LI B R A R.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVERSITY 
 
 Of 1LLI NOIS 
 
 SZ3 
 
 v. I
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/thingsbytheirrig01lewi
 
 THINGS 
 
 BY THEIR 
 
 RIGHT NAMES; 
 
 A NOVEL, 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 BY A PERSON WITHOUT A NAME. 
 
 Let us " encompass virtue with association? more than mor- 
 tal ; associations whose steady light may survive the waving 
 and meterous gleams of sentimental illusion."— Anonymous. 
 
 " Servant of God, well done ! Well hast thoa fooght; 
 
 And for the test'mony of truth hast borne 
 
 Universal reproach, far worse to bear 
 
 Than violence ; this was all thy care, 
 
 To staud approv'd in sight of God, though worlds 
 
 JudgM thee perverse." MiLTONj 
 
 VOL. I 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED TOR GEORGE ROBINSON, 25, paterxoster-row. 
 
 1812.
 
 PriftUdby J, H«ye?> GrtTill* Street, London.
 
 V. \ 
 
 TO 
 
 THE DETHRONED SOVEREIGN 
 
 TRUTH- 
 
 Madam, 
 
 Although your language has be- 
 come so nearly obsolete, that, in addressing 
 you, I have scarcely a hope to make myself 
 understood ; and your abode so obscure, that 
 I know not where to find you ; yet, as I am 
 assured by very high authorities that you do 
 stilt really inhabit this sublunary globe, I
 
 2V 
 
 venture to present to you the following 
 work. 
 
 In laying at your august feet so humble an 
 offering, I am actuated by no selfish consi- 
 deration. I too well know the rigid limits to 
 "which your favours are restricted, to hope that 
 any mark of your grace will be extended to 
 me. But, in attempting to restore " things 
 to their right names/' I thought not of myself, 
 but of you. 
 
 On all who rank on the side of your too 
 potent adversary, Falsehood, from the pitiful 
 meanness of well-bred duplicity, to the bra- 
 zened vice of hardened perjury, I would make 
 war: and if I have laid open one insidioug 
 snare of your pretended friends, or repulsed 
 one rude attack of your open enemies, I have 
 accomplished my aim. 
 
 May the blow be followed up by abler 
 hands, until your Most High Mightiness be 
 restored to your own legitimate sovereignty
 
 V 
 
 over the human mind, and recognised as the 
 conservator of all that is dear and precious to 
 man! 
 
 I am, 
 
 Madam, 
 
 Your greatest Admirer, 
 
 And humblest Votary,
 
 THINGS 
 
 BY THETR 
 
 RIGHT NAMES, 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 Philosophers have said, and poets have 
 sung, that every individual of the humaa 
 race is distinguished by a leading passion 
 peculiar to himself. Now, I have not 
 been so neglected by Nature, as to be 
 left without this appropriate mark of 
 humanity. I too, like the rest of my 
 species, have my ruling passion ; and this 
 passion is, the desire, oj being useful. 
 
 Of the means to attain this end, mo- 
 ney, talents, and leisure, are the most 
 powerful. Of talents I must not boast 
 
 vol. i &
 
 of money I have not any, of leisure I 
 nave a great deal. It is my leisure, then, 
 that I must dedicate to the good of my 
 fellow creatures. 
 
 Were I a woman, I might find, in an 
 unwearied application to my distaff, the 
 enjoyment, even to satiety, of my favorite 
 desire ; biit being, unfortunately, of the 
 other sex, and far gone in the habits of 
 gentlemanly idleness, I am reduced to 
 my pen, as the single mean in my power 
 of being useful in my generation. 
 
 But even to the use of this single mean 
 there is an impediment. What is there 
 in this all-sapient age which is yet to be 
 taught? Where is the mystery undeve- 
 loped ? the truth that is hidden ? Where 
 the most recondite science, that is not 
 made u eas}' to the meanest capacity?" 
 Let us not, however, despair: in gazing 
 on the sk}r, we may sometimes stumble 
 over a mole-hill. Thus, while we are 
 learning to direct the winds, to change 
 the temperature of climates, and to dis- 
 turb the whole economy of Nature; and 
 while we are giving to our astonishing
 
 3 
 
 discoveries new and imposing names, do 
 we not conduct our every-day affairs in 
 a jargon where the expression is so foreign 
 from the thing meant to be expressed, as 
 to confound and bewilder our principles 
 of morality, — our ideas of happiness, — * 
 our sense of every thing that is just, 
 true, and desirable? The science, there- 
 fore, that remains still untaught, is " the 
 science of calling things by their right 
 names :" and this science I undertake to 
 teach. 
 
 I could do this in periodical essays, 
 in weekly sermons, in evening lectures, 
 in a poem, a play, a pamphlet, all, no 
 doubt, equally well; but I am not one 
 of those churlish physicians, who, pro- 
 vided they cure their patient, do not care 
 though they half poison him in doing so: 
 no, as the draught is wholesome, so shall 
 it be, if I can make it so, palatable also. 
 The form, at least, shall meet the taste 
 of the age. Sovereigns, statesmen, arch- 
 bishops and bishops, deans and prebenda- 
 ries, literati and non-literati, queens, 
 dutchesses, and their chambermaids, all 
 B2
 
 4 
 
 read novels; and, therefore, — I will write 
 a Novel. 
 
 As the work that I am about to enter 
 upon is not an epic poem, I think myself 
 at liberty to take up my story where it 
 best suits my purposes to do so. And as 
 not only the fortunes, hut the charac- 
 ters of fnany persons, take their colour 
 from the faults or virtues of their remote 
 ancestors, I must be allowed to trace the 
 source of those which distinguished my 
 heroine as far back as I see proper. I 
 shall begin, therefore, with her maternal 
 grandfather. 
 
 In an ancient mansion, belonging to an 
 ancient family, somewhere in that part 
 of Somersetshire which is washed by the 
 waves of the Bristol Channel, once re- 
 sided Sir Edward Pynsynt. At the period 
 when the personages were born whose 
 virtues I have undertaken to commemo- 
 rate in the ensuing history, Sir Edward 
 had been dead many years, but his me- 
 mory still survived in the hearts of all 
 who had known him. 
 
 Sir Edward had been distinguished
 
 5 
 
 alike by the superiority of his character, 
 and the more than common share of feli- 
 city that had fallen to his lot. 
 
 Descended from an illustrious family, 
 the heir of large possessions, and nothing 
 having been warning in his favour of any 
 of those means which the world esteems 
 necessary to perfect what it is pleased to 
 call a good education, Sir Edward had, 
 from his earliest infancy, been trained to 
 those manners, and initiated into those 
 acquirements, which distinguish the high- 
 fiishioned and high-bred. He had, of 
 course, entered the world with all those 
 advantages which are so sure to meet with 
 a good reception there. But, beyond all 
 these adventitious and extraneous gifts 
 which he had received from fortune and 
 from culture, he possessed qualities which 
 he owed to God alone. I have not mis- 
 taken the word. When I am teaching 
 the science of true nomenclature, it 
 would ill become me to put the effect 
 for the cause. The philosopher may, if 
 he please, erase the simple monosyllable, 
 and put his favourite Nature in its stead, 
 b 3
 
 6 
 
 and let him explain how he has amended 
 the phrase. Will he have rendered his 
 meaning one jot clearer to those of his 
 own sect? while, .on the other hand, he 
 will have made it tenfold more obscure 
 to nine parts out of ten of the rest of the 
 human race. 
 
 The gifts bestowed upon Sir Edward 
 Pynsynt were worthy of the divine 
 origin from whence they proceeded. 
 An understanding vigorous, clear, and 
 acute; a heart warm, tencLr, and true; 
 a temper cheerful and conciliating; an 
 integrity incorruptible, with all that 
 marks the honest man from the knave. 
 This was so distinguishing a part of his 
 character, that truth, open and fair as 
 daylight, shone forth in every look, 
 word, and action. Subterfuge, chicanery, 
 double meanings, were far from him ; 
 even the allowed duplicity of politeness 
 was abhorrent to his taste, and made no 
 part of his system of benevolence. 
 
 Sir Edward had been determined in the 
 choice of a wife less by the charms of 
 the lady's person, than by the apparent
 
 7 
 sweetness of her temper, and the quick- 
 ness and teachableness of her under- 
 standing : or, to express myself more 
 accurately, these were the qualities that 
 Sir Edward himself believed to have de- 
 termined his election. In fact, however, 
 the beauty of Caroline Montford was 
 such as to render it something doubtful, 
 whether Sir Edward's judgment could 
 have had fair play ; and made it a ques- 
 tion, whether his heart had not been be- 
 trayed by his senses, rather than yielded 
 by his reason. If this were the case, 
 Sir Edward was not less fortunate in this 
 particular, than in all the other circum- 
 stances that have been enumerated above. 
 Caroline was not only " all that youth- 
 ful poets fancy when they love,"' but all 
 that human excellence can be in a girl 
 scarcely eighteen. The gay and fran^c 
 manners of Sir Edward, and the spirit of 
 his conversation, had carried off* the fair 
 prize from several competitors, his supe- 
 riors in station and fortune; and the bridal 
 hours were scarcely past, before she dis- 
 covered that she had gained a possession 
 b 4
 
 beyond (he value of all that rank and 
 riches can of themselves bestow. 
 
 As the standard of possible merit was 
 high in the mind of Sir Edward, he would 
 not easily have borne that the object of 
 his most impassioned affections should 
 have fallen much below it. He regarded 
 his Caroline as the connoisseur regards 
 the inestimable gem which gives distinc- 
 tion to his cabinet. No eye gazes on it 
 with delight equal to his own; but 
 neither does any so soon perceive the 
 casual particle of dust, or the gathering 
 damp, which threaten to obscure its 
 lustre. With these feelings, Sir Edward 
 was not more the lover, than the guardian 
 and preceptor of his Caroline; and under 
 his forming care the charming girl be- 
 came the all-accomplished woman. 
 
 Sir Edward had represented to her, 
 that it was not when surrounded by 
 pleasure, assailed by flattery, and pam- 
 pered with all that riches can procure, 
 that at eighteen we learn to know our- 
 selves, or to understand the claims that 
 others have upon us ; and he had easily
 
 9 
 led her to retire with him to the seat of 
 his ancestors, on the confines of the 
 Bristol Channel. Here, in a regular series 
 of instructive reading, in the cultivation 
 of every elegant talent, and the acquire- 
 ment of every useful art, and in the in- 
 terchangement of the good offices and 
 real pleasures which the society of the 
 o-ood and the rational may every where 
 afford, their hours of amusement were 
 past; those of duty, in every exertion of 
 active benevolence and even-handed jus- 
 tice, that tneir situation as lords para- 
 mount of the neighbourhood, or as the 
 richest people in it, could give occasion 
 for. But the line of demarcation between 
 pleasure and duty ;— that line which, to 
 the worldling and the licentious, appears 
 sketched with so broad a stroke, and with 
 a colour so deep and decided, was with 
 them but faintly defined. Their pleasures 
 and their duties were so much the same, 
 were so intermingled and melted into 
 each other, that the social dinner was 
 often an act of benevolence ; and the 
 amusements of the drawing-room the 
 
 £5
 
 10 
 
 saving of a law-suit A visit to a sick 
 cottage often superseded the hour of 
 study ; and the harp and the pencil gave 
 way to the instruction of the village-girl 
 in the arts of the needle or the spinning 
 wheel : nor, when the hour of reflection 
 came, was it possible for Sir Edward or 
 Lady Pynsxnt to discover whether they 
 had thrit day been pursuing their duty or 
 their pleasure. 
 
 This harmony between the good and 
 the pleasant was not to be imputed alone 
 to the scene on which they acted the part 
 of life. It is true, that a residence in the 
 country is favourable to the virtues of 
 moderation, order, and benevolence; but 
 it is equally true, that they are not ne- 
 cessarily connected with it. Intempe- 
 rance, misrule, and oppression, may be 
 seen under the shade of a tree, as cer- 
 tainly, though, perhaps, not so fre- 
 quently, as amongst " the crowded marts 
 of busy men." But actions that spring 
 from principles, are the same in all situa- 
 tions, however varying. Sir Edward 
 and Lady Pynsynt called themselves
 
 11 
 
 Christians. What they called themselves, 
 they strove to be : and it is in the divine 
 system of christian ethics that we are to 
 look for the ruie of conduct which they 
 prescribed to themselves. Hence they 
 saved much confusion of ideas, and many 
 puzzling disquisitions, on the right and 
 wrong of their every-day actions. How 
 a " man of honour' would act in such or 
 such a case; what might, or might not, 
 be consonant to the mariners or ideas of a 
 gentleman ; what did, or did not, ac- 
 cord with his rank and dignity, might 
 admit of debate, and a variety of opinions; 
 but, to " do justice," to " love mercy," 
 and to " walk humbly with their God," 
 was a plain doctrine, in which there could 
 be no mistake. And so they did walk, 
 for several years after their marriage, in 
 the flowery paths which surrounded the 
 Priory, themselves the happiest of human 
 beings, and the blessing and delight of 
 all with whom they had to do. Having 
 thus, in the security of retirement, al- 
 lowed time for their principles to take 
 deep root in their hearts, and their vir-
 
 12 
 
 tues to grow strong by habit, they did 
 not tear to enter again into the world ; 
 from which, before they were so well 
 secured from its seductions, they had so 
 wisely withdrawn. Not only in the ca- 
 pital of their own country, but in that 
 of most of the states on the continent, 
 did they, in the course of some years, 
 mix with the great, the polite, and the 
 learned. From this varying experience, 
 ever endeavouring to extract something 
 hy which to amend themselves, or to 
 benefit others ; and learning, as the re- 
 sult of the whole, that virtue is the parent 
 of happiness, and home her most favourite 
 abode ! 
 
 , Lady Pynsynt had now been the wife 
 of Si. Edward twtnty years. In the 
 course ox this time she had born him 
 several children, three only of whom now 
 survived — a daughter ivho had completed 
 her eigh.et nth year, a son who had not 
 yet at ai neu his fit; tenth, and a girl of 
 eight years old 
 
 Sedulously occupied in .he cultivation 
 of the good qualities of her children;
 
 13 
 
 blest in the unabated love of the fondest 
 of husbands; surrounded by friends; fol- 
 lowed by the prayers and blessings of her 
 dependants ; high in affluence ; and her 
 bosom yet glowing with the warm ener- 
 gies of youth ; perhaps at no one period 
 of her existence had Lady Pynsynt been 
 so completely happy ; at no time could 
 she have thought so little of the darkness 
 of futurity. 
 
 On the uncertain tenure by which all 
 sublunary bliss is held, Lady Pynsynt 
 had not unfrequently reflected : nor did 
 she suppose that she was wholly unpre- 
 pared to meet, with patience and resig- 
 nation, whatever change might be ap- 
 pointed. She was now called upon to 
 prove, by experience, how different is 
 the degree of courage necessary to con^ 
 template the greatest evils as possibte, and 
 to Jeel them as certain. 
 
 Sir Edward, on mounting his horse to 
 take his morning's nde, had promised an 
 early return : — but Sir Edward returned 
 no more ! — a fall from his horse had at 
 once terminated his mortal existence, and
 
 14 
 
 rendered life an almost insupportable 
 btirthen to Lady Pynsynt. — Yet she sunk 
 not under the blow. — Dead to every 
 pleasure, to every duty she was alive. 
 Her children, her friends, her dependants, 
 lost nothing of her care, her attention, 
 her activity : but, although she had not 
 yet attained her fortieth year, although 
 she was blest with beauty, health, and 
 affluence, many years wore away, and no 
 one could say that they had seen a smile 
 enlighten her countenance. 
 
 Lady Pynsynt survived Sir Edward 
 about fifteen years ; and this period was 
 marked by several events which were ill 
 calculated to dispel that gloom with 
 which his death had overshadowed her 
 mind. Her son, on the death of his 
 father, had immediately been placed, by 
 his guardians, at one of those public 
 schools where the manly character is 
 supposed to unfold itself with so much 
 advantage. From hence he had been 
 removed to one of the universities. Here 
 he soon discovered, that a fatherless 
 youth of eighteen, the certain heir of
 
 15 
 
 ten thousand pounds a year, could be 
 under no necessity to regulate his ex- 
 penses by any other rule than his own 
 ungoverned appetite. Nor did he suffer 
 the discovery to remain inefficient. — 
 " Honour," says some body, " is not 
 hereditary, though honours are." Sir 
 George Pynsynt resembled little the 
 parent from whence he sprung : and al- 
 though he had qualities which might 
 have been trained into virtues, had they 
 continued longer under the judicious and 
 fostering hand of Sir Edward ; yet being 
 now suffered to wither from neglect, or 
 allowed to run wild in a wrong direc- 
 tion, the weeds, with which they were 
 surrounded, soon checked the good seed, 
 and made Sir George's mind appear like 
 a garden long uncultivated, where, though 
 here and there a beautiful flower rears its 
 head, and excites surprise and admiration, 
 the general appearance is forbidding de- 
 formity. 
 
 From the university, Sir George went 
 abroad : lie returned to be elected to Par- 
 liament for one of his own boroughs, found
 
 16 
 means to exchange his borough for a 
 peerage, dismissed his Italian mistress, 
 married splendidly, and continued to 
 make laws for his country, and to break 
 them in every action of his life. Lady 
 Pynsynt, however, had not the mortifi- 
 cation of witnessing the whole of this 
 worthy career : other cares, other sor- 
 rows, before she had quite lost all hopes 
 of better things from the degenerate son 
 of so worthy a parent, had conducted 
 her to the tomb. Her eldest daughter, 
 when* on the point of marriage with a 
 gentleman as well approved by Lady 
 Pynsynt as acceptable to the young lady 
 herself, saw all her prospects of happi- 
 ness snatched from her grasp by the hand 
 of death. The lover died, after a few days' 
 illness, of an inflammatory fever; and 
 Lady Pynsynt felt the full weight of this 
 accumulation of misfortune. It seemed, 
 indeed, as if the death of Sir Edward had 
 been the signal of disaster, or miscon- 
 duct, to every individual of his family : 
 and the life and death of Lady Pynsynt 
 were an awful display of some of those
 
 17 
 
 mysterious dealings of Providence, which 
 it is not given us in this world to under- 
 stand. The star of her morning had 
 risen with no common brightness; she 
 was virtuous as she was happy ; yet did 
 she lie down in sorrow, and her name 
 was repeated with a sigh ! 
 
 In the little sprightly engaging Louisa, 
 however, both the mother and the daugh- 
 ter found an object of interest that still 
 attached them to the world. But Lady 
 Pyusynt's vital powers were now nearly 
 exhausted ; and the last act of her Gkist- 
 ence was the concluding a marriage be- 
 tween Louisa and a young gentleman of 
 the name of Fitzosborn. 
 
 Mr. Fitzosborn was the second son of a 
 gentleman of good birth and large estate ; 
 but tliis estate was settled on the eldest 
 son ; and there being a third boy, and a 
 numerous tram of sisters, the provision 
 for the younger branches of the family 
 was not proportionable to their rank in 
 life. Neither ambition nor avarice had, 
 however, a place in Lady Pynsvnt's 
 bosom : her daughter's fortune was fifteen
 
 18 
 thousand pounds; and she thought this 
 sum, in addition to Mr. Fitzosborn's pro- 
 perty, and the profits that might be 
 reasonably expected as the result of his 
 abilities and industry, would afford such 
 a competency, as would be sufficient to 
 secure the end of all riches — happiness. 
 She had, upon these reasonings, yielded 
 to the earnest wishes of her daughter; 
 and pleased herself in believing, that the 
 humble establishment of the sister would 
 be productive of more happiness and vir- 
 tue, than she dared to flatter herself would 
 result from the larger possessions and 
 more extended power of the brother. 
 
 A iew months after the marriage of 
 Mrs. Fitzosborn, Lady Pynsynt breathed 
 her last, and left Miss Pynsynt one of 
 the most desolated of human beings. 
 From the period that had deprived her 
 of her betrothed lover, she had dedicated 
 all her affections to her mother and sister. 
 The one was lost to her for ever in this 
 world ; and the other had now so many 
 new calls upon her heart and attentions, 
 that Miss Pynsynt could scarcely hope
 
 19 
 
 that she should retain that share in either, 
 which had, for the last ten years of her 
 life, made the sweetest part of her exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Mrs. Fitzosborn's residence was to be 
 in London, the scene of Miss Pynsynt's 
 greatest sorrows, and the place to which 
 she had resolved to return no more. Sir 
 George was, at the time of his mother's 
 death, residing in Italy ; and, had he 
 been in England, Miss Pynsynt had but 
 little reason to suppose that she would 
 have found in his family a comfortable 
 asylum. The gleams of affection, the 
 flashes of generosity, which had, from 
 time to time, illuminated his earlier years, 
 had now ceased; and her intercourse with 
 him was one dispiriting, unbroken dark- 
 ness. Thus, not perceiving that any con- 
 nexion which remained to her offered 
 either indemnification for those of which 
 she had been deprived, or even support 
 under the acute sense that she had of 
 such deprivation, she resolved to seek 
 her consolation in the indulgence of her 
 sorrows; and, at four and thirty, to bid
 
 20 
 
 adieu to the world. Lady Pynsynt had 
 been enabled to add to the original for- 
 tune of Miss Pynsynt some thousand 
 pounds ; and, with a property amounting 
 to something more than twenty thousand 
 pounds, she retired to a small house 
 within thirty miles of the Priory. 
 
 Here she had lived for more than ten 
 years, almost wholly forgotten by all 
 who had once known her : seldom seen, 
 except by her servants, and by the neigh- 
 bouring poor, to whom she was a most 
 unwearied and tender-hearted benefac- 
 tress, to the extent, and beyond the an- 
 nual extent, of her means. She had no 
 source of expense which at all entered 
 into competition with the call of bene- 
 volence, except the adorning her house 
 and gardens: and, by employing the 
 labourers and workmen of her neighbour- 
 ly ud, she contrived to gratify at once her 
 taiste and her principle. 
 
 When first she retired to the Grove, 
 her sorrows were legitimate, and her 
 plan rational : but, by having removed 
 herself from the control which the eye
 
 21 
 of society has over the conduct of every 
 human being, she had accustomed her- 
 self to consecrate as virtues all the feel- 
 ings of her heart, and, in the want of 
 other objects for her affections, had found 
 one in the indulgence of affliction. Hence 
 she had converted her habitation into a 
 temple of constancy and sorrow. Every 
 room was adorned with the memorials of 
 her loss, or emblems of her grief. She 
 had surrounded it with shady groves, 
 formed for contemplation ; and with 
 gloomy grottos, where sorrow might 
 meditate — " e'en to madness." 
 
 Do we find it scarcely credible that 
 the pupil of Sir Edward and Lady Pyn- 
 synt, of whose virtues she was almost 
 an adorer, and whose words were to her 
 as the fiat of a Superior Intelligence, 
 could thus deviate from the line of sound 
 reasoning and genuine resignation? The 
 anomaly arose from " calling things by 
 wrong names." An indulgence of every 
 selfish feeling she called " a dedication 
 of her mind to the virtues of her lost 
 friends;" a withdrawal from the rec*^
 
 22 
 procal duties of society, " an abandon- 
 ment of all earthly affections." Thus, 
 without one culpable inclination, with- 
 out one wrong intention, Miss Pynsynt, 
 with the exception of her beneficence to 
 the poor, scarcely performed one laud- 
 able action. With the consciousness of 
 the eye of Providence over every thought, 
 she suffered her heart to dictate to her 
 reason : with submission to the decrees of 
 her Creator in her mouth, her whole life 
 was a continued murmur against his 
 will : and in the indulgence of her grief 
 for the past, she overlooked the present, 
 and forgot the future. 
 
 But the period, which had thus been 
 nearly a blank to Miss Pynsynt, had been 
 one of much bustle and vicissitude to her 
 nearest relations. Sir George, within the 
 term named, had returned to England, 
 had been made a peer, had married, and 
 had now two sons and a daughter. Mrs. 
 Fitzosborn had passed through all the 
 degrees of matrimonial love ; from the 
 most ardent passion to the coolest indif- 
 ference. The happiness that Lady Pyn-
 
 23 
 
 synt had promised herself, as the result 
 of her daughter's marriage, was to have 
 been founded on the unostentatious vir- 
 tues of prudence, diligence, frugality, 
 and moderation. It happened, however, 
 that those were not the virtues that dis- 
 tinguished either Mr. Fitzosborn or his 
 lady. One guinea had not been saved 
 by her prudence, or gained by his in- 
 dustry. While they had continued to 
 love each other, they had played the fool 
 together; when they had grown indif- 
 ferent, they had played the fool sepa- 
 rately. For their mutual accommoda- 
 tion, Mrs. Fitzosborn had found means 
 to give up her settlement: the money 
 was spent; debts were accumulated; and, 
 at the end of ten years, with broken for- 
 tunes and a ruined constitution, Mrs. 
 Fitzosborn found herself on the eve of 
 bringing into the world a wretched 
 human being, whom she had deprived of 
 the means of subsistence. 
 
 The voice of conscience, often silenced, 
 now spoke in accents it was impossible 
 not to hear, and hearing to regard. Mrs,
 
 24 
 
 Fitzosborn poured out all her self- re- 
 proach, and all her misery, to her sister: 
 to that sister, of whom she had seldom 
 thought in her gayer hours ; or thought 
 of, only to ridicule as romantic and vi- 
 sionary. This letter awakened Miss Pyn- 
 synt as from a dream. In her withdrawal 
 of the eye from Mrs. Fitzosborn's con- 
 duct on the entrance into life, and the 
 progress through its difficulties and 
 temptations, she thought she saw the 
 origin of all her deviations from the line 
 of rectitude; and charging her own neg- 
 ligence, rather than Mrs. Fitzosborn's 
 weakness, with the whole guilt of the 
 consequence, she considered herself as 
 not less culpable than the sister who 
 now implored her compassion and 
 assistance. The call was not in vain- 
 she forgot all her once fancied virtues, 
 in the performance of real duties. Mrs. 
 Fitzosborn was received at the Grove 
 with all the sympathy, and consoled with 
 all the kindness, that even a mother 
 could have felt. But no sympathy could 
 heal the broken heart, or restore a ruined
 
 constitution. Mrs. Fitzosborn lived only 
 to bring into the world a daughter; and 
 Miss Pynsynt felt the difference between 
 the reality and the romance of sorrow. 
 
 After the first paroxysm of her grief 
 was past, she found, however, in her in- 
 fant niece, a genuine, and a more allowed 
 source of consolation ; and, from this 
 hour, she dedicated all her faculties, 
 and all her affections, to the cultivating 
 and fostering this tender plant. On con- 
 sidering her own past conduct, she found 
 much to reprehend ; and, on retracing her 
 errors, she easily discovered the source 
 from whence they had flowed. To guard 
 her young pupil from the illusions of fancy, 
 to fortify her reason, and to moderate her 
 feelings, was therefore her most assidu- 
 ous care. If it be possible, said she, with 
 a sigh of reflection on her own mistakes 
 and those of her brother, Sir Edward and 
 Lady Pynsynt shall have one descendant 
 worthy of the stock from whence she 
 sprung! What our heroine, in conse- 
 quence of this resolution, became in the 
 process of time, the progress of this his- 
 
 vol. i, c
 
 26 
 tory will sho\v T • but, until she has charms 
 that can interest in her favour others 
 besides a maiden aunt, we shall say little 
 of her. It will be sufficient to add in 
 this place, that Miss Pynsynt, from the 
 birth of her niece, made an entire altera- 
 tion in her mode of life. She sought the 
 neighbours from whom she had before 
 secluded herself; she busied her mind in 
 every research which she thought might 
 be of service to her charge; and she put 
 regularity and economy in the expendi- 
 ture of a fortune, which she now wished 
 to leave behind her unimpaired. Some 
 years afterwards, the death of a relation 
 made so large an addition to her original 
 property, that she found herself at liberty 
 in some degree to resume the lavish be- 
 nevolence in which she had before in- 
 dulged, without too much intrenching 
 on the provision which she had destined 
 for her niece. Although I have spoken 
 of this infant as being wholly given up 
 to her maiden aunt, yet Caroline Fitzos- 
 born was not quite an orphan — she had 
 still a father. We have seen him, in the
 
 27 
 early part of his life, dissipate not only 
 his own property, but the property of 
 his child. The years, however, in which 
 this dissipation took place, were not, in 
 the eye of a certain part of the world, 
 wholly thrown away. It is true that he 
 had failed in becoming a good lawyer, or 
 even a good member of society ; but then 
 lie had made himself a man of fashion ; 
 that equivocal being, who may possess 
 every estimable quality of the head and 
 heart, and yet to whom not a single per- 
 fection of either is essential. Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn had taken a middle course: he 
 had a good share of understandings was 
 not wholly without wit, was tolerably 
 skilled in all gentlemanlike literature, and 
 possessed uncommon readiness in con- 
 versation. He was liberal towards him- 
 self — courteous towards others; was never 
 out of humour, when he had his own 
 way; or out of spirits, but when he 
 wanted money. To these personal qua- 
 lifications Mr. Fitzosborn added all the 
 claims to distinction that pedigree could 
 bestow. His family, disdaining to boast 
 
 c 2
 
 '28 
 of the lineal and unbroken succession 
 which united them with their great an- 
 cestor, Sir Hugh Fitzosborn, the favourite 
 knight, companion and friend, of Wil- 
 liam the Conqueror, fearlessly challenged 
 ■inquiry into all the unintelligible MSS. 
 of the long destroyed monastic retreats 
 of Normandy ; and asserted, that long 
 before the period of the Conquest they 
 would be found, by all who had patience 
 and ability for the search, springing up- 
 wards into barons, counts, dukes, and 
 princes, even until they reached the 
 apex of human grandeur, in the person 
 of the emperor himself. In this long- 
 succession of ages, it is to be supposed 
 that these high distinctions had differ- 
 ently affected the different possessors of 
 them : the grovelling pride of some, it 
 may be presumed, had rested satisfied 
 with the honours derived from their fore- 
 fathers, while the more soaring ambition 
 of others had, probably, by their own 
 meritorious deeds, sought to make that 
 persona], which was before only deriva- 
 tive, How many of the one sort, or of
 
 29 
 the other, which had disgraced or digni- 
 fied this illustrious family, cannot now 
 be known; but certainly tbe Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn of whom I am now writing, was 
 rather of that humble turn of mind 
 which led him to take pride in what had 
 been done by others, than of that lofty 
 spirit which might have prompted him 
 to earn honour for himself. Of his noble 
 ancestors he thought little, but as they 
 served for a kind of passport into families, 
 whom, though he considered as inferior 
 to him in point of birth, had, however, 
 certain other distinctions and advantages 
 that he was very willing, condescend- 
 ingly, to share. Nor bad he any reason 
 to complain of the neglect either of 
 his personal or derived merits : lie was 
 generally well received, and associated 
 with men of the first rank and fortune. 
 As he gave place to no one in point of 
 birth, so he was not unwilling to vie 
 with the richest of his companions in ex- 
 pense. The consequence of this compe- 
 tition, in the earlier part of his life, has 
 been seen ; but he had not bought his 
 
 c 3
 
 <J0 
 
 experience in vain. No sooner did death 
 set him free from the shackles of his first 
 marriage, than he sought to repair the 
 mistake of his youthful choice, by taking 
 a wife whose riches would at least take 
 a longer time in dissipating than the 
 moderate fortune of Louisa Pynsynt had 
 done. In this design he was not long 
 without success. He married ; and as 
 money was the only merit that he sought, 
 he had no reason to complain, if it were 
 the only merit that he found. 
 
 Disencumbered of the care of his infant 
 daughter, he soon almost lost the remem- 
 brance that he had one ; and having, by 
 a desperate family arrangement, as he 
 called it, possessed himself of a very con- 
 siderable sum of money, in addition to 
 the wealth brought him by his wife, he 
 established himself in a large and elegant 
 house, furnished it with all that taste and 
 expense could suggest, hired the first 
 cook, and became known for giving the 
 best dinners : confidently exulting in the 
 wisdom of his plans, and unfeignedly be- 
 lieving that life had no more to give, or
 
 31 
 
 the heart of man to desire. His dream 
 of felicity had been a little disturbed by 
 the sources from whence it had proceeded 
 being, in a long succession of good din- 
 ners, considerably diminished; and it 
 seemed to vanish wholly from his view, 
 on a summons into Somersetshire, for the 
 purpose of receiving his daughter from 
 the hands of her aunt, who now lay upon 
 her death-bed. He now first recollected, 
 that one of the conditions on which he 
 had obtained the wealthy hand of his 
 present lady, was, that the dreaded step- 
 daughter should never be admitted under 
 his roof; and he had but too much reason- 
 to know, that any attempt to infringe this 
 condition would be the destruction of that 
 gentlemanly household quiet on which 
 he piqued himself, and wnicli lie liau 
 hitherto preserved, by yielding to every 
 wish of the lady, except that of giving 
 her his company. No two people could 
 live more apart than they did; and Mr. 
 Fitzosborn would have preferred any alter- 
 native (except death) to the necessity of 
 discussing any single point with the Fury 
 c4
 
 n 
 
 that he called his wife. A habitation ioi 
 Caroline must, however, be found; and 
 in the dilemma where, he turned his 
 thoughts towards her uncle, Lord En- 
 ville, the former Sir George Pynsynt. 
 Mr. Fitzosborn and Lord Enville were 
 in the habits of intimacy; they even 
 called themselves friends : and as Mr. 
 Fitzosborn had no doubt but that Caro- 
 line would inherit all that her aunt could 
 bequeath, he did not consider a request, 
 that she might become a member of her 
 uncle's family, as too great a iavour to 
 ask. The proposition met with a most 
 ready acquiescence. Lord Enville, it is 
 true, had seen little, and cared less, for 
 either his sister or his niece, for several 
 years past; nor was he without his 
 jcuiuuvy, un tne probability that Caroline 
 would engross all the property possessed 
 by his sister*, but the proposal of Mr. 
 Fitzosborn, to receive her into his family 
 at so early an age as that to which she 
 had as yet attained, opened to him a 
 prospect of rendering the undue par- 
 tiality of his sister less injurious to his in-
 
 33 
 tcrests than it might otherwise have been. 
 He therefore scarcely suffered Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn to open his difficulties, before he 
 cried out, with the greatest cheerfulness, 
 " Oh, let the girl come to us. She will 
 be no embarrassment whatever at pre- 
 sent; and if, in future, Lady Enville 
 should find it too much to chaperon half 
 a dozen young ladies, we will think of 
 some other expedient for your daughter." 
 No philosopher, no religionist, could 
 more fully adopt the maxim qf leaving 
 the events of to-morrow to provide for 
 themselves, than did Mr. Fitzosborn ; to 
 dispose of the present evil was all his 
 care. He therefore thanked Lord Enville 
 very cordially for his so ready reception 
 of his daughter ; but, he added, " At 
 present, I believe, she will give more 
 trouble to your governess than to any 
 body else. She is, in fact, scarcely out 
 of the nursery; and, considering how 
 she has been brought up, can hardly be 
 fit for any society. I shall be much 
 obliged to Madame de Tourville if she 
 can form her into a rational creature, I 
 C5
 
 34 
 have not seen her these three years : but 
 when I did see her, she was the reverse 
 of every thing* I should have chosen a 
 daughter of mine to be; except, indeed, 
 that she promised to be handsome : but 
 your lordship knows, that it would have 
 been cruel to have deprived your sister 
 of her only comfort; and a little polish- 
 ing will soon rub off the rust." " Un- 
 doubtedly," returned Lord Enville, who 
 well knew to what to impute his brother- 
 in-law's tenderness to the feelings of 
 Miss Pynsynt : " and if she is hand- 
 some," added he, " in addition to the 
 sparklers that she will inherit from aunt 
 Beatrice, nothing more will be necessary." 
 " Oh, my lord," replied Mr. Fitzosborn, 
 " of those sparklers of which you speak, 
 no doubt but that your daughters will 
 come in for their share, as certainly they 
 ought to do; yet that will be a little 
 hard too, because, with their native 
 charms — (they are charming girls ! my 
 lord) — and the accomplishments that you 
 have given them, they will want no 
 such aid to establish them in life; while
 
 35 
 my poor rustic will scarcely be passable; 
 with all the mines of Golconda for her 
 auxiliaries." ■ The world/' said Lord 
 Enville, with a slight bow for the com- 
 pliment to his daughters, " is not so 
 fastidious: but, after all, our girls must 
 take their chance, and there's an end of 
 the matter." 
 
