' This will inform you, sir ; a friend of Miss Ben- 
 ley advises her to he on her guard. Trueman is 
 not what he seems, hut harbours designs destruc- 
 tive of her peace and honour. 
 
 ' Now sir, what can you plead to this charge? 
 
 * Miss Benley, that I assuredly love you ; and 
 as to the charge that. I am not what I seem, I plead 
 guilty ; hut the rest I pronounce is a hase falsehood. 
 But tell me, if I repel by truth indisputable this 
 unjust arraignment of my honour, what reward I 
 may expect ? 
 
 'Clear thyself of these suspicions, and appear the 
 man my fond wishes have formed thee, and I 
 would reject the greatest crowned monarch's hand 
 to share thy regard and favour.' 
 
 His Lordship then made himself known, and 
 pressing his suit ardently, gained her affection, they 
 exchanged holy vows, and signed a contract of eter- 
 mil love, and immediately communicating the same 
 to her parents, he threw disguise aside, and con- 
 fessed himself to he the happy Belfont. The re- 
 joicing parents gave their free consent; and has- 
 tening to the village, the ceremony was performed 
 with due solemnity, amid the acclamations of the 
 delighted tenantry, who hastened cheerfully to pay 
 the duty due to their illustrious landlord. 
 
 finis. 
 
 THE 
 
 ¥ I Ii li A H M 
 
 GLASGOW : 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS*. 
 .07. 
 
12 
 
 by, that belongs to me. The everseer of the parish 
 who was a crabbed sort of a fellow, and a friend of 
 the steward, was for sending them to the work- 
 bouse. But ' No,' says I ; ' hold neighbour Bru- 
 ing, while my roof can give them shelter, and I can 
 provide them with a meal to eke out the earnings 
 of their own industry. — And you must know, Sir,' 
 said he, with a significant nod, ' I am pretty warm 
 they shall never endure the wants and hardships of 
 a prison.' < For what,' said I, ' is your workhouse 
 but a dungeon, where the poor eat little and labour 
 hard?' ' But, sir,' continued the landlord, ' not 
 only I, but the whole village was against their sro- 
 ing there; and the inhabitants all cheerfully spare 
 a little towards the family's support ; nay, even the 
 labouring cottager, out of His earnings, throws hi 
 his mite.' 
 
 ' And what,' enquired Trueman, ' is the amount 
 of the sum for which the unfortunate man is now 
 confined ?' 
 
 ' The whole debt, replied the landlord, ' I am 
 told is about three hundred pounds — a sum by much 
 too large for the inhabitants of our parish to raise 
 without injuring themselves ; or, depend upon it, 
 he would soon be snatched from the gripe of the 
 law.' 
 
 Every particular which related to this worthy 
 man, Trueman enquired with an earnestness that 
 displayed the phiktntrophic sentiments of his mind, 
 
 and intimated not merely a wish, but a fixed de- 
 termination, to rescue the indigent sufferer from 
 the horrors of a prison, and restore him to his dis- 
 consolate family. Impressed with this generous 
 sentiment he retired to bed, meditating on the 
 means by which he might effect his laudable de- 
 signs, so as to give the least offence possible to 
 the dilicacy of suffering virtue, and conceal the 
 hand that loosed the chains of bondage, and gave 
 once more to the drooping captive the possession of 
 liberty. 
 
 After proposing to himself many plans, he at 
 length determined to walk the next day to a post 
 town about three miles off, and enclose notes to the 
 amount of Mr Benley's debt, in a letter to that 
 gentleman. This appeared to him the best method 
 he could devise, as it would leave no traces that 
 might lead to a discovery from whom the merited 
 bounty came. Thus resolved, he yielded to the soft 
 embraces of sleep ; and in the morning rose to exe- 
 cute his benevolent purpose. 
 
 In his return, he saw a female and a little boy. 
 The you th carried a basket, which seemed too 
 heavy for his feeble strength to support. The fe- 
 male had in each hand a jug; and, having out- 
 walked her companion, had seated herself on a 
 stile to wait his coming up. Trueman accosted 
 the youth, and offered to assist him in carrying 
 his load ; a proposal which the youngster readily 
 
20 
 
 sweet girl but kindly listen to my artless tale,— 
 would she but give my ardent passion one approv- 
 ing smile. --Alas ! interrupted Charlotte ' I have no 
 smiles to give. On any other subject, I will hear 
 you, but, till again my father breathes the air of 
 freedom, till from the chains of bondage he is freed, 
 I have foresworn all joy.' 
 
 c Till that blest period, said Trueman, * when 
 fortune shall cease to persecute thy venerable sire, 
 and give the captive to his weeping friends, my 
 passion in concealment's painful bosom shall dwell 
 immured, if then thou wilt give my artless tale at- 
 tention ! This only do I ask : grant me but this and 
 hope shall nurture my love, and lull to rest each 
 intrusive care.' 
 
