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 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
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 Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
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 ^y. 
 
 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY ANN SULLIVAN, 
 
 OF THE THEATRES ROYAL, LIVERPOOL, MANCHESTER, 
 NEWCASTLE, BIRMINGHAM, AND NORWICH. 
 
 Know then this troth, enough for man to know, 
 Virtae alone is happiness below. POPE. 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON; 
 
 PRINTED FOR 
 
 A. K. NEWMAN AND CO. LEADEN H ALL-STREET. 
 
 1823.
 
 Edward Hodson, Printer, 15, Cross Street, Hatton Garden.
 
 8S5 
 
 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 OK. 
 
 Which is the Heroine ? 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 vJN a low seat, beside an open casement, 
 sat the bewildered Grace; her heavenly 
 features had a fixed melancholy, her coun- 
 tenance was pale but expressive, her soft 
 dark blue ev^es dull and heavy, except 
 when her fevered imagination, like tran- 
 sient lightning, threw forth a spark of in- 
 tellectual animation : on her high arched 
 brows were bound a wreath of white 
 withering roses, her auburn ringlets fell 
 in wild, yet beautiful disorder, over her 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 shoulders, and half hid the slender sym- 
 metry of her waist: the snowy foldings 
 of her dress wound round her polished 
 form, and with graceful negligence swept 
 the carpet ; at her feet lay a small basket, 
 filled with various sorts of flowers, from 
 which she was selecting myrtle sprigs and 
 willow strips, to twist round a j^edal harp, 
 that stood on her left hand. 
 
 Mrs. Milbourne, (her aunt,) seated at 
 a little distance, was watching her every 
 movement ; tears of sorrow and compas- 
 sion ghstened in her eyes, as she beheld 
 the darHng of her care thus unhappy and 
 bewildered. " Look here," cried the beau- 
 teous girl, taking from the heap of flowers 
 a drooping lily, " alas! 'tis scentless, lost 
 is its sweet perfume, so is the breath of
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 3 
 
 my William, gone ! gone for ever!" A 
 deep sigh burst from her white bosom, 
 she ca«t the hly away in the deepest 
 dejection, placed her arms across her 
 breast, bent down her head, and fixing 
 her eyes in a vacant gaze, remained ab- 
 solved in gloomy, yet unconnected medi- 
 tation. 
 
 Mrs. Wallace came tripping into the 
 room, and with her usual gaiety accosted 
 Mrs. Milbourne, who turned round with 
 surprise and pleasure to welcome her. 
 
 " I am very well I thank you, madam/' 
 cried Mrs. Wallace, (in return to Mrs. 
 Milbourne 's kind enquiry after her health, ) 
 *• and am come to spend half an hour with 
 you, and my pretty insane here; liow 
 B 2
 
 4 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 is she now ?'* " Alas!" said Mrs. Mil- 
 bourne, " the same as a week since. " I 
 am sorry for that," said Mrs. Wallace, and 
 advancing towards Grace, asked if she knew 
 her ? 
 
 The unhappy maid looked on her at- 
 tentively for some time, then cried, '^ Oh, 
 yes! I know you very well, you are the 
 painted mother that gave her child to 
 strangers, and bade me laugh when my 
 William died ; but J could not, my heart 
 was broke in tw^o, and now 'tis quite 
 gone, buried in the grave of my Wil- 
 liam." 
 
 Mrs. W^allace turned her face aside, to 
 hide the vexation she feared it might 
 betray.
 
 OR. WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 5 
 
 " Do not weep," said the hapless girl, 
 mistaking the cause of her emotion ; '' I 
 forgive yoii^ I forgive every one, but come 
 with me, and see how the willow and the 
 cypress wave over my William's cold 
 pillow, as if even they lamented his loss; 
 but be sure you step sofcly, or you may 
 fright the timorous dove that hovers o'er 
 his grave ; poor thing ! I would not drive 
 her hence for all the world, for she has 
 lost her mate ; I saw him killed by cruel 
 hands; she is left like me to mourn; 
 we are companions in misery, and ought 
 to love each other' — here she paused, and 
 big drops of woe stole slowly down her 
 pallid cheeks. 
 
 " Take comfort, dear girl," said Mrs. 
 Wallace. 
 
 b3
 
 6 
 
 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 "Comfort!" echoed Grace, "where? — 
 Oh! I understand, 'tis by the side of my 
 WilUam's corse; I will go; come then,** 
 she beckoned Mrs. Wallace to follow her 
 through a glass door that opened to the 
 lawn, and was out of sight in a moment. 
 David now announced lawyer Stanley, 
 who, on entering, was shocked to find 
 Mrs, Milbourne in tears; he guessed the 
 cause, and secretly regretted that by ne- 
 cessity he must augment her trouble. 
 
 '^ I am sincerely glad to see you, good 
 sir," said she, placing a seat for him 
 between herself and Mrs. Wallace; " 'tis 
 long since we have seen each other ; you 
 have been out of Wales some time; you 
 have been spending some months in Lon- 
 don^ that seat of fashion and pleasure, have 
 you not, sir ?"
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE 1 7 
 
 " I was called there, madam, on very 
 important business, which, much against 
 my inclination, obliged me to stay in its 
 thick atmosphere." 
 
 " You are not fond of London then, 
 I presume sir?" said Mrs. Wallace, with a 
 winning smile. •' You are perfectly right, 
 madam," returned Mr. Stanley ; " you 
 cannot, who have been so Ion 2^ in the 
 purest air, conceive my delight on ap- 
 proaching my native country again ; the 
 distant mountains seemed hke forsaken 
 friends, with whom I was about to be 
 reconciled, after a long disagreement and 
 absence ; 1 plucked the wild rose from a 
 fresh green hedge, with more delight 
 than the finest exotic could have given 
 B 4
 
 5 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 me, though presented by the hand of a 
 queen." 
 
 '^ You are very odd in your ideas, sir/' 
 said Mrs. Wallace, with a half sneer. 
 
 " Perhaps so, madam ; I do not deny 
 that I often think differently from other 
 people; for instance, I prefer plucking 
 a simple cabbage rose^ with a strip of 
 sweet briar, from my own little garden, 
 to all that art could produce; nay, I am 
 old fashioned enough to wear them stuck 
 m my button hole: this may appear vul- 
 gar to the modish world, yet I see no 
 shame or reason, why I should scorn the 
 works of my all bountiful Creator, be- 
 cause fashion, (that perverter of nature,) 
 did not help their culture : but my dear
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HF.ROINE!' 
 
 widow, cried he, turning from Mrs. Wal- 
 lace to Mrs. Milbourne, why so melan- 
 choly, is the dear girl, my darling little 
 Grace, worse?" 
 
 "Thank heaven, no sir, she remains 
 the same as when you left us/' replied the 
 widow, 
 
 •'Since no better, madam, be glad she is 
 no worse ; we are never so unhappy, but 
 we may be more so.'* 
 
 ^^Do you mean this for the consolation 
 of my friend, Sir ;'* asked Mrs. Wallace ? 
 ^' if you do, 'tis mistaken kindness ; she 
 cannot have a greater trouble, than the 
 insanity of a beloved child." 
 b5
 
 10 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 ^* I allow it a trouble, madam; but as all 
 our losses are only felt by comparison 
 with their opposites, we ought instead of 
 idly regretting what might have been 
 ours, be thankful for what we really 
 possess; so in a state of madness, when 
 fortune smiles we lament the calamity, 
 but reverse the prospect to a state of po- 
 verty and dependence, we then bless the 
 power that keeps them insensible of their 
 situation :" — as he finished speaking, he 
 cast a penetrating look on the widow, she 
 perceived something was on his mind ; 
 the compassion, the earnest enquiry with 
 mingled pity in his eye^ struck a forbod- 
 ing fear to her bosom, and with a faulter- 
 ing voice she answered, " Very true/* 
 
 '^ You have never known the incon-
 
 ORj WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 11 
 
 veniences of life, Mrs. Milbourne/' said 
 he. 
 
 *^ Never, Sir ; yet I think I could bear 
 misfortune patiently.'* 
 
 " I am glad to hear it, as it proves you 
 are not weak enough to imagine, because 
 hitherto you have lived in peace and ease;, 
 that a change may never arrive." 
 
 ''Dear sir," cried the widow, ^'vvhat 
 mean these words? If I may judge their 
 purport, they are to prepare me for unplea- 
 sant intelligence ; if so, dear Mr. Stanley, 
 keep me not in suspense, but dinolose the 
 business that brought you here; I have 
 perhaps a stronger mind than you at pre- 
 sent think, and should occasion require, 
 ii6
 
 12 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 not deficient I hope, in proper fortitude at 
 the hour of triaL" 
 
 " I am glad of it, heartily glad to hear 
 you say so, and own you have drawn the 
 hne of my thoughts to the point oi> 
 which I came to talk with you/* 
 
 Mrs. Wallace rose, but the widow, 
 gently detained her, saying, " pray stay, 
 I have no secrets to hear, that you may 
 not 'partake, and if (as Mr. Stanley's 
 manner inclines me to believe) I am on 
 the eve of some misfortune, the support 
 of a friend will be of benefit to my spi- 
 rits, and assist me to bear with compo^ 
 sure, what otherwise might overcome 
 me.
 
 OR, WHICH 19 THE HEROINE? 15 
 
 '' To be of service to you madam, is an 
 inducement to stay that I cannot resist," 
 returned Mrs. Wallace, re- seating her- 
 self. 
 
 " That is right, that is like a friend, 
 cried Mr. Stanley," shaking her by the 
 hand, and addressing the widow, began 
 to unfold the business he came upon, 
 
 " Yo know, madam, that your worthy 
 departed husband employed me, in many 
 important concerns during his life, and 
 that I had the honour of his approbation 
 and friendship,*' 
 
 '' You had so, Sir, said the widow," 
 wiping away a tear that affection had 
 given to the memory of the best of hus- 
 bands.
 
 14 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 ^' You will credit me then, madam, nor 
 take it for the common place profession of 
 condolence so often given to the distressed, 
 when I say, that to bring disagreeable 
 tidings to his amiable widow, much 
 grieves and confounds me; and would the 
 urgency of the affair in question permit, 
 willingly would I defer my errand, till 
 your spinis and mind became more tran- 
 quil ; but as time presses, and my stay 
 must be short, irksome as the task is, I 
 must proceed. Did you ever hear ma- 
 dam, your husband had an elder bro- 
 ther?'' 
 
 '■ Certainly, sir ; he died abroad much 
 embarrassed ; myhusband greatly incon- 
 venienced himself in the discharf^e of the 
 numerous claims that were made upon
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HE«OINE ? l5 
 
 him ; His now two and twenty years since 
 his death/' 
 
 " At that time your husband came into 
 the Whitford estate ?" 
 
 " He did, sir ; but it had at that time so 
 many incumbrances on it, that my hus- 
 band gave it up for a certain time, until 
 some heavy mortgages were paid off." 
 
 *' How long has it been clear r" 
 
 '^ About twelve years," 
 
 ^^ How old is your son ?" 
 
 " Did you not know I had lately lost 
 him ?** said she, sighing deeply ;
 
 1 6 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 "No, indeed, madam, or I would not have 
 given you this unnecessary pain, pardon 
 my inadvertency, but as you always wear 
 mourning, and he being mostly at school, 
 the sudden loss was not observable/' Here 
 he took out his handkerchief, put it to 
 his eyes, and a long silence ensued. At 
 length he cried. How cruel is my task 
 yet I must go on ; What do you receive 
 from the Whitford estate, madam ? 
 
 " Eight hundred pounds per annum, 
 which by frugal management will ena- 
 ble me to save a provision for my poor 
 Grace/' 
 
 " On what did my worthy friend live, 
 while discharging the debts on the Whit- 
 ford estate ?" 
 
 ^
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? Ij 
 
 "On his commission. When his bro- 
 ther died, he was a Captain in the Guards; 
 the dehcacy of his constitution had long 
 made the fatigue of duty irksome and 
 dangerous; his physician had earnestly ad- 
 vised the calm of retirement as necessary 
 to the establishment of his health, but 
 his swoid was his only prop, and he must 
 have continued his military career had not 
 the death of his brother put it in his 
 power to retire ; but even this did not 
 save him. Six years since he sunk to his 
 grave, lamented by all ; but none knew 
 the domestic virtues and manly quali- 
 ties of his heart, as well as 2/ou, Mr, 
 Stanley, and my wretched self," Here a 
 burst of anguish deprived her of further 
 utterance.
 
 18 OWEN CASTLES- 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 .A.FTER a pause, Mr. Stanley renewed 
 the subject. " At the death of your bro- 
 ther in-law, the Whitford estate would 
 have descended to his son.*' 
 
 " He died unmarried.'* 
 
 *' You are not certain of that, madam r'* 
 
 " Most certain sir/' 
 
 '^ Ah! madam, you are in an error; 
 what will be your surprise, when I m-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? l9 
 
 form you, that the account of his death 
 was a falsehood ; a villainous fraud, in 
 order to get his debts paid by his bro- 
 ther, who he knew had a considerable be- 
 quest left him at his father*s death.** 
 
 *' Is it possible ?" exclaimed the aston- 
 ished widow. 
 
 " A melancholy fact, madam ; I have 
 had the whole transaction from a mer- 
 chant of the first repute in Liverpool, 
 with whom he has held a correspondence 
 up to the beginning of the present year.'' 
 
 " Wonderful ! but pray explain," cried 
 the widow. 
 
 " His principal speculations failing at
 
 20 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 St. George's in Jamaica, (notwithstanding 
 his having married a rich planter's widow) 
 he determined on leaving it by stratagem, 
 which he effected with great success. 
 
 " During his voyage to Pennsylvania, a 
 storm arose, several of the passengers 
 were washed overboard, with the captain 
 of the vessel, to whom only he was 
 known ; none of the crew that remained 
 on board after the storm knew his name, 
 of which he took immediate advantage, 
 and adopted that of a drowned passenger ; 
 with all the property he had secreted 
 when he left St. George's, he safely 
 arrived at Newcastle County, bought a 
 second plantation, and became in a short 
 time one of the richest planters in that 
 part of the world. Having acquired im-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE.*' 21 
 
 niense wealth, it was his intention to 
 come to England a year since, with his 
 only child, a son of twenty years of age ; 
 but a sudden illness hurried him to his 
 grave ; his wife did not live many weeks 
 after him, and the heir to the Whitford 
 estate, is now on his way to England, 
 eager to see the birth place of his father,and 
 lay claim to his right. Mr. Meanwright, 
 the Liverpool merchant, expects him every 
 day into that harbour ; there are also two 
 merchants of considerable opulence in the 
 city, with whom his father transacted 
 business in a very extensive degree, who 
 have incontestible proofs in their hands, 
 of his being the true and lawful heir to 
 the Whitford estate; his arrival, my dear 
 madam, deprives you of all claim what* 
 ever on the estate, and unless he is of
 
 22 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 a generous mind, I fear you will find 
 yourself entirely dependent on his bounty." 
 
 " This is indeed a blow," said the 
 widow, as if awakened to a new scene 
 of distress, in the reveal ment of her bro- 
 ther-in-law's unjust stratagem. " Oh 
 teach me, sir, she cried, in what manner 
 to act, what path to take in my deplor- 
 able state." 
 
 " Rely on my friendship, madam, and 
 look forward with good hope, ( said Mn 
 Staiiley with the most soothing accent;) 
 my best abilities shall not be wanting 
 in y ur behalf; on my return to town I 
 will acquaint the gentleman of the law 
 that I have seen you, and that you ex- 
 pect the son to refund the money your
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 23 
 
 husband expended In paying off the mort- 
 gages, which in your present condition 
 would be a little fortune." 
 
 ^^How can I, sir, make such a demand, 
 having received the rents for so many 
 years ? He might rather call on me, to 
 restore those profits to which I have had 
 no legal claim." 
 
 "He will not be so hard with his aunt ; 
 take my word he will not ; he does not 
 want the Whitford estate; to a youth of 
 his immense wealth, 'tis not worth con- 
 tending for ; by the time he arrives in 
 England, the lovely Grace will have re- 
 covered from her present malady, and 
 who knows, on seeing her charms, what 
 may happen ; she may captivate the ad-
 
 24 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 miring stranger, he may marry her, and 
 throw his princely fortune in her lap." 
 
 " Surely," returned the widow, regard- 
 ing him with surprise, " I do not under- 
 stand you rightly ; you would not have 
 me sacrifice the dear child, the orphan of 
 my care, for my own convenience? Ne- 
 ver, sir ; I cannot think it is the worthy 
 friend of my hushand, that advises me to 
 trepan my nephew into a connexion with 
 a girl, whose virtues and whose beauty are 
 her only dower ; sell the defenceless child 
 of my sainted sister, to the arms of a 
 stranger; — indeed I could not endure my 
 hated life, if prolonged by such means; 
 do not, dear sir, augment my troubles, by 
 wishing me to become an accomplice in 
 such baseness."
 
 OR, Which is the heroine? 25 
 
 '^I see no baseness in it, dearest ma- 
 dam, cried he ; if Grace has lost her first 
 love, why may she not (after due time 
 being past.) accept the hand of another? 
 No friend in their senses could, I think, 
 object to a handsome, young, rich and 
 honourable lover, to woo so fair a charge- 
 I do not wish you, madam, to take any 
 part in the business, but let the young- 
 folks when they meet, manage in their 
 own way, what I am pretty positive, will 
 come to pass." 
 
 " Indeed, so sanguine ?" thought Mrs- 
 Wallace. 
 
 *' Give me your word, madam, to be 
 neuter in the matter, said Mr. Stanley, 
 and let chance work out the rest; on 
 
 VOL, I. C
 
 26 OWEN CASTLE J 
 
 clear view of the affair you will see it, 1 
 have no doubt, in the light I do. What 
 think you, madam, said he, turning to 
 Mrs. Wallace, is it not an excellent idea, 
 and too good to be lost.^' 
 
 " It will not be lost, depend upon it." 
 feturned she, 
 
 *^ I hope not, I hope not," said he. 
 
 *^ How can I, Mr. Stanley, invite 
 my nephew here. You know that this 
 is the Castle of Sir Matthew Fitz- 
 owen, with whom I am on a short visit, 
 and I dare not take so great a liberty as 
 io invite any one without asking his per- 
 aiission,''
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 2? 
 
 '' Where is Sir Matthew ?" asked Mr, 
 StanleJ^ 
 
 "In the garden, replied the widow. 
 This is the hour he always wanders there^ 
 if the gout and other complaints permit." 
 
 *^ I will go seek him, and by explain- 
 ing your situation, entreat his favour in 
 your behalf, so far at least, as to obtain 
 leave for you to entertain your nephew 
 in his house. Does the old gentleman 
 continue as odd as formerly ?" said Mr. 
 Stanley. 
 
 " O yes, sir, returned Mrs. Wallace ; 
 
 his temper is more teazing, more erasci- 
 
 ble than ever. How Mrs. Milbourne 
 
 bears it so well, I know not ; for if 
 
 c 2
 
 S2 OWEN castle; 
 
 she were not a perfect Griselda in pa- 
 tience, 
 iiini." 
 
 tience, there would be no living with 
 
 *^ I am sorry, very sorry to hear it ; 
 iDut be of comfort, good madam," said 
 Mr. Stanley, turning to the widow, who 
 stood weeping by his side, 
 
 " Take, dear sir, a view of my forlortj 
 condition, and you will not then talk of 
 comfort. Alas! what am I now, but a poor 
 <Iefenceless widow, doomed to eat her 
 jniserable morsel at the table of a proud 
 relative, v^'hose polite sufferance may 
 give her a bed to re^t her woe-worn 
 frame on. Oh cruel reverse of fortune! 
 that makes my former life appear a 
 dream! Just heaven! have I brought it on
 
 ©R, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 2g 
 
 myself? No^ no ; for in the hour of plenty 
 I was not unmindful of the wretched, 
 they ever shared in my prosperity. Was 
 I ungrateful for the blessings I enjoyt-d ? 
 No, for the divine precepts of my religian 
 were early stamped on my mind ; their 
 heavenly influence calmed the baser pas- 
 sions of my soul lo the meekest piety 
 and adoration of my beneficent creator; 
 respected, beloved by my husband, (who 
 next to my Almighty Father I reverenced 
 and obeyed,) with a fond and blest return 
 of his invaluable love, confidence, in- 
 struction, and esteem; with child, fiiends-, 
 
 and the regard of all who knew me, 
 
 such I teas ; and though now stript of all 
 these blessings, and the benefit of earthly 
 support, yet I will not despair, for I feel 
 my heart, my conscience, and my protect- 
 c3
 
 30 OWEN castle; 
 
 ing God are still the same: this reflection 
 gives me consolation in this hour of try- 
 ing adversity, and pours into my soul 
 fortitude, industry, and hope ;" — she sunk 
 into a chair, overcome with emotion. 
 
 Mr. Stanley endeavoured to soothe her, 
 by placing her circumstances in the best 
 light. " Imust now leave you, dear madam, 
 in order to set off, from my home, early 
 in the morning, for the Forest of Chini 
 nies, from whence you will speedily hear 
 from me ; I shall see Sir Matthew before 
 I quit the castle." 
 
 " You will not leave us without sup- 
 ping ; it will be brought up immediately, 
 for Sir Matthew always sups at nine 
 o'clock, let me also entreat you to take a
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE r 31 
 
 bed, you will not surely ride across the 
 mountain at so late an hour." 
 
 " Indeed I must, madam; my business 
 will admit of no delay ; make yourself 
 perfectly easy with respect to my safety, 
 the mountain has no terrors for me; I 
 may by chance see a few straggling la- 
 bourers retiring to their peaceful hovels, 
 they will not harm an old man like me." 
 He shook her cordially by the hand, bid- 
 ding her keep up her spirits ; and bow- 
 ing to Mrs. Wallace, took his leave. 
 
 Mrs. Wallace, after pouring on her 
 friend every affectionate epithet her bril- 
 liant fancy could suggest, departed for 
 home, (a neat cottage about a quarter 
 
 c 4
 
 32 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 of a mile from Owen Castle) attended by 
 David, Mrs. Milbourne's .own footman. 
 
 Her prolific brain had now ample room 
 for cogitation, the midnight hour fled 
 swiftly on long ere she thought on gain- 
 ing sleepj and all attempts to court the 
 goddess to her pillow, proved ineffica- 
 cious. Was the absence or peril of her 
 husband so heavy on her mind ? or wei^ 
 the misfortunes of her friend so acutely 
 felt? Neither — time only can reveal the 
 effect of this night's watchfulness.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 j^ Month had elapsed, and no letter 
 arrived from ]Mr. Stanley. The fair Grace 
 was gradually approaching to the entire 
 possession of her senses, which was a 
 great relief to the uneasy mind of her 
 aunt, and promised the fulfilment of Mr, 
 Stanley's project. One evening about twi- 
 light, as she was sitting between Sir 
 Matthew Fitzowen and Mrs. Wallace^ 
 the conversation turning on marriagey 
 Sir Matthew said, throwing off his usual 
 ill humour, and speaking in a gerUle 
 c5
 
 34 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 tone, " Would you, sweet Grace, wed 
 for wealth alone ?" 
 
 " Ah no! Wealth may be an induce- 
 ment to many, but never any to me!" 
 answered the despondent maid. 
 
 ^' Yet methlnks," cried Mrs. Wallace, 
 "you have suffered so much for pure love, 
 that you would choose your second lover 
 for more substantial charms. Gold car- 
 ries the day now/' 
 
 " How can you name to me, madam, 
 (knowing, as you do, my determination 
 never to marry) a second choice/' cried 
 Grace much affected. 
 
 ** Because^ — but no matter, you are
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 35 
 
 offended, and to say the truth, you have 
 never honoured me with your con- 
 fidence/* returned Mrs. Wallace with great 
 pique. 
 
 Mrs. Milbourne now entered the room 
 with an open letter in her hand, and 
 prevented Sir Matthew from addressing 
 something to Grace, that he was on the 
 point of uttering, he turned round short 
 on his cousin, and in a most petulant 
 tone, demanded who the letter came 
 from ? She answered. From our worthy 
 friend, Mr. Stanley; I will, if you please 
 read it to you ; 'tis full of news, and not^ 
 of an unpleasant nature. 
 
 Without waiting Sir Matthew's reply, 
 she read as follows: 
 c6
 
 36 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 " Dear and respected madam^ 
 
 *^ After arranging the affairs which 
 ^* brought me to town, I made it my 
 " business to introduce myself to young 
 " Milbourne, and am happy to say, 
 *^ fonnd him to be a sensible, generous, 
 '* and noble minded youth ; his passions 
 " appear ardent, but his manners are 
 •' so tempered with gentleness and ani- 
 '' mation, that I may venture to say 
 '^ their ardency will never force him into 
 ^' an act of baseness. His education has 
 *' been liberal ; his principles, as far as I 
 *^' can judge, are firm and good ; his per- 
 ^' son is handsome, of a graceful and 
 " commanding height ; his features regu- 
 *' lar and expressive, his brow clear and 
 «* open, his eyes a darlc hazle, and from 
 '' their extreme brilliancy and penetra-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROIN? 37 
 
 " tiorij strike at first view upon the be- 
 
 " holder, and draw forth his admiration 
 
 ^' ere he has been a moment beneath 
 
 c' their radiance; 'tis an excellent eye, and 
 
 " I trust the expressor of the soul to which 
 
 " it belongs, his teeth are very fine, and 
 
 *^ very white, but his complexion is 
 
 " tinged rather deeply from the tropical 
 
 '^ sun under which he has lived, which 
 
 " may dissplease our modern belles; but 
 
 " for my part I think it gives a manli- 
 
 '^ ness to his appearance, which with- 
 
 *^ out that defect, might to many appear 
 
 *^ eflfeminate from its extreme beautv; 
 
 *' he speaks of you with the utmost re- 
 
 *^ spect, and will certainly visit Owen 
 
 " Castle before the close of summer. 
 
