A Collection of moral and entertaining stories, calculated for the instruction and entertainment of youth. : Containing I. Story of Frank Leeson. II. Florio. --An affecting story. III. Story of Edward and Maria. IV. The generosity of an injured daughter. V. Fraternal affection. VI. The remarkable duel.

A Collection of moral and entertaining stories, calculated for the instruction and entertainment of youth. : Containing I. Story of Frank Leeson. II. Florio. --An affecting story. III. Story of Edward and Maria. IV. The generosity of an injured daughter. V. Fraternal affection. VI. The remarkable duel.

Table of contents

[1]

Title page

SINGULAR STORY OF FRANK LEESON.

FLORIO.—an affecting STORY.

STORY OF EDWARD AND MARIA.

THE GENEROSITY OF AN INJURED DAUGHTER.

FRATERNAL AFFECTION.

THE REMARKABLE DUEL.

[2]

Title page

THE NEW PYGMALION. A NOVEL.

AMELIA: OR, THE FAITHLESS BRITON.

§

§

§

[Page]

[Page]

COLLECTION OF MORAL AND ENTERTAINING STORIES, Calculated for the Instruction and Entertainment of YOUTH.

CONTAINING,

I. STORY OF FRANK LEESON.

II. FLORIO.—An affecting STORY.

III. STORY of EDWARD and MARIA.

IV. The GENEROSITY of an INJURED DAUGHTER.

V. FRATERNAL AFFECTION.

VI. The REMARKABLE DUEL.

PRINTED AT [...],

MDCCXCVIII.

[Page]

SINGULAR STORY OF FRANK LEESON.

IT sometimes happens that men, who make the most dangerous deviations from the laws of society, and the principles of virtue, in a great measure owe their crimes to the very benevolence of their hearts; and that in the midst of all their guilt we find a dignity of soul which commands our highest admiration.

Frank Leeson, was the son of a country gentleman in Ireland▪ who possessed a little estate of about [...]00 pounds a year, but who, with that liberality of sentiment, so particularly the characteristic of his nation, gave into an hospitality rather beyond the power of his circumstances, and in promoting the happiness of his friends, too frequently forgot a necessary attention to his own; the consequence may be easily foreseen by the intelligent reader; old Mr. Leeson was involved in perpetu [...] difficulties, and was upon the e [...]e of being thrown into prison, when he was saved from a disgrace of that [Page] nature by the extraordinary piety of his son; Frank to a very excellent understanding joined a very amiable person; on which account, a young lady with an independent fortune of 8000l. had long beheld him with a favourable e [...]e; but Frank being attached to another whose beauty and merit were her only recommendations, had hitherto declined to profit by this lady's partiality; however, when he saw there was no other method of saving an infirm father and mother from poverty and bondage, the force of his filial affection got the better of his love; he tore himself from the woman of his soul, and married the eight thousand pounds: With this money, he paid off all the old gentlem [...]n's debts, and entered the world with a degree of reputation, considerably superiour to the generality of his acquaintance.

As nothing could separate Frank and his father, the old couple and the young lived for sometime in the most perfect state of harmony under the same roof; and the severity of their former situation producing a necessary regulation in their expences, they were every day rising no less in opulence th [...] in felicity, when an unexpected misfortune le [...]t them in the moment of their ut [...]most security without shelter and without bread: Old Mr. Leeson, finding his health [Page] very much impaired, and conceiving a disgust moreover at the part in which he resided, because his friends had not formerly been so ready to assist him in his necessities, as he had reason to expect; resolved, with the concurrence of his son, to dispose of his estate, and to make an adequate purchase, in the neighbourhood of Dublin, where he might have an opportunity of consulting the best physicians, and establishing a more agreeable circle of acquaintance; Pursuant to this plan, he sold every acre he possessed, had the purchase money home in bills, and was preparing to set off for another part of the kingdom in a day or two, when an accidental fire reduced his habitation to an heap of ashes, destroyed all his effects, and gave him scarcely a moment more than was absolutely necessary for the preservation of his family: Frank, whose whole property was also in bills, and packed up ready for the intended departure, lost all in the general calamity, and was obliged, together with his father, his mother and his wife, to take refuge at a neighbouring gentleman's for a few days, till they were in a capacity of reaching the metropolis, where Frank expected from some letters which he obtained to the Lord Lieutenant, to procure a little establishment either in the army or the publick offices.

[Page]On the arrival of our unfortunate family in town, young Mr. Leeson applied himself industriously to profit by his recommendations; but alas, though he met with civility, he could obtain no relief▪ every fresh application gave him nothing but fresh occasion to lament the miserable prospect before him; and while he was continually cheering every bosom at home with the speedy expectation of hale [...]on days, he had nothing but despair in his own. At length, destruction became too evident to be concealed; his father who was now confined to his bed, had been a whole day without sustenance, and young Mrs. Leeson was every hour trembling, lest the pains of parturiency should oblige her to solicit the charitable assistance of the publick; thus situated, torn with a thousand pa [...]gs, for a wife who possessed his highest esteem; for a father whom he almost worshipped, and a mother whom he tenderly loved; Frank sallied out one evening [...]nto the st [...]eets and stopping a gentleman whose appearance indicated opulence, he demanded his money, with such a wildness of accent, that the gentleman terrified out of his wits, immediately gave him a purse of fifty guineas, and Frank eagerly retreated to his lodgings. depositing the money with his father, and telling him he had received it from the Lord Lieutenant's [Page] order, as an earnest only of future obligations; the family at home not doubting the truth of this relation, pouted out their whole souls in acknowledgment of the viceroy's goodness, and once more refreshed themselves with a comfortable repast.

Next morning, however, the robbery became noised abroad, and to the great surprize of every body a merchant of the fi [...]st character and fortune was apprehended for the fact and lodged in Newgate; on the earliest knowledge of this circumstance, Frank immediately wrote to the innocent gentleman, desiring him to be under no apprehension, for if he was not honourably acquitted, the person actually guilty would on the day of trial appear in court, acknowledge his crime, and surrender himself to the violated laws of his country; the gentleman naturally read his letter to every body, but though such as were his friends, talked of it as a most extraordinary affair, the generality of people considered it as a despicable artifice, calculated to impose on the credulity of the publick. However, the day of trial at last came; and notwithstanding the merchant's character appeared irreproachable before this unfortunate stain; notwithstanding several personages of the higest figure, proved him a man remarkably nice in his principles, and opulent in his [Page] circumstances; the prosecutor was so positive in his charge, and a number of circumstances so surprisingly concurred, that he was actually convicted; and the judge proceeding to sentence, when a loud noise of make way ran through the court, and young Mr. Leeson, with a manly, yet modest countenance, rushed forward, demanded to be heard, and spoke to this effect, viz.

"YOU see before you, my Lord, an unhappy young man, who once little thought of violating the laws of his country, and who wished rather to be the friend, than th [...] enemy of society; but who knows to what he may be urged in the hour of a piercing calamity; to what he may be wrought, when destitute of friends, and destitute of bread? I, my Lord, was born a gentleman and bred one; six months ago I was master of an easy fortune, but an accidental fire in a moment reduced me to beggery, and what still more distressed me, placed an infirm and excellent father, an aged and tender mother, together with the best of women and the best of wives, in the same lamentabl [...] situation. Encouraged by some recommendations to the great, we came up to town, and expected a decent means of procuring a subsistence; but alas, my Lord, those who want compassion most are those who are most commonly disregarded; instead of [Page] assistance we received compliments, and met with the bow of a frigid politeness, where we looked for the bounteous hand of relief; so that in a littel time, our all was totally exhausted; and my unhappy father, with the venerable partner of his youth, were above a day without any sustenance, whatsoever; when unable to see them expiring for food, I rushed forth, and committed the robbery, for which this gentleman, now prisoner at the bar, has been condemned.

"This was not the whole of my affliction —a fond deserving wife, who had brought me a plentiful fortune, lay also perishing with hunger, and that too, in a situation which demanded the tenderest attention, and the most immediate regard; such, my Lord, were my motives for that unjustifiable action. Had the gentleman condemned, been happily acquitted, I had not made this publick acknowledgment of my guilt: Heaven only knows what I have suffered during his confinement; but the empire of the universe would not bribe me to injure him farther; nor tempt me by an infamous sacrifice of his life, to consult the safety of my own. Here then, my Lord, I claim his sentence, and demand his bonds. Providence will, I doubt not, now take care of my innocent family, who are equally ignorant [Page] of my crime, and my self-accusation.— For my own part, I am resigned; and I feel nothing in consequence of my approaching fate, but from what I am sensible my miserable friends must suffer on my account."

Here Mr. Leeson ended, and the whole [...]ourt was lost in approbation and tears.—He was, however, condemned, but pardoned the same day; and his character suffered so little upon this occasion, that the Lord Lieutenant gave him, with his life, a place of seven hundred pounds a year; while the merchant, who had been accused from resembling him excessively, dying sometime after without issue, left him his whole fortune, as a reward for so exemplary an act of justice and generosity.

FLORIO.—an affecting STORY.

