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 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cambrianpictures01hatt
 
 CAMBRIAN PICTURES J 
 
 OR. 
 
 EVERY ONE HAS ERRORS. 
 
 BY ANN OF SWANSEA. 
 
 An age of pain does not atone for a moment of guilt. 
 
 T. CORNEILLE. 
 
 If that adversity, which arises from loss of fortune, fix our 
 attachment stronger towards the friend that suffers, and force 
 us to new efforts to assist him, the loss of innocence, when it 
 happens from no habitual depravity, farms a much stronger 
 motive to exertion, when those who hove fallen struggle to 
 raise themselves up. Sethos, BookS. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR E. KERRY, 
 
 iTAF FORD-STREET, BOND-STREET, 
 
 1810.
 
 B. Clarke, Printer, Well-Street; Loudon
 
 ^ Betjtcation. 
 
 I — 
 
 To A. CHERRY, Esq. 
 
 Late of the Theatre Royaly Driiry Lcne^ 
 Author of The SoIdier^s Daughter, Travel' 
 iers, SiC. Src. Sfc. present Manager of the 
 Swansea Theatre y &>€. S^c. SiC, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 In dedicating these Yolumes to you, 
 (my first attempt at novel writing) I 
 ^gratify only the feelings of my o tvn heart, 
 ^^. for I am conscious that the praise of a 
 -^ being so insignificant as myself can add 
 "^ but little to your fame ; but I have great 
 (^ pleasure in twining my humble sprig 
 <^ "with the proud wreath bestowed on you 
 vi by an approving and discerning public^
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 in openlj' professing rajself the sincere 
 admirer of your talents, and in most re- 
 spectfully acknowledging myself. 
 Dear Sir, 
 your most devoted and obliged 
 humble servant^ 
 Ann of Swansea.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 "'' Reader forgive me if the page is dull— I sit dovm to create 
 a tale of imaginary sorrows, in order to beguile real ones." 
 
 It was I think on the seventeenth of 
 
 January^ a most bitter cold and freezing 
 
 night, that after having spent some hours 
 
 very stupidly at the Marchioness of Aus- 
 
 terville's masquerade^ being heartily 
 
 tiredj I was preparing to depart, and 
 
 had actually reached the hall door with 
 
 this intention, when Lady Delvvin and 
 
 her beautiful daughters (who had been 
 
 at a rout in the neighborhood) entreated 
 
 the use of my carriage to convey them 
 
 home, their own having by some accident 
 
 got entangled with another, and had a 
 
 wheel torn off. I handed them into ray 
 
 chariot : with pleasure I wrapped my 
 
 domino round me, and was proceeding to 
 
 walk to Portland Square ; but a heavy 
 
 shower of rain that instant falling, I was 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 Vi PREFACE. 
 
 glad to retreat again to the scene of 
 gaiety I had just quitted, not only 
 M'ith fatigue, but absolute disgust. 
 
 I had scarcely entered the ball 
 room, when my attention was arrested by 
 two gentlemen in black dominos, who 
 were loudly disputing on the subject of 
 matrimony. I was myself in love, *' steep- 
 ed to the very lips,*' and at that very mo- 
 ment weighing and debating the point in 
 my own mind, " whether to be, or not 
 to be" a husband. Thus situated, their 
 conversation was highly interesting, and 
 I attended with the most serious attention 
 to their arguments for and against the 
 wedded state. The one recommended 
 matrimony in the most florid and energe- 
 tic language, spoke of it as the only 
 sublunary situation in which felicity 
 could possibly be expected, and man ap- 
 pear in the proper dignified and useful 
 character which nature had designed him 
 to support. His antagonist strenuously 
 opposed these opinions, which he called 
 fallacious, visionary, and ramantic, spoke
 
 TREFACE. Tli 
 
 in acrimonious terms of women, their 
 caprices^ their follies, their inconstancy, 
 the impossibility of attaching them to any 
 one object^ however deserving — and ad- 
 duced in favor and support of his own 
 arguments several recent instances of 
 female frailty and infidelity, and obsti- 
 nately persisted that in freedom, unshack- 
 led and unrestrained, man could alone find 
 happiness. His opponent ^vas neither 
 convinced nor silenced, but continued 
 with increasing energy to reprobate and 
 condemn his illiberal and profligate ideas, 
 to extol and recommend the wedded state, 
 to represent woman in the most amiable 
 light, and as man's greatest blessing. 
 
 '' Woman," said he, pursuing the sub- 
 ject with fervor, ^^'^ woman is the loveliest 
 object in the creation." '' So she is ! by 
 heaven! "said a mask, suddenly inter- 
 rupting him, who was then passing with 
 a large party ; '' I adore the whole charm- 
 ing sex ; go on, I wait with impatient 
 pleasure to hear their praises/* '' Hear 
 him, hear him, hear Lim!" said several
 
 Vlil PREFACE. 
 
 voices together, and instantl}' a large 
 circle was formed round the two speakers. 
 *^' Pshaw ! ridiculous'/' said the anti- 
 raatrimonialist, " he is endeavoring to 
 persuade me to become a husband, to 
 resign all the bewitching delights of 
 variety, wishing to convince me that the 
 bitter draught of matrimony is a most 
 delicious cordial/' ''He might as well 
 try to persuade us, Frank/' said a young 
 buck, taking the arm of the domino, and 
 drawing him into the circle, '' that this 
 flipping, freezing, hyperborean night, is 
 as delightful as a soft balmy moonlight 
 evening in Italy. D — m it, for all the 
 crowd, I am as cold as a winter in Lap- 
 land, and yet no doubt he would be hoax- 
 ing us with the idea of the boisterous 
 wind being vastly salubrious, though I 
 am sure if I go to bed alone, I shall be 
 found congealed to an icicle before twelve 
 o'clock to-morrow/* A loud laugh fol- 
 lowed this elegant and curious speech. 
 The advocate for matrimony had stood 
 irresolute and embarrassed, but on the
 
 PREFACE* i± 
 
 try of hear him^ hear him, hear him^ 
 being loudly and universally repeated^ 
 he bowed o-racefallv. and after a moment's 
 hesitation, said : — 
 
 '' It certainly \Tas not my intention to 
 obtrude my opinions on the public ear ; 
 but thus conspicuously placed, thus pub- 
 licly called upon, I shall not decline 
 delivering my sentiments on what my 
 feelings induce me to consider a subject 
 of the utmost importance to society in 
 general. At this particular crisis, when 
 dissipated manners^ and licentious princi- 
 ples have gained so alarming an ascend- 
 ancy, and if my arguments, or represen- 
 tations, shall have the good effect of re- 
 claiming the libertine, of removing illibe- 
 ral prejudice — if my rhetoric shall have 
 po^ver to raise degraded w^oman to the 
 rank heaven designed her to hold in the 
 mind and heart of man, I shall for ever 
 bless the occasion that presented me with 
 an opportunity of becoming her advocate 
 and champion/' 
 
 '' Bravo ! bravissimo ! and, hear him, 
 A 3
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 hear him!'* resounded from every quartgr 
 of the room^ ^>hich was now crowded. 
 An interesting pause succeeded, when 
 the most profound silence being obscrv- 
 edj the speaker resumed his discourse. 
 
 '' Let not my fashionable friends and 
 associates be surprised or disgusted^ if, in 
 order to make my own ideas more im- 
 pressive, and add weight to my argu- 
 ments, I call to my assistance a {c\i 
 from a book, which, though but seldom 
 read, and still less attended to, neverthe- 
 less abounds w ith truth and beauty : and 
 which, boasting the resistless charm of 
 novelty, will doubtless claim their atten- 
 tion. I mean the Bible.'* 
 
 A loud laugh from part of the auditors 
 now drowned the voice of the speaker, 
 many of the company exclaiming : — 
 
 '' Make way, let us go ! d— m it, he 
 is going to preach a sermon. What a 
 queer quiz ! the fellow is a methodist 
 parson ! how the devil did he ^ei admit- 
 tance here ?*' Many of the company 
 bustledaway, while other masks, attract-
 
 ed by tbe noise and crowds again formed 
 a circle round the orator^ and on '^ go on, 
 go on/' being vehemently vociferated, 
 
 he proceeded to say : '' Though my 
 
 intended discourse is not exactly a ser- 
 mon, I trust that it will not be considered 
 profanation, if I borrow from the fourth 
 chapter of Ecclesiastes, and the eleventh 
 verse, a text suitable as w ell to the bit- 
 terness of the night, as to my purpose of 
 promoting matrimony. 
 
 ** If two lie together, then they have heat ; but 
 Bow can one be warm alone?" 
 
 '*" Solomon, that wise and potent 
 monarch, to whose eyes the depths of 
 philosophy v/ere unveiled, and from 
 whose penetration the most abstruse 
 truths were not hidden, confessed after 
 minute and deliberate investigation, that 
 it was not good for man to be alone. In 
 this absolute conviction, no doubt it was 
 he wrote the ie^i, from which I hope to 
 prove the inestimable blessing bestowed 
 on man in the creation of woman: thus 
 says the enlightened and inspired preacher : 
 a4
 
 ii PREFACE. 
 
 " If two lie together, then they have heat : but 
 how can one be warm alone?" 
 
 Doubtless when the divine power had 
 formed and fashioned man, and placed 
 him amid the unfading bowers of Para- 
 dise, he knew that though he had shap- 
 ed him in the most perfect mould, in his 
 own express image, had united in his 
 form grace and proportion, flexibility and 
 strength, had embellished his mind with 
 every noble and excellent faculty, vith 
 every sense and exquisite feeling, proper 
 and necessary to enjoy and appreciate the 
 value of the innumerable delights that 
 every where surrounded him ; yet love, 
 the vivifying principle, the primary cause 
 of all that attracts or repulses, the light 
 of his existence, was still unawakened. 
 This was still wanting to call forth the 
 energies of his nature, to kindle the 
 dormant warmth of his soul, to complete 
 his felicity. ' It vjas not good for man 
 to be alone.' Though encompassed 
 with angelic guards, residing in the bliss- 
 ful and aromatic groves of Eden, reposing
 
 PREFACE^ Xiii 
 
 on the soft mossy banks of rivers, that 
 rolled their broad pellucid waves over beds 
 of golden sand ; though inhaling the 
 breath of flowers that every where shed 
 their odorous balms around, his eye 
 unconsciously wandered over their various 
 beauties ; no object interested him ; there 
 was an uneasy vacuity in his mind ; he 
 felt a listless void, a cheerless apathy — he 
 "Was alone ! 
 
 "His evident from scripture that Adam 
 was created at least a day or two before 
 Eve ; and here we cannot sufficiently 
 admire the wisdom of the Almighty, who 
 by making Adam sensible of the want of a 
 companion, certainly intended to impress 
 upon all his senses the value and impor» 
 tance of the gift he designed to bestow 
 upon him ; for in this short interval man 
 was sensible that he had within him an 
 UDgratified desire, a longing after a good 
 unknown and unpossessed : his night or 
 nights passed heavily, cheerless, and 
 cold. ' For how can one he warm alone?' 
 His heart panted for some undiscovered 
 A 5
 
 XIV PREFACE. 
 
 bliss : he spoke, but no gentle voice repli- 
 ed ; echo alone repeated the mournful, 
 solitary, word alone. He stretched out 
 his arms to clasp he knew not what; his 
 agitated bosom heaved with deep sighs, 
 but no sympathetic bosom heaved respon- 
 sive to his undefinable emotions. 
 
 '' He was alone !'* 
 
 " The rising sun beheld him lord of the 
 creation ; the stately and majestic lion 
 crouched at his feet : he beheld the 
 fierce Leopard fawn and lick his hand, 
 but with these he could not associate, on 
 them he could not exhaust the dissolving 
 tenderness that swam in his eyes, that 
 ran in thrilling currents through his 
 veins : he was restkss and agitated : lost 
 in wonder, he saw that the beasts and 
 birds had mates ; he beheld with inde- 
 scribable emotion the dove expand her 
 downy wings to receive her glossy part- 
 ner, and softly nestle his little head among 
 her silky plumage. 
 
 " But he, alas ! was alone!"
 
 PREFACE. XV 
 
 '' The beasts sunk down in fond em- 
 brace, and were warm ; 
 
 " For when two lie together, then they have 
 heat : but how can one be warm alone ?" 
 
 "The all bountiful and omnipotent 
 creator saw that it was not good for man 
 to be alone, and he created woman^ 
 lovely, charming, resistless woman : the 
 Almighty gave her glowing in beauty to 
 the arms of man, to be the sharer in his 
 delights, the companion of his pleasures, 
 his last but chief blessing, the supreme 
 crown of his felicity, 
 
 '' Adam received her with rapturous 
 gratitude ; his expanded arms embraced 
 her with hallowed transport; his eyes 
 wandered over the soft and feminine 
 graces of her person with tumultuous 
 delight, while his reason, his faculties 
 bowed before her, and confessed her the 
 sovereign ruler of his passions and his 
 affections. 
 
 '' Inspired as with a new soul, all 
 nature appeared to his enraptured sight 
 to wear a brighter and more captivating
 
 XVi PREFACE. 
 
 aspect. Ten thousand new beauties burst 
 on his astonished view; the golden beams 
 of the refulgent orb of day, the rich and 
 cloudless azure of the sky, the per- 
 fume breathing flowers, the song of the 
 birds, the murmuring of the streams, were 
 now beheld and listened to with delight. 
 His eyes sparkled with ineffable joy, his 
 gestures were animated, his step elastic, 
 and his tongue uttered the tender and im- 
 passioned language of hope and love. 
 
 ''But when evening came, when the 
 gorgeous sun had finished his diurnal 
 course, when the dewy star of twilight 
 called home the feathered people to their 
 nests, when he drew his new-gained 
 treasure to the nuptial bower, when re- 
 clined on a bed, formed of the fragrant 
 and silken leaves of roses; when folded 
 in each others arms, he found // txvo lie 
 together^ then tliey hate lieat. It was 
 then, even at that moment of superlative 
 rapture, that man devoutly praised his 
 magnificent creator, and acknowledged 
 with overflowing gratitude the magnitude
 
 PREFACE. Xvii 
 
 of the inexpressible blessing bestowed 
 upon hini. 
 
 *' Let not the licentious or prefane 
 presume to suppose that the inspired 
 writer designed by this text to encourage 
 the voluptuary in sensual gratifications, 
 or intended to inflame the senses by say- 
 
 *' If two lie together, then they haye heat." 
 ^'The pious and contemplative mind 
 will here search for the true and pure 
 meaning of the text, which it will instant- 
 ly and entirely divest of sexual meaning. 
 The heat to be understood is not the 
 effervescence of a riotous imagination, 
 nor the feverish impulse of desire ; but 
 that delicious sympathy of soul which 
 exists between two persons joined toge- 
 Iher by the holy and mystical band of 
 marriage; the warm interest they take 
 in all that concerns or affects each other ; 
 the ardent solicitude which prompts 
 ihem to avert as far as human capability 
 can accomplish all that may afflict, or 
 can injure their spiritual or temporal 
 happiness ;
 
 ;5Vlll PTIEFACE. 
 
 " For how can one be warm alone ?" 
 
 '' Though nature has undoubtedly 
 planted in our bosoms a certain portion 
 of self love, necessary for our existence 
 and preservation, yet few experience 
 for self that exquisitely warm affection 
 that throbs in every pulse of the heart 
 for the partner of our hopes and wishes. 
 Centered in our-elves, it is only a luke- 
 warm feeling ; but when participated^ it 
 kindles with celestial flame, expands in 
 mutual acts of kindness and affection, 
 warming not only our own bosoms, but 
 extending with melting tenderness to our 
 offspring, and glowing with zeal and 
 charity for all the human race. 
 
 *' Assuredly the wise Solomon, in writ- 
 ing the text, meant forcibly to recommend 
 matrimony, not only as productive of 
 extreme delight to two persons mutually 
 attached, but also as a powerful means of 
 extending and strengthening the links of 
 society, affording to man an opportunity 
 of softening the ruggednessand asperity of 
 his nature, and of populating the world.
 
 PREFACE. xis 
 
 '' The nature of man is not solitary, 
 for he is pensive and unhappy when alone^ 
 he experiences the privation of those ten- 
 dernesses^ those enchanting attentions, 
 which woman from the natural softness 
 of her disposition, the elegant refinement, 
 the exquisite delicacy of her mind^ best 
 knows how to dispense, 
 
 " Woman is in reality every thing to 
 man ; she arranges all that peculiarly 
 belongs to his person ; she regulates with 
 systematic exactness the economy of his 
 domestic concerns, decorates his table by 
 the graceful ease of her deportment, and 
 affability of her conversation, encreases 
 his comforts, and adds to the number of 
 his friends. In the hour of affliction her 
 tender consolations sooth his troubles, in 
 sickness her voice animates and cheers 
 him, her hand gently smooths his uneasy 
 pillow, and with patient and watchful 
 tenderness she administers to all his ail- 
 ments. 
 
 " Feeling and knowing that woman is 
 really the cordial drop thrown by
 
 XX PREFACE. 
 
 heaven into life's cup of bitters, how is 
 it possible that man can exist alone? 
 Matrimony is a sacred and honorable 
 state, and where two persons of congenial 
 mind resolve to promote and contribute 
 to each other's felicity, it is '' o. consum- 
 mation devoutedly to be wished/* O, 
 ye who have never known the holy 
 delights of wedded love, no longer 
 deprive yourselves of a happiness which 
 the Almighty himself ordained, and the 
 wisest of men recommended, both by 
 precept and example. No longer shiver 
 through the cold and cheerless night, but 
 be convinced that one cannot be warm 
 alone. 
 
 " Solomon, the greatest monarch that 
 ever reigned ; Solomon, the wisest of the 
 sons of men most, certainly intended to 
 promote matrimony, not only as a lauda- 
 ble, but absolutely necessary institution ; 
 and who will be hardy enough to ques- 
 tion the wisdom of Solomon? To him 
 who has experienced tlie felicity of con- 
 nubial love, it will be surely unnecessary
 
 PREFACE. XXi 
 
 to enforce the words of the preacher. 
 He will not want to have it pointed out 
 to him how much deliglit he loses by 
 a solitary life^ of how many days of com- 
 fortj and nights of blissful repose, he 
 deprives himself: it surely will not be 
 necessary to say to him, attend to the 
 words of the inspired preacher^ for thus 
 hath the wise Solomon written^ in the 
 fourth chapter of Ecclesiastes, and the 
 eleventh verse, 
 
 " If two lie together, (hen they have heat : but 
 how can one be "warm alone ?" 
 
 The orator ceased, bowed profoundly, 
 and complaining of fatigue, the circle 
 divided, he darted forward, and was out 
 of sight in an instant, while some warm- 
 ly applauded his discourse, and others 
 declared his intellects were deranged, and 
 that he was much fitter for a dark garret, 
 and a straight waistcoat, than the polish- 
 ed entertainments of elegance and fashion. 
 The crowd which this singular occur- 
 rence had attracted now dispersing, I 
 perceived my old and particular friend
 
 XXll PHEFACEr 
 
 Lord Elphinstone^ with a gentleman^ 
 who being without a ma&kj discovered 
 the handsomest and most intelligent 
 countenance I ever beheld^ but cloud'ed 
 with so deep a shade of raelancholyj that 
 the most superficial observer might dis- 
 cover his miird partook not of the festi- 
 Titv of the eurrounding scen€. As I ap- 
 proached, Lord Elphinstonc started frora^ 
 the pillar against which he was leaning, 
 and cam.e forward to meet me, and after 
 having exchanged a few mutual compli* 
 ments and inquiries, introduced me to 
 the Honorable Mr. Delamere. Our 
 conversation turned on the sermon we had 
 just heard. Mr. Delamere praised the 
 orator's delivery, which certainly was 
 animated, elegant, and accurate; he also 
 spoke in terms of general approbation 
 on the subject of his discourse, and 
 added that his opinion perfectly coincid- 
 ed with the speaker's respecting the hap- 
 piness of the married state, where it was 
 a union of hearts, and not a mere compact 
 of interest. Lord Elphinstone gaily re-
 
 PREFACE. XXill 
 
 plied : — *' Well then, Horatio, as yoii 
 thus publicly allow that you consider 
 wedlock a desirable and elegible state, I 
 trust you will very shortly select a fair 
 one for your bride from among the 
 very many who are displaying all their 
 graces, and putting on all their charms, 
 in order to warm your icy heart, with 
 the delightful hope of being distinguished 
 by the desirable appellation of the Hono- 
 rable Mrs. Delamere/' 
 
 Mr. Delamere attempted to smile, but 
 it was a fruitless effort: a sigh in spite 
 of his endeavors would have way. He 
 shook Elphinstone by the hand, politely 
 bowed to me, and wishing us good morn- 
 ing, walking away. 
 
 ' ''^ If personal beauty,'/ said I, gazing 
 after him, '' can attract and attach, sure- 
 ly no man has higher pretensions to 
 female favor than Mr. Delamere, and no 
 man is more courted or more admired 
 by the ladies than he is: his person is 
 uncommonly fine/' '' And his mind is 
 equal if not superior to his exterior,^'
 
 XXiv PREFACE. 
 
 replied Elphinstone. '' I am hurt to the 
 soul to perceive that I have incautiously 
 touched a chord whose slightest vibra- 
 tion gives him pain. I know that he 
 will never marry : poor fellow! his affec- 
 tions are buried never to revive. I see I 
 have excited your curiosity, and as I 
 know I can rely upon your secrecy and 
 honor, I will in the course of the day send 
 you a history of the particular incidents 
 which he in the fev^r of romance con- 
 siders sufficient to condemn him to per- 
 petual celibacy." The company had 
 now nearlv deserted the maonificent 
 apartments of the marchioness. Lord 
 Elphinstone and myself left the mansion 
 at the same moment ; and as he ascended 
 his carriage, which drew up before mine, 
 I repeatedly bade him remember the pro- 
 mised history. My own disposition being 
 enthusiastic and romantic, I expected to 
 iind in the narrative of Mr. Delamere 
 sentiments and feelin2:s exactly in unison 
 with my own. I already felt inclined to 
 love, to pity, and respect him, and most
 
 PREFACE. XXT 
 
 impatiently longed for the development 
 of his character, that I might ascertain to 
 how large a portion of my esteem he had 
 a claim. Having reached hnme^ I hastily 
 undressed and threw myself into bed, in 
 a state of mind not easily defined; one 
 moment my heart, yielding itself up to 
 confidence and tenderness, resolved upon 
 soliciting an immediate union with the 
 beautiful object of my affections, so 
 much did I accord with the sentiments, and 
 approve the picture^he young orator at the 
 masquerade had drawn of woman; the 
 next the pale and interesting countenance 
 of Delamere presented itself to my imagi- 
 nation, and I resolved that his story should 
 either determine me to marry immediately 
 or to break oflf my attachment by a violent 
 efibrt at once, and go abroad. Agitated 
 with hopes and fears, with doubts and 
 resolves, it was long before I slept, and 
 late in the day before I awoke : ray first 
 inquiry was for the wished for and ex- 
 pected packet; it was not arrived. I re- 
 mained all day at home, no packet came. 
 I sat down to a solitary dinner^ reconcil-
 
 XXVI PREFACE. 
 
 ing my mind with all the old rules which 
 the sagesof antiquity wrote, to prove that 
 disappointment is the natural inheritance 
 of man. After I had drank a few glasses 
 of winCj I prepared to visit my fair en- 
 slaver. I had taken up my hat, when a 
 servant entered with the packet. '' No/* 
 said I, laying it on a tahle beside me ; 
 "no^ my lovely Caroline, I vill not visit 
 thee till 1 am acquainted with the sor- 
 rows of ])elamere." I sat down and wrote 
 her a billet ; my heart gmote me for word- 
 ing it so coldly. I hesitated whether I 
 should not burn it, and write her another. 
 I held it over the flame of the candle. 
 *' Hang it," exclaimed I, " let it go :" 
 should Delamere's history determine me 
 not to marry^ why she will have less to 
 accuse me of on the score of profession. 
 I dispatched my billet^ and tore open the 
 envelope of the packet. What a piece of 
 work is man,, how noble in faculties^, how 
 infinite in reason, and yet with this infinite 
 reason, these noble faculties, I trembled 
 like a weak woman, as the first words of 
 Delamere's narrative met my eyes : ''Tlwu
 
 PREFACE- XXVI 
 
 sh alt not commit adulttry, ' "I vvillneNer 
 marrj/' said I, laying down the packet, 
 and throwing up the sash : the window 
 looked into the squarCj I watched the 
 groups that past: many of tliem no doubt 
 were married^ some of them perhaps hap- 
 pily, but to be dishonored. It was an 
 agonizing thought. I looked up to the 
 «ky ; the moon was struggling through a 
 dark cloud. *^^ Just so/' exclaimed I, 
 mentally, '^man is fated to buffet with 
 adversity, and were it not for hope, whose 
 bright beams irradiate his gloomy path, 
 life would not be worth preserving/' I 
 continued to muse on the chance of at- 
 taching the heart of a woman, on the 
 means of securing her affections, when 
 the servant entered with an answer to the 
 billet I had sent to Caroline : she express- 
 ed some solicitude respecting my health, 
 supposing that I walked home when I put 
 her mother, herself, and sister, into my 
 carriage the preceding night, and request- 
 ed n.y company to supper. '' I shall not 
 go, ' said I, throwing her note disdainful- 
 ly from me ; *^ she is too easily won; in
 
 XXVIU PREFACC. 
 
 order to secure her conquest, she should 
 be cold an.'l repulsive. Slie knows the 
 po\ ertv of her house^ aud wishes to secure 
 to herself an affluent alliance. She 
 deceives herself; Iconic not to her lure; I 
 will never marrj." I threw myself on 
 the sofa, and for a moment fancied my 
 heart was free ; but as my eye glanced 
 upon her note^ which lay upon the car- 
 pet, fancy presented her as she really 
 is, modest, beautiful^ and gentle, a blusii 
 on her cheek, and a tear in her eye. I 
 snatched up her note, read it again ; it 
 Avas delicate and proper; my conscience 
 reproached me. I pressed the note to my 
 lips, thrust it into my bosom. ''I will sup 
 with theCj my lovely Caroline." I caught 
 up my hat, pushed Delamere's papers into 
 a cabinet, resolved to defer their perusal 
 to the next day, when my senses would be 
 more calm, and my mind less prejudiced, 
 when the voice of Caroline should have 
 soothed my perturbed spirits^ and her 
 beautiful person and correct behavior 
 again persuaded me to believe that women 
 are angels.
 
 CAMBRIAN PICTURES, 
 
 oa 
 EVERY ONE HAS ERRORS, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 '• What's the rain boast 
 
 Of sensibility, but to be wretched? 
 
 In her best transports lives a latent sting, 
 
 Which wounds as they expire." 
 
 Anne Year sky. 
 
 Augustus Mortimer was the second 
 «on of Lord Dungarvon, a nobleman as 
 remarkable for his uobounded pride as 
 his ridiculous and unconquerable partia- 
 lity for genealogy. All the branches of 
 his house for time immemorial had on 
 every side made honorable and dignified 
 alliances, and when Augustus reached 
 the age of manhood^, his family were 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 
 thrown into the utmost consternation, 
 rage, and astonishment, by his peremp- 
 torily refusing to ofier his hand to Ladj 
 Lavinia Montalhan, the niece of the 
 Duke of Aluster, merel} hecause his ro- 
 mantic mind felt no predilection in her 
 favor. Pomp, rank, aggrandizement, 
 were the ruling passions of the ostentati- 
 ous Mortimers, and thej liad not enter- 
 tained the most distant notion that a 
 descendant of their's would disgrace and 
 sully the noble and ancient armorial bear- 
 ings of their honorable and illustrious 
 house, with quartering upon it any arms 
 less dignified than nobility. Augustus 
 was young, ardent, and romantic. Having 
 an elder brother, who was his mother's 
 doating boy, the early part of his life 
 had been spent with an aunt, wlio having 
 unfortunately conceived a passion for a 
 man of inferior rank, had voluntarily 
 devoted herself to celibacy, rather than 
 disgrace her noble house, by introducing 
 into it a person whose family were engag- 
 ed io comraercc. From Mrs. Gertrude
 
 s 
 
 "Mortimer Augustus imbibed sensibility, 
 and elevated sentiment, but sbe failed to 
 inspire him with pride, to which she had 
 sacrificed the happiness of her existence. 
 Mrs. Gertrude Mortimer had certainly 
 designed to make Augustus the heir of 
 her fortunes, but dying suddenly, and 
 without a \vill_, he becam.e entirely de- 
 pendant on his father. Lord Dungarvon, 
 who perceiving, with no small degree of 
 resentment, how little worship rank ob- 
 tained from Augustus, bestowed on him 
 but a small portion of the affection he 
 lavished on his son Richard, who in per- 
 son and mind was the exact counterpart 
 of himself. Ostentatious pomp was noi 
 the idol of Augustus ; he paid no ado- 
 ration to rank— his young heart resigned 
 itself, with all its hopes and wishes, all 
 its tender and impassioned impulses, to 
 the daughter of the Vicar of Lyston, 
 to which living he had been presented 
 by Lord Dungarvon. In the rooming 
 of life the raiud is sanguine ; whatever it 
 
 B %
 
 4 
 wishes it believes possible. It had never 
 entered the imagination of Augustus, 
 from the marked indifterence with which 
 he had ever been treated, that his parents 
 would think him of consequence enough 
 to oppose his inclination, as they had re- 
 peatedly declared, they looked up to his 
 brother Richard as the support and guar- 
 dian of their ancient and future dig- 
 nities; he could not conceive that Lord 
 Dungarvon, when he should be ac- 
 quainted with the state of his heart, and 
 the bounded extent of his wishes, would 
 deny his assent to an union on which his 
 peiice and happiness depended, or refuse 
 to bestow on him the means to support 
 the lovely object of his affections, in re- 
 tired and elegant sufficiency. 
 
 Louisa Berresford's virtues, beauty, 
 and attainments, were undeniable; but all 
 these are nothing, when the grand essen- 
 tials, rank and fortune, are wanting. 
 Augustus's avowal was received by his 
 relations with rage and contempt ; he 
 was bade, on peril of their everlasting
 
 5 
 
 displeasure^ to think no more of so dis- 
 graceful an alliance. The innocent 
 Louisa was accused of art^ and her fa- 
 ther^ the most liberal, just, and upright 
 of men, of encouraging her ambitious 
 designs — of wishing to mix his plebeian 
 blood with the rich, uncontamiiiated 
 stream of the noble and illustrious ]Mor- 
 timer's. 
 
 At these violent, gross, and unfound- 
 ed accusations, the generous spirit of 
 Augustus took fire; he vindicated the 
 injured characters of Louisa and her 
 father with manly and becoming warmth ; 
 protested that Mr. Berresford was absO' 
 lutelj ignorant of his affection for bis 
 daughter, nor knew that he had professed 
 himself her lover. Lord Dungarvon 
 commanded him to be silent, and rising 
 haughtily from his seat, bade him pre- 
 pare to attend him the next morning to 
 the Duke of Aluster^s. '' Resolve^ sir^'^ 
 said he, sternly, '' to become the hus- 
 band of Lady Lavinia, who honors you 
 with her esteem, and is willing to bestow 
 B 3
 
 6 
 
 herself and her immense fortune on }ou^ 
 unworthy as you arc." *' I confess my- 
 self unworthy/* said Augustus; '' i 
 have nothing to ofTer in return for this 
 excessive c:eneri.>siiy, except cold res- 
 pect/' '' That is quite sufficient," re- 
 joined Lady Dungarvoi) : " People of 
 rank leave to the eonimonality the vulgar 
 and fulsome nonsense of love/' '' He 
 is in possession of my sentiments," re- 
 plied Lord Dungarvon ; '' let him accede 
 to my wishes, or he is no longer my son." 
 Saying this, he stalked from the saloon, 
 followed hy her ladyship and Richard 
 IVTortimer, leaving Augustus to recon- 
 cile his mind to splendid misery, or in- 
 evitable poverty. He chose the latter-^ 
 his mind understood tlie duties of a son^ 
 but he felt those duties might be carried 
 too far, when they demanded the sacri- 
 fice of his dearest hopes, his tenderest 
 affections. He reverenced his parents, 
 but he was not a blind and submissive 
 slave to their ambitious schemes and im- 
 perious mandates ; he was convinced that
 
 the gentle artless Louisa loved and con- 
 fided in him ; and after a few struggles 
 between diityand affection, he determined 
 to fulfil his engagement to her immedi- 
 atelvj and to trust to time and nature to 
 reconcile him to his family. He was set- 
 ting off on a visit to the vicarage when 
 he was summoned to his mother's dress- 
 ing room. *''■ Augustus/* said she, 
 taking his hand as he entered^ ^'I grieve 
 to think how much you have irritated 
 your father, who has set his heart upon 
 an alliance with the Aluster family, on 
 account of their great ministerial inte- 
 rest ; but I trust a few moments conside- 
 ration has convinced you of the folly of 
 opposing the united desires of your rela- 
 tions : having heard our just and proper 
 representations^ you no doubt entirely 
 relinquish the ridiculous and degrading 
 intentions of introducing into a family of 
 our rank and consequence the mean and 
 indigent daughter of an obscure country 
 parson. '' Speak of Louisa Berresford, 
 B 4
 
 8 
 
 madam/' said he sternly, "'as she is — 
 as the virtuous, elegant, and accomplish- 
 ed daughter of the most enlightened, the 
 best, and noblest of mankind." The 
 dest, because he suffers no worldly pas- 
 sions, no ambitious wishes to actuate his 
 actions ; the noblest, because he scorns 
 to degrade with contemptible malice in- 
 nocence and worth, let destiny have al- 
 lotted them a rank in society ever so 
 humble/' Lady Dungarvon felt the jus- 
 tice of his reproof; her color heighten- 
 ed : '' 1 was in hopes, sir, to convince 
 you of the impropriety of your con- 
 duct. I was inclined to treat your ridi- 
 culous passion as a mere boyish attach- 
 ment to a girl whom chance had provided 
 with a few favorable opportunities of 
 shewing you kindness; but I perceive it 
 would be mere waste of words to attempt 
 to reason with a person who wilfully 
 shuts his eves against conviction. But 
 take heed, infatuated boy," continued 
 she, sw^elling with passion ; '' your ob- 
 stinate spirit may be taught to yield, or
 
 9 
 
 if it perversely persists in disobedience, 
 your contumacy may be visited on the 
 head of the syren who seduces you from 
 your duty. It will be strange, indeed, if 
 a man of Lord Dungarvon's consequence 
 cannot find means to punish and remove 
 the obstacles to his wishes/' Augustus 
 was about to speak — Lady Dungarvon 
 interrupted him. '' No reply, sir ; I have 
 fulfilled my duty as a mother, in point- 
 ing out your's as a son : you may retire, 
 sir/' Augustus bowed and left the dress- 
 ing room. Her ladyship's menace filled 
 him with apprehensions; he knew that 
 the noble-minded Berresford would never 
 consent to his daughter's entering into 
 his family by a clandestine marriage ; he 
 also knew that the worthy vicar consi- 
 dered himself under obligations to Lord 
 Dungarvon, and he feared that his fa- 
 mily might influence him to remove 
 Louisa from the country. To prevent 
 the possibility of this, he determined io 
 persuade her to elope with him that very 
 B 5
 
 10 
 night. Having arranged all maiters ne- 
 cessary for a journey to Scotland, \\'itb a 
 faithful servant whom he ordered to wait 
 with a post-chaise and four horses in a 
 lane near the high road, he set off for the 
 "vicarage. 
 
 Louisa Bcrresford was just turned of 
 seventeen — Augustus iMortimer was little 
 more tlum twenty-one : the very age 
 when passion, full of fiery impetuosity, 
 derides and overwhelms the cold lessons 
 of caution and prudence. He was hand- 
 some^ ardent, and eloquent ; she was 
 tender, gentle, and susceptible; — he vow- 
 ed, argued, and persuaded — she loved, 
 believed, and consented. She left th« 
 Vicarage with her eyes swimming in 
 tears, exclaiming, " My father, my deat 
 fatber!" Augustus placed her in the 
 chaise, followed her himself, ordered the 
 postillions to proceed, and by taking a 
 circuitous rout, evaded the messengers 
 Lord Dungarvon had dispatched to over- 
 take and bring back the fugitives. They 
 arrived without impediment or intcrrup-
 
 11 
 
 tion in Scotland, were married, and as 
 expeditiously as possible returned to the 
 Vicarajre. But what was the remorse 
 and affonv of Louisa, when she found 
 the house shut up, and her father Wing 
 ill at a neighbouring cottage ! The feel- 
 ings of Mr. Berresford had been severely 
 wounded by the inconsiderate elopement 
 of Louisa; but he remembered that he 
 had himself been young, been in love, 
 and imprudent, and he forgave her, 
 though he too truly foresaw the train of 
 evils that would inevitably follow this 
 ill-advised marriage. The third dav af- 
 ter their elopement he received a note 
 from Lord Dungarvon, containing the 
 bitterest reproaches, accusing him of the 
 basest ingratitude, and hinting that it 
 was expected he would resign the living 
 bestowed on him at a time when his 
 lordship supposed him incapable of se- 
 ducing his son from his duty, and of 
 bringing eternal disgrace on an illustri- 
 ous house. Berresfordj though mild and
 
 12 
 
 peaceable^ had yet a touch of human 
 nature; his feelings were hurt, his pride 
 was wounded :-^he resigned the living, 
 and when Louisa threw herself at his 
 feet and implored forgiveness, he was 
 struggling with the double anguish of 
 present pain, and the dread of future 
 poverty. The sight of his Louisa was, 
 however, his most powerful restorative — 
 he blessed and pardoned her. Augustus, 
 who dreaded that the influence of his 
 family would be exerted to separate him 
 from his wife, immediately procured a 
 licence, and was again married to her in 
 the presence of a few witnesses at a 
 neighbouring church. He then applied 
 to his particular friend. Sir Owen Llew- 
 ellyn, who having lately married, had 
 retired from the tumultuous scenes of 
 high life, to enjoy nature in her sublime 
 and beautiful character, among the ro- 
 mantic mountains of North Wales. Sir 
 Owen Llewellyn's friendship evinced it- 
 self in actions, not professions ; he pre- 
 sented Mr. Berresford with a living.
 
