IN a remote village in the northern parts of the State of New-York, on the side of a river beautifully shaded with ancient oaks, around whose branches the bellvine and honey-suckle wan­tonly crept, stood a small house, or cot­tage, environed with hawthorn; beneath whose foilage, the meandering rivulet softly stole: Nature had made up the deficiency of Art, to render this little habitation truly delightful. At the com­mencement of the contest with Eng­land, Mr. Villars, with his amiable fa­mily, [Page 2] retired to this sequestered spot, to shun the din of war; troubles in early life, had fixed a settled melancholly in his disposition, that suited best with retirement, particularly at this time, when the feeling heart must be ever affected with the distresses of others. Mr. Villars was a Briton; but prepossessed in favour of America: and though he wished to see her independent, he felt for his countrymen. Mrs. Villars was an amiable woman, and still handsome; though trouble had greatly impaired her charms: her now darling employment, was forming the young mind of her daughter Louisa, whom she saw daily improving; she was now entering her sevententh year, and her beauty, though excelled by few, was her least perfec­tion. Mr. Villars, equally employed his time with two fine boys, whose good qualities promised amply to repay his care; in this manner they had passed [Page 3] the three first years of the war—and enjoyed a tranquillity, little known at those times: when they were alarmed on hearing the enemy fast: approach­ing; and for many days, they heard frequent skirmishes at a little distance. One evening Louisa, accompanied by her younger brother Charles, was walk­ing on the banks of the river, the sun just sinking below the horizon, the chanting of the birds, and the beauty of the evening, lulled her into a pleasing reverie, and she wandered she knew not whither; nor did she think of the im­propriety, till reminded by her brother of the distance they were from home; at that instant a beautiful little spaniel came up to them, and fawned on Louisa, then whining, ran into an adjacent thick­et; she immediately followed him, and perceived a young man on the ground, to all appearance dead; who by his dress appeared to be a British officer. Louisa [Page 4] shrieked, and was running away; when the humane little Charles said, "My dear sister, perhaps the gentleman is not dead, and we may be of service to him."

LOUISA, ever alive to the calls of humanity, summoned all her resolu­tion, and advanced to the young man; holding salts to his nose, she perceived him breathe. At this instant an officer arrived with some water in his hat; seeing Louisa (who was about to fly when she perceived him.) He cried, "Ah, fair stranger, art thou human, or an angel, sent to relieve the distressed?" She stopped, almost ready to faint with fright. Be not terrified, Madam, said he, "but tell me where I may carry my dying friend." She desired he would stay with him, while she ran for her father; she flew home with the utmost precipitation; and acquainted Mr. Vil­lars, [Page 5] he was ever happy to be of ser­vice to his fellow-creatures, waited not a moment; but went with his servants, had the gentleman brought home, and put to bed; a surgeon was sent for, who pronounced the wounds not mor­tal; but he had suffered so much from loss of blood, and want of timely assist­ance, that the greatest care was neces­sary. After his wounds had been dressed some time, he opened his eyes; and seeing his friend by his bed side, said, "Where am I, my dear Henry?" "Under the roof of hospitality," re­turned he, "Compose yourself for the present, William, you shall know all hereafter." "But to whom besides your­self am I obliged?" "Talk not to me of obligation" answered his friend, "Hea­ven has sent an Angel in the form of a young lady, to our relief, and her be­nevolent father, has treated you as his child." During this conversation, Mr. [Page 6] Villars, had retired to the other end of the room, perhaps he had his emotion. —He was extremely happy to have it in his power, to be of service to the wounded gentleman; but there was something in the voice, and manners of his friend, that struck him so forcibly, he could not account for it; and his great resemblance to a person we shall hereafter mention, entirely absorbed him in thought; when the young gen­tleman came to him, and begged he would accept the thanks of his friend, who was now able to speak to him. Mr. Villars approached the bed, and Cap­tain Bellmore (for that was his name) thanked him in the most grateful terms for his extreme kindness; the good man told him, "to make himself as easy as his situation would permit, as his speedy recovery, depended greatly on his being quite tranquil. "Alas, sir" returned he, "I am perfectly easy on [Page 7] my own account, but very unhappy on my friends. Mr. Hargrave has left his camp, in search of me; and I fear re­ports will be circulated, to the preju­dice of his honour." Mr. Villars started at the thought, and turning to Mr. Hargrave, (who sat in a deep reverie) said, "Can I, sir, be of service to you?" this was pronounced with so much tenderness, that Mr. Hargrave, before greatly prepossessed in his favour, now felt an emotion, he could not con­quer; bowing very respectfully, he said, "His situation indeed required a friend:" —Mr. Villars told him it was late, and it was necessary Captain Bellmore should rest, begged him to join his wife and daughter in this little parlour; promising Mr. Bellmore to do every thing in his power to serve his friend, he wished him a good night.—Mrs. Villars and Louisa chose to receive Mr. Hargrave, and eagerly enquired after his friend. "He is much [Page 8] better, Ladies," said he; and I hope, Madam (addressing himself to Louisa) will in a short time be able to thank you as his guardian angel. Louisa blushed; and only curtsied. Mr. Villars then beg­ged Mr. Hargrave to inform them the manner of his friend's being wounded, and his leaving the camp.—"He told them, the day before they had had a smart skirmish—that the party returned with an account of Captain Bellmore's being missing. A deserter coming in soon after, informed them he was lying on the field, he believed not quite dead. —I immediately applied for a flag, to go in search of him; but the orders was to march, and it could not be obtained. Our commanding officer was newly put in, or this would not have been the case. —Disgusted with the brutality of our colonel, and a heart bleeding for my friend, I took the advantage of the night, and left the camp in search of him—it [Page 9] was near morning ere I found him. Alas! how can I describe my feelings, on seeing him in such a situation. I took him in my arms to a river not far dis­tant, washed the blood from his face, and bound up his wounds with my hand­kerchief. After drinking a little water, he seemed to recover: I saw a light at a distance, and endeavoured to carry him to it; but I was deceived—it was only a vapour.

