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TO LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PATRONS OF ENTERTAINING LITERATURE.
THE great encouragement and support our Plan of a LITERARY MUSEUM, or NOVEL → REPOSITORY, has received from a generous public, demands the utmost tribute of gratitude; and it is with pleasure announced, that since its commencement Manuscripts have been introduced receiving general approbation. The manner in which we have printed Works committed to our care will better speak our attention and praise than any eulogium of language.
Ladies and Gentlemen, from this specimen of our conduct, will be sure to have the efforts of their genius and productions of their pen introduced to the world in a style of superiority: the printing will be executed with expedition, correctness, accuracy and elegance, and the paper equally correspondent; and we presume to assert that no pains, care, assiduity, or expense, shall be spared to merit the continuance of the approbation we have obtained; and we also affirm, that we have never introduced

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In addition to this proposal, Authors who wish to derive emolument from their studies, are informed, that five hundred pounds is placed at an eminent bankers, for the sole purpose of purchasing literary productions; and notwithstanding we are now unrivalled in the public estimation, for Novels, Tales, Romances, Adventures, &c. yet, in this undertaking, works of a general nature, whether Originals, Translations, or Compilations, which can entertain or improve the mind, elucidate the sciences, or be of any utility, will here find an asylum.
From the great increase and general encouragement CIRCULATING LIBRARIES have received, and which are now established in all parts of England, Scotland, and Ireland, (an employ both respectable and lucrative,) such as are desirous of embarking in that line of business are informed that books suitable for that purpose are kept ready bound, in History, Voyages, Novels, Plays, &c. containing from One Hundred to Five Thousand Volumes, which may he had at a few days notice, with a catalogue for their subscribers, and instructions and directions how to plan, systemize, and conduct the same.

Such are the general outlines of this spirited undertaking: a plan founded on propriety, and sanctioned by the liberal approbation of the public; and we shall be happy farther to improve the same, so as to render it the Museum of Entertainment, and a Repository of Sciences, Arts, and Polite Literature.
MINERVA PRINTING OFFICE, Leadenhall-street.

HERMIONE.
 TO MISS BEAUMONT.
August—
AFTER a dreadful interval of four dismal weeks, I am once more enabled to resume my pen. Your friendly letter of condolence reached me last night. How soothing, my Sophia, is the balm of sympathy to a mind wounded by affliction. Your kind expressions made me dissolve into tears; but they were tears of softness and relief, far different from those of bitterness and despair, of which lately I have shed so many.
I admit of all you say, my dear; but reasoning, however solid and convincing, rarely makes any impression in the first

stages of immoderate sorrow, and I acknowledge the justice without feeling the force of the consolation you would inspire. I know we have enjoyed our beloved parent to a more advanced period than, from his feeble constitution and emaciated frame, we had cause to hope, and that we ought not now to repine that it has pleased the Almighty to take him from us; since every year of the last three of his life, has appeared in the light of a lease from heaven hardly to be expected, and at certain seasons, almost hardly to be wished; but for some months previous to his death, he had been blessed with such unusual good health, that all our former fears were lulled into fatal security, and I cherished with delight the pleasing idea of possessing him even in old age, and of devoting my days to render the remainder of his life comfortable and happy.
I do not however give uncontrouled

scope to my grief, as you tell me you are convinced is the case: I do not complain that the sudden shock of this sad stroke made it perhaps overpower us with redoubled violence; on the contrary, I bless heaven that the sufferings were ours not my dear father's, and that his transition to a better world seemed to all appearance unattended by those painful struggles and agonies which in general render the awful close of life still more dreadful, both to those who endure and to those who behold it.
Oh my beloved friend! it is not his loss (though God only knows how severe) that lies with such a weight of misery on our minds: ah no, Sophia; to the inevitable stroke of death our dearest interests remain every instant exposed; and dreadful as is the blow, resignation, assisted by time, especially in the sanguine season of youth, seldom I believe fails in restoring tranquillity. Long

and deeply must we have mourned our irreparable misfortune: yet I know I am not formed different from the rest of mankind, and what millions are doomed to endure, I am conscious I might have been enabled to support; but our distresses are accumulated, and beyond measure severe: not merely have we been deprived of a parent tender and revered, but to this calamity, of itself almost sufficient to overpower human nature, is superadded the agonizing aggravation of knowing that his best days have been overclouded by secret and acute sufferings —sufferings which have corroded his mind, undermined his constitution, and to which he has at length yielded himself a prey; yes, my Sophia, that ever honoured parent, whom we reverenced with enthusiastic affection, was a victim to remorse, and died of that most painful of all distempers—that distemper which admits of no cure, and

bids defiance to human skill—a broken heart.
His death, ever to be lamented, has brought to light a fatal, fatal story; but I shall endeavour to enter upon it with what composure I can summon to my aid; and from the soothing relief of confidential communication, perhaps my sorrows may derive some alleviation.
After being seized with the fit which proved, in its consequences, so dreadful, a short interval of ease succeeded, which my sister and I, unused to scenes of this alarming nature, vainly regarded as the certain symptom of recovery; but my father, who felt himself inwardly gone, perceived with pain our delusive error. My dear girls, said he, in a voice, ah! how exhausted! you must endeavour to reconcile yourselves to the shock which awaits you: the will of heaven must not only be obeyed, in that we have neither choice nor merit, but it must be obeyed

with submission and without a murmur. The Almighty is about to deprive you, as you must at present imagine, of your only surviving parent; but know, another yet remains, who, I trust, will be prevailed with, after I am gone, to supply the place and fulfil the duties of a father.
To this solemn address, which seemed to annihilate my senses, I was unable to reply; but Fanny's feelings found vent in tears. She burst into an agony of grief—oh dearest papa, cried she, who upon earth can to us supply your place? when you leave us, we shall be alone in the world; no one cares for us, no one loves us, we have no friend but you.
For the sake of heaven compose yourselves, my dearest children, replied my father. I leave you neither unprotected nor unfriended; and severe as is the first early stroke to youthful and susceptible hearts, a little time I hope will abate the poignancy of your regret; but the present

moments, added he, after a short pause, are unspeakably precious. Let Howard be sent for in all haste; tell him to make all the expedition in his power, and inform him that I expect, from his faithful attachment, the most painful, though most necessary offices of friendship —that he will close my eyes and receive my last injunctions. A messenger was instantly dispatched. Mr. Howard was at Clarance, whither he had gone but the evening before, having left my father in perfect health. He travelled with the utmost haste; yet the few hours that elapsed before he appeared, to us seemed an age. My father, though the dreadful symptoms of approaching dissolution rapidly increased, still retained his senses unimpaired; and on being informed that his friend was in the house, he expressed his gratitude to heaven that he had not breathed his last sigh without seeing him, and desired that he might

be instantly introduced into his bed chamber.
On his entrance, Mr. Howard found my sister, whom no entreaties could persuade to leave the room, vainly striving to suppress sobs, which the apprehension of too violently affecting our dying parent obliged her to endeavour, though ineffectually, to restrain. My feelings, alas! were such as admitted not of the relief of tears; the stupor of despair had benumbed every faculty. I was alive only to the sensations of misery; and concealed by the curtains, I kneeled at the side of the bed, offering up silent petitions for that recovery, of which I had now lost the most distant hope. My father, after expressing his satisfaction on seeing Mr. Howard, desired the physician, and all, excepting that worthy friend, my sister and myself, should leave the room. This request being instantly complied with, he besought Mr. Howard

to open a bureau which stood in the chamber: you will there find a manuscript, said he, dated some years ago, and written by my own hand: this manuscript, my dear girls, (addressing himself to us) contains a horrid tale, which I could wish were for ever buried with me in the grave; but as it is essentially necessary that your real situation in life should be made known to you at my death, when, exposed to the dangers and difficulties of a world with which you are totally unacquainted, the protection of your relations must be peculiarly important, I have considered it as a duty incumbent on me, to leave behind an impartial relation of that series of misfortunes, that checquered train of evils, which have rendered me an alien from my family, an exile from my country, and have long banished comfort and tranquillity from my bosom. So oppressed was his articulation, and so feeble his voice, that our

dear father did not finish the speech without many interruptions from weakness and fatigue, and the last words half died upon his lips; but having a little recovered himself—you, my dear friend, said he to Mr. Howard, will I hope afford my girls consolation and support under the pain of this severe and unexpected communication. To your care I bequeath them. See them safe under the protection of Bensley or my father; represent to them, when they are able to listen to comfort, that my penitence has been almost proportioned to my crimes; and ah, my dear Howard! if possible detest not the miserable author of calamities, the guilt of which, fifteen long years of remorse have, I trust, obliterated from the records of heaven.
Sophia, what were at that moment my sensations? Is it in language to express them? Ah no! they were inconceivable and unutterable! I felt there

was yet an agony superior to that of losing all that is dearest to us on earth; and while distraction drew an exclamation of despair from my sister, horror benumbed my senses; and I sunk lifeless on the floor.
When my recollection was restored, I found myself in bed in my own apartment. The transports of Fanny's grief, and the gloomy silence of Thêrêse, and the physician who attended me, too evidently told that all was over with my dear father. Exhausted with the exertion of speaking, he had breathed his last sigh almost in the instant that I was carried out of his chamber.
You, my Sophia, who are happily blessed with beloved and indulgent parents, may be perhaps enabled to form some idea adequate to the distraction a loss like ours must have occasioned: yet, yet, my dear, this was not all; an awful obscurity seemed to envelope some

hidden source of unknown and additional misery. We were filled with horror inconceivable. To part with our dearest father at that instant, seemed an evil inferior to knowing he had lived with a load of anguish on his conscience; and anxiously as we wished, we yet dreaded ten thousand times more to have the fearful mystery explained.
After a night of acute distress, sleep kindly came to our relief, and buried us for about an hour in a blessed state of forgetfulness; yet even in slumber, a melancholy gloom pervaded our repose, and we awoke only sufficiently recruited to be able to weep.
We were then visited by Mr. Howard, who sympathized in our sufferings with a degree of feeling that must for ever endear him to our hearts. Ah, Mr. Howard! cried I, the moment I could articulate for my tears—where, where are those fatal papers of my dear, dear father's,

which have been entrusted to your care? have you yourself perused them? Tell me, for heaven's sake! are the contents too horrible—are they such as we shall be able to read and not expose.
I will not attempt to conceal from you, said he, with the tenderest compassion, though not without hesitation, that they are of such a nature as must both hurt and affect you; yet there are mingled in this distressing narrative, so many alleviating circumstances to soften censure and silence condemnation, that I hope the communication will shock neither of you too severely, when you are in a situation to receive the information with more composure than it can be supposed you at present possess.
Oh! cried Fanny, can any thing augment our present misery? or if that were indeed possible, must not suspense more effectually add to it than any intelligence we can now receive? I was in hopes of

having time granted me, said he, to soften the communication by degrees; but since you are so violently alarmed, I believe any certainty is almost preferable to your present state of suspense. I shall therefore bring you the packet; I only entreat that you will allow me, before you open it, the favour of one half hour's conversation, that I may be satisfied I do not commit too great an imprudence in venturing to entrust you with it.
This worthy man then began to hint at its contents; but in spite of all his endeavours to palliate and soften the sad recital, the shock entirely overpowered us; yet I insisted on knowing all; and breathless with terror, received the dreadful manuscript from his hands.
Let me make but one observation, cried he, on delivering it: the years of self reproach and anguish, which succeeded to your father's errors, so pathetically

described by himself, more than atone for his faults. This penitence, his deep felt sense of every breach of duty, and the unerring rectitude of his mind and conduct the instant he was awakened from the delirium of passion, even convince me there was inherent in his bosom, a secret sentiment of superior virtue, which, however obscured and suppressed by the force of misguided feelings and the violence of temptation, required but the moment of remorse to expand and once more fully regain its influence over his actions.
What misery my sister and I endured from the melancholy narration, and the tears we shed over it, you, my Sophia, when you have perused the packet transcribed by Mr. Howard, which accompanies this, may be almost enabled to conceive: a tedious and severe illness, from which I am still but feebly recovered,

was the natural and inevitable consequence of such a conflict of emotions.
It is not, I own, without a sensation of repugnance, that I prevail with myself to send you this dismal tale; but alas! so public has been every circumstance of my father's misfortunes (those which greatly extenuate his errors excepted) that I have reason to believe even you, my dear, have often heard of the miserable fate of Lord Linrose, as a remarkable event that took place in a family of distinction, and made much noise in the world some time previous to your birth; but that my father was the unhappy source or such a train of calamities, oh! who could have conceived possible!— that astonishing fact never, never could you have divined.
I consider this confidence, therefore, as a justification of his memory; and though the sad relation itself is a sacred trust to be reposed only in the faithful

bosom of friendship, would to heaven all the world were as well acquainted with his remorse as with his faults; and that the knowledge of his sufferings could wholly obliterate the recollection of his errors. Adieu, my dearest friend.
Yours affectionately, H. SEYMOUR.
TO MY DAUGHTERS.
WHEN this packet is delivered to my dear girls, I shall not have, to blush for its contents: I shall be then no more: and as it is essentially requisite that they should one day be made acquainted with their real situation in life, I have for two reasons preferred that awful period for this painful communication: in the first place, the information I am about to disclose, is attended with circumstances of a

nature so mortifying, humiliating, and severe, that at that solemn period only can I support the idea of presenting myself to the astonished view of my children, in a light so different from that in which they have ever been accustomed to regard me; and secondly, when their soft and affectionate hearts are subdued by affliction at their recent loss, only can I flatter myself they will look with candour and indulgence on errors—nay crimes—of which, till that instant, they had believed me incapable.
Be not overwhelmed with horror, my beloved children, on perusing these words:—words, of an import so dreadful, and which you never could have conceived connected with your father's name. Heaven has, • trust, accepted the tribute of sufferings, which heaven alone could have enabled me to endure; and ere these lines are submitted to your knowledge, as all my sorrows will be laid at rest, let

the consideration of that felicity which I humbly hope will be then my portion, console and sustain you under the shock your sensibility must receive from the tale of woe I am about to unfold. You must often have regretted, I am convinced, the solitude in which I have obliged you to live; and I make no doubt, in secret condemned that averseness to all social intercourse, which I have uniformly testified as long as your remembrance can trace back. This, and many other particulars, which perhaps may have at times proved matter both of surprise and concern, I mean here fully to explain; and in particular that question will at length receive a satisfactory reply, which has been hitherto productive only of vague, evasive, and embarrassed answers, viz.— how I, an Englishman, apparently attached to my own nation, and partial to its customs, should have voluntarily exiled myself from my country, and secluding

myself from my family, my friends, and the world, formed the singular resolution of terminating my days in a retired spot in the South of France.
I hasten therefore to inform you, that even your name has hitherto been a secret to you.
My father, though my misconduct has cast a cloud over his days, I hope, and believe, is still alive;—at least, I had intelligence of his being in good health, within a few days from this date. He is Earl of Belmont, a nobleman of extensive interest in his own country; and I am the eldest of two sons, which, with one daughter, whose birth occasioned the death of her mother, is all the family he ever possessed.
I pass over the early part of my life, which I spent at home, and generally in the country under the direction of a very worthy man, who presided as tutor over my brother and myself. My father,

who was violent in prejudice and rigid in principle, allowed us few indulgencies; and had made choice of our preceptor rather for the integrity of his heart, than on account of the superior abilities of his mind, which had been narrowed by the retirement of life, and total ignorance of the world: but my Lord, whose knowledge of men and manners had not rendered his notions less contracted, imagined we could no where so effectually imbibe the first sentiments of virtue, as under the tuition of a man, whose purity was such, that he seemed to know little difference between an error and a crime. The system by which we were educated, was of course strict in the extreme; but the austere principles that had been early implanted in our minds, our companions at College found it no difficult matter to extirpate; and a slight acquaintance with society, soon convinced us, that

we were incapable of adhering to habits, absurb in themselves, and of no assistance either to religion or morality. Having once deviated from prejudices, however weak, which the mind has been accustomed to regard as sacred, to stop exactly at the proper limits of rectitude requires a portion of steady fortitude even superior to that which preserves us firm in our first impressions; the reformation is indeed but too often followed by a total revolution of principle, and even virtue herself is not unfrequently overturned under the appellation of confined ideas.— Such, at least, was in part the change my mind underwent after having resided some time at the university.
When the part of my education to be there attained was completed, I set out on my travels; and immediately after my return from the Continent, that busy period of my life commenced, the bitter recollection of which almost

incapacitates me from relating the many painful occurrences it produced.
My brother had chosen a military life, and we had not met during three years which I spent abroad. We kept up a constant correspondence however; and he was with his regiment in Ireland at the time of my arrival in England. I received a letter from him soon after, intimating his having lately married a young lady, of whom he seemed passionately enamoured, but who did not possess any of those advantages, either of family or fortune, likely to reconcile my father to a step in which he had not been consulted. Conscious how tenacious my Lord ever had been of his authority, added to an invincible prepossession, which he had long entertained against the Irish nation, my brother, in the height of his nuptial felicity, could not avoid suffering the severest apprehensions for the consequences of

his imprudence; and besought me to exert all my influence with my father, to soften his wrath at this unexpected intelligence.
My endeavours, however, were on this head ineffectual; my Lord was overwhelmed with a rage that did not evaporate with its violence, but subsided into a determined, inflexible resentment; by which he allowed himself to be so completely governed, that he resolved never more to behold his disobedient son; who must have found himself extremely embarrassed in his finances, had not my purse supplied his necessities to the utmost extent of my ability. In vain I represented to my father that the alliance, though neither splendid nor desirable, was equally removed from what could be deemed disgraceful: he silenced me with vehemence; and solemnly declared, that never more should my brother receive the shadow of his

countenance.—A resolution, alas! which my superior misconduct alone, persuaded him to relinquish.
I passed the summer after my return at my father's country seat; and spent great part of my time in hunting—my favourite amusement. Returning one day from the chase, the weather being extremely sultry, my fatigue occasioned an extreme thirst, which induced me to dismount at the door of a farm-house possessed by one of my father's tenants, not many miles from the castle.
As I knocked, the farmer himself appeared; and upon mentioning my name, and requesting a draught of something to refresh me, he conducted me with the utmost hurry of civility into a small rustic parlour, where were sitting his wife and daughter. The latter astonished me with her uncommon beauty; which was rendered still more interesting from having surprised her in

tears: she allowed me no time however to contemplate her charms, for ashamed of being caught by a stranger in that situation, she made no return to my salutation, but ran hastily out of the room.
I made a thousand apologies to the farmer's wife for my intrusion; and so greatly was I struck with the daughter's appearance, that I could not help expressing my regret at beholding her in such affliction; which I intended as the least inquisitive method I could devise of enquiring the cause.
Oh, nothing in the world, my Lord, said the farmer, your Lordship does her too much honour in observing her. It would be very far either from her mother's wish or mine to vex her, if she would be persuaded to listen to her own interest; but girls are so wilful—
From this I conjectured what I afterwards learnt was the case—that the old

people were teasing their daughter to dispose of her hand contrary to her inclination. But though I felt myself unaccountably interested in what I had seen, it was necessary that my enquiries should immediately end, as the good woman came at that instant to supply me with what I had asked for, and I was constrained unwillingly to depart.
This beautiful girl ran in my head the whole day: though I make no doubt but I should have forgotten that she existed in a week, had not my infant passion been nourished by several circumstances which afterwards occurred.
When I returned to dinner, I found a large party of neighbours who were paying visits of congratulation at the Castle on account of my sister Lady Ann's marriage with Mr. Vere, an event that had taken place a few weeks before. In the course of conversation at table, I mentioned my little adventure,

particularly dwelling on the extreme beauty and distress of the tenant's daughter.—Yes, cried the curate, who happened to be present, Fanny is the prettiest girl in the parish, and one of the best; but her parents have carried matters much too far, and have rendered her quite miserable, by insisting on the poor young woman's disposing of herself to fat Robin, your Lordship's gamekeeper. They have teased and tormented her till they had almost driven her to venture on a very alarming step, to get rid of their importunities; she had privately determined to leave home, and take her chance of finding a service in town; but my wife suspecting her intention, deterred her from a scheme so fraught with danger, by representing the hazards attending such an exploit.
The conversation shifted to other topicks; but Fanny and her distress frequently occurred to my mind. I wished

much to deliver her from it; but I distrusted myself so little, as never once to suspect I was actuated in my wishes to relieve her by any other motive than that interest which youth and beauty, even without having produced any particular predeliction, seldom fail to excite in hearts of common sensibility. She appeared so amiable and so innocent, that, free as were my notions on certain subjects, the idea of deriving any sinister advantage to myself by releasing her from her present persecutions, never entered my imagination.
I contrived, as the best method of succeeding I could devise, to interest Lady Ann in the affair; who during her walks called at the farmer's, and represented so strongly to his wife, who had been an old servant in the family, the cruelty and injustice of forcing her daughter into the arms of a man she detested, that the old woman was prevailed on to give up the point

herself, and faithfully promised to use all her influence with her husband to persuade him to relinquish the plan likewise. In this visit my sister was so much pleased with the bewitching simplicity of Fanny's manners and appearance, and the unbounded gratitude she expressed for this obligation, that she made her an offer of supplying the place of her maid, who was just leaving her. Fanny thankfully accepted the proposal; and the old people, happy in thinking their daughter settled under the protection of Lady Ann, consented with eagerness to the measure; so that on my return from a short excursion I had made about that time, I found Fanny actually residing in the castle.
The frequent opportunities I now enjoyed of seeing her, in a short time convinced me I was not proof against her charms. Far, however, from stifling this flame in its progress, I allowed it

every encouragement and indulgence. Some similar amours abroad, into which bad company and ungoverned passions led me, had already blunted, though not eradicated, my first feelings of repugnance at the idea of seduction; and I retained merely virtue sufficient to undergo that penance, which conscience, except where the heart is hardened in iniquity, never fails to exact from vice upon every new violation of her laws. But these transient scruples were not sufficiently powerful to enable me to listen to dictates so austere; I had little fear of being unsuccessful with a young country girl who had not as yet, I imagined, formed any attachment, and whose heart, I concluded, would easily yield to the vanity of having engaged mine. I therefore assailed this amiable and unfortunate girl, with all the warmth and force of the most persuasive passion; but I soon found that an innate love of

virtue, and sentiments of pride superior to her condition, induced her to reject my offers and advances with horror and disdain. I was not, however, repulsed: the success attending former pursuits made me still confident of prevailing in the end; but the resistance I met with so inflamed and augmented my affection, that from an insinuating inclination, which might have been in its infancy easily subdued, I found this attachment was become a violent and unmanageable passion, that, in its consequences, involved both its innocent object and myself in misery and ruin.
I became at last alarmed on perceiving how essential this affair was grown to my repose; that Fanny was every hour gaining ground in my heart and rising in my estimation, while I seemed as far as ever from making any progress in hers; and I began to think her worthy of a more honourable flame, and to

compassionate the uneasiness into which my solicitations had thrown her.
I soon perceived that for my own happiness as well as hers, my importunities had been carried greatly too far, and I determined to make one great effort to restore my own tranquillity and her peace; but I did not consider how difficult the task would prove; unused to constraint, accustomed to give inclination full swing, to conquer at once a predilection so formidable, was an undertaking much too violent with which to begin my first essay of self-denial. I resolved, however, to try the effects of absence, a medicine of wonderful efficacy in diseases of the heart; and accordingly proposed to make an excursion of a few weeks, accompanied by some friends who were at that time my father's guests.
On the evening previous to our departure, fatigued with the exertions which the attentions due to a large company

of ladies exacted, exhausted by overacted endeavours to appear in spirits, and sick of a frivolous conversation, which amused minds at ease within themselves, and who willingly laid hold for entertainment on every little trifle that occurred, I contrived to slip away in the height of their mirth, intending to stroll out towards the wood, to soothe my uneasiness by giving way to reflections which oppressed and overpowered me.
The night was uncommonly delightful, and the full moon shone with a clearness which reflected a pleasing serenity on every object around. I gave way to a train of ideas, that filled me not only with anguish but alarm; I found that my passion for a girl so every way beneath me possessed not only the power of destroying my peace, but even in some measure had weakened my reason: for so entirely had my heart surrendered to its influence, that the

thoughts of relinquishing every prospect of preferment and dignity in my future establishment, and the certainty of ruining myself with my father, were less dreadful to my apprehension than the resolution of thwarting an attachment, to which seemed annexed every hope of happiness and enjoyment: in a word—that the possession of Fanny in a legal manner was more than a recompense for the many evils which I knew must follow such a step.
I started from my reverie, when I found how unjustifiably far my imagination had carried me; and endeavoured to represent to myself the weakness and folly, as well as the danger, attending the indulgence of such reflections. Perceiving how fatally solitude and musing enfeeble fortitude and nourish the foibles of the heart, I was about to return back to the house, when a voice which I heard at some distance, induced me to stop for

a moment; and instantly recollecting it to be my dear Fanny's, my intention of returning was immediately converted into a resolution of approaching as softly as possible to the place where she sat, in order to overhear her conversation. This I effected with great caution; and found she was enjoying the cool of the evening in company with one of her companions, and that not fearing interruption from any of the family at that hour, they had ventured to seat themselves at the side of some bushes in the shrubbery.
I heard the friend, in a voice of compassion, endeavouring to soothe Fanny in consequence of some complaint which I concluded she had been confiding to her, and to which the most mournful sighs were on her part the only replies. Her arguments of comfort were not indeed the best calculated for consolation,

but they were designed for sympathy and expressed with much simplicity.
Indeed my dear Fanny, said she, could you have been persuaded to have accepted of my cousin, you would have escaped all this trouble and vexation. Time goes a great way in conquering people's dislikes. What one likes at one time one can't abide at another; and the contrary is just as common. When once Mr. Robert was your husband, you would have been obliged to have loved him; and he loves you so well, you know, that it must have come of course. If all this had happened now, and I'm sure I always told you that you never would do so well elsewhere, there would have been no word of his young Lordship, and your heart would have been as light as mine is at this instant.
Talk not to me of your cousin, cried Fanny in a tone of impatience mixed with despondency—I hate and detest him.

What have I not suffered, added she, melting into tears after a short pause, within these last six sad months: tormented by that hateful man, teized by my mother, terrified by my father; no sooner had I got rid of that persecution, than I came hither to endure another a thousand times more insupportable; and what course can I possibly now pursue, which is not loaded with difficulties and attended on all sides with danger. If I return home, I dread reviving the old story; if I remain here, then certain misery awaits me; and oh! at times, my dear Jenny, at times I am almost terrified for myself; for though from my heart I abhor my Lord's insulting offers and proposals, yet alas! my heart is weak, and I find it is impossible to abhor him.
I often wish, continued she, in the same mournful accents, that I had either died last year, when I was so ill and all

my friends were weeping round me— ah! what anguish had I been spared!— or that it had pleased God to have placed me in a situation less beneath the only man who ever made the slightest impression on my heart. But this is a wish which carries me so far, and softens me so sadly, that I dare not allow myself to dwell upon it. Yet, Jenny, I cannot resist some times indulging the idea of what unspeakable happiness must have been my lot, had the Almighty lessened the immense distance between us, and I had still possessed the blessing of being agreeable to him. Had it so happened; had I been placed in his station, and he been in mine, I'm certain I should have joyfully overlooked every objection to have made him happy: and I often think, if his Lordship professes to love me so well now, when I use my utmost endeavours to conceal my fatal partiality, surely he would not have loved me less, when all

my happiness centred in the wish of being agreeable in his eyes: yet as matters go with great people, he will probably marry some rich lady, continued she, her tears flowing abundantly, who may regard nothing but his fine estate and splendid titles, and one besides whom he may not even himself love; for great people do not marry as we do.
What a sad thing it is, that all great gentlemen are such rakes, cried the friend. But could you not contrive to give your lady warning. I'll warrant a few weeks absence will put all to rights.
That is what I have often thought of, cried the other, and what I am afraid I shall be constrained to do at last; but oh! my dear Jenny! what will not such a step cost me? shall I be able to live, after I quit the castle? But to be sure quit it I must, and the sooner I die the better.
Nay, for my part, I know nothing half so frightful as dying, I promise you,

cried the friend. How can you talk so wildly? But you'll think better of that, I trust, before long: you are not the first, God knows, that has been crossed in love, and people don't always die for all that.
Melted beyond expression by what I overheard, I scarce breathed, from the fear of losing one word of this artless, interesting conversation. When the friend arose, and proposed returning home, I heard Fanny offer to accompany her part of the way to the village, saying she was not afraid, though alone and so late, as the moon shone bright, and she would return by a private gate which led from the park into the fields, and was a near cut. They immediately walked away, and I remained in a state of mind not to be conceived but in similar circumstances.
The discovery I had made of my gentle Fanny's amiable partiality, in the very moment that I was exhausting every

source of fortitude to enable me to renounce her, threw me into a state little short of distraction; and determined me at once to overleap all the ba•s that lay in the way, and to offer her my hand and heart in a legal manner. This resolution, the offspring of an overheated imagination, and of that impetuosity of temper which in a thousand instances I have had such cause to deplore, I resolved instantly to make known to her, and to wait her return at the little gate, in order to communicate it. During this interval, instead of recalling my reason to my aid, and maturely weighing the consequences of so imprudent a determination, I gave way to the delirium, and indulged in a train of the most pleasing and flattering illusions: I imagined I was beginning to enjoy a foretaste of that happiness from which an absurd prejudice had too long precluded me; and I carefully checked

every rising objection to a measure which already diffused such infinite satisfaction over my mind.
I walked backwards and forwards, anticipating that delight in the possession of the dear object of my affections, which with such amiable simplicity she herself had described but the moment before, and dwelt with particular pleasure on the soothing idea of the height to which gratitude must raise her attachment when she came to know what proofs I meant to give her of mine.
At last Fanny appeared in sight, and I flew towards her. I acknowledged the enchanting discovery I had made, and the effect that discovery had produced upon my heart, till wholly overpowered with my vows and protestations, she wept in my arms, and confessed that she loved me above all men. We were in this situation, when the supper bell obliged us to separate. Fanny, agitated

and bewildered by this unexpected event, and apprehensive of detection, at length prevailed with me, though not without difficulty, to leave her, having promised to meet me in the wood early next morning.
On my return to the company, I found my brother in law had received letters from town which required his immediate attendance there. As my sister of course accompanied him, I knew Fanny must be of the party; and to leave her now, was as far distant from my thoughts as it had been fixed in my determination three hours before. I therefore pretended to have had dispatches by the same post, which obliged me to visit London likewise; and without much difficulty got myself excused from the excursion which had originally been planned by myself.
When I retired to rest, I had leisure to reflect on the events of the day. My

mind having time to cool, I began clearly to see that I was standing on the threshold of danger. Fanny's image however, which perpetually presented itself to my view, and the recollection of the scene which so lately had passed between us, the vows that had proceeded from my lips, warm from my heart, and the soft gratitude she had expressed in terms so endearing, all fixed me immovably in my determination; though I perceived through the cloud which passion threw over my reason, a source of innumerable troubles and objections; but these gloomy suggestions a lively imagination and sanguine hopes, enabled me quickly to chase from my thoughts.
I began at last to form a scheme to which I hoped my dear Fanny would easily be induced to consent: this was, to be united to her privately, and carefully to conceal the connection till my father's death should leave me at liberty

to avow my choice; and this, with extreme caution, I concluded might be effected.
On meeting next morning, I communicated my plan, which met with my dear girl's approbation: one circumstance alone gave her uneasiness and held her determination for some time suspended; this was, how she should conduct herself with regard to her parents, to whom she was tenderly attached, and who, she said, she well knew must receive a mortal wound were they to imagine her capable of consenting to any step prejudicial to her reputation. It was impossible for me to agree to their being informed of our private marriage, as so many reasons required it to be kept an inviolable secret; and there was so little probability that two old people of their condition would preserve concealed, what a due regard to the honour of their only child must prompt them to divulge, when her elopement and concealment should call

her fame in question. This was so apparent, that Fanny was easily convinced of the necessity, however disagreeable, of leaving them in ignorance. The idea however of embittering their days with the belief of her seduction drove her almost to despair: yet it is not surprising that my arguments and endearments, my promises and professions, should have gradually reconciled her to inflicting this blow; as I did not fail to suggest the triumph they would one day experience in the discovery of her exaltation and innocence; besides that I proposed to soften their anxiety by dictating a letter, which Fanny actually wrote to her mother, acquainting her that for reasons she was not at liberty to reveal, she was forced to conceal herself for a season from them and the world, but that a period would certainly arrive when she should again embrace them; adding many assurances that when she should have that happiness,

it would be without a blush for her past conduct, which ever had been, and ever should continue to be, conformable to the principles and instructions she had early imbibed from them. Fanny likewise promised to give them intelligence of her welfare from time to time, if they would have the goodness still to interest themselves in their child's happiness, while appearances were so unfavourable to her. This method, together with an annual sum, which I promised to remit to them without a possibility of their tracing from whence it came, made my Fanny tolerably easy; or rather the softness of her nature conspiring with her tenderness, overcame her scruples, and she listened to a plan she knew not how to improve.
Business at this time called my brother and sister to visit an estate lately left him in Scotland by a distant relation. I immediately proposed being of the party,

pretending an inclination to visit that part of the island, conscious that I could there complete my scheme with the most security from suspicion.
We accordingly set off; and on our arrival at Edinburgh, Fanny, who was innocence herself, allowed me to conduct her to a private part of the town, where a clergyman, whom I had engaged to secrecy both by bribes and the most solemn oaths, performed the ceremony which united her to me by laws both human and divine.
I will confess to you, my children, humiliating as is the avowal, that the confidence placed in me more than once tempted me to betray it; and that the facility with which it was in my power to have deluded my artless bride with a false marriage, held the execution of my project for some time suspended: but though the whole transaction confessed

an unpardonable weakness, in this instance it was unstained with guilt.
Our journey down gave me opportunities of meeting with Fanny, and conversing with her more unsuspectedly than I could otherwise have hoped for; yet I could perceive that my sister was not without her suspicions of my partiality for her maid, and very often rallied me on it, though she could not possibly have conceived the slightest idea of the imprudence into which my fatal weakness had involved me.
That my wife should continue a moment in her present humble situation about my sister, was what I could by no means brook. Two days therefore after our union, which had taken place on the day of our arrival, by my contrivance she pretended to have received accounts of her mother's being dangerously ill, and requested leave to return home with all expedition, in order to give her the

necessary attendance. It was not without infinite reluctance that the dear girl was prevailed on to adopt this little artifice; and the tears she shed at parting from Lady Ann, to whom she was tenderly attached, must inevitably have excited some suspicion that she meant to return to her no more, had not the occasion of her departure furnished an apparent excuse for them.
As I had time to digest my scheme before it was put into execution, I had provided a small house in a private street in London for the residence of my wife, under the name of Mrs. Smith. There I hoped to visit her frequently, unsuspected by the world, and thither I was eager to follow her. Prudence however required that I should remain behind with my sister and her husband; but as they continued only a few weeks at their new estate, my impatience was soon gratified by our return to London, where I

met my lovely bride with all the ardour and impatience natural to my disposition.
For some months my passion, far from suffering any abatement, rather seemed to increase. At this time my father came up to town; and as I lodged with him, I was constrained to visit less often in the city, and with redoubled caution; but the difficulties which retarded our meetings, and their consequent infrequency, gave them an unspeakable charm—a charm, alas! the warmth of which a short time diminished!
The entire solitude in which my wife lived (for I was her only visitor) made my society and conversation her only happiness and amusement. Her education had totally unfitted her for mental entertainments; nor had she been taught those accomplishments which fill up agreeably the leisure hours of a woman of fashion, and from the unavoidable retirement in which she lived, little variety

of conversation was possible: when therefore the mist of passion began to dissipate, I found her still lovely, amiable, and innocent; but unfortunately perceived that these alluring qualities were not in themselves sufficient to retain my wandering affections. Her conversation soon became insipid to me; and the desire of embellishing her mind by directing her studies (at first my most pleasing amusement) now ceased to interest me. The tenderness of her affection long prevented her from expressing even a murmur at my too apparent neglect; although I could not but perceive that her spirits were visibly affected by it: and she always received me, after a fortnight's solitary absence, with the most lively expressions of joy.
It was not immediately however that this unhappy change took place: and your birth, my Hermione, which happened not till three years after our marriage,

supplied your mother with a pleasing source of amusement, sufficiently interesting I hope to prevent her thoughts from brooding over the mortifying and painful alteration in my behaviour.
At this period I became acquainted with a set of companions of the most dissipated character. My particular friends were two young men of agreeable and insinuating, but of profligate manners. In their company I led the most irregular life: and soon began to consider the hours I spent occasionally with my wife as a point of duty rather than of inclination, and with regard to the discharge of duties which interfered with my pleasures, I grew every day less solicitous: this therefore, among the rest, became extremely neglected; and I heartily regretted the indissoluble knot which had placed your mother in a situation that rendered my attentions absolutely necessary to her happiness: the seclusion of her life affected, but it

also chagrined me; and her dependence, once so pleasing, seemed now a burden that I endeavoured to shake off, flattering myself that her child would amply compensate for the loss of my society.
Twelve or fourteen months passed on in this manner; till my wife, at length wounded to the soul, began to adopt the worst of all methods for recovering a lost attachment, by complaining of my coldness. This she did with her accustomed softness, and by tears rather than reproaches; but it was a subject which embittered so extremely the short intervals I spent with her, that they grew less frequent than ever, although the birth of her second child (you, my dear Fanny) ought to have proved an additional tie towards cementing my affection.
My father, who regarded himself as exceedingly unfortunate in my brother's marriage, often proposed to me to marry, and had at different periods pointed out

several advantageous connexions, among whom he wished me to choose; but as my heart was not interested, though the subject embarrassed, it did not wound me, and I evaded it with little difficulty.
My sister, one evening at her house, introduced to me a young lady with whom she had been on a footing of the strictest intimacy whilst I was on my travels, but whom, till now, I had never seen, owing to her having accompanied her father to the Court of Turin, where he resided in a public character, and from which place she was but just returned.
Miss Marsdon was uncommonly beautiful; and her manners and address, though highly cultivated, preserved an interesting simplicity which rendered her perfectly irresistible: her conversation, refined by an admirable understanding, embellished by education, and polished by an early introduction into the most

polite company abroad, possessed an ease and delicacy of good breeding almost as striking, at first sight, as the charms of her figure.—I felt the full force of both, and was conquered at once. With the blind impetuosity which marked my character, instead of exerting my utmost efforts to resist and avoid a temptation I found too insinuating, I gave way to this seducing passion, and shut my eyes on its unhappy consequences, so fraught with misery, remorse, and guilt. It was then that I cursed my folly, and that infatuation which had before guided me. Ever violent and untractable, I was almost driven to despair at the recollection of the weakness which had placed a bar so insuperable between me and my wishes. But there soon arose in my breast a ray of hope; the production of ungoverned passions, selfishness and treachery, which first suggested an action that has thrown the gloom of the

bitterest self-reproach on all the succeeding years of my life.
The lovely Miss Marsdon, an only child, and heiress to an immense fortune, possessed a considerable estate which she had inherited from her mother, and which lay contiguous to Belmont Castle. This circumstance, though trivial in itself, had induced my father often to express his wishes that a marriage between the young lady and myself might take place. Her absence had hitherto entirely frustated this plan, and given birth to other schemes; but her unexpected return at this juncture made him directly renew the old topic of matrimony, to which, hitherto, I had never been prevailed on to listen. Far from being averse to this match, he said he saw with pleasure it was an union into which I would enter with avidity; and that as the young lady herself seemed, if he might judge from appearances, to receive my attentions

with all the modest approbation I could wish, he thought the next step was to apply to his old friend Lord Embdon for his sanction and consent.
The mention of such a transaction made my blood run cold, and I received it with an embarrassment which not only astonished but extremely displeased my father; though, at the very moment that I half declined what my heart panted to obtain, I was revolving in my mind the means of bringing such a scheme to bear. The success hitherto attending my attempt of concealment, encouraged me, and I began to flatter myself that my engagements with your mother might remain an eternal secret to the world, which would leave me at liberty to form what new ones I pleased with the amiable object of my present affections; this, I imagined, might for many years remain unknown to my real wife, who saw only her own servants,

none of whom had been informed of my name, and who, being perfectly unacquainted even with the meaning of the word politics, had ever declared that newspapers were the dullest of all reading; and I knew she received none of the daily prints into her family. All these circumstances induced me to hope that she might long continue in ignorance; and that when the fatal intelligence, that I had connected myself with another, should at length reach her ears, and she knew my heart was totally alienated from her, I believed, or rather I forced myself to believe, that the gentleness of her nature would never allow her to plunge me at once into infamy and contempt by detection, but that she might without difficulty be persuaded, as the calamity was without remedy, to rest satisfied in obscurity, with conscious innocence and affluence, all that had hitherto been her solitary portion. This

certainly was a design which a thousand unforeseen accidents might disclose to the world, and, at best, extremely improbable to effect; but I was willingly blind to the future, and solicitous only for the gratification of the present moment. I considered also, that should your mother's just resentment prompt her to divulge the truth, the measures I had taken, though not with that intention at the time, had all conspired to prevent any credit from being given to her assertions: the ceremony had been performed in Scotland; the clergyman's abode she knew not, nor was she acquainted with his name but from the certificate of our marriage, which indeed still remained in her hands, and which I regarded as the only bar. I often therefore revolved on the means of getting it into my possession; and most undoubtedly should one day or other have effected it, but conscious guilt prevented

me at the time from venturing on any steps towards this end, terrified to awaken suspicion while my plot was but in agitation.
It was not without extreme anguish that I considered the felicity I was purchasing for myself must be at the expense of an amiable young creature's happiness, who had once been the object of my warmest affections, and who still loved me passionately; who regarded me as her guardian and protector, who lived in a manner on my smiles, whose countenance ever betrayed dejection on the slightest appearance in mine either of indifference or ill humour, and who had brought me two lovely infants, pledges of her tenderness and of my treachery. But I quickly chased away those painful suggestions of conscience; drowned them in wine, or forgot them entirely at the first glance of my beloved Julia.

In a word, I made my addresses to Miss Marsden, and was accepted. My Lord, overjoyed at finding me willing at last to close with his wishes, hastened the preliminaries; and Lord Embdon, happy in settling his daughter to his satisfaction, (as there had ever subsisted the strictest friendship between him and my father) insisted on celebrating our marriage at his country seat in the most sumptuous manner, where a number of relations on both sides were to be present.
During the preparations, my heart, though so near enjoying its utmost wish, was weighed down with a burden of guilt, the sensation of which let none call themselves miserable till they have endured; for perfect misery cannot subsist without the feelings of remorse. As the time approached, my agitation became more violent; in the presence of

my lovely Julia they were annihilated, but alone they were insupportable.
Miss Marsdon and her friends had already left town, and I was to follow the next day, and the ensuing one was to determine my fate. On the evening previous to my departure, being uneasy in my mind, I resolved to pay your mother a visit, while I had not as yet actually injured her: you will imagine this a strange step in such circumstances, when on the eve of inflicting a wound which must for ever destroy her tranquillity; but in fact I was so oppressed with a load of secret sufferings, that it fell to me like the discharge of a duty to which was attached some degree of merit from the pain it occasioned me. I found her low spirited and indisposed; shall I add another circumstance calculated to have awakened every sentiment of tenderness and compassion, had not my heart been hardened and every feeling warped in

selfishness—she was with child, and had suffered much from the attendant circumstances of her situation: this, together with the air of sombre seclusion which every thing wore, and which had never before struck me so forcibly, softened and affected me. Your mother was ill and alone; no parents to soothe, no friends to attend her; all was gloomy and dejected around her; it was I that was the occasion of what she now felt, and what she had further to endure; yet —yet—I was villain enough to persist in my intention to destroy her! not but that a violent though transient remorse made me hesitate for a moment; but I presently laboured to satisfy my conscience with this sophistry, that I had gone too far now to retract, and that as I had probably engaged the affections both of my wife and of my mistress, and rendered their felicity dependant on mine, since one must suffer, it was at least allowable

that I should spare regret and disappointment from being the portion of her who had it in her power to confer unspeakable happiness on me.
As to your mother, the joy of seeing me, and the unusual tenderness with which her situation inspired me, made her dissolve into tears that silently reproached my perfidy. I pleaded an excursion from town in excuse for my long absence, and informed her of an unavoidable journey I was on the eve of taking which must deprive me of the pleasure of seeing her for a still longer time. She did not utter a complaint; but drying up her tears, you have deprived yourself of much pleasure, my dear Lord, said she; and instantly ordering the maid to bring the children to me began, with all the tenderness of a mother, to repeat the improvements you had both made since my last visit, which was about three months before, with many innocent expressions

of anxiety to see me, and wonder at my absence, that had fallen from the infant lips of you, my dear Hermione, then scarce three years old.
My children are my only consolation in your absence, my Lord, said your mother, tenderly pressing my hand; but I thank heaven I have them. To be sure I cannot expect, in our present situation, to enjoy much of your company; but I live in the hope that the day will arrive—
The entrance of the maid, with Fanny in her arms and leading in Hermione, left the sentence unfinished which was a dagger to my heart. I think I was hardly ever more affected than when you, my Hermione, rejected my caresses, and seeing your mother's eyes red with weeping, asked me, with a resentment which was immediately after followed by tears, why I made mama cry? This innocent reproach, under which lurked a meaning conscious only to myself, made me heap

expressions of tenderness on both the mother and child, while I was preparing a blow for the former that laid her in the dust.
I left the house in a state of mind not to be expressed. I spent the first part of the night in misery: but the idea of what next morning was to bestow, removed the image of your mother in tears, and presented to me that of a lovely and beloved bride ready to give herself to my wishes.
I accordingly set out next day with a large suite of friends, was married immediately on my arrival at the Hall, and had all my conscientious scruples soon drowned in an intoxication of happiness.
After spending some weeks in great gaiety, I carried my amiable bride to my father's country seat, to which place we were accompanied by most of the party; and here we continued the same round of amusements for a fortnight longer. My

soul however was soon to awaken from this dream of joy, and to receive the due reward of its crime in the shame and remorse which succeeded.
The company had just returned one evening from an agreeable excursion on the water, and the ladies being in high spirits, had insisted on fiddles being sent for, so that a kind of ball was going forward on the lawn before the house, the weather being uncommonly delightful, when my servant, calling me aside, delivered into my hands a letter, the superscription of which made me tremble. I hastened instantly to my own apartment; where, securing myself from interruption, I found it, as I suspected, from your mother, and the contents as follows:
TO THE RIGHT HON. LORD LINROSE.
If your heart ever felt for one instant the affection you have a thousand times

sworn to me, if during the whole course of your life it has once been awakened by compassion, think what she who writes to you feels at this moment; think, that to the ruin of that same which you have clouded with seeming guilt, and to the total alienation of that affection which has cost me so dear, is superadded the insupportable misery of knowing you to be treacherous and inhuman. Ah! my Lord! if your bosom still retains one vulnerable spot, where pity is not debarred an entrance, come to me instantly. The Almighty has lent a gracious ear to my petitions, and shortly shall you be relieved from the infamy of your present state. My fatigues and agitations have accelerated my pangs; I am even already ill; deny me not therefore this last sad dying request, and deny not yourself the satisfaction of receiving my forgiveness; a circumstance to which you will one day most assuredly attach

some degree of importance. Think of me as the mother of your children: come at least and contemplate your own work, and behold me, in this dismal cottage, expire in giving birth to an infant whose premature existence must throw an eternal stain upon its father's name.
I will not pretend to describe my agonies on perusing this pathetic letter, every word of which gave me a mortal wound. All the terrors of my perfidy (till that instant too fatally lulled by opposite passions) at once assailed me. The misery in which my crimes had involved her who had once been the object of my tenderest affections, the despair into which I was about to plunge her who at present engrossed them with so much fervour, the grief and astonishment of my family, my treachery exposed, my character blasted for ever, altogether excited such

sentiments of horror as overpowered my senses, and almost bereaved me of reason.
Having fortunately secured myself from interruption, I had a little time, after the first shock was over, to consider what steps I ought to pursue in a moment so replete with alarm. In the present exigency no time was to be lost. I therefore determined to write a short billet in answer by the return of your mother's messenger. It was not an easy task: to offer any thing like an apology, especially on paper, was impossible; to work on the softness of her nature was all my trust, and the only circumstance on which I could build the slightest foundation for hope. I made no attempt therefore towards vindicating myself; but reserving that till I should see her, I only intimated in a few lines the anguish her note had given me, confessed appearances were against me, but faithfully promised to pay her a visit next morning, at which

time I should exert my utmost endeavours to satisfy and relieve her; concluding with the most earnest prayers and entreaties that she would preserve as a profound secret, her name, her abode, and her connexion with me, which I added would plunge us both into immediate ruin and destruction, were they to reach my father's knowledge.
I then enquired, though not without much perturbation, for the person who had brought the letter, and was told that a country girl had given it into the hands of the housekeeper early that morning, but the party in which I had been engaged had prevented my receiving it till the evening, and the girl had left no message to what place an answer might be sent.
I was grieved to the soul at this information; for as it was impossible for me, without exciting surprise and perhaps suspicion, to quit the house at so

late an hour, I was constrained to leave your unfortunate mother in the dismal suspense of fruitless expectation.
My answer indeed, had she received it, was little calculated to have afforded her consolation; and my visit could only have confirmed her despair. I caught eagerly however at a faint ray of hope, which I cherished even against reason and conviction, to prevent me from absolute frenzy, and I could not help resting with some slight degree of comfort on the mildness of this letter, though written in the heat of a resentment so justly excited. Her gentle bosom thought not of revenge: on the contrary, her visit to see me seemed prompted by the desire of according me forgiveness.
But before I proceed in the recital of my own sufferings, and the horrid scene that awaited me on the dreadful day that succeeded to this miserable evening, let me previously inform you, with as much

composure as I can assume, of the hopeless fate of your innocent, your injured mother, whose calamities I shall ever, with the bitterest remorse, to my latest moment deplore; and the relation of which recalls feelings so acute as to tear my bosom while I transmit them to paper.
In what manner she became acquainted with the circumstance of my marriage, I have never been able to discover. The person to whom I owe the following particulars, which, however horrible, I was afterwards anxious to learn, and which, as a just and penitential humiliation, I force myself minutely to relate, had not informed himself in that point; but the fact a thousand ways was ever liable to detection. The instant the report reached your mother's ears, the cold neglect of my past behaviour gave it an apparent credulity that distracted her. Determined to be at once either plunged into

despair by the confirmation of my guilt, or relieved from the agonizing suspicions of her mind, she left London and set off for Netwall, from which place Belmont is but three miles distant.
Afraid to be recognized so near the abode of her youthful and happier days, she borrowed of the woman of the inn a large cloak and hood to disguise her; and terrified to entrust a messenger, ordered a chaise to convey her within half a mile of the castle; where having discharged it, she walked forward with a note in her hand, intimating that she waited for me in the wood, where she entreated me, in the most earnest manner, by all my vows of unabating tenderness and by every motive of humanity and compassion, to meet her immediately.
These few lines she meant herself to deliver to any of the servants she might meet; but what, alas! were her emotions, when on approaching the park

gate with timid and hesitating steps, she perceived from behind some bushes, where she hastily concealed herself, a train of carriages, among which she instantly singled me out, seated in my phaeton with a lady whose appearance at the first glance confirmed all her apprehensions.
Some little interruption (for she afterwards related every particular to her mother, who in the bitterness of despair recapitulated them minutely to my informer) obliged me to stop so near, that she observed, or fancied she observed me, address my companion with a look of affection; I even kept her hand for an instant; and my voice, which reached her ears, though imperfectly, seemed softened by tenderness; while that sound, which hitherto had ever conveyed joy and exultation to your mother's bosom, produced now on her heart the effect of a sudden stroke of lightning.
My countenance, however, wore a

look of gaiety which accorded so ill with the consciousness of secret guilt, that the next moment she condemned the injury she imagined her suspicions did me, and even endeavoured to accuse her own hasty jealousy, which had inflicted such misery without any foundation for actual despair. Momentary alas! was this illusion; for as the equipages, attended by several gentlemen on horseback, passed the spot where she had concealed herself, she plainly overheard one of them say to his friend, how divinely handsome Lady Linrose looks to-day. Her heart died within her at these words, and she sunk insensible on the ground.
Her senses were quickly restored: but returning recollection brought with it such a weight of anguish and despair, as made her lament the tediousness of death, from whence alone she could now hope for relief to her wretchedness.
She endeavoured however to suggest

a feeble hope almost against conviction, to enable her to exist till my return should explain all: for having heard one of the footmen mention that the company would be home to dinner, she concluded we were upon an excursion of pleasure.
Her health having been declining for some months, had much impaired her strength; and it would have been impossible for her to have undergone the fatigues she had that day endured, had not the agitations of her mind supplied a false power of exertion, not unlike the delusive support of a fever, which bestows for a moment an additional but destructive vigour; for she perceived not that she was feeble and exhausted while her spirits and her feelings were all in conflict.
At length she formed a plan to wait my return on the spot where she was, and to seize the opportunity of giving her note to one of my attendants after I

should have passed on, with injunctions to deliver it privately into my own hands. Finding she had probably several hours to wait, she endeavoured to compose her mind: and employed herself in offering up prayers to the Almighty to avert her misfortunes, or to enable her to endure them with humble and becoming submission; and that if it pleased his gracious Providence that she must live and suffer, that her reason might not prove a sacrifice to the agonies she might be doomed to sustain.
Long and tediously the hours rolled on: but at length the carriages came in sight once more, and your unfortunate mother resumed her concealed post. My phaeton accidentally stopping to allow a chariot to pass, she heard more distinctly than before the merriment of the whole party, and perceived the criminal author of her miseries with a voice of pleasure pointing out to his beautiful companion

the romantic charms of the surrounding prospect. The instant we were gone, she besought one of my servants to take charge of her note: but this the fellow refused, declaring with an oath that his Lordship was not to be troubled with petitions at present.
Wound up almost to a pitch of distraction, she then followed me even to the gate of the castle, her fears, or rather her frenzy, having arisen to a height that gave defiance to her apprehension of being known, though such was her disguise, that it must have concealed her effectually. Unfortunately she again encountered the same inhuman footman, and again entreated him to deliver her letter; but her solicitations only produced some brutal jokes; and she was about to crawl from the door, when the anguish she betrayed induced a maid servant, who accidentally passed at that moment, to enquire into the cause of her

distress; and who, reproving the footman's indelicacy, compassionately undertook to take charge of it. The fellow pulling it from her hand, it was torn in pieces in the girl's struggle to recover it; but delivering the fragments to your mother, she faithfully engaged to present any other she should write. I shall give it, said she, to her Ladyship's maid, who will deliver it into my Lord's own hands. What lady? cried the disconsolate Fanny. Why Lady Linrose to be sure, said the girl; my Lord's new-married lady.
Is then my Lord married? returned she, in feeble accents.
Oh! several weeks ago, answered the other; who from her uneasiness, and the situation in which she beheld her, began to suspect that she was some poor deluded creature;—but his Lordship is very generous; and if he has injured

you, he will make it up beyond your expectation.
Though your mother's apprehensions had before almost amounted to certainty, yet to hear the truth pronounced beyond a flattering possibility of doubt, made her fall senseless into the arms of the humane girl, who instantly called some of the female servants to her assistance; and when your mother opened her eyes, she found herself in the housekeeper's parlour, whither she had been conveyed. On looking round, and perceiving her situation in the very room where every object was as familiar to her as if it had been her own apartment when she resided in the castle, the recollection of what she had suffered since that period wholly overpowered her; and to know herself surrounded by my domestics, and under the same roof with her husband, yet not daring to solicit that support and protection from his care

and tenderness, to which, particularly in her present situation, she had so just a claim, she found at that instant that shame predominated in her bosom even over despair; and terrified every instant lest accident should present some of her old companions to her view, she thanked her charitable assistants, and made a feeble effort to rise as soon as she had swallowed a few drops that had been given her.
The housekeeper, however, insisted that she should remain till she was somewhat more recovered; and a general sympathy and curiosity having been excited, she was almost stunned with interrogatories: but all she could be prevailed on to acknowledge was, that she brought a bill for Lord Linrose to discharge; and being liable to fits, had been suddenly attacked with one just as she was delivering it to the maid.
Her too apparent distress, her hesitating and embarrassed replies to many

distressing enquiries, and her tears, which now began to yield a mournful relief to agitations her utmost efforts could not conceal, made little credit be given to this assertion; and the circumstances of her situation could not fail to suggest suspicions of a nature the most injurious: yet their compassion left no room for contempt; and the good housekeeper perceiving her scarce able to answer the flow of questions that poured in upon her from every quarter, had the humanity to send away all those whom curiosity had drawn round her, and promised to deliver privately any letter she should confide to her care.
Your unfortunate mother then departed with fatigued steps from the castle, her mind torn by inward struggles and distraction, and her exhausted limbs unable to convey her farther, than to a cottage just without the extremity of the park, whose charitable owner allowed

her under its roof to court that repose which fled equally from her eye lids and her bosom.
She instantly enquired of the good woman if she knew farmer Williams and his wife, and how they kept on in their old days? To this she was answered, that they were in tolerable health; but that they had received a shock some years before from the misconduct of an only and beloved daughter, which it seemed too probable they never would recover.
My dear Fanny burst into an agony of grief at these words, which instantly infused a suspicion into the country woman that her guest was in fact the deluded daughter of the farmer, whose elopement had occasioned such various reports and conjectures among her relations. The situation in which she beheld her, on the eve of bringing an infant into the world, confirmed this idea;

yet though that circumstance was but ill calculated to invalidate the unfavourable rumours circulated at her expense, the too evident distress she endured made her appear so just an object of compassion, that the woman proffered her every assistance in her power: your unfortunate mother however, whose only consolation lay in the free indulgence of sorrow, having asked for pen, ink, and paper, which fortunately were to be had, requested to be left alone; and passed the night in tears, and in writing that melancholy letter, which so pathetically implored my pity instead of breathing the vengeance due to my crimes.
It was yet unfinished; when finding herself taken violently ill, she hastened to conclude it, and enquired for a messenger, to whom she entrusted it under cover to the house-keeper. Though not within some weeks of her expected time, fatigue and agitation soon brought on

the pangs of child birth; and having only received what assistance the country woman could bestow, she was delivered of a boy a few hours after, without one friend to support or console her, at a period when the agonies of her mind surpassed what nature has allotted the female frame to sustain in these severe circumstances.
No answer having been returned to her letter (owing to the cause I have already mentioned) she immediately concluded herself totally abandoned; and began most fervently to hope she should not long endure that accumulation of woes under which she laboured: an uncommon sensation of weakness, bordering almost on a state of infancy, convinced her of her approaching dissolution; and she regarded her release not only without dismay, but with eagerness and satisfaction.
In this situation her most earnest wish

was to embrace her parents before her death; to explain whatever appeared criminal and unaccountable in her conduct; and, having committed her children to their care, from whom alone she now expected justice and protection for them, to breathe her last sigh in their arms.
She therefore besought the country-woman to carry a message to her father and mother, imploring them to deign to visit her before she expired: to this woman she likewise confessed all the particulars of her unhappy story, and besought her to tell them, that could she accuse herself of one crime, excepting that of having deserted them in their old age, for which she hoped she had been sufficiently punished, she should not have dared to request that satisfaction, the only one she would probably live to enjoy; and entreated them to believe, that the infant she had just brought into

the world, owed its existence to an event neither criminal nor disgraceful.
The old people, stunned with this unexpected intelligence, knew not what to determine. They had long concluded their daughter lost and deluded; but their grief for her elopement was not unmixed with resentment at her misconduct. The circumstances in which she was restored to them, were far from arguing her innocence, and their first resolution was to abandon her to the fate they concluded she had merited; but parental tenderness almost instantly converted this unnatural intention into the most earnest desire of seeing her once more. To her protestations of purity, they gave little credit. But guilty as she is, said the old man, she is still our child, and her present misery obliterates her past crimes:—miserable have been our days since her fall—the sufferings are now become her own.

Nature, however, pleaded so powerfully for their daughter in the breasts of the good couple, that as they hastened to the cottage, they could not help indulging some faint hopes, that, though appearances were so much against her, some alleviating circumstances might turn out in her favour.
It may not then be difficult to imagine what must have been their feelings, when, on being ushered to the side of the bed where she lay, their beloved child, unable to see them after a separation so melancholy for almost six years, gave a feeble shriek, and fainted away.
In this state of insensibility she continued so long that they gave her up for gone; but having sent for a neighbouring surgeon, who administered every assistance possible, they had at length the satisfaction of seeing her open her eyes once more. They immediately found, however, that though life was restored,

it was not in human power to recover her from a violent delirium with which she was instantly seized. The doctor declared her in a high fever, which being attended with mortal symptoms, gave the most alarming cause for apprehending the worst.
The situation of the unfortunate parents, who saw themselves on the point of losing their daughter almost in the very instant that they had recovered her, cannot possibly be described. She was perfectly insensible to them and all about her, during the whole day; and raved with a frantic wildness which it was horrible to witness; often calling on my name and imploring my compassion in the most piteous manner. Her father having at one time approached her, the disorder of her imagination made her instantly conceive it to be the accursed author of all her miseries, and throwing herself suddenly out of bed, in spite of

every opposition, she fell at his feet, imploring him not to murder her nor her infant: her angelic temper never once breathed an expression of resentment nor revenge, but her lips muttered unceasing complaints, and she perpetually repeated, I am just going to die, my Lord, wont that satisfy you? Ah spare my children!
The woman of the house being unable to manage her, and her weeping parents totally disabled by grief from assisting, she was obliged to call in some of the neighbours, who could only constrain her by force to remain in bed.
Nature could not long sustain a conflict so violent; nor can I, my children, force myself to dwell upon a scene, the idea of which inflicts unmitigated torture.
A few hours wore entirely out what little strength remained; and after having lain some time quiet, her senses were restored to her. She recollected the

message she had dispatched to her parents, and enquired composedly, tho' with a voice almost exhausted, what answer had been delivered.
They, who were no farther than at the foot of the bed, could not any longer restrain themselves from rushing into her arms, and embracing her as she lay. Their tears prevented them from articulating; but their daughter, who approached her last hour, was too feeble even to weep.
Oh, my beloved parents! cried she, with a hollow voice, which her breathing often rendered interrupted, I shall now die contented, since I have the satisfaction of expiring in your arms. I hope God will forgive my undutiful conduct towards you. Alas! you see how I have suffered for it. But I hope —may I trust you never could believe that I had thrown a stain on the virtuous education I received from your care. Indeed—indeed—I am innocent, and

really married. My asserting it at a moment so solemn, ought alone to convince you of the truth of this assurance; but, if more is necessary, I am in possession of the most certain and convincing proofs.
She then ordered the country-woman to deliver to her parents a packet which she had sealed, and committed to her charge, on being first taken ill: it contained the certificate of our marriage, and several letters written and signed by my own hand, which plainly proved that I regarded her as my wife.
I trusted him because I loved him, continued she; but in spite of the strictest ties, you see he has abandoned and deserted me, and I am going to atone with my life for the anguish my rash step must have given you in your old days. Indeed the idea of your uneasiness wholly embittered any short gleams of comfort I might otherwise have enjoyed;

and transient indeed have these been since I left you. The only circumstance which yielded me any consolation in all my distresses, was the delightful hope, that the day would come when I should exultingly reveal all to you, and recompense you and myself by making the old age of my beloved father and mother affluent and happy.
That day, repeated she, after a pause, will never arrive; and perhaps it is a just punishment from Heaven for having deserted you; in which case, as my repentance is most sincere for that and all my transgressions, I trust in God it will be graciously accepted, and that I shall find in the grave that peace to which my bosom has been so long a stranger. But oh, my dearest father and mother, all my fears are for you; to me, death is a release from misery; since I retain no longer the affections of Lord Linrose, I preserve nothing that

attaches me to life. I feel, indeed, for my three infants, but while my mother survives, I am certain they will never know the loss of their own; and I hope they will neither inherit my weaknesses nor my misfortunes. Oh, may it please the Almighty to deliver them from imbibing one particle of their cruel father's hardness of heart.
The old people folded her alternately in their arms, and mingling tears with their blessings, assured her of their perfect forgiveness, and entreated her to live for their consolation.
Oh! my dearest parents! cried she, how can you wish me so ill! distract me not, I beseech you, with your despair! God knows if I am really so near my end as I imagine, but I feel myself inwardly gone, and so exhausted, that I think the struggle must soon be over. She then recapitulated the melancholy circumstances of her misfortunes as well

as weakness would allow her; but having wholly exhausted herself, she mentioned being extremely drowsy, and kissing her infant, perhaps it may be for the last time, said she; do not quit my bedside, my dearest mother, while I sleep; and stretching forth her hand, already bedewed with the damp of death, she grasped her mother's with a feeble effort, and recommending herself to Heaven, in that attitude composed herself to a repose from which she never awoke. Her sleep, at first agitated and disturbed, soon subsided into a lethargic stupor, and she expired at midnight without a sigh.
Think, my children, what this recital costs me. It is worse than death to write! To think on such a scene—to think—God of Heaven! that I was the accursed murderer of that suffering angel! that my hands dealt the fatal blow which stabbed her to the heart!

Oh! my daughters! be not overpowered with horror. Let not, at least, a compassion too just for your hapless mother's fate, wholly obliterate from your bosoms that regard which your father has hitherto enjoyed. The benignant saint, I trust, accepts the tribute of that bitter remorse which has clouded the remainder of my days, and now rejoices in that blessed reward which her merit and her calamities so justly claim in a more glorious state of existence.
I now hasten to conclude the horrid tale; and return to myself, on that dreadful evening when your mother's letter was put into my hands.
Her sufferings, unutterable as they proved, being unimbittered with the agonizing pangs of remorse, could hardly surpass mine during that miserable night. My feelings were, if possible, heightened by the absolute necessity of concealing what I endured, under a smiling countenance;

this, however, I could only hope to effect by the assistance of wine, which I poured down in quantities, in hopes of drowning care and stifling conscience.
To augment my distress, which intoxication, without bereaving me of my senses, could but little allay, on returning to the company, I found them in all the enjoyment of mirth and innocence. The music had been conveyed from the lawn to the saloon; and the moment I appeared, I was solicited to join the dance. Too conscious to refuse, I was constrained to cover my anguish by assuming an air of gaiety, the most forced and unnatural. Happily the company were too much engrossed with themselves, and the amusement in which they were engaged, to observe me; but the dance being ended, Lady Linrose, my beloved Lady Linrose approached me.
She enquired in a tender whisper,

why I had so long secluded myself from the company, and expressed her fears lest I was ill; for which apprehension my pallid look, and an agitation not to be disguised, gave but too much cause. I answered her, as composedly as I could, that I had a severe head-ach, which dancing had increased. She then besought me, with an anxiety that stabbed me to the soul, to fatigue myself no more: and carelessly repeating that it was a complaint to which I had been liable from my infancy, I turned from her the moment I could do so without appearing abrupt.
Good heavens! cried I to myself, into what a gulf of misery have my ungoverned passions plunged me! And what would your sufferings be, most amiable, most beloved of women! did you know the injury I have done you. Were the fatal tale to reach your ears, how would your present tenderness instantly

be converted into contempt and detestation.
These tormenting ideas made me avoid her the whole evening: and I dreaded the hour of retirement, lest, when we were alone, she should observe my distress, and renew her enquiries. My pretence of illness, however, was easily admitted by her unsuspecting mind; and I pretended to sleep, while my feelings were in a state which would admit of nothing like repose.
Next morning a party on horseback was proposed, and agreed to by all but myself. I excused myself on account of business; intending to take that opportunity to get rid of my friends, and perform my promised visit to your mother, severe as was the task.
I knew not exactly the cottage in which she had taken up her abode; but concluding it would not be difficult to

find, I resolved to begin the search as soon as the company were set out.
One of the ladies, who was extremely gay, importuned me with eagerness during breakfast to postpone my business for at least one half hour, and accompany her with one or two more of my friends in a walk to the extremity of the park, to give my opinion of a situation for a rustic temple, which she had advised my Lord to erect on a particular spot beyond the park gate; after which they meant to join the rest of the party, and pursue their morning rambles together.
Conscious guilt made me agree to the proposal, as I supposed I should be soon afterwards at liberty; and I accordingly followed the young lady and my father, attended by Mr. Benseley, who was the friend to whom I was most tenderly attached, and indeed the one who most merited my confidence and friendship,

and accompanied by my dear Lady Linrose, who hung on my arm as we walked along, vainly endeavouring by the softness of her attentions to soothe an uneasiness, the cause of which she could not penetrate.
Just as we got out of the park, we observed a good looking young woman, who suckled an infant, at the door of a cottage which stood directly on the road side.
That little thing appears hardly out of the egg shell, said Lady Linrose in passing. How comes it, good woman, that you expose it to the air so early?
Indeed madam, replied the woman, because it breaks my heart to enter the house. The mother of this child expired this morning; and her old father and mother are at this moment lamenting over the body in so piteous a manner, that it would melt a heart of stone to witness their distress.

These words made me shudder with the most dreadful apprehensions. But I was endeavouring to persuade the ladies, who were greatly interested by this mournful tale, to walk on, pretending great haste, when a figure presented itself to our view, which instantly arrested their steps and rendered me motionless with horror.—It was the old man himself, the father of your mother; who having perceived me from the window of the cottage, in the frenzy of his despair, rushed out upon us. His aged withered face was pale with grief, and his whole frame shook with rage. Addressing himself instantly to me—Come in here, detested wretch! cried he; come in here, and contemplate your work: see here the fruits of your villainy in the destruction of my darling child, your true and lawful wife; who lies here sacrificed by your treachery, and murdered by your own hands.

I heard no more: but uttering an exclamation of horror, fell insensible on the ground. Lady Linrose, shrieking with terror, threw herself by my side to support me, and Benseley, who was more able for the task, held me in his arms as I lay.
I almost instantly recovered my senses: but unable to stand the horrid explanation which I knew must follow; unable at that moment, when the keenest remorse began to pierce my bosom and wholly unfitted me for dissimulation, to vindicate my innocence or even to attempt the slightest appearance of defence, while the old man's assertion was too strongly corroborated by the effects it had produced, I kept my eyes still shut, and pretended to remain in a state of insensibility.
My father stood in mute astonishment at this scene, too much confounded to unravel what it meant. The farmer's

frantic violence he might have conceived to be the sudden consequences of insanity; but the situation into which his words had thrown me, gave no small degree of credebility to what he had uttered, wild and extravagant as were his expressions.
What does all this mean? cried he to the farmer.
It means, returned the old man, that your son, my Lord, is a villain! yes, a perjured villain! He has married another, when my daughter has been lawfully his wife above six years, and she this morning expired a victim to his cruelty and crimes.
Oh horrible! exclaimed Lady, Linrose; abominable wretch! how, my Lord, can you tamely submit to hear that frantic old man utter falshoods so infamous and impossible?
Infamous it is, cried the farmer; would to heaven it had also been impossible:

then had I at this instant rejoiced over a long lost and adored child, instead of mourning her miserable end in tears and distraction. Oh my Lord! continued the old man, subdued by grief, which now succeeded to rage and indignation, throwing himself on his knees at my father's feet, from your character I dare hope for justice: you shall speedily be convinced that my innocent child has been deluded in the most shameful manner; and mean as is our rank, her fame must and shall be vindicated.
He then presented a paper to my father, which he entreated him to peruse. It was the certificate of my marriage with your mother; and my Lord, who by this time began to be somewhat staggered, appeared infinitely shocked on hastily throwing his eyes over the contents.
Farmer, said he, hesitating, and in much agitation, I believe my son may have injured your daughter; in which

case all the reparation she could have claimed, or you now can ask, shall be granted you; but as to his having made her his wife, that is an assertion which she has evidently invented to save her credit with you after her fall, and the falsehood of such a pretence is enough to persuade you that she has not been without her share of the guilt. My son is, as you see, sufficiently affected with the unfortunate catastrophe, and I am very far from vindicating his conduct; on the contrary, all that can now be done to appease and console you is undoubtedly his duty; but in what manner this is to be effected, we must afterwards consider. I shall take another opportunity of talking with you on this subject.
Come, Madam, said he to Lady Linrose, who, breathless with apprehension, had remained during this conversation in all the stupor of silent horror. Pray lean on my arm, and let us be gone from

this place. Let us leave my son to the care of his friend. He is in no situation to justify himself at present. We ought therefore to suspend our opinion of his behaviour till he can explain matters fully. All that he is accused of is utterly impossible.
Young men, even the very best of them, continued he, as he obliged her unwillingly to walk away, supported by his arm and accompanied by her companion, are but too prone to vices which in the more advanced periods of their lives they reflect on with regret and remorse. As to the ridiculous story of the marriage, I hope it gives you not the smallest uneasiness.
I cannot leave him thus, cried Lady Linrose, whose voice now burst through the sobs and tears which had stopped her utterance. But my Lord urged her strongly; and her friend so earnestly besought her to leave me to Benseley's care,

that she at last unwillingly attempted to go, though she often reverted her eyes, and was yet in sight, though at some distance, when Benseley saw her drop on the ground.
As soon as the ladies departed with my father, I opened my eyes. The farmer darted a look of enraged indignation at me, and walked sorrowfully into the cottage almost immediately; before the door of which this dreadful scene had been transacted, and into which the woman and child had retreated at the beginning; though I perceived that she had brought more than one face to the window to remark the consternation into which the company had been thrown.
Only my friend Benseley therefore remained; and even him I dreaded to look on, though he laboured to soothe me with words of comfort. Oh, Benseley! cried I, as soon as I could find courage to speak, lead me from this spot, where

every object conveys horror inexpressible! I will explain all to you hereafter; but at present my mind is incapable of talking, thinking, or acting for myself!
Would you return to the castle? cried he.
Oh! God! any where but to the castle. Hide me for ever from all beneath its roof, and most from my amiable, my injured—
I dared not add, wife: my lips at that moment of anguish refused to bestow that appellation, except on the still more injured deceased.
I supported myself on my friend's arm, and shame supplying the place of strength, we were soon out of sight of the cottage, and of Lady Linrose.
Tell me, cried Benseley, as we walked slowly on, tell me I entreat you, what all this means? I confound myself in vain to unravel the mystery. What am I to think of the situation in which I see

you? I perceive you accuse yourself of the poor girl's death. But country girls don't break their hearts from having made a false step; and it may have been with much more probability merely owing to the circumstances of her situation; in which case, though you have certainly reason to reproach yourself, if she was innocent and seduced, yet there may be many alleviating circumstances to reconcile you to yourself, and to excuse you even in the eyes of Lady Linrose.
Oh Benseley! mention not her name! (covering my face with my hands as if terrified at the idea of beholding her.)
Good heavens! my Lord, what do you mean?
I mean, that she has not, and never, never could have had a title to that name.
God in heaven! what do you tell me? exclaimed he in horror. What is it you force me to suspect?
Talk not on this subject, cried I; I

am unable to bear it. Would to God that the earth could open under my feet and swallow within its bowels a wretch unworthy to crawl on its surface.
For heaven's sake endeavour to compose yourself, my dear Linrose, cried he. But where do you intend going?
I answered, to town; where I could more easily bury myself from the world, and hide my head from every eye that had a chance of recognizing me.
Benseley then entreated me to moderate the transports of my despair, and to walk forward towards a village, where horses could be provided. This he could not for some time prevail on me to attempt; but at last, the desire of secluding myself induced me to wish to be in London as soon as possible; and we made the most of our way till we approached near the village. My friend, tho' afraid to leave me by myself in that situation of mind, after vainly striving to calm the

tumults of my distraction, and receiving my solemn promise to attempt no act of violence in his absence, then departed to provide a post chaise from the inn. I confess that had not my oath withheld my arm when I was left alone, I was hardly enough master of myself to have resisted the temptation of putting a period to my existence; but Benseley, who dreaded the wildness of my despair, hastened the execution of his orders, and soon returned to me in the carriage.
We travelled post, for my friend would not desert me in that moment of affliction, and procured lodgings the most private in an obscure part of the city. Instead of upbraiding me, he performed unceasingly the kindest offices of friendship; and perceiving me sufficiently penetrated with a sense of the criminality and weakness of my conduct, and entirely overpowered by the calamities which had resulted from it, not to myself

alone, but to those I passionately loved, and indeed to all who were connected with me, he not only forbore to probe my wounds too severely, but exerted himself to plan what steps I ought next to pursue; and I, who was unable to think for myself, received a feeble ray of satisfaction on finding I still possessed a friend who would not abandon me, and that my crimes had not made this earth completely a desert to me.
Immediately on my arrival, I was seized with a violent fever attended with a delirium, in the intervals of which I heartily wished the disease might prove the termination of all my distresses. My friend, who never quitted my bed side, on this occasion wrote, by my desire, a letter to my father, acquainting him with my situation, and confessing to him every circumstance of my misconduct. This I had no intention now of concealing; and a full confession of the truth, in my

situation, was the only virtue I could testify. Benseley informed him, that unable to show my face to the world, or again to meet the eyes of the woman I had so unpardonably, so irreparably injured, from the violence of a passion which knew no bounds and would give way to no restraints, and sensible that I merited only scorn and abhorrence from her, I was firmly determined, should I recover, which was an event he well knew I heartily wished never might take place, to spend the remainder of my days in a foreign country, and to bury myself in solitude and obscurity, where my name should be unheard of and my crimes unknown.
To this my father returned an answer dictated by all that resentment I had so justly incurred. He desired Benseley to inform me, that my offences were of a nature that reflected not only infamy on myself but disgrace and contamination

on all who had the misfortune of being allied to me: that he had endeavoured all in his power, not from regard to my fate but from anxiety to preserve the family honour untarnished, to persuade the farmer and his wife to silence, in hopes that the horrid train of iniquity which had led to such calamities, might be at least in part a secret from the world: but the old people, above being either bribed or soothed into this measure, held their determination unalterable of vindicating the injured fame of their deceased daughter, and were in possession of sufficient evidence to prove the truth of that unmanly and detestable transaction: that for his part, he could not help approving their inflexibility, and was not even certain if he was justifiable in having attempted to skreen a wretch, though his own son, from the assured consequences of blasted and irretrievable honour, which ever receives

its due punishment in the contempt, abhorrence, and desertion of the world; and which being driven from society and shunned by mankind, is forced to hide its miserable head in obscurity, where not one ray of comfort alleviates the just though rigorous sentence.
Happy had it been, continued his Lordship, for his whole family, had he breathed his last ere he cast so foul a stain on all connected with him. As to his present illness, all that can be wished for by his unfortunate relations is, that time may be granted him to repent of the many evils into which his misconduct has involved them and himself. He next mentioned Lady Linrose. My dear Lady Linrose! At the sound of her name I shuddered. Let me know no further, cried I to Benseley, whom I had constrained unwillingly to read aloud the letter to me: yet the next moment my anxiety being insupportable, I insisted on

hearing all. She had been violently ill, had been given over by her physicians, and was still in the most alarming situation, though for the present the fever appeared to have given way to medicine. But what was even ten thousand times worse than this, and rendered me absolutely frantic with despair, her mind no less than her tender frame had suffered. She never had been herself since that fatal, that accursed day. If the wretch, said my father in his letter, is insensible to the many shocking calamities which his crimes have produced, you may add to the list that of having driven to madness the loveliest and most amiable of her sex.
In the state I then was, it may easily be concluded that a severe relapse could not fail to be the consequence of this dreadful information; and it was more than once my intention to put a final period to my existence by my own hand;

but Heaven interposed to save me from an action which would have filled up the measure of my iniquities, and my friend at length brought me to a more temperate frame of mind.
During this period, an old servant, who is since dead, whom I had ever considered more on the footing of a friend than a domestic, as he had once known better days, and had attended me from my youth, contrived, by what means I know not, to discover the place of my concealment. He had been left with the rest of my attendants at the Castle: but on hearing of my misconduct, easily conjecturing my situation, his faithful attachment determined him to find me out, and to entreat my acceptance of his attendance in whatever part of the globe I should fix my residence. He had in some particular instances regarded himself as under peculiar obligations to me; and with a gratitude and fidelity rarely

to be met with in higher and more refined spheres, resolved to attach himself to me. By his means I learnt every minute circumstance of the death of your mother, and all the particulars which preceded that dismal event. He had gained his intelligence from the woman who possessed the cottage; and answered my interrogatories with an accuracy which I never should have received from other hands, and which must have augmented my despair, had that been possible.
As soon as I was able to reason or reflect with any sort of composure, Benseley brought you, my beloved children, to me, which was indeed the only shape which comfort could have assumed to touch my heart. The sight of my Hermione, whose countenance recalled her injured mother strongly to my mind, and in whose infant features the expression of her mother's sweetness and her virtues were strikingly marked, brought the

soothing relief of tears, the first that despair had permitted to flow; and the only idea which afforded any thing like satisfaction to my soul, was the resolution of retiring abroad with my children, and devoting the rest of my life to their education; to fortify their minds with such principles as might deter them from guilt and deliver them from calamities like their father's. This employment I considered as the only satisfaction I could offer to the memory of your unfortunate mother, and I flatter myself that if she could look down, it would give her angelic mind pleasure even in paradise, to behold me instilling into the minds of her children, sentiments congenial with her own.
This determination my father approved, and informed Benseley, who acted as agent between us, that he would settle an annual pension upon me, for which I was to sign a formal resignation

of all claims to what might have devolved to me at his death, and which would spare him the mortification of dreading any litigation in future between me and my brother, who on this dismal event had been reinstated in his Lordship's favour, and with his wife and a numerous family, were recalled from Ireland, the place of his constant residence ever since his limited finances had constrained him to leave the army.
I stipulated, in place of the pension, for twenty thousand pounds; which sum was placed in the funds, and the annual interest has been remitted to me by Benseley since my residence here, with all the zeal of sincere friendship. Through his means I made enquiry also about my little infant boy, whose birth had been marked by events so dreadful; and had the misfortune to learn that he survived not above a fortnight, and the old people mourned their daughter's death once

more in the loss of the child she had bequeathed to their care.
To that miserable old couple, whose days I had loaded with unmitigated sorrow, I remitted every year a certain sum, by unknown hands, being conscious that from the hated hands of the murderer of their child, they never would have accepted the gift. But within five years after my departure, Benseley informed me that the pension was no longer necessary; a fever having carried off the old man in his seventieth year, and his wife followed him a few months after.
My melancholy relation now draws towards a conclusion; for as soon as my illness would admit of a removal, I bid adieu to England for ever. It was not, you may easily conceive, my children, without feelings unspeakably painful, that I departed; nor without a tear which wrung my heart, that I was separated from Benseley. Though tenderly attached

to you both, the only ties which connected me with mankind, you were but in infancy; and your innocent pratling, interesting as it was to the partial ears of a father, could yet but ill supply the society of a friend tried and approved. With a mind so unfitted for reflection, my solitude must at first have been insupportable, had I not regarded every pang I endured as a just penance for offences hardly to be expected, and never to be forgotten.
Submission to Heaven, and a proper sense of that religion which leads even the greatest criminals to trust for pardon if penitent, has supported me, and my sufferings have now subsided into a settled melancholy; which at times has even something not unpleasing in it, and which admits of all the rational comforts of life, in the enjoyment of the society of my children, and even a delight in contemplating the success of my labours

for their improvement. But these satisfactions must ever be mixed with that allay which remembrance mingles with every rising consolation. This temper renders my company little amusing to those whom accident has introduced to my acquaintance, and on the other hand wholly unfits me for intercourse with the world; so that I have continued to live from choice in a retirement which has been only once enlivened by a kind visit of some months from my dear Benseley, and within these two years by the agreeable society of my friend Mr. Howard, whose acquaintance and friendship I regard as a signal favour from heaven to soothe and console me. He has indeed beguiled many a lonely hour by the mild good sense of his conversation—hours which otherwise would have proved dismal and irksome; for where reflection gives no comfort, time fails of its usual power of lulling pain.

Immediately on my departure, I assumed the name of Seymour, that no trace might remain to lead any of my former acquaintance to the knowledge of my abode. Even the good woman Mrs. Benton, whom Benseley procured to take charge of you as governess, knew me but under that borrowed appearance, and was ignorant to her death of the truth. That event, which happened some years after I settled at B—, obliged me unwillingly to send you to the convent of — for further instruction in the different branches of education, instead of supplying her loss by another tutoress in the same line; for though this might have been perhaps procured, I knew not where to apply: Benseley was not at that time in a situation, from various circumstances, to exert himself in finding a person properly qualified, and he was the only one on

whom I could rely in a matter of such infinite moment.
I did not think myself at liberty to deprive either of you of the little accomplishments of your sex; the principal advantages resulting from which are the amusement they bestow in solitude; neither did I consider it as allowable to seclude you from forming those soft ties and delightful connections of friendship, with girls of your own age, which are the growth of that happy period of our lives and almost belong solely to it; while on the other hand, besides parting from you for so long a space of time, I was under great apprehensions lest your infant minds should be tinged, during your abode in the monastry, with the errors of the catholic persuasion.
I determined, however, to place you there for two years, and I bless Heaven I have had reason in no respect to regret the sacrifice I made for Hermione's improvements,

nor shall I, I trust, in future for that of my dear Fanny.
I am now come to the conclusion of my painful recital. Adieu! my beloved children! when these lines are presented to your view, I trust you will draw that veil over my errors, with which affection ever softens and obscures the perception of the faults of those we love. I do not wish you to excuse my conduct: do not attempt it; for of none will it admit. Abhor my crimes; but try to distinguish your father from his transgressions, and preserve if possible for my memory, that unabated tenderness and duty which have constituted the sole consolation of a life worn out with remorse, and devoted to repentance—a repentance, the sincerity of which Heaven, I trust, has accepted.
Should the Almighty take me to himself before you have engaged yourselves

protectors in the married state, my friend Benseley has faithfully engaged to be a second parent to you: to him, therefore, I bequeath you; and I desire that you may ever regard him as my successor in your obedience and affections. On him you may safely rely, who would have saved your father from destruction had he profited from his example, and who saved him from despair though he slighted and neglected it. I am not without hopes that your grandfather, though too justly irritated against me, may through my friend's medium receive you to his favour, when the idea of my existence no longer disturbs the repose of his declining days; and I enclose a letter to him, which I desire may be presented by your own hands.
Once more adieu, my beloved children! may the great God of Heaven graciously attend to the prayers I daily

pour forth for your integrity and welfare; and may he ever defend you under the shadow of his wings from harm and calamity; but above all, from those which result from misconduct.
LINROSE.

 TO MISS BEAUMONT.
SEPT. 26, —
I HAVE received your kind letter, my beloved friend; the most agreeable circumstance that could have befallen me at present, when my heart, exhausted and depressed, can imbibe consolation or relief from the tender sympathy of friendship alone.
How just are your reflections, my Sophia, on our dear father's unhappy story. Surely a sense so rigorous of his errors, and so many years devoted to penitence and remorse, must not only have entirely obliterated his faults in the

eyes of infinite justice and mercy, but ought to render every candid mind compassionate and indulgent to transgressions which conveyed so severely their own punishment.
What a number of circumstances, unheeded at the time, do Fanny and I now recall, that prove how bitterly he suffered. The gravity and seeming austerity of his manners, which you used to say made him appear so awful that you never could feel at ease in his presence, we concluded merely constitutional: alas! we suspected not that his melancholy had a source so deep, nor that a weight of painful recollections gave a heaviness to his heart, which deprived every enjoyment of its true relish, and could not fail to throw a gloom over his whole appearance; especially in the eyes of my gay, animated Sophia, blessed with a mind at ease, and in possesion of

all the vivacity which youth, health, and lively spirits can produce.
Yet, my dear, religion and resignation had effected in him a mild thoughtfulness, which, while it repressed gaiety, was far from wholly precluding contentment. His temper was indeed so serene, so amiable, so free from all caprice or ill humour, and his conversation so instructively amusing, so complaisantly indulgent to all the little whims and wishes of his children, that our affection for him, warm and unbounded, was untinctured with dread or awe; and we ever regarded him in the light of an agreeable and entertaining companion, while we revered him as that of a condescending and respectable parent.
Has not the woeful tale drawn tears from you, my dear? As for Fanny and myself, I thought the perusal would have actually killed us. Oh! what a number of dreadful events, unsuspected and unknown,

what a source of never ceasing regret, has it opened to our knowledge; and what a period of misery have the days of our dear father proved! ought we then to weep his release from a world where sorrow, under various shapes, has been his constant pursuer, and where, under the baneful form of remorse, it has conducted him to the grave.
I hope my Sophia has not been uneasy at the unusual interval of silence, after the last dismal part of my journal, which I think I sent off about six weeks ago. The truth is, I have had a severe relapse since that period. Nervous fevers are, you know, extremely liable to return when one concludes the alarm over, and caution unnecessary; and this fit of illness was not only attended but produced by a dejection of spirits so depressing, that I am astonished I have been able to survive what I have suffered. This last attack was indeed so violent, that my

physicians thought me for several days in extreme danger, and shook their heads in silence, while poor Fanny gave me up for lost.
It has pleased the Almighty, however, to restore me; though I am yet so languid that I scarce feel as if I had existence: but I am infinitely better than I could have conceived possible in so short a space; and the relief Fanny's mind has received from this event, has almost wholly recovered her usual good spirits: her terrors on my account, by dividing her attention and engrossing her anxiety, have abstracted her thoughts from the past, and her escape from a still greater calamity, for such undoubtedly my death must have proved at this juncture, when we are left in a manner deserted and alone, has produced a wonderful change in her dejection. Her timidity of temper, even to helplessness, renders her so dependant on me, and so totally unfits

her for struggling against the difficulties of our unconnected situation, that my loss could be felt at no period so severely as the present.
I have considered some points in her temper, however, as very fortunate at this melancholy season; when to have endured the burden both of her sorrows and my own, would have proved a weight under which my spirits must have completely sunk; but though exceedingly susceptible of strong agitations in the first moments of emotion, Fanny's feelings, probably from their violence, are extremely apt to evaporate, and when dissolved in tears and melted by affliction, the soothing of a friend, and a few unavailing arguments of comfort, seldom fail to wipe them very speedily away.
The sensations of sixteen, are in general I believe of this nature: acute but transient. I perceive my Sophia smiles at the important airs of seniority which

in this last sentence I seem to assume: but two years difference of age, at our time of life, claims more than will perhaps be admitted at any other period; and Fanny's residence at the convent, from which she returned but a few months ago, and the seclusion that preceded it, have given an inexperienced simplicity to her conversation, and an innocent naivetè to her manners, which, though amiable and engaging, bestow sometimes an appearance of childishness that might lead one to conclude her still younger than she is.
SEPT. 28.
Madam de Clarence visited us this morning. It is ten days since she arrived in our neighbourhood, though we had not seen her; but she sent many kind and friendly enquiries to know how we

were going on, and informed us, in a short note, that indisposition alone could have prevented her from personally condoling with us on our bitter distress.
She expressed, in strong terms of affection, the warmest sympathy; and assured us, that had not a disorder similar to mine confined her to bed, she would have flown to afford us what support and consolation a warm participation in our feelings could bestow.
You know this lady is one of the few acquaintances whose company and conversation our dear parent was ambitious of our obtaining, and who, on her part, has always been so kind as to solicit our's whenever her chateau afforded gaiety and amusement.
She wept at the news of our intended departure for England. Alas! said she, your worthy father always told me, that in the event of his death the remainder of the days of his children would most

probably be spent in their native country with his friends; who, though displeased, as he has often hinted, at some part of his conduct, he doubted not would require your presence, and proffer their protection when he was no more.
Her kindness made our tears flow profusely; but I thought myself only at liberty to inform her, that my father had indeed very near relations in his own country, (and mentioned his brother though not by name) to whom he had recommended us: adding, that though he had been so unlucky himself as to disoblige his family, we were in hopes they would not prove so cruel and unrelenting as to visit the sins of the fathers upon the children.
You carry a recommendation in your countenances, my dear girls, said she, kindly, the force of which few hearts can be hardened enough to withstand. My prayers shall follow you wherever

you go; and I hope you will have the goodness now and then to inform me, that they have not been offered up in vain.
She then departed, having exacted a promise that we would be her guests for a few weeks previous to our quitting France for ever.
Madam de Clarence is indeed the only individual, now your amiable aunt exists no more, besides our good old Superior and some of the sisters in the convent, whom on this occasion I can regret parting with; as she is the only person with whom my father's solitary plan of life has allowed of our forming an intimacy. Independent of the vicinity of her chateau to B—, the warm affection with which I loved her amiable daughter, our young convent friend, originally prepossessed her in my favour; and since her death, the worthy and afflicted mother appears to have

transferred to me that maternal tenderness, which can exert itself no longer for the happiness of my friend.
My father had the best opinion both of her heart and understanding; and she alone (your dear aunt excepted, whose loss I hourly lament) possessed such influence over his mind as to obtain for us a few days amusement at her chateau once or twice a year: an indulgence which his respect for her character induced him to grant; but which he always granted unwillingly, and under apapprehension that a taste for gaiety, so natural to youth, imbibed in such agreeable society, might render our usual abode, on our return, languid and uncomfortable.
Short, indeed, were these intervals of festivity, and they generally passed like a gay hour away. I used constantly to count the days till spring returned; which season always brought our amiable

friend from the dissipation of Paris to our peaceful neighbourhood. But unlike, alas! was her last arrival to those which had preceded it! Her beloved daughter accompanied her not! and on my first visit to the unfortunate mother, my unrepressed sympathy and affliction cemented a tender tie between us, which induced her almost to adopt me in the place of the amiable child, whom death had torn from her bosom.
I am convinced, had lingering illness afforded my father time for such a confidence, Madam de Clarence would have been entrusted with his secret; and that to her care and tenderness he would have recommended his children.
SEPT. 30,
I am sure it will give my Sophia pleasure to learn, that in our unfriended situation

the worthy Mr. Howard has most conscienciously fulfilled the promise exacted from him by my father in his dying moments. Having performed the last sad duties to that dear and beloved parent, he exerted himself to support and console poor Fanny, who felt herself, during my illness, on the brink of becoming a solitary being in the midst of the universe. He wrote, immediately on my father's death, to Mr. Benseley, who is nominated our guardian unless Lord Belmont condescends to take that trust on himself; and having informed him of our irreparable loss, added, that as we were committed to his charge, we expected from his hand to learn what plan of life we were now to pursue.
Mr. Benseley's answer arrived some time ago, and along with it a long letter addressed to me, which I was not however permitted to peruse till within these few days. He begins by lamenting, in

the most feeling manner, the severe stroke we have met with, and receives, he says, the trust bequeathed him as the most valuable legacy my father could have bestowed.
I have had the inexpressible misfortune, says he, to bury within these few months an amiable and beloved wife, with whom I might have lived in a state of the most perfect felicity that this world can offer, had I not allowed an ungrateful anxiety for one denied blessing to disturb my peace and cloud all my other enjoyments. Heaven had left me but one wish ungranted—the want of family: and I was so blind and impious, as to allow an unreasonable chagrin on this account to four my relish for the many pleasures which remained. At length I beheld myself on the eve of having my anxious desire gratified: my wife brought into the world a son; but expired in giving birth to her infant, who survived her but a

few days; and I am taught the duty of contentment at the severe price of finding myself bereaved of all earthly felicity.
I receive, he adds, the children of my friend, as sent to console me for my misfortunes. I intend to adopt them for my own, and I hope, while I religiously fulfil my part of their father's will, they will not be negligent in the performance of the duties that belong to them; but will regard me in the soothing light of a parent, in which my late friend has introduced me to their acquaintance.
Hasten then to England, my dear children, concludes he. I hope you will have no objection to join the family of an infirm old man, who, though depressed by grief, and racked by the ailments and infirmities incident to a feeble constitution and declining years, preserves the utmost tenderness and indulgence for youth. I trust your friend, Mr. Howard, will transact all the necessary business

that ought to have employed your guardian, had he been able to have ventured on so long a journey; an exertion which bad health and debilitude totally prevent him from attempting; perhaps, if Mr. Howard means not to remain abroad for any length of time, he may even contrive to accompany you to your native country, and deliver up in safety his charge to the old friend who impatiently expects their arrival.
Is not this indeed acting the part of a parent, my dear Sophy? what an amiable and engaging old man Mr. Benseley must be. I long extremely to see him, and anxiously wish to endeavour, by the utmost duty and attention, to soothe his sorrows, and to render his old age comfortable and happy. Though we never, never can supply the place of what he has lost, may not the society and attachment of two young girls, anxious to please and willing to submit to all his

little humours, gratify and amuse him, although we may not be able sufficiently to interest his affections. I hope so at least. I am sure I shall feel infinite satisfaction in performing a thousand little services to him, from the idea that my father so earnestly wished us to regard him as his representative.
Oh, Sophia! what strange reverses have two short months produced! what a revolution in my mind! to leave B— the abode of our youth—and to leave it without the smallest prospect of ever revisiting it again; where every surrounding object, the very trees which rear their lofty heads so high before the window at which I am writing, appear in the light of old friends who claim a tear at parting.
While I continue in this spot, where we have so constantly enjoyed my dear father's presence, though I miss him every moment, I cannot help fancifully feeling that I am not yet quite deprived of him.

