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 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN
 
 r 
 
 .<V 
 
 LI B RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLR.5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 82.3 
 
 Op3s
 
 SIMPLE TALES: 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. OPIE. 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED TOR LONGMAN, HURST, REESj AND OHMK, 
 PATERNOSTPR ROW. 
 
 1806,
 
 i?. Taylor and Co. S8> Sho€ Lane,
 
 e^3 
 
 V. / 
 
 SIMPLE TALES 
 
 THE 
 
 ^ ^ BLACK VELVET PELISSE, 
 
 -^ Mr. Beresford was a merchant, en- 
 S \ ^agG<i i^ ^ very extensive businesSj and 
 "^ ■ - possessed of considerable property , a great 
 C3 ^ P^^^ o^ which was vested in a large estate 
 g ^ in the country, on which he chiefly re- 
 ^ '^'^ sided. 
 
 ^p> Beresford v/as what is commonly de- 
 
 jiominated purse-proud ; and so eager to 
 
 - be honoured on account of his wealth, 
 
 that he shunned rather than courted the 
 
 society of men of rank, as he was fond 
 
 ' of power ^and precedence, and did no: 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 2 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE* 
 
 like to associate with those who had an 
 indisputable claim to that deference of 
 which he himself was desirous. But he 
 earnestly wished that his -only child and 
 heiress should marry a man of rank ; and 
 being informed that a young baronet of 
 large estates in his neighbourhood, and 
 who was also heir to a barony, was just re- 
 turned from his travels, and intended to 
 settle at his paternal seat, Mr. Beresford 
 was resolved that Julia should have every 
 possible opportunity of shov/ing off to the 
 best advantage before so desirable a neigh- 
 bour ; and he determined that his daugh- 
 ter, his house, and his table, should not 
 want any charm which money could pro- 
 cure. 
 
 Beresford had gained his fortune by 
 degrees ; and having been educated by 
 frugal and retired parents, his habits were 
 almost parsimonious ; and when he launch- 
 ed out into unwonted expenses on becom- 
 ing wealthy, it was only in a partial man-
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 3 
 
 ner. His house and his furniture had a 
 sort of pye-bald appearance ; — his style 
 of living was not consistent, like that of si 
 man used to live like a gentleman, but 
 opulence with a tiinid grasp seemed to 
 squeeze out its indulgences from the 
 griping fingers of habitual oeconomy. — . 
 True, he could, on occasion, be splendid, 
 both in his public and private gifts ; but 
 such bounties were efforts, and he seemed 
 to wonder at himself whenever the •exer- 
 tion was over. 
 
 Julia Beresford, his daughter, accus- 
 tomed from her birth to affluence, if not 
 to luxury, — and having in every thing 
 what is called the spirit of a gentlewo- 
 man, was often distressed and mortified at 
 the want of consistency in her father's 
 mode of living ; but she was particularly 
 distressed to find that, though he was al- 
 ways telling her what a fortune he would 
 give her when she married, and at his death, 
 he allowed her but a trifling sum, compara- 
 B 2
 
 "4 THE BLACK VELVET PEIJSSE. 
 
 .lively, for pocket-money, and required 
 from her, with teasing minuteness, an ac- 
 count of the manner in which her allow- 
 ance was spent ; reprobating very se- 
 verely her propensity to spend her money 
 on plausible beggars and pretended inva- 
 lids. 
 
 But on this point he talked in vain -: — 
 used by a benevolent and pious mother, 
 whose loss she tenderly deplored, to im- 
 part comfort to the poor, the sick, and the 
 afflicted, Julia endeavoured to make her 
 residence in the country a blessing to the 
 neighbourhood ; but, too often, kind 
 words, soothing visits, and generous pro- 
 mises, were all that she had to bestow^; and 
 many a time did she purchase the means 
 of relieving a distressed fellow-creature by 
 a personal sacrifice: for though ever 
 ready to contribute to a subscription eith^* 
 public or private:, Beresford could not 
 be prevailed upon to indulge his daugh- 
 ter by giving way to that habitual bene-
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 5 
 
 volence, which, when once practised, can 
 never be left oiF. 
 
 But though the sums were trifling whicli: 
 Julia had to bestow, she had so many 
 cheap charities in her power, such as send- 
 ing broth to the neighbouring cottages,- 
 and making linen of various sorts for poor 
 women and children, that she was de- 
 servedly popular in the neighbourhood ; 
 and though her father was reckoned as 
 proud as he was rich, the daughter waa 
 pronounced to be a pattern of good na-. 
 ture^ and as affable as he was the con- 
 Uary. 
 
 But wherever Beresford could have an 
 opportunity of displaying his wealth to 
 advantage, he regarded not expense : — and 
 to Qutvie the neighbouring gentlemen in 
 endeavours to attract the rich young ba- 
 ronet, whom all the young ladies would, 
 he supposed, be aiming to captivate, he 
 purchased magnificent furniture and car- 
 riages, and promised Julia a great addition
 
 6 THE BLACK* VELVET PELISSE. 
 
 to her wai'drobe, whenever sir Frederic 
 Mortimer should take up his abode at his 
 seat. 
 
 Julia heard that the bai*onet was ex-. 
 pected, with a beating heart. She had 
 been several times in his company at 
 a watering-place^ immediately on. his re- 
 turn from abroad, and had wished to 
 appear as charming in his eyes as he 
 appeared in hers ; but she had been dis- 
 appointed. — Modest and retiring in her 
 manner, and not showy in her person^ 
 thaugh her features were regularly beau^ 
 tiful, sir Frederic Mortimer, v/ho had 
 only seen her in large companies, and 
 vvith very striking and attractive women, 
 had regarded her merely as an amiable 
 girl, and had rarely thought of her 
 again. 
 
 Julia Beresford was fonned ta steal 
 upon the affecrions by slow degrees ; to 
 interest on acquaintance, not to strike at 
 tirst sight. But the man who had op*
 
 THE BLACK VELVtT PELISSE. 7 
 
 portunities of listening to the sweet tones 
 ©f her voice, and of gazing on her va- 
 ried countenance when emotion crimson- 
 ed her pale cheek, and lighted up the 
 expression of her eyes, could never be- 
 hold her without a degree of interest 
 which beauty alone often fails to excite. 
 Like most women, too, Julia derived great 
 advantages from dress : of this she was 
 sensible, though very often did she appear 
 shabbily attired, from having expended 
 on others sums destined to ornament her- 
 self; but, when she had done so, a phy- 
 siognomist would have discovered in her 
 countenance probably an expression of 
 self-satisfaction, more ornamental than 
 any dress could be. But, generally, as 
 Julia knew the value of external decora- 
 tion, she wisely wished to indulge in it. 
 • One day Julia, accompanied by her fa- 
 ther, went to the shop of a milliner, in a 
 large town, near which thcv lived ; and.
 
 8 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 
 
 as winter was coming on, and her pelisse, 
 a dark and now faded purple, was nearly 
 worn out, she was very desirous of pur- 
 chasing a black velvet one, which was on 
 sale ; but her father hearing that the price 
 of it was twelve guineas, positlvel)^ forbid 
 her to wish for so expensive a piece of 
 finery ; though he owned that it was very 
 handsome, and very becoming. 
 
 " To be sure," said Julia smiling, but 
 casting a longing look at the pelisse, 
 '' twelve guineas might be better bestow- 
 ed :" and they left the shop. 
 
 The next day Mr. Beresford went to 
 town on business, and, in a short time af- 
 ter, he vvrote to his daughter to say that 
 he had met sir Frederic Mortimer in 
 -London, and that he would soon be down 
 at his seat, to attend some pony races 
 which Mr. Hanmer, who had a mind to 
 show off his dowdy daughter to the young 
 baronet, intended to have on a piece of
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 9 
 
 land belonging to him ; and that he had 
 heard all the ladies in the neighbourhood 
 were to be there. 
 
 " I have received an invitation for you 
 and myself," continued Mr. Beresford ; 
 " and therefore, as I am resolved the miss 
 Traceys, and the other girls, shall not be 
 better or more expensively dressed than 
 ray daughter, I enclose you bills to the 
 amount of thirteen pounds ; and I desire 
 you to go and purchase the velvet pelisse 
 which we so much admired j and 1 have 
 sent you a hat, the most elegant which 
 money .could procure, in order that my 
 heiress may appear as an heiress should 
 
 do." 
 
 Julia's young heart beat with pleasure at 
 
 this permission ; for she was to adOrn 
 
 herself to appear before the only man 
 
 whom she ever ivished to please : and the 
 
 next morning she determined to set off to 
 
 make the desired purchase. 
 
 That evening, being alone, she set out 
 
 to take her usual walk ; and having, lost 
 
 b5
 
 10 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 
 
 in no unpleasing reverie, strayed very near 
 to a village about three miles from home, 
 she recollected to have heard an affecting 
 account of the distress of a very virtuous 
 and industrious family in that village, ow- 
 ing to the poor man's being drawn for the 
 militia, and not rich enough to procure a 
 substitute. — She therefore resolved to go 
 on and inquire how the matter had ter- 
 minated. Julia proceeded to the village, 
 and reached it just as the very objects of 
 her solicitude were come to the height of 
 their distresses. 
 
 The father of the family, not being 
 able to raise more than half the money 
 wanted, was obliged to serve ; and Julia, 
 on seeing a crowd assembled, approached 
 to ask what was going forward ; and 
 found she was arrived to witness a very 
 affecting scene: for the poor man was 
 taking his last farewel of his wife and fa- 
 mily, who, on his departure to join the 
 regiment, would be forced to go to the 
 workhouse, where, as they were in deli-
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. II 
 
 cate health, it was most probable they 
 would soon fall victims to bad food and 
 bad air. 
 
 The poor man v/as iiniyersally beloved 
 in his village ; and the neighbours, seeing 
 that a young lady inquired concerning his 
 misfortunes \vith an air of interest, were 
 all eager to give her every possible infor- 
 mation- on the subject of his distress, — ■ 
 " And only think, miss," said one of 
 them, " for the v»'ant of nine pound only, 
 as honest and hard-working a lad as ever 
 lived, and as good a husband and father, 
 must be forced to leave his fjrnily, and 
 be a miiida-man, — and they, poor things, 
 go to the workhouse i" 
 . " Nine pounds :'' said Julia, " would 
 that be sufncient to keep him at home ?'' 
 
 " La ! yes, miss ; for that young fel- 
 low yonder v/ould gladly go for him for 
 fighteen pounds !'' 
 
 On heanng this, how many thouglus 
 rapidly succeeded each other in Julia's
 
 J 2 THK BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 
 
 mind ! — If she paid the nine pounds, the 
 man would be restored to his family, and 
 they preserved perhaps from an untimely 
 death in a workhouse ! — But then she had 
 no money but what her father had sent 
 to purchase the pelisse, nor was she to 
 see him till she met him on the race- 
 ground ! — and he would be so disappointed 
 if she was not well dressed 1 True, she 
 might take the pelisse on trust ; but then 
 she was sure her faiher would be highly 
 incensed at her extravagance, if she 
 spent twelve guineas, and gave away nine 
 pounds at the same time : — therefore she 
 knew she must either give up doing a ge- 
 nerous action, or give up the pelisse, 
 that is, give up the gratification of her 
 father's pride and her own vanity. 
 
 " No, I dare not, I cannot do it," 
 thought Julia ; " my own vanity I would 
 willingly mortify, — ^but not ray father's. — 
 No — the poor man must go !" 
 
 During thin mental struggle the by-
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 13 
 
 Slanders had eagerly watched hers coun- 
 tenance ; and thinking that she was dis- 
 posed to pay the sum required, they com- 
 municated their hopes to the poor people 
 themselves ; and as Juha turned her eyes 
 towards them, the wretched couple look- 
 ed at her with such an imploring look ! 
 but she was resolved : — " I am sorry, I 
 am very sorry," said she, " that I can do 
 nothing for you : — however, take this.'* 
 So saying, she gave them all the loose 
 money she had in her pocket, amounting 
 to a few shillings, and then with an 
 aching heart walked rapidly away j but 
 as she did so, the sobs of the poor wo- 
 man, as she leaned on her husband's 
 shoulder, and the cries of the little boy, 
 when his father, struggling with his grief, 
 bade him a last farewel, reached her, and 
 penetrated to her heart. 
 
 "Poor creatures!" she inwardly ex- 
 claimed ; " and nine pounds would change 
 these tears into gladness, and yet I with-
 
 T4 THE BLACK \^LVET PELISSE. 
 
 hold it I And is it for this that Heaven 
 has blest me with opulence ? for this, to 
 be restrained, by the fear of being reprov- 
 ed for spending a paltry sum such as this 
 is, from doing an action acceptable in the 
 eyes of my Creator ! ISTo ; I will pay the 
 money. I will give myself the delight ,of 
 serving afflicted worth, and spare myself 
 from, perliaps, eternal self-reproach !" 
 
 She then, without waiting for further 
 consideration, turned back again, paid the 
 money into the poor man's hand ; and 
 giving the remaining four pounds to the 
 woman, who,, though clean, was mise- 
 rably clad, desired her to lay part of it 
 out in clothes for herself and children. 
 
 I wall not attempt to describe the sur- 
 prise and gratitude of the relieved suffer- 
 ers, nor the overwhelming feelings which 
 Julia experienced ; who, withdrawing her- 
 self with the rapidity of lightning from 
 their thanks, and ^^dshing to remain un^ 
 known, ran hastily along her road 
 
 1
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 15 
 
 home, not daring to stop, lest her joy at 
 having done a generous deed should be 
 checked by other considerations. 
 
 But at length exhausted, and panting 
 for breath, she was obliged to relax in her 
 speed ; and then the image of her angry 
 and disappointed parent appeared to her 
 in all its terrors. 
 
 " What can I do ?" she exclaimed. — 
 " Shall I order the pelisse, though I can't 
 pay for it, or go without it ? No ; I 
 ought not to incur so great an expense 
 without my father's leave, though 1 know 
 him to be able to aiSbrd it ; and to run in 
 debt he would consider as even a greater 
 fault than the other. Well, then, — I must 
 submit to mortify his pride ; and though 
 I rejoice in what I have done, -the joy is 
 amply counterbalanced by the idea of 
 giving pain to my father." 
 
 Poor Julia ! her own wounded vanity 
 came in for its share in causing her unea- 
 siness } and the rest of that day, and the
 
 16 THE BLACK A^ELVET PELISSE. 
 
 next, Julia spent in reflections and fears, 
 which did not tend to improve her looks, 
 and make a becoming dress unnecessary. 
 
 The next morning was the morning for 
 the races. The son shone bright, and 
 every thing looked cheerful but Julia. 
 She had scarcely spirits to dress herself. 
 It was very cold ; therefore she was forced 
 to wear her faded purple peUsse, and now 
 it looked shabbier than usual ; and still 
 shabbier from the contrast of a very smart 
 new black velvet bonnet. 
 
 At length JuHa had finished her toilette, 
 saying to herself, " My father talked of 
 Mr. Hanmer's dowdy daughter. I am 
 sure Mr. Hanmer may return the compli- 
 ment ;" and then, with a heavy heart, she 
 got into the carriage, and drove to the 
 house of rendezvous. 
 
 Mr. Beresford. was there before her ; 
 
 and while he contemplated with fearful 
 
 admiration the elegant cloaks, and fine 
 
 showy figures and faces of the miss Tra- 
 
 2
 
 THE BLACK V£r.VET PELISSE. 17 
 
 ceys, between whose father and himseJf 
 there had long been a rivalship of wealth, 
 he was consoled for their elegance by re- 
 flecting how much more expensive and 
 elegant Julia's dress would be, and how 
 well she would look, flushed, as he ex- 
 pea .2d to see her, with the blush of emo- 
 tion on entering a full room, and the con- 
 sciousness of more than us^al attraction 
 in her appearance. 
 
 Julia at length appeared, but pale, de- 
 jected, and in her old purple pelisse ! 
 
 What a mortification ! His daughter, 
 the great heiress, the worst dressed and 
 most dowdy looking girl in the company ! 
 Insupportable ! Scarcely could he welcome 
 her, though he had not seen her for some 
 days ; and he seized the very first oppor- 
 tunity of asking her if she had received 
 the notes. 
 
 " Yes, I thank ye, sir ;'' replied Julia^ 
 
 " Then why did you not buy what I 
 bade you r It could not be gone ; for, if
 
 iS THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE* 
 
 you did not buy it, nobody else could, I 
 am sure*.'* 
 
 " I — I — I thought I could do uithout 
 it—and—'* 
 
 " There now, there is perverseness. — 
 When I wished you not to have it, then 
 you wanted it; and now— I protest if I* 
 don't believe you did it on purpose to 
 mortify nie ; and there's those proud 
 minxes, whose father is not worth half 
 what I am, are dressed out as fine as 
 princesses. I vow, girl, you look so 
 shabby and ugly, I can't bear to look at 
 you !'* 
 
 What a trial for Julia ! her eyes filled 
 •with tears; and at this moment sir Frederic 
 Mortimer appproached her, and hoped 
 she had not been ill ; but he thought she 
 was paler than usual : — 
 
 " Paler 1" cried her father : " why, I 
 should not have known her, she ha^ made 
 such a fright of herself." 
 
 ^'•You may say so, sir," replied the baro.^ 
 
 «.v
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 19 
 
 net politely, though he almost agreed with 
 him ; " but no other man can be of that^ 
 opinion." 
 
 Julia was rather gratified by this speech ; 
 but, without waiting for an answer, sir 
 Frederic had gone to join the missTraceys ; 
 and as he entered into an animated con- 
 versadon with them, Julia was allowed, 
 unattended, to walk to a window in the 
 next room, and enjoy her own melan- 
 choly reflecdons. 
 
 At length, to Julia's great relief, they 
 WTre summoned to the race-ground ; the 
 baronet taking miss Hanmer under one 
 arm and the elder miss Tracey mider the 
 other. — " So," cried Beresford, seizing 
 Julia roughly by the hand, " I must Lead 
 you, I see ; for who will take any nodce of 
 such a dowdy ? Well, girl, I was too 
 proud of you, and you have contrived to 
 humble me enough/' 
 
 There was a mixture of tenderness and 
 resentment in this speech, which quite
 
 20 THE BLACK VELTET P£LISSEV 
 
 overcame Julia, and she burst into tearsr 
 " There, — now she is going to make her- 
 self worse, by spoiling her eyes. — But 
 come, tell me what you did with the 
 money ; I insist upon knowing," 
 
 « I — I — gave it away," sobbed out 
 Julia. 
 
 " Gave it away ! Monstrous ! I protest I 
 will not speak to you again of a month." 
 So saying, he left her, and carefully 
 avoided to look at or speak to her again. 
 
 The races began, and were interesting 
 to all but Julia, who, conscious of being 
 beheld by her father with looks of morti- 
 fication and resentment, and by the man 
 of her choice with indifference, had no 
 satisfaction to enable her to support the 
 unpleasantness of her situation, except the 
 consciousness that her sorrow had beea 
 the cause of happiness to others, and that 
 the family whom she had relieved were 
 probably at that moment naming her 
 with praises and blessings. " Then why
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 21 
 
 ^•liould I be SO selfish as to repine ?'* thought 
 Julia : — *' perhaps no one present has such 
 a right as I to rejoice ; for how poor are the 
 gratifications of vanity to the -triumphs of 
 benevolence !" 
 
 So like a philosopher reasoned our he- 
 roine ; but she felt like a woman, and, 
 spite of herself, an expression of vexation 
 still prevailed over the usual sweetness of 
 her countenance. 
 
 The races -at length finished, and with 
 them she flattered herself would finish 
 her mortifications ; but in vain. The 
 company was expected to stay to partake 
 of a cold collation, which v/as to be pre- 
 ceded by music and dancf.ng ; and Julia 
 was obliged to accept the unwelcome in- 
 vitation. 
 
 As the ladies were most of them very 
 young, they were supposed not to have 
 yet forgotten the art of dancing minuets, 
 — an art now of so little use ; and Mr. 
 Hanmer begged sir Frederic would lead
 
 22 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSf.. 
 
 out his daughter to show ofF in a minuet. 
 The baronet obeyed ; and then offered to 
 talie out Julia for the same purpose ; but 
 she, blushing, refused to comply. 
 
 " Well, what's that for ?'* cried Beres- 
 ford angrily, who knew that Julia was 
 remarkable for dancing a good minuet. — 
 " Why can't you dance when you are 
 asked, miss Beresford ?" — " Because,** 
 replied Julia in a faltering voice, " I have 
 no gown on, and I can't dance a minuet 
 in my — in my pelisse." 
 
 " Rot your pelisse !" exclaimed Beres- 
 ford, forgetting all decency and decorum, 
 and turned to the window to hide his 
 angry emotioiiS, while Julia hung her 
 head, abashed ; and the baronet led out 
 miss Tracey, who, throwing off the cloak 
 which she had worn before, having ex- 
 pected such an exhibition would take 
 place, displayed a very fine form, set off 
 by the most becoming gown possible. 
 
 "Charming! admirable! what a figure J
 
 THE BLACK VELVET fELISSE. 2% 
 
 ivhat grace!" was murmured throughout 
 the room. Mr. Beresford's proud heart 
 throbbed almost to agony ; while Julia, 
 though ever ready to acknowledge the ex- 
 cellence of another, still felt the whole 
 scene so vexatious to her, principally 
 from the mollification of her father, that 
 her only resource was a;^ain thinking on 
 the family rescued from misery by her. 
 
 Reds were next called for ; and Julia 
 then stood up to dance ; but she had not 
 jdanced five minutes, when, exhausted by 
 the various emotions which she had under- 
 gone during the last eight-and-forty hours, 
 her head became so giddy, that she could 
 net proceed, and was obliged to sit down. 
 " I beheve the deuce is in the girl," 
 mrrtt€red Mr. Beresford ; and, to increase 
 her distress, Julia overheard him. 
 
 In a short time the dancing was dis- 
 continued, and a concert begun. Miss 
 Hanmer played a sonata, and miss Tracey 
 iung a bravura song with great execu-
 
 24 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 
 
 tion. Julia was then called upon to play ; 
 but she timidly answered that she never 
 played lessons : — 
 
 " But you smg," said iniss Hanmer. 
 
 " Sometimes J — but I beg to be excused 
 singing now." 
 
 " What ! you will not sing neither ?" 
 said Mr. Beresford. 
 
 " I can't sing now, indeed, sir ; I am 
 not well enough ; and I tremble so much 
 that I have not a steady note in my voice." 
 
 " So, miss,'' whispered Mr. Beresford, 
 *' and this is what I get in return for 
 having squandered so much money on 
 your education !" 
 
 The misa Traceys were then applied to, 
 and they sung, with great applause, a 
 difficult Italian duo, and were compli- 
 mented into the bargain on their readi- 
 ness to oblige. 
 
 Poor Julia 1 
 
 " You see, miss Beresford, how silly 
 and contemptible you look,'' whispered
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 25 
 
 Beresford, " while those squalling misses 
 run away with all the admiration/' 
 
 Julia's persecutions were not yet over, 
 - — " Though you are not well enough, 
 miss Beresford, to sing a song," said Mr. 
 Hanmer, " which requires much exer- 
 tion, surely you can sing a ballad with- 
 out music, which is, I am told, your 
 fort." 
 
 w* " So I have heard," .cried sir Frederic. 
 *' Do, miss Beresford, oblige us." 
 
 '• Do," said the missTraceys; " and 
 we have a claim on you." 
 
 '•^ I own it,*' replied Julia in a voice 
 ■scarcely audible ; " but you, who are 
 such proficients in music, must know, 
 that, to sing a simple ballad, requires 
 more self-possession and steadiness of 
 tone than any other kind of singing ; as 
 all the merit depends on the clearness of 
 utterance, and the power of sustaining 
 the notes." 
 
 *•' True: — but do try." 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE.' 
 
 *' Indeed I cannot :" and, shrugging 
 up their shoulders, the ladies desisted 
 from further importunities. *' I am so 
 surprised," said one of them to the other, 
 leaning across two or three gentlemen: 
 *^ I had heard that miss Beresford was 
 remarkably good-humoured and obliging, 
 and she seems quite sullen and obstinate j 
 don't you think so ?'* 
 
 " O dear, yes ! and not obliging at 
 all." 
 
 " No, indeed,'* cried miss Hanmer ; 
 " she seems to presume on her wealth, I 
 think : what think you, gentlemen ?" 
 
 But the gentlemen were not so hasty 
 in their judgments — two of them only 
 observed that miss Beresford was in no 
 respect like herself that day. 
 
 " I don t think she is well," said the 
 baronet. 
 
 '' Perhaps she is in love," said miss 
 Tracey, laughing at the shrewdness c^ 
 her own observation.
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 2? 
 
 ** Perhaps so,'* replied sir Frederic 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 It was sir Frederic's intention to marry, 
 and, if possible, a young woman born in 
 the same county as himself; for he wished 
 her to have the same local prejudices as 
 he had, and to have the same early at- 
 tachments : consequently he inquired of 
 his steward, before he came to reside at 
 his seat, into the character of the ladies 
 in the neighbourhood ; but the steward 
 could, or would, talk of no one but Julia 
 Beresford ; and of her he gave so exalted 
 a character, that sir Frederic, who only 
 remembered her as a pleasing modest 
 girl, was very sorry that he had not paid 
 her more attention. 
 
 Soon after, in the gallery of an emi- 
 nent painter, he saw her picture ; and 
 though he thought it flattered, he gazed 
 on it with pleasure, and fancied that 
 Julia, when animated, might be quite as 
 handsome as that was. Since that time 
 C 2
 
 28 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 
 
 he had frequently thought of her, and 
 thought of her as a woman formed to 
 4aiake him happy ; and indeed he had 
 gone to look at her picture the day before 
 "he came down to the country, and had 
 it strongly in his remembrance when he 
 saw Julia herself, pale, spiritless, and ill- 
 dressed, in Mr. Hanmer's drawing-room* 
 Perhaps it would be too much to say, 
 that he felt as much chagrined as Mr. 
 Beresford ; but certain it is, that he was 
 sensibly disappointed, and could not help 
 yielding to the superior attraction of the 
 iovely and elegant miss Tracey : besides, 
 she was the object of general attention, and 
 
 ^' We know of old that all contend 
 To win her grace wliom all commend." 
 
 The concert being over, the company 
 adjourned to an elegant entertainment set 
 out in an open pavilion in the park, 
 which commanded a most lovely view of 
 the adjacent countiy. 
 I
 
 THE BL.'^CK VELVET PELISSB. 29 
 
 Julia seated herself near the entrance ; 
 the baronet placed himself between the 
 two lovely sisters ; and Beresford, in order 
 to be able to vent his spleen every now 
 and then in his daughter's ear, took a 
 chair beside her. 
 
 The collation had every delicacy to 
 tempt the palate, and every decoratiojn to 
 gratify the t^te ; and all, except the pen- 
 sive Julia, seemed to enjoy it i-T-when, as 
 she was leaning from the dopr to speak 
 to a lady at the head of the table, a litjtle 
 boy, about ten: years old, peeped into the 
 pavilion, as if anxiously looking, for. some 
 one. 
 
 The child was so clean, and so neat in 
 his dress, that a gentleman near hinj 
 patted his curly head, and asked him 
 what he wanted. 
 
 " A lady." 
 
 " But what lady ? Here is one, and a 
 pretty one too," showing the lady next 
 him ; " will not she do ?'*
 
 so THE BLACK VELVET PELlSSE. 
 
 " Oh no ! she is not my lady," replied 
 the boy. 
 
 At this moment Julia turned round, 
 and the little boy, clapping his hands, 
 exclaimed, "Oh ! that's she ! that's she 1" 
 Then, running out, he cried, " Mother ! 
 mother ! Father! father ! here she is ! we 
 have found her at last !'* and before 
 Julia, who suspected what was to follow, 
 could leave her place, and get out of the 
 pavilion, the poor man and woman whom 
 she had relieved, and their now well 
 clothed happy-looking family, appeared 
 before the door of it. 
 
 ** What does all this mean ?'-* cried Mr. 
 Hanmer. " Good people, whom do you 
 want?" 
 
 " We come, sir," cried the man, " in 
 search of that young lady," pointing to 
 Julia ', " as we could not go from the 
 neighbourhood without coming to thank 
 and bless her ; for she saved me from 
 going for a soldier, and my wife and
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 51. 
 
 children from a workhouse, sir, and made 
 me and mine as comfortable as you olow 
 see us." 
 
 , ^f Dear father ! let me pass, pray do,'* 
 cried Julia, trembling with emotion, and 
 oppressed with ingenuous modesty. . 
 
 " Stay where you are, girl," cried Be- 
 resford in a voice between laughing and 
 crying. 
 
 " Well, but how came you hither?", 
 cried Mr. Hanmer, who began to think 
 this was a premeditated scheme of Julia's 
 to show off before the company. 
 
 " Why^ sir — shall I tell the whole 
 story ?'^ asked the man. 
 
 " No, no, pray go away," cried Julia, 
 *' and I'll come and speak to you." 
 
 " By no means," cried the baronet 
 eagerly: — " the story, the story, if you 
 please." 
 
 The man then began, and related 
 Julia's meeting him and his family, her 
 having relieved them, and then running
 
 52 THE BLACK VELVET PELTSSI. 
 
 away to avoid their thanks, and to pre- 
 vent her being followed, as it seemed, 
 and beiag known. — That, resolved not 
 to rest till they had learnt the name of 
 their benefactress, they had described her 
 person and her dress : " but, bless your 
 honour,'^ interrupted the woman, " when 
 we said what she had done for us, we 
 had not to ask any more, for every oai^ 
 said k eould be nobody btJt miss Julia 
 Beresfordr' 
 
 Here Julia hid her face on her father's 
 shoulder, and the company said not a 
 word. The young ladies appeared con- 
 science-struck ; for it seemed that none 
 in the neighbourhood (and they were of 
 it) could do a kind action but missJulii 
 Beresford. 
 
 " Well, my good man, go on,*' cried 
 Beresford gently. 
 
 " Well, sir •, yesterday I heard that if 
 I went to live at a market-town four miles 
 off, I could get more work to do than I
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. S3 
 
 have in my own village, and employ for 
 ray little boy too j so we resolved to ga 
 and try our luck there : but we could 
 not be easy to go away, without coming 
 to thank and bless that good young lady ^ 
 so, hearing at her house that she was 
 Gome hither, we made bold to follow her ; 
 your servants told us where to find her : 
 — ah ! bless her ! — thanks to her, I can 
 afford to hire a cart for my poor sick wife 
 and family i" 
 
 *' Ah ! miss, miss," cried the little boy, 
 pulling Julia by the arm, " only thinkj 
 we shall ride in a cart, with a tall horse ; 
 and brother and I have got new shoes — 
 only look !" 
 
 But miss was cr)'ing, and did not like 
 to look : however, she made an efFortj 
 and looked up, but was forced to turn 
 away her head again, overset by a " God 
 bless you !" heartily pronounced by the 
 poor woman, and echoed by the man. 
 c5
 
 34 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 
 
 " This Is quite a scene, I protest," cried 
 miss Tracey. 
 
 '' But one in which we should all have 
 been proud to have been actors, I trust," 
 answered the baronet. '^ What say you, 
 gentlemen and ladies ?'* continued he, 
 coming forward : " though we cannot 
 equal miss Beresford's kindness, since she 
 sought out poverty^ and it comes to us, 
 what say you ? shall we make a purse for 
 these good people, that they may not 
 think there is only one kind being in the 
 neighbourhood ?" 
 
 " Agreed !" cried every one ; and, as 
 sir Frederic held the Imt^ the subscription 
 from the ladies was a liberal one ; but 
 Mr. Beresford gave Jive guineas : then 
 Mr. Hanmer desired the overjoyed family 
 to go to his house to get some refresh- 
 ment, and the company reseated them? 
 selves. 
 
 But Mr. Beresford haying quitted his
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 35 
 
 seat, in order to wipe his -eyes unseen at 
 the door, the baronet had taken the. va- 
 cant place by Julia. 
 
 •" Now, ladies and gentlemen,^' cried 
 Beresford, blowing his nose, ^^ you shall 
 see a oew sight, — a parent asking pardon 
 of his child. Julia, my dear, I know I 
 behaved very ill ; — I know I was very cross 
 to you, — ^very savage ; — ^I know I was. — • 
 You are a good girl, — and always were, 
 and ever will be, the pride of my life; — 
 so let's kiss and be friends.:" — and Julia, 
 throwing herself into her father's arms, 
 declared she should now be herself 
 again ! 
 
 " What ! more scenes !'* cried Mr^ 
 Hanmer. " What, are you semimental 
 too, Beresford ? — Wha should have 
 thought it !" 
 
 " Why, r\\ tell a stoiy now," replied 
 he : — " That girl vexed and mortified me 
 confoundedly, — that she did. — I wished 
 her to be smart, to do honour to you and
 
 3^ THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE, 
 
 your daughter to-day ;— so I sent her 
 twelve guineas to buy a very handsome 
 velvet pelisse, which she took a fancy to^ 
 but which I thought too dear. — But in- 
 stead of thit, — here she comes in this old 
 fright, and a fine dowdy figure she looks : 
 — and when I reproached her, she said 
 she had given the money away ; and so 
 I suppose it was that very money which 
 she gave to these poor people. — Heh ! 
 was it not so, Julia ?"' 
 
 " It was,'' replied Julia ; " and I 
 dared not then be so extravagant as to get 
 the pelisse too.'' 
 
 " So, Hanmer," continued Beresford, 
 *' you may sneer at me for being 6€nti' 
 mental^ if you please ; but I am now 
 prouder of my girl in her shabby cloak 
 here, than if she were dressed out in 
 silks and satins." 
 
 " And so you ought to be," cried sir 
 Frederic. " And miss Beresford has 
 converted this garment," lifting up the
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE, 37 
 
 end of the pelisse, " into a robe of ho- 
 nour :'* — so saying, he gallantly pressed it 
 to his lips. ^ Come, I will give you a 
 toast," continued he : — '' Here is the 
 health of the woman who was capable of 
 sacrificing the gratification of her per- 
 sonal vanity to the claims of benevo- 
 lence 1" 
 
 The ladies put up their pretty lips, but 
 drank the toast, and Beresford went to the 
 door to wipe his eyes again ; while Julia 
 could not help owning to herself, that if 
 she had had her moments of mortifica- 
 tion, they were richly paid. 
 
 The collation was now resumed, and 
 Julia partook of it with pleasure ; her 
 heart was at ease, her cheek recovered its 
 bloom, and her eyes their lustre. Again 
 the miss Traceys sung, and with increas- 
 ed brilliancy of execution. — " It was won- 
 derful ! they sung like professors," every 
 one said ; and then again was Julia re- 
 quested to sing.
 
 S8 THE BLACK VELVET FELKSE* 
 
 " I can sing 72 ow," replied she ; *' and 
 I never refuse when I can do so. Now I 
 have found my father's favour, I shall find 
 my voice too;" and then, without any 
 more preamble, she sung a plaintive and 
 simple ballad, in a manner the most 
 touching and unadorned. 
 
 No one applauded while she sung, for 
 all seemed afraid to lose any particle of 
 tones so sweet and so pathetic ; but when 
 she had ended, every one, except sir Fre- 
 deric, loudly commended her, and he 
 was silent ; but Julia saw that his eyes 
 glistened, and she heard him sigh, and 
 she was very glad that he said nothing. 
 
 Again the sisters sung, and Julia too, 
 and then the party broke up ; but Mrs. 
 Tracey invited the same party to meet at 
 her house in the evening, to a ball and 
 supper, and they all agreed to wait on her. 
 
 As they returned to the house, sir Fre- 
 deric gave his arm to JuHa, and miss Trai- 
 cev walked before them*
 
 THE BLACK VELVET PELISSE. 39 
 
 " That IS a very fine, sho\^7, elegant 
 girl," observed sir Frederic. 
 
 " She is indeed, and very handsome," 
 replied Julia ; " and her singing is really 
 wonderful." 
 
 " Just so," replied sir Frederic ; — " it 
 is wonderful, but not pleasing. Her sing- 
 ing is like herself, — she is a bravura song, 
 —showy and brilliant, but not touchiirg^-^ 
 not interesting.'' — Julia smiled at the illus- 
 tration ; and the baronet continued :— 
 *' Will you be angry at my presumption-, 
 miss Beresford, if I venture to add that 
 you too resemble your singing ? If miss 
 Tracey be a bravura song, you are a bal- 
 lad,— not showy, not brilliant, but touch- 
 ing, interesdng, and — " 
 
 " O ! pray say no more," cried Julia, 
 blushing, and hastening to join the com- 
 pany, — but it was a blush of pleasure ;. 
 and as she rode home she amused herself 
 with analysing ali the properties of the
 
 40 THE BLACIC VELVET PELISSE.. 
 
 ballad^ . and she was very well contented' 
 with the analysis. 
 
 That evening Julia, all hersetf again,, 
 and dressed with exquisite and becoming 
 taste, danced, smiled, talked, and was 
 universally admired.. But was she partw 
 cularly so ? Did the man of her heart fol- 
 low her with delighted attention ? 
 
 ** Julia," said her happy father, as they 
 went home at night, " you will have the 
 velvet pelisse and sir Frederic too, I ex- 
 pect.'' 
 
 Nor was he mistaken. The pelisse was 
 hers the next day, and the baronet some 
 months after. But Julia to this hour pre- 
 serves with the utmost care the faded pe- 
 lisse, which sir Frederic had pronounced 
 to be " a robe of honour."
 
 ( *1 > 
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 *< Ah I ce n'est point le^eremerit qu^on a donnc 
 tant d' importance k la iidciitc des ferames 1 Le 
 bien, le mal de la societe, sent attaches k leur con- 
 duite ; le paradis ou I'enfer des families depend 
 k tout jamais de Pcpinion qu*elles ont donrie 
 d*ellesJ' La Mere Coupasle, p. 32. 
 
 Belmour, a gentleman- residing in Dub- 
 lin, was a man of small fortune, but of 
 large expectations. He was heir to a di- 
 stant and avaricious relation, who, not 
 being able to bear the sight of the man who. 
 was to enjoy after his death that precious, 
 wealth which he had not the spirit to 
 enjoy himself, forbade him his presence, 
 and coldly allowed the noble-minded 
 representative of an antient family iq
 
 42 THE DEATH-B£D, 
 
 Struggle with all the difficulties of a li- 
 mited income. 
 
 These difficulties Belmour was impru- 
 dent enough to increase, by marrying a 
 young woman who had no dower but 
 her beauty. — ^But, like Jaffier, " he was 
 in love, and pleased withruin;" or rather, 
 his lovely wife made so many promises 
 of being attentive to the strictest rules of 
 ceconomy, that Belmour thought ruin 
 could not reach them, and believed that^ 
 Mrs. Belmour, as well as himself, had 
 not a wish beyond the joys of home, and 
 the little circle of enlightened friends to 
 whom he was proud to introduce her. 
 During the first year of their marriage, 
 Mrs. Belmour's wishes were, perhaps, 
 as confined as his own ; nor did she make 
 any prudent resolutions but what it was 
 her intention to keep. — But vanity was 
 her ruling passion, and, though curbed 
 by love, it was by no means subdued. — 
 Though she was so beautiful in face, so
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 43 
 
 perfect In form that she needed not the 
 usual ornaments of her sex, she had a 
 most inordinate passion for dress, which, 
 though for a time controlled, led her in- 
 sensibly into expenses unwarranted by 
 her owTi original situation in life, or her 
 husband^s confined circumstances ; and 
 debt succeeded to debt, embarrassment 
 to embarrassment, till, just as the birth of 
 a daughter had increased the expenses of 
 their little household, when Belmour 
 was endeavouring to curtail his own per- 
 sonal expenditure, in order to provide for 
 the increasing wants of a family, demands, 
 the consequences of his wife's extrava- 
 gance, came unexpectedly upon him, and 
 the new-blown joys of the father were 
 blighted by the angry soitows of the hus- 
 band. 
 
 But his resentment, though just, could 
 not continue long against the tears and 
 seeming penitence of his adored Hen- 
 rietta j she made so many vows of amend-
 
 44 THE DEATH-BED.. 
 
 mentj and, while declaring that she feit 
 herself unworthy of his love, she threw 
 into her fine eyes so much touching ten* 
 derness, in order to excite it to the utmost, 
 that Belmour pronounced her pardon in 
 the most unequivocal manner y and, put* 
 ting her child in her arms, contented hini^ 
 self with desiring her to remember thatf 
 by her conduct as a mother, she could 
 amply m.ake him amends for the errors> 
 which she had committed as a wife. 
 