THE morn arrived, but with it no gleam of hope; I had wandered the whole day, supporting my friend, I may say, carrying him; for he frequently fainted. I had at length brought him to the bank of the river, where Miss Villars found him. He had lost so much blood, and was so exhausted with endeavouring to travel, that I thought he would have expired. He begged me to leave him, and take care of myself.— [Page 10] "My dear Harry," said he, "I feel I cannot live—why will you endanger yourself—comfort my parents—farewell my friend."

I HAD not time to tell him, I would never leave him, when he again fainted. I ran for water to the river; when at my return, to my inexpressible joy, I beheld Miss Villars. Heaven had heard my prayer, and sent relief when I had de­spaired of finding it."—Mr. Villars and the Ladies, highly commended Mr. Har­grave's humanity. The former said, "When things were properly repre­sented, his leaving the camp would be deemed meritorious. He thought it would be dangerous to attempt return­ing. That as he was ever an enemy to dissimulation, he would advise him to write to the general, and inform him of every circumstance, and in the interim, to give himself up as a prisoner of war; [Page 11] he made no doubt of his being very soon exchanged."

THE young gentleman very politely thanked him for his advice, and said he would be entirely directed by him; then separated for the night; but not to sleep. Mr. and Mrs. Villars, though they saw something in Mr. Hargrave that interested them very much in his favour, they wished to be more particularly acquainted with him. Miss Villars gentle heart was touched with compassion: the scene she had been witness to, preyed so forcibly on her spirits, that she could not sleep. At one moment, she fancied she saw Cap­tain Bellmore on the ground, just ex­piring: at another, Hargrave dragged to prison as a spy. The next morning the surgeon arrived; he said "Captain Bell­more was greatly recovered, and he hop­ed in no danger;" which gave univer­sal satisfaction to this benevolent family. [Page 12] Mr. Hargrave was so rejoiced at his friend's recovery, that he forgot his own tuation, until reminded by Mr Villars; who proposed going with him to his commanding officer, whose quarters was not above twenty miles distence. The business was soon settled; Mr. Villars pro­cured for them leave of absence, and they returned to the great satisfaction of Captain Bellmore, who was much more anxi­ous for his friend than himself. After a few days, he was able to sit up; he begged Mr. Hargrave would intreat the Ladies permission for him to thank them in person, for the favours he had re­ceived: he complied with his request. Mrs. Villars told him, smiling, "She was happy his friend was well enough to see company; that they would do themselves the pleasure of taking a dish of tea with him that afternoon. —Louisa appeared more lovely than usual; her dress, which was simplicity [Page 13] itself, added to charms, already height­ened, by the heart-felt satisfaction of having been serviceable to the distressed. —Mr. Villars attended the Ladies to the room, where Mr. Hargrave waited to receive them: he introduced Louisa to his friend, "As the person they were so much indebted to." At that moment, the little spaniel jumped on her lap, and licked her hands: Louisa caressed him, and mentioned his coming to her on the bank of the river, and the ex­treme distress he seemed in. It is need­less to relate the many obliging things that was said:—the afternoon passed away in a most agreeable manner: they parted equally pleased with each other. Capt. Bellmore told the Ladies, that it would greatly add to his recovery, if they would favour him with their company often; which they promising to do, wished him a good evening.— "You are a happy fellow, Harry (said he, [Page 14] with a sigh,) to wait on this divine girl in all her little excursions."—He then launched out so largely in Louisa's praise, that his friend rallied him; telling him, "He believed the last wound he had re­ceived, would be the most obstinate to cure:"—Upon my word, Will," con­tinued he, "I believe your case is des­perate—Miss Villars improves so much on acquaintance, that I have little hopes of you.—"And do you really believe I am in love with Miss Villars?"—"Most sin­cerely I do; for though I have had the pleasure of seeing her these six days past, and been indulged with her agree­able conversation, I have not thought half the fine things of her, that you have said within this quarter of an hour."—"Can it be possible Miss Vil­lars has not charmed you? Is there any thing in her you can disapprove?" Do not mistake me, my dear Will; she is a most deserving girl. I have at [Page 15] this moment, a sincere affection for her, and would risk my life to serve her; but love is quite out of the question; so you see I shall be no rival—but upon my soul, you must not trifle with her." "Can you be serious—do you think, said Captain Bellmore, "if it was, as you suppose, I could be guilty of trifling with such a girl." "No, no, my friend," returned Hargrave, "I know your goodness of heart better: but I must now bid you good night, and join the agreeable group in the par­lour, and strive to find out in the languid blue eyes of the fair Louisa, what effect your black ones have had." Saying this, he left him, and joined the family at supper. Mr. Villars proposed, since company was so agreeable to Cap­tain Bellmore, Mrs. Villars would take her work into his room the next day; and Louisa should read for his amuse­ment. (Louisa blushed, she knew not [Page 16] why;) Mr. Hargrave politely thanked Mr. Villars for this mark of attention; they soon after retired. Louisa, not much inclined to sleep, sat down and wrote the following letter, to Miss Sommers:

