LETTER I. TO MRS. MARIA HARTELY.

YOUR last, containing an account of your perfect recovery, met a cordial recep­tion. Upon this happy occasion, dearest Maria, accept the sincere congratulations of my affec­tionate heart.—I am tempted almost to envy you the dear object of your sublime rapture:—the rapture of a young mother in gazing on the offspring of her early love. From your own pleasing emotions you may now partly conceive [Page 14] the comparative agony of mine, on the prema­ture loss of my only darling child! That heaven­ly babe, whose infant smiles even now live in my memory; whose little heart seemed already to beat and glow with sentiments of virtue and ho­nor; whose lisping accents soothed the censure of its father's tongue, and gave a comfort to mater­nal woe, was, in a very flash of thought, snatched from my doating eyes; his lips for ever sealed; his soul transported to the shades of innocence and bliss; leaving me a solitary monument of his worth, by the bitter consciousness of his loss! Oh! how severely trying was this tremendous conflict of tender, weeping nature, with stern philosophic reason and calm religion! Oh Maria, prepare your heart for trials even as dreadful as mine! Life itself, all its enjoyments, hang on the flying winds; and the gentlest gale may, by Almighty dispensation, become the dreadful mes­senger of destruction! Even that smiling infant, now opening to your sanguine expectation, must one day yield the precious life it breathes; and we ourselves experience an ageless interval of love and friendship!—Forgive these calamitous anticipations: May heaven continue supremely good and bountiful; for ever withholding from your experience the miseries of which your un­happy sister complains.

[Page 15] WE have but just recovered from the labour and fatigue of removing to our newly-purchased country-seat. The description of it given by Mr. Franks, did not in reality exceed the rural beau­ty and magnificence of the scene to which we have retired for the approaching season. The dwelling-house is advantageously situated on a delightful green hill, which, besides looking over an extensive and beautiful country, adds a pecu­liar grandeur and variety to the approximate scenery. The rooms and balcony in the front are entirely shaded by a row of willows, whose drooping bows, moved by the gentle breeze, seem to wave in zephyrous music to the victim of solitude and grief. In such a seclusion, bless­ed with the society of some feeling friend, or the livelier conversation of you, Maria, what a period of divine luxury would be the ensuing summer! But alas! this rural elegance, this mild "fancy of nature's hand-maid," only imparts bitterness to the reflection of my being deprived of such a companion to participate in this ex­penceless grandeur.

THE surrounding country is considerably in­habited by industrious indigence. Within a few acres of us there is a mansion, in appearance the perfect twin of ours, the property of a mer­chant [Page 16] of eminence in Philadelphia, named Al­fred, whose family has retired thither from the noise and tumult of the city, to spend the ap­proaching summer. It consists only of Mrs. Alfred, a polite old lady, an amiable daughter (Miss Fanny,) and a son, whom I have not yet seen: From the mother and daughter I have al­ready received several flattering marks of com­plaisance, and have occasion to wish for a speedy intimacy. Miss Alfred, now about her twenty second year, has a romantic attachment, and principally delights to ramble, just as the sun dives into the west, among the silent rocks, listening to the mingled noise of wooing birds, and the echoes which ascend from the adjacent vales. She de­clares it is an intellectual repast exceeding des­cription; and at her particular request, I am soon to be a partner in one of her evening ram­bles.

ON the other side of us stands an ancient and mouldering edifice, in which, I understand, three maiden sisters reside during the sultriness of the year. I received a notice from them this morn­ing of their intention to spend the afternoon with us: In my next, therefore, you shall have a particular account of these antiquated virgins.

[Page 17] FROM this you will perceive that all my expec­tations of society, while absent from the city, are on the Alfred family; and although this limita­tion at present proves unwelcome, I anticipate a variety of pleasures from the frequent visits of the intelligent Miss Alfred.

MY best respects to your husband: Caress your darling for me, and be assured I remain

LETTER II. TO THE SAME.

I CONFESS, dear Maria, the truth of many of the remarks communicated in your last; though some of them, permit me to say, savoured too strongly of the turgid stiffness of conscientious sanctity. No one, however, more truly chorded with my sentiments and feelings than that "the endearing caresses of a fond hus­band [Page 18] ought to fill up every wish and desire of an affectionate wife, even immured in a wilder­ness, far from the fantastic pleasures of a tinsell­ed world." Than this, what more delightful fruition could a virtuous woman desire? But, oh, my sister, have you already forgotten the sad necessity of my union with Mr. Franks?—You, to whom fortune has invariably proved so mu­nificent, should, if not forgive the aberrances of the more unfortunate, at least lament the uncon­scious origin of them. There is a supernatural satiety existing in the female soul;—the consum­mation of ineffable love, without which the most ardent feelings of the heart, the most resplen­dent faculties of the mind, are left unexercised and torpid. You, my lovely Maria, feel your bosom hourly swelling with the celestial glow of a pure and ceaseless passion; how then can you competently judge of the secret emotions of a sister, chained by tyrant custom to a man who never avowed more than a motive of expediency for his addresses, who has ever neglected the of­fices of a husband, and for whom, even now I declare, I never felt more than esteem? The si­lent ashes of that deluded father whose power coerced me to the deed, sleep over the endless torments which his rashness has produced!—And must I, in meek submission to a hardened, [Page 19] senseless world, oppose the instinctive impulse of my soul? Must I, to gratify the caprice of a world whose censure or applause is alike despic­able, dam up the current of my thoughts, or cut short the thread of mental reflection? Can I re­strain or limit the involuntary aspirations of my heart? In short, is it possible for me to affect a placidity of mind, when the humblest insect I behold vaunts of its superior blessedness? For heaven's sake then, Maria, suppress your cruel reprehensions.

I SHOULD not have replied so passionately to this part of your letter, had I not fancied there was too much gaul and acrimony in the ink with which you penned it. A heavy frown seemed to hang on every line, and each ambiguous word to my ears and eyes conveyed horror and appre­sion.

THE expected visit from my ancient neigh­bours was suddenly and strangely interposed. About noon a heavy cloud emerging from the west, occasioned a smart shower of rain, accom­panied with most tremendous peals of thunder. The valley beneath us seemed to retain the hoarse explosion; and every clap from heaven was answered by the sharp echo of the trembling [Page 20] earth, making the convulsed air the theatre of an horrific conflict! At about three in the after­noon it entirely subsided; and the bright sun­beams, breaking through the scattered clouds, displayed to the admiring world the arched sce­nery of the rain-bow in all its resplendent glory.—I expected this circumstance, so salubrious in its influence on the air, would have created a new inducement for my expected visitants to per­form their engagement; but at near four, I was officially informed, "that the Miss Haywords, apprehensive that the air was dangerously impreg­nated with sulphurous and other offensive matter, begged to defer their visit until a more favorable evening. I readily accepted the apology; not, however, without smiling at the absurd caution which had produced it.

I MUST briefly bid farewell, as I overhear the obliging Miss Alfred in the parlour below. Hea­ven take you in its care!

LETTER III. TO THE SAME.

DO not, I beseech you, wilfully mis­conceive me:—what I expressed in my last were the matured effusions of my oppressed bosom, and they have lost no strength by the subsequent retrospection. But oh, how unintentionally kind is my fair Miss Alfred, in intermitting the utter­ance of my grief, by the exhilirating emotions of friendship. She increases hourly in my esteem, and has already flattered me with a great portion of her confidence. On concluding my last epis­tle, I met her in the lower parlour, impatient, as she said, to take a round of discovery through the adjacent wilderness in my company. I slip­ped on my shawl and chearfully complied with her requisition. We walked for two hours, in­dulging in a variety of flippant pleasures; while our astonishment and admiration paced with each other, on discovering so many objects of beauty and grandeur, cloistered from the world's eye by almost impenetrable shrubbery and immense [Page 22] hosts of oak and hickory. We traversed through thorns, briars, brambles, &c. ascended steep and craggy rocks, forded pellucid streams and chrys­tal rivulets, with a labour that lost its fatigue in the thoughts and enjoyment of each other's com­pany. At times we varied our amusement by a frolicksome race down some verdant hill, and then, at the foot, where a cooling stream gurgled to our panting breasts, we refreshed ourselves by catching the fragrant zephyrs that issued from the adjacent plains.

As we returned, now said my mirthful com­panion, I will lead you to the Cavern of Medita­tion; with which, taking my hand, she conduct­ed me through a shady valley, which appeared to be formed by the familiar junction of two large rocks, both fancifully carpetted with a green sur­face. Having passed this, we entered an appa­rently spacious hall, paved by a stone which had acquired a moderate smoothness from the flow of a stream, which had lately been impeded.—"That, said Miss Alfred, pointing to an opening in the opposite rock, is the entrance to my solemn retreat, where, unheard but by the callous stone, which returns a sympathising echo, I soothe the rigorous edge of reflection."—I expressed an apprehension of danger from ven­turing [Page 23] into a mansion formed so delicately by the adventitious cluster of innumerable rocks. She instantly led me to this gloomy avenue, in the middle of which, we were nominally benighted; but my fair guide, groping, at length brought me to her favorite spot, where I beheld a natural so­pha excavated from the rocks, beautifully lined with a green turf. It is of a semi-circular form, and at each side of the sopha, a purling stream which runs from the precipice and buries itself in an unseen bason below, creates a prattling music congenial to the solemn aspect of the scene, and to a mind tempered for melancholic medita­tion—"Here, exclaimed my companion, with a vehemence before unobserved, here, dearest ma­dam, it is that I review the short season of life I have yet passed, and enumerate the comparative million of my disasters! Here I ease my swelling heart, by mingling with these streams, the bitter tears of my affliction.—Oh, she continued, when men, and even my fellow fair have denied a tear of commiseration, this breathless, dumb rock has shed showers of pity."—I stood awhile almost pe­trified; and beholding the fair Miss Alfred's eyes deluged in tears of anguish, and the sympathetic currents from the rock, which at this time seemed to flow more rapidly, I involuntarily joined in the distressful concert. Recovering from this pow­erful [Page 24] sympathy, I entreated my companion to make me acquainted with the disastrous cir­cumstances revived in her memory by the silent language of the surrounding scene. She replied, "Dear madam, excuse me from complying with your request at this time. Come, let us leave the spot, and at some hour when I can more controul the influence of feeling, you shall know the occa­sion of this inordinate sorrow."—I did all in my power to allay the sensible anguish of her heart; and after recovering from our fatigue, by a few moments repose on the sopha, and more minute­ly inspecting the rude magnificence of the dwell­ing, we retired in the same manner as we had en­tered. On again coming, I may say to the face of the earth, we discovered the sun had laid deep in the West, and left only a silver tint on the op­posite forests. Urged by the advance of dark­ness, we tripped over a direct path to our mansi­on, at which we arrived, just as the gloominess of night mantled the earth in sable shade. After our joint solicitations, Miss Alfred consented to remain with us till the next morning. Her strength and spirits being apparently exhausted; I endeavored to revive the latter by skipping over some gay airs on my piano, which she ex­tolled with many polite encomiums. Finding that she understood the instrument, we prevailed [Page 25] with her to give us a tune. Oh Maria, what celestial melody floated through the expansive hall!—The docile key, as they kissed her nimble fingers, acknowledged the superior influence of their new mistress, and seemed to emulate each other in the placid harmony of their notes.

THE affectionate society of this charming girl, is a treasure unexpected in this rude and uncul­tivated wilderness. Oh it is a heavenly, raptur­ous fruition, of which only souls susceptible of the lasting impressions of friendship can conceive or partake.

LETTER IV. TO THE SAME.

I WAS near being deprived of the agreeable society of my dear Miss Alfred. Hav­ing breakfasted with us next morning, and spent a considerable time in an entertaining conversa­tion, [Page 26] Mr. Franks, with a politeness not peculiar to him, offered to conduct her home. As soon as they had departed, I was imperceptibly led to re­flect on the singular and affecting circumstance of the cavern, in the recollection of which all my original sympathy was excited. "Is it possi­ble," exclaimed I, traversing the hall, "that one so young and fair, so mildly innocent and endear­ing, should already wear in her heart, the cor­roding cause of this pathetic conduct!—But ah, why do I wonder this, when youth, beauty, and innocence are the choicest victims of artifice and guilt!—Oh, what a benevolent curiosity have I to know the history of her tears! To soothe their torture by administering sympathy!"—Thus I employed upwards of an hour, when Mr. Franks returning, assured me that the fair Miss Alfred became much indisposed in the course of their walk; and that on leaving her, she had repaired to her bed. Think, my sister, how this intelli­gence startled me, conscious as I felt, that the sad circumstance must be attributed to some im­prudence of yesterday. I was instantly hurrying to pay her a visit; but, on Mr. Franks repeating her having gone to rest, and the confusion of the family, I deferred this act of friendship till the afternoon.

[Page 27] As soon as we had dined, my girl Hannah, (Mr. Franks declining to accompany me) and I, crossed the fields and woodland which divide our plantation from the Alfred's, and soon arriv­ed at the front of their mansion house. The surly house dog, hoarsely announced the arrival of strangers, which brought to the door, the ten­der mother of my friend, who received me with a cordial welcome.—I impatiently inquired after the health of her daughter. "Oh, sweet ma­dam," said she with a cheerful smile, "our alarm is all over. A trifling bleeding and some repose has considerably abated her fever, and your com­pany I am certain, will complete the cure." I was rejoiced at this answer; and following Mrs. Alfred through a spacious hall, I was conducted to a back parlour, which, like our own, is delight­fully shaded by a row of large trees.—Here, af­ter the courteous and busy politeness of the old lady had seated me, I waited but a few minutes, when overhearing a footstep, I arose, and advanc­ing to the door, met my sweet friend, whose eyes shone even in the midst of sickly meekness!—Oh, sister, what a divine picture was here dis­played of oppressed innocence struggling with contumely!—The blooming rose had sunk in the general whiteness of her face, leaving only a glimmering tint on her lips; and her eyes, retain­ing [Page 28] all their sprightliness, seemed to exult in the surrounding langour of her countenance!—Tak­ing her by the hand, I said, Dear Miss Alfred I hope you are perfectly recovered from your alarm?—"Law, dear Madam," replied she, "the care and solicitude of my tender parent, has made my indisposition appear too serious. The long, though extremely agreeable ramble of yesterday, added to the subsequent agitation of my mind, had occasioned a debility, which, succeeded by a fever, gave very unfavorable symp­toms. However I am at present entirely reliev­ed, and your company was only wanting to re­store my spirits"—After receiving every mark of politeness from this small family, and viewing the variety of objects of taste and grandeur to which Miss Fanny conducted me, I took my leave, sen­sible that my engaging friend was not so com­pletely restored, as she wished to convince me.

IN returning home, partly to gratify Hannah, we took a circuitous walk through the forest, which extends for many acres back of the two farms; and in the bosom of which, a variety of unimproved beauties, striking the eye in their rough state, occasion a succession of pleasing emo­tions. Resting on the summit of a lofty rock, which overlooks a vast prospect, our ears were [Page 29] suddenly enchanted by the soft music of some artful piper, who was concealed in the clustering shrubbery beneath. It began in a mild harmo­nious strain, and gradually swelling, the valley beneath us rung with the sublime melody. I gazed on every side to discover this Apollo of the woods; while the amazed girl at my side cried out, "Oh what a sweet bird! Would that we had it in our new cage!"—We were obliged to depart without a discovery; while the shrill pipe, as if conscious of our admiration, loudly warbled to our footsteps, till its dying sweetness was lost in the intervening space.—Who knows, my sister, but that this secluded musician, remote from the scenes of anguish and disappointed love, here and thus seeks to drown the recollection of woe, in the united music of his pipe and the res­ponsive echo of the vale!—While he played, na­ture was hushed to listen to his lamentatation; and even the stubborn oak moved not a leaf to interrupt the sacred sadness of the song.

LETTER V. TO MR. WILLIAM COURTNEY.

YOU will no doubt be astonished at the acknowledgement, that your last, containing a panegyric on the fair, met a cordial acquies­cence in my heart. Considering my past apa­thy, and, I might almost add, disgust for the sex, is it not miraculous, that at the mere glance of a female, my calloused nature has been melted into unbounded adoration?—Yes, Bill, I have but just discovered that the finer faculties of my soul have heretofore been obscured by scholastic precepts and false reasoning; and that, instead of opposing the mild influence and dominion of beauty and innocence, nature designed the heart to love, and formed it for intellectual fruition: In fine, that "nature is the god of love."

THUS you perceive, in fidelity to our juvenile engagement, (made in our chamber, when, per­haps, we should have been hammering at the problems of Euclid,) I have made an immediate disclosure of the first operations of Cupid on my heart:—perhaps it is premature; but when I compare my sensations and desires with those of [Page 31] which I have read in the examples of renowned lovers, I am struck with the apparent parallel, and already foresee a thousand obstacles to the consummation of my hopes; a thousand difficul­ties to surmount, and as many dangers to en­counter. Nay, I sometimes fancy myself the Don Quixotte of my mistress; and in my imagin­ary perils, fall an heroic victim to the queen of pleasures!

MY father's farm is possessed of all that ruralic beauty of which are led to conceive by perusing the history of the loves of enamoured swains and shepherdesses. Nature has adorned it with a variety of exquisite groves, grottos, &c. whose unseen retirement seems peculiarly destined for a reciprocal interchange of hearts. From those I have selected one, suited most to my temper of mind and conception of wild elegance, to which I have been accustomed to withdraw in the even­ing of each day, and with my haut-boy play to the gradual fall of the sun. It was in the last exercise of this diurnal amusement that I was in­terrupted by the appearance of a female, stand­ing on an eminence exactly opposite, whose se­rene and heavenly countenance broke through the interwoven leaves and mollified my unwary heart. She appeared engaged in a careless re­view [Page 32] of the surrounding prospect. I seized my neglected instrument; and by playing a soft and melancholy air, had the supreme gratification of observing her both pleased and surprised with the music. Gods! Methinks, at that moment I could have rendered the powers of Orpheus, had I possessed them, the servants of a chival­rous purpose!—Her eyes wandered to discover the concealed musician; but the thick cluster of the trees, added to the false echo of the distant rocks, deluded her eagerest scrutiny; till at length, finding it impracticable, she moved—and by my soul, I had not the sense or the pow­er to follow her; but, changing the tune, kept music to the majesty of her steps, till the view of her beauty was buried in the distant forest. Yet even now her graces live in the memory of my eyes; and I mentally gaze on her bewitching charms! But, alas! this is all—all I dare expect! Who she is, from whence, or to where, is a pro­found mystery, which keeps my imagination on the rack! She cannot be of this part of the coun­try, or surely my cars would have heard the "rumour of her beauty," before my eyes were call­ed to witness it's power, and my heart to avow its dominion. Neither have I ventured to make enquiry at home; although I highly suspect my sister could give me considerable satisfaction. [Page 33] You know the character which my principles concerning the influence of women on our sex has obtained: it has prevailed in our family; and a disclosure of this kind to them, would on­ly produce vexation and ridicule.

I ALMOST anticipate your reply. Perhaps my jocose friend will discredit this miracle, and de­nominate what I esteem an intrinsic, boundless passion, a mere temporary transport of feeling. However, to your experienced philosophy I re­fer it, and expect, by the return of the post, to receive the sage counsels of your friendship.

LETTER VI. To MR. CHARLES ALFRED.