 Lord Enville, since the period of Mrs. 
 Fitzosborn's death, had added two daugh- 
 ters to his family ; both, of course, 
 younger than Caroline. Of his sons, one 
 had completed his twentieth, and the 
 other his nineteenth year; while the eldest 
 daughter had scarcely attained seventeen; 
 On his marriage, not only his paternal 
 estate, but also the large possessions that 
 Lady Enville had brought him, had al- 
 most wholly been settled upon his eldest 
 son, twenty thousand pounds being all 
 that had been allotted as the provision 
 for younger children ; and as there were 
 already four of them, this sum did not 
 promise a very splendid' provision to anyv 
 Lord Enville's yearly expenses regularly 
 exceeded; the amount of his yearly in*-
 
 56 
 come, and thus consumed the only part 
 of his property from whence he could 
 have supplied the deficiency which was 
 likely to arise in the provision for his 
 younger children : yet let it not he sup- 
 posed that Lord Enville was an unkind 
 or a partial parent. The sacrificing the 
 comforts of the subordinate members to 
 the splendour of the head of his family, 
 he genuinely believed — how truly, let 
 those who call things by their right 
 names determine, — to be an imperious 
 duty: but, with this exception, his chil- 
 dren equally shared his cares and his 
 affections; in their sports, their habits, 
 their expenses, and school education, 
 there was no difference observed between 
 the boy who, beyond five thousand 
 pounds, was to owe his future subsist- 
 ence to his own industry, and the one 
 who, without any exertion whatever, was 
 to have annually four times that sum. 
 The hereditary statesman, and the hum- 
 ble expounder of his country's laws, were 
 alike encouraged in the pride of high 
 birth, aad the insolence of superfluous
 
 37 
 
 expense. He who was to be isolated 
 from his fellow man by his privileges 
 and his pretensions, and he who was to 
 have no distinction but what he could 
 derive from his talents and his virtues, 
 were equally taught to regard the mass 
 of mankind as beings of an inferior order, 
 and were habituated to pride themselves 
 upon circumstantial rather than inherent 
 qualities. As Lord Enville was not a 
 fool, and as he had no intention to in- 
 jure his children, we can only account 
 for the error in his calculation, by refer- 
 ring it to his ignorance in the " science 
 of calling things by their right names." 
 Nor did the mistakes which this igno- 
 rance led him into, stop with his sons; 
 his daughters equally profited by so well- 
 judged an impartiality, and a fondness 
 equally discreet. As expectant dutcbesses, 
 marchionesses, and countesses, they w r ere 
 indulged in all the fastidiousness of re- 
 finement, and all the imbecility of ele- 
 gance. Lady Enville went a step be- 
 yond her lord : what with him was in- 
 dulgence, with her was system and in-
 
 58 
 
 junction. To be " lady-like/' was jtli'e 
 ultimate end of their education; and in 
 attaining this end, they learnt to be 
 ashamed even of the little power which 
 they possessed of being useful either to 
 themselves or others. Hence their boast 
 was rather of negative than active quali- 
 ties. They were sure " they could not 
 dress or attend upon themselves." Every 
 trifling inconvenience was beyond their 
 power of sufferance; and every little 
 difficulty surpassed their means of con- 
 test : hence they sometimes sought dis* 
 tinction from a feigned ignorance of 
 what it would have been becoming them 
 to have known, and sometimes by a real 
 extravagance, which it was their disgrace 
 to indulge. 
 
 When people are weak themselves, it 
 is necessary to look abroad for support. 
 Lady Enville knew that the whole basis 
 of so much cultivated helplessness, and 
 expensive refinement, was the above* 
 named sum of five thousand pounds ; and 
 she was too good an arithmetician not 
 to be sensible how inadequate were ths
 
 3D 
 means to the end. In her calculation, 
 therefore, for the future establishment 
 of her daughters, she thought much less 
 of what was certain, than of what was 
 contingent. It was her design to marry 
 them, not according to the number of 
 thousands which they were to receive 
 from their father, but to their rank ; and 
 as she had already marked out the seve- 
 ral noblemen on whom she designed to 
 bestow the charms and the talents of her 
 daughters, she rather regarded in their 
 education the rent-roll of their future 
 husbands, than the humble dower that 
 they could bring with them. It was no 
 difficult matter to instil into the bosoms 
 of these young ladies hopes so flattering 
 to their vanity, or to inspire them with 
 every solicitude which would promote 
 designs so advantageous to their fortune. 
 Hence matrimony, and' a splendid esta- 
 blishment, were ideas so connected in 
 their imagination, that they were, in fact, 
 one and indivisible ; and hence, every 
 talent that they cultivated, and every 
 accomplishment that they sought, had
 
 40 
 reference to the rank which they ex- 
 pected, so undoubtingly, to fill. That in- 
 consistency, however, which is the dis- 
 tinguishing mark of selfishness, was not 
 less observahle in Lord and Lady Enville, 
 than in their neighbours. Although they 
 could see no reason why the smallness of 
 that portion which they could give their 
 daughters should impede their connexion 
 with the heir of some noble family, they 
 found it absolutely impossible that either 
 of their sons should take the equally por- 
 tionless sister of that heir in return. That 
 Mr. Pynsyntmust marry, was indispens- 
 able : how otherwise would the title, so 
 lately attained, and so highly valued, be 
 perpetuated ? That he should marry a wo- 
 man of large fortune was indispensable: 
 he would have his brother and sisters' for- 
 tunes to pay, he would have debts to dis- 
 charge, he would have a family to pro- 
 vide for : the estate was already scarcely 
 adequate to the honours which it had to 
 support; not one acre could be spared — 
 less than a hundred thousand pounds 
 would do nothing. Charles, indeed, if
 
 41 
 
 he were wise, would not think of matrir 
 inony at all : if he did, it must be with 
 some one who could bring him thirty 
 thousand pounds at least. 
 
 Such were the politics of the present 
 heads of the Enville family. How widely 
 different from those which regulated the 
 conduct, and pointed the solicitudes, of 
 Sir Edward and Lady Pynsynt ! But, as 
 Lord Enville would frequently observe, 
 " My father and mother, who were cer- 
 tainly the best people breathing, had a 
 most extraordinary kind of understand- 
 ing! well adapted, perhaps, for a resi- 
 dence in the country : but, as I have no 
 fancy for either its pleasures or its duties, 
 I must regulate myself by other rules ; 
 and, as I live in the world, do like the 
 rest of it." 
 
 In their hopes, and their views for 
 their children, Sir Edward and Lady 
 Pynsynt had been disappointed : Lord 
 and Lady Enville were probably less 
 so. But let us not, therefore, conclude 
 that Lord and Lady Enville were wise, 
 Sir Edward and Lady Pynsynt foolish.
 
 42 
 
 In the competition between virtue and 
 vice for the good things of this life, it 
 will commonly be found, that " this 
 world was made for Ciusar:" hence the 
 imperious necessity, if we would be vir- 
 tuous, to look beyond it — hence the 
 duty of " calling things by their right 
 names." 
 
 Into this high bred and politic family 
 we have now to introduce Caroline Fitz- 
 osborn. The death of her aunt, as it 
 was the first sorrow which she had 
 known, so she thought it was the most 
 severe that she could ever know. She 
 had inven to her benefactress her first 
 affections; and, with all the enthusiasm of 
 youth, considered her as a perfect being, 
 and loved her rather as a superior intel- 
 ligence, than as a fellow mortal. The 
 attacks of a violent disease proved, how- 
 ever, the mortality of her friend but 
 too fatally for the peace of Caroline. 
 The symptoms of the disorder were 
 such, as gave the most certain prog- 
 nostic of her approaching dissolution. — - 
 She did not conceal from Caroline what
 
 43 
 
 must be the event; but she called upon 
 her to prove, on this first trial, that the 
 cares which had been bestowed upon the 
 cultivation of her reason and her heart, 
 had not been thrown away- 
 
 " Let my closing* scene convince me,", 
 said she, " that I have not lived in vain. 
 Let me see that I have trained a mortal 
 and dependant being to view death 
 with a steady eye, and to submit with 
 patient resignation to the decrees of its 
 Superior." 
 
 Caroline pressed the hand of her aunt, 
 in token that she would be all that she 
 wished her to be — nor did she overrate 
 her own powers; she continued to attend 
 at the bed-side of Mrs. Pynsynt night 
 and day; the most obedient and adroit 
 assistant to those whose greater expe- 
 rience entitled them to direct her; and 
 the most acute observer and diligent 
 supplier of every wish and want of her 
 dying friend: and this with so solemn 
 and so touching a steadiness of voice 
 and feature, as showed that it was not
 
 44 
 
 that she did not feel, but that she knew 
 ho\\ r to command her feelings. 
 
 Mrs. Pynsynt had breathed her last 
 before the arrival of Lord Enville and 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, who both had hastened 
 down on the intelligence of the danger- 
 ous indisposition with which she had 
 been attacked. Their hearts beat alike 
 with hope and fear, but not in equal pro- 
 portions; Lord Enville had more of the 
 latter, and Mr. Fitzosborn of the former: 
 and though each, in apportioning their 
 wants to the means of supplying them, 
 were accustomed to speak of twenties 
 of thousands as trifles ; yet, when such 
 a sum as one twenty was supposed to 
 be about to fall to the disposal of one 
 of them, they acknowledged, by their 
 mutual anxiety, all the importance of 
 the prize. 
 
 Caroline was called from the death 
 chamber of her friend, to receive her 
 father and uncle. The tears, which, 
 since they could no longer give pain to 
 her benefactress, she had suffered to flow
 
 45 
 
 freely, as a relief to her oppressed heart, 
 she wiped from her eyes, lest they should 
 increase the sorrow which she believed 
 that she was going to witness in two 
 persons so nearly connected with the 
 deceased. On entering the room, how- 
 ever, in which they were, she perceived 
 instantly, that her precaution had been 
 unnecessary. 
 
 " So, Carry," said Mr. Fitzosborn, " I 
 find it is all over — we are come too late." 
 " My poor sister!" said Lord Enville, 
 " I hope she did not suffer much?" Ca- 
 roline had no voice to reply to the ob- 
 servation of the one, or the question of 
 the other — her heart swelled; and the 
 tears so lately suppressed, again streamed 
 down her face. " Come, don't cry," 
 said her father; "your aunt was very 
 good to you, but she was an old wo- 
 man; this event was to be looked for; 
 we are come to take you away from this 
 dismal place: — Pray — pray — who have 
 you had with you? — is there any man of 
 business in the house ?-— has <" Yes,"
 
 46 
 
 said Lord Envillc, " do you know whe- 
 ther my sister has left any will?" 
 
 Caroline stood aghast. — " Mr. Somers, 
 I believe, is in the house/' replied she. — ■ 
 u I thought I could know nothing of 
 
 such things. Dr. C ■ was very good 
 
 to me, and he told me that he and Mr. 
 Somers would take care that every thing- 
 was done that was proper." iC Who is 
 this Mr. Somers?" said Lord Enville. 
 " My aunt's executor, I believe," re- 
 plied Caroline. — " Oh! then there is a 
 will?" said Mr. Fitzosborn. " Mr. Somers 
 can inform you of every thing," returned 
 Caroline. " Shall I desire him to come 
 in?" " Pray do," cried both the gentle- 
 men in a breath; " and, Caroline," added 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, " prepare to leave this 
 place to morrow. Lord Enville and my- 
 self may find it necessary to remain here 
 some time; but you can have nothing- 
 more to do, and had better proceed to- 
 wards town in the morning." " Not, 
 I hope, till after the funeral," said Caro- 
 line. " What have you to do with the
 
 47 
 
 funeral ?" said her father. " I am sure 
 the sooner you are gone the better, your 
 eyes are swelled out of your head, and 
 you have lost all your colour." Caro- 
 line withdrew; and having desired Mr. 
 Somers to attend the gentlemen, sat 
 down to wonder, and to grieve, at what 
 appeared to her so strange and so sad. 
 The curiosity of the two gentlemen was 
 soon fully gratified, but neither the 
 wishes of the one nor the other fulfilled. 
 Mrs. Pynsynt had given the whole of 
 her property to her niece, excepting 
 some few trifling legacies to her friends 
 and servants; and she had given her the 
 full and entire power over this property 
 on her attaining the age of eighteen; 
 appointing as her executor, and trustee 
 for her niece, Mr. Somers, a gentleman 
 in the neighbourhood; without men- 
 tioning either Lord Enville or Mr. Fitz- 
 Qsborn in the will, except by signifying, 
 that as the former and his family were 
 already so amply provided for, she con- 
 cluded that he would not consider the 
 disposal that she had made of her pro-
 
 48 
 perty, in favour of her portionless niece, 
 as arising from unkindness, or as an 
 undue distinction from others who stood 
 in the same degree of relationship to her. 
 Lord Enville, though he had feared that 
 Caroline would have the largest share of 
 her aunt's possessions, was not prepared 
 for so exclusive a preference in her fa- 
 vour: and Mr. Fitzosborn, though suffi- 
 ciently pleased that his daughter was 
 sole heiress, felt extremely disappointed 
 in having no right to interfere in the 
 regulation of her monev concerns. Lord 
 Enville betrayed his chagrin by mutter- 
 ing, " Amply provided for indeed ! — 
 What could an old woman know of what 
 is an ample provision for young people 
 in these days? or the necessary expenses 
 of a man of the world ?" And Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn no less betrayed what his wishes 
 were, by saying, "Strange! that so con- 
 scientious a lady as your sister, my lord, 
 should think any one so proper to take 
 care of a girl's interest as her father! But 
 these old maids are always for depreciat- 
 ing the rights of fathers and husbands."
 
 4>j 
 M Surely you do not complain?" re- 
 turned Lord Enville. " Complain ! 
 no, my lord; I think I have said no- 
 thing like it : not that I shall benefit 
 one farthing by this extraordinary will. 
 I know this gentleman executor pretty 
 well. You must have observed that he 
 is one of those over-righteous people, 
 who adhere to the letter of their duty, 
 without once regarding its spirit. I 
 dare say I might go to jail before he 
 would advance one penny of what he 
 would call my daughter's property."— 
 44 And I should consider him as being 
 perfectly right in so doing," returned 
 Lord Enville, drily. H And do you 
 consider your sister as perfectly right," 
 retorted Mr. Fitzosborn, " in having 
 given the reins entirely into the hands 
 of a girl of eighteen ? What a prepos- 
 terous notion, thus to antedate the period 
 of supposed discretion to one who is of 
 a sex which never arrives at discretion 
 at all !" " Then the act of antedating is 
 of little consequence," replied Lord En- 
 ville. " My lord, my lord," said Mr. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 60 
 
 Fitzosborn, warmly, " the girl whose 
 interests you seem so careless about, is 
 your niece, as much as my daughter. 
 What will you say when, at eighteen, 
 she runs away with the first needy ad- 
 venturer who has presumption enough 
 to ask her to do so?" " I say it is an 
 event that will never happen," returned 
 Lord Enville; " Lady Enville will take 
 better care of her." And, indeed, Lord 
 Enville had already determined upon the 
 course that would restore his sister's 
 coveted thousands to his own family; 
 which, though a little more circuitous 
 than he could have wished, he did not 
 consider as apocryphal. 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted 
 by the return " of the gentleman execu- 
 tor," who had left the room for a moment, 
 after having finished reading the will. 
 He addressed himself to Mr. Fitzosborn. 
 " I consider it, sir, as necessary that 
 Miss Fitzosborn should be present at the 
 breaking of the seals which were affixed 
 before my arrival: but as this is not 
 necessary to be done before the funeral,
 
 51 
 
 I hope there will be no objection to the 
 young lady remaining in this house till 
 that ceremony is over. This she is greatly 
 desirous of doing; and it would be very 
 distressing to her at this time to look 
 over Mrs. Pynsynt's personal effects, and 
 to attend to the information which she 
 ought to receive." " You would not 
 talk of such things to a child I" said Mr. 
 Fitzosborn. " My daughter must begin 
 her journey to town to-morrow; but 
 surely the business you talk of may be 
 transacted as well in her absence as if she 
 were here. I will attend you on the 
 breaking of the seals, an inventory of all 
 may be taken, and I will be accountable 
 to my daughter." " Pardon me, sir," 
 replied Mr. Somers, " I am alone ac- 
 countable to Miss Fitzosborn ; and I am 
 desirous that the trust which has been 
 committed to me, shall be not only 
 faithfully, but literally performed." " My 
 daughter cannot remain in this dismal 
 place any longer," returned Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn; " she is losing her spirits, she 
 is losing her health." " If it is so neces- 
 v $
 
 sary that Miss Fitzosborn should he re- 
 moved immediately," said Mr. Somers, 
 " she will, I dare say, so far conquer her 
 feelings, as to do to night all that is de- 
 sirable to be done; and, with your per- 
 mission, I will now wait upon her for 
 the purpose." 
 
 This rigid observer of forms well knew 
 Mr. Fitzosborn's character, his conduct 
 during the life of his first wife, and the 
 whole of the reasons that had induced 
 Mrs. Pynsyui to exclude him from any 
 interference in the money concerns of 
 his daughter; and, as his understanding- 
 was of that limited nature that did not 
 enable him to discover the meaning of 
 the words " righteous over-much," his 
 rule for conduct was, to do all that he 
 knew or believed to be right; and he 
 was perfectly persuaded that it was right 
 to keep Mr. Fitzosborn as distant as pos- 
 sible from the property of his daughter. 
 
 Caroline, although shrinking from the 
 task that was proposed to her, was easily 
 prevailed with to do that which she was 
 told was proper to be done ; and what
 
 53 
 would enable her, with whatever sacri- 
 fice on her part, to oblige her father in 
 the point of her speedy removal. The 
 business lay in a small compass, and was 
 soon despatched. Caroline was put into 
 possession of all the documents which 
 would enable her to understand her rights, 
 when she should be at leisure to attend 
 to them ; and the harder task of taking a 
 last view of the lifeless body of her be- 
 loved friend being performed, she ac- 
 companied her father and uncle into their 
 carriage, and, with a heayt half broker^ 
 bade adieu to all that she had, as yet, ever 
 loved, and to the scenes of past pleasures 
 which she thought no future ones could 
 rival. Her cousins were prepared to re- 
 ceive her as a creature of another world; 
 awkward, rustic, and uninformed : and 
 though she derived some merit, in their 
 eyes, from the amount of the thousands 
 which they had now learnt had centered 
 wholly in her, yet they considered them 
 as the costly setting of a worthless peb- 
 ble ; and thought how much better their 
 own graces and accomplishments de- 
 
 d 3
 
 54 
 
 served, and would have adorned, such an 
 accompaniment. They were, therefore, 
 a little startled, when, upon Lord En- 
 ville presenting Caroline to his family, 
 they found the clumsy country cousin 
 which they had imaged to themselves, an 
 elegant formed girl, tall of her age, and 
 graceful in her movements, with an intel- 
 ligent countenance, and features, which, 
 if not critically handsome, formed a 
 whole which every eye must acknow- 
 ledge as beauty. Her cheek was, how- 
 ever, now pale; and her eyes, where at 
 present no gaiety sparkled, were too fre- 
 quently bent to the ground. Here, in- 
 deed, her cousins had much reason to 
 congratulate themselves on their supe- 
 riority; for, instead of the unembar- 
 rassed air with which they were consci- 
 ous that they should have presented 
 themselves, they saw Caroline blush and 
 tremble, as Lord Enville presented her 
 first to one, and then to the other of her 
 unknown relations. Lady Enville, ob- 
 serving on her confusion, said, encou- 
 ragingly, " But this is wholly to be it!*-
 
 55 
 
 puted to the fault of education; I dare 
 say, Caroline, we shall soon be able to 
 make you more like the rest of the 
 world." But it was not by bashfulness 
 alone that Caroline drew on herself the 
 contempt of her cousins. As the supe- 
 riority of her fortune was never a mo- 
 ment out of their minds, so they con* 
 eluded that it was never out of hers; 
 and they were not unprepared to pay her 
 all the deference which they had so well 
 learnt to be clue to wealth. But when 
 these pupils of fashion and fastidious - 
 ness observed the modest reluctance tl~.xt 
 Caroline manifested to give trouble; her 
 indifference with respect to food and ac- 
 commodation ; the simplicity of her taste, 
 and her frank and genuine satisfaction in 
 all the pleasures suited to her age, they 
 regarded her as the most rustic and un- 
 distinguishing of mortals. " I do assure 
 you, mamma," said the youngest of these 
 well educated ladies, " Caroline has been 
 so strangely brought up, that she does 
 not care whether the e£s;s are new laid 
 or not, and is not afraid to eat them 
 11 4
 
 56 
 when they are old. Dear, how strong 
 her digestion must be !" 
 
 Miss Pynsynt was, however, more to- 
 lerant than her sisters ; and she had not 
 known Caroline a week, before she told 
 Lady Enville, that she did not despair of 
 the poor girl: " For, indeed, mamma, she 
 is not quite unladylike; and when she 
 has been with us a little longer, I dare 
 say she will succeed very well." Caroline 
 was not, however, a very apt scholar in 
 the lessons that her cousins sought to 
 teach her. At first astonished, and then 
 amused by the helplessness of her com- 
 panions, she thought of nothing so little 
 as imitating them. She had been accus- 
 tomed to be praised for her activity, her 
 diligence, the due regulation of her ex- 
 penses, and the exactness with which 
 she performed all that was intrusted to 
 her; nor could she view lassitude, indo- 
 lence, forgetful ness, and inattention, 
 otherwise than as objects of reprehen- 
 sion or ridicule. Her youth, and her 
 natural disposition, led her more to laugh 
 than to reprove; and her cousins found
 
 5/ 
 
 themselves rather engaged in repelling 
 her raillery, than in rectifying her opi- 
 nions. In all these little disputations, 
 she found a never-foiling advocate in her 
 cousin Charles ; who, though he was not 
 a whit behind any of his family in his 
 pretensions to all that constitutes a man 
 of the ton, for some reasons, either of his 
 own or his father's, was willing to con- 
 ciliate the good opinion of Caroline, and 
 to uphold, at least in theory, the maxims 
 of prudence, regularity, and moderation. 
 Caroline, on her side, now first, under 
 the form of an uncommonly handsome 
 youth of twentv, beo-an to be sensible to 
 the charms attendant on highly polished 
 manners, and to awaken to the delight 
 that gay and refined conversation can be- 
 stow, and, in consequence, repaid the 
 attentions of Charles by a partiality that 
 seemed to secure to Lord Enville all that 
 his heart could wish with respect to 
 the at present alienated property of his 
 sister. 
 
 On Caroline's removal to London, she 
 first became known to some branches of 
 d5
 
 58 
 her father's family, which she had hither- 
 to never seen, and of some of whom she 
 had scarcely ever heard. 
 
 Mr. Fitzosborn had had two brothers. 
 The eldest had never married. His youth 
 had been spent in a state of constant indis- 
 position, which having taken from him 
 both the power and the inclination of 
 mixing with the world, had occasioned 
 him to remain almost wholly v in the 
 country. His pleasures were planting and 
 gardening; and looking up " through Na- 
 ture, unto Nature's God," his mind had 
 become imbued with the strongest reli- 
 gious principles. He had applied all the 
 energy of a vigorous understanding to 
 the investigation of the evidence of the 
 Christian religion ; and, in consequence, 
 lie considered its truth as little less than 
 demonstrable. What he believed to be 
 true, he did not suiter to be inoperative; 
 and every action and every thought was, 
 with him, referred to a gospel rule. As 
 he associated little with his fellow men, 
 the affections of his heart had never been 
 called into action; and having, in his
 
 59 
 own mind, a high standard of right, he 
 thought there was scarcely a human 
 creature deserving of his love. He had 
 found it easy to himself to avoid all wan- 
 dering into forbidden oaths; and he 
 therefore concluded all who thus went 
 astray to be such volunteers in vice, as 
 left them without excuse. " The. Seer 
 of hearts," would he say, " may balance 
 the temptation with the crime; parblind 
 man can judge only by the outward act: 
 if the mark is in the forehead, it is reason- 
 able to conclude that the murder has been 
 committed." With him, one established 
 failure in the path of rectitude fixed the 
 character as vitious ; and with vice he 
 would hold no communion : for the 
 anomaly of the human mind he knew 
 not to make any allowance; and with 
 a heart naturally disposed to kindness, 
 no one appeared to be less kind. 
 
 Caroline's father had been induced, in 
 a moment of extreme pecuniary pressure, 
 in consideration of an ample temporary 
 supply, to join with Mr. Fitzosborn in 
 cutting* off the entail of the family est
 
 60 
 
 and, from this hour, the elder brother 
 had considered the younger as no better 
 than another Esau. He had ceased to 
 have any intercourse with him ; nor 
 would he suffer his name to be men- 
 tioned before him. " He has sold his 
 birth-right," said he, " and is no brother 
 of mine." 
 
 The power, however, that he had thus 
 gained of disposing of his property, he 
 had used liberally towards most of the 
 other younger branches of his family ; 
 rather, however, as the head of his 
 "house, than as an affectionate relation 
 who rejoices in the participation of good. 
 He had portioned his sisters bountifully, 
 and established them in the world ; but 
 to his youngest brother he dealt out his 
 kindnesses, with a more sparing hand. 
 The young man had married imprudently : 
 and Mr. Fitzosborn observed, that as he 
 had gratified his passions at the expense 
 of his dutv, it was right that he should 
 have an opportunity of feeling the con- 
 sequence of such an election. The wife 
 he would not see; objecting to her, that
 
 61 
 a woman who overlooks prudence in- a 
 matrimonial connexion, must be a slave 
 to the worst propensities : and when the 
 early death of his brother left her a 
 widow with four children, with little to 
 subsist on, he relaxed from his rigid rule 
 of right no farther than to allot to her 
 and her daughters a scanty provision, 
 and to assign them a small house, in a 
 distant county, as their residence. The 
 boy he put to school, and gave him such 
 an education as would enable him to foL- 
 low the law; but without any distinc- 
 tion that seemed to point him out as his 
 future heir: on the contrary, he pub- 
 lickly declared that he would have no 
 regard to blood or name in his choice of 
 an heir; but that he would alone be de- 
 termined by the worthiness of the indi- 
 vidual. " The family which has not 
 worth to stand upon, had better fall to 
 the ground," said he. From such declara- 
 tions, and from the whole tenor of his 
 life, he was considered so much of a 
 humourist, that no one durst promise 
 themselves that his ample possessions
 
 eg 
 
 would not become the property of the 
 most artful of those who were allowed 
 to approach him. For some years past 
 he had nearly shut himself up from all 
 society, his servants, and people on bu- 
 siness, being the only persons who in 
 general were admitted to see him. The 
 world was, however, much mistaken in 
 the character of Mr. Fitzosborn. Hu- 
 mourist as he was supposed to be, no 
 one in fact could be less so; his will 
 was ever dependent upon his principles : 
 and if there appeared any irregularity in 
 the course of his virtue, it was not that 
 he ever disregarded the right line, but 
 that he mistook it: nor, secluded as he 
 appeared to be, and regardless of all that 
 passed beyond the confines of his own 
 domain, could there be a more observant 
 or a more sagacious overlooker of all 
 that passed amongst his expectant rela- 
 tions, than Mr. Fitzosborn. He knew 
 the characters of each, and how to ap- 
 preciate and balance the different merits 
 and claims of the contending candidates 
 for his favour*
 
 63 
 
 The mistakes of Mr. Fitzosborn arose 
 not from any deficiency of heart; they 
 arose only from a false nomenclature. 
 u Severity of punishment, " he called 
 " vindicating the cause of virtue:" the 
 " fallibilitv of human nature," he called 
 " vice;" and " misanthropy," he called 
 (i sitting loose to the world." 
 
 Of Caroline, Mr. Fitzosborn had 
 scarcely ever heard; and it is probable, 
 if Mrs. Pynsynt had lived, she would 
 never have engaged his notice. Lord 
 Enville, however, knew what he called 
 the world much better than his sister 
 had done; and as he had already, in hope, 
 converted the fortune that she had left 
 Caroline to the uses of his own family, 
 he was not willing to be so wanting 
 to himself, as to neglect any means 
 which he thought likely to dispose of 
 the possessions of Mr. Fitzosborn in the 
 same manner. There was, indeed, some 
 difficulty in introducing Caroline to her 
 uncle's notice; but the prize was a 
 tempting one, and well worthy of some 
 vigorous efforts to secure it; nor was
 
 C4 
 Lord Enville a man to be easily turned 
 aside from the path of interest. He 
 believed, that if Caroline could once 
 enter the doors of Henhurst, the work 
 was done; so much did he rely upon 
 the charms of ingenuous youth; and so 
 powerful towards the conciliation of fa- 
 vour did one of the most artful of mea 
 feel the influence of artlessness to be. 
 This step, however, upon which all was 
 to depend, Lord Enville found it impos- 
 sible to make. Amongst the numerous 
 family connexions to which Caroline 
 had been introduced since her arrival ia 
 town, there was but one who was will- 
 ing, had they been able, to have intro- 
 duced her at Henhurst. They most of 
 them hoped that her name would never 
 reach the ear of Mr. Fitzosborn; and while 
 they continued to show her every polite 
 attention themselves, represented the in> 
 possibility there was of making her 
 known to her uncle. There was, indeed, 
 one exception to this general fear of a 
 rival, and this exception was Edward 
 Fitzosborn, the fatherless boy of the
 
 §5 
 
 indiscreet brother of Air. Fitzosborn., 
 who was now expiating by a laborious 
 profession, little cheered by the bounty 
 of his uncle, the mistakes of his father. 
 
 Edward Fitzosborn had now had chanv 
 bers in LincolnVInn about two years. 
 From being the intimate friend of Charles 
 Pynsynt, he was in the habits of the 
 most perfect familiarity in Lord Enville's 
 family. As the possible heir of Hen- 
 hurst, this young man had not been 
 thought wholly unworthy of Lady En- 
 ville's attention; as furnishing, at least," 
 a resource for the disposal of one of her 
 daughters; but, on the introduction of 
 Caroline into her house, she had fully 
 agreed with her lord, that the interests 
 of the family would be better provided 
 for by securing to her Mr. Fitzosborn's 
 estate, and marrying her to one of their 
 sons, than by an union of Mr. Edward 
 Fitzosborn with their daughter Charlotte. 
 She was the more readily led iuto this 
 conclusion from there being nothing in 
 the character of Edward that constituted, 
 in the opinion of Lady Enville, the ex-
 
 66 
 
 cellence of man. It is true that he had 
 the reputation of acute sense, and of 
 much information; of industry in his 
 studies, of moderation in his pleasures, 
 and of unimpeached rectitude. He was 
 already considered as heing an ornament 
 to his profession: and the grave, the 
 wise, and the good, spoke of Edward 
 Fitzosborn with approbation : but the 
 grave, the wise, and the good, were nei- 
 ther the oracles nor the associates of 
 Lady Enville. She thought it ridiculous 
 in a young man to decline a late engage- 
 ment because his duty awaited him at 
 an early hour in the morning; and mean- 
 spirited to limit his expenses by the 
 power he had of paying his debts. The 
 young ladies had, indeed, a more favour- 
 able opinion of him ; for while they can- 
 didly confessed that he had " some 
 strange notions,' 1 they contended that 
 nobody made prettier verses, or looked 
 more like a gentleman ; and Charles 
 Pynsynt summed up the whole by say- 
 ing, " that Edward Fitzosborn was the 
 worthiest creature breathing/'
 
 67 
 How much of each of these opinions 
 Caroline combined in that which she 
 formed of her cousin, may be seen here- 
 after. At present she gave no sign of fa- 
 vour towards him, farther than sometimes 
 withdrawing her attention from the rattle 
 of Charles, to listen to the arguments of 
 Edward, and sometimes making him the 
 compliment of giving up her opinion to 
 his. On his part, he rather seemed to 
 regard her as a younger sister, to whom 
 his protection was due, than either as a 
 rival in the competition for his uncle's 
 estate, or as a lovely female growing 
 into charms that might make his hap- 
 piness dependant on her will. " How I 
 wish my uncle could know Caroline!" 
 would he sometimes say. " He thinks 
 but indifferently of the rest of us, but 
 he would be puzzled to find fault with 
 her; she would put his misanthropy to a 
 nonplus. Time, however, passed on; and 
 neither the good-natured disinterested- 
 ness of Edward, nor the more politic 
 endeavours of Lord Enville, had advanced 
 Caroline one step in the knowledge of
 
 68 
 
 the elder Mr, Fitzosborn: and so hope- 
 less did Lord Enville consider her 
 chance of becoming the heiress of Hen- 
 hurst, that he entirely gave up the idea 
 of uniting her with his eldest son, and 
 began to turn all his thoughts to the ac- 
 complishing her union with Charles. 
 
 Accident, however, did that for Lord 
 Enville which all his management had 
 failed to accomplish. The female ser- 
 vant who had attended upon Caroline 
 from her birth, had accompanied her on 
 her removal to London, and had re- 
 mained with her for more than two 
 years. At the end of this period, find- 
 ing her health decline, she resolved to 
 return to her native place, and to pass 
 the remainder of her life amongst her 
 relations. This native place was a vil- 
 lage scarcely a mile distant, from Hen- 
 hurst; and the relation with whom Mrs. 
 Hanbrooke had taken up her residence 
 was one of the principal tenants of Mr. 
 Fitzosborn. Caroline, who entertained 
 an almost filial regard for this old ser- 
 vant, had continued to correspond fre-
 
 69 
 
 Cjtf ently with her ; and learning that she 
 grew daily into worse health, she was 
 resolved to visit her. 
 