 Far some months all went on well 
 again ; butj as soon as Mrs. Belmour 
 ceased ta be a nurse, the wish of entering, 
 into company returned, and with it, the 
 desire of various and expensive dress. 
 Insensibly too, the circle of their acquaint- 
 ance became enlarged ; and the fame of 
 Mrs. Belmour's beauty being spread 
 abroad, she became the fashionable sub- 
 ject of conversation in Dublin ; and Mr. 
 Belmour was told it was a matter of sur- 
 prise md. regret at the Castle that his
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 45 
 
 beautiful wife was not allowed to grace 
 the circles there. 
 
 No man, not even the wisest man per- 
 haps, ever had a beautiful \vife^ without 
 taking pride in seeing universal homage 
 paid to her charms ^ and when Mrs. Bel- 
 mour eagerly entreated her husband to 
 let her be presented, he yielded to the 
 united suggestions of pride and tender- 
 ness, and Mrs. Belmour was introduced 
 into the court circle. The consequence 
 was, that, in order to vie in dress with 
 her new acquaintance, she again con- 
 tracted debts, which, remembering the 
 awfulness of her husband's resentment on 
 her first transgressions in this manner, 
 she studiously endeavoured to keep from 
 his knowledge. 
 
 At length, however, her chief creditor 
 became clamorous, and his bill was de- 
 livered with a threat that he would not 
 leave the house till he was paid, while a 
 rich and profligate young man of fashion.
 
 46 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 who was Mrs. Belmour's constant attend- 
 ant, was paying his devoirs to her. 
 
 Mrs. Belmour had not yet learned to 
 conceal her feelings ; and, overcome al- 
 most to fainting at the idea of her hus- 
 band's being informed of a debt so enor- 
 mous, colonel Morrison soon drew from 
 her a confession of the nature of her em- 
 barrassment; and, telling her that he would 
 leave her for a few minutes to give her an 
 opportunity of recovering herself, he sud- 
 denly left the room. 
 
 In a few moments after, she heard the 
 door of the hall closed ; and colonel Mor- 
 rison, returning, begged her to forgive 
 the liberty which he had taken, and then 
 informed her that he had discharged the 
 debt v/hich distressed her, himself. 
 
 Confused, degraded, yet gratified and 
 relieved, Mrs. Belmour wept her thanks, 
 but protested that she should insist on the 
 colonel's receiving back the sum which 
 he had so kindly advanced, by instal.
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 47 
 
 merits ; and instantly she tendered him a 
 small sum, which he, from policy, ac- 
 cepted : and by this measure, being some- 
 what reconciled to the means by which 
 she had been assisted, Mrs. Belmour re- 
 sumed her gaiety, and colonel Morrison 
 flattered himself that the designs which 
 he had formed against the honour of this 
 deluded woman, were likely to succeed. 
 
 Soon after, he, by his own contrivance, 
 found hunself again present when Mrs. 
 Belmour was beset by embarrassments of a 
 similar nature ; and again was his assist- 
 ance tendered and accepted. 
 
 The next step was to prevail on her to 
 accept presents, which Belmour's narrow 
 fortune forbade him to make ; though 
 often did her affectionate husband lament 
 his inability to gratify her taste, and as- 
 sure her that, as soon as he became pos- 
 sessed of the fortune in store for them, 
 she should not have a wish imgratified, 
 which money could indulge. — But colo^ 
 
 8
 
 \4» THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 lonel Moriison was already in possession 
 of his fortune, and that fortune was at 
 his command : and, while he one day paid 
 her debts, another day presented her with 
 expensive ornaments, some of which she 
 dared not wear except when she went out 
 .without her husband, as he did not know 
 they were in her possesion, her reputa- 
 tion became the victim of his attentions, 
 and her virtue did not long survive it, 
 especially as she learned to consider Bel- 
 mour with aversion, as soon as she dreaded 
 to behold in him a justly irritated judge. 
 
 But, guilty as Mrs. Belmour was now 
 become, she was not so lost to every ho- 
 nourable feeling as to bear to live under 
 the roof of her injured husband, while 
 carrying on a criminal intrigue with 
 another man. On the contiary, she did 
 not rest till colonel Morrison had pre- 
 pared every thing for an elopement ; and 
 taking advantage of the veiy first oppor- 
 tunity that occurred, she fled to infamy
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 4^ 
 
 and her seducer, and set off with him 
 for the continent. 
 
 Mr. Belmour was gone into the country 
 for a few d'ciys; and while there^ the very 
 day indeed of his wife's elopement, he 
 received an express to let him know that 
 his relation was dead, and that he was at 
 length possessor of the long-expected for- 
 tune. 
 
 " Now, then," cried Mr. Belmour, 
 hastening to town as fast as four horses 
 could carry him, tears of tenderness fill- 
 ing his eyes as he spoke, " now, then, 
 shall I see the wife of my heart gratified 
 in all her wishes, and able to indulge the 
 liberality of her nature ! Oh, Henrietta ! 
 never again will your extravagance pro- 
 voke a reproach from my prudence, but 
 we shall be uninterruptedly happy ; so 
 happy !''— here his voice failed him, and 
 he sunk into the silence of full content- 
 ment. 
 
 "Where is your mistress? i-^ p.no 3< 
 
 VOJ . I. D
 
 60 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 home ?" cried Mr. Belmour, as the chaise 
 stopped at his door — ^but without waiting 
 for an answer he ran up into the drawing- 
 room ; whither his servant slowly followed 
 him. 
 
 *' She is not here," he exclaimed, and 
 
 proceeded to her dressing-room. — " Is 
 
 yur mistress out?" cried he, turning 
 
 round to his servant^ who held a letter in 
 
 his hand. 
 
 " My — my mistress, sir," cried the 
 servant, wiping his eyes, " vi^ent away, 
 that is, went out yesterday, and left this 
 letter for you.*' 
 
 Mr. Belmour seized the letter, and, 
 tearing it open with frantic eagerness, 
 only read enough of it to inform him of 
 his misery, before he fell senseless on the 
 ground ; and it was some time before he re- 
 covered to wretchedness and recollection. 
 
 " But where is my child ? is s'^e spared 
 to me ?" cried the afHicted husband, start- 
 ing from the supporting arms of his at-
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 51 
 
 tendants, — and in a moment he was by 
 the bedside of his forsaken Laura. 
 
 '' Laura ! my poor forsaken babe !" 
 cried Behnour, bursting into an agony of 
 tears as he threw himself by the side of 
 the sleepmg child — At this moment she 
 awoke ; and, uneasy as many children are 
 on awaking from sleep, uttered a loud 
 and impatient cry, which pierced her fa- 
 ther to the soul. 
 
 " O God!" exclaimed he, striking 
 his forehead, '" poor babe ! thou hast no 
 longer a mother to attend thy cries.'* 
 
 But her smiles distressed him as much ; 
 and when, soothed by his caresses, the 
 httie girl put up her pretty m.outh to kiss 
 him, and, smiling through her tears, lisped 
 out, " Dear papa, and dear mamma I" 
 
 "Oh, Henrietta !" he cned, "howcouldst 
 thou have the heart to forsake her r" 
 
 What a slave of criminal selfishness 
 indeed must that mother be, who, for a 
 lover, can forsake her offspring ! Let not 
 d2 
 
 UPRARY 
 
 •iK;vERsn> Of \wnos
 
 32 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 such a woman presume, in the pride of her 
 heart, to look down with aversion on the 
 poor desperate female who robs of existence 
 the secret pledge of her frailty : — mur- 
 deress though she be, she is not more 
 unnatural than the cold-hearted egotist, 
 who can forsake her children for the arms 
 of a seducer, and consent to brand her 
 guiltless child with the dangerous di- 
 stinction of being the daughter of an 
 adulteress. 
 
 I will no longer dwell on the distress of 
 Mr.Belmour, nor on the alternate schemes 
 of revenge, contempt, active resentment, 
 and forbearance^ which by turns agitated 
 his mind ; suffice, that he resolved not 
 to seek redress in a court of justice, and 
 thereby enable himself or his guilty wife 
 to marry again, as he wished not to be 
 tempted to form a second connection ; — 
 from a firm conviction, that it was his duty 
 ito devote himself entirely to the instruc- 
 tion of his deserted Laura, in order t.o
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 53 
 
 suppty to her the care of the parent whom 
 she had lost ; and to hnprint deeply on 
 her mind those principles of religion and 
 virtue, to the want of which he attributed 
 the fall of her unhappy mother. 
 
 Mrs. Belmour meanwhile, soon aban- 
 doned by the man for whom she had 
 left her husband and her child, had na 
 resource but in a continuance of a course 
 of vice ; and when her daughter was on 
 the eve of being introduced into the world, 
 the too late repentant mother, a prey to 
 remorse and sickness, was pining away 
 life in a sort of premature decay; while, as 
 her weakness increased, the images of the 
 husband and the child whom she had 
 abandoned grew stronger and stronger, 
 and she was tormented with the cravings 
 of those feehngs of returning affection, 
 which she could never never hope to have 
 gratified. 
 
 Laura Belmour was then seventeen, 
 and her anxious father was about to pre-
 
 5h THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 sent her to the world, with solicitude 
 struggling with parental pride ; and his 
 hopes of her welfare were continually 
 blasted by the suggestions of fear, and the 
 whispers of experience. 
 
 Mr. Belmour, though a virtuous man, 
 was a man of the world, and but too well 
 acquainted with the opinions and senti- 
 ments of men of the world. Kence, he 
 feared that the guilt of her mother might 
 injure his innocent and unoffending daugh- 
 ter, as she might be supposed likely to 
 inherit her mother's vices ; — as if edu- 
 cation wTre not every thing in the forma- 
 tion of character, and blood nothing ! 
 
 Laura, educated by a parent who 
 watched over her actions, her studies, and 
 acquaintance, with unremitting attention, 
 that her mind might not be sullied by any 
 possible'circumstance ; ignorant too as Mr. 
 Belmour had wisely suffered her to re- 
 main of the guilt and existence of her 
 unhappy mother, could not fail to be as
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 5S 
 
 pure, as though her mother had been the 
 pride of her sex : but Mr. Belmour knew, 
 that, in the eyes of many persons, she 
 would be the victim of her parent's in- 
 famy ; and so terrified was he lest this 
 circumstance should prevent her from 
 settling in hfe, that, though no friend to 
 a young woman's marrying early, he was 
 eager to promote the most distant pro- 
 spect of disposing of Laura in marriage. 
 
 As Laura was young, beautiful, and 
 highly accomplished, she was no sooner 
 introduced than she was surrounded by ad- 
 mirers, one of whom soon recommended 
 himself both to her and her father ; when, 
 vfhat Mr. Belmour's fears had progno- 
 sticated took place. The young gentle- 
 man's father, on hearing that his son ap- 
 peared greatly charmed by the daugh ter 
 of the frail Mrs. Belmour, forb ade him to 
 form a connection which his prudence 
 could never approve ; and the youth him- 
 self, being as prudent as his father, lef
 
 56 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 Dublin, in order to avoid the danger of 
 forming so improper an attachment. 
 
 Unfortunately Mr. Behnour did not 
 long remain ignorant of the cause of this 
 cessation of an acquaintance which had 
 filled his heart with hopes of happiness 
 for his daughter. Every one has some 
 kind friend, who, on pretence of express- 
 ing his or her sorrow for your misfortune, 
 takes care to inform you of some dis- 
 aster, . which, but for their officicusness, 
 you would never have known, and which 
 consequently to you would never have 
 existed ; and this was the case with Mr. 
 Behnour, A soi-disant friend, lamenting 
 very pathetically the illiberality of man- 
 kind, humanely plunged a dagger in the 
 heart of Behnour, by letdng him know 
 that the infamy of his \^ife had deprived 
 his daughter of a most excellent hus- 
 band. 
 
 The intelligence, for a time, made 
 Dublin odious to him ; and he resolved to
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 57 
 
 change the scene, and take Laura to the 
 world of London, — where a new and un- 
 looked-for instance of the profligacy of a 
 man of the world, and of the fatal conse- 
 quences of his wdfe's frailty, soon presented 
 itself. 
 
 From amongst the crowd who sur- 
 rounded her, Laura's inexperienced heart 
 soon singled out sir Edward Tyrconnel, 
 a young baronet, who to every grace of 
 person added every charm of manner y 
 and who, by unremitting attention, con- 
 vinced her that he entertained for her a 
 passion at once ardent and respectful. 
 Hor was Mr. Belmpur less charmed 
 with sir Edward than his daughter ; 
 when, just as he had declared his love to 
 Laura, a friend of Beimour's called oii- 
 him, and informed him that he kneWj 
 from indisputable authority, that sir Ed* 
 ward had a wife alive, an elderly woman^* 
 whom he had married for her fortune, 
 and who, from the circumstance of her 
 D 5
 
 58 THE DEATH-BED, 
 
 having been dying for years, had enabled 
 her profligate husband to seduce more 
 than one young woman, by a promise 
 of marrying' her as soon as his wife 
 died. 
 
 To this information Belniour listened 
 in a paroxysm of rage ; nor was it other- 
 wise than strictly true. True also was it^ 
 that sir Edward, who scrupled nothing in 
 order to gratify his passions whenever the 
 object of his wishes was unprotected and 
 friendless, vv^ould have shrunk back ap- 
 palled from the hopeless task of seducing 
 the beautiful heiress of the rich Mr. Bel- 
 mour, had not he built his hopes of suc- 
 cess on the known frailty of her unhappy 
 mother. Mr. Belmour too suspected that 
 he did so ; and driven to phrensy by the 
 idea, he wrote a challenge to sir Edward, 
 accusing him of dishonourable designs 
 towards Laura, and insisting on imme- 
 diate satisfaction. 
 
 Piqued and disappointed, for sir Edw^ard
 
 THE DEATH-BED, 59 
 
 thought his being married was unknown in 
 England, he accepted the challenge, but re- 
 fused to fire first. Mr. Belmour fired, and 
 missed him : sir Edward then discharged 
 his pistol in the air, declaring that he 
 would not lift his arm against the father 
 of the woman whom he adored ; and pro- 
 testing that his only wish was, as the 
 death of his wife was expected every- 
 day, to gain an interest in Laura's heart 
 sufficient to make other suitors unsuc* 
 cessful, till he was at liberty to offer her 
 his hand and fortune. 
 
 Mr. Belmour accepted this apology, 
 but insisted that he should break off all 
 intercourse with Laura till he was at li- 
 berty to address her : and then, as friends, 
 they parted. 
 
 But sir Edward had a powerful advo- 
 cate in Laura's heart : she saw no disho- 
 nour to himself, no danger to her, in his 
 conduct ; and though she refused to meet 
 7
 
 60 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 him, or hear from him clandestinely, a 
 mutual friend conveyed messages back- 
 wards and forwards from the lovers ; and 
 Laura, looking forward with certainty to 
 being the wife of sir Edward, treasured 
 up her affection to him in her bosom, as 
 an inclination which a very short time 
 would entirely sanction ; and Mr. Bel- 
 mour had the mortification of seeing that 
 Laura, though devoid of any criminal pro- 
 pensity, had yet incurred the sin of eagerly 
 expecting the death of another, — while 
 he was equally aware that sir Edward still 
 in a manner continued his addresses : and 
 being sure of the profligacy of the ba- 
 ronet, he could not believe that his inten- 
 tions were really honourable. 
 
 One evening Belmour had accompanied 
 Laura to Co vent-garden theatre, and, pre- 
 ceded by their servant, was conducting her 
 along the piazzas to the carnage, which 
 was stationed in King-street, when a wo- 
 1
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 61 
 
 man of the town, whose meagre frame 
 was ill concealed by the thin and dirty 
 covering which she wore, and whose pale 
 and haggard looks not even art could dis- 
 guise, in feeble accents accosted Mr. Bel- 
 mour, as he disengaged his arm from 
 Laura and stepped forward to see where 
 the carriage stood, and asked charity of 
 him, declaring that she had not tasted 
 food all day ; and, as she said this, she 
 laid her cold hand on his arm, to keep 
 herself from falling. 
 
 Mr. Belmour started, and threw off the 
 trembling arm that leaned on him for 
 support, — for the voice had thrilled to his 
 soul ; — and turning round as he did so, 
 he beheld in the tottering being by his 
 side, his once beautiful and beloved Hen- 
 rietta. 
 
 The recognition was mutual ; and, 
 with a shriek of agony, the wretched vic- 
 tim of seduction sunk at his feet ; and in 
 a tone broken, and almost extinct, ex-
 
 ^2 THE DEATH-BEtr. 
 
 claimed, — " Mercy ! pardon ! and I shall 
 die in peace,'* 
 
 The appeal was not lost on Mr. Bel- 
 mour ; and he had raised the wretched 
 being in his arms, when he beheld Laura 
 gazing on them, and full of speechless 
 wonder. At that moment he perceived 
 a gentleman whom he knew ; and beg- 
 ging that he would, for God's sake, 
 see his daughter safe to her carriage, 
 he procured admission into a private 
 room at a coffee-house under the piaz- 
 zas; and thither, assisted by his ser- 
 vant, who. had also- recognised his former 
 mistress, he conveyed the senseless Hen- 
 rietta. 
 
 Alas 1 while performing the offices of 
 christian duty to his guilty wife, little did 
 Mr. Belmour think that he had exposed 
 to the utmost danger his as yet innocent 
 child. The gentleman to Vvhose care he 
 had consigned her, in order to spare her 
 the dreadful scene which awaited him,
 
 TH£ DEATH-BED* ^ 
 
 was the friend and confidant of sir Ed- 
 ward ; who, as soon as Mr. Behnour was 
 out of sight, accosted the trembling and 
 amazed Laura, and helped to support her 
 along the piazzas ; and then, on pretence 
 of procuring her something to compose 
 her spirits, prevailed on her to enter a 
 back room in an adjoining fruit-shop; 
 while Laura, but too happy to find her- 
 self again with the man of her heart, for- 
 got evei7 thing in the kind and soothing 
 attentions of sir Edv»^ard ; and his friend 
 having left them alone, she had been pre- 
 vailed on to listen, v/ithout indignation, 
 to his proposal, that she should elope with 
 him, and live under the protection cf a fe- 
 male relation of his, where he might see 
 her every day till his wife's death, which 
 was hourly expected, should take place. 
 
 But while Laui*a is madly listem'ng to 
 the voice of the seducer, let us return to 
 her unhappy parents. 
 
 Belmour had laid his wretched charge
 
 64f THE DEATH-BED- 
 
 on a bed ; and while others were admi- 
 nistering to her revival, he was gazing 
 with tearless eyes and in unutterable woe 
 on the dreadful object before him ; and 
 enumerating to himself, with a sort of 
 desperate curiosity, the vaiious traces 
 which disease and. want had left in her 
 once exquisite form. 
 
 At length she revived, and, recognising 
 her husband, gave a deep groan, and hid 
 her face with her hands. 
 
 " For God's sake, leave us together !*' 
 cried Belmour hoarse with emotion. He 
 was obeyed ; and Henrietta found herself, 
 alone with the husband whom she had so 
 cruelly abandoned. 
 
 "Oh, mercy ! pardon !" she again ex- 
 claimed, and tried to sink upon her knees : 
 but Belmour prevented her ; and seating 
 her on the bed, he sat beside her, and 
 gazed on her with compassionate and 
 mournful earnestness, while her eye sunk 
 abashed from his gaze.
 
 THE DEATH-BED. GS 
 
 " Oh, Henrietta I" cried he at length, 
 bursting into tears, — " where are your 
 lovers now ? Who will now clasp this 
 faded form to their bosom ? But I, the 
 husband whom you forsook, would have 
 loved you even in sickness, and clasped 
 you as fondly to me as in the days of your 
 brightest bloom. Nay, even now, had 
 ought else changed you thus, I would 
 have watched over you, and pressed you 
 to my heart so tenderly ! O cruel, cruel 
 woman ! O thou, whom neither absence, 
 injuries, nor vice, have been able to tear 
 from my heart, — say — " 
 
 Here he paused, for Henrietta had 
 fallen back on the bed, and he thought 
 that she was gone for ever ; and, in a 
 transport of penitence for his reproaches, 
 he threw himself on his knees by her, and 
 conjured her to recover, and hear him 
 pronounce her pardon, promising, at the 
 same time, that he would reproach her
 
 66 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 no more. He did yet further, he laid her 
 head on his bosom. 
 
 She revived ; — she saw where her head 
 rested, and a faint smile illumined her 
 countenance ; but in a moment horror 
 supplied the place of satisfaction, and, 
 shuddering, she withdrew herself from 
 the support of which she knew herself 
 unworthy. Nor did Belmour offer to re- 
 tain her ; — with his fear for her life his 
 tenderness had vanished : but when Hen- 
 rietta again implored his forgiveness, he 
 forgot every thing but her wretchedness 
 and her situation, and promised, what she 
 dared not ask, that she should breathe 
 her last in his arms. As he said this, her 
 hand gras[)ed his, and he returned the al- 
 most convulsive pressure. 
 
 At this moment Henrietta took courage 
 to ask whether she had a dmighter, — With 
 scarcely audible voice he replied — " Yes, 
 —an angel, and lovely as — as her mo- 
 ther—"
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 6T 
 
 " Thank God!" she exclaimed.— 
 *' And, oh I may she prove a blessing to 
 you, and make you amends by her vir- 
 tues for my guilt ! — But where is she r'^ 
 
 " Ha ! well remembered," cried Bel- 
 mour, ringing the bell hastily, and the 
 servant appeared. 
 
 " Go instantly," cried he, " and see 
 whether miss Beimour is got safe home^^^ 
 
 " I will, sir," replied the man ;— ^" but 
 I doubt—" 
 
 " Doubt what r" 
 
 *' Why, sir, ycu know, on seeing that 
 lady, you begged Mr. Dalton to see her 
 safe to her carriage." 
 
 " Well, and what then ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, you forgot, surely, that 
 Mr. Dalton is sir Edward Tyrconnel's 
 friend ; and you did not see, probably, 
 that sir Edward w^as behind, as if watching 
 to speak to my young lady." 
 
 In a moment the danger to which his 
 child was exposed rushed on the mind of
 
 ^ 
 
 68 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 his unhappy father ; aiid the wretched 
 Henrietta appeared to him as doomed to 
 be, in every way, the enemy of her de- 
 voted daughter : — till, driven to phrensy 
 by this new calamity, he turned round to 
 her, and exclaimed — '' Wretch ! this also 
 is thi/ deed 1 — Yes, thou hast been the 
 means of plunging thy forsaken child ia 
 infamy like thy own 1" 
 
 Here, uttering a dreadful scream, the 
 V/retched woman exclaimed, — ^^ O do 
 not curse me ! — the agonies of death are 
 on me." — But she spoke in vain. Belm.our 
 heard her not; he heeded not even his dy- 
 ing Henrietta, but rushed to the door, de- 
 termined to go in pursuit of his daughter. 
 
 We left Laura listening with fond cre- 
 dulity to the proposals of her lover, and 
 willing to believe that even her father 
 would not greatly resent her acceding to-, 
 a plan Vvhich, in her eyes, had not even, 
 the resemblance of culpability; and she 
 bad almost consented to put herself ia
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 6^* 
 
 the power of a man, who, though she 
 knew it not. meant nothing but her ruin, 
 and deemed her an easy victim : not but 
 that she frequently interrupted sir Edward 
 with exclamations of wonder, who that poor 
 wretched woman could be who so much 
 interested her father ; and sir Edward had 
 as constantly attributed Belmour's con- 
 duct to humanity, made more active by 
 some previous knowledge of its object ; 
 and then resuming his tender enti'eaties 
 and attentions, he succeeded in putting 
 an end to inquiries which he did not choose 
 to .answer, though well aware who was 
 the object of I\Ir. Belmour's attentions. 
 
 A ch^iise, procured by sir Edward's 
 friend, was ready ; and Laura was only 
 faintly resisting the entreaties of her lover 
 to allow him to lead her to it, when the 
 door of the room in which they were was 
 suddenly opened, and a young man, in the 
 habit of a clergyman, rushed into the
 
 70 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 This gentleman, whose name was Lio- 
 nel Dormer, though not authorised by his 
 rank or fortune to address the daughter 
 of Mr. Belmour, had vainly endeavoured 
 to behold Laura without emotion ; but, 
 as he was \\ ithout hope or presumption, 
 he contented himself with gazing on her 
 unobserved, as he thought, at a distance ; 
 though he might have seen, by the con- 
 scious blush which overspread Laura's 
 cheek whenever he entered the room where 
 she was, that she had observed the earnest- 
 ness of his gaze, and attributed it to a 
 cause flattering to her vanity, if not to her 
 feelings. 
 
 Dormer had been the unobserv^ed spec- 
 tator of Mr. Belmour's rencontre with his 
 unhappy wife, whose person was known 
 to him ; and was just stepping forward to 
 offer his sersices to take miss Belmour 
 away from a scene so dreadful to her feel- 
 ings, should she surmise the truth, when 
 he saw her father consign her to the care
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 71 
 
 of Sir Edward lyiL-i u-i's friend; and 
 saw chat gentleman, whose character and 
 whose pretensions to Laura were vvdi 
 known to him, come forward, and prevail 
 on his destined victim to enter the shop 
 nearest to them. 
 
 His first impu'sewas to follow Mr. Bel- 
 mour ; but he had lost sight of him : be- 
 sides, he had only suspicions of his daugh- 
 ter's danger to impart to him ; and he 
 could not bear to call Mr. Belmour away 
 from the pious, though dreadful, task of 
 speaking peace and forgiveness to the soul 
 of a trembling culprit, perhaps on the 
 verge of eternity. He therefore resolved 
 to watch the lovers himself, and to regu- 
 late his actions according to theirs. He 
 did so ; and as if virtuous love had re- 
 solved, for once, to triumph over illicit 
 passion, a scheme occurred to him to save 
 I.aura from dishonour, just as by agreeing 
 to her lover's plan she had unconsciously 
 exposed herself to it.
 
 72 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 " No, Indeed, I cannot leave my fa- 
 ther ; I cannot be so disobedient ; for 
 pity's sake let me go home this moment," 
 cried Laura, faintly trying to disengage 
 herself from sir Edward's encircling arm. 
 
 At this moment Dormer entered the 
 room, and begged miss Belmour would al- 
 low him to conduct her to her father. 
 
 " 'Sdeath, sir ! who are you ?" cried 
 sir Edward. " Do you know him, miss 
 Belmour?" 
 
 " I only know," replied Laura, " the 
 gentleman's name and person ; but my 
 father has sent him, and — " 
 
 " Your father sent a stranger for you ! 
 No, this is some fortune-hunter, who 
 wants to get you in his power ; but I will 
 frustrate his design : therefore give me 
 your hand." But Laura shrunk back. 
 
 " Sir Edward," replied Dormer, " one 
 of us has designs against this lady, I 
 know ; but — " 
 
 " Lisolent villain !" reph'ed the ba-
 
 THE DEATH-BEB, 73 
 
 roiiet. " Away with you this moment, 
 or—' 
 
 " Sir," replied the dignified young 
 man, " when I know that 1 am engaged 
 in a good cause, in the rescue of inno- 
 cence, I am not capable of being awed by 
 the threats of any one.'* Here he paused, 
 from \dolent emotion ; for Laura, terrified 
 and abashed, had thro\^Ti herself for sup- 
 port on the shoulder of her lover ; who, 
 thinking his victory was now certain, 
 haughtily demanded whether Dormer 
 dared to assert that Mr. Belmour had sent 
 him for his daughter. 
 
 " No ; he did not send me," was the 
 answer. 
 
 " There, you see !'* exclaimed the ba- 
 ronet triumphantly ; and Laura coldly 
 told Dormer she had no occasion for his 
 services. 
 
 " Poor, unconscious victim i" cried 
 Dormer, elevating his voice ; ''I vow that 
 I \v\\\ not leave you till I see you under 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 your father's protection : nay, I will do 
 yet more to preserve you ; for I will lead 
 you to him, where he is now kneeling in 
 silent horror by the bed of your dying and 
 guilty mother." 
 
 " Mother! did you say?" said Laura, 
 screaming wi^h agony, and springing for- 
 ward towards him as she spoke. 
 
 *' Barbarian !" cried sir Edward, turn- 
 ing pale, and trying to hide his confu- 
 sion tmder humanity; — " how can you 
 have the brutality to tell her this horrid 
 truth 1" 
 
 ** Do you talk of humanity,'' replied 
 Dormer, " whose aim is to plunge her in- 
 nocence in infamy like her mother's ?" 
 
 " Sir, sir," again cried Laura, hanging 
 on his arm, — " for God's sake, for mer- 
 cy's sake, what did you say of my mo- 
 ther ? Have I a mother, sir ?" 
 
 ** Miss Belmour," solemnly replied 
 Dormer, " that poor, wretched creature, 
 whom you saw supported in the arms of
 
 THE DEATTI-BED. 7^ 
 
 your agitated father, was your mother ; 
 — was once lovely and innocent as you, 
 till she listened to the voice of the se- 
 ducer. Oh, miss Belmour! will 3^0 z/ too 
 listen to it ? — wall you too commit adul- 
 tery, and receive the addresses of a mar- 
 ried man ?'' 
 
 ^' Never! never!" cried the a^-itated 
 
 o 
 
 girl. " Oh, sir, lead me this moment to 
 my father, and he will bless you for — " 
 She could say no more ; but, throwing 
 herself into Dormer's arms, she fainted 
 on his bosom ; and in that state, spite of 
 the resistance of sir Edward, who fiercely 
 threatened re\'enge, he bore her to the 
 door ; and having -soon karnt whither the 
 gentleman had conveyed the dving wo- 
 man, in a few moments Laura was under 
 the same roof with her father ; and Dor- 
 mer, as soon as she revived, hastened in 
 search of Mr. Belmour. 
 
 He reached the apartment just as Bel- 
 r 2
 
 76 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 mour, muttering curses on his wife, was 
 hastening in pursuit of his child. 
 
 *' Do you bring me news of my daugh- 
 ter ?" cried Belmour wildly. 
 
 " I do^ she is safe, and in the next 
 room," answered Dormer. 
 
 Behnour turned from him, and burst 
 into a flood of tears. 
 
 "What is that? What did you tell 
 him?" cried Henrietta. " O do not say 
 his child is dishonoured, lest he should 
 again curse me ! O wretched woman ! 
 must I then die with the consciousness 
 that I have caused the guilt of my child ?'' 
 
 *' No," cried Dormer, eagerly ap- 
 proaching her, " Heaven spares you that 
 torment. I come to speak peace and com- 
 fort to you. Your daughter is under this 
 roof, in all her native innocence." Hen- 
 rietta at these words pressed his hand 
 to her clammy lips. " Nay," and his 
 voice faltered as he spoke, ^^ you have
 
 THE DEATH-BED. / / 
 
 been the means, perhaps, of saving your 
 daughter from perdition. "^ 
 
 Henrietta gasping for breath fixed her 
 eyes wildly on him, and Belmour eagerly 
 approached him. 
 
 " Yes, she would probably have been 
 forced to follow her abandoned lover ; 
 when, on being informed that the unhappy 
 object whom she had seen her father sup- 
 porting was . her mother, once lovely and 
 innocent as herself, struck by the warn- 
 ing example, she threv/ herself into my 
 arms, and allowed me to conduct her 
 hither.'' 
 
 " My God ! my gracious God ! I thank 
 thee !'* cried Henrietta : " I have then 
 saved, and not destroyed my child ; and 
 thou, Belmour, wilt now bless, not curse 
 me." 
 
 Belmour could not speak, but he pres- 
 sed the poor penitent in his arms. 
 
 " Good young man ! see what you have
 
 iS THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 done ! He has embraced me ! I owe thLs 
 blessing to you/* cried Henrietta with ef- 
 fort: then laying her cheek on the bo- 
 som of Belmour. her lips moved as if in 
 prayer ; and she expired without a groan. 
 
 After a pause of some minutes, Bel- 
 Biour said, " Laura must be brought into 
 this apartment : alas ! she needs the warn- 
 ing of a scene like this." 
 
 ^^ Oh no ! for pity's sake, spare her the 
 trial !•" exclaimed Dormer, no longer able 
 to bear to wound Laura's feelings, when 
 the purpose for which he wounded them 
 was fully answered. 
 
 But the offended and deeply irritated fa- 
 ther felt differently; and entering the room 
 where Laura was, he took her trembling 
 hand in silence, and led her up to the 
 corpse of her mother. 
 
 <' This was your mother, Laura,*' said 
 Mr. Belmour, " once the pride, then the 
 bane .of my life ! Tremble, deluded girl,
 
 THE DEATH-BED. 79 
 
 lest thou be like her, and lest the curses of 
 thy father succeed to his blessings ! — Oh, 
 Laura ! but for that benevolent stranger^ 
 what, what perhaps, wouldst thou have 
 been to-morrovv^ !*' 
 
 The lesson, a dreadful one indeed, 
 sunk deep into her heart ; and, kneeling 
 by her mother's corpse, she solemnly 
 vowed to endeavour to look on her aban- 
 doned lover from that moment wich no- 
 thing but contempt and aversion ; and, 
 hard as the struggle was, she was at 
 length successful in her efforts. 
 
 But did Dormer's virtues, and humble, 
 hopeless passion obtain no recompense ? 
 —Yes : — Mr. Beimour, too rich to re- 
 quire fortune in a son-in-law, finding that 
 Dormer possessed such virtues and such 
 talents as made him an ornament to his 
 sacred profession, bestowed on him, as a 
 wife, with her enure consent and appro- 
 bation, the woman whom he had rescued
 
 80 THE DEATH-BED. 
 
 from danger, if not from guilt; and 
 Laura, never forgetting the warning ex- 
 ample of her mother, was at once the 
 pride of her father, and the happiness 
 of her husband.
 
 ( 81 ) 
 
 THE 
 
 FASHIONABLE WIFE, 
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND-, 
 
 LuDuiSA. Howard was the only child of 
 
 lordN ; and neither trouble, expense, 
 
 nor the most walchfal attention had been 
 spared, to make her as nchly gifted in 
 virtues and accoaiplishrnents, as she al- 
 ready was in wealth and personal charms. 
 But the vigilant eye of a mother had 
 not watched over her youth : and where 
 is the eye that can equal a. mother's in 
 
 vigilance ? Lady N died when her 
 
 child was only seven years old ;. and 
 
 though lord N fulfilled,, with the 
 
 most scrupulous exactness, the directions 
 
 E 5
 
 82 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, ANO 
 
 left by his amiable wife for the education 
 of Louisa, it was not in his nature or 
 power, nor is it, perhaps, possible for any 
 man, to take cognizance of those appa- 
 rently slight, but really important, devia- 
 tions from the strict path of propriety and 
 rectitude, which the observation of a mo- 
 ther easily detects, and can frequently 
 prevent. 
 
 For instance : — tendencies to waste- 
 fulness; to unnecessary expense ; to want 
 of order : — to want of punctuality in the 
 payment of old debts, and to imprudent 
 haste in contracting new ones : — these; 
 and many other faults of the same kind, 
 being most visible in the interior of a 
 young woman's domestic establishment, 
 are likety to escape a father's notice in 
 their progress, and to remain unknown, 
 till they burst upon him matured into 
 lasting and pernicious habits. 
 
 This was the case with Louisa Howard. 
 Accustomed to every indulgence which
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 83 
 
 opulence could bestow, and believing 
 that she was bom to have every wish 
 gratified as soon as formed, no consi- 
 derations of ceconomy could withhold her 
 from indulging every benevolent or sel- 
 fish wish of her heart ; nay, an artful 
 and dependent female relation who lived 
 in the family, and to whom her extrava- 
 gance was serviceable, was continually 
 assuring her, that ceconomy in her would 
 be a vice : — hence, she contracted habits 
 of spending money in such profusion, 
 both on her own wants and those of 
 others, that she found herself, at th^ early 
 age of eighteen, involved in debt to in 
 amount so considerable, that, lavish as 
 her father was in supplying her wants, 
 and indulgent to her errors, she shrunk 
 back affrighted from the task of disclosing 
 her situation to him, and was reduced to 
 the degrading necessity, of putting off 
 with fair promises the creditors who waited 
 oa her for something more substantial ^
 
 S4 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 while, tliough the mischievous relation 
 who had helped to mislead her was at 
 this time removed from her by death, 
 the habit, alasl was not removed with the 
 promoter of it : and though convinced 
 of the error of her ways, — to forsake 
 them, and tread again in the right path, 
 was a task infinitely beyond her ability 
 and resolution to execute. 
 
 Thus, though possessed of superior 
 feeauty, talents, and accomplishments, and 
 of a sweemess of temper which had never 
 known a moment's cloud, Louisa knew 
 that she had frailties which contained the 
 germs of incalculable mischief ; and while 
 she felt herself in many respects cul- 
 pable as a daughter, she also knew that 
 she was still more unfitted to act with 
 propriety the part of a wife. — Yet, to be 
 a wife, and the wife of one of the most 
 respectable of men, soon became the dear 
 and secret object of her ambition. 
 
 Louisa was in the habit of reading the
 
 ' UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 85 
 
 debates in the newspapers to lord N ; 
 
 and at a time when the state of politics 
 was such, as to involve in its consequences 
 even the existence, perhaps, of civilized 
 society ; and to cause every woman, as 
 well as man, of sensibility and strong 
 affections, to sorrow with gloomy an- 
 ticipation over those sufferings in a neigh- 
 bounng kingdom, which might one day or 
 other be but too prevalent in our own r^ 
 at this period of alarm and interest, lord 
 Henry Algernon distinguished himself in 
 the lower house by all the graces of elo- 
 quence, and the force of argument ; and 
 Louisa, who, like most young men and 
 women of quick talents, was a great en- 
 thusiast, and fond of having an idol to 
 worship, fancied that this modern patriot 
 and orator realised her ideas of those 
 who lived in the pages of history ; and, 
 unconsciously to herself, her reason and 
 her imagination united to prepare her 
 young heart to imbibe a passion for a
 
 86 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 man whom she had never seen, and who, 
 from his age and character, was not likery 
 to be desirous of obtaining the heart 
 which she was ready to bestow. 
 
 Nor was it long before she began to 
 suspect that lord Henry engrossed more 
 of her thoughts than delicacy and pru- 
 dence warranted ; and of this she was 
 convinced when she saw him by acci- 
 dent during a short stay in London. — 
 " There ! that's lord Henry Algernon,'' 
 said a lady to her, whom she was accom- 
 panying one morning to her milliner's. 
 
 Louisa eagerly followed the direction 
 of her friend's eyes, and saw those of lord 
 Henry fixed upon her with a look of 
 complacency as he passed : she blushed, 
 and withdrew hers immediately ;. but she 
 turned and looked at him through the 
 little back window of the coach, till he 
 was out of sight. 
 
 " So — that is lord Henry Algernon I*^*" 
 said Louisa, sighing when she saw him no 
 longer.
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 87 
 
 '* Yes," replied her friend : " he is 
 very plain ; is he not ?" 
 
 "Plain! with those eyes!*' returned 
 Louisa eagerly: " Impossible!'* and, 
 leaning back in the carriage, she fell into 
 no unp leasing reverie. 
 
 Certain it is, that lord Henry's speeches 
 lost nothing of their merit in her opinion, 
 from the view v\*hich she had had of his 
 person ; and she could not help owning to 
 herself, that she thought too much of a 
 man who was never likely to think of her 
 at all : — but perhaps she never gave so 
 great a proof of the strength of her 
 judgment, as in thinking with such de- 
 cided preference of a m.an like him. 
 
 Lord Henry Algernon was not such a 
 man as girls of eighteen commonly ad- 
 mire or behold with pleasure. He was 
 considerably more than t'l j^-jj^ fonder of 
 books than of society ; anv.-.. t, person was 
 more remarkable for its manliness than 
 its grace ; nor could his features boast of
 
 88 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 much regularity ; his complexion was 
 pale, and his skin slightly injured by the 
 small-pox J but the striking lustre and 
 expression of his dark eyes, made ample 
 amends for the irregularity of his other 
 features ; and, aided by a smile,, which 
 though rare was irresistible, gave him 
 pretensions to as much reputation for per- 
 sonal beauty, as a wise man need wish 
 to possess, or a rational woman desire in 
 the man of her choice. 
 
 Such were his external pretensions to 
 the admiration of our sex; and in elo- 
 quence, virtue, and talents he was so 
 avowedly distinguished, that awe and re- 
 verence seemed likely in women to forbid 
 the existence towards him of any softer 
 feeling : perhaps, too, the reserve and al- 
 most cold dignity of his manner might, 
 by makii, '[ not likely to inspire love, 
 occasion him to be less apt to feel it ; but 
 certain it is, that he had never known 
 what a serious passion was, when he
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 89 
 
 was first introduced to our conscious and 
 blushing heroine at the Castle, as her fa- 
 ther's seat was called. 
 
 Lord N was as much prejudiced in 
 
 lord Henry's favour as Louisa was ; and it 
 was the most earnest wish of his heart to 
 see him the husband of his daughter. 
 
 " Louisa," said he to her one day, " I 
 expect a visitor soon, to spend some days 
 with me ; and I desire you to put on all 
 your airs and graces, for he is worth 
 having for a husband, I assure you ; and 
 I should be the happiest of fathers, were 
 I to see you married to him." 
 
