INTRODUCTORY LETTER. From MARIA B— of Long Island, the particular friend of the unfortunate CARO­LINE FRANCIS, who is the subject of these Memoirs, to her sister HARRIOT at New-port.

IN your last letter you express a strong inclination to become acquainted with the history of my unfortunate friend Caroline. I am happy it is in my power to comply with your request; to gratify my Harriot ever affords me peculiar pleas­ure: I therefore forward you her letters to me. They contain the most interesting events of her life, until the period she be­came missing. To these I have added the circumstances of her being forced from my [Page 4] brother, with the melancholy account of her death, as I received them from him. The relation will excite many painful sen­sations in your sympathetic bosom, for Caroline was indeed a child of affliction, and the unfortunate ever claim a large share in your affections. Remember me to my uncle and aunt, and believe that the warmest expressions of friendship will not do justice to the feelings of your

LETTER I. CAROLINE FRANCIS to MARIA B—.

I CAN no longer withstand the importunity of my Maria, but will hasten to improve every opportunity in gratifying your repeated solicitations.

You urge me, my dear, to return to the earliest period of my life, and to draw the picture from my first recollection of events. The juvenile parts of life, Maria, are sel­dom marked with any great variety, al­though your Caroline's has been uncom­monly interspersed with gloomy scenes.

Being left in infancy, an orphan, I was committed to the care of an aunt, for whom, when reason began to dawn upon my mind, I felt no great attachment. My uncle, who was a sea Captain, was seldom at home; I had therefore but lit­tle opportunity to experience his affec­tions. My aunt, however, treated me with more attention, previous to her hav­ing a child, than afterwards. I now began [Page 6] to make some observations respecting her behaviour to me; but being naturally re­served, kept them to myself. I was some­times indulged in visiting an uncle and aunt, who, being without children, were desirous I should reside with them; but the aunt with whom I was, would never consent.

From the birth of my cousin, I found her severity greatly increased towards me. My feelings were sensibly injured by her treatment, but I knew of no redress, and dreaded her resentment. I was therefore the more assiduous in my endeavours to please, but to no effect. Upon a cursory acquaintance, she was esteemed as sensible and well bred; this was a thin veil, which a more intimate knowledge of her easily drew aside. Shall I define her sense, Maria? It did not consist in a pure and elevated understanding, which leads to solid arguments and reasonable conclusions: No, my dear; she cheerfully relinquished the dull road of syllogistic disputation, to the peevish scholar and sour recluse, conceiving the study of the abstruse sciences, as she stiled logical reasoning, qualifications re­quisite [Page 7] only for the collegian and divine. With these ideas, her conversation was ever a scene of illiberal contradictions.

It is common, however, for weak minds to have an exalted opinion of their own abilities; thus it was with my aunt; and to the most consummate ignorance was added an overbearing disposition. Young as I was, my feelings were sensibly injured by her conduct to my uncle, for whom she ever experienced a violent pang of love or hatred; at times hanging around his neck and pouring forth a profusion of fond expressions, then relapsing into abuse and ill treatment; extremely irritable and uncertain in her feelings and disposi­tion. My situation was peculiarly diffi­cult, and the example set before me prejudi­cial to my happiness; but in this state I re­mained until I was ten years old, when we received the melancholy news of my uncle's being drowned at sea. This painful intel­ligence affected my aunt, as trouble invari­ably will persons of her ungovernable dis­position, and she was thrown into a mo­mentary state of distraction. But the idea of being left sole executrix to a handsome [Page 8] fortune, soon mitigated her distress and ab­sorbed the pearly tear from the cheek of ex­ternal woe. Money, Maria, possesses a balmy power; it can even heal the wounds of the heart. My uncle and aunt Franklin thinking this a good opportunity to gain the consent of my aunt Noble, solicited the indulgence of having me with them; but my services were too necessary for her to comply with their request. Shortly after my uncle Noble's death, his brother lost his wife.

Colonel Noble was a very different man from his brother: Ambitious beyond what his situation in life could possibly lead him to expect; vain of his imagined personal beauty, and extremely ignorant. My aunt, as soon as decency would permit, began to display her charms, and made every advance which art could suggest to gain his atten­tion. Her conduct exposed her to the ridicule of her acquaintance; for the first advances to come from our sex is, you know, my dear, derogatory to the deli­cacy of the female mind. Suffice it to say, by an unwearied assiduity and great gene­rosity to him and his family (for Colonel [Page 9] Noble's circumstances were at this period embarrassed) she succeeded in her favour­ite wish of becoming his wife; or, as she in her refined sensibility termed it, "re­newed her first marriage." As all the bale­ful qualities of ignorance were assimilated in this connection, the honey moon was short. The Colonel, by his first wife, had three children, who soon became the cause of contention. My aunt, by her entire ig­norance of mankind, and a want of one of the principal cardinal virtues, prudence, foolishly threw the fortune of her child, for whom she was guardian, into the hands of her new husband, whose embarrassed cir­cumstances induced him to apply the prop­erty to family use; nor would his haughty disposition permit him to render any ac­count of the monies received. This created daily disputes. A prudent woman would have guarded against those difficulties by appointing a new guardian, previous to her second marriage. His conduct enraged my aunt, and her severity to his children increased. Their contentions rendered me very unhappy, and finally threw me into a languid state. While thus indispos­ed, [Page 10] I repeatedly solicited to see my uncle F. who was a physician. He was at length sent for; when he came, he was surprised at finding me so unwell, and observing my health required very great attention, insist­ed upon my being removed to his house, that he might have me under his immediate care. Thus was I relieved from that scene of wretchedness in which the family of my aunt was continually involved. The fami­ly in which I was now placed were happy in themselves, and assiduous to communi­cate happiness to your Caroline. An easy mind, united with their inexpressible kind­ness, soon restored me to health. Hitherto my education had been cruelly neglected; this led them to pay a particular attention to my improvement, and they shortly implanted in my breast a desire of knowledge. Mast­ers were liberally provided, and I was in­structed in all the branches of polite educa­tion. Respect to my aunt Noble required I should sometimes visit her unhappy fami­ly; but as these visits were only to comply with a necessary attention, I went but sel­dom. My desire of improvement daily in­creased; and my close attention to the dif­ferent [Page 11] branches of my education, gained the affection of my uncle and aunt Franklin, who were equally solicitous to evince their attachment to their little orphan. But, Maria, death, envious of my felicity, in an unexpected moment, deprived me of my beloved aunt. This circumstance so dis­tressed my uncle that he neglected his bu­siness; nor could my closest attention re­store him to his former tranquillity. I had the misfortune to see him languish two years, when he fell a sacrifice to that sin­cere affection, which had ever designated him an indulgent husband.

Thus was a connection, fraught with fe­licity to themselves and friends, cut off in the zenith of domestic enjoyment: Nor could the eligible situation, in which this distressing event placed me, sooth my afflic­tion; it preyed upon my mind and injur­ed my health. Being left joint heir with my cousin, then stationed at Fort Pitt, I felt the necessity of giving him the painful information of his uncle's death, and tak­ing some steps for my future situation in life. The property left me was in the funds; the interest of which, while I re­mained [Page 12] single, was for my support; but upon my being married, both principal and interest were to be at my, disposal. The furniture was to be sold at auction. This made it necessary I should resolve on some place where to remove. Thus, my dear, have I run through the juvenile parts of my life, which you will see have not been free from real sorrow to your friend,

LETTER II.

BY the death of my uncle and aunt, I was left, my dear Maria, at an age the most necessary to be protected, exposed to the attack of every seducer. This reflec­tion the more readily induced me to return to the house of Colonel Noble, thinking that as I now had it in my power to pay for my board, I should be less subject to their disputes. I accordingly told my aunt, that as I wished not to be interrupted by her family, if she would accommodate me with a chamber to myself, I would board with her for a few months. To this she cheerfully agreed; and I, from present ne­cessity, returned to the place I most de­tested in my heart.

My uncle Franklin, at his death, had left me the liberty of selecting from a valuable collection of books, those which suited my taste; from the perusal of these I anticipat­ed superior gratification. In this I was dis­appointed. My aunt, possessed of a com­municative [Page 14] and repining disposition, con­tinually intruded upon my retired mo­ments, embittering them with a constant repetition of her wretchedness; and I soon repented of my folly in returning to her house.

Their quarrels ran high, and several days would frequently elapse without their speaking to each other: Nor did she ever attempt to sooth the passions of the Colonel; but irritated him in the most abusive and imprudent manner. Thus those breaches, which might have been healed by a soft and condescending disposition, were increased until they became incurable wounds.

Her resentment was not confined to the Colonel, but extended its severity to his children. For her own child, all the feelings of a parental bosom vegetated in luxuriance: If in the least indisposed, eve­ry luxury which the city afforded was pro­vided for her. Happy had it been, were she disposed to treat his former children with an equal degree of tenderness; she might then have derived greater pleasure from her connection.

[Page 15]In my absence she had made an addition to her family. The woman, Maria, who cannot resolve fully to do the duty of a parent, certainly should not undertake the charge of children, who must necessarily look to her for instruction and advice. It is requisite that she conceals even the sha­dow of a preference; for a partiality, once discovered, lessens the confidence and af­fection of her husband, renders her disre­spected by the children, and depreciates her in the eyes of her domestics.

Another source of contention was her ex­treme attachment to cards; she however persisted in the indulgence of this pro­pensity. In playing for amusement only, there can be no real injury; but when the happiness of our lives is suspended upon it, what inference can be drawn from our con­duct which is not derogatory to the under­standing of rational beings? This excessive fondness for play, was very disagreeable to the Colonel. A prudent woman would cheerfully have relinquished so trifling a gratification for the security of her domes­tic happiness, but his inclination she sel­dom consulted: And so infatuated was this [Page 16] unhappy woman, that notwithstanding his aversion, she early instructed her children in the various games; and the youngest, be­fore six years old, was a considerable profi­cient at cards. As soon as the tea things were removed, loo, her favourite game, was introduced.

"From the inhuman treatment of her husband, her health (she said) was greatly injured; amusement was necessary for her." This mode of passing time was however totally repugnant to my wishes, yet I must acquiesce, or be thought to derogate from that politeness and attention, necessary to be observed to an aunt.

Unfortunate at play, the company were frequently thrown into confusion by her resentment; for she seldom arose from the table without considerable loss. This was an aggravation to my uncle, who, having no lucrative employment, made it necessary he should curtail his expenses; though an ill-judged ambition and pride, the natural growth of ignorance, led him to support an external appearance, at the expense of many necessaries, for which his family suffered.

[Page 17]My aunt had a small income of six­ty pounds per annum, settled upon her by a relation, to continue during her life, and then to devolve to her first child. This but partially supplied her with pock­et-money, for being what the world styles generous; but what your Caroline denom­inates prodigal; it was insufficient to sup­port her in those extravagances to which she had been, for a long time, habituated; and not feeling a disposition to confine her­self within the limits of her income, while she had the property of her deceased hus­band in possession, she had mostly ex­hausted it. The whole of the dissipated property was charged to the extravagance of the Colonel: This excited frequent dis­putes, and at length induced her to pursue measures which produced serious conse­quences.

Going privately to the judge, she repre­sented her situation, gave up her guard­ianship, urging the necessity of a new guardian, being appointed, who should do immediate justice to her child. Agreeably to her wishes, the Colonel was summoned to appear, and obliged to render a state­ment [Page 18] of the accounts, which proved him to be considerably deficient. But, as it was ever supposed, my aunt had squander­ed a very great part.

The reduced situation of my uncle, put it out of his power to refund what had un­avoidably been applied to family use; and, disgusted with the conduct of his wife, their house became a continued scene of jarrings, reflections, and disputes. It was certainly proper that the child's property should be secured even at the hazard of a separation from her husband; but these difficulties she ought to have foreseen.

The Colonel being deprived of the prop­erty of his ward, his next resource, for the support of his family, was from time to time, to dispose of some valuable piece of furniture. This added to my aunt's uneasi­ness—her complaints were incessant. She considered the whole city as her friends, and without reserve proclaimed abroad her do­mestic troubles. The most entire stranger, as well as the particular friend, were alike entrusted with her family circumstances. Her husband she represented as a villain and a cheat; and by this unpardonable conduct, [Page 19] so injured his character with his fellow cit­izens, as to occasion a total loss of credit.

Thus unhappily was I situated for several months, when I resolved to quit the city, and seek, in the bosom of a more retired life, that peace of which I was now depriv­ed.

I had written to my cousin at Fort Pitt, and so far adjusted my own affairs, as to be able to dispose of myself in the method most agreeable to my wishes. I therefore took an early opportunity to acquaint my aunt with my intention, urg­ing it as necessary to my health, that I should pass the approaching season in the country. In a few weeks, an eligible situ­ation offering, I quitted, with avidity, this dwelling of murmur and complaint, re­plete with the most sanguine ideas of future happiness.

Scarce had I sipped from this scene of promised pleasure, one pleasing draught, before I was interrupted with her peace-destroying letters, filled with her determi­nation of leaving her barbarous hus­band; and, expressive of her inclina­tion, to be accommodated with her niece. [Page 20] These letters, Maria, I never noticed, and in a few weeks became so inured to her complaints, that I began to feel less affect­ed by them.

The human mind, my dear, in length of time, can become habituated to any scene with which it is surrounded. Thus the most humane disposition, by being conver­sant with sufferings which at first made na­ture recoil, often delights in those very things that, but a short time before, were so distressing to it. This observation demonstrates the necessity of keeping the young mind remote from every species of cruelty.

Perplexed, as I had been, with the imprudencies of my aunt, I reasoned with myself upon the impropriety of ad­mitting her complaints to destroy my promised happiness. Because she was cal­culated to be wretched, why should it cloud the dawn of my pleasure? I sincerely re­gretted her situation; but resolved that a mind which reveled in affliction, should not render me unjust to myself. It is dif­ficult, Maria, to conquer our feelings; but [Page 21] by the aid of reason and philosophy, we may learn to suppress an undue anxiety.

Viewing the unhappy situation of my aunt through its just medium, I shortly be­gan to consider her sufferings as brought upon herself, by most imprudent conduct, and therefore resolved to check my feelings. Believing, that although the Deity has im­planted the delicate sensations of sympathy deeply within our breasts, it is by no means his intention we should become miserable, when it is not in our power to remove the suf­ferings of the wretched object. No, my dear, it is wisely ordered, as all human beings have their own misfortunes to support, they shall not be capable of retaining the same acute sensations for the distressed, as they experienced at first sight, and previous to their having offered such relief as their abil­ities would admit.

The pleasing thought of having render­ed a temporary suspension of misery to a fellow mortal, is fragrant to the tender mind: Having done this, we return to our own particular concerns. Disappoint­ment and misfortunes await us in the jour­ney of life. No situation, however eleva­ted, [Page 22] can secure us from anxiety and pain. Says Doctor Young—

These reflections it was my study to strengthen: The indulgence rendered me tranquil.

The village to which I had retired was upon the road to New-York; in it were several genteel families, so that I was at no loss for society, when disposed to amuse myself abroad. In the friendly circle, Maria, where conversation is enlighten­ed by the observations of our superi­ours in wisdom and experience, much in­struction may be derived: It unbends the mind, gives it a new relish for retirement, softens the manners and harmonizes the thoughts.

The young ladies who belong to Prince­ton, a great part of their time, resided in Philadelphia or New-York, for the benefit of their education, which deprived me of the opportunity of cultivating a friendship with those of my own age. This circumstance at first was an alloy to my [Page 23] satisfaction; for we naturally seek our as­sociates from among those of our particu­lar standing in life. Here we expect to find correspondent inclinations, and from an agreement in dispositions, a friendship is gradually cemented, which strengthens with advancing years; and, in the decline of life, is frequently productive of much real enjoyment.

Attached, however, to retirement, and never at a loss for amusement when I could obtain an entertaining book, I banished this dispapointment.

The college being near, introduced many young gentlemen to my acquaint­ance. I was seldom without a gallant, and had not been long in Princeton before I enlisted several of the students to the standard of love; or, perhaps, to speak with more propriety, they were charmed with my fortune, which was now greatly increased by the unfortunate circumstance of my cousin's supposed death; my uncle in this case having left me sole heir.

The painful intelligence of Major Wil­ly's defeat, while it threw a general gloom upon the citizens at large, doubly affected the [Page 24] promised happiness of your Caroline, as it deprived me of the protection and advice of a much esteemed friend. My cousin being left in a situation similar to Major Willys, it was doubtful whether he was really dead, or had fallen into the hands of the Savages. Until some information could be obtained, we believed he had fal­len a sacrifice. No reflections, my dear Maria, could mitigate this severe affliction. The idea that he might possibly be a pris­oner with the Indians, disturbed my pleas­ures, and cruelly tortured my every enjoy­ment.

Followed with the closest attention from the students, many suspicions were excited in my breast, that my fortune was the mag­net which so powerfully attracted their notice.

The influence of riches is great. Young and old pay adoration at the shrine of wealth, but your Caroline has had suffi­cient warning to guard her heart.—Matri­mony, Maria, is a serious engagement.

LETTER III.

TEASED, perplexed, solicited by a group of fortune hunters, I can have no mo­ments my own. Poor Caroline, how does your money involve you in new difficulties! but I am fixed: To matrimony I will not be confined. A husband, what a name! is not my aunt a lesson? I will leave the dull road of married life to fools. Thus thought your friend; but, Maria, thoughts change.

Walking was a recreation in which I usually indulged twice a day when the weather would permit. I had for some time accustomed myself to stroll into a de­lightful spot, to which accident at first led me. Here I was entertained by the little songsters who charmed me with their mel­ody, and shed a superior pleasure upon my soul. This I believed calculated for the habitation of some sylvan deity. In it I generally passed several hours before break­fast, perusing some favourite author. While [Page 26] I remained in this retirement, I forgot the disappointments which had veiled my im­agined felicity; I became lost in inexpressi­ble happiness. The boughs of the friendly trees by nature formed a shade around me; these were decorated with a variety of spon­taneous vines, which entwined themselves in various directions, and while they de­lighted the eye, wasted fragrance to the smell. Upon the stumps of a couple of de­cayed trees I had placed a board which served me as a seat; every thing around encouraged contemplation.

One morning as I entered the bowry, I was greatly surprised to see a miniature picture lying upon the bench; for I had flattered myself this delightful place was free from intruders. The picture I seized with eagerness, viewed it and was enrap­tured: Oh! exclaimed I, is this the por­trait of a human being? Sincerely do I wish his heart!—Fear now disturbed my reflec­tions. I was uneasy least I should meet the owner in this place of solitude, and arose to retire, but casting my eyes around, ob­serving the same peace and serenity yet reigned in every shrub, I ventured to de­lay [Page 27] my return, and sitting down upon the bench wrote with my pencil the following: " The picture left in this place is in safe and friendly hands." A few days after I found a billet under a stone upon the bench, ad­dressed to Caroline, of which the enclosed is a copy.

Thunderstruck at the demand, I sat hesitating what to do, when I suddenly heard a rustling among the bushes, and looking towards the noise, discovered a young gentleman coming up to me. I was much alarmed. He observed my astonish­ment, and stepping gracefully to me, seized my hand: "My charming girl," said he, "your fears are groundless, give me leave to seat you. The incident that has caus­ed me to obtrude upon your retirement, which I have long observed pleasing to you, when you thought yourself se­cluded [Page 28] from all observation, has been un­fortunate to me: Yes, Caroline, I am neither ignorant of your name, charac­ter or situation. The lines you wrote upon this bench were read by a young lady to whom I have long been engaged; for the loss of the picture she is indeed inconsola­ble; I must therefore request you will re­store it to me." I paused. "You flatter me," said he, "by the reluctance with which you relinquish it." It was, indeed, Maria, a request hard to reconcile with the feelings of my heart. The charming youth continued, "with rapture would I improve the present opportunity, to offer a heart devoted to you alone; but friends and parental wishes have long since deprived me of the choice:" Then falling on his knees, he drew out of his pocket a locket elegantly set in gold. It represented in hair-work, Hope, leaning upon her usual emblem, the anchor, and pointing with her other hand to a fountain, out of which two doves were drinking; on the back of it was inscribed " To friendship." "This is my own performance," said he, "will you honour me by your acceptance of it?" It [Page 29] was insufficient to purchase the picture then in possession; but how could I re­fuse his request. I made no reply: He was still kneeling, urging my acceptance. While in this attitude, who should appear, through a distant row of trees, but the en­viable, the happy Eliza! I was too well informed of her disposition, not to tremble at her approach.

Upon my first arrival at Princeton, I had been particularly cautioned not to form any connexion with this young lady, being the only child of parents who had ruined her in her education; and posses­sing a naturally revengeful and jealous dis­position, she had made herself disagreeable to all her acquaintance. Clarimont was surprised; he arose in much confusion, and walking towards her, seized her hand, saying, "I was pleading for the return of the picture upon which you are pleased to set so high a value." Until this moment I was ignorant whose property I had in pos­session, and dreading her revengeful tem­per, hastened to her, presenting the pic­ture, I wish not to detain this, said I, but am happy in restoring the valuable [Page 30] treasure. Her countenance was suffused with resentment: she appeared to dispute the sincerity of my expressions. I imme­diately retired, resolving never to revisit a place which had been once so pleasing to me, least it should appear with a de­sign to meet Clarimont, and become fatal to either of us by the dreaded disposition of Eliza. Having no wish to interrupt the romantic lovers, I resolved to seek some new spot which should, if possible, compen­sate the loss of that to which I had been so partial.

Rising very early one morning I crossed some adjacent fields, and passing towards a wood which promised to supply my wishes, scarce had I entered among the trees, when I was alarmed by a voice which appeared to be in very great distress. I stopped— nor can language express my astonishment. Remote from every object, my only re­source was to return to the road. With trembling steps I gained a secret path; but had not proceeded far, before the report of of a pistol gave fresh agitation to my dis­turbed mind. Almost distracted with fright, I had scarce strength to gain the [Page 31] road, when I seated myself, to recover, if possible, my astonished senses. I had been here but a few minutes, before an amazing dust arose in columns at a little distance. This was occasioned by a detachment of new levies marching to the Western Country. As they ap­proached, every fearful idea of a female mind rushing into view, your Caroline fainted. When I came to myself, I found I was in the arms of an officer, who by ev­ery tender and polite attention, endeavour­ed to calm my mind. He urged to know what had thus affected me. I was unable to reply, and could express no more than the pistol—the woods—pointing in constern­ation to the spot. A party was instantly detached to search for the cause of my dis­tress, who soon, returned with the account of having found a young man weltering in his blood, lifeless upon the ground. By this time I had so far recovered as to be able to walk; and supporting myself upon the arm of the officer, soon reached my lodg­ings.

This event caused a general alarm thro'­out the village, and in a few hours the [Page 32] painful intelligence reached me, that Clarimont, the lover of Eliza, had fal­len by his own hands. The agitation of my mind prevented that attention to my benefactor which his politeness mer­ited. I did not permit him to leave me without a promise of calling upon me, should an opportunity present.

At this period, little did I expect, this incident would destroy my future happiness. Providence has wisely con­cealed those events which are destined to overtake us in the walks of life▪ I had not been in company with the unfor­tunate youth, since the morning we met in the arbour, having been particularly cau­tious not to fall in his way. To what induc­ed him to take this step I was a stranger.

A jury was summoned, who having sat upon the body, brought in their verdict insane. The connexions of Eliza now took charge of the corpse. They prepared to perform the last office to the deceased; as Clarimont belonged to Virginia, and had been sent to this village for his educa­tion. A few days after his interment, I received the following billet from Eliza:

This affair having put a period to my enjoyments in this place, I was urged by my friends to absent myself for some time from the immediate eye of Eliza, who had become strongly prejudiced against me, and frequently expressed her implacable resentment.

Uneasy at continuing in the neighbour­hood of Eliza, while she remained thus bitter against me, and having been repeat­edly solicited to visit New-York, I took a seat in the stage to that city. Upon my arrival I was received with every mark of friendship by Lucretia Barton, a young lady for whom I had early imbibed a par­ticular esteem. She was the only child of Mr. Thomas Barton, a respectable merch­ant [Page 35] in New-York; and having been deprived of her mother in infancy, had passed much of her time at a boarding school in Phila­delphia, where our friendship commenced. By the sprightly society of this dear girl, the gloom which involved my mind, grad­ually dissipated.

From the observations I had made re­specting the unhappy conduct of my aunt, I had long established it a maxim of pru­dence, and a dictate of reason, to make as easy as possible the various incidents which occur in the journey of life. To Clari­mont, I confess, I was partial: In his happiness was my heart interested; but the suspicions which were excited in the breast of Eliza were as opposed to my in­nocence as they were destructive of my peace.

The parties in which I was frequently engaged tended to erase from recollection the dull scenes of Princeton. A succession of pleasureable events often absorbs the mind, and we forget, when surrounded with dissipation and amusement, the pain­ful circumstances which had previously in­vaded [Page 36] our happiness: Thus is human ex­istence rendered more tolerable.

During my visit in this city I received several letters from my repining aunt: These afforded Lucretia and myself much amusement. They informed me she had left her inhuman husband, and taken a small house at Trenton, where she anticipa­ted the pleasure of seeing me and my friend. Lucretia, pleased with the invitation, con­sented to accompany me. We according­ly engaged a seat in the stage, and were safely landed at the door of my aunt No­ble, who, ever attached to company, gave us a warm reception. Civility and custom obliged us to enquire after her health. One enquiry, Maria, was a sufficient opening for the relation of all her mental and bod­ily sufferings. She seized the hand of Lu­cretia and began the uninteresting recital. When she came to the description of her disorders, it was indeed difficult to refrain from smiling. "A numbness of the brain, an extreme pressure upon the eyes, and a constant irritation of the nervous system, I apprehend insanity must finally en­sue." Conversing upon this subject brought [Page 37] on all her spasms, contractions, &c. The doctor was called; he entered the room: his saddle bags containing his specific med­icine, variously modified, hung upon his arm. This valuable composition, Maria, in the opinion of this son of Esculapius, was a summum bonum; it possessed all the virtues of the materia medica. Said Lu­cretia, aside, will it cure a weak head? We handed him a chair; he seated himself by my aunt, and with great tenderness, solicited her to be composed. "I am afraid of convulsions, doctor." "Don't be alarm­ed, madam," he replied; "it is the extreme tension upon some of the fine vessels which produces this distressing taught­ness; you want some invigorating applica­tion; nothing is a greater stimulus than camphire; a few drops of this valuable drug, will shortly relieve you; the virtues of this incomparable gum, madam, are un­known to the city doctors. It may be used to inexpressible advantage in every disor­der, to which we are incident. In fevers its efficacy cannot be denied by its peculiar diaphoretic quality; it rapidly throws off obstructions; it surprisingly heals the in­flammation [Page 38] of the bowels and stomach in consumptive habits, and brings on the ne­cessary expectoration for the relief of the lungs; it forcibly expels all internal im­pediments, acting upon the nerves as opium upon the senses; lulls their agitation, and renders the patient tranquil and composed. Nor is it less beneficial in all external ap­plications; even mortifications may be stopt by its peculiar power." During his animadversions upon the efficacy of cam­phire, he several times repeated the dose, which was administered in a cordial. My aunt began to be in better spirits. The doctor, after having often reminded us of the ignorance of the city physicians, withdrew.

This was a diverting scene. I fear, Maria, as you are unacquainted with this aunt of mine, you will begin to think me destitute of those tender sensations which beautify humanity. If these are your ideas you derogate from your friend, whose soul is alive to sympathy, and in whose eye frequently sparkles the con­genial tear. My aunt is not without my pity; but the troubles she experiences are brought upon her by a weak mind, which [Page 39] she never has taken pains to correct, and an entire ignorance of human nature. These sources alone would be sufficient to involve her in continual difficulties, had not an ungovernable temper sealed her misery. Philosophers say, all the virtues are in conjunction; is this the case, my aunt Noble is strikingly deficient; since prudence, which is first upon the list, nev­er had the most remote connexion with any part of her conduct. The moral vir­tues only execute what prudence prescribes.

Had she taken the steps previous to her late marriage which she has since been com­pelled to adopt, those great causes of her unhappiness had been impeded. Nor could this precaution in any degree evince a want of confidence in Mr. Noble; she would then have experienced a satisfaction in her own reflections which would have rendered her inexpressibly happy.

Nothing is more luxuriant to a thinking mind than self approbation: It is a sun which dispels the clouds of solicitude and anxiety. Homer tells us of an herb which the ancients called Nepenthe; that being made an ingredient in their feasts, banished [Page 40] sorrow from their minds. I wish we could obtain this valuable plant for my aunt: It would be a pleasing substitute for cards; for, as usual, the tea tray is no sooner removed, than the apparatus for play is introduced.

We had been here but a few days, when Lucretia began to complain that nervous company disagreed with her taste. Few hours could be agreeable under my aunt's roof. She ever corroded the pleasures of the table with a recital of her ill treatment and indisposition: Her uncommon dif­ficulties were the theme of conversation; her family troubles the topic at all times and places. If checked for indulging a gloomy disposition, she declared her distress involuntary and unavoidable. Every pleas­ing idea forsook her. Her hours were de­voted to tears, and the most bitter invectives against her cruel husband.

I believe you regret that my aunt is thus connected in the story of your unfor­tunate friend,

LETTER IV.

IN addition to the failings I have already described, my aunt Noble possessed the painful faculty of anticipating distressing events; so that we were not only entertain­tained with her personal difficulties, but amused with some dreadful misfortune which was continually about to befal her darling children. The gloomy premoni­tions of her mind deprived us of all enjoy­ment. We certainly have no occasion to seek the evils of life, they will ever obtrude themselves upon us. To add to her afflic­tion, she was continually tormented with dreams which foreboded some sad event, yet she never acknowledged to have slept. Why madam, said I, will you not wait until the trouble comes, it is surely sufficient to feel it when it has overtaken you; by indulging this disposition, you suffer in imagination what may never become real, and thus accumulate distress. It is the duty of rational beings to exert the powers [Page 42] of the mind, and to render themselves as comfortable and happy as the mutability of human life will admit. But my aunt was as great a stranger to ethics as to the cardi­nal virtues. Tired with a continued repe­tition of grievances and complaints, I dread­ed her company. These, however, would have affected me but little, had she not in­truded upon me, when I retired to my chamber, and thus disturbed my moments of reflection.

Mr. Addison justly observes, "That we should not trouble our friends with rela­tions which must oblige them to real or feigned affliction. Cares, distresses, diseases, uneasinesses, and dislikes of our own, are by no means to be obtruded upon them. We should not bring them little sorrows, which do not belong to them. Fortune gives us disappointments sufficient; nature is at­tended with infirmities enough, without our adding to the unhappy side of our ac­count by spleen or ill humour."

The physician of my aunt was invaria­bly called, three or four times a week, to re­new his prescriptions of camphire, which he administered in various ways; sometimes [Page 43] in powder to "brace the debility of her delicate frame;" at others in drops, "to dif­fuse itself into the little vessels and cause a proper animation of the parts. The head, madam, abounds with an infinite number of fine vessels, some of which are too crowd­ed with blood, while others are flabby and want to be wound up: Taking plentifully of these, and keeping yourself composed, will soon relieve you. Camphire is exces­sively diffusive, invigorating and pungent."

There were no circumstances which oc­curred while we were at this village, more replete with diversion to Lucretia and my­self than the doctor's visits. In the city they are short; but a country physician brings in his saddle-bags, takes off his great-coat and hat, and is seated for an hour or two: It is a fortunate circumstance their demands are not in proportion to the length of their visits. I do not pretend to say all my aunt's disorders were imaginary, but am confident an attention to exercise and diet, would make her life much more comforta­ble. I can scarcely believe the complaints of those, who pay no attention to the regu­lation of their lives; but at the expense of [Page 44] health, that greatest blessing mortals can en­joy, gratify their most vitiated appetites; it is unreasonable to expect that a delicate and infirm habit should not severely suffer from such indulgences; these imprudences must render futile the attentions of the physician, and defeat the applications of the most learned practitioner.

Lucretia wishes to visit Philadelphia: She is uneasy lest she should become con­taminated, and frequently observes, there is no advantage to be derived from passing our time with those gloomy minds which revel in affliction, and whose most luxuri­ous repast appears to be the bitter of life.

Did not the circle of our own acquaint­ance present to knowledge similar characters with that of my aunt Noble, it would be difficult to realize their existence. That be­ings endowed with the powers of rational reflection, who are at liberty to dwell upon any subject, should select from that variety which might employ their thoughts, dis­tressing premonitions, and indulge the an­ticipation of troubles which may never ex­ist, evinces an unpardonable vacancy of mind which must stigmatize their folly, and [Page 45] render them contemptible and little in the opinion of those who are so unfortunate as to have any intercourse with them. It cannot therefore surprise you that Lucre­tia is desirous to leave this place. For my own part, I am sick of hearing a worn out story related to every new face which appears. Disgusted with her company, I confine myself to my chamber; even here, as before observed, I am interrupted: It is impossible to indulge my own ideas. She is displeased that I thus seclude myself. "It is evident I slight her society." She complains much to Lucretia. "Her niece, she believes, will turn her brain with reading. For her part she cannot imagine what business women have with books, unless it is now and then an entertaining novel. She never knew one who after all her study ever became a Locke or a Newton. There are certain do­mestic employments for females beyond which they have no right to deviate. Science belongs not to them: Let them study to grace a table, become conversant in domestic concerns, and their minds are sufficiently improved. But Caroline, to be sure, must be turning over the leaves of [Page 46] some old history. How she can amuse her­self with such dry narrations I cannot tell."

That such remarks should fall from a woman, who has no idea of the real enjoy­ment which is derived from so rational an indulgence, is by no means surprising. Could she relish this mode of passing her leisure moments, the vacuum she now ex­periences, would vanish; a country life would then be more consonant with her feelings.

If, with the "mind's eye," she had a taste to travel through distant kingdoms and take a retrospective view of past events, she might nourish that fondness for variety, so pre­dominant with human nature, and in the indulgence of this disposition be happy. Sincerely do I wish her singular in these degrading sentiments; then should we shine more conspicuous.

The divine Creator has made no differ­ence between the souls of the sexes, but giv­en to each, similar powers of improvement. Education alone constitutes the superi­ority. It hath hitherto been our misfortune to be greatly neglected, while schools and colleges have been instituted, and every pos­sible [Page 47] method adopted to direct the expand­ing minds of the other sex. Early are they instructed in such studies as will be most beneficial to them; and from infancy habitu­ated to arrange their ideas, their whole time is devoted to reflection. Can it be wondered that they who have made it the business of their lives, to become masters of reasoning, should excel us who have been deprived of those advantages. All the education thought necessary for our sex until within a few years, has been simple reading and writing. Thus neglected we must possess astonishing geniuses to rise superior to the impediments with which we have been surrounded; yet we sometimes meet with those who have strength to soar above these difficulties and reflect a lustre upon female abilities.

In the present system of education, there appears to be a very great error. Intro­ducing young ladies upon the stage to speak in public, tends to give them a con­fidence which does not belong to a female; and so far from encouraging those feelings nature has implanted, lulls them into a dangerous apathy, and by repetition, de­stroys that easy, natural delicacy which should ever adorn their characters.

[Page 48]A certain degree of assurance is necessary for the gentlemen; but a lady is most pleasingly designated by a modest reserve. It is the most attractive charm she can pos­sess. True modesty avoids the eye of pub­lic admiration. Nature has connected in our composition such a keenness of sensi­bility, that we are pained when exposed to public observation.

A young lady, early accustomed to gen­teel company, will ever acquire sufficient confidence for private life. It is necessary to instruct those only who are designed for the theatre, to speak before crouded audi­ences.

Your friendship is grateful to Caroline, whose heart ever beats responsive to the warm expression of her Maria.

LETTER V.

ATTACHED to riding on horse­back, Lucretia and myself make frequent excursions. In one of these rambles, in which by necessity we were unattended, for a country life seldom affords gallants, an incident took place which determined us in future to be more cautious. Yet such is the construction of the human mind, that fear must be strongly imprest not to wear off by time. Instead of riding in the morning as had been our usual practice, we concluded to go in the afternoon, wishing to take a road, which in the morning, was rendered disagreeable by giving us the sun in our faces. The day was inviting, we were pleased with the prospect around, and unmindful of our distance from home. En­gaged in conversation, the sun had set before we had any idea of its retiring. An improving companion is an instructing thief, which insensibly steals away the hours. It was, however, prudent for us to hasten [Page 50] into the main road, where we naturally supposed ourselves more secure. Just as we had entered the post road, we were fa­miliarly addressed by a person on horse-back, who appeared disposed to accompany us. He begged to know how far we were going. We assured him we were but a short distance from home and under no ap­prehensions. Notwithstanding this, he in­sisted upon accompanying us. We had gone but a little way before we made an addition to our party. A person who ap­peared well acquainted with our gallant rode up, and addressed him in a style which alarmed us. Being upon the great road we flattered ourselves we should soon meet with some traveller who would relieve us. Lucretia and myself rode as near as possible to each other. Our bosoms beat with anx­iety. Our gallants soon separated, and rode one upon each side of us. Thus confined between them, judge of our feel­ings. Just as we came to a retired path they proposed our turning into it; and finding we would not consent, they seized, at the same instant, the bridles of both our horses, and with an oath declared we should [Page 51] do as they said. I shudder when I recol­lect the providential means of our escape. At this moment, encouraged by the sound of horses' feet we screamed for help. The villains were alarmed, and letting go their hold, rode off with precipitation. We were immediately overtaken by a gentle­man on his journey to New-York. He inquired the cause of our fears; very politely attended us to the door of my aunt, and would now have taken leave, but we urged him to alight; and understanding he intended putting up at the next inn, insisted on his taking a bed, which he accepted. Before he left us he imprest the necessity of our being attended by some gentleman in our future excursions, and promised to call upon us on his return from New-York, if we had left Trenton, to gratify us with a visit in Philadelphia. This incident fresh in our minds made us cautious of ven­turing abroad; it was several weeks before we dared to lose sight of the house.