 ' Then, by my hopes of bliss hereafter,' said the 
 maid, ? I vow, when that happy hour arrives, I will 
 not chide thy fondness. But tell me, what means 
 this sudden joy that through the village reigns ? 
 
 ' And see,' said Trueman, ' where to my Char 
 lotte's cottage they bend their steps! — Bui. see ! 
 your brother comes, the harbinger of happiness.' 
 
 Gh, Charlotte !' said Henry, « our dear father 
 is come home again. Farmer Welford brought the 
 n?ws that he was on the road, and the whole vill- 
 age went to meet him. They took the horses from 
 the chaise, and dragged him to our cottage. My 
 mother cries for joy, and sent me to seek after yon. 
 Make haste, my father longs to see you. — And do 
 
 J 
 
 had just heard of hJ S Mend's misfortune, ananas. 
 *ened to relieve his necessities.- As he approached, 
 Sellout, rising from Ids chair, ran to meet 1dm- 
 lt is some consolation/ said he, 1 for the disap- 
 pointments I have experienced, to fmd the man 
 whom I most valued, not unworthy the esteem I 
 bore him.' < This' continued he, < more than re 
 compenses the ingratitude of those mercenary 
 wretches, who cannot recollect the features of their 
 fnend when shaded by the veil of affected distress. i> 
 The conclusion of Belfont's address forcibly 
 struck Lord Bremere, who repeated the word* 
 
 '* AFFECTED DISIRESS ! "-Adding, with much 
 
 prise,—" Are, then, your misfortunes bred by thu 
 
 tattle of the town." 
 
 " No, my lord," returned Belfont ; " not from 
 
 those contemptible beings, who eagerly busy them- 
 selves with every bodies affairs, while they neglect 
 their own, and who are only industrious in thep-o . 
 pagation of scandal, but from In yself arose the tale 
 of my distress. I invented it, merely io prove the 
 sincerity of those protestations of eternal friendship, 
 which every day the siren, Flattery, whispered in 
 »«y ear; and which, to spaak tlie truth, were be- 
 come most intolerably disgusting. Among my 
 female friends," continued he, f* a lady on whom I 
 looked with partial eyes, and who, in fact, had 
 made some faint impressions on my heart, had the 
 cruelty to smile a< nay distress ; but I thanked her 
 
4 
 
 he suspected the sincerity of these enconiums which 
 flattery bestowed on him; and the plaint voice of 
 adulation had made little impression on his mind. 
 ^ _ At once to prove the integrity of his professed 
 mends, he carefully spread a report, that, by one 
 imprudent step, he had been precipitatd from pros- 
 perity's flowery mount into the barren vale of pov- 
 erty. Swift as wild fire ran the evil tale; and 
 those very doors which, as it were by magic, open- 
 ed at the approach of the rich and happy Belfont 
 were now barred against the ruined spend-thrift. 
 
 To give his distress an air of certainty, he made 
 several applications for assistance to his once vowed 
 eternal friends, which wore invariably treated with 
 a mortifying contempt. To the fair rivals of his 
 affections he addressed his tale of sorrow ; here too 
 neglected was his late.— Belfont dispossessed of the 
 means to gratify their fondness for dress, amuse- 
 ment, and pleasure, was an object no longer worthy 
 Of tfteir regard. Reflecting on these events, he 
 exclaimed, -< how wretched are the children of For- 
 tune ! The poor man in his hour of distress find, 
 a friend; but the rich, when he ceases to be so, is 
 disregarded by those whom his former bounty fed, 
 and who have not charity enough to give to his 
 misfortunes even the costless sigh of pity ! 
 
 In the midst of his contemplations, a servant en- 
 tered the room, and announced the arrival of Lord 
 tfremere; who, returning from a country excursion, 
 
 21 
 
 you Mr Trueman come too ; my mother has told 
 him what a kind friend you have been ; I will run 
 back, and say you are coming.' 
 