 *' Indeed, sir,*' replied Louisa, turning 
 very pale, " I do not wish to be married : 
 indeed, I do not think I shall ever marry 
 at all :" and as she said this, her eyes 
 filled with tears. 
 
 '' Pho, pho! — nonsense! girlish whims!'* 
 
 cried lord N ; '* and I hope lord 
 
 Henry Algernon will put other notions 
 %to your head."
 
 90 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 " Lord Henry Algernon, sir !" ex- 
 claimed Louisa trembling and faltering : 
 " Is he— has he—'* 
 
 " Has he what ? — made proposals ? No, 
 to be sure : — why, he never saw you j — 
 and I hope you are not vain enough to 
 suppose that he is fallen in love with you 
 from the report of your beauty : no ; love 
 at first sight is silly enough ; but love 
 without sight would be an atrocious ab- 
 surdity indeed." 
 
 Covered with blushes, and her head 
 hanging on her bosom, Louisa faintly re- 
 plied, — " I, — I have seen lord Henry, 
 
 sir/' 
 
 " Well, — and what's that to the pur- 
 pose ? — I was not accusing you of being 
 in love with him from report, was I ?" 
 
 Louisa did not answer : she saw that 
 her consciousness had nearly betrayed 
 her; but, recovering herself, she asked 
 whether lord Henry was really the guest 
 whom her father expected at the castle.
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 91 
 
 " Yes, — he is indeed : his father and 
 I were old friends ; and Algernon has 
 owned that I have therefore some claim 
 on the friendship of the son. He has de- 
 sired that I would not invite company to 
 meet him : so, girl, you will have him all 
 to yourself; and, if you make the most 
 pf the opportunity, I dare say you may 
 effect a conquest, which other women 
 have vainly attempted. " 
 
 " No, sir, no," replied Louisa ; " I 
 am wholly unworthy, indeed I am, to be 
 the choice of such a man ; and all I can 
 hope is, that he will not look upon me 
 with contempt." 
 
 '' What ! how ! contempt ! look upon 
 you with contempt ; a girl possessed of 
 youth, beauty, understanding, and accom- 
 plishments ; a lord's daughter too ; and a 
 rich heiress ! Have more self-respect, I 
 beg, miss Howard," cried lord N — — . 
 
 " Alas ! I have too much self-know- 
 ledge to have self-respect, sir.'' replied
 
 92 THE F>*SHI0NAB1-E WIFE, AND 
 
 Louisa, bursting into tears, and retiiing 
 into her room, where various ideas en- 
 grossed her meditations : but the most 
 delightful, and the one which she most 
 loved to dw^ell upon, was the look which 
 lord Henry, unconscious who she was, 
 had given her as he passed her. 
 
 Still she thought that lord Henry was 
 not a man to be captivated by mere out- 
 ward charms ; and though pleased to find 
 that the man whom she admired was the 
 choice of her father, she felt assured that 
 she should be to him an object of indif- 
 ference. She even learnt to think meanly 
 of those talents on which she had before 
 valued herself ; and was alarmed lest lord 
 
 N , who was naturally vain of her 
 
 accomplishments, and proud of displaying 
 them, should obti'ude on lord Henry, 
 and exhibit for his admiration, what she 
 now deemed incorrect drawings, and ill- 
 coloured paintings ; and should force her 
 to exhibit her musical abilities before a.
 
 UNFASHIONABLE «USBAND. 93 
 
 man used, probably, to hear, and exclu- 
 sively to relish, the performances of the 
 first musicians in the metropolis. 
 
 "Whither is my self-confidence flown?" 
 said Louisa, deeply sighing, as she eagerly 
 seized on some of her framed designs and 
 paintings, and removed them out of sight. 
 " However, I am resolved lord Henry 
 shall not see these." 
 
 Lord N entered the room as she 
 
 was removing .the last picture ; and he 
 stood aghast with astonishment. " May 
 I beg leave to ask, miss Howard, what 
 j'ou are doing ?" cried lord N . 
 
 *' I am moving these wretched drawings 
 and paintings away, before lord Henry 
 comes." 
 
 *^ And pray who told you they were 
 wretched drawings and paintings ? And 
 why should not lord Henry see them ?" 
 
 " Because, I am sure, h^ must think 
 them wretched performances -, and that I 
 am very vain in sticking them up round
 
 94 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 the room, as if I thought they were per- 
 fection." 
 
 " And pray, miss Howard, who told 
 you lord Henry was a judge of such 
 things ? I dare say I know much more 
 of the matter than he does (for because a 
 man can talk for hours in the house, I do 
 not see that it follows that he must know 
 every thing) ; and I tell you the drawings 
 and paintings are good, very good ; and 
 to please my vanity^ if not yours, I de- 
 sire you to bring them back, and place 
 them where they were before.*' 
 
 Louisa, with tears in her eyes, obeyed ; 
 but^she could not help, though without 
 
 hope of succeSvS, petitioning lord N 
 
 not to ask her to sing or play to lord 
 Henry. 
 
 Lord N was about to ansv/er her 
 
 rather indignantly, * when, on observing 
 her downcast eye, her cheek covered with 
 blushes, and an unusual degree of awk- 
 wardness in her manner, a suspicion of the
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 95 
 
 State of her heart rushed into his mind ; 
 and, chuckling with a sort of inward 
 laugh, he only said, " Po, po, nonsense ! 
 silly girl !" and left the room, assured that 
 Louisa would be lady Henry Algernon ; 
 as she would throw no obstacles in the 
 way of the marriage, and his parental 
 pride made him think it impossible that 
 lord Henry should not fall in love with 
 Louisa. 
 
 At length lord Henry arrived; and 
 Louisa was presented to him by her father, 
 full of apprehensions lest his lordship 
 should have observed her confusion, and 
 attributed it to a cause flattering to his 
 vanity. 
 
 But she need not have been alarmed : 
 lord Henry was no coxcomb ; he was 
 not like many men, who, though without 
 one attractive quality of mind or person, 
 are apt to conceive themselves objects of 
 irresistible ata*action to our sex ; he saw 
 in the blush of a lovely girl, at his ap- 
 
 3
 
 96 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 proach, a sign of nothing but youthful 
 timidity ; and though conscious that his al- 
 liance had been courted by more than one 
 woman, he attributed the preference shown, 
 him to his very large possessions. 
 
 But this fear was not the only feeling 
 which distressed Louisa. She saw evi- 
 dently, by the manner in which lord Henry 
 looked at her, that he did not remember 
 that he had ever seen her before ; she was 
 conscious that he did not say to himself, 
 as she hoped he might have said, — " That 
 is the young lady I saw in lady W.'s car- 
 riage 1" 
 
 However, she ceased to think of her- 
 self, her fears, and her disappointments, 
 when lord Henry began to converse ; — 
 when she heard uttered, in a deep, im- 
 pressive tone, those argurnents and those 
 truths, which had excited in her young 
 but awakened mind a degree of enthu- 
 siasm equal to what she felt on reading 
 the lives of her favourite heroes. She
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 97 
 
 listened, and she loved ; and she was not 
 sorry that lord Henry, in the warmth of 
 argument, forgot that she was present, 
 because it enabled her to watch incessantly 
 the fine expression of his countenance, 
 unperceived by him, and without any im- 
 putation on her modesty. 
 
 After dinner, Louisa's expected trial 
 began. Lord N , at length, impa- 
 tient to show off his daughter, desired 
 lord Henry to observe the drawings and 
 pictures round the room ; adding, " I 
 assure you, Algernon, they are all Louisa*s 
 doing, without any assistance from a 
 master." 
 
 Perhaps lord Henry thought that was 
 very evident, and Louisa feared that he did 
 so: however, he did not utter so mortifying 
 a truth; but, coldly looking at them, 
 only said, " It must have taken you, ma- 
 dam, a great deal of time to complete 
 these performances." 
 
 Louisa curtsied in answer : — her heart 
 
 VOL, I. F
 
 9S THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 was full. — Not one word in commen- 
 dation I — True, she did not expect he 
 should like ihem. ; but others, and persons 
 of acknowledged taste too, had said they 
 were fine. *' Well,'* thought Louisa, " he 
 will not admire me for my powers as an 
 artist^ — that's clear ; and he looks at me 
 as if he considered me a mere child." 
 
 Nor was she mistaken: Lord Henry 
 had hitherto considered all girls of eigh- 
 teen as mere children, and he thought that 
 no woman under five-and -twenty could 
 engage his attention ; and though he 
 owned that Louisa was beautiful, he never 
 imagined that he could feel affection for 
 her, or inspire her with it. 
 
 Lord N , as well as Louisa, felt 
 
 that the exhibition of her powers of pen- 
 cil had failed of effect : those of her voice 
 and finger remained to be tried ; and, in 
 spite of her oft-expressed reluctance, she 
 was forced to sit down to the instrument. 
 She played first ; the lesson was difficult j
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 90 
 
 and Louisa blundered through all the dif- 
 ficult passages. 
 
 She ended, and lord Henry only ob- 
 served, that he thought her fingers must 
 ache. 
 
 She sung : her voice, from emotion 
 and fear, was hoarse and thick, and her 
 utterance imperfect ; and when, abashed 
 and mortified, she rose from the instru- 
 ment, lord Henry thanked her for her 
 readiness to oblige, even at great incon- 
 venience to herself; for, he said, he had 
 observed that she sung with great diffi- 
 culty, and he feared she had a bad cold. 
 
 Louisa could hardly refrain kom tears 
 at this mortifying speech ; but lord Henry 
 was wholly unconscious that he had said 
 any thing severe : for the truth was, he 
 did not understand music ; and he was 
 too wise to pretend to give an opinion on 
 subjects which he did not understand. — 
 But though he could not tell whether 
 Louisa sung well or ill, he could see that 
 F 2
 
 100 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AN» 
 
 she sung with great effort, and that she 
 was very hoarse ; and he was sorry that 
 she took such pains to please an audi- 
 tor, on whom her painful exertions were 
 wholly thrown away. 
 
 He therefore did not request her to sing 
 another song ; and Louisa felt convinced 
 of the truth of tlie forebodings which led 
 
 her to request lord N not to insist on 
 
 a display of her musical talents ; while 
 the disappointed father began to think 
 that though lord Henry was a man of 
 letters, and a great orator, he had no ge- 
 • neral taste, and no universal knowledge. 
 
 After supper, the conversation turned 
 on politics ; and lord Henry talked on a 
 most interesting political question, on 
 which he had made a celebrated speech, 
 that had been afterwards printed, and very 
 generally circulated. 
 
 " I remember, Algernon," said lord 
 
 N , " that you said exactly what you 
 
 are now saying, in your celebrated speech 
 7
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 101 
 
 on that question. Did he not, Louisa ? — 
 I dare say you can repeat the passage ; 
 for I am sure you know it all by heart." 
 
 *' Is it possible,*' cried lord Henry, 
 blushing with surprise and pleasure, " that 
 miss Howard should have done me so 
 much honour ?'' while Louisa, in great 
 confusion, cast her eyes down, and said 
 not a word. 
 
 " Answer, Louisa,'' cried lord N . 
 
 *' Let lord Henry hear that passage which 
 you so much admired. '* 
 
 '* Pray, pray, do not ask me, sir. In- 
 deed I cannot do it.'' 
 
 *' "Well, if you will not repeat it, you 
 might let him see your translation of it 
 into French, as an exercise. I am sure 
 you need not be ashamed of it." 
 
 But at that moment Louisa was ashamr 
 ed of her father, herself, and every thing, 
 and positively refused to comply ; and lord 
 Henry, feeling for her girlish bashfal- 
 ness, as he considered it, told lord N ,
 
 102 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AlCD 
 
 that though he should be proud and de- 
 lighted to be indulged with a sight so 
 flattering to his vanity, he begged Louisa 
 might not be urged any further on the 
 subject; and he after^vards added, that 
 he could not have supposed subjects of 
 such a nature as that which it had been 
 his lot to discuss in the debate in ques- 
 tion, could have interested and engaged 
 the attention of so young a lady. 
 
 " Oh, I assure you,'^ answered lord 
 
 N , " that Louisa finds something in 
 
 all your speeches, lord Henry, to interest 
 and amuse her ; and she expects the news- 
 paper now with more eagerness than she 
 does any new novel : for she likens you 
 to some one of her favourite orators and 
 patriots in Plutarch, and — Of which of 
 them is it, Louisa, that lord Henry re- 
 minds you ?'' 
 
 Louisa immediately, like a sheepish 
 girl, as lord Henry thought, though in 
 reality like a conscious and delicate wo
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBANp. i05 
 
 man, terrified lest her favourite should be 
 led by her father's indiscreet communica- 
 tions to suspect his influence over her 
 mind, suddenly left the room, and re- 
 tired to her own chamber, to recover the 
 shock which her delicacy had received. 
 
 It would have been some consolation to 
 her, had she known that lord Henry felt 
 
 her absence ; and that while Lord N 
 
 pettishly remarked on the caprice and 
 perverseness of girls, he said that such 
 blushing timidity and reserve as miss How- 
 ard's he had rarely the pleasure of seeing, 
 in the present times, united to such beauty 
 and accomplishments. 
 
 This compliment soothed the irritated 
 
 feelings of lord N ; and when his 
 
 daughter ventured to enter the room 
 again, he took no notice of her abrupt 
 departure, but, kindly taking her hand, 
 seated her by him 5 while lord Henry, for 
 the first time conscious of having at- 
 tracted the attention of youth and beauty;,
 
 i04f THE JASHIONABLE WIFe/aND 
 
 was delighted to see her return ; anti 
 when Louisa ventured to raise her eyes 
 from the ground, she had the satisfaction 
 of perceiving lord Henry's fixed upon her 
 with a look of marked approbation which 
 she never discovered in them before. 
 
 This restored her to some degree of 
 confidence ; and when, during some in- 
 teresting conversation on national affairs, 
 she saw that lord Henry did her the ho- 
 nour to address his discourse to her as well 
 as to her father, she ventured to look as 
 if she understood and was interested in 
 the subject in debate, though she pro- 
 perly decKned joining in it. 
 ' It v/as late before lord Henry retired 
 for the night ; and he could not help say- 
 ing to himself, as he laid his head on his 
 pillow, — " She is certainly the nlost beau- 
 tiful creature I ever sav/ ; but it is very 
 singular that she should be interested ih 
 reading my speeches." And so far was 
 he from the presumption and conceit of
 
 ' UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 105 
 
 many of his sex, that he did not see in 
 
 lord N 's conduct any wish to engage 
 
 his affection for his daughter, nor in hers 
 a partiality in his favour, which she with 
 difficulty concealed. 
 
 The next day, Louisa, being less em- 
 barmssed, ventured to converse with lord 
 Henry till his usual hour for study ar- 
 rived ; when he retired to his own apart- 
 ment, and read till the hour for riding came, 
 while Louisa resumed her usual occupa- 
 tions 'y and lord Henry having, while in his 
 apartment, overheard her sing a plaintive 
 air, well suited to her voice, he had receiv- 
 ed a degree of pleasure from her perform- 
 ance, which he had never experienced 
 from music before ; and eagerly entering 
 the room, he requested Louisa to favour 
 him with that sweet song again. 
 
 Surprised and pleased, she immediately 
 complied : but her voice was gone; and 
 her faltering tones would have made any 
 man but lord Henry impute the change in
 
 106 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AVD 
 
 her manner of singing to a cause more 
 powerful than the mere timidity to which 
 he attributed it» 
 
 Day succeeded to day, and still found 
 lord Henry talking, — not love, but poli- 
 tics, — to the flattered Louisa ; and perhaps 
 he was the first man who ever won a 
 woman's heart in this manner : but Louisa 
 was pleased to be treated as a rational be* 
 ing, and lord Henry was charmed at hav- 
 ing found a young and beautiful woman 
 whom he could amuse and interest with*,- 
 out flattering her charms, or decrying 
 those of others. 
 
 Insensibly the cold dignity of his man* 
 ner relaxed, and he lingered in the break- 
 fast-room after the tea-table was removed^ 
 instead of retiring as usual to his studies^ 
 The hrst day Louisa beheld tliis novelty 
 with a beating heart, as indicative of the 
 increased interest which lord Henry took 
 in her conversation ; but v/hen a second 
 and a third time he did the same, and 
 8
 
 : UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 107 
 
 even seemed to do himself great violence^ 
 while with a look, which she dared not 
 encounter, he 'slowly left the room, a 
 transport, wholly unknown before, thrilled 
 through her frame ; and, shutting herself 
 up in her own apartment, she sat brood- 
 ing ov€r the sweet conciousness that she 
 was, at least, not indifferent to the object 
 ©f her unqualified admiration. 
 
 Lord Henry retired for the purpose of 
 study j but he did not find it so easy a 
 matter to fix his thoughts on his books as 
 he had been accustomed to do. While 
 he was looking apparently at the pages of 
 Cicero's oratory, he was in reality think- 
 ing of the oratory of the dark blue eyes 
 which he had just quitted ; and while ex- 
 claiming, " If she had been eight-and- 
 twenty instead of eighteen, I should cer- 
 tainly have been caught," he found liis 
 attendon entirely diverted from his stu- 
 dies by a landscape from nature,, drawn ia'^
 
 lOS THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, A!?D 
 
 water- colours by Louisa, which hung op-^ 
 posite to him. 
 
 " She is certainly a wonderful girl,** 
 cried lord Henry sighing : " as my head 
 aches, and I cannot study, I will go ask 
 her to take a walk." He did so ; and 
 they did not return time enough to dress 
 before dinner, or even to enter the dining- 
 room before the first course : but lord 
 N did not chide them ; he only turn- 
 ed away his head to hide an arch smile 
 which took possession of his face, as 
 Louisa blushing, and lord Henry apo- 
 logizing, took their seats at the table. 
 
 The day after, several of the neigh- 
 bouring nobility and gentry were invited 
 to dinner ; and lord Henry was surprised 
 to find that he felt pain rather than plea- 
 sure, when he heard that his favourite 
 
 young friend lord S , Mr. K , 
 
 and several other elegant and distinguish- 
 ed yoting men, were to be of the party ;
 
 VNFASHIONABLE HUSBANDr 109 
 
 and he was the more surprised, because, 
 when he was first introduced to Louisa, 
 he had said in himself, " She would be a 
 charming wife for lord S 1" 
 
 The expected party arrived ; and lord 
 Henry, for the first time in his lifi, hav- 
 ing found it a difficult matter to tie his 
 cravat^ or to decide whether he should 
 wear powder or not, entered the drawing- 
 room, and v;ith a sort of graceful awk- 
 wardness, if I may be allowed the ex- 
 pression, advanced to pay his compliments 
 to the company. Lord S— — was seated 
 near Louisa, and conversing with her in 
 a very animated manner ; but he rose on 
 his entrance, and lord Henry was con- 
 scious that the ingenuous expression of 
 
 pleasure with which lord S met him, 
 
 did not meet with an adequate return in 
 his salutation. 
 
 *' My dear Algernon, it is an age since 
 I have seen you,*' said lord S • " It
 
 110 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 is nearly six weeks> I believe," he coldly- 
 replied. 
 
 " O ! more, much more ; but I do not 
 wonder that, in such society,*' bowing to 
 Louisa, *' days seem moments,, and weeks 
 days." 
 
 Lord Henry blushed, aad thought his 
 young friend was grown very pert ) nor 
 was he displeased to see that Louisa looked 
 grave and angry on the occasion, while 
 her complexion, now pale and now red*, 
 betrayed strong emotion. — " Why is she 
 so agitated?" was a question which he 
 could not help asldng himself; and as 
 he led her to her seat, he could not help 
 gently pressing her hand as he relinquished 
 li. He sat on one side of her, and lord 
 
 S on the othei*; and the former, 
 
 ■who had not doubted but that the youth^ 
 wit, and uncommonly fine person of 
 
 lord S would withdraw Louisa's at- 
 
 t€rition' almost w^holly from himself that
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND". Ill 
 
 day, saw with delight, wholly new and 
 surprising to him, that she listened to his 
 "words wkh the same pleased and eager 
 attention as she had ever done ; that at 
 times she nearly turned her back on 
 
 lord S ; and, v/hen she recollected 
 
 her rudeness, apologized for it with a 
 blush of such " sweet consciousness," as 
 made her more fascinating than ever : 
 and, elated with a triumph which he had 
 not dared to hope, lord Heniy, when 
 alone in his apartment at night, owned to 
 himself that he had never passed so happy 
 a day ; and he sighed as he exclaimed, 
 '' I wish she were eight-and- twenty, in- 
 stead of eighteen !'* 
 
 The ensuing evening, while lord N j 
 
 lord Henry, and Louisa, were sitting to- 
 gether, and the former, who was an ac- 
 tive justice of the peace, had spread a 
 number of law-books before him, which 
 he was turning over to prepare himseit fox 
 some debate that was to take place at the.
 
 112 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, ANB 
 
 next county meeting, he told lord Henry 
 that he had lately purchased a book of 
 law reports, which he found very use- 
 ful. 
 
 " Charming indeed, I dare say," re- 
 plied lord Henry, whose eyes were fixed 
 on Louisa's profile, while she was bend- 
 ing her fine neck over a design for a pla- 
 teau which she was drawing. 
 
 Lord N stared : — he had never 
 
 heard the epithet ^' charming*' applied 
 to a book of law reports before ; but, 
 when he saw where lord Henry's atten- 
 tion was directed, he found that, if not 
 an appropriate^ charming was a very 
 natmal word for him to have uppermost 
 in his mind. 
 
 " You must know, lord Henry," con- 
 tinued lord N , " that there is one 
 
 decision of lord Mansfield's in the reports 
 I mention, in which, but with all due 
 deference, I differ from the learned lord ; 
 and I should be very happy to submit my
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 113 
 
 doubts to you, who, like myself, in the 
 ^arly part of your life, studied the law.'* 
 
 For the first time, lord Henry felt un- 
 comfortable at hearing the earli/ part of 
 his life mentioned — as if he was now no 
 longer young ; — but he begged lord 
 N to state the case, and his objec- 
 tions. 
 
 Lord N went on ; but had not 
 
 read much of the case, when lord Henry 
 c?xclaimed5 — " Miss Howard, you want 
 something.'* 
 
 *' Yes ; — a knife to cut my pencil." 
 
 " Here is one : — let me have the hap- 
 piness of cutting it for you." 
 
 LordN — bit his lip ; for, though glad to 
 see lord Henry's attention to his daughter, 
 he did not like to be so completely thrown 
 in the background ; and he rather angrily 
 remarked that, as the case in point was 
 one of great importance respecting pro- 
 perty, he could wish that lord Heniy 
 would deign to attend to him.
 
 114 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, A>fU 
 
 He then continued — but, in five mi- 
 nutes, Louisa dropped her India rubber j 
 and lord Henry started up to seek it. 
 
 " Psha !" muttered lord N , closing 
 
 the book. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my lord," cried 
 lord Henry ; " go on j and I promise 
 you in future uninterrupted attention.*' 
 
 " Yes, till that girl wants her pencil 
 cut again, I suppose, and then I shall be 
 forgotten : — no, no, I shall content my* 
 self with begging you to take the trouble 
 of looking over this decision when you 
 are alone in your own apartments." — 
 Lord Henry promised obedience, and the 
 evening ended. 
 
 Three weeks had now elapsed, and 
 still lord Henry lingered at the castle ; 
 and had not resolution to refuse the every- 
 day-renewed invitation of the hospitable 
 peer to stay longer. Louisa, indeed, 
 never pressed him to lengthen his visit 
 with her tongue ; but she looked so grave
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 115 
 
 when he talked of going, and so pleased 
 when he consented to stay, that he could 
 not help seeing that his society at least 
 was dear to her. 
 
 • The next evening, lord N , who 
 
 had been absent all day, requested to 
 know* lord Henry's opinion of the case 
 which he had given him to read. 
 
 " My lord," returned lord Henry 
 blushing and stammering, " I really, — I 
 protest, — I, I am quite ashamed ; but I 
 forgot, really ; I have never once looked 
 at it ; but I will go now and study it.*' 
 
 So saying, and before lord N could 
 
 call out that tea was coming up, lord 
 Henry, as much to hide his confusion as 
 for any other reason, had hastened to his 
 apartment ; for he was conscious that his 
 thoughts had been employed on another 
 decision, and one of more importance 
 in his eyes than any one even of lord 
 Mansfield's : he had been examining the 
 pleadings of his own heart, and the de-
 
 116 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, ANi> 
 
 cision of his conscience had been — ^that 
 he was in love. 
 
 But as lord N could not, he be- 
 lieved, guess how his morning hours had 
 been employed, he feared that he must 
 appear guilty of great neglect, and was 
 therefore seating himself to examine the 
 case in point, when he was summoned to 
 tea ; and he re-entered the drawing-room 
 
 just as lord N (finding Louisa had 
 
 neglected to settle some difficult accounts 
 for him during his absence) was telling 
 her, with a mixture of fun and severity, 
 that it was only too evident that she was 
 desperately in love. 
 
 As he said this, Louisa turned round, 
 saw lord Henry, and knew from his coun- 
 tenance that he had heard what passed, 
 immediately conscience-struck, and over- 
 come with the idea that her secret was 
 knovm to him, she burst into tears, and 
 left the room. 
 
 *' Poor thing! poor thing ! she is grown
 
 TJNPASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 117 
 
 Strangely irritable/ 'muttered lord N- 
 
 and when he found lord Henry in the 
 room, he did not wonder at Louisa's emo- 
 tion : but he saw, and with ill-suppressed 
 joy, that lord Henry looked a? disturbed 
 and as foolish as she had done ; ard that, 
 €oon after tea, at which Louisa, on pretence 
 of head- ache, declined appearing, he, too, 
 pleaded indisposition, and begged leave 
 to retire and sit alone. 
 
 Indeed, he had need of solitude : — for, 
 not daring to think that if Louisa was in 
 
 love (of which lord N 's exclamation 
 
 of " Poor thing i" made it impossible for 
 him to doubt), he was the object of her 
 attachment, he saw himself in his opinion 
 " entangled in a hopeless passion !" 
 
 Yes, he indeed loved, and with a de- 
 votedness, and exclusion of evcr\- other 
 idea, that astonished him. Ke had yet to 
 learn, that love knows not st dinded em- 
 pire, and reigns a tyrant if he reigns at 
 alL He had flattered himself, like many
 
 118 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 men of superior intelligence, but more 
 conversant with books than the human 
 heart, that he, when he loved, should 
 love like a being of superior rationa- 
 lity ', that is, should love as much as 
 reason warranted, but no more. Alas ! 
 he soon found that to control his pas- 
 sion by reason v/as impossible ; that his 
 books ceased to interest him ; that the 
 amor patriae seemed a feeding too abs- 
 tracted for a sensitive being to busy him- 
 self with ; and that, after he had con- 
 vinced himself that his love was as ra- 
 tionally founded, if not more so than 
 that of any man who ever loved before, 
 he proved that he was up to all the 
 phrensy of 'passion, by catching himself 
 repeating — 
 
 ** Louisa, who M ever be wise, 
 If madness be loving of thee ?'* 
 
 " Yes, yes,'' said lord Henry, pacing 
 the room as he spoke, " it is certain she
 
 ' UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 1 19 
 
 has an attachment, — and who can be the 
 object of it ? — She does me the honour 
 to esteem me and admire my conversation, 
 and therefore I have been able, by my 
 society, to beguile her of her cares : but 
 to suppose that she felt more than friend- 
 ship for me, would be most absurd 
 and improbable. — Yet, why ? It is not 
 more improbable than that I should have 
 fallen in love with her :" — and his steps 
 became quicker, as the thought of being 
 beloved thrilled throuQ-h his whole frame. 
 But he soon sunk into despondency 
 again ; — and he convinced himself that 
 Louisa was attached to some young man, 
 not her equal in fortune ; and that lord 
 
 N had forbidden their union : — " If 
 
 so," said lord Henry to himself, " I w^ill 
 be her friend ; — I will try to prevail on 
 her to confide in me ; and if I be right 
 in my conjectures, I will endeavour to 
 conquer her father's objections : — ^yes, 
 I will make her happy, though at the
 
 120 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, ANB 
 
 risk of making myself — Psha ! — the 
 thought is madness i" 
 
 Here, he threw himself across the bed, 
 absorbed in gloomy reflections. — At last, 
 he started up, and exclaimed, " Yes — it 
 shall be so ! — ^Yes — I shall never marry j 
 my fortune is large ; and, if fortune be 
 the only obstacle, — I will — yes — I will 
 do something, that shall prove I am not 
 unworthy the high idea she entertains of 
 my character :'* — ^and, resolving to prove 
 himself a great hero, lord Henry luckily 
 fell asleep : but his rest was broken and 
 disturbed ; and he arose the next morn- 
 ing not at all improved in beauty by the 
 ^itation of his mind. 
 
 " How old I look !" cried he, as he 
 -stood at the glass : — '' No, no, it is im- 
 possible that I can be beloved by her : — 
 fool that I was, not to see the danger 
 which I was incurring 1** 
 
 Louisa had also passed a sleepless night, 
 for she feared that her secret was disco-
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 121 
 
 verod, cind that the impression which she 
 had reason to think she had made on lord 
 Henry's heart, would be destroyed by the 
 disgust which the knowledge of her weak- 
 ness misfht excite in him. She there- 
 
 o 
 
 fore, like lord Henry, appeared at the 
 breakfast-table with pale cheeks and sunk 
 eyes ; and each of them, from different 
 ftLiings, carefully avoided looking at the 
 other. 
 
 After breakfast, when they were alone 
 together, lord Henry, while debating with 
 himself whether he should speak to her 
 according to his plan of the night before, 
 happening to cast his eyes on her, was so 
 shocked at the mouraful expression of her 
 countenance, and at her altered appear- 
 ance, that he could not bear to defer the 
 intended conversation one moment lon- 
 ger — ^but hastily seizing her hand, he ex- 
 claimed, " Dear, dear miss Howard ! I 
 see, with agony unspeakable, that you are 
 unhappy, and that some secret cause is 
 
 VCL. I. G
 
 l22 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 wearing away your peace : — alas ! I guess 
 what the cause is ; and would to heaven 
 it were in my power to remove it ! But 
 that, I doubt, is impossible: — ^still — '* 
 here he paused; for Louisa, convinced 
 by this speech that he saw her love for 
 him, and meant to say that he vainly 
 wished to return it, had fallen back in 
 her chair nearly insensible. 
 
 She soon, however, recovered herself ; 
 when, in his terror at her situation, she 
 heard lord Henry m.ake use of such ex- 
 pressions, and saw him hang over her 
 with such tenderness, as convinced her 
 that she was beloved, and that she had 
 misunderstood his meaning ; and assuring 
 him that she was quite well again, she 
 begged him to go on with the conversation 
 which her illness had interrupted. 
 
 He did so ; and, to the surprise of 
 Louisa, she found that lord Henry, so 
 far from imagining himself beloved by her, 
 suspected that she loved another 5 and
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 123 
 
 offered, though at the expense of his own 
 happiness, to be the mediator between 
 her and her father ! 
 
 " Generous man !" cried Louisa, burst- 
 ing into tears ; — " how little do you 
 know my heart i*' 
 
 " You have read mine, Louisa,'* re- 
 plied lord Henry: " be equally ingenuous, 
 and—" 
 
 At thk moment lord N entered ; 
 
 and Louisa, finding herself at a loss how- 
 to answer lord Henry's last address, took 
 that opportunity of retiring. 
 
 " I am afraid, my lord Henry Alger- 
 non," said lord N with affected gra- 
 vity, " that my entrance was very maUa- 
 propos : — miss Howard and you seemed 
 rehearsing a very dismal scene together, 
 and one not at all in my way." 
 
 " You have a right, my lord, to know^ 
 all that has passed," replied lord Henry. — 
 " You have led me to think that miss How- 
 ard has an attachment — and an unhappy
 
 ^24 THE FASHIONABLE WliE, ANI> 
 
 one ; — for I attribute her frequent agita- 
 tion to the consciousness that the object 
 of her love will never be approved by you." 
 
 ^' The object of her love, lord Henry, 
 "is approved by me, from the very bottom 
 of my soul." 
 
 Lord Heniy turned pale, and sunk into 
 a chair ; — for he found that the imagined 
 obstacle did not exist, and his intended 
 and painful act of heroism would be of 
 r.o avail : besides, he now found that, 
 ^'hen the evil he feared was certain, it 
 was not to be borne with any thing hke 
 ■fortitude. 
 
 ■^ You are ill, Algernon ; you are ill : 
 what is the matter ?'* 
 
 ^' Oh, m.y lord/* replied lord Henr)^, 
 " I find I am a poor weak being. I 
 began this conversation, resolved to try 
 to prevail on you to consent to your 
 daughter's union with the man of her 
 choice ; and to do all I could to remove 
 l^he obstacles to it : but I find that^no ob-
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 1*29 
 
 stacles exist, and all my boaited heroiiin 
 is entirely gone." 
 
 '• And v^hy should my daughter's 
 union with the man of her heart make 
 you unhappy r''^ asked the malicious lord 
 N . 
 
 " Because, — do not despls 2 me for my 
 weakness and presumption, — ^because — I 
 love her raysoii 1" 
 
 Lord N immediately gave way 
 
 to a long deliberate lau..;h, which caused 
 lord xlenry to rise from his seat with great 
 indignation. 
 
 - ** Nay, Algernon, don't be angry/' 
 cried he ; " but I must laugh, upon my 
 honour I must. — Go, go, — you area very 
 clever fellov/ ; but I believe that in knowj: 
 ledge of the heart of a woman^ there is 
 not a boor on my estate who is not youiT 
 superior: — there, go and find Louisa-;, 
 tell her what you have told me ; and tell 
 her also, that I command her to let her 
 answer be open and explicit, — for that, if
 
 126 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 she will not speak out, I will speak for 
 her." 
 
 ** Is it possible ? can it be ?" exclaimed 
 lord Henry, trembling with joyful anti- 
 cipation. 
 
 " I shall tell you nothing more, Al- 
 gernon; only, remember, that I shall 
 stay here to give you both my blessing, 
 when you think proper to ask it/' 
 
 Lord Henry instantly ran in search of 
 Louisa : he found her in the garden ; 
 and saw her tremble and turn pale at his 
 approach, from a mixture of modesty 
 and joy ; for she knew by his counte- 
 nance that an explanation had taken 
 
 place between him and lord N » In 
 
 a few minutes, as it appeared to the 
 fovers, but in an hour, as it really was, 
 
 lord Henry led Louisa to lord N , 
 
 and claimed the promised blessing. 
 
 In a very few weeks after, the mar- 
 riage took p'ace ; but on the wedding- 
 day, a proud day for Louisa, though she
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 127 
 
 was the rich heiress of lord N— , as it 
 made her the wife of one of the most 
 distinguished men in England ; yes, even 
 on that welcome day which gave her to 
 the idol of her heart, her happiness was 
 overclouded by the consciousness of not 
 deserving it, and the conviction, that on 
 lord Henry's ignorance of her character 
 was founded, his afFecdon for her. — She 
 knew, that were he acquainted with her 
 extravagance and her habits of self-in- 
 dulgenee, he could not honour her with 
 his love, because he must withhold his 
 esteem. 
 
 But how should he become acquainted 
 with the errors, the past errors as she 
 called them, which disgraced her ? They 
 were known only to herself, and those 
 who could have no motive to disclose 
 them to lord Henr)^ ; and, in spite of her 
 usual hatred of disguise, she felt rejoiced- 
 that her foibles were not written on her 
 brow.
 
 128 THE FASHIO^^^BLE WIFE, AKD 
 
 On their return from church, lord 
 
 N look the bride and biidegroom 
 
 into his study ; and again joining their 
 hands and blessing them, he said, in a 
 faltering voice, and smiling through his 
 tears, *' You meant, you know, Algernon, 
 to play the hero, and try to make my girl 
 happy with the man of her heart, though 
 by so doing you made yours^f miserable : 
 but, luckily, you were spared those heroic 
 doings and sufferings ; and now if there 
 be any hero amongst us, it is myself. 
 Here am I parting with m.y only child, 
 the pride and delight of my age, and pre- 
 tending to be jocose while my heart is 
 bursting.'^ 
 
 Here he gave way to a flood of tears, in 
 which even lord Henry was not ashamed 
 to join. 
 
 " But I know it is for Louisa's happi- 
 ness, so I will be consoled : — I knew she 
 would marry; it was natural that she 
 should : therefore, all I wished was, that
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 129 
 
 her choice should be one approved by the 
 feelings both of her heart and mine, and 
 which should confer honour and happiness 
 on both. In short, I fixed on you, Alger* 
 Hon, and Louisa did the same : — so, take 
 her, as I said before, and God bless you 
 both ! She is a treasure, I assure you : per- 
 haps I am partial ; but I really do believe 
 that she has not a fault in the world.'' 
 
 " O \ my father i'^ cried Louisa burst- 
 ing into a flood of tears, wrung from her 
 by remorse and consciousness, " you are 
 partial, indeed : — believe him not, lord 
 Henry ; I am faulty, very faulty ; and — " 
 
 Lord Henry clasped her to his bosom, 
 protesting that he believed her father's 
 tes:imony rather than her ov/n. 
 
 No faults 1 — Alas! she had faults 
 hanging like a blight over the promising 
 hai*vest of her happiness ; though, in the 
 .self-fiattery of her heart, she fancied, that 
 the blight was past, and nought but 
 healthv sunshine near, . 
 G 5
 
 ISO THE FASHIONABLE WIFH, AKD 
 
 Just before the marriage, Louisa re- 
 ceived, from the lavish bounty of her 
 father, a considerable sum of money to 
 expend on wedding finery ; and never 
 was money more welcome, nor more 
 wanted — for her creditors, both in town 
 and country, had been clamorous for 
 payment ^ and had they not been so, a 
 feeling of honour, as well as of shame 
 and apprehension, forbade Louisa to load 
 with her debts the loved and revered 
 being whom she was going to make her 
 protector and monitor through life. 
 
 " No !" she exclaimed, " with this 
 money I will pay my present debts ; and 
 at the same time make a solemn resolu- 
 tion to incur no future ones." 
 
 Tlie first part of her resolution she im- 
 mediately fulfilled, and, instead of pur- 
 chasing bridal ornaments and expensive 
 dresses, contented herself with simple 
 tliough elegant attire, such as the slen- 
 der state of iier firxances warranted ; while
 
 UNJASHION-ABLE HUSBAND. 131 
 
 every one who knew the generous tem- 
 per of lord N , and who expected to 
 
 tiee it displayed in his daughter's appear* 
 ance as a bride, gazed on her simple 
 attire with wonder. No one was more 
 
 surprised than lord N himself ; and, 
 
 but fiom unexpected circumstances, Louisa 
 would have been under the necessity of 
 owning the truth to him : but he, and 
 indeed many of his acquaintance, aware 
 of Louisa^s profuse generc^ity, suspected 
 that she had bestowed in acts of secret be- 
 nevolence, the money given her for the de- 
 coration of her person; and Lord N , 
 
 making his parental pride amends by im- 
 parting these suspicions to others, for the 
 grarincatian of which his daughter's phiii 
 appearance as a bride deprived him, at 
 length declared his ideas on this subject 
 to Louisa herself, and in the presence of 
 her husband. 
 
 The conscious Louisa started, and 
 blushed deeply at a supposition so false.
 
 132 THE FASHIONABLE WIF^, AND 
 
 and yet so flattering ; and, had she beelt 
 
 alone with lord N , would have had 
 
 virtue enough, perhaps, to have avowed 
 the truth, and scorned to receive praise 
 while certain of deserving censure : — but 
 lord Henry, who till then had not ob- 
 served the simplicity of his bride*s attire, 
 gazed on her with looks of such ap- 
 proving delight, when he heard the mo- 
 desty of her apparel attributed to a cause 
 so noble, that she had not resolution 
 enough to destroy an illusion so gratify- 
 ing to him and so flattering to herself ; 
 and casting her eyes on the ground, while 
 the blush of conscious duplicity glowed on 
 her cheek, she remained in an equivocal 
 
 silence, which conflrmed lord N in 
 
 his suspicions, and gave to her the amia- 
 ble semblance of a benevolent being, 
 doing '• good by stealth, and blushing to 
 find it fame." 
 
