^4^ V't^ ikX., Wk>' a I E> RARY OF THE U N IVLR.SITY or ILLINOIS V. \ THE MASK OF FASHION, A PLAIN TALE; INT IV O F O L U M E S. _ v VOL. I. G.Sidney, Printer, Nortbumberhnd-strcct, Strind. THE MASK OF FASHION 5 A PLAINiTALE; WITH, 4NECD0TES FOREIGN AND DOMESTIC. IN T IF O VOLUMES, VOL.1. Voltisc'wlto, pensieri stretti. Chesterjiela- LONDON: PRINTED FOR I. F. HuGHES, No. 5, WlGMOR« Street, CAVENDisrf Square. J8O7. Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2010 witii funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/maskoffashionpla01surr ?Z3 '^. DEDICATION. TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF ST. ALBANS, 6?c. £s?c. £s?c. Madmuy It is the usurped privilege of an Author to soar on high for patronage ; and, although mine is, peculiarly, an Eagle's flight, I am inspired to hope your Grace ivill condescendingly perceive, that humble admiration more than mingles luith presumption. J . IV DEDICATION. Benevolence— 'Your Grace — is, naturaily a mildy unobtrusive, virtue; but ivhen illustrious Rank gives splendor to its blushing emanations, the brightened ray becomes, at 6ince, dazzling and instructive. Such is the effect of your Grace's do- mestic habits I With this impression^ 1 am ambitious to interest your Grace in favor of an exalted female, moulded in the fair form of yoUr own retiring virtues : The dispensations of Providence have, indeed, sheltered your Grace from all, save the sympathies of af- fliction', yet an admiring ivorld ivill proud- ly anticipate, that your Graces dignified DEDICATION. example ivoidd emulate the heroine of my tale, under every pressure of calamity. With perfect deference, J have the honor to he. Your Grace's Most obedient, and Most humble servant, The Au^thgr, London, 'Sovprnber^ 1 BC)6. PREFACE. '' It will not do/' — said my friend, entering the room, and returning my MS. with a smile. — '^ Your Hero ** is not moral." *' Bravo," — I replied, — '' a hypo- '' crite and moral ! what a tw^o- '^ headed monster you wish me to '' describe. Still, I contend, the " work is strictly moral." PREFACE. ^* Rather say the outline is admi- *' rable ; but the colouring too high." " I disclaim all subterfuge — how- ^' ever, to admit your latter position, *' is merely to avow myself an humble '* imitator of a great master in the " English school. The tints you '^ censure, are, like those of Sir If Joshua Carmine, imposing, not *^ permanent^ " Dangerous distinction ! Are you *' aware how pernicious this kind of *' reading is to youth ; and, how '* much it will behove parents to '* condemn your book ?" PREFACE. I XI ^' I am aware how dangerous, and ** how fashionable, it has been to '* admire the character of a Mrs, " Haller — but I do not represent fe> *' male errors as an amiable weakness. '* It is true — I give to temptation all *' the allurements calculated to awaken '^ the senses, and to lull the reason — " The charm, however, is transient — *' it fades even to the impassioned '* fancy of sixteen — the warmth of ** imagination chills, when vice drops '' the borrowed mask of fascination : *' and, the agonies of repentance ** silence the emotions of sympathy." *' You are a casuist I perceive. — Xll PREFACE. ^* Still, I think such reasoning. ofFen- '* sive to the morals of the Age." " Good God ! — shall the Age, then, ** dare to act, yet shrink before the '' mirror that reflects its degene- *^ racy ? I attack a favorite maxim '* — one, held up to the imitation of *' every finished Gentleman, under *' the baneful sanction of high autho- *' rity. I shew its subtile operation '* on a mind, great in calamity, and " superior to the refinements of *' temptation. I mark its unlimited '' ascendancy over the generous feel- '* ings of innate Worth and Honour. '* I display its insidious advances, PREFACE Xm '" and ultimate subversion of undis- ** sembled Innocence — In short — I " prove, that there are moments, ^^ v^hen the purest motives yield to " the magic influence of dissimula- " tion : and, as example is more im- " pressive than precept, I personify ** the developement of this specious *' system, as a beacon to reflect the " fatal quicksand. — These are my '' claims to patronage." -" But are you sure, the mind, at '' Sixteen, will always appreciate *' your moral." " Minds that are too imbecil to re- XIV PREFACE. ^* sist the illusion of imaginary «?cenes, ** have still less capacity to contend * '' with the real temptations of life : *^ Hence, the necessity of guarding '^ their feelings against the frailties *' of human nat 're, and the glit- ** tering subterfuges by which such ** frailties are made subservient to ^* the grossest crimes. The momen- ■•^ tary triumph past — I reverse the *^ medal — and exhibit horrors inse- *' parable from guilt ; conscious, that *' the lesson will be indelible on every *' youthful heart, not naturally de- *^ prayed, when the stricken victim ** falls — like Lucifer — never to rise *' agam ! PKEFACE. XV This was answered by a doubtful shake of the head — ^' Psha/' — continued I^ — '^ You " are an unv/iiiiajg convert — I will *' appeal to the public, and print our '^ conversation by way of preface. — '' The criticism shall precede ihe '* work." '' You cannot be serious — what, *' with my name ?" *' Certainly not — nor my own * either — who would take me for '' a philosopher ?" XVI PREFACE. He bade me adieu; — and I have kept my word. Gentle Readers ! Be not dismayed with the captious arguments urged by an independent man of fashion, against a poor author ; but condescend to judge for yourselves. Follow — and I will lead you into scenes, that I have visited in person during a life, variously passed in the vicissitudes of splendour and afflic- tion. At one moment, with a hope to claim the tear from virtuous Sensi- bility — at another, a smile from In- nocence and Gaiety. The titled Fop, PREFACE. XVll who prostitutes his talents, shall be reproved, and the sterling attributes of polished society venerated. Virtue shall appear in all its native loveliness, and Vice in its appropriate deformity. The man of worth, though pennyless, shall find a bold defender — and the splendid hypocrite shall endure galling stripes at the hour of retribu- tion. If the bill of fare displease ye — throw it down. INCIDENTS. The Removal. Fortitude. Family pictures. A Suit at Law. Professional Gratitude. Resignation. A Peep into a Prison. The Bankrupt. Bon vivant. A soi disant Nobleman. Such things Are. Whimsicality. A Money lender; The Misanthrope. My brother in Law. An unexpected Visit. Levity and Feeling. Bath. Analysis of Beauty » Emily. Our Heroine. The Hero. A slight Alarm. The Probe. Reconciliation. A Grand Masquerade* The Gipsies. . A Right Hon. Groom. Sprigs of Nobility. The Retort. A Spanish Peasant. The pit-a-pat, A narrow escape. The Confirmation. A fine Contrast. The Temptation, XX INCIDENTS. One false step. Emigration. Penitence and Exile. Rosemary Farm. The Curate's family. Patty's bower. May-day. The young Squire. Love at first sight. Sudden departure. The drooping Lilly. A Coffin. The venerable Pastor. Solemn Grief. The Villagers. A Funeral. The Chi ,h aisle. Frantic Intrusion.. Mental agonies. Unavailing sorrow. A dangerous Interview. Mutual Love. The Brulee. Noble Resolution. Paris. The Budget. Female fashions. Palais Royal. Opera Buffa. Dimanche. Carnival. Thuilleries. Military Spectacle. Louvre. — Versailles. Royal Family. Pont-neuf. Bois de Boulogne. Revolutionary Anecdote. National Portrait. Lovely Grisette. Half Confession. Adieu. New-market races. Hot spiced Ginger- bread The Cantab. A Barouche and four. The Gay Deceivers. INCIDENTS. XXI Main plot Happy Contrivances. A Discovery. The private Mad house. A famous Achievement. The Village Inn. Night. ^lorning. A penitential Letter. The modest proposal. Humane Parents. The Honorable Lover. Catastrophe. Laura's Vision. A Fire. Parental Affliction. Refined Barbarity. Companion in a post chaise. A fruitless Attempt. The Rookery. Miss Aurelia Clemen- tina Spraggs. Modern Boarding Schools. Insolvency. The Widow's appeal. Political Charity. Effects of Vanity. Airs and Graces. The Explanation. The dignity of Inno- cence. c Sudden Illness. The Harpy. Imminent Danger. A horrible Dream. Virtuous Perseverance. The Triumph I ERRATA. VOL. I. Page 44,1. 13, for, the marriage of Canaan, read of Cans. P. 183, I. 23, for, though under FoYty, read, though in appear- ance under Thirty' VOL. II. P. 135, 1. 1 3, for, Pbaroab Table, read Faro Table. THE MASK OF FASHION. VOL. I. A FRUGAL dinner having been removed by an elderly female servant, Mr. Manly, his wife, and daughter, turned their chairs to the fire. Their apartments were neat, but small ; consisting of two rooms, and a light cIosught I must have fainted m de- " fiance of my otto of roses." " Your Ladyship is very, good, and you ^^. do us infinite honor in this obl.ging en- ^^ quiry." ^' Nay— Alary ! — not so gravely either — 45 " you know I love you and my brother " dearly ; notwithstanding your morality *^ has often put my levity to the blush, " and given me the pouts for a full half " hour together — come, now, do let us " make friends (taking her hand playfully) " I know you do not hate me." " Indeed, my dear Lady William, you '^ possess a large portion of my regard; ^' but my spirits are not in tune at this " moment the decree — " ^^ Oh, my love, I shall expire this ^^ moment if you mention it," interrupted Lady William, '' It has robbed me of all '^ my sweet pin-money — then my hall is so '^ crouded with importunate tradesmen from " morning to night — a set of people who " are so unconscionable, it is impossible to '^ satisfy them say what you will — and when " I tell my precious helpmate how I am 46 " besieged, he looks so frantic, you have •^ no idea — it is quite terrible to see him ; *' for you must know, he has been mon- ^^ strously in the dumps ever since that *^ shocking affair, and the most I have " been able to do, is to extract a mono- " syllable from him, when I ask for " money, and that is, a frightful — no — '^ but where is my brother ? this abomi- ''' nable lodging is, I suppose, one of his " romantic flights." A sigh from Mrs. Manly corrected, in an instant, the flippancy of her rattling Ladyship, who now looked all anxiety and apprehension — beseeching her to relieve her fears. Mrs. Manly began her little narrative of woe ; but when she was about to name the — PRISON — she burst into tears^ and could not proceed. 