The obligation we were under to Mr. Wilkins, the gentleman who fortunately relieved us from our apparent danger, ex­cites a lively gratitude in the bosom of your friend,

LETTER VI.

A FEW days after I wrote you last, as Lucretia and myself were strolling upon the banks of a little stream, which meander­ed at the foot of a hill but a short distance from the house of my aunt, we were alarmed by voices which appeared to be distant; the water only conveying the sound. This, it is probable, would not have produced any uneasy sensations in our minds, but for the incident before related. The danger we had lately escaped rushed full upon us; and without delay we turned towards the path, resolved to reach the road as quick as possible. This we scarce had time to effect, when looking behind, we observed a person in the habit of a woman gaining fast upon us. The oddity of her dress and the peculiarity of her appearance instantly made us suspect it to be a man. Suspicion gave wings to our feet and we soon fell in with some honest farmers, under whose escort we once more safely entered [Page 53] our own doors. It was now judged pru­dent we should immediately leave Trenton, as several circumstances corroborated to convince us a plan was forming against me by Eliza. We accordingly took seats in the stage for Philadelphia.

It was with pleasure we quitted Trenton, not because the charms of a rural life had lost their relish: No, Maria; secluded from the busy scenes of the metropolis, we are free from many cares which extend a fever­ish anxiety, while surrounded with dissipa­tion, which too often destroys reflection and embitters life. But it is painful to be con­fined to one distressing theme. Human life is sufficiently crowded with personal troubles: To support them with fortitude, should be the endeavour of every rational mind.

Encompassed by innumerable cares and anxieties, it was never intended we should take any further share in the troubles of those around, than was sufficient, if in our power to relieve their distress. It certainly would be a great addition to the miseries of life, should we suffer ourselves to be made wretched by every desponding gloomy dis­position, [Page 54] our pity is indeed excited, we la­ment their weakness, and urge the necessity of fortitude. Such is the natural imbecility of the human mind, it confines us to the im­mediate scenes in which we are engaged; and as new objects present, the past is in a degree erased from recollection. This in­deed is wisely ordered.

In this city we have taken lodgings at a widow Leason's. She is polite and agreea­ble; but as no one is without their particular characteristic, we cannot expect our land­lady to be an exception. Mrs. Leason has one child, blessed with good natural abili­ties, and educated by a less indulgent parent, she might have shone in a domestic charac­ter; but when the idea is instilled in the youthful mind, that it is to be indulged in all its wishes, let the disposition be ever so pleasing, the soil is contaminated, and in­stead of producing a grateful vegetation, is over-run with a spontaneous exuberance of pride, which choaks every fragrant sprout.

Laura by this too indulgent mother, is even prevented from taking the necessary exercise which the constitution requires. It would be natural to suppose, from the line [Page 55] of life which Providence has allotted Mrs. Leason, she would have habituated her daughter to early attentions in the family. Nothing can better qualify a young lady, who expects one day to become the mistress of a family, than a proper respect to the economy and regulations in domestic con­cerns. I believe it to be a duty parents owe their children, early to instruct them in such scenes as will be necessary to future happiness; and let my fortune be ever so independent, I am resolved, should I ever commence the mother, early to accustom my daughters daily to devote a few hours to domestic matters; this will never render them less respected abroad.

Do not mistake me. I have no wish to confine female education to domestic du­ties. No, Maria; the greatest source of our happiness is an enlightened mind. It is a cause of regret that more attention is not paid to our education. If the mind is a barren waste, of what avail are the beauties of the most lovely face, the elegance of the most enchanting shape, the grace of the most accomplished person; the impercepti­ble hand of time will deprive them of eve­ry [Page 56] external charm, and eclipse the lustre of the most penetrating eye. But the mind, that immortal part, can never fade. If properly cultivated, it will unfold new beauties, and by a continual progress in virtue and happiness, be finally prepared for superior enjoyments above; while a trifling dissipated disposition can never be attuned to those delightful employ­ments which engage so many departed saints in heaven.

Laura is fond of reading, and by having free access to the city library, is in a situa­tion to indulge so laudable an attachment; but like too many of her sex, she neglects those writings which would be beneficial and instructive, and with avidity seizes every romantic volume; thus her taste be­comes poisoned. I wish not too severely to condemn this kind of writing, but only to impress the idea that the choice should be directed by judgment. "The style in which they are frequently dressed capti­vates the mind, and conveys poison to the youthful fancy; although their influence is imperceptible, it is not the less sure. The passions too often become inflamed, and [Page 57] by a repetition of love adventures, the pure ideas become injured, and we feel a secret wish to imitate scenes with which we are thus delighted. They have ruined the minds of many, by instilling into them principlies of duplicity and intrigue, and thus prepared them for similar violations of morality and virtue."

I have repeatedly expressed my surprise at Laura's taste. She in return is as much astonished that any can be pleased with the dry, insipid page of history. Are you fond of love adventures, I replied, you will of­ten meet with them in history. An illicit love occasioned the destruction of the finest city in Asia. It caused Anthony to for­sake Octavia, and revel in the arms of the celebrated Cleopatra.

By this delightful study you will be taught the fatal effects of jealousy and am­bition. At one period you will see the world involved in the greatest ignorance and barbarism; at another, rising by civil­ization and refinement, decorated in all the charms of politeness and learning: But it is impossible to gain her attention.

[Page 58]Mrs. Leason's error, in her daughter's education, is greatly to be lamented. Hab­its contracted in early life are often unal­terable: Great care is therefore requisite that none should be formed but such as will establish virtuous and solid satisfaction: Then would our days dawn amidst the smiles of an approving conscience, and close with superlative pleasure.

A striking trait in the character of our landlady is a sympathy of soul: She is ev­er ready to mitigate the sufferings of the distressed; and the congenial tear, which is infinitely more valuable than the diadem of Caesar, often trembles in her eye and dis­covers the gentleness of her heart: This casts a veil over many of her failings, while others are too unpardonable to be over­looked▪

Her strong propensity to discover the secrets of those families in which she visits, certainly evinces a little mind: To this is added a great fondness for match-making. Several matches formed by her have prov­ed unhappy: This is not surprising. Con­nexions, which result from motives of convenience or interest, either terminate in [Page 59] wretchedness, or are embittered with many real evils.

Marriages, formed upon the idea of pro­tection or fortune, although the corruption of the present age may style them marriages of reason, in my view, are but legal prosti­tutions: Nor can any happiness be expected but from equality of years, similarity of taste and mutual esteem; these indeed promise a lasting satisfaction. Lucretia and myself have had several husbands pro­posed for us, but we are resolved to choose for ourselves.

Laura is so disobliging to the gentlemen who board with her mamma, that she has gained their general disesteem. She has established it as a maxim, if she obliges them by doing any little thing, they will learn to expect it. Upon this princi­ple she is determined not to indulge them; and flinging back her head with an air, says, "It is not her place, and to be sure she shall not do it." A poor conduct for a child to adopt, whose mother is de­pendant.

Mrs. Leason has been a long while en­deavoring to unite Laura and one of her [Page 60] boarders, but is not likely to succeed. Sincerely do I wish the necessity of econo­my in domestic concerns may yet be im­prest upon the mind of Laura. Few Amer­ican fortunes can support a woman who is above the calls of her family. Servants, however faithful, seldom consider the in­terests of their employers with that atten­tion they would their own; but if unob­served, often bring affluence to poverty. The care of the mistress is therefore neces­sary to prevent prodigality and ruin.

Writing to Maria is so great a luxury, I am ever unwilling to say,

LETTER VII.

AT those moments, my dear Ma­ria, when the recollection of past events would destroy present pleasures, I have re­course to the consolatory language of your friendly letters. These are replete with a balm which ever sooths the severity of my sufferings; nor is there a more pleasing reflection arising in the bosom of Caro­line, than that Maria is her friend. Let me solicit the continuance of your allevia­ting letters.

By a few lines, just received from my aunt, I am informed of an attempt of some persons to enter her house. Fortunately she was at this period afflicted with some of her nervous complaints, which deprived her of sleep, and hearing them as they came into the yard, she called the servants, by which circumstance they were alarmed and made off. The next morning she received the following billet.

[Page 62]"Madam,

"There is a plan against your niece, which, if she continues in Trenton, with­out doubt will be put in execution. I am not at liberty to make myself known, but solicit the young lady to be upon her guard."

This information will prevent the grati­fication of many innocent amusements even in this city; for if Eliza is yet determined to follow me with her resentment, she can certainly find those in this metropolis cal­culated for the execution of her plans.

The gentleman to whom we were in­debted for our safety at Trenton, has call­ed upon us, and if I am not deceived, he discovers a partiality for Lucretia. Mrs. Leason is acquainted with him, and has given us his character, embellishing it with many a fanciful relation. His attention appears pleasing to my friend. Miss Lea­son's behaviour has occasioned her mamma the loss of some of her best boarders. Up­on our good landlady's account, I sincerely regret it; though she alone is to blame for not instilling into the mind of her daughter, early principles of propriety. [Page 63] The first ideas imprest upon the youthful fancy, lay the foundation for their future reputation in life: It is therefore necessary the gentle hand of instruction should assist the expanding judgment. Laura is not without her good qualities; but these are discoloured by the medium through which they pass. From the cradle, habituated to indulgence, she cannot support the most trivial disappointment. This disposition is of itself sufficient to render her wretched; for disappointments will intrude upon us, notwithstanding our whole attention is en­gaged to repel them; and no sooner do we appear on the theatre of life, than we are involved in anxieties.

My aunt, I am told, is endeavouring to obtain the influence of her friends, to pre­pare the way for her return to a husband, whom she has publicly declared she des­pised. Well acquainted with her capri­cious temper, I am not surprised at the inconsistency of her conduct. Such a dis­position is the prolific parent of misery, in private and social life. The schemes, which, but a few weeks since, she pursued with the greatest avidity, are now the cause of her [Page 64] regret, as they tend to lessen her own im­portance.

By her rigorous measures, my uncle has been obliged to quit the elegant man­sion in which he had long resided, and to occupy one in every respect inferior. Not­withstanding his reduced circumstances, his haughty spirit will not suffer him to re­turn to a trade in which he had been edu­cated, and from which a very reputable living might be derived. He prefers pass­ing upon the world as a gentleman with a thousand wants and an empty pocket, rather than resume the character of a mechanic, which, he fears would exclude him [...] the society of those great men into which he has lately been introduced. How false this ambition. In nothing do we sooner discover our ignorance and folly, than in the want of a disposition [...] con­form to our allotments in life. A laudable ambition is necessary to carry us with re­putation through this world; but it is high­ly requisite to draw a line, and to discard that which results from a vain mind.

Such a connexion as my aunt's, makes me tremble at the distant idea of a change in [Page 65] my situation. Real happy marriages are rare, when money and beauty are the governing motives, but I am resolved not to purchase a husband with gold. No, I will believe with suspicion, and arm my heart with such jealous guards, that Cupid's shafts shall not enter far enough to wound

LETTER VIII.

IT is our intention shortly to leave this city. From every circumstance I ex­pect a union will soon take place between Lucretia and Mr. Wilkins; Mr. Barton having given him permission to attend us to New-York. This gentleman is not a na­tive of Philadelphia, but for several years past has transacted business here in the ne­gotiating line; and having been successful in speculation, he has lately connected himself with a gentleman in Virginia. His character is, I believe, unexceptionable. Lucretia has frequently conversed with me upon the subject. She acknowledges her prepossession; but is resolved, in a matter of such importance, to govern herself by the advice of her father who can only be solicit­ous for her happiness.

There are few females, Maria, who in the different spheres in which they move, more conspicuously irradiate and adorn their characters than this dear girl. She [Page 67] was deprived of her mother at an age when she most needed her affectionate instruc­tions, to suppress the spontaneous foibles of youth. Her father, absorbed in the happi­ness of an only child, exerted himself to im­press her mind with sentiments which should make her happy; and after she had completed her school education, made her the companion of his leisure hours. Passionately attached to her mother, he relished no amusements in which Lucretia did not partake; but while he determined to render her the accomplished companion, he was also convinced, that it was a necessa­ry part of female education to be conver­sant in domestic concerns; he therefore urged her attention to the family, in which she cheerfully engaged. If she shone in the circles of refined sentiment, and was acquainted with the etiquette of the gay world, she also practised, in the bosom of domestic duties, virtues which endeared her to every part of the family.

Through every action of her life is dif­fused the sunshine of tranquillity, but the partial pen of Caroline can never add a plume to the character of Lucretia. Pos­sessed [Page 68] of a disposition and qualifications to render a deserving man happy, I sincere­ly wish that she may never form a connex­ion which shall mar the enjoyment of her succeeding days.

There are many families in this place to whom I am attached. It is difficult, how­ever, to form a real friendship. A true friend is an acquisition seldom to be obtained. Few are to be found calculated for the of­fices of friendly and social intercourse. When I reflect on my unprotected situa­tion, I am not without my gloomy mo­ments; but Lucretia exerts herself to dis­pel them. Mrs. Leason frequently diverts us with her matches; she claims the hon­our of having formed the intended connex­ion of our friends. Our landlady is by no means deficient in understanding, al­though a want of prudence runs parallel in her conduct. Connexions, big with importance to our future happiness, should ever be the result of unbiassed pre­possession. For my own part I will never become a prostituted votary at Hymen's shrine; love alone shall cement the gentle bandage.

[Page 69]From whom do you think I have just had the honour of a visit? The very Captain who so fortunately came to my assistance at Princeton, after the death of Clarimont. He arrived in this city yesterday, from Fort-Pitt, having rode ex­press from the western army. I am much pleased with him; he is graceful and po­lite: His visit was short; but if I am not mistaken, he is sentimental and accomplish­ed. His countenance is expressive; his eyes beam with understanding and glisten with sensibility. I have tried to check my pre­possessions, calling upon the guards of my [...] heart, to be cautious and not to admit an undeserving guest. Yet my breast palpi­tates at his approach. I am pleased with his company, and regret his absence. He reminds me of Clarimont. As he is ex­press from General St. Clair, his stay here will be short; so that should Caroline be a little entangled in the silken snare of love, absence is said to be a sovereign remedy. I am not convinced, however; but in this instance it may prove as injurious as the camphire preparations so indiscriminately used by my aunt's doctor at Trenton. My [Page 70] penetrating landlady has already discover­ed my disease, and assures me of success, if I will submit to her directions. She is ex­tremely kind, my dear; but I prefer to act for myself. Let your friendship [...]ver await

LETTER IX.

IN my last letter I forgot to mention the name of my charming Captain. Ex­cuse this neglect, and give me leave to in­troduce Capt. Evremont, to your particu­lar friendship. I am convinced Maria will give him a corner of her heart, from the attachment she has long possessed for her Caroline. I should be doubly happy personally to present him to my friend, that from an acquaintance with him she might set a just value upon his accomplishments and virtues; but can only anticipate this event at a future period. His business with the Secretary at War has detained him in this city much longer than he ex­pected; and I have the pleasure to assure my dear Maria, that his breast beats conge­nial to the fondest wishes of Caroline's heart. Yes, my friend, we have resolved one day to form a near and pleasing con­nexion. Flattering as my present prepos­sessions are, they have opened upon me [Page 72] new anxieties and cares. It is truly unfor­tunate he should, at this crisis, be obliged to accept a commission, for I understand ne­cessity, rather than an attachment to the mode of life, has urged him to the step. This gentleman is a native of Boston, and was early placed by his parents with a res­pectable merchant in that place. Soon af­ter the difficulties between Great-Britain and America commenced, that capital be­came a British garrison. Trade was ne­cessarily laid aside. Thus at an important period was be deprived of his prospects of business in future life. Here he suffered in the general calamity, and with a number of his fellow citizens was under the neces­sity of entering the army, where he contin­ued until the close of the war. Upon the war breaking out with the Indians, he again accepted a commission merely for a sup­port. Being however engaged, it will not do for him to retreat, until the present campaign is decided. The honour of a soldier, you know, is held dearer than his life. May the American army be the pe­culiar care of Providence, and the goddess of health diffuse her smiles upon them. [Page 73] May fame resound the trump which shall echo their immortal deeds, and their names be engraven on the hearts of the virtuous and brave.

Mr. Evremont's tarrying has prevented our going on to New-York. Mr. Wilkins will accompany us to that city, from whence you may shortly expect to hear from your

LETTER X.

YOU complain of my silence; and add, three posts have arrived without a line from your friend. The omission is by no means consonant with the dictates of my heart. Such indeed has been my in­cumbered situation, that it has been out of my power to gratify my most favourite in­clination. But you have no right to doubt my friendship. No; that heaven-born spark has long been kindling in my breast its extatic blaze. I thank you for the pleasing retrospect of our infant friendship. Those days, indeed, were inexpressibly hap­py which were illumed with your society. The tender bud expanded under your in­vigorating influence, and received a solid basis for its eternal existence. Yes, my dear, it is not a meteor dancing in the ju­venile fancy, but a creative sun, which animates every dormant virtue, and beau­tifies every unfolding plant. Every mo­ment since my arrival in New-York, has [Page 75] been devoted to Lucretia; and we are still busy in preparing for the intended union. Mr. Barton, previous to our arrival, had written to his correspondent in Philadel­phia, and obtained satisfactory informa­tion respecting Mr. Wilkins, and has been pleased to give his approbation to an early day for the celebration of the nuptials. Mr. Wilkins's business calling him to Vir­ginia, where he proposes to settle at a place called Havre-de-Grace, I have promised to accompany them. Having no partic­ular attachment to Philadelphia, I think it probable I shall tarry with them a con­siderable time. This, I flatter myself will not always be the case; I begin to think it best to have some one to provide for and protect me. Old age will come, and the epithet of old maid is, you know, a stigma, the appellation of which I will, if possible, avoid.

I received a letter from Capt. Evremont, dated Fort-Pitt. He regrets his present engagements with the army, but flatters himself the troops raising by Congress, will in one campaign, put a period to the war. Sincerely do I wish this may not prove an [Page 76] illusive hope; but I fear they will be de­ceived. We have long habituated our­selves to consider the Indians as an insignif­icant enemy, who are to be silenced by toys; it is now, however, policy to view them as a formidable body. Mr. Evre­mont adds, "it is generally believed the de­predations which the frontiers have expe­rienced for years past, have been instigated by the garrison at Detroit:" If so, it is high­ly probable they will afford them every necessary supply. Fortunately my reflec­tions are taken off from these painful ideas, by my present avocations. I have receiv­ed a letter from my aunt Noble, complain­ing of our taking the rout to New-York, through Burlington, Bordentown, and Amboy, and insisting on our making her house, in our way back to Philadelphia. The reasons for pursuing this road were not to avoid a repetition of her grievances, but that we might have an opportunity of seeing this part of the country; having gratified our curiosity, we intend to in­dulge her with a flying visit. She men­tions some new circumstances relative to Eliza, and solicits me to be upon my guard. [Page 77] I flatter myself my journey to Havre-de-Grace will prove my security. At that dis­tance, I shall consider myself free from her persecutions. I am called down stairs, and must, for the present, lay aside my pen—

When I entered the parlour I saw a gen­teel young man sitting with Lucretia, who bowing her head as I crossed to a chair, said, "This, Sir, is the lady for whom you were inquiring." He arose, and addressing me, observed, his brother, Capt. Evremont, when in Philadelphia a few weeks since, by letter, had requested him, as he passed through New-York, on his way to the West­ward, to call upon his intended sister: I therefore, Miss, agreeably to his wishes, introduce myself to you. I assured him of the satisfaction his visit afforded, and made every inquiry after his connexions, which politeness dictated. His visit was short. Lucretia invited him to dine the next day; but pleading a previous engagement, we were deprived of his company. He begged I would heighten his reception at Fort-Pitt, by honouring him with the charge of a letter, saying he should call upon me the next evening for my commands, as he ex­pected [Page 78] to leave the city immediately. Capt. Evremont had mentioned his broth­er's being soon expected with recruits, and obtained my promise of writing by him. Pleased with so favourable an opportunity, I entrusted him with a lengthy letter, re­plete with encomiums upon my intended brother. I sincerely regretted his short stay in New-York, as it deprived me of the happiness of being fully acquainted with his merits. But a soldier, my dear, is not the master of his time; nor can he impede the flying moments. I directed him to Mrs. Leason's, as a good boarding house, while he tarried in Philadelphia.

How does the heaving sigh swell my agitated bosom, at the anticipation of the dangers which await my friends: Yet, amidst my distressing thoughts, a beam of hope darts its animating rays, and gives me infinite support.

I have written you a lengthy letter; accept it as a token of my friendship; and may virtue, that fair daughter of heaven, descend and illume our path through the wilderness of life, and sweetening the re­flections of expiring moments, accompany us to the bright region of uninterrupted bliss.

LETTER XI.

LUCRETIA, the amiable, the charming Lucretia, has now entered the list of matrons. The indissoluble knot is tied. The wedding was private; but we have yet to receive the congratulations of a numerous acquaintance.

Our levee is crouded, and I am obliged to obtrude upon those hours, usually de­voted to Morpheus, or deprive myself of the gratification of writing to my dear Maria, whose happiness is ever interwoven with Caroline's. This said matrimony is a se­rious thing; it makes me thoughtful. But I fancy I am more disposed to be serious, from the unhappy connexion of my aunt. It may, however, teach me an important lesson; a lesson, upon which the happiness of my future life depends, never to connect myself with a man, whose ignorance dis­qualifies him for an agreeable companion. The most ignorant are, in general, the most [Page 80] tenacious; and possess such high ideas of their imaginary excellencies, that they can­not allow any merit to their friends. A handsome, face, an engaging person, will be additionally pleasing to my taste; but I flatter myself, they will never fascinate my judgment; nor the more captivating allurements of riches, infatuate my mind.

Virtues, emitted in the calm walks of social life, render pleasant the hours of re­tirement, and are alone calculated to insure domestic happiness. Wisdom is the lumi­nary of the mind; and, by her enlivening powers, dissipates those painful sensations, which are spontaneous, in the bosom of ig­norance. Ignorance is the fruitful parent of every ungenerous principle.

To be connected with a man of inferior understanding to my own, would excite reflections which would imbitter life. Yet how many of those matches do we daily see. Strange that we should be thus de­ceived. It is said the little urchin is blind, and this is all the apology that can be made for us. We frequently, however, purchase our sight by a fatal sacrifice. Pray heaven, [Page 81] it may never be the lot of Caroline, or her friend, to be thus wretchedly united.

Mr. Wilkins is sensible, genteel, and accomplished. I am not skilled in phisiog­nomy, but fear he is avaricious and impet­uous. If so, it must cast a sable cloud over their domestic pleasures; for the disposi­tion of Lucretia, is nobly generous. Ed­ucated in the sunshine of fortune, she has been enabled to indulge the emanations of a heart, replete with humanity. She has ever sought objects of distress, and alleviated such as were suffering with cheerless pover­ty. This disposition is so seldom implant­ed in the bosom of affluence, that its sup­pression would give me pain. The pru­dence of Lucretia, will ever dictate an ac­quiescence with the will of her husband, and she will readily relinquish many little dec­orations, which might be added to her own person, privately to gratify her god-like propensity. I will not anticipate, what may never take place: This will be mo­nopolizing a double portion of trouble. Away with this bane to happiness. Let us take the incidents as they arise▪ and, by confining our ideas within the dictates of [Page 82] reason, we shall at least ensure present peace.

Unfortunately, I was for some time edu­cated by a person, whose peculiar pleasure it was to colour, with the most gloomy shades, every expected event. This occa­sioned an early aversion in my mind to anticipation.

Many useful lessons are to be learnt from observation, and great is the danger of contracting bad habits. Had not my judgement been directed by my deceased uncle and aunt, there is no doubt but I should have imbibed that disposition, so in­jurious to the enjoyment of life. At the early period in which I was placed under the protection of my aunt Noble, my rea­son was not sufficiently expanded, to decide for myself. Those youth, who are within the limits of enlightened instruction, re­ceive inexpressible advantages. Thus the friendly hints of my uncle and aunt Frank­lin, led me to reflect upon many foibles, and armed me against the rock, upon which my aunt Noble's domestic happiness split. I have long since been convinced of the folly of considering the world at large as [Page 83] our friends; to suppose all who hear our troubles, must consequently become sharers in them, strongly evinces a vacant mind. Relating domestic difficulties abroad, is in­consistent with the rules of social happiness, and repugnant to every principle of polite­ness. Should I ever become a parent, be assured, it shall be my early endeavour, to check in the youthful mind, every propen­sity to a communicative unguarded dispo­sition; and above all, I will impress the ne­cessity of keeping all family matters sa­cred.

I have not dwelt thus upon the subject, because I think you need the lesson; but as the observations naturally occurred, I felt no wish to restrain them.

I shall not write you again, until I ar­rive at Philadelphia, from whence we shall go by land to Virginia. Keep your heart for some deserving youth, whose united virtues, shall insure your happiness.

LETTER XII.

HAVING passed through the usual ceremonies of receiving the congratulatory visits of our acquaintances, we hastened to this city, where we must again submit to that ridiculous parade, custom has estab­lished upon these occasions. In my view, nothing is so foolish as the sitting ourselves up for a show, and becoming an object of animadversion. It is a ceremony I am re­solved to dispense with, however opposed to the ideas of the world; for I can never consent to a form so contrary to my feel­ings, so derogatory to my judgement. To comply with it, requires more fortitude and patience than has fallen to my share. Our task, however, will not be so severe as at New-York. Morning visits will be short, and we have no time to devote to afternoon company. This circumstance will also relieve Mr. Wilkins.

Mrs. Leason received us with great po­liteness. I have made inquiries of her, [Page 85] respecting my intended brother, as I rec­ommended him to her house for lodgings, but can obtain no information of him. It is probable he fell in with company upon the road, who introduced him elsewhere.

Several weeks have elapsed, since I heard from Capt. Evremont. His silence is uncommon; and gives me great anxiety; nor can those amusements to which I have long been partial, or the joyful event of Lucretia's union, obliterate my fears. I am much indisposed. There is an inexpressible sympathy between the mind and body; they are mutually affect­ed. Hope is the anodyne of life, a balm to the afflicted, and an animating meteor, which dissipates the dew of disappointment; but fear, by depressing the spirits, brings on disease, which often terminates life. I love to get by myself. Reflection is pleas­ing. To drop a tear upon the recollection of my friends, is a luxury to my soul. Friendship, true friendship, is a child of heaven.

Agreeably to promise, we made Trenton in our way to this city, and found my aunt, as usual, complaining. Our visit was [Page 86] short; Lucretia politely gave her an invi­tation to visit her at Havre-de-Grace. An invitation I doubt not but she will accept; some premonition will tell her the journey will be of service, and point out a thousand chimerical advantages. Civility is fre­quently a tyrant, which compels us to do many things contrary to our wishes. You must excuse the shortness of this letter. My indisposition prevents me from adding more, than the assurances of my friendship.

LETTER XIII.

THE gloom which pervaded my mind when I last addressed you, has sub­sided. I have been gratified with a letter from Capt. Evremont. It had laid in the war office more than a week. He does not mention his brother. I suspect there is some deception in this affair.

My aunt has repeatedly assured me, no measures were unpursued by Eliza to ob­tain my letters, and that through this chan­nel, she becomes acquainted with my pri­vate intentions.

I am gaining strength, and hope, I shall soon be able to attend Lucretia home: She has been particularly attentive to me in my indisposition. By her persuasions I consented to call in a physician, who has had the impudence to style my disorder nervous. A pretty custom of the faculty, to class those complaints, which they have not sufficient abilities to remove, under this denomination! By placing the disease [Page 88] upon those delicate organs, they conclude, should their applications be unsuccessful, their patients cannot censure their judg­ment, and they will thereby elude reflec­tion.

There is not, in creation, an epithet more wounding to my feelings. To be nervous, is generally to be a fool; a plague to ourselves and a torment to our friends. Could I possibly think myself so devoid of stability, so destitute of philosophy, so depraved in my mind, I would instant­ly seek some unfrequented recess, where mortal eye should never reach me.

The sagacious doctor had no sooner de­termined my disease, than my resentment was excited. I immediately discarded his prescriptions, and refused his farther attend­ance. If that is the case, said I, away with physicians; medicines are debilitating, resolution shall be my cure; I will never be cheated of the pleasures of life, by ner­vous disorders. Since this determination, my amendment has been rapid. Profit by the lesson, Maria, and be assured, resolu­tion is the strongest antidote that can possi­bly be administered, in nervous attacks.

[Page 89]By encouraging the mind in rational pursuits, it soon becomes strengthened; a succession of entertaining, improving stud­ies, will ward off dejection.

Mr. Wilkins has written to his partner at Havre-de-Grace to secure lodgings until his furniture shall arrive from New-York; which was to have been shipped soon after we left that city.

My indisposition prevents me from shar­ing in the congratulations of our friends; upon Lucretia's account I regret it. The warm wish of my heart is, for her uninter­rupted happiness. May their joys be mu­tual, and prosperity ever illume their jour­ney of life.

Unfortunately for Mrs. Leason, Laura is absent from home, consequently a dou­ble attention devolves upon her. Could you see this tasty widow, whose grey hairs, denote her advanced years, decorated in all the gaiety of youth, I am sure your sentiments would accord with mine. Nothing expresses a want of judgment, more, than not complying with a dress suited to declining life. The gaieties of youth, should certainly be laid aside, as [Page 90] that period retires, and the sober habili­ments of advanced age assumed.

Good sense will ever discover itself throughout our conduct, but in nothing more conspicuously than this. I have frequently seen the picture of a very aged lady, seated at her toilet, who by the assist­ance of her dressing maid (from whose countenance a striking lesson might be de­duced) is decorating herself in all the fine­ry of a young lady, just entering upon the theatre of life. In my view, this repre­sentation, is as severe a sarcasm upon the sex, as can possibly be portrayed. I wish to purchase it for Mrs. Leason, and am re­solved, if I can ever obtain it, to present it to her. Such characters discover minds as unimproved as the desarts of Lybia. Old age is indeed a desolating period, if the illuminating beams of wisdom have not dawned upon the mind; but if she irradi­ates the understanding, we can view the close of life with resignation. And having passed the errors of youth, we may, through the eye of reason, anticipate increasing in­firmities, and approaching death, with pe­culiar serenity.

[Page 91]I must plead my former excuse of in­disposition; although my letters are short, the heart of Caroline is not the less attach­ed to Maria B—.

LETTER XIV.

WE arrived here the 20th instant. The journey has been of infinite service to my health. I am extremely pleased with this town. It is situated upon a most delightful river, and appears designed, by Nature, for trade.

Mr. Wilkins's house is peculiarly pleas­ant, as it commands an extensive prospect. The furniture has not arrived. We are at present in the family of Mrs. Gardner; I will introduce them to my Maria. This la­dy has been some years a widow, left with three daughters and two sons; the two eldest girls are the epitome of their mother. It may be expected, that children, educat­ed by the same parent, should imbibe similar sentiments and habits.

But this family demonstrates, that na­ture, unassisted by art, frequently implants principles in the youthful breast, far supe­rior to the most refined study.

[Page 98]Mrs. G. is a woman of great ambition, with a high opinion of her own abilities, she prides herself upon the supposed respecta­bility of her character, boasts much of her domestic economy, assumes a large share of merit from the richness of her clothing, exerts herself to be thought a learned wom­an, and aims to monopolize respect from the idea of keeping the best company in the place.

These are the just traits in the character of my landlady and her eldest daughters.

Educated in such sentiments, it is not surprising, that dressing and visiting, are the favourite employments of the young ladies, who are particularly remarked for being in the streets. Fond of being seen, they inquire from shop to shop, for articles they have no intention to pur­chase. But shopping is a charming amuse­ment; it gives them an opportunity to shew themselves abroad. They despise every thing "wulgar," and their friends are the "most affablest," and the "most agreea­blest" in the world.

Mrs. Gardner and her daughter's lo­quacity might be overlooked, if every ex­pression [Page 94] was not tortured by an ignorance of their own language.

Had you been at table a few days since, you would have been diverted; it was diffi­cult to refrain from laughing. Having dined, Mrs. Gardner filled her glass, and passing the wine, requested the company to drink "a good husband to orphan wid­ows." I hesitated; for had my life de­pended, I could not imagine what senti­ment she meant to convey. I however repeated the toast. Anxious to avoid laugh­ing, and in haste to dispense with the wine, I choaked myself, and was obliged to leave the room; glad indeed of an oppor­tunity to retire. Lucretia improved the moment, and followed me up chamber, where we had high diversion.

Fanny, the youngest daughter, is a very different character. Delicate in her beha­viour, enlightened in her understanding, she speaks with propriety, determines with judgment, and possesses a peculiar softness of disposition, which, like the gentle lustre of the evening star, beams in her expressive eye. These secure her the partiality of the boarders; and her attention to their little [Page 95] wants, enhances her in their esteem. Her mind indeed, is an assemblage of virtues. I am not fond of adopting new friends, but there is in this dear girl, something so en­gaging, so congenial with my feelings, that I am resolved to endear myself to her, and, if possible, to become necessary to her happi­ness. She appears to possess a natural vi­vacity, which is at present clouded, by some unhappy event. If this is the case, time, and assiduity, shall discover it.

Mrs. Gardner's eldest son is a man of fortune; it is, therefore, unnecessary to add a man of friends. Although encircled by the fascinating smiles of this pleasing deity, he claims no pretensions to happiness. Possessing an anxious, parsimonious disposi­tion, he is deprived of those tranquil sensa­tions which produce gratitude. Never having sipped of disappointment's bitter cup, his heart is callous to the tears of sor­row. Absorbed in the pursuit of wealth, many social virtues lie dormant. Perplex­ed, least his plans in business should prove unsuccessful, he cannot relish present bless­ings, and from an unhappy temper contin­ually suffers imaginary difficulties. Rich­es [Page 96] rather augment than lessen his anxiety. He is a stranger to that real enjoyment, which those experience, whose bosoms are melio­rated by humanity, and irradiated with be­nevolence. Contentment, that maid of heavenly origin, absconds his mental re­gion, and takes her residence in the more serene heart. When we see those who have been nursed in the indulgent lap of fortune, deprived of tempers to enjoy her gifts, con­stantly agitated and distressed, we certainly cannot envy their possessions. It will en­force the observation that money alone is insufficient to secure peace.

Mr. Gardner is unmarried, and free from every incumbrance; he wants only a mind to enjoy the abundance which Prov­idence has poured upon him.

His brother is married, and has a large family dependant on him. There is a de­pression in his countenance which excites the tenderest feelings of my heart. He is, I believe, a child of sorrow. Having in­dulged myself in repeated conversations with him, I am deceived if he does not possess a good understanding, a sincere soul, and a feeling mind. Every new in­terview [Page 97] increases my partiality; but these are my own observations: For nothing is more difficult than ascertaining from the world the true character of an unfortunate man. Adversity is a cloud which too ef­fectually conceals many real virtues.

I am called off by Lucretia—can only add,

LETTER XV.

SINCE I last addressed my dear Maria, I have had an opportunity of be­coming more acquainted with the unfortu­nate Mr. Gardner. Fanny entered my chamber this morning, and requested me to favour her with some entertaining books. There was a number upon my table: I desired her to select such as would be pleasing to her. Engaged in reading, she had reached the door; when looking up and seeing but a small pamphlet in her hand, I asked her, if there were none con­sonant with her taste? Her heart was full; the pearly tear glistened in her eyes: She could not articulate. Fanny, continued I, what distresses you? Believe me your friend; unbosom your affliction. She in­clined to retire. I arose, took her hand, and led her to a chair; she laid the book upon the table; I glanced my eyes upon it, and found it a play, entitled, "The [Page 99] Brothers." Curiosity was excited; my attachment for her increased; I experienc­ed all that inexpressible sympathy, which is united with those sweet sensations of a feeling mind, and was silent for some min­utes, that she might give vent to the effu­sions of her grief. Tears having afforded a momentary relief, I resumed my solicita­tions, assuring her of my preposessions; observing, I had noticed an anxiety upon her countenance, the cause of which, if possible, it was my wish to remove. She replied, "I thank you for your friendship; nor can I refuse your request. The title of that book, forced upon me many disa­greeable ideas, by reminding me of the sit­uation of my brothers; the youngest of whom has experienced a succession of mis­fortunes. Long initiated in the school of severe disappointment, with the most eco­nomical attention, and closest industry, he finds it difficult to support his family; yet his destitute circumstances make no im­pression upon the heart of Charles, who, by great success, has accumulated immense property. Intoxicated by the inebriating bowl of prosperity, he lives only for him­self.