 * Now, my Charlotte,' said Trueman, < indulge 
 this flood of joy, nor check the soft emotions of the 
 soul. These tears become thee ; which, like the 
 fleeting shower that bathes the summer's day, gives 
 fresh lustre to the charms of nature ' 
 
 ' Is that which I have heard derived from truth, 
 or is it but the dream of fancy ? My father releas- 
 ed from prison ; by whom ?' 
 
 ' Why,' said Trueman, < should you <niestion 
 whence the gracious bounty came. It is sufficient 
 that he is returned. Think the measure of his 
 bliss is complete, till in his paternal embrace he 
 folds thy lovely form. Hasten, then, to increase 
 and share his merited happiness.' Then folding 
 her arm in his, he hurried towards her dvvellino- 
 
 Mr Benley was seated at the door of the cottage, 
 surro unded by many of his parishoners, when Char- 
 lotte rushed into her father's arms, exclaimed— 
 * My dear, dear father.' The enraptured parent 
 mingled the tears of fond affection with those of 
 filial gratitude; and every countenance beamed 
 with smiles of joy. Nor was the welcome of the 
 worthy Trueman wanting in cordiality; but, when 
 the lovely Charlotte related her rescue from the 
 hated Sandford, the murmur of applause fell from 
 every tongue, while the grateful father strained the 
 
16 
 
 It was on a market day that Farmer Welford 
 waited on the good old man. He found him in a 
 small room, pursuing his pious meditation. The 
 sight of any of his parishioners was a cordial to 
 the drooping spirits of Mr Benley. His griefs, 
 though not forgotten, were suppressed while con- 
 versing with his friends; hut at the moment of 
 separation, they returned with increased pugency, 
 and it required the utmost'effort of mind to support 
 the painful Adieu !' 
 
 ' Eternal God !' exclaimed the weeping father, 
 ' must I no more enjoy the sweets of liberty ! 
 How changed the scene ! Here, when night her 
 sable mantle o'er the face of heaven begins to 
 spread, nothing is heard but the dismal rattling of 
 chains; doors of massy iron, grating on their hin- 
 ges, appal the timid soul; while horrid oaths and 
 dreadful imprecations wound the listening ear. O 
 Welford ! my soul sickens at the scene ; and phi- 
 losophy scarce can shield my mind from the horrors 
 of despair ! 
 
 At this moment the gaoler entered the room 
 with a letter to Mr Benley — ' The hand is un- 
 known to me,' said he. ' It has a goodly outside,' 
 said the gaoler ; ' pray Heaven it proves not like 
 the world, fair without and foul within.' 
 
 ' Why, truly friend,' returned Mr Benley, 
 ' your satire upon the manners of mankind is not 
 unreasonable. It is I fear, the maxim of many of 
 
 9 
 
 touished me prodigiously ; and I assure you I felt 
 myself extremely hurt at it ; for his lordship had 
 paid me much attention, and I began to think I 
 had made a conquest. It is however,' added she, 
 ' very fortunate that the affair ended as it did, for 
 you know, it would have been a shocking thing to 
 have involved one's self in such difficulties.' 
 
 ' True, madam,' replied Bremere ; who by her 
 ladyship's discourse, found she was the person to 
 whom Belfont alluded, as having attracted his par- 
 ticular notice ; ' but after all, whatever diminution 
 the fortune of Lord Belfont has received, be assur- 
 ed, it is still sufficient to support the woman whom 
 he shall honour with his hand, in a stile of elegance 
 that might sooth the most extensive vanity.' And 
 without waiting her ladyship's reply, bowed, and 
 wished her good night, disgusted with the affec- 
 ted concern she expressed for his friend's imagin- 
 ary distress, which was but ill calculated to con- 
 ceal the spirit of malevolence that rankled in her 
 bosom. 
 
 Lady Caroline concluded, what he had said was 
 only to shelter his friend from the censure of the 
 world, and to encourage the opinion that his affairs 
 were not so desperate as they had been represent- 
 ed. With these ideas, she joined her company : 
 and Belfont and his misfortunes escaped her me- 
 mory. 
 
 And now, gentle reader, let us attend the steps 
 
8 
 
 stage, that had arrived during his repast, and at the 
 close of the day, found himself in that city. 
 