47 Emily threw herself into her aunt's arms, and wept with her — then running to her mother, " Will you not, my. own dear mamma, " let me bring my aunt the diamond neck " lace and ear-rings grand-papa gave me *' last winter." ^^ Yes, my sweet child, indeed you shall — we will go home directly : you " must add my jewels to the gift, and I " hope between us, we may be able to '^ release your poor dear uncle." e particular distinctions, tliat he \'.as u .i- versaily considered the. most modest, as well as the most amiable, of men. 6o Emily was delighted with this phenom- enon : and, as she really played with science, he took much pleasure in her society. The gentle Laura, too, would sometimes lend her aid, and their mornings, now, were mostly devoted to this enchanting amuse- ment. ^ One day he chanced to call while Emily and her mother were engaged in their dressing room — and, on being introduced to the back drawing room, found Laura alone. After the usual compliments of saluta- tion ; Mr. Dormer, observing the piano open, said, " Will the lovely Miss Manly conde- *^ scend to give me a lesson ?" " I will plai/ you a lesson,'' she replied laughing, " fye, Mr. Dormer ; such ano- 6i " ther equivoque would effectually destroy ' " your reputation for candour." " To be so sweetly chidden, I could '^ err all day — if it be an error to feel a " proper value for Miss Manly's superior " accomplishments." " Nay — now I perceive you jest ; and as " I have no talent at raillery, I throw my- •' self on your mercy — let me shew you," — turnmg to the music stand — " some new " songs my cousin has just received from, " town." He opened the book, and read, Mark'd you her eyes of heavenly blue ? Mark'd you her cheeks of roseate hue ? Those eyes, in liquid circles, moving ; That cheek abash'd at Man's approving 3 The one, love's arrows darting round ; The other, blushing at the wound I 62 " I will play, Mr. Dormer/' said Laura, taking her seat at the instrument, " if you ^^ will sing !" For a moment. Dormer gazed full in Laura's face with inconceivable tenderness of expression ; but suddenly con* cting himself, his- features resumed then* usual placid tones, and an elegant bow expres- sed his obedience : but our herione's as- tonishment was excessive, to find the wc^rls of the song supplied by the following im- promptu. The eyes I mark, with truth impart. Each chaste emotion of the heart ; The conscious cheeks I mark, disclose, A feeling soul and not the rose ! The bosom where these virtues reign, Inflicts tke wound, but spares the pain. 63 These words were adapted by Dormer, with such touching expression, thnt L:iuia felt her bosom beat with uncommon agita- tion : as he closed — ^an um onscious blush heightened the delicate bloom upon her cheek — she was confused, she knew not why — but when she would have coniplimented Dormer on his performance, she found it impossible, and was silent. x\t this moment, Emily came tripping into the room, and her vivacity relieved her cousin's extraordinary embarrassment. *' I am so glad to see you," tapping his shoulder, "you have no .idea — come, do " take up your base viol and help uie with »'^ this perplexing overture from H^i/dn — *' it IS a charming piece, but monstrously " hard." With the skill of a master, he led through 64 all the difficult passages — complained of his own stupidity, v\hen Emily once or twice played a false note, and gracefully recalling her attention to the mistaken bar/ made her in love with her perfect execu- tion. Laura, who was not unobservant of this delicate refinement of good breeding, ap- plauded the act with an involuntary sigh. An indispensable engagement, on the part of the ladies, interrupted this amuse- ment, and Mr. Dormer took leave, promis- ing to return to their evening party. " Heigho," cried Emily, " I could *« really, almost find it in my heart to be " in love with that charming fellow. — •' Quen pensez vous, ma chere Cousine} — " Is he not a dear devil ?" 65 " Indeed, my love/' replied Laura, '' 1 " should be very insensible not to admit *• merits so universally and deservedly ac- " knovvledged ; and this, I presume I " may do, without any of your raptures/' " Perhaps so — and yet I have heard that those who say least — sometimes — think most. Heyday — what a blush ! " — upon my w^ord, Laura, I could al- " most fancy you were over head and ears in love/' a a " How can you be so ridiculous, Emily ; *' — would it not be very singular, if I, " who have never been accustomed to '^ fashionable levity, could bear to be so '' unmercifully rallied, without betraying '' so7ne token of amazement ?" " Oh, you sentimental girls are all so *' sly — now I could flirt with this same 66 *^ Dormer a whole season, and afterwards ^^ discard him, with as little regret as an " old glove. These sort of male wretches *^ please, but do not touch me ; whereas, " I would wager my best card purse, and all *' its contents, if you and he were often ^* tete a tete together, we should hear of " your strolling every morning by the side " of the river — sighing in concert with " the soft murmurings of the stream — or, '' arm in arm rambling in the shady grove — " v^hich you would call elysium — carving ^^ each other's names upon the bark of every ** tree — vowing constancy and truth — de- " precating fate — and swearing to live for " each other, world without end. Amen !" , " If a rational v.'oman," said Laura, gravely, '' v\ere to bestow her hand, sanc- " tioned by her understanding, I do not *' know an object more worthy such dis- " tinction than Mr. Dormer — but I 67 *' should think the girl — who madly in- ^^ dalged a passion for him, in defiance of '* obstacles it became her duty to respect— *^ altogether unworthy his atFection. "Prettily said — 'pen honor—and if I *' can translate aright— Laura Manly, " with the consent of papa and mamma, " uncles and aunts, brother and cousins — ** not forgetting the long list of his Right " Honorable connections — would feel no " violent objection to become the Hon. " Mrs. Dormer." *' I must leave you, Emily — your spirits ** are so much higher than mine, I am " sure you find me dull company." '^ Not for worlds, Laura! — I fear you *^ are offended — excuse my unseasonable *' mirth — indeed I meant not, by my 68 " good humour to destroy yours — say you "^ forgive me for this foolish badinage ?'* « " Forgive you, my love ! most cheer- *^ fully — but I thought your remarks " sounded rather harshly." The footman came to say their chairs were at the door, and Lady William wait- ing in the parlour. Upon which, the re- conciled cousins went down, lovingly, together, and pursued the business of the day. When Laura found herself alone in the chair, she began to ask questions of her heart, which rather alarmed her. She would have laughed away her fears ; but an emotion, of which she then knew not the name, increased her perturbation till it became excessive. 69 We are compelled to yield to that, which we cannot successfally oppose ; and Laura did so^ in this instance, with the less reluctance, as she depended on the strength and rectitude of her own mind, to protect her against any evil that might seem to threaten her repose. A few evenings after this, was distin- guished by a grand masked ball, given in St. James* Square by a lady of rank, re- markable for the splendour of her enter- tainments. All the world was to be there, and many parties came expressly from town to join the motley throng. But notwithstanding the eagerness of a fashionable mob after this favourite amusement, it certainly is not calculated to shew off our national genius to advan- tage'. 70 There are many essentials to constitute a masquerade, beyond the glitter of those gems which grace the beauties of a Sultana, or the correct standard of dress, which may dis- tinguish each particular character assumed. It requires much good humour to foil impertinence — ready wit to attack others, and a prompt repartee to defend ourselves — a happy 7nelange of satire and good nature — a nice delineation of character — with a vivacity, spirit, and volubility, not con- stitutionally the property of an Englishman. The company began to assemble be- tween il and 12, and soon after the rooms were crowded. — " What a squeeze! — how " do r — long at Bath ? — dying with a " cold — what a sweet dress !-^lost my *' cecis beo ! — made by Lancastre — how " divinely suffocating ! — you look charm- *' ingly — call to-morrow — oh ! my train ! — 71 " seen theAlthorpes ? — heard the news ? — ''' look at that Sultana — fine jewels^ no " grace" — and similar elegant efFasions *' ^ buzzed around. In the mean time it became almost im- possible to move, when a temporary room, prepared in the garden for dancing, was thrown open, and gave the company space to breathe in. A new Arcadia was now presented to view. — The walls were lined^ with dark green lattice work, entwined with a profusion of flowers in the richest bloom ; while a variety of lilacs and luxuriant shrubs were fancifully dispersed about the room, in charming groupes. Thecieling was festooned with wreaths of artificial roses, supported by flying cupids ; which, with the blaze of light issuing from 72 Ti profusion of cut-glass chandelers, gave an air of perfect enchantment to the scene. To give brilliancy to the whole, no domi- nos were admitted ; so that the coup (fceil was magnificent beyond description. Here, strutted FalstafFs without wit — Conjurors without art — Princes without dignity — Harlequins without agility — Co- lumbines without grace — Clowns without humour, — and a long et caetera of nonentities equally ridiculous One group, however, should not pass unnoticed — It consisted of three beautiful females, most fancifully and characteris- tically clad as gipsies : they w^re accom- panied by two men ; the one, bearing the implements of cookery ; the other, two poles and a basket with provisions. 73 Having erected their cross-sticks in a corner, and slung their kettle over an ar- tificial blaze, they began the song of the *' gipsies Jire,"' which was given in a style of masterly correctness. — This was fol- lowed by others equally attractive, and the intervals filled up with fortune telling. There were female Quakers bewitch- ingly lovely — and Nuns 4:ernptingly beau- tiful. — Of the latter class were Lady Wil- liam, who appeared as the abbess of St. Clair, with Emily and Laura — noviciates of the order — unmasked. Our Heroine was surprised at the fami- liarity with which masks addressed each other. — Presently a Squire Groom, placing himself immediately before them, so as to impede their progress, raised his glass carelessly to his eye, and having taken a VOL. I E 74 critical survey of Emily, burst into the ibllowing rhapsody. ^'^ Famous filly, demme ! — shews blood — '' handsome figure — fine forehead — stands -' well on her pasterns — good neck — like '^ her head — wont go in a snaffle — wants '• the curb — ^glad to put her in training — '^ had just such another last season — ran " out of the course — knowing ones taken '^ in — turned her out on the common, " demme." " Admirable mask!" exclaimed Emily archly, " that groom-like gentleman knows " the extent of his talents, as critically as " he knows the length of his spurs — and " finds them equally ornamental — in J&o- lished society." iC ^' Told you so — ^knew she was a tar- tar — off in a canter, demme !" 