" cried Henry, for if my lord would only be so good as to speak a few words for the poor as a senator, he might possibly for the future keep his hundred pounds, and yet they never want it."
Lord Bendham had the good nature only to smile at Henry's simplicity, whispering to himself, "I had rather keep my—" His last word was lost in the whisper.


IN the country—where the sensible heart is still more susceptible of impressions; and where the unfeeling mind, in the want of other wits to invent, forms schemes for its own amusement—our youths both fell in love; if passions that were pursued on the most opposite principles can receive the same appellation. William, well versed in all the licentious theory, thought himself in love, because he perceived a tumultuous impulse cause his heart to beat, while his fancy fixed on a certain object, whose presence agitated yet more his breast.
Henry thought himself not in love, because, while he listened to William on the subject, he found their sensations did not in the least agree.
William owned to Henry, that he loved Hannah, the daughter of a cottager in the village, and hoped to make her his mistress.

Henry felt that his tender regard for Rebecca, the daughter of the curate of the parish, did not inspire him even with the boldness to acquaint her with his sentiments, much less to meditate one design that might tend to her dishonour.
While William was cautiously planning, how to meet in private, and accomplish the seduction of the object of his passion, Henry was endeavouring to fortify the object of his choice with every virtue. He never read a book from which he received improvement, that he did not carry it to Rebecca—never knew a circumstance that might assist towards her moral instruction, that he did not haste to tell it her—and once, when William boasted
"He knew he was beloved by Hannah;"
Henry said, with equal triumph, "he had not dared to take the means to learn, nor had Rebecca dared to give one instance of her partiality."
Rebecca was the youngest, and by far the least handsome daughter of four, to whom the Reverend Mr. Rymer, a

widower, was father. The other sisters were accounted beauties; and she, from her comparative want of personal charms, having been less beloved by her parents, and less caressed by those who visited them than the rest, had for some time past sought other resources of happiness than the affection, praise, and indulgence of her fellow-creatures. She read—but more—she thought