 Meanwhile Bremere, mixing with the circle of 
 Belfont's late acquaintance, heard with silent 
 indignation the illiberal and unjust reflections that 
 were cast on the supposed misconduct of his friend. 
 
 The impertinent inquiries with which his ears 
 were assailed from all who knew him in the habits 
 of friendship with Belfont, were almost too much 
 for his temper to bear with composure ; and he 
 was often on the point of violating the promise 
 of secrecy his friend had extorted from him, to 
 vindicate his character from the expersions of slan- 
 der. 
 
 Seated one evening in a box at Drury Lane 
 theatre, he was seen by Lady Caroline Blandish, 
 from the opposite side of the house ; who, sans cere- 
 mony, immediately came round to him. ( So, my 
 lord,' said she, entering the box, e what is become 
 of your friend Belfont ? Have you seen him late- 
 ly ? How does he bear his misfortunes ? I am 
 really sorry for the unfortunate youth/ 
 
 ' My friend,' replied Bremere, * is infinitely ob- 
 liged to your ladyship for the concern you take la 
 his distress.' 
 
 c Why, you know, my lord,' returned Lady 
 Caroline, * one can't help being concerned for the 
 distresses of those who were of one's acquaintance. 
 I profess,' continued she, ' the news of bis ruin ar,~ 
 
 17 
 
 the present age, to conceal the depravity of the 
 heart beneath the specious appearance of honesty. 
 This however,' continued he, breaking the seal, ' I 
 think bodes no harm ; I will therefore inform my- 
 self of its contents.' 
 
 ' It is well,' said he, ' goodness is still extant ; 
 and innocence enjoys the guardian care of Provid- 
 ence. The contents of this letter will best explain 
 my meaning. — 
 
 To the Reverend John Benley, at the Castle of 
 Norwich : 
 
 ' Reverend Sir, — The enclosed notes, which I 
 find, on enquiry, will cover the whole of your debts, 
 wait acceptance. They are the gift of one on 
 whom fortune has bestowed more than he can 
 claim on the score of desert ; and who anxiously 
 hopes, while it restores to you those most enviable 
 blessings, liberty and domestic happiness, he has 
 left no clue by which a discovery of the donor may 
 be effected.' 
 
 Here the gaoler broke into a swearing fit of joy, 
 the farmer could only express his pleasure with his 
 looks, while the grateful pastor threw himself on his 
 knees, and poured forth the grateful transports of 
 his soul to the Giver of all goodness. 
 
 While the bounty of the generous Trueman 
 was thus employed in releasing the worthy Curate 
 from the horrors of a prison, he himself was no 
 less assiduous in soothing, by every act of bene- 
 

 
 for her contempt; it has bvckm asunder those 
 chains her beauty had forged to hold my heart in 
 bondage/' 
 
 " And what use does your Lordship mean to 
 make of this discovery r" inquired Bremere. 
 
 " My resolutions, Charles," returned Belfont, 
 " and your ideas, I will venture to say, are of an 
 opposite nature. You perhaps imagine that I shall 
 return to the fashionable world; refute the opinions 
 it entertains of my distress, and reproach it for its 
 ingratitude." 
 
 ' What else can you purpose ?' asked Bremere, 
 ** Convinced of your Lordship's integrity," re- 
 plied Belfont, *f I shall not hesitate to repose in 
 . your breast the secret of my resolves. The sudden 
 death of my uncle," continued he, « lias given me 
 an ample fortune ; the enjoyments of which, in the 
 vulgar opinion of mankind, ensures the constant 
 possession of happiness. Alas ; how mistaken is 
 such a notion I It is true my every wish is gratified 
 but one. You smile, Charles, and already antici- 
 pate, that yet unaccomplished wish. Yes ! my 
 friend, the society of a virtuous female, whose bo- 
 som is awake to the soft touches of humanity, and 
 who will not, to the offspring of distress, refuse the 
 tributary sigh of pity, nor from the needy sufferer 
 withold the sacred boon of charity, is what I am 
 now in search of. In the higher circles of life,' 
 added he, « my mirsuit has proved abortive, and as- 
 
 19 
 
 not divert me from tasting the ripe beauties of 
 these matchless charms,' Then rudely snatching 
 the struggling beauty to his loathed embrace, im- 
 pressed on her lovely lips the guilty purpose of his 
 passion. At that instant, rage and indignation 
 fired tho soul of Trueman ; who, darting through 
 the hedge, seized the rude ravisher by the throat, 
 and hurled him to the ground ! « Detested mon- 
 ster ! I know thee well Thou art the faithless 
 steward of the abused Belfont. Already has thy 
 fame reached thy master's ears : nor think, vile in- 
 grate, that he will suffer thy villianies to escape 
 with impunity.' Then taking the almost fainting 
 Charlotte by the hand, he hastened from this fallen 
 Lucifer. 
 