73 Scarcely had they escaped from the impertinence of this ivell-hred Gentleman^ when thev were assailed from another quarter. Two young Coxcombs, habited as hussars, in superb hessian uniforms, made a full stop as our party was about to pasy them ; while one, staring most impu- dently in Laura's face, said in a loud whis- per, " There is flesh and blood in peniteiitials " for you. — Oh, that I were a friar ! — a " lusty friar ! — what charming confessions " she would make." " Don't you know them, Charles?" replied his companion ; " the tallest girl is well enough — rather too much fire in her eyes, to be sure — she look*^ a E 2 70 • as it' she would scratch before the hoiiey- ' moon was over!" "■' Tiie little blue-eyed Nun for my ^ moiie}/' answered the pert Mr. Charles. " Poh," returned his friend, " she, is a ^' beggar in disguise." '• Prithee, doff thy lion's skins, good " Messieurs Asses," retorted Emily, gaily ; " thy braying hath betrayed thee!" " I am certain," said Laura, roused be- yond her custom, — ^' the pretty creatures '* would be more useful to a Sandman than *^ a General." " Right," vociferated Squire Groom — '* crop their ears — tails are ready docked — '• do for a watering place, demme. " '* Verily, my friends," quoth Obadiah Fnm, '' there is a proverb which saith. •• use every man after his desert, and ulio -' shall escape whipping ?'' Tlie embroidered heroes, no longer aljile !o stand the brunt, lounged off, drawling one leg after the other, the ridicule of the surrounding circle. The ladies, fatigued with the pressure of the crowd, and wishing to withdraw fron) further insult, retreated to a sofa; but they had scarcely taken their seats, when an ele- gant figure, in the habit of a Spanish pea- sant, approached with his giiitar, and throwing himself at Laura's feet, alter a skilful symphony, sang several tender canzonets accompanied by his instru- ment. This charming serenade drew numbers about them ; and perceiving they became E 3 78 objects of particular observation, they ros.c to be gone ; but the mask followed, repeat- ing, in recitative^ " Thus Daphne, from Apollo's fond pursuit, " With eager footsteps cleft the yielding air ; " The hapless lover press'd his love-strung lute, *' And magic strains impede the list'ning fair." " Bravo — bravo — bravo !" — exclaimed an hundred voices. At that moment the pea- sant vanished through the croud, and was heard no more. Although these airs were sung in a/rt/- 'lelto^ the sounds penetrated into the heart of Laura, who soon recognised the dis- guised minstrel — she now felt herself quite ill — but Dormer's well-timed retreat as- sisted to compose her ; — the evening, how- ever, had no longer any charms. ?9 It was day -light when the ladies readied home, and as they had an engagement at two — a short distance from town — they consented to take strong coffee, and dress for the morning, without going to bed. The residence of Lady William, was in the Upper Crescent, which is built with a terrace projecting to the lofty cliff, that overtops the Lower Crescent, and is unde- fended by any railing ; though danger is some distance removed from the houses. Their carriage was at the door, and Mr. Dormer, who had called, en passant, to en- quire how they were after their raking, was preparing to hand them in — he had given his arm to Laura; but before she could gain her seat, a band of itinerant Savoyards suddenly struck up their medley. The blood-horses, terrified at the noise E 4 80 set off at full gallop, making towards the precipice. Dormer, without one moment's pause, flew to their heads, and impeded their course, by seizing on the bridle, although he was unable, effectually, to arrest it. Laura, happily, retained her presence of mind, and finding the door unlocked, and the step down, made a spring from the carriage, and escaped unhurt. Dormer now felt himself dragged for- ward by the impetuosity of these high- mettled steeds, and perceiving Laura safe, released his hold — he could not, however, sustain the powerful shock ; — but falling, the near wheel of the carriage passed over his body. The ladies shrieked, and Laura fainted 61 awav ; wliile the horses madly pursued their own destruction : and the coachman had just thiie to leap from his box, before the carriage was hurled down the stee}), and i\\(^ horses killed on the spot. As Laura revived, her' eyes I'an wildly around the room — at length, recollecting th€ danger in which she had seen her pre- server, she eagerly enquired as t(j the re^u]t. Her evident perturbation, was ascrihe-:!. luiturally enough, to terror: and Emily took pams to cairn her apprehensions, assu- ring her Mr. Dormer was very slightly hint — that a vein had been opened — and lie had sustained no other injurv, than a slight contusion on hi:j slioulder — •' a.nd " t'nat you know, Lar.ra/' she addcvl archly, "is nothing in the school of Ouixot- " ism." E 5 82 Oar heroine appeared satisfied ; but complained of being weak and agitated-— she requested to retire, when she was left to very painful reflection, and found her- self compelled to confess, mentally, that gratitude had made strange havoc in her bosom. — She felt her heart was no longer in her power ; but her secret was ; and judg- ing flight to be the most prudent, if not the most agreeable, line of conduct to be pursued, resolved to write to her father and mother next day, requesting she might return home. Having made this arrangement, she found her bosom more at ease, and sleep soon after closed her eyelids, lulling her new-born cares into a temporary oblivion. In the evening she awoke, much better ; but declined leaving her chamber ; and having arisen next morning, sometime be- 83 fore the family, she took out her writing desk, and completed the determination of the preceding day. It was not, however, without some reluc- tance that she reflected upon the voluntary punishment she was about to inflict upon herself — the heart naturally recoils at the word " farewell" and her whole soul being tenderly attuned by the painful subject, her throbbing bosom dictated, while she penned^ the following lines. Those only who have fondly lov'd can tell The pain — the anguish — of the word Farewell. The subtile magic of that simple sound Touches the heart — and leaves a rankling w^ound. Oh, Sensibility ! thou gentle pow'r ! Whom all obey ; and yet whom all adore: Say, by what unseen tye, what force, what art, At will, you move and overwhelm the heart ? Each finer sense that warms the lib'ral soul, Feels thy soft power — nor can that power controu\. The tear that glistens in the maiden's eye, Th^ unfeigned sorrow, and the untaught sigh. 84 These all confess thy power — these speak thy reign. A silent anguish— tho' a soothing pain. Ye frigid sons of apathy — far hence ! Who, dead to this, are dead to ev'ry sense ; Who vaunt, unmanly, that the voice of Iove.» Or call of pity could your hearts ne'er move ; Who dare deride the hapless mourner's woe, And scoff at what your own breasts never know ; Ye never felt the luxury so dear, That mingles sigh with sigh, and tear with tear, The soothing pleasure that it is to blend. And make your own— the sorrows of a friend. At breakfast, Laura begged her aunt would send to enquire after Mr. Dormer's health. — The footman returned to say, that he was confined to his bed by a slight fever. Laura paled at this news — the cup almost fell from her trembling hand — she found herself quite ill — and all her philosophy was scarcely sufficient to enable her to keep her seat. 85 Our Heroine again sought the solitude of her chamber : and reclining her pensive head upon her lovely arm — sat — the em- blem of mute, but expressive, melancholy, pondering on the woes of life. The doors of lady William's house had been closed, since the accident, against every body ; but the enquiries after the family were innumerable. The evening was passed by Emily and her cousin, tete a tete ; and the former, almost assured in her own mind, that the picture she had drawn in the gaiety of her heart, was, now^ too fatally realized, began to fancy she already perceived the canker worm of despondency blighting, with its baneful influence, the roses on her cou- sin's cheeks : she gave a heartfelt sigh to her sorrows — and wished, without alarming Laura's fears, to take a nearer peep into b6 the actual state of her heart — with this view — which had a better motive than curiosity for its source^ she said, *^ I have been considering, my dear '^ Laura, so tenderly alive as you are to all " the keenest sensibilities of the heart, *^ how you would have supported the reflec- " tion, had any accident, more fatal, been " the consequence of Dormer's gallantry.** " I feel, as it is," replied our heroine, "but " too much concern for the part that gen- " erous youth has taken. — Alas ! my Emily, " but for him, your poor Laura's mangled " corse would now have claimed a lodging " in your house. — How is it possible to " dwell on what I owe that amiable young <« man, and not freely offer him all the grati- " tude of which my nature is susceptible ?'* " Certainly, my love, it is merely justice ; B7 ^^ — but the effusions of sensibility are so *' little regulated by reason, that I fear *^ its votaries can never glide smoothly '* through the voyage of life. — Like a ^^ light bark, bounding over the expanded " ocean, it is impressed by every gentle ^^ gale that swells its trembling bosom. — . •^ Its unresisting course veers with the ** varying winds — a stranger to the haven " of a calm repose," " Indeed^ my Emily, it is a sweet, but ^^ dangerous possession ; and yet to its " influence, alone, are all the joys of life '' attributable !" " I thank God, however," answered Emily, " that I have always had the fa- ^* cultyof laughing and crying at the same " moment ; and yet my heart is no stranger <' to the voice of humanity ; although it does " not manifest its feelings with vehemence, 88 '* or drink too deep of anguish ; with you, *' my Laura, it is different ; and I am ■' persuaded your ^rst sigh, will mark the " remainder of your life. " I am too giddy to be seriously in ** love.