A GENTLEMAN of fortune in this metropolis, (whom it will not be improper to distinguish by the name of Morosus) sent his only son, Euge­nius, to the University;—there to finish his studies under the care of a tutor.

The fortune and engaging carriage of this young gentleman rendered him an agreeable guest to all the polite & gay assemblies of the place, & his spright­liness and vivacity a welcome visitor of the houses of the more private persons of fashion.

Being one night at a card party at Mrs. R—'s, he was introduced to Mrs. C—, and her beautiful daughter Selima. Eugenius was struck at first sight with the charms of this young lady, and felt a pleasing sensation in contemplating her perfections. Mrs. R—, observing his embarrassment, took him by the hand, and presented him to the lady and her daughter. "I introduce to you," said she, ad­dressing herself to the latter, "a young gentleman who has long wished for the pleasure of being in your company." "Madam," said he, bowing and emboldened by what Mrs. R— had said, "'tis not alone to be in your company that I desire; I beg leave to be permitted to increase the number of your admirers." He now paused, but perceiv­ing the ladies had left them together, he was resum­ing his discourse, when she interrupted him. "You confound me, sir," said she, "as I am sensible I am unworthy such flattering compliments." Here Mrs. R— and her friend entered, and the dis­course turning on different subjects, till the compa­ny encreased, they sat down to cards, leaving Euge­nius absorbed in thought.

[Page 3]Love now began to make powerful inroads in his heart, Selima sat opposite him during the evening, and the more he beheld her the more his passion augmentened; but he feared his addresses were fruitless, as she did not once deign him a tender look. Love, however, had, in reality made as powerful and rapid a progress in her heart as in his, though modesty taught her to disguise it.

The evening passed principally at cards—Euge­nius indeed found nothing to cross his desires, yet it is consequent to love to be attended with inqui­etude;—he longed for another opportunity of speak­ing to her; but at that time it was impracticable, as she and her mother withdrew at a very early hour. Before he departed, he paid his compliments to Mrs. R—, who asked him how he had liked his evening's entertainment. He replied, he was perfectly happy in the society of such agreeable persons, and hoped for the renewing of that plea­sure the next evening.

Eugenius waited with impatience the expected moment which should again bring him into the presence of the dear object of his affections, in which interview he resolved to come to an expla­nation;—but imagine his disappointment when the time arrived, and he was informed, indisposition prevented, her mother, and which necessarily hin­dered her being there. His conjecture was imme­diately, that it was merely an excuse, and their ab­sence was purposely calculated to deter his further pursuit. The idea was sufficient to make him un­happy, and he now began to ruminate upon the ab­surdity of his mistake in having regarded the dis­tant respect she had shewn him, as a mark of affec­tion, which was, he now thought in reality only the simple effects of politeness. He left Mrs. R—'s that evening with less satisfaction, as may natu­rally [Page 4] be supposed, than he had done the proceeding.

After having passed a restless night, next morn­ing he paid a visit to Mrs. R—: that lady right­ly judged the cause to which she was indebted for the honour of this his early visit, and to remove his suspicions, assured him he had been deprived of Mrs. C— and her daughter's company, solely by the indisposition of the former. Luckily, during their conversation, the ladies entered. After they had paid their congratulations to Mrs. C—, on her restoration to health, and other usual compli­ments had passed, Mrs. R— took the mother by the hand and withdrew into another room in order to give Eugenius an opportunity of discovering his sentiments to Selima: nor did he fail of making use of the present advantageous moment. "Madam," said he, taking her tenderly by the hand, "this is the first time I have had the pleasure of being alone with you; permit me, now I enjoy that opportuni­ty, to inform you the impression your charms made on me the first time I had the honour of seeing you, and believe me, my dear Selima, that if ever pas­sion was fervent and true, mine is so;—and, knew you the unhappiness I endured the short time I was deprived of your company, it would be sufficient to give you a clear proof of the truth of what I have said, and of the sincerity of my affection.— Such, my dear Selima is the declimation of my heart; I scorn deceit;—speak then, my lovely girl, determine with a smile, my happiness; or fix with a frown my eternal misery." "Ah sir," returned she, "could I think what you have said to be true, and that it is I who have caused the tender unhap­piness in you, you fain would have me believe; I should reflect on it with pleasure; but should I lis­ten to your pursuasive words, I fear I should be drawn to imbibe a tenderness which might hereaf­ter [Page 5] prove difficult to banish. Yet this, in justice I must say, among the fine speeches I have had said to me on this subject, yours seem to wear most the ap­pearance of simple sincerity. I should hope, sir, that what I have already said, will be sufficient to make known to you my sentiments on what you have just now said."