 \3 
 
 which though not equal in value to that 
 of Ljston^ was yet sufficient to aftord 
 him those comforts and conveniences he 
 had been accustomed to ; and what was 
 of the utmost consequence to his present 
 frame of mind, it enabled him to quit 
 for ever a spot where he had received 
 undeserved outrage^ and unmerited in- 
 sult. To the care of Sir Owen Llew- 
 ellyn and his amiable wife Augustus 
 committed his Louisa while he attempt- 
 ed a reconciliation with his relations : 
 his endeavours to procure an interview 
 with any branch of the family were en- 
 tirely unsuccessful— -the domestics were 
 strictly forbidden to admit him within 
 the gates of Mortimer Abbey. Finding 
 it impossible to gain an audience, he 
 tried to soften the obdurate hearts of his 
 parents by letters ; here he was also dis- 
 appointed, for all, except the firsts were 
 returned unopened. Yet still Augustus 
 hoped, that when time had softened their 
 resentment affection would return, and 
 that they would yet do justice to the
 
 14 
 
 merits of his Louisa, and receive lier as 
 their daughter. He repaired to Dol- 
 getty Castle, and in tlic soolliin^s of 
 friendship, and the endearments of love, 
 forgot for a short time the anguish occa- 
 sioned hy the inflexibility of his parents. 
 But from this transient dream of happi- 
 ness he was soon roused by the receipt of 
 a packet sealed with the Dungarvon arms, 
 which on opening he found contained a 
 captain's commission in a regiment rais- 
 ing for the West Indies, and a draught 
 for two thousand pounds. In the en- 
 velope was written, '' Augustus Morti- 
 mer has no longer father, mother, brother, 
 or relations — by his disgraceful marriage 
 he has dissolved all ties of consangui- 
 nity : but to prevent further infamy from 
 attaching to the illustrious family of 
 which he was once a member, they en- 
 close him the means of providing bread 
 for the woman he has made his wife^ and 
 of seeking for himself an honorable 
 grave. If he accedes to the wishes of 
 Lord DuDgarvou and goes abroad it will
 
 15 
 
 be well — if not, his lordship desires that 
 he may never again hear from or be trou- 
 bled on Jiis account." 
 
 This was too much for the sensitive 
 mind of Augustus ; he fell senseless into 
 the amis of Sir Owen Llewellyn; a fe- 
 ver seized his brain^ and he lay many 
 weeks at Dolgetty Castle in a state of 
 derangement. The mournful intelligence 
 of his illness reached Mortimer Abbey; 
 it was talked of and deeply lamented by 
 the domestics, by whom he was much be- 
 loved. It reached the ears of Lord and 
 Lady Dungarvon, but it made no impres- 
 sion on their hearts ; he had disappoint- 
 ed their ambitious views^ and stifling 
 every natural emotion^ they only ex- 
 pressed a wish that he might expiate by 
 his death the wound that his rebellious 
 conduct had given to their family pride. 
 Contrary to the predictions of the faculty^ 
 Augustus^ aftex having tottered as it 
 were on the very verge of eternity^ be- 
 gan slowly to recover; but as his health 
 returned that of the delicate Louisa be-
 
 16 
 
 gao to decline: his illness bad banished 
 all the hopes her sanguine imagination 
 had cherished — she saw that she bad 
 crushed for ever the fortunes of the man 
 she idolized ; she felt that she had drawn 
 down upon him the malediction of bis 
 parents. With unutterable anguish she 
 beheld herself the insuperable bar to. his 
 future greatness ; her mind was acutely 
 agonized^ and though the attentions and 
 adoration of Augustus knew no abate- 
 ment, yet every cloud that passed across 
 bis fine countenance struck upon her 
 heart as a reproach — every sigh he heav- ^ 
 ed gave an additional pang. to h^r bosom. 
 With the advice of Mr. Berresford and 
 Sir Owen Llewellyn it was agreed that 
 he should accept the commission and 
 join the regiment, part of which was al- 
 ready embarked for Barbadoes. 
 
 Louisa was now far advanced in preg- 
 nancy, and it was witli. much difficulty 
 on her part, who wanted to accompany 
 her husband abroad^ concluded that she 
 should remain at Dolgetty Castle^ under
 
 17 
 
 tlie protection of Sir Owen and Lady 
 Llewelljn, till after her accouchement^ 
 when herself and the child were to follow 
 the destination of Augustus. Fifteen 
 hundred pounds Augustus vested in the 
 funds for the use of his wife^ from whom 
 he parted with agonies almost too great 
 for human nature to sustain. 
 
 " We shall never meet again in this 
 world/' said Louisa throwing herself 
 into the arms of her father, as the chaise 
 which conveyed away her husband was 
 hid by the woods that surrounded Dol- 
 getty Castle, and she spoke propheti- 
 cally. The winds were favorable — no 
 storm impeded their passage. Augustus 
 arrived with the troops safely at Barba- 
 does — he distinguished himself on many 
 occasions ; was promoted to the rank of 
 major; his prospects began to brighten. 
 His constitution had withstood the un- 
 wholesome climate — hope had again arisen 
 in his hearty his Louisa was to come out 
 to him in the spring. An insurrection 
 had taken place among the blacks ; his
 
 18 
 
 regiment \vas ordered out. Augustus 
 was considered the post of dangeiv, the 
 post of honor ; he received a wound in 
 bis side from a poisoned spear_, the blacks 
 were reduced, and Augustus found an 
 honorable grave. He was interred with 
 military honors, and his brother officers, 
 to whom his story was known, shed upon 
 the earth that covered his remains the 
 mingled tears of respect and pity. 
 
 Louisa had given birth to a son^ who 
 was named after her father and her hus- 
 band, Henry Augustus, She employed 
 herself busily in making preparations for 
 her intended voyage^ while her father 
 and her friends saw that consumption 
 with rapid strides was hurrying her to 
 '* that bourn from which no traveller 
 returns." While aniiiiated with the 
 transporting hope of joining her husband, 
 Louisa neither felt nor complained of ill- 
 ness ; but her altered figure reduced to 
 shadowy thinness, the frequent hectic 
 flushings of her check, the progress 
 of her disorder, spoke too plainly to
 
 19 
 
 the apprehensive heart of her father. 
 She bore the news of her husband's 
 death with uncommon fortitude : after 
 reading the letter that brought the fatal 
 intelligence she turned with a faint smile 
 to Lady Llewellyn, and said, '' I shall 
 not long survive him ; he is gone a short 
 time before me to that world where good- 
 ness and virtue only obtain pre-einiaence. 
 I said but too truly that we should meet 
 uo more in this world ; but oh ! my 
 Augustus, my adored ! thou whose image 
 never for one moment since our cruel 
 separation has left my mind. I shall 
 shortly be with thee to part no more/* 
 In a few moments she sunk into a gentle 
 sleep, in which she continued for some 
 time ; a faint colour settled on her 
 cheeks; a smile played on her lips, and 
 when she awoke her eyes shone with un- 
 common lustre. She was supported io a 
 Venetian window that opened on the lawn. 
 The moon had risen, and the clear 
 blue vault of heaven was thickly studded 
 w ith stars. It was the middle of summer ;
 
 20 
 she complained of heat — the window wa« 
 thrown opeoj and a servant at that in- 
 stant entering with candles, at her desire 
 retired with them again. '' This soft 
 tender light/' said Louisa, '' I am par- 
 ticularly pleased with. I remember, O, 
 hour of bliss ! I remember it was at the 
 tranquil hour of twilight that my sainted 
 Augustus first confLSsed his love — that 
 love/* continued she deeply sighing, 
 ^' which blighted all his budding honors ; 
 that love which has fatally terminated 
 his existence ! I have often pleased my- 
 self with the idea that my beloved mo- 
 ther, who died when I was quite a child, 
 witnessed and approved my actions. Tell 
 me^ dear Lady Llewellyn, what is your 
 opinion — do you think the innnortal spi- 
 rit, after death, is admitted to a know- 
 ledge of the transactions of this world ?'* 
 Lady Llewellyn tenderly took her hand 
 and replied, '' My dear Louisa, this is a 
 subject on which no person can presume 
 to speak with any degree of certainty; 
 but surely there is something pleasing in
 
 21 
 
 the idea of our departed friends watch- 
 ing over and approving our conduct; 
 but whether it is reallj so or not there is 
 certainly nothing wrong in encouraging 
 the idea, because it may be a means of 
 suppressing evil propensities, and inciting 
 us to goodness and virtue, while we be- 
 lieve that those we most loved and valued 
 in this life are, though invisible to us, 
 spectators of our most secret trans- 
 actions.'' 
 
 *' I thank you,'' said Louisa, '' and 
 am delighted to find that your opinion on 
 this subject does not materially differ 
 from my own." Her father now entered 
 the apartment and seated himself on one 
 side of her. She requested to have her 
 child brought; she took him up in her 
 arms, presst d him to her bosom, and 
 raising her beautiful eyes to heaven said^ 
 '^ Not Ions' shall I remain in this world ; 
 may it please the Almighty Disposer of 
 Events that thy father and mvself mav 
 be permit^cl to watch over my babe !" 
 '' Louisa !"' said Mr. Berresford mourn-
 
 22 
 
 fuUj. '' Oh, my dear father/' continu- 
 ed she, '' I have occasioned you much 
 trouble and sorrow; my imprudence has 
 poisoned the peace of two hearts dearer 
 to me by far than my own. My ill- 
 advised marriage has been a source of 
 perpetual grief to you, and eventually it 
 has murdered my Augustus ! but I be- 
 seech you pardon me : I feel I am going 
 to him, and 1 trust that Lord Dungar- 
 von's resentment will be buried in the 
 grave of her who has unfortunately caus- 
 ed him so much inquietude. Thy fa- 
 ther," said she pressing the soft check of 
 the sleeping infant, '* thy father is in 
 heaven ! May Lord Dungarvon extend 
 to thee that affection and kindness he de- 
 nied to his son.'^ She grew faint — the 
 child was taken from her ; she sunk on 
 the shoulder of her father, and the moon- 
 beams falling on her pale face gave her 
 the appearance of something super-hu- 
 man. In a few moments she recovered : 
 Sir Owen Llewellyn had now entered the 
 room, and had taken the child from its
 
 nurse. A medicine \vas administered to 
 Louisa, who observed it was very bit- 
 ter ; '' But what," continued she, '' is 
 the bitterness of this compared with the 
 agonizing reflection that I must leave 
 that helpless babe a destitute orphan — 
 fatherless, motherless \" 
 
 '' Not so/' replied Sir Owen ; '' speak 
 not thus despondinglj ; the child of Au- 
 gustus Mortimer becomes mine not only 
 by adoption, but by the remembrance of 
 that friendship so sincerely felt, so sa- 
 credly observed by his father and myself; 
 here is its mother." Lady Llewellyn re- 
 ceived the infant on her bosom, and in a 
 voice drowned in tears assured Louisa, 
 that she would ever consider him as her 
 own — that she would, in every sense of 
 the word, be a mother to him. Mr. 
 Berresford's feelings rendered him nearly 
 inarticulate, and it was with great dif- 
 ficulty he could express, that while he 
 lived he would not fail to watch over 
 him with the fondest solicitude and ten- 
 derest care» ,
 
 24 
 
 Th€ strength of Louisa was unequal 
 to this affecting scene ; she endeavoured 
 to express her gratitude to Sir Owen and 
 Lady Llewellyn; she tried to console 
 her father. She kissed and blessed her 
 child, and after continuing silent for 
 some time, said, '' I could have wished 
 that my mortal part might rest with my 
 Augustus; that as our hearts were firmly 
 united, our ashes might have formed at 
 last one undistinguished heap ; but it 
 matters not. The ocean now rolls its 
 broad waves between us, but our souls 
 will shortly be joined in those realms of 
 happiness where calamity can persecute 
 no more. My father, I see you not ; 
 once more bless your Louisa.*' 
 
 '' Bless thee ! bless thee, my child !" 
 said the weeping Berresford, who with 
 clasped hands was bending over the end 
 of the sofa on which she reclined. 
 ''To-morrow,'* said Louisa, as if sud- 
 denly recollecting herself, "^ to-morrow 
 I shall be nineteen — I shall not see to- 
 morrow ! — my course is soon finished !
 
 25 
 
 Ob ! ambition^ how raanj victims dost 
 thou immolate on thy insatiable altar \ 
 Augustus^ I am thine for ever — Heaven 
 be merciful!" — Her eyes closed, her lips 
 moved for a moment, but they uttered 
 no sound ; her frame underwent a slight 
 convulsion^ her pulse stopped, her heart 
 ceased to beat ; the breath that auima- 
 ted the pale but beautiful form was fled 
 for ever. Louisa Mortimer was buried 
 under a plain marble slab, in Dolegelly 
 church, simply inscribed v\ith her age; 
 but though the marble bore no testimony 
 of the loveliness of her person, and the 
 virtues of her mind, in the hearts of her 
 father and her friends the remembrance 
 was recorded : and it was long, very 
 ,k)ng before they ceased to lament, that 
 so much loveliness and worthy was at so 
 early a period consigned to the oblivious 
 darkness of the grave. Louisa had been 
 buried many weeks before Mr. Berres- 
 ford was sufficiently recovered to look 
 over her papers, among which he found 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 
 
 a note to himself, inclosing a letter to 
 Lord Dungarvon^ in which she particu- 
 larly requested, that as soon as she was 
 dead, her letter might be forwarded to 
 Mortimer Abbey: he immediately in- 
 closed it in a few lines from himself. 
 
 To the Right Hon. Lord Dungarvon. 
 
 My Lord — the writer of the letter I 
 have the honour of transmitting to you 
 has nothing now to hope or fear from 
 the house of Mortimer, she sleeps peace- 
 fully in an humble grave, prepared for 
 her by hard-hearted pride and inflexible 
 ambition. I hold the wishes of the dy- 
 ing sacred : but had not my now beati- 
 fied Louisa made it her particular re- 
 quest that her letter should be delivered 
 to your lordship, you never would have 
 been troubled with a remembrance of 
 any sort from 
 
 Henry Be«iresford.
 
 «7 
 
 To the Right Hon, Lord Dungarvon. 
 
 At the moment when my heart has 
 overcome all its resentmentSj subdued 
 all its passions, save only one which is 
 wove into my existence, and will only 
 expire with its last throb, my uncon- 
 querable love for Augustus Mortimer^ 
 1 presume to address your lordship in 
 frtvor of his child. — Remember his fa- 
 ther is no more: perhaps you will say 
 he might still have lived but for me — 
 might have been great and happy— -spare 
 nie I beseech you ; a few, a very few 
 days will terminate the existence of her, 
 
 so hated, so despised 'but my child, 
 
 the child of Augustus Mortimer, the 
 grandson of Lord Dungarvon — will you 
 visit on his innocent head the crime of 
 his parents, must he be reprobated and 
 abandoned : surely you must have more 
 justice, more humanity — receive him, 
 protect him : his duty, his obedience.
 
 28 
 shall expiate the offences of his parents: 
 perhaps he maj be fated to perpetuate 
 the name of Mortimer : condemn him not 
 to obscurity ; let him not be brought up 
 on the bounty of strangers, who may 
 hereafter say the heir of Dungarvon 
 owed his very existence to their charity : 
 but now, when the remains of the ill- 
 fated Augustus Mortimer moulder in a 
 foreign clime, when the wretched heart- 
 broken Louisa sinks into the grave, re- 
 ceive their offspring, and by your pro- 
 tection of him, prove that resentment is 
 not carried beyond the tomb, so may 
 your latter days be blest with tranquil- 
 lity, so may your last moments be sooth- 
 ed with the consoling thought, that you 
 have effaced the injuries you heaped 
 upon Augustus Mortimer, with kindness 
 to his son. May heaven so prosper you, 
 as you fulfil the last request of 
 
 " Louisa Mortimer/' 
 
 Lord Dungarvon, after reading the 
 letter, snatched up a pen, and addressed 
 Mr. Berresford in the following terms :
 
 29 
 
 '' Sir, I return you the letter you in- 
 closed me from your daughter^ of the 
 legality of whose marriage with the late 
 Major Augustus Mortimer I am^ I 
 must confess, not exactly satisfied ; it is 
 now, however, a matter of no kind of 
 consequence — My son, the lionourable 
 Mr. Mor4;imer, will in a few days unite 
 himself to a lady of high birth and 
 exalted rank, which marriage I trust 
 will raise an heir to the illustrious house 
 of Mortimer, whose claims will be clear 
 and indisputable ; in the mean time I 
 beg leave to signify, that I do not con- 
 sider myself at all bound to provide for 
 the future support or establishment of 
 the offspring of guilt and disobedience. 
 
 DuNGARVON.'* 
 
 *' Proud and unfeeling man," said Ber- 
 resford as he read ihe letter, ''the hour 
 may arrive when your heart may be sensi- 
 ble of the sorrows of mine — you may yet 
 be childless as I am — and this poor orphan 
 boy, whom your inveterate malice would 
 c3
 
 so 
 
 ever stigmatize with illegitimacy, jou 
 may yet be obliged to look up to, to 
 perpetuate that name and those honors 
 of which you are now so proudly vain." 
 Mr. Berresford lived to see Henry 
 Mortimer five years old, the darling of 
 Sir Owen and Lady Llewellyn, who 
 shared between him and their own daugh- 
 ter, who was born three years after the 
 decease of Mrs. Mortimer, their warm- 
 est affections. Adeline Llewellyn was 
 a lovely interesting child, mild, timid, 
 and gentle — Harry was bold and spirited, 
 full of frolic and mischief, but fond to 
 excess of Adeline, whose smile would 
 recompense him for any difficulty he 
 encountered, and whose voice would 
 allupt, him from his young companions, 
 and his most favorite sports. They stu- 
 died, walked, and rode together. Ade- 
 line regarded Henry with the temperate 
 affection of a sister, while he felt for 
 her a sentiment more tender, more ar- 
 dent, more impassioned than that of a 
 brother. Henry had just attained his
 
 eighteenth, and Adeline her fifteenth 
 jear, when Lady Llewellyn after a short 
 illness died^ lamented by all that had the 
 happiness of knowing her. Sir Owen's 
 excessive grief for her loss had nearly 
 proved fatal to hira, when the recollec- 
 tion of the unprotected situation of his 
 daughter recalled the wish for life; he 
 now exerted himself to sooth her sor- 
 rows^ and reconcile her mind to a mis- 
 fortune which was irremediable ; he again 
 attended to her studies, and busied him- 
 self in preparing Henry for the finishing 
 of his education at Cambridge. In these 
 occupations his mind felt great relief, 
 and Adeline too discovered that em- 
 ployment took much fro na the keen edge 
 of sorrow. At length the time arrived 
 for Henry's departure. Sir Owen allotted 
 him a liberal stipend for college ex- 
 pences : he was now entering into life ; 
 and as Sir Owen had lived in the gay 
 world, and knew the dangers and temp- 
 tations to which a young man of acute 
 c 4
 
 32 
 sensibility and warm passions was likely 
 to be exposed, he gave liim such advice 
 as he considered appropriate to the occa- 
 sion. '' I do not expect yon to be abso- 
 lutely faultless," my dear Henry, said 
 he : *' I hope I have sufficient liberality 
 of mind to make allowances for acci- 
 dental errors, and unpremeditated weak- 
 nesses ; but I trust the lessons of good- 
 ness, the precepts of virtue you have so 
 often received from that angel who is 
 now no more, will never be effaced from 
 your heart ; that the remembrance of 
 them will deter you from the commis- 
 sion of any act that would disgrace my 
 friendship^ or degrade the name of Mor- 
 timer. Return to me again the same 
 open hearted generous fellow that you 
 depart ; bring back to me my son, and 
 to Adeline her brother.'* Henry was af- 
 fected, his eyes filled with tears, while 
 he promised never to forget the advice 
 of his more than father. He folded Ade- 
 line to his bosom, kissed away the tear
 
 33 
 
 that was strajing down her cheeky and 
 several times entreated her not to forget 
 to write to him. 
 
 After the departure of Henry, Dole- 
 gelly castle became dull: and as it was 
 winter, and the ground covered with 
 snow, Adeline felt in her confinement to 
 the house the loss of his society, which 
 was scarcely compensated by the com- 
 pany of her favorite friend Eliza Tudor, 
 the daughter of Sir Griffith Tudor, who 
 resided at the distance of two short miles 
 from the castle. Eliza Tudor was a 
 Jittle lively animated brunette, with 
 glossy raven tresses, and sparkling black 
 eyes. Adeline Llewellyn was tall and 
 graceful, with the airy lightness of a 
 sylph; her eyes were a lucid melting 
 blue, her skin was transparently fair, 
 andher hair a light auburn, which, falling 
 into natural ringlets, strayed over her 
 ivory forehead, and wantoned upon her 
 fine turned neck : her rosy mouth was 
 adorned with dimples, and her teeth 
 might without exaggeration have been 
 5
 
 34 
 
 compared to pearls: added to this ex- 
 treme loveliness of person, Adeline Avas 
 Iiiglilj accomplished she danced ele- 
 gantly, w as a perfect mistress of music : 
 the harp was her favorite instrument, 
 and she accompanied its entrancing notes 
 with a voice of plaintive sweetness, that 
 " took the prisoned soul and lapped it in 
 Elysium/' She drew and painted in a 
 style so exquisite, that her landscapes 
 appeared as if genius had guided the 
 
 pencil of fancy her disposition was 
 
 mild and generous, her sensibility acute^ 
 her imagination warm, and her percep- 
 tions accurate. There never existed a 
 more striking contrast than was exhibited 
 in the persons and characters of Adeline 
 Llewellyn and Eliza Tudor ; yet they 
 were both open hearted, liberal minded, 
 and amiable ; and though Eliza had 
 neither the talents nor perseverauce of 
 Adeline, yet she danced with animation, 
 and sung many of the popular songs of 
 her country with taste and spirit: and not- 
 witlistanding her accomplishments were
 
 35 
 
 for the most part merely superficial, she 
 frequently attracted more admiration 
 than Adeline, whose timid and retiring 
 character made her shrink from obser- 
 vation, and induced her to remain in the 
 background; while her more vivacious 
 friend commanded the attention of the 
 beaux at the neighbouring assemblies, 
 by the unrestrained playfulness of her 
 manner, and her eternal gaiete de caur.
 
 36 
 
 CHAP. II 
 
 It was aiTiOTnent big with peril, 
 
 But the bold deed gave to the fair one life, 
 And in return for what she termed my Talor, 
 She gave the matchless treasure of her heart." 
 
 J. J. K. 
 
 DoLEGELLY Castle stood delightfully 
 elevated on a bold eminence, near the 
 seq. shore; on one side were hanging 
 woods, through which the predecessors 
 of Sir Owen Llewellyn had cut a road 
 to the ancient and romantic town of 
 Carnarvon. Situated at the distance of 
 six miles behind it were mountains of 
 stupendous height, and the other side 
 presented rich meadows, and land in a 
 state of the highest cultivation. The
 
 37 
 
 winter had been long and severe : the 
 mountains were covered with snow^ and 
 the woods exhibited a fantastic appear- 
 ance, their leafless branches being de- 
 corated with frost-work, which the 
 keenness of the air had condensed into a 
 variety of forms. The weather had been 
 for many days dark and gloonay, and 
 the little party at the castle had in vain 
 wished to see the yellow rays of the 
 sun illumine the gothic windows of the 
 library, near which Adeline sat finishing 
 a moon-light view of a ruined watch- 
 tower, that nodded in proud desolation 
 on an adjacent mountain. While Eliza, 
 with one arm hanging over the back of 
 her chair^ sat reading to herself a ro- 
 mance, suddenly she burst into a loud 
 laugh, in which she indulged for some 
 time; at length composing her features, 
 she turned to Adeline, and with affected 
 gravity said, '' Pray, my dear, were you 
 ever in love?" ''No," said Adeline, 
 smiling at the question, '' why do you 
 ask?" '' Because," replied Eliza, ''I
 
 38 
 
 wish to know whether this descrip- 
 tion of the passion is true/' *' You 
 shall hear." She then applied to the 
 book, and read the following passage — 
 '"^ When imperious love takes possession 
 of the heart, all its gaietj departs ; to 
 nights of calm repose and dreams of 
 happiness, succeed visions of terror and 
 despair ; the bosom, once the mansion of 
 peace and tranquillity, is tortured with 
 an agonizing train of doubts, fears, and 
 jealousies — restless and dissatisfied^ the 
 mind busies itself with hopes that can 
 never be realized, or in conjuring up 
 misfortunes it may never encounter.— 
 Time ever passes too swift or too slow. 
 The meridian sun is dark and gloomy 
 as the noon of night in the absence of 
 the adored one/' '' No more, for hea- 
 ven's sake," said Adeline ; **^ shut the 
 book, Eliza, the picture is absolutely 
 terrific." '' Nonsense," replied Eliza 
 laughing, '' the author of this book 
 knew nothing of human nature. — Now 
 do I most heartily wish, that fortune
 
 S9 
 
 would send some dear delightful, be- 
 witching, handsome fellow, stra^'ing 
 over our mountains ; I would assuredly 
 fall in love, on purpose to convince you 
 that the picture is too highly coloured, 
 a mere daub, with which reality has 
 nothing to do. Love, my dear, is a fro- 
 licsome urchin, dressed in smiles, and 
 wreathed with roses; you should seel 
 would laugh all day, dance half the 
 night, and sleep soundly the other half ; 
 and if I had dreams, they should be 
 sportive visions, in which that leaden 
 headed fellow Morpheus should act as 
 master of the ceremonies, and introduce 
 whim and caprice to dance a reel with 
 me.*' *' Perhaps you may be mistaken,** 
 said Adeline. *' Love may yet occasion 
 you uneasy days and sleepless nights; 
 you may yet be fated to meet the man 
 ^vho may change all your smiles into 
 tears/* " Never,** said Eliza rising, 
 and tossing the book upon the table : — 
 ** What ! sigh for a man, dim these 
 bright luminaries with tears? no truly.
 
 40 
 
 Believe me, my child, I am too fond 
 of admiration, to spoil the beauty of 
 my face with grief, and the dismals ; 
 besides, to let you into a trifling secret^ 
 I have already been about a dozen 
 times in love ; but in the very height of 
 the fit I never ate an ounce less, or got 
 up an hour later in the morning/* 
 •' Surprising,*' said Adeline laughing, 
 " but pray who were the objects of your 
 tender regard?'* " You shall hear,'* 
 resumed Eliza : ''the first person who 
 inspired me with the soft passion was 
 Sir Hugh Meredith." '' Sir Hugh Me- 
 redith!'* said Adeline, pursuing her 
 drawing, '' why he is old enough to be 
 your grandfather." '' No njatter for 
 that,'* replied Eliza, " he is asthmatical, 
 and six months in the year he is confined 
 with the gout : but he is immensely rich ; 
 mercy on me, his money would have en- 
 abled me to shine here and rattle there. 
 I could have bought oceans of frippery 
 and nick nacs, that I could have found 
 no possible use for, and I could have
 
 4] 
 
 made myself the astonishment and admi- 
 ration of all the natives here^ not to say 
 a' word ahout the delight I would have 
 had in treading on Sir Hugh's gouty toe, 
 or in mistake taking hold of the hand 
 bound up in flannel^ and giving it a 
 hearty shake^ with a good night, or a 
 good morning J Sir Hugh: but ail my 
 seductions would not do, though I 
 smiled and simpered, shook up the sofa 
 pillows for his gouty legs, poured out 
 his madeira with my own fair hand, and 
 played the '^ noble race of Shenkin" to 
 him till my fingers were numbed, the 
 silly obstinate old fellow denied me the 
 pleasure of spending his money, and 
 breaking his heart/' 
 
 '' What a mad creature!" said Ade- 
 line. ''Then resumed Eliza,'' '' 1 became 
 desperately enamoured of Sir Watkin Ap 
 Rice's elegant carriage and iron greys. 
 Do you know Sir Watkin, Adeline ?" 
 *' No/' said Adeline, *' I have not the 
 honor." " If you did," rejoined Eliza^ 
 '■^ you would not wonder at my infatu-
 
 42 
 
 ation. You have read Don Quixotte. 
 His visage exactly resembles the de- 
 scription of the knights of the woeful 
 countenance ; hisperson is remarkably tall 
 and meagre, and when habited en mill' 
 taire with his helmet on, he looks like a 
 rush-light crowned with an extinguish- 
 
 er." Adeline laughed heartily '* But 
 
 mum/* said Eliza, laying her fingers on 
 her lips, ^' I hear Sir Owen, you shall 
 
 have the conclusion another time." Sir 
 
 Owen came to tell them that he had 
 just received an invitation from the 
 oilicers of the Scotch Greys quartered at 
 Carnarvon, who, after a general review, 
 proposed giving the ladies of the town 
 and vicinity a ball. '' Charming fel- 
 lows,'* said Eliza, capering about thfr 
 room", '' I doat on a red coat.*' — '' And 
 you, Adeline; said Sir Owen, turning 
 to his daughter. '' I have no particular 
 partiality for a red coat, sir,^* replied 
 Adeline, "but I lovedancingyou know.** 
 '' We shall accept the invitation then/' 
 said Sir Owen /' Adeline, th^ effect
 
 43 
 
 of the moonlight on that turret is verj 
 fine/' observed Sir Owen^ looking over 
 her drawing. '' You have been busily 
 eniplojed this morning. Eliza^ my 
 dear, have you nothing to shew me; 
 
 what have you been doing?'" '' Me, 
 
 sir, me! — I have been doing nothing 
 
 at all, sir," '^ Well, really,^^ said Sir 
 
 Ovi^en, *' that is surprising. What, not 
 engaged in mischief?** '' I wish my 
 brother Henry was here to go with us/* 
 said Adeline. '' I shall feel so awkward 
 at a ball without him ; but Nvhen, sir, is 
 it to take place ?" '' Next Wednesday,'* 
 
 replied Sir Owen ^'^ Bless me,^* said 
 
 Eliza, springing up, '' next Wednesday ! 
 why, I shall never have any thing in 
 readiness. — I have ien thousand orders 
 
 for my milliner and mantua-maker 
 
 Adeline, my dear, what will you wear ?'* 
 '^ Really ray dress has never yet entered 
 my imagination ; it will be quite time 
 enough to [think of that to-morrow.** — 
 '' For ray part I shall think of nothing 
 else/* rejoined Eliza. '' Well, ladies/*
 
 44 
 
 said Sir Owen, " I suppose you will not 
 make me one of the cabinet council in 
 this important aflfair, so 1 shall leave you 
 to settle it between yourselves^ and take 
 the opportunity of visiting Sir Griffith 
 Tudor. Eliza, my dear, have you any 
 commission to honor me with ?" " Only 
 my affectionate duty, sir ; and you will 
 be good enough to mention the ball.'* 
 — Sir Owen rode off, and Eliza obliged 
 Adeline to lay aside the drawing, and 
 proceed with her to the dressing- room^ 
 where, having approved and again re- 
 jected various articles of ornament, she 
 still remained undecided as to the dress 
 in which she designed to take by storm 
 the hearts of the officers at the ball. 
 Adeline's patience was almost exhausted^ 
 when her maid appeared to say that 
 Sir Owen was returned, and had brought 
 with him two officers, who were to stay 
 dinner. Away flew Eliza to her toi- 
 lette, where having at length adorned 
 her person to her satisfaction, she de- 
 scended with Adeline to the library.
 
 45 
 
 where Sir Owen shortly after presented 
 to them Colonel Effingham and Captain 
 Seymour ; they were both handsome 
 men, but Colonel Effingham had a seri- 
 ous air, a sort of thinking gravity, which 
 did not exactly accord with the lively 
 taste of Eliza, while Captain Seymour's 
 gay manners, brilliant bon mots, and 
 lively repartees, rivetted her attention and 
 won her approbation : they were a pair 
 that heaven seemed to have made on pur 
 pose for each other — all whim, frolic, 
 and caprice ; and before they parted in 
 the evening she had promised him her 
 hand for the two first sets at the ensuing 
 balls. 
 
 Lady Tudor, the mother of Eliza, 
 whose handsome though masculine per- 
 son and florid complexion seemed an eter- 
 nal contradiction to that ill health and 
 delicacy of nerves she declared she pos- 
 sessed, affected a softness of manners and 
 tenderness of disposition which often dis- 
 played itself in faintings and hysterics. 
 Sir Griffith Tudor was a little man^
 
 46 
 
 about four feet five inches high, with an 
 intelligent countenance and sparkling 
 black eyes : he was boisterous in his be- 
 havior, passionate in his temper, with 
 the lungs of Stentor, which he exercised 
 to the extreme discomposure of her lady- 
 ship's delicate nerves^, and the terror and 
 annoyance of the servants whenever an 
 opposition to his sentiments, or a demur 
 to his commands was oflcred. He loved 
 nothing in nature but his hounds^ his 
 horses, and Eliza, whom he suffered to 
 play all the mischievous tricks lier spor- 
 tive nature could invent unrestricted ^nd 
 uncontrouled ; he was very rich : she 
 was his only child (three sons having 
 died in their infancy) and being said to 
 resemble him in person he never allowed 
 her to be opposed or contradicted in 
 any of her frolics. Happily for those 
 about her, her heart was good, and if her 
 wild disposition inflicted wounds, her 
 feeling and generosity led her to make 
 instant reparation : in this too she re- 
 sembled her father, who though rash and
 
 47 
 pertinacious when under the influence of 
 passion, was in his temperate moments 
 liberal and feeling towards those who 
 came recommended by misfortune to his 
 notice and his pity. For his lady's fan- 
 ciful complaints he had no sort of com- 
 passion, and to tease and throw her into 
 hysterics was one of his highest enjoy- 
 ments. 
 
 On Wednesday morning La<iy Tudor 
 in her carriage, and Sir Griffith on horse- 
 back, arrived at Dolegelly Castle, where 
 her ladyship expressed much displeasure 
 at her daughter's refusing to accompany 
 her. '' No, please fate,'' said Eliza, 
 '^ I will not be stoved up in a close car- 
 riage such a fine morning as this. Papa, 
 I ride; what say you, Adeline?*' M It 
 certainly was my intention to go on 
 horseback/' replied Adeline; " but if 
 Lady Tudor wishes it I will with much 
 pleasure accompany her." ''You have 
 done finely for yourself now," whispered 
 Eliza ; *' why mamma will have all the 
 glasses up, and you will neither have
 
 48 
 the pleasure of seeing nor being seen." 
 '' Miss Llewellyn is all goodness/' said 
 Lady Tudor, '' and if I thought it would 
 
 not be repugnant to her wishes " 
 
 '' Pshaw I damn your fine speeches, Wi- 
 nefred/' said Sir Griffith interrupting her, 
 •' you may take your oath the girl has no 
 wish to be stuffed into your carriage and 
 poisoned with hartshorn and volerian wa- 
 ter. Plague confound it, do recollect 
 that you was once young yourself." " I 
 am very unwell this morning. Sir Grif- 
 fith ; I had a very bad night." '' Why 
 the devil did not you stay in bed then, 
 and make it out this morning ?" replied 
 Sir Griffith." '' I entreat. Sir Grif- 
 fith " '' And I beseech you. Lady 
 
 Tudor," said he raising his voice, ^' to 
 remember that Adeline Llewellyn has 
 committed no crime for which she de- 
 serves the penance of listening to your 
 doleful history of brain fevers, sleepless 
 nights, palpitations of heart, spasmodic 
 aft'ections, and the devil himself knows 
 what beside.'' '' But, Sir Griffith, if
 
 49 
 
 Miss Llewellyn desires '' " Don't 
 
 provoke me, Ladj Tudor ; you know I 
 am by nature the most peaceable crea- 
 ture that can be^ but I hate contradic- 
 tion. Damnation ! I say it is unnatural 
 to suppose that a young girl can prefer 
 the company of an old woman, with a 
 long rigmarole of weak nerves and dis- 
 mal complaints to the conversation and 
 admiration of a parcel of fine athletic 
 youns: fellows/' 
 
 Adeline felt uneasy at this dispute, and 
 to end it would gladly at once have 
 slipped into her ladyship's carriage, so 
 much did she dread the violence of Sir 
 Griffith's temper, though at all times she 
 preferred riding on horseback, and par- 
 ticularly at this time, when she expected 
 so much pleasure in witnessing a variety 
 of military manoeuvres. Eliza, who was 
 accustomed to these scenes of altercation^ 
 .sat anxiously waiting for the moment 
 when her father's impatient temper should 
 be suflicieiiily wound up to insist on 
 Adeline mounting her horse — and to this 
 
 VOL, I. D *
 
 50 
 
 crisis it approached the next instant, 
 when Lady Tudor, turning to Adeline, 
 said she thought it was time for them 
 to set off. He swore she might set off to 
 the devil as soon as she liked, hut that 
 Adeline should by no means accompany 
 her. Lady Tudor took out her smelling 
 bottle. '^ Aye, aye, sniff away, my 
 lady,** said Sir Griffith, '' sniff away— • 
 recover your spirits, for damn me if Miss 
 Llewellyn goes with you." '' Sir Grif- 
 fith, you are '* *' I know I am, my 
 
 dear,** said he, '' I know I am deter- 
 mined to have my way for once." '' For 
 once, Sir Griffith !" '' Yes, for once J 
 am determined to carry my point, so you 
 may have a fit as soon as you like, but I 
 will be damned if I don't have my way. 
 Your ladyship is not prepared for an 
 hysteric I perceive; shall I have the ho- 
 nor to hand you to your carriage?" *' I 
 am not disposed to go yet, sir." '' O, 
 jou jiie waiting for me !" said the incor- 
 rij^jble Sir Gnffith. '' I beg a thousand 
 pardons for njy inattention ; your baud.
 