IN a short time, Captain Bellmore was able to leave his room; he would often read to the Ladies while they were at work. Mr. Hargrave's con­jectures were not wrong; the young Captain's thoughts were continually fixed on the fair Louisa; he was never happy but in her company—when ab­sent he was meditating whether he ought, and how he should, discover his sentiments; he viewed the many [Page 19] bars to his happiness—his family was noble, and of unbounded ambition; there was no probability of his father's consenting to his union. He thought he saw something in Mr. Villar's fa­mily, that pronounced them of a much higher rank than they at present mo­ved in; he wished to be acquainted with their connections, but had not resolution to break the subject: whe­ther they were, or were not, what they appeared to be, he had never har­boured a dishonourable thought. The anxiety of his mind, retarded his re­covery; and his friends were sorry to find he did not gain strength as fast as they first expected. "Advise me my Harry," said he to his friend, "I love the divine Louisa, but would I not be a villain, to endeavour to gain her affections, when I am certain my fa­ther, (on whom you know I am entire­ly dependant,) will never consent to [Page 20] my marrying her." "You are not so sure of that," returned his friend, "you can but ask it; should it be refused. and you are happy enough to be agree­able to Miss Villars, you are both young and can wait; you have great reason to expect promotion—as your father's interest can at any time procure you a regiment, you may then please your­self." Mr. Hargrave, though he spoke in this manner, had not the most distant idea of Sir John Bellmore's consent­ing to his son's union, but he wished to encourage his hopes, as he feared the consequence of his present uneasi­ness. One day, after a conversation of this kind, Capt. Bellmore went to walk in a wood adjoining the garden. Lou­isa was sitting in an arbour of jesamine, caressing the favourite spaniel, when lifting up her eyes, she saw Capt. Bell­more approaching. "Happy Juba!" said he—at the same time, looking [Page 21] with uncommon tenderness at Miss Vil­lars, who had arose to retire as he en­tered the arbour; begged her pardon, said he would begone in a moment, if she wished to be alone." No indeed, I do not," said she with an artless blush; at this he led her back to the seat, and taking one of her hands, which he pressed with ardour to his breast, "Will then my most adored Miss Vil­lars, permit me a few moments con­versation." Louisa had spoke before she thought, but it was now too late to rectify her mistake, without appearing to understand him; so carelessly with­drew her hand, she picked a sprig of jessamine, and asked him, "If he did not think it would make a handsomer wreath, than laurel?" He said he should not esteem either, unless he could have the honour of laying them at her feet.—Poor Louisa had undesign­edly led to the subject she most wished [Page 22] to avoid; not that it was disagreeable to her; but her father had taught her to believe, that marriages without the sanction of Parents, would ever be un­happy; and from the sketches she had heard from the gentlemens conversa­tion of Sir John Bellmore's family, she had no hope of his consenting to his sons marrying without the lady was pos­sessed of a large fortune, she endeavoured to again wave the subject; but the op­portunity, was too favourable to his wishes to let it escape; he threw him­self at her feet, and opening his heart, told her, "it was not in the power of riches, or preferment, to make him happy, without her; that he had no great reason to imagine his father would consent to his marriage; but he hoped as he had pretty good interest in the army, to be soon independent."— Louisa had heard him patiently till now, said, "O, Sir, do not think you will ever be independent of the duty you [Page 23] owe your parents;" I must not, I can­not, hear you any longer upon this subject." At these words she rose, and was leaving the arbour, but he pre­vented her; and intreated, "She would not drive him to despair, to tell him at least she did not hate him."— "hate you, Captain Bellmore. Oh, hea­ven!—"If you do not hate me, my angel, said he, do not make the life you saved miserable, by refusing me to hope for the only thing, that can make it de­sirable." Their stay had been longer in the arbour than either imagined, and just as he had done speaking, they heard Mr. Villars, and Mr. Hargrave, return from hunting; Louisa then in­sisted▪ upon going, "as her Mamma would wonder at her long stay." Af­ter making her promise to hear him on the subject again, he permitted her to go, and took a walk to the woods, while Louisa returned to the house. [Page 24] Unused to artifice, she could not easily get the better of the confusion she was thrown in, by the above conversa­tion; which was not a little augment­ed, by her Mamma's asking her, "where she had been; she however, answered pretty well, "in the jessamine bower, Mamma, making this wreath." Har­grave going up to her in a gay man­ner, asked, whose "happy brows was to be crowned with that wreath:" but said he, smiling, "what is become of the Capt. has he been making wreaths too." "I—I—I don't know," said Louisa, stammering; Hargrave thought by her confusion, all was out: giving her a significant look (which Louisa perfectly understoood,) "I will go look for him, said he, "he is grown of late so fond of roseat bowers, and purling streams, that I am positively afraid he'll turn poet." So saying he left her, and went in search of the Captain, whom he found [Page 25] sitting on the bank of the river, so lost in thought that he approached nigh enough to slap him on the shoulder be­fore he perceived him: "Come," said he, "Mr. Villars is making a bowl of cur­rant punch, but I suppose you have been sipping the nectar of Miss Villars's conversation, in the garden;" "Why do you think I have seen her there?" returned the Captain; because the roses were heightened in her cheeks, and the pretty confusion she was in, when I asked her where you was, made me imagine you had been assisting her, to make that beautiful wreath of jessamine she had in her hand." "You're a sad rattling fellow, Harry, but your heart is at ease." "And so may your's be," answer­ed Hargrave, or I am much mistaken. "I have seen Miss Villars," said the Cap­tain, "and have told her all my doating heart feels for her; she heard me, it is true—but would not give me the least [Page 26] hopes of ever being mine contrary to my parent's consent:" "Ha! ha! ha! so you are quite in despair, because she did not immediately fly into your arms. Come, come, Will, come in and drink a little of the old gentleman's punch, I am sure you want it to chear your spirits, for you have positively got the hip:" So saying, he took him by the arm, and led him to the little parlour, where Mr. and Mrs. Villars were waiting with baskets of fruit and the currant punch, for their return; over which simple repast we will leave them, and return to Louisa, who had retired (soon af­ter Mr. Hargrave went in search of his friend,) to read a letter, she had just received from Miss Sommers. As the reader will be better acquainted with this young Lady, it may not be deemed unnecessary, to inform them, she was the daughter of an eminent merchant in the city of New-York. [Page 27] She was very beautiful; and to a fund of good nature, was added a great deal of vivacity. She was mistress of an excellent education, which rendered her a desirable companion; and early intimacy had endeared these young Ladies to each other; and since Mr▪ Villar's retirement, they had constant corresponded: Lauisa ever happy to hear from her friend, eagerly broke the seal, and read as follows:

LOUISA, on first reading her friend's let­ter, was greatly nettled, at the vulgar sar­casms of Miss Vitrol, and Miss Drip; but on second consideration, she looked on such scandal beneath her, and thought no more of it. The family were now sum­moned to dinner,—after the cloth was removed, Miss Villars said "she had that morning received a letter from Miss Sommers." At the mention of her [Page 38] name, Captain Bellmore looked at his friend, and smiled. Mr. Villars asked what news Eliza had wrote from town. As Louisa could not with propriety re­late the conversation at Mrs. Mush­room's; she said, "nothing extraordinary, except the new conquest she has made of General Antique; who has with great formality, asked her Papa's permission to pay his addresses to her. Mr. V. laugh­ing, turned to the gentlemen, and said, "this young Lady is a beautiful girl of eighteen, and General Antique, an old veteran of sixty at least." Mr. Hargrave asked Louisa, "if Miss Som­mers of New-York, was the Lady they mentioned." She answered, "She was, and asked him if he was acquainted with her." Hargrave looking a little confused, answered in the "negative; but that he had the pleasure of seeing her once at the assembly.—"While the British were in possession of that [Page 39] place, Captain Bellmore, with two other officers, and himself, went in late, most of the Ladies were engaged," conti­nued he. "And I had despaired of finding a partner; when a gentleman in­troducing me to Miss Sommers, said, he had prevailed on her partner, to excuse her for one dance." "Did you never see her after," said Louisa. "Never," returned he, "I was immediately sent on a distant expedition, and it has not been possibly in my power to visit that city since. You did not tell Miss Villars," said Captain Bellmore, "what effect the bright eyes of her friend, had on you. Indeed you never saw a poor fellow more in love in your life."—"Bellmore, you dream," an­swered Hargrave.—"It is more than you did at that time," returned the Captain, "I positively believe yon did not sleep in a month."—" Mr. Har­grave was not very dangerously woun­ded, [Page 40] if he recovered in a month," said Louisa—"No, no," continued Bellmore, "he did not in twelve: and positively I have never heard him give another Lady as a toast since." —"Miss Villars," answered Hargrave, "who has the pleasure of being ac­quainted with Miss Sommers, will, no doubt, acquit me, for thinking her a charming girl; and I will not say, if I had had the happiness of seeing her often, I should have brought off a whole heart."—"I'm of opinion,"— returned Mr. Villars, "You would have lost it entirely, by what your friend says, it was pretty much shatter­ed at first sight; and I assure you, Miss Sommers improves upon acquain­tance. She is a great fortune, and it would be no bad speck, Mr Hargrave." —"It is not for a poor wandering fellow like me, to aspire to Miss Som­mers," answered Hargrave. "You [Page 41] should not," said the Captain, "call yourself a poor fellow, whilst the ac­knowledged favourite of Lord—." Here a letter was brought Captain Bell­more, which prevented his proceeding. "He was desired as soon as he was able to travel, to come to town, and an exchange would be immediately procured."—Captain Bellmore, though a good soldier, would have been content with remaining longer in the country, to have enjoyed the society of his be­loved Louisa; and could not think of parting, until he had obtained her pro­mise of being one day his.—Louisa's heart now revealed a secret; she thought she only esteemed him as a friend; but when she heard he was soon to depart, she could scarcely hide her emo­tion; and making an excuse to with­draw, retired to her own room, to bewail the caprice of fortune.—Mr. Vil­lars said, "he hoped they did not intend [Page 42] leaving them for some time; as Capt. Bell­more's health was not sufficiently re-esta­blished for such a journey." After many obliging things said on both sides, it was concluded, they should set out in a fortnight.—Captain Bellmore had no opportunity of speaking to Louisa for some days;—when one evening, the gentlemen requested her to walk—with her Mamma's permission, she consented. Charles, and the young Edward, were of the party. Enticed by the beauty of the evening, they walked farther than they intended; when Charles ex­claimed, "Bless me, sister, this is the very place where we found Captain Bellmore."—They all soon recollected the spot: the blood forsook Louisa's cheeks, and she was near sinking. On the edge of the thicket, stood a large willow, at whose root nature (to in­vite the wearied traveller,) had placed a beautiful bank covered with moss; [Page 43] to this seat they led her; she soon recovered, and rose to return, but Har­grave, willing to oblige his friend, said, "She had better rest a little, and he would go and gather some wild flowers to add to her beaux pots; as he had seen some very handsome nigh that place." And continued he, "Charles and Edward will accompany me."— So saying, he took the boys by the hand, and was out of sight in an in­stant.—The reader may be assured the Captain did not lose the moments so ardently wished for; but plead his cause so well, that had Louisa acted from the dictates of her heart, he would have had no reason to com­plain. But she was sensible of the im­propriety of giving him hopes, when she saw no probability of their being rea­lised. He begged her to let him apply to her father; this she positively re­fused—and told him, she knew his opi­nion [Page 44] so well, it would be needless.— She had not, however, disguise enough to hide entirely her approbation; and the Captain had some consolation in thinking he was not altogether indif­ferent to her. They had spent nigh an hour most agreeably; when Har­grave and the little boys returned, with large bunches of flowers. After this, they had frequent interviews. Har­grave undertook to plead his friend's cause; but there was no occasion; he had an advocate in Louisa's breast, more powerful than any he could offer. —Captain Bellmore, at length, obtained the promise he wished. The day before they were to depart, they walked to the favourite willow; where they, in pre­sence of Mr. Hargrave, vowed to live only for each other; and wait some happy turn of fortune.

