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 TALES OF THE PASSIONS; 
 
 IN WHICH IS ATTEMPTED 
 
 . AN ILLUSTRATION OF THEIR EFFECTS 
 
 ON 
 
 THE HUMAN MIND : 
 
 EACH TALE COMPRISED IN ONE VOLUME, AND FORMING THE 
 SUBJECT OF A SINGLE PASSION. 
 
 BY GEORGE MOORE. 
 
 Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
 Possest beyond the Muse's painting ; 
 By turns they felt the glowing mind 
 Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd; 
 Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd, 
 Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd. . . . 
 
 Each, for Madness rnPd the hour. 
 Would prove his own expressive power. 
 
 COLLINS'S ODE ON THE PASSIONS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRIXTED FOR G. WILKIE AND J, ROBINSON, 
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 1808.
 
 S, ilaiiiiltou, Printer, Wi-ylnidgfj, Surr^.
 
 ^1 
 
 ^■1 
 
 >, I HUMBLY DEDICATE 
 
 THIS WORK 
 
 BRITISH PUBLIC; 
 
 WHOSE PATRONAGE IS 
 THE MOST DESIRABLE REWARD 
 
 OF 
 
 BRITISH GENIUS. 
 
 GEORGE MOORE.
 
 GENERAL PREFACE, 
 
 In presenting these Tales to the public, it appears 
 to me highly necessary, that the design, views, and 
 sentiments with which I compose them, should be 
 candidly acknowledged, and clearly explained. 
 
 In the first place, then, I must confess, that 
 the general outline of my plan is taken from Miss 
 Baillie's Series of Plays, in which the delineation of 
 one of the stronger passions of the mind forms a 
 subject for a tragedy and a comedy. During my 
 perusal of the above work (from which I received 
 considerable pleasure and satisfaction), it occurred 
 to me, that a similar mode of illustrating the pas- 
 sions might be pursued in a series of moral tales, 
 founded on domestic events, and rendered interest-
 
 VI GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 iiig by an appeal to those feelings which are uni- 
 versally experienced by all ranks of society. 
 
 In commencing this undertaking, I am by no 
 means flushed with hopes on the reputation I may 
 acquire from it : I am, on the contrary, fully aware 
 of the difficulties I have to encounter, which rather 
 create diffidence, than elevated expectations of 
 success. 
 
 In each volume, it is my intention to com- 
 prise a single tale, in which a delineation of one 
 of the principal passions shall form the general 
 basis. 
 
 The various causes by which these passions 
 are engendered, the effects which they produce, 
 and the consequences that often result from them, 
 cannot have a better vehicle for their illustration, 
 than a narrative of those incidents which daily 
 occur in every situation of life. It is the impres- 
 sions which such incidents naturally occasion, that 
 gradually, and almost imperceptibly, regulate the
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. Vll 
 
 thoughts of men, and generate those opinions, sen- 
 timents, and notions, which form their characters, 
 and are the foundation of all their actions. 
 
 Under these arrangements, the volumes may 
 be published at different intervals, however irre- 
 gular and distant, without disappointment or in- 
 convenience, as the commencement and conclusion 
 of each tale will be comprised \nthin the limits of 
 a single book. 
 
 In this attempt to describe the various intricate 
 and subtle workings of the human mind, when la- 
 bouring under the influence of passions by which 
 it is liable to be affected, my primary object is to 
 explain the fatal consequences that are in general 
 produced by gratification, and the necessity of their 
 suppression, both as to motives of policy in the 
 individual, as well as for the general interests of 
 the community. 
 
 Having made these few introductory obserya-
 
 Vlll GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 tions on my general design, I can only add, that I 
 submit these Tales to the world with the utmost 
 deference as to their literary merits, but under a 
 perfect consciousness of the sincerity of my inten- 
 tions to promote the cause of virtue, and the liap- 
 piness of mankind.
 
 TALE I. 
 
 REVENGR
 
 THE 
 
 COURTEZAN, 
 
 AN ENGLISH TALE: 
 
 IN WHICH IS ATTEMPTED A^ ILLUSTRATION OF 
 
 THE PASSION OF REVENGE, 
 
 IN 
 
 ITS EFFECTS ON THE HUIVIAN MIND. 
 
 BY GEORGE MOORE. 
 
 Kevenge impatient rose : 
 He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down ; 
 
 And, with a with'ring look. 
 
 The war-denouncing trumpet took, 
 And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
 Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe ! 
 
 And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
 
 Dejected Pity at his side. 
 
 Her soul-subduing voice applied. 
 Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, 
 While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head. 
 
 COLtlMS'S ODE ON THE PASSIONS.
 
 THE 
 AUTHOR OF THE FOLLOWTKG TALE 
 
 suBjnrs IT TO 
 J. p. KEMBLE, ESQ. 
 
 AS A TRIVIAX, BUT PUBLIG, 
 ACKNOWLEDGEMENT 
 
 OF THE 
 
 HIGH GRATIFICATION 
 
 HE HAS EXPERIENCED 
 
 l?r WITNESSING HIS DELINEATION 
 
 OF THE 
 
 PASSION 
 
 IT IS INTENDED TO ILLUSTRATE, 
 
 BY HIS INIMITABLE PERFORMANCE 
 
 OF THE CHARACTER OF 
 
 ZANGA, 
 
 IN DR. YOUNG'S TRAGEDY 
 OF 
 
 THE REVENGE.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The Passion which I have selected to commence 
 this work, is, perhaps, in its etfects, one of the 
 most dreadful to which mankind are subject. It 
 is often discovered in the breasts of those who have 
 evinced virtues capable of exciting our admira- 
 tion; it is unfortunately engendered by a keen 
 sensibility of injuries, which generally exists in a 
 delicate and susceptible mind. 
 
 In the following Tale, I have attempted a 
 delineation of its effects on two different objects ; 
 under a hope of developing those minute and 
 subtle workings, by which this as well as every 
 other passion is most capable of being faithfully 
 portrayed.
 
 XVI PREFACE. 
 
 To describe, with some degree of accuracy, 
 the various feelings and sensations which certain 
 circumstances are calculated to produce in the 
 human mind, has been my principal point of at- 
 tainment; and with this view I have endeavoured 
 to render the general characters I have introduced 
 subordinate to those which I consider as my prin- 
 cipal instruments of illustration. 
 
 Having made these few observations, I have 
 only to add a concluding one : the title of this 
 Tale may, perhaps, in some, create apprehensions 
 that it contains descriptions and incidents im- 
 proper for the perusal of juvenile readers ; to 
 obviate these suspicions I most solemnly affirm, I 
 am not conscious of having written a single line 
 calculated to raise the blush of female delicacy, or 
 offend the ear of the most rigid moralist.
 
 THE 
 
 COURTEZAN. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It was midnight; the north -vNind in melancholy 
 murmurs rushed through the streets of London. 
 Heavy condensed clouds floated with majestic 
 grandeur over the face of a wan moon, obscuring 
 for long intervals its sickly beams. A chilling 
 sleet bedewed the earth ; many of the lamps were 
 extinguished, and the few which remained shed 
 but a faint and trembling light. All was dark, 
 gloomy, and comfortless. 
 
 A solitary pedestrian slowly paced a retired 
 avenue in the suburbs. He was a tall, thin ficnu'e,
 
 2 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 wrapped up in a great coat, his arms folded, and 
 his hat flapped over his eyes. Pie appeared irre- 
 solute in his actions ; at intervals halting as if lost 
 in reflection, and then again proceeding forward 
 with a quick and hurried step. Still his walk was 
 confined to the narrow limits of a single street, 
 and he watched the few persons aa ho passed him 
 u ith extraordinary eagerness and anxiety. 
 
 Fatigued and Avearied, he at length seated 
 himself under the Gothic porch of a chapel th^t 
 stood within the boundary to which he so rigidly 
 adhered. This retreat, in some measure, screened 
 him from the inclemency of the weather. He had 
 remained in it but a short time, when he was 
 suddenly accosted by one, whose figure and voice 
 struck him with consternation. It was a female 
 form, uncommonly tall and meagre; the pallid 
 hue of her countenance (which received the faint 
 rays of the lamp suspended over the porch) was 
 rendered still more striking, by the extreme thin- 
 ness of her visage. She was covered with a kind 
 of white night-dress; her long black hair hung low
 
 REVENGE. 3 
 
 on her forehead, and extended, in matted, dishe- 
 velled locks, over her breast and shoulders. She 
 had a piece of white linen closely bound round 
 her head, and fastened, in a large knot, on the 
 left side. Her sunk and withered cheeks increased 
 the prominent appearance of her features ; her 
 eyes were dark and penetrating, her teeth decayed, 
 her lips pale, and her whole person apparently 
 emaciated with the ravages of disease and penury. 
 
 J " Montalbert !" she cried, in a voice of hollow 
 solemnity. 
 
 He whom she addressed answered to the 
 name, and gazed upon her a ievf moments in 
 silent astonishment : he then, under some agita- 
 tion, demanded the countersign which had been 
 proposed as a mutual confirmation on their 
 meeting. 
 
 o 
 
 " Revenge !" exclaimed the Courtezan, while 
 her countenance seemed distorted with the passion 
 she named, and her shattered frame convulsed 
 B 9.
 
 4 TALES OF THE PASSIONS, 
 
 with emotion. " This is not a place," she conti- 
 nued, " for our conference, you must go with 
 me." 
 
 He hesitated : she gazed upon him contemp- 
 tuously. Montalbert requested her to proceed, 
 and immediately foUow^ed. 
 
 Tliey passed through several retired streets 
 with which he was unacquainted, and at length 
 arrived at one still more solitary. The Courtezan 
 stopped at the door of a house of considerable 
 size ; they entered, by means of a key which she 
 produced, a large gloomy passage, at the farther 
 end of which was a lamp that shed a faint and 
 glimmering light. This she immediately seized 
 and began to ascend the stairs : Montalbert once 
 more hesitated, but a look from his conductress 
 ai^ain ur2;ed him to s:o forward. 
 
 The house appeared divided into several habi- 
 tations, to which the staircase formed a common 
 communication : and in those parts ^'lontalbert
 
 REVENGE. 5 
 
 had an opportunity of observing there was a 
 general want of cleanliness. 
 
 Having proceeded to the second story, the 
 Courtezan suddenly threw open one of the doors 
 on the landing, and by motions enjoined him to 
 silence, while she cautiously closed it on the 
 inside. 
 
 The chamber in which he now found himself 
 was extensive, but barren of furniture, dirty, and 
 comfortless. 
 
 He followed his guide to a remote part of it, 
 where, on a miserable bed, lay extended an aged 
 man, who seemed in the last agonies of dissolution. 
 His eyes were fixed ; the perspiration of expiring 
 life hung on his wrinkled forehead; he breathed 
 with difficulty; at intervals his whole body was 
 writhed with convulsions, and his features became 
 ghastly and terrific. 
 
 Montalbert gazed witli horror on the spectacle
 
 (j TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 before him ; he turned his eyes towards his guide 
 with amazement and disgust. She elevated the. 
 lamp, its pale rays darted on her face ; never 
 before had he witnessed such a countenance : the 
 inward workings of her soul seemed to prevent her 
 utterance ; after several attempts at articulation, 
 she thus addressed him : — 
 
 " IMontalbert, your sagacity must, no doubt, 
 by this time have confirmed to you both my 
 character and situation, I am one of those beings 
 that am doomed to be held forth to the world as 
 a dreadful example of lost innocence and fallen 
 virtue, — a wretch A\'hom every class of- society 
 loathe, detest, and abandon : an outcast and a 
 wanderer, loaded with guilt, infamy, and disease, 
 The derision, the insults, and even the curses of 
 my fellow-creatures are accounted punishments 
 due to my errors ; while I am considered as a 
 national beacon to deter others from a similar 
 fate. — This dying man is my father." 
 
 The Courtezan gazed with agony on the con-
 
 REVENGE. 7 
 
 vulsed frame of her depai'ting parent; in spite 
 of her eftbrts to conceal it, a tear started from 
 her eye ; she seemed to consider it as a weakness, 
 and smiled with contempt as it fell on her cheek. 
 
 " Yes, Montalbert, there Mas a period of my 
 life when I was the idol of his affections, the 
 comfort and joy of his existence : during the 
 tender years of my infancy I was nourished in his 
 bosom, and carefully reared in the practice of 
 every amiable quality which does honour to the 
 human name. Elevated with all the wann and 
 sanguine hopes of paternal enthusiasm, inspired 
 by tlie promising perfection of a beloved child, 
 he looked forward to years of happmess in the 
 maturement of those virtues he had so carefully 
 cultivated. Alas ! in one fatal moment all his 
 blissful prospects of futurity were annihilated ; the 
 ideal scenes on which he had so long dwelt with 
 ecstasy were dissolved in air, and he beheld his 
 child, in Avhom they all centred, contaminated, 
 disgraced, and ruined. Years of anguish and 
 misery have gradually produced the state in which
 
 8 TALES OF THE t>ASSIONS. 
 
 you now behold him. Oh! Montalbert, the pre- 
 sent sufferings of a wretch like me are trivial when 
 compared with a retrospection of former enjoy- 
 ments; memory is my worst enemy; the recol- 
 lection of what I Avas, creates more poignant 
 sensations than the mere consciousness of what I 
 am: to anticipate the future is indeed liorrible; 
 but to retrace the past, fires my brain and drives 
 me to distraction." 
 
 Her whole form seemed to shake with con- 
 tending passions. Montalbert continued to look 
 upon her with increased astonishment and interest. 
 
 " Various were the sensations I experienced 
 after my first lapse firom virtue; shame, grief, 
 agony, and remorse, by turns raged in my bosom ; 
 for a time I floated in the intermediate state 
 between error and guilt. I plunged into dissipa- 
 tion to prevent reflection; I associated with the 
 votaries of vice ; their society, by degrees, became 
 necessary to my happiness ; my ideas, sentiments, 
 and opinions, underwent an entire change; those
 
 REVENGE. 9 
 
 of my youth, instilled and cherished by a doating 
 father, gradually faded and were lost ; while their 
 places were usurped by others which at once 
 stamped my character, and moulded me to my 
 fate. Yet, during this revolution of my mind, 
 one passion still maintained a powerful influence 
 over every other; supported me through all the 
 horrors I was doomed to encounter; elevated me 
 when the bitterest ills which can befall human 
 nature were combined to crush me; and even 
 now is the very prop and support of my life — 
 a passion mingled with the blood that flows at my 
 heart; my food, my drink, my sleep; the essence 
 that binds me to existence, and prevents me from 
 destroying its thread with my own hand. Nay, 
 Montalbert, look not thus wildly on me, nor 
 tremble at the relation of my feelings; a similar 
 passion burns in your own bosom and slowly con- 
 sumes you ; your hollow eye, shrivelled cheek, 
 and shrunk body, are the public confessions of 
 what you suffer within ; and your anxiety to con- 
 ceal the cankered worm which preys upon you, 
 renders its ravages more glaring."
 
 10 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Montalbert's agitation increased. 
 
 o 
 
 The Courtezan continued — " You also are 
 tortured with reflections on past scenes of hap- 
 piness ; you have experienced those blissful hours 
 of domestic felicity, the impressions of which 
 ]^ears of sorrow have not obliterated. Aye, aye, 
 you may gaze upon me, but I can detail them 
 to you with agonizing minuteness. You married 
 voung ; you possessed a wife whose virtues, talents, 
 and beauty, rendered her an object of general ad- 
 miration ; you were surrounded with friends, fame, 
 and fortune ; if true enjoyment is to be obtained 
 on earth, you grasped it at this period. Now 
 mark the result; a villain, a perfidious villain, who 
 had long possessed your confidence and firiend- 
 ship, received a home in yours ; Avas nourished by 
 the delicacies of your table, basked in the social 
 warmth of your fire-side, reposed on the pillow 
 of your hospitality, and at length repaid your 
 generosity by the seduction of your wife." 
 
 Montalbert groaned Avith a^ony.
 
 REVENGE. 11 
 
 " They fled ; every attempt at vengeance 
 failed : an infant, the pledge of your first few 
 months of happiness, remained ; distracted with 
 your wrongs, mad and writhing in your misery, 
 you became cruel and ferocious ; the countenance 
 of his frail mother shone in the baby features of 
 your child ; no doubt remained of his legitimacy, 
 yet you shamefully abandoned him, and are at 
 this hour ignorant of his fate." 
 
 " Oh God !" exclaimed Montalbert, " why do 
 you thus, with wanton cruelty, raise emotions in 
 my bosom which drive me to distraction ?" 
 
 " Because," answered the Courtezan, with a 
 ghastly smile of exultation, " I would cement that 
 union between us, which fate, in the distribution 
 of our misfortunes, seems to have sanctioned and 
 decreed." 
 
 Montalbert's amazement and anguish appeared 
 in part to be succeeded by contempt, which the 
 last observation of his companion called forth.
 
 12 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 " Nay, nay," she continued, " you may de- 
 spise me; I am destined to be the scoff and 
 derision of mankind, yet there are springs in the 
 human heart on which tlie most despicable can 
 exert a power, and create pangs in the bosoms 
 of the virtuous, from which their own is preserved 
 by a vicious insensibiUty. I have still feelings, 
 Montalbert, as acute as yours ; ignominy and 
 wretchedness have not stifled the remembrance of 
 my wrongs ; 'tis true, my body is wasted by 
 penury and disease, but I have a mind fertile to 
 invent torments, and possessed of sufficient prompt- 
 Bess and resolution to execute them." 
 
 " This is rhapsody," exclaimed Montalbert, 
 " I pity your situation and will relieve your 
 poverty; but with the plans of your revenge I 
 have no concern, and consequently am not bound 
 to listen to a recital of them." 
 
 " By heavens, but you are !" replied the 
 Courtezan. " He who marred your happiness, 
 also destroyed mi?ie. He whg sullied your honour,
 
 liEVENGE. IS 
 
 and reduced you from a state of enviable felicity, 
 to shame and misery, has sacrificed me ; deprived 
 me of a peaceful home, parental affections, friends, 
 character, and virtue ; driven me from my native 
 vale, and sunk me to the lowest degradation of 
 human mfamy. J.Iontalbert, shall we forget these 
 injuries ? shall we tamely suffer this colossal fiend 
 to revel in those comforts from which he has 
 excluded us for ever ?" 
 
 The last words of the Courtezan acted like 
 electricity on the feelings of her visitor; he seemed 
 agitated almost to madness : he breathed with dif- 
 ficulty; his eyes glared wildly upon her, while his 
 whole frame appeared palsied with the sensations 
 he experienced. 
 
 It was some few minutes before he was 
 capable of demanding further explanations from 
 the extraordinary woman who had raised this 
 dreadful conflict in his mind ; she, however, soon 
 convinced him that she had a perfect knowledfe of 
 the principal events of his past life, and that the
 
 U TALES OF THE PASSIONS'. 
 
 years of heart-rending sorrow which they had both 
 experienced, were to be traced to the same indivi- 
 dual as the cause of them. 
 
 A very considerable length of time had elapsed 
 since those injuries had been committed against 
 Montalbert's honour, which suddenly destroyed 
 the delicious scenes of happiness he possessed, 
 and annihilated every hope of future felicity : yet 
 a recollection of these injuries was constantly kept 
 alive in his bosom by agonizing reflections on his 
 past joy and present misery. 
 
 Montalbert was extremely susceptible to every 
 excitement towards a passion that liad so long 
 rankled in his bosom, and though various circum- 
 stances had combined to counteract its gi'atifica- 
 tion, yet he still retained a sense of his wrongs 
 the most forcible and acute : his forbearance to 
 revenge the insult he had received, fanned the 
 flajne which sIom ly consumed him ; and while he 
 tenaciously concealed what he felt, his sufferings 
 were increased, and his anguish augmented.
 
 REVENGE. to 
 
 The conversation of his companion was well 
 calculated to raise every energy of his soul, and 
 to put in action those secret workings of his 
 mind, which he had hitherto proudly strug2;led 
 to suppress. 
 
 Still these effects were not to be produced by 
 a single interview with a common courtezan; he 
 determined to make no promises, nor enter into 
 any plans for the future. 
 
 He even began to recoil at the idea of the 
 conference he had already held with an object 
 so disgraced, so wretched and abandoned. He 
 turned to request peremptorily she would imme- 
 diately conduct him to the street : at that instant 
 she was kissing her dying father ; his vrasted cheek 
 was bathed with her tears, and her hysteric sobs 
 seemed to disturb his last moments. 
 
 > 
 
 Montalbert could not command his feelings ; 
 they were too powerful to be stifled : his imagina- 
 tion instantaneously presented this unhappy female
 
 16 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 in the bloom of youth and beauty. Was she not 
 even less culpable than her whom he had once 
 looked upon as an angel ? Was she not entitled to 
 his pity and his aid ? and had she not been over- 
 whelmed with all the suiTOunding horrors by the 
 same perfidy which had lacerated his o^\ti bosom ? 
 Such considerations as these increased the interest 
 which he already felt in one who had so forcibly 
 appealed to the secret recesses of his souL 
 
 He offered her money, but she rejected it witli 
 contempt: she only requested some medium of 
 correspondence, by which she might convey to 
 him certain ideas she had now no opportunity of 
 disclosing, and by which neither his character nor 
 reputation would suffer from the prejudice of the 
 world » 
 
 Montalbert remained silent ; gazing on the ex- 
 traordinary creature before him : she seemed in 
 great measure to have lost the ferocity which, in 
 the fore part of their meeting, was so visible 
 in her countenance ; he could distinguish nothing
 
 REVENGE. 17 
 
 Jn her features but what demanded his compas- 
 sion. 
 
 The agonies of her parent appeared to in- 
 crease, and her filial affection became more per* 
 ceptible. 
 
 M ontalbert once more hesitated, but at length 
 consented to her request. 
 
 He a second time offered her pecuniary relief, 
 wliich she again resolutely refused. 
 
 A few minutes were sufficient to settle the 
 necessary arrangements. Montalbert then hastily 
 departed, wrapped in reflections as various as they 
 were distressing.
 
 16 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 TliE HISTORY OF THE COURTEZAN. 
 
 The sun had already sunk below the horizon; the 
 soft and mellow tints of departing day were spread 
 over the surrounding scenery of Brading, in the Isle 
 of Wight. 
 
 The inhabitants of this little town had con- 
 cluded their daily labour; some were seated at 
 their doors, enjoying the serenity of the evening, 
 while others sauntered towards the church-yard, 
 and passed a melancholy hour in viewing the 
 humble tombs of their various relatives and 
 friends. 
 
 Among the number thus employed was a group
 
 REVEXGR 19 
 
 particular!}^ interesting : three village children \^ere 
 restino' on the OTeen sod which covered the re- 
 mains of their departed mother. The eldest was 
 a girl about eighteen ; her countenance was beau- 
 tiful and expressive ; the simplicity and neatness 
 of her dress set off the delicacy of her foi-m to the 
 greatest advantage ; -and the lustre of her fine dark 
 eyes was increased by the tears which glistened in 
 them. The bloom of health glowed on her cheek, 
 while her aubum^air flowed in graceful ringlets 
 over her neck and forehead. 
 
 She was accompanied by her two brothers^ 
 the eldest of whom -was not above six years old: 
 they appeared fine rustic children, but possessed 
 nothing of that symmetry and sweetness which so 
 greatly distinguished their sister. 
 
 Lucy held the hand of her elder brotlier Ahile 
 she related to him the many acts of tenderness 
 and affection they had experienced fi'om their late 
 parent. The young one, in whose infant mind a 
 few months had totally faded all recollection of 
 
 c S
 
 20 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 his loss, was armisinff himself with the hazel twis3 
 hy which the humble tomb was preserved. 
 
 " Do you not remember, Charles," said the 
 weeping girl, " how good our poor mother wa^ 
 when we all had the measles last midsummer r" 
 " Ah ! indeed I do," answered the boy, " and 
 more than that sister ; I can recollect how she used 
 to nurse me on her knee, and let me rest my head 
 upon her bosom; I am sure I have never slept 
 so comfortable since." — " Nor, perhaps, never 
 may," cried his sister: " indeed, Charles, there is- 
 no pillow for a sick child like the bosom of a ten- 
 der mother." 
 
 Scarcely had she concluded these words, and 
 v^iped away the tears which flowed as she uttered 
 them, when their attention was arrested by a con- 
 fused noise at the further end of the church-yard ; 
 the surrounding persons, struck with dismay and 
 consternation, were running in various directions ; 
 Lucy, surprised and terrified, remained where she 
 was.
 
 REVENGE. 21 
 
 In a few moments she heard the cry of '• ]\Iad 
 dog!' vociferated from several voices, while a small 
 spaniel, whose appearance confirmed him to be 
 the cause of alarm, was rapidly approaching the 
 spot where they stood. 
 
 Almost insensible with terror, she attempted to 
 seize her younger brother in her arms, but the child 
 had so far entangled himself in the hazels with 
 which he had been playing, that it was impossible, 
 at the instant, to disengage him ; while, totally over- 
 come with the hon'or of her situation, she fcU 
 senseless by his side. 
 
 A young militai^ officer, who, w ith a fowling- 
 piece, had joined in pursuit of the dog, observed 
 the imminent danger of the cottagers, and imme- 
 diately crossing a path, which cut off about half 
 the distance of the circuitous route the animal 
 was taking, amved at the spot in sufficient time to 
 J.evel his gun and lay him dead at their feet. 
 
 The attention of tlie surrounding persons wa->
 
 22 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 now entirely directed towards Lucy ; the officer 
 immediately raised her in his arms, and gazed ^^^ 
 the beauty of her person in silent admiration. 
 
 After a iew minutes' she languidly opened her 
 eyes, and the first object she beheld was him who 
 had so gallantly preserved her. She blushed and 
 disengaged herself from his support ; the conversa- 
 tion of the villagers soon informed her of the obli- 
 gations she was under to him : she attempted to 
 return him thanks, but her voice failed, and she 
 burst into tears. 
 
 Having embraced her brothers with rapture, 
 and in some degree recovered her strength, she 
 took a hand of each, and was going to leave the 
 church-yard, 
 
 Captain Mandeville declar.ed she would be 
 unable to reach her home without assistance ; he 
 offered her his arm, which Lucy, with downcast 
 eyes and trembling hand, accepted.
 
 REVENGE. 23 
 
 He took the eldest boy on the other side, and 
 they slowly proceeded towards ^lorton ; while those 
 who had before encircled them, now, out of respect 
 to the officer, took another path, fully employed in 
 their several observations on the event they had 
 witnessed, and the consequences which might re- 
 sult from it. 
 
 Captain !Mandeville was about thirty ; his per- 
 son was manly and elegantly formed ; his counte- 
 nance open and expressive ; his complexion dark, 
 and his eyes black and penetrating; while a re- 
 markable good set of teeth and fine colour ren- 
 dered his appearance extremely pleasing. 
 
 His manners, however, were still more prepos- 
 sessing : to a voice uncommonly soft and musical, 
 he added a smile, when he spoke, %vhich seldom 
 failed to interest those whom he addressed; and 
 his mien accorded with liis profession, it was easy 
 and gentlemanly. 
 
 The moon had now risen with peculiar splen-
 
 21 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 dour, every object seemed harmonized by the soft 
 rays of hght which it shed. A few white and 
 fleecy clouds floated with majestic grandeur in a 
 boundless expanse of clear blue sky; the rich tints 
 of the ripened corn-fields, interspersed with small 
 pieces of green meadow-land; the dark and 
 lengthened shadows spread over certain parts, 
 contrasted with the brilliant lights obsened in 
 others ; the scattered cottages which struck the eye 
 in the valley of Morton, with their white pebble 
 fi'onts, simple casements, and neat enclosures ; the 
 curved line of white cliffs that form Sandown Bay, 
 added to the sight of a calm sea, which glittered 
 in the horizon, and seemed to form an illuminated 
 boundary to part of the prospect, rendered the view 
 truly interesting and delightful. 
 
 Lucy remained silent and pensive; but the 
 boys talked yicessantly of the joy their father 
 would experience on their return. 
 
 The captain, by their conversation, was soon ac- 
 fjuaiiited witli their recent loss. He sighed deeply,
 
 REVENGE. 25 
 
 " I too," said he, " have known what it is to 
 lose those tender endearments which are generally 
 r.eceived from an affectionate mother." 
 
 Lucy, for the first time, now ventured to fix 
 her eyes upon his countenance. 
 
 " Have you, indeed!" she exclaimed, while 
 her bosom throbbed with emotion ; " have you in- 
 deed, Sir ! I am sure I pity you ; I can well con- 
 ceive what were your sufferings." 
 
 She could proceed no further^ but burst into 
 tears. 
 
 He used every argument in his power to sooth 
 and comfort her. Lucy listened to them as to 
 those of a superior being; never had she before 
 heard sentences so sweetly composed, while the 
 tones in which they were conveyed seemed to 
 carry them to the heart. 
 
 The walk from Brading church-yard to her
 
 26 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 father's cottage had seldom appeared so short to 
 her as on this evening. 
 
 The elder boy ran and opened the little gate 
 which led to a small farm-yard in front of the 
 buildiniy. 
 
 The farmer hitnself met them before they 
 had proceeded many pPtces. He embraced his 
 daughter with rapture; the tears trickled down his 
 furrow'cd cheeks, wliile his attempts to conceal 
 them were ineffectual, 
 
 He had already been informed of the danger 
 she had escaped. 
 
 " Heaven bless thee, child!" he exclaimed, 
 " heaven bless thee ! it would have broke thy 
 poor old father's heart to have lost thee ; tliou art 
 the very prop of his existence : — but I beg pardon, 
 Sir, it is to you I am indebted for this happiness ; 
 you have preserved my girl, I cannot thank you as 
 I ought, indeed I cannot."
 
 EE\^NGE. 27 
 
 The farmers feelings entirely overcame him; 
 he was unable to utter another syllable. 
 
 The figure of the old man, as he pressed his 
 beloved daughter to his bosom, was particularly 
 striking. 
 
 He had a fine open countenance and florid 
 complexion; the wxinkles of liis forehead were 
 crossed by a fe^v grey hairs, which became nu- 
 merous and thick on the back part of his head ; 
 liis eyes were elevated in silent devotion towards 
 heaven, while his lips trembled in fen^ent and pious 
 ejaculations for the safety of his girl. 
 
 He wore a clean smock-frock, which covered 
 the whole of his dress, except a pair of coarse 
 yarn stockings and extreme hea^v^ shoes, which 
 laced above his ancles. 
 
 Having in some degree recovered and com- 
 posed himself, they entered the cottage ; the farmer 
 xvas again profuse in his acknowledgements to the
 
 28 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 oflicer for tlie preservation of his child; he knew 
 not how to express his gi'atitude, or give him a suf- 
 ficient welcome to their humble dwelling; every 
 article of provision the pantry afforded was set 
 before him, but he would only accept of a glass 
 of home-brewed beer ; he, however, remained with 
 them a considerable time ; conversed with the 
 farmer on the value of the land he rented, the 
 crops it had produced, and other topics on which 
 the old man seemed best qualified to talk : he 
 romped with the two boys, and congratulated Lucy, 
 ivith pathetic earnestness, on the comforts she en- 
 joyed in such a parent, and such a home; tranquil- 
 lised her mind by the bright description he drew 
 of her future prospects, and elevated her spirits by 
 the pleasantry and gaiety of his conversation. 
 
 Before he took his leave, he mentioned, that 
 the officers' mess at their barracks ^vas much in 
 want of a regular supply of good butter, and in- 
 quired if Lucy's dairy was not capable of answer- 
 ing its demands.
 
 REVENGE. 29 
 
 He was answered in the affirmative, and that it 
 would be a most acceptable acquisition. 
 
 Having promised to call in the morning and 
 arrange the business himself, he departed, accom- 
 panied by the blessings of his host and family. 
 
 Farmer Wilson's cottage echoed with tlie 
 praises of Captain JMandeville ; his courage, his 
 generosity, his elegant manners, and handsome 
 person, were alternately the themes of their admi- 
 ration. 
 
 Lucy listened to the encomiums which were 
 passed upon him with a rapture she made no at- 
 tempts to conceal : the assistance he had afforded 
 Jier demanded her warmest gi'atitude, nor never 
 had she fulfilled a duty with more satisfaction than 
 in the acknowledgement of it. 
 
 The soft and soothing sounds of his voice, 
 during their moonlight walk to the cottage, still 
 vibrated'in her ear; and the more she considered
 
 50 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 his arguments of consolation, the more comfort slie 
 derived from tliem. 
 
 Lucy Wilson was of a gentle and pliant dispo- 
 sition, much inclined to melancholy and reflection, 
 but possessed of an understanding of superior 
 strength and refinement. Her father, in the early 
 part of life, lived in considerable affluence, from 
 which he was reduced by a series of unexpected 
 misfortunes. Her mother was a woman whose 
 talents and education rendered her a most valuable 
 instructress to her beloved daughter ; the satisfac- 
 tion she derived in forn^ing her infant mind, served, 
 in a great measure, to support her under the various 
 scenes of adversity she was doomed to encounter. 
 
 Tremblingly alive to all the finer feelings of 
 the soul, Lucy Wilson was subject to those warm 
 attachments which often prove sources of exquisite 
 happiness, as well as the most poignant misery- 
 She had revered and adored her mother; the 
 agonies she experienced, when the hand of death 
 Vobbed her of her for ever, were such as are never
 
 REVENGE. * 51 
 
 felt by those who can regulate their regards by phi- 
 losophical reasonings, or stifle their feelings by 
 calculations on the propriety of them. Still her 
 gi'ief was not violent or frantic ; a daily encourage- 
 ment of her son'ows rendered them habitual; to 
 retrace the many endeaiing scenes of maternal ten- 
 derness which she had experienced, and weep 
 at the recollection that they could never be re- 
 peated, became, at length, a source of gratifica- 
 tion. 
 
 Such was Lucy's frame of mind at the present 
 period ; she laboured under a pressure of spirits 
 which required considerable and sudden impres- 
 sions of a different nature to alleviate. She had 
 known what it was to love a mother with enthu- 
 siasm, but she had yet to discover that there were 
 other affections still more powerful, and capable, 
 in their effects, of subduing all others. 
 
 The figure of her gallant preserver, during this 
 night served to share the waking thoughts of poor 
 Lucy ; in the morning she was more than usually
 
 52 TALES OF THE PASSIONS^ 
 
 careful in the arranfiement of their humble furnf- 
 turCj and the setting out of the dairy. 
 
 He was punctual to his appointment. Lucy 
 received the contract for supplying the officers' 
 mess with butter ; and the price agreed upon was 
 even more than m as demanded. 
 
 The latter part of the day he again passed the 
 cottage; the farmer caught his eye, and their 
 conversation of the evening before was renewed. 
 Lucy, after a short time, joined them : the atten- 
 tions of their visitor w'ere more marked; she had 
 occasion to visit a neighbour, and he insisted upon 
 accompanying her; on returning, he partook of their 
 humble supper, and did not depart till a late hour. 
 
 Three months elapsed, during which Captain 
 iVIandeville was a daily attendant at Farmer Wil- 
 son's ; for the first few visits he gave some trifling 
 reasons as the cause of them, but afterwards he 
 established himself in such a degi'ee of intimacy as 
 to render excuses unnecessary.
 
 REVENGE, 33 
 
 Lucy's admiration of his sentiments and man- 
 ners increased in every interview ; the depression 
 of spirits under which she had so long labour- 
 ed, seemed, in a great measure, relieved by his 
 society; in short, his appearance at the cottage 
 was always a signal for gaiety and good humour. 
 
 Fai'mer Wilson, although a man of strong feel- 
 ings, and by no means deficient in penetration, 
 was yet a novice in many of the follies and vices of 
 mankind : candid, open, and generous himself, he 
 had no suspicion of deceit in others ; his reflections 
 and judgement on character went no farther than, 
 external appearances, which at once either fixed 
 his decided distaste, or called forth his warm ap- 
 probation and entire confidence. Secluded from 
 his birth in rural retirement, he had witnessed 
 no striking examples to create doubts or excite 
 caution. He gave himself no time to study the 
 minutiae of the human heart ; he knew of no me- 
 dium, no combination of good and evil in the same 
 bosom ; nor was aware of those dark and secret 
 shades, which, when once discovered, eclipse the 
 
 D
 
 St TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 most splendid talents, and cast a gloom over the 
 brightest virtues. His friendship was to be gained 
 by those superficial embellishments Avhich are easily 
 assumed for the worst purposes, and of which the 
 most worthy are often the most destitute. 
 
 Captain IVIandeville, in the event which first 
 introduced him to the cottage, possessed the most 
 powerfiil claim on his gratitude. In their subse- 
 quent interviews he firmly secured himself in the 
 farmer's esteem. 
 
 The buzz of the neighbourhood, on the pro- , 
 bable cause of his visits, was soon conveyed to the 
 ears of the old man, who proudly agi'eed with the 
 general opinion. His love for his daughter 
 amounted almost to adoration ; he ^\as a stranger 
 to all systems of etiquette, nor allowed any degrees 
 of superiority but those to which superior virtue 
 gave a title. According to these considerations, 
 Lucy was worthy of an alliance with the most ele- 
 vated : while his perfect confidence in her conduct, 
 and his entire dependence on the honour of his
 
 REVENGE. 35 
 
 new fi'iend, totally precluded those apprehensions 
 of danger which would have occurred to one 
 better versed in the knowledge of the world. 
 
 Farmer Wilson was incapable of concealing 
 those causes which elevated or depressed his 
 spirits; his sanguine expectations respecting j\[an- 
 deville were immediately conveyed to his daughter. 
 
 The simplicity of Lucy's character, with respect 
 lo that part of society in which, like her father, 
 she had never mixed, rendei^ed her equally liable to 
 false conceptions and erroneous conclusions. On 
 this point, however, she had stronger reasons for 
 the flattering prospects which had taken possession 
 of her mind ; the captain, but the evening before 
 the conversation in which the farmer acquainted 
 her with his hopes, had actually declared his pas- 
 sion in the most honourable manner, and Lucy 
 gladly seized this opportunity of sharing her joy 
 with her beloved parent 
 
 There were, however, some drawbacks to the 
 D 2
 
 36 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 satisfaction which this discovery occasioned: Man- 
 deville, at the time he informed her of his affection, 
 liad also observed, that considerable difficulties 
 must be surmounted to accomplish their union. 
 
 He was dependent on the bounty of a rich 
 uncle, who he was fearful would not consent to 
 their marriage : some considerable time Avould, at 
 all events, be requisite, to consider the best method 
 of disclosing to him the subject, and procur- 
 ing his approbation. He likewise remarked, that, 
 for the present, it would be policy to keep their in- 
 tentions a secret, as, otherwise, the circumstances of 
 their acquaintance might gain the ears of his uncle 
 in a disadvantageous manner, and greatly retard 
 their wishes. 
 
 The candid and noble light in which this beha- 
 viour appeared to both the father and daughter, 
 seemed to demand, on their part, a similar degree 
 of sincerity. 
 
 Lucy had already confessed she loved him ;
 
 REVENGE. 37 
 
 and the farmer considered that Captain Mande- 
 \i\\e should now be admitted to his cottage, and 
 treated by his daughter as her intended hus- 
 band. 
 
 Another three months elapsed under these ar- 
 rangements, during which he was their constant 
 visitor, and received that warm reception and en- 
 tire confidence he apparently so eminently de- 
 serve4.. 
 
 Circumstances were in this situation, ^vhcn a 
 military ball was given to the inhabitants of the 
 principal towns, by the officers of the different 
 regiments in the island. Lucy was of course 
 presented with a ticket by Mandeville, and, with- 
 out any difficulty, received her father's permis- 
 sion to accompany him to the entertainment. 
 
 It was to be held at the barracks, on the 
 Forest, near Newport, and to be conducted in 
 the most liberal and elegant style.
 
 38 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Lucy, in compliment to him who introduced 
 her, made several additions to the usual plain- 
 ness of her dress, although she retained, its gene- 
 ral simplicity. 
 
 Her father gazed upon her with, all the pride 
 and rapture of a parent, as he helped her to the 
 carriage in which the captain called for her. He 
 anticipated with ecstasy the hour when he should 
 conduct her in a similar dress to the altar, and 
 bestow her on one m ho was capable of appreci- 
 ating her virtues, and enabled to reward them with 
 the most splendid affluence. 
 
 Alas ! how often in those very moments, during 
 which a warm imagination revels in all the luxuries 
 of delighted fancy, are the spangled visions annihi- 
 lated for ever; while the events which apparently 
 tended to realize them, prove the principal causes 
 of their destruction. 
 
 A new scene was now opened to Lucy in the 
 military fete; never before had she witnessed
 
 REVENGE. 39 
 
 SO brilliant, so fascinating a scene. The lights, 
 the company, and the music, combined to charm 
 and elevate her. Captain Mandeville was even 
 more gay than usual, and the general hilarity of 
 the company afforded her a degree of delight and 
 satisfaction to which slie had hitherto been a 
 stranger. 
 
 She entered into the spirit of tlie dancing 
 with considerable vivacity; Mandeville contrived 
 to remain her partner the whole night ; and wq.s 
 extremely assiduous in his attentions. 
 
 Never had Lucy passed an evening of such 
 exquisite pleasure ; she seemed surrounded by fairy 
 enchantment : all was mirth, joy, and happiness. 
 
 It was day-break before the last dance was 
 concluded ; she was alarmed at the time, and re- 
 quested they might depart as soon as possible. 
 
 The carriage which waited for them was or- 
 dered to draw up. The chief of the company
 
 40 TALES OF THE Px\SSIONS. 
 
 were leaving the barracks ; Lucy, attended by 
 IMandeville, hurried to the vehicle ; he drew up 
 the glasses immediately they entered, and, in the 
 midst of the confusion with the other carriages, 
 she was unable to distinguish which road they 
 took. 
 
 His behaviour, during their ride, appeared 
 somewhat different to what she had usually wit- 
 nessed ; she hesitated on the conduct she should 
 pursue, either to repulse his warmth with severity, 
 or treat it as the effects of a more than ordinary 
 quantity of wine. 
 
 Afler some time she wished to discover how 
 far they were from her father's cottage, but on 
 letting down the glass to observe more par- 
 ticularly the road, she perceived they were in a 
 part of which she had no recollection. She turn- 
 ed to Mandeville with some degree of surprise 
 and apprehension, but he ridiculed her fears, 
 and increased his endearments.
 
 REVENGE. 4l 
 
 AnotliCT half hour elapsed, and she still could 
 trace no part of the way they were travelling. 
 
 After repeated entreaties he was prevailed upon 
 to question the post-boy, who, to the astonishment 
 and terror of Lucy, declared they were within a 
 mile of Ride. 
 
 The captain appeared extremely irritated at the 
 blunder, as he called it, of the man, and spoke 
 to him in gi-eat anger. The fellow in his answers 
 seemed to confess he had mistook his orders. 
 Lucy entreated that he would immediately take 
 the road towards Bradhig; but he declared his 
 horses must have rest, and that he could proceed 
 no farther. 
 
 Mandeville used every method to condole his 
 fair companion; her chief concern seemed the 
 uneasiness which her father would suffer at her 
 not returning to the time expected. 
 
 He recollected a man M'hom he had formerly
 
 42 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 known, and who lived near the spot where they 
 then were ; he gave the post-boy directions to drive 
 there immediately, by which means he said he 
 should be able to dispatch a messenger to Farmer 
 Wilson, with intelligence of their safety, and the 
 cause of their absence. 
 
 A short time brought them to the cottage; its 
 situation w^as extremely gloomy; it stood on the 
 borders of a wood, nor w^as there any other 
 dwellins; within si<iht of it. 
 
 The man who answered their repeated knocks 
 at the door, seemed as if he had just risen from 
 his bed ; his person and manners were uncouth, 
 but he treated his visitors with much fawning civi- 
 lity, and conducted them into a small but neat 
 room. 
 
 The chaise was discharged ; their host declared 
 it might be some hours before they could procure 
 another, but a man and horse might be got imme- 
 diately from a neighbouring farmer.
 
 REVENGE. 43 
 
 Mandeville directly wrote a few lines to ]Mr. 
 Wilson, as he promised, and the man undertook 
 to forward them immediately. 
 
 He declared he had no other room vacant tlian 
 that in which they then were, the remainder being 
 occupied by his family. He placed before them 
 some refreshments, and said, as he had been 
 unwell, he should retire to his bed for another 
 hour. 
 
 Lucy was extremely tliirsty, and requested a 
 little weak neo;us. ]\Iandeville declared he would 
 prepare some for her himself, and accompanied 
 their host to his kitchen for that purpose. He re- 
 turned in a short time, and she paitook ratlier plen- 
 tifully of the beverage he brought her. 
 
 He then took a letter from his pocket, which 
 he said had been put mto his hand by his servant, 
 at the time he left his apartments, the evening 
 before, and which he had entirely forgotten till 
 the present moment. He instantly broke the
 
 44. TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 seal, and appeared agitated as he read the con- 
 Jtents. 
 
 " I hope," exclaimed Lucy, '' it brings no ill 
 news ; I hope none of your family are ill ; in- 
 deed you seem much concerned." " It would be 
 wrong in me, my dear girl," answered Mandeville, 
 *' to declare I am indifferent to the contents of 
 this letter, for it informs me of the death of one, 
 who, whatever might have been his eccentricities, 
 was always to me a kind and generous friend. 
 My uncle is no more, Lucy : I can feel poignant- 
 ly for his loss, but at the same time an attempt 
 to conceal the rapture I experience in the idea 
 that all obstacles to our union are now vanished, 
 would be a species of duplicity too palpable to 
 remain undiscovered. Yes, my angel!" he ex- 
 claimed, clasping her to his bosom with seeming 
 ecstasy, "I am now enabled to prove how I 
 adore you ; and place you in that elevated sphere 
 of life you was destined to adorn." 
 
 Lucy's satisfaction at this intelHgence beamed
 
 REVENGE. 45 
 
 in her eyes. She gently repulsed Mandeville in 
 the warmth of his caresses, but her heart at the 
 same instant overflowed Mith love and gratitude 
 for liis apparent generosity and affection. She 
 now began to feel a dizziness and stupor which 
 rather alarmed her ; she recollected the negus she 
 had drank, but he alleged it to want of rest, 
 and began to converse on the immediate steps 
 which must be taken for their nuptials. 
 
 Lucy listened to him with delight, but her lan- 
 guidness increased. 
 
 The warmth of jNIandeville's behaviour became 
 more daring : every circumstance during this fatal 
 morning conspired towards poor Lucy's ruin and 
 disgrace. Her innocence was sacrificed, and her 
 happiness lost for ever. 
 
 To describe her feelings on the following day 
 would be impossible. The agonies of her mind 
 drove her almost to distraction; Mandeville exerted 
 all his powers of oratory to sooth her ; at intervals
 
 46 TAI^ES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 she resolved to return to her father immediately, 
 but the recollection of the sufferings her presence 
 would now inflict upon him, made her shrink with 
 horror from an interview. At times she could 
 scarcely believe but she laboured under the de- 
 Ljsion of a terrific dream ; suddenly reduced from a 
 state of innocence and enviable felicity to disgi'ace 
 and misery, shame and teiTor alternately agitated 
 her bosom, and threatened to deprive her of her 
 reason. 
 
 IVIandeville still persisted in his honourable 
 intentions, and at length made proposals which, 
 in some degree, calmed the perturbation of her 
 mind. 
 
 He promised if she would accompany him to 
 Portsmouth, he would immediately on their arrival 
 procure a licence, and make her his wife. In 
 the mean time he would dispatch another letter 
 to her father, excusing her return in the difficulty 
 of procuring conveyances, which had been all en- 
 gaged for the entertainment of the night before ;
 
 •RE\^NGE. 47 
 
 and assure liim she was perfectly safe at the 
 house of one of his own friends. 
 
 Lucy, by his wish, added a short postscript, 
 with a trembling hand, to the epistle, and the blush 
 which glowed upon her cheek as she wrote, proved 
 it to be the first falsehood she had ever committed 
 upon her father. 
 
 jNIandeville asserted they should get to Ports- 
 mouth that night ; might return to Ride the latter 
 part of the following day, and proceed to Morton 
 in the evening ; when their marriage might be in- 
 stantly revealed to her father, and many reasons 
 given for the precipitate manner in which it had 
 been solemnized. 
 
 Lucy, although her suspicions were awakened, 
 dared not encourage them; there appeared no 
 alternative but to accept the offers which were 
 made to her. 
 
 They accordingly departed from the cottage in
 
 48 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 the afternoon, and arrived at the packet-boat afte 
 a walk of about a quarter of an hour. They were 
 directly conducted on board, and in a few minutes 
 the vessel set sail ; when Lucy, for tlie first time, 
 quitted the shores of her native island. 
 