The happiness which these few words of Selima conferred on Eugenius, can only be conceived by those who have been in a similar situation. But her mother and Mrs. R—, now entering, no fur­ther discourse passed. It may be supposed he was easily prevailed on to stay dinner; and in the evening more company coming, they sat down to quadrille. He had again an opportunity of conversing with Selima, she having declined playing. "Is it pos­sible, Selima," said he, "that such a reserved in­difference should be thought a recompence worthy the love you must be convinced I entertain for you. I fear some more happy rival occasions this behav­iour to me; be engenious and easy my troubled soul, for it were death to continue in that torment­ing situation, which your treatment has reduced me." "You are mistaken, sir, I assure you," replied she, "and insensible of the feelings my heart but too freely indulges in your behalf;—your behaviour charms me, and I confess, what modesty ought to have obliged me to conceal, that your tenderness has affected me much; but whilst you are thus earnest­ly soliciting to know what my sentiments are to­wards you; permit me to require you to return me the sincerest proof of your regard by endeavouring to make your parent & mine approve of it, and then you will find I shall not be averse to your wishes."

She uttered this with the most enchanting sweet­ness and innocent simplicity. He promised to ac­quaint his father immediately; and they spent the [Page 6] remainder of the evening in assuring each other of a mutual tenderness and affection; and when the company separated, he departed perfectly satisfied with the assurances she had given him of her love, and not doubting but his father would consent to their union, as he could have no reasonable objec­tions to her person, nor to her fortune, since it was equal if not superior to his own.

The visible happiness in his countenance was quickly perceived by his tutor, who enquired the reason. Eugenius thinking he might be of service to him in interceding with his father did not hesitate to tell him the cause, nor did he conceal in the least the purport of his last conversation with Selima. "Sir," said his tutor, "you have, I fear, engaged in an affair that will be the cause of lasting unhap­piness to you, and that amiable young lady. Not that love itself is to be condemned; no! far from it; it is the surest mark of a great and noble soul; but you should not indulge yourself in it too precipi­tately—for, continued he, no one can tell but that your father may have fixed on a lady for your wife, and, nevertheless whatever we may think, parents know, or at least ought to know better what is to the advantage of their children, than they themselves. Your father gave me particular orders not to suffer you to make any engagement without his know­ledge; and should I fulfil my trust, did I not give him the earliest account of this transaction? which, excuse me if I say I know it will be contrary to his inclination."

His tutor was right, and when he found all his advice was to no purpose, he desisted, and immedi­ately wrote to Morosus, to acquaint him of the con­nection his son had formed; advising to send for him home, absence might cure him of this passion, and restore him to his sences.

[Page 7]In a few days Eugenius received a letter from his father, containing an order to return home; this was sufficient to render him unhappy; the idea of leaving Selima was death; but his father's com­mands were absolute, and must be obeyed. The same evening he went to take his farewell of his be­loved Selima; they parted with tears, after having sworn fidelity to each other. Mrs. R— sympa­thised in their unhappiness, by giving them all the consolation friendly advice could afford. Eugenius begged her to permit him to write to her from Lon­don, to acknowledge the obligations he had already experienced; of which he should always retain the most lively sense of gratitude. She readily granted his request, and it was a consolation to him that by this means he could enjoy the pleasure of hearing some news of his dear Selima.

When Eugenius arrived in London, his father's cool behaviour hurt him not a little. The morning after his arrival, his father sent for him into his closet; he obeyed his command and went trembling, but fully resolved to discover his sentiments. On his entrance, Morosus addressed him thus: "Sir," said he, "pray how have you employed your time since you left home." The youth instantly, and without any reserve confessed his love for Selima, and in the tenderest expressions and persuasive elo­quence exaggerated her merit and beauty—nor did he forget to mention her ample fortune, beseeching him at the same time not to disapprove his passion by a denial of their union. "I am surprised, (re­plied the father) you should have formed such an at­tachment without my consent, and more so at your boldness in avowing it. But, young man, continu­ed he, remember, I command you to think no more of this ridiculous passion, unless you would incur my utter displeasure, and oblige me to a severity I [Page 8] willingly would avoid." In vain he remonstrated he had plighted his honor in the most sacred oaths to marry her. Morosus broke from him, and would hear no more.