 51 
 
 Lady Tudor." Her ladyship snatched 
 away her hand;, and sunk back in her 
 chair. Adeline approached and said she 
 would go with her ladyship. Eliza be- 
 g;an to be ashamed of the scene, and 
 said they would both go in the carriage. 
 '' I will be damned if you do though/* 
 said Sir Griffith, " and my horse too/' 
 He rung the bell violently, and on the 
 nppearance of the servant ordered Lady 
 Tudor's carriage. 
 
 Sir Owen, who during the dispute had 
 been absent, now entered the room, and 
 perceiving from all their countenances 
 that something was amiss, inquired what 
 was the matter. '' Only the old matter," 
 sobbed Lady Tudor, '' only the old 
 matter, Sir Owen ! my weak andgentledis- 
 position is inr>posed upon^ my poor spirits 
 flurried, and my weak nerves shattered.'* 
 '' Come along, my tender, meek gentle 
 dove — no grumbling. Remember^, my 
 sweet essence of asafoetida, that you 
 took me for better, for worse ! love, ho- 
 nor, and obey, you know. As for lore, 
 d2 
 
 LIRP.^RY 
 
 UNiVLRSlTY OF ILLINOIS
 
 62 
 
 whew! (here he whistled) that flew 
 God knows where, the Lord knows how 
 long ago ; and as for honoring, Fal de 
 raltit ; (here he sang) but as for obey- 
 ing, damn me, I'll make jou do that/' 
 He then clapped her arm under his, and 
 in less than two minutes, in spite of the 
 united remonstrances of Sir Owen, Ade- 
 line, and Eliza, Sir Griffith whisked Lady 
 Tudor into her carriage, and told her 
 she was at liberty to have an hysteric as 
 soon as she pleased. 
 
 Her ladyship, highly provoked and 
 vexed, was too much out of temper to 
 proceed to Carnavon : she ordered the 
 carriage home, lamenting her evil des- 
 tiny in having a husband who contra- 
 dicted all her wishes, and a daughter who 
 disobeyed all her commands. The rest 
 of the party proceeded to the review 
 on horseback. The ground allotted for 
 the display of military science and skill 
 was a large plain situated between two 
 hills, upon which Carnarvon and its 
 neighborhood had poured out its popu-
 
 53 
 lace to witness a spectacle of unusual 
 grandeur. On one side of the plain was 
 a road leading to the town, and on the 
 other a narrow winding path cut over 
 rocks and precipices that led directlv to 
 the sea. Adeline and Eliza bad received 
 the compliments of all the officers intro- 
 duced by Colonel Effingham and Captain 
 Sejmour, and had been pressed by them 
 to enter a large tent on an eminence, 
 which had been pitched for the accom- 
 modation of the ladies, and from whence 
 they could command a view of the whole 
 field : but this they declined, and pre- 
 ferred remaining on horseback. The 
 soldiers went through their several evo- 
 lutions to the entire satisfaction of tlieir 
 commanding officer, and the gratifica- 
 tion of the spectators. A sham fight 
 succeeded — the discharge of cannon, the 
 beat of drums, and sound of trumpets, 
 made a glorious confusion ; but a 
 standard taken in the heat of battle from 
 the foe, waving too near the eyes of 
 Eliza's horse, the animal suddenly took 
 
 d3
 
 54 
 fright^ and, regardless of the reiiij flew 
 wiih the vtlotitj' of lightning along the 
 narrow path among tiie rocks. The tide 
 wa^ full in, and every moment the dis- 
 tracted Sir Griffith expected to sec his 
 daughter plunged in the waves. 
 
 Capiain Seymour from a distance be- 
 held the confusion;, and saw a horse 
 flying with a lady over the dangerous 
 precipice ; he instantly took a circuitous 
 path, and at the very instant the terrified 
 animal was in the act of plunging into 
 the sea he turned an angle of the rock, 
 and caught him by the bridle. Eliza 
 had firmly kept her seat, thouglf fear 
 had deprived her of recollection^ and 
 she recovered to see herself supported in 
 the arms of Adeline, while her father 
 was loudly blessing and shaking Captain 
 Seymour by the hand, swearing he was 
 a damned brave fellow, and that he 
 would give him the best horse in his 
 stud. When Captain Seymour liad set 
 oft' with the idea of stopping the horse, 
 he did not know that it was Miss Tudor
 
 55 
 to whom he intended so essential a ser- 
 vice ; and it was with additional plea- 
 sure that he had preserved the life of a 
 person who had already made for herself 
 no small interest in his heart. 
 
 Eliza soon recovered her spirits^ and 
 having expressed her gratitude in the 
 warmest terms to Captain Seymour, with 
 her accustomed gaiety assured him that 
 the fright she had received would not 
 prevent her fulfilling her engagement 
 with him at night. Adeline felt really 
 ill ; she had been greatly terrified^ and 
 it was with extreme difficulty she kept 
 herself from fainting: she rejoiced when 
 Sir Griffith proposed going home. '" You 
 will not mount that animal again ?" said 
 she to Eliza. " Most certainly/' replied 
 Miss Tudor, springing on his back. 
 "■ Poor Rolla had no intention of break- 
 ing my neck or dashing me into the sea ; 
 it would be hard to punish him for an ac- 
 cidental fault — besides I believe he has 
 suffered even more than I have.*' Sir 
 Griffith called her a good girl— patted 
 D 4
 
 56 
 
 the neck of the horse, said he was a fine 
 fellow, but swore if ever he plajed such 
 another prank he would blow his damned 
 brains out. As they rode along, '' It is 
 well,'* said he, '' that your mother was 
 not present ; we should have had rare 
 work with her fits and vagaries— all the 
 smelling bottles in Carnarvon would not 
 have set her nerves to rights. Eliza, 
 mind, mura*s the word, or her ladyship 
 will for ever upbraid me for having pre- 
 vented your going in the carriage with 
 her. Damn it, if she knew, she would 
 crow over me finely : I should be abso- 
 lutely stunned with a string of accidents, 
 prol)ableand improbable, that might have 
 taken place, such as fractured skulls, 
 broken arms, dislocated elbows, and the 
 Lord knows what besides ; and then her 
 own brain fever, hysteric affections, 
 spasmodic contractions, shattered nerves, 
 and sleepless nights would be dinned in 
 my ears to eternity ; so damn it, Eliza, 
 mind my girl, not a word." 
 
 At night, as gay as if nothing bad
 
 57 
 
 happened^ Eliza appeared at the ball in a 
 white sarsenet dress, covered with blue 
 crape formed into draperies, with chaing 
 of small silver roses ; her hair was con- 
 fined with a diamond crescent, and her 
 arras and neck were encircled with the 
 same costly ornaments. Adeline wore a 
 silver net over a dress of white satin ; 
 her beautiful hair was braided with 
 wreaths of pearl, and strings of the same 
 ornamented her arms and hung upon her 
 ivory bosom. Among the many gentle- 
 men who crowded round Eliza to congra- 
 tulate her on her providential escape the 
 Honorable Captain Maitland was most 
 profuse in his compliments : '' 'Pon my 
 reputation,'' said he, '' if your horse had 
 taken to the sea it would have been a very 
 serious affair/' '' Very true," said 
 Eliza, '' for I should not only have 
 spoiled my new habit but lost my life 
 into the bargain." *' Shocking !' re- 
 plied the gallant captain, '' 'poii my re- 
 putation the beaux would have hetntout 
 desespoir ; and for me I could not have 
 D 5
 
 58 
 gurvived the horrifying catastrophe ; I 
 should have been so miserable that 
 
 Ha ! Montrose, 'pon my reputation )'0u 
 smell \vorse than a civit cat — never use 
 any thing but esprit dc rose myself; your 
 lavender is too much for my faculties/* 
 He bowed to the ladies, and passed on to 
 another group. Montrose requested the 
 honor of Adeline'3 hand, but she was 
 already engaged to Colonel Effingham, 
 who that instant led her out. Eliza and 
 her gay partner footed it away merrily,^ 
 and were so pleased and entertained with 
 each ot*her that they mutually regretted 
 when the customary etiquette obliged 
 them to change partners ; they however 
 settled to dance together again when the 
 next change took place. Colonel Ef- 
 fingham was a young man of great good 
 sense and excellent education. The mo- 
 desty and gentleness of Adeline had even 
 more captivation for him than her beau- 
 tiful person ; and while he touched her 
 soft hand, and led her through the mazes 
 of the dance, he wished that it was pes-
 
 59 
 
 sible to interest her heart in his favor. 
 He admired the vivacity of Eliza; he 
 was charmed while his eye followed her 
 sportive steps and saw her animated ges- 
 tures ; but when he turned to Adeline he 
 beheld in her a graceful modesty^ a re- 
 tiring sweetness, a blushing loveliness^ 
 that while it commanded respect inspired 
 love. 
 
 Adeline lamented to Eliza the absence 
 of Henry, while Eliza laughingly asked 
 if Colonel Eliingham did not make love 
 to her Satisfaction as she wished for a 
 substitute. At a moment when they were 
 taking refreshments the Honorable Cap- 
 tain Maiiland again joined them^ and 
 asked Adeline if she did not feel fa- 
 tigued : on her answering in the negative 
 he expressed great surprise. *' 'Pon my 
 reputation/' said he^ '' it is marvellous 
 to me how people can undergo the fa- 
 tigue of dancing." '' A Scotchman/^ re- 
 plied Eliza^ '' and consider dancing a 
 fatigue ! why I always understood that 
 they were as proverbial for their love of
 
 60 
 that amusement as the natives of our 
 country." ''Shocking, 'pon my reputa- 
 tion/* replied the Honorable Captain 
 iMaitland. '' Only consider how it heats 
 the blood ; much of so violent an exer- 
 cise is enough to throw a person of 
 robust constitution into a fever. I never 
 dance;" continued he yawning, ''it is 
 far too fatiguing.*' '' O fie!" replied 
 Eliza^ " a soldier and talk of fatigue 1 
 suppose the duties of your profession 
 were to call you into action, sure the fa- 
 tigue of dancing would be nothing com- 
 pared to long marches and harrassing 
 campaigns !*' " The child would fall 
 sick/* said old Major Fergus, '' and so 
 escape both the fatigue and the danger!'* 
 *' And the glory too,'* replied Adeline. 
 '^ On my soul/' continued Major 
 Fergus, " I dinne ken what the deel 
 guch Jemmy finical fellows do in the 
 army, unless it is to entitle them to 
 wear a red coat, which 1 have often 
 heard is very attractive with the ladies ; 
 it would have been a far better present if
 
 61 
 
 the noble lord your uncle had presented 
 you with a rod instead of a commission.'* 
 The Honorable Captain Maitland affect- 
 ed to laugh, and in reply said, '' 'Pan 
 my reputation, major, you are too se- 
 \^re." '' The deel of any reputation 
 will you ever have but that of being the 
 greatest coxcomb between this and the 
 Hebrides," said the major; " and if 
 your head is not strong enough to bear 
 the roar of cannon, and you are too indo- 
 lent to dance, you have no business to dis- 
 grace the coat of a soldier, or stand in 
 the way like a post in a ball-room." 
 " Give me the man," said Eliza, '' who 
 will caper all night for his amusement, 
 and fight all day for glory and his coun- 
 try ; such a character can never fail of 
 being a favorite with the ladies." The 
 Honorable Captain Maitland affected not 
 to hear these speeches, but turned to 
 Adeline, and wished her much amuse- 
 ment in the cotillion set she was pre- 
 paring to join with Captain Seymour, 
 who had rcqutsted her hand when he
 
 62 
 
 had resigned Eliza's, and sauntered away 
 to another part of the room where a 
 group of ladies were complaining of the 
 scarcity of gentlemen : to several of these 
 he addressed himself, and declared upon 
 his reputation he was extremely concent- 
 ed to see them without partners^ wished 
 for their sakes that he was able to divide 
 himself, but that not being in the chapter 
 of possibilities he would not dance at all, 
 being fearful of giving offence to the 
 rest should he select any one in particular 
 — that he adored them all, and enveritc 
 he wished to continue in all their good 
 graces. He then displayed his cambric 
 handkerchief, declared 'pon his reputa- 
 tion the room was enough to suffocate 
 him, made a sliding bow^ and passed 
 on. 
 
 Lady Tudor, notwithstanding her ill- 
 ness and disappointment in the morning, 
 had recovered sufficient temper and spi- 
 rits to be at the ball at night : she per- 
 fectly agreed with the Honorable Cap- 
 taia Maitlaod in the idea of dancing
 
 63 
 
 being too robust an exercise for persoiif 
 of delicate nerves. Cards had been pre- 
 pared in an adjoining apartment^ and her 
 ladyship was on the point of winning the 
 third rubber at whist, when a ladj 
 observed that Miss Tudor looked un- 
 commonly well after her morning's acci- 
 dent. In vain Sir Griffith couched and 
 
 Jo 
 
 winked ; the person without observing* 
 him had answered all her ladyship's in- 
 quiries^ who having heard the recital of 
 her daughter's danger gave a loud shriek^ 
 and fell back in her chair in strong hys- 
 terics. In a moment all was confusion — 
 the card table was thrown down, a candle 
 fell into Lady Tudor*s lap^ and set fire 
 to the end of a long veil that hung over 
 her shoulder : Sir Griffith snatched a 
 large goblet of water from the hand of 
 a gentleman and threw it souse into her 
 ladyship's face. The fire was extinguish- 
 ed, but before she could recover from the 
 shock this sudden action occasioned^ 
 while she was gasping for breath he 
 caught up an old lady's snufF box, and
 
 64 
 
 taking a large pinch between bis fingers^ 
 crammed it up ber ladyship's nostrils, 
 sajing, '' Siiift', my lady, no hartshorn 
 to be bad." This was too mucb to bear : 
 Lady Tudor^ forgetting tbat sbe was in 
 fits, started in agony from her chair, 
 sneezing violently, her eyes streaming 
 from the eftect of the snuff which lay in 
 a large dab on her cheek, and her gar- 
 ments drenched with the water Sir Grif- 
 fith had thrown upon her. '' Inhuman, 
 barbarous wretch \" shrieked the gasp- 
 ing Lady Tudor. '^ Sniff, sniff away, 
 my lady,*' said Sir GriflSth pursuing her 
 round the room ; " the snuff I see is 
 more eflective than hartshorn or burnt 
 feathers." " Barbarian ! you have al- 
 most drowned me ; I shall catch ray 
 death of cold." '' Well, well, my lady, 
 you must impute it all to my excessive 
 affection ; there was you kicking in fits, 
 and your head all in a blaze — on water, 
 out fire, you know. Here do, my dear, 
 take a little more snuff: it is a grand re- 
 storative, better by half than Solomon's
 
 65 
 Balsam of Gilead. Take another sniffy 
 my ladj/' said Sir Griffith oftering her 
 the box ; " it will wonderfully relieve 
 vour nerves/' 
 
 Her ladvship pushed his hand from her 
 face ; the box fell to the ground, but the 
 snufF flew up in a chiud, and almost 
 blinded him. Smarting with agony he 
 stamped and swore like a madma.n ; her 
 ladyship forgot her own sufferings and 
 joined the general laugh at the grotesque 
 figure of Sir Griffith, who was jumping 
 about the room like a parched pea. It 
 was long before the tumult subsided, 
 when Lady Tudor ordering her carriage; 
 protested it should be the last time that 
 ever she would subject herself to such 
 outrageous treatment by coming into 
 public company with a man who paid no 
 regard to the delicacy of her feelings, 
 or the weakness of her nerves. "' Damn 
 your delicate feelings ; damn your weak 
 nerves," vociferated Sir Griffith. '' I 
 wish with all my soul you were perform- 
 ing an hysteric at the bottom of the sea :
 
 66 
 
 may I be poisoned with asafcetida, and 
 suffocated with burnt feathers, if ever I 
 come abroad with you again/' A gen- 
 tleman handed Lady Tudor to her car- 
 riage. Sir Griffith hastily stooped down, 
 and grappling up the snuff that had 
 fallen on the floor, flew after her lady- 
 ship, who was just seated in her carriage ; 
 he threw the snuff into her face, and de- 
 sired her to sniff away, for as she had 
 found so much benefit from it already, 
 it would surely keep her from hysterica 
 on the road home. 
 
 The news of this rupture did not reach 
 the ball-room till after the departure of 
 Lady Tudor. At a late, or rather early 
 hour, the company broke up : before 
 they parted Captain Seymour had pre- 
 vailed on Eliza to allow him to visit her 
 in the character of a lover. Colonel Ef- 
 fingham had also resolved to address 
 Adeline, but her very retiring behavior 
 had prevented his entering on so parti- 
 cular a subject, though his attentions 
 had been sufficiently marked to convince
 
 67 
 
 Eliza that the colonel was deeply smit- 
 ten- thouffh the unconscious Adeline had 
 not vanity enough to suppose that she 
 had nnade the slightest impression on his 
 heart
 
 68 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Ah, fear ! ah, fratitic fear ! 
 
 I sec, I see thee near; 
 
 And lest thou meet my blasted view, 
 
 Hold each strange tale devoutly true. 
 
 Collins. 
 *^ Go to the war, my hero. I will not tarnish 
 The lustre of thy laurels with a tear." 
 
 Sir Owen Llwellyn doated on bis 
 daughter^ but it was not a blind or a 
 partial fondness that resulted from her 
 being his onlj child^ and the heiress of 
 his fortune — it was an affection that had 
 for its basis the knowledge that her 
 mind abounded with all the amiable vir- 
 tues and estimable qualities that adorn 
 human nature — and while he gazed with 
 tears of tenderness upon her beautiful
 
 69 
 
 exterior, his heart exulted in the proud 
 conviction that her person was only the 
 lovely casket that contained a still more 
 exquisitely lovely mind. When Colonel 
 Effingham modestly expressed his hopes 
 and wishes respecting Adeline to her fa- 
 ther^the worthy baronel at once referred 
 him to herself, saying '' Thathe had the 
 firmest reliance on her prudence, and 
 should entirely leave it to herself, to de- 
 termine a matter of such importance 
 as that on which the happiness of her 
 future life must depend." '' Adeline 
 acknowledged herself flattered, and 
 obliged by Colonel Effingham's prefer- 
 ence, but declined accepting his ad- 
 dresses, at the same time assuring her 
 father that her heart owned no sort of 
 predilection for any man in existence, 
 himself and her brother Henry excepted, 
 and it was the darling wish of her heart 
 to pass the remainder of her days with 
 him mj a single state. Sir Owcii smiled 
 as he kissed the glowing cheek o^' his 
 daughter, and mentally exc. aimed, —
 
 10 
 
 ^' Sweet innocent ! thy time is not yet 
 
 arrived." To Colonel Effingham he 
 
 politely expressed the pleasure he should 
 have experienced in the hope of calling 
 him his son, and thougli Adeline had 
 declared herself averse to accepting him 
 as a lover, he should be proud at all 
 times to receive him as a friend. Colo- 
 nel Effingham's heart acknowledged the 
 candor ot* Adeline's behavior ; he ad- 
 mired ill her that superiority of mind 
 which was above encouraging atten- 
 tions she could not approve; and he 
 sighed with deep and sincere regret to 
 think that he had been unable to interest 
 her in his favor, the only woman he had 
 ever felt a real passion for. Eliza in 
 her lively way had aft'ected to condole 
 with Colonel Effingham on his rejection. 
 After having mimiced his dejected air 
 and pensive looks, she bade him cheer 
 up, and cast away despair, for if Ade- 
 line at ail resembled her, she could not 
 possibly be sure of her own mind for a 
 day together : and that it was not only
 
 71 
 
 possible^ but higbly probable, tbat what 
 she disliked to-night she might warmly 
 approve in the morning. ''And now/' con- 
 tinued Eliza laughing, " I have a most 
 lucky thought — only bribe me hand- 
 somely, and I promise to let no oppor- 
 tunity slip of abusing you to my friend," 
 '" Of abusing me !" said the astonished 
 colonel. '' Most certainly/' replied 
 Eliza, ** I will represent you as a wild, 
 profligate, inconstant rake ; accuse you 
 of ten thousand faults that you never 
 committed, and most likely never thought 
 of. Believe me, my doleful colonel, 
 this is the only method to make her mind 
 give you credit for virtues, and perfec- 
 tions you never possessed : women gene- 
 rally act by the rule of contrary; if you 
 can prevail on Sir Owen to join in the 
 plot, and forbid his daughter to encou- 
 rage your addresses, my life upon it her 
 own inclination, aided by my persuasions, 
 will make her downright in love with 
 you in a month." Colonel Effingham in- 
 credulously shook his head ; be was con-
 
 72 
 
 vinccd tliat Adeline's mind was differ- 
 ently organized to that of her lively 
 friend, and having once refused his love, 
 she would at no future period accede to 
 it — all that remained for him was the 
 hope that time, and the duties of his 
 profession, might weaken his attachment, 
 and restore him again to ease and happy 
 indifference. 
 
 Eliza rallied Adeline unmercifully on 
 her rejection of the colonel, told her 
 that whether she had approved him or 
 not, she was silly not to retain him in 
 her suit— '' There is no pleasure equal to 
 having a string of adoring swains," said 
 Eliza, '' to see them seriously and ear- 
 nestly contending for the immense honor 
 of picking up your glove, or handing 
 you 10 your carriage : besides the exqui- 
 site pleasure of making them jealous, 
 setting them together by the ears, and 
 standing the chance of having a duel 
 fought on your account." 
 
 '' You and I, my dear Eliza, think 
 very dilferently on these matters,*' re-
 
 73 
 
 plied Adeline, '' I should never pardon 
 nijseJf were I for a moment to encourage 
 hopes I never intended to realize; and 
 surelj there cannot be a greater cruelty 
 than that of keeping a mind in suspense, 
 when you have it in your power to re- 
 store it to comparative ease, by placing 
 it in a state of certainty. And as to the 
 duel, I would not endanger the lives of 
 
 my fellow creatures for the universe 
 
 No, Heaven forbid f 
 
 Eliza laughed heartily, '' I believe in 
 my conscience," said she, '' you intend to 
 die an old maid, and be canonized for 
 saint ; however, allow me, as you seem 
 to be quite a novice in the ways of men, 
 to set your innocence right in a small 
 matter or two, which you appear to 
 place in a wrong point of view. Be as- 
 sured, my dear, men make love as much 
 for the gratification of vanity as an3^ 
 other motive ; very few of them have 
 sensibility enough to be happy or mise- 
 rable, whether they are received or re- 
 jected, further than as it affects their 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 pride, their self-conseqiiencej or their 
 
 interest And if Ihej fight duels, it is 
 
 more for the sake of notoriety a»»d the 
 fame of bravery than any acute feelings 
 of love or jealousy.** Adeline blushed, 
 ''Nay^ mydear Adeline," resumed Eliza, 
 observing her heightened color, '' do 
 not imagine that 1 think Colonel Efiing- 
 ham is in love with you." *' If he is not, 
 he must be the greatest hypocrite in 
 nature, and can indeed have neither eyes, 
 ears, heart, nor understanding.'* " Now, 
 I actually believe, that he is really, 
 truly, and veritably suffering the ma- 
 lady of disappointed hope. — But I have 
 made man my chief study, and I find 
 the generality of them of dispositions 
 similar to his own : my vanity is pleased 
 when I am admired; I delight in being 
 courted, followed and flattered : but as 
 to love, pardonnai noij that is une autre 
 chose.'* Captain Seymour almost lived 
 at Tudor Hall; he was SirGrifRth's inse- 
 parable companion; he hunted, sung^, 
 and played at cribbage with him, and
 
 "ib 
 
 was in fact so great a favorite, that there 
 did not appear a bar in the way of his 
 union with Eliza, by whom he had been 
 received as a favored lover. Lady Tu- 
 dor, indeed, favored the wishes of the 
 honorable Captain Maitland, whose 
 delicate sentiments, and soft gentle man- 
 ners, exactly accorded with her lady- 
 ship's notion of elegance and refinement. 
 She entirely disapproved of the noisy 
 romping mirth of Captain Seymour, and 
 felt chagrined and angry when Sir 
 (rriffith ridiculed the soft white lusty- 
 like hands and rose-scented cambric 
 handkerchiefs of the honorable Captain 
 Maitland. Eliza flirted, laughed at, 
 and despised him, but this his vanity 
 would by no means allow him to see. 
 He knew his pretensions were favored by 
 Lady Tudor, and as he was the presump- 
 tive heir to a title, he flattered himself 
 with the hope of gaining Miss Tudor, 
 whose large fortune appeared vastly 
 convenient to redeem some pretty deep 
 mortgages, with which the extrava- 
 
 e2
 
 7G 
 
 gances of noble relatives had encum- 
 bered the estates annexed to the title ; 
 but of becoming his wife Eliza had not 
 entertained the remotest idea : her heart 
 was realij Seymour's,, though she would 
 have made no scruple to encourage the 
 adoration of a score of admirers. Sir 
 Grillith Tudor had a very handsome 
 dairj-maid^ on whom the honorable Cap- 
 tain Maitland in his walks about the 
 grounds had cast his ejes^ and whose 
 virtue he had assailed with all the united 
 artillery of vows, promises, and flattery. 
 Gwinthlean had for a long time resisted 
 his overtures, and endeavoured to avoid 
 him; but at length her virtue began to 
 give way, and she made an appointment 
 to meet him at a barn, within sight of 
 Tudor Hall. The hour was nine^ and a 
 clear full moon lighted the amorous cap- 
 tain to the place of assignation. He waited 
 more than half an hour, and the keenness 
 of the air had not a little contributed to 
 cool his passion, when Gwinthlean came 
 running towards him — he complained of
 
 (bo cold, and having waited so long, 
 protested 'pon his reputation that he 
 should have a sore throat, which he 
 began defending with his cambric hand- 
 kerchief. Gwinthlean said, '' Got pless 
 hur, hur cout not come before, and was 
 afrait to come at all, for the peoples sait 
 that the tefil haunted the parn/' The 
 captain, to whom the sight of Gwinthlean 
 had given warmth and spirits, used many 
 arguments to quiet her apprehensions, 
 and win her to his purpose; Gwinthlean 
 resisted, and declared, '' she was afrait 
 to consent for fear he would not keep his 
 promise of making her a fine laty." The 
 honorable captain swore 'pon his repu- 
 tation that he would do much more for 
 her than she wished, or he had promised ; 
 he threw his arms about her. Gwinthlean 
 avoided his embrace — ''But mv mother/' 
 said she, " always tells me if 1 don't 
 take care of my virtue the tefil will fly 
 away with me; and only think,*' said 
 she, shuddering, " if I was to see him, 
 with eyes like saucers, and horns like 
 e3
 
 78 
 pitchforks — " ''Ton my word/* said the 
 captain, *' you are enough to horrify 
 one; come, come, we lose time that 
 might be employed much better : let us 
 go into the barn. I shall go to Canarvon 
 in the moniirig, I have something par- 
 ticular to say to you/' Gvvinthlean reluc- 
 tantly suftered him to draw her into the 
 barn, after much rustling ; at the very 
 moment the captain supposed himself 
 on the verge of accomplishing his wishes, 
 she burst from his arms with a loud 
 shriek, and flew out of the barn. The 
 honorable Captain Maitland, astonished 
 at this action, would have flown after 
 her: but between him arid the door 
 stood a huge terrific black figure, with 
 cloven feet, fiery eyes, and tremendous 
 horns, which seized him in its strong 
 gripe, pinioned his hands behind him 
 with an iron chain, threw him on his 
 face, fastened his legs together in the 
 same way, then swinging him across hi* 
 shoulders, flew with Lim to the stables 
 behind Tudor Hall, and stuck him up to
 
 79 
 
 his neck in a dungliill. He had not re- 
 mained in this lamentable situation long, 
 before Sir Griffith Tudor and Captain 
 Seymour, who bad been to fetch Eliza 
 from Dolegellj Castle^ rode past. The 
 groans of the poor wretch, who had 
 struggled to extricate himself till he was 
 nearly exhausted^ and almost suffocated 
 with filth, attracted their attention: 
 they turned back, and inquiring who 
 %va3 there, discovered the deplorable 
 situation of the Honorable Captain Mait- 
 land, whose head alone was visible on 
 the top of the dunghill. Sir Griffith 
 laughed immoderately — '^ What, my no- 
 ble captain,'* said he, '^ sunk in a mo- 
 rass ? all owing to the war, hey! — why 
 damn it you have got a soft bed ! But 
 -what the devil stuck you up to your chin 
 in that filthy hole?" ''Hush, hush," 
 said Maitland, rolling his eyes wildly, his 
 teeth chattering in his head; ''it was 
 the devil himself in proper person that 
 fixed me here ; but for the Igve of hea- 
 ven help me out.'* 
 
 E 4
 
 so 
 
 Eliza, scarcely able (o sit her horse for 
 laughing', rode io the house to summon 
 assistance; the servants dragged him 
 through the dunghill while Sir Griffith 
 and Seymour stood convuUed \Vith laugh- 
 ter. His new regimentals, in which he 
 fancied liimsclf irresistible, and in which 
 he had hoped to triuni|)h over the simpli- 
 city of Gwiiithlcan, were completely 
 spoilt^ and the disappointed captain ex- 
 hibited a most deplorable spectacle of 
 mud and terror. 
 
 They led him to the servants' hall, 
 where he was stripped and cleaned: 
 after having been washed nui] scrubbed^ 
 Sir Griffith be2:2:ed to know by what ac- 
 
 ^» 
 
 cident he came in the situation in which 
 they found him? The captain looked 
 wildly^ and protested seriously that 
 the devil had caught him up and flew 
 a long way with him in the air^ and then 
 stuck him in the dunghill. The ser- 
 vants whom tliis strange occurrence had 
 gathered together, and who stood with 
 their mouths wiue open gaping to catch 
 
 K
 
 81 
 
 the marvellous storv^ actually believed 
 that Satan had paid him a visit, and thej 
 expected that Sir Griffith's turn would 
 cojne next, who laughed at and ridiculed 
 the fear-stricken wretch so unnjercifully. 
 '' But come/' said Sir Griffith, '' yon 
 don't tell us the particulars of this strange 
 atfair — what was you at? where were 
 you when the devil clapt his claw upon 
 you?" 
 
 The Honorable Capain Maitland was 
 silent. Seymour repeated the question, 
 *' Where were you ?'^ he groaned out, 
 '' At the red ham." '' Why damn it/' 
 said Sir Griffith^ '' all my ^ervar^ts say the 
 devil has appeared in that barn ever since 
 poor Hugh Jones hung himself there* 
 Pooh, damn it, I need not ask what you 
 were at — you had got a girl there I will 
 lay my life — you plead guilty, do you? 
 What, and so his in Tern 1 maje \y spoiled 
 sport, did he?" The Honorable Captain 
 Maitland begged to be spared any faf- 
 ther question, declarmg, 'pon his repu- 
 tation that he should never get over the 
 E 5
 
 82 
 
 shock he had sustained, and that his 
 nerves were so shattered that they would 
 never recover their proper tone. Sir 
 Griffith sent to Lady Tudor's dressing- 
 room for cordials and essences to sweeten 
 the captain^ who vowed that the smell of 
 horse-dung and brimstone quite over- 
 came him. When tlie restoratives ar- 
 rived he took a little of Lady Tudor's 
 cordial, and requested some rose- water 
 to bathe his hands and face/* Sir Grif- 
 fith officiously offered his assistance, 
 slyly exchanged the bottlC;, and the un- 
 fortunate disappointed captain had hh 
 hair, hands, and face sluced with asafoe- 
 tida, which, added to his former uneasy 
 sensations, threw him into such agonies 
 that he actually fainted away. In this 
 state Sir Griffith would have had him 
 carried under the pump, swearing that 
 there was nothing equal to cold water for 
 removing its smell, and restoring anima- 
 tion, except snuff, with which unfortu- 
 nately he was unprovided. 
 
 Lady Tudor, who to her other weak-
 
 83 
 
 nesses added superstition in a most super 
 lative dcc;Tce, swallowed the marvellous 
 storj of the Honorable Captain Mait- 
 land's being flown away with by the 
 devil and stuck up to his neck in the 
 dunghill with the greatest avidity,, and 
 was expressing her wonder to Eliza how 
 the captain came to go to the red barn at 
 that tiine of nighty when Sir Griffith 
 burst into the room and addressed his 
 daugliter with — '' Here's a pretty damn- 
 ed scoundrel of an honorable captain ; 
 comes to my house with the pretence of 
 making love to you, Eliza, and all the 
 while is unlawfully poaching after the 
 maids — that's his delicacy and propriety 
 and be damned to him ; but I think he 
 has got a surfeit for some time of curds 
 and whey and butter miik.*' '' What do 
 you mean. Sir Griffith ?'* inquired Lady 
 Tudor ; '' what do you mean ?'* '' Why 
 I mean that your favorite milk-sop, your 
 man of delicacy and refinement, that 
 walking bottle of essence, that com- 
 pound of frippery, foppery, and foolerj-^
 
 84 
 
 ibe Honorable Captain Maitland, has 
 been dishonorable enough to try to sc- 
 duee my dairy-maid Gwinny.'* Lady 
 Tudor drew herself up, and protested 
 she could not credit it. *' Then you 
 may do the other. tiling and be damned/" 
 replied Sir Grifiith, '' but it*s neverthe- 
 less true whether you believe it or not ; 
 and if I did not think he has already suf- 
 fered sufficient punishment from fright, 
 I would make the damned rascal hop 
 over my horse\\hip all the way to his 
 quarters/' '' But did he really see the 
 devil^ Sir Griffith?" asked my lady. 
 "^Aye^ did he, and feel him too/* rejoined 
 Sir Griffith ; '' his new regimentals are 
 burnt in twenty places by the fire from 
 his nostrils, and his shoulders and side& 
 bear testimony of the iron gripe of the 
 fiend — has your ladyship any thing proper 
 to apply to his bruises ?'* 
 
 Lady Tudor turned up her eyes and 
 prayed that herself and family might be 
 defended from such a dreadful visitant, 
 while Eliza laughed at the representa-
 
 85 
 
 tions her father made of the poor cap- 
 tain's lamentable situation, who had in- 
 sisted that two men should watch by his 
 bedside all nighty for fear of the devil 
 pajing him another visit. The Honor- 
 able Captain Maitland was several days 
 before he was sufficiently recovered to 
 quit his room, during which. time he had 
 been visited and unmercifully ridiculed 
 by his brother officers, vvho had at length 
 brought him to entertain some doubts 
 whether it was really the devil in proper 
 person who had handled him so roughly^ 
 or some sweetheart of Gwinthlean's, who 
 hadj instigated by her, thought proper 
 to punish him for his licentious designs. 
 Ashamed and mortified he was about to 
 quit Tudor Hall^ when Eliza and Sir 
 Griffith insisted that he should stay and 
 assist at a wedding that was to take place 
 the next morning. With much reluct- 
 ance he passed the day amidst the re- 
 proofs and advice of Lady Tudor, who 
 felt greatly scandalized that at the very 
 moment he had engaged her good offices.
 
 86 
 ai-d obtained her promise of befriending' 
 his suit with Miss Tudor, that he should 
 have been led astraj from decorunn by a 
 blowze of a dairv-maid. Sir Griffith 
 swore he deserved picketing, and Eliza 
 and Srvmour laughed and rallied. The 
 morning was fine; Sir Griffith, Eliza, 
 and ALdcline, who had arrived for the 
 occasion, with Captain Seymour and 
 Maitland, set oft' for the village church, 
 where Captain ?vlaitland was told lie was 
 to officiate as fiUhcr, and Eliza and Miss 
 Llewellyn as bridemaids. The bride 
 contrived to conceal her face until the 
 ceremony had begun^ and he felt no 
 small share of vexation and confusioQ 
 when he discovered he was to give away 
 the rosy Gwinthlean to a tall athletic 
 fellow whom he had no doubt was the 
 person who had performed the part of 
 the devil at the red barn. 
 
