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 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fatherlessfannyo01reev
 
 FATHERLESS FANNY, 
 
 ^c, Sfc. 
 
 ^OL. I.
 
 FATHERLESS FANNYf 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE MEMOIRS 
 
 LITTJLE MENBICANT, 
 
 AND 
 
 HER BENEFACTORS. 
 
 A MODERN NOVEL, IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 
 BY MRS, EDGEWORTH, 
 
 \AUTHORESS OF "THE WIFE 5 OR, A MODEL FOR 
 WOMEN," <S{C. &C. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EOlTOOn : 
 
 Printed by J. DEAN, 57. Wardour Street, ffoho. 
 
 FOR JAMES TAYLOR, AND CO. 25, DEAN STREtT J 
 
 AND gHfRWOOD, NEELEY, AND JONES, 
 
 PATERNOSTILR ROW. 
 
 ' 1811.
 
 b FATHERLESS FANNY, 
 
 ^^ CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^ The Seminary, 
 
 In one of those polite seniiuaries 
 devoted to female instruction, with 
 which the environs of London a- 
 bound, lived Mis^Bridgeman, whose 
 despotic sway within the limits of 
 her own jurisdiction was certainly 
 equal to that of the most potent 
 monarch in the civilized world, not 
 excepting the great Napoleon him- 
 self. Her word was law — her nod 
 ^ vi2iS fate — and her approbation or 
 displeasure settled the degree of con- 
 sequence enjoyed by every individual 
 
 , TOL. I. B
 
 that approached iier. Miss Bridge- 
 man had been many years a precep- 
 tress of youth : so many years, that 
 she began to entertain thoughts of 
 changing her appellation of courtesy 
 from 3Jiss to j\h's.; still, however, 
 this arrangemeiit was delayed, and 
 the juvenile title was now the onit/ 
 remains of youthful pretensions. — 
 With increase of years, however, Mis« 
 Bridgeman had the consolHtion of 
 enjoying a proportionate incre;ise of 
 fortune. \^ hen she made her first 
 debut as a governess, it was in a 
 small house at Brompton, where a 
 laro-e board disclosed hers to be a 
 boarding school for young ladies. Her 
 talents as a school mistress, however, 
 soon raised her from tliis honorKble 
 station, and she opened Carmondale 
 House with all the eclat oi modern 
 splendor. Still, however, amongst the 
 numerous scholars that crowded her 
 highly-esteemed Seminary^ some pic ^ 
 hcian souls would creep in, scarcely
 
 could the iniQiense sums tkeir parents 
 paid for their education reconcile the 
 stately Miss Bridgeman to the degra- 
 dation of adaiitting them into her 
 circle. The happy time at length 
 arrived, in which the flourishing stilts 
 of Miss Bridgeman's finances eini 
 bled her to form an establisJim^vJ. 
 upon more exalted principles. Can- 
 nondale House Mas let at an enor- 
 mous premium, besides an exorbi- 
 tant rent, to a governess of a subor- 
 dinate degree, mIio was glad of an 
 opportunity of treading in the suc- 
 cessful steps of her predecessor, and 
 whose soul had not yet risen above 
 the profitable task of teaching the 
 children of ambitious tradesmen, — 
 The soaring mind of Miss Bridgemau 
 was not, however, so easily contented. 
 Ladies of title or at least of high fa- 
 mily, were alone the objects of her 
 attention, and the name of establish^ 
 ment was given to her seminary, as 
 b2
 
 having a grander sound and better 
 suited to her exalted ideas. Indeed 
 ever since the establishment of the 
 P- of VVales every petty fami- 
 ly's arrangement has assumed that 
 dignified ap{)(]lation amongst the 
 sons and daughters of ton. We all 
 know, however, that there are manj^ 
 people of high rank, who are strait- 
 ened in their circumstances, and 
 \vhose iiames^ although they may be- 
 stow ^clat^ will not support expence. 
 MissBridgeman soon found this, and 
 it induced her to admit a few rich 
 heiresses, as a great favor, into the 
 happy groupe that formed her csta- 
 blishment, and as she was a true dis- 
 ciple of the world, she bestowed her 
 favors, which cost her noth'ing\^ in 
 proportion as she received those from 
 lier pupils that cost a great deal. 
 The house Miss Bridgeinan inhabited 
 was spacious and elegant, and pos- 
 sessed all the requisites of modern
 
 refinement. A boudoir^ that indis- 
 pensable apartment for a real fine 
 lady ; a drawing room, dining par- 
 lor, with breakfast parlor and study 
 were the apartments devoted to the 
 use of the governess ; whilst a very 
 spacious room, to which she had given 
 the appropriate title of *' la salle des 
 sciences^'' was occupied by the young 
 ladies during their hours of improve- 
 ment. The house itself stood in a 
 shrubbery, with a velvet lawn before 
 the door: the windows were on the 
 french construction and adorned by 
 virandas, whilst the most costly dis- 
 play of orange trees and other exo- 
 tics of the rarest kinds, gave the coup^ 
 d*ceil, to the entrance, of '^ Mi/rtle 
 Grove'' — as this retreat of the Muses 
 was poetically denominated. The 
 decorations of the house in the inside, 
 were in a style of eiegance that cor- 
 responded with its outward appear- 
 ance, and every article of furniture
 
 which has been inrentecl to indulge 
 the luxury, or gratify the pride of 
 this age of refinement, were there as- 
 sembled to prove at once the taste 
 nnd opulence of the proprietor. — 
 Could it be possible for pride to be 
 happy Miss Bridgeman must have 
 been so, but it is well known by 
 every common observer that the gra- 
 tification of our passions never yet 
 gave the happiness it promised, and 
 piide above all other feelings is the 
 hardest to be satisfied. INJiss Bridge- 
 man wasfar from happy, for her haugh- 
 ty temper was insatiable of homage; 
 and, notwithstanding she supported 
 imperial dignity amongst her imme- 
 diate dependants, she always felt that 
 uneasiness inseparable from conscious 
 unworthiness, whenever she went in- 
 to public. She fancied if she were 
 independent, slie should be more res- 
 pected, and deplored the necessity 
 there was for her continuing the oc-
 
 eupation of goveruess so long after 
 the aggrandisement of her wishes had 
 rendered every thing short of haut- 
 ton degrading to her inflated pride. 
 Her domestic establishment was on a 
 very large scale ; she had two men, a 
 coachman and a porter at the gate, 
 besides a proportionable number of 
 female servants, and this statelj^ pa- 
 rade was become so necessary to her 
 existence, that it obliged her to pur- 
 sue that occupation which alone could 
 preserve it for her. Her avarice ' 
 therefore increased with her increa- 
 sing fortune, and rendered her the 
 ready tool of every person whose 
 power or riches seemed to promise to 
 assist in supporting the consequence 
 she prized so highly. Miss Bridge- 
 man, like other ladies who have csfa- 
 hllshments for education, had a limit- 
 ed number of pupils, and as her 
 price was exorbitant, the number 
 was generally on the deficit side of,
 
 8 
 
 the question; and, notwithstanding 
 her con>:t'<int boast of the many ap. 
 plications 8he was obliged to refuse, 
 s}ie ftit herself more frequently anx- 
 ious because of their poverty than 
 their multitude. 
 
 During the Christmas vacation in 
 1798, Miss Bridgeman being from 
 home on a visit at the house of on« 
 of her riglit honorable pupils, the 
 care oi her family was left to the in- 
 spection of the lady who was styled 
 sub-governess in the teaching depart- 
 ment. This lady, whose name was 
 Dawson, had long been a great favo- 
 rite with her employer, because her 
 disposition was of that snpple kind, 
 that is exactl}^ suited to an inter- 
 course with such imperious people as 
 Miss Ijridgeman, whom she took 
 care to flatter on the weak side of 
 her understanding, and by that means 
 led her which ever way she pleased. 
 
 Two yoHng ladies who were M est
 
 9 
 
 Indians of large fortune, always pass- 
 ed the holidays at Myrtle Grove; and 
 Mrs. Dawson was sitting one dismal 
 evening with them in the drawing 
 room, vainly endeavouring to dispel 
 tire ennui that had crept into th'e 
 party, by relating a long string of 
 adventures that had befallen her dur- 
 ing the reign of Robespierre, which 
 term of terror had been passed, by 
 Mrs. Dawson at Paris, subject to the 
 vicissitudes of that dreadful era. 
 Miss Barlowe declared there was not 
 such a bore^ in her opinion, as long 
 dismal stones ; and Miss Emily, her 
 sister, observed, with a yawn, that 
 she wisjied there existed a probability 
 of an interruption to the te deum of 
 their solitude from the arrival of. 
 company. Just as she spoke, a vio- 
 lent ring at the carriage gate made 
 them all jump. Company, exclaim- 
 ed Miss Emily Barlowe, dancing 
 about in an ecstasy of joy : " conir
 
 30 
 
 pany, company, and we shall have 
 something to amuse us at last." A 
 servant came into the room at this 
 moment, leading a little girl by the 
 hand, of the most prepossessing ap- 
 pearance, and announced to Mrs. 
 Dawson, that a lady in a very dash- 
 ing equipage desired to speak to her 
 at the gate. Mrs. Dawson was very 
 much disturbed at this request, as 
 she was particularly afraid of catch- 
 ing coid ; and one servant was sent 
 for her shawl, another for clogs, and 
 another for her swans-down tippet, 
 vvliilst she stood lamenting the unto- 
 ward circumstance, that exposed her 
 to the dreaded danger. At lenii^th slie 
 was equipped to her mind, and or- 
 dering the servant to hold an umbrella 
 over her head, she proceeded to greet 
 the unseasonable visitor. A thousand 
 questions followedone another in swift 
 succession to the servant that attend- 
 ed her, ending with a wonder of tcho
 
 11 
 
 k could possibly be, that had taken 
 such a strange hour to come out of 
 town. The man professed his igno- 
 rance, and poor Mrs. Dawson reach- 
 ed the carriage gate, as wise as slie 
 set out. But, heavens! what was 
 her surprise and consternation when 
 tiie porter told her that the carriage 
 was that instant gone : the lady wait- 
 ed, said he, as long as she could, 
 Pvla'am, but finding jou ciid net 
 come, she said she must go, as her 
 time was precious, and that she would 
 call again ; but she said, Ma'am, 
 added the man, there was;a letler in 
 the young lady's trunk that will ex- 
 plain every thing. iVlrs. Dawson 
 turned herself round in high dud- 
 geon, and walked back to the house, 
 in silence ; a secret fear pervaded her 
 mind that she should incur Miss 
 Bridgeman's displeasure, although, 
 excepting in the time she had wasted 
 in equipping herself, she could not
 
 12 
 
 be iiiij)Iicatecl in the blame of re- 
 ceiving!^ the child, without seeing the 
 person who brought it. V. hen Mrs. 
 Dawson returned to the drawing 
 room she found the two Miss Bar- 
 Jowes amusing themselves with their 
 new compimion. who was a beautiful 
 little girl, about five years old, ai\d 
 who appeared as much delighted with 
 her play fellows, as they were witli 
 her. '• This is the sweetest little an- 
 gel that ever was seen/' said Miss 
 Emily, "pray dear Mrs. Dawson tell 
 me who f-he is? tlie little creature 
 herself says she has no name besides 
 Famvj," '' Indeed I know nothing 
 about her," .^aid IMrs. Dawson, throw- 
 ing herself down on 'the sopha, " 1 
 have a great mind to se nd her to the 
 workhouse, for I suspect it is a mere 
 swindling trick to inipope tl:e child 
 upon Miss Kridgen)an." '' 'i he work- 
 house ! dear Mrs. Dawson, how can 
 >ou talk so i:hocking:" f-ald Miss
 
 18 
 
 Barlowe, " I vow you are a worse 
 tyrant than the horrid Robespierre, 
 voii have been talkins: so much a- 
 bout.'" Miss Barlowe was very ge- 
 nerous where she liked, and Mrs. 
 Dawson had often felt the pleasing- 
 e Beets of her bounty ; she w as not 
 willing therefore to incur the censure 
 of so convenient a friend, and as she 
 was well versed in the art of 
 tacking about, slie changed her note 
 in a minute, and taking the child 
 upon her knee, sh"^ said " It is a 
 pretty little creature, indeed, my 
 dear ; 1 believe I should be as un- 
 likely as yourself to act unkindly to- 
 wards her. What is your name, pop- 
 pet ?'' continued Mrs. Dawson, ad- 
 dressing the child. " Fanny y' an- 
 .5wered the little innocent. " And 
 vour other name ?*' asked her inter- 
 rogator. " 1 have no other name," 
 said the child. '' ¥r ho is your father, 
 my dear?" *' I have /ie;?r," answer-
 
 14 
 
 ed the prattler ; they used to call me 
 Fatherless Fa n ny ." " W h e we re t hose 
 that called you so?'' '• I don't 
 know," replied the child, " iMrs. 
 Sydney was my Diamma^ and that's 
 all I can tell you." '' Oh dear!" 
 interrupted .Mrs. Dawson, giving 
 little Fanny to iMiss Barlowe, " I 
 had forgotten to ask for the child's 
 trunk ; the porter says there is a let- 
 ter in it that will explain- every 
 thing." So saying she pulled the 
 bell, and ordered the servant to 
 bring up the young lady's trunk, 
 that was just come: the servant 
 obeyed ; and the girls pressed round 
 Mrs. Dawson, whilst she opened it, 
 with an eagerness of curiosity, that 
 put the innocent proprietor entirely 
 out of their heads. On the top of 
 the package lay a letter, d re( ted for 
 Miss Bridgeman ; and asMrs. Dawson 
 considered herself that lady's repre- 
 sentative, she did not scruple to sa-
 
 15 
 
 tisfy her curiosity, by opening it. 
 The first object that presented itseif 
 to her eyes on so doing, was a bank 
 post bill for two hundred pounds. 
 '' This ticket is not a blanks at 
 least,*' exclaimed she, holding open 
 the note to the young ladies ; she 
 then proceeded to peruse the letter 
 and found the following words : — 
 
 ^' The young lady who will be the 
 companion of this letter, is nohli/ 
 born, and entitled to a large forlune. 
 .Reasons, which cannot with prudence 
 be revealed, oblige her friends to 
 conceal her in some ^afe retreat for a 
 ie-w years. Miss Bridge man is se- 
 lected as the most eligible precep- 
 tress for little Fanny, to whose care 
 therefore she is consigned, with a 
 strict charge not to spare expence or 
 ld)or in the education of the child. 
 The sum enclosed, will be paid year- 
 ly into Miss Bridgenian's hands lor
 
 IG 
 
 t]ie snpporl: of lier ward, wlio is ta 
 be distinguished by the appellation 
 of Fanny only/' 
 
 *' There" said Mrs. Dawson, ex- 
 ultingly, " I am glad this affair has 
 turned out so well, for I was sadly 
 afraid we should have had a hurri- 
 cane, at MissBridgeman's return ; but 
 come let us examine the little brat's 
 wardrobe ; we shall guess by that, 
 whether the account of her be true 
 or not. The clothes were produced, 
 and the profusion of line muslins 
 and expensive lace, of whicli they 
 were composed, convinced the com- 
 mittee that Fanny was, indeed, the 
 personage the letter described her to 
 be. Yet no trinket or picture ap- 
 peared which might serve as a guide 
 to ascertain her identity, when she 
 should be re demanded by her friends, 
 after a lapse of years had altered her 
 person. When the examination was
 
 17 
 
 fiiiibhed, the ladies re-seated them-^ 
 selves on the sofa, where thej found 
 poor Fanny extended at her full 
 length, and fast asleep. The bell 
 was now rung, and a maid-servant 
 ordered to attend the new comer to 
 bed, Emily Barlowe entreated she 
 might share her's, *' and do let her 
 be my child, Mrs. Dawson, indeed 
 I will teach her, and take care of 
 her, and become quite a mother to 
 her. Now say you will my dear 
 dear Dawson." '' Ah you cunning 
 puss," replied Mrs. Dawson, " thus 
 it is that 3^ou always have your way 
 with me,'* *' Oh then I may have 
 her,** interrupted Miss Emily, snatch- 
 ing the child up in her arms. " Sweet 
 little innocent, how I shall doat 
 upon her." " You will spoil your 
 shape Emily," said her sister, " if 
 you carry that heavy child about, 
 and what do you think mamma will 
 say when she sees you ?" '' Paya
 
 18 
 
 desired me not to spoil my hcart^ 
 answered Emily, " and therefore 1 am 
 sure he will apjirove of my doing any 
 thing that keeps tlie amiable feelings 
 of humanity in exercise/' The sweet 
 girl with her little charge in her arms^ 
 now left the room, attended by the 
 maid ; Miss Bariowe was left alone 
 with Mrs. Dawson. " That girl," 
 said the former, speaking of her sister, 
 '* has such plebean notions, she Mill 
 never make ?ijine lady." " Emily is 
 yery good-natured,'' rejoined Mrs. 
 Dawson, '' but she certainly wants 
 dignity, that, however, will not be 
 missed with her /?t^///c ifigure.*' When 
 Emily returned to the drawing room 
 from putting the sleeping Fanny to 
 bed, she said, '' my little girl has 
 got the prettiest necklace and brace- 
 lets made of hair and locked with 
 bullion, that ever were made. I 
 dare say they are composed of her 
 .father and mother's hair, for I can
 
 IQ 
 
 perceive there are two sorts, but I 
 would not unclasp them, for fear of 
 waking the little charmer/' 
 
 " I dare say/' said Miss Barlowe, 
 with a sarcastic smile, " Emily will 
 compose twenty romances upon the 
 subject of this enfouttrouvieJ* '*Tiien 
 they shaW all have happy termina- 
 tions," answered Emily, " for I am 
 determined my dear little Fanny 
 shall be a fortunate heroine/' 
 
 The next day when the blooming 
 Fanny, with her ' crisped locks' of 
 golden brown, her large blue eyes, 
 and lips like the parted rose-bud, 
 made her appearance at breakfast 
 every beholder was charmed, and 
 "sweet little creature," echoed from 
 every tongue. Even Mrs. Dawson, 
 who was generally apathy itself, 
 where interest did not excite emo- 
 tion, felt her heart moved in favor 
 of the little stranger.- Innumerable 
 questions were addressed to the sweet
 
 20 
 
 prattler, but her lisping accents gj*ve 
 but little satisfaction to the curio- 
 sity of her interrogators. Thev could 
 only learn by their questions that 
 she had no papa^ that she had been 
 used to live in very fine rooms, and 
 that Mrs. Sydney was her mamma.^nd 
 that she was a very old lady^ and wore 
 a black hood over her cap like a 
 picture^ and that a pretty lady used 
 to kiss her at night after she was in 
 bed, and cry over her, and call her 
 her poor Fatherless Fanny, and that 
 she never saw that lady excepting at 
 night. This was the sum total of 
 what they could collect, and they 
 were obliged accordingly to give over 
 questioning her. Of the bracelet and 
 necklace which she wove, and which 
 had " Fanny *' engraved, at full 
 length, in the inside of the clasps, 
 she could give no other account tlian 
 that ^\^ found them on her neck and 
 arms one morning w hen she waked,
 
 21 
 
 nnd that Mamma Sydney had said the 
 Fairies brought them because she was 
 a good giri. 
 
 After little Fanny's arrival at Myr- 
 tle Grove, no complaint was made 
 by the 3 oung ladies of the erinui timt 
 had hitherto consumed them ; her 
 frolicsome gambols could even in- 
 duce Miss Bariowe to dispense with 
 her dignity^ and join the little fairy 
 on the lawn before the house; but 
 Emily perfectly doaled upon her a- 
 dopted child, and couid scarcely be 
 prevailed upon by Mrs. Dawson, to 
 practice the hours which her pro- 
 grCvSS in music demanded. At length 
 Miss Bridgeman came home from her 
 visit in a very ill-humour; her vatiity 
 had been considerably inflated by the 
 attentions she had received, during 
 her stay at the Marquis of Perters- 
 iield; but, a4as! her purse had not 
 been proportionably increased; for, 
 although her account for Lady Maria
 
 at 
 
 and Lady Isabella Trentham's edu- 
 cation, was of three years standing, 
 no notice was taken of disch arising 
 it. The fear of losing such honors 
 as she could not enjoy elsewhere de- 
 terred Miss Bridgenian from pressing 
 her deoiand, and an additional share 
 of the Marquis and Marchioness's 
 good graces was the consequence of 
 isuch complaisance : but as I have 
 before observed neither honors nor 
 good graces will support a household, 
 i\nd Miss Bridgeman, much as she 
 loved great people's sufferance, felt 
 most sensibly that it might be pur- 
 chased too dearhf. She had her ex- 
 travagancies as well as the lords and 
 ladies with whom she was so fond of 
 associating, and it was abominably 
 provoking to think that she could not 
 purchase their society, without giv- 
 ing np the hopes of receiving what 
 could alone enable her to support
 
 1^3 
 
 the additional €xpence incurred bj 
 its indulgence. 
 
 Full of these reflections Miss 
 Bridgeman entered ber own mansion. 
 It was evening when she arrived, 
 and little Fanny was already retired 
 to bed. Mrs. Dawson was sum- 
 moned to attend Miss Bridgeman in 
 her boudoir ; as soon as she had a 
 little recovered the fatigue of her 
 journey ; and requested her to give 
 an account of the occurrences during 
 ber absence. The wily favorite per- 
 ceiving that her superior was dis- 
 concerted at something which had 
 crossed her wishes, endeavoured to 
 find out K'hat the grievance was, be- 
 fore she began her narrative, that she. 
 might suit her story to the humor oi 
 the moment ; with a look of anxiety 
 therefore, and an affectionate pres- 
 jiure of the hand, she said, " excuse 
 me, dear madam, but I cannot speak 
 on any subject foreign to the one that
 
 24 
 
 now engrosses my mind, until 3011 
 have quieted my aj^prehensions res- 
 pecting yourself: your looks betray 
 uneasiness ; deign to confide your 
 sorrow to the most faithful of your 
 friends ?*' " You are a good crea- 
 ture, Dawson/' replied Miss Bridge- 
 man, " and deserve to be trusted ; 
 your anxiety, however, has over- 
 rated my present grievances, as I 
 assure you they are nothing more 
 than what spring from pecuniary dis- 
 appointment. The Marquis has not 
 settled that long account, nor even 
 offered to accommodate me with a 
 piut, and I have some ])ayments to 
 make, that would render a couple of 
 hundreds very acceptable to me just 
 iiow ; as all tlie money I am sure of 
 receiving, is appropriated before it 
 comes,for the expences of the last year. 
 It is very hard to be obliged to 
 abridge myself of all those e'njoy- 
 nients which are suited to my taste,
 
 25 
 
 and to which my pretensions are 
 Certainly well founded: two hundred 
 pounds would be absolutely worth 
 four to me at this moment." Mrs. 
 Dawson smiled, and turning out of 
 the room, without speaking, went in 
 search of her pocket book, which 
 contained the bank bill that had 
 been received with little Fanny. So 
 fortiinate an opening to her cause 
 was, indeed, as far above her hopes 
 as her expectations ; and like a skil- 
 ful lawyer, Mrs. Dawson knew well 
 how to take advantage of it. When 
 she re-entered the room, she present- 
 ed the pocket book to Miss Bridge* 
 man. " Would to heaven," said she, 
 " it were always in my power to ad- 
 minister, thus fortunately to your 
 exigencies, what wish of my dear 
 friends would then remain ungrati- 
 (ied ?" Miss Bridgeman looked sur- 
 prised, but mechanically opening 
 the book, she cast her eye upon the 
 
 f OL. !• C
 
 26 
 
 bank bijl. '' My dear Dawson/' 
 said she, as she took it in her hand, 
 *' what' can this mean ?." ^' It means 
 my dear madam, that tlie two hun- 
 dred pounds, you were just wishing 
 for is there, at your command," 
 Mrs. Dawson then related the story 
 of Fanny's arrival — produced the let- 
 ter — and described the child as a 
 perfect cherub in beaut}^, and a pro- 
 digy in sense. Her narrative was 
 worded in a manner so well suited to 
 Miss Bridgeman'spaiiticularities, that 
 it had the effect upon her mind the 
 narrator intended it should. The 
 seasonable supply of two hundred 
 pounds, at a moment when it was so 
 much wanted, Irad put her into a 
 good humour, and the artful manner 
 in which the tale had been unfolded 
 completed the favorable impression. 
 Fanny was received at lier levee the 
 next morning, in the most gracious 
 manner j Emily Barlowe was highly
 
 S7 
 
 CO 111 me lid ed for having noticed " the 
 sweet little creature^'* as Miss Bridge- 
 man styled her new pupil, and of 
 course it became the order of the 
 day at Myrtle Grove to make " Fa- 
 therless Fanny'* (as she sometimes 
 pathetically called herself) the favo- 
 rite of all those who aspired to its 
 Jofty mistresses good graces. Every 
 visitor was shown the " lovely girl^^ 
 and were told, with a signilicant nod, 
 iX\?itthne would prove the child to be 
 somebody. Never was there a hap- 
 pier being than little Fanny . en- 
 dowed by nature with a sweet tem- 
 per, and the most buoyant spirits, 
 enjoying the favor of every creature 
 that approached her ; her little heart 
 beat responsive to the blissful feel- 
 ings of aftection and gratitude. Emi- 
 ly Barlowe was, however, the dearest 
 object of her infantine love, and on 
 her gentle bosom the sweet pratler 
 generally composed herself to sleep. 
 c2
 
 27 
 
 when the hour of retirement arrived. 
 To Emily, Fanny was now become 
 the sununum boniim of happiness, 
 who filled up every moment of lei- 
 sure with the delightful task of in- 
 structing her darling, to whom every 
 accomplishment was imparted, her 
 tender age was capable of receiving. 
 Lady Maria Trenthain was very 
 fond of Fanny too, and vied with 
 Emily Barlowe in the task of in- 
 structing her, and such was the zeal 
 of the teachers, and such the capa- 
 city of the scholar, that the little fa- 
 vorite soon became a miracle of cle- 
 verness, and was cited as an example 
 to girls twice her age, not only for 
 application but acquirements. 
 