[Page 100]"Those innate principles of benevolence, generally ingrafted in the human heart, which induce it to assist the distressed, ap­pear totally eradicated from his breast; and he is governed by a penurious dispo­sition, which renders him callous to the wants of his nearest friends. He views, with an adamantine indifference, the suffer­ings of a deserving family, without a single effort to relieve them. The unpardonable insensibility he uniformly discovers to the embarrassments of a brother, adds a barb to the dart of misfortune. The pain which results from the inattention of our connexions, is too severe for a susceptible mind. To meet indifference, where we expected assistance, destroys the fond hope nature excites.

"Shall a love of money absorb the natu­ral affections, steel the feelings, and im­perve every virtue of the heart? No, my dear. If we are actuated by gratitude, our minds will be dilated by the bounty with which we are blest. We shall endeavour to communicate happiness to the distressed, and in search of objects, duty and inclina­tion will first direct to those with whom [Page 101] heaven has immediately connected us. But sympathy never filled the eye of my broth­er with a generous tear; nor has human­ity meliorated the insensibility of his heart." Here she paused. I urged her to suppress feelings so destructive to her health. Let us anticipate your brother's better fortune. Hope is the cordial of life. Encourage the friendly delusion: It will assist you in conquering those reflections so prejudicial to you. She was now called.

The great contrast in this family fre­quently engaged my reflection. It is in­deed happy for society that characters, similar to Mr. Gardner's, are not more frequent. How much more amiable the man, who studies to communicate happi­ness, whose breast beats with humanity, and who listens to the voice of sorrow, with a disposition to mitigate human misery. The remembrance of such is truly grateful to the children of affliction.

Every feeling of my heart is excited for Frederick. I pity and esteem him, and the amiable Fanny. Pity and esteem! what cold expressions! I will ever evince my [Page 102] warmest friendship for them. No new at­tachment shall, however, deprive Maria of the real friendship of

LETTER XVI.

I HAVE at length the satisfaction of addressing Maria, from the house of Lu­cretia. It gives me infinite pleasure to see her engaged in the regulations of her fam­ily. Her disposition is well calculated to enjoy life. If she shone as a daughter, and a mistress while with her father, as a wife, she is worthy the closest imitation. Adorn­ed with sweetness, crowned with virtues, and dignified with sentiment, from the bo­som of domestic life, she shines with an at­tractive radiance. It is her study to ac­commodate herself to the disposition of Mr. Wilkins, and her constant endeavour to render him happy. If she has not found in him all she fondly imagined, she pru­dently conceals it. Solomon, celebrated for his wisdom, declares, that "Among a thousand women, he had not found one deserving the name of wife." Mr. Wilkins then, is peculiarly blest. I fear he is insen­sible to the value of the prize. His hap­piness [Page 104] appears detached from domestic pleasures. We have but little of his compa­ny; his fondness for variety, renders home distasteful to him. The assiduity and at­tention of the lover, is superseded by un­pardonable neglect. The woman who a short time since engrossed every pleasurea­ble idea, he now views without emotion; and, I sometimes think, returns to, with re­gret. Business engages his daily attention, and the tavern his leisure hours; but Mr. Wilkins is not an unfashionable husband. In this era of politeness, to see a man at­tached to his wife, denotes a weakness, which renders him an object of contempt. Love at present is a passion but little un­derstood. The gentlemen absorbed in some striking attachment, generally believe themselves caught in the alluring snare, and resolve to obtain the object of their suppo­sed affection. Their favourite wish accom­plished, they frequently discover their mis­take, too late to retrieve the error, and thus become wretched for life. Happy marriages would be more frequent, were the first impulse to arise, from the percep­tion [Page 105] of certain innate virtues; these would expand the tender passion.

Love is the offspring of a vigorous fan­cy: It is born of youth, and if nursed with care, will, in the calm sunshine of declining life, meliorate into the sublimest friendship. Having been matured by reciprocal confi­dence and mutual esteem, it softens the winter of old age. The pleasing emana­tions, which result from so refined a source, are unknown to those, whose minds have been enervated by dissipation, and poison­ed by vice. He only, whose happiness is centered in a deserving family, can realize the bliss.

I have received several letters from Capt. Evremont, dated Fort Pitt. The last mentions the arrival of his brother, but does not acknowledge the receipt of the letter I wrote by him. I am flattered with the prospect of seeing him, as he expects to visit Philadelphia, with dispatches to the War Office. Exceedingly I regret his en­gagements in the military line, and sincerely wish he could retire from the scene of war, with honour; but this is impossible. My heart is his faithful attendant. By the [Page 106] papers, we find troops continually upon their march to that quarter: I dread the event.

A letter from my aunt is just hand­ed me. She complains of her situa­tion, declares it impracticable to sup­port herself, upon the small stipend she annually receives, and resolves to attempt a reconciliation with her husband. The rapid increase of her indisposition makes her anxious to be with those "whose du­ty it is to provide, and attend upon her. But some obstacles are previously to be re­moved. The children must be banished from home; she did not marry them and is determined never to live with them. It is the duty of a man, to make every sacri­fice to the happiness of his wife." This novel method of reasoning, she has adopt­ed, is mortifying to my feelings. I cannot believe a man must discard all affection for his children, to gratify an unreasonable woman. Should she obtain her wishes, and be received upon the terms proposed, with a disposition naturally irascible, a reconciliation will but little affect her hap­piness. She urges me to address my uncle [Page 107] upon the subject of her return; but I am decidedly resolved to have no hand in the affair.

Her annual income is amply compe­tent to a genteel support, would she ex­ercise economy, and learn the distinction between a prodigal, and a liberal mind; but possessing an extravagant inclination, she is led into a thousand unnecessary expenses.

I find some of Clarimont's relations are in this place. They are people in genteel life: I wish exceedingly to be acquainted with them, that I may remove from their minds, prejudices imbibed against me.

The unfortunate situation of Mrs. Gar­dner's youngest son, excites in my breast, many painful emotions. The advantages of a large fortune, are inconsiderable, ex­clusive of the power it gives, of imparting happiness to the distressed. A mind right­ly affected by the bounty of heaven, will never feel happier, than when engaged in lessening the wants of deserving poverty.

I am grateful to Providence, that I have it in my power, to afford some small relief, to the family of Mr. Gardner. From re­peated conversations with Fanny, I find his mind delicate and susceptible. To con­fer [Page 108] favours upon such, is painful as well as pleasing. A trifle given by the truly hu­mane and benevolent, will afford infinite­ly more satisfaction to the feeling mind, than a thousand times its value, presented by the hand of indelicacy, or the air of re­luctance. Such favours I have often seen, and my heart has bled, for the unhappy dependant. I am sorry to observe, few know how to confer obligations. The children of adversity surely have sufficient to bear, without the addition of unfeeling favours. I was some time at a loss how to present the trifle I intended to bestow; but finally adopted the idea of addressing a let­ter to him, with a bank bill enclosed, which I sent to the post-office: This, I flatter myself, will relieve him from his present difficulties. Through Fanny, I shall be ac­quainted with his necessities; and when I hear from my agent in Philadelphia, it will be in my power further to assist him.

There is a report circulating in this place, that my cousin, who was left heir with me, to my uncle's estate, is a prisoner with the Indians; and not killed as was supposed, at the defeat of Major Willis. The story [Page 109] is yet uncertain; such is the cruelty of the savages to their prisoners, I have hesitated, whether to wish it true or false. I have written to Capt. Evremont upon the sub­ject; soliciting him, if possible, to obtain a knowledge of the affair, and if true, to of­fer any ransom they will accept for him. Perhaps, by employing the friendly In­dians, information may be received. The idea of his sufferings, if still among them, frequently invades my heart, and shades my momentary pleasures. The additional society of my dear Maria, would greatly contribute to my happiness; but be assur­red, neither absence, nor length of time, shall ever lessen the affection of

LETTER XVII.

IT is impossible, Maria, to ac­quaint ourselves with either the foibles or virtues of mankind, unless we follow them to private life. In public, deception en­robes their actions. A wish to secure the good opinion of the world, induces them to conceal their imperfections, and they often establish a false reputation. But when retired from the eye of censure and criticism, caution lies dormant, and the actions are shaded by natural vices, or il­lumed with enviable virtues.

I am hourly convinced of the justness of these observations, notwithstanding the exertions of Lucretia, to conceal the fretful, penurious disposition of Mr. Wilkins. His circumstances cannot occasion him to be parsi­monious, or ill-natured; for his fortune is easy, and his prospects flattering. Yet in his family he is contracted: He lives with­out [Page 111] company; not from a wish to be alone. The social principles are strongly interwov­en in his heart, and he has it amply in his power, to gratify a disposition so conge­nial to human nature. But he seeks pleasures abroad. Domestic life, to him is divested of charms; yet Lucretia is uni­formly the same engaging woman; and with a voice, softened by sincere affection, she ever meets him with a sweetness pecu­liar to herself.

I yesterday went unexpectedly into her chamber, and found her in tears. A­larmed at a circumstance so uncommon, my curiosity was excited. Shall there, said I, be any incident in the life of Lu­cretia, with which she will not acquaint Caroline? The chrystal drop trembled in her eye; she was silent. Going to her, I seized her hand, and putting it to my lips, the pearly tear bedewed the sweet impression; "until you evince your confidence I must be wretched; wherein have I forfeited your friendship?" Her eyes were fixed upon me; and beaming with an additional expression, she replied, "Your friendly endeavours to extenuate my suf­ferings, [Page 112] add a sweet ingredient to this mo­mentary indulgence. But there are, my dear, many occurrences which take place, interesting only to ourselves. It would, therefore, be cruel to impart them to friends, only to allay their pleasures. Upon this principle, you will excuse my silence."

There can be no circumstance, I observ­ed, in the life of Lucretia, which does not deeply interest my heart. Your silence is too distressing. "I have no cause," she continued, "to distrust a confidence, long deservedly placed in the bosom of Caroline; but you must pardon my refusing to render you unhappy. Remember I am now a wife. The little secrets once intrusted to you, as they concerned no one but my­self, I was at liberty to divulge; but it is now my duty to be silent: Nor are you unacquainted with my sentiments. And as I cannot deviate from principles so well established, you will require no further apology for my refusal."

Convinced her happiness was interrupt­ed by the behaviour of Mr. Wilkins, I could no longer urge her to a conduct we [Page 113] had so often reprobated in my aunt Noble; and commending her resolution, left the chamber.

It is seldom, persons of similar inclina­tions become united. Should it be the will of the Deity to connect me with a man possessing sentiments essentially opposed to mine, may I copy from Lucretia. In early life I have been turned aside from the flowery path of gaiety and indulgence, by the invidious temper of Eliza; but I will not take the painful retrospect. Im­agination is the mistress of happiness. I will flatter myself, succeeding days will smile upon me, and by encouraging the fond idea, enjoy my present blessings: Among these, I class Maria's friendship; this ever affords me inexpressible pleasure.

LETTER XVIII.

MANY phantoms of happiness, have danced upon my imagination, which have vanished before enjoyed; and al­though I exert myself, to extenuate the evils of life, I find it impossible to secure my pleasures. Some new incident over­takes me, which blasts my ideal security, and involves me in unforeseen difficulties.

A few evenings since, hurt by some re­flections Mr. Wilkins cast upon Lucretia, I retired to my chamber. The weather was extremely warm, my window open, and the curtain down. Inclined to indulge the sensations I then experienced, I left the room without a light, and had set some minutes regretting his unhappy irritability, when my attention was called to the sound of my name in the street; and cautiously removing the curtain, I saw two persons, at a little distance from the gate, engaged in conversation; but notwithstanding my closest attention, I heard only interrupted [Page 115] sentences. "By your assistance, the plan cannot fail of success," was sufficient to ex­cite my fears, and hurrying down stairs, I intended to send the girl to discover who they were, but not finding her, the thought immediately occurred, that she was engag­ing against me. I hastened into the parlour, and observing Lucretia had been in tears, made no mention of the affair, until the next day, when I communicated it to her and Mr. Wilkins: They strongly impres­sed caution upon me. This circumstance at present is enrobed in mystery.

I am unwilling to believe Eliza still in­tends to pursue me. Her disposition will deprive me of the little happiness allotted to human life. I regret that one of our sex should possess sentiments so opposite to that delicacy, softness and humanity, which are their most pleasing characteristics. But shades are necessary to give beauty to a picture; and the disgusting features of this unhappy woman, will tend to brighten sur­rounding characters. May we endeavour to remove every shade from our actions. May wisdom diffuse her aromatic sweets upon us; and virtue, that heavenly [Page 116] visitant, perfume our path of life, until we have accomplished the duties allotted to us: Then shall we bid adieu to time, leaving our memories untinged with vice.

LETTER XIX.

IN my last, I mentioned my over­hearing part of a conversation, as I suppos­ed, between the maid and a stranger at the gate, which excited painful suspicions in my mind; these were not without founda­tion.

Mr. Wilkins being obliged to go to Bal­timore upon business, Mrs. Wilkins and myself, in his absence, made a visit to a Mrs. Drayton, who lives some distance from us, where we passed the evening. In return­ing home, we were under the necessity of crossing a lonesome place, called Long-Acre. There being only one gentleman with us; many disagreeable ideas loitered upon my mind, from the recollection of there having been several robberies lately committed upon this spot. The evening was clear and serene. The pensive moon had early retired from the spangled hemis­phere, and was journeying in some other clime. The way through this place was [Page 118] so narrow, it was impossible we could walk together. Politeness dictating I should resign our gallant to Lucretia, I cautiously went a little before. Soon observing two persons coming towards me, I walked slow­ly, for Mrs. Wilkins and Mr. Lee to over­take me, fancying myself secure with them immediately behind.

A gentleman now came up, and calling me by name, begged I would accept his arm. I thanked him, and declined; assur­ing him, he had the advantage of me. He replied, "I have frequently had the hon­our of being in your company at Mrs. Gardner's, and am sorry you have so soon forgot a fellow boarder." I begged his pardon, urging the evening as an apology for my inattention, and accepted his offer. Nor was I a little gratified in having addi­tional company. We soon reached the corner of a street, which he recommended me to take, as being much nearer to Mrs. Wilkins's. Infatuation had lulled my ap­prehensions. I complied with his request. Nor did my fears return, until I had pass­ed a considerable way in this road: It then occurred to me I was deceived. I was [Page 119] now in a remote, unfrequented spot, hav­ing passed no house since we turned the corner. I at this moment recollected that the person, who was with my deceiver, parted from him, just before he came up with me, and I already believed myself in the power of a woman, whose resentment I dreaded, yet dared not discover my fears. Every step I went forward, I believed hast­ened my misfortune; but I could not re­turn.

Having recourse to deception, I pur­posely turned my ancle, pretending the severity of pain prevented my walking, and setting down by the side of a fence, un­buckled my shoe, and feigned great distress. In this situation I remained near half an hour, when the distant sound of a carriage, encouraged the hope of relief. On com­ing opposite to me, it stopped, and my gallant was called by a whistle. The cer­tainty of my fate, occasioned an agitation which almost deprived me of senses. I screamed as they raised me up to hurry me into the coach. At this instant Mr. Lee arrived to my deliverance. The villains precipitately retreated. I called for Lu­cretia. [Page 120] Convey me to my friend, said I. Mr. Lee endeavoured to compose me, as­suring me I was safe; and that Mrs. Wil­kins, upon missing me, had stopped at the house of a doctor May, where she remain­ed waiting for me. My impatience to meet her, hurried me beyond my strength, and when I reached the doctor's, I was for a considerable time senseless, one fainting fit rapidly succeeding another. The applications of my friends finally composed my spirits, and recovering, I found Lucretia sitting at my side, supporting my head up­on her shoulder. "I have been an equal sharer with you, my dear," said she, "What have I not anticipated! Language is in­adequate to the feelings of my heart; but Caroline is again restored."

The doctor and Mr. Lee, paid us every possible attention. They urged us to tar­ry till morning; but we insisting upon going home, they procured a carriage and accompanied us. When we reached the door of Mrs. Wilkins, the clock struck one; the girl who came to the door appear­ed alarmed. Distressed with our adventure, and alive to apprehensions, we could not [Page 121] support the idea of being left without a pro­tector; and having no man in the house, solicited Mr. Lee to take a bed. The doc­tor took his leave, promising to call upon us the next day. This incident deprived us of sleep. My heart was filled with grati­tude, for my repeated escapes; and the tear of sensibility, which moistened the cheek of Lucretia, gave me new proof of her friendship.

In the morning, agreeably to promise, Doctor May called upon us. You can better judge, than I express, my astonish­ment, when upon his entering the room, I discovered the countenance of a man, whose character has been the most aban­doned. I recoiled at the remembrance of his vices. These were strongly impressed upon my mind, from his having been too successful in the ruin of a particular friend in Philadelphia. To elude the resentment of her friends he absconded; and changing his name, putting on a wig, and wearing a large patch over one eve, practiced phy­sic, as I afterwards found, in this place. But at this moment it was necessary to com­mand my feelings. His visit was painful; [Page 122] I resolved, however, not hastily to expose his character; but to inform myself if he was respected at Havre-de-Grace, hoping he had become a good member of society. Upon questioning Fanny, I found he was yet thought a very great libertine, and shunned by the virtuous of the fair sex. I now believed it my duty to caution Mrs. Wilkins, and urged her giving orders to the servant, should he call again, to tell him we were out.

The story now circulated abroad; and our friends, advised to advertising a re­ward for the discovery of the villains; but expecting Mr. Wilkins in a few days, we concluded to wait his return, and govern ourselves by his advice. I cannot recal my preservation to mind, without bedew­ing the altar of gratitude with tears; and my heart continually expands in ejacula­tions to heaven. May the watchful eye of Providence, still preserve me, and render futile the plans of the enraged Eliza.

LETTER XX.

MY situation is truly distressing. A favourite child of wretchedness, with the additional affliction of having involved my dear, my loved Lucretia. How shall I support the painful idea, or be sufficient­ly composed to recite the unhappy story. The balm prepared by the lenient hand of friendship, is inadequate to the design; and even virtue's angel form, cannot shield me from poignant sufferings. To be the cause of rendering Lucretia unhappy, is a reflection I cannot sustain. The return of Mr. Wilkins, which in anticipation afford­ed superiour pleasure, like all the enjoy­ments of human life was soon allayed. A momentary gratification was succeeded by a distress, which enfeebles description. The satisfaction which beamed from our countenances upon his first arrival, was soon dispelled by pensive care, and destroy­ed by gloomy anxiety. His inquiries af­ter our health in his absence, naturally led [Page 124] us to relate the incident, which had inter­rupted our pleasures. No sooner was he acquainted with the circumstances, than an alarming change of countenance cloud­ed his brow. The smile of tranquillity re­tired; an unusual austerity governed every feature of his face. Whence this transi­tion proceeded, I was at a loss to deter­mine. Thinking him fatigued, and per­haps unsuccessful in business, I retired early to bed, hoping in the morning to find him in better spirits. The next day the same unpleasant look, increased my apprehensions. At breakfast, he was silent. I observed Lucretia frequently cast her eyes upon him, which instantly glistened with tears. My heart caught the conta­gion; but knowing his unpleasant temper, I concluded some trivial circumstance had soured his mind, and having made it a rule not to notice his resentments, I asked no questions. As soon as breakfast was over he took his hat and walked out. Mrs. Wilkins appearing uncommonly depressed, I requested she would relieve my mind by evolving the cause of her anxiety. At this request she burst into a flood of tears, [Page 125] which for some minutes prevented a reply. At length having overcome, in a degree, the pang of unutterable wretchedness, by an exertion, she replied, "Jealousy, that bane to domestic pleasure, has taken post at every avenue of Mr. Wilkins's heart. Our innocent but unfortunate visit to Mrs. Drayton, has cast a veil over present en­joyments, and unless soon removed, may terminate in most destructive consequen­ces. I have used every argument in my power, to calm his mind; but these are devoid of efficacy, while the eye of reason is blinded by passion. The relation you gave him of your escape, he says, is a cor­roborating proof of guilt. To be indebt­ed to such characters as Doctor May, and Mr. Lee, is at once to be criminal. Nev­er was confidence in a wife so betrayed; never a woman so deceitful. To be at the house of so dissolute a character, and gallanted by such debauched rakes, and from a feigned fear, detaining one to pass the night, evinces a guilt which can never be pardoned. The story respecting Caro­line is premeditated; he will not be de­ceived. Little did he think, the letter he [Page 126] received at Baltimore had such good foun­dation." The letter! I exclaimed. I re­gret that your pleasures should be in­terrupted by any plans against me. Had I known this circumstance, previous to Mr. Wilkins's going out, he should not have left us, until, if possible, I had re­moved from his mind, ideas so destructive to your peace; be assured I shall exert myself to sooth his present suspicions.

With the most solicitous impatience, we waited his return to dinner. An hour after his usual time had elapsed, we sent to the store. Mr. Wilkins was not to be found. The day was tedious; Lucretia and myself were pensile, between hope and fear. We doubted not, however, that evening would restore him to our wishes. In this we were alike deceived. Distant from friends in whose advice we could con­fide, we knew not what steps to adopt. I could not prevail upon Mrs. Wilkins to go to bed. A contrariety of sensations employed our minds; and a train of sub­sequent misfortunes, presented to view. Every approaching step flattered a mo­mentary hope. Those alone who are ac­quainted [Page 127] with similar sorrows, could in any degree realize our distress. In this truly wretched situation, we passed several days.

Lucretia, though possessing a singular benevolence and sweetness of mind, was little short of distracted. We could get no information of Mr. Wilkins. A week having elapsed in fruitless inquiries, I ad­vised her to address her papa, acquainting him with the unhappy event; but her agi­tation was too great; she could not com­pose herself, and requested I would under­take the painful task. I accordingly for­warded him a circumstantial account. Never did I so essentially experience the want of your presence, as at this moment. The thick clouds of adversity suspend every ray of pleasure, but that which re­sults from an approving conscience, and the alleviating society of Fanny.

It would be impossible to support my­self, deprived of Maria, under my present afflictions, if I was not blest with this dear girl. Dejection is strongly depictured upon the countenance of Lucretia, and her mind is wandering; grief preys upon her.

[Page 128]Strange, that a sudden suspicion should carry Mr. Wilkins to such lengths in resent­ment. Called to support this unhappy woman, with a heart replete with distress, I am inadequate to my duty.

LETTER XXI.

OH! my friend, (for by that sacred name I will fondly salute Maria,) could I take you by the hand and lead you to the chamber of Lucretia, the scene would excite your tenderest pity, and your heart bleed for her distress.

Confined to her bed; her intervals of reason transient; her countenance wild and ghastly. The sight is too affecting: But such is my friend, and such the object which calls my whole attention. Fanny has been with me several days, and prom­ises not to leave me.

I was sitting one evening upon the bed­side of Lucretia, wiping the dewy cheek, and endeavouring to arouse her despond­ency, when the doctor and his pupil enter­ed the chamber. He inquired her situa­tion; and, leaving some new prescriptions, withdrew. As Fanny was in the room, I followed him, wishing to know his mind with regard to Mrs. Wilkins, being greatly [Page 130] alarmed at his unexpected visit, as he had been with her in the afternoon. Observing my anxiety, the good old gentleman at once assured me, "His visit was not from any apprehensions of immediate danger; for so long as a fever could be retarded, there was great encouragement:" And taking me by the hand, "It was to you my visit was intended. An accidental discovery alarms me for your safety. Your recent adventure has been a general subject of conversation. Since I was with you, in the course of my visits, entering cautious­ly the house of a patient, who lies extremely ill, I overheard the servants intimate, the per­son Mrs. Wilkins has in her service, is not of the sex her habit denotes, but a man, placed in that capacity, the more effectually to complete your ruin; and that he ad­dressed a letter to Mr. Wilkins, while at Baltimore, giving such accounts, as, coin­ciding with your story, excited that jeal­ousy, which occasioned him to abscond. I therefore propose, that this young gentle­man, under the pretence of Mrs. Wilkins's danger, tarry with you to night, and in the [Page 131] morning that you remove to some place bet­ter calculated for your safety and happiness."

Cast into the utmost astonishment by the unexpected intelligence, the little fortitude I had flattered myself I possessed, was long incapable of composing my mind; nor could I articulate my thanks for his friend­ship. The doctor now promised to see me early in the morning, and to afford me every possible assistance; and request­ing Mr. Gilet not to leave the house until he came, took his leave. How indefatiga­ble is Eliza in resentment; and by what unexpected events, does the Deity disclose the combinations of the wicked.

Fanny, uneasy at my unusual absence from Lucretia, came softly down stairs and entered the parlour unperceived by me, as I sat leaning my arm upon the table, hold­ing my handkerchief at my eyes; she came towards me, and grasping my hand, with the warmest expression of solicitude, "Caroline," said she, "let me share in your affliction; impart your distress; acquaint me what new circumstance allays your hap­piness." I could not speak. Mr. Gilet stepping to the door, pushed it too, and [Page 132] returning to her, said, "A suspicion oc­casions the present thoughtfulness of your friend." "It must," replied she, "be a well grounded suspicion, thus to overcome her fortitude." He then related the circum­stance.

Duty to the distracted Lucretia, called for my resolution, and I studied to con­quer the exquisite sensations of my breast; but my reflections were doubly painful, from the insupportable idea of being the innocent cause of her sufferings. Fanny prevailed upon me to dissipate my tears; and resuming as composed a countenance, as I possibly could, I returned to Lucretia. The anodyne she had taken having produc­ed a sleep, she did not notice our entering the chamber. The night was tedious. The hours seemed uncommonly retarded; I was impatient for the return of day; sleep was a stranger, and my heart familiar with sorrow. Early in the morning, the doctor was with us, and advised my send­ing for the partner of Mr. Wilkins; re­signing to his care, the keys, &c. and go­ing himself to Mrs. Gardiner's, engaged a room for Lucretia. He then sent his car­riage [Page 133] to convey us to our old lodgings. We at first found it difficult to prevail upon her to get up and be dressed; but fortu­nately in her greatest paroxisms of dejec­tion, I had not lost my influence; and she finally submitted to my persuasions. Hav­ing got her in the coach, melancholy so veiled her ideas, that she appeared entire­ly inattentive; and when we reached Mrs. Gardner's, she suffered us to take her out of the carriage and carry her up stairs, without any opposition; and from this distressing state of depression and insensi­bility, no exertions can renovate this un­happy woman. When I take the retro­spect, how severe my reflections! The thought that Lucretia, the innocent, the amiable Lucretia, should by me be thus involved in distress, strikes daggers to my heart. The idea is fraught with extreme wretchedness. Let the cordial of your friendship, be poured into the wounded bosom of

LETTER XXII.

IN this my distressed situation, how do I wish your much loved society, to beguile my grief. Fanny, possessed of feelings which render her valuable to the children of misfortune, is unwearied in her endeavours to alleviate my misery. The soft voice of her friendship, excites many grateful reflections, in the woe-fraught mind of real sorrow: She unites with me her attention in restoring tran­quillity to the distracted breast of my dear Lucretia.

My so suddenly quitting the house of Mr. Wilkins, prevented the execution of any plans, which the malice of our ene­mies had suggested against us. Worlds would not have prevailed upon me, to have remained there, after the information I had received. To think we were calling upon a man! and a man by interest an enemy to my peace, I recoil at the idea.

[Page 135]Since we have been at Mrs. Gardner's, Lucretia has, at intervals, been a little more composed. She once asked me, why I removed her from her own house? I replied, to cheer her spirits. "You are kind, Caroline," said she, "but that is impossible; my situation is worse than death. To suf­fer innocently is indeed hard." This is the most connected conversation I have had with her, since the week after the unhap­py event took place.

By the next post, I expect to hear from New-York. In this period of my afflic­tion, fail not to pray for the support of your friend. The source of my sufferings is uncommon; and new plans of destruc­tion yet await me. To suffer thus in a state of seeming banishment, racks my health, and shatters my resolution. But the tears I shed are not barbed with guilt. This consolation enables me to attend my distressed friend. When I consider how much our characters, and happiness, is in the power of those around us, I shudder at every step I take. Our sex, are indeed peculiarly exposed to the ill-natured remarks of a censorious world. Possessing, [Page 136] in general, great vivacity, we are led into many little errors, which although they cannot be called errors of the heart, too frequently shade our virtues; nor will the plea of youth, be sufficient to ward off the stigma of imprudence. When I consider our critical situation, and the many deli­cate points upon which our reputation is established, I tremble for the honour of my sex.

My mind has been filled with conjec­tures, respecting the deception imposed upon us, by the servant Mrs. Wilkins had hired. Is this by the artifice of Eliza? How much should I dread her resentment! I am indeed alive to fear. Can there, Maria, be a female, so devoid of every requisite, to render her attractive? I hesi­tate, to believe there is such a character! Yet what disagreeable truths, does our in­creasing knowledge of human nature un­fold upon us. It is too frequently the case, that characters, to a cursory observer, en­dowed with all the virtues requisite for so­cial happiness, upon an intimate or close examination, lose those striking traits, and assume a contrary appearance, from [Page 137] the varied situations in which they are placed. How opposite is the rash, impru­dent conduct of Mr. Wilkins, to that calm reflection, that seeming fortitude and pru­dence, which at my first acquaintance with him, I believed marked his character. These were only the shadow of those vir­tues, the real possession of which constitutes the happiness of man. Had Mr. Wilkins nursed these virtues, they would not have abandoned his breast, at the first throb of jealousy, nor have suffered the baleful breath of slander to force him from a de­serving wife, before he had determined up­on a just cause of impeachment. Jealousy is a characteristic of ignorance. When it becomes an inhabitant of the heart, it turns out reason, affection is banished, and every tender sensation lies dormant. Yes my dear, even love, that sun of the domestic soul, is clouded with the black shades of suspicion. If possible, I must erase, the killing recollection of Lucretia's sufferings. Thanks be to heaven, she is at this moment a little composed. I will endeavour to amuse her.

LETTER XXIII.

WHEN I finished my last, I flattered myself Lucretia was better. But this, my dear, was a false hope. On my endeavouring to divert her, I found her more confused than I had imagined. Her replies to my questions greatly uncon­nected; her eyes uncommonly wild, and her countenance suffused with a crimson colour. I immediately sent for the doctor, who assured me a fever had set in. Blisters were applied to her neck and arms, and every possible [...] shewn her by this good, this [...]. I have made every exertion to obtain information of Mr. Wilkins; but to no purpose. Greatly am I alarmed for my friend.— [...] cause of her sufferings!— [...] destroys my resolution.—It is impossible I should ever make compensation, for the misery I have occasioned.

LETTER XXIV.

THE incidents through which I have passed, would melt an heart of ada­mant to pity. Mr. Barton arrived the day before yesterday; but has been too absorb­ed in grief, to adopt any measures for the discovery of Mr. Wilkins. I have been unable to prevail upon him to leave the chamber of Lucretia for a single moment.

Mr. Barton has sent for the partner of Mr. Wilkins. I flatter myself some infor­mation will be obtained from this inter­view. Could I have a short conversation with Mr. Wilkins, I am certain, he would be convinced of Lucretia's innocence. This effected, a thousand daggers, which rankle in my breast, would be removed. Forget not to petition for your friend.

P. S. As my letter is not sealed, I will add, Mr. Watson has called upon Mr. Barton, He acknowledges he is acquaint­ed with Mr. Wilkins's residence; but in honour cannot divulge it. I believe him to be warmly interested in our distress. He assures Mr. Barton, his influence shall be exerted in behalf of Mrs. Wilkins. He advises her father immediately to write him, and offers to dispatch the letter by a special messenger. But my Lucre­tia's griefs, I fear, are beyond a cure; and the arrows of her misfortune rebound with redoubled force upon the breast of Caro­line. Once more, Adieu.

LETTER XXV.

RELIGION and philosophy af­ford me your united aid; strengthen and sustain me in this complicated affliction. Lucretia's fever is violent. Let one gleam of hope dart upon my mind, and, if possi­ble, remove my present excruciating dis­tress, or I shall be incapable of attending this unhappy woman. Hitherto every bud of hope has been destroyed, ere the fragrant foliage opened its aromatic charms; and my fondest expectations have been blasted. But infinite wisdom directs all events. Fanny, the charming Fanny, with what tender sympathy she affords me her assist­ance. With what impatience and anxiety does she watch the bed of Lucretia.

Mr. Barton is now writing to Mr. Wil­kins; he is, however, too distressed to do justice to this tale of woe.

I can spare only a few minutes at a time from this dear woman. Excuse the confu­sion [Page 142] of my letter, and let my afflictions apologize for my errors.

P. S. Since I wrote the above, Mr. Bar­ton sent for me into his chamber, and hand­ing me the letter he had written to Mr. Wilkins, requested I would read it. The inclosed is a copy.

LETTER XXVI.

LUCRETIA, my loved Lucretia, is now no more: But an inconsolable parent calls my whole attention. For seven nights I never left her chamber. Fanny, myself, and the nurse, alternately watched at her bed-side, and the greatest part of this time, Mr. Barton could not be persuaded to re­tire.

Mrs. Wilkins, never once discovered the least recollection of either of us, since the day previous to her father's arrival, until a few minutes before her dissolution. This was an additional affliction. Frequently would Mr. Barton seize her hand, and pres­sing it to his lips, exclaim, "Give me but one sweet word of consolation—how bitter my cup of affliction!"

A few hours after the letter Mr. Barton had wrote Mr. Wilkins, was sent on, by ex­press, I found a great alteration had tak­en place in Lucretia.

[Page 145]It being near the usual time her physi­cian attended her, I waited with the utmost impatience, nor dared to communicate my fears to her father.

The doctor soon entered the chamber— I watched his looks, I dreaded the decision. But the anxiety of a sincere attachment, easily leads us from one extreme to anoth­er, and I flattered myself, from an expres­sion he dropt, I had anticipated the worst. This feeble dawn of hope, was only the pleasing offspring of the moment, which was soon destroyed, and gave birth to feel­ings inexpressibly distressing. Approach­ing the bed I had just left, to make room for the doctor, I begged him by no means to deceive me, in regard to the situation of my friend. "Every prospect," said he, "of recovery is lost, and death, that friend to human wretchedness, will soon seal her misery." At this moment, Mr. Barton en­tered the chamber, having been in an ad­joining room, to obtain, if possible, a little sleep; these distressing words vibrated up­on his ears, as he opened the door; he flew to the bed, and seizing the cold hand of the expiring Lucretia, declared, "By all the [Page 146] agonies which now torture my lovely daugh­ter, by the poignant sufferings of a parent's breast, I swear, never to suppress my resent­ment, until this arm shall sacrifice the villain who has thus undone me." Then hesitating, he turned to the doctor, "Why," said he, "am I deprived of every hope?" The mournful voice of an afflicted father, at this instant raised the languid eye of his lovely daughter; and giving him an ex­pressive look, "My sufferings," said she, "are nearly closed. Caroline, I entreat you, attest my innocence. My father too! are you a witness of the scene? My loved, my much loved parent, believe your daughter what she ever was; believe her innocent. I have only one wish ungratifi­ed." "What is that, my darling child?" said Mr. Barton, "I am all impatience; pray tell your anxious parent?" "To make Mr. Wilkins sensible of the purity of my mind, of the rectitude of my actions, to seal his reconciliation, with the warm kiss of forgiveness, and quit the world re­signed." She was now exhausted. Her father pressed her hand to his lips—at the instant she expired; lisping in broken ac­cents, [Page 147] "Oh my father, your blessing, I know, attends me. Let your parental re­gards, protect Caroline."

At this gloomy crisis, every turbulent emotion of despair, distracted Mr. Barton's mind. "Inhuman Wilkins," said he, "re­venge shall be mine. With what pangs have you imbittered my life!" At times he stood motionless, with eyes rivetted up­on the breathless body. The doctor en­deavoured to prevail upon him, to with­draw. "And will you," said he, "tear me from all I hold dear? She is my child, my only child; you shall not take me from her."

Mr. Barton remained in the chamber near three hours. Finding him unwilling to leave it, I attempted to retire. "And will you quit a distressed parent?" said he, "Remember you are my adopted daughter. Lucretia bade me love you." Earnestly as I wished to withdraw, and much as I need­ed the consoling language of friendship to assuage my sufferings, my duty compelled me to afford every attention, to the incon­solable Mr. Barton. But all I urged, yielded him no relief.

[Page 148]To be conversant with such affliction is too much for my susceptibility, even if I had no share in the calamity. The con­nexion I have in it, adds to my wretched­ness. But while destined to sorrow, may lenient resignation with the lustre of a noonday sun, dawn upon my mind her peaceful radiance, and dissipate repining thoughts.

LETTER XXVII.

SUCH an ebon shade obscures my happiness, and so great is the vacuum in my heart, that I am at a loss how to ad­dress my dear Maria. To part with our friends, how severe the task! Language how feeble, when used to express acute sensations! But you need not the repeti­tion of my exigencies to attune your breast to pity. The dew of friendship frequent­ly moistens your cheek, on the recollection of my sufferings▪ I thank you for this pleasing characteristic of humanity; let it not insensibly deprive you of your pleas­ures.

It is impossible to calm Mr. Barton. Bereft of Lucretia—deprived of his all, he refuses to be comforted. Having never experienced the meliorating influence of that religion, which exhilarates the chris­tian, and enables him to sustain afflictions; he is without that comfort, which can only be derived from its blessed truths.

