lotte from him, and left her almost distracted with
terror and dispair, itfelcour raised her from the floor»
and leading her down stairs assumed the part of a
tender consoling friend: she listened to the argu-
ments he advanced with apparent composure: but
this was only the calm of a moment: the remem-
brance of Montraville's recentjeruelty again rushed
upon her mind: she pushed him from her with some
violence, and crying, " Leave me. Sir, I beseech
you leave me, for much I fear you have been the
cause of my fidelity being suspected; go, leave me
the accumulated miseries my own imprudence has
brought upon me."
She then left him with precipitation, and retinng
to her own apartment, threw herself on the bed,
and gave vent to an agony of grief which it is im-
possible to describe.
It now occurred to Belcour that she might possi-
bly write to Montraville, and endeavour to con-
vince him of her innocence; he was well aware
of her pathetic remonstrance, and sensible of the
tenderness of Montraville's heart, rpsoived to pr#*
4
I
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
vent any letters ever reaching him: he therefore
called the servant, and by the powerful persuasion
of a bribe, prevailed with her to promise whatever
letters her mistress might write, should be sent to
him. He then left a polite, tender note for Char-
lotte, and returned to New- York. His first busi-
ness was to seek Montraville, and endeavor to con-
vince him that what had happened would ultimately
tend to his happiness: he found him in his apart-
ment, solitary, pensive, and wrapped in disagreeable
reflections.
" Why how now, whining, pining lover?*' said
he clapping him on the shoulder. Montraville star-
ted; a momentary flu£<h of resentment crossed his
cheek, but instantly gave place to deathlike paleness,
occasioned by painful remembrance — remembrance
awakened yy that^Monitor, whom, though we rnay
in vain endeavor, we can never entirely silence.
<* Belcour,'* said he, «« you have injured me in a
tender point.'*
** Prithee, Jack,'* replied Belcour, " do not make
a serious matter of it: how could I refuse the girl's
advances? and thank heaven she is not your wife. '^
** True," said Mortraville; " but she was inno-
cent when I first knew her. It was I seduced her,
Belcour. Had it not been for me she had still been
virtuoas and happy in the affections and protection
of her family."
** Pshaw," replied Belcour, laughing, " if you
had not taken advantage of her easy nature some
other would, and where is the difference, pray?"
*' I wish I had never seen her," cried he passion-
ately, and starting from his seat. " Ohth^t cursed
Fr«ich womap," added he^ with vehepiencej^ <« bad
CHAULOTTE TEMPLK.
9T
J3
it not been for her, I might have been happy-
He paused.
" With Juha Franklin," said Belcour. The name,
like a sudden spark of electric fire, seemed for a mo-
ment to suspend his faculties— for a moment he was
transfixed; but recovering he c.iught Belcour 's
hand, and cried— '^ stop! stop! I beseech you,
name not the lovely Julia and the wretched Moutra-
vilie m the same breath. I am a seducer, a mean,
ungenerous seducer of unsuspecting innocence. 1
dare not hope that purity like her's would stoop
to unite itself with black premeditated guilt: yet by
heavens I swear, Belcour, I thought I loved the lost
abandoned Charlotte till I saw Julia— I thought I
never could forsake her; but the heart is deceit-
ful, and I now can plainly discriminate between the
impulse of a youthful passion, and the pure flame
of disinterested affection. "
At that instant Julia Franklin passed the window,
Uaning on her uncle's arm. She courtesied as she
passed, and with the bewitching smile of naodest
cheerfulness, cried^^ Do you bury yourselves in
the house this fine evening, gents?— Thero was
something in the voice ! the manner ! the look ! that
was altogether irresistable. '' Perhaps she wishes
jny company," said Montraville, mentally, as he
snatched up his hat. ' If I thought she loved me, I
would confess my errors, and trust to her g;enerosity
to pity and pardon me.' He soon overtook her,
and offering her his arm, they sauntered to pleasant
but unfrequented walks.— Belcour drew Mr. Frank-
lin on one side and entered into a political discourse;
tiiey waiKeu laster iudu mt; ^uuu^ ^^^j^^^, .*«.« ^^-^
cour by some means contrived entirely to lose sight
^?'i^!;l
4 ' m
98
CHABLOTTB TEMPLE.
of them It was a fine evening in the beginning of
autumn; the last remains of day-light faintly streak-
ed the western sky, while the moon, with pale and
virgin lustre, in the room of gorgeous gold and pur-
ple, ornamented the canopy of heaven with silver
fleecy clouds, which now and then half hid her love-
ly face, and by partly concealing, heightened every
beauty; the zephyrs whispered softly through the
treed, which now began to shed their leafy honors:
a solemn silence reigned: and to a happy mind, an
evening such as this would give serenity and calm
unruffled pleasure. But to Montraville^ while it
soothed the turbulence of his passions, it brought in-
crease of melancholy reflections. Julia was lean-
ing on his arm: he took her hand in his, and press-
ing it tenderly, sighed deeply, but continued silent
Julia was embarrassed; she wished to break a si*
lence so unaccountable, but was unable; she loved
Montraville, saw he was unhappy, and wished to
know the cause of his uneasiness; but that innate
modesty, which nature has implanted in the female
breast, prevented her enquiring. ' I am bad com-
pany. Miss Franklin,' said he, at last recollecting
himself ; ' but I have met with something to day
that has greatly distressed me, and I cannot shake
off* the disagreeable impression it has made on my
mind.*
* I am sorry,' she replied, ' that you have cause of
inquietude. I am sure if you were as happy as you
deserve, and as all your friends wish you — ' She
hesitated. • And might I,' replied he with some an-
imation, * presume to rank the amiable Julia in that
number?'
* Certainly/ said she, * the service you have ren*
^**3:
CHARIiOTTE TEMPLX.
99
dered me, the knowledge of your worth, all com-
bine to make me esteem you. '
' Esteem, my lovely Julia,' said he, passionately,
* is but a poor cold word. I would if I dare, if I
thought I merited your attention— but no, I must
not— honor forbids, I am beneath your notice, Julia,
1 am miserable and cannot hope to be otherwise.'
' Alas!' said Julia, ' I pity you.'
* Oh thou condescending charmer, said he, ' how
that sweet word cheers my sad heart. Indeed if
you knew all, you would pity ; but at the same I
fear you wopld despise me.*
Just then they were again joined by Mr. Frank-
lin and Belcour. It had interrupted an interesting
discourse. They found it impo sible to converse on
indifferent subjects, and proceeded home in silence.
At Mr. Franklin's door Montr aville again pressed
Juha's hand, and faintly articulating ' good night,'
retired to his lodgings dispirited and wretched, from
a consciousness that he deserved not the affection
with which he plainly saw he wag honored.
CHAPTER XXV.
RECEPTION OF A LETTER.
" And where now is your poor Charlotte?" said
Mr. Temple one evening, as the cold blasts of au-
tumn whistled rudely over the heath, and the yel-
low appearance of the distant wood, spoke the near
approach of winter. In vain the cheerful fire blaz-
ed on the hearth, in vain was he surrounded by all
the comforts of life; the parent was siiii alive in his
heart, and when he thought that perhaps his once
,, ;H
I
100
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
4—1-
^-L~t-
darling child was ere this exposed to all the mise-
ries Qf want in a distant land^ without a friend to
sooth and comfort her, without the benignant look
of compassion to cheer, or the angelic voice of pity
to pour the halm of consolation on her wounded
heart; when he thought of this, his whole soul dis-
solved in tenderness; and while he wiped away the
tear of anguish from the eye of his patient, uncom-
plaining Lucy, he struggled to suppress the sympa-
thising drop that started in his own.
' Oh, my poor girl,' said Mrs. Temple, how must
she be altered, else surely she would have relieved
our agonizing minds by one line to say she lived —
to say she had not quite forgot the parents who al-
most idolized her.'^
* Gracious heaven?' said Mr. Temple, starting
from his seat, * who would wish to be a father, to
experience the agonizing pangs inflicted on a pa-
rent's heart by the ingratitude of a child?' Mrs.