THE parents of the unhappy youth, whose story we are abut to relate, dwelt at S—, a little town in the County of N—, where his father, a man of great merit and strict piety, officiated as curate, with an income of about fifty pounds a year. Florio was their only child, who being a lad of a sprightly genius, had so far improved by the unwearied assiduity of his father, [Page] as to be, in his twelfth year, a perfect master of the Latin tongue, and not entirely unacquainted with the Greek: Yet, great as his father's care was in instructing him in these points, it was still far exceeded by a regard for his morals. He had imbibed the seeds of virtue from his birth; and the affectionate father took every opportunity of improving them.

By these means the little family lived in the most exalted happiness, till the youth had attained his fourteenth year, when all their bliss was destroyed by no less a calamity than the death of the indulgent father; a misfortune which could only be alleviated by the resignation with which he met the hand of Providence. Nothing can be imagined more affecting than the calmness of the father, and the inexpressible grief of the mother and her son. "The pains of death (exclaims the expiring husband) bring no ter [...]or with them: I die, relying with confidence on my blessed Redeemer. My only affliction is the thoughts of your future welfare: Persevere, however, in the steps which you have begun, and trust in the Lord for your support. For you, my dear Florio (embrac [...]ing his son in an ecstasy of joy) I leave you exposed to the frowns of a malicio [...] world; but I trust in the goodness of your heart to support you under every [Page] calamity: But let me recommend it to you, above all things, to remain dutiful to your mother, and, for my sake, be to her both a son and a husband, that she may experience at the same time your duty and protection." He would have said more; but finding his spirits faint, he ended with. "Remember these my last words when I am gone; a few minutes will remove me from you; adieu forever, adieu." He had scarce uttered these words, when with a Christian calmness he expired.

His widow and her unfortunate orphan, consoled each other as well as this important event would permit them. No grief could recal the departed parent; and they now began to turn their eyes on their own condition. A relation, who was a tradesman in Philadelphia, and had no family of his own, had often desired to have Florio to town in his father's life time, which the tender father could never be brought to comply with. However, on the news of the clergyman's death, the generous Altamont flew to S—, and prevailed on the afflicted mother to part with her son, promising to adopt him for his own. This was an unexpected stroke to her; to lose her husband, and now to be deprived of her son, was more than she could well bear: But recollecting it was not in her power to make a [Page] provision for Florio equal to his merit, she at length consented to Altamont's proposals, who set out soon after for town, overjoyed with his adopted son.

The mother, as she had lived very frugal during the life of her husband, had saved a little money, which, as her son was so well provided for, she laid out in an estate, and, for the sake of cheapness, retired farther into the country, where she kept up a constant correspondence with her son, whose dutiful letters were the greatest comfort of her life.

Florio, daily experienced fresh instances of the disinterested friendship of his benef [...]ctor; and now the blessings of prosperity seemed again to smile upon him. His only study was to please his generous patron, who amply recompensed his assiduity by the most grateful acknowledgments. In this manner he spent near three years in the most perfect felicity; but this bliss was too great to be permanent.

The affairs of Altamont required his presence at a little estate he had in the country; and as he knew his business in town would be faithfully transacted by Florio, he proposed staying a month or two in the country; but not choosing to leave the care of his house to a young woman, he invited the widow of his friend Lothario to stay in it during [Page] his absence as he was certain he might depend on her prudence in managing his family.

Having thus settled every thing to his mind, the generous Altamont set out on his intended journey with great satisfaction; but alas! little dreamt of the dreadful chain of miseries which were so soon to follow.

The widow of Lothario was left with two small children, both boys, and a very scanty provision to maintain them; one of them, however survived his father but a short time; the other was maintained by the generosity of some friends, at a boarding school in the country: Yet, notwithstanding the expenses of her children being taken off, the unfortunate Raphelia could scacre support herself on her trifling income. This Altamont knew and for that reason invited her to the care of his house.

She was naturally of an agreeable temper; and notwithstanding all her misfortunes, the beauty of her face was not totally vanished. Her affability soon procured her the esteem of Florio, which on her side was repaid by the most affectionate regard. She frequently with a flood of tears related to him the happiness she once enjoyed with her loved Lothario, and the miseries she had since his death experienced. This could not fail of working on the benevolent disposition of Florio; he endeavoured to [Page] console her anxiety, but in vain; he remonstrated to her the crime of murmuring at the dispensations of Providence; but to that she was entirely inattentive; and often, in the innocent simplicity of his heart, knelt down before her, and earnestly requested her, in that moving posture, to desist from her uneasiness. This goodness served only to increase, insted of alleviating, the grief of Raphelia. She raised up the compassionate youth, and tenderly embracing him, returned him her most grateful thanks for his pity, the tears trickling all the while from both their eyes. This friendship imperceptibly increased into the most ardent love. But now, reader, it is time to throw a veil on these unhappy lovers. Let it suffice to say that in an ill fated hour they were both ruined, though it is hard to tell which was the s [...]ducer, or which the seduced. In short, they indulged their criminal love till the return of Altamont, who, in his journey, had paid a visit to the mother of Florio, and greatly comforted her with the character he gave of the promising youth her son.

The intrigue of Florio had never been suspected by the servants, as the age of Raphelia gave a sanction to any little liberty taken before them. Upon Altamont's arrival, and inquiry into the state of his affairs, he found all his business had been exactly [Page] performed according to his directions; nor was he less pleased with a review of the domestick care of Raphelia, which he acknowledged by a handsome present.

Though she was now removed from Florio, he still pursued her to her lodgings, unknown to Altamont or his family; till one evening when he went as usual, he found her in tears. This he could not bear, and immediately requested the reason of them: But judge, reader, what must be his surprise, when she declared herself pregnant! This was a thought which had entered neither of their heads, she thinking herself secure by age, and he by youth. They were now distressed indeed; but as one crime usually brings on another, he resolved to fly from the shame which he saw approaching. Dissembling his mind, however, before her, (a thing which till then he had never been guilty of) he endeavoured to comfort her as well as he could, promising to call on her the nex day.

He left the room, but without intending ever to see it again; and immediatly fled his native country, and arrived at Bristol, where he entered on board a privateer, fitting out for the Westindies. They had not been out long, before they met with a French frigate, which the captain resolved to board. Florio, desperate with affliction, was permitted [Page] to be of the number appointed to board her, and soon appeared upon the deck of the Frenchman, where, overpowered by numbers, he at last received a mortal wound, though not before he had given several himself. The surgeon in vain endeavoured to bleed him, he was too far gone for assistance, and soon after expired. On searching his chest, a letter was found directed to Altamont, filled with the most grateful acknowledgments for all his kindness, and acquainting him with the reasons of his elopement. This was conveyed to him▪ and the news soon reached the ears of the unfortunate Raphelia, who looking on herself as the cause of his death, took the horrid resolution of destroying both herself and her unborn infant by poison, thinking to expiate her guilt by the horrid cr [...]me of suicide.

Thu [...] perished a youth, an innocent victim to unlawful love, who promised to be an ornament to his country; a melancholy proof of the danger of indulging too great a friendship for a woman, however unequal her years may be. And thus likewise fell one, who had lived a maiden and a wife with an unblemished reputation, and was unthinkingly l [...]st by giving way to too great a sorrow for the loss of her husband; and who, st [...]n [...] to the heart with the reproaches of her own conscience, closed the melancholy [Page] period of her life, by putting in execution the horrid deed she had resolved on, leaving a wretched orphan to the friendship of relations.

STORY OF EDWARD AND MARIA.

"MY father had two children, a daughter and myself. Anxious for our improvement, he injudiciously conceived, that the first duty incumbent upon every parent was that of bestowing a genteel education on his children. Accordingly he sent us to the most respectable schools he could select, where we received instructions that would have enabled us to have appeared in the highest sphere of life. My father, who was a woollen draper, upon my leaving school, disclosed to me his intention of binding me apprentice to himself, and intending me as his successor; but my vanity revolted at the idea. I was shocked beyond conception, and left my father's presence with evident signs of anger and disapprobation. He now discovered his folly, and repented that he had bestowed on me an education from which I had imbibed principles so repugnant to a situation I conceived derogatory of my character. But repentance▪ he found, was fruitless; and all his men [...] and solicitations [Page] proving ineffectual, he sent me to the East-Indies, through the interest and recommendations of some of his friends, in the capacity of a writer. Poverty, seemed preferable to the situation of a mechanick. I joyfully accepted of the place, and at length, by succession, became a senior merchant, in which station riches poured in upon me unsolicited.

"Having obtained an affluent fortune, I returned to my own country, after an absence of twenty five years. The first inquiry, you must naturally imagine, I made on my return, was after my father and sister: (my mother, I should have told you, died when we were infants) the former, I heard, had some time since fallen a victim to affliction: and how great was my astonishment when I heard that my sister had been the fatal cause of it, by a miserable prostitution of her person! In vain I made use of every channel of information for the recovery of my poor wretched Maria. Every attempt to gain any knowledge of her was vain, and her fate might perhaps have remained unknown to me till this day, had not chance directed me to her.

"As I returned home from the conviviality of some friends one night, a little intoxicated, with others in the same situation as myself, having ill treated a man who had [Page] expostulated with us for disturbing the neighbourhood at so late an hour, we were conducted to the watch house, where I shortly heard the groan of a female in an adjoining room. My mind was still susceptible of pity; and though almost overcome by the power of wine, my sensations were equally tender.