'Tis losing all that remains of him, to leave this his constant residence, where every thing I see is connected with his idea. Yet how gloomy, how languid does every thing around appear! perhaps remembrance will be less painful when I am not surrounded by scenes which recall him perpetually to my mind in the most endearing views.
Fanny and I have upbraided ourselves more than once for these ungrateful complaints, which during our private walks we used sometimes to indulge, on being so wholly excluded society, and in a manner detached from the rest of our species. Alas! we are thoroughly punished for our folly; for never till now did we feel what solitude was. Our books, work, music, drawing, and a thousand other amusements, and that which we relished above them all—the conversation of our dear and indulgent parent, made the day ever appear too short for

the innocent pleasures it bestowed. How different, alas! is the present, when his loss sheds a gloom on every hour, and time creeps with a dreary languid pace, because we carry to every employment no spirits for exertion, and minds unfitted for entertainment.
Indeed I can give no reason for these discontented ideas having occurred to our minds, one excepted, which I ought to blush to confess, though I really believe it was the original source of an eager desire to see something more of the world than our way of life and my father's rules had hitherto permitted.
You must know, that at the convent Fanny was extremely intimate with a young girl, much about her own age, who was very gay, very enterprizing, and very fond of novels. That species of reading you know was prohibited, and no books of a romantic nature admitted within the grate. Fanny's young friend,

however, contrived, through means of an indulgent relation who lived in the town, to be privately supplied with abundant gratification of this kind, and unknown to every one but Fanny, who soon imbibed the same taste, used to devour with eagerness all the fabulous stuff she could get conveyed into the convent. Fanny was alone in a secret, the fruits of which she sufficiently enjoyed, till one unlucky day, when some of the nuns unfortunately discovered the Paysanne Parvenue cunningly hid beneath the quilt of her bed; and after a severe punishment having been inflicted for the transgression, care was taken to prevent all possibility of its being repeated.
During a few days which Fanny passed at V—, in her way home, she contrived to expend all her pocket money on purchases of novels; and Madam de Clarence, who had undertaken to bring her thither, perceiving her fondness for

this kind of reading, presented her with several in vogue, so that on her arrival she brought with her a little library of romance, which opened a field entirely new to me, and which was so insinuating to a person whose amusement depended so much upon books as mine had ever done, that though my father disapproved our studies, it was not unusual for Fanny and I to retire to our favourite seat in the wood, and unknown to him employ ourselves for hours in this forbidden reading.
I recollected that it was not till after reading these fallacious relations of the universal and uncontrouled empire of love, and the alluring recitals of conquest, vanity, and fame, that Fanny and I began to suspect my father's description of life to be the effects of singularity of temper and taste: to own the truth however, these emotions of regret on being deprived of our chance for a share

in these pleasures, were but transient and left very little impression on our minds.
OCT. 4.
I am now almost perfectly recovered, my dear; and have been out more than once airing with Fanny, who is now as cheerful as ever, and talks of our journey to England (which is to take place as soon as I am able for such an undertaking) not only without uneasiness, but even with eagerness. A natural sensation of sorrow sometimes takes a momentary possession of her spirits at the idea of leaving Languedoc; yet the prospect of shifting the scene amuses and delights her. Happily for her it is not her turn of mind to view evils before they actually arrive; and she is totally blind on this occasion to the many mortifications and difficulties in which

our change of residence must involve us, and with which it is so intimately connected: for can we reasonably hope, Sophia, that our appearance will not revive the remembrance of all the unhappy circumstances of our birth: will not all our dear father's misfortunes again prove the topic of the idle and censorious, and must not we on that account prove a subject for criticism, curiosity, and observation.
Can we even expect that our grandfather, so severely exasperated against his son, and of course prejudiced unfavourably towards us, will be induced to regard, with an eye of indulgence, two girls whose unwished for arrival must renew all the pangs which this dreadful affair has cost him? Perhaps an advanced age, and length of time, may have lulled his sorrows, to rest; perhaps too the world, occupied by other matters, may almost have forgotten an event that once "fed

its appetite for scandal;" how unwelcome then must an event prove, which awakens so cruelly Lord Belmont's remembrance, and revives the stain which he wishes to bury in eternal oblivion.
How can we then flatter ourselves that we, who unexpectedly appear only to wound and chagrin him, shall be properly acknowledged and supported? Oh no! my Sophia, he will abandon and desert us: or, thinking it excusable to make his grandchildren a sacrifice to family pride and family honour, he will plunge us into obscurity; where, entirely dependant on his will, we must languish out our days unnoticed and unknown.
You will accuse me, I know, of carrying my gloomy conjectures greatly too far; for while Mr. Benseley lives we can never know the want of a protector: but if Lord Belmont persists, which I think far from improbable, in forbidding our claim to his favour,

never shall we revive the recollection of my father's errors by attempting to prove our identity. This would be a step repugnant equally to delicacy and duty. What a figure, my dear, must we then make in a foreign country, for to us it certainly is so, strangers and unknown, disowned by those on whom we ought to depend, and vouched for by Mr. Benseley alone, who may not survive long; for he is an old man and afflicted with many disorders.
Fanny is blind to all those evils which she calls imaginary, and upon which I do not expatiate, though I gently point them out to her at a distance; for I wish not to damp her pleasing hopes; I only desire to fortify her mind against the gloomy reverse which is constantly before my own eyes, but which I hope is partly the effect of dejection. She cannot help flattering herself, she says, that natural affection may work so powerfully

in Lord Belmont's breast, as to induce him gladly to receive us as his grandchildren, and anticipates, with all the vivacity of a lively imagination, that happy moment when we may embrace the venerable parent who yet survives.
Indeed the accounts which Mr. Howard gives us of Lord Belmont, in some measure authorise these sanguine hopes. He tells us, that though he never was himself in his company, he is well acquainted with his general character, which is that of being strictly and uniformly a man of honour and integrity. Though in his temper proud, stern, and inexorable, these blemishes are counterbalanced by great humanity and much warmth of affection; and though the austerity and formality of his manners render his society little courted, except by his particular friends, he is adored by his servants and dependants, and, if

not beloved, is universally respected by the world.
A strict regard to justice, said Mr. Howard, which is thought to influence Lord Belmont's mind in a superior degree, ought undoubtedly to induce him to acknowledge the daughters of his eldest son; who, both from their sex and peculiarity of situation, lay particular claim to his protection; but how pride and prejudice, which form no inconsiderable features of his Lordship's character, may prompt him on the other hand to act, is doubtful. However, certain it is Mr. Benseley will not relinquish his title to be your sole director, unless my Lord engages to receive you as he ought.
I confess I am afraid this is a measure not likely to be taken: but we must patiently wait the event. From Mr. Howard we have likewise learnt some further particulars relative to our own

family. Though personally unacquainted with any of the individuals of it, he has seen several of them, and remembers well this dreadful affair being for several months the topic of universal discussion. How little, said he, did I afterwards suspect my friend, Mr. Seymour, to be the man whose fate had occasioned such various reports and conjectures. Most people, it seems, believed him dead of the illness which had followed the discovery: and this rumour was probably spread, or at least tacitly confirmed by his friends; who must have regarded it as the most likely means of putting a speedy termination to all curiosity and speculation on the subject.
You may believe both Fanny and I anxiously enquired if any intelligence relating to the unfortunate Lady Linrose had ever come to his knowledge. Mr. Howard said, that all he knew

was from general report only; but a story which had excited so strongly the attention of the public, could scarcely be concealed in any of its particulars. Lady Linrose recovered her intellects, he said, (alas! in such circumstances, the return of reason can hardly be called a blessing); but after the severe shock she had received, finding herself unfit for society, she had left England and fixed her abode in the most private manner abroad. Mr. Howard next informed us, that my uncle, whom he had often occasionally seen, had been thoroughly reinstated, to all appearance, in my grandfather's favour; that he had two sons, and he believed two if not three daughters, and that in them Lord Belmont's affections were said to be as entirely centred as his wealth must necessarily be at his decease.
This part of the family then, you may believe, will not look with eyes of

partiality on those who have some little claim to share in what they may have conceived to be solely their own: at least that is not an unnatural conclusion, and I have drawn it from a hint which, Mr. Howard let drop with regard to my aunt, the present Lady Linrose, whom it appears he has heard accused of a very avaricious disposition. Unwilling, however, to prejudice us against so near a relation, he afterwards endeavoured to palliate what seemed to have fallen from him through a friendly apprehension that she might not be much rejoiced at our appearance and pretensions.
He even knows we expect, we wish for nothing. Contented with what my father has bequeathed us, thankfully would we relinquish every further claim, only to be considered as Lord Belmont's children, and favoured with his countenance. Fanny, however, who is following

my pen, exclaims against this moderation, as she calls it, and protests she never will consent to the proposal. After having been so long buried in solitude she longs, she says, to make some figure in the world, (I give you her own words) to which our birth certainly entitles us; and far from being contented with the mere notice of our family, she shall not think that Lord Belmont acts up to his character of rigid honour if he does not in all respects place us on a footing with our cousins.
However my wishes with regard to society may have at times coincided with Fanny's, yet I never could perfectly comprehend what delight figuring in the world, as she calls it, was likely to bestow. Most women, I believe, though educated in the most sequestered solitude, may comprehend with ease the gratification resulting from the devoirs of the agreeable part of the other sex; for this

vanity is probably inherent in our natures, and forms a part of our original construction; but habit has made retirement not only agreeable, but so entirely to my taste, that if ever I have it in my power to choose my own way of life, I shall undoubtedly fix in the country; where I would indeed wish my abode to be occasionally enlivened by the company and conversation of a few amiable people of both sexes, (an advantage which we have been almost totally deprived of hitherto); but no enjoyment can I conceive in a promiscuous intercourse, in which the heart has no share.
My ideas of life (is not that your phraze my Sophia? who was ever much offended at the seclusion in which we were retained), have been imbibed wholly from my dear father, who indeed found it a path strewed with briars, and who, to render us contented with the plan he had adopted, laboured to

represent the world in its least alluring point of view, as fraught with snares, treachery, and crimes, where innocence was continually exposed to danger, and where friendship was almost unknown. That I have not given implicit faith to this account is entirely owing to my Sophia's livelier picture of society; who, placed in a happier sphere, feels not nor dreaded the evils which have been perpetually placed before our eyes. The two years I spent in the convent, (the remembrance of which I ever bless, as it first introduced to my heart the knowledge of these soft, interesting, and endearing ties of friendship, which never, my Sophia, shall time or absence diminish) could not fail to assist my father's wishes on this head.
Is it not singular, however, that having been fostered by the same hand, and reared on the same plan, Fanny's ideas and mine should prove so little similar;

and that the prospect of leaving France and changing our mode of life, should operate so differently on our minds. What in her gives spirit to every motion, and life to every look, fills my eyes with tears, and my heart with despondency and alarm.
Oh! my Sophia, my dearest friend, your continued affection alone sustains me under the troubles which at present oppress my heart; and your journal is, after heaven, my chief, indeed my only consolation! Although all chance of meeting seems at present as distant as ever, I endeavour to support my sinking spirits with the hope that perhaps this blessing may be in wait for me sooner than I expect; and that though the public capacity in which your father acts at Naples, must render that court his usual residence, yet that unforeseen events may oblige him to visit England, which fate seems to have determined shall, be the

abode of our future days, and in which place, since the death of your aunt, I begin to imagine there is infinitely greater probability of seeing you than at B—, where you now possess no longer that venerable relation to induce your father to re-visit our neighbourhood.
OCT. 6.
I promise you faithfully, my dear, to write as you desire, minutely and sincerely, every event of my life, in the same style of journalizing which we have continued so long. With what trifling occurrences have my epistles hitherto been filled: the scene now begins to grow more interesting; Heaven grant that those which follow may be unmarked with any thing extraordinary. The marvellous ever produces agitation, and I am born (constitutionally at least) for

spending my days in what you would call an insipid tranquillity. It is only for tempers like my Sophia's to live in a court and enjoy its bustle; such as mine, are calculated only for the smooth unruffled paths of life. Fanny partakes so much of your turn of mind in this particular, that she is quite elated with all the, chimeras of a gay imagination; perpetually representing to herself in the liveliest colours the endless enjoyments of birth, affluence, and admiration: alas! never once does it occur to her the sad stigma which has deprived her of these advantages hitherto, and which must ever cast a cloud over them in future.
Adieu, my dear. I have an opportunity by a private hand of conveying to you this immense packet. 'Tis a friend of Mr. Howard's, who sets out for Naples from Marseilles in a few days. Oh how I envy the happy mortal who delivers it to my Sophia.
H. SEYMOUR.


P. S.
I have opened my packet to add a few words more. We have just received a second letter from our worthy guardian, who informs us of a very melancholy event—the death of our uncle, my father's younger brother. Alas! what severe wounds has Lord Belmont lived to endure! Heaven in mercy grant that I survive not those I passionately love; rather, ah! infinitely rather, may it please his gracious Providence to take me early in life to himself. Yet is not this a selfish wish? What is it indeed but desiring that my sufferings should be abridged at the expense of the feelings of my friends.


 TO MISS BEAUMONT.
OCT. 9.
YOU ask me several questions in your letter, which the number of informations I have had to give you, together with the many conjectures and reflections which our present situation naturally inspires, have, by engrossing my pen, prevented me from answering: for as I am yet but weak, I am able to write but little at a time, though chatting with you is the only employment that interests me. I now sit down therefore to answer your queries.
You ask me to tell you, in the first

place, what sort of man this Mr. Howard is, whom I have dignified so often with the epithets of amiable and worthy? you desire me to acquaint you with the following particulars, viz. his age, fortune, manners, and appearance; and mean while you tell me you offer up your prayers for his turning out young, handsome, rich, and agreeable; and last of all that he may possess un coeur tendre, in which case it must be out of nature, you say, for the youth to have spent near three months under the same roof with two such girls without becoming a slave to the charms of one of them.
I am somewhat afraid that Mr. Howard has really proved this same unnatural being: although he certainly is blessed with a very tender heart, and seems besides to have been prejudiced in our favour from the commencement of our acquaintance, which was produced by an accident, of which I am going to inform

you, since I have neglected my accustomed minuteness in this particular.
My father one evening, about three years ago, walking in the woods of B—, perceived a very fine horse, saddled, with all its accoutrements, grazing, with the bridle impending from its neck, without any appearance of an owner or attendant being near. Struck with the apprehension that he had probably thrown his master, my father traversed the different paths of the forest, in order to give him assistance in case it was required, and soon was led, by the sound of dismal groans, to the spot where the unfortunate traveller lay, supported by a footman, who was endeavouring, by his master's orders, to pull his arm into joint, which had been dislocated by his fall.
My father addressing himself to the stranger, who proved to be an Englishman, (a circumstance that perhaps gave

force to his natural humanity and benevolence) informed him that his house was but a quarter of a league distant, and requested he would suffer himself to be removed to it, where a surgeon could be soon procured to set the bone.
Mr. Howard, for he it was, after thanking my father for his fortunate assistance, gratefully accepted the offer, and sent his servant, by my father's desire, to order a carriage to convey him to the house, while another messenger was dispatched from B— for a neighbouring surgeon. The operation was happily performed, and I exerted myself (Fanny being then at the convent) to render the habitation of the poor invalid as comfortable as his situation would permit. He was soon able to quit his apartment, and loaded us with acknowledgments for this accidental service; and my father, who rarely admitted company at B—, found himself insensibly

attached to our new acquaintance, and forgot his determination of flying the sight of his own countrymen in favour of Mr. Howard, who on his part soon conceived the warmest friendship for him.
He acquainted us that bad health had obliged him to try the waters of Barrege; and never having visited the Continent before, he intended, finding himself perfectly recovered, to make the tour of France and Italy before his return to England. He politely added, that he never should regret the interruption his plan had received from this accident, since it had been productive of an intimacy that had given him so much satisfaction.
My father's persuasions prevailed with him to lengthen his stay for several weeks after his confinement was at an end; and indeed he proved a most agreeable acquisition to our family party. He then departed, having faithfully promised on

his return to take B—in his way; and after an absence of a year and eight months, he fulfilled his intention, and had been for some time our guest when my dear father was taken from us.
As to his character, our helpless situation has developed it to us in the most amiable point of view. Steady and sincere in his attachment to my father, it has been productive of kindness and attention to us, beyond what we could have hoped for or claimed from so late an acquaintance: yet his friendship is testified by actions, not by protestations; for the modesty of Mr. Howard's nature is such, that our expressions of gratitude never fail to embarrass and distress him; and he seems to regard the trouble he receives, as a trust, the faithful discharge of which is a duty too indispensable to appear meritorious.
His countenance—(you see I go regularly through the list of your interrogatories)

—without being what one can pronounce handsome, is sensible, manly, and interesting, with an air of mildness which prepossesses you at first sight in his favour, and an expression which of all others is the most desirable—the look of a worthy honest character. He would possess also much the appearance of a man of fashion, or rather of a man who has been accustomed to elegant and polished society, did not a certain degree of diffidence and modesty show that he made not the grand tour early enough in life to acquire that ease which an introduction into foreign company at a youthful period generally bestows: but on this head I can only judge from comparing him with some of the Parisian beaux who occasionally frequented the chateau de Clarence, and who, however inferior to Mr. Howard in point of understanding, I must acknowledge were his superiors in address.

Fortune has been, alas! as sparing as nature seems to have been prodigal of her gifts. Her avarice is by no means apparent in the figure Mr. Howard makes in this country; but he confessed to my father that frugality alone enabled him to conceal it. As to his age—(pray do you imagine that my father would have consigned us to the care of a man of five and twenty?) Mr. Howard adds, I dare say, twenty years more to that gay season of life. Time has not, it is true, imprinted any traces in his face which one could wish spared, for they denote benevolence rather than years: he looks considerably younger than he is; and retains that spirit in his eye which in his youth would have been probably termed fire, though blended with infinite sweetness. Thus our guardian, you find, is not a giddy insinuating youth, who might have one day made Fanny and I pull caps; but in fact a plain, worthy, middle-aged

man, whose attachment is that of a parent not of an admirer.
I will freely confess to you however I have sometimes been led to suspect, from, his behaviour, that he wished to render himself particularly agreeable to me, and that he originally distinguished me beyond my sister; perhaps this was the mere suggestions of secret vanity: if so, it was however an error which I by no means wished realized; for so much apprehension did it give me, that I could not help avoiding his company; and when in it, my manner uniformly testified coldness and reserve, from the apprehension that my father, (who always confessed that he could not insure the protection of his family after his death, tho' all other particulars he carefully centred in his own bosom) might be induced to overlook the difference of years from the partiality he entertained for his friend, and might use all his influence to prevail

with me to accept of a legal protection in that unfriended state to which his decease was ever liable •o reduce us
I now however condemn this absurd fancy, which I almost blush to confess to you, and which I perceive to have been merely a chimera of my own brain, adopted God knows how, for I think his preference is plainly in my sister's favour, whose innocence and simplicity of manners appear to have warmly interested him. During my illness, on Mr. Howard Fanny naturally relied for support, as she had no other to whom she could fly; and his tender, compassionate attention seems to have cemented a sort of attachment between them; in her mere gratitude alone, and in him the kindness of a guardian—a penchant which from that gentleman's time of life and prudence can never be supposed to disturb the tranquillity of either party, but

which probably adds some strength to his kind activity in our affairs.
As to money matters, about which in your last you are so kindly anxious, I really understand very little of them; but Mr. Benseley, who has ever had the management of all pecuniary business hitherto, undertakes to continue the charge. There is, I believe, the sum of twenty thousand pounds in the English funds, and above two hundred pistoles were found in my father's cabinet for present use. Debts there are none, beyond what a few Louis will discharge; so that you, see we are secured in affluence, and independence is my utmost wish.
You ask me, Sophia, how Fanny, who was a pretty girl of thirteen when you last saw her, has turned out in point of beauty? When she used to visit us in the convent she was a sweet looking child in a stay coat, and I believe you have not since seen her: she is now quite formed;

and though not much, grown, for she is not tall, is extremely improved both in face and form. Her little clumsy figure has shot up, and she retains only an agreeable degree of en bon point, which it would not perhaps be an advantage for her to lose even for a finer shape. Her complexion is her principal charm, and that is much refined since you saw her, for her features are more pleasing than regular. I remember you used to admire her blue eyes, and chestnut hair; but if any thing in her face deserves the pre-eminence, it is her teeth, which are exceedingly beautiful; and she still preserves that expression of sweetness and timidity which renders her appearance feminine and interesting.
She was extremely admired during our last visit at the chateau, and was not a little gratified with the notice she excited from several young men of fashion; the first time in her life that she had ever

been the object of the attentions of the other sex. After our return home, I could not help remarking that she complained of our seclusion with a vexation which was not however of above one day's continuance, but which had been prompted entirely by the young Chevalier, de Merville's conversation, who had represented it to her as the height of cruelty and injustice in my father, and little better than being buried alive.
Perhaps I myself, misled by vanity excited in a similar manner by the flattery of our Parisian beaux, suffered a momentary regret for being deprived of so many gay amusements, the attractions of which were painted in glowing colours by all who had enjoyed them. Alas! my heart is now thoroughly sensible of the folly of its wishes. In the season of affliction our eyes are opened to the vanity of such fallacious ideas. What would I now give to be placed in the

very situation which in those moments I regretted. Blessed with my father's society, to no other would I aspire; and delighted would I look forward to the prospect of spending my future days for ever at B—. How wisely then did our dear parent judge in detaining us so constantly with him. Our minds, I now perceive, were unequal to the temptation of mixing with the world untainted by a desire for its follies, and never should we have felt a regret, transient as it was, on returning to a home enlivened with his presence, had not his indulgence allowed us to join the gay party at the chateau.
I feel my strength so greatly amended, that I think of removing to Madame de Clarence's in a few days. It is but two leagues distant: and severe as leaving B— must prove, that event is ever before my eyes; and since I am now able for it, the sooner it is over the better.

Mr. Howard will remain some time behind us; having kindly undertaken to settle every thing previous to our journey, in which he is himself to accompany us. How fortunate it is for us that he returns at this juncture to England, and what a blessing from Providence was this worthy friend's visit to B—. What else could two unprotected girls have done, totally unacquainted with such transactions, ignorant of the world, and unused even in trifles to act for themselves. We must have been entirely dependant in this case upon Madam de Clarence; who, though extremely kind, might have regarded the charge as rather too great a burden for us to impose.
OCT. 18.
We yesterday bad adieu to our old

dwelling. How severely did I feel the pang of leaving it; and Fanny wept most bitterly at parting with our old domestics. Therese and Dubois have requested leave to attend us to England; and we must endeavour to requite their faithful attachment, which has prevailed with them to leave their own country. When the carriage drove down the avenue, I was almost suffocated with a variety of different sensations: the idea of our recent loss was so connected with every thing I left behind, that I felt as if the parting from my father had not till then completely taken place. A number of gloomy reflections assailed me likewise of another nature: we were embarking upon a dangerous and uncertain undertaking; we were going to venture on new scenes, new friends, and to a new country; where we were ignorant of the fate that might await us, and dreaded the reception we might receive.

Late as is the season for travelling, we shall spend a fortnight with Madame de Clarence, who gave us the warmest reception, and as she perceived I was weak, depressed, and unfit for company, kindly insisted that I should take immediate possession of the apartment allotted me, where I indulged alone in many mournful reflections most part of the day; for I would not allow poor Fanny to attend me while there was a gay party below, though the dear girl left the saloon every quarter of an hour to enquire for me; equally divided between her anxiety on my account and the pleasing novelty of every thing that surrounded her.
On her part, the sad solemnity of quitting B— had made her cry most of the way hither; but the cheerful air that reigns here, and the kindness which her youthful manners and appearance excited from all the company, have

chased away the vapours that hung over her.
Having no excuse to absent myself longer, I joined the company this day at breakfast, and was introduced by Madame de Clarence to her friends. These consist of an English lady, who has taken up her-residence for some months past in the town of V—, a very lively agreeable little woman of about thirty two; and the Chevalier de Mertane and his brother, two young men of splendid fortunes, nearly related to Monsieur de Clarence.
OCT. 19.
Mrs. Weldon, the English lady, possesses a flow of spirits, which, were mine able to keep pace with hers, would amuse me extremely. She appears to have taken a strong partiality for Fanny,

and told her to-day what a world of conquests such a figure as hers must gain in London. Fanny, on her part, was, as you may believe, willing enough to give credit to the flattering compliments, and almost immediately after asked me in a whisper if I did not think Mrs. Weldon the most agreeable woman in the world. I only answered by a smile, which Fanny perfectly understood, for she coloured while she laughed it off.
Mrs. Weldon afterwards attacked her on the gravity of my appearance. She seems never to have Known what grief or depression means. She did me the honour to say that she admired me extremely; but your sister, said she, totally wants, the desire of being thought handsome, which ever improves and often alone constitutes beauty in the eyes of the men. I was more gratified however with the defect she had remarked than with the approbation she expressed, however

injudicious the remark might be, for a certain degree of vanity in pleasing is I believe natural to all of us. As for the Chevalier, he is about twenty-five, and rather good-looking, but finical in the most absurd degree, and so attentive, that his politeness fatigues instead of ingratiates. If you but look round, he enquires with earnestness if there is any thing in which he can have the honour of serving you; if you move, he flies to execute your commands; at table, he teazes you with perpetual civilities, and stays at home with the ladies the whole morning to assist in holding their thread while they work, or to present his pair of scissors when required; in short he partakes so much of the female, that I cannot help wishing to see him dressed in petticoats.
He appears to have centred his whole ideas of happiness in the vanity of making himself agreeable to our sex:

a passion, which I am afraid the poor Chevalier can hardly ever find gratified, as his plan of pleasing is unfortunately founded on tormenting every one by unceasing assiduities. He absolutely stuns and overpowers one with compliments so outrè and absurd, that one is at a loss whether to laugh or be offended. Unluckily he appears to have singled me out for the object of his present importunities; and although I avoid him as much as is in my power, without being guilty of absolute rudeness, and almost never address my conversation to him, he contrives to engage my constant attention, and makes me such ridiculous speeches as attract the notice and often the mirth of the company, and put me extremely out of countenance. However, Madame de Clarence always talks of him, and behaves to him with particular regard: a respect which I should imagine is alone paid to his rank and immense

possessions. Mrs. Weldon sometimes cannot entirely conceal a little chagrin, at finding I engage an attention which, before my arrival she herself wholly engrossed. Yet it is impossible for any mortal to think the Chavalier agreeable: but those women who are guided by a spirit for coquetry, possess, I have been told, an appetite for praise, which devours applause and admiration without distinction, wherever it can be procured; and, if I do not judge hardly, I should suspect this to be in some measure the case with our lively English acquaintance, whose gaiety is not perfectly untinctured with a degree of levity which strikes me as rather bordering on impropriety: but I am myself so ignorant of the freedom that custom authorises widows of a certain age to take, that I ought not to decide so unfavourably upon her behaviour, especially on so short an acquaintance.

OCT. 28.
Yesterday produced an event that has proved extremely disagreeable. A party in the morning was proposed, to ramble through the woods, which have not yet lost their beauty; it consisted of the Chevalier, Fanny, myself, and Mrs. Weldon; who, piqued at the Chevalier's neglect, (if such a phrase was ever before used by a Lady to the obsequious Chevalier), revenged herself by lavishing all her attentions on his brother, a weak but unassuming youth of twenty, who also attended us.
We soon reached a narrow path in the wood; which allowing only of two walking abreast, the Chevalier, who never quitted my side, and has been for some days past more insupportable than ever, contrived to detain me a little behind

the rest under pretence of pointing out to me an opening through the trees, which conveys a most delightful prospect: he then suddenly, in a low voice, besought me to listen to the most ardent, most tormenting, and most sincere passion which had ever agitated the human breast; and launched out before I could enough recover my surprise to answer him, into such a strain of far-fetched expressions of torture, hope, anguish and despair, eternal misery and unspeakable transport, that had not the suddenness of this unexpected proposal confounded and embarrassed me, I should undoubtedly have had a difficulty in refraining from laughing in his face. Not well knowing what to reply, and not instantly recollecting myself sufficiently to remember that silence may in some cases be construed into approbation, I was redoubling my pace to

join the company, when he seized my hand to detain me, and kissed it with a violence that excited a disgust: so forcible, as enabled me to find instantly the use of my speech, and on his repeating these words—"There can be only one objection, my adorable Mademoiselle; but I hope you are not obstinate in the errors of your persuasion?"
I made haste to assure him there were innumerable obstacles, independent of the insuperable one at which he hinted; and that as they were all equally unsurmountable, I entreated he would mention the subject no more.
Such a profusion of protestations, accompanied with confused and hasty common-place arguments in favour of the Catholic Church, followed, that I almost ran, in my eagerness to get rid of him, and taking hold of Mrs. Weldon's arm, he was constrained to be silent; the only time he has been so one

quarter of an hour together ever since our arrival here.
Mrs. Weldon observing his unusual taciturnity, rallied him on it without mercy; and asking him if I had been inexorable during our tete-à-tete, laughed so violently at his mortified countenance and hesitating answers, that the poor Chevalier even blushed; as for me, I was so extremely indifferent, that this subject, too delicate for a hint had another object been concerned, hardly embarrassed me; but Mrs. Weldon, perceiving that her teasing had all the effect she could wish, did not spare the Chevalier during the whole day.
OCT. 3O.
This morning Madam de Clarence, during breakfast, whispered me that she wished to talk with me alone; and as

soon as it was over led me to her dressing room, where she informed me, that the Chevalier de Mertane had applied to her on the subject of his passion.
I have observed with pleasure, said she, his growing attachment ever since your first arrival, and have inclined to give the Chevalier all opportunities of manifesting it to you, from the hope that an union so desirable and in every respect so honourable, may fix my dearest Hermione for ever in the country which has been so long her residence, and which she ought to consider as her own: how then was I hurt and disappointed, when he last night informed me of the success his first declaration had met with. But I know your objection my dear, continued she, perceiving I was going to interrupt her; but that objection is not insuperable, and indeed is my principal motive for promoting this alliance. I can easily

enter into your feelings, prejudiced as you must be in favour of the persuasion in which you have been educated, nor will I suppose for a moment that any advantages of worldly prosperity could induce you to hazard, on this account alone, a perversion of principles; all I hope from this proposal of the Chevalier's is, that you will allow some of the worthy and learned fathers of the church to converse with you on the subject of religion, that you will hear their arguments in favour of the great truths of the Catholic faith, which carry instant conviction as soon as they are brought into light, and which in a mind so young, so candid, and unbiased as yours, cannot fail of subduing all your scruples, and determining you to place implicit trust in them.
After expressing my gratitude to Madame de Clarence for the kind importunity and warmth with which she interested herself in my spiritual as well as

temporal welfare, I assured her, in the most determined manner, that I was firmly and unalterably resolved to adhere to the Protestant religion. It was a religion, I said, which admitted to my mind neither doubt nor scruples: it had been my support in affliction, and was the anchor to which I leant for trust in every succeeding event of my life; and I added, that were this point entirely out of the question, the Chevalier's proposal, generous and disinterested as it was, would have met with the same reception.
Various were the pleas, arguments, and entreaties, used by this worthy friend to induce me to comply with her wish of admitting her confessor to converse with me on the subject; but I firmly and determinedly opposed it. This is a step Madam, said I, against which my father has particularly cautioned me, and to which I hope you will not think me

ungratefully obstinate if I protest I never willingly shall submit.
Obstinate, you force me to pronounce you, cried she with some heat, and in all respects unaccountable. What reasonable aversion can you have on the other hand to the Chevalier? perhaps you think he has been too presuming in confessing his wishes so early: but consider, he finds himself just on the eve of losing you, perhaps for ever. Your intended journey has accelerated his proposals; and they are of a nature that well deserve to be considered. He is of a noble family, splendid fortune, master of himself, and tenderly attached to you. Perhaps there may be some little errors in his manner which you might wish corrected; but they are the result of good nature, and of a wish to please: perhaps too you may imagine, and with reason, that his understanding is inferior to your own; but when you have

lived as long in the world and beheld as much of mankind as I have done, you will find this disadvantage greatly overbalanced by many other circumstances in favour of this alliance—circumstances on which I have as yet but lightly touched.
I answered Madame de Clarence with all the warmth of gratitude which the kind interest she takes in my concerns so well merits, but sincerely avowed that the Chevalier's little errors were such as blinded me to the advantages she had pointed out, and entreated that she would mention a subject no more, which very fortunately proved in all respects disagreeable to me; since the impediment of religion alone was a bar perfectly unfurmountable, even had I wished the union to take place.
Perhaps I spoke with a little too much heat; but my impatience had no effect on my amiable friend, who treated

all my arguments as the effusions of bigotry on the one hand, and of romance imbibed in retirement on the other. Finding all she said ineffectual, she distressed me extremely by calling in her husband to her assistance, who joined, out of mere good breedings to torment me, by representing this odious match as splendid and desirable in the highest degree. What! cried Madame de Clarence, to settle for life in England? a foreign—at least an unknown country; where you confess you have but distant relations to receive you, and no certainty of finding friends; and to leave France, where an establishment so brilliant awaits you, and where you have it in your power to engage for yourself and your sister an honourable protector in the married state?
At this last phrase, though extremely harrassed by their expostulations and hurt at appearing so absurdly refined, I

could not help laughing heartily; in which both Monsieur and his lady joined me, in spite of their utmost efforts to preserve their gravity. This convinced me, that their opinion of their relation, in spite of their warmth, was pretty much on a footing with my own: indeed, the thoughts of the Chevalier and protection, were two ideas which could not possibly be associated without exciting an inclination to smile, for his appearance is beyond measure effeminate and insignificant.
Seeing me quite immovable in my determination, they at last gave over their importunities; which proceeding from disinterested friendship, at once gratified and oppressed me.
NOV. 1.
Mr. Howard, who is well acquainted

with the family here, paid us this day a visit from B—. Fanny and I rejoiced to see him. He tells us that he has entirely finished all the business which has hitherto detained him there, and adds, that if we have no particular design of protracting our stay, he thinks we ought no longer to delay setting off, as the season is far advanced, and most of our baggage is already on its way. We agreed with him as to the necessity of our immediate departure; and in spite of our worthy friends entreaties, have fixed on the 5th, when we shall bid adieu to the hospitable chateau.
NOV. 2.
Yesterday Madame de Clarence, who is steady in her opinion that my everlasting good is intimately connected with my change of principles, and regards it

as a duty indispensable to leave no means untried to convert me, entreated me to allow her confessor, a venerable old man, who dined with us, and who I suppose had been invited for the purpose, to converse with me in private on the subject of religion, but I excused myself, though not without difficulty; and as there was a large company of visitors, by attaching myself to several ladies and gentlemen, the poor priest could not find me one instant disengaged the whole day.
NOV. 3.
The poor Chevalier!—I really think, I ought to be sorry for him. My continued coldness, and visible endeavours to avoid him, have at length had the desired effect: he even no longer teizes me with entreaties; but finding that those

with which for a day or two he incessantly tormented me have gained nothing but increased reserve and constant disregard, he is now labouring to try if offended pride or pique will be of service to his cause; and lavishes all his attentions on Mrs. Weldon, who on her part receives them with an air of exultation and triumph but ill concealed.
I fancy he hardly expected a refusal so mortifying from an inconsiderate country girl, whose alliance could neither reflect lustre nor importance on his family; and really, according to the prevailing opinions of this quarter of the world, I cannot but admire the disinterestedness of the Chevalier's proposal, however disagreeable it has proved in other respects: for a marriage made without eclat, high connections, and splendour, I find, by Madame de Clarence, is regarded by the enlightened part of the world as a weakness and

folly, which subject those who are influenced to adopt them to much ridicule and reproach: and those, you may believe, who from an absurd refinement reject such fortunate contingencies when they present themselves, are laid open to censure ten times keener and more poignant.
NOV. 4.
The behaviour of the lively widow really confounds me. I, who am new to the world, and unacquainted with its customs, can no way reconcile myself to that levity which her behaviour, tho' sprightly and pleasing, so strongly indicates: yet there is something so insinuating in her address, that one loves and blames her in the same moment.
Mr. Howard has written me a line today, intimating that he will be here

to-morrow evening, and on the morning after we are to depart. He has received, he tells me, another letter from Mr. Benseley, expressing the utmost impatience for our arrival.
Adieu! my beloved friend; I shall not find opportunity to continue my journal regularly till we are actually in England; do not therefore expect another packet to follow so soon as usual, though I well know your kind anxiety will induce you to be more desirous of it than ever. This long, long journey! with what a weight does its oppress me! Would it were a joyful undertaking, or an event that promised comfort or pleasure; but our prospects are at best unsatisfactory, and their issue wrapt in dark obscurity. Farewell my dear Sophia.
H. SEYMOUR.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
DOVER, NOV. 29,—.
WE have accomplished our journey so far, though not without having experienced the perils and alarms incident to travellers. The weather, till our arrival at Calais, was delightful for the season, and our journey on the whole infinitely more agreeable, from the beauty and variety of the scenes which so rapidly shifted before our eyes, than I could possibly have expected. You may believe, my love, it was not without a bitter pang that we bad adieu to Languedoc, and quitted, probably for ever, the abode

of our early days; poor Madame de Clarence too mingled her tears with ours at parting, and charged us to remember her as a friend who should ever prove warmly and deeply interested in our happiness.
When we arrived at Calais, Fanny having been affected with a slight cold, attended by a sore throat, Mr. Howard insisted on our remaining a day or two there, before we ventured on the water; and when we were ready to depart, we found no little difficulty in procuring a vessel, as, owing to adverse winds, they were all detained on the opposite shore, one excepted, which with some trouble Mr. Howard at length procured. Soon after, as we were preparing to get on board, our landlord entered, and informed us that a gentleman was that moment arrived, who had travelled from Paris with the utmost expedition, and was in extreme haste to get over to England,

where business of real moment required his presence, but that the circumstance before mentioned must unavoidably detain him at Calais, unless we thought proper to offer him a conveyance in our vessel.
On this information Mr. Howard desired the landlord to present his best respects to the gentleman, and to acquaint him that we were about to depart immediately, and that if it was agreeable to him to accompany us, we should be extremely happy to accommodate him and his attendants. The gentleman was then introduced by our host, and expressed his thanks to us in the most polite manner, and without further delay we all went on board.
We had scarce quitted Calais, when it began to blow with tremendous violence, and from a quarter that equally opposed our getting to Dover or regaining the harbour we had just quitted,

which the seamen anxiously, tho' without success, laboured to effect. Mr. Howard and our fellow traveller exerted themselves to mitigate our apprehensions; assuring us, that as the vessel was in good condition, and had many able hands on board, our fears greatly magnified the danger. A new alarm however soon after occurred which rendered our situation seriously critical: some part of the apparatus of the pump was found defective; and a leak having been discovered, the water began to make way very rapidly. Upon this information, the countenances of our comforters betrayed a sudden though but a momentary anxiety that wholly bereaved us of that support which their apparent ease and indifference had hitherto in some measure afforded us. Fanny, almost distracted, threw herself into the arms of Mr. Howard, as if for protection, and I, whose dismay, though not less severe was less audible, sat silently

offering up my prayers to heaven with a resolute composure, the mere effects of hopeless despair, every moment expecting to be swallowed up in one of the frightful waves which were rising like mountains on all sides.
Mr. Howard being occupied in vainly endeavouring to moderate Fanny's terrors, and our stranger companion gone to examine into the nature of our alarm, I was in a manner left to my own reflections: and at length throwing my arms about my poor Fanny, who reclined her head almost lifeless upon Mr. Howard's shoulder—We are but going to rejoin our dear father, my love, cried I, nor is there any thing so very frightful in the idea. The Almighty might have been infinitely less merciful in his dispensations. We shall expire together, and at the same instant: one miserable survivor will not be preserved to mourn in a foreign country her irreparable loss; where

not a pitying friend might be found to console her under the severity of affliction.
Affected by these words, our fellow traveller, whose return I had not perceived, besought me in the most respectful manner to allow him the honour of assisting me; and throwing his arm round me, supported me as I sat, as far as was in his power, from the disagreeable effects of the incessant rolling of the vessel. Stupified by fear, I attended only to my dear Fanny, who had turned and locked herself in my embraces, and whom I laboured by various arguments to inspire with that fortitude and resignation which religion can alone dispense in a moment so replete with horror. No moment could indeed prove more dreadful. The oaths and execrations of one half of the seamen, whose profanity seemed too habitual to desert them even on this awful occasion; the utter despondency of the

other, and the dismay of all our attendants, produced on the whole a scene of terror and confusion, on which I cannot reflect without horror inexpressible.
Mr. Howard and our fellow traveller were the only persons on board who at this critical juncture preserved their usual composure. The danger, however extreme and immediate, could neither distract their attentions nor wholly absorb their cares; while the former employed himself unceasingly to support the exhausted spirits of my sister, the latter seemed to consider me as his peculiar charge; and his conversation, at once soothing, spirited, and insinuating, insensibly fortified my courage, and strengthened my mind.
Gratified by the generous exertions made to sustain my drooping fortitude, I at length turned round to regard the person to whom I considered myself as so particularly indebted, and was not a little astonished to perceive, in the deportment

of this unknown young man, a striking and peculiar elegance, and in his countenance an interesting intelligence, which I was amazed I had not before more particularly distinguished.
The serenity of his aspect at that formidable instant struck me so forcibly, that I involuntarily exclaimed—oh with what superior resolution must God Almighty have endowed men, if you, Sir, are really as unconcerned as you appear at this tremendous moment.
I believe this sally made him smile. Madam, said he, I have ever been of opinion that in natural courage the ladies are infinitely our superiors. It must be owned, perhaps, that men are not quite so ingenious in apprehending or in foreseeing evil at a distance; but when it actually arrives, we seldom support its bitterness with more genuine greatness of mind than the gentler sex often testify in the most arduous and painful circumstances.

The composure and resolution, added he, which I have just been contemplating has but confirmed this idea, and augmented my admiration of female fortitude.
As he pronounced these words, the sailors gave a loud huzza on having at length effected the re-adjustment of the pump. Fanny, unused to such rude demonstrations of joy, imagined all was over, and that we were instantly going to the bottom; but Mr. Howard and our companion soon relieved her fears, by congratulating us on the safety which this transaction indicated, and as the storm now began to abate considerably, our apprehensions were less distressing. Still however it blew from an unfavourable point, and the master told us he had no hopes of gaining Dover till next morning; but the security of which he assured us made us consider that delay as of little moment; and with revived

spirits my sister and I entered into conversation with Mr. Howard and our agreeable new acquaintance, to whose compassionate support I owed in a great measure the composure for which he so eagerly applauded me.
I now had leisure to observe him, and found, that prepossessing as had been his figure on a cursory view, it lost nothing of my admiration from being more minutely considered. He seemed about twenty four, and I think I never beheld a countenance that possessed so large a portion of that expression, to which, from inability otherwise to define it, is usually given the appellation of je ne sçai quoi.
Mr. Howard was delighted with his conversation, which seemed the result of a mind cultivated and enlightened, joined to an extensive knowledge of the world. The circumstances of our situation entirely discarded the formalities of a recent introduction, and seemed to pave

the way for intimacy. We conversed as old friends, who had been unexpectedly preserved by the mercy of Providence: nor did it, I believe, once occur to any of the party, till we had actually landed on shore, that this agreeable stranger was but the acquaintance of a night, and that we were even ignorant of his name.
Mr. Howard invited him to breakfast with us at the inn, where we did not arrive till eleven in the morning; and he accepted it with evident marks of pleasure. A slight refreshment was then brought in: of which, exhausted and fatigued as we were, my sister and I were unable to partake, and we all soon after retired to rest, which was, you may conjecture, extremely requisite. A few hours however sufficed to refresh us; and awaking about six in the evening, we immediately arose, and on entering the parlour found the gentlemen impatiently expecting us to dinner.

After many obliging enquiries, and hoping that we had not suffered from our fears and fatigues—I have been acknowledging to Mr. Howard, said our fellow traveller, both a failure in gallantry and a degree of selfishness which may in all probability subject me to the mortification of your censure; but it must be owned, notwithstanding the danger you two ladies were exposed to and the severe apprehensions you underwent, for which I think none could feel more poignantly than I myself did, that it will never be in my power to reflect on that night without experiencing the most lively emotions of pleasure at the recollection; since it has procured me the honour of an acquaintance which I shall ever regard as one of the most fortunate events of my life.
To this compliment, too flattering for a reply, we could only answer by an inclination of our heads. Whether we

all prized our existence the more for having been so lately on the point of losing it I know not, but our recent danger certainly bestowed an additional relish on our present security, and gave such a lightness to our hearts, as put all ceremony and constraint at defiance. My mind had not, ever since our irreparable loss, felt so unburthened either from painful recollections or anticipated evils as it then did, and in blessing heaven for our safety I did not fail to lift up my soul in thankfulness that I was enabled to enjoy it from a flow of spirits which have been long a stranger to my bosom.
Our agreeable companion partook of our gaiety; and joined in the conversation with a polite vivacity which animated and supported it. Ah! thought I, more than once during the evening, were all the English as amiable and accomplished as this specimen seems to

indicate, little should I regret that fate has condemned me to reside among them.
You may believe, Sophia, we were all not a little desirous of knowing the name of a person whose address and appearance had prepossessed us so strongly in his favour, and with whom we had been conversing for hours on a footing of intimacy. He had greatly the advantage of us in this particular, had his curiosity been equally excited; for hearing Mr. Howard, my sister, and myself, mutually name each other, he was enabled to give us our proper appellations of distinction, while all we could discover in regard to him was, what occasionally dropped from him in the course of conversation, and that went no further than to inform us that he had been several years abroad, which time he had spent in residing at the different courts of Europe, where he appeared intimately acquainted with several characters of eminence

not wholly unknown to Mr. Howard.
When Fanny and I got up to retire for the night, he approached to take leave of us, saying that family affairs required him to hasten his departure; but the happiness of your company, said he, has made me steal a few hours from my journey: but may I be allowed to flatter myself that you will permit me the favour of enquiring after your healths in town, where I hope to be in a short time. I confess the boldness of this request may justly induce you to accuse me of temerity; but after the good fortune fate has conferred in this introduction, I cannot prevail with myself to relinquish the unlooked for benefit that has been thrown in my way. May I then flatter myself you will favour me so far? We assured him we should be extremely happy to see him; and referred him to Mr. Howard for the knowledge

of our abode, which is unknown to ourselves. We are strangers and foreigners in England, said I, and shall certainly be much pleased to meet again with our first English acquaintance. We then wished him an agreeable journey, and left the room.
When we had retired, this unknown expressed in warm terms to Mr. Howard his wishes for improving this accidental acquaintance, made many polite offers of service, and discovered his name at parting by presenting him with a card, on which was written the following address—the Honourable Charles Roatsley, St. James's Square. He then set off in a carriage and four at half past two in the morning.
Mr. Howard has persuaded us to remain all this day at Dover, and perhaps tomorrow, in order to recruit our spirits after our fatigue, and I have acquiesced because my sister is rather indisposed; but the

day after we shall certainly pursue our journey. Adieu.
H. SEYMOUR.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
LONDON, DEC. 2, —.
OH! my Sophia, how unfortunate have we been! Our friend, good Mr. Benseley is no more! he expired only two days ago of the gout, which had attacked his stomach, and here are we in London, this immense overgrown city, without one single human being, Mr. Howard excepted, who has the most distant interest in us, or probably knows of our existence.

Oh! what a burden must we prove to that worthy man's mind, and how little claim, except from his friendship to my father, have we to give him so much trouble.
This unfortunate and unforeseen calamity has overwhelmed us with affliction. It has broken all our measures, and interrupted all our plans. We feel as in a desert. This is indeed solitude, to be without friends and without protection, except what we receive from the kindness of compassion.
Mr. Howard this morning (for we got hither last night, but unwilling to disturb Mr. Benseley's sober family at so late an hour, procured very good lodgings in a neighbouring street) went himself to inform our worthy guardian of the arrival of his guests. You may easily conclude how much shocked he was on being informed by the footman who attended at the door that Mr. Benseley had expired

on Monday last: he returned instantly in great perturbation to inform us of this dismal intelligence.
This is an accident extremely unfortunate, said he, as Mr. Benseley was undoubtedly the properest person to mediate between you and your grand father; but I hope natural affection will plead for his son's offspring so powerfully as to induce him immediately to take you under his own protection, in which case no material inconvenience will accrue from the loss.
Oh! in what unavoidable difficulties did your friendly kindness involve you, my dear Sir, cried I, when you undertook so troublesome a charge as we must prove.
Talk not to me in this style, my dear Miss Seymour, cried he, interrupting me —the trifling assistance I had it in my power to offer you towards regulating your affairs at B—, was without a compliment

so greatly recompensed by the opportunity with which I was favoured of manifesting, however feebly, my friendship for your father, that it pains me to think you should imagine any thanks due to an occurrence which employed agreeably a little idle time that must otherwise have lain heavy and languid on my hands: as to the honour you did me in allowing me to attend you hither, it was a favour as well as a gratification for which my thanks instead of yours are due.
I believe that had Mr. Benseley's death taken place previous to your father's, he would have nominated me your guardian: as this event has followed, I owe it in duty to my deceased friend, as well as from my esteem for you, to take on me the care of your affairs; and as the first proof of your obedience, I exact an eternal silence on the subject, either of apology or gratitude. Let us consider

then, continued he in the same breath, to prevent our again interrupting him with apologies, what steps we ought next to pursue. I am of opinion that an application to Lord Belmont cannot too soon be made; and if I have your permission, shall undertake to write to him this very day.
We instantly closed with the proposal, and he directly left us to set about the task; in the success of which he seems as anxious, and as deeply interested, as if we were his most intimate connections and our lives depended on the issue. The happiness of our lives at least certainly hang on the event. Oh! my Sophia, think of our critical situation, and feel for the agitation of my mind at this moment. A few hours will decide all—will determine whether we are outcasts from our family, deserted and friendless, or received with tender emotion to the bosom of a parent, to whom, though

unknown, my heart glows with the warmest affection and most filial respect. My soul, melted by an eternal separation from one yet more dearly beloved, dissolves with the soft ideas which rush upon my mind. Imagination, never more busy than in the moments of agitation, perpetually represents some future scene of affecting delight, and while I weep the bitter loss of one father, I see myself every moment encircled in the arms of another —whom heaven yet preserves.
DEC. 3.
Fanny, whose heart is always full of soothing hopes, strives to recompense the disappointment we have suffered in the death of Mr. Benseley, by anticipating happiness under the protection of Lord Belmont; but the painful uncertainty of what may be his Lordship's

determination, is, alas! rendered more acute by delay. Mr. Howard went out yesterday immediately after dinner, intending himself to deliver the letter he had written.
The servant who opened the door, on being asked if his Lordship was at home, returned for answer that he was not expected till spring.
Is then my Lord in the country? said Mr. Howard.
No, Sir, he is still at Nice.
Mr. Howard was much disappointed at this information; and as he held the letter in his hand with a look of chagrin, the footman told him, that if he was anxious to have it sent safe he might leave it with his Lordship's steward, who lodged at present in the house, and who would take care to dispatch it with a proper direction. As he spoke these words, the steward himself passed the door; and hearing his name pronounced,

civilly advanced to know if Mr. Howard had any commands for Lord Belmont in which he could assist him, and asked him to walk into the parlour.
Mr. Howard seized this opportunity for making some further enquiries; and was informed, that my Lord being thought in a declining state of health, had been ordered by his physicians abroad; that he had been absent almost a twelvemonth, attended by his grand-son, the present Lord Linrose, who was likewise advised to try a warmer climate for the recovery of a cough, which was apprehended to be consumptive. The death of his father, the late Lord, the steward added, had induced the family to expect the immediate return both of Lord Linrose and his grand-father; but the last dispatches had entirely contradicted this idea, intimating that Lord Belmont had received such essential benefit from the salutary air of Nice, that he had determined

to continue there till his disorder was wholly removed; and that Lord Linrose dared not venture as yet braving a chilly winter in England.
Mr. Howard then returned to us, not a little hurt at the intelligence he was constrained to communicate. Oh, Sophia, how unfortunate! Had we been made sooner acquainted with these particulars, we might have remained in our peaceful retreat at B—, where, happy in the protection and friendship of Madame de Clarence, we must have enjoyed comfort and contentment; but poor Mr. Benseley's death is an evil we dreaded not; and bequeathed to his care, we were left no choice as to our residence.
Nothing can prove more delicate, more embarrassing, than our present situation. I am but ill versed, I own, in the customs which in this part of the world propriety prescribes; yet surely Mr. Howard, neither from age nor appearance,

can be deemed a proper protector, under the assumed appellation of guardian, for two young girls unfriended and unknown, particularly when he is himself conscious that he possesses not even that nominal title to remain constantly under the same roof with us. It must subject us to observation, and probably may even provoke censure; yet so tender is the point, that I should blush but to hint it to him.
DEC. 4.
Mr. Howard, after appearing very thoughtful most part of yesterday evening, made an apology for absenting himself for an hour or two, and left us.
We had indeed been extreme bad company. Fanny was sunk and disappointed. What a reverse from the gay chimeras that had taken possession of her

mind. Languid and dispirited, she had reclined, half asleep, upon a chair, leaving me to support a conversation with Mt. Howard which evidently interested neither party; but ashamed of the burden we are reduced to impose on that amiable man, and which (though from friendly anxiety alone) appeared to hang very heavily on his mind, I vainly exerted myself to appear in spirits in order to lighten his visible uneasiness, and affected to be unconscious that our situation was either so awkward or so uncomfortable as it in fact appeared to me.
The moment he was gone, however, my half suffocating emotions got vent; and suddenly giving way to the anguish that oppressed me, I threw my arms about my dearest Fanny's neck, and burst into a flood of tears, which flowed with profusion, from a variety of painful feelings.
Accustomed to the tender attentions

of paternal care, softened by the caresses and indulgence of paternal fondness, my heart felt—bitterly felt! the painful void of possessing none to whom I owed affection and duty—none from whom I could claim tenderness and regard.
Oh! my dearest Fanny! cried I, were we this instant to expire, who would shed one tear over us? My Sophia indeed, my kind, my affectionate Sophia, still remains to me; and possessed of such a friend, I ought not to repine: but who, in all this populous and extended country, (Mr. Howard excepted) were we to lay down our heads and die before another day returned, would pay us even a tribute of passing regret. Every one else is blessed with some tender relation who calls forth and returns the soothing sensations of interest and attachment, but we are unknown, unloved, and unconnected on the earth!
Having vented the first effusions of

my feelings, I grew more composed; and reproaching myself for this weak indulgence, which had severely affected my poor Fanny, who, naturally sanguine, was not disposed for such deep depression had I not set her an example of dejection, I dried my eyes and endeavoured all in my power to sooth and console her; but the task was not so easy as I had imagined. Grief and fear are often infectious; and I had pointed out the melancholy independence of our situation in terms so alarming as had intimidated and alarmed her. In attempting to give her comfort however I profitted by my own arguments, and began to perceive that we had not in fact that reason for despondency which the solitude of our situation had at first suggested. Letters would not be long in reaching Nice, and a short suspense would one way or other soon compose all our agitations.
These reflections produced a tolerable

degree of composure by the time Mr. Howard returned. I have been visiting my brother's family, said he, which I have not had an opportunity of doing till this evening, and have brought a message from his lady, requesting that you both would favour her with your company to-morrow to dinner. She intends to have the pleasure of waiting on you in the morning, and hopes to procure you some little amusement by attending you to whatever appears curious to strangers in this metropolis.
We gratefully accepted the proposal. He afterwards told us that he had been paying another visit to Lord Belmont's steward. He tells me, said he, that Lady Linrose is still at her seat in Northamptonshire, where she has resided constantly since her Lord's death, and I mean, should you approve of it, by only making a few alterations, to address the letter

to her Ladyship which was intended for my Lord.
Mean time, continued he, my sister in law will be delighted to have the favour of your company, not as occasional visitors only, but as inmates of her family. She entreated me with much earnestness to make this proposal to you; but I told her, although I felt a guardian's interest, I could not absolutely claim a guardian's authority, and must leave her to prevail with my charming wards by her own intercession when she is introduced to their acquaintance; I hope however you will find Mrs. Hindon's house so agreeable as may induce you to oblige her by making it your abode till you are otherwise settled to your satisfaction.
With how much delicacy was this proposal made. The compliment of such an offer from an utter stranger could not but have been suggested from Mr. Howard's

having represented in strong colours our helpless and unconnected situation. The idea hurts and mortifies me; yet we cannot but feel gratified by Mr. Howard's endeavours to persuade us to regard this civility as a favour conferred upon his sister instead of being received from her hands.
While we remain in this uncertainty, in order to guard against curiosity, I have requested Mr. Howard to conceal our real situation and connections except from his brother's family, to whom he promises to enjoin secrecy.
Mr. Howard's letter to Lady Linrose, briefly stating our situation and requesting her mediation with Lord Belmont, was sent off by this day's post. He tells her Ladyship that we are at present in London, where the accident of Mr. Benseley's death leaves us (in our grand father's absence) entirely dependant on her Ladyship, whose countenance we venture

to entreat, since we are unconscious of having in any way forfeited our right to the protection of our family; and whose good offices our friendless state leads us to solicit, as well from her benevolence and humanity as from the ties of consanguinity which subsist between us. It is directed to Northamptonshire, and we anxiously wait her Ladyship's reply.
Mrs. Hindon was so kind as to breakfast with us this morning, accompanied by her husband. She is a little plump woman, between thirty and forty, whose countenance is by no means plain, but whose address is far from possessing either polish or grace. What her manners wanted in elegance was however fully made up by kindness and attention. She overwhelmed both Fanny and me with expressions of civility and offers of friendship, and told us that she insisted on our becoming her guests, and making her

house our own as long as we should find it agreeable. She regretted extremely, she said, that a country cousin, who how ever would be otherwise disposed of in a few days, at present occupied the apartment, which afterwards would be heartily and entirely at our service: but as soon as she could get her trumpery removed, and things were put in proper order, she hoped we would favour her so far as to take immediate possession of it.
This hospitality, though rather rudely expressed, was so extremely benevolent, and so happily timed for our difficulties, that I knew not how to express in terms sufficiently fervent the gratitude it inspired.
Mrs. Hindon then carried us an airing in her coach, through several of the principal streets of the city, and appeared so kindly solicitous for our entertainment, that during our ride she was continually planning different parties of pleasure, or

describing different places of amusement, to which she promised to accompany us; and she regretted much that the morning was too far advanced to admit of our seeing any of the sights and curiosities which she said abounded in every quarter of the town.
On returning to set us down at our lodgings, she invited us to dine at her house, and insisted on sending her carriage for us before her hour of dining.
Finding it near three o'clock, we set about dressing with the utmost expedition; but so absurdly late are the hours in this part of the world, that though it is now past four in the afternoon, the coach has not yet made its appearance, and Mr. Howard tells me people here don't think of sitting down to dinner till the evening is far advanced.

DEC. 5.
Our entertainment yesterday was splendid, and the furniture of Mr. Hindon's house superb and expensive beyond what I should have expected in the abode of a man who owes his riches in a great measure to his own industry. Every thing in the family bespoke opulence. The appearance of the lady of the mansion did not however, I must acknowledge, accord with the elegance that surrounded her; but she was so extremely kind and obliging, that it is ungrateful to lay an ungenerous stress on a fault which proceeds not from the heart, and which for that reason must be unseen by her friends though striking to the eyes of a stranger
The company consisted of a Sir Jonathan Farnford, his lady, and daughter, a

young lady of sixteen, just come from a boarding school, Captain Wilmot, nephew to Mrs. Hindon, and a modest looking girl, whose surname I heard not, as Mr. and Mrs. Hindon always spoke to her by the familiar appellation of Jenny, and who I conjectured was the country cousin before mentioned. In this idea I was confirmed from observing the unfeeling neglect with which she was treated, not only by the lady of the house, but by all her guests (our party excepted) who seemed to have taken a hint from that lady's behaviour to regard the poor girl as an inferior.
I could not help extremely pitying her situation, which was to the last degree mortifying, particularly as her diffidence and timidity appeared rather to ask for encouragement than to provoke rebuke. She evidently felt uncomfortable and ashamed; and sat silently negligent of what was passing, as if perfectly

unconcerned in the scene, and without once attempting to join in the conversation.
The painful dependence of this young woman struck me the more forcibly as it was contrasted with that flow of civility, warm and unbounded, which Mrs. Hindon abundantly lavished upon us, though utter strangers, and which, while it gained my innocent Fanny's heart, appeared to me so greatly beyond what an acquaintance of a few hours could either excite or authorize in a mind possessed of delicacy and refinement, that though charmed with it for the first half hour, and delighted with the flattering idea of having so early inspired a predilection so fortunate in our present circumstances, I began to consider, before the evening was over, that kindness bestowed so fervently, ere time had been given not only for investigation but even for common knowledge, must be

too indiscriminate either to prove gratifying or lasting, and seemed rather the effusions of the tongue than the overflowings of a heart warm and sincere. I confess indeed, that the visit of yesterday to Mrs. Hindon has not increased my desire of residing in her house; yet as it is the only eligible scheme that presents itself at present, and she is eager that we should accept of her repeated invitations, we have resolved for a short time to comply.
I was extremely astonished, during this visit, to observe the remarkable difference between our manners (for still must I regard France as my own country) and those of the English. I own I have been very little conversant in any society; yet when I have been at the chateau de Clarence, and while I was permitted at your aunt's earnest entreaties to spend that happy three weeks (never to be forgotten) in all the innocent

gaieties of M— with my beloved Sophy, I remember the gentlemen who occasionally visited at your house were all uniformly attentive and polite in the highest degree, and were ever so well bred as to appear gratified with our presence and pleased with our conversation, whatever their private sentiments might be; but here, my dear, the behaviour of the men was not only indifferent and uncomplaisant, but often rude and uncivil.
Captain Wilmot, though very gaily dressed, and in a style which betrayed no great dislike to the idea of attracting the notice of the other sex, yet endeavoured by various methods to discover his perfect disregard of the ladies present, whom he did not seem to think deserving even of the common attentions usually paid them.
Mrs. Hindon, on our entering, introduced him to us; which having produced a hasty bow, he afterwards reclined

with his back to the wall in a careless attitude, and then strolled about the room, occasionally joining the other gentlemen, who were chatting by themselves in a corner.
These airs had the effect (for which I make no doubt they were intended) of augmenting his importance in the eyes of Miss Farnford, who strove to attract his attention, and at last succeeded so far as to engage him in a tête à tête conversation, if such it could be called, partly composed of tittering and whispering, of which Fanny and I were evidently the objects. Lady Farnford and Mrs. Hindon however atoned for their incivility, by bestowing on us their whole attention. The former, with the most insatiable curiosity, endeavoured to penetrate into every circumstance relating to our situation abroad, with an avidity which could not have been excited without some previous information.

I cautioned Mr. Howard on the subject of secrecy, and besought him to request his brother and Mrs. Hindon not to communicate our affairs out of their own family; but I fear it has not been at all observed, for it was not difficult to perceive that we were regarded by the whole company with an eye of eager scrutiny, which denoted that we had been, according to a phrase of Mrs. Hindon's, on the carpet before we entered.
At table, the conversation was general: that is to say, it consisted of those common-place topics which neither greatly amuse nor deeply interest, but which in a mixed company are taken up with seeming eagerness merely pour passer le tems.
Mr. Hindon appears to be a good sort of bluff English character, who can allow neither of merit nor talents out of his own country, nor conceive any sort of enjoyment out of this city, which he

says he never quits even in summer, though he has a very fine villa within six miles of town. He is a banker, and possessed of a large fortune, partly the fruits of his own industry, and partly brought him by his wife; from whom, being an heiress, according to an established form here, he also receives his name.
He seems to enjoy good cheer with an extraordinary relish: dinner serving equally for the purposes of conversation and refreshment. The former, it indeed furnished abundantly; only varied by a dissertation on the different dishes. I remarked that Sir Jonathan, as well as Mr. Hindon, appeared to value themselves extremely on those qualities which more properly belonged to their cooks.
When the repast, which was sumptuous, was removed to make way for the desert, the younger part of the family, consisting of two girls under ten years

old and a boy about six, made their appearance, and completely took place of the discourse on cookery. The delighted parents instantly shifting the topic to that of their children, related with eager satisfaction their various improvements, accomplishments, and dispositions, not forgetting the infantine bon mots of little Billy, whom sleep deprived us of the pleasure of beholding.
I am myself so extremely fond of children, that this conversation, had I been the only person present, might have entertained and even interested me; but I could not help painfully feeling for its impropriety, which so evidently fatigued instead of amused the company on this occasion, that I pitied the blindness while I could not but admire the warmth of Mrs. Hindon's maternal tenderness. Sir Jonathan indeed took little pains to conceal that he was heartily tired of the subject; but neither his repeated

yawnings, nor constant attempts to change it, could induce the gratified parents to wander from a point which they concluded gave almost equal pleasure to their guests and themselves.
When the ladies retired to tea and coffee, Fanny and I were again subjected to the inquisitive interrogatories of Lady Farnford; which, as our situation is at present but in part revealed, extremely embarrassed me. That we had been educated abroad, and never had visited England before, I wished not to conceal; but our reasons for leaving a spot which had been so long our home, and the solitude in which we had been reared, it was unnecessary to divulge, and for many reasons I chose not to acknowledge, especially to a person whom I had not been introduced to above a couple of hours before; yet Lady Farnford contrived to penetrate into every circumstance

with an eagerness which convinced me all was not perfectly new to her.
You received your education in a convent, I believe ladies? said she.
Yes, Madam.
Lord, cried the daughter, were you not afraid they would have made nuns of you?
We had no great reason to be alarmed as to that point, said I, for my father took infinite care to fortify us against all their attacks.
I fancy, resumed the mother, home would not be much more lively than the monastry, for I believe you lived retiredly enough. You saw very little company I should suppose.
Finding I only answered by a simple affirmative, without growing in the least communicative, she turned to Fanny— It must have been rather dull, I should imagine, to live in a manner so solitary, so out of the world, with no society but

merely that of the old gentleman your father?
Our governess, a most amiable and respectable woman, said Fanny, died only four years ago; and she was our constant companion while she lived.
But you must have been very young when you lost her?
Yes, Madam, my sister was not then fourteen and I was scarcely twelve.
You got some one, I should imagine, to supply her place?
None, Madam. My sister was soon after sent to the convent for two years, and I was left solely under my father's care till her return: for he took great pains himself in our improvement, and could not consent to deprive himself of both at one time.
It must have appeared very dismal, said Lady Farnford. To be always in the country and to see nobody, must

be gloomy indeed at your time of life, for you had no society I believe.
Oh! Madam, we never saw a human creature; my father had no visitors, and never went a visiting himself.
Knowing that this was a subject on which Fanny would innocently expatiate, without considering its imprudence, I mentioned my beloved Sophia and her aunt, who, I said, sometimes were so kind as to enliven our solitude with their visits, and in whose company my father had once been prevailed on to allow me to spend some weeks at the town of M—. I also spoke of Madame de Clarence, and did not forget Mr. Howard, who was indeed, though I did not own it, the only male visitor my father has had in my memory, Mr. Benseley excepted, whom I scarce recollect.
You, my Sophia, was a new source of investigation and curiosity. Who was this Miss Beaumont? where had I got

acquainted with her? When I answered that she had been my favourite friend at the convent, that we had received our education together, and that she was only daughter and heiress to Sir Edward Beaumont, whose name and public employment could not be unknown to her, I assure you my importance seemed not a little increased by the information.
The appearance of the gentlemen, I was in hopes, would have relieved me from this embarrassing conversation: but Lady Farnford was determined it should not drop so soon.
My dear, cried she to her husband, these ladies have been entertaining us mightily. They have been telling us all about their manner of living abroad; and that the old gentleman their father was of a most singular and extraordinary humour. He hardly ever allowed of the young ladies leaving home, and never permitted a man to enter his doors.

This speech, which implied that we had been complaining of this last circumstance as a peculiar hardship, put me extremely out of countenance, and instantly drew the eyes of the gentlemen towards us: but Mr. Howard relieved my awkwardness by saying that Mr. Seymour was indeed uncommonly fond of retirement, yet at the same time so warmly attached and indulgent to his children, that he would most willingly have allowed them what society they chose, had not their duty and affection induced them with pleasure to conform to a way of life which they knew was agreeable to his taste.
What could his intention be Miss, said Sir Jonathan, addressing himself to me, in burying you alive in that manner? Certainly he never could expect to get you off his hands at that rate; at least his method was rather extraordinary. For my part I think it is a piece of injustice

to shut up girls like birds in a cage. Let them see and be seen, and take their chance in the matrimonial lottery like others: one must not expect now-a-days that our daughters will be courted by proxy on the report of their beauty. There's Betsey now—I hope to live to see her happily settled; but I should not think I performed my duty to the girl, if I shut her up always at home, where she would have no opportunity of making a good creditable settlement.
It was not easy to find an answer to this speech, which was entirely addressed to me, and I did not attempt it. I felt however for his daughter, who I concluded must be equally shocked with its rude indelicacy; you may then guess my astonishment, when I heard her say, inwardly speaking, but without the least appearance of bashfulness—Indeed I should not think it at all fair.

The whole company staid supper; and as whist was the game, of which Fanny and I are entirely ignorant and we declined any other, Sir Jonathan and Lady Farnford and Mr. and Mrs. Hindon made a party; Miss Farnford, the Captain, and Fanny, having seated themselves on a sopha, soon after entered into chat together, in which Mr. Howard joined. As for me, I was placed by the card players; and though more in a contemplative than talkative humour, (for indeed I was anxiously revolving in my mind the success of the letter to Lady Linrose,) yet seeing Miss Jenny take up her work, and sit down at the farther end of the room as if unwilling to intrude on the conversation, I took that opportunity of testifying that I did not regard her in the mortifying point of view which seemed so unfeelingly to influence the rest of the company; and shifting my seat in order to join her, endeavoured to

conquer the distance and reserve with which she kept herself unconnected with those from whom she only expected indelicacy and ill breeding.
She appeared much gratified with my attention, and received it with a degree of modesty which evinced she had not always been accustomed even to common politeness. We conversed together till supper was announced; and I found something, both in her sentiments and manner of expressing them, superior to what I perceived in any of the rest of the party.
I am afraid my Sophia will conclude I am growing censorious upon entering the world; but to an eye unaccustomed to a mixture of characters, and where all the errors and absurdities of society are entirely new, a thousand faults and imperfections must appear, which habit conceals and acquaintance renders too familiar for observation.

To this I make no doubt it is in a great measure owing, that I find myself so early disgusted by Mrs. Hindon's manners, for I own I am infinitely disappointed; probably the more poignantly from the sanguine disposition with which I first met her. We were strangers and unknown to her; and her benevolence in offering us an asylum bespoke such humanity and goodness of heart, that I instantly in my own mind adopted her for a friend, and received her first expressions of kindness with that gratitude and enthusiasm, which her civility undoubtedly still merits, but which it is now no longer in my power so warmly to bestow. First sight impressions I confess are extremely fallacious; yet I am much mistaken if Mrs. Hindon posseseses either that delicacy or good sense, which, if they inhabit the mind seldom fail to throw some lustre over the manners, however unpolished

by society or a knowledge of the polite world.
I was particularly shocked by her behaviour to this poor girl. Nothing certainly discovers littleness of mind so evidently as insolence to inferiors, or to those whom calamities have rendered dependent on us. As we sat together, I expressed my apprehensions that our intended visit was the occasion of hurrying her away from Mrs. Hindon's sooner than was her original intention; but before she could reply, Mrs. Hindon overhearing me, answered —Oh never think of that, Miss Seymour. I dare say Jenny herself would be very unwilling to stand in the way of my convenience. We can easily procure her an apartment at Mrs. Bret's the mantua makers, for some weeks, and as we are at the expense of her lodgings, it is all one to her: besides it is just in the corner of the street, and she will eat here;

so that I give you my word the honour of your company will not occasion the slightest inconvenience. I only wish to have a day or two given me afterwards, that things may be made proper for your reception, and then I shall be quite affronted if you refuse to favour me so far.
The extreme grosness of this speech, which so unfeelingly discovered Miss Jenny's dependence, made her hang down her head in confusion; and I felt her mortification so severely, that I insisted on remaining in our present lodgings in preference to occasioning her removal.
Mrs. Hindon however soon contrived to carry her point by rendering me quite incapable of arguing on the subject. You don't consider, my dear Miss Seymour, cried she, how scandal flies in this town. What will not people say to see two fine young girls of your figure residing in lodgings, without the protection either

of a father, a husband, or a brother. I make no doubt but that Mr. Howard here would be exceedingly happy to act in the capacity of one of these relations; but till he proves his title, added she, (laughing immoderately at the confusion into which both her brother-in-law and we were thrown by this hint) you'll be charitably taken for a connection of a different kind.
Mr. Howard even blushed at her indelicacy; but said, with an air of mingled dignity and gravity, that he should be happy in performing any services to us which might manifest his friendship for my father, and the sense he should ever possess of the obligations he owed him.
There I don't doubt you, returned Mrs. Hindon, smiling with a sly look, and I hope the young ladies may rely on your good offices upon their own account as well as their father's.
I flatter myself they do, said he, with

reserve, though much embarrassed by his facetious sister in law's ill judged raillery.
Before we departed, Lady Farnford and her daughter came up, and expressed in warm terms their good fortune in having been introduced to our acquaintance, hoped it would prove the forerunner of a cordial intimacy, and assured us they should not fail to wait on us as soon as it was in their power.
Mrs. Hindon, who is indeed extremely kind, tho' I could wish it were attended with a little more softness, called again this morning, and was hardly seated when Lady Farnford and her daughter were announced.
The latter on entering hastily brushed by her mother, and shaking both Fanny and I by the hand with the familiarity and freedom due to old acquaintances, exclaimed—I am quite happy to see you

both. I assure you mama has done nothing but praise you so as you can't think since last night, and we ordered the coach as soon as we had done breakfast, in order to wait on you, to request that you would favour us with your company to the play, if you are not engaged on Wednesday next. Mrs. Siddons is to appear in Belvidera. All the world will be there; and as we have engaged places, I hope you will certainly accompany us.
Lady Farnford joining in the request, we consented, altho' I do not much wish to appear in public, till we know on what footing we are to be introduced.
To-day we have spent at home, and entirely by ourselves, which the two ladies regretted as a calamity their politeness would undoubtedly have prevented, had not previous engagements put it out of their power. Mr. Howard has been from home too most part of the day, employed

I believe about our affairs with Mr. Benseley's executors.
EIGHT IN THE EVENING.
Mr. Howard is just come in. With his accustomed kindness, he has been making enquiries I find respecting the situations and dispositions of our nearest relations, with the view of being enabled to judge from which of them we are likely to receive the most cordial reception. But tho' he does not wish to raise a prejudice in our minds against my uncle's family, he has been constrained to acknowledge, that with the exception of his second son, (who is high in the world's estimation,) they are not generally beloved.
Tho' of acknowledged probity and honour, a vain passion for state and parade obscures their good qualities, and renders

their society so shackled with ostentatious ceremonials, that it is very little either courted or desired. Lady Linrose in particular exacts an homage on account of her rank, which is beheld with ridicule and granted with reluctance, of course out of a very general acquaintance she enjoys the blessing of but few friends.
My uncle and her Ladyship, it seems, had lived separate for some years previous to his death. He was a man of a very violent, untractable disposition, and his lady possessed not that mild compliance of temper that could submit to the headstrong humour of her husband. Lord Belmont, it is said, approved of and even advised the separation, and has preserved for her Ladyship a respect and regard which leads the world to exculpate her from the share of blame that usually in similar instances involves in some measure both parties.
Lady Ann Vere, my father's only sister,

Mr. Howard is told died about a twelve month ago. She had buried her husband some years before, and has left no family. Her loss is particularly unfortunate at this juncture, as she is said to have been of a very amiable character, was extremely attached to my father, and partially beloved by Lord Belmont.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
DECEMBER 8.
HAVING dispatched my last packet, Fanny and I were preparing to leave the parlour the other night, it being late, and Mr. Howard having already retired to bed, when the door was suddenly opened

and two young men, seemingly intoxicated and disordered, hastily entered the room, as if quite at home. Upon seeing it occupied, they asked pardon for their intrusion. They did not however attempt to repair it, by leaving the apartment, but stood some minutes endeavouring to excuse themselves on the score of having mistaken it for another, which it seems one of them at present inhabits in this house.
The wildness of their looks, and the elaborate length of their apology, led me instantly to suspect that the mistake was not unintentional, especially as the part of the house which we have taken is perfectly distinct from that engaged by other lodgers. I recollected besides that I had more than once remarked, since our abode here, that as we passed on the stairs a face from the door of one of the rooms used to peep out as if anxious to get a sight of us, and concluded, from the behaviour

of these gentlemen, that knowing there were two young women under the same roof with them, they had been seized with curiosity to see us, and in a state of intoxication had ventured to introduce themselves in this rude and abrupt manner.
Frightened by the bold way in which they stared at us, I curtseyed with a very grave air, and told them the mistake was of no consequence, expecting them to depart. This however they had no intention of doing so immediately.
Since Fortune has proved so kind, said one of them, who appeared the most intoxicated, since Fortune, has so wonderfully savoured us with the knowledge that two such angels exist, let us not fail to profit from the blessed occasion. Permit me the honour ladies of introducing this gentleman to the happiness of your acquaintance, (pulling his friend by the arm, who, half ashamed of his situation,

had shrunk behind)—Tom Bradshaw, Ma'am, (bowing,) he is modest you may perceive, but as worthy a fellow as lives.
My embarrassment and astonishment at this effrontery in an utter stranger may easily be conjectured. I knew not what reply to make to a speech and behaviour so unaccountably forward and presuming, but stood with a surprise and gravity in my countenance sufficient I hoped to have confounded them, had they been capable of confusion after such a frolic.
Come Tom, continued he, do me the same favour with the ladies: introduce me to these divinities, who have kindly condescended to inhabit this our terrestrial abode.
His companion however, whose faculties were either less impaired or who did not naturally possess that degree of happy assurance with which the other seemed blessed, becoming now thoroughly sensible of the error he had committed, and heartily

ashamed of his friend's behaviour, exclaimed—This is too much, Jack; let us be gone. Ladies, I am perfectly athamed—I blush—to have—to have intruded so rudely; and stammering out a very awkward apology, endeavourer to disengage himself from his friend, who held him by the arm, swearing that he would not suffer him to leave the ladies so abruptly.
Terrified at the bustle they began to create, I hastily exclaimed, for heaven's sake gentlemen leave us. Consider we have not the pleasure of knowing you. I then looked around in vain for the bell, but perceived there was none in the room, and I was too much intimidated to dare acknowledge my fears, by making an attempt to escape, which would probably have proved fruitless, as they had shut the door and flood themselves almost before it.

Fanny, tho' in general rather timid, could not witness this scene without feeling more entertained than frightened. The extreme absurdity of the two gentlemen's conduct, and the awkwardness of my astonishment, struck her so forcibly, that in spite of her apprehensions she could not resist giving way to a violent and childish fit of laughing; the bad consequences of which soon appeared so evident, as to put a speedy period to mirth so mal apropos.
Nay if you are for a frolic ladies, cried the gentleman who, had hitherto preserved the most decorum, suddenly turning round and joining heartily in the laugh, I'm your man.
Oh! cried the other, I knew they were dear little kind devils, and advancing to Fanny, was going to throw his arms around her, when a sudden emotion of uncontroulable terror made us both utter atone instant a loud scream and fly to the

door, which the gentlemen were too much intimidated to prevent our opening; and the landlady, and Therese both appearing, they retired in haste to their own apartment, while Fanny and I, breathless with fear, did not for an hour recover our usual composure.
Mrs. Brumpton, our landlady, who is a decent, sensible looking woman, then informed us that only one of the gentlemen lodged in her house, and the other, who by our account of his audacity she assured us could not be Captain Bradshaw, was one of his friends who often visited him.
Her lodger, she said, was a gentleman of the belt character, sweet tempered, and extremely generous, and had never been, guilty of such a riot in her house since he had lived with her; she therefore imagined his present freedom must have entirely proceeded from inebriety, as indeed the other gentleman his friend was

but too much giVen to that fault, and might have led him into it, and she was certain Captain Bradshaw would be quite distressed when he reflected on his misbehaviour to two such ladies.
She afterwards added, that having got a glympse of us one day on the stairs, he had been so much struck, as she called it, that he had often entreated her to contrive some means of seeing us for a longer time, but that she had told him that was a favour he must owe to chance alone, as she could not presume to introduce him.
I told Mrs. Brumpton that intoxication, (a bad apology for any transgression,) afforded no sort of justification for rudeness like his, and that I should most undoubtedly take effectual means to prevent a repetition of the same offence, by applying next day to Mr. Howard, who would talk to the young men on the subject without delay.

This was less my intention at the time than meant as a threat to be repeated from Mr. Brumpton's lips to her lodger; tho' I had resolved, in the heat of my resentment, not considering the consequences, to inform Mr. Howard of our affront and to request his interference: but a moment's reflection had changed this resolution; and the good woman represented so strongly the risk attending engaging two gentlemen in a quarrel, that I determined never to mention it to him unless I had reason to dread the continuance of a similar conduct.
Next morning our landlady brought us an apology couched in the most respectful terms, from the Captain, entreating our forgiveness for our last night's alarm. As I was somewhat afraid of his encroachments after such audacious behaviour, we took no further notice of his message than to tell Mrs. Brumpton that while her lodger made no attempts

to force himself on our acquaintance we should think of the past no more.
All yesterday and the day before Mrs. Hindon was confined with a bad cold, yet she was so kind as to request our company; but we declined it, from the idea that politeness alone could have induced her when ill to solicit it.
Adieu my love. H. SEYMOUR.


HERMIONE.
 TO MISS BEAUMONT.
DEC. 12.
WE removed to Mrs. Hindon's yesterday, who received us with a profusion of civilities. They had company all the day; but my spirits were weak, and I supported no part in the conversation. Mrs. Hindon, however, would not allow me to indulge my contemplative humour in peace, but enquired repeatedly what made me look so grave, and if I found myself indisposed, till I was obliged to plead a head ach in excuse for being so dull a companion. This happened really to be the case; and no sooner was she informed of it, than in spite of all

my resistance she fairly forced me to go to rest at a very early hour, long before any of her guests thought of taking leave. To this piece of kindness, though rather officious (for poor Mrs. Hindon's civilities are unfortunately sometimes rather obtrusive) I was not sorry to consent; and retiring to bed, though not to sleep, I passed the hours more at ease than I could have done in the midst of a large circle where I was constrained to assume an appearance of gaiety foreign to my feelings. Lady Farnford was of the party last night; and to-morrow evening we propose accompanying her Ladyship to Drury-lane Theatre. She has a weekly box, to which we have received a general invitation whenever we incline to go.
Fanny, who as yet has not been present at an entertainment of this kind, is half wild with eagerness and expectation; and for myself, never having seen a dramatic

performance since that gay and happy period when I accompanied my dearest Sophia and her worthy aunt to several of the different diversions at M—, the idea of my beloved friend is so intimately connected with the thoughts of an amusement of this kind that I sigh at the melancholy reflection how distant we are at present, and recollect with redoubled anguish how delightful were the sensations of that pleasing era of my life to those which have succeeded.
DEC. 14.
Well, my dear Sophia, we were both much delighted at the play; although there was somewhat very gloomy in a reflection which could not but occur on first entering, that in so large an audience, where half the world seemed met together, not one friendly countenance

was to be found on which we had ever looked before, Lady Farnford and her daughter excepted (for Mr. Howard as well as Mrs. Hindon, were engaged to a lady's assembly, and Mr. Hindon seldom goes to places of public amusement.) There is something extremely dismal in the thoughts of being an unconnected and solitary being, about whom no one is either solicitous or interested; nor does the idea ever strike more poignantly than when you behold all around you in the full enjoyment of the blessings of friendship and society. Miss Farnford, in particular, appeared to possess, if not friends, such variety of intimate acquaintances, that I could not avoid envying her in my heart the many kind salutations she gave and returned from different parts of the house. This was however but a passing idea; for most fortunately in the midst of the musing to which it gave birth, and which in spite

of the novelty of the surrounding scene almost wholly engrossed me, I was suddenly roused from my melancholy contemplations by the sight of Mr. Roatsley, who had entered the next box, but instantly on perceiving us removed to ours, and paid us his compliments with his usual grace and politeness.
The train of recollections that had preceded his entrance made me view him with redoubled pleasure. Luckily there was a place vacant between Fanny and me, of which he took immediate possession; nor did he think of quitting it till the inimitable comedy of the Journey to London was concluded, for from some particular circumstances the play had been changed. I was almost equally delighted with the representation itself, and with the admirable and amusing observations it drew from Mr. Roatsley, who was if possible still more agreeable than when we passed the day with him at

Dover. There is indeed a certain mixture of sweetness and vivacity blended both in his countenance and manners, that renders his conversation uncommonly pleasing. I was much charmed to perceive that the denouement of the piece, which, though defective I think in point of delicacy, is exceedingly affecting, brought a tear of feeling into his eye: there is indeed something so amiable in any unaffected symptoms of softness and sensibility in a manly countenance, and it forms a contrast so attractive from that roughness and austerity which is in general seated upon their faces, that in my opinion it is the most insinuating of all prepossessions; and as it gives you in a manner an insight into the mind, renders the figure itself infinitely more interesting. I suppose it was owing to this observation that Mr. Roatsley never struck me with being so incomparably handsome as he did this evening.