Temple wept: her father took her hand; he would
have said, « be comforted my child,' but the words
died Oil his to'igue. The '^ad silence that ensued
was interrupted by a loud rap at the door. In a mo-
ment a servant entered with a letter in his hand.
Mii. Temple took it from him; cast her eyes up-
on tl'e superscription: she knew the writing — ' Tis
Charlotte,' said she, eagerly breaking the seal, * she
has not quite forgot us.' But before she had half
gone through the contents, a sudden sickness seized
her; she grew cold and giddy, emd putting it into
her husband's hand, she cried — ' Read it: I cannot*'
Mr. Temple attempted to read it aloud, but fre-
quently paused to give vent to his tears. ** My
CHARliOTTK TE31P1.1:*
lOTi
poor deluded child," said he, when he had finish-
ed. ^
*« Oh, shall we not forgive the dear penitent?'*
said Mrs. Temple. '• We must, we will, my love;
she is willinj^ to return, and it is our duty to receive
}ier."
'« Father of mercy," said Mr. Eldridgc, raisins:
his clasped hands, *' let me but live once more to
see the dear wanderer restored to her afhicted pa-
rents, and take me from this world of sorrow wlien-
*3ver it seemeth best to thy wisdom."
*' Yes, we will receive her," said Mr. Temple;
** we will endeavor to heal her wounded spirit, an(l
speak peace and comfort to her agitated soul. I will
write to her to return immediately.
'' Oh!" said Mrs. Temple, " 1 would, if possible,
fly to her support and cheer the dear sufferer in the
approaching hour of distress, and tell her how ncarly
penitence is allied to virtue. Cannot we go and
conduct her home, my love?" continued she, lay-
ing her hand on his arm. '' My father will surely
forgive our absence if we go to bring home his dar-
ling."
'* You cannot go, my Lucy," said Mr.^ Temple:
"' the delicacy of your frame would but poorly sus-»
tain the fatigue of a long voyage: but I will go and
bring the gentle penitent to your arms: w^e may still
vsee maiiy years of happiness."
" The struggle in the bosom of Mrs. Temple be-
tween niateraai and conjugal tenderness was long-
and painful. At length the forri\er triumphed, and
,she r,niisf>ntf»d thnf }u»r hiwhmnrl efimiM c«^f fnTvu'iwt)
for New- York by the first opportunity; she WTote
to lier Charlotte in the tenderost, most consoling-
I
1 j
s
fe^
■l
i
I
102
0HARLOTTfi TEMPLE.
1-
manner, and looked forward to the happy hour,
v;her^ she should again embrace her, with the most
animated hope.
CHAPTER XXVI.
WHAT MIGHT BE EXPECTED.
in the mean time the passion Montraville liad
conceived for Julia Franklin, daily increased, and
hj saw evidently how much he was beloved by that
amiable girl: he was likewise strongly prepossessed
with an idea of Charlotte's perfidy. What wonder
then if he gave himself up to the delightful sensa-
tion which pervaded his bosom; and finding no ob-
c^xcle arise to oppose his happiness, he solicited and
obtained the hand of Julia. A few days before his
marriage he thus addressed Belcour:
"Though Charlotte by her abandoned conduct,
has thrown herself from my protection, I still hold
myself bound to support her till relieved from her
present condition, and also to provide for the child.
I do not intend to see her again, but I will place a
sum of money in your hands, which will amply sup-
ply her with every convenience; but should she re-
quire more, let her have it, and I will see it repaid,
1 wish I could prevail on the poor deluded girl to
return to her friends. She was an only child, and I
make no doubt but that they would joyfully receive
her. It would shock mo greatly to see her hence-
forth leading a life of infamy? as I should always ac-
cuse mvself of beinf the orimarv cause of all her
errors. If she should choose to remain under yotir
I^rotection, be kind to her, Belcour, I conjiuT you.
CHARLOTTK TEMPLK.
103
T.fit not satiety prompt you to treat her in such a
manner, as may drive her to actions which nacessi-
ty might urge her to, while her better reason disap-
proved of them. She shall never want a friend while
I live, but I never more d( lire to behold her; her
presence will be always painful to me, and a gl^^nce
from her eye would call the bjlush of conscious guilt
into my cheek.
" I vi^ill write a letter to her, which you may de-
liver when I am. gone, as I shall go to St. Eustatia
the day after my union with Julia, who will accom-
pany me.'*
Belcour promised to fulfil the request of his
friend, though nothing was farther from his inten-
tions than the least design of delivering the letter,
or making Charlotte acquainted with tilie provision
Montraville had made for her. He was bent on the
complete ruin of the unhappy giil, and supposed by
seducing her to an entire dependence on him, to
bring her by degrees to consent to gratify his ungen-
erous passion.
The evening before the day appointed for the
nuptials of Montraville and Julia, the former retired
early to his apartment; and ruminating on the past
scenes of life, suffered the keenest remorse in the
remembrance of Charlotte's seduction. " Poor
girl,* said he, *' I will at least write and bid her
adieu; I will too endeavor to awaken that love of
virtue in her bosom which her unfortunate attach-
ment to me has extinguished." He took up the
pen and began to write, but words were denied him.
How could he address the woman whom he had se-
duced, and whom, though he thought unworthy his
teaderners, he w^as about to bid adieu forever! How
104
CHARLOTTK TJEMPJL.K.
r
m
should he tell her that he U-as going to abjure her,
to enter into the most indissoluble ties with another,
and that he could not even own the infant which
she bore as his child ? Several letters were begun
and destroyed: at length he completed the follow-
ing :
TO CHARI.OTTE.
«^ Though I have taken up my pen to address you
my poor injured girl, I feel I am inadequate to the
task. Yet however painful the endeavor, I could
not resolve upon leaving you forever without one
kind line to bid you adieu, to tell you how my heart
bleeds at the remembrance of what you was, before
you saw the hated Montraville. Even now imagi-
nation paints the scene, when torn by contendin,"*
passions, when, struggling between love and dutyl
you fainted in my arms, and I lifted you into the
chaise. I see the agony of your mind, when, recov-
ering, yx>u found yourself on the road to Portsmouth.
But how, my gentle girl, how could you, when so
justly impressed with the value of virtue, how could
you, when loving as I thought you loved me, yield
to the solicitation of Belcour.
*' Oh Charlotte, conscience tells me it was I, vil-
lain that I am, who first taught you the allurement
of guilty pleasure; it was I who dragged you from
the calm repose which innocence and virtue ever
enjoy; andean I, dare I tell you, it was not love
prompted me to the horrid deed; No, thou dear,
fallen angel, believe your repentant Montraville,
when he tells you, the man who truly loves,
will never betray the object of his affection* Adieu
CharlnffA? mulH tr/^u ofiii ^r^A /^v.o*.rv^a :^ «, i:/'« ^r
unoffending innocence, retiu"n to your parents; you
( HARLOTTE TEMPL.E
105
shall never want the means of support hoth for your-
self and child. Oh! gracious heaven I may that
child be entirely free from the rices of its fatlier
and weakness of its mother.
" To-morrow — but no, I cannot tell you wiiat
to-morrow will produce; Belcour will inform you;
he also has cash for you, which I beg you will ask
for, whenever you may want it. Once more adieu !
believe me, could I hear you was returned to your
friends, and enjoying that tranquility of which I
have robbed you, I should be as completely happy
as ever you, in your fondest hour, could wish me,
but till then gloom will obscure the brightest pros-
pects of MONTRAVILLE."
After he had sealed this letter he threw himself
on the bed, and enjoyed a few hours repose. Early
in the morning Belcour tapped at his door: he arose
hastily, and prepared to meet his Julia at the altar.
