 in
CHARLOTTE BEAUMONT.
P.S. The general, and I, shall return to Paris, in a few days, where we expect not to see, but hear from you and Charlotte.
THE moment you arrive at the hotel Angloise, you are commanded to send to the general; but on no account attempt to come near our house.
THE situation of the unhappy Charlotte's mind, upon reading this letter, is not to be described. Who is this cruel woman, she exclaimed, that thus disclaims an unoffending child? Oh! I will throw myself beneath her feet, and soften that obdurate heart with tears. My father too; I have a father then! Sure he will raise me up in his parental arms, and bless me! They will relent; and when they see my Seymour, and know his wondrous worth, his wondrous love, they will be charmed, as their fond daughter is and give me to his wishes.
FULL of these warm, and natural apprehensions, the half-distracted Charlotte flew to the cabinet, which like Pandora's box, contained a thousand ills, and with a trembling hand, unlocked it. The first objects that presented themselves to her view, were miniature portraits of her father and mother.—She gazed with joy and wonder. Never had she beheld such striking beauty, of both kinds; the manly and the mild.
SHE kissed, embraced, wept over them; nay, knelt to them, implored their pity and protection, and, in one moment, was inspired with more respect and tenderness for those inanimate

figures, than she had ever felt for her supposed mother; though gratitude and esteeem had answered all her purposes of filial affection in her gentle nature.
SHE now sat down to search the book of fate, those fatal Sybils leaves that told her doom; and while she read, felt every passion that the human heart is capable of.—Yet still her love and reverence for her parents remained predominant; and she determined to sacrifice herself to their unnatural commands and pass her days in a cloister, if she could not prevail on them to change their cruel purpose.
SHE quickly saw how improper it would have been to acquaint lord Seymour with her real situation, as he would, doubtless, oppose her returning to France, with all the eloquence of love.—Yet to quit him without making any excuse, or to descend to invent a false one, were equally repugnant to her tender and generous nature.
SHE had been bred in the Roman Catholic faith, but had never conversed with bigots, nor once thought that