 " He has introduced me to a companion 
 
 ** of his, a very beautiful and elegant
 
 38 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 *^ creature, named Omphale, brought up 
 '^ by his mother, and to whom, from 
 ^' aJl I can learn, he is contracted in 
 " marriage. She is a woman of colour, 
 *' commonly called a Mulatto; is talMn 
 " her figure, and by the bye has the most 
 ^' lovely formed hand and arm I ever saw; 
 '^ her eye^ are deep black, of the most 
 ^' sparkhng lustre and sweet expression; 
 " her face is perfectly of the Grecian 
 " mould, pensive to a degree, when ab- 
 " sent, but when cheerful, the smiles of 
 " Hebe cannot equal those that play 
 " round her mouth; her teeth are small 
 *^ but of a transparent whiteness, and 
 *^ contrast in a striking degree with the 
 ^' orange hue of her polished skin; her 
 *' voice is soft and touchingly felt on the 
 " heart and ear ; she is the most fascina-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 39 
 
 " ting female altogether, notwithstanding 
 " the darkness of her complexion, I ever 
 *' beheld ; her age I should imagine to 
 '^ be about seventeen I will, now I have 
 " done with the description of their per" 
 *' sons, endeavour to recollect a late conver- 
 *^ sation I had with them, that will 
 *' enable you to judge of the hearts of 
 '* each. Augustus Milbourne acquainted 
 ^•' me that he was sorry it was out of his 
 *• power to present you with the sole 
 ^•' possession of the Whitford estate, ha- 
 '' ving previously promised it to Om- 
 " phale/' 
 
 " Then give," she cried, starting from 
 her seat, " give thii estate to Omphale. 
 " Ah do! that she may please herself, 
 '* when she have it."
 
 40 OWEN castle; 
 
 '' That I cannot do, until I am of age, 
 ^^ which will be in about four months, 
 '^ from this/' said Augustus. 
 
 '' And when those months are fled 
 *^ away you will give the estate to Om- 
 « phale?" 
 
 " I will, said he; on my honour I 
 <^ ivilir 
 
 " My heart sunk within me at these 
 '' words, and I, for an instant did hate 
 f^ Omphale most cruelly.'' 
 
 ^' But coming up to me with the 
 most winning softness^ and taking me by 
 the hand, I began to waver in the opi- 
 nion I had encouraged of her avarice ; par-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 4.1 
 
 •* ticularly when she thus addressed me r 
 *• You are friend to poor white lady. Om- 
 " phale sends joy to her, by you. Tell her 
 " to make easy her widowed heart; for 
 " the instant the estate be mine to give, 
 '' it shall be her's ; and very much happy 
 " she will yet be ; If she permits the 
 " stranger, poor Omphale, to love her^ is 
 ^ all she wish in return. Though this 
 " was delivered in indifferent English, it 
 " struck to my very soul ; I pressed her 
 ^' hand to my lips, and spake my grati- 
 *' tude as well as my feelings would let 
 " me, and at the same time ventured to 
 *^ add, you would be proud and happy to 
 *^ receive her, Augustus applauded her 
 " generosity, and after renewing his pro- 
 " mise of paying you an early visit, left 
 '' the room to prepare for a party at the
 
 42 
 
 " west end of the town, accon)panied by 
 *' his guardian/' 
 
 " Ah me! sad here!" cried Omphale, 
 " in the most mourntul accent. " Me no 
 " hke this place, this London." 
 
 *^ Why not madam, said 1.*' 
 
 '* Because me be left alone so often. 
 " Augustus never mind me now ; the 
 " English ladies with white skin, and 
 " roses on their cheek, please him better 
 « than Omphale/' 
 
 " Why do you not go with him, 
 " madam, returned I ? 
 
 " He will not take me, he say j the 
 '' English ladies laugh when he go with
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 43 
 
 '* me, and the gentlemen stare at my so 
 " strange appearance. Ah wretched Mu- 
 " latto ! no happy out of her own coun- 
 " try," she exclaimed with a deep drawn 
 '*■ sigh. 
 
 '' Have you a female patroness with 
 " whom you could enter into the plea- 
 " sures of this gay town," said I. 
 
 " Oh noT she cried, bursting into tears, 
 " my patroness, my friend, is gone for ever 
 *' from the forlorn Omphale. No more 
 " she see her sweet face on earth, but 
 " here is the likeness of her," taking a 
 " bracelet from her arm, in which was 
 ^' set the miniature of the late Mrs. 
 " Milbourne, surrounded by diamonds 
 " of the first water, and presenting it to 
 " me said, " Is she not an angel ?*'
 
 44 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 " She was indeed a very fine womaBp. 
 " and something remarkably mild in her 
 *' countenance/' said J, returning the pic-- 
 
 ^' ture, 
 
 " She love me like her daughter, thouglr 
 " only a poor orphan child ; but now me 
 '^ talk of that, she say to me, when she 
 ^' die, something of my father, who was 
 " a great man; but my grief made me 
 " deaf to the feeble voice and broken 
 " Sentence of my patroness, who breathed 
 ^' short time after her last sigh on the 
 ^' bosom of Omphale; 'tis not much I 
 *' know of friends here, but this I be 
 ^^ certain, I feel no friend can ever be 
 '' hke her. The lady Augustus guardian 
 " brought to me for companion, be so 
 " different to all me ever knew, that I,
 
 ^n, WHICH IS THE heroine:' 45 
 
 '^' never wish to see her more ; she treat 
 " me more Hke slave, than the contracted 
 " wife of Auonistns."* 
 
 o 
 
 " You must have mistook her mean- 
 ^' ing, and however repugnant to your 
 " inchnation^ I w^ould advise you to let her 
 " attend on you, while you remain in 
 ** this great town; for you will not meet 
 '* with the respect that is your due, if 
 ** you go into company with Augustus 
 " alone." I was placed in a delicate situa- 
 " tion ; I saw the young creature was 
 ^' ignorant of the light she would appear 
 " in to the eyes of half the world ; yet 
 *^ knew how to caution her under such 
 ^ circumstances, against acting in a man 
 ""' ner that would expose her to their 
 **' unjust scrutiny.
 
 46 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 " Me see your very kind meaning very 
 ^' well," returned the poor girl in some 
 '^ confusion, and must be sorry for my 
 " own distressing predicament ; me have 
 " only one satisfaction at my poor heart, 
 ** and that is to know the pure inten- 
 " tions that dwell in it,'* (the glow of 
 *^ conscious integrity burnt on her cheek 
 *' and sparkled in her eye as she said 
 *' this) and from that moment I deter- 
 " mined to befriend her. While I was 
 " ruminating on the best method to prove 
 " my good will, she unlocked a writing 
 *^ desk, took from it a paper, and with 
 ** a trembling hand gave it into mine, 
 ** beseeching me in the most earnest 
 " manner to read it. I found it to be 
 ^^ a contract of marriage legally drawn 
 ** up between Augustus Milbourne and
 
 oft, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 47 
 
 ** Oinphale Carlton, with the approba- 
 " tion of his parents, who had signed 
 ^' their names in due form, the engage- 
 *' mejit or contract to be fulfilled six 
 ** months after his arrival in England, 
 
 *' My beloved patroness^, sir/' said she 
 " gave me this paper, at her dying mo- 
 ^' ment called me her child, and consigned 
 ^^ me to the care of Augustus for life, who 
 "gj^then so fit for my companion as he ?'* 
 
 *' 'Tis true, madam, returned I; but cus- 
 *' tom obliges all to submit to her rules. 
 '' I see Mr. Milbourne on refusing to 
 '• fulfil this contract, forfeits his immense 
 "' wealth to your possession" — 
 
 ** He does sir, but should he cease to
 
 4S owfiN castle; 
 
 ^^ love Omphale, she never would enforce 
 " the payment of the great forfeiture, but 
 ^ die at once with grief." 
 
 " So saying, she began weeping, noi^ 
 ^' could my efforts, nor assurances of his 
 '* tenderness, for a long time compose her. 
 " When she listened to me, I begged 
 ^ leave to retain the contract in my hands, 
 ^^ as it would be safer and forthcoming 
 " upon demand, but all my ai-guments 
 ^' in favour of her committing it to my 
 " care proved ineffectual. It was again 
 '' enclosed in the desk: she did me wrong 
 " to mistrust me ; it was zeal for her 
 " happiness and dependant state that 
 " prompted my request, but let that pass, 
 ** she will know me better in time. Tell
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 4Q 
 
 " Grace she has a rival and the prize 
 "is lost/' 
 
 " What does he mean? madam" asked 
 Grace". 
 
 '' A wild scheme the foolish old man 
 had formed of your catching this young 
 West Indian" cried Mrs. Wallace, laugh- 
 ingly- 
 
 Grace sighed ; it was a sigh of thank- 
 fulness for her escape. — Mrs. Milbourne 
 remained silent. Sir Matthew pulled his 
 bushy brows, a sure tokeB of discontent. 
 
 The widow continued the letter. 
 
 '^ This young creature has a strong 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 OWEN castle; 
 
 *^ desire to see you, madam ; and bid me 
 ^^ tell you, in her artless style, that she 
 *^ would choose you for her guardian, or 
 ^' female protectress^ for the few months 
 ^^ before her nuptials are to take place^ 
 ^^ Whatever be your decision on reading 
 " this short sketch of this interesting 
 ^^ female, follow it freely, nor let my 
 *' recommendation of her to your notice 
 -i* and protection, bias your actions on 
 ^' her account ; but this much I must add, 
 '' before 1 close this long letter, that I am 
 *' certain she will prove worthy of your 
 *^ esteem and friendship. Mr. Milbourne 
 " told me he would write by this post, 
 *' perhaps our letters may arrive together : 
 *^ I hope the purport of his may be to 
 ^^ to your wish ; give my love to my pretty 
 ^'^ Grace, and tell her, Omphale is half in
 
 OR, Which is thu heroine? 51 
 
 ** love with her from my description, and 
 *^ anxious to become her companion in a 
 " ramble over the Welch mountains ; 
 " likewise present my respectful compli- 
 " ments to Sir Matthew, and that I hope 
 " the gout has left him ; for politeness 
 " sake, remember me to Mrs. Wallace, 
 " tho' to speak the truth, I don^t much Kke 
 '' that—" 
 
 Mrs. Milbourne paused : 
 
 " Oh pray go on. Madam,'' cried Mrs. 
 Wallace, '' I have more sense than to mind 
 such an oddity ; his liking or disliking me 
 can be of no consequence to either of us ; 
 I always knew 1 was not of his school : I 
 intreat my dear friend that you finish the 
 letter". 
 
 D 2
 
 52 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 The widow went on. 
 
 "^^ Lady ; she is too much of the French 
 ^^ school for my home- spun taste ; her 
 -'^ dress is entirely french ; her manners the 
 ^' same, her cheeks the same, her head 
 *^ inside and out the same : French wit 
 ^' with the Satanic pleasure of satirizing 
 ^' the innocent foihles of her acquaintance. 
 ^^ Your steward and household have had 
 *^ notice to quit the Whitford mansion, 
 " as it is to be put in readiness for the real 
 ^' heir, who means 1 hear to keep his 
 ■^^ wedding there. Now farewell, dear ma- 
 " dam ; . I have scarce room to add, that 
 ^^ I am ever your sincere, 
 
 *^ J^nd respectful friend 
 
 George Stanley."
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HFROINE? 55 
 
 ^^ Upon my word if I bad not heard 
 the description of myself rend; I C( aid 
 never have supposed itvvas oieaiit for ue,'* 
 said, Mrs. Wallace ; *' but the old la'irat 
 shall find my satank safirizirfg \plrit slall 
 at least vent itself on him ; let him beware 
 of meeting me in pubiic or private ; be 
 shall find no mercy/' 
 
 " He did not think it would reach your 
 ear, madam'* said the widow, " therefore 
 forgive him I 
 
 " That is the very reason I ought not 
 to forgive him" returned Mrs. Wallace; 
 <' to attempt to prejudice my friend against 
 me is cruel 1" 
 
 " I am sorry for this," cried the widow, 
 d3
 
 54 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 I was to blame in not looking over the 
 letter before I read it aloud." 
 
 " Your own nature being free from all 
 unkindness^ and suspicion my dear friend, 
 made you unwary ; but remember I tell 
 you, all are not like yourself ; think so^, and 
 you may guard against the evil designs of 
 the wicked ; but for the opinion the old 
 bachelor entertains of me, my dear friend, 
 think not, it gives me the least displeasure. 
 I doubt not but I shall be even with him 
 ere long, so make yourself no longer un- 
 easy about what is not to me of the least 
 consequence." 
 
 " Here is another letter said the widow, 
 which I am impatient to open, as no 
 doubt it is from Mr. Miibourne. Do you
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE^ 55 
 
 read it Mrs. Wallace, my eyes are weak 
 from perusing the former." 
 
 '' You mean to say, dear madam" return- 
 ed Mrs. Wallace, taking the letter, " that 
 your feelings would not permit you to go 
 calmly through it." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right. Dependence 
 is new to me, and I have not yet learnt 
 the lesson it teaches, which is the subjuga- 
 tion of feeling," said the widow. 
 
 " Do cousin," cried Sir Matthew, " swal^ 
 low your Welch pride a little. I can see no- 
 thing in a simple letter from the hand of a 
 nephew you never saw, to trouble your fine 
 feelings that you talk about — Pish! itlooks 
 like affectation.-* 
 
 D 4
 
 5G OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 " Must not my husband's brother claim 
 my regard ; and is it not natural, now iVe 
 lost my own, that I should feel anxious to 
 see that brother's son, to know if he be 
 worthy of the uncle whose name he bears ?" 
 returned the widow. 
 
 " Pshaw !'' was the only reply Sir 
 Matthew made, with a pettish kick at the 
 lap dog that lay at corner of the sofa, en- 
 joying until that moment a very sound sleep. 
 
 '• Have you not room enough, Sir 
 Matthew ?*' asked the widow, and calling 
 Grace away, bade her take a chair that Sir 
 Matthew might not be incommoded. 
 
 *' She was very well where she was, 
 but you are for ever teazing one with your
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 5/ 
 
 ceremony, cousin Milbourne ; was it not 
 for the prattle of Mrs. Wallace you would 
 give me the blue devils/' 
 
 *•' It was m)7 desire to see you at ease. 
 Sir Matthew, that made me remove Grace ; 
 but if that arrangement displeases you, I — " 
 
 " Now comes a string of apologies. You 
 are the strangest woman — do be quiet and 
 don't make a fool of yourself, for I can see 
 the tears, ready to start from your eyes at 
 this moment ; well, thank heaven, I airi 
 not such a martyr to a watery head as 
 you are, cousin, cried Sir Matthew with a 
 sneer, and turning to Mrs. Wal^ace, begged 
 her to open the letter, 
 
 Mrs. Wallace broke the envelope, and
 
 &S OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 read the following : 
 
 " Dear aunt and madam, 
 
 " From my infancy I have 
 ^* been accustomed to revere your virtues, 
 " which have so often been described by 
 '' my much honored and departed father, 
 *' that I long to meet your welcome and 
 " blessing at your abode in Wales; where^ 
 " we may talk over future arrangements, 
 *' respecting the Whitford estate, which 
 ^^ will be presented again to you from the 
 '^ hand of my destined bride, Omphale 
 ^' Carlton, who was the protegee and con- 
 ^^ sidered daughter of my dear and res- 
 " peeled mother. If not encroaching too 
 ^' much on your hospitality, I should 
 *"* request your permission to present her
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 59 
 
 '' to your friendship and regard. Do not 
 ^' make any preparation I implore yoUj 
 " dear aunt, for me; I shall have very few 
 " attendants to accomodate; only two 
 ** black servants^ a French valet, a couple 
 " of grooms, a coachman of my own, with 
 '* a female slave, a parrot, and a monkey 
 " of Omphale's. By the 30th of August 
 " you may expect us at Owen Ca«tle. I 
 " hear from Mr. Stanley that there is 
 " excellent shooting in your neighbour- 
 " hood; delightful mountains for romantic 
 " rambles, and with the society of the 
 ^' fair, what can man want more ? 
 
 '* Forgive me, madam if the style, of this 
 ** hasty letter should displease, or appear 
 '' less ceremonious than you expected ; my 
 " nature is not of the frigid cast ; whe«i
 
 €0 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 " I respect, I soon love ; my manners are 
 *^ as open as my heart, and on a further 
 *' acquaintance with both, I hope they 
 ^^ may meet your approbation and esteem. 
 ^' This London is a new world to me ; each 
 " hour gives fresh pleasure and amusement, 
 ^' Adieu, dear aunt ; accept the best wishes 
 " for your happiness from Omphale, and 
 ^* the sincererespect and duty, 
 
 " Of your aifectionate nephew^, 
 '^. Augustus Milbourne." 
 
 " A very short letter.'* cried Sir Matthew : 
 
 <^ Very friendly and concise," said Mrs, 
 Wallace : 
 
 *' And the making light of so great 
 an obligationisthefinal charm of all," added 
 
 fi:^'
 
 OR; WHICH IS THE HEUOINE ? 6 1 
 
 the widow. '' He is, I am well persuaded, 
 an amiable youth !" 
 
 "Aye," cried the baronet, ^^ youth, beau- 
 tij, and generosity^ are the sure demands 
 of favour from the fair ; but with these 
 fine requisites there may lurk faults of a 
 very heinous kind/' 
 
 "Don't, dear baronet, prognosticate evil,'' 
 said Mrs. Wallace. " He has three cap- 
 ital recommendations^ youth, a very won- 
 derful advantage ; beauty, the most be- 
 witching qualification ; an open heart, 
 delightful, generous ; and to crown all, a 
 plentitude of gold. Why if he had the 
 baneful passions of the wicked one himself, \ 
 under such a mask they would never be 
 seen or heard of. The mighty glory of his
 
 62 OWEN castle; 
 
 other gifts would dazzle the world, till 
 being half blind with their brightness, 
 they would wink and blink, and so close 
 their eyes, that nothing beyond the sur- 
 face would appear to their deluded optics." 
 
 *^ Is the world,'' said Grace, *' so soon 
 caught by appearances only?" 
 
 *' Most veritable/' answered Mrs. Wal- 
 lace. 
 
 *' Then the unprepossessing, however 
 estimable in their moral dealings, under- 
 standing, and manner of life, obtain no 
 consideration ?" continued Grace. 
 
 ^' None^ from the great world ; a few 
 creeping circumscribed humdrum beings^
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 63 
 
 may waste time in searching after moral 
 company and adherents, but the polished 
 circles seek notorietif' cried Mrs. Wal- 
 lace. 
 
 " Then their adherents must be notor- 
 iously good, I should hope," answered 
 Grace. g 
 
 " If it happens so, it is all well ; if not 
 the spirit of the action carries equal weight 
 in the fashionable estimation," said Mrs, 
 Wallace, 
 
 '' Then the enormity of the crime, if I 
 comprehend you right, does not impede 
 their progress to exaltation amongst a 
 certain select number of ton ?" cried Grace, 
 
 ^ Oh nO; but it depends on the nature of
 
 64 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 the emormity, for instance : if a peeress 
 of the reahii desert her husband and chil^ 
 dren, to elope with a nobody, that is with 
 a person unknown to the higher ranks, she 
 is of course abandoned, despised, and 
 justly thought unworthy the notice of her 
 former companions ; but should her gal- 
 lant be oi equal 'CdiX^k with her husband, the 
 elopement becomes an universal topic for 
 discussion ; her refined taste, her sensihi- 
 liti/, her indiseretion, diveihe soft terms for 
 instahiUty, desertion, adult erv, and an un- 
 natural parent. The divorce, damages, and 
 second bridal equipage, are swallowed up 
 one after the other so greedily, by the 
 loungers of Pall Mall and Bond Street, that 
 the crime is forgot, and they only regret 
 their own want of rank, wealth, or beauty, 
 to have entitled them to the same notorie-
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 65 
 
 ty. The retrograde wife and mother again 
 move a comet in the eccentric parabola 
 of fashion ; what she wears, what shesavs, 
 what she does, is all. charming, fall of 
 spirit, and above the vulgar prejudice of 
 contracted plebeian minds/* returned Mrs. 
 Wallace. 
 
 '^ And is her former crime no more 
 remembered ? " asked Grace. 
 
 " No more, child, it sinks into the gold 
 dust beneath her feet, and like that^ scat- 
 ters into air in a season," answered Mrs. 
 Wallace. 
 
 ^' Then/* said Grace " I don't like your 
 picture ofthe to7i ; I fear I should be one 
 of the creeping circumscribed humdrum
 
 66 OWEN castle; 
 
 beings who search for morahty among^ 
 their fellow creatures, ere I enrolled my- 
 self in their list a votaress of their laws 
 and customs. 
 
 '^ Depend on it, your search would be 
 a veary one ; you should get a clue 
 or kind fairy to guide you through the 
 dangerous crowds of dissipated triflers 
 that flirt before, and quite obscure them 
 from your view. This Omphale now, 
 when she becomes Mrs. Milbourne, will 
 create much attention ; but she must shine 
 in a splendid equipage, must dress in the 
 Peruvian manner, half naked ; hut that has 
 been so long the taste, that unless she were 
 to step forth without any drapery at all, 
 there would be no novelty to create atten- 
 tion. She will have one grand victory ovei:
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 6j 
 
 the belles in point of complexion, for I can 
 venture to swear they will not copy that; 
 yet from its singularity, it may strike a 
 few, and for a day, the Mdhourne dye, or 
 orange tint, may sully the fair faces of 
 tonish ladies. She must appear in nothing 
 but ?i palanquin, surrounded by her biack 
 slaves in the most brilliant dresses ; such 
 a procession up Bond Street, would col- 
 lect more gazers than the city barge 
 sailing up the Thames for Richmond 
 on a Sunday, or even the gaudy equipa- 
 ges on Lord- MayorVday. Oh ! how I 
 long to see this beauty of Mr. Stanley's : 
 this happy /«/>, no, hrown, I mean; she 
 will be the envy of the whites for daring 
 to enfetter so enchanting a youth. Won't 
 you contend with her for the heart of 
 such a man?"
 
 6s OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 *• No, madam," said Grace, ^^ my study 
 shall be to promote her happiness, not 
 destroy it." 
 
 ^^ Aye, you who have felt what it rs 
 to lose your first love, can pity her, 
 should she suffer as you have done/' 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" cried Grace, clasp- 
 ing her hands together and flying out of 
 the room. 
 
 " I am shocked, dear Madam, at the 
 effect of my thoughtless conduct. I have 
 driven Grace from the room," said Mrs. 
 Wallace rising, '^pray pardon me, I touched 
 a tender string ; it was wrong, it was 
 cruel." 
 
 " I will seek her,'* said the widow,
 
 OHj WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 69 
 
 ^^ she must not wander in the damp of 
 the evening; the dews are heavy on the 
 lawn, and a cold may bring on a relapse." 
 
 " Keep your seat, cousin/' said Sir 
 Matthew in a harsh tone, "1 will seek her 
 myself:" then with a severe look and 
 stately air, he bade Mrs. Wallace good 
 night, and hobbling across the hall, en- 
 quired of David the road his young 
 mistress had taken. To the pleasure gar- 
 den, was the reply, 
 
 " Give me my hat and cloak, and I will 
 follow her," said Sir Matthew. 
 
 " You, sir ; bless my soul, you will be 
 laid up if you do, let me find my young 
 ladv,^
 
 70 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 *' Silence, jackanapes/' t thundered Sir 
 Matthew, who hurried to the garden. 
 
 " Is it you, Sir Matthew/' said the asto- 
 nished Grace, '' I am concerned that you 
 should venture out, the dew may give 
 yoU' cold." 
 
 " And may not you, sweet Grace," said 
 he, " be liable to the same? Prithee return 
 to the oak parlour, that talking woman is 
 gone by this, for I gave her a broad hint, 
 that I did not wish for any more of her 
 company to-night, as I left the room." 
 
 He drew her arm within his own, and 
 they walked on in silence for some time. 
 Grace was the first to speak, saying, '-I 
 am sure you can pity and pardon me
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE.-' 7I 
 
 all the trouble I have been to you. You 
 may in the days of your youth have met with 
 a similar affliction, Sir Mathew ; if so, you 
 can feel for me ; but I have l.eard that we 
 forget in our age, the miseries as well as 
 the pleasures of our youth." 
 
 *' Not always, child," said he. 
 
 " The past must appear a romantic 
 ilream; seventy cannot feel for the dis- 
 tress of seventeen," returned Grace. 
 
 " Who told you, child;, I was seventy ?" 
 asked he in a petulant accent* 
 
 *'Mv aunt, dear sir.*^ 
 
 "Your aunt is a foolish, stupid old 
 woman ; what had she to do with my 
 ager
 
 Jr^ OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 ^' She did not mean to offend you. Sir ; 
 she was only pitying your helpless state 
 when the rheumatism settled in your 
 limbs and you could not take the air, 
 either in a carriage or horseback; and iu- 
 deed Sir Matthew, you walk a little lame 
 now ; do lean a little on my arm, I fear 
 my bearing on yours, has fatigued you.'* 
 
 This artless speech of hers, put the 
 little share of patience he possessed to 
 flight, and giving way to the anger that 
 burnt within him, cried, *^ Zounds, child, 
 you would make me believe I was nearly 
 bedrid ; why I could walk as well as any 
 stripling « in the county, were it not for 
 the gout, rheumatism^ and a slight touch 
 of the palsy. You suppose a man of se- 
 venty h^s not a single faculty left Why
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE - 73 
 
 child^ if you had not been bred on a Welch 
 mountain, you would have known that a 
 man of seventy, in the polite world, is as 
 hkely to commit an act of folly as any 
 boy of Eton School ; and where the ten- 
 der passion attracts, can run into more ex- 
 travagant excess than half the young ones 
 of the day. He will have a flaxen wig, 
 hung round with ringlets ; dress, sing, 
 dance, ogle, sigh and languish with any 
 of them; and what is more, can ^our gold 
 upon the chosen fair, which is worth all 
 the poetic raptures of a pennyless spend- 
 thrift. Yes, girl, go into the world, and 
 you will find old men the greatest rakes of 
 the time." 
 
 ''1 am very sorry for it. Sir Matthew; 
 and would rather continue on my native 
 
 VOL. J. E
 
 74 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 hrlls, where I see human nature in its pro- 
 per degrees, than live in the pohte world, 
 and see an old man expose himself in so 
 ridiculous a manner. Surely he must be a 
 frightful picture to the thinking part of 
 the world. I am sure Sir Matthew you 
 must join me^ in supposing a man of 
 seventy would be a more admirable figu-re 
 in the eyes of the youthful, and of more 
 value to society at large, were he seen 
 surrounded by his grand-children, bestow- 
 ing his counsel and moral advice, with a 
 ^hare of his gold, upon their helpless inno- 
 cence, instead of squandering it upon a 
 wanton. How can age demand respect 
 and reverence from th€ juvenile^, when 
 they imitate their vices, and encourage by 
 their own example the progress of infamy ? 
 The aged should be the supporters of vir-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 75 
 
 tue, the patrons of wisdom and forbear- 
 ance, the benefactors of the poor, the 
 guardians of their offspring. I may be 
 very simple, but in my opinion there is 
 not on earth a more contemptible charac- 
 ter, than that of a rakish old man." 
 