[Page 150]Mr. Wilkins's arrival, I anticipate with the most lively distress. The style in which Mr. Barton addressed him, was not conso­nant to my feelings. Human nature is more frequently brought to a sense of its errors, by the mild voice of persuasion, than the harsh language of resentment. I fear Mr. Barton will never be sufficiently composed, to treat him with propriety. I cannot prevail upon him to eat, or sleep. His constant cry is, "Bring me that mon­ster Wilkins; that scandal to humanity." I dread each distant step, least it should prove the messenger of his arrival. Twice, since yesterday, he has locked himself in the chamber of Lucretia; and for more than an hour refused me admittance. My whole attention is confined to him.

The brow of your friend, long contract­ed with sorrow, is now marked with inex­pressible dejection. Since I wrote you yesterday, such additional distresses have enveloped me, as even the warm imagina­tion of Maria, cannot paint.

For the first time since Lucretia's death, I had prevailed upon Mr. Barton, to throw [Page 151] himself upon the bed, in hopes a little sleep would better enable him to pay the last respects to the memory of his unfor­tunate daughter, who was in the afternoon to be entombed. A melancholy stillness, encouraged my gloemy reflections. I was feeding upon the remembrance of Lucre­tia's sufferings, when a sudden noise arous­ed me from my reverie. My foreboding heart, instantly suggested the fatal truth. So great was my agitation, it deprived me of my strength. I had not power to rise from my seat. In a few minutes, I heard the voice of Mr. Wilkins upon the stairs. "Insupportable is my situation!" said he, "Arrived too late? Lucretia gone!" At the sound of this much loved name, Mr. Barton started from the bed, and flying to the door, uttered, as he went out, "Vengeance shall be mine!" I faint­ed. When I came to myself, I was on the bed; Fanny was bathing my temples; Mrs. Gardner and the girls were in the room; I inquired for Mr. Barton; they replied, he was in the next chamber; I re­quested, he might be called; they evaded a compliance. Suspicious of new diffi­culties, [Page 152] I arose, and going towards the door, was prevented, by Fanny, from opening it. "Stop, my dear," said she, "Mr. Barton will be with you in a few minutes." I will not be detained, said I, and pressing by her, hurried down stairs; and entering the parlour, found Mr. Bar­ton reclining in an arm chair. He took no notice of me. Going up to him, and seizing his hand, I entreat you, said I, to let me know the worst. Where is Mr. Wil­kins? This name aroused him. "The villain, the monster," replied he, "who, in a fit of jealousy, murdered my only child, is now, I hope, no more. Think not an injured parent could forgive his cruelty. When I heard his voice, I seiz­ed the pistol, previously loaded and con­cealed in my bosom; and as he was enter­ing the chamber, which contains the sacred remains of my departed angel, I shot him through the head; and locking the door, ordered the hated object from my sight" The tears of affliction, now mingled with those of fear, rolling plentifully from my eyes, deprived me of expression. Mrs. Gardner coming into the room, I left her [Page 153] with Mr. Barton; and going unexpected­ly to Fanny, found her absorbed in trou­ble. My dear, said I, Mr. Barton tells me he has shot Mr. Wilkins through the head. Is he really dead? "No," replied she, "the ball having entered his right shoul­der is thought to have taken a very dan­gerous direction; but he yet lives." Is he sensible? said I. I will hasten to him; let a servant be dispatched to know. Scarce had I done speaking, before Mrs. Gardner called us. We hastened to her. Mr. Barton was in a fit. With great dif­ficulty they got him up stairs. The doctor was sent for. The fits rapidly increased and I was prevented from attending the funeral of Lucretia. Judge my feelings, when the solemn knell vibrated upon my ears, which hurried from my view, forev­er, the sincere friend of my youth, at the moment her affectionate father was groan­ing with severe pain. Anxious to con­vince Mr. Wilkins of the innocence of his wife, I was impatient to be with him, that I might improve the first interval of his rea­son; but duty detained me with Mr. Bar­ton. I am deprived of every pleasing [Page 154] prospect. She, who once enlivened the days of childhood, who grew up the partic­ipator of my joys and sorrows, has fled; and by the most painful recollections, I am reminded she once lived. How fragile the objects upon which we do [...]. But I will embalm her memory in the bosom of friendship. And when time imperceptibly shall have soothed my sorrows, I shall ex­perience a luxury in the retrospect of her virtues, which will be more aromatic to my taste, than all the spicery of an Egyp­tian soil.

LETTER XXVIII.

Mr. Barton's fits have subsided —they have left him extremely weak—he says but little—when he speaks, it is of Lu­cretia. I sent this morning to inquire af­ter Mr. Wilkins—the servant brought word, he was senseless. Jealousy, thou bane to human happiness, thou destroyer of all my pleasures! How hast thou sub­verted every fancied gratification! Had it not been for this fatal passion, Eliza would not have pursued me with her resentment, nor Lucretia and Mr. Wilkins been thus wretched.

Fanny tells me it is generally believed, the servant Mrs. Wilkins had in her house, was a man who had formerly lived with Eliza's parents; I suspect the letter Mr. Wilkins received at Baltimore, was from him. That it was a man we had engaged in our service, several circumstances tend to prove; but none more, than his imme­diate flight. Many stories circulating in [Page 156] this place detrimental to our characters, upon being traced, we find originated with him; yet, false as they are, it will be diffi­cult to remove prejudices. There are some ideas, which, if once entertained of a cha­racter, are ever after believed. This ob­servation is too generally true, as it regards female reputation. A striking trait of hu­man depravity! But a chain of unfortu­nate events has hastened our ruin. Our visit to Mrs. Drayton has been attended with extreme distress. Repeating the un­fortunate story to Mr. Wilkins, from its being connected with those loose characters to whom we were indebted, gave us an ap­pearance of guilt. Let us deduce a moral from the misfortune, and from hence learn, not rashly to condemn; for although ap­pearances may bespeak guilt, full confidence is not always to be placed upon them. Appearances can seldom be the standard of determining the truth, while deception conceals the motives from which we act. I am called to Mr. Barton.

I am unfit to write, yet fly to my pen, for a mitigation to my harrassed mind.

[Page 157]Mr. Barton has been questioning me respecting the funeral of Lucretia—he for­bids Mr. Wilkins should be laid at her side; I dare not tell him he yet lives. The depression of this unhappy man increases. "I shall soon be with my dear Lucretia," said he, "her lovely image clings to my soul —I fancy her in some bright star, decorat­ing the expanse of heaven."—I long to remove from this place, to quit objects, which continually remind me of my loss— not because I do not wish to nourish every recollection of her virtues. To regard these, shall be one of the most pleasing em­ployments of my life, but the immediate circumstances of her sufferings, I wish to erase from memory. The warm participa­tions you express for me, produce the most grateful sensations in the tortured bosom of

LETTER XXIX.

NOTWITHSTANDING my wish to submit to the dispensations of Prov­idence, with such rapidity do unfor­tunate circumstances crowd▪ upon me, that I am frequently ready to relin­quish every cherished idea of resignation. Affliction has a penetrating power, it search­es the inmost recesses of the heart, and ev­ery revolving day ushers upon me new dis­tress.

This morning I was suddenly awakened by the nurse at my bed-side. For heaven's sake, said I, what now awaits me—is Mr. Barton worse? "Mr. Barton, Madam," re­plied she, "is dead." Shocked at this sudden information, I sprang out of bed, and slip­ping on my clothes, ran into his chamber; the nurse followed. "I went to him," said she, "to inquire if he wished for any thing to take; he appearing to be asleep, and easier than I had before observed him, I [Page 159] put my ear, near his mouth, and after list­ening some minutes, could not perceive that he drew his breath; alarmed at this, I laid my hand upon his forehead, which instantly convinced me he was dead." Pray nurse, said I, call Mrs. Gardner; and flinging myself into a chair, received a mo­mentary relief from a friendly flood of tears. The family were soon with me. Unmind­ful of my situation, I still sat weeping, even after all the boarders had assembled in the room. In the moments of keen afflic­tion, etiquette and propriety are frequently forgot. Mrs. Gardner and the girls were also surprised, they were as inattentive as myself; in short, the most painful confu­sion prevailed, when two young gentle­men, who had, I believe, just entered the chamber, came to me, and entreated me to retire; remaining with the object, they said, would only irritate my feelings, and assuring me they would pay every possible attention to my friend, directed the nurse to assist me in returning to my chamber, and by a hint to the other gentleman, got them down stairs, that I might have an op­portunity to pass. When I entered my [Page 160] room, I threw myself upon the bed, and gave fresh vent to my tears. In a few min­utes Fanny came into my chamber, with a bowl of tea, which she urged me to drink.

Capt. Clark and Capt. Green, she said, had sent for the doctor, and begged I would command their services. After complying with her request, she assisted me in dressing. The doctor now arrived, and I found, by Mrs. Gardner, had pronounced Mr. Bar­ton's death occasioned by poison. Upon examining the body, it was extremely swelled; and their moving it, soon made him an object unfit for sight. The doctor thinking he might burst in a few hours, ad­vised to his being immediately put into the coffin.

At this dreadful crisis, my reason seem­ed dormant. I was incapable of doing my duty; and had it not been for those young gentlemen to whom I am peculiarly in­debted, though entirely unknown, I should have been ignorant of every step necessary for me to pursue upon the oc­casion, and still more deeply involved Mr. Barton's character in disgrace, by adding suicide to murder. It had been given out [Page 161] by the family, that Mr. Barton had made his escape immediately upon firing at Mr. Wilkins; and this report concealed him from the hands of justice. The circum­stances of his death, it was likewise neces­sary to secrete. His having been danger­ously ill, favoured the idea of a natural dissolution. After they had removed him into his coffin, a bottle of arsenic was found under his pillow, which confirmed the suspicion. Fanny, like a guardian an­gel, never leaves me. Capt. Clark, she says, ordered every thing belonging to Mr. Barton, to be locked up, and has taken care of the keys, until I shall be able to at­tend to them. He begs me to consider him as a brother, and assures me his heart is alive to my distress. How does the Deity raise up new friends, when he deprives us of the support of those with which we had been favoured!

Capt. Clark, although a stranger to me, evinces so much sincerity, that I can do no less than accept his friendly offers. Perhaps you may think me ignorant of the deception of the human heart; but I have suffered too severely, not to have learnt a [Page 162] lesson from such repeated afflictions. I shall relinquish the direction of every thing to him. The family have been very attentive to me; Fanny I shall ever love. They unite in urging me to join them below. I am sensible indulgence of grief destroys the health; but have been so confined to a sick chamber since I have been here, that I am a stranger to all the boarders; I can­not, however, refuse, without giving them offence.

Mr. Wilkins has lain several days, in such a situation; every hour has been ex­pected would be his last. Could one in­terval of reason be allowed him, eagerly would I hasten to his gloomy chamber, and acquaint him with the last fond expres­sion of my dear Lucretia. This would ease the pang of dissolving nature. My narration is so painful, I am at times dis­posed to cease the recital.

LETTER XXX.

THE distance which separates me from Maria, and my connexions, has been an additional affliction to me. Yet this misfortune has been greatly alleviated by the lenient balm of Fanny's friendship, and the brotherly attention and tenderness of Capt. Clark, who has taken every pain­ful task from my hands. My heart is fraught with gratitude to heaven for such peculiar blessings. Mr. Barton was pri­vately buried by the side of his daughter, the evening succeeding his death.

What an affecting story, is that of Caro­line! and how much is a jealous temper to be avoided! Had Mr. Wilkins con­ducted with prudence, we might still have been happy. But one rash step has suc­ceeded another, until it has ended in a mur­der and suicide. These events, however, [Page 164] although beyond our investigation, could not have taken place, without divine per­mission.

From Mr. Wilkins's continuing for sev­eral days beyond the expectations of his physicians, I cannot but flatter myself he may yet recover. Nothing should have prevented my attendance upon him, since Mr. Barton's death, but my own ill health. The bloom which once decorated my cheek has fled, and the eye of your friend, re­markable for vivacity, now bespeaks her grief. How vain and illusory are our gratifications in life. Mr. Wilkins has not been blest with one interval of reason, since the unhappy event; and as I can render him no essential service, Capt. Clark impresses it upon me as a duty, to keep from a scene which would give such an additional poignancy to my sufferings. May Maria ever be protected from such complicated distresses, as involve

LETTER XXXI.

LAST night, the unhappy Wil­kins expired! Hastened into eternity without a thought suitable for the solemn event! How unprepared must he be, to meet that Judge, at whose tribunal he now appears! I have urged Capt. Clark to attend me to the breathless body, that I may take my last, my final leave of the unfortunate scene. He pleads the impro­priety, and will not consent to accompany me. Can it be more distressing, than the colourings of my imagination? If it is, I am confident I could not stand it.

Mr. Wilkins having no connexions in this place to delay the funeral, being orig­inally from North-Carolina, was inter­red the day after his death. I suspect this was by desire of Capt. Clark, in hopes of alleviating my distress.

[Page 166]This morning, opening my bureau, I saw a letter I had received, when Mr. Bar­ton lay dead, and knowing the hand writ­ing to be my aunt Noble's, had put it in this place, till more disposed to peruse it. Upon breaking the seal, I was agreeably surprised to find enclosed, a letter from Capt. Evremont. He desires to be remem­bered to all my friends. This surely in­cludes my affectionate Maria.

LETTER XXXII.

SO long have I been accustomed to hope and fear, it is difficult to divest myself of anxiety and care. I still feel, as if some object demanded my particular attention. I walk to the chamber of Lu­cretia, and enter the door, before I recol­lect she is gone, beyond the reach of my friendship. Disposed to indulge my mel­ancholy sensations, I retire to my own apartment; but the assiduity of Fa [...] ever prevents me from gratifying a dispo­sition so injurious to my health. She, in a language dictated by an exalted friendship, prevails upon me to join the family below, who unitedly exert themselves to dispel my gloom. Those two gentlemen I have previously mentioned, appear desirous to amuse me: They are, I find, officers in the second United States regiment, and profess a strong friendship for each other. Capt. Clark requests me to view his friend, [Page 168] "As my friend and brother. He has, Madam," continued he, "tasted of the cup of misfortune; but his mind is supe­rior to every dishonourable idea, and you will ever find him ready to advise and pro­tect your character and happiness.

This naturally led me to make some in­quiries respecting him. "I am gratified," said, Captain Clark, "at your inclination, to become acquainted with his history. His parents reside at Halifax, and are people of interest and character. At the commence­ment of the contest, between Great Britain and America, a spirit of liberty thrilled in his breast: He viewed the measures pursu­ed against the Colonies, as tending to de­prive them of their privileges; and relin­quishing every fond attachment, quitted his native country, that he might raise his war­like arm, in defence of injured freedom; and taking passage for Nantucket, from thence he proceeded, by land, to the army, then stationed near Boston. His story gained him the confidence of the general officers, and he shortly received a commis­sion in the army, where he served to uni­versal satisfaction, till the close of the war. [Page 169] By his conduct, he gained the approba­tion of his superior officers, and the uni­form character of a brave man. His ab­senting himself from the government under which he lived, and accepting a commission from the Americans, enraged his connex­ions, and they totally discarded him. Thrown out of all employment, and de­prived of every expectation from his friends, he was left, at the close of the war, with many of his brother officers, destinate of a support; and has necessarily expe­rienced great difficulties. The sacrifices he made in behalf of these States at first procured him a commission; and his inva­riable bravery and coolness, now call him from private life, again to encounter the dangers of the field; and we are mutually engaged in enlisting troops for the West­ward."

This little history excited my particular attention. I began to be interested in his future fortune; for I freely acknowledge I was not so much pleased with his person or address, as I was with Captain Clark. Certain prepossessions ever attend a first interview, and we frequently suffer our­selves [Page 170] to be prejudiced only from appear­ance. Such determinations are, however, inconsistent with our better judgment. Many virtues lie concealed from cursory observation, which, on intimacy, pleasingly expand to view. Besides, there are a thousand little incidents which tend to bias the mind, and the female is soon partial to the attention of a pleasing character.

I shall remain in this place but a week or two longer. On my return to Phila­delphia, I flatter myself to hear more fre­quently from Maria.

LETTER XXXIII.

"A FRIEND," says Seneca, "may be taken away, but not the sweets of their friendship. As there is a sharpness in some fruits, and a bitterness in some wines which please; so there is a mixture in the remembrance of friends, where the loss of their company, is sweetened by the contemplation of their virtues." How pleasingly will this apply to Lucretia. The friendly hand of time, meliorates our af­flictions; it teaches us to view the painful separation of our friends, as the consum­mation of their happiness. Through this medium, we become reconciled; and while we mourn the loss we have sustain­ed, we rejoice, that the object of our af­fection is beyond the reach of anxiety and care. Their little foibles are obliterated from memory, or if we recal them to mind, [Page 172] sensible that human nature cannot attain perfection, we draw over them the veil of candour, and dwell only upon their virtues.

Scarce one night do I retire to rest, but my dreaming fancy presents my loved Lu­cretia. Frequently am I engaged with her in those amusements which once delighted her. In these pleasing deliriums, I forget she is an inhabitant of heaven, and converse with her as a mortal being. Nor does any circumstance tend more to demonstrate the immortality of the mind, than the excur­sions it frequently makes, while the body, to which it is annexed, lies in a state of in­sensibility. If we have a just estimation of the amazing powers with which the Deity has endowed the mind, we shall be lost in admiration, and with Doctor Young, exclaim—

[Page 173]Gracious Deity, impress this pleasing thought; and may it operate to virtuous pursuits. Abdiel has been permitted to pluck from the garden of life, an inviting flower, which had not long expanded its beauties. May this teach us the uncer­tainty of present blessings, and prepare us to attend his summons; then shall we join Lucretia in bliss.

LETTER XXXIV.

A FEW days since, I gave you a little history of my friend, Captain Green, and I make no doubt, but the heart of Maria, which is uniformly interested for the sons of affliction, experienced a pang, similar with my own.

If I was pleased with the attention of Captain Clark, at the moment of intro­duction, I am now doubly attached to him. With the most brotherly affec­tion, he anticipates my wishes, and aims to ward off every painful circum­stance; he has devoted himself to my ser­vice, and discharged all the bills occasion­ed by Mr. Barton's and Lucretia's sickness. He proposes Captain Green shall take the charge of the few men, they have enlisted here, that he may accompany me in the stage to Philadelphia.

[Page 175]Looking over the pocket book of Mr. Barton, I saw a letter directed to me, which, upon opening, I found contained a will, by the date discovered to have been written the day after Lucretia's death; in which, after bequeathing me a thousand pounds, he divides the residue of his estate between his only sister, a widow in the State of New-York, and her children; leaving the clothes he had with him, his watch, &c. &c. at my disposal. "In my pocket book," adds the will, "are bank bills to the amount of five hundred dol­lars, which will be more than sufficient to defray the expenses attendant upon Lucre­tia's, and my misfortunes; and whatever remains, I request Mrs. Gardner to accept."

He has appointed two particular friends in New-York, his executors. I gave the will into the hands of Captain Clark; who, after having it proved and registered here, enclosed and forwarded it, by the post, to New-York. The trunk contained only a few clothes; but being a very suitable one for travelling, I wished to present it to the Captain; yet hesitated at the pro­priety [Page 176] of the action; but observing he appeared much pleased with it, I handed him the key, begging he would oblige me, by calling that, and the contents, his own. He received this token of my friendship, with a grace peculiar to himself. There is an ease in the most trivial actions of his life, which discovers his education. But even the society of Captain Clark and his friend, with the addition of my dear Fanny, can­not erase from my mind those hours which are passed. No, Maria; retrospection car­ries me back to those happy days, when I sipped pleasure from the conversation of Lucretia. May heaven bless you.

LETTER XXXV.

FOR several days, having observ­ed a great depression upon the counte­nance of Fanny, I resolved, the first fa­vourable moment, to acquaint myself with the cause. Yesterday morning missing her from breakfast, I inquired of her mamma the reason: She informed me, her health had been very indifferent for some time; and that last night she had experienced an ill turn. As soon as I had breakfasted, I left the table, and going softly up stairs, cau­tiously opened the chamber door, and found her awake. Having made a few inquiries, I told her my apprehensions, and begged to know if any new circumstance had taken place to interrupt her happiness. If there has, said I, you must not keep me ignorant. "How benetrating is the eve of Caroline," [Page 178] replied she, "that I cannot conceal the secret sentiments of my heart. It is the necessities of Frederick, which render me thus wretched. Deprived of a handsome property by the casualties of trade, he finds it impossible to support a helpless family, without becoming more deeply involved in difficulties.

"A few weeks since, he received from an unknown hand, a sum sufficient to have discharged his little debts. This unfortu­nately was handed him when Charles was present. Frederick had long owed him a small debt, and his inflexible parsimony, would not suffer him to see a brother thus providentially relieved. He insisted that he should pay him a great part of what he had received, or he would immediately at­tach his furniture for the debt, and Fred­erick was obliged to submit.

Humanity, that emblem of an exalted mind, how foreign from a heart character­ized by the most sordid avarice! His stoic­al indifference to a suffering brother, de­bilitates my health; my pleasures sicken, and my eyes are filled with the briny dew of sorrow."

[Page 179]Fanny, said I, humanity, sympathy and benevolence, are darling virtues seldom found in the bosom of prosperity. If we abound in riches, we are placed above an experimental knowledge of those necessities which are inseparable to a state of poverty, and too often become inattentive observers of human misery. Riches have a con­taminating influence; they frequently pet­rify the finest feelings of the heart. It is not, my dear, in your power to change the disposition of Charles, nor must you suffer it to make you wretched. It is sometimes our duty to conquer our most exquisite feelings. Obtain from your brother the sum necessary for present re­lief, and if within my abilities, it will con­tribute to my happiness, to lessen his af­fliction. Saying this, I left the chamber. How unequal are the distributions of Providence! Some abound, while others want the daily supports of life. Give, most merciful Father, to the fortunate, feeling hearts, and may they aim to lessen human sufferings.

LETTER XXXVI.

WHEN I gave you a little his­tory of Captain Green, I was totally unac­quainted with that of Captain Clark, but have since found, from his friend, he is a native of Boston, where his connexions now reside; from what I can learn, I be­lieve him to be a deserving, experienced officer. The life of a soldier, his necessities have compelled him to adopt. I am ever cautious in my expressions respecting new friends, but the general behaviour of this gentleman, evinces a superiority of mind, which cannot fail to please. Be not jeal­ous, that my affections are diminished for Captain Evremont, when I declare I am pleased with the attentions of Captain Clark, and the friendship he expresses for me. I acknowledge to feel for him, a sis­terly affection. He is well acquainted [Page 181] with my engagements, and speaks of Captain Evremont in exalted terms. He served in the same regiment with him, the last war, and says, "He ever found him, a good soldier, and a valuable friend." A valuable friend! How much is implied, in this short, but comprehensive sentence! It vibrates pleasingly upon my heart. It re-echoes harmony to my soul.

Mrs. Gardner has consented that Fanny shall accompany me to Philadelphia. I cannot think of parting with her; and her ill health favours my request.

For several days past, I have been finessed into a temporary happiness, by the assiduity of my friends. I feel my obli­gations for this momentary forgetfulness of trouble. Their seasonably engaging my mind in conversation, was better cal­culated to relieve my distress, than any diversion I could have pursued. It is an indulgence in which I delight. It does not confine us to any particular theme; hence it can never cloy. By affording that variety consonant to the human mind, it long retains its powers of amusement.

[Page 182]I much suspect the poetic description of the golden age—for such is human nature, that a repetition of the same objects, palls the mind, and renders them insipid. We are continually impatient for some new event, and looking to a future period for gratification. Thus Caroline anticipates the pleasing moment, when the society of Maria, shall consummate one of her fond­est wishes.

LETTER XXXVII.

WHEN I last addressed you, I flattered myself my next letter would be dated from Philadelphia, as Captain Green had consented to take the charge of Captain Clark's men. But I am yet de­tained in this city by an unfortunate acci­dent, in which my friend, the Captain, is particularly concerned.

A few days after his arrival at Havre-de-Grace, as he was standing at the door of the coffee-house, a Mr. Peters went up to him, and said, "Was my brother, who served upon Rhode-Island, arrest­ed for cowardice in that expedition?" Captain Clark, with an air of indiffer­ence, replied, "Just as you say, Sir."

Nothing farther passed between them, until the night previous to our in­tended departure for Philadelphia; when [Page 184] Mrs. Gardner, alarmed by a knocking at the street door, jumped out of bed, and pushing up the window, requested to know who was there. A person now in­quired for Captain Clark, adding, "He must see him immediately. She observed, "The Captain intended setting off very early in the morning for Philadelphia, and she could not think of calling him at so late an hour—pray Sir, please to leave your name, I will not omit to tell him you cal­led." "Madam," said he, "be so oblig­ing as to step to his door, and tell him Captain Peters is in waiting and must see him, as an event of the utmost importance has taken place at the coffee-house, and his advice is wanted, to settle an unhappy affair." Mrs. Gardner appearing to hesi­tate, he continued, " I give you my honour, Madam, that no injury is intended him." Finding she could not put him off, she delivered the message to Captain Clark, who, ever ready to assist all who were in­volved in difficulty, arose, and putting on his clothes, hurried down stairs, and opening the street door, found Captain Pe­ters and his brother, who apologized for call­ing [Page 185] him out of bed, by observing, that a number of gentlemen, engaged in a dis­pute at the coffee-house, had agreed to leave it with him to settle. And taking him under each arm, they walked on, till they reached the spot, intended for their pusilanimous plan, when Captain Peters thus addressed him: "Did you, Sir, assert that I was arrested upon Rhode-Island for cowardice?" "No," he replied, "I did not." "It is a lie, Sir," said Captain Peters, and instantly gave him a severe stroke with his cane, which brought him to the ground; when, like cowards, they both beat him until he was senseless, and then left him. In this situation, he remained all night. In the morning he was taken up, and carried into a house in the neighbour­hood. A physician was called, who for­tunately was the one that attended Mr. Barton; and having washed and dressed the wounds, recollected the countenance of my friend. He accordingly dispatched a person to Mrs. Gardner to acquaint her with the accident. As soon as she received this information, she came into my cham­ber, to inform me of the cause of our [Page 186] delay, and added, "There was nothing to fear from the wounds, no bones being broken." Distressed by this circumstance, I hastened down stairs, and dispatched a servant to the doctor, requesting to see him. He soon came, and begged me to entertain no fears in behalf of my friend, assuring me he was greatly recovered since the dressing of his wounds, and he flatter­ed himself would, in a few days, be able to pursue his journey. An unavoidable engagement obliges me at present, to sub­scribe,

LETTER XXXVIII.

ALTHOUGH we had absolutely engaged seats in the stage, and Captain Green had taken leave of us the day before, it was impossible for us to commence our journey. This disappointment was trifling, compared with the anxiety I experienced for my friend.

About noon, Captain Clark stopped at the door in a carriage. I ran to meet him. Upon observing me, he assumed an air of gaiety, which, it was easy to perceive, was foreign from his heart. "I regret," said he, "you are deprived the satisfaction of joining your friends, as early as you wish­ed, but I flatter myself it will delay you only a few days." I strove to suppress my tears; yet, notwithstanding every exertion to check my feelings, my tell-tale eyes glistened with the tears of pity. "Gratifi­ed [Page 188] as I am, said he, "with the interest you take in the abuse I have experienced, let me intreat you not to add to my present feelings—do not distress me with your tenderness." Hard was the struggle to conceal the sensations of my heart; but, resolving to cast the mantle of friendship over my painful emotions, I feigned a se­renity I did not enjoy. He then gave the story as I have related it to you.

For Captain Peters to pledge his honour that no injury was intended, and then to prosti­tute this sacred pledge, was an unpardon­able, ignominious deception, far beneath the dignity of a brave and noble mind. To give his sacred honour, and to abuse that trust this confidence inspires. To at­tack an unarmed man, and, with the as­sistance of his brother, thus to beat him, leaving him to suffer in the street the whole night, are blots in their characters, which will excite universal contempt. I am ap­prehensive of the issue.

Captain Clark's disposition will not suf­fer him to submit to treatment thus incom­patible with his honour. But these men [Page 189] are not entitled to what the world calls " honourable resentment." I therefore flatter myself there will be no duel in the affair. This idea alone affords consolation to the afflicted bosom of

LETTER XXXIX.

CAPTAIN Clark is yet confined to the house. I exert myself to amuse him; but this is difficult. The gentle­men are early familiarized to business and amusement, which call their attention abroad; short confinements are, to them, almost insupportable; and a little sickness, with all their bravery and courage, fre­quently renders them peevish and impa­tient; while our sex, inured to scenes more tranquil and retired, are less liable to repine at indisposition.

Notwithstanding the severe blows my friend has received, his eyes are not de­prived of their usual lustre. These yet speak, in the most expressive manner, the manly and noble sentiments of his soul. I wish not to present him to you, as a regu­lar beauty, or an elegant form. These, I am [Page 191] convinced, will never operate upon your mind; but I will introduce you to a man, whose person and conduct, has long desig­nated the soldier; whose bosom glows with generosity, sensibility, ambition, courage, and honour. In his heart are united sent­iments and feelings which dignify the hu­man mind; qualifications, which will re­commend him to Maria.

For several days I was greatly distress­ed, least a duel should terminate the un­happy affair; but yesterday it was settled through the interposition of friends.

The doctor having given it as his opin­ion, that Captain Clark may safely proceed to Philadelphia, I know of no circumstance which can prevent our journey. I am truly impatient to quit a place, where I have experienced so much real sorrow. My life has been immersed in afflictions; but I will endeavour to banish every corroding idea. Vain cares, and anticipated sorrows, shall never prevent the enjoyment of vir­tuous reflections. Pleasure and pain are blended in the events of life; and by the alternate operations of hope and fear, we are prevented from sinking into apathy and [Page 192] inattention; these, by exciting contrary emotions, keep the mind alive, and con­tribute to the happiness of human exist­ence.

LETTER XL.

WE should have left this the last stage, had not Fanny's anxiety for her un­fortunate brother yet detained us.

Agreeably to my promise, the day pre­vious to our intended departure, I presented her the sum she had assured me was suffi­cient for his present relief. This she went in the evening to give him, when she found the family in the greatest distress. His creditors impatient for the discharge of their debts, had that day made several attachments; and as Fanny opened the door to enter the house, an officer availed himself of the opportunity to execute another writ: This execution deprived them of every necessary article. Fanny immediately dispatched a message to her brother, in hopes, by bringing him to wit­ness his distresses, he might be induced to [Page 194] assist him; but when he came, he abso­lutely refused the most trivial relief. She now took Mrs. Gardner aside, and pre­sented the bills received from me. Thus being enabled to satisfy present calls, he saved his little remaining furniture, depriv­ed of which, his family could not have continued together. Fanny, overcome by this circumstance, requested I would relin­quish the idea of her accompanying me. To this I could not consent.

Captain Clark has interested himself in behalf of this child of adversity; and, in the most pathetic language, endeavoured to excite feelings in the breast of Charles; but without effect. What a heart must he possess, thus to suffer a deserving brother, deprived of health and property, to want even the necessaries of life! Unpardona­ble man! The Deity may not always smile upon your prosperity. Intoxicated with your present success, you think yourself far beyond the reach of fortune's frown; but remember, you may sink from the pin­icle of affluence, from the most elevated summit of wealth, to the dreary vale of misfortune. And although you are bask­ing [Page 195] in the indulgence of all your wishes, the scene may suddenly change, and pov­erty, with its concomitant miseries, await you; you may yet drink in full draughts, the gall of disappointment, and largely share in similar misfortunes with your af­flicted brother.

Mr. Gardner determines, if he can make sufficient interest, to obtain a com­mission in the army; and to relinquish all idea of remaining with his family.

This resolution he reluctantly pursues. His attachment to a family, unable to pro­vide for itself, renders it painful. Captain Clark has promised him his influence; and as Mr. Gardner held a commission in the late army, flatters himself he shall succeed. Whatever the reflections of his brother may be, with respect to his unfeeling con­duct, the time, I doubt not, will arrive, when he will retire to the family of his own thoughts, replete with the most poig­nant sensations, for having added to the complicated distress of a deserving brother.

May the journey of our lives, my dear Maria, be rendered pleasant by the sun­shine of prosperity; and while we drink [Page 196] from the full bowl of fortune, may we be protected from the usual infatuation of her bewitching smiles.

LETTER XLI.

WE have at length arrived in this city. Mrs. Leason received us with painful, as well as pleasurable sensations. She had previously been acquainted with my affecting story; and, possessed of a sympathetic heart, shared in my affliction.

Sympathy, my dear, is a pleasing sen­timent, implanted in the human breast, which induces us, if we cannot mitigate, to become momentarily interested in the misfortunes of our friends.

Laura welcomed us with a degree of politeness, which, had it been unconnected with a haughty air, would have been ac­ceptable. When I was last in Philadel­phia, she was absent from home. Her countenance is pleasing, but the airs she assumes, are incompatible to her situation in life. Strongly attached to pleasure and [Page 198] amusement, rational indulgences cloy her taste. Dissipation is dangerous: It vi­tiates the mind, and attaches it to a round of amusements.

The troops in this city have received orders to march in a few days. The spir­its of my friend appear depressed. He flatters himself that the formidable ap­pearance of the army will deter the In­dians. Many things concur to excite dis­agreeable ideas in my mind. It is my sin­cere prayer, that the all-wise Director of the universe, may take them into his pecu­liar charge.

Since my arrival, I have received a let­ter from Captain Evremont. He com­plains much of a silence, I am sure, I have not observed; my letters must cer­tainly be impeded. There is no gratifica­tion we experience in the absence of our friends, superiour to the pleasure of re­ceiving their letters. It is a delightful substitute for the loss of their society. Captain Evremont writes me, he is sta­tioned at an advanced post, a mile distant from Fort-Pitt. He expresses great impa­tience for the arrival of the troops▪ but [Page 199] writes, with the most sanguine enthusiasm of success.

Captain Clark has, I find, many friends in this city, who are partial to his merits. This is pleasing to me. To have our choice in any point, approved by men of sense, is ever a flattering circumstance, and obliterates from a female mind, every ray of uneasiness, lest her too tender sus­ceptibility, had pourtrayed excellencies, which existed no where, but in her par­tial imagination. Some of your relations are pleased to patronize him: They have united their influence with his, in behalf of Mr. Gardner, and have a prospect of success. I regret the sad alternative, which obliges him to quit his family for a life so averse to his wishes, and which some small assistance from his brother might pre­vent. Surely the Deity has traced the outlines of our duty upon our hearts, which a certain inexpressible consciousness points out to us; yet we frequently stifle feelings so honourary to our natures. Being in haste, can only add the assuranc­es of my friendship.

LETTER XLII.

MRS. Leason tells me, she has received a letter from my aunt Noble, re­questing to be accommodated at her house a few weeks, as she wishes to make a visit to Philadelphia: She at first hesitated a re­ply; but finding me silent, and that her stay would be short, she has consented. Thus I am still to be troubled with the repetition of a story, long since hateful. I can bear it with tolerable fortitude in a letter; but to be taken by the hand, and compelled to hear a distasteful tale, deprives me of all my philosophy. I am half a mind to fly to the arms of my friend, in whose society I am confident I should re­ceive new gratifications, and whose friend­ship would give me a hearty welcome.

Fanny is much pleased with this city. It is said to be one of the most beautiful [Page 201] America can boast; but perhaps you may think I carry my ideas of variety rather too far, when I say, there is a little too much sameness for my taste. I acknowledge it is uncommon for one, who styles herself a citizen, to be impartial; for the place of our birth, generally claims our warmest attachment.

We made a party, a few days since, to the Falls of Schuylkill, to give Fanny an opportunity of seeing some of the delight­ful seats. I sincerely hope, the journey, and attention to her health, will be of ser­vice to her. I am impatient to introduce this dear girl to Maria: She is indeed one of those rare plants, seldom to be found in the wilderness of life. There is an inno­cent expression in her countenance, which cannot, like the fading flower of beauty, be divested of its charms.

Captain Clark will soon leave us. How many incidents occur to destroy our happi­ness! The sweet sensibility which gives us the true relish of our joys, frequently in­creases our weight of suffering. The grat­ification we derive from the society of con­genial minds, occasions the most severe re­gret, [Page 202] when deprived of their valuable in­tercourse. It is so seldom we find those, who are susceptible of real friendship, who are incapable of deception, and who unit­edly possess the qualifications requisite for a friend, that such a prize cannot be suffi­ciently estimated. I know it is the com­mon idea of the world, that "Friendship with women is sister to love." But while I would pay a due respect to their general principles and observations, I must take the liberty to deviate from them, when their sentiments are incompatible with my own experience. I already discover your conclusion, and that you are classing Caro­line as a Platonic disciple: It will not, however, denote her character; although I cannot imagine, as much as the world laugh at this philosopher's ideas of love and friendship, why we may not esteem an en­lightened mind, without feeling for the person, that degree of affection which de­nates a peculiar, undescribable attachment. It is indeed seldom the case, that real men­tal abilities are the foundation of a first prepossession; external beauty, an accom­plished behaviour, or the more captivating [Page 203] charms of fortune, are too often the illu­sive meteors which enchant the eye and constrain the heart. Think not I intend a general reflection, when I add, the art of speaking trifles agreeably, too often proves a destructive poison, which terminates the happiness of female life. Daily observa­tion demonstrates the truth. Nor is an agreeable address more likely to deceive our sex, than those who claim the boasted superiority of prudence, penetration and wisdom. We frequently see the merchant deceived by his ill placed confidence, and his family involved in complicated wretch­edness. As I have written a long let­ter, I now feel disposed to conclude, —I hear Captain Clark's step below. Don't be jealous, my dear; my time is equally divided between you; and Maria may rest assured of a liberal portion.