 Her reflections, as the land slowly vanished 
 from her sight, were ao;onizing in the extreme; her 
 thoughts turned towards her paternal home, and 
 its inhabitants so dear to her heart. The reverend 
 fiorure of her father floated before her e3^es; she 
 heard his sighs, his groans, and beheld the tears 
 which he shed ,• she saw her infant brothers exert 
 in vain every childish effort to give him consola- 
 tion : — a violent hysteric fit was the consequence 
 of her reverie. 
 
 On their arrival at Portsmouth, Mandeville 
 conducted her to the house of an elderly lady 
 w horn he said he had known for some time, and 
 who would use every exertion to render her situa- 
 tion comfortable. He, however, observed it 
 w ould be necessary that they should be considered
 
 REVENGE; 49 
 
 as married even on her first introduction, both to 
 satisfy the scruples of his female friend, and to 
 prevent curiosity, which would otherwise be ex- 
 cited. Lucy at first hesitated, and refused an ac* 
 quiescence to such terms ; but the entreaties of 
 Mandeville overcame her resolution, which was 
 now rriost materially weakened by a consciousness 
 of her degradation. 
 
 The house was in rather a retired part of the 
 town ; it was genteelly furnished, and Mrs. Hub- 
 bard appeared a respectable woman. Her dress 
 was neat, and suitable to her years ; her deport- 
 ment extremely grave, and her conversation re- 
 served. 
 
 The travellers retired early to rest ; the next 
 morning Lucy reminded IMandeville of his pro- 
 mise, and requested it might be instantly fulfilled. 
 He left her soon after breakfast, as he said, for that 
 purpose, but she did not see him again till the 
 latter part of the day. 
 
 E
 
 50 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 I^ucy was again distracted with apprehensions ; 
 it would be impossible to return to the island that 
 night. The lady of the house used every effort to 
 sooth her, yet seemed entirely ignorant of the cause 
 of her distress. 
 
 About four o'clock he returned ; he could not, 
 he said, procure a licence, as he expected, but was 
 promised the ceremony should be privately per- 
 formed the next day. 
 
 The next day Lucy again watched his return to 
 conduct her to the church ; but he was later than 
 the afternoon before, and had been equally unsuc- 
 cessful. 
 
 Three days more passed under similar circum- 
 stances, when the frivolous excuses of Mande^^lle 
 were no longer capable of deceiving her^ who had 
 already been so gi'eatly deceived. 
 
 The misery of her situation began now to dawn 
 upon the mind of poor Lucy in all its horrors ; her
 
 REVENGE. 51 
 
 hopes and reliance on the honour and generosity of 
 the man she adored were annihilated ; he scarcely 
 troubled himself with any further attempts on her 
 credulity, and dreadful certainty succeeded those 
 flattering doubts which had hitherto supported her. 
 The agitation of her mind produced a fever ; her 
 intellects became deranged, and no hopes were 
 ^ven of her recovery. 
 
 The captain, when he found her incapable of 
 administering to his pleasures, returned privately 
 to his regiment, leaving her in the care of Mrs. 
 Hubbard, with directions to give him the most 
 early intelligence, either of her dissolution or suf- 
 ficient recovery to receive his visits. 
 
 On his arrival at Newport, where his quarters 
 were now fixed, he kept himself as secluded as 
 possible, and found means to publish the disgrace 
 of Lucy, with the most flagrant falsehoods on her 
 character. 
 
 Fanner Wilson, to whom these reports wer« 
 
 E 2 
 
 0. of *^ "®-
 
 52 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 conveyed by several of his neighbours, who had 
 envied his former happiness, Hstened to them in si- 
 lent anguish. Proudly as he had always held her 
 up as an example to her sex, and although he still 
 struggled in his omu mind on some points to defend 
 her, yet his never having received any intelligence 
 from her since she departed, feeemed to convict her 
 of the basest ingratitude. 
 
 The letters which JVIandeville had written tov. 
 him in the presence of Lucy, were of course de- 
 stroyed the instant they were taken from her sight ; 
 that which informed the former of the death of his 
 ancle was a forgery, and both the cottage at Ride, 
 and the house at Portsmouth, had been purposely 
 prepared for her reception. 
 
 He had contrived to keep the route they took, 
 as well as her present habitation, an entire se- 
 cret. 
 
 Farmer Wilson, in the first paroxysm of his 
 Srief, had determined to leave his cottage and
 
 REVENGE. 53 
 
 children in search of her ; but by the advice of * 
 friend he altered his resolution. 
 
 In the course of six weeks Captain Mande- 
 ville received a letter from Mrs. Hubbard, which 
 informed him Lucy was so far recovered as to 
 leave her bed, and that her mind was entirely r» 
 stored 
 
 On the receipt of this intelligence he imme- 
 diately hurried to Portsmouth, and found the fa- 
 vourable accounit she had given by no means ex- 
 acjgerated. 
 
 OO" 
 
 Lucy still received him as one whom she loved ; 
 her resentment was overcome in his embrace, and 
 she wept on his bosom. During the progress of 
 her recovery, her landlady was her constant an(| 
 only companion. , 
 
 Mrs. Hubbard was the cast-off mistress of a 
 man of fashion, settled on an annuity, and made 
 some additions tp her income by similar accommo-^
 
 54 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 dations to those she had afforded the captain. 
 She was well educated, artful, and insinuating ; and 
 possessed a great share of penetration- 
 Lucy, weak and languid from the ravages of 
 the disease of which she was recovering, was ne- 
 cessitated to listen to her conversation, the whole 
 tenour of which was purposely directed to conta- 
 minate her mind. 
 
 Young, inexperienced, and all those dreams of 
 happiness frustrated, which but a few weeks before 
 she had so fondly cherished, it is not surprising 
 that she imbibed, imperceptibly, some of the per- 
 nicious tenets of her infamous instructress. 
 
 When once involved in a certain degree of evil, 
 we are often tempted to plunge into additional 
 errors with a view of obtaining a momentary relief 
 to present sufferings ; thus it was with Lucy, her 
 mind was in that state as rendered any refuge 
 from her sorrows, hoM ever temporary, desirable ; 
 and Mrs. Hubbard, with the most crafty observa-
 
 REVENGE. 55 
 
 tions, gave her several hints of the enjoyments that 
 were within her power. She contrived also to 
 raise some sentiments of resentment against her 
 father, in his seeming neglect of never having 
 written or seen after her. These, added to the 
 shame she so poignantly felt, totally did away 
 every wish to revisit her home ; and, though her 
 mind was almost constantly employed in reflections 
 on her paternal cottage and its inhabitants, still 
 there was now no event she would have more 
 dreaded, than a return to that much-regretted 
 home, or an interview with its beloved owner. 
 
 IVIandeville by degrees prevailed upon her to 
 walk out, and occasionally to accompany him to 
 the theati'e. 
 
 He obtained an additional time to his leave of 
 absence from his regiment, and persuaded her to 
 go with him to London. 
 
 Lucy no longer dared to demand the only re-
 
 56 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 paration Mandeville was enabled to make hef. 
 Mrs. Hubbard had mentioned that entreaties of that 
 nature were often the cause of a woman's being 
 abandoned for ever. Alarmed at the suggestion, 
 she gave up all supplication. Mandeville, though 
 her seducer, was now the only one to whom she 
 could look for protection ; she was sensible of her 
 wrongs, yet she had no alternative but to suffer 
 them in silence. 
 
 On their arrival in London, she was placed 
 in elegant apartments. Mandeville devoted the 
 chief of his time to her ; took her to all the placejs 
 of public amusement, intro.duced her among his 
 libertine companions ; in short, involved her in a 
 vortex of dissipation, which gradually injured her 
 health and corrupted her heart. 
 
 In the course of a few months the captain 
 began to perceive that his circumstances were in 
 such a state as to render an immediate and sudden 
 departure from the metropolis necessary ; he had
 
 flow no inclination to make Li^cy a partner in his 
 flight, but shamefully left her to answer for those 
 debts he had urwd her to contract, 
 
 The loss of the man on whom her affections 
 had been indelibly fixed, was close followed by the 
 threats of her creditors ; a jail, and all its horrors, 
 were now preseated to her view. 
 
 Her beauty had been too conspicuous for her 
 to remain without splendid offers of relief A 
 man of rank, title, and princely fortune, became 
 her suitor. Lucy was no longer the trembling 
 country girl of a retired village ; she had acquired 
 confidence, false notions, and vicious conclusions. 
 JShe became the mistress of lord RafHe ; set up an 
 elegant equipage, kept two houses, numerous do- 
 mestics, and a gaming-table. Her name became 
 known in the first circles of fashionable infamy; 
 her dress formed a study for tlie haut-ton, and 
 her manners a model for women in high keeping. 
 
 Lucy, amidst the elegance with which she
 
 5« 'TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 was surrounded, could not escape from those re- 
 flections on the past wliich tainted every joy, and 
 faded all her pleasures. They occurred in mo- 
 ments when least expected ; they were not merely 
 the companions of her solitude, but intruders in 
 the gayest hours of her dissipation. The dazzling 
 chandeliers and blazing lights which shed round 
 her an artificial day, were not capable of oblite- 
 rating the remembrance of the humble taper that 
 illumined her father's cottage ; and while the span- 
 gled crowd which encircled her were enraptured 
 with the brilliancy of her eyes, they observed not 
 the tear which glistened in them, or tliought of the 
 visions tliat produced it. 
 
 Far from encouraging these poor wandering 
 thoughts, she flew from them with affi'ight, and for 
 temporary relief even descended to inebriety. 
 
 Lord Raffle, whose chief pleasure in supporting 
 her was the mere idea of possessing what every 
 body wished for, was a strict observer of fashion 
 even in his amours ; li&d he been in Italy instead
 
 REVENGE. 59 
 
 of England, he \yould have been equally anxious 
 to have been styled her protector, and just as 
 liberal in the purchase of the name. The haut-ton 
 was his lordship's caterer in all his pleasures, and 
 he accommodated his taste to whatever it pro- 
 vided. 
 
 The rag;e of novelty soon subsided ; the town 
 began to think less of Lucy's beauty, and lord 
 Raffle immediately discarded her. 
 
 The other connexions which she formed, al- 
 though not, perhaps, so splendid as her last, were 
 still sufficient to maintain a most extravagant and 
 luxurious mode of living for near four years, dur- 
 ing which she acquired an experience and insight 
 into human nature, as extensive as the source 
 from which it was derived was infamous. With 
 powers of mind far superior to the generality of 
 her sex, her discrimination and judgement had 
 continued objects fur observation ; yet her know- 
 ledge neither reformed her life, nor mended her 
 heart. Her levity increased with her years; her
 
 6b TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 vices every day became more flagrant ; she lost all 
 idea of modesty, even in external appearance, and 
 gave herself up to the gratification of every 
 passion. 
 
 This system was at once calculated to huiTy 
 her to the last stage of a courtezan's existence. 
 That part of the creation to whom they look for 
 support, are capable of receiving pleasure even 
 from the semblance of modesty; the assumption 
 of such a virtue is a policy without which tliey 
 must soon sink into the wretched abyss that seems 
 destined to ingulf them. Lucy shortly found her- 
 self reduced to one house, and two domestics; 
 from that to handsome apartments only, and a 
 single attendant ; then to a first-floor in a pri- 
 vate and disreputable street; and, lastly, to two 
 miserable rooms on the ground-floor of a house 
 in a dirty, gloomy, and disgraced part of the 
 town. 
 
 She had now leisure for severe and bitter re- 
 flections ; her native valley, paternal cottage, and
 
 REVENGE. 61 
 
 aged parent, once more floated before her eyes. 
 The figure of her seducer was also delineated in 
 the group ; he who had cruelly torn her from all 
 her blessings, and was the cause of all her mi- 
 sery ; who had reduced her from innocence, hap- 
 piness, and a home, to guilt, disease, and pe- 
 nury. 
 
 " Oh God !" she would exclaim, with clasped 
 hands, and distorted features, " what might I 
 now have enjoyed, had my eyes never beheld his 
 fatal form : at this instant, sheltered in the bosom 
 of my family, I might have been the prop and 
 support of my aged father : — My father ! perhaps 
 I have no father ! his form may now be moulder- 
 ed in the grave ; his accusing spirit may at this 
 moment charge me as his murderess ! — Oh ! cruelj 
 cruel, to murder such a father ! " 
 
 Tears, hysteric and fainting fits, often succeed- 
 ed these paroxysms. 
 
 In retracing former happiness, and contrast-
 
 62 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 ing it with her present anguish, certain feelings 
 were excited, which a busy life of gaiety and dissi- 
 pation had hitherto prevented from taking deep 
 root in her bosom. 
 
 Her youthful affections for IVIandeville had 
 not so far blinded her understanding, as to veil the 
 duplicity of his conduct; and she now reflected 
 upon it in its darkest shades. 
 
 These reveries became habitual and pleasing to 
 her ; on suffering any new evil or insult, she would 
 whisper to herself, '^ I am indebted for this to 
 Mandeville : he now revels in all those joys from 
 which he has excluded me for ever. Alas ! why 
 did he not suffer me to remain in my native vale ? 
 I envied not his fehcity, nor impeded the blessings 
 he enjoyed ; yet he has crushed me to the earth, 
 debased, scorned, and forsaken me. Oh God! 
 surely there is retribution for crimes like these!" 
 The horrors of her situation were augmented daily, 
 and a sense of her injuries increased.
 
 REVENGE. €3 
 
 She was surrounded by the lowest scenes of 
 infamy and distress ; scenes in which the most de- 
 praved might be supposed to sicken. Her withered 
 ema<fiated frame became the scoff of her wretched 
 companions, who shrunk from her touch with con- 
 tempt. 
 
 Her lodging, humble as it was, she had now 
 no longer the means to support, and was necessi- 
 tated to trust to casual pecuniary aid for each 
 nidit's restinsi-place. 
 
 The small quantity of food she was capable of 
 procuring was scarcely sufficient to support exist- 
 ence, much less to satisfy hunger. 
 
 Under these circumstances, she one evening, 
 according to custom, paraded the suburbs of the 
 town, but found no relief : she was cold, weary, 
 and penniless; she asked charitj', entreated suc- 
 cour, even with tears, but was repulsed with dis- 
 gust and brutality.
 
 64 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 The night was dark and tempestuous; she? 
 crept towards a retired door-way that promised 
 some little shelter, threw herself on the step, and 
 rested her head in agony against one of fchd» co- 
 lumns* 
 
 Overcome with fatigue and want of rest, she" 
 fell into a disturbed slumber. 
 
 Her imagination became haunted with feverish 
 and terrific dreams ; she conceived herself within 
 the little parlour of her native cottage, in the same 
 state of innocence and happiness she had enjoyed 
 a few years past ; she beheld the reverend figure of 
 her father as he had a:ppeared at that period ; the 
 ruddy glow of health was on his cheek, serenity 
 and contentment beamed in his countenance, and 
 his eyes expressed more than usual satisfaction and 
 felicity. He folded her in his arms witii ecstasy, 
 while his tears of joy fell on her bosom. Her 
 brothers caressed her with all the sportive merri- 
 ment of infancy, and she felt the kisses which they 
 imprinted on her cheek. The sun shone with un-
 
 REVENGE. 65 
 
 common splendour, its beams darted on the case- 
 ments of the cottage, and spangled with brilliant 
 lights the flowers that adorned them. A rose tree, 
 which had been the favourite nursery of her mother, 
 still remained in its old place, and seemed to ex- 
 pand its leaves and flourish in the genial warmth 
 that surrounded it. The distant tinkling of bells 
 now charmed her ear ; they were those of her pa- 
 rish church, and rang a marriage peal. At this 
 moment Mandeville appeared, in the same dress 
 and figure as on the fatal night when he accom- 
 panied her to the ball at Newport : he was greeted 
 with joy on his arrival, she was considered as his 
 bride, and he now came to conduct her to the 
 church. He seemed dissatisfied that she had no 
 flowers to adorn her breast, and pointed to the 
 rose which was sacred to the memory of her 
 mother, as a fit ornament for the occasion. Lucy 
 trembled at the proposal, and refused it. He per- 
 sisted in his request, and even threatened to leave 
 her if she did not comply with his wishes. Her re- 
 solution failed, he plucked the rose ; Lucy received 
 it with a faltering hand, it withered before she
 
 56 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 could place it in her bosom. The whole face of 
 nature seemed to partake of the transformation so 
 visible in the fatal floAv'er. The rays of the sun no 
 longer illumined the cottage; a horrible gloom 
 overspread the heavens ; subterraneous noises were 
 distinctly heard ; flashes of vivid lightning threat- 
 ened immediate destruction, and the earth itself 
 appeared convulsed. The figures and counte- 
 nances of those who sun'ounded her gradually 
 faded ; their features were distorted as if in the last 
 agonies of dissolution. The appearance of Man- 
 deville was, if possible, more terrific than the 
 others ; Lucy found it impossible to disengage her- 
 self from his gi'asp, and in the agony of her strug- 
 gles awoke. 
 
 Alas, poor wanderer! the scene of reality 
 which now presented itself was not calculated to 
 sooth the horrors of such a dream, or recover her 
 from the affright which it had occasioned. 
 
 She had slept several hours, it was already day- 
 light ; and she found herself surrounded by many
 
 REVENGE 67 
 
 persons, whose insults made her quit the place 
 with precipitation. 
 
 She hurried she knew not where; feeble, 
 trembling, and emaciated, she sought the fields, 
 supposing the air would in some degree revive her, 
 and sooth the agitation of her mind. She strolled 
 towards Fulham. 
 
 It was a clear morning in the month of 
 May ; the fields were clothed in the finest verdure ; 
 not a cloud could be perceived in the atmosphere ; 
 the sun rose with peculiar splendour, and all nature 
 seemed enlivened by its warm and cheering rays. 
 Lucy found herself more tranquil ; she anived at 
 the church, the gates leading to the burial-ground 
 were opened, and she entered. 
 
 For some time she employed herself in obser- 
 vations on the different tomb-stones which arrested 
 her attention ; at length, weary with the walk, she 
 seated herself on the turf of a new-made grave. 
 The situation in which she rested brought to Jier 
 
 r 2
 
 8« TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 mmd the evening when she first beheld Henry 
 Mandeville. The idea naturally led to a train of 
 agonizing reflections on the past. Her whole soul 
 was absorbed with the scenes and phantoms which 
 floated before her eyes. She conceived she lay on 
 the grave of her mother, and she bedewed the 
 earth with her tears. Her hands were clasped in 
 an attitude of despair, while her eyes glared wildly 
 on tlie melancholy prospect which surrounded 
 hej\ 
 
 At this instant the sound of the church bells 
 struck her ear, and her dream recurred to her 
 memory in the most vivid colours. She traced the 
 progress of it with horror. Lost in the reverie it 
 occasioned, she did not at first perceive that 
 several persons were approaching. She remained 
 in the place where she first seated herself; her 
 head rested upon her hand, and she seemed un- 
 conscious of the objects which passed before her. 
 The persons who were proceeding towards the 
 church had alighted from a very elegant carriage, 
 attended by several servants in splendid liveries.
 
 REVENGE. 66 
 
 As the procession drew near the porch, they 
 passed close by the unfortunate wanderer, who 
 seemed to heed them not. 
 
 It was a marriage : the bridegroom, a man of 
 handsome countenance and noble form, conducted 
 a female who seemed some few years younger than 
 himself; her countenance was interesting, and her 
 figure elegant. 
 
 Lucy no sooner fixed her eyes on the former, 
 than she uttered a most dreadful shriek, and rais- 
 ing herself with difficulty, staggered across the 
 path they were taking, and fell senseless at his 
 feet. 
 
 On her recovery she found herself under the 
 porch ; several persons surrounded her, and were 
 administering every assistance in their power. 
 
 Lucy gazed on them wildly; they presented 
 her with money, which they informed her was given 
 by the couple who were just married. Her agony
 
 70 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 increased ; the party were returning from the cere- 
 mony, and the gentleman came up to inquire if she 
 was recovered. Lucy again raised herself and 
 ran towards him, while she exclaimed with phrensy, 
 " Mandeville, Henry Mandeville, justice, oh! 
 merciful heaven ! " 
 
 To preserve her from falling he caught her in 
 his arms, and recognised in the miserable form 
 which he supported, the once beautiful and inno- 
 cent Lucy Wilson. 
 
 For a few moments amazement and horror 
 overcame him, and he seemed irresolute in what 
 manner to act. At length, in some degree re- 
 covering himself, he resigned her to a person who 
 stood near. Lucy, however, who was almost 
 frantic with her sufferings, still clung to him, and 
 called upon his name in agony. He offered her 
 his purse, but she returned it with contempt ; irri- 
 tated at her refusal, and chagrined at so unex- 
 pected an encounter in one of the most unfortunate 
 moments in which it could have happened, he or-
 
 REVENGE. 71 
 
 dered her to be immediately taken from the spot ; 
 pretended to have no recollection of her, and de- 
 clared she was an impostor deserving of exemplary 
 punishment. 
 
 Lucy once more disengaged herself from those 
 who held her, and again approached Mandeville ; 
 who, with looks of contempt and disgust, thrust 
 her from him with a force which laid her prostrate 
 upon the earth. 
 
 The maniage party immediately hurried from 
 the cliurch-yard, while Lucy received assistance 
 from some charitable persons who remained, and 
 who made a collection among themselves to the 
 amount of a guinea, with which they presented 
 Jier. 
 
 Her mind was wavering and copfused; she 
 quitted the place with precipitation, \v'anJered 
 again into the recesses of the town, and hired a 
 wretched room in an obscure part of the suburbs.
 
 72 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Here she began to collect her scattered 
 thoughts, and reflect on the events of the last 
 few hours. The treatment which she had received 
 from Mandeville this morning, served at once to 
 confirm those desires of revenge which had at in- 
 tervals fluctuated in her bosom. Although she 
 had ever considered him as the cause of all her 
 sufferings, and at certahi periods (when the hor- 
 rors of her situation were most poignantly felt) 
 had calculated on the vengeance which was her 
 due, still the remains of her former affection had 
 served in cooler moments to soften her anger, and 
 in some measure to mitigate the injuries she had 
 suffered. Mandeville, she had considered, might 
 be unacquainted with her misery ; had she courage 
 to appeal to him, he might afford her relief, and 
 repent of his cruelty. The fallacy of these vi- 
 sionary palliations, however, was now confirmed 
 by tlie most mortifying proofs. The look of con- 
 tempt and disgust with which he cast her from 
 him, was imprinted on her mind in colours never 
 to be obliterated, and aided to keep alive a pas-
 
 REVENGE. 73 
 
 sion that gradually increased with the gloomy re- 
 flections in which she was continually absorbed. 
 
 " He," she whispered to herself, " now lives in 
 splendour and elegance ; revels in all the luxuries 
 wealth can procure, and looks fonvard to the 
 brightest prospects of domestic felicity ; while I 
 slowly perish in guilt, infamy, and poverty. The 
 most menial domestics of his household would 
 conceive tliemselves contaminated by my touch; 
 the poorest wretch who subsists on his bounty, 
 would consider my society as a disgrace. Oh 
 God ! there is surely retribution for injuries like 
 mine ; the proud victor who tramples on the un- 
 protected, is not to be held forth the flourishing 
 monument of his victim's degi'adation ! Should he 
 not feel as I feel, and experience those pangs 
 which he has inflicted? Justice itself calls out 
 for punishment, example alone demands repara- 
 tion!" 
 
 When the gratification of revenge becomes con-i 
 sidered as a duty, all barriers, which might other-
 
 7+ TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 wise impede its fury, are destroyed, and its vota- 
 ries, under false conceptions, attempt to sanctify, 
 with the name of virtues, crimes from which they 
 would before have shrunk with horror. 
 
 Misery loses half its poignancy on the mind 
 which has some favourite point or passion to work 
 upon. Lucy, in the mere anticipation of the 
 evils she wished to inflict on Mandeville, passed 
 through many hours of her existence which would 
 otherwise have been insupportable. 
 
 Her progress from a single error to confirmed 
 vice had not been rapid or fluctuating ; one act of 
 imprudence had gradually produced another, and 
 hopes of reformation were therefore less probable. 
 There was no likelihood of her being disgusted 
 with the scenes in which she plunged, for tlie tran- 
 sitions which marked their increasing infamy were 
 too regular either to create astonishment or alarm. 
 
 'o^ 
 
 Wild and chimerical as her hopes of retaliation 
 on Mandeville might be, they formed a daily and
 
 REVENGE. 75 
 
 nightly source for her contemplation; they were 
 the ties which seemed to bind her to existence ; 
 the only thoughts on which her agonized brain 
 could rest without torture. 
 
 A few months after this fatal meeting (which 
 had attracted all the wandering passions of her 
 soul into a single one, the most horrible, pei'haps, 
 of which human nature is susceptible), Lucy was 
 doomed to experience another interview more 
 dreadful in itself, and which served to increase th& 
 effects of the former. 
 
 Necessity, one stormy evening, drove her from 
 her miserable dwelling, to seek relief of those 
 whom she might happen to meet in the streets 
 which sun'ounded it. She had tasted no food the 
 whole of the day; every article of her clothes, 
 except the few miserable rags which covered her, 
 she had already disposed of to satisfy the cravings 
 of hunger, and she had now to raise a few shil- 
 lings to answer the demands of her landlord;^ or
 
 76 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 return no more to the wretched roof which shel- 
 tered her from the inclemency of the weather. 
 
 It was the latter end of September ; the day 
 had been gloomy and oppressive, the night was 
 dark and tempestuous ; not a single star was to be 
 perceived ; the heavy clouds which floated in the 
 atmosphere, seemed almost to rest upon the sum- 
 mit of the houses ; the heat was extreme ; even 
 the night breezes appeared impregnated with a 
 sulphureous warmth. Lucy had quitted her lodg- 
 ing but a few minutes, when a sudden flash of 
 lightning almost deprived her of her senses; it 
 was followed by thunder the most tremendous she 
 had ever heard : she rested against a post for a 
 few minutes, her limbs trembled violently, she 
 dreaded to proceed, but to return she dared not ; 
 the brutality of her landlord, was she unable to 
 make up her rent, would be even more horrible 
 than the tempest. She had a few halfpence in her 
 pocket; to procure courage to brave the fury of 
 the storm, she purchased a sufiicient quantity of
 
 REVENGE. 77 
 
 spirits to render her indifferent to its effects. She 
 again \\ent forward, and in a slight state of intoxi- 
 cation, gazed on the heavens in sullen silence and 
 contempt. Scarcely a single person passed her ; 
 the streets seemed deserted. The purposes for 
 which she exposed herself were defeated ; she had 
 no opportunities for application. 
 
 Driven almost to despair and madness, she 
 proceeded without motive or consideration; her 
 dishevelled hair flowed wildly over her shoulders, 
 iier visage was pale and ghastly, while her strained 
 eye-balls were fixed with daring effrontery on the 
 disordered elements which threatened her destruc- 
 tion. At this period some one approached ; she 
 concealed herself as well as she was able, to ob- 
 serve them unperceived. It was, apparently, an 
 old man, wrapped closely up in a gi'eat coat ; Ms 
 walk was infirm and tottering ; he leant on a stick, 
 and at intervals halted, as if for a few moments' 
 rest. Lucy followed him for some time softly and 
 in silence ; she debated with herself on the manner 
 -^lie should address him, as being most likely to
 
 78 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 excite his generosity : flushed with inebriety, con- 
 fused and distracted with the liorrors which sur- 
 rounded her, she suddenly seized his arm with 
 bold familiarity, and accosted him in the accents 
 of frantic levity. The old man shrunk from her 
 grasp, and instantly turned to remonstrate. A 
 most powerful flash of lightning at this moment 
 illumined the atmosphere ; the spot on which they 
 stood seemed in a blaze, and Lucy beheld with 
 indescribable horror the features of her father. 
 She screamed with agony, and fell senseless at his 
 feet. 
 
 Fortunately, Farmer Wilson was not without a 
 companion ; he was a few paces behind, and novr 
 arrived most opportunely to render assistance to 
 the unfortunate female who was not yet recognised 
 by her parent. They placed her on the step of a 
 door, and after a few minutes she recovered suffi- 
 ciently to open her eyes. The tear of pity and 
 commiseration trickled down the cheek of the un- 
 fortunate father. " Alas ! " cried he to the person 
 who accompanied him, " I, perhaps, have a child,
 
 REVENGE. 79 
 
 a beloved child, who at this moment shares the 
 fate of this poor unfortunate victim of error." He 
 could proceed no farther, his feelings choked his 
 utterance. Lucy was enough recovered to under- 
 stand the meaning of his words. 
 
 *' Oh God!" she exclaimed, in a voice sa 
 trembling and weak that it was scarcely more thaii 
 a whisper, " let me from this hour be enveloped ir> 
 the shades of everlasting night ; let not the blessed 
 rays of returning day be shed over my infamy and 
 disgrace ! Obliterate my name for ever from the 
 class of my creation, and in merciful forgiveness 
 cleanse those stains I have left to posterity in total 
 ■annihilation !" 
 
 She fainted on the bosom of her father, who 
 had seated himself by her side. A narrow ribbon 
 was tied round her neck ; they loosened it, fearful 
 of hysterics. A small cornelian cross was sus- 
 pended at the end of it, on which the old man 
 gazed with horror : he examined more minutely 
 the features of the unfortunate creature whom he
 
 80 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 supported, and traced in agony those of his once 
 innocent and beloved daughter. His feelings were 
 such as place description at defiance. 
 
 The task of his friend was now indeed an ar- 
 duous one. Lucy recovered to witness the anguish 
 of her parent, and to discover more fully the ra- 
 vages which sorrow had made in his person. He 
 seemed to labour under a total decay of nature, 
 and had come to London for medical advice. 
 
 Farmer Ashfold, his companion, fortunately 
 procured a hackney-coach which happened to pass 
 at the time, by means of which he conveyed them 
 to the lodging of his friend. An adjoining room 
 was engaged for Lucy, and the same nurse and 
 physician attended both. 
 
 Farmer Wilson, by the artful reports and 
 anonymous letters which were fabricated by Man- 
 deville, had after some months given up his child 
 as lost.
 
 REVENGE. 81 
 
 He had no connexions in London ; but by the 
 assistance of the same friend who was now ^\ ith 
 him, he had made several inquiries after her, which 
 were useless, for she had changed her name im- 
 mediately on her arrival in the metropolis. In the 
 course of a few months he lost both his sons by 
 the smallpox, and laboured under a tedious ill- 
 ness, occasioned by the anxiety of his mind. Un- 
 able to attend to the management of his little 
 farm with his former industry, the profits of it 
 gradually decreased ; his declining health rendered 
 him incapable of retrieving them; and a relapse 
 of his former complaints at length made it abso- 
 lutely necessary that he should entirely give up the 
 concern. 
 
 On the settlement of his affairs he found him- 
 self possessed of a few hundred pounds, and de- 
 termined, though scarcely able to travel, on sL 
 journey to London for the aid of some eminent 
 physician. Farmer Ashfold had business there, 
 and kindly offered to accompany hiui. They had 
 been in town but six days, and were returning
 
 82 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 from a visit to a friend of the latter's, when they were 
 overtaken by the storm, and the discovery of Lucy 
 followed. The effects of this interview upon old 
 Wilson increased those complaints with which 
 he was already afflicted. The next morning his 
 fever was considerably heightened, and his senses 
 totally deranged. Lucy so far recovered in a few 
 days as to be able to attend upon him, but he re- 
 mained insensible of her tenderness, while at in- 
 tervals he called upon her name with phrensy, and 
 accused her as the cause of all his sufferings. 
 
 She listened to these horrible ravings in silent 
 agony. Mandeville was the object to whom she 
 alleged all the misery of herself and parent ; her 
 soul sickened at the idea of the blessings he en- 
 joyed, while she gazed on her dying father, and at- 
 tended to the execrations which he uttered against 
 her during the fits of his insanity. 
 
 If the passion which now absorbed her mind 
 was capable of augmentation, the scene which 
 she daily witnessed, and the exclamations which
 
 REVENGE. 83 
 
 she heard, were fully sufficient to produce it. 
 She gave no vent to her feelings or sorrows, 
 they seemed buried in her bosom, while her ex- 
 ternal appearance indicated sullen indifference and 
 gloomy insensibility to the horrors wliich sur- 
 rounded her. 
 
 Farmer Ashfold remained with his friend up- 
 wards of three weeks ; when his concerns in 'the 
 country imperiously demanded his return. Being 
 informed by the physician that there were no 
 hopes of ]\Ir. Wilson's recovery, he made Lucy 
 acquainted with the manner in which he had settled 
 his affairs, his will being in his care ; and the little 
 property he possessed bequeathed to his daughter. 
 
 Farmer Ashfold had but little acquaintance 
 with Lucy before her departure from her father's 
 cottage; his intimacy with the latter had com- 
 menced since that period. Added to the preju- 
 dice which his knowledge of her situation natu- 
 rally inspired, her present manners were not likely 
 either to soften his dislike or excite his commisera-
 
 81. TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 tion. It was true, she attended her father with 
 much care, but she studiously concealed those 
 emotions which would have been calculated to se- 
 cure his friendship and protection. 
 
 Farmer Ashfold was a plain, rough, honest 
 man ; whose feelings were not very susceptible of 
 impressions, and whose discernment was very su- 
 perficial. Because he saw Lucy shed no tears, or 
 show any outward signs of contrition, he imme- 
 diately made up his mind on her character, and- 
 considered her as lost to every sense of virtue and 
 humanity. He therefore left a sum of money ia 
 the hands of a friend to be transmitted to her by 
 weekly instalments for the support of her parent, 
 and after taking leave of his old companion who 
 was unconscious of his embrace, and bidding Lucy 
 a cool farewel, he departed from London. 
 
 It was from Farmer Ashfold that she had re- 
 ceived her information relative to Mandeville's se- 
 duction of Montalbert's wife ; he had detailed the 
 particulars to her with minuteness, and while he
 
 REVENGE. 85 
 
 supposed the relation conveyed a severe rebuke, 
 little thought that his tale would form a basis for 
 schemes of revenge, as horrible in their nature as 
 they were refined and intricate in their construc- 
 tion. Lucy, during the nightly and daily watchings 
 of her sick father, brooded over the sufferings of 
 Montalbert, and compared them with her own. 
 These reflections all tended to one point and ter- 
 minated in one conclusion, the retribution which 
 justice demanded on him who was the cause of 
 them. She had for a long time dwelt on the pu- 
 nishment he deserved to encounter; the passion 
 which now agitated her bosom had received addi- 
 tional stimulus imder recent circumstances ; it in- 
 flamed every neiTC, occupied all her thoughts, and 
 almost drove her to distraction. Gratification be- 
 came her chief aim ; she could no longer derive 
 consolation in thinking on the ills which Provi- 
 dence might impose, but panted to become herself 
 the agent of those tortures she most falsely con- 
 ceived she had a right to inflict. 
 
 The wild and chimerical plans which floated
 
 86 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 on her brain at length seemed to rest on one reso- 
 lution, perhaps the most extravagant of any she 
 had yet formed, that of making Montalbert a part- 
 ner in her revenge. She had heard of the injuries 
 he had suffered, and received hints as to the ge- 
 neral outline of his character, by M'hich she formed 
 some hopes on the success of her application. She 
 therefore contrived to convey to him a letter, which 
 she artfully couched in such terms as might tend 
 " to excite his curiosity, and urge him to fulfil the 
 appointment she requested. Her success on this 
 point, and the consequences of the interview, have 
 already been related in a preceding chapter.
 
 P.EVENGE, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MEMOIRS OF FREDERIC MONTALBERT. 
 
 Frederic Montalbert was the only child of 
 a rich and respectable London merchant. His 
 mother died when he wa§ an infant, but the ex- 
 treme affection and tender care of his father ren- 
 dered his loss as little grievous as possible. 
 
 Mr. IVIontalbert retired early in life from the 
 fatigues of business, and settled on a large estate 
 which he purchased in Dorsetshire. His son was 
 educated under his own roof until he entered his 
 fourteenth year, when he conceived it necessary 
 that he should be tationed at a good school pre- 
 paratory to his entrance at the university. Under
 
 88 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 these views he was placed with a master of much 
 celebrity, whose establishment was confined to a 
 limited number of pupils. 
 
 Frederic possessed an understanding superior 
 to his years : his heart was warm and alive to the 
 finest feelings ; reared immediately under the eye 
 of a doating father, the purity of his morals had 
 been studiously preserved, and his notions of right 
 and wrong most carefully regulated. He entered 
 on the little world which now opened to his view, 
 witli a soul full of benevolence, and a mind elated 
 with an enthusiastic love of honour and generosity. . 
 Every boy was his friend, his confidant, and his 
 brother. His pocket-money, his books, and what- 
 ever talents he possessed, were at the command of 
 those who required them. His disposition was 
 mild and tranquil, except when he witnessed the 
 oppressions of the powerful on the weak, or lis- 
 tened to a relation of such acts ; at these intervals 
 his young bosom would swell high with resent- 
 ment, and while his eyes expressed the most lively 
 indignation at the cruelty of the tyrant, they would
 
 REVENGE. 89 
 
 often shed tears of pity for the sufferings of his 
 victim. 
 
 Although the mind of young Montalbert had so 
 far been moulded with the utmost zeal and anxiety 
 for its future perfection, the time was now arrived 
 when he perhaps more needed the counsels and 
 instructions of his father than at any former pe- 
 riod. Hitherto the scenes he had witnessed under 
 his paternal roof had been of one uniform and re- 
 gular tendency, all calculated to inspire virtue, 
 more through a regular progi'ession of practical 
 morality, than by a comparative view of its supe- 
 riority over vice. He now w^as to witness, in the 
 little community of which he had become a mem- 
 ber, those different traits of mind and character 
 Mhich are always to be discovered even in juvenile 
 life. His curiosity was to he excited by various 
 actions occurring in boyish society, which had 
 never before come under his observation, and 
 the causes of which required an explanation, both 
 as to their present effects and future consequences, 
 the most cautious and impressive.
 
 90 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Mr. Montalbert was perfectly aware of the 
 importance of his task ; no man was more capable 
 of fulfilling it; he arranged with his son a re- 
 gular mode of weekly correspondence, besides 
 which he determined to visit him often, and dur- 
 ing a part of the year to reside in the neighbour- 
 hood of the academy. In the midst, however, of 
 these plans, and only a few months subsequent to 
 his son's leaving him, he was seized with a putrid 
 fever, and expired after an illness of only ten 
 days. His affairs were settled in the most exact 
 and^jiiethodical manner. He had but few rela- 
 tives, and even those distant ones ; he accordingly 
 appointed an intimate friend as his principal exe- 
 cutor and guardian to his son, to whom he be- 
 queathed the whole of his fortune, except a few 
 legacies, on his attaining the age of twenty-one, 
 and a very liberal yearly allowance for his sup- 
 port until that period, both at the school where he 
 then was, and at the university to which he was 
 afterwards to be removed. At the conclusion of 
 the will, was a very pathetic address to his 
 friend in behalf of his child ; requesting he would
 
 REVENGE. 91 
 
 not only fulfil his wishes with respect to the orna- 
 mental parts of his education, but also assist him 
 with his advice and instructions in the formation of 
 his mind, and the maturement of his virtues. 
 
 Sir Robert A p worth shed tears as he read the 
 last request of his deceased friend, and determined 
 to adhere to it with the most punctual minuteness. 
 No man was, however, more unlikely to keep to 
 such a resolution than sir Robert; and it is proba- 
 ble that three days after he repeated the dying 
 words of Mr. Montalbert, which so much aifected 
 him, their purport entirely escaped his memory. 
 
 Sir Robert Apworth was a man w ho was ca- 
 pable of feeling even with acuteness for the mo- 
 ment, but yet onli) for the moment. His whole 
 time was employed in fashionable pursuits ; and 
 though possessed of a warm heart and benevolent 
 principles, he had not sufficient stability of mind to 
 follow their dictates, or "practise the virtues they 
 inspired.
 
 92 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 All the points, therefore, of Mr. Montalbert's 
 will which came under the department of his soli- 
 citor, were punctually fulfilled and executed; 
 while those which remained for his 0A\n personal 
 exertion, were retarded and put off" from one pe- 
 riod to another, till their demands were forgotten, 
 and their performance became useless. 
 
 Frederic was, therefore, now left to make ob- 
 servations and form conclusions upon the differ- 
 ent events which opened to his view, totally free 
 and unmolested. The master of the seminary in 
 which he was placed, was one of those who consi- 
 dered that his duty towards his pupils extended 
 no farther than attending to the regular perform- 
 ance of their exercises, and procuring a strict at- 
 tention to the school business : in him there was 
 no hope of amends for the loss of the rather, or 
 the neglect of the guardian. 
 
 Young jMontalbert was a boy of strong feel- 
 ings; he suffered poignantly on the death of his 
 parent; he had the most exalted respect for his
 
 REVENGE. 93 
 
 virtues, and felt the obligations he was under to 
 him for hisc are and tenderness. He was much 
 given to reflection ; and perhaps the first concep- 
 tions which his new situation created in his mind, 
 were a sense of his own superiority over the gene^ 
 rality of his school-fellows. 
 
 This discovery, while it produced a satisfaction 
 he had never before experienced, engendered a 
 variety of notions, opinions, and modes of think- 
 ing, which continued as prominent marks in his 
 character during the remainder of his Hfe. 
 
 He gloried in the popularity which his talents 
 and good actions procured him among his young 
 associates ; he was a stranger to the punishments 
 and disgrace which often fell to the lot of the 
 other boys. The master himself seemed to re- 
 spect his abilities; and even a word from him, 
 bereft of the usual kindness with which he was in 
 the habit of being addressed, would occasion Fre- 
 deric a sleepless night, and a day of sullen melan- 
 cholv.
 
 g* TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Among those with whom he engaged in parti- 
 cular intimacy, was a youth of the name of Man- 
 deville; his character was extremely different 
 from that of Montalbert, yet a strict friendship 
 seemed to subsist between them. 
 
 His person was handsome, and his manners 
 prepossessing; he was brave, affable, and good- 
 humoured ; yCt careless of his actions, and indif- 
 ferent as to censure. 
 
 His temper was seldom ruffled, more through 
 a flighty insensibility, than any other cause. He 
 had an uncommon flow of animal spirits, and pos- 
 sessed a gaiety of manners well calculated to pro- 
 cure him the appellation of an agreeable and en- 
 tertaining companion. His mind was of that cast 
 which seemed to defy the shafts of adversity. 
 Those events which, in one with more sensitive 
 feelings, would have occasioned oppression and 
 distress, on him lost their general effects ; his levity 
 would even produce from them new subjects for 
 his hilarity and wit.
 
 REVENGE. 95 
 
 His youthful vigour, robust constitution, and 
 uncommon vivacity, seemed to absorb his whole 
 character ; while he appeared to live only for en- 
 joyment, and to defy misfortune. 
 
 It may perhaps, for a moment, form a subject 
 for astonishment, that a marked friendship should 
 subsist between two lads of such opposite manners 
 and dispositions as Montalbert and INIandeville. 
 Upon consideration, however, it may be perceived 
 that if they had resembled each other, there would 
 have been no probability of so strict an intimacy 
 being formed. 
 
 Mandeville was by no means inclined to out- 
 shine his friend in those pursuits which engaged 
 his whole attention, and formed the principal hap- 
 piness of his life. On the contrary, his volatiHty 
 and playfulness involved him in continual perplex- 
 ities and disgrace, from which Montalbert was 
 ever ready to give his aid to extricate him. 
 
 Maude ville's talents and manners Were of
 
 66 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 a description to raise no envy in the bosom of 
 his more refined school-fellow ; and though he 
 daily made friends, and gained admiration from 
 the superficial observer, yet they were laurels 
 which the latter resigned without the least unea- 
 siness or regret. Neither had Mandeville any 
 emulation to adopt that mode of conduct which 
 was held up to him as a model worthy of imitation 
 in his friend. It was so different from his nature, 
 and so opposite to his inclinations, that the at- 
 tempt would have been absurd ; he therefore re- 
 mained content within the sphere of his own abi- 
 lities, and left Montalbert unmolested to those 
 pursuits in which he could have endured no rival. 
 
 Under these circumstances, there was no bar- 
 rier to their intimacy ; Montalbert w as always 
 proud and willing to assist Mandeville, while 
 Mandeville was never so careful as to render such 
 favours unnecessary, nor too haughty to receive 
 them. 
 
 JVIandeville's parents died durmg his infancy,
 
 REVENGE. 9t 
 
 Ahd left him dependent on an uncle whose pride 
 and meanness were extreme, but whose fortune 
 was very considerable. The old gentleman could 
 scarcely be prevailed upon to allow the necessary 
 sums for his nephew's education ; yet his high no- 
 tions on tlie dignity of his family, would not suffer 
 him to bestow an inferior one. 
 
 In the course of a few years, during which 
 Montalbert made the most rapid advances in his 
 learning, he was informed, in one of the few letters 
 he received from sir Robert Apworth, that the time 
 was fast approaching when, according to the te- 
 nure of his father's will, he was to remove to Ox- 
 ford, to finish those studies he had already entered 
 upon with such success. Mandeville ardently 
 wished to accompany him, and Montalbert was 
 equally anxious for his society. Sir Robert Ap- 
 worth was informed of their rnutual desires by the 
 next letter he received from his ward, and so far 
 exerted himself on the occasion, as to use some 
 few persuasions with Mandeville's uncle (with 
 
 H
 
 08 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 whom he was personally acquainted), to agree to 
 the inclinations of his nephew. 
 
 During four years' residence at the universit}', 
 those traits of character which faintly appeared in 
 their boyish days, became gradually stronger, and 
 terminated into fixed principles as they advanced 
 towards manhood. 
 
 Montalbert vvas reserved, thoughtful, and stu- 
 dious ; his feelings alive to every impression, how- 
 ever trivial ; an enthusiast in the opinions he form- 
 ed, and a stranger to mediocrity, either in his 
 friendships or aversions. 
 
 Mandeville was gay, dissipated, and volatile in 
 the extreme : careless of his reputation, and in- 
 dustrious only in his pleasures. 
 
 His vivacity and generosity rendered him a 
 pleasant companion among his male friends, and 
 procured him the good opinion of his female ones.
 
 REVENGE. 99 
 
 On this last point, a new scene for the exertion of 
 those talents he possessed was now opened to his 
 view, which was at once calculated to engross his 
 whole attention, and form the principal source of 
 his enjo3'^ments. To attract the notice of every 
 woman he met, and gain the affections of those 
 whose attachment he conceived worth procuring, 
 was the entire business of his life. He was a cha- 
 racter which is usually described by the epithet of- 
 a male coquette; even the semblance of admira- 
 tion from a beautiful girl, was gratifying to his 
 vanity. 
 
 His extravagance and dissipation outran his 
 quarterly allowances from his uncle, and he often 
 received pecuniary aid from his friend. 
 
 They left college about the same time ; Mon- 
 talbert, being of age, was regularly invested with 
 the whole of the property to which, by his father's 
 will, he was entitled, while the only thanks due to 
 sir Robert Apworth on the conclusion of the charge 
 
 H Q
 
 100 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 with which he had been intrusted, were for the 
 choice he had made of an honest soHcitor to ma- 
 nage the concerns of his ward. 
 
 Henry Mandeville, on an application to his 
 uncle for an increase of the yearly sum he had 
 hitherto allowed him, was informed by the old 
 gentleman, that it was not within the power of his 
 fortune to support his extravagance ; that he must 
 even give up his favourite plan of maintaining the 
 honour of his family by rendering him independent, 
 since he found the sums required for that purpose 
 would reduce himself to penury. He therefore 
 proposed some establishment in a genteel profes- 
 sion, and promised his interest, and a few hun- 
 dreds, to settle him to his Mishes. 
 
 Mandeville's affairs were in that situation as to 
 make him readily grasp at any opportunity of even 
 temporary relief; he therefore took his uncle at 
 his word, and fixed upon the army. The old 
 gentleman procured him a commission in the
 
 REVENGE. . 101 
 
 Shropshire mihtia, paid the chief of his debts, 
 and made an addition of three hundred pounds a 
 year to his pay. 
 