 Alas ! trifling as this little circumstance 
 seemed even to Louisa, who varnished
 
 T7NFASHIGNABLE HUSBAND. 133 
 
 over Its culpability, representing to herself 
 that a disclosure of the truth would have 
 been cruel to her husband and dangerous 
 to her own peace, it had a pernicious in^ 
 fluence on her future conduct. Ce ii'est 
 que le premier pas qui couie j and she 
 who has once compromised so far with 
 her conscience as to resist the pleadings 
 of sincerity, and be contented to be 
 praised for actions which she never per- 
 formed, has laid the foundation-stone of 
 future vice, and tarnished, perhaps for 
 life, the fair image of virtue in her 
 bosom.^ 
 
 But Louisa did not reason thus, though 
 her feelings were continually reproaching 
 her ; and scarcely could she support her- 
 self under the variety of emotions which 
 assailed her, when lord Henry, as soon 
 as they were alone together, told her, that 
 as he found she was likely to make so 
 good an almoner,, he should intrust to 
 her many sums of which he had been in
 
 1S4 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 the habit of disposing himself. — " O t 
 do not trust me !" was almost on her 
 lips ; for the feeling of her frailty was 
 throbbing painfully at her heart : but 
 again she struggled with her best feelings ; 
 again shame and pride got the better of 
 sincerity, and the once habitual inge- 
 nuousne^ of her nature received its death- 
 blow. 
 
 And what consoled her under the con- 
 sciousness of her guilt ? — The conviction 
 rhat lord Henry, while deceived, was 
 happy j that a mind so honourable as 
 his, and which had such high ideas of 
 female excellence, would start back with 
 horror at the idea of her thoughtless ex- 
 travagance, and that with his esteem she 
 should also lose his love. 
 
 Lord Henry thought the same : he 
 imao^ined that he could not love a woman 
 
 o 
 
 whom he did not esteem, and that tender- 
 ness would cease at the first known cessa- 
 tion of that excellence which had origi-
 
 U>'PASmON"AELE HUSBAND. 1S5 
 
 nally produced it. He knew more of 
 human knowledge than of human pas- 
 sions; be had read; he had thought; 
 he had reasoned ; — ^but he had only now 
 learnt to feel ; and he felt deeply. The 
 present enchanted him ; the future smiled 
 on him ; and, incapable of supposing that 
 the fair creature to whom every faculty 
 of his soul was devoted, could have evea 
 the germ of any vice in her hkely to de- 
 stroy her happiness and his own, he 
 looked upon that hour of his existence as 
 lost in which he had never loved, or been 
 beloved, and pided evei*y man who was 
 not, Hke himself, a husband. 
 
 For months this state of enjoyment 
 lasted. Louisa, passionately attached to 
 her husband, and living wholly in the 
 ccunti-y, where she had no temptadoia to 
 indulge in those expensive habits so pre- 
 judicial to her respectability, was deserving 
 of all the fondness which lord Henry la- 
 \ished on her ; and, with the sanguine 
 8
 
 i36 THE FASHIOKABLE WIFE, //ND 
 
 self-love of eighteen, she thought her 
 only fault was cured, merely because she 
 was not in circumstances to call it into 
 action. 
 
 The spring was now advancing ; and as 
 the metropolis was beginning to fill, Louisa 
 could not conceal from herself that she 
 should like to exhibit her lovely form in; 
 the fashionable circles, as the bride of 
 lord Henry Algernon :. it was with ill- 
 suppressed pleasure, therefore, that she 
 heard lord Henry inform her, his duty ia 
 parliament now required his constant re- 
 sidence for some months in town, and 
 that he must, though with extreme re* 
 juctance, give up the happiness of. a 
 country life, for the empty bustle of town, 
 amusements. 
 
 To London- they went ; and, Louisa, 
 thinking she had earned by months of 
 self-denial a right to relax in her oeco- 
 nomy, drove to her. old milliner's as soon, 
 as siie arrived, in order to lay out some.
 
 UMASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 13? 
 
 of her husband's nev/ly-received bounty 
 in a court dress and other dresses ; but she 
 wisely and firmly resolved, that she would 
 pay for every thing as soon as it was 
 finished, and on no account contract any 
 more debts. The dresses v/ere linished ; 
 and the bill being, though with great dif- 
 ficulty, procured, Louisa, accompanied ly 
 a young lady who was to visit with her as 
 bride-maid, went, the morning after to 
 discharge it. 
 
 While the account was settling, various 
 were the temptations to fresh expenses 
 thrown in Louisa's way : but she disre-- 
 garded them all — when her young com- 
 panion, who v/as more favoured by nature 
 than fortune, was struck with the beauty 
 of a turban spotted with silver ; and, put-* 
 ting it on, she looked so beautiful in it, 
 that every one in the room exclaimed, 
 " You must buy it, you never looked so 
 well in any head-dress before !*' 
 
 ^' But I can't afford to buy it," cried
 
 138 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 the mortified girl; "I am not a rich 
 bride, like lady Henry/' 
 
 " You soon would be a bride, I am 
 sure, madam," replied the artful milliner, 
 " if you were to wear that turban j it 
 seems made on purpose for you." 
 
 " Well, dear me ! I will go home, and 
 ask mamma to let me have it." 
 
 " O, madam, it will be gone directly ; 
 you can*t be sure of it, unless you take it 
 now — and it will take some time to get 
 another done." 
 
 " Bless me ! what can 1 do ? I can't 
 pay for it myself." 
 
 ** O, madam, I will trust you." 
 
 *^ Aye, — but I dare not run in debt ; 
 mamma would never forgive me ; — yet, 
 I am so tempted T* 
 
 Louisa heaved a deep sigh at the dan- 
 ger of her young friend j nor could she 
 help blaming herself severely for having 
 so hastily expended on her own person 
 the noble bounty of her husband j be-
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 139 
 
 cause, had she been less indulgent to her- 
 self, she would have been able, without a 
 fault, to ornament the lovely person of 
 her friend. 
 
 " What shall I do, dear lady Henry r" 
 said miss Selby : " what do you advise me 
 to do ? Shall I take the turban on trust ?" 
 
 " No, — you must not disobey your 
 mother on any account ; and believe me, 
 that a habit of running in debt once 
 acquired, is scarcely ever to be con- 
 quered." 
 
 ^' But then, what can I do r" replied 
 miss Selby pettishly, — " for I must and 
 will have the turban, that's certain." 
 
 " Then I must give it to you as a pre- 
 sent," replied lady Henry sighing ; and, 
 after a pause, she added, ^' Let it be set 
 down to my account :*' — then, with a 
 reproving conscience, she hastened into 
 her carriage : — but, when there, the rap- 
 turous thanks of miss Selby in a degree 
 reconciled her to hersv4f j — but when ons
 
 HO THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 has broken through a wise and virtuous 
 resolution, where is the opiate that can 
 at first succeed in lulling one's self-re- 
 proaches to rest ! 
 
 The next day, Louisa was prevailed 
 upon by miss Seiby to go with her and 
 another young lady to the same milliner's, 
 that the latter mi^-ht order a turban in all 
 respects like miss Selby's. 
 
 They had not been long in the room 
 before a new-invented mantle, which no 
 one had yet seen, was displayed ; and 
 by the officious zeal of her companions, 
 urged on by the miiUner, it was thrown, 
 over the graceful shoulders of Louisa. 
 
 " O, madam, were you to wear that 
 mantle, my fortune would be made," cried 
 the specious milliner. 
 
 '' Do, buy it, pray do," cried both the 
 girls, " it is so becoming to you f 
 
 The looking-glass unfortunately told 
 Louisa the same thing ; — but then, her 
 resoludon not to run up a bill ! — Then^
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 141 
 
 on the other hand, a bill was begun for 
 miss Selby's turban, and this would add 
 only twenty guineas to it. — At last, how- 
 ever, she summoned all her resolution to 
 her aid, and, running into her carriage, 
 removed from the temptation which she 
 had not power to face, and resist. 
 
 In the evening, miss Selby, in presence 
 
 of lord N , reproached Louisa with 
 
 her ill-timed ceconomy ; and his lordship 
 declared that if twenty guineas would 
 purchase the elegant ornament in ques- 
 tion, he would give his daughter that sum 
 immediately. This oft'er Louisa thankfully 
 accepted ; and she reflected, with no small 
 delight, that her self-denial and resolution 
 in the morning had now met \\ith their 
 reward. It was then agreed that the 
 money should be immediately sent, and 
 the mantle purchased, in order that lord 
 
 N should see it, and be able to 
 
 judge of the beauty and value of the 
 present. Louisa, therefore, took the mo-
 
 142 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 ney, and left the room in order to write 
 a note with it to the milliner, when she 
 was informed that a poor woman, whose 
 name she well knew, earnestly requested 
 to see her : she instantly desired her to be 
 shown into her dressing-room. 
 
 This distressed object, as she really 
 was, had often been relieved by her 
 bounty ; but never had she told so pi- 
 teous a tale before, and never had her 
 distress been so great. Never had Louisa 
 been so perplexed : she could not bear 
 to send her away unrelieved, yet she had 
 not the means of relieving her, for she 
 had already sufficiently taxed the genero- 
 sity of her husband and her father ; and 
 the sum requisite to remove the poor wo- 
 man's present wants was not less than 
 several guineas, and Louisa had them not 
 to give. 
 
 But at this moment she held the twenty 
 guineas in her hand, designed for the 
 mantle ; and, as her fingers grasped them,
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 143 
 
 a pang of something very like remorse 
 shot across her mind, and she mentally 
 exclaimed, *' What 1 shall I prefer the 
 gratification of my vanity to the per- 
 manent relief of a distressed fellow-crea- 
 ture ? No ; — the sacrifice shall be made:" 
 and immediately summoning a confiden- 
 tial servant, she gave him fifteen guineas, 
 and, desiring him to accompany the poor 
 woman home, ordered him to lay out 
 whatever part of the sum wa« necessary, 
 in removing her present difficulties, and 
 ensuring the future comfort of her and 
 her family ; and then, having dismissed 
 the object of her bounty, was on the 
 point of re-entenng the drawing-room, 
 when 
 
 Miss Selby entered, saying, " Well, is 
 the mantle arrived ? I am so anxious for 
 its coming! — ^for ^ve all agreed that you 
 must go in it to lady D 's assembly to- 
 night ; for you would not use Mrs. C 
 
 wellj if you did not wear it directly,"
 
 144 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 *' Nonsense !*' replied Louisa ; " I have 
 not sent for it, nor do I know that I shall ; 
 I don't want it." 
 
 Nothing could equal miss Selby's sur- 
 prise at this speech : at first she was si- 
 lent with astonishment ; but when she re- 
 covered herself, such was the eloquent 
 volubility with which she expatiated on 
 
 lord N 's disappointment, on the 
 
 beauty of the mantle, on its becomingness 
 to lady Henry's shape, on its being a duty 
 which she owed the inventor to show it 
 off to the best advantage, (which her wear- 
 ing it would certainly do,) that Louisa la- 
 mented in secret her inability to gratifjr her 
 vanity and her benevolence at the same 
 time ; especially asshe knew not how to ex- 
 cuse to lord N — not expending the money 
 for the purpose for which he gave it ; as 
 she could not do this Vv^ithout telling him 
 the use which ^she had made of it ; and 
 had, besides a graceful unwillingness to 
 disclose her bounty, a certain ccnscious- 
 I
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND, I4s5 
 
 ness that her father, who often laughed 
 at her romantic charities, would in this 
 instance, and with some justice, say, that 
 she had given more than the urgent nc- 
 cessit)^ of the case required. 
 
 At length, overpowered by the en- 
 treaties of her young companion, and 
 urged by her own weakness, she resolved 
 to send for the mantle, though unable to 
 
 pay for it; and Mrs. C was desired 
 
 to place the mantle to her account, a^ 
 well as the turban. 
 
 Alas ! in all of us, how quickly a \ice 
 treads on the heels of a virtue ! — To be 
 brief : Louisa had now completely broken 
 the wise resolution never to run in debt 
 again, and in a manner almost resembling 
 a good action ; and now to stop herself 
 in this fatal career was impossible ;— debl 
 succeeded to debt, incurred either to gratify 
 her own wants, or those of her friends : 
 she became the arbiter and idol of fashion, 
 extravagance succeeded to extravagance. 
 
 vol. I. K
 
 14j6 the fashionable wife, and 
 
 and when the time for leaving town ar- 
 rived, she found herself infinitely more 
 involved than she was before she mar- 
 ried. 
 
 True it was that lord Henry, aware 
 that her expenses, from her rank- in life 
 and situation as a bride, must have been 
 extraordinary, presented her with a con- 
 siderable sum of money ; but, conscious 
 of her embarrassments,, and eager to try 
 any means, however desperate, of extri- 
 cating herself, in a moment of rashness 
 she had allowed herself to be seduced to 
 join a party of fashionable gamesters, and 
 she lost in two sittings the well-meant 
 bounty of her confiding and unsuspecting 
 husband. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe her feel- 
 ings when, conscious of conduct which 
 must, if known, for ever forfeit the esteem 
 of lord Henry, she turned her back on 
 the mischievous pleasures of the metro- 
 polis, and returned to those scenes, a self-
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. l"47 
 
 convicted culprit, which she left full of 
 self-confidence and virtuous exultation, 
 
 LordHeni7 saw the gloom that hung on 
 her brow, but attributed it entirely to fa- 
 tigue, from the constant routine of visiting 
 to which she had been obliged ; and while 
 he tenderly soothed, fondly caressed her, 
 welcomed her with unabated affection to 
 their country abode, and called her the 
 pride as well as happiness of his life, — 
 conscience-struck and overwhelmed with 
 self-reprt)aches, she sunk into his anns, 
 and was conveyed to her chamber in a 
 state of insensibility. 
 
 Salutary are the pangs of conscience, 
 when the person tortured by them is 
 left at full leisure to feel their corroding 
 power ; but this was not the case with 
 Louisa : — ^in less than a mgntb, a number 
 of gay and indted friends came down to 
 spend some weeks at their house, and 
 she had scarcely a moment for serious 
 reflection, 
 
 h2
 
 148 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 The dissipated, and the inventive, had 
 always some plan of expensive amuse- 
 ment to offer, some tempting proposal for 
 new decorations, or improvements, of the 
 house or grounds ; and Louisa having 
 once been led to own that she should 
 delight to give 2i ft te champ ctre^ her giddy 
 friend miss Selby, and some others of the 
 gay group, ran immediately to lord Henry 
 to inform him how eagerly his wife de- 
 sired this enchanting entertainment. 
 
 For one moment lord Henry, on hear- 
 ing this, doubted whether his wife was as 
 free from female folly as his doting fancy 
 had painted her; but, the next instant, 
 he recollected that complaisance merely, 
 perhaps, had led her to approve of a 
 scheme so fantastic; and he coolly repHed, 
 that if lady Henry really wished to give a 
 fete of that description, he should certainly 
 consent to it, as his fondest wish was to 
 g.ratify all her inclinations. 
 
 He then accompanied the self-appointed
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 149 
 
 ambassadress to Louisa, who heard with 
 painful confusion what had jxivssed, as she 
 w^s conscious that if her husband knew 
 to how much her yearly expenditure 
 had amounted, he would have thought it 
 imprudent, even with his ample fortune, 
 to indulge in expenses of such a nature. 
 
 But in vain did she assure lord Henry 
 that she had no wish to give the file \X 
 question. Her generous husband, con- 
 vinced that she refused tc own her wishes 
 merely from a principle of prudence highly 
 honourable to her, was the more eager to 
 indulge her; and Louisa not only was 
 obliged at last to allow this costly en- 
 tertainment to take place, but saw herself 
 forced to incur, on account of it, many- 
 personal expenses which she might other-* 
 wise have avoided. 
 
 Under these painful embari*assments, 
 she had sometimes thoughts of applying 
 
 to lord N for relief ; but she knew 
 
 that as her mother's fortune came to her
 
 1^0 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AN 1^ 
 
 on her marriage, his lordship's income 
 was so greatly reduced, that he could 
 scarcely keep up the state requisite to. his 
 rank: therefore she felt, but too trulv^ 
 that all she had to do was to bear her 
 well-merited distress in patience and in 
 silence, — while, though delighting in her 
 luisband's Society, and in reality prizing 
 nothing • so highly, the consciousness ojF 
 having acted in a manner -unworthy of his 
 wife, made her shi'ink appalled from mo- 
 ments of unreserved and solitary conver- 
 sation with him, ajid fly eagerly tp the 
 .society of those who, by their folly or 
 their wit, could banish reflectioji, and 
 substitute glittering gaiety for the more 
 chaste splendour of that cheerfulness which 
 springs from a heart at peace with itself. 
 
 Amongst those whom Louisa selected 
 as capable of banishing unpleasant re- 
 flections from her mind, was a Mr^ 
 Trelawney, a man in the prime of 
 iife, well born, well connected, (for the
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 151 
 
 blood of several noble families mingled 
 in his veins,) and who had improved his 
 nat^aral graces by several years residence 
 in fxxeign courts. 
 
 Mr. Trelawney had specious and amn&. 
 ing, if not sterling, talents : he wrote - 
 pretty vei-ses, told stories with consider- 
 able humour, had always k mot pour rlre^ 
 as t-he French say, and was pai'ticuiarly 
 bappy in giving in conversation rapid 
 sketches of the prominent traits of cha* 
 racter in his acquaintance, a talent by which 
 we are ail fond of being amused when it 
 is exercised on . others, but which we are 
 not disposed to regard with complacency 
 when we have reason to suspect it ex- 
 ercised on ourselves. 
 
 In short, he was calculated to inspire 
 almost every feeling but that of conji- 
 dence ; for, to a discerning eye, he al- 
 ways appeared a masked battery : — while 
 his lips uttered moral sentiments, his looks 
 alarmed ^prehensive modesty by their
 
 152 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, ANU 
 
 libertine expression ; and while kindness 
 and admiration were the language of his 
 tongue, his eye seemed to threaten sar- 
 casm ; and while it smiling seemed to 
 invite to unreserve, it was in reality on the 
 watch, seeking prey for satire and severity. 
 
 Bat sarcasm and the point of fashion- 
 able satire wei'e not all the danger to be 
 apprehended from Mr. Trelawney : — he 
 -Wais a libertine, not so much from pas- 
 sion as from system ; he laid it down as 
 a maxim that every woman was inclined 
 to gallantry, and that every man was 
 therefore justified in putting it in her 
 power to gratify her inclinations. 
 
 He was convinced that every woman's 
 honour might be made the victim of at- 
 tack, if the engines of fear, shame, inte- 
 rest, or vanity, were employed against it ; 
 and he did not believe any of the sex to be 
 capable of remaining virtuous, if exposed 
 to a strong temptation to be otherwise. 
 
 Accordinglv, though he was called a
 
 CK FASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 153 
 
 very good husband, wrote verses to his 
 wife on the birth of every child, and on 
 the anniversaries of their marriage, he was 
 the willing slave, and ruler in expectation, 
 of each new beauty who blazed in the 
 sphere of fashion. 
 
 Louisa Howard, in spite of all her love- 
 liness and talents, he had always neg* 
 lected ; but lady Henry Algernon, the 
 wife of a man whose superiority of abi- 
 lities he had often felt, admired, and en- 
 vied, was a conquest worthy of his genius; 
 and while he enumerated to himself her 
 graces, her beauties-j and her accomplish-- 
 roenis, and thought of. her increasing ce- 
 lebrity, '' All these," he triumphantly ex- 
 i^laimed, " shall be made minister to my 
 pleasure, or my ambition*/' — and the 
 siege was immediately begun ; but neither ' 
 avowedly nor actively. He had penetration 
 and knowledge of character, and he did 
 justice to ihe virtue of Louisa ; for he saw 
 that she had then at least no dispo:>ition td ' 
 II 5
 
 154 THE rASHlONABLE WIFE, ABTD 
 
 gallantry and intrigue, as he knew that she 
 was passionately devoted to her husband. 
 
 The other pretenders to the favour of 
 Louisa, superficial, thoughtless, indiscri* 
 minating men of fashion, flattered then)* 
 selves that she must have a heart to be- 
 stow, and that they might become objects 
 of her preference, because they were sure 
 it was impossible that she should love 
 lord Henry. 
 
 " And why impossible ?" said Tre- 
 lawney one day to some of these weak 
 ©bservers. 
 
 *' Q, because he is near twenty years 
 older than she is, and is such an ugly 
 fellow : besides, he is so ill- dressed, and 
 so grave : — nay, you must own that sh* 
 could not marry him for love," 
 
 Trelawney turned away smiling con- 
 temptuously ; for he knew that she did 
 marry for love, and that his chance for 
 success in his pursuit was not at all to be 
 founded on h^r probable preference of
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. ISS 
 
 him in process of time, but on certain 
 weaknesses of character which, even while 
 he was the object rather of her dislike 
 than her love, would put her happiness 
 perhaps entirely in his power. 
 
 He had seen in her a degree of irreso- 
 lution, an indecision, and an inability to 
 withstand temptation, though her reason 
 immediately pointed out the folly of com- 
 pliance, on which he founded his expec- 
 tations of becoming the arbiter of her 
 fete; while, as he never offended her 
 principles by any marked and improper 
 attention, Louisa treated him with a de- 
 gree of confidence and unreserve which 
 enabled him to gain a great ascendancy 
 over her, and made the plan he had in 
 view more easy of execution. 
 
 In the ensuing February lord Henry 
 and Louisa returned to London ; the for-- 
 mer dissadsfied with his residence in the 
 country that year, because his house had 
 been rarely free from company j and
 
 156 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, ANI? 
 
 firmly resolved that the next summer 
 his domestic enjo3^ments should not be 
 so broken in upon. 
 
 . He would have been seriously alarmed, 
 as well as displeased, had he known that, 
 after he was retired to his own apartment 
 to read an hour or two before he went to 
 bed, cards had been the amusement of 
 his guests ; and that Louisa, having not 
 had resolution to forbid high play, nor 
 even to forbear joining in it, had often 
 seen some of her gay companions lose 
 sums so considerable, as to change their 
 thoughtless smiles into frowns of anguish,, 
 and had frequently stolen to his side herself, 
 heated by the suspense and tortured by 
 the sorrows of a gamester. 
 
 How would he also have been di- 
 stressed, had he known that creditors, cla- 
 morous creditors, awaited the wife of his 
 heart in tlie metropolis ; and that the pale 
 cheek which excited his fears, and which 
 with unabated fondness he pressed to his.
 
 tJ*NPASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 15T 
 
 U'as robbed of its bloom by the corrodlng^ 
 consciousness of error, and the dread of 
 impending detection I 
 
 " This last has been an expensive year,'^ 
 said lord Henry to his too conscious 
 wife ; " but it was our bridal year, and 
 therefore I bless even its extravagance. I 
 hope we shall now be allowed to live a 
 little for ourselves : however, we must? 
 also live a little for the world r — so here, 
 my love, is fuel for fresh follies — here is 
 a bank note for five hundred pounds for 
 you, to begin the season with." 
 
 Luckily for Louisa, on saying this he 
 left the room, and witnessed not the mixed 
 emodons which agitated and overwhelmed 
 her, as she gazed on this unsolicited and 
 magnificent instance of her husband'a 
 bounty, and knew how insufficient it wa3 
 to obtain her more than mGuientary ease. 
 She immediately, however, demanded the 
 bills of her lai'gest and more importunate
 
 158 THE FASHIONABLE WIPE, AND^ 
 
 creditors, — bills delivered again and again, 
 — and resolved, faithfully, to discharge 
 them. 
 
 While the bank-note remained on the 
 table Trelawney entered 5. and finding it 
 belonged to Louisa, and had just been 
 given to her by her husband, he congra- 
 tulated her on lord Henry's generosity, 
 snd on the means it gave her of gratify- 
 ing all her propen^ties, however ex- 
 pensive.* — ^Louisa blushed, turned the con- 
 versation immediately, and, soon after, he 
 departed. 
 
 • That evening they met at the house of 
 t lady of quality, where, at the close of 
 an entertainment, cards were commonly 
 introduced ; and many a thoughtless vic- 
 tim, confiding in the lateness of the time 
 of night for the teraptation^s being of 
 short duration, had frequently in one 
 short hour lost more than months of 
 ceconomy have been able to replace*
 
 UNPASHI03IABLE HUSBAND. 150 
 
 Louisa was at this place of danger 
 without lord Henry, who was attending 
 his duty in parliament ; but his recent 
 bounty having put it in her power to quiet 
 some of her most urgent creditors, the 
 sense of present and pressing embarrassr- 
 ments did not now excite her to play for 
 the chance of extricating herself ; and she 
 was preparing to return home, when Mr^ 
 Trelawney entreated her not to leave the 
 company so early, but join their party at 
 cards. 
 
 Louisa refused for some time firmly 
 enough, till Trelawney, on her saying she 
 could not afford to play, reminded her of the 
 bill which she had received that mornings 
 and asked her, with such a purse as that 
 how she could possibly be poor -, " for,'^ 
 added he, " surely you have not spent it 
 all since morning ! and I conclude that you 
 have no debts ; or, if you have, surely you 
 are too wise to pay them/*
 
 160 TKB FASHIONABLE WIPE, A^^D 
 
 Louisa blushed, and so guiltily, that 
 Trelawney was convinced she had debtSj 
 and that the bill was already gone ; 
 and artfully exclaimed, — " Well, lady 
 Henry, if you persist in resolving not to 
 hazard a few guineas,., on the pretence of 
 poverty, — ^1 must conclude that you have 
 cither extravagantly squandered in one 
 day several hundred pounds, or that som.e 
 hungry creditors have unraercifuliy de- 
 voured ir." 
 
 Had Louisa boasted the self-respect 
 which she once possessed, her reply would- 
 have been such as so impertinent a speech 
 deserved. Of what importance to Tre* 
 lawney was it that Louisa declined play^ 
 or that prudence or povert}'^ had its- share 
 in her determination ? But, conscious how 
 well Trelawney. had divined both her cha- 
 racter and her real situation, and averse 
 to confirm his suspicions by continuing to 
 decline playing, she forced a faint smile
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 16i 
 
 at his impertinence, as she called it, and, 
 producing a few guineas, sat down to the 
 table. 
 
 She played ; she won ; and, elated by 
 her success, and knowing lord Henry 
 would be detained at the house to a late 
 hour, continued to play, till, unceasingly 
 urged on by the sneers or entreaties of 
 Trelawney, the bill itself was produced, 
 and nearly the whole of it lost before 
 the party broke up. 
 
 At day-break Louisa returned home, 
 self-abased, self-condemned : and when 
 lord Henry came back from the house, 
 his heart glowing with the consciousness 
 of having done his duty to his country, 
 his wife, instead of welcoming him with 
 wakeful fondness, and demanding from 
 him a detail of what had passed, was glad 
 to feign sleep to avoid his inquiring eye>, 
 and to conceal what was too legibly, writ- 
 ten on her countenance — that while he
 
 162 THE FAiSiUONA«LE WIFE, AND 
 
 had been scrupulously fulfilling his duty, 
 she had been grossly violating hers. 
 
 The next morning the tradesmen, who 
 Kad been appointed to corae arid receive 
 their mcmey, dialled, but in varn ^ and as 
 they were departing, Trelawney appeared. 
 lie soon found out their business ; and his 
 suspicions being awakened by what passed 
 the night before, he contrived to see 
 Louisa's maid, a girl whom he had long 
 known, and who made no scruple' of 
 owning to him that her mistress ow^ a 
 great deal of money, and lived in daily 
 terrors lest her lord should discover it. 
 
 " What, then," said Trelawney, " she 
 is afraid of bis violence, is she V 
 
 " O lao, — quite the contrary ; but my 
 lady loves him so dearly that she is afraid 
 to grieve him, I fancy, and also to mak-e 
 him think ill of her." 
 
 *' I was right, then,'* thought Trelaw- 
 ney; " and this terror and this tender
 
 CNFASHiaNABLE HUsBANC. 163 
 
 apprehension will I turn to my own ad- 
 vantage." 
 
 A very few days after, the disappointed 
 creditors renewed their demands, with the 
 addition of some other claimants; ^nd art- 
 fully contriving to call when, they had 
 learnt from the servants, their master and 
 mistress were most likely to be together, 
 they were aJl deUvered while lord Hemy 
 was breakfasting with hi§ 'wife, Avho, for 
 an instant, was gone into the next room. 
 
 V What have we here r" cried he, 
 taking up the papers, some of which 
 were sealed, some open : — ^' how is 
 this? — bills! and some of a year's stand- 
 ing ! — ^Louisa," he added, as pale as 
 death she re-entered the room, " I 
 thought I gave you money when we left 
 town Ust year to discharge all these ac- 
 counts ?" 
 
 " You did so." 
 
 ^* Then why were they ru5t discharged ?* * 
 
 Louisa answered not, hut sunk aimost
 
 164 THE FASHIONABLE WIFF, ANr> 
 
 fainting into a chair ; while lord Henry, 
 nearly as pale as herself, perused the bills, 
 and found that they amounted to con- 
 siderably more than two thousand pounds ! 
 What a blow to a husband who doted as 
 he did on his wife, and who believed that 
 she had not a fault in the world ! 
 
 After a silence of considerable length, 
 during which time lord Henry paced the 
 room in violent agitation, while Louisa, 
 leaning on a table, hid her face in her 
 hands, unable to endure the sight of the 
 agony which she occasioned, her unhappy 
 husband with . great effort said, " This' 
 is a weighty demand on me, madam,' 
 and one for which I am wholly impre* 
 pared ^-^hnt these debts ^all be dis- 
 charged as soon as 1 can procure the 
 money. I have never been in the habit 
 of making a tradesman wait for his mo* 
 uey myself, and I will, as far as in me 
 lies, extricate my wife from the disgrace 
 of being known to pursue a different line
 
 . UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 165 
 
 of conduct. In the mean while, madam, 
 I will trouble you- to lend me the bill 
 which I gave you a few mornings ago ; 
 unless, indeed, it has been employed in 
 the payment of other debts." 
 
 Louisa, at this moment, rendered de- 
 sperate by the cold and scornful manner 
 in which lord Henry spoke, and convinced 
 that his good opuiion was entirely lost, 
 i'esolved to confess all her errors ; and 
 raising her head from her hands, she re- 
 plied, " I have not the money to give 
 you : it is all gone." 
 
 " Gone ! — Was it expended in the 
 payment of debts r" 
 
 " I intended it should be so,'* she an- 
 swered ; " and some of the tradesmen, 
 whose bills you have just been examining, 
 came hither by appointment the day after 
 I received the money, to receive the 
 amount of tlieir debts : but, — " 
 
 " But what ?*' eagerly interrupted lord 
 Henry. 
 
 1
 
 166 THfi FASHIONABLE WIFE^ AND 
 
 ^' The night before," continued she in 
 a tone of tearless emotion, " I— I lost 
 nearly the whole sum at cai'ds." 
 
 Lord Henry, on hearing this, clasped 
 his hands in agony ; then exclaiming, 
 " And she games too !'* he rushed out 
 of the room, and shut himself up in his 
 own apartment. 
 
 It wasthen mid-day,and at seven o'clock 
 he was to go to the house in order to re- 
 sume the debate of the night before : but, 
 alas ! the noble daring of the patriot and 
 the fire of the orator were quenched in 
 domestic affliction ; and he, on whose ac- 
 cents the preceding night an applauding 
 senate had hung, and had looked up to his 
 talents as its hope and its pride, now bow- 
 ed to the earth by disappointment " wiiere 
 he had garnered up his soul," was nOW 
 thrown across his bed, overwhelmed m 
 the deepest angui^, and had forgotten 
 all the ardour of the politician in the woes 
 of the husband. At length, however, he
 
 UN FASHION ABLE HOSBAN-D. 167 
 
 made a vigorous effort, and, shaking off 
 the sehlsh despondence which oppressed 
 him, repaired to the scene of his public 
 and now painful duty. 
 
 Louisa^ meanwhile, denied to every 
 one, and in a state of mind even more 
 wretched than that of her husband, passed 
 the day in her own room, a stranger both 
 to appetite and rest. Night came, but 
 she could not prevail on herself to go to 
 bed ; and she sat up^ anxiously expect- 
 ing, yet dreading, the return of her hus- 
 band. 
 
 Her own maid, who was tenderly at- 
 tached to her, suspecting the cause of her 
 grief, and knowing that lord Henry had 
 left the house without taking leave of her, 
 resolved to sit up also, and meet him 
 when he returned, to inform him of the 
 state in which her lady was. — She did so, 
 and appeared before him with so per- 
 turbed an air, that Io«d Henry anxiously
 
 •168 THE FASHIONABLE WIPE, AND 
 
 and eagerly asked if any thing was the 
 matter. 
 
 " My lady, sir," she replied, struggling 
 with her tears, — 
 
 " What of your lady ?" said he ; 
 " for God's sake, speak !'* 
 
 " Only, my lord, she is very ill, I am 
 afraid ; she has been on the sofa all day, 
 and has eaten nothing ; but I could not 
 prevail on her to go to bed till your lord- 
 ship came home." 
 
 Lord Henry heaved a deep sigh, and 
 repaired to his own apartment. "So," 
 cried he to himself when there, — " no 
 self-command, not the least ; — ^her di- 
 stress, and the cause, no doubt known by 
 this time to all the seiTants ! — But still — 
 would not self-command have been in 
 this case little better than an aptitude at 
 dissembling ? — Yes, yes. — O, Louisa, 
 would that this want of self-government 
 were all thy fault!-— Then again, she
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. iO'> 
 
 could eat, she could laugh, while con- 
 scious of committing these despicable er- 
 rors ; but, now she is detected, she sickens 
 and she sighs. Ah ! I fear it is only the 
 detection, not the crime, which agonizes 
 her. And from what a dream of bliss 
 have I been awakened ! The delusion was 
 so sweet, that the reality which now bursts 
 upon me is more than I have fortitude to 
 bear with composure : — but she is very, 
 very young." — And Louisa would not 
 have been Jl altered^ had she know^n how 
 often her husband found it necessary to 
 recollect this circumstance, and how often 
 he repeated, "she is so very, very young !'' 
 
 In soliloquies and reflections like these, 
 and in walking up and down the room, he 
 passed the greatest part of the night ; and 
 it was quite morning before he ventured 
 to enter the chamber of Louisa ; whiler 
 the reporters of the newspapers, who had 
 been lavish in their praises of his eloquence 
 the preceding day, were preparing to in- 
 
 VOL. I. \
 
 170 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 form the world that lord Henry Algernon 
 was not as conspicuous and animated as 
 usual in the last night's debate, and had 
 the appearance of labouring under a se- 
 vere cold. 
 
 O woman, woman ! while such is your 
 influence— -while your guilt can unman a 
 hero, palsy the firm nerves of a patriot, 
 and rob an orator of his eloquence — 
 how great should be your discretion, and 
 how cautiously should you use the power 
 which the creator of the world has given 
 you ! 
 
 When lord Henry entered Louisa's 
 room, he found her traversing it with ra- 
 pid and disordered steps : she started, and 
 turned pale on seeing him ; and then 
 walked silently away. 
 
 " Why are you not in bed ?" said he 
 in a faltering voice ; for the woe visible 
 on her countenance had wounded him to 
 the soul, and his heart again whispered 
 him — " she is very, very young."
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 17*1 
 
 ^' To bed !" replied Louisa : "I can- 
 not sleep : — I believe,*' she added, hold- 
 ing her hand to her head, " that I shall 
 never sleep again.*' 
 
 " Are you so self-condemned, then r" 
 -said lord Henry. 
 
 " That I have long been.'' 
 
 " And yet the reproaches of your own 
 conscience, the dreadful pangs which^ 
 more than any thing else, are the terror 
 of the virtuous, those you could endurey — 
 but the dread of mine, I see, overivhelms 
 you. I had rather that you had been 
 more in awe of your own." 
 
 " Then you must wish me not to love 
 you," she replitd. " While I possessed 
 your love and your esteem, for which 
 alone 1 wish to live, even though con- 
 scious of not deserving them, I was happy : 
 — I now feel that I have lost them, lost 
 them through my own mad folly ; for I 
 have heard you say that you could not 
 love, for a moment, the woman whom 
 I 2
 
 172 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 you had ceased to esteem/* Here her 
 voice failed, and she burst into tears. 
 
 " Yes, I have often said so," replied 
 lord Henry deeply sighing : and Louisa 
 continued, " I know it ; and I know that 
 you have resolution to act up to whatever 
 is your sense of right :" — 
 
 " You think so !" again sighed lord 
 Henry. 
 
 — " I therefore wish, ardently wish, 
 that I may not long survive this moment. 
 All I dare to ask of you is this, that you 
 will keep my delinquency a secret from 
 my poor father : he has often sworn 
 that he never would forgive me, if he 
 knew that I had ever played ; and I 
 wish, besides, to spare him the pain of 
 knowing the unworthiness of his child, of 
 whom he is now so proud." 
 
 *' Rest assured," returned lord Henry, 
 *' that I will spare him the mournful re- 
 cital : I cannot be barbarous enough to 
 inflict such a pang on him : — alas I I feel
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 17*3 
 
 only too acutely myself the misery of 
 being forced to think meanly of a being 
 whom I considered as a model of every 
 excellence. — Oh, Louisa !" he exclaimed, 
 tears forcing their way down his manly 
 cheek, " how happy we have been !" 
 
 All that his wretched vrife had suffered 
 before was nothing to the agony of that 
 moment. The sight of his tears rendered 
 her frantic : she fell at his feet, she im- 
 plored his pardon ; she tore her hair, she 
 uttered convulsive sobs ; till at length, 
 worn out by the violence of her feelings, 
 she was undressed, and laid insensible in 
 her bed. From that state she fell into a 
 deep, though perturbed, sleep j and when 
 she awoke, she found that her head 
 reclined on the arm of r.er husband I ! I 
 will not attempt to describe, her feelings. 
 
 " It v\'as your Jir.^t fault," said he, kiss- 
 ing her pale cheek, " and I forgive you ; 
 but beware a second, I know that mo- 
 dern wives and modern husbands would
 
 1T4 THE FASHIONABLE WlfL, AN© 
 
 laugh our distress on this occasion to 
 scorn : but I look on myself as account- 
 able to the being who gave me wealth, 
 for the use to which I put that wealth ; 
 and cannot behold, unmoved, hundreds, 
 nay thousands perhaps, squandered at 
 the gaming-table, and in frivolous ex- 
 penses, which might have been employed 
 in the encouragement of virtuous in- 
 dustry and the arts, or in succouring in- 
 digent merit : — and, oh, Louisa ! how 
 could I bear to reflect, that this thought- 
 less offender was the beloved wife of my 
 heart!" 
 
 Louisa wept, promised amendment, 
 and, on pretence of indisposition, passed 
 the day in her dressing-room, ponder- 
 ing over, and shuddering at, her past 
 transgressions ; and firmly resolving to 
 act in future so as to regain her husband's 
 esteem. 
 
 In the evening, lord Henry brought 
 her money to discharge all the bills which
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 17.> 
 
 he had seen, and asked her whether there 
 were not others also to discharge. This 
 question disconcerted her ; and with a 
 degree of infatuation which persons in 
 debt often have when asked that question, 
 even by those the most willing to relieve 
 them from all their embarrassments, she 
 answered, in a confused and hurried man- 
 ner, that she believed she had still a few 
 trifling debts, but that they were of no 
 consequence. 
 
 True it was that she meant to be oeco- 
 nomical, and pay them by instalments : 
 but, still, nothing could excuse her dis- 
 ingenuousness at such a moment, as her 
 remaining debts amounted, at least, to 
 two or three hundi'ed pounds. Alas I 
 she had wandered far in the path of error ; 
 and it is difficult indeed to recover the 
 right way, even when it is kindly pointed 
 out to us. 
 
 Lord Henry saw her embarrassment, 
 and dared not inquire too iiunutely into
 
 1^6 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 the cause of it ; but he felt that his con- 
 fid- nc in her was destroyed, too proba- 
 bly for ever ; and the only idea that at 
 all consoled him was, as before, — " she 
 is so verij young !" 
 
 The next week, there was to be a 
 large assembly at her house ; but some 
 of the company had been invited by 
 Louisa to stay supper, and renew after- 
 wards the play of the evening. 
 
 This last part of the engagement Louisa 
 now wished to break through ; but lord 
 Henry thought it was better that it should 
 take place. — " It is only for once," 
 said he, " and retracting such an invita- 
 tion would perhaps expose you and me to 
 unpleasant animadversions. No, — let 
 them stay ; and, should they press It, I 
 would even wish you to play with them ; 
 but, after that evening, I beg that you 
 will associate as little with that set as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 The party assembled : the invited few
 
 UNFASHiOiMABLE HUSBAND. 177 
 
 Staid supper ; played : Louisa played with 
 them ; and, contrary to her usual custom, 
 she won a considerable sum, and chiefly 
 from Trelawney. It would have been 
 safer for her to have lost. Lord Kenry 
 sighed, prophetically, when he saw her 
 success ; but Louisa secretly congratu- 
 lated herself on it, as she found that her 
 winnings would go very far towards pay- 
 ing the debts • which she had not dartd 
 to own to her husband. 
 