 When the ceremony was over Sir Grif- 
 fith set the example of saluting the 
 bride ; the Honorable Captain Maitland 
 hung back, but the bridegroom |idvanc-
 
 87 
 ii\^, said, '' Captain, you may have a 
 kiss 7Z01V and welcome; but take care 
 how you offer to make a fine iady of nij 
 wife, or persuade her io meet you ag^aia 
 at the red barn for fear I s!)ou!d be 
 there and play the devil ; for if I am 
 compelled to wear horns, depend upon it 
 worse will follow than sticking \ou up 
 to your neck in a dunghill/' The com- 
 pany laughed^ and the Honorable Captain 
 Maitland looked even more silly than 
 ever; he took courage however to assure 
 Hoel Watkin that his viife's chastity 
 might rest in perfect security from any 
 future attempts of his : but he begged 
 him to allow her to accept five guineas, 
 which he presented as a reward for her 
 having resisted his temptations. '' There 
 was no temptation in the case, look 
 you/' said Gwinthlean, '' for I had no 
 regard for you at all, and I love my own 
 dear Hoel in my heart, and so I told him 
 all about the fine offers you had made ; 
 and poor Hoel, look you, was quite 
 jealous, and said if I wished to convince
 
 88 
 
 him that I did not care about you, that I 
 must promise to meet you at the red 
 barn ; and ihat he would wrap himself 
 up in the hide of an ox, and cure you of 
 tryiiig to rum innocent country i^irls : 
 intecd when I saw him I thought it was 
 the tefil, and I ran liome as fast as I 
 could " 
 
 After this explanation the poor crest- 
 fallen captain afil^cted to congh — he 
 shook the bridegroom by the hand^ 
 kissed the bride^ and wished them joy, 
 though he secretly felt much chagrin 
 to think his person had been despised and 
 maltreated for the sake of a vulgar bump- 
 kin, and he pitied the depraved taste of 
 the girl who had preferred a gigantic 
 corn thresher to a man of his elegance 
 and graces. He was however necessi- 
 tated to smother his mortification, and 
 what was still worse^, to leave Tudor 
 Hall without the smallest hope of making 
 an impression on the heart of Eliza^ 
 whom he evidently discovered gave a 
 preference to Captain Seymour; -^F-for
 
 89 
 though she had listened to his professions 
 of tender regard^ she had on all occasions 
 exercised her lively temper upon him, 
 and made his conversation^ his dress, and 
 manners constant subjects of ridicule; 
 yet still his vanity induced him to believe 
 that he should, aided by Lady Tudor., 
 who encouraged his hopes^ carry his 
 prize: but since his adventure at the Red 
 Barn, and his designs upon Gwinthlean 
 had become public. Sir Griffith had 
 treated him with such pointed rudeness, 
 and Lady Tudor with such haughty re- 
 serve, that he entirely relinquished the 
 expectation of liquidating his family 
 debts, through the means of an alliance 
 with Miss Tndor. 
 
 The unfortunate story of the devil and 
 the dunghill pursued him to the parade 
 and the n>ess-room, till at last the Ho- 
 norable Captain iNIaitland found it neces- 
 sary, for the preservation of his reputa- 
 tioUj to exchange into another regim.ent, 
 the officers of the Scotch Greys holding 
 him. in such contempt that they avoided
 
 90 
 
 as far as possible having any acquaint- 
 ance or comiiuinicalion with him. Cap- 
 tain Seymour was n:>t exactly to the taste 
 of Lady Tudor, but Sir Griffith happen- 
 ing to approve him, her opinion was not 
 considered of much consequence. Eliza 
 frequently declared there was no pleasure 
 in a love affair without opposition^ and 
 wished that her father and Seymour 
 would fall out, that he might be forbade 
 the house, and herself confined to her 
 chamber; '' Then/' said she, ''we should 
 have glorious confusion ; Sir Griffith 
 would storm, swear, and threaten — Lady 
 Tudor would preach duty and obedience, 
 and I should laugh at them both. Sey- 
 mour would lament, entreat, and propose 
 an elopement — I should talk of prudence 
 and discretion, and at last consent. The 
 plan would be this : twelve o'clock, the 
 night dark as the grove — a rope ladder to 
 descend from my window into the arms 
 of my lover — a chaise and four foaming 
 horses — the north road — oii' we drive.** 
 *' Eliza, Eliza," said Adeline, " my dear
 
 91 
 
 girlj you are certainly mad.'* '* That is 
 your mistake^ child/' replied she. '' Sir 
 Griffith indeed would be stark mad 
 when he discovered what a trick I had 
 played him/' '' And would you realiy 
 elope, Eliza, if any thing was to happen 
 to eiFect a change in your father's senti- 
 ments with respect to Captain Seymour ? " 
 *' As sure as I live/' replied she ; '' and 
 indeed, Adeline, to be married with 
 papa and mamma's consent is but a hum- 
 drum sort of a business ; no, no, a run- 
 a-way match for me — a jump from a two 
 pair of stairs window, and a journey to 
 Gretna Green — off we go, heUer skelter. 
 Would not you accompany me in my ex- 
 pedition, Adeline?" '' No/' replied 
 Miss Llewellyn, " because my consci- 
 ence would not allow me to encourage an 
 act of disobedience. I know, my dear 
 Eliza, you do not mean what you say ; I 
 am sure you would not marry in opposi- 
 tion to the wishes of Sir Griffith and 
 Lady Tudor." '^ Ah ! Adeline/' re- 
 joined Eliza, '' you judge me by your*'
 
 92 
 
 self; }ou I know would pine yourself 
 into a consumption rather than disobey 
 your father, but I shall never arrive at 
 your perfection. I love ray father too, 
 but he has encouraged me from my ear- 
 liest recollection to contradict even him ; 
 and I fear in so essential a point as matri- 
 mony I should be wicked enough to feel 
 a double satisfaction in acting contrary 
 to his commands/' 
 
 Sir Griffith had many times expressed 
 a wish that Seymour would quit the 
 army, but these hints he had affected not 
 to understand, as added to his predilec- 
 tion for the service he felt it would be 
 dishonorable to resign his commission at a 
 moment when his country was engaged in 
 war, and it was expected that the regi- 
 ment he belonged to would be ordered 
 abroad. He had obtained the consent of 
 Sir Griffith to his hopes, and Eliza had 
 confirmed them, when suddenly, as behad 
 foreseen, tbe Scotch Greys were com- 
 manded to embark for Holland. It was* 
 now Sir Griffith spoke his wishes in plain
 
 93 
 
 terms^ and proposed to Sejmour his 
 quitting the army at once. '' No^ sir/* 
 replied the spirited young man, '' it is 
 impossible : I should for ever brand my 
 character with infamy. I am sorry to 
 refuse a request which I am persuaded 
 proceeds from your reg::rd for me ; my 
 country wants my service^ — I will not, 
 like a coward, desert her. I cannot^ 
 will not disgrace the name of Seymour ; 
 I will either live without reproach, or 
 die with honor." 
 
 Eliza's bright eyes glistened ; she held 
 out her hand to him with a smile of ap- 
 probation ; he pressed it to his lips. 
 '' You may as well spare your kisses," 
 said Sir Griffith, '' for if you go to Hol- 
 land, you shall never be my son-in-law.^' 
 ^' And if he does not,'* replied Eliza, 
 *' he shall never be my husband. What, 
 sir, do you suppose that I would unite 
 my destiny with a paltroon who struts 
 about in a red coat while security is the 
 word, and meanly pulls it off at the ap- 
 proach of danger. No^ sir, I love his
 
 94 
 
 honor, and will never wish to tarnish it. 
 Go, inj dear Seymour , meet the foes of 
 3'Oiir country — the prayers of your Eliza 
 shall follow you to the battle!" '' If he 
 docs," roared Sir Griffith, '^ril be damn- 
 ed if ever you are his, Eliza." " Then,'* 
 replied she, '' I will never be any other 
 man's.'* '' Go to your chamber, ma- 
 dam," said Sir Griffith ; " 1 admire your 
 heroics, but I will be damned if 1 don't 
 tind a way to lower you a peg or two 
 yet. If I don't watch vou I suppose yoi*-' 
 will be for disguising yourself and fight- 
 ing by his side — you ' for love, and he 
 for cflorv.* " 
 
 Seymour would have reasoned and ex- 
 postulated, but in vain ; the storm was 
 up. Sir Griffith would hear nothing, 
 but swore that he should that moment 
 decide either to quit the army, or re- 
 nounce his daughter ; for whom he add- 
 ed he could have no violent affection, or 
 he would not hesitate which way to de- 
 termine. Seymour ardently loved Eliza, 
 but his reputation, his honor was at stake;
 
 95 
 before he could reply she advanced ^o 
 him, and said, '' If you are despicable 
 enough to resign your commission we ne- 
 ver meet again: no force shall compel 
 me to unite myself to a man at whose 
 dastardly principles the fingef of scorn 
 must continually point. Go in the firm 
 assurance of my faith — I have given you 
 my firm promise to be your's, and I will 
 fulfil it sliould it please heaven to return 
 you to me safe, or I will never marry at 
 all/' '' Then I will be damn'd if voii 
 don't die an old maid/' vociferated Sir 
 Griffith : '' and now, madam, after hav- 
 ing so Robly put your fatlier to defiance, 
 you may depart ; but for you, sir/" turn- 
 ing to the distressed Seymour, '' the 
 sooner you quit Tudor Hall the better. 
 Go, you obstinate slut, leave the room 
 this instant ; I shall take good care you 
 lay no plans for corresponding. Trooj) 
 to your chamber this moment ; you little, 
 
 damned, perverse " 
 
 Eliza threw herself into Seymour's 
 arms, and in spite of the ravings and 

 
 96 
 
 oAllis of her father, again encouraged 
 him in his duty^ and renewed her vow of 
 constancy. Sir Griffith never gave up a 
 point; once set upon a thing opposition 
 only provoked him to madness without 
 alteriiio: his determination: and deaf to 
 the entreaties, reasonings, and arguments 
 of Seymour, he saw him depart, wishing 
 that his courage might get cooled, and 
 swearing that he would sooner give his 
 daughter to a coal-heaver, than suffer 
 her to marry a puppy who preferred the 
 '^bubble reputation/' and sought it ''even 
 in the cannon's mouth," to the more so- 
 lid enjoyments of ease and liis friend- 
 ship.
 
 97 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 I hare no spur 
 To prick the sides of my intent, but only 
 V^anlting ambition, ^vhich o'erleaps itself, 
 And falls on the other side. 
 
 ShakespGm\ 
 
 Ah ! Avhat's more dangerous than this fond af- 
 fiance ? 
 ^eems he a doTe ? his feathers are but bor'row'd ; 
 For he's dispos'das the hateful raven, 
 Who cannot steal a shape that means deceit. 
 
 Ibid, 
 
 Henry Mortimer^ now in his twen- 
 tieth year, joined to a most graceful 
 person a mind rich in intellectual endow- 
 ment, and an understanding which edu- 
 cation had improved to the highest degree 
 of excellence. At college he had con- 
 tracted a strict friendship with the Ho- 
 
 VOL. I, F
 
 98 
 norable Horatio Dellamere, b}' whom he 
 was invited to spend tlieir next vacation 
 at the seat of his father. Lord Narbeth, 
 in Devonshire. Sir Owen Llewellyn 
 knew that Lord Dungarvon and Lord 
 Narbeth were upon visiting terms, and 
 he secretly indulged (he hope that chance 
 might introduce his grandson to his no- 
 tice. At a moment when his passions, 
 calm and unprejudiced, would suflVr na- 
 ture to assert her rights ; and that he 
 would bestow on the son of the unfortu- 
 nate Augustus Mortimer that affection 
 he had so cruelly denied his ill-futcd 
 parent. 
 
 It happened, at the time of Henry's 
 visit at Narbeth Lodge, that the dowager 
 Dutchess of Inglesfieid was at Mortimer 
 Abbey, and in her rides about the coun- 
 try wlfh Lady Dungarvcn had frequently 
 met the vouns: friends, Dellamere and 
 Mortimer. The person of Henry had 
 attracted the Umcy of the dutchcss, now 
 in hei fiftieth 3 ear, who to a set of un- 
 commonly long and sharp features add-
 
 99 
 
 ed a tall iiieagre figure, extreniely crook- 
 ed and ill shaped. However, though her 
 person held oat i]o temptations, her high 
 rank, great interest, and larp'e posses- 
 sions had procured her two husbands, 
 vv'ho liaviug been removed to their an- 
 cestors^ she felt ificlined to venture a 
 tliird time into the blissful state of mati*i- 
 iiionv, so much v/as she fascinated with 
 the pcrsoir-il graces of Heurj jlortimer. 
 Lord Duiiaarvon had been apprized of 
 h:is grandson's visit at Narbeth Lodge, 
 and had studiously avoided, both in his 
 walks and rides, all places where he 
 I'nought it probable he might encounter 
 him : and with tiiis disposition of mind 
 he had not failed to acquaint Lord Nar- 
 beth, who kindlv forbore to inform 
 Henry of the rancour that still pervaded 
 the heart of his unrelenting relation: 
 but when Lord Dungarvon heard the 
 extravagant praises of the Dutchess of 
 Inglesfieid, who affirmed that Henry was 
 the most finished workmanship of heaven, 
 the most charming creature she had ever 
 f2
 
 JOG 
 
 seen, his mind instantly underwent a 
 revolution ; his ambition was again awak- 
 ened — he began to conceive the project 
 of bringing about a marriage between 
 them; of wiping awaj the blot the fa- 
 ther had cast upon the family escutcheon, 
 by the aggrandisement of the son. 
 
 Miss Lonsdale, the niece of Lord 
 Narbethj a lively young woman, whose 
 person, tolerably good, and exquisitely 
 fine voice attracted much of Henry's 
 attention, seemed in Lord Dungarvon's 
 eyes a terrible bar in the way of his 
 scbeme. He considered her as a grand 
 impediment to his wishes, though he 
 boped that the knowledge Henry must 
 certainly have of the misfortunes and 
 distresses his father had brought upon 
 himself by an imprudent marriage, would 
 deter him from foi ming an engagement 
 with Miss Lonsdale, entirely dependent 
 on heruiule, himseif not rich. Henry's 
 heart as yet was perfectly free from the 
 '' witcheries of love;" if he felt a pre- 
 ference for any of the lovely sex, it was
 
 iOl 
 
 ibr his sister Adeline Llewellvn^ who, 
 when his mind drew a comparison, con- 
 stantly bore awaj the palm from ail her 
 fair competitors. 
 
 Lord Narbeth was surprised one even- 
 ing by A note from Mortimer Abbe\% in 
 which Lord Dnngarvon invited himself 
 and family to spend the next day at Nar- 
 beth Lodge, for the sole purpose of meet- 
 ing and receiving to his warm affection 
 his grandson. Lord Narbeth felt suspi- 
 cious of his neighbour's motives, when 
 he reflected how very short a time had 
 elapsed since Lord Dnngarvon had de- 
 clared he would as soon encounter a 
 rattle snake as the son of Louisa Berres- 
 ford. Still he was inclined to hope that 
 Henry's virtues, joined to his elegant 
 person and captivating manners, would 
 ultimately secure him the affection of his 
 grandfather ; and he felt it the duty of 
 humanity to assist to bring about so 
 desirable an event. 
 
 Henry had been prepared by Lord 
 Narbeth and his friend Horatio to meet 
 F 3
 
 102 
 
 Lord Dungarvon^ for whose person and 
 character he entertained no very high ve- 
 neration^ when he renicmhered the suf- 
 ferings of his mother, whom Sir Owen 
 Llewellyn had often described to liim as 
 the most lovely and amiable of women : 
 and when the banishment and fate of his 
 father rose upon his mind, his heart 
 swelled with indignation, and he felt it 
 would be impossible for him ever to love 
 or respect the being whose cruelty had 
 sunk both his parents to a premature 
 grave. 
 
 At the appointed hour Lord and Ladj 
 Dungarvon, accompanied by the Dutchess 
 of Inglesfield, drawn forth in all the gay- 
 adornments of youth, arrived at Narbeth 
 Lodge. Lord Dungarvon changed co- 
 lor \^ hen Lord Narbeth presented Henry 
 Augustus Mortimer ; he thought of past 
 events, and felt a pajig of remorse — it 
 was but momentary, for pride, ambition^ 
 and avarice, had steeled his h' ait against 
 nature and feeling. T^ady Dungarvon 
 could not stifle the mother — she beheld
 
 103 
 in Henry her son, the buried Augustus 
 Mortimer, and she sunk, nearly fainting 
 into the arms of Lady Narbeth : " You 
 perceive, sir/' said L)rd Dungarvon, 
 addressing himself to Henry, '' how 
 much the recollection of past disagree- 
 able circumstances, and the painful me- 
 mory of your father's disobedience, af~ 
 fects Lady Dungarvon ; may we in you, 
 whom we are inclined to receive with 
 parental affection, meet a recompense for 
 ;iil the disappointments and mortifications 
 his impiudence inuicted." 
 
 Henry's cheek glowed, and his bosom 
 swelled wiih indignant sensations, but he 
 suppressed them, and only answered the 
 unfeeling and haughty Lord Dungarvon 
 with a bow, which his self-im.pcrtance 
 construed into acquiescence and subm.i?- 
 sron. He v/as now introduced by his 
 grandfather to the Dutchess of Ingles - 
 field, who played off a thousand girlish 
 airs and youthful graces, to the infinite 
 diversion of Miss Lonsdale and Horatio 
 Dellamere, and the absolute disgust of 
 
 F 4
 
 104 
 
 Henry^ whom they were designed to cap- 
 tivate. He had, to his extreme chagrin, 
 been placed next to her at dinner, and 
 during the whole day was unavoidably 
 constrained to remain by her side. Miss 
 Lonsdale sang and played with peculiar 
 <aste and elegance: Horatio Dellamere 
 was an adept in music, and Henry per- 
 formed on the flute with grace and ex- 
 pression. He heard the proposal for re- 
 tiring to the music-room with pleasure, 
 as he expected to find there a cessation 
 of the unceasing volubility of the Dutch- 
 ess, whose affected sprightliness and non- 
 sensical conversation had become weary- 
 ing and troublesome, and who had so 
 entirely engrossed his attentions that he 
 had been scarcely able to exchange a 
 single syllable with any other person. 
 The Dutchess declared music was her 
 darling passion; she beat time, and made 
 so many remarks on modulation and har- 
 mony, that Miss Lonsdale evidently dis- 
 covered she wished to be asked to display 
 her musical abilities. Having concluded
 
 105 
 
 a song^ she rose from the instrument and 
 entreated the Dutchess to take her seat, 
 who^ after many excuses and grimaces, 
 suffered herself to be prevailed on, but 
 declined Miss Lonsdale's music, saying 
 she would give them an old, but very 
 favorite air of her's: she then played 
 the song introduced into Shakespeare's 
 Twelfth Night, *' How imperfect is Ex- 
 presdon !" 
 
 Chance had placed Henry at her el- 
 bow, and she evidently directed the song 
 to him, endeavouring to throw into her 
 countenance confusion and tender mean- 
 ing, while her large glaring eyes were 
 fixed on his face in a way that made him 
 blush, and disconcerted him so much 
 that he would gladly have retired from 
 her side, had he not feared his removal 
 while she sung would be construed into 
 unpoliteness. Her squeak ng nd squall- 
 ing afforded the highest entertainment to 
 Miss Lonsdale and Horatio Dellaraere; 
 and notwithstanding Henry's unpleasant 
 situation, his risible faculties were so 
 F 5
 
 J 06 
 
 powerfully excited, that it was with the 
 utmost difficulty be kept himself from 
 laughing in her face. Before the party 
 broke up Lord Duiigarvon told him he 
 should expect to sec him wiih the earliest 
 convenience, lioiiry promised to pay his 
 duty at Mortimer Abbey the next raorn- 
 in2: ; he found himself constrained to 
 hand the Dutchess to her carriage, who 
 bestowed on him so mau^' soft sighs and 
 tender adieus, that when he returned to 
 the drawing-room Miss Lonsdale, imi- 
 tating the voice and manner of the* 
 Dutchess, said, '" Parting is such sweet 
 sorrow, I could say good night 'till it 
 were to-morrow/' 
 
 *^ I rejoice we have parted at last, how- 
 ever," said Henry; *' for of all others I 
 think her the most disagreeable woman I 
 have ever seen/' '' But then her rank 
 and fortune — only take them into consi- 
 deration," said Miss Lonsdale. '' With 
 all their glitter they cannot restoreyouth, 
 or give her beauty," re[)lied Henry. 
 '' Heaven help you," said Miss Lons-
 
 107 
 
 dale ; '' you are quite a simpleton : 
 when you are a few years older^ and 
 have gained a iittle experience in the 
 ways of the world, you, like the rest of 
 your mercenary sex, will consider wealth 
 an equivalent for youth, elegance, and 
 loveliness. Money will give understand- 
 ing to an ideot, and the bloom of Hebe 
 to age and ugliness/' '' Never in my 
 estimation/" replied Henry ; '' I have no 
 ambition to be great, therefore shall ne- 
 ver outrage my feelings to obtain those 
 proud distinctions, which in ruy opinion 
 would be dearly purchased with my 
 mind's content and the loss of self- 
 esteem." '' You are certainly not the 
 grandson of Lord Dungarvon/' said Ho- 
 ratio Dellamere ; *^ such sentiments as 
 these, expressed in his hearing, would 
 lose you his favor for ever." " x\s I 
 have never yet enjoyed it,'" rejoined 
 Henry, '' I shall have nothing to lament 
 — brought up by the noblest, worthiest 
 of men, I trust I shall never disgrace the 
 principles he has been at such pains to
 
 108 
 
 inculcate. I have been taught to esti- 
 mate wealth onlj as it enables its pos- 
 sessor to be more benevolent ; to worship^ 
 to admire, and covet honor, humanity, 
 and virtue : and in my opinion the poor- 
 est laborer on the I'Jortimer estate, en- 
 riched with these, is a greater man than 
 Lord Dungarvon/' *' Degrade rank and 
 «plendor as you think proper," replied 
 Horatio, '^ 1 am persuaded Lord Dun- 
 garvon will endeavour to exalt them in 
 your estimation. I am certain you will 
 have to combat his pride and his preju- 
 dices : he will at least try to make you 
 the tool of his ambitious schemes." '' He 
 will meet a disappointment then/* re- 
 joined Henry : '' Lord Dungarvon has 
 been pleased to pass me over to these 
 years as undeserving his notice or regard : 
 he can scarcely expect me to renounce 
 my settled opinions, to sacrifice the 
 smallest of my comforts to his pride^ or 
 to be at all subservient to his ambitious 
 views.'' '' Suppose he was to propose a 
 union with the Dutchess of Inglesfield/'
 
 109 
 said ?vliss Lonsdale, '" sure joii would 
 not have the cruelty, the temerity to re- 
 fuse."' 
 
 Henry burst into a fit of laughter : 
 ^'^Good heaven ! how could so ridiculous 
 an idea enter your imagination ?" ^' My 
 life upon it," said Horatio, '' it does 
 not strike his lordship as a ludicrous 
 scheme ; her interest is favorable to his 
 ministerial engagements — her rank would 
 add dignity even to the ancient and il- 
 lustrious house of Mortimer, and her im- 
 mense wealth purchase all the proud 
 distinctions, the ostentatious trappings 
 he is so doatingly fond of." '' They 
 shall never purchase me," replied Henry; 
 ''^what, tie myself to a woman old enough 
 to be my grandmother, with the addi- 
 tional disagreeables of ugliness and de- 
 formity ! My dear friends, change the 
 subject, I beseech you." 
 
 Horatio Dellamere rode the next morn- 
 ing with iiis friend to Mortimer Abbey, 
 but left him at the gates, supposing that 
 family occurrences would be talked over.
 
 no 
 
 at which (he prcbcucc of a stranger might 
 well be dispensed with. Lord and Lady 
 Dungaivon rrccived Henry with the uU 
 most cordiality and shew of aftection ; 
 thf^y spoke of his father and mother^ and 
 expatiated with much apparent feeling 
 on the disa^ppointment and distress their 
 imprudent marriage had occasioned the 
 family : they reverted to their son Rich- 
 ardj who had lately buried two promising 
 sons, praised him as the mnst dutiful of 
 human beings, who in all that concerned 
 the dignity and honor of the family had 
 never appeared to consider his own 
 wishes. They mentioned that ho v/as 
 then in the deepest affliction, dreading to 
 lose his only surviving child, who, far 
 gone in a consumption, was ordered to 
 Lisbon for the recovery of his health. 
 Henry thought he now perceived the 
 motive of their kindness to him, in the 
 dread of the noble house of Mortimer 
 being without an heir, a circumstance 
 his unfortunate mother had predicted in 
 her letter to Lord Dungarvon. But this
 
 in 
 
 notion had never yet ifloaced in hk lord- 
 ship's brain ; the Honorable Richard. 
 Mortimer was vet in the prime of life, 
 and his wife, some years younger thaa 
 himself, was then pregnant. After hav- 
 ing spent some time in the library^ he 
 was conducted over the superb mansion^ 
 which was decorated with every ornament 
 that wealth could purchase, or luxury- 
 invent ; but no place so much delighted 
 the tasie^ or interested the feelings of 
 Henry as the gallery, the walls of whicb 
 were hung with family portraits: among 
 the most conspicuous for beauty was a 
 picture of Mrs. Gertrude Mortimer bind- 
 ing up the white wing of a wounded 
 pigeon, which was held by a boy of most 
 engaging figure, in whose animated coun- 
 tenance commiseration and gratitude were 
 finely depicted. 
 
 '* It was done for your father," said 
 Lord Dungarvon, observing Henry's eyes 
 fixed on the painting; '' \yhen he was 
 about eight years old he bought the 
 pigeon of a boy who had shot^ and was
 
 112 
 
 going to kill it. His aunt undertook 
 the cure of tlie wounded wing; the bird 
 lived many years, aiul was a great favorite 
 with both: but there/' said his lordship, 
 ^' is a likeness that was taken when he 
 was about your age." The face of the 
 portrait bung next the wall — Henry turn- 
 ed it ; Lord Dungarvon's eyes glanced 
 over it — an expression resembling sorrow 
 rose in his face, but like a passing cloud, 
 it was gone in a moment. '' It might 
 be taken for you," said he, ^' the like- 
 ness is so striking/' He strode to an 
 open window, and entered into conver- 
 sation with some person below. Henry 
 stood mournfully contemplating the pic- 
 ture of his father; all the melancholy 
 circumstances of his banishment from his 
 family, the parting from his wife, his 
 voyage to the West Indies, his death 
 and that of his mother, all rose to his 
 imagination^ and the mingled tears of 
 affection and regret trembled in his eye : 
 as he gazed upon the portrait he fancied 
 it smiled upon him, and yielding to the
 
 113 
 
 momentary delusion, be was ready to 
 sink on bis knees and implore a father's 
 blessing. 
 
 He was roused by Lord Dungarvon, 
 who led him from the gallery to the 
 Dutchess's dressing-room: she bad just 
 concluded the mysteries of the toilet. 
 Her glass had flattered her into a belief 
 that her rouge had all the appearance of 
 nature^ and that her rich dishabille hid 
 the deformity of her person. In perfect 
 good humour with herself she received 
 Henry with smiles of affability and de- 
 light;, told him that he had been the sub- 
 ject of all her waking thoughts, and the 
 magician who had created her dreams. 
 Henry blushed, and declared she did him 
 too much honor. " Why I protest," said 
 the Dutchess, ''you blush like a miss 
 just led forth from the nunnery, and ex- 
 posed for the first time to the rude gaze 
 of man — you must discard this silly prac- 
 tice. A blushing girl is a subject for 
 ridicule in fashionable circles ; but a 
 blushing man, mercy on me ! he would
 
 114 
 
 be the jest of enlightened society/' Henry 
 lauglied and apologized for his mauvais 
 Iwntc, said he had but just escaped from 
 the mountains of WaleSj and that as yet 
 lie had not got his feelings in subjection. 
 *' O then you have feelings !" said the 
 Dutchess looking languishingly in his 
 face. '' Yes/' said Henry blushing still 
 deeper, " and I trust they will never be 
 blunted by an intercourse with fashion- 
 able manners ; though I wish the time 
 may arrive/' added he gaily, '' when I 
 may bfe able to rule my sensations, and 
 command my countenance so far as not 
 to let it betray me upon every occasion." 
 Lord Dungarvon, excusing himself oa 
 the plea of particular business, left them 
 together. 
 
 The Dutchess invited Henry to take a 
 seat by her on the sofa ; he was far from 
 being pleased at being shut up with, and 
 condemned to pass his morning with her, 
 yet still his natural politeness induced 
 him to make an effort to entertain her : 
 be talked of the country, of the beautiful
 
 115 
 
 rides and walks about the abbev, of 
 books^ of drawing', and music. Her 
 i^racc's reading bad been very confined : 
 she kn^w but little of books — for draw- 
 ing she had no taste^ and her knowledge 
 of music was equally circumscribed; but 
 she thought Henry talked like an angel, 
 and if he spoke so well on indifferent 
 subjects, how eloquent must he be when 
 love was his theme I Her eyes and ear& 
 were fascinated, and before dinner was 
 announced she felt she must be miserable 
 if Henry Mortimer overlooked her par- 
 tiality, and declined her alliance. The 
 rest of the day passed tolerably plea- 
 sant. 
 
 Lord Dungarvon was a man of sense 
 and education, and when not occupied in 
 schemes of grandeur, or influenced by 
 pride, was an extremely agreeable com- 
 panion. Having an end to accomplish, 
 be behaved to Henry with the utmost 
 kindness and condescension; at the same 
 moment iinprcssisig him with an high 
 opinion of his extensive knowledge, and
 
 116 
 
 admiration of his cultivated talents. 
 The dutchess simpered and languished, 
 and made such pointed advances, that if 
 Henry had not been the most diffident 
 young man in nature, he would have 
 seen that her attentions were designed to 
 say in unequivocal language that her 
 heart and hand were his whenever he 
 could assume sufficient courage to solicit 
 them. 
 
 Henry returned to Narbeth Lodge 
 pleased with every thing he had met at 
 Mortimer Abbey, except the dutchess, 
 for whom his disgust seemed hourly to 
 encrease. Before he retired to rest he 
 sat down to give Sir Owen Llewellyn an 
 account of his introduction to his grand- 
 father, and his reception at Mortimer 
 Abbey: he concluded with saving he 
 hoped Lord Dungarvon expected no sub- 
 mission or obedience from him but what 
 would accord with his principles, as he 
 determined never in any instance to devi- 
 ate from the precepts of honor inculcated 
 by hiin his more than father, and to
 
 117 
 which he would ever pav a religious re- 
 verence. 
 
 Henry had seemed to gain ground 
 every hour in the good graces of his 
 grandfather, who had made him several 
 valuable presents, and Lady Dungarvon 
 treated him with such tenderness that his 
 heart began to resign itself to the delight- 
 ful idea that he should be happy in the 
 sincere affection of his family, whose en- 
 dearments he now believed were influ- 
 enced by no sinister views. Horatio 
 Dellamcre and ^I'liss Lonsdale still ad- 
 hered to their opinion that L:)rd Dungar- 
 von had secret ends to accomplish, and 
 that the present halcyon days would end 
 in tumult and storm, tlenry received a 
 letter from Sir Owen Llewellyn congra- 
 tulating him on his brighterjing pros- 
 pects, but exhorting him never to lose 
 sip^ht of honor and rectitude — never to 
 sacrifice his peace of mind for the attain- 
 ment of rank or the possession of wealth, 
 but always to remember that he had in 
 him a father, in Adeline a sister, aud a
 
 118 
 
 home ill Dolcgelly Castle, should any 
 Ufifores;cii circnsnstancc hurl him from 
 the pinnacle on whlcli hope and Lord 
 DungarvtMi's favor had placed him. A 
 portion of every day Henry passed at 
 Mortimer Abbey, ajjd every day seemed 
 to draw him nearer to Lord Duiigarvon's 
 heart. Thedutchcss had oglcd^ flattered, 
 and made advances lo him which his 
 modesty and insensibility let pass utterly 
 unregarded till she began to grow imp'i- 
 tient and out of temper, at what she term- 
 ed his stupidity^ and his grand fatljer 
 thought that his project vvas ripe for dis- 
 closing. 
 
 Having one morning requested Henrv 
 to accompany him in a walk to a planta- 
 tion at a short distance from the abbey, 
 after some little embarrassment and hesi- 
 tation he began expatiating on the misery 
 he had experienced in having his proud- 
 est, fondest hopes crushed and blighted 
 by the disgraceful and imprudent mar- 
 riage of his father, and the heart-rend- 
 ing affliction he had afterwards endured
 
 119 
 
 at his death. '' To you, my dear Henry/' 
 said hcj '' I now look up to make me a 
 recompense for those mortiiications, (husc 
 disappointments with which your father 
 so barbarously lacerated my heart. Henry 
 was silent; he felt an unpleasant presage 
 that some request was about to be made 
 with which he should be unable to com- 
 plvj and which would for ever destroy 
 the plans of felicity his sanguine hopes 
 had formed^ and force him from the hap- 
 piness he had began to enjoy in the bosom 
 of his faiuiiv. Lord Dungarvon had 
 waited for Henry's reply, hut perceivino- 
 him absorbed in thought, proceeded to 
 state that he had not intended by the men- 
 tion of his parents to raise melancholy 
 remembrances that the paU could not be 
 recalled, and retrospections wore useless 
 and unavailing; therefore he would not 
 wound his sensibility wi^h the recapitu- 
 lation of their errors. " No, my dear 
 Henry, I only wish to know, to ask, 
 whether you are willing to gild the ven- 
 ing of my days, to render my deciiiiing
 
 120 
 
 years liappy ; to compensate by youi 
 obedience to my request for the sorrows 
 your unhappy, ill-advised father occa- 
 sioned me." 
 
 Henry shuddered and stood irresolute, 
 but being- again urged by his grand- 
 father, he desired to know by what act 
 of duty he was to prove his wish of con- 
 ducing to his happiness. " By an act/' 
 continued Lord Dungarvon, '' which will 
 elevate, enrich, and aggrandize yourself, 
 and add splendor and dignify to our no- 
 ble house. I have fixed my hopes, and 
 «et my heart on the accomplishment of 
 this uarling wish; promise me, Henry, 
 on your word of honor, that I shall not 
 be disappointed." " Pardon me, my 
 lord," said Henry ; ''even in the most 
 trivial matters I have been taught to hold 
 a promise sacred ; I dare not pledge my 
 word to fulfil a measure which neither 
 my honor nor my wishes can approve. 
 Speak your wishes plainly, and be assured 
 that nothing short of a violation of those 
 principles I cannot infringe will induce
 
 121 
 
 me to refuse obedience to a request you 
 may thick proper to make/^ '', The 
 Dutchess of Inglesfield/' replied Lord 
 Dungarvon, '' regards you with partial 
 eyes/* '' I am sorry she is so ridiculous 
 ray lord/' said Henry. 
 
 Lord DungMirvon frowned: '' Have 
 you then,'* said he_, in a voice scarcely 
 articulate from p'-ssion ; '^ have you also 
 engaged yourself to some oft'spring of 
 a dunghill, sotne low-born wretch ?" 
 ^^ Ilold^ my lord," siiid Henry, '' spare 
 yourself and me these painful interroga- 
 tories ; my heart is free. I am under no 
 engagements— bound by no promises.*' 
 '' Why then not accept the honorable 
 alliance that is offered ? an alliance/' 
 continued Lord Dungarvon^ '' which for 
 high rank and unbounded wealth is not 
 to be surpassed if equalled in the king- 
 dom. What objection can you possibly 
 make." '• A most natural one^ I think," 
 answered Henry ; '•' the disparity of our 
 ages, not to say a word about tbc dis- 
 agreeableness of person." 
 
 VOL. I. <i
 
 ]r22 
 Lord Dungarvon smiled (.ontemptu- 
 ously. '' No, mv lord/' continued 
 Henry, " my principles, the honor I 
 worship, will not allow me even to think 
 of binding myself to a woman, the folly 
 of whose deportment renders her in every 
 discerning eye an object of contempt and 
 ridicule ; whom I could neither love nor 
 respect. I would indeed do much to 
 retain your lordship's favor, but if you 
 demand the sacrifice of my whole life's 
 happiness, I confess you rate it too 
 highly/' " What plebeian notions?'' 
 replied Lord Dungarvon ; '' silly boy, 
 it is not likely that any great portion of 
 your happiness would be sacrificed, as 
 you term it : the dutchess is far from 
 
 young, and her health " '^ And you 
 
 would persuade me/' interrupted Henry^ 
 *' meanly to marry a woman who is my 
 aversion, merely to enrich myself by her 
 death ? Are these the real sentiments of 
 Lord Dungarvon ? do such pitiful, such 
 sordid notions disgrace the illustrious 
 Mortimers ? What would the scruti-
 
 123 
 
 nizing world say of wealth so acquired ?" 
 '' The world, sir," replied the enraged 
 Lord Dungarvon, '' is too well bred to 
 search with much exactitude into the af- 
 fairs of their superiors. It bows with 
 submissive homage to wealth and splen- 
 dor, and is never troublesome in its in- 
 quiries." '' But my conscience would, 
 my lord," said Henry ; '' T have hitherto, 
 thank heaven, escaped its reproaches; 
 my days have been calm, and my nights 
 blest with repose. I am neither ambiti- 
 ous, nor mercenary enough to exchange 
 my bosom's peace for wealth which must 
 be acquired at the expence of truth and 
 honor. How could I promise to love a 
 woman whose person is disgustful, and 
 whose age would make the match unna- 
 tural ?" '^ Degenerate offspring of a 
 degenerate father, I have no more to say; 
 I have expressed my wishes ; you have 
 thought proper to disappoint them. Go, 
 sir, return to the mountains where you 
 have hitherto vegetated ; hide in the 
 shades of obscurity those notions which 
 G 2
 
 124 
 
 in the great world, among enlightened 
 people, would be laughed at and de- 
 spised. I would have made you a great 
 and distinguished character, but I see in 
 you the dirty, ungrateful puddle of the 
 Berresfords, predominates over the noble 
 blood of the Mortimer's. Hence from 
 my sight thou serpent ; too much re- 
 sembling her who in return for the bene- 
 fits I had heaped upon her father seduced 
 from his duty a son, who but for licr arts 
 might have still lived an honor to the il- 
 lustrious family from which lie sprung/* 
 This attack upon his sainted mother, the 
 most artless of human beings, roused all 
 the indignant feelings of Henry's nature; 
 the fire flashed from his eyes while sur- 
 veying Lord Dungarvon with a counte- 
 nance expressive of the utmost contempt: 
 he replied, '' Yes, I will bear from your 
 sight a form that must indeed be a per- 
 petual reproach to you, because xi must 
 for ever accuse your lordship of meanness 
 and barbarity. I go to enjoy upon the 
 mountains and among the shades the bliss
 
 125 
 
 of tranquillity ; I leave to your lordsbip 
 rank and splendid misery. The character 
 of her you have stigmatized with such 
 unrelenting malevolence, by the lustre of 
 her virtues reflected dignity on her hum- 
 ble house. You, by insatiable ambition, 
 by inordinate avarice so disgrace the 
 name of Mortimer, that I svouUl gladly 
 exchange it for the uiititled one of Ber- 
 resford." 
 