 ^^Then you would not dislike a young 
 rake ?" cried he with pique. 
 
 '^ Yes, I should disapprove of vice in 
 either :" — when ascending the steps of the 
 hall as she uttered this, the conversation 
 ^vas broken up fo^ that time. 
 
 E a
 
 76 OWEN CASTLE,' 
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 
 j^JlRS. Milbourne was taken up in pre- 
 paring for the arrival of her guests ; for 
 she had in answer to her nephew's letter, 
 requested their early compliance to her 
 wish of tlieir speedy appearance at Owen 
 Castle. The covers were taken from the 
 gilt and massy wrought furniture of the 
 state chambers; the painted gothic win- 
 dows were fresh cleaned, the oak floor- 
 ing newly polished, but the ancient ta- 
 pestry that hung from the lofty ceilings 
 could not partake in the general ira-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 77 
 
 provements, the colours of the worsted 
 being faded, yet the figures were stri- 
 king still, — knights receiving their swords 
 and scarfs from ladies enamoured of their 
 bravery — Penelope weaving her web sur- 
 rounded by suitors — Calypso and her 
 nymphs running with blazing torches 
 to destroy the ship that was to take 
 Telemachus from the enchanted island^ — 
 Cupid endeavouring to seduce men to the 
 triumph of St. George over the dragon ; 
 these w^ere the subjects Sir Matthew's 
 ancestors had selected to decorate the 
 walls of Owen Castle witli, and were 
 held by him as the criterions of all tsUte. 
 
 " What room, Sir Matthew, will you 
 think fit to appropriate to Omphale as 
 £ 3
 
 78 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 lier dressing room ?" asked Mrs. Mil- 
 bourne. 
 
 <^« Why the round room in the httle 
 tower/' cried he. 
 
 " But, dear sir, that is so far removed 
 from the rest of the family, had she not 
 better have mine; 'tis nearer the grand 
 staircase, has a fine commanding pros- 
 pect of the sea, and moreover a flight 
 of marble steps that leads out upon the 
 lawn and shrubbery ; the furniture is 
 better, it is blue damask, trimmed with 
 silver fringe, and there are many elegant 
 paintings by the best artists/' 
 
 " I have said it, cousin ; the round 
 room in the little tower ; it was my
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 79^^ 
 
 grandmother's dressing room, and there- 
 fore more comphment in offering it to 
 Oniphale/' 
 
 " But the prospect is so dull ; it looks 
 into a dreary court now closed up and 
 walled in, on each side ; has bars at the 
 windows, and looks for all the world 
 like a prison," cried Grace, " Dear sir, don't 
 let her be there." 
 
 " Why not," replied he in a surley 
 tone. 
 
 " Because it will appear as if we wished 
 to desert her, by giving her that me- 
 lancholy abode." 
 
 " It is the safest place in the castle. 
 
 E 4
 
 80 OWEN castle; 
 
 My grandmother — no^ my great grandmo- 
 ther was put there for security when the 
 castle was besieged.'* 
 
 " But, Sir Matthew there is no dan- 
 ger of besieging now, and the furniture 
 is so gloomy; purple velvet couches, 
 trimmed with black ; and then the pic- 
 tures are so frightful ; the murder of the 
 innocents, Cleopatra poisoning herself with 
 an asp — a hnight in black armour — a 
 7iun — a madona — and a priest T cried 
 Mrs. Wallace, who was assisting Mrs. 
 Milbourne to give the drapery that 
 adorned an alcove or recess in the li- 
 brary, a more modern appearance. 
 
 " Maybe so/' returned Sir Matthew," but 
 they are very fine paintings for all that."
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 8 1 
 
 " The room in the httle tower would 
 do vastly well for her principal slave, 
 but not for Omp hale ; permit me, cousin, 
 to prepare my dressing room for her re- 
 ception/' said Mrs. Milbourne, entreat- 
 ingly. 
 
 *^ Cousin" cried he in a decisive and 
 commanding voice, *' the round room in 
 the little tower is Omphale's. You may 
 put her black devils where you please; 
 cram them any where; I have deter- 
 mined on selecting dressing rooms and 
 apartments for my guests as / please, 
 when you are to entertain them in your 
 own house, you may do the same." 
 
 *' I am silenced," sighed the widow. 
 
 £ 5
 
 82 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 ^' And pray who is to have the crim- 
 son room with the gold furniture that 
 joins the Hbrary'* asked Mrs. Wallace, 
 gailey humming a tune. 
 
 " Augustus Milbourne" said Sir Mat- 
 thew. 
 
 ^* Who will have the yellow apartment?" 
 
 '' / will give that to Grace ; it is next 
 my own, and I can hear her play on 
 the harp or sing, should I be confined 
 by the gout, or not disposed to join 
 the company." 
 
 " I don't want a dressing room, dear 
 sir, my aunt*s wiH do for me," said Grace. 
 
 *' Your aunt must give up hers, to her
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 83 
 
 friend !Mrs. Wallace^ whom I have invited 
 to meet the stranger." 
 
 *• Dear sir! how can you think of plac- 
 ing me in so aukward a situation, as to 
 obhge my friend to quit her favourite 
 room. Indeed you must excuse me. Sir 
 Matthew, if I refuse to accept it,'* said 
 Mrs. Wallace, (at the same time whisper- 
 ing in the ear of the widow), *^ what a 
 strange humour the old bear has taken 
 into his head." 
 
 '^ You must and shall accept it^ so no 
 more words on that head, or you will 
 put me in a passion/' returned Sir Mat- 
 thew, hobbling across to Grace, who had 
 during that last arrangement taken up 
 an old romance to hide her grief, at what 
 she thought was a slight to her dear aun
 
 84 OWEN castle; 
 
 *^ The terrace drawing room will be 
 charming to place Mrs. Wallace's piano- 
 forte in, with sometimes your harp ; and 
 the walk on the terrace is charming, it 
 looks over the valley to the left, with 
 the park, pleasure grounds, plantation and 
 shrubbery; then on the right you have 
 the mountain, the water-fall and distant 
 view of the sea, all delightful objects!" 
 
 Grace was silent to this address from 
 Sir Matthew, she could not force her 
 nature to answer in her accustomed 
 sweetness, when she felt displeased at 
 bis manner of retorting her aunt's simple 
 and unoffending request of the dressing 
 room. When you are in your own house, 
 you may do the same, still rung in her 
 ear with all the harshness it was said :
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 85 
 
 then to offer the very room, to one who 
 was of no consequence to particularly 
 oblige, by displacing her aunt, was re* 
 ducing her cruelly, and all under tiie 
 appearance of rendering her friend com- 
 fortable; resentment was evident in her 
 eye, her glowing cheek, and averted 
 head. 
 
 But Sir Matthew went on, disregard- 
 ing her reserve, saying ^' and then the 
 cedar room, to breakfast in, that opens 
 into the pleasure grounds will be exceed- 
 ingly refreshing to the senses ; the odour 
 from the rose bushes will scent the air 
 enchantingly ; then the back pailour to 
 dine in is spacious, lofty, and light, open- 
 ing upon the lawn; then the temple at 
 the bottom of the pleasure ground will
 
 86 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 do for a refreshment room. He paused, 
 and fixing his eyes on those of the asto- 
 nished girl, watclied with pride and ex- 
 ultation the gradual dawn of pleasure, 
 sparkle in them, hut the smile of incre- 
 dulity lingered round her lip. 
 
 Sir Matthew wishing to hear her speak, 
 grew disappointed and impatient, and 
 determined on obtaining her opinion of a 
 ball he intended to give, pursued thesubject. 
 *' Don't you Hke it? Don't you think a ball 
 will be acceptable to our young guests?" 
 
 " The very thing 1 should have wished 
 to have entertained them with, answered 
 she ; but I cannot repress my wonder at 
 the design being yours, Sir Matthew; j/o?/, 
 that always appeared to me so very re-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 8^ 
 
 cluse in your habits^ to rush into a crowd 
 of company at once, is almost incredible; 
 does my aunt know of your intentions, 
 Sir ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Wallace was the first to point 
 out to me the matter in its jast light; 
 ' and very truly says^ how can w^e expect 
 young persons of fortune and beauty to 
 be moped up in an old castle without com- 
 pany and amusement ; and truly I begin 
 to find she is right ; and I will have all 
 the first families in the neighbourhood to 
 meet them. And as I have got the better 
 of my complaints (at least the major part 
 of them) I may as well join in the 
 mirth. I'faith we will have a gay ball; the 
 castle is large enough to contain half the 
 gentry round, much more to receive so
 
 88 OWEN castle; 
 
 compact a circle ; your aunt does not yet 
 know of it, and before I acquaint her, 
 I expect you to say if it meets your ap- 
 probation." 
 
 " Perfectly, dear sir ; any thing that 
 can contribute to the satisfaction of my 
 aunt's relations, must be agreeable to me," 
 said she. 
 
 ^^ But will you partake of the amuse- 
 ments r will you take on yourself the ar- 
 rangement of the pleasures ? will you com- 
 mand what you wish, and leave the rest 
 to obedient servants ?" cried he, seizing her 
 hand. 
 
 " No, Sir Matthew, returned she, with- 
 drawing it ; let my aunt or Mrs. Wallace,
 
 0R, WHICH IS THE HEROINE.-* 89 
 
 who understand such things better than 
 I, conduct the whole; I have neither 
 spirits nor incHnation for the task." 
 
 '^ But you will join in the pleasures? 
 you will dance ?" cried he, looking beseech- 
 ingly on her. " Never can I dance again. 
 Sir Matthew — pray pardon me/* said she, 
 sighing deeply. 
 
 " If you don't promise to dance, and 
 with me too, I will give no ball, as 
 welcome to your aunt's friends, so there's 
 an end," — cried he in a resolute and disap- 
 pointed key. 
 
 " Then painful as the effort will be, 
 I promise to dance, for the sake of the 
 enjoyment it may afford to others; for
 
 90 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 I should much belie my heart, were I ta 
 say I took great delight now in such pas- 
 time; — but why. Sir Matthew make me 
 the arbitress in the affair ? Surely I am 
 not of so mucii importance!'" 
 
 *^ To me o^ the greatest y' whispered he, 
 hurrying away, and approaching Mrs. 
 Wallace. 
 
 '^ Well, Sir Knight," cried she, ^' is vic- 
 tory obtained ? does the maid of the 
 enchanted castle yield to your pressing 
 solicitation ? Does she like the thoughts 
 of this intended ball, or public breakfast? 
 Will she honor the tournament with 
 her divine presence ? — to speak in more 
 correct terms, does the maid of Owent 
 Castle conduct the ceremonies ?''
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 91 
 
 « No — she refuses to pleaae me in that 
 particular, but has consented to share in 
 the sports, nay, even to dance ^ answered 
 he in high good humour." 
 
 " Mrs Wallace," said the widow to 
 Sir Matthew^ " has informed me of your 
 intentions ; let me offer my most grateful 
 thanks, dear cousin for your politeness 
 to my relations/' 
 
 " 2\it, tut, woman" cried he in a jocu- 
 lar style, " I will claim relationship with 
 the young West Indian too, though I 
 dare say he has little of the blood that 
 flows in these veinSk." Here his native pride 
 arose, he drew his head erect, took three 
 pinches of snufF extraordinary, and cast- 
 ing a signficant glance at a full length
 
 92 OWEN CASTLE.; 
 
 portrait of his grandfather, that hung in 
 stately grandeur before him, then com- 
 paring his own diminutive figure in the 
 glass^to that of the gigantic resemblance 
 of his forefather, exclaimed '^ 'tis evident 
 the line from whence I sprung could 
 never have had an intercourse with sugar 
 barrels, or slave drivers; therefore I'll 
 ■wave all claims of relationship, for ma- 
 th inks my grandfather frowns at the in- 
 tended degradation, of affinity between 
 hh heir and that of a planter." 
 
 * No'* (said Mrs. Wallace, perceiving 
 Mrs. Milbourne was hurt, and ^fearing 
 Sir Matthew would resume his former- 
 self in spite of all her endeavours to in- 
 spire him with temporary good humour), 
 " no, Heaven forbid that Mr, Milbourne
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 93 
 
 should look SO frightfully grand with his 
 tips, peaked chin, and long hair, with 
 armour and shield ; oh, lud a mercy ! he 
 looks for all the world, as if he would 
 fright us all out of the house. Your 
 grandfatlier might have been a good sol- 
 dier in former days. Sir Matthew, but 
 give me the gay ones of the present day; 
 what lady would fall in love with such a 
 son of Mars ; his heart appears as impene- 
 trable as his coat of mail." 
 
 The conversation now took a different 
 turn, as she had hoped ,• the pride of blood 
 was forgot when the lovely Grace advanced 
 to Sir Matthew, leaning her white arm 
 on his shoulder, asked if the portrait of 
 the young lady which hung by the side of 
 the knight in armour, was his grand- 
 mother.
 
 94 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 *^ She was indeed," answered he, " my 
 grandmother, and the knighfs armour 
 was more admired by her, than the scarlet 
 of the present warriors can be by the 
 belles of the present age. That scarf 
 that falls from his right shoulder to his 
 left hip, was of her working, embroidered 
 with the emblems of mercy, that was 
 given him as a token of her love ; and she 
 was the most constant of her sex^ during 
 a courtship of 7i7ne years, my grandfather 
 has been heard to say she never gave him 
 reason to suppose her affection diminished 
 or inclined to another. 
 
 ^' Nine years," cried Mrs. Wallace, 
 ^J nine weeks you mean. Sir Matthew?'' 
 
 N05 nine years" replied he.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE .•' 95 
 
 *' Oh! defend me !" returned she^ '' how 
 could so sweet a creature as that picture 
 represents, though in a clock case of a 
 <^ress, endure that grim visage of his, year 
 after year making faces at her ; for he, 
 might strive in vain to be agreeable, till 
 she had counted nine — why I should have 
 been sick to death at the sight of his 
 stately person, and certainly run away 
 before the wedding was over/' 
 
 *^ The ladies of former times,'' said Sir 
 Matthew with some acrimony '^ did not 
 ■approve of the present prevailing fashion 
 of nnimng away," 
 
 *• True, Sir Matthew," returned she 
 with a laugh, " their shoes were tight 
 and crippled them : but now our slippers
 
 ^ OWEN CASTILE ; 
 
 are so flat and easy, we are off before 
 they could buckle theirs on." 
 
 " You mean, madam*' replied he, " that 
 to run away cost the maidens of ancie7it 
 times some deliberation, while our mo- 
 <Jern ones go off without any, and the 
 slackness of their slippers often cause a 
 Jalse step'' 
 
 '' You are severe. Sir Matthew," said she, 
 pushing him gently away; "but talking of 
 steps, where are we to find beaus to dance 
 with. I shall positively waltz with Mil- 
 bourne in my very best manner; I doat 
 on waltzing with an elegant youth, what 
 can be more delightful ; don't you, Grace r" 
 asked she, beginning to float round her.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 97 
 
 " No, I cannot say I admire them," 
 answered she. 
 
 "And why not/' demanded Mrs. Wal- 
 ace, '^ can any thing display the figure 
 better r" 
 
 " In my thinking," returned the artless 
 girl, " it displays it too much." 
 
 " Nonsense, child," said Mrs. Wallace, 
 half angry, " what notions you have — 
 got hie, got hie , beyond supposition." 
 
 " Perhaps they are," answered she laugh- 
 ingly, "but when my dancing master had 
 half taught it to me, I blushed and refused 
 to finish it. 
 
 ▼OL. I. F
 
 98 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 "Oh! Miss Grace, take care what you 
 say/' cried Mrs. Wallace, *' you delicate 
 ladies are very odd in your conceptions, 
 give me leave to ask, why you wold not 
 :finish learning an innocent waltzf " 
 
 " Because I thought there was a fami- 
 liarity in the figure, and embracing; turn- 
 ing round, makes a weak head giddy^ and 
 tlien one is apt to hold tight of one's part- 
 ner for fear of falling/' 
 
 " Well, and what of that:" asked Mrs. 
 Wallace. 
 
 ** Why, nothing particular, only I think 
 single ladies should wait until they are 
 wives before they waltz.'* 
 
 *' Oh \ you would, with all your over-
 
 OR, WHICH n THE HEROINE? 99 
 
 straining modesty, let married women 
 waltz ?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Grace, "with their 
 husbands." 
 
 " Weil, I have often observed that ladies 
 of pretended refined sentiments, are the 
 least so in reality, and make the innocent 
 pleasures they take no delight in, appear 
 odious or improper. From enjoying what 
 they see transports others to the height of 
 joyous gaiety, they descend to malice, and 
 pervert playful ease into famiharity of 
 the grossest kind," muttered Mrs. Wallace, 
 and with evident marks of inward vexation, 
 sullenly seated herself^ 
 
 " Believe me, madam," said Grace, ap- 
 F 2
 
 100 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 proaching her, " it was neither malice nor 
 envy that gave me a dislike to waltzing, 
 but an innate reluctance to join that fa- 
 shionable mode of dancing. I own I can- 
 not accept freedoms from strangers, or 
 those presuming persons that accident may- 
 mingle in a ball room, who take liberties 
 that are without a name, and which would 
 appear, if complained of, fastidious ; or 
 placing a meaning to what was to the 
 understanding of many, meant as nothing 
 beyond the lightness of the moment, and 
 fiatter the offender with the liberty being 
 obsei'ved. To avoid this, a young female 
 mustsilently endure what is repugnant to 
 herdelicacy^ orentirely withdrawfrom what 
 places her in so disagreeable a situation. 
 I did not mean to offend you, madam, 
 by delivering my opinion, which I do not
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? lOl 
 
 wish you to abide by, but to forget, should 
 it displease you." 
 
 "You know my temper," returned Mrs» 
 Wallace; "not conceiving harm myself, 
 I never suspect my conduct can be scruti- 
 nized unjustly by others; my spirits are 
 naturally high, and will transport me, 
 when on a subject I like/' 
 
 "Well, well!" said Sir Matthew, "no 
 more of this, but let us enumerate our 
 neighbours, and arrange to whom we shall 
 send invitations for the ball." 
 
 Mrs. Wallace's countenance brightened, 
 and her displeasure vanished as she countisd 
 each individual that came within her know- 
 ledge. " There are for beaux," said she, 
 F 3
 
 102/ GWEN CASTLE; 
 
 ^* first of all (for I shall name them according 
 to their rank) your name-sake. Sir Matthew 
 S^taivelingjabachelor oftvvo thousand ayear; 
 I daie be sworn he will be foundin a corner 
 of Im mouldering castle. — A card for him. 
 
 ^' He has let thecastle fall'to decayjand em- 
 ployed the money that would have repaired 
 it^ in building a modern cottage to reside 
 in. He told me, when last I met him, in 
 his easy way, that the old castle would 
 make a most beautiful ruin, a fine object 
 at a distance!" cried Sir Matthew, out of 
 patience at the disrespect he had shew his 
 ancestors. 
 
 '* Then comes the Lady Temperance 
 Matthias, his maiden kinswoman, who 
 lives in single blessedness, about three
 
 ORj WHICH IS THE HEROINE? l03 
 
 miles off, at that dismal abode called the 
 rookery ; Sir INIatthew can call and take 
 her up in his carriage on his way here, so 
 we shall be sure of her compan}^ Then 
 there is handsome Tobit Swithin, the 
 pupil of Mr. Maskall the parson, a youth 
 of considerable expectations, a good dancer 
 and extremely good-natured ; some call 
 him foolish Tobit, but we shall judge for 
 ourselves anon. — Two cards for him." 
 
 " Then there is the elegant Rufus Mar- 
 Hiaduke, the young parson, who looks like 
 an angel, and preaches divinely, and 
 to whose little church I would go much 
 oftener, were it not so far off. By the 
 bye, old Maskall and he are sworn ene- 
 mies ; envy on one side, and contempt on 
 the other.— Well, a card for Rufus.** 
 F4
 
 104 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 *^Then there are three brothers, Griffith, 
 Guy, and Nathan Singleton, all bachelors, 
 living they say in a state of uninterrupted 
 happiness; (of which I have my doubts) 
 in that romantic spot, Pheasant Farm, but 
 here they shall come, and perhaps the 
 pretty, insipid. Miss Eve Mildred, may 
 melt one of their stony hearts. — Four 
 cards.** 
 
 " Then comes the five Miss Merediths^ 
 Prudence, Maud, Rebecca, Sabina, and 
 Jemima; they have about a thousand 
 pounds each, when they marry, but hea- 
 ven knows when that day will arrive ; they 
 live with an old uncle, who is so crabbed 
 and recluse, that they are as it were shut 
 in a prison ; but I'll force the doors, and 
 bring them away in spite of Argus.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 105 
 
 Prudence, I am sorry to say, is a most de- 
 termined old maid of thirty- seven, very 
 ugly, very cross, but fond of cards, scandal, 
 and a young beau, (when she can get one.) 
 Maud is about thirty, mild in her temper, 
 pleasing in her manners, and not unper- 
 sonable ; but ill health constantly keeps 
 her at home. Then Rebecca is as con- 
 stantly abroad ; very masculine in her 
 manners, and coarse in her person ; is an 
 excellent jockey, a famous huntress, her 
 voice harsh and loud, her conversation 
 consists of littlfe else but horse-racing, 
 dogs, and fox-hunting. She boasts she 
 never took a needle in her hand since ten 
 years old ; she makes charming flies for 
 fishing, and very liberally presents them 
 to the gentlemen of her acquaintance, v?ho 
 approving her art, return a little battery 
 f5
 
 lo6 OWEN castle; 
 
 and attention by way of payment. Sabina 
 is the reverse of her sisters in every thing; 
 her temper is quick, and her feelings sen- 
 sitive, her person small, but exceeding 
 pretty ; her manners soft, and adorned by 
 every effeminate grace. Jemima is tall, 
 aukward and rompish, turbulent in her 
 temper, and pettish in her manners; her 
 face is handsome, but her hungry bones 
 rising almost through her skin, give a 
 wretched appearance to her height, which 
 she endeavours to conceal by wearing short 
 frocks, thereby exposing her matchy arms 
 and miserable legs ; but enough of these, 
 they will shortly speak for themselves. — ^ 
 Five Cards." 
 
 '' Then there is Theobald Raymond and 
 his brother Titus, they must come, they
 
 ORj WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 1 0/ 
 
 are charmiao^ creatures, but very different 
 in their persons. Theobald is a good fi- 
 gure but extremely plain in his features, 
 is proud, sentimental and reserved, seldom 
 happy himself, and rails at those that are * 
 he has finished his studies, and is on a 
 visit to his mother, the talkative lady of 
 Bloom-grove ; his fortune will be hand- 
 some. Titus is a delightful creature, has 
 a smart, dapper little person, a round 
 rosy countenance, and a twinkling black 
 eye, in which you may read mirth and 
 mischitf. He plays on the flute, sings 
 a merry song, dances, coquets, and finally 
 charms all the girls ; but is a rover, never 
 true to any above a month ; he has an es- 
 tate of six hundred a year, and is far hap- 
 pier than his brother with his thousands. — ' 
 Three cards there, for the old ladv must 
 F 6
 
 108 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 come^ if it be only to stick her at the card 
 table. 
 
 '• Then there is young Solomon the 
 quaker, a very comely youth with a good 
 fortune, and much inclined to wicked pas- 
 times, such as music, dancing, and chat- 
 ting with the pretty girls. Yea, verily," 
 cried Mrs. Wallace, rising on her toes, 
 and clasping her hands upon her bosom, 
 "Solomon must be invited to dinner, but 
 not a word on the card of such vanities as 
 aforesaid, lest Tabithaand Zachary should 
 be moved by the spirit of wrath, and for- 
 bid the youth Solomon to join in such 
 lewd sports.'* 
 
 She was irresistible in her imitative 
 powers, and her hearers could not restrain
 
 ORWHICH IS THE HEROINE ? IO9 
 
 a laugh. There were several more of the 
 neighbourhood invited to the ball, which 
 was to take place in the beginning of Sep- 
 tember. But before the arrival of Mr. 
 Milbourne and his intended bride, we will 
 give a short account of Mrs. Wallace, 
 lest more important events occupy our 
 future pages.
 
 110 OWEN castle; 
 
 CHAPTER V, 
 
 The Origin of Mrs. Wallace. 
 
 W HEN persons have felt the loss of 
 education in their youth, and have been 
 put back in life on that account^ they are 
 doubly desirous that their offspring should 
 not s^^uffer privations of a similar nature, 
 and by over anxiety for their mental ac- 
 quirements, often hurl ruin on heads, that 
 otherwise might have been content and 
 happy in a moderate share of cultivation, 
 such as became the sphere that they were 
 by birth likely to move in.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE." Ill 
 
 Mothers, I charge you, consider well 
 what claims your daughters have to for- 
 tune, ere you, by misplaced generosity of 
 education, create ambition in a weak 
 mind ; give not your daughters a taste for 
 accomplishments unnecessary to their con- 
 fined finances; if you do, beware of the 
 sorrow you expose them to, tremble at 
 the price they too often pay for former 
 indulgence. 
 
 Farmer Rae was an honest man, plain 
 in his manners, warm in his heart, hasty- 
 of temper, but soon appeased; his morals 
 were sound, and the constant sentence he 
 uttered, when r^igion was the topic, was, 
 ^' Let every man do as he would be done 
 by." — ^To this he acted up in every in- 
 stance of his life; his neighbours were
 
 11 i OWEN CAJSTLE; 
 
 ever ready to assist his harvest, to help 
 him pay his rent, if the produce of his in- 
 dustrious toil failed; sure of punctual pay- 
 ment with the like friendship, should the 
 same ill-luck befall theaiselves — but with 
 all this, his understanding was not com- 
 prehensive, nor able to digest any intri- 
 cate point of debate; in such dilemmas, 
 he had recourse to a friend, on whose 
 learnmg he would say he could depend. 
 His coun =ellor was the clerk of the parish, 
 who never refused his information on any 
 knotty subject, which the farmer required 
 to be discussed; these debates generally 
 took place over a tankard of his heady 
 ale. Amongst the many virtues of this 
 honest farmer, was an auful reverence for 
 the church ; parsons v^M^. lamed men he 
 would cry, and knowed evl^y thing ; but it
 
 ORj WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 113 
 
 never occurred to his unsovvn brain, that 
 all parsons were not Solomons of wisdom, 
 and that Latin and Greek might be put 
 mto a skull, as thick perhaps as his own. 
 The parson was not to be approached by 
 such a rustic as he, but the clerk, Na- 
 thaniel Grubb, loved good cheer, knew 
 nearly as much as the minister himself, 
 (for his second-hand uisdom could not be 
 detected by Farmer Rae) and answered 
 in every particular as well as the superior; 
 for he took in the wetkly paper, could 
 talk politics, had a brother an attorney's 
 writer, a):d could give a hint on law 
 matters in private to a cavilling neigh 
 bour, for which, in lieu of fee, a nam or 
 side of bacon, a cheese, a young pig, or 
 a few bottles of elder-wine were sure 
 ©f welcome. Besides this limb of the
 
 1 i 4 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 church, honest Rae was blest with an 
 helpmate, as great an original as himself 
 in her petty ways. 
 