[Page 45]THE day arrived, when they were to part. As no one suspected an attach­ment between the Captain and Louisa, it was not difficult for them to steal a few moments in private. They met in the jessamine bower; he pressed her to his breast when he bid her adieu,—poor Louisa could refrain her tears no longer; but dissolved with the tenderness of the moment, hid them in his bosom.

THE scene was too affecting; they broke from each other.—When the little group assembled to breakfast, the concern was general; though the jour­ney had been twice retarded, it still arrived too soon, and they parted with mutual regret.—Mr. Villars accommo­dated them with horses to a town, about twenty miles distant, from whence they were to take the packet. Louisa gave Mr. Hargrave the following let­ter for Miss Sommers:

NOTHING material happened on the road. The packet was ready to sail when they arrived; they dismissed the servant with the horses, and a few lines to Mr. Villars. The wind was fair, and in 6 days they arrived at New-York.—Mr. Villars had recommended them to his friend Colonel Rightly.— As soon as they were dressed, they waited on him; he immediately pro­vided them genteel lodgings, and in­vited them to dine with him the next [Page 48] day.—Captain Bellmore begged, "he would recommend them to a merchant, as they had some bills they wished to dispose of.—Colonel Rightly told them "he made no doubt, but Mr. Sommers would purchase, to whatever amount they chose."—And it was agreed, they should wait on him the next day.—Accordingly, Colonel Rightly called at twelve, and attended them to Mr. Sommers's, who immediately pur­chased the bills, and politely invited them up stairs; as they had mentioned having a letter for Miss Sommers.—She was sitting with her Mamma and sister, when they entered. Mr. Sommers intro­duced them, saying, "this gentleman has a letter for you, Eliza."—Mr. Hargrave approached; she immediately recol­lected him, and blushing exceedingly, inquired after her friend's health.— Hargrave, though much confused, an­swered [Page 49] her with a pretty good grace. The conversation then charged to the accident that brought them to Mr. Villars's house;—they both expressed the greatest regard for the family, and their particular obligations.—After stay­ing nigh an hour, they took their leave, Mr. Sommers politely requested they would not be strangers to his house, while they remained in town.

Captain BELLMORE soon made Miss Sommers (as the friend of Louisa) his confident; and persuaded her to en­close his letters. The impression Eli­za's fine eye had made on Mr. Har­grave at first sight, was now deeply rooted; and he was never happy when absent from her. Though extremely lively, she had nothing of the coquette; she preferred him to all her admirers, and did not strive to conceal it. The Winter was now approaching, and [Page 50] there was no probability of being en­gaged in actual service till spring; nor did they seem to wish it. Hargrave, happy with being near his Eliza, dread­ed nothing so much as the thoughts of parting.—Captain Bellmore, though deprived of the sight of Louisa, had the pleasure of hearing from her often. But we must now leave them, and return to Louisa; who spent her time, as usual, in improvement with her ex­cellent Mother; but her tranquillity of mind was lost, her former amusement had now no charms.—She seldom vi­sited in the village, and whilst the weather was fine, she, often attended by her little Juba, spent hours under the willow, which she reverenced, as witness to her vows. Mr. and Mrs. Villars saw the change in Louisa; and suspected the cause, but did not think it so deeply rooted. They, however, avoided mentioning, what they saw [Page 51] she wished to conceal —Nothing hap­pened during the first part of the win­ter, worth relating. Through her friend, Louisa received many letters from Captain Bellmore, which she answered by the same means. We will now leave her, and return to town.