 Montalbert, a short time after he received pos- 
 session of his fortune, retired to one of his estates 
 in Dorsetshire, where he proposed to remain dur- 
 ing the shooting season. In this period he formed 
 an intimacy with an elderly lady and her daughter 
 that resided in the neighbourhood : their manners 
 pleased him, and he anxiously cultivated their ac- 
 quaintance, 
 
 Mrs. Alverne had secluded herself and daugh- 
 ter, on the spot where she then lived, for near six- 
 teen years ; she took possession of it a few weeks 
 after the death of her husband, at which time 
 Eleanor was only two years old. Left with rather 
 a narrow income, and being naturally fond of re- 
 tirement, she resolved to quit London entirely, 
 and in some lonely cottage dedicate the whole of 
 her time to the education of her beloved ' compa- 
 nion. She commissioned a friend to look out for
 
 102 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 a situation suited to her taste, and he accordingly 
 purchased her present habitation. 
 
 Eleanor might be truly styled the child of sim- 
 plicity : her form was extremely delicate, and her 
 features handsome and expressive. Her mother 
 was capable of instructing her in every requisite 
 accomplishment, and the docility and quickness of 
 her capacity answered the most flattering hopes of 
 her instructress. 
 
 Mrs. Alverne was a woman of strict morals, 
 and possessed a decided contempt for the world. 
 Her distaste for mankind in general, prevented her 
 from forming even such society as was to be pro- 
 cured in the neighbourhood ; in consequence of 
 which her daughter was an entire recluse; and, 
 although her manners were refined by the example 
 and precepts of her mother, she was j^et a novice 
 to those scenes of life in which, by her behaviour, 
 she might have been considered in some degree 
 conversant. Montalbert's first introduction was 
 by accident; he was forcibly struck with Eleanor "s
 
 REVENGE. 103 
 
 beauty; their style of living was romantic, and 
 suited to his taste : and there were no other com- 
 panions with whom he could associate within ten 
 miles of his villa. 
 
 These circumstances combined, made him 
 anxious to cultivate an acquaintance which he had 
 acquired by chance ; while IVIrs. Alverne relaxed 
 from her usual severity of retirement, under some 
 natural interested motives for the future welfare of 
 her daughter. 
 
 The soft and unaffected manners of Eleanor 
 were calculated to improve those impressions on 
 Montalbert her person had created in their first 
 interview. In the course of a few months, he 
 discovered that he lost all relish for every amuse- 
 ment which deprived him of ]\liss Alverne's com- 
 pany; that her society seemed necessary to his 
 happiness; in short, that he loved her. His at- 
 tachment was not of that lukewarm nature, as to 
 be capable of increase or suppression, according to 
 the fortune she was likely to inherit, while he
 
 104' TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 admired the sincerity with which both her mother 
 and herself declared that she had no expectations 
 but the small income which supported them, on 
 the death of the former. 
 
 The offer of a union with Montalbert, carried 
 with it prospects of a very splendid nature. In 
 addition to great wealth, his person, manners, and 
 character, were unexceptionable. He was the 
 only man, except the rustic clowns of the neigh- 
 bourhood, with which Eleanor had ever convers- 
 ed; her ideas, therefore, of his talents and re- 
 finement, bordered upon adoration, and her beha- 
 viour towards him partook more of the respectful 
 obedience of a pupil, than the warm affection of a 
 young girl for her intended husband. Her mother 
 sanctioned his addresses with uncommon zeal, and 
 Eleanor consented to become his wife, ratlier under 
 a consideration of the propriety of her choice, than 
 from any very extraordinary regard for the object 
 of it, 
 
 A few months after their nuptials, ^lontalbert
 
 REVENGE. 105 
 
 took a house for the season at Bath, and formed 
 an establishment equal to his fortune. He now 
 began to perceive, with some degree of uneasiness, 
 that his wife entered with avidity into those scenes 
 of gaiety and dissipation which he had supposed 
 her secluded manner of education would have ren- 
 dered disgusting. Their novelty, instead of creat- 
 ing distaste and alarm, seemed to charm and de- 
 light her, while the remonstrances of her husband 
 and mother produced nothing but answers of play- 
 ful levity, and rapturous descriptions of the satis- 
 faction she experienced in the new world which 
 was opened to her view. 
 
 Montalbert flattered himself that the duties of 
 a mother, and the confinement that would follow 
 her accouchement, which was daily expected, might 
 serve to domesticate and endear her to her home ; 
 he M'as, however, totally disappointed in his hopes. 
 She presented him with a son ; but her physician 
 no sooner declared that she might leave her apart- 
 ment, than she recommenced her usual round of
 
 106 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 gaiety, while her child Avas left to the care of the 
 nurses she had provided. 
 
 Montalbert's temper, which was naturally irri- 
 table, began now to create some serious disagree- 
 ments ; his requests for an alteration in some parts 
 of her conduct, became austere and forcible com- 
 mands ; he insisted on her keeping less company, 
 and retrenching her expenses ; he complained of 
 her neglect of her infant, and apathy towards 
 himself. 
 
 Eleanor was one of those beings who could 
 listen to a recital of her errors with perfect good- 
 humour, and even promise amendment with the 
 most bewitching softness and pleasantry ; yet the 
 next hour would prove her insensibility to his re- 
 proaches, by a repetition of the faults which occa- 
 sioned them. 
 
 Montalbert, although he perceived those ex- 
 pectations of happiness which his warm and ro-
 
 REVENGE. 107 
 
 mantic fancy had pictured in the most glowing 
 colours, entirely frustrated, still retained the 
 stroncfest affection for his volatile wife ; her very 
 foibles, though they distressed and grieved him, 
 under an anticipation of their consequences, still 
 carried in them a fascination he w-as unable to re- 
 sist, and often pleaded an excuse for her conduct, 
 when none in reality existed. Circumstances 
 were in this situation, when the Shropshire mi'itia 
 entered the neighbourhood of Bath, and Henry 
 Mandeville immediately waited upon his old friend 
 and school-fellow. He was received by Montal- 
 bert with his usual warmth and cordiality, who 
 presented him to his wife in such terms as to de- 
 mand every civility she was capable of showing 
 him. 
 
 Mandeville, since he had parted with his friend 
 at college and entered into the army, had impru- 
 dently married a young girl who happened most 
 forcibly to strike his fancy in one of the counties 
 where his regiment was quartered, and who was 
 to be procured on no other terms. Of humble
 
 108 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 birth and destitute of fortune, he evinced no incli- 
 nation to introduce her among his friends; but con- 
 tinued to keep her at her father's cottage under a 
 degree of secrecy and retirement which gave rise 
 to suspicions on her character totally unfounded. 
 At the end of ten months she presented him with 
 a daughter, but taking cold shortly after, a fever 
 ensued, which in a few days put a period to her ex- 
 istence. Mandeville, whose'attachment towards his 
 wife was by no means of a durable kind, expressed 
 very little regret for her loss. He immediately 
 placed the child under the care of a relative of its 
 deceased mother's, and took every opportunity 
 of concealina; from the world that he ever was 
 married. 
 
 During the time iMontalbert remained at Bath 
 after his arrival, he was a daily visitor at his house, 
 where his extreme vivacity, genteel manners, and 
 extraordinary good-humour, rendered him a ge- 
 neral favourite. He attended ]\Irs. Montalbcrt to 
 those places of amusement where her husband, 
 either through dislike or ill-health, did not accom-
 
 REVENGE. 109 
 
 pany her. He was particularly assiduous in his 
 attentions to her, and declared his friend was the 
 happiest man in existence by the possession of 
 such a treasure. AVhen they departed for Lon- 
 don he promised to visit them there in the course 
 of two months, and was profuse in his acknow- 
 ledgements for the comforts he had derived in their 
 societv. 
 
 On their arrival in the metropolis jNIontalbert 
 engaged a handsome house, and by his attention 
 and indulgence to the wishes of his wife, hoped in 
 some measure to sooth her into a compliance with 
 his own. She now became more thoughtful than 
 usua], and at times was even pensive and melan- 
 choly. These were omens which he hailed M'ith 
 joy as certain signs of her reform. 
 
 IVIandeville was punctual to his promise; he 
 joined them in London at the expiration of the 
 time he had mentioned. Immediately on his ar- 
 rival he requested an interview with IVIontalbert 
 alone, and informed liim his affairs were in so de-
 
 no TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 ranged and desperate a state, that he had been 
 obhged to quit Bath m ith precipitation, and obtain 
 leave of absence from his regiment for a few 
 weeks, in order to keep himself concealed while he 
 formed some plan to extricate himself from his 
 difficulties. Montalbert advised an application to 
 his uncle ; this had, however, already been made 
 by two different persons, without their obtaining the 
 least hopes of success^ 
 
 After some further consideration, and a few 
 plausible promises on the part of INlandeville to 
 retrench his expenses and commence a system of 
 strict economy, his friend consented to employ his 
 ovi'n solicitor in the settlement of his concerns, and 
 to advance a sufficient sum to satisfy tlie demands 
 of his principal creditors ; at the same time he re- 
 quested him to make his house his home, and com- 
 mand every thing for his comfort and accommoda- 
 tion. INlandeville appeared sensibly affected by 
 this kindness, while Eleanor testified the most 
 heartfelt satisfaction at the generosity of her hus- 
 band.
 
 REVENGE. ' 111 
 
 jMontalbert fulfilled his promise ; the creditors 
 were convened, and consented to take a certain 
 sum for their different debts, which was imme- 
 diately paid, and IMandeville once more found 
 himself free, and at full liberty to return to Bath 
 without fear of molestation. 
 
 On the evening before the day of his departure 
 from London to rejoin his regiment, JMontalbert 
 left town on urgent business relative to the sale of 
 some land which joined his estates in Dorset- 
 shire ; he therefore took leave of his visitor, and 
 presented him with a farther loan of three hundred 
 pounds to answer his necessary expenses till the 
 next receipt of his pay. INIandeville's thanks for 
 this additional proof of his friendship were de- 
 livered with the utmost energy, and accompanied 
 >A ith the most forcible expressions of gratitude. 
 
 jMontalbert on his arrival at the first stage of 
 his intended journey, was informed that the busi- 
 ness on which he was proceeding would be delayed 
 for some days ; he therefore returned immediately.
 
 112 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 and alighted at his own house a Httle before mid- 
 night. 
 
 Eleanor was absent from home, and the ser- 
 vants appeared surprised at his inquiries after her. 
 They informed him their lady had left Cavendish- 
 square, accompanied by Captain IVIandeville, about 
 eight in the evening ; and that she had mentioned 
 they were to join Mr. Montalbert at night, and 
 consequently should not return till the following 
 day. 
 
 Montalbert received this intelligence like one 
 who, suddenly overwhelmed with the most horrible 
 suspicions, attempts to gain a momentary allevia- 
 tion to his agony by the mere hope that he is in- 
 volved in a fearful dream. He gazed upon the 
 man who addressed him for some moments in si- 
 lent amazement, and then desired him to repeat 
 what he had before said. 
 
 In some degree recovering himself, he sent 
 away his carriage, and proceeded immediately on
 
 REVENGE. 113, 
 
 foot to a house where Mandeville had lately en- 
 gaged lodgings, an event which had rather sur- 
 prised him at the moment when first informed of 
 it, but which he had since accounted for in several 
 Avays. 
 
 A^arious circumstances, that had hitherto ap- 
 peared of the most trivial naturCj now flashed on 
 his mind with peculiar force, and seemed to con- 
 firm the dreadful consequences he anticipated. 
 
 Having arrived with breathless agitation at the 
 place, he knocked softly at the door, and inquired 
 of the girl who opened it for Captain Mandeville : 
 she hesitated. 
 
 " I know he is at home," answered Montal- 
 bert ; and instantly running up the staircase, burst 
 open the first door which caught his eye. Eleanor 
 and Mandeville were in the apartment : JVIontal- 
 bert was at once convinced of the perfidy of his 
 friend, and the dishonour of his wife.
 
 114 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 The surprise and consternation of Mandeville 
 and Eleanor on the entrance of Montalbert, ren- 
 dered them totally incapable of even attempting to 
 form an excuse for their conduct : they suffered 
 him to depart without uttering a syllable in their 
 defence, while a consciousness of their guilt made 
 them tremble at the vengeance he might pursue. 
 
 The wretched husband, on finding himself in 
 the street, rested for some time against the iron 
 palisade of the house ; his suspicions were realized 
 to their fullest extent ; all those prospects of hap- 
 piness which but a few hours before seemed so 
 bright and joyful, were now blasted for ever. That 
 charm which had given a zest to every blessing he 
 possessed, was broken and destroyed, and he sud- 
 denly beheld himself on a level with the most mi- 
 serable. 
 
 The principal traits in Montalbert's character 
 were such as to make him feel a misfortune of this 
 kind more acutely than the generality of mankind..
 
 KEVEXGE, 115 
 
 Although possessed of many good qualities, yet his 
 best actions were sometimes excited from strong 
 inclinations for popularity, and secret Avishes to 
 stand pre-eminent in the minds of his friends. His 
 pride was of that nature which, although it stimu- 
 lated him to the practice of virtue, at times cor- 
 roded and almost destroyed those pure motives 
 from which it derives its very essence. 
 
 Hitherto he had proudly stood in the midst of 
 his companions, an object of their envy, and a 
 model for their imitation : he had been a stranjxef 
 to shame, either from his own follies or the impo- 
 sition of others ; while he had conceived his friend- 
 ship of sufficient importance to produce a reci- 
 procal return even from a mere consideration of 
 its value. His feelings, then, may be well con- 
 ceived, after having ariived at the age of two and 
 twenty, without a single event to ruffle or discom- 
 pose those ideas he had formed of his own supe- 
 riority, to discover that the woman he loved had 
 disgraced him, and the man whom his bounty pre- 
 served from a jail had triumphed over his honour. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 in that point on Avhich the most abject are te- 
 nacious of preserving it. 
 
 Having recovered himself enough to proceed 
 forward, he hurried through several streets, with- 
 out knowing where they led him, or having any 
 settled motive in view. 
 
 Various were the plans of vengeance he 
 adopted and as quickly abandoned, either because 
 they were not su0iciently exemplary or could not 
 be immediately executed. 
 
 At length, fatigued with walking and distracted 
 with his reflections, he returned to his own house 
 about six in the morning, and instantly wrote a 
 challenge to Mandeville, desiring a meeting in the 
 course of two hours : his valet, who Mas in wait- 
 ing, took the note, with another which he was de- 
 sired to leave for a friend of his master's as he re- 
 turned. 
 
 The man brought back the letter to Captain
 
 REVENGE. 117 
 
 iMandeville ; he had left his lodgings, accompanied 
 by a lady, in a post-chaise, between four and 
 five. 
 
 The other note fortunately brought the gentle- 
 man to whom it was addressed. Montalbert had 
 intended to have taken him as his second, but 
 there now appeared no probability of his discover- 
 ing Mandeville's retreat, as he had lately under- 
 stood he had gained an extended time to his leave 
 of absence from his redment. 
 
 o 
 
 Driven almost to a state of desperation with 
 his wrongs, he wrote to the woman with whom 
 his child was placed a small distance from Lon- 
 don, and inclosed her a sum equal to several quar- 
 terly payments which she was to have for the care 
 of it ; at the same time observing, it was uncertain 
 whether he might ever behold it again, but when 
 she wanted money for its support she might apply 
 to his banker, who had liis order to pay her a suf- 
 ficient yearly stipend to recompense her trouble, 
 aad maintain the infant.
 
 118 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 He determined immediately to leave England, 
 and attempt, if possible, in other countries to for- 
 get the irreparable injuries he had suffered in his 
 own. The friend already mentioned undertook 
 the settlement of his affairs, and discharging the 
 whole of his servants, except his valet, he set off 
 for Dover the same evening, and travelled with 
 the rapidity of a madman through the principal 
 parts of France. 
 
 The ferment of Montalbert's mind was not of 
 a nature to be soothed, either by change of scene 
 Or society. He plunged into dissipation with the 
 hopes of procuring a relief to his sufferings, but 
 its effects failed, while his health was gradually im- 
 paired, and his principles contaminated. 
 
 After a residence of some time in France, he 
 continued his route through Spain and Italy, while 
 every year progressively r-educed his character 
 from that standard at which he had once so 
 proudly considered it as established. His severest 
 pangs were produced from reflections on the past ;
 
 REVENGE. 119. 
 
 they at intervals drove him to madness, and con- 
 stantly kept alive a thirst for revenge on him who 
 had marred all those prospects of happiness Avhich 
 were once within his grasp. 
 
 The second packet of letters he received from 
 his friend in England, informed him that both the 
 nurse and his child had disappeared ; and that 
 the exertions which had been made to discover 
 them were all ineffectual. 
 
 Montalbert would fain have persuaded himself 
 that this intelligence gave him no concern ; but his 
 nightly groans of anguish, and involuntary excla- 
 mations on the name of the infant, were evident 
 proofs of the anxiety it occasioned him. 
 
 The next news which was conveyed to him was 
 the death of his wife. After remaining a few weeks 
 with Captain Mandeville, a consciousness of her 
 errors and their fatal consequences overwhelmed 
 her with horror and despair ; she returned to the
 
 120 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 cottage of her mother, and expired in the course 
 of seven months after her arrival. 
 
 Montalbcrt attempted to brave this informa- 
 tion in the same manner he had done that of the 
 loss of his son ; but the tenderness he still retained 
 for her memory, in spite of all his efforts, burst 
 forth in the most acute anguish, and recalled to his 
 imagination those blissful moments he had once 
 enjoyed in her society. 
 
 His desires of retaliation were now no longer 
 divided : the tears M'hich he shed for the fate of 
 his Eleanor seemed as a stimulus to his hatred 
 against the man who had deprived him of her; 
 his figure was never delineated to his mind but 
 writhing under those tortures which he considered 
 as a just and necessary punishment. 
 
 After an absence of eighteen years from his 
 native country, satiated with vicious pleasures, 
 and restless in the consciousness of his ill-spent
 
 REVENGE. 121 
 
 time, he at lencrth resolved to return to Enii- 
 lanrL 
 
 In a few months after this resolution, he 
 landed on the same spot from whence he took his 
 departure, with a shattered constitution, and his 
 fortune reduced to one fourth of his original in- 
 heritance. 
 
 His valet had been dead some years ; he was 
 alone, and drooping under the infirmities of bodily 
 disease, while his mind was tortured with self-re- 
 proaches on his past conduct. 
 
 He now reflected on the comfort and consola- 
 tion he midit have derived from his child whom 
 
 O 
 
 he had so shamefully abandoned. All hopes of 
 discovering him had been long since given up; 
 even his friend, who had taken every method for 
 that purpose, was no more, and the name of the 
 nurse almost forgotten in the part where she had 
 resided.
 
 \2'2 , TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 INIontalbert had no inclination to renew an ac- 
 quaintance with the few surviving persons with 
 whom he had formerly lived in habits of intimacy. 
 He hired genteel but retired apartments in an ob- 
 scure part of the town, and wrapped in sullen re- 
 veries on his present sufferings and the causes of 
 them, he passed away his days in gloomy unsocial 
 wanderings, and his nights in bitter anguish. 
 
 Altlioucfh time and absence had in some mea- 
 
 o 
 
 sure deadened those desires for revenge which had 
 formerly glowed in his bosom, still tliey were in- 
 capable of annihilation. A continual succession 
 of new views and impressions served in some de- 
 gree to render them dormant ; but the seeds of the 
 passion remained, and were susceptible of increase 
 and vegetation to the most horrible extent. The 
 probable causes to produce such effects were the 
 •witnessins of those local scenes that recalled to his 
 memory the happiness of w hich he had been de- 
 prived ; a sense of the degradation of his cha- 
 racter, and proofs of the prosperity and felicity of 
 him whose perfidy had created his misfortunes.
 
 EEVENGE. 103 
 
 The first of these causes was the certam con- 
 sequence of his return to England ; various objects 
 served to remind him of his former comforts, and 
 naturally revived his indignation against the man 
 ^^ ho had wrested them from his grasp. 
 
 He went to the spot where he had first beheld 
 his beloved Eleanor, and where she breathed her 
 last in the arms of a parent who survived her but 
 a few months : to elude observation, he determin- 
 ed to visit her grave by night. 
 
 It was the month of November ; cold, damp, 
 and cheerless; the faint moon-beams were scarcely 
 sufficient to aid him in reading the words on the 
 plain simple tablet which marked the place that 
 contained her remains. Her name and as:e was 
 the only inscription he could perceive. All re- 
 membrance of her errors were obliterated ; he re- 
 collected her only as in the days of her innocence, 
 when her mild fascinating manners first won his 
 heart. Over this very spot which now covered 
 her dust, twenty years since had he conducted her
 
 12 1 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 u blooming bride to the altar : he could still trace 
 the impressions of that day in the most vivid co- 
 lours. The beautiful serenity of the morning, the 
 ringing of the bells, the crowds of joyful cottagers 
 who blessed them as they passed, and the village 
 girls who strewed flowers in their path, all floated 
 on his mind, and entranced him for some moments 
 in wild enthusiasm. Alas ! the cold blasts of the 
 north wind, Avhich rushed through the melancholy 
 yew trees, the sudden obscurity of the pale moon 
 by the dark clouds which enveloped it, and the 
 chilly dampness of the turf on which he rested, 
 soon awoke him from his reverie Avith the most 
 acute sense of the agonizing difference between 
 the scene he had formed in his meditations, and 
 the realization of that which surrounded him. His 
 feelings were no longer capable of being stifled ; he 
 burst into tears, and his hysteric sobs resounded 
 throiigh the dismal habitations of the dead. 
 
 D 
 
 *' Is not vengeance a virtue," he exclaimed, 
 " when it is exerted on the wretch who, with -wdii- 
 ton cruelty, stabs the domestic peace of liis fellow-
 
 UEVENGE. 125 
 
 man, and exults in the desolation he has occasion- 
 ed ? Oh God ! shall I trace back those joys I 
 have lost, recount the miseries which I have suffer- 
 ed, and yet tamely languish in the grasp of my op- 
 pressor? Shall I, without one struggle for retri- 
 bution, sink into the grave under all the ignominy 
 of blasted fame, and public disgrace? Forbid it, 
 Heaven ! forbid it, justice ! Let me but once be- 
 hold him withering under those tortures he has in- 
 flicted on me, let me but once see him shed such 
 drops as now bedew my cheeks, while they disr 
 grace my manhood, and every end for which exist- 
 ence is valuable will then seem fulfilled." 
 
 Montalbert returned to London the following 
 day, his mind wholly absorbed in gloomy reflections 
 on those misfortunes which would be best calcu- 
 lated to wound the feelings of such a man as Man- 
 deville. He seemed to derive pleasure and con- 
 solation even from his imaghiation of their effects, 
 and the mere consideration that such ills miijht 
 befall him, however improbable or uncertain. It 
 was hi^ sufferings that reminded him of his ene-
 
 126 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 my, and naturally inflamed his hatred ; it was the 
 comparison of his former fehcity with his present 
 wretchedness, that kept aHve those wishes for re- 
 taliation, which were gradually nourished at his 
 heart. 
 
 He was tempted, one evening, to pass away a 
 few hours at the theatre; he entered the boxes; 
 the front places were all taken, and he was obliged 
 to content himself with a back seat. A servant 
 iiT a handsome livery kept the two front rows. A 
 short time before the first act closed, the box- 
 keeper opened the door, and called for IVlr. Man- 
 deville's places. The words struck at Montalbert's 
 heart ; his whole frame shook with emotion. A 
 man about his own years passed him, conducting a 
 woman seemingly of the same age, and followed by 
 a blooming young girl, and a handsome looking 
 youth, who appeared to be her brother. INIontal- 
 bert recognised the features of his old school-fel- 
 low, whose cruel perfidy and ingratitude had been 
 the cause of all his miseiy. He attempted to rise 
 ^o leave the box, but his legs refused their office :
 
 REVENGE. - 127 
 
 the servant was at that moment quitting it ; he of" 
 fered his arm, which the other gladly accepted, and 
 gained the lobby, where he threw himself on a seat, 
 almost insensible of his situation. 
 
 The inquiries of the persons by whom lie was 
 surrounded, urged him to struggle to recover him- 
 self, and move to another part. 
 
 After some time, he entered a bo^i neaily op- 
 posite to that he had left, and he once more ven- 
 tured to cast his eyes on Alandevilie. He seemed 
 in full health and vigour, surrounded by a happy 
 family, whose affectionate attention was visible in 
 every action. He appeared a man in the com- 
 plete enjoyment of all earthly felicity ; Montalbert, 
 the victim of his treachery, now beheld him for the 
 first time after a period of many years. He shud- 
 dered at the comparative difference in their si- 
 tuations ; his soul yearned at the sight of the man 
 on whom he chara;ed everv ill that had befallen 
 him, revellincf in those comforts wliich he had lost 
 for ever. The agony of his feelings, as he gazed
 
 128 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 upon liini, were past endurance ; he rushed out of 
 the theatre in a state of distraction, and on his re- 
 turn to his lodgings, found the letter which was 
 sent to him from the Courtezan. — Scarcely sen- 
 sible of his actions, he broke it open ; the strange 
 and mysterious manner in which it Mas couched, 
 awakened his curiosity, while a part of the con- 
 tents, that alluded to the gratification of the pas- 
 sion which rankled in his bosom, most particularly 
 interested him, under his present state of mind ; 
 and although, the following morning, the violence 
 of his emotion had in some degree subsided, he 
 still determined to accede to the request of the 
 writer, in meeting her at the hour and place she 
 had appointed. 
 
 An account of this interview has already been 
 related ; while the consequences which resulted 
 from it must form the remaimng part of tliis 
 tale.
 
 KEVENGE. 12P 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A REFORiMED LIBERTINE SURROUNDED BY HIS 
 FAMILY. 
 
 A SMALL, yet elegant, cottage, in the beauti- 
 ful village of Upway, near Weymouth, was the 
 chief residence of Henry Mandeville and his fa- 
 mily, which consisted of his wife, a daughter, a 
 nephew, and a few domestics. To this habitation 
 he had retired immediately on his second mamage, 
 and seldom quitted it, except for an annual visit 
 of about two months in the winter to London. Mr. 
 Mandeville, whatever might have been the iiTegu- 
 larities of his youth, was now moulded into that 
 character which is usually denominated a domestic 
 man. The fortune which he received at the death
 
 130 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 of his uncle, though considerably reduced by his 
 former extravagance, was still competent to pro- 
 cure him the comforts and even luxuries of life. 
 His wife was amiable in her disposition, and re- 
 fined in her manners ; while his adopted son, and 
 beloved daughter, fulfilled his most warm and 
 sanguine expectations. 
 
 Circumstances like these were well calculated 
 to produce true felicity ; but in IMandeville their 
 effects vAcre counteracted by reflections on past 
 errors, and the fatal consequences which had re- 
 sulted from them. He had anived at those 
 years when the impetuosity of youthful passions 
 are no longer capable of misleading the judgement 
 or corrupting the heart : the hey-day and vigour of 
 youth were succeeded by the cool and temperate 
 firmness of manhood. He now began to appre- 
 ciate the value of those moral virtues which form 
 the general basis of society, and which tend to 
 preserve the rights and happiness of the individual 
 for the general welfare of the whole. In expe- 
 riencing those tender ties of conjugal and parental
 
 REVENGE. 131 
 
 aftection, which naturally create the most watchful 
 anxiety for their preservation, he became sensible 
 of the feelings which are experienced by a father 
 or a husband in the maintenance of his dignity, and 
 the jealousy of his honour. ^landeville, as he 
 gazed A\ith rapture on the fine form of his beloved 
 Emma, while she sported before him in all the 
 gaiety of youth and innocence, would sometimes 
 whisper to himself, '' Is there in existence one 
 who could have the heart to destroy this fair 
 work of nature ? Is there a being so lost to virtue 
 and humanity, who, in the self-gratification of a 
 transient passion, would pluck yon lovely flower 
 only to contaminate its sweets, and cast it firom 
 his bosom a withered emblem of its former 
 purit}^'^" , 
 
 These reveries naturally brought to his mind 
 certain events in the former part of his hfe, wherein 
 he had been guilty of the same excesses which he 
 now viewed through so different a medium. In a 
 moment of enthusiastic admiration of his own 
 child, he doubted the existence of a wretch capable 
 
 K 2
 
 132 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 of destroying her ; while an inward monitor he was 
 unable to suppress, accused him of the like crimes 
 towards the cliildren of others. ' 
 
 Mandeville was a reformed* libertine ; the con- 
 trast of his present domestic comforts with his 
 former dissipation inspired him with a due sense 
 of the blessings that surrounded him, but it could 
 not obliterate from his memory the actions that 
 rendered him unworthy of them. The kiss of 
 filial affection which his Emma sometimes im- 
 printed upon his cheek, would even produce a 
 tear; his efforts to conceal it were often ineffec- 
 tual ; busy conscience spoke to his heart ; Mont- 
 albert but for him might have experienced such 
 kisses ; Lucy Wilson but for him might have be- 
 stowed similar caresses on a beloved and doating 
 father. It was in vain he attempted to palliate the 
 cruelties he had committed under the softened ap- 
 pellation of youthful indiscretions ; he had wan- 
 tonly poisoned the happiness of his best friend, 
 and -with unmanly barbarity ruined an innocent 
 girl who adored him.
 
 REVENGE. 133 
 
 Emma Mandeville was just turned of nineteen ; 
 she M^as tall, finely formed, and possessed a coun- 
 tenance of much s\N eetness and expression. Her 
 light blue eyes, in A\hich shone all the playful 
 vivacity of her character, were perhaps her most 
 attractive features ; yet the delicacy of her com- 
 plexion, and the general contour of her face, were 
 calculated to inspire interest and admiration. 
 Reared and educated under the care of a near re- 
 lative to her late mother, she was the artless, un- 
 affected child of innocence and simplicity. Care- 
 fully secluded from those scenes of fashionable 
 dissipation which enervate the mind, and vitiate 
 the morals, she had acquired neitlier the audacious 
 levity of modern manners, nor the masculine free-r 
 doms which are sanctioned in high life. 
 
 Her cousin Edward was about her own age ; 
 he was the son of an elder brother of Mr. Man- 
 deville's who, having incurred the displeasure of 
 his family in the choice of his ^^•ife, was reduced to 
 tlie utmost penury and distress, and necessitated 
 to .abandon his country to avoid the threats of hj§
 
 134. TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 a'editOrs. The partner of his misfortunes did not 
 long survive the change of climate ; he languished 
 but a few years after her, and on his death-bed 
 bequeathed his only ciiild to the care of his more 
 fortunate brother. The infant was brought to 
 England by the captain of a trading vessel, who 
 was in habits of intimacy with his father, and who 
 r)romised to deliver him himself into the hands of 
 his uncle, with a most affecting letter, imploring 
 protection for his orphan nephew. 
 
 During the first years of his infancy he was 
 nursed in a remote part of Wales at the expense 
 of Mr. IMandeville, who, whatever might have 
 been his errors at that period, acted towards 
 this child with the most tender and affectionate 
 care. 
 
 Having received the rudiments of his educa- 
 tion under a respectable and worthy clergyman in 
 the neighbourhood, he was removed to a seminary 
 of considerable eminence in the north of England, 
 and at sixteen was taken under tlie roof of his pro-
 
 REVENGE. 135 
 
 tector, while a private tutor of great talents and in- 
 tegrity was engacred for three years to aid him in 
 the completion of his studies. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville, in the arrangements which he 
 made for the future prospects of his nephew, fully 
 confirmed his regard for his happiness, and proved 
 that he had gained much experience from 
 the follies and vices of his past life. His fortune 
 was sufficient to support him, under his present 
 establishment, in affluence and comfort; yet he was 
 aware that after providing for his wife and daugh- 
 ter in the manner they had a right to expect, the 
 remainder would scarcely procure his nephew a 
 moderate maintenance. 
 
 Under these circumstances he justly consi- 
 dered, that by bringing him up to a genteel pro- 
 fession, he should not only enable him to add to 
 his income by his own industry, but prevent those 
 disappointments which might hereafter occur, were 
 his expectations too far elevated.
 
 136 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 He frankly explained to Edward his ideas on 
 this subject, and gave him the choice of a voca- 
 tion, with the promise of a liberal allowance for 
 the expenses it might demand. 
 
 The young man had already decided in his own 
 mind on the law, and his uncle immediately wrote 
 to a friend in town for a recommendation to a man 
 of eminence in that profession. His letter was 
 soon answered to his wishes ; a gentleman of 
 known talents, and great practice as a special 
 pleader, was proposed ; an interview took place in 
 London between the parties ; terms were offered 
 and agreed to, and Edward JNIandeville was to 
 commence his new studies in the course of six 
 weeks after the meeting. He returned with the 
 family, who had accompanied him in tliis journey, 
 to Upway, and began to prepare for a much longer 
 absence. 
 
 Edward Mandeville possessed a manly and 
 handsome countenance ; he was tall and well prO' 
 portioned : his features were regular, and his eyes
 
 REVENGE. 137 
 
 quick and penetrating : he \^as of a warm, generous 
 temper, and had a heart susceptible of the finest 
 feelings. Yet, with these quaUfications, Edv/ard 
 w as perhaps more Uable to error, and easy of im- 
 position, than those w ith less virtues and greater 
 discrimination. His unsuspecting nature deprived 
 him of that species of defence wliich was best cal- 
 <;ulated to shield him from the attacks of the artfiil 
 and designing; and while he implicitly believed 
 every one to be his friend, he became incapable of 
 guarding against them as enemies. 
 
 Mr. IMandeville, whose knowledge of the human 
 heart had been gained by fatal and pernicious ex- 
 perience, was not insensible to certain traits in hia 
 nephew's character which seemed to threaten his 
 future happiness. His affection towards him was 
 that of a father for a beloved son: his anxiety 
 for his welfare urged him to daily exhortations oil 
 the line of conduct he should pursue in the metro- 
 polis ; and while he attempted to excite his cau- 
 tion and suspicions on the villany and duplicity of 
 mankind, he experienced those pangs of deep re-
 
 13S TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 morse within his own bosom, which were, in some 
 measure, a retribution for the injuries he had com- 
 mitted. 
 
 The attachment which subsisted between Ed- 
 ward and his cousin Emma, had not escaped his 
 penetration; he beheld it with satisfaction, and 
 looked forward, with the most exquisite pleasure, 
 to that period when he should make them happy 
 in each other. 
 
 These plans of domestic felicity were nourished 
 by Mandeville with all the fond entliusiasm of a 
 doating father. 
 
 Reposing amidst the pleasures of rural retire- 
 ment, surrounded by a family who adored him, 
 his honour unsullied in the eyes of the world, 
 and his present conduct a theme for the admira- 
 tion of all who knew him, he possessed those bless- 
 ings that are beyond even the hopes of many, and 
 the enjoyment of which are attained only by a fe^^^ 
 Could he have banished from his mind a sense
 
 REVENGE. 139 
 
 of past errors; could he have reflected, while 
 in possession of these comforts, that he had 
 never wantonly destroyed those of others, he 
 might perhaps have felt their full force, and have 
 added to the felicity of his family by the confirma- 
 tion of his own happiness. In his present situa- 
 tion, but little foresight was requisite to discover 
 the inward workin2;s of a diseased mind. His at- 
 tempts to deceive the anxious solicitude of his 
 friends, increased his misery ; and the smile which 
 he would sometimes force to sooth them into a be- 
 lief of his serenity, was often followed by the most 
 acute agonies the moment he could escape from 
 their notice. There were even parts of their con- 
 versation in ^vhich they innocently planted daggers 
 in his bosom ; and, while he listened to their just 
 censures on the character of a seducer, he would 
 shrink with hoiTor at the recollection how justly he 
 deserved the punishments they considered as his 
 due. 
 
 The night before Edward's departure was re- 
 served for those few arrangements and observations
 
 HO TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 xvhich are generally included in a last farewell. 
 Emma, who had hitherto supported her spirits 
 with considerable firmness, was evidently depressed 
 during the latter part of the day ; and her cousin, 
 although elevated, in the idea of his new prospects, 
 witli all the glowing warmth of a youthfuj imagi- 
 nation, A\ as yet unable to suppress an occasional 
 sigh of regret, when he thought upon those scenes 
 of felicity from which he -v^as going to separate, 
 pei'haps for ever. 
 
 It was an evening in July, the weather worn 
 serene and beautiful ; the small apartment in 
 which Edward was packuig up his books, opened 
 to an extended lawn ; the beautiful little rivulet 
 which flows through the village of Upway, was 
 continued to Mr. ]VIandeville*s pleasure-grounds, 
 and glided, in graceful simplicity, witliin the sha- 
 dowy Avindings of a grove that skirted the soutli 
 side of the park. This room had always been 
 considered as Edward's study, and was exclusively 
 kept for his use and convenience. Its present 
 disordered appearance Avas very different from the
 
 ftFV'ENGE. 341 
 
 j^gularity and order in which it had been gene- 
 rally preserved ; the books ^ere removed from 
 their shelves, and placed in the packing-cases 
 which had been provided for them. His writing 
 table was taken away, his portfolios were corded 
 together in a remote corner, and his papers 
 spread in confusion at various parts. Edward 
 surveyed this change in his favourite apartment 
 with some degree of anxiety; his mind natu- 
 rally recunred to those comforts and enjoyments 
 he had derived from his uncle, not only in the 
 possession of this room and its contents, but in 
 the endearing society of tlie family he was going 
 to leave. Tliese reflections produced ideas 
 and images which followed fast upon each other, 
 Emma was, perhaps, the most prominent subject 
 of his reverie ; his affection for her had been hi- 
 tlierto concealed within his own bosom ; gratitude 
 for the generosity he had 'experienced from Mr. 
 Mandeville, and a consideration that inferiority of 
 fortune would ever prove an obstacle to obtaining 
 his consent to their union, urged him to struggle
 
 142 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 with his passion; and while he beheld with rap- 
 ture, from the artless manners of Emma, that 
 neither poverty nor obscurity would render him less 
 amiable in her eyes, he proudly gloried in the sa- 
 crifice he made over the strongest inclinations of 
 his heart. 
 
 He pensively walked towards the lawn ; it was 
 twilight ; the foliage was gently agitated by the soft 
 breezes of evening ; the calm serenity of the scene 
 seemed to sooth and animate him ; scarcely a sound 
 could be heard, except the murmuring of the 
 stream over its bed of pebbles ; the sky was clear 
 and spangled ^^ ith innumerable stars ; while a full 
 moon rose with majestic grandeur, and appeared 
 to enliven all nature with its cheering beams. 
 
 Edward contemplated the landscape which sur- 
 rounded him for some time in silent admiration ; 
 it appeared to encourage the pleasing melancholy 
 which had taken possession of his soul ; he threw 
 himself on a garden seat, which stood close to the
 
 REVENGE. 1+3 
 
 door of his apartment, and resigned himself to 
 those reveries in which a warm and youthful ima- 
 gination is sometimes apt to indulge. 
 
 A light tripping step approached him tlirough 
 tlie study, and Emma was at his elbow before he 
 was conscious of her presence. She playfully dis- 
 covered herself by entwining him with some sprigs 
 of jessamine which surrounded the bench on which 
 he was seated. 
 
 " Aye, Edward, have I caught your" she ex- 
 claimed, with a smile ; " so, like a dull moralist, 
 you prefer the enjoyment of silent nature, to the 
 noisy repetition of good wishes for your future wel- 
 fare, which we have been waiting this half hour to 
 bestOAv upon you." 
 
 " It is impossible, Miss JNIandeville," answer- 
 ed Edward, with more than usual animation, " that 
 any enjoyments can exceed those which I have ex- 
 perienced in the society of the beloved inhabitants
 
 t*-* TALES OF TIIE PASSIONS. 
 
 of this cottage ; believe nie, Emma, if the high 
 sense I have ever had of its value was capable of 
 augmentation, I should experience it at this mo- 
 ment, when I am about to leave you all, perhaps 
 for ever." 
 
 The smile on Emma's countenance gradually 
 died away, and it \vas with difficulty she could con- 
 ceal her tears. 
 
 " Indeed," she cried, with much earnestness, 
 " I am sorry my giddy nonsense should have occa- 
 sioned you such melancholy reflections. I would 
 not have intruded upon you thus, but they are now 
 all waiting in the drawing-room to give you some 
 little presents, which may serve as remembrances 
 of their affection. The humble token which I 
 have to present, would appear trivial and unwor- 
 thy, wdien blended with those of your other friends, 
 and therefore I resolved to give it you alone." 
 
 Emma now took from her bosom a small cor-
 
 REVENGE. U5 
 
 nelian locket, in the form of a heart ; it was neatly 
 set in gold, and suspended to a chain of the 
 same. 
 
 Edward gazed on her with rapture, as she mo- 
 destly held it for his acceptance. 
 
 '' Oh ! Emma," he exclaimed, as he kissed the 
 offering which she presented, " may this precious 
 trinket inspire me to merit the regard of her who 
 gives it. May you ever enjoy the felicity your 
 lirtues so eminently deserve! to hear of your wel- 
 fare, and to know that you are happy, will be to me 
 a source of the most supreme gratification." 
 
 " Alas ! Edward," cried the trembling girl, 
 while her voice faltered with emotion, " those 
 changes of situation which you are now going to 
 experience, will naturally produce new friendships 
 and affections ; I would not so far \n rong you, as 
 to suppose they will annihilate your former ones ; 
 
 yet (and she paused for some time, as if 
 
 doubtful of the propriety of that she had already
 
 14(3 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 uttered, as well as what she was going to observe) 
 yet, although they may not destroy " 
 
 " For heaven's sake, Emma!" exclaimed Ed- 
 ward, in a voice of extreme tenderness, while his 
 arm gently encircled her waist, " torture me not 
 with these cruel suspicions; can I ever forget 
 those hours of exquisite felicity which have mark- 
 ^ed even the years of our childhood ? can I fail to 
 remember but with ecstasy, that endearing appel- 
 lation which stamps you the sister of my heart ? 
 Should the hour ever arrive when I become insen- 
 sible of these blessings, may I be rendered incapa- 
 ble of the enjoyment of every other." 
 
 Emma was saved the difficulty of a reply to 
 these warm assertions, by the arrival of a servant, 
 who informed Edward that his uncle required his 
 attendance in his study. He conducted Emma to 
 the drawing-room, and immediately obeyed the 
 summons he had received. 
 
 , On his entering the apartment, he discovered
 
 REVENGE. 147 
 
 j\fr. Mandeville seated at his writing table; he 
 was in a meditating posture, his head rested on his 
 hand, his hair was disordered, his countenance 
 was pale, and his mind apparently much agitated. 
 It was some time before he observed Edward Avas 
 in the room ; several papers were before him, which 
 at intervals he appeared to read with much ear- 
 nestness, but their contents seemed to increase 
 his emotion, and occasion the most acute sensa- 
 tions. 
 
 Edward approached with anxiety; his uncle 
 gazed upon him tenderly for some moments, and 
 then desired him to be seated. He several timei> 
 attempted to speak, but his voice failed ; at length, 
 after summoning considerable resolution, he thus 
 addressed him : — • 
 
 *' It has ever been, Edward, one of my nrst 
 wishes that you should be convinced, by the most 
 unequivocal proofs, of my regard for your prospe- 
 rity and happiness. From the hour you were first 
 thrown upon my protection I felt the stronge^^t in- 
 
 l2
 
 148 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 terest for your welfare ; and if the endearments of 
 your infantile caresses aided to win my heart, the 
 virtues of your succeeding years have been fully 
 sufficient to preserve it. 
 
 " In the plans which I have formed for yoiu- 
 establishment in life, I have been guided by mo- 
 tives which I considered best calculated to pro- 
 mote your future comfort ; and although our sepa- 
 ration may occasion me some uneasiness, yet I 
 could not, under sellish wishes for your society, 
 injuro those prospects to which you have now a 
 right to look forw^ard, 
 
 " In my agreement with INIr. Oswald for the 
 term and regulations of your studies in the law, I 
 have been as liberal as the limits of my fortune, in 
 justice to my wife and daughter, would permit, 
 and my allowances for your support, and expenses 
 for your pleasures, shall be such as a son of my 
 own would have no reason to complain of — Nay, 
 nay, I will have no thanks ; continue but the same- 
 line of conduct you have hitherto puisued, and I
 
 REVTNGE. 149 
 
 shall he fully repaid for all my services. On this 
 point there ^^•ill now, perhaps, be some trials on 
 your resolution to which you have hitherto been a 
 stranger. I have already cautioned you against 
 those quicksands on which the happiness of num- 
 bers have been foundered : in the delirium of 
 youthful passions, in the pursuit of false and de- 
 lusive pleasures, have some care on your actions, 
 and if incapable of becoming a puritan, at least 
 remember that you are a man." 
 
 Mr. jMandeville's agitation ^^sibly increased : 
 he gi'asped tire hand of his nephew with violence, 
 and gazed steadfastly on him for some time with- 
 out speaking. 
 
 " Edward," he continued in a low and tremu- 
 lous voice, " there are crimes that may be com- 
 mitted under the influence of inordinate passions 
 and uncontrolled inclinations, which, in moments of 
 the wild insanity they occasion, appear sanctioned 
 by custom, and excused by the volatility of youth ; 
 such palliations are fallacious ; the poison they in-
 
 150 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 fuse is not the punishment of a few hours' re- 
 flection, which leads to a sense of past errors and 
 calls forth resolutions of amendment : no, Edward, 
 they inflict miseries which are beyond tlie power of 
 reparation ; tliey produce anguish and remorse 
 which neither time nor circumstances can me- 
 liorate ; they engender the guilty horrors of a dis- 
 eased conscience, which, increasing with age, blast- 
 every joy, and contaminate every blessing." 
 
 Mr. Mandeville was now totally deprived of 
 utterance by the violence of his feelings ; drops of 
 perspiration stood on his forehead, and his hysteric 
 sighs were most alarming. Edward ^vas going to 
 ring for assistance, but he motioned him to the 
 contrary ; and after a few minutes seemed in some 
 degree to recover himself Pie continued lan- 
 guidly ;— 
 
 " I am subject at times to these violent af- 
 fections, which gradually impair my strength and 
 destroy my health. I have already, I believe, Ed- 
 ward, -settled your cash accounts to your satis-
 
 REVENGE, 151 
 
 faction ; but I have one more present to make 
 you. 
 
 He again seemed to relapse under his former 
 emotions. 
 
 ''This miniature !" he exclaimed, taking a small 
 picture from a private draAver in his escritoir, " is 
 a portrait of your late mother ; you are its rightful 
 possessor ; alas ! it was your only inheritance." 
 
 He remained some time in silent agony, look- 
 ing alternately upon Edward and the painting. 
 
 " You greatly resemble her," he cried, as he 
 gently parted the hair on his forehead to trace 
 more minutely the likeness. 
 
 " And my father 1 Sir;" interrupted Edward, 
 much affected, " have you no memorial of my 
 father also r" 
 
 The question seemed as an electrical shock to.
 
 132 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 the feelings of his uncle ; his whole frame shook 
 with convulsive agony ; the trinket dropped from 
 his hand, while his eyes became fixed on the 
 astonished youth in all the phrensy of despair. 
 
 " Your father," he replied, " your father — ■ 
 yes, yes, this heart contains the memorial of his 
 injuries; they are never to be obliterated; they 
 form my daily reverie and nightly dream ; mingle 
 in my cup of sweets the fatal drop ^vhich poisons 
 all my joys ; envelop my existence in gloomy 
 shade, and annihilate every hope of future com- 
 fort." 
 
 " I M^ould not for worlds, Sir, have occasioned 
 you these sufferings," exclaimed Edward, , " had I 
 teen aware that my imprudent question would 
 have produced them." 
 
 " I have myself occasioned them, my dear 
 boy," answered his uncle, as he embraced him 
 with the most lively emotions ; I am unable to say 
 half 1 intended to you ; we will talk more to-mor-
 
 REVENGE. 155 
 
 row : take the picture, and wear it next your heart ; 
 with respect to your father, Edward, be satisfied 
 with this assurance, that if you emulate his virtues 
 you will deserve to be happy." 
 
 Edward quitted the chamber of his uncle, lost 
 in reflections on his extraordinary behaviour. 
 The miniature represented a young and beautiful 
 woman ; he gazed upon it with delight. 
 
 *' This, then,'' he exclaimed, " is the likeness 
 of my mother : I will indeed wear it next my 
 heart ; it shall be the companion of my joys and 
 sorrows : but my father — he sustained injuries, 
 was unfortunate and unhappy : these very circum- 
 stances increase my affection to his memory : shall 
 I never behold a resemblance of his features ?". 
 
 He was interrupted by a summons to supper. 
 
 Emma and Mrs. Mandeville only were at the 
 table; his uncle, he was informed, was unwell, 
 and had retired for the night. Their meal ^vas a
 
 154 TALES OF THE PASSIONS, 
 
 melancholy one. ]\Irs. Mandeville attempted con- 
 versation, but she failed either to interest her com- 
 panions or herself. 
 