I SHOULD have been extremely suspicious of the validity of your last had it not [Page 34] been accompanied with so many serious affirma­tions and as the case you describe yourself to be in, is as serious as it is unprecedented, permit me, by what you courteously term philosophic ex­perience, either to eradicate a hopeless passion, or give to it the impulse of virtue and substantial affection.

FROM the extraordinary description you have drawn of this unknown female, I was at first prompted to conclude, that, instead of loving an handsome woman, you are no more than paying a dutiful adoration to some celestial being; who, in the peculiar humour of the sex, had made a trip to this sublunary world to ambush your af­fections; and, having accomplished your con­quest, has returned to her elysium, leaving you the victim of a passion hopeless as the grave. Should your inquiries after the goddess terminate in disappointment or chagrene, this idea, mar­vellous as it is, will be partly confirmed: and then, my amorous lad, let your affections mount the pinions of the lark, and ascend, like fragrant incense, to salute the "olfactory nerves" of your deified mistress!

BUT, to reverse my conjecture, should your inquisitive labour fortunately issue in an auspi­cious [Page 35] discovery, and her fair heart be open to ex­quisite impressions, let me advise you, to exercise with skill and judgment, those fine qualities of merit with which your mind and person are so happily adorned. To besiege a heart already exempt from impressions, with a hope of success, you ought previously to engage its partiality by a thousand trifling offices of politeness and at­tention; and thus effectually surround it by a presentiment in your favour, against which it will be a pain to act, when you more unequivocally attack the fortress.—It is, however, useless to dictate rules of subordination to lovers; as the passion which they experience spurns at the liv­ery of art, and acts solely from its own simple and present emotions. In other words, it is a passion imcompatible with the caution of artifice; and, as you say, being the modest child of na­ture, its demeanour abounds in all the simplicity of its birth.

BUT, my friend, are you indeed so suddenly and singularly overcome by this sublime passion? Have you already an universality of feeling which drives from your thoughts, all but the object of your adoration? Is the present interval of doubt­fulness a season of exile and despair? And does hope, the child of love, even now cherish your [Page 36] palpitating heart?—If these be your feelings, the passion is not a counterfeit; your disease is vio­lent, and the source of it is also the only remedy.

UNTIL I hear more of your situation I am incapable of advising. Perhaps before this will reach you, the frenzy of love may have dis­sipated, or some other circumstance made as great a transition in your heart. Till I know this, ex­cuse my silence, and believe me to be

LETTER VII To MRS. MARIA HARTELY.

WHILE my eyes are yet moist, and my heart is loaded with sympathy, let me trans­mit to my dearest sister, the sad tale of persecut­ed [Page 37] innocence; at which, I am sure her tender bosom will sigh in unison with my own.—Alas! how many of our sex live a life of joy, and die a death of forgetfulness; while others, fair and virtuous in the eye of heaven, incur the compli­cated cruelty of the world; and are finally en­tombed by the weapons of malice! While some, practising on the other sex the devices by which they destroy us, enjoy the tasteless pleasures of vanity and pride, others are the devoted offerings to artifice and sin! Innocence is no shelter from the intrigues of vice; and virtue proves a bait for the efforts of deceit!—Oh, my Maria, how thrice-blessed are you, early withdrawn from the theatre of folly and dissimulation, into the cor­dial embraces of an affectionate husband! Even I may exclaim myself happy;—happy, as yet safe from the machinations of art!—Happy, in being at the same time robbed of the enjoyment of love, and shielded from the ruins of treache­ry!

YOU will remember the tears shed by the sweet Miss Alfred in her profound seclusion; nay, you will not have forgot your own sympathetic emotions excited by my letter on that distressful occasion.—Alas, how little did I suspect that her serene and heavenly smiles concealed a tender [Page 38] heart, furrowed with unheard of disasters! How little did I imagine, that the sprightly friend in whose society all my distresses were buried, could not for a moment bury her own! Yes, my Ma­ria, young, fair, and captivating as is Miss Al­fred, the world,—that world whom you would have me reverence,—the unjust, the selfish, cru­el world, even in her infancy, dashed her hopes of human felicity!—Oh, that I could equal, in the style of narration, the exquisite anguish of my friend's life, as it streamed from her melting tongue; that my sister might weep over the his­tory in all the luxury of wounded sensibility!

I HAVE already mentioned the endearing cha­racter of Miss Alfred's mother: Her father, whose business requires his constant attention in the city, is not less affectionate. His greatest comfort is in accumulating happiness for his two precious children; and principally his daugh­ter, whose early calamity has given her a pecu­liar interest in the whole family. From her in­fancy, these fond parents anticipated the most unbounded joy for their decline of life, from be­holding and promoting the felicity of their daugh­ter; and, in the abominable practice of the world, but with this fond hope impressed, they had, before she attained her ninth year, nominally [Page 39] united her to a neighbour's son, then about twelve years of age. Full of the bright view of their distant bliss, to arise from this parental pre­destination, she was sent to a celebrated semina­nary, to receive every possible accomplishment and ornament of education. Here, my Fanny confesses, she enjoyed the undefinable happiness of youthful innocence unfettered by rigid moral­ity or superstitious prejudice. "Here", as she exclaimed in her narration, "here were all my tranquil days enjoyed; the remainder are filled with sighs, and tears, and agony!"—

HAVING received an education highly adapted to her station, she left this abode of peace and virtue; and returned to the affectionate care of her fond parents. There she was early intro­duced into the society of both the sexes; and from the natural sweetness of her disposition, and acquired elegance of mind, early engaged the admiration and esteem of the one, while the same qualities excited the envy and malice of her own. Forgetful of the rigid customs of the world,—of the preordination of her parents; and impelled by her own innate sentiments of virtue and propriety, her susceptible heart was gradually devoted to the love of a youth, who, though inferior in fortune, possessed the superior [Page 40] endowments of an amiable mind, and a heart un­conscious to every impulse but that of truth and honor. This circumstance gave an asperity to the conduct of her father; who, in the com­mon fatal error of mankind, endeavoured to give a different direction to the affections of his child. "Nay," she exclaimed, "my dearest fa­ther, forgetful of his nature, was on this occasion even cruel!"—In the first vehemence of his pa­ternal concern, he succeeded in separating this lovely pair, by prevailing with the father of Mr. Wellsford, (the youth before mentioned) to dis­patch him as supercargo to the East-Indies; where he has been almost five years, without communicating the least intelligence to his fami­ly, or to the more unhappy Fanny. "Oh," she sighed, "I am sure he is no more! His spirit was too noble to bend long to the baseness and perfidy of mankind! It has fled to its nativity; from whence it shall hover round my mind, till both are re-united in perfect bliss!"

SEVERELY as my Fanny must have experienc­ed this odious tyranny, its effects were not so baneful or lasting, as those of the disaster which succeeded. Already had her insidious female enemies forged a thousand calumnies; and the foul breath of slander had been as busy in pro­pagating [Page 41] the defamation. Her former associates suddenly withdrew themselves from her intima­cy; and the number of her male admirers as suddenly increased, drawn by the rumour of her wantonness. Thus fouly traduced and contemn­ed, while her unsuspecting heart was devoted to love and constancy; her dearest and only com­forter arbitrarily exiled; and with feelings ever alive to acute impressions, a violent malady, of both mind and body, succeeded; and but for the timely revival of her father's affection, and the tender solicitude of her mother, would have assuredly proved fatal: but by their joint efforts the trembling thread of life was strengthened, and her passion, disdaining the constructions of a treacherous world, retired to this seat of inno­cence, dedicating tears of pity to the frailty of mankind, and invoking on her banished Henry the collected blessings of an approving God!—Her father has perceived, by the sad experience of his child, the repugnance to true happiness of coercion or restraint in the concerns of the heart; and endeavours, by a course of fondness and at­tention, to erase from the annals of her mind the painful recollection of her sufferings.

THUS, dearest Maria, did Miss Alfred, in the plenitude of her confidence, unfold to my at­tentive [Page 42] heart, the short volume of her life, re­plete with peculiar anguish and mortification. Yet even in the sadness of her present appre­hensions she enjoys intervals of consolation, when the beams of hope break on her mind, and ele­vate it to the expectation of one day beholding her adorable youth.

Excuse the length of this, and esteem me as

LETTER VIII. To MR. WILLIAM COURTNEY.

I ACKNOWLEDGE the receipt of your obliging favor of the—inst. on which day, perhaps even while your generous pen was freely flowing to my relief, my sanguine hopes experienced the most poignant mortification.—Yes, my worthy friend, my early passion has al­ready opened on itself the sluices of distress, and [Page 43] at present I am so overwhelmed with the agony of reflection, that I am conscious of my inability to relate the surprising occasion of it.

ON concluding my last to you, which was written early on the morning subsequent to my entanglement, I had recourse to my gun, expect­ing by an hour of exercise to banish the melan­choly pensiveness which insidiously gained on my mind. I traversed the extensive woodlands without having occasion once to discharge my gun; and was returning home, when the sudden report of a musquet from a thicket at my side, so startled me, that my finger, then on the tryger, by the quick emotion of my fright, instantly let sly the whole contents of the piece into the bosom of the ambush from which the former had issued. These successive frights kept me silently amazed for some time; till, thinking of the probable dan­ger of my random shot, I entered into the thic­ket, and my astonishment was increased by there beholding a gentleman insensibly extended on the ground, with a musquet carelessly fallen at his side. Certain that this was the effect of the last accident, I raised him from his laying posture, and was relieved by observing that the shot had but slightly grazed his left shoulder and cheek; and that his senses were partly restored. After a [Page 44] short silence, he looked me in the face and en­quired if I was hurt, to which having replied in the negative, I also accounted for the accident by which he had been reduced to his present condi­tion.—He begged that I would not apologize: He had been out the whole morning, he said, without meeting any game, till passing through this cluster of shrubbery, a squirrel starting, he carelessly let fly at him, not thinking of the dan­ger. He then directed me to his dwelling, a few acres from my father's, and pressed me to pay him a visit that afternoon. Promising to oblige him, I returned home and found the family at break­fast; for which, alas, thought had robbed me of an appetite!

THE remainder of the morning I employed in a moral contemplation of the sapient Seneca; and, after a tolerable dinner, departed to fulfil my early engagement—But oh, my friend, how lit­tle did my forebodings predict the event!—I was insensible to every external object around me, till entering a shady covert in the wood, how I came there I know not, my amazed eyes beheld the fair object of my meditation reposing on a green turf, beautifully shaded by several young walnut trees, and partly surrounded by a circle of sweet briers! I stood for a moment absolutely petrified, [Page 45] undetermined whether to enjoy a stolen glance or retreat from the holy seclusion. Love and hope impelled me to the first; and on advancing I perceived an open book just slipping from her tender hold, which having secured, think, my friend, in all the imagery of your glowing fancy, of the transported attitude in which I gazed on this sleeping goddess, as unconscious then of my passion as I am of the present emotions of her soul!—Now with my eyes eagerly revitted to the mild beauties of her face; nay, even glancing on the white innocence of her heaving bosom, and then, raised in silent extacy to heaven!—I almost forget myself in this mute rhapsody, and but for the fear of offending, would surely have continued in this exercise till she awoke; but prudence and respect drove me from her pre­sence; and with a heart highly elated, I arrived at the dwelling of my new acquaintance, who received me into a spacious parlour with all the cordiality of politeness; assuring me that he was recovered from the fright as well as the injury of the morning. He is a gentleman considerably advanced in years, and in the cursory conversation of an hour displayed a great intelligence in histo­rical facts, and a knowledge of reigning politics, which he made the theme of our discourse. I had just given a new turn to the subject—My [Page 46] mind, teeming with the thought of the enchant­ing wood nymph; had just began to enquire of my companion, the society of the country; whether there were accomplished females; and even, if he knew a lady answering the description of the fair slumberer? "She is," said I, "dressed in all the majestic gracefulness of exterior beauty; and from the mild language of her eyes"—at which, turning my attention to a door which opened, the model of my description appeared, and si­lenced the voice of praise!—But oh, my friend, how shall I proceed?—How dare I think of the trembling horror of that moment, when my soul was convulsed by a vast association of passions?—Her person had more dignity than ever, her eyes sparkled with pleasure, and, with feelings I cannot describe, I arose, and making a bow, was thun­derstruck on being introduced to the wife of my new acquaintance! How I appeared I know not, but till the period of departing I was sensible of nothing but the misery of my condition. This interview, however, disclosed to my knowledge the fair object of my anxiety.—She is well ac­quainted with my sister, and I may expect either a cure to my passion, or a justification in her fre­quent society.

[Page 47] THUS, my friend, has every faculty of my mind been staggered by this unpropitious disco­very, the distressing effects of which are conspicu­ous in all my actions—Alas, how shall I act?—Dare I persist in loving and adoring the conse­crated partner of my friendly neighbour; or must I—(but it is vain to inquire) I cannot,—never can cease from admiration. No, my friend, though the bleak censure of the united world, and the stern precepts of religion are opposed to the prin­ciple, reason and nature will advocate a passion pure and undesigning as is that which I experi­ence. Before I knew the obligations of her heart to another, I admired, esteemed, and loved her; if there be heinousness in this, my least defence will be, that "I could not help it."

I INTREAT you lend me your serious advice, and believe me to be

LETTER IX. To MR. CHARLES ALFRED.

ALREADY, as I at first predicted, your life commences with eccentric incidents; and I seriously apprehend, that, like your bre­thren of the loving fraternity, you are also des­tined to experience the irrevocable alternations of bliss and misery.

THE fortuitous discovery you have recently made is so important, that a stranger would sup­pose your love as well as your hope would ex­pire at the knowledge you have obtained of the impossibility of success: Yet at the same time, your passion, in surviving this tremendous shock, evinces its nature to be genuine and sincere; and consequently, in my humble opinion, can be denominated no other than virtuous. Love can never be vicious. Taking the term in its literal definition, it is an emotion of the soul which ever is the spring and motive of action to­wards the beloved object. Being in its nature a sentiment of good-will, and a secondary principle of self-love, its generous streams retain their ori­ginal [Page 49] sanctity; and therefore, even in its most unbounded inundations (if the expression may be used) guilt is not justly attached: though fashionable and general institutions dogmatically limit its operation; fix the boundary of its influ­ence, and say, "Thus far, and no farther shalt thou go."

SURELY your own feelings will corroborate the opinion, that it is a passion too omniscient, too arbitrary, to submit to the controul of human laws, which often are the offspring of avarice and pride:—That, notwithstanding the customs of the world, a beautiful and amiable wife will as effectually entrap the affections of an unguard­ed bosom, as the same attractions would in the person of an unplighted maid.

FROM the preceding, my friend, you will per­ceive, how exactly parallel with your present cir­cumstances, my speculations on this subject have always been. Moreover, I affirm, that, reason­ing from human nature, it is as impossible to pre­vent a refined and susceptible heart from admir­ing an amiable and beautiful woman, either mar­ried or single, as it would be to annihilate any natural appetite of the body.

[Page 50] HAVING so explicitly avowed this sentiment, which, by many, will be deemed that of a liber­tine, I cannot refrain suggesting the necessity and expediency of reining your passion with the utmost circumspection; as we are in our actions more subordinate to the laws of the world, than to the decisions of our own individual minds. Hence, at the same time to conform to the prac­tice of the world, and yet to indulge in repug­nant propensities, should be the incessant study of a man, hurried, as you are, into the perils of an illegal amour. The consciousness you expe­rience of the purity of your passion, would, no doubt, unbiassed by fear, induce you to disclose it to the object;—but, Charles, this will not do; we are not living in a state of nature; and I will add, that even should your wishes meet a reci­procity of affection, that sacred boon must be il­licit, and all its consequent raptures devoted to lence and retirement.

—YOUR predicament is indeed extremely singular and momentous!—'Tis impossible, you say, to extirpate your affection: I believe it, from my soul. Love, having once engrafted itself, can only be exterminated by the total extinction of its source; that is, the heart.—Yet alas! Look at the big horror which swells the eye of antici­pation! [Page 51] What sophistry can assuage the painful certainty of her being the monopolized property of another? What vain conception can delude you to expect, that your superior qualities can alien­ate her heart from its lawful master? What des­peration can impell you to encounter the "wak­ed wrath" of her enraged husband?—Can your love conquer these suggestions, and retain its ve­hemence? If so, pray make your talents subser­vient to the wishes of your heart; in which pe­rilous adventure, that you may arrive at the con­summation of perfect felicity, is the prayer of

LETTER X. To MISS FANNY ALFRED.

IT is now full two days since I was blest with your enlivening society. Ah, my Fanny, did you but know how sincerely blissful to me are the precious moments of your chat, you [Page 52] would not thus long deprive me of this last and dearest comfort. Mr. Franks has intimated that my neighbours, the maiden Miss Haywords, in­tend spending the afternoon with us—will my dear friend favor me with her presence, without which, the absurdities of these antiquated oddities will be intolerable?

BY accident yesterday I became acquainted with your brother:—Why has my friend with­held from me, the society of one, who, par­taking of all her amiable qualities, would also add to the moiety of my felicity?

GIVE my affection to your dear mother, and believe me

LETTER XI. To MRS. FRANKS.

HOW cheerfully would I ever fly to the dear converse of my friend! To you whose bounteous sympathy has already nearly soothed the rancour of my soul!—For these two days past the weather has been so sultry as to deter me from walking; besides which, my constant attendance has been required at home, on account of a short visit from my tender father. I intended how­ever to have been with you the greater part of to-day, but an accident has unfortunately depriv­ed me of that pleasure.

THE morning being extremely inviting, Charles prevailed on me to take a short ride up the coun­try. On our return, the creature which I rode, being a young skittish horse, suddenly took fright and started, leaving my brother at a distance be­hind. Without attempting to curb his spirit I held to the saddle, till overtaking some foot pas­sengers who officiously obstructed his course, I was suddenly thrown from my seat by the quick halt. Overpowered by the fall, I had just faint­ed as my brother rode up, by whose assistance I [Page 54] soon recovered, and exchanging horses, proceed­ed home in a slow pace. I have since had symp­toms of a fever, and at present feel so discom­posed as to be unable to accept your polite invi­tation. Believe me, my dearest friend, it is pain­ful thus to be deprived of your sweet society.

My brother saw the servant deliver your billet and was mightily in the fidgets to see its contents. I was on the point of giving it to him, when I came to the conclusion, where you mentioned him so respectfully, which, though indeed my brother possesses many amiable qualities and a good mind, coming from you, whom he highly esteems, would be too flattering to his sexual vanity. Par­don this remark: It proceeds from my knowledge of the sex:—alas, from my own fatal experience! that the slightest courtesy from us, is by them, imputed to their merit, and the impression it has made on our minds.

GIVE my respects to your husband—Charles desires me to present his to you, and believe me to be

LETTER XII. TO MR. WILLIAM COURTNEY.

MY last was shaded with the gloo­miness of despair: Let the present annul the re­flections of the former, as time has rendered my prospects more auspicious. Oh my friend, "tri­fles light as air," are mighty comforts to the hope­less bosom of despairing love! From an abyss of desperation I have been elevated to the pinnacle of hope by mere phantoms, and even retain the wisdom to behold and acknowledge their nothing­ness; yet, as it is a characteristic of the passion to live on idea, I willingly second the efforts of ima­gination.