— I have not sense enough ever to " partake the refinements of that sublime " passion ; and my want of reason, in this " particular, will save me from many an " heart ache." *^ But my dear Emily, are we to quarrel ^* with Sensibility, because it exposes us " to trials } Why are we gifted with intel- " lectual powers ? To what end do we " refine such powers by education, if not " to regulate our passions } There is no *^ evil so poignant, as to be superior to the " controul of reason ; and love, said to be " the most imperious of our passions, " 7nai/ be preserved within bounds by 89 " discretion, however violent its improper '* bias/' " We are young philosophers, Laura, '• and I hope neither is in immediate dan- *^ ger of those trials, which we have just *' described." The concluding sentence flushed the cheek of Laura with an ingenuous blush — her bosom undulated the envious 'kerchief which concealed its charms — and Emily no longer doubted. The conversation now took a livelier turn ; and Emily resolved to preserve the secret thus unconsciously betrayed — and ever to be silent on the subject, till her cousin chose to trust her with it ; deeming it an unpardonable breach of faith to reveal the secret of a friend, under any circum- stances. 90 As to poor Laura, the peaceful serenity of her bosom was flown for ever. — What a situation ! to love ! uncertain, even, if her * passion was returned — and yet there were tell-tales which, at times, stole from the eyes of Dormer, and seemed to confirm a mutual passion. To admire his person — to applaud his accomplishments — to venerate his worth — were duties imposed by gratitude ; and she felt that the heart which would have ceased to beat without his interposition, must, henceforth, beat for him alone. — She be- gan to tremble for his safety ; till fancy drew so affecting a possibility of what might happen, that she gasped for breath. Emily, extremely affected, took infinite pains to compose her cousin, and so far succeeded, that, at supper, Laura forced 91 a sort of cheerful smile upon her cheeky to hide the inward workings of her soul, A few days after, brought two letters to Lady William ; we insert them. Arlingtori'Street. While the horses are putting to, I sit down, in violent agitation, to inform you that a cursed run of bad luck has involved me in such pecuniary difficulties, that I have nothing left but a disgraceful flight. My father is inexorable — I find it im- possible to borrow another shilling on my estates. — On the contrary, I am threatened with a foreclosure of the mortgages already granted ; and then we are reduced to beggary. I would have maintained my ground still, if I had merely to contend with the duns 92 of insolent shop-keej3ers, whose clamours were in truth bad enough — but I have contracted debts of honour to a large amount, and those, you know, cannot be put off. All retrospect is now useless — had you acted otherwise, I might have done so too — but the folly of one, has been echoed by the ot her ; and never having been taught the charms of domestic society, I have flown abroad after dissipation, while you encoura£,ed the expensive indulgence at home. Thus have we, mutually, con- tributed to our own ruin. If ever we meet again, I hope it will be to find more happiness in each other. — If not — God bless you ! My poor Emily 93 At her name, my brain maddens. — She will live to curse the author of her Being . Racks — flames — consume me ! rv. B. Edgivare-road. My dear Lady William, Peace, the result of fortitude and reflec- tion, is once more become the cheerful inmate of my bosom : your sister and my- self having quite forgotten our former afliu- ence, and being animated by a mutual anxiety to make each other happy, cannot fail to be so in all situations. We have taken a small place, in a cheap part of Devonshire, called Rosemary Farm ; it merely consists of a snug cottage, and a few acres to graze a couple of cows. Laura will be our dairy maid, and feed the poultry ; her mother and Martha will mind 94 the house, while I cultivate the garden, or join in the labours of the field. Thus you see, my dear sister, with how little our actual wants are supplied ; and that little often introduces content — which joys more to cheer the virtuous cottager, than to seek an asylum within the splendid circles of a court. In a few days, we shall have concluded all our arrangements, and will take Laura with us in our road through Bath. Indeed, had I less reliance on the exem- plary prudence of my child, so much be- yond her years, I should have deemed it improper to expose her to the gaieties she has so largely partaken with you, imme- diately prior to the sudden change that will take place in her pursuits; but I can depend on her cheerful acquiescence to any privation virtue may make necessary. 95 Your sister and myself will have the happiness to embrace you soon. — Give our love to both our dear girls, and believe me invariably. Your affectionate Brother^ Robert Manly. A letter from Mrs. Manly to Laura, came by the same post. Poor girl ! she wished to be happy in the prospects before her — a month ago she was so. — But love — almighty love ! — now triumphed in her bosom, and checked every other sensation. We leave Lady William immersed in wretchedness — Laura to the secretly-con- suming grief attendant on an hopeless pas- sion. — And Emily to the tender offices of consolation. Mr, Manly, shortly after we left him, 96 put his project in train : and having vested his little fortune with a merchant in the city, high in credit, and leased the farm already mentioned, the furniture of which was to be taken at an appraisement, was on the eve of his departure from London, when Laura's letter arrived. In the disposition made by Mr. Manly _, of his little fortune, he, very benevolently, set apart a ten pound note, which he sent under a blank cover to the misanthrope in the Fleet. These gentlemen had passed an evening together, and a congeniality of sentiment attached them more in a few hours, than a life of ceremonious in- timacy would have done. His last step was to write to Edward, whose regiment was now ordered to India , he had private motives for concealing, from him, the reverse of fortune they &7 had suffered, and therefore desired he would address, in future, to the care of Mr. Traffic, merchant. Broad Street, Lon- don. At length, they left town, and arrived next morning at Bath. Lady William had been confined to her room, from the moment she received Lord William's letter : a dreadful ruin stared her in the face ; and she was unequal to the shock. Her eyes, indeed, opened, for the first time, to the impropriety of her past conduct: her ambitious views had been very properly punished, by the recovery of her hus- band's elder brother, contrary to the opi- nion of all the faculty : and poverty was the scourge, now, preparing for her unli- m it ted vanity. VOL. T. F 98 Her mind was too imbecll to meet the phantoms which assailed her ; she was deaf to all consolation; resisting the ami- able and united efforts of Emily and Laura, to inspire her with resignation. On the arrival of her brother and sister, howe\xr, she became more reasonable : and, at length, urged by his affectionate persuasions, and confiding in his advice ; she consented, for the present, to leave Bath, and retire to the family seat near Ashford, in Kent. This plan being settled, Mr. Manly turned his thoughts to his own departure ; and Laura, now, with timid accents, and downcast eyes, related the adventure of the horses, not forgetting the consequences to Mr. Dormer. Mr. Manly immediately arose, and hav- 99 ing obtained that gentleman s address, said he would hasten to thank the preserver of his child — '^ A man, such as you have '' described, my love, will not disdain " the heartfelt offering of gratitude, al- " though presented by a farmer in his " plain drab coat." The ladies all bore testimony to Mr. Dormer's worth. When Mr. Manly reached the lodgings, he was informed Mr. Dormer was too ill to see company ; but on sending in his name, he was immediately requested to walk up stairs. Mr. Dormer sat, or rather reclined, in an easy chair — pale, yet not very low. A violent contusion, attended with fever, were symptoms more of oppression than of danger. F 2 100 He would have risen to receive Mr. Manly, but the latter putting out his hand, positively forbade the ceremony. Having taken his seat, Mr. Manly, in appropriate terms, expressed his thanks for the vast obligation he was under to him — assured him, that his child was the treasure he most valued — the charm that connected him with life — that he could not have survived her premature death. Mr. Dormer, in reply, made light of the assistance it had been his peculiar good for^ tune to afford Miss Manly — laughed at the scratch he had received ; and nobly con- cluded, by saying '^ A man's powers are " oi^ly given to him, in trust, for the *^ protection of the weak and defenceless '' state of woman, and I would, willingly, " lose the last drop of my blood, in sup- " port of the sex." iOi Mr. Manly leaving his card, and beg- ging to be made acquainted with Mr. Dormer's recovery, came away charmed with his young friend. The morning after the next was ap- pointed for the departure of the two fami- lies, whose routes were diametrically op- posite. Emily and Laura were much af- fected at tiieir st^pantion ; but [)roniibcd to keep up a regular correspondence. On the last niglit, as Laura was placing her taper on the dressing-table, she per- ceived a smail ekgnnt billet ; which, on ta- king up, she found tc be richly embossed, and addressed to herself. She instantJv broke the seal; but with her thumb srill on the imapression, she started — and \vould have given the world to make ii whole again. It was true> she f3 J 02 might still decline reading it ; but how would it be possible to convince the author that she had done so. — Oh ! she would de- pend on her own innocence — then, some- thing like curiosity, or a motive still more powerful, whispered, the' thing was done, and there could not be any harm in reading it — she hesitated, — bl ushed, — trembled, — looked at it — the address was written in a beautifully small Italian character. " Dear me," said Laura, laughing at this discovery — " how ridiculous thus to ** torment myself — it is an adieu from ** some female friend, which the maid has ^* left hf.n-e for me" — and with tliis sanc- tion, she hastily unfolded the letter, wtiich co^ntained these words : " If ever I had occasion to complain of fate, divine Laura, this is the njoment ! — do not fancv I am confined bv a mere ex 103 tcrior bruise — my wound is deeper — it bleeds within my heart — you leave me — and I am in despair." " I do not know if I ought to wish you to prolong a life that will 7ioiv be hateful to me — yes ! — by one adieu — one little word — to sooth my agonies in this world, and cheer me onwards to the world to come. " Guardian angels bless and protect you!" " Augustus." The emotion of Laura, on the perusal of these lines, wasextreme ; she dwelt on every word, nav, every individual letter: then chiding the folly, be^^an to argue with- her self on her unguarded conduct. <' She would show the letter to her *' mother in the morning." F 4 i04 It was boldly said ; but the resolutiou failed almost as soon as made — her bosom was all in a irlow — her heart fluttered vio- lently — she was obliged to seek the sup- port of a chair. She remained some time motionless — meditating on the letter, still open in her band ; then rising, exclaimed mentally, *' Ungrateful Laura ! is it thus- you would repay hirn for your life ? — have you a right to doubt his motives ? — nlas, is he not ill ; surprised into this imprudence by the sjuddenness of your departure; ill too, in }'our service — -virig, perhaps, for having saved you ? he asks one ray of consolation ; is It too much for him ? — oh, no — but pru- dence, female d'dicacy — do they not op- pose your pity r yes — certainly- — that is, iu ord'nunij cases, but this is not of that num- ber — ^I nmst write." 