"A prescence of mind, or some instinctive power, induced me to inquire into the s [...]uation of the miserable object. "It proceeds," said the watchman, "from a wretched prostitute, whose distresses have moved me to assist her. My wife," added he, "is now with her, using her utmost endeavours to prolong her existence: but I fear every attempt will prove useless." I earnestly entreated him to lead me to the unfortunate woman before she breathed her last. He consented. But what was my astonishment and se [...]sations when I recognised, in this almost expiring obj [...]ct of pity and misery, my [...], long lost Maria! Overcome by the dist [...]ssing sight. I fell breathless in the kee [...]'s arms. It was too much for human sen [...]ib [...]lity to support. When I recovered, the unfor [...]nate wretch was clinging [...]ound my neck, in all the agonies of grief and despair, exclaiming, in the most piteous accents, "O look upon me, look upon me, Edward, and bless me with your forgiveness before I [Page] die! Oh, my brother, my Edward, forgive and bless your poor Maria!" She said no more; and I had scarce time to say, "I forgive thee," when she expired in my arms.

"When I had recovered a little from the horrors which enveloped me, I laid the dead corpse on the bed, and scarcely could my friends disentangle me from the body. I remained some time in a state of stupefaction, and was lamenting that she had not been able to recount the tale of her miseries, that I might be revenged on her seducer, when the keeper's wife interrupted my lamentation by informing me, that my sister had briefly disclosed to her, a few moments before my entering, the source of all her wretchedness. "It originated," she said, "from the well-meaning but false ideas of her father. An education that he had bestowed on her superior to her humble situation, continually harrassed her mind with false notions of vanity, which were the first motives that induced her to aspire to the association of a woman eminently her superior, and with whom she had formed an intimate connection at school. A heart like her's, envenomed by that destructive poison▪ pride, and so nicely susceptible of the tender passion, could not long withstand the seducing arts that were so assiduously spread to ensnare her v [...]rtue. To conclude, good woman," [Page] added she, "I fell a victim to my own vanity, the foundation of which was innocently laid by my poor father."

"Thus, in a watch house, ended the miserable existence of a woman whose heart being fundamentally good and virtuous, might have formed an useful and respectable member of society, a tender wife, and an affectionate mother, had not her brain been intoxicated by the effects of a false education."

THE GENEROSITY OF AN INJURED DAUGHTER.

FILIAL piety is a flower of so delicate a nature, that we meet but very few places which can produce it; and though we frequently hear of parents who ruin themselves for the sake of their children, yet, we seldom or ever hear of children, who do any extraordinary acts of kindness to their parents. Perhaps nature has formed the parental sensibility, infinitely more exquisite than the filial, and, for some wise purpose, implanted a much greater fondness on our minds for those we beget and educate, than for those by whom we are begotten and educated ourselves; at least custom has firmly established such different sentiments relative to the behavour of parent and child, that it [Page] is thought a matter of the highest praise in a wealthy son to settle a paltry fifty pound for life on a distressed and worthy father; but an action of little or no merit in a father to settle twenty times the sum upon an indigent son. I supped last night at my sister Rattle's, where I generally hear something new, and was entertained by my nephew Harry, with the following exception to the foregoing position, which I flatter myself will prove no disagreeable relation to my readers.

An eminent merchant, whose name I think necessary to conceal under that of Webley, married a most amiable woman, with whom he received a considerable fortune, and by whom he was blest in the first year with a daughter, called Marria: Mrs. Webley however unhappily catching a cold during the time of her lying in, did not long survive the birth of her child, but died in about three months after; with her last breath conjuring her husband to be particularly attentive to the welfare of the unfortunate little Maria.

Mr. Webley for two years before his marriage had been connected with a subtle designing woman, by whom he also had a daughter, nor did his having a wife put an end to the guilty intercourse: Under pretence of important business, he frequently [Page] staid in town with her a night or two in the week, while Mrs. Webley was down at the country house in Hertfordshire; and as frequently carried her into the country with him, whenever he knew his lady could not conveniently leave town:— His marriage, in fact, was rather an engagement of interest, than a union of inclination; and Mrs. Webley's fortune enabling him to live up to the summit of his wishes, the moment she was interred, he thought there was no farther necessity for restraint or disguise.— In short, six weeks had scarcely elapsed, when he married the abandoned woman we have been speaking of, and pitched upon the most profligate of her sex, to supply the place of the very best.

We shall pass over the time of Maria's infancy, when she experienced little more than the diminutive cruelty of a narrow minded mother in law, and come at once to that period which may be justly reckoned the most important of her life: She had just entered on her eighteenth year, and was blooming into all the perfections of her sex, when Mrs. Webley began to think of executing a scheme which she had long in agitation.—She saw Maria treated by every body with the greatest respect, and beheld her own daughter, though drest out in all the fashionable soppery of the times, and infinitely [Page] more attended to, received with a degree of insipid civilty, that bordered upon contempt. The shameful neglect which Maria experienced at home, gave a constant lustre to her merit when abroad, and if she found no kind of countenance in her own family, she met with the highest in every other place.—This was a circumstance which galled Mrs. Webley to the very soul, and being moreover fearful that the regard so universally shewn to Maria, would be a means of obstructing any favourable addresses which might be made to her own daughter, she took a speedy opportunity of quarrelling with that unhappy young lady, and being as the generality of those of her principles most commonly are, both master and mistress of the house, very fairly turned her out of doors. Maria was not however destitute of a protector, though she had lost a father. A young fellow, with a good understanding and a splendid estate, who had long solicited her favourable opinion, and gained it, took that opportunity of pressing for her hand, and was made the happiest of men.

Maria was married about five years, during which time, though she had often entreated for a reconciliation, she never could be admitted to the presence of her father; when taking up the Gazette, one Saturday [Page] evening, she met with his name amongst the list of bankrupts, and instantly fainted on the floor: She was however soon brought to herself, when forgetting in a moment how she had been turned out upon the charity of an inhospitable world, and exposed to the most pinching poverty and disgrace: how for a series of years she had been treated as an alien to her father's family, and even denied the most trivial necessaries, while strangers were rioting on her mother's fortune; she flew to her husband, whose happiness was centered in obliging her, and pointing out the miserable situation of her father, obtained his consent to settle three hundred a year out of a sum which he would allow her for pin money, on him, to alleviate so distressing an incident: With this she immediately took coach, and proceeded to her father's; the door was now thrown open at her approach; and being introduced to the old gentleman's presence, they gazed upon one another for some moments, and then burst into a mutual flood of tears.

Mr. Webley's misfortunes had opened his eyes to the strangeness of his conduct, and nobody could be more ready to condemn it than himself. What then must we judge his emotions to be, when a daughter, whom he had lest destitute of bread, came to offer him a genteel allowance for life; [Page] and the same eyes which he had steeped in tears of the keenest distress, came to fill his with drops of unutterable joy; his gratitude as a man, his feelings as a father, instantly rushed upon his soul; he dryed his eyes, looked full in his daughter's face for some moments, then capering about the room with the phrenzy of a bedlamite, burst afresh into tears. Suffice it, however, that after his affairs were settled, he retired into the country, upon this yearly allowance, but did not live long enough to enjoy the first quarter: The mortification of being a bankrupt, the consciousness of his family errors, and finally, the very generosity of his daughter, which was intended to sweeten the remainder of his life, proved a means of hurrying him to his end: The agitation of his mind threw the gout into his stomach, and he died in Maria's arms, in the fiftieth year of his age. His wife and daughter now thought themselves utterly undone! but Maria, with a greatness of mind peculiar to herself, in an instant dispelled their apprehensions by a continuation of two hundred a year, during her life; and without ever stooping to hint any thing of their former behaviour, told them, tha [...] they must consider it as no compliment, since she looked upon it as an indispensible duty, which she ought to pay to the memory of her father.

[Page]

FRATERNAL AFFECTION.

THE greatest misfortunes that attend women, arise from false delicacy. If on every emergency the daughter was to look up to the father, the sister to the brother, or the niece to the uncle, they would in general experience not only proper advice, but if necessary, certain protection. In love affairs particularly, the female should if possible make a confidant [...] of her nearest male relative. It is a passion of which no woman need be ashamed. Nature has planted it in the heart, and without it, beauty would have no influence, nor virtue any criterion to prove her value.

Leonora had a brother to whom she was dear as life; she had a lover too who was his intimate friend, and for this lover she entertained a sincere passion.

This gentleman, whom we shall call Albertus, was left by his father in rather indigent circumstances; but Lorenzo, the brother of Leonora, who had formed an attachment to him at school, by purchase, though he pretended it was by interest, procured him a civil employment, sufficiently competent to support a gentleman.

Albertus spent all his leisure hours at the house of his friend, and the amiable virtues of Leonora, which animated a beautiful face, soon subdued his heart by their powerful influence.

[Page]Gratitude combated strongly with passion. The obligations he owed Lorenzo, made him resolve forever to quit the presence of Leonora, yet he could not prevail on himself to depart without communicating the cause.