Had I even enjoyed less pleasure at the representation of a piece which I have so often read with repeated satisfaction, I should have been sufficiently amused and delighted from observing the effect it produced on my dear Fanny, who was charmed beyond measure by an exhibition so entirely new, and of which my description could have given her but a faint notion. Roatsley seemed both pleased and entertained with the innocent naivetè of her expressions of wonder at all she saw, and with great goodness of heart enjoyed the entertainment she drew from every object.
When the play was finished, he left us for a few moments to pay his respects to a lady in another box; and so comfortable was the idea of possessing at least one acquaintance amidst so many faces totally new, for we were placed at a distance from either Lady Farnford or her daughter, that I could not avoid being

apprehensive least he should not again return; but in a short time he made his appearance, and resumed his place, where he continued till we left the house.
DEC. 21.
This day produced an event which has charmed both Fanny and me beyond measure. We have unexpectedly met with an old friend, (for such in this part of the world we should deem almost any person whom we had known in our own country); and as such we cordially welcomed our lively acquaintance, Mrs. Weldon, who arrived in town only the evening before last.
Fortunately she had taken lodgings in the next street; and perceiving us in Mrs. Hindon's carriage pass her window in our way to church, she made her footman watch our return, with a message

informing us of her abode, and requesting that we would take immediate advantage of the information. Delighted with this intelligence, so unexpected too, as Mrs. Weldon, when at the chateau, had not once dropped any hint of an intention to re-visit England, we requested Mrs. Hindon to set us down at her house. She gave us the kindest reception possible: and on our part, we felt as if we had met one in whom we were warmly interested, and who was nearly connected with us. She informed us that business relative to a legacy lately bequeathed her had obliged her to come over at a sudden call, and that she had left our much respected friends in good health.
How strangely do circumstances, apparently the most trifling, alter our opinions and prepossessions: this Mrs. Weldon, whom I thought at best but an agreeable coquet, and whose friendship

I had in Languedoc no sort of desire to cultivate, now scarcely appears to me the person she was, except in her powers of pleasing, which are if possible augmented. The change is not however entirely owing to the partiality with which I could not but regard an acquaintance formed under the roof of our worthy friend; the alteration is in herself; and I now perceive how illiberal and injudicious are often the sentiments and impressions inspired by an imperfect knowledge. Mrs. Weldon, in her own house, and in private, possesses not merely the gaiety which amuses, but that good sense and knowledge of the world which must charm and improve all who are admitted to an intimacy with her. These good qualities are blended with a flow of spirits uncommonly elevated, which diffuses a vivacity over her manner and appearance that on a superficial acquaintance may be mistaken for levity, but which, on a

nearer view, I find proves merely the natural result of a sprightly turn of mind, added to an early introduction into life; circumstances that in general arive defiance to bashfulness, at least to that painful degree of it that accompanies awkwardness.
She was so kind as to insist on our remaining with her the whole day, and at her earnest request an apology was dispatched to Mrs. Hindon; indeed I have not spent one so entirely to my satisfaction since my arrival. Mrs. Weldon was equally amusing, whether we conversed on gay or serious subjects; and uninterrupted by company, we chatted over affairs that mutually interested us.
I was extremely sorry however to find that she did not regard Madame de Clarence with that cordial esteem which I imagined every one must be disposed to feel for a character so amiable; and she let us into some little circumstances relating

to family dissentions, which I never should have suspected to have occurred between a couple who always behave, at least in company, with the utmost apparent good humour and politeness to each other. Mrs. Weldon even told us, that poor Madame de Clarence has an unfortunate failing in her temper, which renders herself and her husband equally miserable: she possesses, it seems, an unhappy degree of jealousy, that leads her to conclude almost every young woman, whose visits are frequent in the family, the object of Monsieur de Clarence's affections; and no sooner is she convinced of her error in one place, than her suspicions are turned to another quarter, however improbable and extraordinary.
This is a most unfortunate disposition, and sincerely to be lamented; for I fear, according to Mrs. Weldon's account, it is quite incurable. She gave me innumerable instances of her weakness in this

particular; and added, that as she had been for some time an inmate of her family, she had not failed herself to experience the effects of her temper in this point.
I expressed my surprise that this unlucky foible should never have been hinted to me till now, nor the slightest suspicion of a turn of mind so adverse to her tranquillity ever occur to my mind during the whole period of my acquaintance with Madame de Clarence.
You was the last person, said she, to whom such an information was likely to be suggested. The strict intimacy that subsisted between you was sufficiently known to deter all malicious or officious disposed persons from entertaining you with a topic so little agreeable as the errors of your friend; and the circle you ranged in was ever so limited, that large as is the proportion of the world which comes under these descriptions, I believe

there were very few of either class that could be ranked among the number of your acquaintance.
But pray, added she, had you never occasion to remark, during your last visit, that Madame behaved to me with a distance wholly unaccountable, and which must, I think, have provoked both your observation and surprise? The real truth of the matter was, that as my acquaintance with the family originated through Monsieur, who lived in terms of the strictest friendship with poor Mr. Weldon, and to whom I was in some measure given in charge by my husband in his last moments, the lady never regarded me with much kindness; but conscious she herself possesses not address sufficient to preserve her husband's affections, she suspects every pretty woman she sees to be more in favour than herself, and charitably accuses her of the theft.
That Madame de Clarence disapproved

of Mrs. Weldon's behaviour I well knew, nor was I ignorant that she was no great favourite with that lady; but as I could not myself avoid joining in the censure which her coquetry incurred, it made no impression on my mind at the time, nor could excite either surprise or suspicion: our lively little friend, mean while, happy in the possession of unbounded spirits, dreamt not of this severe judgment on her gaiety till after Fanny and I left the chateau, when the augmented reserve and solemn deportment of Madame de Clarence soon gave place to an open manifestation of her repugnance and dislike.
Her sententious harangues, said Mrs. Weldon, (who always expresses herself with force, and on this occasion may be forgiven the exaggeration of resentment) and thread bare lectures on the dignity of a proper retinue in the sex, were suddenly converted into plain invectives

against the licentiousness of the present age, and the unprincipled levity of all its daughters, whether maids, wives, or widows; those of the latter denomination had, you may believe, sufficient justice done them; till at last it was impossible for me any longer to mistake my own resemblance in the pictures me continually drew of those profligate females, who having buried the man, either agreeable or otherwise, who had once received their vows, dared to be happy, and presumed to confess it too after they had regained their freedom.
For my own part, continued she, united by my friends early in life to a man twice my age, I am satisfied with having performed my duty to him when alive, without considering myself as obliged to mourn his loss when gone; and blessed with conscious innocence, I allow myself those liberties in which a mind free and at ease is glad to rejoice

after a tedious bondage. However, finding Madame de Clarence was always grave when I laughed, and sorrowful when I was gay, I began to suspect that I had worn out her patience by too long a visit, and under this notion was preparing to take a civil departure, when one day, in the little arbour, (you may remember it I believe, it is at the entrance into the wood) in the little arbour, where I had taken refuge in a fine evening, to avoid exciting a rudeness of behaviour for which I could assign no adequate motive, I was unexpectedly joined by Monsieur; who seeing me seated, naturally enough, you know, placed himself by me and entered into conversation.
On mentioning my intentions of leaving the chateau next morning, he confessed, with an ingenuity which our friendship of long standing fully authorized, that he could not but approve of the prudence which dictated this step,

and acknowledged to me that a jealousy of temper, which formed, he said, the misery of both their lives, had so increased instead of abating with his wife's years, that it was grown quite insupportable: it is then no wonder, added he, in a friendly manner, that you should at last become the object of her suspicions, since fifty women, fifty times your inferior, have by turns excited them.
This I allow, continued Mrs. Weldon, must have sounded somewhat complimentary to an ear, the organs of which were disordered by jealousy; and just at that instant who should we see gliding by the trees but Madame herself, who had been without doubt listening to a sketch of her own character, not much either softened or embellished from the lips of her husband, and done perhaps rather a little in caracatura. But one must pardon him some degree of exaggeration

from a just exasperation at her unceasing and teasing importunities.
After this little adventure, you may suppose it was time for me to be gone. Madame pretended indisposition, and kept her room the rest of the evening; breakfasted next morning chez elle; and I left the chateau, having received only a message that she was sorry she could not see me before I went.
Poor Madame de Clarence! I pity her from my soul: it was indeed impossible to hear that my worthy friend was unhappy, even though owing to her own unfortunate weakness, without sincerely deploring that fault which is attended, I am convinced, by no other in her bosom: but what a number of great and amiable qualities will not this single error obscure in a husband's eyes.
Till now, I always concluded Monsieur in fault; and that to the cold civility of his manner, those clouds were

owing which during our last visit I sometimes observed hanging on his lady's brow. He was always indeed scrupulously polite in his attentions to her; but his behaviour seemed the studied effusions of good breeding and propriety, to which, from her rank in life, and the splendid fortune she brought him, she justly lays claim. I heartily lament however, that she should have carried her suspicions to lengths so blameable: lengths which must operate towards augmenting the alienation she deplores.
This unexpected and delightful reconnoitre, together with the agreeable alteration in Mrs. Weldon's manners, entirely discarded the reserve with which I used formerly to converse with her; and upon her talking openly of her affairs, which are at present somewhat embarrassed, I made no scruple of acquainting her with the circumstances of our situation, so replete

with difficulties, so singularly perplexing and uncomfortable.
She entered kindly and with interest into all our anxieties, and told us that some years ago Lady Linrose and her family were not unknown to her. That was before she separated from her husband, said she; but she never was a woman by any means to my taste; for though her Ladyship can make herself extremely agreeable where she pleases, she is intolerably proud, exceedingly fond of money, and as artful as the devil. I dare to say she was more to blame than her Lord, though she has been cunning enough to persuade the world, and even Lord Belmont, that his peevish humour rendered her life a burden to her. No doubt he was a very capricious, ill tempered man; but I believe he had provocation sufficient. I ask pardon, however, my dears, for talking of your

aunt with so little ceremony; though to own the truth, when you come to know her as well as I do, your opinion will probably coincide with mine.
I assured Mrs. Weldon she might use all manner of freedom, and eagerly enquired if all the family exhibited portraits equally unfavourable.
The eldest daughter, said she, is as proud to the full as her mother, and still more deficient in good humour; but the second, who was scarce twelve years old when I left England, was the sweetest, most enchanting little girl in the world; and I really think resembled you, Miss Seymour, extremely. There was always some person in my head, when I saw you in Languedoc, that you struck me with having a likeness to, and now I recollect it is your cousin, Miss Lucy Dudley. There is another daughter, but she was then quite a child; and there are two sons; the eldest is a very good young

man I am told, but his talents I believe are not shining; the youngest, however, when I last saw him, was a blooming youth of eighteen, captivating as an Adonis, and in all respects amiable and engaging. I hear he has by no means disappointed the hopes inspired by his juvenile perfections, either in point of mind or person, for he is by all accounts a very extraordinary young man, and I have been informed possesses a degree of influence over Lord Belmont, with whom he is at present abroad, which I think you must regard as a favourable circumstance in your situation; for a single glance from either of you must interest him in your cause.
Mrs. Hindon's carriage being at this time announced, we took our leave, and on our return found a card of invitation from Lady Farnford to accompany her to the play to-morrow evening.

DEC. 23.
We were delighted beyond expression last night. The inimitable Mrs. Siddons surpasses all that can either be conceived or described. Added to the most exquisite taste and feeling, she possesses a countenance the most expressive, over which she enjoys a command the most inconceivable.
However pleasing to a person unaccustomed to the glare of a public exhibition, the effect of the company, the various decorations, and the disposition of the different lights, must at first prove, yet the instant the curtain drew up my eyes were immovably fixed on the stage, nor would it, I imagined, have been in the power of any other object for a moment to have engaged my attention.
I soon found however that Mrs. Siddons,

all powerful as she is, could not wholly engross it; for on casting my eyes round the house, I discovered Mr. Roatsley in the adjoining box. As he sat alone, I could not avoid flattering myself that he would join us as he had done the week before, and Fanny and I could have easily contrived room for him, although the house was extremely crowded; but to my no small regret he did not appear to have the most distant thought of approaching. On perceiving us he indeed instantly bowed; but with a degree of coldness and reserve which almost disconcerted me; and though from the accidental change of places there was a spare seat by us most part of the evening, far from wishing to take possession of it, he never once came near the box.
Astonished at a change really striking, as well as unaccountable after the flow of civility with which he had before attended us at the same place, I tried in vain to

discover what could possibly have occasioned the alteration; but I could only rest my conclusions on that fickleness and caprice of which all his sex have been so vehemently accused by ours, and of which, though I have seen nothing, I have read and heard much.
Possessed with this idea, I endeavoured to satisfy myself; but another soon accompanied it, which partook perhaps not a little of the weakness attributed to our sex: I suspected that we did not improve upon intimacy; and that disappointed in the expectations which at first induced him to cultivate the acquaintance, he wished to let it drop. Soon after the first act was concluded, I took notice that we were evidently the subject of his conversation with another gentleman who had joined him; an idea which you may believe did not lessen my perplexity.
Roatsley seemed to regard me with looks of anxious gravity; while the countenance

of his companion, whom to my no small surprise I recollected to be our late fellow lodger, Captain Bradshaw, manifested nothing but satisfaction.
Just as the fourth act was concluded, Lady Farnford beckoned to a lady behind, desiring her to inform her son, who could not get admittance for the crowd, that a seat was kept for him on the bench on which I was sitting.
Way was therefore made for the gentleman: but guess my astonishment and regret, when I found that this son of Lady Farnford's was the profligate and audacious young man who had terrified me at Mrs. Brumpton's. I was shocked on seeing him; nor was my perturbation abated, you may believe, from finding that his mother meant to place him by me.
Without having time to consider, I determined that no degree of ill-judged bashfulness should prevent me from manifesting

a resentment so justly incurred; I therefore hastily entreated a lady who sat on the bench behind, to allow me to change places with her, as I wished to speak with my sister; and having by this little artifice contrived to place myself at some distance from him, I pretended to be earnestly engaged in conversation with Fanny. Lady Farnford however soon tapped me with her fan, and asked leave to introduce her son. I was then absolutely obliged to turn round, and perceived in his countenance an astonishment and confusion which ought indeed to have wholly overpowered him; but he seemed to recover himself very speedily, at least he obtained sufficient command over his feelings to pay me the usual compliments, though I believe, for I hardly deigned to look at him, not without embarrasment. As for me, I scarcely bowed my head, and instantly

turned from him with unfeigned indignation.
I believe his mother was not a little confounded at the rudeness of my behaviour; but without giving myself the trouble of considering what interpretation she might put on it, I continued to talk with Fanny, who was almost equally vexed at this reconnoitre.
I saw Roatsley's eyes were fixed on our party, and perceived him whisper his friend. Overcome with a variety of emotions, added to the intense heat, I felt myself now suddenly extremely sick, and apprehensive of fainting, immediate arose. You may conjecture the bustle which ensued: I was carried out almost insensible, supported in the arms of the odious Farnford, who ventured to assist me while I was unable to repulse him, and attended by his mother and Fanny.
They stopped in the passage to give me air and administer eau de luce,

salts, &c. before they ventured to call a chair, and just at that instant Roatsley and his friend came up. The former, hoping I was recovering from the bad effects of the heat, walked on with a formal bow; and the other giving Farnford a significant smile, said to him in a loud whisper as he passed—I give you joy Farnford; there is no need of my introduction now I perceive.
Shocked to the soul, I exerted all my returning strength, and disengaging myself entirely from Farnford, who had presumed to support me with his arm, I told Lady Farnford I was much better, and wished instantly to go home in a chair, as Mrs. Hindon's carriage could not have arrived so early.
If you think there is no danger of a relapse, answered she, in my opinion Miss Seymour you had better return to your place till my son enquires if my coach, which shall obey your commands, is in waiting.

I insisted however upon going directly; and her son, who seemed to aim at covering the awkwardness he could not avoid feeling under an appearance of rude indifference, said, with an air of unconcern, O you can easily have a couple of chairs if you will go, and walked away to order them.
I suppose he was glad of an opportunity of leaving us; for to my great joy instead of returning himself he sent a boxkeeper to inform us that chairs were procured.
Where is my son? cried Lady Farnford. But happily no son appeared; and desiring that her footman might be ordered to see us safe home, she wished us good night.
When we came to the door, we found Farnford standing with Mr. Roatsley and Captain Bradshaw. Will you give me leave to see you through the crowd? said Farnford to me with the most perfect

ease. I replied only by withdrawing the hand he had seized, and by an air (I cannot call it a look for I had scarce courage to look at him) of aversion and contempt. He was disconcerted I believe; but covering it with a smile of effrontery, stepped back, and instantly Mr. Roatsley advancing, offered his services with a politeness and respect which gave me the only sensation of satisfaction I had felt that evening. I curtseyed in silence; and accepting his hand, he conducted me to my chair, after which he left me to perform the same office to Fanny.
Fortunately Mr. and Mrs. Hindon were both engaged abroad, so that I instantly went to bed; where instead of sleeping I ruminated most part of the night on the disagreeable occurrences of the preceding day.
My reflections were not indeed of the most comfortable nature. My dear father's loss, attended, alas! by a multitude

of circumstances additionally painful and perplexing, have kept my mind for some months past in a state of unceasing agitation; and the suspense in which we continue at present, from the unaccountable silence of Lady Linrose to Mr. Howard's letter, conspires to give me unspeakable uneasiness. My past sufferings, as well as present anxieties, by weakening my mind and exhausting my spirits, render me doubly susceptible of every slight vexation; the probability therefore, nay almost certainty, in spite of my most vigilant precautions, of meeting frequently with Captain Farnford while I reside in a family who are upon a footing of intimacy with his, distresses me prodigiously, and I must also confess, although I am sensible how absurd beyond measure it is to allow myself to be hurt from the caprice of others, that I cannot help regretting the change in Mr. Roatsley's behaviour, because he appears

so extremely opposite from a man who would permit himself to be governed by mere whim. My thoughts are constantly employed in conjecturing what could possibly have occasioned an alteration so apparent. It is however of little importance in itself; but it is so different from his former behaviour that some prejudice must have excited him to this conduct; and there is not I believe a more painful sensation than that occasioned by having unjustly lost the good opinion of those we esteem.
Is it not astonishing that we hear nothing of Lady Linrose? We begin to fear the letter cannot have found its way to her Ladyship. Adieu!

 TO MISS BEAUMONT.
DEC. 26.
YESTERDAY morning, Mrs. Hindon, whom as yet I had not let into any particulars relating to the odious Farnford, informed me that Sir Jonathan's family were that day to take a Christmas dinner with us. You have hardly seen the best part of it, said she. Their son, the Captain, is a mighty pretty young man, and extremely clever and agreeable. He wishes of all things in the world to be introduced to you; and her Ladyship told me he has absolutely raved about Miss Seymour since he saw her two nights

ago at the play. He swears there was nobody there to be compared with her either for grace or beauty. He has been out of town lately, or you should have seen him before now. I assure you, ladies, continued she, before I had time to reply, he is no contemptible conquest. Besides his father's fortune, which to be sure is not so good as it has been, he has expectations from a rich relation, and is an only son, with the encumbrance of but one sister's fortune, and she you see is a puny, poor thing. Lady Farnford brought a good fifteen hundred per annum with her. Sir Jonathan's estate was originally as much more; and although no doubt some of it is gone, there are still excellent pickings left. They have been some years on a frugal plan too; so that I dare say things are almost clear by this time. Indeed, Miss Seymour, I wish with all my heart this may turn out a match. You know the young

man is my cousin; and I should be happy to have the honour of being related to you. Come, Miss Fanny, don't you think it would do charmingly.
I am not acquainted with him, said Fanny drily.
Well, I hope you'll both become better acquainted with him in time. But Lord look how Miss Seymour blushes: well things will come about, I'll lay a good wager, cried she, laughing immoderately at the confusion which the sound of the wretches name unavoidably occasioned me. Come, continued she, with her usual volubility, you saw him at the play I know; well tell truth honestly, is he not extremely handsome?
Indeed, Madam, answered I, I am sorrow to differ from you; but I don't think he has the slightest pretensions to it.
Nay this is downright coquetry. I'm certain you cannot think as you speak.

You are afraid I'll tell; but I promise you I shall keep the secret.
I hope then you will allow me to entrust you with it, cried I much provoked and in the midst of a long harangue, for when eager on a subject Mrs. Hindon never allows any one but herself to talk. I interrupted her by explaining the too just occasion her cousin had given me for the most determined repugnance and dislike. I soon however regretted the confidence I had placed in her, when I found that instead of being shocked at the recital, she appeared so highly entertained that I thought she would have fallen from her chair, she laughed so violently.
Oh! cried she at length, I never heard such a good story in my life. And so he really mistook you for a woman of the town? How confounded then he must have been to find you in his mother's party, and placed on the same

bench with her at Drury-lane. I should have been quite delighted to have seen his astonishment and confusion: he must have looked so droll.
There could not have been much confusion in the case, said I, since he wishes to throw himself again in my way.
No doubt he is sensible of his error, and desires to be received into favour.
I then very seriously told her that I was determined not to see Captain Farnford if I possibly could avoid it, and would be infinitely obliged to her if she would be so kind as to inform me when she knew of his visits, entreating that she would permit me to keep my apartment on such occasions. To this, after some remonstrances, she unwilling consented; though I could easily perceive she thought my behaviour an unnecessary refinement of delicacy, which I had imposed on myself out of an absurd idea of propriety.

After the company were gone, Mrs. Hindon returned to relieve me, she said, from my imprisonment, and entertained me the whole remaining part of the evening with the Captain's accomplishments: he was the most agreeable young man— so like a man of fashion—so much at his ease—so lively—indeed, Miss Seymour, you must have been quite molified had you seen how dismal and mortified he looked during dinner.
What, Madam, cried I, after being so lively.
Oh I mean when your indisposition was mentioned: and indeed I could scarcely talk of it without laughing; to think you was above stairs in perfect health all the while he was regretting your illness as so great a misfortune. However I whispered the truth to her Ladyship.
I am indeed extremely sorry you did, Madam, cried I. I thought you had promised me not to mention to any person

an adventure in which I blush ever to have been involved.
Oh! there was no harm, you know, in telling it to Lady Farnford. I assure you she blamed her son very much, and said she did not wonder at your resentment; only she hoped it would not be carried too far; for that he was most passionately in love with you, and tho' he had been too much penetrated with his behaviour to confess it to her when his first meeting with you took place, she was certain he was thoroughly vexed at the accident, which must have entirely resulted from intoxication and his mistaking you for one of those ladies who appear in such crowds in the dusk of the evening; for nothing on earth Captain Farnford wished so anxiously as to render himself agreeable to you: and indeed, Miss Seymour, I must own, that to make too much fuss about this affair is bestowing an importance on it greater than it

deserves. It would be better, I should imagine, after having testified your displeasure as you have now sufficiently done, to appear as if you had forgot it.
Forgot it, Madam! cried I. I must possess a very slight memory indeed if I am capable of forgetting behaviour like his. I do not intend to make any fuss about it; all I wish is to avoid him; and if chance should introduce him where I am, all the resentment I should discover would be to regard him as an utter stranger. I have seen enough of his character to cure me of all desire for his acquaintance; and as to the passion you tell me he has conceived for me, and which must be altogether imaginary, give me leave to say that had I never beheld him in a point of view so disagreeable, it would have been equally unsuccessful.
I pronounced this in a tone so grave

and determined, that Mrs. Hindon looked surprised.
Well, well, Miss Seymour, I had no commission to carry the Captain's proposals, so have no intention to be the bearer of his refusal; and soon after Mr. Hindon coming in, the conversation shifted to other topics.
This morning a card arrived from Sir Jonathan and Lady Farnford, enquiring after my health, and adding, that they hoped it would not prevent me from accompanying my sister and this family to dinner with them on Thursday. Mrs. Hindon distressed me exceedingly by obstinately persisting in a resolution to remain at home if we would not consent to go; and though I was both teized and vexed at her ill-judged civility, I was constrained to make her suffer for her complaisance. A polite apology was therefore dispatched.

DEC. 27.
This moment, Sophia, a card is brought from Lady Linrose. She is in town, and writes as follows:
Lady Linrose presents her compliments to Mr. Howard, and requests he would take the trouble to call in St. James's Square this evening about six o'clock, as Lady Linrose wishes to converse with him on the subject of the letter she received some time since.
Oh! Sophia! how infinitely interesting are these few lines. The agitation they have given us is unspeakable. I believe Fanny has read them over fifty times, and examined with eagerness and curiosity the formation of every letter. She draws a favourable interpretation from Lady Linrose being arrived in town,

and is so extremely sanguine, that she has infected me with expectations which I can hardly conceive myself so happy as to find realized.
Adieu till the evening, when you shall know the result of all this perturbation.
DEC. 28.
Well, my dear—But I will not anticipate. Mr. Howard, whose friendly anxiety equalled if not surpassed our own, went to St. James's Square, a few minutes before six, and was ushered into the drawing room, where her Ladyship allowed him to wait a full hour before she made her appearance.
She then entered. He described her to us (for you may believe we were minute in our enquiries) as a woman of a very majestic figure, but whose address, imperious and disdainful, freezes the

beholder at first sight, and inspires only distance and reserve.
I had the favour of a letter from you some time ago, Sir, said she, but as I imagined the subject of which it treated would be better discussed by an interview than by writing, I delayed an answer till it was in my power to come to town. You tell me Sir, continued she, that two daughters of the late unfortunate Lord Linrose are come over from his retreat in France, under the idea that my Lord Belmont will be induced to countenance and acknowledge them. This, admitting that they really are his children, was surely a very strange and unaccountable step. It is indeed extraordinary to suppose that his Lordship, so justly irritated against their father, whose ill conduct, not to say crimes, have been the destruction of his peace and the ruin of his constitution, will be easily if ever prevailed with to favour

with his notice, two girls who are the pledges of family dishonour, and the offspring of a calamity which has loaded his declining years with affliction. I think it would have been at least prudent in their friends to have advised them to sound my Lord's intentions before they ventured on a proceeding so rash as that of leaving the Continent without his permission.
Mr. Howard then explained that our journey was in consequence of the commands of a gentleman who had been left our guardian, but who on our arrival we found had unfortunately expired a few days before.
I am much surprised, said she, that any gentleman should take upon him to act in such intricate circumstances without my Lord Belmont's approbation, who alone was empowered to fix their residence where he pleased.
Mr. Benseley could not be certain,

Madam, said Mr. Howard, that my Lord would at all concern himself about his grand children, after the unhappy event which had so long excluded them from his knowledge: it was therefore natural in him to propose what plan he thought most conducive to their advantage, deferring an application to his Lordship till the arrival of the young ladies in England; when he doubted not they would sufficiently plead their own cause the moment they were presented to his sight.
Indeed the assistance of natural affection, continued Mr. Howard, would have been, I am persuaded, hardly necessary to subdue his Lordship's feelings on this occasion; however irritated they might prove, a heart like Lord Belmont's could not have beheld unmoved, two lovely young women, blessed with every amiable quality of the heart and every insinuating grace of the form, kneeling

at his feet for favour; and I am convinced when your Ladyship has once seen them, an instantaneous prepossession must inevitably follow.
His Lordship, had he been in England, replied she with coldness, would doubtless have acted in that case as he thought proper. I perceive however, Sir, that you appear much too sanguine in your expectations. None of Lord Belmont's friends have ever dared for many years to revive the recollection of the unhappy transactions relating to the late Lord, by any mention of him or his family; a subject which must have given an infinite shock to a frame so exhausted and reduced as my Lord's now is; nor is it my own private opinion, founded on a perfect knowledge of the inflexibility of his temper, that he will ever be persuaded to bestow his favour or countenance on his unfortunate son's children.

My endeavours, however, shall not be wanting, Sir, to prevail with him, if possible, to perform what certainly would be an act of humanity; and as the young ladies are probably anxious to know their destiny, shall not only write to Lord Belmont to enforce their claims, but shall take courage to assail him with all the rhetoric in my power. He is at present at Nice, and his answer cannot be long in finding its way hither.
Mr. Howard thanked her Ladyship in warm terms for this offer, which in some measure softened the harsh severity of her preceding discourse, and kindly added a thousand circumstances and recommendations calculated to animate and encourage the dawning interest she began to testify in the cause.
There is however one thing I must premise Sir, added she; the young ladies may perhaps be led to expect that I will invite them to my house, and give

them my notice and protection; but till my Lord's resolution is known, I must be excused from venturing on a conduct which I have reason to apprehend may meet with his disapprobation. The hour that brings me his Lordship's permission, I shall receive my nieces with all the cordiality and satisfaction imaginable; till that arrives, I must needs say that I think the more private they remain, and the less they are beheld in public, the better; and I should advise their friends to persuade them into this measure.
Mr. Howard, who by the expression their friends knew was meant only himself, replied—your Ladyship cannot imagine that in this country, where the young ladies arrived so lately, they possess many friends; but I hope, as they are perfectly deserving of those given them by nature, a prejudice, which you must allow me to call unjust, will not

deprive them of one day possessing their regard. I make no doubt but that till Lord Belmont's answer arrives, or till their relations choose to introduce them, they will not of themselves incline either to assume the family name, which they have not yet borne, or to appear in the world as his grand children.
In this particular I approve extremely of their prudence and delicacy, answered her Ladyship, and sincerely wish them the success their conduct in this point so justly merits. Indeed it would be the height of impropriety to let the world into those family secrets, till they can with propriety be disclosed; and they ought undoubtedly to continue under the name of Seymour till Lord Belmont allows of the change; and in the interim I shall most willingly undertake to convey any letter or packet the young ladies may be inclined to transmit to my Lord Belmont.

Well, my dear Sir, cried Fanny, who had watched his return at the window, what success?
I am not much pleased with the intelligence your countenance divulges, cried I.
My face is not then to be trusted, said he, for at this moment I scarce know whether to be pleased or not. Lady Linrose has dissatisfied me without giving me any just grounds for complaint. She expresses herself in your favour, and assures me she will back your claims with all her interest, yet her manner, uninterested and cold, contradicts what her tongue avers, and though rectitude may compel her to be your advocate, generosity will not, I fear, induce her warmly to become your friend.
He then related minutely and circumstantially all that had passed between them. I think, said he, when he had concluded, you ought undoubtedly to address your grand father in your own

name, nor trust to the pen of another a cause of so much moment. A letter, warm from the heart, and breathing the genuine sentiments of duty and affection, cannot fail to soften and interest him.
I agreed perfectly in this opinion, and instantly retired to set about the task. You will perhaps imagine that it would not prove an easy one: but I found it attended with no sort of difficulty. To write forcibly, little more is necessary than to be animated thoroughly with your subject. In this case, a thousand expressions of energy and warmth give a strength and eloquence to your style not to be attained by an unimpassioned writer; and as I did not affect what my heart did not feel, my epistle was extremely simple, though my tears, by blotting several, obliged me to write more than one copy.

TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF BELMONT.
Will my Lord Belmont permit his grand children to address him by the tender appellation which the ties of blood, and the most fervent sentiments of duty and veneration, equally prompt them to use. Alas! it is but lately we knew there yet existed a parent to whom these feelings were still due; and the same instant that bestowed an information, so unthought of, so fraught with wonder and perplexity, overwhelmed us with the sudden knowledge of a thousand cruel circumstances to poison and embitter the pleasing intelligence.
Among these, not the least dreadful is the apprehension—an apprehension which sinks us to the lowest ebb of despondency —that this venerable parent may forbid our claims, and remain, as he has hither done, a stranger and unknown to us.

Oh! my Lord! can your heart always continue unmoved to the gentle and insinuating voice of nature; or in a bosom, where rectitude is said to hold its empire, can resentment so long retain its violence, and prejudice its inflexibility. Ah! no! one day I trust I shall blush for having for an instant encouraged a suspicion so unworthy, so contrary to that justice which forms, we are told, the basis of Lord Belmont's character. We shall not mourn a second father, more cruelly torn from us than by the hands of death, while the traces of those tears which flowed for the first are hardly effaced from our eyes.
We are in England, my Lord, by the advice of a gentleman who was left our guardian, and who I believe was once not unknown to you. We arrived about three weeks ago, and had the inexpressible mortification to find that Mr. Benseley had expired but a few days before.

To add to this misfortune, we were told your Lordship was abroad; and informed that till you condescended to acknowledge us, those of our family who remained could not venture to afford us even their notice.
I think I need insist on no further particulars in order to enforce to your Lordship how uncomfortable, how painfully depressing, the situation of two young women must prove, who find themselves in a foreign and unknown country, unconnected in the midst of their numerous relations, and strangers, tho' surrounded by their natural friends.
Till your Lordship's resolution with regard to us is made known, we must continue in this obscure, this miserable state, unacknowledged, unnoticed, and deserted, whilst unconscious of meriting repulse, or of deserving this contempt and desertion.
The favour of a few lines from your

Lordship's hand, directed under cover to Laurence Howard, Esq. British Coffee House, a gentleman to whom, we are under infinite obligations, and with whose sister we at present reside, will either relieve our minds from a cruel load of painful suspense or finally put a period to those expectations, the uncertainty of which have deprived us for some months of comfort and rest.
We remain, with unfeigned respect, your Lordship's most dutiful children, HERMIONE AND FRANCES DUDLEY.
I made Fanny join in the signature. It appeared very strange to us to add a name so entirely new, nor could I hardly persuade myself I had any right to claim it.
When the letter was finished, I carried it down stairs in order to submit it to Mr. Howard's perusal, who was fortunately alone. He was affected with the warmth with which I had expressed

myself: but my words were faint when compared with my feelings while I transmitted them to paper. Melted with the tender idea that I was yet allowed to address myself to a surviving parent, I effaced the writing with my tears. A tear dropped down the cheek of Mr. Howard while he read. If Lord Belmont can indeed remain deaf to the voice of nature, said he, when she pleads in such language as this, his heart cannot have been composed of those flexible materials of which those of other men are formed.
He undertook himself to give it this day to Lady Linrose, that it might accompany her dispatches for Nice.
H. SEYMOUR.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
JAN. 12.
THIS presuming wretch Farnford, instead of avoiding me, as I flattered myself he would have done, after the repugnance I have testified towards the slightest intercourse with him, this morning called while we were at breakfast.
It was both painful and awkward for me to find myself in the same room with him; and in spite of all Mrs. Hindon's attempts to draw me into conversation, I maintained a profound silence, looked grave and reserved, and the moment I had done breakfast, left the parlour.

Mrs. Hindon, with all her civility, shows very little complaisance in this particular. Though she well knew the reluctance I felt to seeing him, she had undoubtedly invited him to supper; for soon after he was gone she came up stairs and informed me that the poor Captain found himself so miserable when at a distance from me, that he had asked leave to return in the evening.
I said nothing, for certainly I had no right to prescribe to Mrs. Hindon what company she should admit to her house; but the moment she left me, I took a chair to Mrs. Weldon's, and in the Captain's stile asked leave to spend the evening with her. She willingly consented; and told me with her usual kindness that there were to be a few friends with her, who would be equally pleased with an addition so agreeable to their party.
This is prudence with a witness, cried

Mrs. Hindon, when I carelessly informed her that I was engaged to sup abroad. 'Tis all I suppose to avoid the poor Captain; but indeed Miss Seymour when you have seen as much of the world as I have done, you'll have a little more indulgence for the frolics of twenty-five.
That I might run no chance of being caught by Farnford, I went early to Mrs. Weldon's: but indeed my dear Sophia I heartily regret I went at all.
The guests she had mentioned, consisted of three gentlemen, who were extremely gay and excessively free in their manner. Their vivacity was indeed unbounded; and their behaviour so noisy, not to say riotous, that I should have imagined they could have inspired only the most impenetrable gravity, in any female companion. Instead of this, however, their mirth produced in Mrs. Weldon a flow of spirits so unrestrained, that I could not avoid feeling to the last degree

uncomfortable, and I would have given the world more than once for a pretence to have left the table.
I had not sufficient courage however to betray so pointedly my disapprobation; I therefore kept my seat, determining in my own mind to refuse in future all Mrs. Weldon's invitations except to a tete à tete, when she always appears in a point of view both amiable and respectable. But I took no part in the surrounding merriment, and very little in the conversation, although the gentlemen on each side addressed themselves to me in a style of complimentary adoration perfectly new and almost incomprehensible.
The moment the cloth was removed, I ordered a chair; resolving not to wait for Mrs. Hindon's carriage, which was to attend me at a later hour; and told Mrs. Weldon that as that family were extremely regular, I should be obliged to leave her sooner than I wished.

Indeed, cried the gentleman who sat on my right hand, and who had been particularly violent in his expressions of admiration, we shall not permit you to be so cruel; and he seized my hand with an impetuosity which terrified me.
It is not indeed in my power to stay, cried I, with no little resentment in my voice. Mrs. Weldon joined earnestly in entreating me not to break up the party; and the other gentlemen insisted so strongly, that I was absolutely constrained to sit on, from the mere shame of discovering a degree of apprehension for I knew not what.
The gentlemen now began to sing a number of drinking, or as they termed it jovial songs; many of which, if I might judge from the manner they were received, were by no means adapted for female ears; and the glass circulated so freely, that my situation every instant grew more disagreeable. I was assailed

on each side with the most extravagant flattery; and all my attempts to rise were received with such violent opposition, that I had not resolution to undergo them, and therefore forced myself to remain till it was near twelve. I then got up, and declared I was determined to go.
There is but one way of putting a period to so barbarous a determination, cried one of the gentlemen, and springing forward to the door, he turned the key, and put it with an air of gay triumph into his pocket.
My consternation at this manoeuvre was beyond conception, and I turned to Mrs. Weldon with a look of astonishment for which I could not find words. It was, you may conclude, not much abated from observing that instead of openly avowing her displeasure, she laughed extremely at my apparent distress. Come my dear, cried she, since you are kept prisoner, tis in vain to resist.

Let us all sit down for an hour longer at least, and Sir Edward will favour us with another song.
No, Madam, cried I much provoked, tis my intention to be gone, and go I will. I beg and entreat Sir, turning to the gentleman, you will open the door and allow me to be gone. I ask it as a favour Sir.
Why then Madam, cried he gaily, with the grant of another you shall purchase this favour with all my soul.
What must I do then? cried I.
Pay the door keeper, Madam, advancing with an air of the most impertinent effrontery.
Nay that's but just by G— called out the others, bursting into a loud laugh.
I was so confounded with this audacious behaviour, that I could not utter a syllable; but retiring to my seat, I turned suddenly sick, and grew so pale that they all concluded I was going to faint.

Mrs. Weldon's mirth, on observing this change, was converted into apprehension. You have carried your wit greatly too far, Gentlemen, cried she; and Sir Edward instantly procuring the key from the other, uttered a thousand protestations of grief and regret for having given me a moment's uneasiness.
Mrs. Weldon then led me to her dressing room, from whence a servant was ordered to call a chair. She made me a thousand apologies for having allowed me to be so severely tormented; but concluded, she said, I would not mind the innocent frolic of a party of gay-hearted young men who were not quite sober.
I do not think them proper company for either of us, Madam, in such a situation, cried I, nor can I call a frolic innocent which was in my opinion to the last degree impudent to attempt and humiliating to receive.
I spoke with warmth, for indeed the

party altogether had shocked and confounded me extremely.
Oh the pretty little prude, cried she in a tone of ironical vivacity; indeed, my dear, you must expect on entering the world to behold a number of things which will appear equally strange and unaccountable to you. Pray do you imagine that all men are as grave as your father, or as sententious as Mr. Howard? Young men will be gay, and sometimes forget themselves. I disapprove of any flagrant breach of propriety as much as you or any one else can do, but to be sometimes absurd gives a gust to life.
The chair being now come, I bad her coldly adieu, and returned home extremely hurt to perceive the notions of a person, for whom I really feel an affection, so dissimilar to my own, and grieved to find that her unfortunate spirit of coquetry obscured and concealed a thousand good qualities.

Adieu! my Sophia. My desire to hear from you augments every hour. Your delightful journal, which used formerly to constitute my chief amusement, will now prove my consolation in all my troubles, as your friendship is my support in every difficulty. The anxiety in which we must some time longer remain, wears out in some measure my spirits, though I do not allow myself to brood over vexations that have not actually arrived; on the contrary, I am beginning to prepare for the worst, that is to say, for Lord Belmont's inflexibility, and often say to myself—if my family should persist in deserting me, I still possess my dear Fanny and my invaluable Sophia, and these two blessings, when put in the scale against all the comforts and advantages resulting from being cordially received into the family of my grand father, desirable as is that event, make

them appear lighter than air. Adieu, my love.
H. SEYMOUR.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
JAN. 15.
YOUR kind packet was brought me this morning. A thousand, thousand thanks to my beloved Sophia, for the warm friendship and affection which breathes in every line. Such a friend, at all times an invaluable treasure, is in our present situation if possible still more unspeakably precious: for when we now look around us, there remains not one other person, Madame de Clarence excepted,

to whom that tender appellation is due; and even she is not a Sophia.
One part of your letter actually dyed my cheeks with blushes, although I read it in private. How can you rally me so unmercifully because I described our fellow traveller to be what he really is—a very agreeable man. I did not tell you he was an Adonis, nor did I express myself, if I recollect, in terms of greater warmth than the politeness of his attentions merited from me. That he is handsome, and uncommonly engaging in his manner, is no more than you yourself must have acknowledged had you also been of the party. I confess however I have been several times a little apprehensive of your animadversions upon different parts of my journal, tho' I did not imagine you would have taken such strange notions so early into your head.
If you have become already suspicious,

how much elated will you prove, and how vain of your sagacity, when you receive the latter part of my journal, where you find I have again met with my hero, as you call him. I am conscious I have laid myself still more open to ridicule in some of my last packets than even when you took the hint with so much avidity from nothing.
I freely acknowledge, however, that the natural eagerness of my temper may have led me to express myself with an energy which was perhaps absurd enough; but I am accustomed, to my Sophia, to think on paper; I give every idea full latitude, and never once reflect how ridiculous I may often appear.
You command me, you say, on my allegiance, to confess faithfully if I do not find myself inclined to be a little more solicitous about this Oroondates than I ever was about the Chevalier de Mertane, or any other man? Indeed, my

dear, this is by no means putting the matter to a fair trial; for to compare Mr. Roatsley with the Chevalier argues nothing in the world in favour of your opinion, the latter being determinedly disagreeable to me; and there is a material difference I hope between acknowledging that a man is agreeable and being in love with him. That I think Mr. Roatsley the most agreeable man I have yet met with, I sincerely confess; but I can think him so, and even indulge a wish for further intimacy, without concluding myself in the slightest danger.
I will confess to you, however, my sweet friend, and let the openness of my heart put a final period to your raillery on this subject, that since the night of the play, when I think I must have given him cause for thinking meanly of me, I have suffered more uneasiness than such a trifle ought to have occasioned; and the

recollection that this change in his behaviour was antecedent to Farnford's appearance in the party, adds to my perplexity and encreases my regret.
As he appears to be intimate with Captain Bradshaw, perhaps the latter has hinted suspicions of my prudence and thus overturned the favourable sentiments which at Dover Roatsley seemed inclined to feel for his new acquaintances; yet his polite and attentive behaviour when I met with him at Drury-lane Theatre, entirely contradicts this idea, and was indeed totally different from the cold distance and civil reserve with which his manner was impressed the last time I saw him at the theatre. He did not appear the same man, at least he certainly was not actuated by the same feelings.
This confession may lead you to suspect the weakness of my heart, and I have severely condemned myself for allowing

the opinion of a stranger to influence me so far: yet I really believe pride alone is at the bottom of my uneasiness. I am hurt to have fallen in the esteem of a man, who, in spite of your raillery, appears superior to most of his sex. I formed no wishes from his acquaintance, but that he might prove an agreeable acquisition to our society; therefore I could experience, I imagined, but a slight disappointment. Yet I allow that I have permitted his behaviour to interest me too much; and since it has been so remarkable as to excite your observation even so early, I give you my word I will exert myself to think of it no more.
JAN. 16.
Were it not for the uneasy suspense in which we must remain till Lord Belmont's

resolution is known, our residence here would not be so uncomfortable as I at first concluded it would prove. Mr. Hindon is a good natured man, and of a very sociable disposition. He keeps an hospitable table, to which he generally brings home two or three guests every day, and these he treats with ease and benevolence without ostentation. They are not, to be sure, men of very brilliant manners, or whose society can be deemed extremely desirable; being usually friends from Change, about his own age; men who have spent their lives in the plodding pursuits of gain, to the acquisition of which all their talents have been invariably exerted—I had almost said exhausted, for their conversation seldom displays either knowledge of arts or taste for attainments that lead not to the great end of becoming rich. They claim, however, the merit of industry; and though sometimes I am confounded

with their vulgarity, in men passed the middle of life one is less shocked with that roughness which proceeds from plain dealing than with the smart and forward attempts made by some of the beaux of this line to appear degagè men of the world against nature and education.
Mrs. Hindon, though far short of my sanguine expectations, is a well-meaning woman, and by no means deficient in several good qualities. These are indeed often obscured by the want of one which bestows lustre on every other, I mean delicacy. She would not willingly inflict a wound, if she was conscious of its poignancy; but she is totally destitute of those feelings which tell when anothers are hurt. Without being generous, she does not fail in point of charity; I mean that branch of the duty that consists in giving alms. She keeps excellent order in her family, piques herself upon being an active oeconomist,

goes seldom into public, and is not given to dissipation. Our hours are early and regular, at least when compared with those which prevail in this country, and our evenings are generally spent at home, where now and then an easy friend joins the family party.
I have discovered one striking feature in Mrs. Hindon's character, to which perhaps may be attributed her unbounded civility to us. Yet I own it is unfair to place her kindness in a light that deprives it of all its merit. She was herself of very low extraction, and probably for that reason has attached an idea of importance to rank and family, which induces her to attend with the most sedulous regard and respect to all who have the slightest claim to distinction. Since our abode here, I have suspected a scheme, which repeated observation now convinces me is not without foundation. Captain Wilmot, Mrs. Hindon's nephew,

in a manner lives in her house; and except at the seasons of sleeping or dressing, makes constantly one of the family. He is become of late extremely particular in his attentions to Fanny, and continually entertains her in a sort of half whisper, which gives their conversation the air of a tete à tete. He is good-looking, though extremely vacant and insipid; but having received the polish of a military education, is enabled to hold forth with ease and fluency in a complimentary style to which Fanny has no sort of aversion. I have been a good deal alarmed, lest, as she is young and completely inexperienced, les petits soins de Monsieur le Capitaine, should prove more successful than were to be wished. I have not failed therefore, in talking of him in private, to throw a degree of ridicule upon his behaviour and appearance, of all weapons the most dangerous against which a lover can contend, and

as Fanny is not extremely susceptible, I think my plan will prove the destruction of Mrs. Hindon's; for that she is at the bottom of the Captain's passion, and has bestowed the proper supplies of fuel to blow it into a flame, I have no manner of doubt. Indeed her desire of aggrandizing her family by an alliance with Lord Belmont's, might alone have induced her to promote a match between Fanny and her nephew; but I make no doubt that besides this motive, to a young man who is not in affluent circumstances, Fanny's ten thousand pounds, added to the expectations which Mrs. Hindon often insinuates we may justly form from our grand father's liberality, would be an addition extremely desirable. After all, he may be sincerely enamoured, for Fanny possesses charms capable of interesting more refined sentiments than I suspect the Captain to possess; yet I recollect we were some time here before he seemed to know she was even in the same

room with him, and his solicitude took its rise all of a sudden, without any apparent cause for the alteration, after an appearance of the most frigid indifference.
My suspicions that the scheme was first suggested to him by his aunt, have been confirmed from remarking that Mrs. Hindon takes every opportunity of lavishing the most exaggerated encomiums on her nephew. He is the very best young man in the world; given to no vice; always kept himself out of the mad frolics of his military companions; and so good a son, that she made no doubt he would make a figure equally respectable in every other department of life.
Besides, don't you think him extremely handsome, Miss Fanny? I'm sure if you had been within hearing of what he said of you last night, you must have been flattered, though there was not one word of flattery in the case. He declared

you was in his opinion—you must excuse me, Miss Seymour—by far the handsomest of the two, and so amiable, and so elegant, and so like a young lady of the first quality. However I give you my word, Miss Seymour, he allows you to be what all the world must acknowledge—completely lovely; but Miss Fanny, he says, is an angel, and I think he is fairly caught at last.
You see, my dear, by this little trait, that Mrs. Hindon, with all her errors, is not in the least artful. Indeed I believe this plan no sooner occurred to herself, than, though without intending it, she contrived to communicate it to me. She is indeed incapable even of a prudent concealment; and when she imagines her designs (for she has a very active turn of mind) are cunningly hidden from every eye, a slight degree of penetration only is required to pierce through the thin disguise. She does not spare flattery

you may perceive on this occasion; and as she knows the influence which two years seniority, added to the warmest attachment, have given me over Fanny's mind, you see I get my share of it, as a person whom it is necessary to bring over to her interest.
I think Mr. Howard has likewise made a discovery of the scheme, which evidently meets with his disapprobation; for he always appears chagrined and displeased when Wilmot joins us, and regards him with a scrutinizing eye when he whispers soft nonsense into Fanny's ear.
Indeed to a mind like his, so fraught with rectitude and good sense, the utter impropriety of such a step must appear in full force; and I make no doubt that considering himself at present in the light of our guardian, he holds himself responsible to Lord Belmont for our conduct. While under his immediate, his sole direction, were this affair to involve

Fanny in a marriage so imprudent, it must reflect extremely even on Mr. Howard's character; since from his connection with Wilmot, it would undoubtedly appear to Lord Belmont as having received his secret concurrence and approbation.
Of such a conduct, I am convinced Mr. Howard is incapable, even were he to draw from the event the most desirable consequenses to himself: but independent of this idea, I am mistaken if a more forcible motive does not give additional weight to the repugnance with which he beholds Wilmot's assiduities.
I believe I once hinted to you, that Mr. Howard, during the infancy of our acquaintance, was extremely particular in his attentions to me. He was ever solicitous for my company, and sought my conversation with eagerness and sedulity. His behaviour at length alarmed me, and mine plainly told him how unsuccessful any application beyond the

limits of friendship would prove; for though I esteem, I admire his merits, and there is none of his sex for whose character I have a higher respect; though his manners bespeak his mind, and convey the mild benevolence of his nature into every look and motion; and though his years would not have been with me a material objection, yet, yet, Sophia, I could not have loved him. You will call me romantic perhaps; but never could Mr. Howard have enjoyed that tender interest in my heart which my lover must possess ere he becomes my husband. My sentiments partake of those a daughter feels for her parent. They are those of confidence, dependence, and gratitude; but they are far removed from those soft, cordial, and insinuating ties which make the duties of a wife her first happiness, and enable her almost to exist but for the man to whom she has given her hand.

When Fanny returned from the convent, (for it was during her abode there that our acquaintance with Mr. Howard commenced) he was struck with her appearance: but he regarded her as a beautiful child, and was more delighted with her naivetè than her conversation; and though he often entered into chat, he never discoursed with her: till our misfortune in losing our dear parent, by throwing us entirely under his care, made him feel Fanny's dependence, which at the period of my illness rested solely on him, as a peculiar charm that seemed to soften and affect him.
While we travelled, she leant on him for support in every difficulty or alarm. To him every enquiry was made, and from him every explanation was expected; and there are few men, I believe, in whom the idea of protection, exerted towards a young and pleasing object, will not create a tender interest, which if it

is not love, partakes extremely of the same sentiment.
As for me, my spirits oppressed and my temper independent, I trusted a little more to myself, nor consulted Mr. Howard but when circumstances called for counsel and assistance. To me therefore he ever behaves with respect and the most flattering regard; but to Fanny, his address has still more softness; he appears as if he considered her peculiarly his charge, and to gratify her in any little wish, however whimsical, evidently confers pleasure on himself.
Yet if my suspicions of his secret partiality are founded on truth, (for I will not pretend to be certain whether my surmizes are not partly the chimeras of my own imagination) he is acting on this occasion like a man of honour, and as I should have expected from his character. His attentions are those which may be felt, but except by myself, I am

certain never have been remarked; nor has he once betrayed a wish to insinuate himself into her good graces. No doubt he is conscious that a man of moderate fortune cannot be considered by Lord Belmont as a match for his grand child; who, if he means to acknowledge her, must possess a variety of advantages, according to the world's opinion, sufficient to carry a grandfather's views infinitely higher; neither is he insensible, I dare say, to the inequality of their years.
A girl of sixteen, with all the thoughtlessness incident to her time of life, increased perhaps by the retirement of her education, cannot appear to sober reason an elligible choice for a grave, sedate man of forty three, whose prospects of happiness have probably been centred in expecting an amiable companion rather than a beloved mistress, in the woman whom he makes the partner of his life. Yet probably those very men, Sophia,

may not prove less liable than others to be caught by the charms of youth; and when that is the case, partiality no doubt persuades them they have discovered the mistress and companion in one, and that they may be able to mould a young and innocent mind as they please.
I am mistaken if Mr. Howard's imagination has not sometimes secretly suggested some such ideas; though further than concealed wishes, I am confident •hey never will proceed.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
JANUARY 20.
THIS interval of some days has produced occurrences of the most distressing nature. Oh! my Sophia, why was I ever prevailed on to quit our quiet retreat in Languedoc? why has fate condemned me to visit a country, where, since the moment of my arrival, I have encountered only disappointments, against which I must struggle, and difficulties with which I must contend.
Yesterday morning Mrs. Hindon proposed carrying us to the sale of a nobleman's furniture and effects, who had lately

ruined himself by extravagance and a fatal passion for play. Curiosity, she told us, had brought the whole town together on this occasion: numbers, who never thought of becoming purchasers flocking to the auction to behold the splendour and elegance of the articles exposed to view.
This not being an amusement for which I imagined I should have much relish, I declined being of the party; and soon after Fanny and she were gone, Mrs. Weldon called. She was so extremely agreeable, and made so many apologies for the behaviour of herself and company the evening I spent at her house, that I could not help cordially forgiving, tho' in my heart I could not thoroughly excuse her.
You must consider my dear, said she, that your ideas and mine on certain points cannot fail to be extremely opposite. You have been educated in absolute solitude, and must have taken your opinions

either from reading, which is a very erroneous guide to form your sentiments upon, and one that ever leads to narrow prejudices and contracted notions, or have imbibed your rules of manners from the conversation of your father, who lived in the last age, at least in times that did not allow of those freedoms that the present fully authorize. As for me, besides the sanction which matrimony at a very early period of life gave to the natural gaiety of my temper, I have seen a good deal of the world; my character therefore is established. I fear not the voice of censure; and those gentlemen whose mirth offended you so much, were men I have long known; two of them were my relations; and you must allow that in the midst of their life and spirit no real impropriety was thought of.
Though I did not exactly agree in this opinion, I allowed it to pass without endeavouring to confute it; and after sitting

an hour, during which Mrs. Weldon conversed so rationally and agreeably that she made me entirely forget my resentment, she took leave, being engaged she said with her lawyers at a certain hour; having first made me promise to dine with her two days hence, when she assured me there should be no company except a female relation, with whom she was certain I should be much pleased.
As Mrs. Weldon's company is at all times really delightful, for she possesses the art of rendering the most trifling occurrences interesting from the insinuating gaiety with which she relates them, I consented; having first confessed that I hoped none of the gentlemen of her last party would join us. If any of them call, cried she laughing, I promise you I shall give orders to be denied, since the pretty little prude will have it so.
After she was gone, having a little time to myself, which is not often the

case, I recollected that I had some trifling business to transact with Mrs. Brumpton, my late landlady, relating to part of our baggage, which still remained at her house; and as I wished to make Mrs. Hindon a trifling present of a very pretty work box which was packed in one of the trunks under Mrs. Brumpton's care, I sent Dubois across the square, for it is not much further, to ask if she was at home, and to let her know I should call some time that morning to speak with her; and half an hour after I ordered my chair and went.
The maid conducted me into a small parlour, saying indispensable business had carried her mistress out for a few moments, but that she had left orders if I came to beg the favour of me to wait her return. I confess I thought this rather a freedom in the woman; however I sat down, expecting she would soon appear.
My attention was in a short time

roused by hearing a gentleman give orders to his servant, so near, that I found only a thin partition separated the room in which I was placed from that occupied by our late fellow lodger, Captain Bradshaw. He appeared employed in assisting the packing of some guns, and other shooting implements, about which he seemed as anxiously careful as if his life had depended on their arriving undamaged at the end of their destined journey. He was extremely busy, and whistled with great vociferation several little cotillion tunes at present in vogue.
Some time after I heard the door of his apartment open, and a gentleman enter.—Well Tom, cried a voice which I instantly knew to be Mr. Roatsley's, you are preparing to be gone I find.
Yes, I am sending off all my shooting apparatus, in hopes that since I must go I may find some amusement in making havoc among the partridges. I am told

there is excellent sport on Sir Edward's grounds; and I may as well take ten days of it as not.
There is a vast quantity of game about that part of the country, answered Mr. Roatsley. Perhaps I may take it into my head to pay you a visit at your quarters, after my election business is concluded.
I wish to God you would. But for my own part the devil take me if any thing under heaven should drive me from town at this season, while I had a full purse, and leave from the regiment to spend it where I pleased.
Heaven knows what my feelings by that time may be, said the other, but at present I find myself equally incapable of relishing the pleasures of the town or the amusements of the country.
Yes you are fairly caught at last, cried Bradshaw, laughing heartily: Cupid has revenged himself with a vengeance; and

you know I always told you he would one day prove doubly severe. She is divinely handsome it must be confessed, and I believe the little god never aimed his darts from brighter eyes than those of your Dulcinea. They would alone constitute a beauty without the assistance of any other perfect feature.
There is at least, replied his friend, a character—an expression—a something about her altogether that interests me beyond what any other woman was ever capable of effecting.
A character! replied the other redoubling his mirth. But indeed we have always been told that love is blind.
Think, my dearest Sophia, if your suspicions had any real foundation, and much I fear there was more cause in your raillery than I ever dreaded, think what I felt at this instant. From the time of Roatsley's entering, I had suffered agitation unspeakable, and had listened

with eager anxiety to this discourse; but at the last sentence my heart beat with augmented violence, and I waited with inexpressible impatience to learn the name of that happy woman whom at this painful moment I scrupled not to confess I envied. Breathless with expectation, I heard Mr. Roatsley after a short pause reply—Well, Bradshaw, in spite of appearances, which I acknowledge are by no means in her favour, I cannot for my soul think of her for an instant in a disrespectful point of view. When I reflect on her behaviour during the short period of our acquaintance, it seemed to evince a superior turn of mind; far from giving way to her fears in a storm which might justly have excused the most immoderate and well grounded apprehensions, she exerted herself in the most amiable manner to calm and allay the weaker terrors of her sister, who sunk under her alarm; incessantly endeavouring to inspire that

hope and consolation which she herself equally required at a moment so tremendous. Struck with her uncommon beauty, I took advantage of her situation to offer her those little attentions which any woman in similar circumstances would have claimed from me, but which in performing to this unknown fair, gratified me beyond expression. Her fears, so unaffected, so severe, yet so little indulged, rendered her at once the object of my admiration and tendered compassion. There were a thousand charms in every word, in every look; and a certain slight degree of a foreign accent, which in another might have appeared a defect, gave a peculiar softness to the tone of her voice, the force of which I felt without being able to define it.
The alarming situation in which I beheld her, gave birth to a thousand circumstances that all conspired to delight and interest me. Nor did the evening I

spent in her company at Dover, fail to heighten and augment my first impressions in her favour. Her manner possessed a polished simplicity, and her conversation a refined good sense, which diffused a mutual lustre on each other, and which insinuated her into my heart beyond all power of resistance; and although I was obliged to get to the Abbey by the day I had mentioned to my mother, and had hardly time sufficient to fulfil my promise, yet I allowed many hours to elapse before I could prevail with myself to quit the inn where the lovely Miss Seymour was.
Is it then me at last—me indeed—cried I to myself, out of breath with expectation and wholly exhausted with agitation.
During the preceding speech, it is not easy to describe what were my perturbations. At one time elated with hopes, which at another sunk into apprehensions, I feared to flatter myself delusively;

nor till I heard my name distinctly pronounced could I be persuaded that the woman he had been describing with all the exaggerated encomiums of an impassioned heart, could indeed be myself.
The sensations of pleasure which rushed into my mind, were soon however mixed with a bitterness that poisoned every rising satisfaction.
When I call to mind her behaviour, continued he, both during that evening and every succeeding one when I have been so fortunate as to converse with her; when I recollect her manner, so soft, so unaffected, so inexpressibly engaging, how is it possible to reconcile all this with the account which the woman here gives of the whole party. I cannot recollect one instance of the slightest appearance of levity either in Miss Seymour or her sister, who is the very picture of innocence itself, nor would it have been in the power of any person on earth to have made me

for one instant give credit to the aspersion on her character, had not my eyes witnessed that she can forgive an insult which a delicate woman never could have pardoned.
After all, said Captain Bradshaw, Mrs. Brumpton does not absolutely aver that they are abandoned girls, though it must be owned she seems to insinuate more than she chooses to divulge; and last night when I questioned her again according to your desire, she told me that when under the eye of their Argus, no girls can behave with greater propriety, but that the instant his back is turned they do not appear the same creatures.
What I at this moment heard affected me so violently that I became incapable for some minutes of at ending to what they said; on renewing my attention I found Roatsley was speaking.
You may conclude then, said he, how shocked I must be to learn that there were

a variety of rumours to the disadvantage of this family, with which I was so much charmed. I was indeed inexpressibly hurt to find any mortal dared to think disrespectfully of any one of them; yet I disbelieved every syllable that was uttered. I could not discredit the evidence of my eyes, which traced every amiable quality and every sentiment of female dignity in the countenance and manner of Miss Seymour. As for her sister, she is also very lovely, and the innocent youthfulness of her appearance accords ill with your report. Mr. Howard I have enquired after; and find he is esteemed a man of sense and character, neither given to vice nor even accused of excess; I must therefore repeat, that I think the notion of their being his wards is infinitely more probable (even setting aside the appearance of the ladies, which indeed renders any other opinion absolutely impossible,) than that there should be any

illicit connection in the case. That part of the story I am therefore thoroughly convinced is an infamous slander.
Wounded to the soul by this dreadful, this inconceivable explanation of the motives of Mr. Roatsley's late behaviour, oh! Sophia, what were my pangs, what was my mortification, during a recital which sunk my spirits from the highest elevation to the lowest despondency. Scarce could I keep myself from fainting at the cruel and painful conclusion of encomiums which had excited such infinite pride and pleasure. My heart died within me; yet I anxiously listened to what should follow, while my eyes were drowned in tears of vexation and regret.
The girl may be thoughtless and inconsiderate, returned Bradshaw, without being absolutely void of delicacy; and their being with Lady Farnford certainly argues in favour of their reputation. The idea of their being French courtezans

is not by any means probable: but should they turn out so you have still less reason to sigh Roatsley, for your fair one will not prove cruel.
It is utterly impossible! cried Roatsley with warmth. I am perfectly convinced of the abominable falsehood of that insinuation. Miss Seymour may be weak, vain, and volatile, (though even in these points I am unconvinced,) for I will not pretend to aver that first sight impressions, especially where an interesting figure is in question, are always to be taken as proof; but to attack her moral character is an aspersion which one look must completely and sufficiently confute. I own I am hurt and confounded at the variety of reports which pour in upon me from more quarters than one: they have even reached the ears of my mother, though she never saw either of them in her life, nor could have heard even their names repeated till within these few days. Miss

Seymour has fallen I acknowledge from the high ideas I had conceived of her character, but never for an instant can I do her so material an injury as to suspect her reputation.
There are men, said Mr. Bradshaw, who in your situation would not regret if that point continued doubtful.
No, cried his friend, the woman who has once possessed the power of inspiring me with a passion [almost equally compounded of tenderness and esteem, cannot preserve the first while she loses all claim to the latter. My love for Miss Seymour could not subsist independent of that delicacy which gives it a charm refined and inexpressible; nor would I enjoy if I might the fruits of a fall which I should ever lament. But I am conscious I am injuring her in mentioning her name under such a surmise. Pray what says your watch? This subject carries me too far; and I have an engagement at four.

'Tis almost that hour, cried the other; and both the gentlemen rose to go.
I trembled from head to foot as they passed the door of the parlour, lest any accident should have discovered me; but I was soon rid of my fears as they left the house directly.
What do you think, my dear Sophia, of this conversation, so wholly inconceivable? Scarce have I preserved resolution and patience sufficient for relating it minutely, without often interrupting my narration by the silent ejaculations and the different emotions to which at the time it gave rise. To delineate my various feelings of mortification, disdain and vexation, would be perfectly impossible. I think however you may in some measure suggest to yourself what they must have been. Terror was no inconsiderable ingredient towards rendering the situation of my mind still more dreadful; and what motive Mrs. Brumpton

could possibly have had for representing us to others in a light in which I am certain she never could herself have regarded us, plunged me into consternation and affright.
The instant Mr. Roatsley and his friend were out of the house, I determined to fly from a spot in which I dreaded one moment longer to remain; and was hastening to the door, when it suddenly opened, and Mrs. Brumpton appeared, quite out of breath, followed by—the wretch Farnford.
Ten thousand pardons Madam, cried she, for the trouble you have had in waiting. A poor sick relation sent to entreat I would give her the consolation of one half hour's conversation, having some affairs to impart which lay heavy on her mind, and thinking as you mentioned two o'clock that you would not be here for some time, I ventured to give my poor dying cousin the comfort she so much required.

While she pronounced these words, in a whining hypocritical tone, Farnford advanced, and making me a profound bow, endeavoured to convey a look of contrition and reverence into his countenance, as if he concluded it must at once molify and subdue my resentment: but I entirely disregarded his salutation. The sight of him so unexpectedly threw me into the utmost terror, and a crowd of confused apprehensions rushed instantly on my mind. I exerted myself however to assume an appearance of unconcerned indifference.
I am sorry Madam, said I, with an air of gravity and composure under which I strove to conceal the fears which almost overpowered me, that you should have been so unluckily from home, as I have an indispensable engagement that prevents my remaining a moment longer. I shall settle matters at a more convenient time; at present it is impossible; and I walked

composedly towards the door, which she had shut.
The woman seemed at a loss, and stammered out—'Tis really extremely unlucky indeed Ma'am: but if you could just sit down a little bit Ma'am—perhaps you might find time to give me directions about that large trunk, Ma'am—which has remained in my back room ever since you quitted it. Would you choose that it should remain in my custody, where it is very safe, or shall it be sent to Mrs. Hindon's in the Square Ma'am.
All this time she kept her hand on the lock of the door, as if she intended me the civility of opening it, but evidently with the design of detaining me. This movement redoubled my emotions; yet I answered as coolly as possible—Let it be sent to Mrs. Hindon's Madam; but I am in extreme haste, and beg I may not be detained.
For heaven's sake, cried Farnford, who

all this while stood in evident embarrassment, his eyes fixed with a most impudent stare on my face—Spare a few moments I beseech you from your engagement, and permit an unhappy man, who has undesignedly and unfortunately offended you, to plead his cause at your feet; and falling on his knees, he seized my hand, which all my endeavours could not wrest from him. But indeed I was too much intimidated to dare to make much resistance; for the woman still held the door; and though conscious that I was in fact a prisoner, I was anxious to keep measures with them as long as possible, which I imagined might preserve me from indignity.
Only hear me for one moment, continued he, and you will be conscious that you have no just cause for offence. The first glance I had of such superlative charms, completed the conquest of my heart: a heart, which has long remained

unmoved, unsubdued, by the attractions of the most amiable and most accomplished of your sex—
Sir, cried I, interrupting him with a resolution which pride and resentment inspired, it is perfectly immaterial to me what are your sentiments. I am not at leisure at present to listen to your discourse, and I desire you would instantly release me.
The whole world and all the powers it contains, cried he with frightful vehemence, shall not tear you from me till you have heard me out. I own I did you injustice. I heartily deplore it. What can I say more? What can I do more to testify to you the sincerity of my regret and repentance? Undoubtedly the most confounded prudery can alone induce you so violently to resent a freedom of behaviour into which intoxication and a false idea of your character inadvertently led me. The moment I discovered

my error I should have flown to have acknowledged and renounced it at your feet, but you have constantly frustrated all my attempts to obtain an interview. I am therefore constrained to make the most of fortune, and since she has at length propitiously favoured my wishes, how can you imagine I will not take advantage of her gifts. Angelic creature, continued he, for heaven's sake hear me with some degree of softness and pity. I adore you: I would with delight undergo the severests torments to gain the slightest hopes of forgiveness. Tell me only that you will forget a conduct which I heartily lament—tell me that you will admit of my visits at Mrs. Hindon's, where all the family are favourably disposed towards me—and I will torture my own soul by permitting you to leave me.
I will not grant a permission, cried I with spirit, which would lead to a persecution

I never will undergo and to hopes I never will encourage. You vainly flatter yourself, Sir, if you imagine you will even extort such a consent. I desire you will allow me to go. I insist upon it. What title have you to presume to detain me against my inclination, (and I spoke with undissembled heat) you will oblige me to call up my footman for assistance.
He is not within call, I give you my word, so that is a resource to which you cannot apply.
Pray Mrs. Brumpton, cried I to the wicked woman, do you allow of such violence being practised in your house?
All the Captain asks is forgiveness, Madam, replied she. Were he to attempt any incivility, I should be the first to condemn him. I never have countenanced such proceedings in my house I assure you, Ma'am; but all the gentleman asks is to be allowed to hope.
All I wish by G—, interrupted he,

all I kneel for is, that you would forget what has displeased you in my conduct, and by admitting my visits, flatter me with the hope that time and assiduity may soften that dear, that inflexible heart in my favour.
Never, never, cried I with firmness.
Never! Madam, answered he, suddenly throwing aside that appearance of humility and respect which notwithstanding his violence he had hitherto preserved, and assuming a look that terrified me—Do you persist in this determination? do you tell me never to hope for pardon, Madam? Since then I find I gain no ground by submission, since you continue thus resolute and unmoved to all my entreaties, since all my protestations only feed a pride, stern and unrelenting, permit me to assure you, that if you do not condescend to grant me some chance for future favour, most certainly I shall not prove so much my own

enemy as—as to allow you to leave me, said he hesitating—without obtaining it.
What do you ask, said I, almost sinking with terror from the alarming warmth with which he uttered these words, and from the wildness of his looks, while he not only grasped my hand but kissed it several times in a passionate manner.
I only desire, replied he, that you will never mention to any person whatever this interview, that you will endeavour to forget I ever offended you, and that you will deign to allow of my visits, nor scrupulously avoid my sight, under those false pretences of engagements and indisposition which have hitherto baffled all my attempts to meet with you.
Well, Sir, cried I, for my courage had now entirely failed me, since you can stoop to accept of an extorted compliance, I will see you at Mrs. Hindon's when you occasionally call; but I shall certainly keep my own apartment, and

follow my own engagements when I see proper; nor shall I ever give my consent to conceal any part of your behaviour from those to whom I may choose to divulge it, but you may conclude I shall not be eager to expose it on my own account.
At least promise me, said he, promise me, loveliest of human beings! that you will not publish this day's interview either to my mother, to Mrs. Hindon, or to Mr. Howard; on this condition, and this only will I suffer my charming prisoner to depart.
You ought to blush Sir to call me by that name; but since you are determined, to these three exceptions I shall unwillingly submit. Do not imagine, however, that you have it in your power to intimidate me to grant greater concessions; for here I solemnly protest that nothing shall induce me to go further; nor would a generous mind be capable of frightening

me into promises which may be above my ability to perform.
No, cried he, I ask no more. I build my future hopes on the opportunities I shall enjoy of pleading my cause when you are less disturbed; and I hope you will allow something for the generosity of my present behaviour when you are entirely in my power.
Wretch! where was the generosity he boasted of? to intimidate—to terrify me —and to force me into every measure he dared wish to adopt.
Then let me depart, cried I, for he still held my hand.
Madam, said the woman, may I take the liberty of adding one word? As the part I have acted in this matter was out of pure good will to the Captain, I hope you will not misinterpret my permitting this meeting, which the young gentleman has solicited times without number before I could be brought to consent to it.

No more conditions, said I, with a haughty air; and after Farnford's odious lips had dwelt almost a minute on my hand, he led me to my chair, which still remained in waiting though he had used the precaution to send away Dubois, as if with orders from me to return home.
Do you not think, my Sophia, that during this morning I had suffered anguish and mortifications sufficient: ah no, my dear! a more cruel, a more severe pang than any I had endured yet remained, and wholly overpowered me: at that painful moment when the horrid Farnford was putting me into my chair at the bottom of the stairs, Mr. Roatsley passed me. I involuntarily started on perceiving him, and he suddenly changed colour; but without deigning to pay me the usual compliments, he contented himself with slightly touching his hat, and with a careless but dejected air hastily passing me, walked on.

I followed him with my eyes, and observed he looked behind; though instantly on seeing that I remarked it, he turned away, and I thought I could distinguish an appearance of chagrin on his countenance that made me regard the audacious Farnford (who just at that instant bad me farewell) with augmented horror and disgust.
Oh heavens! said I to myself, as the chair moved along, what has this morning revealed to me. That I'm loved by Roatsley, yet am the object of his contempt. If some hours ago he seemed inclined to think even better of me than I appeared to deserve, now—now—every unfavourable suspicion must have received full confirmation; and the vexation of my heart drew tears of bitterness from my eyes. Happily I got unobserved into my own apartment, where Fanny immediately joined me; and I found some small alleviation to my distress in relating

to her all that variety of singular occurrences which had befallen me in the course of a few hours; but a call to dinner soon obliged me to dry my eyes, and appear with dissembled ease at table, where there were, as usual, two or three friends besides the family.
JAN. 21.
Fatigued with writing, I laid down my pen to reflect on the transactions of a day, which, were I to live a thousand years, I shall ever remember with pain. Oh! Sophia! have I not cause to be wounded to the soul. The man on earth who appears the most amiable in my eyes, has conceived perhaps an equal partiality for me; yet a false and injurious suspicion must soon, nay must already, have entirely obliterated and destroyed every favourable prepossession,

and substituted in their room the lowest and most contemptuous sentiments. Have I not indeed cause to be hurt in the tenderest part. No method can I devise for clearing my reputation in Mr. Roatsley's opinion. I am under a fatal promise to conceal the whole affair from Mr. Howard, who is the only person that could have explained with delicacy and propriety any doubts that were to my disadvantage, and I have little hopes Roatsley will henceforth feel the slightest solicitude about me, after the flagrant proof he has this day beheld of my deficiency in that point on which he justly rests an importance so material. How can I now flatter myself, even should I meet him in public, which is my sole chance of encountering him, that he will give me an opportunity, by conversing with him, to testify how sincerely my soul abhors the wretch whose conduct merits my scorn and detestation,

and that my mind is far, far above those vile and unaccountable suspicions which he has been led, heaven knows how, to entertain against me.
But how on earth, my dear, have reports so infamous, so inconceivable, been circulated at our expense? who could have any interest in propagating them, and who could have been so infernally wicked as to invent such injurious falshoods, without some strong and powerful motive? Is it then possible to create secret and treacherous enemies, without performing or wishing ill to any one? The wretch Brumpton, you may perceive, is not alone at the bottom of these mortifying aspersions; from various quarters it seems they have reached Mr. Roatsley's ears; even from the lips of his mother he says, though heaven is my witness I scarce knew till this moment that she existed; and no sooner, it is probable, has she been made acquainted with

the same fact in regard to us, than a thousand infamous calumnies have attended the information. A variety of conjectures crowd upon my mind: but the only particular I can rest on with any degree of conviction, is, that Mr. Howard must not have arrived at a period of life enough advanced to allow with propriety of two female companions of our age; and this circumstance, to slanderous dispositions, has most undoubtedly given rise to these abominable suspicions, yet how tainted with vice must that heart be, who from an accident so simple and natural, could infer and propagate accusations so scandalous. If this is the world, Sophia, ten thousand times better it had been for us had we never quitted our peaceful solitude.
Yesterday evening, being what Mrs. Hindon calls her assembly night, we had a crowd of visitors, who played at cards or conversed as they were inclined. Most

of them, however, did not remain long enough for either; but, as if satisfied with having testified their politeness by showing themselves, departed a few minutes after they entered.
Mrs. Hindon, who, to do her justice, never fails in attention towards my sister and me, introduced to us a number of her friends; but an introduction in England, seldom or never, I find, is productive of an acquaintance; it serves merely as a pretext that may be laid hold of at pleasure for that purpose, but which, if disinclined, obliges the parties only to the formality of a distant curtsey on their next meeting; a ceremony that is often dropped on succeeding interviews.
You may conclude I was not a little confused on hearing Captain Farnford's name announced among the first who appeared. He walked directly to the sopha on which I was seated, and very confidentially began to enter into conversation

with me upon general topics with the ease and familiarity of the most perfect intimacy; but though constrained to remain in his company, I thought it by no means necessary to punish myself by attending to his discourse, which soon overflowed with the most bombast and absurd expressions of admiration; I therefore turned from him with unfeigned disgust, and addressing myself to some ladies with whom I have contracted a transient acquaintance, pretended to be engrossed with what had scarce the power of fixing my wandering thoughts. I found escaping from him, however, was quite impracticable, for he followed me for some time wherever I went with the most obtrusive perseverance, without seeming to remark the repugnance I did not attempt to conceal, nor the contemptuous silence with which I listened to him.
I flatter myself my behaviour at length

had the desired effect. He began to look proudly displeased, and could no longer conceal the painful mortification his vanity suffered from the cold neglect I discovered to the display of his accomplishments. Indeed there is a secret self-approbation and conceit diffused over his manner, which, independent of any other consideration, would have alone rendered him disagreeable to me; though I could perceive he was by no means regarded in this unfavourable point of view by the rest of the company; on the contrary, the younger female part of it seemed to consider him as a real fine gentleman, whose notice was solicited with an eagerness that soothed his pride and softened his mortification.
A small party being invited to stay supper, I was rejoiced to find that during the latter part of the evening he had changed his plan of operations, and instead of tormenting me with unceasing

persecution, had transferred his attention to a young lady in company, who indeed received it with all the satisfaction he could wish. He seemed to aim at the old attempt of engaging interest by exciting jealousy; from the idea that the sex cannot with patience submit to the mortification of being rivalled even in the admiration of those for whom they have no value. Heaven grant his scheme may continue for some time, or rather that it may last for ever.
JAN. 22.
How busy, my Sophia, is our present way of life, and how various the scenes in which we are engaged. I need now no longer repeat, as I used so frequently to do, when my journal was dated from our quiet retreat in Languedoc, that it is deficient in interest and incident.

More events, my beloved friend, but none of a very pleasing nature.
We have hitherto left the regulation of our finances wholly to Mr. Howard's care; who, more accustomed to matters of this kind than it is to be supposed my sister or I could be, with his usual goodness undertook to manage all our business of this nature; being in possession of a large sum for present use, which is not yet exhausted, and concluding our fortunes secure in the funds under the inspection of Mr. Benseley's executors, we imagined ourselves certain of independence.
Mr. Howard has been under some apprehensions, I believe, about this money ever since our arrival here, though he forbore alarming us till the truth could be no longer concealed. The sum is twenty thousand pounds; all my father ever possessed; and for which he solemnly relinquished all further claims or

expectations from his father's bounty (a precaution I find which was unnecessary). This Mr. Benseley had originally placed in the stocks; but a few days previous to his demise, some change in public credit unfortunately induced him to sell out at a very great price, no doubt with the intention of laying out the money to more advantage. His death, however, unluckily taking place in the interim, no paper can be found by which the real proprietors of that money are ascertained. A note alone has been discovered, in which Mr. Benseley acknowledges a debt to my father of four thousand pounds; and it is but too probable that Fanny and I must content ourselves with this small portion of that affluence of which we always concluded ourselves secure. What is worse, Mr. Benseley's affairs are in such embarrassment and confusion, that we shall not enjoy this little pittance till all is cleared; and as there are a

number of creditors, it is likely that even this may be considerably reduced.
Mr. Howard strives to persuade us that things may turn out better, and that it is not impossible but some lights may yet appear to prove our claims. He has consulted lawyers on the occasion, but he confesses they are not sanguine, having given it as their opinion that unless writings are found which plainly evince our right, a lawsuit would be an expensive and ineffectual expedient; and it is evident, from the friendly chagrin with which he just now divulged this disagreeable intelligence, that he thinks only part of this debt will be recovered. As to our fortune, that is irretrievably gone.
It has been justly observed, that the pecuniary disappointments inflicted by Fortune never produce a lasting or painful wound except to minds tainted with avarice: if we are enabled to live with decency and independence, though with

the strictest economy, on what still remains to us, I should blush to repine at our loss, though manifold are the advantages resulting from affluence, and grateful the pleasure which dispensing it procures to the heart.
If our grandfather should prove inexorable, Sophia, the prospect now is not a comfortable one: but I will not allow an unnecessary anxiety about the future to add one moment's uneasiness to my present vexations: Lord Belmont never can permit us to remain in absolute poverty: at all events, if we are rejected by him, obscurity must be our portion; and then a little—a very little will enable us to subsist with comfort and decency.
H. SEYMOUR.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
JAN. 23.
OH! my Sophia! how infinitely am I shocked with a discovery I have made.
Yesterday, when I went to Mrs. Weldon's, I found her alone. Her friend, she told me, had sent an apology, being a little indisposed; but as you are so sober, said she, I hope you will be almost as well pleased to sit and chat tete à tete with me, for I expect nobody else.
I told her she paid herself a bad compliment, if she imagined I did not prefer her company to that of her friends, and that I could not avoid enjoying the lady's

detention. Soon after a hand organ in the street attracted our attention, and several well known French opera tunes were played very agreeably by a Savoyard, whose wife and child made a rude but not unpleasant accompanyment upon instruments that seemed to have been invented in the very infancy of music. The effect altogether was delightful; and the sound of airs which had been taught me in my own country recalling a thousand soft and affecting recollections, conveyed me in imagination to dear Languedoc, and threw me into a reverie that wholly absorbed me.
An intention of rewarding the performer the more liberally perhaps from considering him in some measure as my countryman, induced me to pull up the sash to throw him some money; and just at that instant I perceived Mr. Roatsley pass the window. He was walking with another gentleman; but on beholding

me suddenly started, and bowing slightly, with an air of extreme embarrassment and confusion hastily walked away.
The sight of him threw me into a perturbation not to be conceived. I felt myself colour violently; and was scarcely able to stand. Mrs. Weldon, who from attentively listening to the music had not observed the gentlemen, though she was standing at the window by me, exclaimed, Good heavens, my dear, what can be the matter? You are all over crimson. Afraid of her raillery, I chose not to reveal the real truth, and gave her an evasive answer, expressed with such awkwardness that it would by no means answer the purpose intended; but on the contrary, by exciting her curiosity induced her to look out of the window. I knew there must be something at the bottom, cried she laughing. Upon my word two very handsome youths, though I can only see their backs, for they are almost

at the end of the street. However I insist on being informed which of the two it is, the mere sight of whom has discomposed you so prodigiously.
After this attack, you may believe I did not choose to afford her a subject for teizing me by confessing the cause of my agitation; as I well knew how delighted she always is with a topic on which to display her wit and vivacity. The information that it was Mr. Roatsley was little calculated to make her spare me; and besides of necessity must have led to a communication which I did not wish. I therefore evaded her enquiries in the best manner I could contrive, though not without difficulty, under pretence of an indisposition which I knew she did not credit.
Oh! Sophia! the expressive manner in which Roatsley regarded me, was so striking, that it must have made the most forcible impression on my mind had I

even received no hints to guide me to unravel its meaning; but after the dreadful intelligence which accident has brought to my knowledge, too well, alas! am I enabled to interpret the gravity and melancholy that was strongly pictured in his countenance. But I must hasten to other particulars—particulars that have shocked me beyond expression.
Just as Mrs. Weldon and I had finished a tete à tete meal, a thundering rap announced visitors, and the instant after Sir Edward, (for I know not his other name,) entered.
I was somewhat discomposed at his appearance, after the freedom of his behaviour the evening I had been in his company; though to do him justice, he had treated me with more respect than seemed to influence the rest of his companions. I therefore assumed a look of grave reserve, and took no part in a very lively discourse which instantly commenced

between him and Mrs. Weldon, though they often severally addressed themselves to me, and made many attempts to engage me in it.
After sitting a quarter of an hour, Mrs. Weldon left the room to bring some drawings for the animadversion of Sir Edward, who professed himself a connoisseur; and concluding she would immediately return, I kept my seat, with the intention of remaining till Mrs. Hindon and Fanny should call for me in their way to an assembly, whither I meant to accompany them. But scarce was she gone, when Sir Edward, advancing, resumed the stile of address with which I had been so much importuned the last time I had been in his company; and throwing himself at my feet, with a profusion of the most extravagant compliments swore he had adored me ever since he had enjoyed the happiness of seeing me, and that he had been the most miserable

of men, and must remain so, unless I would discard the cold and cruel reserve with which I received all his attentions.
I was petrified with astonishment; and rising in order to leave him, assured him I never discovered either distance or repugnance, but in company which naturally inspired those feelings.
Loveliest of women! cried he, wherein can I have been so wretched as to displease you? How can I have inadvertently fallen into an error which is the fault on earth I should most deplore, and which were it necessary I would expiate with my life. Do not imagine, all divine as you are, that your charms can be heightened or your beauty rendered more irresistible from that air of haughtiness and disdain, which would destroy the power of any features but your own, nor conclude that you will augment the number of your slaves from the severity and

cruelty of the chains with which you must bind all hearts that behold you.
Sir, cried I, confounded at this speech, and a great many others in the same strain which succeeded, and still more by the manner in which they were pronounced, while he stood between me and the door with the intention of preventing me from escaping—for heaven's sake allow me to depart. I flattered myself the disapprobation I testified so lately at a similar behaviour, would have entirely put an end to compliments and a conversation which confounds and bewilders me; and I also hoped that the regret you expressed for having alarmed and shocked me, would not have been so soon followed by the same inhumanity. I thought myself under obligations to you then Sir, for relieving me from another gentleman's persecution; let me, I entreat you, have reason to express my thanks once more for delivering me from your own.

The earnestness with which I uttered these words seemed to strike him; yet for some time he went on in the same incomprehensible stile, till at length I exclaimed—What on earth Sir does all this mean? I am perplexed and bewildered. I know not what to make of your discourse.
Madam, said he, with an evident change in his countenance and some hesitation, my conversation cannot have confounded and bewildered you more than yours astonishes me. If such are your real sentiments, why do I behold you here?
At this question, pronounced so seriously, I felt as if I was thunderstruck. A thousand suspicions, confused and terrifying, rushed upon my mind.
Tell me, cried I with terror, tell me why I ought not to be here.
Miss Seymour, answered he with increasing earnestness, I blush for myself.

I perceive I have been egregiously deceived, and my confusion deprives me of power to apologize for my behaviour. All that I now can do to atone for my offence is, to inform you that this house is by no means a proper place, nor is its owner a safe companion, for a young lady of your appearance.
My God! exclaimed I in horror, for at that instant he who had been but a moment before the object of my dislike and apprehension, seemed now my sole dependence and only security from insult and despair—My God! what shall I do?
Be not alarmed I beseech you, cried he, and be assured that as certainly as I have warned you of your danger I shall myself secure you from it. You have nothing to fear.
I was very near fainting, from the shock of this dreadful information; and anxious as was my desire of quitting instantly the house, I had not power to

move. At last, when I had a little recovered myself, I entreated Sir Edward to order a chair. He instantly complied; and having pulled the bell, desired the footman to make haste.
The short interval which passed till the chair was ready, was the most awkward that can be imagined. My unspeakable impatience rendered it an age; and to my agitation and terror was superadded the most painful confusion. I could hardly look Sir Edward in the face after the explanation he had made of my situation, and he himself seemed equally at a loss. My distress was not, you may conceive, much abated, by an expression which inadvertently dropped from him upon my confessing my apprehensions for Mrs. Weldon's return before I had left the house. Be assured 〈◊〉 Madam, said he, she will take particular care not to interrupt us. This speech at once finished her character and informed me that she had





planned the interview; in procuring which she probably pursued her own interest.
Good heavens, Sophia, is it possible that this woman, to whom nature has been so bountiful, so prodigal of her gifts; who possesses so abundantly the insinuating power of pleasing and whose conversation is in general as refinedly delicate as it is judicious and agreeable—is it possible that she is the most infamous and abandoned of her sex: she who enjoys the talent of engaging admiration and affection almost in the very moment that her conduct cannot but excite disapprobation? Good heavens! into what a gulf of misery might I not have been plunged, had not the hand of Providence been held forth to extri•••e me from the labyrinth of destruction in which I had been entangled.
The instant the chair arrived, Sir Edward supported me into it, for I could

scarce move; having first procured me a glass of water, which my impatience suffered me only just to put to my lips. Having no attendant, Sir Edward was so obliging as to walk by the side of the chair to see me safe home; where I found Mrs. Hindon and Fanny dressed? for their visit; but perceiving me so ill and disordered, I could prevail with neither to fulfil their intention, my sister positively refusing to leave me, and Mrs. Hindon imagining herself obliged in politeness to appear equally anxious.
As that lady's love of talking renders her often imprudently communicative, I did not choose to confess the private cause of my indisposition, but retiring to my apartment, poured out the fullness of my heart to my dear Fanny, who lifted up her hands and eyes to heaven in astonishment that such a character existed on earth.
When I recall to mind the address with

which Mrs. Weldon contrived to impose upon me, and the ingenious methods by which she inspired me with the best opinion of her heart, I am lost in astonishment and horror to think that such a character lives. Here then is the infamous and secret cause brought to light of that warm attachment which me testified with so much fervour to us both, but chiefly to me, and which stole so imperceptibly upon my affections, that she was every day gaining ground in our esteem, in spite of several little improprieties of behaviour, that served however only as foils to her other good qualities, and to which she possessed the art of giving what turn she pleased. Under pretence of business, I now recollect she never would consent to visit at Mr. Hindon's, though I carried repeated messages from his lady assuring her she should be happy to see any of our friends, that morning excepted when she ventured to call for the

purpose of soliciting my forgiveness in order to further the barbarous purpose of engaging me to meet Sir Edward. He no doubt had bribed her to his purpose. Let me not blame him however, whatever were the steps he took to obtain the interview, since the artfu• woman no doubt represented me to him in a false point of view, and the delicacy of his behaviour on this occasion has laid me under obligations to him which I can never recall without gratitude. So sacred must I hold the fame of a woman, however infamous, whom I once called my friend, that I will not confess even to Mr. Howard what dupes we have been to her artifice and duplicity. As for Mrs. Hindon, my terror and escape would to her appear just the counterpart of the good story of my alarm before, and would I make no doubt prove equally the subject of her mirth and diversion. I therefore resolved to say nothing of an event

which has shocked me severely, farther than to acknowledge that some reports of her conduct have reached my ears which have induced me no longer to continue our intimacy.
Poor Madame de Clarence! Much, much, I fear, she has had sufficient reason for her jealousy; and I accuse myself most severely for having given credit to the vile ridicule thrown on her by Mrs. Weldon.
I slept little all night; and to-day I really feel more uncomfortable than can be conceived. I have not only lost a friend and an agreeable companion, which of itself in our situation is irreparable, but I have found her to be criminal and unworthy. I fear I shall grow suspicious in future; for never could I have been more completely deceived than with regard to Mrs. Weldon, whose greatest fault I imagined consisted in a love of admiration and a passion for coquetry,

which is said in some degree to pervade the whole sex, and often subsists in the most innocent hearts.
But oh! can you guess the circumstance which of all others tortures me the most painfully, and dwells perpetually in my thoughts? What must Mr. Roatsley's ideas have been, how must his suspicions have received confirmation, from beholding me standing with a woman of this character, at the window of her residence. No wonder that he started and changed colour. No doubt he had heard of her before; and I can now partly trace the cause of those calumnies, to account for which puzzled and perplexed me so extremely. Our intimacy with Mrs. Weldon must have been the origin of all the defamatory reports that have reached his ears. But oh! Sophia! how will he be undeceived—and when? Is there any thing so tender, so delicate, so irretrievable, as the reputation of a young woman?

and when once wounded in the slightest manner, however injudiciously and unjustly, how difficult does it prove wholly to obliterate the stain and to efface the false impression. This dreadful reflection hurts me to the soul, and for some time was quite intolerable. But a few hours consideration have abated in some measure its acute force; and I have been calling up the assistance of conscious innocence and dignity to my assistance, which tells me it is weakness to allow calumny to poison that repose which has never been embittered from vice.
Mrs. Hindon insists on our attending her this evening to the Opera, an entertainment at which we have not yet been present; for as I agree with Lady Linrose in opinion that till we are properly introduced we ought not often to appear in public, I have hitherto resisted all her entreaties, though it is the amusement, if of any, from which I promise myself

most pleasure. You may believe I was never less disposed for being entertained than at this moment. Indeed the utmost gratification I could receive, would be to indulge my serious humour at home. But for that very reason I have forced myself to consent to go. It is a duty I think to be cheerful when one is unconscious of meriting self-reproach, and can raise our hearts in gratitude to heaven that no visible calamity hangs over us.
FOUR O'CLOCK.
About an hour ago, while I was engaged writing in my dressing room, I was informed by Therese that Sir Edward Sudbury was below, and requested the honour of seeing me if not particularly engaged; and on entering the parlour, I perceived my new acquaintance, who politely apologized for the liberty he had

taken of enquiring after my health; but the situation in which I left you last night, Madam, said he, gave me so much uneasiness, that my desire of making personal enquiries was not to be resisted.
I found myself at first a little embarrassed; but summoned courage to tell him that his visit required no sort of apology, as I should ever regard myself as particularly indebted to him for an explanation which might not otherwise for some time have reached my ears. This speech, short as it was, alluded to recollections which wounded me so severely, that my cheeks were dyed with blushes; and I hesitated more than once before I came to the conclusion. Sir Edward himself seemed almost in equal confusion; and his manner appeared so modest, mild, and respectful, that I could scarce recognize him for the man who had joined with his riotous companions in giving me such pain and mortification. But large

allowances ought certainly to be made for his behaviour where his freedom was neither suspected to occasion pain nor apprehended to be considered as an insult.
JAN. 24.
Y•sterday evening we accompanied Mrs. Hindon to the Opera, the amusement of all others the most suited to my taste; indeed in the state my spirits then were, it was the only one for which I could have felt the slightest relish. A faint hope which I had entertained, that chance might carry Roatsley there also, conquered my reluctance at going, and supported me with courage and spirits for the exertion.
The instant I was seated, I cast my eyes around the house in hopes of seeing him, though I well knew the confusion the sight of him must have given me, but

without success, for he was no where to be found.
Sunk and disappointed, I tried to attend to the music; and endeavoured to forget my dejection by participating in the general gaiety that sat on every countenance but mine. My attempts were however fruitless. The songs, which in private used to charm me, now, though improved to the highest pitch of perfection by the most admirable vocal performers and the most excellent accompanyment, could not even fix my wandering attention; and Mrs. Hindon's remarks, by interrupting a train of ideas that absorbed me, proved extremely fatigueing. Her incessant talking, poor woman, indeed almost exhausted me, and I felt as a severe talk the share I was constrained to take in a conversation so little interesting. Oh! how painful it is, Sophia, to cover a heavy heart under the mask of cheerfulness.