 Dolly Maybush had been dairy-maid at 
 the great house, and amongst Lord Or- 
 minstead's household had gained a distant 
 smattering of London fashions and tonish 
 noiions, from John the footman, and my 
 ladj^'s maid, on whom she waited with 
 cream (;f a morning; the cast-ofF finery 
 of Mvh. Kitty, made a due impression on 
 her tasteful fancy, the milk pail suddenly 
 became too heavy for her hand, and hy^ 
 being more handy about china, she was 
 admitted by the housekeeper into the still 
 room, from thence to wait on the ivalting 
 gentlewoman, Mrs. Kitty, and as her as- 
 sistant taken to town, when my lady Or-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 115^ 
 
 ni instead returned to shine in the great 
 world. At the table when in the servant's- 
 hall, Dolly was courted by suitors, as 
 numerous as her lady, my ladifs maid, 
 which did not exactly please the town- 
 bred Kitty, for the butler certainly did 
 not behold the plump and rosy Dolly 
 with indiiFerence. 
 
 Mrs. Kitty resolved on getting rid of 
 so dangerous a rival, and on the family's 
 return to their seat, D^jlly was dismissed, 
 but not until she had at church attracted 
 honest Rae, who, enamoured of her beau- 
 ty, shortly after married her. The 
 tongues of villagers are as much inclined 
 to scandal as those belonging to the more 
 enlightened Londoners, and to say the 
 truth, dame Gossip was very busy with
 
 11 6 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 the fame of fair Mrs. Rae, who soon pre- 
 sented her husband with a daughter. — 
 The christening did not escape contro- 
 versy, particularly when the kind butler 
 stood godfather to Dolly's pretty babe; 
 but honest Rea was happy in spite of all. 
 their chattering. 
 
 Mr. Fopinjay^ the butler, was, in the 
 farmer's mind, a very worthy man, and 
 treated him handsomely, whenever he 
 made a call at the great house, which was 
 frequently on a Sunday afternoon, when 
 in a snug corner of the butler's room^ 
 seated in an easy chair, he would dose 
 over a bottle of good old Port, his brain 
 deeply intent on wheat and barley, and 
 the important traffic of the recent Satur- 
 day, little dreaming that Mr. Popinjay
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? Hf 
 
 Iiad taken the opportunity his drowsiness 
 gave him, to visit his god daughter, some 
 have said, Mrs. Rae ; but of this we are 
 positive, that he could not see one without 
 the other, till the little Arpaaia had at- 
 tained her tenth year. 
 
 Arpasia ! I think I hear my reader ex- 
 claim, what a name for the daughter of 
 DoUt/ Rae ! — but I trust you will suspend 
 your reproof upon Dolly, as Mr. Popin- 
 jay had given the child the n^me in oppo- 
 sition to the plain farmer, who wanted her 
 to be christened Sally, Madge, or Jane, 
 but these were in the polite butlers 
 opinion, vulgar names, and fit only for 
 ordinary children of low extraction; he 
 had been to the pit of Covent Garden 
 Theatre, had seen plays performed in all
 
 lis OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 the pomp and show, for which the public 
 are so eager, amongst the rest, Tamerlane. 
 Arpasia was the name of the heroine which 
 most interested his feeUngs ; besides, it 
 ^vas high sounding, romantic^ and out of 
 the common road, and Arpasia was de- 
 termined on by Mrs. Rae, for that very 
 reason, — in vain did the farmer protest he 
 could not pronounce it, he was unheeded ; 
 Mr. Popinjay had said, Arpasia was gen- 
 teel and elegant y and th^t was enough — 
 but we digress. 
 
 At ten years old, Miss Arpasia Rae was 
 the admiration of the village; the fond 
 parents joined in the praise of her beauty 
 with pride and exultation, and foresaw she 
 would be the making of them and herself. 
 Even at this dawn of reason she showed
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINfE ? II9 
 
 'great capability of understanding, she 
 could read the spelling-book which Na- 
 thaniel Grubb had given her through, and 
 was pronounced by him a prodigy of 
 learning ; — she could likewise coax her 
 mother with all the winning playfulness 
 of infantine endearment, when a favourite 
 toy or sugar-cake was to be obtained; or 
 if that did not succeed, could pout and 
 -cry with unwearied perseverance until the 
 prize was given for which she sighed; — 
 instead of correcting this budding art, the 
 vain mother encouraged it, by never re- 
 sisting her importunity, — she looked so 
 pretty when coaxing, Mrs. Rae would say, 
 when receiving a reprimand from her 
 husband for spoilii^g . the child — what 
 mother could refuse the child any thing ; 
 -and when she was in her pouts, her ruby
 
 120 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 lips, swelled so beautiful in sullenness, 
 that it would melt the heart of a stone. 
 
 " Now, Dolly, mind I tells ye, you will 
 have reason to curse the hour you were 
 born, if you go on so ; only see to the airs 
 she is taking now,'* cried he pointing to 
 Arpasia, who with a swimming air was 
 dancing before a glass, admiring her y el- 
 low shoes and pink sash. — " Dear heart! 
 the baby's head is turned wi* finery already. 
 — Arpy^ I say, come away from there." 
 
 *^ Let her bide, Thomas, sure she is 
 doing no harm" returned his wife; ^^ Do 
 but look what a notion she has o'dancing, 
 her pretty feet go pit a pat to a tune of 
 her own making; only hearken to her; 
 how natural she do turn a tune already,**
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 121 
 
 Thus saying, the vain silly mother flew to 
 clasp the idol of her soul. 
 
 '^ Dolly, Dolly," the father would cry, 
 " I can love my child as dear as my life, 
 but to make the fool on it, as you do, I 
 can't, so hear what I say. To save her 
 from ruin, Til send her to boarding school, 
 where she may larn some'ut more than 
 you can teach her ; I'll take her up to 
 th' house and have a consultation wi' Mr. 
 Popinjay on the matter : I am got up a 
 little in repute, tho* I say it, and can 
 afford to give my only child an edication, 
 fit for the squire's daughter; I never 
 knowed the blessing of laming myself, 
 which always kept m,e back like — and my 
 chick shan't be served as I was. Why 
 only see, Dolly, the good as '11 come on it; 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 she will be able to read the newspaper^ 
 and the hardest chapter out o' the Bible 
 to me o* Sunday without stopping to spell 
 al every word as I do; then she will 
 virile for me upon business, and see that 
 I make up my accounts right; for be- 
 tween you and me, Dolly, I often had a 
 notion^ that Nathaniel Grubb have done 
 me out of many pounds, o' that fashion, 
 when I have given him my slate to cast 
 properly up. I should mayhap have done 
 better in my auk ward fancy, but I don't 
 mean to rake up old times; but as I were 
 saymg, myArpy shall have larmng^and if 
 I can't trust my own natural bom babe 
 \vi* my money, who in the varsel world 
 can I ? so no more screeting and scolding 
 Dollv, for I be determined on't : she shall 
 study behaviour, and manner fulness, and
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? l25 
 
 artificial fine needle work, like Miss 
 SpriggSj to hang in parlour; so give me 
 my hat off peg, and I'll take her directly 
 to my worthy friend, Mr. Popinjay, her 
 godfather, and he shall find out a school 
 to his mind for her, as he understands 
 these here grand doings and schoolderings 
 better than I ; but don't put on the girl 
 them outlandish breeches dangling wi' fur- 
 belows about her toes ; let my Lady Or- 
 minstead, dress her children in unnatural 
 ways, if she do like, but don't let me see 
 Arpy, skipping about in a pair of breeches; 
 'tis not becoming for farmers to dress 
 their chickens like the lords o' the land 
 do theirs. I be ashamed to meet my lady 
 when she be dressed out so unfitting; 
 she axed me one day, if that smart beauty 
 were mine, and hang me, Dolly, if Ivvasent 
 
 G2
 
 124 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 dofFt so, I felt as tho' I were ashamed to 
 say yes; then my ]ord came riding by 
 wi' his son, as fine a lad as any in the 
 country round, not like most lord's sons 
 sickly looking, but wi* a face like the sun 
 on a summer's evening, all of a glow ; and 
 then my lord played wi' Arpy, and said 
 that the badger was happy in such a 
 sultaney; and then my lady said i;he was 
 dressed in character, pointing to her 
 breeches and laughing all the time. I 
 don't know what my lord and lady were 
 meaning by talking of the badger^ but I 
 am sure they had a joke between them 
 about Arpy's name, and that moment I 
 would have given a bushel of wheat to 
 a had it Peggy, or any honest simple 
 name lit for a christian farmer.''
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 125 
 
 *' You are a fool, Thomas, to mind 
 my lady : she were only afraid Arpy would 
 be handsomer than her daughter Lady 
 Jane. What if the child was fine; if I 
 make her so wi' my own hands, aii't I to 
 do as I like ? Win gold and wear it to be 
 sure. Your money is your own, you don't 
 ax them for theirs, so I shall put on her 
 best trowsers in spite of lier jeering lady- 
 ship. Breeches! la! Thomas, how you call 
 them things out of their names, I tell you 
 they are Turkish trowsers." 
 
 " Turkey trowsers," returned simple 
 Thomas; " well, well I suppose she won't al- 
 ways wear them, so mind I tell you,I*ll give 
 no more money for such nonsense. Why 
 I never heard the like, there is no know- 
 ing girls from boys now a days ; you may 
 G 3
 
 126 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 cut up your aprons if you like to fur- 
 below all her clothes a' this fashion/* 
 
 '' Well, and so I will, Tom Rea, go 
 without any apron at all, and see how that 
 wou'd look." 
 
 '• No/' answered he, " I should not like 
 that— a farmer's wife should never be with- 
 out a cap and apron; but I hope you don't 
 go for to call the bit of white gauze as 
 clips over your silk gown on a Sunday 
 an apron ?" Here the farmer enjoyed a, 
 hearty laugh at his wife's expense. 
 
 But when the flaming scarlet coat and 
 bonnet were put on, with three feathers 
 of the same colour, with a satin bow, the 
 farmer grew angry, and cried, " Hey day.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 12/ 
 
 Dolly ! art mad, woman? Where did you 
 get this staring colour, and flaunting fea- 
 thers? Take them off, Dolly, I won't go 
 through the village wi' such ^finery ; I 
 woudent be the mock of the folks for any 
 woman's proud heartedness in the nation." 
 
 " Her godfather gave them to her, Tom 
 Rae ; it wasent your money as went for 
 them/' cried his whimpering wife, 
 
 " Don't tell me a lie, Dolly, you know 
 r don't like it ; I see by your turning 
 so red, you be telling one ; you never 
 gives me a lawful account of the money 
 you gets at market by the butter, cheese 
 and eggs, you know you don't, Dolly ; and 
 to cheat your lawful husband is bad on 
 ye, it is, when you have all your lieart 
 G4
 
 128 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 can desire in a proper manner ; you go as 
 fine to church as any dame in the parish^ 
 aye, and finer too." 
 
 *^ Well, and so I ought, Tom Rae," re- 
 turned she, bridling up, advancing her 
 voice to its highest key, " I ave genteel folks 
 to keep company wi', Tom Rae, as knows 
 manners, and puts a value on costly geer. 
 I have been to Lunnon, I knows beha- 
 viour, which is more than you do; you 
 ought for to be proud of so smart and 
 handsome a person as I be, for I might 
 have had the best of the village if I 
 hadent been a fool, instead of a clod- 
 hopping lump of a farmer, as knows no- 
 thing of life and quality goings on." 
 
 " I knows," cried Thomas with a wink.
 
 OR, WHICH 19 THE HEROINE? 129 
 
 ^^ Mr. Gruhh, has a mind to you ; I wasn't 
 so blind as you may think ; and if ever I 
 catch him in my dairy again, I'll make 
 his skin as black as his coat, and my 
 fist shall knock out a dozen more of his 
 teeth, and then he may whistle the psalms 
 out how he can." 
 
 Honest Rae had pitched upon the last 
 person, that was likely to attract his wife's 
 taste, but the neighbours had given him 
 mysterious hints, and his clear compre- 
 hension could not conceive the object 
 at whom they pointed, so his suspicions 
 fell on the poor clerk, because he was 
 often at his farm, used to praise Mrs. 
 Rae's tea and elder wine, and congratu- 
 late his friend on having such a clever, 
 comely wife. 
 
 G5
 
 130 OWEN CASTLE^ 
 
 Mr. Grubb was no longer consulted, 
 but neglected by his former friend and 
 companion. The penetrating eye of Na- 
 thaniel soon discovered the new friend, 
 and his mean soul longed for revenge, 
 but Mr. Popinjay had power, and was 
 not to be insulted by so common a person 
 with impunity ; therefore the ire of the 
 innocent Grubb, was only smothered, 
 until a fair opportunity occurred to give 
 it vent. 
 
 To suspect Mrs. Rae with such an ugly 
 quiz as the clerk, was to her a never to 
 be forgiven affront, and by the virulent 
 manner she resented this attack upon her 
 reputation, completely hid the real cause 
 of complaint ; none dare openly avow 
 their doubts^ for she was a very virago 
 in defence of her virtue.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 131 
 
 I have heard a very learned counsellor 
 declare, that it was wonderful how much 
 depended on the power of oratory to sus- 
 tain a bad cause ; whether Mrs. Rae was 
 of the same opinion, we know not, but of 
 this we are certain, she by her eloquent ap- 
 peal to her misled husband's wit, gained 
 the day, and Miss Arpasia went to the 
 great house in the scarlet coat, bonnet, and 
 feathers. 
 
 Tlie event of the long debate with 
 Mr. Popinjay was, that Miss Arpasia 
 should be taken to town under his care^ 
 and afterwards be sent to a stylish board* 
 ing-school at Brompton, where he could 
 have the pleasure of seeing her frequently^ 
 and she could sometimes have the enter- 
 g6
 
 132 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 tainment of the town, when of a fit age 
 to enjoy it. 
 
 Every thing was arranged, and Miss 
 Rae was taken the following spring to 
 London. We will pass over seven years, 
 and the holidays, which she spent in 
 all the gaieties of London which Mr. 
 Popinjay could introduce her to, her re- 
 sidence being at the town house of my 
 Lord Orminstead. 
 
 We will now bring our reader to the 
 time of her return home, in the second 
 carriage of my Lord Orminstead's equi- 
 page, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Pop- 
 injay, late Mrs. Kitty, their discourse 
 turning on the dulness of tiie country.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 133 
 
 " I shall be dead," cried Arpasia, in that 
 wilderness of a farm with that rustic papa 
 of mine, after sharing in the pleasures 
 of London, and your dear society and 
 that of the young ladies at Brompton 
 school. Well, my music and tambour may 
 fill up the tedious time tolerably for 
 awhile; but I'm sure I shall be soon tired 
 of a rural life*/' 
 
 " You may have something else to do," 
 (cried Mrs. Popinjay with malignant sa- 
 tisfaction) *' for I have heard that poor 
 farmer Rae has sunk in the world greatly 
 within these last seven years, and should 
 not wonder, Miss Arpasia, if you were 
 obliged to milk the cows, churn the but- 
 ter, and go with it upon Old Dobbin the 
 blind horse to market every Saturday.*
 
 134 OWFN castle; 
 
 " Heaven forbid!'* cried she with a 
 look of suprise and cofitempt, " milk the 
 filthy cows, why it would spoil my hands 
 for ever ; and as for trotting upon Old 
 Dobbin to market, I could never endure 
 after learning at Astley*s to ride with 
 grace and ease ; t'would drive me mad.'* 
 
 '* I'm sorry for it, ''said Mrs. Popinjay, 
 '^ but think you ought to assist all that 
 lies in your your power for your poor 
 father, who has laid out so much upon 
 your education and bringing up." 
 
 *^ It was his duty to give me education," 
 returiied she sharply; " there is little obli^ 
 gation in that ; if he had not pleased him- 
 self by it he would not have done it ; I 
 think he ought to be thankful that I have
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 135 
 
 profited by my tuition, in the suprising 
 way I have, and not expect me to conde- 
 scend to drudge in so low a department, 
 to which I will never submit, Mrs. Popin- 
 jay, I promise you ; I know what is due to 
 myself." 
 
 '' I hope you do, Arpasia," said Mr. 
 Popinjay ; " you must never descend to 
 vulgar employments ; a girl of your beauty 
 and accomplishments may hold her head 
 above the low creatures nature may have 
 given her for parents; was it not for an 
 intercourse with us, who Jcnow a little, I 
 should pity your miserable lot at Oak- 
 Farm." 
 
 The conceit with which this was ut- 
 tered would have astonished those who
 
 136 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 were unaccustomed to the gentry belong- 
 ing to the second table of an English 
 peer; but to those who have observed with 
 accuracy their servile imitations of their 
 betters, the character of Mr. Popinjay will 
 appear a correct copy of their ignorant 
 insolence and absurdity. 
 
 Thus prepared to despise her honest fa- 
 ther and his poverty, we cannot wondeF 
 at the disgust she took to her neat but 
 rustic home, when she saw its thatched 
 roof pet-ping through the foliage of the 
 surrounding coppice, and heard the low- 
 ing of the herd, with the gingling bells 
 that adorned the returning team, as they 
 entered the lane that led to the barn and 
 stable ; it seemed Hke discord to her re- 
 fined ear. The quacking of the ducks in
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 13f 
 
 the pond before the cottage, were to her 
 distorted imagination^, like the croaking of 
 ravens on her entrance to the abode of 
 misery ; — her father and mother stood at 
 the pretty gate, (which was dressed round 
 with honeysuckles and sweetbriar) ready 
 to receive her as she alighted from the 
 travelling chariot ; each at the same in- 
 stant sprang forward to embrace the ob- 
 ject of their fond regard, holding her by 
 turns in their affectionate arms, and press- 
 ing her warmly to their parental hearts. 
 
 " Don't suffocate me so,*' cried Miss 
 Arpasia, pushing them from her, '^ nor 
 overpower me with so many questions at 
 once, it is the rudest thing in nature." 
 
 For her parents had been enquiring 
 how she hked her line journey in the gay
 
 138 OWEN castle; 
 
 coach; and about her health; how Mr. 
 and Mrs. Popinjay were, who she had left 
 at the great house ? &c. 
 
 ^^ ril answer all by and by ; don't teaze 
 me now, but mind how you take this 
 band-box, as it contains a Parisian dress- 
 cap, that I would not have crushed for the 
 world ; and mind how you carry my port- 
 folio, if you scatter my drawings I shall 
 die with vexation; and mother, here j& 
 my devili mind how you take it." 
 
 *' Your ivJiat P" asked her father. 
 
 ^^ My Devi), that I play with/' answered"" 
 she, 
 
 ^^ Well/' cried the farmer, ^Mt is the
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 139 
 
 oddest play thing I ever heard of; take 
 care, girl, of such wicked things in time, 
 or you may rue the day you took the 
 devil, as you call it, for a companion." 
 
 " Pshaw /" cried the young lady, look- 
 ing on her parent, " how ignorant you are;, 
 don't you know it is an instrument of that 
 name, invented to amuse ladies; but I for- 
 got, you are so homely, so wretchedly 
 recluse, you can know nothing ; you are 
 quite an Antediluvian, or Cornish hermit, 
 in your ideas.'* 
 
 " I'm no such thing, Arpy " cried her 
 father, in a heat, " Vm no deluvian, I am 
 a sound churchman, and hate all metho- 
 disticalness as much as any Londoner in 
 the nation."
 
 140 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 " The blessings of stupidity !** ex- 
 claimed she, bursting into a loud laugh, 
 and pointing at her father with contempt 
 and derision — '^ but you shall see me play 
 with this terrible invention, which so 
 greatly alarms you ; take them in Mrs. Rae 
 and nevermind my father's fright.'* The 
 happy mother obeyed, and conducted her 
 darling to the parlour, where seating her- 
 self with a listless air, she cried, " What, 
 no sofa, madam? how do you exist with- 
 out one!" 
 
 " Very badly," returned the mother, 
 (determined to shew her daughter that she 
 was better bred than her husband,) "but 
 Thomas would never let me ave one, 
 tho' I have told him over and over again, 
 I could not do without one."
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 14 1 
 
 '' Sop/u/,'' said the farmer, lighting his 
 pipe, and puffing the smoke across tlie 
 tea-table, at which his daughter sat care- 
 lessly sipping the tea her mother handed 
 to her, ^' what can a girl like you want of 
 ^sophij? 'tis a bad fashion, rolling and 
 lolloping about as thof they wanted to go 
 to bed. Dolly wasent so minded, till her 
 growed so fat and lumpish. No, no — no 
 sophy for me, you will have some'ut else 
 to do, child ; you must help mother in 
 the dairy, fetch cows home o' evening, 
 bring me my meals to the field, mend my 
 stockings, and the carter's frock, feed the 
 chickens, pick e'm, and get e'm ready to 
 take to market. Times are changed, Arpy; 
 I can't afford to keep servants now; and 
 as mother and me have given you an edi- 
 cation, why you must lend us a helping
 
 142 OWEN castle; 
 
 hand in farm, and a tight maid you be as 
 any round ; but that fine long-tailed coat 
 of yours must be put by, and your ring- 
 lets on your pole must be cut off: when 
 you help to turn the hay over^yj must 
 forget all your gay London fancies." 
 
 The tea-cup fell from her white hand 
 upon the earthen floor and broke into a 
 thousand pieces; half choaked by pride 
 and smoke, she strove in vain to express 
 her sense of degradation and disdain. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter with the 
 child?" demanded he, then in the kindest 
 voice masked if she was not well. 
 
 *^ Well !" screamed she in an agony of 
 passion and disappointment, '- how can I
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 143 
 
 be ivell with such a horrid prospect before 
 me! Gracious power! did I hear right? 
 Fetch the cows home ; wait on you in the 
 field with bread and cheese; make hay- 
 amidst a set of low wretches. I can't 
 beac the thought. Oh ! I shall die with 
 grief!" 
 
 Here a short hysteric and burst of tears 
 came to her relief, but so frightened her 
 poor father, that she was promised she 
 should do nothing disagreeable or out of 
 the way, but wait upon herself, if that 
 was not too much trouble. 
 
 This point gained, there was another 
 to be had, which was a piano-forte ; after 
 a great blustering about the expense from 
 honest Rae, scolding from Dolly, and
 
 144 OWEN castle; 
 
 tears from Arpy, it was got, and placed in 
 the parlour; the walls hung round with 
 her drawings and work, and the earthen 
 floor covered by a carpet from the up- 
 holsterers, and a sofa, wore, as she would 
 say, a more civilized appearance. Letting 
 her follow the bent of her inclinations 
 without control for above a year, at 
 length the simple farmer began to get 
 uneasy, and to entertain fears, that in 
 giving his only child education, he had 
 created a taste for expense and indolence 
 which his decreasino: circumstances could 
 not support. — He would look on her with 
 an heart aching delight as she sat at her 
 piano ; listen to her well-directed voice, 
 as she warbled forth some new air, and 
 mentally exclaim, " She were certain sure 
 born for a lady, and if ill luck had not
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE^ 145 
 
 come upon him in such haste, she 
 should have had her belly full of music, 
 and such like pretty nonsense ; but as 
 times was, she must leave it off, and 
 go out to service, which would break 
 his heart/' 
 
 One afternoon he found her in a very 
 tractable humour, and seating himself be 
 side her, the big tear bursting from 
 his eye, and his voice scarce under com- 
 mand, from the swelling of his heart, 
 that rose as it were to his throat, and 
 impeded his utterance, he gave a hem or 
 two, and began his task. 
 
 " This is'nt the firt time as IVe bid thee, 
 Arpy, to banish all thoughts of continuing 
 in the lady line; because, I a' been misfor- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 OWEN castle; 
 
 tunate of late years, and can't give thee a 
 forten, fitting to thy bro*tage np, but 
 quite otherwise; more's the pity for us all, 
 but we can't order things to our hking; 
 but must be thankful to a good Providence, 
 that they be even as they be. But I need 
 not go for to lecture you about pious 
 things, for you can read the Bible better 
 a thousand times than I do, and I dare be 
 sworn knows a good deal by heart. Well, 
 I be glad I did give thee larning, o' that 
 account; because child, be your befall- 
 ments never so cruel to bear, you can look 
 into your Bible, and find consolation and 
 advice. 'Tis a hard job for me to tell thee, 
 Arpy, for I know it cuts ye to th' heart, 
 that your edication has cost me as much 
 as would have kept thy mother and me, 
 (wi' industry) from want in our old age;
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE : 147 
 
 and therefore, and likewise, I be going to 
 say, that you should consider on't; and 
 now you be quite grown up, a matter of 
 eighteen years old, you should lend a will- 
 ing heart and helping hand to your mo- 
 ther, for I can t afford to keep Peg the 
 dairy wench any longer; so I mun pay 
 the saucy-tongue her wages, and send her 
 off. Now, child, this be the case, you 
 must take your choice; if so be you will 
 assist 3^our mother at home, or go out to 
 sarvice. But I knows which you'll chuse; 
 3^ou cannot leave your loving parents, as 
 'dve bringed you up so kindly, so thou'It 
 stay wi' us, and help me to pay up rent 
 by thy industry and dutiful endeavours. — • 
 Don'4: cry, Arpy," said he, kissing her affec- 
 tionately, '' don't cry ; if I get over this bit 
 of trouble, you shall have all your fancies 
 H 2
 
 1-18 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 again; be a good child, and GocJ love and 
 keep thee." — so saying, he hurried out of 
 the room to hide the sorrow of his heai^t, 
 that he might not afflict his only child 
 with the sight of his distress. 
 
 " So/' cried Arpasia, as her weeping 
 mother joined her, " here is a fine propo- 
 sal from my amiaole father, either to 
 drudge in his wretched hovel, or go to 
 service." — she trod the room with stately 
 indio:nation, an^ier iiashinon from her 
 eye, and the bitterest reproaches lighting 
 from her tongue upon her mother, who 
 stood not daring to interrupt her ; at last 
 she demanded to know how her father 
 came to be in such straitened circumstances 
 go suddenly. 
 