 It was settled that Mr. Mandeville should ac- 
 company Edward to Blandford; he had at first 
 resolved to proceed with him to London, but his 
 presence being required at Dorchester on some 
 ur<yent law business, he was necessitated to alter 
 his plans. They were to depart at an early hour 
 in the morning ; Edward, therefore, took leave of 
 his aunt and Emma, and bid farewel to the do- 
 mestics, before he retired to rest : but his thoughts 
 were so much occupied in reflection on the past 
 and anticipation of the future, as to prevent his 
 gaining any repose.
 
 EEVENGE. 155 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SKETCHES FROIM NATURE. 
 
 Edward Mandeville and his uncle left Up- 
 way by four o'clock the following morning. The 
 latter renewed his conversation of the evening be- 
 fore, and seemed better prepared to sustain it. In 
 describing to his ii^ephew the melancholy conse- 
 quences which were often the result of youthful 
 levity, he was evidently much agitated, but he ap- 
 peared to have formed the most determined reso- 
 lution to struggle with his feelings, and conceal the 
 agony they occasioned him. 
 
 On their arrival at Blandford, where it had 
 been fixed they should separate, they alighted at 
 one of the principal inns, and ordered breakfast.
 
 150 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 The stage in which Edward was to continue his 
 journey, stopped at this house on its way to Lon- 
 don, and was expected in the course of half an 
 hour. The landlord conducted them into a lartje 
 room, in which he said another gentleman was 
 waiting for the same conveyance. 
 
 This person was seated in a remote corner, 
 close wrapped up. He seemed in ill health ; wore 
 a green shade over his eyes, and rested in a me- 
 lancholy posture on the table which was before 
 him. He suddenly rose at the sound of Mr. Man- 
 deville's voice, who addressed tlie landlord as he 
 entered the apartment. The visitors civilly begged 
 they might not disturb him ; the stranger resumed 
 his seat, but appeared to labour under violent agi- 
 tations. 
 
 During their breakfast, Mr. Mandeville several 
 times addressed him on different topics, but could 
 obtain no other answers than a mere monosyllable, 
 and that delivered in so low a tone of voice, as 
 scarcely to be lizard. Ethvard having left the
 
 UEVENGB. ^ 157 
 
 room to see after his luggage, he made another 
 attempt. 
 
 " My young friend, Sir," said he, " is, I un- 
 derstand, to be your fellow-traveller to day ; I am 
 afraid you will find him but an indifferent compa- 
 nion. A separation from family connexions, and 
 the loss of family comforts, are not to be sustained 
 without some little regret ; particularly by those 
 who are sensible of their value." 
 
 " Sir, Sir," answered the stranger, with sudden 
 animation, although his emotions almost stifled ar- 
 ticulation, " they are not to be lost by a man who 
 has a just estimate of them without distraction ; 
 he who has once tasted their sweets is the only 
 one capable of feeling such a misfortune." 
 
 There was a peculiarity in the "manner and 
 voice with which these words were delivered, 
 which struck Mr. Mandeville most forcibly. Ed- 
 w^ard returned, and the stranger left the room with 
 precipitation.
 
 >58 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 " There is something," said his uncle, after a 
 pause, " extremely interesting in that man ; he is 
 entitled to your attention, Edward; he is unfor- 
 tunate." 
 
 They were now informed by the waiter, that 
 the stage was ready. Ed^vard once more em- 
 braced his uncle, who followed him to the door. 
 
 There were but two other persons in the coach 
 besides himself; the gentleman already noticed, 
 and a young woman who had come with it from 
 Dorchester. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville waved his hand in a last adieu, 
 as the vehicle drove from the inn, and immediate- 
 ly after he entered the carriage which waited to 
 return with him to Upway. 
 
 A profound silence was preserved by the tra- 
 vellers for some time during the first part of their 
 journey. Edw ard's mind was wholly occupied in 
 reflections on the strange conduct of his uncle the
 
 REVENGE. 159 
 
 night before, mid in anticipation on the new scene 
 of life in which he was going to be introduced. At 
 intervals, a deep sigh from his companion opposite 
 interrupted his reveries, and brought to his recol' 
 lection the words of Mr. Mandeville, as they were 
 parting, that he seemed entitled to his attention. 
 He addressed him upon indifferent subjects, and 
 his answers were delivered with less hesitation 
 than he had evinced before they quitted the inn. 
 At times he removed the green shade from his 
 eyes, and fixed them on Edward with most extraor- 
 dinary earnestness. His person was emaciajted ; 
 he had an expressive face, but it w as pale, witlier- 
 ed, and ghastly. 
 
 The young woman who sat next to him was of 
 interesting appearance ; she was dressed in deep 
 mourning, and seemed melancholy and dejected. 
 By her conversation, which was diffident and re- 
 served, they understood that her mother had been 
 dead some years, and that she had lately lost her 
 father. She was now going to her only remaining 
 relative, an aunt, in London, to receive her advice
 
 160 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 on some mode of procuring a living, as her father 
 had not left sufficient property to support her. 
 The simplicity of her tale, and the manner in which 
 she related it, were affecting; the stranger seemed 
 to feel for her situation, and Edward experienced 
 a considerable degree of interest in her sorrow s. 
 
 A short time after they had passed tlirough 
 Salisbury, the coach was hailed by one uhose pe- 
 culiar dress and manner arrested the attention of 
 the passengers. He was a tall, healthy, and florid 
 looking man, apparently about forty ; he was seat- 
 ed on a mile-stone, with a portfolio on his knees, 
 and a pencil in his hand, the point of which he Avas 
 in the act of sharpening, at the moment the stage 
 caught his eye. He was dressed in a nankeen 
 jacket and trowsers, which, by their appearance, 
 seemed to have been the principal, if not the only 
 travelling suit of his wardrobe; his white dimity 
 waistcoat Mas entirely unbuttoned, and his cravat 
 hung loose round his neck. A high crowned hat, 
 with narrow rim, was placed on one side of his 
 head, and added to the prominent character of his
 
 KEVENGE. 161 
 
 full red face, in which content and good nature 
 were forcibly depicted. He inquired of the driver 
 if he had any room inside, and being answered in 
 the affirmative, he immediately thrusted his pencil 
 into his pocket, and, placing his folio mider his arm, 
 approached the door, which the man had by this 
 time opened for him ; he had no sooner, however, 
 put his foot upon the first step, than his attention 
 was suddenly fixed on one of the horses, whose 
 lean carcase, and bare ribs, seemed to afford him 
 evident satisfaction. 
 
 *' By G — d!'' he exclaimed, "that horse is 
 quite a study ; there's anatomy ! there's bone ! I 
 .$ay, you sir, can't you stop a few minutes, while I 
 make a sketch of that animal ? " 
 
 The coachman gazed on him with amazement, 
 and answered, rather sullenly, he could not stop for 
 any one before he changed horses at Andover. 
 
 " Change horses ! " exclaimed the artist, " by 
 G-r— d, you shall never change that horse till I get 
 
 31
 
 162 TALES OF THE PASSIO^vS. 
 
 him in liere — " pointing to his foho ; " gracious 
 heaven ! what ribs are there ! people feed their 
 horses so now, that we have no chance of getting at 
 th« anatomy ! " 
 
 On concluding these words, he jumped into 
 the vehicle, and stared on his companions as if he 
 intended to make them also studies for his art. 
 
 By his conversation, they soon found that he 
 was an enthusiast in his profession, and had been 
 on an excursion of some weeks, collecting what he 
 considered the most precious morceaus. Indeed, 
 if his success had been equal to his industry in 
 this department of his art, Mr. INIopsey's portfolio 
 must, at all events, have contained some valuable 
 materials, for he confined himself to no particular 
 subject; men, beasts, birds, and reptiles; houses, 
 trees, rivers, lakes, and seas, w ith all the et cceteras 
 of landscape, by turns claimed his attention, and 
 Avere mingled together in detached scraps within 
 the little pasteboard universe he carried under his 
 arm; the contents of which might, in some respects,
 
 REVENGE. 163 
 
 be said to illustrate the sentence of a well-known 
 poet — " The wreck of matter, and the crush of 
 worlds." Wholly wrapped up in a pursuit which 
 formed the principal source of his felicity, he expe- 
 rienced no uneasiness from the little profit he de- 
 rived in it ; and with a scanty income, a wife, and 
 five children, ]\lr. Mopsey was perhaps one of the 
 happiest men in existence. His follies were rather 
 those of the head than the heart ; he had a good 
 temper, and a robust constitution, while the power 
 of following the dictates of his favourite amuse- 
 ment rendered him always cheerful and con- 
 tent. 
 
 On their stopping to change horses at Ando- 
 ver, Mopsey persisted in his resolution of making 
 a sketch of the poor half-starved animal whose 
 bare ribs had already occasioned him such ecstasy. 
 The man remonstrated, but the artist followed him 
 to the stable, and contrived to get all but the head 
 and tail, before the vehicle M'as again ready to set 
 off. On entering the coach, he handed his work 
 to his companions, whose civility urged them to 
 
 M 2
 
 164. TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 praise the performance, but who much regretted 
 the poor creature was in so mutilated a condi- 
 tion. 
 
 '' Never mind that, never mind that !" exclaim- 
 ed Mopsey, " the first head and tail I see worthy 
 of so beautiful a carcase, shall be clapped on him, 
 you may depend upon it, and then he will be as 
 complete an animal as any in the kingdom." He 
 engrossed the chief part of the conversation during 
 the remainder of the journey, and made a sketch 
 at almost every ale-house where the horses halted 
 for refreshment. 
 
 The travellers arrived at an inn near Hyde 
 Park-corner, at a late hour in the evening; Mr. 
 .I\Iopsey presented each of his companions with a 
 card of his address, declaring that, should they 
 want any thing in his tcay, he should be proud and 
 happy to attend them. On alighting, he seemed 
 particularly struck with the figure of a little de- 
 formed man, who attended to assist the passengers, 
 and who would most probably have obtained a
 
 REVENGE, 165 
 
 place in his collection, had not a hard shower of 
 rain interfered with the necessary arrangements 
 for that purpose : he therefore briefly bid his fel- 
 low-travellers adieu, and placing his folio, as 
 well as he could, under his jacket, ran down Pic- 
 cadilly with considerable agility, to the great en- 
 tertainment of the surrounding persons. 
 
 Edward and the other passengers entered the 
 coffee-room ; the young female eagerly inquired 
 at the bar if any one w as there to meet her ; and 
 with astonishment and alarm received an answer 
 in the negative. Her aunt resided at the further 
 part of the city; she was totally unacquainted 
 with London, and, owing to the inclemency of the 
 weather, she was unable to get a hpickney-coacli. 
 Her fellow-travellers advised her to remiain at the 
 inn that night, and in the mean time Edward 
 agreed with a porter to carry a few lines from her 
 to her relation. The man promised to bring her 
 an answer early in the morning, but could not be 
 persuaded to return the same evening. She re- 
 tired to bed under considerable anxiety and di-
 
 166 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 stress ; while Edward and his remaining companion 
 agreed to sup together, as they both resolved to 
 sleep at the house where they then \\ere. He now 
 understood from the stranger that his name was 
 Osborne : that he had no family, and possessed a 
 moderate independence. lie had been some time 
 on a visit to a friend in Dorsetshire, but said he 
 usually resided in town, and had lodgings near 
 Manchester-square. 
 
 There was a mysterious hesitation in Ins dis- 
 course and behaviour, which A\ould have excited 
 both curiosity and caution in one more accustomed 
 to general society than Edward IMandeville. At 
 intervals he seemed lost in thought for several mi- 
 nutes together, and then, as if recollecting himself, 
 would start some subject of conversation which 
 tended to draw from Edward observations on the 
 home he had just quitted. 
 
 Naturally communicative and open, he men- 
 tioned the course of study he was going to com- 
 mence, and also the name of the gentleman to
 
 REMiNGE. 107 
 
 whom he was ens-ased. He Ukewise related, that, 
 by the recommendation of "Sir. Oswald, he w as to 
 become an mmate at the house of a ]\Ir. Guilford 
 near the Temple, whose mode of living was ac- 
 counted extremely liberal and genteel. 
 
 Mr. Osborne appeared surprised and please,d 
 at the mention of the last gentleman's name, who, 
 he said, w-as his particular friend ; and added, u ith 
 a faint smile, he was happy to tind that this night 
 would not be the last of their acquaintance. After 
 a pause of some minutes he turned suddenly to 
 Edward, and exclaimed, " I suppose. Sir, your 
 uncle, in the arrangements which he has made, 
 planned them with all that anxiety which a tender 
 and affectionate parent feels for a beloved son." 
 
 ''Oh yes!" answered Edward with energy, 
 "he is all goodness, all benevolence; could you 
 but see him, Sir, in the midst of his little do- 
 mestic circle, could you but witness his satisfac- 
 tion and joy as he gazes on a beloved wife ai\d 
 child"
 
 168 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 The countenance of Mr. Osborne, as he listen- 
 ed to this relation, underwent the most serious 
 and alarming changes ; his whole frame seemed 
 convulsed with violent emotions, which he in vain 
 attempted to conceal. Edward, surprised and 
 terrified, rose from his chair to call assistance; 
 but the former caught his arm, and declared in a 
 trembling voice that he was subject to these at»- 
 tacks, which seldom lasted longer than a few mi- 
 nutes. — He appeared after a little time to recover, 
 and proposed a game at backgammon for half an 
 hour, before they retired to rest. Edward, fa- 
 tigued with his journey, would much rather have 
 gone to bed, but not liking to refuse so trifling a 
 request, he immediately assented, and they com- 
 menced their play. 
 
 Mr. Osborne offered rather high stakes, yet 
 paid but little attention to his points, although he 
 seemed to have a perfect knowledge of the game. 
 He appeared entirely taken up in silent observa- 
 tions on the effects which the alternate losses and 
 gains had upon his opponent; and at intervals
 
 REVENGE. 169 
 
 evinced a secret satisfaction at the interest he took 
 in the amusement. 
 
 Edward, however reluctantly he might have 
 begun the play, continued it M'ith considerable 
 eagerness, and could scarcely be prevailed upon 
 at a late hour to leave the table. He concluded 
 a winner of t\vo guineas, which iVIr. Osborne 
 seemed purposely to have lost. 
 
 The following morning the young female was 
 to breakfast with them by appointment; they 
 found her in the most severe distress : the porter 
 who had taken her letter the preceding evening 
 had returned with the information, that her aunt 
 had died suddenly a few days before, and that she 
 liad left her affairs in the hands of a distant relative 
 to her late husband, of whom her niece had no 
 knowledge. 
 
 The agony of Lydia at this intelligence was 
 extreme ; she had but a few pounds in her pocket, 
 which ^^•as the whole of her property, nor ^^ as she
 
 170 TALES OF THE t>ASSIONS. 
 
 acquainted with a single person in London to 
 ivhom she could apply for advice or assistance. 
 
 Edward listened to the artless and affecting re- 
 cital of her misfortunes with the most lively emo- 
 tions ; he promised to inquire himself into the con- 
 cerns of the deceased, and maintain her right with 
 respect to the property she might have possessed. 
 
 He conceived her presence in London might 
 be absolutely necessary on this business, and 
 therefore advised her to seek out a respectable 
 and private lodging, where she might remain, at 
 least till the state of her late aunt's affairs were in 
 some desree ascertained. 
 
 "tj* 
 
 She was totally unacquainted with the streets 
 of London, and knew not where to apply. Ed- 
 ward declared he w^ould himself assist her ; and re- 
 turning to Mr. Osborne, whom he had left in the 
 coffee-room, he informed him of his resolution, 
 and, settling his share of the bill, took leave of him 
 for the mornins;.
 
 REVENGE. 171 
 
 ^Mr. Osborne shook him bv the hand, and de- 
 dared they should soon meet again : at the same 
 time raihed him on the task he had just under- 
 taken with a degree of levity which rather shocked 
 than cn-atiiied him. 
 
 G" 
 
 On his return to Lydia he proposed they 
 should inquire of the landlord if he knew of any 
 apartment which 'svas likely to suit her. This was 
 accordingly done, and he reconnnended a house 
 4)ut a short distance from his own. Edward took 
 a card from liis pocket to w rite down the direc- 
 tion. It was that which had been presented to 
 him by Mr. jMopsey, and reading it, for the first 
 time, he discovered, under a flourishing descrip- 
 tion of his profession, in small and humble letters, 
 Lodgings to let. 
 
 Immediately the landlord had left the room he 
 communicated his discovery to Lydia, who seemed 
 inclined to make it her first place of application. 
 
 Having procured a coach, they drove imme-
 
 172 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 diately to the house of the artist, near Soho- 
 square. The door was opened by a servant girl, 
 who answered that her master was out, but her 
 mistress would speak to them directly. They 
 were conducted into a back parlour, ^^hich A\as 
 chiefly considered as Mr. Mopsey's study : it was 
 a small gloomy room, barren of furniture, and ex- 
 tremely dirty. Half-finished sketches were spread 
 about it in every part ; an old easel, on which was 
 a canvass with the head and shoulders of a horse 
 rubbed in upon it, stood in the middle of the 
 apartment, and the disconsolate half-starved car- 
 case of the old mare he had ran away with the 
 day before, was fastened up by two black hat-pins 
 over the chimney-piece. Vials, brushes, paint- 
 pots, pieces of canvass, broken plaster cast», 
 several bones, and sundry other articles, were 
 scattered about in the utmost confusion. 
 
 They remained but a few minutes before Mrs. 
 Mopsey entered. She was a good-looking woman, 
 neatly dressed, and extremely pleasing in her man- 
 ner. She informed them Mr. iMopsey had left
 
 REVENGE. 17 S 
 
 home early in the morning, to take a sketch of a 
 remarkable fat ox, which was exiiibiting at differ- 
 ent fairs round the metropolis, and that she did 
 not expect him to return before the following 
 ilav. 
 
 " I was in hopes," answered Edward, " that 
 as Air. JMopsey returned fi^om a long journey but 
 last night, we should have been sure to have met 
 \Vith him this morning." 
 
 Mrs. Alopsey sighed, as she replied, that would 
 proljably have been the case, but that on coming 
 down Piccadilly in his way home the night before, 
 a man at tlie corner of one of the streets put a bill 
 into his hand of tlie before-mentioned ox, which 
 so excited his curiosity and desire of possessing a 
 resemblance of it, that he resolved to leave Lon- 
 don again the next day, 
 
 Edward declared that with respect to the busi- 
 ness they were come upon sh^ would do equally 
 well. He informed her of the exact situation of
 
 174- TALES OF THE PASSIONS, 
 
 his fair companion, and requested to know if she 
 had an apartment which would suit her. I\Ii*s. 
 Mopsey answered, that she could accommodate 
 her with a bed-room, and that she was welcome 
 to board with them, which would save her both 
 trouble and expense. Lydia seemed happy to ac- 
 cept this proposal ; her thanks were modestly, yet 
 fervently, expressed to Edward for his friendly as- 
 sistance ; who, after repeating his promise of in- 
 quiry into the will of her aunt, took his leave, and 
 proceeded immediately on his own concerns. 
 
 It was near twelve o'clock ; and he hunied 
 towards the chambers of Mr. Oswald in the 
 Temple. On his arrival he was informed ]\fr. 
 Oswald was engaged on urgent business, but 
 would be at leisure in a short time. He was con- 
 ducted into a small antichamber, and having 
 taken a seat, began to reflect on the new scene of 
 life in which he was now going to engage. 
 
 Mr. Oswald, as has been before observed, was 
 a man of the first eminence in his profession ; but^
 
 REVENGE. 17* 
 
 like most men who arrive at this distinction, he 
 had acquired a degree of pedantry and hauteur in 
 liis behaviour which is sure to excite either alarm 
 or disoust. He was a tall thin fjmire, with a 
 swarthy complexion, and dark full eye-brows; he 
 stooped much in the shoulders, and appeared heavy 
 and inactive. One general rule of conduct which 
 he had adopted was, that of talking as little as 
 possible : the regret with which he seemed to part 
 with his Avords, appeared to affect even the manner 
 and tone of his articulation ; and the long pauses 
 which he usually made between those he was ne- 
 cessitated to utter, implied an ardent desire of 
 keeping them to himself. 
 
 In the course of an hour Edward was con- 
 ducted to bini. He was surrounded with large 
 folio books, parchments, and papers. He was 
 resting on the table before him in a thoughtful 
 posture, and a clerk was standing on each side as 
 if waiting for his commands. Edward had en- 
 tered the room some minutes before he signified, 
 by a sliglit inclination of the head, that he saw him,
 
 176 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 and likewise motioned him to be seated. Tiie 
 clerks withdrew by ?» niechanical movement of his 
 arm, whirJ* cfiey had been taugiit to consider as a 
 signal of dismission. 
 
 Several minutes again elapsed before Mr. Os- 
 wald broke" the silence which was both irksome 
 and distressing to his new pupil. He at length 
 addressed him, pausing between every two or 
 three words in a manner which rendered it diffi- 
 cult to discover whether he waited for an answer 
 or intended to proceed. 
 
 " Mr. Mandeville 1 hope you have well 
 
 considered and reflected upon the profession you 
 
 are about to embrace. It is a study, Sir, which 
 
 requires brilliant talents, unremitting industry, 
 
 assiduous application, and the most rigid 
 
 temperance and morality" 
 
 Heie was so long a pause that Edward con- 
 ceived he had certainly no more to say, and had 
 just begun to answer, when he perceived by the
 
 REVENGE. 177 
 
 motion of Mr. Oswald's mouth, which generally 
 opened some little time before the sound of his 
 voice was heard, that he had not yet concluded his 
 harangue; he therefore stopped short, but the 
 learned gentleman, with a most unmeaning gaze, 
 instead of concluding his observations, suddenly 
 exclaimed, as if waiting for the reply, " Sir?" 
 
 Edward, in some degree confused and dis- 
 gusted by the affectation of his manners, again he- 
 sitated to answer ; but, finding Mr. Oswald had re- 
 lapsed into his former silence, he ventured to ob- 
 serve, that he was fully convinced of the justness 
 of his remarks, and returned him thanks for the 
 trouble he had taken in the recommendation of a 
 family, where he might enjoy those domestic com- 
 forts that were the best preventatives against one 
 of the evils to which he had alluded. 
 
 Mr. Oswald again fixed his large black eyes 
 upon the face of Edward with a stare of increased 
 astonishment ; and once more articulated the word 
 Sir, with additional emphasis and singularity.
 
 178 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Edward, whose feelings were in some degi'ee 
 hurt at this strange and pecuHar reception, imme- 
 diately mentioned the letter which his uncle had 
 received from him, in which, agreeably to the re- 
 quest of Mr. Mandeville, he had recommended a 
 private family as the most eligible home for his 
 nephew, and 'mentioned a gentleman of the name 
 of Guilford, whose house was well calculated for 
 his purpose. 
 
 Mr. Oswald rang his bell, and asked for his 
 senior pupil, of whom he inquired if any letter 
 had been sent, Avithin a few weeks past, to Mr. 
 Mandeville of Dorsetshire. The young man an- 
 swered in the affirmative, and produced a copy ; 
 he had himself written it from Mr. Oswald's 
 orders, who had signed it with his own hand. 
 
 In this epistle, Edward's assertions were con- 
 firmed, and the house of Mr. Guilford recom- 
 mended as a desirable habitation. 
 
 Another long pause ensued ; when Mr. Oswald
 
 REVENGE. 17 y 
 
 suddenly desired to know who this Mr. Guilford 
 was that he had recommended, for he had never 
 recollected to have heard his name before. 
 
 The pupil replied, that he had taken the liberty 
 to mention that gentleman's name to IVfr. Oswald, 
 in answer to the inquiries he made of bim on the 
 subject. 
 
 " Oh ! aye, aye," replied Mr. Oswald, while 
 his eyes were half shut, and his mouth wide open. 
 " yes, yes, I think I have some recollection about 
 it now ; I dare say it is all right, but can't exactly 
 say." Upon which, looking at his Match, he sud- 
 denly rose from his chair, declared he must wait 
 upon the chancellor, and, seizing his hat and canCj 
 immediately left the chamber without uttering 
 another syllable. 
 
 The young man remained, and observing Ed- 
 ward's surprise and chagrin, requested he would 
 not give himself any concern on the few eccentri- 
 cities he might observe in Mr. Oswald's conduct. 
 
 V 2
 
 180 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 " It is an aftectation of singularity," said he, 
 *' which he puts on as he does his gown and wig; 
 he is naturally a good tempered, pleasant man, but 
 labours under the false notion that cheerfulness 
 and good humour are incompatible with the dignity 
 of his professional character. He is unwilling to 
 remember any of the common occurrences of life, 
 because he considers them below his notice. To 
 acquire this line of conduct, was at first a severe 
 task, but habit has now rendered it natural ; and 
 on such topics he makes a general rule of remain- 
 ing silent, and forgetting every thing, merely to 
 create astonishment in some, and to be reminded 
 by others." 
 
 However inoffensive this mode of conduct 
 might be, with respect to many of the daily con- 
 cerns of life in which Mr. Oswald adopted it, yet 
 the present instance was certainly one where his 
 apathy was criminal, and his indolence a breach of 
 faith not to be excused by the weakness of affec- 
 tation. The circumstances under which he was 
 urged to recommend a domesticated family calcu-
 
 REVENGE. 181 
 
 lated for the home of a young man just entering 
 into life, were of too delicate and serious a nature 
 to be made subservient to his ridiculous vanity; 
 it was a point on which he should either have de- 
 cided from his own judgement and experience, or 
 have totally dechned answering ; his feelings shoulfl 
 have subdued his pedantry, and his favourite maxim, 
 for once, have given way to an apprehension of 
 the consequences which might result from it. 
 
 As there appeared little hope of procuring in- 
 formation from Mr. Oswald, either as to the ge- 
 neral forms of business to be pursued at his cham- 
 bers, or the arrangements necessary to be made 
 with Mr. Guilford, Edward conceived it policy to 
 apply to the young man, from whom it now ap- 
 peared the recommendation of the latter had ori- 
 ginated. His person and manners were prepos- 
 sessing ; he seemed anxious to give him every in- 
 struction in his power, and offered to accompany 
 him to Mr. Guilford's, with whom he said he had 
 been acquainted for some time, and whose plea- 
 santry and gaiety he highly extolled.
 
 182 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Edward agreed to this proposal with pleasure ; 
 and after two hours, which was dedicated to giv- 
 ing him some insight into the train of study he was 
 to pursue as to the copying of precedents, &c. they 
 proceeded to Mr. Guilford's dwelling. 
 
 The house seemed handsome and spacious ; 
 the door was opened by a livery servant, who in- 
 formed them his master Avas at home, and con- 
 ducted them to his library. 
 
 In a few minutes, the gentleman of the man- 
 sion appeared. He had a fine commanding figure, 
 and very handsome countenance ; his manners 
 were easy and insinuating ; the smile which con- 
 stantly played on his countenance when he spoke, 
 seemed to impress his hearers with a perfect 
 confidence of his good humour. The conversa- 
 tion between him and Mr. Orby, the gentleman 
 who accompanied Edward, was descriptive of the 
 gaiety in which they lived; several persons were 
 expected to dinner on that day, and Mr. Orby 
 was prevailed upon to make one of the party.
 
 REVENGE. 183 
 
 Half an hour had not elapsed, before ]\Ir. Os- 
 borne was introduced ; he seemed much pleased 
 at being able so soon to renew his acquaintance 
 with Edward ; appeared to have some knowledge 
 of Orby, and to be on terms of intimac}' with Mr. 
 Guilford. The latter now proposed to show Mr. 
 IVIandeville the apartments which were to be al- 
 lotted to him : they consisted of a small drawing- 
 room, a bed chamber, and a dressing closet ; and 
 each of them were handsomely furnished. Ed- 
 ward was perfectly satisfied with his accommoda- 
 tion, and highly delighted with the behaviour of 
 his host. 
 
 On their returning to the library, they found 
 Mrs. Guilford. Mandeville expected to have seen 
 at least a woman of forty ; on the contrary, she 
 seemed little more than half that age ; her figure 
 was petite^ yet elegant, and her countenance, 
 though not regularly handsome, extremely inter- 
 esting and agreeable. Her manners were polish- 
 ed, and her conversation lively and pleasing.
 
 184 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Their dinner consisted of a profusion of dishes 
 very handsomely served up ; the wine was briskly 
 circulated, and Edward, charnned with the appear- 
 ance of the family in which he was to become an 
 inmate, soon forgot the mortifying reception he 
 had received from Mr. Oswald. After their cof- 
 fee, cards were proposed ; Edward was seated at 
 the same table with Mr. Osborne. He was at 
 first astonished, and somewhat alarmed, at tlie 
 high stakes which were offered ; but he gained 
 confidence in the progress of the game, during 
 which he flattered himself that he possessed a su- 
 periority of judgement over his adversaries. They 
 did not conclude till a late hour, and Edward 
 found himself a winner of twelve guineas. 
 
 On retiring to his chamber, he had time for re- 
 flection ; he was aware, from what he had v^ itness- 
 ed this evening, that the house of Mr. Guilford was 
 not exactly a situation suited to his uncle's ideas. 
 Mr. Oswald's recommendation had carried such 
 force with Mr. Mandeville, as to relieve him from
 
 REVENGE. 185 
 
 all anxiety on this part of his arrangements for 
 estabhshing his nephew in London. 
 
 Edward perceived there was some danger to be 
 apprehended from the company with which he had 
 just parted ; but he had not sufficient resolution to 
 profit by his penetration. A new scene of hfe was 
 opened on his view, to the allurements of which 
 he was extremely susceptible. Young, animated, 
 possessed of great spirits, and much generosity, it 
 was not probable he could rise superior to the 
 follies which surrounded him, or remain immacu- 
 late in the midst of temptation. His good fortune 
 at play created strong opinions of his judgement 
 in the game, and these notions imperceptibly en- 
 gendered a partiality for the amusement. He 
 gazed on the money he had won with rapture; 
 avarice had this night no share in the gratification 
 he experienced : the consideration of his dexterity 
 was the source of his delight. 
 
 On the foUowincr mornina; he breakfasted, ac- 
 cording to agreement, in his own apartments, and,
 
 ]86 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 before he proceeded to the Temple, determined to 
 make some inquiries into the concerns of Lydia 
 Sillbourne. He therefore proceeded to the resi- 
 dence of her late aunt, and procured an interview 
 with the person who called himself her executor. 
 
 From the situation and confusion of this man, 
 Edward suspected he had no legal authority for 
 his proceedings ; he therefore determined to take 
 the advice of his friend Orby, and commence a re- 
 gular course of proceedings to discover the truth. 
 
 On his arrival at chambers, he was received 
 by Mr, Oswald with his usual state and silence. 
 As Edward, however, through the instructions of 
 Orby, had now some employment witii which he 
 could proceed, the behaviour of the former appear- 
 ed less irksome and unpleasant. 
 
 On leaving the Temple in the afternoon, Man- 
 deville, accompanied by Mr. Orby, called on Ly- 
 dia, to inform her of the steps he had taken in her 
 business, and of the suspicions he entertained.
 
 REVENGE. 187 
 
 Air. Mopsey had not yet returned from his excur- 
 sion after the Lincolnshire ox ; but they found Ly- 
 dia with his wife, assisting in making some clothes 
 for the children. She was dressed very neat, and 
 had in some degree recovered the fatigue of tra- 
 velling. ;^, 
 
 Though not regularly handsome, yet she pos- 
 sessed a form and countenance extremely prepos- 
 sessing, to which the simplicity of her manners 
 added additional grace and interest. 
 
 She appeared very anxious to be informed how 
 long it was probable she should be detained in 
 London, that she might adopt some plan of life 
 for the future. 
 
 To this question neither Mr. Mandeville nor 
 his new friend were capable of giving her any 
 satisfactory answer. The latter gazed upon her 
 with an earnestness which occasioned her some 
 little uneasiness, and whispered to Edward that
 
 188 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 she was one of the prettiest girls he had seen for 
 some time. 
 
 " I am truly sensible, Sir," said Lydia, ad- 
 dressing herself to Mandeville, '' of your goodness 
 in coming forward on my behalf in this business ; 
 but indeed I would not enter into any contest, 
 for I have no property to support it." 
 
 Both Orby and EdNvard assured her they 
 would only proceed on sure grounds. " Besides," 
 exclaimed the former, " in a case of this kind, 
 where the villany of the defendant seems so glar- 
 ing, and the beauty of the plaintiff is so evident, 
 the expenses should be no consideration. There 
 are many, Miss Sillbourne, who would most will- 
 ingly run all hazards to see you righted." 
 
 *' Oh no, no!" answered Lydia, with a look of 
 much disquietude ; " I wish for no hazard, no 
 obligation, on this business. I hope and trust, 
 gentlemen, you will go no farther with it."
 
 REVENGE. 189 
 
 They both attempted to sooth her apprehen- 
 sions without making those promises which would 
 at once have dispelled them. They soon after 
 took their leave, and Orby rallied Edward on his 
 attention to this sirl, in a similar manner to Mr. 
 Osborne, on the first morninir after their an'ivai 
 in London. Edward affirmed, with a seriousness 
 which created considerable merriment in his com- 
 panion, that his motives were purely disinterested, 
 and that he had no views but to be of service to 
 a young creature, who appeared poor and friend- 
 less. 
 
 Orby left him before they arrived at Mr. 
 Guilford's ; but said he should call in the evening, 
 and would attend liim to any of the public places 
 of amusement he might wish to see. 
 
 A large party were again assembled to dinner ; 
 there were several new faces, and some whom he 
 had seen the day before ; among these was Mr. 
 Osborne. There was a mystery in this man's con- 
 duct towards Edward which began to excite his
 
 190 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 astonishment. He appeared most anxious to 
 possess his confidence and friendship : although 
 th^ first to propose cards, and the last to abandon 
 them, he seemed to pay more attention to Ed- 
 ward's conduct and feehngs during the progress of 
 the game, than to his own interest in it : when a 
 sudden reverse of fortune was likely to occasion 
 powerful emotions, Mr. Osborne's eyes were fixed 
 upon him with the most scrutinizing earnestness. 
 He joined but little in general conversation, and 
 often seemed lost in his own reflections. At in- 
 tervals, however, when talking alone with Ed- 
 ward, he would affect a gaiety which appeared 
 foreign to his heart; and at these periods a licen- 
 tiousness seemed to pervade his discourse and 
 opinions, entirely opposite to his usual manners 
 and behaviour. 
 
 Cards were this evening proposed as before ; 
 the very high sums which were staked did not 
 seem to satisfy the principal part of the company, 
 who betted on the most trivial transactions during 
 the progress of the game: sometimes on the
 
 REVENGE. 191 
 
 colour of a turn-up card, and at others on the odd 
 or even number of pips it might contain. Edward, 
 unwilling to reject the several challenges which he 
 received in this gambling interlude, found the 
 transition of fortune more sudden and less certain 
 than on the former evening. In one hour he lost 
 a sum which made him tremble with apprehen- 
 sion, in another he was rich beyond his most san- 
 guine expectations. 
 
 In the height of their play ]\Ir. Orby was an- 
 nounced : Mandeville was too much en2;a2:ed to 
 spend the evening in the way they had proposed, 
 and the former seemed perfectly agreeable to join 
 in their amusement. 
 
 Edward's anxiety and interest increased with 
 the risk which he ran ; he lost his winnings of the 
 night before, and had not quite so sanguine an 
 opinion of his own judgement ; yet this considera- 
 tion only urged him to continue the pernicious 
 pastime with greater avidity.
 
 192 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Ambition to excel was one of Edward's 
 strongest passions. The point of attainment was 
 of little signification, whether it aimed at the most 
 laudable elevation, or was a mere study of the 
 technical rules at a game of cards. 
 
 It was whispered to him by his friend Orby 
 that he wanted practice ; his pride was inwardly 
 hurt at the observation ; but he determined to at- 
 tend to the hint, and play frequently. 
 
 This resolution was a fatal one ; neither good 
 nor ill fortune were likely to quell the inclinations 
 it excited. If he won, he was too much elevated 
 with his success to give it up ; and if he lost, it 
 urged him to fresh exertions to recover himself. 
 
 Edward, as has been before observed, was 
 sensible of his danger, but he had not resolution 
 to retract. To be laughed at by his companions 
 for want of spirit to proceed, he would have con- 
 sidered a disgrace, while he was unconscious that 
 his want of fortitude on this point ensured both
 
 11E\^ENGE. 193 
 
 their ridicule and contempt. Under the idea that 
 he was acquiring experience in a fashionable ac- 
 complishment, he insensibly contracted the habits 
 and inclinations of a gamester. As his losses 
 occasioned pecuniary difficulties, his anxiety on his 
 success increased ; and the pride of superior judge- 
 ment, which, on the commencement of his career, 
 was liis chief gratification, now gave way to the 
 mere consideration of the value he won. 
 
 The effects of this passion on Mandeville were 
 as sudden as they were violent. He was a cha- 
 racter subject to extremes ; had he been less eager 
 in his pursuits, and more given to reflection, he 
 might have seen through the snares which en- 
 tangled him, and have avoided the destruction 
 they threatened. 
 
 Six months elapsed, during which he was in- 
 volved in continual rounds of gaiety and dissipa- 
 tion. Perhaps he first entered into them more 
 through the persuasions of those who had in- 
 sinuated tliemselves into his friendship, than from
 
 194 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 strong inclinations of his own : but habit soon 
 rendered them fascinating, and, as his first alarni 
 on their effects subsided, their attractions propor- 
 tionally increased. During this intei'val he re- 
 ceived several letters from his uncle ; his answers 
 to which were couched in such terms as to give 
 Mr. Mandeville considerable satisfaction. 
 
 By the persuasions of Orby, Edward entered 
 into a course of law proceedings on behalf of 
 •Lydia Sillbourne. There were likew ise other mo- 
 tives for his so readily acquiescing on this point ; 
 he was aware that such measures were the only 
 ones likely to detain Lydia in town. The several 
 interviews which this business occasioned, gra- 
 dually produced in the bosom of Edward sensa- 
 tions which he would willingly have persuaded 
 himself he was capable of subduing. He was 
 gratified in every circumstance that occurred 
 -which gave him an opportunity of visiting her; 
 he became more sensible to the beauties of her 
 person, and wondered he could ever have behelii 
 her with indifference.
 
 REVENGE. 195 
 
 Lydia, although her alarm and dislike to the 
 arrangements' which were going on in her behalf 
 daily augmented, yet felt the most sincere grati- 
 tude to him who had so generously asserted her 
 right. So particularly delicate and careful was he 
 in his behaviour towards her, that her confidence 
 in his motives and integrity daily increased ; while 
 she gradually became less reserved in her conver- 
 sation, and at length treated him with the open 
 frankness of a sister. It may be urged that this 
 conduct in Lydia could not altogether be justified 
 by those strict rules of prudent policy which the 
 peculiar circumstances of her situation should 
 have called forth. It may be considered that she 
 should have acted with more resolution, and posi- 
 tively have declined those services which she 
 must have known would, at all events, place her 
 under considerable obligations, where propriety de- 
 manded she should be entirely independent. 
 
 In answer to these observations, it is necessary 
 to take into consideration the age and circumstances 
 of Lydia Sillbourne. She was just turned of
 
 196 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 eighteen ; within a few years she had been deprived 
 of both relatives and friends. She had been reared 
 in a remote country village, and although elevated 
 above the vulgar, both by the example of her pa- 
 rents, and the manner in which she had been 
 brought up, she was yet only cultivated with the 
 first and common rudiments of education, while 
 she retained all the native simplicity of her cha- 
 racter, and was a novice in the follies and vices of 
 that part of mankind to which she was most likely 
 to become a victim. ' 
 
 Edward, at this period, was surrounded by 
 dissipation, folly, and extravagance. He had nu- 
 merous foibles, and committed many errors ; he 
 wanted resolution to avoid temptation, and forti- 
 tude to withstand it. Yet his principles were still 
 pure, and his heart uncontaminated. It was a 
 critical and awful crisis of his existence ; a single 
 friend, capable of obtaining his esteem, as well as 
 warning him of his danger, might at this time have 
 saved him from those quicksands which threatened 
 his destruction. Unfortunatclv, no such hand was
 
 REVENGE. 197 
 
 extended for his preservation. He stood on a 
 precipice, in the midst of those who, either from 
 cruel indifference, or motives of interest, aided his 
 ruin. 
 
 An intermediate state between error and vice 
 is not long to be preserved ; the shades of the one 
 fire almost imperceptibly blended in those of the 
 other, while the deluded victim remains insensible 
 of the extent of his guilt, until perseverance is en- 
 couraged by necessity, and the idea of reformation 
 abandoned in despair. Continual engagements, 
 and late hours, rendered Edward incapable of pay- 
 ing that strict attention to his studies w hich they 
 demanded. IVlr. Oswald was a man who took 
 little concern in the attendance of his pupils ; he 
 considered it beneath his dignity, even to notice a 
 dereliction from duty of this kind, and, having once 
 .secured the premium, he considered it of little con- 
 sequence whether they attended daily, or once in 
 a month; the matter remained optional with the 
 students, and Mr. Oswald could by no means bring
 
 198 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 himself to remember whether they were present or 
 absent. 
 
 Under these circumstances, Edward flittered 
 away his days in languid indolence, and his nights 
 in gaming and dissipation. The sum of money 
 presented to him by his uncle, for his present exi- 
 gencies, rapidly decreased ; and although at inter- 
 vals he found himself rich, yet he never remained 
 so ; a few hours reduced him to comparative po- 
 verty, and produced plans and resolutions of eco- 
 nomy, which only remained in force until the first 
 opportunity offered to break them.
 
 REM^NGE. l-m 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE PLANS OF A DESPERATE ^VOMAX ; THE 
 ERRORS OF A MAX WHO WAS ONCE VIR- 
 TUOUS; AXD THE VICES OF HIM WHO WAS 
 ALWAYS VICIOUS. 
 
 It will now be necessary to refer to those circum- 
 stances which followed the first interview between 
 Montalbert and the Courtezan. 
 
 Although the passion of revenge was in each 
 predominant over every other, yet, on a minute 
 and close investigation of their actions, a material 
 difference was to be observed. A considerable 
 length of time had elapsed since those injuries 
 were sustained by the former, which had engendered 
 a fatal desire for retaliation ; a desire which, while it
 
 200 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 aided him to support existence with the fallacious 
 hope of one day grasping the enjoyment to -whicli 
 he looked forward, poisoned every comfort, and 
 tainted every blessing. 
 
 The poignancy of suffering, however acute, in 
 some degree loses its force by continuance. ]\Iont- 
 albert, after an interval of nearly twenty years, 
 seemed rather wrapped in sullen despair, than en- 
 gaged by active schemes of revenge. Still the 
 seeds of the passion were not annihilated ; for, 
 although time had rendered them dormant, they 
 were capable, by certain impressions connected 
 with the principal events which had produced 
 them, of being renovated to an equal strength and 
 vigour as at the first moment of their concep- 
 tion. 
 
 The cruelties of which the Courtezan had to 
 complain, were of a later date; they had pro- 
 duced a succession of misery which had gradually 
 increased to the present period of her existence. 
 Her disgrace, her poverty, her emaciated consti-
 
 REVENGE. 201 
 
 tution, and the loss of her beloved father, were 
 events which had regularly followed each other, 
 and were all so intimately connected with the per- 
 fidy of Mandeville, that each of them seemed in- 
 flicted by his hand, and singly to demand retribu- 
 tion. The passion which rankled in her bosom, 
 was marked by a continued and active exertion 
 for its gratification ; an incessant thirst for imme- 
 diate vengeance ; a spirit of indefatigable perse- 
 verance, which seemed to defy all obsta 'es, intent 
 only on the main object of her wishes, a. 4 totally 
 indifferent to the dangers she might hazarc in ac- 
 complishing it. 
 
 Those advantages of which Montalbert had 
 made trial to dissipate the remembrance of past 
 happiness, were not within her power. On the 
 contrary, a progressive degradation to infamy and 
 guilt, had augmented a sense df her injuries, and 
 irritated her almost to madness. 
 
 Lucy, during the vicissitudes she experienced, 
 became well versed in the knoM ledge of the humcm
 
 202 TAI,ES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 heart. Her talents, although matured amidst the 
 horrors of prostitution, were far above mediocrity ; 
 she possessed a mind capable of gleaning instruc- 
 tion from the most trivial events ; her reflections 
 were subtle and discriminating, and her conclu- 
 sions generally accurate and correct. 
 
 In her first interview with IVlontalbert, she 
 dived into the secret ^vorkings of his mind ^^ith 
 her usual' acility : she perceived, with joy, that he 
 w as yef -capable of being instigated to the most 
 darini- plans which held forth a probability of 
 gratifying his revenge, and she -was confident of 
 her own powers to excite them. 
 
 The day following the night on which she first 
 met him, she conveyed to him a letter, the diction 
 of which was most artfully contrived to inflame 
 those wounds she had already opened in his bo- 
 som. She was aware it was dangerous to her 
 views, to allow an interval of any length to pass 
 without some such philippic to his feelings.
 
 REVENGE. 203 
 
 Her father died a few hours after Montaibert 
 quitted her lodgings; the person who paid her 
 weekly stipend, by the direction of Farmer Ash- 
 fold, immediately presented her with a sufficient 
 sum to bury him with decency : while the latter, 
 according to the tenour of his friend's aa ill, sunk 
 the little property he left, in an annuity for his 
 child, which she was to receive quarterly. 
 
 These concerns, although they in some degree 
 occupied her time and attention, did not abate her 
 vigour or exertions in prosecuting that object to 
 which her life seemed devoted. She continued her 
 correspondence with Montalbert, and obtained 
 another interview, in which she opened to him an 
 outline of those plans that had for some time en- 
 grossed her attention. She well knew, if suddenly 
 conveyed to him, their atrocity might occasion a 
 distaste and horror likely to frustrate all her 
 views. She therefore most artfully produced them 
 by degrees, prefacing each by a retrospect of their 
 sufferings, and an appeal to his feelings as to the 
 punishment their oppressor deserved.
 
 204. TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 " Were you," said she, " to plunge a dagger 
 into his l)osom, would it he a sufficient retribution 
 for the anguish he has occasioned ? Compare a 
 sudden deprivation of life with the years of misery 
 you have endured, is the one e([uivalent to the 
 other r No ! Montalbert, ours are injuries in 
 which there is only one species of retaliation that 
 can be considered as elective, in which there is 
 only one mode of vengeance worthy of our atten- 
 tion. He must languish under those torments 
 he has inflicted upon us. His domestic happiness 
 is susceptible of tiie same poison he has infused 
 into that of others, and his joys may be blasted by 
 perfidy similar to his own." 
 
 ^lontalbert, although he did not immediately 
 acquiesce to every proposition which >\as made 
 to him by the Courtezan, became daily more in- 
 terested in her observations. 
 
 After the death of her father slie removed, at 
 his particular request, into a more comfortable 
 lodging, and he bocame less tenacious in his ^ftsits
 
 Rr.VEKGE. C'Oi 
 
 to lier. He experienced a satisfaction in her so- 
 ciety he had not kno^vn for many years : altliough 
 her conversation raised the most violent emotions 
 in his bosom, yet she soothed him with hopes, 
 which, by the artful manner in ^\hich they were 
 conveyed, appeared ahiiost on the point of being 
 realized. 
 
 The irregularity, dissipation, and connexions 
 of the latter years of ]Montalbert's existence, had 
 transformed his whole cliaracter. When he lost 
 the comforts of a home and family, he also lost 
 that emulation which had urged him to preserve 
 their dignity and happiness in the maintenance of 
 his own. Careless prodigality, and unrestrained 
 libertinism, succeeded liberal economy and domes- 
 tic pleasures ; his views were all selfish ; he had 
 no ties on his affection, and consequently no 
 restraint on his conduct. Although the recollec- 
 tion of what he was would sometimes occasion 
 him pangs, the severity of Mliich can only be 
 conceived by those who have experienced similar
 
 206- TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 sensations, still they were not of a nature to pro- 
 duce reformation. They only fed his passion, 
 and hurried him into scenes of riot and debauch- 
 ery under the false hope of avoiding reflection* 
 
 Among the many persons with whom he be- 
 came connected on the Continent, and whose 
 society were both a reproach and disgrace to 
 him, was J\lr. Guilford; a man w^ho, from the 
 lowest origin, had elevated himself to a station in 
 life apparently splendid, and whose company Avas 
 courted by persons of the first rank in Naples. 
 