I YESTERDAY prevailed with my sister to take a ride, for the mere purpose of deriving some particulars of the condition of my Charlotte, for such permit me to call her. Her history I assure you has blown the buds of hope.—Like many of the unfortunate of her sex, in infancy she was compelled by a fordid parent to accept her pre­sent husband, for whom I understand, she even now feels no more than a languid esteem. Oh [Page 56] my friend, love is ever the attractive of love, as apathy is of disgust!—Will not the pure effusi­ons of my ardent soul draw from her oppressed bosom, at least a correspondent wish. Her heart is unengaged, and may I not hope to impress it with pity?

MY sister spoke of her in the most exalted terms; estimating her friendship as the greatest blessing of her life. My ears caught the delici­ous founds, and my vain heart exulted in the idea that such an one, so supremely excellent, was well worthy the ambition of my love. Returning home, my sister's horse being frighted, put an end to this season of enthusiastic rapture.

ON the same morning, a note was delivered by a servant, directed to my sister. I instinctive­ly conceived it to be from the fair hand of this enchantress; and intreated my sister to disclose the contents. At first, she half consented, but on perusing it, she refused, by saying it contained something concerning me, which it was not pru­dent to expose. Heavens, think of my emotions at this!—I was ready almost to seize the perplex­ing girl, and tear the sacred treasure from her pocket!—I begged, persuaded, and kneeled; but [Page 57] all was ineffectual, and I was left to conjecture what were the ideas of my first aukward appear­ance—I prevailed however with Fanny, to in­close my respects in her answer.

AT the approach of dusk, I repaired to the fo­rest, idly hoping there to meet this sylvan god­dess; but ah, thought I, after rambling till dark, she now avoids my haunts, and leaves me to my own misery.—I returned home, and was half murdered on being told, that she had paid a short visit to my sister in my absence, and had been obliged to walk home unattended but by a ser­vant!—By heavens, I was on the very eve of fury; and dreading the suspicion of those who be­held me, I retired to my chamber, where in re­gretful anguish, I spent the remainder of the night.

THUS shall I continue to communicate the in­cidents of my passion, till they wear out your friendship. Have I not an equal claim on your confidence?—Or as yet, is your heart impregna­ble to the attacks of this tormenting urchin?

LETTER XIII. TO MRS. MARIA HARTELY.

YOU know it is impossible for me to conceal a single thought from your generosity. It is your kindness which unlooses the bandages of my bosom, and your pity which allays the up­roar of my grief! In you I have always found a friend to flatter my virtues, and a sister happy in correcting my vices; the last, I trust, have been the unavoidable effects of my first and ear­ly misfortune.—Yet why need I endeavour to al­leviate my own anguish, by diffusing its influence, and embittering, by a poignant sympathy, the pure and tranquil joys of which my amiable Ma­ria partakes, and to which her splendid goodness entitles her! Oh, my sister, but for the certainty that your affection delights in the work of mer­cy, my woe-worn heart should be the limits of its own distress: Yea, burst with plenitude of grief, ere by disclosing it, impart one unwelcome sigh or move a repugnant throb in the tranquil bosom of my sister! Melancholy's disease and "sadness dire" should devour my frame; till gliding into [Page 59] an immense eternity, my sad memory, and my woes shall sleep together in a breathless grave!

OH, Maria, how keen, how exquisitely dis­tressing are my present sensations! My husband—(alas, the revered name allied to him is profana­tion!) has just left me in a paroxism of frenzy! As I write I tremble at the recollection of his words! My heart heaves the oppressive sigh, and all my faculties are stupified by the domi­nion of terror; yet believe me, it is a mild for­getfulness of grief, an intermission of woe, thus in friendship to avow my secret reflections.

A FEW days past, having no reason to expect the society of Miss Alfred, I left the house early in the afternoon, to loiter away the tedious time; and, if possible, forget the wretchedness of my situation, by devoting my mind to a pious admi­ration of the beauties and blessings of nature.—The air was attuned to pensiveness; the bound­less canopy of heaven's etherial blue was varied only by a few scattered fleecy-clouds; the sun shone in its mildest splendour, from whose in­fluence the branches of innumerable trees con­cealed a meandering foot-path; the concert of birds, fearlessly frisking on the ground, complet­ed the scene of magnificence and peace through [Page 60] which I wandered. At length, after a tedious circuit, I arrived at the grotto, to which, with a book, I have usually repaired in the moments of mental affliction. Here, reclining on the soft bosom of the earth, I retraced the pathetic epis­tles of Eloisa, till I became entranced in a gentle slumber. Oh, Maria, in this short interval of life, (for such it may be called, as in it I forgot my relation to the world) a benignant ray of bliss flashed through my perturbed bosom; and even when returned to this "vale of tears," the re­collection of fancied joy dissused a momentary happiness.—The volume, which for once had been my opiate, had disappeared, by what super­natural means I was unable to discover. Alarm­ed at this circumstance, I precipitately left the place and hurried home; where, entering ab­ruptly, I found Mr. Franks in conversation with a young gentleman, a stranger, till he was an­nounced to me as Mr. Alfred, brother to my in­valuable friend. On his introduction he exhibit­ed a peculiar degree of youthful modesty and embarassment; which was, no doubt, heighten­ed by the abrupt manner of my entrance, and the consequent incoherence of my manners. It was not long, however, before he arose to depart; when, desiring to be remembered to his sister, we both accompanied him through the hall to the [Page 61] door, at which, as he crossed the platform, I re­marked to Mr. Franks, with no other design than to please him by an innocent compliment on his young acquaintance, that nature appeared partial to this happy family, in lavishing on its children, the accomplishments of mind and per­son. Oh, luckless [...]! It sprung invo­luntary from my heart: It was but an harmless spark of that general affection which had been conceived for the whole family, by a knowledge of the merits of Miss Alfred!—But the cruelty of my husband replied with this uncouth cen­sure:—" Curse on the vanity of your heart! Be­cause that child blushes at your presence, you would sacrifice him to coquetry!" At which he left the house, and was absent till late in the evening.

ALAS, Maria, is it not always thus where affec­tion does not controul, that caprice, petulance, and pride assume command?—To you, from whose pen I need not dread the severity of un­just censure, I will candidly declare, (and tell me, wherein is the guilt?) that young Alfred in his person is not less graceful than his charming sis­ter; to which is added an accomplishment as amiable as it is extraordinary in his sex; that is, a blushing modesty and politeness, the general [Page 62] inmates of true merit. His eyes are of the black­est hue, constantly sparkling with feeling; and his countenance, tout ensemble, is the picture of sentiment.—Pardon me, sister, if in thus breath­ing praise on the brother of my second best com­forter, I overleap in expression the restraints of custom and the world. Your own liberal mind will provide a sufficient apology;—nay, does not virtue itself sanctify the deed? Is merit estima­ble;—and shall it not be extolled? Is beauty ad­mirable;—and shall it not be praised? Is virtue amiable;—shall it not be esteemed? Or does a state of matrimony interdict the utterance of praise? Does it change the quality of beauty, or subtract from the excellence of merit; making a mighty husband the concentration of all esti­mable endowments?

You, my Maria, are not so world-ridden as to affect a frown at the foregoing suggestions; al­though indeed, your experience in matrimony might incline you to answer in the affirmative: Yet I am sure, you think it no crime to applaud the merits of others, and even to esteem, nay, love their virtues; not is there, in the eye of rea­son [Page 63] and nature, the least repugnance in the act to the fidelity of the party.

GIVE me your soothing advice; and believe me to be

LETTER XIV. TO CHARLES ALFRED.

I REJOICE heart'ly with you on the pleasant variation of your feelings; and must first felicitate you on the circumstance of the letter, and the perplexing girl, whose prudent secrecy so worried your curiosity. Indeed, your sister hav­ing first partly consented to disclose the contents, and afterwards, on examining it, withholding the favour through a motive of decorum, is a tran­saction highly calculated to swell your heart with hopeful confidence.

I HAVE somewhere before observed, that first impressions invariably stamp the future character of a man; particularly in the estimation of the ladies. A disgust produced by improper conduct at a first interview, is immutable; and the pre­sence of the offender is ever after avoided: On the other hand, a certain lucky deportment, which some men inherit from nature, is sure to win the partiality of the fair;—a partiality which, by subsequent address, is easily converti­ble into love. In short, I believe, the fly urchin always approaches the female heart in the simili­tude of esteem; and only after obtaining admis­sion, unmasks himself.

So far from discountenancing your passion, it is my sincere wish that, by a perseverance in the pursuit, you will evince to the object the sincerity of your motives. Nay, my friend, it would be meritorious, to soothe the aching bosom of this beautiful wife, whom you mention as having been [Page 65] forced into the "rude embrace" of her preson husband; and, by a conduct marked with care and affection, rob the selfish wretch of that which he never possessed.

To conceive of crime, we must previously ad­mit an idea of guilt concealed in the heart. Mo­tives being the only true criterion by which to es­timate the relative quality of action, it is not just to cull precipitant opinions from superficial out­lines of conduct; but must probe and anatomize the heart and its propelling principles. Hence, if you have candidly avowed the reality of your feelings on this occasion, your passion, being the spontaneous effect of a conviction of extraordina­ry merit in the object, is virtuous and laudable. It is true, the world, the terrible world, will frown on your advances:—Your beloved too, will start with affrighted virtue at the dangerous proposi­tion:—but it is for your love, your art, your rea­son, your address, to harmonize to her principles a conduct, viewed by mankind as the lowest ex­tremity of female debasement:—it is for your fortitude to endure the censure of an undivided world.

P. S. I have to subjoin a request the purport of which I wonder you have not already obviat­ed:—It is, what is the name and family of this all-fascinating woman?

LETTER XV. TO MRS. MARIA HARTELY.

WHAT an intolerable afternoon has my last been; wasted in the company of three slan­derous and antiquated women, as well as exiled from the enlivening society of Miss Alfred!—Even this misfortune, however, has not been un­profitable: No; it has at least taught me, that our internal faculties, disunited from external relations, and joined to a malignity of spirit, can render us individually more miserable, than the influence of foreign objects on a mind duly tem­pered with patience and virtue. While I listen­ed to the decayed victims of envy carping at suc­cessful [Page 67] virtue and innocence, I was feelingly ad­monished to detest and avoid beings, who, by a pestilential banefulness, alike destroy their own and their neighbour's peace of mind! Of such a character are the ancient Miss Haywords, whom, in a former letter, I mentioned as comprizing a family in this neighbourhood. Their long-en­gaged visit at length has been performed; not, however, without several circumstances which gave new occasion for astonishment.

YESTERDAY morning, after an absence of some hours, which is his custom, Mr. Franks return­ing, informed me in a very courteous manner, that I might expect an early visit that afternoon from the maiden ladies, our neighbours; add­ing, in a tone and emphasis which betrayed a particular solicitude to please, that every readi­ness must be made to receive such respectable and valuable visitors with marked politeness and re­spect. After personally arranging a variety of articles, and appointing the servants to their re­spective duties; nay, even entering the kitchen to enjoin on the girls a grave and decorous de­portment, he again hastily left the house without dining! This extraordinary conduct in a man who, believe me, never evinced a desire to please a soul but himself, gave me an uncommon a­larm; [Page 68] and for a considerable time afterwards I was totally incapable of directing my mind to any rational object; until reverting to the friend­ship of my worthy Fanny Alfred, I scribbled an incoherent note, requesting her company in the afternoon: But alas, misfortune deprived me of her soothing society! An alarming accident had that morning produced an indisposition, by which my lovely girl was confined to her room! Thus was I doomed to a torture, the approach of which I awaited with a trembling agitation not inferior to that of a criminal at the awful moments preceding the hour of execution.

AT about three o'clock, an ancient and superb' carriage drove up to the gate; where, Mr. Franks first nimbly alighting, with industrious po­liteness assisted three old ladies (more the resem­blance of Macbeth's witches) to descend. A des­cription of their persons, each of which differed in some particular from the other, would require the pencil of Hogarth. Suffice it, they were an humourous triumvirate of living oddities, render­ed frightful either by the ravages of time, or by the more deforming influence of their acrid tem­pers. The youngest, about fifty, Miss Harriot, was fantastically dressed in a crimson sattin, an­cient as herself, with a large blue sloath on her [Page 69] head. Miss Charlotte, somewhat more advanc­ed in years, with a head bounteously "sprinkled with the frost of time," was not less ridiculous in her apparel; adding to a blue silk chemise, the appendant foppery of brocade ruffles, crape, and a firmament of spangles. Miss Maria, not quite seventy, in her appearance, approached most to the resemblance of human nature; al­though at certain moments, the violent distor­tions of her face, occasioned by the twitch of some acute pain, rendered her a being as truly hideous as were her sisters ludicrous!

THIS groupe I ushered into the hall; where, after a number of laughable perplexities, arising from their aukward decrepitude, they succeeded in seating themselves. "Mercy," cried Miss Harriot, how intolerably warm this place is!"—"Heaven!" added Miss Charlotte, "warm, sis­ter! I am sure it is very pleasant,"—" Pleasant!; exclaimed Marian, "I fear I shall imbibe my death of cold; the current of air that passes this avenue is so highly saturate I with moisture and cold." While thus, in successional exclamations, they discovered their constitutional climes of temperature, their active gallant was busy in pro­viding refreshments, and I silently gazing at the ridiculousness of their grimace and discourse. A [Page 70] desultory conversation ensued; from which I learnt, that these ladies, from certain incidents in early life, had imbibed a misanthrophic prin­ciple, the venom of which they infused to all their actions and words. They murder the sanc­tity of character with delightful enthusiasm; and exult while wallowing in the guiltless blood of injured reputation. Yes, Maria, they are the worst of assassins; for they murder indiscri­minately the hopes of the children of virtue, and strangle the just same of successful innocence!

AMONG the number of victims to their ma­lice, I was sentenced to hear included my dear and innocent friend, Miss Alfred. Miss Harri­ot, the apparent favorite of Mr. Franks, conclud­ed a rapid harangue with a vile and calumniat­ing insinuation against the character of my ab­sent Fanny. Without any knowledge of her fa­mily or connexions, she maliciously attributed her present retirement to some disgraceful amour in the city; to which her envious sisters, and, shame on him, even Franks, tacitly acceded!—Oh, Maria, at that moment, how did my blood boil with indignation and rage! My already scat­tered reason had almost forsook me; and I was on the point of replying to their calumnies in a voice of reproach and contempt, when a gentler [Page 71] spirit took possession of my soul, and suppressed its ardor by a general sarcasm at their suspicions, and a continued harshness of expression for the remainder of the visit; to which they seemed as indifferent, [...] are their minds callous to the im­pressions of benevolence. At an early hour, however, the fear of "imbibing cold" hurried these wretches from my house, escorted by their former chevalier. I instantly flew across the woodland to enquire of the health of my angelic friend, and had the unutterable happiness of find­ing her chearful and composed. On my return home, which was not before dusk, my husband was still absent, and did not appear until very late in the evening.

IT is then in the baneful society of these ve­nomous wasps, that Franks employs his many hours of absence; while I, in solitary rambles through these desart woods, counting the mise­ries of my life, have intercourse only with me­lancholy and despair!—

[Page 72] OH, my sister, what sterner curse is there re­served by destiny to complete my wretchedness? My husband,—he who ought to be the first to comfort the rising torment of my heart—files from my presence with contempt and derision! Nay, the more to aggravate my feelings, he be­haves to others with affected courtesy! Oh, that I were cased against sensibility, that thereby I might endure without a sigh these meditated marks of indifference, or retaliate with more pal­pable neglect!

THIS ignoble treatment, Maria, you will be­lieve me, is the effect of no impropriety on my part. From the Amen of our nuptial ceremo­ny, his demeanour has partook more of lordly and affected superiority, (viewing me as a necessa­ry menial in his houshold) than of the tender care and solicitude of an indulgent husband. Oh, how it wrings my soul with agony and remorse, to think of the blissful transports of a loving pair!

I OFTEN endeavour to abate the vehemence of this comparative misery by recurring to the [Page 73] amusement of books: But ah, too often this looked-for consolation proves as sharp an aggra­vation, by unfolding to my admiration bright scenes of bliss, which, contrasted, reflects a sable shade on my own! Late on the same evening, during the absence of Franks, I opened a cele­brated author on the pleasures of Solitude, not doubting but that there I should meet with a temporary alleviation of mind;—but alas, a few pages delineated the following picture of associat­ed felicity:—" Does the tear of sorrow steal down the cheek of one? The other with affec­tion wipes it tenderly away. The deepest sor­rows of the one are felt with equal poignancy by the other: but what sorrow can resist the conso­lation which flows from an intercourse of hearts so tenderly, so intimately, so closely united! Time flies before them on its swiftest pinions. The car is never tired of the gratification of lis­tening to each other's conversation. The only misfortune of which they have any fear, is the greatest they can poslibly experience, the misfor­tune, of absence, separation and death."—Alas, where is that tender hand to wipe away the bit­ter tears I hourly shed? Where that benevolent heart to share in my perpetual sorrow? Where shall I look for a community of souls, which, by equally distributing the portion of pain, dimi­nishes [Page 74] its individual influence?—To you, Maria, I will resort for consolation. Your pity shall infuse comfort to my reeking soul; and, added to the converse of the friends I enjoy here, shall make me happy in spite of destiny and myself!

P. S. Inform me in your next of the prospe­rity of my almost-forgotten brother: I have not heard from him or of him, since his last establish­ment, which is upwards of twelve months past.

LETTER XVI. TO MR. WILLIAM COURTNEY.

SINCE the date of your last, which, permit me to observe, was superabundant in flat­tery, I have enjoyed an unremitted succession of happiness, proceeding from the gradual advances [Page 75] and brightening prospect of my love.—At least, I may say, this new-born passion of my mind, which a few days ago crucified my sensibility, is no longer painful; but controuls my heart with an hopeful and benign authority. Yet even in this actual enjoyment, I am not forgetful of the poet's intimation;

and am, therefore, resolved never to suffer pre­sent prosperity to dazzle a just apprehension of future adversity.

SINCE my last, I have at three different times, beheld and conversed with the dear empress of my soul. Oh, my friend, I have found that not only her person, but her intellects are the nicest products of natural beauty and art!—To an hea­venly complacency of temper, derived from the favouring hand of creation, she adds a brilliancy of fancy, and a grandeur of conception, superior to the generality of her sex, and which suffuses the mildness of her countenance, with the dig­nity and intelligence of an angel. In fine, my worthy friend, she is what you would call amia­ble; [Page 76] what you, were you present, could not re­frain from loving and adoring—Yet, alas, this fair and accomplished wife, is unhappy!—An early forced marriage, (a palliating term for pros­titution) has robbed her bosom of its native tran­quility; and like an heroic captive, she deplores in smiles and graces, the cursed chains that fetter her peace and beauty. Each recollective moment crowds her holy bosom with a host of sighs; and the trembling tears that glisten in her eye, pa­thetically reveal the secret sorrows of their source!—Such is the situation of her, whose anguish I would alleviate by my sympathetic love. Even arrayed in the majesty of her tears I will address her in the eloquence of my passion; by ardent entreaty, seduce her memory from retrospective glances, to the full expectation of bliss and un­mingled rapture!