 At the end of the first year, INJiss 
 Bridgeman, who had depended upon 
 the annual two hundred^ promised in 
 Fanny's recommendatory letter, felt 
 herself extremely inconvenienced at 
 its not appearing*, but when a se-
 
 29 
 
 coiid year elapsed, and no notice v» as 
 taken either of the promise or the 
 child, her patience was entirely ex- 
 hausted. Poor Fanny was no longer 
 a favorite : but a little troublesome 
 brat, that had been imposed upon 
 her credulity by some designing per- 
 son, who depending upon the benevo' 
 lence of her heart, imagined she 
 would keep the child for nothing, 
 when once it had got such hold of 
 her affection as to make it painful to 
 her to part* with it : however, they 
 would find themselves mistaken, for 
 she was not a person to be imposed 
 upon in that manner, Emily Bar- 
 lowe who was present when Miss 
 Bridgeman, was venting her spleen 
 upon this irritating subject, thought 
 to herself " those who depend upon 
 the benevolence of your heart, must 
 find themselves mistaken,'* " I will 
 get rid of the troublesome little im- 
 postor," continued the incensed Miss 
 c3
 
 30 
 
 Bridgeinan, *' I am determined I >vlll 
 do so immedia ely. Nobody shall 
 dare to treat me in this manner, 
 >vitb impunity ; I will advertise the 
 girl in the mobt popular newspapers, 
 ajtd if that expedient does not make 
 her friends come forward, I will send 
 the chit to the workhouse, wliere she 
 ought to have been sent at first, if 
 Dawson had not been a fool,** 
 " My dear Miss Bridgemari,'* said 
 the amiable Emily, as soon as she 
 could get in a word, " my dear Miss 
 Bridgeman let inc plead f(jr this poor 
 little innocent, try ofie year more be- 
 fore you have recourse to such severe 
 measures; perhaps the most fat;;! 
 consequences may accrue lo her un- 
 fortunate mother, if you should ad- 
 vertise the particulais of this myste- 
 rious story, and may prove the ulti- 
 mate ruin of the dear child. If no- 
 body comes forward in that time I 
 will pay you the expcnces of tliis
 
 31 
 
 rear of grace out of m}^ own allow- 
 aiite : and if jou are determined to 
 part with the lovely orphan, I will 
 write to papa for permission to adopt 
 her, and take her with me to Ja- 
 maica, when I leave school/' Miss 
 Eridgeman knew her own interest 
 too well to refuse such a request as the 
 foregoing. She arrogated considerable 
 merit, however,in the concession, and 
 Fatherless Fannj, as she was now 
 generally denominated by her go- 
 verness, was permitted to remain at 
 ?vlyrtle Grove, the cherished object 
 of the benevolent Emily's afiectiorj, 
 for the space of another year. 
 
 That year ^lapsed like the former 
 tv. o, and yet fanny was not claimed 
 by any friend, neither was any money 
 remitted for her support, and the 
 gentle Emily was obliged to pay out 
 of her alloivance the charge made 
 by Mi^is Bridgeman for the last year. 
 This sacrilice of all the good girls
 
 32 
 
 other extra expences, was made with 
 the most perfect good will, in favor 
 of her little darling, yet it was not 
 rewarded with the satisfaction so 
 benevolent an action was entitled to ; 
 for, alas V in answer to the pathetic 
 letter she had sent to her father, 
 pleading the cause of the unfortu- 
 nate orphan, she received one from 
 her mother couched in terms of high 
 displeasure — " I have intercepted the 
 ridiculous letter jou addressed to 
 your father,*' said Mrs.Barlowe, "and 
 I consider it a lucky circumstance 
 that it fell into my hands, as I know 
 his sillt/ good-nature would most 
 likely have led him to comply with 
 your romantic request. I desire 1 
 may never hear of such a thing 
 again. Adopt a child indeed ! 1 fancy 
 you will find uses enough for 30ur 
 fortune, when you get it into your 
 hands, without incumbering yourself 
 with brats that are nothing to you.
 
 33 
 
 Caroline would never have thought 
 of such a thing ; I am sure she has 
 too much prudence and good sense 
 to encourage such ridiculous propen- 
 ^sities. Remember, girl, * charity he- 
 gins at home.' '* 
 
 This severe injunction was a cruel 
 blow upon the tender-hearted Emily, 
 who thus lost the power of snatching 
 her dear Fanny from the evils that 
 threatened her. The good girl well 
 knew that if she could obtain her 
 father's ear, her request would be 
 granted; but after this prohibition 
 from her mother, she did not dare to 
 risk another letter on the same sub- 
 ject. Only one year was now want- 
 ing for 'the completion of the Miss 
 Barlo:ve*s education : they were then 
 to return to Jamaica ; and Emily con- 
 soled herself with the reflection, that 
 at least when she saw her father she 
 should be able to accomplish her 
 wishes respecting Fanny ; if that dear 
 c5
 
 34 
 
 girl slioiild then stand in need of her 
 assistance. Lady Maria Trentham, 
 who was Emily's particular friend, 
 would gladly have assisted her in 
 maintaining Tanny ; but, alas ? a 
 profusion of fine clothes, and an un- 
 necessary display of trinkets, was ail 
 the poor girl possessed, besides a truly 
 benevolent heart. Any thing would 
 have been granted her, indeed, by 
 her indulgent. mother, that did not 
 require ready mone^', for of that 
 pleasing article there could not be 
 less in any house than in that of the 
 noble Marquis of Petersfield, but poor 
 Lady Maria knew it was of no use 
 to offer any thing short of the rcachj 
 to Miss Bridgeman, who was already 
 in IIamlet*s case, namely — '' promise 
 crammed.'* 
 
 The expedient of advertising the 
 helpless Fannjs was therefore ad- 
 verted to by Miss Bridgeman, with- 
 out farther delay, to the no small
 
 35 
 
 concern of that lovely girl's juvenile 
 patronesses, who daily mixed their 
 tears toe:ether at the sad idea of their 
 favorite being removed from their so- 
 ciety. The following is the adver- 
 tisement which appeared in the most 
 popular papers of the day, relative 
 to the forsaken Fanny, and which 
 Miss Bridgeman dictated herself : 
 
 CHILD FOUND. 
 
 Whereas some ill -minded Persorr 
 or Persons, left a little Girl at' the 
 house of Miss Bridgeman, Myrtle 
 C^rove, three rears ao-o, with an in- 
 tention, no doubt, of defrauding 
 that Lady of the maintenance of 
 the said child. This is to oive no- 
 tice, that unless the befor^- men- 
 tioned little Girl be taken away 
 from Myrtle Grove, within one 
 month from the date hereof, she will 
 be sent to the Workltouse. The 
 child answers to the mutie of Fanny.
 
 36 
 
 CHAP. II 
 
 A Mi$U7idersla}iding. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt was a young 
 nobleman of that thoughtless kind> 
 which is but too often met with in 
 this dissipated age. He was addict- 
 ed to every species of gaming, not 
 from natural inclination but an ac- 
 quired habit of idleness. His lord- 
 ship possessed abilities calculated to 
 shine in the senate, had their latent 
 powers been drawn forth by that best 
 finisher of a good education — I mean 
 the society of the wise and virtuous. 
 Instead of that, however, this young 
 sprig of nobility had been precipi- 
 tated into the vortex of extravagance 
 and folly, by his connections at col-
 
 3t 
 
 lege, where so many of his Right 
 Honorable cousins assailed him witli 
 the temptations, into which they had 
 long been initiated themselves, that 
 between precept and example his 
 mind became perverted, and he for- 
 sook the paths of learning, for those 
 of dissipation > and soon preferred 
 killing time, by a thousand extra- 
 vagant follies, to the sober enjoyment 
 o^ spending it in rational amusements, 
 or valuable acquirements. At his 
 debiLt in the great world, Lord El- 
 lincourt kept a stud of race-horses 
 for the sake of employment : two 
 packs of hounds for the same reason : 
 and from the same good motive, when 
 the pleasures of London confined him 
 to the metropolis for the season (win- 
 ter is no longer in fashion) he drove, 
 with the fury of a Jehu, a tandem 
 dog'Cart^ a mail, and an inexplica- 
 ble^ to the astonishment of the na- 
 tives, and the imminent danger of
 
 38 
 
 the sober foot passengers, -Nvho came 
 in his way, whilst taking his dashing 
 round, through Bond Street, Pall 
 Mall, St. James's Stfeetv and Picca- 
 dilly. Lord Ellmcmirt, like most men 
 of fash ion, had m^ny favorites mnon^st 
 the fair sex, but few upon whose ti- 
 delity he could place much reliance. 
 One exception, horn ever, he had long 
 been in possession of, who, althougl: 
 a female, had lie^^r 'ibr an instant 
 broken her faith. So;??^ of his favo- 
 rites received his lordship according 
 to the state of his finances, and^milcd 
 or frowned in proportion to the 
 golden shower that fell into their 
 laps from his bounty : but his little 
 Fan was invariable in the display of 
 her affection, and lavished her ca- 
 resses upon her beloYed lord without 
 considering whether he hud liad a 
 run of good or ill-luck. His lordship 
 was not ungrateful, and his regard 
 for Fan was quite equal to the one
 
 39 
 
 she felt for him, nor did he ever think 
 himselt happy when she was not by his 
 side. Whithersoever he went his faith- 
 ful friend went with him, and even 
 partook of his bed-room ; but lest I 
 sliould be supposed to be a retailer of 
 scandalous anecdotes, I must beg 
 leave, in this place, to inform my 
 readers that poor Fan was a four- 
 footed lady^ and therefore the inti- 
 ihacy that subsisted between her and 
 Lord Ellincourt could reflect no dis- 
 grace on either party. A misfortune 
 however, happened that disturbed 
 the happiness of this loving pair. 
 Poor Fan was stolen away, and ^"^Qyj 
 effort to find her, proved ineffectual, 
 although advertisements , offering 
 large rewards, were inserted in all 
 the papers. The loss of his dear little 
 favorite, had been the theme of Lord 
 Ellincourt's conversation for many 
 weeks, and his gay companions be- 
 gan to grow weary of the subject.
 
 40 
 
 *' What a (1 — d bore it is/' said Col. 
 Ross to Sir Henry Ambersley, " to 
 be obliged to listen to Ellincourt*s la- 
 mentations for the loss of his little 
 mongrel, every time one meets him." 
 '' Lei's hoax him,** replied Sir 
 Henry, *' and cure him of such non- 
 sensical prosing." *' In what man- 
 ner ?" asked h is friend. " Til shew 
 you," replied Sir Henry, taking a 
 newspaper that lay before them, on 
 the table, and pointing out Miss 
 Bridgeman's advertisement. " But 
 what will that do ?" again asked 
 Col. Ross : " what hoax can you 
 make from tJiat stupid paragraph?" 
 '* You shall see," answered Sir Hen- 
 ry, " here comes Ellincourt, and I 
 will [)ut my scheme into execution 
 immediately." Lord Ellincourt en- 
 tered the coffee room at the same in- 
 stant, and coming up to the two 
 friends, he asked, with his usual 
 non-chalance. " wh-it news?" ** The
 
 41 
 
 best in the world^^* replied Sir Henry, 
 ** jour little Fan is found/' *' The 
 Devil she is > but tell me, my dear 
 fellow, the wlieres and the hows and 
 allthat V '' V\\ read you the adver- 
 tisement," answered Sir Henry, tak- 
 ing the paper in his hand and read- 
 ing Miss Bridgeman's advertisement 
 aloud, only substituting the word 
 Dog in the place of child and girl, 
 whenever they occurred, suppressing 
 the date, and altering the concluding 
 line, respecting the workhouse, into 
 a threat to hang the poor animal, if 
 not re-claimed within a month. "What 
 a barbarian !" exclaimed Lord Ellin- 
 court, " to talk of hanging poor little 
 
 Fan, D ^ her if she was to do it, I 
 
 would burn the old faggot. I will 
 driv^ down there directly. I know 
 Myrtle Grove immensely well, I have 
 been there to see the Trenthams, 
 with my mother. A queer old figure 
 that said governess is : 1 remember
 
 42 
 
 her >Tc]l. I did not like her jjJiu, 
 May i be bamboozled the ne^t NeW- 
 inaiket meetings if I don't scalp the 
 old savage v/ith my own liands, 
 should I i\\\d ghe has used Fan ill, 
 mind that.** Sir IJenry and Colonel 
 Koss laughed, ** take care you don't 
 get into the stoch^ my boy/* said 
 he, ** remember you will be upon 
 classic ground, and don't sin .ngainst 
 the muses." ** Confusion seize the 
 muses, and the classic ground too,*' 
 rejoined my lord, *' little Fari is 
 worth all Parnassus put together. — 
 Adieu — I am off, 1 will bring little 
 Fan back, or the old Gorgon's head," 
 I am determined upon that." '' Had 
 not your lordship better read the ad- 
 vertisement yourself, before you set 
 out," said Col. Ross, oflering the 
 paper. *' Oh no, no," replied Lord 
 Eliincourt, " there oan be no inis- 
 take, the description answers exactly, 
 and the poor little devil being shut
 
 43 
 
 up in that cursed bore of a jjlace, is 
 the reason I have not been abie to 
 find her before/* As he spoke, his 
 impatient lordship hastened out of 
 the room, and left his two friends 
 laughing at the credulity with which 
 he had taken the hoax. ** I little 
 imagined,'* said Col. Ross, '* that ha 
 would have swailoived the bait so 
 easilj.'* ** You are a pretty fellow, 
 too, a'nt you!*' replied Sir Henry, 
 *' I thought TOO would have spoiled 
 the joke. Quiz m» if I would not 
 give a cool hundred to be present 
 when he and the old governess get at 
 it, tooth and nail." '' What do you 
 think they will fight r" "• I am sure 
 of it/' answered Sir Henry: " Eilio- 
 court will insist upon having his dog, 
 the old girl will swear she has not 
 got it, and then there will be a 
 quarrel. She is a very dragon, my 
 sister lells mo; and Ellincourt is 
 Cayenne itself: so if there be not a
 
 44 
 
 row I shall be surprised/* This was 
 hy much too good a joke, to be con- 
 fined to two people ; after a hearty 
 laugh, therefore, the fashionable pair 
 strolled out on purpose " to set it a- 
 goingy" and to prepare a merry greet- 
 ing for their friend Ellincourt, at his 
 return from Myrtle Grove. 
 
 In the meantime Lord Ellincourt 
 proceeded to the livery stables, where 
 his horses stood, and ordering his 
 grooms to prepare his tandem imme- 
 diately, and to follow him to Hyde 
 Park ; he walked thither anticipa- 
 ting the joy he should experience, 
 when little Fan was restored to hira. 
 The drive to Myrtle Grove appeared 
 of an immoderate length, so impa- 
 tient was his lordship to reach the 
 place that contained his long-lost 
 favorite. At length the white gate, 
 leading to the sweep before the man- 
 sion, struck his eye, and giving a 
 renovating crack of his whip, to in-
 
 45 
 
 crease the speed of his barbs. The 
 dashing equipage presently stopped 
 before it. The porter answering in 
 the affirmative to the question whe- 
 ther Miss Bridgeman were at home, 
 Lord Ellincourt alighted, and was 
 ushered into the elegant boudoir of 
 the modish governess. His Lordship^s 
 patience experienced a severe trial 
 whilst waiting the arrival of the an- 
 tiquated virgin ; for having sent in 
 bis name, the lady was too anxious 
 td appear in st7/le to think of com- 
 ing before his lordship until she had 
 consulted her mirror, to ascertain 
 the exact state of her dress; in per- 
 forming this necessary sacrifice to 
 the graces. Miss Bridgeman perceived 
 that her cap did not become her, and 
 she changed it for another ; then her 
 gown did not please her, and she or- 
 dered her maid to bring her last new 
 dress, which was substituted for the 
 one she had on : w hen completely
 
 43 
 
 equipped, she descended to her ex- 
 pecting visitor ; who, having exa- 
 mined every picture and turned over 
 every newspaper that laid upon the 
 table, was standing whistling in one 
 of the wiudows, when Miss Bridge- 
 man entered the room. She began 
 a long apology, which, however, 
 Lord Ellincourt interrupted in the 
 middle, by saying dear madam ex- 
 cuse my impatience ; your advertise- 
 ment informs me that you liAve got 
 my little Fan, and 1 am in a devilish 
 hurry to see the dear creature.*' 
 *' And does little Fanny belong to 
 3^our Lordship," exclaimed xMiss 
 Bridgeman, in a tone of surprise, 
 whilst a smile of complaisance express- 
 ed the pleasure she felt at the intel- 
 ligence. " How happy I feel that 
 the dear little creature fell into my 
 hands. I am sure your lordship 
 will be satisfied with the care I have 
 taken of her/' '' You are very good
 
 47 
 
 ma'am," answered his lordship, with, 
 an impatient inclination of the head, 
 " I have no doubt of your kindness 
 to the little thing, but I really wish 
 to see her ; she is a great favorite of 
 mine, and so was her mother/* 
 " Your lordship was acquainted with 
 Fanny's mother then," said Miss 
 Bridgeman, drawing up her mouth 
 in a formal manner. '« Oh yes," 
 answered his lordship, laughing — 
 " her mother and I were old ac- 
 quaintances." Miss Bridge.man's for- 
 mality increased at this speech of 
 his lordship's, but her features were 
 rather relaxed at the conclusion of it ; 
 for he added, " and so, indeed, was 
 her father, 1 was very fond of him 
 too/' " And pray, my lord," asked 
 the prim lady, " what is become of 
 poor Fanny's father. I understood 
 he was dead ?" "I wonder by what 
 means you ever heard any thing 
 about him," replied Lord Ellincourt,
 
 48 
 
 *' however, if it will be anv satisfac- 
 tion to you to know it, I must inform 
 you he was hanged^ about two years 
 ago." *' Hanged! did your lordship 
 say hanged,*' exclaimed Miss Bridge- 
 man, horror and astonishment paint- 
 ed on her features. " Yes, my good 
 ma'am," answered his lordship, with 
 a smile, " the poor fellow was really 
 hanged iov sheep stealing, I did what I 
 could to save him, but my interest 
 failed, he has been caught in the fact, 
 and the farmer would not hear cf 
 pardon. But what's the matter Miss 
 Bridgeman, you look frightened ?•' 
 " And enough to make me so, I 
 think, my lord," answered she, " to 
 reflect that i have been harbouring the 
 daughter of a sheep- stealer in my 
 house all this time," "- Oh is that 
 all?" — answered Lord Ellincourt, 
 laughing, *' don't let that frighten 
 you ; my life upon it little Fan w ill 
 never meddle with your lambs, I
 
 49 
 
 .clon't intend to allow her to stay any 
 •longer amongst them, I assure j^our 
 -lordship/' said Miss Bridgeman, 
 with a haughty toss of her head, 
 ' the contamination has alread}'^ been 
 too great. But pray, my lord, what 
 is become of the mother of this un* 
 fortunate female, is she still alive:/' 
 *' No, she is dead too/* answered his 
 lordship, '^ I kepi her as long as she 
 lived, and so I mean to do by Fim if 
 you will but have the goodness to 
 put an end to this long catechism, 
 and let me have the dear little crea- 
 ture/' " I have no intention of de- 
 taining her, I assure youx lordship, 
 but I beg leave to observe, that I 
 shall expect to be reimbursed for 
 the expences 1 have been at in her 
 maintenance and education." " The 
 maintenance of such a little animal,'* 
 .replied his lordship, *' cannot be 
 much to be sure, but as to her edu- 
 cation I am certainly no judge of 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 
 
 what that may be, for I cannot ima- 
 gine what the Devil you can have 
 taught her, she knew how to fetch 
 and carry before 1 lost her." " Your 
 lordship talks in a very odd strain/' 
 answered Miss B rid gem an, " but I 
 can produce the masters' bills who 
 have been employed to teachherwi?/«V, 
 dancings and drawing,'' Lord Ellin- 
 court burst into an immoderate fit 
 of laughter, " Excuse me, Miss 
 Bridgeman, but really I cannot help 
 it. You educating ladies are for in- 
 structing every thing that comes near 
 you, or you never would have thought 
 of teaching my poor Fan such a long 
 list of accomplishments: however, to 
 make all straight, I will agree thus {. 
 far to your demand, if you will prove 
 to me that your scholar has karned 
 any things of what you pretend to 
 have taught her, 1 will pay for it 
 whatever you think proper to charge^ 
 for, upon my soul. 1 tliink 1 shall
 
 51 
 
 make a fortune by shewing tlie little 
 cieature about the streets. Dancing 
 she may have acquired, but as to anj 
 thing else, excuse me if I don't be- 
 lieve a word of it." " Your lord- 
 ship is at liberty to think what you 
 please," answered Miss Bridgeman^ 
 haughtily, "but I shall insist upon 
 being paid, before I give up the child. 
 I will fetch her to convince your 
 lordship that she has capacity^ and 
 that she has received instruction,** 
 So saying, Miss Bridgeman flounced 
 out of the room, and left Lord Ellin- 
 court mute with astonishment.- — 
 " That old maid," at length said he, 
 *' is so used to have children under 
 ■lier care, that when she gets a dog 
 into her clutches, she fancies she must 
 educate that, and talks about it, till 
 she believes a spaniel is a child." Miss 
 Bridgeman was absent only a few 
 minutes, for she returned leading 
 Fanny by the hand, whose terrified 
 d2
 