 ^•^ Why all along o' that Natt Grubb;
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 14^ 
 
 for Thomas it seems afTronted him ; 
 because he were suspicious of his hking 
 o* me," cried Dolly, bridhng with disdain^ 
 " when heaven knows for vartue there ii5 
 none to come up to me in the parish 
 or twenty miles round.** 
 
 " I don't want to hear of Mr. Grubb's 
 
 > 
 
 gallantry or^ your discrttion, mother,' 
 returned Arpasia, " all I want to know is, 
 how my father came to be in all this 
 trouble." 
 
 " Why, about twelve years ago, my 
 Thomas had borrowed o' Natt Grubb 
 two hundred pounds, and signed a note of 
 hand to pay it in one year, which he did it 
 seems ; but like a ninny hammer as he was 
 for certain, paid Natt Grubb in his turnip 
 h3
 
 150 OWEN castle; 
 
 field, as he met hiai a coming from selling 
 his wheat and barley to the great factor, 
 without no witness ; but the rogue swore 
 he would tear up the note of hand, as soon 
 as he got home, and so Thomas foolishly 
 believed him, being as they were such 
 great friends ; but the starved looking 
 rogue sent a lawyer to him a week ago, and 
 said that if he did'ent send the money soon, 
 he would put him in jail. So the lawyer 
 has the note of hand safe enough, and if 
 so be Thomas can't raise the money 
 forthwith, he must go sure and certain to 
 prison, for he has no witness to prove he 
 paid it ; and then he owes two years rent, 
 which is four hundred pounds, besides 
 great losses of cattle and horses, so we 
 are wholly crazed wi* trouble and dant 
 know what will become of us."
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROlNEr 151 
 
 ** Won't your friend, and my godfather, 
 Mr. Popinjay, lend my father this two 
 hundred pounds ?" asked Arpasia. 
 
 " No more nor he will fly, Arpy, for 
 between ourselves I asked him ; he is, mi- 
 serable over his money, and tho' he be 
 worth as pretty a penny, as any round, 
 he won't part wi' a farthing on't ; so Arpy, 
 you must go to sarvice, when we get warn- 
 ing to quit the farm, which will kill my 
 poor heart at once ; for so handsome and 
 genteel a lass as you be, to come down in 
 the world is so cruel. The music man is to 
 come next week to fetch away your beau- 
 tiful thingumbob, as you plays on ; and 
 your fine French books, with the picture 
 of the lady that made a nunnery of her- 
 self for love ; and there's your Italy books, 
 H4
 
 1-53 bWEN CASTLE; 
 
 and loads of musical books as lies under- 
 neath ; and the flowers on the satin, in 
 the picture frame, and your black lace 
 vale is to be sold, and your parasol and 
 your silk gowns, and all such like flnery ; 
 and then there is four feather beds, that 1 
 made wi' my own hands, and two best 
 horses out o' the team ; and the silver tan- 
 kard, as poor Thomas was so fond on, 
 and all the rest of the silver^ with all the 
 best things in the house, as I have been so 
 long scraping together/' 
 
 Here Mrs. Kae burst into tears, and sat 
 bewailing her hard fate, while Arpasia 
 continued silent, and regardless of her 
 mothers sorrow. At length starting up, 
 with a brightened countenance, she cried, 
 „I have it; don't fret, mother, I won'l
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 153 
 
 lose my piano or silk dresses, nor shall 
 you lose your beds, nor plate, if you will 
 be ruled by me." 
 
 Dolly started with surprize and wonder 
 on her daughter, and eagerly requested to 
 know her meaning ; when after a solemn 
 promise of secrecy, she was admitted into 
 her daughter's confidence. 
 
 *^ You must know then, mother,'* cried 
 Arpasia, "that my young Lord Orminstead 
 has frequently met me, and was so struck 
 by my personal and mental charms, that 
 he has declared he loves me to distraction. 
 Now you know the Lord, his father, is 
 dangerouslv ill and that when he dies, 
 the young one will come in for the title 
 and estate; and when that happens, he 
 H b
 
 154 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 has sworn to make me Lady Ormlnstead.'^ 
 Here she walked gracefully up to the 
 glass to adjust her ringlets and settle her 
 necklace ; enjoying the vacant gaze of her 
 mother, who sat as it were petrified with 
 astonishment and delight, and in the 
 most easy cavalier way went on in her 
 discovery. *'Yes, when I am my Lady 
 Orminstead, I shall remove you and my 
 father from this, to a snug box of my 
 lord's, near Windsor, and leave the low 
 wretches of tenants to dwell in it ; but as 
 the old lord may not die just yet, T will ask 
 the idol of my sympathetic soul, my 
 generous Theodosius, to advance this trifle, 
 this two hundred pounds, for whicb my 
 father would sacrifice his accomplished 
 daughter to slavery and contempt. How 
 astonished his weak mind will be, when 
 he sees me the bride of Lord Orminstead.
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 155 
 
 " I always said as my daughter Arpy 
 wou'd turn out to be a great and grand 
 lady," cried Mrs. Rae, embracing her in 
 a transport of joy ; *' but Thomas and 
 neighbours wou'd rate me, and chatter 
 about your going so fine, and said I should 
 be the ruin on you, but I knowed better. 
 I had been in Lunnun, and there I see'd 
 fine clothes were every thing. How Miss 
 Spriggs will stare, when she hears as how 
 you are my lady. I see'd her cock her 
 nose up at your silk gown, as was di- 
 zen'd wi' ribbon and bows, that you went 
 to church in on Sunday: I could see 
 her heart were ready to burst a two for 
 envy, for Reuben Blackthorn did so gaze 
 and sigh as you went by, as if his heart 
 were totally gone, and that was enough 
 to give her a mortification, for Reuben 
 h6
 
 156 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 was once a bit of a sweetheart of her's 
 until you talked and laughed wi' him." 
 
 " Low wretch," cried Arpasia, with a 
 sneer, '' he dares not have the audacity 
 to aspire to my love, to the love o? Arpa-^ 
 sia, whose blood curdles in her veins 
 at the horrid touch of an husbandman, No, 
 Thecdosius is the Strephon of the silvan 
 plain; I am the Deha of his soul, and 
 my father is the rustic shepherd of the 
 vale. My Iambs should be adorned with 
 roses, and I should be dressed with flowers, 
 and shine a second Perditta^ and my 
 Theodosius, Florizel, and his enraged 
 father, the old Lord ; the Winter's Tale 
 quite complete, and the end will prove the 
 same. Though I may not turn out the daugh- 
 ter pf a king, I am tempted to believe that
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 157 
 
 I Sprung from nobler blood than that of 
 a farmer." 
 
 '* Why, as for your father being as you 
 say, Arpy, a rusty shepherd, he does look 
 monstrous shabby in his fustain jacket 
 when about the fields, that's a moral cer- 
 tainty; but as for his ever being a king, 
 you are quite out there, for I knowed his 
 father Ralph Rae, as vulgar and honest a 
 farmer as any anywhere, tho' he was 
 somewhat of kin to late squire Hacka- 
 way, as I have heard tell on ; so thy father 
 has noble blood sure enough, and for 
 the matter of that ave 1; my grandfather 
 was a fishmonger in Whitechapel and 
 had a great fortune. She was going on^ 
 with a whole string of relations, if her 
 daughter, (sick at the low race she derived
 
 158 OWEN castle; 
 
 her being from) had not interrupted her in 
 a most impatient accent, and a command 
 to be silent." 
 
 The means to obtain the money to 
 stop the selHng off the goods, were now 
 considered with due weighty and after 
 many disputes, finally settled according 
 to Arpasia's plan. — " You must, mother/' 
 (cried she in a decided tone, and with 
 appropriate action) *^ wait on the young 
 lord at the castle; you must make your 
 figure as interesting as possible, you 
 must not neglect to weep at proper periods 
 of your narration, explain the cruel op- 
 pression of Nathaniel Grubb, attest the 
 probity of my father in all the glowing 
 colours of affection and the pure lan- 
 guage of innocence, and above all, be
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 159 
 
 sure to represent me, drowned in sorrow 
 and dutiful affliction; — say that I could 
 not assunne courage to approach his di- 
 vine presence, but that I had sent an 
 humble request, in conjunction with your 
 petition, and then present him a note 
 which I shall give you, as soon as you 
 are ready to set off. Let me see, 'tis half 
 past three o'clock, he dines at home I 
 know to-day at five o'clock ; with his sick 
 father, because he told me so when he 
 promised to meet me by eight in the cop- 
 pice to night." 
 
 " Ah Arpy !" cried the mother in alarm, 
 '* take heed o*that, 'tis a dangerous thing 
 to meet a sweetheart m a coppice at dark ; 
 I knows by experience, 'tis cruel dan- 
 gerous."
 
 160 OWEN CASTLE", 
 
 *^ To you, madam," returned her daugh* 
 ter with a supercilious glance,*' it might 
 threaten evil, but not to one of my supe- 
 rior mind, and a youth of his uncommon 
 soul ; there have I oft stolen to meet my 
 Theodosius, heard him breathe his vows 
 in soft murmurs on my listening ear, 
 while pale Cynthia, peeping through the 
 trees, was the only witness of our ardent 
 love/' 
 
 '^ Don't trust her, Arpy ; 'tis not good 
 to trust secrets to girls," cried Mrs. Rae, 
 with a sagacious shake of the head. 
 
 '< What girl do you mean, madam ! I 
 have no kind confident in whose heart I 
 could repose my griefs, no gentle adviser 
 whose melting nature wou'd soothe the 
 anguish of a heart in love."
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? l6l 
 
 Here Arpasia sighed and bewailed in 
 romantic pathos that fate had not given 
 her a sister soul ; this was all she thought 
 she wanted to finish the resemblance of 
 her situation, to that of the heroine of 
 the last novel which she had read. 
 
 " But who be Cynthia?" asked her 
 mother. 
 
 " Oh, torture of ignorance !" cried Ar- 
 pasia, suppressing a smile of contempt, 
 and assuming all the authority the little 
 knowledge she had given her, prepared 
 to answer her mother's simple question, 
 
 " You are to know, madam, that 
 Diana is the goddess of chastity, and 
 daughter to Jupiter and Latona. Cynthia
 
 l6^ OWEN castle; 
 
 is one of her titles. Diana wears a cre- 
 scent on her brow, which is emblemati- 
 cal of the modest and shining lustre of 
 virtue, and this is the reason the moon i* 
 called Cynthia and Diana." 
 
 " Oh, aye,** answered her mother, " I 
 understands it be all innocence, I was only 
 afraid this Cynthia was some busybody 
 as might make mischief by telling o'Tho- 
 mas ; who if he knowed, wou'd'nt mind 
 knocking down a lord, no more nor ano- 
 ther man, if he catched him offering to 
 mislest his daughter ; but as this friend 
 be a goddess, she may keep a silent 
 tongue in her head, and never say nought 
 to nobody.*!. , 
 
 Arpasia finding her explanation lost
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 1 63 
 
 upon her mother, gave up all further at- 
 tempt on that head, and enjoying her 
 mistake, assured her that her friend the 
 goddess would never betray her confi- 
 dence to mortals, whatever she might do 
 to the gods, 
 
 Mrs. Rae went to dress herself accord- 
 ing to her daughter's desire, but when 
 ^e returned after near an hour and a 
 halfs time, she did not appear so inte- 
 resting as her daughter could have 
 wished. 
 
 ** Why, mother,** she exclaimed on 
 viewing her, '• you have not attended to 
 my directions ; do take that pink ribbon 
 out of your cap, and purple streamer 
 out of yonr bonnet ; the green stuff is
 
 l64 OWEN CASTLE 5 
 
 pastoral and pretty enough, with the 
 neat lemon coloured sha\^l and str^.w cot- 
 tage bonnet, but the other colours only 
 give a vulgar look to the whole, so pray 
 take them out." 
 
 "Indeed I sha'nt, Arpy ; I know what 
 dress is very well, and I am sure I an't 
 been so poverty looking this many a year, 
 so I won't d' ye see change my mind any 
 more." 
 
 As time was flying swiftly on, Arpasia 
 was anxious to get her off, on her er- 
 rand, lest she should not be able to ob- 
 tain an audience witli Theodosius 
 before he went to dinner; so would 
 not contend the point with her, only asked 
 if $he had been rubbing some powder oa
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? l65 
 
 her face, to give her rubid countenance 
 a more delicate and distressed appearance, 
 for there was no visible alteration. 
 
 '^ Yes, to be sure I have, but it*s all of 
 no use ; I shall be as red as fire when I 
 get there ; as for my eyes they are red wi' 
 crying, so I shall look sorrowful enough, 
 and play my talking part well, I warrant, 
 Arpy ; so make no more to do, but give 
 me the note to carry to the young lord. 
 
 She read the contents aloud with self 
 applause and approbation ; for she had 
 taken care to assign to herself all the 
 amiable feelings of an affectionate child, 
 which she knew would heighten her cha- 
 racter with her lover, and add a second 
 charm to that of beauty.
 
 166 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 The note ran thus : 
 
 '' I know the valediction of Arpasia, 
 will wring the heart of her Theodosius; 
 but it must, it must be so ; filial duty- 
 demands the sacrifice of love, and she 
 obeys ; she quits the sylvan scene of all 
 her woes and joys^ where first she learnt 
 to love ; nought but despair attends her 
 flight, but 'tis for a beloved parent she 
 labours^ and the task will appear light. 
 Yes, my Theodosius, in vile and abject 
 servitude must the adored of thy soul be 
 buried for ever from thy view ; the cruel 
 hand of power of thy relentless father 
 will seize our little all, and turn me and 
 my hapless parents forth to want and 
 misery, unless some guardian angel ward 
 off the threatening blow, and merit my
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? l6j 
 
 eternal gratitude. My trembling hand 
 cannot pen a supplication to the only 
 one I dare invoke ; tears obtrude, I can 
 no more — accept the everlasting love and 
 faith of your own lost Arpasiar 
 
 Is it not charming, madam," cried she 
 sealing it, " the very style of the undone 
 Treandaphelia to her Rodolphin." 
 
 As soon as she had dispatched her 
 mother, her father entered with a face 
 of importance, and gave a letter into her 
 hand which she read aloud. 
 
 *' Dear Farmer Rae, 
 
 *' I have for a long time known 
 and respected you, and am sorry to hear 
 of your misfortunes, and will, if you won't
 
 l68 OWEN castle; 
 
 take it amiss, lend you a bit of help in 
 your trouble by the loan of a hundred 
 pounds, that may stop the proceedings of 
 that rascal Grubb for a time, till you can 
 turn yourself round : all I ask in return 
 is, for you to speak a kind word for me 
 to miss Arpasia, for whom I feel the 
 sincere respect and value of a true lover, 
 and for whom 1 would risk my life to 
 prove myself deserving her kind notice. 
 I have a good farm of three hundred 
 pounds per year, well stocked, to offer 
 her, besides a faithful heart that will 
 know no happiness, if she don't share 
 the gifts of fortune with me; I cannot 
 make verses to please her, or make my 
 courtship in fashionable manners, but 
 this I can assure both her and you, that 
 it will be the study of my life to promote.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? I69 
 
 her comfort and felicity. In the hope of 
 soon beuig called to wait on her, 
 
 " I am your sincere friend, 
 and, Arpasia*s faithful admirer, 
 Reuben Blackthorn.'* 
 
 ''Here's forten ! Arpy,'* cried her 
 father, " the lad of all the land I could 
 have wished for thee with regard to money 
 and behaviour, sobriety and mannerful- 
 ness ; with as good an edication almost 
 as your own; he plays on the flute to 
 admiration, and dances to the very life, and 
 is the pride o' the wenches ; why they be 
 pulling caps for him all over the country ; 
 and then for his heart, 'tis the best out and 
 out, I ever met wi' in my born days ; 
 only think of his kindness to lend me a 
 hundred pounds, and take you without 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 l^O OWEN castle; 
 
 ever a penny of money. Oh ! Arpy, thou 
 he's a lucky maid ; kiss thy father ; my 
 heart be fail to think of thy prosperity/* 
 He kissed her cheek, shook her by the 
 hand, and called loudly for his dame, 
 to partake of the good news. 
 
 " Is it your desire, father, that I siiould 
 encourage the addresses of this clown," 
 said she with a disdainful look. 
 
 " Why, yes, Arpy, if so be you can like 
 of him ; I would not wish my child to 
 take a husband against her will, for no 
 consideration whatsomever; but Reuben 
 is mortal handsome and genteel like, and 
 IVe often caught you together, coming 
 from walking, so I be sure you think so, 
 as well as J, thof you make so shy.— I
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? Ifl 
 
 shall step across the fields, return him 
 my hearty thanks for his kind offer, and 
 tell him to make the best use of his time 
 to win thee, Arpy. — And mind as you 
 speak kindly to the poor lad that loves 
 you, and don*t take airs on yourself, as 
 your mother did with me ; I can feel for 
 he, if you be so minded ; for when Dolly 
 were in her tantrums, nothing could come 
 up to my spondations of mind." — 
 
 " ^yell, father," cried she, ^' he may 
 come, there can be no harm in his 
 taking a cup of tea with us." 
 
 The farmer kissed her with a joyful 
 heart and flew for Reuben. 
 
 I 2
 
 173 OWEN castle; 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 X HE reason why Arpasia consented so 
 readily to receive Reuben as a suitor for 
 her favour, was to blind her father to 
 the design she had on the young lord ; 
 for well she knew he would object to 
 the clandestine intercourse she main- 
 tained with Theodosius, as being one so 
 infinitely above her sphere^ and perhaps 
 spoil all, by disclosing to lord Ormin- 
 stead his son's intention ; besides Reuben 
 was a most excellent rival to alarm her 
 lover with; and might hasten her marriage
 
 OKj WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 1^3 
 
 with him, from the fear of losing her. 
 Lastly, a spirit of coquetry and triumph 
 of seducing a virtuous heart to misery 
 and rejection, whose simphcity had 
 chosen a beautiful person and fascinat- 
 i ng manners, not entertaining a doubt 
 but there was a more precious ornament 
 within the lovely form, called an uncor 
 Tupted heart. 
 
 When Reuben entered the cottage, 
 she was struck by his appearance, and 
 thought he looked more handsome and 
 genteel than ever she had beheld him ; 
 his chesnut shaded hair was parted in 
 a wave upon his smooth forehead, whose 
 whiteness gained additional advantage 
 from the sun-burnt and glowing complex- 
 ion of his manly cheek ; his eyes were of
 
 174 OWEN CASTL; 
 
 the brightest blue, and spoke eloquently 
 the language of his honest soul, while 
 gazing on her he loved; truth and justice 
 hovered round his smiling lip, and fi- 
 nished a set of expressive features in a 
 most prepossessing style; his figure was 
 neatly proportioned and of the middle 
 stature, with a deportment not clownish 
 or affected. His grandfather, (a well read 
 man) had undertaken his education him- 
 self ; it was of the essential sort, refined 
 by a knowledge of polite literature, 
 whence his conversation was rational and 
 pleasing ; his talent for music, and taste 
 for innocent gaiety, recommended him to 
 the acquaintance of the youthful, while 
 his mental acquirements, benevolence, 
 rectitude and persevering industry, gained 
 him the respect and friendship of the 
 aged.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE.- 1/5 
 
 Arpasia accepted his advances with 
 playful ease, and when in timid accents 
 he pleaded for her love, she listened with 
 a dimpled smile, which gave to his honest 
 soul, the vision of hope and happiness. 
 When he took his leave at the rustic gate, 
 he threw a cornelian heart suspended by 
 a small gold chain round her neck, and 
 cried *' take, dearest Arpasia, this heart 
 in token of the empire you hold over 
 mine ; receive it, oh ! receive it for ever," — 
 and snatching a kiss darted out of sight 
 in an instant 
 
 *' Ah," cried Arpasia, leaning on the 
 gate, " I might be happy, very happy 
 with worthy Keuben ; I wish he was a lord; 
 but whence that wish, I don't love him ; 
 no, yet I cannot but admire his ..erson 
 l4
 
 Ij6 OWEN (ASTLE; 
 
 mind, and manners ; his address is so 
 respectful, yet so aident; his language, 
 simple, yet so warmly tempered by a 
 sincere passion, that it penetrates even 
 my pre-occupied bosom ; I waver ; I com* 
 pare Reuben with Theodosius constantly, 
 and Reuben ever gains the victory, I 
 feat I have mistook my feelings; I fear 
 twas an emulous desire of rising supe* 
 rior to my station, to gratify vanity, sor- 
 did avarice and ambition, that made me 
 think I adored Theodosius ; he was my 
 guide to title, equipage and splendour, 
 and as such, I gave him gratitude, mis- 
 called love ; how contrary are my wishes ! 
 I wou'd marry this Reuben, marry him 
 for pure love (for now I know the dif- 
 ference of my sensations) yet cannot drive 
 from my bosom this ambition ; this long-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 17/ 
 
 Migto soar on higlV; this aspiring wish to 
 mount the proudest pinnacle of celebrity ; 
 to be admired ; to be considered the cen- 
 tre of fashion ; and by the effulgence of 
 my charms and brilliant establishment, 
 eclipse the satellites that would revolve 
 round me. Yes, this is my elysium, the 
 mere thought of what / may he, agi- 
 tates my heart with delight ; I was not 
 born to sleep away my life in indolent 
 content ; waste it in oblivious seclusion 
 and inactive serenity'; — no ; but to step 
 beyond the prescribed limits of plebeian 
 souls. Then farewell Reuben, farewell 
 love ; for which I will not give up the glit- 
 tering prospect that lies before my gaze ; 
 could 1 do that, I were thine ; as it is, I 
 am the bride of Theodosius.** 
 
 16
 
 i/S OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 How snrciv do we find golden chains 
 will never biiui love; he will not inhabit 
 with ambition, but takes instant Hight 
 from tlie bold intruder, wanders oer the 
 cottage, lurks in the grove, and nestles 
 closely in the unsophisticated virgin s bo- 
 som. The village church clock struck 
 eight, she started from her reclining pos- 
 ture, and hurried towards the coppice, 
 the appointed rendezvous; where she found 
 Theodosius, who had read her letter with 
 a mixture of satisfaction and risibility. 
 He knew her turn for romance, arid ever 
 humoured it ; the difficulty under which 
 she laboured, gave birth to the most 
 sanguine hopes of success that a liber- 
 tine could form, yet as he knew the mind 
 of Arpasia was discerning under all 
 the guise of visionary fiction, so he dis-
 
 OR, WHK-H 1% THE HEROINE." 17^^ 
 
 tetnbled his real views, and pur^^ued her 
 with honourable professions ; he promi^^ed 
 her mother to intercede with his father in 
 favour of Thomas Rae, and settle every 
 thing in an indulgent manner with re- 
 gard to the rent ; hkewise to see if Natha- 
 niel Grubb's unlawful demand might not 
 be disputed hv c/j^:-.': of law; and ended 
 by assuring Mr^. liae that all should be 
 arranged in perfect satisfaction by quarter 
 day. Her heart was eased from a load of 
 care,"and feeling no inclination to return 
 home, accepted an invitation from Mr. 
 Popinjay to stay tea and supper, and play 
 a game at cards, so that it was late be- 
 fore she returned home ; her husband 
 informed her of Reuben's proposal, and 
 that Arpasia had been walking with him ; 
 this astonished her beyond every things 
 \6
 
 180 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 nor could she fathom her daughter's de- 
 sign, and did not retire to rest, until she 
 had satisfied her curiosity by enquiring 
 of Arpasia her reason for such proceed- 
 ings ; which being explained at full, she 
 very contentedly retired to bed.* About 
 a week before quarter day, Reuben call- 
 ed rather earlier than usual, on Farmer 
 Rae, and acquainted him that he h^d 
 something of importance to relate, which 
 was, that Jack the carter, and Ralph 
 Broadcast the ploughman, had made a 
 discovery of some worth. It seems that 
 Nathaniel Grubb had designedly met 
 Thomas Rae on his return from the great 
 factor's ; he sent Joe and Ralph to drink 
 "a jug of ale to his health, who were 
 working in the field ; — the public house 
 was but a short distance, and they re-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? ISl 
 
 turned just at the time their maste/count- 
 ed out the two hundred pounds into the 
 clerk's hands; could swear before any court 
 of justice, that they heard the farmer say, 
 *' Well, now Nathaniel, I am outof thy debt 
 and thank you kmdly for past favours.'* 
 Nathaniel made answer and said, " Yes, 
 friend, you have paid me justly and duly, 
 and I thank you." 
 
 '* They are honest fellows," cried the 
 farmer ; *^ them were the very words, but 
 how didst find it out.'* 
 
 Reuben explained, that since the com- 
 mencement of his friend's troubles, Joe 
 had been very unsettled and did not like 
 to quit his master Farmer Rae, (who 
 had been so very kind to him when he
 
 83 OWEN CASTLE I 
 
 was sick and could not work,) and go to 
 another, but having got his warning, 
 he was obliged to look out for another 
 service, so came to his farm, where he had 
 been some days before he heard of the 
 villainy of Grubb against Farmer Rae, 
 and determmed to seek Ralph, and by 
 their evidence defeat the malice of his 
 enemy; Ralph was ready to swear to what 
 he had heard and seen. Reuben advised 
 his friend to go instantly to law, saying ; 
 ''Now my good farmer, take this, giving 
 him Si hundred pounds, and pay one out 
 of the four you owe your landlord, and 
 sit down in peace ; he will give you time 
 to make up the other ; in the course of 
 the year all will be well ; pay me when 
 you can, and as you can ; all I want, is 
 to see an honest man triumph over his
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 183 
 
 enemy, and enjoy the blessings of an 
 easy mind." 
 
 Arpasia's eye spoke her admiration and 
 gratitude, but her lips were closed, she 
 dared not trust herself to speak, lest 
 her heart should give the hand she had 
 reserved for another. Ah ! w^hy, she men- 
 tally exclaimed, was not Reuben a lord ; 
 he has generosity enough to entitle him 
 to thedistinction. Her father pressed the 
 youth's hand, but could not clearly thank 
 him, till some minutes had elapsed, then 
 the overflowing language of honest grati- 
 tude fully expressed itself. " 1 love thee 
 Reuben as my son," said he, " which I do 
 pray you will shortly be, and am loth to 
 press, as I may say, a free horse to death ; 
 my lord ha» promised my wife to be in--
 
 184 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 dulgently given ; he is rich, and can 
 afford to wait better than you, so take 
 back this here handsome lend^; I wont 
 distress a good youth, I will depend on 
 my lord's promises." 
 
 *' Don't lean on a rotten reed, farmer,, 
 but be your own friend, when you can,"^ 
 returned Reuben ; ^^ great men's promises 
 are sometimes fallacious; don't rely on 
 them^ for you may too late repent it." 
 