 This man had been banished from his native 
 country before he was twelve years old by his 
 father, a poor and labouring mechanic, w ho, dis- 
 covering from the acts of his infancy that he Avas 
 likely to prove both a disgrace and pest to his fa- 
 mily, engaged with the captain of a small trading 
 vessel to take him as an apprentice. Young 
 Guilford, in the course of a few weeks after their 
 arrival at Lisbon, where the ship was bound, ran
 
 REVEInGE. 207 
 
 away from his master, who, from the specimen of 
 his conduct during the vo3'^age, determined to take 
 no methods to recover him. 
 
 Having roamed for some time about the city, 
 and procured a very scanty subsistence by the 
 casual generosity of a few individuals who some- 
 times hstened to the piteous tale which he had in- 
 vented, he was at length engaged by the landlord 
 of an En<j;lish hotel to assist in an inferior situa- 
 tion of his household, and was occasionally found 
 useful as an interpreter. His assiduity and adroit- 
 ness in this situation, aided by his natural cunning 
 and talent for intrigue, rendered him a great fa- 
 vourite with several of the frequenters of the hotel ; 
 and at length introduced him to the notice of an 
 Italian nobleman on his travels, who at once 
 rescued him from the menial station in which he 
 was placed, and fixed him in his. own establish- 
 ment under the dignified appellation of hisj&Wr^/e 
 secretary. 
 
 By maintaining a domestic under a title of
 
 208 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 this kind, it may perliaps be conceived that the 
 noble marquis possessed a high political or lite- 
 rary reputation ; this, however, was not exactly 
 the case ; the private concerns wherein he needed 
 assistance, were of that nature in which Guilford, 
 without possessing any extraordinary talent as a 
 scholar', was of the most essential service. The 
 marquis was gay, dissipated, and unprincipled ; 
 his amours and profligacy were to that extent, as 
 to render an assistant in this particular depart- 
 ment absolutely necessary, to keep in action those 
 gratifications which he daily marked out with all 
 the zeal and care of a true voluptuary. 
 
 His secretary, .like many other great men in 
 office, considered his salary as thd most trivial part 
 of his emoluments. He found continual opportu- 
 nities of acquiring money, and with indefatigable 
 industry he made the most of them. 
 
 Under circumst^fnces like these it may be ima- 
 gined that Guilford became rich; this, however, 
 was not the case : from his infancv he liad evince(t
 
 a passion for gaming ; it increased with his years, 
 and the resources he acquired for its gratification. 
 It is true, he was an adept in the science of various 
 games, but his opponents were, in general, equally 
 skilful with himself, and consequently he pos- 
 sessed no certainty of profiting by his amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 At the death of his patron he found himself 
 bequeathed a very handsome legacy, but it an- 
 swered no other purpose than to confirm the mar- 
 quis's good-will towards him ; for the property his 
 lordship left behind him was by no means suffi- 
 cient to answer those just debts which, at the 
 time he made his will, he entirely foi'got he had 
 contracted. 
 
 Young Guilford, therefore, determined to esta- 
 blish himself in a profession at Naples, where hq 
 then was, which had been followed by men very 
 much his superiors both in "rank and circum- 
 stances.
 
 QIO TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 lie took a house in one of the principal streets ; 
 furnished it elegantly upon credit; hired several 
 domestics, and set up an equipage. Guilford 
 soon contrived to inform those by whom he ex- 
 pected to procure a subsistence of the design and 
 nature of his establishmentj which, under the sanc- 
 tion of a private dwelling, offered gratifications to 
 his visitors that, in general, could only be pur- 
 chased by a publicity extremely repugnant to their 
 wishes. 
 
 ' This sclieme canied too much temptation, in 
 a city so dissipated as Naples, to fail of success. 
 Gaming and every other species of licentiousness 
 were, in some measure, concealed under the ap- 
 pearance of private parties and social entertain- 
 ments. Guilford, as maitre d'hotel, Hved in ele- 
 gance and splendour, and partook himself most 
 plentifully of those vices which he eatered for 
 others. ... 
 
 A concern of this kind, however disgraceful 
 the assertion may be to ttie city in which it was
 
 REVENGE. 211 
 
 formed, was more likely to increase in emolu- 
 ments and extent, than to be destroyed by the 
 vigour of the laws, or the morality of the commu- 
 nity. But Guilford had passions and propensities, 
 which were capable of surmounting even those 
 desires of interest and ambition that were so 
 strongly implanted in his bosom. An amour with 
 a beautiful Venetian girl, who was introduced to 
 his house by an antiquated Neapolitan nobleman, 
 at once destroyed his shameful and profligate 
 establishment. The high rank and power of the 
 man whom he made his enemy, rendered him ca- 
 pable of doing an act of benefit to the city, under 
 motives of retaliation, to which his own honour 
 and dignity should have urged him. The mar- 
 quis was completely revenged; and Guilford, 
 with a small sum of money in his pockets, was 
 necessitated to leave Naples with precipitation. 
 
 Montalbert, during his residence in this city, 
 had been occasionally induced to visit Mr. Guil- 
 ford's mansion, which at that period was in the 
 zenith of its prosperity. Cards and dice were the 
 
 p o
 
 ill TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 chief amusements he derived in it ; and as this 
 tvas a department in which Guilford himself was 
 most active, they became extremely well knmvn 
 to each otlier. 
 
 Montalbert quitted Naples before Guilford; 
 but the latter, after existing, by what is generally 
 termed his wits, for three years in Paris, at length 
 landed in his native country, some few months be- 
 fore the former. He was not entirely destitute of 
 money, but he resolved to live for a short time 
 
 with the utmost frugality, and make those neces- 
 sary observations which should enable him to 
 spend it to the best advantage. 
 
 During this period he became acquainted with 
 one of the female dancers at the Opera-iK)use ; 
 though very young, she had been the mistress of a 
 man of fashion, and had just received a consider- 
 able sum as a farewel present. Guilford, fully 
 sensible of the assistance which this property might 
 be to him in aiding Certain schemes he had a^ 
 ready planned^ and convinced that Miss Cipirini
 
 REVENGE. S15 
 
 possessed talents which were capable of being ren- 
 dered extremely useful, he determined to make 
 proposals which he had every reason to suppose 
 would not be refused ; and in a short time Miss 
 Cipirini assumed his name, and was considered q$ 
 his wife. 
 
 After a few weeks spent in dalliance and 
 gaiety, Guilford determined to commence those 
 proceedings which he considered were to lay the 
 foundation of his future fortune. 
 
 He was a man of genius, penetration, and in- 
 dustry; had he possessed virtues equal to his 
 abilities, he might have been considered an orna- 
 ment and honour to his country : he was one of 
 those chai'acters in which Providence seems to 
 have implanted a single barrier to counteract the 
 effects of great talents and indefatigable exertion, 
 which, in the vicious and unprincipled, would other- 
 wise produce rewards that mi^t prove a danger- 
 ous example to society.
 
 214 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Guilford had every inclination, and every re- 
 quisite, for becoming a rich and flourishing man ; 
 but his passion for gaming was at once a check to 
 ultimate success : for although at Naples, by his 
 dexterity and cunning, he had contrived to main- 
 tain his splendid mode of living without contract- 
 ing many debts, or losing his credit, yet he was 
 never rich, and often entirely destitute. The plans, 
 however, which he had adopted in that city were 
 so perfectly agreeable to his taste, and held for- 
 ward such prospects of success, that he resolved 
 to attempt them in England. He well perceived 
 that a very different line of conduct must be pur- 
 sued in the management of them ; those amuse- 
 ments which were tolerated in Naples, could only 
 be followed with the utmost secrecy in London ; 
 jgid although the nobility of the former city were 
 openly his visitors and patrons, he must expect no 
 such encouragement in the latter. Still he con- 
 ceived the plan might be in some degree modilied, 
 and, though perhaps not capable of the extent to 
 which he had carried it at Naples, might yet turn 
 out to his advantage. He therefore took a very
 
 • • REVENGR ' 215 
 
 hand!?ome house, which he furnished in the most 
 elegant style ; engaged several. domestics,, and set 
 up a . carriage. " His mode of living soon intro- 
 duced him to' a numerous acquaintance ; Guilford 
 contrived to explain his plans to those Mhom he 
 conceived they would suit, and to get rid of others 
 from whose visits he was likely to derive no ad- 
 vantage. Gammg was the chief gratitication held 
 forward in his establishment; there were, how- 
 ever, others to which it indirectly led. The par- 
 ties of Mr. Guilford weae not entirely confined to 
 gentlemen ; there were also a certain description 
 of ladies admitted, who added to the splendour of 
 his entertainments, and in part defrayed the ex- 
 penses of them ; a class of females whose frail- 
 ties had not been so notorious as totdly to destroy 
 their reputations, and who still contrived to be 
 accounted virtuous, because they had never openly 
 declared they were otherwise. Under these cir- 
 cumstances they were not discarded from respect- 
 able society, although their vices exceeded those 
 of the poor deserted wretches whom they con- 
 demned with; the most bitter acrinion v. At the
 
 218 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 house of Mr. Guilford, while they were screened 
 from public infamy, they found various opportu- 
 nities for forming those intrigues in which they 
 both gratified their avarice and their taste, 
 
 ' Mrs. Guilford, whose mode of education, even 
 from her cradle, had been well calculated to 
 render her a most useful helpmate in this de~ 
 partment, fulfilled all those sanguine expecta- 
 tions her supposed husband had formed on her ta- 
 lents : indeed they were perfectly satisfied in each 
 other ; the advantages produced from their mutual 
 finesse and duplicity were reciprocal ; while they 
 possessed that happy sang froid in their aflfections, 
 which rendered tliem entirely indifferent as to the 
 pleasures in which they both were at times inclined 
 to indulge. 
 
 Montalbert by chance met IVIr. Guilford, a 
 short time after his arrival in England ; the latter 
 had just entered on his new concern, and gave him 
 a most pressing invitation to his house. IVIontal- 
 bert paid him a visit, was introduced to Mrs,
 
 re\t:nge. 2 it 
 
 Guilford, and received with the utmost cordiality 
 and politeness. To assert that he was igno- 
 rant of the true character of this man, which 
 was so publicly known at Naples, where he first 
 saw him, would be too glaring a fallacy to screen 
 the impropriety of his conduct in agaui renewing 
 the acquaintance. iMontalbert was at this period 
 solitary, alone, and without friends; he retained 
 only the wreck of a splendid fortune ; he had been 
 absent from his native country near twenty years ; 
 his constitution was decayed, and his moraLs cor- 
 rupted. Far from wishing to renew the friend- 
 ships and connexions he had formerly enjoyed, he- 
 retained the assumed name he adopted when he 
 quitted England, and carefully concealed himself 
 from the few, the very few, who might have been 
 inclined, under his present circumstances, to have 
 remembered his former virtues, and, by soothmg 
 his sorrows, perhaps have reclaimed him. There 
 was not a misfortune ]\Iontalbert would more have 
 dreaded, than being discovered by a friend of this 
 description. Pride, which had always been a pro-- 
 minent trait in his character, still continued so.
 
 3] 8 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 i\Iidfortuncs, although they had in many respects 
 vitiated, had not humbled him. The blush of con- 
 scious degradation m ould often glow on his cheek, 
 as he retraced the various scenes of his past life; 
 but he still proudly exulted in the idea that those 
 ■whom he had formerly dazzled with the virtues of 
 his vouth, still remained io;norant of the vices and 
 dis2:race of his manhood. Under these considera- 
 tions, a renewal of his intimacy with Guilford 
 seemed to hold out some temptation. Guilford 
 had never known him in the zenith of his prospe- 
 rity, or even under his real name and circum- 
 stances. From the company which his house af- 
 forded, he considered he might derive some little 
 relief from his own reflections, without "experiencing 
 those sensations of shame and remorse which he 
 was aware would always intrude, while he was 
 conscious that his companions might look upon 
 him with pity or contempt. 
 
 It was but a few weeks after his renewal of 
 Guilford's acquaintance, that he had his first in- 
 terview with the Courtezan. It has been before
 
 REVENGE. 210 
 
 observed, he became by degrees less reserved and 
 tenacious in his visits to her ; and after her removal 
 from the apartments in which they first met, a 
 great part of his time was passed in her society. 
 
 One evening, 'at the house of ^Ir. Guilford, 
 where a small party was assembled, among whom 
 were IVIontalbert and ]Mr. Orby, the latter suddenly 
 exclaimed, " I had a great mind yesterday, Guil- 
 ford, to have recommended you a boarder, but as 
 I was not certain whether such an addition to 
 your family might have met your ideas, or been 
 agreeable to your lady, I passed over the oppor- 
 tunity in silence." 
 
 Although an acquisition of this kind, to defray 
 in some degree the expenses of his household, had 
 never yet entered the head of Guilford, yet now 
 it w'as started by another, a certain number of ad- 
 vantages that might probably result from it sud- 
 denly flashed upon his mind, which urged him 
 to make further inquiries of Orby. Orby, in 
 his answers to these questions, observed, that the
 
 ^20 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 person he alluded to was a young man from Dor- 
 setshire, who was expected to become a pupil to 
 Mr. Oswald, and whose uncle had requested the 
 recommendation of that gentleman to some genteel 
 family, as a home for his nephew, during the term 
 of his studies. " Mr. Oswald, you know," he con- 
 tinued, " seldom troubles himself on subjects of 
 this kind, and immediately, as is his custom, re- 
 ferred the matter to me." 
 
 *' I rather wish," replied Guilford, " you had 
 not hesitated on this point ; but it is now, I sup- 
 pose, too late." 
 
 " By no means," said the other, " ^Ir. Man- 
 deville's letter is not yet answered." 
 
 The name of Mandeville struck to the heart of 
 Montalbert; he involuntarily uttered a faint ex- 
 clamation of horror, and was scarcely able to 
 elude the inquiries it produced. Having passed it 
 over as the effects of a sudden indisposition, to 
 which he was often liable, he attempted to regain
 
 REVENGE, 2^\ 
 
 his former composure, but this was impossible; 
 and after a short time he took his leave; not, 
 however, till he had heard it fixed between Orby 
 and Guilford, that the house of the latter should 
 be strongly recommended to Mr. IMandeville as a 
 desirable residence for his nephew, 
 
 Montalbert, in his next interview with the 
 Courtezan, mentioned the occurrence which had 
 the day before occasioned him so much emotion at 
 Mr. Guilford's. Her countenance suddenly be- 
 came animated with expressions of joy and satis- 
 faction he had never before witnessed: various 
 ideas rushed instantaneously upon her mind^ 
 which, althou2;h crude and unconnected, seemed 
 to promise something like gratification to those 
 fatal desires tliat burned in her bosom. Hitherto 
 iier schemes had fortunately been fluctuating and 
 feeble ; although her invention was fertile, still her 
 plans defeated themselves : for, after the impulse 
 of the moment, they held forward such faint pro^ 
 spects of producing the effects intended, that they 
 were abandoned for new ones, wlijch successively
 
 222 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 succeeded each other, and were all equally impo- 
 tent. She had now, however, a point to work 
 upon in her speculations, which materially altered 
 and methodized the whole train of her reflections. 
 Slje had been informed, from various sources, 
 that Mandeville was, to all appearance, become a 
 domesticated man. This information served, if 
 possible, to augment her vengeance ; and to crush 
 the happiness he might possess under that title, 
 was now the first and most ardent desire of her 
 soul. 
 
 " Here is a part," she would whisper to herself, 
 " where he is vulnerable to those tortures he has 
 inflicted upon others. To mar the comforts of his 
 home, to blast those joys which are produced by 
 his domestic felicity, Vv ould indeed be a retaliation 
 worthy of the injuries which demand it. He has 
 destroyed youth and innocence, has lacerated the 
 bosom of parental affection, and called forth tears 
 of heart-rending anguish on the withered cheek of 
 age and infirmity. Oh, God! should he not feel 
 these pangs? He has a wife, and child; he is
 
 REVENGE. 223 
 
 'sensible of those endearing ties %vhich entwine 
 them round his heart, and can grasp them to his 
 bosom uith pride and exultation. Yet is it not 
 possible to infuse into his cup of bliss a subtle 
 poison, which shall sap the very foundation of his 
 felicity ? Is not his ^vife, his child, or his nephew, 
 capable of those frailties Avhich would disgrace, 
 discomfort, and agonize him ? " 
 
 During the whole course of her depravit}^ 
 either while revelling in the voluptuous scenes of 
 dissipation and infamy, or starving for the common 
 necessaries of existence, she would have shuddered 
 with disgust and horror at the mere idea of those 
 plans to which she was now instigated by her 
 revenge ; all consideration of their enormity was 
 lost under the false conceptions which are insepa- 
 rably connected with that passion, and which tend 
 to persuade its unfortunate victims, that every act, 
 however horrible, which leads to its gratification, 
 may be palliated as a necessary and just species oi 
 retribution.
 
 *2r4. tALES OF THE i>ASSIONS. 
 
 Although her ideas were not fully disclosed to 
 Montalbert, yet he was not ignorant of her mo- 
 tives ; and while he in some degree acquiesced to 
 those she proposed, he was truly sensible of their 
 guilt. 
 
 The most artful and effective argument which 
 Lucy adopted with her confederate, was his ability 
 to proceed to a certain extent, and no farther : this 
 held forth a kind of medium in the gratification of 
 his revenge, and obscured a part of the horrors 
 that were attached to the means which produced 
 it. Moi^talbert was deluded by this fallacious rea- 
 soning ; he was not aware, that, like the feverish 
 thirst of a distempered body, it would be increased 
 by the means which were taken to allay it. 
 
 The Courtezan was indefatigable in her exer- 
 tions, and his repugnance to her wishes died away 
 by degrees. Edward ]\tandeville w^as to be sacri- 
 ficed for the crimes of his uncle. This was the 
 first point of attainment ; w ith ]\Iontalbcrt it was
 
 REVENGE. 22i 
 
 at present the only one, and not to the extent 
 which Lucy had secretly resolved upon. She had, 
 however, other objects in view. IMandeville had a 
 child, as well as nephew ; a young, innocent, and 
 beautiful female, the pride and admiration of her 
 father. She also was entangled in the busy and 
 fatal schemes of the Courtezan. On this pointy 
 however, she did not so perfectly see her way as 
 in the former ; yet she determined, if possible, to 
 connect them with each other. Her anxiety was 
 extreme, till she understood it was positively 
 fixed that Edward IMandeville should become an 
 inmate in the house of Mr. Guilford, which she 
 considered as the key-stone of all her hopes. 
 
 Although ]\lontalbert was now her daily com- 
 panion, and she beheld with pride and satisfaction 
 the influence she had gained over him, she was yet 
 alarmed at the reveries in which she sometimes 
 surprised him, fearful they might tend to frustrate 
 the plans she had urged him to pursue* 
 
 About this time a letter was received by Mr. 
 Q
 
 226 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Oswald from Mr. Mandeville, stating the pre- 
 cise day on which his nephew 'w^as to leave 
 Upway, and also mentioning the arrangements 
 he had made for accompanyhig him part of the 
 way, and various other particulars, of which the 
 learned gentleman read little more than the super- 
 scription, before he cast it among his ^vaste pa- 
 pers, from which it was selected by Orby, the 
 contents carefully conveyed to Guilford, and from 
 him to Montalbert ; for although G uilford was 
 not in the confidence of the latter, either as to hrs 
 real name and condition, or with his previous 
 knowledge of IMandeville, and designs on his ne- 
 phew, yet Montalbert, through the persuasions of 
 Lucy, so far increased his intimacy w ith IMr. and 
 ]Mrs. Guilford, as to be made acquainted with 
 most of the events which concerned them. 
 
 The Courtezan, immediately she received this 
 intelligence, incited him to meet young Mandeville 
 on his journey. She had two motives for her con- 
 duct in this particular, which confirmed the subtle 
 knowlcde;e she possessed of the human lieart, as
 
 REVENGE. 227 
 
 vsell as the crafty manner in which she was capable 
 of managing her designs. She was aware, from 
 reflection and experience, that INIontalbert could 
 not receive a more powerful stimulus to his re- 
 venge, than a sight of the object of it; not la- 
 bouring under a sense of contrition, or writhing 
 with tlie miseries he had occasioned others, but 
 suiTounded by affluence, and in the full enjoyment 
 of every domestic comfort. IMandeville, w-hatever 
 might have been his inward sufferings, was, in his 
 public appearance, a happy and enviable man. 
 The Courtezan w^as convinced of the sensations 
 which ^fontalbert would experience, when he be- 
 held him under these circumstances ; she was con- 
 fident they would effect more towards moulding 
 him to her m ishes, than any artful instigations she 
 could invent. 
 
 There was no danger of his being discovered 
 by ^landeville ; disease and sorrow had greatly 
 altered hi^ features, and by casually meeting 
 ],iim at an inn which she proposed, conversation 
 might be avoided. She had also other views in 
 
 q2
 
 i'12S TALI'S OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 this plan ; not perfectly acquainted a\ ith tlic cir- 
 cumspection of JNIr. Guilford to maintain the 
 character and fair appearance of his establishment, 
 she considered it by no means unlikely, that 
 young IMandeville, after having parted uith his 
 uncle, might, in the course of the journey, receive 
 some information of the true character of the fa- 
 mily in ^vhich he was going to reside, and be in- 
 duced to al)and()n the arrangements that had 
 been })reviously made. In short, her eagerness 
 and anxiety was extreme on this point, which 
 rendered her extremely suspicious of its failure, 
 and ui'iied her to look forward to various trivial 
 incidents, as causes for apprehension and dis- 
 trust. 
 
 She had acquired a degree of control over 
 IVIontalbert, which enabled her to ensure his ac- 
 quiescence to almost any request she might make ; 
 and this was one to which he assented with little 
 reluctance. It was accordingly resolved between 
 them, that he should arrive at Blandford the night 
 before that morning on which IMr. JMandevillc and
 
 REVENGE. 229 
 
 his nephew intended to leave Upway, and should 
 take up liis abode at the same inn where, according 
 to the letter of the former to ?>Ir. Oswald, they had 
 resolved to breakfast. 
 
 The sensations which ]\[ontalbert experienced 
 at the sight of ^landeville, were such as the Cour- 
 tezan had anticipated : to behold the man who 
 had triumphed over his honour, who had disgraced 
 and supplanted him in the affections of the woman 
 he had idolized, possessed of those comforts and 
 enjoyments from uhich he was excluded for ever, 
 was sufficient to raise every ener2;v of his mind, and 
 renovate that passion which time, and a continual 
 change of scene and objects, had, in seme degree, 
 subdued. He fancied he could trace a likeness 
 between the nephew and the uncle ; the idea was 
 well calculated to encourage the resolutions he 
 had formed. He beheld them euibrace, as they 
 parted at the door of the inn ; the thoughts ^vllich, 
 at that moment, rushed on his mind, were calcu- 
 lated to urge him to any act, ho-\\-ever desperate ; 
 he muttered curses on them with impious fervour,
 
 230 TALES OF THE PASSIOKS. 
 
 while tears of remorse and agony gushed 
 from his eyes, as he reflected on the endear- 
 ments and comforts he might no^v have derived 
 from the child whom he had so cruelly aban-r 
 doned. 
 
 At intervals, however, during their journey, 
 while he silently gazed on the open and ingenuous 
 countenance of the youth, or listened to his con- 
 versation, which evinced manly candour and a good 
 heart, the poison that rankled in his bosom gave 
 way in some degree to the better feelings of his 
 soul ; and the plans he was about to arrange for 
 his destruction appeared in all their atrocity ; yet 
 unfortunately, perhaps, at the same instant, Ed-r 
 ward, whose regard and veneration for his uncle 
 was extreme, would suddenly burst forth in a 
 panegyric on his good qualities, which annihilated 
 those struggling passions in jNlontalbert, that might 
 be considered as the last and expiring remains of 
 the virtues he' had once cherished with so much 
 enthusiasm.
 
 REVENGE. 231 
 
 IVIoiitalbert's first experiment to trace the 
 real bent of his inclinations, and secretly to mark 
 those inward propensities by which he considered 
 he should attain an influence over him, was in the 
 game of backgammon he proposed on the evening 
 of their arrival in London. During the progress of 
 their play he artfully managed to throw his oppo- 
 nent into such situations as were well calculated to 
 lay open the most minute and secret traits of his 
 character, and from his discoveries on that niglit 
 he augured the most favourable result to his 
 schemes.
 
 232 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF A YOUNCx MAN ON THE ROAD 
 TO RUIN ; AND THE RESOLUTION OF A 
 YOUNG FEMALE IN THE HOUR OF PERIL, 
 
 Edward Mandeville after some months bcr 
 gan to experience those difficulties which are ge- 
 nerally produced by youthful indiscretions. His 
 health was materially affected, and his finances 
 were so far reduced, as to oblige him to borrow 
 several small sums among his acquaintance to 
 supply his immediate wants. The cause which he 
 tried in behalf of Lydia was lost, while he was 
 bound to pay the expenses within a limited time. 
 
 Unfortunately Mr. ]\fandcville, wrapped in a 
 blind security df the situation in which his nephew
 
 REVEXGE. 233 
 
 was placed by the recommendation of ^Ir. Os- 
 wald, and still further deceived by the letters, he 
 received from hiin, deferred visiting London in 
 compliance to some other engagements he would 
 totally have put aside had he been aware of 
 the dangerous society by v hich Edward was sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 Young Mandcville, whose sentiments, o])i- 
 nions, and inclinations were imjjerceptlblv tainted 
 by the levity and example of his companions, be- 
 gan now to view Lvciia Sillbourne in a very differ- 
 ent light from that in which he had beheld her 
 when they first became acquainted. The licen- 
 tious raillery of his associates, Avhom he considered 
 as oracles in their knowledtve of the Avorld, had 
 taught him to suppose that she ^as one of those 
 females, whose strict conduct and delicacy of 
 manners Avere only assumed to deceive that part 
 of mankind on whom they \vished to impose, 
 either to gratify their avarice or inclinations. Nor 
 did his tutors in tliese principles evince any par- 
 tiality by confining their suspicions of such traits
 
 254 TALE^ OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 to a particular class of women, but gave it as tiieir 
 opinion that they were the general and universal 
 characteristics of the sex. 
 
 Lydia's frequent interviews with Edward, 
 adckd to the obligations she had unwillingly re- 
 ceived, and an entire confidence in his honouF, 
 wrged her to conduct herself towards him with an 
 openness and familiarity, whicli, while it excited 
 his vanity, gradually seemed to confirm the false 
 notioiis he had imbibed as to her character. Still 
 there is a dignity in conscious virtue which re^ 
 pulses even the most daring from those liberties to 
 which they would often persuade themselves they 
 are invited. Edward, although warmed by the 
 beauty of her person, elevated with the idea of 
 possessing her affections, and instigated by his 
 libertine companions, was yet iniable for some 
 time to insult an innocent girl who had thrown 
 herself on his protection, or even so far expose 
 his designs as to raise her suspicions or call forth 
 her anger.
 
 BEM^XGE. ■233 
 
 Through the recommendation of ^Irs. Mopscy, 
 who -was an industrious and good hearted Avoman, 
 she had procured a sufficient quantity of needle- 
 work to maintain her; but the debt Avhich sh» 
 considered herself bound to discharge to Edward 
 of the costs of the unfortunate law-suit, occasion- 
 ed her considerable uneasiness. Her delicacy 
 revolted at the idea of remaining under a pecu- 
 niary obligation of this kind to one, who, whatever 
 might be licr own opinion of his merits, she was 
 aware Avould be considered by the world as guilty 
 of interested motives in the transaction. 
 
 Lydia Sillbourne, although destitute of man}- 
 of the advantages of education, possessed powers 
 of mind far above mediocrit3^ The loss of her 
 parents and friends, which rendered her destitute 
 of that protection she would otherwise have en- 
 joyed, and forced her on the world under cir- 
 cumstances the most dangerous and distressinjj, 
 still tended to call into action those enerjiies 
 of her understanding, Avhich, in a •situation more
 
 236 TAT.F.S OF TIllE PASSIONS. 
 
 fortunate, might probably liavc rciiiahicd dor- 
 mant. 
 
 Lydia bad received the best examples from 
 those vitii whom slie had fortunately hitherto been 
 reared ; the moral rectitude of her character was 
 established uj^on a firm and permanent basis ; her 
 train of reasoning was such as to render her suf- 
 ferings the most powerful assistance to her judge- 
 ment, while she gradually gleaned knowledge and 
 experience from those events which for a time 
 harassed and distressed her, and >vhich appeared 
 as ills of a most grievous and vexatious nature. 
 
 The intimacy and various interviews which had 
 gradually increased between iMontalbert and the 
 Courtezan, at length terminated in a connexion 
 which was calculated to secure the very gi'eat in- 
 fluence she had acquired over his actions, and 
 render her his constant and principal companion. 
 They resided together, and Mere considered by 
 those \vith A\hom they were principally concerned
 
 REVENGE. 237 
 
 as man and wife. Lucy no longer pined under 
 pecuniary difficulties ; ste even possessed the com- 
 forts and superfluities of life ; but they were neither 
 calculated to sooth the affliction of lier mind, nor 
 subdue the fatal passion which glowed in her 
 bosom. They Avere luxiu'ies wliich tended only to 
 magnify her disgrace and infamy, and remind her 
 that mcrease of years and former miseries had 
 neither puritied her morals nor reformed her con- 
 duct. 
 
 The intricate Avorkings of the human mind, 
 and the apparent contradictory sensations they 
 produce, Avere strongly illustrated in Lucy AVilson ; 
 her chief punishment Avas produced by a con- 
 sciousness of her vices ; while this seemmg fun- 
 damental principle towards a return to Airtue, 
 served only to irritate the vicious spleen she 
 bad imbibed, and increase the atiocity of her 
 life. 
 
 Montalbert had introduced EdAvar<l to her at
 
 23S TALES OF THE P.YSSIOXS. 
 
 tlieir lod^in";s : lier feeliiiiTs on their first intei'vierfr 
 were too pow crful to be concealed from her visitor ; 
 she gazed on him with the eyes of a vulture, ^vhile 
 in her ghastly smile of hospitable welcome might 
 be discovered the exultation of a fiend. Edward 
 imperceptibly shrunk from her pretended advances 
 of cordiality and friendship, and resolved to repeat 
 his visits as seldom as possible. It was not, how- 
 ever, in liis power to maintain this resolution so 
 strictly as he could have wished. Montalbert was 
 ^nerally his opponent at cards ; he was indebted 
 to him a considerable sum in what are generally 
 termed debts of honour, and had borrowed more 
 than once of him to defray those which he had 
 contracted with others. ]\Iontalbert was often in 
 the habit of giving him invitations to his house, 
 and at times expressed some dissatisfaction at his 
 refusal to accc})t them. Edward was unfortu- 
 nately entangled in obligations from which he was 
 unable to extricate himself, and though he felt 
 their pressure most acutely, was stilt necessitated 
 silently to submit. M' ith respect therefore to
 
 REVENGE. 239 
 
 Hieetins: the Courtezan, to whom he had a decided 
 distaste, he was not capable of following his own 
 inclinations. 
 
 In one of these visits, after an evening of ex- 
 cess and dissipation in which IMontalbert had par- 
 taken, and was so far overcome as to be obliged 
 to retire to rest a few moments after his retiini 
 home, Edward was detained by the severe incle- 
 mency of the Aveather, and remained alone ^vitli 
 the Courtezan. She in general appeared to hira 
 gloomy, sullen, and designing. He was not now 
 in a state either to enforce conversation or en- 
 courage it. He rested on a sofa at one end of 
 the room, while Lucy was reading by a lamp at 
 the other. After some time he fell into a feverish 
 slumber; the effects of tlie wine he had drank, 
 and the agitation of his spirits occasioned by the 
 money he had lost during the last i^As hours, had 
 inflamed and disordered his mind. Terrific figures 
 floated before him : his uncle, Emma, and various 
 other forms, were alternately preseuted to liis ima-
 
 240 TALES OF 1'IiE PASSIONS. 
 
 gination : he listened to their reproaches in agony, 
 and felt conscious ho^v• justly he deserved them. 
 At intervals his eyes "were partly opened, and he 
 might be said to be thoroughly awake, although 
 he continued to remain motionless and apparently 
 insensible. In one of these })eriods he beheld the 
 Courtezan leaning over the sofa ; in one hand she 
 held the lamp by which she had been reading, and 
 which was extended in such a position as to 
 throw its feeble rays u})on her countenance. Ed- 
 ward, although incapable of moving, \s as yet suf- 
 ficiently in his senses to mark the i)eci\liar ex- 
 pression of her features. There was a wild fero- 
 city in her eyes, a seeming exultation in her whole 
 visage, which were horrible and dis2;ustin2;. She 
 appeared suddenly to discover that he beheld her, 
 and precipitately retreated to her former situation. 
 Edward shortly after rose from the couch, and 
 hurried from the house. He \\"as not in possession 
 of a single guinea ; he was indebted to several of 
 his trades-people, and was answerable for the 
 whole costs of the law-suit Mhich had taken place
 
 REVENGE. 241 
 
 in behalf of Lydia Sillbourne. In addition to 
 these embarrassments, he had borrowed upwards 
 of two hundred pounds of Montalbert. 
 
 He rambled he knew not whither. It was 
 already day-break ■ the morning was damp, cold, 
 and uncomfortable, and his reflections well ac- 
 corded w ith the gloom of the atmosphere. He at 
 length found himself before the door of Mopsey"s 
 house : almost insensible of his actions he knocked, 
 and, to his astonishment, it was opened by Lydia : 
 on his inquiries how she came up at so early an 
 hour, she informed him she was finishing some 
 needle-work, which she had promised should be 
 sent home in the course of the day, and that she 
 had found it would be impossible to fLdfil her 
 word without considerable exertion; she had, 
 therefore, remained up the whole night. Edward 
 followed iier to Mrs. IMopsey's parlour, in whicli 
 she had been sitting, and, without any ceremony, 
 placed himself by her side. Lydia was aware of 
 the impropriety of this visit ; she beheld the dis- 
 ordered state of his mind with considerable aJarm, 
 
 R
 
 2+2 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 aiid answered the lirst few frivolous remaiks 
 which he made with some hesitation. At length 
 he suddenly desired to know the cause of her 
 uneasiness ; but, instead of replying to this ques^ 
 tion, she asked with much earnestness if he was 
 well. 
 
 "Perfectly in health," answered Edward. 
 
 " And happy too, I hope,'' suddenly inter- 
 rupted Lydia. 
 
 *' Poverty, Lydia, is a great evil- 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! for, if it is, what will become 
 of me ?" 
 
 " Psha ! you are rich, compared with such a 
 bankrupt wretch as I am." 
 
 Lydia's surprise and consternation at tliesc 
 words were visible in every feature ; his own con- 
 fession rendered all further inquiries on her part
 
 REVENGE. 243 
 
 needless; she became fully acquainted with the 
 extent of his misfortunes. He marked her an- 
 guish at the recital with a scrutinizing eye ; it 
 flattered his vanity, and seemed to give a momen- 
 tary respite to his miseries. For some little time 
 she appeared lost in her own reflections ; at length, 
 suddenly quitting her seat and running to a closet, 
 she returned with a small pocket-book, and, with 
 trembling hand and downcast eyes, presented it 
 to the astonished Edward. 
 
 " This," she exclaimed, attempting to stifle 
 her emotion, " trifling as it is, may perhaps be of 
 some little service to you. Be not offended at the 
 offer ; although but a few pounds, they may give a 
 temporary relief to your embarrassments. I am 
 indebted, justly indebted, to you a m.uch larger 
 sum." 
 
 The satisfaction which beamed in his counte- 
 nance as he listened to her, partook more of 
 youthful passion than tliat generous admiration 
 
 R 2
 
 24-4. TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 her conduct so justly deserved. He grasped he» 
 hand witk eagerness, but refused the purse. 
 
 " Indeed, indeed," she continued, " you must 
 obhge me on this point. It is but a trifle. I 
 have earned it hardly, and can I dispose of it 
 better than in assisting him who has so kindly be- 
 friended me?" 
 
 Edward, scarcely recovered from the last 
 night's dissipation, still elevated with the fumes of 
 the wine he had drunk, and distracted with the 
 ditficulties which threatened him, was not in a 
 state either to think with precision, or subdue 
 those feelings which were rising in his bosom. 
 The reasonincrs of liis dissolute friends seemed 
 confirmed. The kindness and gratitude of an 
 innocent girl were construed into the forward 
 advances of a w anton, and considered to proceed 
 from the most infamous motives. Every doubt 
 appeared to him vanished as to the extent of her 
 partiality towards him ; and his behaviour imme-
 
 liEVENGE. 2i5 
 
 (lately assumed a licentiousness which at once 
 struck Lydia with alarm and constei^nation. 
 
 ''You are an ans;el!" he exclaimed, vrhile 
 he seized her arm, and rudely forced her towards 
 him. '•' Xay, nav, my dear girl, affect not this 
 coyness ; why should we distrust each other ? Can 
 I coldly return this generosity by the mere coni- 
 mon-place thanks which the formal etiquette of 
 mankind has substituted for the more warm effu- 
 sions of the heart ? " 
 
 Lydia, lost in amazement, Avas unable to utter 
 a syllable, which Edward mistaking for a silent 
 ooRsent to his behaviour, became still more daring 
 in his liberties. At length, after a violent struggle, 
 she released herself from his embrace. The re- 
 proaches which she attempted to utter faltered on 
 ber tongue, and she burst into tears. 
 
 Edward, elevated almost to phrensy, again 
 encircled her waist with his arm. The pride of 
 insulted vutue now seemed to renovate her courage.
 
 L'46 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 and inspire her \vith a dignity and fortitude she 
 had never before evinced. Her looks were suffi- 
 cient to awe her oppressor : he shrunk from her 
 eye, abashed and disconcerted : he attempted to 
 continue the conversation with wliich he had al- 
 ready so cruelly distressed her ; but his words died 
 aw^ay in a whisper, and his cheeks glowed with a 
 consciousness of his unmanly conduct. She m as 
 quitting the room with precipitation, when he 
 attempted to take her hand, and exclaimed, in a 
 faltering voice, " Lydia, we must talk over this 
 business another time. I may, perhaps, have 
 been to blame. We must meet " 
 
 "Never again!" answered Lydia; "you have 
 undeceived me. Sir; and whatever may be the 
 pangs I experience in the knowledge I have ac- 
 quired of your character, they are more than re- 
 paid by the timely security it has afforded me. 
 It is an event to which I shall always refer as the 
 most po-tent lesson of my life. Cii, J\fr. Mande- 
 ville!" she exclaimed, while her eyes overfioAved 
 with tears, " what can you have observed in my
 
 REVENGE. 247 
 
 conduct, that could thus urge you to oppress me 
 with obhgations, only to render your insults more 
 pointed, and your cruelty more afflicting?" 
 
 On concluding these words, she retired from 
 the apartment; while Edward remained for some 
 minutes motionless with chagrin and astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 Remorse, disappointment, and wounded pride, 
 served to irritate him almost to madness ; however 
 miserable he micrht have been when he entered 
 
 o 
 
 the habitation of Lydia, he left it under increased 
 horrors and wretchedness. Having gained his 
 lodgings, he in vain attempted to procure some 
 little alleviation to his sufferincrs bv a few hours' 
 repose. On undressing, he missed the cornelian 
 that had been presented to him by Emma Mande- 
 ville the evening before his departure from Upway. 
 His surprise and consternation were extreme ; its 
 intrinsic worth was trifling : but to him its value 
 was inestimable. The peculiar circumstances 
 under which he had received it, rendered it still
 
 21-8 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 dearer to him. In moments of the severest an- 
 guish, produced by reflections he was unable to 
 subdue, this trinket had afforded him consolation ; 
 for although it sometimes created pangs in remind- 
 ing him of his unworthiness, yet it soothed him. 
 witifi the enchanting hope that the affections of the 
 fair donor were indeUbly his own. Yet how lie 
 could have been deprived of it, appeared mo^t 
 astonishing; he always wore it next his heart, 
 suspended from the same ribbon which he had 
 received with it. It was in vain he attempted to 
 recollect any probable means by which it could 
 have been taken from him, and at length, wearied 
 with conjecture, he resigned himself to the morti- 
 fying conclusion, that it was irrecoverably lost. 
 The agitation of his spirits, and the disordered 
 state of his mind, totally precluded sleep; his 
 reveries were of a nature to defy all his efforts to 
 dissipate them. He did not arrive at chambers 
 till near two o'clock the following day, and was 
 informed by Orby, that Mr. Oswald had expressed 
 some displeasure at the irregularity of his attend- 
 ance. That gentleman himself made his appear-
 
 RFV^ENGE. 249 
 
 ance a few minutes afterwards, and desired Ed- 
 ward to follow him into his private room. 
 
 After a pause of many minutes, during which 
 he. seemed to be exerting his memory to recollect 
 the subject on which he was going to speal^, he 
 thus addressed him : — 
 
 " It appears to me, 'Sh. ]\Iandeville, from the 
 few observations I have taken the trouble to make 
 on your conduct durino; tlie short time '' 
 
 Here he sud daily broke off; and, ringing his 
 bell, inquired if any answer had been received to 
 the packet he had that morning ordered to be sent 
 to the chancellor. He was informed there had 
 not; upon which he immediately took up a pen, 
 and seemed about to write a second letter. 
 
 " I say, ]Mr. Mandeville," he continued, as he 
 
 apparently began his epistle, " I say. Sir, " 
 
 when, again pausing, he suddenly exclaimed, 
 '' What was I saying, Sir?"
 
 f?.5() TAT.ES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 " You desired me to follow you, Sir," answer- 
 ed Edward, " as I suppose, for the purpose of 
 some communication." 
 
 '' Oh ! aye, aye, very true, I had forgot,- — - 
 ves, I was about to sav, Sir, that " 
 
 At this instant the door opened, without any 
 ceremony, and IMr. Mopsey, with his portfolio in 
 one hand, and his liat in the other, stood before 
 them. 
 
 i\Ir. OsAvald seemed petrified with amazement 
 at the audacity of the visitor: his inner- apartment 
 was a kind of sanctum sanctorum, ^^ hich was only 
 to be gained, by common persons, through a long 
 state of purgatory and penance in the outer one. 
 The figure of Mopsey, whom he had never before 
 seen, Avas likewise calculated to excite his asto- 
 nishment ; the eccentricity of his dress (the same 
 in which Edward first met him, and ^hich was 
 somewhat the worse for the several journeys he had 
 taken since that period), added to the unmeaning
 
 REVENGE. 2.51 
 
 stare which was depicted on his countenance, 
 would most probably have occasioned a risibility 
 of the muscles in any face subject to such effects: 
 but ]\Ir. Oswald had forgotten how to laugh, nor 
 was this a very favourable period for recovering 
 the method. His pride was hurt by the intrusion, 
 and the general apathy of his character in some 
 degree gave way to tlie anger he experienced. 
 
 The painter, on inquiry for Mr. Mandeville, 
 had been informed, by one of tlie junior pupils, 
 that he was in the next room, and was requested 
 to wait till he came out. IMopsey, however, who 
 was that morning going to leave London on his 
 favourite pursuit, and was fearful of being too 
 late for the stage in which he had taken his place, 
 proceeded to the apartment sans ccremonie ; it Avas 
 the action of the moment ; the artist seldom took 
 time to consider in such cases, or discovered his 
 errors till it was too late to retract. 
 
 " I beg pardon, gentlemen," he exclaimed, 
 " hope no intrusion ; but I am rather tied f©r time,
 
 252 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 as I may say : got a few sketches to make, about 
 a hundred miles off, and must return again, to 
 finish the Lincohishire ox, Avhich is bespoke, by 
 Tuesday next." 
 
 IVIr. Oswald still continued to gaze on him with 
 increased amazement. 
 
 " Who is this fellow," he exclaimed, turning 
 to Mandeville, " that dares tlius break in upon 
 •my privacy ? Is it to a friend of yours, Sir, that 
 I am indebted for this insult?" 
 
 The artist, in his turn, now found himself of- 
 fended. 
 
 " I beg pardon ; don't exactly understand you, 
 Sir. I must beg to tell you, Sir, I never give, or 
 take, an insult : — it would be well, perhaps, if Mr. 
 ^landeville could say as much ; he has insulted an 
 innocent girl, Sir ; and, damn me, if I don't think 
 that is the most disgraceful insult a man can com- 
 mit! Aye, aye, gentlemen, you may knit your
 
 REVENGE. 253 
 
 brows, it's all one to me; the right thing is the 
 right thing all the world over, and you may scribble 
 away upon your old greasy parchments for a cen- 
 tury, but vou will never make it otherwise." 
 
 *' This insolence,"' exclaimed Edward, "' is 
 beyond endurance." 
 
 " Aye, aye, very likely," answered Alopsev, 
 taking a letter from his pocket, which he threw on 
 the table before him, '•' there is a letter for von, 
 which will make your heart ache, if vou have got 
 one; so I wish you a good morning.- — Fellow, in* 
 deed ! upon my soul, I like that ! " 
 
 On uttering these words, he quitted the room ; 
 while Mr, Oswald remained mute with astonish- 
 ment, and his eyes still fixed on the place where 
 !Mopsey had stood. 
 
 Fortunately, the announcement of a visitor of 
 some consequence, gave Edward an opportunity of 
 withdrawing, after delivering a stammering apology 
 to Mr. Oswald for the intrusion he had suffered,
 
 25 1 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 who -^vaved his hand for his absence, A\ithout 
 deigning to reply. lie immediately left the 
 chambers; and, with breathless agitation, broke 
 open the letter ; its contents were as follows : — 
 
 " TO MR. MANDEVILLE. 
 
 " The enclosed bank note will discharge the 
 sum I am indebted to you for the expenses of the 
 law-suit which you undertook in my behalf, and 
 also some other pecuniary obligations which you 
 have lately forced upon me. Alas ! Sir, you have 
 cruelly mistaken my character. L^tim an orphan, 
 friendless, unprotected, and poor ; but I am not in- 
 sensible either to the delicacy of my sex, or to that 
 line of conduct which is alone calculated to preserve 
 me from sinking under my misfortunes. Surely, 
 the wretched are not always destined to become 
 the victims of licentiousness ; surely, my destruc- 
 tion was not the only aim Mhich urged you to 
 sooth my sorrows, and relieve my distress. I will 
 not, I dare not, accuse you of such views. I have 
 enemies (heaven only knows ho^'^) who have de-
 
 REVENGE. 255 
 
 ceived you. Under these considerations, I may 
 still say I am gi'ateful for the kindness you have 
 shown me, and that the first wish of my heart will 
 ever be your happiness and prosperity. 
 
 " LYDIA SILLBOURNE." 
 
 Edward's feelings and astonishment ivere equally 
 excited by the reading of this letter, and view ing 
 the fifty pound note Mhich it contained. The 
 mild reproaches of Lydia planted daggers in his 
 bosom ; he felt the perfidy of his conduct, with 
 the most acute anguish : yet he was totally unable 
 to account for the manner in which she could have 
 become possessed of the money that w as enclosed ; 
 she declared herself friendless, but to some one 
 she must have been indebted for pecuniary obliga- 
 tion ; her own labour never could have procured 
 her a tenth part of the amount. The insinuation 
 of his companions relative to her character, still 
 maintained some hold on his imagination, and the 
 appearance of the bank note, in a gi'eat degree, 
 confirmed them. In the evening, he proceeded to
 
 250 tai:es of the passions. 
 
 Mopsey's house, and inquired of the servant who 
 opened the door to him, if I\iiss Sillbourne was at 
 home. The girl informed him, she had quitted 
 her lodging a few hours before ; she believed she 
 was gone into the country, but to what part, she 
 could not tell : a gen^^leman had called for her in a 
 hackney-coach. Edward's surprise increased ; he 
 asked if she knew the gentleman. She hesitated 
 at this question, and would give no direct answer. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Mopsey were both out. The latter 
 had been for some time on a visit to her friends in 
 Wiltshire, and was not expected home for a fort- 
 night. Edward w as convinced the girl knew more 
 than she told him, and he gave up all hopes of any 
 farther intelligence. He had suificient resolution 
 to apply the note to the purpose for which he had 
 received it, and the same day discharged the debt 
 he had contracted by the law-suit. But he \\ as 
 involved in others from which tlicre appeared -no 
 possibihty of extricating himself. Mr. Osborne 
 was his principal creditor; he was also the chief 
 witness of his errors and follies. Edward felt the 
 ascendancy which he had acquired over him, Avitia
 
 REVENGE. 237 
 
 the utmost poignancy, yet was unable to break the 
 fetters that goaded him. 
 
 jNIontalbert, vitiated as his mind and principles 
 might be, was still incapable of resisting some im- 
 pressions of regard towards the victim of his in- 
 human plans. The mere consideration of his re- 
 venge being gratified at a future period, in the 
 completion of Edward's destruction, was not suf- 
 ficient to counteract those strong emotions of the 
 heart which, at intervals, he was unable to subdue. 
 The violence of his passion was powerful enough 
 to urge him to adopt schemes the most horrible 
 and disgraceful ; in the theory lie was capable of 
 view ing them with some degree of satisfaction, but 
 in the practice he faltered and became irresolute. 
 The gloom which generally pervaded his features 
 increased daily ; his days were spent in silent me- 
 lancholy reveries, his nights in groans of anguish. 
 These struggles of the mind produced l)ouily dis- 
 ease. Edward attended his bed-side with a0ec- 
 lionatc solicitude ; every word of tenderness which
 
 258 I^ALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 he uttered, produced an agonizing pang in the 
 bosom of the wretc|aed Montalbert. 
 