 ^2 
 
 countenance and streaming ejes, 
 plainly evinced the severity with 
 M'hich her governess had just been 
 treating her. Fanny was now turned 
 of eight years old, a tall elegantly- 
 formed child, whose dazzling com- 
 plexion and beautiful feature:^ were 
 calculated to strike every beholder 
 with admiration. Lord Ellincourt 
 gazed at her with surprise, mingled 
 with delight. " What a sweet crea- 
 ture," exclaimed his lordship, " but 
 why is she weeping ?" " There, my 
 lord, is little Tanny,'* said iMiss 
 Bridgeman, not noticing his question, 
 *'and if yourlordshipwasreally as fond 
 of her worthless parents as you pre- 
 tend to have been, you will not think 
 much of paying the debts their oti- 
 spring has contracted.'' " Upon my 
 honor, madam,'* replied Lord Ellin- 
 court, " 1 am wholly at a loss to 
 guess what you are aiming at ; I 
 never had the honor of seeing the
 
 63 
 
 parents of that sweet girl, at least 
 to the best of my knowledge/* 
 "Why, good Heavens r' exclaimed 
 Miss Bridgeman, '' did not your lord- 
 ship say, not a quarter of an hour 
 ago, that her father was hanged for 
 sheep-stealing, and that her mother 
 was a natighty kept woman V^ — 
 "Who? Ir'* rejoined Lord Ellin- 
 court, starting, " I never even iw^a- 
 gmec? such a thing." *' I am astonish- 
 ed at your lordship ; indeed I am,'^ 
 said Miss Bridgeman, her eyes flash- 
 ing resentment, " did not your lord- 
 sliip say you were come to fetch 
 Fanny away, and that you intended 
 keeping her as long as she lived, as 
 vou had done her mother, and all 
 that we hesitated about was respect- 
 ing the payment of my demand for 
 her education ?'* " Here has been a 
 great mistake," replied Lord Fllin- 
 court, " and I feel very much ashamed 
 of having occasioned you so much 
 d3
 
 54 
 
 trouble. I came here, madam, at 
 the instigation of a friend of mine, 
 who told me you had found a little 
 dogy belonging to me, which I lost 
 sometime ago. The little animars 
 name was Fanny^ and hence origi- 
 nated the mistake. My friend, Sir 
 Henry Ambersly, read an advertise- 
 ment to me this morning, stating 
 that the creature was found, and 
 might be heard of here, I am per- 
 suaded he did it for a hoax, of which 
 he is too fond, a circumstance I ought 
 to have recollected when he was 
 playing off this morning; but the 
 joy of finding Fan was predominant, 
 and swallowed up every other consi- 
 deration." '* It is, indeed, a strange 
 circumstance,'* replied Miss Bridge- 
 man, " and has been productive of 
 much trouble to me.'* " I am very 
 sorry, very sorry, upon my soul,** 
 answered Lord Ellincourt, '* and what 
 concerns me more than any thing
 
 66 
 
 dse is, that I fear I have occasioned 
 tsorrow to this beautiful little angel/* 
 taking Fanny's hand, who had dried 
 jip her tears, when she heard his 
 lordship declare that she was not the 
 daughter of a sheep-stealer. Miss 
 Bridgeman reached a newspaper 
 which contained her advertisement, 
 and begged Lord Eiiincourt to read 
 it. As soon as he had complied with 
 her request, he said, " and is it pos- 
 sible that you can intend to send 
 this child to the workhouse?" " Yes, 
 my lord, unless she be reclaimed by 
 the time I have specified." " By 
 Heavens you shall not !" said his 
 lordship, " /will pay for her myself, 
 if nobody comes forward to claim 
 her. I will keep a horse or two less 
 at Newmarket, to enable me to do it. 
 Do you agree to that Miss Bridge- 
 man r" Miss Bridgeman smiled, and 
 was vastly pleased with such an ar- 
 rangement. '' Your lordship under-
 
 50 
 
 stands there are arrears /'* '* Un- 
 doubtedly; and as I have just had a* 
 run of good luck, let us strike a ba- 
 lance now, let us have your bill V* 
 Miss Bridgeman complied with his 
 lordship's request ; and presenting* 
 lier exorbitant demand, which she 
 had got ready drawn out in case of 
 any application from the child's 
 friends. Lord Ellincourt only looked 
 at the sum total, and immediately 
 drew upon his banker for the amount. 
 " There,'* said he, " remember now 
 Fanny is my child henceforward, and 
 mind you use the little angel kindly, 
 or sink me if I don't blow your house 
 up with gunpowder. I may come 
 and see her some times, mayn't 1 !" 
 added his lordship. '' Certainly, my 
 lord,'' answered Miss Bridgeman, 
 curtseying low, " we shall always 
 esteem your lordship's visits an honor, 
 and Fanny I am sure ought to love 
 Lord Ellincourt." " And so I do
 
 57 
 
 most dearly, clearly/' answered the 
 sweet girl, holding up her lovely 
 face to kiss her benefactor. *' I shall 
 pray for Lord Ellincoiirt every night 
 and morning, and so will Emily Bar- 
 lowe and Lady Maria Trentham, for 
 they have been so unhappy about 
 me.'' Lord EUincourt embraced his 
 adopted child, and swore a great 
 oath that he never felt so happy in 
 his life. " No, by Heavens!'^ added 
 he, " not even when my Miss Tif- 
 fany beat Sir JefTery Dollrtian'sGan- 
 derface, and the bets won two 
 thousand guineas. '' Apropos," said 
 his lordship, turning back as he was 
 leavino the room, after having em- 
 braced Fanny half a dozen times for- 
 farewell, " 1 forgot, I ought to see 
 the Lady Trenthams, they are my 
 cousins. Miss Bridgeman entreated 
 his lordship to defer that intention 
 until his next visit, and after some 
 hesitation he complied, and hasten- 
 d3
 
 58 
 
 ing to his carriage, dashed off in an 
 instant. Fanny, who accompanied 
 her governess to the door to witness 
 his departure, followed the carriage 
 with her eyes full of tears, " what a 
 dear sweet gentleman that is,*' said 
 the innocent girl, " Oh how I love 
 him/' " He is a very generous man, 
 indeed," said Miss Bridgeman, and 
 well she might say so, for he had paid 
 her enormous charge for the whole 
 time Fanny had been with her. The 
 two hundred pounds that came with 
 her, and Miss Barlowe's generous 
 contribution, were therefore a clear 
 profit, and Fatherless Fanny thus be- 
 came one of the most advantageous 
 scholars she had ever had.
 
 €9 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Mutual Explanation . 
 
 When Fanny returned to the apart- 
 ment where the other young ladies 
 were, she entered it with a lively 
 bound, and running up to Miss Emily 
 Barlowe, clasped her arms about her 
 neck ; the good-natured Emilj^^s tears 
 flowed so fast, that she could not 
 speak ; but MissBarlowe, the haughty 
 Caroline, came and disengaged Fanny 
 from her sister's embrace, saying, ia 
 an ill-natured tone of voice, " This 
 disgraceful intimacy has endureJ 
 long enough, 1 insist now upon its 
 termination/' Fanny looked aghast, 
 and turning hey eyes upon the other 
 ladies, observed contempt and ab- 
 horrence painted on every counte-
 
 CO 
 
 nance, excepting those of Emily and 
 the compassionate Lady Maria Tren- 
 tham, who, rising from her seat, took 
 the terrified girl by the hand, and 
 said, " don't be frightened Fanny, / 
 will always be your friend/' " In- 
 deed but /say ?2a// to that," inter- 
 rupted Lady Isabella, " a \ery pretty 
 story truly, for the Marquis of Pe- 
 tersfield's daughter ta be the compa- 
 nion of a sheep'Stealers child,' ' Here 
 all the girls burst into a fit of laugh- 
 ter, and poor Fanny was so overcome 
 that, covering her face with her 
 hands, she sobbed aloud. Emily 
 Barlowe could not support the sight 
 of her favorite's sorrow, but taking 
 her in her arms, she pressed her to 
 her bosom. '* Nothing short of a 
 parent's commands shall induce me 
 to forsake this dear child," said she, 
 *^' let her be the daughter of what 
 she will." Soothed by this kindness, 
 poor Fanny recovered her speech — •
 
 61 
 
 '* I am not a slieep-stealer's daugh- 
 ter; indeed Miss Emily, it was all 
 a mistake, for Lord Ellincourt said 
 so/' " Lord Ellincourt !'' exclaim- 
 ed Lady Mai'ia Trentham, " was it 
 Lord Ellincourt who has just been 
 here ? he is my cousin V* "I know 
 it,*' replied Fanny, " and his lord- 
 ship asked Miss Bridgeman to let 
 him see you and Lady Isabella ; 
 but she begs^ed him to wait until 
 he called next time-" " Is he com- 
 ing again soon?" asked Lady Maria, 
 " Yes," replied Fanny, " very soon. 
 Oh how I love Loid Ellincourt." 
 '^ And so do 1," said Lady Maria, 
 " he is so good-natured. 1 wonder 
 why Miss Bridgeman would not let 
 us see him." '' I don't know," an- 
 swered Fanny. Miss Brfidgeman ge- 
 nerally had a motive for what she 
 did, that concerned herself nearer 
 than any body else, and such was the 
 case in the present instance ; for her
 
 M 
 
 only reason for refusing Lord Ellin- 
 court's request, was, that she wished 
 to conceal, from a person who had 
 evinced such natural benevolence as 
 his lordship had done, the cruelty of 
 her own heart, which had ledr he to 
 treat poor Fanny with such unmerit- 
 ed severity, upon the strength of a 
 mere surmise. When Miss Bridge- 
 man had quitted the room to fetch 
 Fanny to Lord Ellincourt, her mind 
 was impressed with the idea of the 
 imputed worthlessness of the child's 
 parents, and proud of an opportu- 
 nity of revenging the anxiety she had 
 suffered on her account, «.he imme- 
 diately spread the report of poor 
 Fanny being the daughter of a shcep- 
 stealer, by exclaiming, when she en- 
 tered " la salle des sciences where 
 is the worthless girl I have been 
 wasting such care upon?** Then seiz- 
 ing Fanny's har.d with an ill-natured 
 jirk,she added, " a pretty crejiture you
 
 m 
 
 are, to be sure, Miss, to be brouglit 
 into the society of young ladies of 
 rank ; a sheep-stealer's daughter ! ! T* 
 The young ladies looked astonished. 
 '* Yes, indeed, ladies,'" said Miss 
 Bridgeman, " this girl is the off- 
 spring of a kept mistress, and a man 
 that was hanged for sheep-stealing ^ 
 The consequences of such a speech 
 to a groupe of young girls, proud 
 of their births and tenacious of 
 their consequence, may readily be 
 imagined, every one was unani- 
 mous in execrating the innocent ob- 
 ject of their hatred, with the excep- 
 tion of Lady Maria Trentham and 
 Emily Barlowe, who could only 
 weep over a misfortune they could 
 not remedy. The joy these benevo- 
 lent girls experienced when they 
 heard Fanny say the %vhole was a 
 mistake, may be readily imagined, 
 and when it was confirmed by Miss 
 Bridgeman herself, who related the 
 story of the dog, as an elucidation of
 
 64 
 
 of the mistake, a hearty laugh re- 
 moved every vestige of sorrow and 
 displeasure ; and the sweet Fanny 
 was restored to the same portion of 
 favor she before enjoyed with every 
 one of her school mates. 
 
 \\ hen Mrs. Dawson was informed 
 that the hurricane had subsided, she 
 made her appearance in the circle 
 she had quitted at the first intimation 
 of Miss Bridge man's displeasure, for 
 as she had been the ostensible person 
 m receiving Fanny, she well knew, if 
 the disagreeable report proved true, 
 she should be a material sufferer, both 
 from her stately superior and the 
 young ladies. Lord Ellincourt's ge- 
 nerosity, however, had put Miss 
 Bridgeman into such a perfect good 
 humour, that Fanny was once more 
 her " little poppet ;'' and Mrs. Daw- 
 son from a ^' great faol^'* was become 
 her " dear Dawsoti^^' and received 
 the pleasing intelligence of the debt
 
 65 
 
 contracted by Fanny, having been 
 so nobly discharged, as well as the 
 promise made by Lord Ellincoart of 
 supporting the little orphan in future. 
 " The turn off about the dog, my 
 dear Dawson,^' said Miss Bridgeman, 
 " was extremely well done, but I 
 assure you it did not impose upon 
 me, for I firmly believe, at this mo- 
 ment, that Fanny is Lord Ellin- 
 court's daughter ; but as much good 
 may be drawn from keeping the girl, 
 you may be sure I shall not breathe 
 my suspicions, and I desire you to be 
 equally circumspect." " Oh you 
 know mif dear ma* am that you can 
 rely upon my prudence. 1 am as se- 
 cret as the grave ; but do you realli/ 
 think Fanny can be Lord Ellin- 
 court's daughter ? I understood his 
 lordship was only just two-and- 
 twenty, and Fanny, you know, is 
 turned of eight." Miss Bridgeman 
 paused— then answered, in an im«
 
 C6 
 
 patient tone, *' I don't care how old 
 they either of them are, I have 
 adopted my opinion, and 1 am not 
 apt to relinquish my opinions when 
 once formed." Mrs. Dawson knew 
 this as well as Miss Bridgeman, she 
 therefore acquiesced without farther 
 disputation, and Miss Bridgeman 
 proceeded to give directions re"^pect- 
 ing Fanny^s future acquirements, as 
 notwithstanding her boast to Lord 
 Ellincourt, no masters had attended 
 the poor girl since the defalcation of 
 the payment. Miss Emily Barlowe 
 had supplied tlieir place to the ut- 
 most of her abilities, that her favorite 
 might not entirely lose the accom- 
 plishments in which she was making- 
 such rapid progress. " That girl 
 must be attended to vow,'' said Miss 
 Bridgeman, " for I dare say she will 
 go somewhere in the holidays, w here 
 her advancement will be ascertained." 
 " I will observe what you say, my
 
 67 
 
 dear ma'am/' said the supple Mrs. 
 Dawson, '' you know the neglect slie 
 has experienced was at your own 
 suggestion.'* ** Yes, yaH," replied 
 Miss Bridgeman, '* 1 am aware of 
 that, but, no doubt, you remember 
 the old French adage — * Point d^ar- 
 gent^ point dc Suisse,* and so it ought 
 to be at Myrtle Grove." *' Un- 
 doubtedly," rejoined Mrs. Dawson, 
 *' we must not throw our attentions 
 away upon beggars J* 
 
 Whilst matters were settling ac- 
 cording to this prudent plan,atMyrtle 
 Grove, Lord Ellincourt pursued his 
 way to London, singing to himself, 
 •with a gaiete de cceur of which, till 
 that moment, he had been insensible: 
 this may appear a paradoxical asser- 
 tion, after what has been said res- 
 pecting the thoughtless life his lord- 
 ship had hitherto led, but to any of 
 my readers, who may have trod the 
 flowery p^ths of dissij^atcd pleasure.
 
 68 
 
 it will not be deemed impossible that 
 a disciple of Circe, should be a 
 stranger to genuine /iertr^-/t// satisfac- 
 tion — that sweet sensation of the 
 soul, is the result of conscious virtue, 
 and the first time Lord Eiiincourt 
 experienced its happy influence, was 
 when he first reflected on a benevo- 
 lent action ; it was not that his lord- 
 ship was destitute of humanity, or 
 insensible to feeling, but from a natu- 
 ral thoughtlessness of disposition, and 
 a habitual propensity to dissipation, 
 that he had never before adopted the 
 plan of extending the hand of charity 
 to the sons and daughters of misfor- 
 tune, as an expedient against the 
 ennui of which he was always com- 
 plaining. Chance had now thrown 
 an opportunity in his waj', trying a 
 new kind of cielasscmcnt, and the 
 result of the experiment was, a de- 
 termination on the part of his lord- 
 ship to pursue the path that had been 
 struck out for him. The motion of
 
 m 
 
 file light vehicle lie was driviiig-, was 
 not more rapid than the progress of 
 the ideas that succeeded each ather 
 in Lord Ellincourt's mind, as he re- 
 iurned towards the metropolis. — 
 Fanny, the lovely artless Fanny was 
 the subject of all these cogitations, 
 and the fascination that had seized 
 his mind, increased with every re- 
 collection. Her interesting counte- 
 *nance, at the moment he first beheld 
 Jier, still seemed to rise before him ; 
 her blooming cheeks suffused with 
 pearly drops ; her eyes of " softest 
 hlue^'' turned with a supplicating 
 look towards him, that might have 
 softened the most obdurate heart ; — 
 " Sweet creature !'* said his lordship, 
 as he drove along, " I never spent 
 money with such delight, as that I 
 paid for her to day. She shall be 
 my child ! by Heavens she shall, and 
 I will maintain her like a little prin- 
 cess !" This resolution filled Lord
 
 70 
 
 Ellincourt's heart with pleasure, and 
 when he drove through the turnpike, 
 at Hyde-Park Corner, he was so 
 absorbed in the agreeable reverie he 
 had indulged in, that he did not 
 perceive Col. Ross and Sir Henry 
 Ambersley, who were strolling arm 
 in arm along the pave^ expressly for 
 the purpose of way-laying his lord- 
 ship on his return. '' Ellincourt,*' 
 exclaimed Sir Henry, exalting his 
 voice into the tones of Stentor, 
 " Where's little Fan >" Lord Ellin- 
 court drew up to the side of the 
 pavement, and extending his hand 
 to Sir Henry, " a thousand thanks 
 my dear fellow," said he, " for pro- 
 curing me the greatest pleasure I ever 
 experienced in my life. The little 
 Fan you sent me in search of, instead 
 of a dog is an angel'* " What have 
 you been peeping ^itWinnifred^x'id^e" 
 man's pretty heiresses ? ch^ Ellin- 
 court ?" said Sir Henry. Lord El-
 
 71 
 
 lincourt gave tlie reins to his groom, 
 and descending from his carriage, he 
 joined his friends. '^ Old Bridgeman 
 is a downright divinity, and Myrtle 
 Grove superior to Ida itself,"' said 
 his lordship, putting an arm through 
 Ihiit of the friend on each side of 
 him. " He's caught^ by all that's 
 striking," said Col. Ross, "old Bridge- 
 man knows what she's about, I war- 
 rant her ; she has been showing off 
 some title 'hunting miss, and the trap 
 has taken a lord. A true bill, is it 
 not Ellincourt V* " That my heart 
 is touched I allow," replied his lord- 
 ship, " and by a pretty girl too ; but 
 it is nn artless amour 1 assure you on 
 both sides, and entirely owing to your 
 hoax about the dog, Ambersley. It 
 is an attachment that will last for 
 life however, 1 am persuaded, and 
 when I show you the object of my 
 affection, if you do not say she is tlie 
 most fascinating creature you ever
 
 72 
 
 saw, I will never cite jgu for men 
 of taste again as long as I live/'' 
 *' But when shall we see her :*' asked 
 Sir Henry, " for you have set me 
 longing ; is the show open to every 
 body?" '' Oh, no,'' said Col. Ross, 
 " I suppose EUincourt has ordered 
 her to be shut up until he puts his 
 coronet on her brow. Is it not so?" 
 " Time will shew," answered his 
 lordship, "but this I will promise 
 you, next time I goto Myrtle Grove, 
 1 will take one of you, for I suppose 
 they will not grant admission to. three 
 such sad dogs, and then you will be 
 better able to form your judgmeat 
 of my charmer!' " Hoax for hoax, 
 my word for it," said Col. Ross, 
 " EUincourt is only playing at repri- 
 sals, lie has been put into the stocks 
 at Myrtle Grove, for his ill-behavior, 
 and he wants to get us into tlie same 
 scrape." " You may do as you like 
 about going," rejoined his lordship.
 
 73 
 
 ^* but I give you my word I am in 
 earnest ; I never was more serious in 
 my life, and to prove it I intend per- 
 suading my mother to accompany 
 me in my next visit. I shall drive 
 her in my mail, and you can sit with 
 me upon the dickey,'' "/ wiii go with 
 you,*' said Col. Ross, *' if you are 
 not afraid of a militaire, if I should 
 rival you, it might not be so well,** 
 ** True,** rejoined Lord Ellincourt, 
 " but I am fearless on that subject, 
 Mv Fanny will love ine best, see 
 who she will.*' " / do not feel so 
 sure of that," said Sir Henry Am- 
 bersley, " and as I have no inclina- 
 tion to measure sWords with you, I 
 will abstain from going." " Comme 
 il vousplaira^** answered Lord Ellin- 
 court, and the subject was immedi- 
 ately changed. 
 
 The whim of adopting Fanny, did 
 not turn Out like most of Lord Ellin- 
 <;ourt's former whims, it survived the 
 
 VOL. I. JB
 
 74 
 
 lapse of several clays, and seemed to 
 acquire strength from reflection. The 
 Dowager Lady EUincourt, his lord- 
 ship's mother, was one of those in- 
 dulgent parents that feel every other 
 sentiment absorbed in their maternal 
 tenderness. Her ladyship had been 
 left a young widow, and although 
 several very advantageous offers had 
 been made her, she had remained in 
 the solitary' state of widowhood out 
 of pure affection to her children. 
 