Melico had at length began one of his most melting songs; and it accorded so well "with my soul's sadness" at that moment, that not only my attention was unavoidably engaged, but my inquietude soothed and lulled into composure. At this moment I accidentally discovered the face I had so anxiously sought in one of the side boxes, not very far distant from that part of the pit where I was placed. I felt my face glow and my heart beat with great violence. He did not however observe me; but stood behind a young lady, who was indeed uncommonly beautiful, and with whom he conversed with infinite eagerness and animation. I thought I could perceive that their discourse was equally interesting to both. They smiled delighted to each other, at particular passages of the song that seemed to enchant them, and though surrounded by several persons of both

sexes, appeared wholly engrossed with each other.
At last, however, he looked round; and on discovering us bowed with politeness, which instantly carried the eyes of the young lady towards our party; and the moment after I saw that she was enquiring of him who we were. The ideas which this little circumstance produced, and my conjectures what answer he could give to her interrogatories, added to my pain and confusion. Soon after I observed that he had quitted her; and while I was watching with anxiety to find in what part of the house he meant to place himself, guess my perturbation on finding that he had actually seated himself on the bench immediately behind me, where there happened to be a spare place. His face was overspread with a deep colour while he paid me his compliments; and there was an air of gravity and penetration in his countenance, as if he sought

in mine the refutation or confirmation of his doubts, while this suspicion mortified and wounded me so cruelly, that I was apprehensive of raising the same commotion I had done at the play.
He perceived I looked disturbed; and attributing it to the extreme heat, enquired with such evident softness if I was not ill, that the tender and unexpected anxiety he manifested on this occasion gave an instant revival to my spirits.
He then regretted his bad fortune, he said, in having so unluckily missed seeing us when he had called at Mr. Hindon's both that day and the evening before; this, through the negligence of that gentleman's servants, had never come to our knowledge; and oh! what uneasiness would it not have spared me to have known that Mr. Roatsley had taken this step towards having his unjust surmises confuted. I assured him the favour he had done us had been entirely unknown

to Mr. Howard, who undoubtedly would have immediately acknowledged his attention. He then began to talk of our accidental reconnoitre in the packet boat, and paid me a number of unmerited compliments on the composure of my behaviour; for although I did not, like my poor Fanny, allow my terrors to distract me, I was very far from deserving the encomiums he lavished on me. Pray my Sophia does not his exaggerations on this occasion betray— But I see you smile. I will however be perfectly unreserved.—Does it not manifest something like partiality? and may I not draw this inference from it, that he will be open to conviction. O••his I may surely be confident; that although to the eye of a man so penetrating, so intelligent as Roatsley, many errors and defects in my manner and conversation must be apparent, new as I am to the world and ignorant of its forms and etiquettes, yet no real impropriety,

nothing below the dignity of the female character, can possibly be discovered by a candid and well disposed mind; and this little pride, my dear, enabled me, after my first flutters were over, to acquit myself during the remainder of the evening with tolerable ease. Supported by conscious rectitude, I determined not to yield to the bashfulness and constraint which were stealing upon me; but in justice to my own character to show myself to him such as I really was, and leave him to repent and blush for the injury he had done me.
He often recurred to the accident that had produced our acquaintance, and called it the most fortunate of his life The most fortunate of your life, cried Fanny, who is extremely literal: that is strange indeed. Sure there can be no sort of pleasure in being frightened out of one's wits, and very near being drowned into

the bargain? for my own part I never reflect on it without horror.
This return to his compliment, uttered with such naivité, made him smile. Nay, said she, the storm was so violent that I think the most courageous of men needed not have blushed to have owned themselves terrified.
Had I been in danger of losing my courage on that occasion, said he, Miss Seymour would have taught me my duty.
Mr. Howard at this moment joined us. Mr. Roatsley and he seemed mutually pleased at meeting; and soon after the latter whispered that Lady Linrose was in the house, and pointed her out to us in the box which Roatsley had just quitted.
Our curiosity to see her was inexpressible: she seems under fifty, and possesses an air of majestic dignity in her appearance, blended however with a cold severity of aspect that destroys the admiration

her figure excites, and renders her countenance harsh and unamiable. It is indeed wholly devoid of that affability of expression which denotes a disposition to be pleased, and which ever confers pleasure on the beholder. The instant I had studied her features, I could not persuade myself I should ever recognize either the kind relation or tender friend in Lady Linrose.
From having observed Mr. Roatsley of her party, I naturally conjectured he must be of her acquaintance, and began to flatter myself that through this unexpected channel of intelligence I might be able to learn some particulars relating to a family, with whom, in spite of our present prepossessions, we may one day become as intimately connected by affection as we are at present from consanguinity. I therefore demanded if he was acquainted with that lady in black, pointing

to the part of the house where she was placed.
What lady pray? said he.
That lady, cried Fanny: she who sits to the right in the box you were just now seated in. Don't you think she is the most severe, disagreeable-looking woman you ever beheld.
What lady do you talk of? repeated he, astonished no doubt at Fanny's inconsiderate warmth of expression.
Lady Linrose, returned she. You have been of her party all this time. Sure you must know her?
As Mr. Roatsley was silent, and did not seem inclined to give the slightest encouragement to Fanny's thoughtless imprudence, who, unacquainted with the etiquette of society, perpetually disregards the little artifices which common politeness demands, and never once considered that Lady Linrose might be, for any thing she knew, one of the most intimate

of his friends, I endeavoured to check her from proceeding farther, but in vain. Lord, continued she, inattentive to the coldness with which he listened to her remarks, don't you think she looks cross and ill-natured? I have not once observed her smile or look pleased all the while I have been watching her countenance: besides Hermione, turning to me, is it not very strange for a widow to make a public appearance so early. I thought nobody had done so in England till at least six months after their husband's decease; did not Mrs. Hindon say so the other evening, when we were on this subject? Oh! but I had forgot that they did not live together, and my Lord was so ill-humoured, I suppose, her Ladyship considered him as no great loss, though I think she might have shown a little more regard to his memory though only for the sake of decency.
I tried by a look to stop her volubility:

though in fact my own sentiments of her Ladyship's conduct in this last instance were similar to my sister's. Her prudence has not impressed us, you may believe, with the most favourable opinion of her heart; and this procedure, which I am told is unusual, was not calculated, for improving it.
Mr. Roatsley's gravity deterred me, however, from avowing my secret thoughts. Pray, said he to Fanny, after a short pause, with a half smile—has Lady Linrose the honour of your acquaintance?
Oh! Lord! no, cried she, without considering how unaccountable this violent prepossession against an utter stranger must appear, I never beheld her in my life till this moment.
Then how, pray, has she been so unlucky as to fall under your displeasure.
My displeasure! cried she, embarrassed; oh not at all. I merely dislike

her appearance. She looks sulky and proud, and I hate those sort of people.
She is very unfortunate indeed, returned he. I then contrived to put a period to the subject by calling Fanny's attention to another object; for I dreaded the suspicion and curiosity her simplicity might excite in Mr. Roatsley, who seemed both amused and astonished at her conversation.
Not for a moment during the remainder of the evening did he leave us; and by the vivacity of his discourse, and the amiable gentleness of his manner, he insensibly restored my tranquillity, dissipated my confusion, and inspired me with a flow of spirits almost equal to what appears natural to himself.
When all was concluded, he attended us to Mrs. Hindon's carriage; and requested leave, in polite terms, to indemnify himself, he said, for his late disappointment by waiting on us again.

I have not spent an evening so agreeably since that we passed at Dover. Indeed I even give last night greatly the preference, it having all the advantages of a most painful contrast to enhance its value. My sufferings in the early part of the evening conferred a double relish on the satisfaction of the succeeding.
I feel myself now relieved from a load of uneasiness which I supported with much anxiety; for I am convinced from Roatsley's behaviour last night, nay from the very expression of his countenance, that we are completely justified in his opinion, at least with regard to the vile aspersions so cruelly circulated against us.
Sir Edward Sudbury, who did not observe us till near the conclusion of the last dance, joined us before we left the house, and requested me to introduce him to Mrs. Hindon; which, as I wished that lady to remain ignorant of the circumstances of our acquaintance, was rather

disagreeable to me; however I had no choice, and fortunately contrived to evade her enquiries by informing her of my own accord that I had been in company with him at Mrs. Weldon's.
We are beginning to grow extremely impatient for dispatches from Nice. Mr. Howard tells us that by course of post we ought to have received letters before this time; and surely on this subject little time for consideration is required. Why then does Lord Belmont retain us in suspense.
JAN. 25.
Mrs. Hindon being rather indisposed to-day, she kept her room all the morning, and taking my work, I went to sit with her, Fanny having gone to call upon Lady Farnford, whose repeated civilities

demanded or rather extort some return on our part.
Mrs. Hindon was very pressing with me to accompany her; but you may believe her entreaties had no sort of effect: as the sight of Captain Farnford was absolutely disagreeable to me, it would be strange indeed, I said, if I threw myself in his way when it was in my power so easily to avoid it.
This visit naturally led the subject to that family, upon which Mrs. Hindon began to lavish a thousand encomiums. Lady Farnford is her relation; and there has ever subsisted between them from infancy a very intimate friendship. They are extremely opposite in point of appearance; Lady Farnford being a little lean figure, with a very cold and dry address; but they are both equally prying and inquisitive, which is I suppose their chief bond of union, though Lady Farnford does not talk so much in a week as her friend does in one day.

Captain Farnford, Mrs. Hindon said, had always been reckoned a young man of very shining parts, and his figure and address were singularly elegant. He was a little wild to be sure; but what of that? few young ladies regarded that error as a material fault at his time of life, and in him it seemed more the effects of life and gaiety than of any inclination to vice. Some people, it was true, thought him a little extravagant; but this was the foible of a generous mind. For her part, to see a young man too near, was of all things what most disgusted her; besides, continued she, as he is not yet burdened with a wife and family, no doubt he has not turned his mind towards economy; but when he is once fairly settled, I'll answer for it it will be the study of his life in all respects to render the woman of his choice completely happy.
I began now to suspect to what all this tended. I tried, however, to ward off

an explanation, by coldly acquiescing in her sentiments as a person uninterested in the cause; but my plan would not succeed.
I am glad you think so, Miss Seymour, cried she, for indeed, to tell you the real truth of the matter, the poor Captain is quite in despair at your distant and frigid manner towards him; and my Lady, whose heart is wrapt up in her son's happiness, and who herself admires you above all women, desires nothing on earth so fervently as that he may render himself acceptable to you. Many a good match has been proposed to Captain Farnford, I assure you; but till he saw you he hated the very idea of matrimony, to which now he annexes every hope of happiness.
I am extremely sorry Madam, answered I, to receive this information. I flattered myself my behaviour had sufficiently explained to Captain Farnford that

my sentiments were fixed and immoveable on this head, and I imagined, if he still deceived himself, you was able to have convinced him how little successful this application could ever be. If however you Madam have been commissioned to talk with me on the subject, I entreat you will no longer delay acquainting him at once from me, that there is not the slightest chance—there is not even a possibility of my altering my resolution. I hope you will excuse me when I acknowledge, added I, that there is hardly any proposal could be made to me at which I should feel a more invincible repugnance, and I earnestly beg you will mention a subject no more which is disagreeable to me even to think of.
Poh, poh, Miss Seymour; upon my word you are absolutely cruel. However I assure you I won't carry this message, which I know would be a death warrant to the Captain's hopes. I have known

many a young lady change her mind after declaring herself ten times more violently determined than you are, and I hope to see you alter your resolution one day in his favour. Indeed if you persist in precluding him from all chance of seeing you, how can the young man find opportunity to plead his cause. I really think I must assist him. I assure you he importunes me incessantly for only ten minutes conversation with you, as if it was more than life to him, and though your heart is hardened, mine is quite melted at his sufferings.
If ten minutes conversation would rid me of his solicitations for ever, said I, I would certainly punish myself so far as to give him that satisfaction; but as I have reason to imagine it would rather feed than extinguish his hopes, I think it would be as unfair to him as painful to myself.
Nay but till you bid him despair yourself,

you may be convinced what I say will have little effect; and I hope when you see so fine a young man at your feet, you will find yourself softened in his favour in spite of your present opposition.
I assured her again and again that my dislike and prepossession against him were insurmountable; but she went on without the slightest regard to all I said, repeating time when we met, I should not be able to adhere to my inflexibility.
The return of Fanny relieved me from this fatiguing conversation. Lady Farnford had loaded her with civilities, and almost forced her to promise to go back to dinner: Miss Farnford, on her part, was equally kind, and indeed seems resolved to become Fanny's intimate friend, without any sort of interchange of affections between them; taking every opportunity of getting her aside; and quite unsolicited, with the communicative imprudence of a boarding school girl, making

her the confidant of a thousand little trifling love affairs, or, as she terms them, flirtations. The equality of their ages, and the flattery which Miss Farnford so lavishly employs to gain Fanny's confidence, have cemented a sort of intimacy between them, though they are too dissimilar in disposition even to receive any real gratification from the society of each other.
In the evening Mrs. Hindon being almost well, and able to walk into the drawing room, one or two of her female friends came in, and were prevailed with to remain to make up a party at whist. Fanny having got half through a favourite novel → , took this opportunity of slipping up stairs to finish it; and as I was opening my work box to take out my netting, Mr. Howard drew me aside from the company. I have got something to say to you, Miss Seymour, said he, and placed himself by me on the sopha.

You must know, proceeded he, that your acquaintance Mr. Roatsley, (I coloured at the name) told me last night at the opera that if I was at leisure this morning he would call about twelve, as he wished extremely to have a few minutes conversation with me in private, and this day he kept his appointment.
Oh Sophia! how your Hermione's heart beat at this information, Mr. Howard too looked earnest and grave. The lights however were at some distance, and I hope my confusion was unobserved.
Mr. Roatsley, continued Mr. Howard, with the politeness natural to him apologized with some little embarrassment for the liberty he said he was about to take.
Do you think, Sophia, that I was not embarrassed at this preamble. Indeed I dare not acknowledge even to myself what absurd notions were at that instant crouding into my thoughts.

Mr. Howard went on. He then explained to me, said he, a very intricate series of iniquity, with which I would not shock your ears, did I not conceive it as absolutely necessary to put you on your guard.
Good heavens, cried I, what are you going to tell me?
You have no reason thank God, answered he, to suffer now any apprehensions, as the danger is at an end; but I cannot call to mind that my own imprudence was the original cause of the injurious reports, without the utmost self-reproach. I think no man can be more sensible than myself of the value and importance of my charge, yet I own I committed the most unpardonable oversight in allowing you and your sister to remain for a week under the roof of a woman of whose character I was not perfectly informed.
Her appearance indeed was so plausible, and your stay to be so short, that I

took it on trust, nor once harboured a suspicion of her being what she has proved—one of the most abandoned and profligate of her sex: a wretch entirely divested of honour and conscience, who has had the audacity and wickedness to traffic with your reputation, and who perceiving you had kindled the presumptuous wishes of a libertine, dared to represent you to him in the most doubtful, nay in the most infamous light, in order, by flattering his licentious hopes, to reap the lucrative fruits of his folly and prodigality.
Oh! my dear Sir, interrupted I in a tone of impatient vexation, let us return to solitude and obscurity, where, though listlesness may intrude and languor invade our quiet, danger and mortification never can molest us. How unjust have I not been to the cautious experience of my dear father, in sometimes suspecting he had represented the world and its fallacious

charms through that medium with which calamity and disappointment ever invest the face of nature. I am now fatally convinced that the pleasures of society fade and disappear when opposed to the snares, anxieties, and disgusts, which sour and taint all its enjoyments.
You are too young, and much too amiable, returned Mr. Howard, smiling at my impetuosity, to become a cynic so early upon those whom nature has formed to adorn society as well as to improve it. The world has powerful claims; and Miss Seymour must not talk of disgust because a temporary mortification obscures for a moment the many rational enjoyments which it offers to every well-regulated mind. But you must allow me to go on with my story.
Mr. Roatsley, after expressing himself in the warmest and most respectful terms of both the amiable sisters, confessed that he had been infinitely shocked and astonished

to learn, immediately almost on his arrival in town, that they were regarded in a very injurious light by his friend Captain Bradshaw, who from residing under the same roof had apparently access to proper information, and had received his from the woman of the house.
Mr. Roatsley confidently asserted the falsehood of these defamatory suspicions, and requested his friend to be more particular in his enquiries, and to talk again with the landlady, who when interrogated still continued to insinuate that you were not altogether what you appeared. Mr. Roatsley however was not so weak as to allow his judgment to be biassed by this report, nor was he lead for a moment to do you injustice, although he found that rumours to your disadvantage were pressed on him from more quarters than one; all originating no doubt from the same source; till one evening at the play, when he confessed—

Oh! repeat it not to me, dear Sir, cried I; I know too well that it was quite natural for him to think me light, thoughtless, and imprudent, when he beheld me at Drury lane attended by the wretch, whom I then found out to be Captain Farnford, and to all appearance voluntarily receiving his attentions: an accident which my indisposition alone occasioned; for you may believe no inducement on earth, had I been in a situation to have repulsed him, should have forced me to have granted him the shadow of my notice.
Well, Miss Seymour, thoughtless and imprudent I really believe he might conclude you to be, nor could he possibly think otherwise, ignorant as he was of the circumstances that produced Farnford's attendance, and conscious of the just cause he had given you for repugnance and disdain. He saw you together in the fame party, and it seems supported by him

when you left the box. He could not but imagine you had permitted all this, and of course must have supposed your resentment neither so lasting nor so severe as in strict delicacy he thought it ought to have been. Yet Mr. Roatsley solemnly swore, that to the disadvantage of your reputation a doubt or suspicion never once found place in his breast; and tho' wholly ignorant myself of the circumstances of the fact, I easily convinced him that in a point of delicacy Miss Seymour could not possibly be found in the slightest degree deficient.
That interest, however, which youth and beauty seldom fail to excite in the heart of a young man, (a sentiment, added he with a half smile, which Mr. Roatsley seems formed to feel with enthusiastic force) made him undergo no little disappointment I conjecture in perceiving you had so ill answered the expectation to which your acquaintance, interesting

tho' short, had given birth; for he confessed that he had been indefatigable in his enquiries about you, tho' very fruitless you may believe they must have proved; and tho' I understood the hint in this avowal; I did not think myself at liberty to satisfy his curiosity, and therefore let it pass unnoticed.
He owns, however, that these unjust surmizes received some degree of credibility from meeting you a few days after, accompanied by this same audacious young man, who put you into a chair, unattended by your servant, at the door of your former lodgings; but this part of his information I persisted in averring was impossible, and that he must have mistaken some other person for you.
Oh it was me indeed, cried I, and the reconnoitre you may be certain gave me equal pain and terror: nor should I have concealed it for a moment, had not the wretch extorted a promise which fear

alone persuaded me to grant him never to divulge it to you.
Good heaven! how did the scoundrel contrive to meet with you?
Through the connivance of that wicked woman, said I. But as my promise, tho' constrained, remains still in force, except as to that part of it which chance has informed you, I am not at liberty to give you the particulars, neither are they at all necessary; since I hope in God, as the wretch is quite undeceived in regard to my character, I have nothing now to alarm me except the persecution of solicitation, which I hope by sedulously avoiding him to escape.
Mr. Howard's mild countenance reddened with indignation at this account, which quickly infused an apprehension into my mind, that under the character of our guardian he might think it necessary to resent my affronts. The instant this idea struck me, I softened as much

as possible what I had just been acknowledging, and assured him that during our last interview Farnford had appeared so much piqued and offended at my unconquerable reserve, that I had reason to flatter myself I should be tormented by him no more; and added, that when I was entirely in his power, all he had asked was forgiveness, and permission to visit me, having repeatedly sworn that an injurious suspicion of my character had alone given rise to a conduct which he now sincerely abjured, and of which he heartily repented.
Let him then testify his concern and regret as he ought, by avoiding your presence, said Mr. Howard. Had I known the other day that I was at the same table with the man who had dared subject you to insult, I should most assuredly—
Then thank heaven you did not, interrupted I. Indeed the less this affair is mentioned or remembered the better;

and before you leave me I insist on your promise never even to hint to Captain Farnford your knowledge of these particulars. I ask it as a favour, the grant of which is essential to my peace. You need not, I am sure, be told how delicate an interference of this kind must prove, where my fame and my repose are so deeply interested. Let me beseech you therefore to give me your word never to take notice to Captain Farnford of what you have been informed.
I need not at least be told, said he with gravity, that the title by which I should in that case act might be justly called in question; but as I have the happiness at present of considering you as being under my particular protection, tho' I hope that you will soon experience a parent's care, you must not insist on binding me from acting as circumstances may in future require. I agree so entirely in your sentiments however, as to the delicacy

of this matter, that you may rest assured while the wretch molests you no more I shall not interfere, though I should have the most perfect satisfaction in chastising him for his impudence.
But I have not done with my disagreeable explanation, Miss Seymour, continued Mr. Howard, and your acute sensibility almost intimidates me from confessing all to you, since I am afraid what I am going to add must wound in a still more vulnerable part; for I am well aware that to a youthful and enthusiastic heart, no blow is so painful, no pang is so severe, as to be told it has bestowed its affections unworthily.
These words threw me into a state of confused consternation not to be described, and dyed my cheeks with blushes: for indeed my imagination hurried me in an instant into a thousand wild conjectures; the truth however after a moment rushed upon my mind. You need not fear to

alarm me as to this part of your information, cried I, for it is no secret to me; and the shock, tho' at first extremely distressing, received its cure in the resentment and indignation which treatment so abominable excited. It is of Mrs. Weldon I perceive you are going to speak; but tho' I am in part acquainted with the artifice and duplicity of her character, a mystery surrounds her situation through which I have not been able to penetrate. I then briefly related the alarming situation into which that horrid woman had so artfully drawn me, and the fortunate circumstances that had relieved me from my danger. Mr. Howard was lost in astonishment at my recital, and shuddered on reflecting how critical the snare might have proved in which this infamous woman had so inhumanly entrapped me.
Mr. Roatsley, said he, has let me into the particulars of her history, which are well known, and have made no small





noise; tho' from her change of name I never could have suspected that Mrs. Weldon was the famous Mrs. Brereton, whose imprudence has long been no secret to the world.
Good heavens! cried I, how then could such a woman find admittance to the abode of Madame de Clarence. Has she too been deceived by her artifices?
I believe it is not unknown to you, returned he, that among the number of Monsieur de Clarence's good qualities, those of attachment to his amiable lady, and a proper discharge of domestic duties, are not to be enumerated. Mrs. Weldon appeared at the chateau as his friend, nor did Madame suspect that under that specious character, she had harboured her most invidious enemy; till about the time of your departure from Languedoc, or immediately after it.
Mr. Howard then informed me more particularly of this profligate woman's

real history. She was, it seems, originally a girl of low birth, whose name was Ware, and whose uncommon beauty induced Colonel Brereton, at the age of sixty five, to pay his addresses to her, having become violently enamoured from accidentally meeting with her at an assembly while his regiment was quartered at York. This gentleman, though of a very limited understanding, as may be concluded from his conduct on this imprudent occasion, possessed an affluent fortune, and was nearly related to Lord Belmont. His lady's taste for gallantry became soon suspected, and at last grew so notorious, that finding herself gradually deserted by that brilliant circle to which her marriage had introduced her, and to charm and embellish which she possessed so powerfully every talent, she persuaded her husband, ever blind to his dishonour and infatuated by her insinuating address, to carry her over to France,

where her amours, though well known, were less prejudicial to her gay career, because unproductive of the world's contempt, at least the fashionable part of it, and unattended by its desertion.
Her husband, dying about a twelve-month after, bequeathed her his whole fortune, the greatest part of which had already fallen a sacrifice to her unbounded extravagance. Mr. Brereton's natural heir, however, at present disputes at law the portion of it that remains, alleging that from some private entail he was not empowered to dispose of it at pleasure; and it is thought the lady will be legally deprived of an inheritance which she so little deserves, and which she gained merely by the effects of her artful management, and the powerful influence she possessed over her superannuated husband.
After Mr. Brereton's death, his wife's conduct became so flagrant as to force those who had been hitherto willingly

blind to her infamy no longer to shut their eyes, and as a proper regard to the rules of propriety is a tax which virtue never more rigorously exacts from vice than where her genuine and intrinsic value is least admitted, she soon found her stay in France could not enable her to continue in that brilliant society where she had been accustomed to shine with such eclat. At this period, her acquaintance with Monsieur de Clarence commenced while he spent some time at the city of M— for the recovery of his health, whither his lady had not accompanied him.
He soon became enslaved by the charms of Mrs. Brereton, and weakly consented to her request of being invited to the residence of his lady at the Chateau de Clarence, on the footing of a friend recommended to his peculiar care by her deceased husband. Madame de Clarence was easily deceived; and without

difficulty consented to entreat the favour of a visit from his agreeable English acquaintance, who on her part regarding it as an ingenious stroke of policy to regain in some measure the good opinion of the world, to whom she might boast being still admitted into an intimacy so respectable, complied with eagerness and satisfaction. The company of the Chevalier de Mertane soon, however, interrupted the harmony which subsisted between Monsieur de Clarence and Mrs. Weldon, (for such was the name she now chose to assume, probably from an apprehension that the imprudence of Mrs. Brereton might not be wholly unknown even to Madame de Clarence, whilst under a borrowed name she might be easily imposed on.) The youth and weakness of the Chevalier almost instantly suggested to that abandoned woman the hopes of repairing her injured reputation and her exhausted finances, by an union,

the rank and opulence of which offered both to her vanity and profusion the most ample gratification.
This explanation fully accounts for the mortification and displeasure, too painful for concealment, which she so evidently discovered on perceiving the Chevalier's partiality for me. He was not however proof against her powers of fascination; and after my determined rejection, accepted with great cordiality the consolation which Mrs. Weldon's kindness afforded. He was indeed almost involved in this perilous snare, when the fortunate jealousy of Monsieur de Clarence happily relieved him from his danger. That gentleman, influenced either by pique or principle, or perhaps by both, suddenly informed the Chevalier's father of the son's matrimonial intentions, as also with some particulars relating to the lady's character, which induced the old gentleman to appear unexpectedly

one morning at the chateau, from whence he carried off the Chevalier without allowing him the ceremonial of a private farewell conference with his mistress.
From more circumstances than one both Mr. Howard and I perceived that this affair must have been in agitation during the time of our abode in the family; for the poor Chevalier's departure succeeded ours but a few days, and it seems a thorough reconciliation having immediately taken place between Mrs. Weldon and Monsieur de Clarence, their mutual imprudence soon infused suspicions into Madame which induced her to insist upon that lady's instant dismissal. To this demand the husband, unwilling to come to an open rupture with Madame, whose family and connections demand peculiar respect, consented; and Mrs. Weldon's lawsuit requiring her presence in England, she set off directly for this country.

I was actually frozen with horror on learning this account. Good heavens! exclaimed I, does such a character of vice and duplicity exist, and can it belong to woman?
Oh! Miss Seymour, returned Mr. Howard, a mind like yours, delicate and pure, blessed with conscious innocence and fortified with intuitive integrity, can form no ideas adequate to that degradation to which licentiousness and profligacy often reduce the female mind; but to dwell no longer on a theme so melancholy, I must inform you, that after having related these particulars, which Mr. Roatsley had received from a friend lately arrived from the Continent, and intimately acquainted with the parties concerned, he confessed how inexpressibly confounded and astonished he had been on perceiving you the morning before last standing at the window of a house which he had been told was occupied by

his unworthy relation; and still more was he shocked, when at a second glance, he recollected Mrs. Brereton herself, whose features he instantly recognized, though it is many years since he beheld her. Scarcely could he credit his senses. Yet so strongly did the dignity and innocence of your countenance contradict this confirmation of your levity, that instead of convincing it awakened him from his error. Imprudent he might believe you, but infamous it was impossible he could for an instant suspect you to be; and upon revolving the circumstances in his mind, it instantaneously struck him that the daring Farnford must have bribed that infamous woman to entrap you to her house. This idea no sooner occurred, than a thousand circumstances seemed to enforce its conviction. Farnford's character, which though unstained by actual villainy, is loose and unprincipled, assured him he would not be scrupulous in effecting

his ends by whatever means in his power. He knew besides that the woman was in his pay, and to lay him under further contributions, she might be induced to misrepresent your behaviour, conscious that the knowledge of your being a woman of rank and character must have checked his hopes and restrained his liberality to herself. Mr. Roatsley began to suspect that your acquaintance with Mrs. Weldon might have originated also from some such machinations, and he instantly determined to acquaint me with his suspicions; and having enquired at our old lodgings for our present residence with the eagerness of a man of honour anxious to secure virtue and innocence from destruction, he hastened to this house without loss of time; for me only he enquired, for to me only could so delicate an explanation be made, but I was unluckily from home. Next morning he repeated his visit, but

being engaged in business, he was denied admittance. On his return home, however, he encountered a gentleman with whom he is particularly intimate, and who in the confidence of friendship confessed to him how amazed he had been to meet with a young lady not only of the most elegant but of the most innocent and amiable appearance at the house of his profligate relation, Mrs. Weldon, who from being now notoriously infamous, was wholly excluded all honourable society: his friend added, that this abandoned woman had represented the young lady, whose name was Seymour, as a girl of light character and dependant fortune, but having been more than once in her company, this injurious error had appeared to him so apparent, that he had thought it incumbent on him to atone for it by representing to her the hazards of her situation, an information that had operated so violently on her spirits as

fully convinced him how entirely she must have been deceived as to the character of her companion.
Amiable, generous Roatsley! May not I call the man so, my Sophia, who has so humanely interested himself in my affairs. How many, in a similar situation, would have contented themselves with leaving me to my fate, especially after that perplexed series of unfortunate events, which might have too justly led him to regard me with contempt; how few would have given themselves the trouble of investigating this matter to the foundation, and exerted themselves in a manner so nobly, to extricate a young woman whose conduct he had so much reason to contemn, and who had been represented to him in a light so unworthy. Surely gratitude at least may be allowed me after this striking instance of a benevolence of which I have reaped so largely the fruit: yet heaven grant that

this dangerous sentiment lead not my heart too far. Vexatious it has indeed proved; but ah! Sophia, had not heaven directed and preserved me, this intelligence had arrived greatly too late.
The whist party breaking up, and supper being announced, Mr. Howard seized an opportunity, while we were on the stairs, to whisper that Mr. Roatsley regretted extremely not having seen my sister and me this morning, when he had called, particularly as he leaves town tomorrow, and is engaged by business the early part of the day. Mr. Howard however, who was not sufficiently acquainted with many of the unaccountable facts to which Mr. Roatsley's story alluded, and was only enabled, from his knowledge of my disposition and character, to pronounce that some mysterious appearances must have involved my actions in obscurity, had of his own accord offered

him a short visit before his departure, to explain from my own information what had seemed either extraordinary or imprudent in my conduct, and is actually to meet him at the British Coffee-house for that purpose.
I hope, added that worthy friend, with a penetrating smile, as he entered the supper room, that Mr. Roatsley, in his return to town, will find the disagreeable air of secrecy and mystery, which must confound all his enquiries respecting you and your sister, completely removed by the approbation and public countenance of Lord Belmont.
I took no notice of this little hint; but walked on with a mind ah! how enlightened! how relieved! to find myself reinstated in Mr. Roatsley's good opinion; to know that he had shown himself so anxious, so deeply concerned in an affair in which I alone was interested, gave a spirit to my countenance, and a gaiety

to my heart, not to be enjoyed but when contrasted by previous uneasiness and depression.
JAN. 28.
Ah! my dear Sophia! how infinitely am I shocked. Poor Madame de Clarence! alas! she is no more! A short letter from her husband, which I received last night, announces this melancholy intelligence. An epidemic fever carried her off after a week's illness, and Fanny and I have been weeping her irreparable loss with tears of bitter affliction. A friend—a maternal friend! respected and beloved, is a blessing which heaven sends but once in our lives, and to us can never be supplied. In our present situation, this blow cannot fail to be felt with redoubled poignancy. There now remains not to us one single friend of our own

sex, (my Sophia, my invaluable Sophia excepted) who excites or returns to us the tender interest of affection. What a dismal, what a solitary state. That wretch, Mrs. Weldon! how I detest her, for troubling with suspicion and uneasiness the mind of that amiable, that respectable woman, so near the close of her days. Oh were she capable of remorse, how must it wring her bosom at this moment.
I am inexpressibly anxious to learn a thousand particulars relating to this dear friend's last illness: for her husband's letter is extremely concise, and merely informs us, in terms of unfeigned affliction, of the melancholy event. Doubtless he must be overwhelmed with the most poignant distress; that distress which results from the reflection of a misconduct he preserves no longer the power of repairing.
We inclined much to indulge our sadness in our own apartments but Mrs.

Hindon soon drove us from solitude by insisting upon sitting with us in order to comfort us: and the poor woman talked so incessantly of the delicacy and acuteness of her feelings, and repeated such various instances of the excess of her own unfortunate sensibility, that we were glad to accompany, her down stairs to the gentlemen, as some relief from her tedious conversation.
FEB. 1.
Sir Edward called again this morning. He really appears to be an amiable man, and possesses somewhat in his appearance so mild and unpresuming, that he prepossesses one at first sight in his favour.
I forgot to tell you that Mr. Roatsley and Mr. Howard met the other morning according to appointment; and after an

explanatory conversation, which the former assured Mr. Howard was wholly unnecessary, as not a doubt could remain on his mind after having been favoured with an opportunity of being in Miss Seymour's company at the Opera, he set out on his excursion.
FEB. 2.
Sir Edward supped with us this evening. Mrs. Hindon, delighted with an acquaintance of his figure and address, has given him a general invitation to her house, which he seems well disposed to accept, and repays her civilities with abundant marks of attention.
FEB. 6.
Captain Wilmot had been, as usual, in earnest conversation yesterday evening

with Fanny, who while she pretends to laugh at his absurdities always appears pleased with his assiduities. He had been repeating to her a number of verses, all on the soft subject of love, which he informed her were the effusions of his own passion that had inspired him with a poetical ardour. Of one of these Fanny inconsiderately requested a copy, not reflecting that to demand a poem, of which she was herself the theme, confessed no little satisfaction at the compliment. Wilmot told her he had it in his pocket book, which he hastily produced; and anxious to avoid observation, privately delivered to her a paper without himself looking into it.
Fanny having no opportunity to peruse the stanzas, slipped them into her pocket, from whence she drew them the moment we retired after supper: when conceive her astonishment on finding the copy of verses converted into a letter directed

to Captain Wilmot. Hastily throwing her eyes over it, she was struck with the words—"your old flame Jenny Parsons," and suddenly yielding to a curiosity which cannot be defended, she took advantage of the poor youth's unfortunate blunder, and read as follows:
TO CAPTAIN WILMOT.
DEAR WILMOT,
Your epistle arrived very opportunely to rouse me from a stupor that has congealed and benumbed all my faculties ever since we were ordered to this confounded quarter, which is undoubtedly the dullest spot under heaven, and which Providence seems to have stamped with an impression of gloom, and lassitude not to be expressed. There is not a soul in the town with whom one can associate with any degree of satisfaction. The very girls are as ugly as devils; and

what is still worse, as most of the officers are either on furlow or absent on recruiting duty, there are none here except Wilson and the Major; and the latter is so constantly immured amidst a library of musty old folios, that it is merely at mess hours we ever set eyes upon him.
I am extremely happy to learn, from your letter, that the time which hung so heavily on my hands, you have been employing so much to your satisfaction and advantage. From the account you give me of your Dulcinea, I agree with you in opinion that she will not hold out the siege much l•nger, when to your own assiduities are superadded the assistance and solicitations of your aunt, who being a discreet matron may give an air of credit and propriety to a step which, with all due deference, you must allow me to call imprudent, as I suspect the fortune of the beautiful Seymour is no

less necessary to the rapacious demands of your creditors, than the possession of the young lady herself is to the claims of your passion; but I sincerely hope, thro' the prudent management of Mrs. Hindon, she has no chance of being made acquainted with these disagreeable and unnecessary particulars till the information can be attended with no alarming consequences.
It must be confessed, Wilmot, that for one so deeply enamoured you talk very reasonably on the topic of your mistress; and though you tell me she is divine, you evidently prefer expatiating on her more substantial attractions. You retail, indeed, her prospects and possessions with the accuracy of an army agent.
I hope, by this time, you have brought matters to a happy conclusion. Indeed, as your affairs are at present situated, no time is to be lost. Fortune does not throw a gift of ten thousand pounds into

the arms of a soldier every day; and you may reasonably conclude that the grandfather will not be so easily melted to compliance, as you tell me the girl herself has been, nor can you flatter yourself his Lordship will prove so wholly influenced by disinterested sentiments as to remain contentedly ignorant of your situation respecting pecuniary matters. His interference would effectually blow up the whole scheme; and if your point is not settled past redemption before his return, you may hang yourself on the first willow you meet with between London and Coventry.
I can't help laughing at the difficulties you must have to encounter in courting your fair one under the eye of your old flame Jenny Parsons. This untoward circumstance must throw a constraint over your behaviour and address, by no means favourable to your desire of pleasing: yet to have fulfilled your engagements

in that quarter must have proved unmitigated ruin to both; and she is so soft, poor gentle soul, that if ever a deserted mistress was to be trusted where retaliation was in her power, I dare say Miss Parsons might be the woman. Consider it entirely rests with her to overturn the whole machine of your ingenious scheme. You tell me you have been so prudent that you are convinced she does not even suspect your intentions; and that your management could not have been discernable even to the eye of jealousy. Remember, however, that revenge is a ruling passion in the sex; nor are they ever to be trusted where offended pride must stimulate to vengeance.
Heartily wishing you all the success you can wish, and requesting to be immediately made acquainted with it, I conclude, with my caution, as above; and remain, dear Wilmot,
wholly your's, F. HARLOW.

You may easily judge how confounded Fanny must be to perceive by this letter, so wonderfully presented to her knowledge, that with all his timidity and diffident desire of ingratiating himself, Wilmot regarded his solicitations as certain of success, and had communicated his expectations to his friend with all the vanity of a man who did not allow himself even to doubt.
I was employed last night pretty late, and was still reading in my dressing room, when my sister, who I concluded was gone to bed, flew to me with the epistle in her hand, with a countenance as pale as death, in which mortification, anger, and astonishment were strongly painted. She informed me of the accident; and as tears are a relief which Fanny has ever at hand, her gentle disposition allowing of no other vent to her indignation, she could not help crying from

vexation, while she entreated me to read it.
The part of it, however, which provoked her most, was that humiliating sentence where Wilmot appears to have boasted to his correspondent that she had been very easily melted to compliance, a phraze that severely wounded her pride. You see, cried she, he has never once mentioned me. I dare say he never thought about me. 'Tis my fortune alone about which he is so anxious. No doubt it would have been of some service in advancing him in his profession; but God knows, had he been informed how matters stand, he never would have paid me his addresses on account of an advantage which no longer exists, and he is both weak and vain if he concludes I have been so easily melted as he flattered himself, or that I have listened with pleasure to solicitations which have fatigued

and tormented me ever since our residence in this house.
Solicitations, Fanny, cried I; I never knew till this moment that Wilmot had made any advances that could go under the name of solicitations. Strange indeed, if I have continued thus long ignorant of any part of his behaviour, yet certain I am you have never once hinted to me any thing which could be construed into that meaning.
Oh! my dear Hermione! exclaimed she, burning into a fresh flood of tears, I will tell you all.
All! cried I, terrified at the expression, what is the all of which you are to inform me? for indeed I suspected some frightful imprudence from the agitation in which I beheld her.
She could not, however, immediately relieve my fears, and tears of mortification choaked her utterance.
Oh! cried she at length, how can I

tell you; you, that are older and so much wiser than I, you will think meanly of me, and I would sooner lose the good opinion of the whole world than be despised by you.
My dearest Fanny, said I in the tenderest accents, you may assure yourself that is impossible. My knowledge of your heart must ever conceal and extenuate all your little errors, and it is unkind in you to imagine that mine could for an instant harbour a sentiment so injurious of which you were the object.
She then confessed to me that about ten days ago Wilmot had declared his passion in the warmest and most affecting terms; and though I did not love him, cried she, at least I am certain it gave me no pain to reject him on my own account, yet I could not be wholly unmoved at prayers and entreaties which seemed the result of the most ardent affection; an affection, repeated she, which I now

plainly perceive my fortune alone inspired. All however that he desired, remitting his hopes of success to time and assiduity, was that you, whom he apprehended and whom I well knew not to be in his interest, should not for some time be made acquainted with his proposals; and to this request, softened by his apparent distress, I was weak enough unwillingly to consent; though it shocked me extremely that you, who are my only friend and advizer, and to whom every thought of my heart has ever been known, should continue ignorant of an affair which but for this fortunate discovery might have interested it too much.
As she finished speaking, she sobbed on my bosom most bitterly. You may believe I embraced and soothed her tenderly. But tell me, my dear, said I, what further lengths you have been prevailed with to go. There are no engagements in the case I hope.

No, thank God, cried she, though heaven knows how I have been persecuted and tormented, not only by Wilmot himself but by Mrs. Hindon, who has warmly espoused his cause and privately pleaded his passion on every occasion when she could get me by myself; and not having my beloved Hermione to direct me, for they both kept me steadily to my rash promise of secrecy, though I often desired permission to disclose this affair to you, into what an abyss of misery might I not have been plunged from my folly and inexperience; bewildered by Mrs. Hindon's partial representation of this imprudent step, and softened by the continual assiduities and despair of a man who seemed to adore me.
Artful wretches! can I give them, Sophia, a milder appellation? What a plan was here to entrap my amiable, innocent, unsuspecting Fanny. And because my eyes were supposed to be open to

the thousand objections against a match, in favour of which not one single advantage can be presented, I was to be kept out of the secret till too late effectually to interfere; whilst my dear and only sister was to prove a victim to the need and prodigality of the one, and to the absurd and destructive vanity of the other.
What a despicable character does this letter plainly prove Wilmot's to be. I am amazed, on looking back, that the whole affair did not occur to my suspicion. But the art of the one, and the low cunning of the other, added to my trust in Fanny's confidence in my advice, all conspired to deceive me. You see too, there is a hint of a previous engagement. Poor Miss Parsons! her dejection and depression are now fully accounted for. How hard has been her fate. Deprived of her parents at a period of life when the feelings are most acutely sensible to the shafts of misfortune,

constrained to endure a haughty and indelicate dependence, her affections and her pride had yet a wound more painful to receive, a sting more corroding to undergo. Her sufferings, and her patient forbearance of complaint, endear her to me in the most affecting point of view, and I shall now more anxiously than ever exert myself to soften her anguish, by every kindness and attention in my power to bestow.
As to my dear Fanny, though this providential discovery produced a temporary mortification, and drew some tears of vexation from her eyes, her heart, slightly if at all touched, had nothing deeply to hurt or painfully to interest it; and as she was thoroughly sensible of the risques from which she had just escaped, she beheld with horror the precipice on which she had been standing, and required not either argument or persuasion (though by way of caution I bestowed

both very lavishly) to convince her how fortunate this accident had proved. Her innocent mind, unacquainted with disguise and unused to concealment, felt relieved of a painful weight by the confession which her first agitation had extorted from her; yet I had no little difficulty in reconciling her to herself on account of having forfeited her promise, which indeed she had falsified almost unconsciously in the height of her emotions.
Since I have done so, said she, though I think I have been to blame, do not expose me to Mrs. Hindon. Dishonourably as she has acted towards me, I ought not to have receded from the promise I gave. I ought indeed to have possessed both sense and resolution sufficient for acting without counsel; but you may rest assured never, never, shall I risk my peace by granting another promise to the same purport. I have suffered too

severely from this ill judged concealment, and shall take the first opportunity of informing Mrs. Hindon that I am determined in my resolution never again to listen to her nephew on the subject, of his passion—never indeed shall he have an opportunity of tormenting me more.
To calm her, I gave her my word I should not mention one syllable of the matter to Mrs. Hindon. Yet I was somewhat at a loss how to proceed. To apply to Mr. Howard, was to hazard engaging him in a quarrel with his sister in law; nor could I myself resent her behaviour while we were partaking of her civilities. I resolved therefore to be silent on the subject; and by never quitting Fanny's side, who herself wished to avoid any intercourse with Wilmot, so to regulate her manner in future as entirely to destroy the hopes to which his vanity and her imprudence had given rise. Yet I could hardly talk to the artful

woman this morning at breakfast with any degree of temper.
FEB. 14.
Sir Edward spent yesterday evening here; and really grows so very particular, both in his attentions and conversation, that I begin to feel the necessity of a reserve, which his modesty, and the obligations I owe him, render very unpleasant. Adieu! my Sophia. I have just received your delightful packet. Ah my love! are there no hopes, now you are so near as Paris, that your father may be prevailed with to pay England a visit. Oh that I were with you to solicit this favour on my knees.
H. SEYMOUR.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
FEB. 15.
WELL, Sophia, our doom is at last determined. My grandfather's answer is arrived. Yet not addressed to us: that would have been a condescension too great. He has not even deigned to acknowledge my letter; but has ordered Lady Linrose to inform us. But let her Ladyship's letter speak for itself.
TO LAURENCE HOWARD, ESQ.
SIR,
I was this day favoured with an answer from Nice, and I delay not a moment in

acquainting you with the result of your application, although I am extremely sorry to premise that it is not of a nature that can either prove agreeable to your own wishes or to those of the young ladies committed to your charge.
In spite of the indefatigable trouble I have taken, and the persuasive arguments I have used in more than one letter, to represent their situation in a light the most dismal and affecting, his Lordship remains quite inexorable to all my entreaties. He tells me that the revival of recollections so bitter, as this subject recalls to his memory, has given a mortal stab to that repose which time had in some measure restored, and he desires, as he is not at liberty himself to address the ladies, that through the medium of my pen they may be informed, that when the conduct of their unhappy parent forced him to renounce him, he bound himself by a solemn resolution it should

be for ever; nor that any consideration should prevail on him through life, to see, countenance, or hold the slightest intercourse with the offspring of a calamity which has loaded his days with mortification and misery. His Lordship concludes by laying his commands upon me, under pain of his perpetual displeasure, strictly to observe a similar conduct, and expresses himself with a sternness and force which constrains me, with all the disposition imaginable to serve the young ladies, to give up all thoughts of making myself or family known to them. I hope therefore, after this disagreeable information, which with infinite pain to myself I am obliged to divulge, they will neither be surprised nor offended when I acknowledge that a firm adherence to Lord Belmont's prohibition is the unavoidable consequence of its having been made known; and that I think myself obliged, after requesting the favour of one

line more on this subject, to decline even all further correspondence upon it.
As I cannot but feel warmly interested in two young persons, who suffer so unfortunately for errors for which in strict justice they cannot be esteemed accountable, I was extremely happy Sir, to understand from you, that your wards laboured under no difficulties in regard to fortune. I take it for granted therefore that they possess that sum which Lord Linrose received from the generosity of his father, and which I know was reckoned a very noble stipulation in Lord Belmont to grant after a conduct so weak, dishonourable, and irritating to all his friends. Had any pecuniary assistance been required, I should certainly have risqued my Lord's displeasure by contributing from my own private purse what might have been of service for their ease and comfort; but as this is by no means necessary, and the ladies are in possession

of an affluence which allows them to pursue what plan of life they choose, and to settle wherever they may incline, if I might be allowed to interfere with my advice on this head, I would take the liberty of suggesting that France, which may in a manner be called their native country, must to them undoubtedly prove a more eligible, as well as a more agreeable residence than England is ever likely to become. A hint must convince them that where the stain of their father's faults is unknown they certainly enjoy a better chance of being respected, than where remembrance must ever subject them to the impertinence of curiosity, and perhaps, however unjustly, to unmerited contempt.
I approve highly of the modesty and prudence they have testified in not assuming a name, the renunciation of which was the consequence of family dishonour; and I make no doubt they will equally

support their claim to those virtues in future, by carefully concealing their title to it. Any attempt to the contrary would but produce the disagreeable effect of renewing the recollection of a fate which must discredit it, and never can be of service to them in the world's opinion, and which, from the great length of time that has elapsed since those circumstances engaged in so great a degree the public attention, is now wholly sunk into oblivion.
I should be happy. Sir, to learn, if you would for once favour me with a line for that purpose, what the determination of your wards is likely to be; tho' after this communication I am unwillingly constrained to ask no farther, compassion compels me to be anxiously solicitous in regard to the fate of two young persons, whom, in spite of the restrictions which

paternal authority imposes, I shall ever consider as nearly allied to my family.
I remain, with esteem. Sir,
your most obedient servant, CAROLINE LINROSE.
Well, Sophia, what do you think of this letter? All our absurd and romantic hopes, hitherto supported by the chimeras of a sanguine and delusive imagination, are at one blow finally crushed. No redress you find. A solemn resolution deprives us even of a flattering possibility that Lord Belmont, (alas! I dare not give him the tender appellation of grandfather,) may allow nature and compassion to plead for us in his bosom. He forbids our claims, denies our title to his protection, and breaks with us for ever. Oh! my Sophia, my dear and only friend! our hearts are deeply wounded

by this stroke. Fanny and I have been weeping the loss of our last parent in each other's arms; and on this occasion I have been faithfully acting up to the encomium once bestowed on me, of instilling consolation at a moment when I could not myself imbibe comfort from my own arguments.
We were sitting at table with some company after dinner, when this cruel letter was put into Mr. Howard's hands. He asked leave to break the seal; and upon hastily perusing the first lines, changed colour and left the room. My apprehensions instantly told me from whence it came, and what were the contents; yet I kept my seat in seeming composure till Mrs. Hindon withdrew with the ladies to the drawing room.
My impatience then left me no longer resolution to remain in this anxious inquietude; and unwilling to make Fanny a sharer in my uneasiness, I stole softly

to Mr. Hindon's study, where I concluded Mr. Howard would be, and tapping at the door, asked permission to enter. He opened it immediately. The disappointment which your countenance cannot conceal, said I, too evidently explains all I want to know.
Pressing my hand—Here is the letter, answered he. I can say nothing to mitigate its unwelcome contents. Yet what bosom can boast superior fortitude to Miss Seymour's, whose mind suggests more powerful and alleviating consolations for a misfortune in which neither imprudence nor misconduct involves her. He then gave me the letter, and walked up stairs to send down Fanny to receive the news.
She found me drowned in tears, which this complete disappointment to all our hopes could not but at first produce: but soon that mixture of indelicacy and pretended compassion which the letter contained,

by exciting my resentment fortified my spirits. Narrow-minded woman! Does she suppose all the world influenced by sentiments of equal meanness with her own? does she conclude that reproach and contempt must be our portion, because our parent erred and was unhappy. He suffered, alas, suffciently for his faults, without entailing their miserable consequences on his offspring, and heaven I trust has accepted the tribute of his remorse.
Pecuniary assistance; oh! may it please a wise and gracious Providence to avert a calamity so insupportable, so degrading as dependence on Lady Linrose would prove. Rather, iny Sophia, let us owe the mere necessaries of existence to the honest labour of our hands. Ah! rake not up the ashes of the dead! Cruel woman; why does she write with a show of sympathy she feels not, and of pity which borders on insult, while such bitter

expressions drop from her pen, (expressions which she well knew must recall the most distressing reflections) for errors that long since were expiated and forgiven.
Poor Fanny's sanguine expectations were so cruelly dashed, and her spirits so sunk by this blow, that I found it doubly incumbent on me to exert my own in order to support hers. I reflected that this disappointment, as suggested by Mr. Howard, was not the consequence either of our folly or our faults: it was an event I had ever believed possible, and often feared was probable, nor could it ever have depended on our own conduct to have averted or escaped it. Pride intermixed itself in many motives of consolation; and in such circumstances the assistance of that sentiment (in many cases the error of our nature) is perhaps the most salutary source from which comfort can flow.

My grandfather's vow, (for still will I call him so) if it cannot be recalled, yet surely extends not to Lady Linrose. Were she possessed of a mind noble and enlarged were it not selfish, little, and interested, never would she have given implicit obedience to a measure so unfeeling and unjust as that of renouncing two friendless girls, in a foreign country, where they have no claims for kindness or protection except on those whom benevolence and humanity induce to be the friends of the unfortunate.
Mr. Howard soon joined us. I was quite composed when he entered, and assisted his arguments so effectually, that Fanny became at length more composed; We remained together a considerable time in conversation; till at length we were interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Hindon.
Good stars! in tears my dear ladies, cried she. What on earth can be the

matter? for God's sake tell me what has distressed you in this manner? Brother, what can it be?
On being informed—God Almighty! cried she, renounce you! Lord Belmont renounce you! What on earth will then become of you, for to my certain knowledge you will never see one shilling of the money that was lodged in Mr. Bensley's hands.
Pardon me, Madam, cried Mr. Howard with evident displeasure, I hope part of it will certainly be recovered.
Part of it—what perhaps one paltry thousand, or it may be two, out of the twenty-four. That's part of it with a vengeance. What will two thousand be to them, who have been accustomed to want for nothing, and to have things always handsome and genteel about them. Indeed it is most deplorable. But pray Miss Seymour if you was yourself to write to Lady Linrose, for you know you are

extremely clever at your pen, and was to represent your destitute condition in the most moving terms, don't you think she might be prevailed on to intercede with Lord Belmont to allow you something yearly, or in case that failed to grant it herself.
Not for a thousand worlds! cried I. If our afffirs are in this dismal situation, we must accustom ourselves to conform to our finances. It is a duty to live within the limits of what one possesses; the discharge of which is I think as essential as that of almost any other. To apply to any of our family after this renunciation, is what I never will for an instant think of.
And why not pray? cried she. Fine talking indeed, of living like scrubs on fifty pounds a year, after having been brought up to forty times that sum, when a step so natural and simple might bestow affluence and comfort instead of

penury and want. Tis nothing but pride, mere pride, which prevents you fronn following my advice, and indeed you must allow me to tell you so; besides, as you have such certain proofs by which to ascertain your birth, if you make but bustle enough, I dare say his Lordship will be glad to compound matters from the dread of your reviving the old story by going to law with him; or if he won't be brought to hear reason, what do you think of actually commencing a process. I'll warrant the bare idea of such a proceeding will bring him to act as he ought to do. What say you brother to the scheme?
I would rather starve, cried I with a warmth which her indelicacy made irrepressible.
Starve! Fine talking to be sure. I'll wager Mr. Howard agrees with me, if people wont be persuaded to behave properly why they must be compelled to it if possible.

I cannot agree wich you in this measure, indeed Madam, said Mr. Howard, who seemed to have been lost in thought ever since her entrance, for I cannot possibly conceive what advantage could result from Lord Belmont's being constrained to acknowledge his grandchildren: but it is impossible immediately to determine what steps ought to be pursued.
Oh to be sure one ought to consider certainly, and I make no doubt you will agree with me in opinion that some sort of application ought immediately to be made to Lady Linrose. But I have lest my company below. Will you make your appearance ladies; or if you are not sufficiently composed I shall send up Jenny wich tea, for Lady Farnford and her daughter are just come in and will be surprised at my absence.
She then lest us: and I besought Mr. Howard no longer to conceal any circumstances

relating to our affairs, which it was necessary we should be made acquainted with. Mrs. Hindon's information is but too true, I perceive, added I; but on what we possess we must contrive to subsist, and you need not be afraid to confess the worst, for this disappointment to my hopes has inured me to mortification.
I must acknowledge, answered he, that I am afraid Mrs. Hindon has authority but too good for the abrupt discovery she has made of your affairs. As I flattered myself that pecuniary misfortunes would neither have been felt nor regarded while you enjoyed the affection and prorection of Lord Belmont, I wished not to disturb you with the apprehension of an evil which might never arrive; but sorry I am to confess the claims of Mr. Benseley's creditors are become so great, that it is much to be feared your fortune will be reduced to pretty near what Mrs. Hindon

mentioned—two thousand pounds, or about that sum. There is no saying however how things may turn out, as nothing is yet settled; but I wish not to flatter you, while I observe and admire that fortitude and strength of mind that rises superior to disappointments under which the bulk of mankind would sink into despondency.
Well, my dear Sir, cried I, there is no help for this misfortune. Thank heaven a little yet remains. We must immediately think of some private abode, where we may live peaceably and tranquilly, no longer agitated with the wishes nor tormented by the expectations which have kept our minds ever since we left Languedoc in a state of tumult and suspense. All expectation is at an end; for we have nothing now to hope, but that we may enjoy enough out of the wreck of our fortune to exist with decency and comfort in obscurity. What is it but returning

to a retirement that experience has convinced us we are capable of enjoying, and that habit and education have both conspired to render even agreeable to us. We shall soon forget this busy era of our lives, or regard it but as an uneasy, troublesome dream, which we shall be delighted to find has vanished away.
Upon you, my dear Sir, continued I, who have so faithfully and conscientiously fulfilled the fatigueing and disagreeable charge imposed on you by my dear father, we must still lean for further direction and assistance. Your goodness and zeal must expect still further trouble in seeking out for us some humble residence. Our abode must be as simple as is consistent with neatness and decency, in some retired spot in a cheap country.
And would you have the barbarity to exclude me from your dwelling, cried he, with a sudden eagerness which he seemed

incapable of repressing, but which, as if conscious of having gone too far, he instantly checked, and added in a softened tone tho' with visible emotion, will my dear and amiable wards allow me as their guardian, warmly interested in their happiness, to propose a scheme—a scheme, repeated he hesitating, which I have been for some time revolving in my mind lest things should take this unfavourable turn. It is indeed a plan which no other circumstances could have justified—and even now requires—But I shall lay hold of some other opportunity of presenting it to your consideration, when I have more clearly weighed it and considered it's consequences.
Oh tell it us now, my dear Sir, cried Fanny with impatience. What would become of us if we had not so good, so kind, and so able a friend to advise us.
Mr. Howard, affected at these words, could hardly disperse a tear which rushed

into his eye, and unable to answer, took advantage of Miss Parsons entering to leave us hastily. The softness of that amiable girl's nature made Fanny's apparent grief infectious; and without uttering a syllable, she gave way to a sudden burst of tears; which tender sympathy, had I not been before prepossessed in her favour, would alone have endeared her to me. I was obliged to become her comforter likewise; and assured her we were weeping a disappointment, not a calamity; and indulging in tears, which after the first shock it was weakness to allow to flow, and therefore merited not the kind compassion they had excited.
I was not a little surprised to discover that she was perfectly informed not only of the subject of our present distress but with every circumstance relating to our present situation, which she told us Mrs. Hindon, oppressed with the secret, had been so eager to divulge, that not only

herself, but Lady Farnford and several of her friends below had been already partakers of it.
Mrs. Hindon must look upon her word as nothing, said I, for she promised secrecy.
Ah, Madam! if you knew all, cried she, and shook her head emphatically— and indeed I have more than once thought of mentioning it to you; but as I saw little danger of your being led into difficulties, and beheld you possessed of prudence sufficient to secure you from danger, I thought it needless to hazard my aunt's displeasure, should my conduct ever have become suspected.
You mean with regard to Captain Wilmot, cried Fanny, but thank God the discovery you hint at has been already made, time enough to prevent any ill consequences from his duplicity. Indeed had his fortune been splendid to my wish, and his affection as sincere as I believe

it pretended, to pity alone, not attachment, would he have owed the success which Mrs. Hindon's artful representations and my simple inexperience might perhaps have led me to bestow.
I am afraid indeed Madam, answered she, that my cousin merits not the honour of your good opinion. But as to that plan, though I have long suspected it I never once dreamt of interfering, as I concluded till this moment it had not only the approbation of your own heart, but likewise of Miss Seymour's judgment.
Far from it indeed, cried I. My opinion of Captain Wilmot has ever been such, that independent of the embarrassment of his fortune, this step never should have received my concurrence while I knew my sister's heart was not deeply interested.
You amaze me Madam, for indeed Mrs. Hindon long since gave me to understand

that it was a match where no material objections on either side could possibly be opposed to obstruct its progress.
Mrs. Hindon then spoke from her wishes, not her conviction, for from the beginning I am convinced she dreaded its success.
Well, Madam, said Miss Parsons, I heartily congratulate you on having escaped the snare; for it is a secret to few that Captain Wilmot, from a destructive passion for play, has mortgaged his estate, at no time considerable, to very near its full value, and if he has not already wholly ruined himself, his extravagance, unsubdued by experience, sufficiently proves that such a termination must soon take place. But on this head having received false intelligence, I concluded you acted from the dictates of affection; an idea which was sufficient to deter me from interfering by an explanation

that might have been but indifferently received, and which at all events I could not have been justified for bringing to light.
I thought, cried I, you had begun by indirectly proposing to reveal all. If secrecy was your determined resolution how was this in your power?
I meant all that concerned you, Madam, not what regarded your sister. Of her affairs I was informed, and in divulging my cousin's real situation, from the charges of treachery, however innocent my intention and however beneficial the consequences, I could not have been wholly exculpated, while confidence alone had put it in my power to betray.
Miss Parsons then hastened to inform us, that on the very evening which succeeded that of our arrival in England, Mr. Howard having on his visit to his brother and sister disclosed our situation, and acquainted them with our real name

and splendid connection under the tie of secrecy, and likewise with the amount of our fortune, Mrs. Hindon seized the earliest opportunity of making a confidant of her friend Lady Farnford.
The two ladies were seated in Mrs. Hindon's dressing-room, which is merely divided by a thin partition from the apartment we at present occupy, and which was then inhabited by Miss Parsons. She happened to be quietly placed at her book, when her studies were interrupted by the conversation of the next room, and her attention so unavoidably attracted by the eager vociferation of this confidential tete a tete, that contrary either to her inclination or design, she found herself in possession of all their secrets.
The two friends, after pondering, wondering, and gossiping, began to reflect that with ten thousand in possession, and at least double that sum in expectation,

with the advantages of a splendid family connection, Fanny and I presented no inconsiderable gratification to the avarice or vanity of any needy pretenders.
From these particulars they soon began to form wishes that prizes so considerable could be secured to their own families, by means of whatever males of their house should be matrimonially disposed: and Captain Wilmot, the nephew of the one, and Farnford, the son of the other, instantly occurred to the active and fertile imaginations of these busy intermedling old women. Those two gentlemen, in whom the ladies felt a mutual interest, were at once indigent and extravagant, good looking and showy, circumstances which rendered the success of their schemes both essential and probable. They resolved however carefully to conceal their plan till ripe for execution; doubting not but occasional meetings and frequent intercourse would gradually facilitate

its progress and insure it a fortunate conclusion. It was in consequence of this that you two ladies were entreated with a display so oftentatious of hospitable civility to take up your abode in Mrs. Hindon's family.
Fanny and I both warmly thanked Miss Parsons for this information, dictated by the keenness of her feelings and by that gratitude which a little kindness and a few trivial attentions had excited: attentions that no delicate mind could have withheld testifying even for a person less amiable, in a situation so humiliating as hers.
Good heavens! cried I, and was I too the object of a project? We have undoubtedly made a sufficient return to Mrs. Hindon for all her civilities in furnishing such amusing and interesting subjects for her active spirit to work on. I think, however, as our fortune was the secret spring of all these intrigues, we

have little reason now to apprehend either art or contrivances. The primary motive for all these speculations has vanished, and I shrewdly suspect the unconquerable and violent passion which has occasioned such ravages in the bosoms of the two gentlemen, being deprived of this nourishment, will quietly sink into neglect and indifference; the only advantage it must be confessed that results from this change in our prospects.
This intelligence at another time might have occasioned me uneasiness; but at the moment it was communicated the information was attended by a number of others so much more distressing, that I hardly gave it any attention. It only increased the dislike which resentment at Mrs. Hindon's behaviour with regard to Fanny had before excited, and which, as this clue to her conduct deprived her even of the merit her hospitality and civilities

had before claimed, now almost amounted to repugnance and contempt.
The motive of her advice, indelicate and unfeeling, to apply to Lady Linrose, not merely for her mediation but even for her assistance, is now fully explained, as also the secret cause of that frigid chagrin too potent either for concealment or repression, which diffused itself over both her manner and countenance on receiving the news of our cruel disappointment.
Perhaps I am a little severe in my expressions: for after all, her disappointment, poor woman, might prove little inferior to ours. Her designs and expectations are completely frustrated by the same unlucky event that puts ours to flight; and perhaps in some minds the desires suggested by pride are as powerful as those which reason, nature, and feeling excite. To lose the hopes of an alliance that flatters her vanity, may to Mrs. Hindon prove a blow as severe as

the shock which deprives us at once of a parent and the pleasing comforts of family connections.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
FEB. 15, TWELVE AT NIGHT.
MRS. Hindon's company not having left her till late, I had some hours leisure to pursue my journal. We then went down to supper, which proved a dull and comfortless repast. Mrs. Hindon was cold and out of humour; her husband sleepy and fatigued, Fanny dejected, Mr. Howard thoughtful, and for myself I was grave and silent. Miss Jenny was indeed the only person in company who

retained her usual behaviour; at all times soft, humble, and melancholy.
The change our situation had undergone in the eyes of Mrs. Hindon since the morning, shone conspicuous in her manner, and produced an alteration hardly to be credited. That flattering civility, bordering often almost upon servility, those professions of unalterable esteem, friendship, and regard, that used some times, from our utter inability to make adequate returns, absolutely to overpower us, were this evening converted into frigid reserve, mixed with a displeasure which seemed to avow that she could hardly forgive herself for having hitherto lavished upon us so much unnecessary respect and attention, and for which mortification she meant to indemnify herself in the season of our humiliation, by making all proper reprisals. Poor woman! she is infinitely mistaken if she imagines I am in the least humbled by this reverse. It

is not, thank heaven, in the power of fortune to produce an effect so degrading on my mind. I looked down on her with a degree of pity which softened my contempt, on witnessing the littleness of mind her conduct betrayed.
We were not long in separating for the night: and as I have too much anxiety on my spirits to hope for rest, here am I retired to pass an hour in chat with my dearest Sophia, while poor Fanny is forgetting the busy occurrences of this disagreeable day in the soothing arms of sleep.
Amidst all the difficulties and mortifications we have encountered, and which at our time of life, when the feelings are all tremblingly alive and the passions eager and unsubdued, are endured with double anguish, how alleviating, how grateful to my heart is the conviction of my beloved Sophia's never failing sympathy and affection. There yet remains

to us heaven's first and choicest blessing— a dear and tender friend, who feels for our embarrassments and enters into all our distresses with the kindest interest and warmest commiseration. Oh! my Sophia! ought I then to complain?
Yet, yet, my dear, I indeed require your friendly sympathy; for at this instant, without labouring, thank God, under any heavy affliction, (for in my opinion to the stings of guilt, or to the heart rending despair of losing a friend tried and beloved, alone belongs that expression), our situation is as comfortless, as disagreeable as possible. How are we to dispose of ourselves? Mrs. Hindon's House is no longer a residence for us. You will easily perceive the necessity of our quitting it in all haste; and I make no doubt may likewise conjecture, that after the vexatious adventure into which our residence in lodgings so lately involved us, I must feel no small degree

of reluctance at the idea of venturing into others, without the protection of Mr. Howard, whose attendance must now of course cease, when the title, though merely nominal, of our guardian is at an end; neither can I think without repugnance of remaining in town, cooped up in small, confined, unwholesome apartments, and of such only will our finances allow; while a neat rustic habitation in the country can be procured perhaps at less expense.
Another motive no less powerful, conspires to give additional force to my desire of leaving London as soon as convenience will permit, and settling as far from it as possible; I will confess my vanity, for surely it is a natural pride— I cannot think of being recognized by Mr. Roatsley, after this change in our appearance, without pain. Were he like Mrs. Hindon, to discover by his behaviour that from our apparent fall we were

sunk in his estimation, I should with ease cast him from my heart for ever: but of this mean weakness, incident only to common minds, I cannot suspect him. I fear only to be the object of his pity! Oh! Sophia! pity from Roatsley would mortify me more severely than unmerited contempt from the rest of the world.
How few are there who do not allow themselves, perhaps unconsciously, to be more influenced by appearances than they suspect. Miss Seymour, while moving in a sphere, if not splendid at least creditable, is no longer the same person when reduced to exist only through the efforts of her own industry; and though still entitled to the respect of the unprejudiced, nay perhaps to their esteem, yet being sunk, to her intrinsic value, and deprived of a thousand little adventitious circumstances that give life and alacrity to an infant passion, how can it be supposed to combat and struggle against

those dangerous mortifications which are the greatest foes to its progress.
No, Sophia, I sincerely hope I shall see him no more. To you, I divulge every thought that oppresses my heart, for from your sympathy alone I can hope to derive the slightest alleviation. To you then, my dear, I will acknowledge, that the severest wound my grandfather's renunciation has inflicted, is its having awakened me from a pleasing delusive dream, on the idea of which I have almost existed ever since I overheard Roatsley's acknowledgement to his friend of his partiality in my favour. I confess it was weak, it was unpardonable, to allow my mind to indulge in such reveries; yet they stole on me imperceptibly, and I could not resist giving way to the flattering hopes, that had he beheld me in that advantageous point of view in which rank and fortune ever place their votaries, had he seen me in the circle to

which my birth entitles me—in short, my dear, as we live not in the age of romance, where the splendours of life are wholly disregarded, it is probable his rising attachment would not have been greatly damped by the knowledge of my being Lord Belmont's grandchild, and possessed of a considerable fortune. Had this been the sole motive, or even the chief one, little should I have prized the flame: but remember he loved me when these particulars were unknown, and laboured for my welfare when a veil of doubtful obscurity was thrown over my situation. These are circumstances to give weight and value to his passion. But these chimeras are now no more. I must drive them from my thoughts for ever; and instead of confessing and indulging, check and conquer them with all the fortitude I can summon to my assistance.

FEB. 16.
Going down this morning to breakfast, I was surprised when I entered to find Lady Farnford and Mrs. Hindon tete a tete, and seemingly in earnest conversation. Good morning, Miss Seymour, cried the latter with a smiling air, the traces of last night's hauteur being entirely vanished from her brow. Lady Farnford likewise accosted me with abundance of civility and kindness, and they insisted on placing me between them.
Come, cried Mrs. Hindon, after a short pause, which she appeared to have employed in considering how she should introduce without abruptness what she intended to say—Why should there be such distance among friends? To tell the plain truth Miss Seymour, I could not shut my eyes all night for thinking in what a destitute and dismal way you and Miss Fanny must live if you are not ruled and persuaded by those who are interested

in you. Here is Lady Farnford, who declares herself as anxious for your welfare as if you were her own children, and who protests that if you were so in fact she should be the first to advise an immediate application to my Lord Belmont. His Lordship cannot see his grandchildren starve, or what is scarcely preferable, justle through life neglected and forgotten, for want of that little which his affluent fortune can spare with ease. Consider he is unacquainted with your misfortune. He concludes you possessed of twenty thousand pounds; and tho' that is but a trifle to what you might reasonably expect, yet no doubt he might imagine it enough to support you genteelly. I assure you in your case, with such just claims, I would not content myself even with a little; and if he finds you mean to make a piece of work about it, take my word for it he will alter his tone as they say. Mr. Howard told us t'other day,

talking of your father, that if he had chosen to refuse the compromise offered him by my Lord, he might have been in possession of one of Lord Belmont's estates of three thousand per annum; and tho' he gave away his own money, he had undoubtedly no right to mar the inheritance of his children. That alone would surely make a good law suit; and the simple apprehension of it would certainly be sufficient to frighten my Lord into terms. Come, Miss Seymour, I'm sure a young lady of your sense must see clearly that rather than have such disturbance and noise created, your grandfather would easily be induced to settle handsomely on you, were it only for hush money.
Allow me to assure you once for all, Madam, answered I, that nothing on earth shall ever prevail with me to attempt such a measure. I am confident you must have wholly misunderstood Mr.

Howard on this point; for such are the unhappy circumstances of the case, that my father preserved no sort of claim upon Lord Belmont's fortune, and was thoroughly satisfied and contented with the stipulation. Tho' this sum is now greatly reduced, we have reason to hope a little still remains, and on that little I trust we shall be able to subsist independent of these cruel relations, who have so unnaturally renounced us. To have recourse to law, (were there even a probability of success,) is a plan at which delicacy and pride equally revolt.
Pride and nonsense, cried she. Indeed Miss Seymour I cannot conceive for my part the meaning of all this delicacy and refinement. 'Tis past my comprehension I confess.
Perhaps, cried Lady Farnford, who had not as yet been able to speak for the volubility of her friend—perhaps Miss Seymour is deterred by the hopelesness of

success. All the world esteems Lord Belmont irrevocable in his determinations. He is indeed a very obstinate, whimsical old man. Lady Linrose too is generally disliked; being haughty, proud, and inflexible.
Yes, and no doubt her Ladyship finds her own advantage, cried Mrs. Hindon, in keeping her nieces at a distance from their grandfather.
We have no reason to accuse her Ladyship of any such intention, said I. Perhaps, had she possessed either sensibility or benevolence equal to our wishes, we might have expected a little more kindness (tho' ever so privately offered,) to two unfriended relations; who, divided from their friends, and in a manner alone in the universe, lay claim, from her at least, to the good offices of humanity: but tho' she has not proved warmly our friend and protectress, I am thoroughly convinced she is far from having injured the cause

entrusted to her care. She is not generally beloved; but is allowed to be a woman of principle and honour; and a trifling portion of these qualities must prove sufficient to deter her from a conduct so unworthy.
Well, Miss Seymour, resumed Lady Farnford, Lady Linrose is not a woman easily melted by sentiments of pity. But pride may extort where charity fails; and the desire of preventing a revival of—of the unlucky story, may perhaps prevail with her to intercede with my Lord Belmont to allow you a pretty round sum to be quiet.
To Lady Linrose, cried I with firmness, never will I apply.
Why then, returned Lady Farnford, what I mean to propose is, applying to their son. The idea occurred to me last night, on hearing Mr. Roatsley talked of in the highest terms by some friends we had to sup with us.

Mr. Roatsley! exclaimed I.
Yes, Mr. Roatsley. It seems his election to the borough of—took place the day before yesterday. Some of the company had been warmly his friends on that occasion, which naturally led them to talk of him, and they spoke in such high terms of his character, that I could not avoid at the time concluding what probability of success an application of this kind must have to a young man of his disposition.
What connection has Mr. Roatsley with Lady Linrose? cried I in a tremor.
Lord don't you know, Miss Seymour, that he is their son, and of course your first cousin.
Their son! Good heavens! exclaimed I, quite out of breath.
Good stars, said Mrs. Hindon, is not that the young man who accompanied you in your passage from Calais, and of whom my brother talks so highly?

I know not, Madam.—But I hope not.
And pray why do you hope so? For my part I think it is the most agreeable intelligence at this juncture you could wish to hear: for I assure you my brother Howard told me that he seemed much struck, and indeed no wonder, by the elegance of your appearance; and besides, was it not he who attended you so assiduously at the Opera house. Oh! I make no doubt he knew perfectly well how nearly you were connected, though perhaps a prohibition from her Ladyship deterred him from acknowledging the relationship. And so you never once suspected that he was the late Lord Linrose's son all the while? well that is the drollest affair I have heard this age.
I dare say Madam, cried I, there may be some mistake in this, else we should have been sooner informed. How comes the son of Lady Linrose to appear under a borrowed name?

O as to that point, said Lady Farnford, in this country nothing is more common. Mr. Roatsley assumed his present name because it was accompanied by the inheritance of an estate in Ireland, left him by an uncle of his mother's, who died a few months ago.
How shall I convey to you, Sophia, an idea of the variety of emotions that agitated my heart at this moment. Oh! it is wholly impossible! This intelligence, so unexpected, so extraordinary, and oh! shall I add, so mortifying, (for a mixture of humiliation rendered my feelings at this moment still more intolerable, actually drew tears from my eyes:—tears, the source of which I could not absolutely define, but which, to my companions, appeared merely the natural effects of uncertainty and vexation.
Oh! Sophia! how long have we remained in ignorance with regard to a point so infinitely interesting. But I now

find that this inheritance, and consequently this change of name, took place immediately before our arrival in England. Indeed, on investigating the matter, Mr. Howard has discovered that Mr. Roatsley's return was occasioned by that event. Mr. Howard therefore, in his enquiries relative to our family, heard often of a Mr. Dudley, but was informed he was abroad with his brother and Lord Belmont, and never received the slightest hint to lead him to conclude that our agreeable fellow traveller, Mr. Roatsley, was in fact the second son of the late Lord Linrose, whose character, even from the lips of Mrs. Weldon, does so much honour to his family. Indeed, had these enquiries been made of late, no doubt we must have been immediately acquainted with the truth; but the society in which he ranges is totally distinct from that in which chance has placed us, and you may recollect it was directly on our

arrival that Mr. Howard exerted himself to satisfy our anxious desire of being informed of every circumstance concerning our relations. At that time Mr, Roatsley was himself but just arrived at his mother's country seat. His return was not generally known; and as we have not been once in any private company with him, excepting one half hour in our own lodgings, no opportunity for a discovery could possibly have occurred. Not but that a secret solicitude has induced me more than once to ask several ladies who have been at different times visitors here if they were acquainted with Roatsley; but a negative reply was always given, and I make no doubt he is wholly unknown to most of Mrs. Hindon's friends.
I will not, however, comment on this interesting discovery till I have concluded my fatiguing conversation with these officious advisers.

You must know, resumed Lady Farnford, that this young man has one of the best characters in the kingdom. To him therefore, Miss Seymour, I would advise you to apply by letter without loss of time, or perhaps Mr. Howard might transact the business better in person. Mr. Roatsley is adored by his family; and possesses, I am told, an influence over the mind of Lord Belmont which would insure success. If the old Lord thinks his vow binding, why he may keep it if he pleases, only let him act with justice, and support you in the line of life to which you were born.
Good God, my dear Sophia, what a proposal? It entirely divested me of the patience and temper with which I had hitherto listened to advice so selfish, so indelicate, so perfectly unfeeling. I therefore put a final period to a persecution that was grown intolerable, by expressing

myself with a cold and determined dignity, bordering perhaps a little on hauteur.
I must beg leave, said I when I could contrive to be heard, entirely to act for myself and from my own sentiments, in a point in which myself and sister only are concerned; and tho' we must consider ourselves as under obligations to those friends who wish to alter a resolution they may deem absurd and prejudicial to our interest, yet I must use the freedom to acknowledge that we partake so much of our grandfather's firmness as to be quite immoveable in our determinations, when convinced there is nothing in them contrary to reason and rectitude.
The gravity with which I pronounced this, disconcerted them; and they both in a breath began to apologize for the liberty they had taken in an affair in which they said our interest alone could be supposed to influence them. I could not resist smiling at the expression. I have

some reason to apprehend, however, that I should not so soon have got rid of importunities equally troublesome and officious, had not the rest of the family made their appearance to breakfast, which happily interrupted the eager volubility of the ladies.
Oh, my Sophia, what a discovery! It has engrossed and absorbed me ever since I was made acquainted with it. Is it indeed possible that the ties of blood as well as those of affection have united me with this amiable young man. I blush to make this confession in terms so strong, so explanatory; but the agitation of the present moment gives defiance to diffidence and shame, and conquers the reluctance with which such an avowal must ever be accompanied.
I have pondered and considered every circumstance of Mr. Roatsley's conduct since the beginning of our acquaintance, and indeed there are a number of circumstances

explained by this information, which hurt and displease me.
After thinking and reflecting on the whole tenor of his behaviour, I am convinced that duty and obedience to his family have enrolled him a party in their determinations. How flattering, how humane were his attentions during our passage, while ignorant of our secret claims to his good offices: yet how easily was he impressed with the most injurious suspicions to our disadvantage immediately afterwards: suspicions, to which he must have submitted with hardly an attempt towards being undeceived; for what confidence was to be reposed in the representations of a woman to whose character and principles, even by the confession of his friend Captain Bradshaw, neither trust nor credit were to be given. Oh! Sophia! I am afraid he would have remained at ease under this false opinion, had not Mr. Howard's letter to Lady

Linrose discovered us to him as a connection, in whose infamy and disgrace a slight degree of delicacy must have rendered him concerned. It was the knowledge of this circumstance, I now plainly perceive, that induced him to make known to Mr. Howard his fears for my safety, and which prevailed on him to discover an anxiety that wore the engaging aspect of disinterested humanity, whilst supposed to have actuated the bosom of a stranger, but which in Mr. Roatsley was but giving way to natural feelings.
I express myself perhaps with acrimony; indeed on reading over what I have written I am confounded at my warmth of expression. It is not easy, however, wholly to divest ones self of prejudice in a point dear and interesting to the heart. I am severely wounded and disappointed at one part of his conduct, which leads me perhaps to view it in other particulars

through a false and unjust medium. His behaviour after all, in regard to me, has been amiable, nay noble in the highest degree: but ah! did he possess the mind, the soul, the feelings which I have been blind enough to attribute to him, never could he have stooped to countenance a transaction so cruel and unnatural as that of renouncing us. He would not have passed himself upon us for a stranger, concealed the relationship of which he was ashamed, and courted our acquaintance under a borrowed form while he possessed a title so indisputable to our notice, had he chosen to have claimed it.
Perhaps indeed his mother had laid her injunctions on him to remain neuter in this affair till Lord Belmont's intentions were made known. But am I blinded by prepossession when I assert that to desert us after our accidental reconnoitre, and that profusion of professions of which it was productive, to withdraw his attention and

regard only when from the renunciation of his family and from the peculiarity of our circumstances he knew it was become essential to us, is a step which even parental duty can by no means justify. Common minds may argue in that manner, may in that manner act from motives of cold obedience, but if his heart is composed of materials so frigid, so correct, it is a loss little to be regretted. I am offended Sophia, and perhaps unjustly; but I had weakly flattered myself our sentiments were in some measure congenial; and his conduct has proved so opposite from what I am certain mine in similar circumstances would have been, that I am severely wounded.
But my warmth may perhaps have led my conclusions too far. Lord Belmont's resolution relative to us, must have arrived during his grandson's absence at his election, in which case he can hardly as yet have been informed of it, nor consequently

have determined how he will in future conduct himself. His return to town, which will probably happen in the course of a few days, must therefore explain whether or not I have done him injustice. If he yet shows himself in the light of our relation, and disavows his part of the family compact, I shall confess him wholly entitled to the too favourable opinion I have hitherto entertained of him.
I wish things may not be still worse with regard to Mr. Benseley's affairs than Mr. Howard has acknowledged; for that worthy friend is extremely thoughtful; and altho' I wished exceedingly to have a little private conversation with him in order to consult about our future plans, I could find no opportunity, for he left the parlour immediately after he had done breakfast, and has been abroad all the morning. No time however is to be lost in deciding. I am now doubly

anxious that our country scheme may take place; and am labouring to become eager for it; endeavouring to represent it to myself in the gaiest colours, as the rural abode of peace, innocence, and harmony, where no agitations shall in future ruffle, nor painful mortifications disturb the calm serenity of our lives. But it is in vain. My busy imagination perpetually places it in a different point of view, as a state of peacefulness, where tho' nothing wounds us nothing shall interest; and as a retirement, where tho' we enjoy tranquillity we shall not be able to taste happiness; and tho' tranquillity is perhaps in this fluctuating state the sole point attainable, and that to which, all our wishes ought to be directed, yet at our time of life it is not easy to resist the flattering hope that days of real enjoyment are yet in store for us. If this is a delusion, yet oh may I ever cherish it as a support in every distress and a prop under

every difficulty; without which soothing consolation life would be a burden and sorrow unsupportable.
I forgot to mention that Fanny has not seen Wilmot since the discovery of the letter. His absence, which is unusual, must either be attributed to the consciousness of his schemes having been detected by his mistake, or to the change in our affairs, which took place immediately after that event. No doubt his aunt has warned him to keep out of the way till our future expectations are clearly ascertained. Fanny, whose latent spirit has been roused by his duplicity, took the earliest opportunity to inform Mrs. Hindon of her unalterable resolution to break off all connection with her nephew. The lady received this determination with some appearance of surprise, but with much less opposition than would have followed such a step some days ago.

FEB. 17.
Mr. Howard did not appear yesterday till dinner was announced, I had it therefore in my power only to hint to him that I requested he would not attempt from friendly compassion to conceal any additional disappointments that were yet to be told us. He assured me that nothing decisive had taken place; Mr. Benseley's affairs continuing in the confusion and uncertainty in which, he had before represented them. This passed in a large company who dined here and staid the evening; by which means it was not possible for me to request a private conference with him. Mr. Howard seems, with his usual goodness, to participate in our chagrin; for I never observed him before so grave and thoughtful as he has been since the arrival of Lord Belmont's

letter. I began to suspect that some private uneasiness might have affected his spirits; but a peculiar softness in his address, both to Fanny and myself, now convinces me that to his heart the distresses of his friends and those more particularly his own, convey almost equal pain.
I have had a long conversation this morning with Miss Parsons. My heart, softened by my own disappointments, sympathizes in her's with augmented commiseration; and as she perceives that I, who was so lately the happy object of her envy and admiration, as created for the enjoyment of affluence, prosperity, and social happiness, am now her companion in suffering, she returns my attentions by redoubling her endeavours to soothe and amuse me, while she finds, that tho' born to so many advantages, I am no less open than herself to the attacks of fortune.

You imagine. Miss Seymour, said she this morning as we sat together at work in my dressing room, (for Mrs. Hindon was gone out and I had insisted on Fanny's accompanying her in hopes that a little variety might dissipate the chagrin of her spirits,) you imagine, and with reason that your mortifications and distresses have been severe: yet what have your sufferings proved when compared with mine: hardly had I closed the eyes of one beloved parent, when the other claimed the same sad duty. These are however misfortunes which by the course of nature we must all expect. Heartrending and acute as is the wound that such calamities inflict. Time's lenient hand generally bestows the balm to close it. That loss, heavy and irretrievable, did not come alone: the severities of dependence, insignificance, and contempt, were the miserable consequences of a blow in itself scarce supportable. Nor

was this all. She stopped, and hiding her face with her hands, suddenly gave way to a violent burst of tears, which seemed to have been irrepressible and wholly overcame her.
I know well, cried I, you have suffered the rigours of fate, and Heaven knows what yet may remain for our portion, should it please Almighty Providence to deprive us of independence, by taking away the remnant of our scanty fortune. All we shall have for it, my amiable friend, is to endeavour to profit from your laudable example, and to suffer unrepiningly those ills, which from trust in the unerring justice of Heaven, we may rest assured must in the end work for our good.
Ah! Madam! cried she, but there is one blow, cruel, biting, and acute, which the Almighty has not inflicted on you, and indeed it appears impossible you should ever experience. You may behold yourself abandoned by the world, regarded

with disdain, and treated with indelicacy; but this you may bear, and from the conscious superiority of your mind, may bear perhaps with indifference; but ah! Miss Seymour, there are wounds yet more bitter, feelings yet more keen, which I have endured, and which I heartily pray you may never know.
Heaven only knows, thought I to myself, whether these bitter, keen, and heartfelt sufferings, may not yet prove mine.
Yes cried I, to the amiable, unhappy girl, taking hold of her hand with unfeigned compassion, I am sensible you claim too justly the superiority in affliction. My heart feels sincerely for what yours has endured. You have my warmest sympathy; and if the demand is not importunate, and the recital will not prove a probe rather than a relief, will you gratify me so far as to unburthen your mind to me.
It is long, long, cried she, softened

at my request, since my heart has experienced the solace of confidence. The world turns wich disgust from the oppressed; it flies distress as if contagious; and prosperity beholds it as a frightfull picture presented to its view to check dissipation and to frown on enjoyment.
She then told me that when she was yet at school, Captain Wilmot, at that time a young Ensign, and nearly related to her, used frequently to spend some weeks at her father's vicarage for the amusement of shooting; and that during the holidays, when she always returned home, he constantly paid her the most flattering attention, till she confessed he made some impression on her heart. Being however hardly fifteen, and little of her age, she looked upon herself as a mere girl, and the school duties generally drove her cousin from her thoughts and conquered her attachment.
At seventeen she quitted school entirely.

It was then that the abovementioned diversion furnished a pretence for the Captain's spending almost the whole shooting season at their house; a circumstance that the young lady suspected proceeded from a tenderer motive. In fact he had been but a short time there, when he took an opportunity to disclose his passion, which met with all the success he could have wished.
Gained by his early and continued partiality, accustomed as her near relation to see him in the most favourable light and to hear him favourably spoken of by others, she was blind to the insipidity and conceited folly of his character. Habit and affection equally conspired to conceal his errors from her view; and if she caught occasionally a transient glimpse of his imperfections, his unbounded professions of love, added to her tenderness for him, cast a partial veil over his defects. She acknowledged to her lover,

that her heart had not been proof against his assiduities, and that were her parents to agree to their union, her consent should follow.
Mr. Parsons's illness however, which soon after followed, prevented the subject from being mentioned either to him or his lady. Miss Parsons, from almost never quitting the bed side of her father, had few opportunities of entertaining her lover. The family was become anxious and gloomy, and the Captain not finding his residence so agreeable as formerly, soon left them to join his regiment.
Mr. Parsons's death, which happened a few days after the lover departed, bringing the embarrassment of his affairs to light, informed the Captain too soon that instead of a very comfortable settlement, (for some previous windfalls to the family had induced him to conclude that Miss Parsons would be left in affluent circumstances,) he should not receive a shilling with his bride.

I hope, Madam, you will do me the justice to believe, said she, that in such circumstances I was not girl enough to remain blind to the many obstacles which then appeared against my union with a young soldier, who had little more than his commission to subsist on; and fearing that from motives of delicacy he might be under difficulties how to act, I wrote to him as soon as grief would allow me, and laying briefly before him the disadvantages of fulfilling our wishes at that time, since my mother and I existed merely upon a small precarious pension, which depended on her life, added, with many assurances of unalterable affection, that till things wore a more favourable aspect, our engagements must be suspended.
Would you believe it, Madam! my letter for six weeks remained unanswered, tho' surely my dismal situation demanded at least the sympathy of a man who had so

lately professed himself my lover: and when at length it arrived, it was some time before I could comprehend the contents. It was dated ten days after the receipt of mine; though undoubtedly it could not have taken above a month to come from Liverpool, where his regiment was quartered. But this artifice, I afterwards found, was intended to deceive me into an opinion, that it had been written previous to a succession to six hundred a year, which had fallen to him by the death of a distant relation.
In this epistle, written with the most phlegmatic indifference, he pretends, to regard my letter as intended to cancel all our engagements; to which he implicitly submits with many feigned expressions of regret.
My conduct, he said, induced him sincerely to wish that he might never behold me more. He called me insensible, unfeeling, and ungrateful; and after bestowing

a number of other appellations equally false and deceitful, concluded with praying that time and absence might enable him to conquer a passion, which every line of his letter proved existed no more.
On a first perusal, I really imagined that some meaning misconstrued, or some phraze misunderstood, had given umbrage to my cousin, and in the height of my uneasiness instantly again wrote to him. I assured him solemnly that I should ever regard as sacred the engagement into which I had entered with my whole heart, and to fulfil which was it's first wish; and that all I desired was to postpone an event that seemed at present mutually imprudent.
This however he thought proper never to acknowledge; and I was soon convinced that he had joyfully laid hold of this opportunity to regain his freedom. The conviction of his infidelity cost me many

sighs; but the death of my dear and respected mother soon awakened me to new affliction.
Having been in her last moments recommended by her to my aunt, and left solely dependent on her care, I was invited, soon after the last sad duties were performed, to take up my residence in her family, and began immediately to experience that cruel reverse which has embittered every succeeding hour. You cannot but have perceived, my dear Miss Seymour, that my misfortunes have reduced me almost to a level with the domestics in this house. Mrs. Hindon evidently regards me, and uniformly treats me as a menial dependent, instead of cherishing me with that care which my connexion with her claims and which her solemn promise to my mother to take charge of me seemed to imply and led me to expect. In lieu of those caresses, and that admirarion which in my happier

days any little advantages I possessed never failed to excite, and which made me think with pleasure on spending my days under her protection, I found my aunt was one of those who are wholly influenced by situation and appearances. Seeing me destitute and forlorn, she now regarded me as an orphan whom an ostentation of charity induced her to retain, and who, though entitled as her relation to subsistence, its unavoidable attendants were contempt and degradation.
You will easily imagine, that in my humiliation I met the eyes of my cousin with additional pain. The day on which you dined here, immediately after your arrival, was that on which I saw him for the first time: and though I am certain he must have felt embarrassed and disconcerted at the reconnoitre, he behaved with a degree of insolence and effrontery which converted my expiring regret (for

it is not easy wholly to eradicate a first and strong impression) into self congratulation and gratitude to heaven that I had been spared a fate so miserable as that of being connected with a human being capable of such meanness and indelicacy.
I was now in company with Captain Wilmot every day; but we mutually avoided being so without witnesses; and some time elapsed, though probably you never remarked it, before we even exchanged words. The custom of seeing me has however so entirely conquered all embarrassment or shame on his part, (if he was ever capable of any) that he has more than once presumed to treat me with the familiarity due only to an inferior, calling me his pretty Jenny with the impertinent ease of a man who imagines that in my situation even his freedoms must be well received and dare not be resented. In such circumstances,





where pride and delicacy are liable every moment to the severest wounds, with no enjoyment in the present and no chearing expectations for the future; happiness is a phantom which flies me, and which I have no prospect of overtaking on this side of the grave.
The unfortunate girl concluded her story with tears, in which compassion made me heartily join. I think, my Sophia, my distresses seem nothing when compared with the burden she has supported so long, and from which there appears so little prospect of relief. How should I have rejoiced had more prosperous circumstances allowed me to place this amiable young woman beyond the reach of 〈…〉 pride and poverty, and ena••••〈◊〉 to preserve an honourable independence.
END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.