" This is the letter to Charlotte," said he, giving
it to Belcour: " take it to her when we are gone to
Eustatia: and I conjure you, my dear friend, not to
use any sophilastic arguments to prevent her re-
turn to virtue: but should she incline that way, en-
courage her in the thought, and assist her to put her
design in execution."
CHAPTER XXVII.
Pensive she mourn'd, and hung her languid head.
Like a fair lilly overcharged with dew.
Charlotte had now been left almost three
sad companions ind'.wd; nor did anyone break in
r-i
106
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
upon her solitude but Belcour, who once or twice
called to enquire after her health, and tell her he
had in vain endeavored to bring Montraville to hear
reason; and once, but only once, washer mind
cheered by the receipt of an affectionate letter from
Mrs. Beauchamp. Often had she wrote to her per-
fidious seducer, and with the most persuasive elo*
quence endeavored to convince him of her inno-
cence; but these letters were never suffered to
reach the hands of Montraville, or they must,though
on the very eve of marriage, have prevented his
deserting the wretched girl — Real anguish of her
heart had in a great measure faded her charms, her
cheeks were pale from want of rest, and her eyes,
by frequent, indeed almost continued weeping,
were sunk and heavy. Sometimes a gleam of hope
would play about her heart when she thought of her
parents—.*' They cannot surely,'* she would say,
'* refuse to forgive me: or should they deny their
pardon to me, they will not hate my innocent infant
on account of its mother's errors. How often did
the poor mourner wish for the consoling presence of
the Benevolent Mrs. Beauchamp. *« If she was
here," she would cry, " she would certainly com-
fort me, and soothe the distraction of my soul."
She was sitting one afternoon, wrapped, in these
melancholy reflections, when she was interrupted
by the entrance of Belcour. Great as the alteration
was which incessant sorrow had made on her per-
son, she was still interesting, still charming; and
the unhallowed flame, which had urged Belcour to
plant dissention between her and Montraville, still
• /»
*sij,^-%i iji 5ji^ uusuiii. iit> wao uclciiuiiieu, ii pussibJe,
to make her his mistress; nay, he had conceived the
CHARLOTTE TE3IPL,l!:.
107
iliabolical scheme to take her to New-York, and
jnaking her appear in every public place where it
was likely she should meet Montraville, that he
might be a witness to his unmanly triumph.
When he entered the room where Charlotte was
sitting, he assumed the look of tender consolatory
friendship. " And how does my lovely Charlotte?'*
said he, taking her hand: I fear you are not so well
as I could wish."
*' I am not well, Mr. Belcour," said she, " very
far from it. But the pains and infirmities of the
body I could easily bear, nay, submit to them with
patience, were tliey not aggravated by the most in-
supportable anguish of my mind."
*' You are not happy, Charlotte," said he, with
a look of well-dissembled sorrow.
" Alas!" replied she, mournfully, and shaking her
head, "how can I be happy, deserfed, and forsaken
as I am, without a friend of my own sex to whom 1
can unburthen my full heart; nay, my iidelity sus-
pected by tlie very man for whom I have made my-
.i df a poor despised creature, an outcast from socie-
ty, an object of only contempt and pity."
'' You think too meanly of yourself, JVIiss Tem-
ple; there is no one who would dare to treat you
with contempt; all who have the pleasure of know-
ing must admire and esteem you. You are lone-
ly here, my dear girl; give me leave to conduct
you to New- York, where the agreeable society of
some ladies, to whom I will introduce you, will dis-
pel those sad thoughts, and I shall again see return-
ing cheerfulness animate those lovely features.'
"Ohiicver! never!" cried Charlotte, emphati-
r:\\W: " the virtuous part of my sex will scorn \i\i\
,ih
! ■
%§
m.
f;i
lOS
CflARI.OTTE TEMPLE.
I >
n
Im
and I wil! never associate with infamy. No, Bel-
cour, here let ine ))ide my shame and sorrow, here
let me spend my few remaining days in obscurity,
imknown and unpitied; here let me die unlament-
ed; and my name sink to oblivion."—- Here her
tears stopped her utterance. Belcoup was awed to
silence; he dared not interrupt her; and after a mo-
ment's pause she proceeded — '' I once had conceiv-
ed the thought of going to New- York to seek out the
still dear, though cruel, ungenerous Montraville, to
throw myself at his feet, and intreat his compassion;
heaven knows, not for myself: if I am no longer be-
loved, I will not be indebted to his pity to redresj<
niy injuries, but I would have knelt and intreated
him not to forsake my poor unborn— '' She could
say no more; a crimson glow rushed over her cheeks,
vind covering her .ace with her hands, slie sobbed
aloud.
Something like humanity was awakened in Bel-
cour's breast at this pathetic speech. He arose and
walked towards the window; but the sellish pas-
sion which had taken possession of his heart soon^
stifled these liner emotions; and he thought if
Charlotte was once convinced she had no longer
any dependance on Montraville, she would moni '
readily throw herself on his protection. Determin-
ed, therefore', to inform her of all that had happened ,
he again resumed his seat; and finding she hegdii to
he more composed, enquired if she had ever heard
from Montraville since the unfortunate rencontre in
her chamber.
* Ah no,' said she, ^ I fear I shall never hear from
))imo2:ain.'
CHARLOTTE TKAIl'I^K.
101>
'^ I am greatly of your opinion,' said Belcc^r; ' for
he has been for some time past greatly attached — '
At the word ' attached a death-like paleness over-
spread the countenance of Charlotte, but she appli-
ed to some hartshorn which stood beside her, and
Belcour proceeded —
' He has been for some time past greatly attached
to one Miss Franklin, a pleasing, lively girl with a
large fortune.'
' She may be richer, may be handsomer,' cried
Charlotte, ' but cannot love him so well. O mav
she beware of his art, and not trust him too far, as
I have done.'
' He addresses her publickly,' said he, * and it was
rumored they were to be married before he sailed
for Eustatia, whither his company is ordered.'
* Belcour,' said Charlotte seizing his hand, and
gazing at him earnestly, while her pale lips tremb-
led with convulsive agony, ' tell me, and tell me
truly, I beseech you, do you think he can be such a
villain as to marry another woman j and leave me to
die with want and misery in a strange land ? Tell
me what you think; I can bear it very well; I will
not shrink from this heaviest stroke of fate; I have
deserved my afflictions, and I will endeavor to bear
them as I ought.'
* I fear,' said Belcour, ' he can be that villain.'
* Perhaps,' cried she, eagerly interrupting liim,
' perhaps he is married already; come let me know
the worst,' continued she, with an affected look of
composure; * you need not be afraid, I shall not send
the fortunate lady a bowl of poison.'
' TTUii men, my aear giii, saiu ne, uuucivuu iU
her appearance, ' they were married on Thursday j,
IW
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
and yesterday morning they sailed for Eustntia."
^Married — gone — say you?* she, cried in a dis-
tracted accent; * what, without a last fiirewelU
without one thought on my unhappy situation ! Oh
Montraville, may God forgive yourpertidy.' She
shrieked, and Beicour sprang forward just in time
(o prevent her falling to the floor.
Alarming faintings now succeeded each other, and
she was conveyed to her bed, from whence she ear-
nestly prayed she might never more arise. Eelcour
staid with her that night, and in the morning found
her in a high fever. The fits she had been seized
with greatly terrified him; and confined as she now
was to a bed of sickness, she was no longer an ob-
ject of desire: it is tru^ for several days he went
constantly to see her, but her pale, emaciated ap-
pearance disgusted him : his visits became less fre-
quent; he forgot the solemn charge given him by
Montraville; he even forgot the money entrusted to
his care; and, the burning blush of indignation and
shame tinges my cheek while I write it, this dis-
grace to humanity and manhood at length forgot
even the injured Charlotte; and, attracted by the
blooming health of a farmer's daughter, whom he
had seen in his frequent excursions to the country,
he left the unhappy girl to sink unnoticed to the
grave, a prey to sickness, grief, and penury; while
he, having triumphed over the virtue of the artless
cottager, rioted in all the intemperance of luxury
and lawless pleasure.