 Another month elapsed ; and Louisa, 
 having withstood all temptations to high 
 play, and expense of any kind, began to 
 feel in some degree reconciled to herself, 
 and to hope that lord Henry beheld her 
 with some of his usual complacency : but 
 she could not hide from her conscious heart, 
 that his manner was changed; that he view- 
 ed her often with, a look of distrust and 
 sorrow ; and that, in their hours of redre- 
 ment, he no longer talked to her on the 
 
 I 5
 
 178 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 important subjects which, as a public 
 character, engrossed his mind, in a man- 
 ner calculated, as his manner used to be, 
 to convince her that he considered her as 
 nearly his equal in the scale of creation: she 
 had proved herself a very woman ; and 
 from having been the object of his highest 
 admiration and esteem, nay, almost of his 
 veneration, she had sunk herself into an 
 object of pity, distrust, and reprehension. 
 True, the faults which had occasioned this 
 were past: but they could not be forgotten, 
 though forgiven ; and while she felt lord 
 Henry ^s tenderness for her to be as ardent 
 perhaps as ever, she could scarcely help 
 exclaiming, " Oh ! restore me, if possible, 
 that respect and esteem which gave such 
 Value to your tenderness, and which I 
 knew not how to prize sufficiently till I 
 found that I had lost them." 
 
 During all this time Trelawney was an 
 attentive observer gf Louisa's conduct and
 
 tJXFAS'HIONABLE KUSEAND^ 179 
 
 countenance ; and having learnt from her 
 servant all that she knew on the subject 
 of her late distress, he was convinced that, 
 could she be led into a second error, the 
 dread of being again exposed to the angry- 
 contempt of her husband would induce her, 
 perhaps, to consent to any terms, in order 
 to conceal her failings from him. Besides, 
 he was now so highly esteemed by her, 
 and her pride was so soothed by ob- 
 serving in his manner that respect and 
 esteem which, from lord Henry, she 
 was so painfully conscious of having 
 forfeited, that her attention to Trelawney 
 was so marked, and the softness of her axl- 
 dress to him so encouraging, that, without 
 being immoderately vain, he might ima- 
 gine, that, could he once force her by 
 any contrivance to be his, the object whom 
 necessity had at first led her to favour, 
 might soon become that of her choice. 
 
 At length, an opportunity, a fatal op- 
 portunity, offered of putting his plans in
 
 180 THE FASPilONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 execurion, and when Louisa was in a 
 frame of mind, too, which did not pro- 
 mise to be very favourable to his purpose ; 
 for, as she happened to enter the draw- 
 ing-room unobserved by her husband, 
 who was conversing with a gentleman, 
 she overheard him say, " So, lady D — ■ — 
 is at last dead, is she ? So much the bet- 
 ter ; for she had long outlived the respect 
 and esteem of her husband ; and in that 
 case a wonian had better be in her grave." 
 — " I think so, too," replied his friend : 
 and these words were scarcely uttered, 
 when lord Henry turned round, and be- 
 held his wife leaning against the door, 
 with an exf)ression of sadness on her 
 countenance for which he well knew how 
 to account. 
 
 In an instant his face was covered with 
 a conscious and almost repentant blush ; 
 and tenderly taking her hand, he told her 
 she looked fatigued, and led her to a 
 chair : then, turning to his companion, he
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. ISl 
 
 took care by engaging him in conver- 
 sation to withdraw his attention from 
 Louisa. 
 
 It was well that he did so ; for her hus- 
 band's words had sunk deep into her 
 heart. — " Ah ! were I to die noic^" she 
 thought, " conscious as he is that I have 
 forfeited his esteem, he might regret me 
 for his sake awhile, but not for my own 1" 
 and unable any longer to conceal her 
 emotion, she took the first opportunity of 
 leaving the room. 
 
 In a short time lord Henry followed 
 her ; and by the increased kindness of 
 his manner she saw that he comprehended 
 the exact state of her feelings ; nor could 
 she see it without a painful conviction at 
 the same time, that he was endeavouring 
 to satisfy her heart and his own for the 
 consciousness he felt of her being sunk 
 in his esteem, by every possible demon- 
 stration of yet surviving affection ; and, 
 humbled to the very soul, she had scarcely
 
 182 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 resolution to answer his inquiries concern- 
 ing the manner in which the rest of her 
 day was to be disposed of, 
 
 '« I dine tcte-d-tihe with lady M j"" 
 
 she faintly answered. 
 
 " And I/' answered he, *' dine at the 
 Prince of Wales's coffee-house, and shall 
 go thence to the house, where, if the ex- 
 pected motion come on, I shall stay all 
 night : but, before I go, let me give you 
 these bills," he added — " I heard you ex- 
 press a wish that you could assist your poor 
 friend Sandford with money to purchase 
 an ensigncy for his son ; — here are three 
 hundred pounds for that purpose ; give 
 them to him, and tell him, that when his 
 son is a general you expect to be repaid. '*^ 
 
 Louisa did not even attempt to articu- 
 late a single thank ; but, throwing herself 
 into her husband's arms, she relieved her 
 oppressed heart by sobbing on his bosom : 
 he then went to his appointment, and 
 Louisa retired to dress, for hers.
 
 •UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 185 
 
 Lady M , the friend with whom 
 
 she was going to dine, had been, though 
 she knew it not, the chlre amie of Tre- 
 lawney, and was still a convenient agent 
 for him. She had engaged Louisa ta 
 dine tete-a-tete with her, in order that 
 Trelawney might call in by accident after 
 dinner, and that then she might pretend 
 to be called away, and leave them alone 
 together ; and this scheme, concerted be- 
 tween lady M and Trelawney, was 
 
 not at all difficult of execution. 
 
 Louisa kept her appointment, and dined 
 with her false friend. While they were 
 drinking coffee in the boudoir^ Trelawney 
 came in ; and on lady M 's express- 
 ing her surprise at seeing him, he told 
 her that he had long threatened to come 
 and take his revenge of her at piquet, 
 and that now the moment was arrived. 
 '* So much the better," replied lady 
 
 M , " as our friend lady Henry is 
 
 here to see fair play/' 
 
 " But it will not be very amusing to
 
 184 
 
 our fair friend to be only a looker-on," 
 observed Trelawney. 
 
 " Indeed, you are mistaken," hastily 
 answered Louisa : " I have abjured play 
 myself, but I can still be interested in 
 seeing others engaged in it : besides, I am 
 too stupid either to entertain or be enter- 
 tained this evening, and shall therefore 
 gladly sink into a mere witness of other 
 people's enjoyment." 
 
 While Louisa said this, Trelawney 
 fixed his eyes on her face, and with an ex- 
 pression so ardent, that, for the first time, 
 she suspected that he entertained for her 
 sentiments warmer than those of friend- 
 ship ; and when she observed that he 
 sighed frequently, did not attend to his 
 game, but played, as lady M remark- 
 ed, ' even worse than ever,' so that it 
 was no pleasure to her to win every game 
 — which she did not fail to do, — Louisa 
 could not help looking on herself as in 
 some measure the cause of his inattention. 
 He was, too, singularly eager to dnnk
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBANT. 185 
 
 repeated glasses of the chasse cqffe which 
 stood near him ; and so much did he 
 extol its efficacy in raising the spirits, 
 that Louisa, feeling herself unusually de- 
 pressed, contrary to her usual customj 
 was prevailed upon to drink two glasses of 
 
 After lady M had played several 
 
 games, and won all, Trelawney declaring 
 himself the worst player in the world, 
 she was called out of the room, but re- 
 turned immediate>y, in well-acted distress, 
 to say that her steward was come up from 
 her estate in tne country to talk to her 
 on business, and she must leave lady 
 Henry for an hour at least ; but she hoped 
 she would stay, and allow Mr. Trelawney 
 the honour of entertaining her till she 
 returned. 
 
 Louisa begged to go away directly, but 
 lady M would not hi-r.r of it : be- 
 sides, she iiad not ordered her carriage 
 till eleven o'clock, and lady M de-
 
 186 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 clared that it was not in her power to 
 send her home in hers : she was therefore 
 left alone with Trelawney j and for the 
 first time in her life she felt that she 
 was alone with him. 
 
 Trelawney himself allowed his counte- 
 nance to express the love which he had 
 at first willed himself to feel for this 
 charming woman, but which now he 
 could not have helped feeling if he would ; 
 and while Louisa averted her conscious 
 face from his gaze, she felt the silence in 
 which they both sat grow every moment 
 more embarrassing : she now took up the 
 cards, and endeavoured to rally Trelaw- 
 ney on his want of skill at the game of 
 piquet. 
 
 " I never played well,*' replied he sigh- 
 ing ; " and to-night it was impossible for 
 me to attend. — Can you play ?*' 
 
 ^' Yes ; and tolerably well, too : but 
 I have forsworn cards." 
 
 '' Indeed !*' exclaimed Trelawney ;--«
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HtJSBAND. l87 
 
 " d'propSs — I never told ycu of itbefore^ 
 but I confess that I have accused you in 
 my heart of meanness.''* 
 
 " Me ! of meanness !" — 
 
 " Yes ; — you won a large sum of mo- 
 ney of me at your own house, and have 
 al^s'a)^ refjsed to give me a chance of win- 
 ning it back again, on the stale pretence 
 of ha\ing given over playing at cards.'* 
 
 '* It was not a pretence — it was 2tfact,'* 
 returned Louisa, blushing indignantly at 
 the charge. 
 
 " But it was a well-timed fact/* 
 replied Trelawney with a sneer : — 
 " however, I rejoice in that symptom of 
 avarice in you ; — for, when I could gaze 
 on a woman till my very senses ache with 
 the idea of her perfections, 'ti^ a relief 
 to me to know that she has at least one 
 fault ; and this fault, sorry am I to say, 
 I have heard lately even your friends 
 attribute to you : to others 1 would not 
 own you guilty ; but, to myself, I could
 
 188 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 not deny that you had recently exhibited 
 strong symptoms of loving money more 
 than such a woman ought to do : — for in- 
 stance, you left off play when you were 
 a winner of several hundreds, and for 
 the last six weeks you have partaken of 
 several fine entertainments, without hav- 
 ing given any in return.'* 
 
 " Mr. Trelawney 1" ciied Louisa, start- 
 ing from her seat, trembling with in* 
 dignation, for she knew how virtuous 
 were the motives that had been so vilely 
 traduced. But to justify herself from 
 this charge, by owning the truth, was 
 impossible^ and she reseated herself, 
 coldly assuring him that he v/as welcome 
 to attribute her conduct to any motives 
 he pleased. 
 
 " Nay, nay, I did not mean to offend 
 you," crieQ Trelawney, grasping her hand 
 and gazing passionately in her face, — 
 ^' but I iove to abuse you — I dare not 
 praise you — for— would to God I had
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 189 
 
 never seen you !" he muttered between his 
 teeth, and, throwing her hand from him, 
 'paced the room in violent agitation. 
 
 " Mr. Trelawney,'' said Louisa coldly, 
 *' we had better, I believe, sit down to 
 piquet." 
 
 *' C'est Id oh je Fattendois,** said Tre- 
 lawney to himself— and to cards they 
 went. 
 
 " What shall we play for ?" asked 
 Trelawney carelessly. 
 
 " The lower the better," replied Louisa; 
 " I only want to ^Xzy pour passer le terns'^ 
 
 " Oh ! as you please, ma'am," replied 
 Trelawney with an air of pique ; " you 
 are resolved, I see, that I shall not win 
 my hundreds back again !" 
 
 " Remember, sir,'* returned Louisa, 
 " that I know myself to be much the bet- 
 ter player ; therefore I need not care what 
 the stake is.'* 
 
 " Nor will / care : therefore, as it is
 
 190 THE FASHIONABLIL WIFE, ANB 
 
 at my peril and not yours, I must beg to 
 play high" — ^naming a very considerable 
 stake. 
 
 Louisa hesitated. — True, at her own 
 house the last night on which she had play- 
 ed, she had played with her husband's con- 
 sent, and in his presence, at a rate as high 
 as that which Trelawney named: however, 
 she could not bear to be accused of mean- 
 ness and avarice, though erroneously ; and 
 at last she consented to play for the sum 
 which he mentioned, depending on lady 
 
 M- 's return to break up their party, 
 
 and also on her own skill to preserve 
 her from any bad losses. 
 
 Alas ! she knew not that Trelawney 
 possessed a secret, of which though he 
 would have scorned to make use while 
 playing with a man, and for the sake of 
 gain only, he had no scruple of availing 
 himself in order to give himself a 
 chance of possessing the woman whom
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 191 
 
 he loved : — this secret was the art, taught 
 him by a German juggler, of dealing him- 
 self any hand of cards which he pleased. 
 
 At first, the unsuspecting Louisa was 
 allowed to win game after gaaie, till 
 the avarice of a gamester was indeed 
 awakened in her, as she contemplated her 
 increasing gains. But at that momenL, 
 by a trick of Trelawney's art, and when 
 he, in seeming despair, had doubled his 
 bets and his stakes, she lost all she had 
 won and something more, and, rising up^ 
 declared she would play no longer. 
 
 " I thought you did not mind losing,'* 
 cried Trelawney maliciously. 
 
 " Nor do I," replied Louisa, blushing, 
 scarcely knowing what she did, and sit- 
 ting down again. Trelawney drank a glass 
 oi liqueur : "You had better do the same,'* 
 cried he : and Louisa, conscious of in- 
 creasing agitation, followed his advice. 
 The usual glass he had changed for a full- 
 Mzed one, and Louisa unconsciously drank 
 2
 
 ] 92 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 it. The consequence soon was, that, as 
 she continued to play, her head grew 
 more confused, and her feelings more 
 irritable. 
 
 She continued to lose ; and in propor- 
 tion as she did so, she went on betting 
 still higher. At length she found she had 
 lost aboTe a. hundred pounds, and had 
 no cash to discharge the debt, unless 
 she made free with the money given her 
 by her generous husband for the assist- 
 ance of a distressed friend. However, it 
 was too late to stop. Her only chance of 
 redeeming herself was by going on. — 
 She did, and won one game. 
 
 Trelawney was then to deal. Eager to 
 see her cards, Louisa took up the first six 
 before the rest were dealt. It was a sixieme 
 — Trelawney knew it. — " Now," said he, 
 '^ Lady Henry, let it be double or quits." 
 •Louisa consented to the proposal, and 
 Trelawney, having packed the cards, gave 
 himself point, quint, and quatorze ! and
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 19^^ 
 
 his unhappy victim had incurred a debt of 
 near three hundred pounds to him I 
 
 The agony of that moment completely 
 dispersed the confusion which the liqueur- 
 had contributed to occasion in her mind. 
 But the extent of her danger and distress 
 had not yet burst upon her. Trelawney 
 saw her anguish, and artfully pretended 
 to attribute it to fear of her husbaiid and 
 of his resentment. 
 
 " Fear !" she exclaimed, "fear of his re- 
 sentment !Oh ! that feeling were heaven to 
 what I this moment experience. No ; — 
 'tis the hitter consciousness that I deserve 
 to lose, and shall lose, his esteem, that 
 hurries me to madness ; that 1 shall ap- 
 pear to the man I dote upon, and to the 
 most perfect of beings, as a creature 
 worthy of nothing but his contempt! — Oh! 
 if you knew that man as I know him ! if 
 you knew all that he has done for me ! 
 'Twas but this morning that " Here, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE FASHIONABLE W1FE,TaND 
 
 unable to proceed, she threw herself on 
 the sofa, and groaned aloud. 
 ^ *' But why, my dearest lady Heniy, 
 why should you expose yourself to your 
 husband's contempt ? Why need he know 
 what has passed ?" 
 
 *' He must know it. Am I not in your 
 debt, sir, and without the means of paying 
 you, unless assisted by him ?'* 
 
 '' Then, could you pay me without his 
 knowledge, you would be easy ?*' 
 
 " Easy ! Yes, as far as the reproaches 
 of my conscience will let me be. — Easy ! 
 Yes; could I but preserve some little share 
 of his esteem, I should be comparatively 
 happy — ^but that is impossible/' 
 
 " Dearest of women, it is not impossi- 
 ble. The means are in your power," cried 
 Trelawney, falling at her feet, and daring 
 to make known to her the conditions of 
 her security from her husband's resent- 
 ment. But words would fail to give 
 
 I
 
 TJNFASHIONABLE HDSBANI). 195 
 
 an adequate idea of the mute horror and 
 surprise with which Louisa listened to his 
 insulting and profligate proposal ; and 
 r^ad in it the degrading idea which her 
 weakness in one respect had led him to 
 form of her in all. — -She spoke not, she 
 stirred not, and but for the meaning con- 
 tempt and indignation expressed in her 
 countenance,Trelawney might have doubt- 
 ed wliether she really existed. At length, 
 roused to exertion by the continuance of 
 his presumptuous declarations, she rose 
 from her seat, and, clasping her hands 
 together, exclaimed — " Just heaven, well 
 am I punished for my errors, by an in- 
 sult like this !'' 
 
 She then took from her pocket-book the 
 notes which lord Henry had given herin the 
 moming,and presented them totheastonish- 
 ed and disconcerted Trelawney. — ^' Take 
 them, sir," she cried with the quickness 
 of a'desperate but determined mind; *'they 
 were destined to a diiferent purpose, but I 
 K 2
 
 196 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 will not remain in your debt a mo- 
 ment : you shall give me the change 
 when we meet again." And now looking 
 at her watch, " I shall ring for my car- 
 riage/' 
 
 In vain Trelawney knelt and expostu* 
 lated. Louisa made no other reply, than 
 that, as she found the bell did not ring, 
 he would oblige her by calling her ser- 
 vants. 
 
 " It is not eleven, and they can't be 
 come." 
 
 " It is past eleven, and they are always 
 punctual.*' 
 
 " You must not, shall not go yet; I 
 will not call your carriage." 
 
 " Then I will call it myself," she ex- 
 claimed ; and before he could detain her 
 she had reached the bottom of the stairs, 
 and seeing her servant, in another mo- 
 ment she was seated in her chariot and 
 drove from the door. 
 
 *^ Home!" criedthe footman. " Home!"
 
 TTNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 19? 
 
 repeated Louisa to herself, " home ! Not 
 yet ;" — and letting down the glass, she de- 
 sired to be driven to the house of her 
 apothecary. 
 
 When the carriage stopped at the door, 
 and the servant came to receive her or- 
 ders, the lamp glared on her face, and 
 he started at sight of her pale rheek and 
 disordered eye. " My lady," cried tlie 
 man, " are you not well, my lady r" 
 
 '•' No : such a tooth-ache ! Call Mr. 
 Ui^'.vii) immediately." 
 
 ll'i came, bowin^^ too low to notice ihe 
 pale countenance of Louisa. 
 
 '^ Mr, Unwin,'* cried she, " I am re- 
 turning home distracted with the tooth- 
 ache : — for pity's sake, give me some lau- 
 danum directly !*' 
 
 " A small bottlefuU, my lady ?'' 
 
 '' Yes, a small quantity. — But now I 
 think of it, Mr. Unwin, I shall want to 
 take some into the country with me, so 
 let me have a large bottlefull at once." 
 
 ^' Veiy well, my lady, I w^ill."
 
 198 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 He procured the laudanum, and gave 
 it into the servant's hand : but though 
 the lamp still glared on her face, he saw 
 not the sad and desperate expression p£ 
 her countenance ; he saw not her parched 
 and quivering lip ; and he heard not the 
 deep, faltering, and unusual sound of 
 her voice. To him, she had only the 
 tooth-ache : she said so, and he was satis* 
 fied. 
 
 How many people look whout seeing ! 
 Louisa in a few minutes reached home :. 
 when there, she summoned her maid to 
 her dressing-room, and told her " that she 
 herself should sit up till lord Henry re- 
 turned, however late he might be j'* but 
 desired her to go to bed. 
 
 The servant affectionately replied, " I 
 am sure, my lady, you are not well ; there- 
 fore I beg that you will go to bed, and let 
 me sit up.'' But Louisa, who was with 
 difficulty able to keep her feelings in any 
 bounds, in a loud tone of voice, and with 
 a sternness, wholly unusual to her, com-
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 199 
 
 manded her " to cease her impertinence, 
 and begone !'* 
 
 The astonished servant with tears in 
 her eyes obeyed. — Louisa looked after 
 her as the door closed, and exckiimed, 
 " Poor thing ! I have hurt her fVelings : 
 but she will forgive me to-morrow." 
 
 She 'v^'as now left alone with her own 
 thoughts, and they were nought but 
 wretchedness and despair- — and the means 
 of instant death were in her power. True', 
 ^he felt that at nineteen it was hard, very 
 ^hard to die ; but all that made life valu- 
 able was gone from her for ever She 
 knew that sh>^ had now for ever forfeited 
 the esteem and love of her husband ; and 
 had not lord Henry himself pronounced 
 her doom ? had he not said that morning, 
 " that it was better for a woman to die, 
 than survive the esteem of her husband?'* 
 
 Louisa was not conscious of it ; but the 
 bitterness with which she dwelt on this 
 observation, and the conscious blush 
 which crimsoned the face of lord Henry
 
 200 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 when he saw how Louisa applied it, added 
 a motive of resentment to other reasons 
 urging her to suicide. To be regretted 
 by him, to be the object of his agonized 
 admiration, for having energy enough to 
 punish herself for the vices which long 
 habits of self-indulgence, rather than vi- 
 cious propensities, had caused her to com- 
 mit, was a prospect so dear to her, that, to 
 realise it, life itself was not too great a 
 sacrifice. She little knew the strong and 
 discriminating mind of her husband ; she 
 little knew how weak in his eyes that being 
 must appear, Vv'ho im?i.gined that one great 
 fault could be varnished over, or atoned 
 for, by the commission of a still greater-— 
 and one which admits of no repentance or 
 reparation; she was not aware that suicide 
 appeared to him no better than rank self- 
 ishness, and indolent cowardice. 
 
 But she had erred, and she could not 
 bear to encounter the dreadful conse- 
 quences of her error. The ardent attach- 
 ment to her husband, which ought to have
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 201 
 
 deterred her from evil, now only wakened 
 in all its force, to show her the height 
 from which she had fallen, and that her 
 only alternative, in the very prime of 
 youth, was misery or death ! — She had 
 never learnt to bear even the pain of 
 triflinpj privations and self-denials as expi- 
 ations for offences ; and the same impa- 
 tience of suffering, that had always hurried 
 her into indulging every vhh as it rose, 
 now urged her to the commission of self- 
 murder I 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, the thought of her 
 father, and of his childless age, came 
 across her mind, and unnerved her reso- 
 lution ; but then she recollected that he 
 loved her so tenderly that he would ratlier 
 follow her to her grave, than behold her 
 languishing in mental affliction ; and 
 again with a firm hand she grasped the 
 benumbing draught, placed it beside her, 
 and sat down to write a farewell letter to 
 her husband, and a few lines to Trelawiaey. 
 K 5
 
 202 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 To the latter she wrote thus : 
 *' You knew me to be weak, and you 
 basely took advantage of my weakness ; 
 
 and your friend lady M entered 
 
 only too successfully into your plans. — 
 1 understand it all now ; — ^but, despicable 
 contrivers as you are, you failed in your 
 worst and ultimate purpose. No ; though 
 you could lure me to the vic^ of play, 
 and convert into an impoverished game- 
 ster the wife of one of the noblest of men^ 
 neither your artifices nor my fears could 
 tempt me to purchase concealment and 
 security from my husband's anger, by 
 the surrender of my honour to your 
 Hcentious passion. Monster f I could 
 trample on you, for having indulged 
 the hope even for an instant. What ! 
 am I not already too unworthy of such 
 a husband ? 
 
 " You wonder, probably, why I con- 
 descend to write to you at all — and why 
 I write thus. — Know, then, that while I
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 20S 
 
 write, the means of self-destruction are 
 in my reach ; and you, by the error 
 into which you and your vile agent be- 
 trayed me this evening, by luring me to 
 the card-table, have precipitated me into 
 an untimely grave. I cannot live, and 
 be the object of my husband's contempt 
 and aversion ; my soul dotes on him 
 too fondly. — Listen, then, to the words 
 of a dying woman ! Man of mtrigue 
 and passion, repent of thy iniquity : I 
 am one of thy victims ; beware how thou 
 seekest after others. Let the remembrance 
 of me fill thee with salutary remorse ! — 
 Out of pity to theCy and love for my 
 husband, I will not urge him to revenge 
 by disclosing thy treachery to him ; but 
 that my last moments may be marked by 
 an act of mercy, the knowledge of thy 
 crime shall die with me, and thou shalt 
 live to think of my untimely fate, and. 
 £or repentance and amendment. — 
 
 " Farewell ! — I forgive thee. 
 
 " Louisa Algernon.'*
 
 1^04 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 This note she directed to Trelawney, 
 and then inclosed in an envelope to her 
 own servant, desiring her to give it to 
 Mr. Trelawney. 
 
 The letter to lord Henry was as fol- 
 lows : 
 
 " When you read this, best-beloved of 
 my soul, I shall be insensible to the ex- 
 pressions of regret and pity which it will 
 probably occasion you ; and, alas ! pity 
 my selfishness while I own that I could 
 better endure the consciousness of your 
 suffering the pangs of unavailing regret, 
 than bear to live, and be the object of 
 your contempt and indifference. I have 
 sinned past forgiveness. The money 
 which you gave me to perform an a^t 
 of generosity, I lost this evening at the 
 gaming-table 1 I could not bear to Uve^ 
 and make this degrading confession ! — 
 and did you not yourself say, that a 
 woman had better die than survive the. 
 esteem of her husband ? 
 
 ^' I have only one request to make to
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 205 
 
 you : — Continue to be a son to my poor 
 father ; desert not his childless age, as 1 
 have been forced to do ; and never, 
 never let him know, or even suspect, how 
 I died, or the cause of my death. But 
 I must fly from this subject. O God 1 
 with such a husband, — the delight of his 
 fi-iends, the pride of his country, — how 
 happy I might have been ! — While I am 
 writing this, an applauding senate per- 
 haps is hanging on thy words, and listen- 
 ing delighted to that voice which I shall 
 never hear again 1 And what a welcome, 
 what a recompense, must await thee at 
 home ! — A wife writhing under the consci- 
 ousness of disgrace and error, cr stretch- 
 ed before thee a self-murdered corpse 1 I 
 cannot hesitate on which of these two 
 horrors to make my choice. I could 
 not endure to encounter the contemptuous 
 glance of thine eye : therefore, fare\^'ell 
 for ever I — O that I could once more 
 hold thee to my heart 1 — But I am un- 
 worthy of such, a blessing. — Be this>
 
 206 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 then, my only farewell ! — ^I fly from thy 
 justice to the mercy of my God. 
 
 " Louisa." 
 
 Having closed this letter, having writ- 
 ten her husband's name on it, gazed on 
 his name for the last time, and pressed 
 k to her pale and parched lip, she 
 breathed an audible prayer to the Being 
 into whose presence she was madly and 
 impiously rushing, begging him to for- 
 give her, to bless her husband and her 
 father, — ^and then, with the quickness of 
 desperate resolution, she put the fatal 
 draught to her lips. 
 
 At this moment her hand was sud- 
 denly seized, and the poison dashed oil 
 the ground. She turned, and beheld her 
 husband 1 — and, shrinking from his awful 
 fi-own, sunk on the ground in a state 
 of insensibility. 
 
 Though the unobservant being from 
 whom Louisa had procured the lauda^ 
 num had not beheld her as an object of
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 207 
 
 anxious curiosity, when with a disordered 
 mien and faltering voice she stopped to 
 request it of him, there was an eye at 
 that moment which read her looks with 
 terror and suspicion ; — there was a heart 
 that had throbbed with apprehensive 
 agony at the hollow sound of her voice, 
 and whose prophetic fears had whispered 
 the means of saving her from the medi^ 
 tated destruction. 
 
 Lord Herry, finding that the expected 
 motion at the house would not come on 
 that night, was returning home, when he 
 saw his own carriage at Mr. Un win's 
 door ; and alarmed lest Louisa should be 
 suddenly taken ill, he approached the 
 door, muffled up in his great coat and 
 unperceived even by his servants, just as 
 the lamp disclosed her pale and mourn- 
 ful face to the view, and as with a fal- 
 tering voice, and with that motion of the 
 lips which shows them to be parched and 
 painful, she asked for laudanum on pre*
 
 208 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 tence of having the tooth-ache, and, with 
 an expression which struck terror to his 
 heart, desired that the bottle should be a 
 large one. 
 
 He was too deeply read m her counte- 
 nance not to know that something dread- 
 ful had happened to her j and he was now 
 too well aware of the impetuous violence 
 of her feelings, and of the want of delibe- 
 ration of her character, not to fear that 
 the dangerous drug was designed for a 
 most fatal purpose ; — and he was on the 
 point of discovering himself, and accom- 
 panying her home, when it occurred to 
 him that he had better reach home before 
 her, desire his servant not to mention 
 his return, and then conceal himself in 
 Louisa's dressing-room to watch her mo- 
 tions ', and, should his fears be just, rush 
 out and save her from her own despair. 
 
 He had done so : he had hidden him- 
 self behind a curtain in a deep recess op- 
 posite to her writing-table ; and, through
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 209 
 
 an aperture in it which he had purposely 
 made, he could behold all her actions, 
 and see all her agony and irresolution ;-— 
 nor could her agony have exceeded his 
 own, while he awaited the final event : — 
 at length, her despair reached its climax ; 
 he rushed out, and, overcome with a 
 variety of dreadful emotions, his guilty 
 and unhappy wife lost in temporary 
 death the consciousness of her delin- 
 quency. 
 
 Lord Henry raised her from the ground, 
 and laid her on a couch, scarcely know- 
 ing what he did, or how he ought to 
 act. Sometimes he feared that his senses 
 had deceived him, — that he had come 
 too late, and she was realiy dead : — then 
 he hung over her in phrensied distress ; 
 and. calling her by a thousand endearing 
 names, clasped lier in agony to his bo- 
 som. But at length he saw her bosom 
 heave convulsively ; and while unwonted 
 tears h\ii'st down his manly cheeks, her
 
 210 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 recollection seemed on the point of re- 
 turning, and he used every proper means 
 to restore her entirely to life. 
 
 At last, when her senses were nearly 
 restored, he, for one moment more, suf- 
 fered the man and the husband to super- 
 sede the reprover and the judge ; and, 
 imprinting a long and fond kiss upon her 
 lips, he strained her almost wildly to the 
 heart which she had so deeply wounded : 
 then, struggling with his feelings, his 
 countenance re-assumed its sad severity ; 
 and when her opening eye met his, ter- 
 rified at its stem reproving glance, she 
 uttered a deep groan ; and, falling at his 
 feet, besought his pity and his pardon, by 
 her uplifted hands and imploring eyes. 
 
 *' Kneel to thy God 1 and not to me," 
 replied lord Henry ; " him have you 
 most offended. Cowardly, yet daring 
 woman ! who, rather than meet the an- 
 ger of a creature frail as yourself, could 
 dare to encounter that of an omnipotent
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HIJSBAND. 211 
 
 and impeccable Being ! Are you not 
 teiT'ified at the reflection, that, but for 
 ray unexpected interference, you might 
 at this moment have been trembling in 
 the presence of a judge, far, far more 
 awful than I am ! — Let me raise you 
 from that posture ; mock him not with 
 the attitude of humility, while your proud 
 heart defies him V 
 
 So saying, he forced her from the 
 ground, and seated her on the sofa. 
 
 " But what dreadful crime," continued 
 he, " can you have committed, that should 
 have made you so wretched and so de- 
 sperate ? — ^These no doubt will inform 
 me," he continued, taking up the letters. 
 
 '' Oh ! not that ! — for mercy's sal^e da 
 not read that !" cried Louisa, trying to 
 seize the letter enclosed for Trelawney. 
 
 Lord Henry, with a countenance ter- 
 rible in anger, and withholding the letter, 
 replied, '• This is no time for mystery 
 and rc'^eri'e^ madam,*' — and instantly
 
 212 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 broke the seal : the envelope fell to the 
 ground ; and he saw the name of Tre- 
 iawney on the address, 
 
 " Merciful God!" cried lord Henry, 
 *' what new crime (as yet wholly un- 
 suspected) have I still to learn !** 
 
 Louisa understood his suspicions ; and 
 for a moment she triumphed in the con- 
 sciousness of innocence. 
 
 With an eager eye and a beating heart 
 he devoured the almost illegible scrawU 
 *' Villain ! villain !*' he exclaimed, when 
 he had ended. 
 
 *' I feared this l" cried Louisa, clasp- 
 ing her hands in anguish. 
 
 " Feared what ?'* interrogated lord 
 Henry. 
 
 »' " That you might revenge the intended 
 injury to )n3ur honour by — " 
 
 " By meanly sacrificing to a sense of 
 personal injury, my duty to my country 
 and society ? No, madam, no ; I will 
 not condescend to risk my life against
 
 . UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 215 
 
 that of a villain ; or, by depriving him 
 of existence, be forced to shelter in a 
 foreign land, and leave unfulfilled the ac- 
 tive duties which I think it incumbent on 
 me to fuJfil in this. No. You have made 
 me miserable ; but not even you shall 
 be the means of leading me to an action 
 which would degrade rae in my own eyes. 
 I will set you a nobler example than you 
 have given me : I will not rush on de- 
 sperate actions to escape from wretched- 
 ness, but I will summon resolution to 
 bear my misery with fortitude." 
 
 '• But your misery," cried Louisa, " is 
 not self-incurred ; no remorse mixes with 
 it ; and therefore it is comparatively easy 
 
 to bear : but mine was " 
 
 " The consequence of your own want 
 of conduct ; and to escape it, you dared 
 to commit a crime still worse than the 
 one for which you suffered. — Rash, un- 
 thinking, selfish woman ! If no religious 
 restraint withheld you, could you not be
 
 214 THE FASHIO?iABLE WIFE, ANi^ 
 
 restrained by the dread of the anguish 
 which you were about to inflict on your 
 husband and your father ? But no — you 
 fehforno one but yourse^lf; and selfish- 
 ness is always the characteristic of suicide. 
 
 " This letter I perceive is addressed to 
 me," he continued, and was going to read 
 it instantly ; but his courage failed him, and 
 he resolved to read it alone : he therefore 
 retired into the next room ; and Louisa, 
 glad of a moment's solitude to compose 
 her troubled thoughts, spent the time of 
 his short absence in a fervent address to 
 that Being whose forgiveness she needed, 
 and whose mercy she had experienced. 
 
 When lord Henry returned, she ven* 
 tured to raise her eyes to his face ; and her 
 heart felt one solitary throb of pleasure, 
 when she saw the trace of a tear on his 
 cheek. 
 
 The letter had indeed beguiled him of 
 many, but he made no comment on it. It 
 was however easy to observe, that be con-
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 2iJ 
 
 tinued his just reproofs ^ith visible effort, 
 and that he steadily avoided looking at 
 Louisa as he spoke. 
 
 " But we had better retire to rest now," 
 he at length obser\^ed — " and you shall 
 know my future will to-morrow.'* 
 
 " I cannot rest," exclaimed Louisa. 
 
 " ITien PRAY," answered lord Henr)': 
 and taking a candle, he immediately retired 
 to a chamber at a distance from Louisa, and 
 left her to commune with her own mise- 
 rable thoughts in solitude and silence. — 
 Lord Henry too bathed his solitary pillow 
 with many a bitter tear ; but his resolu- 
 tion was taken. 
 
 The next morning he sent to invite 
 himself to breakfast with Louisa in her 
 dressmg-room ; but his servant hastening 
 back into his chamber, with looks of 
 alarm informed him that lady Henry 
 was dangerously ill, and that her atten- 
 dants begged him to come to her imme- 
 diately.
 
 216 THE FASHIONABLE WIPE, AND 
 
 Lord Henry ran directly to her apart- 
 ment, and found that the account of her 
 illness was not exaggerated ; and that the 
 agonies of mind which she had endured the 
 preceding evening, had had a fatal effect 
 on her frame. He immediately dispatched 
 a messenger for medical advice, and then, 
 as kindly as if she had never offended 
 him, took his station by her bedside, and 
 anxiously watched beside her. Not that 
 he owned to himself that his motives for 
 attending by his wife's sick bed were 
 wholly attributable to anxious unsubdued 
 affection ; on the contrary, he laboured 
 to convince himself, that he acted thus 
 from fear lest in her delirium she should 
 disclose what had happened the night 
 before, and that therefore it was proper 
 no one but he should if possible approach 
 her. 
 
 Nor was this precaution unnecessary : 
 during several days of delirium, scarcely 
 a day passed in which Louisa did not
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 21? 
 
 allude to the horrors which had over- 
 whelmed her health and reason ; and while 
 she refused to take any thing but from 
 the hand of her husband, she continually 
 addressed to him the most pathetic prayers 
 for pardon. 
 
 At length the fever subsided, and Lou- 
 isa recovered, to feel as great reality of 
 wretchedness as any which her delirious 
 fancy had pictured. She recovered, to read, 
 ill the cold reserve of lord Heniy's manner, 
 that a severe punishment for her faults 
 awaited her ; to fear that she had indeed 
 k^st his affection for ever, and that his at- 
 tentions to her had been the result of 
 duty only. She knew not that the hand 
 which now coldly avoided the touch of 
 hers, had, while she was insensible of 
 kindness, grasped her burning arm, and 
 lingered on her rapid pulse with terrified 
 and anxious fondness ; that the arm on 
 which she now vainly endeavoured to 
 lean, had supported her in her unconscious 
 
 VOL. 1. L
 
 21 S THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 phrensy, and clasped her with unabated 
 tenderness 5 and that the lip which now 
 breathed nothing but cold inquiries after 
 her health, had often kindly and fondly 
 pressed her burning temples, and addressed 
 to heaven the prayers of agonized and 
 apprehensive affection. 
 
 But lord Henry still persisted in his 
 attendance on her ; and lord N., whom 
 he had constantly kept out of her sight, 
 assured every one that " there never was 
 such a fond husband as lord Henry ; that 
 he would suffer no one to come near his 
 wife but himself ; and that he was sure 
 they were the fondest and happiest couple 
 in Europe." 
 
 In the mean while lord Henry, this 
 happy husband, and Louisa, this beloved 
 wife, were on the eve of forming arrange- 
 ments for their future way of living ; which, 
 though perfectly consistent with the for- 
 mer s ideas of justice, were fatal to every 
 hope of happiness entertained by the latter.
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 21f 
 
 As soon as Louisa was able to leave her 
 own apartment, lord Henry repeated his 
 former request to be admitted to breakfast 
 with her in her dressing-room ; and sum- 
 moning all her resolution, she received the 
 dreaded visit. 
 
 When the almost untasted meal was 
 removed, lord Henry addressed her thus : 
 " Though the fear of injunng my peace 
 has not been strong enough to prevent 
 you from the commission of the most 
 pernicious errors ; and therefore I must 
 consider you as loving yourself far be- 
 yond any other human being ; still, I 
 believe that you entertain for me sincere 
 and unabated love j and that it is not the 
 dread of what the world may think of 
 your conduct, but what I think of it, that 
 agonizes your heart at this moment.*' 
 
 ^' True, most true !" was her answer. 
 
 " But 1 feel," resumed lord Henry, 
 ^"^ such respect for the opinion of the- 
 world, and such fear of its just censure, 
 l2
 
 *i20. THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 not only of myself but of my wife, that 
 I am anxious to hide from it every part 
 of the late horrible transaction. — Mr. 
 
 Trelawney and lady M for their own 
 
 sakes will be secret ; and we for ours. 
 Therefore we will appear to every one to 
 live as if our union were still cemented by 
 the best of all ties, mutual confidence and 
 esteem. In private only, conscious as we 
 are of the harrier that exists between us, 
 we will live as strangers to each other." 
 
 " As strangers !'* exclaimed Louisa, 
 starting from her seat. 
 
 " I have said it," he coldly replied. 
 
 " Oh ! this is worse, far worse than 
 dying !" she cried. — " Cruel Algernon ! 
 why did you by your kind attentions en, 
 deavour to save my life V* 
 
 '^ That you might live for repentance^*' 
 he answered. 
 
 '' Yet, yet be merciful in your justice," 
 returned Louisa. — " Send me from you I 
 I cannot, cannpt bear to live under the
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HVSBAND. '221 
 
 same roof with you, yet find myself an 
 alien to your affections !*' 
 
 ** What ! were the world's censure a 
 matter of indifference to you, could you 
 bear to break your father's heart, by the 
 knowledge of our wretchedness, and your 
 fatal errors ? If you are cruel enough to 
 disregard the consciousness of his misery, 
 /am not. — Kind, good old man ! I will 
 not convert thy parental pride into shame 
 and repining.— No : as far as depends 
 on me, thou t^halt go down to thy glave 
 glorying in thy daughter." 
 
 " My lord,*' cried Louisa, '' I am re- 
 signed to my fate ; let me be the only 
 sufferer." 
 