 Lord Duno-arvon staid to hear no 
 more : he turned toNvards the abbey^ and 
 left Henrv to the induloence of his own 
 thoughts, which v/cre not indeed of the 
 most pleasant nature : "So then/' said 
 he, '' all Lord Dungarvon's kindness and 
 affection were but traps in which he 
 hoped to catch my inexperience. Not 
 content wilh imaiolating my parents on 
 (he altar of his insatiable ambition^ he 
 would elevate me to a life of wretched- 
 ness, merely to add a few more swelling 
 titles to his family, and encrease those 
 riches of which he has already too large 
 a share." 
 
 G 3
 
 llcnrv relumed not to the abbey— he 
 >Fvished not again to encounter Lord Dun- 
 garvon, whose recent conversation had 
 entirely destroyed the respect lie was in- 
 clined to award him^ and obliterated 
 from his lieart the affection consangui- 
 nity might liave claimed. He proceeded 
 un foot to Narbcth Lodge^ where he dis- 
 closed to Horatio Delamere tlie breach 
 with Lord Dungarvon. '* Did I not tell 
 you/' said he^ "■ that the dutchess had 
 cast on you the tender glance of love ? 
 ^\hat an insensible piece of frost-work 
 jou must be, to behold so much attraction 
 ready to sink into your arms ! Why your 
 heart is harder than adamant ; it is not 
 calculable what you have lost by refusing 
 her: she would have procured you a 
 peerage, and then her wealth, it would 
 
 have purchased von " '^''Everything 
 
 but felicity/' said Henry; '' I would 
 not bind myself to that shrivelled old 
 wanton if she could present me with a 
 diadem. Why she has already buried two 
 husbands!" Horatio laughed; '' Aye,
 
 127 
 
 and has not the least objection to marrv- 
 ing two more." '•' Vv hat extreme inde- 
 licacy,'^ rejoined Henrv ; '' there are 
 some circumstances that might furnish a 
 woman with an excuse for taking a se- 
 cond husband, but when it comes to a 
 third I acknowiedo^e mv sentiments are 
 not \evy favorable; and for thedutchess, 
 I hold her in the utmost contempt and 
 abhorreixe. I aiii told she has three 
 daughters marriageable^ and so much 
 Nvealth that it leaves her not a desire un- 
 gratificd." '' Save that of taking to her 
 embraces a young husband/' rejoined 
 lleratio ; *' and so determined is she to 
 liuve anotlierj that she confines her 
 daughters, one of them near thirty years 
 old, to the nunnery, because they shall 
 not make h.er look old." '"' Are the 
 daughters handsome }" inquired Henry, 
 '•' You have no objection to marry one of 
 them, perhaps?" said Horatio, "" but I 
 cannot reply to your question ; I have 
 never seen them — all that I know of them 
 you shall hear. My cousin^ Captain 
 G 4
 
 128 
 Lonsdale, was vastly enamoured of the 
 youngest. Lady Isabella Belville, a fine 
 girl of about nineteen, wbom he met 
 with her nurse somewhere near Raven- 
 hill Castlcj a seat of her grace's in Cum- 
 berland, where it seems she immures her 
 daughters, suffering them to mix with no 
 society, or walk beyond certain bounda- 
 ries. Unfortunately, before Edward could 
 carry off the young lady, which it seems 
 was his intention, the dutchess made a 
 discovery; she chose to disapprove, and 
 confined her daughter, who I have heard 
 is now in a state of derangement/' '' But 
 why did the dutchess disapprove," said 
 Henry ; '' and what was her objection ?'* 
 '^ Want of title was the objection/' re- 
 plied Horatio, '' but the true one I 
 believe is the dread of being made a 
 grandmother. Odious, ridiculous wo- 
 man ! a braver, nobler fellow does not 
 exist than Edward Lonsdale ; but being 
 of an untitled family, her grace upbraid- 
 ed him with effrontery in presuming to 
 look up to the daughter of the Earl of
 
 129 
 
 Lucun. I fear some unwarrantable means 
 have been used to reduce this young lady 
 to the state she is described to languish 
 in.'^ 
 
 Lord Narbeth joining them the sub- 
 ject was dropped ; he expressed no sur- 
 prise at the account Henry gave of his 
 grandfather's requisition^ but said he had 
 always feared and suspected, that some 
 extraordinary sacrifice would be demand- 
 ed as the price of his lordship's conde- 
 scension and apparent fondness. '' It is 
 well/* said Horatio, '' that you are not 
 dependent on him — if you were your fate 
 would be pitiable.'* 
 
 '' Ah, my poor father/* sighed Henry, 
 ''' now I am more fully sensible of what 
 you suffered ! Inexorable, unfeeling Lord 
 Dungarvon, surely your heart is quite 
 callous, or the remembrance of his dis- 
 astrous fate would for ever deti-r you 
 from wishing to influence the aftections 
 of your family. I go no more tv) Mor- 
 timer Abbey, for having explained my 
 sentiments, and expressed my determina- 
 G 5
 
 130 
 
 tion, I shall not chuse to enter into any 
 further altercation with Lord Dunsrarvon 
 on so hateful a subject, for if the price 
 of his esteem nuist be the loss of my own, 
 I cannot consent to enjoy his favor by for 
 ever relinquishing that first of blessings^ 
 an approving conscience." 
 
 '' To-morrow, mv dear Horatio^ with 
 Lord Narbeth's permission, we set oft' to- 
 wards Cambridge.'* Lord Narbeth repli- 
 ed, '' Noj not to-morrow^ ; perhaps Lord 
 Dungarvon may repent — may wish to be 
 reconciled ; he may on mature consider- 
 ation forbear to urge a matter he sees 
 YOU so repugnant to. Give him a few 
 days to get rid of these new formed 
 wishes ; he may hold out the olive-branch 
 and recall you to Mortimer Abbey." 
 Henry replied, '' He would in all his 
 best obey him." Lord Narbeth settled 
 their departure for the beginning of the 
 following week. 
 
 The young friends proceeded to the 
 drawing-roonij where Lady Narbeth and 
 her niece rallied Henry severely on his
 
 131 
 cruelty to a ladj who was absolutely 
 dying for him. Miss Lonsdale called 
 hioi an actual simpleton for not marry- 
 ing the dutchess who could not live many 
 years to plague him, and then master of 
 immense wealth, he might select the girl 
 of his heart. 
 
 '' I once remember/* said Lady Nar- 
 beth, '' a match of this sort, where the 
 ambitious family of a worthy but weak 
 young man persuaded him to marry a 
 woman more than thirty years older than 
 himself, with the hope that she would die 
 and leave him to enjoy her fortuna ; how- 
 ever their views were frustrated — the old 
 lady by her whims and caprices threw 
 her young husband into a decline, and his 
 disappointed relations followed him to 
 the grave, and saw that wealth they had 
 been so eager to obtain flow m a channel 
 remote from their wishes.'' '' I pity 
 the fate of the poor young man,'* said 
 Horatio Delamere. '' My aunt said he 
 was weak," replied Miss Lonsdale, '^ and 
 the sequel of his history proves him so»
 
 132 
 
 O^ that some rich old fellow with ten 
 thousand caprices and whims would offer 
 me his hand I" '' You would not ac- 
 cept him?" rejoined Henry. '' You 
 are mistaken^ my friend, in that point/' 
 replied she; '' I would marry him^ and 
 then for the trial: I will engage I 
 would out whim him and out caprice 
 him too. If he talked loud 1 would be 
 louder still — if he was sulky so would 
 I; no doubt in one year I should be 
 able to tire his patience and break his 
 heart., and then for a dash upon the 
 world with all the glitter of wealtli, and 
 the charms of w^idowhood." 
 
 Henry and Horatio laughed ; Lady 
 Narbeth shook her head. '' If I were 
 not assured, my dear Emily," said her 
 ladyship, " that what you have just ut- 
 tered proceeds from unthinking vivacity, 
 and is not the sentiment of your heart, I 
 should be inclined to pass a very severe 
 censure upon you ; but I know that you 
 are ao amiable, though a giddy girl, r^nd 
 in reality think diifercatly to what you
 
 133 
 
 have expressed on the subject of matri- 
 mony. No person, in mj opinion^ should 
 enter that sacred state except those whose 
 ages and disposiiions assimilate^ and who 
 have serioLislv determined to make the 
 happint'33 of each other their first consi- 
 deration. So assorted v/edlock is a state 
 of felicity; but 
 
 ^' When souls that should agree to will the same, 
 To have one common object for their wishes. 
 Look diff'rent ways regardless of each other, 
 Love shall be banish'd from their genial bed, 
 And ev'ry day shall be a day of cares.'*
 
 134 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Whither do you lead me — 
 To death or prison glooms ? Yet think bctime 
 There is an eye can pierce the dungeon's depths; 
 There is an ear that listens to the captive's 
 Moan ; heayen sleeps not while you do these deeds, 
 
 A. J. ir. 
 
 Disappointed and irritated almost to 
 madness by Henry's opposition to his 
 \vishes^ Lord Dungarvon made no in- 
 quiries after him, and at the appointed 
 time he left Narbeth Lodge with Horatio 
 Delamcre and their servants. They in- 
 tended to sleep at Axminster the first 
 night, but left the post road for the pur- 
 pose of visiting a friend who lived a few 
 miles across the country; with this friend
 
 135 
 
 the)' dined, and remained until rather a late 
 hour : in order to gain the right road 
 they had to traverse a wood. The even- 
 ing was cloudy, the moon had not risen^ 
 and it was with much difficulty they traced 
 their way. When they had proceeded 
 about four miles^ and were in the middle 
 of the wood they heard a whistle. " We 
 shall be robbed/' said Henry. '' J have 
 no such idea/' replied Horatio; '' in a 
 road so little travelled it is not likely; 
 the whistle proceeded from some laborer 
 or wood-cutter, who perhaps has a dog 
 that has strayed away, and whom he 
 wishes tobe his companion home.'* Henry 
 was behind Horatio, in a path too narrow 
 to admit two horses a-breast, and so rug- 
 ged that they were obliged to proceed 
 with the utmost caution — the servants 
 were far behind. 
 
 Suddenly Henry's bridle was seized by 
 two men who darted from behind a tree; 
 four others gagged and blindfolded him. 
 After travelling some miles in this way, 
 through rough paths and down declivi-
 
 136 
 
 i\cs, during which no sound met his ear, 
 the bandage was removed from his eyes, 
 and the gag from liis nioutli. The moon 
 had risen — he saw the sea at a distance, 
 and several small vessels at anchor. Henry 
 now asked where they were hurrying 
 him, and for what purpose? One of the 
 men who appeared to be the leader of 
 the gang replied, '' As to where you be 
 going, my young master, that is more 
 than I can tell, cause why, I don't 
 know/' " By whose order doyou act?*' 
 enquired the astonished Henry. '' You 
 will be in the secret all in good time, my 
 young master, said the man ; '' but 
 as to whose orders we act by, why 
 we can't tell what we don't know our- 
 selves. '* '' Not know!" exclaimed 
 Henry. '*^ No, ail we knows about the 
 affair is, (hat we shall touch the shiners 
 for putting you safe aboard yonders 
 little sloop ; there our care ends : and that 
 is all we knows of the business, my 
 young master." '' Where is my friend, 
 the gentleman that was with me, and our
 
 IS? 
 
 servants?*' inquired Henry. '^ O never 
 fear for them ; they are safe enough — 
 on their road home, my young master." 
 " Then you had no orders respecting 
 them?" '' No, no, my young master, 
 only to take care they did not watch 
 which way you went/' *' Thank hea- 
 ven/' ejaculated Henry silently; '' De- 
 lamere will never rest until he discovers 
 the fate of his friend.— and what may 
 that fate be. Lord Dungarvon, to what 
 miseries have you destined the son of 
 Augustus Mortimer?" 
 
 He addressed the man who rode by his 
 side again : '' Answer me, I entreat you ; 
 am I to be sent abroad ?'' '' Lord knows, 
 ray young master ; I am as ignorant as 
 the man in the moon what is to become 
 of you after I parts from you — but I am 
 sure I hopes no harm, because you be as 
 fine a person, and as handsome a gentle- 
 man as one would wish to clap eyes on in 
 a long summer's day : I should be sorry 
 
 to my heart " '' If you would be 
 
 sorry," said Henry interrupting him.
 
 138 
 "^ that any liann should happen to me, 
 why not prevent the possibility by allow- 
 ing me to escape ?" '* O no, noj my 
 young master, I can't do that ; I have 
 tooked the money, and I can't be such a 
 big rogue as to break my word. Times 
 aie very hard, my young master ; I have 
 H sick wife and nine liUle children — I 
 could hardly get bread for them : I was 
 glad to earn money to buy the poor things 
 meat/' '' How vile, how debased must 
 the man be, who takes advantage of 
 the necessitous — who compels the needy 
 wretch to thosji acts which but for inipe- 
 rious poverty his nature would revolt at. 
 But if,'^ said Henry, again addressing 
 the man, " a larger sum should be se- 
 cured to you for allowing me to es- 
 cape " 
 
 They had now reached the edge of 
 the water where a boat waited, and be- 
 fore the man had tine to reply four sai- 
 lors jumped an shore, and surrounded 
 Henry. In an instant he was dismount* 
 ed from his horse, and in the next found
 
 139 
 
 himself rowed from shore. The clouds 
 had dispersed^ and a clear full moon 
 shone on the waves. At any other mo- 
 ment such a tranquil lovely scene would 
 have been delightful to Henry^ but now 
 his mind was too much occupied with 
 reflections on what might be his future 
 destiny to attend to the charms of na- 
 ture. He attempted to converse with 
 the men, to draw from them to whom 
 they belonged, and what was their desti- 
 nation. All he could learn was, that 
 their captain's name was Lawson ; that 
 his vessel was called the Ceres; that 
 they belonged to Plymouth, but as to 
 where they were bound they could not 
 say, but they believed to Plymouth 
 strait. 
 
 Henry finding he could obtain nothing 
 satisfactory from the sailors continued 
 silent, endeavouring to fortify his mind^ 
 and prepare it to sustain the afflictions he 
 foresaw were preparing for him. Some- 
 times he supposed Lord Dungarvon, in 
 whose power he conceived himself to be.
 
 140 
 
 had conirived to send him abroad — to 
 sell him to slavery. At other moments 
 he imagined he was to be immured in 
 some seclusion from whence his com- 
 plaints would never reach the pitying 
 ears of his friends. While these and a 
 thousand other painful ideas passed in 
 rapid succession through the mind of 
 Henry, the sailors unheeding him were 
 gaily singing a merry ditty, to the chorus 
 of which their oars kept time. They 
 soon made the sloop, on board which 
 they no sooner entered than Henry was 
 conducted below, to what they called the 
 cabin, a little dirty hole about eight feet 
 square, so full of tobacco smoke that he 
 could scarcely discern two men, the cap- 
 tain and his mate, who sat at a table en- 
 joying themselves over a can of flip. 
 The captain, a little squab old man with 
 squinting greyeyes^ a turn-up nose glow- 
 ing with carbuncles, and long yellow 
 teeth, habited in a greasy tattered blue 
 jacket and canvas trowsers saluted Henry 
 with, ^' You are welcome, my hearty —
 
 141 
 
 though by the soul of mj aunt Nell you 
 have been a devil of a while coming ; 
 thought I should have lost the tide^ 
 which as I suppose you are a scholard^ 
 you knows waits for no man." 
 
 Then moving a little scuttle over his 
 head he bawled out, '• Weigh anchor^ 
 you lubbers/' Then pushing the flip 
 towards Henry, he said, '' Take a swig, 
 my hearty/' The mate, on the command 
 for weighing anchor being given, went 
 upon deck. He was a tall hard featured 
 man with a wooden leg ; and as he pass- 
 ed by Henry stared him full in the face, 
 and muttered an oath between his teeth. 
 The captain appeared to be intoxicated; 
 and as it is said that liquor opens the 
 heart, and makes men communicative, 
 Henry hoped to know from him where he 
 was going, and how he was to be dis- 
 posed of. He sat down, and being 
 thirsty, drank of the flip offered by the 
 commander of the Ceres, who shook him 
 by the hand and exclaimed, '' That is 
 rights my hearty; pull away, we will
 
 142 
 
 have another when this is out — we have 
 plenty lo last our voyage." " Will it be 
 a lona; one?" inquired Henry. ''No, 
 no, not long, all in land/' '' Where are 
 you hound to, captain ? said Henry. 
 " Bound, my hearty; why I am hound 
 to Plymouth, but I steer another course, 
 take a contrary tack or two to oblige an 
 old acquaintance." " But where do 
 you land me?" said Henry. '' O, by 
 the soul of my aunt Nell that won't do, 
 my hearty ; mum's the word with An- 
 thony Lawson — niy mouth's stopped, do 
 you see (cramming into it a large quid 
 of tobacco.) There is your bed," con- 
 tinued the captain, "and a nice, snug, 
 warm birth it is ; you may turn in as 
 soon as you like.'' At the same time 
 opening a little cupboard in the side of 
 the cabin, " I must go upon deck and 
 see what them there lubbers are at.'* 
 Saying this he extinguished the lamps 
 that hung over the table, and left Henry 
 to his meditations. The smell of tar, 
 the noise of getting in the anchor, united
 
 143 
 
 with the motion of the vessel now under 
 weigh, affected the whole frame of Henry 
 so much that for a moment he felt in- 
 clined to throw himself upon the bed, 
 and endeavour to sleep awaj the horrible 
 sickness that assailed him ; but remem- 
 bering that when he cast his eyes into the 
 hole, where he had been told he might 
 turn iuj it had appeared dirty and wretch- 
 ed, he determined to grope his way upon 
 deck, and try the effect of fresh air. He 
 had no sooner gained the deck than he 
 was accosted by the captain, whose head 
 was defended by a stiiped woollen night- 
 cap : 
 
 '*" What riiy hearty, not turned in — 
 you had better stay below; we shall have 
 dirty weather---there is a squall brewing 
 in the north-east/' '* No matter, cap- 
 tain, ' replied Henry; "I am too sick 
 to bear the confinement of the cabin : I 
 shall die if I stay below." " Die ! no^ 
 ^no ; when you have emptied your bread- 
 basket you will be as tough as an oak 
 plank. Ned Ratlin, keep a sharp look
 
 144 
 
 out that we don't run aboard anj' of them 
 there little craft/' 
 
 Henry sunk upon a hencoop, and com- 
 plained of extreme sickness : '' Aye^ aye, 
 my hearty, you fair weather sparks that 
 don't know larboard from starboard, or 
 stem from stern, are always yawish when 
 you first put to sea ; you will be used to 
 it by and bye, and be able to take your 
 allowance with the best of us/* Henry 
 lifted up his head; ''by and bye/* thought 
 he. '' How long do you suppose we 
 shall be at sea?" '' How long, my 
 hearty, if the wind comes round, we 
 may be at the end of our cruise by this 
 time to-morrow ; but if it holds as it is 
 now, by the soul of my aunt Nell we 
 may be beating about on this tack and 
 t'other tack for this three weeks.'* ''I 
 hope not," said Henry. '* I hope so, too., 
 my hearty,** replied the captain ; '' for 
 if I be kept long in this here latitude I 
 shall be for tumbling you overboard like 
 another Jonas. Shiver my mizen/* con- 
 tinued he, *' but I want to be at Ply-
 
 145 
 
 mouth, and if it was not that I am to be 
 devilish well paid for this here trip I 
 would have seen you make a bait for a 
 shark, my hearty, before I would have 
 steered out of my course on your ac- 
 count/' " I am infinitely obliged to 
 you/' said Henry. " Whether you are 
 obliged to me or not is as it maybe; 
 and don't argufy nothing," replied the 
 captain ; '' here you are, and I must 
 fulfil my agreement." '' What was your 
 agreement?" inquired Henry. " Hey! 
 v/hy you must understand, my hearty., 
 luff, luff, you lubber," said the captain 
 stalking up to the man at the helm, 
 Henry thought he had brought him to 
 the point he wished, and unwilling to 
 lose the opportunity he followed him, and 
 again repeated the question, '' What 
 was your agreement ?" 
 
 The captain crammed another quid of 
 tobacco into his mouth, and drawing 
 Henry to the binnacle, asked him if he 
 could box the compass. '^ I don't un- 
 
 YOL. I. H
 
 146 
 
 derstand you ?'* said Henrj. "' Can joii 
 do a day's work ?" 
 
 4/ 
 
 '' Of what sort?" said Henry. ''Of 
 what sort, you huid-lubber ? Will you 
 undertake to carry this here vessel safe to 
 Greenland ?" "No/* said Henry. '' And 
 jet," said the captain^ '' you have all 
 your jawing tackle on board, and will 
 undertake to steer round me, and under- . 
 stand my course. Hawl in a reef or two 
 of your questions ; lower your jib and 
 back your mainsail. By the soul of my 
 aunt Nell, you may as well strike your 
 inquiries, for you will get nothing out of 
 Anthony Lawson. Will you turn in ?'* 
 
 Henry preferred remaining upon deck. 
 '' Then I shall take the inner birtb," said 
 the captain. '' Ned Ratlin, keep a sharp 
 look out." " Aye, boy/' growled the 
 man with the wooden leg, as the captain 
 descended the companion ladder. 
 
 The fresh breeze had recovered Henry: 
 he sat musing on his strange fortune : he 
 thought of Sir Owen Llewellyn, of Adc-
 
 147 
 
 line, of Horatio Delamere^ all of whom 
 he knew would exert every nerve to dis- 
 cover him : one momeiit he indulged the 
 consoling hope that he should soon be 
 rescued from Lord Dungarvon"s power, 
 the next, yielding to melancholy, he be- 
 lieved himself fated to be the victim on 
 whom his relentless grandfather had in- 
 tended to revenge all his mortifications 
 and disappointments; and he shuddered 
 to think how little able he was to with- 
 stand his vengeance now so completel}' in 
 his power. 
 
 The squall the captain had foretold 
 now came on ; the wind rose, and rattled 
 in the sails, which were all taken in by 
 the order of Ned Ratlin : the sea swelled 
 mountains high, and tossed the little 
 sloop with such violence that she one 
 moment appeared to be mounting to the 
 clouds, and the next sinking to the 
 bottom of the fathomless deep — a wave 
 broke over the lea side, and run along the 
 gunnel. Ned Ratlin seeing Henry with 
 diiEculty keep himself upon the hen- 
 h2
 
 148 
 
 coop^ adTised him to go belo\\\, as it was 
 going to rain. Henry thanked him for 
 his attention, but declined his advice. 
 Ned Ratlin limped away, and returned 
 in a moment Nvith a large watch coat. 
 '' Here, messmate," said he, *' haul this coat 
 about you, it has seen a good deal of 
 service — shiver my limbs but it has wea- 
 thered many a tough gale/* This man, 
 thought Henry, has a heart formed of 
 tenderer materials than his rough exte- 
 rior promised. '' I am strong and well, 
 my good fellow,*' said he^, '*^ you are an 
 invalid, and want the comfort of your 
 coat in this tempestuous night." '* I 
 never wear it, messmate," said Ned; '' I 
 have another below, that now and then 
 serves me to lay my head upon when I 
 sleep on deck, so you may as well haul it 
 about you." Henry was glad to avail 
 himself of Ned's kindness, for the next 
 moment the rain fell in torrents, and the 
 vessel was so agitated by the wind and 
 waves, that he began to believe he should 
 escape the malevolence of his grand-
 
 149 
 
 father, expecting every moment that the 
 sloop, unable to bafFet the storm, would 
 go to the bottom. Ned Ratlin told him 
 that there was no danger, that she was a 
 tight little vessel, and would live through 
 a thousand such squalls as that. Henrv 
 addressed himself to heaven, and leaned 
 his head against the creaking mast. In a 
 short time the wind subsided, the dark 
 clouds dispersed, the rain ceased, and the 
 moon again shone in radiant beauty. — 
 The man at the helm began a doieful 
 ballad ; Ned Ratlin stumped backward 
 aud forward ; Henry left the hencoop, 
 and leaning over the side of the vessel 
 stood pensively watching her keel divide 
 the sparkling waves. A voice at his ear 
 whispered, '•' ±vlr. i^Iortimer ;^' he started, 
 and beheld Ned Ratlin. '' Do you know 
 me i" said Henry.— "^^ Yes, I should have 
 known you, if I had not heard the captain 
 say you were Lord Dungarvon's grand- 
 son, by your likeness to your father, with 
 whom I sailed in the same ship to the 
 West Indies. Aye, messmate^ I was then 
 II 3
 
 150 
 
 merrj, joung, and liearij ; I had not lost 
 my precious limbj nor/' said Ned^ draw- 
 ing his hand across his eveSj ^' I had not 
 lost my tight pretty Sue, nor little Ben ; 
 l)ut they are all gone. I was then in his 
 majesty's service ; could hand, reef, and 
 steer with any Jack on board ; but, Lord 
 lielp mc, I was persuaded to go a priva- 
 teering to make luy fortune. Well, I 
 lost mj leg, and now — but no matter. 
 Do you knowj messmate, where you are 
 bound ?" '' No/' replied Ileury. '' Into 
 Cumberland," ^aid Ned ; ''- your port is 
 Raven-hill Castle.*' '' So, so/' said Henry, 
 rememberirg this was the Dutchess of In- 
 glesfield*sseat, that Iloraao Delamere had 
 spoken of; '' and what is to become of 
 me there ?'* '' I can say nothitg to that 
 question, messnnate," said Ned; '' I know 
 the captain is to receive a good sum for 
 steering you there. Buttcil me, can I be 
 of any service to you ? Your father, the 
 honorable Captain Mortimer, saved my 
 life when I fell overboard, and I feci in 
 duty bound to serve yoii ij' I can ; for I
 
 151 
 
 see, messmate, that jou have been run 
 down ; you are not here by your own free 
 will." '' No/* replied Henry, '' I am 
 forced away from my friends, brought 
 here without my consent, and what I am 
 yet to sufler heaven alone can tell." ^' But 
 can you think of no way in which I may 
 be useful to you, messmate ? " replied Ned. 
 '' Yes, by giving my friends notice where 
 I am conveyed,'' replied Henry. " I 
 would gladly do this^ messmate,'* said 
 Ned, "'' but more is my mishap, I am no 
 scholard — I never had no learning; I can 
 neither read nor write ; and you may see 
 with your own eyes,'* continued he, 
 pointing to his wooden leg, ^' that I am 
 hni badly built for travelling." 
 
 '' We can manage this matter very 
 well," said Henry. '' I will take the 
 opportunity while the captain is on deck 
 of writing a few lines, which you can put 
 in the post-office at ihe first port you 
 touch at." '' That will be Plymouth," 
 replied Ned; '' but avast, messmate, 
 where will you get paper ? for I doubt 
 H 4
 
 152 
 
 whether such an article is to be found 
 aboard, excepting with the captain.** 
 Henry had a letter about him ; he could 
 use the cover of that. A few words 
 would be sufficient to apprize his friends 
 of his situation. " But then, splice my 
 mizen, you can't write with salt water/' 
 said Ned ; *' what will you do for pen 
 and ink ? are you supplied with these 
 articles too ? for I guess they will be 
 hard to come by/' 
 
 This was the worst part of the affair: 
 Henry had indeed a pencil, with which 
 he might have run the chance of writing 
 a few lines ; but how was he to direct? 
 the pencil-mark would surely rub out. 
 He explained this dilemma to Ned, who 
 promised to take good care it was not 
 rubbed out while on board, and that as 
 soon as he set foot on shore he would ^ei 
 a friend to trace over the direction with 
 ink. This affair being arranged, the mind 
 of Henry became calmer: he questioned 
 Ned Ratlin respecting his knowledge of 
 his father.
 
 153 
 
 '' He was as fine a man/' said Ned, 
 '' as ever stepped between stem and stern; 
 he would stand for hours together as you 
 do now, looking so mournful, leaning 
 on the side of the vessel with his eyes 
 turned towards England, and fetch deep 
 sighs, just as if all his thoughts were left 
 behind him, for he never seemed to mind 
 what was going on with the other officers, 
 who were full of mirth and fun ; and at 
 night when it was my watch I always 
 found him on deck : for my part I think 
 he never turned into his hammock at all. 
 Then he had a little small something, 
 about the size of a crown piece, tied to a 
 black ribband round his neck ; I have 
 often seen him kiss it. I suppose it was 
 some love-token he had taken from his 
 wife when they parted." '* It was her 
 picture,'' said Henry. '' Likely, mess- 
 mate, likely,'' replied Ned; '' but be 
 what it will, poor gentleman, he seemed 
 to prize it highly. The last time I part- 
 ed from my Susan she gave me this six- 
 pence with a hole in it; I have kept it 
 H 5
 
 154 
 
 ever since. Poor girl, she died of the 
 fright she got at sccinp: me stump into the 
 house with tiiis piece of timber spliced to 
 my knee ; she had not lain in of Ben 
 above a week. Well, well, we must ail 
 die sometime, but it was hard to lose raj 
 leg, my wife and child, and all in the 
 short space of a year/' 
 
 Ned wiped his eyes, and opening his 
 check shirt took from his bosom the six- 
 pence; he gazed upon it — his tears gush- 
 ed out : '^ This," said he, '' goes with 
 me to the grave ; and when Sue and I 
 meet in the other world 1 will tell her I 
 never forgot her or little Ben, nor part- 
 ed with her love-token/* 
 
 Henry was affected ; he looked on the 
 sixpence suspended from the neck of the 
 sailor, and in his eyes it appeared a rich 
 and holy relic, emhalmed with the tears of 
 a most sincere affection. '' I suppose/' 
 said Nod, '* I should be called a watery- 
 headed lubber for this, but never mind, I 
 have seen the time when I scorned snivel- 
 ling as much as any man, and would not
 
 155 
 
 have skulked in the hold from the enemy's 
 fire; but now my hull is leaky, and my 
 timbers are shalteredj it is time I vyas laid 
 up in safe moorings, for I am not fit for 
 service : but at the time I fell overboard 
 I was a strong stout fellow^ able to grap- 
 ple ^yith half a dozen Frenchmen. I 
 should have been stowed in Davv Jones's 
 locker though if it had not been for jour 
 faiher, messmate; he jumped in after 
 me, and towed me safe to i\ie ship and 
 shall i ever forget that kindness to me? 
 no, may I be sent to sea in a leaky boat, 
 without provisions or compass, if ever I 
 do." Henry shook him affectionately by 
 the hand. 
 
 The morning was clear and fine. At 
 an early hour the captain came upon 
 deck — ''Well, my hearty, what you have 
 kept watch all night ? Will you have a 
 spell below now ? I have warmed your 
 birth for you. Are you ready for your 
 allowance r Here, you Tom Hawser, 
 bru}g the pork and biscuit, I shall break- 
 fast upon deck/-* Henry had but little
 
 156 
 
 appetite for the dirty fat pork which the 
 captain and his mate devoured with the 
 highest relish, and swilled down with 
 grog. 
 
 '' Come, mj hearty/* said the captain, 
 '■' it argufies nothing to be sulky; what 
 must be must, you know ; worse luck 
 now the better another time: so drink and 
 drown sorrow. The wind is in the right 
 quarter— -hoist the scudding sails ; wc 
 shall just nick the evening tide.'* Henry 
 wished to be alone that he might prepare 
 the letter for Ned Ratlin. As soon as 
 their repast was finished he went below, 
 and wrote with his pencil to Horatio 
 Delamere : — 
 
 " After our strange separation no 
 doubt my dear Horatio is anxious to be 
 acquainted with the fate of his friend: I 
 am now on the coast of Cumberland, in 
 a vessel scarce bigger than a cockle-shell ; 
 all that I know of my future destina- 
 tion is that I am to be conveyed to 
 Kaven-hill Castle^ but whether :is the pri-
 
 157 
 
 soner of Lord Dungarvonorthe Dutchess 
 of Iiiglesfield I am yet to learn. You 
 will inform Sir Owen Llewellyn of my 
 situation, who I have no doubt will lose 
 no time in procuring my liberty. You 
 will perceive that I write under dread of 
 a discovery; but as providence has raised 
 me a friend who promises to convey this 
 to the post-offioe, 1 trust it will reach 
 you in safety, for on this alone rests the 
 hopes of 
 
 Henry Augustus Mortimer." 
 
 Having finished his letter he was at a 
 loss to seal it, but in this exigence also 
 he determined to rely on honest Ned. 
 He was fatigued, his spirits were ex- 
 hausted, his eyes were heavy, and he 
 feJt inclined to accept the captain's pro- 
 posal of turning in : but casting his eyes 
 into what he had termed his warm, snug 
 birth, it even appeared more filthy and 
 deplorable by day than at night, and he 
 turned in disgust from the idea of sleep- 
 ing in so wretched a hole. He stretched
 
 158 
 
 himself upon the floor; in a few mo- 
 ments his eyes closed, and forgetting the 
 strangeness of his situation, and the hard- 
 ness of his bed, he sunk ip.to a profound 
 sleep, and enjoyed for several liours that 
 sweet and reftcshing repose which never 
 visit* the weary eyelids of guilt. It was 
 evening when he awoke ; he felt hungry, 
 and went upon deck, where he found the 
 captain at his constant avocation, smoak^ 
 
 ing. 
 
 '' What^ my hearty,'' said he, " by 
 the soul of my aunt Nell, but the little 
 Ceres has nicked you as snugly as if you 
 had laid in your mcimrny's cradle ; you 
 have had a rare long spell. Well, is 
 your stomach come to ? can you peg 
 your allowance now ? You land lubbers 
 are for the most part cursed dainty, but 
 after a spanking breeze you are brought 
 to. Can you eat lobs-couse?" Henry 
 answered he believed he was hungry 
 enough to eat any thing. '' The fin of a 
 sharkj hey, ray hearty, or any other such 
 delicate morsel. Here, you greasy chops/'
 
 159 
 
 speaking to a boy that was picking oak- 
 um, '•' hoist sail, and make lie lobs- 
 couse hot : majhap Ned Ratlin maj be 
 able to take some grub now. Go below, 
 and see how he is." 
 
 Henry listened in dismay to this last 
 order. " Is he ill ?•' — '' Aye, my hearty, 
 poor Ned dropped down by my side in a 
 fit this morning, as dead as a herring/' 
 replied the captain. '' Him and I have 
 rode out many a rough gale together. 
 As good a seaman as ever doubled the 
 Cape ; but he will soon be a log upon 
 the water : his sand is almost run — his 
 watch is nearly out." 
 
 '' Good God., how unfortunate !" said 
 Henry, reverting to his own fear of not 
 having his letter forwarded. — '' Aye, un- 
 fortunate enough far me, my hearty : I 
 shall have a sore loss in him. By the 
 soul of my aunt Nell, he is as good a 
 seaman as ever flung a log-line, or stood 
 at a helm. I remember him twenty years 
 ago, a fine strong fellow, when we cd- 
 gaged the Dutch in the Mediterranean ;
 
 160 
 
 we fought jard arm and yard arm for 
 nine glasses. It was hot work, m) heartjv 
 every man to his gun ; wcllj Ned got a 
 sliot in his shoulder ; the captain would 
 have sent him down to the cockpit for 
 the surgeon to dress his wounded fin. — 
 ' Avast there/ said Ned, ' though my 
 left arm is disabled,, I have still the right 
 able to fight for my king and country ; 
 and if they were both blown away, while 
 my props would support my hull, Ned 
 Ratlin would stand here, and encourage 
 bis shipmates to do (heir duty, and not 
 suffer Mynheer Vanswagger to hoist his 
 dirty rag over a British Jack, Huzza I 
 England for ever !* We gave three 
 cheers ; Ned helped to take the Dutch- 
 man ; but what signifies all this ? Death 
 has benumbed him at last ; his sails will 
 soon be furled up/' 
 
 Henry's feelings did justice to Ned's 
 yalour. He wished to see him : he was 
 interested about him from a double ma- 
 tive — he considered him as a brave and 
 honest fellow, whose heart was an honor
 
 161 
 to human nature, and he hoped most sin- 
 cerely that the captain exaggerated his 
 danger, for he saw that with him must 
 perish the hope of letting his friends 
 know his situation. 
 
 When he had ate the mess set before 
 him, he descended with the captain to 
 the hold. Poor Ned was stretched on a 
 miserable hammock in a hole to which 
 neither light nor air had access. " Good 
 heaven/'said Henry, ashejustdistinguish- 
 ed the form before him, " must the man 
 who has nobly fought the battles of his 
 country die in such a hole as this without 
 help, without comfort?" 
 
 *' Avast there, messmate,'* said Ned, 
 opening his languid eyes, ^' all on board 
 are ready to help m.e ; a sailor's comfort 
 is a glass of grog, I can have that too ; 
 and as for dying in such a hole as this, 
 what matter where a man dies ? — the 
 grave is a darker locker than this, and so 
 long as no sins burden my conscience, 
 why I can die happy any where.'* 
 
 '' Don't talk of sheering off, Ned,'*
 
 162 
 
 said the captain, '' we shall drink many 
 a can of flip together yet." '' I trust," 
 said Henry, ''you will recover.'* ''Never 
 in this world, messmate," replied Ned ; 
 " my death-warrant is signed, I shall 
 soon be under hatches — I shall soon be 
 with Sue and little Ben." 
 