His tutor, who was accessary to what had passed, came to give him all the comfort in his power, but he was incapable of receiving any.—He abandoned himself to dispair, & would scarcely receive nourish­ment for several days; nor could all the remonstran­ces of his tutor bring him out of his chamber.

The first opportunity he could take, without be­ing observed, he wrote to Mrs. R—, informing her how averse his father was to his marriage and begging her to acquaint Selima of his eternal con­stancy to her, and if possible to send him some in­telligence concerning her.

Having thus unburthened his mind, he now felt more happy than he had done some time. He be­gan to eat his meals with cheerfulness, hoping soon to receive an answer to his letter, which arrived in a few days wherein she condoled with him on the unhappy situation to which he was reduced by his father's barbarity; and telling him that Selima could not restain a tear on reading his letter; but that young lady had considered it as improper to shew it her mother, left, piqued by his father's refusal, and influenced by pride, she might be induced to use her daughter in the same manner—but what pleased him above all, was the following postscript in Selima's own hand:

These few lines operated like an elixer on his dis­tracted [Page 9] mind, and restored him to his wonted tran­quility. The family judged from the cheerfulness of his countenance, that he had got the better of this foolish passion, as they called it.—His father and tutor were also inclined to believe the same; and their suspicions being lulled asleep, he carried on his correspondence with Mrs. R— and Selima for some time, without interruption, till at length an incident happened which gave rise to a discovery, which involved the ill-fated Eugenius in fresh trou­bles, and reduced him, if possible, to a more pitiable situation than before.

Morosus unfortunately observed a servant deliver his son a letter, and though he imagined it was con­cerning his amour he took no notice of it at present.

A short time after, he sent the tutor to Eugenius, in order to discover if possible the present state of his mind concerning Selima, who artfully insinuated he was glad to find he had forgotten that young lady: But Eugenius, with more sincerity than pru­dence, answered, "No, sir, I have not forgotten her, and though I may appear tranquil in this long and cruel absence from her, yet her lovely image is too deeply engraven on my heart ever to be erased, either by time or misfortune." "So much the worse, (replied the tutor) I pity you; for your fa­ther this moment sent me to tell you, he intends dis­posing of you in marriage, as also to prepare you for that event, and you know his disposition will not brook a denial." "Impossible, (cried Eugenius) by obeying my father, I forfeit my honor—What then can I do."

His father had in reality no intentions to marry him, but tried this experiment to see if it were possible to make him forget Selima; and finding this fail, he had recourse to other expedients, which proved equally ineffectual. He sent for the servant [Page 10] he had seen give him the letter, who by threats and persuasions discovered the correspondence that had subsisted between his son and Selima. However, Morosus ordered for the future to bring him all the letters that came for his son: And what was his as­tonishment when he found, in the first letter he in­tercepted, to what length the young lovers had gone; but he did not fail answering this himself, and ac­cordingly informed Mrs. R— that he was deter­mined to marry his son to a lady he had fixed upon, and begged her, in order to wean his affections from Selima, to write him word she was on the point of marriage.

Mrs. R—, knowing the rank of Morosus, complied with his request; and the next letter Eu­genius received, brought him the disagreeable news of a supposed match that was on foot between Selima and a gentleman of her parent's choice, whom the former had consented to marry.

His father expecting this news would drive him to the extremity of deseperation, ordered the tutor to be present when he knew the letter would arrive; and the precaution was very wisely taken, for, without doubt, had he been alone he would put a period to his existence.

He raved with the madness of a man bereft of his senses, and his father coming in at the disturbance, relaxing his former severity of look, endeavored by gentleness to bring him to reason, pretending ignor­ance of the cause from whence this sudden phrenzy proceeded. "Leave me, (cried the afflicted Eugeni­us) to my fate; ask me not whence my sorrow arises; as well you know you yourself have caused it, by refusing to give your consent to my union with Selima, who, alas! is now insupportable; deprive me of it, O barbarous father, at once▪"

He uttered these words with such vehemence, that [Page 11] his father feared this affair would end in some dis­mal catastrophe. He therefore thought it necessary not to leave him to himself, till he had endeavored by every argument in his power to convince him how despicable it was for a man of spirit and under­standing to be subdued by such a weakness. In the interval, when reason triumphed over madness, he seemed to comply with his father's advice, as he thought that would be the only and surest means to gain more liberty and obtain an opportunity of go­ing to Oxford, to satiate his revenge upon his sup­posed happy rival, and punish the perfidy of Selima. [...] so credulous was he, that though the letter was sufficient to give him sufficient proof of his mistress's infidelity, yet he imputed it to her parents having heard of the difficulties his father had made to their union, and that they in revenge had forced their daughter to marry, contrary to her inclination, for he still thought Selima incapable of deceit.