 His mellow voice was expressively firm 
 as he said this, and Arpasia felt he was 
 right ; a boding fear struck at her hearty 
 find a deep sigh escaped her bosom. 
 
 ^^ Are you ill', my dear Arpasia r** 
 asked Reuben, gently seating himself by 
 her side.
 
 OR, WHICH IvS THE HEROINE? 185 
 
 •* A\ Reuben," returned she, keeping 
 her eyes on the work before her. 
 
 " Unhappy then r" said he, taking her 
 hand. 
 
 ^' Neither, neither^ let me alone/* cried 
 she pettishly. 
 
 *' If you refuse me your confidence, 
 you hurt, not offend me, Arpasia. I love 
 you so entirely, that not to share in your 
 distresses, wounds me more than to be 
 debarred the sight of you when happiness 
 adorns your face with lovely smiles.** 
 
 " Don't mind her, lad,** said the farmer, 
 'tis nothing but love of you that troubles 
 her mind, so Til leave you to make iier
 
 18^ OWEN castle; 
 
 unsay it, if she can !" so saying he left 
 the room. 
 
 '^ Is it so Arpasia ?" asked he, fixing 
 his eyes on her burning cheek ; *' say 
 but yes, ah! say it, truly, sincerely, if 'tis 
 so, — if not, keep me not in wretchedness 
 and doubt, but by a final blow destroy 
 my peace, and hopes at once." 
 
 " How strangely you talk, Reuben,'* 
 cried she ; " what makes you suppose any 
 answer of mine would destroy your ]?eace ; 
 have I not given you my word, to wed 
 you, Reuben." 
 
 " You have^ Arpasia ; I consider it a 
 solemn tie, a tie not to be lightly held ; 
 how do you consider it," said he in a
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 187 
 
 deep tone, and fixing his eyes on her 
 face. 
 
 *' How should I/' answered she, twist- 
 ing her ringlets that hung about her neck, 
 and becoming every moment more con- 
 fused. 
 
 *' How should you. Oh Arpasia ! is this 
 the way to answer me ; whence arises this 
 confusion and reserve ? there should be a 
 mutual faith and confidence between per- 
 sons about to enter into an holy engage- 
 ment ; a reciprocal reliance on each other ; 
 not an action, not a thought should es- 
 cape the scrutiny of the elected partner ; 
 then ^\ve your thoughts, your \^ishes, 
 and your troubles to me ; let my fortitude 
 sustain your weakness ; allow the few
 
 188 OWEN castle; 
 
 years I have lived beyond you, may have 
 given me experience to conduct your 
 mind, and ward off encroaching error. 
 Is there any favorite desire you would re- 
 quest to be granted, any youthful vanity 
 or pleasing offering to your worthy pa- 
 rents to be presented ere you quit their 
 roof? Say, love, and if my means can 
 compass it, 'tis thine/'' he hstened for a re- 
 ply, but she was silent, is there any secret 
 uneasiness, any trouble that weighs on 
 your mind, that o'er shades the prospect 
 of our union ? Tell me, I implore you, 
 Arpasia, that I may instantly relieve you 
 from the burden." 
 
 " I am not in trouble, Reuben, why 
 do you fancy such things," said she, while- 
 tears chased down her cheeks, which she 
 endeavoured to hide.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? I89 
 
 '^ Not in affliction, Arpasia, then 
 wherefore these woeful sis^ns of sorrow? 
 Arpasia do not deny" (he said with a faul- 
 tering voice and, taking both her hands 
 within his own, looked most earnestly 
 in her face) " do not deny, but that 
 there is a mutability hovering round your 
 heart ; that the ratification of our engage- 
 ment being so nigh, fills you with fear 
 and doubt, you don't feel assured of being 
 happy with me. — I charge you, Arpasia, 
 to examine your heart ; if the least reluc- 
 tance lurks within it, disclose it now ; do 
 not carry a variable unconfirmed mind 
 to the altar, and thereby render me and 
 yourself miserable. Oh ! Arpasia, where 
 is the affectionate candour of real love ; 
 you have it not ; something lies like a 
 concealed serpent to my peace within
 
 igo OWEN castle; 
 
 your bosom, — it tortures you, it distracts 
 me. — Speak, Oh ! speak at once the fatal 
 truth ; there is another, for whom your 
 heart is strugghng to be free; for whom, 
 you would sacrifice ray future happiness. 
 Beware, Arpasia, act not cruelly by one 
 who loves you dear as his honour, his 
 life; confess now, and save me endless 
 misery." 
 
 " No, no, Reuben, my heart is solely 
 yours,'' she cried, bursting into tears. 
 
 ^^ Thank heaven," he exclaimed, a tear 
 starting from his eye, " you are my own 
 Arpasia," he embraced her tenderly, and 
 rose to depart, '' but still/' said he " Arpa- 
 sia, my mind is not satisfied on the cause 
 of your apparent distress ; tell me, dearest
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? I9I 
 
 girl, when will you bestow upon me 
 your coniidence? Before we are married 
 I entreat it/' he said -^ for my sake, — 
 for your own." 
 
 '- You shall know it soon," returned she, 
 bending down her head. 
 
 '* But when? if not 7iow'* 
 
 '^ Now I cannot tell you, but soon, 
 verj/ soon you will know it/* she mourn- 
 fully cried, 
 
 " It must be to-morrow, then, x\rpa- 
 sia/' cried he, " for the next day gives you 
 to me for ever ; and as I would have all 
 your future days glide on in tranquillity, 
 80 shall you not become my wife with an
 
 192 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 unquiet mind. — When may I expect this 
 disclosure r" 
 
 ^' By ten to-morrow night.'* 
 
 ^' Your decision will make the morning 
 bright or wretched to me; 'tis long to 
 bare suspense, where i/ou are concerned; 
 it can be nothing of importance, or you 
 would not surely delay the communica- 
 tion so tediously/' 
 
 " Of this, be certain, Reuben/* return- 
 ed she, " 'tis what will inspire you with 
 pity only ; I know your nature too well to 
 think it will afflict you long, therefore rest 
 content." 
 
 *^ Pity is a gentle passion, Arpasia, and
 
 OR, waiCH IS THE HEROINE ? 193 
 
 sister to all the estimable virtues of the 
 soul ; it often obtrudes on a soft and gene- 
 rous breast, -and too frequently dissolves 
 it to contemptible weakness ; farewell, my 
 love, my hrlde farewell ;" he pressed her 
 closely in his arms, and hastened home. 
 
 Arpasia retired to her room, with an 
 aching heart, the tumult of her mind and 
 spirits could not subside^ and she could 
 not sleep ; she did not close her eyelids"^ 
 that night; next morning she looked upon 
 her wedding clothes^ arranged them in 
 her drawer, admired the white satin boAV 
 that was tied in a true lover's knot^ for 
 her bosom, the white chip hat and ribbon 
 were pinned on in many ways, but none 
 could please her ; her dress was not fine 
 enough, the edging on the bosom not rich 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 0W£N castle; 
 
 enough, and the little cloak was too long ; 
 it hid the slender turn of her waist; thus 
 did she find fault with the village mantua- 
 maker and milliner^ who brought them 
 • home. 
 
 Re^uben had brought his mother, from 
 his sister's home a few miles ofl', to witness 
 bis marriage, and to delight his only sur- 
 viving parent by the sight of his felicity ; 
 the old lady had been busy in making 
 and preparing ever}^ thing for the bride/s 
 reception, there were also many friends 
 invited to grace the feast, and pay homage 
 to his choice. 
 
 The sun seemed long in setting to the 
 impatient Reuben, and as the clock struck 
 nine he left his Lo.ne for that of farmer
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? l95 
 
 Rue's, determined to reach it before the 
 hour Arpasia had fixed as the close of his 
 suspense ; bat a friend prevented his in- 
 tent, by intreating him to go to the cot- 
 tage of Joe the carter, who had that day 
 fallen from the cart, beneath the horse's 
 feet, and had not a person unknown stop- 
 ped the fore horse, he must have been 
 trampled to death ; as it was, he had 
 escaped with a broken limb; he was in 
 great pain, and desired to see his master im- 
 mediately, for he had something to relate 
 that would surprise him, and might prove 
 of conf^eqaence, if not looked to; and as 
 he was like to die, he said his last mo- 
 ments might be heavy because of the trou- 
 ble of his mind. 
 
 Anxious as Reuben was to see Arpasia^ 
 
 K 2
 
 196 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 this was a call he could not withstand. 
 He sent a servant to acquaint her of tlie 
 cause of his non-appearance, and say that 
 he would be with her by 6 o'clock the 
 next morning. 
 
 He found Joe in a very dreadful state, 
 but quite unable to disclose what he had 
 declared to be of so much consequence. 
 After he had seen every possible aid ad- 
 ministered by his suffering wife, and at- 
 tentive surgeon, he was about to leave him, 
 but the poor man perceiving his intention, 
 grasped his hand so earnestly, and groaned 
 forth so piteous a request to stay, that the 
 kind heart of Reuben could not refuse 
 him^ but watched by his bedside the 
 whole night. As the grey dawn of morn- 
 ing appeared he fell asleep, and the
 
 OR, \VIIICH IS THE HEROINE? I97 
 
 youth thinking each moment an age, 
 left the cottage, and by six of the morn- 
 ing sallied forth. — ^The rising sun gilt each 
 leaf and flower of the garden through 
 which he had passed with a crimson 
 edge; the distant windows of Arpasia's 
 dwelling reflected its cheering beams ; 
 Aurora seemed to smile auspicious on his 
 wedding day ; and on his entering his 
 home to dress for the ceremony, the 
 words of his mother (who had been long 
 up, and met him at the door) touched 
 his very soul with reverence and love. 
 
 " This is a glorious morning, my son ; 
 a joyful omen on thy marriage day, and 
 may each coming morrow be as sweet 
 as this to thee and thy fair bride. I 
 give thee my blessing, boy ; the blessing 
 K 3
 
 lyS OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 of a fond mother, thy only parent, and 
 be it a comfort to your breast to know, 
 that 1 avow thou hast been to me the best 
 of sons; that thou hast by thy affectionate 
 duty and tender care, supplied the place of 
 thy father to his poor Widow ; and 
 having so well performed thy duty to thy 
 mother, I have no doubt tliou wilt fulMl 
 it to thy v\i£e. May the great God of all 
 mercies prosper thee through life, and fi- 
 nally reward thy virtues!** She clasped 
 her aged arms round his neck, as he invo- 
 luntarily dropped upon his knee, and sealed 
 her blessing by a maternal kiss upon his 
 forehead. 
 
 With a bounding heart, he bent his 
 coi'rse to the cottage of his intended 
 bride; he found the honest farmer up.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE.' ]Cj() 
 
 and ready dressed in his best clothes, 
 to attend his daughter to church, for he, 
 hy his own express desire was to give 
 her away» 
 
 " I wish to speak to your daughter, 
 friend/' said Reuben, '^ is slie dressed ?" 
 
 " Aye, to be sure she is," returned he. 
 *' I saw her in the garden at five, or 
 a little before, looking as handsome and 
 gay as a May blossom.*' 
 
 "Where is she now?'* said Reuben. 
 
 " In the garden still, I dare say, and 
 thinks it long till you fetch her to church." 
 
 Reuben flew to the garden ; he search- 
 k3
 
 2Q0 OW£N CASTLE ; 
 
 ed each walk; he called on her name? 
 but saw her not; heard her not; he re- 
 turned to the cottage, she was not in 
 the parlour ; her chamber was searched 
 in vain ; not a trace of her remained. 
 While Reuben stood lost in wonder and 
 alarm., a little lad that belonged to a 
 neighbouring farm, came running, cry- 
 ing, '^ Oh! Farmer Rae, she be gone, 
 Miss Arpasia's gone. I seed her step into 
 a chaise and four ; it stood a good while 
 waiting for her, behind the hay stacks 
 at the back of the barn, on the London 
 road! she be gone as sure as life, for 
 the horses went as fast as they could gal- 
 lop/' 
 
 The mystery of her conduct was now 
 explained; the ambiguity of her words.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 20 I 
 
 were now clear as dav. She well knew the 
 contempt that Reuben held for wealth or 
 titles, if not honourably obtained ; and 
 that they were dishonourably acquired 
 by her, needed not a moment to con- 
 vince him. — The breach of promise was 
 evident ; the long concealed duplicity of 
 her heart was laid before him ; she had 
 stifled a virtuous passion in its bud ; ex- 
 tinguished all remorse or compassion for 
 his sufferings, and consigned herself to 
 endless compunction for the'glittering in- 
 famy of a moment. — He did indeed pity 
 her. — A groan burst from the flattened 
 heart of the worthy farmer, as he sunk 
 on a chair, that roused the youth from 
 the stupor the sudden information had 
 caused; he turned to his friend, and shook 
 his hand with trembling cordiality, and
 
 20!^ OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 exclaimed in a broken voice, — " Sink not 
 thus, my friend, nor lament a degenerate 
 daughter. — 'Tis her abandonment of sa 
 kind a father, that crowns her conduct 
 with redoubled guilt ; for that I despise 
 her ; for that I abhor her ; give not me 
 a thought, — heaven has freed me from 
 an undeserving woman. I feel my wrongs 
 as a man should, with disdain ; for my 
 judgment convinces me of the happiness 
 of the event, though hiiman weakness 
 will mourn the loss of what I once fondly 
 conceivedperfection.— Her image (such as 
 she did appear to my deluded eyes) will 
 present itself, and anguish may then wring 
 my heart; but reason will at last subdue 
 my folly, and teach me how little I should- 
 value the perfect form of a female, unless 
 lis enriched by virtue and aa upright
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE.- 203 
 
 mind. — She has fled you in adversity ; 
 I never will. She has broken her faith 
 with me^ I never will with you. I will 
 yet prove myself deserving to be your 
 son, though she has shewn herself unwor- 
 thy to be your daughter." 
 
 '* Oh r cried the Farmer, in the bitterest 
 tone; did I think the babe I nourished 
 by my toil, whose every comfort sprung 
 from the hard wrung sweat of my brow, 
 would turn serpent, viper, and sting my 
 old heart in this inhuman manner ? Lit- 
 tle did I think my child would be a 
 madam, I thought God had sent a bless- 
 ing when she was born ; a comfort to 
 my latter days ; — but now I find her a 
 curse, a disgrace to my honest name. 
 God will punish her for leaving her pa- 
 rents in the hour of trouble/'
 
 J?04 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 " He will do no such like thing ; she is a 
 good girl j she is only gone to be married to 
 my young lord, and will soon come back 
 a topping lady ; and she was right not to 
 slip her fortune, to take up with a paltry 
 farmer, tho' I did," cried Mrs Rae in anger, 
 and bridling up, cast a look of contempt on 
 l^euben, who leaned his head supported 
 by his arms upon a table. His hands were 
 linked before his eyes, and a tear, a single 
 tear, escaping through his fingers betrayed 
 that the forsaken lover was not insensible 
 to his injuries^ 
 
 Condemn him not, you who have never 
 knov/n the misery of being deceived ; it 
 was not a tear of feminine weakness ; — 
 No, it was distilled from an honourable 
 heart, labouring with the pangs of slight-
 
 OR, WHICH rS THE HEKOINE ? 203 
 
 cd love, of an unmerited insult ; resent- 
 ment softened by pity ; for it is the vir^ 
 tuous who lament the progress of the 
 guilty ; it is the virtuous who raise them 
 from famine and despair, not the partners 
 of their iniquitous life. Ah no! they fly ofi^ 
 and leave them to bewail their solitary 
 misery, in all the horrors of an upbraid- 
 ing conscience. 
 
 " Why, I hope Dolly as you know 
 nothing of her goings on, how should 
 you know my young lord will marry a 
 poor maa*s child like mine?*' cried the 
 farmer. 
 
 " Because she told me the history on't* 
 I an't no fool, Thomas/' said his wife; 
 " whatever you may think on't ; I gave
 
 ^06 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 her my advice, so she'll make her forten, 
 as you'll see ; only you keep abusing her 
 80^ and have no patience." 
 
 " If you knowed on her wicked doings^ 
 Dolly," said he, " I have done wi' you 
 for ever, and 1*11 go up to my lord, and 
 ax him if he knows how basely his son has- 
 used me/' 
 
 " Hold, farmer !'* cried Reuben, starting 
 up, " don't mar her designs by any rash 
 act; if it be, as Mrs. Rae says, all may 
 be well. I only fear her daughter has 
 only in part instructed her on the sub- 
 ject ; and as we all believe what we wish, 
 she may think her daughter's conduct 
 right ; for no mother would in my opin- 
 ion be accessary to a child's ruin. Ex»
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 207" 
 
 plain the particulars of your daughter's 
 flighty madam." 
 
 " And so I can Sir/' said Mrs. Rae ; 
 *' my lord has sworn a hundred and a 
 hundred times, as he would make her 
 his lady, but said as how his cross old 
 father would never give his consent, so 
 begged her to go wi' him to Lonnun, and 
 he wou'd marry her there ; so she, natural 
 enough, consented, and is gone; and 
 w here's the great harm done*" 
 
 " And is the promise of that libertine 
 young man, the only reliance your 
 daughter has for becoming his wifeT 
 said Reuben. 
 
 " Yes, and quite enough too, Reuben
 
 205 OWEN CASTLE? 
 
 JBiacJ(thor77y whom do t/ou call young 
 man ; learn to be more homageful to your^ 
 betters/' cried she. 
 
 " I can never treat a villain with re- 
 spect, madam, if you mean that; nor can 
 I consider a seducer in the light of an 
 lionest man, tho' the one be a lord, and 
 the other an humble^husbandman. But 
 why was all this so long kept secret? Why 
 was I led on to the last instant, to be ex- 
 posed to the derison of the village ?" 
 
 ** Because Arpy was fearful, you or 
 her father might blab it all, and set the 
 old lord on the scent, and so prevent the 
 match." 
 
 ^^ You are a deceived woman/' said
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 209 
 
 Reuben ; your daughter knew her father 
 and I should have doubted the sincerity 
 of his lordship's son ; especially when 
 he promised to marry his tenant's daugh- 
 ter. She knew lue were not to be blinded 
 to his real views, and might have strove 
 to recall her from a fatal snare. As it is, 
 she is lost.*' 
 
 " Lost ! lost ! I say, lost indeed ! here's 
 spite and malice !" cried Mrs. Rae in a 
 rage. 
 
 " Madam, spare your anger," said 
 Reuben ; '' this is not a moment for pas- 
 sion, but for repentance ; you have un- 
 knowingly connived at your daughter's 
 destruction, and destroyed your husband's 
 peace/*
 
 210 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 As he finished this sentence, a bailifiT 
 -and his follower entered the house; he 
 laid his hand upon the farmer's shouldefj 
 saying ** I arrest you farmer Rae, for 
 four hundred pounds due for rent, at the 
 suit of Lord Orminstead, and seize on 
 all your goods to defray sundry other 
 demands. You must go with me to prison J* 
 
 "With all my soul /" cried the wretched' 
 man, " I can die any where/* 
 
 " What is the reason of this unusual 
 severity?" asked Reuben. 
 
 " Why answered the bailiff, Mr. stew- 
 ard told me, that ray lord has done it from 
 reveege, because Mr. Rae encouraged my 
 lord's son to come after his fine daughter^, 
 and let them go off to be married/'
 
 ©R, WHICH 15 THE flEROINtf 21 1 
 
 " 'Tis false sir/' cried Reuben. " Mr. 
 Rae's heart is now bleeding at the newly 
 discovered desertion of that daughter ; he 
 is the victim of lier artfel disobedience^ 
 and the young lord'^ villainy." 
 
 ** You had better not say as rnuch,** 
 said the bailiff. 
 
 '* Not say it. I will say it to the world; 
 nay^ to his stern lordship's self. Wait but 
 an half hour, and I will engage to bring 
 my friend his freedom, by disclosing the 
 real state of the affair to this enraged 
 parent." 
 
 " I can't stop I tell you, sir ; he must 
 go along with us to prison, so there's no 
 talking on the matter ; bring him along. 
 Snatch/-' cried the bailiff to his follower.
 
 212 OWEN CASTLE J 
 
 ^^ Won't you take my bail^" said Reu- 
 ben. 
 
 ^^ No, I have orders not," answered the 
 baihff. 
 
 ^ You dare not refuse it/' cried Reuben, 
 growing warm, and fretted by the haste of 
 his friend*s oppressor. 
 
 *' Why, as to that/' returned the baili^V 
 *^ if you'll take on yourself to be answer- 
 able ?'' 
 
 " A^o, no r said the farmer, " he shall 
 not suffer any more by me, or mi?ie ; I'll 
 go to prison, rot and die there, sooner 
 than touch a guinea of his : he is injured 
 enough by me already, and as for you.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 215 
 
 wife, I never desire to see thy face, never 
 no more ;" so saying he darted from the 
 house, followed by Reuben, tlie baihfF 
 ^nd his follower. 
 
 An execution was laid on the goods, 
 and Mrs. Rae driven from the once 
 happy cottage to partake her husband's 
 confinement. 
 
 On the morning of Arpasia's intended 
 wedding day, she arose as early as four, 
 and bent her steps towards the garden. 
 She had on her bridal \vhite, to elude all 
 suspicion of her design ; ^e paused as she 
 reached the rustic gate ; she trembled in 
 every joint, the enormity of her treachery 
 to Reuben came in strong colours before 
 her mind, and in a voice of agony, she
 
 214 OWEN castle; 
 
 faintly cried, '^ at this gate I swore to 
 give my hand to Reuben, I am his af- 
 fianced wife, yet I fly him, I abandon 
 him, and my parents to misery; amhitioni 
 thou monster of the soul! by thee I fall, 
 for thee have I given up my only love, 
 my honour. — What remains tome? Shall 
 I wed the man I love, deceive him with 
 the imaginary passion of happiness, while 
 he but holds a poison to his lip that will 
 embitter all his life to come. Oh ! Reuben ! 
 no, let this struggle prove my love for thee, 
 I will not bestow infamy on thy head, 
 honour I cannot give thee, v/ith my love, 
 therefore I quit you. — Oh! had I early 
 1 no'.VQ thy virtues, I should not now 
 have been the guilty wretch I am. 
 The confession of my trespass from the 
 fence of virtue is by chance spared me^
 
 ■on, WHICH IS THE HEROINE : 215 
 
 -and better is it to fly, while I have power, 
 than plunge my soul in lasting torture 
 by deceiving an affectionate confiding 
 husband, of whom I know myself un- 
 worthy. Reuben, you will pity me, but 
 you know not how I have deserved it : 
 you will despise me too, and will not 
 know how justl3^ Reuben I leave my 
 heart with thee ; my breast is henceforth 
 petrified ; callous to the sufTerings I may 
 inflict on man ; and since I have givtrn 
 up all the softer ties of kindred and of love, 
 nought but interest shall influence my 
 actions ; icealth, title, parade and show, 
 are now my only aim. I have bongl.t 
 them dear ; oh how dear! and if art re- 
 fined by more worldly knowledge can re- 
 tain them, they are mine for ever. Farewell 
 farewell!" she cried, *^ and tearing herself
 
 2l6 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 from the gate flew to the carriage that 
 waited to bear her to Theodosius^ who was 
 to meet her a stage off, and from thence to 
 proceed to London. As it rolled rapidly 
 from the village, she cast a last look 
 upon her birth place ; then fell back and 
 shut it from her sight, while her busy mind 
 painted the consternation her flight would 
 Qccasion to her father and Reuben : for 
 them she wept and wished to lose the fa- 
 culty of thought.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? ^Ij 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 X HE secret intercourse of a youthful fe- 
 male of low origin, with the superiorly 
 gifted young nobleman, must be attended 
 with danger; the vanity of Arpasia and 
 spirit of romance with which her disposi- 
 tion glowed, made her an easy victim to 
 his arts ; the seeds of religion were not 
 early sown or stamped in all their heavenly 
 import in her young bosom ; 'tis true at 
 school she had gone through the Bible, 
 had regularly^attended church; but the 
 flippant mirth of her whispering compa- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 OWEIS CASTLE; 
 
 nions had withdrawn her attention from 
 the sermon ; she knew not the intent or 
 jjoint of the well preached discourse she 
 had heard; it was forgot in the diversion 
 of a leisure hour, without a friend to 
 examine the depth of her sentiment on so 
 serious a suhject. — Left without a firm 
 bias to guide her from the neglect of her 
 preceptress^ whose duty it was to cultivate 
 the virtues, as well as the accomplisli- 
 nients of her pupils, can we wonder when 
 she v\ as assailed by the modern ethic so- 
 phistry oFa libertine, and taught to doubt 
 the potency of heavenly power,, by a well 
 informed youth possessing a perverted 
 mind ; that, dazzled by his splendour and 
 personal beauty, her senses should be 
 bewildered, lier heart inflamed, and that 
 bliQ should sink in the whirlpool of con-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 219 
 
 tending passions, a victim to disgrace, 
 treachery, and infamy? — Ah ! No ! — pain- 
 fully is the truth drawn forth — She 
 Jell. — Nor did she feel a degradation, 
 till Reuben approached her with his ho- 
 nourable suit. — His respectful attentions, 
 sincerity of affection, and rectitude of mo- 
 rals, soon convinced her of his worth. Truth 
 ungarnished by vivid rhetoric, flowed 
 spontaneously from his lips ; the holy 
 mysteries of scripture were by him dis- 
 solved and made clear to her understand- 
 ing ; she saw the black treachery that 
 had deluded her; she was awakened to all 
 the misery her ambitious folly had in- 
 volved her in ; she vowed not to act the 
 wiley part with Reuben, or hide her crime 
 beneath the niabk of wedded faith, but 
 to confess her error, and seek forgive- 
 L 2
 
 220 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 n€ss by repentance. Happy had her re- 
 solacionnot been broken by the non-ap- 
 pearance of Reuben. Having escaped the 
 dread confession, false ioy took posses- 
 sion of her breast ; sh^ listened to the voice 
 of her seducer that urged flight, by which 
 her situation would not be known ; and 
 since by a disclosure of it, she would lose 
 her Reuben's love for ever and live de- 
 S])ised him by in poverty and contumely, 
 too severe a trial for her pride of soul, she 
 therefore preferred the gaudy triumph for a 
 day, to the lasting blessings of contrition, 
 fortitudcj and iilialduiy, 
 
 Theodosius lodged her in a fashionable 
 b >x, near Richmond in Sarry, whose 
 grounds were bordered by the Thames, 
 and gave a pleasing variety to the sur-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 221 
 
 rounding scenery it commanded ; she had 
 a carriage for her use, and an establish- 
 ment suitable to her expensive taste. She 
 presided as hostess of the feast, whenever 
 her paramour invited his gay companions 
 to the villa. Ladies we:re not wantino- to 
 finish these frequent parties, whose tainted 
 minds and vicious hearts, might well cor- 
 rupt a girl of Arpasia's disposition ; yet 
 she was their superior in intellect, and had 
 withal 1 a winning softness, an infantine 
 simplicity of look, that baffled the most 
 experienced of her female visitants. — She 
 endured the company of her own sex, not 
 delighted in it; and by wit and education 
 so captivated the other^ that she was held 
 at once infinitely above the rank of usual 
 mistresses. Theodosius was so ena- 
 moured by the innocence of her counte- 
 L 3
 
 OWEN CASTi.E ; 
 
 nance, and gentle manners, that he with 
 difficulty resisted his strong inclination.to 
 make her his wife, and give an honourable 
 reparation for the loss of character she 
 so mildly sustained ; but he dared not 
 oppose his father's will; who knowing 
 the infatuation of his son, had pronounc- 
 ed his eternal curse on him, if he were 
 mad enough to unite himself so meanly, 
 and had also insisted that he should give 
 her up, as nothing less would convince his 
 father of his duty, or intent to fulfil his 
 repeated promise of marrying an heiress of 
 high birth, his care had })rovided for him ; 
 and that the honour of his illustrious house 
 might escape certain contamination, he 
 pledged himself to bestow upon Arpasia, 
 a fortune of three thousand pounds ; like- 
 wise to free his son from all pecuniary
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 223 
 
 embarrassments. This offer to Theodosius, 
 harrassed by debt ; and^ threatened with a 
 father's malediction, was a temptation not 
 to be resisted. Hereditary pride was strong 
 within his bosom, though for a short time 
 smothered by his passion ; he saw the con- 
 sequence of the connexion his father 
 wished him to form, the honour it would 
 confer upon his house, and vast addition 
 it would make to his impaired posses- 
 sions; the beauty of his intended bride was 
 another stimulus for obedience to his fa- 
 ther's will; he determined on complying 
 with his commands: — this, after a preface 
 of neglect, he disclosed to Arpasia, and 
 with a cool advice of one peremptorily 
 resolved not to be won by tears, up- 
 braidings, or endearments, he advised her 
 to select one from amongst the lovers that 
 
 L 4
 
 224 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 surrounded her, deserving her beauty and 
 bis father's dower. 
 