HERMIONE.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
FEB. 20.
I COULD not contrive to meet with Mr. Howard till dinner was announced, at which he seemed absent and absorbed; but as I then sat next him, I asked him to allow me to talk with him when we left the table.
It is just the request I was going to make, said he: and when the ladies retired to tea and coffee, under pretence of business he made his excuses to the gentlemen and joined me in Mrs. Hindon's dressing room.
No time is to be lost, dear Sir, said I to him the moment he entered, in changing

our abode. The sooner the alteration in our circumstances takes place, the sooner shall we be enabled to conquer that reluctance which it must at first occasion. We have been unwillingly constrained, from a cruel peculiarity in our fate, to prove a burden on the humanity of our friends too long. I will not wound your delicacy by touching on the unspeakable obligations under which you have laid us, and for which simple gratitude is I fear all the return that will ever be allowed us to testify; that however you may be assured is warm from our hearts, and never can be effaced from our remembrance: but your sister, Mrs. Hindon, we have incommoded greatly too long. I have been considering many different plans, continued I; but as a strict economy must be the basis of all our schemes, and that is in fact an art I have yet to learn, it is not easy to fix; neither, from my short residence in this country, am I

an adequate judge of the safety or propriety of any step, without asking the advice and assistance of that friend whom Fate has left us. Do you imagine however, without being too lavish of your trouble, that a reputable family might be found who would consent immediately to receive us for a moderate sum, till that mode of life can be clearly ascertained of which our finances will hereafter allow.
Perhaps there might, said he. But surely Miss Seymour you do not think of removing immediately.
You do not seem to approve of this scheme, cried I, finding he said nothing more and seemed buried in thought. Is there any other you would advise?
Ah, Miss Seymour! cried he at last; there is a scheme—but I tremble to mention it.
At these words his face was overspread with a confusion which covered mine with blushes. The seriousness of his

manner, the embarrassment that had seized him, and an unusual expression of softness in his countenance, altogether infused suspicions into my mind of the most distressing nature: but Mr. Howard instantly recovered his dignity, and taking my hand with a benevolent smile, as if he had really penetrated into my thoughts and read my apprehensions.—Be not alarmed, said he; presumptuous my secret wishes perhaps once were, but I have been long sensible of their utter impropriety; and the conviction that they never could be crowned with success has long since nipped them in the bud. It is indeed a plan on which the whole happiness of my future life depends, but of which I now confess to you your lovely sister is the object.
Situated as I was, continued he, (for I knew not what reply to make) an inmate for months in your family, under the title of your father's friend, I enjoyed

a dangerous intimacy to which no other man had access. The snare, even at forty three, was not to be avoided; for where the mind and form both equally conspire to charm and seduce, no age is exempted from feeling their united force. Against such there is no defence, and one only cure; for where hope is completely extinguished passion seldom continues to torment. In this case it often changes both its nature and its name, and meliorating into a tender friendship, constitutes a less selfish gratification instead of proving the misery of our lives.
This, Miss Seymour, has been exactly my case. My efforts however to escape from one danger have led me into another no less insinuating. Tho' I entreat you to believe me, when I solemnly declare that I never was for one moment either so mad or so interested as to wish for my own enjoyment at the price of your amiable sister's prosperity; nor

while her future prospects seemed favourable, and her situation in life promised to prove almost equal to her merits, should any consideration on earth have induced me to make known my present presumption. I should have had then no remaining wish but for her happiness and success in every pursuit. The disappointment of my wishes as to the latter, has however given birth to hopes that the first is not still unattainable, and induced me to flatter myself that should she deign to allow of my most zealous endeavours to contribute to it, it may not prove beyond my power in some measure to console her for what she has lost.
Do not however imagine, that I shall so far descend from my age and character as to be offended by a refusal. An admirer at my time of life must not pretend to assume the lover of twenty. I am aware of the great inequality of our years, and of many other objections your

sister may feel, and the force of which she may not be able to surmount. If however she thinks, after consulting with you, that there are any advantages to compensate these obstacles, if the warmest attachment and the most unbounded indulgence, if my legal protection, and the command of a fortune much too narrow, alas! for her pretensions and almost beneath her acceptance, yet with which I flatter myself a mind like her's could be contented;—if these circumstances weigh in any degree against the opposite scale, I must so far adopt the language of a lover as to declare that she will literally render me the happiest of men. I shall receive her hand as a fresh blessing from heaven, and regard it as a condescension for which I shall ever consider myself her debtor.
Some hints in this speech of Mr. Howard's had confused me so extremely, that I made no attempt to answer or interrupt

him, except by bowing my head in acknowledgement of the compliments he paid me. Finding however that he now expected a reply, I thanked him in my sister's name for the honour of his good opinion; as to what success his proposal might receive, I declared myself wholly ignorant; grateful she cannot fail to prove, said I, but what lengths that sentiment may carry her, I am unable to conjecture.
If Miss Fanny, said he, elated with the gay hopes and lively prospects of youth, should think with reluctance on uniting herself to a man whose age corresponds so ill with her own, I must regret with fervour, but never shall repine at her determination. There is one obstacle however, Miss Seymour, which severely damps my feeble hopes, and is indeed the circumstance that has induced me to open my intentions first to you, as it is a particular in which I imagine you can

fully satisfy me, and on which it solely depends whether I shall immediately mention this interesting subject to your sister, or be silent on it for ever. I have remarked, since her abode here, that your sister has had a very zealous admirer, who cannot have failed I imagine in profiting from the many opportunities he has enjoyed of soliciting her favour.
Of Captain Wilmot, cried I, you need have no apprehensions. I hope you do Fanny the justice to believe that the assiduities of such a rival are by no means formidable.
He possesses at least youth and good looks in his favour, replied Mr. Howard; but you relieve my mind from a weight of painful anxiety, as this is a bar which must not only have proved wholly insurmountable, but one of those to obviate which I could not even have attempted; for though I shall not expect the heart of my mistress, I must possess a

certain degree of her attachment; a wish to please, and a willingness to be pleased, on which to build my hopes of gaining the affections of my wife: without this I should be myself miserable, nor would it be in my power to render her happy.
If she cannot completely bestow her heart, my dear Sir, cried I, may she likewise withhold her hand. But I am certain my sister is too sensible of the value of your's, to trifle with a proposal so generous and disinterested. If—for our affections are not always in our own power, and the caprice of taste is but too often at variance with reason and judgment—if she cannot make a proper return, I am certain you have too much delicacy to wish her your's and too much good sense to be offended.
Offended! Miss Seymour: be assured I never shall be offended; and believe me, hardly surprised.
As Mr. Howard pronounced these

words, Fanny opened the door of the dressing room and looked in. The ladies, cried she, are much astonished at your long absence; and Mrs. Hindon is so entertained with your tete a tete, that she is absolutely become witty on the occasion. I wish you would therefore appear in your own defence, for I am quite fatigued in finding excuses for you.
This she said with an air of gaiety that was instantly checked on perceiving the embarrassment her sudden appearance at this juncture occasioned. Mr. Howard seemed rather at a loss, and on his account I could not avoid feeling conscious. Fanny finding I answered her with some degree of awkwardness, looked first to the one, then to the other, as if with a design of penetrating into the cause of our being so evidently disconcerted; and observing the raillery in the drawing room accord so well with the confused situation into which her appearance had thrown us,

she gave way to an expressive smile, and regarding me with an air that sufficiently explained her suspicions, hastily shut the dressing-room door, and departed as if determined not to interrupt us.
At this little manoeuvre, which plainly discovered her false conclusions on surprising us, I could not refrain from laughing; and even Mr. Howard was not able to resist half smiling at her mistake. We then separated; but I was forced to support the whole weight of Mrs. Hindon's ridicule on being so long tete a tete with her brother. Her wit, however deficient in other respects, claims the merit of being voluble and keen in the extreme; but happily the entrance of more company soon relieved me.
Fanny's countenance during the whole evening exhibited a picture of sly meaning and significance, which it was extremely amusing to behold. Every feature seemed filled with the importance of

a newly-discovered secret: but in so large a party all explanation was impossible; and indeed had she ever found an opportunity for importuning me on the subject, I had determined in my own mind to leave her under the influence of an unjust surmise rather than anticipate Mr. Howard's declaration.
One of the company happening to mention with great encomiums an Italian performer who is expected in this country in the course of a month, all the ladies were expressing their eager expectations of then seeing him. I fancy Hermione, whispered Fanny, we shall be mighty snug at Hubert Hill, (Mr. Howard's country seat,) by that time.
Perhaps we may, returned I with a gay air, which confirming her suspicions appeared to give her much delight.
Mr. Howard at that instant joining us, she seemed ready to laugh in his face out of gayetê du coeur. Oh! cried she, still

in a soft voice to me, it will be so delightful; tho' to own the truth I was afraid that haughty cousin of ours might have stood in the way.
You are entirely out of the secret, said I. But pray be quiet.
We were then called to a party at Commerce, and an end put to our little tete a tete, which merely served to strengthen Fanny in her error. Oh, thought I to myself, while I observed her eyes sparkle with the prospect of a happy termination thus appearing to the uncertainties and difficulties of our present uncomfortable situation, will the same satisfaction brighten your countenance and lighten your heart, my dearest Fanny, when you find you are yourself the object that is to insure us this advantage.
Captain Wilmot, who has been (perhaps designedly,) out of town ever since our affairs have worn an unfavourable appearance, came in for a few moments.

His address to Fanny was constrained; her's to him, haughty, disdainful, and contemptuous. It is not like Fanny to show so much spirit; but affronted vanity will it seems excite a pride otherwise foreign to the character. It was easy to discern that he had been apprised of the change in our circumstances. Every word, every look and motion, betrayed not the timidity of a lover but the embarrassment and perplexity of a man who felt himself involved in difficulties and knew not how to act. I was charmed with Fanny's behaviour. She not only supported her own dignity, but completely mortified the poor Captain, who tho' happy to be thus dismissed, could not feel much gratified from perceiving the indifference with which the conquest was relinquished.
When the company were gone, and Fanny and I by ourselves, she interrogated me as to the tete a tete conversation that

had passed; but I persisted in evading all her enquiries; for it is but justice to allow Mr. Howard to plead his own cause, while her mind is unbiased by any previous determination. Let him at least reap what benefit may result from an unprejudiced surprise on finding herself warmly solicited by a man whom I know she esteems and respects.
I believe you will not be astonished, when I confess that did I think this a point in which it would be allowable for me to interfere, I should prove a warm advocate in Mr. Howard's favour, and that I anxiously wish this union may take place. Did Fanny's heart feel the slightest repugnance, far should I be from desiring an event, against which in that case principle and delicacy would equally revolt: but if she is capable of entertaining such sentiments as will allow her without reluctance to bestow her hand on that amiable man, I think I could almost

pronounce her felicity in the marriage state secured; and what a happy asylum in our present situation must the house of Mr. Howard prove, when authorised to live under his continued protection by the ties of relationship as well as by those of friendship. It is indeed an event which must at once relieve us from the difficulties that seem to await our unconnected state. Yet you may conjecture I would not for worlds insinuate a hint towards urging her to a step with which, in her place, I feel at this moment I myself could not comply.
My sister seemed disappointed on finding her conjectures had been without foundation, and warmly joined in sounding the praises of Mr. Howard; adding, that in spite of the disproportion of our ages there was no man she would esteem so highly as a brother. Yet Sophia, disinterested as we sometimes flatter ourselves we are, we view with different

eyes the same object when regarded as our own choice or as that of even our dearest and most intimate friend; and forcible as were Fanny's expressions, I cannot conjecture with any degree of certainty how she will act. My influence over her mind is not trifling; but even were I still more convinced than I am that I should ascertain her happiness by promoting this affair, I should not possess resolution sufficient for interfering on a point of such infinite moment, especially at this time, when a peculiar delicacy deters me. Fanny, on my account as well as her own, may wish to conquer a reluctance so adverse to our mutual comfort and which so many powerful motives of prudence and reason oppose, while at the same time this conflict may prove so severe, that it were cruelty to advise a step which may in this case be denominated a sacrifice.

SUNDAY EVENING.
On our return from morning prayers, I retired to read in my own apartment. Fanny remained in the parlour below, but joined me an hour after in the utmost perturbation. On entering, she hastily approached me, and throwing her arms around my neck, burst into a flood of tears, which instantly informed me of what she was unable by words to express.
My dearest girl, said I, whence proceeds this agitation?
She could not immediately reply: but at last—Oh Hermione! exclaimed she, what have I to tell you—Mr. Howard is my lover.
Well my dear, said I smiling, that is no very great calamity.
Good, heavens! could you ever have suspected such a thing? Could you ever have imagined that any thing so unlucky would have happened!
I believe I could, answered I. But

why unlucky? How comes it that the mere mention of a proposal which must be at least acknowledged disinterested, from an amiable and worthy object, should give you this uneasiness. There are no rigid guardians to urge your compliance, nor, alas! parents to command your obedience; and believe me, my love, your sister will not even presume to advise on a subject in which your own feelings and sentiments only are to be consulted.
I soon found, however, that her tears were those of agitation, doubt, and timidity. Disgust and repugnance had no part in her emotions. She confessed she esteemed Mr. Howard; that she believed him one of the best men in the world; but I never once thought of being his wife, said she. I regarded him as a friend sent by heaven to console us for the loss of one parent who is gone for ever, and of another who disowns us. I cannot

think of marrying him. The idea is almost unnatural; for the possibility of such an event never entered my imagination. Indeed I always concluded his partiality to me was that of a father, and that the disparity of our years would have alone proved sufficient to have prevented the very notion of such an attachment. Had it been you, I should not have experienced the slightest surprise; for I have more than once suspected that he loved you, particularly before we left Languedoc; but for myself, I always imagined he viewed me in the light of a girl who might have amused perhaps, but who had no likelihood of interesting him. Oh! what made him think of me, repeated she several times in the greatest perplexity.
Calm your agitation my dear Fanny, cried I. Consider you are solicited, but not compelled. I have on my part long suspected that you was the object of Mr.

Howard's affections, and I sincerely own have secretly wished his passion that success which in my opinion it so justly merits. I am convinced the attachment and protection of a character like his must secure happiness to the woman whom he honours with his choice, provided her heart is properly disposed for feeling and answering the tenderness of his. If this is however wanting, believe me Mr. Howard himself has too much delicacy to demand the hand which prudence alone bestows on him; and I am certain possesses too large a share both of good sense and modesty to be disobliged. If then you feel the least actual repugnance to this union, after having maturely weighed and considered all sides of the question, hesitate not to tell him so without coquetry or affectation.
Repugnance is a strong word, said she, after a pause. We are under infinite obligations to him, and he is our only friend.

I should be shocked to disoblige him. But he has so surprised me, that I know not what to think of the matter, nor how to collect my scattered thoughts to ponder on the consequences. Now tell me seriously Hermione, what would you do in my case?
Why I will tell you sincerely, said I. Were I you, with your disposition, your gratitude to Mr. Howard, and your indifference to every other man, I believe I should be his wife.
Yet I am not the least in love with him, cried she.
Involuntarily I was about to reply, that being romantically in love was by all accounts far from an indispensable requisite towards happiness in the married state; but conscious how different my own private sentiments were from according with this opinion, I checked myself from touching on an argument that carried not conviction to my own mind, though from

my knowledge of Fanny's temper it might have been not improperly offered to her, and only added, that her own feelings must direct her.
We were interrupted by Mrs. Hindon, who came to inform us that the carriage waited to carry us to afternoon prayers. I believe poor Fanny's devotions were not a little disturbed; and on our return I observed she met the eyes of Mr. Howard with a confusion which seemed to forebode no great severity.
I had evidently shown on which side my suffrage rested; but I cautiously withheld any advice likely to prejudice her mind, which tho' diffident and fearful, appeared neither averse nor determined.
Adieu. H. SEYMOUR.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
FEB. 22.
WELL, my dear Sophia, after disappointments so severe, and prospects so chearless and dreary, the scene begins to brighten. Fanny has at last yielded in Mr. Howard's favour, and finds herself perfectly satisfied and at ease now that her future fate seems determined.
Mr. Howard appears delighted with his good fortune, tho' a propriety of feeling peculiar to himself deters him from testifying it in a manner too pointed. An admirer after forty must not, as he justly observed, adopt the behaviour of one twenty years younger. There is a

dignity suited to that period, which even love, all-powerful love, must not entirely discard. He possesses all the tenderness, while he has exploded the flights of a lover; and Fanny, who imagined that courtship must be serious, aweful and formal, and that she should find an unusual embarrassment attend her new situation, is charmed to perceive that Mr. Howard is exactly what he was before, and that she is if possible still more at ease with him than formerly.
This is rendered more practicable, as they have taken the precaution of keeping the present posture of affairs a profound secret from this family; nor do they intend informing them how matters are likely to be concluded till it is unnecessary any longer to retain them in ignorance. Indeed Mrs. Hindon's entire disregard of delicacy, added to her passion for raillery, makes her the last person

with whom one would incline to entrust a subject of this nature.
Mr. Howard is extremely urgent with Fanny to have the ceremony which is to unite them as soon as possible performed; and as a thousand reasons conspire to make us wish ourselves no longer a burden on the constrained civilities of Mrs. Hindon, Fanny has promised that after the usual forms of law are concluded, she shall not invent unnecessary delays.
Since my last Mrs. Hindon has more than once renewed her favourite topic. It is not without infinite reluctance that she relinquishes any plan to which in her own mind she has attached an importance. Lady Farnford however seems to have given up all hope; and her son, I understand from Miss Parsons, has been twice refused admittance at Mrs. Hindon's door, in pursuance no doubt of his mother's request to her friend to give no countenance or encouragement to a passion,

now deprived of all the ostentatious advantages that once rendered it so desirable.
Captain Wilmot appears to bear his disappointment with an admirable good grace; though the frigid hauteur with which Fanny behaved to him the evening they met, by discovering the unconcern of her heart, and opening his eyes to the falsity of his self-sufficient security of her affections, must have proved very little gratifying to the all-potent vanity of his character. He has taken care to be constantly engaged ever since, except one morning, when he found courage to step in for ten minutes. Fanny was above stairs when he entered; but followed him a short time after into the parlour. He blushed extremely, and appeared much embarrassed on paying her the usual compliments; nor did his awkwardness seem less conspicuous from an air of forced gaiety with which he endeavoured

to disguise it. Finding his situation, in spite of all his efforts, exceedingly uncomfortable, he made haste to change it, and abruptly took leave.
FEB. 25.
Fanny and Mr. Howard have this day had a long conversation together, in the course of which he laid before her the state of his finances, and suggested the plan of life which he thought would be most conducive to their mutual happiness.
His paternal estate, Hubert Hill, does not exceed three hundred and twenty pounds a year; and this, with a couple of thousands bequeathed him by a friend, constitutes his whole fortune; nor has he any addition to hope for independent of my sister's precarious pittance when Mr. Benseley's affairs are settled. This no doubt is a very slender income, especially

if a numerous family should bless their union; yet as Mr. Howard is a man of moderate views, and addicted to no expensive pleasures, and Fanny has ever been accustomed to solitude and frugality if not absolutely to a strict economy, I think it sufficient, with some attention, for all the necessary indulgencies of life.
His little feat is situated, he says, in a delightful part of the country. The grounds are laid out with taste; and the house, tho' small, is fitted up with infinite neatness in a rustic style. This he proposes making their constant residence; and hopes, by living himself on the spot, to improve it to great advantage, being extremely fond of farming himself.
He did not fail, in the very first moments of Fanny's approbation, to give me the warmest and most pressing invitation to join their family. Indeed without that condition I believe he never

would have prevailed with his bride, for she has ever expressed the most painful reluctance at the idea of being separated from me. It was no small satisfaction to me however, to perceive the cordiality and eagerness with which Mr. Howard made this request. Partial as I have always been, said he, to the abode of my youth, with how much delight must I now enjoy it, when blessed with companions who possess the power of converting any spot into a paradise.
He sets out for Hubert Hill to-morrow, to give the necessary directions previous to our going down; and in the mean while all other preparations are making, that the ceremony may take place as soon as he returns. Are you not entertained with Fanny's metamorphosis into a sedate, rustic farmer's wife, who when you knew her but three years ago was a little wild giddy girl of thirteen. I am satisfied however she will

conduct herself to admiration in that capacity. She is possessed of a very cheerful, contented disposition, the first blessing of Providence; and the reverses of fortune which the last five months have produced, by completely convincing her of the fallaciousness of her sanguine expectations of the gay enjoyments of the world, formed in ignorance and solitude, have disposed her mind for relishing and returning to the pure pleasures of retirement and domestic life. In society, she has experienced only mortifications, disappointments, and disgusts, instead of finding it, as she had concluded, a scene of perpetual gaiety, admiration, and delight. In lieu of universal conquest, her admirers have been transient, and her lover insincere. She has made no friends since she left France; and is therefore the more eager to cement to herself him who has proved on trial strongly and truly attached to her.

As for myself, this event is every thing I can wish. It secures me an agreeable home with those I love, and conveys me from this hateful city, which I wish from my soul I had never entered.
MARCH 3.
Mr. Howard is returned from his excursion, much pleased with some little improvements he has begun; and the papers are now ready for signing. Mr. Howard, in the event of no family, leaves his wife sole heiress of all he possesses: but should any children spring from this marriage, her jointure is two hundred per annum. Having no friend to consult on this occasion, all she feared was Mr. Howard's too great generosity; and as she was ashamed even to mention pecuniary matters to him, I was unwillingly obliged on this occasion to be her

agent, and absolutely insisted that if her own money, should any be recovered, was settled upon her as he proposed, a deduction of equal value should be made from this stipulation. Every thing therefore relative to settlements is finally adjusted; and but that Fanny's timidity makes her catch at trifles to delay the aweful ceremony, things ere now would have been concluded.
Fearing Mrs. Hindon would be extremely disobliged at Fanny's conduct in concealing from her this affair, I persuaded her the other day to confess her present situation; and suggested that as that lady, from whatever motives, had received us into her family, and testified towards us a thousand civilities with great apparent hospitality and kindness, she had reason to be not a little offended at the want of confidence and cordiality this secrecy betrayed; besides common report would soon render all further concealment

useless, and deprive Fanny of an opportunity of paying her the compliment of confidence.
She entreated me to undertake this commission for her. It was not an agreeable one; but as to Fanny it would perhaps have been still more awkward, I consented.
Good heavens! cried Mrs. Hindon, as soon as I had hinted •he connection which was likely soon to place my sister among the list of her relations—married to my brother! Miss Fanny to be my brother's wife! Well I declare he is extremely sly, for I could have laid a bet that you were his favourite of the two. He is a bold man however, to think of incumbering himself with a wife and family in his present circumstances. I wish them happy with all my heart; but I plainly perceive he had his own private reasons for regarding my poor nephew's proposals with so much disapprobation.

Well, every one for themselves in this world; but I always suspect some self-interested motive at bottom when I hear such a piece of work made about sentiment, and so many professions of disinterested friendship; I think besides, since matters were so far advanced, that Mr. Hindon and myself might have been sooner made acquainted with a love affair that was going on under our own roof.
I pleaded Fanny's diffidence as an apology; but my excuse was in fact extremely lame, and was not easily admitted. Mrs. Hindon could with difficulty prevail on herself to pardon the disrespect. But this story had gone in all points so contrary to her plans and wishes, that I could forgive a little ill humour occasioned by chagrin, and found it not on the whole so hard to reconcile her to it as I had feared. A marriage, tho' even not of her own negociating, afforded some

speculation for her active mind to work on; and so fond is she of being officiously busy, that she has set off to-day, accompanied by Fanny, to assist with the utmost cordiality and eagerness in the purchase of some bridal apparatus.
SIX IN THE EVENING.
I had hardly laid down my pen this morning, when Mr. Roatsley was announced. The sight of him, so wholly unprepared as I was for the interview, threw me into the utmost confusion, and I am certain I must have performed the first ceremonials with great awkwardness. The recollection of his late conversation with Mr. Howard, of which I had been solely the subject, and the obligations his generous conduct had laid me under, overpowered me with embarrassment. I knew not how to express my gratitude

for a service so essential, which yet from a thousand circumstances I blushed to remember, and possessed scarce courage to touch on: added to this, the discovery I had made since our last meeting, and the mortifications attending our rejected application to his family, struck me so forcibly, that I was in agitation inexpressible when he entered.
He comes, thought I, at once to convince me how injurious were my suspicions of his pride and duplicity, to express his regret for the ill conduct of his relations, and to show me how dissimilar is his generous mind from that of his unfeeling mother.
So certain was I of the intention of his visit, that I even wished the explanation over, which must to him prove so embarrassing, as it was likely so little to redound to the honour of his family, and expected every moment when the subject should be introduced. But most carefully

did he guard against every topic that could lead to this point; which he evidently avoided with the most sedulous precaution. Yet his manner possessed that insinuating attention, and his voice that winning softness, which seemed to imply the utmost satisfaction in my company, and which bestows on his a charm, that may be felt, Sophia, alas, too acutely! but which cannot be delineated.
The interesting elegance of his address is indeed so uncommonly engaging, that I think it must be wholly impossible even for a stranger to behold him enter without pleasure, or see him depart without experiencing regret. It is not alone that he is perfectly well bred and intelligent, for from moderate parts, polished by education and knowledge of the world, this may be expected, and uncharacteristic of the English nation as the refinement of good breeding is supposed to be, I have seen, since my residence here,

more than one person to whom I think that panegyric is justly due; but Mr. Roatsley's mind speaks in his countenance and in his manner, and confers on every look and on every motion that grace which a disposition completely amiable, and talents thoroughly well cultivated, cannot fail to diffuse over the appearance and behaviour.
My first flutters giving way to the respectful ease of his conversation, I took courage at length to mention the obligation I owed him. I have been inexpressibly desirous, said I, of an opportunity to return you my most grateful acknowledgments for the attention and trouble you have been so humane as to bestow upon an affair which has occasioned me more uneasiness and perplexity than it is possible to conceive.
I am then extremely sorry, cried he with warmth, that my presence should have induced you for an instant to recall

a subject so painful. Let it be banished, I beseech you, for ever from your remembrance, and along with it all expressions of gratitude to which I cannot flatter myself I merit the slightest claim. Heaven knows what exertions I would make, what anxiety I would undergo, to merit the approbation of Miss Seymour; but as yet I am not so happy as to congratulate myself with having had it in my power to perform any service that could deserve her thanks. Let me know my dear Madam, added he, by what means I can procure a title to that happiness, and you shall perceive, by the avidity with which I shall obey your commands, how infinitely I should prize my good fortune in obliging you.
Does he wish me, thought I, to apply to him to interceed with Lord Belmont; or are these professions mere words of course, to which are annexed neither meaning nor intention. I was piqued

that he adhered so determinedly to the resolutions of his relations, and only made a slight inclination of my head very gravely in return to this speech.
A degree of surprise was evident in his countenance at the stateliness of my manner; the cause I think he must have been with ease able to comprehend. However he chose to place it to another account; and finding that an air of chagrin involuntarily hung on my features——Miss Seymour, said he, after several ineffectual attempts to amuse me on different subjects which a slight degree of penetration sufficed to show did not interest me—I cannot but perceive that I have been so unfortunate as to offend you; and so severe, so painful is this idea, that tho' my confession may at first rather increase than diminish your displeasure, I cannot resist trusting to your candour and indulgence by a sincere avowal of the only circumstance wherein I think it is possible

for me to have given cause for your displeasure.
Finding I made no reply, for in truth I knew not what to answer—I sincerely confess, continued be, and let, I beseech you, the severity of this confession plead in my behalf, that after having been blessed with your company that happy evening at Dover, my ideas and expectations of the dignity of your behaviour were raised to so just an height, that they could not but suffer some abatement on witnessing what I could not but consider as an impropriety, and which I am certain Miss Seymour herself would have regarded as an indelicacy. I am conscious I ought to have judged less rashly. I know that I ought to have suspected my own eyes, rather than any indecorum in you; but I was led to do you injustice by a multiplicity of circumstances, which can hardly have given more pain to your feelings than they have conveyed to mine;

and you may recollect, Madam, that the instant you appeared still more unaccountable, instead of plunging deeper into doubt, I penetrated into the whole mystery, and not only in my own mind fully acquitted you of the imprudence of a clandestine interview with a young man who merited only your scorn and detestation, but also immediately perceived that though the whole was wrapt in obscurity, the veil was not placed over your conduct by your own hands; and I no longer hesitated to ask an explanation from Mr. Howard, since I was completely convinced all must redound to your honour.
Oh! Sir, cried I, penetrated by this speech and the eagerness with which he entered on his justification, be assured when I reflect on this painful affair, it is not only without the slightest displeasure at any part of your conduct, but with

the utmost gratitude for the humane interest you testified in it.
May I then flatter myself I am forgiven, cried he warmly, and kissed my hand with a fervour that dyed me with Crimson.
I had just withdrawn it, when Mrs. Hindon and Fanny returned from their excursion, followed by a servant loaded with various purchases.
I introduced Mr. Roatsley to Mrs. Hindon, who appeared much delighted with the acquisition of an acquaintance of his rank and figure, and began conversing with her accustomed volubility and avidity even before she had seated herself.
As she held a pretty large parcel in her hands, part of Fanny's paraphranalia, he politely offered to relieve her by placing it on the table.
Perhaps Sir, cried she facetiously, these ladies may generously reward your

trouble by presenting you with part of the contents.
I shall be much delighted with the honour of any gift from these ladies, returned he. But pray may I be allowed to ask of what nature is the donation?
Poor Fanny blushed up to the ears. Good God, Madam! cried she, with a reproachful look.
Nay, answered she, laughing immoderately, I'm sure I shan't tell; but if Mr. Roatsley should be clever enough to guess it, you know neither of us can help that. Lord, look, look, cried she with entire disregard to Fanny's confusion, how conscious Miss Fanny appears of the secret: and Miss Seymour, I declare she blushes too, as much as to say—but I must take care not to blab.
Roatsley smiled at our mutual confusion; for indeed I felt extremely for poor Fanny, and was not a little ashamed also for Mrs. Hindon's indelicate raillery.

If my enquiries give the ladies so much pain, said he, I am afraid I must be contented to remain in ignorance; tho' I confess my curiosity is raised to the highest pitch to discover this important secret.
Mr. Hindon just then entered; and an introduction taking place between him and Mr. Roatsley, I was in hopes Fanny would have been relieved from her persecution. His lady, however, seemed determined such an excellent joke should not have so speedy a termination.
My dear, cried she, let us see if you can solve this riddle, which has puzzled Mr. Roatsley's brain in vain to unravel, and the bare mention of which has plunged these ladies into the most painful confusion. The secret, or rather the solution, is contained in that package of brown paper that lies on the table.
I shall take a very simple method of discovery, returned he, and seizing the

parcel as Fanny was flying to secure it, he instantly cut the packthread with which it was tied, and holding it above her reach a number of favours composed of white and silver dropped on the ground.
The secret is discovered at length, exclaimed Mrs. Hindon, laughing with great vociferation. Well I'm sure ladies you need not care much, for it is of a nature that will soon speak for itself, and I'm sure you must acknowledge I said never a word of the matter.
It is then a matrimonial one I presume, said Mr. Roatsley, with a constrained air and in a very low voice to Mrs. Hindon.
Yes, returned she, smiling expressively as if she was not at liberty to satisfy him further, though she evidently seemed impelled by a strong inclination to enter upon family transactions, equally unsolicited and impertinent.
Poor Fanny returned to her seat much ashamed and confused; while Mr. Hindon

following, laughed most indelicately in her face; and as I appeared little less embarrassed—Poor Miss Seymour! cried he half ironically, tapping me familiarly on the back, Mr. Roatsley I am certain will agree with me that your complexion requires no foreign aid, so pray don't blush so very deep:—which piece of advice you may suppose was not much calculated to enable me to profit from it.
Mr. Roatsley finding his presence rather augmented the awkwardness of Fanny's situation, suddenly wished us good morning and departed abruptly.
This transaction was in itself trifling, had it not shown the family with whom we reside in a vulgar and absurd point of view; and the affair of the parcel could have excited neither curiosity nor suspicion, had not Mrs. Hindon bestowed an importance on it by her ill-judged raillery, sufficient to convince Mr. Roatsley that something "more was meant than

met the ear." However, except in having given poor Fanny some uneasy moments, it was of little consequence, as she has at length consented that Friday shall unite her with Mr. Howard; and immediately after the ceremony, at which only Miss Parsons and this family are to be present, we set off for Hubert Hill; which being seventy five miles from town, we shall not reach till the second evening.
But tell me, my Sophia, how shall I account for Roatsley's behaviour during our tete a tete this morning? To suppose him entirely ignorant of an affair which must have naturally and unavoidably occasioned some disturbance, and no small degree of discussion in his family, is to imagine what is not only improbable, but I own almost impossible. Have I not reason then to be displeased with the inflexible pride, (alas, it is a family failing!) which his conduct too plainly indicates: still perhaps retaining

the embers of that trifling partiality he seemed once disposed to feel for me, yet proudly ashamed, or weakly afraid to venture on a step his family unjustly prohibits, he seeks my company and conversation under the pretended veil of ignorance. But under a pretence so shallow, never shall he receive the shadow of my notice, never shall I countenance that person as my friend, who disdains to acknowledge he is allied to me.
Yet, my dear, how impossible is it to see Mr. Roatsley and to retain displeasure. In vain I call offended dignity and wounded pride to the aid of my indignation. He is absent, and I blame him; but when present, to preserve even a cold reserve, proves the utmost exertion of my resolution.
H. SEYMOUR.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
MARCH 6.
HOW infinitely insinuating is this proud cousin of our's. I become every hour more afraid of myself, yet every moment exhausts my imagination with efforts to discover indulgent motives for a conduct which reason and feeling equally condemn.
Mrs. Hindon having asked the favour of his company to her assembly last night, I was not surprised to see him enter: for I confess I expected he would profit from her invitation, tho' at the time he had hinted something of a prior engagement, which he said in all probability

would prevent him. But never was I so much struck, so much confounded by his appearance. How inconceivably superior did he look to every one of his own sex who was present.
There is an air of dignity, I had almost said of grandeur, in his figure, equally the result of the most elegant symmetry of form and the most lively penetration and intelligence of countenance, which to a superficial observer might, I should imagine, at first sight wear the aspect of hauteur, did not the amiable softness of his address entirely contradict that idea; and I make no doubt but this contrast may augment the prepossession which every one on the slightest acquaintance seems inclined to feel for him; for all must be delighted to perceive that person who appears, tho' merely from the graceful superiority of his height, to look down on others, descend on conversing with them into the gentlest and least assuming equality.

The apartments were filled with company before he arrived; and being surrounded by a group of young people at one end of the room, he did not immediately distinguish me.
Shall I confess that I felt impatient on finding myself unnoticed, and hurt at perceiving that Mrs. Hindon, on his entrance, detained him in conversation a considerable time. I found some consolation, however, in observing that he seemed to give her his attention with constraint, and that he often cast his eyes with anxiety around, as if but little interested in what he heard.
During this interval Miss Farnford and another young lady detained me in an insipid chit chat, while both my eyes and mind wandered to another subject. Having soon discovered him however, he instantly engaged their admiration, and attracted their whole attention.

Who's that, pray, Miss Pierson? exclaimed Miss Farnford.
It is the handsome Mr. Roatsley. I'm sure you must have heard of him, returned the other.
He is absolutely the handsomest creature I ever beheld. Pray is he a man of fortune?
Lord, cried the friend, don't you know that he is brother to Lord Linrose, and possessed of heaven knows how many thousands a year. He is just returned from abroad, in consequence of a splendid inheritance left him by an uncle in Ireland; and all the world says that he is amazingly clever, accomplished and agreeable; indeed he has all the appearance of it, for he is astonishingly handsome.
I should suppose then he a'nt married, since he is so lately come home?
No, but just on the verge of being so. The wedding clothes and equipages are

all bespoke, and I'm told his marriage is to take place immediately.
Oh! Sophia! don't you feel for me at this moment. My sensations were unutterable. I felt as if my blood was congealed within my veins, and every pulse had refused any longer to perform it's function. I had not courage sufficient to ask Miss Pierson what authority she had for this unlook'd-for information; but my companions, unsuspicious of my agitations, went on with their conversation in a half whisper, and Miss Farnford's curiosity soon satisfied mine.
But who pray is the happy woman? cried she gaily.
Lord Mortonbury's daughter, Lady Elizabeth Sedley. She is a piece of perfection by all accounts. Nobody before was ever so accomplished. She has all sorts of languages—music, painting, nay poetry too, at her finger's ends; then she is reckoned a prodigious fine woman,

and dances divinely. Besides all this, she has a vast fortune, being an only child; so that she is esteemed the first match almost in England; and they say that her father and Lord Belmont, Mr. Roatsley's grandfather, have all along designed them for each other, even from their infancy.
Well, that's so odd in old people, returned Miss Farnford. I'm sure if papa was to do so by me, I should hate my husband horridly, were he ever so handsome.
That is far from being the case with Lady Elizabeth; for it seems she is vastly in love with him, and indeed no wonder, for I suspect in her situation you would not carry your love of contradiction quite so far.
Miss Pierson's conversation was suddenly interrupted by Mr. Roatsley's approach; who having just at this moment discovered me, came forward in the

height of my perturbation, with a smile which was suddenly on regarding me converted into a look of apprehension and anxiety. The intelligence to which I had just been listening, could not fail to give me the most uneasy emotions, and the mortification attending this secret confession, wounded me no less. What? cried I to myself, have I been all this while weakly allowing an attachment to steal on my heart, which can neither be excused by reason nor principle? Why do I envy another that happiness which I never had the slightest grounds for believing would ever prove mine? and why should I feel myself so unaccountably interested in the fate of a man, of whose pride and inflexibility, spite of his insinuating exterior, I have such glaring proofs?
These interrogations, tho' meant to rouse me from my too susceptible weakness, had by no means the desired effect;

and scarcely had Mr. Roatsley begun the usual enquiries after my health, when he added—I am afraid, Miss Seymour, your countenance replies too plainly to my question. I am afraid you find yourself indisposed. Perhaps the heat of the room affects you? W•ll you allow me the honour of conducting you to the other, where you will have more air, I imagine. Hardly able to reply, I allowed him to lead me away tacitly confirming his conjecture, partly from the effects of an unconquerable embarrassment which seized me at that instant, and partly with the view of concealing my agitation from my two companions, of whose suspicions I was apprehensive.
Miss Farnford however, the instant she saw me addressed by a young man of so elegant an appearance, contrived to pin herself to me for the rest of the evening, in hopes of improving this accidental meeting into an acquaintance; and

made so many attempts to attract his notice and engage him in conversation, that I really blushed for the forward and childish coquetry of her behaviour; particularly as from seeing her constantly by my side, or hanging on my arm, he must have concluded her one of my most intimate friends; and tho' he answered her with civility, and the most scrupulous good breeding, he seemed by no means charmed with her stile of manners.
She was so much delighted with him however, that I was in continual pain lest he should overhear her expressions of admiration—a matter which gave her very little concern. Pray don't you think this Mr. Roatsley the finest young man you ever beheld in your life? said she at length, when he had turned for a moment to speak with Mrs. Hindon.
Yes, he is handsome, said I, with an affected air of indifference. At least I believe he is thought so.

Thought so! repeated she; Lord but don't you think so. I never saw any person have so much the look of a man of fashion. But he is just going to be married.
Is he, said I, faintly.
Yes indeed, and the lady is so in love with him as never any body was before. Indeed I don't wonder at that circumstance in the least. But pray don't you think it is too much to be Mr. Roatsley and the possessor of such prodigious wealth at once? Don't you think so?
Yes, perhaps;—oh no, not at all, returned I with an emotion to which only Miss Farnford could have been blind; but eager to talk, she perceived not my perplexity, or attributed it to my late indisposition.
But pray tell me, how did you become so well acquainted with him?
We crossed over in the same packet boat from Calais.

Did you indeed. I wish I had made one of the party. I dare say it must have been a very agreeable one.
Yes, pleasant enough, said I, quite fatigued with giving attention to a train of questions so little interesting, while my thoughts were entirely occupied with a subject that proved, alas! too much so.
Mr. Roatsley again joining us, prevented her proceeding; and Lady Farnford's carriage being announced, Miss was summoned soon after to attend her mother. Being then relieved from the frivolous interruption of our companion, wo entered into a conversation, the life and spirit of which were maintained solely by his own efforts; for though I exerted myself to the utmost, a weight unspeakable oppressed my spirits, and wholly dampt the satisfaction this evening would have otherwise afforded.
Yet I own his behaviour puzzled and

astonished me. Had you witnessed what passed during this evening, Sophia; had you beheld the unconscious ease with which he conversed, you never could have suspected that any desire of concealment lay upon his mind. All seemed open, sincere, and unreserved. He apparently wished me to confess many little circumstances relating to our life abroad, and even presumed to hint at enquiries respecting my father and our abode in Languedoc, tho' with a politeness quite distinct from impertinent inquisitiveness, and with which, in a stranger, I might have been gratified, supposing them the result of interest in my concerns; but which in my cousin I could only suspect to be the consequence of an imperfect information that had excited his curiosity. These are conclusions, however, which did not till afterwards occur. At the time, I could think of nothing but the intelligence that had just been communicated

to me, and the destruction of a thousand airy dreams which had made the strongest impression in my bosom.
Oh! my Sophia! however you may and must condemn, do not despise me for the weakness which every line of my journal displays. Good heavens! were any eyes but yours to see my writing! The very idea makes me tremble. But to unburthen my mind to you, by disclosing my inquietudes, is the only solace of my existence. When I reflect how unreserved, how perfectly free from concealment or restraint, are my communications, I can scarce conceive how I possess resolution to transmit them to writing. Indeed had not an early habit of confidence familiarised me to the idea of laying open my heart upon paper, I should never have found courage to risk the hazards of so long a journey as they must take before they reach your hands.
Mr. Roatsley declined joining any of

the card parties, tho' strongly solicited by Mrs. Hindon; and Fanny being engaged at the commerce table, he gave to me his whole attention. He enquired what were my engagements in public, and hoped to have the pleasure of meeting me either at Ranelagh next evening, or at the Opera on Saturday: but I said, that on my sister's account I should not have it in my power to visit any public place till her affairs were finally settled; and that immediately after it, I should accompany her to the country.
What? said he with some surprise, at this unpropitious season do you think of leaving town? I hope, however, your stay will be short? The country can have no attractions at present.
I have no thoughts of returning again to town, answered I with a melancholy I could not wholly repress. A thousand reasons conspire to make me wish myself settled in the country, tho' we were

blocked up with snow and enjoyed not the society of a single individual out of our own little family circle for months to come.
That is a very singular taste at your time of life, said he. That Miss Seymour should incline to seclude herself in retirement is not merely cruel, but I had almost said, unnatural. Shall I not even have the pleasure of seeing you at the Opera before you go?
I answered I was afraid not, as we were to set off on Friday. At this moment Mrs. Hindon approaching, requested that he would favour her with his company to supper together with a small party who had been selected.
To this he instantly consented. On seating ourselves at table, tho' he made an attempt to get by me, I was placed at a considerable distance, as Mrs. Hindon, out of respect, asked him to seat himself at the upper end, at her right hand, and

entertained him in a very earnest half-whisper during the repast.
Sensible of her imprudence, I was seized with apprehension lest we and our situation were the topics on which she had chosen to expatiate; which, from her extreme neglect of delicacy and entire disregard to propriety, was not improbable, and must have involved us in the severest mortification. I was seriously miserable from the instant this suspicion occurred; and began even to dread that she had been soliciting his aid or pleading our cause;—an idea that tormented me in the cruellest manner; for she often glanced her eye on Fanny and on me, and led Mr. Roatsley to regard us in a similar manner. I am now happily relieved however from these fears; for when I afterwards sounded her on the subject, she did not betray by the slightest hint having acted so imprudently, nor

could I gather from her discourse any circumstances to alarm me.
After supper I was asked to sing. Mr. Roatsley is passionately fond of music, and confessed himself a performer on several instruments. This you may believe did not diminish my natural timidity; but the entreaties of the company were so pressing, and those of Mr. and Mrs. Hindon so importunate, that I was constrained to comply, and acquitted myself indeed very ill.
My spirits, low and oppressed, made the little song of "Ah! my charmante Louise" affect me almost to tears while I sung. How many painful recollections did it bring to my mind, when my Sophia and myself received our instructions together in that delightful accomplishment.
I slept very ill last night. Confounded by a variety of conjectures, I knew not which implicitly to credit. From one

source of anxiety however I considered it was in my power to be relieved, and any certainty was preferable to my present suspense: besides, to matrimonial intelligence entire belief is not always to be given; and as Roatsley observes, to what we dread we are most liable to give our confidence; I therefore resolved to pay a morning visit to Miss Pierson, to whom I have owed one a considerable time, but whose acquaintance indeed, till this accident, I had not much inclination to cultivate. At present however she is the only channel from whence I can draw information, and her society is become interesting. I intended, with all the apparent indifference I could assume, to renew the subject of her recent intelligence, and endeavour to discover on what grounds she had advanced the fact with such apparent certainty. She was from home however when I called, and I am just returned not a little disappointed.

How unlucky it is that I must leave town while I remain in this painful uncertainty. Yet why do I call it so, when but for the delusions of a too sanguine mind I should not harbour a doubt concerning the authenticity of Miss Pierson's intelligence. I have formed fifty little schemes to meet with her; but not being able to form a pretext for calling again myself, I intend to make Fanny go in my place to pick up what accounts she can learn respecting this affair.
ELEVEN AT NIGHT.
Miss Pierson has saved me the trouble of planning some little artifice to meet with her, by returning my visit this very evening in an easy way, accompanied by Miss Farnford.
My heart beat severely at their entrance. How do circumstances, apparently

the most trivial, change the face of things. Two girls, whose acquaintance but a few days ago, from the frivolous though harmless insipidity of their conversation I should rather have avoided than courted, were now become the objects of my most anxious solicitude.
I was in hopes, from the eagerness with which they had before entered on the subject I now wished so much to introduce, that they might of themselves lead to it; and one is but too apt to conclude others in some measure influenced by circumstances that convey interest and agitation to our own bosoms. Miss Farnford and her friend were struck with Roatsley's elegance, and the intelligence of a wedding, interesting to all girls, had attracted their curiosity and attention; but after the conjecture relating to jewels, settlements, finery, &c. were adjusted, to which such a topic generally gives birth, the idea in all probability

occurred to them no more. I was therefore obliged to touch on it myself in the manner I imagined least liable to suspicion. Fortunately the penetration of my companions was not to be dreaded, and still more fortunately Mr. and Mrs. Hindon were engaged abroad.
In the course of conversation I mentioned a catalogue of marriages as the news of the day; and tacked Mr. Roatsley's to the end of my list, tho' not without a glow on my cheek.
O don't you remember it was I who told you of that match, said Miss Pierson, the other night when we were here.
I will not vouch for the authenticity of half my intelligence, said I; and perhaps little more credit ought to be given to this last union than to many of the others.
Oh I ask your pardon. I assure you Mr. Roatsley's marriage is an undoubted fact. But certainly you ought to know

all about it better than any body, for I am told that he is your cousin; tho' I believe I ought to request your excuse for mentioning it, as I believe you don't wish it to be made public.
I never heard of it till the other evening, said I; and now that I recollect, you I believe was my authority.
And that I promise you is as good as possible: for Lady Mary Lawrence, who is aunt to Lady Elizabeth Sedley, and who has had the charge of her from her infancy, (Lady Mortonbury having died when her daughter was quite a child,) is extremely intimate with my mother, and has frequently mentioned to her this projected alliance, which she is exceedingly eager should take place, as the young man is a very particular favourite with her, and she designs I know to present her niece with a very valuable set of jewels on the occasion, and they are actually bespoke: tho' Lady Mary told my

mother the affair was not to be concluded till Lord Belmont's return from abroad, (who has been the chief promoter of the match,) and his Lordship is not expected till autumn; therefore the marriage is not publicly talked of by the relations on either side, but all the world knows of it for all that.
My doom is then fixed, said I to myself. My authority is undoubted, and all delusion at an end. Let me not sink however with unpardonable weakness under the blow. Let me resist this overwhelming regret with all my fortitude. Had it not been from the foible of a too susceptible heart, all efforts had been on this account unnecessary. Let me therefore atone to my own mind by the most rigorous exertions for the error I have committed, and let a name so fatal, so interesting, be mentioned in my journal no more.
These reflections, which in an instant

passed through my mind, bestowed a momentary enthusiasm that enabled me to talk with a composure on the subject for which I applauded myself not a little.
I make no doubt but Lady Elizabeth will be extremely happy, said I, for Mr. Roatsley really seems to be an agreeable man.
Oh! extremely clever and agreeable certainly, cried Miss Farnford, (who had been examining some work with Fanny above stairs, but who just then returned,) and the handsomest creature I ever beheld. But I think if he is actually going to be married the lady has reason to be not a little jealous, for if ever I discovered a man to be in love in my life, Mr. Roatsley is deeply so with Miss Seymour.
I blushed excessively, but attempted to laugh it off.
Nay you need not blush so violently, cried Miss Pierson, for Miss Farnford

did not accuse you of being in love with him. I give you my word however I made the same observation. During supper his eyes were never from you; and when you sung, (and really you sung divinely,) I never beheld a countenance express admiration and delight as his did. He seemed to feel every note.
My confusion was inexpressible. Conscious guilt made me extremely apprehensive lest it should excite the notice and raillery of my two gay companions; and Fanny, instead of endeavouring to relieve me from my embarrassment, had the roguery to plunge me still deeper into difficulties. If music be the food of love, cried she, Mr. Roatsley was probably dreaming of his intended during the song, and of course might be more feelingly disposed to relish its pathetic charms than if he had been in the same comfortable state of indifference with the performer. This she uttered with a most

malicious smile; but fortunately the ladies were in haste to pay other visits, and left us soon after.
Adieu, my dear Sophia. I shall not write again till the marriage is concluded.
H. SEYMOUR.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
HUBERT HILL, MARCH 10.
HERE we are, all safe and well; tho' we have had two dismal days for travelling, and did not arrive at the end of our journey till late yesterday evening, the roads being rendered almost impassable by a late very heavy fall of snow. We

found a comfortable, snug mansion, a delightful fire, and an elegant little repast ready to be placed on the table, all of which we enjoyed extremely, after having been frozen so many hours on the road.
Dinner being over, Mr. Howard carried us through the different apartments of this rustic dwelling, which are fitted up with infinite taste though with a frugality adapted to its size and simplicity. None of the rooms are large, but cheerful in the highest degree, and having been all newly painted, papered, &c. possess an air not only of uncommon neatness, but even of elegance, a property which in my opinion consists in symmetry rather than in splendour.
I know you will expect the particulars of the wedding: but neither romance nor incident is to be expected where sixteen is united to forty. Fanny would allow of no forms, though Mrs. Hindon

wished extremely to detain us a few days, to introduce a little merriment to season, as she said, the solemnity of the affair. But Fanny was inexorable. She would not even consent to make a bridal appearance; but was dressed? simply in a travelling dress, being on the wing for Hubert Hill.
MARCH 11.
This morning being a clear frost, we walked out for an hour and an half. The country around could not be seen to advantage, where every object was covered •ith snow; yet it appeared beautiful. The house is situated in the most romantic spot I ever beheld; fronting the south west, on the gentle slope of a hill which rises by a very gradual assent. A noble river, the banks of which are shaded with very fine old trees, runs below,

within sight of the windows; and the eminence behind, on which there is a thriving plantation, gives the little mansion a very snug appearance. The garden is an excellent one, and well stored with common fruit trees of the best kinds, that amply compensate for the want of those luxurious ones to be obtained only through the expensive aid of a hot house. The pleasure ground, tho' of small extent, is laid out with admirable taste, and the little inclosures kept in such good order, that I think in summer Hubert Hill must be the most delightful spot in the world.
I am surprised Mr. Howard spoke so faintly in its praise. But no doubt he wished to surprise us in favour of our future residence. It is on a very small scale indeed, and partakes more of an ornamented farm than a country feat; but I think the worthy owner has reason to be not a little vain of the improvements

he has himself effected since it came into his possession by the death of his father; an event that took place only a few years previous to his acquaintance with our family.
From the period of his succession to Hubert Hill till that of his leaving England, an amiable sister, who died of a consumption at the age of twenty-nine, presided at the head of his table; and it is to her taste and regularity that Fanny owes the comfortable and neat elegance of various conveniences not to be expected in the house of a bachelor.
MARCH 19.
Nothing but continual rain or snow, and no possibility of stirring out of doors. We endeavour, however, to make ourselves the more comfortable within; Fanny, who makes all the bustle of a

young mistress of a family vain of the importance of her new charge, finds continual amusement and employment in directing all her little household matters, for which she really seems to possess a talent, tho' I sometimes alledge that her orders are calculated rather to confuse than adjust. Being displeased with the furniture of her drawing room, which is a little antique, we have set about a serious piece of work in order to fit it up with elegance. We have begun to work chairs and hangings in imitation of natural flowers; which, as there is scope given both for taste and ingenuity, is an agreeable occupation. You know this sort of work is a convent accomplishment; by which means Fanny and I are adepts in it. I have likewise undertaken to cover the walls of the little cheerful parlour with landscapes, for which many delightful scenes even from its windows furnish ample subject; so that we are

provided with abundant employment for at least a twelvemonth to come. Mr. Howard, who has a well chosen collection of the works of the best authors, both French and English, generally reads to us while we sit at work. The evenings we divide with a little music, and our favourite chess, so that they never appear too long, and our life on the whole glides along in a tenor so smooth, rational and placid, that I hope in a short time to enjoy it with perfect relish. Even at present I am conscious I could no where be more happy.
MARCH. 21
This evening I received a letter from Mrs. Hindon. Oh Sophia into what agitation has it not thrown me. Read, my dear, what that officious woman writes.

TO MISS SEYMOUR.
I have been prevented from writing you sooner, my dear Miss Seymour, by a slight fever, which though by no means alarming, proved troublesome for a few days, and was attended by a headach so severe that an application to my pen has been till this day wholly impracticable; although I have been for this week past extremely desirous to inform you of a piece of good fortune, the merit of which I must take entirely to my self. To give you a clear and distinct idea of the whole affair, I must begin by previously acquainting you, that perceiving you adhered obstinately to your resolution of attempting no further application to your family, a measure which I always freely confessed to you I could not but highly disapprove of, I myself, out of mere friendship, determined upon a step, the happy success of which I am convinced

must for once induce you to applaud my management.
As Mr. Roatsley, from his visits and polite civility, appeared to have taken no part in the family transactions, I seized an opportunity, the evening he did us the honour of supping with us, to hint at the difficulties and distressing embarrassments in which doubtless you must have found yourselves involved, had not the marriage of the one sister offered an agreeable home for both: but what was my surprise on finding that he listened to me with all the pity and astonishment of a man who was wholly unconcerned in the affair; and when, emboldened by the compassion he testified, I ventured to tell him what a severe disappointment Lord Belmont's cruel behaviour had proved, he declared he had never been informed of the application, nor could he believe it possible he said that an affair so melancholy and interesting should have failed

of success with his Lordship, whose heart was open to every call of distress and to every sentiment of humanity. These were Mr. Roatsley's very words. Delighted to find my auditor so much more agreeably disposed than I could have hoped for, you may believe I delayed not laying hold of this favourable moment to expatiate on the mortifying and severe reverse of situation which but a very short time ago had been all at once presented before your eyes, by the cruel rejection of his Lordship, whose favour was now become, through the imprudence of your late guardian, still more essential. I represented, in terms the most pathetic and moving, the state of distressful poverty and dependence, to which but so lately it seemed likely you must both have been reduced, had not the happy and fortunate event before mentioned in part offered a relief, and I failed not to hint, in a pretty explicit

manner, how useful and acceptable, nay how necessary some addition to your present finances must undoubtedly prove; more especially as your future expectations, were they even realized to the utmost of your hopes, would afford but a very scanty support and be scarcely capable of bestowing the mere necessaries of dress; while for those of subsistence you was constrained to depend upon the limited income of your brother in law.
Never was man more affected than Mr. Roatsley at this recital, and he expressed his sympathy in the strongest terms. We had not however either leisure or opportunity for discussing matters fully. But he faithfully promised to exert his utmost activity and avail himself of Lord Belmont's interest towards contributing to place you in a situation suitable to your birth and education. So eager was he in the cause, that he called two different times on the two succeeding

days, with the intention no doubt of making further enquiries and to consult what could be done most speedily and effectually for your service. I was unluckily from home both times, but I think you told me you had seen him the day before you left town, tho' I perceived he had not chosen as yet to make his good intentions known to you; and on my part, as I doubted not but my application would turn to good account, I had determined to be silent on the subject till I could surprise you agreeably with the certainty of your good fortune. The morning after Mr. Roatsley again did me the honour of calling; but we were then all engaged at church on the grand affair. Having been so unsuccessful, he addressed himself to me by letter the very evening after, and a very pretty letter it is, I give you my word, informing me in the genteelest terms that his endeavours in behalf of my friend had

been so happily crowned with success, that thro' the interest of a certain nobleman in power, who was the intimate friend of Lord Belmont, a pension of two hundred per annum had been procured for Miss Seymour, while she remained unmarried.
But as I have reason to imagine, (says he, for I give you the very words of his letter,) that your amiable young friend labours under present difficulties, will you Madam venture to assist me in a pious fraud which will engage my warmest gratitude and respect: your friendship and intimacy in all probability must afford you a pretext for offering Miss Seymour that assistance which it may be improper to appear as coming from me. In answer to this, I immediately wrote Mr. Roatsley that I agreed most willingly to his generous scheme, and the day following received a bill for two hundred pounds, enclosed in a letter as expressive

of gratitude and acknowledgments as if I had conferred on him the greatest of all favours.
As a boon from so near a relation, probably intended as a discharge in full of all demands upon himself and his relations, I cannot suppose that even your delicacy, (over refined as I have some times thought it,) will object to the present; neither can I prevail with myself to take the merit of a gift, the magnificence of which, when considered as mine, must undoubtedly have awakened your suspicion. Mr. Roatsley made yet another attempt to visit me soon after this transaction, but I was confined to my bed, and had it not in my power to see him.
Adieu, dear Miss Seymour! Pray accept Mr. Hindon's best wishes and mine, and present the same to my brother and his fair bride; and believe me
your sincere friend and servant, MARTHA HINDON.

Oh! Sophia! what were my emotions on reading this letter! No words can speak my feelings. Though penetrated with the exertions of my amiable cousin in my favour, how severely was I mortified, how deeply wounded, to find myself the object of his compassion—of his generosity—of his pecuniary assistance. Oh! how did all the pride of my heart rise at the humiliating idea.
Why did Mrs. Hindon presume to interfere, without my knowledge or consent, in an affair for which she possesses the requisites neither of judgment nor delicacy. Proud as she appears of her success, I shall for ever regret the busy officiousness which dictated a step so dreadful to me to think of. Yet I fear I am unjust. The poor woman had certainly no apparent aim but my advantage in this unlucky transaction, and perhaps prejudice alone induces me to suspect it the mere effects of her intermedling disposition,

which derives its highest gratification from prying into the concerns of others, and is delighted to find occupation for its restless and frivolous activity.
The letter, at the first reading, threw me into agonies. I perceived only the mortifying point of view in which Mrs. Hindon had represented me to Roatsley, and that reflection poisoned and wholly embittered the satisfaction which the notion of his anxiety and interest might otherwise have excited. To paint in colours the most pitiable and moving, so as to raise his pity and sympathy, the situation to which we might have been reduced?—good heavens! can she imagine this a circumstance from which I could derive satisfaction? Her representation too was by no means just, and had not even the merit of truth to recommend it: for tho' at present I am constrained to depend upon the limited income of my brother in law, Mr. Howard

expects that a very few weeks will in all human probability see Mr. Benseley's affairs adjusted, and two thousand pounds at least retrieved, for his wife's share and mine, out of the wreck of our fortune. From the interest of my patrimony, slender as it is, in this retired abode I am certain I shall have not only all my necessary wants supplied, but possess the ability of making such little useful presents to my sister, as shall secure to me my independency in my own eyes. But this is a notion which to Mrs. Hindon must appear the mere fiction of a romantic brain. Born an heiress, and accustomed to derive that vain importance on which her heart is fixed from the possession of wealth and an ostentatious display of grandeur, she regards opulence as the first of human blessings and its deprivation as the harbinger of the most acute misery.
Of the pension I heard with unfeigned

regret. Shocked at the circumstances which had given birth to the acquisition, I felt it as a painful weight which depressed my mind, and from which to be free I would have given the world had I possessed it. But having communicated the letter to Mr. Howard, he represented it to me in ajuster point of view; tho' in reading it to himself I observed that he blushed indignant at the unfeeling hints with which the epistle is interspersed.
I ought to consider, he said, that the obligation of soliciting this annuity was inferior to the claims, which in my present situation justice alone, independent of humanity, gave me upon my relations; and that as an acquittal of the great debt owing me from their kindness and attention, this salary had doubtless been procured, which was evidently designed to extinguish all future expectations.
As Mr. Howard perceived however that I was vexed and ashamed, and as

yet undetermined how to act, delicacy made him forbear any other advice on the subject than merely that which I had at first solicited and which naturally resulted from reading the letter; and as my happiness and advantage were the sole ideas that dictated his sentiments, he thought these acquirements would not readily be the production of a measure which even in prospect gave birth to such uneasiness. He therefore concluded, with a feeling peculiar to his disposition, it must be confessed that our good sister's notions of affluence are not the most romantic in the world; therefore while she thought she possessed the power of procuring you what she herself esteems the chief good in life, and which no doubt bestows many valuable and rational gratifications, she scrupled not by what means the advantage was gained, tho' a little more delicacy exerted in the transaction had probably given it a very different

aspect to what it now wears. However she meant all for the best, tho' it cannot be denied that to talk to her of ease, comfort, and complete independence on forty or fifty pounds a year, is to present different shades of colour before eyes whose organs have been from infancy impaired. Indeed the happy disposition that gives existence to such sentiments, is beyond, infinitely beyond the reach of adverse fortune; and is in itself a blessing which no worldly acquisitions can confer.
By praise so delicate, Mr. Howard laboured to convince me, that however I should determine, his opinion should follow mine; and that if my resolution was to give way to pique, and to reject this seeming compromise with my family, he on his part should rather applaud than blame the spirit that induced me to refuse a favour, which, however otherwise advantageous, overwhelmed me with

mortification. Yet it was not difficult to discern, that he might be apt to consider my rejection as an absurdity to which false delicacy and offended pride alone gave rise; and when on the other hand I coolly reflected that my finances were by no means ascertained, that it was not quite impossible amidst the chapter of accidents from which they had already suffered severely but that I might really one day become dependent on the worthy Mr. Howard and my sister, a situation I could indeed but ill brook, I resolved to conquer my reluctance and yield to necessity; tho' my heart rose against my judgment, and had I been alone I should have indulged in tears, which indeed were not wholly restrained even in Mr. Howard's presence, at sight of the bill.
Oh! Sophia! what steps were to be taken here, in this most cruel of all circumstances? —To return it instantly without doubt. But how conceal from

the generous donor that I was acquainted from whence it came. Since Mrs. Hindon could not retain his secret, tho' so powerfully urged and entreated, how could I possibly flatter myself that she would pay greater regard to mine. I had no path to pursue that had not been attempted by him without success; however on some plan I was obliged suddenly to determine. I therefore sat down to my bureau without loss of time to answer her letter.
I thanked her in terms warmer than were my feelings, tho' I fear my coldness will surprise her, for the interest and trouble she has taken in this business; but re-enclosed the bill, which I besought her to return to the right owner, informing him that even as her gift, I could not possibly prevail with myself to accept of it.
I have asked the favour of Mr. Howard to thank Mr. Roatsley by letter in his

sister's name for the interest he has taken in her concerns. I think I can do no less. An obligation may wound a proud spirit, but the testimonial of a proper gratitude cannot hurt an ingenuous one.
There is one circumstance, material and interesting, in Mrs. Hindon's letter, on which I have not yet touched, but which I conjecture will not pass unnoticed even by you, and as for me, it has employed my thoughts day and night ever since it reached me: Roatsley, she tells me, appears to have been kept hitherto in utter ignorance with regard to our unlucky transactions with his mother, and to be wholly unacquainted with the rejected application to our grandfather. Though how particulars of such importance in the family should have been concealed from his knowledge it is impossible to conjecture. There is indeed a mystery in this affair which Mr. Howard, Fanny, and myself, attempt in vain to unravel. Is

it too fanciful to imagine that Lady Linrose, fearing the known generosity of her amiable son's disposition might lead him to act against the wishes of Lord Belmont, may have determined on keeping him wholly in ignorance. I am bewildered in a variety of imaginary opinions, and not a little secretly delighted at finding myself enabled to exculpate him from those charges of pride and duplicity, which in spite of a too insinuating partiality, have sometimes painfully recurred to my mind.
Can it be, my Sophia! that Roatsley has been so long ignorant, and what is equally astonishing and unaccountable, has been informed from the lips of Mrs. Hindon only, that we are so nearly allied by the ties of blood? Yet what are these ties? how weak, how insufficient alone either to produce friendship or to excite esteem or admiration! The connection is indeed productive of satisfaction,

merely from the idea that it is a foundation for intercourse and a pretext for intimacy. I think however, even in common politeness, he ought to have appeared less dejected than he did upon the discovery. His silence and embarrassment during our last interview evidently confess what little satisfaction he derived from the information.
I have been reading Mrs. Hindon's letter once more; and tho' shock'd at the indelicacy too visibly expressed in almost every line, now that I am cool there are some passages in it which do not wholly displease me. How feeling, how considerate, how noble, has been Roatsley's conduct. His heart is indeed open to every call of distress, and to every sentiment of compassion. How amiable is his delicacy compared to that of his partner in the generous transaction. It pains me not, nay I should be gratified, to receive an obligation from my cousin, distinct

from the sordid and humiliating consideration of money matters. The anxiety and trouble therefore which were exerted on this occasion, dilate my heart and animate my gratitude. I am alone hurt that the representations of my officious agent were dictated with so little judgment as to excite his pity, and so little refinement as to mortify my feelings. To this was owing the distressing and unsuccessful attempt to wound me still more severely by pecuniary favours.
I have received a letter from Miss Parsons, who promised at parting sometimes to let me hear from her. She tells us that she is now most agreeably settled in that line, for which she regarded herself as best qualified to earn her own independent subsistence, and that she is to quit Mrs. Hindon's in a few days, who has been much displeased with the ingratitude of her conduct towards so kind a

relation: these are the good lady's own words.
The lady with whom she was in terms, held her determination suspended as I told you, on account of some point on which Miss Parsons did not answer her wishes; but on that deserving young woman's offering her services in person, she was so much pleased with her appearance, as to wave all deficiencies, and closed immediately with her terms. Pray who do you imagine this lady has turned out to be? no other than Lady Linrose herself: and Miss Parsons at this moment actually makes one of her family.
H. SEYMOUR.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
APRIL 2.
I Have been ill and unfit for writing for some days past; and tho' still feeble and dejected, I hasten to that soothing relief which pouring our anxieties into the bosom of friendship ever bestows, even in the most ditressful situations.
Mr. Howard, rambling over his grounds the other evening as it began to grow dusk, perceived on the high road at the foot of the hill, a carriage and four driving with great vehemence, as if desirous of arriving at the end of its journey before night should render travelling, in

the present state of the weather, dangerous as well as uncomfortable. A period however was but too soon put to their career, by a most alarming accident: the axle-tree all at once gave way, and the coach was suddenly overset with a violence which made Mr. Howard, who was at no great distance, tremble for the lives of the unfortunate travellers.
He flew instantly to their assistance; and found they consisted of a lady and her maid, attended by two footmen on horseback, who were endeavouring to pull the unlucky Abigail out of the shattered equipage. This, with the aid of Mr. Howard, was, tho' with difficulty, effected: but they soon perceived that the situation of the girl was infinitely less deplorable than the condition in which they beheld the poor lady, who lay without motion at the bottom of the coach, her head and arm cut severely by the

glasses, her face covered with blood, and apparently dead.
Having lifted her out of the coach, Mr. Howard, assisted by the maid, who forgot her own sufferings in her terror for her lady, wiped the blood from her face, endeavoured to stop its effusions with her handkerchief, plentifully besprinkled her with water, which a late fall of snow abundantly supplied on all sides; and having administered the aid of eau de luce, sal volatile, &c. the poor lady, to their unspeakable joy, at length opened her eyes.
As soon as she was sufficiently recovered, Mr. Howard informed her that his house was not above a quarter of a mile from the spot, and that every assistance could there be speedily procured to alleviate her own sufferings and those of her maid; and besought her to allow him to help her into his own little carriage, for which he had dispatched one of the footmen

at the moment of his coming up, and which was now arrived. This conveyance was by no means suited to the present exigency, being a one horse chair, the only equipage this family boasts of. In this, assisted by the attendants, Mr. Howard placed the unfortunate lady, and slowly approached the house.
I have brought you an unexpected guest, my dear, cried Mr. Howard, as he entered, supporting the feeble unfortunate; but would to heaven we had been introduced to the honour of her acquaintance in circumstances less unhappy, for she has met with a most alarming accident and is severely hurt.
Fanny received her with that cordial kindness to which her situation so justly laid claim. The surgeon, who had been sent for from the village adjoining, on examining her bruises declared that one of her arms was dislocated, and that there was a fracture of one of the small bones

near the wrist. The unfortunate lady immediately underwent the necessary operations; but the groans which her agony excited rendered us incapable of remaining near her.
At length however her acute sufferings were over. The operator departed, having enjoined the strictest attention to quiet and rest, and my sister and I were again admitted into her apartment to see every thing prepared by Therese, her own maid being unable to attend her. We then returned to the parlour, not a little eager to be made acquainted with the name of our lovely guest, a point in which we still remained ignorant.
Mr. Howard instantly gratified our curiosity; having learnt from the servants that their lady was the Countess of Aubrey, and that they were on their way to her country residence in the next county, when this unfortunate accident put a period for the present to their journey. He

informed us likewise that he had sent an express to Sir William Meredith, (whose lady was Lady Aubrey's nearest relation, and tenderly attached to her, and who would be miserable, the girl said, if absent from her lady at a juncture so critical), acquainting him with this unfortunate event, and requesting that he and Lady Meredith would take up their residence at Hubert Hill till all alarm respecting Lady Aubrey was at an end.
This accident you may suppose, by interesting our compassion so powerfully, had discomposed us not a little, and wholly interrupted the social tranquillity in which our evenings are usually spent.
Mr. Howard in particular was uncommonly grave, and testified an anxiety, which, had not the singular humanity of his disposition been well known to me, might have created suspicion. I am very apprehensive, said he, for the life of Lady Aubrey. Her delicacy of frame

seems but ill calculated for sustaining an accident of this kind, and too much caution cannot be pursued.
The consequence too powerfully justified his alarm: about three in the morning I was suddenly awakened by Therese, who hastily drew aside my curtain. Ah! Mademoiselle! said she, la pauvre dame est tres mal.
She then informed me that her Ladyship had been excessively unquiet all the night, and so low spirited, that apparently worn out by restlesness and pain, she at length burst into tears; and telling Therese she could not rest, ordered her to bring a light into her chamber as she found sleeping impossible.
The girl entreated her to swallow a few drops in some water, to which she consented; and giving over all thoughts of repose, she had her curtains drawn aside, and tried to beguile the tedious hours of midnight by entering into conversation

with Therese; who possesses all the loquacity of her nation, and who, from encountering few of her equals to whom she can talk, seizes with avidity every opportunity she can lay hold of to indemnify herself for the painful penance of silence, by making reprisals upon those who understand her language.
Her Ladyship, she said, had made many enquiries about my sister and me, to whose humanity and hospitality she often repeated she owed her life; and the girl was in hopes she found herself somewhat easier, when she was seized all at once with a fit so violent and alarming, that Therese was obliged to call up her own maid to her assistance; and tho' she is now rather more composed, continued she, I am afraid Madame's fever is extremely high. She talks very incoherently, mutters to herself in a manner truely frightful, and just now insists on rising and being dressed.

This information made me hastily get up; and unwilling to disturb my sister, who of late has been rather indisposed, I threw my wrapping gown over me, and ordering Mr. Rudder, the surgeon, to be instantly sent for, I stole softly into Lady Aubrey's apartment, and approaching the bed, where her maid was unwillingly assisting her to rise, I enquired how she found herself; but oh! Sophia! how shall I find words by which to convey to you an idea of the sensations which overpowered me? Is it in language to furnish expressions adequate to those feelings which overwhelmed my senses, when the amiable, the unfortunate Lady Aubrey, with a frantic violence that eluded all opposition, suddenly springing from the bed, threw herself at my feet, and embracing my knees, exclaimed in accents which froze my blood—oh! my Lord! my beloved Lord Linrose! for the sake of heaven do not frown upon me so terribly.

Your looks stab me to the soul! you terrify me my Lord!—oh! have mercy upon me!—I was dear to you once!—did you not say so?—and I have long, long forgiven you all you have made me endure.
I heard no more, but fell senseless on the ground.
Therese and the woman, terrified at the unaccountable scene before them, flew to our assistance; and while the one ineffectually administered hartshorn and other volatile restoratives to me, the other entreated her distracted lady to suffer herself to be again undrest and to return to bed: and so quickly does insanity change the object of its interest and pursuit, that forgetting the idea which had but a moment before so violently agitated her bosom, she allowed herself to be again put to bed, and yielding to weakness, was for some time tolerably still and composed.

Finding in the mean while that I showed no symptoms of recovery, Therese in terror awakened my sister, who flew half dressed into the room just as I had opened my eyes and began to recollect my situation.
A seasonable flood of tears in some measure relieved the anguish of my feelings, and allayed Fanny's apprehensions of a relapse; and with her assistance, I summoned strength sufficient to quit Lady Aubrey's chamber, where the sound of her voice repeating in the most melancholy accents my father's name, and breathing her soft and heart breaking complaints at his cruelty and detestation, threw me into agonies unspeakable.
Fanny, who was yet unacquainted with the cause of my agitation, and who having been merely informed that Lady Aubrey was delirious, in her anxiety on my account had not attended to the incoherencies that fell from her lips, eagerly

poured upon me, the moment we left it, a thousand enquiries respecting the occasion of the fit with which I had been seized. I was unable to satisfy her; and felt relieved by the entrance of Mr. Howard, whose countenance informed me that to him at least the task of disclosing it was unnecessary.
For heavens sake, my dearest sister, compose yourself, cried Mr. Howard. The pain of this affecting incident I might have prevented, had I dreaded or foreseen an explanation so distressing and abrupt: but the apprehension of inflicting an unnecessary wound deterred me from an information which I was well qualified to have given the instant Lady Aubrey's name reached my ears.
What information? cried Fanny. You frighten me, tho' without knowing why. I perceive this lady is one of our relations: but why should the knowledge of that circumstance wound or distress us.

If you will promise me, my dear, not to be too much affected—
For heavens sake tell me to what all this preparation tends?
I am just going to do so, said he, taking her hand; and I hope you will not be alarmed when I desire you to recall to mind an unfortunate lady, whose name frequently occurs in the packet once entrusted to my care—Miss Marsdon.
Good God! is it possible! Can Lady Aubrey be in fact that miserable, that ill fated woman: and subdued by a crowd of melancholy ideas, Fanny melted into tears; but frightened to witness the still superior anguish of my feelings, she forgot her own distress to soothe mine.
Oh! my dearest Hermione! cried she, do not give way to this agitation. You will distract me. Consider, my love, that time must have long since greatly allayed Lady Aubrey's sufferings. Those of our dear, dear father, are happily

lulled to perpetual rest. He is now disengaged from all the pains and sorrows of the world, and this accidental reconnoitre ought not too severely to affect us.
The apprehension of alarming her made me exert myself to assume a composure to which I could not so speedily attain; but revolving in my mind all the circumstances that had occurred since Lady Aubrey's arrival, it was not difficult for me to trace the cause of the melancholy delirium with which she had been seized, nor of that sudden burst of grief that so wholly overpowered her the instant I was presented to her sight; and which, tho' it seemed to us the natural consequence of depression and uneasiness, had undoubtedly its source in my resemblance to my father, which has been ever deemed strikingly remarkable, and which must have overwhelmed her, even at the first moment, with some slight suspicion of my being in fact one of those

daughters of whose existence I can hardly imagine she has remained wholly ignorant; and her conversation with the loquacious Therese, a conversation possibly designed to ascertain her doubts, pouring undeniable conviction on her mind at a moment of fatigue, pain, and indisposition, no wonder that such a conflict of emotions co-operating with her late accident, should have disordered her imagination.
Upon interrogating Therese more minutely, I find these conjectures strongly corroborated. Tho' sighs and tears, she says, often burst from the unfortunate invalid, her expressions were distinct, and to all appearance her reason clear, till after midnight; when calling Therese to the side of her bed, she enquired into a thousand particulars relating to her two ladies. Were they lately arrived from abroad? in what part of the continent did they usually reside? did they give

into the gaieties of M—, (within sixty miles of which place Therese had told her we lived,) or did we prefer the retirement of the country? on all of which Therese was sufficiently communicative.
Late in the evening Lady Meredith arrived. All this day Lady Aubrey continued in the most dangerous way. Her fever seemed rather on the increase, tho' already so violent that she had not had one interval of returning recollection, but raved with unceasing and dreadful incoherency since the moment of my sudden appearance.
During this time you may easily judge what were my sensations. The weight on my spirits was indeed insupportable. Regarding Lady Aubrey in the light of a woman for whom my beloved parent had suffered so much—the woman who loved and had endured so much for him—my heart became attached to her by a strong and irresistible impulse of affection, and

I could not but feel deeply interested in a life which was once so dear to him. Anxiety, and a respect almost filial, urged me to watch with eager sedulity the turn of her fever, and to administer with my own hands the prescriptions ordered by the physicians who were called in to her assistance: but wholly overcome by the incoherent ravings of her delirium, no sooner was I seated by her bed side than my feelings rendered me incapable of remaining in silence and composure, and I was obliged to fly to another apartment for the relief of weeping aloud and at liberty.
My sister and Mr. Howard entreated me to spare myself the anguish of a scene so dreadful; but when it became insupportable, I made my escape, and while I preserved fortitude sufficient for the task, I felt a secret idea of duty which recompenced me for the pain of my attendance.

Sir William Meredith was prevented from accompanying his lady by a fit of the gout. Her terrors on account of her niece were indeed extreme. She wept violently on alighting, and possessed hardly resolution sufficient for listening to the particulars of her accident.
The countenance of the physician feelingly told how much was to be dreaded, All I can in conscience tell you, Madam, said Doctor Harding to Lady Meredith, is, that you will not remain long in the misery of suspense. One way or other it must soon be decided.
This day, alas! has produced no symptom in the least favourable. Lady Aubrey continues to endure all the restless turbulence of delirium, is in continual motion, shifts an uneasy posture perpetually without finding one that bestows more relief, and is sometimes obliged to be detained by force from leaving her bed. She talks incessantly; and tho' her

discourse is incoherent, it is uniformly pathetic, melancholy, and interesting. She not only recurs often to my father's name, but if I mistake not, even Mr. Benseley's some hours ago escaped her. The friendly part he acted in those dismal scenes which lie so heavy on her disordered mind, renders this a natural transition of ideas.
APRIL 12.
After a tedious suspense of ten days, Lady Aubrey's fever, thank Heaven, begins to give way to medicine. Doctor Harding this day pronounces his patient in a fair way of recovery. Her recollection is perfectly restored, the violence of her fever is abated, and she is now sensible of her aunt's attendance, who leaves not her chamber either day or night, having a small field bed placed in the room, wherein she has taken what little

repose the perturbation and anxiety of her spirits allowed.
This interval has been a period of real anguish to me. All the horrors of my father's sufferings and misfortunes, this wonderful and unexpected incident has renewed in my mind with augmented poignancy; and that gloomy impression which the soothing hand of time, the habit of frequent reflection, and the consideration of his transition, I trust, to a happier world, had in some measure effaced, this accidental meeting has restored with redoubled violence, attended if possible with increased depression.
Mr. Howard and Fanny having insisted on my relinquishing an attendance which the presence of Lady Meredith rendered unnecessary, and which, ignorant of the secret and singular the that binds my heart to that of the unfortunate Lady Aubrey might be deemed officious by her aunt, I have strictly forborn ever

since her arrival to enter the apartment; and so powerfully has my sensibility strengthened by this forbearance, that had my assistance been required I scarce think I could have summoned resolution sufficient for encountering the hazard of again hearing my father's name pronounced in the heart rending accents of the mournful invalid. Even now, that her reason and recollection, through the mercy of Heaven, are restored, I look forward with inexpressible apprehension to the idea of once more meeting her eyes. The pang this interview must occasion to her bosom, the pain with which it must overwhelm mine even in anticipation, agitates me beyond expression.
APRIL 17.
Lady Aubrey is much better. She now merely retains that languor and depression

which indisposition, independent of dejection, invariably leaves behind as a memento of its power.
Lady Meredith, who is a most amiable and agreeable woman, now happily delivered from the painful anxiety that oppressed her, gives us at times, when she can be spared from her attendance on her niece, a good deal of her company, and expresses in the warmest terms her gratitude for our attention to Lady Aubrey.
APRIL 20.
As yet Lady Aubrey, who is now able to sit up, or rather to recline on the sopha for some hours every day, has expressed no desire for an interview with either my sister or myself, and the longer this meeting is delayed the more formidable it appears. It is but too probable,

indeed, that she views it with equal apprehension, and willingly lays hold of the pretence of indisposition to defer a conference which must be productive of so much pain and embarrassment to all parties.
I think it not unlikely, that perceiving the obscurity that is thrown over our situation, the borrowed name we have assumed, the retirement in which we live, and the total alienation which has taken place between us and my uncle's family, she may be led to conclude our real rank in life a secret even to ourselves, or at least may be induced to suspect that the circumstances of our birth are but partially known to us; those particulars especially in which she herself is immediately concerned, she may naturally conjecture the least liable of any to have reached our ears. In this case, as all explanation upon our meeting is out of the question, part of the awkwardness of

the scene will be avoided, and I am labouring to think of it with a composure that shall enable me, when it takes place, to behave with the calm indifference of an unconcerned person.
APRIL 25.
Last night Lady Meredith delivered to us a message from Lady Aubrey, intimating that her Ladyship had been for some days past beyond measure anxious to return us personally her grateful acknowledgments for that benevolent hospitality to which she had been so infinitely indebted; but that the weak state of her nerves rendering her liable to be seized with agitation, and discomposed by the most trifling occurrences, Lady Meredith had persuaded her into compliance with the injunctions of her physicians, which were on no account

to hazard any risk of being disordered or disturbed in her present feeble condition; finding herself now, however, much recruited both in strength and spirits, she hoped in a day or two to be well enough to ask the favour of a visit from us in her dressing room, and in the mean while recommended herself, with many kind and polite expressions, to our good wishes.
APRIL 28.
This formidable interview is at last over. Oh! Sophia! I did not imagine it more formidable than it proved.
This morning Lady Meredith came down to the parlour, for she seldom gratifies us with her company till dinner, and requested, in Lady Aubrey's name, the favour of my sister's company and mine above stairs. My heart beat violently

at this message. I felt myself change colour; and involuntarily sat down on the first chair so evidently discomposed, that Lady Meredith concluded I was ill, and said with much kindness, 'tis fortunate, my dear Miss Seymour, that I would not be prevailed with to accept of your most obliging offer of sharing my fatigue and attendance upon my niece, for I should have undoubtedly suspected that you had suffered for your humanity. I am certain you are indisposed. Pray allow me to feel your pulse; for you must know I am reckoned an able physician by the poor people around our seat in the country. You are feverish I am convinced, and must nurse yourself for a day or two.
I assured her I was perfectly well; but she would not give immediate credit to my assertion, and entreated my sister to prevail with me to allow of the physician's attendance. Finding however that we

both made light of the proposal, she left us to prepare her niece for our appearance, who was so feeble and exhausted, that a trifle she said discomposed her spirits, and threw her into a tremor.
Alas! Sophia, this interview, though a circumstance of no moment in the eyes of Lady Meredith, was by no means a trifle to the unfortunate Lady Aubrey; and so wholly did the prospect of it overpower her feelings, that her aunt returned to us in a few minutes with an apology and request that we would be so kind as to defer our visit till the evening, as she found herself languid and oppressed, and meant to lie down for an hour or two.
I felt relieved by this short respite; and in the mean while endeavoured to prepare myself for the approaching period with a composure that might wholly confute any suspicions she might entertain of my being conscious of the interesting

and melancholy events that form a connexion so singular between us. As for my sister, her emotions, naturally less uncontroulable, at least after the first moments of agitation, I was under no apprehension that she would betray herself; and by preserving if possible an air of serenity myself, I hoped to render this meeting less affecting to Lady Aubrey, who by that means would be spared the painful reflections which our mutual perturbation might otherwise occasion.
In the evening, Lady Meredith returned again into the parlour. I am come once more, said she, to ask the favour of your company in Lady Aubrey's dressing room. She is by no means well to-day; and I am so apprehensive of a relapse, that I would have persuaded her to defer your visit till to-morrow, and go to rest early; but her heart is so bent upon the pleasure of seeing you, that I fear opposition would prove more

hurtful than the flutter of spirits which the sight of a new face in the present weak state of her nerves may occasion. I however shall remain below, and enjoy a tete a tete with Mr. Howard, that we may not prove too many at once for her.
We accordingly went up stairs. The dressing room windows had been darkened with blinds, under pretence that the light was offensive, but doubtless with the intention of concealing an emotion for which the inadequate allegation of debilitude and recent indisposition only could be given. Lovely even in sickness, she reclined on a sopha; from which, the moment we appeared, she made a feeble attempt to rise; but finding herself incapable of effecting it, she fell back in evident discomposure, and holding out a hand to each, burst into tears.
All my resolution forsook me at that moment. Beholding her the victim of

those calamities which had wholly embittered the declining days of my father— calamities which she still lived to deplore, and evidently felt at that instant with all the agony of recent and bitter disappointment, my heart melted with sympathetic sorrow, and forgetting the composure I had laboured to obtain, I pressed her offered hand to my lips with an enthusiastic fervour which told as plainly as words could have done that I partook in the griefs that oppressed her disconsolate bosom. This language was indeed too expressive not to be instantly comprehended, for raising herself by a sudden effort, she clasped me in her arms, and supporting her head on my shoulder, sobbed aloud..
Terrified at the violence of her emotions, I would have broke from her to have called Lady Meredith; but redoubling her caresses, do not leave me, cried she the moment she could articulate—

tears are habitual to me, and those I shed at this moment are produced by sensations which have not often, alas! found entrance into my heart. Let not this agitation frighten you, added she. It's vehemence will in time abate. The Almighty, I trust, sends you to me for my consolation and support. She was unable to proceed; but disengaging herself from my embraces, she stretched out her arms to Fanny, who flew into them drowned in tears.
For heavens sake, dearest Madam, cried she, for I was unable to speak, endeavour to compose yourself; for your own sake and for ours try to be calm. Many, many days of happiness are yet I hope in store for us all. Your friendship and affection is alone able to constitute our felicity; and it will be the delight of our lives if you will honour us so far as to flatter us with the hopes of being enabled, from the solicitude of the

tenderest regard and most filial affection, in some slight degree to contribute to your's.
Alarmed for the consequences of this scene, and afraid lest the frankness of Fanny's disposition should lead her in the height of her emotions to touch on particulars much too delicate for the present moment, I ran to the door to call Lady Meredith, whose presence I imagined would put a period to a conversation that was about to become much too interesting to all parties, and which in the precarious state of Lady Aubrey's health might prove exceedingly hurtful to a frame so infinitely delicate; but perceiving my intention, she entreated me to sit down by her, and having swallowed some drops in water, she became somewhat more composed.
I trust in heaven, said she, again taking my hand and obliging Fanny to seat herself upon the sopha, that there are

days of returning peace yet in store for me, since the Almighty has been pleased in his gracious providence to vouchsafe me, by means so unexpected and extraordinary, the gratification of that eager wish, in which has been centred all my hopes and expectations of satisfaction on this side the grave; for know, my amiable young friends, continued she in accents interrupted by tears, that you have been ever since—(her voice failed her,) ever since my return to England, the subject of my thoughts—of my very dreams—and the unceasing source of my anxious but ineffectual pursuit. Poor Mr. Benseley! He was the firm and unalterable friend of both. His steady and inflexible attachment no circumstances could change, no reverses could shake, while he remained convinced, continued she clasping her hands together with an energy the most affecting, that there still lay concealed within the secret recess of

the heart, a hidden and obscured, yet fervent sentiment of virtue, which called for the soothing hand of friendship to guard it from distraction and despair.
You will not wonder, Sophia, that the conclusion of this speech, by overwhelming me with the complicated sensations of astonishment, admiration, sorrow, and delight, should wholly overpower my feelings. Utterance was denied me: yet words, had I been able to command them, could have but feebly expressed the tumult of contending emotions that agitated my bosom. Throwing myself on my knees before the injured Lady Aubrey, I dissolved into tears; and while I kissed her hand and pressed it to my heart, my looks and my distress told her how much I venerated and admired her. Oh, Sophia! had you beheld the lovely unfortunate at that moment, you must have adored her.

She embraced me with the tenderest emotion; and I then reiterated my entreaties that she would allow us to leave her. But while she detained me feebly by the hand, she requested Fanny to remove the blinds, which now almost wholly obscured the declining rays of the evening, and fixing her eyes steadily for an instant on my face, tears again began to flow, and sighing with an expression the most mournful, she bade us good night. You may conclude that my sister and I could not speedily recover the appearance of composure. Yet affecting as this interview had proved, a mixture of somewhat soothing and consolatory has insinuated itself amidst the bitterness of more poignant sensations. By a wonderful interposition of Providence, we had been introduced to the knowledge of one of the most amiable of her sex, who not only felt inclined to accord us her friendship and affection,

but who was already our friend, who returned with fervour the warm attachment our hearts had imbibed almost the first moment that she was presented to our view, and the bitter recollection of whose past calamities our assiduous attention might prove the fortunate means of soothing into tranquillity. These reflections were of the most pleasing nature, and grateful to our hearts; yet were they but ill calculated for wiping the tears from our eyes: on the contrary, by melting every sensation into tenderness we were almost exhausted with weeping, when Mr. Howard came to seek us in my dressing room, where we had taken refuge in hopes of acquiring that composure which our tete a tete had banished still further than ever from our minds.
He kissed a hand of each, and telling us that supper waited, and that Lady Meredith was already in the parlour, we

tried to assumed smiling faces, and deferring any account of our affecting interview till a more convenient opportunity, accompanied him down stairs.
On our entrance, and during supper, Lady Meredith's countenance betrayed an expression of grave reserve so different from the frank and open familiarity of manner which since the relief of her anxiety had seemed the characteristic of her mind, that I instantly perceived she had been but recently informed of particulars, which probably the agitation of Lady Aubrey's spirits had discovered to her only an hour or two before. Painful as it was both to witness this change and to suspect the cause, I made large allowances for the prejudice which induced her to regard us with repugnance. That Lady Meredith should behold with disgust, the offspring of him whose name in all probability she merely knew as the source of misery to her beloved niece,

and with whose subsequent agonies of remorse she may be wholly ignorant, is not surprising, when such considerations have had power to outweigh in the scale of paternal affection every motive of humanity, compassion, and even duty. Yes, Sophia, even duty: for rigid as Lord Belmont's sense of integrity is reported to be, in regard to us, a mistaken notion of honour sways his conduct. It is for minds like the angelic Lady Aubrey's only to prove superior to such sentiments, to wave personal injuries, to discard private resentment, and to forget her own feelings and sufferings in her pity and affection for the penitent author of her calamities.
As Mr. Howard during supper had conversed on indifferent subjects, and Lady Meredith with an air of unusual ceremony seemed determined to follow his lead, the mortifying coldness of her manner deterred me from finding courage

to ask how Lady Aubrey found herself, and indeed I dreaded trusting my voice with the enquiry. However when the servants had retired, Mr. Howard saved me the trouble.
My niece tells me she is no worse, answered she coldly; but she is extremely low spirited; and the slightest agitation in her present weak condition may be fatal to a frame so exhausted as her's. I own I am under great uneasiness about her: the apprehension of a relapse terrifies me.
A relapse! cried I in a tone which betrayed my emotion, heaven forbid! or we shall never forgive ourselves; and leaning my head upon my hand, I found myself unable longer to preserve the appearance of the tranquillity I had endeavoured to assume.
Mr. Howard made me swallow a second glass of Madeira; and Lady Meredith seemed so affected with my tears,

that pressing my hand with even more than her accustomed kindness, all coldness, prejudice, and reserve, seemed instantly to give way to the kindest sympathy and most soothing compassion. Compose yourself, my dear Miss Seymour, cried she; my apprehensions have been always accused of greatly magnifying every impending danger. It is apprehension only, thank God, that leads me to speak in a tone of such despondency. Lady Aubrey assures me, that far from being hurt by the late interview, it has soothed and gratified her heart; and even had the violence of her feelings, naturally acute, exhausted her a little for the present, from the kindred sensibility of your sympathetic hearts, I foresee in future infinite satisfaction and consolation to my unfortunate niece in the unexpected happiness of your friendship and society.
The subject was too delicate to admit

of more, and soon after we separated for the night.
This morning, when we met at breakfast, Lady Meredith paid us her compliments with much kindness, and the appearance of revived spirits. Her niece, she said, her beloved niece, (for she seldom mentions her without some epithet expressive of affection) had enjoyed an excellent night's rest, and found herself much refreshed, so I hope in God, Miss Seymour, all our fears were wholly groundless.
On her Ladyship's leaving us immediately after breakfast, Mr. Howard informed us that he had had a long walk with her in the morning, for she is an early riser, and that it had been productive of a very interesting conversation; in the course of which he had picked up some particulars relative to Lady Aubrey that he was certain we must be eager to learn.