 The spirits of Charlotte hardly supported her 
 from the presence of her base assailant, before she 
 sunk lifeless into the arms of her deliverer ; who, 
 urged by fear, placed her on a bank, and ran for 
 water to a neighbouring rivulet, and besprinkled 
 her features with the cooling drops. Soon she un- 
 closed her lovely eyes and recovered. " 
 
 , ' You tremble still, my Charlotte, and by your 
 disordered looks, seem to doubt your safety.' 
 ' O no ." where Trueman is, suspicion has no 
 
 18 
 
 volence and hosptiality the anxiety of the family at 
 home. 
 
 With the assistance of his landlord, he was be- 
 come acquainted with every transaction that had 
 occured in the village. In one of his evening walks 
 lie was roused from his meditations by the sudden ex- 
 clamations of a female voice ; and, raising his eyes, 
 beheld the fair object of his affections endeavouring 
 to avoid the opportunities of a gentleman who was 
 pursuing her. 
 
 ' Stay, lovely Charlotte !' said the stranger, 
 ( Why do you fly me thus ?' 
 
 £ Why, sir, are you so importunate ?' 
 
 ' Because I wish to remove the cloud of sorrow 
 that hangs on your brow. In short, because I love 
 you. Who could behold beauty such as yours, 
 and live a stranger to affection ! 
 
 'Affection ! view your recent conduct to my fa- 
 ther, then say if affection bore a leading feature 
 there. 
 
 'On honourable terms 1 sought your hand, which 
 you in scorn refused. Had your father then laid 
 on you his commands, and force' 3 1 you to be mine, 
 he had escaped my resentment.' 
 
 ' My choice was free, sir ; and, perhaps it was 
 my nature's fault, I couid not love you. But ex- 
 cuse my abruptness, should we beseen thus discours- 
 ing, the discovery would not add to my reputation. 
 
 * This contempt, child, is very pretty ! but it shall 
 
 i 
 
 Burning the appearance of the rustic cottager, I 
 mean to seek it in humbler scenes !' 
 
 It was in vain that Lord Bremere endeavoured 
 to persuade his friend from his purpose. Belfont 
 remained inflexible to all his entreaties, and, hav- 
 ing drawn from his friend all assurance of inviolable 
 secrecy, they parted; Bremere to the haunts of 
 giddy passion ; Belfont, to prepare for his visit to 
 those of rural felicity. 
 
 After a short repast, Belfont, leaving directions 
 with his steward for the management of the family 
 in his absence, retired to rest ; and at an early hour, 
 while the sons of riot and dissipation were return- 
 ing from their nocturnal revels, he left his splendid 
 mansion, and in the humble garb of a peasant with 
 a few necessaries tied up in a handkerchief, began 
 his retreat from the metropolis. His name and 
 title were only known in Grosvenor Square ; at 
 present he contented himself with the less dignified 
 appellation of George Trueman ; and all traces ol 
 Lord Belfont were for a time vanished. 
 
 Having continued his walk for near three hours, 
 he found himself fatigued : v. hen an inn, opportune- 
 ly presented itself to view, afforded him an oppor- 
 tunity of resting his weary limbs, and satisfying the 
 cravings of nature, which exercise had rendered 
 more than commonly acute. The obsequious host 
 soon furnished him with an excellent breakfast, 
 which having finished, he mounted the Norwich 
 
10 
 
 Belfont; whom, hereafter, we shall distinguish 
 y that of Trueman. Having spent a few days at 
 N orwich, he left that city, and continued his ex- 
 cursion, till he found himself, for the first time, in 
 the midst of his tenantry. 
 
 Totally unknown to his tenants and his steward, 
 he had an opportunity of informing himself of the 
 oppression which the former hore, and the abuses 
 which the latter committed. It was near sun-set 
 when he arrived at a pleasant village on the border 
 of the sea, which contained, what is there called 
 an inn. Having deposited his bundle in the room 
 where he was to sleep, he repaired to the kitchen, 
 and, seated himself among the rustics assembled 
 over their evening gotch of nog joined in their 
 discourse. 
 