This was a trial which required the utmost exertions of fortitude: but accident soon produced an opportunity.

Albertus sitting one morning in a parlour with Leonora, she received a letter from her brother, which as she perused, her hands trembled, her face flushed, and at last overpowered by sensibility, she fainted, and fell prostrate upon a couch on which she fat.

Albertus flew to her assistance—he raised her in his arms, and that instant a female servant entered the room, and drawing a criminal conclusion from the situation in which she saw the lovers, immediately retired, unperceived.

Leonora on recovering was overwhelmed with confusion, nor was Albertus in a less pitiable situation. His solicitude, the tenderness of his manner, his joy at her recovery, and a kiss, which he involuntarily pressed upon one hand, while with the other she adjusted her handkerchief, that opened as she fell, convinced her of what she wished to know, of what Albertus feared to disclose, that she was the object of his love.

Having in some degree recovered her serenity, she resolved to put the heart of Albertus [Page] to further proof. She was not such a novice in the knowledge of human nature, as to be ignorant of the effect of beauty, and the agitation of Albertus might have been the consequence of sensual passion. She therefore put the letter in his hand—he read, he sighed—he looked on her, and wept.

"I am convinced, said Leonora to herself, he loves me—You must meet me, said she, addressing Albertus, in a couple of hours in the garden, for I am resolved to be guided by your advice in this business"—and she left him abruptly.

This letter was from the brother of Leonora. It informed her that a person of great fortune had proposed a tender of his heart.

Albertus took his resolution, which was not to impede the elevation of Leonora.— "my advice to her" said he, with a deep [...]igh, "must be to accept the happiness offered her;" and the hour of appointment having come, he went into the garden.

Lorenzo soon after arrived, and was met in the hall by the female who peeped in at the parlour door. He enquired for his sister, and was informed she was in the garden, and would have immediately gone to her, but madam Jane stopped him.

With this Jane, Lorenzo had carried on an illicit connection; she was of a malign [Page] mind, and represented what she had seen in colours the most aggravating, but cunningly softening the guilt imputed by her information, with an assurance that she believed the parties were married.

Lorenzo, fought the lovers, and soon arrived at the place of assignation, with his sword drawn—he overheard all that passed, and every sentence convinced him that J [...]e was a liar.

The disinterested love of Albertus founded in gratitude and friendship—the virtuous sensibility of his sister overpowered him— he burst from his covert, and Albertus seeing the sword exclaimed, strike here, and free me from torture.

No, answered Lorenzo, I come to render happy the best of friends, and most amiable of sisters—and taking Leonora's had he conducted it, she nothing loth, to the hand of Albertus.

THE REMARKABLE DUEL.

THE fame of an English dog has been deservedly transmitted to posterity by a monument in basso relievo, which still remains on the chimney piece of the grand hall, at the Castle of Montargis in France. [Page] The sculpture represents a dog fighting with a champion, and was occasioned by the following circumstances.

Aubri de Mondridier, a gentleman of family and fortune, travelling along through the forest of Bondi, was murdered, and buried under a tree. His dog, an English blood hound, would not quit his master's g [...]ve for several days, till at length compelled by hunger, he went to the house of an intimate friend of the unfortunate Aubri's at Paris, and by his melancholy howling, seemed desirous of expressing the loss they had both sustained. He repeated his cries, ran to the door, then looked back to see if any one followed him, returned to his masters friend, pulled him by the sleeve, and with dumb eloquence entreated him, to go with him.

The singularity of all the actions of the dog; his coming there without his master, whose faithful companion he always had been; the sudden disappearance of his master: and, perhaps, that divine dispensation of justi [...] [...] events, which will not per [...] the guilty to remain long undetected, made the company resolve to follow the dog, who conducted them to the tree, where he renewed his [...]wl, scratching the earth with his feet, to signify that was the spot they should search. Accordingly, on digging, [Page] the body of the unfortunate Aubri was found.

Some time after the dog accidentally met the assassin, who is stiled, by all historians that relate this fact, the Chevalier Macaire; when instantly seizing him by the throat, it was with great difficulty he was made to quit his prey. Whenever he saw him afterwards, the dog pursued and attacked him with equal fury. Such obstinate virulence in the animal, confined only to Macaire, appeared extraordinary to those persons who recollected the dog's fondness for his master, and at the same time several instances wherein Macaire had displayed his envy and hatred to Aubri de Mondridier.

Additional circumstances encreased suspicion, which at length reached the royal ear. The king, Louis VIII. sent for the dog. He appeared extremely gentle, until perceiving Macaire, in the midst of twenty noblemen, he run directly towards him, growled, and slew at him as usual.

In those times, when no positive proof of a crime could be procured, an order was issued for a combat between the [...] and accused. These were denominated the judgments of God, from a persuasion that [...]eaven would sooner work a miracle than [...] innocence to perish with infamy.

The king, struck with such a circumstantial [Page] collection of evidence against Macaire, determined to refer the decision to the chance of war, in other words, gave orders for a combat between the Chevalier and the dog. The lists were appointed in the isle of Notre Dame, then an uninclosed, uninhabited place: Macaire's weapon was a great cudgel.

The dog had an empty cask allowed for his retreat, to recover breath. The combatants being ready, the dog no sooner found himself at liberty, than he ran round his adversary, avoiding his blows, menacing him on every side, till his strength was exhausted; then springing forward, he griped him by the throat, threw him on the ground, and forced him to confess his crime before the king and the whole court. In consequence of which the Chevalier, after a few days, was convicted up [...]n his own acknowledgment, and beheaded on a scaffold in the isle of Notre Dame.

§

§

§

[Page]

THE NEW PYGMALION. A NOVEL. TO WHICH IS ADDED, AMELIA: OR, THE FAITHLESS BRITON. AN AMERICAN TALE.

NORTHAMPTON, PRINTED BY ANDREW WRIGHT.

1798.

[Page]

THE NEW PYGMALION. A NOVEL.

A YOUNG gentleman of rank and fortune, in one of his morning walks through Paris, was struck with the appearance of a beautiful little creature that was earning her daily pittance by traversing the streets for cinders! Notwithstanding she was in tatters, and disfigured with dust, her eyes were brilliant and expressive. The youth was captivated with so uncommon an object, and his humanity pleaded powerfully in her favour. What, said he to himself, should hinder me of being serviceable to this unhappy object! Perhaps her person might make her fortune; I should then make two happy. After this short soliloquy he enquired where her parents lived? She replied, I am an orphan, Sir; a neighbour took me into her house, and I endeavour to get a bit of bread that I may not be sent to the workhouse.

But you would be much better there than as you are now.

O Sir, one of my companions, who is there, says, she would rather starve than be obliged to live in such a place. Well, my [Page] child, if you like it, I will take care of you in future; I will provide you a mistress, who shall cloathe and instruct you in some business more creditable; and all I require of you is, to profit by the expense I shall be at on your account.

The little creature, delighted with the offer, begs to shew him her house. He accompanies her to a fruiterer's, where he learnt her docility and application. This poor, but industrious woman, had taken care to have her taught reading and writing; and here he found that this orphan was the daughter of an exciseman, who died in extreme indigence, and that her name was Louisa Passementier.

Our new Pygmalion pleased with this information, intimated his views respecting Louisa, agreed to allow her a certain annual sum for the time she had taken this orphan into her house, and ordered her to be decently cloathed.

The man who has found a valuable diamond incrusted with dirt, could not be more overjoyed [...]han the protector of Louisa, when he saw her clean, and under the hands of the mantua maker. Nothing can make a greater impression upon the heart of a young girl, than in taking care of her dress: Louisa sh [...]wed her gratitude by her l [...]ks, her gestures, and the pleasure she felt in seeing the [Page] person who had made her so happy. Mr. De M — was delighted. He signified his pleasure of breakfasting with Louisa and the two women; he then conducted her to a reputable milliner's where she found a new mistress, that was the modle of taste, regularity, and good breeding.

Madam, said Mr. De M —, I here bring you a young apprentice. Be not surprised that she is unaccompanied by a woman; she is an orphan, and I, who am her guardian, am still a bachelor. In placing her under your care and instructions. I give you all the authority of a parent. I resign to you all m [...]ne, only reserving that of paying you liberally for your expense and trouble. I wish her to be treated upon the same footing as your own children. I have not a doubt but you will find her worthy your attentions, and that she will love your daughters as if they were her sisters. In taking his leave he observed to this lady, that he should never desire to see her alone, or to take her out unless accompanied by her or her daughters. This arrangement meeting the entire approbation of her mistress, Louisa was immediately taken into her family and highly caressed.

Mr. De M— had declined taking with him the fruiterer and mantua m [...]ker, in order that it might not be known the [Page] state of misery in which he had found this unfortunate orphan. He was some time without seeing his adopted ward, and upon his paying the second quarter for her board, he was surprised with her progress. She had already acquired an air, which rendered her pretty face still more interesting; and her modesty in seeing her benefactor, gave her additional charms.