Lady Meredith, he said, had entirely contradicted the report, so universally circulated and so generally credited, of Lady Aubrey's insanity. A fever of the most alarming nature had indeed attacked her brain, and held her life for many weeks suspended; but this was the natural consequence of her misfortunes. Returning reason had been the immediate follower of recruited health: and tho' the most mournful depression had wholly banished tranquillity and peace from her bosom, religion the most devout, and resignation the most humble and sincere, had supported her in the height of misery, and had preserved her from the baneful effects of distraction and despair.
When her ill fated marriage took place, she had been but a few weeks in England. She had spent her life abroad, where Lord Embdon had acted at the Court of Turin in a public capacity. She had hitherto enjoyed little personal intercourse

with her numerous relations, and was particularly attached to none of them. Her native country, endeared to her neither by the force of private friendship nor by the insinuating remembrance of early prepossession, it was the inevitable and natural effects of her misfortunes to be disgusted with it, and her departure was a step which delicacy, pride, and affliction, all conspired to dictate.
The death of Lord Embdon, which happened at this juncture, (a stroke which it is to be hoped his weakly constitution rather than his child's calamities had inflicted,) involved the unfortunate daughter in accumulated distress. Thank heaven he died of a complaint wherein the spirits are not supposed by medical people to influence the disorder. He had been for many years afflicted with the stone; and refusing to submit to an operation, fell a sacrifice to that painful disease.

This event, while it dissolved her only remaining tie to England, left her wholly at liberty to pursue her intended scheme of future seclusion. Her grandfather, the old Earl of Aubrey, indeed still survived, and beheld the ruined peace of his family with the weeping eye of a parent. He entreated his grand daughter, the heiress of his possessions, not to desert him in his old age; but as she well knew that an hereditary regard for the successor of his name and titles alone dictated this request, and that wholly governed by a woman who had lived with him for years, his heart but feebly retained the impressions of natural affection, her sense of duty did not interfere with the prosecution of her intentions.
She therefore bade adieu to England; and having for a short time boarded herself and attendants in the quiet retirement of a monastry, she from thence enquired after an obscure but elegant retreat,

which an early and tender friendship for it's deceased possessor had endeared to her remembrance; and having purchased it from the present owner, she retired thither with the design of secluding herself for ever from the world.
When this resolution was formed, Miss Marsdon was but eighteen, and possessed in the full glow of radience those charms which dejection, disappointment, and indisposition, for fifteen years more, have scarce been able to impair. Her days, bounded by distress, the dreary prospect admitted no ray of reviving consolation except what resulted from the socety of one dear and maternal friend, who having been lately deprived of the husband of her heart, and never having been blessed with offspring, flew to indulge with her favourite young friend the unbounded luxury of sorrow.
Madame de St. Hillaire, for some time combated not the intended seclusion

of her amiable friend. But the violence of her own distress yielding to resignation and composure, she became conscious that tho' grief is seldom abated by reasoning the most convincing and judicious, time will infallibly lessen, and variety in some measure divert, it's bitterness. Her feelings, tho' poignant, were soothing and enthusiastic: tears unceasingly fell from her eyes; but they were tears of relief. Some pleasing recollection, some scene, interesting and endearing, often made them flow, and the luxuriant reveries of past delight in a great measure soothed the present sad reverse.
Far otherwise was the source of the bitter anguish of her friend. The remembrance of past affection carried a sting which made her in horror fly from the thought; and the idea that the man she had loved and had lost was torn from her arms by the common stroke of death, supported not her feeling mind in the

height of languor and depression: all was misery unmitigated: the past was horror, and the future presented only undeserved mortification and perpetual regret.
In solitude and obscurity were centred the only ideas of dejected tranquillity that could find entrance into the bosom of the fair mourner: a bosom of acute sensibility, chilled by the cold hand of disappointment: but her anxious friend, reflecting on her youth and amiable disposition, hoped that after time had been given for meliorating her sorrows into peaceful resignation, a temper so calculated for the active duties of benevolence would not remain unsubdued by the heartfelt gratifications which that noble principle affords, and foresaw that it would not prove impossible to prevail with her to relax in her present system.
Time justified the predictions of this valuable friend. By degrees, at her earnest entreaties, a select acquaintance

was admitted; and altho' through the whole of Lady Aubrey's residence abroad, till the present moment, a weight of melancholy impaired her health and clouded her spirits, religion and principle co-operating with the continual efforts of Madame de St. Hillaire, greatly softened the first anguish of her sufferings; and while she remained incapable of participating in the gaieties of life, its rational comforts were restored to her relish. Her society, tho' limited, was elegant, and judiciously chosen; and her solitary residence at length began to wear the aspect of a peaceful retirement, which the sad stroke of Madame de St. Hillaire's death, added to the dying request of her grandfather, would probably alone have prevailed with Lady Aubrey ever to have quitted.
Lord Aubrey, sinding the infirmities of age overtake him with a hasty pace, the beginning of this year sent an earnest

entreaty to his grand daughter to grant him the satisfaction of beholding once more the last and only supporter of his family and dignities. She hesitated not to obey, however painfully her return to England must awaken every source of anguish, and arrived in London about the end of January, just in time to receive his last injunctions, the old Lord having survived this affecting meeting only a few days.
Lady Aubrey now found herself possessed of the accumulated wealth of a long line of noble and opulent ancestry. Independent of those estates which from entail were annexed to the title, her grandfather had left her considerable property; and he requested that a due regard to an ancient and honourable family, of which she was the head and ornament, might prevail with her to spend her days in the old family castle; where her predecessors had lived time immemorial,

adored by their vassals, respected by their friends, and the pride and blessing of the country around.
In addition to these particulars, Lady Meredith mentioned to Mr. Howard, that though from several circumstances which on recollection strike her remembrance, she conjectures her amiable niece wished her to be made acquainted with the singular event of her reconnoitre with this famiy, never could she summon courage and calmness sufficient for entering on the painful subject till yesterday evening, when the violence of her emotions rendering her aunt at once suspicious and inquisitive, drew the formidable secret from her bosom.
Tho' tenderly attached to my niece, said Lady Meredith, the only surviving child of a deceased sister whom I almost idolized, I have not had the happiness, till her late return from abroad, of enjoying much of her company. She has

spent great part of her life on the continent, where it was only in my power to visit her once for a few months; and it is only of late, that strict intimacy and affection have taken place which always indeed subsisted, but in a less powerful degree, between us. Length of absence, and difference of years, have however precluded that unreserved confidence, which, except at the open and undisguised period of early youth, is not easily bestowed. Aware of the quick sensibility of Lady Aubrey's feelings, I forbore to probe wounds scarce closed, and carefully avoided every subject likely to recall the past to her mind: till last night, when the emotion in which I found her paved the way for a communication as unexpected as extraordinary. Lady Aubrey confessed that accident had introduced to her knowledge a family, to meet with whom had been her most earnest wish, tho' from a variety of circumstances

she had for ever despaired of enjoying that satisfaction; and that altho' a complication of agitating sensations had wholly overpowered her at the first meeting, and rendered her so apprehensive of a second as to delay it till returning health and strength might enable her to support the feelings which she knew it must occasion, the inherent satisfaction resulting from the event she was convinced would be of infinite benefit both to her health and tranquillity in future.
It was not difficult, continued Lady Meredith, to divine who this family must be: and what I have seen of every individual in it, persuades me that Lady Aubrey will not find herself deceived in this flattering expectation.
Mr. Howard had just concluded this interesting narrative, when Lady Meredith entering the parlour, told us that Lady Aubrey requested our company; and that while we attended her Ladyship

she should accompany Mr. Howard once more in his rambles thro' the wood, as it was impossible ever to tire in walking over so delightful a spot as Hubert Hill, and she had not yet been shown all the lions.
My sister and I then went up stairs. We found our dear Lady Aubrey in bed, for she is not allowed to rise till the morning is far advanced; but she looked more beautiful as she sat upright supported by pillows, than any other woman I ever beheld in all the pride of youth, dress, and loveliness.
There is an expression of feeling languor in her charming eyes, that would be alone captivating beyond expression, even divested of the aid they receive from the perfection of her other features, and I am not certain if it would be in my power to admire her so enthusiastically was she relieved from those traces of decay, which betraying the ravages of latent

anguish, bespeak in the same moment the warmest admiration and the most compassionate sympathy. In the bloom of eighteen, Miss Marsdon may have been more beautiful, but could not have proved so interesting, so insinuating as Lady Aubrey appears at this instant.
She embraced us both tenderly, and apologized for requesting our company at her bed side; but I cannot deny myself, said she, the gratification of your company from mere motives of cold ceremony, while my heart is under the influence of sentiments so fervent. I am soothed and gratified beyond expression, continued she. My rest last night was more refreshing and tranquil than any I have enjoyed since my accident, which, far from accounting unfortunate, I shall ever regard as the blessing of providence. With a heart overflowing with gratitude to the Almighty, I offered up my humble

thanks, and composed myself to sleep with an inward sensation of relief and satisfaction, which cast a gleam of contentment even over my dreams and my repose.
She appeared indeed calm and composed beyond our most sanguine hopes; and tho' a tear of feeling often fell from her eye, and her bosom heaved with an oppression not to be suppressed, a smile of resigned benevolence often broke thro' the sedate melancholy seated on her interesting countenance, and her sighs seemed more the offspring of relief than uneasiness.
Amidst the effusions of that melting and soothing tenderness which linked our hearts together, and which was tacitly acknowledged to have but one common source in my dear father, yet was his name not once pronounced. Amidst the free and mutual communication which a heart-felt interest claimed, tho' to this

every circumstance alluded and every enquiry tended, it was a point at which none of us could arrive. It seemed too sacred, too aweful to be uttered, and must have led to particulars at which for worlds we would not as yet have ventured to hint.
Lady Aubrey, however, by degrees informed us of all we were most anxious to know: that during the whole period of our residence abroad she had maintained a constant correspondence with Mr. Bensley, unknown to every one, and under promise of profound secrecy. Doubtless the appearance of preserving an intercourse of any kind with the avowed friend of my father, must have seemed an act of impropriety in the eyes of her own family, and might have been deemed romantic by the world; yet could not this amiable, this angelic woman, remain contentedly ignorant of the fate of a man to whom her whole heart had

once been given up, however unworthy he had proved himself by overwhelming her with unmerited shame and despair, and by driving her, in the gay season of a youth which fortune and nature had conspired to bless with a thousand envied advantages, to bury herself in solitude and obscurity.
The desire of addressing myself to Mr. Benseley, said Lady Aubrey, had taken possession of my mind for several months previous to my quitting England. From him only could a thousand circumstances reach my knowledge, which it was absolutely essential to my very existence to know, and which to no other person could even be hinted; yet a number of objections, and difficulties almost insurmountable, deterred me from gratifying a wish that every moment grew more irresistible. The awkwardness of an application by letter appeared formidable, and the apprehension of being detected

in a step which I well knew my father would deem derogatory to my dignity, and fraught with impropriety, terrified me. This last bar was, alas! but too soon removed by that dear parent's death; and yielding to the potency of my anxiety, I ventured at length to write to Mr. Benseley, and informing him of my residence abroad, where I meant immediately to retire, requested the favour from time to time of hearing from him.
By his answer I was relieved from much misery, and spared the anguish of vague and fruitless conjecture. I was made acquainted with a thousand particulars, minute and interesting: I was satisfied in the point nearest my heart—the point indeed which had dictated my ungovernable and eager desire of information. I was informed of your secluded residence in the south of France, and my fervent and incessant prayers to heaven I found were at length answered:—remorse the

most poignant succeeded to errors which—
She stopped for a moment, unable to proceed; but recovering herself—during this correspondence, continued she, which regularly subsisted between Mr. Benseley and myself till within a fortnight of his death, I was minutely informed, according to my most earnest request, of every particular of your manner of life, your solitude, your amusements, and the plan of education that had been adopted. All, all was interesting to me; and this singular participation in your welfare gave an interest to my existence; and while I deplored the bar that for ever excluded all personal knowledge or intercourse between us, my heart strongly cherished and imbibed a warm and maternal affection, which was daily nourished and increased by the perusal of letters from B— with which the worthy Mr. Benseley, indulgent

to my secret wishes though not to my avowed request, often favoured me. These letters, dated from your solitary abode in Languedoc, written with all the enthusiasm of paternal admiration and affection, repeated with unwearied delight the virtues, the talents, and accomplishments of his amiable daughters; and though merely designed for the friendly eye of Mr. Benseley, were faithfully in secret transmitted to me. The returning consolation these epistles indicated thro' the means of his beloved children, to spirits worn out by agonizing repentance and remorse, began at length to afford comfort to mine, and blessing heaven for having touched a heart where virtue though obscured never was eradicated, I in my distant seclusion partook of his revived though dejected tranquillity, and bending with due humility under the just and aweful dispensations of Providence, strove with augmented fortitude to submit

to evils to which it had pleased heaven to grant some alleviation.
In this way many years rolled on: in compliance with the earnest entreaties of a friend, who partook of my retirement and shared my sorrows, I consented to admit the society of a few chosen acquaintances, and at length began to experience the calm tranquillity, which, where religion possesses a due influence over a mind unburthened with the acute sensations of self reproach, humility and submission always in some measure restore: yet still the source, after heaven, from whence my chief comfort flowed, was the frequent and interesting intelligence which Mr. Benseley's letters, enclosing others from the quiet retreat at B—, often afforded me; till in October last, when a packet from my good friend, which had been anxiously expected for an unusual length of time, was put into my hands. The seal announced

fatal news, and my heart with secret apprehensions died within me.
Though the most romantic flight of imagination, continued this amiable woman, sighing with a bitterness that seemed to rend her bosom, never flattered me with the possibility of more than merely knowing he lived, and the most miraculous fluctuation of human events could grant me nothing beyond what I at present enjoyed—the cold satisfaction of perusing letters neither addressed to myself nor intended for my view; though the hand of death could scarce place a bar more unsurmountable between us than that which already subsisted; yet to be told that death itself had divided us, overpowered me with a pang yet unfelt, the violence of which appeared astonishing even to myself.
Between those calamities, however, with which, by the common lot of mortality, we are overwhelmed, and those

which a chequered series of dismal and singular events have produced, a material difference must ever be felt. The lenient quality that time so powerfully possesses, in mitigating the asperities of the former, proves wholly ineffectual in those afflictions which disappointed affection or early mortifications have inflicted; and I confess this wound, though in the first moments of sorrow not inferior perhaps to any I had endured, reason and reflection much more speedily allayed; unlike the corroding sting which the memory of my former miseries perpetually renewed, a soothing and not unpleasing regret now rests on my mind, which, while it melts and subdues my heart, does not raise a blush for the unconquerable weakness it confesses.
This affecting conversation, to which tears on my sister's part and mine were the only interruption, and which made the eyes of our dear and amiable Lady

Aubrey overflow with a bitterness that almost wholly exhausted her, terrified me with the apprehension of her sinking wholly under her agitations. I entreated her to defer for the present all further discourse on this subject, and to allow of our leaving her. But to this she would not be persuaded to consent. My sorrows have been of such a nature, said she, that all communication of them is impossible; and confidence, a solace which except with my dear deceased friend Madam de St. Hillaire, I never could enjoy. A painful mixture of shame and pride, increased perhaps by early prosperity and indulgence, sealed my lips, and confined my sufferings to my own solitary and desolated bosom; how then can my children, my dear children, (repeated she, folding us alternately in her arms) deny me the satisfaction of giving vent to griefs in which their sympathetic hearts must feel a generous concern.

You may believe, Sophia, we returned the kind caresses of this amiable friend with all the enthusiastic warmth which a conduct so amiable, so truly great, could not fail to excite in circumstances so singularly interesting.
Lady Aubrey then proceeded to inform us, that Mr. Benseley had minutely acquainted her with all our intended schemes, and had with his usual kindness voluntarily promised, should his declining health permit of such a journey, to pay her a visit in the course of the following summer, attended by his wards; to whom this angelic woman was to have been personally introduced as a lady who honoured him with singular marks of friendship and regard, but without the slightest hint of any secret connection.
To this soothing scheme, said Lady Aubrey, which I had been unceasingly revolving in my mind how to accomplish, I returned a most grateful and glad

assent, and requested to know at what time you were expected in England. But alas! to this letter I received no answer. I wrote another, and was informed by a relation, who had opened it after Mr. Benseley's decease, that the worthy man was no more. It is not easy to express the anguish and disappointment I experienced on hearing this dismal intelligence. Tho' inured to mortification and regret, I found I had yet much to undergo ere I became callous to their attacks. This blow, by overturning the sole favourite plan on which I had built any remaining hopes of comfort, sunk me to the lowest state of despondency; and the loss of my invaluable friend, Madame de St. Hillaire, put the finishing stroke to my sufferings.
This last calamity pressed hard indeed. In all my other distresses, this beloved friend had been, under heaven, my chief support, and had in some measure supplied

the place of all I had lost. I had still a friend to love, a friend who returned my warm affection. An early separation from my relations in England, had kept me a stranger to all of them, my aunt, Lady Meredith excepted, and she I had known for too short a period to feel for her that attachment which now fills my heart. I was then berest of my last, my only friend. Ah! can human misery present a more dismal picture to a heart of sensibility, than the melancholy consideration that none exists to animate the feelings of fervent affection.
Still, however, the only form in which alleviation touched my bosom, was the hopes of one day meeting with you; and revolving on the means to procure myself this consolation, in some measure dissipated my gloomy reflections. I knew not where, or to whom to apply for information; and was in this state of melancholy and uncertainty, when the account

of my Lord Aubrey's illness and request to see me arrived. Painful as was the idea of revisiting England, I hesitated not instantly to comply: and my repugnance was in a great measure subdued, by the hopes of gaining some information relative to you, tho' to chance alone I could owe the intelligence, Little likelihood indeed remained of success. A cruel peculiarity of circumstances deprived me of any light to guide my researches, and an open and avowed pursuit was precluded me. Yet the possibility soothed and supported my spirits; and it was not till I had been some weeks in London, that I found how totally impracticable it was to discover a private family whose names must ever be carefully guarded from my ears. My own maid, who had been with me from my early youth, I ventured to entrust with the enquiry, and two different channels of information occurred; by means of Lady

Linrose's servants, with one of whom she was acquainted; and if this failed, Mr. Benseley's relation might be applied to; but that gentleman I found was lately gone to Holland; and when I addressed myself by letter to him on the subject, he assured me in answer that the ladies names were as wholly unknown to him as was their abode; and Lady Linrose's maid also informed mine that she did not believe two such relations were expected by the family, nor had she learnt that any account of them had been received.
Worn out by successive disappointments, I could only conjecture that you were still in Languedoc; and unwillingly constrained to relinquish this pursuit, I prepared myself for taking possession of my country residence according to the dying request of Lord Aubrey, where I was anxious to find myself calmly settled. Fatigued with the civilities and attentions paid me by a numerous class of distant

relations and family acquaintance, who crowded on me immediately on my arrival, I determined to set out for Aubrey Castle even at that unpropitious season of the year, in defiance of sundry remonstrances from my friends, and contrary to the wishes of my kind aunt, who promised to follow when the spring was further advanced. How shall I ever bless this resolution, concluded Lady Aubrey, how fervently shall my grateful prayers ascend to the Almighty, for having inspired a measure from which I have derived such unspeakable comfort.
Shall not we too bless heaven, cried I, every hour of our lives, for the fortunate and providential reconnoitre. Ah! had we known, while we remained in that inhospitable city disowned and unfriended—had we but suspected that it contained one kind, invaluable friend, who could have participated in our difficulties, soothed our disappointments, and





aided us with comfort and advice, what an altered aspect must it not have worn. Lady Aubrey's kind interest would have compensated for every mortification, her friendship would have supported us under every reverse, and blessed in her society, the cruelty of our relations would have lost the severe pang it inflicted.
MAY 1.
Lady Aubrey finds herself now so much recovered, that the physicians declare their attendance no longer necessary, and she is now left to Mr. Rudder's care, who generally visits her twice a day.
I have insisted on attending her constantly; and instead of ceremoniously refusing my assistance, she receives it with undisguised pleasure, and regards my solicitude and anxiety with a warmth of gratitude which would a thousand times

repay my fatigues, were they even as severe as she perpetually imagines them to be; but the permission of being constantly with her, is a privilege and indulgence which I would not for the world relinquish. She is still very weak; and I am so peremptory in the duties of my office as nurse, that I will not allow of her conversing on subjects which I know must agitate and affect her. This morning, however, she entreated me to acquaint her where and in what manner we had lived since our arrival in England, and I gave her a brief account of our situation. This I could not possibly contrive to do, without touching on our disappointment in regard to Lord Belmont: but I passed over it as slightly as was in my power. She sighed bitterly however at my relation: alas! said she, how differently men feel: even in his place I should have taken you with delight to my bosom.

In talking of pecuniary matters, I mentioned my obligations to Mr. Roatsley. Yet, Sophia, dearly as I love and respect Lady Aubrey, I could not confess more. Shame tied my tongue, and my cheeks even glowed on repeating his name. I have heard a great character of that young man abroad, said she. He spent some weeks at Lisle, where he was much caressed and admired; but as I never quitted my home, and never enlarged the private circle who sometimes favoured me with their visits, I was spared all chance of meeting with him.
Adieu. H. SEYMOUR.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
MAY 13.
LADY Meredith left us some days ago. Her old man at home, she said, would be impatient for her return, and she was sensible to what admirable hands she entrusted the care of her dear niece's health. The interval since I last wrote, has indeed produced a change so favourable in Lady Aubrey's health, that she is able to join us in the parlour; and finds herself so well, that she talks of leaving Hubert Hill in a few days. This resolution we have all combated with all the arguments and entreaties possible; but

she tells us seriously that she really longs to find herself tranquilly established in her new residence; and we have at length, tho' with great unwillingness, given up our importunities.
You may believe I readily and joyfully consented to her earnest request of accompanying her to Aubrey Castle, where Mr. and Mrs. Howard are to follow when some little business which at present detains the former here is concluded.
MAY 20.
I am still at Hubert Hill. Our beloved Lady Aubrey set off this morning by herself. This change in our plans is occasioned by an indisposition which has seized my sister, and which, without being in the least alarming, renders her low spirited and opprest. I should have been uneasy at leaving her in her present

situation; and Lady Aubrey, had I inclined, would not have desired it. She has contented herself therefore with exacting Mr. Howard's promise to carry us both to her in a short time, when his business is finished and my sister's health re-established.
Short as is to be this interval of absence, we did not separate without tears. How gracious, Sophia, have been the dispensations of Providence towards us: when we have imagined ourselves deserted by the whole world, Mr. Howard excepted, and felt ourselves outcasts from our family, with what augmented relish must we not enjoy the soothing idea of possessing a tender and invaluable friend, who gratifies our hearts every moment with new proofs of attachment, and to whom our tenderness and regard are equally essential. What a new source of happiness has this unexpected connexion produced.

JUNE 3.
Mr. Howard, who is ever anxious to afford us such amusements as the uniformity of our tranquil stile of life admits, asked me on Tuesday morning if I chose to accompany him in an excursion on horseback towards a part of the country that was entirely new to me, and beautifully romantic. I gladly consented; but just as we were equipt for our little excursion, his attorney from town arrived on business, and perceiving how inconvenient his leaving home must prove, I insisted on prosecuting my expedition without him; and merely taking old James the gardener, who has past his days in the county, as my escort.
Fanny was lazy, and would not be persuaded to stir from her work; so I set off about eleven, the morning being delicious

for the season, eager to explore some particular picturesque scenes which Mr. Howard had described as admirable subjects for my pencil.
The country around was so singularly beautiful, that I was tempted to go on further than I at first intended; for as we are regular people at Hubert Hill, and keep early hours, I wished to be home by two o'clock; but the sight of a very fine country seat at no great distance induced me to prolong my ride, from the desire of admiring it on a nearer view.
I had just turned the wall of a park that surrounded a house of a very noble appearance, which James, to whom I applied for information, acquainted me was called Holtenham Abbey, when a party of gentlemen and ladies issuing from a gate, with the intention of crossing the road, made my mare plunge, and unable to recover my seat, I was

thrown from it with such violence that screams resounded from every voice.
Happily I did not suffer from any intanglement with the stirrup or accoutrements, and felt at the moment no other bad consequences from the fall, than the painful one of confusion at having so many people to witness this awkward accident, added to that dismay which the sudden shock unavoidably occasioned me.
I believe half a dozen gentlemen at least flew instantly to my assistance, to raise me from the ground, where, confounded and without motion, I lay for some moments. Good heavens, Madam, exclaimed they all, one after another, how do you find yourself? I hope you are not hurt? Where have you suffered? and the rest of the company, who seemed dispersed in walking parties of two or three together, just then coming up, I felt myself nearly as severely stunned by the successive repetitions of the same enquiries,

to which at first I was unable to make any reply, as I was by the fall itself. Smelling bottles were presented me from all quarters; yet some little time elapsed before I could even recollect myself sufficiently to express my thanks for the kindness and humanity of their solicitude.
An elderly lady, who appeared particularly concerned for me, and who seemed to be owner of the noble mansion, insisted, the moment I was a little recovered, on having me conveyed into the house, from which an avenue of no great length only divided us; and asked me, with much civility and tenderness, if I found it impossible with assistance to walk towards it.
Happy to escape from the company, and embarrassed by the curiosity and notice I excited, I thankfully accepted this obliging offer, and made a feeble attempt to move forward.

Pray allow me the honour of conducting you, said a young man, who had obliged me to lean on his arm, but whose face from perturbation I had not yet distinguished: the voice, however, was familiar to my ears, and on regarding him I recollected my assistant to be Captain Bradshaw, the friend of Roatsley, against whom, notwithstanding that circumstance, I had conceived no small degree of prejudice, from causes which you will I am certain recollect.
At the instant I cast my eyes on him, Miss Seymour, I believe, said he, and bowed with a diffidence that testified he had not forgotten the self-introduction to which he owed the acquaintance.
The old lady then led the way; and I slowly followed, supported by Mr. Bradshaw, without whose assistance I now found I should have been unable to have stirred, from a severe sprain in my foot. Indeed so painful did it feel, that had not

my anxiety to escape from observation supplied me with fortitude to endure the uneasiness that walking occasioned, I should have concluded moving impossible.
Most of the ladies seemed inclined to accompany us, tho' I very earnestly entreated that I might not be the means of interrupting their walk. My worthy patroness however perceiving their intended civility considerably increased my perplexity, immediately said, pray ladies and gentlemen don't let this accident interfere with your rambles: since it has not, thank heaven, turned out very unhappily, Mr. Bradshaw and I shall attend the young lady; and saying this, she made a motion with her hand, which obliged the whole party, tho' with seeming reluctance, to leave us; for so powerfully does curiosity and the love of novelty prevail in most dispositions, that perceiving I was not a severe sufferer from the accident,

the company appeared to regard it as a little adventure, the conclusion of which they should not have been sorry to have witnessed.
When we reached the house, at which I did not arrive without considerable difficulty, the door was opened by a footman, who ushered us into a superb parlour, where a young lady apparently of about seventeen, who might have sat for the picture of Hebe, was placed by the fire with a book in her hand.
She seemed to have been confined by some slight ailment, having a large cap and hood tied carelessly under her chin.
I have brought you an unfortunate invalid, Miss Lucy, cried my conductress, and explained my accident in a few words, while Mr. Bradshaw flew to procure me a glass of cold water.
Good God, Madam, what a shocking accident! cried the young lady with much kindness. How dreadfully pale

you look: pray where are you hurt? I hope not severely? and no sooner had I acknowledged that I suspected my foot had been slightly dislocated, than she insisted on supporting me into her dressing room; where, while the lady of the house dispatched a servant for a neighbouring surgeon, this amiable stranger assisted her maid in chafing my foot with Goulard and water to allay the swelling, which had increased rapidly from the effort of walking.
Lady Mary, for so I found this hospitable old lady was called, ordered wine and cordials of all kinds to be instantly brought, which she insisted on administering to me with a benevolence that displayed her character in a point of view so humane as to give me the most favourable opinion of her heart. Her young friend was if possible still more kind and equally anxious to provide every thing for my ease and comfort. My foot

however grew more uneasy, and soon became so swelled as to be perfectly stiff and extremely painful.
Finding myself worse, I was apprehensive of being laid up with this stranger family, which spite of their civility and goodness might have proved as inconvenient for them as disagreeable to myself: I made therefore as light of the accident as I possibly could; assured the ladies it was quite trifling, and insisted on remounting my mare and returning home; promising to walk her gently, and pleading the terror my sister must endure at my unaccountable length of absence.
The surgeon made his appearance just as I spoke, and joined the ladies in regarding this proposal as absolute frenzy. There is no treating casualties of such a nature in this manner, Madam, said he, with much pomposity, and though it is to be hoped that ten days confinement, with proper care, may effect a cure, as

many weeks, if you are imprudent, may not set you again on foot.
If I was your father or mother, my dear Madam, cried Lady Mary, or any relation who possessed authority or influence over you, I should not only now, but for ever prohibit your again venturing on the back of that fiery, dangerous animal. I can no way reconcile myself, added she, to the present prevailing mode of ladies becoming professed jockies; an unaccountable passion for the masculine accomplishment of horsemanship seems now a days to have extended even to our sex, and it must certainly be acknowledged the least graceful and most absurd custom that fashion ever introduced among females. I am sure it persuades many a timid girl to brave dangers from which, under any other form, she would shrink with terror: but the ton is not only a sufficient apology for such enterprizes, but a support likewise. Excuse the freedom

of my observation, dear Madam, continued she with a good humoured smile, and pray give me leave to send to inform your friends that you are safe and in good hands.
I returned a thousand thanks to Lady Mary for her benevolent civilities; but entreated she would not insist on my stay as I acknowledged myself extremely anxious to get home, and assured her there was not the slightest probable danger in my returning on horseback, as my mare was remarkably safe, and my fall had merely resulted from the sudden appearance of some of the company, which had startled her.
As to your going on horseback, cried she, pray talk of it no more, for indeed you must not think of such imprudence. However, since you are so very eager to leave us, I really wish it was in my power to contrive your removal in the way that would the least subject you to

inconvenience and uneasiness; but unfortunately I have at present no carriage to offer you; my niece's chariot requiring some alterations, was left behind us in town, so that for some weeks we shall have no equipage but my coach, which a lady, who is just now my guest, got this morning to pay a visit in the neighbourhood, and I am really uncertain whether or not she will be home till the evening. Pray, my dear, turning to her young friend, is there any hopes, think you, that Lady Linrose will behave better than her promise, and return to us before dinner.
Conceive my regret and astonishment, Sophia, at the sound of a name I so little expected to hear, and imagine to yourself my concern upon finding there was so much probability of my meeting with her Ladyship, which her return every instant might subject me to; a mortification which of all things on earth I most

wished to avoid. I was thunderstruck on perceiving myself plunged into a situation so awkward, and changed colour so rapidly, that had not the ladies been happily otherwise engaged, they must have remarked my emotion.
I am indeed afraid, Madam, replied Miss Lucy, that my mother's return will hardly leave time sufficient for the young lady's removal this evening; for you know Mrs. Pelcourt and she are old friends; they must always have a long chat when they meet, and I make no doubt that if she insists on it, my mother will pass the day with her.
Her mother. Here was a fresh surprise, which wholly disconcerted me. To find myself all at once involved in difficulties so singular and unlooked for, surrounded by relations who had behaved so unworthily by me, and who must feel themselves, when they made the discovery, so ashamed, so vexed at the reconnoitre,

threw me into a confusion and perplexity not to be expressed; and the idea that it was not impossible but Roatsley himself might be of the party, put the finishing stroke to my embarrassment.
You will ask, I know, Sophia, why I, who was on this occasion the suffering person, who had done no injury to Lady Linrose, and who had no cause to blush for my conduct towards her or her family, should undergo such apprehensions at the thoughts of seeing her:—apprehensions that ought only to have attended the consciousness of misconduct. I own there might have been more spirit perhaps in braving than in yielding to my present feelings; but the certainty of plunging a whole family into confusion was by no means either soothihg to my pride or gratifying to my resentment. I felt myself an unwelcome intruder, who was about to create disturbance and uneasiness, and I sunk under the dread of the scene that awaited me.

Come, dear Madam, cried Lady Mary, finding I was silent, this day at least you must be contented to remain my guest: to-morrow, if you continue thus impatient, my carriage shall attend your commands; but in the mean time pray allow me to ask whither the message shall be directed with the assurances of your safety?
You are all goodness, Madam, said I at length, and I am truly ashamed of appearing thus obstinate and ungrateful; but indeed business of real moment, business of the last importance, renders my absence from home so particularly unfortunate, that my stay is impossible.
I spoke with an energy that I believe surprised them, and must have surmounted all opposition had my removal been practicable.
Since the lady is so eager to be gone, said the surgeon, I think she might be conveyed with tolerable safety in a coach,

where her leg might be extended at ease on the opposite seat; but as for any other mode of travelling, particularly on horseback, that, Madam, addressing himself to me with much importance, you would find not merely inconvenient but painful in the extreme, and really when patients refuse to be directed by their medical attendants, they undoubtedly cannot become responsible for the consequences of imprudence.
The awkwardness of my situation giving defiance to all alarm, I was beyond measure provoked with the pedantic parade of this man, who made my determination to depart appear still more stubborn and unaccountable: but the moment he left the room, I enquired, tho' with many expressions of gratitude and obligation, if a carriage could not be procured from the neighbouring village.
It is a poor little place, answered Lady Mary, and boasts of no conveyance beyond

a cart. I believe a hired chaise might indeed be had from N—; but 'tis twelve miles distant, and it must be so late before it could arrive, that I should imagine a few hours could make little difference. 'Tis already almost two; and before a servant could go and return, the night must be far advanced: at all events to-morrow you shall have my coach; and tho' I ought to ask pardon for importuning you so much, I must confess that I secretly suspect this business of importance to be nothing more than a pretext under which you wish to relieve the fears of your family in person. Now, my dear Madam, be assured I shall be most happy to be favoured with the company of any of your friends who on this occasion may choose to visit you, and as a message to that effect can be instantly dispatched by your own servant, some of your family will join you in a few hours.
This is a plan, cried Miss Lucy with

the utmost kindness, which cannot fail to render you perfectly at ease; so do pray, dear Madam, be prevailed with at least to continue with us till to-morrow.
My situation became now more distressing than ever. I at last determined on dispatching James in all haste to Hubert Hill, with orders instantly to return with Mr. Howard's one horse chair, and this plan I flattered myself would save me the mortification of the impending meeting, as in all likelihood it would arrive before Lady Linrose returned from her visit.
Yet a thousand different reasons rendered this scheme, tho' the best I could devise at the time, defective and uncomfortable. Lady Linrose I might by this means avoid; but her son might still be of the party; he, and the rest of the family, I might still encounter; and the late pecuniary transactions that had taken place since we last met, the indigent light in which I had been represented to

him, and the pride and incivility of his behaviour on the discovery he had so recently made, all conspired to make me wish myself in any quarter of the globe at that instant rather than under the same roof with him. A confusion of painful and even opposite sensations agitated and perplexed me, while I felt proud, piqued, and displeased. I was sunk, humbled, and dejected, and tears, owing their source less to mortification than sensibility, threatened every moment to burst from my eyes.
This plan, however, I now discovered with bitter dismay, was impracticable, for the day had suddenly changed it's aspect, and it rained with great violence; and tho' I would with pleasure have defied any inconveniency, I knew not how to insist further on departing without incurring the imputation of being self-willed and capricious. The weather equally prohibited every mode of travelling, excepting

that which was not to be procured; therefore all resistance was at an end; and it only remained that I should endeavour to comply with a good grace to this cruel necessity. My countenance, I am afraid, betrayed my feelings; for my two amiable companions joined in entreating me to make myself easy, and besought me to lose no time in dispatching my servant home with Lady Mary's kind message to my friends.
Just as they spoke, two ladies entered the dressing room. May I use the freedom to enquire for the young lady, said one of them, (whom I recollected to have been particularly obliging and attentive to me at the moment of my accident,) I was sorry to learn below that it had been found necessary to call a surgeon.
His attendance Madam, answered I, was wholly unnecessary, as a slight sprain is all the inconvenience my fall has occasioned; and I am sure I ought not to regret

an accident to which I owe so much kindness and civility.
Indeed I am extremely sorry you have been so unfortunate, returned she; tho' we have profited so much from the event, that if it is only the means of confining you with us for some little time, we shall find difficulty enough in regretting it.
I endeavoured to return an answer expressive of my satisfaction on having encountered a family whose humanity did so much honour to their characters; but my mind was uneasy, and I fear my looks contradicted my words.
Yes, cried Lady Mary, interrupting, me, yet you were so extremely unwilling to trust yourself, tho' but for a single night, with this same hospitable family, that do you know, niece, our invalid insisted on returning upon the identical horse that gave us all this alarm, in spite of the surgeon's denunciation against so imprudent a scheme.

Good heavens! dear Madam, what an idea! But I hope you have entirely given up all thoughts of such a plan.
Before I proceed, however, in my account of this formidable day, I must interrupt the present conversation by giving you a description of this lady, whose manners and conversation appear so affable and engaging. I told you there were two who entered together; but the friend who accompanied this engaging young lady, and on whose arm she hung, was remarkable for nothing but an air of sycophantish obsequiousness, which instantly informed me she resided in the family in the comfortable capacity of an humble friend.
The young lady herself appeared about twenty. Her extreme height, which rendered her figure at first sight remarkable, had not imbibed the slightest degree of that awkwardness which often in very tall people precludes grace; on the contrary,

her form was uncommonly elegant, and her features, tho' not so regular on examination as a first glance lead me to conclude, being embellished by a very beautiful complexion, and her shape improved by an easy air, fully entitled her to the encomium of being what is generally esteemed a prodigious fine woman. You will presently discover, Sophia, why my pen is so minute in it's descriptions.
I was much embarrassed how to make an adequate return to so much civility, and yet retain in my own option the power of departing should an opportunity offer.
I hope you will believe Ladies, said I at length, that on any other occasion I should have been beyond measure gratified with an opportunity of cultivating an acquaintance, which even by anticipation gives me the most sincere pleasure; but this day my leaving home is so singularly inconvenient, that I must confess I

shall not be quite at ease till I find myself there; and if the evening improves, I hope you will neither conclude me ungrateful nor obstinate, if I still persist in my first intentions. Hubert Hill is not, by my servant's account, above seven or eight miles distant, and I mean to send him off directly with orders to return with Mr. Howard's little carriage, which if the afternoon proves tolerable, is a very easy conveyance.
Oh no doubt he will send his coach for you, cried the young lady. But are you quite determined to leave us?
Mr. Howard? said Lady Mary. I have the pleasure of knowing him well, and an excellent man he is. I was indeed told that he had lately entered into the married state, but I did not know how fortunate he had been.
Perceiving her mistake, I presently undeceived her by saying that my sister was equally so in her union with a man of his singular worth.

I make no doubt of it, returned she: Mr. Howard is a character of uncommon merit, whose connexion must confer happiness on any family with whom he is allied. I had at all events intended myself the honour of waiting upon him and his new married lady, but I shall now have an additional motive.
Both Mr. Howard and my sister, I told her, would be much flattered with the intended favour; and added, that my brother's one horse chair would prove a safe and comfortable conveyance for my return, as in spite of my apparent courage I felt no inclination to venture on horseback, since a more agreeable method of getting home could be adopted.
It was wonderful to observe the sudden change which this last speech effected upon the manners of the young lady whose affability had hitherto appeared so engaging. An expression of surprise, which her countenance betrayed, might

have passed unnoticed, as also the observation of her companion, who had not as yet articulated one syllable, but had remained in respectful silence till a faint smile from her young patroness induced her to say, truly it may prove a very safe, but surely it can't prove a very comfortable conveyance in such an evening as this promises to be.
The alteration which took place in the behaviour of the other, soon after convinced me I had considerably abated of my importance in her eyes, from being known. She immediately walked towards the window; her friend followed, and they whispered together some minutes, while the bell summoned Miss Lucy's maid to dispatch James to Hubert Hill.
So tis only the people at the little white house on the hill, said the young lady in a low voice which I could distinctly overhear while the message was transacting;

her friend replied with so much caution that I could only distinguish the words, quite private sort of people, I assure your Ladyship.
Lady Mary looked towards them as if uneasy at their behaviour, and addressing herself to her niece, endeavoured to engage her in general conversation: but evidently undeceived as to the fancied importance of the visitor, her looks of civility and expressions of kindness were converted into silent indifference and haughty unconcern; and as if her curiosity had been now thoroughly satisfied, she soon after left the room.
Well, Miss Seymour, cried Lady Mary, whether you leave us or not, pray, while we have the pleasure of your company, don't let us deprive the rest of my guests of partaking of it. I hope you are able to walk into the next room.
The amiable Miss Dudley then insisting that I should take the assistance of

her arm, I made shift, tho' with no small degree of pain, to walk into the drawing room, which was luckily on the same floor.
When we entered, we found several gentlemen and ladies differently employed: the young lady before mentioned was placed at the harpsichord, surrounded by most of the former, whom she seemed enchanting by the divine power of music. Our appearance interrupted her for a moment; but after slightly bowing, she continued her concerto.
The gentlemen all advanced, and made their enquiries after me with great politeness. I cast my eyes over them with an anxious look, and a sensation of something not unlike disappointment, on perceiving that Roatsley was not of the party, discovered to me that I should not have been quite so sorry to have beheld him as I had imagined.
Captain Bradshaw, the only person in

company whom till that morning I had ever set eyes on, appeared to regard himself as an acquaintance, and paid me particular attention. Ah, Sophia! how do trifles, as I have more than once observed, often influence us. This young man, against whom I had cherished no small degree of dislike, now no longer appeared what I used formerly to consider him. Nothing had occurred to alter my prejudice; yet it was already gone. I could regard him only as the friend of Roatsley; as his friend, I was convinced he must have merit; and the attentions of that friend could not but prove agreeable to me.
The certainty too of making him abjure his injurious opinion of me, gratified my pride, and the idea, supposing Roatsley was not at Holtenham, that on their next meeting Captain Bradshaw might chance to mention me to him, gave life to my conversation, even while

my spirits were every moment sinking under the apprehension of the return of Lady Linrose.
I could not help feeling confounded, when Miss Lucy Dudley, taking her reference from Mr. Bradshaw, called me occasionally Miss Seymour. The name, it is true, could lead to nothing, yet the certainty that she must have heard of me under that appellation confused me.
Oh! with what pleasure did I contemplate the countenance of the only female relation, my sister excepted, whom I ever recollect to have seen, and how did I trace all the amiable qualities in its expression which Miss Parsons's letter lead me to expect. Miss Jenny kindly tells me, that a family likeness between her features and mine augmented the partiality she was inclined to feel for her. Ah! Sophia! do you imagine that a strong and remarkable resemblance to her brother diminished the affection I was disposed

to retain for her, from the moment she was introduced to me.
The instant I was presented to her, I thought I remembered having seen her before; but it was not immediately that I recollected her to be the young lady who once occasioned me a pang, (I am sorry to confess it,) not unlike jealousy on perceiving her seated next her brother at the Opera, the evident object of his peculiar regard. There is the strongest similarity in the tones of their voices, which are both uncommonly pleasing, and something even in their turn of expression so much alike, that the sweet Lucy recalled her brother every instant to my mind. Indeed, independent of this prepossession, her countenance and manners convey an idea of such infinite sweetness and sensibility, that I think at all times I must have been partial to her.
She had placed herself on the sopha by me; but in spite of her evident wish to

lessen the awkwardness of my situation, surrounded by a large company to whom but two hours before I had been accidentally introduced, and not one of whose names, (Captain Bradshaw's excepted,) I even knew, you may believe the conversation was not kept up without visible difficulty.
At this time the young lady, before so particularly described, sat at her harpsichord rattling over some little cotillion tunes, and occasionally interrupting herself to laugh and chat with several gentlemen who leant over her chair. Indeed I soon perceived the music was only a pretence to render the conversation, of which the poor stranger was evidently the topic, less remarked. She often looked at me herself, and carried the eyes of the gentlemen to examine me, while she continued her discourse in a half whisper, which the jumbling of the keys prevented my overhearing.

She appeared in great spirits; but an affectation too visible in every motion destroyed at least to me the natural grace of her appearance. I began to suspect she might be Miss Dudley; which idea prevented me from gratifying my curiosity by means of her sister, and I employed myself ineffectually in trying to discover a resemblance in her features either to those of Miss Lucy or her brother.
At length,however, on that young lady's being called to the end of the room to examine some music, I enquired of Captain Bradshaw the name of the lady at the harpsichord; adding, I was so singularly situated as to be a stranger to the whole company.
Is it possible you should be ignorant of it, said he in a tone of surprise. It is the celebrated and admired Lady Elizabeth Sedley, whom I am certain you must at least have heard of often.

Sophia, conceive, if you can, my feelings at this information. Ah! no! it is impossible: for except in a similar situation, they are not to be conceived. My heart beat violently, even while a sudden faintness came over me, and I fear my agitation must have been too apparent, for Miss Lucy just then returning to her seat, said with much sweetness—I am afraid, Miss Seymour, your foot is more uneasy than you will own, for you look extremely pale; and Mr. Bradshaw fixed his eyes on me with a look of investigation that soon changed my complexion from the palid to a deeper dye.
The gentlemen now approaching the sopha, the harpsichord seemed deserted; and so I imagine thought Lady Elizabeth, for advancing towards us, she called out in a tone of careless familiarity, I am afraid, Miss Seymour, this will be a miserable afternoon for your excursion in the one horse chair, for it rains extremely hard.

The voice in which she pronounced these words let me into a secret that I had before half suspected, viz. that the meanness of my equipage had so much lowered me in her Ladyship's estimation, as to produce the change in her manner for which I had not been able to assign any other motive.
I know not whether Miss Dudley felt the indelicacy of her behaviour, but she immediately said, it is indeed extremely unfortunate, since Miss Seymour is so anxious to go, that Mamma should have occupied Lady Mary's coach to-day; for these little carriages, tho' mighty pleasant in fine weather, are not well adapted for rain.
Oh in such an evening the thing is impossible, cried all the gentlemen at once. Miss Seymour cannot surely think of it.
It rained indeed harder than ever; and I was truly provoked by a change of weather so teizing and unlucky. My

foot was painful, my mind uneasy, I required rest for both, and here I was not likely to enjoy ease in any form.
A carriage was soon after heard driving up to the door, and my heart panted with expectation. I was convinced it was Mr. Roatsley, and no longer harboured a doubt when I heard Mr. Bradshaw call out, I dare say it is Roatsley, and instantly went out to meet him.
My perturbation, however, was not of long continuance; for this speech convinced me that tho' he might be expected he made not one of the family; and presently after Mr. Bradshaw returned, accompanied by Sir Edward Sudbury.
He met with a very gracious reception from the whole company, particularly from Lady Elizabeth, who seemed much pleased by his entrance. As he did not immediately recognize me amongst so large a company, I began to imagine that perhaps he designed to conduct himself

with a prudent reserve; and recollecting his advances in town, which had been interrupted by my departure, now absence had probably cooled his flame, he might incline to keep at a distance and withdraw his notice by degrees.
I soon found, however, how unjust was this surmise, when Sir Edward, discovering me, approached with his usual modesty and politeness, a glow of satisfaction being visible on his countenance.
He enquired with anxiety after my health, then for my sister and Mr. Howard, and regretted in strong terms my unexpected departure from town, which he said had astonished him, as he had no doubt of finding me at Mrs. Hindon's on his return from a short visit he had made in the country about that time.
Dinner was soon after announced; and tho' with pain I walked into the parlour, supported by the arm of the sweet Lucy, who gaily ordered all the gentlemen to

depart before us, and resolutely refused all their offers of assisting me.
She kindly placed herself next me at table; and Sir Edward, though Lady Elizabeth in a manner invited him to go to the other side by herself, contrived to seat himself on my other hand. This little mortification by no means softened the hauteur of her behaviour to me; on the contrary, from the moment she remarked Sir Edward's assiduities, her countenance betrayed a scornful displeasure, but ill concealed under the mask of neglect and indifference.
As the evening advanced, I grew more engrossed with the expectation of seeing Lady Linrose; and about eight her Ladyship entered the drawing room, accompanied by her eldest daughter.
I easily recollected the face that had been pointed out to me at the Opera. It's expression, however, was much changed. The sour severity of her aspect

had now entirely given place to smiles, good humour, and condescension; and though I could not wholly divert myself of the prejudice of my first prepossession, I had at least the impartiality to condemn myself for it.
I hope you did not wait dinner for me, Lady Mary, cried she, after the first compliments were over, for my good friend was rather indisposed, and so anxious for my stay, that I found it would have been unkind to have refused.
I did not expect your Ladyship, returned Lady Mary, and now that you are returned I ought not to regret your absence, as to that alone I owe the company of another visitor, who has only favoured me with it because my coach was not to be had to carry her home. Pray give me leave, Miss Seymour, added she, to have the pleasure of introducing you to Lady Linrose.
I coloured at the introduction. But

Lady Linrose, with much politeness and no change of countenance, said she should be happy to have the honour of knowing me, and hoped her having the carriage had been no very material inconvenience to me.
Miss Dudley, however, to whom I underwent the same ceremony, only half bowing to my curtsey, stared me in the face with evident curiosity, and a look of supercilious ease which wholly disconcerted me.
She is by no means plain; but a look of conscious superiority renders her features determinedly unpleasing.
My accident, for which Lady Linrose testified much regret and concern, furnished conversation for the first quarter of an hour: but her open and unreserved affability immediately convinced me that no suspicion had arisen in her mind on hearing my name, and her manner was so totally opposite from what I expected

to have found it, that in spite of my long cherished resentment I could not avoid feeling delighted to perceive the mother of Roatsley so much more amiable than I had conceived possible.
Relieved from my alarm of being known, I flattered myself I should soon grow more composed: but ah! Sophia, remained there not yet sufficient to disturb and distress me? Lady Elizabeth! to meet with her, and in a party so gay, where the relations on both sides seemed met to rejoice over the approaching union which was soon to cement their friendship and intimacy by still stronger ties! Oh how sunk, dejected, and dispirited did I feel.
The company were not yet sat down to cards, but continued chatting during a short interval which succeeded to the entrance of Lady Linrose and her daughter, when the door opened, and Mr. Howard, who anxious to relieve Fanny's

apprehensions, had set off in defiance of the inclemency of the evening, was announced.
Lady Mary received him with the kindness and familiarity due to an old friend, (for I find they have been long acquainted), and congratulated him on my fa•ety, which I give you my word, said she, you chiefly owe to me; for so eager was Miss Seymour to return home, that I was obliged to exert the authority which above forty years seniority has given me over her, to prevent her risking her neck upon that horrid horse of your's, which I hope you will dispose of in all haste.
My joy at seeing Mr. Howard, who was equally delighted to find me so slightly hurt, drove Lady Linrose for an instant from my mind. The idea soon recurred, however, when on turning round, I perceived the alteration which his unexpected appearance had produced

on her countenance. A look of gloom, astonishment, and vexation, were there predominant; and a flush of embarrassment tinged her cheeks. The truth seemed at once to have flashed upon her mind. Mr. Howard, she well knew; and my name had been repeated to her so often from his lips, that no doubt could remain. She seemed for a moment confounded and irresolute, but on Lady Mary's presenting Mr. Howard to her, she appeared suddenly to recollect herself and received him as an utter stranger, whom she had never before beheld, with a cold formality not untinctured with hauteur.
He on his part, finding her design was to affect ignorance, bowed with polite distance, and continued to chat with his usual ease to Lady Mary.
From the moment of his appearance, Lady Linrose kept a profound silence. She often glanced upon me an eye of

scrutiny as if by stealth, and her looks were by no means expressive of satisfaction: but the instant I seemed to remark her notice, she withdrew it and employed herself very busily at her knitting, which she entangled and disentangled unceasingly with much ingenuity.
Mr. Howard, in spite of the most pressing entreaties, insisted on returning home, though the evening was damp and cold. I would have given the world to have accompanied him; but finding the proposal would be received with great opposition, I prevailed on myself to say nothing, Lady Mary promising herself to accompany me to Hubert Hill in the morning.
After he was gone, the company divided into little parties. Those who preferred cards, sat down to the card table, while most of the young people seemed more inclined to chat.
All the gentlemen, Sir Edward and

Captain Bradshaw excepted, flocked around Lady Elizabeth's chair. They seemed indeed most zealous in their devoirs, and attached themselves wholly to her; listening with delight to every little sally which levity drew from her lips, while she received their homage with a pride she took but little pains to conceal. Oh! my Sophia, from this severe expression, are you not afraid that my unfortunate partiality has given birth to the worst of passions, envy and injustice. Disappointment, by calling forth our powers of exertion, is generally thought to improve the heart; but I fear you will conclude my mortifications have had a very different effect on mine. Believe me, however, my dear, when I solemnly declare that those mean passions are far from having influenced me in my representation of Lady Elizabeth. Had her manners possessed that polished dignity, or her conversation that unassuming good

sense, which from the choice of Mr. Roatsley I could not but expect, be assured I should have admired with unprejudiced eyes the woman of his heart: but oh! how opposite did I conceive that woman to be from what I find her. How pleased, how gratified did she not seem with the flattery and attention of the gentlemen present; who really, as far as one day's acquaintance could enable me to judge, appeared uncommonly insipid in their conversation, and far from engaging in their address. But probably they suffered not a little from the comparison my thoughts were continually drawing between them and another, ah! how infinitely their superior.
Ought I not to regard this marriage as a material fault in Mr. Roatsley's character: for that his chief, if not his only aim in it is fortune, I cannot help being convinced; and is it not an unpardonable error to prize the advantages of splendour

so highly, and to hold domestic happiness in so low estimation. Yet I ought not to judge thus harshly. We know not a thousand circumstances which may render this match not only laudable but meritorious; and of Lady Elizabeth I merely form my opinion from the observation of a few hours, where the little defects of address must be supposed wholly to have influenced my judgment. Erroneous as this mode of conclusion may be, yet the manner so generally bespeaks the character, that where the one is informed and intelligent, the other seldom or never appears trifling or disgusting.
But to return to the company. Lady Linrose being engaged at whist, still preserved towards me the cold distance she had assumed since Mr. Howard's appearance, and addressed herself to me no more during the remainder of the evening. Her eldest daughter seemed languid and out of spirits, and at length

took up a book, in which however she only occasionally looked, often recurring to the investigation of my figure, which appeared much the most amusing employment of the two; for she examined me sometimes for minutes together with no great cordiality in her countenance, and with entire disregard to the uneasiness it gave me. Lady Elizabeth was soon persuaded to retire to the next apartment, where she was solicited to play on the organ, which induced almost all the company to follow her. Miss Lucy Dudley, however, seeing me disengaged and silent, kindly resumed her seat on a sopha; where, with Sir Edward and Mr. Bradshaw, we made a sort of distinct cotterie, and began to chat very agreeably together.
Lady Linrose, who appeared to remark with displeasure her daughter's attention to me, soon called her to look over her cards, and kept her by her side

the rest of the evening; and a message from the music room soon after requesting Sir Edward to accompany on the flute Lady Elizabeth's voice in a song, unwillingly obliging him to leave the drawing room, Mr. Bradshaw and I were left in a manner tete a tete on the sopha. I found him agreeable and intelligent, attended with a certain bluntness of manner which rather inspired the idea of sincerity than rudeness, and we soon entered into a most interesting conversation.
Pray, said he, may I ask your opinion of Lady Elizabeth. She is universally followed and admired; yet I cannot help suspecting that her splendid fortune and brilliant prospects have contributed full as much to place her so high in the lists of beauty as any intrinsic charms she possesses; but I make no doubt you will not agree in my opinion, for I know on this subject it is impossible you should talk according to conscience.

Why so, said I.
Because it is wholly but of nature for one fine woman to give her genuine sentiments of another.
Do you then imagine envy so universally prevalent.
By no means. I only believe that the terror of such an imputation induces every handsome female to bestow upon another encomiums infinitely beyond her private opinion.
To prove my sincerity, said I, I will acknowledge, that Lady Elizabeth, tho' undoubtedly a fine looking woman, is less so than from report I expected to find her.
Had she trusted to nature, returned he, she might have merited the appellation you give her; but affectation and coquetry will distort the finest features, and produce awkwardness where we ought to admire grace.
That the friend of Mr. Roatsley should

express to a stranger, with so little reserve, an opinion so unfavourable of the woman who was soon to be united to him, surprised me not a little, and I could only account for it by supposing that her coquetish behaviour had provoked him so much as to put him out of all patience and had rendered his prudence off its guard.
I thought, said I, all her little follies of that sort were soon to have a speedy conclusion.
Conclusion, repeated he, in a voice of undisguised displeasure; not so long as youth and good looks remain, I'll be sworn; at least if we may judge of the future by the present.
I thought Lady Elizabeth had been on the verge of matrimony, said I, with as much composure as I could assume, yet trembling to hear it confirmed from authority so indisputable.
And pray can you, Miss Seymour,

who have passed part of the winter in town, pretend to imagine that matrimony, to a vain woman, excludes the attentions of a crowd of followers.
Your reproof of my ignorance is just, said I, (attempting to smile, though inwardly depressed by an answer so unsatisfactory and evasive, and which yet tacitly acknowledged the truth of Lady Elizabeth's engagement) but I was little in company, had few acquaintance, and spent my time chiefly at home in a very sober domestic family.
Yes, we could not conceive where you had hid yourself, for you were to be seen no where. It was at one time concluded that you must have left town.
That was exactly the case, returned I.
Not exactly, for I think you did not go till the beginning of March.
I could not avoid being rather surprised, on finding Mr. Bradshaw, with whom I had had when in town not the

slightest intercourse or acquaintance, so well informed of my motions; and reading my thoughts from a transient expression in my countenance—you are astonished, said he, smiling, to find me so accurate in this point; but I believe you would be still more so were I to inform you how long I have had the honour of considering myself intimately acquainted with you, though entirely without your knowledge or participation.
I must confess my surprise, cried I, laughing, and also my regret, that I should have been so fortunate without knowing it.
O, in regard to Miss Seymour, I give you my word I am extremely intelligent.
I began faintly to suspect from whence this information had been derived, and to flatter myself that it might have owed its origin to Roatsley's solicitude. This idea produced an anxiety beyond measure potent, to draw some soothing particulars

from his friend; but as if eager to excite a curiosity be meant not to gratify—perhaps, cried he, you might be no less surprised were you to know that I was in constant pursuit of you all the beginning of the winter; nay, and what is yet more wonderful and perplexing, I do not claim either merit to myself or gratitude from you, for the indefatigable pains and industry I employed in hunting after you at every place of amusement where it was probable you might appear.
It is very wonderful indeed, cried I, secretly delighted, nor could I ever have suspected, stranger as I found myself in this country, that I possessed any friends sufficiently interested in me to be solicitous how or where I passed my time.
O, cried he with an investigating look that seemed to penetrate into what effect his words might produce, nature has been so bountifully profuse to some of her happy favourites, as to endow them

with the gift of creating friends by a coup d'oeil—friends, who exist but in their sight, who live but on their smiles, and who watch with unwearied patience and assiduity, every opportunity for a meeting which indulgent fortune may throw in their way: friends, who develop at one glance, and adore almost in an instant, those virtues and excellencies which in common mortals require intimacy, investigation, and length of time, to expand and discover themselves.
Vague as were these expressions, a dawning ray of hope led me to give them an interpretation so conscious, as covered me with blushes. I knew not what reply to make; and the earnest look with, which he evidently tried to develop my thoughts, completed my embarrassment.
I am quite in the dark, cried I at length, and cannot conceive at what you aim.
So I perceive, said he with a satyrical

smile; but I entreat that my words may not throw you into any perplexity. I should be miserable, were your rest tonight to be disturbed from a fruitless attempt to unriddle my mysterious oracles.
I believe my rest will not be easily interrupted this night, replied I with a careless air, for my fatigues, or rather my alarm, has exhausted me a good deal, and I feel quite drowsy and stupid.
Perceiving the gravity with which I spoke, Mr. Bradshaw instantly-assumed a more reserved behaviour, and shifting the discourse to other topics, I discovered that he had not gone into the country at the time I imagined, from the private conversation I overheard, nor for some weeks after. "I was several times under the apprehension of recruiting orders, said he, but received a longer reprieve than I had dared flatter myself with the hopes of obtaining.
The card party having now concluded

their rubbers, and Lady Elizabeth, with her suite of attendants, being returned into the drawing room, a period was put to our conversation. But it left the strongest impression on my mind, and at supper I could not help secretly wishing that Mr. Bradshaw might be placed next me. In this however I was disappointed; for Sir Edward betrayed an anxiety so eager to procure a seat next mine, that the other with a grave bow gave way to him.
At this little manoeuvre Lady Elizabeth appeared by no means pleased. Indeed nothing could be more pointed than the haughtiness of her manner to me the whole evening. A coquet, it would appear, expects the exclusive privilege of enjoying the homage of every man who beholds her; for tho' the rest of the gentlemen, Mr. Bradshaw excepted, attended her with the most zealous assiduity, the mortification she experienced in finding

this devotion was not unanimous, evidently hurt and corroded her. Whether the meanness of my equipage, and the humility of my abode, at the little whtie house on the hill, increased her indignation, I know not, but she regarded me with looks of contempt, and behaved to Sir Edward with so much childish ill humour, that I began at length to suspect some secret partiality must have produced a conduct for which mere selfish vanity seemed an inadequate cause.
This sullen behaviour of Lady Elizabeth, the cold distance of Lady Linrose, and the imperious disregard of her eldest daughter, added to my being conscious how disagreeable my presence, tho' from very different motives, must prove to them all, made me feel beyond measure uncomfortable; and the painful weight which lay heavy at my heart, and wholly depressed my spirits, made Sir Edward's conversation not merely unpleasant but

irksome to me; especially as my suspicion of Lady Elizabeth's attachment was strengthened and confirmed every instant by her increasing uneasiness. When I considered however how inferior Sir Edward was in all points to his competitor, it was not possible for me to conceive that caprice, or folly itself, could be blind to the striking difference between them.
The cordial intimacy that subsisted between the two families, and indeed included all present but myself, not only excluded me from all share of the conversation, which I was far from regretting, but made me feel awkward, as well as miserable. Lady Mary indeed often addressed herself to me with peculiar civility; but as I was placed at a distance from her, politeness did not compensate for the rude neglect of her niece.
The conversation happening to turn on resemblances, I think, said Sir Edward, I never beheld a more striking likeness

than the profiles of Miss Lucy Dudley and Miss Seymour exhibit at this moment. I have been considering them on each side of me for some time, with almost an equal mixture of wonder and admiration.
A likeness! repeated Miss Dudley. I must acknowledge I scarce ever beheld two faces in my opinion more opposite.
I am extremely sorry to differ from you, Madam, returned he; but I still dare appeal to the company if my remark is not just.
Strikingly so indeed, cried Lady Mary; tho' till it was mentioned I own I was not sensible of the resemblance. But in spite of the difference of complexion it is really remarkable. Don't your Ladyship think so, added she, turning to Lady Linrose?
I must confess, returned her Ladyship, with a cold, embarrassed air, I am of

Caroline's opinion: I cannot perceive the likeness.
Good heavens! cried Caroline, how should there be any. The eyes of the one are black, and Lucy's are quite blue.
I did not speak of the eyes of the two ladies, but of their profiles, said Sir Edward. There is even somewhat in the expression of countenance so much alike, that had I never before been in company with either, I should have concluded them nearly related.
What effect these words produced in the countenances of Lady Linrose and her daughters, I had not resolution to examine, and conscious confusion made me keep my eyes fixed on the table; from which however I soon raised them in astonishment on hearing Lady Linrose say, you pay my daughter a very unmerited compliment by the comparison, Sir Edward, and really now you put it into my head, I don't know but there is some

sort of likeness, especially in the under part of the face: and soon after, when we were separating for the night, her Ladyship wished me a good night with particular civility and affability.
Confounded with the various events of the day, the moment I found myself alone in the chamber allotted me, I threw myself into a chair, and gave way to a train of reflections, which so wholly overpowered me, as to banish all desire of sleep. I could not but admire the singularity of that chance, which had conducted me so strangely into the midst of my relations, and to the party which of all others I wished the most to avoid; while I knew that my presence, by overwhelming them with confusion and embarrassment, must prove still more disagreeable to them than to myself. Lady Elizabeth too—to feel all my half-suppressed emotions animated and renewed by this unexpected

and unwished for reconnoitre, ah! Sophia! don't you pity me?
After passing a very restless night, I found my foot so much worse, that walking even into the next room was almost impracticable. I therefore sent a message to Lady Mary by her maid, who assisted me to dress, intimating that if her Ladyship would give me leave, I should breakfast in my own apartment, where I wished to remain till the carriage was ordered to carry me home. By this means I avoided seeing any of the company, whom I really dreaded encountering at breakfast, after the perturbation of the preceding day. I regretted however, that in escaping from the others, I must be deprived of seeing Mr. Bradshaw, whose mysterious discourse it must be owned astonished though it did not perplex me, and formed no inconsiderable portion of my reflections during the night.

Lady Mary entered my chamber soon after, and made a thousand kind enquiries respecting my health. She informed me that Lady Linrose was confined to bed with a headach, and that Mr. Bradshaw had set off for his quarters two hours before breakfast: and after kindly disapproving of my imprudence in venturing home, told me, since I was determined to go, she should herself see me safe to Hubert Hill, as she wished to take the earliest opportunity of waiting on Mrs. Howard.
Miss Lucy Dudley was likewise so obliging as to pay me a visit before I left Holtenham. While she sat with me in my chamber, Lady Mary again entered. I think an airing will be of service to you, my dear, said she to her, after your late confinement. Pray will you accompany me to Mrs. Howard's. Her husband is an old friend of mine, and I possess few or none I respect so highly.

With all my heart, my dear Madam, cried she; and having sent the maid for her hat, we immediately proceeded down stairs, which was to me a very difficult undertaking and one that I did not accomplish without great pain, though I had an assistant on each hand.
When we entered the hall, we were met by Lady Elizabeth and Miss Dudley. The former, with a reluctant bow, hoped I was well: and the other, without even vouchsafing me that civility, hastily called out—Lucy, where are you going?
I mean to accompany Lady Mary and Miss Seymour. The day is fine, and an airing will be agreeable.
I believe Mamma will not allow of your going, sister.
Why so.
Nay, I shall go ask her: and instantly returning, said—Mamma does not choose

you should risk taking cold by airing today Lucy.
Lord how odd, when it is the sweetest weather in the world.
O there is no chance of cold in such a morning, cried Lady Mary. It will do her good I'm convinced.
It is Mamma's commands, said Miss Caroline gravely; and although the sweet Lucy went herself to solicit, she came back disappointed. I am very sorry, said she, taking my hand, that I cannot have the pleasure of your company a little longer; but I hope Lady Mary will visit at Hubert Hill more than once while we remain at Holtenham, and I shall most assuredly be of the party next time.
Lady Linrose, you perceive, adheres with conscientious integrity to her promise of debarring all intercourse between her family and ours. Angry as I am, there is somewhat in her manners so insinuating,

that I cannot so cordially blame her conduct as I did before I saw her: nay what is still more strange, I cannot avoid suggesting excuses for her behaviour; and even feel somewhat soothing and consolatory in the idea that Roatsley's mother, whom I desire so much to love and respect, seems more worthy of these sentiments than I ever imagined she could prove. Her son resembles her extremely, though the expression is different.
I believe, Sophia, prejudice and partiality blind the eye of judgment so unaccountably, that people are seldom to be trusted in their prepossessions where a strong and lively interest is at stake. Perhaps we have judged too hardly of this family. To oppose Lord Belmont in a favourite point, may be to relinquish all hopes of his favour for ever; and if such is the inflexibility of his temper Lady Linrose is not so much to blame.
Fanny was much relieved by my return

though I looked miserably ill. My foot was painful, and my mind in agitation; and the instant Lady Mary left us, I was put to bed, where however I did not sleep, but enjoyed a more soothing relief in relating to my sister all the circumstances of my disagreeable adventure.
H. SEYMOUR.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
JUNE 6.
AS my sprain still confines me to the sopha, and my journal is always my favourite amusement, I have employed the two last days almost constantly in writing. Indeed I am happy to fly to

any occupation that has the power of dividing my thoughts: for my Sophia will easily conceive the late incident was but ill calculated for destroying that fatal impression, which I flattered myself time and absence, assisted by my most vigorous exertions, would at length subdue. Would to heaven the marriage was once finally concluded. When doubt (absurd as it is to doubt) is converted into certainty, my endeavours I am convinced must be successful. I may suffer at first, but these turbulent feelings will abate. At present a thousand circumstances are ever ready to occur to rouse and animate an attachment alas! too insinuating.
How can I account for Roatsley's conduct, hinted to me by his friend. Oh! my dear, was it indeed Roatsley who occasioned Mr. Bradshaw's researches? why then his silence to Mr. Howard's letter; and why, with engagements so serious on his hands, could he allow in

himself a solicitude so fruitless? His conduct altogether is inexplicable, and the more I attempt to unravel it, the less my conjectures give me satisfaction.
Are you not astonished, my love, at my representation of Lady Elizabeth Sidley. Is it possible to believe Roatsley can make such a sacrifice to fortune. Oh! Sophia! a sacrifice to principle I am convinced it must be. Duty and persuasion have prevailed with him to acquiesce in a match on which his family have set their hearts.
JUNE 10.
I have been visited during my confinement by the good parson's family, who spent yesterday with us.
Mrs. Heathcote, though unacquainted but by report with Lady Mary Lawrence, told us a thousand little country anecdotes

of her, which all proved the goodness of her heart and the liberality of her ample purse; for she is possessed of a splendid income, having been left by her late husband the sole disposal of his fortune. This fortune, Mrs. Heathcote said, it was generally supposed would centre in her neice, Lady Elizabeth Sedley, who was not much beloved by the ladies in the neighbourhood, as she uniformly behaved to them with a conscious superiority, and imperious reserve, that rendered her company formal and disgusting. Indeed, said she, her Ladyship, I am told, exacts a deference and attention that few are willing to pay; for which reason there is usually a party at Holtenham of people of the first rank and importance from town, with whom alone Lady Elizabeth will associate on a footing of equality.
I ventured to enquire, finding the good woman both intelligent and communicative,

whether or not Lord Linrose possessed any property in this part of the country. She believed not, she told me: but since Mr. Howard had left England, above one half of the estates around had changed their original proprietors; and my Lord Belmont had lately made two different purchases of considerable amount, which had secured to him a decided parliamentary interest in the county. On one of these estates, said she, to which he has given the name of Mount Dudley, and which is not above seven miles distant, he has built a very elegant though not a very large house, and has presented it to his favourite grand son Mr. Roatsley, who however has never lived in it as it has not yet been put in order for a family: but I understand they are fitting it up in all haste, and furnishing it very magnificiently for his place of residence so soon as his marriage is concluded: so

you will have them for neighbours presently.
Is that event soon to take place, demanded Fanny.
Indeed, Madam, nobody seems to know. It has been long talked of; and before Mr. Roatsley set out on his travels, every one said it would happen directly on his return. But it has been whispered since his return, that matters are not in such forwardness as was imagined. The young man's ardour is suspected to be cooled; nay some people say it never was extremely violent; but that when he was very young, and the lady hardly fifteen, there subsisted a childish attachment between them, which originated entirely on the side of Lady Elizabeth; and that Lord Belmont, who has been unfortunate in some of his family, particularly in the article of matrimony, and who was not easily reconciled to the present Lord Linrose on his

marriage, although by the death of a dlstant relation her Ladyship has brought him a very considerable fortune, exacted a promise, and promoted an engagement between his grandson and this lady, which is intended to be concluded on his Lordship's return from the Continent.
Lady Elizabeth is much to be pitied, in my opinion, cried Fanny, if with all her splendid advantages of birth and fortune they cannot secure the heart of the man she has chosen.
I agree with you perfectly, Madam: But I believe ladies of superior rank and education don't always think in that manner; and by what I hear, Lady Elizabeth is not much calculated for domestic happiness.
Conscious of my secret anxiety, I forbore, while Mr. Howard and the rest of the company were present, to prolong the subject: but finding my self accidentally alone with Mrs. Heathcote, for a

quarter of an hour after dinner, I artfully renewed the topic of Lady Elizabeth; and she then told me she was intimately connected with the gentlewoman who had superintended her education as governess, from whence she had drawn the early part of her information. Mr. Roatsley, said she, has been I know acquainted with the young lady from infancy. She was his sister's friend, and had often been his own playfellow. It is not improbable therefore that her infantine attachment had produced in him a return of affection before he went abroad that might partake more of gratitude than passion. It must be owned Lady Elizabeth has but ill answered the fond expectations of her family; and probably he finds himself disappointed, after several years absence. But there is no trusting to report. It is very certain however that he has not once visited at Holtenham since his arrival; though, owing to Lady Mary's indisposition,

the family only passed a very few weeks this winter in town. They say Lady Elizabeth is much offended at the coolness of his assiduities, and that there is a very formidable rival, Sir Edward Sudbury, in the way, who is much in favour with her Ladyship at present, but I dare say there is nothing in it.
All this accounts a little, Sophia, for Captain Bradshaw's insinuations.
JUNE 12,
To-day I have ventured to take a short walk, and am considerably better. We have had compliments of enquiry from Lady Mary after my health more than once.
We have been rather uneasy at not hearing from our dear, dear Lady Aubrey all this while; and we now find we have had but too much reason for apprehension:

alas! she has had a relapse; but thank God not an alarming one. She is now, she tells us, in the kindest of letters which we received this morning, quite recovered, and has got Sir William and Lady Meredith with her at the castle. I find myself settled here, says she, much to my satisfaction. The ancient architecture of my abode has neither banished light, nor precluded cheerfulness; and I am determined its grandeur shall on no account be fettered with state or parade. My mind begins to partake of the tranquillity around me; and I am enabled myself to taste that comfort which an overgrown and otherwise useless fortune allows me the privilege of dispensing to others. But when shall my rising satisfaction receive its full completion in the dear society of my beloved children? when shall I again fold them to my heart, and receive, in tears of heartfelt pleasure, a compensation for

those of bitterness and misery which have flowed with such profusion from my eyes? I will not however soften your feeling hearts into a hasty compliance with my wishes, which may not prove, just at this time, wholly convenient to the worthy Mr. Howard. I will trust to your affection to expedite your visit as soon as you can, and till I enjoy the happiness of seeing you, do not fear that I am either solitary or despondent; no, on the contrary, be assured I am grateful, contented, and happy. I have at present the pleasure of Sir William and my dear aunt's company, who will not leave me for some time. My doors are never shut against those in my neighbourhood who favour me with their visits, without exacting a scrupulous return; and my mind is at ease while I rest assured of the love and attachment of those clear and amiable children who are so entirely possessed of mine.

Dear and ever valued Lady Aubrey! With what delight shall we fulfil our promise. Mr. Howard's business will detain him a fortnight longer: but I have written that if any more delays intervene, and my sister continues well, I shall undoubtedly make the journey by myself.
H. SEYMOUR.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
JUNE 15.
I WILL not anticipate, Sophia. But why is fortune so industrious in throwing accidents in my way which prove the utmost exertion of my resolution.

Yesterday Miss Patty Heathcote walked up in the morning, to inform us that a set of stroling players had lately arrived in the little village near us; that they had fitted up their theatre in a barn, where for some preceding evenings they had performed some of the best plays, much to the satisfaction, said she innocently, of very excellent judges; and that as neither she nor her mother had ever seen a play, they would take it as a prodigious favour indeed if Mr. and Mrs. Howard and I would do them the honour to go and make a party with them.
The little girl's eyes, while she delivered this message, sparkled with an eagerness which persuaded Mr. Howard at once to agree to the measure, and made me really anxious for its success; and Fanny, who with the sedate character of a sober married woman preserves all the innocent eagerness of seventeen, is always

so much delighted with any frolic, that she was desirous of going the instant it was proposed.
As the village is scarce a mile and an half distant, and it was bright moon light, it was agreed that the whole party should walk to and from the theatre, concluding that the performance would not detain us very late; myself excepted, whom Mr. Howard insisted on carrying thither in his little equipage, as walking, after my late accident, might prove hurtful, my foot, though almost well, being still weak. Miss Patty ran full speed down the hill, breathless with expectation to equip herself for the playhouse, and to request that her father and mother and all the children old enough to accompany them, would assemble at Hubert Hill to dinner, from whence we should all set off together.
The labours of the toilet are little known in the rural world; and Nature

has so lavishly decked this happy innocent family with rosy cheeks, sparkling eyes, and smiling countenances, that they are as unnecessary as unknown. An hour after, we beheld the good parson and his wife ascending the hill, followed by five of their children; and no masked ball or birth night assembly ever occasioned more entertainment and delight than did this excursion to our rustic theatre.
We set off at half past four, for the children would not cease teizing us till we were on foot; and having arrived a full hour too soon, took possession of the front bench, which in this play house might be denominated the stage boxes, being the most convenient place in the barn for seeing the performance.
We had not been long seated, before several gentlemen entered, the most of whom by their dress appeared to be officers. Miss Patty informed me they

belonged to a company at present quartered in the village; but as the place was but indifferently lighted up it was not easy immediately to distinguish their faces.
They had not engaged my attention above a few moments, when my companion, Miss Patty, asked me in a whisper if I did not think that gentleman in the dark coloured coat, the handsomest young man I had ever seen; and turning to where she pointed, I beheld Mr. Roatsley leaning against one of the side scenes, engaged in conversation with some gentlemen.
You may easily imagine I was in a tremor; and I had not an instant given me to compose or recollect myself, when I perceived Mr. Bradshaw approach him, and gently pulling him by the arm, whisper something in his ear, which made him at once change colour and glance his eyes with eagerness around the house.

Captain Bradshaw just then made me a respectful bow; and his friend taking the reference of his look, instantly followed his example, with an expression in his countenance of satisfaction and delight which I fear almost conveyed equal pleasure into mine. He came directly up to me, and paid me his compliments with a politeness not however unmixed with confusion; while on my part, the recollection of Mrs. Hindon's letter, the obligation for which my avowed acknowledgements were due, and the secret humiliating benefit I knew he had intended to bestow, threw an awkwardness and constraint over my reception of him which I could not for some time either conquer or conceal.
Happily Mr. Howard immediately joined us; and by addressing himself to Roatsley, gave me a momentary relief. Perceiving I seemed at a loss, he partly comprehended the cause; and kindly

paved the way for my acknowledgments by entering at once on the subject. I did myself the pleasure of writing to you, Mr. Roatsley, said he, some time ago, but as I have not been favoured with an answer—
I should not have failed most certainly in seizing the earliest opportunity of acknowledging any letter of your's, returned he, had I been conscious of the favour; but I have been making a little excursion of late, and having no fixed abode, I suppose they knew not where to forward my letters, as I was so negligent as to leave no orders about them.
Nay, Sir, had you really been guilty of any omission, no apology was necessary to me: for I acted but as amanuensis to my fair sister: and my letter was only intended to express her acknowledgments added to my own, for the polite attention with which you have interested yourself in her affairs.

A deep blush overspread the countenance of Mr. Roatsley at this speech, and an embarrassment took possession of his features little inferior to my own when I added, that he must have concluded me extremely ungrateful to have so long deferred returning my very sincere thanks, for an obligation which should always induce me to consider myself as particularly indebted to him.
His confusion was now augmented; and bowing, he stammered not a little while he repeated—what pleasure he must receive—how delighted he must be—and how happy he should think himself to be of the smallest service to Miss Seymour.
He then turned to address himself to Mr. Bradshaw as if anxious to change the subject; and just at that instant perceiving my sister, for whom he had not even enquired, he left me to pay his compliments to her; but soon returning,

he entered immediately on a new topic, enquired how I had amused myself in the country during the winter, asked if I could really leave town at that gay season without the slightest regret, and placed himself next me, where there happened fortunately to be a vacant seat. His l•te confusion now gave way to a gaiety and animation which convinced me that the ceremony of distant and occasional meetings had not hitherto allowed of that easy intimacy between us which developes without constraint or disguise the real temper of mind. My conscious feelings had always thrown a reserve over my own manner to Mr. Roatsley, which could not fail to affect his; but the unexpected satisfaction of this sudden reconnoitre had given to both a flow of spirits that would not be restrained, and which while it wholly banished Lady Elizabeth Sedley from my recollection presented Roatsley in a point

of view entirely new and still more insinuating. I had before admired him as a character of real and unassuming dignity. The amiable softness of his address had charmed me; and all I saw, and all I heard of his disposition, (however combated at times by pique and displeasure) had served but to augment my esteem. I had considered him as rather of a grave turn of mind: this evening however, the early part of it at least, fully satisfied me of my error. He was not merely in good spirits, but lively and animated beyond measure, and his friend Captain Bradshaw, who joined us, and who really is a very agreeable young man, added to the gaiety and life of the party.
The commencement of the play, which by the way was King Lear, put a period for a short time to this general chat. But the performance was so miserable, that it was impossible to pay attention to it, and Mr. Roatsley again addressed himself in

conversation to me. He soon recurred to my leaving town, and talked of it with the most flattering regret. I shall not do you the injustice to suppose, said he, that possessing in yourself those never failing resources which give defiance to vapours and ennui, you could either endure much regret on leaving the mere amusements of the town, or suffer from vacancy or languor on returning to the country; but early in March, every thing around is so bleak, and the communication between one neighbour and another so often impeded by bad roads or bad weather, that a comfortable, agreeable society, in which (after all our various ways of pursuing pleasure), it must be confessed our first enjoyment consists, is less practicable in the country than in town; besides most people are of that opinion, and the country of course must have been quite deserted when you arrived in it.

Yes, answered I; but when I retired to Hubert Hill I was so singularly situated as to carry along with me the only friends to whom, at least in this part of the world, I can lay claim, and they were such as must have enlivened and endeared the most dismal and uncomfortable spot.
After such a declaration, I must not presume to enquire of whom this enviable party consisted.
You safely may, said I, since my brother and sister constituted the whole.
And is your heart, Miss Seymour, so entirely engrossed by these friends, amiable and deserving as they are, that no place is left in it for the numbers who must have mourned your absence.
When I left London, said I with a sudden warmth, which the recollection of our forlorn situation forcibly excited, it contained not one human soul, who, had they been certain they should have

beheld me no more, would have endured one moment's regret.
The idea was so melancholy, that a tear started into my eye, not I'm afraid unseen by Roatsley, for he instantly replied—Ah! Miss Seymour, that is wholly and utterly impossible. Those who are formed by nature for charming their own sex and enchanting our's, cannot fail of converting into friends and admirers all blessed with the happiness of their acquaintance.
This compliment, pronounced in a voice of mixed eagernese and softness, could not fail to confuse me: and unable to make a proper reply, or to disclaim a compliment much too flattering even for acknowledgement, I could only reply with much hesitation—oh! Mr. Roatsley, how can you possibly imagine—besides you know I am quite a stranger in England.
Loveliness, continued he in the same

strain, is an object too interesting to mankind in general to prove a stranger in any quarter of the globe. Where there are souls to feel its influence, it must be felt with force and energy irresistible.
To this an answer was still more impossible and I did not attempt it. Finding I was silent—I have the pleasure of considering myself, said he, after a pause, as your first English acquaintance. Will you not then allow me the inexpressible happiness of a place in this envied list of your friends. Be assured I shall yield to none in the interest. I hold in your welfare.
The warmth of his expressions, and still more the eagerness of his countenance, covered me with blushes, and I could only reply by a slight bow of acknowledgement. I took courage at length to add, that the obligations I owed him sufficiently proved his claim to be considered in that light.

This conversation naturally led him, with a gaiety that soon banished my conscious confusion, to mention the circumstances of our first meeting, from which, by an easy transition, he proceeded to talk upon many interesting topicks. In the course of this discourse, I was not a little surprised to hear him mention Lord Belmont's name more than once with the most unconscious ingenuousness, and found myself still more bewildered when I perceived he seemed even desirous of drawing from me every circumstance relating to my situation abroad that he could contrive, without an appearance of impertinent curiosity, to obtain.
Various were the particulars into which he had the address, though with the utmost politeness, to penetrate. I was astonished and confounded by his behaviour, yet I still remained convinced that his ignorance was feigned: and while I answered

simply and naturally to all his enquiries, pride made me disdain to force him to an explanation, which must detect his duplicity, and cover him with confusion.
At length—your accent is so little defective Miss Seymour, said he, that it is difficult for me to believe you never were in England till now.
I left it when so very young, replied I, that I have not the most distant recollection of ever having been in it.
Having quitted it so very early, is equivalent to your never having been in it. But I always understood, Miss Seymour, that France had had the honour of your birth.
Astonished, and entirely off my guard at this speech, I involuntarily exclaimed —good heavens! Mr. Roatsley, how can you say so? Is it possible you can affect this ignorance.
Ignorance! repeated he. Little as I

have had the happiness of enjoying your company, and short as has been the period of our acquaintance, it is not surprising that I should be ignorant of this as well as of a thousand other circumstances into which I have never had the presumption to enquire, however anxious my desire of information has been.
Are you indeed serious, cried I; for inexplicable as it appeared, I now perceived that all was as yet a secret to him.
Never more so than at this moment. But why should it astonish you so much? is it not the natural consequence of—
Because, cried I, interrupting him, I have believed till this instant that you were as perfectly well informed of every circumstance of my birth and education as the most intimate of my friends can •e, or as I myself am.
My ignorance, be assured, answered he, has resulted neither from want of anxiety nor want of exertion to obtain

information; but simply that from your recent arrival in this country your circle of acquaintance was not extensive, and none seemed more in the secret than myself. Miss Seymour cannot suppose that where she appeared she could remain disregarded and unnoticed. Various were the accounts relating to her that reached my ears; but they were uniformly vague and unsatisfactory, and I am convinced void of foundation. Since however the fate of my enquiries appears to you so extraordinary, I hope you will not think my earnest request of an explanation too presuming. Under the happy title just now granted me may I dare to venture on such a demand?
Amazement, satisfaction, and a variety of other emotions, at once so powerfully assailed me, that for a few moments I could not articulate; and grew so suddenly pale, that Roatsley hastily applied to Miss Patty for her smelling bottle;

who, extremely frightened, was about to have alarmed my sister, and the rest of the party, had I not recollected myself, and assured her my indisposition was slight and already gone off. To any other person my countenance might have discovered that my spirits were more affected than my health; but engrossed with the novelty of the performance, which had now advanced to the beginning of the second act, my young companion had not given the slightest attention to our conversation, and having been often told I suppose that fine ladies were vapourish and hysterical, did not seem either suspicious or surprised.
Far otherwise were the conclusions of Mr. Roatsley. Shocked and confounded, he began to apprehend a mystery, to unravel which he had not received the slightest hint or assistance. I am in the agonies of the most painful suspense, said he after a pause: but since the subject is

so distressing, I am contented nay even eager to remain in ignorance.
You shall be informed of every thing you may desire to know, said I, when I found myself a little recovered; but at present all explanation is impossible. A few words will not suffice; and even if they should, I am incapable myself of entering on the subject.
From whom then, will you allow me to expect it?
From my brother, Mr. Howard. He will tell you all.
All! repeated he, still more confounded. The solemnity of the phrase almost alarms me.
The entrance of a large party of gentlemen and ladies just at this instant created a noise and bustle which carried our eyes to the door. Good God! exclaimed Roatsley in a tone of vexation; and I instantly discovered Lady Marry Lawrance, her niece Lady Elizabeth,

Miss Dudley, and in short the whole party at Holtenham, (Lady Linrose and Miss Lucy Dudley excepted) escorted by Sir Edward Sudbury and several other young men.
As we had taken possession of the front bench, seats for so many people occasioned some confusion. That on which we were placed could not contain above one half of the ladies, it being already more than half filled; and though the one behind was almost empty, having been purposely kept for the more fashionable part of the audience, they seemed to disdain occupying it, and stood some time very civilly expressing their disappointment aloud with the expectation that our party would rise and give them place.
This act of politeness, however, we had no sort of intention of performing. Indeed, for myself, the haughty presumption of their behaviour would have

deterred me from taking any steps towards their accommodation; but at present the unexpected appearance of Lady Elizabeth, who for an hour before had not once obtruded on my mind, now wholly banished that pleasing satisfacfaction and inward complacency which the knowledge that Roatsley had not yet deserted us diffused over my feelings. I was sunk and dispirited, and not in the least disposed to be civil and attentive to any of this fashionable set, Lady Mary excepted, who came up to my sister, and addressed us with her usual good breeding and affability.
Miss Dudley, a few minutes after she entered, perceiving her brother, who had risen to pay his respects to the ladies, immediately called out—Lord brother, when did you arrive in this part of the world?
Only last night, returned he. I came to spend a few days with Bradshaw at his

quarters, and he brought me hither for the purpose of encouraging these poor people. I did not expect to find so much good company, nor to meet with so many of my friends.
Nay, answered she, we never should have thought of coming to this poor little place, which must be a sad, stupid affair, but it seems the man who dignifies himself with the title of manager prayed Lady Mary so hard to patronize them, that out of mere compassion she bespoke the play, and insisted we should all attend her.
Lady Elizabeth just then advancing, exclaimed in a tone of impatience loud enough to be heard all over the house— Lard, only think of these people having taken our places; and presently perceiving me—how do you do, Miss Seymour? cried she with a careless air; and without waiting a reply, continued in my

hearing to express her wonder, what the people could mean.
Her harangue was all at once interrupted by the unexpected sight of Mr. Roatsley, who came forward to pay her his compliments. I watched what effect this sudden meeting might produce in the countenances of both, and remarked that they mutually reddened extremely at the reconnoitre; but while Roatsley addressed himself to her with a respectful but distant air, her manner to him appeared to betray an over acted display of dignity and reserve. She recovered her little embarrassment very speedily however; for she immediately recurred to her scornful expressions of surprise, and repeated her complaints to him, who politely offered her the place he had just quitted by me.
No, cried she carelessly, I can't be divided from my party.

Had your Ladyship engaged places? said he.
O Lord, no. How should one think of such a thing in such a place as this. But when the people came to solicit us to go, they told us the first bench should be reserved for any people of fashion who might take it into their heads to come, and behold all the parsons wives and daughters I believe in the county have assembled to take possession of the only tolerable places in the barn.
Roatsley looked by no means pleased at this rude speech, which he knew I could not but overhear, and replied with quickness—But as your Ladyship can't suppose any of the ladies will give up their seats, I would advise you to accept of mine.
Mr. Howard and the good Doctor having by this time risen to accommodate the company, and placed some of the children behind, room was at length

made for them; and by this arrangement Roatsley was once more placed next me with Lady Elizabeth on his other hand.
Her Ladyship chose not to favour me with any further notice during the remainder of the evening; and Miss Dudley, who did not even afford me the civility of a distant bow, sat with her eyes fixed on the spot where her brother was placed, whom she examined with an aspect of such ill humour and displeasure, every time he addressed himself to me, that I felt beyond measure uneasy.
She had not the smallest reason, however, to dread or even to suspect any assiduity on his part towards me; for his behaviour was now totally changed. He looked grave, thoughtful, and absorbed. The little he said was forced and constrained▪ and his attentions were divided with the most scrupulous exactness equally between Lady Elizabeth and myself.