 The conversation chiefly turned on the transac- 
 tions of the village ; and among a variety of anec- 
 dotes detailed of the inhabitants, the recent mis- 
 fortunes of their worthy curate most attracted the 
 notice of Trueman. The incedent dwelt strongly 
 on his mind ; and he determined to make himself 
 acquainted with the narrative of a man of whom 
 his parishoners spoke in such high terms of approba- 
 tion. He invited the landlord to partake of his 
 beverage; who being a communicative sort of per- 
 son, and one who had a considerable share of hu- 
 manity interwoven in his composition, readily com- 
 
 15 
 
 question of the enamoured youth. The gloomy 
 prospect of futurity had robbed Miss Benley of that 
 vivacity, which, in her happier days she was wont 
 to possess. 
 
 Harry Benley having informed his mother of the 
 stranger's civility, the good woman walked to the 
 wicket gate, that formed an entrance to the garden, 
 to welcome her daughter's return ; and thanking 
 Trueman for his politeness, invited him to partake 
 of their morning's refreshment. 
 
 t I am sorry,' said the venerable matron, 6 that 
 my means, and my incliantion to make you wel- 
 come, are not in unison with each other, but that 
 which I have to give, I give freely.— There was 
 a time. — ■ 
 
 * I have heard of your misfortunes, madam,' in- 
 terrupted Trueman ; and I sincerely sympathize in 
 your sufferings. But do not yield to despair. 
 The hand which inflicts distress can also bestow 
 happiness ; and though the pitiless storm of stern 
 adversity to day beats hard and heavy on your de- 
 fenceless roof, to-morrow prosperity's cheering sun 
 may raise your sinking hopes, and repair the rav- 
 ages of the ruthless blast. 
 
 " Mrs Benley and her daughter could not avoid 
 making their observations on the strangeness of 
 the visit ; while he congratulated himself on the 
 completion of his wish for an introduction to this 
 amiable family. 
 
 14 
 
 accepted, telling him, at the same time, that he 
 had been to a neighbouring farmer for cheese and 
 butter; and that his sister had got two jugs of 
 milk' for his brother's breakfast.— £ And what is 
 your name?' said Trueman.— ' Benley, sir ; and 
 we live in yonder cottage,' pointing to a small 
 house. 
 
 < Charlotte/ said the youth, ' here is a gentle- 
 man has kindly carried my basket for me ; and as 
 you complain the jugs are too heavy for you I dare 
 say he will help you too.' 
 
 ' That I will, and esteem myself obliged so to 
 do, said Trueman, placing the basket on the ground, 
 and bowing to Miss Benley. ' You are very kind, 
 sir,' said Charlotte; * but I am ashamed that 
 Henry should have given you so much trouble; he 
 is an idle boy, or he would not have thus intruded 
 on your politeness/ 
 
 ' Calf it not intrusion ; the young gentleman 
 asked not my assistance, and my service is volun- 
 tary.' 
 
 The blushing Charlotte accepted the assistance 
 of the gallant stranger. Trueman viewed, with a 
 joy bordering on rapture, the personal accomplish- 
 ments of his fair companion, f And, oh ! said he, 
 « should she wear a pure mind, and unstained as is 
 her lovely form, she were a treasure worth the proud- 
 est monarch's love i 
 
 The lovely maid answered with indifference every 
 
 11 
 
 plied with Trueman's request, to relate the misfor- 
 tunes of the worthy pastor. 
 
 ' I will leil you, Sir,' said he, ' the story of Par- 
 son Benley. You must know, sir, that he is the 
 curate of our parish. The living, which is the gift 
 of my Lord Belfont, belongs to a clergyman, who 
 lives in the west ; and, though it brings him in a 
 good three hundred pounds out of it. So that, you 
 see, the master gets two hundred and sixty pounds 
 for doing nothing, as one may say, while the ser- 
 vant, who does every thing, is obliged to be con- 
 tented with scarcely a seventh part of that sum, and 
 though the good woman, his wife, brought him a 
 large family, he never could get any increase of 
 salary. This made him determine on taking a 
 farm ; which by the death of one of his neighbours 
 became vacant. But I don't know how it was, 
 though he worked as hard as any day labourer in 
 the parish, and his wife was industrious as a bee, 
 they couldn't, as the saying is, bring both ends to- 
 gether ; and to make short of the matter, my Lord's 
 Steward seized on his stock which not being sufficient 
 to pay all arrears, the hard-hearted rascal clapt him 
 into the country gaol.' 
 