Fortune seemed to favour the unfortunate Eugenius; for a few weeks after, his father was obliged to go to Oxford on Business of importance. This gave him an opportunity to carry his intended project into execution. His father was not the least suspicious of his son, but imagined that by the indifference he feigned, he had forgot every thing relating to Selima, so accordingly took him with him.

Eugenius, however, went as soon as possible after his arrival in the country to Mrs. R—'s, who was much surprised to see him. At his earnest solicitation to be informed who the happy rival was, that Selima had preferred to him, [...] she confessed the deceit that had been put upon him at his father's request. This intelligence brought a composure to his troubled mind, which for a long time it had been unacquainted with; he now with eagerness demanded, if Selima lived where she did formerly? and was told she did not; that she had been ill some time, and that her disorder was now grown to such a height, that her life was despaired off. This was a new cause of unhappiness; but he determined to see her.

Mrs. R—, who saw her every day, promised to acquaint her mo­ther of his arrival, and to beg the favor that he might be permitted to see this young Lady. But after the deceit he had already experi­enced, he paid no regard to promises, but endeavored to find out an expedient to introduce himself. Altho' he was fearful his presence might occasion an emotion that might increase her illness, yet he could not help thinking it would have [...] her pleasure.

[Page 12]Flushed with these hopes he made it his business to find out the physician that attended, who happened fortunately to be one who had visited him▪ in a fit of illness a few years back; and making himself known, begged the favor of him: [...]et him accompany him in the next visit he should make to Selima. The physician complied, and he accompanied him that evening to Mrs. C—'s.

Eugenius not being personally known to any of the domestics, gain­ed admittance as a friend of the physician. When he entered Selima's chamber, he saw her mother kneeling by the bed-side drowned in tears. In despite of his efforts to the contrary, he could not help shedding tears of latent tenderness on beholding this melancholy scene; which plainly discovered the interesting part he bore in her disorder. As she was raised up to receive some nourishment, he beheld her face, once the glowing seat of florid health and yield bloom, all wan and covered with deadly paleness. But her eyes, notwithstanding her dis­order, still maintained their usual vivacity. Her attendants [...] Eugenius, who was quite a stranger to them, turned their eyes [...], and Selima observing their attention, made her cast a look that [...]. She immediately knew him, and her extraordinary emotion [...] seeing him, testified her surprise and pleasure; and stretching out [...] hand, made a sign that he should advance nearer; which he did, [...] as he gently clasped her hand between his—"Have I ved," said [...]he, "once more to behold my dear Eugenius! Yes! indulgent Hea­ven has heard my prayer, and granted me my only wish."—"But my dear Selima, (replied he) to what an unhappy situation do I see you reduced."—"Hush, (said she) it is the will of Heaven; but if you maintain the same affection for me you formerly did, I bear it contentedly." "If I still love you! (returned he) Ah! my dear Selima, when I cease to love you, I must cease to exist." "Enough, (answered she) I am satisfied; I feel my last moments approach; bear my death with resignation—farewel—love me forever—preserve the same affection you have always professed, and live content." She could utter no more; but falling into her lover's arms, heaved a last sigh, and expired without a groan.

Unhappy youth! this was [...] much, his fortitude could not with­stand it; he remained senseless for some time. The physician at­tended him home, he endeavoured to console himself for his loss, and forget;—but ah! the effort was fruitless. His grief threw him into a fever, which alas! terminated his life, and he died a melan­choly victim to despair.

Morosus, [...]stracted at the loss of his son and only child, and over­whelmed with a sense of his own barbarity being the cause of his death, remains the miserable prey of sorrow.

Such are the fatal effects of Parental Tyranny, when parents bias­sed by interest, study their children's imaginary advantage more than their real good and happiness.