Two evenings ago, as I fondly meditated on this endearing theme, sitting in the alcove behind our house, my silent reverie was interrupted by the appearance of my Charlotte, (for Charlotte I must call her, though I should be unwilling to be thought a Werter) crossing the opposite field, in all the majesty of graceful beauty. An universal perturbation prevailed my mind. My eyes were rivetted on her until she approached; when, as­suming [Page 77] confidence, I cordially saluted her, and offered my hand with a familiarity, for which I conceived my youth an apology.—Thus, my friend, I had the transport of conducting her through a long hall to the apartment of my sis­ter, who pleasantly remarked on the cordiality of our appearance. Here I enjoyed a most blessed and unrestrained intercourse with the arbitress of my hopes. With an enthusiasm, which I feared often betrayed its design and tendency, I spoke of the sublime rapture of lovers; and by indirect in­sinuations, strove to impress her tender mind with a favourable conception of my esteem. I paused and reflected;—nay, I began already to regret the impatience of my love. Methought, the dear idol of my heart, was affected, and be­came serious and reserved. My sister too, who had often admired the uncommon fervency of my style, appeared amazed and concerned! Un­der these apprehensions I remained tormented until the moment of her departure, when she chearfully accepted my company. Again my resistless passion broke the bounds of prudence, and thundered in all the fire of zeal; to which, she listened with an eagerness, that seemed to in­dicate a growing approbation of the warm wishes laboring at my heart; but when I disclosed the circumstance of the grotto, the manner of stealing [Page 78] her volume, and my silent extacy in admiring her sleeping beauty, her eyes sparkled with emotion, and a crimson diffidence suffused her face, with undistinguishable blushes. She continued remark­ably pensive the remainder of the walk.—On arriving home her husband was absent—she in­vited me to walk in:—but alas, I could not! De­clining the courtesy, therefore, with a compli­ment, I bid her farewell, with a gentle pressure of her hand. she continued at the door, methought looking after me, till I entered the wood that se­parate the two farms. In this silent obscurity I remained, reflecting on the past adventure, till the approach of dusk, and arrived home after dark.

SINCE then I have visited her in company with my sister, and on the same day, fortunately met her in the bottom of the wood. In both these interviews I found her chearful and conversable; but always left her serious and reserved. She would sometimes look at me, as though affected by my condition, with an eye of tenderness: at other times inverting her countenance, she seem­ed displeased.—But I will not credit the evidence of my senses, while they intercept the hopes of my soul.

P. S. PARDON me for not complying with the request contained in your postscript. While my fate is nicely balancing on doubt, it would be rash, to publish her name even to you. Besides a punctilious sentiment, in this respect, prevents my present compliance.

LETTER XVII. TO CHARLES ALFRED.

I AGAIN rejoice with you, on the unexpected prosperity of your love and shall ne­ver cease from invoking its progression. Yet my dear fellow, I am convinced, that you can, with sympathetic pleasure, turn from the delightful theme, to hear of the misfortunes of another.

[Page 80] The noble nobly pity and relieve.

I HAVE recently met with a character, whose hidden history engages all my interest and atten­tion. Going to the coffee-house a few days past, I was introduced by the proprietor to a young man, who, he said, wished for employment in a counting-house. His appearance immediately prepossessed my favour, and offering my bene­faction, he entered my service with a polite and amiable modesty. He has since convinced me by his attention and talents, that he was not un­worthy this generosity.—Yet my friend, deep­rooted sorrow hangs heavily on his brow—op­pressive sighs and alternate tears, swell his labour­ing bosom or glisten in his eyes. Perceiving these emotions, I ventured to make inquiry of his dis­tress, and offer the aid of my friendship to allay its pungency. "Ah, my worthy benefactor," he replied, "what would not generosity like yours do in common. It soothes but cannot cure the an­guish of my soul. I once was happy, but the sor­did world destroyed my peace, and my futurity is filled only with woe and desperation." With this his grief became more vehement, and my anxiety increased; but his agony resisted the ef­forts of friendship; and, as if selfish of tears, he refused to excite mine by his narrative. Worldly [Page 81] misfortunes ha [...] made him poor; beside which, love's poison rankles at his heart.—He speaks of Philadelphia with emotions of anguish. "There I was born," he said, "and there enjoyed un­mingled bliss. Banished from thence I lost all peace."—He arrived here in great necessity from Bermuda, where he had been carried and robbed of his little all, by the infamous violaters of our commerce and independence. His countenance is extremely interesting, and has once been hand­some; his manners are courteous and polite; his conversation intelligent, and his minutest actions are evidences of a superior education.—He calls himself Tallman, and has been bred to the mer­cantile profession; but this is all of his life and family that he will disclose, saying, "'Tis better to live unpitied, than to die lamented,"

THERE is one circumstance remarkable in the case of this youth. His application to business seems to intermit his grief. As, when he reflects on his misfortunes, his faculties are all absorbed in agony, so when he turns his mind to other em­ployments, his misfortunes are forgotten. This fact has led me to create a variety of objects for his attention, in hopes of weening him from grief. Should I prosper in the endeavour, believe me, I would not barter feelings with a monarch.

[Page 82] THUS it is, my worthy friend, that captious fortune, plays with the brave and noble! Thus the impressive bosom of youthful innocence is early strewed with the thorns of adversity!—While you are engaged in the fond rapture of love's pursuit, and quaffing the nectar of the gods, I will enjoy the first of human blessings, that of "removing a brother's woe." While you are endeavoring to conquer an amiable woman, I will strive to restore to society, a worthy and useful citizen.

LETTER XVIII. TO MRS. HARTLEY.

SHALL I never tell you that I am happy? Or am I of that pitiable class of beings, who are ever pursuing their own misery, and making others wretched by intemperate lamenta­tion? [Page 83] —Yet, alas, why need I upbraid myself?—The genius of calamity has made me her own, the force of sentiment gives a fang to the minu­tia of accident.—Heavens!—how baneful a crea­ture am I, making even my friends miserable!—First you, my ever dear sister, were doomed alone to receive the ebullitions of my grief:—next my complaint wounded the peace of my amiable friend; and now, (alas, dare I reveal it even to your sacred confidence?) the young brother of my friend ascribes his agony to me!—Even my virtues those qualities which the world calls good, are destined to make the good and virtuous lan­guish!

OH my sister, had I that sternness of reason with which you are so happily endowed, I could either avoid those distresses, or meet them with fortitude. But ah, I am weak of mind, and even criminally susceptible!—Sentiment will finally destroy me! The oppression of affliction sinks me into stupid wretchedness, and as I write, even to you, thou gentle angel of consolation, my heart bleeds with reiterated woes.—The engaging Charles Alfred, who first appeared to me under the auspices of friendship, being the affectionate brother of her, whom next to you I esteem, has addressed me in the plain language of affection. [Page 84] Alas, he said every thing but that he loved, and that his eyes and conduct unequivocally declared. I have listened to his eloquence at two particular periods, at which his behaviour obtained all my pity; but in a third, Maria, his sad seriousness alarmed my duty. He met me in the bosom of an immense wood, where often I rambled in fear­less solitude. There he unchecked the stream of eloquence and love, which he said, had long been the source of rapture and of anguish!—His words affected my soul; and methought, while he argued against the selfish barriers of the world opposed to mutual love, their former sacredness tumbled into insignificance. But I restrained the impulse of ardent sentiment, and being about to return home, insisted on his not accompanying me; to which he complied, but with obvious re­luctance, which increased the keenness of my feelings; and also slipped into my hands, the fol­lowing poetic effusion:

OH, my dearest Maria, now, when as it were, I am abstracted from all the world but you, how ought I to act in this disastrous circumstance?—After this guilty interview, how dare my eyes meet the fond salutations of my endeared Fanny?—Alas, how shall I receive even the apathetic attention of my husband, whose honour I have infringed by this slight transgression?—Yet, my sister, conscious as I am of the motives of my con­duct the last, though odious and condemnable in the eyes of the world, has the full sanction of my heart, and the advocation of my sentiments. Yes, I feel myself knitted to this disguiseless youth, by every silken tie which proceeds from a knowledge [Page 86] of his worth and merit. The innate feeling is resistless; [...] you alone shall be the witness to its avowal. I [...] war against feeling and check the advances of this [...]nerous lad. Though I could listen for ages [...] his delightful eloquence, I will repel its utterance. For this purpose, I have written a short note to him, for believe me, I could never otherwise practice this virtuous duplicity, this sanctified lie, without be­traying its vileness. This timely precaution, I hope, will extinguish his youthful ardour, and make me at least, less amiable in his estimation.

ALTHOUGH I do not generally await regular returns to my numerous letters, yet believe me, the present requires a speedy and consolatory answer.

LETTER XIX. TO MRS. FRANKS.

YOU may easily conceive the alarm which your last unhappy letter occasioned in the bosom of her whose supremest happiness is to hear of your prosperity. Oh, my sister, how have I ever deplored in silent apprehension the horrid nature of your nuptials, and awaited with dread the almost inevitable consequences of so un­natural a coercion! Already the horizon black­ens; and events begin to unfold the calamities of my early predictions!—Does our mistaken father breathe immortal life in the regions of bliss, and not regret the embittered scenes to which his spirit is witness, and which have sprung from his earthly error? Does not our dear mo­ther, whose sudden flight to perfection deprived us of the blessings of her care, sympathize with her daughter, even surrounded with joy in the shades of elysium?

PARDON the boldness of my solicitude if I en­treat you to avoid the presence of young Alfred. I know how this request will embarrass your ten­der [Page 88] feelings; but consider, my Caroline, the aw­ful importance of your situation; and let the idea of the shameful consequences of an illicit at­tachment; of the obloquy of the world; and the stings of a relenting conscience, strike your soul with horror and aversion! His love, my child, though of the purest and most disinterest­ed nature, is incompatible with your sacred sta­tion in life. Call to your assistance the united energies of your mind: Avoid the deep strata­gems of this syren; and thereby save yourself and family from shame and disgrace!

I APPROVE of your method for declaring to him the determination of your prudence; and hope you have adopted a style and temper which will effectually blast his daring purposes, and re­store your wonted tranquillity.

You requested me to write concerning our brother.—I have not heard from him, by letter, since his settlement at Baltimore—all I know is, that he prospers in business, and is as gay as ever.

LETTER XX. TO MR. CHARLES ALFRED.

YOU cannot imagine me unsuspici­ous of the tendency of your vehement language in our unfortunate interview of yesterday; nor could my agitation at the time, have escaped your observation. Pardon me then, sir, in pre­ferring this method to request you hereafter to restrain the utterance of those sentiments as un­worthy your approbation, as to encourage them would be derogatory to me. Never, never must we meet again until you solemnly denounce their influence; and, painful as it proves to me, in whose bosom so pure a friendship glows for the family, thus to treat you, it is the unbiassed re­sult of duty and deliberation, and must be obey­ed.

PERMIT me to add, (and I know you will ex­cuse it) that notwithstanding the above, I aspire to your generous friendship; and repeat, it is with sincere regret I am constrained to six the conditions of our future intercourse, on the sup­pression [Page 90] of those wild and indecorous sentiments of yesterday.

P. S. I must further request, sir, that on pe­rusing the above scrawl, you will so much regard my peace of mind, and your own honor, as im­mediately to return it.

LETTER XXI. TO MRS. C. FRANKS.

IS it for loving and adoring the most perfect female, that I am doomed, even by my idol, to suppress the innate tumult of my soul; and, whilst riving with the force of sentiment, to affect the aspect of joy and serenity?—Alas, madam, had you for a moment reflected on the nature of the sad task you were about to enjoin;—had you (not for the first time I trust) thwart­ed the prejudices of the world in your own mind, and considered the purity and holiness of my in­tentions; [Page 91] —had you, worthy lady, only reverted to that sublime and disinterested passion for a married woman, which filled the sentimental bo­som of Yorick, the model of my ambition;—you would, nay, could not have proved so ungenerous as to dash in my face, an offering so pure, and so devoutly proffered!—Yet, madam, a charge thus seriously alledged,—a request fervently made by her whose service is my religion, shall command unrelenting duty, though in the attempt I should fall a victim to my obedience.

I CANNOT conclude this indulgence without blessing the heart which suggested, and the hand that performed, your generous offer of friendship to the unworthy Alfred. But pardon me, ma­dam, in declaring, that I look with indiscrimi­nate judgment on your behest, and the lucid pas­sion which already vivifies my soul. Friendship! Alas, madam, what it more than a nominal refuge for love? Or rather, is not love a more ardent, diffusive, godlike emotion of the human soul? The first is the counterfeit appellation of religi­ous fanatacism: The other, the immutable lan­guage of nature impressed by the hand of Deity.—Yes, madam, I thankfully accept your hea­venly boon under this modest disguise of words. Your friendship is enough; and while my bosom [Page 92] glows with friendship and esteem; while every faculty is employed to felicitate your days, I will regard, not the name, but the intrinsic quality of my passion. Human language may analize its dress; but the elocution of the soul is understood only by those who experience true and virtuous love.

P. S. PARDON my presumption, madam, in answering, without returning your billet. This duty I have reserved for a personal interview; in which, I trust, I will be better able to thank you for your cruelty;—cruelty, not in your tender heart, but the forced effect of false duty and cus­tom.

LETTER XXII. TO CHARLES ALFRED, JUNR.

THE unexpected arrival of several of our vessels from India, obliges the partnership to call you from your happy retirement. We, however, anticipate your ready and cheerful compliance; more especially when you are in­formed, the present urgency of business will de­tain you no longer than a week or ten days; by which short interval from pleasure your return to the delights of the country will be rendered more agreeable.

INFORM my Fanny that by these vessels I have obtained intelligence of her young favorite, Har­ry Wellsford. After arriving at Canton, and discharging his duty to his owners, he accepted a lucrative appointment in the principal manufac­tory of that place. Here he served with repu­tation and fortune, until June in last year; when, converting his money into valuable merchandize, he chartered an American ship, and sailed for Bourdeaux in France; after which my infor­mant heard nothing further. It is probable, he [Page 94] has prospered in this adventure; and being en­gaged in extensive and profitable trade, has for­got his connexions and juvenile attachments.

GIVE my love to your mother, and believe me to be

LETTER XXIII. TO MRS. HARTLEY.

YOUR last was indeed a welcome cordial to my agitated bosom. Its tender con­tents suspended the rigor of reflection; and for a time my mind was tranquillized in the oblivi­ous enjoyment of your love and sympathy. But ah, these kind intervals of joy seem reserved only to embitter some succeeding disaster! These tran­sient flashes of delight are the unerring preludes to the thunder of distress!—I had just dispatch­ed [Page 95] the trusty Hannah with my important note to young Alfred, who I beheld crossing the oppo­site held, when a servant delivered your epistle. Already had a momentary regret for this step seized my mind; but your timely approbation dissipated its influence, and confirmed me in ap­proving the measure as indispensibly necessary, as well to avert my own misery as the destruction of the principles of this amiable youth. [...] Maria, it was too [...] of my address to the undesigning lad. Alas, thought I, as I wrote it, I have already wounded his tranquillity! How ungenerous then, will it be,—how cruel, to add to his present unhappiness, the poignancy of cen­sure or the severity of anger! My words there­fore, were of the gentlest kind, selected by ten­derness and respect. He answered it immedi­ately; and oh, my sister, his expressions, more unequivocal than ever, convinced me he had pe­netrated through the incautious veil of my words. At one moment, my wicked heart was mortified at the seeming indifference he expressed with re­gard to my request; at the next, my understand­ing was astonished by the cogency of his reason; and finally, I was overwhelmed by a silent ago­ny, from the circumstance of his persisting in a­vowing the influence of a feeling, which, although [Page 96] abstractedly harmless, in our situation, would prove imminently dangerous.

OH, Maria, teach me the stubborn principles of matrimonial duty: Learn me the art, for it is not nature, of looking on merit and demerit, on virtue and vice, with indiscriminate eyes, and an unmoved heart; for, to be happy, I must be insensible to either.

HE has detained my billet as an hostage for another interview. Alas, dare I tempt the edge of that resistless vortex whose gulph is horror and remorse? Yet why do I ask? 'Tis vain in my heart to attempt to allay its anguish by avoid­ing the society of him whose presence is rapture, and whose absence already saddens my joy!—I overhear somebody entering below! It is my Fanny no doubt. Farewell, for the present.

—OH hide me, hide me, from the censur­ing world! Hide me, if possible, from myself! Maria, even deny me your pity; nor suffer thy hallowed tears to flow in sympathy for a wretch whose misfortunes are the effects of her crimes!—Crimes! did I say?—Oh heavens! Gracious God, wherein am I guilty? Is the purity of my [Page 97] soul contaminated by the exercise of principles which thou hast planted in my nature? Can na­ture's milk-white innocence become demoniac, by indulging her greatest, first prerogative? Is virtue a certain divine attribute of the mind, in­fused at creation, or is it but a visionary creature of the world's invention? I feel it to be a princi­ple immutable and eternal. The proud efforts of men to modify or counterfeit its characters, are the schemes of impiety, or the machinations of fiends.

ADIEU, until I compose my mind.

THE foregoing reflections have tended gra­dually to subside my despair, and my reason af­ter a tempestuous tumult, is calm enough to re­late the circumstance which took place on first leaving my pen. Alas, instead of meeting my endeared Fanny, I rushed into the parlour, and there was astonished with the person of her bro­ther! He was standing in the middle of the room, his hat in his hand, and dressed in a riding-suit. My emotion was obvious:—He blushed; and after an expressive bow, begged me to forgive the freedom he assumed:—"If, madam," said [Page 98] he, "I encroach on the decorum of the world by this unlooked-for visit, impute it not to de­sign; but to the innocence of my years and the fervency of my esteem." Oh, Maria, I looked forgiveness! For the impatient youth, darting his love-fraught eyes upon my countenance, with­out my being able to reply, so dumb was my confusion, added:—"Alas, madam, I am soon to be torn from your dear society, by the urgen­cy of my father's affairs in the city! Oh, at a juncture, which, of all my life, I should prefer to devote to retirement and friendship, I am dragged to the labor of a counting-house and the more loathsome noise of the city! But es­teemed madam, no motives could induce me to depart without performing my obligation to re­turn this distressful paper, and with it thus hum­bly implore from your lips a pardon for my re­cent temerity." Oh, sister, can you possibly con­ceive of the agitated tumult of my mind, on hearing this tender address, proceeding from one I so highly esteemed, and kneeling at my feet, with tears glistening through the fire of his eyes, and persuasive eloquence glowing on his lips! I continued insensibly silent, until the load at my heart bursting from my eyes, afforded an alleviation by a torrent of tears; after which I succeeded in making a fau'tering and, I fear, un­intelligible [Page 99] reply.—Oh, Maria, yet do I fear, that in the frenzy of my softened soul, my unguided tongue betrayed those unholy feelings at my heart, to conceal which I had inwardly sworn! He left me, sister, with joy dancing in his face: His eyes, brim-full of sentiment, fixed upon me; one hand on his breast, the other raised in ex­clamation, as he retired saying: "Adieu, dear­est madam: Your heavenly tears interpret my happiness:—I will be obedient:—Farewell!"—Oh, my angel of peace, to your friendship I fly for pity and forgiveness! Can I deserve pity, and not hope forgiveness? Is my soul vitally tainted by a vicious attachment; or are my pre­sent feelings only the temporary effects of an impressive sensibility? Oh write to me of the attributes of virtue! Illustrate to my immature judgment that metaphysical nicety by which love is discriminated from friendship!

LETTER XXIV. TO CHARLES ALFRED, Junr.