 Caroline found no opposition to her 
 purpose from any one. The distance 
 from town did not exceed fifty miles, 
 and she intended to pass the single night 
 in which she should be absent, in the 
 form house to which she was going, and 
 where she had learnt from Mrs. Han- 
 brooke that she could be accommodated. 
 Attended, therefore, only by her own 
 maid, and in one of Lord Enville's car- 
 riages, Caroline made her little journey 
 very successfully; and the situation in 
 which she found her friend made her 
 sincerely rejoice that she had undertaken 
 it. Her complaints had increased so 
 rapidly, that she was now confined to 
 her bed; and Caroline learnt from the 
 apothecary, that her life was not likely 
 to be long. The poor woman was so 
 transported and cheered by the sight 
 aiid kindness of Caroline, that the latter 
 naturally feared some bad effects from 
 her quitting so immediately as she had
 
 70 
 intended. She therefore resolved to 
 continue where she was, at least for a 
 few days; and she conveyed the purest 
 delight to the heart of her dying 
 friend, by assuring her that she would 
 not leave her while she wished her 
 to remain. This was no long pro- 
 tracted period. Mrs. Hanbrooke drew 
 her last breath within four days after 
 Caroline's arrival. This death-bed scene 
 recalled to the mind of Caroline that 
 which had bereaved her of the friend 
 whom she had always most tenderly 
 loved, and whose loss she had not found 
 any one in her now more extended 
 circle of acquaintance in any degree 
 fitted to supply. Indeed, she considered 
 this second stroke of death as having 
 deprived her of the human being who, 
 next to Mrs. Pynsynt, had most sin- 
 cerely loved her, and that she was 
 henceforward to be comparatively alone 
 in the world. 
 
 Her mind saddened with these thoughts, 
 and with the reflections that they drew 
 after them, she was sitting, the morning
 
 71 
 following the death of Mrs. Hanbrooke, 
 in the little parlour that had been appro- 
 priated to her use, when the door opened 
 gently: she raised her head, expecting 
 to see the servant, and beheld not a 
 woman, but a little old man. On see- 
 ing a lady he started, begged pardon, 
 and seemed to intend to withdraw; yet 
 stopt, as if he had a right to enter. The 
 fanner, who appeared at the same in- 
 stant, hoped his honour would forgive 
 him; said there was a fire in another 
 room; again hoped to be forgiven; and 
 again desired his honour would let him 
 show him to the other room. Caroline 
 had risen, on the gentleman's hesitation 
 to withdraw; and she now said, with all 
 the sweetness of civil deference, " 1 beg 
 I may not be in the gentleman's way; I 
 will go into my own room, and I am 
 sure it is more agreeable to the gentle- 
 man to be here." " May I ask," said 
 the intruder, " who is this obliging 
 young lady, who is so desirous to do 
 what is agreeable to an old man?" " Oh 
 your honour," said the farmer, " pray
 
 don't be angry; it is Miss Fitzosborn. 
 She is a very oblioino: vouno; ladv in- 
 deecL She came here only for a few- 
 days, to look after my sister, who, please 
 your honour, was dying, and now she is 
 dead; and the young lady will go away. 
 I believe, my lady," turning to Caro- 
 line, " I believe you are going away 
 to-day?" " Yes, indeed I am," said Ca- 
 roline, who had by this time discovered 
 in the old man the misanthropic uncle 
 of whom she had heard; " and I am sure 
 I shall be very sorry if my having been 
 in this room has been any inconvenience 
 to you, sir." So saying, she turned to 
 go away. " Stay, stay, young lady," 
 said Sit. Fitzosborn, " you and I must 
 have a w T ord or two together. Child, do 
 you know who I am? do you know that 
 I am vo-ur uncle?" " I did not know r it, 
 sir, when you entered the room," re- 
 turned Caroline; 5' but I concluded from 
 Mr. Hanbrooke's manner that it. could 
 be no other; and I really beg your par- 
 don if I have been any ways trouble- 
 some to you." " Why don't you fall
 
 73 
 on your knees, and ask my blessing, 
 and call me your dear uncle, and tell 
 me how much you have always loved 
 me?" said Mr. Fitzosborn. Caroline 
 smiled. " I would ask your blessing, in- 
 deed," replied she, " with all my heart; 
 and though I could not say that I had 
 always loved you, yet I durst engage to 
 love you for the time to come, if you 
 would let me; and then, sir, you would 
 be my dear uncle of course you know." 
 i( You are saucy, I see," said the old 
 man, smiling upon her, and taking her 
 by the hand. " I should like to know 
 a little more of you, but I will have no- 
 thing to do with those Envilles — have 
 you any of that tribe with you?" " I 
 have only my own maid with me," said 
 Caroline. " I came only for twenty- 
 four hours, merely to see poor Mrs, 
 Hanbrooke, but she was so ill I could 
 not leave her, and now I am returning 
 immediately." " Then you could not 
 pass a night at Henhurst, if I were to 
 invite you?" said Mr. Fitzosborn. " I 
 can do any thing that you wish me to 
 vol. r, e
 
 n 
 
 do, sir," said Caroline, " and I shall be 
 happy to receive your commands." 
 " Well then, go into your own room till 
 I have finished my business with Han- 
 brooke here, and then be ready to ac- 
 company me to Henhurst; to-morrow 
 you shall return to town." 
 
 Caroline withdrew, as she was ordered, 
 and scarcely knew whether to be sorry 
 or glad that accident had introduced her 
 to a person of whom she had heard so 
 whimsical a character, and whom she 
 did not know whether she ought to 
 consider as a worthy or unworthy per- 
 son. Her three years' residence in the 
 family of Lord Enville had given her a 
 but too sufficient insight into the selfish- 
 ness of human nature; and she had but 
 too frequently heard the difficulties that 
 some of her relations had raised to the 
 introduction of her at Henhurst im- 
 puted to their fear of her as a rival in 
 the favour of its master, to be unaware 
 that her visit to him would be considered 
 by all her connexions as an event of 
 importance, and her conduct upon the
 
 occasion as an object of severe scrutiny. 
 Hitherto she had scarcely bestowed a 
 thought on the bickerings and gossip- 
 ings that the opposite interests of the 
 different parties concerned had given 
 rise to; and the only wish that she had 
 ever entertained upon the subject was, 
 that Edward Fitzosborn should be her 
 uncle's heir: but she now felt that she 
 should from henceforth be considered as 
 one of the contending parties; and she 
 shrunk from the ill-will, envy, and evil 
 imputations that she saw she should be 
 exposed to. 
 
 The hour that Mr. Fitzosborn spent 
 with Mr. Hanbrooke, was occupied by 
 Caroline in reflections such as these: 
 and when she obeyed her uncle's sum- 
 mons to accompany him to his carriage, 
 they had spread over her face an air 
 of thoughtfulness almost to sadness. 
 " You don't look pleased," said he, the 
 moment he saw her: " if you repent 
 your promise, I will leave you where 
 you are." " No indeed," replied Caro- 
 line fervently, " that is not the case." 
 
 E 2
 
 76 
 
 " Well then," said he, " let me see you 
 smile; for surely you are innocent, and 
 smiles become innocence." In fact, Ca- 
 roline had soon reason to smile, for no- 
 thing could exceed the good-humoured 
 pleasure that her uncle seemed to take 
 in her company. The old housekeeper 
 saw with surprise a young lady accom- 
 pany her master into the house; and this 
 astonishment was increased in a high 
 degree, when she received orders to pre- 
 pare a room for the new guest. This 
 surprise seemed to spread itself through 
 the whole household, and she perceived 
 that she was considered as an object of 
 general curiosity. Caroline, on her part, 
 looked around with equal wonder. She 
 was surrounded by magnificence; but it 
 was magnificence grown grey, — all was 
 stately and gloomy : and when her uncle 
 led her into the dining-room, and placed 
 her at the head of the table, she be- 
 held, prepared for two people, a heca- 
 tomb, rather than a dinner. The first 
 entrance into this ancient habitation 
 had reminded her of the seclusion and
 
 77 
 privacy that had pervaded her favourite 
 residence in Somersetshire: but the sim- 
 plicity, the freedom, and unceremonious 
 order which was observed there, formed 
 a striking contrast to the magnificence, 
 the restraint, and stately subordination 
 that seemed to prevail at Henhurst. 
 
 Her uncle was, however, with her, 
 perfectly easy and familiar; and seemed 
 resolved to try both her understanding 
 and her heart, by putting her upon giv- 
 ing her opinion, not only of every indi- 
 vidual of the Fitzosborn family, her 
 father excepted, but of all the Envilles. 
 Caroline acquitted herself in this difficult 
 task so much to her uncle's satisfaction, 
 that, when he parted with her at night, 
 he touched her cheek with his lips, and 
 said, " Good night, child; it is a pity the 
 world should spoil thee; at present thou 
 hast less of original sin than any one I 
 ever conversed with. When they met at 
 breakfast, Mr. Fitzosborn appeared more 
 grave and thoughtful than he had been 
 the evening before: at first he spoke 
 little; and Caroline took care not to in- 
 
 E 3
 
 78 
 
 terrupt his reflections even by her at- 
 tentions. At length he said, " I have 
 been thinking whether I should like to 
 keep you with me; but I believe it is 
 better not : you would, of course, be 
 tired in this dull place, shut up with an 
 old man, for I see no company; and I 
 should not intend to make you what 
 perhaps you might think would be a 
 recompense. You will not be my heir; 
 you are rich enough for a woman; and 
 are but too sure, as it is, to be the prey 
 of somebody who will love your money 
 better than yourself. I shall not in- 
 crease your danger. So you see you 
 would get nothing by shutting yourself 
 up here, and therefore 1 think we had 
 better part to-day." " All I should wish 
 for," returned Caroline, " in shutting 
 myself up with you, as you call it, sir, 
 would be, that I might add to the 
 pleasure of your life; and if you think 
 that my remaining with you will do so, 
 I have no doubt but my father will con- 
 sent to my removing to Kenhurst." " I 
 have no doubt but he would," replied
 
 79 
 Mr. I'itzosborn with a frown. " I know 
 his motives. But don't mention your 
 father to me : he is no brother of mine. 
 He has enabled me to leave my estate as 
 I choose to leave it, and I lell you this 
 will not be to you: and having fully 
 considered the matter, here we will part: 
 only promise me, if I feel a desire once 
 again to see the human countenance 
 undisrigured by the bad passions of the 
 human heart, that you will come to me 
 whenever I send for you." " You may 
 depend upon it that I will," said Ca- 
 roline. " And I do assure you, sir, with 
 infinitely more pleasure after the decla- 
 ration that you have made, than I could 
 have done before: because now I shall 
 not only be sure of myself, that I am 
 not swayed by an improper motive, but 
 1 shall be able to convince all my friends 
 that there is nothing interested in the 
 duty that I wish to pay you." " I 
 charge you," said Mr. Fitzosborn in a 
 raised voice, " not to mention to a 
 human creature what I have said to you. 
 I will have all those whom uncertainty 
 
 e 4
 
 80 
 
 can torture, left in uncertainty; it is 
 what they deserve. And though I tell 
 you who will not be my heir, I do not 
 tell you who will" Caroline had the 
 name of her cousin Edward on her lips; 
 but she felt that it did not become her 
 to dictate, and she suffered it not to 
 escape. 
 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, who considered fifty 
 miles as a long journey, hastened the 
 carriage, lest Caroline should be late in 
 town; and, as he touched her lips at 
 parting, he put on her finger a very 
 valuable diamond ring. " Take this to 
 remember me by," said he; " it was my 
 mother's; she w ? as a good woman: when 
 you are tired of being good, send it mc 
 back again." " Rather," said Caroline, 
 " my dear uncle, when you hear any 
 thing of me which you disapprove, do 
 you send for your ring again; and oh, 
 how much do I wish that ycu could see 
 and hear all I do and say, that while I 
 retained the ring, I might be sure that I 
 was not doing wrong!"' " Child," said 
 Mr, Fitzosborn sternly, " this is flat-
 
 81 
 
 tery : you have your bible and your 
 conscience, it is enough — if you trans- 
 gress against those two guides, you will 
 not have the plea of ignorance to allege; 
 and while you do not return the ring, I 
 will believe that you are worthy to wear 
 it." An involuntary tear dropt from 
 Caroline's eye upon the old man's hand 
 as he said these words: he seemed sur- 
 prised.—" Well," added he, n I see that 
 you are a tender plant: God keep you 
 alike from too much storm, or sunshine; 
 some of each you must be exposed to, 
 or those qualities, which look so like 
 virtues in you now, will never grow 
 beyond good dispositions. — Farewell l M 
 
 Caroline, on having informed Lady 
 Enviile of her intention to remain with 
 Mrs. Hanbrooke, had desired that no 
 expectation of her return to town at any 
 precise time might be entertained: but 
 she promised to do so the first hour she 
 could, consistent with her attention to 
 her dying friend. She was well aware 
 that the day and night passed at Hen- 
 hurst would not be considered as an 
 e5
 
 82 
 
 unpardonable infringement of this pro- 
 mise: she had, therefore, no apprehen- 
 sions of being ill received on her re- 
 appearance in Grosvenor Square. It 
 happened, however, that her father, on 
 being apprised where she was gone, and 
 for what purpose, was by no means 
 pleased with the expedition. He called 
 every day at Lord Enville's with an 
 earnest inquiry after her; and was, by 
 her lengthened stay, become entirely 
 out of humour with her. The feelings 
 that had led his daughter to the sick-bed 
 of a faithful servant, and which still 
 detained her there, were of no estimation 
 in his eyes; and he could not help re- 
 proaching Lord Enville with the in- 
 eligible consequences of the lessons 
 which she had received from Mrs. Pyn- 
 synt. In the evening of the sixth day 
 from Caroline's departure from town, 
 Mr. Fitzosborn was sitting with Lord 
 and Lady Enville, all warmly disputing 
 as to the propriety of having permitted 
 the indulgence of so romantic a fancy, 
 as Mr. Fitzosborn called the visit to
 
 83 
 
 Mrs. Hanbrooke; but all agreeing, that 
 if Caroline did not retain that night, 
 Lady Enville should go herself the 
 next day into Kent, and bring her back 
 with her: Mr. Fitzosborn at the same 
 time promising to indemnify himself for 
 the uneasiness that her absence had 
 occasioned, by the severity of the re- 
 proof which he resolved to bestow 
 upon her when she returned. Indeed 
 these three well-bred people had talked 
 themselves into so ill a humour, and 
 had so inflamed their minds against poor 
 Caroline and each other, that when her 
 carriage stopt at the door of Lord En- 
 ville's house, they thought only of who 
 should receive her in the most disoblig- 
 ing manner. Caroline, whose mind, since 
 she had quitted Henhurst, had been 
 wholly occupied with what had passed in- 
 her interview with her uncle, and the 
 effect that this interview would have 
 upon so many, on whose temper and 
 dispositions depended so much of the 
 comfort of her life, had never once 
 thought of the displeasure that awaited
 
 84 
 
 her, and which, on entering Lord En* 
 ville's drawing-room, she saw so plainly 
 marked in every countenance. - 
 
 " If this," began Lady Enville, the 
 moment she saw her ; '•• if this is the 
 fruit of my indulgence" — " It is the 
 fruit," broke in Mr. Fitzosborn, " of 
 making young ladies independent at 
 eighteen ; but I can tell you, madam," — 
 " Pray," interrupted Lord Enville, " let 
 Caroline tell us; let us hear what she has 
 to say in her defence : pray, child, 
 what can have induced you to make so 
 preposterous a sojourn with that foolish 
 old Hanbrooke?" 
 
 Caroline, astonished by a reception so 
 contrary to any thing that she had looked 
 for, was going humbly to inquire what 
 was her offence, when the mention of 
 her lost friend in terms so contemptuous, 
 brought the tears into her eyes, and at 
 the same time gave something of the 
 quickness of resentment to her spirit; 
 and she replied, without any depreca- 
 tion or apology, " 1 have been at Hen- 
 hurst." The famous, " It was this day I
 
 85 
 conquered Hannibal," could not have bad 
 a more powerful effect in repelling accu- 
 sation, than had these few words of Caro- 
 line. The effect upon the nerves of her 
 accusers was evident as it was instanta- 
 neous : they each shrunk back, as if 
 into themselves; and retreating a few 
 paces from her, all with one voice re- 
 peated, " Have been at Henhurst ! Well, 
 and what, and how?" — " Give me leave 
 to sit down," said Caroline, " and I will 
 tell you every thing." " Sit down by me, 
 my love," said Lady Enville ; " but first 
 you must have some refreshment; have 
 you dined?" " I have not had any thing 
 since I left Henhurst," said Caroline; 
 * ( but not because I had no refreshment 
 in my power ; for my uncle, who consi- 
 ders fifty miles on the high road between 
 London and Henhurst as a very formi- 
 dable pilgrimage, ordered me such store 
 of good things into the carriage, as would 
 be sufficient for my sustenance for a 
 week to come." As she said this, she 
 accidentally pulled off her glove: Lady 
 Enville instantly espied the ring: " Bless
 
 86 
 
 me, my dear, what's that ? I never saw 
 you wear that ring before." " My uncle 
 gave it me/' said Caroline. " It was 
 my mother's," cried Mr. Fitzosborn ; " it 
 was a part of the family jewels ; with 
 what delight do I see it on your finger! 
 1 hail it as the auspice that the estate 
 will follow." " Indeed, sir," replied Ca- 
 roline, " my uncle gave it me with a 
 very different intention ; and I assure 
 you 1 have no more reason to expect to 
 be his heir than I had before my visit to 
 llenhurst." " Tell us, however, all about 
 it," said he: and her impatient auditors 
 now gathering about her, made her en- 
 ter into the most minute detail of every 
 action, word, or look of the old man. 
 They would, too, have been glad to have 
 had an exact inventory of all the move- 
 ables at Henhurst ; but in this Caroline 
 could not indulge them, not even so far 
 as to satisfy her father whether such and 
 such particular pieces of plate and fur- 
 niture had escaped the general pillage. 
 " For no doubt his servants rob him 
 every day," said Mr, Fitzosborn. " Upon
 
 87 
 my word," said Caroline, " there is no 
 appearance of any such robbing ; I never 
 observed any household that appeared 
 more under the command of the master 
 of the house. My uncle, apparently, 
 sees and acts for himself on all occasions, 
 and is to be obeyed with a promptitude 
 and respect that is not usually seen. 
 And as to depredations, the whole house, 
 as far as I saw, is fully and magnificently 
 furnished ; and," added she, with a smile, 
 " the furniture seems as if it stood just 
 where it has done for the last fifty years." 
 " So much the better, so much the 
 better," said Mr. Fitzosborn ; " there will 
 be fine rummaging : but when do you go 
 again, my dear? I suppose, now your 
 uncle has once seen you, he will scarcely 
 bear you out of his sight." " He does 
 not seem to have any such predilection 
 for my company," returned Caroline : 
 " however, I thought I might venture to 
 promise him your permission, sir, to attend 
 him whenever he wished to see me." 
 " Undoubtedly. Poor Edward ! I would 
 not give him a pinch of snuff for his
 
 88 
 
 chance." As Mr. Fitzosborn said this, 
 poor Edward entered the room ; and all, 
 except Caroline, were eager to tell him 
 of the important event that had taken 
 place, and of the high favour that Ca- 
 roline was in with her uncle. Edward 
 heard all this without the smallest 
 change of countenance, or a single pulse 
 beating faster or slower: but turning to 
 Caroline, he said, a sun-beam of bene- 
 volence then spreading itself over his 
 features, " I congratulate you with all 
 my soul, my dear cousin; but I congra- 
 tulate others more than I do you ; for, 
 had you all the world's wealth, it would 
 only be used in doing good." Caroline 
 blushed, and said, " Edward, you might 
 equally have spared your congratulations 
 and your compliments, they are both 
 equally unfounded : I have no reason to 
 believe that I shall be my uncle's heir; 
 and if I were to be so, I have no confi- 
 dence in myself that I should use his 
 riches worthily." The party was now 
 increased by the return of the young 
 people from their dinner engagements,
 
 89 
 and Caroline was obliged to go over 
 again the story of the visit to Henhurst. 
 From this evening, in spite of all 
 Caroline's assertions to the contrary, she 
 was generally considered, by every mem- 
 ber of her own and the Enville family, 
 as the undoubted heir of the " old man." 
 It signified nothing to disclaim any such 
 expectation on her part, such disclaim- 
 ing^ were treated as finesse and art; and 
 many of those who felt themselves the 
 most disappointed by the allotment, 
 which yet they were so ready to make of 
 Mr. Fitzosborn's property, did not scru- 
 ple to insinuate that the visit to Mrs. 
 Hanbrooke was all a pretence, under 
 which Caroline had designed, and had 
 succeeded in forcing herself upon her 
 uncle's notice. In the mean-time poor 
 Caroline gained nothing by her supposed 
 good fortune, but an additional weight 
 of envy and ill will, and a clearer insight 
 into the bad part of human nature. Nor 
 was this made more evident by the 
 taunts and sarcasms of those who be- 
 lieved that she stood in the way of their
 
 90 
 interest, than by the increased deference 
 and attention that she met with from 
 the Enville family. Of this family, the 
 only individual on whom her brilliant 
 prospects did not seem to have any 
 effect, was Charles Pynsynt. So far 
 from becoming more assiduous in his at- 
 tentions, he was, from about this time, 
 more and more careless in his manners 
 towards her, and less at home than lie 
 had ever before been. The time, how- 
 ever, was now passed, if indeed it had 
 ever existed, in which this estrangement 
 on the part of Charles could have caused 
 Caroline any mortification. A more ge- 
 neral acquaintance with the other sex 
 had taught her that he was not the only 
 young man of graceful manners, or of 
 gay conversation ; and if, on comparison 
 between the lively good humour of 
 Charles, and the supercilious coxcombry 
 of Mr. Pynsynt, Caroline gave the palm 
 to the younger brother, yet there were 
 others, who, in her mind, as far excelled 
 Charles in all that pleases the fancy and 
 warms the heart, as Charles excelled
 
 91 
 
 Mr. Pynsynt in all the lighter graces of 
 familiar intercourse. Indeed, her ripen- 
 ed understanding had enabled her so to 
 appreciate his character, that, upon the 
 whole, she found in him more to pity 
 and condemn than to admne. If her 
 vanity might still be supposed to find 
 some mortification in this falling off of 
 one of her admirers, she had, perhaps, 
 in the eye of her companions, more than 
 an indemnification in the increased adu- 
 lation and solicitude of another. Mr. 
 Pynsynt had hitherto, of all the family, 
 been the least desirous to conciliate Caro- 
 line. He had often treated her with neg- 
 lect, and had even shown some disposition 
 to mortify her; but now his manner was 
 wholly changed. lie was scarcely eyer 
 from her side ; and, when there, endea- 
 voured to retain her ear and win her 
 heart by the softest and most insinuating 
 flattery : but if she had been little 
 pleased with his former treatment, she 
 was disgusted with his present manner. 
 If before she had regarded him as an im- 
 pertinent coxcomb, she now considered
 
 92 
 
 him as equally mean and mercenary. 
 How did Edward Fitzosborn shine upon 
 the comparison ! — If, as Mr. Pynsynt, he 
 did not seem to regard her more, neither 
 did he, as Charles, seem to seek her less. 
 He was still the same obliging compa- 
 nion, the same easy unrestrained rela- 
 tion, the same sincere monitor, which 
 she had always found him. They were f 
 in fact, the only individuals of their fa- 
 mily who were not swayed by a pecuni- 
 ary bias ; and they found, in the simila- 
 rity of their sentiments, an interest and 
 mutual attraction, of which they had not 
 till now been sensible. The years which 
 had passed since Caroline first saw Ed- 
 ward, had not, with him, been time 
 thrown away : the promise of excellence 
 which he then gave had been fulfilled : 
 the small circle was extended ; his repu- 
 tation had taken a wider range. The 
 first men in his profession thought them- 
 selves honoured by distinguishing him ; 
 the social dinner wanted its best attrac- 
 tion when he was absent; the ladies 
 called him " Saavage," but thought him
 
 93 
 
 charming; and he had found the means 
 of defending and befriending so many m 
 the lower classes, that, had he been a 
 citizen of Athens, he might have been in 
 danger of banishment from the repeti- 
 tion of his praises. None of his good 
 qualities were lost upon Caroline, nor 
 did it appear that he was blind to hers, 
 lie gave his full credit for her disavowal 
 of any expectation of her uncle's pro- 
 perty; and, in discussing together the 
 old man's character, they agreed in their 
 conclusion, that the issue of the hopes 
 and fears of every one would be the 
 disappointment of all. " My uncle,'' 
 said Caroline, " is not the whimsical 
 mortal that he is supposed to be: caprice 
 will not dispose of his estate; but so 
 many qualifications and so many cir- 
 cumstances must unite in the person 
 whom he would think worthy of being 
 his heir, that, in mere despair of 
 rinding what he wishes, he will probably 
 fix upon one who will be most distant 
 from all that he would have chosen." 
 '! For my own part/' said Edward, " I
 
 .94, 
 
 waste not a thought upon the subject. 
 My uncle has given me the means of 
 providing for myself, and for this I sin- 
 cerely thank him : I will make use of 
 those meaus while they are in my power, 
 and leave, even as to my wishes, the future 
 in that obscurity, in which, after all our 
 attempts to raise the veil, every thing 
 future is involved. 
 
 A few months had passed since the 
 visit to Henhurst ; and affairs were in the 
 above situation, when, on the return of 
 Lord Enville's family from their country 
 habitation, Caroline completed her eigh- 
 teenth year. According to Mrs-. Pyn- 
 synt's will, she was by her faithful 
 trustee put in full possession of the pro- 
 perty left her by that lady. The afflu- 
 ence which the uncontrolled expendi- 
 ture of so ample an income gave her, 
 awakened Caroline to new duties and 
 new cares. She had been the almoner of 
 Mrs. Pynsynt, and by her hands had 
 been distributed those ample charities 
 which had been bestowed on all around 
 her. Accompanied by Mrs. Hanbrooke,
 
 95 
 
 she had also been accustomed personally 
 to visit the poor and the sick ; and of 
 every indulgence granted by her aunt, 
 she had felt none dearer than the privilege 
 of doing so. On her removal to town, 
 she had heen extremely surprised te find 
 that such cares made no part of the eco- 
 nomy of Lord Envilie s family. She had 
 questioned Hanhrooke on the subject; 
 but that prudent woman contented her- 
 self with reminding her young lady, 
 " that every body had ways of their 
 own, and that it was not according to 
 Christian charity to search into the se- 
 crets of others." The perfect humility 
 which had been implanted in the mind 
 of Caroline, and the deference to all who 
 were older than herself in which she had 
 been brought up, occasioned her, even 
 thankfully, to receive such admonitory 
 hints from a servant whom she consi- 
 dered as wiser and better than herself, 
 and to whom she had been, for many 
 years of her life, accountable for her 
 conduct. But, as Caroline grew older, 
 she easily perceived, without any breach
 
 96 
 of that Christian charity which Mrs. 
 Hanbrooke had warned her against, what 
 " the way 1 ' of Lord and Lady Enville, 
 with respect to alms-giving, really was; 
 and she felt fully assured, that it was not 
 such as would give her any assistance in 
 the little plans that she was forming for 
 the regular expenditure of her increased 
 income : nor could she expect more help 
 from her young female cousins. They 
 said, papa and mamma took care of all 
 such matters : they were sure papa sub- 
 scribed to every thing that every body 
 else did; and, when they were in the 
 country, mamma gave, at Christmas, flan- 
 nel and shoes, and they supposed the cook 
 gave broth. No doubt every thing was 
 done that was right of that sort; but it 
 was not their business : and mamma said 
 herself it was quite extraordinary how 
 they could dress so elegantly, and run 
 so little in debt. — " To be sure," they 
 would sometimes add, * if they were 
 as rich as Caroline, they should be so 
 happy to be generous ! and to do like 
 Lady Elizabeth, who was always giving
 
 97 
 
 caps and pretty things to those of her 
 young acquaintance who had not so 
 much money/' 
 
 Caroline wanted no such hints as 
 these to draw her bounty towards her 
 cousins ; but such gifts she did not place 
 to the account of charity, and she was 
 resolved that they should not encroach 
 on that which was legitimately so. She 
 had other cousins, whom, though she 
 had never seen, she was inclined to love 
 better than those w T hom she had seen; 
 and these were the mother and sisters of 
 Edward. Their wants she knew to be 
 more serious than " a change of pretty 
 caps'* could be. The limited stipend 
 that the elder Mr. Fitzosborn had 
 thought sufficient for their support, and 
 which he thought liberal, because it was 
 more, he said, than they had a right to 
 expect, the accumulating price upon all 
 the necessaries of life, and the increased 
 expense attendant upon the growth of 
 human beings, had rendered so dispro- 
 portionate to the real wants of poor Mrs, 
 Edward Fitzosborn, that she was not 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 
 
 only obliged to abridge her daughters of 
 every gratification suitable to their age 
 and rank in life ; but was, notwithstand- 
 ing every prudent effort on her part, so 
 much distressed, that she lived in perpe- 
 tual dread of contracting debts that 
 she should be unable to pay, and which 
 would also rise up in condemnation 
 against her with Mr. Fitzosboru. She 
 well knew that he would consider her 
 not living upon what would scarcely find 
 her family food and clothes, as a fresh 
 offence, and as an additional reason why 
 he should do nothing more for her. 
 Never, indeed, had any one paid more 
 dearly than poor Mrs. Edward Fitzos- 
 born for a single act of indiscretion ! for, 
 except an imprudent marriage, at the 
 early age of eighteen, her whole life had 
 been irreproachable. During the life- 
 time of her husband she had been an af- 
 fectionate and frugal wife; and since his 
 death a most exemplary mother; bear- 
 ing her own deprivations and sorrows 
 with humility and resignation, and in- 
 structing her children in every duty
 
 99 
 which could render the present life more 
 comfortable, or best secure the happiness 
 of that which was to come. Happily for 
 Mrs. Edward Fitzosborn, the rigid jus- 
 tice that makes " the fault its own 
 punishment," and that " visits the sins 
 of the fathers upon the children," was 
 not the favourite morality of Caroline* 
 As she loved the reported virtues of 
 Mrs. Fitzosborn, so she most feelingly 
 pitied her distresses; and the first use 
 that she resolved to make of her afflu- 
 ence, was to testify her sense of the one, 
 and to relieve the other. She feltlier- 
 self at a loss, however, to determine both 
 the amount of the sum that she ous;ht to 
 give, and the best means of giving it. 
 Caroline had no romance in her disposi- 
 tion; she aimed not at doing things 
 " prettily :* she hated mystery and con- 
 cealment of every kind : what she knew 
 was right to be done, she did plainly and 
 openly : but not being confident in her 
 own powers of judgemnt, as to the best 
 method of doing it, she was frequently 
 Jed to ask advice of those whom she
 
 100 
 
 thought wiser than herself. She would, 
 however, as soon have consulted with 
 the blind on the choice of colours, as 
 with any of the En vi lies on the assistance 
 that she was meditating to give to Mrs. 
 Edward Fitzosborn. Of her and her 
 daughters they never spoke, but with 
 contempt; and would not have failed of 
 being extremely jealous of such a channel 
 for a bounty which they wished to flow 
 wholly to their own advantage. Edward 
 was accustomed to be her counsellor and 
 adviser upon most occasions; but upon 
 this subject she could not apply to him. 
 Her father was in all respects her proper 
 confident in this matter, and she was 
 notable to account agreeably to .herself 
 for the reluctance she felt in making him 
 so. " I see him so seldom, and never 
 alone," said she to herself: but she was 
 conscious, as she said so, that this was 
 not her reason for not consulting him. 
 <l Mrs. Fitzosborn is so repulsive," added 
 she j and she was aware that she only 
 wandered from the point. " To be sure 
 he would be extremely happy to have
 
 101 
 
 his brother's children made comfortable,'' 
 continued she, encouraging herself, "and 
 he is himself so affluent'* — the current of 
 thought was checked, it flowed into 
 another channel, and poor Caroline pur- 
 sued it till she had convinced herself 
 that there was not a more improper per- 
 son existing than her father, to be her 
 confident on this occasion. What was 
 then to be done? Nothing? or should 
 she act wholly from herself? She resolved 
 on the latter; and reproaching herself 
 for the time already lost in these fruit- 
 less deliberations, she instantly wrote 
 the following letter. 
 
 11 Dear Madam, 
 "The relationship in which I have the 
 honour to stand to you, will, I flatter 
 myself, render unnecessary any apology 
 for the contents of this letter. You may 
 probably have heard that the partial 
 kindness of my aunt Pynsynt has made 
 me affluently independant at a much 
 earlier period than the laws of England 
 have supposed it prudent to entrust 
 t3
 
 102 
 power into the hands of youth. I have 
 not the vanity to imagine myself a just 
 exception to such a rule; and I feel all 
 the weight of the responsibility that 
 results from having been made such. 
 In these circumstances, you will be 
 aware that nothing can be so acceptable 
 to me, as the appropriating a part of 
 my income to a purpose, of the recti- 
 tude and propriety of which no one 
 can admit a doubt. You must therefore 
 forgive me, my dear madam, if I have 
 so far consulted my own pleasure, as to 
 have taken the liberty to enclose you 
 notes for three hundred pounds. A 
 similar sum shall be paid you annually, 
 in regular half yearly dividends. 
 
 " I beg leave to present my affec- 
 tionate regards to my cousins; and 
 
 •? I am, dear Madam, 
 
 " Yours very respectfully, 
 " Caroline Fitzqsbokn." 
 
 The pleasure that results from a con- 
 sciousness of well-doing, was still throb-
 
 103 
 
 bing at her heart, and beaming from her 
 eyes, when Caroline met her father in 
 the drawing-room. They were accident* 
 ally alone; and on her tenderly regretting 
 that she had of late seldom seen him, 
 he answered, " I cannot see you in this 
 house with any satisfaction, watched as 
 you are by these greedy Envilles, each 
 striving who shall get the most out of 
 you. I am determined, if possible, to 
 take you home to me." " I fear, sir," 
 replied Caroline, " such a step would 
 not contribute to your domestic hap- 
 piness; for, let me do what I will, I 
 find that I cannot conciliate Mrs. Fitz- 
 osborn." 
 
 " Domestic happiness !" repeated Mr. 
 Fitzosborn, contemptuously; '* not con- 
 ciliate Mrs. Fitzosborn !" Yes, yes, Caro- 
 line, you have the means in your power 
 to conciliate Mrs. Fitzosborn." " I shall 
 be much obliged to you to point them 
 out," said Caroline; " but it really ap- 
 pears to me that she has quite an aver- 
 sion to me." " An aversion, I grant 
 you, to chaiging herself with the care 
 f4
 
 104 
 of a girl before she was out oi her nur- 
 sery; but the ease is now altered. You 
 aie woman grown now, Caroline; and, 
 as your ftood aunt has sufficiently shown, 
 in the opinion of some people, at years 
 of discretion." " I hope," said Caro- 
 line, f I have so much discretion as to 
 xtfei- myself to the judgment of others, 
 rather than to depend upon my own ; 
 / and if so, I trust no great evil will result 
 from my kind aunt's too partial favour.'' 
 u Well, that's well said,", returned Mr. 
 Fitzosborn: " and on whose judgment 
 ought you to rely more than on a 
 father's?" " I hope, sir," said Caroline, 
 " I have never given you reason to 
 think there was any other opinion that 
 I preferred to yours ?" " I don't say 
 what you have done: let us see what 
 you will do. And now tell me what has 
 your sagacity discovered as to the de- 
 signs that Lord and Lady Enville have 
 upon your" " Designs?" replied Caro- 
 line; " really, sir, I do not understand 
 you." " Why, do you not see that they 
 mean you to marry their son Charles?
 