105 After many efforts, either too warm or too cold ; she, at length, hit upon a happy medium. " Under any other circumstances,, I would not have permitted myself to read a letter clandestinely conveyed to me ; nor is it generous, in you, Sir, to cJaim more from me, than the esteem I freely offer you. This is i\\Q Jirst, and must be the last, act of my duplicity : remorse w^ill not fail to upbraid me severely ; but gratitude, towards you, inclines miC to inflict that punishmiCnt. Adieu. " L." Laura, only half satisfied with herself, retired to bed; but mstead of going to sleep, took a retrospective view of the last few months ; from Laura, the heiress of a princely fortune ; to Laura, (as the unfeeling mask described her) the beggar ! the pang p 5 io6 of this worldly change, as it affected the luxuries of life, flitted past ; but the more serious change that had taken place in her late tranquil bosom, clung with agony about her heart ; and she passed a night of unceasing inquietude. In the morning, however, she arose with apparent cheerfulness, and having sent her note by a chairman, joined the breakfast table. After a melancholy farewell, the Manly's set out, in a post-chaise, for Rosemary Farm, and Lady William and Emily took their de- parture for town. On their arrival in Arlington- street, her ladyship found all the servants had been dis- missed, excepting the porter and one house- maid : the plate and other valuables were removed to their oankers, and Lord Wil- liam, a§ she soon learnt, had drawn upon 107 that security for his expenses abroad. In a word — the plate was pawned. Lady William could not bear to con- template the desolation before her — she shuddered at the thoughts of burying her- self in the country ; and to remain in town, the scorn and pity of her friends, was equally intolerable. She resolved to pay the marquis a visit. At first, the noble peer refused her the least assistance ; he spoke in terms of bit- terness and 'reprehension of her conduct, as well as his son's; declaring it to be his earnest wish, never to see the fellow again. In consideration, however, of her lady- ship's destitute situation, he presented her with a check for ^500 ; which he promi- sed to repeat, annually, if she would go abroad, and live prudently. 108 Lady William, softened into tears by this unexpected turn of good fortune, avowed, with penitence, a detestation of her former life — assured his lordship of her re- formation—was all gratitude for his good- ness—and prayed him earnestly to forgive her — and protect her child. The marquis won by this shew of peni- tence, embraced his daughter-in-law, and desired she would remove with Emily, to his house, till her departure. On reaching home, the Manlys were much pleased with their farm. A very snug cottage, consisting of two small sit- ting-rooms, four bed chambers, kiiclien, wash-house, brew-house, &c. a neat gar- den, with a small green-house ; and, at the back of the building, a farm-yard, with a four-stall stable, a cart-shed, piggery, and poultry-yard. The dairy was detached ; and log being more immediately the property of Laura, it soou became the prettiest thing possible. This amiable family, as if by enchant- ment, assumed the different characters they were to play, and every thing seemed to prosper with them. About two miles and a half from the farm, lived the curate and his family, on a sloping eminence, leading to the village church. A worthy man, whose sole sup- port was ^60 per annum ; with a wife and seven children. He came, as usual, to pay a visit to his new parishioners, which they promised to return the Smiday following. The curate led his guests, with all his •little family at their heels, over his ground ; no Spring was advancing — and every thing wore an air of neatness and order. '^ What a sweet bower, this must be in " Summer^" said Laura, turning into ano- ther walk. " That," replied the curate with a sigh, " is Patty's bower: it is ahnost venerated " in my family ; she was a lovely maid, and " deserved a happier lot !'' " Does any circumstance of particular *^ woe attach to her history ?" said Mr. Manly. " "You shall judge," replied the curate, " pray sit down in the bower, while I relate " her story." " It is now almost five years since my " predecessor died ; I then served a neigh- Ill '^ bouring parish — I knew him well — he " was an honour to humanity !'' " Patty was his only child — if any thing '' stepped in between his soul and hea- " ven — it was his daughter — he almost " loved her to idolatry ; but every body ^^ loved her — so gentle — so unassuming — '^ yet so pretty — methinks I now see her '' shade before me !" " Her education w^as much above that ^* of her companions ; for her father w^as " a fine scholar, and spared no pains to ^' improve her understanding; yet she " was free, affable, and obliging with all *' the village. " But perfectjoys belong not to mor-^ " tality! " The Squire's son came home from 112 ^' College — had he been as good as he was ^' handsome — nobody could have com- " plained. '^ It was Mayday and all the villagers *' were assembled on yonder plot, at the *' bottom of the hill ; dancing merrily to ^^ the pipe and tabor. " The young Squire chancing to pass, " and hearing music, rode up to join the " joyous throng. He soon distinguished *' Patty ; who rose above her companions *^ in dignity and grace, as the stately pine " towers over the forest shrubs. " He asked her hand to dance — Patty *^ blushed, and gave it. — Every body was '^ pleased with the ease and elegance of her '^ performance — her pretty feet beat as " pat to the music as possible — they " would have been a noble pair ! 113 ** Patty and the young Squire danced *• together all the evening — he was often -' afterwards at the parsonage with his sis- " ter, and his modest carriage interested "' niy unhappy friend in his behalf.- — He " became a favourite with the father— with •^ the daughter — he was more. " Suddenly he disappeared altogether; *' ti'.-id, as \vQ ^jfterwnrdi;^ henrd, was- aetit •• abroad by his father, '^ From that moment, poor Patty ^- drooped — her father's tenderest care '^ could not chase sorrow from her brow ^* — she siirhed in secret — co;rrted solitude " — and soon became the shade of tlie " pretty Patty. a At length tlie funeral knell tolled from " the villacre church. & '' Alas ! sweet Pattv ! 114 '' I visited my friend on the melanclioly " occasion, whom I found sitting by the " side of the coffin — not moaning or be^ " wailing her fate; but with a vacant — in- " sensible — regard, to any thing around him. ^^ As I approached, he pointed with his '* fore-finger to the coffin — resumed his " situation — and continued silent. " ' It was the will of heaven, my dear ^' * friend/ said I. — * Our duty is to obey.* " He arose — placed his hand upon my ^^ lips for a moment, and hurried out of ^' the room. " I saw him no more till the funeral, ^^ which I had previously requested to per- " form ; but no — he would officiate himself. '^ Such, my good sir, is the mutability 113 '' of iiuman joys ! This spot, so lately the •' abode of Innocence and Mirth, was " now become the seat of sorrow, soli- " tude, and death. *' The village maidens all assembled *' on the green, dressed in their holiday " clothes. — The youths the same — they *' stood in separate groups. " Not a whisper could be heard — tears *' rolled down their honest cheeks — ^^ while pity and regret occupied every ** feature. — It was a scene to have moved « a Stoic! '^ As I approached, the villagers filed off ^^ on cither side, making a line, through " which I passed. — I did not speak a word '• — T could not — I looked upon the '' ground — they wept aloud. '^ But tliis was nothing to what followed. u6 ** Entering the parlour, 1 beheld the ** coffin, placed in the middle of tb.e room *^ —the lid was ofF — my friend in his robes *' knelt beside it — he held the pale ina- " nimate hand of Patty closed in his, while ** his streaming eyes were fixed, intently, " on her clay-cold corpse. ." The pious mourner was advanced in ** life; a Tew v, bite locks scuttc-red aroiiiid '* his temple, and gave new interest to (he " languor of his emaciated countenance. '^ My whole soul wrs filled with reve- ^^ rence and awe — I mingled tears with *' his-— -but he did 1 iT/%r '■" I made no attem])t to interrupt his '^ sorrows — I could only venerate them. " At length arising, he exclaimed — '^ ^ Farewell, my Patty ! — thou solace of *' ^ mine age, farewell ! 11/ ^- * But we shall meet in heaven/ he •^ added — ^ let the ceremony proceed.' " As the undertaker was about to screw " the coffin down, I advanced to take my " leave of the late blooming maid. '^ My friend perceived me, and em- " braced me. " I knelt in my turn, kissed the languid " hand of the lifeless Patty —a sweet serenity " still marked her countenance — -a compo- " sure resembling a deep sleep. '^ My feelings now became oppressive — -I " sobbed violently ; when my friend seized '^ me by the arm, and hurried me into the " adjoining room. " ^ Be firm/ said he, ^ nor let the mur- " ^ murings of discontent invade the sacred ** * rite to be performed.* 113 '' He then left me, and preceded the " coffin to the green, where I — more coni- " posed — rejoined him. ^' The coffin was black, covered with a " white satin pall : it was borne by six dain- " sels, dressed in white : as the procession " advanced, the maidens, joining two and '^ two, followed — the young men did the " Entering the church-yard, the lulled *' winds appeared to sigh, as they passed *' through the aged yews that stand be- *' fore the porch ; and nature wore a gloom ^^ adapted to the occasion. *' During the ceremony, a calm and *' pious resignation was apparent in the *' features of my friend. As he pursued *^ the solemn service, enthusiasm beamed '' from his renovated eyes — the tenderness " of the parent, would, however, at times. 