( in )
r^
CHAPTER XXVllI.
A TRIPLING RETROSPECT.
* Bless my heart,' cries my young volatile reader,
* I shall never have patience to get through these
volumes, there are so many ahs! and ohs! so much
fainting, tears, and distress, I am sick to death of the
subject.' My dear, cheerful, innocent girl, for in-
nocent I will suppose you to be, or you would ac-
ciitelv feel the woes of iJharlotte, did conscience
say, thus might it have been with me, had not
providence interposed to snatch me from destruc-
tion: therefore, my lively, innocent girl, I must re-
quest your patience: I am writing a tale of truth: I
mean to write it to the heart: but if perchance the
heart is rendered impenetrable by unbounded pros*
perity, or a continuance in vice, I expect not my
tale to please, nay, I even expect it will be thrown
by with disgust. But softly, gentle fair one, I pray
you throw it not aside, till you have perused the
whole: mayhap you may find something therein to
repay you for the trouble. Methinks I see a sarcast-
ic smile sit on your countenance—* And what,' cry
you, ' does the conceited author suppose we can
glean from these pages, if Charlotte is held up as an
object of terror, to prevent us from falling into guil-
ty errors .> does not La Rue triumph in her guilty
shame, jaid by adding art to guilt, obtain the affec-
tion of a worthy man, and rise to a station where she
is beheld with respect, and cheerfully received into
all companies ? What then is the moral you would
inculcate? Would you wish us to think, that a devia-
It"
112
CHARLOTTE TE31PI.K.
■Ai^
tion from virtue, ii'covcred by art and hypocrisy, is
not an object of detestation, but on the contrary, shall
raise us to fame and lionor? while the hapless girl
who falls a victim to her too great sensibility shall
be loaded with ignominy and shame?' No, my fair
querist, I mean no such thin^. Remember the en-
deavors of the wicked are often suffered to prosper,
that in the end their fall may be attended with more
bitterness of heart; while the cup of affliction is
poured out for wise and salutary ends, and they who
are compelled to drain it even to the bitter dregs,
often find comfort at the bottom; the tear of peni-
tence blots their offences from the book of fate, and
they rise from the heavy, painful trial, purified and
fit for a mansion in the kingdom of eternity.
Yes, my young friends, the tear of compassion
shall fall for the fate of Charlotte, while the name of
Ra Rue shall be detested and despised. For Char-
lotte, the soul melts with sympathy; for La Rue, it
feels nothing but horror and contempt. But per-
haps your gay hearts would rather follow the fortu-
nate Mrs. Crayton through the scenes of pleasure
and dissipation, in which she was engaged, thaii
listen to the complaints and miseries of Charlotte. I
will for once oblige you: I will for once follow her
midnight revels, balls, and scenes of gaiety, for in
such was she constantly engaged.
I have said her person was lovely; let us add, that
she was surrounded by splendor and affluence, and
lie must know but little of the world who can won-
der (however faulty such a woman's C9nduct) at her
beinff followed bv the men. and her comnanv court-
^. -J , — — _ -. - -^ — ^ _ - —
ed by the women: in short, Mrs. Crayton was the
universal favorite; she set the fashions, she was
CHARLOTTE T£Mri.K.
113
toasted by the gentlemen, and copied by tlie ladie«
toL Crayton was a domestic man. Could he be
happy with such a woman ? Impossible ! Remon
strance was vain: he might as well have preached
to the winds, as endeavor to persuade her from any
action, however ridiculous, on which she had set
her mmd. In short, after a little ineffectual struff-
gle, he gave up the attempt, and left her to follow
the bent of her own inclinations: what these were
1 think the reader must have seen enough of her
character to form a just idea. Among thi number
who paid their devotions at her shrine, she sinrfed
out one, a young ensign, of mean birth, indifferent
education, and weak intellects. How such a maii
came mto the army, we can hardly account for, and
how he afterwards rose to posts of honor, is likewise
strange and Avonderful. But fortune is blind and
so are those too frequently who have the power of
dispensing her favors; else why do we see fools and
knaves at the venr top of the wheel, while patient
merit sinks to the extreme of the opposite abyss'
But we may form a thousand conjectures on this
subject, and yet never hit on the right. Let us
tfierefore endeavor to deserve her Imiles, and-
whether we succeed or not, we shall feel more in-
nate satisfaction, than thousands of those who bask
m the sunshine of her fa V. unworthily. But to
i^^T,^''- ui^y^""'- This young man whom!
shall d,stingmsh by the name of Cofydon, was the
thS^ ^7°"*l °^. ^^' '^^^*- He escorted her to
inHiS^^V '"'''^'^ ^'^ ^^' ^* e^e'y ball, and when
alone who was permitted to cheer the gloomy soli- '
tilde to whzch she was obliged to confine* herself."
e3
Ill
CHARLOTTE TEMPLK.
Did she never think of poor Charlotte? If she did,
my dear miss, it was only to laugh at the poor girl's
want of spirit in consenting to be moped up in the
country, while Montraville was enjoying all the
pleasure of a gay, dissipated city.
When she heard of his marriage, she smiling said,
* so there's an end of Madam Charlotte's hope's: I
wonder who will take her now, or what will become
of the little affected prude?'
But as you have led to the subject, I think we
may as well return to the distressed Charlotte, and
not, like the unfeeling Mrs. Crayton, shut our hearts
to the call of humanity.
CHAPTER XXIX.
>VE GO rORWARD AGAIN.
The strength of Charlotte's constitution combat-
ted against her disorder, and ?be began slowly to
recover, though she still labored under a violent de-
pression of spirits. How must that depression be
encreased, when upon examining her little store,
she found herself reduced to one solitary guinea, and
that during her illness, the attendance of an apothe-
cary and nurse, together with many other ynavoid-
able expenses, had involved her in debt, from which
she saw no method of extricating herself. As to the
i'aint hope which she had entertained of hearing from
and being relieved by her parents it now entirely
torsook her; for it was above four months since her
iytter was dispatched, and she had received no an-
» \ "er. She therefore imagined that her conduct had
CHAHLOTTE TEMPLE.
115
either entirely alienated their affections from her or
broken their hearts, and she must never more hope
to receive their blessing. ^
Never did any human being wish for death with
pater fervency or with juster cause; yet she had
too just a sense of the duties of the christian reli-
gion, to attempt to put a period to her own existence
• 1 have but to be patient a little longer,' she would
^IJ.Cu'' "'''*?^ fatigued and faintins^, will throw
ot! this heavy load of mortality, and I shall be re-
leased from all my sufferings. '
It was one cold stormy day in the latter end of
December, as Charlotte sat by a handful of lire the
low state of her finances not allowing her to replen-
ish her stock of fuel, and prudence teaching her tu
be careful of what she had, when she was .surprised
by the entrance of a farmer's wife, who, without
much ceremony, seated herself and begun this curi-
ous hurangue. '
' I'm come to see if as how you can pay your rent
because as how we hear captain Montable is ffone'
away, and It's fifty to one if he b'ant killed before
he comes back again; and then Miss or Ma'am, or
whatever you may be, as I was saying to my hus-
b^nd, where are we to look for our money "
This was a stroke altogether unexpected by Char-
lotte; she never had bestowed a thought on the pay-
ment of the rent of the house; she knew indeed that
she owed a good deal, but this was never reckoned
among the others; she was thunderstruck; she hard-
ly knew what answer to make, yet it was absolute-
ly necessary that she, nhnnU oo« ^^^^tu: „. .■
judging of the gentleness of every female disposition
by her own, she thought the best way to intere.?t
w
llti
CIIAKLOTTK TIOMPLE.
tlie woman in her favor, would be to tell her can-
didly to what a situation she was reduced, and how
little probability there was of her ever paying- any
body. *^
Alas! poor Charlotte, how confined was her
knowledge of human nature, or she would have
been convinced that the only way to insure the
friendship and assistance of your surrounding ac-
quaintance, is to convince them you do not require
it, for when once the petrifying aspect of distress
and penury appear, whose quahties, like Medusa's
head, can channje to stone all that look upon it;
when once this Gorgon claims acquaintance with
us, the phantom of friendship, that before courted
our notice, will vanish into unsubstantial air, and
tlic whole world before us appear a barren waste.—
Pardon me ye dear spirits of benevolence, whoso
])enign smiles and cheerful giving hands have stu r -
od sweet flowers on many a thorny path th.oL:,ii
which my wayward fate forced me to pass; think
not, that in condemning the unfeehng texture of the
liuman heart, I forget the spring from whence flow
all the coiuforts I enjoy: oh no! I look up to you as
t(i the bright constellations, gathering new splen-
dors from the surrounding darkness; but ah! while
I adore the benignant rays that cheered and illumin-
ed my heart, I mourn that their influence cannot
extend to all the sons and daughters of affliction.