YOUR absence from the country has dispensed a gloominess over all our features. Even my amiable friend, Mrs. Franks, languishes for the period of your return. Indeed, Charles, you are highly esteemed by this worthy lady; and I am sure your generosity will induce you to pursue every polite means of meriting her friendship. She is of all the sex the most ten­der, feeling, and affectionate. If she has any foible it consists in an exuberant susceptibility, which might be rendered a dangerous part of her nature, by a villainous influence from the other sex. Sometimes, when she bursts forth in the fervor of sentiment, I fear she leaps the bounds of delicacy and religion. But she has never acquired the fashionable art of disguise; and although the tyranny of custom has been exercised to trammel the body, her mind retains its natural liberty, and soars undaunted to the re­gions of love and friendship. I assure you, she appears peculiarly anxious for your return, and says, with a smile, that from the manner of your [Page 101] farewell, she thought it your final exit from this romantic theatre of nature. She delights in lively society, which the surprising and unmanly remissness of her husband renders almost neces­sary for a tolerable existence.

BE sure and purchase the articles I requested; particularly the collection of books, intended for the joint amusement of Mrs. Franks and

LETTER XXV. TO MRS. FRANKS.

YOUR last, so fraught with genuine distress, arrived at a moment when my whole soul was agitated by a pathetic fact, which has recently occurred in this city.—Alas, my dear girl, it is not you alone whom calamity visits:—the sons and daughters of affliction are as nume­rous [Page 102] as the votaries of humanity:—Sympathy need never be idle; and the tear of pity may un­ceasingly trickle from the eye of tenderness, while bigotry, avarice, and vanity violate the sus­ceptive bosom of innocence and love.

SINCE our establishment in this city, among the acquaintances we have formed, a family of the name of Williams, consisting of a respecta­ble father and mother, and three dutiful sons, has not been the least flattering and agreeable. My earliest observation in it, was the sincere pas­sion which the eldest son constantly avowed for a neighboring female, whose parents, though not in the habit of intimacy with his, were ever cor­dial and polite to his addresses. A mutual and and unvaried affection had subsisted between them from their infancy, and, "growing with their growth," the time had now arrived in which they anticipated the unbounded fruition of their juvenile hopes. Their parents, having hereto­fore tacitly acquiesced in their union, beheld with unutterable pleasure the ceaseless constancy of their children, which could be productive of no­thing but the most unmingled happiness to all. The day of festive gladness was appointed, and Mr. Williams, in order to equalize his son's estate with the expected affluence of his daughter-in-law, [Page 103] purchased an elegant house, and furnished it with every article of grandeur and convenience; besides a handsome donation in cash, which he reserved for the day of celebration. The bliss­ful and expectant hour opened to the warm feel­ings of the young lovers a thousand scenes of un­tasted joy—a thousand sources of ineffable de­light. Louisa already looked upon Henry as the plighted husband of her soul, and poured into his bosom her unrestrained confidence; while he, with feelings equally elated, made her the supreme mistress of his thoughts!—Thus did the rapturous scene glow in their vivid imaginations, and tantalize expectation, when the sordid pa­rents of Louisa, taking her to their closet, thus addressed her:—"Dear Louisa, your happiness and future comfort being the only hope and ob­ject of our lives, we have with pleasure beheld, and cherished with parental indulgence, the vir­tuous passion you have long felt for Henry Wil­liams. In three days more our period of duty and authority will expire; and before this we earnestly wish by one dictate of prudence, well to conclude the work ever nighest our hearts."—The astonished Louisa, unable to discern the ten­dency of this ambiguous exordium, remained pensively silent; and her father continued;—"You know the disparity of young Williams' [Page 104] fortune, and the thoughtlessness of men of his profession and years—Let us then beseech you, as you regard your future welfare and our so­lemn request, the last perhaps, we shall ever end join, previous to your marriage, to call for an at­torney and confirm on your children, the fortune left you by your uncle: what we are able to be­stow will equal, if not exceed the fortune of your husband."—Louisa was all comprehension, and looking with an eye of affection first at her atten­tive mother, and then her father, she exclaimed, "Is it possible, father, that he, to whose honour and fidelity I am to commit my person and pre­cious happiness, is deemed unworthy to be trust­ed with a trifling sum of paltry gold!"—and turning, with a sigh acceded to the proposition of her parents, as the only means of reconciling them to participate in their approaching bliss. An attorney was obtained, and her fortune of five thousand pounds secured to the offspring of her legal marriage, and forever wrested from the touch of her husband. Their exulting parents beheld the nigh approach of their children's happiness, with accumulated transport! The en­raptured Henry forsook the world; and devoted his time to the retired society of his amiable Louisa:—Louisa disclosed the ungenerous deed she had been obliged to perform.—Its suspicious [Page 105] aspect, and concealed process, enraged the pride of his soul!—He flew to his father, related the insiduous act, and with aggravated frenzy cursed the foul and penurious machination!—His fa­ther, naturally of a high and independent spirit, heard his son with mortified ambition, and in flames of vindictive manliness hastened to the presence of the parents of Louisa—They receiv­ed him with cordiality; but their demeanour was soon changed into coldness and reproach, by his unbridled vehemence; and after a clamorous al­tercation, in which the agonized Louisa mingled her tears, he left them with a solemn denuncia­tion of the match, and an imprecation on their iniquitous penury. All intercourse between the parties was interdicted; the house, furniture, &c. purchased by Mr. Williams, re-sold, and the in­tended solemnization annihilated.

—Here, Caroline, pause, and enquire of your soul, if this horrid tale could thus conclude? Say, my sister, is it possible to your conception, that the divine and unadulterated fervor of this young pair, could, by this interposition of avarice, be resolved into apathy and indifference?—Could that celestial passion, whose weakest votary has survived the shocks of fate, become extinct by a [Page 106] mere artifice of parental covetousness?—No, Ca­roline, it is inconsistent with nature and nature's God.

LOUISA'S anguish at this disastrous event is not to be described!—After uttering her grief in the agony of tears and lamentation, she droop­ed into a settled melancholy. Immured in her chamber, and refusing the comfort of the world, her lonely reflections aggravated the deletery in­fluence of her misfortune: She gradually de­clined; and in a few months, her relentless pa­rents beheld the awful advances of their child's dissolution; which she viewed with a placid be­nignity of soul. "Death, like a friend" indeed, seemed to succour her affliction: and by a gradu­al and mild operation, terminated the bitter pangs of her heart. Yet even at the solemn pe­riod of her decline, her mind dwelt on the con­stancy and love of Henry with delightful exta­cy; and in departing from her sorrowing friends, forever closed her quivering lips in pronouncing his beloved name! Her fate reached the ears of the frantic Henry, who, until this time, had been kept ignorant even of her indisposition! He flew to the house,—but at first was denied this last sad pleasure of beholding his lifeless Louisa!—He was, however, admitted for a few minutes, [Page 107] on cruel conditions. Leaning on the arm of his younger brother as he crossed the aisle which con­ducted to the solemn apartment, his weakened senses started at the melancholy idea, and for a time an universal agony rendered him unconsci­ous of his real situation.—He entered the dar­kened room, and approaching the coffin, beheld his lately blooming love beautiful even in the frozen arms of death!—"Oh!" he exclaimed; but his surcharged heart gushing from his eyes, obstructed the farther utterance of his grief. He gazed on the cold eloquence of her face; touch­ed with his hand her palsied cheek; and with a kiss whose ardor seemed to breathe his soul to the object, was dragged from the tragic spec­tacle!

HE attended the funeral rites; and since has been continually absorbed in silent sorrow! His soul, at times, seems abstracted from his body, and in relapsing from his reveries, he often fer­vently exclaims, "I have seen my Louisa! She is with her kindred spirits in bliss; and I shall soon be happy!"—While he thus paces in pur­suit of the same grave which encloses his hopes of life and felicity, his loving parents, oppressed with age and affliction, are hourly progressing to­wards their end. Sorrow has raised her banner [Page 108] in the family; while the parents of Louisa, in performing the pageantry of mourning, forget the cause and object of their grief.

FROM this interesting narrative, my love, you will perceive, that, although others of your sex endure not the same distresses to which you are destined, they are not wholly exempt from the asperities of fate. Alas, be not covetous of dis­tress: but learn from this reflection, that all are either the Victims of Sentiment or the dupes of passion, how desirable it is to acquire a mind pa­tient in suffering, and a soul indignant of com­plaint.^*

EXCUSE the length of the present, and believe me to be

LETTER XXVI. TO MR. WILLIAM COURTNEY.

FROM the date of this you will ob­serve I have suddenly removed from the mild scenes of love and innocence to the busy metro­polis of the American world.—Yes, friend, at a moment when the crisis of my love was tottering on the balance of thought; while I was torment­ed with the heavy censure of my Charlotte, a dispatch from my father demanded my immedi­ate presence in this city!—My relunctant soul fluttered between duty and love; until at length, the former prevailing, I hurried to the city, af­ter a pathetic farewell; abandoning the joys of love and retirement, for the pursuits and labor of a counting-house! But even in the midst of this perplexity, my astounded hopes were revived by the flattering emotions of her I love, on the visit I made to bid her adieu!

[Page 110] KNOW first, my friend, that the rapturous in­terview of the grove, which I mentioned in my last, and in which I partly gave vent to the fer­vor of my soul, had nigh been the finalle of our intercourse! The watchful prudence of my love­ly friend, though apparently pleased with the language of my passion while I expressed it, on returning home became highly incensed, and the day following honored me with a short epistle, written with the ease and elegance of Rowe, in which the idea of my love was reprobated as in­compatible with her duty and my own honor; adding a solemn injunction in perpetual silence on my lips.—Think, my friend, with what a trembling anxiety I received the important let­ter!—My eager eyes flew quickly over her ten­der admonition: while my heart leaped with alternate hopes and fears!—The female servant who delivered the note, returning without an an­swer of any kind, I was left to indulge in the ad­miration of her, who even in assumed harshness, proved her heart soft and compassionate! Yes, Bill, it was plain, that while her pen obeyed the impulse of necessity, in censuring my love, the wound intended for me was felt more severely by herself! She relied tenderly on my friendship; and hoped, (oh, think of my transport at these [Page 111] words!) that her denial of love would not also exclude the calmer pleasures of esteem.

I AFTERWARDS returned a studied answer to her communication; in which I endeavoured, by a complication of feelings, at least to convince her of the purity of my attachment, and the fidelity of my heart, if not to produce in her mind a sen­timent congenial with my own. In this event­ful posture stood affairs, when the requisition of my father's partnership arrived, whereby I was constrained to part without knowing the issue of our altercation!

Mr Charlotte was the last sweet object of my eyes on leaving the country.—The beauty of her face shone through the brilliancy of the tears in which it was dressed, supported by the arm of a sopha, as I withdrew from her presence! Tears,—alas, not of sorrow for my departure; but, more probably, the bitter alleviation of a strug­gling virtue in her breast!—A letter from my sister has considerably tranquillized the uproar of my feelings; inasmuch as it kindly intimates, that my absence has produced a general regret. This information spurs my anxiety to return; [Page 112] which I expect in the course of a few days, un­til when farewell,

P. S. I have just looked over this letter, and am indeed ashamed of the composition. But it will serve to prove to my friend how sincere I am in my attachment to this admirable woman, the apprehension of whose displeasure so univer­sally irritates me.

LETTER XXVII. TO CHARLES ALFRED.

—YOUR passion, it is evident, has passed the rubicon! The die is cast! Charlotte's wounded heart throbs only as your influence di­rects; and by a judicious artfulness, you may soon ascend to voluptuous bliss, and be the ac­knowledged Nabob of her charms!

I AM aware, this salutation will almost disgust the tenacious chastity of your love; because, e­ven [Page 113] enamoured as you are with your mistress, your innocent, boyish heart conceives of no rap­ture but that which flows from virtuous love!—Yet, believe me, what I have heretofore observ­ed in extenuation of the principles of your amour, is emphatically applicable to the full consumma­tion of it. The same pure and guiltless senti­ments which at first glow in the breasts of a lov­ing pair, are strengthened and diffused by this confirming testimonial of mutual confidence:—Nay, the trembling flame, which before was lia­ble to expire at the first blast of coolness or in­difference, by this undying touch of extacy, is converted into an everlasting blaze in each, which reciprocally warms, vivifies, and enligh­tens both. The joy of souls thus reciprocally exchanged is sublimely ineffable.

BUT in thus reasoning in your behalf, I wish not to implicate a defence of those females, who, not from a desire to evince the sincere ardency of their love, but from wild infatuation, prostitute their virtue and charms, by falling into the dis­graceful embraces of a treacherous seducer. A young female, who, in all her affections, should ever have a fixed eye on matrimony, in so yield­ing to the persuasions of a villainous lover, ex­hibits a weakness of virtue equal to her shallow­ness [Page 114] of mind; whereas, a forced wife, circum­stanced as is your heroine, and feeling for ano­ther that celestial glow which she never felt for her husband, affords a doubtless proof of the ear­nestness of her attachment, by a surrender of her person; and in that act she is less guilty than those who before dragged her to the bed of one, the embraces of whom, though sanctioned by human laws, were a violation of natural virtue and of justice.

THE interesting melancholy of my young ac­quaintance resists all the consolatory efforts of friendship.—I prevailed on him last evening to accompany me to the theatre, at the performance of Shakespear's Hamlet. For a time, the bril­liancy of the house, the "ornaments of the box­es," and the spirit of the ochestra, so far engaged his admiration, as to shoot transient sparkles of joy in his face, the first I have ever observed:—But the progress of the tragedy restored his usu­al look of melancholy. At times, he would eye the charming Mrs. Marshall, in Ophelia, with e­motions of amazement, and inquire, "Who is she? What's her name?" Being answered, he exclaimed with a sigh, "Heavens, [...] frantic am I!"

[Page 115] NEXT I observed his emotions increasing, by the character of the hero; whose peculiar inter­est and sentiment was admirably expressed in the appearance and action of my theatrical friend, young Moreton. When he pronounced the so­liloquy in Act III. Scene First, Tallman be­came so violently indisposed as to be obliged to be conducted home; where he has been since con­fined to his bed by a violent fever, with intervals of delirium! To-day, however, I am happy to find his illness has considerably abated. He is incessantly begging me to pardon, what he calls, his unthankful inconvenience, saying, "It will not be long thus! By your leave, my friend, as soon as my health may permit, I will repair to Philadelphia, where I have friends; and oh, where even friendless, I may die with joy!" Do, Charles, for virtue's sake, make some inquiries of your friends in the city, concerning the family and connexions of one Henry Tallman, a youth about twenty years of age, or upwards. He is a victim of that tyrant who at present controuls your varying hopes!

LETTER XXVIII. TO MISS HARRIOT HAYWORD.

THINK not, esteemed Harriot, that the friendly hint suggested in our last conversa­tion, has depreciated your amiable qualities in my estimation. My recent absence from your de­lightful society, is indeed, the consequence of your benevolent insinuations; yet by no means produced by a disgust for the motive, but a sin­cere reverence of the generous principles of your heart, the innocence of your mind, and the la­mentable sanctity of your disclosure.

YES, my worthy friend, the faithless partner of my bed, is, if not criminally attached to, irre­vocably concentred in the affections of, young Alfred!—She forgets or neglects the avocations of domestic life, and even avoids him to whom she is solemnly allianced by both religion and law!—Oh could I describe the mixed and ago­nized reflections of my mind on this cursed dis­covery!—But it is impossible for human lan­guage competently to express the complicat­ed feelings of a husband, who, after a dis­gusting series of indifference to his wife—af­ter looking on her, and treating her, only as a necessary utensil—beholds the same sentiments [Page 117] and the same practices retorted on himself!—It is not the vivid fire of jealousy that awakens my torpid soul:—no, jealousy is the sister of genuine love; and we can only be selfishly watchful, or jealously careful of that which is to us intrinsi­cally dear and estimable.—But alas, have I ever felt, (oh infamy!) have I ever avowed, a fond or tender sentiment for my treacherous wife? Not­withstanding this pungent consciousness, after leaving your instructive company, and met her with a soul enraged with latent vindictiveness!—She appeared remarkably depressed in spirits, and seemingly replied to my fearful interrogatories with a conscious timidity; which I was about as­cribing to a predictive omen of my descovery, when the appearance of Miss Alfred and a sub­sequent discourse between the two, disclosed the momentous cause of her sadness!—Her petit maitre, Harriot, is on a visit to the city!—and she (impressive creature!) pines in silence at his distressing absence!

FROM the observation of this circumstance, I am induced to believe, that my unthinking and gay wife indulges a reprehensible partiality for the accomplishments of young Alfred; but philoso­phy explodes the possibility of its ever swelling into a criminal intercourse—Oh, were I to ap­prehend [Page 118] the occurrence of this dreaded event, the tormenting foresight would convulse my imagi­nation to death!—But my pitying friend, as you from motives of generosity, first suggested to my fears the danger of my honour, so also do you from motives of mercy, assist me to repel the ex­istence of jealousy, that accursed fiend to matri­mony. Rather blind my perception to confirm­ing evidence, and so keep me in tranquil insecu­rity, than by sharpening the acuteness of my con­jectures, open on my soul the resistless sluices of unutterable anguish!—Do this, my Harriot, and you will evince yourself the friend of the un­happy,

LETTER XXIX. TO MRS. HARTLEY.

WHAT apology dare I offer for my thankless silence?—What words can repay the generous friendship and alleviating sympathy of my adorable sister?—Will you forgive my remiss­ness [Page 119] if I tell you, I could write of nothing but the sad story of my own shame—that the con­scious pen refused to record the infamy of its mistress?—Will you, dearest Maria, in gratitude for your watchful cares of me, accept the poor re­turns of a heart wounded with conflicting agony, and a bosom bleeding with illicit love?—Can that heart, the seat of perjury, treachery, and in, fidelity, at the same time inherit the divine pre­rogative of gratitude?—I fear my virtuous sister will discard the frantic idea, as incongruous and repugnant to natural and inherent principles—then indeed will her wretched Caroline, rea­lize the horrors of despair.

OH Maria, as you have often predicted, I am now the impotent victim of sentiment!—Alfred, the young and bewitching Alfred, has been ab­sent a week!—Oh what a week of varied emoti­ons has it been to me!—But ah his eyes, his love­beaming eyes, his voice of music and delight, have remained unalienated to my heart!—Last even­ing, making the seventh day of his exile, as the sweet Fanny and I sat in our parlour, fondly con­versing of his accomplishments—nay even rival­ing each other in encomium,—we were surprised by the sound of footsteps at the door, and more astonished afterwards, on the appearance of the [Page 120] beautiful theme of our discourse!—It was him­self!—Just as he appeared when he had recently left me overwhelmed in tears!—His sister's sur­prise and joy abounded in congratulatory caresses—while mine, not less cordial, expressed itself as welcomely in silent delight!—He seized my hand:—saluted me with affection's kiss—"His eyes told tender tales of love."—But hold! Oh, how weak, how censurable in my sister's judg­ment will this confession render me!—Excuse me then, in abruptly subscribing myself,

LETTER XXX. TO MR. WILLIAM COURTNEY.

RETURNING to this theatre of bliss, my heart prancing more nimbly than the horse, I met with an incident which not only detained me several hours from the object of my love, but also excited much sympathetic sorrow!