Mr. SOMMERS had one day invited Captain Bellmore and his friend to dine. Soon after they came in, Mr. Hargrave told Mr. Sommers, "He had letters from Lord Beauclair, which mentioned his drafts being paid, and hoped he had the same account." Mr. Sommers said he had.—At the name of Lord Beauclair, Eliza started, and changed colour: In the evening, she asked Mr. Hargrave if he was any re­lation to him. "A very distant one," replied he, "but he has been a father to me." "Pray," said Eliza, "is Lady Beauclair living." "She is," re­turned [Page 52] Hargrave, "but why, my dear Eliza, does the name of Lord Beau­clair seem to affect you;" (for during this discourse she has often changed colour,) "I have heard," answered Eliza, "he had a daughter he used very un­kindly, and I can't hear his name without emotion: do they know if she is still living." "They do not," replied he. "I have heard she went several years ago to the East Indies, with her family; I have often heard Lady Beauclair la­ment her, but her name is never menti­oned before my Lord."—"Good God," said Eliza, "and her only fault, was marrying a worthy man with a small fortune."—"And is that a small fault, my beloved Eliza," said he, clasping her in his arms. "Tell me, I pray, if you know any thing of this Lady, or her family; for be assured, though I have been taught to look on myself as the heir of Lord Beauclair, if ever [Page 53] I am so happy as to find Lady Maria, I shall willingly resign my pretensions in her favour." "Your intention is truly meritorious," returned Miss Sommers. "You may perhaps find Lady Maria, or some of her family:" "Ah! Miss Som­mers, said he, "riches or titles could only make me happy for being accep­table to you; and I am confident, you would not prize such unjustly retained." —After a long and tender conversation, they parted equally pleased with each other.

Miss SOMMERS was torn between love and friendship; she knew Lady Maria Beverly; but was not at liberty to discover her; and if she did, she would deprive the man she most regarded of im­mence riches; but friendship and justice were predominant. She determined to write to her friend for permission to discover her, which she immediately [Page 54] did.—Mr. Hargrave related to Captain Bellmore the above conversation—they both concluded, Miss Sommers must know something of Lady Maria; but thought it best not to press her far­ther at present, as she might not per­haps be at liberty to discover her. Not long after this, Mr. Hargrave attended Miss Sommers and her sister, to spend the evening at Mrs. Hardy's.—Doctor Squills by accident dropt in, he said he had just come from the prison, and his feelings had not for a long time, been so hurt. "A very decent woman was brought there some days before," continued he. "She is very ill, and I fear cannot live if she is not removed to a more comfortable place:"—"pray what is she charged with?" demanded Hargrave, "upon my word I cannot tell," returned the Doctor, "it seems she was taken within our line, and does not give a very good account of herself. She says [Page 55] She has travelled from the Southward, in search of a young gentleman, she was nurse to, and whom she heard was confined as a spy; I told her she might be perfectly easy on that account, for no British officer was confined on such suspicion at present." Mr. Hargrave asked him, "if he knew her name?" "I think it is Carely," answered the Doctor. "Good God!" exclaimed he, "my old nurse." He begged the Ladies to ex­cuse him, and said, he would wait on Colonel Rightly, and prevail upon him to use his interest, with regard to freeing Mrs Carely." He was no soon­er gone, than some of the company expressed great surprise, at what they had heard.—Captain Bellmore, who had dropped in accidentally, briefly re­lated his being wounded, and the dis­interested behaviour of Mr. Hargrave; which he supposed had given rise to the report that frightened poor Mrs. [Page 56] Carely. The whole company joined in his praise; and Eliza had the inexpres­sible pleasure of hearing the chosen of her heart, extolled to the highest de­gree.

Mr. HARGRAVE went immediately to Col. Rightly, who promised to do every thing in his power upon the occasion.— They went that night to the prison, though it was late. Hargrave entered the room, followed by the Colonel; they approached the bed—she was sleeping. They had stood a few moments, when she awoke, praying for blessings on her Harry.—"Your Harry is with you," said Hargrave, advancing.— The poor woman was nigh fainting.— "My son," returned she, "I shall die easy, since I see you safe."—"Compose yourself, good mother, and tell me how you came here," replied Hargrave.— "O! sir, I have not strength;—I heard [Page 57] somebody say, you would be taken as a spy; so came off in the night, and wan­dered, I knew not where. I have been several months a prisoner, but not con­fined so closely as at present."

Col. RIGHTLY told her, "to make her­self easy—that he would procure her li­berty, and take her to his own house." —The good woman thanked him with her tears; her heart was too full tor ut­terance. Next morning, Col. Rightly applied to the General, and had her brought home, where she very soon reco­vered; and took the place of a house­keeper he had just discharged.—About this time, a peace was negociating; and hostilities ceased with Britain.

Mr. VILLARS▪ who had adjourned go­ing to town (as he did not wish to leave his family at such a time) now paid a visit to the metropolis. His first inquiries [Page 58] were for Capt. Bellmore and Mr. Har­grave, who received him with the highest satisfaction. They dined the next day at Mr. Sommers's, with Colonel Rightly and Major Beaucamp, who was also a Bri­tish officer on leave of absence. The company had assembled some time before the Major came in. Mr. Sommers in­troduced him. As he approached Mr. Villars, he started and stopped. "Ex­cuse me, sir—your likeness is so great to a friend of mine, that was I not almost certain of his death, I should think I now saw him before me.— "You are not mistaken, my friend," said Mr. Villars, his eyes swimming in tears; "and can I be so happy," re­plied the Major, pressing him to his breast, "Again to meet my Beverly!— You see indeed the man who once was Beverly," returned Mr. Villars; "but, ah! the trials I have met since last we parted!"—The reader may easily ima­gine [Page 59] the astonishment of Mr. Hargrave and Captain Bellemore, at the above conversation:—the former would im­mediately have gone to Mr. Villars's, and discovered his intentions in his favour; but Miss Sommers detained him. "Consider," said she, "you are dependent on Lord Beauclair; and should you disoblige him, by interfer­ring in this matter, you may be de­prived of his favour, and not have it in your power to serve them. You will, no doubt, hear Mr. Villars's story; you may then mention your connec­tions with Lord Beauclair, and your intentions, should the estate come in your possession:"—"You are extremely right, my dear Eliza," answered he: "I can at present do nothing; but I feel exceedingly interested in their be­half." In the mean time, Major Beau­camp was asking Mr. Villars many ques­tions, as he had not seen him since his [Page 60] marriage. Mr. Sommers said, "He hoped the long friendship subsisting be­tween Mr. Villars and himself, would ex­cuse his begging to hear his story, ¹ which he thought would be very interesting." "My history is a melancholly one," re­turned he, "and I believe will afford lit­tle satisfaction; though notwithstanding I'll endeavour to recollect facts, that will tear open wounds, time can never heal. Accordingly, as soon as the cloth was removed, Mr. Villars began as follows:

MY father was the youngest son of an ancient family in Cumberland, of the name of Villars. My grandfather, at an advanced age, married a widow of small fortune; she had one daugh­ter, who was very beautiful; and her mother possessed of a great deal of art, [Page 61] soon made a match between her and my father's elder brother. She had great ascendancy over my grandfather, and found means to withdraw his af­fection from his younger children.— My father, and a sister of twelve years of age, were sent to a boarding-school, and never allowed to come home. At my grandfather's death, they found themselves thrown on the world, pos­sessed of a very few hundreds.— Miss Villars took her father's usage so much to heart, that she died not long after. —She was in her eighteenth year when this melancholly event took place. My father, who was of a lively turn, submitted to the caprice of fortune, and strove to be content: he had stu­died the law, but did not pay such strict attention to it, as he ought.— When he had entered his two and twen­tieth year, a brother of my grandfather's mother died, and left my father an [Page 62] estate nigh Bath, of six hundred pounds a year; with which he was to take the name of Beverly. He soon after mar­ried Miss Louisa Herbert, a very ac­complished young Lady, with a fortune of ten thousand pounds.

A YEAR after their marriage, I was born; and in two years more, they received a second addition to their hap­piness, by the birth of a daughter.— Nothing material happened during our minority, until I attained my nineteenth year. My father paid the greatest at­tention to our education, (but impru­dently lived to the extent of his income.) My mother often remonstrated to lit­tle purpose; he was not of a disposition to brook restraint.

AT that age, I left the university; my father intended me for the army, but my mother would never consent [Page 63] to it; and was with difficulty prevailed on, to consent to my making the tour of France and Italy, the ensuing year; which I did, accompanied by my friend Beaucamp, and his worthy father; who acted as governor to us both.— Whilst abroad, I became acquainted with Lord Sidly, son to the Earl of Beauclair. He was pleased to profess the greatest friendship for me; indeed it was amply returned;—and I shall ever sincerely regret his loss."

Mr. VILLARS stopped and wiped his eyes. We stayed," continued he, "two years abroad, and returned to­gether.—My father was chosen as a member for a neighbouring borough; and the winter after I returned, I ac­companied him to town; my first enquiries were for Lord Sidly. He received me with great cordiality, and introduced me to Lady Beauclair, the [Page 64] Hon. Charles Sidly, and Lady Maria, his sister.—I was great part of my time with Lord Sidly; and had frequent opportunities of seeing Lady Maria.— I was admitted to all their parties;— the friendly and familiar footing, I was on in the family, (for even Lord Beauclair seemed particularly attentive to me) made me forget the difference of rank; and my heart aspired to this lovely girl.—I sometimes fancied myself not indifferent to her; but I still en­deavoured to conceal my own senti­ments, in company with her brother.

I ONE night attended her to the play; there happened to be a riot— Lady Maria was extremely frightened; and we were making our way through the croud, with an intention to get out, when a man rudely caught her arm. This way Ma'am," said he. Throw­ing herself in my arms, "Oh! save me, [Page 65] Beverly," exclaimed she. I took her up, and bore her to the carriage, in which I placed her almost fainting. I seated myself by her, and ordered the carriage to drive home. Lady Maria asked for her brother; I told her, "We had left him at the theatre; but if she wished, I would return, and seek him."—" O, no!" said she, " do not leave me."—I pressing her hand to my heart, told her, I would wish never to leave her;—her head was still reclined on my shoulder.—At these words she sighed, and starting, with­drew the hand I pressed, saying, "Excuse me, Mr. Beverly, I have been exceedingly frightened." The coach now stopped, and I attended her to the parlour. Lady Beauclair asked, "why they came home so soon, and what had become of Lord Sidly." I related what had hap­pened. "I have caused a great deal of trouble to Mr. Beverly," said Lady [Page 66] Maria; "he was so good as to carry me a considerable distance in his arms." I could only answer her by a look, which I thought she understood. The day fol­lowing, the Hon. Charles Sidly set out on his travels. His departure afforded mutual concern, as he was to take the tour of Europe; and he was not ex­pected to return in some years.