* Indeed, Madam,* said poor Charlotte in a tremu-
lous accent, 'I am at a loss what to do. Montra-
ville placed me here, and promised to defray all mv
oxpenses: but he ha^ forgotten his promise,"' he has
forsaken me, and I have no friend who has cither
CIIABLOTTE TEMPLK.
117
y9u
power or will to relieve me. Let me hope as
see my unhappy situation, your charity—'
* Charity, 'cried the woman, impatiently inter-
yupting her, * charity, indeed ! why, mistress, char-
ity begms at home, and I have seven children at
home, Hor^EST, lawful children ; and it is my
duty to keep them ; and do you think I shall dye
away my property to a nasty impudent hussey, to
mamtam her and her bastard? as I was saying to
my husband the other day, what will this world
come to? honest women are nothing now-a-day«?
while the harlotings are set up for fine ladies, -nd
ook upon us no more, nor dirt they walk upon; but
let me tell you, my fine spoken ma'am, I must have
my money; so seeing as how you can't pay, why
you must troop; and leave all your fine gimcracks
and fal-de-ralls behind you. I don't ask for no more
nor my right, and nobody shall dare for to go to hin-
der me of it.' 6 "
'Oh heavens!' cried Charlotte, clasping her
hands, « wh will become of me ?'
^ 'Come on ye I' returned the unfeeling wretch,
why go to the barracks, and work for a morsel of
bread; wash and mend the soldiers' clothes, and
cook their victuals, and not expect to live in idle-
ness on honest people's means. Oh I wish I could
see the day when all such cattle were obliged to
^vork hard and eat little; it's only what thev de-
serve.* "^
' Father of mercy!' cried Charlotte, < I acknowl-
edge thy corrections lust: \mt i^re^r^Av^ mo r k^.c^>^^i»
tnee, lor the portion of misery thou mayest please to
lay upon m- »
' Well/ said the woman, ' I shall go and tell my
I
118
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
husband as how you can't pay; and so, d'ye see
ma'am, get ready to be packing away this very
night, for you should not stay another night in this
house, tho' I was sure you would lay m the street '
Charlotte bowed her head in silence; but the an-
guish of her heart was too great to permit her to ar-
ticulate a single word.
CHAPTER XXX.
And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep—-
A shade that follows wealth and fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?
When Charlotte was left to herself, she began to
thmk what course she must take, or to whom she
could apply, to prevent her perishing for want, or
perhaps that very night falling a victim to the in-
clemency of the season. After many perplexing
thoughts, she at last determined to set out for New-
York, and enquire out Mrs. Cray ton, from whom
she had no doubt but she should obtain immediate
rehei, as soon as her distress was made known. She
had no sooner formed this resolution, than she re-
solved immediately to put it in execution. She
theretore wrote the following little billet to Mrs.
Crayton, thmking if she should have company with
her. It would be better to send it in, than to request
10 see her. ^
TO MRS. CRAYTON.
* Madam,
" When we left our native land, that dear hap-
wijiCii now contains all that is dear to the
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
lU)
wretched Charlotte, our prospects were the same-
we both, pardon me madam, if I say, we both toci
easily followed the impulse of our treacherous
hearts, and trusted our happiness on a tempestuous
ocean, where mine has been wrecked and lost for-
ever: you have been more fortunate— you are unit-
ed to a man of honor and humanity, united by the
most sacred ties, respected, esteemed, admired and
surrounded by innumerable blessings, of which I am
bereaved— enjoying those pleasures which have
tied my bosom, never to return; alas! sorrow and
deep regret have taken their place. Behold me.
Madam, a poor forsaken wanderer, who has not
where to lay her weary head, wherewith to supply
the wants of nature, or to shield her from the in-
clemency of the weather. To you I sue, tp you I
look for pity and relief. I ask not to be received as
an intimate or an equal; only for charity's sweet
5^ke receive me into your hospitable mansion, alot
me the meanest apartment in it, and let me breathe
out my soul in prayers for your happiness; I cannot,
J *eel 1 cannot long bear up under the accumulated
woes that pour in upon me; but oh! my dear Mad-
am tor the love of heaven suffer me not to expire in
the street ; and when I am at peace, as soon I
snail be, extend your compassion to my helpless off.
spring, should it please heaven that it should sur- .
Vive 1(3 unhappy mother. A gleam of joy breaks in
on my benighted soul, while I reflect that you can-
not, will not, refuse your protection to the heart
wJ" m. , , CHARLOTTE.^
wnen charlotte had fini«fiA/i th\o i/.ffr>^ i«*^ ^^ .-i.
was m the afternoon, and though the snow began to
lail very fast, she tied up a few necessaries whic!«
*i 1
4i
120
CIlAnLOTTE TEMPLK
i.i!
I %£.S f
she had prepared against her expected confinenienl ;
and, terrified lest she should be again exposed to the
insults of her barbarous lancMady, more dreadful to
her wounded spirit than either storm or darkness,
she set forward for New-York.
It may be asked by those who, in a work of this
kind, love to cavil at every trilling omission, wheth-
er Charlotte did not possess any valuables of which
she could have disposed, and by that means have
supported herself, till Mrs. Beauchamp's return,
when she would have been certain of receiving ev-
ery tender attention which compassion and friend-
ship could dictate; but let me entreat these wise,
penetrating: gentlemen to reflect that when Char-
lotte left Eiigland, it was in such haste that there
was no time to purchase any thing more than what
was wanted for immediate use on the voyage; and
after her arrival at New- York, Montravilie's affec-
tion soon began to decline, so that her whole ward-
robe consisted only of necessaries; and as to the
baubles, with which fond lovers often load their mis-
tresses, she possessed not one except a plain gold
locket of small value, which contained a lock of her
mother's hair, and which the greatest extremity of
want could not have forced her to part with.
I hope. Sir, your prejudices are now removed in
regard to the probability of my story: Oh they are.
Well, then, with j'^our leave, I will proceed.
The distance from the house which our suffering
heroine occupied, to New- York, was not very great;
yet the snow fell so fast, and the cold was so intense ,
that being unable from her situation to walk quick,
she found herself almost sinking with cold and fa-
tigue before she reached the town; her garments,
CHARI-OTTK TEMri.K.
121
wliic U were merely suitable to the summer season,
beino- an undress robe of plain white muslin, were
Avetthrouo-h; and a thin black cloak and bonnet,
very improper habiliments for such a climate, but
poorly defended her from the cold, in this situa-
tion she reached the city, and enquired of a foot
soldier whom she met, the way to Col. Crayton s.