 Henry was nearly suffocated ; Ned's 
 wits began to ramble ; he talked inco- 
 herently ; Henry gladly accompanied 
 the captain upon deck ; he saw it was 
 impossible Ned should live, and his own 
 hopes seemed expiring with him. 
 
 The wind had filled the sails of the 
 Ceres, their course had been pursued 
 without interruption, and early in the 
 evening the tovv^ers of a castle were visible 
 in the horizon ; and as the breeze was 
 still favorable, they soon had a full view 
 of the antient edi6ce. Such a scene under 
 any other circumstances would have gra- 
 tified the taste of Henry, which ever de- 
 lighted in tlie grand and sublime. In a 
 short time the captain told Henry that he 
 was to land bini at that castle. — " And
 
 16'3 
 
 for what purpose?" inquired Henrj. — 
 '' That^ my lieartj/' said the captain^ 
 " I never troubled myself about — it is 
 no Jiusfness of mine you know ; and by 
 the soul of my aunt Nell^ I have plenty 
 of ray own to mind, without stirring other 
 men's porridge." Henry turned from him, 
 and surveyed the surrounding objects : 
 the sea washed tlie rocky base of a majes- 
 tic mountain, round which wreaths of mist 
 were curling in fantastic clouds, which 
 as they ascended assumed a variety of 
 forms. A forest of dark pine and oak 
 bounded the view on one side ; on the 
 other, cultivated lands and pastures, ea- 
 richcd with reposing cattle, met the eye, 
 while in the distance rose, in dark and 
 proud magnificence, the pointed turrets 
 and ivy-covcrcd battlements of Raven-hill 
 Castle, which, sportively silvered by the 
 clear moon-beams, presented a grand spe- 
 cimen of gothic architecture. Henry 
 gazed and sighed deeply, as his agitated 
 mind endeavoured to pierce the thick- 
 woven veil ih.iit enveloped futuritv. IIq
 
 J 64 
 
 thought of the dear happy domestic cir- 
 cle at Dolegelly Castle — of his friend Ho- 
 ratio Delarnere, whom he was perhaps 
 fated to behold no more. He heard the 
 captain order out the boat with sensations 
 of horror such as he had never before 
 experienced. Soon after he told the men 
 to lie to; then addressing Henry, " Come 
 my hearty/' said he, '''the boat is ready, 
 your cruise is nearly over." 
 
 Henry was sensible that resistance 
 was of no avail : bis eye agaiti glanced 
 over the dark towers of Ilavon-hi 11 Castl.% 
 and he felt the agonizing assurance that 
 he was devoted to suffering — the unhappy 
 offspring of most unhappy parents, doom- 
 ed to encounter more wretchedness, worse 
 misery, than they had endured. 
 
 As he descended the sloop's side he in- 
 quired after Ned Ratlin. '' He floats 
 yet/' said the captain, '' but death grap- 
 ples him ; he will soon have him under 
 hatches/' — '* Peace be with him,'* said 
 Henry ; '' he will escape the thousand 
 ills that flesh is heir to." — '' I don't know
 
 165 
 
 that he was heir to any thing excepting 
 sorrow/' said the captain ; '' and by the 
 soul of my aunt Nellj he had always a 
 full allowance of that, my hearty/' 
 
 The boat cut swiftly through the 
 waves ; the captain began smoaking, and 
 the men that rowed the boat laughed and 
 talked of their friends and families at 
 Plymouth. One said his mother had 
 received news of his death, and how she 
 would rejoice to see him come ^^capering 
 on shore/' another spoke of a friend^ 
 and a third of a sweetheart. *' Alas !" 
 thought Henry, '' all are in expectation 
 of happiness — all rejoice in the transport- 
 ing idea of meeting friends and relatives^ 
 except me^ and I am torn from every dear 
 connection, every valued friend, to en- 
 counter I know not what evils, to meet a 
 fate terrible to imagination, because un- 
 known/* 
 
 In less than an hour they made the 
 castle. A low arched door belonging to 
 one of the towers stood half open : two 
 men, apparently in waiting, stood ready
 
 165 
 
 io receive tliem ; the captain hailed them, 
 and was instantly answered. One of the 
 men approaclied to the edge of thewater^ 
 and saidj " ^^ hj, Lawson^ we thought 
 ^ou would never come ; we have waited 
 for }0U (ill our patience is nearly worn 
 out." — "' Well, my heartv, we are here 
 at last," said the captain, '' as quick as 
 wind and tide would let us ; and by the 
 soul of my aunt Nell, I hope you have 
 got something good in the fort to wet our 
 jackets with. Shiver my mizen, my 
 throat is as dry as a piece of old junk." 
 He jumped on shore; Henry followed, 
 and addressing himself to him who ap- 
 peared to be the superior, inquired by 
 whose orders he .vas brought contrary to 
 his inclination to that remote place, and 
 for what purpose. 
 
 The man eyed him with a malicious 
 grin, and turning to his companion, said, 
 *' A good likely well-grown fellow !" — 
 ^'' Aye^ aye, let the old one alone," replied 
 the other. Henry repeated his questions. 
 ^' As to bj who and for what you are
 
 107 
 
 brought here,'^ said the man, ''jouwill 
 find out in time if you have any luck ; 
 and bad as you may fancy your case is, it 
 is far better than what is worse." Tiie 
 man laughed at his own wit, and pro- 
 ceeded to state that the breeze was sharp, 
 and that he was numbed with waiting so 
 long in the cold. 
 
 Henry looked round, but no possibility 
 of escape presented itself: he was en- 
 compassed round by men who seemed re- 
 solute to execute the orders they had re- 
 ceived, and he w as obliged to submit to 
 circumstances that were irremediable. — 
 One of the men roughly seized his arnb 
 and dragged him under the gateway, the 
 iron door of w hich was closed after them 
 with a noise which made Henry shudder, 
 '' Now then," said he, '' 1 am completely 
 in the pow er of my enemies, secluded for 
 ever from friends and liberty." 
 
 **^ Cheer up, my hearty," said the cap- 
 tain, puffing a cloud of tobacco smoke in 
 his face ; '' life's like a ship on the trou- 
 bled ocean ; just now to be sure you sail
 
 168 
 
 against viind and tide, with the enemy 
 close at your stern ; but you may yet slip 
 the cable of ill-fortune ; and by the soul 
 of my aunt Nell, though your anchor is 
 lost, and your mast torn by the board, 
 you may weather the storm, and ride safe 
 into port, for all the underwriters have 
 given you up for lost ; so cheer up, my 
 hearty/*
 
 169 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 An act 
 That t}iurs the grace and blush of modesty, 
 Calls Tirtue hypocrite, takes off the rose 
 From the fair forehead of an innocent Iotc, 
 And sets a blister there. O ! such a deed, 
 As from the body of contraction plucks 
 The very soul ; and sweet religion makes 
 A rhapsody of words. Rebellious heat, 
 If thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones, 
 To flaming youth let virtue be as wax, 
 And melt in her own fire : proclaim no sham* 
 "When the compulsive ardor gives the charge, 
 Since frost itself as actively doth burn, 
 And reason ponders well. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 They now entered the extensive court 
 of the castle^, on the high and ponderous 
 walls ofwhich^ at equal distances, were 
 placed ravens sculptored in black marble, 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 
 
 supporting the arms of the Belville fa- 
 mily. A long- and magnificent flight of 
 marhle steps led to the grand entrance, 
 up which Henry \vas desired bj his con- 
 ductor to ascend, Avhilc he perceived the 
 rest of the party disappear through a pas- 
 sage leading to the servants* offices. 
 
 Having cro.^sed a splendid hall, and 
 many apartments and highly decorated 
 galleries, they passed through a long 
 arched passage that led them to another 
 court, apparently situated at the back of 
 the castle : here they found two n>en 
 loaded with hampers. He had not as yet 
 exchanged a single syllable with his 
 guide, expecting that every door he 
 passed through would usher him to the 
 prison he was fated to occupy ; but seeing 
 the men in waiting, he had an idea that 
 the articles they carried were for his use, 
 and that he was to linger out his being in 
 some remote dungeon, far from human aid 
 and husTiaii pity. 
 
 Some conversation took place between 
 the men, but it passed in too low a tone
 
 171 
 
 for him to distinguish what was its pur- 
 port ; he leaned against the massy wall, 
 and remained lost in agonizing conjecture, 
 till the unlocking of a door close by 
 him roused him to observation. A dark 
 passage presented itself; Henry drew back^ 
 but the men having deposited their load, 
 he #as compelled to enter with them. He 
 heard the door lock behind him, and in 
 spite of remonstrance he was hurried for- 
 ward. 
 
 He perceived they did not go strait on, 
 but made several turnings : at I'^ngth 
 one of the men said, '' Sure we have 
 passed the stairs." — "' No, you fool," re- 
 plied another, '' we are not come to them ; 
 here they are on your right hand.'' 
 
 ^^ Yes, yes,'' said another voice, *' here 
 they are sure enough, the devil has not 
 moved them. I remember these same 
 stairs well enough^ and so do you, Tom. 
 You can't forget the time you helped to 
 
 carry my lady dutchess's " "^^ Curse 
 
 on your prating/^ said another voice ; 
 '' keep movingj I want to get back to 
 
 4
 
 the inhabited part of the castle; I hate 
 this place." 
 
 " And not without a cause/* replied 
 another voice; *' and for the matter of 
 that I have no particular reason to like 
 it/' — '' You are a couple of cowardly 
 scoundrels/' rejoined the first speaker, 
 "and would be afraid of your ownshadows 
 were you to see them on the wall/* 
 
 The dim light of the moon streaming 
 through a narrow window placed high in 
 the wall discovered to Henry that they 
 were traversing a long matted gallery.— 
 " Go forward, Frank,'* said the leader 
 of the party, '' to the last room on the 
 left hand, and strike a light." 
 
 '' May I be hanged if I go alone to 
 that room," said Frank. — '' And hanged 
 you will be one day or other, if you have 
 your deserts/* said he who appeared to 
 have most authority among them ; ''strike 
 a light here, you shallow -brained oaf; 
 you have a devilish deal more reason to 
 fear the living than the dead.'* 
 
 A light was struck, and they entered
 
 173 
 
 the apartment on the left hand. Henrj 
 recoiled as he beheld its desolate appear- 
 ance : a broken chair, a worm-eaten ta- 
 ble^ and a low couch were all its furni- 
 ture : the men opened the hampers ; they 
 contained some slight covering for the 
 couch, a few logs of wood, and provi- 
 sions. 
 
 '' And is this place/' said Henry, cast- 
 ing his eyes round the apartment, '' al- 
 lotted for me?'* 
 
 *' We are so instructed,** replied one 
 of the men who was placing some food on 
 the table. 
 
 They kindled a fire, arranged his 
 couch, and lighted a lamp. One of them 
 then advancing to Henry, said, " Having 
 provided for your necessities, our com- 
 mission for the present ends ; to-morrow 
 we shall visit you again." 
 
 They then quitted the room ; Henry 
 heard the door locked and bolted, and 
 listened to their retreating steps as they 
 sounded along the lofty gallery. Until 
 that moment hope had supported his spi- 
 iS
 
 174 
 
 rits ; but when he found himself indeed a 
 prisoner^ shut from society^ far from the 
 knowledge of those beings he most loved 
 and valued, immured where his sufferings 
 would never reach their ears, he sank in 
 despondency upon the couch, and gave 
 himself up to all the bitterness of grief. 
 
 A few moments served to convince him 
 of the weakness of his conduct, of the 
 folly of yielding to despair ; the morrow 
 might present some favorable turn ; he 
 might by seeking for opportunities, by 
 perseverance escape. 
 
 No sooner had this idea struck him 
 than he started from the couch, and with 
 scrutinizing eye searched liis apartment : 
 it was matted like the gallery ; he shook 
 the door, but it was cased with iron, and 
 too strong to yield to his efforts. He next 
 examined the window, but it was too high 
 in the wall for him to reach, and the ta- 
 ble and chair appeared too crazy to sus- 
 tain his wf'ight. He was hungry, thirsty, 
 and exhausted ; he ate of the food, and 
 drank plentifully of t..c water, the only be-
 
 175 
 
 veragethat had been left him; and though 
 unused to such humble fare, he felt satisfied 
 and refreshed. He next examined the 
 couchj which though coarse was cleau^. 
 and he threw himself upon it, ruminating 
 on the folly of man, who plunges into 
 guilt, encounters peril, ventures on hard- 
 ships and fatigue, to procure the luxuries 
 that ultimately destroy his health and 
 peace, while modest nature is satisfied 
 with plain simple viands and the running 
 stream : 
 
 " Man wants bat little here below, 
 Nor wants that little long." 
 
 " If Lord Dungarvon were only sensible 
 of this truth,'' thought Henry, '' his mind 
 would escape the tortures of remorse, nor 
 should I be the imprisoned victim of his 
 pride and his ambition.'' 
 
 Henry passed the night in sweet and 
 undisturbed repose ; and with the first 
 beam of morning sprang from his lowly 
 couch, again to examine his prison, in the 
 hope that he might find some means of 
 i4
 
 176 
 
 escape. He placed the table against the 
 wall under the window^ and springing 
 upon it, found, contrary to his opinion, 
 that it would bear his weight ; but he 
 was yet too low to reach the casement.— 
 In descending to the ground his hand 
 struck against something in the wall, 
 which he found to be the fastening to a 
 recess, so nicely matted that it appeared a 
 part of the wall. He unclosed it, and 
 was agreeably surprised to find it con- 
 tained books. 
 
 On opening one, a parcel of letters fell 
 to the ground, and under the last volume 
 he found several sheets of manuscript 
 poetry. 
 
 The books were Zimmerman on Soli- 
 tude, Plato on the Immortality of the 
 Soul, and the poetic works of Savage and 
 Chatter ton.— '' A melancholy collection," 
 said Henry, as he looked over the title- 
 page of each volume, '' and most proba- 
 bly belonged to some such unfortunate 
 being as myself — one perhaps whom the 
 strong arm of power had secluded from
 
 177 
 
 the blessings of society^ to whom these 
 books were a real acquisition." He 
 looked on the superscription of the let- 
 ters ; they were addressed in a female 
 hand to Horace Nevil, Esq. The con- 
 tents of one ran thus : 
 
 " Yes, dearest Nevil, I admit the 
 truth of your reasoning ; but while my 
 judgment is convinced, my heart, unable 
 to relinquish the transport of loving you, 
 shrinks from the idea of separation, and 
 clings to the hope of overcoming your 
 scruples, of tlia\7ing your frigidity, of 
 triumphing over that philosophy which, 
 while it proclaims the calmness of your 
 feelings, agonizes mine. Why did you ever 
 say that Julia was dear to you, if you 
 can coldly resign her, at the moment 
 when she is ready for thy sake to sacrifice 
 family and fortune, when she would fly 
 to thy arras, and, renouncing the pride of 
 birth and the splendor of ajDQuence, would 
 gladly share thy cottage^ happier, prouder 
 1 5
 
 178 
 
 to be called thy wife, than the daughter 
 of the Earl of Lucan ? I know you will 
 speak of your poverty^ will tell me you 
 are untitled ; but have you not a mind 
 rich in elevated sentiment, in exalted 
 worth ? Before these, the adventitious 
 advantages of rank and wealth, in my 
 estimation, sink to nothing. Nevil, I 
 am greatly thy inferior ; I seek thy alli- 
 ance to ennoble myself. Come at mid- 
 night to the pavilion ; but hope not, be- 
 loved of my soul, to persuade me to for- 
 get thee: no, "while reason holds a 
 place in this distracted globe," so long 
 will that reason worship thee; so long as 
 this heart shall throb, its hopes, its wishes 
 will all be thine. Lady Lucan may me- 
 nace, but my atfrighted soul still flies to 
 the bosom of Nevil.'* 
 
 The rest was torn off. '' This," said 
 Henry, " was love. Oh ! will the heart 
 of any gentle being ever throb for me — 
 ever cherish sentiments like these .^'^ He 
 opened the next :
 
 179 
 
 '' I send you the manuscripts, and I 
 know I need not tell you to lose no time 
 in their correction. You know not with 
 what pleasure I write, while I believe 
 that the talent with which it has pleased 
 heaven to gift me will assist to provide 
 for the exigencies of life. There are 
 many persons in the world who g^i their 
 bread by the efforts of their pen ; and 
 with suoh an instructor as Horace Nevii 
 to correct and embellish my productions, 
 I feel assured of success. Look over the 
 little tale I send with this, and give me 
 your opinion of it. The Earl and Lady 
 Lucan are much displeased at my scrib- 
 bling passion, degrading they say to a 
 woman of fashion. What have I to do 
 with fashion, I who am devoted to love 
 and the muses ? 
 
 *' The earl disapproves of books in c;c- 
 neral, and says a female of rank is suffi- 
 ciently learned, if she can read and write 
 a visiting4icket. What a revoluti:)!i in 
 his lordship's opinions ! He has n::t al-
 
 180 
 
 ways thought thus^ or why were you in- 
 troduced at Raven-hill Castle?— why au- 
 thorized to direct and superintend my 
 studies ? Oh ! it was powerful destiny 
 that led thee hither — that decreed thee 
 the sovereign ruler of Julia*s heart. Yes, 
 it was almighty destiny that led me to 
 find in thee a congenial spirit, a kindred 
 soul. 
 
 ^' I cannot come at the usual hour to 
 the pavilion. I know not whether our 
 meetings are suspected, but the gate is 
 locked, and the key is I understand in 
 the possession of Lord Lucan. The iron 
 door leading to the chapel was I observed 
 to- day unclosed ; by that road you can 
 reach the west tower, and from thence to 
 my dressing-room. Do you remember 
 when we were last at chapel we returned 
 that way ? Shall I ever forget that hour? 
 no, never !^ — when tlie voice of Nevil 
 whispered in the delighted ear of Julia, 
 '' I love thee." At midnight all will be 
 retired, and most likely every one's eyes
 
 181 
 
 closed in sleep, except those of thy de- 
 voted and expecting 
 
 '' Julia/' 
 
 Henry remembered to have heard that 
 the Dutchess of Inglesfield's firsthusband 
 was the Earl of Lucan ; this Julia then 
 was their daughter — Ah ! how unlike 
 her mother ! He proceeded to the next 
 letter : 
 
 *' Am I indeed thine, my Nevil ? — 
 Has the sacred ceremony past that has in- 
 dissolubly bound our fates together ? — It 
 seems like a blissful vision — Can it be 
 reality ? — Yes, I perceive on my finger 
 the magic circle^ the little golden amulet. 
 I press it to my lips, to ray heart, and 
 that heart's quickened pulses assure me I 
 am the wife of Horace Nevil. 
 
 '' Lord Lucan is giving orders for the 
 travelling carriages to be ready at an 
 early hour on Wednesday morning, to set 
 off" for London. Nevil, beloved of my 
 soul, before then we shall be on our way
 
 182 
 to tlij cottage, to Julia's Eden. Do not 
 come before twelve to-night. Hitherto I 
 have met thee with dreadj I have trem- 
 bled with apprehension ; but now all 
 these uneasy sensations are lost in floods 
 of dissolving tenderness — thou art mine ! 
 — the worshipped of my heart is mj' hus- 
 band, and only death can divide us. Jane 
 has asked my permission to go to her sis- 
 ter, who is ill. I was rejoiced at the 
 opportunity of getting rid of her ; she is 
 to remain all night. We shall meet with- 
 out interruption. Nevil, how does thy 
 heart feel ? — mine beats with sensations 
 never known before. Am I indeed thy 
 wife ? — Am I no longer Julia Belville ? 
 Come and receive my sighs of happiness — ■ 
 come and hide ray blushes in thy bo- 
 som/* 
 
 Henry was replacing the letters when 
 he heard the sound of footsteps in the gal- 
 lery, and had just time to descend from 
 the table, when the bolts of the door 
 were withdrawn, and one of the men who
 
 183 
 
 had attended him the night before enter- 
 ed with a fresh supply of provisions and 
 fuel. 
 
 He saluted Henry with much respect^ 
 and hoped he had rested well. 
 
 '' Perfectly well/' said Henry; *^^ I 
 have^ I thank heaven, no remorse of con- 
 science to prevent my sleeping : I am far 
 more '^^ sinned against than sinning;" and 
 most likely have enjoyed on this mean 
 pallet more sweet and undisturbed repose 
 than those who have condemned me to 
 this prison, though stretched on beds of 
 down/' — '^ I wish it was in my power, 
 sir, to alter your cor\dition, I would most 
 willingly. I have seen a good deal of 
 sorrow in this chamber/' 
 
 '' Who last inhabited it ?" said Henry. 
 *"' A gentleman/* replied the man, *' who 
 suffered much hardship ; he was said to 
 be married to one of our ladies. Poor 
 thing, she is quite out of her wits V 
 
 '' Was the gentleman's name Ncvil V 
 said Henrv.
 
 184 
 
 The man stared. — " Did you knoyf 
 him, sir ?'* 
 
 '' No/' replied Henry, " only by 
 name.'* 
 
 " Poor gentleman, he got from this 
 chamber, and nobody knows how nor 
 which way. He was it seems a great 
 scholar, and some of our servants say he 
 raised the devil, and that he helped' him 
 to escape ; however, sir, get away he 
 did, some how, by hook or by crook ; 
 but for my part, I believe Lady Lucan, 
 who is now Dutchess of -.'* 
 
 The man stopped suddenly. 
 
 " Proceed,*' said Henry ; but the man 
 looked confused and continued silent. 
 
 '^ At once to relieve your mind,'* said 
 Henry, '' I will satisfy you that I know 
 where I am : this edilice is Raven-hill 
 Castle, and belongs to the Dutchess of 
 Ingleslieid. Was not her daughter. Lady 
 Julia Bclville, married to Mr. Nevil r" 
 
 '' Yes, certainly, more is the pity ; 
 but do you know that they were surprised
 
 185 
 
 together on their wedding-night ; that 
 he was dragged from the arms of his 
 wifcj and confined in this chamber^ where 
 he pined for more than a year^ and that 
 his wife lost her senses ?'^ 
 
 *' No,'' said Henry, with a deep sigh^ 
 '' I did not know this/' 
 
 "" She is quite mad still/' continued 
 the man, '' and wanders about the apart- 
 ments of the west-tower, holding conver- 
 sations with her husband, whom she fan- 
 cies she sees. It is now ten years since 
 her marriage, and during that time her 
 mother has never visiled her but once, 
 for she is afraid of her, though, poor lady, 
 she is perfectly harmless, and spends her 
 time in making verses, so mournful, and 
 singing such doleful songs, your heart, 
 sir, would bleed to hear her/' 
 
 '' But respecting Mr. NeviPs escape," 
 said Henry. 
 
 '' I can give you no account how or 
 which way he went, but there are those 
 in the castle who could tell if they chose,"
 
 1S6 
 
 replied the man. '' At the farther end 
 of the gallery through which you passed 
 last night is a private staircase that leads 
 to the vaults belonging to the chapel ; I 
 suspect that his body was conveyed that 
 wav.*' 
 
 '' His body !'* repeated Henry. 
 
 '' Yes, sir^ to be hid underground/* 
 rejoined the nnan ; *' but I shall be want- 
 ed, and the steward, Mr. Barnet, by 
 whose orders I came, will reprimand me 
 for staying so long/' 
 
 He made up the fire and departed, fas- 
 tening the door after him. 
 
 '' To be hid underground !'* repeated 
 Henry, groaning ; '' wretched, ill-fated 
 Nevil ! but still more unhappy Julia I — 
 his miseries are terminated ; his heart 
 has forgot its sorrows — she still exists to 
 sufier. And may not my own fate resem- 
 ble his ? May I not be destined to lan- 
 guish out a miserable existence in this 
 desolate apartment — to die among stran- 
 gers, and have my hapless remains hid 
 underground, unlamented by the heart
 
 187 
 of friendship, unwept by th^se who loved 
 me; no sacred rite performed, no conse- 
 crated earth laid over me !" 
 
 Several dajs past in which Henry was 
 so occupied with mournful reflections on 
 the fate of Nevil, and the lamentable in- 
 sanity of Lady Julia, in commiserating 
 their divided loves, and deploring- their 
 disastrous fortunes, that he almost forgot 
 his own sorrows. He was attended dur- 
 ing this time by the same man, who one 
 morning in addition to his usual humble 
 fare brought some fruit, which as he was 
 but scantily supplied with plates, he laid 
 on the table on a newspaper. — '^ Per- 
 haps, sir," said the man, " it will give 
 you some pleasure, to know what is go- 
 ing forward in the world. I stole this 
 paper from the steward's room; he talks 
 of visiting you himself to-morrow; you 
 will take care to destroy the paper, for 
 should he discover that I have even 
 brought you this little indulgence, I 
 should bg exchanged for somebody else, 
 who may not be as well inclined toward^
 
 IS8 
 
 you.'" Henry''thanked the man, and pro- 
 mised to observe his caution. He took up 
 the newspaper : the first thing that struck 
 his eye was an advertisement offering 
 immense rewards for his discovery^ de- 
 scribing at large the manner of his being 
 seized and conveyed away. 
 
 *' I am not forgotten/' said Henry, his 
 eyes swimming in tears, as he pressed to 
 his lips and his heart the names of Sir 
 Owen Llewellyn, of LordNorbeth, and 
 Horatio Delamere. 
 
 *' My father, my friends, shall I ever 
 againbeholdyou/'exclaimed Henry,'' will 
 Adeline ever again fly to meet, and em- 
 brace her brother ?" 
 
 Again his eye wandered over the paper; 
 one column was entirely filled with his 
 adventure, and severe strictures on the 
 conduct of Lord Dungarvon, who was 
 strongly suspected of having entered into 
 a plot against his grandson. The Dut- 
 chess of Inglesfield was ridiculed, and 
 condemned; it also announced the de- 
 cease of Selwyn Mortimer, the only re-
 
 189 
 
 niaining son of the Hon. Richard Mor- 
 timer^ who died while preparations were 
 making' for his voyage to Lisbon. 
 
 *' So pass away/* said Henry, '' all the 
 proud aspiring hopes of Lord Dungar- 
 von, the sickly pampered offspring of his 
 favorite, all moulder in the sumptuous 
 mausoleum of their ancestors, while the 
 neglected son of Augustus Mortimer, 
 in spite of oppressive tyranny, still en- 
 joys Heaven's first great blessing, health/' 
 
 Again he read the paper, and again the 
 cherished hope of escape possessed him. 
 Suddenly he thought he might stand 
 upon the door of the recess, and from 
 thence reach the window. He knew he 
 should not be visited before morning : 
 the moon was yet too young to light 
 him, but at all hazards he resolved to 
 attempt an escape. The day appeared 
 unusually long, and he hailed the ap- 
 proach of night with transport ; he 
 placed the letters and manuscript of the 
 unfortunate lady Julia in his bosom, 
 and it being nearly dark he ascended
 
 190 
 
 from the table to the door of the recess : 
 and after much toil he succeeded in 
 reaching the window^, the stone work of 
 which being decayed it yielded to his 
 touch, and fell out with a splashing 
 uoisCj that convinced Henry the sea ran 
 beneath : after many unsuccessful at- 
 tempts he at last stood on the sill of the 
 window. The night was calm, the stars 
 shone with unclouded brilliancy : he con- 
 templated the thickly studded arch of 
 heaven with religious rapture, and re- 
 commending himself to the protection of 
 the Being who taught theplanatory sys- 
 tem to roll its splendid course^ he drop- 
 ped from the window to the battlement 
 that ran round the tower, and perceived 
 that the sea encircled all that side of the 
 castle : from the battlement was no re- 
 treat except along a narrow ridge indent- 
 ed in the wall, from which one false step 
 would precipitate him from an immea- 
 surable height into the '' world of wa- 
 ters.** He saw there was only a few 
 crumbling stones between him and eter-
 
 191 
 
 iiitj ; but lie resolved to proceed^ though 
 his situation, full of peril, threatened him 
 every moment with destruction^ climbing 
 over decayed parts of the edifice, that 
 shook beneath his weight, while many a 
 heavy moss -covered stone loosened by the 
 touch of his foot, or his hand, fell with 
 appalling noise into the waves beneath. 
 Almost exhausted, his clothes torn, his 
 hands bruised and lacerated, he gained 
 a wall about seven feet high, against 
 which he perceived the tide was flowing, 
 and he determined to wait till it should re- 
 cede : he sat down on the wall, and heard 
 a clock strike twelve. '' Good God \" 
 said Henry, '' how many hours have 
 elapsed since I began my perilous jour- 
 ney—how little does Sir Owen or his 
 gentle daughter think of the dangers 
 that encompass their unhappy wanderer. 
 Sweet and peaceful be their slumbers ! 
 soon, very soon I trust, I shall press them 
 to my bosom, shall hear the honest in- 
 dignation of Sir Owen, shall see the tear
 
 192 
 
 of soft compassion tremble in the raild 
 and expressive eyes of Adeline." 
 
 Maiij an anxious look Henry cast on 
 the swelling' lide, many a wish escaped 
 him that it would retreat. At length it 
 began to ebb^ and with inconceivable joy 
 he beheld it recede from the wall. — 
 Henry uninjured felt his feet touch the 
 sands ; hd walked with a quick pace, and 
 soon lost sight of the frowning turrets of 
 Raven-hill Castle. The sun had scarcely 
 risen when he found himself opposite a 
 farm house, into which he immediately 
 entered, requested some refreshment, and 
 inquired if he could be supplied with a 
 hoise and guide to the nearest town. 
 Henry*3 coat was torn in many places ; 
 his linen was soiled, and his hands and 
 face were scratched and bloody, for he 
 had wounded them in scrambling over 
 the sharp stones and flinty walls of the 
 castle. The man to whom he addressed 
 himself stood for some moments with his 
 mouth open staring at hira ; at last he
 
 193 
 
 ioquired where he came from^ and ia 
 such a miserable plight. Henrj briefly 
 related his adventure, and promised the 
 man a handsome reward, if he would 
 assist him to the next tov/n, declaring 
 himself too weary to proceed on foot. 
 *' Pretty work, indeed," said the farmer^ 
 *^ to carry a man away by force, and shut 
 him up, as a body may say, without 
 leave or licence : why for what I know 
 this may turn out to be a hanging mat- 
 ter. Yes, yes, young gentleman, I will 
 ^0 my best to help you, but you must 
 indeed be very tired, so my dame shall 
 give you a bowl of new milk, and shew 
 you io a bed, where you had better take 
 an hour or two's rest : ray horses are all 
 out at plough at present, and it will be 
 some time before thev can be fetched 
 here.'* '' Dame, why don't you come in ? '' 
 Presently a clean elderly woman made 
 her appearance, to whom the former re- 
 peated Henry's story, which she every 
 now and then interrupted with exclama- 
 tions of anger and piiy. Henry made a 
 
 TOL. I. K.
 
 194 
 delicious breakfast on bread and new 
 milk, and was soon after shewn by the 
 good woman to a clean comfortable bed : 
 for sometime he cduld scarcely persuade 
 himself that he was awake, or that he 
 had in reality escaped from the confine- 
 ment of the castle. As his thoughts be- 
 came more calm, he anticipated the de- 
 light of surprising his friends by his 
 unexpected presence, of receiving their 
 congratulations, and recounting to them 
 his perilous adventures. Fatigue at 
 length weighed down his eyelids : he had 
 not slept long before he was roused from 
 his repose by some person roughly shak- 
 ing his arm; he started up, and found 
 the farmer's wife by his bed side: '' Get 
 up, young gentleman/* said she, '' get 
 , up and begone. You have ran away 
 from one danger to fall into a worse. 
 My cross husband is brother to the 
 steward of Raven-hill Castle, and is 
 just set off to give notice that you 
 are here : make haste and begone.'* She 
 left him, and Henry hastily throwing on 
 his clothes, was down stairs in an instant
 
 195 
 
 after her. He would have pressed some 
 money upon her^ but she steadily refused, 
 and bade him keep it to help him on his 
 way, for that would be a friend when none 
 other was near. She directed him a bye 
 road across a moor to the next town. 
 Henry blest and thanked her, and turn- 
 ing into the fields according to the good 
 woman's direction, pursued his way for 
 some miles without impediment or mo- 
 lestation. The evening was now closing 
 in ; it was gloomy, and the wind swept 
 in long and chilling blasts over the heads 
 of the shrubs that were thinly scattered 
 on the moor upon which he had enter- 
 ed. So many paths now presented them- 
 selves that he stood perplexed and ir- 
 resolute which to pursue. Providence, 
 thught Henry, must be my guide. He 
 struck into a track, along which was 
 visible the impression of waggon wheels, 
 and followed it, till at last it led him to 
 a low white gate, a few yards beyond 
 which stood a neat thatched cottage. 
 Henry quickened his pace, and seeing a 
 k2
 
 196 
 
 decent looking woman^ resolved to pass 
 the night there if she could accommo- 
 date him. She told him that herself 
 and son inhabited the cottage, that he 
 was gone on particular business ever 
 since before daj to the steward at Ra- 
 ven-hill Castle, and that she was looking 
 for him home every minute. 
 
 At the mention of Raven-hill Castle 
 Henry determined on proceeding: he fear- 
 ed to trust himself again in the power of 
 persons who were in any way connected 
 with that place. He started up, and in- 
 quiring the road to the nearest town, 
 hastily departed, notwithstanding the 
 lateness of the hour and the darkness 
 of the night, dreading to encounter the 
 young man on his return from the castle, 
 lest, having heard his person described, 
 he should know and be influenced to de- 
 tain him. 
 
 Fatigued and unwell, in the agitation 
 of his mind he pursued his way to the 
 right instead of the left, which the good 
 woman had directed, and before he had 
 proceeded a mile his foot struck against
 
 197 
 something: he lost his equilibrium^ and 
 fell into a deep pit : here he lay stunned 
 and motionless for some time ; at length 
 recovering his recollection he endeavored 
 to rise. He had received a violent con- 
 tusion on his headj and both his ancles 
 were sprained : he v/as unable to stand, 
 his only alternative therefore was to wait 
 till some charitable person should pass 
 by, of whom he could implore assist- 
 ance to leave the pit, which was deep 
 and large. He now felicitated himself 
 en still possessing his watch and his 
 purse, as he feared he should be some 
 time before he could reach his friends. 
 
 The appearance of the farmer at the 
 castle with the intelligence of Henry's 
 escape filled the steward with the ut- 
 most consternation: they flew to the mat- 
 ted chamber, and finding the window- 
 forced out, understood at once how he had 
 liberated himself; but the door of the 
 recess being closed, they were quite at a 
 loss to comprehend how he had reached 
 the window : a ladder being brought. 
 
 ilS
 
 198 
 
 their astonishment was increased as they 
 viewed the outside^ nor was it unmixed 
 with shuddering sensations of terror, 
 while they gazed on the narrow jutraent, 
 and loose hanging stones, over which he 
 had pursued his desperate course. 
 
 '' Thank Heaven he is safe however," 
 said the steward. ''Aye/* replied the far- 
 mer, '' he is safe enough sure, taking a 
 comfortable nan I warrant in dame's best 
 bed — and rest he must want for certain af- 
 ter his toilsome journey. I would not take 
 all my ladydutchess's money to scramble 
 over those places as he did last night ; 
 why, man, if his foot had slipped^ or one 
 of these stones had given way, souse he 
 would have fell into the sea, and I would 
 not have given a broken horse shoe for 
 his life; but what," continuedhe, ''does 
 my lady dutchess want of him, brother ?" 
 "Want of him!" replied the steward, 
 " why she wants to marry him.*' " O 
 Lord ! is that all," said the astonished 
 farmer. '' Ecod I I wish my dame was un- 
 der ground, and she would marry me ;
 
 199 
 
 we would not have any prisonments, or 
 scapes out at windows about that affair.** 
 
 '' You V* said the steward, laughing, 
 " no, no, you are not joung enough for 
 her purpose. But come, I expect her 
 hourly; let us begone, and bring back 
 the runaway. Mercy upon me ! should 
 he not be forthcoming when she arrives, 
 I would almost as soon be steward of the 
 lower regions as governor of Raven- 
 hill Castle.'^ 
 
 The brothers were not long reaching 
 the farm, where finding Henry had de- 
 parted, they flew into the most violent 
 rage, venting execrations in abundance 
 upon the good woman, who in vain as- 
 serted that she was not able to detain 
 him. 
 
 Emissaries were immediately dispatch- 
 ed in different directions, and large re- 
 wards promised to the neighboring pea- 
 santry who would undertake to secure 
 and deliver him safe at Raven-hill Castle. 
 Henry had passed the night in extreme 
 pain ; his limbs were stiff and cold, and 
 K 4
 
 200 
 before the dawning of day his corporeal 
 agonies, joined to his mental suffering, 
 had brought on a fever, and he lay on the 
 damp flinty bottom of the pit, unconsci- 
 ous of the wretchedness of his situation. 
 
 It was a stone quarry into which he 
 had been precipitated. Early in the 
 morning a man came to his labor, and 
 seeing Henry lying at the bottom of the 
 pit, called out to him, '^ Halloo, master ! 
 you have picked out a rough sort of a 
 bed for yourself there." 
 
 Henry opened his eyes, but unable to 
 utter a word, closed them again. The 
 man got down into the pit, and seeing his 
 face bruised' and covered with blood, 
 compassionately tried to raise him up. He 
 found he was unable to lift him out of 
 the pit, and he ran home to his cottage 
 at a short distance to call his wife and 
 daughter. 
 