LETTER XLIII.

I FEEL disposed to be dull. My friend marched yesterday for the Westward. My aunt came to town a week before he left us. She has adopted a new plan, by which she means to accomplish a recon­cilement with her husband. Confining herself to her chamber, she gives out she is extremely ill, and is continually endeavour­ing to prepare our minds for her approaching death. It is, she says, impossible for her to continue long among us; nor can she be easy to quit the world without being previously reconciled to her husband. To die among strangers, to be buried from a strange house, are ideas she cannot sup­port. Repeatedly have I been summoned to her bed-side to take her last adieu, and as often commissioned to tell my uncle his unpardonable conduct had given a cruel [Page 205] stab to her peace, drove her from home, and brought upon her complicated misery, which had hastened her end. She fre­quently solicits me to write to him, and request of him one interview with his dy­ing wife. Upon my refusal, she has sent for her favourite, from his family, through whom, it is probable, she will accomplish her purpose. She is continually giving some new alarm, which keeps the house in constant agitation. If she is not suc­cessful I am resolved to quit my lodgings.

Previous to Captain Clark's leaving this city, he informed me, the brother of my dear Fanny, had obtained a Captain's commission in the same regiment with him; and that the Secretary at War, in the letter in which he enclosed his commis­sion, directs him to be in Philadelphia by the tenth of the month.

I have received a billet from a gentle­man, with whom I am entirely unacquaint­ed, informing me, Eliza has been in Vir­ginia several months, and intends passing the winter in this place; this is friendly, but painful information. Every circum­stance concurs, to confirm my belief, that it is [Page 206] through her I have been made thus wretch­ed. Strange, that prejudices so ill ground­ed, should never be effaced from her mind. But all events are under the direction of an over-ruling Providence. May Maria never experience such vicissitudes, as have attended

LETTER XLIV.

MY aunt's pretended indisposi­tion has increased. Of stricture, tension, fe­brile heat; an universal affection of the nervous system, an inexpressible irritation, and expected fits, I am continually hearing. With pro­priety she claims the denomination of the most miserable being upon earth. "Born," she says, "under some malicious star, evil is her destiny." But if she wishes to im­pose upon Mrs. Leason and the family, she must send to Trenton for her sympathetic doctor; the city physicians are not to be deceived. By her frequent importunities, we yesterday sent for a doctor; I was sit­ting by her when he entered the chamber. He felt her pulse, examined her tongue, inquired her complaints, and rising from his seat, stamped upon the floor, saying, "All you want, is to get back to your hus­band." [Page 208] And hastening out of the room, "Begged she would give him no further trouble." Most sincerely do I wish her with him—and I am convinced she will never rest until this is accomplished.

I have received letters from Captain Evremont, which mention the arrival of several companies; this renders his duty less severe. I expect daily to hear from my friends, as Captain Clark has promised to write, upon his arrival at Fort-Pitt.

At present I am separated from almost all my friends. I have no protector near me. Zeno, the father of the stoics, styled that hour the happiest of his life, which deprived him of his whole estate. "This event," he says, "drove him into the haven of philosophy." May the loss of my friends, drive me to reflection; and that the painful vicissitudes of my life, may be the means of directing me to that divine religion, which can alone, render a future existence pleasing, is the fervent wish of

LETTER XLV.

MY uncle has, at length, been prevailed upon to visit his distressed wife, who was confined to her bed. She has ef­fected her purpose. It was agreed she should return the next day to his house. She accordingly dispatched invitations to her acquaintance, requesting their compa­ny the next afternoon, "To witness the re­newal of her marriage." An elegant sup­per was proposed, which was to have been at her expense, had not the advice of her particular friends prevented it. The morn­ing of this happy day, my aunt arose from her bed, which she had not left for several days, and with every pleasure which an­ticipation gives, waited the coming mo­ment. The company assembled, and after tea, a coach was called to convey her home. I feel assured of your congratula­tions, [Page 210] on being thus relieved; yet I fancy you are a little surprised at its taking place so soon; but an artful, determined mind can often get through apparent impossibil­ities. It would be fortunate for my aunt, was she resolved to be happy; but I be­lieve if she has any reflections, they are replete with discontent and wretchedness. She may perhaps experience a temporary gratification, but this will be short; new contentions will arise; and tempers, natu­rally ungovernable, cannot easily be re­strained at so advanced a period of life. Had she ever considered present actions, as though they had past, she would never have exposed to the world, a thousand lit­tle incidents in her family, which a pru­dent woman, would blush to have had known.

In the most happy connexions—in the best regulated families, many things take place, which should be cautiously conceal­ed from the eye of the world; and the woman who would expose the faults of her own family, must possess a disposition which should be severely reprobated.

[Page 211]Leaving a husband, is a serious under­taking, and should never be done without the most urgent necessity and cool reflec­tion. It is a step which injures the char­acters of both, and is attended with con­tinual mortifications. But if they are compelled to it, they should, I think, abide by the unhappy alternative. I be­lieve I may venture to assert, that, in few instances, has a separation ever removed the cause of uneasiness, but rather increased the wretchedness, and rendered the parties disrespected by the world.

Captain Gardner and Mr. Lee arrived last night. They put up at Mrs. Leason's. I am extremely sorry for this last addition to our family. I had not seen him since the death of my dear Lucretia. His pres­ence renews my grief. If he tarries any time in Philadelphia, after Captain Gard­ner has left us, I shall propose an excur­sion to Bristol; it is a village to which I am partial; and, I hope, a change of objects will be a relief to Fanny. Her spirits, at present, are greatly depressed.

I see, by the papers, your cousin has accepted a commission. I flatter myself [Page 212] he will not fail to call upon me, as he pass­es through Philadelphia. Your attach­ment to him, will make you more sensible of the feelings of

LETTER XLVI.

I AM seriously concerned for my friends at the Westward. Parties are daily leaving this city, to join the troops already there. A winter's campaign is alarming. For Fanny's sake, I shall be glad when her brother has left us. The poor girl, is scarce able to support the thought of his leaving her. She possesses a disposition too tender for her own happiness; and, I veri­ly believe, it occasions all her ill health.

Laura's haughty behaviour, in several late instances, has determined me to pass a few weeks in the country. Having been from infancy, taught to value herself upon a pretty face and a genteel person, she thinks herself entitled to (unmerited) res­pect from all the boarders; and behaves as if external beauty was an ample com­pensation for the want of internal merit. [Page 214] She considers a condescending disposition as only necessary to those who are destitute of the attractive charms of a handsome face, and believes the study of the belles-lettres, only calculated for such as have no pretensions to beauty. She cannot re­alize, that an accomplished mind will ren­der happiness durable, when the bloom of youth shall fade, and the transitory flower shall have wasted its sweets. Nor does she cultivate ideas which will render pleasant the last stage of existence. That stage, when the debilitated mind will look back to its trifling gratifications, with the most severe regret; when the want of better reflections, will obtrude the idea of her past life, upon her imbittered thoughts. But Fanny is a pleasing con­trast. She has caught from the refulgent beams of wisdom, rays, which will adorn her character, and will render her, at every period of life, an entertaining, agreeable companion. Her heart expands for the unfortunate. "For each one's woes, she has a tear."

I am interrupted; but believe me, my dear, the friendship of Maria, possesses a peculiar power of dispelling the gloomy cares of

LETTER XLVII.

YOUR cousin has arrived—he is so altered by an uniform, I did not know him; but when he handed me a letter, which he said was from Maria, I recogniz­ed his countenance, and introduced him to Mrs. Leason, Laura and Fanny; to the last, as my particular friend. I view­ed him, my dear, with all those pleasing ideas, which result from the consideration he is your cousin.—I am sorry you think me too severe upon my own sex. You are deceived in your conclusions. The observations I made, as you advance in life, you will find to be just. I meant not to deviate from the strictest principles of philanthropy or good humour; and the traits I have drawn, are perfectly conso­nant to many characters. If Maria is at present more happy in her companions and [Page 216] friends, I heartily rejoice; but give me leave to remind you, that a knowledge of hu­man nature, can only be learnt by expe­rience; and that insincerity and deception too often characterize mankind.

I yesterday received an invitation to pass the afternoon and evening with my aunt Noble. Fanny was too depressed with the prospect of parting with her broth­er to give us her company. The natural vivacity of her disposition, withers at the recollection of his misfortunes. The idea of his sufferings, sharpens the arrows of her affliction.

I went early to Colonel Noble's, that I might have an opportunity to converse a little with my aunt. Upon entering the doors, several new pieces of furniture, caught my attention. My aunt is not without her ambition, any more than the Colonel. I found her alone; congratu­lated her upon her return, and hoped she enjoyed all that happiness she had imagin­ed. "While my property lasts," said she, "it may do, but the little I have, will never provide for a family. At present, there is not an article brought into the [Page 217] house, but at my expense." We were now interrupted by company; for she had given large invitations to her acquaintance for the celebration of this pleasing event. Tea and cards preceded an elegant sup­per, prepared by this foolish woman, whose circumstances rather call for the strictest economy, than allow of the smallest profusion. For my own part, I know no minor, who stands more in need of a guardian, than my aunt Noble. A prodigal disposition, is far from evincing a liberal mind; in any situation of life, it is to be avoided. The indulgence of it hurries us into a thousand evtravagancies, which will finally be destructive to our happiness. Her disposition, united with the Colonel's, whose predominant passions are show and parade, would soon exhaust an extensive fortune. My uncle is not, however, singular in his false ideas of greatness. There are many who will not deny themselves the superfluities of life, although the butcher and tradesman, are continually dunning at the door.

I left my aunt's, disgusted at her impru­dent [Page 218] conduct, and much displeased at that violent fondness they express for each other. It is unnatural to believe such cruel stabs, and recent wounds, have not cankered the mind. But if they possess such heaven-born tempers as totally to for­get the past, we should suppose, prudence would dictate to them to conceal the vio­lence of their affections. To see a couple continually fondling and kissing in compa­ny, is disgusting, and causes in my breast suspicions of their conjugal felicity; not that I would discourage that pleasing, af­fectionate attention, which distinguishes the happy pair.

Mr. Lee yet continues in Philadelphia. Being with him, excites contending pas­sions. While the sprouts of gratitude shoot forth with luxuriance, memory awakens the painful remembrance of Lu­cretia's sufferings. Mrs. Leason tells me, he has been some years married to a young lady in Bristol, whom he now disowns as his wife. I shall endeavour to inform my­self of this circumstance, when I visit that place. I am impatient to enjoy a short time the pleasures of solitude. My [Page 219] attachment to a country life, has been uni­formly the same; but I will not indulge too many pleasurable anticipations, lest my fond hopes should be destroyed in the first moment of enjoyment.

LETTER XLVIII.

CAPTAIN Gardner with his par­ty left this city yesterday. Your cousin expects to stay with us but a few days. He has introduced a particular friend of his to our acquaintance—a General Hill. This gentleman is, I find, married. I pity his good lady. The army will do better for single, than married men. Was I a wife, I should never consent to my hus­band's commencing soldier.

I am not a little jealous Capt. Bel­mour has an attachment for Fanny. Mrs. Leason has proposed several matches for this dear girl. One young gentleman she represents as deeply in love with her; and yesterday seriously asked me if I thought she could not be prevailed upon to receive his addresses? Not by my intercession, [Page 221] replied I, and hastily left the room. This good lady grows more attached to dress. Her hair is craped and curled in the high­est taste. Could I procure a London doll, marked with the wrinkles of old age, I would dress it by my landlady, as a pattern to your mamma. This attachment to dress, frequently places her in a ridiculous light. It injures the reputation of the sex, by enforcing the idea of our vanity, and establishing the illnatured observations of the world, depreciates us with men of sense.

I am deceived, if Laura does not envy Fanny the attentions of Mr. Belmour. Your cousin is indeed, handsome; but a uniform, my dear, is a great addition. It is truly an attractive magnet with the fe­male eye.

Fanny has received a letter from her mamma, which mentions, that a number of Captain Gardner's friends, had opened a subscription, for the relief of her sister, who they wished to place in some little bu­siness, which should enable her to provide for herself and children. This, was pre­sented [Page 222] to Mr. Charles Gardner, who refus­ed being concerned in so laudable an un­dertaking. How contracted the disposi­tions of mankind! The avaricious miser, lives but for himself, pursuing his plans with eagerness—with the most frigid in­difference, he passes objects of distress— estranged to the pleasures of benevolence, which aims to blunt the edge of adversity, he refuses every relief. He knows not the luxury which results from having lessened human wretchedness. Philanthropy and benevolence are not the characteristics of his heart. But sympathetic minds, enjoy pleasures with which these sordid beings are unacquainted. They pass through life with the sweet reflection, of having relieved the distressed; and at the close of existence, derive a source of satisfaction from the grateful recollection. I am flat­tered with the idea of your passing the approaching winter in this city; and am sorry you postpone coming so long. Urge your mamma to set an earlier day. You have no friends who will give you a more hearty welcome, than

LETTER XLIX.

I HAVE just received a letter from Captain Evremont, which communicates the pleasing information of the safe arrival of my friends at Fort-Pitt. Captain Clark adds a postscript, and says, With Mr. Evre­mont's permission, he shall do himself the honour to write to me in a few days.

I regret that the youth, most distinguished among us, should be called from the pleas­ures of domestic life, and sent into an un­cultivated country, against an enemy upon whom we can place no dependance; whose treaties are easily laid aside; who, from their uncivilized situation, are ignorant of the enjoyments of society; and who never are at a loss, in the remotest forest, for the necessaries upon which they exist; whose barbarity to their prisoners must increase the fears of the soldiers' friends, and render [Page 224] it even doubly painful to themselves to en­counter. An enemy, whom, from their method of battle, it is almost impossible to subdue.

Your cousin, and his friend, will leave us to-morrow; they desire to be remembered to you. Mr. Belmour adds, "When you meet your Caroline in Philadelphia, Fanny must be particularly introduced to you."

Excuse my adding more, as I must im­prove the remaining hours in writing to Captain Evremont.

LETTER L.

BELIEVING it would be an a­musement to Fanny, and an advantage to her health, I resolved to pass a few weeks in this village; and leaving the city the same day with your cousin, soon reached our present abode.

From the back windows of the house at which we are, we may view, over the adjacent fields, the river Delaware, ex­tending several miles. The silver surface of this limpid element, exhibits a charming appearance. A little to the left, is an en­chanting grove of weeping willows, whose romantic shade invites to tread the pleasura­ble path of retirement, so favourable to re­flection. Here the mind may expand un­interrupted, and enjoy, unenvied, every rational idea; and while we discover nature [Page 226] in her genuine simplicity totally divested of the decorations of art, we cannot but admire the works of that Being who has thus variegated the prospects of the earth for the enjoyment of man. I regret that the season is so far advanced; not because the changing of the leaves, gives me any pain­ful emotions—this rather produces a pleas­ing thoughtfulness; but as the spring and summer are better calculated for Fanny's recovery.

Since I have been in this place, I have commenced an acquaintance with a Mrs. Little. A short history of whom, I flat­ter myself will be acceptable to Maria.

LETTER LI.

AGREEABLY to the promise in my last, I have forwarded the history of Mrs. Little. It shall be clothed in her own expressions—receive it as I had it from her.

"An unfortunate connexion, has de­stroyed my fond ideas of happiness. At the age of seventeen, I was, after a court­ship of two years, united with a Mr. Lit­tle, then twenty-two. He was a foreigner, who had resided some years among us. My parents and friends unanimously ap­proved the match, and my juvenile fancy planned many happy scenes.

[Page 4]"Being an only daughter, my wishes were ever superseded by the attentions of my doating parents, and I flattered myself long to enjoy the present current of unal­layed felicity. But the morning which rises with the clearest hemisphere, is often obscured by a stormy sky. An unexpected circumstance soon presented, which oblig­ed Mr. Little to cross the seas. The voy­age was short. I had no idea of a separa­tion, for more than a few months. With impatience I waited the period of his ex­pected arrival—I chid the dilatory hours—Time appeared to pause—I enjoyed no pleasures—I shared in no amusements; the anticipation of his return, engrossed my whole attention. At length, the ves­sel in which he sailed, arrive. My broth­er hastened to meet him. In imagina­tion, I was raised to the summit of happi­ness. I believed uninterrupted pleasures, would crown succeeding days. But the chilling frost of disappointment, blasted my visionary joys. Mr. Little was left be­hind. Not a single line did I receive from him, nor could any information be obtained of him; he having left the island from which [Page 5] the vessel came. Notwithstanding this, little did my unsuspecting heart, forebode his villainous intentions. Educated in re­tired life, I was unacquainted with the de­ceptions of the beau monde. Never having been accustomed to disappointments, it was at first a lesson difficult to learn.

"In this situation, I passed four years; when my father received a letter from a friend in South-Carolina, acquainting him, Mr. Little lived in Charleston, with a woman to whom, it was reported, he was married. The contents of this letter, I obstinately refused to credit. For more than two years, I resolved not to listen to the calumniating breath of the world; when the arrival of a particular friend from Carolina, opened my deluded eyes. Fortunately I possessed great resolution. Yet, having to combat with a warm attach­ment, and all the pains of neglected affec­tion, I was attacked with a distressing ill­ness, which confined me some months to my chamber. During this time, I had many intervals of hope that Mr. Little might yet return, repenting his past conduct; till at length; having hackneyed every plea, which [Page 6] affection, duty, and benevolence could suggest, I determined to reason myself in­to a disposition, to relinquish him forever. This was a trying undertaking; but his conduct rendered it necessary. I now re­quested his name might never again, be mentioned to me, that, if possible, I might obliterate him from remembrance. Blest with indulgent parents, who have studied to make me happy, I have been enabled to abide by my resolution; or probably, be­fore this, I should have ended my days.

"Accustomed to a country life, I have devoted much time to reading: This at­tachment is strengthened by affliction. Thus have I given you a detail of my un­happy situation. That I have given up every idea, of a man who had thus trans­ferred his affections; who had forfeited the grateful title of my protector and friend, who had proved himself my seducer; my greatest enemy, will not, I feel assured, prejudice your mind against me. For, be­lieve me, my heart shed its dearest drops; and had not fortitude shielded me with the helmet of perseverance, I should have relapsed into former unbelief, But by [Page 7] her influence, and the consideration of having done my duty, I rise superior to my fate. I make no animadversions upon the conduct of Mr. Little, not doubting, although I have suffered thus severely, you are more acquainted with the villainy of the world than myself."

What a history is the above. It veils my pleasurable ideas: It unfolds to view a conduct, which, for the honour of human nature, I could wish, concealed. But how frequently do our sex become wretched, by the deep laid plans of wick­ed minds! When such instances shade the characters of youth, they must tend to de­stroy our confidence in a sex designed, by heaven, for our protection. And while they awaken our suspicions, should im­press us with a caution, necessary to guard our reputation and honour, from the con­cealed plans of the base libertine, who de­lights in the most villainous seductions, and who frequently selects the most virtu­ous of our sex for destruction. Disguising his sentiments by virtuous intentions, he secures the affections of the object he aims to ruin; and having blasted the unsullied [Page 8] flower, leaves it to wither and decay. Mrs. Little now receives the addresses of a gen­tleman high in office; and it is expected, will be shortly married. Warm are my wishes for her future happiness. May the intended connexion, compensate for those painful days she has past, and the hitherto dreary path of her married life, be contrast­ed by future domestic endearments.

LETTER LII.

BEING upon a visit, a few days since, to Mrs. Little, I took the opportu­nity of making some inquiries concerning Mr. Lee; observing, various reports were circulating in Philadelphia. Upon my asking if he really had a wife in that place, she begged leave to introduce me to her aunt Watts, who could gratify my curiosi­ty respecting her cousin. Having no idea I was among the friends of this unfortu­nate woman; I felt distressed, lest I had, unintentionally, injured their feelings; and made many apologies for my unguard­ed conduct. I had awakened the remem­brance of many painful circumstances; and a silence of some minutes followed my imprudence. The thrilling tear, having relieved the acuteness of first emotions, Mrs. Watts requested to know "If I had [Page 10] any acquaintance with Mr. Lee?" I told her I had boarded, some time, in the house with him. "You shall then," said she, "be informed, the true circumstances of my dear Harriot's seduction.

"My niece was left in infancy, an or­phan. In humanity to her tender years, I took her under my protection. It was not in my power to educate her in gay life, but I neglected not to instil virtuous principles upon her mind; and she re­ceived the common instructions of a coun­try school. The estate of her father being rendered insolvent, she depended entirely upon her character for a settlement in life. Her constitution was slender, and inade­quate to the common offices of a country living. Attached to her needle, she soon imbibed a turn for millinery, and engross­ed the work of this place. Her figure was naturally genteel. Her taste fanciful, and her features, though not perfectly regular, expressive and soft.

"At the age of sixteen, she had the mis­fortune to attract the notice of Mr. Lee, who frequented this road, in his excur­sions to Bordentown. He became ac­quainted [Page 11] with her, and we believed his intentions honourable. Unfortunately for the dear girl, she now lost her uncle. Soon after this, Mr. Lee proposed marriage, and with my consent, a day was fixed for the wedding.

"A few days after the last publication had taken place, he urged her to accompany him to Philadelphia. As I wished her to purchase a few articles for herself, I joined in his request, little thinking I was acceding to her ruin. He had not rode far, when he proposed they should be married before they returned from Philadelphia. Harriot, knowing of no obstacles, agreed to the wishes of Mr. Lee; and, in the evening, the cere­mony was, as she believed, performed. Upon their return, he introduced her to me as his wife; nor did I once suspect the fraud.

"Mr. Lee's business calling him to Phi­ladelphia, and Harriot's health rendering it necessary she should reside in the coun­try, she never left me; and from this time, for three years, he uniformly visited her several times a week. But he now began [Page 12] to neglect her, and abroad denied the mar­riage; and to avoid our inquiries, finally left Philadelphia for Maryland. I fre­quently addressed him by letter, but receiv­ed no reply. At length I wrote to a friend in Philadelphia for the character of Mr. Lee, who, affected with my story, made me a visit, and revealed his villainous decep­tions; assuring me, that the ceremony was performed by an abandoned rake, dressed for that purpose: That the house to which he carried Harriot, was kept by a woman of ill fame; and that the company, to which she was introduced, were the most profligate of her sex.

"Knowing the tenderness of her disposi­tion, I thought it best to draw her off from him by degrees, and took every opportuni­ty to insinuate, that she would never see him again; but she could not be persuaded to entertain ideas incompatible with his hon­ [...]

"Two years after this, as she was sitting at her window, she saw him pass in the stage —upon which she fainted. Upon her recov­ery she observed that she must now relin­quish every idea she had entertained of Mr. [Page 13] Lee's affection. "Life is a burden," said she, "misery is my doom." I sent for a lawyer in the neighbourhood, requesting him to visit Mr. Lee at the tavern, and threaten him with a prosecution; but he laughed at his baseness, saying, we were fools to think he ever meant to be confined to one—"I will rove at large; they may do as they please." A depression ensued, which brought on a rapid consumption, and she is now sinking under complicated dis­eases.

"Thus has Mr. Lee loaded her with in­famy and distress. But a period of re­morse must come, when with sorrow, and, I hope, a sincere repentance, he will regret his deviation from virtue." At this in­stant she was called to her niece.

The cruel conduct of Mr. Lee, made a deep impression upon my mind. How does deceiving man triumph over female innocence; crop the sweet flower of virtue, and boast his insidious plans! Beauty, simplicity and virtue, too often, fall a prey to a dissembled passion.

May my fair country women, never re­pose in the shades of security, while en­vironed [Page 14] with the errors, the follies, and the dangers of youth; but remember, one devious step can never be retrieved; and assiduously shun the society of those, who study to corrupt the female mind. Invariably consider the siren tongue of flattery, as a foe which awaits your de­struction.

LETTER LIII.

YESTERDAY a billet was handed me from Mrs. Watts, requesting to see me. I hastened to comply with the invitation. When I reached the house, I sent my name to her. She hurried down stairs, apologized for the liberty she had taken, and observing it was the wish of her niece to see an acquaintance of Mr. Lee's, and viewing it as one of her last requests, she chose to gratify her. I assured her it would be pleasing to me to afford any sat­isfaction to her or Harriot. "The unfor­tunate girl," said she, "can remain but a few hours—every symptom of dissolving nature fast approaches; but I will go and acquaint her, you are below."

In a few minutes she returned, and I followed her to the distressing chamber. [Page 16] Upon her opening the door, every object filled me with horror. The shutters were closed. At the sight of the emaciated, heart-broken afflicted girl, bolstered up in her bed, my resolution left me, and I was seized with a faintness. I had recourse to my smelling bottle; and seating myself at her side, she appeared to be dozing. "Harriot," said her aunt, "this is Miss Francis, whom you wished to see." Look­ing at me with an eye, which was sunk deep in its socket, and extending her hand with a feeble voice she could just articulate, "The goodness of your heart will excuse my inclination. I wished to see you, that you might acquaint Mr. Lee with what I shall intrust to you; that you, who was a stranger to me in former life, should witness my dying words; and that in these all-important moments, I de­clare him to be my husband. Tell him from me, the time will come, when that silent monitor, conscience, will be true to its trust. The intoxications of debauchery and pleasure, however they may enchant in the moments of enjoyment, will then [Page 17] be deprived of their charms; and though the grave will have buried my sufferings, he will consider himself as the disturber of my peace, the destroyer of my health, and the shortner of my days; but not the cor­rupter of my heart. Though I have been rendered wretched by his villainy, my in­nocence is unsullied." Distressed for breath, she was some time unable to pro­ceed. When a little recovered, she con­tinued, "Painful recollections do not im­bitter the close of my days; and well would it be for my seducer, if his retro­spections were alike pleasing; but happi­ness is too strongly cemented with virtue to be his companion. Witness to the world, I die a sacrifice to the villainy of an unprincipled man. Exert yourself to save, from similar wretchedness, any who shall be so unfortunate as to attract his no­tice."

Her disorder would not suffer her to say more. I sat some time by her side; it growing late, I was induced to retire; and promising to see her in the morning, I took my leave of the affecting scene. Early the [Page 18] next day, Mrs. Little sent to acquaint me that Harriot had winged her way to the realms of eternal bliss.

So many painful circumstances have en­gaged my attention, since my arrival in this village, that my preconceived pleas­ures have fled. Possessed of a warm im­agination and easy circumstances, my fan­cy frequently depictures gratifications I can never enjoy. Harriot has intrusted me with a painful commission. A com­mission I shall not be able, personally, to execute.

Fanny has been attacked with a spitting of blood—I must, therefore, hasten to the city for advice. Let us beware, my dear Maria, of the deceptions of a sex, whose study is, too often, to ensnare the innocent and virtuous; and constantly invoke the protection of that guardian power, who alone can shield us from every danger.

LETTER LIV.

I HAVE again returned to the noisy city. Fanny is much better. Her physician advised to opening a vein. This has been twice repeated within a few days.

Mr. Lee has left this place. I have caused the death of the unfortunate Har­riot, to be published in the Philadelphia papers; and her charge to me, as given to a particular friend. This, I have no doubt will reach him. May it have a happy ef­fect.

Mrs. Leason and Laura, have urged Fan­ny and myself to accompany them to the theatre. I cannot consent that Fanny, while in such ill health, should go into a croud, or be exposed to the night air; and I acknowledge an inclination, on my part, is wanting. I am too much inter­ested [Page 20] in the situation of my absent friends to receive entertainment. Yet I cannot avoid a compliance.

The stage in this city, is said to be under good regulations. A well regulated thea­tre, might become a source of great im­provement; but it has hitherto, been im­possible to restrict it. Obscene expressions, and double entendres will creep in, and they frequently receive an eclat, even in polite assemblies.

This letter will be handed you by Major Holmes, who is now waiting for it; which obliges me to bid you

LETTER LV.

I ALMOST regret the day which gave me birth; as I seem destined to make wretched every family in which I reside.

Since my last, by Major Holmes, a circum­stance truly distressing has taken place. In that, I acquainted you of my promise to attend Mrs. Leason and Laura to the theatre. Judge, Maria, my feelings, when I found myself in the adjoining box to Eliza. By her expressive countenance, I was convinced she noticed me; and from what I had experienced, doubted not her imagination was engaged, inventing new schemes against me. Upon each wrist, I per­ceived a bracelet; and by a light which was near her, discovered that one was the picture of the unfortunate Clarimont; the other, a representation of that rural retreat [Page 22] which proved the introduction to all my misfortunes. Philoclea was the tragedy performed this evening. It was a play to which I was partial; but having severely experienced the vindictive disposition of this unhappy woman, I could not divest myself of many fears, which forced them­selves upon me, and obscured the whole en­tertainment. The letter, which I informed you I had received from a person unknown, should have prevented my imprudence in thus venturing into a croud. I wished to tell Mrs. Leason my discovery, but was too closely watched by Eliza. When the play was over, I begged Laura not to be in haste. Mr. Hart, the gentleman who had escorted us thither, waited upon Mrs. Leason and myself to the carriage, and a gentleman who sat in the same box with us, requested the honour of attending Laura; who, fond of attention, and un­suspicious of any plans against me, accept­ed his offer: The crowd soon separated us. We waited at the door a considerable time for her, until her mamma, think­ing she had taken another carriage, desired [Page 23] our driver to hasten home; but different ideas rushed upon my mind; ideas I dar­ed not avow. When we reached the house, Laura had not arrived. Mrs. Leason go­ing up stairs to undress, I took the oppor­tunity to tell Mr. Hart my fears; who in­stantly walked out in search of her. Fan­ny, previous to our return, had retired to bed. When Mrs. Leason came down, finding her daughter yet absent, she began to be alarmed. The other boarders soon came in; Mrs. Leason acquainting them with the circumstance, they immediately agreed to take different routs, and enjoin it upon the city watch to patrol the streets, and stop all persons passing through the night. I was now left to afford all the consolation, and to encourage all the hopes an imagination inexpressibly agitated could suggest. A degree of delirium seized her unhappy mother. The sluices of maternal grief were opened, and sorrow, like a pesti­lential exhalation, corrupted every pleas­ure. In this distress we counted the silent hours of night, and when the day beamed its rays upon us, the gentlemen returned, [Page 24] but unsuccessful. At this period, every prospect of Laura's recovery was obscured.

It was now necessary to communicate the painful information to Fanny. This, if possible, I would have avoided; for misfor­tunes are doubly barbed, when directed at the bosom of sensibility and sympathy; and these were among the darling virtues which shone conspicuous in the bosom of my friend.

This dear girl, discovering the situation of my mind, commanded her own sensa­tions. Her disposition is indeed uncom­monly serene. The mild virtues of philo­sophy are implanted in her breast.

The gentlemen having refreshed them­selves, renewed their search. Mrs. Leason's mind, like barren winter, presented nought but dreary prospects. Were I to attempt a description of my sufferings, through th [...] day, it would fall infinitely short of the [...] ­ality.

In the evening it was agreed, by a num­ber of Laura's friends, to form several par­ties, and watch certain suspicious houses, without the limits of the city, concluding [Page 25] it probable she might have been carried to one of these for the present. They accord­ingly, at an early hour, took their appointed posts.

Mrs. Leason had refused every nourish­ment, and was now so exhausted, that we no sooner recovered her from one fainting-fit, than she relapsed into another. Cloth­ed in the sable livery of affliction, neither Fanny nor myself could afford her conso­lation. Between the hours of eleven and twelve a carriage stopped at the door. I flew to the head of the stairs to inform myself if any intelligence was obtained of Laura, when I heard Mr. Hart desire the servant to tell Mrs. Leason, Miss Laura would soon be at home. Eager to give the pleasing news, I was returning to the cham­ber, but a sudden fainting-fit deprived me of my senses, and I fell upon the floor. Fanny, alarmed at the noise, ran into the entry to discover the cause, and calling some assistance, had me conveyed into the parlour. When I recovered, I observed Laura in a chair near me. The friends, who had shared with us in the sorrows of [Page 26] the day, were engaged in comforting her and restoring me; while Fanny, having re­turned to Mrs. Leason, was assuring her of her daughter's safety.

As I have written you a long letter, I will leave you in idea to participate in that joyful scene we have now witnessed.

LETTER LVI.

THE meeting between Laura and her mamma, was a real picture of affec­tion and gratitude. It was an inexpressibly pleasing event, in which words were use­less. In this instance the silent, but com­prehensive language of the eye, the en­dearing demonstrations of reciprocal joy, evinced in their conduct, declared their real feelings, better than the most studied ex­pressions. I was impatient to become ac­quainted with her story; but the confusion of the family prevented my wishes until the next day, when Mr. Hart gave me the circumstances of her recovery as follows: "Being concealed within view of the house, to which we imagined she might have been carried, we remained without any discovery until after ten, when a carriage [Page 28] stopped at the door. We now walked up to it; and just as they had forced Laura out of the door of the house, a pistol I had in my hand, accidentally went off, at which the horses took fright; and those who had hold of her, instantly fled; while myself and party, ran to her assistance. It was for some time, impossible to convince her that she was under the protection of her friends; nor has she given us any account of her being carried away." Thus far gratified, I was obliged to wait, until Lau­ra was sufficiently composed to acquaint us with the manner of her being carried off. When she assured her mamma, she was hurried through the croud, and handed into a carriage, by a gentleman who sat in the box with us, who accompanied her to the place from which she was rescued by Mr. Hart. Here she was confined to a chamber, and attended by a woman, from whom she learnt, that she was to be removed further into the country the next night; and must take her final leave of Philadel­phia. She repeatedly asked, why she was thus torn from all her friends? but could obtain no answer. In the evening she was [Page 29] told a coach was come to take her from this place, and she was immediately hurri­ed down stairs to the door from whence, as above related, she was rescued by Mr. Hart.

This affair has given a fresh stab to my enjoyments. It deprive me of the satis­faction I flattered myself to have received from the society of my friends. I feel a lassitude I cannot describe. The anxiety of Mrs. Leason and Laura has produc­ed fevers, which at present run high. It will require some time for them to recover their health. I am destined to the severest trials—continually involving my friends in affliction. The idea saps every promised pleasure; and I find their anticipation a chimera. May your friend­ship animate my heart—be to Caroline a Mentor, who, recalling her wandering thoughts, shall remind her, that although philosophy directs us to fortitude, religion is the only support in the storms of life.

LETTER LVII.

MRS. Leason and Laura are better.

This recent affair, has determined me never again to venture in public. I am at times disposed to retire to some un­frequented spot, and by assuming a differ­ent habit and name, endeavour to live un­disturbed in obscurity. Fanny is urgent for me to take the advice of my friends, with respect to securing Eliza. But I have no proof against her, unless the letter to me, after Clarimont's death, will be accept­ed as such. I intend, however, to write to Captain Evremont for his advice. My present situation is critical. I have no friends in Philadelphia, whose duty it is to protect me; and fear is viewed as the child [Page 31] of guilt. But why should all my happi­ness be sacrificed to the jealous disposition of a disappointed woman, who is certainly the source of my misfortunes?

A letter is this moment handed me from Captain Evremont. It contains the cer­tain accounts of my cousin's having fallen a victim to savage ferocity, instead of his being killed at the defeat of Major Wil­lys. This intelligence he has received several ways. Yattacheu, a friendly In­dian, who has been several days at Fort-Pitt, has given the most direct information, of his being burnt by slow fires, near the Miami villages. This story is corroborat­ed by a prisoner lately returned to camp, who was taken in the same defeat; but for­tunately obtained his ransom, through the interposition of a gentleman trading among them, who formerly lived in the same town with him.

What hope do I encourage, which is not destroyed by the breath of disappoint­ment? Every object recals the tortured body to my view; my heart is warped [Page 32] with the most tenebrous ideas, and mis­fortune awaits me upon every side. Our friends strongly attach us to life. To part with them is painful—but to part with them, by the aggravated tortures of savage invention, is an insupportable reflection. May I not, in this case, say, "Memory thou sting!" Providence has prepared a double portion of affliction for your friend. Frequently doth the big drop, burst from my eye. But I will watch every murmur­ing thought.

By the same conveyance is handed me a letter from Captain Clark; a copy of which I shall enclose to you; not because it contains any particular information, but the style in which it is dictated, I am sensi­ble, will be grateful to my friend. Ye guardian powers, who protect the thread of human life, extend your watchful care, to the bosom of that wilderness, which contains Columbia's favourite sons; let not the nervy arms successful in securing the liberties of this Western World, be subdued by savage power; screen them from every danger, and safely return them to more tranquil honours.

LETTER LVIII.

MANY things concur to render me unhappy. The exposed situation of my friends at the Westward—Being myself without a protector, Fanny's ill health, and the melancholy certainty of my cousin's tortures, are alone ample causes of anxiety and pain. Our happiness through life, Maria, is unavoidably connected with that of our friends. Captain Clark's letter, ex­presses such unmerited encomiums, that I have regretted sending it to you. But you must remember, my dear, it is a tenet of the gentlemen, that they cannot render themselves agreeable to our sex, unless they sacrifice their sincerity at the shrine of flat­tery. This is indeed the lesson they have received, from that celebrated courtier, Lord Chesterfield, according to whose [Page 38] ideas, no " Compliment is too gross for the fe­male ear." Although his lordship, in this observation, confined the gratefulness of flattery to the " Female ear," he was him­self convinced, it was a language pleasing to human nature, and strictly observed it, upon all occasions. It would, however, be a pleasing idea, if this sentiment was not, in connexion with others, ruinous to the morals of society. When I read his letters, I regret, a book so fatal to the hap­piness of the community, so replete with poison to the youthful mind, should ever have been published. In youth the imag­ination is warm, the passions strong, and without incitement, they are prone to err. Lord Chesterfield's accomplishments, if a character practised in deception, and edu­cated in intrigue, can be styled accomplished, could never be substituted for those virtues, in which he was most strikingly deficient. His instructing his son in the arts of se­duction and adultery, is an error which can never be approved, by the most licen­tious and depraved.