« Ble^s you, my sweet lady,' said the soldier, witli
a voice and look of compassion, ^ will show you
the way with all my heart; but if you are going to
make a petition to Madam Crayton, it is all to no
purpose, I assure you; if you please I will conduct
you to Mr. Franklin's: though Miss Julia is married
Imd gone now, yet the old gentleman is very good.=*
< Julia Fj:anklin,' said Charlotte,' is she not mar-
ried to Montr aville?' r^ J I.,
' Yes,' replied the soldier, ' and may God bless
them: for a better officer never lived, he is so good
to us all; and as to Miss Julia, all the poor folks al-
most worshipped hei.' . . *c ^
« Gracious heaven! cried Charlotte, is Montra-
ville then unjust to none but me?' , , _, ^ ,
The soldier now showed her colonel Crayton s
door, and with a beating heart she knocked for ad<
mission.
CHAPTER XXXI.
SUBJECT CONTINUED.
When the door was opened, Charlotte, in a jdice
rendered scarcely articulate, through cold and the
.L .-i.^*: ^ 1.,^^ minri Hfimaiided wnetner
-f\Irs. Crayton was at home. The servant hesitated.
11
122
CHAKLOTTE TEMPLK
* 4 i
He knew that his lady was engaged at a game ot
picquet with her dear Corydon, nor could he think
she would like to be disturbed by a person whose
appearance spoke her of so little consequence as
Charlotte; yet there was something in her counte-
nance that rather interested him in her favor, and
he said his lady was engaged; but if she had any
particular message he would deliver it.
* Take up this letter,' said Charlotte; tell her the
unhappy writer of it waits in her hall for an answer.'
The tremulous accept, the tearful eye, must have
moved any heart not composed of adamant. The
man took the letter from the poor suppliant, and
hastily ascended the stair case.
* A letter, madam,' said he, presenting it to his
lady; aa immediate answer is required.'
Mrs. Crayton glanced her eye carelessly over the
contents. ' What stuff is this?' cried she, haughti-
ly; 'have I not told you a thousand times that I
would not be plagued with beggars, and petitions,
one knows nothing abcrut? Go tell the woman I
can't do any thing in it. I am sorry, but one can't
relieve every body.'
The servant bowed, and heavily returned with
this chilling message to Charlotte.
* Surely,' said she, * Mrs. Crayton has not read
my letter. Go, my good friend, pray go back to her;
tell her it is Charlotte Temple who requests be-
neath her hospitable roof to find shelter from the in-
clemency of the season.
'Prithee, don't plague me man,' cried Mrs.
Crayton, impatiently, as the servant advanced some-
thing in behalf of the unhappy girl. — * I tell you I
(ion't know her. **
nlAHLOTTE TEMPLE
123
' Not know me,' cried Charlotte, rushing into the
room, (for she had followed the man up stairs) '' not
know me, not remember the ruined Charlotte Tem-
ple, who, but for you perhaps might still have been
innocent, still have been happy ! Oh, La Rue, this
is beyond every thing I could have believed possi-
ble. '
" Upon my honor, Miss," replied the unfeehng
woman, with the utmost effrontery, '' this is a most
unaccountable address: it is beyond my comprehen-
sion. John," continued she, turning to the serv-
ant, " the young woman is certainly out of her sen-
ses: do pray tike her away, she terrifies me to
death."
'' Oh God I" cried Charlotte, claspmghev hands
in an agony, " this is too much: what will become
of me? but I will not leave you, they shall not tear
me from you: here on my knees I conjure you to
save me from perishing in the streets; if you have
really forgotten me, oh for charity'* sweet sake,
this night let me be sheltered from the winter's
piercing cold." .
The kneeling figure of Charlotte in her aflectmg
situation would have moved the heart of a stoic to
compassion: but Mrs. Cray ton remained inflexible.
In vain did Charlotte recount the time they had
known each other at Chichester, in vain mention
their being in the same ship, in vain were the names
ot Montraville and Belcour mentioned. Mrs. Cray-
ton could only say she was sorry for her imprudence,
Imt could not think of having her own reputation
endangered by encouraging a woman of that kind in
V i---. 1 — :.i^_ ^u^ ^wl
ner ovvii iiuubi^; uusiuus siic uiv*
trouble and expense she might bring upon her bus-
n
!l
124
CllAUIiOTTi: TEMPX.!:.
band by giving shelter to a woman in her situation..
" I can at least die here," said Charlotte, '' I feel
I cannot long survive this dreadful conflict. Father
of mercy, here let me finish my existence." Her
agonizing sensations overpowered her, and she fell
lifeless on the floor.
*' Take her away," said Mrs. Cray ton, " she will
really frighten me into hysterics; take her away, I
say, this instant."
*' And where must I take the poor creature?" said
the servant, with a voice and look of compassion.
*' Any where," cried she hastily, " only don't let
me ever see her again. I declare she has flurried
me so, I shan't be myself again this fortnight."
John, assisted by his fellow servant, raised and
carried her down stairs. *' Poor soul," said he,
•'you shall not lie in the street this night. I have
a bed, and a poor little hovel, where my wife and
her little ones rest them ; but they shall watch to-
night, and you shall be sheltered from danger."
They placed her in a chair, and the benevolent man
assisted by one of his comrades, carried her to the
place where his wife and children lived. — A sur-
geon wss sent for: he bled her; she gave signs of
returning life; and before the dawn, gave birth to a
female infant. After this event, she lay some hours
in a kind of stupor; and if at any time she spoke, it
was with a quickness and incoherence that plainly
evinced the total deprivation of her reason.
(125 J
CHAPTER XXXII.
ECA80NS WHY AND WHEREFORE.
The reader of sensibility may perhaps be aston-
ished to find Mrs. Crayton could so positively deny
any knowledge of Charlotte; it is therefore but just
that her conduct should in some measure be accoun-
ted for. She had ever been fully sensible of the su-
periority of Charlotte's sense and virtue; she was
conscious that she would never have swerved from
rectitude, had it not been for her bad precept and
worse example. These were things as yet un-
known to her husband; and she wished not to have
that part of her conduct exposed to him, as she had
great reason to fear she had already lost considera-
ble part of that power she once maintained over
liim. She trembled while Charlotte was in the
house, lest the colonel should return; she perfectly
well remembered how much he seemed interested
in her favor, while on their passage from England,
and made no doubt, but should he see her in her
present distress, he would offer her an asylum, and
protect her to the utmost of his power. In that
case she feared the unguarded nature of Charlotte
might discover to the colojiel the part she had taken
in the unhappy girl's elopement; and she well knew
the contrast between her own and Charlotte's con-
duct would make the former appear in no very re-
spectable liffht. Had she reflected oronerlv. she
would have afforded the poor girl protection ; and by
enjoining silence, ensured it by acts of repeated
kindness; but vice in general blinds its votarie?.
126 ^
CHARLOTTE TEMPLt.
♦' y I
h 'i
and they discover their real characters to the worlds
when they are most studious to preserre appear-
ances.
Just so it happened with Mrs. Crayton. Her ser-
vants made no scruple of mentioning the cruel con-
duct of their lady to a poor distressed lunatic who
claimed her protection: everyone joined in repro-
bating her humanity; nay, even Corydon thought
she might at least have ordered her to be taken care
of, but he dare not even hint it to her, for he lived
but in her smiles, and drew from her lavish fondness
large sums to support an extravagance to which the
state of his own finances were very inadequate; it
cannot therefore be supposed that he wished Mrs.
Crayton to be very liberal in her bounty to the af-
flicted supphant; yet vice had not so entirely soar-
ed over his heart, but the sorrows of Charlotte could
find a vulnerable part.
Charlotte had now been three days with her hu-
mane preservers, but she was totally insensible of
everything. She raved incessantly for Montra-
viHe and her father; she was not conscious of being-
a mother, nor took the least notice of her child, ex-
cept to ask whose it was, and why it was not c r-
ried to its parents.
" Oh," said she one day, starting up on hearing
the infant cry, " why, why will you keep that child
there? I am sure you would not, if you knew how
hard it was for a mother to be parted from her in-^
fant: it is like tearing the cords of life asunder. Oh
could you see the horrid sight which I now behold
— mere — there stands my dear mother, her poor
bosom bleeding at every vein, her gentle affection-
ate heart torn in a thousand pieces, and all for the
CHAKLOTTE TEMPLE.