 Lady EUincourt had only two 
 children living ; the son of whom we 
 have been speaking, and one daugh- 
 ter, who was some years older than 
 her brother. Lady Caroline Mason 
 had been married at the early age of 
 seventeen, to the Earl of Castlebrazil, 
 an Irish nobleman, and resided chiefly 
 in that country. Lord EUincourt 
 was therefore his mother's only so- 
 lace, and there was no request that 
 he could make her, with which she
 
 75 
 
 did not feel eager to comply. Her 
 ladjship was at her Villa at Rich- 
 mond, when Lord Eliincourt paid 
 his visit to Myrtle Grove : she knew 
 nothing therefore of her son*s new at- 
 tachment, until her return to London, 
 about a week afterwards^ when Lord 
 Eliincourt called at her ladyship's 
 house in Hill Street, and broke the 
 ice in the following manner : — 
 
 " I have something to ask you, 
 my dear mother, that I hardly know 
 liow to begin about, for fear you 
 should disapprove of it/* " What 
 is it, Edmund r' said Lady Ellin- 
 court, with a smile, that might have 
 encouraged even a more timid peti- 
 tioner, " you know I am not very in- 
 accessible y 
 
 " I know it well," replied his 
 lordship, '' and therefore 1 don't like 
 to intrude upon your goodness, but 
 my heart is >et upon your com- 
 pliance;'' " Is it money, Edmund ?" 
 E 3
 
 " No, upon my honor, but I will 
 not give you the trouble of guessing, 
 my dear mother. I have taken a 
 fancy to a sweet girl, and I want your 
 countenance for her." " Edmund,*' 
 said Lady Ellincourt, looking very 
 grave, " I hope you are not forming 
 an attachment I am likely to disap- 
 prove of ; marriages against the con- 
 sent of parents are seldom productive 
 of happiness, and I have the most de- 
 cided objection to them from a know- 
 ledge of their fatal tendency. My 
 own family will furnish you w ith an 
 instance of the most melancholy 
 kind, that could not fail of impress^ 
 ing your mind with a salutary fear 
 of falling into the same error, were 
 I to take the trouble of relating the 
 sad tale, but I know you hav^ a 
 great dislike to long stories, so I 
 shall not trouble you with it unless 
 you render it necessary, by your im- 
 jprudeuce/' *' You give excellent
 
 77' 
 
 advice, my dear motlier,** replied 
 Loixl Eliincourt, *' but my attach- 
 ment is not of vthe kind you suppose 
 it to be. The girl I have taken a 
 fancy to, is quite a child ; she is des- 
 titute of friends, and I am deter- 
 mined to defray the expences of her 
 education ; the favor I want you to 
 grant me, is your countenance for 
 the sweet little creature, which when 
 you have seen you will admire as 
 much as I do/* Lord Ellincourt 
 then related the trick Sir Henry Am- 
 bersley had played him, about the 
 advertisement, and his visit in con- 
 seqirence of it to Miss Bridgeman's 
 Temple of Instruction. Lady Ellin- 
 court laughed ; " Are you sure, Ed- 
 mund," said she, " that this is the 
 iriith and nothing hut the truth V 
 " JJpon honor,*' replied his lordship, 
 *' when you have seen her you will 
 not doubt it: let me drive you there 
 to-day, my dear mother/' '' Not
 
 7S 
 
 to-day, Edmund/* replied her lady- 
 ship, *' but I Kill accompany you 
 to-morrow.'* 
 
 The next day Lady Ellincourt kept 
 her appointment ; and her son, ac- 
 companied by Col. Ross, drove her 
 down tt) Myrtle Grove. Lady El- 
 I'nconrt had been in the habit of 
 visiting the Ladies Trentham, and 
 was therefore personally known to 
 Miss Bridgeman, who being a de- 
 vout worshipper of high rank, was 
 delighted when her noble visitor was 
 announced. Lady Isabella and Lady 
 Maria were called to see their aunt, 
 and at their entrance Lord Ellincourt 
 demanded his dear little Fanny. Miss 
 Bridgeman, \^ ith a significant nod, 
 said, " I waited for your lordship's 
 commands:'* and ringing the bdl, 
 ordered the servant to fetch Miss 
 Fanny. The sweet child ^oon obeyed 
 the summons, and regardless of the 
 presence of Lady Ellincourt, and
 
 79 
 
 Col. Ross, ran with open arms to 
 embrace her benefactor, whose de- 
 lii-ht at this testimony of her grati- 
 tude and aifection made him ready 
 to devour her with kisses. As soon 
 as the loving pair could separate 
 fiv>m each other, Lady Ellincourt 
 took Fanny by the hand, and exa- 
 mining her countenance, exclaimed, 
 " \Yhat a sweet creature 1 What is 
 her name, Edmund ]** " Fatherless 
 Fanny ^^ replied Lord Ellincourt, 
 *' she has no other." " ! am not to 
 be called Fatherless Fanny any 
 nioae,'* said the child, '* for Lord 
 Ellincourt will be my papa." Col. 
 Ross smiled and looked significant, 
 and Lady Ellincourt pressed the 
 sweet girl to her bosom. A suspi- 
 cion she could not repress, made her 
 ladyship incline towards the Colo- 
 r»ers and Miss Bndgeman's opinion, 
 although a moderate calculation of 
 their respective ages would have
 
 m 
 
 proved beyond a doubt the falacy of 
 such an idea, as that Fanny could be 
 Lord Ellincourt's daughter. The 
 playful innocence of the engaging 
 Fanny, won completely upon the 
 heart of Lady Ellincourt, who be- 
 came as warm an advocate for- the 
 scheme of adoption as her son, and 
 added her charges to his, in desiring 
 Miss Bridgeman to attend' to the 
 education of the lovely orphan, who 
 rose proportionably in the good 
 graces of her governess, as she ap- 
 peared to be esteemed by the great 
 people that lady so constantly bowed 
 to. Lady Maria Trentham, who re- 
 joiced in Fanny's good fortune, re- 
 ceived her cousin with more than 
 usual cordiality, and Lord Ellin- 
 court, who had been informed by 
 Fanny of her ladyship's kindness to 
 his favorite, thought he had never 
 seen the amiable Maria look so be* 
 witching.
 
 81 
 
 When Lady Ellincourt found, by 
 her watch, that she had staid to the 
 utmost limits of her time, she gave 
 the signal for departure ; and Lord 
 Ellincourt putting a little parcel 
 into Fanny's hand, which he toki 
 her contained a keepsake, kissed her 
 for farewell, and the whole party se- 
 parated. 
 
 During the drive home, Col. Ro5s 
 repeated his conjectures, respecting 
 Fanny's affinity to her benefactor, 
 adding, with a laugh, '' that he 
 could not have supposed his lord-^ 
 ship capable of so much art as be 
 held that day displayed ; why yoit 
 have done the old lady completely," 
 said he. " If you mean that I have 
 imposed upon my mother," said Lord 
 Ellincourt, '* you are mistaken, for 
 I swear, by all that is sacred, 1 did 
 not know there was svich a being in 
 existence as my little Fanny, until 
 Ambersley sent me on a fool's errand 
 
 £5
 
 82 
 
 in rearcli of her namesake." 'Mf 
 that be really the case/' said Col. 
 Ross, " I can guess what are your 
 views with this girl. She is a pretty 
 creature, and will make an agreeable 
 variation in your amours passagescs, 
 by and bye/* " I may have been 
 dissipated, and unthinking," replied 
 Lord Ellincourt, reddening with re- 
 sentment at the vile suggestion, 
 " but 1 hope I am incapable o{ dell- 
 hcrate villaimj^ such as you insinuate 
 The precaution 1 have taken of giving 
 ^luy mother's sanction to my whim, 
 ought to teach you better." 
 
 ''You astonish me!" interrupted 
 Col. Koss, *' is it possible that you 
 have no view but benevolence in this 
 munificent action ?" '' None, upon 
 my honour, excepting, indeed, the 
 pleasure of contributing to tlie hap- 
 piness of a being I love, in a manner 
 wholly unaccountable, even to my- 
 self," said Lord Ellincourt,
 
 83 
 
 '* Then I must compliment jour 
 lordship's philanthropy^'* lejoined 
 the Colonel, sarcastically, " and I 
 hope you will let me participate in 
 the happiness resulting from such 
 heroism^ by permitting me sometimes 
 to visit your beautiful protegee in 
 your company ?*' 
 
 " No, by Heavens !" replied Lord 
 Ellincourt, " the man who could 
 suspect another of such baseness, as 
 the deliberate perversion of inno- 
 cence, is uniit to be trusted where 
 he could prove himself capable of the 
 same turpitude, to the detriment of 
 a defenceless female/' '' Moralizing 
 too," said Co!. Ross, '' by all that's 
 pretty J Upon my honor I rejoice in 
 your lordship's conversion, and can- 
 not enough admire the superlatively 
 charming cause of such a wonderful 
 reformation." 
 
 Here the conversation ended, and 
 the remainder of the drive passed ia
 
 84 
 
 ailence on both sides. Lord EUiii- 
 court was piqued ; and Col. Ros^ 
 tvas digesting a scheme, which had 
 presented itself to his fancy, whilst 
 conversing on the subject of the 
 gentle Fanny ; the accomplishment of 
 which promised to gratify two of his 
 predominant passions; namely — sen- 
 suality and revenge. Lord Ellin- 
 court had offended his pride, by 
 censuring his sentiments, and he 
 wished for an opportunity of being 
 even with him ; to deprive his lord- 
 ship, at some futtire period, of the 
 object pf his generous affection, of- 
 fered a fair prospect to the diaboli- 
 cal Colonel of revenging the sup- 
 posed injury, and at the same time 
 
 ©btaininc* a beautiful creature to ad* 
 
 . . . ' 
 
 minister to his unlawful pleasures^ 
 
 and iinally become the victim^ of 
 
 them. 
 
 It was certainly a long while to 
 
 look forward to, but Col. Ross was
 
 85 
 
 one of those epicures in sensuality, 
 who could deliberately plan and un- 
 relentingly execute the most atrocious 
 acts of cruelty, if they promised the 
 slightest gratification to his depraved 
 appetite. His wickedness was sys- 
 tematic, and he had as much plea- 
 sure in planning as in executing the 
 designs he conceived. 
 
 But we will leave him to his cogi- 
 tations, and proceed with our narra- 
 tive. The happy Fanny as soon as 
 her new friends were departed, open- 
 ed the parcel Lord Ellincourt had 
 left with her, and found, to her 
 great delight, an elegant gold chain 
 for her neck, with a small watch sus- 
 pended, and a pair of bracelets to 
 correspond. It will be easily con* 
 ceived how such a present must win 
 upon the heart of a girl like Fanny. 
 She jumped about in raptures, and 
 displayed her " Papas'' present as 
 she styled Lord Ellincourt, to every
 
 86 
 
 ci'eatiire that came near lier, and the 
 novelty of possessing such a treasure, 
 kept her awake a good part of the 
 night. 
 
 However she soon became accus- 
 tomed to the possession of trinkets, 
 for Lord Ellincourt never was so 
 happy as when bestowing marks of 
 his generosity upon his favorite. Anx- 
 ious to pnrcliase good treatment for 
 her, his lordship took care to re- 
 member Miss Bridgeman with a mu- 
 nificence that completely won that 
 Lady's heart. The improvement of 
 Fatherless Fanny^ seemed now of 
 more real consequence than that of 
 any Lady in the house, and Mrs. 
 Dawson and the subordinate teachers 
 were continually reminded of Miss 
 Bridgeman*s anxiety on the subject. 
 It has already been said, that Fanny 
 possessed great natural abilities, her 
 rapid progress may therefore be sup- 
 posed, under such advantageous cir-
 
 87 
 
 cu instances, and she soon became a 
 brilliant ^^Joof of the skill, so justly 
 ascribed to the preceptress of Myrtle 
 Grove establishment, in bestowing 
 polite accomplishments upon the pu- 
 pils under her care. But barren is 
 that mind, whose improvement has 
 been confined to the study of mere 
 ornamental acquirements : the musi- 
 cian, the dancer, or the pain tress, 
 however skilful in the various bran- 
 ches, will make but a poor wife, if 
 she be deficient in the more solid and 
 valuable qualities of good sense, good 
 temper, and, above all, religion and 
 virtue. 
 
 The softest melody cannot soothe 
 the ear, of pain, nor can the anxious 
 eye of sorrow dwell with delight 
 upon the graceful attitude, or highly 
 finished picture. Ihe knowledge of 
 hinguages, though carried to the 
 highest pitcii of perlection, can 
 suggest no comfort for afBictiouii,
 
 8S 
 
 nor strengthen the suffering mind to 
 bear the reverse of fortune with for- 
 titude and resignatioD. Such know- 
 ledge therefore may be pronounced 
 in the words of Solomon — "- Vanity 
 of vanities/' unless she who possesses 
 it have first sought religion in the 
 page of. truth, and having found the 
 divine precept, made that the basis 
 on which the superstructure of rr- 
 linement was reared. The accom- 
 plishment;s and graces which adorn 
 virtue, may be entitled to admira- 
 tion. The skill of the lapidary may 
 call forth the brilliancy of the dia- 
 mond, but cannot give the same lus- 
 tre to the pebble. 
 
 All the pains bestowed upon Fan- 
 ny's education, by Miss Bridgeman 
 and her assistants, would have avail- 
 ed little, had not the good precepts 
 instilled into her heart by the amia- 
 ble Emily 13arlowe, given solidity to 
 her principles. Piety is a natural
 
 S9 
 
 feeling of the youthful heart, and 
 only requires some skilful hand to 
 call fortk its latent energies, and 
 give them their proper bias, Emily 
 Barlowe had been instructed by her 
 father in the principles of religion ; 
 and her youthful heart glowed with 
 the fervor of genuine piety. With 
 what rapture did the amiable in- 
 structress awaken, in the docile mind 
 of her beloved Fanny, the iirst con- 
 ceptions of the Deity, and teach her 
 guileless lips to pronounce the first 
 word of praise and gratitude. Then 
 judiciously turning the mind of her 
 pupil from the adoration of the Crea- 
 tor to the contemplation of the crea- 
 ture. Pity for the various ills inse- 
 parablq from human nature, soon 
 gave birth to charity, and the mercy 
 she asked of God for herself, slie felt 
 ready to bestow upon her fellow mor- 
 tals ; not only in gifts of benevo- 
 lence, but in acts of forbearance and
 
 m 
 
 good will, llins Ffinny in imitation 
 of the example EmiJy set before her 
 eyes, became good-natured, patient, 
 and forgiving, Irom principle; and 
 benLvoknt from the irre^istable feel- 
 ings of her heart — 
 
 " Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd.** 
 
 The superiority in virtue over the 
 generality of her sex, to which Fanny 
 afterwards attained, might justly be 
 said to, owe its perfection, to the 
 early instructions of the amiable 
 Emily, who, like a guardian angel 
 watched the infancy of her flivorite, 
 and took the advantage of that cri- 
 tical season, when the human mind 
 is fittest to receive the impression of 
 pietj, and which, like the seed time 
 in agriculture, if once neglected 
 cannot be retrieved. Ar.d whilst she 
 was anxiously inculcating the prin- 
 ciples of religion and virtue, she 
 took especial care to irradicate every
 
 91 
 
 tendency to, vanity or arrogance, 
 from which even the best dispositions 
 are not wholly exempt. 
 
 Lord Elliacourt's presents were 
 but too well calculated to engender 
 pride, and the praises he always la- 
 vished upon Fanny's person every 
 time he saw her, would inevitably 
 have rendered her vain, had not the 
 watchful Emily repressed the rising 
 emo^tions, and by expatiating upon 
 the precarious tenure of personal 
 charms, exposed as they are to the 
 ravages of' sickness, and certain de- 
 cay of old age ; and explaining the 
 still more uncertain duration of human 
 attachments, she awakened in tlie 
 mind of her youthful auditor, reflec- 
 tions that would have done honor to 
 a girl double her number of years. 
 
 Ihe effect Lord Eliincourt's at- 
 tachment to Fanny had upon his 
 mind, was of the most salutary kind. 
 With the genuine spirit of paternal
 
 92 
 
 affection he was frequently calculat- 
 ing his expences, and projecting cur- 
 taihnenls'of their extent* in order to 
 purchase some advantage or pleasure 
 tor his darling, and to the astonish- 
 ment of all the gentlemen of the 
 turf, his lordship's stud^ at New- 
 market was sold off, and the destruc- 
 tive aiiiusement of horse-racing a- 
 bandoned within a year after he took 
 the whim of adopting Fanny, be- 
 cause he had made a determination 
 to retrench, in order to have it in his 
 power to make a settlement upon his 
 favorite, which resolution it was im- 
 possible to put in practice whilst he 
 kept up such an expensive establish- 
 ment, and incurred such heavy losses 
 as generally attended his gambling 
 ventures. 
 
 Lady Ellincourt who felt greatly 
 pleased with the appearance of her 
 son's relbrmation, gave every encou- 
 ragement to his patronage of the little
 
 93 
 
 orphan, ui?d even indulged him so 
 far, as to invite Fanny to sjDend a 
 month with her during the Summer's 
 vacation, at her country seat, which 
 lay in Yorkshire, on an estate thit 
 had been lately purchased for her, 
 by her agent, and was celebrated for 
 the antique grandeur of the house 
 and the beauty of the surrounding 
 parks and grounds. 
 
 To this delightful retreat the hap- 
 py Fanny was conveyed in Lady El- 
 lincourt's coach, and no sooner had 
 she entered the great hall, than she 
 exclaimed in an ectasy, " Oh this is 
 Mamma Sydney V house, do let me 
 see her ?" and running forward, she 
 made to a door opposite to her, and 
 attempted to open it. The lock re- 
 sisted her efforts. '' Pray open it 
 for rae ?** said the child, turning to 
 a servant, '* Mamma Sydney is in 
 there ! . and I want to see her !" 
 Lord EUincourt, who had arrived a
 
 94 
 
 few hours before his mother, new 
 came into the hall. '' What is the 
 matter with my Fanny r" said his 
 lordship, " what is the little girl 
 doing there r" "I want to see 
 Mamma Sydney/' replied Fanny, 
 " and I know she is in that room: 
 She always used to sit there." 
 
 " We-e you ever in this house 
 before, my love,*' asked his lordship, 
 astonishment painted on his coun- 
 tenance. *' Oh yes, Papa, I used to 
 live here, and this door, you will not 
 open for me, is Mamma Sydney's 
 parlonr." 
 
 Lord Ellincourt ordered a servant 
 to enquire for the key of the room, 
 and turning to Fanny, he said, 
 '' Your Mamma Sydney cannot be 
 in that room, :bryou see it is locked." 
 Fanny stood in the utmost agitation 
 whilst the key was fetched, but ap- 
 peared too much struck to speak a 
 word. In tne mean time Lady Ellin-
 
 95 
 
 court, who had been speaking to her 
 steward relative to some alterations 
 that had been lately made, came up 
 to see what had arrested the atten- 
 tion of her sou and Fanny. When 
 she was informed of the chiUrs as- 
 sertion respecting the house, "some 
 resemblance,! suppose,*' said her lady- 
 ship, " between this and the house 
 where she formerly resided, but this 
 could not be her Mamma Sydney's 
 house, because the estate belonged to 
 a Mr. Hamilton, who had resided 
 abroad some years before his death, 
 and I purchased it of his heir. The 
 place had not been inhabited from 
 the time Mr. Hamilton went abroad, 
 as its delapidated condition plainly 
 proved, at the time I took possession 
 of it, about two years ago.'' At 
 this moment the servant brought the 
 key, and the door was opened ; 
 Fanny ran into the room, but pre- 
 sently returned, with a sorrowful
 
 96 
 
 countenance. " Mamma Sydney is 
 not thercj" said she, her eyes full of 
 tears, " I wonder where she is gone." 
 " Are you sure this is the room where 
 your Mamma Svdi.ey used to sit V 
 asked Lady Ellincourt. " Oh yes. 
 Ma'am," replied Fanny, " see here 
 is her work table !" and the child 
 going up to the fire-place, raised a 
 bracelet that seemed made for the 
 convenience of holding a candlestick 
 or l>ook, ibr anv body who chose to 
 sit close to the fire. " Mamma 
 Sydney used to put her work bag 
 upon this, when she was working, 
 and when she was doing nothing, 
 her snufF box used to stand upon 
 it," said Fanny, " end sometimes a 
 book ; and when she had done read- 
 ing. She would put her spectacles into 
 the middle of the book, and lay it 
 down, and say to me, come puss, you 
 must divert me now/* 
 
 Both Lord and Lady Elliucourt
 
 97 
 
 were very much struck with an ac- 
 count so distinctly given of an event 
 so remote, and her ladyship said she 
 would inquire the particulars rela- 
 tive to the former inhabitants of her 
 mansion, and endeavour, if possible, 
 to elucidate the mystery. 
 
 Fanny was now led about the spa- 
 cious rooms, and long galleries that 
 distinguished the noble dwelling, by 
 her beloved " Papa^'* and every now 
 and then expressed her delight at the 
 discovery of some old acquaintance, 
 either in the rooms or their furniture^ 
 and her recollection of trivial cir- 
 cumstances was so clear, that, not- 
 withstanding all the evidence that 
 appeared to contradict the probabi- 
 lity of Fanny's having been formerly 
 an inmate of Pemberton Abbey, 
 neither Lord Ellincourt nor his mo- 
 ther could divert their minds of 
 the belief that her account was cor- 
 rect. 
 
 VOL. 1/ F
 
 98 
 
 Every inquiry was made amongst 
 the tenantry, likely. to elucidate tlie 
 mystery, but to little purpose ; their 
 answers corresponded uniformly when 
 composed together ; — no lady of the 
 name of Sydney had resided in that 
 house, or its vicinity, nor did they 
 believe that Pemberton Abbey had 
 been inhabited by any body besides 
 the servants, who were left in care 
 of it, since the departure of iNlr. 
 Hamilton, until it was purchased by 
 Lady EUincourt, a period of several 
 years. 
 
 This was told Fanny ; but she still 
 persisted in her assertion, nor could 
 any argument, for a moment, shake 
 her opinion, or make her waver in 
 her story. Of her removal from 
 Pemberton Abbey, she could give 
 but a very imperfect account, she 
 remembered having been in a car- 
 riage a long time, but whither she 
 was carried, or by whom, she coukl
 
 m 
 
 not tell ; all she knew perfectly, was 
 that her Mamma Sydney did not go 
 with her, and that tlie lady, with 
 whom she staid for some days before 
 she was left at Miss Bridgeman's, 
 was very cross to her. 
 
 A wide field was here opened for 
 conjecture, and Lord and Lady El- 
 lincourt were left to wander in it, as 
 all their efforts to obtain any light 
 upon the subject failed of effect. A 
 circumstance which occurred just be- 
 fore Fanny's return to school, served 
 to increase the perplexity of their 
 minds, and to raise their curiosity to 
 a pitch of impatience, very ill-suited 
 to the suspense they were obliged to 
 endure. 
 
 The apartment little Fanny slept 
 m, was in the same gallery as Ladj 
 Eliincourt's, and divided from that 
 room by a small chamber, which 
 was occupied by her ladyship's wo- 
 man : the screams of poor Fanny one 
 F'2
 
 100 
 
 night, awakened Lady Elliiicourt 
 from a sound sleep, and starting from 
 her bed, the amiable Lady threw on 
 her dressing gown, and ran to the 
 assistance of her favorite, Mrs. Par- 
 sons, her woman, was there before 
 her, and was supporting the terrified 
 child in her arms. 
 
 " What is the matter?" exclaimed 
 Lady Ellincourt, ^' my dear Fanny, 
 what is the matter?'' "Mamma 
 Sydney has been here ; she came and 
 looked at me, and when I spoke to 
 her she ran away and would not an- 
 swer.*^ '^ You have been dreaming, 
 my love,'* said Lady Ellincourt. — 
 *' No, indeed. Ma'am, I was wide 
 awake," replied the child, '• I heard 
 her open my door, and saw her come 
 lip to the bed, with a candle in her 
 hand, and she looked so angry when 
 1 spoke to her, that she frightened me 
 out of my wits. Pray, dear Lady 
 Ellincourt, call her back, and beg
 
 101 
 
 her not to be angry with me." " My 
 dear child/' answered her ladyship, 
 "this is mere fancy, I assure you. 
 Nobody could come into your room 
 without being heard by Parsons." 
 '* I heard nothing, I assure your lady- 
 ship," said Mrs. Parsons, '' until 
 Miss Fanny screamed out, and I was 
 not asleep, for 1 had been indulging 
 myself with a book." 
 
 It was with great difficulty that 
 Lady Ellincourt succeeded in pacify- 
 ing the terrified Fanny, who lay trem- 
 bling, and in the greatest agitation. 
 ^' The poor child has been frightened 
 through a dream," said the compas- 
 sionate Lady, " so take her into my 
 bed, Parsons, she shall not be left 
 alone again to-night, or her nerves 
 may suffer severely." Mrs. Parsons 
 obeyed her lady's commands, and 
 Fanny was so delij^hted at being per- 
 mitted to sleep with her dear benefac- 
 tress that she forgot her terror,and her 
 r3
 
 102 
 
 lears, and gave way to such emo- 
 tions of joy, that Lady Ellincourt 
 was sensibly aftected, by a proof of 
 attachment so unquestionably exqui- 
 site. 
 