Mr. De M — could not help exclaiming to himself, happy Pygmalion! The gods animated thy statue; render them divine honours, and respect their present! He then seated himself opposite to Louisa, and conversed with her in the respectful language of a guardian to his ward, in order to inspire her with an elevation of sentiment. In a private conversation, her mistress said she was a treasure of beauty, sense, and sensibility. Louisa, sir, is all sweetness and condescension. She seems thoroughly sensible that she owes her present happiness to your attentions. Her address is uncommon and gracious; and her docility and comprehension surprising for her age. Mr. De M — left the house in a kind of rapture. Happy Pygmalion! What a beautiful statue has the bounty of the gods animated by thy care and assiduity!

The following evening he was something earlier in his visit; and brought with him a pretty present, consisting of a pair of earrings, [Page] a necklace, a pair of bracelets, with a pair of handsome shoebuckles, inclosed in an etui made of gold.

I wish, Miss Louisa, to give you an instance of my friendship, by presenting you with these trifles; and by so doing I hope to gain a place in your's.

You have no necessity, sir, to have recourse to such expedients, since the favours I have already received, will never be effaced from my memory.

You are, I believe, as good as you are lovely. I often speak of you to Miss Henrietta Monclar, (her mistress eldest daughter) she says you are my guardian angel; and were I to tell her all—

No, Louisa; that secret must remain where it is. You must forget it as fast as you can.

Forget it, sir! That's impossible. If I dared to tell you what I think —

Why not, my dear Louisa?

It is, sir, that for some months past, on reflecting on the state from which you have taken me, I tremble with horror; particularly so, when I compare it with my present situation.

These reflections are singular for one of your age, Louisa.

I had a mother, sir, that was as kind as she was affectionate, and was very capable [Page] of bringing me up; and I still remember those things she taught me.

My dear little maid, open your e [...]ui, and see what I have given you. She opens and examines every thing.

Ah, sir! This is too fine for a poor orphan.

If these articles are too fine for an orphan, they are not so for my daughter—yes, Louisa, it is the name my heart avows; and since I have taken the title of father, I shall most sedulously discharge all its duties. Be therefore free from any inquietudes; your happiness will be a duty and a pleasure to me.

Mr. De M—, admiring the work he had undertaken, could not refrain from articulating—Heavens! how beautiful is that creature grown! If I had ever seen so lovely an object among the circle of my acquaintance, could I refrain from adoring her?

The next day an unexpected affair prevented him from seeing Louisa. He was obliged to set out immediately for one of his estates in the country, where his presence was absolutely necessary. Here he was detained for six months; and during this interval, he received no less than two letters from his ward, inclosed in th [...]se of her mistress.

These epistles were couched in the following terms:

[Page]

Dear Papa,

Permit me to complain of your very long absence: I assure you, that the day becomes very tedious when I do not see you in the evening. Your visits were but a few instants; but these instants were agreeable, and much desired on my part. Pardon, dear, sir, the liberty I take, in scribbling upon the letter of Madam Monclar: But she has given me the permission. I am, with the most profound respect,

Your dutiful daughter, LOUISA PASSEMENTIER.

Dear Papa,

Your having been so kind as to express a pleasure in reading my scrawl, emboldens me to send you a second. Can you▪ my dear papa, never return to Paris? I often wish I had the wings of a bird, to fly to the place where you are; I should then see you; chat with you for a few hours; and return contented. This idea gives me no small satisfaction, notwithstanding it is ridiculous. You a [...]e too much beloved by your daughter, not to regret your long absence. You should not have been so kind to me, nor visited me so often—there—there is a tear for you. I am glad that it is fallen on the paper: you will see it, and as you are the best of men, it will make an impression upon your heart. I have written this in a very [Page] small character, that I might have the more room, but I must stop here in spite of my efforts. I am, with—what I cannot express, dear papa,

Yours &c.

Mr. De M— was extremely affected with his ward's attachment. As soon as his affairs were sufficiently arranged, he hastened back to the capital, where he found Louisa in the blooming charms of all conquering fifteen. Her beauty now made a forcible impression upon his heart. He felt its powers, and began to feel its consequences. His visits became more seldom, yet he could not divest himself of his feelings. Louisa, on her part, became passionately fond of her protector; and as she saw no harm in giving way to her penchant, she expressed herself, on all occasions, with a naievete that was irresistibly seductive.

One evening, after a serious reflection, Mr. De M—appeared in the presence of Louisa, with a cloud hanging on his brow. She drew near to him, and with an accent of the liveliest concern, said, dear sir, you seem to have some cause of uneasiness— would to heaven I could relieve you from it—

Louisa, my dear Louisa, it quits me when I see your; but it returns when I am going to leave you.

[Page]Ah, dear papa! do not then leave me.—

That's impossible

No, that is not impossible. I am yours, I only live, I only breathe, but to be instrumental to your happiness.

Lovely creature! Can a daughter at your age content herself with living in my house?

Why not, sir? Cannot I live with my papa—if it be necessary for his repose—

Louisa, you are too dear to me, that I should so expose your reputation.

My reputation—dear sir, explain what you mean.

Louisa, thou art my child, and yet I dare not take thee under my roof. Hear me, dear Louisa, hear me. I have a name, a title, and a large estate; my rank requires that I make an alliance with a family of equal pretensions; and to make a marriage state happy, it is necessary to love the person to whom one is united, and I can love no other woman than my Louisa. This is the reason why I am a prey to inquietude. My Louisa, I adore thee—thou art the work of my hands; I have, in fact, called thee into existence; and I love thee as a father, a brother, and a lover. I shall be wretched without thee; I shall be a monster if I abuse thy innocence; and, if I marry thee, my family will hold me in execration. This is my situation, thou too bewitching creature. [Page] Pity me; it is all that thy too enamoured friend requests.

During this discourse, Louisa was a prey to a thousand new ideas; she scarce comprehended the l [...]nguage of her protector; it was, to her, a chaos of incoherent sentiments.

Can I possibly make him wretched who has rendered me so completely happy! Can I then do nothing for him who has treated me as his daughter! Certainly I can; but you conceal it from me through a motive of generosity. Will you not then relieve me from this cruel perplexity;—

Louisa, my kind Louisa, my affectionate daughter, since you are the choice of my heart, be tranquillized; my reason will suggest a remedy for my present situation.— Adieu, I will see you again tomorrow.

Mr. De M— after this visit was plunged into a painful irresolution.

Shall I marry Louisa! My heart says yes; but the world, reason, prudence, the age in which I live, put a negative to the measure. My family, my relations, my friends, oppose such an union.

Instead of flying from the object of his affection, he resolved to see her every day, and accustom himself to her poison, in order to bid defiance to its malignity. And thus he reasoned: Louisa is a fever; this disorder should then be treated as such. The beginning [Page] is in a manner imperceptible, but the crisis violent in the last degree; after this it diminishes insensibly. I must then suffer with courage; the victory will be crowned with happy consequences, and there will be left no room for repentance!

This line of conduct being adopted, Mr. De M— was regular in his visits; and Louisa was the happiest of women. The passion made a rapid progress in the heart of the guardian; who endeavoured, like a philosopher, to combat its efforts.

This conduct of the guardian and his ward, soon opened the eyes of Madam Monclar. Louisa made no mystery of her inclinations; on the contrary, all her words and actions demonstrated the fervour of her feelings. In his absence, her sighs, her tears, revealed the state of her heart, and her joy was no less conspicuous in seeing him.— That bosom, virtuous and susceptible, was alive to all the ardour of the most glowing passion, united to gratitude, esteem, respect, and attachment.

My dear child, said Madam Monclar, I fear you love too well your guardian. Take care! for his partiality may one day become fatal to your repose.

Ah, madam! that cannot be; for every thing which relates to Mr. De M— must be instrumental to my happiness.

[Page]But child, he may be induced to marry.

If madam, he should experience his felicity in that state, I shall rejoice in his good fortune. In that case he might perhaps be induced to make me a companion to his lady, whom I should love with the greatest tenderness.

If these are your sentiments, Louisa, I have nothing farther to say.

This conversation was related to Mr. De M— word for word. He confessed the ardour of his affection, yet was irresolute in the conduct he ought to pursue.

To make her my wife is certainly the noblest procedure—and perhaps the most prudent, since my happiness hinges on the event. But my family—the world—the court, will see with different eyes. She has an honest parentage, and if I were but a private gentleman, I could marry her without slander or detraction: As I am now situated, my heirship to titles and distinctions, requires that I make choice of a woman among the higher order of noblesse, or one whose riches can cast a veil upon her original obscurity. Strange and unnatural prejudice! The world will applaud me for espousing the daughter of a vile financier, who has fattened upon the spoils and exactions of whole provinces; yet the model of virtue and female perfection in a more humble [Page] line of life, is deemed unworthy of my regards.

Sir, your conduct to Louisa to this very hour, is that of a man of the nicest honour; consult but your own heart, for that is the only counsellor you should—

That heart, madam, will instantly declare in favour of Louisa. But I will consult this lovely creature in person; I will shew her what can be said for and against a measure of this nature; and by this means I shall hear the advice of beautiful nature in all her purity.

Having said this, he desired to speak with Louisa in private.