It being the immediate province of our sex, to implant the first lessons of instruc­tion [Page 39] in the infant mind, let us studious­ly endeavour to impress the opening judg­ment with a just detestation of such senti­ments as will subvert the principles of mo­rality; for sentiments early impressed, will sink deep into the heart, and greatly regu­late future conduct; and even in the moments of a dangerous deviation, prove a faithful Monitor. By our bright exam­ple, may the rising generation be led to imitate virtues, which shall adorn the name of Americans.

LETTER LIX.

CAPTAIN Clark's letter discov­ers a depression which gives me pain; but he is not the only friend compelled to pur­sue a mode of life, derogatory to his wish­es. The unfortunate Mr. Gardner, has also been obliged to relinquish the society of a beloved wife; to tear himself from the engaging prattle of his infant children; to quit a home, which might have been rendered peaceful and happy, had the breast of his brother, been filled with that sympathy, which is an ornament to hu­manity. But there are mysteries in Provi­dence, which human wisdom cannot re­veal; and we frequently see one brother loaded with a redundance of fortune's gifts, devoid of a soul to relieve another, equally deserving, who experiences the most dis­tressing wants.

[Page 41]The miser, what a sordid worm! Full of anxiety, he pursues his speculations; he eats the bread of carefulness; he smothers every spark of benevolence; his character is shaded by inhumanity; and his name becomes odious, even to his friends.

I have received a morning's visit from my aunt Noble. She had been shopping, and has purchased a variety of finery. While she has a copper left, it will be im­possible for her to restrain her prodigal dis­position. I inquired if my uncle was likely to get business? She replied, there was no prospect of it at present, and that she soon expected to want the necessaries of life. Strange woman▪ thought I, that with such ideas can be thus indiscreet. She acquainted me with a secret, which she determines to keep inviolate; but I will pledge my word, if she should, it will be the first that ever she kept in her life. Nay, could I trace her to the houses she has visited this morning, I dare assert, I should find it already communicated to every family.

[Page 42]"The Colonel and she, have not spoke to each other for several days." Old quar­rels are renewed. Solomon's words are established. "A continual dropping in a rainy day, and a contentious woman are alike."

This great secret was told before Mrs. Leason, Laura and Fanny. Her visit was short, consequently the more agreeable to her niece. She had to call at several places; and if by accident she should fall into com­pany with intire strangers to her, or her situation, I would forfeit half I possess in the world, if she did not acquaint them with all her grievances.

I find my aunt's tears of irritability are yet at command. The weakness of her conduct has created her many enemies: She has made herself the derision of the city. Many who wish her well, in justice to themselves, are obliged to withdraw from her society: For however mankind are disposed to befriend the unfortunate, they are soon wearied with a recital of com­plaints; and the less we proclaim our cares and troubles abroad, the more we shall be [Page 43] respected. It is necessary, as much as pos­sible, to banish them from our own minds. The journey of life is short—and it is folly to mar present enjoyment, by a rehearsal of evils, or to pursue objects as necessary to our happiness, which lie far beyond our reach; and which, if we have the good fortune to attain, still leave us far distant from felicity. Duty directs us to enjoy the present moment, and not to hanker af­ter a something unpossessed.

It is frequently the case, that the very periods, which we were so impatient should arrive, reach us without the power to satisfy, or we soon become satiated with possession. Unfortunately our greatest enjoyments proceed from the expectation of a future good, we wish to obtain a something be­yond our reach, and Hope, that friendly companion of human life, animates us in the pursuit. Thus immersed in expec­tation, we hurry through the events of [Page 44] life, till old age overtakes us, and we fall a victim to its attendant diseases.

Let us learn to be virtuous and wise— true happiness will certainly ensue. I am, my dear, your affectionate friend

LETTER LX.

I HAVE the pleasure to congrat­ulate my dear Maria, upon the arrival of her brother, from the West-Indies. Most feelingly do I wish to add, the re-establish­ment of his health; but although he en­joys a greater share, than when he left Philadelphia, he is yet an invalid. Mrs. Leason and Laura are so far recovered as to be below. Fanny is at present better; but I fear the disorder will finally settle upon her—such repeated attacks must es­sentially weaken her constitution.

I last week, made one of a large party to your aunt. She is indeed, an amiable, sensible, and accomplished woman. Having ever been accustomed to the style in which she now lives, she is free from those super­cilious airs, which many of our present gen­try [Page 46] assume. In her family is the strictest regularity. Liberality is here seen without profusion—Grandeur without ostentation.

Mr. P. is a man, possessed of talents, which would reflect superior honour upon him, if he would consent to fill the vacancy in government, to which he has been appoint­ed; but having declined the repeated wishes of his country, it is his determination to close his days in private life. He is indeed justly esteemed for the solidity of his un­derstanding, his unblemished integrity, and the virtues of his heart.

Here I was introduced to a Mrs. Wil­liams, a lady, with whose character I have long been acquainted, and I have no doubt but public fame has also given it to Maria; but least you should in this respect be sin­gularly ignorant, I will acquaint you. She is originally from New-England; and possesses a striking levity of disposition, which, with an excessive vanity, leads her to a conduct that renders her disrespected. For several years past, she has been con­versant with the etiquette of the polite world, and lives in a style, few Americans [Page 47] will attempt to imitate. Her whole study is, to surpass the gay circle in which, like the gaudy butterfly, she flutters, to display her variegated colours, and peculiar rich­ness of apparel.

In the course of conversation she observ­ed, "It gave her great pleasure to antici­pate the time, when a proper distinction would be paid to the characters of the rich and elevated; for the present equality was horribly mortifying. It is now im­possible to obtain any article of dress which is not immediately copied by the vulgar. A few weeks since I ordered my milliner to make a hat in the newest and most ele­gant taste. Agreeably to my directions it was superbly decorated, and I thought the price it cost would prevent imitation; but the second time I wore it. I was mortified to find Mrs. B. with one exactly resembling it; and going home, I committed my own to the flames."

This noble lady is united with a man, who, by the most fortuitous events, has gained an elevated office, and the moment­ary breath of popularity. But although [Page 48] she at present basks in the indulgence of her consummate arrogance; yet high as her husband has been raised to honour, and bountifully as his country has provided for him, the provision will fall infinitely short of the calls of a woman who has no bounds to her extravagance.

From the observations I made upon her conduct, during the afternoon and evening, I am convinced, this motto may be affixed to her arms, " a short life and a merry one." She has forgot the times that are past, when the occupation of her husband placed her in a sphere of life, far different from that in which she now moves; she is also un­mindful, that, by the voice of the people, he came into political existence; and that the same voice can deprive him of his hon­ours, and return him to that mass of " Vul­gar Citizens" from which he sprang. Her conduct is censured, even by her friends; but fancying herself beyond the reach of envy, she " Bids defiance to the low aspersions of plebeian calumny," and pursues her fav­ourite pleasures. Mr. Williams, bewilder­ed with her ideas of greatness, which she [Page 49] lineally inherits, appears equally intoxi­cated.

In this uncertain tide of her prosperity, it would surely be friendly, to remind her she may fall, and again commence the wife of a plebeian. But I believe she con­siders reflection, as too laborious an em­ployment for a fashionable mind. Convinc­ed that you will excuse my deviating from my own story, I shall ever feel at liberty to communicate such as occur to me; and while they tend to unfold the vanity of the human heart, I flatter myself they will not be unacceptable to Maria.

LETTER LXI.

A FEW days since, Fanny re­ceived a letter from her sister Gardner, ac­quainting her with the late severity of her brother: Who no sooner saw this distressed woman, placed by her friends in a situa­tion, which they flattered themselves, would enable her to supply the calls of an infant family, than he made a pressing de­mand, for what his brother owed him, and has finally obliged her to give him her obligation, to pay him weekly, a certain proportion, until both principal and inter­est shall be discharged. And having late­ly come into possession of the house she now occupies, he has greatly added to her rent, and requires indubitable bondsmen for her punctual payment of it. La Bru­yer's observation, when speaking of char­acters similar to Mr. Gardner, is certain­ly [Page 51] verified. "They are neither," says he, "fit for friends, citizens, nor christians. If you admit them any merit, it is because they have money."

The unfeeling mind, is unacquainted with those sublime emotions, which digni­fy the benevolent heart. Your brother, whose breast yields to every tender call of humanity, was present when Fanny open­ed the letter. He watched her counte­nance, discovered her uneasiness, and urg­ed to be acquainted with the cause. In vain did she attempt to conceal her sorrow; his curiosity was not to be evaded; and submitting to his entreaties, she gave me the letter, and left the room. I hand­ed it to him. No sooner was he ac­quainted with the contents, than he ad­dressed a letter to Mrs. Gardner, in which he enclosed the mortgage of a house in Havre-de-Grace, begging her acceptance of it; with permission to draw upon him, for the sum necessary to discharge Mr. Gardner's debt. An act of generosity this, which doubly endears him to my heart. Blest with a fortune which enables [Page 52] him to indulge his philanthropic wishes, he is indefatigable in pursuit of distressed objects. And considering himself respon­sible to the Deity, for the property he has bestowed upon him, he believes it his duty to lessen the wants of the afflicted. I am convinced it is a grateful reflection to your mind, that those virtues, for which your deceased father was so justly revered, are transmitted to his only son; and that in the brother, the parent yet lives.

Left early in life an heir to such immense property, great was the danger which en­compassed him; but blest with a religious education, he was armed against the in­citements of the world; and viewing vir­tue as the only road to happiness, he dis­regarded the vanities of life. Free from the ostentation of youth, he holds exter­nal pomp as useless; making it his endeav­our to alleviate human sorrow; his health will not permit his personal attention to business, but the mercantile connexion he formed immediately after his father's death, renders his attendance unnecessary. His lib­erality to the University at Rhode-Island, of which he is a member, united with his [Page 53] many public and private acts of charity, render him conspicuously beloved. Uni­form in his disposition to do good, he vis­its the humble dwelling of poverty, and privately affords his assistance; while num­bers are relieved by his benificence, who know not, from whence the bounty flows.

How different is the disposition of Mr. Belmour, from the general characteristic of the world, who are seldom affected with a distant view of misfortunes. Did the sons of prosperity, imbibe sentiments sim­ilar to him, how much would misfortunes be alleviated. We should not then see a Gardner, depriving the widow, and the orphan, of their little property, to defray a paltry rent, which their narrow circumstances, disabled them from paying. We should not then find one brother, callous to the wants of another, destitute and de­pendant, but universal benevolence and love would govern the actions of man. Pardon my repeating to you, deeds which will immortalize the name of your broth­er. And believe that the language of ad­ulation, is foreign from the heart of

LETTER LXII.

BY a letter received by the post this evening, from Capt. Evremont, I find, he had drawn twenty days provision, and was to leave Pittsburg, for Fort-Washing­ton the fifth of September. This fort is three hundred miles from the place where my letter was dated. What an extent of country already separates us! and what innumerable difficulties must the army en­counter, before they return to the wishes of their friends! Convinced that you will in­dulge me in my moralizing reflections, I shall not apologize for those sentiments which may flow from my pen, for I cannot avoid being thoughtful upon the present occasion. That human life is of a cobweb texture is an idea which should be impress­ed upon our minds. This would tend to [Page 55] secure us through the storms in which we ride. Those who have never trod the thorny path of sorrow, would perhaps be disgusted with the sermonizing Caroline; but, Maria, although a favourite of fortune, has severely felt the lash of affliction by the repeated death of friends, I am therefore assured of your warmest participation, while agitated with my present painful feelings. In youth we too often look with impatient expectation, to those enjoyments which we fondly imagine will be connected with mat [...]r age—painting in idea, unnumber­ed gratifications, and promising ourselves a succession of pleasures. Few of us but find it a rugged path; or if we glide thro' life in the possession of all we had vainly pictured, old age will insensibly steal upon us, and the infirmities of weary nature, proclaim our approaching end; and al­though we may have been loaded with the most flattering honours, the wrinkled mes­senger of death, whose arrow is not blunt­ed by the numbers it has slain, will finally terminate the period of existence. Where are those that once crouded the busy [Page 56] streets, grasping after riches, popularity and fame? Are they not enshrined in the silent tomb, and become objects unfit for sight? This will also be the case with us, in a few revolving years: Nay, perhaps we have already taken the final leave of friends dear unto us. What are the objects which en­gage our daily attention but shadows, that make a momentary impression, and leave, upon recollection, an imperfect remem­brance—passing from us with such velocity as mutually to efface each other!

Let us not then suffer ourselves to be­come infatuated with the foibles and vani­ties of the world, which too often enslave us by their opinions, and frequently make us the objects of their derision; but while the votaries of vacant gratifications summon their idle amusements to assist the flight of time, may we pass those moments of relax­ation, which nature demands, in such pur­suits as will tend to strengthen, rather than weaken the mind.

LETTER LXIII.

FANNY lately received a letter from her mamma, by a Mr. Gibbins, whom she wished Mrs. Leason to accommodate with lodgings; but the house was then so full of boarders, it was not in her power to entertain him. This gentleman is nearly sixty years old, and a widower with a large fortune; he has, however, been our con­stant visitor; and I sincerely believe our landlady flattered herself she had made a conquest; for the whole artillery of her charms have been arranged upon the occa­sion. The barber has been employed to new model her head, and has supplied her with a false dress, which partially conceals the emblem of her age. But a few evenings since, he made a declaration, by which she discovered it was his intention to persuade some pretty girl to make him happy: This [Page 58] has induced her to relinquish her first in­tention, and to adopt every stratagem, that Laura may become the happy being.

Mr. Gibbins may have been handsome twenty or thirty years back, though at present no vestige of beauty remains; and he is one of the most illiterate beings I ever heard attempt to speak. But why do I mention these. Ignorance and age are not to be considered, when contrasted with a for­tune and carriage. This gentleman differs, in many respects, from his sex: For a lady to have rude health is so vulgar he cannot abide it. "There is a certain something to be expressed to a sick wife which suits the softness of his disposition; it gives an affectionate husband an opportunity to show his regards." A very pretty affection truly, that cannot be evinced, unless the beloved object is languishing in a consump­tion, or tortured with pain!

Mrs. Leason readily falls in with all his ideas. Her daughter is quite an invalid. She proposes, her making a visit to Pots­grove: The ride would be of service to her health. This is artfully done before [Page 59] Mr. Gibbins. He begs not to be deprived of Miss Laura's company. Mrs. Leason is now highly gratified. She then makes an objection to her going with any of the young boarders; and she cannot possibly accompany her. Mr. Gibbins requests the honour to attend her, and assures her mam­ma, his chariot and himself are equally at Miss Laura's command. I suspect this will end in a connexion; but I am not, I assure you, envious of Laura's prospects.

Fanny, your brother and myself, fre­quently pass an hour with your aunt P. I never quit her company without regret. More real pleasure results from her con­versation, than from all the circles of the city. I am delighted with her family government. Heaven has blest her with a number of children, who, from the cradle, are taught to obey. Indeed every part of her house appears to be directed by a me­chanical hand, which moves the whole sys­tem in perfect unison. Mr. P. has added to his family several little orphans, who being left destitute of property or friends, induced this benevolent man to take them [Page 60] into his house, these receive the same ed­ucation with his own children. He de­rives an inexpressible pleasure from the in­dulgence of his beneficent mind. While the selfish heart, wastes its days, without ever wiping the tear of affliction from the furrowed cheek of poverty, few partake of the philanthropy of a P. or a Belmour. Was the world more generally governed by their principles, we should experience a happiness unknown to the present age. We should not then find one brother com­pelled to go into distant, and hazardous countries, where he must experience in­numerable hardships, while another con­tinued at home, counting his property, and oppressing the distressed.

LETTER LXIV.

MY aunt was with me a few days since. " A new blow," she says, " is struck at her domestic peace." My uncle has been reflecting upon her for some of her late imprudencies, and she, as usual, I sup­pose, returned a double share of invective. She resolves not to continue with him; but is undetermined what steps to pursue.

The connexion between Mr. Gibbins and Laura goes on rapidly. I have taken the liberty to make some observations to Mrs. Leason, respecting the age of her daughter's gallant. With these she was much offended, and replied, "It was better to be an old man's darling, than a young man's slave. It is not probable" she says, "that Mr. Gibbins will live a great while, and then what a fortune Laura will have! All [Page 62] the young gentlemen in the city, will be af­ter the rich widow." Since I find how it is, I shall be cautious that I do not again injure the feelings of my landlady.

In this instance, I am sure, money must make good great deficiencies. But Mrs. Leason and Laura are not singular in their ideas. Strange infatuation! that for the prospect of wealth, they give up every pleasing expectation of connubial happi­ness. What can a young lady flatter her­self, who, in the bloom of youth, is con­nected with a man in the last stage of life, that is either satiated with the follies and amusements through which he has passed, or who is unable, by the decrepitude of age, to enjoy the gay scenes in which the heart of his wife constantly partakes. A uniformity of taste, is an essential requi­site to domestic happiness; and this can never be found in so striking a contrast of years. Would Laura and her mamma, anticipate what must take place a short pe­riod hence, when the concomitant diseases of advanced life, shall reduce her intended husband to a second childhood, they must, [Page 63] I think, be convinced that the most un­bounded fortune, would be inadequate to the sacrifices she will make.

Fanny and your brother desire to be re­membered to you. May Minerva ever be the guide of Maria.

LETTER LXV.

MRS. Leason is truly an artful woman. Her finesse alone will obtain a husband for Laura. The old gentleman pays her the closest attention. She begs that I will not say any thing to discourage her daughter. I am perfectly sick of his com­pany; although, when he is present, I can­not help smiling. The horses and servants are already changed; they had neither sorc­ibility nor faculty sufficient for her taste.

The pleasure which the anticipation of this connexion affords Mrs. Leason, cannot be expressed. She has long been endeav­ouring to make a match between her daugh­ter and a certain young gentleman in this city, who has been some time her gallant; but notwithstanding every opportunity she had given him to encourage an infant par­tiality, [Page 65] which she flattered herself was kind­ling in his breast; he has never made any declaration of his passion.

Upon the arrival of Mr. Gibbins, Mr. Hill was slighted, as he does not make so great a show. His virtues and good qual­ities are obscured; real accomplishments are neglected, for imaginary ones. For my own part I have endeavoured to dis­cover one pleasing trait in the character of Laura's lover, but have not succeeded. He may be styled one of those beings, which the world denominates harmless and in­offensive; terms, which in my view, designate the most contemptible character. It is at once to say they are unfit for enter­prize, and destroys every idea annexed to the requisite qualifications of either the active citizen, the soldier, or the real friend. I regret your mamma's indisposi­tion, and sincerely wish a restoration to her former health. Make my bests respects acceptable to her.

LETTER LXVI.

WHEN will my fondest wishes be gratified? The period I fear is remote. Yet my heart continually aspires after the society of my friends. By this time they are in the center of a desart, on all sides liable to be attacked by the beast of prey, hourly exposed to the more voracious inhabitants, and continually in danger of that inex­pressible cruelty, which marks the savage tribes. To enjoyment I am a stranger; but it is unfriendly to increase the anxiety of Maria. The same Providence which protects us, in the retired, and less expos­ed walks of life, can also screen them in the field of battle. Into the hands of an unerring power we must commit them, and may he who sways the sceptre of universal nature be their constant protector.

[Page 67]A strange affair has taken place in this city. You remember the story of Henri­etta Careless, who was suddenly missing, and was long since, supposed to be dead. Her friends last week received a letter from her, which gives the following account.

"Having for some time, encouraged an attachment to a certain French gentleman, who had resided several years in Philadel­phia, she resolved to follow him to his native country; and understanding that a French family, who sailed soon after him, wished a person to attend them upon their passage, and take the care of their children; having suitably clothed herself for the purpose, she made application to them, and engag­ed in their service.

"Soon after their arrival in France, Monsieur De Lot made a visit to the fami­ly in which she was, to congratulate them upon their return. Having been intimate with this gentleman in America, she feared he might recal her countenance; but be­ing engaged in accomplishing a piece of needle work for the lady with whom she lived, she endeavoured to command her [Page 68] feelings; and learning by their conversa­tion, that he accustomed himself to walk some time after dinner, in the celebrated gardens of Mr. M. an American gentle­man, she resolved the next day to deco­rate herself in a particular dress, which had been much admired by him, while in Philadelphia, and to walk in the gardens, about the time she expected he would ap­pear there. She had not been long amus­ing herself in this delightful spot, before she saw him enter, and soon found she had caught his attention.

"Having followed her some way, he hast­ened his step; and overtaking her, expres­sed great joy from the unexpected meeting, welcomed her to Paris, and begged to know what had brought her from home? She replied, the circumstances of her voyage were singular, and at present could not be divulged. "You will, however," said he, "permit me to visit you, and attend you in public!" She assured him it was not in her power, at present, to gratify a wish, in which her heart so largely shared. "You must indulge me," said he, "in visiting [Page 69] you." She assured him, that could not yet be granted. "Your story must indeed be singular," said he, "which induces you thus to seclude yourself from the soci­ety of one, who has long felt his heart glow, with a partiality he cannot conquer. Nothing, my adored Henrietta," continu­ed he, "but an engagement I had, previ­ous to my visiting America, bound myself by every tie of honour, to fulfil, would have torn me from you. Consider me as your protector. Since my return, I feel myself less obliged to pursue an object, whose conduct in my absence, has render­ed her disgustful to me. The three years I passed in America, have changed my opin­ion with respect to the education of my own country women. I have entirely lost my attachment to that volatile conduct, which in my view borders upon a criminal levity; and I am resolved to obtain an American wife. This declaration determ­ined her to keep inviolate her story; and as she could not see him, while she remain­ed in her present capacity at Madam —'s, she begged he would excuse her being seen [Page 70] by him for a few days; and insisted that he should not attend her from the place where they then were. She did not, how­ever, leave him, without a promise of meet­ing him in the same garden in a few days. Being repeatedly seen together, various conjectures were excited; and in a short time it was known, that the American girl who lived with Madam —, was the person who met Monsieur De Lot. The lady with whom she lived, unfortu­nately was connected in the family with which this gentleman had long expected a union; she therefore thought it best to quit her house, and retire to private, but reputable lodgings, where she frequently received the visits of her lover. Thus they passed several months; when the day was fixed for the wedding, and the next week, she was to have been introduced to his connexions; but having taken his leave of Henrietta one night, later than usual, she never saw nor heard of him more. Notwithstanding the indefatigable exertions of his friends to recover him, and having passed a year in fruitless inquiries, [Page 71] she finally resolved to retire to a monastery, where she has taken the veil, and deter­mines to end her days in a voluntary exile, as busy life is without enchantments to her. Her brother is preparing to sail in the pack­et for France; if possible, to prevail upon her to return to the embraces of her im­patient parents. Your former intimacy with Henrietta, and the conversation it has afforded in Philadelphia, will be an ample apology for my relating it to you. May Caroline largely share in the affections of Maria.

LETTER LXVII.

A LARGE packet has been hand­ed me from the Westward. It contained letters from my friends Evremont and Clark. That you may have some idea of their situation, I shall enclose Captain Clark's letter for your perusal. Since the receipt of these, I am doubly distressed; and the present appearance of nature, is perfectly consonant to the gloomy feelings of my heart. The waste and desolation now before me increases my sable thoughts. Winter is spreading round us her serious attire; but although personally secured against the howl of the tempest, and the gripe of the frost, I cannot be insensible to the sufferings of my distant friends. Nor do I ever approach the table, abound­ing with a luxurious supply, or seat my­self [Page 73] by the cheerful fire, without reiterat­ing my wishes, that I could impart them to those I so much esteem. The season, Maria, which once, with all its bleakness and severity, I most admired, from the more extensive social indulgences we were then enabled to enjoy, is now without its charms. The part I take in the wants my friends must unavoidably experience, ren­ders me an unsocial companion. Indulge me with your frequent letters. Write me every little incident which occurs to you, and believe me immutably your sin­cere friend,

LETTER LXVIII.

THE tribute of my dear Maria, and her god-mother's benevolence, are duly received. Accept my thanks in be­half of Mrs. Gardner. I shall, by an early opportunity, transmit this token of your sympathy to her; and feel assured, it will be received with a grateful heart. By letters lately from her, we learn, that by the severity of Mr. Gardner, several re­spectable planters in the neighbourhood of Havre-de-Grace, have been reduced to very great distress. The situation of one of these unfortunate persons, is indeed afflicting.

Mr. Gardner had long expressed a particular friendship for a Mr. Henshaw; he availed himself of those professions, and hired of him a sum of money, for which [Page 83] he gave a mortgage of his plantation as a security. This property, united with the stock he previously owned, enabled him to commence a large speculator; but finally proving unfortunate, and being followed with repeated bad contracts, he found him­self thousands worse than nothing. Mr. Gardner had loaned him the money upon an extravagant interest, but had given him his honour that he would never distress either him or his family for it; nor never suffer them to be turned off from their estate. But these promises were made to a man in affluence, and were never meant to be extended beyond the period of pros­perity. Notwithstanding Mr. Henshaw had received but one half the value of his place, which has since been apprised by indifferent people; the other half was shortly swallowed up by the usurious in­terest which Mr. Gardner demanded; and this unfortunate man, who has an aged father and mother, besides an extensive family dependant upon him, is thrown up­on the bounty of his neighbours for a pres­ent subsistence. This, my dear Maria, is [Page 84] one among the unnumbered instances of his barbarity. An amiable, a happy family are at this moment experiencing his inex­orable cruelty; his surprising parsimony and usury; and while they view him as the great cause of their distress, are loading him with their severest reproaches. But though the heart of a Gardner is hardened, and his ears deaf to their distress, yet he who reigns above, and views with a just abhorrence, his inhuman conduct, will fi­nally shower down his vengeance upon the perpetrator of so cruel a deed. Then will he, who now thrives by oppression, and who views the distress of a brother and a friend, with a heart hardened by a love of wealth, experience that severe remorse of consci­ence, which he has kindled by a rapacious mind. Then will the anger of an offended Deity roll upon him, and in his moments of anguish he will regret the calamities he has brought upon others. It is the voice of heaven which denounceth woe unto them who heap up wealth in abundance, grinding the face of the poor, considering not the sweat of their brow; but who are rejoicing alone in their possessions.

LETTER LXIX.

A FEW evenings since, the ser­vant acquainted me that a person at the door wished to speak with me. I arose from my chair, and was passing into the entry, when Mrs. Leason bid the boy de­sire them to walk into the parlour and de­liver their message; but not having any idea of danger, I endeavoured to pass her; when she caught my hand, and led me back into the room. The boy soon returned with a card, which gave me an invitation to pass the next evening with your aunt P. Without hesitation I returned my compli­ments, and assurances of attending her. When your brother came home, I told him my engagement, and claimed the hon­our of his company. The next day prov­ed stormy; but not inclining to be depriv­ed [Page 86] of society to which I am strongly attach­ed, your brother procured a carriage and attended me to his aunt's. From the par­ticular invitation I had received, I expect­ed to find a select party assembled; but upon my entering the room, discovered we were unexpected, though welcome visitors. This induced me to apologize for being out so disagreeable an evening; and I as­sured her, my partiality to her company, as well as real politeness, which obliged me to fulfil particular engagements, had alone induced my present visit. "It is tru­ly," replied she, "an agreeable disappoint­ment, for I anticipated passing this even­ing alone, as Mr. P. left the city yes­terday, and will not return this week; I shall therefore claim you as my companion until he arrives. I now began to suspect the card a deception; and taking out my pocket-book, handed it to her, requesting to know if that was her invitation. She assured me it was not. This confirmed my imagination, and has again filled me with fears. Watched by so inflexible an enemy as Eliza, my conduct, must indeed [Page 87] be guarded; so great is her art, I cannot develope her in a single instance; although it is evident, she leaves no stratagem unes­sayed to complete my destruction. Those reflections, however, which result from a recognition of my conduct, greatly con­tribute to my happiness. To these I re­tire with a satisfaction, of which I can never be deprived by the severest persecu­tion; they will contribute to my support. An invariable attachment to virtue, and a strict adherence to duty, will, notwith­standing the misfortunes we meet, facili­tate the journey of life. Self-approbation, greatly contributes to our enjoyment; nor can we be deprived of a tranquil and hap­py mind, while we reverence the dictates of conscience. Do as thou would be done unto, is a precept which should early be impress­ed upon the heart; and they, whose actions coincide with this copy will ensure a per­manent reward. While I continued at Mrs. P's. a billet was handed me from my aunt Noble, which was written, as she ex­presses, from her bed of sickness and distress. This begged my immediate attendance up­on [Page 88] her: But being convinced it was noth­ing more than a return of her old disorder, I felt no inclination to hurry myself; and accordingly deferred my visit until the af­ternoon; when going to the house, I found her below, and at her favourite amusement, cards. This was, however, a matter of no surprise to me, for I had fre­quently known her while at Trenton, to keep her bed, send for her minister and doctor, and in less than an hour after they had left her, come down stairs, apparently in her usual health, and devote the whole day to the card-table. She pleads in ex­cuse for this indulgence, her indisposition and difficulties; and to smooth the brow of a gloomy imagination, plunges deep in­to error; nor does she ever enjoy herself but in ceasing to be reasonable; for such those surely are, who can never be happy but when thus employed. The Deity has, undoubtedly▪ designed us mutually to contribute to the happiness of each other; and the love of society is strongly imprint­ed upon our hearts. It is a tie, which properly enjoyed, leads to the most refined [Page 89] pleasures. By this social intercourse, our ideas become enlarged, the torch of know­ledge is lighted, and we derive a gratifica­tion, superior to every idle amusement. But that mind must indeed be peculiarly vacant, which can never be at ease, unless engaged in scenes of dissipation; we re­quire some moments for reflection which we cannot enjoy in a round of company.

May it be our study to conquer the whims of the heart, before habit rivets them upon us. Let us aim to live agreea­bly to the dictates of reason; for a dere­liction from this will render us truly mise­rable, while an attention to her uniform voice, will fix us firm as Atlas amidst the storms of life.

LETTER LXX.

THE anxiety I experience for my friends, prevents me from partaking in that current of happiness, which is now overflowing the ambitious imagination of Mrs. Leason and Laura, from the antici­pated connexion with Mr. Gibbins. Yet notwithstanding my painful sensations, I am obliged to decorate my expressions in the livery of gaiety, to dissemble my feel­ings however difficult the undertaking. Deception in this respect, is a double duty which I owe to the friendship and health of Fanny; but it is impossible always to conceal my feelings, and she frequently discovers the uneasiness of my heart. Her solicitous friendship, adds a jewel to her virtues, and reflects redoubled lustre upon her actions. I keep, as far as possible, ev­ery painful event from her knowledge, and [Page 91] the frequent letters she receives from her lover and brother, are also written in a style of gaiety. There being an establish­ed post, from this place to Pittsburg, we often have an opportunity of hearing from our friends, though several weeks have elapsed since we received any information. This causes the most distressing ideas to haunt my imagination. Forgive me, Maria, if I indulge a gloomy propensity. Inclina­tions which we rather encourage than re­press, are quick in their growth.

This city is full of mirth and dissipation, yet I cannot become interested in the pleas­ures which encircle me. Fatal premoni­tions deprive me of even the comforts of hope; but I will not trouble you with the gloom of my heart.

Your brother has been making provision for the two eldest sons of Mr. Henshaw, and has written to this unfortunate man, acquainting him with his intentions. I cannot express my regards for a man whose benevolence is thus unbounded. The re­membrance of his name, will be ever fra­grant to

LETTER LXXI.

THIS letter accompanies one I yesterday received from Captain Clark, which by your particular desire I have en­closed to you. As you expect to be in Philadelphia within a few weeks, I send the original, knowing upon your arrival I shall receive it from you. This will more fully convince you of the situation of our friends, than any animadversions I could make upon it. Indeed I am not at present disposed to correspond; no, not even with Maria!

LETTER LXXII.

MY last letter from the West­ward, if possible, has added to my depres­sion. Calypso, you know, was inconsolable for the loss of Ulysses, and all the beauties around her only heightened her distress. Thus it is with Caroline. Fanny, although possessing a greater command of her feel­ings than myself, suffers inexpressibly by her fears. I have at present, little relish for society; but my wish to amuse my drooping friend, forces me from home.

A few days since, we fell in company with several of those very polite young gentlemen, who rather than give others the trouble to talk, engross the conversation themselves. I dare say you frequently meet with those coxcombs, whom nature has rendered vain, by bestowing upon [Page 98] them a likely face. Intoxicated by their personal charms, they view, with contempt, the sentimental and improved companion. These simple pretty fellows, are, in their own opinions, accomplished characters. Having acquired a few compliments, and plundered the dictionary for the most la­boured expressions, they arrange them into unintelligible sentences, to which they affix a few oaths, as an additional elo­quence to their discourse, imagining them­selves equal to the most celebrated philoso­phers; they soar into the ethereal space for their expressions, and leave a common understanding, at a loss for their ideas.

I soon took my leave of this company. The cheerful fire side of Mrs. Leason, is far preferable to the conversation of such triflers. Visiting is designed as a relaxation to the mind; and we seek entertainment abroad, that we may indulge those social feelings, inherent in our nature. Agreea­ble society mutually improves the under­standing; but the vague prattle of the cox­comb, can never enlarge the ideas. Vani­ty is said to be peculiar to our sex. Is not [Page 99] this a sentiment born of prejudice, and nursed by a partial imagination? Vanity is invariably the companion of an empty mind; and an intercourse with the world certainly exhibits as many vacant heads in one sex as in the other; nor is beauty less destructive to the understanding of the gentlemen, than of the ladies.

LETTER LXXIII.

WILL you believe me, Maria, the bearer of your last letter, Mr. Trevers, pretends to a violent passion for your friend. Let not this information impress you with an idea of my being vain. I am sensible we often mistake attention for love; but if the most languishing expression of the eye, the most passionate language of the tongue, and the most assiduous conduct, denote affection, the youth feels the pang. It seems, Maria, you have been saying many civil things of your friend, and he ac­knowledges he meets me preattached. Why did you not also tell him of my engage­ments? but even this, I apprehend, would not have discouraged him; for I find he is so much in love with himself, that he will not easily be brought to believe, any can be indifferent to his charms.

[Page 101]As you ask my opinion of him, I will candidly acknowledge, that to me, he ap­pears to be one of those empty-headed youths, who are destitute of intellects suf­ficient to entertain you for a single hour. Notwithstanding he has knocked his head against the walls of a college, and taken the tour of the States, he has not acquired sufficient understanding to render himself agreeable; nor would all his property, for he tells me he is "Heir to a great estate," compensate for the vacuum in his brain. In company he has a trick of playing, in­cessantly, with the chain of his watch; to render more obvious, I conclude, many expensive trinkets annexed to it.

I asked him, a few days since, if he was fond of reading, and offered to lend him some entertaining authors, in hopes of losing a few of his morning visits; but in his great gallantry, he replied, at the same moment squeezing my hand with the most imaginable fondness, that "My company was vastly to be prefered to so insipid an employment;" and that four years hard study at college, had sickened [Page 102] him of books. What a gallant youth have you introduced to me! He has had an en­tertainment since he has been in this city, and I am told, set the tables himself; and that he is really accomplished in this busi­ness. Such an husband might be very useful upon these occasions: But the man to whom I give my hand, Maria, must have an understanding, infinitely superiour to what I can pretend. A mind fettered with ignorance is unfit for social happiness, and shall never command the heart of

LETTER LXXIV.

AN accident, yesterday, brought me into the company of Eliza. I had en­gaged to accompany a little party to a tea-house, seven miles from town. When we alighted we were told the house was croud­ed; but that a party who had dined there, were preparing to return; and that this room should be reserved for us, if we would for the present step into a small one adjoining it. This room was a passage to that in which the company was. We had not been long seated, before several gentle­men and ladies passed through it, who be­ing acquainted with our party, insisted we should join them. To this they cheerfully agreed. Our addition to their society giving them new spirits, they proposed to pass the evening and have a dance. I had been with this company but a short time, [Page 104] before Eliza, with two other ladies, entered the room. I resolved, however, not to render the evening painful to my friends; but, as they had made the excursion for pleasure, to suppress feelings which invol­untarily occur, when I consider her as the cause of my wretchedness.

In the party in which I was, I felt se­cure from her malice, whatever the dic­tates of her heart might suggest. Music was accordingly procured, and your friend, Mr. Trevers, solicited me to engage myself as his partner for the evening; but having uniformly discouraged his attachment to me, I refused to comply with his request, by pleading a previous engagement. Un­fortunately he obtained Eliza for his part­ner, and was placed the next couple to me. This gave him frequent opportunities of discovering his gallantry, which induced him to say many soft things to your friend. These I would fain have consider­ed as unmeaning sentences often repeated to us without design to make impression upon the mind; but so much did I engage his attention, that he was deficient in his [Page 105] politeness to Eliza, and frequently repeated to her the passion he experienced for me.