 They brought a rug, and with much 
 difficulty raised the unconscious Henry 
 from the pit, and carrying him between 
 them, humanely laid him upon a bed. —
 
 201 
 
 The man bid the woman take care of the 
 poor young fellow, and went to his 
 work. 
 
 Thej washed the blood from his face 
 and hands, but finding he was much 
 bruised, and his legs dreadfully swelled, 
 they were quite at a loss to know what 
 to do for him. 
 
 In this exigence the daughter ( a pretty 
 looking young girl) ran off to a neigh- 
 boring public-house, where she told a 
 lamentable story that a young gentleman 
 had been robbed and almost murdered by 
 some villains, who had thrown him into 
 the quarry, and that her father had found 
 him there almost lifeless, bruised from 
 head to foot, and covered with blood. 
 
 During this recital a man on horseback, 
 who was drinking at the door with Mr. 
 Muggins, the landlord, listened atten- 
 tively and bidding the girl shew him the 
 way, gallopped after her to where Henry 
 was raving of Lord Dungarvon, and 
 struggling to escape from the friendly 
 K 5
 
 ^2 
 woman, who was trying to bold him 
 down, and soothing him with expressions 
 of the utmost kindness. 
 
 The man had no sooner recognized the 
 disfigured countenance of Henry, than 
 he loaded the woman and her daughter 
 with thanks, and putting a guinea into 
 the mother's hand, bade her be careful 
 of the young gentleman till his return, 
 which would be as soon as he could 
 procure a chaise. He rode off full gal- 
 lop. 
 
 Mr. Muggins by this time had arrived 
 at the cottage, and seeing the gold in the 
 poor woman's hand, who was almost 
 frantic with her good luck, busied him- 
 self in assisting to bathe Henry's bruises 
 and his sprained ancles with warm vine- 
 gar. The woman cut off part of his fine 
 hair, which was clotted together with 
 the blood that had streamed from the 
 wound in his head. 
 
 '^ I am afraid the poor dear creature 
 will die," said the woman. 
 
 '' I hope not/' said the daughter :
 
 208 
 
 '' only look at his fine white skin : xi 
 would be a thousand pities that such a 
 handsome young man as he should die." 
 
 '' Handsome or not handsome/' said 
 the landlord^ '' he must die when his 
 time comes^ as well as Hodge Nixon and 
 I ; and mayhap, though his skin may be 
 finer than our's^ I question if the worms 
 will relish him a bit better, or make a 
 daintier meal upon him than us/' 
 
 '' Don't talk so wicked, Mr. Mug- 
 gins/' replied the girl, '' I am sure I 
 should be main sorry if he was to die ; 
 it would be a pity for the worms to eat 
 such a sweet young gentleman as him/' 
 
 The landlord was displeased, and 
 casting a look of contempt upon her, 
 said, '' And what do you know about 
 him pray, that you should be sorry ? — 
 what is it to you whether he lives or dies ? 
 You are plaguy concerned all about a 
 stranger ; it would be as well for you if 
 you was to mind which side your bread 
 is buttered on, and pay some notice to 
 other folk^ who mayhap are as good to
 
 204 
 
 look on as him^ though their skins are 
 not so fine.'* 
 
 '' You may as well be stilly Mr. Mug- 
 gins/' answered Ihe girl, '' for I shall 
 never like you, let your tongue wag as 
 much as it will; and you ought to be 
 ashamed, so you ought, to talk of this 
 here fashion about dying and worms, 
 when your own poor old wife have not 
 been dead above a month. Poor soul ! 
 she can hardly be cold in her grave 
 jet.- 
 
 Mr. Muggins laughed till his fat sides 
 shook. '' I am willing,'* said he, '' to 
 let you take her place in the bar, and 
 make you landlady of the Rising Sun ; 
 and as to the worms, they may feast on 
 her as long as they like, though they 
 will have but a sorry meal, for she had 
 fretted all her flesh away, and left them 
 nothing but bare bones to pick. But I 
 suppose Will, the miller's man, is more to 
 your liking." 
 
 '' Mayhap he is/' replied the girl, 
 '* and mayhap he is not; but whether
 
 203 
 he is or not, voii niit^hf have found some 
 other time to talk about such things^ 
 seeing the poor young man here in such 
 torment/" 
 
 '' No time like the time present," said 
 the landlord ; '' and as for Will, let him 
 Lave a care of himself; it is odds but I 
 ^^\. him sent aboard one of our frigates : 
 it will better become him to be fighting 
 the Freuch than to be skulking here 
 after the wenches. '" 
 
 During this altercation a chaise stop- 
 ped at the door^, and the same person 
 who had been at the cottage before, at- 
 tended bj another, jumped out of it. 
 
 '' Aje, confound his carcase/' said 
 the stesvard of Raven-hill Castle, as he 
 looked upon Henry, "'it is his unlucky 
 phiz sure enough. A devilish pretty 
 dance he has ltd us, but we have him 
 now safe enough, and I think he won't 
 escape from my clutches again in a hurry.'' 
 
 Mr, Muggins stood bowing and 
 scraping, and exp'a'ning what he had 
 done for the poor young gentleman : the
 
 206 
 steward only answered the landlord's po- 
 liteness with curse him. 
 
 '' I wish he had been at the devil before 
 I saw him. A fine shaking and jumhling 
 I have had of if^ driving here, and gal- 
 loping after him there; bnt 1 will an- 
 swer for it he don't give me the slip 
 again.'* The woman hoped his honor 
 would do the young gentleman no harm, 
 as they feared he had not long to live. 
 '•^Then/' said the steward, " he may die, 
 
 and " ''Oh, Lord! pray don't swear, 
 
 sir, it is so wicked/* said the young girl. 
 The other man chucked her under the 
 chin, swore she was a pretty wench, and 
 asked if she would go with them. 
 
 '' Come, Frank,'* said the steward, 
 " we shall hardly reach home before 
 dark.*' Mr. Muggins hoped they would 
 romember him for his trouble. The stew- 
 ard askcid him how much vinegar he had 
 used : he could not exactly say, perhaps 
 a quart. '' No, nor half-a-pint," replied 
 the girl : '" why should you wish to im- 
 pose on the gentleman ?" The steward
 
 207 
 gave him a shilling. Mr. Muggins eyed 
 it with contempt. '' If I had known how 
 I should be rewarded for my pains/' said 
 he, ''I would have seen his skin stript 
 off like an eel's, fine as it is^ before he 
 V. ould have had my \inegar or my help, 
 if I had known how I was to be paid.'* 
 
 All this time Henry was perfectly quiet, 
 and suffered himself to be placed unre- 
 sistingly in the chaise. The steward gave 
 the girl half-a-crown. Frank struggled 
 to kiss her, and told her she should soon 
 see him again. '/ Don't trouble your- 
 self," said the girl, '' to come this way 
 upon my account; I have no business 
 with gentlemen that wear such fine 
 clothes as you do ; I gti an honest living 
 by my hard labor, and at present I am 
 quite content and happy, but perhaps if 
 I was to see you often, I should g^i 
 proud and lazy, and wish for fine 
 clothes too.' 
 
 They sprang into a chaise, which drove 
 oft' at a furious rate, while the landlord 
 abused thetu for mean shabby scrubs^
 
 208 
 
 and told the £^irl that he should give 
 up all thoughts of making her Mrs. 
 Muggins, for he would not give a 
 to8s up of a brass farthing for a land- 
 lady at the Rising Sun, who would 
 make any bones about scoring double. 
 In the mean time the dutchess's courier 
 arrived at the castle with intelligence 
 that his grace would be there next day. 
 All was bustle and confusion : the apart- 
 ments that had not seen sun or moon for 
 years were thrown open to receive light 
 and air, and the long deserted corridors 
 echoed with the placing of furniture, and 
 the steps of domestics passing back- 
 wards and forwards. 
 
 The motion of the carriage had roused 
 Henry from his quiescent state : his fever 
 had arisen to an alarming height, and 
 the men, who travelled in fear of their 
 lives from his outrageous conduct, and 
 who with difficulty kept him in the car- 
 riage, rejoiced when they found them- 
 selves in the spacious court of Raven-hill 
 Castle, and the gales closed upon them.
 
 209 
 Henry was immediately stripped and put 
 to bed ; the house-keeper prepared a me- 
 dicine, which was with much trouble 
 forced down his throaty and she bathed 
 his ancles and his bruises with an emol- 
 lient of her own making. 
 
 The next day the dutchess arrived, pal- 
 pitating with the ardent hope, the bliss- 
 ful idea, that Henry, tired of his con- 
 finement, would accede to her terms, and 
 rather consent to become her husband 
 than live a prisoner for life ; but what 
 was her terror, her disappointment, to 
 find him delirious ; her horror to hear 
 him execrate Lord Dungarvon, and rave 
 of her in terms of abhorrence and dis- 
 gust. In her moments of compunction 
 she had him removed to a sumptuous 
 apartment, and sent off to the neighbor- 
 ing town for a physician : he came, and 
 pronounced that the patient could not 
 live twenty-four hours : he examined 
 his head, and declared that his skull 
 was fractured, and the brain injur- 
 ed, and if he were to survive, which
 
 210 
 
 appeared utterly impossible, he would 
 always be a lunatic. 
 
 The dutchess heard this account with 
 the utmost dismay ; her conscience had 
 already a sufficient burthen to sustain, 
 and she felt that the addition of his 
 death, or his insanity, would be a weight 
 too horrible for her nature, callous as it 
 Mas, to support. Every moment her at- 
 tendants were dispatched to his apart- 
 ment, and when she was told of his un- 
 ceasing ravings her sufferings more than 
 equalled his, for his agonies were in- 
 flicted by the hand of Heaven, who some- 
 times sees it right to punish the innocent, 
 while the wicked groan under the excru- 
 ciating torments of remorse, more dread- 
 ful, because awakened conscience con- 
 fesses to them the merited scourges of 
 guilt.
 
 211 
 
 CHAP. VII, 
 
 Honor pricks me on ; 
 But how, if honor prick me off when I come ot), 
 Ilovr then ? Can honor set a leg ? No : Or an arm ? 
 
 No: 
 Or take away the grief of a wound ? No : Honor 
 
 hath no skill 
 In surgery then ? No : What is honor ? A word: 
 
 What is that word ? 
 Honor — Air; a trim reckoning. Who hath it ? he 
 
 who died o' Wednesday. 
 Doth he feel it ? No. Doth he hear it ? No. Is it 
 
 insensible then ? yea, to the dead. 
 But will it not live Avith the living? No. Why ? 
 
 Detraction will not suffer it ; 
 Therefore I'll none of it. Honor is a mere scut- 
 cheon.'* 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Sir Owen Llewellyn had been inde- 
 fatigable in his search after Henry. Lord
 
 213 
 
 Narbelli and Horatio Delamcre had in 
 concert with him done all that wealth 
 or interest could cifect to find out the 
 spot where he was immured; yet still 
 he remained undiscovered^ and his fatg 
 seemed involved in impenetrable mystery. 
 Ardent is the cause of friendship : they 
 had severally written to Lord Dungarvon 
 on the subject^ and had each received 
 haughty replies, indicating that the 
 young man had by his grovelling notions 
 entirely convinced Lord Dungarvon that 
 he was utterly unworthy his notice, and 
 that he had in consequence abandoned 
 him to the enjoyment of that mediocrity 
 for which he seemed by nature, habit, 
 and inclination fitted ; that he wondered 
 any person properly acquainted with the 
 rank and consequence of Lord Dungar- 
 von would venture to associate his cha- 
 racter with that of a jailor, or presume 
 to believe that he would convert any one 
 of his mansions, consecrated by having 
 once been the residence of an illustrious 
 Mortimer, into a prison for the soa of
 
 213 
 
 Louisa Berresford. These answers^ though 
 thej bj no means convinced, obliged the 
 friends of Henry to resign the hope of 
 obtaining satisfaction from their appli- 
 cation to him, and to rest their reliance 
 of discovering him from the large re- 
 wards they continued to offer through 
 the medium of the public papers. But 
 as jet no clue had been obtained, and 
 Henry and his sufferings remained con- 
 cealed from the anxious inquiries of his 
 lamenting friends. 
 
 At Tudor Hall things wore an equally 
 unpleasant aspect. Sir Griffith deeply felt 
 that he had sustained a loss in Seymour's 
 society which he could not supply ; and 
 this want of a companion to join in his 
 mad freaks and projects served to keep 
 alive his resentment, even at the very 
 moment he could not help secretly ad- 
 miring, and doing justice to the brave 
 spirit that had disappointed his hopes and 
 wishes. 
 
 Through the means of Gwinthlean, 
 Eliza had contrived to correspond with
 
 214 
 
 Iier lover^ whose letters breatlied ever- 
 lasting: love, and inviolable constancy. 
 At tills period Lady Tudor's nepliew^, 
 the son of an English merchant who from 
 manj years of successful commerce had 
 accumulated an immensity of wealth, ar- 
 rived at Tudor Hall. Mr. David Mor- 
 p;an, the heir to his father's extensive pro- 
 perty, was a young man of Colossium 
 stature, very plain face^ and coarse man- 
 ners. His father had wisely considered 
 the time unprofitably wasted that was 
 not employed in getting money, and at 
 twenty -four years of age, David Morgan 
 was ignorant of all rule, except the rule 
 of three : he had seen but little beyond 
 liis father's counting-house in Milk-lane : 
 but he felt all the consequence annexed 
 to wealth, and was conceited and over- 
 bearing. The immense property to 
 which he was to succeed gratified the 
 pride of Lady Tudor, who found out 
 perfections in his awkward person and 
 illiterate mind undiscoverable to every 
 other eye. She flattered her fancy with
 
 21- 
 
 J 
 
 tbeliope that Miss Tudor, separated for 
 evi T from Sejmour^ would be sensible to 
 the merits of her cousin,, and that by 
 forming' an alliance with him^ there 
 would be wealth enough united in the 
 fortunes of Tudor and Morgan to pur- 
 chase a principality. 
 
 Sir Griffith seldom adopted or entered 
 into any scheme of his lady's but this * 
 contrary to her most distant expectation^he 
 warmly and eagerly promoted it ; he had 
 bitterly sworn his daughter should never 
 marry Seymour^ against whom his anger 
 still burnt fiercely, and he took every 
 opportunity of recommending Mr. INIor- 
 gan to Eliza's favor^ not that he either 
 liked or approved of him^ but merely 
 because he delighted in contradiction, 
 and because he saw that her heart and 
 thoughts dwelt on Seymour; and he 
 obstinately determined that she should 
 never marry a man who had dared to 
 avow an opinion and follow a course he 
 had disapproved. The spirits of Eliza
 
 216 
 
 were still animated ; she breathed many a 
 fond rcgTetlul sigh in secret, and put up 
 many a prayer for Seymour, but her fate 
 wore no trace of sorrow, and she mimic- 
 ed and ridiculed her ungraceful cousin 
 with a vivacity that her recent disap- 
 pointment had neither power to check 
 nor diminish. 
 
 The heart of Mr, Morgan was not en- 
 tirely insensible to the charms of beauty ; 
 he had not overlooked the sprightly graces 
 of his little wild cousin, whom he as- 
 sailed with the refined rhetoric of city 
 eloquence. He boasted of his riches, 
 enumerated his expectations, repeated the 
 names of the many ladies who were anx- 
 ious to be noticed by him, related a long 
 history of disputes that had taken place 
 at the Crown and Anchor balls between 
 Miss Alderman Congo and Miss Deputy 
 Figgens, who had fallen into fits because 
 he had taken out Miss Congo. 
 
 These narrations highly diverted Eliza; 
 and being by nature a coquette, she wai
 
 217 
 
 not displeased at having a new admirer^ 
 even though her eje disliked, and her 
 judgment despised him. 
 
 Adeline Llewellyn, who had witnessed 
 her flirtation, seriously remonstrated with 
 her on the cruelty of raising hopes she 
 had no intention of realizing, on the 
 danger of entangling him in a hopeless 
 passion, and hazarding the possibility of 
 making him for ever miserable. 
 
 " Never fear, child/' replied Eliza, 
 '• I will venture to prophecy that Mr. 
 David Morgan's heart is not made of 
 such penetrable stulT; no, no, he will 
 never be miserable on account of any 
 woman breathing; he feels his own im- 
 portance too proudly, to suffer much from 
 woman's wiles, or the witcheries of love.*' 
 
 Mr. David Morgan had been taught 
 by bis prudent father some good old 
 adages, which had deeply impressed 
 themselves not onlv on his memorv, 
 but on his judgment, and with the 
 value of which he was perfectly ac- 
 quainted : such asj " Delays are dan- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 2J8 
 
 gerous ;** " Xcver put off till to-morrow 
 Tvhat maij he done to-day ;" and several 
 others of equal merit ; therefore^ having 
 received from his cousin what he consi- 
 dered sufficient encouragement^ he ven- 
 tured one morning to sug'q:est, that as time 
 Mas extremely precious, and his presence 
 much wanting in his father's business, 
 he hoped that his worthy uncle. Sir 
 Griffith, would take his situation into 
 consideration, and have the great good- 
 ness, the extraordinary kindness, to in- 
 fluence Miss Tudor to name an early day 
 for their wedding. 
 
 Sir Griffith shook him by the hand, 
 and swore they should be married that 
 day fortnight. 
 
 When Eliza was acquainted with her 
 father's determination, she unhesitatingly 
 put a negative upon Mr. Morgan's hopes, 
 declaring that she considered six weeks 
 (the period he had been at Tudor Hall) 
 as far too short a time for her to decide 
 upon his merits, or to determine whether 
 he was the sort of man she should approve 
 for a husband.
 
 219 
 
 '' The sort of man ! *' replied Sir Grif- 
 fith : '' confusion ! madam, have not 
 you eyes to see that he is more than six 
 feet high and that " 
 
 " Oh! my dear sir," rejoined Miss 
 Tudor, '^ the man is quite tall enough I 
 confess ; but I am rather doubtful whe- 
 ther his understanding' may be commen- 
 surate with his height ; and whether na- 
 ture, in one of her frolicsome moods, 
 may not, in extending his figure^ have 
 contracted his understanding/* 
 
 ^' So much the better if she has, 
 madam," replied Sir Griffith, " so much 
 the better for you ; his want of under- 
 standing is all in your favor ; for I will 
 
 be d d if any man with an ounce of 
 
 brains would ever think of troubling 
 himself with such a little unmanageable 
 vixen. What the devil can you find to 
 object to ? His family on the female 
 side is the same as your own ; he has 
 plenty of money to keep pace with your 
 extravagance ; and as to himself, he is 
 a very good sort of a young man/' 
 
 L 2
 
 220 
 
 '' Yes, sir/* said Eliza, '' I acknow- 
 ledge that Mr. David Morgan is a very 
 good sort of good for nothing kind of 
 person. I thatik you, sir, for your oft'er; 
 but I will never be the wife of this good 
 joung man.'* 
 
 " Perhaps," said Sir Griffith, ''you 
 flatter yourself with the notion of mar- 
 rying that hot-headed fellow, Seymour ; 
 but if ever you do, I will be " 
 
 '' Pray don't swear, sir," interrupted 
 Eliza; " I should be very sorry to be the 
 occasion of your breaking an oath ; but 
 1 have pledged my word, you know, either 
 to be his, or remain in ' single blessed- 
 ness ;' and I have in the present instance 
 neither inclination nor temptation to fal- 
 sify my promise.'* 
 
 tc Yery fine! mighty well, madam!" 
 roared Sir Griffith, '' we shall see which 
 will gain the day, you or me. I must do 
 you the credit though to allow that you 
 are a very sweet, pretty, d d^ obe- 
 dient " 
 
 '' Obedient!" rejoined Eliza, '* no
 
 221 
 one can question that. Did not you com- 
 mand me to love Captain Seymour, and 
 did not I most dutifully obey you ?" 
 
 '' Nowthen^you perverse, little, d d 
 
 obstinate but I will not suffer my 
 
 temper to be ruffled— I will not get in a 
 passion. Remember, and let me see a 
 proof of your obedience and duty — I bid 
 you bate and detest him.'* 
 
 '* But tbis^ sir," rejoined Eliza, *' is 
 so unnatural a command, so extremely 
 unreasonable, that really I fear it will 
 be impossible for me to obey. Besides, 
 sir, you forget that I am of the race of 
 Tudor, a people famous, if tradition 
 may be relied upon, from generation 
 to generation, for contradiction ; — you 
 would not have me disgrace my fa- 
 mily, cast a blot on the fair fame of my 
 honored mother, and bastardize myself ?" 
 
 '' Yes, and tradition might also have 
 informed you, madam,'' replied Sir Grif- 
 fith, foaming with passion, '' that the 
 males of the Tudor line never suffered 
 L 3
 
 222 
 
 themselves, right or wrong, to yield a 
 point to a female ; so prepare yourself, 
 for you shall go to church this day fort- 
 night with David Morgan ; or I will be 
 
 d d to all intents and purposes if I 
 
 don't drag you there ; so prepare your 
 lace^ and your muslin, and your frip- 
 pery, and gew-gaws ; get your frills, and 
 your flounces, and furbelows ready." 
 
 '' Yes, sir," said Eliza, curtesying 
 obediently. 
 
 '' Yes, sir !^* said Sir Griffith, staring, 
 ''why, what the devil! — what do you 
 mean?" 
 
 '' I mean, sir," replied Eliza, ''to 
 avail myself of my aunt Rees's invitation 
 to go to Monmouth for a short time, only 
 till Mr. David Morgan shall have re- 
 turned to his computations and calcula- 
 tions in his father's counting-house, and 
 Sir Griffith Tudor to a recollection that 
 there is a line of duty for parents to ob- 
 serve as well as children ; I will then 
 cheerfully return to Tudor Hall, in the 
 hope of seeing those days restored, when
 
 223 
 
 Eliza was the darling of her father'* 
 heart — when he was her companion and 
 friend, not her tyrant/' 
 
 She was now quitting the roora, but 
 Sir Griffith caught her arm, and swing- 
 ing her round, swore she did not get off 
 so easily. — '' No journey to Monmouth ; 
 no driving my horses here and there, and 
 the devil knows where \" vociferated Sir 
 Griffith; '""no carrying complaints to that 
 soft-headed, silly oaf. Lady Rees, who, 
 if it was for no other reason in life than 
 the pleasure of thwarting me, would aid 
 and abet you in your wicked and unna- 
 tural rebellion against my authority; but 
 here comes David, and you had better 
 behave yourself with decency, or a dark 
 2:arret and bread and water— vou under- 
 stand me/' 
 
 Mr. David ?»lorgan hoped he did not 
 interrupt private business. 
 
 '^ No, David, no,'' said Sir Griffith, 
 '' the business we was upon will soon be 
 public enough : it was your marriage we 
 were talk-ng of/' 
 
 L 4
 
 ^224 
 
 " I hope/' Sciid Mr. Morgan, '' ix\\ 
 cousin has no objections." 
 
 " Indeed but I have though/' replied 
 Eliza^ " and a great many. In tlie first 
 place, matrimony is too serious a matter 
 to be entered upon \vithout mature deli- 
 beration." 
 
 *' Vcrj true, cousin/' said David. 
 
 ^' And in the next place/' resumed 
 Eliza, *' I think I am )et too young to 
 marry." 
 
 '' That's a Vie/' said Sir Griifitb, '' a 
 
 d d barefaced lie : you have fancied 
 
 yourself old enough ever since you en- 
 tered your teens/' 
 
 " And then/' continued Eliza, un- 
 heeding her father's gross interruption, 
 " our turn of mind is so very different." 
 
 •' That makes little odds/' said Mr. 
 Morgan, '' we shall you know live in the 
 city/' 
 
 *' In the city!" echoed Eliza, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " Aye, cousin, in the city, to be certain," 
 rejoined DavidMorgan ; ''andyou will find
 
 225 
 
 plenty of wealthj and agreeable acquain- 
 tance to visit. — There is Alderman Spa- 
 rable's family^ Deputy Snakeroot» and 
 Mr. Gammon^ the common council man's 
 lady and daughters^ who were brought 
 up at Chelsea boarding school, and can 
 parle vouz as if they had been born in 
 France^ besides Miss Figgins and Miss 
 Congo, and a hundred others, all ladies 
 of large property and expectations; while 
 I am busy in the counting-house with the 
 clerks in a morning, you will find them 
 all ready to gossip with you.'' 
 
 '' I really feel highly indebted to Mr. 
 Morgan/' replied Eliza, '' for his hav- 
 ing fixed upon me in preference to so 
 many deserving females, among whom I 
 have no doubt but he might have select- 
 ed one, whose heart and sentiments, more 
 in unison with his own, would have ren- 
 dered her more sensible than I am of the 
 honor he confers in the offer of his 
 band." 
 
 '' Why as to the matter of that there, 
 cousin," replied !Mr. Morgan, '' I could 
 L 5
 
 226 
 certainly Iiavc found girls enough in the 
 citj^ who would have jumped at the 
 thought of being Mrs. Morgan, but my 
 mother loves her own family belter than 
 any body else, and she wished that I 
 should travel and see a bit of the world ; 
 so accordiiig to her advice, I came all 
 the way from London, over the wild 
 mountains of Wales, to pay ray addresses 
 to you, a great many long miles, and a 
 great expence too, cousin, only for that 
 there purpose, and I should not like ta 
 be made a fool of, and laughed at for 
 ray pains and trouble/' 
 
 " Certainly not, David, certainly not/' 
 rejoined Sir Griffith ; " no man likes to 
 be made a fool of; and I shall take care 
 that nothing of this nature happens to 
 you, my boy.'' 
 
 " To prove to you," said Eliza, '' that 
 I have no intention of this sort, I beg 
 leave to observe, that if your visiting 
 Wales had a marriage with me for its 
 object, you have no one but yourself to^ 
 thank for having come upon a fool's cr-
 
 227 
 
 rand. Ij whose opinion was of most con- 
 sequence in the affair^ was never consult- 
 ed^ nor till now my opinion asked upon 
 the occasion ; if I had^ I should at once 
 have put a negative upon the busi- 
 ness/' 
 
 '* Whj look jou^ cousin/^ replied 
 David^ '' you might, being sharp enough 
 at most things, have guessed my mean- 
 ing. Have not I attended you here and 
 there and every where ; and have not you 
 accepted my services ; and have not I, 
 for all you talk in this here odd way, 
 always made myself agreeable to you ?'* 
 
 '' Not exactly/' replied Eliza^ ''though 
 I am willing to admit the goodness of 
 your intention. Depend upon itj Mr. 
 Morgan, I am not calculated for a 
 wife for you ; our manners, our habits, 
 our educations have been so very dif- 
 ferent." 
 
 '' Very true, cousin," replied Mor- 
 gan, ''the hours that you have slept away 
 in bed oi o. morning I have employed in 
 getting money ; and as for your classic
 
 228 
 and outlandish French and Greek books, 
 I don't pretend to understand any such 
 gibberish ; but for book-keeping after 
 the Italian manner, and Bonicastle, I 
 believe I am as well acquainted with 
 them as moit folks." 
 
 He said this with a tone of such proud 
 exultation, and an air of such import- 
 ance, that Eliza burst into a loud fit of 
 laughter, which entirely disconcerted Mr. 
 Morgan, and threw Sir Griffith into a 
 fresh rage, who swore that if he were to 
 have a hundred more daughters, not one 
 of them should ever learn to read or 
 write ; for that all the good books had 
 done for Eliza was to turn her brain, 
 pervert her principles, and make her re- 
 fractory and disobedient, lie then in- 
 sisted that she should treat her cousin 
 with more respect. 
 
 " Undoubtedly/' replied Eliza, *' I 
 shall ever respect Mr. Morgan as a man 
 of figures, with this special observance, 
 that he makes a trifling mistake in his
 
 229 
 
 arithmetic if he reckons upon having me 
 for a wife. Cousin, cast up your account; 
 jou will find (he ?um to(al of your jour- 
 ney into Wales comes exactly to disap- 
 pointment. As my mother's nephew^ I 
 am ready to shew you every proper atten- 
 tion ; but if I were to cons, nt to take you 
 Tor better for worse,' we should then be 
 ' a little more than kin, and much less 
 than kind ;' so^ ray dainty Davy, keeping 
 separate accounts will I am certain be 
 found most profitable to us both/' 
 
 Sir Griffith shook with rage. '^ You 
 shall be his wife \'* roared he, in a voice 
 of thunder. David turned pale, and 
 jumped from one side of the room to the 
 other — " you shall be his wife this day 
 fortnight, or I will turn you out of doors, 
 and you may go and carry the knapsack 
 after that fellow Seymour, who with his 
 red coat has bewitched vou to forget 
 
 your duty. You will cut a d d smart 
 
 figure upon a baggage-\\ aggon, or tramp- 
 ing on a broiling hot day along a dusty 
 road, after a drum."
 
 230 
 
 *' You seem to forget, sfir/' replied 
 Eliza^ '' that it was your own approba- 
 tion that sanctioned my regard for Capt. 
 Seymour, and that you once encouraged 
 the pretensions and thought highly of 
 the man of whom you are now pleased to 
 speak so degradingly. My mind, how- 
 ever, admits of no alteration ; he has my 
 perfect and unchangeable regard ; my 
 word is pledged to him^ and whatever 
 may be my future destinj, rich or poor, 
 I will be his^ or the wife of no man 
 breathing." 
 
 Eliza appeared agitated. Mr. Mor- 
 gan approached^ and attempted to take 
 her hand, which she drew back. 
 
 '' Sure, cousin, you can't be in earnest 
 in that there speech — you don't mean 
 that I should take it for true." 
 
 '' As the gospel,'' replied Eliza ; 
 *' and linowing ^my engagement and the 
 state of my heart, if you, Mr. Morgan, 
 had either delicacy, ho'or, or humanity, 
 you would at once decline a suit that you 
 see occasions so much uneasiness/'
 
 231 
 
 But Eliza knew not that she was ap- 
 pealing to the feelings of a man who was 
 at that very instant computing the ex- 
 pences of his journey into Wales, and 
 the possible extent of his losses in being 
 so long absent from his desk in Milk- 
 lane ; and resolving to call Sir Griffith 
 Tudor's wealth his^ if it was by any 
 means to be obtained. 
 
 Sir Griffith, however, spared her the 
 trouble of a reply, by telling her she 
 might as well reserve her speeches, for it 
 was his determination to marry her to 
 David Morgan. " Your hero/' said he, 
 " is fighting up to his knees in the trenches 
 of Holland, all for renown ; you are 
 parrying, battleing, and skirmishing with 
 your father, mother, and David here, all 
 for love ; now, my little obstinate, we 
 shall see which understands manoeuvering 
 best ; we will try which can carry on the 
 war most successfully. D— n you, Da- 
 vid,'^ said he, striking him a blow on 
 the back that made him reel again, 
 *' let multiplication and addition alone
 
 ^32 
 
 for the present, and I warrant we have 
 the victorj." 
 
 Eliza^ finding she could not quit the 
 room^ sat down by the window, took up 
 a book, and would have read, but Sir Grif- 
 fith snatclied the volume from her hand, 
 and throwing it to the other end of the 
 room, told her with all her learning she 
 
 was d d ignorant, and knew but little 
 
 of good-breeding, to attempt reading in 
 company. 
 
 Mr. Morgan drew a chair to the win- 
 dow, and assured her when she was his 
 wife she should be as happy as the day 
 was long, that she should entirely com- 
 mand the servants and manage the chil- 
 dren as she liked, and go where she 
 pleased, and wear what .she chose. 
 
 '^ Indeed," said Eliza, ''you are won- 
 derfully condescending." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, cousin, I am quite in 
 earnest, I assure you, for I shall never 
 attempt to concern with or meddle about 
 them there matters.** 
 
 '' Then," replied Sir Griffith, '' you
 
 233 
 
 win act like a d d ass, David ; giving 
 
 women their way too much ruius them. 
 What the devil and all his imps, suftcr 
 women to rule ! I never allow any per- 
 son to pretend to govern in my familv, 
 except myself, and you see — " 
 
 " Yes, sir," said David, '-'I see.'* 
 
 *' AYhat the devil do vou see?" said 
 Sir CfriSith, pettishly, 
 
 ** Only how well you govern <he fi- 
 mily. Sir Griffith/' replied Mr. Morgan, 
 rather confusedly. 
 
 '' What/' replied Sir Griffith, sneer- 
 ingly, *■' I suppose you think that I sliall 
 suffer that little minx, that bit of per- 
 versencss, that epitome of all her sex's 
 obstinacy, to get the better of me?— No, 
 no, David, she may contradict, she may 
 refuse^ she may thwart, but she shall 
 yield, she must obey at last. All her spi- 
 rit is gasconade, mere flash in the pan ; 
 for, d — n me, if I don't make her tliank- 
 ful to submit, or say I am not the son of 
 Griffith Glendower Tudor/'
 
 234 
 
 ''' And if ever I do surmit <o bo the 
 wife of David Morgan/' said Eliza, 
 springing out of the window^ ''say ray sex 
 liave lost all their spirit, and that I am 
 not the daughter of Griffith Tudor/' 
 
 Mr. Morfi:an started from his s:at in 
 amazen^ent. 
 
 Sir Griffith burst into a loud laugh.-— 
 *' Look at her, David/' said he; *' is not 
 she a beautiful little jade? — she runs like 
 a deer : d — n me, there is not such ano- 
 ther horse-woman in ail Wales; leaps a 
 gate or clears a hedge with as much ease 
 as she did this window. Can anj of your 
 pale-faced city girls do as much ?'* 
 
 '' Why no. Sir Griffilh, I can't say 
 I ever heard of their being over expert at 
 them there kind of matters ; but then they 
 can dance nicely/' said Mr. Morgan. 
 
 " Dance, David '/' replied Sir Griffith^ 
 " shew me one of them that will follow a 
 fiddle with my girl ; w by she foots it like a 
 
 fairy ; and then for spirit Oh ! d — n 
 
 it, she's a Tudor every inch of her !*'
 
 235 
 
 *' Yes, Sir Griffith, she a good deal 
 resembles jou/' replied the young man^ 
 who thought a great portion of her spi- 
 rit might very well have been dispensed 
 with, and whose mind would by no means 
 have reconciled itself to her electricity, 
 but from the hope of enjoying the large 
 estates to which he knew she was the in- 
 disputable heiress. 
 
 '' Yes, yes," said the delighted Sir 
 Griffith, '' every body allows that she 
 has my features, my temper, my spirit \ 
 not an atom of her mother's weak nerves, 
 die-away airs, and fanciful vagaries. — 
 D — n me, she's a wife for an emperor. 
 When you ^ti her, David, you will be 
 the envy of all the city bucks.'' 
 
 '' Nay for that matter. Sir Griffith,'' 
 rejoined Mr. Morgan, ^' my cousin will 
 be as much envied for having of me. I 
 could have had Miss Figgins, or Miss 
 Congo, both of them large fortunes, and 
 were monstrously in love with me, but I 
 preferred doing the will of my mother, 
 who desired me not to mind them there
 
 236 
 p^irlsj but to go into Wales^ and court mv 
 cousin Eliza.and indeed, Sir Griifitli, I had 
 a tedious journey of if, jolting over hills 
 and mountains ; and now I shall be 
 laughed at in the city, by all my ac- 
 quaintancCj if I go back as I came, with- 
 out a wife." 
 
 '' Cheer up, David/' replied SirGrif- 
 tithj ''you shall have her— have not I 
 said it, and let me see who will offer to 
 dispute my authority when I choose to 
 exert it, you shall see she will come to 
 as meek and gentle as a lamb " 
 
 Several days past in which Lady Tu- 
 dor urged, Mr. Morgan courted. Sir 
 Griffith swore, and Eliza remained inex- 
 orable, when being assembled in the li- 
 brary, in the midst of one of these alter- 
 cations a letter Avas delivered to Mr. 
 Morgan, which having read he turned 
 as pale as ashes, and presented it to Sir 
 Griffith, who no sooner glanced over it, 
 Ihan he turned to Eliza, his eyes flashing 
 
 fue. *' Here is a d d pretty kettle 
 
 of fish/' said he. '' So,, madam^ you have
 
 237 
 conti'ived to let Seymour's Scotch clan 
 know all that passes at Tudor Hall." 
 *' Not I, indeed sir/' replied she^ '' and 
 for the best of all possible reasons, I 
 knew they were at too great a distance 
 to render me any service/' 
 
 *' Then how the devil, you little witch, 
 should his cousin know any thing of 
 David Morgan?" Sir Griffith then read 
 aloud. 
 
 *' Mr. Lionel Seymour, first cousin to 
 Captain Seymour, of the sixteenth regi- 
 ment of Scotch Greys, expects that Mr. 
 David Morgan will meet him on Rhud- 
 lan Downs this evening at seven o'clock, 
 in order to give him satisfaction on the 
 part of Captain Seymour, now absent on 
 duty, for having made pretensions to 
 Miss Tudor his affianced bride. Lionel 
 Seymour leaves to Mr. Morgan the 
 choice of weapons, but shall expect him 
 with his second at the appointed place 
 and hour, or will not fail to fix the epi- 
 thet coward to his character publicly 
 and privately."
 