Her admirer, or rather her attendant, Sir Edward, under pretence of avoiding to crowd her, insisted on relinquishing a place her Ladyship had procured him immediately behind her, and teized me not a little, (for it must be owned I was not in the best humour) by standing at my side with his usual solicitude, and entering into conversation with me. I was less than ever in a mood for listening to him, particularly as I observed that Roatsley lent an attentive •are to all that passed between us; the purport of which consisted in much anxiety in regard to my accident, and at length in an explicit but diffident request that I would allow him the honour of visiting me at Hubert Hill, and would favour him with an introduction to Mr. Howard, whom he said he had never been so fortunate as to meet at Mrs. Hindon's.
The recollection of his behaviour on a certain occasion, rendered a refusal, or

even an evasion of this demand, impossible, though the unbounded satisfaction he testified on my compliance, made me speedily apprehend that I ought not to have consented, and induced me to fear I had granted more than I designed by the introduction.
He and Mr. Roatsley seemed intimately acquainted. Between the acts they joined each other, and continued in earnest conversation; and from the gravity of the one countenance and the too apparent exultation of the other, I could not avoid suspecting that Sir Edward was confessing his sanguine expectations to his friend. You smile at my vanity, Sophia; but the attentions of this young man are so pointed and undisguised, that they attract universal observation whereever I meet him; though my manner (uniformly as reserved as good breeding will allow it to be) testifies as plainly as

words almost could do, how little I am gratified by his notice.
Lady Elizabeth, deprived of the devoirs of one admirer, and not much soothed by the cold politeness of another, lavished all her smiles, good humour, and condescension, upon a young man of a very singular appearance, who sat on her left hand, and who seemed so entirely to atone for the neglect of the others, that I perceived her supposed partiality to Sir Edward was merely the indiscriminate love of flattery and admiration. Her present lover (for such his assiduities evidently confessed him to be) I was informed possessed a splendid fortune, and was of distinguished rank, but his name I have forgot. He was dressed in the stile of a common groom or horse jockey, and his hair, cut short behind, hung about his ears with a negligence which betrayed not only disrespect for the company, but a total disregard both

of cleanliness and propriety; yet an air of conscious consequence, and a very handsome figure, which he tried in vain to disguise, betrayed his latent importance. He seemed possessed of exuberant spirits; for his Lordship and Lady Elizabeth, by their talking and laughing, gave great offence and occasioned much disturbance to the rustic part of the audience, who were not so refined as to despise the performance, but on the contrary enjoyed it with all the relish of no+velty.
The actors indeed were so miserably bad, that the whole exhibition had infinitely more the appearance of the comic than of the Tragic Muse; and attending to it was so little interesting, and in my situation of mind so impossible, that I ought not to blame her Ladyship for endeavouring to draw amusement from another channel, especially as I myself followed her example most part of the

evening: but there was an unfeeling and unpardonable indelicacy in testifying with so little disguise the ridicule which the poor people who were labouring for our amusement excited, and the bursts of ungoverned laughter, and severe raillery, that reached their ears from this polite party, was a mortification in which I would not for worlds have joined. I had the satisfaction of perceiving that Roatsley was equally shocked at their behaviour: and not only applauded wherever any particular expectation of approbation was betrayed, but engaged all the gentlemen round him to drown, by every testimony of satisfaction, the hissing with which Lady Elizabeth's gay admirer frequently assailed the performers.
All particular conversation was at an end between Roatsley and me from the moment of Lady Elizabeth's appearance; and that which had preceded her entrance, by perplexing andengrossing us,

had mutually unfitted us for discoursing on those little trifles that usually present themselves as topics of general discussion. He seemed so evidently oppressed with something that lay uneasily on his mind, that I could not possibly conclude mere curiosity to have excited an impression so apparently unsurmountable; and soothed and gratified as I had been in the beginning of the evening, I soon began to suspect that he regarded with pain and displeasure the coquetry of Lady Elizabeth's behaviour. He often fixed his eyes upon her for some moments together with a look of scrutiny and investigation, seemed to watch every word and movement that escaped her, and though he seldom addressed himself to her, to me he attended still less. He appeared indeed wholly absorbed by his own reflections; and scarce could I trace the same insinuating manner, which but

one half hour before had delighted me so much.
The pain of this observation, which strehgthened every moment, convinced me I had been unconsciously deluding myself with false and chimerical hopes. If Lady Elizabeth was indifferent to him, why did her conduct so evidently affect and displease him; if his chains were heavy and his heart unconcerned, her present conduct was precisely what he ought to have desired and enjoyed; and if his eager professions of regard and friendship for me were as warm and potent as I wished them, whence came this sudden languor and reserve, when by an act of confidence I was about to give him a proof of my esteem.
There was but one way of solving these inconsistencies, and it was blindness not to perceive it: involved in an engagement, with the splendid advantages of which probably he was himself

dazzled, he had resolved to pursue the path so anxiously pointed out to him by his family, while the folly and insipidity of the object of his vows, without operating so violently as to deter him from his purpose, shocked his feelings and opened his eyes to the dangers of fulfilling it.
These reflections only served to show me that redoubled exertions were required to fortify my mind against the weakness of my heart; and I began to form a secret plan of mental rigour which I flattered myself must in time restore the tranquillity I had lost.
Sufficient time was given me for these good resolutions; for Sir Edward on the one hand had been called away by Mr. Bradshaw, and Roatsley on the other preserved his determined silence so resolutely, that I had no apprehension of any interruption. The return of the former, however, at length forced me to

give a constrained attention to his conversation; but finding that to affect a gaiety foreign to my feelings was beyond measure irksome and insupportable in my present frame of mind, yet conscious I could not too soon drive from my thoughts a crowd of flattering retrospections, which sometimes for an instant banished my despondency and occasioned a new conflict, I endeavoured, as an escape both from Sir Edward and myself, to lend an ear to the play, the pathetic beauties of which not even the miserable deficiencies of the performers could wholly obscure.
The player who appeared in the character of Gloster, happened to be in fact blind; a circumstance which, as his voice was good and his action much superior to that of his companions, rendered him an interesting and most melancholy object. In the fourth act, when the unexpected meeting between Gloster

and his son takes place, the pathos and feeling with which the unhappy father exclaimed—
—Oh dear son Edgar!
The food of thy abused father's wrath!
Might I but live to see thee in my touch
I'd say I had eyes again—
affected me so poignantly, that I could not command my tears. In this however I was not singular; for I perceived Roatsley equally softened: nothing indeed could be more mournful than the scene before us, nor could any sound have appeared more inhuman than a loud and childish fit of laughter, which just at that instant burst from Lady Elizabeth. Good heavens! cried she to her admirer, if the people a'nt crying. Nay that is too ridiculous indeed. Pray do look, Mr. Roatsley, turning to him—pray for God's sake observe the tears; how soft and pretty all this is.

He gave her no reply; but regarding

me for a moment, who on this occasion was the particular object of her observation and ridicule, a sigh escaped him that seemed to be vented from the heart, and he again set himself to listen to the play with the anxiety of a person who wished to avoid all interruption.
When all was concluded, Mr. Bradshaw came up and enquired how I had been entertained. The performance on the whole, said he, was such as might have been expected, but that little stroke of Gloster's was truly pathetic.
Lady Elizabeth, who did not distinctly hear what he said, chose to join in the conversation though she continued to preserve towards me the same contemptuous disregard, and demanded of what he was talking?
I was mentioning to Miss Seymour, cried he, the circumstance, of the poor fellow who played Gloster.

Oh yes! cried she, inconsiderately, I never laughed so much in my life.
It is an excellent jest to the poor blind devil, returned he sarcastically, to be deprived of sight; and being constrained in that dismal state to make such exertions for subsistence is a still better one.
Lord I don't mean so, for that certainly must be quite dreadful to be sure; only I was vastly amused seeing the people pretend to cry, when undoubtedly the whole affair was more like a farce than any thing else.
There is Roatsley, returned Mr. Bradshaw, who appears as much dejected as if he had been weeping the tender woes of Belvidera when performed by the inimitable Mrs. Siddons, and Miss Seymour too looks not only as if she had been crying, but as if she could cry for an hour to come.
I merely look as if I was fatigued and half asleep, cried I.

How unfortunate must I be in my choice of topics, answered he with a smile; for twice have I endured the mortification of learning from Miss Seymour's lips that I had set her asleep. Pray are you half asleep too, cried he, turning to Roatsley, are you infected with Miss Seymour's lethargic disorder. Indeed if I may be allowed (lowering his voice) to judge from appearances, I should pronounce you affected with similar symptoms.
This speech, pronounced with an expression of the most cruel archness, and of which I did not lose a syllable, hurt me severely. The most painful confusion dyed my cheeks, and I had not courage for some moments to look up, lest I should encounter the eyes of Roatsley; but I believe he was equally confounded and embarrassed, for he made no answer, and a short silence succeeded, which was beyond measure awkward and distressing.

This was soon interrupted by Bradshaw, who appeared rather to have enjoyed than regretted the mutual confusion he had occasioned. Miss Seymour, cried he, I was extremely sorry I was obliged to leave Holtenham without having the happiness of again seeing you. I wished much to enquire how you had rested, and longed particularly to know of you if you had discovered the solution of the enigma I gave you to unriddle.
I have even forgot that you gave me any enigma to solve, said I; and as I raised my eyes to answer him with as much indifference as I could assume, I perceived Roatsley's eyes were fixed on my face with an expression of earnest penetration that wholly disconcerted me; happily, however, my sister, from whom by the accidental change of places I had been separated just then joined us; and some previous consultation in regard

to our mode of departure relieved me from further persecution.
The evening, though a little cool, was pleasant, and walking, had I been able for it, was the method of travelling I should have preferred; but my sister, who in her rural situation retains the embers of latent vanity, was much provoked by the contempt and haughty insolence with which our humble party had been treated by the proud train from Holtenham, and was not a little mortified at the idea of being obliged to find her way through a crowd of powdered footmen and magnificent equipages to go home on foot with the parson and his wife; while this fashionable company were leaving the rustic theatre with as much eclat and parade as had attended their entrance, followed by all the gay male part of the audience. She therefore determined to remain till the last, and whisperingly informed me of the

reason; though Mr. Howard and the good Doctor, who were far from suspecting this plan, urged her to be gone, as it began to grow late and there was no apparent reason for delay.
Poor Fanny, ashamed to confess this spark of secret pride, which would have appeared wholly incomprehensible to the one and perhaps rather absurd to the other, was put to great difficulties in order to complete her project; but she was resolved to save herself this little humiliation if possible. Mrs. Heathcote's care for herself and children, gave her likewise much pain. The good woman wrapt them all carefully up in large thick cloaks and handkerchiefs brought for the purpose, till they exactly resembled Russian boors in the prints of travellers; and besought Fanny in a voice loud enough to be heard all over the house, to make herself warm, for walking home in the night air was extremely

apt to give people colds; and indeed Mrs. Howard, though this cloak is old and a little worn out, it is thick and comfortable, and I wish you would allow me to wrap it round you.
All this was the more severe on poor Fanny's irritable feelings, as Lady Mary's carriage, which had occasioned her some little delay, just then being announced, her Ladyship in passing stopped to bid her good night; and Lady Elizabeth following, escorted by her gay admirer, looked with a smile of ridicule but half suppressed, at the appearance of our companions.
Roatsley, who had been called away by his sister, had returned but a moment before; but perceiving Lady Mary unattended, again left me to conduct her to her carriage, having first besought the honour of seeing me to mine, and requested that I would not depart till his return. This circumstance rendered me

fully as anxious as my sister to delay our going, while I was no less ashamed to acknowledge the cause.
My dear, cried Mr. Howard to Fanny on coming up to us, for heavens sake let us be gone. We shall lose the advantage of the moon if we are not directly on foot. It is already on its decline.
I was silent; and she only replied by saying we should go presently.
Unconscious of our secret views, he could only attribute to a childish desire of outstaying the company, our unwillingness to depart, and insisted on setting off immediately with me, leaving his wife under the care of the good parson, with whose family she was to walk home.
My sister, much pleased with this plan, which left her motions in her own power, urged me to go; and severe as it was to leave the house before Roatsley's return, before we had finally adjusted at what time and in what place he was to

receive the communication so much desired, I was absolutely constrained to allow Sir Edward to lead me to the little carriage. Had I been perfectly unconscious of any secret interest beyond that anxiety which I felt in common with my sister to be on terms of intimacy with a relation so amiable, I should undoubtedly have acquainted Mr. Howard with my wish to remain, and acknowledged the cause; but the particulars were too long for immediate discussion at that moment, and on that spot, where Sir Edward never for an instant left my side: afraid therefore to discover an eagerness too keen, especially before Mr. Bradshaw, of whose animadversions I was extremely apprehensive, I permitted Mr. Howard in silence to place himself by me and we drove off.
On stepping in, I perceived by the glare of the flambeaux Roatsley in earnest conversation with Lady Elizabeth at the

window of Lady Mary's carriage, and he still stood in the same place when I lost sight of him.
When we got home, Fanny being longer in making her appearance than we expected, Mr. Howard grew at length uneasy, and went himself to see after the walking party. Finding myself alone, I threw myself on a chair, and giving way to a train of reflections which alternately soothed and tormented me, I indulged unconsciously in a fit of musing which softened rather than relieved me.
But I hastily conclude this letter, having an immediate opportunity of sending it to my Sophia.
Adieu. H. SEYMOUR.


HERMIONE.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
JUNE 16.
OH my dear friend, my astonishment and joy are unspeakable. I had remained alone about half an hour, my mind distracted with a thousand thoughts, when I was roused from my reverie by hearing the great door below open; and condemning myself severely for a gratification so weak, dangerous, and improper, I hastily tried to compose my features, and rose to meet the company; when instead of the Heathcote family whom I had expected, Mr. Howard and my sister entered, attended—conceive my astonishment Sophia—by Roatsley himself.

After disregarding your promise of waiting my return, Miss Seymour, cried he, probably you did not expect I should so soon make my appearance to reproach you: but though I believe I have some engagement or other with Bradshaw this evening, I found myself quite unable to withstand Mrs. Howard's kind and pressing invitation to sup here. The remembrance of the delightful evening I spent at Dover (which I shall ever regard as one of the happiest of my life) renders the temptation wholly irresistible.
His appearance did indeed agitate and surprise me beyond measure; nor could I conjecture how it had taken place, at such an hour and at a juncture so unexpected, till Fanny in a low voice contrived to inform me, that in pursuance of her projected plan of operations she had deferred leaving the theatre as long as with propriety she could, and indeed I suspect rather longer; for she owned all

the ladies were gone and only a few straggling gentlemen continued to saunter about. Captain Bradshaw, however, still kept by her side; and Roatsley returning, heard with evident marks of disappointment that I was already gone.
Perceiving my sister's unaccountable delay, he naturally concluded that her carriage was not arrived, and politely asked leave to see after it. Fanny, more and more embarrassed, now beheld the total defeat of all her secret schemes to avoid detection, and was at length obliged to confess that as the way was so very short and the night so very pleasant she thought walking by far the most agreeable way of returning; after which declaration wishing Roatsley a hasty good night, in hopes she should get rid of all the gentlemen, she quickly led the way, accompanied, added she in a tone of chagrin, by poor Mrs. Heathcote and the

five children, all wrapt up like so many Egyptian mummeys.
Roatsley however, with a politeness natural to him, followed, and offering his arm, begged she would allow him the pleasure of escorting her part of the way. With great civility and a profusion of thanks, Mrs. Howard made violent resistance; but in vain; Roatsley made his point good, and had attended her as far as the bottom of the hill when they were met by Mr. Howard, who could do no less you know than request that he would walk forward and partake of a family supper at Hubert Hill. To this, after some hesitation, he consented; and the parson's family, having seen Fanny safe under her husband's protection, very opportunely chose to excuse themselves from accompanying her farther, and jumped one after another over the style which leads through the fields to the parsonage.

You cannot easily conceive, Sophia, after the train of ideas which had preceded his appearance, how singular and extraordinary it now appeared, when I recollected what pique and displeasure his silence to Mr. Howard's letter had a few days before occasioned me. I could scarce believe he was now at Hubert Hill; and when I contrasted his present flow of spirits with his dejected aspect two hours before, every thing appeared mysterious and unaccountable.
Were my dear, dear Sophia now present, said I to myself more than once during the evening, she would confess that blind partiality has not guided my pen in my representation of this amiable young man.
When our repast was concluded, Mr. Howard and Fanny, charmed to perceive their guest to all appearance fully as much pleased with their company as they were delighted with his, both joined

in entreating him to accept of a bed here. To this some slight objections in regard to inconvenience were on his part made, and easily overruled by the good lady of the mansion, who proposed dispatching Dubois to the village with orders to his servants and an apology to Mr. Bradshaw; and in short he at length complied. The wine and fruits being placed on a small table before us, all ceremony and form seemed entirely discarded; and we chatted together with a social familiarity and cheerfulness, which a long series of occasional meetings in town could never have produced. We were all in uncommon spirits; and Fanny, in the giddiness of her mirth, let several little sallies of naivete escape her which seemed extremely to please and amuse her visitor. Chance has hitherto so contrived it, that my sister has seldom or never been much the object of Mr. Roatsley's attention; but he appeared this night to regard her

in a point of view wholly new, and entered with much relish into the natural simplicity of her character.
As yet, however, nothing had been hinted relating to the proposed explanation. Had Roatsley been tete a tete with any of the company, doubtless it would have been an easy matter to have led to the subject; but while the whole family were met together, to have enquired into particulars which from the agitation I had betrayed he could not but naturally conclude were of a very delicate nature, I doubt not must have appeared a presumption for which he could not summon resolution. Wholly unsuspicious besides how nearly he was himself interested in the tale, all he could possibly conjecture in regard to what he was to learn must have been, that in gratitude for the obligation he had procured me, I thought it incumbent he should be made acquainted with certain circumstances of

my situation which he had reason to apprehend might prove a painful and not improbably a mortifying communication.
Silent therefore he continued on this topick, tho' most amusing and agreeable on a thousand others, till my sister and I retired, which was not till after one in the morning, an hour unheard of in the sober annals of Hubert Hill.
I did not shut my eyes for many hours after I went to bed. The distant murmur of the two gentlemen's voices below, who did not separate till almost sun rise, engaged my constant attention; and a thousand conjectures and reflections relating to the subject of their conversation, entirely banished all inclination to rest till about my usual time of rising, which at this season is seldom after six. I then slept for a couple of hours; but finding it so late when I awoke, I hastily rose, and had but just finished dressing, when Mr. Howard tapped at my chamber door

requesting me to follow him into my sister's dressing room.
Impatient beyond measure to learn the substance of last night's conversation, I flew rather than run into the room, where I found Fanny almost as eager as myself.
Mr. Howard then related circumstantially and minutely every word that had passed.
The moment we had left the parlour, Roatsley addressing himself to Mr. Howard, said—to you, my dear Sir, I think it must be wholly unnecessary to observe that to be but once in company with the amiable Mrs. Howard and her sister without feeling the warmest interest in their happiness and the most anxious solicitude to promote it to the utmost, is scarce possible; that I have experienced the truth of this remark, I hope you do me the justice to believe, and—

Your conduct, Sir, interrupted Mr. Howard (to whom I had hinted the task that was likely to devolve upon him) fully evinces the warmth of your benevolence, and claims the just gratitude of all this family.
Talk not of gratitude, I entreat, cried he. If through the interest of my family I have been so fortunate as to render a slight service to Miss Seymour, damp not the pleasure it gives me by attaching to it an idea of obligation it so little merits; or if (for you will find I am willing to make the very most of the favour) if I can flatter myself with having enjoyed the happiness either of obliging Miss Seymour, or on her account of having gratified your wishes, will you give me leave to point out to you how you may cancel the obligation at once and make me most sincerely regard myself as your debtor.
If I have the power, Mr. Roatsley, returned

Mr. Howard smiling, be assured the will is not wanting.
The power of granting my request, I must conclude you are in full possession of, since it is by permission of Miss Seymour I venture to make it; and allow me to premise, that without the sanction of her approbation and consent I certainly should not have had the presumption (however anxious) to demand particulars into which I have no title but from her indulgence and your's to penetrate. Will you however favour me so far as to inform me of such circumstances of her present and past situation, as may enable me to judge in what manner I may perhaps one day have it in my power really and essentially to serve.
If your present enquiry reaches only to pecuniary matters, Sir, returned Mr. Howard, I have the pleasure of assuring you that in regard to that circumstance, Miss Seymour's situation has never been

so extremely uncomfortable as I have reason to believe was suggested to you. My wife's fortune, and her sister's, amounted originally to twenty four thousand pounds; but the sudden death of their guardian, who had the sole management of this money, and who has left his affairs in the most embarrassed and involved situation, in all human probability will reduce the sum to one tenth of its value. This certainly is a reverse to be lamented; but the mind that is wholly untinctured with avarice, seldom allows such mortifications to inflict a pang either deep or of long continuance, and I am certain it has never proved the source of more than a transient regret to either. Alas! human life is replete with distresses and anxieties which reach nearer to the heart, which pierce it in its tenderest feelings, and wound it where it is most open to the attack; and disappointments of this nature, against which both my wife and sister

have had to struggle at a very early period of life, have wholly blunted and obliterated the little rubs of adverse fortune.
I dare not venture to be inquisitive, said Roatsley, visibly affected by the picture drawn by Mr. Howard, yet will you call me so when I acknowledge that both my curiosity and compassion are strongly excited. Remember however in my justification, that Miss Seymour herself permitted the enquiry, and if I mistake not seemed astonished it was yet to be made.
You ought not to wonder at a circumstance so natural, said Mr. Howard. Miss Seymour's astonishment, great as it must have been, can scarce exceed mine to find that her cousin, the grandson of Lord Belmont, remains still uninformed of the natural ties that exist between them, especially after the unsuccessful application made to his Lordship through the

medium and interference of Lady Linrose for his countenance and favour.
At the expression "her cousin, the grandson of Lord Belmont," Roatsley caught suddenly the arm of Mr. Howard; and unable to interrupt him even by an ejaculation, remained rooted to the spot on which he stood in mute astonishment.
Good heavens! cried he, at length recovering himself—is it indeed possible that this amiable family, who so forcibly engaged my intetest and attachment almost in the instant that accident presented them to my sight, should really prove the children of my late unfortunate uncle, and connected with me by the ties of blood as they have ever been by those of regard and admiration. Permit me, my dear Sir, continued he, approaching Mr. Howard with open arms, to congratulate myself on this delightful information, and pray give me leave to flatter myself with the hopes of one day procuring

an interest in the affections of my dear and valuable relations almost equal to what they have long possessed in mine.
Mr. Howard was not a little affected by this generous warmth, as apparent in his countenance and manner as in his language, and expressed his feelings on the occasion in strong terms.
But why has this explanation been made no sooner? cried Roatsley. Why have I continued so long in a painful and lingering uncertainty in regard to a family so respected and so beloved? distracted and confounded by the most unjust representations, dark suggestions, and at best vague and comfortless conjectures.
Who may have found either interest or pleasure in fabricating or in circulating injurious reports of your innocent and amiable cousins, said Mr. Howard, is not possible for me to conceive, neither will I lose a moment in attempting

to confute what must appear so wholly unwarrantable and unjust, that I shall leave it entirely to time and intimacy to prove it so in the fullest extent.
Unnecessary is the proof, cried Roatsley with warmth, for false and malicious I have ever believed those reports to be. Yet you, my dear Sir, I am persuaded will be neither astonished nor offended, when I acknowledge that a multiplicity of disagreeable rumours continually reaching my ears to the disadvantage of those, of whom from the surer evidence of my senses I had the most amiable opinion, could not fail to shock and torment me; and if you can suppose a state in which you could just so far credit an aspersion as to allow it to teize and perplex you, without permitting it to influence your judgment, paradoxical as that state may seem it is exactly the situation under which my mind has for some time past laboured.

Far from being surprised, returned Mr. Howard with his usual candour, I think I should only have been so had you continued immovable and determined in your first prepossessions, when such infinite trouble and attention have been bestowed to warp your judgment and mislead your sentiments.
But my mother, you say, was in the secret. Pray how came she to be informed, while I and the rest of the family remained wholly ignorant and unsuspicious that my fair cousins had ever dreamt of quitting the secluded spot where they received their education.
That any individual of Lord Belmont's family should continue uninformed of any step taken by the ladies since their father's death, was by no means either their intention or mine. To their relations no secrecy was requisite; and in regard to others, a temporary concealment was merely thought necessary, because

it offered an easy method for escaping the impertinence of curiosity and investigation; and they naturally deferred relinquishing the name by which they had always hitherto been known, till the sanction and countenance of Lord Belmont should enable them to support the cruel retrospections which they knew their father's memory must sustain on their introduction into the world. An utter and absolute rejection from his Lordship to their application for acknowledgement, soon pointed out the fortunate propriety and delicacy of this precaution, as they afterwards disdained all thoughts of assuming or proclaiming their title to a name, of which their family, however unjustly, deemed them unworthy.
You open a transaction so entirely new, wonderful, and inconceivable, cried Mr. Roatsley, who had been attending with an expression of amazement in his countenance to this speech of Mr. Howard's,

that I can no otherwise hope to reduce it to my comprehension than by entreating you to favour me with a minute and regular detail of every circumstance.
Mr. Howard then beginning at the unhappy epocha of my dear father's misfortunes, related briefly yet with precision every particular respecting him and his children till the period of our arrival in England.
In regard to many of these events, said Mr. Howard while he repeated to us this interesting conversation, I could not suppose Mr. Roatsley completely ignorant. It may be naturally inferred that those who could traduce the innocent offspring would not fail to load the parent's memory with additional reproach, and I doubt not but Mr. Roatsley's mind has been early tinctured with the most contumacious prejudices against his ill fated uncle. To know his errors, independent of the penitence and remorse

which so powerfully extenuated and even obliterated his guilt, could not but mislead the nephew's candour, and must have induced him to regard with unabated horror a conduct that was followed by consequences so unhappy as to banish him for ever from his friends and country.
I therefore dwelt with particular energy on the dismal lapse of years spent in sorrowful seclusion that had succeeded to your father's rupture with his family, and continued invariably till his death: his contrition, his sufferings, his rectitude and benevolence, and the assiduous care with which he incessantly laboured (and in which he so well succeeded) to instil into the minds of his children every virtuous and amiable sentiment, as a barrier against the temptations and vicissitudes of a world that from a too fatal experience he believed strewed with dangers and replete with misery: and in order

to enforce this relation, I promised to procure him a perusal of the manuscript written by your father's own hand, which, as he seeks not in it either to palliate or conceal his faults, but breathes in every line that horror which ever attended the sense of his offences, offers a defence, the force of which candour must admit and justice itself acknowledge.
As Mr. Roatsley did not attempt to interrupt Mr Howard, he proceeded to acquaint him with our arrival in town, our disappointment in regard to Mr. Benseley's decease, our application in this uncomfortable and friendless situation to Lord Belmont through the medium of Lady Linrose, and with every particular of the interview on that subject with her Ladyship.
He next recapitulated the substance of my letter to my grandfather, imploring his favour and protection; and in answer to this, said he, taking out of his pocket

book the epistle written him on that occasion, pray take the trouble of reading his Lordship's final determination from the pen of Lady Linrose.
During the latter part of this relation, Mr. Roatsley's countenance betrayed an agitation and astonishment that gave defiance, Mr. Howard said, to all powers of expression. His perplexity, after reading the letter, seemed but little abated. He was for some moments lost in thought; but at length breaking silence —all that I can possibly conceive, cried he, all that it is in my power to conjecture or comprehend in this affair, is, that my mother having been herself deceived by the injurious aspersions fabricated by the infamous woman Brumpton, which have been circulated in town with a credit that astonishes me, dreading the impetuosity of my temper, which might induce me to disoblige Lord Belmont and even to act in open defiance of a prohibition so

unjust, so inhuman, so wholly contrary to his natural character and benevolence, in consequence of her apprehension of creating that discordant dissention which ever leads to alienation of affection and often to a total breach of family unanimity, has determined on concealing carefully from my knowledge every circumstance of the application; yet I must acknowledge myself extremely displeased at a step, which has been the means of retaining me so long in uneasiness and uncertainty, and the more I consider the circumstances of the whole transaction, the more I am astonished and bewildered. To imagine that Lord Belmont, if properly apprised of the situation of his granddaughters, would allow an obstinate and hardened prejudice to arrest his justice, to influence his humanity, and even to banish natural affection from his bosom, is a supposition to which I cannot for an instant give credit; it is to

believe him scarce human, and devoid of the first and most powerful principle of our moral construction. My mother indeed labours under a cruel misrepresentation, to which she has unfortunately given implicit faith, and which it has never been in my power to confute; for more than once have the Miss Seymours, though their names and some vague reports concerning them were all I concluded she knew, been the subject of discussion and even of altercation between us. Violently prepossessed against them previous to their application, her accounts may have perhaps influenced Lord Belmont's determination, even without her intending or dreading the injustice which her representation of their characters may have occasioned.
This indeed in some measure accounts for her Ladyship's conduct, and even greatly exculpates her from the charge of selfish and interested views. While she regarded

us in the light of relations who were likely to reflect dishonour upon our family, and who could bring no consolation to the desolated bosom of our grandfather, it cannot be supposed that her mediation in our favour would prove fervent, nor that her anxiety for our success could be as sincere as if our conduct had supported our claims. Her cold reception of Mr. Howard, and her distant reserve to myself, are here fully explained; and while the motives of her Ladyship's conduct are cleared up, a distant hope opens to view, that her prejudices being removed, those of our only surviving parent may yet listen to truth and yield to the voice of nature.
Is it not surprising, however, that the infamous designs of this wretch Brumpton in aspersing our reputations, should have so extensively spread the slander as to reach the ears of a person who moves in a sphere so superior, so distinct

from that wicked woman's line of life, and that these calumnies should have flown with such rapidity; for Lady Linrose must have learnt that we were unworthy of her notice almost as soon as she was informed that we solicited it. Mr. Howard's letter indeed, she received before her departure from her country seat, had afforded her an opportunity of being made acquainted with any particulars; but during the short interval between her arrival in town and her conference with Mr. Howard, our busy enemies must have contrived to sow the seeds of that contageous distrust and disgust, which then proceeded to infect and influence Lord Belmont.
This conversation having detained the two gentlemen till extremely late, they then separated and went to rest; though not before Roatsley had reminded Mr. Howard of his promise to intercede with my sister and myself to procure him a

perusal of the manuscript to which in his narration he had so often alluded.
So pleased, so affected was I with this relation, that it was with difficulty I could restrain my too visible emotion; and I willingly gave into Mr. Howard's hands the dismal packet, the mere sight of which as it lies in my bureau often saddens my gayest moments.
Mr. Roatsley has been up some time, said Mr. Howard; and anxious to present himself to you as a near and tender relation, has waited the hour of your rising with all the impatience of a dear and long absent friend.
Mr. Howard and my sister then went to join him in the breakfasting parlour; but afraid to discover an agitation too poignant for the occasion, interesting as it was, I chose to remain a few moments behind in hopes of acquiring some degree of composure.
The instant my sister appeared, Roatsley

with open arms and a countenance in the highest degree expressive of kindness and delight, approached her. Mr. Howard, cried he, are not cousins blessed with peculiar privileges, and folding her in his arms, he embraced her with the tenderness and familiarity of a brother.
So our cousin does not desert us, cried Fanny, receiving his salute with equal ease and pleasure.
Good heavens, my dear Mrs. Howard, I hope you do not confess ever having for a moment harboured a suspicion at once so unnatural and injurious.
Just then I entered; and quitting my sister's hand, he hastened to seize mine, which he kissed very fervently more than once, though with a degree of embarrassment, and even of distance, yes even of distance Sophia, which did not in the least influence his address to Mrs. Howard.
A variety of sensations, a conflict of

emotions, in defiance of all my summoned calmness and resolution, wholly deprived me of utterance. Will you not acknowledge me, my dearest cousin, cried he. At these words, you will blush for my weakness Sophia—(I'm sure I do most painfully at this moment, even at the recollection of my folly)—I burst into tears, and hastily pulling away my hand, turned from him in silence and ran out of the parlour.
A moment's reflection showed me what an unaccountable appearance my, behaviour must have had to all present. Without allowing myself therefore an instant for hesitation least my spirit should evaporate, I wiped my eyes and forced myself to return.
I blush for myself, said I on re-entering the parlour; and my cheeks sufficiently proved how true was the confession; but as I have never before enjoyed the happiness of knowing but one male

relation, it is no wonder that the acknowledged presence of another should bring the first so forcibly to my memory as wholly to overcome my feelings.
In sheltering my weakness under this little artifice, I was hardly guilty of deceit; for though my tears did not at that instant owe their source to this cause, the very idea had during the night drawn showers from my eyes; and I could not help believing, that if our beloved father locked down upon his children, he must witness with pleasure, even in his angelic state, this re-union with his family.
Mr. Roatsley only replied by pressing my hand tenderly in silence; and perceiving the subject as yet too affecting for my spirits, he forbore dwelling on it, and shifted the conversation to topics less interesting. My heart was indeed so completely awakened to softness and sensibility, that the keenness of my feelings gave even to my glad emotions the

tincture of melancholy; and while the most heartfelt satisfaction lightened my countenance, a tear, which all my efforts could hardly dispense, was ready to follow every smile.
Of our breakfast conversation I can really give you no account. Indeed I believe it is conferring an unmerited compliment on what passed to dignify it with the name of conversation. A hundred different topics were occasionally touched upon; but not one pursued with any method or connexion. Fanny's mirth was giddy and unbounded; Roatsley himself appeared in uncommon spirits; and though I perhaps was not the most talkative of the company, I believe my silent satisfaction was so apparent that I was far from appearing the least pleased.
Soon after breakfast he took leave of us in the kindest manner. I am unfortunately engaged, cried he in answer to the pressing invitations of my sister and





Mr. Howard, otherwise undoubtedly I should not have been proof against the friendly and obliging request of my new found relations, but while I remain in the county, which I think of doing for some time, I flatter myself you will allow me often to be your guest.
He then departed, followed by Mr. Howard; who having some business in the village, accompanied him on horseback part of the way.
Fanny and I, left then to ourselves, talked over every circumstance of the transactions of last night. We made a thousand reflections, you may believe, upon the singularity of our situation, and formed various conjectures upon the conduct of Lady Linrose and the unaccountable silence and secrecy she has observed; which we could not avoid attributing in part to selfish motives.
My sister dwelt with pleasure on the tenderness of her cousin's behaviour on their first meeting. Had I never seen him

till now, said she, the warmth of feeling with which he acknowledged a connexion so repugnant to the wishes of his family must instantly have gained my heart. On approaching you, I observed he was more distant; and I confess the difference struck me obviously. His address to me was that of a kind and long absent relation, who expressed in that character, with affection and familiarity, the pleasure he felt at the reconnoitre; to you his behaviour seemed to betray more of the timidity of the lover than the undisguised kindness of the friend.
O certainly it resembled the timidity of a lover extremely, cried I in an ironical tone, and I am afraid rather peevishly, for Fanny burst into a loud laugh.
Nay, cried she, I really think you have some reason to be jealous; for it must be confessed I am grown a prodigious favourite since last night, and before, you know, he used to be so entirely

engaged in another quarter, that he never could give himself the trouble to speak nor to listen to me, and seldom seemed even conscious I was in the same room with him.
She was diverting herself at my expense, when Mr. Howard returned. Pray Fanny, cried he, what is it that amuses you?
Nay I dare not tell for my ears, returned she, for Hermione will beat me; but smiling expressively, she sung these two lines from the entertainment of Midas:
My sister, he kiss'd her, but me he pass'd by,
I'm jealous of the fellow's bad taste and blind eye.
She needed not have stopped there, for words could not have contrived to explain more clearly what she pretended to conceal, and Mr. Howard's countenance expressed a momentary smile, but as if he was desirous of relieving my embarrassment,

which was indeed extreme, he instantly entered on a new subject, tho' the rapidity with which he did so, by confirming my apprehensions of suspicion, gave me very severe mortification.

He soon after began to join warmly with my sister in praise of our cousin's amiable qualities; and with an enthusiasm which delighted me, though I hardly ventured to appear attentive, recapitulated the conversation he had had with him during their ride. Though we have suffered so unaccountably from the breath of fame, said he, it has at least rendered us justice to this young man, whose character rises upon me every opportunity I enjoy of conversing with him. I have just been receiving some farther lights in regard to the ignorance in which he has continued thus long, and which appeared so extraordinary after the information given us in Mrs. Hindon's letter; but he has just now told me that during the

conversation he had with my sister in law that evening at her house, she touched so lightly on particulars, supposing him already perfectly informed of the most material circumstances, that not a hint escaped her which could have led him to discover his connexion with you. All I learnt from her was, said he, that the two ladies had been unfortunate, were involved in consequent difficulties, and that an application to Lord Belmont (I concluded for his interest towards obtaining a pension) had proved unsuccessful. My anxiety could not fail to be strongly excited: yet as the opportunity in a large company was unfavourable for entering more fully on the subject, I intended, for farther information, to apply next day to Mrs. Hindon, when I hoped to find her disengaged and at liberty to satisfy me; and in the mean while I determined to enquire of my mother what she knew of the affair, as I understood from

some words dropped by Mrs. Hindon, that she had interested herself in the application. I seized the earliest moment I could lay hold of to mention the matter to her, and next morning at breakfast asked her if she had ever been told that two young ladies of the name of Seymour, ladies whose names she had often heard me repeat with every expression of admiration, had besought my grandfather's interest towards procuring them an annuity from government. My mother's answer I perfectly recollect. She told me she believed such a demand had been made by the ladies in question, but that disadvantageous reports circulated against them had arrested his Lordship's intended exertions in their behalf, nor could he think of applying publicly in favour of girls, whose conduct by all accounts would reflect but discredit upon those who interested themselves in their affairs.

It was in vain, continued Mr. Roatsley, that I combated these unjust imputations with all the arguments in my power, and appealed to your character (as their guardian) so fully established in the eyes of all favoured with your acquaintance. My mother coolly answered, that men even of the strictest probity were not likely to withdraw their protection on account even of the most flagrant improprieties of conduct in young girls committed to their charge, and that it was more than probable they had even imposed on you with a borrowed appearance of that merit which art could easily assume and beauty sufficiently enforce. This, she said upon second thoughts, seemed indisputably the case, since a single evening spent accidentally in their company had rendered me so warmly their friend, and had induced me so romantically to espouse their cause, though totally uninformed of their characters and

connexions. They were unknown in this country, even by my own account; (for I had mentioned that circumstance as a motive of compassion) their same was dubious at best: and such misconduct had been laid to their charge, that even this phrase was a charitable one.
I warmly demanded from whom this slanderous intelligence had been received, and was at length unwillingly informed, that the woman with whom you lodged when in town had acknowledged to my mother's maid that the connexion between the ladies and their guardian was much too intimate for the distance required between a gentleman of character and his wards.
Shocked and confounded, though perfectly satisfied of the infamous falsehood of this scandalous aspersion, I was determined to have the matter fully explained, and instantly went to the woman's house, where having entered into conversation

with her I enquired particularly about her late guests. Her answers were ambiguous and evasive: and I soon perceived the character of the landlady was such as must render all information from that quarter false and injurious. I therefore soon quitted her, first reprimanding her for the infamous aspersions she had expressed, and assuring her that the ladies possessed friends who would loudly confute and rigorously punish those who might utter them. I returned home furnished as I imagined with proofs and arguments more than sufficient to overthrow the most determined prejudices. But my mother would hardly allow me to enter on the subject; and telling me neither herself nor I had any interest in the behaviour of two girls who were unknown to her even by sight, and she was afraid fully as unknown to me by character, although the acquaintance of a few hours had enabled me to judge so perfectly of

their dispositions, positively declared she should on no account be prevailed with to intercede with Lord Belmont in their behalf. I now perceive her motive, concluded Mr. Roatsley, for retaining me in ignorance. Prejudiced herself against my cousins before she was informed of their real name and situation, she was unwilling to strengthen a prepossession which might lead me to act contrary to the commands of Lord Belmont, whose will in matters of the most trifling moment has ever been regarded as a law in our family, and who it seems has positively forbidden the protection or countenance of my mother to be extended to these amiable relations. Indeed she might well dread the impetuosity of my temper on such an occasion would but ill brook the constraint of a prohibition so unnatural, and well might she know that no Lord Belmont on earth would have prevailed with me

to join in a measure, which reason and humanity must condemn, and the most inflexible prejudice only could adopt.
I shall not comment on this conversation, Sophia. It speaks for itself. Adieu my love. My packet is immense, but I rest assured you do not complain of its length. I direct it to Avignon, as you desired, me in your last; from which place I expect soon to receive a long volume of your journal.
H. SEYMOUR.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
JUNE 17.
YESTERDAY I walked out as usual in the morning, intending to strole

through the wood, attended by one of the parson's little girls, of whom my sister is extremely fond, and who often finds her way up the hill and spends the day with us. She is a delightful child of five years old, with a countenance animated and blooming as the spring; her flaxen hair curls round her face in ringlets so picturesque, that I imagined she would be an admirable subject for my pencil, and have accordingly drawn her in crayons, caressing a favourite little dog who always accompanies her in her visits. The portrait has surpassed my hopes; for I have succeeded tolerably well, both in the resemblance and attitude, and it makes a very ornamental piece of furniture for the drawing room. Since that period, the child had been continually teizing me to draw a little picture as a present for her doll; and as children, when they have got a whim in their heads, are unceasing in their importunities,

she persecuted me during our walk to set down to work on a sheet of paper which she had brought in her hand from the house for that purpose.
The scene here is romantic beyond imagination. The river, that murmurs below at the foot of a gentle descent, is shaded by the most venerable oaks, which sometimes form a thicket wild and sequestered, and in other places admit views of a most fertile and beautiful country; which being embellished with the plantations surrounding the splendid seats of several gentlemen of the county at a distance, and ornamented with a nearer sight of the spire belonging to the parish church, exhibits a prospect of gaiety as well, as grandeur. A walk that is cut in the slope of the bank, is my favourite resort, and so well calculated for soothing into a languor not unpleasant, any oppression which rests upon the mind, that I found it peculiarly

suited to the present state of my spirits; and to rid myself of Charlotte's importunities, I at length sat down on one of the green seats, and pulling out a pencil began to trace a little rough sketch which soon satisfied the child, who employed herself in running about gathering nosegays from the wood flowers that adorned the banks of the river.
Having the pencil in my hand, I began almost unconsciously to delineate upon the cover of a letter, features so deeply engraven on my mind, that I required not the presence of the original to enable me to recollect every trait of expression with accuracy; and a few strokes, though incorrect and unfinished, soon exhibited a resemblance, to which, innumerable as have been my secret attempts on the same subject, I had never before attained.
Charmed with my success, I gazed with delight on the drawing which promised

to be the private companion of many a solitary hour; and so wholly absorbed was I in contemplating my performance, that I heard not the sound of steps that approached me, till a voice almost at my ear said—I hope I don't disturb your meditations, Miss Seymour: and suddenly looking up, I beheld Roatsley immediately behind me.
Conscious apprehension made me instantly start up in confusion; and the paper dropping from my hand, a light breeze which just then seemed to rise for the purpose of plunging me into difficulties, got hold of it, and quickly conveyed it down the slope of the bank below.
Uncertain whether he had a glimpse of it or not, and unable to recover myself sufficiently to affect unconcern, I uttered not a word, but followed the flying cover with my eyes, in which anxiety and embarrassment were so strongly

painted, that Roatsley instantly added— what a world of mischief have I been guilty of, and directly flew to recover it.
For heaven's sake, exclaimed I in absolute agonies, for heaven's sake don't think about it. It is not of the slightest importance; it is a trifle, a drawing, not worth the trouble of picking up; and catching hold of his arm, (for I knew not what I was doing) just as he had arrived at the spot where a bush obstructed its progress—For God's sake come away, repeated I with a vehemence the most ill judged and absurd, and so far beyond what the occasion could possibly require without the interest of some secret cause, that no wonder he stood with his eyes fixed upon me in mute astonishment. The look of perplexity and surprise with which he regarded me instantly discovered to me my foolish imprudence in giving way to an alarm that had in fact no real foundation, and

from which a small degree of self command and presence of mind might have relieved me. I then heartily repented my folly; but alas! it was too late, and I only discovered my unfortunate absurdity time enough to lament its effects.
We were both silent for a few moments. At length —I cannot think any thing a trifle, said he, with a flush on his countenance, that gives Miss Seymour such visible uneasiness; especially—a drawing too—added he hesitating. The subject of her solitary contemplation. Allow me at least, Madam, to restore to you what appears of such infinite value; and darting forward, he caught the paper in his hand.
Sir, cried I, with a spirit which the present exigency alone could have inspired, and with all the firmness my terror gave me courage to assume, only hear me: if you cast one look on that paper,

never will I pardon, never will I see you more.
This speech certainly was frantic in the highest degree. It was acknowledging the truth of his hint; it was allowing him to conclude that the drawing was the resemblance of some person dear to my heart, since my agitation appeared so uncontroulable; but my imprudent uneasiness from the beginning must I imagined have infused these suspicions by this time strongly into his mind; and shocked to the soul at the apprehension of my heart being thus laid open in a manner so mortifying, so dreadful, to the man on earth from whom I most wished its weakness concealed, this sudden prohibition struck me as the only possible means of preventing immediate detection.
He still held the paper in his hand, and would not be prevailed with to restore it; but he made no attempt to examine

it. I dare not risk your displeasure, cried he, with a countenance expressive of uneasiness and suspense. To be banished from your sight, and the object of your hate, are ideas too horrible, too insupportable to be thought of; yet are they almost the only punishments that could at this instant so forcibly operate on my mind as to arrest my impatience and deter me from satisfying my burning curiosity.
Give me the paper, cried I; it belongs to me—it is mine—
And is dear to you, interrupted he with a voice almost suffocated, and holding it above my reach: say that it is dear to you, and I will indeed fly your sight for ever.
No, cried I, 'tis nobody—'tis nothing —it is not of the least: consequence— only give it me, or I never will forgive you.
Little Charlotte perceiving this altercation,

just then came running up to us. Is it the pretty gentleman's picture, cried she, for I had been imprudent enough to allow her to look over me while I was roughly sketching it.
A gentleman's picture, repeated Roatsley. Yes that it must be, and the resemblance of the most blessed, the most envied of mankind.
No, cried I, with an imprudence which I shall deplore to my latest hour but of which my exhausted spirits made me unconsciously guilty, I almost hate him at this instant, and (oh! Sophia, you will blush the deepest crimson for me) I burst into tears.
These words, and the manner, the warmth with which they were pronounced, alas! too plainly discovered the fatal secret. Scarce had they escaped my lips, when their too obvious meaning was apparent to myself. My feelings were then unutterable, but conscious

that my folly could not be recalled, I saw no consolation but in flight, and turning away with all the expedition in my power, I was flying down the bank towards the Chinese bridge, when Roatsley, too violently agitated to perceive the presence of the child, suddenly seizing my hand, prevented me by throwing himself at my feet. Miss Seymour, cried he, with an energy which must have surmounted all opposition had resistance been in my power—lovely and adored Miss Seymour, stay but for an instant. That secret passion which has proved the torment of my life so long, how shall I stifle or conceal in a moment like this? how shall I suppress the perhaps too fatal presumption to which it gives birth! For the sake of heaven, allow me either to put an interpretation on your present agitation, which will overwhelm me with a transport almost too infinite to be supported, or at once,

by withdrawing your prohibition, dash my delusive hopes and punish my aspiring folly as it deserves.
Oh! Sophia, what were my sensations at this speech. I tried in vain to disengage my hand; and having at length effected it, I covered my face with both, and almost sunk upon the ground. Roatsley, alarmed at my situation, hastily arose, and obliging me to lean on his arm, supported me almost fainting to a bench that encircled the trunk of an ancient sycamore not far distant.
Weakness for a few moments suspended shame, but soon my strength returning, my confusion redoubled with a violence unspeakable. During this short interval we were both silent, and Roatsley alternately kissed the hand he held in his and the drawing which he had now ventured to examine, and which he regarded as the assured pledge of my affection. Oh! my Sophia, feel for your

friend at this moment of emotion. Conceive if you can my sensations. But indeed that is wholly impossible. I was overwhelmed with shame, covered with blushes, and my pride most painfully wounded: the severity of the mortification I endured made me wish that I could sink into the ground and for ever conceal myself from the eyes of Roatsley, who gazed on me with a delight chastened by a degree of diffidence that seemed to aim at reconciling me to myself.
Pardon me, loveliest of women, cried he the moment he saw me beginning to recover, which I no sooner did than I attempted to rise—pardon the man who adores you—who would sacrifice his life, his happiness, for your's.
Just as he pronounced these words with the most passionate warmth, little Charlotte, who had been present during the whole of this distressing scene, a circumstance

which our mutual agitation had prevented our discovering, came running forward, and surprising him upon his knees, stared at the singularity of his attitude with a look of curiosity and surprise that quickly restored both his recollection and mine.
Roatsley started from the posture from which I had before repeatedly entreated him to rise without effect, and instantly getting up to leave him, I declared that on no account I could remain longer; and unable to meet his eyes, quickened my steps towards the house.
Stay but for a few moments, said he in a low voice, but in the most earnest manner; leave me not in this agonizing suspense I beseech you.
My confusion and perplexity having somewhat subsided, my heart began to taste the felicity of knowing (distressing as had been the circumstances to which I owed the discovery) that what I felt I had

not been incapable of inspiring; but at this moment the recollection of Lady Elizabeth and his engagements rushing upon my mind, shame, resentment, and anguish, all at once assailed me; and recalling with bitter regret the weakness I had betrayed and the professions which compassion perhaps alone had extorted, I pulled away the hand that Roatsley had again seized, and hastily said—you have egregiously deceived yourself Sir, and I own I am justly to blame in having partly given cause for the deception; but I desire you will leave me, and allow me to return instantly home. I shall be seriously displeased if you persist in detaining me; and having slightly curtseyed to him, though without venturing to regard him, I redoubled my pace and arrived at the house, not having once looked back.
On entering the hall, my sister ran to me. Hermione, cried she, what have

you done with yourself all the morning. I have been sending to the hut and all over the wood to find you: for pray who do you think is about to honour us with a visit, but our condescending Right Honourable relation, Lady Linrose.
Lady Linrose! repeated I in amazement.
Yes, her servant has been here with a card informing us that her Ladyship is on the road to wait on us, and entreats the favour of being allowed to see us one half hour in private.
Just as she spoke a carriage and four drove up to the door; and scarce had we gained the parlour, when Lady Linrose herself entered it.
She approached us with a look of the most engaging and affectionate familiarity. I may well dread the reception I ought to meet with, said she, taking a hand of each; but if the countenance is to be trusted, I will venture to hope

that a behaviour which I have been unwillingly constrained hitherto to support will not, when its motives are candidly examined, utterly exclude me from the prospect of obtaining your friendship.
Confounded by an address so unexpected, we bowed in silence; and my sister leading to the sopha we all seated ourselves.
I am now venturing on a step, resumed her Ladyship, which I have long ardently wished it in my power to pursue, but which even at this moment is so dangerous and daring, that the exigency of the present occasion, and a due regard to my own character only, can excuse or palliate my imprudence. I have long most anxiously desired the opportunity of a moment like this, in which I could fairly and candidly lay before you the motives of a conduct which must doubtless have appeared to you harsh, cruel, and unfeeling. Alas! you knew

not, that while duty withheld from you the protection to which you so justly laid claim, slander and injustice united to render the prohibition on my part easy to fulfil. Lately, but very lately, was I made acquainted with the value of what, by the commands of a parent, I am deprived of enjoying—your friendship and society. No sooner however was the veil taken from my eyes, than my mind became uneasy till it had acknowledged its injurious prejudices; and some alarming circumstances, to which I must entreat one quarter of an hour's attention, have at length determined me to hazard the danger of Lord Belmont's displeasure, should this act of disobedience reach his ears, rather than continue to appear in a light so injurious to my heart, so contrary to my real feelings.
Having received a bow of acknowledgement from my sister, and an assurance

from me that the present apology entirely obliterated all recollection of what once perhaps we might have considered as unkind, her Ladyship proceeded.
I must in the first place sincerely acknowledge, continued she, that I have no adequate apology to offer for having given credit to aspersions which I have since found so perfectly ill founded and unjust; but perhaps you may be kind enough to admit some sort of palliation from the utter ignorance in which I had been retained respecting you. That I had such relations, was merely all I knew; and no sooner had I received Mr. Howard's letter, than I determined in my own mind to afford you all the civility, kindness, and attention, to which your youth, sex, and situation in a quarter of the world entirely new, justly entitled you, especially as it was not difficult for me to perceive you were the same agreeable party which my son had

encountered on his journey, with whom he had been so much charmed and in whose favour he had so much prepossessed me. Had he been with me at the moment of my receiving the letter, I should undoubtedly have instantly yielded to the warmth of my compassion, and entrusted him, however imprudently, with the secret of your birth and connexion; but indispensable business had hurried him from me almost immediately upon his arrival, and time being given me for consideration, I foresaw how precarious and perplexing was the part I had now to act. Lord Belmont's character was well known to me. Though rigid in principle and fervent in benevolence, his prejudices are rooted and immovable; and a prepossession once fixed in his mind, allows neither reason nor humanity to interfere towards its extirpation. What steps he might pursue were doubtful and my fears greatly overbalanced

my hopes as to the generosity of his conduct. These reflections, though combated by my secret wishes, determined me to stand aloof till his Lordship's resolution was known; and if possible, by guarding the secret carefully from my family and more especially from my son, whose warmth of feelings and impetuosity I particularly dreaded, to preserve them from the wrathful effects of a displeasure from which I myself have suffered too severely not to apprehend it with terror.
I intended to hasten to town; but some previous business of real moment deferred my journey for some little time, and an alarming complaint, but of short duration, confined me so closely for a few days after my arrival, that I had no opportunity for transacting the business that had occasioned my removal, and which from the necessity of preserving it a profound secret I was unable to manage

by an agent. During this interval, anxious to get information through every possible means of the situation of my young relations, in regard to whom I felt myself extremely solicitous, it may be easily conjectured that I attempted every channel of intelligence, and made enquiry of every person whom friendship or intimacy allowed to visit me during my confinement. I was constrained to mention you however merely as agreeable, accidental acquaintances, whom my son had represented to me in an engaging and favourable point of view, and your very names were unknown to all to whom I applied, my son's friend Mr. Bradshaw excepted; who informed me that he had the honour of residing under the same roof with you, but whose light and disrespectful manner of expressing himself shocked and confounded me. The particulars which I contrived to draw from him, though vague and void of proof,

I must acknowledge infused a portion of doubt and distrust into my mind; but when I take the liberty of repeating what he said, I hope you will in some measure excuse and forgive me.
Your personal charms alone, he told me, were known to him; for to your private characters he was a stranger, tho' if appearances were to be trusted, the latter by no means conferred any additional lustre on the former: he some time afterwards added, that he had been informed at all hands you were light, doubtful, and indiscreet; your principal, if not your almost only associate, being a woman of infamous character, at whose windows he himself had frequently beheld you. Though I was thunder-struck at this intelligence, I did not give it implicit credit, but contrived to dispatch my own maid, who has been long and deservedly in my confidence, with orders to make private enquiries

respecting your conduct of the people with whom you lodged. Their accounts, ambiguous and perplexing, served only to strengthen and confirm my error.
Here I could not resist making an attempt to interrupt Lady Linrose, with the design of explaining the various and singular causes of these shocking imputations: but perceiving my intention— hold, my dear Madam, said she warmly. Do me not the injustice to imagine I now require any particulars to convince me of your innocence, and of my own inconsiderate conclusions. 'Tis my vindication not your's that brought me hither; and if any doubt could have remained on my mind, after having been once in your company, my son's explanation must have wholly removed it. I have already engaged your attention too long: yet I must request the indulgence of a few moments longer.
Such was the situation of affairs, when

I besought the favour of a visit from Mr. Howard; and in spite of the ill opinion I had imbibed of his wards, I wrote to Lord Belmont in their behalf with all the warmth they could have desired; though to own the truth, the longer I reflected the more was I convinced that the success of the application would be such as it proved. The event justified my prudence in having concealed the matter from my son; his Lordship, amongst other injunctions, having strongly enjoined a continuation of secrecy. There is a certain portion of spirit in my grandson's character, said he in his letter, which leads me to dread his conduct on this occasion. While I admire and approve of a disposition that is the source in general of noble and generous actions, in the present instance I fear the effects of its enthusiasm, which may induce him to regard those unfortunate relations as objects of peculiar interest and

regard. I solemnly declare however that his interference in this point with my commands, shall for ever exclude him my favour and cast him from my heart for ever.
Some time afterwards, my son one day unexpectedly demanded if I had ever been made acquainted with an application to Lord Belmont from those ladies of the name of Seymour against whom I seemed to have taken a prepossession so unaccountable? I evaded the question; and, though not without difficulty, soon after waved the subject: for while his expressions showed me that he knew but half the secret, his warmth convinced me his knowledge of the whole would prove destructive of that unanimity and affection which has ever subsisted between him and his grandfather.
Such being my private sentiments of you, and such my situation with my son, you may easily conceive what my astonishment

must have been on finding myself unexpectedly introduced to you at Holtenham Abbey. Your countenance, your manner, and the ingenuous innocence which shone conspicuous in both, opened my eyes, and unavoidably engaged my regard and admiration. Yet withheld from acknowledging myself to you in the manner I wished, I was unwillingly constrained to assume the distance of a stranger; and I will candidly own, that as such I must have still continued, had not the present unhappy dissention between my favourite son and myself obliged me to lay before you the private motives of my conduct—motives which I own only can excuse it.
Her Ladyship was visibly affected at these words; but having wiped her eyes, continued—Mr. Roatsley, I find, has been informed, I suppose by this family, of the whole affair; and displeased with the part which prudence persuaded me

to perform, last night desired from me an explanation of every particular. Finding all further secrecy impracticable, I readily and candidly acknowledged the truth; but this, instead of satisfying and convincing him, served merely to heighten a resentment that barely preserved the respect which duty and affection has never yet allowed him to forget towards his mother. Shocked to the soul by this difference, the first that from the moment of his birth ever occurred between us, I determined to open my heart to you; from the flattering hope, that knowing the secret spring of every part of my conduct, you might be enabled to do justice to my motives; and I trust should the subject ever again recur when my son visits you, you will have the goodness and generosity to convince him that in such circumstances, where the inflexible displeasure of Lord Belmont

was at stake, it was the indispensable duty of a parent to act as I did.
My sister and I in warm terms returned her Ladyship thanks for this candid and ingenuous explanation, which we sincerely assured her entirely satisfied us as to every point of her behaviour. As matters stood, Sophia, it was undoubtedly both prudent and natural for Lady Linrose to conduct herself in the manner she has done, and I now reflect with pain on the injurious opinion that chagrin and disappointment induced us to entertain of a character which this one conversation developes in the most amiable and honourable point of view.
We expressed much uneasiness at the difference which Mr. Roatsley's compassionate humanity, in espousing so warmly our cause, had occasioned with a parent to whose foresight and maternal attentions he owed so much, and hoped it had proceeded no disagreeable lengths.

My son, said her Ladyship, is possessed of the most amiable disposition in the world. The conversation I have just now mentioned, passed between us last night, when he asked permission to attend me in my dressing room after supper. I had observed that he was grave and uneasy the whole day; but no opportunity for an explanation had till then occurred. Though gentle to excess, his passions, when once roused, are by no means easily controlled. The circumstances of your situation had naturally excited his compassion, and his knowledge of your amiable characters deprived me of the only excuse he would admit as a palliation of my conduct. Lord Belmont's prohibition, he said, he could regard as none where honour and humanity were concerned. There was neither spirit nor principle in a slavish dependence on the will and opinions of others. In such a moment, prudence

was selfishness, and obedience so implicit could only be deemed abject and servile.
He left me with these words; but soon after recollecting himself, he returned, not however with the intention of openly apologizing for his hear, but apparently from the wish of in some measure atoning for it by talking over the matter with calmness and temper.
This he did; and we parted at a late hour on good terms. What had passed however hung heavy on my spirits. I foresaw a world of tumult and opposition from this unfortunate discovery, and I determined to ease my mind of part of its burden by openly disclosing my disquiets to the innocent cause of them, and entreating their forgiveness for the mental injury I have done them.
My son avows his resolution of applying to Lord Belmont in your favour, a determination, which far from dissuading him from performing I highly approve

of and shall myself enforce with that additional energy which admiration and regard must now produce; I cannot however avoid expressing my apprehensions that Roatsley's interference will irritate rather than persuade; and while to you he performs no essential service, he is disappointing and disobliging his grandfather at the most critical moment perhaps of his life: for I will not conceal any thing from you: I make no doubt indeed you must already have been informed of it: my son is soon to be happily settled in life with a most amiable and valuable young lady; a tender affection subsists between them; the match is in every respect desirable; but Lord Belmont's decided approbation can alone secure that of his young bride's family and connexions.
My heart, Sophia—oh! what did not my heart endure at these words? It died within me. I cast my eyes on the ground,

and avoided with the utmost care the penetrating look with which Lady Linrose regarded me. The agitating scene that had so recently passed between her son and myself flashed with redoubled anguish on my thoughts; the recollection was misery, and I felt as a culprit in his mother's presence. From this state of embarrassment and distress, I was presently in part relieved by the entrance of my little teizing companion Charlotte, who had been playing on the green before the house, and just at this moment appeared. Her Ladyship, not thinking it prudent to proceed in a subject of such moment before the child, having now explained herself sufficiently, shifted the conversation to less interesting topicks; and being charmed with the little girl's beauty, began to chat with her.
Amongst other questions suited to her age, Lady Linrose, to set her a prattling, made the enquiry with which all children

have been so often importuned, viz. which did she love best, Mrs. Howard or Miss Seymour? and Charlotte, not in the least at a loss for a reply which delicacy even in infancy sometimes renders embarrassing, instantly replied—oh Miss Seymour certainly. Every body loves Miss Seymour, and the gentleman loves her too, for I know that well enough.
We shall get at all your secrets, Miss Seymour, cried Lady Linrose, smiling at my unspeakable confusion. But pray, my dear, turning to the child, who is this admirer of Miss Seymour's?
What does the child mean, cried I, with a look which I intended for surprise but which I am afraid partook infinitely more of alarm: pray don't be foolish Charlotte. But alas! I tried in vain to interrupt her; for delighted with being allowed to prate, and charmed with the importance of evidently distressing me, she answered Lady Linrose archly in a

loud whisper—oh it must be her lover you know; for he kissed her hand just now again and again in the Filbert walk.
Conceive, if it is possible, my conscious distress. Words can but faintly express my situation. I dreaded that every feature of my face would discover who this secret admirer was, and all spirit to rally it off forsook me. I thought at that moment this was certainly the most painful excess to which shame and apprehension could arrive; but I was too soon taught how deplorably erroneous was this idea.
A short and most distressing pause succeeded to Charlotte's sally of gaiety. Lady Linrose, perceiving I suppose my uneasiness, politely forbore increasing it by proceeding in her enquiries, and looking at her watch, rose to depart.
My sister asked the favour of her Ladyship's company to partake of a family dinner, if she was not otherwise engaged.

I sincerely regret, said she, that I promised my friend Lady Mary to be home by four o'clock: for as my visits, my dear Mrs. Howard, must be few and privately stolen, I lament that I cannot indulge myself with a longer one at present: but we know not how things may turn out, added she with great kindness —we may perhaps be more fortunate than we at present imagine.
Mr. Howard will regret not having shared in the honour of this visit, Madam, said my sister: and just as she spoke, her husband, who had been told who was with us, entered the parlour.
Lady Linrose received him with particular civility; and though on her way to the carriage, which had been ordered to the door, unfortunately turned back and sat down again for a few minutes.
After the usual compliments and enquiries—I flattered myself Mr. Roatsley had accompanied your Ladyship, said

Mr. Howard, as I saw him at a distance little more than an hour ago with my sister in the walk; but it was not then in my power to join them, as I was employed procuring assistance to my old gardener, who has met with a very disagreeable accident this morning.
You must have mistaken some other person for Mr. Roatsley, said Mrs. Howard, for he has not favoured us with his company to-day.
Was he not here, sister, cried Mr. Howard turning to me with a surprise which I fear my too apparent distress sufficiently abated; for as if conscious of having committed some mistake, he left the sentence unfinished.
This was too dreadful. I believe Mr. Roatsley was walking to-day, said I at length: but the anguish of my feelings made my voice faulter even during this short sentence; and Lady Linrose rose, before I had concluded it, curtseyed in

silence to me, and taking her leave, was attended to the hall by Mr. Howard and my sister.
Being left alone—oh God! cried I to myself, what a day of misery has this been? My imprudence can only be equalled by my shame and despair. I was in agonies. I now perceived that Roatsley was inevitably devoted to another. The declaration, my Sophia, which burst from his lips, his reason, his principles, even his heart, must condemn in the first moments of cool reflection. The remembrance must wound him, and is an insult to me. He knows my weakness. It is no longer concealed as hitherto in the secret recesses of my heart. All the world knows it. Even his mother is no longer ignorant of the fatal secret; and what may she not conclude from the circumstances which have revealed it to her knowledge. Would to heaven I could hide my confusion and

folly for ever from the whole earth. But even if I could, how shall I ever conceal from myself the bitter, heart rending recollection of my own imprudence.
I was almost frantic: and the moment I perceived the carriage drive off, I flew into my own room and shut myself up. Fanny soon followed, demanding admittance. But I could not for some time prevail with myself to grant it; for although my heart is strongly and tenderly attached to her, a dissimilarity of disposition, and the circumstance of her being a married woman, which makes me apprehensive that her husband will be a sharer of all she knows, renders my confidence in her neither so comfortable nor so undisguised as it would otherwise prove. I am not so unjust as to suppose she could ever be prevailed with to betray by the slightest hint the secrets reposed in her; but the openness of her disposition renders me very suspicious

that she might be imprudent without being conscious of her error; and though I am thoroughly satisfied that she is as happy with Mr. Howard as it is possible for any woman to be in the married state, yet I feel a degree of indelicacy in painting anxieties and ardours which were so wholly excluded her own courtship, and which may for that reason appear romantic and unaccountable.
I partly confessed however the disagreeable situation in which I found myself involved; and without touching on the circumstances of the drawing, and the declaration it had produced, which indeed I cannot recall to mind and could not have mentioned without anguish unspeakable, I owned I had met with Roatsley that morning, and acknowledged the uneasiness which the little girl's raillery before his mother had occasioned me.
I know not what to make of him,

said Fanny: and undoubtedly this cousin of ours after all is a little unaccountable; for as Miss Farnford observed, his mistress has surely some reason to complain of his attentions in another quarter; and what can the man mean if he is actually on the eve of wedlock? I don't understand his behaviour.
Alas! thought I, I understand his behaviour but too well. It is my too apparent weakness and folly which have for a time produced in his heart a temporary inconstancy. Oh, Sophia! how painful is this idea. All my pride of heart rises against it. I am sunk in my own opinion—I am humbled and miserable.
There is but one step to be taken, said I to my sister. To see Lady Linrose again would be at present peculiarly disagreeable; and tho' she gave at parting no intimation of a speedy return, she may very possibly contrive to see us before she leaves the county, which I own I

would wish to avoid, and a very simple and natural method of doing so has occurred to me: I think of hastening my visit to our dear and valuable Lady Aubrey. It is but setting off in a day or two instead of three weeks hence. I am sure of finding her at home, and shall this very day write to prepare her to expect me.
My sister, who has never been separated from me for many years, and who dislikes the idea of my leaving her even for a short time, made some little objections to this plan, alleging that Lady Linrose had requested her visit might be kept a secret, from which it was naturally to be inferred that it was not likely to be soon repeated.
I did not choose to own explicitly that it was the son still more than the mother that I wished to avoid, tho' I told her that I thought I ought not to expose myself to attentions that were (tho' I believed

unintentionally,) certainly an insult to my character: and I soon persuaded her to acknowledge, if such were my sentiments, that I ought not to defer my journey.
The difficulty that now remained, was how to conceal my real motive from Mr. Howard: but happily a fortunate pretence soon presented itself: in the evening, while we were chatting on the occurrences of the day and the unexpected visit we had received, a letter was brought me from our dear and respected friend, telling me that her impatience to embrace us had arisen to such a height, that she entreated, if Mr. and Mrs. Howard's visit must still be delayed, mine might be deferred no longer; requesting leave to send her own carriage and servants to convey me sately to Aubrey Castle.
This kind, maternal epistle, would at all events have determined my compliance, especially as Lady Meredith and

Sir William, I find, have left the castle, having been suddenly recalled home: but at this time it is particularly agreeable, as it at once relieves me from my difficulties in regard to Mr. Howard, removes me from the chance of again meeting the man I so anxiously wish never more to behold, and offers me an opportunity undisturbed and at a distance, for combating the commotions of my mind.
I have written Lady Aubrey that I shall be with her on Saturday evening. Her seat is forty five miles distant; but by setting off very early, I hope to accomplish my journey without sleeping on the road, which I should dislike much. I have accepted the offer of her carriage and servants, which are to be here on Thursday evening.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
AUBREY CASTLE, JUNE 21.
I Arrived here last night about nine in the evening. The moment I alighted, our dear Lady Aubrey ran out to meet me in the hall. She pressed me to her bosom in the tenderest manner, and tears accompanied her embraces.
She led me to her dressing room; where, after a thousand anxious apprehensions on her part in regard to the fatigue I had undergone in travelling, and as many kind enquiries after my sister and Mr. Howard, I congratulated her with the most heartfelt satisfaction on the

happy improvement of her health, indicated so visibly by the alteration in her looks.
The change is indeed striking. That glow which health and tranquillity only can preserve, now throws a lustre over features, the interesting beauty of which seemed before incapable of addition.
Both in mind and body, said that angelic woman, my amendment is wonderful: and how infinitely kind is it in my Hermione thus to soothe my heart by gratifying my ardent wishes for her company. My spirits, thank heaven, are calm and equal; and my frame, at no period robust, begins to feel the pleasing effects of internal peace and composure. I do not allow myself to indulge the seclusion to which inclination strongly impells me: on the contrary, I respect those exactions which the rights of society require, and the neglect of which I, who have perhaps a long life before me, may

yet live to regret. I intend to force myself therefore to make proper returns to the visits and civilities paid me by my country neighbours; and have even already begun to form an intimacy with a very worthy couple, who have hitherto waved all ceremony, and who have been repeatedly my guests. They are at present with me; and though I should have much prefered the happiness of spending this evening tete a tete with you, I must submit to allow them a share of your company.
She then conducted me to the drawing room, where we found a lady and gentleman engaged at picquet. She presented me to both in the kindest manner. I shall say nothing, my dear Madam, said she to the lady, for leaving you my cards so long, as I bring my apology along with me in this amiable young friend, who has relieved my apprehensions

by making her appearance at last.
Supper was announced immediately after; and as I was fatigued and exhausted, Lady Aubrey, whose solicitude and anxiety made her watch every change of my countenance, insisted that I should retire early to rest; and making her excuses to Mr. and Mrs. Berry, who seem very sensible, agreeable people, she led me to the chamber allotted me, where having ordered her maid to attend me, and satisfied herself that every thing was prepared for my comfort and satisfaction, she tenderly embraced me and wished me good night.
SUNDAY NIGHT.
Just as Lady Aubrey, her other guests, and myself were assembled this day at dinner, the arrival of the postman with

the newspapers induced Mr. Berry, who is a great politician, to hurry it over in order to read them aloud to the company. His lady, who seemed little amused by the prospect of the parliamentary orations, requested him to give us the news of the day before she set off on her rambles; and in compliance with her desire, he began the list of mortality, in which he suddenly read the death of the Right Honourable Lord Linrose at Lyons. I was extremely shocked; though merely from compassion for the friends who must lament his loss; and Mr. Berry seemed himself conscious of having committed an impropriety in mentioning, in presence of Lady Aubrey, a name that seemed destined never again to reach her ears; for I remarked that his voice changed as he read, tho' he had the presence of mind not to make his thoughts evident by stopping before he had finished the sentence. Lady Aubrey

seemed so much affected by the paragraph that she soon after left the room.
I wished much to follow her: but recollecting that any private conversation at that moment must naturally have led to subjects which I wish as much as possible in future to avoid, I forebore my intention; and when she returned some time after into the room, I rejoiced that I had not given way to my first impulse, as though her eyes were red, she conversed with a sedate cheerfulness which testified her determination of combating all melancholy retrospections that might lead to repining and despondency, and soon after proposed conducting me thro' the different apartments of this elegant abode (the morning having been employed at church) which infinitely surpassed my expectations in point of magnificence. It is much too spacious in my opinion for the residence of a single,

solitary individual. However a large establishment of servants, and a cheerful situation, in a eat measure atone for this defect, which Lady Aubrey herself remarked to me while we were surveying it. It is the spot where my predecessors have resided time immemorial, said she; and my grandfather made it an article in his will that I should inhabit the house, and not suffer it to fall into decay.
There is a collection of most valuable pictures; and a large library, where I intend passing several hours every day, stored with the works of the best authors in all languages. I never was less in a mood for study; but for that very reason I must endeavour to force a relish for every employment that banishes musing. At present, however, I am incapable of any exertion; for I am really far from well, and as much exhausted as

if I had gone a journey of five hundred miles at least.
JUNE 24.
Our guests left us to-day, which I regret much. Mrs. Berry seldom leaves her family even for so long a period as a few days, and her present visit was a particular compliment to Lady Aubrey, to whom I suspect she and her husband have peculiar obligations.
I have received a letter from Fanny, dated Saturday evening. She writes to inform me of Lord Linrose's death, with which she had been made acquainted a few hours after I left her, by a note from Mr. Roatsley, merely mentioning the event and the time it took place, as a piece of respect due to relations of the family. Mr. Howard, she tells me, wrote a letter of condolence next morning,

to which he received a very kind reply, assuring him that nothing but the shock he has received would have prevented his being at Hubert Hill long before now. Lord Belmont, he says, who has been severely wounded by this blow, meant to set off directly for England. He must be already on his journey, adds Mr. Roatsley; and as I intend meeting him at Calais, I flatter myself I shall soon merit his grateful acknowledgements for the essential service I mean to confer upon him—that of consoling him in a great measure for what death has snatched from his arms, by presenting to him relations who must and who ought to be so dear to his heart.
Fanny tells me, likewise, that she hears. Lady Linrose and her family are soon to leave Holtenham Abbey, and to set out for Northamptonshire. She makes no doubt, she says, but Roatsley will call at Hubert Hill before his departure. Poor

Lady Linrose, it seems, is much afflicted; and their stay with Lady Mary is to be no longer prolonged than till her Ladyship's spirits will admit of the exertion of a removal.
This letter, which I received last night in Lady Aubrey's presence, and which I withdrew to a window to read, threw an air of such depression over my countenance, that on turning round she enquired with anxious apprehension if all were well at Hubert Hill. This hint made me exert myself to appear cheerful; but I fancy I could not boast of my success. Since my arrival here Lady Aubrey has never recurred to those painful subjects which burst from her in the moments of agitation at Hubert Hill; and I could not have read my sister's letter to her without calling back her thoughts to many dismal reflections, the natural result of being told that Lord Belmont was on his way to England.

JUNE 28.
Our style of living here is so rational and serene, and Lady Aubrey's tenderness and attention towards me so unremitting and endearing, that I should be happy in future to divide my time equally between Hubert Hill and Aubrey Castle. Lady Aubrey's conversation is a never failing source of interest and amusement. Her heart is so benevolent, and her understanding so highly cultivated, that it is impossible ever to tire in her company or desire other society. I am only distressed that she remarks my thoughtfulness; and is become so uneasy about my loss of appetite and palid colour, that she quite tortures herself with uneasy apprehensions, for which I cannot convince her there is not the slightest cause.

She begins to fear an approaching consumption; though I have assured her my lungs are made of adamant, and never were suspected of weakness in my life. This day she has actually consulted Doctor Elton, who has partly relieved her by declaring a journey to Bristol wholly unnecessary. He says my complaints are nervous, and advises me to try the effects of change of air and amusement—in other words that he don't know what to make of them: and Lady Aubrey has resolved that we shall set off in all haste upon a visit to Sir Ashton and Lady Hilbury; the latter of whom is sister to Sir William Meredith. Lady Aubrey has repeatedly rejected a number of pressing invitations from this family, as she had no intention of visiting at such a distance from home; but the notion of travelling, which she imagines will be of service to me, has determined her on going. There is a

vast resort of company at Hilbury Lodge; and she kindly flatters herself I shall be amused. But the very idea of leaving this place is disagreeable to me; and the prospect of a journey feels like an exertion that fatigues my spirits.
H. SEYMOUR.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
HILBURY LODGE, JULY 1.
WE arrived here last night after a pleasant journey. The weather was very favourable, and the country thro' which we passed so beautiful, that I was much more pleased than I expected to have been. I am considerably stronger

since we set out, and but for a languor and depression which still hang upon me, would think myself quite well.
The family here consists of Sir Ashton, his lady, and a large party of visitors. They reside constantly in the country, and live in what is called the style of old English hospitality. They received us with much kindness and cordiality, and we sat down to supper twenty in number in a large hall, the walls of which are decorated with family portraits of ancient grandmothers and maiden aunts, dressed in the fashions of their days, with a rose in the hand and a smirk on the countenance of each.
JULY 2.
A servant who was ordered to remain behind on some business of Lady Aubrey's and to join us here to-day, has

brought me another letter from Fanny which arrived the day I left the Castle. I besought her to write to me frequently, and she has most conscientiously performed her promise. She tells me that Lord Linrose, as he must now be called, paid them that morning a visit. He seems much affected by his brother's death, she says, and looks extremely melancholy and depressed. He expressed in strong terms his disappointment at my absence, and informed them he was to set off for Calais on the 12th of July, where he expected by that time to find Lord Belmont already arrived; if not, his Lordship had so settled his route that he should probably meet with him a stage or two further on.
Lady Linrose and the young ladies were next day to leave Holtenham Abbey. My sister adds a circumstance, for she is very minute, which was before unknown to me: I always imagined

that Roatsley had made one of the family at Lady Mary's, but she mentions that he has merely visited there from time to time during the distress of his mother and sisters, having lodged at the house of his steward (his own mansion not yet being ready for his reception) who has a small farm on his estate. I suppose some punctilio relating to his situation with Lady Elizabeth occasions this distance and formality.
This letter was accompanied by one from Mr. Howard, dated the day after, in which he informs me that the evening before Sir Edward Sudbury had paid him a visit. A compliment, says he, which is entirely to be laid to your account; for nothing could exceed his evident disappointment and regret on finding you were from home. After expressing it in terms sufficiently plain, he demanded a private conference with me, entreated my interest with you in

his favour, and requested permission on your return to repeat his visits as your declared admirer. I told him, continues Mr. Howard, that all I could promise him was my good wishes, as I was wholly ignorant of your sentiments in regard to him; nor could I undertake to further his suit in any other manner than that of paving the way for his proposal by preparing you for it. I likewise told him you was not expected home for many weeks, and perhaps might even remain absent for a much longer period. Sir Edward eagerly caught at this proposal; requesting I would lose no time in executing it, and desiring me to acquaint you that he earnestly entreats permission to attend you at Aubrey Castle.
Regarding myself as Sir Edward's agent, concludes Mr. Howard, I cannot avoid adding, that possessed of an excellent character, an affluent fortune, and a

good figure and address, any woman, whose affections are not otherwise engaged, must enjoy a fair prospect of happiness in an union with him.
I had scarce finished reading this letter, when the bell summoned me to dinner. Our party, large as it was, had gained the addition of several fox hunting gentlemen, who sat down to table in their boots, with their cropped hair quite free from powder, and in a dress that would have disgraced their footmen. Being the first of this class I have seen, I was so much astonished by their appearance, that I could not credit my ears, when Lady Hilbury, introducing one of them to me, called him Sir John something or other, for I have forgot his surname.

JULY 3.
The moment I was alone with Lady Aubrey last night, I mentioned to her the substance of Mr. Howard's letter. Well, my love, said she, and pray what are the objections to the match? Are there any deficiencies in point of fortune? If so, easily can these be removed; for is not my Hermione my own child; the child of my bosom; and she embraced me affectionately.
I instantly satisfied her that the obstacles against it resulted merely from the feelings of my heart, which were wholly repugnant to the union; and a thousand times I thanked her for the kind adoption; a tye which I told her, and told her with sincerity, I had neither wish nor intention of weakening by any other that might divide my affections.
I am much mistaken, said she smiling,

and looking me earnestly in the face, if my Hermione's heart is formed for the reception of no warmer sentiments than those a fond mother can hope to excite.
A blush of conscious confession tinged my cheeks. I replied that Sir Edward, at least, never would rival that dear mother in my heart; nor could I persuade myself that any attachment, however violent, would for an instant diminish or interfere with that servent affection for her which constituted almost the first happiness of my existence: and indeed, Sophia, I did not exaggerate my feelings in expressing them thus warmly; for my unexpected intimacy with this angelic woman has produced an interest that supports my sinking spirits and feels like the acquisition of a new sense that gives life and energy to all the others.
Well, my love, said she, I live in hopes of one day witnessing that you make good your promise. If I lose your

regard I lose all that attaches me to my present state of being. But I am not so selfish as to desire to engross it wholly. Your felicity is my first and dearest wish; and I would not secure my own at the price of diminishing yours. I hope therefore to see you happily settled, in that state which undoubtedly is capable of producing, and often does bestow, the highest degree of comfort.
I have written in the strongest terms to Mr. Howard, requesting him to inform Sir Edward that it is impossible for me to grant permission for a visit which would put him to the trouble of a fruitless and unnecessary journey.
JULY 6.
This house is by much too gay for an invalid. Different visitors succeed each other daily; and the same observation is

repeatedly made—"I'm afraid, Ma'am, you a'nt well." I am quite teased with it. Lady Aubrey has consulted an able physician here, who has assured her there is nothing in the least alarming in my complaint, and has prescribed early hours, regularity of living, and asses milk, which restoratives are to be procured with much greater ease and convenience at Aubrey Castle, than in this hospitable family; where the constant bustle of a number of people, and the necessity of submitting to the established hours, prevents that composure and quiet so salutary to weak health. Lady Aubrey I am sure finds it equally uncomfortable, and has readily agreed to my request of shortening our visit
JULY 7.
After sundry remonstrances, and innumerable pressing entreaties to prolong our

stay, Lady Aubrey has at length made her point good, and we are to depart on Monday.
Were I in better spirits, I might divert you not a little with an account of the different people I have met with since our abode here, particularly with this fox hunting baronet, Sir John Bennet, who professes himself my admirer, tho' our acquaintance has not been of above a few days standing, and who makes downright love to Lady Aubrey, in hopes she will give him an invitation to Aubrey Castle. I wonder any man can think of me, when Lady Aubrey is present. It is amazing that every man who sees her is not distractedly in love with her. She is not yet thirty six; and tho' the stile of dress in which she indulges, indicates a more advanced period, her countenance is uncommonly youthful.

JULY 9.
I was quite astonished to-day on entering the drawing room to find Sir Edward Sudbury. As it was scarce possible he could have been made acquainted with the contents of my reply to Mr. Howard's letter, which was only sent away on Friday last, I knew not what to make of this visit, which he soon took an opportunity of insinuating had been the sudden consequence of his being accidentally informed that I was at Hilbury Lodge, with which family he is intimately acquainted. I suppose he must have considered permission to wait on me at Aubrey Castle at least as very precarious; and I imagine regarded this circumstance as a favourable opportunity for urging his suit without unpoliteness or impropriety.

I endeavoured, by the gravity and reserve with which I attended to him, to explain what reception his proposal was likely to receive, and if possible to deter him from a pursuit that could only be succeeded by mortification and uneasiness; but Sir Edward was in unbounded spirits, and would take no hint that seemed repugnant to his wishes. When our departure to-morrow however was accidentally mentioned by Lady Hilbury in the course of the evening, a cloud suddenly overcast poor Sir Edward's countenance, his vivacity forsook him, and with a very submissive but melancholy countenance he seized a moment while the company were settling their card parties, to request leave to have the honour of attending us, and besought that I would allow him to entreat Lady Aubrey's permission.
I told him gravely that it was wholly out of my power to grant his request.

The apprehension of deceiving him, and the desire of putting a speedy period to hopes which deluded only to render the disappointment more painful, made me pronounce these few words in a voice so determined, that my heart instantly reproached me for the pain I was constrained to inflict; while it's secret feelings explained to me so powerfully what Sir Edward's must prove. I therefore added, tho' with equal steadiness, that I should always remain sensible of the favour he intended me.
Having forced myself to be thus explicit, distressing as it was, I hastily turned away; and Sir Edward, thunderstruck at my prohibition, instantly left the room. He did not appear for some hours; and during the whole evening repeated enquiries of where he could be, and expressions of wonder what he could have done with himself, were made by the whole company.

Sir Edward at length entered; but not till we were all seated at supper. He supported the general attack with much embarrassment; and said in excuse for his absence, that he had been enjoying this delightful evening along the side of the canal. This occasioned much mirth. The refinement of his taste was admired, his neglect of the ladies at the card party heartily laughed at, and finally it was determined that, as the sole excuse his failure in politeness would admit of, he must make a formal acknowledgement to the company that he was deeply involved in a hopeless passion, in which case only the ladies agreed to accord him their forgiveness.
How Sir Edward looked, on this raillery, I know not, for I was little less confused than himself, and did not once dare to throw my eyes that way. His awkwardness was matter of additional entertainment; and since he would not

make a verbal confession, Lady Hilbury told him his silence should be taken as proof positive.
Lady Aubrey, with her usual humanity, distressed at this persecution, fortunately relieved poor Sir Edward by hinting a wish to retire early on account of our journey to-morrow; and we separated at least an hour sooner than usual.
I attended her to her dressing room▪ where dismissing her maid—I cannot help being rather surprised, my dear, said she. This Sir Edward appears a very amiable young man, and his behaviour this evening convinces me that he is tenderly attached to you. Is your determination still to reject him? does your heart say nothing in his favour?
Oh! nothing, nothing indeed, cried I. I pity and feel for his disappointment; but to be his wife would render me miserable for ever.
I spoke with such unnecessary warmth, when I had been listening to no arguments

that could have roused my opposition, and had no solicitations to apprehend from the tenderness of my dear Lady Aubrey, that she looked at me some moments with a face of perplexity. Then heaven forbid you should be his wife, my love. I do not mean to become the advocate of a man of whom I have seen so little. I am too conscious of the inestimable value of my Hermione's heart, not to be as nice in my choice of the man on whom she is to bestow it, as she can possibly be for herself. I am only surprised that a heart, young, warm, and enthusiastic, which has been in a manner secluded from intercourse with mankind, and which cannot for that reason have been either tainted with the vanity of general admiration or deluded with the destructive idea that in high birth and titles a gratification is to be sought, unattainable in a more moderate sphere: I am surprised, I repeat, that a heart like

yours should have remained unmoved by the assiduities of a man, whose outward appearance speaks so highly in his favour, and whose character you allow to be estimable and even amiable.
To this observation I could make no answer. To a friend so dear, so respectable, so kindly and warmly interested in my felicity, to have given an evasive and disingenuous reply, was impossible. Gratitude and affection condemned the very idea. Yet to make a confession of the state of my affections, to avow that a secret and hopeless attachment devoured my peace, destroyed my health, and steeled my heart against the solicitations of all men but one, was equally impracticable. Oh Sophia! such an avowal must have been so humiliating, so painfully severe, it must have led besides to a train of particulars so interwoven with Lady Aubrey's misfortunes, that this act of confidence might have given no less pain to her feelings than it must have

conveyed to mine. After hesitating therefore for a moment, whether from respect due to the beloved friend who honoured me with the name of daughter, I should not throw myself into her arms and instantly confess my weakness, I found that love was to her a subject I could not force myself to mention.
These ideas, which passed with the velocity of lightning through my mind, sealed up my lips; and Lady Aubrey perceiving that I was embarrassed, expressed a desire to go to rest, and kindly wished me a good night, which afforded me an opportunity of retiring. I am convinced however, that painful as might have been the communication, I should undoubtedly have avowed all at that moment had not the above mentioned apprehension deterred me.
On entering my chamber, I perceived a letter directed for me; which I found was the fruits of Sir Edward's moonlight

meditations, and must have considerably shortened his walk. I suppose he had bribed one of the maids to lay it on my toilet.
Adieu, my dear, dear Sophia. My eyes are quite sunk with sleep.
H. SEYMOUR.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
AUBREY CASTLE, JULY 13.
WE are returned here, to my inexpressible satisfaction; and if the perturbation of my spirits will allow of any kind of method or connexion in my narrative, pray receive the particulars which occurred immediately on our arrival.
We set off early on Monday last. Poor

Sir Edward! his uneasiness at seeing us depart was very apparent. But as I must hasten to more interesting circumstances, I shall merely tell you, that having in his letter desired leave to receive his sentence, as he called it, from Lady Aubrey's lips, I entreated her at once to put a final period to his suit; which she accordingly contrived to do during a short walk on the terrace after breakfast. He was much shocked, she said, but seemed to regard his dismissal as positive and unalterable.
We arrived pretty late at the castle. Lady Aubrey, after ordering tea, of which she is particularly fond, left the room to give some family orders, and soon after the housekeeper entered and presented to me a letter, which she told me had been brought three days after my departure, by a servant, who finding I was from home, enquired when I was expected to return; and being informed

that our absence was only designed for a week at most, he left it in strict charge to the housekeeper, telling her it must be given into Miss Seymour's own hands, and requesting particular care might be taken of it.
This appearance of precaution conveyed an idea into the good woman that probably the letter contained bills for money; which suspicion induced her, instead of sending it by post to Hilbury Lodge, on finding our stay prolonged, to lock it carefully in her drawer till our arrival should put it in her power to discharge her trust faithfully.
A gentleman, she added, had called that very morning, and having enquired for the housekeeper, had asked what was become of the letter given into her hands by a servant a fortnight before; and finding we were that day expected, had requested her to present it to me immediately on my arrival.