I am come, my dear Louisa, to consult you on an object of the last importance to my future peace of mind: that object is resp [...]cting my marriage. Custom▪ decorum, [...], all conspire in recommending [...] my choice a woman of rank and fortune, my heart▪ on the contrary▪ opposes, and attaches [...] a young person▪ who possesses [...]ry thing but birth and riches. If I adopt [...] I sh [...]ll meet the applause of the world and I might rea [...]nably expect to figure in the [...], to be of serv [...]ce to the state and [...] and require a brilliant [...]. This [...] all; my children will [...] for the [...] every cla [...] of the people.

[Page]But with all these advantages, shall I be happy?—I believe not; for the person I adore must and will triumph over my affections. On the other side, if I resolve on marrying that object, what inconveniencies must I not experience! In the first place, my family will never forgive me. My views at court will be blasted, since the Prince will entertain a very indifferent idea of his abilities, who could not resist a penchant for a woman. Thus situated, it remains for me to lead an obscure and retired life. Nevertheless, if I might judge by the state of my feelings, I should insure my felicity, by living with the person that I love. My property is sufficient to procure every conveniency, and even elegancy of life, and consequently the unison of two hearts under such a predicament, must insure a permanent happiness. What are your sentiments, my dear Louisa, on this delicate subject?

I should, sir, [...]e unworthy your esteem, if I in this instance adopted the least disguise. The genuine dictates of my heart are, that you ought to discharge the duties of your exalted station. Leave the unfortunate woman whom you love, to your esteem and compassion.

That unfortunate woman is my Louisa.

I know it; but I should be wretched, if I saw my benefactor deprived of the advantages [Page] which he has a right to expect, and to linger out an existence in an inglorious obscurity. Oh, no; I wo [...]ld not purchase my happiness at so immense a price, I am proud in being the work of your hands, and to merit your esteem and confidence will be the first duty of my life. Let me conjure you, then to enter that career that is pointed out to you by your family and friends: I shall be amply recompensed in the pleasure of saying, "This is my honoured guardian, to whom I am united by the delightful ties of love and gratitude." My heart will rebound with joy in all your progressive successes. My ardent prayers will be, that of your being married to a lady who might augment your riches, and give splendour to your name.

Well, Louisa, since these are your sentiments, I am a convert to your doctrine. In future I shall consider you [...] my daughter. I am proud of this adoption—thou art my chef d'oeuvre and the glory of my life.

Mr. De M—returned home in a kind of enthusiasm, wonder, and delight. He had scarce entered, when the countess, his mother, asked him if the report was true, that he had taken a milliner into keeping? He denied the fact; but at the same time candidly related the history of Louisa, suppressing those particulars which prudence [Page] naturally suggested: adding, however, that Pygmalion was not more delighted with his statue, than he was in fostering so much worth and goodness. If, continued he, I should marry, I would request the lady to take Louisa under her protection, and treat her as if she was my daughter by another marriage.

I am glad, my son, to learn these particulars, and that you begin to turn your views towards marriage. We have a lady in view who is young, rich, and beautiful; she possesses a thousand good and amiable qualities —The personage I mean is lady De Lan**.

It is true, madam, I have seen her, and [...]hat she appears very accomplished; but her mother is a terrible character.

It is not the mother, my son, you are to marry. We will visit them tomorrow. In the mean time I shall be the joyful harbing [...]r to the Marquis, your father.

The day [...]owing Mr. De M—was pres [...]n [...]ed to the Countess of Lan**, and as she was a ready acquainted with his intentions, he was most graciously received. The young lady was struck with the figure and address of her lover: and in a few weeks the marriage was celebrated with all the spl [...]ndour imagin [...]ble.

Mr. De M — embraced the first opportunity of speaking to his lady relative to [Page] his adopted daughter, who readily seconded his views, by requesting he would bring her home as soon as he thought proper.

Lady De M— received Louisa with every mark of respect and esteem. She was about the same age, lately come from a convent, and therefore considered her visitor as an agreeable companion, without the least mixture of jealousy of her charms, since her person was equally handsome and attractive.

The first eight days this young family passed in the most agreeable manner possible; but this harmony was interrupted by the Countess, who observed the great familiarity that passed between these beautiful women, and taking her daughter aside, said, she was astonished that her husband gave her one of his mistresses for her companion; at the same time menaced, that if this arrangement continued, she should be provoked to sue for a separation.

Lady De M— astonished at this language, endeavoured to undeceive her mother, by particularising every thing that had passed, and the cautions which her husband had taken to prevent the least misunderstanding. She went even farther, and told her, that it was Louisa's advice that determined her protector to marry.

Without doubt, my child, for they concerted together the arrangement which has [Page] now taken place; and I positively enjoin you to oppose it in future, otherwise I shall despise you as much as I now do your obscure campanion.

Lady De M— prudently concealed from Louisa this disagreeable scene! but she took the first opportunity of communicating it to her husband. He saw the storm gathering; nevertheless, he begged his lady to continue her friendship to Louisa, adding, that he would get his mother to clear up matters to the Countess' satisfaction.

In this interval, the Countess plotted the ruin of this innocent creature; and in another conversation with her daughter, she was mortified to hear her declare, that Louisa was a respectable and amiable character, and that she would obey her husband's injunctions in this and in all other circumstances. The countess was transported with rage, left the room abruptly; and as she had a minister among the number of her friends▪ she obtained an order to take the person of Louisa, and shut her up in prison.

This order, ardently solicited, was obtained, and executed the same day; for before midnight a violent knocking was heard at the door, de la part du Roi. The porter ran to inform his master, and to take his orders. Lady De M — alarmed for her friend, and knowing the violent temper of her mother▪ divined the cause.

[Page]Sir, this unhappiness is terrible for me, and still more so for Louisa. This procedure might endanger my felicity—but a thought has just struck me, and you must swear before I reveal it, you will not prevent its execution. The bearer of this order does not know me, let me therefore assume the name of Louisa. Tomorrow they will repent of having issued this unjust and cruel order. Withdraw into your own apartment, after you have requested the exempt to treat his prisoner with that respect that she is entitled to; and as soon as I am gone, conduct Louisa to some place of security. Fly to the minister, and tell him that your lady is taken from you by a lettre de cachet. You see my design: this is the only expedient to save our friend. At this instant, the officer desired to see Louisa: Lady De M— requested to know his pleasure. He informed her, that by the King's orders she must accompany them; and they descended together.

Mr. De M— in the interval, dressed himself, and with a confidential domestick carried off his ward to his mother's. He then flew to the minister, who was just retiring to his bed chamber. His name was announced; the minister could not see him till after repeated messages; when he complained, that his lady, he supposed by mistake, [Page] had been taken out of his house, and carried to some place of confinement.

Sir, the order was not for your lady, but for Mademoiselle Louisa Passementier.

For Louisa, Sir! who had a right, who has dared—

Softly, Sir, your conduct is highly reprehensible.

I am ready, Sir, to explain to you my conduct, and to demonstrate the iniquity of this violence.—

While he was saying this, the minister wrote an order for liberating Lady De M. and sent a person with him to the Madelannetes, where they arrived at the same instant with the Countess of Lan**, his mother in law, who was informed of Louisa's captivity. Mr. De M — trembled at the sight of the Countess, and could scarce repress the violence of his anger.

We shall enter together, Madam.

We shall see that presently.

The doors being opened, Mr. De M. presented his order, and immediately they brought him his lady. Judge the surprise of the Countess in seeing Lady De M. Heavens, what is it you, my child, that is here?

Yes, Madam, and this is my refuge, throwing herself into the arms of her husband.— Let us go immediately to Versailles, and implore the protection of the best and most [Page] benevolent monarch in the world.

This proposition alarmed the Countess; and turning towards Lady De M. I had but one daughter, I adored her—

O my dear mother, if you love, let me then be happy. In this union I am completely so, since Mr. De M. is the best and tenderest of husbands; and his ward, so far from diminishing it, encreases my felicity. She is at this moment ignorant of what has passed, and the extent of my friendship towards her.

But, my child, it is indecent to retain about your person the mistress of your husband.

She is not his mistress, madam; on the contrary, she is a virtuous and deserving young creature, that has gained upon my heart by a thousand good and amiable qualities, and I love her with the same cordiality as if she were my sister.

No, this cannot—shall not be—I will move heaven and earth to prevent this shocking indecorum.

Then stepping into her carriage, she left them with a countenance that spoke disappointment and revenge.

