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 [Page 4] 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 [Page 5] 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 [Page 6] 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.

[Page 7]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 [Page 8] 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.

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 [Page 9] 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 [Page 10] 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 [Page 11] 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 [Page 12] 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 [Page 13] 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 surprize 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 [Page 14] 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 surprize? 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 [Page 15] 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 surprize 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 [Page 16] 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 [Page 17] 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, [Page 18] and acknowledged to me that a jealousy of temper, which formed, he said, the misery of both their lives, had so encreased 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 [Page 19] from a just exasperation at her unceasing and teazing 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 [Page 20] 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 ren­contre, 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 [Page 21] 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 burthen 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 [Page 22] 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 [Page 23] 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.

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 immoveably 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, [Page 25] 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 crouded; 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 [Page 26] 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 [Page 27] of his companion, whom to my no small surprize 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 croud, 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 [Page 28] 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 [Page 29] 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 rencontre.

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, [Page 30] 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.

[Page 31]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 [Page 32] 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 [Page 33] of circumstances additionally pain­ful and perplexing, have kept my mind for some months past in a state of unceas­ing agitation; and the suspence 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 [Page 34] 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!

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, [Page 45] 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.

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 [Page 46] 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 [Page 47] 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, [Page 48] 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, blest with every amiable quality of the heart and every insinuating grace of the form, kneeling [Page 49] 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.

[Page 50]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 [Page 51] 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 [Page 52] 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.

[Page 53]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 [Page 54] 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.

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 [Page 59] 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.

Were it not for the uneasy suspense in which we must remain till Lord Bel­mont's [Page 76] 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 [Page 77] 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, [Page 78] 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, [Page 79] 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 [Page 80] 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 [Page 81] 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 [Page 82] 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—compleatly 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 [Page 83] 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 [Page 84] 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 [Page 85] 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.

[Page 86]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 [Page 87] 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 [Page 88] 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, en­creased 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 centered 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, [Page 89] 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.

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, [Page 122] 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, [Page 123] 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 expence? 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 [Page 124] 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 [Page 125] of them, however, did not remain long enough for either; but, as if satisfied with having testified their politeness by shew­ing 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 [Page 126] 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 [Page 127] 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 [Page 128] 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.

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.

[Page 129]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 [Page 130] 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 [Page 131] 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 [Page 132] the strictest oeconomy, 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.

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 [Page 152] 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 [Page 153] 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.

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 [Page 154] 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 chearfulness.

[Page 155]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 [Page 156] 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 [Page 157] 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 [Page 158] to Mr. Howard, who undoubtedly would have immediately acknowledged his at­tention. He then began to talk of our accidental rencontre 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, [Page 159] 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 shew 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 [Page 160] 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 [Page 161] 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 [Page 162] 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 [Page 163] 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 shewn a little more regard to his me­mory though only for the sake of decency.

I tried by a look to stop her volubility: [Page 164] 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 [Page 165] 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.

[Page 166]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 [Page 167] 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 suspence.

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 [Page 168] 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.

[Page 169]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 burthened with a wife and family, no doubt he has not turned his mind towards oecono­my; 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 compleatly happy.

I began now to suspect to what all this tended. I tried, however, to ward off [Page 170] 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 [Page 171] 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 [Page 172] 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, [Page 173] 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 [Page 174] 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.

[Page 175]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.

[Page 176]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 [Page 177] 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 [Page 178] 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 [Page 179] 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 falshood 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—

[Page 180]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 [Page 181] 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 [Page 182] 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 rencontre 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 [Page 183] 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 [Page 184] 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; [Page 185] 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 [Page 186] 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 [Page 187] 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 [Page 186] [...] [Page 187] [...] [Page 188] 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 [Page 189] 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, [Page 190] 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, alledging 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 [Page 191] 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 [Page 192] 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, [Page 193] 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 [Page 194] 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 dismis­sion. 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.

[Page 195]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 [Page 196] 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 villany, is loose and unprincipled, assured him he would not be scrupulous in ef­fecting [Page 197] 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 [Page 198] 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 [Page 199] 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 [Page 200] 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 [Page 201] 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 shewn himself so anxious, so deeply concerned in an affair in which I alone was interested, gave a spirit to my countenance, and a gaiety [Page 202] to my heart, not to be enjoyed but when contrasted by previous uneasiness and depression.

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 [Page 203] 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. [Page 204] 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.

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 [Page 205] 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.

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.

Captain Wilmot had been, as usual, in earnest conversation yesterday evening [Page 206] 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 [Page 207] 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:

[Page 212]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 [Page 213] 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 [Page 214] 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 [Page 215] 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 [Page 216] 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.

[Page 217]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 [Page 218] 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, [Page 219] constrained to endure a haughty and indelicate dependance, 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 [Page 220] 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 risque my peace by granting another promise to the same purport. I have suffered too [Page 221] 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 [Page 222] woman this morning at breakfast with any degree of temper.

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.

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 [Page 262] 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, [Page 263] 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. [Page 264] 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 independant 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 [Page 265] 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 [Page 266] intrusted 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.

[Page 267]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?

[Page 268]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?

[Page 269]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 [Page 270] 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 [Page 271] 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.

[Page 272]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 [Page 273] 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 [Page 274] 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 [Page 275] explained by this information, which hurt and displease me.

After thinking and reflecting on the whole tenour 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 [Page 276] 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 [Page 277] 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 rencontre, and that profusion of professions of which it was productive, to withdraw his attention and [Page 278] 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 [Page 279] 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 shews 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 [Page 280] 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 [Page 281] every difficulty; without which sooth­ing consolation life would be a burthen 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.

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 [Page 283] 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.

[Page 284]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 de­pendance, insignificance, and contempt, were the miserable consequences of a blow in itself scarce supportable. Nor [Page 285] 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 [Page 286] 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 [Page 287] 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. [Page 288] 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, [Page 289] 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.

[Page 290]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 [Page 291] 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 [Page 292] 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 [Page 293] 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 [Page 294] 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 rencontre, he behaved with a degree of insolence and effrontery which converted my expiring regret (for [Page 295] 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, [Page 294] [...] [Page 295] [...] [Page 296] 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 burthen 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.