127
ioss of a ruined ungrateful child. Save me — save
me from her frown. I dare not — indeed I dare not
speak to her.'*
Such were the dreadful images that haunted her
distracted mind, and nature was sinking fast under
the dreadful malady which medicine had no power
to remove. The surgeon who attended her was a
humane man: he exerted his utmost ahili ties to save
her; but he saw she was in want of many necessa-^
ries and comforts, which the poverty of her hospita-
T)le host rendered him unable to provide; he there-
fore determined to make her i>ituation known to
some of the officers' ladies, and endeavor to make
a collection for her relief.
When he returned home, after making this reso-
lution, he found a message from Mrs. Beauchaipp>
who had just arrived from Rhode-Island, request!^
he would call and see one of her children^ who was
very unwell. " I do not know," said he, as he was
hastening to obey the summons, *' I do not know a
woman to whom I could apply with more hope of
success than Mrs. Beauchamp. I will endeavor to '
interest her in this poor girl's behalf : she wants the
soothing balm of friendly consolation: we may per*
haps save her; we will try at least."
** Where is she?" cried Mrs. Beauchamp, when
he had prescribed something for the child, and told
his little pathetic tale, where is she? we will go to
her immediately. Heaven forbid that I should be
deaf to the calls of humanity. Come we will go
this instant." Then seizing the doctor's arm, tiiey
sought the habitation that contained the dying Char-
lotte.
ii-
(128)
CK AFTER XXXIII.
WHICH, PEOPLE VOID OP FEELING, NEEtr
NOT READ.
When Mrs. Beauchamp entered the apartment of
the poor sufferer, she started brxk with horror. On
a wretched bed without hangings, and but poorly
supplied with covering, lay the emaciated figure of
what still retained the semblance of a lovely woman,
though sickness had so altered her features that Mrs'
Beauchamp had not the least recollection of her
person. In one corner of the roon stood a woman
washing; and shivering over a small fire, two heal-
thy but half naked children: the infant was asleep
beside its mother, and on a chair by the bed-side,
stood a porringer and wooden spoon, containing a
little gruel, and a tea-cup with about two spoonfuls
of wine in it. Mrs. Beauchamp had never before
beheld such a scene of poverty; she shuddered in-
voluntarily, and exclaiming — << heaven preserve
us !" leaned on the back of a chair, ready to sink to
the earth. The doctor repented having so precipi-
^tely brought her into this affecting scene; but
there was no time for apology. Charlotte caught
the sound of her voice, and starting almost out of
hed, ey-laimed— " Angel of peace and mercy, art
thou come to deliver me? Oh, I know you are, for
whenever you were near me, I felt eased of half my
sorrows. But you don't know me, nor can I with
all the recollection I am mistress of, remember your
name just now; but i know that benevolent counte-
nance, and the softness of that voice, which has so
often comfbrted tho wretched Charlotte.''
CHARLOTTE TEMPLK.
129
Mrs* Beauchamp had, during the time Charlotte
was speaking, seated herself on the bed, and taken
one of her hands. She looked at her attentively^
and at the name of Charlotte, she perfectly conceiv-
ed the whole shocking affair. A faint sickness came
over her. ** GraJous heaven," said she, '* is this
possible?" and bursting into tears, she reclined ther
burning head of Charlotte on her bosom, and fold-
ing her arms about her, wept over her in silence.
'* Oh," said Charlotte, ** you are very good to weep
thus forme: it is a long time since I shed a tear for
myself: my head and heart are both on fire: but
those tears of yours seem to cool and refresh me.
Oh now I remember you said you would send a let-
ter to my poor father; do you think he ever receiv-
ed it? or perhaps you have brought mean answer:
why don't you speak, madam? Does he say I may
ge home? Well, he is very good, I shall scon be
ready."
She then made an effort to get out of bed, but be-
ing prevented, her phrenzy again returned, and she
raved with the greatest wildness and incoherence.
Mrs. Beauchamp, finding i^ was impossible for her
to be removed, contented herself with ordering the
apartment to be made more comfortable, and pro-
curing a proper nurse for both mother and child; and
having learnt the particulars of Charlotte's fruitless
application to Mrs. Crayton from honest John> sho
amply rewarded him for his benevolence, and re-
turned home with a heart oppressed with many pain-
ful sensations, but yet rendered easy by the reflec-
tion thatshe had performed her duty, towards a dis-
tressed fellow-creature.
Early the next morning she again Ti?ited Chnr-
it
s^'-^^U-d.
130
CHARLOTTK TEMPLE.
lotte, and found her tolerably composed; .<he called
her by name, thanked her for her goodness, and
when her child was brought to her, pressed it in her
arms, wept over it, and called it the offspring of
disobedience. Mrs. Beauehamp was delighted to
sree her so much amended, and began to hope she
might recover, and spite of her former errors, be-
come an useful and respectable member of societj^;
but the arrival of the doctor put an end to these de-
lusive hopes; he said nature was making her last
effort, and a few hours would most probably consign
the unhappy girl to her kindred dust."
Being asked how she found herself, she repxied —
** why Detter, much better, doctor. I hope now
1 have but little more to suffer. I had last night
a few hours sleep, and when I awoke, recovered the
fuH p(Jwer of recollection. I am quite sensible of
my weakness; I feel I have but little longer to com-
bat with the shafts of affliction. I have an humble
confidence in the mercy of him who died to save the
world, and trust that my sufferings in this state
of mortality, joined to my unfeigned repentance,
through his mercy, have blotted my offences from
the sight of my offended Maker. 1 have but one
care — my poor infant! Father of mercy," continu-
ed she, raising her.eyes, * of thy infinite goodness,
grant that the sins of the parent be not visited onthe
unoffending child — ^May those who taught me to
despise thy laws be forgiven; lay not my offences
to their charge, I beseech thee; and oh! shower the
the afflicted heart, and made easy even^i? bed of
pain and sickness."
She was exhausted by this fervent address to the
€HARLOTT£ TXMPLE.
131
throne of mercy, and though her lips still moved,
her voice became inarticulate: she lay for some timo
as it were in a doze, and then recovering, faintly
pressed Mrs. Beauchamp's hand, and requested that
a clergyman might be sent for.
On his arrival, she joined fervently in the piou^
office, frequently mentioning her ingratitude to her
parents as what lay most heavy at her heart. When
she had performed the last solemn duty, and way
preparing to lie down , a little bustle outside the door
occasioned Mrs. Beauchamp to open it, and enquire
the cause. A man in appearance about forty, pre-
sented himself, and asked for Mrs. Beauchamp.
" That is my name, sir," said she.
** Oh then, my dear madam," cried he, " tell me
where I may find my poor, ruined, but repentant
child."
Mrs. Beauchamp was surprised and affected; she
knew not what to say; she foresaw the agony this
interview would occasion Mr. Temple, who had
just arrived in search of his Charlotte, and yet wa.H
sensible that the pardon and blessing of her father
would soften the agonies of death to the daughter.
She hesitated. ** Tell me, madam," cried he
wildly, "tell me, I beseech thee, does she live?
shall I see my darling once again? Perhaps she in
in this house. Lead, lead me to her, that I may
bless her, and then he down and die."
The ardent manner in which he uttered these
words occasioned him to raise his voice. It causjht
the ear of Charlotte : she knew the benevolent
sound and uttering a loud shriek, slie sprang fov-
Avard as Mr. Temple entered the room. " My ador-
ed father !" '' Mv lonsc lost child !" Natura could
I
132
OHAKXOTTE TEMPLE.
support no more, and they both sunk lifeless into tte
ariiTs of the attendants.
Charlotte was again j at into bed, and a few mo-
ments restorad Mr. Temple. But to describe the
iififony of his suffering's is past the power of any one.
Though we may readily conceive, we cannot deline-
ate the dreadful scene. Every eye gave testimony
of what each heart felt; but all were silent.