 The next day, however, Fanny 
 persisted in her assertion, that she 
 had really seen her Mamraa Sydney ; 
 nor could all Lady EUincourt's dis* 
 sertations on the strength of the ima- 
 gination, during the influence of 
 dreams, avail any thing ; the child 
 §till insisted that slae was wide awake 
 wiien the figure of Mamma Sydney 
 hid appeared before her, and that 
 the noise of some door opening hiid 
 awakened her. " It seemed/* said 
 she, " as if a door had beea forced 
 open, that had been long shut, for it 
 made a bursting noise.'' " There is 
 only the door that leails from Tar- 
 son's room to yours," replied Lady 
 Ellincourt, " and that you know 
 stood open, you must therefore have
 
 103 
 
 been mistaken, my dear Fanny/* 
 Fanny shook her wise head : '^ I can- 
 ttot teW how it could be/' said she, 
 ^* but I am sure it was as I say/' 
 
 The room in which Fanuy slept 
 waspanelhid with cedar-wood, which 
 was carved in the most ctir ions man- 
 ner, and had no doubt been esteemed 
 ^vhef-d'ceuvre of workmanship, at the 
 time the house was built. The child's 
 ol)stinacy respecting the person she 
 had seen, impressed Lady Ellincourt's 
 mind ro strongly, that she sent for a 
 carpenter to examine the wainscot, 
 with the most scrupulous exactness, 
 in order to ascertain whether there 
 were any secret entrance to the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 The scrutiny, however, produced 
 nothing to elucidate the mjstery, 
 the man declared the partitions per. 
 fectly sound, and asserted that it was 
 an utter impossibility that they 
 should conceal any way of entering
 
 104 
 
 the ro6m impervious to lii« minute 
 investigation. This satisfied Lady 
 Ellincourt; and she returned to her 
 iirst opinion — i.e. That Fanny had 
 been misled by a dream ; and the cir- 
 cumstance was soon forgotten by the 
 cliild, as no recurrence of the same 
 terror could happen, as her joy at 
 sleeping with Lady Ellincourt, had 
 endeared her so much to that lady 
 that she was permitted to remain the 
 partner of her bed during her stay 
 at Pemberton Abbey, from whence 
 s.he was conveyed to school, at the 
 expiration of the vacation. 
 
 The Christmas foilowiug the iNJiss 
 13arlowe*s left Miss Bridgeman\s, and 
 poor Fanny lost her best friend in her 
 beloved Emily ; her sorrow was 
 somewhat assuaged, ho»vever, by an 
 unexpected ev<°nt. Mr. and Mrs. 
 Barlowe had come to England, to 
 fetch their daught "rs, and the health 
 of the latter was so delicate that it
 
 105 
 
 was judged necessary to her recovery 
 to breathe her native air for some- 
 time ; she determined therefore to 
 stay a year in England, and thus 
 Emily Barlowe had frequent oppor- 
 tunities of visiting her dear Fanny, 
 as Mr. Barlowe entered into his 
 daughter's feelings respecting the 
 child, with all the warmth of bene- 
 volence natural to his disposition. 
 The high patronage the little orphan 
 now enjoyed rendered all pecuniary 
 aid unnecessary; but Mr, Barlowe 
 knew enough of the world, to be- 
 lieve tliat, notwithstanding jorcAe/^? ap- 
 pearances, there might come a day 
 when poor Fanny might find that 
 friendship is no inheritance, 
 
 ^' If Lord Ellincourt should neglect 
 to make any settlement upon his a- 
 dopted child," said the good gentle- 
 man, " life is a precarious tenure, and 
 how soon may the sweet girl be ex- 
 posed to the frowns of a cruel world, 
 r5
 
 106 
 
 or, indeed, what is still worse, to 
 the various sirares which are con- 
 stantly spread for indigent beauty, 
 by the remorseless panders of oppu- 
 lent depravity/' 
 
 *' Surely," replied Emily, to whom 
 this speech was addressed, " surely 
 Papa, Lord Ellincourt will not be 
 so cruel as to leave the dear child 
 unprovided for. His lordship seems 
 so very fond of her that I should think 
 such a thing impossible." 
 
 *' Lord Ellincourt is a very young 
 man," answered Mr, Barlowe, '* and 
 besides that, a very thoughtless one. 
 I don't believe, by what 1 hear of 
 bim, that he ever did a good thing 
 in his life, before he patronised 
 Fanny. Such men as be think little 
 about death, although there is cer- 
 tainly no situation which is more ex- 
 posed to mortality, than that of a 
 true votary of fashion, since should 
 their necks escape the perils of cka^
 
 107 
 
 rioteering — their health the intemjie- 
 rate excesses of midnight revels — their 
 lives li« at the mercy of every repro- 
 bate with whom they associate, for 
 should he chuse to call them out for 
 any frivolous offence, whether fan- 
 cied or real, the imperious laws of 
 4ionor forbid thein to decline the 
 combat : yes, such is the inverted or- 
 der of things, that he who has dared 
 to blaspheme his God in his common 
 conversation, w ho has infringed the 
 sacred rights of hdmanity, upon the 
 sHghtest temptation^ and who has 
 trampled, in their turn, every law, 
 human and divine, as they opposed 
 the gratiiicatiou of his inordinate 
 passions, such a man, I say, will 
 tremble to act in opposition to the 
 self-created law of the • Moloch of 
 these days, at whose shrine modern 
 idolatoi*s still sacrifice their children 
 without remorse or contrition/* 
 If Mr. Barlowe had merely rea-
 
 108 
 
 soned upon the subject of Fannj's 
 precarious situation, little merit could 
 have been arrogated for such a nega- 
 tive proof of his regard for her, but 
 that worthy gentleman had not so 
 much of the Pharisee in his compo- 
 sition ; he never discussed any sub- 
 ject, either moral or divine, without 
 acting up to the principles he pro- 
 fessed, and in this instance he went 
 even farther than common bounds of 
 benevolence, for he provided for a 
 contingency which appeared perfectly 
 imaginary to every eye but his 
 own. 
 
 Before Mr. Barlowe left England 
 he vested five hundred [pounds in the 
 funds, in the name of Fanny, and 
 appointed a trustee to apply it to 
 her use, in case any thing should 
 happen to render such an assistance 
 necessary. As Fanny had no sirname 
 Mr. Barlow e had described her actual 
 residence at the time of the donation.
 
 109 
 
 and other circumstances proper to 
 identify her, with a precision that 
 proved his anxiety for her welfare, 
 and his own kind heart, beyond the 
 possibility of a doubt. The friend 
 to whom the trust was confided, was 
 charged, too, to give immediate no- 
 tice, by letter, to Mr. Barlowe should 
 any accident happen to place Fanny 
 in circumstances of necessity, as the 
 generous gift was intended merely as 
 a prelude to his farther bounty, in 
 case of such an event, as it had al- 
 ways been Mr. Barlowe' s intention to 
 indulge his daughter's wish of adopt- 
 ing the pretty orphan, if it could be 
 done without prejudice to her favo- 
 rite, and although Lord Eilincourt's 
 bounty superseded that intention foi 
 the present, Mr. Barlowe still che- 
 rished the idea that the scheme 
 might yet become both practicable 
 and agreeable to all parties. 
 
 The amiable heart of the gentle
 
 110 
 
 Emily felt th€ most grateful im- 
 pression of her father's kindness; 
 yet stiU she found it impossible to 
 believe any thing that militated a- 
 gainst the exalted opinion slie had 
 formed of Lord Ellincourt^s goodness. 
 The benevolence his lordship had 
 evinced for her favorite, in that try- 
 ing moment when her own heart was 
 nearly broken > at finding herself 
 powerless in her cause, had first 
 recommended him to her favor, the 
 agremens of a handsome pei^on and 
 hij2jhiy- finished manners had com- 
 pleted the conquest, and the gentle 
 Emily had bestowed her affection be- 
 yond the power of recalling them, 
 upon tlie unconscious Ellincotirt, 
 before she even suspected such a thing 
 was possible. 
 
 A Father's anxi£)ns eyes had pene-» 
 trated the guarded secret of her bo- 
 som, by them he had seen his daugh- 
 ter twice in Lord Ellincourt's com-
 
 in 
 
 pany, be had observed too, with 
 equal precision, that his lordship's 
 ideas had never wandered towards 
 the love-sick Emily, and his prudence 
 suggested an immediate separation. 
 It was this conviction, too, that had 
 induced him to dwell with such force 
 upon the general depravity oi fashion- 
 able men, in his conversation with 
 his daughter, which has just been 
 related, hoping that his just stric- 
 tures upon the manners of the great, 
 would tend to weaken her partiality 
 for Lord Ellincourt. But, alas ! 
 when the poet*s described love as a 
 blind deity, they ought to have ad- 
 ded—that he was deaf also, and that 
 his votaries were generally subject to 
 the same intirmities. 
 
 Emily Barlowe had been accus- 
 tomed to believe her father's opinion 
 infallible, but on this occasion she 
 either did not hear them, from the
 
 112 
 
 reason above-mentioned, or thej 
 failed in the usual effect. 
 
 The year allotted for Emily Bar- 
 lowe's stay in England, soon glided 
 away, and the mournful hour arri- 
 ved that was to tear her from dear 
 England — her tenderly- beloved Fan- 
 ny — and from the contemplation of 
 that admired countenance, whose 
 smile never failed of imparting de- 
 light, and whose frown gave the 
 thrill of anguish to her heart. 
 
 Fanny was at Lady F^llincourt's 
 house, on a visit, at the lime of the 
 Barlowe's departure, and as Emily 
 was a particular favorite with her 
 ladyship, she Avas invited to spend the 
 last week of her stay in London, 
 under the same roof with her favo» 
 rite. This was a dangerous indul- 
 gence to the tender girl, who had 
 now an opportunity of more fre- 
 quently meeting with another favo* 
 rite^ jiot so congenial to her happi-
 
 113 
 
 ness as the blooming Fanny. Lord 
 EUincourt had always thought Emily 
 Barlovve a sweet girl, and felt grate- 
 ful to her for her kindness to Fanny, 
 but he was too much accustomed to 
 the boldness of modern ladies, whose 
 beauty demands rather than wins 
 admiration, to be easily charmed 
 by unobtrusive merit, and soft fe* 
 minine loveliness, veiled by the shade 
 of genuine modesty. 
 
 His lordship felt surprised there- 
 fore to find what a charming girl he 
 had so long regarded with indiffe- 
 rence, when a more social intercourse 
 displayed those attractions to his no- 
 tice, which had been hitherto con- 
 cealed by the amiable diffidence of 
 the lovely possessor. " Upon my 
 honoi\'' said his lordship, the morn- 
 ing after Emily's departure, '' upon 
 my honor 1 should have been despe- 
 rately in love with Emily Barlowe, 
 if she had staid a little longer.
 
 114 
 
 Where the devil did she hide all her 
 powers of charming kq long ? Most 
 young ladies are to be known now 
 a-days, by conversing witli them two 
 or three times ; at least all that is 
 agree^ihle in them -, but this lovely 
 creature seeuas to rise in one's estima- 
 tion every time one converses with 
 her, and I swear I have never exa- 
 mined her blushing countenance o£ 
 late, w ithout discovering some beauty 
 unobf;erved before, yet Mhich ap- 
 peared too striking to be overlooked 
 by any, but an insensible. Can you 
 tell me^ my dear mother, the reason 
 of this late discovery r" 
 
 Lady EUincourt smiled. " The 
 reason, my dear Edmund, lies in your 
 OMii breast, where a growing j>ar- 
 tiality has beautitied its object, and 
 disco verexl charms impervious to any 
 other vision/* " What do not you 
 admire Emily then ?*' asked Lord 
 EUincourt. "I c/o most since re Iv,'*
 
 115 
 
 answered her ladyship, '* but so 1 
 always did ; / find no new beauties, 
 site always appeared to me a lovely 
 girl, both in mind and person." 
 '' I wish you had said befos-e, that 
 jou thought her so," replied Lord 
 Ellincourt, with a thoughtful look. 
 Lady Ellincourt smikd. *' I never 
 wished to direct your choice Ed- 
 mund,'* said she, *' but if it had fall- 
 *n on Miss Emily Barlowe, I cer- 
 tainly should have started no objec- 
 tion ; her fortune is large, and her 
 family unexceptionable: but she is 
 gone^ and you must endeavour to 
 forget her/' 
 
 " That IS impossible," replied h's 
 Lordship, whose imagination ha4 
 grown warm, in discussing the sub- 
 ject, *' I can never forget the charm* 
 ing Emily, audi have a great mind 
 to follow her to Jamaica." '^ Take 
 a little time for consideration," said 
 Lady Ellincourt, the fit may go off,
 
 116 
 
 a lover's eternity is not of long dii-ra- 
 tion — sometimes." '' You treat the 
 matter lightly, my dear mother, '^ 
 said Lord Ellincourt, *' but depend 
 upon it you will find I am serious ; 
 in the meantime, I am glad to find 
 this alliance does not come within 
 the censure of ill-assorted matches, 
 which I remember you once seriously 
 warned me against — apropos you 
 said there was a melancholy instance 
 m our family, of the folly of such 
 marria»^es, I wish you would tell m« 
 the long storij^ as you styled it^ I feel 
 an inclination for such an indul- 
 gence will you grant it me ?" 
 
 '* With pleasure, my dear Ed- 
 mund,'' replied Lady Ellincourt, 
 *' when we have time to get to the 
 end of it, which is not the case now. 
 This evening, however, 1 shall be at 
 your service. Fanny is to return to 
 Myrtle Grove this moining, her 
 young companions wiJl console her
 
 117 
 
 better than I can, for the loss she 
 has sustained, or at least make her 
 forget her sorrow, for that is the 
 only remedy at her age." Lord EI- 
 lincourt said, " he would accompany 
 his mother in Iier morning drive, and 
 assist in taking their mutual favorite 
 to school.'^ 
 
 Fanny was now in her eleventh 
 year, and beautiful as an angel. 
 There was such an expression of in- 
 nocence and sweetness in her coun- 
 tenance, that it was impossible not to 
 love her; and although the tints of 
 the rose, the lily, the violet, and 
 the carnation, combined to render 
 her complexion lovely, it was the 
 emanation of her heavenly mind that 
 gave that brilliancy to her counte- 
 nance, which rendered it truly daz- 
 zling. Lord Ellincourt contemplated 
 his lovely ward, as he sat opposite to 
 her in his mother's barouche, and 
 he was more than ever struck Vr ith 
 
 .9
 
 lis 
 
 her exquisite beautj. That sweet 
 girl, thought he, must be protectetl 
 with unceasing vigilance, or she will 
 fall a sacriiice to sotne of the wretches, 
 her uncommon loveliness will not fail 
 to attract around her. But, although 
 Lord Ellincourt felt the necessity of 
 protecting Fanny, he neglected the 
 surest method of doing so, and there- 
 by verified Mr. Barlowe's opinion of 
 him, that he was 3. thoughtless as well 
 as a young man. 
 
 We will now, however, set down 
 Faniiy at Miss Bridgeman's, and 
 j Limping over a few hours, or kiU'iHg 
 them by any fashionable device, 
 bring our Readers to Lady Ellin- 
 court's fire-side : where her ladyship 
 on one side and her son on the other, 
 they may listen to our next chapter, 
 which contains
 
 im 
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 
 ^ Long Story. 
 
 "My Father/' said Lady Ellincourt, 
 *' was, you know, the Marquis of 
 Petersfield, but at the time even of 
 his coming of age, there was very 
 little probability of his ever attaining 
 to that dignity, as he was only a 
 very distant branch of the Tren- 
 tham family, and no less than thir' 
 teen living claimants, besides the 
 chance of their having children stood 
 between him and the title, yet such 
 is the mutability of all human 
 tenures, that, notwithstanding these 
 opposing obstacles, my father be- 
 came Marquis of Petersfield by the
 
 11^ 
 
 time he was eijjbt-and-tliirtv. He 
 was then a widower, with two chil- 
 dren — my dear lamented brother and 
 myself, happy would it have been 
 for us had he never been induced to 
 re-enter the pale of wedlock ! My 
 father had doated on my mother, 
 and he transferred his affections to 
 her children, when she was borne 
 from him by a premature death — 
 Never was a fonder parent, a 
 more indulgent friend, than he al- 
 ways approved himself to us, whilst 
 Me were so happy as to share his love 
 between us. 
 
 '' My brother was nearly three 
 years older than I was, and ihe most 
 perfect friendship existed between us 
 from the first dawn of reason. My 
 beloved Seymour was of so sweet a 
 disposition that he made it his study 
 to render me happy, and the little 
 superiority he had over me, in point 
 of age, rendered him at once my in-
 
 121 
 
 iStructor and playmate. At the time 
 of my father's second marriage, I had 
 just attained my fourteenth year,and 
 Seymour was seventeen. 
 
 ''The lady selected for our mother- 
 in-law, was every way my father's 
 inferior, both as to rank and for- 
 tune ; being merely the daughter of 
 a subaltern officer, who had been 
 educated as half-boarder at a school 
 of repute, and from thence attained 
 to the employment of governess to 
 two over-grown girls of fashion, 
 whose ill -judging mother had en- 
 sasred Miss Henderson to relieve her 
 from the irksome tasK^of entertaining 
 her daughters, for instruction had 
 been long out of the question with 
 the pupils committed to her care. 
 The eldest, Miss Howard was seven- 
 teen, at the time Miss Henderson en- 
 tered Lady Howard's family, and the 
 youngest considerably turned of fif- 
 teen. 
 
 VOL.1. G
 
 122 
 
 ** The girls were coheiresses, and 
 perfectly aware of their approaching 
 independence, their fortunes were to 
 be at their own disposal, the very 
 day of their coming of age. 
 
 " Miss Henderson was artful e- 
 nough to consult her ow-n interest, 
 rather than the improveiiient of her 
 pupils, she accordingly indulged 
 their most capricious fancies, and 
 entered into their most unreasonable 
 projects with a degree of patient per- 
 severance, that succeeded in render- 
 ing her indispensible to their happi- 
 ness. This was just what Miss Hen- 
 derson had intended, and she exulted 
 in the success of her schemes. lu- 
 stead of being dismissed when her 
 pupils were presented, as is usual 
 with governesses in general, Miss 
 Henderson was retained as their coju- 
 panion, with an increased salary, 
 that she might be enabled to visit 
 with them^ in a style of elegance
 
 123 
 
 suitable to the appearance of the la- 
 dies she accompanied. This much 
 wished-lbr intercouse with the fa- 
 shionable world, introduced Miss 
 Henderson to my father, and her 
 ambition was fired with the hopes of 
 obtaining his notice as a lover, which 
 hopes were afterwards, but too fatally 
 realized, for the welfare of my un- 
 fortunate brother and myself. Miss 
 Henderson was the epitome of every 
 thing that is hateful in woman — art- 
 ful, designing, and insatiably am- 
 bitious. 
 
 In tlie subordinate station she had 
 hitherto tilled, it had been necessary 
 for her to display the most unvarying 
 complaisance. She had appeared 
 therefore to my father*s infatuated 
 fancy a gentle timid creature, whose 
 diffidence and unassuming modesty, 
 veiled half the perfections of her 
 mind ; and he exulted in the thought 
 of bestowing upon his children a 
 g2
 
 124 
 
 mother-in-law, who would be as so- 
 licitous for their welfare, as he was 
 himself. Unhappy delusion ! which 
 cost him but too dear ! No sooner 
 was Miss Henderson raised to the 
 rank of Marchioness of Petersfield 
 than all her complaisance, her humi- 
 lity, and her gentleness, vanished 
 like the fading meteor. 
 
 " The most haughty airs, the most 
 intolerable caprice, were instantly 
 displayed by the new-made peeress, 
 nndfelt by every unfortunate crea- 
 ture who came within the circle of 
 her power. To my brother she took 
 the most inveterate dislike, from the 
 first week of her marriage, and Lord 
 Durham* s extravagance, and Lord 
 Durhafns idleness, the unformed 
 rudeness of his manners, soon be- 
 came the unfailing theme of her in- 
 vective. Whilst he was at home the 
 poorjT)uth never enjoyed a moment's 
 respite from her malice ; and when
 
 125 
 
 he returned to college, his bills were 
 censured, his allowance curtailed, 
 and every vexatious torture inflicted 
 upon him, which cruelty could in- 
 vent, or ingenuity devise. To me 
 she was more indulgent, for she felt 
 not the same jealousy of my existence, 
 which disturbed her with regard to 
 my brother. 
 
 *' She was ambitious of becoming 
 the MOTHER, as well as the wife, of a 
 Marquis, and the birth of a son a 
 year after her marriage, rendered her 
 more formidably malicious to Lord 
 Durham, than she had ever been be«- 
 fore. At the age of nineteen my dear 
 brother was sent abroad, to give that 
 necessary finish to polite education, 
 which used to be acquired by visiting 
 the diflferent Courts of Europe, but 
 which has been impracticable ever 
 siijce French anarchy has convulsed 
 every European state with war and 
 fjjction. 1 he evening before his de- 
 g3
 
 126 
 
 parture, the amiable joutli was in 
 my dressing room, passing the last 
 few hours of his stay in the paternal 
 mansion, with the only person who 
 appeared to lament his departure. 
 Mv father*s affection had Ion? been 
 weaned from him. by the artifices of 
 his cruel mother-in-law. 
 
 " ' My dear Caroline,' said Lord 
 Durham, pressing my hand as he 
 spoke, '1 am, at this moment, labour- 
 ing under an affliction of which your 
 gentle breast has no idea. The pangs 
 I feel at parting from my sweet sis- 
 ter are severe, indeed; but what will 
 she say, when I assure her that there 
 exists anothtr dear o?i€, from whom I 
 cannot tear myself without ftelings 
 of acrony, nothiuLT inferior to those 
 which part the soul and body !* 
 • Good heavens !* exclaimed i, * what 
 means my dearest Seymour ?' '1 
 mean,* replied the sweet youth, * that 
 1 have undone myself by my impru-
 
 127 
 
 «k ace, and that I have involved the 
 most amiable of her sex in my ruin — 
 I am married !' * Married ?* repeat- 
 ed I, * and to whom V ' To an an- 
 gel/ rejoined he, wringing his hands 
 in agony. ' Oh, Caroline, your heart 
 will bleed for her, when you know 
 her/ * Have you never hinted your 
 situation to my father ?' enquired I, 
 trembling as I spoke, for I perceived 
 such a wildness in my brother's looks 
 that it alarmed me beyond expres- 
 sion. * I never touched upon the 
 subject but once/ answered he, 'and 
 'then I was silenct?d in a manner too 
 decisive to admit of my again-renew- 
 ing it/ 
 
 " 'But who is the lady.-' said I, 
 « you forget my anxiety, for I am 
 *6ure you would not trifle with it.' 
 * You know Lady Emily Ilinchin- 
 broke V ' I do,' replied I, 'but 
 surely it is not her, the daughter of 
 my fat her* s deadly foe, the man who
 
 128 
 
 would have deprived him of life ?* 
 
 *. It is, it is/ exclaimed Seymour, in 
 
 an agony of grief, * ah why did I 
 
 ever behold her face ? AVhy was 1 
 
 ever taught the inestimable value of 
 
 an affection that has undone me }' 
 
 But I will no longer keep you in sus- 
 
 pence ; the mournful story is a short 
 
 one: — 
 
 *' ' I became acquainted with the 
 
 fascinating Emily, whilst on a visit 
 to Lord Riversdale, her maternal un- 
 cle, whose son has always been my 
 most intimate friend at College; the 
 attachment was mutual, and I real- 
 ly believe its violence was increased 
 by the certainty that it never could 
 be approved by our parents. A se- 
 cret correspondence has been carried 
 on these two years between us, and 
 at length, in a fit of dcsj>eration, it 
 was determined that we should be 
 asked in church, and married, as we 
 were both under age we could not be
 
 1^ 
 
 united by an other means. This plaR 
 was the suggestion of Henry Poulet, 
 Lord Riversdale's son, who has been 
 our confidant from the beginning of 
 our attachment. In a fatal hour we 
 both acceded to it. Emily was on a 
 visit at Lord Riversdale's, in Berkeley 
 Square, and as I visited there every 
 day, with the freedom of a son, the 
 unfortunate scheme was but too easi- 
 ly accomplished. 
 