[Page 121] I LEFT the city about three o'clock in the af­ternoon, and having slowly rode a few miles, halt­ed at a small hut, situated at the foot of a hill, covered with lofty oaks, to repay an obligation formerly conferred on me by the rustic inhabi­tants. Abruptly entering the humble roof, I was startled at the appearance of distress evident in the melancholy countenances of the mother and her three sobbing children! She sitting on a rush chair, pressing a screaming infant to her breast, mingling with its milk the tears of her affliction; while the two eider children, leaning on each side, catched the bitter sighs of their mother with tender hearts which seemed to float in the water of their eyes!—I impatiently in­quired for the father of the family, and the oc­casion of their distressful condition; to which the distracted wife replied by exclaiming, "Oh, heaven only knows where or how Philip is!"—This heightened the first impressions of wonder. The wretched woman being unable, from the ve­hemence of her tears, to afford the necessary sa­tisfaction, I had recourse to the eldest daughter, though a child, who was equally affected with the family distress, yet less violent than her fran­tic mother.—"Oh, sir," said she, wiping with a homespun apron the big tears which "rolled her blooming cheeks adown," "my dear, poor fa­ther [Page 122] is lost in town! Yesterday, our rent being due, his landlord told him to quit the house or pay the money before to-night. He therefore, gathered all his fruit, and so on, and went to market, expecting to return at night with enough to satisfy our cruel landlord; but oh, he has ne­ver come; and to-night mamma, I, sister, and dear little Philip must all lay in the wood!"—This sorrowful tale unravelled the mystery of the affecting scene before me. I comforted the chil­dren with small presents; and delivering to their mother the amount of the rent due, left them in a state more tranquil than that in which I had found them.

ON returning to the door, my horse, whom I had left hitched to a sence, becoming impatient of my stay, had slipped his bridle and abscond­ed, leaving me to follow on foot. This circum­stance was extremely unwelcome, it being a con­siderable distance home, and the sun, throwing his farewell glances on the tops of the forests, an­nounced the approach of darkness. As I advanc­ed to the familiar scenes of my recent pleasures, my heart bounded with rapture and delight! Eve­ry specimen of rural elegance, and every eco­nomical adjustment of natural beauty, afforded so many [...] of the presence and taste of my [Page 123] Charlotte! As I passed opposite her magnificent dwelling, which derived an appearance of addi­tional grandeur from the mild shade that envel­oped it, I vainly hoped to discover her, in the re­semblance of melancholy, under the drooping willows, chanting hymns of sadness for my ab­sence!—At our gate I was first cordially wel­comed by the affectionate farm dog, who, frisk­ing with joy, escorted me into the parlour, where I found my mother reading the production of a celebrated Bishop in answer to the blasphemy of Paine. My unexpected appearance, and the manner, astonished the old lady; which was an­swered by equal amazement on my part, when I was informed that my truant horse had not ar­rived before me.—But, my friend, think of the transports of my wearied heart, on being desired to step across to our neighbour, and conduct home my sister, who was on a friendly visit there! My fond impatience was worldless! I slew into the presence of my all; saluted her with ardor; and received the utterance of her affection from the gladdened langour of her eyes Oh, my friend, she appeared more beautiful and enchanting than ever! A fanciful dishabille, and a general looseness of apparel, seemed to amelio­rate the natural softness of her features; while [Page 124] the moderate effulgence of her eyes, completed an object interesting and admirable!

WHILE in town I made several inquiries for the relations of your friend; but met no person who knew him or had ever heard of such a fa­mily. This makes his history and situation the more surprising, as my acquaintance in the city is almost universal.

EXCUSE the inaccuracies of the foregoing, by ascribing them to the perturbation of the mind of

LETTER XXXI. TO MISS HARRIOT HAYWORD.

OH God!—Oh God!—how in me has the Poet's emphatic admonition been veri­fied!

[Page 125] Now indeed it is an innate hell to my soul to "know myself," and what a wretch I am!—Igno­rance, blindness, and insensibility were highly preferable to this cruel and excruciating wisdom!—Like our first forefather, I have been blind to one blessing in my temporal Eden; on the know­ledge of which the flaming sword of the angel of remorse persecutes;—yea, murders me!—Where or what am I!—A being endowed with intel­lects?—A man of human passions;—and do I tremble at the execution of retribution?—Oh, it is guilty self that keeps me from doing vengeance to myself!—The wretch who hurries destruction on himself by plunging into the bosom of a fierce volcano, is not more guilty of his fate, than am I the cause and author of my present agony of soul. Yet hold!—Can the wretch, who has murdered my honour, who has cankered my hopes of peace, plead extenuation of his crime in the proof of my own guiltiness?—Will my of­fence against one woman, (and oh, confusion to my soul!) against my marriage oath, palliate his more aggravated insult against me, and his out­rage on the holy institution of heaven?—Say, my sympathetic friend, will the acknowledgment on my part, of the want of love and tenderness for her whom I espoused as my wife, be a defence, or a colouring for the adulterous and sacrilegious [Page 126] passion of young Alfred?—Oh that my heart were steeled to these tormenting inquiries!—But they rush like torrents in excruciating conviction on my soul!—They soon must waste their vio­lence, or it very soon fall a victim to their un­remitted pungency!—

—RETIRED from worldly objects, I have endeavoured to allay my soul-rending suspicions; nay, my sensible convictions of the baseness of my wife, by studying the philosophy of the hu­man heart, and its innate propensities to good and evil. Alas, these philosophic contemplations too generally terminate in a bitter consciousness of self-blame!—

REASON, nature, religion, and philosophy, though each opposed to lawless love, are all con­joined to reproach the remiss conduct of my nup­tial life, and point to it as the creative cause of my present dilemma, and ever-lasting ignominy!—Burthened with these contemning sensations I dare not, cannot assume the tone of uprightness, [Page 127] to vindicate the honour of my bed—Hah! what do I say!—Alas, let me not die with false con­jecture!—Hymeneal chastity is yet, I know, un­contaminated:—sensual debasement is not yet perpetrated:—but that their mental faculties have long engaged in illicit affection;—that their souls even now revel in the voluptuousness of lascivi­ous sentiment, is undemonstrably evident in the amorous language of their love-fraught eyes!

I FIND myself in a condition so mentally dis­tracted, that I must beg you will break down the obstacles of custom, and favour me with a few lines of consolation. Though I lose the melody of thy tongue in the manner of communication, yet will thy words retain their original balsam!—Yes, what one ungenerous, thoughtless woman has destroyed, thy virtues and superior accom­plishments shall doubly replenish.

LETTER XXXII. TO MR. T. FRANKS.

TO refined minds the pleasures of sympathy afford an exhaustless fruition; but to those whose repelling bosoms are alike callous to the impressions of benevolence, and deaf to the feeble voice of distressed virtue, the inlets of this sublime intellectual enjoyment are effectually choaked by unnatural principles of sensuality. The former are made happy, in a manner, by the calamities of their fellow-creatures; because, their distresses produce an opportunity for the in­dulgence of every god-like prerogative. The latter, radically dead to sensibility, can partake neither of their prosperity nor of their adversity; but contract within the narrow and wretched li­mits of self, every human power of intellectual enjoyment. So forcibly have these ideas been confirmed on my mind, by observation and the increase of experience, I am often prompted to believe, that on this universality of feeling, which as it increases its objects, assimulates to the be­nign spirit of philanthrophy, hang all the social comforts of life; and that without a fellow-feel­ing [Page 129] for another's woe, we would be compara­tively insensible to the rigour of our own.—It is but a melancholy pleasure, however, to know and commiserate another's sufferings, without possessing the power to remove or alleviate the occasion. Our really feeling, does not actually lighten his grievances; but the idea of social dis­tress, or a partnership in misery, renders its en­durance more tolerable, than when we find our­selves unfortunate, unfriended, and abandoned.

To your mind, my worthy friend, now con­vulsed with the agony of injured honour, min­gled with a portion of self-condemnation, this species of alleviation will afford but little comfort; unless indeed you can balance against the aliena­tion of one woman's affections, the acquisition of the esteem and friendship of another.—But this circumstance, even were it possible, would not ef­fectuate the restoration of your wonted tran­quility. Could you, by a wonderful stretch of philosophy, once conceive that a kind of reprisal on your wife's unfaithfulness, would equalize the irritation of both; could you even be persuaded to retaliate on her perfidy by equal perfidy, I doubt not, but that intervals of uneasiness and re­morse would occur, to falsify your experiment. Nothing then, but the rivival of her love and duty [Page 130] as a wife, or the extinction of that title and its endearing relationships, can make you even tran­quil. While she retains the sacred appellation of wife; while as such, she claims your attenti­on as husband, it is irrevocable that every aberra­tion from propriety in her conduct, will convulse and torment your soul; but could that affinity be totally extinguished, and her claims on your affection withdrawn, her future demeanour, how­ever culpable, would, of course, cease to agitate your feelings. But why need I thus presume to argue to a man endowed with all the energies of reason, and a permanent standard of resoluti­on!—Innate consciousness, joined to a manly and upright vindictiveness, will guide you to the best eligible means of remedy, in the pursuit of which you are ever accompanied with my most sanguine wishes.

I CANNOT conclude this attempt to be of ser­vice, without adding a suggestion which I trust, will intermit the violence of your grief;—it is, my friend, that notwithstanding the almost pal­pable indecency of Mrs. Franks towards this young coxcomb, there is but little proof apparent to convict her of actual criminality.—Forgive me, Sir, for this boldness!—I declare it has cost me numberless blushes;—but my sincere interest for [Page 131] your happiness exceeds the restrictions of verbal decorum, and must be the only excuse for the un­reservedness of this epistle.

LETTER XXXIII. TO MRS. FRANKS.

IN the name of heaven whither will this frenzy of passion impel you? Alas, has it not al­ready whirled you to the borders of fathomless destruction; on which even now your frantic mind is undecided between a sentiment of duty and the wild impulse of a guilty passion? Oh, Caroline, my heart bleeds afresh at every renew­ed instance of your weakness; for I will not call it vice. At the arrival of every mail, a sudden horror seizes my mind, apprehensive of the ap­proach of some grievous intelligence! As I pe­rused your last, my fears swelled in proportion [Page 132] to the increasing interest of its contents; and at the conclusion, every mental faculty was alter­nately convulsed! The whole, for a while de­voured my affection; and I felt for you only those emotions of pity which our sex generally experience on beholding the gloomy records of female degradation!

BELIEVE me, Caroline, my affection is not merely the warmth and partiality of a sister.—No; the solicitude of a fond mother, the abate less ardour of a friend, added to our natural al­liance, render my attachment superlatively genu­ine. Every peril of your life creates in me the apprehensions, the prayers, and the hopes of a parent whose chiefest felicity consists in the pros­perity and happiness of her child. Every error of thought, the slightest deviation from real vir­ture, is with tears recorded in my memory. Nay, sister, the fibres of your soul are so entwined with those of mine, that the smallest touch on the first reverberates with redoubled asperity on the lat­ter. Your present consciousness of distress is a negative pain, to that actual torment which I experience in the apprehension of your danger! Your judgment is inveigled by the slashing so­phistications of his logic; your partial eyes, fas­cinated by superficial endowments, neglect to in­vestigate [Page 133] his internal merits your mind, per­verted by an unthinking intercourse with his [...], is disabled from scrutinizing into the vil­lainy, of his purpose: But, sister, my advice to shun and detest his passion, is unbiassed by the splendour of his graces, and the result of a pure solicitude for your happiness, against which so many dangerous wiles coalesce!

BEFORE prediction touched the threshold of events, I secretly regretted your constitutional propensity to unhappiness! In infancy, the loss of a toy, or the want of a favorite ribbon, would swell your heart with unutterable anguish, and produce a season of pining distress! As you pro­ceeded in life and encountered the sterner diffi­culties of human nature, this want of fortitude followed your footsteps, and beset every trifling accident with unreal terrors.—How often, and alas, how ineffectually, have I drawn your atten­tion and opening ambition to the beauties of the Poem ^* which inculcates a certain happy subordi­nation of temper? How frequently, after imbib­ing the mild spirit of the [...] have you poured into my gladdened bosom [...] fervent pro­mises to emulate the conduct of the heroine? [Page 134] But ah, as soon did the glimmerings of embar­rassment unfix these phantoms of resolution!

FORGIVE me, Caroline, in the boldness of my anxiety for your welfare. I beseech you to be yourself; and, by a magnanimity in resisting the influence of fictitious woe on your spirits, be hap­py under all the allottments of Providence.

I SHALL close this sheet by transcribing two verses from the pen of a young gentleman in this city, addressed to his friend on the subject of mis­placing his affections; on account of which they may be equally applicable to your situation.

LETTER XXXIV. TO CHARLES ALFRED, JUNR.

THE receipt of your last, as is usual, was succeeded by a variety of entertaining re­flections. My admiration was geometrically di­vided between the instance given of your bene­volence to the distressed peasants, and the stu­pendous growth of your passion for her whose eyes make slave the mind! Love, I imagine, has a tendency to render the heart universally charit­able; because, by it the whole system is so won­derfully ameliorated, as to be easily susceptible of the finer impressions of pity. A person under the influence of this passion, melts into compas­sion by the first ray of another's distress; while those who are repulsive to its gentle operations' are also callous to the effects of sympathy. So likewise, it may be observed of those who natu­rally are possessed of [...], that they are more liable to the [...] love, and more fervent, once captivated.

I AM not a little anxious to receive the conclu­sion of that pathetic tale which your feelings so [Page 136] happily indited. Give me in your next the facts which have since transpired. I have no doubt that the honest family will fully repay, in gra­titude the munificence of their youthful bene­factor.—What a glorious subject would it be for an humane painter, to display the modest figure of Youth, in the humble cottage of persecuted Indigence, dispensing gratuitous blessings sooth­ing the anguish of a bereaved wife, and comfort­ing the noisy sorrows of unfriended little ones! By heavens, Charles, were I the slave of Hymen, and my own wife your cicesbo, this proof of the nobility of thy mind should extenuate the of­fence, and continue thee in my friendship!

MY young acquaintance, the unknown Tall­man, left me last week to proceed for Philadel­phia; where, as he exclaimed, his only hopes of happiness were concentred. His health, spirits, and appearance were surprisingly improved.—On my leaving him at the stage-office, he gave me a look of inexpressible feeling, and grasping eagerly my hand, squeezed it with both of his, saying—"Oh, [...] if my hopes are in­deed prospered [...], it is your goodness shall receive the second blessings of my heart; but if, (alas, the apprehension chills me!)—if heaven protracts my wretched existence only in [Page 137] order to inflict heavier misfortunes, I shall die re­gretting your charity as the unhappy instrument of my torture."—The tears started in his eyes at the utterance of these words; and his heart panted as if endeavouring to extricate itself from the confinement of his bosom!—But enough of this:—You will probably construe this into self praise; a practice of which you have often impeached my tongue, and which I have as of­ten disavowed.

I must abruptly conclude, as I am called off to join a party for the Theatre.

LETTER XXXV. To Mr. WILLIAM COURTNEY.

—PLAGUE on your flattery, Bill! The lucid praise you have so showered on the vain Alfred, has indeed made him a huge hill of vanity? I will, however, endeavour, by always emulating your commendation, to derive benefit [Page 138] from the very source which inundates others with ridicule and contempt.

BUT, my friend, I have a stronger, dearer mo­tive added to your encomium, to urge me to the practice of benevolence:—My Charlotte, the hal­lowed deposit of every virtue, rewarded my be­nesicence with a torrent of blessings—with a full hour of endearing caresses! I was with her seat­ed on the balcony which fronts her mansion, di­lating on sentiments of love and friendship, when we perceived coming from my father's plantation, an homely countryman, whom afterwards I found to be the father of the distressed family to whose relief my timely assistance had been afforded. As he advanced with his hat in his hand, his eyes sparkling with an honest joy, and his tongue loaded with the whole weight of his gratitude, he could but scarcely articulate, "Heaven bless you for preserving my dear wife and children!" After confusing me with the lavish expression of his gratitude, he proceeded, at the request of my sympathetic Charlotte, to relate the occasion of his unhappy absence; which he did in nearly the following terms:

"SWEET madam, (even his vulgar eyes, saw something sweet in the person of my fair compa­nion) [Page 139] "and you, good sir, when I arrived in the city and had disposed of my little all, returning to take possession of my horse and cart, I could find neither it nor the man with whom I had left it. Zoons! says I, this will never do! So at length I traced the fellow—"Where's my cart?" says I;—" Your cart!" says he, "at the d—l; get your horse, and look for it."—Oh ho, is that the tune! So making no more ado about it, I yokes the scoundrel by the gills, and toated him into a shop where they told me justice might be bought; but the magistrate being out, my business could not be done. There I waited till near night, hearing the thief curse me like Sa­tan, before the appearance of the judge, who, it seemed, had a better job in hand; and, giving the villain into the care of one of his journeymen, or­dered me to appear the next morning. Ah, sir, you may guess how I spent the night, in grieving for the certain distress of my poor family!—Ear­ly in the morning I attended at the office, when after answering some questions and swearing an oath, was told nothing could be done for me un­til Mayor's court! Oh, zookers, how my heart was then gauled! I should surely have done something wicked, had not neighbour Jones met me, and told where I could find my property. It was in a dirty alley I found my poor half-starv­ed [Page 140] creature, hitched to a stump. She, poor soul, was as rejoiced as myself; and home we trudg­ed, leaving the justice and his man to handle the rogue who had tried to defraud me.—After crossing the ferry I found your horse, which I instantly knew, grazing on the side of the road. Hitching him to my cart, I have brought him home, and left him in your stable."

HERE he paused, as if to recover breath, of which his fervent narrative had nearly deprived him.—" Ah, dear sir," continued he, "think of my astonishment on coming to my dear home, to find neither wife nor children to welcome me! I was half distracted! Guessing the occasion, I slew to my landlord, and was there told, that my innocent family were in custody on the sus­spicion of their having dishonestly got the very money which your charity bestowed, and with which they had offered to pay the rent! Croo­kers! but for his wealth, I would have hided the scoundrel! When I mentioned your name and goodness, he restored us to our homely hut; where, if it will be any joy to you, heaven shall hear the prayers of a whole family for your pros­perity!"—Concluding thus, the aged clown, with a coarse bow, left us to resume the pure plea­sures of love. Oh, with what unbounded confi­dence [Page 141] did the unhappy Charlotte flatter my pas­sion, by relating the history of her griefs; during which the revival in her mind of certain affect­ing incidents, produced a poignant flow of tears, in which she pathetically indulged leaning on my bosom!—As if invited to it by the example of my love, the heavens convened their water and commenced a sympathetic shower; by which I was obliged to "adieu," and hasten home.

LETTER XXXVI. TO MRS. FRANKS.

MY distracted mind has but just survived a tremendous agitation!—A thousand conflicting thoughts, a thousand fears and hopes have suddenly been excited, by an adventitious circumstance of this morning, o'er which I have [Page 142] ever since silently pondered in sad and mysteri­ous wonder.