 ' And his family,' asked Trueman, ' what are 
 become of them ?' 
 
 ' His wife and four children,' returned the land- 
 lord, ' three fine boys from ten to thirteen years 
 old, and a daughter grown up, are in a cottage hard 
 
S?3 
 
 ier and told him he had discovered the bounteous 
 hand that gave him liberty. 
 
 * I have compared this letter of my Lord Belfont 
 with the one I received when under confinement, 
 and I find both exactly corresponding. To his 
 Lordship I attribute the benevolent act. To mor- 
 row we purpose leaving this humble dwelling, and 
 once more take possession of our former mansion, 
 where I hope, we shall enjoy your company. 
 
 * You do me infinite honour, sir : and I will 
 study to deserve your favour. But where is Miss 
 Benley ?' f I believe you will find her in the garden, 
 she and her mother will keep you company, while 
 I visit my friends in the village.' 
 
 Trueman walked into the garden, and found his 
 lovely Charlotte seated on, a bower which she her- 
 self had reared. She had a letter in her hand, 
 which as she perused, the tears fell from her sorrow- 
 ing eyes, she hurried the letter into her pocket 
 and darted an angry look at the youth. 
 
 f Why, my lovely Charlotte ! do you thus an- 
 grily fix on me those streaming eyes':" 
 
 f Answer me faithfully,' said she ; ' art thou 
 what thou seemest ? or, beneath mean attire, 
 but ill according with thy polished manner. —Ha ! 
 my fears are true ! The blush of guilt has crimson- 
 ed thy face, that sudden start proclaim thee false ! ' 
 
 * Tell me,' said Trueman, ' the grounds you have 
 raised suspicion of my honour.' 
 
 22 
 
 gallant stranger to his heart by the endearing name 
 of Son, 
 
 The return of the worthy pastor was celebrated 
 by the inhabitants of the parish as a sort of jubilee. 
 Every one strove to excel his neighbour in acts of 
 courtesy. Stores of viands were conveyed from all 
 parts of the village ; and while, by the pale light of 
 the moon, sprightly youth led up the merry dance, 
 cheerful age sat and quaffed the nut-brown ale 
 talked over the feats of former days, and in thought 
 grew young again. 
 
 Every transaction that had occurred since Lord 
 Belfout's arrival in the village, he had transmitted 
 to Bremere ; and on confirmation of the oppression 
 his steward had exercised, enclosed the discharge of 
 that wretch ; with an order to deliver his accounts 
 to Mr Benley whom he appointed his successor. 
 A letter announcing to this gentleman Ins appoint- 
 ment, which Bremere forwarded from London, in 
 the manner his friend had directed. By this time 
 Bremere had refuted the opinion of the derange- 
 ment of his Lordship's finances. Declaring the 
 whole to be a feint. 
 
 The sensations of Sandford, on reading his Lord- 
 ship's letter, were such as are familiar only to the 
 guilty. And brought on a violent fever which soon 
 terminated his miserable existence. 
 
 Far different were the feelings of Mr Benley — 
 who informed Truetrian of the contents of the let- 
 
 rni: 
 
 VILLAGE CURATE, 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 The good, for Virtue's sake, abhore to sin.'' — Crceck. 
 
 At an age when the human mind is most suscep- 
 table of, and too often imbibes, a passion for volup- 
 tuous pleasure ; ere yet experience the sage precepts 
 had impressed, Lord Belfont inherited a splendid 
 fortune. His levees were crowded with the most 
 fashionable part of the world; the voice of flattery 
 incessantly sang his praise, and bestowed on him 
 every virtue that could ennoble man. His rank in 
 life, and extensive fortune introduced him into the 
 first families in England ; and overtures of marri- 
 age were made to him by the parents and guardians 
 of the greatest beauties of the age ; but Belfont, 
 though not insensible to the charms of beauty, was 
 not yet become the vassal of their power. 
 
 The attention which he invariably received from 
 the whole circle of his acquaintance, it might reas- 
 onably be supposed, was very acceptable to the in- 
 experienced Belfont; but notwithstanding his ex- 
 treme youth and ignorance of man and manners,