 He one night read to him by his bed-side. It 
 was a tale of affliction, and somewhat parallel to 
 Montalbert's history. Edward shed tears : Mont- 
 albert suddenly raised himself in his bed, and 
 gazed upon him with anxiety. 
 
 " You feel the distress of this man," he ex- 
 claimed, '■'■ you can conceive his anguish, you can 
 picture to yourself his distraction." 
 
 ** Oh yes!" answered Edward, while his 
 bosom throbbed with emotion ; " I can feel for 
 his wrongs; I could have sacrificed my life ta 
 have redressed them." 
 
 " Ah!" cried Montalbert, while his body 
 seemed convulsed by the sensations which agitated 
 him, " but suppose the villain which occasioned 
 these miseries had claims on your affection^ from
 
 REVENGE. 259 
 
 ties of biood or gratitude ; suppose he was your 
 near relative, your fatlier, your uncle, or your 
 friend?" 
 
 Edward paused at the question ; while Mont- 
 albert fell back on his pillow apparently lifeless. 
 It was some considerable time before he reco- 
 vered ; M hen Edward took his leave, and retired 
 with a heavy heart to his lodgings, 
 
 Lucv had watched the effects of this scene be- 
 tween Montalbert and Edward with a scrutinizing 
 eye, and, for the first time, felt a pang of remorse 
 in reflecting on the schemes she was pursuing. 
 The moment they were alone Montalbert raised 
 himself in his bed with some difficulty, and, while 
 he seized her arm with violence, gazed on her face 
 in silent anguish. Her whole attention seemed 
 riveted upon something which she held in her 
 hand. She remained insensible of his gi'asp, while 
 the agony of her feelings were forcibly delineated 
 in her countenance.
 
 260 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 " Lucy Wilson !" he exclaimed, in an a^ful 
 and tremulous voice, " these proceedings are hor- 
 rible. Oh God ! can I calmly become the agent 
 of this youth's destruction, who would, perhaps, 
 hazard his existence for my preservation?" 
 
 She slowly raised her eyes from the object on 
 which her mind was employed, and fixed them 
 upon Montalbert. 
 
 " Are you a man ?" she exclaimed, while the 
 contemptuous look which accompanied the ques- 
 tion rendered it more pointed. " Can INIontalbert 
 so soon forget his blasted fame and tainted honour? 
 Has he lost all recollection of that period wlien 
 Mandeville supplanted him in the affections of 
 the woman he adored ?" 
 
 " Ah ! talk of that," he cried ; " it is the watch- 
 word that drives me to distraction." 
 
 " Do you remember the agonies of that mo- 
 ment when you beheld her in the arms of the man
 
 REVENGE. 261 " 
 
 whose liberty was the purchase of your bounty ? 
 Is not your recoUectipn-su^ciently vivid to behold 
 the caresses she lavished upon him, while he 
 proudly revelled in his guilty bj^iss, and pitied the 
 wi'etch whom he had disgraced?" 
 
 " May he experience the torments," groaned 
 Montalbert, " which I now feel; may he droop 
 under those calamities he has inflicted on me." 
 
 " Do not tiie sensations still vibrate in your 
 bosom," continued the Courtezan, " which you ex- 
 perienced on that night when you bedewed with 
 vour tears the earth which covered the dust of 
 your once-beloved wife, and reflected on the in- 
 gratitude of him who has deprived you of yeai-s 
 of happiness, who has overwhelmed you with 
 shame and sorrow?" 
 
 *' Oh ! no more, no more," cried the wretched 
 man; " none, none but a fiend could call forth 
 those feelings which now lacerate my bosom/'
 
 2C2 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 . ; *' And yet," she exclaimed, " I have sufficient 
 resolution to share them with you : yes, Montal- 
 bert, so far from considering them a reproach, I 
 glory in the sensations they excite. I would che- 
 rish with enthusiasm those images of my imagina- 
 tion, which might serve to nerve me to my pur- 
 pose, although they urged me to madness. This 
 bawble, for instance, is to me a precious store ; 
 the sight of it serves to recall to my memory past 
 scenes, which fire my brain and render me fit for 
 any act of desperation the wrongs I have suffered 
 may demand. Oh ! pretty trinket," she cried, 
 *' have I again recovered thee ! what thrilling sen- 
 sations tremble at my heart when I recollect the 
 moment I first bestowed it on him, whose kisses 
 were poison, whose fatal embraces have been my 
 eternal curse!" 
 
 *' It is the property of Mandeville," exclaimed 
 Montalbert; " the cornelian which he always 
 wore in his bosom." 
 
 " It is false," answered the Courtezan ; " it
 
 REVENGE. 26S 
 
 nvas the gift of a dying mother to her beloved and 
 innocent child. Oh God ! is not that moment yet 
 obliterated from my memory, when I pressed my 
 lips to her dying cheeks ; Avheii she clung to me 
 in the agonies of dissolution, when she shed her 
 last tear on my infant bosom, and expired as she 
 grasped me to her heart?" 
 
 " I am positive," cried Montalbert, with in- 
 creased astonishment, " it is the same trinket I 
 have seen in the possession of Mandeville." 
 
 "True," answered the Courtezan, with a 
 ghastly smile of exultation, " and I robbed him 
 of it as he slept. Had I but gazed upon his uncle 
 in such an unguarded hour — but no more of that 
 • — I might have plunged a dagger in his heart, 
 might have beheld him die amidst all the horrors 
 of conscious guilt, but such short-lived torments 
 are far inferior to my demands of vengeance. His 
 sufferings must not so soon be terminated; he 
 must wither under the mildew of calamity. His 
 sorrows must be such as shall humble him at our
 
 26 1 TALES OF TIIF PASSIONS . 
 
 feet, and render him sensible that his sufferings 
 are a retaliation for our injuries. ' 
 
 The cornelian had been originally presented 
 to ^landcville by Lucy, diu'ing the period he pre- 
 tended to pay her honourable addresses. It was 
 discovered by the present Mrs. Mandeville in a 
 drawer, among other trinkets, soon after her mar- 
 riage, and was of course given to her daughter-in- 
 law, from whom Edward had received it the 
 evening before he departed from Upway. The 
 Courtezan had beheld it on liis breast the night he 
 attempted to gain some repose at her lodgings, 
 after an evening of dissipation and ill fortune at 
 play. It has been already remarked, that he ob- 
 served her gazing upon him while she sujDposed 
 he slept; during the feverish slumber which pre- 
 ceded this discovery, she had contrived to cut 
 the riband which fastened it, and conveyed s the 
 cornelian to her own bosom. On this bawble she 
 would now gaze in sullen silence for hours to- 
 gether ; it seemed to remind her of her wrongs ; 
 it called forth sensations and reflections on th&
 
 REVENGE. 2G5 
 
 past, and gave additional vigour to her revenge. 
 vSbc was a stranger to those qualms of conscience 
 which daily increased on IMontalbert. jMontal- 
 bert, from the commencement of their plans o« 
 youn<r IMandeville, had been in habits of close 
 connexion and intimacy with him ; it Avas impos- 
 sible for him to remain insensible to the generosity 
 of Edward's nature ; the coodness of his heart be- 
 came conspicuous in a thousand trivial incidents 
 which occurred between them. The former was 
 unable to stifle the emotions they occasioned ; he 
 was himself, at one period of his life, as open, as 
 liberal, and as unsuspecting, as the youth whom 
 he had so cruelly destined as his victim. " 
 
 " Merciful God !" he would exclaim, during 
 his moments of reflection, " to what a gulf of per- 
 dition am I hurrying forward? There have been 
 moments in my existence, when a mere recital of 
 crimes Uke mine would have chilled my soul with 
 horror. And yet, to whom do I owe this trans- 
 formation? To Mandeville. He, who now revels 
 in those joys which I once anticipated with all the
 
 2t>6 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 warmth of youthfal ardour. He, mIio, in the 
 jnidst of his family, possesses every domestic feli- 
 city that can glad the heart of man ; Avho can 
 rest his head on the bosom of a beloved wife, and 
 experience the endearments of an adored child ; 
 while I, a wretch, an outcast, and a wanderer, 
 have no home, no wife, no children; my name 
 vilified and disgraced, my existence a burden, and 
 my thoughts on futurity my greatest curse." 
 
 Although reveries like these were not calcu- 
 lated to encourage sensations of contrition, yet 
 they were not capable of subduing them ; every 
 little act of kindness which he received from Ed- 
 ward Mandeville, occasioned pangs to which he 
 had before been a stranger. Lucy had no oppor- 
 tunity of receiving such impressions ; she studious- 
 ly avoided Mandeville, and the little which he had 
 witnessed of her manners, had so far dissusted 
 him, as to render his behaviour towards her neither 
 conciliating nor agreeable. 
 
 Montalbert's health, for some weeks, prevent-
 
 REVENGE 257 
 
 ed hini from following up the fatal arrangements 
 he had commenced ; yet Edward's difficulties and 
 embarrassment? increased, for he was initiated 
 into errors from which he had no resolution to 
 retract.
 
 7m TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 AX UNEXPECTED VISIT, AND ITS CONSEaUENCES. 
 
 J Io^v EVER artful and well managed the plans of 
 the Courtezan might Imve been, yet, had not 
 certain events occurred totally unconnected with 
 them, it is probable they would have failed with- 
 out producing those effects she so anxiously anti- 
 cipated. 
 
 An unfortunate train of circumstances brought 
 forward these events at the most fatal period in 
 which they could have happened. 
 
 The visitor who was so critically introduced to 
 Mr. Oswald, at the moment of Mopscy's depar- 
 ture (and who, most probably, preserved Edward
 
 IlEVENGE. 26P 
 
 from a severe lecture on the impertinent intrusion 
 of the artist), was the gentleman from whom Mr. 
 ]Mandeville had received his first introduction to 
 the learned pleader. ^Ir. Os^vald, not recovered 
 from the insult that had been offered to his dicr- 
 nity, uttered complaints >nth a volubility very 
 different from his usual mode of conversation, 
 and exclaimed against his pupil's late conduct, 
 with an asperity for which he had certainly some 
 cause. 
 
 The gentleman listened to him witli consider- 
 able concern ; he conceived himself called upon, 
 by the ties of friendship and humanity, to make 
 Mr. JVIandeville acquainted with the unpleasant 
 intelligence he had received. He, therefore, the 
 same evening dispatched a letter to Dorsetshire, 
 the contents of which occasioned the utmost alarui 
 in his friend. Mr. JNIandeville's resolutions, how- 
 ever, on the conduct he should pursue, were soon 
 formed ; he determined to leave Upway for Lon- 
 don on the following week, with his A\ife and 
 dauirhter. To the former he communicated the
 
 270 TALES OF THE PASSIO^^S. 
 
 intelligence he had received, from the latter he at 
 present resolved to conceal it. 
 
 On his arrival in town, after having placed ]\frs. 
 Mandeville and Emma at a family hotel, he di- 
 rectly proceeded to the house of Mr. Guilford. 
 It was late in the evening, but his anxiety to see 
 his nephew, and ascertain the truth of the infor- 
 mation he had received, urged him to seek an im- 
 mediate interview. To his inquiries, if Mr. Man- 
 deville was at home, the servant who opened the 
 door, answered in the affirmative ; and, mistaking 
 his person for one of those gentlemen who occa- 
 sionally frequented Mr. Guilford's parties, he in- 
 stantly ushered him to the drawing-room. The 
 scene which he witnessed on his entrance, was 
 sufficient to confirm the intelligence which had so 
 suddenly brought him to London. The apart- 
 ment was spacious, elegantly furnished, and lighted 
 with wax, in brilliant chandeliers. It was crowded 
 with card-tables, which were all engaged by guests 
 of various descriptions and appearajices. The 
 noise of the dice-box, and the exclamations of its
 
 REVENGE. 27 J 
 
 votaries, saluted his ears as he entered, and so en- 
 gaged were they in their play, and so little did 
 they expect a stranger, that he remained in the 
 room a few moments before he vvas discovered. In 
 this time Mr. INIandeville in some degree recovered 
 the surprise and chagrin which the scene he wit- 
 nessed had occasioned. Kis nephew was one of 
 the first objects he beheld : Edward had been un- 
 fortunate from the beginning of tlie evening ; he 
 was elevated with wine : his countenance was has:- 
 gard, pale, and emaciated ; his hair dishevelled, 
 and his eyes riveted on the dice in agonizing sus- 
 pense. The consternation of those few in the 
 party who were so far disengaged as to discover a 
 stranger had been introduced, was extreme. Mr. 
 Guilford was one of the first who observed the 
 mistake the servant had committed ; his presence 
 of mind, however, was not to be shaken by so 
 trivial an accident. He addressed Mr. Mandeville 
 with the utmost composure, and begged to con- 
 duct him into another apartment. This offer, 
 however, he refused, and, having announced his 
 name to Guilford, he seated himself bv one who
 
 272 TALES OF THE PASSIOXS. 
 
 seemed no otherwise employed in the general 
 amusement, than by \\ atching the table at u hich 
 Edward Mas engaged a\ ith peculiar anxiety. 
 
 " Here," whispered INlandevillc to himself, 
 *' is a mac, who seems sensible of the destructi\ e 
 vice which surrounds him ; who appears to medi- 
 tate on the horrible infatuation of its unfortunate 
 victims." 
 
 Guilford, in a few moments, announced to 
 Edward the presence of his uncle. Shame, re- 
 morse, and confusion, rendered him, at the in- 
 stant, unable to move from the spot A\here he 
 stood. At length, abashed and disconcerted, he 
 approached Mr. iVIandeville ; his voice failed as 
 he grasped the hand which the former extended 
 towards him, and he with difficulty exclaimed^ 
 " My dear Sir, this visit is indeed sudden and un- 
 expected." 
 
 At this instant the attention of the company, 
 which had gradually been drawn towards the
 
 REVENGE. 273 
 
 Stranger, was suddenly arrested by the violent 
 emotions of Alontalbert, next to whom Mr. Man- 
 de\ille had seated himself. The o;roan of anguish 
 which he uttered, at once made him an object 
 of curiosity and attention ; his attempts to stifle 
 his feelin2;s were impossible; he had no alter- 
 native but to complain of indisposition, and quit 
 the room immediately. 
 
 Mr. IVIandeville soon perceived the dismay his 
 introduction had occasioned ; he, therefore, re- 
 quested his nephew to conduct him to his apart- 
 ment. Edward obeyed ; and waited, with anxiety, 
 the reproaches he expected. 
 
 He was totally at a loss to conjecture from 
 what source his uncle could have derived informa- 
 tion of his errors; nor was he sufficiently sober 
 either to arrange his thoughts or words, in such a 
 mamier as might tend to eradicate the impressions 
 he must have received from the situation in which 
 he discovered him. He, however, concluded he 
 knew the extent of his follies, and was upon the 
 
 T
 
 2Y4 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 point of declaring the whole of them, when ]Mn 
 Mandenlle addressed him in a manner which con- 
 firmed he had but a slight knowledge of his situa- 
 tion, and was acquainted with only a fe^x particu- 
 lars of his misconduct. 
 
 '• I will not upbraid you, Edward f he ex- 
 claimed, " I can only advise you to be wary. The 
 company with which I just now sa^v you sur- 
 rounded, ai^e sufficient to alarm me. I could 
 prove to vou, from fatal experience, the dangers 
 of the precipice on wliich you stand, but I should 
 onlv MTins your heart in the recital." 
 
 • Edward, although he felt some relief in the 
 discovei-y that his uncle conceived his admonitions- 
 were not yet too late, still reflected in agony on 
 the sufferings he would experience hereafter, when 
 acquainted with the extent of his errors. 
 
 His sleep \va5 broken and disturbed : he was- 
 te Ijreakfast with his uncle the following morning r 
 he wished to make up his mind to confess the
 
 EE\*EN'GE. 275 
 
 whole of his embarrassments in tliis interview, and, 
 at lengtli, argued himself into some degree of firm- 
 ness for the task. 
 
 At an early hour he arrived at the hotel to 
 which Mr. iVIandeville had directed him ; and, in- 
 stead of finding his uncle alone, beheld him seated 
 between his wife and daughter. Edward's mo- 
 mentary joy at the sight of Emma, was succeeded 
 by chagrui and contlision in the consciousness of 
 his situation ; his emotions were too powerful for 
 concealment; his return to the heart-felt, vet 
 modest, salutations of his cousin, were hesitating 
 and formal ; his answers to the friendly inquiries 
 of Mrs. Mandeville, the mere cold and polite 
 replies of distant civility. 
 
 Emma, v, ho was ignorant of that intbrmation 
 which her father and mother possessed, and which 
 to them, in some degi^ee, served as an excuse ibr 
 his conduct, experienced, in this interview, the 
 most severe mortiiicatioQ and disappc»ntment 
 Her tbnd and unsuspecting heart had anticipated 
 
 T 2
 
 276 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 the mutual joys of their meeting, with all the fer- 
 vour and warmth of a glowing and youthful ima- 
 gination. Her affection for Edwar*^. was not the 
 sudden impulse of passion, proceeding from an 
 admiration of his person, or the pride of female 
 conquest; they had been reared together, and 
 although, as they increased in years, delicacy and 
 propriety prevented those open confessions of re- 
 gard for each other in which they had formerly 
 indulged, yet, perhaps, such restraints increased 
 the sensations which produced them. 
 
 Emma gloried in her attachment to her cousin : 
 her sagacity had long since discovered, that she 
 had nothing to fear from the disapprobation of her 
 father. Edward's general reserve she gtileged to 
 the most noble motives, a consideration that liis 
 fortune would be inadequate to support her with 
 the affluence and comfort to which she had been 
 actustomcd. 
 
 A reception from him^ whom she thus adored, 
 !so opposite to what she had expected, occasioned
 
 REVENGE. 277 
 
 her pangs to which she had hitherto been a 
 stranger : wounded pride urged her to conceal tlie 
 anguish she experienced, but her struggles were 
 unequal to the task; she declared herself indis- 
 posed, and left the room in tears. 
 
 Although, during this visit, Edward was left 
 alone with his uncle for a considerable time, and 
 possessed every opportunity to make those confes- 
 sions he had resolved upon previous to his arrival, 
 he was yet unable to summon up resolution for 
 the occasion ; while the mild expostulations of 
 My. Mandeville on those errors in his conduct with 
 which he was acquainted assailed him, perhaps, 
 with more force, than if they had been de- 
 livered with the severity he was conscious they 
 deserved. 
 
 After a promise to renew his visit in the even- 
 ing, he departed, with a heavy heart, to the lodg- 
 ings of his pretended friend. 
 
 Lucy, on the return of Montalbert from Guil-
 
 278 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 ford's, the night before, perceived that he laboured 
 under extreme agitation : ever on the watch to 
 promote those aims to which her life seemed de- 
 voted, she was accustomed to study even the va- 
 riations of his countenance, with a curiosity and 
 anxiety peculiar to herself 
 
 *' You have been ruffled!" she exclaimed, the 
 moment he entered the apartment. 
 
 " I have indeed," answered Montalbert, as he 
 threw himself on a sofa, while his whole frame 
 trembled with emotion. " Lucy, I have seen our 
 enemy : I have seen Mandeville." 
 
 Th? eyes of the Courtezan seemed to flash fire 
 at the nnme : she riveted them on Montalbert as 
 if she would have pried into his very soul. 
 
 " Tell me," she cried, in a voice faltering and 
 tremulous, " tell me, how does he look,^ is he in 
 health, or does he languish under a consciousness 
 of his injustice and cruelty?"
 
 REVENGE. 27S 
 
 " Never, till this night," continued Montal- 
 bert, " did I experience the sensations which now 
 elevate me from the common prejudices that have 
 so long been entangled round my heart Yes, I 
 Jiave seen Mandeville; he, who dis^aced, tram- 
 pled, and triumphed over me. I have heard the 
 sound of his voice ; nay, he has touched me, con- 
 taminated me with the mildew of his breath. The 
 glow of health is on his cheek, h^ is in the full 
 vigour and prime of existence." 
 
 " And you," interrupted the Courtezan, " arc 
 the blighted victim of his treachery." 
 
 " True, true ; although he knew me not, he 
 seemed to mark me as a conqueror : there was 
 compassion in his eyes, but it was the commisera- 
 tion of a happy man for the wretch who lay pro- 
 strate at his feet. Why did he destroy my felicity ? 
 Why had he the power to hurl destruction on his 
 benefactor?" 
 
 " These are the impotent bewailings of one
 
 280 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 whose oppressions have subdued the energies of 
 his manhood : look at me, Montalbert ; I am a 
 woman ; aye, and have experienced those tender 
 affections which are considered as the exclusive 
 ornaments of our sex. Mandeville has reposed 
 on my bosom ; has slept in my arms ; has par- 
 taken with me of the most blissful moments of my 
 existence ; was the pride and joy of my soul. I 
 can remember the scenes which produced these 
 sensations ; can recall them to my mind in all the 
 vivid colouring of a warm and fanciful imagina- 
 tion, till they drive me to madness : but shall they 
 sooth me into a tame and passive endurance of 
 my wrongs ; shall they urge me to kneel before 
 my tyrant, and acknowledge my sufferings to be 
 just by submitting to them without a struggle?" 
 
 '^ Oh ! mistake me not," answered Montal- 
 bert ; "I am no longer the trembling instrument 
 of retribution ; the sight of this man has nerved 
 me to the utmost extent of the horrors you can 
 propose. My desires, till now, were feeble, sickly, 
 md effeminate ; I wished for what I could not
 
 EEVENGE. 281 
 
 gi-asp : I would have acted on the passion which 
 I experienced, but faltered in the execution with 
 childish imbecility. Now behold me ready to 
 prove I am capable of avenging my wrongs. 
 There is not a punishment I will hesitate to inflict ; 
 his tortures shall be my only joy." 
 
 " Excellent ! " exclaimed the Courtezan with 
 ecstasy, while a faint glo\\ of exultation was dif- 
 fused over her pallid cheek; ^' now you are in- 
 deed a man : a ray of light breaks in upon the 
 dark and cheerless void ^^ hich ingulfed me ; we 
 shall still be revenged : this passion shall yet be 
 indulged. I -^a ould sacrifice my very existence in 
 the gratification, and expire during the moments 
 of my triumph." 
 
 On the following morninsr Edward arrived at 
 their lodgings just as Montalbert was about to 
 quit them in search of him. He requested a pri- 
 vate conference, and they proceeded to a small 
 apartment which joined the drawing-room. Under 
 great agitation and distress, he declared he needed
 
 282 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 the advice of a friend ; and, seizing the hand of 
 Montalbert with considerable emotion, he uttered 
 in a faltering voice : 
 
 " I flatter myself, my dear Sir, I may address 
 you under that sacred name ; indeed, your kind- 
 ness to me from the moment I had first the hap- 
 piness to meet you, to the present period, I shall 
 ever remember with gratitude." 
 
 *• Nay, nay, no thanks, my dear IVIandeville,'' 
 returned IMontalbert, Avith a forced smile of com- 
 plaisance and regard ; " the few civilities it has 
 laid in my power to show you, are trifles due to 
 every one who needs them. If a son of my 
 own 
 
 Here Montalbert had trespassed too far on 
 his powers of finesse ; the recollection of his for- 
 'saken child rushed upon his brain. A conscious- 
 ness of the atrocious part he was performing shook 
 him with horror.
 
 *' Would to heaven that you had a sonj' ex- 
 claimed Edward with enthusiasm, " that he might 
 prove a comfort to your declining years, and re- 
 ceive those benefits you confer upon the children 
 of others!" 
 
 Montalbert felt the blush of conscious guilt 
 crimson his cheeks : he hid his face in agony, and 
 stifled the groans which were bursting from his 
 bosom. 
 
 "My uncle," continued Alandeville, *' whom 
 you saw last night, has been to me the most gene- 
 rous of benefactors ; yet I have abused his libera- 
 lity, and shamefully imposed upon his good opi- 
 nion of me." 
 
 " Your uncle," interrupted Montalbert, "may, 
 perhaps, in the recollection of his otvn indiscretions^ 
 find some excuses for those of his nephew." 
 
 " On that, perhaps, I may rest some hope. I 
 have heard he was gay, volatile, and dissipated, in
 
 254 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 his youth, but his heart' was' never contaminat- 
 ed -" 
 
 " 'Tis false!" exclaimed IMontalbert, while 
 every feature was distorted with rage, " I — I — 
 you will excuse these emotions, Sir ; they are the 
 effects of remembrances which your conversation 
 has excited. I ^vas merely going to observe, that 
 the hearts of most dissipated men are contami- 
 nated, however they may, in part, recover from 
 tlieir errors." 
 
 Edward proceeded ; he related the struggles 
 be had had with himself that morning, as to the 
 confessions he should make to his uncle. IMont- 
 albert listened to this part of his conversation with 
 some alarm, conceiving that he had already made 
 Mr. jNIandeviile acquainted with the extent of his 
 indiscretions ; an event which he knew was calcu- 
 lated to release him from his distresses, and pro- 
 duce a total reform in his conduct. His fears, 
 however, on this point, were soon dissipated, and 
 his satisfaction increased, by Edward's relating to
 
 REVENGE. 2S5 
 
 him some additional errors aasl difficulties wiiich 
 he had hitherto only suspected. 
 
 '' I have most shamefully," he exclaimed, 
 ** broken the ties of hospitalit3'. Yes, my dear 
 Sir, however you may have been inclined to pal- 
 liate my follies, I am aware of your indignation, 
 when I tell you I have injured our friend Guilford 
 beyond the power of reparation. I have seduced 
 his wife ! " 
 
 Edward's extreme agitation prevented his ob- 
 serving those marks of exultation which were ex- 
 pressed in Montalbert's countenance, and which, 
 with all his dupUcit}^, he was unable to conceal. 
 
 This amour was an event beyond his most 
 sansuine hopes : the various plans which might 
 be formed from it. flashed upon his mind with the 
 .most powerful conviction of their success : for the 
 present he determined only to act on one point, 
 that of prevailing upon him to conceal his embar- 
 rassments from his uncle. The artful insinuations
 
 JSd TALES OF THE PASSIONS'. 
 
 and arguments which he used, were fully compe- 
 tent to insure success. 
 
 " You are not aware," said lie, " of the hazard 
 j'ou run in an explanation. I do not altogether 
 allude to the loss of your uncle's favour, which, 
 under your present circumstances, would be cala- 
 mitous enough; but there is another object, on 
 which I have often heard you express the most 
 tender anxiety. Are you not aware, Mandeville, 
 that this affair with Mrs. Guilford should be con- 
 cealed with the utmost care from your cousin? 
 The resentment of some women, under these cir- 
 cumstances, often urge them to act in a manner 
 for which they repent the remainder of their 
 lives.'' 
 
 " What can you mean?" exclaimed Edward, 
 with much alarm and surprise. 
 
 *' Merely," continued Montalbert, " that, irri- 
 tated with the idea of having a rival in your affec- 
 tions, she may be inclined to Hsten to those per-
 
 ilEVENGE. 287 
 
 suasions of her father to forget you, which it is 
 not improbable he may use, when he becomes ac- 
 quainted with the extent of your errors." 
 
 These observations appeared extremely plau- 
 sible to the distracted Edward. His inclinations 
 also urged him to defer a confession which he 
 dreaded, and rendered every excuse for procrasti- 
 nating it, too alluring to be neglected. 
 
 Montalbert likewise hinted, that he daily 
 expected remittances from the country, which 
 would enable him to assist him with sufficient 
 sums to satisfy his most pressing demands, by 
 which means he would acquire time to reflect on 
 his embarrassments, and determine on the most 
 salutary methods to surmount them, without in- 
 curring the displeasure of his uncle, or forfeiting 
 the affections of his daushter. 
 
 'to' 
 
 Edward was unable to express his gratitude ; 
 he pressed the hand of Montalbert with fervour, 
 and quitted the house, elated w ith false hopes, and
 
 288 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 deluded by reasoning which aimed at his destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 No sooner had he left the apartment, than 
 Lucy entered, from a small closet in \\hich she 
 had listened to the whole conversation. Her coun- 
 tenance was lighted up wdth a joy and satisfaction 
 she had never before expressed. 
 
 " This, indeed," she exclaimed, " is worthy of 
 IVIontalbert!" 
 
 Montalbert remained pensive and silent; his 
 eyes still fixed on the spot where Edward had 
 stood, his hand still elevated in the same position 
 as when the youth had grasped it to his bosom. 
 
 " Come, come," cried the Courtezan, " to dis- 
 sipate this reverie, you must reflect on the proba- 
 bility of our schemes at length proving successful ; 
 you must anticipate the ecstasy of seeing your 
 enemy at your feet, and triumphing over him who 
 has so greatly triumphed over you."
 
 REVENGE. 289 
 
 " Rather say," exclaimed Montalbert, in a tre- 
 mulous voice of hollow solemnity, " that I should 
 think on past scenes of happiness and joy ; remem- 
 ber ivhat I ivaSj and reflect upon what I am" 
 
 However the conduct of the Courtezan, in her 
 manner and conversations with Montalbert, might 
 evince a total insensibility to every feeling which 
 was not subservient to the horrible passion of 
 her soul; yet there were moments in her exist- 
 ence, when the most poignant sensations of re- 
 morse and anguish lacerated her bosom. 
 
 Those fatal desires that had taken root in the 
 hearts of Montalbert and Lucy Wilson, although 
 alike in their effects, and possessing a perfect simi- 
 larity in, their points of attainment and means of 
 gratification, were yet, in part, produced by differ- 
 ent modes of thinking, which were only to be 
 traced in the intricate and subtle workings of the 
 human mind. 
 
 Lucy's affections for ^fandeville had been 
 u
 
 290 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 raised at that early period of youth, when the 
 imagination is heated by passions and inclinations 
 from which none are entirely exempt, and to 
 which the generous and open-hearted are often 
 the most vulnerable. The temptations which as- 
 sailed her, were commenced at a period when she 
 was least capable of resisting them. The pensive 
 melancholy that characterized her childish years, 
 and which increased after the death of her mother, 
 was by no means calculated to shield her from 
 their effects. She Mas of a disposition naturally 
 subject to extremes ; a fair work of nature, capa- 
 ble of an elevation to the summit of human excel- 
 lence, or a degradation to the horrors of the most 
 abandoned infamy. 
 
 It was in her nature to love and adore the man 
 of her choice with enthusiasm ; every thing is to be 
 hoped from such affections, when their enjoyment 
 is not incompatible with virtue, and when they are 
 of sufficient duration to ripen into that permanent 
 tenderness, and reciprocal esteem, which increases 
 with age, and is cemented in adversity. Yet, like
 
 REVENGE. I»91 
 
 the forward and tender flower, forced into exist- 
 ence by the trembling rays of an April sun, they 
 may expand their sweets in the morning beam, and 
 be lost for ever in the blast of the evening. The 
 hour in which Lucy forfeited her honour, deprived 
 her of that requisite pride in her o\^n character 
 which had before maintained her dignity, and pre- 
 served her from insult, while it shook her faith and 
 admiration of him to whom she had looked up as a 
 superior being. The error she committed, carried 
 with it its own punishment, even in the most fasci- 
 nating moments of guilty revelry. Her under- 
 standing was sufficiently acute to discover the 
 treachery under which she had fell ; a discern- 
 ment that at once annihilated those seeds of affec- 
 tion, the maturement of which produce ties of ten- 
 der and genuine attachment. There are springs 
 ill the human breast, so sensitive to certain im- 
 pressions, that their action will revolutionize the 
 whole thinking principle, and produce effects the 
 most dreadful and distressing to humanity. The 
 causes calculated to call forth their power, do not 
 always appear in the catalogue of events that 
 
 u g
 
 292 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 chequer the life of those -who are subject to their 
 influence. Alas ! they Mere not permitted to 
 slumber in the bosom of the unfortunate Lucy 
 Wilson. Happy would it have been, had her 
 gentle spirit sunk into eternal rest, before that 
 fatal period which was destined to raise them in 
 all their horrors. 
 
 It was not the first injury she sustained from 
 Mandeville, that engendered the deadly rancour 
 which glowed at her heart; it was the various suf- 
 ferings and sensations which it produced ; it was 
 the result of peculiar reflections on their effects, 
 of sullen and silent reveries on his cruelty. That 
 enthusiasm which, in the heyday of youthful pas- 
 sion, rendered him the object of her adoration, m as 
 equally forcible in nourishing her subsequent 
 hatred ; and the moment which confirmed him her 
 seducer, left him dear to her only from the worst 
 and most disgraceful of motives. The ties that 
 then bound them to each other, were not in their 
 nature either lasting or powerful ; respect, admira- 
 tion, and esteem, were lost in the consciousness of
 
 REVENGE. 293 
 
 each other's errors, till satiety was succeeded by 
 distaste, which hourly increased by mutual irrita- 
 tion and reproach. 
 
 The most material difference to be adduced in 
 the operations of this passion on the Courtezan 
 and IVIontalbert, was the effects from a sight of the 
 object on which it was directed. In the latter it 
 had inflamed and renovated those desires of ven- 
 geance w hich formed its very essence ; it had 
 rekindled every feeling which was calculated to 
 awake him to fury and desperation. Such conse- 
 quences were not entirely to be expected from 
 Lucy Wilson; the sight of INIandeville Avould 
 probably have occasioned her the most poignant 
 sensations, yet it is also likely they would have 
 been intermingled with certain remembrances of 
 past endearments, sufficiently powerful to have 
 decreased, rather than augmented, the malignant 
 and horrible wishes which now^ rasied in her 
 bosom. 
 
 / 
 
 Those gloomy thoughts and musings on her
 
 294 TxVLES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 situation, in which she so frequently indulged, 
 were calculated to urge her to all her purposes ; 
 but had she at intervals seen those features on 
 which she had so often gazed in the ecstasy of 
 youthful passion, the virulence of her revenge 
 would have been abated, although her indignation 
 juight have remained. 
 
 Mr. jMandeville, whose alarm respecting the 
 conduct of his nephew had, in a great measure, 
 subsided by the apparent propriety of his beha- 
 viour, and the constant visits which he paid, deter- 
 mined to accede to the request of his wife and 
 daughter, and remain in London during the winter 
 season, 
 
 Edward, in the course of a few weeks, seem- 
 ed to have recovered his usual spirits; his cool 
 and restrained civility towards Emma vanish- 
 ed by degrees, and their former familiarity and 
 confidence returned. He had now inclination 
 and opportunity to compare his lovely and inno- 
 cent cousin with the abandoned woman in whose
 
 REVENGE. 2D5 
 
 tolls he had unfortunately been ensnared. Mrs. 
 Guilford's artful and insinuating manners had 
 most completely blinded him with respect to 
 the infamy of her character ; she had made him 
 believe her imprudence and errors were the con- 
 sequences of a fatal attachment to his person, 
 w hich she Mas totally incapable of surmounting ; 
 at certain intervals she bewailed, in a seeming 
 agony of remorse, the guilt into which she had 
 plunged, and her injustice towards her husband ; 
 but these fits of immoderate soitow generally pre- 
 ceded a request for money, which the infatuated 
 youth contrived to obtain for her by methods that 
 increased his embarrassments, and overwhelmed 
 him with horror and consternation. 
 
 G uilford, at whose instigation this amour had 
 been carried into effect, did not fail to make 
 use of the influence he was aware it would give 
 him over young JMandeville. At different periods 
 he contrived to draw from him sums to a consi- 
 derable amount, which Edward the more readily 
 granted under an idea of the injury he had done
 
 29(5 TALES, OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 him, and of which he supposed he was igno- 
 rant. 
 
 His uncle most earnestly rerjuested he would 
 immediately quit the house of j\Ir. Guilford, and 
 engage a siet of chambers in one of the Inns of 
 Court, which he liberally offered to furnish for his 
 accommodation. The arts of Mrs. Guilford, how- 
 ever, prevented him from acceding to this salu- 
 tary arrangement, which, by various excuses, he 
 contrived to avoid, 
 
 Orby, who had formerly been one of his most 
 constant companions, had, within the last few 
 weeks, suddenly avoided him. Edward was to- 
 tally unable to account for this conduct. Orby 
 was a young man whose principles and disposi- 
 tion were naturally good ; having lost his parents 
 at an early age, he was unfortunately placed in 
 tlie house of a distant relative, whose mode of 
 living, and general conduct, was calculated to 
 erase those notions of virtue and propriety he had 
 imbibed during the first years of his youth. Still
 
 REVENGE. 297 
 
 they were not sufficient entirely to eradicate tliem; 
 Orby, in the midst of his excesses, experienced re- 
 flections which rendered him dissatisfied with him- 
 self, and sensible of the errors of his conduct : yet 
 he wanted that resolution which was necessary 
 for reform ; while the society with wliich he was 
 surrounded, tended only to nourish his follies, and 
 urge him to increase them. 
 
 The small property he inherited from his 
 father was imprudently expended by his guar- 
 dians to place him in a profession, and excite de- 
 sires, he. had no means of supporting. His 
 abilities, however, rendered him so useful to INlr. 
 Oswald, that he allowed him a very liberal salaiy 
 after the period his articles expired. His dissipa- 
 tion sometimes made him negligent in his attend- 
 ance, yet he had so far ingratiated himself with 
 his employer, as to preserve his situation with 
 credit and respectability. Although he had been 
 one of the most regular and constant attendants 
 at the parlies of ^Ir. Guilford, he had lately en- 
 tirely deserted them ; and having quitted the lodg-
 
 298 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 ings where he had resided for a considerable time, 
 his old companions were entirely ignorant of his 
 abode. During the hours of business, which M'ere 
 now the only times in which Edward was in his 
 company, he was melanchol}', silent, and reserved : 
 even Mr. Oswald so far forgot himself as to notice 
 the extraordinary change in his manner, and ex- 
 pressed considerable satisfaction in the disco- 
 very. 
 
 The appearance of Montalbert, on the niglit 
 in which Mr. Mandeville so abruptly entered Mr. 
 Guilford's drawing-room, created an interest in 
 the latter which he could not efface from his 
 memory. He fancied he observed in his ardent 
 gaze on his nephew, while at the gaming-table, a 
 degree of concern and agitation which seemed 
 to evince his regard for him. These sentiments 
 were encouraged by Edward's encomium's on his 
 character; and he -declared his intention of pay- 
 ing Mr. Osborne a visit, and requesting the plea- 
 sure of his society during the time they remained 
 in London,
 
 REVENGE. 2:50 
 
 To this arrangement some considerable ob- 
 stacles occurred : Edu'ard was conscious that he 
 had failings Avhich his uncle might discovery 
 among these, the ap[)earance of a kept-mistress 
 could not be concealed if he called upon him as 
 he proposed. At the same time he was confident 
 no persuasion on his part would induce Mr. Os- 
 borne to meet the friendly overtures which were 
 intended. Though entirely unacquainted with the 
 cause, it was impossible for him not to perceive 
 that the very name of his uncle was unpleasant to 
 him; he referred it, however, to certain preju- 
 dices, which many men entertain against each 
 other at first sight, and which, he conceived, might 
 be easily overcome by humouring his caprice. 
 
 Under these considerations he resolved to 
 surprise his friend into an interview with Mr. i\Ian- 
 deville, in which his reception might, perhaps, con- 
 quer his dislike. 
 
 A few days after this determination, he walked 
 with him through the Park, and mentioned his in-
 
 300 TALES OF THE PASSION'S. 
 
 toition of calling at the house of an acquaintance, 
 near Grosvenoi'-gate, where it was probable he 
 should not be detained above a few minutes, and 
 earnestly requested he would accompany him. 
 IMontalbert, after some hesitation, consented. Ed- 
 ward, without any questions to the servant who 
 answered the door where they knocked, hurried 
 him throucfh the hall of the house into the first 
 apartment which presented itself, in which was bis 
 uncle, Mrs. Mandeville, and Emma. The former 
 was reclining on a sofa ; he had that morning been 
 somewhat indisposed, a circumstance which was 
 unknown to Edward : his wife, with anxious soli- 
 citude, was persuading him to take a jell}'^ which 
 she had purposely prepared; while his daughter 
 was employed in adjusting his hair instead of his 
 valet. 
 
 Tlie consternation and confusion of IMontal- 
 bert, on his entering the room, were too powerful 
 to be concealed ; they neither escaped the observa- 
 tion of the family nor Edward, who now almost 
 repented of what he had done.
 
 REMZNGE. >r^l 
 
 Montalbert bavins been introduced to the 
 ladies, and with some difficulty persuaded to take 
 a seat, Edward expressed his concern for the in- 
 disposition of his uncle, and apologized for the 
 abruptness of his intrusion. 
 
 " My illness, Edward, is a mere trifle," an* 
 swered ]\Ir. ^Mandeville ; " a slight cold, w hich I 
 am unconscious how I have taken, and from which 
 I hope I shall as suddenly recover. But these 
 ■wives and daughters, Air. Osborne, will be nurses :' 
 and yet," he continued, while he gi'asped the hand 
 of Mrs. ]\Iandeville to his bosom, " it is almost a 
 temptation to be sick, when such affectionate 
 attentions are the consequences of our indisposi- 
 tion." 
 
 Montalbert, who had already excused himself 
 for keeping on his hat, under the plea of a cold in 
 his e^-es, now drew it still more over his face; 
 his whole frame trembled with emotion; he an- 
 swered the observations of JNIandeville with an 
 assent he was scarcely able to ufter^ while his
 
 302 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 thoughts were occupied in the consideration that 
 •he might have possessed such blessings but for 
 the perfidy of him whom he now beheld in the 
 enjoyment of them. His beloved wife might thus 
 have soothed the anguish of a sick bed ; his for- 
 saken boy have rendered him those little atten* 
 tions so dear to the heart of a drooping parent. 
 What were now his expectations in looking for- 
 ward to the close of his existence ? Not even a 
 friend to speak comfort to his soul. Alone, for- 
 .saken, and deserted ; hi^ bosom torn with guilty 
 remorse, and his anticipation of the future even 
 more horrible than his retrospection of the past. 
 
 These reflections in the mind of ^Nlontalbert, 
 although hurried and confused, were experienced 
 in their full force. In a trembling and faltering 
 voice, he declared himself suddenly taken ill. His 
 appearance was a sufficient confirmation of his 
 assertion. Mrs. Mandeville and Emma offered 
 every assistance; his voice failed him, he was 
 unable to refuse their attentions but by motions, 
 which evinced even a dislike that they should
 
 RF.VENGE. C03 
 
 approach him. Seizing the arm of Edward, he 
 abruptly quitted the apartment, and had no sooner 
 gained the street than he beckoned a hackney- 
 coach, which stood near, and, disengasincr him- 
 self from his companion, hurried into it. Hav- 
 ing ordered the man to drive to the house where 
 he resided, he coldly waved his hand in refusal 
 to Edward's offer of accompanying him home.
 
 30 1 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN ANONYMOUS LETTER, AND VARIOUS INTER- 
 VIEWS. 
 
 MoxT Albert's last interview with Mandeville 
 and his family, augmented those sensations which 
 were the most forcible stimulus to his revenue. 
 
 In M'itnessing the domestic comforts of the 
 man to whose perfidy he alleged all his misfor- 
 tunes, every feeling of humanity was extinguished ; 
 the means, however cruel or unjust, "^vhich held 
 forward a probability of gratifying his passion, 
 appeared desirable, and their atrocity justified by 
 the extent of the injuries he had suffered. 
 
 1 le had unfortunately only seen INIandeville as 
 he appeared to the Avorld. Could Montalbert 
 and the Courtezan but once have beheld him in
 
 * REVENGE. 303 
 
 tliose moments of privacy when he gave way to 
 the agonies of remorse, and reflected on liis past 
 conduct, it is probable they would have sought for 
 no further retribution. The former had lost the 
 only support which was capable of upholding 
 him under the pressure of his sufferings. Had he 
 been enabled to have preserved the consciousness 
 of his own virtues, he might have derived a solace 
 to his sorrows the most powerful and soothing. — 
 Alas ! IVIontalbert had no such means of consola- 
 tion. To dissipate reflection he had associated 
 with men who had rendered his character disgrace- 
 fnl, even in his own estmiation. When deprived 
 of that good opinion of himself, which was an 
 incitement to the best actions, his degradation 
 became rapid ; and all distinctions between right 
 and wrong, which he had before so cautiously 
 weighed as the standard of his principles, were 
 only remembered with contempt. 
 
 Lucy, on his return from the last meeting vnth 
 Mandevillc, drew from him the particulars of the 
 scene which had *o much affected hrm. This 
 
 X
 
 30fi TALES OF THE J>ASSIONS. 
 
 information, although it confirmed INIontalbert's wil- 
 lingness to second her schemes, gave rise to strong 
 suspicions of their failure. Edward, while his 
 uncle remained m London, had a home opened to 
 him that presented all those comforts of domestic 
 society which were calculated to withdra^v him 
 from his present pursuits. She perceived the ne- 
 cessity of forming some plans that might so far 
 interest him as to dissipate reflections, which 
 would, in all probability, urge him to confess his 
 errors, and determine on a reformation. 
 
 He was yet at an age when the foibles and 
 errors of youthful passions often give way to the 
 better feelings of the heart. There was little 
 doubt to be apprehended of his uncle's forgive- 
 ness. A retrospect of his own conduct, at the 
 same time of life, would most likely prompt him 
 to be merciful. 
 
 Lucy's fertility of invention was equal to her 
 penetration. A few hours were sufficient to deter- 
 mine her on the means she should adopt ; and she
 
 REVENGE. 307 
 
 instantly put them in execution by composing the 
 following anonymous letter, and forwarding it to 
 Edward. 
 
 " TO MR. EDWARD MAKDEVILLE. 
 
 " You will never be acquainted with the name 
 of the person who now addresses you; j^et the 
 nature of the information she is about to commu- 
 nicate, must convince you that her motives are 
 disinterested. 
 
 " A young female, of the name of Lydia Sill- 
 bourne, some time since became much indebted 
 to your good-nature and generosity : peculiar cir- 
 cumstances, at that period, urged her to a line of 
 conduct, which carried some slight to your offers 
 of further services. The events which she has 
 since witnessed have convinced her she was un- 
 grateful, nay, they have proved also she was un- 
 wise. She has flown to the protection of one who 
 has deceived her. She is obscured in poverty and 
 disgrace : she droops for want of relief, but she is 
 
 X 2
 
 SOS TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 too proud to ask for it. Be not deceived, by sup- 
 posing she is privy to the contents of this letter : 
 the writer most solemnly affirms, they are known 
 only to herself. She is in the confidence of Lydia 
 Sillbourne, is acquainted with her feelings towards 
 Mr. Mandeville, and has resolved to take this 
 method of making him acquainted with her situa- 
 tion. She is to be found at . 
 
 " Mr. Mandeville is too well acquainted with 
 the world to be reminded, that the unfortunate 
 Lydia is to be approached with some degree of 
 delicacy and caution; neither must he expect, in 
 a first interview^, to receive that encouragement he 
 may perhaps too sanguinely expect. He must be 
 prepared to listen to a false description of her 
 situation, and a faint attempt to keep up those 
 outward appearances of propriety in her conduct, 
 and mode of living, which, under more fortunate 
 circumstances, she would most probably have 
 niaintained. 
 
 «A FRIEND."
 
 REVENGE. S09 
 
 Edward received this epistle at a time when 
 he was too much engaged and perplexed to reflect 
 on the motives that could have influenced the 
 writer; he, however, determined to attend to its 
 contents the same evening. 
 
 Within the last few days, several writs were 
 issued against him, and he was unable to quit his 
 lodgings by daylight. 
 