 '* ' It is now about five months 
 since we were united, and already 
 have we deeply repented our impru- 
 dent rashness, and yet our repen- 
 tance does not originate in decay of 
 affection, far from it, our love is 
 more tender, more ardent than ever ; 
 but, alas! we see too plainly the 
 fatal consequences of our impatience. 
 My own sufferings would be nothing 
 in my eyes, were it not for those en- 
 tailed upon my Emily. Oh that any 
 selfish gratification should have in- 
 q6
 
 130 
 
 duced me to fill that heart with sor- 
 row, that beats only for me ! ! I'he 
 secret has hitherto been kept invio- 
 lable, and I believe unsuspected, but 
 that security is at an end, for Lord 
 Somertown has fixed upon a husband 
 for his daughter, and she has received 
 notice to prepare herself for the 
 event. The rich Marquis of Aldei- 
 ney is his intended son-in-law. 
 Emily entreats me to leave her to the 
 developement of our unhappy secret, 
 and assures me that she considers it 
 a fortunate circumstance that I am 
 about to leave England, as she thinks 
 her father's anger will cool sooner 
 when he feels the impossibility of 
 wreaking it upon me ; but these ar- 
 guments have little weight with a 
 heart so anxious as mine, and I would 
 rather brave his utmost fury than 
 leave my angel, Emily, to encounter 
 the slightest share of his resentment. 
 1 have done every thing in my power
 
 131 
 
 to delay my journey, but nothing^ 
 can avail me to protract my depar- 
 ture any longer, unless 1 make a pre- 
 mature discovery, which must inevi- 
 tably prove fatal to us both. I am 
 consiraitied therefore to abandon her 
 my soul holds dearest upon earth, at 
 the moment she stands most in need 
 of my support. 
 
 ** ' All our hopes rest upon sosne 
 accidental rupture of the marriage 
 treaty, between Lord Somertown and 
 the Marquis of AIderne3% If Emily 
 could but remain unmolested until I 
 am of age, every thing would be 
 well. Henry Poulet haspromis^ed to 
 give me notice should any violent 
 step be taken with my Emily, that 
 I may fly to her succour; for what 
 barriers could prevent me from re- 
 turning, if her danger called for my 
 protection,? No impediment that 
 seas, rocks, or mountains can pre- 
 sent, could foi" an instant intiiuidate
 
 132 
 
 a mind absorbed as mine is, by oni&^ 
 object, dearer than life itself.' 
 
 " I listened to this recital of my 
 brothei^s unfortunate story with an 
 aching heart ; too well acquainted 
 with the animosity that existed, be- 
 tween Lady Emily's father and my 
 own, to form the slightest hope of 
 their ever being reconciled ; my pro- 
 phetic eye beheld in an instant the 
 phial of vengeance poured upon their 
 devoted heads. Lady Petersfield I 
 knew would aggravate every thing 
 likely to render my brother obnox- 
 ious to my father's anger, and I too 
 plainly foresaw that the un propitious 
 union would not be long a secret. 
 Yet still I thought it would be better 
 that my brother should not be within 
 reach of Lord Somertown's ven- 
 geance, during the first emotions of 
 fury that would follow the fatal dis- 
 covery; 1 therefore iTrged his imme- 
 diate departure, and, endeavouring
 
 133 
 
 to veil my own agonised feelings, I 
 spoke the words of hope, whilst my 
 heart trembled with tenor ; my fal- 
 tering accents, however, but ill-ac- 
 corded with the chearfulness I wished 
 to inspire. Seymour wrung my 
 hand, whilst agony was painted on 
 his countenance. ' It is in vain, my 
 sistpr, that you attempt to console 
 me— that pale cheek — that quiver- 
 ing lip — and tear-fraught eye, but 
 too plainly tell me what you think 
 of our situation. The die is cast, 
 and our fate is irrevocable. To hea- 
 ven I commend my Emily. Ah 
 surely innocence, such as her's, will 
 not be forsaken ! And yet why should 
 I abandon her ? No ! I will stay, and 
 brave the worst ; I will this nighl*' 
 confess my marriage to my father, 
 and implore his protection for my 
 adored wife, he will not, I am sure, 
 be able to resist the eloquence of a 
 love like mine.*
 
 134 
 
 " * For Heaven's sake/ interrupt- 
 ed I, ' tliiitk no more of such a mad 
 scheme, replete with instant ruin. 
 You talk of softening my father by 
 your eloquence; but, oh! tell me 
 who shall be found sufficiently skilled 
 in persuasion, to soothe the anger of 
 Lord SomertownJ You are both un- 
 der age, the marriage can therefore 
 be set aside, and you may depend 
 upon it that would be the tirst step 
 her vindictive father would take, 
 should you, by a premature disco- 
 very, put it into his power to do so. 
 You are going abroad, when you re- 
 turn you will be of age. It will be 
 easy to find an opportunity of ren- 
 dering your marriage indissoluble by 
 repeating the ceremony, and who 
 knows what accidents may intervene 
 during the period of } our absence, 
 that may render its renewal more 
 piopitious. Lord ^'Omertown is not 
 immortal, and should he die 1 am
 
 135 
 
 sure my father's animosity would ex- 
 pire with him. He is too good a 
 man to visit the sins of the father 
 upon the innocent offspring.' 
 
 " ' True, my dear sister,' replied 
 Lord Durham, * but instead of the 
 fair prospect, you endeavour to place 
 before my eyes, suppose my Emily's 
 stern parent should insist upon her 
 giving her hand to another; what 
 will become of the timid girl, un- 
 supported as she will then be by the 
 husband for whose sake she must 
 brave the brutal fury of that most 
 vindictive man ?' * Should any treaty 
 of marriage be likely to be brought 
 to a conclusion,' said I, ' it will then 
 be time enoucfh for vou to return 
 and acknowledge your marriage. I 
 promise to take the first opportunity 
 of getting an interview with Lady 
 Emily, 1 visit a lady who is inti- 
 mate with her, we will then lay a 
 plan for carrying on a correspon-
 
 136 
 
 (lence, and I promise jou to iuform 
 you of every uiovemeiit wliirh seems 
 likely to threaten your beloved 
 Emily with danger/ ' Kind belo- 
 ved sister !' exclaimed my brother, 
 pressing my hard, ' 1 will rely on 
 your friendship, and be guided by 
 your advice, and believe me it is no 
 small consolation to me, in this hour 
 of trial, to possess a confidant so 
 ready to sympathise in my suffer- 
 ings/ 
 
 *' Soon after this conversation my 
 brother took his leave, and I passed 
 the remainder of the night in teare 
 and lamentations, without attemp- 
 ting to undress myself, or go to bed. 
 At the peep of day I heard the car- 
 riage, that was to convey him away, 
 come to the door. I crej,t to my 
 window, and saw^ him step into it, 
 attended by his tutor, the door 
 closed upon him, and the rattling of 
 the wheels was soon lost in distance.
 
 137 
 
 I listened to the last faint sound, and 
 throwing myself upon my bed, I ex- 
 claimed * he is gone, 1 shall behold 
 that ioved face no move,* My tears 
 nearly suffocated me, and 1 sank 
 upon my pillow in an agony of woe, 
 Alas ! my words were prophetic— I 
 saw the noble youth no more ! He 
 was doomed to fall beneath the 
 murderous steel of an assassin ! But 
 I must not anticipate the catas- 
 trophe. 
 
 *' LordDurham was no sooner gone, 
 than our cruel mother-in-law set 
 every engine to work to ruin him 
 with his father. Through the me- 
 dium of a discarded servant from 
 Lord Somertown's, she learned the se- 
 cret of my brother's attachment to 
 Lady Emily — of the marriage, liowi 
 ever, she knew nothing, nor do I be- 
 lieve a suspicion of such a circum-* 
 stance ever crossed her imagination. 
 This was, however, sufficient to ex-
 
 138 
 
 asperate my father, the bare idea of 
 a connection between liis son and the 
 daughter of his implacable enemy, 
 filled him with fury, and so artfully 
 did his unprincipled wife work upon 
 his irritated feelings, that he took 
 a solemn oath never to see his son 
 again if he persisted in his choice of 
 Lady Emily for a wife, 
 
 *' This resolution was communi- 
 cated to my unfortunate brother, in 
 a letter from his incensed father, who 
 imprecated the most dreadful male* 
 dictions upon his sou's head, should 
 he dare to act in disobedience to his 
 commands. 
 
 " My brotlier was at Nice when he 
 received this fatal mandate, and he 
 pursued his way to Italy, with a 
 heart nearly broken by anguish and 
 remorse. In the meantime I had 
 fulfilled my promise of cultivating 
 l.ady Emily *s friendship, and I often 
 had the satisfaction of observing that
 
 139 
 
 the sweet girl seemed to receive the 
 most salutary consolation from our 
 mutual confidence. We could not 
 meet openly, but we enjoyed our 
 friendly intercourse unsuspected, at 
 the house of a third person. Poor 
 Lady Emily's health began to de- 
 cline rapidly : she became pale and 
 thin, and the depression of her spi- 
 rits seemed to increase daily ; she was 
 so urgent for me to pass as much 
 time as possible with her, that I 
 often went imprudent lengths to gra- 
 tify her, and the consequence was 
 that the implacable Lady Petersfield 
 discovered our intimacy, by means 
 of some of her spies ; this was fresh 
 food for her malice, and she did not 
 fail to make u«e of it, to the des* 
 truction of the unhappy lovers. 
 
 " Lady Emily had shewn so much 
 firmness in her refusal of the Mar- 
 quis of Alderney's addresses, that 
 her father, who did not in the
 
 140 
 
 smallest degree suspect the cause ot" 
 it, had yielded to her obstinacy, and 
 dismissed her lover. M hat then was 
 his fury when lie was informed by a 
 letter from Lady Peterslield, that 
 there was a ^cret correspondence 
 carrying on between his daughter 
 and Lord Durham. The letter was 
 couched in terms of haughty deliance, 
 and implied to have been written by 
 my father's order; it contained a 
 peremptory induction to put a stop to 
 the connection, or to tremble for the 
 consequences. 
 
 " !No language could do justice to 
 the rage that agitated the, furious 
 Earl, when he had read the fatal 
 letter; he sent for Lady Emily into 
 his presence, and so violent was the 
 paroxysm of his anger, that he would 
 certainly have made her its victim, 
 by destroying her the instant she 
 came before him, but for the timely 
 interference of a servant, who came
 
 141 
 
 to her assistance, and forcibly drag- 
 ged her frorp her enraged father, at 
 the peril of his own life, and con- 
 veyed her out of her paternal man- 
 sion before Lord Somertown was a- 
 ware of his intention. The sweet 
 girl lay concealed in an obscure 
 lodging for several days, and the 
 servant having disappeared also, the 
 voice of scandal soon spread the re- 
 port that Lord Somertown's daugh- 
 ter had ran off with her father's 
 footman. 
 
 " Lady Pertersfield took care to 
 have several paragraphs respecting 
 this pretended elopement, inserted 
 in different papers, and collecting 
 the various reports together, bhe 
 made a packet of them, and sent 
 them with Lord Durham's letters, to 
 Florence. A letter from me, how- 
 ever, went by the same mail, which 
 informed my brother of Lord Somer- 
 town's. ill-treatment of Lady Emily
 
 142 
 
 and her fortunate escape from his 
 tyranny. I assured him his beloved 
 Emily ^vas in safe hands; and had 
 determined to return no more to her 
 father, as she found herself in a fair 
 way of soon becoming a mother, and 
 therefore knew too well the fatal con- 
 sequences of such a circumstance 
 being known to her father, to risk so 
 dangerous a step. I endeavoured to 
 inspire my brother with a degree of 
 confidence I did not feel myself, but 
 my letter produced a contrary effect, 
 for it isade him take the rash resolu- 
 tion of returning immediately to 
 England. 
 
 " His tortured mind beheld his be- 
 loved wife exposed to every danger, 
 both from relations and strangers. 
 Oppressed by her father, traduced 
 by the world, and defenceless, a- 
 midst a host of enemies. The pic- 
 ture was too horrible to dwell upon, 
 and without giving me any notice
 
 143 
 
 of his intention, the unfortunate 
 youth set out on his retrogade jour- 
 ney. In the meantime every effort 
 was made by Lord Somertown to 
 discover the retreat of his daughter, 
 but without success ; she still eluded 
 his diligence, and was so fortunate 
 as to reach the house of a generous 
 friend who had determined to run all 
 risks for her sake, without any sus- 
 picion being awakened amongst the 
 numerous spies who were upon the 
 watch to detect her movements; as 
 soon as 1 was informed of this lucky 
 circumstance, 1 wrote the pleasing 
 news to my brother, little imagining 
 that he was on his way to England, 
 regardless of danger and impatient of 
 delay. 
 
 "At this time my father removed 
 his family to the country for the sum- 
 mer, and I was under the necessity 
 of accompanying him ; this was a 
 cruel trial to me, as I found it very
 
 144 
 
 difficult to obtain any intelligence 
 of* Emily, as it was impossible to 
 write to her by direct means, and the 
 tedious methods I was forced to 
 adopt, rendered my suspence and 
 anxiety intolerable. At length the 
 agreeable news reached me that she 
 had given birth to a daughter, and 
 was in a fair way to do well. 
 
 " How did I exalt at that moment 
 in the pleasing reflection that the 
 sweet infant had escaped the fury of 
 Lord Somertown, from whose vin- 
 dictive rage I felt the most dreadful 
 apprehensions. Alas ! I had but lit- 
 tle time for exultation, as a very fevr 
 days only elapsed before the deepest 
 sorrow ovt^rwhelmed me, in the pre- 
 mature death of the most amiable of 
 brothers. Lord Durham had pursued 
 his journey to England with such 
 unremitting diligence that he arrived 
 in London, before I thought it pro- 
 bable he had received my letter.
 
 146 
 
 '* Disappointed at not finding me 
 in town, he wrote to me in haste to 
 inquire the retreat of his beloved 
 Emily. This letter, by one of those 
 unlucky chances that too frequently 
 occur in clandestine proceedings, 
 fell into the hands of our implacable 
 mother-in-law. ' 
 
 " Lord Durham's hand -writing was 
 well known to her, and as the Lon- 
 don post-mark struck her eye, her 
 fertile imagination presented the pos- 
 sibility of my brother's return to 
 England, on Lady Emily's account. 
 Lady Pelersfield had no idea that the 
 unhappy pair were already united, 
 but supposed that Lord Durham had 
 been brought back by Emily's en- 
 treaties, that the union might be 
 cemented. There was nothing Lady 
 Petersfield dreaded more than my 
 brother's marrying, and she natu- 
 rally concluded, as he was so much 
 attached to Lady Emily, if she could 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 
 
 but prevent that marriage, there 
 would be little danger of his making 
 another choice. Full of these ideas 
 therefore, the cruel woman earned 
 my brother's letter to my father, 
 without breaking the seal, and im- 
 parting her sentiments to him, upon 
 the subject, left it to his own option 
 whether he would read it or not. 
 My father did not hesitate a moment, 
 but tearing open the fatal letter, he 
 soon became master of the carefully- 
 concealed sec re . 
 
 " Good Heavens! what a scene 
 followed ! I was sent for by my en- 
 raged parent, and loaded with every 
 epithet anger could dictate or passion 
 utter! In accents scarcely articu- 
 late from fnry, he demanded the 
 place of Lady Emily's retirement, 
 and swore he would not only disin- 
 herit, but ijistantly renounce me, if 
 1: refused to satisfy him on that head, 
 threats had, however, no other
 
 147 
 
 effect than that of determining me 
 to keep the secret inviolable. ' Oh ! 
 my father/ said I, throwing myself 
 on my knees before him, ' oh ! my 
 father, spare your unhappy daugh- 
 ter, and tempt her not to betray 
 confiding friendship. I have solemn- 
 ly sworn not to reveal to any one the 
 retreat of my unhappy sister, and I 
 cannot break the sacred vow, though 
 you were even cruel enough to fulfil 
 your dreadful threats, and crush me 
 beneath the weight of your ven- 
 geance/ 
 
 '' ' Begone from my presence, 
 serpent/ said my father, ' begone, 
 or I shall curse thee ! How soon 
 does a girl, when she is made the 
 confidant of a romantic love story, 
 lose all sense of duty, all shame of 
 acting rebelliously to her parents. 
 You talk of friendship with your 
 father's bitter enemy, and would 
 prefer wounding his heart, to the un- 
 H 2
 
 148 
 
 pardonable crime of betraying this 
 highly- prized friend. But call her 
 not your sister, at your peril give 
 her not that name. She is not — she 
 cannot be that — no marriage can be 
 good which is contracted by a minor, 
 and I will take care your brother 
 shall have no opportunity of renew- 
 ing the contract. Begone to your 
 apartment, girl, and in that retire- 
 ment endeavour to recall to your 
 perverted mind some sense of filial 
 duty. 1 forbid you to leave your 
 room until I withdraw the prohibi- 
 tion, and if you value your brother's 
 happiness, attempt not to write to 
 him.' 
 
 " I obeyed my father's harsh man- 
 date in silence, and retired slowly to 
 my room, where 1 had the mortifica- 
 tion of finding myself constantly at- 
 tended, and closely watched by Lady 
 Petersfield's confidential woman — a 
 creature who seemed to bear an in-
 
 149 ' 
 
 structive hatred both to my brother 
 and myself. 
 
 " In the mean time my father 
 wrote to Lord Durham, and inform- 
 ed him that having come to the 
 knowledge of his most unpardonable 
 misconduct, in attaching himself to 
 Lady Emily, he offered him his par- 
 don, on one condition only, namely 
 to return immediately to the Conti- 
 nent,, without 'attempting to see the 
 object of his imprudent choice. 'AH 
 efforts to obtain an interview,' added 
 my father, 'will prove ineffectual, and 
 only serve to expose you to my just 
 resentment, as Lady Emily is now in 
 her father's house, where I hope she 
 will recover a proper sense of her 
 duty, and no longer endeavour to 
 seduce you from yours/ 
 
 " The receipt of this letter, instead 
 
 of intimidating my brother, as it 
 
 was intended to do, had a contrary 
 
 effect, and determined him instantly 
 
 h3
 
 150 
 
 to declare his marriasfe to both fami- 
 lies, and demand his wife. Full of 
 this resolution, he wrote a letter to 
 his father, acknowledging his fault 
 in having taken a step of such im- 
 portance, without his sanction, but 
 at the same time declaring that it 
 was his fixed resolve to abide by the 
 consequences, be they what they 
 liii^ht, and live only for his Emily. 
 'I am going,' added he, ' to de- 
 mand her of her cruel father, for she 
 shall no longer remain under his ty- 
 ranny/ 
 
 " The letter concluded with the 
 mo&t affecting entreaty for pardon, 
 and an appeal to Lord Petersfi eld's 
 parental feelings in behalf of his 
 unfortunate son. As soon as my 
 brother had dispatched tliis letter, he 
 flew to Lord Somertown's, and re- 
 quested an interview with his lord- 
 ship. To his surprise he was imme- 
 diately admitted. Lord Somertown
 
 151 
 
 received him with haughty coldness, 
 but without any appearance of the 
 violence he had expected. Encou- 
 raged by this, Lord Durham entered 
 upon an immediate explanation of 
 his marriage with Lady Emily, and 
 in a mild but determined manner 
 desired to be allowed to see her. 
 
 '^ * Who told you she was in my 
 house ]* asked Lord Somertowii.* 
 
 * My father,' replied Lord Durham'.*^ 
 
 * The information is worthy the in- 
 former,' rejoined the exasperated 
 Earl, whose countenance now bore 
 testimony to the rage that boiled 
 within his bosom. ' I will tell you 
 what young man,' added he, in a 
 voice scarce!}^ articulate through sti- 
 fled fury, ' I will tell you what, you 
 have injured me beyond the reach of 
 remedy, and I will have vengeance. 
 Remember I tell you so. As to my 
 daughter, she is not, nor ever shall 
 be your wife ; much sooner would 1
 
 see her expire beneath the tortures of 
 the rack, than acknowledge such a 
 union. Your boasted marriage is 
 null and void, for you are both under 
 age ; name it not again, for I will 
 annul it.* 
 
 " ' My marriage is valid, and no 
 power can annul it,' replied Lord 
 Durham, ' we were married at our 
 Parish Church, after having the 
 banns published three times, in the 
 same place, according to the form 
 prescribed,and had you, my lord, at- 
 tended public worship, as you ought 
 to do, you would have had an oppor- 
 tunity of forbidding the banns, if 
 the marriage did not meet with your 
 approbation.' 
 
 " ' Vile^ traitor !* exclaimed Lord 
 Somertown, ' begone from my pre- 
 sence :' and he^ rang the bell for the 
 servants to turn my brother out, 
 which they did by force, with the 
 most insolent brutality.
 
 153 
 
 " ' Remember/ cried Lord Somer- 
 town, as the men were dragging my 
 brother out, ' remember I will annul 
 the marriagf^, there are more ways 
 than one of doing it. No Trentham 
 shall unite with my family, and live* 
 When my brother returned home he 
 wrote a letter to me relating all that 
 had passed at Lord Somertown's, 
 and entreating me to inform him 
 whether his Emily were, indeed, un- 
 der her father's roof. 
 
 '* My brother desired me to endea- , 
 vour to soften his father in his favor, 
 and to lend him what assistance I 
 could, in finding his beloved wife. 
 The writing of this letter was the 
 last action that was known of the un- 
 fortunate youth's life. A note had 
 been given him, whilst he was em- 
 ployed in it, and as soon as he had 
 finished it, he took his hat, and went 
 out. His servant waited up for him, 
 until the dawn of day, and felt great
 
 154 
 
 alarm at his staying cut, as it was 
 very unusual with my brotlier to do 
 so. When the porter got up, Lord 
 Durham's valet went to bed, and 
 having slept till nine o'clock, found 
 his anxiety greatly increased, when 
 he learned that his lord had not yet 
 returned. 
 
 *' My father, on the receipt of my 
 brother's letter, had set immediately' 
 off for London, and arrived there late 
 the same night. 
 
 " The house was in the utmost 
 confusion when he alighted from his 
 carriage, as the ]>leedirg body of my 
 beloved brother had just been brought 
 into it, which had been found in 
 Kensington Gardens, and recently 
 owned by his altectionate valet, 
 whose anxiety for his master's safety 
 had led him all over the town, in 
 search of him. The report of a 
 wounded gentleman being found in 
 Kensington Gardens, soon reached 
 his ears, and he flew to the spot whi-
 
 155 
 
 ther Lord Durham had been convey- 
 ed by the persons who found him, 
 and where surgical aid had been ad- 
 miaislered in vain, for although my 
 dear brother shewed signs of life for 
 several hours after he was found, he 
 never spoke nor gave the least token 
 of sensibility, and every glimmeVing 
 of hope was fled, and the last faint 
 strug2:le over before poor Graham 
 arrived, who instantly recognised his 
 beloved master when he looked upon 
 his lifeless corse, disfigured as it was 
 by wounds and blood, and on search- 
 ing his pockets narrowly, a note, 
 which had escaped the notice of the 
 lirst examiners, was found, which 
 Lord Durham had received only a 
 few minutes before he left his father's 
 house, and which, no doubt, led him 
 to the spot where he was murdered. 
 " The hand -writing was an imita- 
 tion of Lady Emily's, and the words 
 were merely these: — ' Precise ^y at
 
 156 
 
 five o'clock this afternoon you will 
 find a person at Kensington -Garden 
 Gate, who will lead you to your 
 faithful wife/ — ' Emily.' 
 