 23S 
 
 Sir Griffith rang the bell. '' Who the 
 devil brought this letter?*' The servant 
 replied, '' A countryman, who said it re- 
 quired no answer." '' What is to be 
 done, sir?" inquired the trembling Mor- 
 gan '^Done!" replied Sir Griffith, 
 
 *' why, you must meet and fight him, to 
 be sure. Whyd — n it, David, vou are as 
 white as Eliza's petticoat — jou can draw 
 a trigger can't you?** 
 
 *' Indeed, sir, I know very little about 
 pistols ; I have never been used to med- 
 dle much with them there sort of ar- 
 ticles,** said Mr. Morgan. " But you 
 can fire a pistol, David : I saw you take 
 aim at a robin the other day.'* '* Yes, 
 Sir Griffith, yes, but shooting a bird 
 and a man is quite and clean another 
 guess sort of a thing ; and then this here 
 letter says I must bring a second : where 
 can I fmd a man to go with me upon 
 such a bloody business, I that am quite 
 a stranger to every body in these here 
 parts?'* 
 
 '' 1 shall be vour second, David/' said
 
 239 
 
 Sir Griintb, '' and if Mr. Lionel Sej- 
 
 mour kills you, I will be d d if I 
 
 don't shoot him through the head : let 
 that content you, David." 
 
 '' No, Sir Griffith, no, that will not 
 content me, I did not come here with the 
 wicked intention of duelling; besides I 
 am but a verj bad shot ; and what will 
 my poor mother say, and what will my 
 father do without me, if I should be 
 killed?" Eliza, starting up, clasped her 
 hands in agony, and laying hold of Da- 
 vid, who shook like a leaf, entreated 
 him not to think of exposing his life; 
 that the Seymours were all famous marks- 
 men, and that she should never forgive 
 herself if she was the occasion of his 
 death. 
 
 '' He shall fight though," said Sir 
 Griffith, '' for all your snivelling. D — n 
 me, if a person that pretends to the ho- 
 nor of belonging to my family shall 
 sneak from the smell of gunpowder; I 
 have a most excellent pair of pistols, so 
 prepare yourself, David."
 
 240 
 
 Eliza knelt, prated, and entreated, but 
 the more she opposed, the more determin- 
 ed and vehement Sir Griflith grew. In a 
 few seconds the house was in an uproar, 
 the servants informed Lady Tudor, who 
 shrieked, fainted, and loudly insisted that 
 Sir Owen Llewellyn should be applied to 
 as a magistrate, to apprehend the blood- 
 thirsty delinquent, who was defying the 
 laws of his country, and planning to 
 take away the life of her nephew. 
 
 Sir Owen Llewellyn was gone some 
 miles across (he country to visit a friend: 
 the next magistrate was from home also, 
 and Sir Grifiith swore, and loaded his 
 pistols, which he gave in charge to his 
 groom, while Lady Tudor screamed in 
 hysterics, and poor David Morgan, white 
 as a sheet, stood silently looking on^ the 
 very statue of despair. Sir Griffith or- 
 dered Lady Tudor to be conveyed to her 
 apartment, and swearing a terrible oath, 
 told the almost lifeless David Morgan 
 that if he were afraid to meet his chal- 
 lenger, he might go and be d d, for
 
 2*1 
 
 a sneaking cowardly chicken-hearted 
 puppy ; for since Seymour's relation had 
 shewn so much spirit^ and thought his 
 girl worth hazarding his life for^ the 
 conqueror should have her.*** '' As to 
 that. Sir Griffith/' replied the gasping 
 Morgan, '^ perhaps I may have as much 
 courage as another man,, though to be 
 sure, as to swords and guns, and fire- 
 arms, and them there sort of things, I 
 have never taken any particular account 
 of them, because I had no notion that a 
 peaceable disposed man like me would 
 have occasion for their use : was the 
 nialtcr to be decided by fair boxing, it 
 would not be of so much consequence : 
 supposing as how one did come off se- 
 cond best, a black eye may come to its 
 color again, but the taking away a man's 
 life who does not want to die, who has 
 got plenty of money, and the good things 
 of this life to enjoy, it is quite as one 
 may say another sort of affair; it is not 
 a bit better than downright murder : 
 seeing you are not able to give back life 
 
 VOL, I. M
 
 242 
 
 when you have once taken it away, and 
 seeing ** 
 
 '' D— n me, but I see you are a devil- 
 ish coward, David, with all your elo- 
 quence/' said Sir Griflfith : " one need 
 not be much of a conjurer to see that — 
 but mark my words, David Morgan, you 
 may be Lady Tudor's nephew, and the 
 son of an opulent merchant for any thing 
 I know to the contrary, but if you don't 
 ratet and exchange shot with this Sey- 
 mour, like a man, I will be d — — d, and 
 my horse too, if ever you are Sir Griffith 
 Tudor's son-in-law. So you may as well 
 make up your mind at once, either to use 
 the pistols with spirit, or trot over the 
 mountains back to England as fast as 
 you can : but if I am not mistaken in 
 ray man, trot where you will, this mettle- 
 somespark will overtake you, even if you 
 should seek shelter under the desk in 
 Milk-lane." 
 
 In vain Eliza entreated. Sir Griffith 
 became at last so frantic with passion, 
 that she was obliged to give up the point.
 
 243 
 and retire to her apartment^ there to wait 
 with what patience she could assume 
 the termination of an event that had put 
 the whole house into confusion, and 
 spread dismay and consternation among 
 all its members. Sir Griffith excepted. 
 
 At the appointed hour. Sir Griffith 
 Tudor led, or more properly speaking, 
 dragged Mr. David Morgan to Rhudlaa 
 Downs, the field of action, where they 
 were met by the two young gentlemen, 
 the one so very small, that he did not ap- 
 pear taller than a boy of twelve years 
 old. The elder of the two introduced 
 him as Mr. Lionel Seymour. At the 
 sight of this pigmy antagonist, David 
 ^Morgan's courage revived for a mo- 
 ment — in stature himself a Goliah, and 
 his opponent a David ; but when he be- 
 held the pistols in his hand, and recol- 
 lected what he had heard of the unerring 
 skill of the Seymour's in shooting at a 
 mark, he was seized with an ague fit ; 
 his teeth chattered in his head, and his 
 
 M 5
 
 244 
 
 knees actually knocked against each 
 other. 
 
 '' Why, hey day! what the devil/* 
 said Sir Griffith, '^ are you the Lionel 
 Seymour that sent the challenge ?" 
 
 " Aye, gude troth am I/' replied the 
 young gentleman in a broad Scotch ac- 
 cent, '' what din ye ken in that, mon ?" 
 
 " Wh}^ d — n it, young gentleman,** 
 said Sir Griffith, '' because you appear a 
 mere child.** 
 
 " Cheeld as I am," rejoined the little 
 fellow tartly, '^ I have winged and pros- 
 trated as tall men as Mr. Morgan in my 
 day ; but time gangs awa while we are 
 prating : I am eager for vengeance upon 
 the mon who has usurped the rights of 
 mj cousin. Captain Seymour." 
 
 David Morgan, turning pale, stam- 
 mered out, that he should think it a pity 
 to hurt the young gentleman. 
 
 '' Fire and fury, sir !" replied Mr. 
 Lionel Seymour, '' do you mean to insult 
 me ? — Pity yourself, and if you have any
 
 245 
 
 thing on your mind that in the hurry of 
 this affair you may have forgot, be brief, 
 and communicate it to your friend. Com- 
 mend yourself to heaven — I never yet 
 missed my mark; and your blood must 
 atone for your presumption in addressing- 
 Miss Tudor^ and presuming to rival a 
 Seymour.*' 
 
 David Morgan in agony unutterable 
 saw the ground measured; they then drew 
 lots for the first fire ; the chance was in 
 favor of Mr. Lionel Seymour; he drew 
 the fatal trigger, and Mr. Morgan fell 
 to the earth. f 
 
 At that instant Sir Owen Llewellyn ap- 
 peared, with several of his own and Sir 
 Griffith's servants, whom he directed to 
 take Mr. Lionel Seymour and his second 
 into custody, notwithstanding the loud 
 oaths and remonstrances of Sir Griffith 
 
 Tudor, who swore it was d d hard 
 
 he should not be allowed to keep his 
 word with poor David, and shoot Mr. 
 Lionel Seymour through the head, which 
 M 3
 
 246 
 
 he had faithfiillv promised he would do, 
 in case Mr. Morgan fell. 
 
 As Tudor Hall was nearer than Dole- 
 gelly Castle, the two young gentlemen 
 were guarded (here, while the rest of the 
 servants took charge of the hody of the 
 unfortunate David Morgan. They laid 
 him pale and lifeless on a conch, his 
 waistcoat and hands crimsoned with blood, 
 supposed from a wound in his side. A 
 neighboring surgeon w as called in ; the 
 body was stripped and examined, and he 
 declared that the ball had penetrated no 
 where, and that Mr. Morgan was terri- 
 bly wounded with fear only ; and that 
 losing a little blood in reality, with the 
 comfortable aid of a warm bed and a 
 basin of white wine whey, would effec- 
 tally remove all the ill consequences that 
 might be expected to ensue from the 
 shock his spirits had undergone.
 
 347 
 
 CHAP. VIII 
 
 ** As for a woman's scorn, good lack ! I shall 
 Surrire it : only fools and madmen die 
 For love. When I consider my own proper 
 Person, I shall get oyer this, no fear. 
 I may be a coward as you say, for 
 I have no appetite for fighting; and 
 If ladies' favors are only to be won 
 By turning soldier, I shall no doubt 
 Remain a bachelor." 
 
 At this declaration of the surgeon's it 
 is difficult to say whether contempt, dis- 
 appointmentj or surprise was the predo- 
 minant sentiment in the breast of Sir Grif- 
 fith Tudor, and he stood almost with- 
 out motion, while the crimson stains 
 were washed from the hands and face of 
 Mr. Morgan, who began to give signs of 
 existence, and in a short time was suffi- 
 M 4
 
 248 
 
 ciently recovered to thank heaven that he 
 was in the land of the living. 
 
 Sir Griffith, recovering also from his 
 astonishment^ laughed, whistled, and 
 swore alternately, as he examined the pis- 
 tols, which he found had been filled with 
 blood and a few pease. He vowed ven- 
 geance upon the author of this trick ; 
 while Lady Tudor, having just got the 
 better of an hysteric^, told him he ought 
 to thank heaven that it was a trick, and 
 that murder had not in reality been com- 
 mitted ; though she should not wonder if 
 the continued alarms she was put into was 
 to be the death of her at last. 
 
 '' No, I will be d d if any thing 
 
 of the kind kills you,'* replied Sir Grif- 
 fith ; '' you are as tough as old iron for 
 all your weak nerves ; no such luck for 
 me; more is tlie pity. But,'* said he, 
 turning to the pale, woe-begone, terrified 
 David Morgan, ""you may make your 
 congee as soon as it is agreeable: you may 
 return to your counting-house in Milk- 
 lane as soon as you please, for Eliza
 
 249 
 
 shall never contaminate the noble blood 
 of the Tudors bj mixing it with that of 
 a pitiful coward, who fell at the mere 
 report of a pistol^ and fainted at the very 
 thought of being wounded." 
 
 Saving this, he left Lady Tudor to 
 compose her spirits, apply restoratives, 
 and console her nephew, while he in pro- 
 digious fury sallied to the apartment of 
 his daughter, whom he strongly suspect- 
 ed of being at the bottom of this adven- 
 ture, if not the absolute plotter and con- 
 triver of David Morgan's disgrace. — 
 Eliza was no where to be found ; she had 
 not been seen since she quitted the library 
 previous to the gentlemen going out. — 
 Supposing she had set oft' to Dolegeliy 
 Castle, Sir Griffith was on the point of 
 dispatching a messenger to order her 
 home, when Sir Owen Llewellyn request- 
 ed the favor of his presence at the exa- 
 mination of the young oft'enders in cus- 
 tody, 
 
 He turned hastily into the room, and 
 addressing Mr. Lionel Seymour, said, 
 M 5
 
 ^50 
 
 " Well, my young spark, you have put 
 a d d pretty trick upon us." 
 
 *' I dinna ken your meaning, sir," re- 
 plied the young gentleman. 
 
 " But do you ken," said Sir Griffith, 
 " that you have assaulted ]Mr. Morgan 
 on the king's highv^^ay ?" 
 
 " Hoot awa, mon ; nay, I ha din na 
 sic thing; Rhudlan Downs I understand 
 is your property, not the king's.'' 
 
 " Here is equivocation with a venge- 
 ance," said Sir Griffith ; '' but tar as you 
 come north, you arc not keen enough.— 
 Do you ken that though you have not 
 committed absolute murder, you have put 
 him in bodily tear, which deserves the 
 punishment you shall most certainly re- 
 ceive. I have ordered a bunch of nettles, 
 and intend with my own hand bestowing 
 the correction you merit." 
 
 Sir Owen Liewellyn laughed. 
 
 The little fellow cocked his hat, and 
 strutting up to Sir Griffith, replied, 
 " You munna think to frighten me with 
 moonshine; you would as soon cram your
 
 251 
 
 hand into the fire as use it after the way 
 you have mentioned. You dinna ken 
 what you speer about, mon. —You would 
 not dare to put your threats in execu- 
 tion/' 
 
 '' And how the devil did you dare, 
 you young villain, to put such a trick 
 
 upon us ? A d d pretty joke it will 
 
 be all over the country I But, pooh ! 
 what need I mention Wales ? the jest 
 will soon travel to England ; it will reach 
 London 1 warrant before David Morgan : 
 the cowardly scoundrel will be sneered at 
 in his counting-house by his own clerks, 
 and laughed at upon 'Change — and what 
 the devil and all his imps, you little mis- 
 chievous rascal, you worse than all the 
 plagues of Egypt, can you say in your 
 own defence }" 
 
 Not a word was uttered by the young 
 culprit, whom Sir Griffith continued to 
 interrogate with a string of questions 
 which he did not give him time to an- 
 swer : at last, having raved himself out 
 of breath, he concluded with — '' Who
 
 252 
 
 set jou upon this cursed plot ? — Where 
 did you spring from ?" 
 
 The offender turned avvav and lausrhed 
 heartily, which irritatirjg the already 
 frantic Sir Giiflith, he insisted that Sir 
 Owen Llewellyn should make out his 
 mittimus, and commit him and his com- 
 panion to prison, till they should hy re- 
 pentance be brought to render not only a 
 proper account of themselves^ but also 
 of their abettors and employers. 
 
 '' Well, Sir Griffith, for your satisfac- 
 tion, that shall be done immediately : 
 my own heart was my abettor, my own 
 invention my only employer." 
 
 *' Hell and the devil !.... Hey ! how! 
 what!'' said Sir Griffith, as the well 
 Anown voice of his daughter struck on 
 
 his car. " Why, you little d d harcum 
 
 scareum mad devil, Eliza 1 Sure this is 
 not one of your frolics ?" — '' Yes, in- 
 deed, but it is, papa," replied Eliza; 
 •' all stratagems you know are fair in love 
 and war : you said we would try which 
 could manoeuvre best, and I hope you
 
 2o3 
 
 will allow me some credit for my gene- 
 ralship.'* 
 
 Sir Griffith looked bewildered : he 
 stood for some minutes in absolute asto- 
 nishment. — " D — d odd I should be so 
 taken in ! Strange I should not know the 
 little devil !" He turned her round and 
 round to convince himself it \Vhs really 
 her ; Nubile she bowed, and in the broad 
 Scotch accent said^ " Dinna you ken me, 
 raon, when there is na sic a lassie in aw 
 Wdes?" 
 
 "^ No/^ said Sir Griffith, having satis- 
 fied himself as to her identity, '' nor in 
 
 all the world ; I will be d d, and my 
 
 horse too, if there is. But pray, madam, 
 ©r sir, have the politeness to introduce 
 me to your companion.'^ 
 
 '^ Oh ! my companion," rejoined Eli- 
 za, '' is the sister of my waiting gentle- 
 woman, Jenny Jones, who being out of 
 place, has been some time at Tudor 
 Hall." 
 
 ''* Her time is out then," replied Sir 
 Griffith : '' but though I must do you
 
 254 
 
 the justice to say you have topped your 
 parts to a mimcle, not an hour longer 
 does she remain under the roof of Tudor 
 
 Hall. Troop, you d d hussy, quit 
 
 the house this instant, and at your peril 
 let me ever see your ugly phiz within my 
 doors again. This is ' eat my mutton, 
 drink my wine, and then poke ray eye 
 out.' I will entertain no plotters, no 
 schemers, no contrivers.*' 
 
 " Nay,*' said Eliza, " I beg I may 
 not be deprived of the merit of the plot 
 and contrivance, which was all my own. 
 I assure you, sir, poor Jenny by my 
 persuasions was only an humble assistant, 
 instructed by me ; and really, papa, I 
 think you ought to rejoice that the de- 
 nouraent, without being tragical, has 
 discovered the real character of the cou- 
 rageous David Morgan." 
 
 Sir Griffith's rage against Jenny vas 
 so extreme, that she was thankful when 
 she was pushed out of the room from 
 him, so much had his frantic gestures 
 terrified her; and she gladly set off, at-
 
 255 
 tired as she was^ to Dolegelly Castle (at 
 the instigation of Sir Owen Llewelljn), 
 to avoid his fury, which now rose to an 
 ungovernable pitch. 
 
 As he swore to Eliza that she should 
 never again quit her apartment till she 
 left it to go to church with her cousin 
 Davidj who, sneaking, cowardly scoun- 
 drel as he was, should yet marry her if 
 he would, and when she was his wife, he 
 
 would be a d d fool if he did not pay 
 
 her off for all her tricks. Sir Owen Llewel- 
 lyn interfered, and kindly entreated, see- 
 ing the confusion of the family, that 
 Eliza might be permitted to spend a few 
 days with her friend Adeline ; but this 
 Sir Griffith peremptorily refused, swear- 
 ing she should remain in strict confine- 
 ment till the day of her marriage witk 
 David Morgan/' 
 
 *' Say then," replied Eliza, ''that I 
 shall remain in confinement to the day of 
 my death ; for never, no, never, will I 
 become the wife of that dastardly ani-
 
 256 
 
 raal. What ! sacrifice myself to igno- 
 rance and cowardice — give up the brave 
 generous Seymour for that creature ! no, 
 never ; I am content to suft'er everv hard- 
 ship first/' 
 
 "^ And if I don't make you suffer may 
 
 I be d d V said Sir Griffith ; '^ and 
 
 to prevent any more of your devilish 
 plots and cursed schemes^ I shall take 
 the liberty of escorting you to your cham- 
 ber. Come, Mr. Lionel Seymour, I shall 
 see if I can't turn the key upon you, my 
 little volatile spark. I shall endeavor 
 by confining you to put an end to your 
 gambols and vagaries, before you do any 
 more mischief : as it is, you have almost 
 killed dainty Davy, and brought on all 
 your mother's confounded string of hys- 
 terics, spasmodic affections, and the devil 
 himself knows what besides." 
 
 Saying this, he caught her up in his 
 arms, and in spite of her struggles, car- 
 ried her into her chamber, and throwing 
 her upon the bed, told her she might
 
 257 
 
 now compose herself, as no doubt the fa- 
 tigues she had undergone would render 
 rest necessary. 
 
 With this he locked the door upon 
 her ; adding, she might, if she could 
 not sleep, set her wits to work, and get 
 out of confinement if she could. 
 
 Sir Owen Llewellyn reasoned with his 
 friend on the rashness of his behavior, 
 and would have been a mediator for 
 Eliza ; but Sir Griffith, alive only to 
 rage and resentment, persisted i[i the de- 
 termination of keeping her under lock 
 and key, till she was sensible of the 
 folly of contradicting and opposing his 
 wishes. 
 
 Eliza fiad wrote to Sir Owen Llewellyn 
 an account of her project, and requested 
 his attendance ; but having mentioned a 
 later hour for the meeting on Rhudlan 
 Downs than she designed it should take 
 place (as she feared he would prevent 
 her scheme), he did not arrive till after 
 the rencontre, too late to prevent the cow-
 
 2d8 
 ardice of Morgan being exposed^ or 
 herself from experiencing the unpleasant 
 consequences of her father's anger. 
 
 The next day Mr. Morgan, being 
 partly recovered from the terrors of dis- 
 solution, and encouraged by the presence 
 of Lady Tudor, \sho thought him ex- 
 tremely ill-trcaled, appeared at the din- 
 ner table, where Sir Griffith, having 
 cooled a little, began to consider how 
 unpleasant a circumstance it would be to 
 embroil himself with his wife's family* 
 behaved to him as if nothing had hap- 
 pened, and resolved if he refused Eliza, 
 (which he heartily wished he might) 
 that it should be his own act and deed. 
 
 After the bottle had pretty fredy circu- 
 lated between them, Sir Griffith endea- 
 vored to set Eliza's frolic in the most fa- 
 vorable light. '^ Eliza's frolic,*'said Lady 
 Tudor, drawing herself up. 
 
 *' Aye, d n it, my lady,*' conti- 
 nued Sir Griffith, '' did not I tell you 
 before that it was Eliza who per-
 
 239 
 sonated Lionel Seymour ; and a devilish 
 smart little fellow she looked, did not 
 she, David?'' 
 
 '' As to the matter of that. Sir Griffith," 
 replied Mr. Morgan, " I know verj lit- 
 tle about her sniartness, seeing as how it 
 was not light enough to distinguish ; but 
 I think Miss Tudor might have had more 
 discretion than to act in that there out of 
 the way fashion for a young lady." 
 
 *' Well, well, David, say no more upon 
 the subject," rejoined Sir Griffith, ''Eliza 
 is frolicsome, but she means no harm. 
 D — n it, man, don't be sulky, but 
 forget and forgive." 
 
 " As to forget and forgive/' said Mr. 
 Morgan, *' that is clear another sort of 
 matter. Sir Griffith, and much easier 
 talked about than done, seeing as how I 
 can never forget that I have been mon- 
 strously ill used, and I don't see how I 
 can forgive such an affront as this here 
 is." 
 
 '' Pshaw, David, this is all idle talk; 
 d n it, when you are married "
 
 260 
 '' Hold there a bit, Sir Griffith ; I 
 have no great appetite left for marrying. 
 Miss Tudor is far too wild for me, who 
 wants a prudent careful quiet wife. Lord 
 help us ! the citj:, big as it is,would not be 
 wide enough for her to cut capers in ; so 
 she had better stay here among the moun- 
 tains, where she will have range enough 
 for tlicm there frolics, and I shall go 
 back to London with a little more wit 
 instead of a wife, that is all. Sir Grif- 
 fith/' 
 
 Ladj' Tudor was incensed bevond mea- 
 sure when she was given to understand 
 that it was Eliza who had committed 
 such a bold indelicate action, as to put 
 on male habiliments, an outrage against 
 female modesty, which she protested she 
 would never overlook nor pardon, more 
 especially as it was certainly done with 
 the abominable intention of putting an 
 aftVont upon a member of her family, 
 who was by no means to be despised or 
 condemned for the weakness of his nerves, 
 an affliction unfortunately hereditary in
 
 261 
 
 their family, as she unhappily was chliged 
 to experience daily and hourly ; nor did 
 she know that courage was a quality so 
 very requisite to gentlemen who were not 
 designed for soldiers or sailors. 
 
 To this speech Sir Griffith replied with 
 a sneer: ''Heaven help Great Britain — she 
 would be in a woeful way indeed if her 
 armies and navies were composed of men 
 with nerves like David Morgan^s ; but 
 however, Eliza^s nerves are like her fa- 
 ther's, pretty well braced; and d — nit, 
 David, you are not serious sure in giving 
 her up — a girl of her spirit/' 
 
 " There it is. Sir Griffith ; she has far 
 too much spirit for me," said Mr. Mor- 
 gan. '' I protest I have lost all inclina- 
 tion for matrimony, and will remain a 
 few years longer a bachelor ; and if ever 
 I should enter the pale of wedlock, it shall 
 be with a partner who makes nopretensions 
 to that there spirit which you like so mucli^ 
 but which I must make so free as to say 
 I think very ugly and disagreeable/' 
 
 Sir Griffith's temper now took a difter-
 
 262 
 
 entturn; and, notwithstanding what bad 
 happened, he considered himself affront- 
 ed by Mr. Morgan's rejection of his 
 daughter ; and on Lady Tudor's saying 
 she deserved to be confined for a month 
 for her conduct, he flew instantly to her 
 apartment, and led her to the parlor, in 
 the hope that she would by fresh tricks 
 and new mischief contrive to plague and 
 mortify David, whom he now held in 
 sovereign contempt: but Eliza had gain- 
 ed her end ; she had broke off the in- 
 tended alliance, and she suffered him io 
 recover his spirits without attempting to 
 conciliate his favor, or provoke him with 
 further contrivances. 
 
 David Morgan pretended to be recon- 
 ciled to his cousin, but his heart never 
 cordially forgave her : he affected to treat 
 her with neglect; and, in order as he 
 supposed to mortify her, he attached 
 himself to Miss Llewellyn, to whom on 
 all occasions he paid all possible court; 
 and, notwithstanding his recent declara- 
 tion of remaining a bachelor, he soon
 
 263 
 
 after made her an offer of his heart and 
 hand. 
 
 Adeline saw the motive, and felt all its 
 indelicacy, but she pitied the ignorance 
 of the man, and contented herself with 
 rejecting his proposals, without betray- 
 ing her contempt for his character. 
 
 Eliza was reinstated in her father's 
 favor, but Lady Tudor maintained a 
 haughty reserve : her darling scheme of 
 blending the family fortunes had been 
 frustrated, and she chose to keep up a 
 resentment against her daughter, which^ 
 while it hurt the feelings of Eliza, who 
 tenderly loved her mother, contributed 
 to add to her detestation of David Mor- 
 gan, who seeing all his matrimonial pro- 
 jects fail, departed from Tudor Hall in 
 high dudgeon, declaring that if he had 
 only supposed that he should have met 
 such treatment in that there place, he 
 would as soon have taken a journey to 
 Jericho as to Tudor Hall — and as for 
 marrying Eliza, he would every bit as 
 soon tie himself to an outlandish creature
 
 264 
 
 from foreign parts; for she was wilder by 
 half than the goats on her own moun- 
 tains^ and had more tricks than any mon- 
 key he had ever seen at Exeter Change, 
 where they had exhibited them there mis- 
 chievous beasts. 
 
 Eliza rejoiced from the very bottom of 
 her heart when he was gone, for she 
 dreaded lest some sudden whim, or new 
 contradiction, might | re-instate him in 
 her father's good graces, and again ex- 
 pose her to his addresses. 
 
 Lady Tudor lamented the departure 
 of hernephew, and expatiating on the ill- 
 treatment he had received in Wales, re- 
 proached Eliza for her conduct to him, 
 which she assured her would not fail to 
 be represented in England, where his re»- 
 lations would not forget to resent the af- 
 front she had put upon her cousin David 
 with becoming spirit. 
 
 '' And A\ho the devil, Lady Tudor, va- 
 lues their resentment or their spirit,'* re- 
 plied Sir Griffith, " Eliza Tudor wants 
 no favors from them I suppose, and as to
 
 ^65 
 
 him, I am ashamed of the relationship. 
 A poor, pitiful, sneaking, cowardly, ig- 
 norant blockhead : I am glad in my soul 
 that the girl did try what mettle he 
 
 possessed I should have been d -d 
 
 «orry to have had such a chicken-hearted 
 puppy as that for a son-in-law — a fellow 
 as big as the Philistian giant, and ye 
 so destitute of courage as to be afraid to 
 say boo to a goose. Did your siiter nurse 
 him at home? D — n him, I believe he 
 is an impostor ; he has not an ounce of 
 Cambrian blood in his veins/' 
 
 Lady Tudor would have defended her 
 nephew from the imputation of coward- 
 ice, and would have assigned physical 
 reasons for the weakness of his nerves; 
 but Sir Griffith ridiculed her explana- 
 tions, and treated his character with so 
 much irony, that her ladyship was obliged 
 to give up the point, protesting that the 
 strength of Hercules would be insuffi- 
 cient to combat v, ith him, and that David 
 Morgan had really a lucky escape in not 
 
 VOL. I, N
 
 266 
 •tiiarrvliig Miss Tudor^ who happening to 
 have a robust constitution herself, would 
 have had as little mercy on poor David's 
 weak system as lie had on her's. 
 
 " As to his weakness^ Lady Tudor/' 
 replied Sir Griffith, '' it chiefly lay in 
 his head; but it is all owing to his edu- 
 cation : if he had been a son of mine, 
 
 I would have taught him.- But 
 
 d — n it, what is the use of talk- 
 ing to you. If I had suffered you to 
 bring up Eliza after your fashion, she 
 would have been screaming at the sight 
 of a frog, and fainting if a wasp had 
 buzzed in her ear. As it is, she has no 
 affectation, and knows nothing of weak 
 nerves, hates the smell of hartshorn and 
 burnt feathers; never is troubled with 
 low spirits and hysterics, but is full of 
 health and animation." 
 
 '' I wish she had less animation, and 
 more delicacy," replied Lady Tudor. 
 
 '' Delicacy ! a fiddlestick I" rejoined 
 Sir Griffith. '' D— n delicacy, it makes
 
 267 
 
 a woman worse tbaa a fool. I hate your 
 die-away dolls that are for ever swallow- 
 ing slops, and sniffing essences^ and fan- 
 cying themselves ill if the wind blows 
 upon them. I hate your hot-house 
 plants, sickly, and drooping — my girl is* 
 a fine spirited, lively^ mad little devil^ 
 and I love her because she can gallop 
 after a fox all day^ and dance after a 
 fiddle all night : and d — n me^ she does 
 not mind the smell of gunpowder, and 
 that is more than can be said of some of 
 the family^ who no sooner come within 
 scent of it, than they faint away." 
 
 Mr. David Morgan returned to London^ 
 mortified and disappointed beyond mea- 
 sure. . The great wealth to which it was 
 known he was heir had rendered him an 
 object of universal importance and atten- 
 tion among the young ladies of the city, 
 who had not been niggardly in display- 
 ing all the attractions of dress, airs, and 
 graces, to obtain the notice of Mr. David 
 Morgan, in the contemplation of whose 
 n2
 
 268 
 riches the) had sunk the plainness of hii 
 person. It was true that Miss Congo and 
 Miss Figgins had severally assailed his 
 heart, and had even disputed the honor of 
 being his partner at the city balls : but 
 lie had cruelly overlooked the tender ad- 
 vances of these ladies, and at the instiga- 
 tion of his mamma, had setoff for North 
 Wales, supposing that in those re.note 
 parts, a person coming immediately from 
 London, the emporium of taste, elegance, 
 . and fashion, would be considered a demi- 
 god. His cousin Eliza, brought up in 
 Wales, he had been taught to consider an 
 absolute mountaineer, who could not fail 
 to be attracted by his graces, and whose 
 aflfections and consent would be obtained 
 without the smallest difficulty ; for how 
 was it in the nature of possibilities to sup- 
 pose that a girl whom he imagined had 
 only been used to the rude society of 
 Welch boors, could resist, or fail to 
 be captivated by the various attractions 
 that united in him, who, in order to ac-
 
 269 
 
 complish himself for genteel company^ 
 had since he had arrived at man's estate 
 taken a dozen private lessons from Sig- 
 nor Latoni, who undertakes to improve 
 the gait, and teach grown gentlemen to 
 dance ; of him whose crop had been ele- 
 gantly trimmed by the Prince of Wales's 
 own hair dresser, whose coat had been 
 made by the Duke of York's tailor, and 
 whose hussar boots had been bought of 
 Hoby. 
 
 So equipped for conquest, David 
 Morgan, and David Morgan's mamma, 
 conceived him irresistible. What a dis- 
 appointment ! What a mortification ! 
 W^hat a degradation ! A little W^elch 
 romp had insolently refused him, had put 
 a trick upon a man of his figure and con- 
 sequence. Another mountaineer had 
 also rejected him : he measured his way 
 back in a far different frame of mind to 
 that in which he undertook the journey. 
 When seated at his desk in Milk-lane, 
 he began to calculate and lament the mo- 
 N 3
 
 270 
 
 nej he had so unprofitably wasted, to 
 curse his journey into Wales, and 4he 
 natives, among whom he did not forget 
 to include Adeline Llewellyn, and to pre- 
 pare and fortify himself to sustain the 
 sneers and airs of Miss Congo, and Miss 
 Figgins, and the rest of his city ac- 
 quaintance, who he knew would be glad 
 of the opportunity of shewing ofif their 
 wit at his expence. 
 
 His mamma vowed never to forgive 
 the affront put upon her darling boy, 
 while his father gravely observed that 
 *' A bird in the hand is worth two in the 
 bush," and that if David had followed 
 his advice, and taken "Time by the fore- 
 lock," all would have been well, but it 
 was a true saying, '' Farther on fare 
 worse ;'* that if he had wanted a wife 
 he need not have gone from Dan to Beth- 
 fiheba; there were enough to be had: 
 plenty as mackarel in the city, without 
 travelling so far to bring back nothing. 
 However, he hoped he had bought a
 
 271 
 
 pennyworth of wit; and that he would 
 understand in future that '*' A penny 
 saved was a penny earned/* and that it 
 was not all '' Gold that glittered/* 
 
 Mrs. Morgan desired her husband to 
 hold his tongue, and to think before he 
 spoke. Davy was not at all to blame, he 
 had acted, as he always did, like a duti- 
 ful son, and had followed her advice, 
 which she had given to the very best of 
 her judgment; and if it had not turned 
 out as they wished, why they could not 
 help itj and it was in vain to reflect upon 
 ' them for the faults of other people. 
 
 Mr. Morgan told David that Miss 
 Figgins's West India uncle was dead, and 
 had left her a hundred thousand pounds ; 
 and now there was another chance for 
 him. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan approved the idea, and 
 advised David to deny altogether having 
 gone into Wales to court his cousin, and 
 to lose no time in offering himself to Miss
 
 3:2 
 
 Fig^ins, who would now be one of the 
 greatest fortunes in the city. 
 
 David promised to obey^ and his fa- 
 ther told him to " Strike while the iron 
 was hot;'* that Miss Figgins had once 
 expressed a great regard for him, and he 
 hoped that she would not now tell him 
 " He that will not when he may, when 
 he will he shall have nay." 
 
 David said he was not afraid of that. 
 Miss Figgins had often expressed her- 
 self plainly in his favor^ and he had no 
 doubt but he might have her whenever 
 he liked. 
 
 The next day Mr. David Morgan, 
 armed at all points for conquest, went 
 into Gracechurch-street to visit Miss 
 Figgins, and beheld before the door an 
 elegant coroneted barouche, and half-a- 
 dozen servants with their liveries cover- 
 ed with silver lace hovering about it. 
 
 Mr, and Mrs. Figgins received him 
 with their usual kindness, but he was
 
 273 
 soon given to understand that Martha 
 was on the point of marriage with Lord 
 Delmore, a young nobleman^ whose es- 
 tate^ a good deal out of elbows, had con- 
 descended to bestow his title on Miss 
 Figgins in exchange for her wealth. 
 While he was receiving this appalling 
 intelligence, Miss Figgins entered the 
 roonij and scarcely bestowing a nod of 
 recognition on poor David, told her mo- 
 ther that she was going with Lord Del- 
 more to an auction. 
 
 David Morgan^ vexed and disappoint- 
 edj left the house in greater haste than 
 he had entered it : but before he had 
 reached the top of the street, he encoun- 
 tered an acquaintance, with whom he 
 entered into a long conversation on 
 some mercantile transaction, which de- 
 tained him till the coroneted barouche, 
 in which Lord Delmore, attended by his 
 servants, was driving Miss Figgins, came 
 dashing along : just as it got opposite to 
 David, the wheels passing through the
 
 274 
 
 kennel splashed the ui)for<unate fellow 
 all over. 
 
 Miss Figgins, delighted at seeing his 
 face spattered with mud^ laughed immo- 
 deratelv as she rolled triumphantly along, 
 seated b\ the simpering peer, the envy 
 and admiration of all her city friends. 
 
 Mrs. Morgan consoled her son, and 
 wondered at Mr. Figgins allowing bis 
 daughter to throw her money away up- 
 on a spendthrift from the west end of 
 the town^ who, when they took vrives 
 from the city, always treated (hem with 
 contempt^ and made them sensible that 
 their wealth was all their attractioi^. 
 
 '' Aye, aye,'* replied Mr. Morgan, 
 '' light come, light go." Toby Figgins 
 and Jonathan toiled late and early, and 
 got their money by the sweat of their 
 brows; now it will go like ' Chaff be- 
 fore the wind.* This lord will soon race 
 it away upon the turf, or rattle it away 
 at a gaming table, and then her ladyship, 
 reduced to beggary, may wish she bad
 
 275 
 
 been content to be plain Mrs. Morgan^ 
 the merchant's wife. 
 
 David, sore with disappointment^ vow- 
 ed that women were all jilts, that he 
 would have nothing to do with them, 
 but make up his mind to live and die a 
 bachelor ; for seeing as how that wo- 
 men were always changing their minds^ 
 a man would have nothing to do but 
 study their tempers, and after all very 
 likely not be able to please them — so for 
 his part, as they had treated him after 
 that there ungrateful fashion, he should 
 give them up entirely. 
 
 Mr. Morgan senior laughed hear- 
 tily at his son's determination, which he 
 was sure he would break before a month 
 was at end, and he was to remember 
 that '' Bad beginnings made good end- 
 ings,*' and that "' marriages were made 
 in heaven," so that vi'hen his time came 
 he would be sure of a wife, for '' mar- 
 rying and hanging went by destiny." 
 
 David listened, and was consoled : his
 
 276 
 
 father's wisely treasured sayings com- 
 forted him in the hour of affliction and 
 mortification, for his sorrows were of a 
 nature to be soothed. 
 
 Love was not to make either the feli- 
 city or misery of his life, and as long as 
 commerce flourished, and money accu- 
 mulated, his heart disdained to sigh for 
 so capricious a toy as woman. 
 
 SXD OF VOL. I. 
 
 D. Clirhb, Printer, Well-Street, Loudon. 
 
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