119 " interrupt his voice ; but the duties of his " sacred order — cahned the feelings of na- " turc. " At this impressive moment, the doors " of the church were suddenly burst open ; " and a youth rushed madly up the aisle^ ^' dragging an elderly person after him. " It was the Squire and his son ! " ^ Stand off, ye inhuman monsters the ^' youth vehemently exclaimed, ' give tne *' ' back my love — my gentle Patty — the " ^ only partner of my heart — his voice gra- *• ' dually softened. '^ ^ Oh, she is dead — cold — insensible to " 'all my grief. " Here he sank upon the coffin, in '• speechless agony. i{ 1 20 Half rising — after a solemn pause— " and rolling his frantic eyes around him, he i ^^ exclaimed, ' but she is murdered I' — " then starting up, he forced his father to ^* approach the coffin. ^ See here, wretched old man 1 behold ^ thy work ! see where she bkeds, beneath * thy ruthless arm! — Oh, my deserted love ' we will still be united — never — never ' more to paj*t/ " All this time the father continued ^^ bent over the coffin — wringing his hands *^ and uttering piercing groans. " Another silence of some moments en- *^ sued, when the old gentleman, collecting *^ his scattered senses, feebly repeated, " ^ Oh, my son ! cursenot thy unhappy '' ' father!' l'>l ** ^ Enough/ — replied the youth, and " Vanished from the church. " The Squire was now conducted into " the air, and my friend, who had been " silent during the scene, concluded the " last sad offices to his darling child, and '^ we left the grave. ^^ It afterwards appeared, that Henry, ^* the young squire, had been privately " married to Patty ; and his sister, who "' loved her very sincerely, was, alone, privy " to the ceremony. That he had been de- '' coyed abroad by his father, and detained " there, under pain of being disinherited, " at the instigation of some meddling fool, " who told him of his son's attachment, " and warned him of the consequences. " Henry's sister did all in her power to " console Patty ; but grief consumed her VOL, I. G 122 *^' delicate frame, and the young lady trem- ** bling for her situation, wrote to apprize '^ her brother of it, and to hasten his " return, if he wished to save his unborn , ^' infant and its care-worn mother. " In the mean time, extreme debility " produced a miscarriage, which terminated " in Patty's death. " Henry arrived just in time to hear his '^ beloved wife was to be buried that day — ^^ upon which — frantic with despair — he in- ^^ sisted on his father's company to the " church. ^^ Since that day, Henry has never been " heard of — he has left his father the " prey of remorse^, as fruitless, as it is " agonising. ^^ As to my friend; affliction soon 123 " bowed down his reverend head to the " peaceful grave ; I succeeded him, and " this woodbinCj which was the work of " Patty's hands, is carefully preserved by ^* me, and hallowed by my parishioners, ^* who regularly pay it a visit of ceremony " every May-day." This affecting tale interested every body, but more particularly Laura, who drew a severe admonition from it, on the fatal effects attendant on a blind in- dulgence of our passions ; a crime usually heightened by disobedience, and a train of progressive evils, which must> even- tually, meet their merited punishment — it was a lesson that came immediately home to her feelings, and she treasured it up in her heart's core. The Manly family had now been near three months at the farm, happy in them- G 2 124 selves, and prosperous in every thing around them — all, save our luckless heroine, who ^^ pined in thought ;" in vain she appealed to reason — reason applauded her choice : What, alas ! could Laura do ? Oftentimes, she was upon the point of making a confession to her mother ; but foreseeing that such a confidence would only serve to disiurb her borrowed repose, Laura thought she might better fulfil her duty by silence, and leave to all-healing time^ the restoration of her peace. With thi^ determination, she did her utmost to appear cheerful before her parents — ^attended to her allotted labours with assiduity; while her bosom fondly nourished the fatal remembrance of the too-accom- plished Augustus. She had etched his portrait from me- jjiory — ^faithful guardian of every dangerous 125 feature ! — and vvitli it, she would frequently converse, when otherwise alone. It happened that she was so engaged one day, as she sat brooding over her sorrows on the border of a stream which turned, the neighbouring mill — footsteps inter- rupted her reverie, and turning, she be- held a peasant, in his coarse white frock^ walking pensively along the bank. With an awkward bow, he saluted Laura, who, looking up as he pulled off his hat^ beheld Augustus ! Rising to be gone ; Laura, in her haste and fright, stumbled against a tuft of grass, and fell to the ground. On her recovery, she found Augustus kneeling by her side ; his arm supporting her. ^* Mr. Dormer," exclaimed our herome, o3 j Id angrily, " Is it yoiu by whom 1 am thus '^ freely treated ? — unhand me, Sir I — Mr. '^ Dormer — I insist " " The lovely Laura never can command '^ in vain : but why this anger beaming " from her beauteous eyes ? — Is it a crime ** to lov^e in secret — to verge upon de- *' spair ; yet never disturb your lovely bo- *' som with a single sigh ?" ' ** This disguise, Mr. Dormer, is equally ** degradkig to your cliatacter and mine. " My father will always gladly receive the '" preserver of his child. — It teaches me, " however, how highly you value my es- •^ teem ; and it is a hint I shall not fiil to '^ profit by — my father must know of this *' mtei'view." ^' Hear me Laura ; then, act as you « think fit;* 127 " You take a cruel advantage, Sir, of '-' the debt I owe you ; but as I would *^ willingly think more favourably of you,, *^ than I am authorized by this deception — *' I am ready to attend." " On my recovery at Bath ; which was ** tedious in the extreme ; the workings ^* of an agonized mind opposing the re-es- " tablishment of my health, I went to ^^ Buckinghamshire, and throwing myseif at " my uncle's feet, avowed my love fur the ^^ most angelic of her sex, beseeching bim " to make me happy by his consent to our *^ marriage. *^ And pray August) is,'' said he sternly, ^' where is this angel? — who her family } — ^^ what her fortune ? " When I had replied to these various ^^ questions, he arose abruptly, and has- G 4 128 ^^rtening to the door, said, as he held th© " lock in his hand, *' Mark me, young gentleman ! if I '* ever hear you name this romantic match ** again, or know that you ever visit this **' sentimental object of your visionary ^* love^ I will not only revoke my will ; ** but the £^800 a-year you now enjoy *' shall from that moment cease — you " kiiow my determination, Sir, act as you ** please." **' I wound your delicacy, my beloved ** Laura, by the repetition of this unfeeling "- speech ; but it is necessary to my own *^ justification. *' My brother has considerably outran ** his Income — and could afford me no *• material assistance ; imhappily I wets " left dependant on this uncle, by my father, 129 " and have been brought up and educated " as his heir. " Thus, without a shilling — no pro- ** fession to resort to — how is it possible " I could think of offering to entail pover- ** ty and disgrace on you, the object of " my tenderest attachment. No ! — Perish *Vthe selfish thought, and with it, every *^' hope of joy, or happiness, to come. *^ To ask you of your father — destitute ^' and portionless as I should be — could " answer no good end — nor indeed do I " believe, he would, on any terms, sanction " our union, in opposition to my uncle; I " have therefore, striven to combat with •' my affections ; but the bright flame burns " fiercer in my heart, as I resist; — in " short — it consumes me. " Look on my features, Laura.; — be- G 5 130 " hold the langour on my cheek — read my *' despondency in every trembling nerve — " then tell me, thatyoa still condemn me." Laura hesitated — ^n^as confused — ^but sc- lent. He proceeded — ^* Unable longer to sup- " port the agonies of absence — resolved " not to make you a partaker of my " woes — I came down here, in disguise. . Si rnggs told her the house she was in belonged to Mr. Dor- mer. At the sound of that name, Laura shook like an aspen leaf — her cheek burnt-r-she L 2 220 was all confusion : but how unlike that in- teresting emotion which formerly betrayed her feelings ! slie now heard it with amaze- nient; and the blush that overspread her cheek bespoke her indignation — not her love ! Still she suffered Mrs. Spraggs to proceed without interruption. " It is small, but very well fitted up — " most romantically situated in the midst *' of a rookery : the grounds are enclosed by *^ deep-sunk fences, so that there is no '* entrance to the house except over the *' Chinese brido;e that leads from the hio-h *' road. Mr. Dormer passes much of the " summer here, which time he devotes to '' reading and music ; there are a very " valuable library below, and several musi- " cal instruments; we have no neighbour- " hood near us ; but my daughter, who '' has been well brought up, finds amuse- ment enough, and w ill, I hope, contri- 221 'V bute to make this retirement pleasing to '• you, my lady, till Mr. Dormer arrives, *' In all things, exeept your passing bevoncl '^ the bridge, our orders are strietly to obey " your commands." " Mr. Dormer, then, is not at home ?'* " No, my lady ; he was here last week " to give orders for your reception, and we ^^ expect his Honor back to-n^ioriow.'* " Indeed ! and pray, Mrs. Spraggs, who '• did his Honor say you were to receive, in ^^ receiving me ?" " Plis lady" — making a low courtesy ; ^' his Honor said there were reasons why *^ you sliould come here to be privately '^ married ; although, the liigh sense you '^ entertained of your duty towards your L 3 222 *' parents, obliged him to constrain you to "- consent to your own happiness." " He is really very good — and vfery de* " licate in his resolves." ^' There, my lady, the Avhole world •' does him justice." Laura saw the poor woman was prejudiced l)y her dependance on Mr. Dormer to think all he did right ; she therefore made no reply, but followed to the breakfast room. It was fitted up with a very extensive li- brary ; a large bow window opened on a small grass plot, comprising just space to admit the light, and surrounded by thick clumps of trees inhabited by rooks. Miss Aurelia Clementina arose to receive our heroine, but without the least afFabilitv 223 — her features were at times sprightly ; yet borrowed a certain degree of pertness from a little turn up of her nose, by no means pleasing. Her dress was rather fine than neat, and her whole appearance a compound of affectation. In her attentions to Laura, it was evident she imagined she did her vast honor in no- ticing her at all ; but Laura was too much occupied, by other subjects, to bestow a thought on her follies, particularly, when she observed her conduct to her mother was strongly marked by superiority and self-suf- ficiency. After breakfast, Miss Aurelia Clementina, with unbending arrogance, led our lieroine over the cottage, and grounds. At their return, taking Laura into the music-roora. l4. 