Mr. De M. and his lady concerted together how to keep Louisa in the dark relative to the wicked stratagem of the Countess: And that they might not seem to brave their [Page] mother, thought it prudent that Louisa should remain in her then ignorance and security. The Countess still plotted how she might wreck her vengeance, and endeavoured to get her carried off by a set of villains. But by the watchful and cautious proceedings of her son in law, she was baffled in her scheme. This repeated disappointment rendered her furious; and finding any act of violence impracticable, had recourse to that measure, by which the execrable De Brinsilliers terminated the days of her own father. She feigned to be more and more reconciled; she visited her daughter, and made the kindest enquiries after the object of her implacable hatred. This apparent alteration in the Countess, induced them to take back Louisa; and in the course of her visits, she shewed her every ma [...]k of attention. At last she invited her to pass a few days at her seat, but neither Mr. De M. nor his lady were dupes to this excess of civility. The Countess observed that this did not meet the c [...]ncurrence of her children, requested they would bring her with them the first opportunity. Lady De M. was for Louisa's feigning an indisposition: but as she seemed desirous of accompanying them her wishes in this respect were gratified. On their arrival, Louisa was received with a thousand caresses; while Lady De M. who [Page] knew her mother's vindictive temper, was fearful of some stratagem. She therefore cautioned Louisa to eat nothing at table but what she helped her to, which she would do in a manner as to give no offence; telling her, that she should know her reason at their return: and that if she did not scrupulously attend to it, she would never forgive her. The Countess, during the first service, did not apparently remark this attention in her daughter; but when the desert was brought in she presented Louisa with a fine peach, who was going to divide it with Lady De M. but she opposed it, giving at the same time another to her daughter. Louisa in this moment, had forgotten the caution given her by her friend, and was going to eat the peach that was before her. Lady De M laughing, snatched it up, and gave her own in exchange. The visible alteration in the Countess struck Mr. De M. who, trembling lest his wife should eat this peach, took it up, and perceived it had been separated into two parts: This discovery augmented his suspicions, and by a seeming aukwardness let it fall under the table. The Countess began to recover from her alarm, and the dinner ended without any farther accident. Coffee was served up, when the Countess contrived that a particular dish should be presented to her [Page] new visitor; but Lady De M. continuing the pleasant [...]y of helping her friend, let the cup of coffee slide off the waiter. This second attempt being frustrated, the Countess could scarce conceal the emotions of her soul. In the interval, a favourite lap dog was lapping up the spilled coffee. Mr. De M. was the only person who had remarked this circumstance, and immediately after the dog was seized with convulsions. The Countess withdrew to her appartment terrified; Lady De M. fell into a fit.—Her husband, alarmed, gave immediate orders for their return; when he found the fright had made such an impression on her spirits, that she was soon after delivered, and became the victim of her guilty mother.

The distracted husband flew to the minister, and exposed the abominable proceedings of his mother in law; who, stung with shame, remorse and contrition, put an end to her existence, by the fame guilty means she had administered to others.

For two years Louisa, as well as Mr. De M. was a prey to the blackest melancholy. The grief which the former had shewn on every occasion, made so lively an impression on the heart of Mr. De M. that he thought it his duty to recal her to life and existence.

I have now an heir to inherit my name, and to transmit to posterity my father's rank [Page] and dignities. I can now indulge my affections, in rendering homage to virtue, and in crowning the work I have been so successful in forming. All obstacles between me and Louisa are at an end.

This soliloquy was no sooner ended, than he addressed his amiable ward.

Louise, we have made the sacrifices which the world and our feelings have dictated. Such worth and goodness merit every possible consideration—you are necessary to my happiness—and by a speedy union I hope to insure your's also.

You can now be no stranger to my sentiments; you know that I ever loved you with the purest affection; I am already [...]ai [...]ded to you by every tie of honour and gratitude—I am, as I have always been, the work of your creation. If you command, I shall make it a duty to obey; but if I were mistress of my own will, I would wait upon the Marchioness your mother, and tell her, "Madam, your worthy son, and my generous portector, is extremely desirous of raising me to the rank of his wife. It is your commands I wish to follow. From your determination alone, I shall form my future conduct."

I consent, my dear Louisa! go this instant to my mother.

Louisa ordered the carriage to drive to the hotel of the Marquis De M. and as the [Page] Marchioness was well acquainted with her son's wishes and inclinations, she answered her, "Mademoiselle Louisa, agreeably to your request, I will instantly decide on your fate: In eight days be the wife of my son—or I will hate you."

Louisa threw herself at her feet, exclaiming—"O my dear and ever honoured parent! the [...] can I be supremely happy without causing any inquietude in your family. You have been already a parent to me by your tenderness and generosity, and now you are going to be so by nature! Would to heaven I could make any returns for this unparalleled procedure!"

This marriage has experienced all the happy consequences naturally resulting from such an union. Louisa, the present Marchioness De M. is to the Marquis what every woman ought to be, the pupiless, the friend, the sensible and accomplished companion; in a word, the counterpart of her husband.

[Page]

AMELIA: OR, THE FAITHLESS BRITON.

THE revolutions of government and the subversions of empire which have swelled the theme of national historians▪ have, likewise, in every age, furnished anecdote to the biographer, and incident to the novelist. The objects of policy or ambition are generally, indeed, accomplished at the expense of private ease and prosperity; while the triumph of arms, like the funeral festivity of a savage tribe, serves to announce some recent calamity—the waste of property, or the fall of families.

Thus, the great events of the late war which produced the seperation of the British empire, and established the sovereignty of America, were chequered with scenes of private sorrow, and the success of the contending forces was alternately fatal to the peace and order of domestick life. The lamentations of the widow and the orphan, mingled with the song of victory; and the fable mantle with which the hand of friendship cloathed the b [...]er of the gallant M [...]ntgomery, cast a momentary gloom upon the trophies his valour had achieved.

[Page]Though the following tale then, does not exhibit the terrible magnificence of warlike operation, or scrutinize the principle of national politicks, it recites an episode that too frequently occurs in the military drama, and contains a history of female affliction, that claims, from its authenticity, at least, an int [...]rest in the feeling heart.

HORATIO BLYFIELD was a respectable inhabitant of the state of Newyork. Success had rewarded his industry in trade with an ample fortune; and his mind, uncontaminated by envy and ambition, freely indulged itself in the delicious enjoyments of the father and the friend. In the former character he superintended the education of a son and a daughter, left to his sole care by the death of their excellent mother; and in the latter, his benevolence and counsel were uniformily exercised for the relief of the distressed, and information of the illiterate.

His mercantile intercourse with Great-britan afforded an early opportunity of observing the disposition of that kingdom with respect to her colonies; and his knowledge of the habits, tempers, and opinions of the American citizens, furnished him with a painful anticipation of anarchy and war.— The texture of his mind, indeed, was naturally calm and passive, and the ordinary [Page] effects of a life of sixty years duration, had totally eradicated all those passions which rouse men to opposition, and qualify them for enterprize. When, therefore, the guantlet was thrown upon the theatre of the new world, and the spirit of discord began to rage, Horatio, like the Roman Atticus, withdrew from publick clamour, to a sequestered cottage, in the interiour district of Longistand; and, consecrating the youthful ardour of▪ his son, Honorious, to the service of his country, the fair Amelia was the only companion of his retreat.

Amelia had then attained her seventeenth year. The delicacy of her form was in unison with the mildness of her aspect, and the exquisite harmony of her soul, was responsive to the symmetry of her person. The pride of parental attachment had graced her with every accomplishment that depends upon tuition; and it was the singular fortune of Amelia, to be at once the admiration of our sex, and the favourite of her own. From such a daughter, Horatio could not but receive every solace of which his generous feelings were susceptible in a season of national calamity; but the din of arms that frequently interrupted the silence of the neighbouring forests, and the disastrous intelligence which his son occasionally transmitted from the standard of the union, superseded [Page] the cheerful avocations of the day, and dispelled the peaceful slumbers of the night.

After a retirement of many months, on a morning fatal to the happiness of Horatio's family, the sound of artillery announced a battle, and the horsemen who were observed galloping across the grounds, proved that the scene of action could not be remote.

As soon, therefore, as the tumult of hostility had subsided, Horatio advanced with his domesticks, to administer comfort and assistance to the wounded, and to provide a decent interment for the mangled victims of the conflict. In traversing the deadly field, he perceived an officer, whose exhausted strength just served for the articulation of a groan, and his attention was immediately directed to the preservation of this interesting object, who alone, of the number that had fallen, yielded a hope that his compassionate exertions might be crowned with success. Having bathed, and bound up his wounds, the youthful soldier was borne to the cottage; where, in a short time, a stronger pulse, and a freer respiration, afforded a flattering pr [...]sage of returning life.

Amelia. who had anxiously waited the arrival of her father, beheld, with a mixed sensation of horror and pity, the spectacle which now accompanied him. She had [Page] never before seen the semblance of death, which therefore afflicted her with all the terrors of imagination; and, notwithstanding the pallid countenance of the wounded guest, he possessed an elegance of person, which, according to the natural operations of female sensibility, added something, perhaps, to her commiseration of his misfortunes. When, however, these first impressions had passed away, the tenderness of her nature expressed itself in the most assiduous actions for his ease and accommodation, and the encreasing symptoms of his recovery, filled her mind with joy and exultation.

The day succeeding that on which he was introduced to the family of Horatio, his servant, who had made an ineffectual search for his body among the slain, arrived at the cottage, and discovered him to be Doliscus, the only son and heir of a noble family in England.