 Under the false idea of retrieving, he had lost 
 larger sums than usual, and his debts now amount- 
 ed to a sum which annihilated every hope of ex- 
 tricating himself. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville had lately been made ac- 
 quainted with the principal part of his nephew's 
 follies and extravagances. His concern equalled 
 his astonishment. The indisposition he laboured 
 under, that morning on which Edward and INIont- 
 albert visited him, had gradually increased, and 
 the symptoms now became alarming.
 
 310 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 The anguish of his bodily diseases received no 
 alleviation in the retrospection of a life well spent, 
 and the elevated hope of future felicity. His 
 waking thoughts occasioned phantoms in his ima- 
 gination, as horrible as the dreams which were 
 produced by his feverish slumbers. The unre- 
 mitting attention of a beloved m ife and child, re- 
 minded him of those whose happiness he had de- 
 stroyed ; their caresses created a sense of his own 
 unworthiness. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville had no reason to doubt either 
 the accuracy or extent of the information he had 
 received relative to his nephew. Although disap- 
 pointed in the hopes he had formed from the pro- 
 mising virtues of his juvenile years, the sensations 
 he experienced towards him, partook more of pity 
 than of anger. Instead of plans for the punish- 
 ment of his errors, he thought only on the most 
 lenient methods of reclaiming him ; and resolved, 
 after a calm rebuke, calculated to work on his 
 feelings, but not to irritate or depress him with a
 
 ^REXTENGE. 31 J 
 
 sense of his situation, to use every means in his 
 power to extricate him from his embarrassments. 
 There was, however, one point on which he de- 
 cided, that altered most materially the arrange- 
 ments aad plans he had so anxiously adopted. 
 Whatever hopes he might have entertained of 
 Edward's reformation, he resolved not to hazard 
 on them the happiness of his daughter, by uniting 
 her with her cousin. He was no stranger to 
 Emma's attachment to him, but he was not aware 
 of its extent, and considered that it was now imme- 
 diately necessary that the information he had re- 
 ceived should be made known to her, as well as 
 the resolutions he had formed upon it. Emma 
 was desired to attend her father at his bed-side, 
 and received the intelligence he had to communi- 
 cate, as well as his injunctions, which follow^ed, 
 under emotions she was totally incapable of con- 
 cealing. 
 
 ;Mr. Mandeville was too much indisposed to 
 mark tlie extreme anguish they occasioned her; 
 he perceived she was much affected, which wa§
 
 312 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 no more than what he expected, while he hoped 
 time and reflection Avould, in the end, restore her 
 to happiness. 
 
 Emma Mandeville had, fi'om the years of her 
 infancy, been attached to her cousin Edward : no 
 attempts had been made to repress her regard 
 towards him ; the anticipation of their union was 
 zealously encouraged, while the scrupulous hesita- 
 tion of Edward himself, under a consideration of 
 the inferiority of his fortune, rendered him more 
 dear to Emma, and more desirable to her friends. 
 
 Her mind was naturally delicate, and suscep- 
 tible to those soft emotions of the heart which are 
 calculated to produce the most ardent atfections. 
 Her love was mingled with an enthusiasm, which 
 in general accompanies a first and youthful pas- 
 sion, and which often terminates in the sacrifice of 
 its votary. Filial affection, as well as filial duty, 
 are but slender barriers to its effects. 
 
 Emma had ever been a tender and obedient
 
 REVENGE. 313 
 
 daughter ; from the earliest years of her infancy, 
 the desires of her father were fulfilled with respect 
 and pleasure. To have deviated from his wishes, 
 would, in her mind, have been equal to a disregard 
 of his commands. What, then, were her feelings, 
 when she was suddenly informed by him, that the 
 man whom she adored was unworthy of her, and 
 received the most solemn injunctions he had ever 
 imposed, to give up every thought of a union with 
 him. 
 
 Till this period, Emma had been a stranger to 
 anxiety or sorrow ; her life had passed unruffled 
 by domestic calamities ; every desire of her heart 
 had been anticipated by an indulgent parent, while 
 each succeeding hour promised new joys, and 
 future comforts. Her present disappointment and 
 distress, were more acutely felt from these circum- 
 stances. Overwhelmed with her feelings, she 
 quitted the bed-side of her father, and flew to the 
 apartment of ]\Irs. Mandeville, where she gave 
 vent to her anguish, and received every consola- 
 tion it was in the power of that lady to convey.
 
 514 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Edward had now another difficulty to encoun- 
 ter, equal, if not superior, to those which ah'eady 
 surrounded him. During the last few months, the 
 mutual embarrassments of Mr. Guilford and him- 
 self had produced a confidence, and pretended dis- 
 closures from that gentleman, as to the state of 
 his affairs, which seemed to demand similar con- 
 fessions from Edward, and which, by degrees, so far 
 connected them in pecuniary concerns, as to render 
 the affairs of the one very often entangled with 
 those of the other. These proceedings, which ori- 
 ginated in Guilford, were often of a nature so infa- 
 mous, as to create the strongest alarm in Edward 
 as to the part he took in them ; but the objections 
 he made, were always over-ruled by the pleadings 
 of the former, whom he considered as a man he 
 had injured beyond the power of reparation, and 
 conceived that he had a right to make every sacri- 
 fice for his convenience. Guilford had urged him 
 on, by regular gradation, to these acts, until he 
 became concerned in some which threatened, if 
 they were ever made known, of producing even 
 public punishment. The only person acquainted
 
 REVENGE. S15 
 
 With them, beside tiiemselves, was ^Irs. Guilford ; 
 on her secrecy Edward flattered himself he was 
 secure ; he, however, soon became sensible of his 
 error, 
 
 Mrs. Guilford, no longer able to aid her ex- 
 travagance from the pockets of Mandeville, and 
 perceiving that ]\Ir. Guilford's parties were upon 
 the decline, while his pecuniary difficulties in- 
 creased, began to reflect that it would be policy in 
 her to look out for some new speculation, in which 
 she might be ready to engage should their present 
 one be suddenly dissolved. She had lately been 
 introduced to the Courtezan by Montalbert, at the 
 express wish of the former, who, perceiving it 
 necessary that her plans should now be executed 
 with the utmost vigour and dispatch, considered 
 that the assistance of ]\Irs. Guilford would ma- 
 terially assist and forward them. An opportunity 
 very soon occurred for the purpose : her new ac- 
 quaintance, after a few interviews, felt convinced 
 of her superior talents, and confidentially commu- 
 nicated the resolution she had lately taken, of pro-
 
 316 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 viding for the future, with a view of receiving; her 
 advice on the most eligible methods fhe could 
 pursue. Lucy had been informed, by IVIontalbert, 
 of the amour between Mrs. Guilford and Edward 
 Mandeville; a plan now opened to her view, 
 which, if enabled to accomplish, she w as aware 
 would most materially forward her designs. 
 
 Her answers and opinions were conveyed in 
 the most insinuating manner : she mentioned the 
 illness of the elder Mandeville being of a nature 
 which precluded all hopes of recovery, and hinted 
 at the large fortune his nephew was certain of in- 
 heriting at his decease. From these observations 
 she entered on those qualities which the young 
 man possessed, calculated to render him a passive 
 and accommodating husband to one who was 
 willing to profit by his good fortune in obtaining a 
 permanent tie on his generosity; and concluded 
 with the most fallacious arguments, and strong per- 
 suasions, for Mrs. Guilford to exert her endeavours 
 to become his wife.
 
 REVENGE, 317 
 
 The force of her reasoning was mstantly per- 
 ceived and acknowledged by the latter ; the more 
 she reflected on the advantages which were likely 
 to residt from it, the more tempting and desirable 
 they appeared : various conveniences and com- 
 forts seemed secured in a union of this kind, 
 which had never, till the present period, entered 
 her imagination, while her means of procuring it 
 held for^^ard the most flattering hopes of suc- 
 cess. 
 
 ]\Irs. Guilford had sufficient penetration to 
 observe, that neither fortitude, resolution, nor a 
 general knowledge of mankind, were possessed by 
 Edward Mandeville in any considerable degree. 
 He had been marked by her, from his first intro- 
 duction to their family, as an acquisition to her 
 pleasures, and an additional resource for her ex- 
 travagances. Her intrigue with him, so far from 
 being concealed from Mr. Guilford, was actually 
 first planned by him for their mutual advantage ; 
 while her ingenuity in the management of it was a 
 th^me for his compliments and approbation.
 
 318 TALES OF THE PASSIONS, 
 
 Mrs. Guilford was conscious of possessing con- 
 siderable influence over the actions of young Man- 
 xleville, not only in the power of publishing to the 
 world certain parts of his conduct Avhich he most 
 dreaded should be exposed, but also by those in- 
 sinuating arts which she had already practised 
 with considerable success. The advice of the 
 Courtezan urged her to adopt both these methods 
 with discretion, rather than trust to either of them 
 individually. She also recommended her to com- 
 mence her operations instantly, and to act with 
 vigour and decision. She advised her to open her 
 determination to him by a letter couched in posi- 
 tive terms, and afterwards, in a personal inter- 
 view, attack him more closely by affected tender- 
 ness, and pretended remorse. The epistle was 
 begun immediately, and Lucy assisted in the for- 
 mation of it. 
 
 Edward had already been informed by Mont- 
 albert, that the marriage ceremony had never taken 
 place between Mr. and Mrs. Guilford ; while he 
 artfully contrived, in making him acquainted with
 
 REVENGE. 519 
 
 this circumstance, to represent the former as an 
 abandoned seducer, and tire latter as the unfortu- 
 nate victim of his treachery. 
 
 As soon as the night was sufficiently advanced 
 to afford him some chance of protection from the 
 emissaries of his creditors, Edward quitted his 
 lodgings, and proceeded to the residence of Lydia 
 Sillhourne, as described by the anonymous letter 
 he had received. 
 
 The house was situated in a retired but re- 
 spectable street; and on his inquiries of the ser- 
 vant who answered tlie door, if Miss Sillbourne 
 resided there, she answered him in the affirmative, 
 and requested him to walk up stairs. 
 
 He was introduced into a small but neat 
 drawing-room, where Lydia was seated at work. 
 The door of the room was open, and she did not 
 observe him at the first moment of his entrance. 
 Her ])erson seemed much altered since he last 
 saw her : she appeared in ill health, the fine bloom
 
 320 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 which was formerly diffused over her cheeks j was 
 no longer to be perceived ; her eyes were languid, 
 and her countenance melancholy and dejected. 
 
 Her surprise and consternation on perceiving 
 ^landeville was extreme ; he attempted an apo- 
 logy for his intrusion, but faltered in the utterance 
 of it. The servant, after having placed him a 
 chair, quitted the room; while Lydia, in a faint. 
 voice, requested him to be seated. 
 
 " I have ventured, INIiss Sillbourne," he ex- 
 claimed, after a pause of some minutes, " to pro- 
 cure an interview with you, under the hope of 
 obtaining your forgiveness : in our last meeting I 
 unintentionally incurred your displeasure, and was 
 unfortunately deprived of the power of apologizing 
 for my conduct, by being incapable of discovering 
 the place of your abode." 
 
 " Give me leave, to observe, ]\Ir. Mandeville," 
 answered Lydia, with considerable reserve, " that 
 wlien you assert it was not your intention to dis-
 
 REVENGE. 321 
 
 please me, you increase the poignancy of your 
 former insults, by the confession that you did not 
 consider them calculated to call forth my resent- 
 ment." 
 
 *' Nay, nay, you consider this matter in too 
 serious a light ; I was in hopes, since the period 
 we last met, you had overcome the prejudices of 
 a country education, and acquired sufficient spirit 
 to free yourself from those irksome restraints and 
 ridiculous customs, which are now only main- 
 tained by the few who are incapable of deriving 
 enjoyment from breaking of them." 
 
 " This language, Sir," answered Lydia, re- 
 covering, in some degree, her resolution and com- 
 posure, " carries with it neither apology nor con- 
 ciliation : by what means you have discovered my 
 retreat I know not, but surely you have no right 
 either to interrupt my tranquillity by your visits, 
 or distress me with your insults." 
 
 Then you do enjoy tranquillity in your 
 
 V 
 
 re-
 
 322 TALES OF THE PASSIONS'. 
 
 treat," replied Edward, with a smile of affected 
 gaiety; "and yet, by the appearance of your 
 apartment, Miss Sillbourne, I should not have 
 supposed you was entirely without society." 
 
 As he concluded these words, his eyes were 
 fixed on some male attire which hung carelessly 
 on the sofa. His observation on these points 
 seemed to confirm the hints which were conveyed 
 in the letter he had received, and they were still, 
 further strengthened by Lydia's confusion and 
 distress. 
 
 *' Come, come," continued Edward, " let us 
 not deceive each other, Miss Sillbourne ; be 
 assured I know your situation, and am aware of 
 your discomforts. You are a lovely girl, and 
 must not, shall not, be unhappy. I am not rich, 
 it is true ; but still I can procure a little for your 
 pleasures. The protector to whom you have re- 
 signed yourself is unworthy of you : by heavens ! 
 you was not born to be monopolized by one selfish 
 Uidividual, but created to dispense felicity to many."
 
 REVENGE. S23 
 
 Conscious innocence, and wounded pride, aided 
 to support Lydia under the various emotions which 
 agitated her. She disengaged herself from the 
 arms of Edward with precipitation, while the anger 
 of offended virtue, which flashed from her eyes, 
 awed and confounded him. 
 
 " Mr. Mandeville," she exclaimed, *•' either 
 you are a villain, the most unmanly and depraved, 
 or you act under the influence of some fatal error : 
 the line of conduct, Sir, which I am bound to 
 pursue, is the same, whatever may be the source 
 of your behaviour." 
 
 She had already risen from her seat, and was 
 approaching the door : Edward attempted to de- 
 tain her. 
 
 " Nay, Sir," she continued, with a dignity and 
 composure, which both chagrined and amazed 
 him, " I am neither to be alarmed by the boister- 
 ous rudeness of your manners, or the mean and 
 dastardly exertion of your power. He who is 
 
 y 2
 
 324. TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 coward enough to insult a defenceless woman 
 with the language of a libertine, seldom possesses 
 courage to withstand her rebuke, or temerity to 
 offend her but by the indelicacy of his threats." 
 
 On concluding these Mords she quitted the 
 room. Edward, for a few moments, remained 
 motionless with surprise and disappointment : he 
 was interrupted by the servant whom he had 
 before seen, and who now said she was desired by 
 Miss Sillbourne to light him out. 
 
 The appearance and behaviour of this girl 
 urged him to suppose she would neither refuse a 
 bribe, nor the information which might be de- 
 manded for it. He contrived, as he descended 
 the staircase, to place half a guinea in the candle- 
 stick which she held, and the manner in which 
 she received the present, confirmed his opinion. 
 As she opened the door he inquired, in a whisper, 
 if Miss Sillbourne lived by herself 
 
 " Oh no, Sir!" replied the girl, in a similar
 
 REVENGE. 32.5 
 
 tone of voice ; '' there is a gentleman lives with 
 her." 
 
 *' Edward was amazed at this direct reply, 
 however his suspicions might have led him to an- 
 ticipate it. 
 
 " Her husband, I suppose," replied Edward, 
 with a significant glance, which seemed perfectly 
 understood by his companion. 
 
 '• Something of that kind,'"' answered the girl." 
 )ell now rang, and she declared 
 stop to answer any more questions. 
 
 A bell now rang, and she declared she could not 
 
 " But one more," exclaimed Edward, " and I 
 am satisfied. I probably may call here again to- 
 morrow night about this time, could you not con- 
 trive to conduct me up stairs to Miss Sillbourne, 
 although contraiy to her orders ? I shall have the 
 fellow piece of gold in my pocket to that I hav^ 
 just given you."
 
 326 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 The girl hesitated for a moment; the bell 
 again rang, when she declared she would do as 
 he desired, provided the other gentleman was not 
 at home. 
 
 On this assurance he quitted the house, and 
 strolled for a considerable time through several 
 streets, lost in reflection, and almost unconscious 
 of his actions. 
 
 His mind was agitated by contending passions : 
 his pride was wounded in the interview he had 
 just had with Lydia Sillbourne, by the preference 
 she evinced for another. Although his attach- 
 ment towards her originated in youthful levity, yet 
 it became more ardent as the difiiculty of accom- 
 plishing his wishes increased. The letter he had 
 received was now rendered extremely mysterious ; 
 since Lydia's behaviour seemed to confirm she had 
 ' fto knowledge of it. 
 
 o 
 
 Edward experienced other reflections also, 
 which were still more poignant ; — the remembrance
 
 ril^^NGE. 327 
 
 of those happy days he had passed under the roof 
 of his revered uncle, those dehcious hours he had 
 spent in the society of his beloved Emma. To 
 have lost such blessings by the casual misfortunes 
 to which human nature is subject, would have 
 been trivial, compared with a deprivation througl) 
 his own folly and un worthiness. 
 
 He now found himself within a few -paces of 
 his uncle's residence. From the information he 
 had received in the course of the day, he was 
 assured Mr. Mandeville w^as acquainted with the 
 full extent of his errors ; he dreaded to enter the 
 house, yet his anxiety to inquire after his health, 
 of which he had heard an alarming account in the 
 morning, urged him to overcome his scruples. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville's valet answered the door : the 
 countenance of this man convinced Edw^ard that 
 he had bad news to impart. He understood a 
 second physician had been called in during the 
 afternoon, and that a consultation with two more 
 had taken place the same evening, the yesult of
 
 328 TALES OF THE%SSIONg. 
 
 which was an opinion, that but faint hopes could 
 be entertained of his recovery, although he might 
 survive some time. 
 
 Edward listened to this information under the 
 most lively emotions of sorrow and regret ; he in- 
 quired for his aunt, and was imfnediately conduct- 
 ed to her apartment. 
 
 Mrs. Mandeville was alone ; she had just 
 quitted the chamber of her husband; her grief 
 was extreme, she was unable for some time to 
 answer the salutations of her nephew. She at 
 length struggled with her feelings, and acquired 
 sufficient resolution to address him. 
 
 " I wished much to see you, Mr. Mandeville. 
 Your uncle being unable, at present, to support 
 an intervicAv with you, has most earnestly request- 
 ed me to convey to you his opinion and resolutions 
 on certain information he has received relative to 
 your late conduct, which he conceives most impe- 
 riously demands his immediate interference^"
 
 RE\^XGE. 329 
 
 Edward bowed, and remained silent. 
 
 '' The task," she continued, " is an arduous 
 one ; and the unfortunate event by wiiich it has 
 devolved upon me, renders it still more distress- 
 ing. Your uncle, within the last two days, has 
 been informed of the minute particulars, both of 
 5'our errors and embarrassments ; he is acquaint- 
 ed not only with the transactions in \\hich you 
 have been concerned with a man of the name of 
 Guilford, but also with the imprudent intimacy 
 you have for some time maintained with the 
 woman who was considered as his wife." 
 
 Edward remained mute with astonishment and 
 confusion. 
 
 " Many men, Mr. Mandeville, under circum- 
 stances like these, would have considered them- 
 selves justified, not only in withdrawing their pro- 
 tection for the future, but Hkewise in refusing 
 their aid to extricate you firom your present diffi- 
 culties. Thank heaven, such are not the opinions
 
 330 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 of your uncle ; on the contrary, he empowers me 
 to assure you, that he has already given directions 
 to his solicitor, to discharge the debts you have 
 contracted, and that, although the sums necessary 
 for this purpose may, in some degree, injure his 
 fortune, yet you shall not remain destitute of a 
 farther supply, to forward your interests in any 
 profession w^hich may enable you to enjoy a manly 
 independence by your own industry." 
 
 . Edward, overcome by this goodness and 
 generosity, was unable to express his thanks. 
 
 ]\Irs. Mandeville still continued : — " After 
 these arrangements, he conceives he has a right 
 to make some stipulations with respect to 
 your future conduct, which the happiness of 
 himself and family, as well as your own welfare, 
 most peremptorily demands.'^ 
 
 Edward anticipated these stipulations, and„ in 
 faltering accents, promised to obey them.
 
 REVENGE. 331 
 
 Mrs. Mandeville declared the only sacrifice 
 his uncle required, was his absence from England 
 for a few years, which \vould, in a great measure, 
 tend to clear his character from that ignominy 
 with which his late actions and connexions threat- 
 ened to overwhelm him. 
 
 *' ]\Iay I inquire, ]\ladam," answered Edward, 
 labouring under various emotions, " may I ven- 
 ture to ask, if the reasons you have just stated, are 
 the only ones which urge my uncle to propose my 
 absence from Engrland ?" 
 
 o 
 
 Mrs. Mandeville paused for a few moments. — 
 " Whatever may have been your faults, Edward," 
 she exclaimed, with an ingenuous smile of tender- 
 ness and good nature, " I have always found you 
 open, manly, and candid ; you have been misled 
 by the villanous and designing : but I still hope that 
 your errors have neither vitiated your principles, 
 nor corrupted your heart; and on these hopes I 
 will trust you. There are, then, other motives 
 xvhich make your uncle desirous that you should
 
 332 TALES OF THE PASSIONS 
 
 leave this country for a short period. However 
 anxious he may be for your iiappiness and pro- 
 sperity, you must be aware that he has still 
 stronger claims on his affections. You niay, 
 perhaps, -with some reason, have formed expecta- 
 tions on an alliance with his daughter, yet your 
 own feelings must convince you, that such an 
 event, under the present circumstances, he would 
 consider as one of the most serious calamities 
 which could befall him. Emma and yourself, Mr. 
 Mandeville, were brought up together at a period 
 when warm and youthful attachments are most 
 likely to be excited. It may, perhaps, be neces- 
 sary for her happiness, that the impressions she 
 received during that period, should by every pos- 
 sible means be eradicated. It is the opinion of 
 your uncle, that your absence, for a short time, 
 would most materially aid his wishes on this 
 point. The arrangements which he is about mak- 
 ing for her settlement in marriage with a man 
 of strict honour, elevated rank, and large for- 
 tune, "who has, for some time past, addressed 
 her, are, he flatters himself, likely to be SQOU
 
 REVENGE. S3 3 
 
 terminated to his satisfaction ; he therefore hopes 
 and trusts you will not take any measures to 
 frustrate those plans, which are alone calculated 
 to sooth his last moments in the prospect of a 
 beloved child's welfare axid happiness/' 
 
 Edward remained some time lost lii the poi- 
 gnant reflections which the information of Mrs. 
 ]Mandeville had called forth. JMingled sensations 
 of gratitude and conscious degradation, rose in 
 his bosom : the agonizing thought of losing Emma 
 for ever, and struggling resolutions to sacrifice all 
 his hopes of happiness to the wishes of his uncle, 
 produced a conflict in his mind which almost 
 drove him to distraction. Mrs. Alandeville per- 
 ceived the violence of his emotions, and attempted 
 to sooth him with the idea, that a few years' ab- 
 sence from England, under some employment or 
 profession, might lead to honour and afliuence, 
 and enable him to return to his native countrv, in 
 the full enjoyment of those comforts which are 
 calculated to render it desirable.
 
 334. TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Edward seized her hand in agony. — " My 
 dear Madam," he cried, " I am grateful for these 
 words of consolation, while I am conscious they 
 encourage hopes which never can be realized. 
 Whatever may have been my errors, my uncle 
 shall be convinced, that I still possess some re- 
 tnembrance of his goodness. Yes, INIadam, the 
 last moments of his existence shall not be imbitter- 
 ed even with the reflection that I retain the power 
 to frustrate his wishes. The sacrifice will be a 
 dreadful one ; but the recollection of him for whom 
 I make it, shall aid me to support the sufferings 
 it may inflict. Oh, God!" he exclaimed, "he 
 has been my father, my benefactor, and shall any 
 selfish consideration urge me to create a pang 
 during the awful hour of dissolution, in that bosom 
 whose animating warmth succoured me in infancy, 
 and preserved me in manhood ? " 
 
 His tears dropped on the hand of Mrs. Man- 
 deville, as he kissed it with fervour : his manner 
 alarmed her ; she attempted to detain liim, but he
 
 REVENGE. 335 
 
 rushed out of the house, apparently in a state of 
 insanity. 
 
 He hurried towards his lodgings; his ideas 
 were confused and disordered. On his arrival, 
 he was informed Guilford had absconded, and 
 that an execution was in the house. He proceed- 
 ed to Mrs. Guilford's apartment; she was in close 
 conference w ith the Courtezan. The former had 
 as yet received no positive answer from him, as 
 to the marriage she had proposed, and they were; 
 at this moment consulting on further threats and 
 entreaties for that purpose. 
 
 Edward prevented the applications that were 
 about to be renewed to him, by informing them he 
 came purposely to declare it was his determination 
 to marry Mrs. Guilford the following morning. 
 
 This fatal resolution w-as made under the 
 delirium and madness the last few hours had pro- 
 duced : he considered it would at once confirm to 
 Mr. Mandeville, and the world, that he gave up
 
 335 TALES OF THE PASSIONS'. 
 
 every hope of her on whom his affections were in* 
 dehbly fixed. He took no time for reflection ; his 
 mind was in that state w^hich rendered the actions 
 of the moment only desirable, without any fore- 
 sight as to the consequences likely to result from 
 tliem. 
 
 The exultation which beamed in the eyes of 
 the Courtezan, as he declared his resolution, was 
 so evident, as to attract the notice of her compa- 
 nion, whose astonishment it in some degree ex- 
 cited. Mrs. Guilford possessed too much know- 
 ledge of the world, to suppose it originated from 
 pure feelings of friendship towards herself She, 
 however, took no trouble to search for other 
 causes ; her own motives of interest seemed com- 
 pletely fulfilled, and as these were the guide and 
 spring to all her actions, they were perfectly suffi- 
 cient to satisfy her with the present aii'angements, 
 without any consideration of the consequences 
 which might be connected with them. 
 
 The Courtezan, assisted by IMontalbert, had
 
 REVEKGE. 337 
 
 iliade every necessary preparation for the union 
 which they anticipated. 
 
 The following morning, Edward, who ■wa.'? 
 scarcely recovered from the phrensy under w hich 
 h* had laboured the night before, hurried to the 
 performance of his fatal promise, and was united 
 to Mrs. Guilford, in the presence of IMontalbert, 
 and Lucy Wilson. The reflections of the latter, 
 as she witnessed the ceremony, were confused and 
 wandering; yet they produced sensations which 
 seemed to elevate and gratify her. She expe- 
 rienced momentary pangs of conscious guilt, and 
 some faint emotions of pity for the victim she was 
 sacrificincf ; but, from attention to the workinn-s of 
 her own mind, she had acquired the power or 
 queuing, in a great degree, these feeble efforts to- 
 wards repentance. 
 
 IMontalbert witnessed this last act of crucltv 
 in gloomy silence. He yet experienced some sen- 
 timents of regard towards the unfortunate Edward, 
 which required considerable strugf>les to ovevv^onie, 
 
 ?
 
 338 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 and which the recollection of his affinity to Mancle- 
 "Cille was scarcely capable of counteracting. 
 
 He, however, had now proceeded too far in the 
 horrible plans to which he liad been excited, to 
 retract. He was well aware, that his own fate 
 was determined, whether he grasped or forfeited 
 the dreadful phantom that had urged him to the 
 present crisis. 
 
 The information which Mr. Mandeville had 
 received, relative to the embarrassments and 
 errors of his nephew, were conveyed to him 
 anonymously through Montalbert. In this rela- 
 tion of young Mandeville's foibles, the greatest 
 stress was laid on that part which it was well 
 known would most materially interest his uncle — 
 his connexion with Mrs, Guilford, who was repre- 
 sented as seduced by his arts, and the circum- 
 stances so described, as to attach to him the w hole 
 of the criminality. 
 
 ^Ir. Mandeville had not forgot the vices of lus-
 
 REVENGE. 339 
 
 youth : he perhaps might retain some hopes of his 
 nephew's reformation, but the affections of a pa- 
 rent Mere too powerful to allow him to hazard on 
 the chance the happiness of his beloved daughter. 
 The gentleman to whom Mrs. Mandeville alluded 
 in her interview with Edward, had some time past 
 made the most liberal offers for the hand of Emma. 
 Her objections to him, at that time, were a suffi- 
 cient inducement for ]\Ir. Mandeville to decline 
 his proposals. He had, however, renewed his 
 visits since their residence in London, and al- 
 though the former still maintained his resolution to 
 use no urgent entreaties with his daughter on the 
 subject, he yet considered it a duty to express to 
 her his opinion, and give that advice which he con- 
 ceived most likely to procure her future happiness. 
 
 z 2
 
 340 TALES OF THE PASSIOKS, 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A DUEI* 
 
 Edward, only a few hours after his fatal union^ 
 was doomed to experience a specimen of his wife's 
 conduct, which in some degree occasioned his sur- 
 prise, however he might have suspected the true 
 motives that urged her to marry him. 
 
 A letter was delivered to her from Guilford, 
 who had been, the night before, discovered by liis' 
 creditors, and was then in confinement. Without 
 any hesitation, she declared her resolution to visit 
 him. Her husband, astonished and offended at 
 this early and flagrant mark of her indifference 
 towards him, attempted to remonstrate, but she 
 treated his observations with contempt ; and, hav-
 
 REVENGE. Si\ 
 
 ing ordered a hackney-coach, left him, without 
 further ceremony, for the prison of her late pro 
 lector. 
 
 Edward had now leisure for reflection on the 
 desperate plans he had adopted, and beheld them 
 in all their horrors. This act at once destroyed 
 all those hopes which had hitherto cheered him in 
 the midst of his embarrassments. Convinced of 
 IVIiss Mandeville's attachment towards him, how- 
 ever gloomy his prospects, he had still anticipated, 
 in the warmth and ardour of a youthful imagina- 
 tion, that hour when she might yet be his. These 
 flattering expectations were now annihilated, and 
 in looking forward to the future, he received no 
 consolation to his present sufferings. 
 
 The agony of his mind produced sensations 
 little short of distraction : any state seemed pre- 
 ferable to that in which he was sensible of his 
 situation ; he flew to the lodgings of Montalbert ; 
 called for wine in frantic gaiety, and swallowed it 
 ivith the avidity of a madman.
 
 342 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Montalbert was equally anxiops to gain a tem- 
 porary relief from his own thoughts ; and, in the 
 course of two hours, they were both in a state of 
 intoxication which rendered them wild and de- 
 sperate, without actually depriving them of their 
 senses. 
 
 The recollection of his intended visit to Lydia 
 Sillbourne unfortunately occurred to Edward ; he 
 suddenly rose, and declared he had an appoint- 
 ment to which he must immediately attend : the 
 sagacity of the Courtezan soon discovered his mo- 
 tives, and she urged Montalbert to allow him to 
 depart. 
 
 It was near two in the morning; he, with 
 some difficulty, retraced his way to Lydia's lodg- 
 ings, and knocked violently at the door. It was 
 opened by the girl whom he had seen on the 
 former evening, and who, with evident marks of 
 confusion, declared he could not now be admitted. 
 Edward was not in a state to be repulsed by this 
 answer; but instantly forced his way, passed
 
 REVENGE. 343 
 
 her, andj ascending the stairs, entered the apart- 
 ment in which he had before been introduced. 
 
 Lydia was here seated alone ; she appeared to 
 have been reading; and rose, in the utmost con- 
 sternation and alarm, at the sight of INlande- 
 ville. 
 
 *' My dear girl," he exclaimed, rudely seizing 
 her hand, and drawing her towards a chair, " you 
 perceive we once more meet again. Nay, nay, 
 this prudery is ridiculous ; I am no stranger to 
 your situation." 
 
 '*' Then you are a villain!" cried Lydia; " I 
 flattered myself that you had been deceived: I 
 would have considered you under any other cha- 
 racter, than the wanton and libertine insulter of 
 female delicacy, \he dastardly assassin of female 
 honour." 
 
 Whatever effect this kind of language might 
 have had on IVIandeville in a state of sobriety, it
 
 3U TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 now only rendered him more daring and deter- 
 mined.- 
 
 Lydia struggled in vain to disengage herself 
 from his grasp : she screamed with violence ; and,' 
 at the same instant, a knocking at the street door 
 assured her of assistance, but, if possible, increased 
 iier terrors. 
 
 " Oh, God !" she exclaimed, '' this is dreadful ! 
 they will meet ; there will be murder ; for mercy's 
 sake, Mr. Mandeville, leave me this instant; if 
 you knew my suffering, you would have some pity 
 for my situation, and accede to my request." 
 
 Edward heeded not her entreaties. Her anx- 
 iety and agitation inflamed his curiosity; her 
 tears and prayers were in vain ; he laughed at her 
 tears, and exulted in his power. At this instant 
 the door of the apartment suddenly burst open, 
 and Orby, breathless with alarm, stood before 
 them.
 
 REVENGE. 34:5 
 
 IMandeville, astonished and confounded, still 
 supported Lydia, who was by this time senseless 
 in his arms. 
 
 The amazement of Orby for some moments 
 rendered him incapable of uttering a syllable ; but 
 the emotions of anger, which raged in his bosom, 
 were visible in every feature. 
 
 Having disengaged I.ydia from the arms of 
 Mandeville, by a violent blow which brought him 
 to the i^round, he resiixned her to the care of the 
 mistress of the house, who, awoke by the noise 
 and confusion, had just entered the room. 
 
 Mandeville was sufficiently sober to feel the 
 disgi'ace he had suffered in Orby's chastisement. 
 Though he had, in part, recovered from the ef- 
 fects of intoxication, he was yet in a state which 
 served to inflame his choler, and render hiin 
 desperate. 
 
 Ivvdia was removed from the apartment, and
 
 346 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Orby attempted to follow her, but was detained 
 by Edward; who, having closed the door, in a 
 voice almost stifled with passion, declared that he 
 must immediately receive that satisfaction he was 
 entitled to demand. 
 
 Orby answered, that the request anticipated 
 his own wishes ; and proposed that the coach 
 ^^hich he had just quitted, and which still re- 
 mained at the door, should convey them to a place 
 suited for their purpose : on this plan they imme- 
 diately resolved. 
 
 The day was just beginning to break; they 
 were secure from interruption, as no one had wit- 
 nessed their conversation. Orby, having placed 
 his pistols in his pocket, followed Mandeville to 
 the coach, and desired the driver to proceed 
 towards Hampstead. 
 
 Unfortunately he was in a similar state of in- 
 ebriety to his companion, having just left a party 
 of friends with \\hom he had spent the evening.
 
 KEVENGE. 347 
 
 Had either of them been perfectly sober, some 
 explanation might probably have taken place ; and 
 the impropriety of being unaccompanied by any 
 other person have occurred to them. 
 
 They arrived at Hampstead about four o'clock, 
 and, having discharged the coach, proceeded to 
 a retired field, at no great distance from the 
 road. 
 
 The morning was delightfully serene ; the sun 
 had already risen above the horizon. Some few 
 sensations of remorse and horror were experienced 
 by Edward, as he received one of the pistols from 
 the hand of Orby; but the recollection of the 
 blow he had received, at once nerved him to 
 the dreadful decision on which they had re- 
 solved. 
 
 A few minutes were sufficient to settle their 
 distance ; thev aoreed to fire tocjether ; and even 
 hurried the arrangements they had to make, on 
 perceiving a man at the further part of the field,
 
 5 IS TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 who appeared to approach the spot where they 
 stood. 
 
 They discharged their pistols at the same mo- 
 ment, and Orby fell. 
 
 Edward ran to him, and raised him in his 
 arms : the wound he had received appeared to be 
 near his heart ; he attempted to speak, but could 
 only articulate, " Lydia, my beloved wife, what 
 will become of thee 1" 
 
 " Oh, God ! "exclaimed Edward, " she is his 
 wife. What have I done ? Wretch that I am ! 
 this last deed is the completion of my horrors. I 
 have murdered the husband in the act of defending 
 his wife's honour. Gracious Heaven ! these re- 
 flections are insupportable : they must be anni- 
 hilated ; the means are in my power ; my agonized 
 brain urges me to desperation. IMercy, mercy, 
 oh God !" 
 
 On utterinii these words he seized one of the
 
 IIEVENGE. 3^? 
 
 temaiiling pistols, which Mas Iccided and lay near 
 the sJ)ot. He a\ as in the act of raising it to his 
 forehead, another instant would have been fatal, 
 when his arm was suddenly arrested by tiie man 
 whom they had seen approaching them. 
 
 He had run towards the place with a violence 
 wliich almost rendered him incapable of saving the 
 unfortunate Edward from the dreadful attempt on 
 his own existence. His astonishment at behold- 
 ing the object of his preservation, was equal to 
 the horror he experienced in the scene which pre- 
 sented itself. 
 
 ^' It is j\Ir. ]\Ian^eville," he exclaimed ;" "good 
 heavens ! what is to be done ? Do you not know 
 me. Sir? Who is that unfortunate man? This is, 
 indeed, a dreadful business !" 
 
 Edward raised his eyes towards the person 
 who addressed him. It was Mopsey; who had 
 this morning been amusing himself with his fa- 
 vourite pursuit^ and who, having observed them,
 
 350 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 at a distance, leave the coach, was induced, from 
 his suspicions of their motives, to keep them in his 
 eye. On the report of the pistols, his apprehen- 
 sions were confirmed ; and he immediately hunied 
 to the spot. 
 
 Ed^vard seemed stupified with horror; he 
 pointed to the fallen Orby ; ]\Iopsey ran to the 
 })lace where he lay, but could discover no appear- 
 ance of life. 
 
 " You must not remain here," exclaimed the 
 artist ; " God knows what may be the result of this 
 business : fly, instantly fly : if any assistance can 
 be rendered to this unfortunate man, I will procure 
 it ; but you must not be discovered." 
 
 Edward heeded him not; but still remained 
 upon the ground, his hands clasped together in 
 agony and despair. 
 
 " Rash, miserable youth!" cried Mopsey, as 
 he raised him from the earth, " why will you not
 
 REVENGE. 351 
 
 be advised? Observe, the coach which brought 
 you is not yet gone ; for God's sake, urge the man 
 to drive you to your friends." 
 
 Edward again cast his eyes towards Orby. 
 
 " If you will but leave the place," continued 
 the artist, " I can procure aid from yonder house, 
 in a very short time ; but, while you persist in re- 
 maining here, you prevent me from applying for it."' 
 
 *' This last observation had the desired efiect 
 upon Edward ; and he hurried immediately to the 
 coach. 
 
 The driver, if he suspected the events wliich 
 had occurred, from private motives kept them to 
 himself; and drove, with the utmost speed, to the 
 lodgings of Montalbert, the place to which Edward 
 directed him. 
 
 His mind was not in a state to admit of reflec- 
 tions on his personal safety ; the events of the last
 
 552 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 few hours passed before him as the phantoms of a 
 horrible dream, while the words of Orby, which 
 declared Lvdia to be his wife, still vibrated iii 
 his ear. 
 
 On the coach stopping, Montalbert himself 
 appeared at the door; he seemed prepared for 
 the tale which Edward, in a few incoherent words, 
 conveyed to him, and declared he had already 
 been made acquainted with the fatal quarrel. 
 
 " Impossible!" exclaimed Edward, " how 
 could you have been informed of it?'^ 
 
 " By one," answered Montalbert, " who is 
 now waiting for you in the draw ing-room." 
 
 Mandeville gazed upon him in amazement, 
 and followed him up the staircase ; on the landing 
 he was met by Emma Mandeville, who, uttering a 
 faint ejaculation, fell senseless in his arms. She 
 had arrived about a quarter of an hour before 
 him.
 
 REVENGE. 353 
 
 Lydia, on being informed that her husband 
 had left the house ^vith IMandeville, reflected ^ith 
 horror on the consequences nhich might ensue. 
 She knew not what method to take to prevent the 
 dreadful catastrophe she anticipated : recollecting 
 that the elder Mr. Mandeville was in town, and 
 having been informed of the place of his residence 
 by Orby, she considered that an immediate alarm 
 to the family was the only plan she could adopt. 
 She determined, therefore, to proceed to Grosvenor- 
 street, and instantly left her lodgings for that pur- 
 pose. Fortunately, a coach passed her, the driver 
 of which, as he was going the same wav, con- 
 sented to take her with him, and, in the course of 
 twenty minutes, she found herself at Mr. Ma-nde- 
 ville's door. Her knock was answered by the 
 valet, from whom she understood, that no busi- 
 ness, however urgent, could then be communicated 
 to his master. Observing her agitation, whicli 
 seemed to confirm she had something of import- 
 ance to relate, the i;ian said, that his young lady, 
 who had that night sat up with her father, had 
 
 2 A
 
 55i TALES OF THE PASSIONS^ 
 
 just retired to her chamber, and, perhaps, if not 
 undressed, might be prevailed upon to see her. 
 Lydia entreated him to procure her an interview 
 with Miss ]\Iandeville. The valet directly rang a 
 bell, which brought down her attendant, while 
 Lydia, aware of the difficulty she might encounter 
 to gain a sight of her, owing to the strange ap- 
 pearance under w4iich she requested it, wrote on 
 a small piece of paper the following words : " The 
 life of Mr. Edward Mandeville is in danger." 
 
 o 
 
 Having scaled it, with some wax which she had 
 in her pocket, she requested the female servant to 
 convey it to her mistress. The woman returned 
 immediately, and, conducting Lydia to an inner 
 apartment, said that her lady would wait upon 
 her instantly. 
 
 In a short time Emma appeared, under a de- 
 gree of anxiety and terror, which confirmed the 
 effects the intelligence had upon her. 
 
 Lydia, in a few words, stated tlie meeting o^
 
 REVENGE. M5 
 
 Orby and IMandevillc, and their subsequent de- 
 parture, without particularly detailing the cause 
 of their quarrel. 
 
 Emma, whose alarm was extreme, remained 
 totally at a loss in what manner to act. She was 
 entirely excluded from receiving assistance, or 
 even advice, from her father : to call up the 
 sen-ants, merely on a suspicion of the event, she 
 was aware, would occasion remarks and observa- 
 tions, which, under her present circumstances, she 
 most earnestly wished to avoid. 
 
 Lydia mentioned the name of Osborne, as the 
 particular fiiend of Mr. Edward IMandeville, and 
 it instantly occurred to Emma, that he would be 
 the most proper person to whom they ciDuld apply. 
 She knew his address, and resolved to proceed 
 herself immediately to his lodgings. This resolu- 
 tion was an imprudent one, but to Emma there 
 appeared more certainty of success, and less pro- 
 bability of her anxiety for Edward's safety being 
 ijiiade public, in her own ajiplication to Mr. Os- 
 
 O A Qi
 
 356 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 borne, than by employing a messenger for that 
 purpose. Having, therefore, left a few lines for 
 Mrs. Mandeville, which ingenuously explained the 
 business that had urged her to leave her home at 
 so early an hour, she followed Lydia to the coach 
 which had brought her to Grosvenor-street, and 
 having promised the driver a considerable reward, 
 he consented to follow her directions. Lydia re- 
 quested to be set down at her own lodgings, that 
 if her husband returned she might be ready to 
 receive him. 
 
 The astonishment of Afontalbert and the 
 Courtezan was extreme, on observing ]\Iiss Man- 
 deville alight from the coach. They had neither 
 of them been to bed ; the former was in pai*t re- 
 covered from his intoxication, through a few hours' 
 sleep he had taken in his clothes on a sofa, from 
 which Lucy had been incapable of removing him ; 
 •while she remaiaed by his side, lost in reflections 
 on those plans which she was now gradually work- 
 ing to a conclusioli.
 
 TIEVENGE. 337 
 
 Always on the alert to seize upon every event 
 which held forward a probability of aiding her 
 %\'ishes, she listened to the information of the terri- 
 fied Emma with evident satisfaction; and her 
 knowledge of tlie catastrophe, on the arrival of 
 Edward, confirmed her hopes. 
 
 The fertility of her invention had now a scope 
 which she failed not to improve ; her determina- 
 tions were as sudden as they were dreadful ; the 
 present hour seemed destined for the maturement 
 of all her schemes. Montalbert was in a sufficient 
 state of sobriety to aid the execution of them ; yet 
 still so far disordered, by the fumes of the wine he 
 had drunk, as to be partly insensible to their 
 enormity. 
 
 Edward had sufficient presence of mind to 
 conceal the fatal consequences of the duel from 
 his cQusin ; although he was necessitated to con- 
 fess to her that Orby was Rightly wounded. In 
 a private conference with IMontalbert and the 
 Courtezan, he related the truth ; and seizing the
 
 .r58 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 hand of the former, he requested liis advice, in a 
 faltering voice of liorror and despair. 
 
 Montalbert paused for a few moments ; while 
 his eyes were' fixed on his victim with an expres- 
 sion which created some alarm in the bosom of 
 Lucy, who marked every change in his counte- 
 nance with extreme anxiety. 
 
 • " You must leave London instantly," she ex- 
 claimed, ^' and remain concealed till the affair is, 
 in some degree, investigated. Not a minute 
 should be lost ; you have fought Avithout seconds, 
 and Heaven only knows what construction may- 
 be put upon your conduct." 
 
 *' These are reasons," answered Edward, 
 " which should urge me to remain, and throw 
 lijyself on- the mercy of my country." 
 
 " You will be capable of doing so," replied 
 Montalbert, " hereafter, if circumstances render 
 it necessary ; but surely for the present it is policy
 
 REVENGE. 359 
 
 to escape the igi¥)miny of being dragged to a jajl 
 :as the murderer of your friend." 
 
 *'0h! God, God!" exclaimed the unhappy 
 youth, " that would indeed be liQiTible !" 
 
 "Then hazard it not," said. Montalbert; "a 
 post-chaise is already ordered ; I haye discharged 
 both the hackney-coaches, to prevent suspicion; 
 yet the men who drove them may, by this time, 
 have discovered the business, and given informa- 
 tion at the public offices. Nay, nay, hesitate 
 not; your character, your very existence, js at 
 stake!" 
 
 *' I have no money," answered Edward, " to 
 defray the expenses of a journey of this kind ; I am 
 totally destitute." 
 
 *' But I — " answered Montalbert 
 
 " Have not a guinea in your possession, at 
 the present moment," interrupted the Courtezan,
 
 •360 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 while slie secretly grasped his wrist with violence, 
 and her whole countenance seemed convulsed, as 
 if by the effects of si^dden joy and exultation. 
 
 " Then I must await my fate," exclaimed 
 the- wretched Edward ; " there is no hope 1" 
 
 A knocking at the street door was now heard. 
 Edward started with alarm. " Who is it?" he 
 cried; '' do you expect any one at this hour? is 
 it the chaise?" 
 
 " No, no!" answered Alontalbert, " that is to 
 •wait at the entrance next the Me^vs." 
 
 The Courtezan, for a few moments, seemed 
 lost in her own reflections ; at length she suddenly 
 exclaimed, " There is one method by which you 
 may be supplied with a sufficient sum for your 
 present exigencies," 
 
 Edward and Montalbert appeared equally 
 anxious to hear it.
 
 EEVEXGE. 361 
 
 " You remember/' she cried, turning to the 
 latter, while her eyes were fixed upon him with a 
 penetrating earnestness, " you remember the hun- 
 jdred pounds which was placed in your hands 
 about a week smce, and which you solemnly 
 pledged yourself to produce this morning, to pre- 
 serve an unfortunate tradesman from ruin and 
 disgrace. Nine o'clock is the hour in which it 
 will be demanded; should it not be forthcoming 
 at that time, destruction awaits himself and family. 
 A relentless creditor has sworn to proceed against 
 him. The money was presented to you by the 
 father of the young man, before he left London, 
 for the preservation of his son at this critical junc- 
 ture." 
 
 Montalbert listened to the Courtezan with 
 evident marks of astonishment and confusion, with- 
 out any reply, either to confirm or contradict her 
 assertions. 
 
 " This sum," she continued, " might be trans- 
 ferred to ]Mr. ]\Iandevillc, but "
 
 SO'^ TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 " Not for worlds!" interrupted Edward, 
 ** tenipt me not to an act of such injustice and 
 cruelty." 
 
 " Yet," answered the Courtezan, " means 
 might be contrived to use the money, and still 
 preserve him who has a right to it from the conse- 
 quences we anticipate. The proposal may, at 
 first, alarm you ; yet there is no actual danger iii 
 it, and Montalbert, who is your friend, will gua- 
 rantee your safety." 
 
 Edward listened to her with trembling eager- 
 ness; Montalbert, with breathless agitation. 
 
 " A few nights past," she continued, " you, by 
 accident, left in tliis room some blank checks on 
 your uncle's banker ; you had procured them, by 
 his desire, in the course of the day. They are 
 still here ; one of those, filled up for the trifling 
 sum I have just mentioned, with your uncles 
 name affixed to it, •^— nay, start not, but hear me 
 out, — would, in all probability, satisfy the creditor
 
 REVENGE. 363 
 
 I have alluded to, at least for a few hours, without 
 even presenting it for payment ; in the course of 
 that time, we should doubtless be able to raise 
 treble the amount, might redeem the check, and 
 Tnunediately destroy it." 
 