 Stung to the soul by his desertion of 
 herself and infant (for she had recovered 
 her confinement only a few weeks.) when 
 he made known to her his intentions ; 
 she gave vent to the bitterest reproaches, 
 accusing him as the author of her destruc- 
 tion. He pointed out Reuben, and ad- 
 vised her to write to him, judging, his love 
 when solicited, would eagerly renew its force, 
 and the money salve his delicate scruples. 
 
 She finding her dazzHng dream of great- 
 ness vanish, beheld the purity and peace 
 of his rustic home and habits with en- 
 creasing admiration, and as her infant re- 
 clined on her lovely bosom, it seemed to 
 melt her heart and touch it with com-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 225 
 
 punction for her parent's sufferings. She 
 wrote to them for the first time since her 
 departure, imploring them to explain their 
 distresses, that she might relieve them. 
 Her letter was returned in a blank cover. 
 She learned from the valet of Theo- 
 dosius, who had lately come from the es- 
 tate, that the honest farmer had died of a 
 violent fever, caught from the dampness 
 of his prison, accusing her with his dying 
 breath as the cause ; that Nathaniel 
 Grubb had been proved a villain, and had 
 lost his cause ; and her mother had gone 
 for shelter to the workhouse. Reuben had 
 lost his hundred pounds, but was still 
 kind lo her unhappy mother, and remained 
 a bachelor. 
 
 *' My father die in a prison!" cried 
 L 5
 
 226 OWEN castle; 
 
 Arpasia, " stabbed to his heart by me! 
 My mother languishing in poverty, a 
 pensioner on the parish, and her only 
 friend a loser by his benevolence, still 
 kind to her! For whose sake but mine 
 does he perform the office of friend ? He 
 shall not suffer for his liberality ; I will 
 humble my spirt, and by a full confession 
 of my miseries, create his former — no ! his 
 former confidence can never be mine again, 
 I abused it." — Thus did Arpasia ruminate, 
 but hope induced her to write to Reuben 
 to make an offer of her repentant heart, 
 her person, and her doiver to him, ere 
 she would choose amongst the groupe that 
 hovered round her. — Many attempts were 
 made before she sent this last efpjrt of her 
 able pen to him, and tho ' trembling with 
 doubt and fear, for the result of his de-
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 22/ 
 
 cision, she could not refrain from believ- 
 ing that an affection once so ardent and 
 firm as his, must retain some lurking 
 influence over his actions, and finally 
 triumph over all obstacles. In a week after 
 she had written to him, she received the 
 following answer : 
 
 " Madam, 
 
 ^' I am not fallen so far 
 beneath the consideration of the estimable 
 part of mankind, as to meanly accept 
 money as a reparation for the wrongs 
 conferred on me. Tho' there was a 
 nobleness of soul in your not accepting 
 my willing hand, when I believed you all 
 truth and loveliness, it will not palliate 
 the system of deceit you for a length of 
 time practised towards me, nor heal the 
 L 6
 
 228 OWEN castle; 
 
 wound your sudden desertion caused 
 within my heart. I shall pmy for your 
 happiness with the earnest supphcation 
 of a brother lamenting the fall of a once 
 virtuous sister ; but no dearer tie can now 
 subsist between us. I am not so lost to 
 probity of mind, refinement of soul, or 
 delicacy of sentiment, as to give my hand 
 where my judgment might condemn. 
 I am sorry you have forced me to express 
 my feelings on so delicate a subject; and 
 for the pain I inflict, I implore your 
 pardon, as not by choice given to op- 
 press one already bending under cruelty 
 and desertion. — Farewell, Arpasia, and 
 believe me, that to hear you are safe in 
 the protection of a husband, whose mild 
 nature may pardon your errors, while his
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 229 
 
 justice may guard you from future dan- 
 ger, will be to me the best atonement 
 you can make for p^st trespass on my 
 heart. I own it beats for you even now, 
 but I would rather tear it from my 
 bosom, than suffer it's weakness to tar- 
 nish the name or honour of the humble 
 '^ Reuben Blackthorn/* 
 
 '•' Fool that I was, I might have known 
 the event without giving him this oppor- 
 tunity to insult me," (cried she, tearing 
 the letter in a thousand pieces.) *' Con- 
 tempt from him is more than I can bear, 
 but ril yet be revenged ; the day may 
 come when my resentment may be keenly 
 felt by all." 
 
 All hope of gaining the heir of Ormin-
 
 23a OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 stead being gone, she discovered, that to 
 obtain a respectable consideration with 
 the world, and gain admittance to their 
 notice, was to cloak her misdemeanour, 
 under the name of wife ; when her arts 
 might display their force as occasion 
 offered. By becoming a wife to one of her 
 suitors, she should secure a responsible 
 person for her debts and support^ likewise 
 a speedy chance of liberty, if her views 
 were crowned with success, for he was 
 on the point of leaving the kingdom to 
 embark for America with his regiment : 
 on him she fixed, but stipulated for one 
 third of the three thousand pounds, for 
 her portion, which he granted ; the re- 
 maining two thousand being sufficient 
 to discharge his debts, and answer idle 
 expences till his departure, was all he
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 231 
 
 cared for ; it was a mere chance his 
 return to England, and so little did he 
 value the woman he was about to marry, 
 but from the convenience her fortune 
 afforded him, that he cared not if he 
 never beheld her face again after the cere- 
 mony was over. Dissipated by bad com- 
 pany, of loose morals, gay disposition, 
 and ruined fortune, he plunged for a short 
 relief from difficulty into a solemn en- 
 gagement with a woman he knew to 
 have been the open mistress of his friend. 
 
 Lord Orminstead was so well pleased 
 that she would comply with his request to 
 marry, that on her wedding day he 
 presented her with a neat shooting cottage 
 in Wales^ for her residence, as a compli- 
 ment for her compliance with his' plans, and
 
 232 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 to keep ber during the a'^'sence of her 
 husband from the sight of his son, whose 
 relapse into folly he feared. She refused 
 to bury herself in Wales, and peremptorily 
 resolved en London as her abode, but her 
 husband exerted his authority, and in 
 opposition to all her remonstrances, hur- 
 ried her away to her Welch gift, where 
 shut out from the busy scenes of fashion, 
 she cursed the day^he became a wife. Left 
 entirely to the control of her husband, 
 she found her expensive style of living 
 curtailed to the necessaries of life only ; 
 the thousand pounds she had demanded, 
 was deposited in the hands of his agent, 
 to be paid her by miserable instalments. 
 After arranging every thing to his satisfac- 
 tion, Captain Wallace took his depar- 
 ture; — the parting of persons meeting
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE? t233 
 
 for their own purposes solely, without 
 the least regard to the happiness of each 
 other, may be imagined not to be veri/ 
 affecting ; he left her rejoicing in his 
 having frustrated her designs agamst his 
 honour during his campaign ; she, with 
 a fervent prayer never to behold him more^ 
 saw him depart. 
 
 Thus was Arpasia Rae transformed 
 into the beautiful Mrs. Wallace, whose 
 lonely situation called forth the commis- 
 seration of the inhabitants of Owen Castle. 
 They met in their walks, and insensibly 
 commenced an acquaintance. The bloom* 
 ing innocence of the infant Theodosius, 
 caught the admiring eyes of Mrs. Mil- 
 bourne and her niece Miss Grace Fitz- 
 beauchamp, and as they stopped to caress
 
 234 OWEN castle; 
 
 the child, the insinuating manners and 
 pohte conversation of the youthful 
 mother, so won upon them, that she 
 received a general invitation to the castle. 
 Having in a short time learnt the dearest 
 concerns of the unadulterated heart of 
 Grace, and finding nothing of importance 
 would accrue from her intimacy with 
 the family, she had (on parting with her 
 child at Lord Orminstead's desire,) re- 
 solved to quit Wales, and seek the more 
 active scenes of life, when an account 
 reached her that Captain Wallace was ta- 
 ken prisoner; at the same time the anxious 
 guests of Owen Castle were shocked at 
 the information the paper conveyed to 
 them of the death of Lieutenant Murray, 
 who had been killed in a late skirmish 
 with the enemy. This was a dreadful
 
 OR; WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 235 
 
 shock to the firmly attached Grace ; she 
 had loved not as many do, lightli/, or 
 with romantic wildness, the amiable 
 William Murray, but with the sanction 
 of reason, and confirmed esteem, they 
 had imbibed a reciprocal passion from 
 the tenderest years of juvenile friendship, 
 under the approbation of their friends, 
 who were anxious to see two beings of 
 such uncommon virtues united in an 
 indissoluble bond of amity. The weight 
 of her affliction unsettled the reason of 
 the fair Grace, and a melancholy mad- 
 ness ensued. — The sanguine hopes Mrs. 
 Wallace had entertained of her hus- 
 band^s death had fled, when she found 
 he was secure from further hazard by 
 being pent up from action ; this disap- 
 pointment gave to her expressive features.
 
 236 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 a gloomy shade, which the kind Mrs^o 
 Milbourne conceiving to be sorrow for 
 her htusband's confinement, endeavoured 
 to divert her by every friendly attention in 
 her power. 
 
 When the widow's circumstances be- 
 came fully known to Mrs. Wallace^ she 
 ruminated deeply, and saw in the arrival of 
 the young West Indian a shining opportu- 
 nity of acquiring the wealth and pleasures 
 she so much coveted to obtain. A twelve- 
 month's residence in Wales had not im- 
 paired the dangerous charms of face and 
 figure she so strikingly possessed ; and of 
 them she determined to make trial, by sup- 
 planting Omphale in the heart of Augus- 
 tus Milbourne. She had by her art be- 
 come acquainted with Sir Matthew's pas-
 
 TOR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 23/ 
 
 ^ion for his cousiiVs niece, and by giving 
 him hopes of success in secret, had 
 wound herself so closely in his confidence, 
 that he constantly depended on her in- 
 structions how to win the unconscious 
 inaid. At a brilliant assembly she knew 
 her power of pleasing, and therefore 
 \irged Sir Matthew to give the fete in 
 token of his love to Grace, as a certain 
 way to gain her to his suit ; she knew the 
 dependant state of both the aunt and 
 niece on his caprice, and fearing the 
 unpresuming beauty of Grace might not 
 escape the West Indian's eye, determined 
 to rid herself of so likely a rival to Iier de- 
 signs, by pointing out to the doiting Sir 
 Matthev/, ihe needless form of delaying 
 his wish of proposing to the aunt for the 
 fciir Grace, who in destitute circumstar.c.^s
 
 238 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 must look over the disparity of age, and 
 with gratitude for so noble an offer, 
 become his wife. Enchantecj by her cheer- 
 ing prognostics of triumph, the enamour- 
 ed knight sought the aunt, and with 
 much circumlocution recounted the many 
 obligations she laboured under to him ; 
 then disclosed the wish of his superan- 
 nuated heart, in the following equivocal 
 manner. " You will reflect on the very 
 great advantage it will be to a portionless 
 girl, like Grace, to accept the hand of a 
 baronet/' cried he, drawing up his head 
 with stately grandeur. 
 
 " I do sir/' cried the widow, concluding 
 he was speaking in behalf of Sir Mat- 
 thew Starveling ; for the hoary lover, con- 
 scious of the ridicule his passion would
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 239 
 
 expose him to, had with caution spo- 
 ken only of the honour intended the fair 
 Grace, without directly naming the ob- 
 ject. He never imagined that his age made 
 him the Ifist man the widow could sup- 
 pose enamoured of so young a creature 
 as her niece. The baronet, named Sir 
 Matthew Staveling, was about thirty, and 
 frequently passed encomiums on Grace, 
 he was the love she understood from 
 Sir Matthew Fitzowen's mysterious and 
 confused style, who had so generously of- 
 fered for her portionless charge, arid the 
 conversation continued in mutual misun- 
 derstanding. '^ If my poor girl,** added 
 the, *' has so far recovered from her first 
 impression as to receive his addresses 
 with composure, I should be glad to see 
 her so respectably protected for life, but
 
 240 OWEN castle; 
 
 if she objects I cannot urge her on so im- 
 portant a subject. 
 
 " Object!" exclaimed Sir Matthew^ 
 " what objection can she have ; it cannot 
 be a few years over his head more than 
 her own.'' 
 
 " No" returned the widow, '^ that is not 
 worth mentioning ; 'tis the mind, 'tis 
 the disposition, I alhide to, that may 
 not strike my niece with favourable 
 thought;^ 
 
 ♦ " You have known his mind and tem- 
 per many years, madam," cried Sir Mat- 
 thew ; " so does she ; and if there be any 
 peculiarity in it, 'tis the duty of both to 
 bear with and overlook it : all 1 wish
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE r 211 
 
 you to understand \^, that unless the ad- 
 dresses of Sir Matthew are received with 
 pleasure and thankfulness, neither you 
 nor your niece are considered welcome 
 visitors in this castle." With this un- 
 feeling speech he left her, and hastened 
 to acqi^.aint his counsellor, Mrs. Wallace, 
 who acquiesced in his decisive pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 In this predicament the widow stood 
 with her arrogant cousin ; all opposition 
 to his will was useless ; she and her niece 
 determined to submit with patience (o 
 his wish, until the event of Mr. Mil- 
 bourne's visit was decided, and to receive 
 the addresses of Sir Matthew Starvelin-v 
 with politeness, but to give no liglit of 
 acceptance that might hereafter throw 
 
 TOL. I. M
 
 2i2 OWEN castle; 
 
 upon them the least degree of odium the 
 task was irksome and disagreeable to 
 the gentle Grace, for &he had contracted 
 from her infancy, an abhorrence for all 
 kinds of disguise or double dealings, and 
 had her own comfort only been given 
 up, by her instant rejection of his offer, 
 she would not have hesitated a moment 
 in so doing; but the tender guardian of 
 her destitute childhood called forth at- 
 tention and the endurance of being a tame 
 instrument of deceit. For her voluntary 
 parent's future independence, she submit- 
 ted to be thought acquiescent on a sub* 
 ject so repugnant to her feelings.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 243 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 X HE evening before the arrival of Au^ 
 gustus Milbourne and Omphale, Mrs. 
 Wallace joined her in the garden to assist 
 her in selecting flowers for the different 
 vases that were to adorn the ch'awing 
 room. So, mj sweet friend/' said Mrs. 
 Wallace, in tlie accent of entreating con- 
 fidence, and with a kind pressure of her 
 soft hand, '*^ you have accepted the hand 
 of the baronet, and mean to wear the 
 title of lady with becoming dignity?" 
 M 2
 
 244 ©WEN CASTLE ; 
 
 '^ I have not taken so decided a «^tep 
 as yet/' returned Grace; " for I have never 
 had an hour's conversation with the gen- 
 tleman, since he honoured me with the 
 offer of his name, but on common topics ; 
 and indeed, if my auni had not assured 
 me he had proposed for my love, I should 
 have thought him entirely indifferent 
 to me ; his behaviour is polite, but has 
 not a tincture of the lover in it." 
 
 *' *Tis you affect not to understand 
 him, and that throws a reserve over his 
 manners in your company ; you should 
 overlook the formality of his notions, and 
 reflect how great a disadvantage a man 
 encounters, that has not made \o\e for a 
 century, the Damon tricks of ancient 
 days, being insipid to the young ladies
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE." 245 
 
 of the present time. Consider, Grace, 
 lie is an old bachelor, and you ought to 
 encourage the spark of fire you've kin- 
 dled in a breast of ice congealed these 
 forty years. Come, girl, be more complai- 
 .«<ant. Sir Matthew is serious, and to be 
 Lady Fitzovven with five thousand a 
 year, 'tis too great a prize to let slip 
 through your rosy fingers." 
 
 " Did I hear you right, madam ?" 
 exclaimed Grace, fixed to the spot with 
 astonishment. ^' Can Sir Matthew Fitz • 
 owen really suppose I sanction his love 
 for me, who am only old enough to be 
 reasonably supposed his grandchild?" 
 
 " Why this affected surprise, love?" 
 enquired Mrs Wallace. " Did not your 
 
 m3
 
 246 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 aunt announce to him that you had agreed 
 to receive his attentions, and that time 
 might win you to declare in his favour? 
 Has not Sir Matthew been constantiv at 
 your side ever since, and yet you deny 
 the knowledge of his being your devoted 
 suitor?" 
 
 " Oh, madam! dear friend!'* returned 
 the trembling girl/* How has an unhappy 
 similitude of name involved me. I under- 
 stood from my aunt, 'twas Sir Matthew 
 Starveling who had interested our host in 
 his favour, and interpreted all the civili- 
 ties I have received from Sir Matthew 
 Fitzowen, as inducements to encourage 
 the former." 
 
 Mrs. Wallace burst into a loud laugh, 
 which overwhelmed the innocent Grace
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE.-^ 2-l7 
 
 with vexation and dismay, at Jier want 
 of sympathy in her dilemma, and she could 
 hardly assume patience at its long conti- 
 nuance, when it suddenly subsided into an 
 exhausted faintness for want of breath_, 
 which scarce gave her strength to say, 
 ** And did your simple Welch innocence 
 suppose, that a man of seventy would 
 venture his life in silk stockings, thin 
 pumps, and satin waiscoat, to plead the 
 suit of another, his younger by forty 
 years? Cruel maid! is it for this liis 
 bald pate has been anointed by Botance, 
 Prince^ Russia, and Macassar oils, 
 in hopes to revive the long deserting 
 ringlets that once grew there ? — Is it for 
 this, that the best paste for whitenmg 
 the skin, and preserving the bloom, has 
 been resorted to r — Is it for this, oh! blind 
 m4
 
 '2 is OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 inhuman! that the withered supporters of 
 his worm-eaten trunk of leather, have 
 been rendered and made by the aid of 
 cork and padding to resemble sometliing 
 hke nature ?" 
 
 " You alarm me, madam. I fear — I 
 mean I must undeceive him. I will not 
 let him render himself so uselessly ridicu- 
 lous/' said Grace, about to leave her. 
 
 " Stay my pretty petulant/' cried Mrs, 
 Wallace; " you will ruin your aunt, if you 
 discover your insensibility to the attack 
 of the knight, whose vanity ere long will 
 receive its own punishment, for he will 
 certainly be laid by the heels with cold ; 
 then let me advise you to reflect on the 
 benefits arising from five thousand pounds
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 249 
 
 per annum, with your youth, beauty^ anp 
 liberty to boot ; all these privileges you 
 throw from you, if you refuse to tie the 
 knot that binds them yours for ever. 
 When you recover your freedom, you can 
 share your wealth with some youthful 
 lover, whose ardent atfection will amply 
 compensate for the attendance you may 
 have given to the sick chamber of 
 your late lord. You know not, my little 
 rustic, the transports of being envied 
 by your own sex, and adored by the 
 other." 
 
 *' I am indeed ignorant of the pleasures 
 to be derived from an act of baseness," 
 said Grace, ^'and should expect little hap- 
 piness from wealth or title, if purchased 
 by an oath void of all sincerity, I can 
 M &
 
 I8^50f OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 never unite myself to Sir Matthew Fitz- 
 owen; 'tis impossible for me to regard 
 him in any other light but that of guar- 
 dian, benefactor, and relative. I am 
 thoroughly acquainted with his demands 
 upon my warmest gratitude, and will 
 evince it by every respectful and cheering 
 care in time of illness and discomfiture ; 
 this is all I can give in return for sup- 
 port and shelter in the hour of distress, 
 for which, neither heaven or nature de- 
 mand a sacrifice of my entire life/* 
 
 " Then you are determined to reject 
 him," said Mrs. Wallace, " in defiance of 
 your aunt's necessitous state^ and thereby 
 deprive her of an opportunity in profiting 
 by the West Indian's -good intentions ?" 
 
 '' I would not injure my dearest aunt,
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 251 
 
 for the whole world!*' cried Grace waver- 
 ing between a sense of right and tenderduty. 
 
 ^' Then refrain from declaring your 
 dislike of Sir Matthew's suit, and by 
 continuing neuter in the affair, give him 
 leave to suppose his nauseous homage 
 agreeable; 'tis at worst but an underplot 
 his fulsome dotage deserves ; a venial 
 crime, (if I may use the expression ) w hen 
 committed, to save one who has been a 
 parent to you, when deserted by an 
 unnatural father. You lay a hel])less 
 suppliant for her mercy ; this is the first 
 time you have had in your power a small 
 return to give, in acknowledgment of 
 the many maternal acts of benevolence 
 conferred on you by her ;" said Mrs. 
 Wallace in an expressive tone. 
 M 6
 
 252 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 " I know how much I am her debtor, 
 in all but affection/' (cried the lovely 
 Grace, touched at the recollection of her 
 mother's sufferings and the kindness of 
 her aunt) *' and / idll for once yield the 
 darling principle of my soul, an iinde- 
 viatlng truth of word and deed, to the 
 pressing urgency of circumstances." 
 
 '' That is right/' said Mrs. Wallace, 
 *' and acting like a girl of character, not 
 with the insipid fastidiousness of a fearful 
 mountaineer; — one thing more; as your 
 aunt is under the same mistake as you 
 were, do not remove it ; if you do, the 
 only result will be, her sinking into 
 depression of spirits at her constrained 
 situation, and so deprive her of the power 
 of entertaining her nephew, free from
 
 ORj WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 255 
 
 care or fear of not succeeding in her pur- 
 pose ; the grand way to obtain rehef to 
 your distresses, is not to appear to want 
 any; the craving calls of dependants 
 often mar the spontaneous Hberahty of 
 kind donors ; none hke, to be dunned 
 for favours ; take away the free inclina" 
 tlon of giving andthe charm of benefaction 
 is lost." 
 
 " Since it would only heighten her 
 misfortunes to know the price I am ex- 
 pected to pay for shelter, I will be silent, 
 nor teaze her with needless complaints {* 
 returned Grace, catching a glimpse of Sir 
 Matthew entering the adjoining walk. 
 She begged Mrs. Wallace to entertain 
 him, while she to recover her confusion 
 at his appearance carried the flowers she 
 had been gathering into the house.
 
 254 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 '' I will," cried she gaily, " if you give 
 me your word to reiurn ahnosl imme- 
 diately, and banish that rueful look 
 which would kill an Adonis, much less 
 your knight, were he to see it»" 
 
 " What! must my features be schooled 
 into deception too. Alas ! if this is to 
 act with dissimulation, how hard a lesson! 
 My countenance Fve been told was the 
 mirror of my mind and heart, the reflec- 
 tor of each passion that inhabits my 
 breast ; how severe then will be my effort 
 to hide contempt under the feigned smile 
 of pleasure;" sighed Grace. 
 
 " You are such a novice in the art of 
 manoeuvering; — how think you, child, the 
 ever jarring passions of mankind would
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 255 
 
 be bid, and made subservient to their 
 interest, if it were not for dissimulation y 
 the grand stay of many a great man, who 
 instead of crinorinn; to the earth at the 
 approach of hi:^ patron, and concealing 
 beneath a placid smile of content his im- 
 patience at being neglected himself, and 
 his envy of a rival, who to throw off his 
 guard, he very cordially shakes by the 
 hand in the presence of the undiscerning 
 great one who has placed him over his more 
 meritorious head, would otherwise give 
 vent to complaints of indignation at this 
 treatment, which would procure no other 
 end but his entire dismissal from favour." 
 
 " Can such things be?" said Grace. 
 " To be sure," returned Mrs. Wallace,
 
 25^ OWEN castle; 
 
 " and dissimulation is as frequently re- 
 sorted to amongst the female speculators 
 for husbands, as by courtiers trying for 
 places ; each respective feature undergoes 
 its schooling before a glass, with as much 
 anxiety to hide a defect or augment a 
 beauty, as a tragedy actress would study 
 to distort her*s into the horrifying visage 
 of perfect insanity, for serious bread and 
 reputation from the public." 
 
 " That actresses should thus labour, I 
 am not surprized ; for only by the most 
 arduous study, persevering industry, rare 
 talent, and uncommon understanding, can 
 they acquire a name ; for merit is essen- 
 tial to the means of their life, by which, 
 and by the exertions of their youth, they 
 amass fortunes to support them in their
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 257 
 
 age, with eligibility and comfort; but 
 that beings, who are by hereditary pos- 
 sessions placed beyond the fear of future 
 necessity, should thus study to deceive, is 
 to me incredihle\ the virtuous passions 
 of our soul want no disgrace •, the base ones 
 should be subdued or kept under by the 
 exercise of relis^ious duties and benevolent 
 deeds^ the countenance would then serene- 
 ly reflect the refinement of the heart ; for 
 what face can appear ugly, when adorned 
 by the placid and beautifying smile, aris- 
 ing from a pure conscience?" said the 
 artless Grace. 
 