When Charlotte recovered she found herself sup-
ported in her father's arms. She cast on him a most
expressive look, but was unable to speak. A reviv-
ing cordial was administered. She then asked, in a
low voice, for her child. It was brought to her:
she put it into her father's arms. ** Protect her,"
said she, " and bless your dying- "
Unable to finish the sentence, she sunk back on
her pillow; her countenance was serenely compos-
ed; she regarded her father as he pressed the infant
to his breast with a stedfast look; a sudden beam of
joy passea across her languid/eatures, she raised her
languid eyes to heaven— and then closed them for-
c.\=er.
CHAPTER XXXIV-
RETRIBUTION.
In the mean time, Montraville having received or-
ders to return to New- York, arrived, and having
still some remains of compassionate tenderness for
the woman whom he regarded as brought to shame
]>y himself,^ he went out in search of Belcour, to en-
quire whether she was ?iafe, and whether the child
lived. He found him immersed in dissipation, and
say.
CJIARLOTTi: Ti:3iPLE.
133
could ^ain no other intelligence than that Charlotte
had left him, and that he knew not what was he-
come of her. <« I cannot helieve it possible/' said
Montraville, *' that a mind once so pure as Char-
lotte Temple's should so suddenly become the man-
sion of vice. Beware, Belcour, continued he, ** be-
ware if you have dared to behave either unjustly or
dishonorably to that poor girl, your life shall pay the
forfeit:— I will revenge her cause." He immedi-
ately went into the country, to the house, where he
had left Charlotte.— It was desolate. After much
enquiry, he at length found the servant girl who
had lived with her.— From her he learned the mis-
ery Charlotte had endured from the coniplicated
evils of illness, poverty, and a broken heart, and that
she had set out on foot for New- York, on a cold
winter's evening; but she could inform him no fur-
ther.
Tortured almost to madness by this shocking ac-
count, he returned to the city: but before he reach^
ed it, the evening was drawing to a close. — In en-
tering the town, he was obliged to pass several lit-
tle huts, the residence of poor women, who support-
ed themselves by washing the clothes of the oilicers
and soldiers. It was nearly dark: he heard, from a
neighboring steeple, a solemn toll, that seemed to
say, some poor mortal was going to their last man-
sion. The j^ound struck on the heart of Montra-
ville, and he involuntarily stopped; when, from one
of the houses, he saw the appearance of a funeral.
Almost unknowing what he did, he followed at a
small distance; and as they let the coffin into the
.s»«vc, iiv5 i^nuuiicti Kji ii ffUiuier wno siooa Dy, and
had just wiped off a tear that did honfT to his heart.
kU
CHARLOTTE TKMPLE.
who it was that was just buried. " An please your
honor," said the man,* '' 'tis a' poor girl that was
brought from her friends by a cruel man, who left
Iier when she was big with child, and married anoth-
er." Montraville stood motionless, and the man pro-
ceeded — " I met her myself not a fortnight since, one
night all wet and cold in the street; she went to mad-
am Crayton's, but she would not take her in, and so
the poor thing went raving mad. " Montravire could
bearnomor'^: he struck his hands against his fore-
head with violence; and exclaiming poor, murder-
ed Charlotte!" ran with precipitation towards the
place where they were heaping the earth on her
remains. •Hold, hold, one moment,' said he.
'* Close not the grave of the injured Charlotte Tem-
ple till I have taken vengeance on her murderer."
" Rash young man," said Mr. Temple, '' who
art thou, that thus disturbest the last mournful rites
of the dead, and rudely breakest in upon the grief of
an afflicted father?"
*^ If thou art the father of Charlotte Temple,"
said he, gazing at him with mingled horror and
amazement—"' if thou art her father— I am Mon-
traville." Then falling on his knees, he continued,
** Here is my bosom. 1 bare it to receive that stroke
1 merit. Strike— strike now, and save me from the
misery of reflection."
"Alas!" said Mr. Temple, "if thou wert the
seducer of my child, thy own rellecticns be thy
punishment. I wrest not the power from the hand
of omnipotence. Look on that little heap of earth,
there hast thou buried the only joy of a fond father.
iJiJUiv ill itUlLLUi. aua lliiij viij 4iv,t»! ». vv,;-* t^-vx...^ -.^
sorrow us shall merit the mercy of heaven." He
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE.
135
99
turned from him; and Montraville starting up from
the ground where he had thrown himself, and at
that instant remembering the perfidy of Belcour,
flew like lightening to his lodgings. Belcour was
intoxicated; Montraville impetuous: they fought,
and the sword of the latter entered the heart of hi&
adversary. He fell, and expired almost instantly.
Montraville had received a slight wound; and over-
come with the agitation of his mind and loss of
blood, was carried in a state of insensibility to his
distracted wife. — A dangerous illness and obstinate
delirium ensued during which he raved incessantly
for Charlotte. But a strong constitution and the
tender assiduities of Julia, in time overcame the dis-
order. He recovered, but to the end of his life wasr
subject to severe fits of melancholy, and while he
remained at New- York frequently retired to the
church yard, where he would weep over the grave,,
and regret the untimely fate of the lovely Charlotte
Temple.
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1
CHAPTER XXXV.
CONCLUSION.
Shortly after the interment of his daughter, Mr-
Temple, with his dear attle charge and her nurse,
set forward for England. It would be impossible
to do justice to the meeting scene between him, his
Lucy, and her aged father. Every heart of sensi-
first tumult of grief was subsided, Mrs. Temple gave
lip the chief of her time to her grand-chiW^ and at
it}G
CriAULOTTi: TEMPLi:.
I
I
slie grew up and improved, began to ahuost tancy
she again possessed her Charlotte.
It was about ten years after these painful events,
that Mr. and Mrs, Temple, having buried then-
father, were obligfbd to come to London on particu-
lar business, and brought the little Lucy with them.
They had been w^alking one evening, when on their
return they found a poor wretch sitting on the steps
of the door. She attempted to rise as they ap-
proached; but from extreme weakness, was unable,
and ^fter several fruitless efforts fell back into a fit.
Mr. Temple was not one of those men who stand to
consider w^hethcr by assissting an object in distress
they shall not inconvenience themselves, but insti-
gated by the impulse of a noble, feeling heart, im-
mediately ordered her to be carried into the house,
and proper restoratives applied. She soon recover-
ed; arid fixing her eyes on Mrs. Temple, cried—
" You know riot, madam, what you do; you know
not whom you are relieving, or you would curse
me in the bitterness of your heart. Come not near
me, madam, I shall contaminate you.— I am the
viper that stung your peace. I am the woman who
turned the poor Charlotte out to perish in the
street. Heaven have mercy ! I see her now," con-
tinued she, looking at Lucy;—" such was the fair
bud of innocence, that my vile arts blasted ere it
was blown." It was in vain that Mr. and Mrs.
Temple intreated her to be composed and to take
some refreshment. She only drank half a glass of
wine, and then told them, that she had been separ-
fipven years, the chief of
riot, dissipation and vice,
and sickness, she had been
till overtaken by poverty'
CHARLOTTB TBMPLB*
13^
reduced to part with every valuable, and thought
only of ending her life in a prison, when a benevo-
lent friend paid her debts, and released her; but that
her illness increasing, she had no possible means of
supporting herself, and her friends were weary of
relieving her. ' I have fasted (said she) two days,
and last night laid my aching head on the cold pave-
ment. Indeed it was but just that I should expe-
rience those miseries myself^which I had unfeeling-
ly inflicted on others."
Greatly as Mr. Temple had reason to detest Mrs.
Crayton, he could not behold her in this distress
without some emotions of pity. He gave her shel-
ter that night beneath his hospitable roof, and the
next day got her admission into an hospital; where
having lingered a few weeks she died. A striking
example that vice, however prosperous in the
beginning, in the end leads only to misery and
shame.
THE END.
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