 A pause of some moments succeeded this pro- 
 position : Montalbert attempted to speak, but his 
 trembling lips refused their office. Edward threw 
 himself on the sofa near which he stood, in an 
 agony of despair. 
 
 L^cy seized the opportunity to whisper in the 
 ear of the former : " This is the moment in which 
 you must reflect upon your sufferings, retrace the 
 joys of your youth, and the misery of your declin- 
 ing years ; remember what you was, and think 
 upon what you are." 
 
 The knocking at the street-door was renewed. 
 Edward started from his reverie. They perceived, 
 from the window, that the. chaise was waiting; at 
 the back entrance.
 
 36+ TALES OP THE PASSIONS. 
 
 " Another minute, and all may be lost!" ex- 
 claimed the Courtezan; " have you no confidence 
 in your friends, Mr. Mandeville?" 
 
 He gazed upon her wildly, yet there were 
 certain expressions in his countenance which oc- 
 casioned her some degree of chagrin. 
 
 " It is an awful moment," he cried ; " my af- 
 fairs are desperate, and there is no alternative. 
 This act will place my very existence in your 
 power : to my knowledge I never injured you, yet 
 my life, under the circumstances in which I shall 
 now hold it, is a trust of little value." 
 
 On uttering these words, he signed the draft 
 that was presented to him, and having fixed with 
 Montalbert the place in which he should conceal 
 himself till he heard from him, he was about to 
 depart, when he was suddenly reminded by Lucy, 
 that Miss Mandeville was still in the house. His 
 anguish seemed increased by the recollection.
 
 KEVENGt. S63 
 
 The Courtezan a^ain addressed him. 
 
 *^S' 
 
 *' Would it not be possible to prevail upcn 
 her to go with you a few miles out of London? 
 Your behig accompanied by a female, merely the 
 first stage of your journey, will not only prevent 
 suspicions on the road, but, in a great degree, 
 sene to frustrate those inquiries which may be 
 made after you in every direction, and of course 
 under the idea of your being alone." 
 
 " It would be ungenerous to request it,"' re- 
 plied Edward ; '* her character would suffer by 
 such a step," 
 
 *' Not at all," replied the Courtezan ; *• r\Iont- 
 albert, having seen to the draft, Avill, in a few 
 hours, follow you to the end of the second stage, 
 where there will be no danger in your waiting a 
 short time. Miss Mandeville can return v.illi 
 him, and regain her home before dark. Her fa- 
 ther need not even be informed of her absence.
 
 3Ga TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 while immediate information may be sent to Mrs, 
 IVIandeville of the arrangements which have taken 
 place. 
 
 The request was immediately made to Emma : 
 at the first moment it astonished and alarmed her, 
 but the plausible reasons which were given for it, 
 and the assurance of Montalbert as to the neces- 
 sary information he would convey to her friends, 
 and the arrangements for her return within a few 
 hours, in some degree overcame her scruples. 
 The hurry and confusion of the moment, allowed 
 little time for reflection : Edward seized hei;;liandj 
 as if in the act of taking leave of her ; his agony 
 rendered him totally incapable of bidding her fare- 
 wel. Emma, at this instant, thought only of 
 Mandeville and his misfortunes. Conducted by 
 Montalbert, she follo'\\ed him to the chaise, while 
 the Courtezan, with straining eyes, and palpitating 
 heart, beheld them enter it together. At the mo- 
 ment the carriage was leaving the door, a letter 
 was presented to Montalbert by a man of whom
 
 EEV'ENGE. 367. 
 
 he had no recollection. He said he had been for 
 some time knocking at the front of the house, and 
 that he was directed to the back entrance by a 
 servant from one of the opposite windows, who 
 informed him the family would be more likely to 
 hear him from that part. It was directed to 
 Mandeville. I\Iontalbert perceived, by the writ- 
 ing, as he handed it to him, that it was u ritten by 
 Guilford; and supposing the contents to be mere- 
 ly an application for further pecuniary assistance, 
 he desired the driver to proceed, while the man 
 who brought it, havino: no orders to wait for an 
 answer, immediately departed. < 
 
 " Now, now," exclaimed the Courtezan, as he 
 re-entered the apartment in which he had left her, 
 " we triumph indeed, Montalbert ! *' 
 
 Her countenance was distorted by the violent 
 emotions which agitated her whole frame. Wild 
 ferocious joy beamed in her eyes ; the glov/ of 
 malignant exultation was diffused over her pallid
 
 36S TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 cheek, uhile her hands were grasped together in 
 frantic ecstasy. 
 
 " Ye beloved shades of my departed parents," 
 she continued, " may ye behold this hour of my 
 triumph. The moment is at length arrived, when 
 I can call down retribution on the head of my op- 
 pressor. The spirit of my murdered father shall 
 no longer reproach me. The groans of anguish 
 which he uttered, the last tears of sufFcrina nature 
 which fell on his bosom, all, all, shall be repaid. 
 Oh, God ! shade in cverlastinij nidit these imases 
 \\ hich float upon my brain ; they have elevated and 
 nerved me to the purpose for which my life has 
 been devoted. Memory will now be a curse be- 
 yond endurance; its horrors will receive no miti- 
 gation in the attainment of a desired end; its 
 phantoms produce no etl'ects, but those of despair 
 and madness." 
 
 Montalbert listened to the Courtezan in 
 gloomy silence : his soul was agitated by contend-
 
 REVENGE, ■ 369 
 
 ing passions ; his ideas were dark, confused, and 
 undetermined. He gazed on her with horror, and 
 received her convulsed and trembling frame in his 
 arms, as she sunk exhausted upon the sofa on 
 which he was seated. 
 
 9. B
 
 370 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE EFFECTS OF VICIOUS PASSIONS. 
 
 The conduct of Emma Mandeville was, no doubt^ 
 highly reprehensible, in consenting to accompany 
 her cousin during a part of his journey. The ex- 
 treme agitation and alarm which the sudden in- 
 formation of the duel and its consequences occa- 
 sioned her, the confusion of the moment in which 
 the proposal was made, the idea that her presence 
 would aid the escape of the man whom she adored, 
 and, above all, the certain expectation of return- 
 ing in a few hours, before it was likely her father 
 would be made acquainted with her absence, may 
 perhaps be alleged, in some degree, as excuses 
 for her imprudence. It is also to be remembered, 
 that she was entirely ignorant of Edward's recent 
 marriage; and that in the information she h^d
 
 REMlNGE. 571 
 
 received of his errors, his amour with Mrs. Guil- 
 ford, and other indiscretions, had been cai^efully 
 concealed from her. Emma, although she had 
 listened to the injunctions of her parent with tlie 
 utmost deference and awe, did not despair of 
 working on his tenderness by her entreaties, and 
 ultimately of gaining his consent to their union. 
 She knew of no follies in her cousin's conduct, but 
 what in time mio-ht receive her father's fordveness ; 
 and she had too often experienced his indulgence 
 to doubt of her ability to procure it. 
 
 The art of the Courtezan, in the hurried de- 
 scription which was given of the fatal affair w ith 
 Orby, represented Edward's conduct in such a 
 light, as to throw all the blame on the former, and 
 render the actions of the latter as even necessary 
 for his own defence. 
 
 The promise \vhich was made to Emma by 
 JMontalbert, of following them to the second stage, 
 was never intended to be fulfilled, while informa- 
 tion was indirectly conveyed to her friends of her 
 
 2 B 2
 
 372 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 elopement witli Edward JVIandeville, whose cha- 
 racter was now branded with epithets of the most 
 disgraceful nature. 
 
 Orby was conveyed to his lodgings, by the 
 assistance of Mopsey, in a state which seemed to 
 preclude all hopes of recovery. Two surgeons, of 
 the first eminence, were immediately procured, 
 who declared his case to. be desperate. 
 
 The secrecy which had been observed witii 
 respect to his union with Lydia Sillbourne, had 
 principally originated from a wish to conceal it 
 from iNIr. Oswald ; who had most decidedly ex- 
 pressed his disapprobation of his pupil's entering 
 •into a state of matrimony. Although Orby did 
 not consider himself bound impHcitly to comply 
 with his wishes on this point, yet his patronage 
 and friendship were so far desirable, as to render 
 him anxious to preserve them ; and he conceived 
 he could, by degrees, prepare Mr. Oswald for the 
 news of his marriage in a way which would soften 
 the resentment it might otherwise occasion.
 
 REVENGE. 37 3 
 
 On his fipfct introduction to Lydia, by Edward, 
 he was not only charmed with the beauty of het 
 person, but particularly pleased with the modest, 
 yet ingenuous, simplicity of her manner. In his 
 subsequent visits, relative to the law-suit, he dis- 
 covered additional causes for admiration, till, at 
 length, these impressions ripened into an attachr 
 ment which revolutionized his whole conduct and 
 mode of thinkinij. He was well aware that Ed- 
 ward had no serious intentions towards their fair 
 client, and, to prove that his own passion was dis- 
 interested, he declared it a few hours after the 
 
 * 
 law-suit was lost. Lydia was not insensible to the 
 
 noble generosity of his conduct. However she 
 mi^ht esteem Mr. Mandeville as a fiicnd, she cx- 
 perienced sensations of a very different kind tO' 
 wards his companion; and although she, for a 
 time, refused his offered hand, under a considera- 
 tion that, by accepting it, she might deprive him of 
 Mr. Oswald's protection, and injure his future 
 prospects, yet she confessed, with a candour that 
 rendered her still more dear ^o hijn. that tliesc
 
 37+ TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 M-ere the only reasons which influenced her con^ 
 duct. 
 
 The first insult which Lydia received from 
 Edward, during her residence at Mr. Mopsey's, 
 would have been carefully concealed by her from 
 Orby, under a dread of the consequences it might 
 produce ; but Edward, with a levity which the 
 former had originally encom'aged, gave him a de- 
 tailed account of the event, and was somewhat 
 surprised at the gravity of his countenance as he 
 listened to the relation, as well as the observations 
 he made on the conclusion of it. 
 
 Orby, aware that Edward would not easily 
 give up a pursuit of this nature, and anticipating 
 renewed visits for the same purpose, immediately 
 repaired to Lydia; and urged, more forcibly than 
 he had yet done, the necessity of their union, as it 
 would at once give her a claim on his protection, 
 and place at defiance those misrepresentations 
 which had already occasioned her considerable
 
 REVENGE. . 375 
 
 untasiness. Lydia, at length, consented to his 
 wishes, on condition that their marriage should, 
 for the pi^sent, remain unknown, and that they 
 removed to oJier lodgings. Her motives for these 
 arrangements w^re to preserve Mr. Oswald's 
 friendship towards i^r husband, and to conceal 
 herself from Edward uu\\ her situation should be 
 made public ; fearful that a second visit from him 
 might occasion some fatal mis.nderstanding with 
 Orby. Apartments were accorGnaly procured 
 the latter part of the day, to which ^e conducted 
 her in the evening. She took a frienay leave of 
 the artist, and left in his care the letter wiich he, 
 on the following morning, so abruptly delivert-l to 
 Edward in the presence of Mr. Oswald. Lydo, 
 was dubious of trusting him with the knowledge of 
 her intended' marriage, or the place of her resi- 
 dence ; but promised he should hear fiom her on 
 the return of Mrs. Mopsey, who was at that period 
 absent from London. 
 
 In the course of a few days she became the 
 wife of Orby : he immediately quitted his old
 
 376 T^LES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 apai'tments, to the very great surpiise of his com- 
 panions^ who had, for some time past, rema'^ed a 
 material alteration both in his conduct -^i^d man- 
 ners. He had never been destitute '^ reflection : 
 his passions often hurried him U excesses which 
 his cooler judgement condemned. 
 
 Whatevei' might i^ve been the objections of 
 ]\fr. Oswald to the ^"^^rimonial state, the example 
 of his pupil wp certainly a contradiction to his 
 hypothesis. Ihe comforts of a home, and the 
 pleasures '^ domestic society, were now open to 
 him • \y experienced them in their full force : and 
 the remembrance of his former follies seemed to 
 eiiiance the value of his present blessings. Yet 
 Orby still Avavered in the resolutions which he 
 daily made to acquaint Mr. Oswald with his situa- 
 tion ; his austere and pedantic behaviour seemed 
 to chill all advances towards friendship or confi- 
 dence, and the confession was deferred from one 
 day to another, under the hope of his appearing in 
 a better humour to receiA e it.
 
 RSVENGE. 377 
 
 The money which Lydia enclosed to Edward, 
 as the sum which she was indebted to him for the 
 costs of her law-suit, was procured by Orby from 
 Montalbert, to whom he candidly acknowledged 
 the circumstances which urged him to apply for 
 it. The latter listened to the narration with con- 
 siderable interest ; and, in a subsequent interview, 
 feecame acquainted with his marriage, and the 
 place of his abode. It was from the knowledge of 
 these events, that the Courtezan was enabled to 
 frame the anonymous letter to young Mandeville, 
 which occasioned those fatal events that at once 
 concentrated her various schemes of vengeance, 
 and produced effects beyond her most sanguine 
 expectations. 
 
 IMontalbert, a few hours after Edward's de- 
 parture, presented the forged draft for payment ; 
 the fraud was immediately discovered : yet he con- 
 trived to keep the paper in his possession. 
 
 At a late hour in the evening, the Courtezan
 
 378 TALES OF THE P.\SSIONS. 
 
 and himself were informed, that the exertions of 
 IVIiss IMandeville's family to discover her had 
 proved fruitless. They likewise received intelli- 
 gence, that her absence had hitherto, under various 
 excuses, been concealed from her father; but 
 that it was determined, on the following day, to 
 reveal it to him, as well as the circumstances con- 
 nected with her elopement. 
 
 " To-morrow, then," exclaimed the Courtezan 
 with exultation, " is the day of our triumph. Ed- 
 M'ard Mandeville is in our power; even if Orby 
 survives, we possess the instrument of his destruc-^ 
 tion. The fate of Emma is, doubtless, by this 
 time decided ; her destiny is connected with that, 
 of her cousin ; not by those holy ties which might, 
 in part, save her from the ignominy of his situa- 
 tion, but in a guilty amour Avith a married many 
 who will be unable either to screen her infamy 
 from the world, or sooth the pangs of conscious 
 degradation, by the only means capable of rescuing 
 hcF character from disgrace. Some further aa-»
 
 REVENGE. 379 
 
 rangements are yet necessary to complete our 
 vengeance; a few hours will terminate all our 
 plans." 
 
 A cold shivering seemed to run through her 
 veins : the involuntary groan which the sensation 
 occasioned, called Montalbert's attention from 
 §ome papers which he was perusing with peculiar 
 regard. Her face appeared more than human; 
 he had often contemplated it with a degree of 
 hon'or for which he was unable to account, but 
 never had it occasioned emotions like those he now 
 experienced. There was a wild expression of joy 
 diffused over her whole countenance, w hich seemed 
 to elevate her beyond the limits of mortality. After 
 a considerable pause, in which she appeared lost 
 in deep reflection, suddenly turning to jMontalbert, 
 she exclaimed, " Yes, to-moiTOw concentrates all 
 the remembrances of the past, and annihilates 
 every anticipation of the future." 
 
 She again paused : Montalbert perceived a 
 tear on her cheek.
 
 380 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 '■' I have remembrances," she continued, in a 
 faltering and softened tone of voice, *' dear to my 
 heart : there are moments when they imperceptibly 
 steal into my bosom;— my native valley, — ray 
 adored parents, — my beloved infant brothers : — 
 Oh ! these flutterings in my soul are dreadful ! 
 ■Merciful God ! why do. I still feel the embrace of 
 my poor dying mother.^ Why do I still rest upon 
 her breast hs she heaved the sigh of suffering na' 
 ture, and closed Ifer eyes upon me for ever ? Her 
 tears, her last tears which she shed, are still damp 
 iij)on my bosom." 
 
 '"' They are thy own tears," interrupted ]Mont- 
 albert with tenderness ; " poor wretched victim of 
 cruelty and injustice ! May these drops of an- 
 guish relieve thy oppressed spirit.*' 
 
 To be' reminded that she had wept, seemed to 
 alarm her. She struggled with her feelings, and 
 stifled the hysteric sobs with which she was con- 
 vulsed ; yet her voice, became still more tremu* 
 
 lous.
 
 REVENGE. SSI 
 
 " Montalbert," she cried, "^ I hav^ tempted 
 you to a fearful gulf; our injuries are, perhaps, 
 avenged ; yet I have some doubts, some horrors, 
 wavering in my mind, to which I have hitherto 
 been a stranger. But no matter — rto-morrow, I 
 repeat it, is the day of my triumph : — to-morrow ! 
 Oh, God ! there is an "awful sound in that word, 
 which strikes at my very heart: eternity itself 
 seems to hang upon it. These apprehen'sions arc 
 insupportable. What have I to fear?" 
 
 Cold drops of perspiration stood on her fore- 
 head ; she grasped the hand of ]VIontalbert, while 
 her whole frame shook with emotions of agonizing 
 terror. 
 
 "Death is merely annihilatioo," she continued 
 hi a ^vhisper, while her inqui^jng eyes expressed the 
 doubts she entertained of the assertion ; " all, all 
 will be shaded in everlasting oblivion." 
 
 ]\Iontalbert's pale and trembling lips hesitated 
 hi the reply : she observed their motion, but she
 
 382 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 dreaded the sounds which might escape from 
 tliem. 
 
 ''Do not contradict me," she replied, '^yoiir 
 words will carry no conviction. I must not, dare 
 not, be convinced. Let me but preserve this last, 
 this only hope, and the victory of to-morrow may 
 still be mine." 
 
 She now became more composed, and remain- 
 ed in a melancholy reverie during the night. 
 
 ]\Tontalbert had dedicated the chief part of the 
 evening to an arrangement of his books and pa- 
 pers ; he scarcely could account for his sudden re- 
 solution to fulfil this task : he had often attempted 
 it since his return to England, but never could 
 summon sufficient resolution to refer to the various 
 letters which it was necessary he should peruse. 
 They contained the correspondence of his early 
 life : they presented to his eye sentiments of love 
 and affection on which he had often dwelt with 
 rapture. — Alas ! the mind which formed them, had
 
 REVENGE. S83 
 
 long since been separated from frail mortality ; the 
 hand which traced the characters that expressed 
 them, had for years mouldered in the grave. In 
 reviewing the letters of a beloved wife, lost to him 
 for ever, thrilling sensations of pleasure and regret 
 mingled in the bosom of Montalbert, and elevated 
 him to a decree of enthusiasm borderino; on insa- 
 nity. The Courtezan had . retired to bed. He 
 was alone ; — he read aloud the sentences which his 
 beloved Eleanor had written; he repeated them 
 with still stronger emphasis ; he answered them ; 
 he called aloud upon her name ; he wept because 
 she did not answer him; his eyes were dimmed 
 with tears ; he saw imperfectly, but his brain pro- 
 duced figures which seemed to supply the cheer- 
 less vacuum of reality. Eleanor stood before him 
 in all the vivid colouring of youth and beauty ; she 
 smiled upon him, extended her arms as if to meet 
 his embrace ; — he rushed forward in frantic ecsta- 
 sy, and fell prostrate on the floor. Having re- 
 mained some time in a senseless stupor, he reco- 
 vered from this trance, to experience the heart- 
 rending anguish tvhich cruel memory inflicted.
 
 3S4 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 After a long interval, he again ventured to re- 
 new his employment. He possessed copies of his 
 own letters ; he retraced the actions, the ideas, the 
 principles, and conduct of liis past life : fain would 
 he have repressed the honible reflections which 
 contrasted the years of his youth with those of his 
 declining age. The retrospection was dreadful; 
 his groans of anguish confirmed the feelings it 
 produced. 
 
 Again he referred to his papers : the letters of 
 Mandeville now presented themselves ; they were 
 chiefly written between the period of their leaving 
 college, and the fatal renewal of their acquaint- 
 ance at Bath. 
 
 Montalbert glanced over them with trembling 
 agitation; the various emotions which had before 
 affected him, were now concentrated, and produc* 
 ed those sensations of hatred and revenge towards 
 their author, that, for a time, overpowered every 
 other passion. He reflected, with exultation, on 
 the events which had recently occurred towards
 
 REVENGE. 385 
 
 their gratification, and anticipated the moment 
 when he should mark their effects on his victim, 
 with a satisfaction tiiat seemed to cahn as well as 
 animate him. He had already made those ar- 
 rangements for securing the person of Edward, 
 which ensured his arrival in London on the follow- 
 
 Although Mr. !Mandeville had as yet been kept 
 ignorant of the elopement of his daughter, under 
 an apprehension of the effects the intelligence might 
 produce, his distress and alarm became so violent, 
 that it was considered a careful and gradual dis- 
 closure would be less agonizing than his present 
 state of suspense. On the second day, therefore, 
 Mrs. Mandeville, with the most affectionate and 
 tender solicitude, undertook the arduous task of 
 conveying to him the vague information they pos- 
 sessed. She flattered herself he received it with 
 more fortitude than might have been expected. 
 It is true, he did not evince those violent emotions 
 which his physicians and herself had so much 
 dreaded ; but his sufferings were the more acute, 
 
 2 c
 
 386 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 and the consequences more fatal. He heard 
 thOi recital with feelings which m ere not to be ex- 
 pressed by outward lamentations of regret: he 
 listened to it as the sentence of offended Heaven, 
 and reflected on his past life with horror. He 
 w as conscious of his approaching dissolution, w hile 
 t)iose who surrounded him were elevated with 
 hopes of his recovery. This was the period in 
 which the gay, the dissipated Mandeville, was^ 
 doomed to experience the punishment of his past 
 crimes. It was now he needed those sweet and 
 soothing reflections on a life well spent, which 
 alone can animate tlie fading eye of expiring na- 
 ture. 
 
 It was near midnight; he still reposed on a 
 sofa, and could not be persuaded to retire to his 
 bed, although he had quitted it some hours. His 
 physicians left him late in the evening, w ith an opi- 
 nion that he was much better than he had been for 
 the last three days. Mrs. IMandeville remained in 
 his chamber after their departure, anxiously anti- 
 cipating his wishes, and at intervals administering
 
 REVENGE. 3&7 
 
 his medicines. She had, at length, prevailed upon 
 him to undress, and was in the act of ringing for 
 his valet, when he suddenly entered the room, 
 and, in a vvhisper, requested to speak with her 
 apart. 
 
 Two persohs, he said, a man and a woman, of 
 very strange appearance, had just arrived in a 
 hackney-coach ; they demanded an immediate in* 
 terview with his master, but refused to mention 
 their names. 
 
 Mrs. ]\Iandeville, under some degree of sur- 
 prise and alarm, blamed the servant for even at- 
 tending to so abrupt and impertinent an intru- 
 sion. 
 
 The valet, as an excuse for his conduct, de- 
 clared that he had suspicions they brought some 
 intelligence of his young lady, as he had heard 
 them mention her name to each other in a low 
 tone of voice, and believed there were other per- 
 sons in the coach which waited for them, 
 2 c. 2
 
 388 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 This information urged her to request, in a 
 verbal message by the valet, that they m ould have 
 the goodness to transmit to her, in writing, the 
 substance of their business with Mr. Mandeville, 
 as he was in a state which precluded all inter- 
 course even with his most particular friends. 
 
 The servant returned, in a short time, with a 
 sealed note, which she w as on the point of open- 
 ing, when her eye suddenly caught the direction, 
 and she discovered it was addressed to her hus*- 
 band, instead of herself. 
 
 IVIrs. Mandeville was now in a situation of 
 some difficulty; although she dreaded the effects 
 which a sight of this paper might produce upon 
 the invalid, yet her delicacy revolted at the idea of 
 breaking it open. During his late indisposition, 
 his mind had, in no respect, been affected ; and he 
 appeared, at the present moment, as capable of 
 judging for himself, as at any former period. 
 Under these circumstances, she proceeded to his 
 chamber. He had not removed from the, sofa on
 
 REVENGE. 389 
 
 \vhich she left him. Her agitation, as she presentr 
 ed the note, rendered her incapable of explaining 
 the manner in which she had received it, while she 
 marked the variations of his countenance, as he 
 perused the contents, w ith the utmost anxiety : 
 they were included in a few w'ords, yet were suf- 
 ficient to increase her terror and apprehension. 
 The strangers desired an interview with Mr. JVfan- 
 deville immediately^ and alone. They pledged 
 themselves to give him information of his daughter, 
 but would communicate to none but himself. 
 
 " You will not consent to this absurd and 
 mysterious request," exclaimed Mrs. Mandeville. 
 
 Her husband paused for a few moments ; at 
 length he replied, " I see no reason, my dear, 
 •why I should object to it. The promise that they 
 make, is sufficient to excite in my breast an interest 
 superior to every consideration of personal dan- 
 ger, which, in the present instance, I cannot con*, 
 ceive is even probable."
 
 390 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Mrs. Mandeville still endeavoured to persuade 
 him to postpone the interview till the morning, but 
 without effect; she could only prevail upon him 
 to consent that his valet should remain in the ad- 
 joining apartment. 
 
 The visitors were accordingly conducted to his 
 chamber : the servant placed them chairs, and de- 
 parted. 
 
 Mr. Mandeville observed their figures but in- 
 distinctly; the room was spacious, and the part 
 in which they seated themselves completely in 
 shadow. 
 
 A silence of some few moments ensued, and 
 he became somewhat alarmed and agitated. 
 
 At length the following words were addressed 
 to him, in a voice which he thought he had before 
 heard. 
 
 " To fulfil the promise which has procured us
 
 REVENGE. 39 A 
 
 an admittance to vour chamber, it is necessary, 
 Sir, we should inform you, tliat both your daughter 
 and nephew are, at this moment, under your own 
 roof/' 
 
 '* Oh, God ! these are words of comfort," ex- 
 claimed the sick man ; " Let me instantly behold 
 my child ; why is she not now in my arms r" 
 
 "Hold, Sir!" interrupted the male stranger, 
 as he slo^vly rose from his seat, and proceeded 
 towards the sofa on w hicli ]\Iandeville was extend- 
 ed ; " there are some circumstances attending their 
 return, which render an explanation on my part, 
 and an attentive hearing on yours, absolutely ne- 
 cessary." 
 
 " If I am not decei^d," answered jVIandeville, 
 " that is the voice of Mr. Osborne, the friend of 
 my poor deluded Edward." 
 
 *' You are deceived," replied the stranger, in 
 an elevated tone, which he attempted to suppresSj
 
 59^ TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 " this is not the voice of Osborne, yet its sounds 
 may be famihar to your ear. There was a period 
 of your existence, when it conveyed to you the 
 warm effusions of a heart which acknowledged you 
 as a friend, but loved you as a brother." 
 
 A sensation of horror ran through the veins of 
 IMandeville, as he raised his languid eyes with ter- 
 ror, and beheld a pale, withered, and emaciated 
 form within a few paces of his couch. The feeble 
 rays of a lamp which was burning before him, shed 
 a trembling light on the spot, yet the gloom was 
 sufficient to render every thing imperfect but the 
 mere outline of the person that addressed him. 
 
 " Many years are now past," continued the 
 stranger, " since we first met : it was at a period 
 of our existence, when the invigorating joys of 
 youth and innocence animate the bosom with 
 generous enthusiasm, when all nature appears to 
 the dazzled eye with a warmth and brilliancy of 
 colouring which excites admiration, delight, and 
 rapture. We partook of these blessings together;
 
 BEVENGE, 393 
 
 nay, we increased them^ by participatino; in the 
 felicity of each other, and experiencing tiiose afFee* 
 lions which the omnipotent architect of our happi- 
 ness bestowed as the completion of his system. 
 Fortunate would it have been for us, had an eter- 
 nal separation taken place, before that age when 
 the dark and secret passions of the human heart 
 obtain sufficient power to subdue the better feel- 
 ings of our nature. These observations, Mande- 
 ville, must bring to your recollection the injuries of 
 a man who, in this awful hour of retribution, is not 
 only capable of reproaching you with his wrongs, 
 but possesses the means of avenging them. Years 
 of misery and anguish may have wasted my body, 
 and withered my features, but the same thinking 
 principle which animated them still remains, and 
 the exertion of its energies perpetuates my suf- 
 ferings. Montalbert, the disgraced, the ruined 
 Montalbert, stands before you ; not as the abject 
 wretch who kisses the feet of his enemy, and weeps 
 over the tale which publishes his shame, but as 
 the proud champion of his own honour, whose re- 
 venge shall be transmitted to posterity, as a terror
 
 sot TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 to the oppressor, and an example to the op- 
 pressed. My faded cheek still burns with the 
 remembrance of that cursed hour, when I beheld 
 in your arms the woman in whom all my hopes 
 of happiness were centred. — Oh, God ! my w ife, 
 my child, my honour, and my home, all sacrificed 
 by the man whom my bounty had preserved from 
 a prison, and who shared in my joys only to blast 
 them by his perfidy ! Yes, Mandeville, this is the 
 moment of retaliation ; you are now susceptible to 
 the comforts of domestic life, and become vulne- 
 rable to those sorrows you have inflicted upon 
 others. I, Montalbert, the victim of your cruelty, 
 thus triumph in my turn ; the miseries of an in- 
 jured husband shall be repaid by the heart-rending 
 anguish of an unfortunate father ; and the seduc- 
 tion of his friend's wife, revenged in the pollution 
 of his own daughter." 
 
 " Oh, powers of mercy !" exclaimed the dyiqg 
 Mandeville, " save me from these horrors." 
 
 " They are horrors," continued jMontalbert.
 
 REVENGE, 395 
 
 ** which, in the pride of youthful conquest, and the 
 indulgence of inordinate passions, you have dared 
 to entail on your fellow-man. That Being who 
 created you, endowed with equal attributes those 
 Avhom you have arrogantly crushed in the gratifi- 
 cation of your licentious desires : they were called 
 into existence by the same Power, and continued 
 in it with the same dignified hope of its protection : 
 they were subject to the same feelings, and the 
 creatures of the same God !" 
 
 An awful pause of some moments ensued. 
 Drops of cold perspiration stood on the forehead 
 of the trembling criminal ; he once more languidly 
 raised his eyes, which seemed nearly closed in the 
 shade of everlasting sleep. 
 
 The Courtezan had by this time approached 
 the sofa: her hair was dishevelled, her features 
 distorted, and her ^^hole frame convulsed. Yet 
 Mandeville, even in the hour of death, beheld the 
 remains of the once innocent and beautiful Lucy 
 Wilson.
 
 396 TALES OF THE PASSIO^NS. 
 
 Montalbert was unable to support her : she 
 sunk at the foot of the couch, and rested her head 
 on the knees of her seducer. 
 
 " Another spectre ! " lie cried ; " have I no 
 wife, no child, to preserve me from these hideous 
 phantoms ? Is there no friendly bosom on which 
 I may rest my head and die in peace r " 
 
 " Yes, yes," exclaimed the Courtezan, '• here 
 is one on which it has often reposed ; a bosom 
 which now throbs with the breathings of expiring 
 life." 
 
 Montalbert gazed upon her with astonishment 
 and alarm. 
 
 " This," said he, in a faltering voice, *' was to 
 have been the hour of our triumph." 
 
 She turned towards him with difficulty : her 
 body was writhing in the pangs of dissolution, and
 
 REVENGE. 397 
 
 tlie pallid hue of her countenance freckled ^vith 
 dark and livid spots. 
 
 " Montalbert!" she continued, in a voice 
 scarcely audible, " this was, indeed, to have been 
 the hour of my triumph ; yet there is an omnipo- 
 tent Disposer of events, who, in the very moment 
 to which I have looked forward for the completion 
 of my vengeance, frustrates my plans, and decrees 
 my destruction. There are still ties entwined 
 round my heart, from which I have no powei' to 
 escape. The sight of this dying man, whose groans 
 were to have gratified my ear, in whose anguish I 
 anticipated the consummation of my revenge, has 
 called forth remembrances, connected Avith past 
 joys and past feelings, which enervate, enfeeble, 
 and conquer me." 
 
 Tears of agony and remorse for some minutes 
 prevented her utterance; when, in some degree 
 recovering herself, she exclaimed, with a faint 
 smile of exultation :
 
 398 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 " I am yet capable of rising above contempt 
 I have lived but for this hour, and this hour I 
 have ever resolved should be my last. The period 
 of my existence is determined by my own hand ; 
 the fatal poison which I have swallowed, now 
 curdles in my veins, and agitates every nerve. 
 The excruciating tortures of my body I have still 
 fortitude to support ; but my brain — ah, God ! my 
 brain — 'tis there I feel, 'tis there I suffer." 
 
 '* Oh ! night of horror ! " exclaimed ]\Iandeville, 
 as he attempted to disengage his hand from the 
 convulsed grasp of the dying Courtezan. 
 
 " Talk not of horror," she cried, in a voice 
 elevated by the last effort of exhausted nature; 
 " 'tis I only am acquainted with that sound : these 
 images which pass before my eyes chill the very 
 blood at my heart; surely they cannot discover 
 me in the grave of my mother. Nay, nay, I have 
 a father and other dear relatives within that tomb, 
 Mandeville parted us when living, but death has 
 dissolved his power. 'Tis a phantom, a horrible
 
 REVEXGE. 399 
 
 phantom, that has tempted me to this precipice. 
 God of heaven! now it grasps me in its arms. 
 I know it not ; it has neither form nor feature. I 
 M ill not be separated from my dear parents. I was 
 virtuous once. ]\Iandeville ! oh Mandeville ! this 
 is all for you." 
 
 IMontalbeft, as the last words escaped from 
 her lips, received her in his arms a corpse. 
 
 At this instant the door of the chamber Hew 
 open, and Emma, followed by Edward and !Mrs. 
 IMandeville, rushed into the apartment. The 
 former ran towards her father, but it was some 
 moments before he could be persuaded that he 
 lield her in his arms. 
 
 ^' Oh, Heaven!" she cried, '• the hand of 
 death is already upon him : 'tis I — I, who have 
 hastened his dissolution, and murdered the best of 
 fathers." 
 
 He feebly pressed htr to his bosom, while, in
 
 400 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 a voice scarcely articulate, he exclaimed, " All 
 which is past, then, was but a frightful vision : yet^ 
 methought, the dreadful words which charged you 
 with infamy and disgrace, were uttered by one on 
 whom it is horror to reflect." 
 
 Edward now grasped the hand of his uncle, 
 which he bathed with his tears, and supplicated 
 his forgiveness. 
 
 " Whatever may have been my errors," he 
 continued, " let me not waste the present precious 
 moments to vindicate your beloved daughter's 
 honour. — Oh, Sir ! I have been deceived, cruelly 
 deceived ; the victim of perfidy and injustice : yet, 
 thank Heaven, I am neither the murderer of my 
 friend, nor the seducer of my benefactor's daughter. 
 Orby's Hfe is preserved ; and Emma Mandeville, 
 if blessed with your consent, may yet be 7??^ 
 wife." 
 
 " Tis false!" exclaimed Montalbert, who 
 seemed awoke from a sullen reverie over the body
 
 REVENGE. 401 
 
 of the Courtezan; " "tis false; he possesses not 
 the power to bestow upon her that holy title. 
 Tie is already married to another; these eyes be- 
 held the ceremony, these Iiands assisted to per- 
 form it." 
 
 ^^ Ohj wretched man ! " answered Edward, 
 '• who hast pursued my destruction with a zeal as 
 liorrible as it was mysterious, know^ that the Su- 
 preme Disposer of events, in this instance, frus- 
 trates thy impious plans. The unfortunate, aban- 
 doned woman, whom I received from you at the 
 altar, is no longer in existence ; and she who was 
 destined as your sacrifice, is still capable of being 
 mine by every right, divine and human.'' 
 
 Montalbert listened to these words in an agony 
 of disappointment and despair. 
 
 '' Am I then thwarted ?" he exclaimed ; " have 
 I failed in those schemes for which I have bar- 
 tered my very soul. Do you still scorn, deride, 
 
 2 D
 
 402 TALES OF THE PASSIOI^S. 
 
 and trample on me ? No, no, I have yet another 
 hold in this awful conflict : your life is forfeited to 
 the laws of your country ; the draft on which you 
 signed your uncle's name, is in my possession; 
 the forgery has been detected and confirmed by 
 the bankers on whom it was drawn. Oflicers of 
 justice are at this moment in the house : a public 
 accusation and ignominious death await you. Now 
 escape me if you can." 
 
 Astonishment and dismay were expressed in 
 the countenances of those whom he addressed. 
 Edward was already a prisoner: he had been 
 arrested, at Montalbert's suit, for the purpose of 
 securing his person ; and the men, to whose cus- 
 tody he had surrendered himself, were in the ad- 
 joining apartment. 
 
 The horrors of the scene which the expiring 
 Mandeville now witnessed, were of a nature to 
 place description at defiance. Emma implored 
 mercy at the feet of Montalbert, while Mrs. Man-
 
 REVENGE. 40$ 
 
 deville knelt by the side of her dying husband, 
 almost insensible to the teiTors which surrounded 
 her. 
 
 The latter, "vvith considerable difficulty, once 
 more raised himself on the couch ; his speech 
 seemed to have failed him, yet he had still suffi- 
 cient strength to evince, by his actions, a desire 
 that his daughter and Edward should approach 
 him. They immediately threw themselves on their 
 knees before the sofa, and he joined their hands, 
 while his trembling lips appeared to repeat his 
 benediction. 
 
 " Gracious Powers !" exclaimed the distracted 
 Montalbert, " must I tamely witness the felicity 
 of this man, even in the last moments of his ex- 
 istence ? He has still a wife, a daughter, and a 
 nephew, to sooth his anguish and receive his 
 blessing ; while I, the victim of his treachery, the 
 object of his triumph, am forsaken, abandoned, 
 aiid disgraced.'" 
 
 2 D 2
 
 ♦04. TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 The manner in which he uttered these words 
 seemed to confirm his resolution of instantly de- 
 livering up Edward on the charge of the forgery ; 
 when Mandeville, in convulsive agony, suddenly 
 grasped his w-rist, while with tlie other hand he 
 tore open the waistcoat of Edward, and discovered 
 on his breast the picture of his mother. IMontal- 
 bert riveted his eyes on the painting, with expres- 
 sions of surprise and alarm. 
 
 ** What is it I see?" he cried, " those features, 
 those beloved features, have long since mouldered 
 in the earth. That portrait was suspended on the 
 infant bosom of my poor deserted boy ? What am 
 I to suspect, ^vhat am I to anticipate, from this 
 mystery ? " 
 
 " That he is your son,'" exclaimed the dying 
 jMandeville, under exertions which produced his 
 last moments. " Oh, Moutalbert! your wrongs 
 are avenged ; the feelings of the guilty are a retri- 
 bution for the injured. Let the union of our in- 
 nocent children Oh, God ! I would say more,
 
 REVENGE. 405 
 
 but the objects which surround me fade from my 
 sight. My wife, my child, are you still near me ? 
 Father of heaven ! this is the hour in ^vhich the 
 vicious are sensible of their crimes. — Mcrcv, oh ! 
 mercy!" 
 
 He sunk in the arms of Edward, and his eye> 
 closed for ever. 
 
 The pen of the narrator must here draw a veil 
 over the sufferings of the wretched group. I'he 
 chamber of death is often destined to present the 
 most awful examples of justice in that Deity, 
 whose providence encircles the universe lie has 
 created, and whose all-seeing eye marks the last 
 tear of repentance on the faded cheek of the liber- 
 tine, as well as the smile of heavenly hope, which 
 illumines the fareA\cl prayer of the righteous. 
 
 Montalbert, in the discovery that his cruel 
 exertions for the destruction of Mandeville's nc- 
 phe^v, were directed towards his ozcn child, ex[)e- 
 vienced those sensations of horror and remorse
 
 •106 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 which instantaneously impressed him with a con- 
 viction of his guilt, and conveyed the awful rebuke 
 of an offended God. His mind was incapable of 
 supporting the reflections which suddenly rushed 
 upon his brain. His reason was no longer pre- 
 served, than during the first few moments he grasp- 
 ed his long-lost child to his heart, and destroyed 
 the fatal instrument with which he was on the 
 point of sealing his destruction. 
 
 The dispensations of heaven are ahvays i^ight. 
 The impenetrable mist with which they are some- 
 times veiled from the eyes of inquiring man, may 
 excite curiosity, and engender false notions ; yet a 
 patient acquiescence to their decrees, is generally 
 rewarded by a full confirmation of their justice, 
 and an implicit faith in their Divine Author.
 
 REVENGE. 407 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 The letter which was delivered to Edward at the 
 moment of his departure from Montalbert's lodg- 
 ings, on the morning of the duel, informed him of 
 the death of the woman in whose toils he had so 
 imprudently entangled himself. 
 
 During her interview with Guilford on the pre- 
 ceding evening, some disputes arose between them 
 on past occurrences; when, in a paroxysm of 
 extreme rage and irritation, she suddenly expired. 
 
 This awful event, in some degree, appealed to 
 tlie conscience of the former ; in a momentary fit 
 of repentance, he dispatched a letter to young
 
 408 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Mandeville, containing a relation pf the circum- 
 stance, with a partial confession of his own vil- 
 lany, and a full detail of his suspicions on those 
 plans which Montalbert and the Courtezan had 
 adopted for his destruction. 
 
 This epistle at once opened to the mind of the 
 unfortunate Edward, a conviction of the horrible 
 artifices with which he had been assailed, while 
 the causes that could have instigated them, still 
 remained enveloped in mystery. 
 
 " The failure of Montalbert's promise of follow- 
 ing them on the journey, confirmed his perfidy, 
 and increased their apprehensions. 
 
 These circumstances produced explanations on 
 the part of Edward, which, in the mind of his fair 
 cousin, seemed to palliate his past conduct, and 
 render him equally deserving of her affection, as 
 at that period when they were sanctioned and en- 
 couraged by her family. Emma anticipated, with 
 all the fervour of a warm imagination, the moment
 
 REVENGE. 409 
 
 when these events should be made known to her 
 father, under a perfect confidence of his forgive- 
 ness, and consent to their union. 
 
 Edward was arrested on the road, in their re- 
 turn to London, at the suit of ]\Iontalbert. 
 
 It was a late hour in the evening before they 
 arrived at his lodgings ; and, under the idea of 
 making some arrangement for the bail, they ac- 
 companied him and the Courtezan to Grosvenor- 
 street. 
 
 The papers of the late Mr. INIandeville fully 
 confirmed his last words, which pronounced his 
 supposed nephew the son of IMontalbert. Com- 
 passion for the situation of the infant, after the 
 death of his mother, and desertion of his father, 
 added to the remorse which he experienced in 
 having been the cause of these misfortunes, urged 
 him to take it under his OAvn protection. What- 
 ever qualms of conscience Mandeville might, at 
 this period, experience, his career of cruelty and
 
 410 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 dissipation was not concluded ; yet the child was 
 maintained at his expense, in a remote part of the 
 country. On his reform and settlement, he re- 
 solved to adopt Edward as his nephew. This 
 arrangement, he was aware, would preclude that 
 observation- and curiosity which an introduction to 
 his house and family would otherwise occasion. 
 The revolution which his character had undergone, 
 strongly impressed him with a sense of the injuries 
 he had committed, and rendered every atonement 
 within his power, the most soothing antidote to his 
 diseased mhid. Pie had little hopes of ever re- 
 storing him to his unfortunate father. The cir- 
 cumstances under which he fled from his country, 
 and the long period of his absence, annihilated all 
 expectation of his return. A tale was soon fabri- 
 cated, which pi-esented the little orphan Edward 
 as the son of Mr. Mandeville's brother; a title 
 which, in some degree, gave him a claim on the 
 bounty and affection of his patron. 
 
 The unfortunate Montalbert survived a few 
 months, under a state of the most dreadful insa«=
 
 REVENGr. 41 1 
 
 uity ; insensible to the attentions of his son, and 
 tormented by the terrific images of iiis disordered 
 imagination : a lamentable victim to the vicious 
 passions of others, and a fatal example of that 
 which existed witliin his own bosom. 
 
 Orby, after a tedious confinement, regained 
 his usual health and spirits. The affair of the 
 duel at once discovered to his learned patron the 
 secret which had been so anxiously concealed fi-om 
 him. jVJr. Oswald considered he was not then in 
 a state either to be forsaken or rebuked ; his 
 natural humanity for once overcame his affectation. 
 Having rendered hiui every assistance during his 
 indisposition, his recovery reminded him that the 
 period was arrived in which he had resolved to 
 evince his displeasure; the satisfaction, however, 
 he experienced in beholding him once more in his 
 employment, transposed the reproach which fal- 
 tered on his tongue, to a heart-felt congratulation 
 upon his escape. 
 
 ^Ir. Oswald, in a few years, obtained a situa-
 
 41 '2 TALES OF THE PASSIOxVS. 
 
 tion under the cfovernment of his countrv : which 
 confirmed, that however little he might have talked, 
 and however much he might have forgot in pri- 
 vate, that his powers of oratory, as well as me- 
 mory, were capable of exertion when he wished 
 to plead his own cause, or remember his own 
 interest. In short, he obtained that station which 
 had ever been the summit of his ambition, and 
 which tended to preserve his dignity, whether he 
 said nothing or resumed his speech. It is but 
 justice to observe, that his favourite pupil was not 
 neglected i his elevation : Orby, through his 
 friendship and patronage, succeeded to the prin- 
 cipal part of his connexion ; became a rich and 
 liappy man, an honour to his profession, and a 
 valuable member of society. 
 
 Poor Mopsey continued an enthusiast in his 
 art, till an increasing family, and hard times, re- 
 duced him to a habitation that confined the boun- 
 dary of his studies to the narrow- limits of a few- 
 hundred yards, and presented objects, the likeness 
 of which he had no inclination to preserve. IMont-
 
 KEVENGE. 413 
 
 albert and Orbv both assisted him at this period ; 
 and the latter^ through the interest of Mr. Oswald, 
 at length procured him a situation, which enabled 
 him to support his wife and children ^^ith comfort 
 and respectability, while it allowed him sufficient 
 time to fill the apartments of his acquaintance 
 with the numerous productions of his pencil. 
 
 Guilford's reformation continued but a very 
 short time after the death of the unfortunate 
 woman, who had so materially aided his plans, 
 and assisted in his defrauds. He, however, con- 
 trived, under a semblance of contrition for his past 
 conduct, to raise a subscription among those who 
 had already been duped by his artifice, with a plea 
 of dischaiging part of the debts for which he was 
 confined. He no sooner, however, procured the 
 donations, than he suddenly found himself at 
 liberty through an act of insolvency, by which he 
 was enabled to escape to the Continent nith the 
 money he liad received for the use of his creditors. 
 On his arrival at Paris he was accidentally re- 
 cognised by a Venetian count, ^^hom he had
 
 414 TALES OF THE PASSIONS. 
 
 formerly injured at Naples. They dined at the 
 same table, and partook of the same wine ; but as 
 -they staggered together towards their lodgings, the 
 former happened to recollect that he had never 
 received satisfaction for the past conduct of his 
 English friend ; he, therefore, demanded he might 
 be accommodated on this point immediately, and, 
 tlie next moment plunged his stiletto in his bosom. 
 The body of the murdered Guilford was disco- 
 vered in a private street of Paris the next morn- 
 ing; but the Venetian count was a considerable, 
 distance on the road towards his own country. 
 
 Edward IVIandeville was united to his beloved 
 Emma; surrounded by a happy family, they en- 
 joyed a scries of felicity during the remainder of 
 their lives. The fate of their parents presented 
 to them a striking and powerful lesson of morality ; 
 and though it sometimes occasioned melancholy 
 reflections on the past, yet it spoke to the heart,- 
 and occasioned those impressions which such a 
 language is always sure to produ^^e. Its precepts, 
 and its trutlis, were instilled into the minds of tl.ieir
 
 REVENGK 415 
 
 children : it taught them the necessity of governing 
 their passions, and animated them with the love of 
 virtue. It confirmed to them, that the sufferings 
 of the oppressed, and the guilt of the oppressor, 
 are equal objects of justice with the Supreme 
 Deity, who alone possesses the power of reward- 
 ing the one and punishing the other. 
 
 And, above all, it engendered in tlieir bosoms 
 that genuine philanthropy and benevolence, Avhich 
 endear us to our fellow-creatures as the offspring 
 of one Parent, the beings of one God. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by S. HamiUoD, 
 Weybridge, Surry.
 
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