 •' That may be very fine in theory,'* 
 replied Mrs. Wallace with spirit ; *' but 
 the ladies demand more certain cosmetics 
 to add to their loveliness, than the charms
 
 25 S OWEN castle; 
 
 a tedious round of formal duties might 
 yield them in twenty years: when the 
 face is wrinkled the gentlemen of the 
 present day never notice its ejrpressidrii 
 and in age it might as well glare a Medu- 
 sa, ab shine a seraph ; the frightful aspect 
 of the one, and beauty of the other, would 
 be equally overlooked ; 'tis the empty 
 fop's ]j referring the outside of a beliefs 
 head, to the solid information it should 
 contain, that makes woman such artificial 
 senseless creatures; beauty is the bait 
 which they acknowledge will snare them, 
 while mental powers scare them away, 
 and render the female curst that possesses 
 it, by being too clear in her comprehen- 
 sion of their demerits. A pretty ideot is 
 the certain idol of their worship, and if 
 after marriage they find the ideot a
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 259 
 
 cunjiing hiave, they must blame them- 
 selves for giving the choice to shoiv and 
 not reality. Religion and benevolence 
 forsooth! a mighty pretty doctrine, if 
 men were angels, indeed ; but woeful ex- 
 perience proves the lords of the creation 
 to be mere frail mortals wedded to vice- 
 How then can it be expected that the iveak 
 females with whom they hold a constant 
 intercourse, can escape contamination ? 
 *Tis plain they must have recourse to art, 
 to be able to contend with their wily 
 combatants; but I only waste my breath 
 to talk to thee, thou untaught infant of 
 the world! Vanish! for here comes your 
 Strephon, and I will take another oppor- 
 tunity to finish my side of the question." 
 She waved her hand, and Grace hailed 
 the signs of freedom with pleasure at her
 
 26o OWEN castle; 
 
 escape from him, and fled swiftly along 
 the garden. 
 
 At breakfast the next morning all were 
 surprised at her sad appearance. Mrs Mil- 
 bourne started, but did not venture a re- 
 proof. Sir Matthew's varying cheek 
 and contracted brow, were tokens of in- 
 ternal displeasure, yet he spoke not. Mrs. 
 Wallace secretly rejoiced, ft^igned asto^ 
 nishment and friendly pity, and in the 
 softest voice, whispered an enquiry, why 
 she had changed her dress for the deepest 
 mourning. 
 
 Can my sable garments create wonder 
 to the friends around me, whoknowthe 
 loss I have sustained ? Have not the pa- 
 rents of my William been in black these
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 26l 
 
 two months, and can his affianced wife 
 do less than mourn with them ? As soon as 
 reason resumed her empire, I felt it a 
 duty due to my William's memory. — My 
 heart has long bewailed his loss, why then 
 should I refuse to decorate my person 
 with the siorns of lamentation ? None can 
 say he was undeserving my affection while 
 living ; none can blame me for honouring 
 the memory of the man I had cliosen 
 from his whole race, or say it is more 
 than virtues like his demand. 1 hough he 
 be dead, his name will live in the grateful 
 memory of the helpless aged, and be en- 
 graven on the hearts of aspiring youth 
 for many succeeding years. Look on the 
 row of cottages built by his bounty as a 
 shelter for infirmity! — Behold the school 
 for the cultivation of the opening mind of
 
 262 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 rustic infancy, and the riper stripling! and 
 say if my William ever can be forgotten ? 
 Oh, never ! The energy of her feelings hur- 
 ried her voice which at first was in the 
 murmur of reply, to angelic enthusiasm ; 
 the soft but solemn tone it gained, touched 
 even the callous heart of Sir Matthew ; he 
 turned his head aside, to avoid the mel- 
 ting lustre of her tearful eyes ; he faiicied 
 a reproachful glance mingled with their 
 brightness, as they for an instant rested 
 on his ; wherefore did he misconstrue their 
 expression ? Was it unerring conscience 
 that stung him, or jealousy of the dead ? We 
 cannot fathom the mysteries of his bosom, 
 but hope the day will come, when the 
 machinations of the wicked heart will be 
 developed. 
 
 "I tremble lest your habiliments may
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 263 
 
 give a deeper cast to the dejection of your 
 mind, which still bears the gloom of 
 recent despair,"" said her aunt ; '' and vvould 
 entreat you to cast away the sable cloth^ 
 ing of sorrow, if I thought it vvould 
 move your compliance ; but knowing it 
 has been your desire for many weeks, 
 I will not urge my request.'* 
 
 "It will sink her spirits ^igain into de- 
 spondency," cried Mrs Wallace, '- and as a 
 friend I would force her to forego a whim 
 likely to renew the derangement of her 
 senses." 
 
 " I never had occasion, madam," returned 
 Mrs. Milbourne " to use Jbrce with Grace. — 
 Her actions ever being just, I could offer 
 no rebuke ; if miid persuasion have no ef-
 
 264 OWEN castle; 
 
 feet, I will not persecute her by harsh com- 
 mands ; and how can I teach my tongue 
 to belie my heart ; for I am assured, were 
 I so situated, I should adopt the same 
 measure." 
 
 " Most likely you would/' cried Sir Mat- 
 thew with a sarcastic smile, (curving his 
 parched lip, and a flush of rising wrath 
 passing over his withered cheek,) *' most 
 likely you would ; 'tis from your romantic 
 notions of breeding her up, that she has 
 acquired this nonsensical idea of putting 
 on black for a youdi who has been dead 
 these eight months, for he was stiff and 
 cold, and mouldering to dust, long before 
 the news of his being killed reached Eng- 
 land.' 
 
 " Ah ! there is my grief/' cried Grace in
 
 CTL, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 265 
 
 a plaintive accent of regret; '- had I received 
 his last sigh, had I wiped the death damps 
 from his forehead, I should have been 
 more resigned ; but to know he expired 
 without one pitying friend beside liim, un- 
 known in aforeign land, is dreadful/' — She 
 burst into a convulsive fit of tears, and 
 sinking on a sofa, hid her face with her 
 liandkercliief. 
 
 '- Are there not hundreds of brave 
 youths butchered as well as William Mur- 
 ray ? Is he the only lamented, think ye?" 
 said Sir Matthew, approaching and at- 
 tempting to console her, but nature had 
 not ordained him for the soft cfTice of 
 comforter ; he mistook the lan^rua^e of 
 condolence and only iiicreased her emo- 
 tion. 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 Mrs. Milbourne fearing the powerful 
 effect his unwary words might have on 
 her nieces ear, hastily interrupted him, 
 by saying, "Selfish despair is offensive to an 
 all wise Providence ; 'tis ingratitude, and 
 proves the offender unworthy those bless- 
 ings his gracious bounty still showers on 
 them. — Might I not be taken from you, 
 my suffering child? Oh! think on that, 
 and lull this destructive grief to calmness 
 and resignation." 
 
 '•Ah ! then * replied the weeping girl, " I 
 should indeed be destitute;" at the same 
 time clasping her arms round her aunt's 
 neck, and sobbing, *' Do not you leave me 
 to wander on the earth desolate, forlorn, 
 a wretched orphan. Almighty Father of 
 the fatherless 1 take not from me the pa-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 267 
 
 reat of my helpless infancy, and I will 
 bend in patient submission to my recent 
 loss." 
 
 '' Be more composed, my dearest 
 Grace," cried her aunt ; '^ you take every 
 thing so earnestly; would to heaven less 
 sensibility had been mingled in the gifts 
 that nature has so lavished on you ; exert 
 your spirits and aid me to receive my 
 nephew and the gentle Omphale. How 
 will the solemn melancholy that hangs 
 upon your pensive brow strike the guests 
 whose youth and sex entitle them to your 
 hospitality. Let not the task devolve en- 
 tirely on me; I ask you only to study 
 Omphale's comfort; to lighten the hours 
 of retirement from company with that 
 cheerful flow of conversation, and elegant 
 N 2 
 
 #
 
 :6s 
 
 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 accomplishments you once so eminently 
 charnied and delighted all who heheld 
 and conversed with you/' 
 
 Grace promised to suppress her sorrow 
 and call forth all her power to please the 
 youthful strangers. Sir Matthew^ rejoiced 
 in the determination, and in a tender 
 whisper, that made her shudder, by re- 
 calling to her mind the terms on which 
 she stood with him, bade her welcome 
 the West Indians as to her own castle; 
 ^^ to see you shine the queen of /V and w^e,'* 
 be added w'ith a pre^^''ure of hii? hard and 
 boney hand, '^ is the ardent desire of my 
 sou]/'™A sickness spread faintly at her 
 heart ; she dare not answer as its recoiling 
 sentiments directed; she bent her swollen 
 eyes upon the ground^ wishing, yet fear-
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 26^ 
 
 ing to trust herself with the use of speech, 
 she stood overcome by embarrassment. 
 The dthghted knight conceiving the ab- 
 straction of her air to arise from maiden 
 diffidence, gratified vanity, and acceptance 
 of his proposals, was so encouraged and 
 misled as to thank her, and calling her 
 his bride, attempted to salute her. The 
 slight touch of his thin and purple lip 
 upon her peached cheek, appeared like a 
 Dt^cember blast upon a tender rose, wi- 
 thering its soft leaves by a shock of pre^- 
 mature winter : A paleness spread instan- 
 taneously over her countenance, a chill 
 tremor shook her frame, and she in volun- 
 tarily pushed him from hr. 
 
 "Am I so loathsome to you, m< dim;'* 
 he angrily exclaimed, '' s ) abhorrent in my 
 N 3
 
 S70 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 person that I fill you with disgust: Is this 
 the gratitude due to one of my rank, for de- 
 meaning himself to sue one so far beneath 
 him. Is this the return you make for shel- 
 ter and for bread? Have you no gratitude, 
 no fear of resentment, that you treat me 
 thus ? Remember, madam, who I am ; re- 
 flect on your situation, and that Sir Mat- 
 thew Fitzowen was not born to suffer in- 
 sult from a dependant/' — He cast on her 
 an indignant glance, and hurried from the 
 apartment. 
 
 Confounded by this sudden avowal of 
 his sanguine hopes, stung to the soul by 
 his mean reproaches, and trembling for 
 the consequences of his fur}^ on her un- 
 conscious aunt, she remained motionless 
 on the spot where he had left her;
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 2?! 
 
 when Mrs. Wallace tripped lightly by, 
 and in a low voice whispered, Is it thus 
 you fulfil your promise ; is this the way 
 you strive to repay your aunt for her 
 bounty ? Fie, fie, act with more firmness, 
 or dread the consequences." 
 
 '^ 'Twas the spontaneous action of dis- 
 gust that I could not restrain," answered 
 the unhappy girl. " Alas ! were it not 
 for my aunt, I would instantly quit the 
 shelter he upbraids me w ith.'* 
 
 " Romance and folly T muttered Mrs. 
 Wallace, " worthy the heroine of a novel, 
 who opposite to all sense and prudence 
 flies from her home, where she has every 
 comfort, to meet trials and poverty abroad, 
 because har Jee lings are so refined as to 
 m4
 
 £72 OWEN €ASTLE ; 
 
 rise above all controul. Where would 
 you go r" 
 
 *' Alas! I know not/' sighed Grace. 
 
 " I thought as much/' cried 'Mrs, Wal- 
 lace. '* How easy it is to talk. 'Tis hard 
 when the path is so plain that you will 
 run into entanglements. Can't you endure 
 to act the coquette a little ? You must be 
 unlike the rest of womankind, if the 
 character be displeasing.'* 
 
 '' To act in opposition to my conscience 
 and honor, is new to me, and I am 
 afraid I shall never go through with the 
 undertaking." 
 
 The housekeeper entered and requested 
 Mrs. Milbourne to give her the keys of
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE," 273 
 
 the plate. The widow was at the further 
 end of the room engaged in writing when 
 the house-keeper dehvered her message 
 and gave her a note from Sir Matthew. 
 
 '* My hfe on't but that contains dis- 
 agreeable orders/' said Mrs Wallace. ^' See 
 how your aunt changes colour." 
 
 When the house-keeper had withdrawn 
 Mrs.Milbourne approached them with the 
 open note in her hand, saying, '•" I am at 
 a loss to comprehend the meaning of these 
 lines ; perhaps you, Grace can explain it/' 
 who took the lettter and read as follows: 
 
 '' Madam, 
 
 '^ For the great pains you 
 have bestowed in forming your niece's 
 K 5
 
 274 OWEN castle; 
 
 mind to accept the very flattering propo- 
 sals made to her, I return you my sin- 
 cere thanks ; hkewise for the very pointed 
 manner in which you upheld her absurd 
 notions this moining, thereby obliquely 
 insulting me, and disposing her to copy 
 your example. Since I am not worthy of 
 uniting myself to your adopted, I would 
 advise you to remove her from my roof 
 which is rendered irksome to me, by 
 daily experiencing insult and contempt 
 from those where gratitude alone is due. 
 
 I am, madam. 
 Your disobliged Cousin, 
 
 M. FlTZOWEN." 
 
 P. S. By giving the keys to my house- 
 keeper you will favour me. 
 
 *^ The storm is rising at the least sus-
 
 OR^ WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 2^5 
 
 pected time; for if I understand this letter 
 right. Sir Matthew wishes you to leave 
 the castle/' said Mrs. Wallace to the 
 widow. 
 
 "I am astonished/' cried the latter, " at 
 this unmerited displeasure, and the allu- 
 sions contained in the letter. I was no! 
 aware he was the person who declared 
 in favour of my niece. How could I ima- 
 gine for a moment, he could entertain such 
 a thought as-to wish to link age and infir- 
 mity, such as he possesses, to youth and 
 loveliness like hers. Were you in the same 
 error, my child r" continued she, fixing her 
 eyes on Grace. 
 
 " Until Mrs. V/allace undeceived me/ 
 said she. " And the price of my shelter 
 n6
 
 276 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 must be the sacrifice of my only solace ;" 
 continued the widow. " Just heaven! 
 whence arise these miseries ; one gra- 
 dually treading on the heels of another? 
 but prepare^ my orphan girl, and let us 
 i^Gek some abode in the distant village. 
 Let us obey this command/' said she, 
 rising from a chair on which she had seat- 
 ed herself ; '' let us labour for our food, 
 rather than give the price demanded.'' 
 
 Mrs. Wallace interposed^ and by per- 
 suasive argument, and an offer to mediate 
 between them and the incensed baronet, 
 convinced the widow of the necessity of 
 her submission to advice so sage. Yet 
 to consent to the deceptive conduct of 
 her niece, was a severe measure for her to 
 adopt, and with the greatest regret, she
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? §77 
 
 gave her promise to be governed by her 
 best friend and counsellor Mrs. Wallace, 
 who, tor motives of her own, was anxious 
 to see them reconciled. She was admitted 
 to the presence of Sir Matthew, and after 
 an liour's deep conversation with him, re- 
 turned Embassadress, bearing the offering 
 of peace. '^ I've explained the mistake ; he 
 pardons it/' said she, '^ and nothing now 
 remains but a smile from Grace to finish 
 the war. To you, madam, he sends his 
 apologies in form, and begs, if jou mean 
 not to distress him, to forget the effects of 
 passion and mutual error." 
 
 The widow bowed her head in token of 
 assent, but did not speak. 
 
 Sir Matthew entered the room ; he
 
 ^7^ GWBN CASTLE; 
 
 looked kindly on his cousin, and taking 
 the hand of Grace, kissed it gallantly, and 
 drawing her to the window, asked if she 
 did not observe carriages approaching over 
 the hills^ and he hoped his guests were 
 about to enter the castle. 
 
 ^^ And there are two figures hovering 
 over the rocks yonder,'* cried Mrs. Wal- 
 lace ; " thty appear to take the path that 
 leads over the rotten bridge that is thrown 
 over the water -fall. They will certainly 
 perish if they advance that way. I under- 
 stood you had ordered it to be removed 
 Sir Matthew r" 
 
 " I did so," returned he, " but this 
 pretty romantic, (patting Grace on the 
 cheek) begged it might continue, it
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 279 
 
 ^eing so beautiful an object in the land- 
 scape ; but as they are strangers^ 1 fear 
 they will be in danger." 
 
 *^ Should they be in peril owing to my 
 fault, I should never forgive myself. J will 
 send a servant to conduct them in safety," 
 said Grace. 
 
 " They are attendants I suppose," cried 
 Mrs. Wallace,'^ and it is of no consequence 
 to trouble yourself on their account." 
 
 '^ Trouble myself, madam," returned 
 Grace; " I am astonished at your apathy. 
 Life is precious to the meanest thing that 
 breathes. Be they what they may, they 
 are entitled to protection and humanity, 
 nor will I hesitate to save them."
 
 280 GWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 The carriages now rolled into the court 
 yard and stopped at the grand entrance : the 
 party descended into the hall, to welcome 
 their guests. The first carriage was empty, 
 but a principal black slave, alighting from 
 the second, informed them that ner Lady 
 Omphale, terrified at the appearance cf 
 the acclivity leading to the castle, had 
 left the carriage, and being directed by 
 a cottager, and accompanied by Augustus, 
 determined to foUowd the equipage. 
 
 Grace, followed by David, and a black 
 stripling belonging to Omphaie's suite, 
 hastened to meet the wandering strangers. 
 She had ascended the rock with the 
 greatest alarm, as she beheld a female 
 leaning over the treacherous railing, look- 
 ing on the foaming waters beneath that
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 281 
 
 dashed against the flinty sides of the 
 frightful chasm. Augustus was standing 
 on a small projection of a neighbouring 
 rock striving to gain a more perfect view 
 of the sea. Shocked at the inevitable 
 state of Omphale, for death appeared to 
 await her at each step, she beckoned David 
 to throw her the end of a rope he had 
 brought witli him in case of the worst, 
 which she threw to the affrighted stranger, 
 who hearino^ the rotten boards crack be- 
 n^ath her feet^ caught it in terror and 
 dismay, but encouraged by the entreaties 
 of Grace to hurry forwards, she eagerly 
 gained the centre of the craggy bridge, 
 when it disjointed, and fell with a despe- 
 rate plunge into the dashing current, that 
 swelled in frothy violence below. With 
 the shattered remnants she was precipi-
 
 282 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 tated head-long down the rocky sides of the 
 frightful precipice, and must have perished, 
 had not the projecting trunk of a half 
 blasted tree intercepted her in her perilous^ 
 passage, and in its branch received hei' 
 light form supported by the rope from 
 above, which in her fall had wound round 
 her waist. PetrijBed with horror and 
 distraction, Augustus stood on the utmost 
 verge of the rugged rock, calling for aid, 
 and at length dashed into the water, baf- 
 fled the strong eddy, and swam to the 
 opposite side, when vaulting from crag to 
 crag, he soon reached the burdened tree, 
 where suspended between life and death, 
 lay his love insensible ofher danger. With 
 the utmost care he disengaged her white 
 garments from the catching boughs, then 
 taking her gently on his shoulder, began
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 283 
 
 to climb the chasm's side. Long he strove 
 against each treacherous stone, that slip- 
 ped from beneath the uncertain footing, or 
 the giving weed root at which he clung to 
 draw him upwards, while the groupe above 
 dreaded to beliold him and his burden 
 fall backwards into the dashing flood. 
 Spurning every obstacle, he soon gained 
 the height, when giving his precious load 
 into the arms of Grace, he sunk down 
 overcome by fatigue and anxiety. Sir 
 Matthew's carriage was speedily procured, 
 and they were both conveyed to the 
 castle. 
 
 At six dinner was served up, when the 
 strangers appeared perfectly recovered 
 from their journey and late disaster. Au- 
 gustus Milbourne answered in every re-
 
 ^84 OWEN castle; 
 
 spect the description of Mr. Stanley^ con- 
 firming by his cordial respect for his 
 aunt, the flattering character she had in 
 her own mind drawn for him. — When 
 07;?p^a/e appeared, all eyes were fixed on 
 her. Her tall and graceful figure enfolded 
 hi a dress of the purest white, gainc d addi- 
 tional elegance from its simplicity of de- 
 coration: her delicate features bore a mix- 
 ture of dignity and softness that was 
 highly interesting ; on her forehead, which 
 was high and polished, was bound a golden 
 band of lace which tastefully withheld her 
 fine and lustrous hair of the deepest raven 
 dye from falling over her arched brows, 
 and throwing it back in luxuriant curls 
 over the left shoulder, and confined by a 
 diamond pin from oflf the other, displayed 
 a neck and bosom of the finest symmetry.
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE." 285 
 
 Her ears were adorned by small diamond 
 drops, her neck encompassed by a single 
 ro^^- of oriental pearl, her arms enriched 
 by bracelets and much exposed; on the 
 right she wore a miniature of her beloved 
 benefactress, encircled by diamonds of 
 con.siderable value. 
 
 When introduced, Mrs Wallace beheld 
 her with fear and admiration. The innocent 
 expressions of artless affection Omphale 
 betrayed for Augustus, and his manner of 
 receiving them, filled her with doubts of 
 succeeding in her aim, and raised to ihe 
 highest her ambition and demon-like re- 
 solve, to blight their love if possible, and 
 triumph in the misery she might inflict 
 on the unsuspecting stranger, who re- 
 ceived her compliments and welcome in
 
 286 OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 the most refined and simple language of 
 her ingenuous heart. — To Mrs. Milbourne 
 and her niece she seemed particularly to 
 attach herself, and received the attentions 
 of Sir Matthew with affability and sweet- 
 ness To Mrs. Wallace she was more re- 
 served, seldom addressing her and replying 
 to her questions, but by monosyliabies. 
 
 In answer to a demand made by Sir 
 Matthew, how he liked England and Eng- 
 lishmen; Augustus replied, he admired both 
 exceedingly ; but must give it as his opi- 
 nion, that the EnglishQ;jan was more frigid 
 in his address to strangers than a man of 
 any other nation, the German not excepted i 
 he stands so much on form and introduc- 
 tion, letters of recommendation being ever 
 required before he will grant a smile, or
 
 ©R, WHICH IS THE HtROlNE? ^Sj 
 
 acknowledge to have been in yonr com- 
 pany. *'On my faith," said he, '* I came over 
 to England with so many letters to per- 
 sons in London on such accounts, that I 
 resembled a turned otF valet, seeking by 
 letter of character and qualifications, a 
 good master, instead of an acquaintance 
 with my equals. Would to heaven a man's 
 actions were his only recommendation to 
 notice and attention, we should then have 
 less villainy in gilt chariots. I must allow 
 a certain degree of reserve is necessary, 
 as it keeps a gentleman*s society without 
 the hazard of being defiled by many un- 
 worthy associates. 1 should not perhaps be 
 so warm in my approval of more access to 
 the leaders of taste and literature, were it 
 not for an instance that occurred before 
 iny immediate notice, shewing the force
 
 288 OWEN castle; 
 
 of recommendatioa ; b'lt before I relate it, 
 give me leave to say, iliat I know of no 
 man so firm in friendslnp as an English- 
 man, thouf?;h he is slow to ofler it." 
 
 «' I was sitting one morning at break- 
 fast with my Lord Squander, when I ob- 
 served on a chair in the shady part of the 
 room, a remarkably beautiful landscape 
 that would have done honour to the best 
 artists of ancient days, now so highly 
 prized; and on a table placed in a light cal- 
 culated to show every tint to advantage, 
 stood another, which to the delicate 
 touches of the former, appeared a made up 
 daub. I enquired into the circumstance, 
 and learnt from his lordship, that the finer 
 painting was done by a mean unknown 
 fellow of great genius^ who was starving
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE ? 289 
 
 for bread, and who had the presumption 
 of soliciting leave to dedicate his perform- 
 ance to him in order to obtain a name 
 and notice of his merit in the world of 
 fashion and art ; and will not your 
 lordship grant his petition, and raise 
 from obscurity and wretchedness one, 
 who would so highly repay your con- 
 descension, by producing talents so 
 eminent ?" 
 
 '* Why, I should have no objection 
 to serve the poor devil, but I am obliged 
 to allow this, (cried his lordship, point- 
 ing to the daub) the honor of my pa- 
 tronage. My friendy Lord Dunderhead, 
 unfortunately has no taste or reputation 
 in the world for these soFt of things, and 
 for reasons best known to myself, has 
 
 VOL. I, O
 
 ^9^ OWEN CASTLE; 
 
 taken it into his wise head to counten- 
 ance this miserable soiler of canvass ; 
 being under obligations of an imperious 
 nature to his lordship, I am obliged to 
 sanction it ; my judgment may be called 
 in quesaon by the connoisseurs, but my 
 purse escapes the tax upon it" 
 
 I asked what he meant. 
 
 He laughingly replied, that my lord 
 Dunderhead paid the usual compliment 
 '"fa dedication, not himself. 
 
 I could not forbear expressing my 
 pity for the poor artist so undeservedly 
 consigned to oblivion, and wished mysel 
 a lord instead of a stranger unable to 
 uphold the man of merit; however I
 
 OR, WHICH IS THE HEROINE? 291 
 
 contented myself by making interest for 
 him amongst my friends, who to oblige 
 me, purchased the offerings of genius un- 
 graced by the patronage of a lord or lady ; 
 yet I question if I had not made it my 
 particular request for them to encourage 
 his works, whether he would have sold 
 his finest performance for the price of a 
 dinner. I procured him fifty guineas for 
 it ; it was worthy of ^ve hundred. 
 
 " You are newly arrived in this coun- 
 try," cried Sir Matthew, " and cannot be 
 aware how necessary caution is in the 
 forming connexions in the metropolis, 
 where so many sharpers, surrounded by 
 deceitful and flattering appearances lie 
 ^n wait to prey upon the unwary.
 
 292 OWEN CASTLE ; 
 
 Recommendatio7is and letters of cha- 
 racter, as you humourously call them, 
 are the safe guards of a commercial 
 nation ; without those vouchers for the 
 integrity of the person intrusted, its 
 wealth wouid be lost, its estimation 
 entirely ruined. But I must assure you 
 that we have m^my nobles, who are 
 liberal benefactors of the arts ; ere 
 long you will join with me in their 
 commendation." 
 
 " I do not doubt it, sir," returned 
 Augustus, '^and will readily join in their 
 praise, the moment I become more 
 acquainted with their virtues/' 
 
 END OF VOL. I.