 105 
 And do you not bear that every body 
 says that you are to marry him?" " No, 
 indeed; neither the one nor the other," 
 replied Caroline; M and I do assure you, 
 sir, that if such were their designs they 
 would not succeed." " What, you like 
 the elder brother better?" said her fa- 
 ther. " To this I possibly might have no 
 objection: and, since it has been known 
 that you are to be your uncle's heir, I 
 have observed that he has been very 
 assiduous about you. If this could be 
 brought to bear, I shall like it very well; 
 but remember, I will never consent to 
 your marrying Charles, or any other 
 poor man." • My marrying," returned 
 Caroline, colouring, " is not in question; 
 and I again and again assure you, sir, that 
 if it depends upon my being my uncle's 
 heir, it will never take place." " Pshaw, 
 nonsense ! Child, child, I know the world 
 a little too well not to see through all 
 these modest disclaiming^. You will as 
 surely be mistress of Henhurst, as it is 
 fact that I ought to be its master: and 
 
 t5
 
 106 
 
 though I certainly do not lament any 
 dereliction on my brother's part by which 
 you benefit; yet, Caroline, I think I 
 have some right to a consideration from 
 you for what you deprive me of." " My 
 dear sir," said Caroline, trembling, "why 
 should we discuss this matter? my uncle 
 is still alive, and, to all appearance, likely 
 to live; and surely the youngest of us 
 all cannot be justified in trusting to sur- 
 vivorship. Let us not disturb our minds 
 with contingencies. I hope that you do 
 not doubt but tbat whenever I have the 
 power, I shall not fail in the will to do 
 all you wish me." " You are not wholly 
 
 without the power now, and " As 
 
 he was proceeding, the entrance of com- 
 pany broke up the conference, to the 
 great relief of Caroline, who had caught 
 from this conversation a glimpse of her 
 father's character that filled her with 
 very painful apprehensions. 
 
 When he bade her good night, he said 
 in a whisper, " Think of what I have 
 said of your quitting this house, and do
 
 107 
 not fear the barking that may greet you 
 at mine: take my word you have a sop 
 that will silence Cerberus." 
 
 Caroline retired to her pillow with 
 much cause for uneasy reflection. She 
 saw clearly that she should have claims 
 made upon her that she should be equally 
 unwilling to comply with or to resist: 
 and the arrangement that she had made 
 in her own mind for the expenditure of 
 her income, with all the heart-felt plea- 
 sures which she had promised to herself 
 from the geneTous uses to which she had 
 appropriated it, faded from her imagina- 
 tion, and she already saw it ingulphed 
 by the never satisfied plan of selfish ex- 
 travagance. She rejoiced that she had 
 secured her gift to Mrs. Fitzosborn. 
 The letter was gone, she had given her 
 promise, and she said to herself exult- 
 ingly, " It cannot be recalled." 
 
 Lord Enville saw, even more clearly 
 than Caroline, all the consequences that 
 were to be apprehended from the depre- 
 datory disposition of Mr Fitzosborn; 
 and he was equally aware how unequal
 
 103 
 Caroline was to the effort of -preserving 
 her property from the rapine of a parent: 
 he was therefore impatient so to unite 
 her interest with his own, as to give him 
 a right to defend it : or, in other words, 
 he wished to become the depredator him- 
 self, and to place the spoil out of Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn's reach. The only objection to the 
 proceeding immediately to the securing 
 his point, was an apprehension that the 
 elder Mr. Fitzosborn might disapprove of 
 the marriage of his niece with the younger 
 son of a needy nobleman ; and that the 
 consequence of too greedily seizing 
 some hundreds a year, might be the loss 
 of as many thousands. He had, how- 
 ever, learnt from Caroline the indiffer- 
 ence that her uncle had expressed to- 
 wards all the honours, riches, and plea- 
 sures of this life; with the paramount 
 value that he gave to moral and religious 
 worth: he therefore thought, that if he 
 could secure Caroline's affections on hi3 
 side, he might by her means succeed in 
 persuading a man who knew so little of 
 what was going on in this world as he
 
 109 
 supposed Mr. Fitzosborn to do, that 
 Charles was a paragon of sobriety, rec- 
 titude, and virtue. He had observed 
 Charles had lately been more remiss in 
 his attentions to his fair cousin than 
 formerly: but imputing this rather to 
 accident than design, or perhaps to the 
 indifference which is the offspring of 
 security, he waited only for Charles's 
 return from an excursion on which he 
 had been for some little time, to open 
 his whole plan to him, and the rea- 
 sons which called for its being carried 
 into immediate execution: nor did he 
 doubt his ready and earnest concurrence 
 in all he wished. From Caroline's first 
 entrance into the family there had been 
 a tacit understanding between the father 
 and the son; and Lord Enville had lately 
 had some reasons to believe that a settle- 
 ment in life, which would at least pro- 
 cure him a present flow of ready money, 
 would at this time be particularly ac- 
 ceptable to him. As to Caroline, he 
 considered her as so wholly in their 
 power, and (to say truth) of so dull an
 
 no 
 
 apprehension as to her own interests, 
 that he foresaw no difficulties on that 
 side, and doubted not but that the fer- 
 vent love-making of a handsome young 
 man would carry all before it. Of the 
 consequences of any opposition from 
 Mr. Fitzosborn he did not dream; for 
 as Caroline had no expectation of any 
 pecuniary advantage from her father, it 
 did not occur to Lord Enville that she 
 could have any motive for sacrificing 
 her inclinations to his. While these 
 thoughts were passing in Lord Enville's 
 breast, Caroline was fearfully awaiting 
 a farther explanation from her father; 
 but he did not appear again in Grosvenor 
 Square for some days, nor did Caroline 
 receive any answer from Mrs. Edward 
 Fitzosborn to the letter she had written. 
 She had begun a little to wonder at the 
 latter circumstance; when being alone 
 one evening, and having begun to take 
 her coffee, the door opened, and Edward 
 walked in. He approached her with an 
 emotion wholly unusual with him. — 
 *' How fortunate, my dear cousin, to
 
 HI 
 
 find you alone ! But what have you 
 done? What an extraordinary person 
 you are !" " What have I done ?" said 
 Caroline, surprised, and not at that mo- 
 ment thinking of her bounty to Mrs. 
 Fitzosborn. " What have you done?" 
 repeated Edward ; " you have given 
 away the fifth part of your income to 
 poor relations whom you never saw in 
 your life I" " They have not the less 
 claim upon me," said Caroline, blushing; 
 " and I should be sorry that what ap- 
 pears to me so simple, should appear 
 extraordinary to you." " Then, my dear 
 cousin," said he, looking on her with 
 ineffable delight, " I am afraid that you 
 must be sorry; for I do assure you my 
 whole experience does not furnish me 
 with such another act of indiscretion as 
 that which you have been guilty of." — 
 " Indiscretion! Edward?" " Must we 
 soften the word?" said he, smiling; 
 " Shall we call it miscalculation?" " I 
 am not inclined to call it one or the 
 other," said Caroline; " and I doubt 
 whether all your prudence, and superior
 
 112 
 skill in arithmetic, can convict me of 
 either." " Have you calculated all the 
 wants of a fine lady ?" said Edward. 
 " Do you know the calls that will he 
 made upon your vanity, upon your 
 taste, upon your senses ?" " I have cal- 
 culated the wants of a human creature," 
 replied Caroline. " As to my vanity, I 
 intend to keep it upon very meagre tare; 
 and as to my taste and my senses, I have 
 consulted them both upon this occasion, 
 and they are fully satisfied." " Then," 
 said Edward, " the tear that glistens in 
 the eye of gratitude, outshines, with you, 
 the water of the brilliant; and the in- 
 cense of affection exhales a sweeter per- 
 fume than the otto of roses." " Pray 
 let us talk prose," said Caroline. " If 
 I have had it in my power to relieve in 
 any degree the pressure that rendered 
 the life of near relations uneasy, I assure 
 you I have given myself the greatest 
 pleasure I can know." " Take, then, 
 the pleasure which you so well deserve," 
 said Edward, presenting her a letter; 
 •*' and may it be multiplied a hundred
 
 113 
 
 fold on every action of your life!" Ca- 
 roline took the letter; and as the tear 
 strayed down her cheek on reading the 
 animated expressions of gratitude and 
 affection which her bounty had called 
 from the warm heart of Mrs. Fitzosborn, 
 Edward stood contemplating her with 
 such looks of love ainl delight, as, when 
 she raised her eye to his, on having 
 finished the perusal of the letter, dyed 
 her cheeks with the deepest blushes, 
 il It is too much, indeed!" said she. 
 " Your mother, Edward, values the little 
 I have done for her much too highly." 
 " That is impossible," said Edward: 
 " but, my dear cousin, let us talk a 
 little seriously, upon this matter; for 
 though I could fall down, and do all 
 hut worship you for your kindness to 
 my mother, yet I cannot suffer your 
 heart to run away with your judgment, 
 without endeavouring to restore the reins 
 to the hands which ought always to hold 
 them." " Spoke like my Lord Chan- 
 cellor himself !" said Caroline. " Well, 
 my lord, I am ready to plead at your
 
 114 
 bar." " May I then ask," said Edward. 
 " upon what calculation you have gone, 
 when you have alienated the fifth part 
 of your income so absolutely and irre- 
 coverably as I know you will consider 
 your promise of a continuance of your 
 bounty to have done? Have you con- 
 sidered not only your present occasions 
 for money, but those future contingen- 
 cies which you ought so properly to 
 look to?" " This is really a very pretty 
 catechism," said Caroline; " and I am 
 not sure that my answer will satisfy so 
 close an inquisitor; yet I have satisfied 
 myself that I have drawn a yery logical 
 conclusion from very evident principles: 
 and thus I have done it: — Here am I, 
 Caroline Fitzosborn, the uncontrolled 
 and absolute mistress of a clear fifteen 
 hundred pounds a year, besides a ready 
 money thousand or two not taken into 
 the account. Three hundred of tlie 
 above sum afford me the protection and 
 accommodation that I and my two ser- 
 vants enjoy under this roof: I have been 
 for the two last years as fine as I ever
 
 115 
 
 wish to be, for one hundred pounds each 
 year; and I am lavish enough to myself, 
 to allow another fifty pounds for any 
 calls that my fancy, or, if you please, 
 my vanity, may make. My servants 
 may, perhaps, cost me another fifty. And 
 thus, in the first instance, all absolute 
 wants are supplied. If I have indulged 
 myself in the appropriation of three hun- 
 dred pounds to the comforts of some of 
 my nearest connexions, I have still seven 
 hundred pounds per annum to answer 
 any demands that either my virtues or 
 jny vices may make; and I trust that 
 neither are so exorbitant, but that I can 
 fully satisfy them from such a fund. So 
 much, my dear cousin, for the calcula- 
 tions that refer to the present hour. As 
 to the contingencies that you speak of, 
 I have no very clear notion to what they 
 refer: but if what I have parted with 
 lessens my value in the eyes of any one 
 who professes to regard me, I have cer- 
 tainly cheaply purchased a knowledge of 
 the ki?id of merit to which they were 
 attached. I am confident that I have
 
 116 
 retained sufficient for all that can con- 
 tribute to my own happiness; and when 
 I have another home to seek, remember 
 that I have only to turn my eyes to dear 
 Somersetshire, where a beautiful little 
 country house awaits me, and where I 
 know I can live to my heart's content 
 upon less than I have left myself. Such 
 is my defence. I await the judgment of 
 the court." 
 
 Edward, astonished and enraptured by 
 the disclosure of such an union of warm 
 feelings and correct judgment, stood for 
 a moment silent, not venturing to trust 
 his voice. Then, " Oh my too danger- 
 ous cousin!" broke he out: but, check- 
 ing himself: " Dear Caroline, you have 
 more than acquitted yourself: forgive 
 my investigating spirit; forgive my hav- 
 ing doubted for an instant that you 
 could reason as well as you could feel. 
 Yet suffer me to ask one more question ; 
 Does Lord Enville, does my uncle,. know 
 what you have done?" " They do not," 
 said Caroline ; " and I am aware that I 
 may seem to deserve censure for having
 
 117 
 
 acted in such a matter without the opi- 
 nion of those who are naturally the 
 guides of my conduct and the guardians 
 of my character ; and if you are inclined 
 to indulge this censure, I must at present 
 submit to it, for on this part of my con- 
 duct I -can enter into no defence." Ed- 
 ward's heart again swelled within him 
 at this fresh proof of the mingled frank- 
 ness and delicate prudence of his lovely 
 cousin ; he had certainly never thought 
 her half so lovely before : yet a sudden 
 consciousness, or recollection, or sdtae 
 other cause, overshadowed his brow with 
 a sadness that did not escape her obser- 
 vation ; and she said, " I see you think 
 I have done wrong?" " No, indeed I do 
 not — I think — no matter what I think — 
 Dearest Caroline, how shall I ever thank 
 you enough for what you have done for 
 my mother and sisters ! Did you know 
 the worthy hearts that you have light- 
 ened of an almost insupportable burthen, 
 you would be still happier than you are 
 in this indulgence of your praiseworthy 
 feelings," " I mean to procure myself
 
 118 
 this happiness/' said Caroline; " for I 
 shall certainly make myself acquainted 
 with my aunt and cousins." Edward 
 made no reply ; and indeed he seemed to 
 be so absorbed in thought, and so little 
 inclined to conversation, that Caroline 
 thought it would be a relief to him to 
 be reminded of the hour. " You are 
 right," said he, rising; " it is time for 
 me to retire to my solitary chambers, 
 and there to bed, with what appetite 
 for sleep I may :" and so saying, he bade 
 her good night, and left her, not per- 
 fectly satisfied with the latter part of 
 their conversation. 
 
 Lord Enville, who now expected the 
 return of his son to town in a few hours, 
 thought it time in some degree to open 
 his designs to Mr. Fitzosborn ; rather, 
 however, by way of showing him that 
 no opposition would avail, than as seek- 
 ing his concurrence. For this purpose 
 he called at his house at an hour when 
 he knew it was probable that he should 
 find him at home, and he was accord- 
 ingly admitted into his dressing-room.
 
 119 
 After a little indifferent chat, he said, 
 carelessly, " I see plainly that this affair 
 between Caroline and Charles will soon 
 come to an issue; and I really do not 
 know what you and I can do with a 
 high-spirited and independent girl of 
 eighteen, and a young man, who, I an* 
 ashamed to confess, has always had his 
 own way, but let them please them- 
 selves, and make every thing as easy to 
 them as we can." " What affair?" said 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, affecting a surprise he 
 did not feel. " Why, the fancy — the 
 love — the liking — the — I don't know 
 what to call it, that they have taken to 
 each other. It is not to be supposed 
 that they will postpone much longer the 
 gratification of it, now Caroline has her 
 fortune in her own power; and, upon 
 my word, I should be puzzled to find a 
 reasonable cause for opposition to their 
 wishes." " I should find no such diffi- 
 culty," replied Mr. Fitzosborn; " but 
 this is the first time I ever heard of their 
 wishes, nor do I believe that Caroline 
 entertains any on the subject," " My
 
 120 
 
 dear sir," returned Lord Enville, " you 
 are not a man, not to see what is going 
 on before your eyes. I am sure I have 
 always believed that you knew more of 
 the matter than myself; and yet it is 
 pretty plain to me where Caroline's in- 
 clinations point." " Not, I think, to 
 your son Charles," said Mr. Fitzosborn : 
 " and if they do, she must teach them 
 to change their direction, for I shall 
 never consent to her becoming. a beggar." 
 " Nay," rejoined Lord Enville, (( the 
 match can be no object with me: but 
 there is no fear of beggary if she marry 
 Charles: yet I acknowledge they will 
 not be rich, as some people estimate 
 riches: but really Caroline does not know 
 how to spend money ; and Charles is so 
 moderate in his expenses, and so much 
 attached to your daughter, that I am 
 confident he will not, as her husband, 
 have a wish beyond what their united 
 property will allow the gratification of.'* 
 " Pray, my lord," said Mr. Fitzosborn, 
 " do you take my brother's estate into 
 your calculation?" " I never think about
 
 121 
 
 it, ,J returned Lord Enville. " Such a 
 humourist as he is, may ' die and endow 
 a college or a cat/ more likely than give 
 one penny to any relation he has: but 
 this I will say, that if Caroline is not 
 mistaken in the estimate that she has 
 made of his character, so disinterested a 
 connexion as this might perhaps appear 
 to him, would he no improbable means 
 to draw his favour to her." " He is no 
 friend, I can tell you," replied Mr. 
 Fitzosborn, scornfully, " to such disin- 
 terested connexions. He never forgave 
 my brother for marrying for love. He 
 starved the poor fellow for it while he 
 lived, and now most religiously con- 
 tinues to starve his widow and daughters 
 for the same cause. I am sure my heart 
 bleeds whenever I think of them/' 
 " Hut really, my dear sir," returned 
 Lord Enville, " Charles and Caroline 
 are in no danger of starving, let who 
 will have the Henhurst estate: there is 
 nothing in my power that I will not do 
 for Charles; he deserves all I can do: 
 and I am not without interest in proper 
 VOL. i. g
 
 12^ 
 
 places, as you know: and if he and Ca- 
 roline can be happy without the pomps 
 and vanities of the world, why should 
 you or I prevent them?" " You will 
 allow me, my lord, to keep my reasons 
 to myself," said Mr. Fitzosborn; " but 
 I think it fair dealing to tell you, that I 
 will never allow Caroline to marry your 
 second son." " Upon my word," replied 
 Ldrd Enville, " I wish I had been aware 
 of your determination sooner; and that 
 for your own sake. Some method might 
 have been hit upon to have nipt this 
 unfortunate passion in the bud; nozv I 
 don't know what can be done, for you 
 must be sensible that you can have no 
 control over Caroline." " No control 1 
 over my own daughter?" said Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn: " this is very new doctrine in 
 deed!" u I really fear not," said Lord 
 Enville, shaking his feead: "what con- 
 trol can you have over a daughter who 
 does not look for a shilling from your 
 hands?" H Are there no ties of af- 
 fection? — of duty?" " Weak barriers 
 against the swell of passion ! Besides,
 
 123 
 
 have you any right to make your daugh- 
 ter miserable?'* " I have a fight to 
 prevent her being poor," said Mr. Fitg- 
 osborn; " and I will exert that right: 
 and if matters are as you represent them, 
 there is no time to be lost in declaring 
 an intention that I have meditated for 
 some time. I acknowledge a thousand 
 obligations to your lordship and Lady 
 Enville for the shelter you have afforded 
 my daughter hitherto, but it is not ne- 
 cessary to trouble you any farther. Mrs. 
 Fitzosborn reasonably objected to the 
 education of a girl, bat she makes no 
 scruple to receive a companion. She is 
 ready to admit Caroline into her house ; 
 and if your lordship had not done me the 
 honour of this visit, I was intending to 
 have waited upon you, for the express 
 purpose of informing you of this arrange- 
 ment." 
 
 This was a blow wholly unexpected 
 by Lord Enville, and what he scarcely 
 knew how to parry ; but feeling confi- 
 dent of the interest that his son had in 
 the heart of Caroline, he replied, with 
 
 G 2
 
 124 
 all the indifference that he could assume, 
 " Never talk of obligation ; it is all 
 on our side; Caroline is a charming crea- 
 ture ; the whole family will be broken- 
 hearted to lose her : but we have cer- 
 tainly no rights that we can oppose to 
 yours." " I will, with your leave, call 
 in Grosvenor-Square in the course of 
 the day," said Mr. Fitzosborn, " and in- 
 form my daughter of the intended re- 
 moval : but it may be late before I 
 shall be able to get to you ; perhaps, 
 my lord, you would be so good as to 
 mention it to her." " Indeed, my dear 
 sir, I shall be glad if you will excuse 
 me ; it will be a most painful subject to 
 me; and perhaps, when you talk to your 
 daughter, you may see cause to alter 
 your purpose, and I shall then have exe- 
 cuted an unpleasant task unnecessarily." 
 il I should be sorry to impose any task 
 upon your lordship," replied Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn; " I will make the communica- 
 tion to my daughter myself." 
 
 These two worthy friends now parted, 
 each rcbolved to thwart the other in the
 
 V15 
 favourite project of his heart. Lord 
 Knville perceived that he had not a mo- 
 ment to lose: it became absolutely neces- 
 sary that the young people should come 
 to a perfect understanding with each 
 other, and that Caroline should have a pre- 
 cise view both of what she herself wished, 
 and what her lover desired from her; 
 that she might fully comprehend all that 
 was to be yielded to the opposition which 
 her father had threatened : and when 
 Charles was fairly opposed to Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn, Lord Envilie had little appre- 
 hension as to which side would' prepon- 
 derate in the mind of Caroline. Lord 
 Knville, therefore, hastened home, to 
 make all the use he could of the day, 
 which seemed still to be his own : and 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, no less active on his 
 side, did not lose a moment in de- 
 spatching the following billet to Caro- 
 line : 
 
 u Vou will have an immediate proof 
 that I was not mistaken in the designs 
 that are meditated against you : but re- 
 member that my prohibition to listen to 
 
 G o
 
 such overtures is absolute. Your apart- 
 ments here are preparing. I shall see you 
 in the evening, when we can appoint the 
 day of your removal." 
 
 Lord Enville, on his arrival at home, 
 heard with pleasure that Charles was re- 
 turned, and he instantly summoned him 
 to his library. Had not his mind been 
 too full of his own schemes to think of 
 any thing else, he must have been struck 
 with the d' sordered air and altered coun- 
 tenance of Ids son : but pursuing only the 
 train of thought that fully occupied him, 
 he said, almost without looking at the 
 object before him ; " I am extremely 
 glad that you are returned : there is not 
 a moment to be lost : the thing must be 
 done directly." — " Good God !". said 
 Charles, with a voice that made his fa- 
 ther start, " Is it possible? Can my ruin 
 v « known so soon?" " Ruin!" repeated 
 
 Lord Enville, « AVnat i! J* * hat y ou sa J ? 
 what is it that you mean?'* Charies, 
 confounded, and stammering, replied, " I 
 thought you had heard — I thought you 
 had known" — "What?" cried Lord En-
 
 127 
 
 ville, eagerly ; do not torture me thus ! 
 what is to be known? what is to be 
 heard ?" " My im prudence," said Charles, 
 in a smothered voice. " I come to offer 
 you a remedy for any common impru- 
 dence," said Lord Enville. " Speak 
 openly to me, Charles: I am no morose 
 moral-preaching father; I know young 
 men must have their indulgences; I 
 have long provided the means for yours : 
 now reap the fruits of my care. A little 
 warm love-making is all that is wanting 
 on your part ; and the pretty Caroline 
 and all her thousands will be yours." 
 " I cannot add baseness to indiscretion," 
 said Charles. " How now?" said Lord 
 Enville, angrily; " what new tone is 
 this? Pray let us not have any senti- 
 mental flights. Have you nut a"Uv<xy*. 
 intended to marry Caroline? I tell you 
 there is not a moment to be lost. If you 
 do not secure the prize, that harpy, her 
 father, will snatch it from you. You are 
 bound in honour to save her from ruin !" 
 " I am ruined myself," replied Charles; 
 *f and would you have me spread destruc-
 
 128 
 
 lion?'' " Ptuin ! destruction ! what is it 
 that you mean ?" said Lord Enville. 
 H My lord," cried Charles, with a voice 
 of inexpressible anguish, the tiling can- 
 not be concealed. Since I last saw you, 
 I have lost five thousand pounds at play. 
 My honour is at stake, and who shall re- 
 deem it?"' " Not I," said Lord Enville, 
 in a firm tone; "the penalty, as the 
 folly, be your own." " I could ex- 
 pect no other," said Charles. * But oh, 
 sir, you are not inexperienced in such 
 matters; I entreat that you will give me 
 your advice, that you will endeavour to 
 suggest some expedient." " There are 
 ways ; there is a ready and an easy way : 
 clear up your countenance, and fly to 
 the feet of your lovely cousin, and all 
 win be well." " Not for worlds!" said 
 Charles; " I would not so deceive her to 
 be master of the odobe !" " What a parade 
 of honesty is here!" said Lord Enville : 
 " Have you not already deceived her? 
 have you not won that little foolish 
 easy heart, which you would now leave 
 to break?" "No, on mv honour!" said
 
 129 
 Charles; "nor do I believe, were I in- 
 clined to try the experiment, that I could 
 succeed. It is not me whom Caroline 
 prefers." " I tell you it is," said Lord 
 Enville, vehemently ; " go tell her your 
 soft tale, and make her and yourself 
 happy/' " Impossible ! impossible !" said 
 Charles : " press the matter no farther, 
 my lord, the thing is impossible." 
 "Then is it equally so to pay your debt of 
 honour. I leave you to think of the alter- 
 native." And thus saying, Lord Enville 
 withdrew into his dressing-closet ; while 
 Charles, scarcely knowing what he in- 
 tended to do, ! or where he was going, 
 left the house in an agony of mind which 
 no words can express. 
 
 Had Lord Enville understood the real 
 meaning of the words " losing money at 
 play," and " the indulgences that all 
 young men must have," there could scarce- 
 ly have been at this moment a more mis- 
 erable being. But it must be acknow- 
 ledged that a false nomenclature here 
 stood his friend : he thought not of the 
 immoralities of which his son had been 
 
 G 5
 
 130 
 guilty; the worldly inconveniences which 
 they drew after them, alone engaged his 
 attention, and he thus escaped from the 
 severest agony to which the human 
 mind is liable. If his experience in the 
 ways of the "world had deadened his feel- 
 ings, it had rendered his understanding 
 more acute; and he saw resource and 
 consolation in the present case, that 
 would have been hid from the affection- 
 ate and Christian parent, sorrowing over 
 the moral turpitude of a beloved child. 
 In all such embarrassments he had al- 
 ways found Lady Enville a most able 
 counsellor and assistant : and when he 
 heard the door close after Charles, he 
 immediately left his closet, and sought 
 Lady Enville in her dressing-room. 
 Lady Enville heard the overthrow of 
 their hopes for the establishment of their 
 son, and the account of his follies, as 
 she called them, with more sang 
 froid than her lord had done. " I cannot 
 say that I am surprised, my lord," said 
 she ; " there is no end to necessary ex- 
 penses now-a-days : young people, who
 
 131 
 
 live in the world, must do as others do ; 
 and Charles is so well received wherever 
 he goes, and is so gentlemanlike and 
 pleasant, that I am sure we have great 
 reason to be proud of him : and really, 
 considering how little you can afford re- 
 gularly to allow him, we must look to 
 these plunges now and then. I am 
 sure Charles will never do any thing that 
 is ungentlemanlike." " Yet five thou- 
 sand pounds," said Lord Enville, " is a 
 considerable sum. I have told him I 
 will not pay a farthing; a little seve- 
 rity is not amiss, now and then ; nor do 
 I, indeed, know how to pay it ; and per- 
 haps if he believes I will not assist him, 
 he may be brought to his senses, and find 
 that it is better to look his former com- 
 panions in the face, as the husband of 
 Caroline, than to sneak about this town 
 with the abashed countenance of a coua- 
 try girl doing penance for her first indis- 
 cretion." " Why really, my lord," re- 
 turned Lady Enville, " I have not, for 
 some time past, looked upon that con- 
 nexion with the favourable eye with
 
 132 
 which I once regarded it : but, as I consi- 
 dered the matter as nearly settled, I did 
 not think it worth while to derange it 
 all again: and I am equally a mother to 
 both my sons. But the fact is, that since 
 it is now pretty certain that Caroline 
 will have the Henhurst estate, she would 
 be a much properer match for Mr. Pyn- 
 synt than for Charles : and if our ex- 
 pectation in that particular should fail, I 
 doubt whether what she inherits from 
 your sister would be a decent support 
 for a person of Charles's habits and liberal 
 turn of mind." " I really do not see 
 where he would be likely to do better," 
 returned Lord Enville ; " and the ready 
 cash with which she would furnish him, 
 would be very convenient at present." 
 " You know, my lord," said Lady En- 
 ville, " that I always submit to your 
 better judgment : but I have thought 
 a good deal of this matter lately : and 
 though I should have considered it as 
 unkind to have interfered with Charles's 
 wishes, yet as he does not seem to en- 
 tertain any for the possession of Caroline
 
 133 
 or her fortune, it appears to me, that it 
 is no more than justice to further Mr. 
 Pynsynt's interest : and I know that lie 
 is lately become much attached to Caro- 
 line.*' * ; You mean to the Henhurst 
 estate," replied Lord Enville. " Well, 
 I must say for Pynsynt, he knows as well 
 what he is about as any young man of 
 his age, and suffers his fancies as little 
 to interfere with his real good as can be 
 expected ; and though I am afraid he is 
 still a little infatuated in a certain place, 
 yet I have no doubt but that he will 
 make a very good husband, and Caro- 
 line would certainlv adorn a coronet." 
 " She must not inquire too curiously into 
 such matters," returned Lady Enville, 
 " no more than the rest of her sex : and 
 if I might advise," added she, with great 
 show of deference and humility, " the 
 business of Charles should be entirely 
 given up. We should have much oppo- 
 sition to contend with on Mr. Fitzos- 
 born's part, and I doubt whether Caro- 
 line has spirit enough to assert either 
 her rights or her inclinations against the
 
 134 
 will of her father. Besides, she will be 
 easily reconciled to a change that will 
 be so much in her favour. I think I 
 know the fematerheart pretty well ; and 
 though love will carry us a good way, 
 ambition will go still farther. But what 
 can be done for Charles ? we must not 
 leave the poor fellow to cut his throat. 
 He is new to his situation, and, by your 
 account, takes it to heart piteously." 
 " Some arrangement must be thought 
 of," said Lord Enville; " but as for pay- 
 ing the money for him, I assure you I 
 could as soon pay the national debt." 
 " Oh, as to paying, that probably will 
 not be necessary. The sum does not ex- 
 ceed the amount of his settlement. He 
 cannot have the money now and here- 
 after. Some expedient may be found to 
 save his honour as a gentleman, and to 
 give him a gentlemanlike subsistence. 
 Such things are done every day; and I 
 am sure nobody will think the worse of 
 Charles for an act of indiscretion to 
 which all men are liable." Lord Enville 
 agreed to these liberal sentiments, and
 
 135 
 
 saying, he would think of the matter, 
 these careful parents separated, each in 
 their respective department, to labour for 
 the happiness and advancement of their 
 children. The misfortune was, that they 
 neither of them knew the true meaning 
 of the words. 
 
 In the mean-time, Caroline had re- 
 ceived her father's note, and found no 
 difficulty in determining to comply 
 with his prohibition with respect to 
 Charles; but she did not receive his inti- 
 mation of an immediate change in the 
 place of her abode with the same ready 
 acquiescence. She had an invincible re- 
 pugnance to becoming an inmate of a 
 house of which Mrs. Fitzosborn was the 
 mistress ; and she had an undefined dread 
 of being exposed to a constant and unre- 
 strained intercourse with her father. She 
 did not dare to tell herself what it was 
 that she feared: but she repeated ten 
 times in an hour, " My promise to my 
 aunt must be inviolate." She was pre- 
 pared by her father's note to meet 
 Charles at dinner; but she was disap*
 
 136 
 
 pointed in the expectation : none of the 
 gentlemen of the family were at home. 
 The party was entirely a female one; and 
 more than the usual gloom and dulness 
 of such parties seemed to prevail on this 
 occasion. Lady Enville withdrew im- 
 mediately after dinner, and then the 
 young ladies, all at once, began to indem- 
 nify themselves for the silence which 
 they had hitherto maintained. 
 
 " I suppose, Caroline, you have heard 
 of this shocking thing !" said Miss Pyn- 
 synt. " I am sure it is very monstrous of 
 Charles, when my father is so generous 
 to him, to go and lose such sums at play. 
 I wonder who is to be the sufferer ?" 
 " Mamma says," joined in Miss Louisa, 
 " that papa won't pay a guinea." I know 
 better," returned Miss Pynsynt: " I 
 know he will always pay money for my 
 brother; no matter how our pleasures 
 are abridged." " Surely I do not under- 
 stand you right?" said Caroline, ex- 
 tremely shocked ; " I hope Charles has 
 not been so unfortunate." " So foolish, 
 call it," interrupted Miss Pynsynt; " I
 
 V37 
 am sure it is very foolish in him, he 
 knows so much better, and he knows he 
 has no chance of establishing himself 
 but by marriage; and who that has any 
 thing will marry a gamester?" " Don't 
 call things by such haVsh names, Char- 
 lotte," said the younger sister; " I am 
 sure Charles is the best humoured crea- 
 ture alive; and if I had an hundred 
 thousand pounds, and were not his sister, 
 I would give it him." " You will have 
 calls enow upon your generosity, never 
 fear," returned Miss Pynsynt : " such 
 extravagance cannot be supported but 
 by the ruin of a whole family." " Pray 
 explain this matter," said Caroline, earn- 
 estly ; " you quite fright me: surely 
 Charles cannot so far have forgotten his 
 principles." " Nay, as to that matter," 
 said Miss Pynsynt. '• poor fellow, he is not 
 so much to be blamed as to be pitied ; he 
 has only done what so many in his rank 
 of life do. Nobody will really think 
 the worse of him ; but to be sure it is 
 •provokingly foolish, when he knew so 
 much depended upon his prudence.
 
 138 
 
 However, he is a noble creature; and I 
 assure you he said, that he scorned to 
 add baseness to indiscretion !" 
 
 By this time Caroline's faculties were 
 completely bewildered : she knew net 
 whether she were to commiserate or to 
 congratulate her cousins; whether she 
 were to condemn or glorify Charles; 
 and in despair, without clearer informa- 
 tion, of being able to accommodate her 
 sympathy to the feelings of her eager 
 auditors, she contented herself with say- 
 ing, " I find it quite impossible to com- 
 prehend whether Charles has done well 
 or ill ; whether I am to deplore his in- 
 discretion, or exult in his magnanimity ; 
 but I am sure there is no member of this 
 family m whose good conduct I shall 
 not rejoice, and whose mistakes I shall 
 not sincerely lament and pity." : * Charles 
 has lost live thousand pounds at the 
 gaming table; and with u all his pro- 
 spects of doing well in life : Do I now 
 speak intelligibly?" said Miss Pynsynt, 
 angrily. " Too much so, indeed!" said 
 Caroline, shrinking from the horrible
 
 159 
 
 intelligence, and shocked to her very 
 soul. " And yet," says Miss Pynsynt, 
 " there is nothing so very terrible in this, 
 except the inconvenience it must occa- 
 sion : nothing, lny dear cousin, that 
 need drive the colour from your cheek, 
 whatever my aunt Beatrice may have 
 taught you. Charles, no doubt, will be 
 wise in future: and if those who are 
 kind enough to lament hi errors, would 
 have generosity enough to repair them" — 
 "I dare say Lord Enville will do so," 
 interrupted Caroline ; and as she spoke 
 she arose, and withdrew to her own 
 room. When there, she stood for some 
 moments lost in thought; nor did one 
 pleasant reflection occur to her mind, 
 when suddenly a ray of light darted 
 across the gloom. To the guilty pro- 
 pensity of Charles, with which she had 
 just become acquainted, she thought 
 she might perhaps refer her father's 
 so peremptory aversion to her connexion 
 with him; and in SC&Qi*Wr so legit i- 
 mate a care for her happiness, she ac- 
 quitted him of every mercenary design,
 
 140 
 
 and gave to the winds all those uneasy 
 and indistinct fears of residing under his 
 roof which had sci lately disturbed her. 
 From these more cheering thoughts her 
 mind again turned to the family scene 
 which she had just witnessed. She saw, 
 with pain and astonishment, the perfect 
 ignorance in which these young people 
 were, as to the just boundaries of virtue 
 and vice; and felt, that with virtue on 
 their lips, and their hearts as yet uncon- 
 taminated by any absolutely vitious in- 
 dulgence, there was still but a step be- 
 tween their present elevation of charac- 
 ter and the lowest degradation. 
 