 " The only suffsrer !'' returned lord 
 
 Henry. " Oh ! Louisa, " A long 
 
 pause ensued. At length lord Henry 
 said, " I have well cons^idered this un- 
 happy business, and I am convinced that 
 it will be proper for the world to think you 
 still the object of my love and adoration."
 
 222 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 " And do you mention the world's 
 delusion as means of consolation to 
 
 pie r 
 
 '' No, madam, I do not wish you to 
 be soon consoled— I wish you to undergo 
 salutary suffering for your faults, and to 
 be amended by dint of trials. No. I 
 shall on principle be pleased to know, 
 that while an admiring world looks up to 
 you as its idol, the flattered idol abroad is 
 a wretch at home. The hour of uncon- 
 ditional pardon and pernicious indul- 
 gence is past. I cannot take to my 
 bosom a wife so weak and- criminal ; for 
 your projected suicide, instead of raising 
 you in my eyes, has sunk you still lower. 
 As a christian I forgive you, but as a hus- 
 band I disclaim you ! — (Here his voice 
 faltered.) — I have one thing more to 
 say — ^I demand a full and true account of 
 all your debts ; and when they are paid, 
 the allowance which I shall give you shall 
 be so ample, as to preclude all. tempta^
 
 UKPASHIONABLE HUSBAKH. ^25 
 
 tion to run in debt again ; at least, none 
 but what habit, so often powerful over 
 reason, shall hold out. I think, I am 
 sure, you will ne\^erp]ay again." 
 
 " Bless you, bless you for that !" cried 
 Louisa, bursdng into tears ; and lord 
 Henry hasrily quitted the room. ' 
 
 In every thing lord Henry's plan was 
 punctually put in execudon. As soon as 
 he had paid all her bills, he gave her the 
 first quarter's allowance of a most bounti- 
 ful yearly sdpend. He even paid her in- 
 finitely more attention in public than she 
 ever received from him before ; while the 
 
 deceived lord N was often heard to 
 
 exclaim, with tears in his eyes, "Lord and 
 lady Henry are a pattern for married 
 people !" 
 
 Luckily for him, he saw not the interior 
 of then: family ; he beheld them not in 
 their hours of retirement ; he knew not 
 that it was now so painful to them to be 
 alone together, that lord Henry was glad
 
 224 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 to invite a widowed sister to take up her 
 abode with them. 
 
 Lady Anne came, and was not slow to 
 discover the marked contrast between her 
 brother's manner to his wife in public, 
 and in private ; nor was it long before 
 the affectionate earnestness of her in- 
 quiries drew from Louisa a confession, that 
 her own imprudencies had weaned from 
 her the affections of her husband.—" But, 
 guilty as I am," cried she, ^' I did not 
 think he could so completely have thrown 
 me from his heart.'* 
 
 "Oh, do not believe that he has done so, 
 my dear sister : you are now only under- 
 goir.g a probation. When he thinks you 
 have expiated your past errors by a life of 
 self-denial and virtue, he will forgive you, 
 and love you as tenderly as ever." — • 
 " Alas 1" repUed Louisa, " when I have 
 gone through my probation, and even 
 with honour to myself, it is but too pro- 
 bable that there will be no love remaiur
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 225 
 
 ing in his heart, to reward me for all I 
 have endured. Nothing in this life is 
 stationary, no not even affection. If it 
 does not increase, it must unavoidably 
 diminish ; and never, never to relax in 
 the coldness of his manner in private, 
 proves, indeed it does, that his heart is 
 for ever lost to me !" 
 
 The kind lady Anne could only weep, and 
 pity her ; for she looked up to her brother as 
 to a superior being, and cculd not blame 
 any measure which he thought proper to 
 pursue. But Louisa, whose feelings were 
 wounded to the quick by the conscious- 
 ness that lord Henry loved her no longer, 
 though wellconvinced that shehad deserved 
 to lose it, sometimes proudly resolved to 
 hide within her heart the misery which 
 she felt, and not allow him to suspect rhe 
 anguish which she endured. But the 
 next moment she declared that he should 
 see her the hopeless wretch that he had 
 L 5
 
 226 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 made her, and the whole world should 
 know her sufferings, and learn to pity 
 while it condemned her. But then she 
 recollected lord Henry's desire, that what 
 had passed might be kept secret from 
 every one : and with a desperate sort of 
 resignation she vowed he should be 
 obeyed. She therefore took care to be 
 continually in company ; and observing 
 that the agony of her mind had impaired 
 the mantling bloom of her cheek, she 
 repaired its ravages by art, and so skilfully 
 that Icrrd Henry, not suspecting the de- 
 ception, and seeing his wife shining with 
 unabated beauty, concluded that she felt 
 but little f and mourned in secret over 
 her want of proper sensibility. 
 
 Thus, unfortunately, while only seek- 
 ing to deceive the world, she also de- 
 ceived her husband, and estranged his 
 heart still further from her. But in this^ 
 instance, lord Henry, in wishing her to
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 227 
 
 act a part before the eyes of the public, 
 was as culpable as she was ; and they 
 added one more to the many instances, 
 that openness and sincerity are always 
 more conducive to happiness than dis- 
 guise and duplicity. 
 
 Sometimes overwhelmed and humbled 
 by the consciousness of her husband's 
 superiority, Louisa resolved carefully to 
 examine whether that superiority was as 
 real as her youthful enthusiasm had ima- 
 gined it to be ; and she endeavoured, in 
 the gay and often accomplished group of 
 young men who surrounded her, to find 
 some counterbalance to the sense of his 
 oppressive worth. And while they praised 
 her talents, and paid respectful homage 
 to her charms, she endeavoured to look 
 on her youth as an excuse for her errors, 
 and to consider lord Henry as a severe 
 and merciless judge. 
 
 One evening, flattered and followed^.
 
 228 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 she had succeeded in lulling her remorse 
 to sleep, . and had begun to believe that 
 the homage of the admiring group around 
 her was nearly as valuable as the esteem 
 of her husband ; and that a foolish par- 
 tiality alone had made her believe in the 
 exclusive excellence of lord Henry ; when 
 
 lord Henry himself entered. Instantly, 
 
 as Delphine says, she saw " les miances 
 de raffectaiion sortir.*' The lively ap- 
 peared flippant ; the relater of stories, a 
 mere twaddler (to use a well known 
 phrase); the sententious observer, affected 
 and pedantic ; the pleasant satirist, an 
 unprincipled defamer ; and the man of 
 wit, a conceited coxcomb. 
 
 There was an unpretending simplicity 
 and good sense ii) lord Henry Algernon ; 
 a dignified composure of manner, and a 
 modesty not at all inconsistent with man- 
 liness ; which was so sure a pledge, that 
 though every sentence he uttered beamed
 
 • ; UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 229 
 
 with mind, he was wholly unconscious of 
 shining, and meant not to shine, that 
 Louisa hated herself for having even 
 wished to degrade him to her own level ; 
 and retired to her chamber, when the 
 gUttering crowd was gone, more miserable, 
 more self-condemned, more provoked at, 
 yet more in love with, and proud of her 
 husband^ than ever. — " And this is the 
 man whom I have presumed to afilict !" 
 she cried ; " this is the man from whom 
 I have eternally separated mysejf !'* The 
 thought was agony, and the morning 
 found her unrefreshed by sleep. 
 
 More than a year had now elapsed since 
 Louisa's last conversation with her hus- 
 band in her dressing-room. But though 
 art could hide the decay of her bloom, it 
 could not disguise the ravages which secret 
 sorrow made in her form. That round- 
 ness of contour, which made her figure 
 so beautiful, was now lost ; and her fallei>
 
 230 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 cheek proclaimed that some sure but 
 secret cause was mining her health away^ 
 
 Lord N was amongst the first to 
 
 observe this, and he was fortunate enough 
 to attribute this appearance to a very 
 welcome cause. He had long wished to 
 see an heir to his estates and lord Henry's^^ 
 and he now was convinced that this happy 
 moment was approaching. Nor was it 
 long before the delighted old man ventu- 
 red to hint his feelings on the subject . to* 
 lord Henry hmiself. 
 
 " So, my lord Henry !'' cried he, lean- 
 ing on the head of his cane, and looking 
 very archly up in his face — " So ! — ^When 
 family secrets can no longer be con- 
 cealed, I suppose then I am to be made 
 acquainted with them !*' 
 
 " Secrets, my lord !" cried lord Hen- 
 ry, starting from his chair — 
 
 " Yes, sir ; and I do think it was very 
 unkind inyo^o keep me in ignorance."
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND* 23^ 
 
 *' My lord," exclaimed lord Heniy, 
 " you alarm and distress me beyond mea- 
 sure. What is known ? — what ought 
 I to have revealed to you ?" 
 
 " What you must know it would 
 give me the greatest pleasure to- 
 hear." 
 
 Lord Henry started, and went bacfe 
 to his seat. 
 
 " All is safe/' he said to himself; 
 " for what I have to tell, a father could 
 not have pleasure to hear." 
 
 " Come come, Henry, away with these- 
 reserves/' contiaued lord N— , " and. 
 let me congratulate you and myself on 
 the happy prospect of an heir to both our 
 families." 
 
 Lord Henry again started from his seat 
 — ^^ This is too much," he exclaimed— 
 " Who has been sporting thus with your 
 lordship's credulity ?" 
 
 Lord N looked aghast — "My 
 
 1
 
 232 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 credulity! Let me tell you, sir, no one 
 should presume to sport with that.*' 
 
 " I beg your pardon, my lord, but in- 
 deed you are misinformed." 
 
 " I tell you I can't be misinformed — 
 for I have not been informed at all : - my 
 eyes were my hiformants — and so they 
 are oiher people's." 
 
 Lord Henry for a minute stood gazing 
 on him with horror ; — but, recollecting 
 himself, he said : " IMy lord, it is a mis- 
 take ; it is not as you imagine.'' 
 
 " Well, sir," replied lord N pet- 
 tishly, " you shall have it as you please ; 
 but if Louisa is not in a family w^y, 
 what is the reason of her ill looks ? 
 Answer me that.'* 
 
 " Ker ill looks ! I did not know that 
 she did look ill." 
 
 '' No ! — Why,sheis a mere shadow, sir j 
 and as she has no apparent indisposition, 
 it is natural, you know, that one should
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 23S 
 
 attribute it to a certain and very desirable 
 cause. But if you are sure of what you 
 affirm, Henr)', why^ then, why, then, the 
 Lord have mercy on my poor child, for 
 she must be in a consumption !" 
 
 So saying, with his handkerchief at his 
 eyes he left the room, leaving lord Henry 
 resolved to watch Louisa's looks, and 
 hoping to find that her father's fears 
 were as ill founded as his hopes had been*" 
 
 But again Louisa met his eyes in the 
 evening, as blooming and as animated as 
 ever. True, she was thin, very thin ; but 
 dissipation and late hours might sufficient., 
 ly account for that ; and sighing over 
 her w^ant of stability of feeling, he conti- 
 nued to think that his domestic happiness 
 was destroyed for ever. 
 
 In the mean while, lord N- » was 
 
 resolved to discover by all means in his 
 power, how far his hopes were really ill- 
 founded ; and for this purpose he inter, 
 rogated Louisa's confidential servant.
 
 2S4 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, ANI> 
 
 "Oh dear, no, my lord— certainly not, 
 my lord, ' was the answer. 
 
 *• So. ail positive people in this house, I 
 find : but then, if this be not the case, 
 v/hy does your lady look so ill ?'* 
 
 " My poor dear lady 1 Oh, my lord, 
 I assure you I don*t wonder at my lady's 
 ill looks at ail, for indeed she never gets 
 a wink of sleep without laudanum. She 
 walks about her room, sometimes all the 
 night long— and so she has done many 
 months/' 
 
 Lord N was stupefied with sur- 
 prise. — — " And what does her husband 
 mean by suffering it ? Why does he not 
 forbid it ? A fine fancy, indeed ! '* 
 
 " Dear me, sir 1 my lord does not knoiu 
 it." 
 
 '^ No ! — He must sleep astonishingly 
 sound then.'* 
 
 "Oh dear me, my lord ! my lord sleeps 
 at one end of the house, and my lady at 
 the other."
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 235' 
 
 " So, sol" muttered lord N , after 
 
 a pause of indignant and perturbed asto- 
 nishment. " But I will know the mean- 
 ing of this before I sleep," he exclaimed ; 
 and went in search of lord Henry. 
 
 On meeting with him, " I have seen my 
 daughter's woman, lord Henry, since we 
 
 last conversed,'^ said lord N , " and 
 
 I have heard strange things : — But what- 
 ever be the cause of the separadon between 
 you and Louisa, I trust that her infidelity 
 is not the cause of it 1'* 
 
 Lord Henry did not answer j he only 
 bowed his head in assent. 
 
 '' Sir, if I thought it ivas^^' cried the 
 old man, " she should answer for her 
 crime to 7we,sir. I would, yes, sir, I would 
 forget, .if possible, that she was my only 
 childjmy only joy on earth, sir ! es, sir, 
 I have a Roman spirit, sir !" Here he 
 burst into tears ; and lord Henry, much 
 moved, solemnly assured him that he
 
 236 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, ANI> 
 
 believed his wife's honour to be without 
 spot or blemish. 
 
 *'^ Thank you, sir, thank you !" replied 
 
 lord N ; " but I knew it could not 
 
 be otherwise. But then, wherefore is it 
 that you never meet but in public ?'' 
 
 Lord Henry did not answer. 
 
 *' My lord Henry Algernon, you se^m 
 one of the most moral of men ; yet there 
 are hypocrites in the world, and I am 
 almost tempted to believe that you are 
 one. It Is very strange, very strange^ 
 upon my soul!" 
 
 Still lord Henry was silent. 
 ' " Your fair-seeming men," continued 
 lord N , "are sometimes very ill-act- 
 ing ones, I know, and-' " 
 
 Lord Henry now prepared to le^ve the 
 room. 
 
 " Stop, stop, .sir r*— angrily— " one 
 question once for all : — Do you, do you 
 *^have you another attachment, sir ?''
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 23? 
 
 " No, sir/*— coldly replied lord Henrys 
 and left him. 
 
 Lord N 5 greatly enraged, vowed 
 
 not to rest till he brought Louisa to a 
 confession, however ; and on going to her 
 apartment he found her alone. 
 
 On seeing him, she affected great gaiety, 
 and begged him to be seated ; but when 
 he entered, (he had heard her singing in 
 an under and broken voice a very mourn- 
 ful air, and to words expressive of regret 
 for past happiness,) 
 
 " It will not do — ^it will not do, lady 
 
 Henry," said lordN mournfully : — 
 
 " these skipping spints can no longer im- 
 pose on me — they are not natural — nor 
 more, I protest, now I look at it, is your 
 fine colour ! Oh, Louisa ! I see it, I see 
 very clearly, you are dying of a broken 
 heart P' 
 
 Here tears choked him ; and Louisa, 
 throwing herself on his neck, and joining
 
 238 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 her tears to his, declared she was quite 
 well, and that his suspicions were wholly 
 unfounded. 
 
 " It will not do — I am not to be im- 
 posed on so — Your husband — '* 
 
 " Is one of the best of men/' 
 
 " And of husbands, I suppose ?'' 
 
 " Yes, of husbands." 
 
 ^^ And you, therefore, are the happiest 
 of wives ?" 
 
 To this home question Louisa could 
 not answer ; but her lip quivering, and 
 her eyes filling with tears, she turned to 
 the window, unable to speak. 
 
 *' Seek not to deceive me, my dear 
 
 child," continued lord N ; " I know 
 
 the terms on which you live with 
 your husband, and therefore I know, that 
 though you both keep a fair appearance 
 to the world, something dreadful must 
 have passed between you.— -Have you not 
 quarrelled ?"
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 23^ 
 
 « No." 
 
 '' No ? — Perhaps some foolish difference 
 of opinion, not conducted with temper, 
 brought on irritating language, and 
 neither of you has, as yet, chosen to 
 make concessions? Perhaps you ventured 
 to disagree v.ith your husband on politics ; 
 and you know, child, he is very tenacious 
 of his opinion on those subjects.'* 
 
 *' Indeed, my dear father, I should 
 never have thought of disputing with lord 
 Heniy on any subject, much less on one 
 on which he must be so much better in- 
 fonned than myself." 
 
 " Then what is the cause of your dis- 
 union ? Answer me that." 
 
 " I cannot.'* 
 
 " Are you jealous ? Do you suspect 
 your husband of an attachment to any 
 other woman :*' 
 
 " Oh, no, no." 
 
 "Do you think he has ceased to love 
 you ?"
 
 240 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 " I fear he has/* 
 
 *' Indeed ! Listen to me, my child — I 
 see very clearly that, whatever be the 
 cause, you are not happy ; and that your 
 life may be the sacrifice of this strange 
 and mysterious grief. — Lerd Henry is as 
 mysterious as you are. — But mark me — 
 if he cannot or will not make you happy, 
 why, I must ; and I shall insist on a perfect 
 reconciliation taking place between you, 
 or that you return to your father. On this 
 I am determined, and I leave you to medi- 
 tate on what I have said." 
 
 " Then, there is but one thing to be 
 done," said Louisa to herself: "I must ask 
 lord Henry's leave to declare my culpabi- 
 lity to my fatheF, as I cannot bear to see 
 my husband for one moment an object of 
 suspicion or anger to him. No : let 
 me only be blamed, since I alone am 
 guilty." 
 
 She then, before she entered her car- 
 2
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 241 
 
 riage, which was to convey her to an 
 assembly, wrote the following note : — 
 
 " I conjure you to allow me to disclose 
 our sad secret to my father ; justice de- 
 mands it of me. I can bear his anger, 
 however violent, better than the consci- 
 ousness that he blames you, though I alone 
 am guilty." 
 
 Lord Henry read this note as he was 
 dressing for the same party to which 
 Louisa was already gone ; and he read it 
 again and again : it was the first instance 
 of confidential intercourse that they had 
 had since their separation. " There is some 
 feeling in this request," said he to himself ; 
 *'but then her feelings so soon evapo- 
 rate P' and with a deep sigh he care- 
 fully put the note in his pocket-book, 
 and went to the party. 
 
 It was both crowded and brilliant : but 
 lord Henry's eyes looked only for Louisa. 
 He wished to see on her countenance 
 traits of the sensibility which dictated her 
 
 VOL.1. M
 
 '242 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 note. He saw her as blooming and ani- 
 mated as ever. " Ah ! I see her charac- 
 ter will never improve — there is no chance 
 for our ever being happy again !" sighed 
 lord Henry ; though he could not help 
 owning that she was very thin indeed. 
 
 At this moment lord Henry observed 
 an elderly gentleman, of a very intelligent 
 countenance, contemplating Louisa with 
 a great deal of interest, and he felt a desire 
 of knowing, what he dared not ask to know; 
 namely ,what,physiognomically, he thought 
 of her face ; when, to his great satisfac- 
 tion, the gentleman addressed him, and 
 said, " You, sir, I perceive, like myself, 
 have been looking for some time at that 
 very beautiful and interesting woman." 
 
 " I have, sir : it is a countenance to 
 dwell upon — is it not ?" 
 
 " It is, indeed, sir," replied the gentle- 
 man, " but with very painful interest," 
 
 " Sir !" cried lord Henry— 
 
 "What, sir!" replied the other, " do
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 243 
 
 you not see that her gaiety is all assumed ; 
 and tliat under those smiles and that 
 bustling vivacity she hides an aching 
 heart ?'' 
 
 " You are a very acute examiner, I 
 see, sir," replied lord Henry with some 
 degree of pique. " I see no such thing/' 
 *^Nor 
 
 " No, sir : — a woman pining in secret 
 would not have such a bloom as that." 
 
 " Bloom as that ! — Such a bloom is to 
 be bought any where, believe me.'* 
 
 *' Sir, let me assure you, lady Henry 
 Algernon's colour is perfectly natui-al. I 
 know it, sii* — ^be assured I do." 
 
 " Well, sir, I shall not dispute the mat- 
 rer, especially as you may be a fiiend or 
 relation of the lady's; but if that bloom 
 be not art, I fear it is the blush of con- 
 sumption/' 
 
 Lord Henry started and turned pale : 
 but the stranger, not regarding it, went on 
 thus : — " I confess I never felt so deep an 
 m2
 
 244 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 interest in any one whom I do not know, 
 as I do in that lady ; because it was but 
 yesterday that I heard an anecdote of her 
 which does honour to her heart ; and, sir, 
 if you know her, it will give you pleasure 
 to hear it too/* 
 
 '' I am all attention, sir," replied lord 
 Heniy. 
 
 " A friend of mine, Mr. Sandford, a 
 man reduced from opulence to compara- 
 tive poverty, has been for some time de- 
 sirous of purchasing a commission for his 
 son, but has not been able to raise the 
 money : but about three months ago, 
 lady Henry Algernon, who has long 
 known him, sent him three hundred 
 pounds towards it, to be repaid when his 
 son is a general. But what pleases me 
 more than the gift itself is, that she sent it 
 in the name of her husband, and gave 
 him the whole credit of the action, w^hen 
 it is very certain that he has no acquaint- 
 ance with Mr. Sandford : and besides, lady
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 245 
 
 Henry is known to be very capable of 
 concealing her bounties under the name of 
 another." 
 
 Lord Henry during this recital felt a 
 glow of pleasure at his heart which he 
 had not experienced for months ; but it 
 was not unalloyed. Ample as was his 
 allowance to his wife, he feared that, in 
 order to give away the three hundred 
 pounds which, as a punishment for her 
 fault, he had purposely omitted to send 
 (according to his original intention), she 
 had incurred debts to that amount ; and 
 therefore he dared not give way to the 
 feelings of approbation and affection 
 which, spite of himself, forced the tears 
 into his eyes, and for a moment made 
 him incapable of replying to the stranger's 
 observation. 
 
 When he had concluded his story — 
 " Now, sir," said the stranger, " does not 
 such a woman deserve to be happy ?" 
 
 '' Yes, sir ; — and happy she will be, 
 if she be not so already," replied lord
 
 246 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 Henry : " but let me assure you, that 
 to my certain knowledge lord Henry 
 knew nothing of this gift to Mr. Sand- 
 ford." 
 
 ** He is," resumed the stranger, " one 
 of the first of men ; and it is strange 
 his wife should not be the happiest of 
 women.'* 
 
 ** I doubt you over-value him, sir," re- 
 plied lord Henry, sighing ; *' he has 
 
 many faults, and '' 
 
 " My lord!" Z2li the stronger, politel)^ 
 bowing, "my suspicions are now confirm- 
 ed : I am convinced that I have the honour 
 of talking to lord Henry Algernon himself; 
 for no one else could have accused him 
 of error.** Then, begging lord Henry to 
 pardon the freedom of his remarks on 
 Louisa, he bowed and disappeared. 
 
 Immediately after, eager to have his 
 suspicions removed, lord Henry followed 
 Louisa into an adjoining apartmentjwhither 
 he saw her retire. 
 
 *' Lady Henry," cried he, in a voice
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 24? 
 
 less assured than he wished it to be, "allow 
 me to speak a few words to you : — our 
 opportunities for talking, and on business, 
 are so few, that I must seize them when- 
 ever they offer/* 
 
 '* My time," replied Louisa coldly,," is 
 always at your lordship's disposal.'* 
 
 " I wish to ask, lady Henry, wiiether — 
 whether you are in want of money ? as, 
 if you are, I beg you to draw on me for 
 whatever sum you choose.'* 
 
 ''Your generosity to me, sir,*' answered 
 Louisa," is so great, that your present offer 
 seems to me almost like a reproach. It is 
 therefore with great pleasure that I assure 
 you, I have nearly a quarter's allowance 
 untouched, and have not a single debt in 
 the world." 
 
 Had she ended here, all would have 
 been well ; but feeling herself on the point 
 of bursting into tears as she uttered the 
 word debt, she assumed a gay unconcern 
 of manner, and added — " No, sir : instead
 
 i<i48 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 of wanting money of you, I am sufficiently 
 en fonds to be able to lend money to 
 you.'* 
 
 " Pshaw !" muttered lord Henry. — 
 She was wrong ; on such a subject as 
 this, levity was for ever forbidden her : 
 but at this moment it was unpropitious 
 indeed ; and her disappointed husband 
 was on the point of turning away from 
 her, when he recollected the stranger's 
 remark, and feared that her life was in 
 danger. That idea banished all resent- 
 ment ; and hearing her carriage announ- 
 ced, " Shall I have the honour of leading 
 you to your coach?" said he. — Louisa 
 thrilled with joy as he took her willing 
 hand, and held it with rather an eager 
 grasp ; when a young man of ton, coming 
 hastily up, rallied her on the vulganty 
 of allowing her husband to be her beau ; 
 and, forcing her hand from lord Henry's, 
 led her down the stairs. 
 
 " Pshaw 1" said lord Henry a second
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND, 249 
 
 dme, but with less pain than the time 
 before ; and he retired to bed that night 
 less unhappy than usual. 
 
 Louisa was indeed amended : she had 
 nobly discharged her duty to him and 
 herself in the affair of Sandford ; and she 
 had done it secretly too, and with no view 
 to obtain his applause. She had also no 
 doubt made personal sacnhces to save the 
 money for that purpose : and she had assu- 
 red him she had not a debt in the world ! 
 
 Still, he was sure that, having learnt 
 to stand in awe of him as a judge, she 
 had ceased to love him as a husband ; and 
 he feared that she secretly sighed to be 
 united to some younger man, who would 
 have viewed her foibles with more indul- 
 gence and sympathy : nay, he thought 
 that he had been a very rigid judge, espe- 
 cially as she was so verij^ very young. 
 
 In these painful cogitations he parsed 
 the night; and rose in the morning so full 
 of terror for Louisa's health, that he went 
 M 5
 
 250 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 in search of his sister immediately, in order 
 to interrogate her concerning it. 
 
 He found lady Anne alone ; and his 
 first question was, " Do you think lady 
 Henry in bad health ?" 
 
 " I think her in a very bad way indeed," 
 replied lady Anne : " she neither eats nor 
 sleeps, and is shrunk in a most alarming 
 manner/' 
 
 " Good God! is it really so ? — and 
 what is the cause i^' 
 
 " Oh, brother !*' cried lady Anne, 
 bursting into tears, " you are the cause. 
 She thinks she has entirely lost your affec- 
 tion, and she pines in secret sorrow/' 
 
 " Secret, indeed !" cried lord Henry, 
 *' for do I not see her in company the 
 gayest of the gay ?" 
 
 " All acting — and -sometimes indeed 
 her spirits are the effect of laudanum." 
 
 " Laudanum 1" echoed lord Henry, 
 shuddering as certam recollections passed 
 across his mind: but are you sure of this ?*^ 
 3
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 251 
 
 '' Quite sure : — not that my sister ever 
 blames your indifference to her ; on the 
 contrary, she only blames herselj\ and 
 thinks your conduct just, though severe. 
 But she loves you so tenderly — ■■ — " 
 
 " Loves me ! Impossible ! If so, vhy 
 does she not let me see how bitterly she 
 feels our separation ?" 
 
 " That is easily answered. In private 
 you scarcely ever see her, except in 
 
 presence of lord N ; and in public, 
 
 by trying to conceal from evex*-y eye her 
 sufferings and disgrace, she only acts 
 in obedience to your commands." 
 
 " True, my dear consoling sister," cried 
 lord Henry, pressing her to his heart : 
 " still, I cannot believe in the strength, 
 or rather in the durability, of her feel- 
 ings." 
 
 " You .have been separated mpre than 
 a twelvemonth ; and during that time 
 your wife has been, in secret^ a prey to the 
 most corroding anguish."
 
 252 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, ANB 
 
 *' Give me proofs of this : I have never 
 seen her but the idol of the crowd, and 
 with unimpaired bloom and gaiety." 
 
 " Bloom ! — Her cheek, when she is not 
 made up for company to hide her real 
 situation, is pale as death !" 
 
 " What do you tell me ?*' 
 
 *' The truth.: She is now, I dare 
 
 say, just risen ; — go to her dressing-room, 
 and you will see her as she is," 
 
 " I — I dare not. — Yet, after so long a 
 probation of her penitence, and such 
 proofs of her amendment as I received 
 last night — ^" (Here he related his con- 
 versation with the stranger.) 
 
 " Very well, sir," said lady Anne ; 
 '- please to recollect that she never ex- 
 pected you would know of the action 
 which you so justly admire ; therefore it 
 could have proceeded from virtue mere- 
 ly." ^ 
 
 " True — true — dear sister." 
 
 " But defer, if you please^ the moment
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 253 
 
 of reconciliation till it is too late to save 
 your victim — and till your forgiveness finds 
 her on her death-bed.** 
 " Cruellady Anne !" 
 *' Cruel, only to be kijid^ brother : — ^I 
 am sure you love your wife," 
 
 " Love her ! — Yes ; / too have had my 
 sleepless nights and anxious days : but I 
 thought I was doing my duty." 
 
 " Do it now, then : — go and see the ra- 
 vages which sorrow has made." 
 
 " I dread the sight ; but I will go." 
 So saying, he rushed out of the room, and 
 did not allow himself to stop till he reached 
 the door of Louisa's dressing-room. It 
 was half open, and she was sitting just as 
 she had left her room ; with her hair di- 
 shevelled, her cheek pale, her eyes sunk 
 in her head, and her whole appearance 
 bespeaking the anguish of her heart. Her 
 breakfast, untouched, stood before her : 
 and she whom lord Henry saw the night 
 before, gayest of the gay, and most bloom- 
 ing of the beautiful, he now beheld as she
 
 254f THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 really was, — a hopeless wretch in the very 
 prime of life and expectation ! 
 
 She held a picture in her hand, which 
 he soon saw was a picture of himself; and 
 she was so engrossed in contemplating it, 
 that he approached her unobserved. 
 
 *' Thisj at least, looks kindly on me/' 
 she said, kissing it as she spoke ; " my 
 errors have not changed that,'' 
 
 Lord Henry, on hearing these words, 
 felt assured that the supposed loss of his 
 affection was indeed the cause of her sor- 
 row ; and in his emotion he moved his 
 hand to his eyes so rapidly that Louivsa 
 heard a noise, and said, without turning 
 her head, " Is it you, Ellis ? — Take away 
 my breakfast ; I can't eat it.'' Then, hastily 
 concealing the picture in her bosom, she 
 leaned her arm on the table, and sat 
 (tears stealing down her cheeks) the image 
 pf silent woe. 
 
 After some minutes, thinking herself 
 alone, she suddenly arose, and exclaimed, 
 " Yes, Algernon, this state of misery can-
 
 . UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 255 
 
 not last long ; and when I am in my grave, 
 you shall know the deep sorrow and true 
 penitence of my heart ; and that, at least, 
 though I had madly forfeited my right to 
 your tenderness, I could not endure the loss 
 of it, and live !" As she said this, she 
 turned round and beheld her husband ; 
 and would have fallen, overcome with 
 surprise and emotion, had he not caught 
 her in his arms. 
 
 "Louisa!" cried he, fondly clasping 
 her faded form to his bosom, " your pro- 
 bation and my misery are, from this mo- 
 menc, over ; and let them, if possible, be 
 for ever forgotten !" 
 
 A few hours after, lord N , having 
 
 resolved to insist on Louisa's removing 
 to his house, being convinced that lord 
 Henry, though why he knew not, was 
 unworthy of his daughter, arrived at the 
 door with his travelling equipage, to put 
 his intentions in execution. 
 
 As he drew near the dressing-room he 
 heard the sound of music, and sighed
 
 236 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 when he recollected how very mournful 
 the air was which she had been playing 
 when he visited her before. " Ah, poor 
 thing ! there she is at that mournful work 
 
 again !" thought lord N . But as he 
 
 came nearer he heard a lively Italian song, 
 and was convinced it could not be Louisa 
 singing. That song was however immedi- 
 ately succeeded by one written and com- 
 posed by her, and greatly admired by lord 
 Henry in his days of courtship. The song 
 was as follows : 
 
 AVby bid my trembling lips explain 
 Tbe faithful love in which I pine ? 
 Oh ! ask not words, for words were vain. 
 But read my eyes when fixt on thine. 
 
 Yet should this timid, conscious eye. 
 Bent on the earth, refuse to speak, — 
 Then, Henry, mark when thoil art nigh 
 The tell-tale blush that paints my cheek, 
 
 *' This is very strange," thought lord 
 
 N ; " but now I am sure it is Louisa 
 
 singing :'* and as soon as the song was 
 ended, the wondering and impatient old
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 25? 
 
 man threw open the door, and saw his 
 daughter at the instrument, and lord 
 Henry sitting by her, his arm fondly en- 
 circling her waist ; while the delighted 
 lady Anne contemplated in glad silence 
 the happy change which she had helped 
 to effect. 
 
 They rose at his entrance ; and while 
 he stood motionless with surprise at the 
 door, they eagerly approached him, and 
 lord Henry begged him once more to 
 bless their union. 
 
 '• You are strange people,*' cried the 
 peer, brushing a tear from his eye. — 
 " John, (to the footman,) tell my 
 fellows, they may go home again." 
 
 " No — let them stay where they are,'* 
 replied lord Henry. 
 
 " How ! do you know that I am come 
 to run away with your wife ?" 
 
 " Yes, and so you shall — on condition 
 that you run away with me too. We will 
 all escape, for a short time, to the comfort
 
 258 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, AND 
 
 of rural retirement. Louisa wants country 
 air and a little nursing, and I am to be 
 head nurse. My lord, your daughter and 
 1 have both been to blame, and " 
 
 " O no, no, no, believe him not," 
 cried Louisa, throwing herself into his 
 arms : '' 1 only have been in fault.'* 
 
 " May be so," interrupted lord N , 
 
 with a degree of parental pique in his 
 manner ; '' but whatever may have been 
 your fault, I would not change my 
 daughter for any other daughter in 
 Christendom 1" 
 
 " Nor I my wif^," exclaimed lord 
 Henry. 
 
 " Give me your hand," said lord 
 
 N , softened by this speech, " and 
 
 be assured that I would not exchange the 
 honour of calling lord Heniy Algernon 
 son-in-law, for that of being father to any 
 duke in Europe — only, I repeat it, you 
 are strange people. Yesterday, there was 
 Louisa whining out a melancholy ditty
 
 UNFASHIONABLE HUSBAND. 259 
 
 as Jong, and as dismal, as I found your 
 face, lord Henr)' ; and today I find her 
 carolling merry and tender strains by the 
 side of her husband, who is smirking Uke 
 an old maid on an offer of marriage. Such 
 changes ! They prove that " 
 
 " That life is an April day," observed 
 lady Anne, " alternate rain and sunshine." 
 
 *' The married life more especially," 
 interrupted lord N . 
 
 " Perhaps so,*' said lady Anne. " And 
 at last comes the dreadful moment of eter- 
 nal separation ! Oh ! wiie have that couple 
 been, who have made prepai'ations of 
 fortitude against that hour, by having lived 
 together in such a manner that the pang 
 of parting is not rendered more keen by re- 
 morse ; and by the dreadful consciousness, 
 that, to the lost partner of their existence, 
 life has been often rendered burthensome 
 by foolish contradictions, unkind refusals, 
 and mortifying and irritating language. 
 *Tis sweet, 'tis consoling," continued lady
 
 260 THE FASHIONABLE WIFE, &C. 
 
 Anne, no unpleasing tear stealing down 
 her cheek as she spoke, *' to reflect, that, 
 as far as it was in our power, the lost 
 sharer of our heart knew no cares that 
 we could prevent, and no happiness that 
 we did not endeavour to increase." 
 
 " We will live so in future^ Louisa,'* 
 cried lord Henry, " that when we die — " 
 
 « Pshaw !'' cried lord N , " you 
 
 should never talk of dying before an old 
 man : — come, let us be off for the country, 
 and give all dismals to the air !" 
 
 They obeyed : and the cares then 
 banished, the errors then repented of, 
 never returned to molest them again ; 
 
 nor was lord N deceived, when, at 
 
 any subsequent period of his life, he re- 
 peated his declaration, — " that lord and 
 lady Henry were the happiest couple in 
 Christendom ! and a pattern for all mar- 
 ried people !*'
 
 (2G1) 
 
 THE 
 
 ROBBER. 
 
 JVl R. Sedley, a merchant of great respec- 
 tability and considerable property, re- 
 turned one evening rather late to his 
 country-house with a large sum of money 
 in his pocket ; the whole amount of a sub- 
 scription which he had just received at a 
 meeting of justices, in order to carry on 
 some improvements in a house of in- 
 du^ry near his own country seat. 
 
 Mr. Sedlcy had a servant with him, but 
 by some accident or other he was not in 
 sight ; when a man sprung from a hedge, 
 
 and, knocking Mr. S off his horse 
 
 with a bludgeon, prepared to rifle him. 
 
 He had already seized one pocket- 
 book, and was searching for another, when
 
 2G2 THE ROBBER. 
 
 Mr. Sedley recovered from the effects of 
 the blow, and began to struggle with the 
 villain ; and having in his hand a small 
 cane with a knife in it, he contrived to 
 touch the spring, and the robber saw with 
 apprehension the advantage which it gave 
 his antagonist. — It v.'as a moment of despe- 
 ration ! He wrested it from Mr. Sedley 's 
 grasp, and was on the point of plunging it in 
 his bosom, when the latter made a violent 
 effort, struck aside the ruffian's hand, and, 
 grappling with him, they rolled together 
 on the ground. 
 
 At this moment the servant galloped 
 up to them, and hastened to rescue his 
 master from the nervous grasp of his 
 assailant. 
 
 " Hold him fast,'* cried Mr. Sedley, as 
 Allen, his servant, seized the robber by 
 the collar, *^ and bring him along with 
 me to the nearest magistrate." 
 
 At this instant, the moon shone from
 
 THE ROBBER. 263 
 
 behind a cloud ; and the light falling on 
 the robber's face, Mr. vSedley saw that he 
 was very young ; and also saw, with a 
 feeling of painful compassion, that his 
 cheek was colourless, his lip pale and 
 quiveiing, and that his countenance was 
 that of a being to whom hope was for ever 
 lost. 
 
 " What — what could tempt you to 
 commit this outrage ?" said Mr. Sedley in 
 no angry tone. 
 
 ^' A fiend in woman's shape," replied 
 the man. 
 
 " Did you know that I was to pass 
 this way ? — was I the object of your at- 
 tempt?" 
 
 " You were — ^it was known why the 
 justices were to meet, and and that you 
 were to be the treasurer." 
 
 " And who was your accomplice ?" 
 
 " I had none.'^ 
 
 " I mean, what woman tempted you ?" 
 
 "She shall live for repentance— one
 
 264 THE ROBBER. 
 
 victim to justice is enough — I shall not 
 name her.'* 
 
 " What — not if it should be the means 
 of saving your life ?" asked Allen pertly. 
 
 '^ No," replied the robber, with a look 
 of contempt. " I can endure to die, but 
 not to have the death of another on my 
 conscience.' ' 
 
 " An excellent joke that, faith !'^ cried 
 Allen, *' when you just now attempted 
 the life of my master." 
 
 '' Do you see no difference in the one 
 case and the other ?" asked the robber. 
 
 " Not I, really.'' 
 
 " Your master struggled with me — he 
 endangered my life, and I assailed his. 
 I am guilty, and I deserve punishment — 
 But does it follow, that in cool blood, and 
 to prolong my miserable existence, I 
 should sacrifice the life of another ?" 
 
 " Why, upon my honour, I can't say 
 that I should be very willing to trust you, 
 after that, with the life of another."
 
 THE ROBBER.% 265 
 
 ^' Peace!'* cried Mr. Sedley ; and in 
 ijilencc they proceeded till they came to- 
 two cross-roads. Mr. Sedley turned to 
 the left. 
 
 " The justice, you know, sir, lives to. 
 the right," observed Allen. 
 
 " But I live to the left,'' coldly replied 
 Mr. Sedley. 
 
 " Dear me 1 are we going home, sir ?" 
 asked Allen, 
 
 " Silence !" replied Mr. Sedley : and 
 in silence they reached his habitation. 
 He took the robber by the arm, who 
 made no eftbrts to escape ; and, desiring 
 Allen to follow them, led them into his 
 study, . 
 
 . There was something in the robber's 
 manner and sentiments that surpiised' 
 and pleased Mr. Sedley. He thought 
 that he must be a' man of abilities ; and_ 
 that it was a hard thing, for such a 
 man to die an untimely death, as he would 
 do, if tried, for, perhaps, a first offence. 
 
 VOL, I. N
 
 ^6 THE ROBBER. 
 
 Mr. Sedley was one of the few (would 
 they were the many !) who think, that, 
 excellent as our laws are in other respects, 
 our criminal code wants revision ; who 
 think that death is a punishment too 
 severe for any crime short of deli- 
 l>erate murder ; and who feel as men 
 should feel for the frailties of their fel- 
 low-creatures, and are conscious, deeply 
 conscious, that it is an awful thing to de- 
 prive a human being of that life which 
 his Creator has breathed into him. And 
 the moment was now arrived for Mr. 
 Sedley to put the sincerity with which he 
 professed these opinions to the proof. 
 