224 she carelessly struck an octave, enquiring if Miss Manly plaved? '• To please myself/' answered Laura. " Ob, then you must be extremely care- '' ful how you touch this instrument — It is *• a STODDARD, witli Organised stops and ': pedals/* '^ You need not be afraid — I shall not '^ injure it." ** But do yon understand Italian ? «• though I suppose not — I have no English '* njusic — it is such heavy composition." '* I presume, Miss, the notes in Italian *-* are the same as those in English — but I *' am not disposed to play at any rate." Our hcro'.nc, quite disgusted with her 225 companion, went up stairs to ruminate on her situation — and to endeavour to find a reason for Dormer's conduct, of whom she could not, yet, think ill ; but the idea of the fire having so opportunely assisted his pro- ject, filled her with horror. She resolved calmly to await the morrow ; she found an advocate in her gentle bosom, that softened the severity of censure ;. she thought it just to hear, before she unmercifully condemned him ; she fortified her mind against the approaching interview, and entertained hopes he would not dare to urge any thing fatal either to her duty or repose. The eventful morning came, and Laura was informed, before she left her chamber, that Mr. Dormer expected the pleasure of her company, alone, to breakfast. As she entered the library, Dormer rose np to meet her, with all that insinuating L 5 226 elegance and grace which won her virgin heart: but there w^as a composed and dig- nified air in the mein of Laura which evi- dently embarrassed him — still he advanced — no token of triumph sat upon his brow — no Jibertine smile played on his cheek — his manner was impressive — yet tempered by humility. He led her to a seat, thus addressing her: " Probably^ Miss Manly, all I may have " to advance would not acquit me before " a jury of my peers ; but I hope to appeal " to a milder tribunal, and trust my cause " to the all-powerful God of Love ; who, '' having taught me to sin, will also teach *^ me how to plead for mercy. '' It is not possible, my beloved Laura, '^ that you should be able to conceive an idea !227 " of that love with which I am inspired'— '' nor can I describe the excess with which " your are adored — I must confine myself " simply to expose toyou^ the consequence '' of your cruel resolve to banish me for ^^ ever — for a venial fault too — committed *^ in the fullness of a heart so perfectly " guided by you, that it has no other " thought, sentiment, or action, but that " which is born, and matures, in the con- ^' templation of your worth. " I pursued your shade along the river's " banks — I followed you through all our ^^ favorite v/alks — I conversed v/ith you, " yet you came not— I had moments — oh, '' Laura, horrible moments ! — but when my "' heart was most torn, I would say, Laura " LOVES ME ! — a momentary change took *' place through every fibre — still you came " not — audi relapsed. 228 *' Thus miserable — I would have died for '' yoa — ^but Laura snatched me from the '' brink of eternity. — ^Was I certain she ' would be happy when I was no more ? '^ That thought corrected me — and to save '^ you from one pang, I continued to support '^ ten thousand." Here Dormer paused — and Laura replied: '^ Before I can offer you any opinion on * what you have advanced, Mr. Dormer, I •' must first know what fatality could con- ^ nect the fire with the fulfilment of your ' daring project." *'' Would T could as readily remove every ol^jection," said Dormer, "by heaven ! it was the effect of chance. My chaise had been some days waiting for an opportu- nity, which I hoped to prevail with you to employ to our mutual happiness — but 229 " the fire gave another turn to my thought?, '^ and frantic with the desire to possess '' you, at all events, without reflection I " ordered you to be hurried to the car- *^ riage, and followed myself to guard you " — I had prepared the attendance of my -^^ housekeeper, that you might have a com- " panion of your own sex — I forebore to *' visit you yesterday, that you might have ** time to recover your spirits — in all " things I have made your happiness my ** first consideration — my own, is a minor " claim." " I do not affect, Mr. Dormer, to deny " the sentiments with which I once per- " mitted myself to dwell, perhaps toofojidly, " on your worth : While the invariable te- '^ nor of your conduct justified my affec- *' tions, I partook all the pains you pro- *' fessed to i^^X — I suffered with you — " loved with you — and had my prospects in 230 "life maintained their independence, I " should have gloried in avowing to the " world the choice my heart had made. " But the Dormer I loved was gentle, " good, and virtuous — he would not have " betrayed me into error to profit by my " weakness— his godlike soul would have " sustained me in the pure pursuits of inno- " cence, even at the risk of his own hap- " piness — If, therefore, my sentiments are " changed; you. Sir, can explain the " cause: nor will you wonder if myjudg- " ment can contemn, as freely, as it has ap- " proved : Enveloped by the shield of vir- " tue, I smile at the fancied power you may " presume upon, and insist on being re- " stored to my parents." Awed by the dignity of this calm address. Dormer, for a lime, lost all his presence of mind — the superiority of Laura's cha- 231 racter made him shrink from the contempla- tion of his own ; but it was absolutely ne- cessary to restore himself to her good opinion, if possible he rallied. * " Angel of mercy," said Dormer, with the most impassioned air, '^ pity me ; hear " me ; help me, — oh, disarm those beau- " teous eyes from all their threatening ven- '* geance — let confidence resume its empire '^ in your gentle bosom — be generous as " you are good. " Laura," — here his voice failed — " your '' reproaches pierce me to tjie heart — ^*^*al- " most lose the power to breathe — here— '^ feel my trembling heart — it beats with '^ insupportable agony — you only can re- " store it to tranquillity. Renew, then, •^ I conjure you, those moments of inefFa- " ble delight, that blessed me with return- " ing love — renew those delicious bonds, 232 ^^ >. " which bound us up in one common ex- *^ istence — save me from the worst of *^ pangs — to hate myself^ and be despised « by thee." " I must not — ^IMr Dormer, indeed, I " will not — Hsten to these raptures. Tell " me why I am here ; for what purpose ^^ detained ; while my unhappy parents are '^ inconsolable about me ?" " Consent then, adorable Laura, to be ^^ mine ; it is in vain to expect any other " sanction than our own consent, under " present circumstances. The instant the " ceremony concludes I will restore you to " your weeping parents — we will throw '^ ourselves at your father's feet, as I do *^ now at your's — we will sue him to forgive " us — nature will assist our cause — he will " raise us — press us to his heart: your " amiable mother will weep over us — ^both 233 '' will bless ns. My uncle, when he sees ^' your matchless beauty, and is compelled '•' to acknowledn-e vour transceiidant " virtues, will add his blessings — we shall *' be the envy of the world." " Fine reasoning, Mr. Dormer, to snare •' a thoughtless mind ; I am not, however, "^ to be duped by sophistry ; r^^tore me to '^ my father — he will be just to you — he *' loves his daughter — this effort of a great *' soul will doubly endear you to him ; nor ^* wnll it lose its merit in 7127/ estimation. " On these terms, instantly fulfilled, I *^ consent to pardon the past ; but on no " otlier — so witness heaven !" Dormer perceiving he lost ground every moment, closed the contest, by beg- ging she would give him a little time to for- tify his mind with philosophy id bear her 234 loss, and he would endeavour to be all she wished. They now entered into a little covenant, and both more composed, Dormer rang for breakfast. During the repast, he enquired of Laura if she found all things to her wish, and ex- pressed much satisfaction to learn his com- mands had been so strictly obeyed. Several days past, Dormer nothing relax- ing his respect : but Laura unceasingly im- portuned him to send her home, although he artfully contrived to parry the fatal blow. At length, teized by the repeated failure of her hopes, and oppressed by the severe agitations of her mind on her parents ac- 235 count/ Laura was taken with a slight fever, which confined her to her room. The next day she was much worse ; Mrs. Spraggs said it would be necessary to call in assistance, unless her disorder took a favourable turn before night. — Dormer fired at the news — he feared to lose her ; but he also feared detection — he paced the room like one distracted. Meanwhile, repeated quarrels had taken place between Miss Aurelia Clementina and her protector — the respect, with which she saw Laura treated, raised up every mean and selfish resentment in her bo- som — she called the dignity of Laura's conduct, tyranny; the submission of Dor- mer, abject slavery. She saw her rival was likely to get off triumphant, and sickened at the idea. 23(5 The goodness of Laura's constitution, however, overcame her temporary malady,, and her recovery was materially assisted by Dormer's promises to let her go home, as soon as she could bear the fatigue — he even permitted her to write a letter to hir father ; but took care not to let it reach the post-office. Our heroine was not insensible to the tenderness with which Dormer had watched the progress of her disorder ; something like a sigh bespoke her gratitude ; she began to think it possible he might, here- after, deserve forgiveness ; and fancy once at work, upon the subject, she built one prospect on another, till she almost found herself at the church door with the most amiable of men. The fever was succeeded by that soft and dangerous kind of languor which ener 237 vates the mind, and leaves the heart open to every weakness. Laura sat up in her room ; Dormer was admitted to her so- ciety : she thanked him for his care of her — began to snjile — and was more in- terestingly beautiful than ever. Dormer had taken leave of Laura about nine in the evening, and was sitting over the fire in the Library, meditating on the steps best to be pursued ; despairing to re- duce her anfrelic virtues to the common standard of humanity ; when his evil genius, in the form of Miss Aurelia Clementina^ abruptly entered the room. *' Upon my v^'ord, Mr. Dormer, these " are. fine