 The reflections that the conduct of 
 Charles gave rise to, were yet more pain- 
 ful. He had once been with her a dis- 
 tinguished favourite; she still retained 
 much partiality for him. His manners 
 and conversation pleased and amused 
 her; and she had given him credit for 
 many of those virtues of which he had 
 so much the appearance : but she saw 
 with a sincere regret, that however the 
 outside was fair, the inside of the sepul-
 
 141 
 
 tlire resembled but too nearly that of 
 the surrounding monuments. These 
 thoughts made Caroline forget the busi- 
 ness of the toilet ; and the gay crowd 
 that was that nio-ht to assemble at Lord 
 Envi lie's had already filled the apart- 
 ments below, when she joined the com- 
 pany. The first object that met her eye 
 was Edward Fitzosborn, and the weight 
 was instantly removed from her heart, 
 xl An Edward Fitzosborn," said she to 
 herself, " may atone for half the follies 
 of the age !" But the gloom that was 
 spread over* his countenance damped the 
 joy which the thought of his excellence 
 had excited. 
 
 " I do not ask you," said she, " what 
 is the matter; I see that you can partici- 
 pate in the unhappiness of your friend." 
 " If I do/' replied Edward, " it is not in 
 compliment to any of his family. See Lady 
 Enville, her whole soul absorbed in the 
 chance of the pool : look at Lord Enville, 
 how gayly he smiles, and how compla- 
 cently he listens to the story of that royal 
 duke, — of— they neither of them know 
 what. Regard those butterfly sisters, —
 
 142 
 
 the gayest of this motley group. As Miss 
 Pynsynt passed me on the wing just 
 now, she asked me what made me look 
 so dismal ; and advised me, if I had a law 
 case to study, to return to my chambers. 
 " And Charles, — " said Caroline, with 
 an inquiring voice. " Charles,'' return- 
 ed Edward, " the son and brother of 
 these happy personages, is one of the 
 most wretched of his kind : with a full 
 conviction, I verily believe, not only of 
 the consequences of his indiscretion, but 
 the turpitude of it. 95 " Is this an acci- 
 dental lapse? 55 said Caroline, anxiously ; 
 l c or is the vice habitual?" " It may hi- 
 therto have been habitual," returned Ed- 
 ward, looking with an earnest and scru- 
 tinizing eye on Caroline, " and the 
 severity of the present blow may break 
 the habit for ever. If such should be 
 the case, we, who love him, may have 
 reason to rejoice in his present suffer- 
 ings." " I am sure I should sincerely 
 rejoice," replied Caroline; " for, with 
 all his failings, Charles has certainly 
 v many good dispositions, which, by culti- 
 vation, might become virtues; and till
 
 143 
 
 this day, I never suspected him of vice." 
 
 " And, — " said Edward, hesitating, 
 
 " Can you forgive me," added he, after 
 a pause, " can you forgive me, if I 
 should be very impertinent?" " I 
 think I might promise forgiveness to 
 any impertinence of which you would 
 be guilty," said Caroline; " but I 
 have no pope-like power to pardon 
 sins that may be committed : if you 
 choose to make the cast, you must stand 
 the hazard of the die." " I will stand it 
 then," said Edward ; " yet do not be very 
 angry if I ask, Whether I am to believe, 
 what all the world says, that you have a 
 particular and personal interest in the 
 good conduct of poor Charles ?" " None 
 in the least, I do assure you," said Caro- 
 line, earnestly; "nor can I conceive 
 from whence such a report could arise; 
 for I am persuaded there is no founda- 
 tion for it in the inclinations of either of 
 the parties." "Thank God P said Ed- 
 ward, with a warmth that made Caroline 
 both start and blush, and which seemed, 
 the moment the words had escaped his
 
 144 
 
 lips, to confound himself. " What is 
 the cause of so much thankfulness?*' 
 said Mr. Pynsynt, coming up at that 
 moment; " is it that you are fully sen- 
 sible of the privilege of having had an 
 hour's tete a tete with Miss Fitzoshorn ?'* 
 "Tete a tete !" said Caroline, laughing; 
 " a tete a tete in the midst of two hun- 
 dred people must be a great privilege in- 
 deed I 1 ' " Oh, there is no privacy like a 
 crowd," said Mr. Pynsynt; " and now 
 poor Charles is obliged to give in, you 
 will find many, my fair cousin, who will 
 let you know as much." The intelli- 
 gence that Edward and Caroline con- 
 veyed to each other in a look, spoke 
 volumes, and made them better ac- 
 quainted with each other's character in 
 a moment, than the common intercourse 
 of fashionahle society would have done 
 in a twelvemonth. 
 
 -Caroline was now accosted by her fa- 
 ther, who, drawing her on one side, said, 
 " AV^ll, is the attack begun?" " Indeed, 
 sir," returned Caroline, " I am in no 
 danger of any attack that I know of, and
 
 146 
 
 least of all from the quarter you mean/ 
 " I tell you," replied he, " that I know* 
 better: Lord Enville this morning 
 avowed to me the design; nay, he as* 
 sured me that you were in love with 
 Charles, and that I had no authority 
 over you which would control your in- 
 clinations/' " I hope you did not be* 
 licve the latter part of the intelligence?'" 
 returned Caroline : " and whatever were 
 the designs of this morning, I am sure 
 there are none entertained at present of 
 uniting me with poor Charles." " Poor 
 Charles!" replied Mr. Fitzosborn; I like 
 not such pitying epithets." " Dear sir/' 
 said Caroline, " do you not know what 
 has happened r" " What, the play-debt?" 
 returned Mr. Fitzosborn : " one reason 
 the more why they should not let you 
 slip through their fingers." " Were this 
 their wish," said Caroline, what would it 
 avail against my so contrary opinion ? I 
 give you my word, sir, that I will never 
 marry Charles Pynsynt." " Nor any 
 other poor man?" said Mr. Fitzosborn. 
 Caroline was silent for a moment, and 
 
 VOL, I, H
 
 146 
 
 then replied, " That would be too com- 
 prehensive an exclusion ; but I will give 
 you my honour, that I have no intention 
 to marry any man at present." 
 
 As she said these words, Lord Enville 
 joined them, and taking Mr. Fitzosborn 
 by the arm, led him out of the room. 
 Caroline now mingled with the crowd ; 
 but found, that wherever she moved, Mr. 
 Pynsynt attended her: and so explicit 
 and unequivocal were his expressions of 
 attachment, that she could not doubt 
 but that the family politics were 
 changed, and that it was not by her 
 means that Charles's broken fortunes 
 were designed to be repaired. She had 
 never seen reason to believe that the at- 
 tentions which she had once received 
 from Charles, and the favour with 
 which he had continued to regard her, 
 had proceeded from genuine and self- 
 springing love : but she had heard so 
 much of his passion from the rest of the 
 family, and Mr. Pynsynt had appeared 
 hitherto so wholly to allow of Charles's 
 prior claim, that Caroline heard with in-
 
 nr 
 
 expressible disgust his present pleadings 
 fur favour, and the fervency of hopes 
 that could only be realized by a still 
 farther supposed destruction of the hap- 
 piness of a brother, already rendered 
 sufficiently miserable by his own impru- 
 dence. The selfishness of Mr. Pynsynt, 
 the unthinking indifference of the sisters, 
 the apathy of the parents in circum- 
 stances so calculated to call forth all 
 the sympathy of filial affection, and all 
 the fears and regrets of parental love, 
 astonished and offended Caroline ; and 
 here was scarcely any situation that 
 she would not have preferred to becom- 
 ing a member of such a family. " Is 
 this what is called knowing the world r" 
 said she. " Is this the submission of 
 virtue to inevitable evils? or is it an 
 indifference to vice r" 
 
 It was not wholly either one or the 
 other : it was the misapplication of 
 terms, and the false calculation of con- 
 sequences. 
 
 Caroline repulsed Mr. Pynsynt with it 
 H2
 
 148 
 
 disdain that surprised him, and of which 
 he thought her incapable. 
 
 " How is all this, my dear cousin?" 
 said he; " are you going to play the 
 tyrant? I thought you were above 
 coquetry.'* 
 
 " Coquetry !" returned Caroline. " Is 
 the plain and simple expression of dis- 
 approbation to be called coquetry?" — 
 " Plain and simple indeed!" said Mr. 
 Pynsynt, piqued : " you did not so treat 
 Charles." " I had no occasion so to 
 treat him," said Caroline. " Tell me 
 how I can please you," returned Mr. 
 Pynsynt; " for please you I am deter- 
 mined I will." " It is scarcely worth 
 your while, sir," said Caroline, walking 
 from him ; * I shall not be the heiress 
 of Henhurst." 
 
 While Caroline was thus taking her 
 part, Lord Envilie and Mr. Fitzosborn 
 were entering into engagements in direct 
 opposition to her determinations. 
 
 These two able masters in the science 
 of worldly wisdom knew the talents of
 
 149 
 
 each other too well, to hope that either 
 would be able to circumvent his oppo- 
 nent; and thinking it safer to meet the 
 danger they could not shun, mutually 
 preferred, on this one occasion, the 
 broad plain of truth, to the covert of 
 deceit. 
 
 " It is ridiculous, my dear sir," said 
 Lord Enville to Mr. Fitzosborn, " that 
 you and I should act like two fencing 
 masters, rather showing our skill, than 
 accomplishing our end. It is more 
 manly, it is more friendly, to speak openly 
 to each other, to state the wishes of each, 
 and the conditions on which each will- 
 concede to those wishes. You told me 
 this morning, that you would not suffer 
 your daughter to marry my second son. 
 The events of the day have rendered 
 such an union entirely ineligible. Charles 
 has undone himself in fortune and in 
 love. Caroline will certainly never listen 
 to the overtures of a gamester : nor 
 could I wish it, loving her, as I do, as 
 though she were already my daughter: 
 but I have now discovered, what the 
 h3
 
 150 
 
 generosity of the young man had hitherto 
 concealed, that Pynsynt has been long 
 attached to his cousin, and that nothing 
 but his brother's prior claims, as he 
 thought them, have kept him aloof. 
 This barrier removed, he has desired my 
 permission to make his addresses to Ca- 
 roline. You cannot doubt, that not only 
 my permission, but my most ardent con- 
 currence, attends upon his wishes ; for 
 Caroline is a jewel that would dignify 
 the diadem of a prince, liut, after what 
 had passed this morning, I was resolved 
 to avoid every risk of falling into, a 
 second error, and I told Pynsynt I would 
 not move a step in this business but as 
 you should point the way. May I give 
 him any hopes?" " My lord," replied 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, " you say well, that it 
 is both more manly and more friendly to 
 speak openly. I will be as candid with 
 you as you are with me. It is my de- 
 termination that Caroline shall not marry 
 a poor man : for which I have my own 
 reasons. Your lordship has a noble estate, 
 but it is not a clear one. Mr. Pynsynt
 
 m 
 
 is of age ; and you and lie may, by act- 
 ing together, get rid of those restraints 
 winch settlements may have imposed 
 upon yon. Thus the number of acres may 
 be reduced below that number which I 
 should consider as worthy of Caroline's 
 acceptance. I know the Henhurst estate 
 would supply all deficiencies: but the 
 possession of that estate is a contin- 
 gency : and if it were to be Caroline's, 
 it ought, in reason, to raise her matri- 
 monial views. Perhaps, however, I 
 might, in consideration of the regard 
 which I bear your lordship and your 
 whole family, be induced to wave this 
 consideration : but if my whimsical bro- 
 ther should disappoint our reasonable 
 expectations, what can Caroline bring 
 that will make her a prudent choice for 
 Mr. Pynsynt?" " What can she bring?'' 
 returned Lord Enville, smiling. " Upou 
 my word, my good friend, you have a 
 pretty just notion of the value of money. 
 A clear fifteen hundred pounds a year, 
 with some loose thousands to set out 
 with, is not an inconsiderable portion 
 114
 
 2£fi 
 
 for a wife to bring to any man, even in 
 these days of the depreciation of money; 
 and what I am sine Pynsynt would be 
 well satisfied with, even if the poor fel- 
 low was not so much in love, as to 
 think of nothing but the lady." " My 
 lord," said Mr. Fitzosborn, with pro- 
 found gravity, " you miscalculate Caro- 
 line's wealth. Her husband, whoever he 
 is, must be content with little more than 
 two-thirds of the property you mention; 
 in addition, indeed, to her personal 
 charms, which, as you well observe, are 
 no doubt above all price." " How am 
 I to understand you?" replied Lord En- 
 ville. " Do 1 not know the property 
 that my sister possessed? and do I not 
 know that she left it all to Caroline?" 
 H Admitting these two facts," said Mr, 
 Fitzosborn; " yet I assure you I am not 
 less correct in my statement, that Caro- 
 line will bring to her husband no larger 
 a portion than I have mentioned. I 
 think it right to deal openly with you; 
 and it is your part to determine, whether 
 a girl with little more than twenty thou-
 
 153 
 sand potrndi, is a proper match for your 
 eldest u Yom astonish me! lean- 
 
 not compr. bend you," returned Lord 
 Enville. " I am sure Caroline has not 
 alienated any part of her property ; and 
 I am sure that no one else has a right to 
 alienate it." " My lord," replied Mr. 
 Fitzosborri, " in the proposal that you 
 do me the honour to make me, it is rea- 
 sonable to suppose that you are not 
 wholly without a view to the advantage 
 of your own family. You and I are 
 past the age of romance. My daughter's 
 fortune must, of course, be destined 
 to discharge some encumbrances : you 
 would indemnify her by means of settle- 
 ments. So far all is fair. But is it not 
 equally so, my lord, that I too should 
 look at home? My daughter is a good 
 girl ; she cannot be happy except her 
 father is made easy; nor can I scruple 
 to accept an obligation from my child. 
 I tell you honestly, that some certain 
 difficulties of my own must be done 
 away before I can attend to those of 
 another." 
 
 h5
 
 154 
 
 Lord Enville, with all the self-com- 
 mand he could assume, was not able to 
 conceal his chagrin on this explicit de- 
 claration of Mr. Fitzosborn. " I feel 
 obliged to you, sir, for your candour to- 
 wards me," returned he ; " but you must 
 forgive me if I say, that I should have 
 "been better pleased if an injury to my 
 niece had not given occasion for it." 
 " It depends upon your lordship," said 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, " whether your niece 
 shall sustain an injury or no. You, as 
 well as myself, must consider her as the 
 heiress of Henhurst I have, indeed, no 
 doubt but that your lordship does regard 
 her in that light: her present property 
 is paltry, in comparison ; yet it is suffi- 
 cient, perhaps, to accommodate the pre- 
 sent wants both of you and me, if we 
 can agree that it shall do so. The adr 
 vantages of the future will be all yours 
 and her's : and I am persuaded, that the 
 few thousands which, with so truly a 
 filial duty, she offers to my acceptance 
 at this time, can neither, in reason or in 
 fact, be any object with her or your
 
 155 
 K-uUhip/' " But how is it possible,"*' 
 said Lord Enville, " that you can be in 
 want of these few thousands? The term3 
 upon which you gave up your own claim 
 to the Henhurst estate, the ample for- 
 tune that Mrs. Fitzosborn " " My 
 
 lord," interrupted Mr. Fitzosborn, " all 
 this is nothing to the purpose. It might 
 as well become me to ask, How, after 
 the noble inheritance which descended 
 to you from your forefathers, and the 
 handsome fortune which you received 
 with Lady Enville, you can have any 
 ' wants, any difficulties? But I really feel 
 no surprise on the subject. The only 
 use of money is- to spend it: and, in 
 spending it in times of such pressure as 
 these, it is not possible for men of liberal 
 habits, and a certain style of life, always 
 to accommodate their expenses to their 
 income. You have a large family, my 
 lord; you have many calls upon you. I 
 can easily suppose that money must 
 be a necessary with you, in any con- 
 nexion Mr. Pynsynt can form. Nothing 
 would give me more pleasure than to be
 
 166 
 
 assistant to your lordship in his establish- 
 ment in life; and if, instead of cavilling 
 at the wants of each other, we mutually 
 endeavour to supply them, I have no 
 doubt but an union of your son and my 
 daughter will afford us the means of 
 doing so; while we, at the same time, 
 establish the happiness of the young 
 people." " I acknowledge, my dear sir," 
 replied Lord Enville, " that nothing 
 can be more fair and candid than what 
 you say ; and I am ready to expose my 
 affairs wholly to you ; while you, on the 
 other hand, I have no doubt, will be 
 equally explicit as to the amount of the 
 accommodation that you expect from 
 your daughter's fortune." " My lord," 
 said Mr. Fitzosborn, " I must have ten 
 thousand pounds. If the remaining three 
 or four and twenty thousand pounds in 
 present possession, with the reversion of 
 the Henhurst estate, will make her a wife 
 for Mr. Pynsynt, such as your prudence 
 can approve, there is not a man in the 
 world that I should prefer to him as a 
 husband for my daughter, or any thing that
 
 157 
 could make me happier than to consent to 
 their union. " " The reversion of the 
 Henhurst estate would make the way- 
 smooth, " said Lord Enville : " but this 
 is no certainty: and how I could be 
 justified in allowing Pynsynt to marry 
 a woman with only twenty thousand 
 pounds, I know not : but, poor fellow, 
 his heart is set upon the thing; and his 
 generosity in not entering the lists with 
 his brother while there could be any 
 hopes for that brother, deserves reward. 
 My good old friend it shall be so. We 
 must not be prudent at the expense of 
 happiness. And really Caroline, with her 
 quiet spirit and moderation ; of desires, 
 is a treasure in herself. You wiJl .pre- 
 pare her for this happy change in heT 
 destination ; and I will rejoice Pynsynt, 
 by informing him that he may win his 
 fair cousin s heart if he can," M I wish 
 my daughter to remove to my house in 
 a day or two," said Mr. Fitzosborn; 
 41 and if I am again so soon to lose her, 
 I shall prefer the least possible delay. 
 Her apartments may be ready for her
 
 158 
 
 to-morrow. Let us now return, my lord, 
 to the drawing-room, that I may apprize 
 Caroline of her intended immediate re- 
 moval ; but, as to any farther arrange- 
 ment, I believe it will be best to say 
 nothing about it till she is under my 
 own roof: she has tender spirits, and I 
 would not have her hurried." Lord En- 
 ville highly approved of this precaution: 
 and these two Machiavelian fathers, hav- 
 ing thus concerted the sacrifice of the hap- 
 piness and the property of their children, 
 returned with lightened hearts, gay faces, 
 and easy consciences, to mix with their 
 fellow creatures, and to assert and urge 
 their claim to the distinction of " ho- 
 nourable men.'" — Could they have dared 
 to make such a claim, had they called 
 " things by their right names ? ? ' 
 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, in a few words, in- 
 formed Caroline that he should expect 
 her to remove to his house the following 
 evening; and Caroline, disgusted with 
 every individual of the family she was 
 now in, heard this notification rather 
 with pleasure than with pain, She.looked
 
 159 
 round for Edward, wishing to have com- 
 municated to him the intended change 
 in the place of her residence; forgetting, 
 at the moment, that his sober habits had 
 long withdrawn him from the gay scene 
 before her. Recollecting that he was 
 no longer present, she said to herself, 
 " Let me imitate what I so much ap- 
 prove; nor be led, by mere example and 
 habit, to the waste of time that will 
 return no more." With this reflection 
 she withdrew to her own apartment; 
 and when there, was at no loss for such 
 employment as called forth at once the 
 exercise of her faculties and the feelings 
 of her heart. The tumult below died 
 away, by degrees, into silence ; and at 
 length the disorderly household sunk to 
 rest. 
 
 The next morning, at breakfast, she 
 announced her intended departure : in- 
 telligence which seemed very little to 
 afreet any of her hearers. Lord and Lady 
 Enville believed, that while she seemed 
 to escape, she was in fact only drawing 
 the net closer round her. Mr. Pynsynt
 
 160 
 
 was offended by her conduct the night 
 before, and sat apart in all the dignity 
 of sulky silence : and the young ladies, 
 however they were ready to profit by 
 the bounty or good humour of Caroline, 
 so little resembled her in her pursuits or 
 disposition, that they had hardly an oc- 
 cupation in common ; and there was 
 scarcely a word in the English language 
 which they used in the same sense. At 
 dinner the scene was something changed. 
 Lord and Lady Enville spoke much of 
 their regret to part with her, even for 
 so short a time; and Mr. Pynsynt, with 
 a kind of proud humility, entreated her 
 to forgive any unintentional offence 
 which he might have committed. Ca- 
 roline returned little answer to either : 
 the day had seemed to her uncommonly 
 long, and she rejoiced to see the carriage 
 arrive which was to carry her from a 
 family which had sunk so low in her 
 estimation. Not one pitying word had 
 she heard for the follies or the sufferings 
 of poor Charles; nor could she gain the 
 least information as to what was become
 
 161 
 
 of him, or what were his prospects. In 
 answer to her inquiries on this head, 
 Miss Pynsynt could tell her only, that 
 " mamma said all would be settled very 
 well, she had no doubt; and Charles 
 having smarted a little, as to be sure he 
 well deserved, would be wiser for the 
 future." 
 
 " Good bye," and " farewell," and 
 H we will come and see how you go on 
 with that boar of a step-mother," were 
 the parting regrets of the family whose 
 u hearts were to be broken" by the ab- 
 sence of Caroline; of that Caroline, 
 M who was a jewel that would dignify 
 the diadem of a prince." 
 
 Caroline was too much occupied 
 with the past, and had too fearful an 
 anticipation of the future, to give a 
 thought to what was passing before her 
 at the present moment ; but she was re- 
 called to her full attention, when upon 
 making her acknowledgments to Lady 
 Enville for all her past kindness and in- 
 dulgence, Lady Enville, embracing her, 
 said, " Say no more of that, my dear;
 
 1&2 
 
 you will soon have it in your power t& 
 prove your sense or' my maternal affec- 
 tion ; and I have no doubt but that I 
 shall be as well satisfied with you as a 
 daughter, as I have always been as a 
 niece." The look of astonishment and 
 dismay with which Caroline heard these 
 words, was not lost upon Lady Enville; 
 but, patting her cheek, " Oh you little 
 rogue," said she, " do you think to run 
 away with the hearts of both my sons 
 without any return? No r no, Pynsynt 
 •must reap the harvest that Charles has 
 lost." " I protest, madam — " said Caro- 
 line. — " Come, come, no protestations," 
 interrupted Lady Enville. " Like a true 
 woman I have perhaps suffered my 
 tongue to outrun my discretion; but I 
 see no reason why an event that will 
 make us all so happy, should be buried 
 in silence: and do you think I shoukl 
 have parted with you so easily if I had 
 not trusted to Pynsynt's influence to 
 bring you back?" " I really do not 
 understand you, madam," said Caroline, 
 very gravely, and with a dignity that
 
 163 
 
 awed Ladv Enville. " I wish vou o;ood 
 evening.* 1 Lady Enville attempted a 
 laugh. " Good night, my little tragedy 
 queen ! there is a time for all things ; 
 and there will be a time for confession, 
 with all your reserve and decorum/' 
 
 Caroline, angry and confounded, stept 
 into the carriage; nor, during her short 
 drive, had she a single thought that was 
 not given to what had just passed be- 
 tween Lady Enville and herself. She 
 entertained no doubt but that it was the 
 intention of the Envilles that she .should 
 marry Mr. Pynsynt, and she thought 
 with painful apprehension on the proba- 
 bility that such a design would not en- 
 counter from her father the same oppo- 
 sition which he had declared to her union 
 with Charles. If so, it was not the 
 moral character of the husband that 
 could make an) 7 part of his considera- 
 tion ; for Mr. Pynsynt was still more 
 objectionable in this point of view than 
 . Charles. 
 
 On her arrival in Sackville Street, 
 Caroline was received by Mrs. Eitz-
 
 J 64 
 osborn with a kind of sulky civility; 
 which the vulgarity of her manners 
 made the more revolting. 
 
 " I shall be very glad if I can make 
 you comfortable, Miss Fitzosborn," said 
 she ; " but really a fine lady, who has 
 been living in Grosvenor Square so many 
 years, can hardly expect all the accom- 
 modations which she has been used to, 
 in so small a house as this. I never 
 thought of any addition to our family, 
 or we should have had a larger : and a 
 larger we will have next winter I am re- 
 solved ; for it will be but fair, with your 
 large fortune, Miss Fitzosborn, that you 
 should contribute your share; and Mr. 
 Fitzosborn tells me that he is sure you 
 will be willing to do so." " I shall 
 be very happy, madam," replied Caro- 
 line, " to contribute every thing in my 
 power to the gratification either of my 
 father or yourself." " Oh, as to power, 
 you have power enough ; and take my 
 advice, and keep it in your own hands. 
 Don't do as I did, throw it all away before 
 you well knew how to use it. Pray,
 
 165 
 
 what did you pay those Envilles for 
 your board?" w Three hundred pounds, 
 madam," replied Caroline. " And little 
 enough too, as dear as every thing is, 
 and these nasty taxes; and I understand 
 you have two servants. To be sure they 
 could not want it; and, besides, there 
 was no occasion that they should get 
 any thing by you ; but no doubt you 
 would wish that Mr. Fitzosborn should 
 benefit by your fortune, of which it was 
 hard that he had no share. I am sure 
 that I think five hundred pounds would 
 not be a bit too much for you to give 
 here, and I hope you think so too?" 
 " We will leave all these things to be 
 settled by my father, if you please, 
 madam," said Caroline. " Settled by 
 your father, child!" replied Mrs. Fitz- 
 osborn : " then I am sure I shall never 
 be a guinea the better. Do you not 
 know that he would eat and drink gold ? 
 If you don't look about you, he will not 
 leave you a shilling. No, Miss Fitz- 
 osborn, your best way will be to make 
 me your friend. Propose to your father
 
 166 
 
 to give a very handsome sum for your 
 board; suppose it is more than five hun- 
 dred pounds; and insist upon paying it 
 yourself to me ;% and then you and I can 
 settle what will be reasonable for me to 
 keep, and I can return you the overplus. 
 It will be your only way. If you once 
 let Mr. Fitzosborn have the fingering of 
 your rents, you will find that they will 
 all stick to his fingers. Don't I know 
 him ?" 
 
 Caroline, as she listened to this low- 
 minded and low- worded harangue, could 
 not help confessing that there is a charm 
 in good-breeding that can throw a degree 
 of shade over even the revolting forms 
 of avarice and selfishness, The designs 
 that the Envilles had upon her property 
 w T ere not very dissimilar from those of 
 Mr. Fitzosborn ; yet the coarseness with 
 which they were avowed by the latter, 
 made her look back with some little 
 regret on the mansion which she had 
 left; where, though there was not more 
 virtue in the heart, there was more po- 
 liteness on the tongue. Thus are wc
 
 167 
 governed by sounds., thought Caroline: 
 our nerves, rather than our principles, 
 are offended: and hence the advantage 
 of calling " things by their right 
 names." 
 
 Mr. Fitzosborn's evening engagements 
 
 soon gave Caroline an opportunity of 
 
 withdrawing to her own apartment, and 
 
 ■afforded her leisure to ruminate on the 
 
 change of her situation. 
 
 There was an indistinct suspicion and 
 dread that hung upon her mind, that she 
 could neither account for nor shake off. 
 She thought that she had no difficulty 
 in understanding the designs of the En- 
 villes or of Mrs. Fitzosborn, and she 
 felt that she was equal to disappointing 
 them both, whatever they might be. 
 Her father's plans were not so clear; 
 and bier means of opposing them, if 
 contrary to her inclinations, much more 
 difficult. She could not endure the 
 thought that she had to guard against a 
 parent's attacks upon her property; yet 
 did it perpetually recur, and brought 
 with it, to l>er apprehension, so many
 
 168 
 painful sacrifices and adverse duties, as 
 to confound her powers of reasoning, 
 and to oppress her heart. These medi- 
 tations, though they did not prevent her 
 from retiring to bed at a reasonable hour, 
 kept her wakeful long after the late one 
 which consigned the rest of the house- 
 hold to repose, and roused her long be- 
 fore any one else was stirring. As soon 
 as she could quit her own room with 
 any hopes of finding accommodation 
 elsewhere, she went down into the room 
 where she had understood that breakfast 
 was usually served; and where she had 
 observed, the night before, there was the 
 only appearance of books that the house 
 afforded. There she took up a new pub- 
 lication, with which she endeavoured to 
 engage her mind till Mrs. Fitzosborn 
 should appear. 
 
 With those, however, who call " things 
 by their right names," the morning was 
 gone before she had any interruption to 
 her studies ; and they were at last broke 
 in upon, not by Mrs. Fitzosborn, but by 
 her father. He saluted her, and wel-
 
 m 
 
 coined her to his house, and apologized 
 that it was not in his power to be at 
 home to receive her the evening before. 
 He told her that Mrs. Fitzosborn usually 
 breakfasted in her own apartment, as he 
 did in his dressing-room; but that if it 
 would he agreeable to her, he would 
 from henceforth breakfast with her. " I 
 know you are an early riser," said he : 
 " I am not late : and by meeting at 
 breakfast, we shall secure a little com- 
 fortable confidential chat every day, 
 which otherwise it would be difficult to 
 get in the whole course of it." Caro- 
 line most readily assented to this pro- 
 posal. It was her first wish to become 
 acquainted with her father's real cha- 
 racter and disposition : and she flattered 
 herself that she might, by her conduct 
 towards him, so conciliate him, as to 
 awaken in his breast a real affection for 
 her; if, as she much feared, it did not 
 at present exist. Caroline had, how- 
 ever, yet to learn in how many ways 
 the love of self was indicative of " pe- 
 rilous times." 
 
 vol. r. I
 
 170 ' 
 
 The father and the daughter being 
 seated at the breakfast table, " I hope," 
 said Mr. Fitzosborn, " that Mrs. Fitzos- 
 born received you well last night? I 
 assure you she has very good disposi- 
 tions towards you, which it must be 
 your business to cultivate. The faults 
 in her manners you must endeavour to 
 overlook." Caroline replied, that she 
 had no doubt but that the) 7 should do 
 very well together ; and added, that 
 there should be nothing wanting on her 
 own part to produce so desirable an effect. 
 " With all your efforts," replied Mr. 
 Fitzosborn, " you might probably find 
 the task an irksome, one: and it must 
 be confessed, that, with all Mrs. Fitzos-; 
 bonfs good qualities, she wants the 
 graces most miserably ; and this want 
 must be particularly conspicuous to you, 
 who nave, been accustomed to live, since 
 you can be said to have lived at all, with 
 people of such good taste and elegant 
 manners as the Envilles." Caroline had 
 never heard her father talk of the good 
 qualities of Mrs, Fitzosborn before ; nor.
 
 m 
 
 was he in the habit of saying civil things 
 of the Envilles. She wondered to find 
 him in . so complimentary a humour. 
 She smiled : " There might be compen- 
 sations for this good taste and those 
 elegant manners/' said she, " that 
 would make me very willing to forego 
 them." " Oh, no doubt," replied Mr. 
 Fitzosborn; " but I fear we must not 
 look for these compensations in Mrs. 
 Fitzosborn : and when so much ton is 
 united with so much goodness as the En- 
 villes possess, it must be highly desirable 
 for a woman like my Caroline to become 
 one of so charming a family.*' Caroline 
 started; but instantly hoping that her 
 fears might run before the truth, she said, 
 " I had no reason to complain while I re- 
 mained in Lord Enville's house; and 
 now you have withdrawn me from it, I 
 dare say I shall have every reason to be 
 satisfied with my home." " I don't talk 
 of a temporary residence," said Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn, " I allude to you becoming a 
 member of the family, — a daughter of the 
 house." " I understood," returned Caro- 
 i 3
 
 172 
 line, " that you wholly disapproved of 
 any such connexion." What! with that 
 spendthrift Charles? to be sure I did, 
 and I do. We are not talking of him : 
 no, my dear Caroline, I am happy to say 
 it is by the means of Mr. Pynsynt that 
 two families, already one in their 
 tastes and their affections, will be 
 indissolubly united by the sacred bond 
 of matrimony. I congratulate you 
 on the conquest you have made, and the 
 prospects before you." " You make me 
 smile, sir," said Caroline, •' when you talk 
 of my conquests : never was there a 
 damsel more neglected than I was by 
 Mr. Pynsynt before my visit to Hen- 
 hurst; and I fear, that whatever are my 
 prospects in life, he will not contribute 
 to brighten them." " The fear is vain, 
 I assure you," replied Mr. Fitzosborn : 
 H what you took for neglect, was merely 
 generosity to that worthless fellow 
 Charles. He was resolved not to stand 
 in his way ; and could not but be con- 
 scious, that, if he had come forward ever 
 so little, Charles could have nothing
 
 173 
 to hope : that obstacle removed, his love 
 has burst forth ; and I come ambassador 
 from him, and Lord Enville, to lay his 
 heart, his person, and his fortune, at your 
 feet." " From me," said Caroline, with 
 dignity, " Charles never had any thing to 
 hope; nor do I believe that he ever en- 
 tertained wishes or hopes with respect to 
 me: but I must say. that notwithstand- 
 ing Mr. Pynsynt's generosity, and his 
 coyisciousness, were I compelled to choose 
 between the brothers, I should not hesi- 
 tate to prefer Charles." " Poo, non- 
 sense," said Mr. Fitzosborn ; " reserve 
 all this pretty disdain and self-conse- 
 quence for Mr. Pynsynt. It will give a 
 poignancy to the cloying sweets of love- 
 making upon sure grounds ; but speak 
 honestly to your father : there is no rea- 
 son to deny to him that you think, with 
 all the fashionable female world, that 
 Mr. Pynsynt is the greatest ornament 
 in it ; or that you feel as every female, 
 whether fashionable or not, must feel on 
 the offer of a coronet." " I see you are 
 rallying me," said Caroline,- "and that 
 i 3
 
 174 
 
 you give as little credit as I do myself to 
 Mr. Pynsynt's passion, or his attrac- 
 tions." " Upon my word you were 
 never more mistaken," replied Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn; " I am most profoundly serious; 
 jior can I entertain a doubt but that you 
 are as well pleased as myself with this 
 change in the family politics ; this substi- 
 tution of the elder for the younger 
 brother." " Substitution of the elder 
 for the younger brother !" cried Caro- 
 line. " What ! am I at the disposal of 
 Lord Enville? Does it depend upon 
 him to say who I shall make my compa- 
 nion for life? My dear father, forgive 
 *ne; who is it that fills your mind with 
 such unfounded notions? What have I 
 to do with either of the brothers? I 
 should be miserable to be the wife of 
 either. Whatever may be Lord Enville's 
 views, we have nothing to do with them. 
 If Mr. Pynsynt must be established by 
 the means of a wife, there are others of 
 higher rank, and larger fortunes than I 
 can pretend to, that will answer the 
 purpose much better. But this is no
 
 175 
 concern of mine. He has nothing to 
 offer that can please my fancy, tempt my 
 ambition, or gratify my feelings and my 
 taste : my principles and my heart 
 equally reject him/' " Caroline," said 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, solemnly, " you must 
 marry Mr. Pynsynt." " Must ! my dear 
 father?" said Caroline; " from whence 
 arises the necessity?" " Would you see 
 your father in a jail?" " What can you 
 mean, sir?" said Caroline, shuddering. 
 u What connexion can there be between 
 so deplorable an event and my marriage 
 with Mr. Pynsynt?" " With your not 
 marrying Mr. Pynsynt and such an 
 event there is a very intimate, and in- 
 deed an indissoluble connexion." 
 