 " Search him," said he to Allen. 
 
 He obeyed ; and found one of Mr. Sed* 
 ley's pocket-books upon him. " Here, 
 here, sir ; here is evidence that must 
 hang him for felony !" cried Allen (who 
 had picked up a little law-knowledge while 
 acting as clerk and valet to a coun- 
 sellor on his circuit). " As to mur- 
 
 1
 
 THE ROBBER. 267 
 
 der, I doubt you cannot indict him 
 for that." 
 
 " For murder !" cried the robber^ 
 starting. — " True, I v.as very near com- 
 mitting it :" and he seemed to shudder 
 with horror. 
 
 In his ether pocket were pistols. 
 
 *' You see, sir, murderous intention 
 proved,'* said Allen. 
 
 "Silence 1" cried aVIr. Sedley j and agaui 
 he sunk into a reverie, from which he 
 "was roused by the increasing agitation of 
 the robber ; who, after giving way to the 
 most convulsive sobs of agony, suddenly 
 burst into tears, and fell at Mr. Sedley s 
 feet. 
 
 *' Pardon me, and let me go!" cried 
 he. " I abhor my crime, and. its instiga- 
 tor ; and never, never will I be guilty of 
 the like again. But 'tis not on my own 
 account that! implore mercy — ^no : all my 
 prospects in life this wicked action has 
 n2
 
 268 THE ROBBER. 
 
 blasted, and I can never know comfort 
 more, for I can never respect myself: 
 but I have a mother ; and I am her only 
 child — ^lier all ; and were she to know 
 my crime, she would die — ^she would in- 
 deed. Oh, for God's sake !— show mercy 
 to me, and save me from the additional 
 guilt of parricide 1 My mother ! — my poor 
 dear mother !" Here, suffocated with- 
 his sobs, he sunk on the floor, and even 
 Allen was moved. 
 
 "Inconsistent being 1*' replied Mr. 
 Sedley, " so properly considerate now 
 of the feelings of your own mother, so 
 regardless of the feelings of the mother of 
 another ! / too have a mother : yet, re- 
 gardless of what pain you might inflict on 
 my parents and friends, you were going 
 to murder me 1'* 
 
 " I was,— I was, — ^but not in cold, 
 blood : if you give me up to the law, 
 you do it from reflection, not impulse." 
 2
 
 THE ROBBER. 2G9 
 
 ■" Who are you : — what are you, thou 
 .strange mass of contradictions?" replied 
 Mr. Sedley. 
 
 " My name is Theodore — I have no 
 other name now ; at least I will not dis- 
 grace my family by owning it. I have 
 been well educated ; but my father died 
 insolvent, and my mother and I, but for 
 my industry, would have come to want. 
 All went well with us till I became ac- 
 quainted with an angel in beauty, but a 
 fiend in disposition. I loved her, as I 
 fancied, to distraction ; but I now fmd that 
 I mistook passion for sentiment. However, 
 I was not rich enough to maintain her, 
 and she threatened to leave me and live 
 with another man, unless I could procure 
 her a certain sunt necessary to pay her 
 debts. This made me desperate : I pro- 
 mised to procure it : — and she informed 
 me, that she had heard, on such an even- 
 ing you would receive that sum, and 
 probably return home unattended. You
 
 270 THE ROBBER. 
 
 know the rest. Thank God, you are 
 safe ! and I have at least learnt to despise 
 the wretch who led me on to rum. And 
 oh, sir ! take compassion, I conjure you, 
 on my unhappy mother 1" 
 
 Mr. Sedley was embarrassed — he was 
 agitated ; he wished to do right, yet feared 
 to do wrong : he feared to be blamed 
 by others if he let Theodore escape un- 
 punished ; he feared to be blamed by 
 his own conscience if he delivered him 
 up to justice. If he did the latter, he 
 knew he would undoubtedly be con- 
 demned to death ; and that idea was so 
 insupportable that aX kngth he resolved to 
 pardon him, — and m addressed him thus : 
 
 ^' Were the punishment that awaits 
 you, misguided young man, any thing less 
 than death, I should this moment order 
 you to be committed for trial ; but your 
 words and your looks carry a sort of con- 
 viction to my mind, that you are a sincere 
 patent f and then — ^and then — " added
 
 THE ROBBER. 271 
 
 Mr. Sedley, tears choking his voice, " I 
 can't help thinking of your poor mother,, 
 and her agonies. Therefore, conjuring 
 you, as you value your mother's peace 
 and your own immortal soul, to forsake 
 your vile companion, and return to the 
 healthful labour of an industrious life, I 
 pronounce your pardon ; and you are free 
 to go where you please." 
 
 Theodore could not speak : he tried ^ 
 but his voice failed him^ and he fainted y 
 while Allen, even though busy in re- 
 covering Theodore, could not help ex- 
 claiming — 
 
 "Sir! sir! Mr. Sedley 1 sir — ^you for- 
 get — bless me ! this is a sort of compound- 
 ing of felony, sir ! — Think again, sir." 
 
 But Mr. Sedley was too intent on re- 
 covering the poor criminal to attend to 
 what Allen said. 
 
 At length he recovered ; and seizing 
 Mr. Sedley's hand, which he pressed to 
 his lips, he said : " Generous man 1 do
 
 272 THE ROBBER. 
 
 yet more for me ! send me not away ! let 
 me live with you ! let me serve you 1 
 let me devote my life to you 1" 
 
 It so happened that a scheme of this 
 sort had suggested itself to Mr. Sedley-: 
 he liad considered, that he should but 
 half do his duty, perhaps, if he turned 
 this young man loose on society, to incui* 
 the risk of fresh temptations and of fresh 
 crimes ; and that it would therefore be 
 better for him to employ him himself, 
 •and Secure the means of superintending 
 'his conduct : and the wish to do this 
 was considerably strengthened, when 
 Theodore, with looks and tones well cal- 
 culated to inspire confidence, addressed 
 him as above. . 
 
 After a pause, Mr. Sedley said, "You 
 shall live v/ith me :" and Theodore, clasp- 
 ing his hands, raised his eyes to Heaven, 
 tears trickling down his cheeks, as if 
 imploring a biessing on him. 
 
 Allen, meanwhile, was convinced that
 
 THJE ROBBER. 273 
 
 his master was mad ; and again he expostu- 
 lated with him ; but " Silence 1" was his 
 only answer. Still, when he recollected 
 that Theodore was not only pardoned, 
 but was to live in the same house as him- 
 self, his pride took the alarm, and in a 
 pert voice he said, — '' So, sir, this amiable 
 gentleman is to be my fellow-servant, 
 is he?" 
 
 " No, sir — he is to have your place," 
 answered Mr. Sedley. 
 
 "My — my place, sir? What have I 
 done, sir, that I am to be turned away to 
 make room for a — a ?'* 
 
 " A what ?'' cried Theodore involunta- 
 rily, and looking defiance at him. " But 
 forgive me," he added, " you and every 
 one ought to revile me." 
 
 " No one shall dare to do it before 
 me," said Mr. Sedley. " Mr. Allen, 
 come hither, sir," he continued. " i think 
 you will own, that both you and your 
 family owe me great obligations." 
 N 5
 
 274 THE ROBBER. 
 
 *' Certainly, certainly, sir, and we are 
 always very ready to acknowledge our 
 sense of them." 
 
 '' Are you as ready to prove it, sir ?" 
 
 *^ I hope so, sir." 
 
 ^* Then, you see this Bible — ^Take it, 
 and repeat after me, not only the common 
 oath, but one that I shall dictate -, and 
 swear on the holy word of God never to 
 disclose the transactions of this evening 5 
 that is, never by act, word, or deed, to let 
 any one know, or suspect, that Theodore 
 ever was otherwise than the respectable 
 young man which, I trust, his future 
 conduct will prove him to be." — Allen 
 hesitated : — ^" Remember, sir, you are 
 about to secure my constant friendship, 
 or incur my enmity." Allen took the 
 cath, and Theodore blessed him. 
 
 " Now, Allen,." said Mr. Sedley, " I 
 mean to take your present place away 
 from you ; but it is that I may give you 
 a better. I shall make you one of my
 
 THE ROBBER. 275 
 
 clerks ; but at present I have business 
 for you to do at my country-house. You 
 are a clever, honest young man, and have 
 respectable connections ; therefore I shall 
 not hesitate to confide in you." 
 
 During part of this speech Allen 
 looked distressed, but his expression was 
 that of gratitude to his master ; and when 
 Mr. Sediey desired him, as it was late, to 
 take Theodore with him to prepare a bed 
 for him, Allen obeyed cheerfully ; and in 
 a kind voice desired Theodore to follow 
 him. He did so, having first again blessed 
 and thanked Mr. Sediey ; who himself 
 retired to bed, but not to rest : — the oc- 
 currences of the night, and their conse- 
 quences, were indeed enough to banish 
 sleep. 
 
 He had been in imminent danger of 
 his life ; and the man who had assailed if. 
 he had promised to take into his house, 
 and employ ab':ut h.s person ! And as he 
 reflected on what he had done, he trembled
 
 ^76^ TtiE robber; 
 
 at his own rashness, " True," thought Mr. 
 Sedfey, " I have only one child, and that 
 a daughter at school, and I have no near 
 relations, nor any one living with me who 
 can be injured or endangered by an asso- 
 ciation with this unhappy youth ; therefore 
 I am at liberty to please myself, and act 
 up to my own ideas of right in this busi- 
 ness. But have I not endangered my 
 own peace ? Shall I be able to follow up 
 my indulgence to this man by a liberal 
 though cautious confidence in him ? Shall 
 I not at times be tormented with suspicions 
 of him ? Shall I not still see him, in fancy, 
 on the point of plunging the murderous 
 weapon in my breast? And, if he should not 
 be as well disposed as I am now willing to 
 think him, shall I not, if he sees my sus- 
 picions, be liable to excite his hatred, and 
 be the object of his vengeance ? He knows 
 he is in my power 5 and that, though I 
 bound Allen by an oath not to betray 
 him, 1 am not bound to -secrecy myself*
 
 TTTE robber; 277 
 
 lt\ then, lever incur his enmity, how can I 
 be sure that he who has once known what 
 k is to seek the life of a fellow- creature, 
 may not, urged by fear and revenge, be 
 easily induced to attempt a similar crime 
 again ? However, all these ideas should 
 have occurred to me sooner. I dare not 
 iiow disappoint the hopes which I have 
 raised ; and by endeavouring to give 
 Theodore right motives of action, I will 
 try to prevent all danger of being forced 
 to reprove or distrust him/' 
 • Mr. Sedley was right in supposing he 
 should not be able to follow up properly 
 his generous conduct towards Theodore ; 
 for he was naturally suspicious, and his 
 understanding was not vigorous enough 
 to enable him to reason down his sensa- 
 tions y and a proof of this he soon ex- 
 hibited, f 
 Mr. Sedley 's study was apart from the 
 house, and a flight of steps led up to it. 
 One night, when Mr. Sedley was writing
 
 278 THE ROBBER. 
 
 there, by some means or other, he having 
 fallen asleep over his papers, the room 
 took fire, and he was awakened by the 
 noise and warmth of the flames ; nor had 
 he time to contrive any means of escaping, 
 before he became insensible, and fell 
 prostrate on the crackling timbers. When 
 he recovered his senses, he found himself 
 m the open air, supported by Theodore y 
 who, happening to be on the spot when 
 the fire broke out, rushed up the stairs at 
 the hazard of his life, and snatched his 
 benefactor from inevitable destruction. — 
 But how could such an accident happen ? 
 was the general question. — ^That, Mr, 
 Sedley could not tell. But he was too 
 unwell that night to go on with any con- 
 versation j and after loudly commending 
 Theodore's courage, and declaring that 
 be owed his life to him, he retired to bed. 
 The next mornirg AJlen repeated his 
 inquiries how the fire could have been 
 occasioned, and Mr. Sedley his answer.
 
 THE ROBBERe 270 
 
 ** Well, it is very strange/' observed 
 Allen, '• that no one but Theodore should 
 be walking by at the very critical moment ? 
 What should he do skulking there at so 
 late an hour, unless he had some particular 
 reason for being there ?" 
 
 " What reason should he have ?" re- 
 plied Mr. Sedley pettishly, and turned 
 away. 
 
 But Allen's observation had awakened 
 a painful suspicion in his mind. Was it 
 impossible that Theodore had set fire to 
 the study on purpose that he might watchu 
 his opportunity, and rush-in time enough 
 to save Mr. Sediey's life and property, 
 in order to endear himself to him ? — or 
 had he robbed him of any bank notes, 
 and hoped to conceal the theft by setting 
 fire to the premises ? Then again these 
 suspicions seemed to him both absurd and 
 cruel, and he would entertain them no 
 longer.— Still, in spite of himself, when 
 he saw Theodore, he found that he did
 
 280 THE robber; 
 
 not receive and thank him with that 
 ardour which he ought to have felt on 
 seeing the preserver of his life. 
 
 " We are on equal terms, now," said 
 Mr. Sedley, affecting great ease : *' I pro- 
 bably saved your life, aod now you have 
 saved mine." 
 
 " On equal terms 1" exclaimed Theo- 
 dore : " Do not disparage yourself so far 
 as to imagine such a thing possible ! You 
 not only saved my life, but you saved my 
 reputation ; and you forgave me, though 
 I had raised my guilty hand against you ! 
 What I did, I should have been a reptile 
 had I not done — what you did, exalted 
 you to a level with the highest." 
 
 Mr. Sedley observed with pleasure, 
 not unmixed with compunction, the 
 virtuous warmth, and expression of 
 countenance with which he uttered this, 
 and his suspicions vanished; especially 
 when, on Allen's saying to Theodore, " I 
 wonder what could induce you to b€
 
 THE ROBBER. 281 
 
 walking such a cold night, and at so late 
 an hour, near that spot ; I should never 
 have thought of such a thing,'* — the 
 latter replied, darting an indignant yet 
 manful look at him, '' You are too happy 
 to delight in wandeiing at such hours, 
 and in such a season ; — you never raised 
 your hand against the life of a feliov.^- 
 creature, nor saw yourself on the point of 
 bringing a parent's gray hairs in sorrow to 
 the grave. You can sleeps — I icould, but 
 cannot sleep.'* 
 
 " Still it is very strange !" 
 
 *' What is strange r'^ replied Theo- 
 dore, coming up to him with a quivering 
 lip, and an eye full of terrible and revenge- 
 ful meaning. 
 
 " It was strange, and fortunate, that 
 you should be on the spot when the fire 
 took place,'* said Allen, turning pale. 
 
 " It was fortunate — it was a blessed 
 event indeed/' replied Theodore. -^^ and i 
 have not lived in vain.'*
 
 282 THE ROBBER. 
 
 Mr. Sedley immediately held out his 
 hand to him ; and with more heartfelt 
 satisfaction than he had done before he 
 thanked and blessed him : but he could 
 not be easy without examining the closet 
 iu which he kept his papers and notes, 
 and which the fire, luckily, had not 
 touched. 
 
 It so happened that Mr. Sedley had 
 amused himself by keeping a journal, 
 "which was deposited in this closet : 
 some of it he had made into a book ; but 
 the journal of the last two months was 
 ■stiil ill single sheets ; and that sheet in 
 which he had noted down his rencontre 
 wrth Theodore was missing : nor could it 
 any where be found. This dircumstance 
 recalled all his suspicions. Theodore, he 
 concluded, had entered his room when 
 he was absent; had looked over his papers; 
 and,, seeing his story chronicled, had re- 
 solved to destroy the written evidence of 
 his shame ; and then, being a desperate
 
 THE ROBBER. 1?S3 
 
 being, he had, to hide what he had done, 
 endangered the premises and life of his 
 benefactor ; but, struck with horror and 
 remorse, had repented, and, rushing in, 
 saved both him and his property. — Yet 
 surely he could not be such a villain I— 
 and Mr. Sedley blushed for his suspi- 
 cions. 
 
 " I will tell him," said he to himself, 
 *' of my loss, and watch his looks.'* 
 
 He did so ; and Theodore coolly re- 
 replied, — " Are you sure, sir, that you de- 
 posited the sheets which you mention in 
 your closet ? If you did, it is strange that 
 they should not be there ; for I thank I 
 have heard you say that you never leave 
 the closet unlocked : therefore k appears 
 to me more likely that you should have 
 put theMS. in some other place of security, 
 than that any one should have gone to 
 your closet — 3. closet that is never open — 
 and therefore must have been forcibly 
 entered, if entered at all J'
 
 2S'h THE ROBBER. 
 
 Mr. Sedley owned that Theodore was 
 likely to be right : but he searched in vain 
 for the MS. and at times his suspicions 
 returned. . 
 
 • But for these suspicions, he would have 
 blessed the. day when he took Theodore 
 into his house ; for never before had he had 
 such a servant — he tried to anticipate even 
 his very looks— and Mr. Sedley almost 
 forgot that he had grappled for life in the 
 murderous grasp of his arms. 
 
 One evening Mr. Sedley came home 
 from a visit in the neighbourhood on foot, 
 followed by Theodore. Their way lay 
 across the road where Theodore had 
 attacked him ;.andMr. Sedley, shuddering 
 as he passed the spot, looked back to see 
 where Theodore w^as, and what effect it 
 had on him. He was close behind 
 him, and in evident agitation. At this, 
 moment, as Mr. Sedley turned his head 
 rpund again, he received a violent blow, 
 which felled him to the ground. When he
 
 THE ROBBER* Z25. 
 
 recovered, he found himself in Theodore's 
 amis, who was busily chafing his templet. 
 
 But Mr. Sedley started from him with 
 horror, and exclaiming — " Wretch ! who 
 gave me the blow ?" — he staggered a few 
 paces, and fell down ; while Theodore, 
 with clasped hands, and ^ a countenance 
 more in sorrow than in anger,' stood 
 motionless, and too much oppressed to 
 speak. 
 
 " Here it was," continued Mr. Sedley, 
 " that we first met : and here I have 
 again received a blow." 
 
 ^Theodore now found his voice, and 
 coldly replied, " A blow indeed, and a 
 severe one too ; and though 1 saw your 
 danger, I could not speak time enough 
 to warn you against it." 
 
 " Warn me ! what mockery is this ?'.' 
 
 " It is not a mockery, sir, but the 
 fact.'' 
 
 " The fact [s, that I was knocked 
 down.'*
 
 586 THE ROBBER. 
 
 " True ; — but the contusion, if you 
 ptease to put your hand to your head, is, 
 you will find, on your forehead." 
 
 Mr. Sedley put his hand to his head — 
 the contusion was on his forehead. 
 
 *' This is very strange," obseiTed Mr. 
 Sedley. 
 
 " Not at all — ^you struck your head 
 against the arm of this oak which has 
 been felled, and very .improperly suffered 
 to lie here and project over the foot- 
 path." 
 
 Mr. Sedley, convinced and ashamed, 
 tried to apologize to Theodore for his 
 suspicions. 
 
 " Apologize to me for suspecting me ! 
 Oh, sir, forbear 1 I know but too well, 
 that to be liable to suspicion is one of the 
 just punishments of my crime ; and punish- 
 ment enough it is, to be deemed by my 
 preserver and benefactor capable of at- 
 tempting his life," 
 
 As he said this, his tone was so aficct-
 
 THE ROBBER. 287 
 
 ing, and so full of despondence, that Mr. 
 Sedley was agonized with regret for what 
 he had said ; and, taking his hand, ex- 
 claimed, " You may forgive me, Theo- 
 dore, but I know not when I shall forgive 
 myself.'* 
 
 When they reached home, they found 
 Allen anxiously expecting them, and 
 wondering they were so late. 
 
 " We have come very slowly,'' said 
 Mr. Sedley, " for I have been knocked 
 do\\Ti.'^ 
 
 " Knocked down !" cried Allen, fix- 
 ing his eyes suspiciously on Theodore. 
 
 Theodore turned pale ; but it was with 
 indignation. " Yes," replied Mr. Sed- 
 ley, " I have had a violent blow indeed.'* 
 
 " But you would go with only ," 
 
 returned Allen, " you will be so fool- 
 haidy." 
 
 *' Miscreant !" cried Theodore, clench- 
 ing his fist in his face, and giving him a 
 look terribly ferocious, <' I will make
 
 288 THE ROBBER, 
 
 you repent of this ! Depend on it, I wii'i 
 be revenged!" 
 
 So saying, he left the room ; and Mr. 
 Sedley explained to Allen how he had 
 received the blow ; to which explanation 
 Allen, though Theodore's threat had 
 i-ather alarmed him, listened with a sort 
 of incredulous air, and provoked Mr» 
 Sedley to declare, that he would take 
 him to the very spot tomorrow to show 
 him the tree, and that then he would make 
 him ask Theodore's pardon. 
 . Ke did so : and Allen with a very 
 sullen air was beginning his apology, 
 when Theodore, with dignity, but without 
 ^ny seeming trace of resentment, inter- 
 rupted him, and desired him to forbear; 
 saying, — " I was wrong to resent so 
 warmly what I have deserved so justly. 
 You and my kind master must continue 
 to suspect me, and I must bear your sus- 
 picions, if I can, with patience." 
 
 The next dav;, Theodore asked leave
 
 THE ROBBER. 28^ 
 
 to go and see his mother, (for whom 
 he had taken a cottage within three 
 miles of Mr. Sedley's seat,) promising to 
 return the day after : but two, three, 
 four days elapsed, and he did not come ; 
 and Allen hoped, and Mr. Sedley feared, 
 that he had absconded. On the evening 
 of the fourth day, however, he returned, 
 and in great agitation entered Mr. Sedley's 
 ■study, seized his hand, held it to his 
 heart, and faltering out " God for ever 
 bless you !" staggered into a seat, and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " What has happened ? what can be 
 the matter ?*' cried Mr. Sedley. 
 
 '' My mother is dead 1 and though I 
 mourn, I rejoice," replied Theodore. 
 " She died blessing me, and c?liing mc 
 the pride and comfort ot her life. Oh, 
 -sir ! but for vou I should have had her 
 curses^ not her blessings !'* 
 
 Mr. Sedley could not speak, his heart 
 was too full. He saw the happy parent 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 £90 THE ROBBER. 
 
 on her death-bed, blessing that son for 
 his virtues, who, but for him, might have 
 expired on a scaffold for his guilt, and 
 have perished, in the prime of youth and 
 activity, for a single crime of which he 
 had bitterly repented : and the cheering 
 ^low of conscious benevolence thrilled 
 through his whole frame. 
 
 " Now, sir,^' cried Theodore, rising, 
 *' my poor mother's peace is in safety : 
 now, come what may, her heart will 
 never throb with agony for the crimes of 
 her child!" 
 
 " But had she lived,*' said Mr. Sedley 
 kindly, " it might have throbbed with 
 pleasure at the recital of her son's virtues 
 ^nd success in life." 
 
 " Never, never !" answered the self- 
 judged Theodore. " What, 7 / a robber, 
 und a murderer in intention, if not in fact ! 
 / have virtues ! / have success in life ! Im- 
 possible ! Theconsciousness that there exist 
 two witnesses of my guilt and shame.
 
 THE ROBBER. 2^1 
 
 and that I am daily exposed to be sus- 
 pected and reproached by them, would 
 palsy all my exertions, and wither all my 
 enjoyments." 
 
 '' But I will never suspect you again, 
 Theodore ; and I never taunted you with 
 your past fault/' 
 
 " No : yoit never did ; but Allen has 
 taunted me with it, and will taunt me 
 again/' 
 
 " No — I will forbid it : — and do, dear 
 Theodore, try to forget that there are 
 two persons in existence, who know that 
 for a few moments you were not as 
 virtuous as usual. Do forget it, or I shall 
 fancy that you wish rae dead.'* 
 
 *' Wish jfou dead !" answered Theo- 
 dore : "No— but '* 
 
 " But Allen's death, I suspect, would 
 not giieve you." 
 
 " I should endeavour to grieve for it,** 
 gravely replied Theodore, and left the room . 
 
 When he was gone, Mr. Sedley re*- 
 o 2
 
 292 THE ROBBER. 
 
 volved in his mind all that had passed 
 in this conversation ; and he found that 
 the latter part of it left a painful impres- 
 sion. For his own safety he could not 
 fear^ but he feared for Allen's. A mad 
 passion had once armed Theodore against 
 the life of a fellow creature who had 
 never injured or offended him ; and re- 
 venge for repeated insults, as he felt them 
 to be^ — revenge, a powerful passion also, 
 might urge him to murder Allen ; especi- 
 ally as he, himself excepted, was the only 
 evidence of his crime. 
 
 But then again, how inconsistent were 
 these fears with the conviction which he 
 was continually expressing of Theodore's 
 talents, and the excellence of his heart ! 
 and, angry with himself, he resolved to 
 dismiss his suspicions for ever. 
 
 A short time after, he was invited to 
 spend a day or two at the house of a 
 friend in the county, but one who was 
 not able to receive his servant as well as
 
 TPIE ROBBER. ' 203 
 
 himself: he was therefore obliged to 
 leave Theodore behind him ; and in spite 
 of his reasons, he felt afraid of leaving 
 him and Allen together. However, he 
 struo^Q^led with this foolish fear, as he 
 called it, and set off for his friend'.'^, house. 
 But the painful images which he could • 
 drive away at home, haunted him con- 
 tinually during his visit. He continually 
 saw in his dreams, Allen struggling with 
 Theodore ; and unable to endure the 
 terrors which poisoned his satisfaction in 
 the society of his friends, he returned 
 home. 
 
 The first person whom he met was his 
 housekeeper, with a look of consternation. 
 
 " What is the matter ? what has hap- 
 pened ?'* cried Mr. Sedley. 
 
 " Allen has disappeared," was her 
 answer ; and Mr. Sedley sunk half faint- 
 ing into his chair. 
 
 " Disappeared ! When, how, where?" 
 flUtcred out Mr. Sedley.
 
 594 THE ROBBER. 
 
 " Two days ago. He had seemed un- 
 comfortable for a day or two before, and 
 he seemed so unwell, that Mr. Theo- 
 dore insisted on going with him to his 
 room, and sitting with him after he was 
 in bed : and he was the last person who 
 saw him." 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Mr. Sedley, shudder- 
 ing. 
 
 " Yes — Oh, he was so kind ! The next 
 morning, Allen *s breakfast being ready, I 
 tapped at his door ; but nobody answered, 
 though I knocked again and again. At 
 last I begged Mr. Theodore to go into his 
 room.— He did j but he v/as gone, and his 
 clothes were gone too. Nor, though 
 Theodore went in search of him imme- 
 diately, have we heard of him from that 
 time to this.** 
 
 ^' Dreadful ! horrible !" exclaimed Mr. 
 Sedley, wringing his hands. 
 
 ** Dear, sir ! what, do you think he has 
 made away with himself, that you take on.
 
 THE ROBBERr 295 
 
 thus ? If SO, he would not have taken his 
 clothes with him/' 
 
 *' Leave me I" criedMr. Sedley : ^' where 
 is Theodore ?'^ 
 
 « Out, sir/* 
 
 *' When he returns send him to me. 
 
 My forebodings were but too just, 
 then 1" cried Mr. Sedley, ''and he has 
 murdered him ! and his blood is on my 
 conscience !" He then paced the room 
 in agony ; and while he did so, Theodore 
 entered. Mr. Sedley at sight of him 
 started, shuddered, and hid his face with 
 his hands. 
 
 Theodore but too well understood what 
 this action meant — the reception was just 
 what h^ expected ; and with folded arms, 
 and pale as death, he stood silent before 
 Mr. Sedley. But he vainly expected Mr. 
 ijedley to speak ; he knew not how to 
 word the terrible accusation which he 
 wished to utter ; and there was a dignity 
 of manner, and a certain expression in
 
 296 THE ROBBER, 
 
 Theodore's countenance, which gave a di- 
 rect denial to the charge. While he con- 
 tinued to pause, Theodore said, in the 
 tone of resigned despair, 
 
 " You have not kept your word with 
 me, sir — you promised never to suspect 
 me again ; and at this moment 1 see that 
 you look on me as poor Allen's mur* 
 derer," 
 
 "I do : and after what has passed, 
 after the last conversation which we had 
 together, who would not suspect you ?" 
 
 " I may be wrong, but I think no one 
 ought to suspect me ; for the very circum- 
 litances which you mention are strong 
 arguments in my favour. Had I wished 
 to destroy the poor man in question, 
 should I have ventured to do it, knowing, 
 as I must do, that your suspicions would 
 naturally at first light upon me ? The 
 moment I found Allen was gone, I knew 
 my fate." 
 
 *' Your fate!" replied Mr. Sedley : 
 5
 
 THE ROBBER. 297 
 
 " what do you mean by that ? I will do 
 nothing rashly ; I will advertise this un- 
 happy young man, I will make strict search 
 for him : and not till all search and in- 
 quiry are vain, will I " 
 
 « What r" 
 
 " Consider how I am to act. In the 
 mean while, let me hear your story." 
 
 " My story is soon told,'* answered 
 Theodore with a sarcastic smile. " Soon 
 after your departure, I observed a change 
 in Allen's appearance : he became pale 
 and low-spirited, and it was evident that 
 something weighed heavily on his mind. 
 This excited my compassion : I knew but 
 too well what it was to have a load on the 
 spirits, and I felt for him. Stillj for some 
 time, I did not obtrude my suspicions 
 of his uneasiness upon Allen himself. 
 At length, however, I could not help taking 
 nodce of his visible anxiety ; but, rather 
 rudely, he repulsed the expressions of my 
 sympathy, and the offer of my services. But, 
 the evening preceding his disappearance^ 
 o />
 
 298 TH£ ROBEF.R. 
 
 he seemed so wretched, and so agitated, 
 that I insisted on accompanying him to his 
 room, and on remaining with him during 
 part of the night. I did so : but in vain 
 did I endeavour to obtain his confidence ; 
 and his behaviour to me was an odd al- 
 ternation of insult, and gratitude for my 
 attention. At three in the morning I left 
 him, and apparently more composed, and 
 disposed for sleep. — At eight in the morn- 
 ing he was gone." 
 
 This story certainly bore evident marks 
 of truth ; and had the relater of it been 
 any other than Theodore, Mr. Sedley 
 would not have doubted its correctness.. 
 But suspicion does not reason, it only 
 feels J and Mr. Sedley had for some time 
 past expected that Theodore would re- 
 venge himself on Allen, for his continual 
 allusions to his crime, and also for being 
 an evidence of that crime. 
 
 " Well, all this may be very true," said 
 Mr. Sedley, after a pause. 
 
 " May be very true !" cried Theodore,
 
 THE ROBBER. 299 
 
 trembling with agitation ; *' by the great 
 God who created me, I swear that I have 
 uttered the truth, and nothing but the 
 truth !" 
 
 ** Leave me,'' replied Mr. Sedley ; " I 
 want to be alone." 
 
 Theodore obeyed ; but, as he left the 
 room, he turned his eyes on Mr. Sedley 
 with a look of such humble reproach, and 
 such deep woe, that he wished from the 
 bottom of his soul that he could assure 
 him he no lon^r suspected him. 
 
 In a short time Mr. Sedley had laid his 
 plan of action : an advertisement was put 
 in all the papers, and active search begun 
 in the neighbourhood ; nay, the ponds in 
 the garden were dragged : but all these 
 methods proved fruitless ; weeks elapsed, 
 and no Allen was seen or heard of. 
 
 During all this time, Theodore never 
 left the house, though Mr. Sedley Ax-as in 
 hopes that he would make his escape. But 
 so far from seeming to wish to effect it, he 
 
 I
 
 SOO .THE ROBBER. 
 
 appeared resolved to be forthcoming 
 whenever he should be called for ; and 
 he v/2is continually hinting to Mr. Sedley, 
 that, if he had it in contemplation to 
 take him up on suspicion, he should 
 make it a point of conscience to be in 
 readiness* 
 
 But the id^a of proceeding thus ago- 
 nized every feeling of Mr. Sedley ; still, he 
 feared it was his duty to do so. To others, 
 indeed, Allen's disappearance seemed 
 nothing unusual ; and the idea of his 
 being murdered did not enter the imagi- 
 nation of any one but himself : but it was 
 natural enough that he should imagine it. 
 Yet, notwithstanding the suggestions of 
 his conscience, when Theodore, on ail 
 Inquiry for Allen having proved fruitless, 
 demanded to know his fate from Mr. 
 Sedley, the latter declared, that it might 
 perhaps be his duty to take him into 
 custody on suspicion, but that his feelings 
 would not let him do it j he must there-
 
 THE ROBBER. 301 
 
 fore leave him, if be was guilty, to the 
 vengeance of heaven and the stings of his 
 own upbraiding conscience. 
 
 Theodore made no reply to this speech, 
 he only grasped I\Ir. Sedley's hand with a 
 sort of convulsive pressure ; then, faintly 
 articuladng, '• God bless you i" he rushed 
 out of the room. 
 
 The next mommg he was not to be 
 found, but the following letter was lying 
 on his table : 
 
 *' You believe me, I know you do, to 
 be the murderer oi Allen ; and though my 
 whole soul recoils at the cruel suspicion, 
 from you, such a suspicion is retributive 
 justice. I know that 1 have deserved it ; 
 but I cannot bear to exist under the con- 
 sciousness of such an imputation. There- 
 fore, I am going in search of Allen ; nor, 
 unless I find him, shall you ever, with my 
 consent, hear of me, or behold me more. 
 
 " Farewell ! and be assured that with 
 my last breath I shall bless and pray for 
 you. " Theodore."
 
 S02 THE ROBBER • 
 
 A thousand mixed emorions agitated 
 Mr. Sedley's heart on reading this letter. 
 At one moment he loathed his suspicions^ 
 at another he felt them confirmed ; then 
 the next instant, his hopes of Theodore's 
 innocence amounted almost to certainty. 
 When it was known in the family that 
 Theodore was gone in search of Allen,- 
 the lamentations which the loss of him 
 occasioned 5 and the expressions of admi- 
 ration of his generosity, and exclamations 
 of, " But it is so like him, for he never 
 seemed to think of himself, or his own- 
 inconvenience,*' which burst from every 
 member of it, awakened an interest so 
 deep for that unhappy young man in Mr- 
 Sedley's breast, that he wished to recall 
 him, and endeavour once more to reconcile 
 him to himself. 
 
 In a few months, Mr. Sedley, being 
 continually haunted by the idea of Theo- 
 dore and Alien, and his mind in conse- 
 quence dwelling perpetually on one sub- 
 ject, his appetite failed him j he slept little,.
 
 THE ROBBER. 30^ 
 
 ate less, and was so altered a man, that 
 his friends insisted on his calling in medi- 
 cal advice. He did so j and his physician 
 seeing very e\idently that something 
 pressed heavily on his mind, recom- 
 mended him to change the scene, and 
 mix in the gay society of a watering-place.. 
 
 With this advice he reluctantly com- 
 plied ; but at length he found the benefit 
 of it. In spite of himself he was amused j 
 and at last he was interested in the com- 
 pany with whom he associated. Nor was 
 k long before he became so captivated 
 with the charms of a young lady whom 
 he frequently met in public and in private 
 companies, that he made her an offer of 
 his hand, and was accepted. 
 
 Nor, during the time of his courtshfp, 
 or while he continued absent from his 
 own home, did the images of Iheodore 
 and Allen recur in their usual gloomy 
 manner, to oppress and agitate his mind. 
 But as soon as he returned to his home.
 
 3C4 THE ROBBER. 
 
 his old associations reassumed their influ- 
 ence ; and Mrs. Sedley beheld, with pain- 
 ful astonishment, her cheerful, enter- 
 taining husband changed into a nervous 
 and silent hypochondriac. 
 
 Mrs. Sedley was not a woman to en- 
 dure what she did not like, in silent ac- 
 quiescence. She reproached, she rallied, 
 she expostulated ; and having a high idea 
 of her own eloquence, Mr. Sedley had to 
 listen to a long and daily oration on the 
 folly of low spirits : till at length, being 
 aware that the cause of his depression 
 was more real than she imagined, and 
 piqued at having his lowness attributed 
 to unfounded folly, he resolved to un- 
 burthen his mind to his wife, and lessen 
 the weight, which, for want of du€ parti- 
 cipation, had long worn down his mind, 
 and preyed upon his frame. And in a 
 few moments the long-treasured secret 
 was a secret no longer ; for Mrs. Sedley 
 told it to all her acquaintance y and Mr,
 
 THE ROBBER. S05 
 
 Scdley, shocked at his wife's indiscretion, 
 and ashamed of his own folly in confiding 
 to her a secret that endangered the life of 
 a young man whom he had pretended to 
 befriend and protect, felt more miserable 
 after he had unburthened his mind than 
 he had before.' 
 
 And his misery was soon increased 
 by the torrent of reproaches which 
 overwhelmed him on all sides, for not 
 having given Theodore up to justice 
 for his first offence. He was told, that 
 he had let loose a monster upon society, 
 and that he would be responsible for all 
 the robberies and murders which Theo- 
 dore would in future commit. 
 
 Unfortunately, Pvlrs. Sedlcy's brother 
 and some of her cousins were in the law, 
 and he was tried and convicted of folly and 
 criminality, by legal, and consequently un- 
 answerable authority. ♦ It is not to be 
 wondered at, therefore, that Mr. Sedley> 
 
 VOL. I. o 9
 
 306 THE ROBBER. 
 
 a man whose heart was kinder than his 
 understanding was strong, should be told 
 that he had acted weakly and wickedly, till 
 he thought so himself ; especially when, 
 on examining a well near his garden in 
 order to ascertain the possibility of widen- 
 ing it, a body was discovered in it bear- 
 ing evident marks of violence. 
 
 But near two years elapsed, and no 
 Theodore was again heard of ; and most 
 devoutly did the wife-led Mr. Sedley pray 
 that he never might be seen or heard of 
 more ; when a groom, who lived with 
 Mr. Sedley after Allen's departure, and 
 before Theodore went away, wrote word 
 from London, that he had seen Theo- 
 dore alight from the Portsmouth coach. 
 
 " I am sorry for it,'' cried Mr. Sedley, 
 turning pale as he read the letter. But 
 his more manly wife laughed at his pu- 
 sillaaimity, and did not leave him till she 
 had prevailed on him to go and make his
 
 THE ROBBER. SO? 
 
 deposition before a magistrate^ in ordar 
 for the apprehension of Theodore. 
 
 To be brief — the deposition was raade, 
 and the warrant granted ; and it was served 
 on Theodore just as he was coining out 
 of a mail-ofnce yard. 
 
 Theodore started, but smiled indignantly 
 when the warrant was served on him, and 
 when he found that he was taken up on sus- 
 picion of having murdered Allen. But he 
 sighed, and sighed deeply, w^hen he saw 
 that Mr. Sedley was his accuser, and re» 
 fleeted on the nature of the grounds on 
 which his suspicions were founded. He 
 assured the officers he had no means of 
 escape, nor intention of escaping ; all he 
 begged was, to be allowed to write a letter 
 to a friend, w^ho would, he expected, 
 call for him at the office in an hour or 
 two : and they allowed him to write, while 
 they stood at the door. Then Theodore 
 having asked how long it would be before 
 his trial came on, and finding the assizes.
 
 308 THE ROBBER. 
 
 were approaching, set off with his jailors 
 for the prison in the county where 
 the crime was said to have been com- 
 mitted. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Sedley heard that Theo- 
 dore was actually in prison, his agonies 
 of mind were unspeakable, and he be- 
 wailed the day when he first confided his 
 cares to his wife ; or, indeed, he regretted 
 the moment when he was rash enough to 
 marry ; for Mrs. Sedley was completely a 
 domestic tyrant : she was one of those 
 notable, busy, dogmatical, and shrewish 
 women, (and there are such,) who pique 
 themselves on carrying every point that 
 they have once declared they will carry j 
 one of those sweet-tempered beings, who, 
 after they have been reasoned with for 
 hours on the impropriety, or folly, of an 
 action which they are going to commit, 
 coolly answer, ^'No matter, I will have my 
 own way, and there's an end of it." 
 
 And even such a woman wasMrs. Sedley,
 
 THE ROBBER. S09 
 
 But Mr. Sedley, whether out of pique 
 to his wife, or from remorse of heart, was 
 never so convinced of Theodore's inno* 
 cence, as now that he was going to pro- 
 secute him for a supposed murder ; nor 
 could he be easy without sending to 
 Theodore in prison, to know if there 
 were any conveniencies or indulgencies 
 that money could procure, which he 
 wished to have ; because, if there were, 
 his purse was at his service : and he 
 assured him most earnestly, that he had 
 been compelled to take the steps which he 
 had taken against him, and that he re- 
 pented of what he had done, from the 
 very bottom of his soul. 
 