AN instinctive sadness gradually stole on my mind. The acuteness of reflection often pro­duced tears on my cheek, without the least con­sciousness of their origin. In vain I used every effort to remove its influence:—Read, sung, danced, and played, but each contrivance was alike ineffectual, and my distended heart invo­luntarily heaved sighs of predictive distress. At length, finding every other means unavailing, I resolved to shorten its duration, by withholding my weak restraint; that is, by giving it a gene­ral and unresisted controul, let its violence be its own destruction. For this purpose, I repaired to my sympathizing grotto. Here indeed, allevia­tion seemed to be produced, by the increase of lamentation.—Here, as I had before often done, I emptied my surcharged heart of its latent sor­rows, by complaining to the rocks, and fancying' that in their sonorous responses, I heard the re­plication of another's anguish.—Indeed, my friend, there is a specific in the society of these aged rocks, which seldom fails of relieving the poignancy of my retrospective reflection. I left them wonderfully revived. A placid serenity, congenial with the softness which hung on the [Page 143] surrounding scenes of nature, accompanied me home.—But here;—alas, how can I proceed in this short tale of wonder!—here was reserved for me, the ambiguous occasion of my present con­sternation. I had just seated myself in the li­brary, and was beginning to peruse the delight­ful leaves of scientific poetry by Thompson, when the enclosed letter was delivered to me, by a strange and very polite servant. His introduc­tion, which was formal and solemn, and his er­rand,(which was, to deliver a confidential letter) were both calculated to swell the first emotions of amazement!—They did—I received the mes­senger and his letter with trembling surprise, which was increased to horrid wonder, on read­ing the enclosed address to me, without a genuine signature! Its serious, polite, and studied disguise, seem to conceal some circumstance of importance to my welfare; in conjecturing which, I have al­most wrecked my understanding. To you, my worthy friend, in whose bosom, my dearest se­crets have already found a grand lodge, I fly for counsel and advice.—Oh, for heaven's sake, tell me candidly, if you do not think this circum­stance is real; and that my Henry, my exiled Henry returned, is at the bottom of it?—This dear, this delightful thought, this enlivening hope, inhabits my heart, and rings with trans­port [Page 144] through my strained fancy. Its impression on my mind, has prevented me from disclosing the affair to any of my family; preferring the firmness and candour of your friendship, to the interested love of any earthly relation. Return the letter speedily, together with your advice. Tell me if it is safe or prudent to accept the as­signation;—and tell me also, if you will accom­pany me thither.

EXCUSE me for not calling on you:—my mind is actually disjointed, and incapable of enjoying society.

[Page 145] [The following was enclosed in the preceding letter.]

LETTER XXXVII. TO MISS FANNY ALFRED.

NOTHING but a permanent con­viction of your generous disposition, could give boldness to a stranger to address you in this free and doubtful manner.—But relying on your be­nign gentleness of temper, and the honourable motives by which I am impelled, thus to demo­lish the mounds of respect and decorum, I firmly trust, the subsequent interest you will perceive in the following disclosure, will amply apologize for my present impropriety.

THERE is certainly a deep-planted sentiment in your heart, which for many year past, has paint­ed on your conduct the conspicuous lineaments of sorrow and distress. There are those too, besides yourself, and approved friends, who are conscious of this circumstance; but no one more sincerely anxious for the restoration of your tran­quility [Page 146] and the permanence of your bliss, than the unknown friend who now addresses you.—Pure as thy holy self are my designs:—nay, I swear by every attribute of heaven, that to renovate your decaying health and spirits, I would chear­fully sacrifice my own earthly, I was almost rea­dy to say, eternal happiness.—Yes, thou amia­ble and lamented lady, all thy unrecorded sighs and ceaseless tears, so piously devoted to the con­secration of infantile love, shall be liquidated to thee with ineffable bliss, if your reliance on my honour and truth, can lend you fortitude suffici­ent, to enable you to meet me to-morrow at noon, at the southern extremity of your father's farm.

I AM well aware of the apprehensions, which will be excited in your delicate bosom, by this strange and suspicious demand: I even feel un­happy, that circumstances render it indispensible, to purchase future permanent bliss, by a tempo­rary convulsion of mind; but the interest I pre­sume to have in your conduct, and the conviction I bear of being instrumental to your happiness, impels me to hope that the assignation, though so apparently perilious, will be effected.

SHOULD you be inclined to acquiesee in this request, I have only further to wish, that it will [Page 147] be performed, unattended by any of your father's family, at that might frustrate my genuine inten­tion.—Any female friend, in whose integrity you may confide, will be admissible to our inter­view.

LETTER XXXVIII. TO MISS FANNY ALFRED.

ALTHOUGH I labour under an acute melancholy, I hasten to communicate my first ideas on the subject of your letter of this morning, in doing which I am not more guided [Page 148] by a spirit of adventure and curiosity, attached to our sex, than by a pure and disinterested regard for your happiness.

BELIEVE me then, my friend, I think there is observable in the hurried diction, and apparently restrained affection of the epistle, a sincere de­sign to be of service to you. The features of ho­nesty are perceptible through every assumed garb; and as villainy is infallibly detected by the con­viction of its own countenance, so it may also be said, the simple physiognomy of honesty invaria­bly recommends itself to confidence. The for­mer cannot counterfeit even the language or ex­terior of the latter:—in its most artful attempts, it always retains its native brogue of criminality.—This being the case, and we are to judge of the integrity of the design, by the complexion of the letter, and other collateral circumstances, I am convinced, if you will re-peruse it with attenti­on, you will join with me in believing, that an acquiescence in the required interview, will by no means endanger your safety; but probably accelerate the progress of that happiness, which is reserved for you in the skies.

As to the fond hope of your exiled Henry be­ing the basis of it, I must beseech you, not to rely [Page 149] on the idea as probable. No, Fanny, though possibly it may relate to the amiable Wellsford, be assured, that the language of his love, on such an occasion, would not for a moment be sup­pressed, for the perpetration of a scheme of ridicu­lous chivalry. No, child, his long constrained passion, when it shall meet thy endearing pre­sence, will burst in sublime ardour at thy feet. It could not tranquilly await the issue of a plot, so uncertain as that suggested in your letter.

ALTHOUGH I have thus unequivocally advised you to comply with the assignation of your un­known correspondent, I cannot omit suggesting the prudence of your communicating the affair to the confidence of your brother, requesting him to attend near the spot, to interpose in case our credulity should entangle us in difficulty.—This you may decide on, as expediency may sug­gest; in the mean time, be assured, I will punc­tually attend at the hour appointed, to accom­pany you on this singular expedition.

LETTER XXXIX. TO MR: WILLIAM COURTNEY.

THE first moments of retirement after arriving in this city, I thus thankfully dedi­cate to your disinterested sympathy. Alas, sir, my feelings resemble those of a wretch, who, when on the edge of immediate ruin, has been rescued, and then devoted to a more slow and af­flicting destruction! Oh, when will misfortune have exhausted her miseries on my devoted head! In every vicissitude of life, every change of cir­cumstance, her vengeance pursues me, inflicting on my guiltless soul, the condensed anguish of her power! A successive climax of woes has marked my infant career in life; while benevo­lence like yours has been interposed merely to variegate its appearance, or to sharpen the pangs that were to succeed! While I was enjoying the sweet repast of charity at your hands, destiny was recruiting her wasted strength and forging new and peculiar calamities!

My mind being wholly engaged in the antici­pation of love and constancy, it was not until [Page 151] the familiar scenes of nativity and infancy ap­peared, that I reverted to the connexions of my blood. Alas, five years absence and fifty of mis­fortune, had partly erased from my memory the fond idea of father, mother, and my other kin­dred! Heavens! those reverend titles exist no more, but in the faint annals of my recollection! The dreadful fever of 1793, swept into eternity a father, mother, sister, and two brothers!—Oh, my worthy friend, can your humanity con­ceive of the effects of this horrid intelligence; which was the first salute I received in this city? It for a while prevented me from an enquiry which seemed paramount even to this melancho­ly circumstance. I had left in this city, arrayed in tears of sorrow at my departure, the celestial object who had received and answered with equal ardor, the first affections of my heart; and from the hopes of whose constancy, even in the bitter­ness of my woe, I derived a cheering emotion of joy. Fear and hope rushed into my trembling bosom; and under the influence of both, I have so far explored the region of bliss, as to discover the place of her residence, and the more welcome circumstance of her heart being undedicated to any other.

THE affairs of my father at his death were extremely flourishing; whereby I become heir [Page 152] to a large estate; the only branch of my family, spared either to encounter new distresses, or to enjoy my portion of temporal felicity. Oh, my friend, if it be the latter, shall one transport rise in my bosom, in which you will not partake? Shall one joy glisten in my eye unanswered by e­qual rapture in yours?

P. S. I would request you to honor me with a letter, but am unable to inform you where to direct, until my residence is more permanent.

LETTER XL. To Mr. WILLIAM COURTNEY.

MY time and devotions are so com­pletely absorbed in felicity, that I conceive the present as nothing less than a voluntary stealth from the sweet course of my pleasures. Oh, Bill participate in my joys!—I am constantly revelling in the presence of her I adore!—Her feelings, her love, is as sanguine as my own!—Her expressions, glowing in living flames upon her dear lips, in sublimity and elegance exceed all my feeble attempts at rhapsody! In fact, our interviews are a commerce of souls, in the fer­vent indulgence of which every faculty of mind and body is rendered the medium of some par­ticular bliss! She, loving, tender and amorous, receives my ardent caresses with a total prostra­tion of reluctance; while I, inflated with divine intellectual fruition, respond to her bewitching endearments in the "silent elocution of the eye." Sometimes our panting bosoms, loaded with de­licious joy, lose their present consciousness, and, pressed in each other's warm embrace, imper­ceptibly melt into a sea of pleasures!—Oh, this [Page 154] is indeed the joyous suspension of life, the bliss­ful trance of the senses, wherein is that extreme of pleasure described by ancient and modern po­ets! These are the superlative delights which, as it were, destroy the body and convert the senses into so many souls or vehicles of joy!

SUBLIME as are my present sensations, me­thinks there is still a more extatic gust of bliss to be enjoyed! Like an insatiable glutton, I crave more than the present fond and rational extacy! Yes, my rapacious soul swells with mingled rap­tures in the anticipation of that delectable mo­ment, when, saturated with the flames of Venus, she shall yield the honors of her beauty to en­circle the victorious brow of love!

INDEED, it would defy an army of Apollos, all inspired with the powers of Shakespear, com­petently [Page 155] to describe the peculiar emotions of my soul.—Believe me, I am next door to elysium!

LETTER XLI. TO MISS HARRIOT HAYWORD.

AFTER leaving your soothing so­ciety last evening, taking a circuitous path in my way homeward, I was profoundly startled on per­ceiving, in the field adjoining the property of Alfred, two men and two women engaged in a reciprocal exchange of courtesy and affection. In my course coming nearer to the scene, I was effectually shuddered by distinguishing in this happy club, my truant wife, her petit maitre, the prudish Miss Fanny, with her gallant also! This singular groupe, had it consisted of indifferent characters, would have drawn my admiration; but think of my thrilling horror on making the discovery! The impulse of the instant would [Page 156] have driven me furious into their presence; but my heart, bearing fresh in remembrance the pru­dent counsels of your wisdom, retired from the guilty spectacle, with a fervent apostrophe to the just, and I trust, vindictive heaven.

THE subsequent reflections preyed on my tranquillity as I meditated at home.—Oh, how "stale, flat, and unprofitable" appeared to me the pleasures, vanities, and hopes of this world! Methought, existence was an immense load, and, if it had been possible, I would have evaded its oppression!

—OH, my generous, tender friend, I have certain ireful thoughts brooding in my distracted soul!—Thoughts, which I tremble to reveal e­ven to your sacred confidence!—Thoughts, which, as I pore over them, become odious to myself! Have you, joined to an experience in life, a practical firmness to counsel with despera­tion? Does your mind, though of the texture of a woman, possess inherent principles of valor? Can you, Harriot, unsex yourself, and be the friendly accomplice of my voluntary destruction?—Start not at this!—Life has proved only a successional train of torments—my soul looks for repose to death and eternity.—Those gifts which [Page 157] heaven as blessings, have been intercepted by demons, and, ere they reached me, converted into curses! I will, therefore, thwart the efforts of hell, by plunging blindly into immortality; confiding my soul into the care of that power who created it.

I KNOW this awful determination will affright you:—Yes, it will doubtless pierce the soul of a woman who feels universally in the cause of hu­manity.—You will urge me to cling to the tran­sient horrors of this world, in preference to the doubt and peril of an adventurous passage to a­nother. Speak not of resignation. Heaven did not create the soul, endow it with a consciousness of its future dignity, and expand it with noble sentiments of deity, for the purpose of drudging under an immense load of miseries in this idle world. Why is it invested with the power, if not to exercise the right of annihilating this fleshy cumbrance, and re-ascending to omnipo­tency? Is it not nobler to end life by one act of the will, than, by awaiting the slow and excru­ciating course of misery, fall a groaning sacrifice to pusillanimity?

IF no damning crime has marked the progress of my life, what motive is there [...] keep me back [Page 158] from heaven? If I have been but negatively vir­tuous; abstaining from the vicious propensities of my nature, and suppressing improper impulses, where is the man who dare arraign my soul at the bar of heaven? Where the justice of that God in whom we all confide, if, without the con­viction of positive crime, I am to be sentenced to irrevocable perdition?—If there is a God, "that God delights in virtue;"—is it vice to spurn at the fascinations of earth, and rush into the em­braces of deity?

I HAVE seriously revolved in my mind the hea­vy charges of infidelity, alleged to be the part­ners in an act of suicide.—What are they, Har­riot, to the understanding of a man alternately under the influence of despair and of religion? Believe me, the latter affords the more cogent reasons for an immediate perpetration. The former acts without principle, or a view of here­after; whereas, the latter justifies the deed; and, by divinely opening the portals of bliss for my departing soul, illumines the prospect of an eternity.

METHINKS, when I shall arm my hand against myself, I shall fight for my God, and triumph over the treachery of the world!

FAREWELL, my Harriot:—Even on the brink of eternity, I retain that fervent admiration of [Page 160] your virtues and accomplishments which first ex­cited my esteem, and which, to the period of my utter destruction, shall be the source of consola­tion and joy to

LETTER XLII. TO MR. FRANKS.

I folded down a leaf in the rich vo­lume of Zimmermann on Solitude, in order to read and answer your letter of this morning. My mind was suffused with a rapturous admiration of the solemn pleasures of retirement, the living ideas of which I had just caught from the ener­getic style of the author.—I opened the letter, while mentally calculating on the comparative happiness of a hermit and a courtier or states­man:—the course of my contemplations was not [Page 161] interrupted until the horrid word "destruction" seizing my eye, created a shivering winter in my veins!—Alas, how has unguided madness tram­melled the vigour of your intellects!—What un­happy influence has thus stripped thee of the pre­rogative of reason?—Surely the acuteness of your judgment, cannot be lost in the apparent propriety of your reasoning, in palliation of the horrors of self-murder? Surely that mind which lately was all energy, that heart which is all piety, cannot so suddenly be the dupe of weak­ness, or the perpetrator of guilt?

MY feelings are so violently agitated by this unhappy circumstance, that I am incapable almost of collecting reason sufficient, to outweigh the sophistication of your essay to vindicate the im­pious assumption of Heaven's prerogative. Be­cause life is considered as a loan, those deluded mortals who have rushed unprepared into the presence of their Maker, conceive it to be solely at their disposal, and that whether they improve or abuse it, no authority dare call them to ac­count. [Page 162] Life is not only a loan;—it is a sacred deposit from the hands of creation, and if we thoughtlessly misapply or pervert it, the united voice of reason, nature, and religion is loud in censure;—how much more worthy, then, of censure and punishment is that infatuated wretch, who, wildly warring on religion, nature and rea­son, not only abuses the blessings of existence, but with a bloody hand consigns it to destructi­on?—How foul in nature's eye is the wretch who attacks the life of another? And is not his own life a more holy, sacred trust? He who moulded our bodies; who infused the animation of souls; who appointed our abode in this earth for wise and good purposes; and who, at his pleasure can convert afflictions into mercies;—he only is the just arbiter of the period at which his servants shall be re-united to Divinity.—Alas, it is only when mankind lose their belief in the supremacy of this power, that they perform an act, which at once violates the principles of obedience, and alienates the guilty from the care and protection of the Deity!

IT may be true, my friend, that in this world your only portion has been pain and misery.—But is this a motive to suicide?—The act sup­poses that you either remedy the actual torments [Page 163] under which you labour, or that by extinguish­ing life, you destroy its sensibility both for the present and the future. You must undoubtedly expect either to succeed to an existence of more perfect bliss, or to a state in which, by the ex­tinction of the principles of animation, your mind will be unsusceptive of either the emotions of pleasure, or the throbs of pain.—Surely, my friend, you cannot acknowledge the attributes of God, particularly his justice, if after the com­mission of so horrid a deed, your soul conceives the hopes of his favour!—Alas, Franks, our religion tells us, that the gates of heaven are doubly barr­ed against the entrance of him, whose hands are stained with his own blood!—Let religion then unnerve your dreadful purpose!

THE other plea is, the general attendant of those who are hardy enough to execute this dire design.—Finding that religion affords no extenu­ation for their guilt, and impatient of misery, they die, not with the luminous anticipation of a blessed hereafter, but with the dreary expecta­tion of a state of apathy; preferring nonentity to an existence of trials and distress.—This idea, I trust, has no influence on the belief of my philo­sophic friend:—No; have I not heard him with a transport of joy, describe those scenes of pure [Page 164] and unmingled fruition, to which the virtuous and good shall be elevated hereafter!—Alas, are those blissful prospects, the foresight of which surpasses every other earthly comfort, so lament­ably clouded by the impious belief, that death is but "an eternal sleep?"—Oh, my friend, come to my presence!—It is impossible for me to write calmly or rationally, while my mind is so univer­sally affrighted:—I start, and fancy the "bloody business" is performing!—Then scream, and in my solitary sympathy seem to mingle blood with blood, and die the death of Franks.—

LETTER XLIII. TO WILLIAM COURTNEY.

I WAS never more confident of writ­ing interesting matter to you than on the pre­sent occasion; because, knowing that general [Page 165] vein of philanthrophy which distils through your soul, no circumstance which is pleasing to huma­nity, can be uninteresting to you.

NEARLY five years ago, my sister conceived an ardent and generous passion, for a young inha­bitant of Philadelphia, who, though not born to splendour and affluence, had considerable expec­tations from the growing circumstances of his fa­ther, who at that time was but a commissioned merchant. Abstracted from these selfish views, in his mind and person he possessed all those amiable and endearing qualities, which ought ever to be the objects of female adoration. By a frequent intercourse, the parties became inviola­bly attached. It soon came to the ears of my fa­ther, who having already almost stipulated a match, (though at that time my sister was extreme­ly young) with an immense fortune, immediately adopted severe measures to destroy their affecti­on; in which he succeeded so far, as to prevail on the father of the youth, to dispatch him as su­percargo to the Indies.—Alas, I well remember the affecting scene of their farewell!—It occurred in the time of our vacation holidays, by which, being on a visit at home, I was made a witness to the cruel effects of parental authority, in inter­dicting the impulse of nature, innocence, and [Page 166] love.—My sister, in tears of speechless agony, hung around the dear neck of her departing friend; while he with a calmness of sorrow, which disdained the aid of tears, pressed her to his swelling bosom, and uttered a thousand bless­ings on her head!—Thus were they for several moments locked in each others arms, sigh an­swering sigh, when the wind being favorable, he was hurried to the vessel which was to convey him from the scene of his infantile joys. My sister was conducted to her room, where for se­veral months she continued in a state of mind and body, extremely doubtful as to the issue.