 The light now broke in upon Caro- 
 line; and strengthening herself to sup- 
 port the evil which she saw hciWtf 
 called upon to suffer; " I understand 
 you, sir," said she, " and will spare you 
 the pain of any farther explanation : 
 what was the price at which I was to 
 have been sold to Lord Enville?" " My 
 dear Caroline," said Mr. Fitzosborn, 
 
 i 4
 
 176 
 
 <• what strange words you use! Sold! 
 Who would have sold you ? Arrange- 
 ments there must be in all family trans- 
 actions. If you knew more of the world 
 you would understand this. Nor can a 
 coronet be had for nothing : nor are 
 such charms and such virtues as your's 
 an every day pri^e. Lord Enville knows 
 this, and Mr. Vynsyntfeds it; and it is 
 these considerations that have induced 
 them to abate a certain part of your for- 
 tune. That certain part is necessary to 
 me, if I am to continue to live as I do ; 
 and could I suppose for a moment that 
 you would object to such a disposal of a 
 part of your wealth? you, who have al- 
 ways been so affectionate a child ? All 
 the advantages of the bargain, you see, 
 are on our side ; you are established in 
 the world at less cost than we could 
 have hoped for; and the surplus of your 
 property remains in your own family 
 ■instead of the whole being alienated. 
 But what is there in this like being sold? 
 I should rather say that you were given 
 .away." " Forgive me," said Caroline,
 
 177 
 with an anguish of spirit that she had 
 never before felt, and for the bitterness of 
 which she could scarcely account to her- 
 self: u forgive me, if I am incapable of 
 understanding these nice distinctions. I 
 would use no words that can offend you; 
 but I am accustomed to use such as, to 
 my apprehension, best explain my mean- 
 ing. I wish to be dealt with in the same 
 manner. May I ask, what is the amount 
 of the sum necessary to your accom- 
 modation?"' added she, hesitatingly. 
 u Whatever it is," replied Mr. Fitzosborn, 
 sullenly, " it matters not; for, except in 
 the case of your marrying Mr. Pynsynt, I 
 can assure you I am not such a wretch 
 as to take it." " If, my dear sir," said 
 Caroline, gently pressing his hand; u if 
 we might speak in direct terms, we 
 should be less apt to mistake each other, 
 or to deceive ourselves; less in danger of 
 being led away by false delicacy or false 
 generosity." " Do allow me, without 
 offence, to state the case in such words 
 as will best convey to you my sense of 
 it. If I am wrong, you will correct me." 
 
 i 5
 
 178 
 " Is it of Edward,'' said Mr. Fitzosborn, 
 sarcastically, " that you learn to speak 
 so like a lawyer? that at eighteen you 
 insist upon understanding all you utter? 
 But go on." Mr. Fitzosborn had, how- 
 ever, for a moment rendered it impossi- 
 ble for Caroline to obey him : the blood 
 rushed from her heart to her cheek, and 
 retreated thither again as hastily, before 
 she could command her voice sufficiently 
 to say, " It appears to me that you de- 
 signed to have appropriated a certain 
 part of my property to your own use, in 
 consideration of having secured to me 
 what you imagined I should esteem a 
 much superior advantage: in a word, 
 that you had made for me a good pur- 
 chase. If, in my opinion, the relative 
 value of the articles to be exchanged had 
 coincided with your's, my dear sir, your 
 conclusion would have been just. Un- 
 fortunately it differs so widely, that I 
 would give double the sum, what- 
 ever it is, that was to have purchased 
 me a coronet, to avoid receiving it from 
 the hand that now offers it, But there
 
 179 
 are other advantages more than equiva- 
 lent to my whole fortune: that of 
 making you, my dear father, easy, ranks 
 the highest : name the sum that will 
 make you so, and it shall be your's." 
 "What! and leave you unestablished? 
 What will the world say if 1 pillage my 
 daughter, and do not secure her a rank 
 and station iii life which is so justly her 
 due?" " What has the world to do with 
 any transactions between you and me, 
 my dear sir," replied Caroline; u if you 
 have wants, it is a daughter who ought 
 to supply them. An establishment! 
 rank and station in life ! these are words 
 that convey to my mind no distinct 
 meaning, and therefore can have no at- 
 traction for me. When I marry, it shall 
 be with the prospect of such an income 
 as will be competent to afford me those 
 Conveniences of life to which I have 
 been accustomed. Beyond this, I have 
 no conception of any selfish gratifica- 
 tion from the accumulation of thousands; 
 and I should certainly consider such 
 wealth more as a trust, than as a posses-
 
 180 
 
 sion." " All this is very good, my dear," 
 said Mr. Fitzosborn ; u but it is also very 
 young. It was so that I and your mo- 
 ther talked when we were in love : but, 
 as you are not in love, I would advise 
 you to be a little more rational, and take 
 warning from what you know was the 
 consequence of our folly. I tell you 
 that there is no living in this world 
 without money, and a great deal of 
 money too. Could any thing short of 
 this conviction have made me the hus- 
 band of the present Mrs. Fitzosborn? 
 To marry to poverty is not only folly, 
 but degradation. Have you never heard 
 of the miserable way in which the 
 mother and sisters of Edward liver" 
 " Yes, I have heard of it," said Caroline, 
 with emphasis. " "Well, should you like 
 to live as they do ? I am sure that I 
 never think of them without equal com- 
 passion for their misery, and- indignation 
 at that strange brother of mine. If you 
 value his favour, Caroline, if you value 
 mine, you will never think of connect- 
 ing yourself with a poor man." " I do
 
 181 
 
 not think," said Caroline, blushing, " of 
 connecting myself with any man. Such 
 considerations are far from the present 
 purpose. Will you be so kind as to in- 
 form me what is the sum that you wish 
 to have?" " Deuse take me if I can 
 prevail with myself to pillage you thus! 
 Dear Caroline, think better of your own 
 interests; accept the offer that is made 
 you ; aud make us all the happiest family 
 in town." 
 
 Caroline felt a degree of indignation 
 arise in her breast, which hurt the deli- 
 cacy of her filial feelings: but, repressing 
 the involuntary sensation, she replied, 
 " I entreat you, sir, urge me no farther 
 on that subject : my resolution is defi- 
 nitive : and if you would accept assist- 
 ance from me on any terms, surely you 
 will prefer those which are the easiest to 
 me-." " Why, to be sure it is more in 
 the sound of the thing than any thing 
 else," replied Mr. Fitzosborn. " In the 
 natural order of things, the whole of 
 your fortune, in right of your mother, 
 ought to have passed into my hands ;
 
 182 
 that it did not, was the whim of ro- 
 mance. The little that I now want is 
 less than what, in that case, I should 
 probably have found it prudent to have 
 appropriated to the settling my affairs; 
 so that you will still be better off than 
 you might have been ; nay, rich, with all 
 your little economical ways and your 
 moderate desires; so that I do not know 
 why I should scruple. But the trans- 
 action may be known, and not the cir- 
 cumstances which led to it; and then it 
 may be mistaken, and imputations may 
 attach to me that no man of honour can 
 bear ; and I can hardly hope that Lord 
 Enville, stung as he will be by the dis- 
 appointment of his hopes, will spare me." 
 " Oh, my dear sir," said Caroline, " do 
 not let us puzzle ourselves with all these 
 possibilities, and suggestions that arc 
 nothing to the purpose. If what we do 
 is right, why should we look farther? 
 Why should we care what ill-informed 
 or ill-intentioned people may say ?" 
 " Caroline," replied Mr. Fitzosborn, 
 " this disregard to character is a- very
 
 183 
 
 dangerous principle. Reputation is the 
 best guard to virtue. When we have 
 lost the one, the other is seldom pre- 
 served. This is a maxim that ought 
 more especially to be held sacred by a 
 woman ; but it is not to be despised by a 
 man. The transfer that is proposed by 
 you, is not only expedient, but laudable; 
 and as your interest and mine must be 
 the same, equally right in both parties : 
 but perhaps this may not be quite so 
 plain to the world at large. If I do 
 accept your offer, it must be upon the 
 condition of inevitable secresy on your 
 side." " My dear father," said Caroline, 
 " do you think I should ever mention 
 such a transaction to any creature r" 
 " No, no; not voluntarily, and unques- 
 tioned, mention it. I am sure your own 
 prudence would prevent you : for why 
 unnecessarily lessen yourself in the eyes 
 of the world, where you are considered 
 as being worth more than thirty thousand 
 pounds? I do not think you such a sim- 
 pleton. But you must be upon your 
 guard j you must be prepared with some
 
 184 
 plausible story that will satisfy Lord 
 Enville : you must persuade him, that 
 on being obliged to break the engage- 
 ment I had entered into with him, I am 
 an equal sufferer with himself. In short, 
 you must pass for a little obstinate 
 gipsy, who would attend neither to her 
 own interest nor the interest of her 
 father/' " Would this be quite con- 
 sistent with the regard for character that 
 you inculcated just now?" said Caroline. 
 " Oh, this is a trifle," replied Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn. " Who thinks the worse of a 
 woman for following her own inclina- 
 tions, and keeping all the power in her 
 own hands?" — " If such were the mo- 
 tives of my conduct," returned Caroline, 
 " my being determined by them would 
 involve a breach of duty to my parent, 
 and manifest both folly and selfishness ; 
 none of which appear to me trifles in 
 the character even of a woman." " Well, 
 well, tell the story your own way; only 
 let it be such an one as will effectually 
 screen me from all suspicion as to the 
 real truth of the matter," " I can pro-
 
 185 
 mise you, sir, the most obstinate and 
 not to be shaken silence," said Caroline: 
 " farther, I hope you will forgive me if 
 I do not engage for." " Truly, mistress 
 Caroline/' said Mr. Fitzosborn, " I think 
 the most rigid veracity need not be 
 startled with imputing unpersuadable- 
 ness to your ladyship. What single point 
 have you conceded to me in the whole 
 course of this long conversation?" " In- 
 deed," returned Caroline, " I have yielded 
 all that was in my power; and all, I hope, 
 that is necessary either to your character 
 or your happiness." " Nay, child, it is 
 not for my own sake that I shall en- 
 croach upon your thousands. It is the 
 love of justice that induces me to accept 
 the ass is i an ce vou offer me. Ten thou- 
 sand pounds, though in fact no great 
 sum, is considerable to people of a cer- 
 tain description; and upon my honour 
 I have too much feeling to bear the' 
 thoughts of distressing honest tradesmen, 
 who work hard for their living." 
 
 It was with an effort that almost 
 amounted to suffocation, that Caroline
 
 186 
 
 was enabled to repress the exclamation 
 of surprise that these words occasioned. 
 Her consternation and dismay were but 
 too visible to her father; but, carefully 
 avoiding any remark on them, he went 
 on : — " From an income of better than 
 fifteen hundred pounds per annum, a 
 young woman, having no house or 
 establishment, cannot feel any depriva- 
 tion by the diminution of five hundred 
 pounds a year. If she have any pru- 
 dence she would not touch a single 
 penny of it. A thousand pounds a year 
 ought to be amply sufficient for all her 
 wants while she remains unmarried; and 
 she would thus have the pleasure of 
 making her hoard a more worthy present 
 -for the man she loved. This, my dear 
 Caroline, is a pleasure that no considera- 
 tion for others would have induced me 
 to rob you of, did I not consider this 
 paltry thousand" pounds per annum as 
 not a tenth part of your wealth. The 
 Henhurst estate will infallibly be yours. 
 That ring is the gage of its being so. 
 And when you have that, you may gra-
 
 w 
 
 tify your taste for marrying a poor man, 
 without much imputation on your pru- 
 dence." 
 
 Caroline's various emotions on this 
 -speech of her father's, the confusion of 
 ideas that such a gross misapplication of 
 words occasioned her, and the bitter re- 
 ilections that the whole of this conver- 
 sation had given rise to, made her for 
 some moments wholly unable to reply 
 to it. His last words had most particu- 
 larly affected her; though the emotion 
 which they had occasioned was of a 
 kind that she could not have described, 
 and which she did not understand. She 
 remained silent so long, that Mr. Fitz- 
 osborn, alarmed by the symptoms of 
 dissatisfaction that appeared in her coun- 
 tenance, said, " What is the matter 
 with you, Caroline? are you not well?" 
 " I acknowledge myself something sur- 
 prised," returned Caroline, "at the large- 
 ness of the sum which you have named; 
 and I confess I am so far sorry for it, as I 
 fear the alienation of it may in some de- 
 gree disappoint the expectations that Mrs,
 
 188 
 Fitzosborn mentioned to me last night." 
 " How so? what expectations did she 
 manifest?" " That I should pay five 
 hundred pounds a year for my board," 
 returned Caroline. " Harpy !" said Mr. 
 Fitzosborn. " Butifitsfrere to be so, 
 my Caroline; there would still be ano- 
 ther five hundred pounds left for your 
 private purse ; and I have heard you say 
 that you do not spend two hundred." 
 " Not on myself," said Caroline. " And 
 surely, my dear little Lady Bountiful, 
 three hundred pounds a year are ample 
 for all the purposes of benevolence." It 
 falls short, thought Caroline, of the de- 
 mands of extravagance. " But," re- 
 turned she, " I have really no such sum 
 to bestow." " Nor need you. Yet, 
 •when your servants' wages are paid, and 
 you have 'illotted a certain sum for such 
 presents and attentions as are indis- 
 pensable, there will still be such a sur- 
 plus on your income, as may well satisfy 
 your passion for indiscriminate charity." 
 " There will be no surplus at all," said 
 Caroline. " You mentioned, my dear
 
 ) 
 
 father, just now, the distresses of Airs. 
 Edward Fitzosborn : I have already ap- 
 propriated three hundred pounds of my 
 income to her. I have given my word 
 that it shall be continued to her." 
 " Three hundred pounds a year to Mrs. 
 Edward Fitzosborn !*' exclaimed Mr. 
 Fitzosborn, " Was there ever such 
 folly? Why, child, were you mad? or 
 had you lost all power of calculation?" 
 " It is plain," returned Caroline, " that 
 I did not take into my calculation all 
 that I ouo;ht to have done: but the 
 thing is done; nor can it be recalled. 
 Of the seven hundred pounds a year that 
 remain to me of my property, it is for 
 you, sir, to say what part you require 
 for the maintenance of me and my ser- 
 vants ; and for me so to regulate my ex- 
 penses, as not to exceed what may be 
 left to my disposal." " This is a very 
 foolish affair indeed, Caroline," said Mr. 
 Fitzosborn, peevishly. " This comes of 
 making girls of eighteen mistresses of 
 themselves. I wonder at your courage 
 in having disposed of so large a share of
 
 J 90 
 your property without my consent. You 
 see what inconveniences you bring upon 
 yourself by such self-willedness; nor will 
 the mischief stop here. If this matter 
 comes to the knowledge of your uncle, 
 adieu to all our hopes of the Henhurst 
 estate. He will as soon leave it to 
 a beggar as to one who has taken 
 upon herself to relieve the distresses of 
 those whom he had consigned to per- 
 petual poverty. Some means must be 
 found to stop the mouths of those silly 
 Fitzosborns, who will be talking of your 
 bounty, and call it gratitude, and so 
 ruin you. The deuse take me if I w r ere 
 ever more vexed at a thing in my life 1" 
 " I do not fear any evil consequences 
 from what I have done," returned Caro- 
 line; and if any should occur, they will 
 be wholly to myself. T hope, therefore, 
 sir, that you will not suffer this matter 
 to rest upon your mind, any farther than 
 as it may influence your decision as to 
 the other parts of my property." " The 
 evil consequences wholly to yourself in- 
 deed !" said Mr. Fitzosborn. " Is there
 
 / 
 
 m 
 
 not an immediate evil consequence that 
 affects others? In the state of indigence 
 to which yon have reduced yourself, do 
 you think that I can consent that Mrs. 
 Fuzosborn shall realize her projects of 
 advantage at your expense? And shall 
 not I then be the victim of her ill-hu- 
 mour?" 
 
 Caroline could not help wondering at 
 the quick-sighteclness of selfishness, and 
 the cold-heartedness of avarice. 
 
 " I beg," returned she, " that tnis 
 may. not be the case : I can live very 
 happily upon two hundred pounds a 
 year. I desire that you will permit me 
 to pay Mrs. Fitzosborn the five hundred- 
 pounds on which she has set her heart; 
 all then may be peace and harmony, as 
 far as my residence in this house is con- 
 cerned : and I can faithfully promise 
 you, that I will not trouble it by any 
 regrets of my own." \ u I believe it had 
 best be .so," returned Mr. Fitzosborn, 
 carelessly. " My lawyer shall be here 
 to-morrow morning, when every thing 
 necessary to the transfer that we have
 
 m 
 
 agreed upon may be completed ; and ere 
 Ions: the Hen hurst estate will make all 
 up to you again/' 
 
 Thus ended this memorable conversa- 
 tion ; Mr. Fitzosborn, as he said the last 
 words, sauntering out of the room, and 
 leaving Caroline at a loss to know whe- 
 ther the sacrifice of one third of her for- 
 tune, and the alienation of another third, 
 had conferred an obligation, or had ex- 
 cited the smallest feeling of gratitude. 
 She had heard the most gross misapplica- 
 tion of words, and she felt herself the 
 victim of the most lavish extravagance 
 and the most flint-hearted selfishness; 
 while the person who thus spoke, and 
 thus acted, seemed unconscious that his 
 arguments were inconclusive, or his con- 
 duct reprehensible. Caroline could not 
 understand tins : nor would she have 
 understood it better, had she been privy 
 to all that passed in the mind of her 
 father. So accustomed was he to call 
 " things by wrong names," and so little 
 did he attend to the motives for his 
 actions, that he believed unfeignedly
 
 193 
 
 that his expenses were no more than ne- 
 cessary ; that in offering his daughter a 
 coronet he had fulfilled the part of & 
 good father; that by inculcating false- 
 hood and cold-heartedness, he was teach- 
 ing her prudence and a knowledge of the 
 world; that in robbing her of her for* 
 tune he was taking no more than his 
 due; and, finally, that sire could suffer 
 no real injury, as she would infallibly 
 inherit the Henhurst estate. On the 
 whole, as he had secured the ten thou- 
 sand pounds to himself, he was better 
 pleased that Caroline had refused Mr* 
 Pynsynt than if she had accepted him. 
 By being still to be disposed of, fresh 
 advantages might accrue to him in the 
 disposal of her; and in the contingents 
 of futurity, events might arise which 
 would give him cause to rejoice that 
 Caroline was accountable only to himself 
 for her conduct. The only particular 
 that now occupied his thoughts, was 
 how to conceal from Lord Enville, and 
 every other person, the diminution that 
 had taken place in Caroline's fortune, 
 vol. i. x
 
 194 
 with respect to the ten thousand pounds 
 absolutely given to himself, and the 
 lessening of her income from her bene- 
 volence to Mrs. Edward Fitzosborn. He 
 flattered himself, that as he was sure 
 of her unbroken silence on these two 
 points, that this would not be difficult; 
 and he left his house, to throw himself 
 into his usual round of morning occu- 
 pations, with as much self-complacency 
 and lightness of heart, as if he had been 
 performing the most disinterested ac- 
 tions. 
 
 Caroline withdrew to her chamber in 
 a very different state of mind. She 
 could not doubt but that the promptness 
 with which she had yielded so large a 
 part of her property was right. It was 
 a parent who had required her assist- 
 ance ; and the assistance that she had 
 given him was so far from being beyond 
 what she could prudently spare from her 
 own wants, that she considered herself 
 as still affluent. In the plan that she 
 had sketched for the expenditure of .her 
 income, she had considered that part of
 
 195 
 it which she had appropriated to the 
 calls of benevolence, as a fountain from 
 whence to draw her purest pleasures. 
 The stream was now to be almost wholly 
 directed to one object, and that object 
 her father. But where was the corre- 
 sponding joy that such an indulgence of 
 the filial and benevolent feelings in one 
 seemed so imperiously to call for? Poor 
 Caroline knew it not; felt it not. All 
 within was blunt discomfort, or invo- 
 luntary, but unequivocal condemnation. 
 She durst not trust herself to embody in 
 words the thoughts which the discovery 
 she had made of her father's character 
 gave rise to. She did not dare to call 
 things as she knew them to be; and she 
 would willingly have relinquished her 
 power of giving, to have escaped such a 
 proof of her father's injustice and rapa- 
 city. She turned from his maxims and 
 principles with an abhorrence that terri- 
 fied her; and then again she meditated 
 schemes the most impracticable, how 
 she should escape from the contagion of 
 his example. But the turpitude of her 
 
 k 2
 
 196 
 
 father was not the only painful discovery 
 that Caroline had made : she was con- 
 scious of the sharpness of the pang which 
 she had felt on divesting herself of so 
 large a share of her property; and with 
 a heart as little mercenary as she knew 
 her own to be, she could not be at a 
 loss to account for what she had felt. 
 
 " I have still sufficient for my own 
 gratification," said she. " I have parted 
 with the superfluity to a parent. For 
 whose sake, then, do I regret that I am 
 no longer rich ?" 
 
 Her head sunk upon her bosom as she 
 said these words : and as she closed her 
 eyes to exclude the light, which was at 
 that moment hateful to her, " Oh Ed- 
 ward !" cried she. But who has told 
 me, thought she, a little recovering her 
 composure, that, were I queen of the 
 globe, Edward would condescend to 
 share it with me? Why should I regret 
 an affluence, which, had I retained, it 
 is but too probable I should have found 
 valueless? 
 
 The train of thought which these re-
 
 197 
 flections gave birth to, led her to the 
 conviction that she had no ground to 
 flatter herself that the kindness which 
 Edward had alwavs manifested towards 
 her, was marked by that particular dis- 
 tinction which would make him take 
 any selfish interest in the diminution of 
 her fortune. She saw in his manners 
 towards her, frankness of disposition, 
 friendship, perhaps partiality, but not 
 love. She scarcely knew whether there 
 was admiration. He had never paid one 
 compliment to her person; never, ex- 
 cept when warmed by gratitude by her 
 favours to his family, had lie been led 
 or betrayed into a uarm approbation of 
 her sentiments. Nor could she recall to 
 her mmd a single syn ptom of jealousy t 
 or even uneasiness, that the attemions-of 
 otheis or' his sex to her had ever disco- 
 vered. He had, indeed, warmly ex- 
 pressed his pleasure on being assured 
 that sue was indifferent to Charles Pyn- 
 synt; out she could too easily trae<e this 
 feeimg back to a general principle of be- 
 nevolence, to be able, by any self-flat- 
 
 k 3
 
 J98 
 tery, to place it to the account of any 
 particular interest. In all that he did or 
 said with respect to herself, he appeared 
 unactuated by hope or fear ; and she re- 
 membered with pain, that it was not till 
 Charles had so unequivocally proved 
 himself unworthy of her, that he had 
 seemed to feel even a wish to ascertain 
 the truth of any connexion between 
 them. It was impossible to escape from 
 the conclusion that these reflections 
 forced upon her; and Caroline found, in 
 one and the same moment, that her heart 
 was no longer in her own possession ; 
 and that she had given it to a man who 
 was "probably indifferent to the gift. 
 
 Shocked, grieved, and humiliated, Ca- 
 roline felt as if alone in the world. Poor, 
 Avith reputed thousands; unprotected un- 
 der the roof of a parent. Instead of a fa- 
 ther, she had found an invader of her pro- 
 perty ; instead of the kindness of friend- 
 ship, the machinations of selfishness ; 
 and instead of having secured the heart 
 of one favoured individual, the mortify- 
 ing conviction that she had lost her
 
 199 
 own! With this consciousness she lost 
 also all the unreproved delight hitherto 
 attendant on her intercourse with Ed- 
 ward : she felt that she ought never to 
 see him more, and yet not a single mo- 
 ment passed in which she did not wish 
 to see him. She had accustomed herself 
 to look to him as the enlightener of her 
 paths, and the rectifier of her opinions. 
 His hetter knowledge of the world, the 
 strictness of his principles, and the stea- 
 diness of his conduct, had made her, 
 from her first residence in London, turn 
 to him for that a^i^rance which she was 
 sensible she must want on iier entrance 
 into life, and which she would have 
 looked for in va\n from Lady Euville, or 
 from any of hei family. The decorum 
 of civilized society, t he elegance of fa- 
 shionable manners, she might indeed 
 have learnt from them, had the benevo- 
 lence of her disposition, and the correct- 
 ness of her taste, left her in want of any 
 such instruction: but the strength of 
 principle, with the tenderness of feeling, 
 that distinguishes the Christian, could 
 
 k 4
 
 200 , 
 
 •not be taught by those who made not 
 the precepts of the Gospel the standard 
 of their actions. That Edward did so, 
 she well knew, and therefore she had 
 considered him as a casuist on whom she 
 might safely rely. But could she now 
 expose herself to a more intimate know- 
 ledge of his excellencies, when she suf- 
 fered so severely from what she knew of 
 them already?- If Edward were not to 
 be her friend, she had not one in the 
 world : and how forlorn is that being 
 who is friendless! Although Edward 
 visited her father, she knew that he 
 was seldom included in his dinner 
 parties ; nor was her chance of seeing 
 him at the entertainments given by Mrs. 
 Fitzosborn much better than that of 
 meeting him at dinner. Mrs. Fitzosborn, 
 constantly engaged from home, returned 
 the civilities of her friends by one or two 
 crowded and magnificent assemblies in 
 the course of the season. With the excep- 
 tion of these meetings, the society to be 
 met with in her house did not extend 
 beyond the hour that the law of fashion
 
 '201 
 
 decreed as the instant of separation for 
 those who had dined together. Caroline 
 could no longer hope to he a welcome 
 visiter in Grosvenor Square; nor would 
 she have wished to be a frequent visiter 
 there, could she have supposed herself 
 welcome. As she was scarcely emerged 
 from childhood, and as the three years 
 previous to her attaining the epoch of 
 her premature majority, had been fully 
 engaged with the masters which it had 
 been thought necessary to accumulate 
 to supply the deficiencies of her country 
 education, she had had little leisure to fa- 
 miliarize herself with any of the young 
 people whom she was accustomed to see 
 at Lord Enville's ; and in general their 
 pleasures and ways of thinking were so 
 dissimilar to her own, that she had found 
 no attraction in their company. She vi- 
 sited no where, but as a member of Lord 
 Enville's family; nor did she suspect 
 that, on her removal to Sackville Street, 
 the intercourse with her present ac- 
 quaintance would extend beyond an in- 
 terchange of visiting cards; or that the 
 K5
 
 202 
 
 new ones which she was likely to form, 
 would open to her a more intimate so- 
 ciety. The particular associates of Mrs. 
 Fitzosborn, she was sure, could not be 
 her's ; and of the mixed multitude of 
 names which were to be found in her 
 visiting book, Caroline knew it was most 
 likely that she should not become ac- 
 quainted with half a dozen of the persons 
 to whom they belonged. 
 
 At the moment that Caroline was thus 
 reviewing, with a heavy heart, the 
 forlornness of her situation; where 
 acquaintance did not secure society, or 
 intercourse friendship; she was told 
 there was a gentleman below who wished 
 to see her. She went down with no ex- 
 pectation of meeting a welcome visiter ; 
 she opened the door of the drawing- 
 room, and found herself with Edward. 
 " Dear Caroline P " Dear Ed ward P was 
 the involuntary and eager exclamation of 
 both : but Caroline felt herself blush so in- 
 tolerably as the words escaped her, that 
 Edward had taken her passive hand be- 
 fore she was aware of the liberty. " 1 pro-
 
 203 
 test," said Edward, laughing, " I am as 
 much rej need to see you again, as if we 
 had not met these ten years; so sadly 
 estranged from us ail do you seem by 
 the change of your abode. We were a 
 melancholy party in Grosvenor Square 
 last night." u . Not on account of my ab- 
 sence,'" said Caroline, with a melancholy 
 smile. " Oh don't be so modestly in- 
 credulous," said Edward, " nor inquire 
 too closely, whether I have not adopted 
 the royal style, when that of the humble 
 individual would have been nearer the 
 truth. I am only bound to answer for 
 myseif; and I can say with the most 
 perfect veracity, that it is the only un- 
 pleasant evening that I have passed in 
 that house these two years." Caroline 
 again felt her cheek suffused with 
 blushes. It seemed to her that Edward 
 had penetrated the secret of her heart, 
 and th.it he was resolved to absolve him- 
 self from the charge of insensibility. 
 
 " But you do not tell me any thing 
 of Charles?" said Caroline. " My dear 
 cousin," cried Edward, looking earnestly
 
 904 
 at her, "what is the matter? Are you 
 not well ? You speak dejectedly." 
 " Pray, if you do know any thing of 
 Charles, tell me," said she. " It was 
 one of the purposes of my visit," returned 
 he: " but shall I confess that the sight 
 of you drove every thing else out of my 
 head? Those grave looks, however, will 
 soon bring me to my recollection." 
 "What of Charles?" said Caroline. " Ah, 
 my cousin," cried Edward, while, as he 
 looked earnestly on her, all traces of 
 gayety faded from his countenance, " is 
 this earnestness of inquiry consistent 
 with the declaration that you so frankly 
 made the other night?" " How should 
 it be inconsistent?" said Caroline. " Can 
 I not be solicitous for the good conduct 
 or happiness of so near a relation without 
 having a personal interest in this solici- 
 tude ?" " 1 beg your pardon — the exhi- 
 laration of my spirits — my giddiness — my 
 — I don't know what, makes me commit 
 a thousand blunders : but the truth is, 
 that matters are mended with Charles; 
 and a letter I have received this
 
 205 
 morning has set my brain a working in 
 so agreeable a manner, that I scarcely 
 know what I am about." " But how are 
 matters mended with Charles?" said Ca- 
 roline. " By having the play debt so 
 arranged, though I fear at the expense 
 of all that was settled upon him, as to 
 leave no stain on his honour, as it is 
 called, and by having got an appoint- 
 ment through the interest of Lord 
 Evelyn, which will carry him out in 
 a few days to India in a very eligible 
 situation. But still more, as you will 
 think, by the just regret for past errors, 
 and the fervent resolutions against all 
 such evil for the future, that this awaken- 
 ing blow has produced. Indeed,* he feels 
 so bitterly his late folly, that I should 
 think him as pitiable as a man could be, 
 if his present sufferings were not the 
 guarantee of his future happiness." 
 " And are the family in Grosvenor 
 Square satisfied with all this ?" asked Ca- 
 roline. " Oh, more than satisfied/" re- 
 plied Edward: " Lady Enville thinks it 
 the luckiest stroke in the world; and
 
 206 
 
 gravely tells her daughters to observe 
 how good comes out of evil; then falls 
 to castle building, and erects Charles 
 into a governor-general at least : while 
 Lord Enville remarks, like a profound 
 politician, that the ablest designs are 
 often less successful than the caprices of 
 fortune : and the young ladies declare 
 that they were never uneasy, for they 
 were sure that Charles would never do 
 any thing to make them ashamed of 
 him. " 1 am very glad of it," said Can> 
 line, in a tone of voice that showed how 
 far her thoughts were from the subject 
 on which she spoke. " My dear cousin," 
 said Edward, fervently, " what is the 
 matter? Why so grave? Why so sad? 
 If you put me upon asking questions, I 
 shall be very impertinent." " No, that 
 you cannot be," said Caroline ; " but it 
 is not in my power to tell you all that at 
 this moment weighs upon my mind, and 
 I would not mislead you by any double 
 dealing In general 1 may venture to 
 say that my change of residence does not 
 promise me an increase of happiness : but
 
 207 
 I say even thus much only to you, and you 
 must not repeat it." " Sacred is the confi- 
 dence, however limited, that you repose 
 in me," returned Edward ; but give me one 
 smile, I pray, my sweet coz, and tell me 
 that we shall meet this evening in Gros- 
 venor Square." " Indeed we shall not," 
 said Caroline. " Why then you will 
 break half a score of hearts," said Ed- 
 ward ; " for, be as unbelieving as you will, 
 I heard of nothing but your perfections 
 last night, uncontroverttd even by the 
 fastidious criticism of that admirable 
 judge of merit, Mr. Pynsynt himself. 
 And Lady Enville declared she should 
 call upon you by sunrise, and run away 
 with you for the whole day." " I fancy I 
 may have lost some of my attractions in 
 her ladyship's eyes by this time," said Ca- 
 roline. " And I can guess how you have 
 lost them,'" said Edward. u I could have 
 told these Machiavels as much last 
 night; nor did I believe a word of what 
 I heard : yet give me the pleasure of 
 hearing from your own mouth that you 
 will never marry that puppy Pynsvnt."
 
 203 
 P I will never marry any body who I 
 think a puppy," returned Caroline, 
 gravely. What was the precise impulse 
 from whence Caroline returned so eva- 
 sive an answer to a request that was 
 neither offensive nor puzzling, it would, 
 perhaps, be difficult to say. It is true 
 that her spirits were low, and her heart 
 oppressed; and there was something in 
 the gayety and ease of Edward so uncon- 
 genial to her feelings, that displeased 
 her: but she felt, the moment the words 
 were uttered, that he did not deserve 
 such a reply. On him it had an instan- 
 taneous effect. " I beg your pardon," 
 said he; " nothing was farther from my 
 intention than to offend you. I see I 
 have been impertinent. 1 ought to have 
 been more circumspect." " And I less 
 peevish," said Caroline. " It is I who 
 ought to ask pardon : but I will do more, 
 I will make you all the amends in my 
 power. I will tell you in express terms, 
 that I never will marry that puppy Pyn- 
 synt." " Ten thousand thanks for your 
 condescension," said Edward, kissing the
 
 209 
 
 fair hand that was held out to him in 
 token of reconciliation : " this dear hand 
 must never he made a property of: re- 
 serve it for him, whoever he may be, 
 who would not part with its little finger 
 for all this world's wealth : and pray 
 don't let these foolish people use you as 
 I see they do : assert your independence, 
 and show them that a little steady prin- 
 ciple and plain dealing are a match for 
 all their versatile politics and polished 
 duplicity." " Upon my word," said Ca- 
 roline, with a faint smile, " you are in a 
 very odd humour this morning. 1 never 
 saw your spirits so buoyant, nor heard 
 your tongue so flippant." " It is because 
 you never saw me intoxicated before," said 
 Edward : but I have this morning drank 
 so delicious a draught of hope, as has en- 
 tirely overset my senses." " I shall 
 begin to think so in good earnest," said 
 Caroline, " if you are not more sober." 
 " Well, then, I will be gone before I 
 have quite lost my reputation. Adieu, 
 and all good angels guard you !" And 
 so saying, he opened the door, and ran 
 down stairs.
 