When Doliscus had recovered from the senseless state to which he had been reduced (chiefly, indeed, by the great effusion of blood) the first exercise of his faculties was the acknowledgment of obligation, and the profession of gratitude. To Horatio he spoke in terms of reverence and respect; and to Amelia in the more animated language of admiration, which melted at length, into the gentle tone of flattery and love. But [Page] Doliscus had been reared in the school of dissipation: and, with all the qualifications which allure and captivate the female heart, he had learned to consider virtue only as an obstacle to pleasure, and beauty merely a [...] an incentive to the gratification of passion. His experience soon enabled him to discover something in the solicitude of the artless Amelia beyond the dictates of compassion and hospitality; and, even before his wounds were closed, he conceived the infamous project of violating the purity and tranquillity of a family, to which he was indebted for the prolongation of his existence, and the restoration of his health.— From that very innocence, however, which betrayed her feelings, while she was herself ignorant of their source, he anticipated the extremest difficulty and danger. To improve the evident predilection of her mind into a fixed and ardent attachment, required not, indeed, a very strenuous display of his talents and address; but the sacrifice of her honour (which an insurmountable antipathy to matrimonial engagements made necessary to the accomplishment of his purpose) was a task that he justly foresaw, could be only executed by the detestable agency of perfidy and fraud. With these views then he readily accepted the solicitations of his unsuspecting host, and even contrived [...] [Page] consequences upon Horatio's peace, her own character, and the fate of the innocent being which she bore, and, wiping the useless tears from her cheek, she resolved publickly to vindicate her honour, and assert her rights. Animated then, with the important purpose, supported by the presumption of her marriage, and hoping yet to find Doliscus in Newyork, she immediately repaired to that city—but, alas! he was gone! This disappointment, however, did not defeat, nor could any obstacle retard the prosecution of her design: A ship that sailed the succeeding day wafted her to Britain, friendless and forlorn.

Innumerable▪ difficulties and inconveniences were encountered by the inexperienced traveller, but they vanished before the object of her pursuit; and even her entrance into London, that chaos of clamour and dissipation, produced no other sensations than those which naturally arose from her approach to the dwelling of Doliscus.

Amelia recollected that Doliscus had often described the family residence to be situated in Grosvenor place, and the stage, in which she journeyed, stopping in the evening at a publick house in Piccadilly, she determined, without delay, to pay him her unexpected and unwelcome visit. The embarrassed and anxious manner with [Page] which she enquired for his house, exposed her to unjust surmise and senseless ribaldry; but her grief rendered her incapable of observation, and her purity was superiour to insult.

Doliscus had arrived about a fortnight earlier than Amelia. The title, influence and fortune, which devolved upon him in consequence of his father's death, had swelled his youthful vanity to excess, and supplied him with a numerous retinue of flatterers and dependants. At the moment that he was listening in ecstacy to that servile crew, the victim of his arts, the deluded daughter of the man to whom he was indebted for the preservation of his life, stood trembling at his door. A gentle rap, after an awful pause of some minutes, procured her admission. Her memory recognized the features of the servant that opened the door; but it was not the valet who had attended Doliscus at the cottage— she remembered not where or when she had seen him.

After considerable solicitation the porter consented to call Doliscus from his company, and conducted Amelia into an anticamber to wait his arrival. A roar of laughter succeeded the delivery of her message, and the word assignation, which was repeated on all sides, seemed to renovate the [Page] wit and hilarity of the table. The gay and gallant host, inflamed with Champaign, was not displeased at the imputation, but observed that as a lady was in the case, it was unnecessary to apologize for a short desertion of his friends and wine.

At the sight of that lady, however, Doliscus started. Amelia's countenance was pale and h [...]gga [...] with fatigue and sorrow, her person was oppressed with the burthen which she now bore in its last stage, and her eye, fixed steadfastly upon him, as he entered the room, bespoke the complicated anguish and indignation of her feelings.— Her aspect so changed, and her appearance so unexpected, added to the terrors of a guilty conscience, and, for a moment, Doliscus thought the visitation supernatural. But Amelia's wrongs having inspired her with courage, she boldly reproached him with his baseness and perfidy, and demanded a publick and unequivocal acknowledgment of their marriage. In vain he endeavoured to soothe and divert her from her purpose, in vain to persuade her to silence and delay, his arts had lost their wonted influence, while the restoration of her injured fame and honour absorbed every faculty of her mind.

At length he assumed a different tone, a more authoritative manner. "Madam," exclaimed [Page] he, "I am not to be thus duped o [...] controled. I have a sense of pity indeed, for your indiscretion, but none for your passion: I would alleviate your afflictions, but I will not submit to your frenzy."— "Wretch!" retorted Amelia, "but that I owe something to a father's peace, I should despise to call thee husband."—"Husband," cried Doliscus, with a s [...]er, "Husband! why truly I remember a rural masquerade, at which an honest sold [...]r, now my humble porter, played the parson, and you the blushing bride—but, pr [...]ythee do not talk of husband."

This discovery only was wanting for the consummation of Amelia's misery. It was sudden and fatal as the lightning's blast— she sunk beneath the stroke. A deadly stupor seized upon her senses, which was sometimes interrupted with a boisterous laugh, and sometimes with a nervous ejaculation.

Doliscus, unaffected by compassion or remorse, was solicito [...]s only to employ this opportunity for Amelia's removal, and having conveyed her into a coach, a servant was directed to procure lodgings for her, in some obscure quarter of the city. She spoke not a word during the transaction, but ga [...] ing with apparent indifference upon the objects that surrounded her, she submitted [...]

Information about this book

Title statement

A Collection of moral and entertaining stories, calculated for the instruction and entertainment of youth. : Containing I. Story of Frank Leeson. II. Florio. --An affecting story. III. Story of Edward and Maria. IV. The generosity of an injured daughter. V. Fraternal affection. VI. The remarkable duel.

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI :

Date

2006-06.

ID [DLPS]

N25302

ID [TCP]

N25302

ID [STC]

Evans 33533

ID [NOTIS]

APX8489

ID [IMAGE-SET]

33533

ID [EVANS-CITATION]

99025440

Availability

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Series

Early American Imprints, 1639-1800 ; no. 33533.

Notes

(Evans-TCP ; no. N25302)

Transcribed from: (Readex Archive of Americana ; Early American Imprints, series I ; image set 33533)

Images scanned from Readex microprint and microform: (Early American imprints. First series ; no. 33533)

Source

— A Collection of moral and entertaining stories, calculated for the instruction and entertainment of youth. : Containing I. Story of Frank Leeson. II. Florio. --An affecting story. III. Story of Edward and Maria. IV. The generosity of an injured daughter. V. Fraternal affection. VI. The remarkable duel.,

Extent

80+ p. ; 13 cm. (16mo)

[by Andrew Wright],. Printed at Northampton [Mass.], :: MDCCXCVIII. [1798]. (The only known copy, held by the American Antiquarian Society, lacks all p. after 80.) (Signatures: [A]^8 B-E^8 +.) ("The new Pygmalion. A novel. To which is added, Amelia: or, The faithless Briton. An American tale."--p. 35-80, with separate title page. Imprint reads: Northampton: Printed by Andrew Wright. 1798.)

Creation

Created by converting TCP files to TEI P5 using tcp2tei.xsl, TEI @ Oxford.

Editorial practices

EEBO-TCP is a partnership between the Universities of Michigan and Oxford and the publisher ProQuest to create accurately transcribed and encoded texts based on the image sets published by ProQuest via their Early English Books Online (EEBO) database (http://eebo.chadwyck.com). The general aim of EEBO-TCP is to encode one copy (usually the first edition) of every monographic English-language title published between 1473 and 1700 available in EEBO.

EEBO-TCP aimed to produce large quantities of textual data within the usual project restraints of time and funding, and therefore chose to create diplomatic transcriptions (as opposed to critical editions) with light-touch, mainly structural encoding based on the Text Encoding Initiative (http://www.tei-c.org).

The EEBO-TCP project was divided into two phases. The 25,363 texts created during Phase 1 of the project have been released into the public domain as of 1 January 2015. Anyone can now take and use these texts for their own purposes, but we respectfully request that due credit and attribution is given to their original source.

Users should be aware of the process of creating the TCP texts, and therefore of any assumptions that can be made about the data.

Text selection was based on the New Cambridge Bibliography of English Literature (NCBEL). If an author (or for an anonymous work, the title) appears in NCBEL, then their works are eligible for inclusion. Selection was intended to range over a wide variety of subject areas, to reflect the true nature of the print record of the period. In general, first editions of a works in English were prioritized, although there are a number of works in other languages, notably Latin and Welsh, included and sometimes a second or later edition of a work was chosen if there was a compelling reason to do so.

Image sets were sent to external keying companies for transcription and basic encoding. Quality assurance was then carried out by editorial teams in Oxford and Michigan. 5% (or 5 pages, whichever is the greater) of each text was proofread for accuracy and those which did not meet QA standards were returned to the keyers to be redone. After proofreading, the encoding was enhanced and/or corrected and characters marked as illegible were corrected where possible up to a limit of 100 instances per text. Any remaining illegibles were encoded as <gap>s. Understanding these processes should make clear that, while the overall quality of TCP data is very good, some errors will remain and some readable characters will be marked as illegible. Users should bear in mind that in all likelihood such instances will never have been looked at by a TCP editor.

The texts were encoded and linked to page images in accordance with level 4 of the TEI in Libraries guidelines.

Copies of the texts have been issued variously as SGML (TCP schema; ASCII text with mnemonic sdata character entities); displayable XML (TCP schema; characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or text strings within braces); or lossless XML (TEI P5, characters represented either as UTF-8 Unicode or TEI g elements).

Keying and markup guidelines are available at the Text Creation Partnership web site.