 " A latent hope of reviving his 
 dear lord, notwithstanding his life- 
 less appearance, and the opinion of 
 the surgeon, had induced poor Gra- 
 ham to have my brother conveyed 
 home, where every aid was immedi- 
 ately summoned, that anxiety and 
 affection could suggest ; but human 
 help was of no avail, the vital spark 
 had fled, and the inanimate body was 
 incapable of receiving succour. 
 
 " The fatal sentence had been just 
 pronounced by the surgeons, Gra- 
 ham's care had assembled, at the 
 moment of my father's arrival. It 
 is impossible to describe the agony of 
 that distracted parent, when the fa- 
 tal news was revealed to him. He 
 had set out on his journey with sen- 
 timents ofthe most violent anger,
 
 157 
 
 towards his son, and determined at 
 all events to annul the marriage, 
 which was the cause of his displea- 
 sure, little expecting to find it for 
 ever set aside, by a catastrophe so 
 fata!. The circumstances of my poor 
 brother's being discovered were ex- 
 traordinary. Two men, employed in 
 the gardens, had heard the reports of 
 two pistols, whilst they were at the 
 opposite side of the gardens, they 
 both agreed that it was a duel, and 
 made the best of their way towards 
 the spot the sound appeared to come 
 from. 
 
 " They were some time, however, 
 before they found any thing to con- 
 firm their suspicions. As it was a 
 rainy day no person was walking, and 
 when they had looked ,in vain, for some 
 trace of the supposed duellists, they 
 were about to abandon their opinion, 
 and return to their work, when one 
 of them stumbled over something
 
 158 
 
 lying on the grass, and on stooping 
 to examine what it was, found a pis- 
 tol, this circumstance reviving their 
 former suspicion, they made a dili- 
 gent search, and soon afterwards dis- 
 covered my unfortunate brother lying 
 extended at the foot of a large tree, 
 whose spreading branches had so 
 darkened the spot, that the long 
 grass concealed him, until the men 
 were close to him. His hat was off, 
 and lay at some distance from him, 
 and a pistol, unloaded, lay close be- 
 side him. Some faint signs of life, 
 that appeared on a close examina- 
 tion, induced the men to lift him 
 from his cold bed, and convey him 
 to the nearest public house, though 
 a fear for their own safety had well- 
 niijfh deterred them from the charita- 
 ble act, as the mysterious circum- 
 stances of his death rendered it but 
 too probable that they might be sus- 
 pected of murdering him. Their hu-
 
 150 
 
 manitj triumphed over their fears, 
 and they acted the part of the good 
 Samaritan. On their entrance in the 
 public house, the men desirtd the 
 landiord to examine the dear youth's 
 pockets, when his purse was found 
 containing a considerable sum of 
 money, and his watch, whicli ivas a 
 gold repeater of great value : which 
 proved beyond a doubt that he had 
 not been robbed. 
 
 " From a fear of getting into trou- 
 ble, the landlord of the public house, 
 where mv brother lay, had summon- 
 ed the Coroner, with the ntmo-t 
 dispatch, and an inquest was held 
 upon the body before it was ccld. 
 At this investigation it had been de- 
 cided that the gentleman had been 
 killed in a duel with some person un- 
 known, as the two pistols being 
 found at a distance from each other 
 proved he had not put an end to his 
 own existence, and his property be-
 
 160 
 
 ing untouched was a presumptive 
 evidence that he had not fallen by 
 the hand of a robber. The mourn- 
 ful ceremony was over before the ar- 
 rival of Graham, who reprobated 
 their precipitation in the strongest 
 terms, exclaiming * That lie was sure 
 his dear master was not dead, but 
 had only fainted through loss of 
 blood.' 
 
 " He had his lord removed there- 
 fore as soon as a litter could be pro- 
 vided, with the tenderest caution, 
 but, as I have already related, dis- 
 appointment was the sad result of all 
 the faithful creature's endeavours. 
 
 " The consequence of this mourn- 
 ful event, was a serious fit of illness 
 tn my father, whos« agonised feelings 
 were too much for his constitution, 
 he reproached himself incessantly 
 with his son's death, believing that 
 his own severity had driven him on 
 to his ruin ; notwithstanding the cir-
 
 161 
 
 cumstance of two pistols being found 
 at a distance from each other, my 
 father ajiways thought Lord Durham 
 had killed himself, although the note 
 found in his pocket by Graham, but 
 too plainly pointed out the mournful 
 truth, and leit not a shadow of 
 doubt upon my mind that my bro- 
 ther had been trapanned by the 
 vile forgery, into the power of an 
 assassin ; who that assassin was has 
 never been discovered, though I must 
 own my suspicions rested on one 
 person only, either as the principal, 
 of at least the emploj^er. My fa- 
 ther sent for me the day after he took 
 to his bed, and endeavoured by his 
 tenderness to atone for the harsh 
 manner in which he had treated me. 
 '* He mentioned his intentions of 
 acknowledging Lady Durham and 
 her infant, and sent me to the place 
 of her concealment, with a kind 
 message to that purport.
 
 1(2 
 
 "But, alas I a new sorrow was 
 prepared for me! The retreat of the 
 unfortunate Emily had been disco- 
 vered by her implacable father, who 
 forcibly conveyed her to one of his 
 own mansions in a distant county. 
 The lovely creature had refused to 
 part with her child, who was ac- 
 cordingly permitted to accompany 
 her in her banishment. 
 
 " My father received the news of 
 this fresh act of cruelty with real 
 concern. He had rested his hopes of 
 conciliating his uneas}' conscience, 
 by shewing to the beloved wife of 
 his lamented son, the deep penitence 
 he felt for his former cruelty, and en- 
 deavouring to atone for it by every 
 act of tenderness her forlorn situa- 
 tion required. This mournful satis- 
 faction was, however, denied him, 
 and he took on so heavily, that his 
 grief produced a train of disorders, 
 which soon became fatal : he sur-
 
 165 
 
 vived his son only thirteen months ; 
 during- the whole of that melancholy 
 period, I lived totally secluded from 
 society. Lady Petersfield endeavour- 
 ed in vain to displace me from my 
 father's sick room, I was tenacious 
 of my post as head nurse, and as my 
 services appeared more agreeable to 
 my unhappy parent than any other 
 person's, all her manoeuvres were 
 fallacious. 
 
 " When her ladyship found I was 
 stationary, she came less frequently 
 into the apartment, and soon re- 
 turned to her gay habits, without 
 concerning herself about the invalid, 
 whom she represented as a hypo- 
 chondriac, to all her acquaintance. 
 Indeed her ladyship's spirits appeared 
 better than ever, after my dear bro- 
 ther's death. Her favorite point was 
 obtained, her son was now Lord Dur- 
 ham. She had heard of my brother's 
 marriage, and that there was a child.
 
 164 
 
 but her indefatigable genius soon 
 discovered that it was a daughter, 
 and therefore not to be feared. Du- 
 ring the whole time my father lived, 
 I received no letter from Lady Dur- 
 ham, nor could I gain any access to 
 her by all the strategems I could de- 
 vise; various and tormenting were 
 the reports spread abroad, of that 
 interesting creature. 
 
 " Sometimes I heard she was in a 
 deep decline, at others that she had 
 quite recovered her health and spirits, 
 and was about to emerge from her 
 retirement, and become the orna- 
 ment of ton, I dared not to mention 
 these vague rumours to my father, 
 whose spirits became weaker every 
 day, and whose remorse was fre- 
 quently beyond the controul of rea- 
 son. At length the aw^ul moment 
 arrived — the . agonized frame could 
 no longer support the painful strug- 
 gle — my poor father died of a broken
 
 166 
 
 heart, in his forty-ninth year, and 
 left me an isolated being, without 
 one friend to console me. I could 
 not remain with Lady Petersfield, 
 the sight of her was insupportable, I 
 therefore removed as soon as I de- 
 cently could to my Aunt Morrison's, 
 where I remained until I married 
 Lord Ellincourt, which event took 
 place the ensuing year. 
 
 '' The bustle of my marriage o- 
 bliged me to mix more with the 
 world, and by degrees I recovered a 
 portion of my former spirits, yet still 
 I heard nothing of poor Emily that 
 was satisfactory : she never appeared 
 in public, and 1 had every reason to 
 suppose she was a close prisoner in 
 her father's gloomy mansion in West- 
 morland Seven years had elapsed 
 without my obtaining any light upon 
 the subject, when, one day, taking up 
 the newspapt'r, I was struck by read- 
 ing the following paragraph ; — ' On
 
 ICO 
 
 Thursday died, at her father's seat in 
 Westmorland, Lady Emily Hincbin- 
 broke, only daughter of the Earl of 
 Somertown : her ladyship has been 
 long in a declining state.' I was in- 
 expressibly shocked. ' Poor victim 
 of implacable revenge,' said I 'thou 
 hast then escaped from thy dreary 
 prison ! But what, alas ! is become 
 of thy offspring 1 The air of dis- 
 claiming her husband's title, in an- 
 rouncing Lady Durham's death, 
 seemed to indicate that her child was 
 no more. 
 
 " Eight years more elapsed before 
 1 was convinced this idea was erro- 
 neous ; I then received the following 
 words, written in a beautiful small- 
 hand : — 
 
 " Dear Aunt, 
 
 *• I have been taught to love you 
 by the best of motlieis, and I do love 
 you with all my heart, though I
 
 167 
 
 have never been so happy as to see 
 you. My grandfather is gone to 
 Ireland on some business, and my 
 kind governess has promised to take 
 me to your house, if you will con- 
 descend to receive your dutiful and 
 affectionate Niece,'' 
 
 " Emily Trentham/' 
 
 " I could not doubt that this letter 
 came from my brother's child, and I 
 was delighted beyond measure with the 
 sweet idea of folding her to my bosom. 
 My answer may be guessed, and the 
 next day the sweet angel was intro- 
 duced to me. I will not pretend to 
 describe what I felt, when I beheld 
 the most striking likeness of my in- 
 jured Seymour, in the soft features 
 of his lovely daughter. A more per- 
 fect beauty I never saw, nor a female 
 so devoid of vanity. She seemed the 
 xevy soul of affection, and capable of
 
 168 
 
 interesting the sternest heart in her 
 favor. This opinion was confirmed 
 by her governess, who assured me 
 that Lady Emily had so won upon 
 hei grandfather that she believed his 
 lordship loved no other being upon 
 earth but herself. The sweet girl 
 could stay but a short time with me, 
 but we often renewed the pleasure we 
 experienced in meeting during Lord 
 Somertown's absence. 
 
 " These visits were, however, sus- 
 pended at hi return, and a letter 
 now and then, clandestinely ex- 
 changed, was all our consolation, 
 under the privation. 1 did not see 
 tlie dear Emily again for two years, 
 and then I found her every thing the 
 fondest heart could wish, in mind 
 and person ; but there was an air of 
 melanchoiy about her that greatly 
 distressed me, as it appeared unna- 
 tural to her ; she blushed when I 
 questioned her, and replied that she
 
 169 
 
 would some day lay open every 
 thought of her heart, to me; but at 
 present she must be excused. Alas ! 
 I saw her no more from that period, 
 for about this time her cruel grand- 
 father died, and 1 at first hoped, when 
 I heard the news, that the lovely 
 girl's emancipation would follow. 
 In this hope I was fatally mistaken, 
 his son and successor, the present 
 lord, was the counterpart of his fa- 
 ther, and seemed to consider his 
 cruelty as much an inheritance as 
 his estate. 
 
 '' In his hands the hapless Emily 
 found another tyrant, and she was 
 soon afterwards married, against her 
 inclination it is generally thought, 
 to a nobleman, whose name I shajl 
 not now mention, and went over 
 with him to Ireland immediately. I 
 am astonished she kas never written 
 to me since, although 1 have address- 
 ed several letters to her, supposing 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 p 
 
 170 
 
 that the restraint she formerly suffer- 
 ed, had now been agreeably changed 
 to liberty. A murmur which h.: 
 lately reached me, respecting he 
 present situation, makes me Tery un- 
 happy, but as it has not J'et been 
 confirmed, I will pass it over in si- 
 lence." 
 
 *' I hope, however, that my me- 
 lancholy story has sufficiently im- 
 pressed your mind with the truth of 
 what I first advanced — That mar- 
 riages contrary to the express prohi- 
 bition of parents, are generally un- 
 happy, and often fatal !"
 
 171 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A Modern Bluebeard I 
 
 " Would you imaglile my stupidity , 
 my dear mother,** said Lord Ellin- 
 court, " I have been listening to your 
 story with the most profound in- 
 terest, because I took it into my wise 
 head, that the denouement would 
 prove mif Fanny to be the daughter 
 of your hero and heroine. A cu- 
 rious anachronism, certainly.'* 
 
 " Yes,** replied Lady Ellincourt, 
 <' the daughter of my unfortunate 
 brother is at least six years older, 
 than you are, and has been married 
 several years.*' 
 
 " My sapience will be found a 
 little more profound,** said Lord El- 
 I 3
 
 172 
 
 lincourt, " in regard to the name of 
 the nobleman who married that child 
 of misfortune— I know him well.*' 
 
 *' How is that possible?" asked 
 Lady Ellincourt, " I am sure 1 never 
 mentioned one of the personages in 
 this mournful drama, to you before. 
 As Lord Somertown never acknow- 
 ledged my brother's marriage, with 
 his daughter, nor would ever permit 
 her unfortunate offspring to be called 
 by his name. I have strenuously 
 avoided adverting to the melancholy 
 story, even in my own family." 
 
 " Your own family have learnt 
 some of the particulars, neverthe- 
 less," answered Lord Ellincourt, "as 
 I will shew you. About two months 
 ago 1 received a letter from my sister, 
 which contains a long history of the 
 lady you allude to, and who, by the 
 bye, is wife to the Ear J of Ballafyn, 
 the Bluebeard of Ireland. You shall 
 re^d Caroline's Jetter/'
 
 lis 
 
 *' Fray let me look at it directly/' 
 said Lady Ellincourt, " for the ac- 
 count I had was a very imperfect 
 one, and 1 did not dare to inquire 
 more particularly, lest I should re- 
 vive a tale, which I wish to be for- 
 gotten/^ 
 
 *' I never liked Lord Ballafyn/' 
 said Lord Ellincourt, " I have been 
 often in his company, during his 
 visits to England, though I little 
 thought he was related to me. By 
 Caroline's account he is a monster in 
 the form of a man, who not content 
 with rendering an innocent woman 
 wretched, has now taken the diabo- 
 lical measure of blackening her cha- 
 racter. I will bring the letter when 
 I come to-morrow, but I am engaged 
 this evening, and cannot possibly 
 call again/' 
 
 " You are a provoking creature," 
 replied Lady Ellincourt, " for 1 shall 
 be upon thorns until 1 read Caroline's 
 i3
 
 174 
 
 letter. I wonder she never men- 
 tioned the subject to me ?" 
 
 " She knew that it would revive 
 some disagreeable rc-membrances/' 
 said Lord Ellincourt, " and there- 
 fore she forebore to touch upon it. 
 You will see her reasons, when you 
 read her letter ; for my part I did not 
 understand to what event she al- 
 luded, until your melancholy recital 
 explained the enigma. To curtail 
 the endurance of your suspence, I 
 will enclose my sister's letter to you, 
 in a cover, as soon as I return home, 
 and then my dear mother can in- 
 dulge her curiosity immediately.'' 
 
 Lord Ellincourt kept his promise, 
 and in a few hours his mother was in 
 possession of the letter. It was as 
 Ibllows : — 
 
 " My dear Edmund, 
 *' I am truly sorry to hear you do 
 not intend visiting Ireland this year,
 
 175 
 
 as I had made up my mind to expect 
 you, and my good lord has positively 
 assured me that he cannot afford to 
 take me with him, when he goes to 
 England, we shall not meet therefore 
 for many months. I had a story, so 
 much in the marvellous to entertain 
 you with, had you kept your word 
 of spending your Christmas with us, 
 and I had intended to reserve the 
 surprise for a Winter evening's delas' 
 sement, but now you must have it in 
 a letter. 
 
 " You have frequently mentioned 
 Lord Ballafyn\s brother. Col. Ross, 
 as one of your intimates, and there- 
 fore I dare say you are no stranger 
 to his lordship. Whether his beauti- 
 ful exterior has the power of preju- 
 dicing his oum sex in his favor, I 
 cannot tell, but it has had but too 
 much success with ours. Some years 
 ago this fascinating nobleman mar- 
 ried one of the loveliest women Ens:-
 
 1T6 
 
 land ever produced, and brought bis 
 bride with him to Ballafyn Castle, 
 where she was looked up to as a di- 
 vinity by all the guests who were ad- 
 mitted to the castle. 
 
 " Lady Ballafyn's carriage was 
 such as the strictest prudence joined 
 to the most unaffected modesty 
 would dictate, but the melancholy 
 that seemed to prey upon her spirits 
 excited the sympathy of many, and 
 the curiosity of all. This was na- 
 turally supposed to originate in the 
 treatment she received from her hus- 
 band, who, although the greatest 
 libertine that ever entered the pale of 
 matrimony, took it into his wise 
 head to be jealous of her, and led 
 her a life suitable to his liberal ideas 
 of female chastity. 
 
 " All this. Lady Ballafyn bore with 
 unrepining patience, and finding 
 that her unreasonable lord appeared 
 displeased with the admiration she
 
 377 
 
 excited, the charming Emily declined 
 going into public as much as she pos* 
 sibly could, 
 
 " Lord Ballafyn permitted his wife 
 to return to England for her lying-in, 
 and she passed several months in her 
 native country after that event ; dur- 
 ing which period her child died, and 
 the poor lady returned to Ireland, in 
 a state of mind bordering on me- 
 lancholy, and never afterwards mix- 
 ed with any company whatever* 
 Lord Ballafyn's visitors now consist- 
 ed of gentlemen only ; and Lady Bal- 
 lafyn either by her own choice, or 
 his cruelty, inhabited an obscure 
 corner of the castle, where her very 
 existence was nearly forgotten. 
 
 "It is said that she has visited 
 England once, during one of her 
 lord's absences, unknown to him, 
 and that a discovery which he lately 
 made of that transaction, has been 
 the cause of the cruelty with which
 
 she has been treated within thcs6 few 
 months. Such unheard-of barbari- 
 ties were 1 believe never before prac- 
 tised, unless by his namesake Blue- 
 heard^ which title has been bestowed 
 upon his lordship for his savage con- 
 duct, by all the ladies in the neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 " My maid assures me that the 
 poor lady has been shut up for days 
 together without provision, and that 
 the monster has more than once lifted 
 his ugly paw against her, and even 
 dragged her by the hair of her head 
 from one apartment to another. No 
 person is suffered to have access to 
 her, nor can any letter reach her 
 hand, as she is surrounded by his 
 creatures, and never left one moment 
 to herself. 
 
 *' A few months ago a young man 
 of noble mien, and with the most 
 beautiful countenance in the worlds 
 was .^een creeping about the purlieus
 
 m 
 
 of the castle, and endeavoring to 
 penetrate within its pondrous walls s; 
 his attempts were, however, fruitless, 
 and at last he applied himself to one 
 of the servants, whom he endea- 
 voured to interest in his cause, by a 
 bribe that shewed, however, mean 
 his apparel might be, that he was 
 not in indigent circumstances. 
 
 '^ The servant pocketed the bribe, 
 and like many of his betters, who do 
 the same, without the least intention 
 of earning what he had accepted ; he 
 listened to all the stranger had to 
 say, and promised to obtain for him 
 what he wished, namely — an inter- 
 view with Lady Ballafyn. The hour 
 of midnight was apjx)inted for the 
 meeting, and the unwary youth, 
 trusting to his deceitful betrayer, 
 was led into the presence of the ex- 
 asperated lord; who, after loading 
 him with every epithet of abuse, as- 
 sured him that the only means of
 
 180 
 
 saving his life, was by making a full 
 confession of his own, and Lady 
 Ballafyn's guilt. The youth listened 
 to the base proposal with silent con- 
 tempt, and when forced by his per- 
 secutors to answer the charge, he 
 persisted in asserting the innocence 
 of the traduced lady, and declared 
 that she knew not of his coming, and 
 therefore could not be culpable, if 
 he were. 
 
 " He refused to answer any farther 
 questions; treating the threats of his 
 persecutors with ineffable disdain. 
 * To die^* said the gallant youth, ' is 
 no such mighty hardship, but to be- 
 tray a trust is impossible to a man 
 that thinks as / do.' He was kept 
 several days prisoner at the Castle, in 
 order to extort some confession from 
 him, but when Lord Ballafyn found 
 him impervious to all his stratagems, 
 he employed some of his myrmidons 
 to get rid of him in a way that has
 
 181 
 
 not yet been properly ascertained. 
 Some reports say that the stranger 
 
 has been sent to T Goal to 
 
 take his trial at the next assizes, as a 
 house-breaker : others, that he has 
 been smuggled on board a Trans- 
 port, lying atY -at the time. 
 
 that was bound for the West Indies, 
 whither he was sent as a recruit in a 
 regiment going, in that ship, thither ; 
 the captain of which is a creature of 
 Lord Ballafyn's. But my maid, who 
 always deals in the marvellous as 
 well as the horrific, assures me that 
 he was thrown down the black rock, 
 that hangs over the sea, a little dis- 
 tance from Ballafyn Castle, and that 
 Lis ghost has been seen every moon- 
 light night since, standing on the 
 crag of the rock, and pointing to 
 the restless surges beneath. 
 
 '* The people pretend that this 
 interesting stranger resembled Lady 
 Ballafyn so strikingly, that he might
 
 18-2 
 
 have been supposed to be herself in 
 nian*s attire. 
 
 " It is impossible to hear stories like 
 these v/ith indifference ; I confess, 
 therefore, that I have been deeply in- 
 terested by this tale, particularly so, 
 as I understand the unfortunate lady 
 is a near relation of ours. I don't 
 know whether you ever heard of an 
 ill-fated marriage in our family, that 
 caused my poor grandfather's death. 
 My mother could tell you the sad 
 history more perfectly than I can, 
 but I would not have you ask it, un- 
 less she leads to it herself, for I have 
 heard that the sad consequences of 
 that fatal union nearly overf^^et her 
 reason, during the first shock she 
 sustained. 
 
 " Lady Ballafyn is the offspring of 
 that marriage, and seems to inherit 
 the misfortunes of her parents. But to 
 return to my own ideas on the subject. 
 
 My imagination, which you know my
 
 183 
 
 dear brother is tolerably fertile, has 
 formed half a score of romances put of 
 the materials I have been able to collect, 
 the most probable of which appears 
 to me to resemble the pathetic tale 
 of 'Owen of Carron; or, the Tra- 
 gedy of Douglas.' The stranger 
 must be a son of Lady Ballafyn's, by 
 a former/ marriage, and having just 
 found out who is his parent, he has 
 experienced the fate of the artless 
 Owen, or the more magnanimous 
 Douglas. And my woman says that 
 the stranger appeared too old to be 
 the son of Lady B. and if that be 
 true, he must he her lover, and her 
 lord is not quite so culpable as we 
 think him. And yet he said Lady 
 Ballafyn did not expect him, nor 
 know any thing of his coming. He 
 might therefore be a lover, though 
 not a favored one ; and yet why did 
 he not come before, if he meant to 
 come at all ; and if Lady B, did not
 
 184 
 
 know of iiis coming, how could he 
 expect she would receive him, or 
 what end could he hope to have an- 
 swered by so dangerous a step ? In 
 short I am lost in the labyrinth of 
 conjecture, and 1 heartily wish you 
 were here, Edmund, to aid my search 
 for the clue that must had me out 
 of it. 
 