This prelude alarmed me, tho' I knew not why. The woman withdrew: I opened it in trepidation: and what was my astonishment and agitation on perceiving the signature of Linrose. I sunk breathless into a chair, and scarce credited the sense which enabled me to peruse the following lines.
When I consider that perhaps at this moment▪ Miss Seymour does me the injustice to imagine me the most insensible, the most ungrateful of mankind, I tremble to address her; and when I reflect, that from an unhappy fatality of events it is not impossible but that to these accusations, cruel and injurious, may be superadded those of inconsistency and duplicity, I am wholly bereft of the composure with which I should wish to enter on an explanation of my conduct.
Ah! Madam, is it then possible that

you suspect not only the tenderness of my heart but its honour and integrity; that you conclude me so devoid of principle, so lost to shame, as to offer vows to you which are the right of another. Ah! loveliest, most amiable of women! sink me not in my own estimation by acknowledging I was ever for an instant depraved so low in your's. Believe me not capable of a deed so base; a deed— for which violence of passion and force of temptation, even of such temptation as in that case I must have had to encounter, afford but impotent and feeble palliations. No, Madam, had I been fettered by the slightest ties, had my heart sought to insinuate itself into the bosom of sensibility, and success afterwards ungratefully sickened me at the pursuit, my love, my adoration of Miss Seymour, might have tortured my bosom, but never should it have passed my lips.
A chain of particulars, too intricate,

too tedious for distant discussion, has led to the unfortunate and mistaken notion of my approaching union—particulars which, when I have the honour of seeing you, I hope you will have the goodness to allow me to explain; in the mean while, for the sake of heaven, permit me to exist by the flattering hope, that the cruel and sudden reverse in your behaviour, from softness the most captivating, the most angelic, to the coldest severity and most barbarous reserve, owed its source solely to this perplexing report. Forgive me, Miss Seymour, for recalling your thoughts to recollections, which, dashed as they are with bitterness, dwell on my memory with sensations of delight, gratitude, and exultation, that never, but with my last expiring sigh can be erased from my heart: yet what a painful allay succeeded to this moment of happiness! your downcast look, and silent haste to escape from me, were not

the blushing effects of the timid and diffident regret with which you reflected on the softness you could not wholly and cruelly disguise from the man who adored you, and who, supplicating at your feet, claimed surely some little sensibility to a passion that has so long proved the destruction of his peace. Ah no! these amiable sufferings had already inflicted too much pain, had already increased if possible my enthusiastic admiration, even while I lamented their poignancy and partook of the uneasiness they occasioned you. No! you suspected my honour, you believed me unworthy of your slightest regard; and a rigour the most inflexible taking place of softer emotions, barred every avenue to your heart and rendered it inaccessible to all my prayers and entreaties.
Why this vindication was not earlier attempted may probably surprise you. But while your behaviour perplexed and

tormented me, this explanation of its severity never once occurred to my imagination; till it was this day happily suggested, from having been informed that the rumours respecting my engagements were so serious and so current as to gain universal credit.
Miss Seymour may believe, that after par•ing from her at a moment so arduous, I did not mean to allow twenty four hours to elapse without imploring her to acquaint me wherein I had had the misfortune to offend her: on the contrary I intended to have written from Holtenham Abbey, where I was engaged to spend the day, to have demanded my accusation and justified myself in her opinion; but on my arrival there, which was not till late, what a scene awaited me—my mother and sisters had just received the account of my brother's death; and in the first moments of despair, were weeping over the letter that

had announced this fatal intelligence. To Miss Seymour, I am not afraid to confess, that this severe stroke drove for some time all other ideas from my thoughts; even her beloved image was obscured, and every tender recollection supplanted by grief: but reflections so long cherished, so dear to the heart, cannot long lie dormant in the mind; and I soon found that the amiable source of all my hopes and expectations of happiness in life, could alone heal the wounds which death had inflicted.
In acquainting my friends at Hubert Hill with this misfortune, I imagined I offered a sufficient apology both for my silence and my absence: but what was my concern this day, upon visiting them, to find that at near fifty miles distance, you must have remained for several days ignorant of the melancholy event that had rendered me incapable of paying you my devoirs. Ah! Madam, what must

your opinion of me have been during this interval? and how must this apparent neglect have augmented and confirmed every suspicion of my guilt.
Forgive me, I entreat you, for having thus long trespassed on your time and patience. But at present, alas! I have no other means of approaching you. My mother I cannot leave in her deep, heartfelt distress, till my journey to Dover, where I must be by the 12th, obliges me to depart. Yet have I a thousand things to trouble you with. Will you allow me, in my way thither, to pay you my respects? Will you condescend to introduce me to the inestimable Lady Aubrey, the contemplation of whose character elevates my mind? and will you deign to hear me at your feet implore the continuance of your favour to him who has the honour of subscribing himself
your most obedient and devoted servant, LINROSE.
HILTON FARM, JUNE 28.

The tumult of my mind on perusing this astonishing letter was unutterable. My senses were almost annihilated; and a sensation of distrust and consternation half persuaded me to doubt if what I read really came from the hands of Lord Linrose.
In this state of perturbation I was surprised by Lady Aubrey, who entered the drawing room while I was so wholly absorbed in secret gratitude and delight, that unconscious of observation, I repeated aloud, clasping my hands together, good God! is it possible?
My dear, cried she, approaching in haste, surprised at the situation in which she beheld me—for heaven's sake tell me what is the matter?
This question awakened me from the confusion that had seized all my faculties. But unable to reply, I could only answer by pressing the hand that had so kindly seized mine.

My agitation astonished and alarmed her: for the two extremes of pleasure and distress, are upon a cursory view very similar in their effects. She imagined some sudden calamity had overwhelmed me; and pressing me with sympathetic tenderness to her bosom, entreated me to tell her what had given me so much pain.
I could not avoid smiling at the expression; and hastened to acquaint her that I had no subject for uneasiness. I blush for myself, dearest Madam, said I; but you I well know will be all indulgence to the weakness which in a moment of such unspeakable agitation I am unable to overcome. I have a long, long tale to disclose to you. My heart has been humbled, mortified, and oppressed; and I am certain your goodness will allow of some excuse in the sudden, soothing relief it has so unexpectedly received.
That tale can never appear long to me,

of which my Hermione is the heroine. But do sit down and compose yourself. I believe I can almost guess the most material points of the story. Is there not a hero in the tale, my love? at least so I have long suspected; though I forbore giving you the pain of soliciting your confidence, which I was certain would not have been denied me but for particular reasons that must have rendered the communication distressing.
Oh! Madam, I will tell you all, cried I, penetrated with her goodness; and be assured no ungrateful doubt of your kind sympathy and indulgence induced me to lock up my secret pangs in my own bosom. Ah! no! diffidence and bashfulness alone at first deterred me from entering upon so awkward a subject; and afterwards, since my residence here, I have not only anxiously wished that all the world might remain in ignorance of what has passed, but that if possible I

might banish it for ever from my own remembrance.
But as your past uneasiness seems, if I may judge from the intelligence of your countenanance, to have given way to happier prospects, I hope you are going to have the goodness to satisfy my curiosity. The man who has created such ravages in the bosom of my Hermione has no little reason to be vain, and I am convinced must merit the distinction, else he would not have enjoyed it; but pray tell me who is he? I cannot possibly have seen him, yet I feel I am already in his interests.
He is one of my relations, Madam, answered I, hesitating. He is my cousin; and the grandson—
Of Lord Belmont, interrupted Lady Aubrey. I have frequently heard of the young man while abroad, and his friends talked loudly in his favour; and though my connection with the family has been

long laid aside, I have ever retained secretly in my heart a strong and lively partiality for the good old man and all his children. A tear rushed into her eye as she spoke. The husband of Hermione, continued she, must ever have possessed my warmest regard, but I shall not love him less, for the many recollections—
Oh! Madam! cried I, sobbing in her arms, for the sake of heaven banish all painful recollections. Let the past be sunk in oblivion. Look only forward. Think of nothing but the consolation, the salutary comfort which a heart like your's is formed to experience from the unalterable duty, gratitude, and affection of those highly favoured children of your adoption, who honour you with filial piety and love you with enthusiastic fervour.
Be not distressed, my dear, said she, recovering her sedate composure; my

heart is far from sad at this moment. How indeed should it be so at a moment when my daughter's countenance brightens with secret complacency through her tears.
She then once more entreated me to be explicit; and beginning at the epocha of our reconnoitre in the packet boat, I related sincerely and without disguise every circumstance in which Lord Linrose has been concerned.
Lady Aubrey listened with the kindest and most anxious solicitude, and entered with interest into all my emotions. She felt for my disappointments, rejoiced when any intervals of gratification seemed to afford me a recompense for my sufferings, exulted at the generosity of Lord Linrose's conduct, and shed tears at Lord Belmont's cruelty. He is reckoned by many a rigid character, said she, but to me he was ever all gentleness and condescension; and even his faults I

am convinced have their origin in virtue. He is strict, and perhaps may be esteemed severe; but that severity is the result of a rectitude of heart, which being subject to few weaknesses, possesses little indulgence for errors it never knew. His benevolence is warm, and his feelings but too keen. Where they have suffered from the misconduct of others, his resentment is proportioned to what he has endured. But his conduct in regard to his grand children is by no means in tone with the general tenor of his principles, which are founded on strict justice and unbiased integrity. It leads me to imagine that some previous prepossession must have taken root in his mind; and it is not unlikely that Lady Linrose (being herself deceived) may have occasioned or at least confirmed this disgust, even without the slightest deliberate design of injuring your cause. At all events, on his arrival all can be

easily and effectually explained; and you have now but little reason to dread his inflexibility while you possess an advocate so thoroughly well disposed as Lord Linrose, to exert all his rhetoric in your behalf.
I had just satisfied her in regard to the part Lady Linrose has acted, and concluded my narrative, acknowledging my astonishment and perturbation on receiving an explanation so unlooked for of the seeming inconsistencies in Lord Linrose's conduct, when a note was brought me from him. He was, as I had suspected from the housekeeper's account, and as his own letter led me to imagine, on his way to Dover; and wrote from the inn, on the great road, about four miles from this place.
He laments his disappointment on finding I was not yet returned when he called this morning, and requests leave

to be allowed to wait on me to-morrow morning.
The moment I had read this note, I gave it to Lady Aubrey, who desired me to offer her compliments to his Lordship, and to request in her name the favour of his company to-morrow at breakfast.
I then withdrew to my dressing room to answer it. Glad of a pretext for being a few moments alone, I threw myself into a chair, and gave way to a reverie of the most enchanting nature. What a revolution in my mind had a few hours effected! What a reverse, from the depression that had but that very morning almost wholly overpowered me! My spirits were elated to a degree of enthusiasm; and I thanked the Almighty with a fervour till now unfelt for the delightful prospect that on all sides surrounded me. I sat down at length to my bureau. Had my pen followed the dictates of my heart,

I knew I should have committed my note to the flames instead of sending it away; yet I could not affect a cold ceremony, so opposite to my own feelings and to that affection which Lord Linrose had declared in terms of such warmth. Here is what I was obliged to rest satisfied with at last.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LORD LINROSE.
I must confess my astonishment on having a letter from Lord Linrose put this evening into my hands immediately upon my return to Aubrey Castle. I will not affect a reserve so foreign to my feelings, and so injurious to the favourable sentiments with which your Lordship honours me, as to deny that my surprise at its contents was not unmixed with pleasure, and that the perusal relieved me from much perplexity and even uneasiness.

Lady Aubrey, of whose elevated qualities you have formed so just an idea, anxiously desires the pleasure of knowing you. She requests your Lordship's company at breakfast to-morrow: and permit me to assure you of a favourable reception from all the present inhabitants of her residence.
H. SEYMOUR.
AUBREY CASTLE, JULY 13.
Having dispatched my note, I returned to Lady Aubrey. Oh! Sophia! how amiable, how exalted is this woman! Her spirits were this evening exhilerated even to gaiety, her eyes sparkled with pleasure, and the agonizing recollections, which remembrance might be supposed on this occasion to have naturally renewed, were wholly suppressed or rather supplanted by the prospect of my approaching happiness. She asked me a thousand questions in regard to Lord Linrose,

made me minutely describe his person, and insisted on my showing her a little sketch on ivory, which at Hilbury Lodge soothed many a melancholy hour, but which I had at length determined to destroy as it afforded an insinuating indulgence extremely ill adapted to that victory over my sensibility which I have so often attempted without success. This preliminary towards conquering my weakness, you will perhaps sagely observe, ought to have been the first step. I grant it; but indeed you must be precisely in my situation before you can prove an adequate judge of the difficulties of such a sacrifice.
We separated early; and I have been writing while I ought to have been in bed. But I have little chance of sleeping; though the weakness of my frame at present renders the agitations of the day so violent on my spirits, that I feel quite exhausted, and think of to-morrow's

interview even with some degree of apprehension. Yes, Sophia; for is not there something formidable in the idea of seeing Lord Linrose after the weakness of my behaviour at our last meeting.
JULY 14.
I had no inclination to sleep when I gave over writing last night, but I began to consider that if I did not contrive to get a few hours rest after the mental and bodily fatigues of the preceding day, I should look still more like a ghost than I already do; and really you never beheld any thing so pale and so ugly as I am grown of late.
I suspect however my complexion was sufficiently florid this morning, when Lord Linrose entered the breakfasting parlour; where dreading the formality

of being called down to him, I rather chose to be ready to receive him.
Lady Aubrey was not yet stirring, so that we were tete a tete. But I cannot give you all the particulars of our conversation. A love interview, except to the parties immediately concerned, is always absurd; but I fancy you will shrewdly suspect that I found nothing extremely ridiculous in the eager urgency with which Lord Linrose, after an explanation the most impassioned, entreated my permission to apply to Lord Belmont for his consent and approbation, the instant he found a favourable opportunity for interesting himself in my affairs, tho' my confusion during part of the scene might perhaps have afforded you some amusement.
He spoke with such feeling of my severity, as he called it, and of my condescention with so many expressions of gratitude and obligation, that he half banished

the shame which the recollection recalled; but I besought him never more to mention, and if possible to forget, all that had passed
I think, cried he smiling, I shall find it no easy matter to comply with that injunction; for I have absolutely existed upon the remembrance ever since I had the happiness of seeing you; and undoubtedly you cannot have the cruelty to wish to deprive me of the memory of one blessed moment that recompensed me for the anguish of the tedious hours that succeeded. Oh! Miss Seymou•! added he, how could you leave me with such frigid abruptness? how could you poison and embitter the joy with which the delightful discovery of your pitying sympathy had overwhelmed me? Yet what must your opinion have been of me during the unhappy period of my silence? how must you have despised the man, who one day vowing eternal fidelity at

your feet with all the urgency of passionate affection, could the next apparently relinquish his hopes, and abandon a pursuit to which a reward, a prize is annext, that may well fix the most fickle and animate the most phlegmatic lover, that ever pretended to the passion. Alas! you knew not the blow, which from overpowering my spirits rendered me for some little time wholly incapable even of explaining myself on this interesting subject; till a visit from Bradshaw, a few days after, led me in the confidence of friendship partly to confess to him my situation in regard to you. I owned that a fortunate moment had inspired me with courage to declare the passion, which he well knew had so long tormented me with all the misery of continual apprehension, doubt, and uneasiness. I acknowledged that Miss Seymour had listened to me with angelic softness; but that her behaviour had all at once betrayed

a displeasure for which she had not deigned to assign a cause; and that she had left me with abrupt haste, notwithstanding my most earnest entreaties only for a few moments stay.
Bradshaw at once cleared up my doubts, enabled me to comprehend what had appeared so unaccountably mysterious, and by informing me of the credit with which the report of my marriage has been circulated (a report, he told me, which even Miss Seymour herself had once hinted to him) enabled me by an immediate explanation to relieve my own mind and convince her's of the injustice of her suspicions.
His Lordship then entered more fully into the particulars which have given rise to this idea. Circumstances, said he, have lately discovered to me that Lord Mortonbury and my grandfather very early formed the plan of a connection between Lady Elizabeth and myself.

The young lady's rank, fortune, and accomplishments, undoubtedly render her an object of singular importance to those who look in matrimony for nothing beyond such advantages; and Lord Belmont flattered himself the friendship which subsisted between the two families, by affording opportunities for frequent intercourse, would facilitate his wishes. This plan however, like most others which rest on adventitious events, failed of success; my early intimacy with Lady Elizabeth, far from promoting warmer sentiments, merely served to discover to me those little foibles which in a lesser or greater degree pervade every human character, but which in her no tender partiality on my part either palliated or concealed. Lady Elizabeth's errors, though not of a more unamiable nature than those of most women of her rank who have received a similar education, were particularly ill suited to my

disposition, and to those views of domestic felicity to which, even in my most dissipated moments, my wishes have invariably pointed; and soon suspicious of my grandfather's views, which must have utterly destroyed all my future prospects of happiness and which I found every individual of the family so anxiously desired, since my last return from the Continent, I have uniformly endeavoured by the most respectful distance to demonstrate that I did not presume to regard myself as entitled to offer my addresses to one of the first heiresses in England.
Some weeks ago, however, I received a letter from Lord Belmont, in plain terms proposing the match to my consideration, and representing it to me in all those glowing colours which a favourite plan ever receives from the pen of the contrivers. My mother too, who had often before hinted to me her wishes on the same subject and to whom my

Lord had written at the same time, used all her rhetoric to point out the splendid advantages that must result from this union.
Ah! why, my Lord, cried I interrupting him—why then have you solicited my consent to an application, which if such are Lord Belmont's views, never can prove successful.
Dearest Miss Seymour, cried he warmly, how can you form a conclusion so alarming and so perfectly unjust, merely from a simple explanation which you force me to give you. If you will only listen to me, you will find these apprehensions quite imaginary, and wholly void of foundation. Had fate indeed placed you in that situation, in which till so lately I beheld you doomed to remain, unconnected and unknown, obscure in rank, and distinguished only by your elegance, your merit, and accomplishments; in this case, though you

must ever have continued the first and dearest object of my affections, yet my friends I allow might have objected; and the certainty that Lord Belmont's approbation was not to be hoped for where no circumstances of birth or fortune presented themselves, has not only tortured my bosom ever since the moment in which I was favoured with your acquaintance, but has been the origin of all that inconsistency of conduct which must have often perplexed and even sometimes perhaps offended you. Determined at one moment to conquer an attachment that I knew must involve me in all the difficulties of disunion with my family, I sedulously avoided you with fortitude and forbearance; conscious the next of my utter inability to struggle against a passion which insinuated itself into my heart beyond all power of resistance, I sought with avidity what I had before shunned with apprehension,

and gave myself wholly up to the delightful illusions of hope and tenderness. Such being the fluctuating state of my mind for many months past, what was the relief, the exultation I experienced, on the discovery I made at Hubert Hill. The knowledge of your real rank and situation at once relieved me from all the misery of this continual contest between inclination and principle. My whole soul was in a tumult of joy. Lord Belmont's approbation I considered as secured; and from that instant eagerly watched an opportunity for pouring out at your feet the feelings with which it was overwhelmed. When, there, too, I found the sympathetic softness of my Hermione—
Oh stop! for heaven's sake! cried I, interrupting him impatiently. Would to God you had never found the moment you desired. I foresee a world of trouble and misery from my unpardonable

folly and weakness. Oh! what on earth could make me so unguarded! Lord Belmont, inflexible in his determinations and prepossessions, never will be induced to relinquish his hopes of an alliance on which his views have so long and so invariably rested, and must receive with augmented prejudice and unconquerable repugnance, the grandchild who so unpropitiously appears to interrupt his schemes and disappoint his wishes. Of this, my Lord, you must yourself be convinced, even while you labour to persuade me of the contrary.
Shocked at the alarming prospect which presented itself so forcibly to my apprehension that I could not conceal my fears, my Lord exerted himself powerfully and successfully to dispel the notion of my grandfather's inflexibility; and I soon began to forget the idea that had given me so much pain. He represented to me that it was extremely unnatural and improbable

to suppose, that his Lordship, when satisfied as to the propriety and decorum of our past conduct, would receive, otherwise than with open arms and delighted satisfaction, children who seemed sent as from heaven for the comfort and support of his old age. That his Lordship had hitherto rejected and disowned us, could merely be attributed, he said, to some mistaken prejudice which must have found its way to his mind even on the Continent. To suspect him now of an obstinacy so hardened, without any apparent motive except the cruelty and injustice of his nature, was to accuse him of a savage disposition extremely opposite to his benevolent temper, and indeed almost below human nature itself.
I longed extremely to ask him if Lady Linrose was yet acquainted with the declaration he had made to me; and if so, in what manner she had received it; but the entrance of Lady Aubrey, who however

did not appear till long after her usual hour, interrupted all further private conversation between us.
She received his Lordship with the most insinuating kindness, and with that flattering ease which so agreeably discards the cold ceremony of a first interview. Immediately after breakfast, during which Lady Aubrey entertained her guest with the polite freedom due to an esteemed and long known friend, his Lordship told us he was constrained to set off without further delay. I must make up for this indulgence, said he, by travelling with the utmost expedition; yet with all the celerity I can effect, I think my Lord Belmont will have to wait my arrival at Calais; for as I did not apprehend the disappointment of finding you absent, I made no provision for the last day I spent on the road.
He then took leave, recommending, in a low voice, but with a look which

testified how sanguine were his expectations, the success of this important journey to my best wishes; and Lady Aubrey, who overheard him, told him with an expressive smile that her prayers attended his expedition.
After he was gone, she expressed her admiration of him in terms so strong as to gratify me beyond measure. His figure, she said, seemed formed to captivate, and the pleasing intelligence of his countenance demonstrated that nature had not rested his merit solely on external superiority. She was enchanted with his address. From what I have heard of him, said she, with infinite kindness, and from what I have seen, I am convinced that he is not unworthy of my dear child.
I can hardly believe, Sophia, that four and twenty hours have effected such a revolution in my mind. My prospects have undergone so great a change, that I almost

imagine I am in a dream. I am indeed in Fairy Land, and all things smile around me. To find myself the object of Lord Linrose's fondest partiality, to know that the most material obstacles to our mutual happiness never existed but in my own apprehensions, and to perceive a probable ray of hope of soon finding myself surrounded by friends and relations, disposed to love, and willing to be beloved by me—oh! Sophia! what a blessed reverse from our late friendless, solitary state!
I have just had a note from Fanny, intimating that she and Mr. Howard (having got all his matters adjusted) will be with us on Thursday.
Adieu, my beloved Sophia. I think with delight on the pleasure the perusal of this packet will give to your warm sympathetic heart.
H. SEYMOUR.

 TO MISS BEAUMONT.
JULY 18.
MY sister and Mr. Howard arrived yesterday. I walked out in hopes of meeting their carriage; but they had taken another road, and had sat half an hour with Lady Aubrey before I returned to the house.
This interval she had employed in explaining to them the present posture of affairs. Mr. Howard was overjoyed, but less astonished than Lady Aubrey expected; for he had long been conscious, he told her, that a mutual attachment subsided between Lord Linrose

and me; and however unaccountable his Lordship's conduct had sometimes appeared, and however well authenticated the report of his marriage had been, he had ever suspected the validity of its foundation, and foreseen what in that case the issue would prove.
Fanny was quite intoxicated with joy. She kissed Lady Aubrey again and again for having communicated such good news, and when I entered the room, I was obliged to entreat her by a look not instantly to bring on the subject. But my caution was quite unnecessary. She seemed ready to dance from gaietè de caeur; and at length unable to contain herself longer —Mr. Howard, cried she, you must salute Lady Linrose once more, and wish her Ladyship joy. It is extremely rude to be so inattentive on the present joyful occasion.
It may rather be called unkind perhaps, said Mr. Howard, (smiling, while





he obeyed her commands) but I have long wished our dear sister from the bottom of my heart the enjoyment of that happiness which I was convinced would one day prove her fate.
Our Hermione has many rivals, said Lady Aubrey. Mrs. Howard, I perceive, is quite enthusiastic about my Lord; and as for myself, though I had his picture faithfully delineated by the most able hand before I beheld him, yet I was quite charmed as well with his appearance as with the superior elegance of his manners and conversation.
Our little party last night was in uncommon spirits, and Fanny quite giddy with mirth. We talked over and over every fancied circumstance of the meeting which must have by this time taken place between the travellers, with an interest that seemed equally to animate the whole party, yet I always feel uneasy on repeating before Lady Aubrey the

name of Lord Belmont, often as it has within these few days occurred in the course of conversation. She spoke of him this night herself however with an apparent tranquillity that partly relieved me; and when I attended her as usual to her dressing room after supper, she owned to me, that though the prospect of seeing him agitated her not a little, she felt for him the tender regard of a daughter, and thought of an interview with a sensation of mournful satisfaction that soothed and gratified her. He always demonstrated a peculiar fondness for me, said she, which excited my warmest gratitude; and though an ill founded resentment on my father's part obliged me during his life time wholly to break off all intercourse with the whole family, and after the misfortune of his death I had not courage to think of demanding a visit from the kind old man before I left England, my wounds being then too recent

and my feelings unsubdued by time and patience, yet I always remembered him with tenderness; and I flatter myself, after the first meeting is over, I shall derive much satisfaction from a re-union which I have always so anxiously desired. To enlarge the objects of our interest, is in fact to augment the scale of our happiness; and I shall never allow myself to sigh too bitterly for past sorrows, while the present affords me friends that excite my warmest sensibility.
JULY 21.
I have impatiently expected letters from Calais these two days past; Lord Linrose having promised to write the moment he had seen Lord Belmont; but none have arrived; which I own both disappoints and surprises me.

JULY 23.
No letters still. By this time, if no interruption has retarded their journey, Lord Belmont and his grandson might have been arrived in town in their way to Belmont, which is in —shire. But I imagine his Lordship has not travelled with such expedition as he proposed; and probably Lord Linrose did not get up with him so soon as was intended. Lord Belmont's health, though much improved by a salutary climate, is but lately reestablished; and I fear the shock of his son's death may have occasioned a relapse. The weather has been so serene that apprehension on the score of their passage would be ridiculous, yet I cannot avoid being uneasy.

JULY 24.
Lady Aubrey, whose astonishment at the silence of Lord Linrose fully equalled mine, sent her servant yesterday evening to wait the arrival of the post; and while she, Mr. Howard, and my sister, were sat down to ombre, my anxiety and impatience led me to steal away to meet the returning messenger. I had strolled towards the great road at the extremity of the park, which is near a mile from the house, before I saw him; and having hastily looked over the letters, perceived with redoubled regret that none were either directed for me or written by the hand of Lord Linrose.
Disappointed and perplexed, I bade the man go forwards; and returning slowly, was ruminating most uncomfortably on the unaccountable cause of this disappointment, when I heard the trampling

of horses behind me; and turning round, perceived Lord Linrose on horseback, attended by his servant. I had now got almost within sight of the house. He rode quietly up to me; and instantly. dismounting, gave his horse to his servant, and approached me with a mixture of pleasure and uneasiness in his countenance that instantly told me something disagreeable was to follow. He took my hand, and tenderly congratulated me on my improved looks since he had last seen me. But the solemnity with which he spoke alarmed me; and I imagined he had not courage to proceed.
I am afraid, my Lord, said I at length with a forced smile, things have not turned out happily. Lord Belmont I perceive will not acknowledge his grandchildren.
Oh! he is determined and immovable, cried he. He is deaf to my entreaties, and wholly insensible to the voice of nature,

to compassion, to humanity, or even to that cool dispassioned reason which he recommends to me perpetually as the only safe and rational rule of conduct. I have attempted every human method of prevailing, I have exhausted every possible argument of persuasion, and said all that man can say where his last and dearest hopes of bliss are at stake; but oh! he is impenetrable! neither to be softened into pity nor influenced by justice; and he declares himself deliberately resolved on no account whatever either privately to see or publicly to acknowledge his grandchildren. He has even forcibly and absolutely protested —
That we never more must meet, said I steadily, while he hesitated to proceed. Well, my Lord, if such is his resolution, it is your Lordship's duty as well as mine implicitly to submit.
Submit! exclaimed he with warmth, throwing himself passionately at my feet.

No! never, never will I submit to a decision so barbarous, unreasonable, and inhuman. Lord Belmont undoubtedly has a right within certain bounds to prescribe to me my conduct, but I on my part possess one equally potent to expert from his justice reason and moderation. Wherever in those points he fails, so far he cancels the mutual bonds of obligation and duty that exist between us, and sets me free to act for myself. Had he prohibited a connection which could not have been considered as dishonourable, but merely as mortifying to his views and degrading to his dignity, even in this case had my heart been torn to death I scarce think I could have gratified my own wishes at the expense of torturing him with the disappointment of hopes, which however blindly, have invariably sought my happiness as their ultimate foundation, and I think, Miss Seymour, a short review of my past conduct may convince

you of the truth of this assertion; but when, without the slightest grounds for disapprobation, he objects, when he forbids an alliance where every gratification of reason and even of vanity present themselves; when fortune has made you at least my equal, and nature created you ah! how infinitely my superior, these obligations of duty end; Lord Belmont must thank himself for the step he obliges us to take; and we are no longer bound to gratify that caprice which rigorously demands the sacrifice of our whole happiness.
Ah! my Lord, cried I sorrowfully, all this is mere sophistry. The real state of the matter is quite different. Lord Belmont rejects me as his grandchild either by blood or alliance; and never, never will I be prevailed with to grant an independent consent, though my grandfather's behaviour towards me may in your Lordship's opinion see us free from these

obligations of duty which otherwise he must undoubtedly claim: yet surely you cannot be either ignorant of or insensible to the powerful motives that restrain me. How many painful minutes have the disobedience of his children occasioned to Lord Belmont. Disappointed in his sanguine expectations of their happiness, distracted with the conduct of one son and displeased, however unjustly, with the connection formed by the other, he now finds himself deprived for ever of both, and seeks in his grandson the completion of those expectations which have hitherto proved only a source of vexation, uneasiness, and mortification to his bosom. Oh! my Lord! ought we to render this unfortunate old man still more miserable? ought we to blast his last hopes, and teach him that while he had the generosity to place his happiness in the prosperity of his children, however blindly he judged of the means, disappointment

and ingratitude were all the return they afforded him.
Ah! Miss Seymour! in what a light you place Lord Belmont's conduct! But pray listen, I entreat you, with equal patience and attention, to a fair and candid examination of the matter from me. Let not a romantic generosity warp your judgment and banish your compassion where it ought more naturally to exert itself. Great, I allow, would be the weight of your arguments, were Lord Belmont's misery the natural consequence of our happiness; but this is so far from being the real case, that the most certain comfort and most assured satisfaction must flow from his being a witness of our mutual felicity, where no one obstacle, but those of caprice and prepossession are alleged. How is it to be reasonably supposed they will rest on his mind, when all hope of another alliance, which at present supports his inflexibility, is wholly

and for ever supprest. No; be assured my grandfather's eyes will then be opened to his error; with the most sincere regret he will abjure his own, and pardon ours, and taking my Hermione to his bosom, will experience in her duty and affection, and in the enjoyment he must derive from my unspeakable felicity, all the comfort, happiness, and delight, of which, by a false generosity and ill judged adherence to the rigors of duty, you would wholly deprive him in his old days.
Ah! my Lord! cried I, softened at this soothing representation, and terrified at my own weakness, I have listened too long. I can hear no more. It grows late. I hastened on; but Lord Linrose persisted in detaining me, and seizing my hand, implored me for the sake of heaven to think on what he had urged.
No, cried I, I must think of it no more. But tell me, what said Lord Belmont?

of what did he accuse us? what excuse did he offer for this cruel prepossession?
None. When I entered on the subject, I found him thoroughly well informed, and to all appearance even prepared for my application. Linrose, said he, I know what you are going to propose: but let me save you the fatigue of entreaties that are fruitless, and the pain of hopes that must be succeeded by disappointment. The young women for whom you interceed, be assured I never will acknowledge. I have my own reasons for this conduct—reasons which, accountable to none, shall die in my own breast. But hear my final determination on this head: if you trifle with my resentment, and dare form a connexion so repugnant to my wishes, I solemnly declare— But why should I repeat to you a denunciation evidently the consequence of some secret prepossession, fostered heaven knows

how, but which is rooted so deeply in his mind, that some inhuman, officious hand I am convinced still supports the prejudice it has originally implanted.
What secret enemy has done us an injury so irreparable I have not yet been able to discover. My Lord would not even hear me on the subject; and when I seriously insisted, that as your only surviving parent he was bound in honour to afford you his countenance and protection, or to satisfy you and the world why both were withheld, he told me with an indignant smile that his motives would exculpate his conduct both to the world and to his own heart. I perceived, I replied, that he laboured under the injurious mistake which had for some time, owing to a variety of circumstances that a few moments could explain, prevailed to your disadvantage, and instantly entered on the several points that had so unfortunately led to this idea.

He listened in contemptuous silence. I am perfectly satisfied, said he ironically, as to the conduct of the young ladies. I accuse them of nothing: but I absolutely desire that I may hear nothing further on a subject that fatigues me, and which entirely embitters the enjoyment I had vainly flattered myself this meeting would have given me.
This conversation took place during the evening on which we met at Calais; and next day, while we travelled from Dover to town, I renewed the subject, and endeavoured to work on his Lordship's feelings, finding all attempts to convince his reason unsuccessful. An accident however occurred, which all the malice of ill fortune could not have introduced at a more unlucky moment. We encountered Lord Mortonbury at the stage where we dined, and he easily persuaded my Lord to spend a few days at his country seat, which lies in our way

to Belmont. A reconnoitre so ill fated could scarce have happened. The sight of his old friend could not fail to strengthen and augment his Lordship's obduracy, and confirm his determination in favour of an alliance that has so long been his favourite wish. For some time therefore I carefully avoided exciting his resentment by touching on a topic, which I perceived, from some disagreeable hints he occasionally let fall, would now be listened to with less temper than ever.
In this state, to write to you was impossible. I could tell you nothing but what I wished eternally to forget, and I could only have made you a sharer in the uneasiness that weighed down my own spirits. Teazed and worn out, I could no longer support with patience the miserable uncertainty of my situation, and at length ventured to risk a renewal of this topic of contention. I began by imprudently assuring his Lordship that my

resolutions in regard to Lady Elizabeth were fixed and unalterable. My ill judged warmth provoked and exasperated him; and I found, that instead of gaining ground, my arguments were received with augmented displeasure, and if possible with more determined repugnance than before.
Convinced that all hopes of prevailing were at an end, I then determined to contrive an escape for one day, which the pretext of visiting a friend, who resides in this county easily afforded me; and to endeavour if possible to reconcile you to a step, which, however alarming on the first view, be assured, loveliest Hermione, presents no real danger. You determine before you have fairly weighed and considered the circumstances of the case. You are scared with the notion of disobedience, ere you reflect that from you Lord Belmont claims no duty; and the idea of a private marriage shocks you

as an indelicacy and terrafies you as daring, merely because you have been accustomed to regard it in that light, without reflecting on the singularity of your situation, and the satisfaction which must result even to Lord Belmont from this temporary disappointment, We leave Morton Hall to-morrow evening; at which place I must by that time be, in order to accompany my grandfather to Belmont, where he has some business to settle previous to a visit he means to pay my mother in Northamptonshire. But oh! Miss Seymour, with what alacrity, with what delight shall I return to him, if you will but raise me from this state of despair, if you will but animate me to life and hope, and generously promise to be mine, without an approbation that is not to be obtained.
We had now reached the house, and it began to be very late. Stay but for an instant, cried he, and relieve me from this agony of uncertainty.

No, no, cried I, pulling away my hand, I must listen no longer, I must hear no more; and entering the hall, I ran up to my own apartment in spite of all his efforts to detain me.
Oh! Sophia! I carried thither all the insinuating arguments to which I had been attending with so much irresolution; and I found, that while my judgment remained unconvinced, and my delicacy revolted at the idea of a clandestine connexion, so contrary to that open dignity of conduct which I had flattered myself with the hope of supporting invariably thro' life, my heart died within me at the cruel sacrifice I made to principle. Even self applause sustained not my spirits. Pride was subdued by softness; and I found that one moment longer would have given to Lord Linrose all he wished.
Involved in this mist of passion, I yet began at length to perceive how providential

was that escape which at first I had almost regretted; and I considered, with a thankfulness that half bordered on satisfaction, what mortification must have ever attended the recollection of a step which I could not but have considered as derogatory to the character I have ever wished and endeavoured to maintain.
This idea somewhat consoled me; and resolving to struggle with feelings which I could not in private indulge without in a great measure betraying them to Lord Linrose, and rendering them obvious to the rest of the family, I forced myself into seeming composure, and went down stairs.
Lady Aubrey and my sister were together. Mr. Howard, I found, had been sent for to another room to Lord Linrose, of whose arrival they were yet ignorant. I had the disagreeable task therefore of disclosing to them the scene that had just taken place. Poor Fanny's chagrin kept

pace with her late exultation, and Lady Aubrey's countenance was clouded with the most friendly disappointment.
Who can be such a fiend, cried Fanny, as to persecute us in this cruel manner without the slightest provocation? who upon the face of the earth can find either interest or pleasure in blasting our reputations, and persuading Lord Belmont that we are unworthy of his regard? and who could possibly have dreamt that he would have proved thus obstinate and determined, when all the rest of the family are now our friends; when even Lady Linrose herself professes to love us, and wishes to see us reinstated in his favour.
So her Ladyship is pleased to say, cried I; but from what Lord Linrose let fall this evening, I think there is great reason to suspect that her wishes have a very contrary direction. From her representation only can Lord Belmont have imbibed

the prepossessions that retain such fast hold on his mind, since from no other person could he possibly have received intelligence concerning us.
I should be sorry, said Lady Aubrey, to accuse Lady Linrose, or to suspect her of a conduct below her character; but I own I have had my doubts of her on this occasion from the beginning. Her motives, tho' mean and despicable, are sufficiently obvious, and I have been told by my aunt, Lady Meredith, that she is a woman of a very unamiable character, and generally disliked.
The entrance of Lord Linrose and Mr. Howard prevented her proceeding. The former was visibly depressed; and appeared to exert himself to converse upon the indifferent topics which ensued, but which were very languidly discussed by the company during the whole evening.
Supper was soon after announced; and being seated by him at table, he entreated

me in a low voice to give him an opportunity for one half hour's conversation before he left us, which must be early in the morning.
I told him steadily that he must not expect me to listen to a repetition of arguments, which without Lord Belmont's sanction could lead to nothing, If any favourable moment occurs, said I, in which you can flatter yourself with the hope of setting your plans in such a point of view as will obtain my Lords approbation, I believe your Lordship hardly doubts of mine. But why should you even wish to soften me into a compliance which, wanting the concurrence of my reason, and wholly opposite to my ideas of propriety, would but lower me in my own estimation, and render me too unhappy to enable me to—
I was afraid of my voice, and ventured not to proceed. Lord Linrose prest my hand unobserved, and whispered a thousand

expressions of gratitude and acquiescence. At least, said he, I promise to acquiesce till every possible source of trial has been attempted in vain. In the mean time, you cannot surely have the barbarity to refuse allowing me to correspond with you. To this request I can take no denial.
I agreed for the present to the proposal because I could not prevail with myself to refuse all he asked; but I am much afraid even this is an indulgence that must soon be relinquished.
When we separated for the night, Lady Aubrey remained some time behind in conversation with my Lord and Mr. Howard. His Lordship used every argument to prevail with them to approve of an immediate marriage; and mentioned the fortune he inherited from Sir Thomas Roatsley, which secured him a competency; all, he was certain, for which I would be solicitous till a reconciliation

with Lord Belmont took place. But Lady Aubrey told him, that tho', had such been the result of my deliberations, she should not have opposed a measure which undoubtedly, from the peculiarity of our situation, afforded some excuse, yet she would not advise what she could not approve, and on the contrary must ever admire the steadiness of my resolution, which having it's foundation in delicacy and principle, whatever was the anguish it occasioned me, she was convinced I would strictly adhere to.
Ah! my dear Madam! cried I, penetrated with shame while she repeated to me this part of their conversation, steadily will I adhere to this resolution, since it is sanctioned with your applause. But much anguish has it occasioned to my heart, and much I fear your opinion of my heroism would be infinitely diminished, did you know how near I was incurring your contempt by yielding to my Lord's wishes.

My contempt, my dearest Hermione? Be assured that is a sentiment my heart never can feel for you. Had you given way to the solicitations of your lover, believe me I should have soothed and comforted instead of condemning you. I wish you to assume the heroine to Lord Linrose; but I am far from either desiring or expecting you to appear one to me. On the contrary, I think I should love you less were you different in any point from what I find you.
Oh! Sophia! ought not the affection of this beloved friend to console me for every disappointment.
JULY 30.
I received this day the following letter from Lord Linrose.
TO MISS SEYMOUR.
How shall I summon resolution to acknowledge to the loveliest of women,

that my sole hope of becoming the happiest and most envied of men, rests on a plan, the mention of which I tremble to remember shocked and startled her so severely. Lord Belmont, I am unwillingly constrained to own, is more determined, more infatuated if possible than ever; and without dwelling on ungrateful particulars, I am forced to tell you, that of any alteration in his present sentiments I dare no longer entertain the slightest hope.
But is it the necessary consequence of Lord Belmont's inflexibility, that I must be doomed to unmitigated misery, and you be rendered unhappy? And why ought we to prove a sacrifice to caprice, where not one reasonable obstacle obstructs our union? no duty surely is owing to that parent who denies the title and disowns all claim to obedience. Yet if you will persist in regurding him in that sacred light, give him, I entreat, the

most lively proof of your affection: oblige him in his own despite. Make me the happiest of mankind; and gratify the first wish of the old man's heart, by allowing him to witness the, unspeakable felicity which, you and you only can confer upon his grandson.
In regard to fortune, I am convinced you are by no means apprehensive. Mine, independent of my grandfather, were Hermione to share it with me, would surpass my own wishes, and I am convinced satisfy hers. The motive of her resistance, I am certain, is too generous to allow for a moment, of such considerations. She trembles to wound a heart that has so long and so severely bled; but be assured you will heal instead of augment his sorrows—you will sooth instead of torture his bosom, you will console him for all he has suffered, and a momentary disappointment will be succeeded by unceasing consolation.

I have more than once sounded my Lord as to the secret author of this prepossession, which, without the assistance of some intermeddling slanderous tongue, never could have found its way into his mind; but on this subject his caution baffles all my penetration. I even began most unjustly to accuse my mother, as the only person on whom I could contrive to rest my suspicions with any shadow of probability; but I now heartily repent the injurious idea which induced me to write her upon the subject with much acrimony, for my heart was too much tortured either to express myself with calmness or to think with reason. She had the goodness however to pardon my impetuosity; and condescended to account for her behaviour in a manner that made me blush for my own.
Revolve, lovely Hermione, for the sake of heaven revolve, I entreat, on all I have said. We are still at Morton

Hall; my grandfather having been confined with a slight fit of the gout, which will probably detain him some days longer. Consider the reason, the justice, the perfect propriety, nay the duty and humanity of the scheme I propose, and favour me with one propitious line, to alleviate the distress of your eternally grateful and obedient servant,
LINROSE.
JULY 28.
The perusal of this letter has indeed plunged me into a sea of troubles; and on the first reading, I thought only of acceding to Lord Linrose's proposal. I considered nothing but the sad alternative, either of hazarding every inconvenience and yielding at once to his entreaties, or of relinquishing him for ever. I forgot the repugnance of my own heart to a measure so bold and so dangerous, and which recurred with painful force

the instant the perturbation of my mind began to abate. I remembered not the applause which had in my cool moments attended my former refusal, nor the consolation which I had derived from that of my dear and ever respected Lady Aubrey, whose approbation of my conduct is essential to my peace. I considered not the peculiar situation of Lord Linrose; whose rank in the world, and habits of living must, with the best disposition in the world, render him particularly unfit for the circumscribed economy and seclusion of which his own independent fortune would admit. Mr. Howard tells me it does not exceed five or six hundred a year; and to this limited income, which I make no doubt has hardly hitherto served for the little incidental charges of pocket money, Lord Linrose would be forced to submit probably during the life time of Lord Belmont, for as to the hopes of softening

him into forgiveness, even Lady Aubrey, it is easy to perceive, builds little on that circumstance.
Stern and unrelenting when once thoroughly exasperated, it is infinitely more probable, she says, that submission and time may soften him in our favour than that he should ever be prevailed with to pardon an act of open defiance. The very idea that Lord Linrose, from now considering himself as the sole and natural heir of his title and wealth, may with less apprehension dare to brave his displeasure, is a circumstance the most likely to induce him to let his grandson feel the whole weight of his indignation in every way he can devise, and as long as he lives to punish his disobedience.
Some of the most prudent of these considerations you will suspect, Sophia, were not wholly the suggestions of my own mind. At least at first, though my reason could not but entirely acquiesce

with the force, justice, and probability of all those conclusions, the moment they either occurred to myself or were suggested to me by the apprehensive tenderness of my dear Lady Aubrey, that difficulty which had impressed me with the least alarm became, from her prudent representation, the motive that weighed the most forcibly against my compliance. The idea of involving Lord Linrose perhaps for a period of years, (for Lord Belmont, though advanced in life, may survive a long time) in all the inconveniences of a narrow fortune, for which he must be so peculiarly ill calculated, is a measure I find I could not summon resolution to hazard.
I have therefore written to him. I have desired him to think of me no more till his proposals are authorized by Lord Belmont's consent. But I believe I have not been able to conceal the poignant regret with which I make the

sacrifice; and indeed if it will serve to soften his disappointment, I wish not to deny how deeply I partake in the sufferings I am constrained to inflict.
AUGUST 1.
With what infinite tenderness and sympathy Lady Aubrey enters into all my feelings on this occasion. She sooths my uneasiness, with a pity that draws my confidence and claims my warmest gratitude. I no longer conceal from her the regret I experience in giving pain to Lord Linrose, and disappointing his hopes. I even confess it to her with an ease that lulls my distress and fortifies my mind.
My sister's gaiety has quite deserted her, since this sad reverse took place. Mr. Howard too must naturally experience some personal disappointment.

The advantages resulting from a reconciliation with Lord Belmont are of no trifling importance to the interests of an increasing family. But I doubt if Fanny carries her ideas so far. Her mortification is merely excited by her feelings for mine and that regret which it is natural to suffer on being forced finally to relinquish a favourite prospect that has been long and fondly cherished.
AUGUST 2.
I exert myself to appear cheerful tho' the means by which I support my seeming heroism but prepares me perhaps for fresh uneasiness. I cannot help secretly flattering myself that if an interview were by any means to take place between Lady Aubrey and Lord Belmont, she might with some probability of success undertake our defence, and extirpate

those deep-rooted prejudices that have been productive of consequences so unhappy. Such a proposal, however, it is impossible for me to suggest; particularly as she now never mentions any intention of soliciting a renewal of Lord Belmont's acquaintance, and seems to have merely regarded that measure as the necessary result of the connection between them which my marriage must have produced. This I own surprises me; but I suppose her courage having failed her as the moment seemed approaching, she hardly regrets a satisfaction which must have been purchased at the price of so much agitation and apprehension.
I think continually in what manner and with what sensations Lord Linrose has received my letter. I suppose I shall have his answer to-morrow or next day. I sincerely hope he will resign himself to my determination without any further

solicitations. I tremble lest he should take the resolution of coming again hither.
This evening's post brought me my dear, dear Sophia's delightful packet, which has given me more pleasure than I thought it possible I could have tasted in the present state of my spirits. Oh what infinite comfort does the hopes, however distant, of one day embracing you infuse into my heart. I think I ought not to complain of any calamity when heaven promises me a consolation so powerful towards soothing every painful regret. This idea not only heals my uneasiness, but inspires me with resolution to struggle against it. I am infinitely more resigned since your letter arrived. Two others accompanied it, which I should hardly have thought of mentioning did not one of them contain a piece of intelligence at which I cannot but feel sincere pleasure: it is from Miss Parsons,

who informs me that she is in a few weeks to give her hand to a gentleman who has lately paid her his addresses: he is a clergyman, a middle aged man, she tells me, possessed of an excellent character, and a good living. My sister and I are much pleased to find that a settlement so fortunate and so comfortable at last puts a final period to poor Miss Jenny's mortifications and difficulties; for by some hints in her letter I suspect that her situation in Lady Linrose's family was by no means so comfortable as she at first expected. There is a paragraph towards the end that strongly corroborates our suspicions of that lady's duplicity. It is as follows.
"I suppose you are not ignorant that Lord Belmont is returned to England. Heaven grant that you and your amiable sister may derive the satisfaction from that event that my heart wishes you. He is most impatiently expected here by

her Ladyship, whose anxiety to see him would have carried her to meet him in town had he not prevented her by spending some time with my Lord Mortonbury. I fear much, my dear Miss Seymour, that you entrusted not your cause to an unprejudiced advocate when you expected Lady Linrose would mediate in your favour with his Lordship. I have never presumed to repeat even your names in her presence till the other morning, when a gentleman of this neighbourhood, who saw you in town, happening in the course of conversation to mention the superior elegance of your appearance with many just encomiums, her Ladyship spoke of you with an indignant disrespect that astonished and shocked me. I could no longer attend in silence to so much injustice, and defended you with a warmth that ended in a rupture between us. My approaching marriage, however, renders this a circumstance

wholly immaterial, as my dear little charge is my only regret on quitting the family; and I am at present at the house of a friend, where I shall remain till I remove to that of Mr. Price."
This intelligence does not surprise me; neither, since it proves no material inconvenience to Miss Parsons, does the discovery displease me: for the disgust which has been implanted by misrepresentation and jealousy is infinitely less formidable than that which might have been the result of inherent obstinacy and caprice.
The other epistle is from Mrs. Hindon, who is returned from her expedition to Holland.
AUGUST 3.
Read, my beloved Sophia, read and participate in the happy revolution which

this day, this propitious day has produced. I shall endeavour to inform you of the particulars with all the composure I can summon to my aid.
My sister having been yesterday a little indisposed. Lady Aubrey proposed taking her for an airing this morning immediately after breakfast, and entreated me to accompany them; but I excused myself on pretence of finishing a packet to my Sophia, which really was my intention. My spirits however were particularly languid, and being left to my own meditations, I found myself unfit for writing. I seated myself therefore on the window seat, listless and inactive, and was revolving in my mind, among other subjects of uneasiness, the implicit submission and silence with which Lord Linrose had received my letter, when this reverie was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a chariot and four, which drove full speed up the

avenue; and while I was thinking with regret who this unwelcome visitor could be, the door of the parlour opened and a servant announced Lord Linrose.
My own perturbation, unspeakable as it was, did not conceal from me the agitation that struggled in his countenance; but my apprehension and astonishment on so unexpectedly beholding him, prevented me from discovering whether it was grief or pleasure that occasioned the hurry and emotion visible in every feature. Hermione! Miss Seymour! cried he, and seizing my hand, which he passionately kissed—Lovely and beloved Hermione, I come at last to claim you. Pronounce my happiness. Tell me at once you will be mine: for now Lord Belmont no longer withholds his consent to my wishes. His warmest approbation, his most fervent concurrence attends it, and he sends you by me this

tender embrace and the paternal blessing of his heart.
Oh! Sophia! what were at this moment my sensations. Doubt, joy, and astonishment, all at once overpowering my senses; my eyes closed; I became insensible; and leaned unconsciously on Lord Linrose's shoulder; while apprehension rendered him almost incapable of supporting or of assisting me; and he waited my recovery, which was instantaneous, in fearful silence.
The moment my senses were restored, he poured upon me so many grateful acknowledgments for this proof of my sensibility, and accused himself so bitterly of imprudence in having so suddenly informed me of this surprising event, that I blushed for the weakness I had betrayed, and besought him to talk of it no more, but to inform me to what we owed this change in Lord Belmont's sentiments.

To that angel of heaven, Lady Aubrey, cried he. It is she who has opened Lord Belmont's eyes to his infatuation and injustice. It is she who has justified your character in his good opinion, and effected this happy revolution in his mind. That she alone could have produced a change so sudden and so wonderful, he even himself acknowledges, while he obstinately persists in concealing the name of the person who has infused, like poison, the most injurious falshoods into his imagination.
Whoever has done us this injury, cried I, I for my own part heartily forgive them; and I earnestly entreat, as a proof of the truth of the professions you have so repeatedly made me, that the recollection of it may never be the subject of the slightest resentment. Oh! banish, I beseech you, my Lord, banish all disagreeable suspicions, and every angry reflection from your thoughts, and





think only of what we owe to heaven and Lady Aubrey.
To this conciliating request, said my Lord, I certainly should not hesitate to promise implicit obedience; but I will not assume merit with you on account of a compliance which Lord Belmont, dreading the consequences of indignation so justly excited, has already exacted. The anxiety with which he laid his commands on me never to make this transaction a foundation either for investigation or retaliation convinced me at once —that I must indeed enquire no farther—though never will it be in my power in future to honour or esteem—
Hold for heaven's sake! cried I, frightened at the vehemence with which he spoke, you already infringe your promise. Oh! think not of displeasure; but tell me what means Lady Aubrey employed to produce this wonderful change.

My Lord then put into my hands an open letter, which he took from his letter case. Here, cried he, is the invaluable performance, that has wrought with the force of magic, and not only poured conviction on Lord Belmont's mind, for that indeed is a point which time must naturally have of course effected, but with miraculous power has at once removed all those barriers of prejudice and repugnance that have obstructed my happiness.
I instantly began to peruse it; but the first lines affected me so violently, that I was unable ta proceed; and my Lord insisted I should give over the attempt till I was less agitated. I would then have made my escape in order to recover some degree of composure; but he would not suffer me to withdraw, and detained me by relating the effect this pathetic letter had produced on Lord Belmont.

Lord Linrose said he was not present when the letter was presented to Lord Belmont; but having been an airing on horseback, a servant who watched his return informed him that my Lord desired to see him in his apartment.
On entering the chamber, he found his Lordship alone and much agitated. His features, on attempting to speak, seemed almost convulsed, from the effort of suppressing his tears, which at length forced their way down his cheek. Lord Linrose hastily enquired the cause of his emotion, but for some moments he was unable to explain it. Linrose, said he at last, be not alarmed. Read that letter. It was sufficiently explanatory, and hardly was it finished when Lord Linrose found himself in his grandfather's arms. I blame myself severely, said he; but I have been deceived and misled in a most ungenerous manner, I ought not however

to have given implicit credit; but I will endeavour to atone for the injustice of my past conduct to these unfriended and neglected children, for whom you have so often interceded in vain.
I know, cried Lord Linrose, hastily firing at a suspicion which he had so often dismissed with much self accusation, it is my mother who has been secretly at the bottom of this affair; and I solemnly swear—
He was proceeding, he owns, in a strain equally violent and improper, when Lord Belmont suddenly stopped him; and without absolutely either affirming or denying the justice of the charge, told him that if he would not instantly give him his promise in the most sacred manner never to attempt by any means to search into the grounds of his behaviour, and whatever were his own private suspicions never to dare to resent it, his eternal displeasure should be the inevitable

consequence: on the contrary, said he, if I find you disposed to oblige me in this particular, I shall obstruct your wishes no more.
Intoxicated with joy, I instantly bound myself by the most solemn vow, said Lord Linrose, conscientiously to adhere to this command. Lord Belmont had indeed taken a method so effectual for subduing my displeasure, that three words from his lips had wholly banished it from my memory, and threw me into an extacy of spirits that made me in charity with all mankind.
Lady Aubrey, said Lord Belmont, again melting at the recollections that crowded on his mind, the amiable Lady Aubrey could make me no request with which I should not think myself bound to comply; and I consider it as a singular felicity that I possess the ability of gratifying the wishes of the most benevolent of female hearts, which, thro' my

family was in the early pride of youth and beauty torn with distraction and lost to the world. I loved and admired her with the tender partiality of a parent; and the circumstance of her having afforded my granddaughters that friendship and protection which were denied them from a more natural quarter, convinces me they must be deserving of the warm interest she feels for them, and elevates her higher than ever in my estimation and regard.
Finding we were at Aubrey Castle, Lord Belmont willingly consented to allow Lord Linrose to set off early this morning, after a short apology to Lord Mortonbury, which was afterwards to be followed by a fuller explanation; and having written an answer to Lady Aubrey's letter, to be presented by his grandson, promised to join him at this place on Wednesday next.
Lord Linrose having finished his relation,

at length permitted me to retire for a few moments to read the propitious letter which had effected such miracles, and gave me Lord Belmont's answer to present to Lady Aubrey on her return from her airing. Here is a faithful copy of the former.
TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF BELMONT.
After a tedious space of sixteen mournful years, will Lord Belmont allow a long forgotten friend to enquire, if time has wholly erased from his remembrance her whom once he honoured with the name of daughter; who once valued herself on possessing a distinguished place in his esteem and in his affections, and who has cherished towards him, amidst the pangs of misery and the languor of a distant and melancholy solitude, that tender duty and filial regard, which, connected with a thousand agonizing recollections, never can be effaced from her heart. Yes, my Lord, after a dismal lapse of time,

memory recalls your kindness, your paternal caresses, with a gratitude and chastened pleasure scarce inferior to that which they excited when I was indeed your child; and one of the most fervent wishes of my heart is, to be allowed to think I have a father, and gratified with the permission of asking on my knees his blessing.
That heart, my Lord, which, worn out with suffering and subdued by sorrow, looked around the universe and beheld no single remaining source of hope and consolation, has lately discovered, by the mercy of a gracious providence, one little spot of rest, one prop of support, that tells me I have not been bereft of all; and which bids me be grateful and resigned. The Almighty has vouchsafed me a tender bond of union, that binds me to life and connects me with mankind; He has granted me the tender interest of parental fondness, which with divine influence

heals the corroding remembrance of his less gracious dispensations, and presents me with a ray of satisfaction even in this world. Heaven has sent me two lovely and beloved daughters, dear to my soul and unrivalled in my admiration, and who claim the enthusiastic adoration of a parent's heart: yet by him alone, who enjoys a right to that sacred title, they are abandoned and disowned; to him the same healing benefit is offered; but he disdains its acceptance, he rejects the soothing comfort, and will not lay hold of those alleviations which a pitying Providence bestows.
What hidden and mysterious cause! what unaccountable and unmerited prepossessions, have banished the warm benevolence and misled the rectitude that formed the ruling principles of Lord Belmont's character? Ah! my Lord! whatever secret and malevolent enemy has poisoned your mind with doubts and prejudices,

be assured they have not the slightest foundation in truth. Some selfish and ungenerous motive must have prompted these misrepresentations. Give not credit to so base a lie. Consent but to behold your innocent, your amiable grandchildren, and every suspicion will be refuted, all mediation useless, and persuasion at an end. Subdued and enchanted, you will take them to your paternal bosom, you will desire to attach them to you by still closer ties, by the spontaneous bonds of gratitude and obligation. You will love them with the fondness of a father: you will love them perhaps as I love them: and their unremitting and affectionate duty will give additional interest to your existence, as it constitutes the sole blessing of mine.
The youngest of these valuable young women, has already disposed of her hand to a gentleman of singular worth, but whose fortune equals not his merit. The

eldest, whose charms are of the most insinuating nature, beautiful and enchanting as an angel, unites with the most acute sensibility that disinterested generosity and high sense of honour, in which genuine virtue consists. Adoring and adored by her cousin Lord Linrose, she heroically prefers the tranquillity of the parent who rejects her, and whose misguided prepossessions she must ever deplore, to the certain happiness it was in her option to have enjoyed; and what, alas! required tenfold fortitude—which it was in her power to have conferred.
Will you, my Lord, allow a sacrifice like this to remain unrewarded? Will you permit two amiable young people to continue disappointed and unhappy, who but for a just sense of filial piety would have been blessed in each other? Ah! no! your Lordship requires but the film that blinded you to be taken from your eyes, and I feel that I have already prevailed.

You will no longer deny yourself the delight of participating in the felicity you are enabled to bestow, and your generous mind will experience satisfaction in affording a lively sensation of pleasure, to her whose heart has so long bled for and now deeply partakes in the sufferings of her young friends, but who shall ever remain, with implicit submission and the warmest regard,
Your Lordship's affectionate daughter and obedient servant, JULIA AUBREY.
AUBREY CASTLE, AUG. 2.
I was not recovered from the emotion into which the perusal of this affecting letter had thrown me, when I heard Lady Aubrey's foot on the stairs, followed by my sister. Eager to inform them of what had taken place since the morning, I flew to the door just as they were passing in order to enter the adjoining drawing room; and incapable at that moment

either of calmly explaining the cause of my perturbation or of conquering its violence, I threw myself into the arms of the dear friend to whom I owed so much, and sobbed upon her neck without being able to utter one word.
Fanny was terrified, and Lady Aubrey for an instant astonished and alarmed: but her own letter, which I held open in my hand, and the knowledge, of Lord Linrose's arrival, which she had learnt below, soon relieved her fears and told her what I was unable to express.
Lord Belmont has then yielded, my love, has he not? cried she, warmly returning my embraces. Oh! I hoped much from the generous benevolence of that worthy man's disposition. It was the apprehension of retaining you in a painful state of suspense, which I could not be certain would not have been succeeded by disappointment, prevented me from acquainting you with this last and fortunate

attempt to soften him in your favour till I was informed of it's success.
Fanny was in extacies, and wept and laughed by turns; but soon growing more composed, I delivered to Lady Aubrey the letter from Lord Belmont.
She seemed much affected even with the sight of the writing. Her hand shook violently on receiving it from me, and she instantly retired with it into her own chamber. Fanny then left me, to congratulate Lord Linrose, whom she was impatient to see; but I found it impossible to taste satisfaction while my ever dear Lady Aubrey's generous participation in my happiness was damped with so much pain, and mingled with so many contending feelings. I ventured not for some time to intrude on her retirement; but at length apprehension carried me to the door of her apartment, where I overheard her weeping with so much anguish that I took courage to make an attempt

to enter. It was fastened on the inside however, and I withdrew in respectful silence.
Short was this indulgence of sorrow. In half an hour she joined me wiih a placid and composed countenance, and having once more embraced and congratulated me, gave me Lord Belmont's letter to peruse, and went to welcome Lord Linrose.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE COUNTESS OF AUBREY.
MY DEAR MADAM,
Be assured it is in the power neither of time nor absence to diminish that warm affection, which, founded on the highest esteem and admiration, never while life and reason holds can be weakened in my bosom. The letter you have honoured me with has but augmented the enthusiastic regard with which every tender recollection of Lady Aubrey has ever been

accompanied; and the humane and benevolent application it contains, while it gratifies my most anxious wish in affording me an opportunity of obliging her, leaves only this painful regret on my mind, that from credulity and remission I have allowed such an application to be made. To acknowledge and to protect these helpless young women, was the undoubted duty of a parent, and a duty, which, but for the misrepresentations of a secret enemy, should have been long ere now conscientiously discharged. But to bind them to me by still closer ties, to allow of an alliance with my grandson, the source of my dearest hopes and expectations, to dismiss the prospect of a long cherished scheme, which must have secured to him connections of unbounded interest and importance, is a concession which Lady Aubrey alone could have procured—a revolution, that she of the whole world only could have effected.

When her enlarged and generous mind teaches me a lesson so noble, prejudice is subdued, and that repugnance which aided my credulity, vanishes and is forgotten.
My grandson desires the honour of delivering this letter. He carries my blessing to all my children, accompanied with a request that I may be allowed to embrace them on Wednesday. Among the number, more numerous than I ever expected to behold them, none claims a warmer sentiment of pleasure at meeting than that beloved and esteemed daughter to whom I have the unspeakable satisfaction and the honour of subscribing myself,
her affectionate father and most obedient servant, BELMONT.
MORTON HALL, AUG. 3.
Lady Aubrey returned just as I had done reading this kind epistle, telling me

that Lord Linrose was reproaching me for having deserted the company.
On joining it, the traces of tears were still visible on my countenance, and the consciousness of my betrayed emotions made me enter the drawing room with a degree of timidity. My Lord and Mr. Howard smiled affectionately on approaching me. I believe, cried the latter, my congratulations were rather premature some time ago, but I hope I may repeat them now with all safety. I am not a little vain, added he, turning aside to Lord Linrose, of my talent of prescience, for I foresaw this happy event, and no obstacles or difficulties have been able to convince me that it would not one day take place.
AUGUST 4.
When we parted last night, Lord Linrose made me promise to walk out with

him this morning before breakfast. You know I generally rise early; and to-day I was hot particularly late. We had a delightful walk, and a long and most interesting conversation before any of the family were stirring.
Lady Aubrey seems much agitated with the thoughts of to-morrow's interview. It appears formidable even to me; but to her—ah! how much more painful must it prove! She has been very thoughtful all this day; and I observed often endeavoured to suppress a starting tear, by covering it with a smile that but half performed it's duty. Were the first meeting over, I cannot help flattering myself that custom will soon banish the painful reflections with which the sight of Lord Belmont cannot fail to be attended, and that lenient consequences will flow from this re-union, so soothing and salutary to the tender and gentle nature of this amiable woman.
H. SEYMOUR.

TO MISS BEAUMONT.
AUGUST 6.
THIS interview, so anxiously and so long desired, took place yesterday.
Lady Aubrey's eyes, at breakfast, betrayed how the night had been passed; and as for myself, I felt as if I was on the eve of an event, the consequences of which were formidable and precarious. Fanny seemed to partake very little in these apprehensions. All her anxiety was in regard to my appearance, which she wished to render as agreeable as possible in my grandfather's eyes, as an apology for the imprudence of Lord Linrose's

attachment; and she helped to adjust my dress with an eager anxiety that my uneasiness on Lady Aubrey's account hardly rendered me capable of attending to.
My Lord and Mr. Howard had agreed to ride out, that they might not be in the way when Lord Belmont was introduced to us; and about one his Lordship arrived, having slept on the road, and travelled slowly.
My sister and I trembled to leave Lady Aubrey in that state of agitation into which even the sight of his carriage at a distance had thrown her; but we obeyed the hint she gave us to allow her to receive him alone; and having made her swallow a few drops in water, we withdrew into the adjoining library, which is separated from her dressing room only by a thin partition.
We had scarce tinne to enter it, when the found of steps ascending the stairs threw me into a tremor not to be conceived.

The door of the dressing room was presently after thrown open, and a servant pronounced the name of Lord Belmont and instantly withdrew.
A short silence ensued, which terrified me with the apprehension of Lady Aubrey's having fainted. This alarm was but too soon confirmed, from hearing Lord Belmont call out, in a voice of hurry and afright—Who's there? Good God, who's there? and the bell was instantly rung with great violence.
My sister and I, overpowered with terror and forgetful of every thing but our dear and invaluable friend, then burst into the room. She had sunk upon the sopha, and lay insensible, Lord Belmont hanging over her in all the despair of conscious inability to afford her assistance.
What a moment, in which for the first time to behold our grandfather. Anxiously as I had expected this interview, and formidable as it had appeared,

I scarce regarded him; I almost forgot he was present; and flying to Lady Aubrey, I supported her head in my trembling arms, while Fanny and the maid, who had been summoned from below, administered salts and besprinkled her face with lavender water.
Seeing her beginning to recover, my sister had the presence of mind to send away the maid, and Lady Aubrey soon after opened her lovely eyes. Returning recollection made her feebly raise her head, as if to seek Lord Belmont, who had prudently withdrawn behind from the fear that beholding him again too suddenly might occasion a relapse. But her emotions fortunately now took a less alarming turn; and clasping me in her arms as she reclined upon my neck, the fullness of her heart got vent in tears and sobs that seemed to rend her bosom; while the conflict of my feelings was so dreadful, that I cannot conceive how my

senses stood the shock they sustained at that instant.
Lord Belmont, extremely affected, had moved towards us; but apprehensive of increasing the violence of Lady Aubrey's feelings, and wholly subdued by his own, he stood for a moment irresolute whether or not he should advance. At length bursting into a violent flood of tears— by heavens this is too much! cried he, and suddenly retreated as if unable to support this scene.
Lady Aubrey, as yet scarce capable of articulating, prevented his withdrawing by holding out her hand to him, which he kissed with the most moving tenderness; and she fell into his arms in an agony of pathetic sorrow, which the most hardened and insensible could not have witnessed without being melted with compassion. Lord Belmont's whole soul seemed softened into pity, and he wept immoderately.

There is something peculiarly affecting in any violent expressions of grief in an old man: one is so little accustomed to behold them give way to the softer feelings, that when they burst the restraints of fortitude, it appears a sort of convulsion that is terrifying. Lady Aubrey, on perceiving the poignancy of his emotions, was instantly seized with an alarm which seemed to operate effectually in aiding her re-composure, or rather in inspiring her with resolution for struggling to attain it. She was for a moment calm—Oh my Lord! I am wounding, I am destroying you, cried she; but behold the all-powerful consolation I promised you—behold your children!
She disengaged herself from his embraces, and perhaps, Sophia, you will conclude that my sister and I instantly fell at our grandfather's feet and implored his blessing; but though this behaviour might have been more becoming,

and perhaps in some people more natural, my feelings operated very differently. The tenderness of his manner to Lady Aubrey, and the benevolent expression diffused over his aged countenance, had at the first glance deprived him of the stern aspect with which my imagination had invested him, and a strong and obvious look of my dear father, which struck that moment at my heart with the force of an electrical shock, instead of throwing me on my knees conveyed me into his arms; where melted and subdued, had not sobs relieved me, I must have fainted away.
My sister followed my example the moment I had a little recovered myself. He embraced us both with infinite affection; and Lady Aubrey's tears flowed with a freedom and profusion that greatly relieved my apprehensions and her own sufferings.
Permit me to leave you for one half

hour, said Lord Belmont. I shall be enabled presently to behold my dear daughters with more composure, and their gentle hearts will be fortified by my absence. Is there not a son too, to whom I have still to be introduced. I will find Linrose, and desire him to present me to Mr. Howard.
I perceive they are just returned, cried Fanny, who had seen them from the windows; and my Lord left us with precipitation under pretence of going to join them.
The instant he was gone, the momentary composure which Lady Aubrey had laboured to maintain entirely forsook her, and the violence of her perturbation was succeeded by a weakness, languor, and depression, that seemed wholly to overpower her, and rendered me extremely apprehensive that this interview would be far from promoting the comfort and tranquillity of her mind. By

the time that Lord Belmont returned, however, she was sedate and collected, yet both her health and looks have evidently suffered, though thank heaven not very materially, from this shock.
Eager to avoid any subject that might lead to mournful retrospections, Lord Belmont anxiously entered into conversation on matters less affecting, but equally interesting. He desired a particular account of our situation in all respects from our arrival in England to my sister's marriage, and expressed himself much pleased with Mr. Howard, to whom he had been introduced below. Both his expression and his manner were kind to excess; and he blamed himself severely for the part he had been induced to act. I must endeavour to atone to my children, said he, for my past behaviour in a way that I hope will banish it from their remembrance though the recollection ever must wound my own.

I could have told him, had I been able to summon courage, that one word from his lips had already more than atoned for fifty times the uneasiness his rejection had occasioned; but I could only press his hand, as he held mine in his. I almost think he understood this silent token of gratitude, for he embraced me affectionately.
Lord Linrose and Mr. Howard having allowed a sufficient time for this explanatory conversation, then entered. The appearance of the former for the first few minutes overwhelmed me with confusion. I recollected the repugnance with which my grandfather had so long listened to his solicitations in my behalf, and recalled with pain the reluctant consent which Lady Aubrey's interference had extorted. My confidence however was soon restored by the extreme affection and condescension of Lord Belmont; who, as if he had penetrated into my thoughts

and read my embarrassment, seemed to make me the object of his peculiar regard. He received, with infinite marks of satisfaction, all the little attentions which the pleasing idea of possessing a parent who claimed them excited from my sister and myself, was delighted with the information of our progress in different accomplishments, such as music, painting, &c. advantages which Lady Aubrey took care to display with all the exaggeration of maternal partiality, and when we were seating ourselves at table, ordered Lord Linrose to give him up the place of which he was about to take possession between Lady Aubrey and me. You begin to monopolize before your time, Sir, said he with a smile that covered me with blushes. He is indeed the most amiable old man I ever beheld, and must have been uncommonly handsome I think in his youth; though I will not deny but that an air of conscious

dignity, accompanied even with a look of austerity, is diffused over it, that may not at first sight prove prepossessing in the eyes of a stranger. But to his friends and to his children, he appears only what in fact he is, all condescension and benevolence. His resemblance to my father is so obvious, that he recalls him every instant to my remembrance, and you may recollect how much you used to admire the noble expression of his countenance.
Were his tenderness to my sister and myself wholly out of the question, his behaviour to Lady Aubrey would entirely gain my heart. Every look testifies the warmth of his admiration and respect; even the very tone of his voice on addressing her, is expressive of affection; and on her part, though the agitating scene of the morning seemed to have unhinged her nerves and wholly exhausted her strength and spirits, his

Lordship's tenderness appears to have recruited both. She is truly sensible of his goodness; and receives all his attentions with a mournful pleasure, which while it revives her sorrows, and encreases her melancholy, sooths and gratifies her heart.
Hurt by the idea of overclouding the happiness (which however combated by sympathy and compassion. Lord Belmont's arrival had universally diffused) she exerted herself yesterday evening to appear cheerful; but the effort was apparent: she conversed on indifferent topics with seeming interest; but it was easy to divine that her thoughts were not present; and at last she insisted that I should sit down to the harpsichord and sing to my grandfather a little French air, which he had said he particularly admired. The first few notes however obliged her to leave the room, and I found it impossible to proceed.

This day, thank heaven, I think her spirits are less depressed. She had a long private conversation in the morning with Lord Belmont, chiefly in regard to our affairs, and seems to have been more relieved than affected by it. My Lord acknowledged to her every circumstance of the conduct of Lady Linrose, but requested that particular care might be taken not to increase the resentment of her son by an open avowal of the ungenerous part she has secretly acted.
Her behaviour, said my Lord, has betrayed a degree of meanness, art, and duplicity, which convince me she is capable of any step, however irregular, from which she has hopes of attaining a favourite point. I shall myself therefore break off all connection with her in future; but I should be sorry to involve Linrose in a difference with his mother, and if our Hermione be as amiable as her lovely countenance bespeaks her,

she will incline to soften rather than exasperate an indignation too justly excited. Oh Sophia! how proud and how pleased did this partial compliment from my grandfather make me.
Lady Aubrey assured him of my pacific disposition, and said she was certain I would be infinitely shocked with the apprehension of occasioning a rupture between them. I am convinced, added she, that her present happiness has already obliterated from her mind all resentment in regard to Lady Linrose; yet when she recalls the comfortless, unconnected situation in which she and her sister found themselves at the very moment that she so unfeelingly transmitted to them the account of your Lordship's determination, a determination which undoubtedly her own misrepresentations had effected, there is perhaps some little merit in dismissing indignation.
As an apology for the unkindness of

my conduct, said my Lord, I must request you, my dear Madam, to peruse this letter, which I received from Lady Linrose in December last.
Lady Aubrey immediately read it; and afterwards repeated to us the contents as faithfully as her memory could retail them.
Lady Linrose began by informing Lord Belmont that she was about to acquaint him with an affair that had given her infinite vexation, and which she was afraid would involve his Lordship in much difficulty and uneasiness. She then tells him that his two granddaughters had taken the imprudent step (without any previous application or advice) of coming over to England; where they had lately arrived merely attended by a gentleman, who it was said was much devoted to them. After imprudently lodging all together in the house of a woman of very doubtful character, and

associating almost solely with the famous Mrs. Weldon, with whom they had been intimate abroad, who was kept at present by a profligate young man of fortune, they had applied to her (Lady Linrose) as a relation from whom they expected countenance and civilities; and to this, her Ladyship adds, they would justly have been entitled, had not the glaring impropriety of their conduct rendered any attention on her part, on account of her daughters, wholly out of the question.
These were circumstances, she said, much to be regretted: but alas this unexpected journey to England had been attended by consequences still more disagreeable, and indeed truly alarming: her son Roatsley had accidentally seen and was become passionately enamoured of the eldest of these girls; though from a singular train of particulars, too tedious to retail, added to their having retained

the name by which they had been hitherto known, he was still ignorant of the relationship that subsisted between them. Artful, beautiful, and designing, this young woman had spread every snare of coquetry and insinuation to captivate him, in which she had so entirely succeeded that he was blind to her imprudence, nor would listen to any attempts made by his friends to open his eyes.
She had no doubt, her Ladyship continued, but the ladies would soon prevail with Roatsley to intercede with his Lordship in their favour, though as yet no explanation on that head seemed to have taken place between them; and added, that were it not for the unfortunate circumstance of his attachment, which absolutely required every possible check and discouragement, it would doubtless have been a natural and humane act to have endeavoured to restrain

the conduct of the girls within the bounds of propriety and decency; and to effect this desirable end, the notice and protection of their friends might have proved conducive: but at present she was convinced any favour or attentions afforded them would but give life to those romantic hopes which the dependent and unconnected obscurity of their situation had hitherto suppressed.
She then desires to have his Lordship's commands in what manner she should conduct herself on the occasion, to which she promises the most dutiful and implicit submission; and requests that his Lordship may not on any account allow her son to suspect that she had ever entered with him on this subject, as it could serve no purpose but that of producing endless quarrels and altercations between them, and he would be apt to suspect her (she adds) of having prepossessed him against them. Her Ladyship,

after a great deal more to the same purpose, concludes with these words, which Lady Aubrey repeated verbatim, "the young ladies, I understand, intend addressing your Lordship in a letter, which I shall take particular care to dispatch the moment it is committed to my charge."
This letter, however, my Lord informed Lady Aubrey, never had arrived, though Lady Linrose in her next informed him that she had sent it off some days before. I was little solicitous, said his Lordship, about the fate of an epistle which the alarm I had received from the intelligence of my grandson's folly rendered me unwilling to peruse; but I doubt if it was ever intended for my sight, from the moment in which it reached the hands of that artful woman. At the time however no suspicion even entered my thoughts. Shocked at the danger which threatened all my favourite schemes for Linrose, I instantly desired

his mother by every means in her power to discourage his passion, and to prevent the slightest intercourse between her family and these imprudent girls, whose ill conduct, added to my grandson's infatuation, determined me to renounce them; and I ordered her to assure them that my resolution neither to behold nor acknowledge them was irrevocable. I made enquiry however in what situation they were in regard to fortune, and was pleased to find that their finances were in a situation that required not the interference of my assistance. Even this account, Linrose tells me, was false; for the unlucky failure of their guardian rendered their circumstances so uncomfortable that an application was made to him by one of their friends for some assistance, which I believe he intended to convey in the most delicate manner he could contrive under the borrowed form of a pension from government.

On this head, said Lady Aubrey, I must exculpate Lady Linrose from blame; for the circumstance of Mr. Benseley's affairs I am convinced never, came to her knowledge; and when she informed your Lordship that their situation required no aid, she was herself probably of that opinion. I must likewise observe, that though this account of their situation received from her pen all the exaggeration that art and prejudice could give it, yet it is possible that upon her first private enquiries in regard to them, she might have conceived a very unjust and unfavourable opinion of their behaviour. A variety of injurious rumours were the disagreeable consequence of their imprudence in lodging with a woman of whose character they were not particularly informed; and the unlucky intimacy which for a short time subsisted between them and Mrs. Weldon, owing to that abandoned woman's having

art in getting admitted into very respectable society abroad, must have confirmed her error.
Yes, Madam, said Lord Belmont; but when she was herself undeceived, then, in honour, in justice, she was bound to have removed the disgust she had implanted: but instead of pursuing this path, the whole of her conduct discovers the most despicable and ungenerous artifice. In a late letter dated from Holtenham Abbey, she tells me that my grandchildren are behaving with greater propriety than could have been expected; that the youngest had lately married the gentleman who had attended them from the Continent, a circumstance she observes that looked well; and that her sister resided with them in that county, where they lived with credit. As they were but lately arrived and little known, nobody there she says seemed acquainted with their late levity of conduct. This

decorum, whether real or assumed merely for the purpose of deceiving Linrose, was extremely alarming, she adds, as they had acquired a reputation which youth and beauty, when attended with art, seldom found it difficult to obtain, where a favourite point was at stake. Thus, by working forcibly on my apprehensions in regard to my grandson, and representing my granddaughters in this unfavourable point of view, she evidently aimed at prepossessing me so strongly against them, as to render me on my return neither particular in my enquiries nor in any way solicitous about them: while at the same time, should at length the real truth transpire, she preserved the salvo of having been herself deceived.
To these accusations Lady Aubrey could have added the artful visit she made at Hubert Hill, and the feigned civilities and expressions of friendship

by which she had endeavoured to gain our confidence and lull her son's suspicions, as affording her the means of separating us from Lord Belmont with greater facility and less danger of detection; but unwilling to exasperate where she was certain I would wish to reconcile, Lady Aubrey forbore acquainting him with this part of her behaviour.
She discovered however, in the course of this conversation, that Lord Linrose had partly hinted to him the approbation and admiration with which his mother had beheld us; but this having been followed by no particulars, and Lord Linrose having merely advanced that circumstance during the heat of their altercation as an argument in our favour, it had made no great impression on Lord Belmont's mind. I should be much distressed, Sophia, to be the means of occasioning divisions in a family with whom I am soon to be so intimately connected.

I shall endeavour therefore as much as is possible to keep all aggravating additions from Lord Belmont's knowledge, as well as to persuade Lord Linrose into conciliating measures; who, though he is withheld from openly testifying his resentment, cannot talk of his mother's conduct with patience, even while he is ignorant of the extent of her artifice.
After this full and candid explanation, my Lord expressed in the strongest and most flattering terms his warm approbation of his grandson's choice, and spoke of me with a partial admiration that delighted the heart of our invaluable friend; and on being faithfully repeated to me, filled mine with gratitude and pleasure. Linrose, he said, was impatient to have matters concluded; and indeed, considering the happiness that awaited him, his eagerness was both natural and excusable; the ceremony therefore

should be no longer delayed, than till the papers and settlements could be made out.
Having concluded this minute detail, I have one favour to request of my Hermione, added Lady Aubrey, and I flatter myself she will not refuse me. It is that you will not think of leaving this house, my love, till you have given your hand to Lord Linrose. Let me have the pleasure of thinking, that as under this roof you have experienced the most painful moments that hopeless love could send, under this roof your future happiness has he secured as far as the affection, gratitude, and admiration of a tender husband can secure it.
To this kind request you may believe I gave a grateful and willing assent, provided Lord Belmont approved of the proposal. I even entreated that she would endeavour if possible to prevail with him to agree to it; for I am extremely

apprehensive, from a hint he let drop this morning, that he has got the frightful intention of giving to this affair the air of a formal celebration, by inviting distant relations of the family, and introducing pomp and ceremonials where privacy with a very few friends is so much more suitable to the awful solemnity of the occasion. Lord Belmont, it is not difficult to perceive, is not easily moved by persuasion to alter a determined purpose; but heaven grant that in this instance, as in so many still more arduous, Lady Aubrey's unbounded influence may prevail.
AUGUST 8.
Lord Linrose and I, who contrive to steal a private walk, every morning before breakfast, had a violent dispute during our early ramble to-day. He

insisted that there was no necessity for waiting the tedious forms of law, since they could go on at leisure fully as well after as before the ceremony was performed; and to defer it till Dudley Mount was fitted up for our reception was, he said, the most useless and absurd formality, when so many kind friends were quarrelling who should have the first visit from us; and at all events we could take up our residence if we chose it at Alton Park with Lord Belmont.
I did not wish to appear affected: yet ihe prospect of an event that I had believed at the distance of some weeks, threw me into consternation; and the urgency with which my Lord laboured to reconcile me to this hasty scheme, convinced me he would easily contrive to surmount any obstacles that Lord Belmont might oppose to it.
I therefore entreated him to give over all thoughts of so precipitate a plan, and

to wait till every thing was quietly and properly adjusted. In the mean while I told him I should divide my time equally between Hubert Hill and Aubrey Castle; and as he must find himself equally at home at both those places, we might contrive to be constantly together.
My arguments were without effect. He continued to persuade and I to remonstrate. I think, at length cried he laughing, no plan remains for me but one, and that one is so natural on the present occasion, and must appear to all who hear of it so happy a termination to those endless difficulties and punctilios, that though you may not approve of the scheme I make no doubt time and contrition might prevail with you to forgive it: at least I may venture to hazard your displeasure in a cause that would so amply recompense me for the utmost seventy of its effect. I shall have my

carriage and servants in waiting to carry you off some morning when you are walking, and my grandfather's chaplain will have no scruples to deter him from performing a ceremony that is merely deferred from motives of absurd propriety.
He had scarce finished this sentence, when Lord Belmont suddenly joined us from the next walk. He smiled at my confusion; but kindly taking my hand, had you really attempted this wild scheme some weeks ago, Linrose, said he, I might have been offended; but I think, considering the temptation, I could not possibly have been surprised; however you may now summon a little patience to your aid, and a few weeks will adjust every thing to your satisfaction.
A few weeks, my Lord! exclaimed Lord Linrose. Your Lordship requires patience with a vengeance; but there is not the slightest chance that mine will hold out one third of the time.

I implored him by a look to defer the subject, but it was with evident difficulty and reluctance he obeyed me.
Well, Linrose, we shall see, cried Lord Belmont, and we soon after reached the house.
The family were just assembled at breakfast; and Lady Aubrey appeared in better looks and spirits than she has enjoyed since the receipt of Lord Belmont's letter. The company were all gaiety; and Lord Linrose having whispered to Mrs. Howard the circumstance of Lord Belmont having detected our morning tete a tete, she had the giddiness to say aloud that she understood an elopement was projected from Aubrey Castle, which she doubted not would soon take place unless Lord Belmont interfered to protect the injured honour of his family.
Yes, said my Lord, I must protect my daughter from the effects of an impetuosity, which I suspect will require all her

gentleness and good sense to keep within proper bounds; but I see no method so well calculated for promoting this end as the one I am convinced she will be apt on all occasions to adopt—that of yielding the point. You and I, my dear Madam, added he to Lady Aubrey, will discuss this matter afterwards.
The worst of all ways of gaining a point, cried Fanny, and a most abominable precedent for married women. I hope at least my sister won't think of introducing it at Hubert Hill.
Lord Belmont, with whom she is a great favourite, told her that he was convinced, as she had got the start of me in matrimony, I should in so acting merely follow the example set me by my youngest sister. I soon contrived to escape from this conversation, in which I found it impossible to join; and the moment I was gone, Lord Linrose earnestly entreated Lady Aubrey to endeavour to reconcile

me to a speedy celebration. The matter being then debated in full council, it was at length determined that our marriage should be concluded at Aubrey Castle; and that the day following the whole party should set off together for Hubert Hill, the vicinity of which situation to Dudley Mount rendered it a convenient residence for Lord Linrose as well as an agreeable one for all the others.
This being resolved, though without my having been consulted on the matter, Lord Linrose flew to find me in order to communicate this sudden change of measures. I was quietly seated in the library, though not very busy at my studies when he entered. My dearest Miss Seymour, cried he, a plan has been proposed and universally approved of, which I hope you will not be so inhuman as to oppose by any cold and fruitless objections. Lord Belmont, Lady Aubrey, and in short our whole friends, join in

opinion that the sooner my happiness is completed the better; and a thousand reasons, independent of my impatience, conspire to render it not merely proper but necessary. Lady Aubrey, whose maternal affection justly entitles her to every maternal privilege, with her usual unbounded goodness has condescended to name the very day of my happiness; and Wednesday next, my dearest Hermione, will behold me the most envied of mankind. Oh! generously tell me that you will not invent unnecessary delays—tell me that you hesitate no longer.
I did not affect a reluctance to oblige him: but agitated as I was, consented with that soothing satisfaction that ever attends our compliance to the entreaties of those we anxiously desire to please. The gratitude of Lord Linrose was as fervent as had been his urgency. But hearing some person on the stairs, I made

my escape to my own dressing room, where Lady Aubrey soon joined me.
She repeated to me the above information; and told me, that warmly experiencing the tender anxieties of a mother, she had ventured to assume the rights of that character in fixing the day and may heaven, my Hermione, render every anniversary of Wednesday next more tranquil than that awful day can prove that unites us even to what our hearts hold most dear on earth, and if possible still more happy.
Oh! Sophia! in four days my fate will be determined. Mr. Price, the husband of our friend Miss Parsons, who I find was originally tutor to Lord Linrose and is particularly esteemed by him, has it seems long indulged the hopes of performing one day the sacred ceremony that must ascertain his pupil's happiness or misery in life; and a messenger has been actually dispatched to him, desiring

his attendance here on Wednesday. On this occasion Lady Aubrey willingly consented to Fanny's request that Mrs. Price should be invited to accompany her husband; and as I thought our little friend would be gratified with the compliment, I did not oppose it.
Adieu, my beloved friend! for the first and last time of my assuming the name, let me subscribe myself
your affectionate and sincere friend, H. DUDLEY.
TO MISS BEAUMONT.
HUBERT HILL, AUG. 16.
ONCE more, my dearest Sophia, I write from Hubert Hill. This delightful

little abode, where, accompanied by the happy party from Aubrey Castle, I arrived on Friday forenoon.
Your Hermione, in presence of these dear and amiable friends, gave her hand to Lord Linrose on Wednesday last. No addition was made to the family on that occasion, Mr. and Mrs. Price excepted, from whom we parted on Thursday morning, as this little mansion could not have contained more visitors than at present are its inhabitants.
We were charmed to perceive the agreeable alteration which an easy mind and comfortable circumstances have produced in the looks of Mrs. Price. Her husband is a very amiable man; and her situation is in all respects as happy as it lately was the reverse. Mrs. Hindon, she told us, had received her, now her affairs no longer require her aid, with prodigious kindness, and had given her and Mr. Price an invitation to spend some

weeks at her house; but though I shall always continue on good terms with my aunt, said she, I have had enough of her family, and shall not be in haste to accept her offer.
The formidable day, my Sophia, was passed in our usual way. Lady Aubrey, who always judges with peculiar good sense and propriety, would allow of no forms. Every thing went on as it had done on the preceding day, excepting that the servants and tenants had a ball and plentiful dinner provided for them in the hall; but as there was no necessity for my making my appearance, I merely partook of their mirth from hearing the distant sound of the fiddles from below.
A licence having been procured, Mr. Price performed the ceremony; after which we sat down as usual to our customary employments, and cards and backgammon divided the evening. Lady Aubrey's agitation during the service

almost equalled mine; but thank heaven her spirits of late have been cheerful and composed, and I trust every succeeding day will bring her additional comfort and satisfaction.
The company of Lady Linrose, on this occasion, you may suppose was neither expected nor desired. Lord Linrose had in a cold letter informed her of the event a few days before it took place; but the presence of Lord Belmont, who had written her in a very decisive manner that they must meet no more, afforded an easy pretext for not requesting that of her Ladyship. All the notice Lord Linrose took of this rupture was, to tell her that as his grandfather appeared offended by some private particulars of her Ladyship's conduct, it was not in his power to solicit the honour of a visit from her on the occasion of an event which a multiplicity of misrepresentations

and mistakes has unhappily too long deferred.
On the evening of the day on which we got hither we all walked out, to show Lord Belmont the beauties of this charming place; and oh! Sophia! what an altered aspect every object wore, from the languor that so lately invested them. Lord Linrose led the way to the spot by the side of the river, once the scene of so much confusion and perplexity to me, when he stole upon me unperceived and first made the discovery of my affections. He had the delicacy however to make no other observation on the occasion than to talk of the romantic beauty of the situation with an enthusiastic admiration that evidently bespoke some secret source of partiality. His looks however were sufficiently expressive; and he pressed the hand that leaned on his arm with all the fervour of gratitude. Pray, cried he smiling, what is become of the pretty

little child that used to pay you frequent visits here.
I could not recall the teizing curiosity of Charlotte's behaviour without laughing heartily from that pleased sensation with which one recollects past vexations, now converted into enjoyment by the present happy reverse; and I related to my Lord, as we walked, the additional anguish which the little girl's persecution had given me during his mother's visit. Oh! with what gratitude did I raise my heart to heaven for the innumerable blessings that surrounded me.
As it grew late, Lord Belmont, who dreaded the damps of the evening, persuaded Lady Aubrey to return with him to the house, and Mr. and Mrs. Howard attended them: but my Lord and I prolonged our walk for a full hour longer. Every object around afforded some interesting subject for retracing past uneasiness and for contemplating with delighted

thankfulness the present happy contrast. Every interview between us was remembered, every conversation where prudence on the one side and timidity on the other presided, was annalized and investigated, and the secret motives of every action acknowledged.
When at length we returned to the house, we found cards of congratulation from Lady Mary Lawrence and Lady Elizabeth; and this morning I have received a letter from Lady Linrose herself, who sends me her felicitations with all the ease of a person who is unconscious of ever having intended to injure me. Lord Linrose coloured with indignation on perusing it. This is effrontery with a vengeance, said he: but the approach of Lord Belmont sealed his lips.
I have answered her with polite reserve. She expects, she says, to be favoured with a visit from her son and his amiable bride, as soon as the parade

of receiving visits is at an end; but I fear it will not be in my power to persuade Lord Linrose to condescend to this, at least for some time; and I have told her that as we have escaped for the present the disagreeable ceremonials she mentions, by taking up our residence with my brother and sister, we must devote some weeks to these duties when Dudley Mount becomes our residence, for which reason it is not in our power to fix any determined period for waiting upon her Ladyship. I have desired to be particularly remembered to the sweet Lucy; and indeed I promise myself much pleasure from cultivating her friendship. Her brother is passionately attached to her; and means if possible to prevail with her to join our family, as the unaccountable preference given by Lady Linrose to Miss Dudley renders home extremely unpleasant, and his

mother, he says, he is convinced will have no objection to part with her.
Lord Belmont, whose affection towards my sister and me seems hourly to increase, has presented Fanny with ten thousand pounds. This comfortable addition to Mr. Howard's fortune gives them every thing they desire to possess; for now that Lord Linrose and I are about to settle within four miles of them, Fanny has not a wish beyond the limits of the county, and her husband's taste leads him wholly to the enjoyment of a country life. His Lordship's settlements upon his grandson and me are noble; but as I am very little solicitous about these matters, I shall wave particulars. My Lord, who is fond of rural sports, intends that we shall spend great part of the year at Dudley Mount; a resolution which gives me infinite pleasure. He is sick of the frivolous amusements of London, and I have no pleasure in them.

I now possess all my heart can wish, and happy in the society of those I sincerely and fervently love, I wish not to enlarge my circle beyond what politeness and propriety demand.
Adieu! H. LINROSE.

P. S.
I have this instant received your letter. I imagined my happy situation would not easily admit of augmentation; but the hopes of so soon embracing and presenting my beloved Sophia to my dear Lord Linrose has overwhelmed me with additional gratitude and delight. Hasten, my Sophia, hasten to your impatient friend.