goings-on — here's a to-do, in- *^ deed, with this whimsical piece of mo- ** dcsty you have brought into my house — " but I will not be your dupe an hour " longer. Pursue your scheme — or you 23S " shall know what it is to provoke a vvo " man's vengeance." " Why, you unconscionable little devil," replied Dormer, rather alarmed — " are you " not paid for what you do ?" " Paid, Mr. Dormer ! can money calm " the workings of revenge and jealousy in " a woman's soul ? — Poor man, learn to *^ know the sex better ! I am insulted '^ every hour in the day, by the respect " with which you treat this artful creature, *^ while my person is wholly neglected ; " nor does this even satisfy }ou — I am to " be the attendant, truly, of your stubborn " tyrant — I am to bow before her sovereign '' command — no, Dormer, I will die first." " One word, madam, is enough — either *"■ complete your agreement or," <^ Or what. Sir ! — complete your's^ and '239 ** I shall be satisfied — reduce this haughty " beauty to my level — and I will kiss your '' feet. ^^ Was Ij pray, treated in this man- " ner ? — Were all these farcical delicacies '^ thought necessary to compass my ruin ? — Were my tears regarded — my inno- '' cence respected? — No! — Like a satyr " you rushed into my arms, and triumphed " with a savage smile." " I will order a chaise," said Dormer, rising to ring, " you shall not sleep ano- '^ ther night in this house." " Ah ! do you threaten ? — specious villain ! — Then tremble at a woman's wrongs. Move one step from where " you stand, and I will unmask you to the " world. — What ! shall the man hesitate " to proceed, who is already familiar with (( 240 ^' the extremes of gailt ? Have you not " torn her from the arms of her parents, " by means too horrible for repetition ? " Her fame too is destroyed — the next " step, comparatively, is no crime. — rThis '* night, Mr* Dormer — aye !-^ this v^ry " night — or you are lost for ever ! ** One of you, I am determined, shall be *• on a level with myself." This speech was accompanied by such" frantic gesticulation, Dormer thought he saw all that ruin realized her frenzy had predicted — he clasped his hands across his eyes — while his couipanion, with folded arms, gazed full upon him, awaiting hi^ reply. Dc«*mer was silent. *' Determine," said she, iinoiher mo- " ment will be too late." 241 ^' To night/* said Dormer in a tremu- lous voice — '^ Impossible — she is ill/* ^^ Trifling subterfuge! she is now ^^ dreaming of you, depend on it, and " will thank you, in her heart, for the intru- " sion here i« the key to the secret " pannel." Urged by this malignant demon — inspi- red with Champagne inflamed with de- sire — Dormer snatched up the candle, as the clock struck one, and proceeded to Laura's chamber. His heart beat violently as he unlocked thepannel — he crept, on tiptoe, into the room but had not advanced many paces, when Laura, rising suddenly in bed, exclaimed, « Who's there?" VOL. I. M 242 Dormer^ in liis dressing gown, now approached the bed ; and Laura, uttering a violent shriek, sprang, from the opposite side, to the further part of tlie room. " Forbear, my best beloved," said Dor- mer tenderly, " no harm can reach you '• wlien love's so near. — Your cries are -'- fruitless. — In this house my will is a law <« — No succour can possibly reach you. — " Come, then, thou master piece of hea- ven; disarm the rigour of thy purpose ^^ , — thus," folding her waist, "let ^^ me lead you to bliss unutterable !" . Laura dropped from his arms upon her knees, and raising her supplicating eyes to his, a celestial glance deprecated his fury- The beauty of the object however — the negligence of her night clothes — the mad- 243 dening impulse of passion — hurried the Libertine to improve the moment. He again folded her ahnost naked form. — He felt her agonized bosom throb against his heart — He trembled ; and was unable, from excessive agitation, to raise her to the bed. At this perilious moment, Laura, by a desperate spring, leaped from his arms ; — She read the wildness of his wishes in his rolling eyes — She appealed to the most HIGH for succour. On her knees, with uplifted bands — the fervor of zealous piety emanating her hea- venly countenance, — she devoutly offered up a silent prayer at the throne of Mercy. Religion beamed around her person- Dormer stood aghast ! M 2 244 " Be composed, sweet Excellence/' said he, after a pause — again approaching. — Laura moved towards him with the cele- rity of lightening — siezed his hands with a convulsive grasp — holding him, at arm's length, from her. The tumult of his breast began to sub- side — his features softened. Laura hailed the blessed omen ; and, looking with expres- sive confidence on him, said tenderly, ^^ Augustus ! dear Augustus ! spare the ^ unhappy Laura protect her, and ^^ heaven will reward you oh, preserve " from everlasting misery the life you '' h-ive saved — be again my guardian angel, " and I will do every thing you can, in '^ honour^ ask." Laura! your virtues are the peculiar 245 •^ care of heaven. — Arise, angel of Per- " fection ! You have conquered, and " may trust, rae." " My God I thank thee ! Now Aug- " ustus, pray leave the room ; my distress " is insupportable." " And you promise to be mine i^' ^ I do." " One reconciling kiss before we part ?" " Oh, No — No — No — leave me — leave " me." " One chaste embrace, Laura !" He kissed her passionately. — " Now " take the fata] key. Remember !" M 3 0,46 With these words, he darted through the opened pannel, which Laura on the instant fastened ; and then, bursting into a flood of tears, sank, ahnost senseless, upon the carpet. Our heroine lay for some time in a stu- por, which was succeeded by delirium. — In the rage of burning fancy, she had wander- red through innumerable difficulties ; and arrived at last at a little hovel, to which she heard her father had retreated. Her mother had fallen a victim to her terror on the night of the fire, aided by her subse- quent sufferings at the loss of her daughter. — Her father was grown old and feeble — She found him reclining on a miserable pallet—- his fine eyes were dimmed — robbed of their wonted expression — his pale wan cheek scarcely betrayed signs of life — his decayed frame bent, listlessly, over his hard couch. 247 Laura hastened to approach this remnant of her heloved parent ; and, as she pressed his withered hand, the poor old man sud- denly turned round. — A gleam of joy re- novated his countenance ; he would have spoken ; he would have embraced his long lost child. ^But nature had approach- ed its last ebb — this effort of sudden trans- port extinguished the trembling spark — he sank backwards, and expired ! On this appalling vision, the wretched Laura continued, for some time, to look with all the tokens of intense, yet vacant, contemplation — she then kissed his still- w^arm lips — she hung over his lifeless body; but she could not utter a syllable, or give a single tear to his memory. Her heart was almost bursting ! Then observing that his clenched hand contained a paper, she, with difficulty, 248 unclosed the convulsive grasp of death, and having unfolded, thus perused its con- tents. TO LAURA MANLY. A little longer, and these hollow eyes, Win, with these haggard looks, reproach no raore — A little longer, and these deep-drawn sighs. These bursts of agony — will all be o'er. I little thought, when smiling in my arms. Marking each op'ning beauty of thy face. Gazing, with rapture, on thy infant charms, • While fancy pictur'd every rising grace ; 1 little thought, that like th' expanding rose, Which blooms so sweetly in gay Summer's mom; That, as it grew, 'twould rob me of repose. And sting my bosom with a deadly thorn- Oh ! 'tis too much — life cannot long sustaifl — And while 1 think, my brain, with grief, turns wild : It cannot long support the torturing pain — Tb« worst of evils !——— AN UNGKATErULCBlM) 249 Tho now you treat me with unfeeling scorn, Thy wretched father will his child forgive ; Remorse will come, when to the grave I'm borne, And bitter anguish in thy bosom live. A time, my poor misguided child, will come, When my reproaches you no longer hear ; When I am carried to my last long home. Too late— repentance will thy bosom tear. Oh, God ! upon my wretched child look down, To virtue's path her erring steps restore, May her repentance, for her crimes, atone ! Oh grant this pray'r. — My last breath asks no more! A horrible shriek now palsied her whole frame, and in the act of falling over her father's corpse — — Laura awoke ! Large drops rolled from her forehead— the maddening recollection of her dream 250 was so perfect, she still dwelt on its reality — amazed — terrified — trembling — she felt as if every fa«^uity was deserting her — she believed she still pressed her beloved parent's death-cold hand ; while the words, on the mysterious paper, seemed to be engraven on her heart in burning characters. The fire was quite out : but the lamp still glimmered on the hearth — Laura sat on the floor ; her left hand supported her agitated frame ; the right circled her fore- head. — It appeared on fire the rapid pulsation of her temples seemed to por- tend a speedy dissolution. Presently, the clock struck five — she arose with the sound — a soft and placid composure now gradually relaxed her fea- tures — her eyes had lost their wildness ; and with an inspiration, decisive as it was sudden, she hastilv dressed herself in the 261 clothCvS she wore, when stolen from home ; loosed fhe fastenings of her ciiarobe: door ; and, with the lamp in her hand, advanced to the head of the stairs. Here she paused nothing stirred ex- cept the echoing winds that groaned among the almost leafless trees. With timid steps, and renewed caution, our heroine descended to the hall ; when she found the key of the entrance had been removed. Disappointed, but not shaken in her purpose, she gave a fearful look around; and, at the moment, recollecting the bow windows of the library were low, and that room more remote than any in the house, she opened the door ; and having locked tt inside, soon effected her escape through the window. 252 A small^ constant, rain was falling — still the undaunted Laura proceeded. When she came to the gates, which were very lofty, and surmounted \yith iron spikes, she very composedly climbed over the hand railing, that extended a few yards on either side, and lowering herself quietly down the bank, caught at the Chinese work above the abutments of the bridge ; and then, by an effort and constancy, hea- ven alone could have given her, she swung from one hold to another, and thus reached the opposite side of tlie ditch. END OF VOL, I. G. Sidney, Printer, Northumberland-street, Strand. UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 3 0112 055292046