MY own experience of the sublime passion, enables me now to judge of the distressful feel­ings of this pair, at the eventful juncture of their separation;—of the unavailing tears and sighs, which must have filled up the bitter period of ab­sence!—Until a few days past, my sister, igno­rant of his fortune, devoted her tears and prayers in silence for his safety. A few days indeed have unwound to her enraptured mind, the constancy and fidelity of her exiled Henry!—Read, my friend, and let not your wonder subside until you have acknowledged, that the fate of lovers is the peculiar care of ruling Providence.

[Page 167] ON Wednesday last, my sister received from the hand of an unknown servant, an anonymous letter; which, it seems, after expressing the most sanguine esteem for her character, and protesting honorable intentions, solicited her to favor the writer with an interview the next day; appointing the hour and place. In her earliest emotions, she communicated the incident to my female friend; who, judging with more experience of life, ad­vised her to accede to the proposal; she to be her second, and I, left any danger should result, was to be placed in a private situation adjacent to the important spot.—Affairs being thus ordered by the inquisitive and timorous women, I repair­ed to the place, and fixing myself within the cloister of some young trees, commanded a ge­neral view of the theatre in which this singular interview was to be performed.—I impatiently waited for the appearance of the parties:—nei­ther was punctual to the assignation.—At length, however, I perceived at a distance cros­sing the field in a direction for the proposed scene, a strange young gentleman; who, as he advanced, exhibited strong marks of concern, by frequent shows of ejaculation, sudden halts, and a certain timidity or backwardness of conduct which generally accompanies doubtful adven­tures of every kind.—Suddenly I observed the [Page 168] embarrassment of his manners increase; which, on turning my eyes, I discovered to be occasion­ed by the appearance of my sister, who slowly advanced, gently leaning on her companion, both with emotions not less obvious than those of the gentleman, who now stood fixed in a thoughtful posture, his eyes cast on the ground, and both hands closely pressed to his bosom!—Believe me, friend, this was an interesting crisis to my agitated feelings. My outstretched expectation, joined to a portion of anxiety for the safety of my trembling sister, nearly suspended the opera­tion of my reason;—when my astonishment was completed by perceiving her, with eyes fixed up­on the object, forsake the support of her friend and fly into the opened arms of the silent stran­ger!—This circumstance, I conceived, warrant­ed me in issuing from my concealment; and com­ing up to the spot, found Fanny in a swoon, still in the arms of the gentleman; whom I instantly recognized as the exiled arbiter of her heart;—the worthy WELLSFORD!

THE overpowered girl soon reviving by the as­sistance of her friend, a scene of love ensued, far­beyond my humble powers of description. The rapture of the delighted lovers was mutual and unbounded; during which my Charlotte seemed [Page 169] tranced in the enjoyment of the felicity which flushed on her mind from the welcome circum­stance of her friend's happiness; which I, serious as was the nature of the occasion, converted into an opportunity for the vindication of my love, by extolling as worthy the patronage of the most chaste and modest, a passion, which, by its divine influence on the actions, surrenders the parties to the indiscriminate enjoyment of each, without fear or repugnance.

IT was not until after considerable joint solici­tations that the overjoyed Wellsford was pre­vailed to encounter, what he called, "the cen­sure of my Fanny's parents:" But being inform­ed of the inclination of my father to indulge his daughter in any virtuous attachment which would conduce to her tranquillity, (early destroy­ed by his cruel effort to correct nature) he seiz­ed her hand with delighted enthusiasm; and, proceeding onward, indulged in the warm trans­ports of reciprocal love: While my Charlotte and her swain, with a fervor not less sincere, fol­lowed, conversing on the miracles of Cupid, who could preserve unfaded, in two youthful bosoms torn asunder by tyranny and prejudice, the un­quenchable blaze of his torch!

[Page 170] HAVING thus far partly forgot the first princi­ple of my nature, (that is, love) you must excuse me if, in order to fill up the remainder of the sheet, I add a few sentences on the present mo­mentous aspect of my amour. By heavens, Bill, it is fraught with "dangers dire!"—The husband of my charmer has at length become jealous!—His eyes glare in his ugly head with terrific hor­ror; and his treatment to his wife daily increases in brutality! His only society consists of three infamous hags, whose profession and amusements are scandal and detraction. With them he em­ploys the chief of his time; seldom at home, and when, irritating the delicacy of my Charlotte, by indecent suggestions, and unmanly insinuations. I feel on this occasion all the wrath of a lover in­sulted by a rival; and would, were it safe or pru­dent, chastise his unmannerly baseness.—But it is enough:—The disconsolate, abused wife flies to my society for comfort and alleviation: It is a species of the noblest charity, then, to wipe ten­derly away her bitter tears, and gladden her de­jected countenance by the offers of love?—Is she culpable, after finding the bed of Hymen barren [Page 171] of its intended joys, in flying to the lap of Venus for rapture and delight?

LETTER XLIV. TO CHARLES ALFRED.

AS you expected, the contents of your last produced in my mind, a series of enter­taining and moral reflections, resulting in a sin­cere admiration of that wonderful passion which can, by a peculiar magic, entwine two hearts at the distance of innumerable miles!—It is an in­stance by no means uncommon in the history of love, that notwithstanding the efforts of pride, prejudice, or superstition, to suppress its earliest dawning, the cause of nature and innocence will [Page 172] be finally matured by the hand of destiny.—The votaries of love, that unconquerable passion, are daily seen to survive the wrecks of malice and persecution; and although for a period their fate is apparently lost in the mysterious evolutions of fortune, a watchful and approving power is ulti­mately certain of collecting their scattered hopes into a point of enjoyment.

IT is the trial of love, under which my worthy friend Tallman is now labouring.—Since he has left me, I have received a letter, dated Philadel­phia, in which he communicates a melancholy ac­count of the loss of his parents and family, by the dreadful contagion which spread death and terror in that city, during the year 1793.—This afflict­ing incident, I observe, appears considerably alle­viated, by the glimmerings of hope with which he has met, in the pursuit of his love.—Should he finally be prospered in his passion, which is interwoven with his existence, he will assuredly be the happiest and best of men!—

YOU speak in your last of certain perils, which appear in the way of your love, with a timidity which seems to indicate a desire to relinquish your pursuit! Ah, Charles, is this your proof of gallantry? Are you not aware, that in every no­ble [Page 173] enterprize, the value of the acquisition is pro­portionably enhanced, by the magnitude of the difficulties surmounted? It is but an inglorious conquest which is obtained without the effusion of blood. The hero, who in victory retires from the field of battle, cloathed in scars and bloody gashes, is doubly applauded to him, who returns unhonoured with one reeking evidence of dan­ger:—much more ignoble is he, who from the mere foresight of danger, from the smell of powder I may say, basely shrinks from the encounter, avoiding a battle the issue of which, depends sole­ly on his own individual prowess?—Of such a description I shall conceive my friend Charles Alfred, if the prowling aspect of a jealous hus­band is suffered to retard his purpose of con­quering the affections of his alienated wife.

LETTER XLV. TO Mr. WILLIAM COURTNEY.

I HAVE but this moment discovered a circumstance which has confirmed me in my in­tention of communicating to you an apology for, the guilty, altho' prudent dissimulation which I practised on your goodness—Oh sir, the late un­happy Tallman, the creature, of your charity, whose concealed sorrow excited in your breast such sublime sympathy, is now the joyous and af­fluent Wellsford;—the accepted, favored lover of the adorable sister of your friend Charles Al­fred! This intelligence, my worthy friend, I am sure will delight your generosity; to which I am indebted to afford a circumstantial account of this happy vicissitude in my life, are which I hope will effectually atone for the stratagem by which I kept secret my origin, myself, and my hopes, until such times as I could declare all with unblushing pleasure.

[Page 175] THE brother of my amiable Fanny, has al­ready acquainted you with the origin of my at­tachment, and of the cruel embarrassment in which it was early involved.—Alas, I had but one hope, beside the assurance of constancy, to support me in the dreadful moments of our se­paration; and that was a fond expectation, that by a perseverance in industry and honour, I should shortly be enabled to return in circumstances, which if not acceptable to her parents, would en­title me to the clandestine attainment of the dear girl's hand!—This hope, from the moment of my departure for three successive years, appear­ed to be rapidly realizing. In India my talents for business were so liberally rewarded, that in the course of this period, I had amassed a capi­tal, which compared with the estates of Ame­rica, would be immense.—Inflated by this suc­cess with the ambition of returning to my coun­try and love, in honourable affluence, I invested the amount in the most valuable Indian articles, and, there being no immediate conveyance to America, failed with it for Bourdeaux in France.—Alas, it never reached its destination!—The world had already proved trustless to me; but now I almost dared to accuse heaven of leaguing with treachery against me!—In the midst of our voyage, which until then had proved remarkably [Page 176] auspicious, a sudden hurricane consigned my car­go and my hopes to a bottomless ocean; and the whole crew, after a perilous day spent on the shat­tered remnants of the ship, were fortunately res­cued from destruction by the humanity of a French ship of war, by which we were carried into Toulon.—Here, by the assistance of several benevolent Americans, I was lucratively employ­ed for a few months; when meeting with a fa­vourable opportunity of returning to America, and abandoning the idea of fortune, who had thus jilted me, I embarked in an American vessel for Philadelphia; my all consisting of a small wardrobe, and about two hundred dollars in cash, exclusive of my passage.

ALTHOUGH these circumstances by no means justified personal felicitation, believe me, my friend, I experienced a delightful exultation in the foresight of parental joy at my return, and the welcoming smiles of my still adored Fanny. Alas, these hopes were indeed sleeting meteors to perplex my imagination!—In the very mo­ments when my fancy was glowing with the ex­pectation of friendly delight and gratitude; listen­ing, in anticipation, to the melody of my char­mer's joy,—a new calamity blighted the pros­pect, and intercepted the bland approach of [Page 177] bliss!—The vessel was boarded by an English privateer, the passengers plundered of their all, the cargo carried into Bermuda, and condemned without reserve. Here again, I narrowly escap­ed a more execrable misfortune:—for those who were unfriended or unprotected, were forcibly carried to unite in a war as repugnant to national morality, as oppressive to humanity.

AFTER much application, I succeeded in ob­taining a passage for Baltimore, in compensation for which I was to preserve the accounts of the vessel, and occasionally assist in the labors of the crew. Alas, dear sir, the recollection of my dis­tress at the moment of your benevolence, renews all the sensations of an immense gratitude!—I was landed, unknown and unfriended, in a large mercantile town; where the general pursuit of wealth is often known to eat up the natural prin­ciples of philanthrophic charity. I had now no desire to proceed to Philadelphia; confident that the wretchedness of my condition would be distressing to the pity of my friends, and a subject of exultation for those who had formerly either envied or hated me.—Alas, what was I to do? What should I have done, but some act of des­peration, had not your generous charity rescued me from infamy, want, and ruin? Even to that [Page 178] charity my pride proved an ingrate, by counter­feiting a name! But I trust, my friend, from per­ceiving the benefit which has resulted from the artifice, you will forgive the wretch who exercis­ed it.

MR. ALFRED, who resides in the city during the influx of business, has been informed of my return, acquiesces in my addresses to his daugh­ter, and has politely undertaken to arrange the affairs of my father. These circumstances have flushed me with the hope of soon becoming the happy husband of my Fanny.—Oh, my friend, I have lost a parent, and will not you be present at the extatic moment, to deliver up your son, (for am I not the child of your bounty) to this heavenly female? Abandon business, relinquish amusements, to partake of the unbounded rap­ture of a man, who views and thanks you, next to heaven, as the cause of his felicity!

SINCE my residence here, I have observed a remarkable attachment in your young friend Charles for an amiable married lady, of the name of Franks, who is also a particular associate of my Fanny. She is indeed an accomplished wo­man; [Page 179] and I believe the pair innocently indulge in the pleasures of a real Platonic passion.

LETTER XLVI. To MRS. M. HARTELY

AT the request of your unhappy sis­ter, with whom I have recently enjoyed an un­bounded confidence, I undertake to communi­cate the distressful cause of her late silence, and the event by which she is disabled from corres­ponding with you at present.

[Page 180] ALAS, madam, how inscrutable are the mys­teries of Providence! How prompt is human na­ture to repine at the wise dispensations of heaven; not because they are really unjust or baneful, but because their infinite wisdom does not grovel to our frail judgment! Every example of woe; every bloody offering made to vice or the pas­sions, is a loud lesson of morality to the surviving children of misfortune.—Oh, madam, I am unwilling to commence a tale, the horror of which would impress terror on the hearts of in­different sensibility; but in your affectionate bo­som, whose sympathy shares with its sister's ago­ny, will assuredly produce a desperation of grief!

—A CIRCUMSTANCE of importance in my life having lately occurred, from which flowed to my friend the most consummate joy, your amiable sister, in order to augment, if possible, my sum of happiness, kindly joined in the festivity of the occasion. With a friendship whose ardour was as unceasing as pure, she seemed to labor to cre­ate new topics of joy; devoting her time and pre­sence, her talents and industry, to the accelera­tion of a period, in which she particularly, and my loving relations generally, anticipated the most transcendant delight. Alas! but two days ago, after spending the greater part with us in [Page 181] pleasant amusement, though her mirth was al­ways bounded by a certain melancholic sedate­ness, she returned home, accompanied by my brother Charles; who, after a short interval, re­appeared with paleness and horror in his face! For a while his concern choaked his utterance; But struggling, he weakly exclaimed, "FRANKS IS DEAD!" and fainting, fell breathless on the floor!—Oh, madam, pardon me, if I have too abruptly developed to your fears the fatal pur­port of my letter!

OUR first care was to revive my affected bro­ther; after which, accompanied by a young gen­tleman and servant, I hastened to the house of my esteemed friend, to inquire into the truth of Charles' frightful intelligence. A death-like si­lence surrounded the mansion!—We entered with abruptness; and meeting no person in the hall, proceeded to the well-known chamber where often my Caroline and I had indulged in serene and friendly pleasures!—Oh, madam, here we discovered the shocking object of woe, which had so agitated the feelings of my brother!—The mangled figure of Franks lay weltering in his own gore! At each side had fallen the dread­ful instruments of his infuriate madness!—The ghastly spectacle deprived me of my understand­ing; [Page 182] and leaning on my companion, I was in­sensible to every circumstance, until waking from my horrid stupefaction, I found myself in a room, where lay my distressed and invaluable friend, your dear sister! Oh, madam, this second shock nearly made frantic my soul!—The sweet com­panion of my late happy hours, the solacer of my sorrows was in the agonies of convulsion! Her tender arms bound by the fierce grasp of two male servants; while the heavenly voice whose sound was ever music and delight, now wildly pierced the air with shrieks of hedious horror!—I would have gladly rushed into her frantic arms, and, at the peril of my life, encountered the terrific madness of my friend! But they tore me from her presence, leaving her to the cruelty of unfeeling monsters!

EARLY next day, I hastened to the melancho­ly scene—Oh, joyous reception!—My Caroline was calm and reasonable in her distress.—Her brilliant eyes were either dimmed, or their fire extinguished, by a night employed in tears and distracted misery. The lilly had usurped the ter­ritory of the rose, spreading over her heavenly face a deathly and affecting paleness!—She seiz­ed my hand; and, bathing it in tears, begged me to write to you of the circumstances of her fa­mily. [Page 183] —I replied, I would, if she thought it pro­per so grievously to afflict a tender sister.—Alas, this remark wrapt her in profound meditation;—the big tears of anguish rolled down her cheek in the midst of her reverie:—"For heaven's sake," cried I, "my Caroline, why will you be so wretched?"—She screamed, "Oh, my sister, my sister!" and again her dear frame was convulsed by the dominion of a horrible madness!—Thus has she been ever since; her reason dawning forth at intervals, as the sun after a dreadful storm!—In her rational moments she talks fre­quently of you; then, starting, cries for her mur­dered husband; and relapses into a paroxism by screaming for my brother, who is still confined by the first impression of this transaction.

ALAS, madam, my all of distress heretofore is insignificant compared with that produced by this disastrous event. Heaven only knows by what infernal motive the unfortunate man was tempted to the commission of so impious an act; throwing himself guilty and unprepared into the face of heaven, and staining the earth with sacri­legious blood. Always have I remarked him to be a man of selfish principles; fond of contem­plation, and adverse to the joys of social life. He had for a long time maintained a strange inter­course [Page 184] with an unworthy family in this neigh­bourhood, who, it is presumed, were privy to the perpetration of this act. Alas, much I fear, that some unhappy influence from them has im­pelled him, without regard to religion or morali­ty, to turn a murderous hand upon himself. He left behind him no appeal to the world; no written explanation of the occasion of his con­duct. The evening after his catastrophe, the ser­vants buried his mangled corpse in the forest back of the farm.

AS to your dear sister, much I apprehend, madam, that her tender nature, unable to bear this tremendous shock, will soon fall a victim to the ravages of madness. Already her exhaust­ed strength renders her the sad resemblance of death; besides which, she persists in refusing all offers of nourishment.—We have sent to town for Dr. R—, that patron of humanity, whose presence imparts health to the patient, and comfort to the distressed.—Be assured, no act of service shall be omitted by your

LETTER XLVII. To MR. HENRY WELLSFORD.

MY appearance in this city, will no doubt, astonish you. It is produced by your last letter; not, however, as you will at first expect, to participate in your deserved felicity, but, I ra­ther fear, to rankle it by a new species of distress.

THE enclosed is for Charles Alfred, to whom I must request you immediately to deliver it. He is a man, sir, guilty of a system of the most atroci­ous duplicity, exercised under the sacred disguise of friendship;—a man who has rendered the pri­vileges of confidence, the base means of tarnish­ing the character of my family. To resent such villainy is the purpose of my present visit.—I shall forbear to relate the particular infamy of his con­duct; trusting that your sense of honour and pro­priety, disregarding the connexion you expect in [Page 186] his family, will induce you to assist in any mea­sure which may accelerate the reparation of my honour, and the punishment of his treachery.

LETTER XLVIII. To CHARLES ALFRED.

GUILT like yours cannot long lurk in successful concealment. The agency of hea­ven will disclose its infamy, and the hand of jus­tice inflict its punishment.—A perfidious friend is the inmate of hell, and the accomplice of fiends.

I HAVE, sir, inadvertently detected the villainy of your motives, for the pretended modesty of your withholding the name of the unhappy woman [Page 187] whose virtue and fidelity you have violated. Un­der the profession of a holy friendship, you have murdered the character of my whole family, by insulting the chastity of my sister!—Yes, wretch, you knew it:—While your infernal lust boiled in your blood, your tongue profaning the name of friend, you knew that the seduced Caroline Franks, was the sister of Courtney. But this idea, could not weaken or repel your diabolical design: By a perfidious encroachment on my understanding, you artfully angled, until you drew me into an approbation of the infernal deed.

HAVE you the feelings of a man or a brother?—Or does your guilty heart adhere only to qua­lities of vice and cowardice? Though your of­fence would justify indiscriminate vengeance, without the preliminaries of honour, I will per­mit you the chance of escape, if you dare meet an insulted friend, this evening, armed and alone, in the wood adjoining your plantation.—Should your cowardice decline this interview, be assur­ed I shall speedily adopt a surer mode of ven­geance.