Mr. Helen, the gentleman with whom I had the happiness to dance, was in his person elegant, in his manners accomplish­ed, while virtue appeared to elevate his mind and invigorate his imagination; and the evening passed in the indulgence of that innocent gaiety which delineates the features of youth. I could not, however, feel that tranquillity I should have expe­rienced had Eliza been absent. Fanny's health did not permit her attending us: Her indisposition deprives her of many gratifications; but she shines in the hours of sickness, and has a disposition sweetly submissive to the will of heaven. When Hygeia shall forsake my cheek, and the pal­lid messenger of incurable disease denounce the irrevocable decree, may I feel that re­signation which is so striking in my friend.

LETTER LXXV.

IT is in vain. I find I cannot get rid of my love-sick Damon; he is the most persevering lad I ever knew. I imagine he flatters himself, that if he could obtain my hand, my heart would soon follow; but love must be free. The affections cannot be forced. Perhaps he is indifferent to the acquisition of the heart, and is only solicit­ous for the person of your friend. I be­lieve he thinks, that the service of plate, which he has taken peculiar care to ac­quaint me he has making in this city, and for which he even wishes my taste, with the elegant house his father is now building, together with a superb carriage which is is nearly completed, will finally tempt your friend. But I am resolved not to sacrifice my happiness to pride. All these things have their influence, I shall have [Page 107] no objection to shining in an elevated situ­ation with the man I love, nor of expe­riencing a few wants with him who shares my sincere affections. Are these senti­ments worthy of Caroline?

Mr. Helen has politely called upon me. He increases upon an acquaintance. I dare not say half I really think, of this charming young man. He insensibly en­gages the heart. Be under no apprehen­sions respecting Captain Evremont: My affections are not diminished for him.

This letter will be handed you by your brother, who can give you every informa­tion of▪

LETTER LXXVI.

I AM flattered, Maria, with the friendship of Mr. Helen. His under­standing I esteem, and his sentiments re­flect an honour upon his education. Time glides imperceptibly in his society. I am improved by his visits. Attached to the company of the ladies, he frequently pass­es an hour with us. He is indeed a con­trast to Mr. Trevers. In the one, we discover the ignorant, but haughty youth; proud of his wealth, despising the opin­ion of the world, laughing at every moral sentiment, addressing you in a language re­plete with indelicacy, entertaining you with his intrigues, his riches, and himself. His conversation is indeed a repetition of egotism, painful to a delicate ear, and dis­gusting to a virtuous mind. The other, [Page 109] exhibits a manliness of sentiment, and a purity of judgment, which secures the ap­probation of the sensible and refined: He boasts not of his possessions or merits, but unfolds a heart adorned with virtue, and purified with knowledge. Having associ­ated with the amiable of our sex, he is our advocate and friend. That he may obtain a companion for life, whose virtues shall immutably secure his happiness, is the wish of

LETTER LXXVII.

IN the bosom of friendship I seek that consolation the world cannot be­stow. How full the measure of my wretch­edness!—Read the following:—

In the above letter, I trace the mali­cious disposition of Eliza. Free from the unjust aspersions cast upon my conduct, conscience does not impeach my behaviour. Had Captain Evremont been present, I am certain he would have approved my ac­tions. I require some friend to advise with, in my present situation! A brother to interfere in my behalf! To whom shall I apply? It is necessary to make some in­quiry of Mr. L. that I may know if he will acknowledge such a letter! I cannot myself appear in the affair! Mr. Helen is my friend, but not my lover! He is gen­erous! He is sincere! Will it be proper [Page 113] to interest him in my cause? Consult your mamma; she will consider me as her daughter, and advise me as such. Let me receive your immediate reply. I cannot relinquish my partiality, nor suffer my conduct to be reproached. This is an im­portant moment to your unhappy friend,

LETTER LXXVIII.

I THANK you for your atten­tion to my last, and shall, in every in­stance, follow the advice of your mamma. I have made Mr. Helen my confident. He is the only person in this city, who knows the situation of Caroline. I plead to Fanny and Mrs. Leason, for the de­pression of my spirits, an indisposition of body.

Mr. L. is unfortunately from home, but is expected in town to-morrow. Every delay adds to my wretchedness. The sin­cerity with which Mr. Helen engages in my behalf, renders his friendship an ac­quisition. I am convinced of your inter­est in my afflictions, and that your friend­ship would induce you to lessen my suffer­ings; but, Maria, I am peculiarly wretch­ed.

LETTER LXXIX.

MR. Helen has called upon Mr. L. He disavows any knowledge of this affair, and has written to Captain Evre­mont upon the subject, by the post. This will surely convince him of the deception.

To his letter I have added an account of the party in which I met Eliza, reminding him of all her plans against me; and I flatter myself to erase prejudices excited by her malignant spirit. How have my days been shaded! Even those moments al­lotted to amusements are tinged with sor­row. The being, possessed of a mind restless for revenge, fabricating mischief, and aiming to blast the little buds of pleas­ure, which now and then present them­selves in the desert of life, is alike an object of our pity and our fear.

[Page 116]I am impatient for these letters to reach Captain Evremont. May no circumstance impede their way. While I suffer in his opinion, my mind is far from ease, my heart a stranger to joy.

LETTER LXXX.

WHEN I peruse the lines dic­tated by the friendly hand of my loved Maria, my imagination presents her, pos­sessed of health, possessed of happiness; for which I cast my eyes to heaven, with a heart warm with gratitude, and in the most fervent ejaculations, thank the be­neficent Dispenser of every blessing, and solicit their continuance. That mind alone, which is warmed with the delight­ful sensations which friendship inspires, can realize the bliss I feel. Were it not for these frequent tokens of your affection, I should sink beneath the weight of my afflictions. I flatter myself soon to hear from Captain Evremont. I almost wish the hours rolled more rapidly. The wheels of time never appeared half so dilatory; and with my poetic friend I am disposed to exclaim,

LETTER LXXXI.

IN answer to the flattering senti­ments with which your last is introduced, I can only observe, that your partiality and politeness are equally apparent. The many encomiums you are pleased to bestow upon me, have no claim upon my vanity; a consciousness that they are not merited, but originate from the friendship you have so long evinced for me, will ever operate as a repellent against the baleful influence of a vain imagination.

You complain of the shortness of my letters. I have been, and continue to be, too anxious to correspond.

Fanny has received a letter from your cousin; he is appointed Brigade-Major to General Hill. I sincerely rejoice with her in the pleasure she experiences upon this [Page 120] occasion. Nothing can surpass the emo­tions of a feeling mind, when it bursts the seal of a friendly epistle. They are indeed joyful messengers, which mitigate the pain­ful separation of kindred souls. It is the anticipation of a letter from Captain Evre­mont, which enlivens my dreary prospects. I feast upon this solacing reflection; it an­imates my torpid mind. The attentions of Mr. Helen, would, if possible, make me forget my wretchedness; but the wound of my heart, Maria, cannot early be healed.

LETTER LXXXII.

EMERGED, my dear Maria, from the first impressions of my distracted mind, I fly to my pen. The melancholy accounts from the western army have in­volved me in unutterable distress. While nourishing the pleasurable anticipation of a reconciliation with Captain Evremont, I was unmindful of the dangers to which he was exposed, and totally unprepared for the distressing event. The object upon which I fondly placed my expectation of future happiness, to whom I looked for protection and advice, is far removed from me. Insupportable idea! He has left the world alienated from Caroline. I cannot lisp, but in the most feeble accents, the bit­terness I feel. Can my exhausted nature sustain so severe a stroke! My eyes are dim with sorrow; a universal langour is [Page 122] diffused throughout my frame. The tear which often relieves the troubled mind, is congealed; the pearly drop is petrified. I am inadequate to the offices of friendship. Gladly would I pour the balm of consola­tion into the tortured mind of Fanny, but I am incapable of every soothing attention; and if I attempt to evince my sympathy, my expressions faulter—every face is mark­ed with the signature of sorrow.

My friends, Captain Gardner, Clark and Green are also among the slain. Yes, Ma­ria, they fell equally distinguished by their bravery and honour, and universally re­gretted for their united virtues. But I will, for the present, leave the melancholy subject.

LETTER LXXXIII.

MY distress must apologize for the neglect, in my last, in not participating with you in behalf of your cousin, whose name, I am told, is upon the list of the wounded. My hand trembles while I write—my mind shudders when I recal the distressing scene—every pleasing expecta­tion is inactive—my situation is, beyond idea, wretched—all hope is fled. Had I been deprived of Captain Evremont, pre­vious to the late fatal conduct of Eliza, I should have had a consolation to which I am now a stranger. To suffer in the esti­mation of those we love is distracting to our reflections, and increases the wounds of the heart. Your cousin is, I find, left to regret the loss of his particular friend, General Hill. This defeat alike involves the affectionate parent—the wise beloved, [Page 124] and the amiable sister in the most compli­cated distress. The throb of anguish, now tears the parental breast—many of whom are mourning for an only child. The most torturing ideas will corrode the happiness of disconsolate widows; while sisters and friends, justly partial to the merits of the deceased, will mingle the tears of affection and sorrow. The delicate situation of Fanny's health, if possible, adds to my dis­tress upon this melancholy occasion.

Those who discover the violence of their grief by strong expressions, or great agita­tion, sooner recover from affliction, than those whose silent sufferings prey upon their spirits, destroy their health, and frequently render them victims to their misfortunes. This I fear will be the case with my dear Fanny.

The bullets which know no distinction, in this defeat, have destroyed the flower of the army. I am anxious to be acquainted with the true situation of our surviving friends, and often spare a sigh for the loss of my country.

[Page 125]While adversity pursues your Caroline, may it sublimate her virtue, and raise her far above the uncertain fruition of earthly pleasures.

LETTER LXXXIV.

I HAVE received a letter of con­dolence from your cousin. It is tender and sympathetic. He observes, there are no reflections to imbitter the recollection of Captain Evremont, as he died like a sol­dier, and was, he flatters himself, instant­ly translated to the realms of bliss. It af­fords peculiar satisfaction, that he was not left upon the field of battle to encounter the last pangs of dissolution, with the ad­ditional sufferings of savage torture, but that he received a sudden translation from earth to heaven. These reflections pre­vent many distressing ideas, which would result from an apprehension of his having been left without a friend, exposed to in­sult, cruelty and distress. Yet my bosom labours with its weight of sorrow.

[Page 127]His letter expresses a very sensible re­gret for the loss of Mr. Gardner, and his highly esteemed friend, General Hill.

May this unfortunate day, stand unpar­alleled upon the historic page.

LETTER LXXXV.

CONVINCED that Maria will be a participant with me, and that the plaintive voice of unfeigned sorrow, will deeply in­terest your heart, I have frequent recourse to my pen. It is a luxury thus to un­bosom my affliction.

What adverse storms await me! What unnumbered accidents mar our felicity! Those sweet moments which blest me with the society of my friend and lover, are gone forever; they cannot be recalled: But al­though the vital spark has ceased to ani­mate his decaying body, and his limbs are now stiffened by the hand of death, I look, with pleasing expectation, to that period, when our kindred souls shall meet in the region of uninterrupted felicity, to renew our friendship, and never part. Oh, bal­my [Page 129] hope! what a sweet ingredient art thou in the cup of life! Your cousin's letter to Fanny mentions, that Captain Green, hav­ing discovered the most undaunted brave­ry, received a wound in his hip, which rendered him unable to stand; and as no attention was paid to the wounded veterans, he was left, when the army retreated, with many unfortunate deserving men, sitting upon the way-side, encouraging them in their retreat.

My friend, Captain Clark, notwith­standing he had been engaged through the whole battle, in the early part of which he received a wound in his ancle, was shame­fully left to cover the retreat of the flying army. Having tied his handkerchief over the wound, he returned five miles from the spot upon which the engagement com­menced, when, grown faint with loss of blood, he begged his men to hasten on with­out him, and as he must die, insisted they should not expose their lives upon his ac­count; but at this instant a horse was ob­tained, and as his friend was assisting him to mount it, a ball, commissioned by heav­en, [Page 130] ended the life of a real soldier. No weeping connexions attend the body, to pay the last sad offices of humanity. No tolling bell announced the melancholy event; but, with many brave men, he lies exposed to the insult of every barbarian. Scarcely can I support the colouring with which my imagination paints the sufferings of my friends. The frequent letters of Maria will be necessary to strengthen the gloomy mind of

LETTER LXXXVI.

RECEIVE, my dear Maria, my sincere and grateful acknowledgments, for that warm participation, you so feelingly express, in your last letter, for myself and Fanny. The present painful event, has indeed involved us in real afflictions.

Though the loss of friends is ever pain­ful to the feeling and sympathetic, there are circumstances which mitigate these una­voidable afflictions, and certainly it is no inconsiderable one, to be allowed, by heav­en, to contribute, though but in the small­est degree, to the comfort of their depart­ing moments, to receive their last injunc­tions, and to pay the respect due to their memory. But these pleasing, painful grat­ifications are denied upon the present af­fecting occasion, and the bodies thus dear [Page 132] to the recollection of congenial friends, are not only fallen a sacrifice in a distant country, but have become the plunder of the savage tribes, from whom we cannot expect less than barbarity and abuse. Could I select the melancholy remains of those departed heroes, and deposit them in one friendly vault, then would I indulge the luxury which would result from moistening the sacred sod, and guarding it against the rude feet of disrespectful intruders. But, alas! every friendly office is denied; and were it not for the fragrant reflection, which alone perfumes the gloomy mind, that the soul, that superiour and immortal part, is fled, far beyond the former confines of its soli­tary prison, and is beyond the reach of mortal resentment, we should be encircled with an impenetrable night, and pierced with such additional arrows, as would convey incurable poisons, contaminate ev­ery enjoyment, and canker every social pleasure. But this idea, illumes the men­tal hemisphere; it lessens the affliction.

There is, indeed, an additional satisfac­tion, that although by a lively fancy we [Page 133] can picture their distress, yet the truth, if corresponding with those piercing images of our afflicted mind, is, with us, a matter of uncertainty; and the real sufferings which they have undergone, are concealed from our view.

Most sensibly do I feel the present stroke. Yes, Maria, it will not look to you, who have so often heard my senti­ments of my friends while living, as afflic­tion decorated in the language of unmean­ing flattery, but as the genuine sprouts of a real regard, which have grown sponta­neous in the warm bosom of friendship.

Since the first moment of my acquaint­ance with Captain Evremont, I have ac­knowledged myself his friend. My par­tiality may possibly magnify his merits; but I am confident I give him no more than his due, when I say, few possessed minds better formed, or sentiments more strictly consonant with integrity, bravery, and honour. In private life, he was par­ticularly distinguished, by those virtues which form the basis of a real friend; and as his ideas were delicate and refined, I [Page 134] was ever happy to receive his approbation of my sentiments, valuing it as the evidence of their worth. As a soldier, I can add no encomiums: Public fame echoes from every quarter his praise; and the monu­ments, upon which will be enrolled the names of many brave and valiant, will evince to future ages, the obligations of their country, and the general regret, which the unhappy event produced.

Fanny's indisposition has increased, since the unfortunate accounts of the western army: May heaven give her strength to sustain the present affliction; for without the interposition of an over-ruling Provi­dence, many surviving friends must sink beneath this distressing event.

LETTER LXXXVII.

WHEN encircled with pleasures, and in the pursuit of happiness, we forget that the arrows of affliction may pierce our hearts, and suddenly destroy the enthusiastic structures which are too often reared in a juvenile fancy; but should the distant pros­pect deceive us, and our ascent to the flowe­ry temple of that sickle deity, fortune, prove difficult, and disappointments in rapid suc­cession obtrude upon us, our most favourite amusements become insipid, we lose our taste for the society of our gay associates. Yes, Maria, in the sable hour of affliction, religion is alone able to support us; and although we may have slighted her serious admonitions, while captivated with success and dissipation, we now solicit her melio­rating influence.

[Page 136]Fanny's anxiety for a destitute sister, and the helpless offspring of a bereaved brother, deeply affects her sympathetic breast— she is urgent to return to Havre-de-Grace, that she may personally exert herself to support them under so severe a trial. I have solicited her to continue a few weeks longer in Philadelphia; and upon the promise of accompanying her home, ob­tained her consent.

I flatter myself your cousin will soon be with us: His long absence renders her impa­tient to see him. What distressing scenes has he endured since he last bid adieu to my friend! Within a few weeks, how many of our gay companions have been snatched from all their fancied honours, and their immortal souls wafted to another world! How many, thoughtless of the sad event, now sleep in eternity, instead of gathering the laurels of fame, and retiring to the plaudits of their friends and citizens! What a large portion have made the unalterable exchange! To what cause shall we attrib­ute this unexpected defeat? May he who [Page 137] hath hitherto directed our battles appear for us, and, if our cause is just, grant his future aid and presence.

LETTER LXXXVIII.

NEXT Tuesday is appointed for the celebration of Laura's nuptials. My mind is too much pervaded with dis­quietude, to share with Mrs. Leason and her daughter, upon this pleasing event. Not only the loss of my friends has cast a veil over my enjoyments, but the situation of Fanny's health, gives an additional dejection to my spirits—my heart, indeed, is insensible to the pleasing vibrations of mirth. Attuned to sorrow, it cannot feel the joy of the family: But I am not un­mindful of the blessings I yet experience. No, my dear, ingratitude shall not intrude upon me, for if it is the blackest crime, which can discolour human actions, its ma­lignity must be infinitely augmented, when indulged against heaven▪ What are the [Page 139] riches, the honours, the amusements, and the pleasures of life, if we are deprived of feelings to enjoy them! If we ourselves, are experiencing indisposition, or if those who are endeared to us by the most affec­tionate ties, linger with pain, and are dai­ly consuming with irremediable disease!

My whole attention is devoted to my declining friend. I have the misfortune to see her continually drooping, with a disorder which has hitherto baffled the skill of our physicians. The sensations which inhabit my bosom upon this occa­sion are past description.

A late military commander, has arrived in this city. No sumptuous cavalcade es­corted him hither; no applause and glory echoed forth his bravery; no honourary torch is lighted to denote his praise, nor is he received with acclamations of joy. The friends of those unfortunate men who were wounded in the first of the battle, and left to cover the retreat of the army, will long retain a lively recollection of the error: Nor will the most plentiful draughts of Lethe, obliterate the deed. Many re­flections [Page 140] have been cast upon certain char­acters among us, by whose immediate in­fluence, it is thought the present war has been thus rashly pursued. These reflec­tions may finally terminate in the entire loss of their now declining popularity.

I need not tell you how much I love you, nor how ardently I desire to welcome you to Philadelphia.

LETTER LXXXIX.

EVERY thing is preparing for the marriage of Laura. They are to leave this city for Carolina, a few days after the ceremony is performed. Mrs. Leason has agreed to resign her house, here, and pass the next summer with her daughter. They are indeed quite elated with their present prospects. I sincerely wish they may not be disappointed; but Mr. Gibbins is an entire stranger in this city, nor have they informed themselves of his real situation or character. In an action which involves the happiness of future life, too much cau­tion cannot be observed. Dazzling appear­ances should not bewilder the reason; for although we may be seated upon the silken sopha, or roll in the gilded carriage, hap­piness may be a stranger to the mind. [Page 142] Cheerfulness is often expressed in the fea­tures, while anxiety corrodes the heart. But the conduct of our landlady and her daughter, speaks a language contrary to ex­perience. It expressly declares they have nothing to fear from a connexion with a man of money. It will enable Laura to indulge her fanciful disposition, to orna­ment her person, and consult her looking-glass; to command a carriage, and to be gratified by an external parade. These are the summit of her wishes. She certainly will not care how little she is troubled with the insipid society of a husband; this in­deed would be ridiculous. These, Maria, may be the fashionable arguments of the polite world, and such is the force of fash­ion, that we are frequently obliged to sub­mit to its powerful voice; for unless we are subservient to the mode of the times, we must prepare for the derision of our well bred companions. Thank heaven, however, I am not yet contaminated: My feelings have hitherto been my guide, and by their decision, I hope to have sufficient virtue, to direct my future conduct. I [Page 143] shall then never marry merely for a sup­port, but feel myself peculiarly happy, when business and inclination shall bless me with the society of my husband. Old fashioned as these ideas may be, they are not less the sentiments of

LETTER XC.

LAURA's nuptials were celebrat­ed at Christ's Church on Tuesday morning; since which, the house has been filled with company, in joy of the event. Fanny and myself were voluntarily secluded from both. Hearts depressed with affliction, cannot relish the flush of festivity. The feelings, attendant upon virtuous sadness, elevate the mind, far above that unmean­ing gaiety, in which the world is too often involved.

They will leave us next week. My best wishes attend them. It is true, I have not passed the walk of life so far as Mrs. Leason, but from infancy, having been exposed to misfortune, observation has necessarily been enforced upon me, I have seen the [Page 145] most promising connexions disappointed, and dread the event of those matches which have money alone for the foundation of domestic felicity.

I am rendered extremely uneasy, by the situation of Fanny. She rides every day when the weather will permit; but the season is unfavourable to her. Never did her eyes emit a more delightful effulgence, than at this moment. Her countenance is suffused with the most expressive grief; her whole soul rises into view, and the nat­ural softness of her features is increased. Yet with submission she sustains affliction. Unite with me your petitions for her re­covery.

LETTER XCI.

FEW, my dear Maria, have been called, so early in life, to experience such severe misfortunes as your Caroline. De­prived of my parents, before I was capable of knowing my loss; left a destitute orphan dependent upon the benevolence of a few connexions; in early life, habituated to severity, and greatly neglected in my edu­cation, until I happily fell into the hands of my uncle Franklin, of whom Provi­dence shortly saw sit to deprive me, though not to reduce me to former dependence, and to add to the catalogue of my suffer­ings, Eliza has been permitted to persecute and cruelly to injure me. Her persecu­tions have involved my particular friends in insupportable distress, and finally de­prived me of my much loved Lucretia, [Page 147] whose death consigned to the silent tomb, a father and a husband.

These reflections alternately force them­selves upon my mind; and as our happiness in life, depends upon that of our friends, my pleasures have ever been impeded. The social, benevolent, and sympathetic, par­take in the sorrows of each other. Sym­pathy and benevolence are among the pleasing signatures of the human heart; and he who is divested of them, must in­deed, be a Misanthrope. Agreeable con­nexions, greatly contribute to our enjoy­ment of life. Many are the tears I have shed, at the idea of being without a rela­tion capable of directing my youthful steps. But heaven has hitherto supported me. May I yet be enabled to encounter the difficulties which await me. I remain im­mutably the sincere friend of Maria.

LETTER XCII.

THE unfeeling conduct of Mr. Gardner, to his deceased unfortunate broth­er, is so strongly impressed upon the amia­ble Fanny, that she cannot suppress the silent tear. It insensibly steals down her languid cheek, and I fear she will fall a victim to that exquisite sensibility she so largely possesses, and sink with the weight of her affliction to the grave. Repose has fled her couch: Her pillow is wet with the dew of sorrow, and exhausted nature finds no relief from momentary slumbers. I frequently remind her, that although the present dispensations of Providence are enrolled in darkness, we must not murmur; that afflictions are to prepare us for superi­our happiness in a better state of existence; and that they are necessary to disengage [Page 149] us from a world, to which we should pro­bably be too much attached. "Far from my heart, Caroline," says she, "is every re­pining thought; but the commands of the Deity to those in affluence, force upon my afflicted mind. Are we not expressly for­bidden not to harden our hearts, or shut our hands against our brothers, but to open wide unto them, and to lend them sufficient for their need, in that which they want, lest they cry unto the Lord, and it be a sin against us? This is a duty strong­ly impressed. We are told we shall surely give unto them; and that our hearts shall not be grieved, when we give unto them. The reward is affixed to the fulfilment of the duty, and for this the Lord thy God shall bless thee in all thy works, and in all that thou puttest thine hand unto.

"This sacred volume enforces it upon us to remember them that suffer in adversity, as being ourselves also in the body. But how widely has my brother deviated from the commands of heaven, which forbids us to be covetous. Man's life consisteth not in the abundance of things which he [Page 150] possesseth. The miser saith to himself, I will pull down my barns and build greater; there will I bestow all my goods. I will say to my soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink and be merry. But God, dis­pleased at the breach of confidence placed in him, speakest with a voice from heaven, thou fool, this night thy soul shall be re­quired of thee; then whose shall those things be, which thou hast provided? My affliction, Caroline, arises from many caus­es, nor do I wish to be deprived of feelings I have long nourished. I regret that a tender concern for objects of distress has never softened the breast of my brother; for upon the benevolent and virtuous tem­pers of the heart, does our happiness in life greatly depend: To be devoid of feel­ings, is to be reduced to a state of barba­rism."

The force of these observations cannot be denied. Were mankind actuated by a similar disposition with Mr. Gardner, how would society become involved in acts of inhumanity. On the contrary, if the [Page 151] savages of our country were civilized and refined, we should not experience the pre­sent scenes of cruel desolation. Let us, therefore, anticipate the pleasing period, when knowledge shall be diffused through­out the uncultivated forest, and the inesti­mable charms of social life shall actuate the breast of its inhabitants, and cement them by mutual acts of friendly inter­course.

LETTER XCIII.

LAURA left this city some days since. The confusion in which the family have been involved, by the wed­ding, preparations, &c. has kept me three weeks a prisoner to my room. I am be­come quite an invalid.

Mr. Helen's attention attaches me to him. He insists I shall have the ad­vice of a physician. But medicine will not heal a bleeding heart. Time only can restore tranquillity. While in the present abyss of affliction, I am not to be amused by delusive images of future happiness. I am absorbed in the contemplation of my loss—a loss aggravated by the unhappy cir­cumstances which preceded it. Yet I will not seclude myself from the pleasures of society and friendship. Here ardent, and [Page 153] susceptible hearts, derive a satisfaction which cannot be defined. In the presence of our friends, the tumultuous passions subside; the care-worn mind is lulled by the sweetening intercourse. It enjoys a momentary repose; and while it is amused with the adventures of youth, it is taught experience by the lessons of age. In the friendly circle, the attention is diverted from those turbulent scenes of folly, which too often engage the mind; and a placid tranquillity favourable to the gentle virtues, secure our most refined enjoyments. It is not our duty to indulge a desponding tem­per. Submission should ever mark the christian character. Yet it is hard to relin­quish the objects upon which we had placed our prospects of future happiness. The unfortunate Mrs. Gardner, has been de­prived of her reason, from the first moment the fatal information of her husbands death reached her; and her friends fear the del­irium rather increases than subsides. This must be an additional affliction to her un­happy family.

LETTER XCIV.

MR. Helen has been absent a week; and I will acknowledge to Maria, that I feel the loss of his society. Habit­uated to his condoling language, I am ev­en sensible of impatient moments. That sincerity he evinces for me, that benevolent, friendly, and affectionate attention he has observed to my happiness, insensibly at­taches me to him. I am charmed with his unaffected manners. Alive to the gentle emotions, the tender sentiments of human­ity, his mind aspires with every laudable principle, and his soul is exalted by a su­periour worth. How does my friendship, for him, soften my sensibility! It is this which actuates my mind. Without the pleasures, which are derived from friendship, [Page 155] existence would be dull and irksome. We should be devoid of those exquisite enjoy­ments we now experience; we should feel a vacuum not to be supplied. But this gives energy to life.

Your friend, Mr. Trevers, continues to visit me. I sincerely wish his mind more enlightened, his manners more pleasing. He intends soon to leave us; and has urg­ed me to accompany him to Long Island. Earnestly as I desire to see Maria, my heart cannot assent to a separation from Fanny, while she is thus indisposed.

LETTER XCV.

YOUR cousin came upon us by surprise, although we had expected him several days. I wrote him a few lines last week and mentioned the situation of Fan­ny, requesting him, upon his arrival here, to acquaint me with it, previous to his calling at Mrs. Leason's, that I might pre­pare my friend for an interview, which I apprehended would sensibly affect her; but this letter did not reach camp before he had left it, and unfortunately he met Fan­ny in the entry as she was passing to the carriage, which was in waiting at the door. I shall not pretend to describe their sensa­tions. There are certain scenes, which must be felt to be realized; among these is the pleasure of embracing the object of our fondest wishes, after a painful separation, [Page 157] and those only who experience a pure affec­tion, who exist but in the felicity of each other, can realize the rapturous moment. True love is not an illusion of the mind; it is a passion which, by brightening the prospect of human life, increaseth the hap­piness of its votaries. The bosom of my friend was agitated with joy and sorrow. The return of her lover from a dangerous excursion, recalled the loss of an affection­ate brother, and their meeting was silently expressive of a sincere affection. Mr. Bel­mour had entertained no idea of the ill state of Fanny's health; and the langour, which indisposition had spread over her countenance, impressed him with a thought­fulness which he could not banish. Hard did he struggle to conceal the rising tear. Those who could have been indifferent to so affecting a meeting, must be without claim to tenderness. I regret that your health obliges you to defer your visit, having long embosomed the darling expectation of see­ing you in Philadelphia. I know not how to relinquish the fond idea; be strictly at­tentive to yourself, and, as soon as you are able, hasten to

LETTER XCVI.

YOU think the heart of Caroline in danger; and that, under the idea of friendship, she is encouraging affection. I doubted not a pang of jealousy would seize you, when you read my late acknow­ledgment. "It may," you say, "possibly be, that I may find a lover, where I ex­pected only a friend." However lively this anticipation, I cannot consent to de­prive myself of an agreeable companion, nor have I the vanity to believe that Mr. Helen has the most distant idea of a connex­ion with me. His attentions arise from that amiable goodness of soul, which uni­formly adorns his actions. Considering me as an unprotected woman, he kindly steps forward, as a brother, to advise me; but be assured, it is only friendship which actuates him. That he is my friend, I [Page 159] have every reason to believe; I am flatter­ed with his partiality; I am grateful for it; I thank you, however, for your caution, and will endeavour to keep a watchful eye upon my heart. I am also aware of the sentiments of the world, who immediate­ly style attention, courtship; nor am I ig­norant with what avidity, fancied connex­ions are circulated abroad. You say, "From the character I have given you of Mr. Helen, you acknowledge there is lit­tle danger that he will exercise any advan­tage from the discovery of my partiality; although it is possible he means to gain my affection, previous to a declaration of his attachment." Be assured, Maria, I shall never discover the sentiments of my heart, in a way which shall lincense him to assume upon it; nor do I think him capable of pursuing a conduct so replete with vanity, so degrading to the honour of my sex. No, my dear, upon the discovery of dan­ger, I will imprison my affections, and re­serve the power of refusing him, who would thus render me contemptible to myself.

LETTER XCVII.

THIS solemn pause of busy life, I improve to address my friend, who, doubt­less, before this, is locked in the arms of sleep. May your slumbers be undisturbed. May angels protect your pillow, while Ca­roline enjoys, in idea, your security and happiness. The universal stillness which at this moment prevails, gives an additional pensiveness to my feelings. Secluded from the noise and bustle, the cares and dissipa­tion of the day, I can, without interrup­tion, enjoy my contemplation. In this my [Page 161] retirement, I can lisp my gratitude to that ineffable being, by whose immediate eye I am preserved from every danger; and while I implore his paternal care, I am not unmindful of my friends.

Fanny is now sleeping by me. I flatter myself she rests more serenely than she has for some time past. Her cough is obstinate; nor are her other symptoms less alarming. You, my dear, who have been called to at­tend the dying pillow of tender friends, can feel for my sufferings. When I con­sider the critical situation of Fanny, who, I fear, will soon be taken from me, I can scarcely support the reflection. To see those who are in the bloom of youth, snatch­ed from the enjoyments of life, and con­signed, by the cruel spoiler, to the untime­ly grave, is peculiarly affecting; yet these instances frequently occur, and we daily see the ravages which relentless death makes among us—"Breaking the thread of an elegant affection," and disuniting the near­est friends; but I pray heaven long to avert the blow, and yet to spare the friend and the companion of my heart: If, how­ever, [Page 162] it is otherwise decreed, may I be enabled to say, thy will be done. The grav­ity of this epistle, though it would discord with a vague, and a fashionable mind, I am convinced will beat in unison to that of my friend, with whom retirement and re­flection has a captivating power.

My affection to your cousin, is enhanc­ed by his attention to my declining friend. He has brought with him the pocket-book, journal, and sword of the late Captain Gardner; these he has delivered to my care. I shall forward them by the first pri­vate conveyance, to his amiable widow.

The watchman now proclaims the mid­night hour, and nature, which is easily exhausted, begins to want repose; I will, therefore, wish you a good night, and in­dulge her just demands. But while my senses are confined in sleep, may my dreaming fancy be similar to Maria's.

LETTER XCVIII.

THE unjust aspersions which have been cast upon the character of Gene­ral Hill, have greatly added to the affliction of your cousin. It is, however, his reso­lution at the risk of his commission to vin­dicate the reputation of that brave deserv­ing officer. Since his arrival, he has ad­dressed a letter to the unfortunate widow, in which he offers to produce indisputable evidence, to prove the conduct of her de­ceased husband uncensurable. His con­duct must be replete with the most grateful sensations to an afflicted widow, sufficiently involved in distress by the loss of an affec­tionate husband, without the additional tortures of unmerited reflections. May heaven grant him success in the undertak­ing. The consequences may be anticipat­ed. It is surely a very bold step, for so [Page 164] young an officer to dispute the official ac­counts of his General; but should he be arrested, and, which is too often the case, finally made a sacrifice to men in power, as he is not dependent upon his commis­sion for his existence, I feel assured, that spirit of independence, which now marks the investigation, will be his support.

The late defeat of the western army, bears a striking analogy to that at Ticon­deroga, in 1777; nor was the rapid flight of the army at that place, less destructive, nor the fate of General Hill dissimilar to that of the brave Colonel F. who was left, alike unsupported, while his com­mander fled six miles from the scene of action! But history is the accuser, and distant generations will be the judges, at whose tribunal the actions of public char­acters will receive their decisive sentence. A single error in the life of a great man, has frequently destroyed the monument of his fame. A uniform attention to justice, is the only foundation that can render him secure. Happy they who pass through life, enjoying the blessings of socie­ty, [Page 165] without being exposed to the dan­gerous eminence of popularity. Few are capable of sustaining an elevated situation, with approbation. Such is human nature, that, if suddenly raised to honour, it is prone to assume, unmindful of the capricious dis­position of fortune, who takes delight in persecuting her greatest favourites; they fancy themselves far removed from the reach of envy, and look down upon their fellow citizens with disdain and contempt. May we not thus address these characters? "Measure your shadows, and you will find no addition to them" by your present honours.

LETTER XCIX.

MR. Helen's visits are so con­stant, and his attentions so particular, I am at times induced to believe our friendship will terminate agreeably to the prediction of Maria; but great as my present partiali­ties are, I should be disgusted with an im­mediate declaration of his attachment. Some time must yet elapse, before I can consider even Mr. Helen as my lover. Former prepossessions are not so soon to be effaced. I feel the loss I have sustained, with too much poignancy; nor can I sud­denly relinquish the fond remembrance of Captain Evremont. "Friendship," you say, "is a tempting theme, and gratitude a powerful advocate with a susceptible mind. A frequent intercourse with a man whose sentiments and taste are pleasing, [Page 167] may finally ensnare the heart of Caroline, before she suspects the danger."

Your observations are just, and I assure you of my obligations for your watchful care. Continue to guard my conduct, and to warn me of my danger. Shaded as my days have been with persecution, I have never been left without a friend, who has aimed to beguile the vicissitudes of my life. May those sweeteners of human existence ever be continued to me, and in the list of friends, may Maria Belmour conspicuous­ly appear.

LETTER C.

SINCE the death of Captain Evremont, my company, I suspect, has been too grave for Mr. Trevers; his visits have been less frequent, and much shorter than before. I do not, however, repine at the loss.

Should he remain much longer in Phi­ladelphia, I shall become acquainted with all your gallants; he has already introduc­ed several of his friends to me. At every interview, I am entertained with his histo­ry. He gives me, unasked, the account of the company in which he has been, the superb tables at which he has dined, the names of all who were present, the com­pliments and attention, which were par­ticularly paid to him. This conversation, though truly uninteresting, politeness com­pels me to hear.

[Page 169]What think you of a young husband for the gay Mrs. Leason? A gentleman who arrived some weeks since from Eng­land, and boards with us, really pays her great attention. At present, I will not call him her lover. He might have been an acquisition for Laura, but I cannot think him calculated for the mother. Cu­pid, thou mischievous little urchin, how artfully, how imperceptibly dost thou take possession of the heart, frequently render­ing reason subservient to thy cause!

LETTER CI.

BY the public papers, I doubt not, you are acquainted with the situation of your cousin, who has been several weeks under an arrest. The evidences he has produced against certain characters, have occasioned his being ordered, by the Sec­retary at War, nine hundred miles from home, for a trial!

Is not this a violation of the rights of freemen? A glaring usurpation of pow­er? Can the country, which so lately con­tended against illegal authority, passively submit to such an absolute trait of despot­ism? Is not the precedent alarming? and unless timely suppressed, may it not ter­minate in the destruction of liberty? Those whose actions will not bear the scru­tinizing eye of justice, are suffered to re­tire [Page 171] from their official departments, while the reputation of a brave, an amiable offi­cer, is sacrificed to misrepresentations, founded upon private pique, or secret re­sentment.