 *' I think it would have been a de- 
 lightful feat of knight-errantry, for 
 you to have delivered tlie fair lady 
 from the claws of her persecutor, 
 which you might have done in the 
 character of her nearest relation^ 
 Your intimacy with Col. Ross would 
 have gained access to ihe Castle for 
 you, and your own ingenuity must 
 have accomplished all the rest. '\ oi» 
 see what a charming plan I had laid 
 out for your ^Y inter's campaign, but 
 your obstinate attachment to your 
 own couiitry spoils e\ery thing. One 
 thing I forgot, which is A material
 
 185 
 
 part of my story — Lord Ballafyn has 
 publicly reported that his lady has 
 been guilty of intidelity, and that 
 for that reason he chuses to immure 
 her in solitary confinement ; he pre* 
 tends that he has detected the crime 
 he al ledges against her, asserting that 
 he has several letters in his possession 
 that are irrefragable proofs of her 
 delinquency. 
 
 " One of his lordship's friends 
 ventured to ask him why he did not 
 sue for a divorce, from a woman w ho 
 reflected such dishonor upon his name. 
 But he replied, that he knew that 
 was what Lady Ballafyn wished, 
 and therefore he was determined to 
 disappoint her. This is his ostensible 
 reason, but depend upon it the real 
 one originates in his own evil con- 
 science. How could a man demand 
 justice upon his wife for a breach of 
 faith who has a mistress in every 
 place he inhabits ? lie keeps a very
 
 186 
 
 expensive lady in Dublin ; another 
 in England ; and there is one who 
 was his favorite before he married, 
 who resides within the precincts of his 
 own demesne, and this woman it is, 
 they say, who instigates his cruelty 
 to his suffering lady. What think 
 you of our modern Bluebeard?'' 
 
 AVhen Lady Ellincourt had perused 
 ber daughter's letter, she felt the 
 most poignant aiBiction. 
 
 Some faint rumours had reached 
 her that Lord Ballafyn had suspected 
 his lady's fidelity; but as no steps 
 were taken to obtain a divorce, Lady 
 Ellincourt gave no credit to them. 
 The miserable truth was now but too 
 evident ; her niece was in the hands 
 of a cruel and abandoned libertine, 
 and her character, and perhaps her 
 life, would bo sacrificed to gratify 
 the inalice and revenge of his de- 
 praved mistress. The sweet creature
 
 187 
 
 appeared destitute of friends to es- 
 pouse her cause, and therefore wholly 
 at the villain's mercy ! 
 
 " Oh ! my brother/' exclaimed 
 Lady Ellincourt, clasping her hands 
 in ?igony, " my beloved brother, the 
 sufferings of thy innocent offspring 
 awakens in my mind the sad remem- 
 brance of thy cruel death. The 
 wounds of my heart are torn open, 
 and bleed a-fresh, and I am still the 
 same powerless creature, as when 
 weeping thy misfortunes, I can only 
 lament ; to remedy is not within the 
 compass of my power !"
 
 188 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Correspondence* 
 
 When the first emotions of Lady 
 Ellincourt's sorrow had subsided, she 
 sat down to write to her daughter. 
 Her letter contained a gentle repri- 
 mand for not immediately informing 
 her of the mournful situation of her 
 beloved niece, and requested her ne- 
 ver to spare her feelings, in future, 
 at the expence of her humanity. 
 " I know,'* added she, " that I am a 
 poor powerless creature, as to any 
 thing / can do, but my mind suggests 
 a measure which may, perhaps, be 
 adverted to with success. 
 
 *' Cannot you, my dear Caroline,
 
 189 
 
 find some generously-disinterested 
 person who could be persuaded to 
 write to Lord Somertown, and state 
 the actual situation of his niece. I 
 have been told he is very fond of her, 
 and 1 think if he knew how she is 
 treated, he would find some means to 
 redress her wrongs. 
 
 " The notice must not come from 
 our family, or how readily would I 
 fly to acquaint him with her peril ; 
 for my anxiety for my poor Emily 
 would supersede every feeling of re- 
 sentment in my bosom, and force 
 me to act in concert with my bit- 
 terest enemy, so that her welfare ap- 
 peared likely to result from such a 
 coalition. I understand that Lord 
 Somertown resides constantly now at 
 his seat in Yorkshire, a prey to the 
 most profound melancholy. 1 fear 
 there is but too much cause for such 
 a disposition. Reflection to a mind 
 like his must Jje exquisite torture.
 
 190 
 
 Surely he will be glad of something 
 to rouse him from the torpor of des- 
 pair, and force him to exert all the 
 energy he possesses in behalf of bis 
 
 suffering niece. 
 
 In answer to this letter Lady Ellin- 
 court received the following from her 
 daughter : — 
 
 " The object of you solicitude, my 
 dearest mother,is no longer an inhabi- 
 tant of this cruel world ! Lady Bal- 
 lafyn had been dead a fortnight 
 w^hen your letter reached me. I 
 wonder you have not seen it announc- 
 ed in the English papers. 
 
 *' Innumerable reports are spread 
 about, here, concerning this event. 
 Many people assert that her lady- 
 hip met an untimely death by poi- 
 on, administered to her byher cruel 
 ord. Of this number Mrs. Flyn, 
 ny woman, is the most devout be-
 
 191 
 
 liever, for she has seen there people 
 who have seen Lady Balhifjn's ghost 
 all in white, upon the crag of the 
 rock, wheie her lover appeared some- 
 time ago. ' And what, my lady, 
 could take her ladyship's ghost there, 
 you know, if she had come fairly by 
 her death ?* This is Flyn^s creed, 
 and the whole bench of bishops could 
 not turn her from it, were they to 
 
 try. 
 
 " Other people assert that Lady B. 
 has made her escape to England, aad 
 that it was only a log of wood that was so 
 pompously interred, a few days ago, 
 and that my lord's reason for choosing 
 to believe her dead, is because he in- 
 tends marrying the woman he has 
 kept so long, and making her hs 
 good as a great many more ladies who 
 wear coronets, and came by them in 
 the same manner. But for my part 
 I must confess that ! am a convert to 
 neither opinion, for I think it ex- 
 
 i
 
 192 
 
 tremely natural that a person of a 
 delicate frame, like Lady Ballafjn, 
 should sink under the pressure of 
 ill-treatment and confinement, parti- 
 cularly as she had had not one sym- 
 pathising bosom to whom she could 
 impart her sorrows — 1 only wonder 
 she has lived so long. 
 
 " I hope my dearest mother's ex- 
 cellent sense will suggest the best 
 consolation to her. The death of 
 Lady Ballafyn is the emancipation of 
 a wretched slave, and ou^ht to be 
 hailed with joy, instead of lamen- 
 tation. 
 
 " That she was innocent I don't 
 entertain a doubt, and in that case 
 what an exchange is hers ! Sinking 
 as she was beneath accumulated sor- 
 row and distress, both of body and 
 mind. She is now translated to 
 the fullness of glory and happiness 
 for ever more."
 
 193 
 
 Lady Ellincourt's inind was re-- 
 lieved from the tortures of suspense 
 and anxiety, by the mournful news, 
 conveyed to her in her daughter's 
 letter, and her agitated feelings gra- 
 dually sunk into the calm of settled 
 melancholy. The last vestige of her 
 beloved brother was now extinct> 
 and his name for ever blotted out. 
 The sweet offspring of that unhappy 
 marriage had terminated her youth- 
 ful career in a manner no Ies& 
 wretched than her parents had done 
 before her : but she could now sufter 
 no more, and fear subsided witH 
 hope, in the heart of Lady Ellin- 
 court. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt beheld, with real 
 concern, the havock grief was making 
 on the delicate frame of his indul- 
 gent mother, and he used his utmost 
 endeavour to divert her melancholy^ 
 The society of tlie engaging Fanny 
 seeme4 to promise the best antidote! 
 
 VOL. 1=. K
 
 193 
 
 to the gloom tkat was creeping over 
 her. Lord Ellincourt intreated liis. 
 mother therefore to take the child 
 from school, and by making her the 
 constant inmate of (he house, insure 
 to herself the comfort of a compa- 
 nion, whose intrusions on her pri- 
 vacy would be optional. 
 
 Lady Ellincourt approved of the 
 scheme, and Fanny was installed in 
 her new abode before another week 
 had elapsed, to the almost uncon- 
 troulable joy of the lively girl, who 
 thought she could never sufficiently 
 express her gratitude to h6r dear dear 
 mamnia, as she now styled Lady El- 
 lincourt, for a favor as delightful as^ 
 it was unlooked for. That Fanny 
 might be no loser by the removal, 
 Lady Ellincourt determined to en- 
 gage an accomplished governess, to 
 complete the education of her dar- 
 ling under her own roof. 
 
 Miss Bridgeman who just at that
 
 195 
 
 period was wishing to ^et rid of Iter 
 dear Dawson, recommended that 
 lady as the fittest person she knew to 
 fill up the important station. 
 
 Lady Eilincourt approved the mea- 
 sure, and Mrs. Dawson became the 
 governante of Fatherless Fanni/^ as- 
 suming as much importance upoo 
 the occasion, as if she had been ap- 
 pointed to the tuition of the iSrst 
 princess in the known world. 
 
 It is necessary in this place to men- 
 tion that soon after the Lady Tren- 
 thams left school, the amiable Lady 
 Maria became the wife of ihefar from 
 amiable Col. Ross, whose pleasing 
 exterior had beguiled her of her 
 heart, before she was aware that she 
 had one; and whose large fortune, 
 and high family rendered him agree- 
 able to the Marquis of Peterslield as 
 a son-in-law, particularly as there 
 appeared to be a fair chance of the 
 family title and estate of Ballafyii 
 k2
 
 centring- in that gentleman, as his. 
 brother had been married many years 
 without having an heir, and the ru- 
 mours that had reached the Marquis^ 
 respecting Lady Ball afyn's supposed 
 infidelit}^, rendered it but too proba- 
 ble his lordship would never marry 
 again. 
 
 During the ensuing five years q£ 
 Fanny's life, little occurred to vary 
 the scene. She was the cherished 
 companion of her kind benefactress, 
 and the still undiminshed favorite of 
 Lord Eilincourt, who, though he 
 continued his giddy career through 
 the mazes of fashion, never abated 
 aught of his kindness towards his 
 adopted child. 
 
 Mrs. Dawson liad now completed 
 the education of her j)npil, and the 
 recommendation of Lady Eilincourt 
 obtained for that lady a similar si- 
 tuation in the family of a lady who 
 resided a part of the year in Irehind.
 
 197 
 
 Mrs. Dawson, it has before been 
 observed, was of a disposition exactly 
 calculated to iiiake her way in the 
 world. She well knew how to catch 
 the whim of the moment, and to 
 liumoiir it with the most consum- 
 mate skill. 
 
 She was always therefore a great 
 favorite with her employers. Lady 
 EUincourt, who was one of the be^ 
 •^vomen in the world, thought Mi's. 
 Dawson the epitome of perfection, 
 •for to her observation she had ap- 
 peared as pious as she was accom- 
 plished, and in the latter point 
 there was no deception ; Mrs. Daw- 
 son was certainly fully capable of 
 the task she had undertaken, as far 
 as elegant attainments extended, but 
 poor Fanny would have imbibed but 
 little of the true spirit of piety from 
 her governess, had it not been for the 
 genuine lessons bestowed upon her 
 by her affectionate friend, Lady EJ- 
 k3
 
 108 
 
 lincourt ; and the firm foundation 
 that had been laid by the amiable 
 Emily Barlowe, during the infant 
 years of the interesting orphan. 
 
 Mrs. Dawson had found the secret, 
 however, of winning Fanny's aftec- 
 tion, whose artless bosom, as inca- 
 pable of suspicion as of deceit, 
 judged every body by the pure 
 model of her own heart. Every se- 
 cret of her soul had been reposed in 
 Mrs. Dawson's keeping, and she had 
 not a thought she wished to conceal 
 from the person she had so long con- 
 sidered in the light of a second self. 
 To part with this tenderly beloved 
 friend, was therefore a most painful 
 trial for the aftectionate girl, and 
 Mrs. Dawson took care the impres- 
 sion should not be softened by any of 
 the attentions Lady Ellincourt be- 
 stowed upon her favorite, by way of 
 iimusing her thoughts and diverting 
 ^hem from the object of her regret. 
 
 . I
 
 199 
 
 Fanny's grief, which had been 
 continually increased by the arlful 
 suggestions of Mrs. Dawson, ap- 
 peared beyond the controul of rea- 
 son when the final separation took 
 place, and to mitigate its violence 
 Lady EUincourt consented to an 
 arrangement, which had not her en- 
 tire approbation, namely, the esta* 
 blishing of a regular correspondence 
 between the pupil and her ci-devant 
 governess, when at a distance from 
 each other. 
 
 This was exactly the object Mrs. 
 .Dawson had had in view all the 
 time, and the attainment of her 
 wishes, promised to gratify the two 
 ruling passions of her mind, curio- 
 sity and selfish policy. She well 
 knew that by Fanny's letters she 
 should obtain the knowledge of 
 every material occurrence in Lady 
 EUincourt' s family, and, over and 
 above the satisfaction of acquiring* 
 k5
 
 200 
 
 that knowledge to her naturally cu- 
 rious mind, she might be ab^e 
 through her skill in manoeuvring, to 
 turn some of them to her own ad- 
 vantage. Things being thus ar^ 
 ranged in her own mind, Mrs. Daw- 
 son took her leave^ with every exte- 
 rior appearance of the deepest re- 
 gret, although her heart secretly re- 
 joiced at the change, as her salary 
 was considerably augmented by the 
 event, and she w ent away laden with 
 marks of Lady EUincourt's munifi- 
 cence, besides all the valuable trin- 
 kets she had obtained from the sim- 
 ple Fanny, by '' loving'' them for 
 the sake of the " dear dear wearer/'
 
 
 CHAPTER Vil 
 
 The Separation, 
 
 Lord Ellincourt's attachment to 
 Emily Barlowe, although it had ne- 
 ver yielded to any new attraction, 
 had not been sufficiently strong to 
 induce his lordship to follow the 
 amiable girl to Jamaica, as he had 
 once talked of doing. 
 
 At length, however, an incident 
 occurred that re-united them in the 
 most unexpected manner possible- 
 Lady Ellincourt's health had been 
 visibly declining for some time, and 
 her physicians, after trying eveiy re- 
 medy this country afforded, recom- 
 jnend the mild climate of Lisbon as
 
 202 
 
 the derniere resort. Lady Ellinconvt 
 received the Jiat with real regret, as 
 she was an enthusiastic lover of Old 
 England, but the united entreaties 
 of her son and tli€ affectionate Fanny, 
 at length overcame her objection, 
 and she promised to asquiesce with 
 the doctor's injunctions, provided 
 her dear Edmund would accompany 
 her. 
 
 This was precisely what her dear 
 Edmund had always intended to do, 
 and he assured his mother that no- 
 thing would give him greater pain 
 than to be denied the pleasure of a<l- 
 ministering to her comfort, and her 
 safety during her exportation. And 
 so said her tenderly-attached Fanny, 
 when Lady Ellincourt asked her 
 whether she would prefer being left 
 at Miss Bridgeman's, or Lady Maria 
 Ross's, during the forced absence of 
 her maternal friend. " Surely my 
 dear, dear mamma would not be so
 
 203 
 
 cruel as to talk of leaving* me in 
 England, when ill-health obliges her 
 to seek a distant home. In pity to 
 my agonised feelings, do not pro- 
 nomice so hard a sentence, upon a 
 heart which acknowledges no mother 
 but you — which forms no wish so 
 ardent as that of being able to shew 
 the gratitude and affection, that 
 glows in it for you, my kind, my 
 beloved benefactress/' 
 
 As Fanny pronounced these words 
 she clasped her arms round Lady 
 Ellincourt's neck, and endeavoured^ 
 with one of her fascinating smiles, 
 to shake the good lady's resolution. 
 But although deeply affected by the 
 sweet girl's earnestness in the cause 
 she was pleading, and fully convin- 
 ced of the sincerity of her attachment, 
 Lady EUincourt was not to be per- 
 suaded by all the rhetoric poor Fan- 
 ny was mistress of. 
 
 " I have well considered the sub-
 
 204 
 
 ,7ect we are upon, my sweet girl/' 
 replied Iier ladyship, " and 1 feel so 
 thoroughly convinced of the impro- 
 priety of complying with youj- re- 
 quest, that I cannot suffer any per- 
 suasion to shake my resolution. Vou 
 know me, my dear Fanny, and that 
 selfish considerations have no weight 
 with me. You will believe me tliere- 
 fore when I assure you that 1 prac- 
 tise great self-denial in withstanding 
 your affectionate solicitations, for 1 
 can affirm, with truth, that there is 
 nothing I leave behind I shall so 
 truly regret as my tender, my ailec- 
 tionate little nurse, Fanny. 
 
 *' But, my dear girl, life is uncer- 
 tain even to the healthy ; with inva- 
 lids it seems still more precarious, 
 and greatly would it embitter the 
 pangs of death, could the painful 
 reflection present itself to my mind, 
 that my Fanny was exposed, by my 
 imprudence, to the trying situation
 
 of bieiiig left in a strange country, 
 without a proper protector of her 
 awn sex to re-conduct her to her na- 
 tive country/' 
 
 ** Bnt my dear mamma/' interrup- 
 ted Fanny, " will not Lord Ellin- 
 court go with you, and whose pro- 
 tection could be better than his, 
 should I, indeed, be deprived of my 
 best friend/' 
 
 " Edmund would prove a kind 
 friend and a powerful protector to 
 my girl, I am sure,"^ answered Lady 
 Eilincourt, " but so young a man is 
 not a proper chaperon for li«r, and 
 that must be studied, my sweet 
 child. Maternal anxiety such as 
 mine foresees and provides for every 
 contingency. Be reconciled there- 
 fore, my Fanny, to a determination 
 which cannot be repealed, and which 
 ■has been made after mature conside- 
 ration ,> and from the very best mo- 
 tives/'
 
 200 
 
 It was in vain t\i?Jt Ladj Ellincourt 
 preached patience and submission to 
 Fanny, no argument could convince 
 her that it was right to separate her 
 from her beloved mamma, and she 
 wept incessantly, at the^'a^ she could 
 not alter. When urged by Lady El- 
 lincourt to decide upon her choice of 
 residence, during her absence, she 
 would reply " It matters not where 
 I go, all places will be alike to me 
 when my dear mamma is taken from 
 me." 
 
 At length, however, she was in- 
 duced, by Lady Ellincourt*s insist- 
 ing upon an answer, to chuse Lady 
 Maria Ross for her protectress, in 
 preference to Miss Bridgeman. Col. 
 Ross's intimacy with Lord Ellincourt, 
 and Lady Maria's near relationship 
 to the Ellincourt family, had con- 
 spired to render them the most fre- 
 quent visitors Lady Ellincourt had, 
 and as Fanny loved Lady Maria with
 
 207 
 
 the truest affection, from the time 
 she first became acquainted with 
 that lady, at Miss Bridgeman^s, it 
 was natural she should prefer her 
 protection to the formal jurisdiction 
 of her quondam governess. Col. 
 Ross had. never been a favorite of 
 Fanny's, although the uniform kind- 
 ness and attention, with which he 
 treated her, seemed to demand her 
 gratitude. 
 
 Since his marriage^ the Colonel 
 had aifected to consider Fanny in 
 the light of a child ; a mode of be- 
 haviour which seemed to increase ra- 
 ther than diminish with her increa- 
 sing years and stature. 
 
 Lady EUincourt's allowance for 
 her favorite's maintenance, was ex- 
 tremely liberal ; and both the Colo- 
 nel and Lady Maria appeared pleased 
 with the arrangement, when they 
 learnt that Fanny was to become 
 their guest. Not so the affectionate
 
 ^ 208 
 
 girl; no projected plan of pleasure 
 could rouse her froui the sorrow into 
 which Lady Ellincourt's determina- 
 tion of leaving her behind, had 
 plunged her, and she was deaf to 
 eveiy thing Lady Maria could say, by 
 way of consolatory advice upon the 
 subject. 
 
 At length the dreaded moment ar- 
 rived, and Fanny was torn, niore^ 
 dead than alive, from the arms of 
 her dear Lady Ellincourt, whose he- 
 roism never forsook her, ' and con- 
 veyed in Lady Maria's coach to that 
 lady's house. Lady Ellincourt had 
 wisely insisted that the parting 
 should take place the day before her 
 departure, as she judged herself un- 
 equal to the task of bidding her dar- 
 ling farewell, when about to encoun- 
 ter the fatigues and bustle of a jour- 
 ney, which in her weak state appear- 
 ed already but too formidable. 
 
 Lord EUiiiconit, iiotwithstandinir
 
 m9 
 
 the levity natural to him, possessed 
 an excellent heart, and the tender 
 attachment of the artless Fann.y 
 deeply afflicted it. When he pressed 
 her in his arms, and kissed off the 
 tears that rolled down her blooming 
 cheeks, he thought it was impossible 
 he should ever love any human being* 
 as he at that moment loved Fanny. 
 *' Dear girl," said his lordship, 
 ** how, how shall I bear to live apart 
 from you. The sight of you is become 
 necessary to my happiness, nay, al- 
 most to my existence, and I verily 
 believe 1 shall soon tind that I cannot 
 do without you." 
 
 Col. Ross was present when Lord 
 Ellincouit thus expressed himself, 
 and the heightened color of his cheek 
 and the stern expression of his eye, 
 too plainly told to the obs^rvmg 
 Lady Maria that her husband was 
 not pleased. Of the cause from 
 whence liis displeasure sprung she
 
 • 
 
 was ignorant, but she had already 
 learned to watch the variations of his 
 countenance, with the trembling 
 anxiety of a dependant vassal. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt was too deeply 
 absorbed in his own feelings to ob- 
 serve iiis friend, or he might have 
 been tempted to join his solicitations 
 to Fanny's, to persuade Lady Ellin- 
 court to revoke her decree, and even 
 at that late moment to suffer her 
 disconsolate favorite to accompany 
 her. 
 
 "Oh that I were as dear to you as 
 you say," exclaimed the artless Fan- 
 ny, " Oh that it were true, indeed, 
 that you could not exist without see- 
 ing me. Lady Ellincourt would not 
 then refuse to take me with her, she 
 would compassionate the feelings of 
 her son, although she has no pity for 
 mine.'* Unconscious of the full 
 force of what she had said, Fanny 
 clasped her hands together, with an
 
 211 
 
 r 
 
 expression of tender anguish, whilst 
 tears poured in abundance from her 
 eyes, which were raised, as in sup- 
 plication, to watch the countenance 
 of her dear mamma, still cherishing 
 the hope that she might relent. 
 
 Such a thing was, however, far- 
 ther than ever from Lady Ellincourt's 
 thoughts, as a suspicion that moment 
 crossed her imagination, that render- 
 ed her dreaded journey a most fortu- 
 nate circumstance in her estimation. 
 Fanny's beauty had been an object 
 so familiar to her eye, that its pro- 
 gressive improvement had not a- 
 wakened any fears on Lord Ellin- 
 court's account until that moment, 
 but her eyes appeared to be suddenly 
 opened, and the energy with which 
 he had just expressed himself, joined 
 to Fanny's artless wish of the rea- 
 lization of his love for her, seemed 
 to strike conviction on her mind. 
 '♦ They love each other," said she,
 
 212 
 
 mentally, " and my imprudence has 
 undone them both, unless this fortu- 
 nate separation should wean them 
 from each other.'* 
 
 Dear as Lady Ellincourt loved 
 Fanny, and tenderly alive as she was 
 to the happiness of her son, yet such 
 was the effect of hereditary pride 
 upon her mind, that the idea of uni- 
 ting her son to a person of obscure 
 birth, was worse, to her imagination, 
 than even the prospect of his being 
 miserable for life. 
 
 THE END OF VOL. I 
 
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