 210 
 
 Caroline had scarcely time to think of 
 the uncommon humour that Edward was 
 in, before the entrance of Mrs. Fitzos- 
 born interrupted her meditations. 
 
 " Upon my word, Miss Fitzosborn," 
 said that lady, " this is a pretty speci- 
 men of the manners of Grosvenor 
 Square. Are you accustomed to tete a. 
 t£tes with young men?" " It was my 
 cousin Edward/' replied Caroline. " And 
 suppose it was my cousin Edward," re- 
 turned the vulgar censurer, " what 
 then? I can tell you, Miss Fitzosborn, 
 I shall suffer no such doings in my 
 house. I am accountable for your con- 
 duct to your father, and I know his 
 mind too well to let you be intimate 
 with any man who is not worth a shil- 
 ling." Caroline made no replj : and 
 Mrs. Fitzosborn, with the colour rising 
 said, '' Pray was this visit wholly to 
 you? Did not the civil young man ask 
 for me? 1 am sure he owes me all re- 
 spect." " Probably, madam, he did," 
 xepned Caroline; " but I really know 
 nothing of the matter. When I came
 
 211 
 
 down to Mr. Fitzosborn, I did not know 
 to whom I was coining; nor that yon, 
 madam, were not in this room." " Well, 1 ' 
 said Mrs. Fitzosborn, " I shall give 
 proper orders in future; for we must 
 have no such hugger-mugger doings, I 
 can tell you. Pray, Miss Fitzosborn, 
 what has been settled between you and 
 your father? What compensation are 
 we to have for all the trouble that you 
 and your fine servants will give in this 
 house?' 5 " My board is to be five hun- 
 dred pounds a year, madam," said Caro- 
 line. " And am 1 to receive it?" 
 " Really I cannot tell; that will be as 
 my father pleases." " Upon my word, 
 Miss Fitzosborn, I wonder at you ; did 
 I not warn you against trusting Mr. 
 Fitzosborn with a guinea of your for- 
 tune? If you wouid make me your 
 friend, all might be well; but if you 
 put your affairs into Mr. Fitzosborn's 
 hands, you will be ruined ; that's all." 
 It is but too probable, thought Caro- 
 line. "I am obliged 10 you, madam, 
 for your advice," replied she, " but all
 
 £12 
 
 these matters must be left to my father." 
 " Then you will be ruined : remember I 
 tell you that you will be ruined." " I 
 cannot be ruined, madam, in any pain- 
 ful sense of the word, if all I have con- 
 tributes to the comfort of my father." 
 " I understand nothing of such ro- 
 mance," replied Mis. Fitzosborn, con- 
 temptuously. " I suppose the truth is, that 
 you reckon upon Henhurst; and a good 
 reckoning it is : though, to be sure, the 
 right of the thing is with Mr. Fitzos- 
 born ; and I am sure I do not blame you 
 for giving him a great deal, for you have 
 stood sadly in his way ; and to be sure 
 the father was fcjqrn be-fore the daughter, 
 whatever son e people might think : but, 
 as to all house com* ins, the money 
 oughi to pass through my hands; and I 
 can tell Mr. Fitzosborn it shall" To 
 this v/arohne again made no answer ; and 
 Mrs. Fitzosborn, having been silent for 
 a few minutes, said, " Well, Miss Fitzos- 
 born, I am going out this morning, and 
 I would have you go with me, that I 
 may introduce you to such of my ao
 
 213 
 
 quaintance as I shall think proper. We 
 \yill leave our cards together." 
 
 Caroline knew that she had nothing 
 to do but to submit, and she endeavoured 
 to do so with the best grace she could ; 
 but she had already had a sufficient spe- 
 cimen of what she might expect in a re- 
 sidence in Sackville Street, to determine, 
 if possible, to find some other abode, let 
 the exchange cost her what it would. 
 
 After a tedious morning spent in 
 driving from door to door, and from 
 shop to shop, the two ladies returned 
 scarcely in time to dress for dinner; and 
 as Caroline cast her eyes on the visiting 
 cards that had been received in their ab- 
 sence, she saw with surprise, but not 
 wholly without pleasure, the names of 
 Lady Enville and Miss Pynsynt; and at 
 the same time, written with a pencil 
 under that of Lady Enville, " Dear Ca- 
 roline, can you come to us this evening? 
 We shall be at home, and long to see 
 
 you." 
 
 After the prohibition with which Mrs, 
 Fitzosborn had threatened her in the
 
 214 
 morning, she could not but be pleased 
 to see that there was still a house open 
 to her, where she might hope to see 
 Edward without provoking the vulgar 
 suspicion and ill bred reprehensions of 
 her step-mother : nor was she insensible 
 to such a proof that she was not re- 
 garded by the Envilles wholly on ac- 
 count of their own interest; for as she 
 had no doubt but that her father had 
 communicated the result of their conver- 
 sation as far as related to Mr. Pynsynt's 
 proposals, she considered the visit of 
 Lady Envilie, and the familiar and kind 
 invitation which she had just read, as 
 an evidence that her rejection of the 
 son was to make no difference in her 
 intercourse with the rest of the family. 
 It was now, therefore, that she recol- 
 lected, with increased mortification, an 
 engagement that Mrs. Fitzosborn hacj 
 made for her for a part of the evening; 
 yet she flattered herself that she might 
 still steal an hour for Grosvenor Square, 
 and she was resolved to obtain her fa- 
 ther's permission to do so. How far
 
 215 
 certain words that had fallen from Ed- 
 ward might conduce to that self-corn- 
 placency in the mind of Caroline, which 
 led to a kindness of feelings towards 
 others, I will not pretend to say ; hut it 
 is certain, that at this moment she w r as 
 inclined to think more favourably of the 
 whole Enville family than she had done 
 ever since the misconduct of Charles 
 had betrayed their general insensibility 
 to all distinction between right and 
 wrong : and as to any fears of being 
 again exposed to an intimate intercourse 
 with Edward, I doubt whether she was 
 conscious of any such apprehension. 
 Thus fearless of the one, and inclined 
 to believe as much good of the other 
 as they would allow to be possible, 
 Caroline thought of nothing at present 
 with so much pleasure as a visit to 
 Grosvenor Square; and she was resolved 
 to accomplish it it possible. She had, 
 however, made herself too great a com- 
 pliment in supposing that any part of 
 her value with the Envilles was per- 
 sonal: her merit, in their eyes, was
 
 216 
 
 wholly dependant upon the number of 
 her thousands; and the hope that the}* 
 might still secure these thousands to 
 themselves, was the main spring that 
 put all their actions into motion. Mr. 
 Fitzosborn, on leaving his daughter, had 
 gone directly to Lord Enville's, and had 
 there related, with what colouring he 
 had thought expedient, Caroline's rejec- 
 tion of the hand of Mr. Pynsynt. But, 
 in order to lull to sleep any suspicions 
 that the sharp-sighted peer might enter- 
 tain of his having secured his own share 
 of the prize, while he had wholly aban- 
 doned the interest of his ally, he insi- 
 nuated that this rejection need not to be 
 considered as absolute; that there was, 
 in fact, more reason for Lord Enville's 
 belief of Caroline's attachment to Charles 
 than he had, till now, seen any ground for; 
 and that though all thoughts of any con- 
 nexion between them must now be at 
 an end, and that it was not to be ex- 
 pected that the liking for one brother 
 could be so soon transferred to the other; 
 yet that time and assiduity on the one
 
 sir 
 
 side, and good sense and ambition on the 
 other, would in all likelihood accomplish 
 all they wished. Lord Enville, though 
 he could not contest the solidity of a 
 reasoning which rested up^on facts that 
 he had himself so strenuously asserted, 
 was not without his suspicions that this 
 was not the whole of the matter; but 
 he did not the less readily agree with 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, that they ought to give 
 the most favourable opportunities to the 
 operation of those active principles from 
 which Mr. Fitzosborn professed to look 
 for so happy an issue; and that, for this 
 purpose, the two families should be more 
 than ever together : aud to keep off all 
 competitors for Caroline's favour, the 
 heads of each agreed to encourage the 
 report that she was irrevocably destined 
 for Mr. Pynsynt. It was not only with 
 a view to conceding the whole of what 
 had passed between himself and his 
 daughter, that Mr. Fitzosborn thus con- 
 descended to deviate from the straight 
 line of truth. A little reflection had 
 convinced him, that of the seven hun- 
 vol. I. L
 
 218 
 
 dred pounds a year, which his own 
 rapacity and Caroline's generosity had 
 alone left her possessed, it would be 
 much more conducive to his domestic 
 repose, and the splendour of his estab- 
 lishment, that the five hundred ap- 
 propriated for her board should remaiu 
 to that use, than that it should make 
 any part of a matrimonial portion for 
 Caroline; and as he was persuaded that 
 she would never marry Mr. Pynsynt, he 
 thought he might, by encouraging the 
 report of her engagement to him, pro- 
 bably prevent her from marrying any 
 one else ; at least till after the death of 
 his brother, when the possession of the 
 Henhurst estate would call for other 
 arrangements* Of his own death he did 
 not think. A succession of expedients 
 was the whole of his provision for the 
 future; and as no expedient could avert 
 the stroke of death, he thought, wlien 
 he did think of it, as a misfortune to 
 which he must submit, and as an addi- 
 tional reason for crowding the hours he 
 was to live with every possible gratiB-
 
 219 
 cation. For these reasons, Carolines 
 desire to comply with Lady Enviile's 
 invitation found a ready concurrence 
 from her father; and by his means all 
 difficulties with Mrs. Fitzosborn were 
 easily obviated; though on the brow of 
 the latter sat a cloud that threatened a 
 future storm. At present there was no 
 time to enter into any discussion. The 
 dinner hour was come; the guests ar- 
 rived : every countenance was to be 
 smoothed, and gayety and good humour 
 were to prevail. 
 
 Caroline was known to most of the 
 individuals who formed this dinnerparty. 
 It was chiefly composed of men of fashion 
 of the same standing in life as her father, 
 while the proper number of females were 
 supplied by those to whom Mrs. Fitz- 
 osborn had introduced Caroline as to her 
 particular friends. Accustomed as Ca- 
 roline had been to the well-appointed 
 and elegant establishment of Lord En- 
 ville, she was astonished with the re- 
 finement of luxun' and the wantonness 
 of expense that she found at her fatherV
 
 220 
 
 table. Wines of the most expensive 
 kinds were in the utmost profusion ; 
 while the mysteries of art, and the riches 
 of nature, were exhausted to render the 
 viands exquisite. Nor were such atten- 
 tions lost upon the guests. To eat and to 
 criticise, and to analyze what they ate, 
 seemed with them to be the great pur- 
 pose of life. Caroline had sometimes 
 been wearied at the table of Lord En- 
 ville; but never, till this day, had she 
 been so completely disgusted ; nor ever 
 had she before so earnestly returned, in 
 wish, to the simple diet and unremarked 
 repasts of her early clays. In this world, 
 however, all things have an end ; and 
 the dinner of Mr. Fitzosborn was at 
 length concluded. Caroline was to pass 
 the early part of the evening in Gros- 
 venor Square ; and she was in haste to 
 be there. She found the party at coffee; 
 and Edward, who had dined there, made 
 one of it. If the ebullition of his spirits 
 seemed to have subsided, the pleasure 
 and spirit w .h which he addressed her 
 seemed the same; and the animation
 
 221 
 
 with which he conversed with her, "and 
 the delight which sparkled in his eyes 
 as he looked at her, equally astonished 
 and gratified her. She, too, became gay 
 and happy ; and while she gave way to 
 the suggestion of hope, that she was not 
 indifferent to the man she loved, she 
 forgot how much the transactions of 
 the morning had lessened her power of 
 obliging him. By the Enville family 
 she was received with the most flatter- 
 ing kindness. " Now this is so good of 
 you F said Lady Enville, " to come so 
 early ! and to look so pleased to return 
 to us ! I hope you have no engagement 
 for any part of the evening? We have 
 none that we will not joyfully break to 
 have the pleasure of your company." 
 "It was so provoking not to find you 
 at home this morning F said Miss Pyn- 
 synt. " I wanted to have seen a little 
 of your interior; and to have heard all 
 about Mrs. Fitzosborn," added she in a 
 whisper. Lord Enville, taking her hand, 
 said, " Caroline, we thought we knew 
 your whole value when we parted with 
 l 3
 
 you; but a few hours* absence has 
 taught us to appreciate it more justly^ 
 although," added he, drawing her a little 
 aside, " you have made use of those 
 hours rather cruelly for some of us. 
 Pynsynt, come here," continued his 
 lordship. " I am sure, Caroline, I may 
 promise this poor mortified fellow that 
 you will regard him still as a relation 
 and friend; and I will promise for him 
 that he shall not trouble you with higher 
 pretensions. Let him seal this compact 
 on your fair hand." " I shall always be 
 happy to consider Mr. Pynsynt as my 
 relation and friend," said Caroline, giv- 
 ing her hand. " And I," said Mr. Pyn- 
 synt, raising it gently to his lips, 
 " would not forego that honour for all 
 that the rest of your sex has to give. I 
 have "been presumptuous ; I have been 
 precipitate. Only pardon what is past, 
 and you shall have no cause to complain 
 for the future." How unjust have I 
 been ! thought Caroline : yet the insen- 
 sibility shown to the sorrows and the 
 indiscretions of Charles recurred to her
 
 mind ; and she felt that she could not be 
 wholly mistaken in the estimate that 
 she had taken of the hearts and the 
 sympathy of these kindly professing 
 friends. She hoped that some one of 
 the family would have mentioned this 
 young man ; but as no one did, she took 
 an opportunity of saying to Lady En- 
 ville, " I am glad, my dear madam, 
 that poor Charles's indiscretions are not 
 likely to be attended with all the incon- 
 venience that might have been feared. 5 * 
 Lady Enville looked earnestly at her, eiv 
 deavouring to ascertain the truth of what 
 Mr. Fitzosborn had so lately, and so 
 opportunely as it were, admitted of her 
 attachment to Charles; of which, in fact, 
 Lady Enville herself did not believe one 
 word, and therefore suspected that there 
 were some other reasons for her refusal 
 of the elder brother, which the father 
 did not think fit to avow. Caroline's 
 unchanging countenance confirmed her 
 suspicion. " Oh, my dear Caroline," 
 returned she, " don't mention the sub- 
 ject! Think what a mother feels whose 
 L4
 
 224 
 son is about to be banished to India I 
 And think how much more she feels 
 when that son deserves his banishment!'' 
 After what she had witnessed, Caroline 
 could scarcely be the dupe of this sudden 
 start of maternal sensibility ; and, in spite 
 of her candour, she could not help sus- 
 pecting the sincerity of it. Have I no 
 asylum, said she to herself, from the 
 coarse selfishness of Mrs. Fitzosborn, but 
 the polished duplicity of Lady Enville?' 
 That part of the evening, however, 
 that could be allotted to Grosvenor 
 Square, was not, upon the whole, passed 
 unpleasantly by Caroline; and she parted 
 from her friends with repeated assurances 
 on all sides that they would meet fre- 
 quently. She* next morning brought 
 Mr. Fitzosborn's lawyer, and the alien- 
 ation of the ten thousand pounds was 
 completed. Mr. Fitzosborn also informed 
 her, that he had consented that the five 
 hundred pounds which was to be paid 
 for her board was to pass through her 
 hands to those of Mrs. Fitzosborn ; add- 
 ing, " I believe that Orpheus must have
 
 £25 
 
 had a golden lyre, or he would never 
 have silenced this Rhodope." 
 
 A few weeks now parsed in the usual 
 routine of a London life; nor had Caro- 
 line much reason to complain of her 
 situation. If her time were not so much 
 at her own disposal as she could have 
 wished it, or if it were not always spent 
 as she approved, she considered that she 
 was yet, by the laws of her country, an 
 infant, and that it was one of her first 
 duties to comply with all the wishes of 
 a parent that did not lead to actual guilt. 
 She sought to be good, but not to be 
 distinguished : and though she knew 1 * 
 that she ought to be about " the busi- 
 ness'' of her heavenly Father, she was 
 not less aware that submission to her 
 earthly parent made a part of that busi- 
 ness. She had it still in her power to 
 redeem some of those precious moments 
 which would return no more; and she 
 endeavoured, by a diligent cultivation of 
 her understanding, and a strict guard 
 over her principles, to prepare herself 
 for that more independent and actively
 
 226 
 
 virtuous life to which she looked forward 
 with hope. The diminution of her means 
 of doing good had greatly curtailed those 
 pursuits of benevolence which she had 
 proposed to herself so much pleasure in 
 the prosecution of: and indeed she 
 found that it required the strictest 
 econom} T with respect to her own ex- 
 penses, if she were to preserve any part 
 of her small income for the purposes of 
 pure charity. So many were the de- 
 mands upon her from the vanity or 
 rapacity of others, and she found so 
 much expected from her as to her own 
 appearance, that it was little indeed that 
 she could appropriate to the wants of 
 real distress, or the gratification of those 
 who could cot spare from their necessa- 
 ries any indulgence to their fancy. 
 
 Her father, in particular, a professed 
 observer and critic of female dress, gave 
 her much disturbance by his constant 
 disapprobation of the simplicity and un- 
 expensiveness of her's. She would wil- 
 lingly have sacrificed her taste to his ; 
 but her principles she was resolved to
 
 £27 
 maintain. Neither remonstrance nor re- 
 proach could induce her to contract 
 debts which she knew she should be 
 unable to discharge without encroaching 
 upon that part of her income which she 
 had appropriated to the actual wants of 
 others — an income that was become so 
 limited by her largesses to her father 
 himself. Nor were the difficulties which 
 arose from these sources the only cause 
 that Caroline had to lament the loss of 
 so large a part of her property. Th^y 
 were accompanied with many mortifica- 
 tions from other quarters. She began to 
 be conscious that sl\e was considered as 
 niggardly and mean-spirited by many of 
 her companions. The profusion and 
 self-indulgence which alone, in the mind 
 of those triflers, made up the idea of 
 generosity, were not found in Caroline. 
 The expensive baubles which those who 
 had not the fourth part of her supposed 
 income, considered as indispensable to 
 their appearance, made no part of Caro- 
 line's. She declined all expensive amuse- 
 ments, and turned a deaf ear to those
 
 228 
 
 tales of elegant xvoe, and heart-rending 
 distress, with which certain fine ladies 
 attack the sympathy of others, who they 
 intend shall take upon themselves the 
 whole expense of that benevolence which 
 they know so well how to express. Ca- 
 roline would see with her own eyes, and 
 determine with her own judgment : and 
 knowing that she could no longer be 
 extravagant even in good deeds, she left 
 those distresses which engaged the at- 
 tention of every body, to be relieved by 
 the aggregate of the small sums col- 
 lected by the fashionable mode of sub- 
 scription from those who were indifferent 
 to what purpose the money was applied, 
 provided only that they complimented a 
 high titled beggar by letting their names 
 appear amongst the list of subscribers to 
 her favourite charity. Her benefactions 
 were secret, and well chosen ; and she 
 found means, even in that almost indivi- 
 sible mass of vice and misery that London 
 presents, to distinguish between the suf- 
 fering of misfortune and the complain- 
 ings of depravity. She endeavoured to
 
 229 
 
 content herself rather with the practice, 
 than the reputation of liberality. But 
 it was not always that her habit of call- 
 ing " things by right names," or even 
 the pleasure that she derived from the 
 restored comfort and gratitude of those 
 whom she had relieved, could so wholly 
 conquer self-love, as effectually to re- 
 press a painful sensation when she saw 
 that her refusal to expend in some trifle 
 the guinea that was appropriated to the 
 mitigation of the evils of poverty, drew 
 on her the imputation of sordidness. 
 
 Caroline had, however, been well- 
 grounded in the Christian religion ; and 
 was aware that humility and self-abase- 
 ment were the foundation stones on 
 which it rested; and therefore if the 
 first sigh arose from mortified pride, the 
 second sprang from self-condemnation, 
 and was followed by a resolution that 
 her " conscience and her bible" should 
 alone be the regulators of her conduct. 
 
 She continued to be extremely well 
 received by the Envilles ; and Ml*. Pyn- 
 synt had assumed so much deference in 
 
 \
 
 230 
 
 his manner towards her, and so much 
 appearance of attachment, that had Ca- 
 roline had as much vanity as falls to the 
 share of most human creatures, she 
 would certainly have concluded that he 
 was in love. But in fact Caroline had 
 but a mean opinion of her own attrac- 
 tions. For the first fifteen years of her 
 life she had never heard a single word 
 of her person, or of the art of adorning 
 it. Her virtues had been sedulously 
 cultivated: but, as humility had been 
 represented as the prime of them, she had 
 been oftener led to consider whether she 
 was humble, than whether she was good : 
 and as the cours-e of a right education, 
 even in the guidance of the best dispo- 
 sition, will rather be the correction of 
 faults, and a guard against errors, than 
 a laudatory on progressive improvement, 
 Caroline could recollect more instances 
 of reproof, or caution, than of reward, 
 or praise. The always delighted, though 
 regulated indulgence of Mrs. Pvnsynt 
 when Caroline gave cause for indulgence, 
 had convinced her of the unfeigned love
 
 231 
 
 of her aunt, and had occasioned her to 
 carry every deprivation or reprehension 
 which she had suffered, to the account 
 of her own faults : and when, from the 
 stable form of excellence which the 
 character of Caroline had taken in the 
 last years of Mrs. Pynsynt's life, she 
 had the satisfaction of scarcely ever find- 
 ing a word or action produce a reproof, 
 she became not the less humble, but the 
 more grateful. Nor had the flatteries 
 which she had met with since her resi- 
 dence in London been of a kind likely 
 to counteract the influence of her earlier 
 education. Of those who praised her 
 most she had by no means a high opi- 
 nion; and the evident motive by which 
 hoth Mr. Pynsynt and Charles had been 
 actuated in their attentions to her, was 
 any thing rather than flattering to her 
 self-love. The approbation and grati- 
 tude of Edward, whom she considered 
 as the prototype of what a man should 
 be, she believed herself to possess; yet 
 could not her mind fasten upon one cir- 
 cumstance from which she could derive
 
 232 
 a hope that his regard for her exceeded 
 the bounds of a tender friendship. Since 
 her removal into Sackville Street she 
 had seen little of him : nor had the 
 vivacity of his regard towards her ex- 
 tended beyond the single day in which 
 she had first remarked it; he had fallen 
 back into his ever apparent, it is true, 
 but calm and cousin-like, approbation; 
 and though their intimacy seemed always 
 to be progressive, there was no sign that 
 it would ever ripen into an affection 
 more tender than esteem. 
 
 I may be approved, said Caroline; but 
 I am not made to charm ! The fortune- 
 hunter and the friend can approach me, 
 without either the one or the other for- 
 getting his calculation or his prudence. 
 
 Whoever had heard this conclusion 
 would have supposed that Caroline had 
 never looked into a glass. They would 
 have supposed that she could never have 
 seen that brilliant complexion where 
 the " purest red and white strove for 
 mastery ;" that hair which shaded, in 
 beautiful abundance, a forehead, whereon
 
 233 
 
 sat enthroned benevolent intelligence; 
 those eyes, from whence sparkled sense 
 and spirit, or from whence beamed the 
 gentler rays of affection and compassion: 
 they would have supposed that she had 
 never contemplated a person where sym- 
 metry and grace were united, or observed 
 the limbs which might have served as a 
 model for the statuary. Yet Caroline 
 had seen, had contemplated, had ob- 
 served all this; and the conclusion still 
 was, " I am not made to charm." 
 
 She had, however, yet been scarcely 
 seen; and the report so confidently pro- 
 pagated, that she was destined first for 
 Charles, and then for Mr. Pynsynt, had 
 occasioned her to be seen without hope. 
 Of coquetry she had not a single spice in 
 her disposition ; and the little interest that 
 she took in the frivolous conversation of 
 those with whom she usually associated, 
 prevented her from ever appearing the 
 first figure in the group. But as she mixed 
 in more general society, as she appeared 
 more frequently in public, the admiration 
 which- followed her, gave her ample
 
 234 
 reason to retract the humble opinion 
 that she had formed of herself, and 
 would have justified her in the opposite 
 conclusion, that " She was made to 
 charm. " If the discovery gave her plea* 
 sure, and it cannot be supposed that 
 it did not give her pleasure, it was, not- 
 withstanding, more than counterbalanced 
 by the conviction, that every day seem- 
 ed to grow stronger, that the only eye 
 in which she would most have desired to 
 have appeared lovely, seemed tq regard 
 her only as a kind relation and agreeable 
 friend. Something of the same kind of 
 moderation seemed, indeed, to pervade 
 much of the admiration which now drew 
 after her many followers wherever she 
 appeared. No one seemed to have 
 formed any design of making a particu- 
 lar interest in her heart. She might 
 have wondered at this, if she had 
 thought about it : but the truth was, 
 that without adverting to the cause of 
 so extraordinary an indifference, she en- 
 joyed the calm that it produced, with 
 scarcely a consciousness of what was
 
 235 
 passing in her heart: she rejoiced to 
 escape all solicitations on the subject of 
 marriage; and, without acknowledging 
 to herself the period to which she looked 
 forward^, she nourished a secret hope, 
 that the apparent calmness of Edward's 
 affection was less a proof of the indiffer- 
 ence of his heart, than the result of 
 the disinterestedness of his mind, and 
 the nicety of his honour. Whatever 
 might be the cause of the distance which 
 Edward maintained in all his intercourse 
 with his lovely cousin, it certainly had 
 nothing in common with that which de- 
 prived her of the more particular homage 
 of many of those who gazed upon hir 
 with admiration. He was not the dupe 
 of the art of the Enville family : and 
 though he suffered the report, of Ca- 
 roline's engagement with Mr. Pynsynt 
 to prevail, unchecked by any contradic- 
 tion from him, he knew its falsity; 
 while, to the apprehension of every 
 common observer, nothing could appear 
 more certain than the connexion that 
 was reported to be between them. Car
 
 £36 
 roline was never seen in public, unac- 
 companied by some of the Envilles ; Mr. 
 Pynsynt was the constant attendant upon 
 her steps, and ever by her side; nor did 
 she appear to repulse his assiduity, or to 
 withdraw from his attentions. As the 
 exclusive right to entertain her which 
 Mr. Pynsynt seemed to assume, inter- 
 fered with no plan of her own, it either 
 passed with her unnoticed, or disregard- 
 ed ; and feeling, that after the explicit 
 rejection of him as a husband, and the 
 stipulated terms of their continued inter- 
 course, that her purposes could not be 
 misunderstood by him, slie was indiffer- 
 ent how they were regarded by the 
 world : and thus she contributed alike to 
 the furtherance of Lord Enville's and 
 her father's designs, without being aware 
 of either. 
 
 But if the fear of a refusal were suffi- 
 cient to keep at a distance those who 
 merely admired her beauty, or would 
 Jiave been glad to have possessed them- 
 selves of her fortune, it was not power* 
 ful enough to restrain the ardours of a
 
 237 
 real passion ; and such was the emotion 
 that Caroline had excited in the heart of 
 Mr. Beaumont He had met her at din- 
 ner; he had sat by her at the opera; he 
 had danced with her at a ball; and lie 
 was perfectly persuaded that she was 
 the most lovely and excellent of her sex. 
 He was told of her engagement to Mr. 
 Pynsynt. In consequence, he had ob- 
 served their intercourse closely ; and he 
 was convinced, that though there might 
 be an engagement, there was no attach- 
 ment. Mr. Beaumont compared himself 
 with Mr. Pynsynt, and he did not do 
 himself the injustice to fear the event of 
 a competition with him for the favour of 
 Caroline. 
 
 Mr. Beaumont joined to an engaging 
 person the manners of a gentleman and 
 man of sense. In every stage of life he 
 had added something to his reputation. 
 The distinguished scholar at Eton had 
 been the first amongst his companions at 
 collt^ To all the improvement that 
 the usual course of education could give 
 him, he had added a persoual knowledge
 
 238 
 
 of ail that was worthy of observation in 
 his own country, and of all that attract- 
 ed curiosity in such other parts of the 
 world as were not shut from the British 
 traveller by the strenuous arm of ruth- 
 less war. He had returned home to take 
 a part in the legislature of his country ; 
 and he already stood so high in the 
 opinion of his fellow citizens for every 
 public and private virtue, that virtuous 
 mothers, and ambitious fathers, desired 
 no better for their sons, than that they 
 .should resemble Mr. Beaumont. De- 
 scended from an old and respectable fa- 
 mily, he was possessed of a large estate, 
 unencumbered by debt, and adorned by 
 an ancient mansion, where magnificence, 
 beauty, and comfort, were united. It 
 was surely no unpardonable vanity in 
 Mr. Beaumont to aspire to the hand of 
 .Caroline. As there was nothing less in 
 hex thoughts than the making of con- 
 quests, so no one could be duller in dis- 
 covering those she did make. Mr. 
 Beaumont had appeared wherever Caro- 
 line was to be seen, and had talked al-
 
 239 
 most exclusively to her for nearly a fort- 
 night, hefore she began to see any thino- 
 more than usual in his attentions. In 
 his conversation and manners, indeed, 
 there was little in common with those 
 who had hitherto distinguished her; and 
 both were so much to her taste, that she 
 was always pleased with " the lucky 
 chance," as she thought it, that placed 
 Mr. Beaumont by her side. On these 
 occasions she thought more than ever of 
 Edward, and regretted that he was not 
 with her to share the pleasure which she 
 experienced. She learnt that he was 
 but slightly acquainted with Mr. Beau- 
 mont; and the places and hours where 
 .she met the latter, were not those 
 where Edward was often seen. She had 
 sometimes mentioned to Edward the sa- 
 tisfaction that she took in her new ac- 
 quaintance,<and was surprised that though 
 he allowed the merit that she celebrated, 
 he seemed to shrink, from the subject, 
 and became dejected and absent as she 
 pursued it. " You are very ungrateful," 
 wid she one <}ay to him, on observing
 
 240 
 
 the coldness and pain with which he 
 seemed to listen to her praises of Mr. 
 Beaumont : " you will not say a word in 
 favour of a man who is always commend- 
 ing you, and expressing the greatest de- 
 sire to know you more intimately ; and 
 I am sure, if you knew him, it would 
 be impossible that you should not love 
 him." " We do noteasily love the thing 
 we fear," said Edward, and turned hastily 
 from her. " Fear!" repeated Caroline 
 to herself. " Is it possible? Can Ed- 
 ward fear Mr. Beaumont?" and at the 
 same time a ray of hope shot across her 
 mind, which made her more than amends 
 for what she had the instant before felt 
 on the coldness and narrowness which 
 she thought she had discovered in the cha- 
 racter of Edward. Her eyes were now 
 opened as to the nature of Mr. Beaumont's 
 attentions : and no sooner was she alive to 
 his designs, than the dread lest they 
 should meet with the approbation of 
 her father, made her resolve to show 
 him unequivocally that he had no chance 
 of obtaining her favour. Her manners
 
 £41 
 
 towards him became so entirely changed, 
 that from this day he could find no op- 
 portunity of explicitly declaring hig 
 passion. As he thought Caroline inca- 
 pable of caprice, he could impute this 
 conduct only to the advice of her friends, 
 »vho put her upon this mode of procedure 
 the sooner to bring the matter to an 
 issue.. He did not, therefore, despair 
 but the a direct proposal to her father 
 might restore him to Caroline's good 
 grces, and himself to happiness, Hav- 
 ing in vain, for more than a week, endea- 
 voured to meet her in their usual haunts, 
 and finding that she appeared nowhere, 
 he waited on Mr. Fitzosborn, and made 
 him such proposals as he had no reason 
 to suppose that any father would reject. 
 Mr. Fitzosborn expressed in the politest 
 terms his sense of the honour done both 
 to himself and his daughter : he declared 
 that there was not a man in England 
 that he should have preferred to Mr. 
 Beaumont as a son-in-law, and lamented 
 that so public and so well known an en- 
 gagement as his daughter's with Mr, 
 
 VOL. I. )(
 
 242 
 
 Pynsynt should not have saved him the 
 unmerited mortification of a refusal. Mr. 
 Beaumont, thunderstruck, and for a mo- 
 ment incredulous, was, however, obliged 
 to master his surprise, and to increase 
 his faith as well as he could, for Mr. 
 Fitzosborn had nothing more to add 
 upon a point that would admit of n dis- 
 cussion or appeal. Mr. Beaumot could 
 only retire ; which he did very ispectful- 
 ly, and with evident signs of tha sorrow 
 which filled his heart: a sorrow not wholly 
 selfish ; for, as it was impossible for him u 
 believe that such a woman as Caroline 
 could be attached to Mr. Pynsynt, he con- 
 cluded that she was to be the victim of 
 some family arrangement, where her hap- 
 piness, and perhaps her integrity, were 
 alike to be sacrificed. 
 
 Experience had now convinced Caro- 
 line that the small income which she had 
 reserved at her own disposal was very 
 inadequate to the constant calls that 
 were made upon her generosity, either 
 from her own feelings, or the self-inte- 
 restedness of others ; and that the duty
 
 243 
 
 which she owed to appearance, woutyi 
 not suffer her to make any further sacri- 
 fice from her personal accommodation 
 than she had already done. The savings 
 which had arisen during her minority 
 amounted to something more than two 
 thousand pounds. This sum she had, in 
 her own mind, appropriated to the pur- 
 chase of a library; and it lay in her 
 banker's hands for this purpose. On the 
 alienation of the ten thousand pounds, 
 she did not wholly give up the hopes 
 that she might still be able to allow her- 
 self this gratification. She flattered her- 
 self, that by a strict economy in the ex- 
 penditure of her income, she might make 
 it equal to all her own wants, and all the 
 reasonable claims of others : but she soon 
 found this not to be the case; and that 
 while she was the reputed possessor of 
 fifteen hundred pounds a year, she would 
 not be suffered to live either in peace or 
 reputation on the expenditure of two 
 hundred. She therefore resolved to sa- 
 crifice her wish for a library to the in- 
 crease of her income ; and being inform- 
 al %
 
 U4t 
 ed about this time, by her good and 
 faithful trustee, Mr. Somers, that he 
 could provide her with an unexception- 
 able security for the money, she gave 
 orders accordingly, and the business was 
 completed. 
 