How cruel are the aspersions, cast upon the conduct of General Hill! They ex­tend their inhumanity to a deserving fami­ly, who, while they suffer the loss of a protector, have also to struggle with the addition of unmerited reproach—the just objects of our misfortunes are protected by the wings of greatness.

When the historian, who shall transmit to future ages, the melancholy event, and pen the disgraceful tale, what apology shall he make, for a conduct so reprehen­sible? If to the relation he should add the evidences of a Darke and a Gaither, will not the name of Belmour, be rendered conspicuous, who, regardless of the vin­dictive arm of power, that could crush his military glory, dared thus to justify the character of his deceased friend?

His trial may be ordered in the wilder­ness, far distant from his friends; his fu­ture [Page 172] rise in the army may be suppressed; but not even the voice of greatness, can destroy his honour, bribe his determina­tions, or silence his pen. With my best respects to your mamma, I am your sin­cere

LETTER CII.

MRS. Leason is in great afflic­tion. She has received a letter from Lau­ra, acquainting her with the failure of Mr. Gibbins, and the total loss of his prop­erty. Being deeply concerned in specula­tion, he is deprived of his fortune by the failure of several brokers in Charleston, with whom he had entered into large con­tracts; and in his absence his whole prop­erty has been attached by his creditors, and he, with his family, obliged to take private lodgings.

This unexpected event, has thrown the old gentleman into a dangerous state of ill health. His physicians give but little hopes of his recovery. I am sincerely affected at this information. How suddenly are the prospects of Laura changed! From [Page 174] the fancied scenes of indulgence, from the gay circles in which she expected to flut­ter, to poverty, retirement and pain: Yet these are contrasts which human life dai­ly presents.

LETTER CIII.

YOUR friend, Mr. Trevers, will take his leave of Philadelphia to-morrow. He has figured much among the ladies in this city, and will be missed as a gallant. Ob­serve his manners—tell me if he is improv­ed. His father, he informs me, wishes him to adopt some profession; and as he has had a liberal education, proposes he shall study the law; but study he cannot abide; he is indeed too indolent to pay at­tention to any thing but the ladies; and they truly inspire him. If he is calculat­ed for a polite circle, it is where the conver­sation seldom exceeds the raging fashion, and trivial inquiries supply the place of better observations. I doubt if he would make a graceful orator. Methinks I see [Page 176] him at the bar. Half a dozen hems succeed every expression. His words are destroyed by the peculiar delicacy with which they are uttered, while his hands, unformed for grace, now fix his cravat; now pull down his waistcoat.

He is impatient to become a married man. Much shall I pity the lady with whom he is connected. If she possesses sentiments similar to my own, she must indeed be wretched. He will truly be a fashionable husband. Ardent as his first attachments may be, he cannot long relin­quish his favourite pleasures; and unless she is a fashionable wife, her happiness will be sacrificed to his darling amusements. But such there are, who are most gratifi­ed, when separated from each other. A lady, educated in a vortex of amusement, has little idea of any happiness, but that which results from a round of dissipation. Her mind is employed in new plans of dec­orating her person; and when connected with a man of correspondent taste, they form a fashionable pair. In a short time they are disgusted with the society of each [Page 177] other. They pursue separate gratifications; seldom passing an hour at home together; and if they chance to meet in company, are civil to each other: But this, she does not regret.

Such a woman is best calculated for your friend, Mr. Trevers; but happier they, who pass through life, enjoying the superiour blessings of a sincere attachment. May this happiness be the lot of Maria and

LETTER CIV.

MRS. Leason has really consent­ed to give her hand to Mr. King, the gen­tleman I mentioned to you in a former letter. The day is even fixed for the wed­ding; as he is soon to return to England, and cannot think of leaving his Dulcinea, until he has secured her as his own. Mr. King has the appearance of a gentleman; his person is pleasing, and his manners graceful; but he is infinitely too young for my landlady; I am indeed astonished at them both.

Mr. Helen has finally disclosed his sentiments to me, and proposes a connex­ion. I believe the young man caught the flame, from the constant love scenes he has lately witnessed. I suppose you think you already know my mind, and the answer [Page 179] which I gave him; but believe me, Maria, the centinels of my heart were not asleep. No, my dear, they were too frequently aroused by my severe injunctions, not to adhere to their duty. They have been faithful to their trust, and I have not yet given him a decisive answer. He will this evening call upon me. How does my heart palpitate at his anticipated visit! I am communicating my secrets because I am assured you will feel for

LETTER CV.

MATTERS are all adjusted, Mr. Helen must be considered my lover. What says Maria to this? Is the memory of Captain Evremont already sunk in obliv­ion? Can Caroline, who boasts such del­icacy of sentiment, already forget her de­ceased friend? No, my dear, a review of his virtues renders his recollection pleas­ing; my bosom is their sacred repository; this thrills with the most pensive satisfac­tion; and the recollection of his partiality for me, although cruelly interrupted in the last moments of his existence. As a memento of my uniform attachment, I will cause a monument to be raised, on the base of which shall be represented, upon one side, an urn, which shall be supposed to contain the ashes of my friend; over [Page 181] which two Cupids shall hold a cypress wreath; immediately under the urn, shall be displayed the fatal trophies of war; while the figure of a female, shall be seat­ed under the friendly shade of a weeping willow, in a melancholy attitude, pointing to a number of angels that will be seen above. The urn shall be inscribed to friendship, bravery and virtue. Upon the opposite side of the base, an urn, guard­ed by the goddess of Friendship, shall rep­resent the sacred remains of my dear Lu­cretia; while a figure, whose countenance, replete with every malignant passion, and whose eyes shall emit an insatiate revenge, shall hold in her hand, a dart, which she is aiming at the bosom of a female who stands weeping over the remains of her friend. At one end shall be engraven, in capitals, Suppress every emotion of revenge. On the other, To the memory of Thomas Barton and Henry Williams. This voluntary oblation will I pay to the manes of those I so tend­erly loved; and this shall stand the evidence [Page 182] of my attachment, when I shall mingle with my kindred dust.

LETTER CVI.

MR. Helen will leave me, in a day or two, for Virginia; he expects to be absent several weeks. Fanny is very so­licitous to accompany him: But although she is surprisingly better, she is totally unfit to undertake so long a journey at such an uncertain season of the year. This idea, with the impossibility of her affording a de­lirious sister the smallest consolation, tends to reconcile her to continuing longer in Philadelphia; although she is anxious to wipe the tear from the cheek of weeping innocence.

How is our happiness continually re­ceiving fresh alloys from the afflictions which await our friends. Dependent as we are, upon a variety of accidental causes, [Page 184] we are continually exposed to disappoint­ment, anxiety and pain; and the higher we estimate the society of our connexions, the more are we exposed to real sorrow. The uncertainty of our present blessings, and the pleasing reflection, that we are in the hands of him who cannot err, will tend to reconcile us to the events of life. Let us improve the fleeting moments. May we endeavour to secure an internal satisfaction: This will sustain us through the loss of property, the deprivation of friends, or the lingering hand of sickness.

LETTER CVII.

SINCE I last addressed my friend, a strange incident has taken place. I have already acquainted you that Mr. King being soon to sail for England, had hurried the proposed connexion. The evening had arrived, the company assem­bled, the minister every instant expected, when a loud knocking at the door, was supposed to announce his arrival; but this proved a letter to Mr. King; and the bear­er requested to see him in private. Soon after, Mrs. Leason was called out of the room. Here unfolded a scene, to which all description is inadequate; and of such a nature, that it could not be communicat­ed to the disappointed company. A mes­senger was, however, instantly dispatched, to acquaint the clergyman that the wedding [Page 186]was deferred; and the company were told, by a particular friend, that for certain rea­sons, which could not then be divulged, the wedding was postponed. Various con­jectures arose, in the breasts of all who were present, but none could solve the real cause. For several days, I was myself a stranger to the true circumstances, until, by re­peated importunities, I prevailed upon Mrs. Leason to entrust me with the secret, when she gave into my hand the following letter:

This letter, it appears, upon his arrival, he forwarded to Connecticut, and upon the receipt of it, the gentleman to whom it was written, sent a pressing invitation for Mr. King to pay him a visit; to this polite and friendly request, he re­turned for answer, that a multiplicity of business, and the pleasing connexion which he was about to form with a widow [Page 188] Leason, together with his being obliged to return immediately to England, put it out of his power. Upon the receipt of this, his friend was alarmed, and im­mediately wrote by express, to prevent the marriage; in which letter he enclosed the above. The timely moment of their arri­val was, indeed, a happy circumstance.

Mrs. Leason is much affected at the event. The attachment she felt for Mr. King when she considered him as her hus­band, must be very different from that fil­ial affection she must now experience. Mr. King was born two years before the mar­riage of Mrs. Leason. This, with the af­fection which she retains for her deceased husband, strongly attaches her to his son. However the above story may resemble fic­tion or romance, be assured it has made too deep an impression upon my heart, easily to be effaced.

LETTER CVIII.

FANNY and myself, coming from church on Sunday last, were addressed by a young gentleman to whom I was a stran­ger; but in such a familiar way, that I was soon convinced he was an old acquaintance of her's. He gallanted us home. When we reached Mrs. Leason's, with an air of indifference, she passed upon him the com­pliment of walking in. This invitation he readily accepted. She now introduced him to Mrs. Leason and myself. I found, by her unusual reserve, that he was not agreeable to my friend. From his conver­sation I discovered he had been absent three years; and had but just returned to Amer­ica. In the evening, Mrs. Leason wishing me to visit a particular friend, proposed my going with her. To this I agreed, [Page 190] and we left them, promising to return in a short time. But the hours, in agreeable company, pass with great rapidity; and we had lengthened our visit far beyond our intention, before we were aware of the time we had been from home. Yet upon our return we found Mr. Ashely with Fan­ny. Immediately upon my entering the room, I discovered his agitation. I had a strong propensity to be acquainted with the history of this young gentleman, and as soon as he withdrew, applied to my friend for the circumstances of their first acquaintance.

"Mr. Ashely," said she, "belongs to Maryland; but was educated with an un­cle in Havre-de-Grace, and has, for many years, foolishly encouraged a partiality for me. This I have invariably assured him I cannot return. His friends, alarmed by the consequences of my obstinate refusal, have repeatedly interested themselves in his behalf. My own connexions were for some time desirous that I should encourage his attentions; but my heart has uniform­ly disavowed every favourable sentiment [Page 191] for him; and I have constantly declared it impossible ever to be his; yet he has per­sisted to encourage his unhappy attachment —I have been wretched by his persecu­tions. At length his friends, convinced I could not be brought to consider him as a lover, ceased their importunity, and ad­vised him to avoid my company. I also assured him, unless he could resolve never to mention a subject so painful to me, it was my determination to seclude myself from his society, and never to see him more; but if he would visit the family as a transient acquaintance, he might rely up­on my treating him with every civility; and that on this footing alone, he must in future expect to meet me. After this he became negligent of his business, which increased the uneasiness of his friends: They urged him to take a voyage to India; and his uncle made him such proposals as induced him to accede to their wishes. From this voyage he has just returned, and accidentally has discovered my being in this city; he has already renewed the declara­tion of his passion; I must therefore deny [Page 192] myself to him; and if unfortunately I should fall into his company, I must en­treat you never to leave me alone with him."

It is unhappy for Mr. Ashely that he can­not give up a woman who entertains not a partial sentiment for him. I regret that he has discovered her being in Philadelphia, and shall exert myself to prevent every in­terview between them. Such a trouble­some swain as this young man, I sincerely hope will never fall to the lot of Maria or

LETTER CIX.

IT appears to be the determination of Mr. Ashely, at all events to obtain the hand of Fanny. He has been several times with me, soliciting my influence with her; and assures me his whole happiness depends upon it. This accomplished, he thinks nothing could impede the pleasures of fu­ture life. I have endeavoured to impress upon him the necessity of his relinquishing the idea, as she is absolutely engaged to another; and that this alone, would be a bar to every prospect of a union with him. "Absolutely engaged to another," said he, "where is the enviable man?" I replied, gone to visit his friends. "If this is to prevent my further application, know, Madam, that I shall not so easily relin­quish the object of my warmest affection. [Page 194] Life, without Fanny, is insupportable. Werter could not exist when Charlotte was beyond his reach. I will have one more interview with her—beg her to grant this last request," Fanny, said I, has been many months deprived of health; I wish rather to relieve her mind from every un­easy thought, than add to her anxiety by an application which must be painful to her. Nothing favourable can result from the interview.

He walked the room in great agitation; and presently seating himself at the table, wrote a few lines which he desired me to give her. Unwilling he should think that I influenced her, I rung the bell for the servant, and sent her up stairs with the bil­let. To this she returned for answer, that he was well acquainted with the sentiments from which she had never deviated, and must be excused complying with his re­quest.

He now came towards the fire, and tak­ing from his pocket the Sorrows of Werter, he turned to a page where this sophistical reasoner, fallaciously argues in favour of [Page 195] suicide; and reading it exclaimed, "My sentiments, oh Werter! are strictly conso­nant with thine. Life without the object of my wishes, would be a void." You cannot, said I, justify a conduct so repre­hensible as Werter's. A conduct, which uniformly demonstrated a weak, and wick­ed mind. Consider that Charlotte was a wife; consequently he could have no ex­pectation of honourably obtaining the object of his wishes. Was it not his duty to crush every idea of a criminal attach­ment? Instead of which, he glories in the wicked indulgence of an impious passion, and ever stands ready to commit the most atrocious deeds. He imposes no restraint upon his inclination, but deducing his ar­guments from the most absurd causes, he endeavours to justify a conduct fatally er­roneous. Trace his extravagant beha­viour, and it will evidently appear, that ca­price, pride, and passion, are the prin­ciples which govern his actions. By no means, Mr. Ashely, said I, encourage the ideas of that writer. It is exposing yourself to the immediate precipice of de­struction. [Page 196] "Make him," said he, "what you please; sophistical, fallacious, vile; upon his arguments I am willing to de­pend for my future happiness." When he had said this, he was greatly agitated, and left the room. Believe me, at this mo­ment every sentiment of my heart beat for the unhappy situation of the deceived youth.

LETTER CX.

MR. Ashely yesterday addressed a few lines to Fanny, again soliciting a short interview with her in private. If she will grant this request, he declares he will forever cease to distress her with his impor­tunities. She shewed me the letter, and wished me to direct her conduct; observ­ing, that "The meeting could be only a painful repetition of her former assurances. He can have nothing new to communicate to me," said she, "I regret his unhappy partiality. It is a painful reflection, that I am, though involuntarily, the source of his misery. But by granting his request, is it not probable I shall strengthen his at­tachment? I will, however, leave the de­cision to my friend."

[Page 198]Having considered the circumstances, and consulted with Mrs. Leason, we agreed, that nothing pleasing could result from another meeting, and joined with Fanny in the impropriety of granting it; she therefore wrote the following reply.

This letter she sent in the morning. In the afternoon, as Fanny and myself were sitting in the parlour, with Mrs. Leason [Page 199] and a young lady from Lancaster, who boards in the family, Mr. Ashely was in­troduced into the room by the servant: He had a smile upon his countenance, yet appeared discomposed; an eye of surprise was alternately cast at each other; our as­tonishment must have been visible to him. Possessed of great assurance, he placed himself next to Fanny, and soon took an opportunity of expressing his doubts of a future existence; observing, that mind must be pusillanimous indeed, that could consent to drag out a wretched life, when one instant would put a period to misery. "A period to misery," said Fanny, "you may indeed terminate the life of the body, but the soul, Mr. Ashely, is immortal, and must suffer an eternity of bliss or woe. We are here upon trial; a certain time is allotted us; the number of our days is unknown; and at the tribunal of our Maker, we shall be accountable for our ac­tions on earth. There the decisive sen­tence will be passed upon us—a sentence, from which there is no appeal. We have within, an unerring monitor, which dic­tates [Page 200] our duty. Its dictates we cannot mistake. Its injunctions are not to be vio­lated with impunity, any more than the laws of society are to be broken without punishment. Can he whose conduct is marked with sacrilege, who rushes into eternity with a heart opposed to the sacred character of an offended Deity, seriously expect the forgiveness of an angry God? Or must he not tremble to meet the supreme Judge of all, who will banish him from his presence, and consign him to everlast­ing misery!" "A future existence," repli­ed Mr. Ashely, "is uncertain; and if true, I have no idea of a never-ending punishment. It is inconsistent with the benevolence of the Deity; nor would a life passed in the most atrocious crimes, on a retrospect, add one thorn to my expir­ing moments."

With such sentiments, it is not surpris­ing that he should advocate the right of taking away his own life, whenever it be­comes irksome to him. How destructive such principles to human happiness! How derogatory to reason, philosophy [Page 201] and religion! I tremble for the event. Fanny is undoubtedly right, in refusing a man she cannot love. A young lady is not to be answerable for the conduct of a rash, unprincipled youth; nor is she oblig­ed to sacrifice the happiness of her life, lest her lover should blow out his brains, or swallow a dose of poison. For the pre­sent,

LETTER CXI.

MR. King has sailed for Lon­don, but intends to return in the fall.

Mrs. Leason has received a late letter from Laura, which mentions, that Mr. Gibbins has entirely lost the use of his limbs. She wishes much to return to this city; but there is, at present, no prospect of it. Mr. Helen and your cousin being absent, we are quite without gallants.

Maryann Gay, the young lady who boards at Mrs. Leason's, tells me she was well acquainted with you, while you were in Philadelphia, and desires me to assure my friend, she still retains a friendship for her; she is a lively, agreeable girl, and though by no means a regular beauty, has a cap­tivating expression in her countenance.

Fanny has had a relapse, and is at pres­ent extremely ill. This return of her [Page 203] disorder, I attribute to the anxiety of her mind. She cannot but feel alarmed at the sentiments of Mr. Ashely. He is our dai­ly visitor; but as Fanny has not been be­low since the afternoon I mentioned to you, nothing further has passed between them. I am convinced she cannot reflect upon herself for any part of her conduct; but her ill health, renders it indispensably nec­essary, every anxious thought▪ if possible, should be suppressed. The watchful eye of friendship, shall be exerted to render her happy.

It is some time since I had a letter from you; I am uneasy lest your disorder has returned. If unable to write yourself, re­quest your mamma to honour me with one line, that I may know how you are. I can never be free from inquietude, while ignorant of the health of Maria.

LETTER CXII.

YOUR brother-in-law, Mr. Her­v [...]y, upon his arrival in this city, waited upon me with your letters. I am happy you are so far recovered, and flatter my­self you will soon be able to meet me here. Believe me, until the arrival of your let­ters, I was totally unacquainted with the connexion likely to take place between Maryann and Mr. Hervey. Had I rea­lized she was to be the sister of Maria, I should have been assiduous in cultivating a friendship with her; though her nume­rous engagements, since she has been in this city, and the indisposition of Fanny, would in a measure have retarded it. From this moment, however, I shall improve every opportunity to make her my friend.

[Page 205]I am distressed with the continual ap­plications of the unhappy Mr. Ashely, to intercede with Fanny, for but five min­utes private conversation with her. When he has been gratified in this point, he promises to quit her for ever. I have been finally obliged to assure him of my influ­ence if he will wait a few days, until she recovers. He embraces every opportunity to read me some paragraph of his favourite author, which he always carries about him. How are the literary talents of this writer prostituted, in the encouragement of the most atrocious crimes! Must not the just indignation of every virtuous mind fall up­on him? In this heart of man, vice shoots spontaneous; we need not hale poisonous sentiments, to encourage its rapid growth. The soil is luxuriant; to suppress and prune the rising sprouts, has required the utmost vigilance of the moralist in every age and country.

Neither sublimity of composition, an en­ergetic and affecting style, nor the false ap­pearance of argument, can ever compen­sate for the injury that vague minds receive, [Page 206] from the perusal of those publications, where suicide is represented as heroism; nor can the writer of the Sorrows of Werter, ever make atonement for the inju­ry he has done to society.

Mr. Ashely is greatly to be pitied. Hav­ing connected all his ideas of happiness with the darling hope of obtaining fanny, he disregards every other consideration. Thus foolishly are we, through life, fixing upon certain objects, from which we fan­cy we shall derive our future pleasures; and making our happiness entirely depend­ent upon them, we expose ourselves to un­numbered calamities, unmindful that a single moment could destroy our prospects, and whirl us to the abyss of sorrow. My heart glows with friendship, and my bene­diction [...]aits Maria.

LETTER CXIII.

I FEEL uncommonly dull. Our parlour, not long since the region of love, where I fancied Cupids in every corner, is now deserted by all but Mr. Ashely; and he avails himself of every oportunity to urge the fulfilment of my promise. This morning, while we were at breakfast, he en­tered the room; an uncommon agitation was visible in his countenance. After a lit­tle apology for his intrusion, he walked about for a considerable time without speaking; at length coming to me, he in­quired after Fanny, and wished to know if she was well enough to be seen. She has had a tolerable night, said I, but I have not yet mentioned your wishes to her. Turning from me with disgust, he went to the table, and taking out of his pocket, pen, ink and paper, wrote the following:

This he gave to the maid, ordering her to carry it to Fanny; who returned with a verbal message, that she would give an answer at four in the afternoon. He instantly left the house without speaking to Maryann or myself. I immediately has­tened up stairs to my friend. She shewed me the billet; but being at a loss how to advise her, I made no reply. Never did I experience more painful sensations, than at this moment. The mind of Fanny can never be changed; but Mr. Ashely is so strenuous for an interview, I do not know how she will refuse to see him. That heaven may direct her, is the wish of

LETTER CXIV.

GRACIOUS Deity! What a scene will this letter unfold to Maria! Be prepared for the dreadful recital of my uncommon misfortunes. Yet how shall I disclose to you that calamity in which I am involved! The relation of the sorrow­ful tale cannot, however, be dispensed with. The awful hand of death has arrested from me my Fanny—my companion, my friend. A dreadful tragedy has been acted since I wrote you last. Mr. Ashely—detested name—himself the murderer of the ob­ject he adored! Excuse me, I am lost in grief, horror and amazement. I must wait a composed moment—at present I cannot write.

I will endeavour to explain the history of my woe. I will not thus give way to [Page 210] suggestions of despair. At the fatal hour, Mr. Ashely returned to know the deter­mination of Fanny. I was sitting in the chamber with my friend, when the girl came to acquaint her that he was below. She requested that he might be asked up stairs into the drawing-room; where, in expectation of company, a fire had been kindled, and went herself immediately in­to it. I had a book in my hand, and in vain endeavoured to read; being seized with a universal horror. In a few minutes the report of a pistol, like a severe shock of electricity, deprived me of my strength; the firing was instantly repeated; Mrs. Leason and the family were alarmed; and running up stairs, opened the door of the drawing room, when a spectacle present­ed, which reality only can give a just idea of. For some time, every exertion I made to rise was in vain. The general, the pierc­ing scream, which immediately succeeded the opening of the drawing-room door, con­vinced me Mr. Ashely had committed the act of suicide; but I had no idea, that he had also taken away the life of my friend. [Page 211] I still sat waiting in expectation that Mrs. Leason would come into my chamber; until the trembling which at first seiz­ed me had a little subsided. At length I arose, and going towards the chamber door, opened it; when I had a full view of Fan­ny. She was leaning back in an arm chair; the blood profusely poured from her wound; nothing can ever efface the im­pressions the horrid sight has made upon my mind. Mr. Ashely had fallen upon the floor by her side, and was also covered with the crimson fluid. My power of ac­tion was lost; my ideas suspended. Mrs. Leason came to me; she led me to a chair; the neighbours were already alarmed; the house was crouded.

The bleeding, mangled shade of the amiable Fanny, is continually before my eyes. Our house is one constant scene of horror. Oh, Maria! how does frail humanity need consolation, when beset with affliction! The anguish of my soul is inexpressibly severe.

LETTER CXV.

SEVERAL days have passed since the distressing event. I have repeatedly endeavoured to write, but my senses are stupified with grief, and with the opium, which I have been obliged to take in large quantities, to obtain a little repose. I will now attempt to continue the narrative of the dreadful scene. A jury being sum­moned, it appeared, upon examining the papers of Mr. Ashely, particularly the fol­lowing letter, that he was determined, since Fanny refused to give him her hand, she should never become the wife of another.

Deluded youth! "cast himself upon the mercy of a benevolent and forgiving God." Could he, in the cool moments of reflection, if such he ever had, suppose that he, who with one hand destroys the life of his friend, and with the other sends himself into eternity, shall ever receive that wel­come sentence, "come ye blessed," &c. What would be the situation of society, if crimes were unpunished? If the murderer was secured from justice? Does not the penalty of the laws deter from vice? Can we suppose that the Deity, who has de­nounced a woe unto those who obey not his commands, will neglect to inflict the threatened punishment? Were those his sentiments, they are fraught with error, they are ruinous to society, and destructive to the youthful mind. Mr. Ashely is, be­fore this, convinced of his mistake; and [Page 215] could he revisit his gay companions, he would warn them of their impending dan­ger.

The letter, a copy of which I have en­closed to you, was a sufficient evidence against Mr. Ashely; nor did the jury hesi­tate in their verdict. The next day the law was to have been executed upon his body, but his friends privately buried him the same evening; and Fanny was, a few days since, followed to the silent, to the dreary mansion of the grave! While we shed over the tomb the unavailing tear, let us stifle every rising murmur.

LETTER CXVI.

ALAS, Maria, my countenance is pale and languid—my heart vapid and dull. No more shall I enjoy the pleasure of seeing her I so tenderly loved; no more shall I press to my bosom, my distracted bosom, my companion, my friend. But the hand of friendship shall wipe from the eye of Caroline, the rising tear; and by the solacing attention of Maria, my soul shall yet emerge from its present dejection.

Mrs. Leason and Maryann, kindly en­force principles of resignation. Conscious that the moment will arrive, when anxiety shall for ever cease, when I shall be reunit­ed to those friends, who are now beyond my reach, I feel in a degree composed.

I recal to mind the countenance of Fan­ny. In it there was a sublime harmony; her eyes were admirably expressive of the [Page 217]softer passions; a natural grace, was united with a friendly behaviour; she was actu­ated by the most benevolent sentiments, and studied, as far as in her power, to les­sen the miseries of human life. Possessed of great mental beauties, she was a pleasing companion, a real friend. Though long deprived of health, she was snatched from life, in a manner the most unexpected, and in the morning of youth. On the remem­brance of her virtues, will often flow the solitary tear.

Your brother has written to Mrs. Gard­ner, giving her an account of the distressing event, and has also addressed your cousin upon the subject. As emulation is favour­able to virtue, Caroline will study to emulate the virtues of her deceased friends.

LETTER CXVII.

IN the delightful field of friend­ship, my heart has realized superiour grat­ifications; and though my present depres­sion veils the pleasing retrospect, it shall not destroy the buds which are expanding in the bosom of Caroline. I will antici­pate that meeting with my friend, to which your last letter is the happy prelude. I will welcome you to this city, with an un­feigned pleasure. In the society of each other we will take a review of the virtues of Fanny and Lucretia—they shall fre­quently be the pleasing theme of our con­versation.

I am infinitely obliged to Maryann, for her polite attentions to me; your brother also, has a large share of my gratitude, for [Page 219] the interest he takes in my unhappy situa­tion. Mr. Helen, in all his letters to me, has been particular in his inquiries after Maria; and uniformly concludes with his compliments to my friend. The uncom­mon affliction in which I have been involv­ed, must apologize for my not presenting them to you. This moment I am called to attend my aunt Noble, who is said to be extremely ill.

LETTER CXVIII.

IN my last, I acquainted you that I was requested to hasten to my aunt No­ble. When I entered the chamber, I found the family in tears. I approached the bed. She was insensible, and expired in a few minutes. Upon inquiry, I was told that she had been several days confined up stairs; but that the family had not enter­tained an idea of her danger, until the night previous to their sending for me.

Death, Maria, is a serious event. If we have no real attachment for the object he selects, we cannot divest ourselves of feeling. How many of my friends have been taken from me! May it remind me that I am also mortal; and enable me to fulfil the duties of life, so as to render my memory grateful to my surviving friends. [Page 221] When the virtues of the deceased live in the mind, they afford a sweet consolation— a consolation which cannot be derived from those accomplishments, that too frequently decorate a newspaper character, but exist­ed not in reality. When the important moment shall arrive which shall separate my immortal mind from its feeble mansion, may the pen of the panegyrist be silent. Convinced that I have no virtues which claim an eulogium, I wish not my tomb­stone to express what I never merited: But if those to whom I have been long attach­ed, and who, by the endearments of mu­tual friendship are partial to me, wish to mark the spot which contains the remains of a friend, let this inscription denote the grave: "The body here entombed, once possessed a mind warmed with humanity, animated with friendship, and glowing with a religious hope."

Since I wrote the above, I have receiv­ed a letter from Mr. Helen. He expects to reach this city to-morrow night; and proposes that Fanny and myself shall meet [Page 222] him a few miles out of town. He had not, I find, received the letter I wrote him since the death of that dear girl. I shall comply with his request, provided your brother and Maryann will accompany me; and should Maria join our little party, agreeable to her intention of reaching Phi­ladelphia this week, it will heighten the pleasure of

LETTER CXIX. MARIA B— to HARRIOT B—.

IT is a week, my dear Harriot, since I arrived in this city, and every moment has passed in the most distressing anxiety. A­greeably to the promise I had made Caro­line, of paying her a visit, I directed the driver of the stage to stop at Mrs. Leason's; but having received, at New-York, a letter from her the preceding evening, I was pre­pared to find her from home. Here I waited, with the utmost impatience, the return of my friend. I repeatedly men­tioned to Mrs. Leason, the satisfaction which I flattered myself would result from my visit to Philadelphia. In the course of the evening I experienced many painful sensations at their long stay; these in­creased [Page 224] with the advancing hours; yet I endeavoured to sooth my apprehensions, by forming some unavoidable delay. Mrs. Leason discovering my anxiety, used every argument to quiet my fears, and kindly endeavoured to conceal her own uneasiness; but convinced that Caroline's impatience to meet me, exclusive of every other con­sideration, would have hastened her early return, had not some unhappy circumstance impeded her wishes, it was impossible for her to dispel my anxiety: I therefore re­tired to my chamber, with feelings con­trasted to those I had annexed with my arrival in this place. Here I continued till past eleven, when a carriage stopped at the door. I instantly hurried down stairs— The voice of my brother was grateful to my ears. I ran to meet him, inquiring for Caroline. He took me by the hand, and led me into the parlour—Where is my friend? said I. He evaded a reply. I cast my eyes upon Maryann—distress was visible in her countenance. I observed her turn aside, as if to conceal her tears. Mrs. Leason begged to know what had [Page 225] detained Mr. Helen and Caroline—I sec­onded her solicitation. "An accident has prevented them from accompanying us," replied my brother; and passing into the kitchen, Mrs. Leason followed. I became more alarmed, and went immediately after them. He was sitting by the table, and Mrs. Leason was untying a handkerchief, which was bound round his head, that she might dress his wound. I now discovered blood upon his face. Mr. Hervey, said I, it is impossible for the reality to be worse than my fears; keep me not thus in sus­pense, let me know what has befallen Car­oline and yourself. "Be not distressed," said he, and drawing a chair near him, he requested me to sit down. He now in­formed me, that in consequence of the letter which she had received from Mr. He­len, Maryann and himself had agreed to accompany her a few miles out of town, in expectation of meeting him; and stopping at a public house, they called for tea; con­cluding, by the time it was ready, Mr. Helen would be with them; but, hav­ing waited until dark, he proposed their re­turning [Page 226] to town. Caroline became very unhappy; she took her letter from her pocket, and repeatedly read it over; she scrutinized the hand writing—compared it with others she had received from Mr. He­len, and believed it to be his; nor would she consent to leave the inn, until nine o'clock. At this late hour they sat off for home; but had not proceeded far upon the road, before they were attacked by two men; one of whom, seizing the bridle of the horses, fired at the driver, shot him in the side, and obliged him to come from his seat; the other went up to the side of the carriage upon which my brother was, and presenting a pistol at him, assured him not a moment was to be delayed; that their design was not against his life, but he must immediately relinquish the lady who was with him. Caroline was sitting opposite to him, and seeing his danger, gave the arm of the villain a sudden push, upon which the pistol instantly went off, and slightly wounded my brother in the head. Maryann had fainted at the first of the at­tack, and had fallen upon the floor of the [Page 227] coach, where she remained during the whole scene. The villain who had wound­ed the driver, led the horses to a tree, where he made them fast, and joined his accom­plice. My brother was without any kind of weapon. In vain were his wishes to protect my friend—she was torn from him. His attention was now called to Maryann, whom he raised up, and acquainted her with what had passed. After this, he made a search for the driver, whom he found too much weakened, with the bleeding of his wound, to resume his seat; they therefore took him into the carriage, and Mr. Her­vey drove home himself.

Since this unhappy event, every possible step has been pursued to discover the wretch­ed Caroline—but exertion has hitherto been ineffectual. It is generally believed that the resentful mind of Eliza, has plan­ned this unheard of revenge; although it has been given out for several weeks, that she has sailed for Europe.

I shall not fail to transmit you every cir­cumstance which takes place, respecting the discovery of Caroline; and flatter myself her situation cannot long be concealed.

LETTER CXX. MARIA B— to HARRIOT B—.

IT it several weeks since you re­ceived my last. Nothing has yet occurred respecting the discovery of Caroline. Mr. Helen's friends, yesterday received a letter from a physician who resides at a village a few miles from this city, informing them that he lies dangerously ill; and requesting them, without delay, to hasten to him. They set off this morning—my brother accompanied them. I am very solicitous for his return.

Several letters directed to Caroline, which have reached Philadelphia since the misfortune that has befallen her, we have been induced to open. They were from [Page 229] Mr. Helen; and mention, that unexpec­ted business having called him to Georgia, he should not be able to return at the time he expected. From these letters it does not appear he had made any previous pro­posal of Caroline's meeting him on his way home.

The dreadful uncertainty of Caroline's situation, produces the most gloomy pre­sages in my mind. Suspense is often more poignant than reality.

LETTER CXXI. MARIA B— to HARRIOT B—.

THE task how painful! I have to communicate to you, my dear Harriot, the dreadful, distressing certainty of my Caroline's fate! All hopes of recovering my friend, are now destroyed—my conso­lation fled—what keen sensations accompa­ny the distracting thought! Every exertion I make to suppress my grief, swells my bo­som with insupportable anguish. But I will exert myself to relate the circumstanc­es as I received them from Mr. Hervey, who left Mr. Helen last evening.

It appears, that being detained upon the road, he put up at a public house in the village, where he yet remains; and be­ing [Page 231] intimate with a couple of young gen­tlemen who are studying with the physician in that town, he called upon them, and was introduced into their room. He had not long been with them, before he under­stood they were that evening to dissect the body of a young lady who had died with an uncommon disorder, and they were anx­ious to discover the source of her com­plaints; but her friends having refused their opening her, they had privately tak­en her up, and gave him an invitation to stay with them during the operation. This he accepted. The subject was soon brought out of the closet, and the sheet in which it was concealed untied. Mr. Helen, upon seeing the face, discovered the countenance of Caroline. A [...] an event so totally unex­pected, the seat of reason instantly became vacant; his eyes flashed with the distrac­tion of his mind; he flew to the body, raised it from the floor, pressed it to his bosom, and exhibited the most frantic ago­nies of despair—continually repeating the name of Caroline. His friends were final­ly obliged to force him from it, and con­fine [Page 232] him, lest in his violent fit of distrac­tion, he should commit some outrage. Hav­ing made him secure, they returned to the subject, and soon discovered, that the body, in their possession, was not the one they wished to obtain. They had marked the grave, and were certain they had taken it from the spot where their patient had been buried; yet the conduct of Mr. Helen ap­peared very mysterious. Acquainted with his engagements to Caroline, and recol­lecting her being forced from the carriage, with the discovery of their mistake, they suspected the cause of Mr. Helen's afflic­tion; and in this they were confirm­ed, by his constant repetition of Caroline's name. A violent fever soon seized him, and an express was, the next morning, dis­patched for his friends, who have no ex­pectation of his recovery.

Upon opening the grave the next day, the coffin from which my dear Caroline had been taken, was found; and upon remov­ing this, the one that contained the sub­ject, these young gentlemen were in pursuit of, was discovered. It is believed the body of [Page 233] my friend was intentionally concealed here, to prevent any suspicions, that might arise upon the appearance of a new grave, which could not be accounted for. No marks of violence were found upon her body, and it is thought that she fell a sacrifice to her dis­tress, and died with a broken heart. Altho' we cannot trace the immediate authors of her death, we do not hesitate on whom to fix as the source of this calamity. The invariable persecutions which this unhap­py girl has experienced from Eliza, will li­cense every conjecture. Her unrestrained jealousy, has been productive of the most complicated distress, to an innocent, amia­ble woman. Her artful and revengeful mind, has been continually creating some malignant design against her, in which she has finally been too successful.

How dangerous such a disposition!—how prejudicial to the pleasures of social life! My present feelings are associated with the sweet remembrance of Caroline's virtues. To do justice to these I am inadequate; but I will endeavour to copy from her pleasing example, that my memory may be alike grateful to my friends.

[Page 234]That her unfortunate story may enforce a striking lesson, and early teach us to sup­press every unhappy passion, is the wish of your affectionate sister,