 Theodore replied, that he wanted 
 nothing in prison but what he was rich 
 enough to procure; and that he knew 
 very well how reluctant Mr. Sedley had 
 been to prosecute him. He added, that 
 he should always remember that Mr. 
 Sedley's present severity to him wa& 
 o 11
 
 SIO THE ROBBER. 
 
 against his inclination, but that his past 
 kindness was the unforced offering of his 
 own generous heart. 
 
 Mr. Sedley read this letter, and was 
 more miserable than he was before : nor 
 could he help loudly protesting that the 
 idea of being forced to appear against 
 Theodore, occasioned him insupportable 
 anguish j though he knew that he was 
 only going to perform a duty incumbent 
 on him, as the body found in the well, 
 in size and shape exactly resembled Al- 
 len ; as the clothes on it were such as he 
 wore when he disappeared ; as the linen of 
 the murdered man was marked W. A. ; 
 and as such parts of the features as were 
 not disfigured by violence bore a strong 
 likeness to the features of Allen. 
 
 Theodore, meanwhile^ on being asked 
 when he meant to consult with his counsel, 
 declared that he did not mean to employ 
 any, but should plead his own cause : 
 and except one friend, who visited him
 
 THE ROBBER. 311 
 
 in prison, he saw no one, but busied him- 
 self in drawing up his defence. 
 
 Indeed Theodore rejoiced in the oppor- 
 tunity of defending himself publicly, and 
 telling his own story : nor would he, if he 
 could, have avoided his trial, because he 
 found that his character had been most 
 cruelly injured, or rather utterly talked 
 away, by Mrs. Sedley, and the real facts 
 so distorted by misrepresentation, that in 
 a court of justice only could he hope to 
 clear himself — and to that he confidently 
 appealed. 
 
 The day appointed for the trial at 
 length arrived, and the court was crowded 
 at an early hour. When Theodore ap- 
 peared, every eye was turned upon him 
 with eager curiosity, and Mr. Sedley 
 could with difficulty be kept from faint- 
 ing ; while even IVIrs. Sedley herself felt 
 her animosity against her husband's for- 
 mer /jro^t^g-c" considerably softened, when 
 she saw in the imagined culprit, a hand-
 
 312 The robber. 
 
 some, tall, graceful youth, whose deport- 
 ment was calculated to excite respect, 
 whose countenance invited confidence, 
 and whose large dark eyes sparkled with 
 intelligence. " I hope he will be acquit- 
 ted," was the general whisper throughout 
 the court ; and Mr. Sedley, overhearing 
 it, devoutly cried " Amen.'* 
 
 This was an act of rebellion against his 
 commander in chief: it consequently 
 restored her to all her implacability ; and 
 she trembled with impatience till the coun- 
 sel for the crown opened the prosecution. 
 He began by an eulogium on the great 
 and well-known humanity of Mr. Sedley, 
 and drew from it an argument to prove 
 the very bad opinion which Mr. Sedley 
 must have formed of the prisoner's wick- 
 edness, founded on the most irrefragable 
 evidence; when he, even //e, this man 
 made up of the milk of human kindness, 
 was induced to withdraw the protection 
 which he had formerly shown him, and
 
 tHE ROBBER. 313 
 
 take him up on a charge of murder^ 
 Haviiig tiien called witnesses to prove the 
 discovery of the body-, and to prove also 
 that it was the person of a murdered man, 
 and the probability of its being the body 
 of Allen, he proceeded to bring evidence 
 to prove that Theodore was the person who 
 murdered Allen ; but before he did this, 
 he lamented that he was forbidden, by the 
 mercy and forbearance of the laws of this 
 country, to relate some prenous occur- 
 rences in the prisoner's life v/ hich had a 
 strong tendency to establish the Ukelihood 
 of his guilt in the present instance. (During 
 this part of his speech, Theodore was 
 violently agitated, and so was Mr. Sedley.) 
 
 The principal and strongest evidence 
 against the prisoner was, it may be sup- 
 posed, Mr. Sedley himself. He arose, 
 pale, and trembling, almost unable to 
 -speak, and declared on oath, that Theo- 
 dore had in his presence protested that he 
 would be revenged on Allen, in conse- 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 S14 THE ROBBER. 
 
 i^uence of the daily taunts with which 
 Allen insulted him. After his exami- 
 nation, a long and various one, was 
 at an end, Mrs. Morris, Mr. Sedley's 
 housekeeper, was called to prove the cir- 
 cumstance of Theodore's having insisted on 
 accompanying Allen to his room, and of his 
 having been the last person who saw him ; 
 and she gave her evidence with so many 
 tears,intermixed with such heartfelt praises 
 of the prisoner, and prayers for his deliver- 
 ance, (w^hile the court vainly tried to stop 
 her affectionate effusions,) that her emotion 
 became contagious, and Theodore himself 
 was visibly affected. 
 
 Here ended the evidence for the cro\vn ; 
 and the prisoner was told that he would 
 now be heard in his defence. Theo- 
 dore then, after a few moments of evident 
 emotion and embarrassment, began as 
 follow'S : — 
 
 " Gentlemen of the jury, 
 
 *' You have just heard a vejy animated
 
 THL ROBB£R, 3lJ 
 
 speech delivered with every grace of ges- 
 ture and manner, and 1 know that I shall 
 appear to every possible disadvantage 
 after what has just been heard, especialy 
 as I rise to disclose to you in ail its enor- 
 mity, that guilt to which the learned gen- 
 tleman who has just sat down only re- 
 motely alluded, for I am resolved that all 
 shall now be known of me that can be 
 known ; I am resolved that the only 
 crime which I ever committed shall be 
 publicly acknowledged by me ; and 1 
 rejoice that I am thus arraigned at a pub- 
 lic tribunal, because it enables me to lay 
 aside all concealment, and prevents me 
 from ever trembling again in the presence 
 of any one from the fear of detection. 
 
 " Mr. Sedley, Gentlemen of the jury, 
 .could have informed you, had the law al- 
 lowed him, that, hurried away by a mad 
 and fatal passion for a worthless but fasci- 
 -nating woman, and agonized by the fear 
 p L'
 
 316 THE ROBBER. 
 
 of losing her, I consented, in a moment 
 of desperation, to lie in wait for him on 
 the highway, and plunder him of his 
 property : — but he could not have told 
 you, nor can I myself give you the faintest 
 idea of the horror and remorse which 
 seized me when I had committed the 
 action ; when I saw myself obliged, in 
 self-defence, to plunge still deeper in 
 crime, and endeavour to take the life of 
 Mr. Sedley then, in order to prevent him 
 from taking mine by means of the law at 
 a future season. Oh ! if I live a century, the 
 agony of that moment will never be effaced 
 from my recollection ! But, thank God ! 
 my murderous efforts were frustrated ; Mr. 
 Sedley was rescued, and I made a prisoner. 
 " Oh, hour of wretchedness ! As I 
 walked with him to his house I saw no- 
 thing but my poor mother's frantic ago- 
 nies when she heard of my guilt ; I heard 
 nothing but her agonizing shrieks, her
 
 THE ROBBER. 317 
 
 »dying groans : and methought that with 
 her last breath she cursed me, and called 
 me parricide ! 
 
 " Ye who have affectionate parents, 
 and who feel as children should fee!, 
 imagine, if you can endure to do it, my 
 tortures that moment. Mr. Sedley, (and 
 may every blessing here and hereafter 
 be his ! ) Mr. Sedley saw and pitied my 
 distress — he pided my poor mother — ^^he 
 pitied me : he thought that I was a 
 true penitent ; and he nobly and piously 
 thought that he should do an action more 
 acceptable in the eyes of the Supreme 
 Being, by allowing me to live for repent- 
 ance and amendment, than if, by dehver- 
 iiig me up to justice, he cut me off in the 
 prime of youth and expectation, and at 
 the same time ran the • risk of destroying 
 my poor mother by sorrow and disgrace. 
 
 *' He forgave me: - he did yet more — 
 he tmsted me ; he allowed me to devote 
 my life to h'.ni ; and he promised, if on
 
 T'lS iflK ROBBER. 
 
 (rial he was contented with me, to bestow 
 yet further favours on me, and give me 
 the means of being useful to him and to 
 my fellow-creatures. 
 
 ^' I fell at his feet, fainting from excess 
 of gratitude and joy : I recovered ; and 
 my heart took a voluntary vow, That 
 from that dav forward he should never 
 have to blush for the being whom he had 
 preserved ; but, on the contrary, that 
 my conduct should be such as to defy 
 the severest inspector to fix on it, with 
 justice^ the slightest imputation of guilt. I 
 vowed ; and I have kept my vow : — yes, 
 1 have kept it faithfully, although you see 
 me here arraigned before you as a re- 
 vengeful, hateful murderer. 
 
 *' But I bless God that I have been so 
 arraigned ; as I know that I can prove 
 my innocence of that crime, and of every 
 other, except the intended robbery. 
 
 ^' Besides, the false and injurious reports 
 which have so industriously been spread
 
 THE ROBBKR. 3lH 
 
 against me in this country, I have now 
 an .opportunity of reducing publicly to a 
 mere relation of matters of fact ; and I 
 shall have to answer for no crime but 
 that which I in reality committed : and 
 therefore have I sullered myselfto be con- 
 fined in a dismal dungeon — therefore have 
 I consented to appear thus as a criminal at 
 the bar. 
 
 ** But I shall obtrude no longer on the 
 patience of the court, than by a few short 
 observaiions. I v/ould ho'.d myself up as 
 a dread example to the yomig of the 
 danger of illicit connections, and of the 
 fatal influence of a first crime on the 
 whole of our future life. I know 
 by that action, committed at the instiga- 
 tion of illicit passion, I have for ever blasted 
 my prospects in life, and condemned my- 
 self to lead a joyless existence as an insu- 
 lated, unattached, and solitary being; — for 
 never shall a wife of mine be reproached 
 with my disgrace ; never shall a child
 
 $20 THE ROBBER. 
 
 of mine be taught to blush at calhng me 
 father : — No— all my future life must be 
 spent in constant endeavours to expiate, 
 by a series of active duties, the one dis- 
 graceful action which I committed against 
 the interests of society and myself. By 
 the death of a distant relation I am 
 become rich ; and I look forward with 
 the cheering hope, that those wha 
 this day have seen me tried as a mur- 
 derer, and heard me own myself a rob- 
 ber, in intention at least, shall one day 
 hear of me as a being who, dead to every 
 personal gratification, endeavours to find 
 happiness in administering to that of 
 others ; and, above all, who desires to 
 make his peace with God and man, by 
 atoning for one deeply repented crime 
 by successive acts of utility and virtue. 
 Nov/ nothing remains for me to do but to 
 ask a few questions of Mr. Sed ley, and 
 then call one witness. "^ 
 
 Here he ceased ; — and ^s soon a^- tbje
 
 THE F.OBBER. S21 
 
 Strong effect and emotion produced by his 
 speech had subsided, he put the following 
 questions to Mr. Sedley : — 
 
 " It has been industriously propagated, 
 sir, that I purposely set fire to your study, 
 and for two reasons : — ^First, because I 
 knew that my life was in your power, and 
 consequently wished to lay you under an 
 T)b ligation to me of a nature so sacred as 
 to make it impossible for you ever to de- 
 liver me up to justice, I therefore set 
 fire to your study that I might rush; in 
 and save you from the flames at the ap- 
 parent risk of my life. 
 
 '* Secondly, sir, I set fire to your study, 
 it has been said, in order to burn some 
 pages of a journal wii len by you, in which 
 my crime was n.^.ted down. I now there- 
 fore call on you to declare upon oath, 
 how far such reports have been autho- 
 rised by you.'* 
 
 " They have not been authorised by 
 me," replied Mr. Sedley eagerly. " I 
 p 5
 
 322 THE ROBBER. 
 
 confess that at first I did suspect that the 
 fire was not accidental ; but I soon leai*nt 
 to blush for my suspicions, especially 
 when, on Allen's expressing his wonder 
 that you should be so opportunely on the 
 spot when the fire broke out, you answer- 
 ed, that not being able to sleep much, 
 from remorse and uneasiness of mind, you 
 were in the constant habit of taking a soli- 
 tary and midiiight walk, and that you 
 commonly walked past my study ; and I 
 here publicly and solemnly declare, that 
 you, at the risk of your own life, rutihed 
 through the flames in order to preserve 
 mine." 
 
 ^' Now then, sir, to the second report,*' 
 said Theodore, — " Did you ever fmd the 
 papers which you missed after the night 
 of the fire, and which led you^ I am told, 
 to suspect the fire not to be accidental ?" 
 
 ** I did — I found them locked up in a 
 c! jset in my own lodging-room." 
 
 " There is yet another charge against
 
 THE ROBBER.. S23 
 
 nie which has been circulated in conver- 
 sation, nuRiely, That I one evening, as I 
 was following you home, gave you, with a 
 murderous intent, a blow on the forehead 
 which felled you to the ground.'* 
 
 " A moir^t false and calumnious charge 
 indeed,'' indignantly exclaimed Mr. Sed- 
 ley : " the blow was proved, even to the 
 satisfaction of Allen himself, to have been 
 given me by the arm of a tree which 
 projected over the path ; for the blow was 
 ca my forehead, whereas had it been 
 given iiitr by you it must have been on 
 the back oi'my head. In short," added 
 Mr. Sedley, *' I know of |io actual guilt 
 which can with justice be imputed to 
 you, except that of the intended robbery ; 
 and God grant that you may prove your- 
 self as free from the guilt of nnu'der as I 
 believe you to be of all the charges which 
 you have now mentioned !" 
 
 " I thank you from the bottom of 
 my soul, sir, for this open and publfc
 
 justification/' cried Theodore : ''' now ther 
 expectations which led ine to submit to the 
 disgrace and anxiety of a pubHc trial are 
 fully answered^ and I have nothing more 
 to do but to free myself from the charge 
 of murder ; to do this I shall on.y call 
 one witness. 
 
 As he said this his voice faltered, and 
 the heart of every one throbbed with 
 anxious expectation. 
 
 " Call one William Allen/' cried 
 Theodore, 
 
 He was called. 
 
 " Here 1" answered the man, bust^ 
 ling through the crowd up to the witness 
 bar, as if eager to show himself j while 
 Mr. Sedley joyfully exclaimed, " Oh ! 
 God ! it is he f it is Allen !" and Mrs. 
 Morris, in her joy, threw her arms round 
 Allen's neck, and was carried in a violent 
 hysteric out of court. 
 
 " What is all this ?'* cried the judge j 
 *' Who is this man ? — Who is Alien ?'' 
 
 8
 
 THE ROBBER. 525 
 
 " Mylord,^ replied Theodore, bowings 
 ^ this is WiliiLim Allen, the man for 
 whose murder I stand arraigned." 
 
 A shout, an universal shout, was heard 
 till the judge commanded silence. 
 
 "And why was not he produced be- 
 fore ? — ^W^hy did you not come forward, 
 sir, before ?*' said the judge, addressing 
 Allen. 
 
 " Because Mr. Theodore would not let 
 Hie^ my lord ; and I am bound to oblige 
 him, whatever he asks. But if it be not- 
 informal, I should wish to be allowed to 
 tell my stor)\" 
 
 "No — no," replied the judge, " this 
 is a strange business, and I have had 
 enough of it. Let the prisoner be dis- 
 charged ; and I shall adjourn the court till 
 after dinner." Theodore was accordingly 
 discharged, and the court adjourned. But 
 though the judge was unwilling to listen 
 to Allen*s relation, every other person in 
 court was eager to hear it ; and Alien,
 
 S26 THE ROBBER. 
 
 while standing at the witness bar, mih 
 great satisfaction told the following story 
 to the attentive and crowded audience 
 around him : — 
 
 " I must own I behaved very wrongly 
 in taunting Mr. Theodore for the crime 
 of the intended robbery to which I was 
 privy ; and I took an ungenerous advan- 
 tage, as he was in my power, to let him 
 know I suspected him of being capable 
 of committing other crimes, as he had 
 committed one. And one day 1 did pro- 
 voke him so much, that, in Mr. Sedley's 
 hearing, he vowed he would have his re- 
 venue of me : and sure enou;2.h he has 
 had it ; for I shall never forgive myself, 
 though he has forgivsen me, for my iil 
 conduct to him." 
 
 "Go on," cried Theodore gentry. 
 
 " Well," continued Allen, " I re- 
 ceived some ne\AS which afflicted me 
 greatly, and made it necessary for me to 
 quit my master, and take French leave
 
 THE ROBBER. 327 
 
 of every one. But in the interim I was 
 so wretched, that Mr. Theodore saw my 
 uneasiness ; and though I had always 
 behaved so hke a d(^g to him, he spoke ta 
 me in the kindest manner, lamented m.y 
 evident distress, and earnestly begged to 
 know whether it was in his power to allevi- 
 ate it. I rudely repulsed him, and refused 
 any assistance from him. Indeed, neither 
 he nor any one could assist me. However, 
 on the night of my disappearance, Mr, 
 Theodore insisted on accompanying me to 
 my room, for he thought I was likely to 
 make away v.ith myself; till at last, 
 though I was too proud to confide the 
 cause of my distress to him, I was so over- 
 come by his kindness, that I cried like a 
 child, and thought how httle I had de- 
 served it. He left me at three ; and in 
 an hour after, I had packed up niy things 
 and was of}'." 
 
 Here he paused. 
 
 "Well, sir; — go on," cried cne of
 
 328 THE ROBBER. 
 
 the counsel who remained to hear Allen^s 
 story, " and pray tell us whither you 
 went. This has a very suspicious appear- 
 ance, to go off without assigning any 
 teason to any one, and suffer yourself to 
 be supposed dead !'' 
 * *^ I had my reasons, sir/' 
 
 " Name them/* 
 
 " The truth was : A dear friend, 
 a very dear friend of mine, was 
 to he transported for a felony ; and 
 being afraid he should die on the 
 passage, as he was in bad health, 
 he wished me to get leave to go with 
 him : indeed it was my duty to go ; 
 for, to speak the truth, this fnend of 
 mine was my own father. He is dead= 
 •and gone now, poor soul ! and from the 
 bottom of my heart I believe he was 
 •entirely innocent of the charge for w^hich 
 he suffered, though the circumstantial evi- 
 dence was strong against him. Well, I ob- 
 -tained leave, as the kind-hearted gentle-
 
 TK£ ROBBER. 329 
 
 men in oiBce approved my motives for 
 asking it. Besides, my father was innocent, 
 I am sure he was.'* Here he stopped, and 
 wept bitterly, while his audience sympa- 
 thized in the feelings of an affectionate 
 child. 
 
 Allen soon recovered himself, and u'ent 
 on : — 
 
 " While we were stopping to take in 
 water on the voyage, a swift- sailing vessel 
 from England overtook us, and who 
 should I see coming alongside of us in 
 the boat but Mr. Theodore ! Oh ! how 
 shocked and surprised was I to hear that 
 Mr. Sedley suspected him of ha\ ing mur- 
 dered me, and that he was sure nothing 
 but my actual appearance could clear his 
 character ! But that, for the present at least, 
 was impossible. He then proceeded to 
 tell me how, by the most indefatigable 
 inquiries, he had traced me to Newgate,, 
 and even to on board ship, though I had 
 changed my name ta thiit assumed by my-
 
 S30 THE ROB BLR. 
 
 father on his trial. — That finding it inv 
 possible for him to carj-y me back with 
 him to Mr. Sedlley's, as I could not and 
 ought not to leave my father, he had 
 hurried back to London, and requested 
 an audience of the great man who had 
 been so kind to ma ; and having told his 
 lordship how necessary to his peace and 
 welfare it was, that he should be on the 
 spot, in case of my father's death, in 
 order to bring me back to England as 
 soon as possible, he also obtained leave 
 to go to Botany-Bay, and he carried with 
 him a letter of recommendation to the 
 governor — so greatly, I fancy, had his 
 way of talking, and his appearance, pre- 
 judiced his lordship in his favour. 
 
 ^' When we landed in New Hoi! and, 
 Mr. Theodore was soon usefully em- 
 ployed : for my part, I had enough to 
 do to attend on my poor sick father, and 
 mary is the time that Mr. Theodore has 
 come to assist mc in my mournful task.'*
 
 THE ROBBER* oSi 
 
 Here his voice faltered again, but he 
 went on : — 
 
 " At length my poor father died , and, 
 dear ! how kindly did Mr. Theodore try to 
 console me ! Indeed he was so kind, that 
 I was even more impatient than himself 
 to return to England ; and we anxiously 
 waited for a vessel to carry us back, and 
 enable me to clear up his character to 
 Mr. Sedley ; when one day as we w^ere 
 walking with some of the criminals, who 
 w^ere showing the governor's secretary 
 grounds which they had been clear- 
 ing, one" of them, who was transport- 
 ed for a highway robbery, but who 
 was also a very dexterous pickpocket, 
 picked the secretary's pocket of his purse; 
 but the gentleman having felt the hand in 
 his fob immediiitely gave the alarm, and 
 the skilful villain conveyed the purse 
 into my pocket. The secretary, an angry 
 man, insisted that we should all be 
 searched, and the purse was found on me'!
 
 f332 THE ROBBER. 
 
 On which, while I was nearly dead with 
 agony and shame, he ordered me into 
 custody. But Mr. Theodore interfered ; 
 and assuring him that he knew me well, 
 and that he was convinced I was inca- 
 pable of the crime imputed to me, and 
 came to Botany Bay in consequence of 
 my virtue, as he was pleased to say, 
 and not my vices, he more than half 
 •convinced him that the guilt was in reality 
 that of some great proficient in the art of 
 pocket-picking, W'ho had dexterously 
 transferred the appearance of criminality 
 to me ; and at his earnest entreaties I was 
 immediately liberated. 
 
 " But in the mean while Mr. Theo- 
 dore's quick eye discovered in the real 
 culprit great signs of guilt ; and in the 
 fellow's hearing he bade the secretary take 
 care that a strict watch was kept over 
 that man, pointing to him. 
 
 " Still I was regarded with suspicion 
 }jy the secretaiy and others, and Mr^
 
 THE KOBBER. 33^ 
 
 Theodore was told he had better not be 
 so much with me, as it injured him in the 
 estimation of his employer. But he re- 
 plied that he knew I was an injured 
 man ; and that if no one else counte- 
 nanced me he would, whatever might be 
 the consequences to himself. But the 
 real criminal never forgave either him or 
 me from that moment ; and meeting me 
 one day alone, the thirst of revenge got 
 the better of all other considerations — - 
 he fell upon me with a design, no doubt, 
 to take my life ; but just as I was quite 
 faint with struggling, and gave myself 
 over for lost, Mr. Theodore came in 
 sight, and I am proud to say that I owe 
 my hfe to him and his generous exer» 
 tions. 
 
 ** As I sobbed out my thanks to him-^ 
 never, never shall I forget the agony with 
 which he wrung his hands, and said, 
 * Yes, Allen — I have now saved t\vo 
 lives J but still I feel that the satisfaction
 
 S34 THL ROBBER. 
 
 which this reflection imparts to me can- 
 not counterbalance the misery of know- 
 ing that I once was on the point of taking 
 away the life of one fellow-creature. Oh ! 
 Allen,' added he, ' reflect on my sad fate, 
 and think of its retributive justice. Behold 
 me self-condemned, with ray prospects 
 blasted in the prime of youth, only be- 
 cause I was guilty of crimes in intention ; 
 and I, who was merely tempted to endea- 
 vour the crime of murder in self-defence, 
 was exposed by that one uncommitted 
 fault to be suspected of the dreadful wick- 
 edness of murder in cold-blood, and from 
 the suggestions of malice and revenge.' 
 
 " At length, the villain who had in- 
 jured my reputation and assailed my life 
 was sentenced to die for a felony which 
 he had committed ; and at the gallows 
 he completely cleared me from the guilt 
 which he had caused to be imputed to me. 
 The next week a vessel was about to 
 sail for England, and Mr. Theodore ob-
 
 THE ROBBER. 335 
 
 tained leave for us to take our passage in 
 it. We did so, and were landed safe at 
 Portsmouth ; whence we came to London 
 by the coach. 
 
 " During tlie journey, to our great 
 surprise and consternation, we heard from 
 a native of this town, whom we took up 
 on the road, the whole story of my dis- 
 appearance, and of Mr. Sedley's suspi- 
 cions in consequence of it. In short, we 
 heard amply detailed every circumstance 
 relative to this unliappy business. I was 
 so exasperated that I was about to discover 
 myself; but Mr- Theodore in a whrsper 
 conjured me to be silent ; and as I said be- 
 fore, I could refuse him nothing : then, in 
 answer to some inquiries of his, we learnt 
 that Mr. Sedley, a good-natured, kind- 
 hearted man, as they called him, but not 
 over wise, had been made a fool and dupe 
 of by Mr. Theodore ; but that, on his 
 marriage with Mrs. Sedley, a sharp, 
 clever, managing woman, vvilh all her wits
 
 $36 THE ROBBER. 
 
 about her^ and one who would have her own 
 way, she had got from him the whole se- 
 cret concerning Mr. Theodore and me, 
 which weighed on his mind and ruined his 
 health ; and on the discovery of the body 
 of a murdered person in the well, she had 
 insisted that he should cause Mr. Theo- 
 dore to be taken up, if ever he was seen in 
 England again. 
 
 " And sure enough he was known, 
 and taken up soon after in London, while 
 expecting me at an inn in Holborn. In- 
 stead of him, I found a letter from him 
 informing me of what had passed ; and 
 the misery and indignation I felt were so 
 great, that they completely made me in- 
 sensible of the pleasure I should otherwise 
 have experienced, at finding by the same 
 letter, that he was, by the death of a rela- 
 tion, become possessed of a considerable 
 fortune. 3ut I should have set off direct- 
 ly for Mr. Sedley's house, had not Mr. 
 Theodore positively forbidden my visits
 
 THE ROBBER. S37 
 
 to him In prison, unless I would come so 
 disguised that no one could know me." 
 
 " But suppose, sir," said the same 
 gentleman who had spoken before, " you 
 had died before Mr. Theodore's trial came 
 on ! I think your friend incurred a very 
 foolish risk by his fine scheme of standing 
 a trial to clear his reputation publicly, 
 for he might have been hanged notwith- 
 standing his innocence.'* 
 
 '' No, ^ir," replied Allen, '^ not so — - 
 real gratitude does not do its work by 
 halves ; I took the precaution, kno\^aiig a 
 little of the law, to go and discover myself 
 to my sister and her son ; and I put it in 
 their power to prove beyond the possibi- 
 lity of doubt, on the day of trial, should 
 any accident happen to me, that I was 
 alive and well after Mr. Theodore was 
 taken up for having murdered me. 
 
 " To conclude : I concealed myself, 
 as Mr. Theodore desired, till to-day ; 
 and here I am, to prove Mr. Theodore's 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 S3S THE ROBBER. 
 
 Innocence of the ciime of murder, and do 
 justice to his many virtues." 
 
 This story impressed every auditor with 
 the strongest feeHngs of pity and admira- 
 tion for Theodore, while it also raised the 
 relater in every one's esteem, and the la*e 
 criminal at the bar was congratulated and 
 complimented by some of the first charac- 
 ters in the county. Mrs. Sedley, mean- 
 while, had stolen unobserved out of court. 
 She had prided herself on making her- 
 husband accuse Theodore, in order that 
 she might prove her power over him ; 
 and believing implicitly in her own sa- 
 gacity, she had persuaded herself that he 
 was guilty, and that his conviction would 
 tend to confirm more than ever the ge- 
 neral opinion of her superior intelligence. 
 Nor, to do her justice, was it possible for 
 any one not to own, that after the disco- 
 very of the body, whicli so many circum- 
 stances seemed to prove to be the body 
 of Allen, though it afterwards turned out
 
 THE ROBBER. 339 
 
 to be that of one William Althorpe, it was 
 an act of necessary justice in Mr. Sed- 
 ley to take up Theodore on suspicion 
 of having murdered him, and so far 
 she was perfectly right in instigating her 
 husband to take the steps which he did. 
 But she was not right in detailing every 
 where, with eager and indefatigable mi- 
 nuteness, all the circumstances which had 
 attended Mr. Sedley's acquaintance with 
 Theodore. She was not right in en- 
 deavouring to prejudice the minds even 
 of his jurymen against the unhappy youth, 
 and in causing paragraphs relating to the 
 whole business to appear in the provincial 
 and other papers ; and her conscience now 
 whispered her that she had done this, and 
 in so doing had acted the part of a malig- 
 nant persecutor. And wherefore had she 
 done it? Merely out of opposition to her 
 husband, and because he persisted in be- 
 lieving that he had acted right in not 
 giving up the youthful criminal to justice. 
 - Q2
 
 340 THE ROBBER. 
 
 Therefore, whenever she told the story, it 
 had been interlarded with " but had Mr. 
 Sedley been so fortunate as to know me 
 then, had he consulted me^ and taken my 
 advice, this childish wicked action of his, 
 which he calls generous^ would not have 
 been performed, and thenthe poor unfortu- 
 nate, good, honest creature Allen would 
 have been alive to this time ! for this 
 wretch Theodore would have paid the 
 forfeit of his crime on the gallow^s." It is 
 to be supposed that Mrs. Sedley's auditors 
 agreed with her implicitly in opinion, and 
 complimented her on her sagacity : con- 
 sequently Mrs, Sedley looked forward to 
 the hour of Theodore's condemnation as 
 a season of triumph for her. But Theo- 
 dore was acquitted, and what she had ex- 
 pected would be his disgrace turned out 
 his glory ; and Mrs. Sedley's shame and 
 confusion w'ere in proportion to \vhat her 
 hopes of exultation had been. Besides, 
 what a triumph it was for Mr. Sedley !
 
 THE ROBBERc 541 
 
 and how should she ever be able to rule 
 him again ! 
 
 These thoughts, and the violence of a 
 temper unused to contradiction, operated 
 so forcibly on a very delicate and con- 
 sumptive frame, that when she got home 
 she found herself seriously ill ; and though 
 Theodore had certainly not taken the life 
 of Allen, it was by no means so certala 
 that he had not contributed to endanger 
 the life of Mrs. Sedley. 
 
 But while Mrs. Sedley hastened out of 
 court to hide her feelings from every one, - 
 Mr. Sedley could not bear to go viithout 
 having some conversation with Theodore, 
 Yet, how could he venture to approach 
 him ? 
 
 But Theodore spared him the effort ; 
 Jie accosted him, he seized his hand, he 
 thanked him again and again for his 
 past kindness, and that mercy which had 
 saved him for atonement and amendment ; 
 and declared to him, that he could easily 
 excuse and pardon hi^ enforced act of
 
 S42 THE ROBBER. 
 
 hostility against him ; nay more, that he 
 applauded it as an act of rigid duty. 
 - " Oh, Theodore ! I would, but dare 
 not ask you home with me," cried Mr. 
 Sedley : — and Theodore understood him. 
 
 But many gentlemen, and ladies too, 
 m court, had been so prejudiced in his 
 favour by what had passed, that invita- 
 tions flowed in on him on all sides ; and the 
 self-condemned, the contrite Theodore 
 saw himself the object of interest and 
 respect. 
 
 To conclude my story : — Mrs. Sedley, 
 the victim of her own bad temper, did not 
 long survive Theodore*s acquittal, and her 
 husband felt relieved by her death. True, 
 she had beauty ; true, she had talents ; 
 but her temper enveloped them in a baleful 
 mist, and made their attractions ineffectual, 
 as a rose growing by chance in the midst 
 of the holly bush, and its formidable thorns 
 would vainly tempt the hand of the pas- 
 senger to culi its fragrant beauties. 
 
 On her death, Mr. Sedley invited
 
 THE ROBBER. SI3 
 
 Theodore to live with him as his friend 
 and companion, and to assist him (which 
 he was very capable of doing) in the 
 education of his only daughter, who was 
 at school when Theodore first entered his 
 family ; while Allen, who had resolved 
 never to leave Theodore, was made prin- 
 cipal clerk to Mr. Sedley. 
 
 But Theodore, faithful to his resolution, 
 was not contented with saving Mr. Sed- 
 ley the fatigue of attending to business, 
 and assisting him to form the mind of his 
 child ; he devoted his fortune entirely to 
 .the purposes of charity, and his leisure 
 hours to endeavour to comfort those who 
 mourned from misfortune, or from the 
 consciousness of guilt. But his most 
 favourite mode of reheving distress was 
 that of lending sums opportunely to trades- 
 men on the brink of bankruptcy, and by 
 that means preserving them often from 
 ruin ; for he knew that, had his father 
 been so assisted, he and his mother should 
 not have been reduced to absolute beggary^
 
 S44 THE ROBBER. 
 
 nor he have been obliged to leave col- 
 lege when about to distinguish hunself 
 there. 
 
 In the mean while, Mary Anne Sedlej 
 grew in beauty and in virtue ; and Theo- 
 dore was as fond of her as even her father 
 was : — but, alas ! he found at length, that 
 though their affection was the same in 
 degree, it was not the same in nature ; 
 and Theodore looking upon himself as 
 incapacitated, by the crime of his early 
 youth, to becom.e the husband of miss 
 Sedley, or of any woman, resolved to un- 
 dertake a long journey, and not return 
 till Mary Anne was married. 
 
 He at length summoned up resolution 
 to communicate his intentions to Mr. 
 Sedley, and he did so in the presence of 
 his daughter ; who started, and immedi- 
 ately left the room in tears. 
 
 ." You see, Theodore, how the idea of 
 losing you hurts that poor girl," cried Mr. 
 Sedley ; " have pity on her, if you have 
 none on me."
 
 THE ROBBER. 345 
 
 " Oh, sir," replied Theodore, " allow 
 me to have pity on myself." 
 
 He then laid open to Mr. Sedley the 
 state of his heart, and had the satisfaction 
 of finding that Mr. Sedley, despising the 
 objections which might be urged by the 
 world against his giving his daughter to a 
 man disgraced as Theodore had beeen, 
 would rejoice to bestow her on this well- 
 tried pupil of sorrow, this repentant child 
 of error. Besides, he was convinced that 
 his daughter loved him ; and in answer to 
 Theodore's reasons for not marrying,which 
 w^ere such as he had urged on his trial, 
 l\Ir. Sedley ariswered, " Well, I shall say 
 no more ; but Mary Anne shall decide." 
 
 He then went in pursuit of her ; 
 and having made known to her Theo- 
 dore's love, he led the blushincr but 
 happy girl back into the room where 
 he had left him, and Mary Anne heard 
 from himself a disclosure of feis passioH> 
 and the reason why he could not think of 
 endeavouring to gain her aifccuons.
 
 346 THE ROBBER. 
 
 *' You need not take that trouble," re- 
 plied Mary Anne ; ''for my father em- 
 boldens me to tell you, that my affections 
 are yours already." 
 
 Away, for the moment at least, fled 
 Theodore's disinterested resolutions and 
 sage principles of action. He was beloved, 
 and he was happy ! — But his fears re- 
 turned ; and relinquishing again the hand 
 which he had so fondly held, he ex- 
 claimed, " No : — it cannot, must not 
 be — and I am doomed to be miserable.'* 
 
 " Mr. Mortimer," cried miss SedIey5(for 
 Theodore had re-assumed his own name,) 
 *' you certainly have a right to be as mi- 
 serable as you please, but not to make me 
 miserable also, and I own that my happi- 
 ness depends on you. And how weak 
 are your arguments against becoming a 
 husband ! Is it not said, that there is more 
 joy in heaven over one sinner that re- 
 penteth, than over ninety and nine just 
 persons that need no repentance ? And 
 why should we suppose that mortaU
 
 THE ROBBER. 347 
 
 should dare to treat with contumely those 
 whom theDeity regards with looks of com- 
 placency r Besides, suppose that any one 
 were to reproach me, as you choose to 
 imagine such a thing possible, with- your 
 juvenile error, should I not feel myself 
 and you above the reach of the petty 
 malice ? while I answered, * He makes me 
 the happiest of women.' '' 
 
 " But could you be happy, while con- 
 scious that I was to some people an object 
 of scorn and aversion r'' 
 
 " Why not ? Those people ought to 
 be, and must be, objects of scorn and 
 aversion to me ; and could my happiness 
 be influenced by the opinion of the weak 
 and the narrow-minded ? Your crime was 
 real and great, but so have been your 
 virtues ; and why should one crime be 
 deemed heavy enough to outweigh many 
 good actions r" 
 
 " But to have my childrej^reproached 
 with their father's crime •"
 
 348 THE ROBBER. 
 
 " Let them hear of it first from you — 
 let them see how one fault can embitter 
 a man's whole life, and they will tremble 
 how they err themselves. Nor is it pos- 
 sible for children to be taught by any 
 one to regard that parent with contempt, 
 whose active virtues they are in the daily 
 habit of witnessing. Once for all, re- 
 member that these fears are only fears, 
 and may never be realised ; whereas our 
 mutual love is realitij : and if fear is to 
 be conqueror in this business, 1 shall be 
 the sacrifice to what you imagine is virtue, 
 but what I consider as weakness. Yet one 
 thing more, remember I myself am a 
 natui-al child, and to some might be an 
 object of scorn." 
 
 Theodore was in love — Mr. Sedley 
 was earnest in his solicitations, and Mary 
 Anne — oh, how eloquent Mary Anne 
 vv^as ! Theodore at length accepted the 
 hand she Qljpred — he married, and was 
 happy. Nor had his wife and children
 
 THE ROBBER. 349 
 
 ever reason to lament or recollect the 
 repented crime of his youth, except when 
 the remembrance of it cast a cloud over 
 his brow, and forced him from their dear 
 society, to indulge the salutary sorrow in 
 temporary solitude. Meanwhile Mr.Sedley, 
 contemplating with pride the active virtues 
 of Theodore, used to say to himself with 
 a tear of honest self- approbation : 
 
 " Society owes me a great deal. Had 
 I given Theodore up to the laws of his 
 country, he would not have lived to 
 beneiit and ornament it. Aye, well does 
 the French proverb say, ' Qui ii^est que 
 juste est dur ;* and I bless the day when 
 I ventured to forget the magistrate in the 
 man." 
 
 '" But was it right to forgive him ? and 
 would not persons act very un\^dsely and 
 v\'ickedly, who should pardon great cri- 
 minals in general, and let them loose on 
 society, in hopes that they might one day
 
 S50 THE ROBBER. 
 
 or Other turn out sages, Howards, and 
 lawgivers ?'* 
 
 Alas ! there are few Theodores. Still, 
 though for blood I would have blood, 
 except in very fevr cases indeed, I ven- 
 ture to express my wishes that the punish- 
 ment of death was not so dreadfully 
 frequent as it is. I wish that our legis- 
 lators would not be so lavish of life, 
 that important gift, which no one can 
 restore ; but would, contenting themselves 
 with inflicting such punishment on of- 
 fenders as does not preclude hope, put 
 it in their power, by a revision of their 
 criminal laws, to bid the trembling wretch 
 repent, and live." 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 I beg leave to give the following extract 
 from the entertaining Memoirs of Mr. Cum- 
 berland, that veteran in the field of literature, 
 whose mind, as rich and inexhaustible as the
 
 THE ROBBER. 351 
 
 purse of Fortunatnsj is always able to answer 
 to his various dcinands on it^ and !)as ^or years 
 -supplied an aJniiring world with the choicest 
 stores of amusement and instruction. 
 
 *' How liable be (Dr. Bentley) was to de- 
 viate from the strict line of justice by his par- 
 tiality to the side of mercy, appears from the 
 anecdote of the thief, who robbed him of his 
 plate, and was seized and brought before him 
 with the very articles upon him. The natural 
 process in this man's case pointed out the 
 road to prison. My grandfather's process 
 was more summary, but no^ quite so legal. 
 
 '' While commissary Greaves, who was 
 then present, and of counsel for the college 
 ex officio, was expatiating on the crime, and 
 prescribing the measures obviously to be taken 
 with the offender, doctor Bentley interposed, 
 saying, 'Why tell the man he is a thief? 
 He knows that well enough without thv infor- 
 mation. Greaves. — Hark ye, fellow, thou seest 
 the trade which thou hast taken up is an 
 unprofitable trade: therefore get thee gone; 
 1 iy a^ide an occupation by which thou canst 
 get nothing but a halter, and follow that by
 
 352 THE ROBBER. 
 
 which thou mayst gain an honest liveli- 
 hood/ 
 
 ^^ Having said this, he ordered him to be 
 set at liberty, against the remonstrances of the 
 bystanders, and, insisting upon it that the 
 fellow was duly penitent for his offence, bade 
 him go his way and never steal again. 
 
 *^ I leave it to those (says Mr. Cumber- 
 land) who consider mercy as one of man's 
 best attributes, to suggest a plea for the infor- 
 mality of this proceeding." 
 
 And I request such of my readers as may 
 be inclined to censure with bitterness the le- 
 nity of Mr. Sedley, to recollect, that if he 
 erred, he had the honour of erring in the 
 same manner as did the great and excellent 
 Dr. Bentley. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
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