 Although Caroline had received with 
 the most perfect deference the advice 
 of her father, whenever he had bestowed 
 it upon her, yet she did not consider 
 it as her duly to seek it in pecuniary 
 concerns. The above transaction had, 
 therefore, been begun, carried on, and 
 concluded, without his concurrence, or 
 even the slightest suspicion on his part. 
 He had, however, frequently heard her 
 mention her intention of laying out the 
 money in books, and it was for this 
 reason that it had not been brought into 
 the calculation of her income, when he 
 had appropriated so large a part of it to 
 himself. He believed it to be still un- 
 disposed of ; and one morning, as they 
 were sitting together at breakfast, he 
 said carelessly, " Caroline, could you 
 lend me that two thousand pounds for
 
 2<k> 
 
 ;t few months, which is in Iloare's hands? 
 You have at present not much leisure 
 for reading; and when you want it you 
 shall have it again." " I have lent it upon 
 mortgage," replied Caroline. " Without 
 my knowledge !" said Mr. Fitzosborn, 
 angrily. " The truth is," said Caroline, 
 44 I found that I could not afford to lay 
 out so large a sum in books, and I 
 thought it better at present to add it to 
 my income." " Upon my word, Caro- 
 line," said Mr. Fitzosborn, " you will 
 be ruined if you suffer every body to 
 pillage you so. I am sure you do not 
 lay out your money on yourself: twenty 
 pounds a year would dress you as you 
 dress, so that how you can spend two 
 hundred, without suffering yourself to 
 be robbed, I cannot guess." " I am 
 very sorry, sir," said Caroline, " that 
 you disapprove of what I do." " I dis- 
 approve of this independent spirit, child,'* 
 returned Mr. Fitzosborn, " which makes 
 you act without advice. What can you 
 know of business? or indeed of the pro- 
 per expenditure of any income?" " I 
 M 3
 
 246 
 
 readily acknowledge my ignorance/' re- 
 plied Caroline; " but experience will 
 correct it, I hope." " You cannot have 
 a better corrective than the present/' 
 replied her father, " since you are likely 
 to be the greatest sufferer by what you 
 have done. It was for your advantage 
 that I wished just now to have the com- 
 mand of two thousand pounds. There 
 is a speculation, which I am invited to 
 join, and which will certainly return 
 fourfold within the next twelve months, 
 which you and I might have shared the 
 profit of, if I had had any ready money; 
 but nothing is to be done without 
 money." " If," said Caroline, smiling, 
 " the inconvenience extends no farther 
 than to the loss of what we have neither 
 of us possessed, it is not much to be 
 lamented." " Such philosophy," said 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, sarcastically, " accords 
 ill with the extravagant spirit which is 
 always calling for increase of income." 
 " I hope I am not extravagant," said 
 Caroline, mildly. " Yes you are," re- 
 turned Mr. Fitzosborn, " and perhaps
 
 £47 
 more culpably so than those whose per- 
 sonal expenses are much greater. How 
 many hungry mouths and shivering 
 bodies are fed and warmed by what you 
 moderate people call luxury ; while your 
 charities encourage idleness, hypocrisy, 
 and all manner of meannesses !" " I am 
 quite unequal," returned Caroline, " to 
 the discussing the comparative advan- 
 tages of benevolence and luxury ; and 
 indeed I do not mean either to condemn 
 the one, or to lay claim to the other : all 
 I aim at, is to expend what I have, 
 most to the advantage and pleasure of 
 others and myself; and if I am not so 
 happy as to meet your approbation in 
 what I do, I hope you will rather con- 
 demn my taste than my principles." 
 " Well," replied Mr. Fitzosborn, " we 
 will not discuss this matter now. The 
 mischief is, that by your having taken 
 on yourself to act without consulting 
 ine, you have led me into a scrape. De- 
 pending upon the two thousand pounds, 
 which I thought I could have at an 
 hour's notice, I have already entered 
 m 4
 
 248 
 
 Into the engagement which I mentioned. 
 My word is past, I cannot go back." 
 Caroline was silent. After a short pause : 
 " And what is still worse," resumed Mr. 
 Fitzosborn, " the money must be paid 
 immediately, or my honour and credit 
 are blasted." " I am very sorry," said 
 Caroline. " Yes, I dare sav you are 
 very sorry," interrupted Mr. Fitzosborn : 
 " and let this be a lesson to you for the 
 future, never to do any thing in money 
 matters without consulting me." " So 
 advantageous an adventure," said Caro- 
 line, " would probably be easily dis- 
 posed of." " You talk of what you do 
 not know," said Mr. Fitzosborn, pas- 
 sionately ; " the money must be had, and 
 I must furnish it. I must take the in- 
 convenience on mvself. You must lend 
 me the money, and I must abate so much 
 as the interest of it comes to from what 
 I was to have received for your board. 
 And indeed," continued he, assuming a 
 more conciliatory tone, " perhaps, after 
 all, this will be the best arrangement. 
 The money will be paid again in twelve
 
 £49 
 months, you will have suffered no incon* 
 venience, and I shall have gained a very 
 considerable sum at the cost of one hun- 
 dred pounds." 
 
 Already Caroline thought that she saw 
 all Mrs. Fitzosborn's predictions of her 
 ruin by the hand of her father accom- 
 plished. She trembled, she hesitated; 
 she found it impossible to utter a word. 
 There were no terms in which she could 
 refuse to grant a favour to a parent, that 
 she would not have refused to aa indif- 
 ferent person of whose integrity she had 
 entertained no doubt: yet her under- 
 standing forbade her to comply. 
 
 " I will give you my bond, or any 
 security that your advisers may instruct 
 you to require," said Mr. Fitzosborn, 
 haughtily- 
 Caroline felt intolerable anguish, and 
 even shame, thus to have betrayed her 
 suspicions of a parent. . 
 
 " Oh sir," cried she, " don't talk so. 
 I have no advisers — I ask no security-** 
 All— every thing— Your word— " 
 M 5
 
 £50 
 
 She scarcely knew what she said, and 
 still less what she meant to say. 
 
 u I see," said Mr. Fitzosborn with a 
 kind of dignified concern, " the unjust 
 prejudices that have been instilled into 
 your mind: I have always seen them, 
 and my heart has been deeply wounded. 
 Oh, Caroline, you cannot guess what it 
 is for a parent to know himself distrusted 
 by his child ; to feel that one for whom 
 he would sacrifice his life, does not give 
 him credit for common honesty." " Oh 
 my father," said Caroline, u falling at 
 his feet, do not speak so cruelly, do not 
 think so harshly of me !— I — myself — all 
 that 1 have, is yours. Do with me what 
 you will — I am nothing — I have nothing 
 — dispose of all. I will be the child of 
 your bounty; but do not, do not kill me 
 with such cruel words !" " Caroline, my 
 love," said Mr. Fitzosborn, raising her 
 up, and pressing her to his bosom ; 
 ** there is no cause for all this agita- 
 tion : the whole matter is not worth it. 
 Porgive me if I have read your reluct-
 
 251 
 
 ance amiss. I did not mean to accuse 
 you. You have always been a goo<J 
 cl ild; but I know how unkindly your 
 aunt thought of me; I feared that she 
 migiit have communicated the unworthy 
 feelings to you. Forgive the alarm of 
 parental sensibility. I perfectly acquit 
 you. I am sure your reason and your 
 affections must equally persuade you, 
 that you will receive no injury from me. 
 Have I not always dealt openly with 
 you? When I wished for the ten thou- 
 sand pounds, which I r,eally thought my 
 due, 1 told you so in express terms. I 
 come now to borrow two thousand 
 pounds, as one friend would ask such a 
 favour of another, and 1 offer you any 
 security which you think proper: indeed 
 I will not accept the money without 
 giving such security. What is there in 
 ail this that ought to agitate you? It is 
 merely a matter of business. Compose 
 yourself/' 
 
 Caroline endeavoured to do so. The 
 evil, whatever was the extent, she saw 
 was inevitable; and to meet inevitable
 
 252 
 evils with calmness she knew to be her 
 duty. 
 
 " What is it, sir," said she, " that I 
 must do ?" " We must sell some of your 
 stock," said Mr. Fitzosborn, " and you 
 must tell me what security I must give 
 you." " I know nothing of these sort 
 of transactions," said Caroline : " your 
 lawyer, sir — " " I will speak to him," 
 interrupted Mr. Fitzosborn : " he shall 
 prepare the papers, and you will have 
 nothing to do but to sign them." 
 
 Caroline was about to have proposed 
 that she should have spoken to the lawyer 
 herself; but, so interrupted, she knew 
 not how to object to her father's arrange- 
 ment. Her reluctance, her doubts, her 
 wish to be her own agent, all sprang 
 from one feeling — a doubt of the inte- 
 grity of her father: and this doubt, 
 though she could not but entertain, she 
 could not bear to act upon. " The bu- 
 siness will soon be despatched," said 
 Mr. Fitzosborn, rising, as if to withdraw; 
 " and a good business it will be for ui 
 all, I am resolved next winter to have
 
 253 
 a larger house ; and the increase of in- 
 come which I shall derive from the 
 matter in hand, will enable me to give 
 you and Mrs. Fitzosborn this gratifica- 
 tion without any inconvenience." So 
 saying, he withdrew, leaving Caroline 
 to regulate her thoughts as well as she 
 could. 
 
 " My poor father certainly deceives 
 himself," said she; " but I cannot think 
 that he means to deceive me. And if I 
 do lose this money; what then? It is 
 but two thousand pounds. I have still 
 enough for myself. To the thought that 
 followed, " Edward does not wish to 
 share it with me," she gave no utterance; 
 but soon lost, in that very thought, all 
 sense of the sacrifice that she had been 
 making. 
 
 The next morning, Mr. Fitzosborn -, 
 accompanied by his lawyer, joined Caro* 
 line at the breakfast-table ; the necessary 
 papers were produced ; Caroline received 
 directions what she was to. do; she 
 signed her name, and endeavoured as 
 much as possible to drive from her
 
 254 
 mind the remembrance of the whole 
 transaction. 
 
 In the evening she met M r. Beaumont, 
 and was not displeased to find that a 
 grave and disrant bow was all the notice 
 that he took of her. She was glad to be; 
 spared a more explicit declaration of her 
 sentiments, and was gratified with think- 
 ing that she had not exposed him, by a 
 more equivocal behaviour, to the morti- 
 fication of a direct refusal. Edward was 
 standing near her at this moment, and 
 asked eagerly if she and Mr. Beaumont 
 had quarrelled? " No indeed !?' said 
 she; " why should you think so?" 
 " Because he avoids you; and who 
 would do so, who was assured of being 
 received with favour?" " Why should he 
 be assured of being received with fa- 
 vour?'' asked Caroline. -" Have you not 
 declared that you think him the most 
 agreeable and estimable man you know ?" 
 said Edward. " I am not aware that I 
 have," replied Caroline. " One of the 
 most, is, I am sure, quite as far as ever 
 I went," " And far enough loo, my
 
 255 
 
 dear cousin, to encourage even a modest 
 man to hope for a more exclusive pre- 
 ference." " Do you not think," said 
 Caroline, smiling, M that Mr. Beaumont 
 knows his own designs and inclinations 
 better than either you or I? and had we 
 not better leave him to them, without 
 troubling* ourselves about the matter?" 
 " Oh, I do assure you," returned Edward, 
 with vivacity, " my concern is not about 
 Mr. Beaumont's inclinations." 
 
 Caroline blushed; and then sighed at 
 the thought of the depredation that had 
 been made upon her fortune. 
 
 Three weeks had noV elapsed since Mr. 
 Fitzosborn's rejection of Mr. Beaumont's 
 proposals for Caroline, when one morning 
 early she received the following billet : 
 
 " Return in the carriage which I have 
 sent to fetch you, or send back the ring." 
 
 Amidst the wishes for a change of resi- 
 dence that her father's pillaging spirit 
 had given rise to in Caroline, she had not 
 unfrequently cast an eye towards Hen- 
 hurst ; but the entire oblivion into which 
 she seemed to have fallen with the master 
 of it, had for some time past made bey
 
 255 
 cease to look towards him with the hope 
 of support or shelter. Nothing could be 
 more unlooked-for than a summons to 
 attend upon him; but nothing could 
 have been more welcome, had it been 
 conveyed in terms less peremptory and 
 ungracious. Caroline was astonished 
 and alarmed. It was plain that she had 
 offended ; but it was beyond the power 
 of her imagination to conceive how. 
 She would immediately have communi- 
 cated with her father, but. he was from 
 home. Her decision, however, admitted 
 of no delay. The servant who brought 
 the letter, seat to inquire at what hour 
 she would have the carriage ; adding, 
 that he had orders to be at Henhurst 
 that evening. Caroline could not doubt 
 what side of the alternative her father 
 would have chosen ; she therefore did not 
 hesitate to follow her own wishes; and 
 she sent word, that she would be 
 ready to depart in an hour. She im- 
 mediately prepared to do so. Mrs. 
 Pitzosborn was still in bed; but the 
 intelligence of Caroline's intended de- 
 parture soon reached her; and before
 
 257 
 Caroline could finish a note that she was 
 writing, to inform her of the necessity- 
 she was under to leave town, she sent to 
 desire to see her. 
 
 " Well, my dear Miss Fitzosborn," 
 said she, the moment she saw her, u this 
 is nice ! Now will all he as we wish it. To 
 be sure the old man is dying, and he 
 wants to see you, and give you all bis 
 fine things before he dies. I am sure 
 you are a lucky person with aunts and 
 uncles: and now you see how right we 
 all were when we told you that you 
 would be his heiress. Well, sure when 
 you have Henhurst you will think your- 
 self rich enough to dress like other peo- 
 ple. I do hope that Mrs. Prudence will 
 then be turned out of doors." " I should 
 hope not, madam," returned Caroline; 
 " and I have the pleasure of hearing that 
 my uncle was never in better health/' 
 " Then what can he want you for? Can 
 he be so barbarous, if he is well, to take 
 you away just'-aiow ? Why the town 
 was never so full or so gay the whole 
 season. I verily think we have engage-
 
 258 
 meats to four balls.'* " I believe we 
 have to siv" said Caroline, coolly ; " but 
 perhaps I may come in for some of them, 
 for I have no reason to suppose that my 
 stay at Henhurst will be long.'* " What 
 strange whims old people have !" said 
 Mrs. Fitzosborn : u but to be sure, when 
 they are rich they must have their own 
 way. Well, dear Miss Fitzosborn, good 
 bye! take care of yourself; make the 
 best use of your time ; and, if you can, 
 put in a good word for Mr, Fitzosborn " 
 
 Caroline, thus carefully instructed, 
 took leave of her kind step-mother, whose 
 caresses always rose or fell according as 
 she thought her more or less likely to be 
 the heiress of Henhurst, the thermometer 
 of self-love being the only standard, in the 
 mind of Mrs. Fitzosborn, by which she 
 measured her benevolence to her fellow- 
 creatures. 
 
 Caroline informed her father in a few 
 words, that the earnest desire of her 
 uncle to see her had determined her to 
 comply with his request to return in the 
 carnage he had sent: but as she could
 
 259 
 not explain the meaning of the enigma- 
 tical words of the note, she took no no- 
 tice of them. She gave the same infor- 
 mation, as to her departure from London, 
 to Lady Enville : she hesitated whether 
 she should make a separate communication 
 to Edward : but as she had no opinion 
 to ask, nor any confidence to make, she 
 was afraid of appearing to give more 
 consequence to her absence than she 
 might feel it to deserve: she therefore 
 laid down the already taken up pen, and 
 said pensively to herself, perhaps I shall 
 return before Edward will miss me." 
 
 Before the appointed hour, Mr. Fitzos- 
 born's carriage came to the door ; it had 
 post horses, and was attended by three 
 servants on horseback, one of whom was 
 out of livery : he informed Caroline that 
 his master's coach-horses would meet her 
 within two stages of Henhurst, and that 
 Mr. Fitzosborn had particularly desired 
 that she would travel at her ease, and by 
 no means fatigue herself. The parade of 
 the equipage Caroline could account for 
 from the high notions which she had ob-
 
 260 
 
 served, while at Henhurst, her uncle to 
 entertain of what belonged to the 
 dignity of an ancient family; but 
 the attention to her personal conve- 
 nience she could derive only from kind- 
 ness, and from thence she drew a hope 
 that he was not very angry with her; and 
 it was evident what side of the option 
 which he had given her he both wished 
 and expected her to take. At the worst,, 
 she knew that she had nothing, to fear 
 from caprice : if she could convince his 
 understanding that she had neither clone 
 nor meditated ill, she was sure of a kind 
 acquittal. The danger lay in the pre- 
 possessions which he might have re- 
 ceived ; and she knew that what he had 
 once believed true, it would be difficult 
 to convince him w r as false. She endea- 
 voured, however, to present herself be- 
 fore him with the modest confidence 
 which ought to accompany conscious in- 
 nocence. 
 
 The moment she appeared, " I am 
 very glad to see you," said her uncle, 
 with emphasis, " I would not for half
 
 £61 
 
 ,tny estate that you should have sent me 
 back my ring." " It is here," said Caro- 
 line, drawing it from her finger, and pre- 
 senting it to him. " I am not worthy 
 to wear it till I am as clear in your ap- 
 prehension from the intention of offend- 
 ing- you, as I am in fact." " Offending 
 me, child 1" said Mr. Fitzosborn sternly, 
 and taking, with evident marks of disap- 
 pointment, the offered ring: " that is 
 not the question; you may offend me, 
 and yet not have broken the condition 
 on which the ring was to be yours. 
 ' When you are tired of being good, send 
 me back the ring;' were my words when 
 I gave it you. Are you tired of being 
 good?" " Alas ! sir," said Caroline, with 
 a sigh; " I dare not couple such a word 
 with my best performances : but indeed 
 I iove virtue, and would not knowingly 
 deviate from her paths." " Then answer 
 me, and answer me with that strictness 
 of truth, without which there is no vir- 
 tue, How came you to be so depraved as 
 to refuse all that can dignify human na~ 
 tare in the person of Mr. Beaumont;
 
 262 
 
 and consent to ally yourself with all that 
 can disgrace it, in that compound of pro- 
 fligacy and insignificance, Mr. Pynsynt?" 
 " Ally myself with Mr. Pynsynt!" said 
 Caroline: " never, never did I entertain 
 the thought !" " And you have not re* 
 jected the hand of Mr. Beaumont r" said 
 her uncle, his brow becoming more and 
 more contracted as he spoke. " I might re- 
 ply with the most perfect truth that I have 
 not," said Caroline ; " for on my honour, 
 sir, it never was offered me : but it is my 
 duty to conceal nothing from so kind a 
 guardian of my rectitude. I would 
 rather answer to your meaning than 
 your words; and I confess, that such 
 were the distinctions that I received 
 from Mr. Beaumont, that I had no doubt 
 what his intentions were; and knowing 
 that I could not meet them as he would 
 wish, I endeavoured, by the coldness of 
 my manner, to divert him from his de- 
 sign, and save him from the mortification 
 of a direct refusal. " " And your engage- 
 ment with Mr. Pynsynt was the reason 
 why you could not meet the intentions
 
 26S 
 of Mr. Beaumont as he wished?" " Oh 
 my dear uncle," said Caroline, " do not 
 so wound me ! I have said that I never 
 entertained a thought of uniting myself 
 to Mr. Pynsynt; how then can I have 
 any engagement with him?" " Beware, 
 Caroline, what you are about," said Mr, 
 Fitzosborn : all that glow of offended inge- 
 nuousness will not bear you out against 
 facts. I have proofs that Mr. Beaumont 
 has received an actual refusal of his offers 
 from you, and that the reason alleged 
 for such a refusal, was your engagement 
 with Mr. Pynsynt." " Does Mr. Beau- 
 mont say," returned Caroline, trembling, 
 and turning pale, " that the refusal, and 
 the reason for it, were given by me?" 
 " No,'' replied Mr. Fitzosborn; " but 
 they were given by one, who, unfortu- 
 nately, has authority to give them, and 
 who could not have done so without au- 
 thority from you: a concurrence proved 
 by your acknowledgment that you do not 
 wish to be the wife of Mr. Beaumont." 
 Caroline, who could alone recognise her 
 father in the person who had authority to
 
 264 
 act For her, saw at once both the motive 
 for his rejection of Mr. Beaumont, and 
 his assertion that she was engaged to Mr. 
 Pynsynt; and, confounded with gOiilt 
 that was not her own, she stood as a cri- 
 rninal before her uncle, unable to utter a 
 word. " Oh girl, girl," said Mr. Fitzos- 
 born," how soon have the wicked ones de- 
 faced that fair image of its Creator ! You 
 were formed to love virtue, to recom- 
 mend it, to adorn it: how will you an- 
 swer for such a dereliction of the pur- 
 poses of your existence?" " My dearest 
 uncle," cried Caroline, falling in an 
 agony at his feet, '" by what strength of 
 assertion shall I induce you to believe 
 what I have asserted as truth? How 
 shall I persuade you that I never had 
 aay engagement with Mr. Pynsynt? that 
 I was ignorant, till this hour, that Mr. 
 Beaumont had offered me his hand?" 
 H If you are true," said Mr. Fitzosborn, 
 raising her as he spoke, " your father is 
 a rascal!" Caroline covered her face 
 with her hands, and bowed her head to 
 the earth. " It is so! it is so!" cried
 
 Z65 
 
 Mr. Fitzosbora eagerly; "and why should 
 I be surprised? The man who could sell 
 his birthright, may not scruple to vitiate 
 his child 1 To secure you a coronet he 
 would hazard your soul. Look up child ; 
 compose yourself: you shall return no 
 more to those mansions of wickedness; 
 here shall be your asylum : — here you 
 may tread the path of virtue not only 
 with steadiness, but with safety." "And 
 will you indeed, my dear uncle," said 
 Caroline, delightedly, " let me live with 
 you? Will you be my safeguard from 
 temptation, which I might not of myself 
 he always able to resist?" " I will do 
 all this for you, child," returned Mr. 
 Fitzosborn: " so perhaps I may save 
 from everlasting misery an immortal 
 soul. But remember that you bound 
 your expectation to such guardianship : 
 you will not be my heir." " Could you 
 see my heart," said Caroline, " you 
 would see that caution was unnecessary. 
 I am not, indeed I am not mercenary ." 
 " I do believe it," said Mr. Fitzosborn ; 
 €l but many circumstances may perhaps 
 
 VOL, I* N
 
 266 
 
 occur that might insensibly lead to this 
 idea : you will infallibly be treated by all 
 who approach you as the heiress of this 
 place : you will be flattered, you will be 
 solicited. Naturally, perhaps, the idea 
 might arise that there was some ground 
 for all this : bear it ever in your mind 
 that there is none. I have not, however, 
 yet done with my questions. From 
 whence could arise sufficient foundation 
 on which your father durst presume to 
 build so gross a falsehood as your engage- 
 ment with Mr. Pynsynt, if there be in 
 fact no connexion between you ?" " Such 
 a connexion was proposed," returned Ca- 
 roline, " but it was peremptorily and 
 promptly refused by me : on the score of 
 relationship, however, the intercourse of 
 the families continued as it was. Mr. Pyn- 
 synt ever claimed, on the same ground, 
 the right of conversing with me in pri- 
 vate, and of showing me every common 
 civility in public. As he never attempted 
 to renew his application for any greater 
 distinction. I had no reason for refusing 
 him this ; and being perfectly indifferent 

 
 267 
 as to the conclusion the world might 
 draw from seeing him still upon the 
 terms of friendship with me, I may have 
 been too inattentive to the reports that 
 you seem to say were so general : but, 
 upon my word, this is all I know of the 
 matter." " Had you no fear that such 
 reports would keep at a distance men 
 whom you would have liked better ?" 
 said Mr. Fitzosborn, smiling. " No in- 
 deed !" returned Caroline, a little piqued, 
 but blushing. " I presume you intend 
 to marry ?" said her uncle. " I cannot 
 be said to intend not to marry," said Ca- 
 roline; " but it is an event that must 
 depend upon many circumstances which 
 I can neither control nor foresee. 5 * 
 " Look you, Caroline," said Mr. Fitzos- 
 born ; " I am no marriage broker. Your 
 marriage, as a matter of negociation, I 
 neither have, nor will have, any thing to 
 do with. With your moral qualities I 
 have much to do ; and of course with all 
 from which they may hope improvement, 
 or dread deterioration. As in the state 
 of maidenhood, half the virtues of the 
 v 2
 
 26*8 
 
 sex are not brought into action, so arc 
 there many deviations from the right 
 path, which lie more open to the young * 
 unmarried woman than to her whose 
 mind must be supposed to be occupied 
 with the most sacred duties, and heart 
 filled with the best affections : besides, 
 the will is apt to become stubborn, the 
 mind presumptuous, when submission 
 and deference are not at times enacted, 
 and thus the woman degenerates. Now, 
 Caroline, I must not have you degene- 
 rate; and therefore I wish you to marry. 
 You have acquitted yourself of the 
 coarse turpitude that would have attach- 
 ed to your accepting Mr. Pynsynt as a 
 husband, and have given a repose to my 
 mind which it has not known night or 
 day since I first entertained a contrary 
 belief: nor do I say that your rejection 
 of Mr. Beaumont must spring from un- 
 worthy motives : but the being insensible 
 to the qualities of such a man somewhat 
 impeaches your taste, and may awaken 
 suspicion, that in your choice of a hus- 
 band you would be more swayed by an
 
 269 
 ill-directed fancy, than by the virtues 
 which ought to engage your heart. 
 These, I know, are delicate subjects ; and 
 such as perhaps I do not understand; or 
 at least such as you will think I do not 
 understand ; and we are strangers to one 
 another yet. But suffer me to ask one 
 question — Pray, what was it that you 
 did not like in Mr. Beaumont?" 
 
 This was a hard push upon poor Caro- 
 line, who looked more like a fool than 
 ever she did in her life before; and she 
 stammered and coloured while she said, 
 " Not like! — Indeed sir, I think Mr. 
 Beaumont is — is — is very much to be 
 liked." Mr. Fitzosborn looked earnestly 
 at her. " I am no inquisitor, Caroline," 
 said he ; " I mean not to have recourse to 
 racks and tortures to extort confession. 
 1 have said that we are, yet strangers. At 
 present, perhaps, I have not a right to 
 expecfc that you should deal explicitly 
 with me on such subjects; but remember 
 that I shall take my estimate of your cha- 
 racter from your choice of a companion 
 i'or life. If your rejection of Mr. Beau- 
 n3
 
 no 
 
 mont arises from your preference to a 
 worthless coxcomb, you become, in my 
 eyes, but like the rest of your frivolous 
 . sex ; and I shall leave you to ruin your- 
 self your own way, while I strive to for- 
 get the never-before known interest 
 which you have awakened in my breast." 
 " Be not afraid, my dearest uncle," said 
 Caroline : " take my word, my honour, 
 that no worthless coxcomb has any in- 
 terest in my heart No," added she, 
 blushing at once at her own warmth and 
 the cause from whence it arose, " the 
 sun will sooner cease to shine than that 
 I shall love a worthless coxcomb !" 
 " Here then, I restore your ring," said 
 Mr. Fitzosborn : wear it till I challenge 
 the failure of your oath." " Then," said 
 Caroline, " it will rest on this finger 
 while I breathe, and descend with me 
 into the tomb as a testimony that your 
 Caroline did not disgrace you 1" 
 
 The uncle and the niece now proceeded 
 to arrange every thing necessary for Ca- 
 roline's taking up her abode at Hen- 
 hurst. They were equally desirous that
 
 271 
 
 she should return no more to town. 
 Mr. Fitzosborn would as soon have ex- 
 posed her person to the breath of the, 
 most contagious pestilence, as he would 
 again have hazarded her morals in the 
 society of London : and Caroline did not 
 less dread to see her father, whose image 
 filled her mind with a mingled feeling 
 of horror, contempt, affection, and pity. 
 She knew he would consider her resi- 
 dence at Henhurst as a guarantee that 
 she was one day to be the mistress of it: 
 an event, the advantages of which she 
 was now too well aware he by no means 
 intended should be confined to herself, 
 and which therefore she did not doubt 
 to be the great object of his wishes. At 
 Henhurst, also, she would be removed 
 from the danger of any matrimonial ap- 
 plication, which she now had had so 
 pregnant a proof that he dreaded her 
 yielding to : and here, too, the small 
 income to which he had reduced her, 
 would be not only adequate to her real 
 wants ; for on that point she could not 
 but suppose him indifferent; but suffi- 
 n 4
 
 272 
 cient for that appearance by which he 
 wished to repress all curiosity or conjee-' 
 ture on her mode of expenditure, which 
 might lead to the discovery of how little 
 she had to spend. Nor did she suppose 
 that he would be wholly insensible to the 
 advantages arising from the four hundred 
 pounds per annum, which would, she 
 had no doubt, still find its way into Mrs. 
 Fitzosborn's hands; for as she should 
 make no demand for it, in consequence 
 of the occasion being past for which 
 it was given, so she felt pretty sure 
 no offer of relinquishing it would be 
 made. If Caroline had any regrets on 
 quitting the focus of every delight that 
 luxurious pleasure or the refinement of 
 elegance can give, it was not that she 
 was no more to listen to the harp and 
 the viol; no more to feast her eye with 
 wonders of splendour and of art. To all 
 this she was at the present time as in- 
 sensible as old Barzillai to the singing 
 men and the singing women of Jeru- 
 salem : but, in quitting London, she 
 quitted Edward — Edward, who, in spite
 
 273 
 of all her efforts to the contrary, in spite 
 of her conviction that he had no corre- 
 sponding sentiments to her, still kept his 
 place in her heart; in whose conversation 
 she found a charm unknown elsewhere ; 
 and in whose friendship and good sense 
 she imagined that she had at once a sup- 
 port and a safeguard. This Edward she 
 was to he separated from ; she knew not 
 for how long, nor how entirely. He did 
 not visit at Henhurst. She was ignorant 
 in what degree of credit his character 
 was held by Mr. Fitzosborn. It was 
 probable that the disapprobation which 
 he manifested to the rest of his family 
 extended to him ; and that having once 
 set him afloat in the world, he meant to 
 leave him to his own devices. She was 
 sensible that she ought not to seek an 
 epistolary intercourse even with so near 
 a relation of a different sex ; or even to 
 accept it, if sought by Edward. Thus 
 she felt that all correspondence was cut 
 off between them ; and the sadness that 
 followed this conviction proved but too 
 plainly, that an asylum from vice and
 
 274 
 
 depredation was not without a powerful 
 competitor in her heart. It was deter- 
 mined that Caroline should send her 
 maid to town for the purpose of packing 
 up her wardrobe, and of superintending 
 the removal of all that belonged to her. 
 She was also to be the bearer of such 
 letters as Caroline thought proper to 
 write. The mode of announcing to her 
 father the change in her abode, Mr. 
 Fitzosborn left wholly to herself: he 
 would not condescend to account to him 
 for his conduct ; nor did he ever pro- 
 nounce his name without evident marks 
 of reprobation and disgust. The high 
 sense that he professed to entertain of 
 every moral obligation, would not allow 
 him to say that Caroline owed no de- 
 ference to such a parent ; but the indif- 
 ference which he betrayed as to how she 
 performed this duty, discovered that it 
 might have been violated without draw- 
 ing upon her any reprehension from him. 
 Caroline had, however, in the correctness 
 of her principles and the softness of her 
 heart, a surer guide to all that was right.
 
 £75 
 
 She wrote respectfully and affection- 
 ately to her father; simply stating, that 
 she had found her uncle so unwilling to 
 part with her, that she had consented to 
 take up her residence with him, and that 
 she had the more readily done this from 
 the persuasion that her remaining at 
 Henhurst would be acceptable to her 
 father. She begged that he would fre- 
 quently write to her, and assured him of 
 her duty and affection. To Mrs. Fitz- 
 osborn she wrote with all civility, and 
 to Lady Enville with kindness and free- 
 dom. Again she wished to write to 
 Edward ; nor was she at a loss for some 
 reasons for so doing, that appeared to be 
 sufficiently plausible: but the depressing 
 thought that her letter would be read, 
 though not with indifference, yet with- 
 out any of the feeling that she could 
 have wished to excite, withheld her 
 hand, and she suffered her messenger to 
 depart without any apparent remem- 
 brance of the one for whose sake alone 
 she regretted that she knew not when 
 she was again to revisit London.
 
 276 
 
 Caroline had rightly calculated on the 
 effect that her remaining at Henhurst 
 would have upon her father. It relieved 
 him from certain incivilities of his con- 
 science, which he had not before been 
 wholly able to repress, and from all fears 
 of any discovery of the depredations that 
 he had committed on the property of 
 Caroline. The possession of Henhurst, 
 which he now considered as secured to 
 her beyond a doubt, would more than 
 indemnify her for what he had robbed 
 her of; and her seclusion, during the 
 life of her uncle, would effectually screen 
 from the eye of curiosity the proportion 
 that her expenses bore to her supposed 
 income. Thus " guilty without fear," 
 Mr. Fitzosbonv hushed his disquietudes 
 to rest, and, unchecked, held on the 
 career of the man of fashion and the 
 man of pleasure. Caroline's notification 
 of her change of residence w r as received 
 in Grosvenor Square with very different 
 sensations. It was indeed considered by 
 the Envilles, equally with her father, as 
 a proof that she was to be the heiress of
 
 277 
 
 Henhurst; but they plainly saw that the 
 heiress of Henhurst would not now be. 
 the wife of Mr. Pynsynt. The bubble 
 that had so long pleased their fancy was 
 now broke; and they saw that they must 
 look elsewhere for the thousands that 
 were so much wanted to prop the falling 
 fortunes of the house of Envilie. 
 
 " She has then slipt through our 
 fingers," said Lord Envilie. " Let her 
 go!" cried Mr. Pynsynt, with a tone of 
 affected contempt, and real mortifica- 
 tion : " I need no longer weigh my 
 words before I utter them." While Lady 
 Envilie, with true female pertinacity to 
 a favourite scheme, said : " Don't speak 
 so, Pynsynt; the old man cannot live 
 for ever; and while he lives she is safer 
 from any attack inimical to our interest, 
 than if exposed to the solicitations of all 
 the money-seekers in town : and when 
 he dies she will accept the first hand 
 that is offered to lead her from her 
 prison. I assure you I think our game 
 is better than ever. We shall have no 
 more such frights as Mr. Beaumont gave
 
 278 
 us." " I am sure," said Miss Pynsynt, 
 " if 1 were my brother I would not 
 care about the matter. There are as 
 rich people as Caroline, surely, and who 
 would not cost Pynsynt half the trouble 
 to gain that she has done : and. if he had 
 niarned her, I am sure we should have paid 
 dearly for it; for she would have made 
 us all methodists, or charitably con- 
 signed us to the regions below because 
 we were not so." " Charlotte," said 
 Lady Enville, " restrain your vivacity : 
 these are not subjects to be jested with, 
 Caroline, it is true, is a little too strict; 
 but that is not the worst fault a man 
 can have in a wife." " Pray, mamma," 
 said the youngest daughter, " what is 
 being a little too strict? for you know 
 we are told that we ought always to do 
 our best." " Oh yes, to be sure," re- 
 turned Lady Enville; " but there is no 
 occasion to be always thinking of right 
 and wrong, and making ourselves tire- 
 some with our scruples. I am sure it is 
 not good-hu^. c«t nor well-bred to 
 make people uncomfortable with them-
 
 279 
 selves. The best way is to do as others 
 do, aud to intend no harm. The inten- 
 tion is every thing. 
 
 With this little exposition of morals 
 the family dialogue ended; and each 
 member of it went their several ways, 
 to practise the doctrine w iich was so 
 clearly and ably laid down. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME 
 
 Frwtcd by J. Moycs, Grevilk Street, LondcD,