SOON after this, I returned home, I corresponded with Lord Sidly, but dared not mention my beloved Maria, agreeable to the dictates of my heart. When the bathing season came on, he wrote me, that he should soon wait on Lady Maria to Bath, as she was in ill health, and begged me to pro­cure him lodgings; which I immedi­ately did, and waited with impatience, for their arrival. It was not long before I received a card with the welcome intelligence. I flew to their lodgings, Lord [Page 67] Sidly met me on the stairs, and ex­pressed the greatest happiness at seeing me. Lady Maria arose as I entered; she looked very pale and languid: I begged her to be seated, and told her, "I was grieved to owe the happiness of seeing her to ill health." Lord Sidly soon left the room;—I was thrown from my guard, and said some­thing of a more tender nature, than I had ever dared before: she seemed much affected, but I thought not dis­pleased.—In the evening, I attended my sister Caroline to her lodgings.— They were equally pleased with each other; and the next day we went to the rooms. The Ladies preferred walking home; as it was but a very short distance, Lord Sidly gave his arm to Caroline, and I offered mine to Lady Maria. We had not proceed­ed far, when she said, " you know not how unhappy I have been, Mr. [Page 68] Beverly, since you left us." She then told me, "that her Papa had en­couraged the addresses of Lord Win­ters; whom I knew was very disa­greeable to her: that he had given her positive orders to prepare to marry him.—And had it not been for the intercession of her brother, who had prevailed on him to allow her a little time, she should e're this have been dragged to the altar." She said, "she would rather die, than marry that deserted Lord, which she supposed she would be obliged to do when she re­turned." This was like fire to my brain; though I had no right to hope. Yet to see her sacrificed to a super­annuated wretch, who had nothing to recommend him but immense riches▪ was more than I could bear, when pressing the hand I held to my bosom, "My beloved Maria,"—cried I, "this cannot, this must not be."—She sighed, [Page 69] but made no reply. We had now reached the house: Lord Sidly insisted upon our spending the day with them. —My father waited on him the next day, and invited them to dine; they accepted the invitation. That and many more days, we spent together. I was no longer master of myself: I declared my sentiments without reserve, and pathetically lamented my hard fortune; I had the pleasure to find she was not displeased: But would say, "O! Be­verly, I am sufficiently wretched, do not add to my distress, by making me think I am the cause of unhappiness to you."

THUS we had spent six weeks, when one evening at an assembly, we were ac­costed by Lord Winter: he told Lady Maria, "He had just arrived from town; and as he did not know where she lodged, he expected to have the plea-of meeting her there:" and very care­lessly [Page 70] begged her to go down the next dance with him. She answered, "she should dance but little, and was engag­ed;" "who is the happy person that usurps my right," said he, indignantly. "Very well my Lady, perhaps I may not be allowed to wait of you home nei­ther?"—"Very probable, my Lord," replied she. At that moment, the dance was called.—as I advanced, she arose and gave me her hand; she trembled so exceedingly, she could scarcely move. When the dance was over, seeing her very much flurried, I led her to a seat, and called her brother and Caroline to her. I told Lord Sidly, the sight of Lord Winter had affected her so much, she was near fainting."— "Lord Winter here!" said he: "Damn him, he'll be the death of the girl yet."

IN the course of the evening, Lord Winter had learnt, "I was the only [Page 71] one that had attended Lady Maria since her arrival at Bath: that she spent the greatest part of her time at our house; in short, it was supposed, I was her favoured admirer. He advanced, and addressing himself to her, asked "if he should order his chariot."— She thanked him; but said, "she should return with her brother;—Lord Sidly gave him a card, and begged the fa­vour of his company to dine the next day: he returned a slight bow, and retired to a little distance, where he could observe who went into the car­riage.—I led Lady Maria to the door; when Lord Sidly said, "Beverly, I must see you to-morrow morning."— I went accordingly, and learnt Lady Maria had been so ill all night, she was not able to come down to breakfast. "I cannot conceive," said Lord S. "why my father insists on sacrificing the girl for riches."—" Oh! my Lord," cried [Page 72] I, "Do you know no way to save her?"—He saw my emotion, but tak­ing no notice of it, said, "what can I do for her? can't you advise me?"— "I could, but"—"but what," said he, smiling, "I suppose you would advise me to get some clever fellow to take her out of his way."—My Lord," said I, starting, "Be not ama­zed, would not you like to assist me in preventing this match?"—" I would willingly lose my life, to contribute to her felicity." "But if I'm not mis­taken, you must preserve your life, to make her happy." "Henry," continued he, "I will trifle no longer. I have long seen the affection between you and Ma­ria; and with my parent's consent, no man on earth I would as soon call bro­ther—but as it is, I can't bear to see her wretched. I am sensible the blame will fall on me, but I am better able to bear it."

[Page 73]I know not what I said to him; my ex­tacy may more easily be imagined than defined. I would have fell at his feet, and embraced his knees; but preventing me, he said, "if I acted like such a crazy fellow, he would not trust his sis­ter with me."—He then left me, to go to her, with whom he soon returned; and leading her to the sofa, said, Beverly, Maria is quite shagrined at Lord Winter's not calling on her this morning; and I have recommended an hour's conversa­tion with you, to recover her spirits. So saying, he smiled and left us. "Bro­ther!" exclaimed she, with surprise: I flew to her, and folding her in my arms, told her what had passed between Lord Sidly and myself. We now gave a loose to the most endearing sensations, and for a time forgot the many bars to our union.

[Page 74]WE had been nigh two hours together, when Lord Sidly returned; he seemed thoughtful, and walked the room some time without speaking; then turning to us, he said Lord Winter had left Bath; that he had made particular enquries con­cerning me, and was heard to say, "Lord Beauclair should be acquainted with his children's behaviour." "What is to be done, Beverly ?" continued he.— I told him, "I thought no time was to be lost; and begged him to let us set out immediately for Scotland."

IT was accordingly determined, we should be off at four that afternoon. To prevent suspicion, we were to go the first stage in Lord Sidly's cha­riot; he had sent a trusty servant on, to provide a post-chaise. Lord Sidly and my sister were the only per­sons in the secret; I took all the mo­ney I had by me, which amounted [Page 75] to two hundred guineas.—I left a letter for my father, which I told Caroline not to give him, until the next evening, as we should by that time be out of reach.

LORD Sidly, at parting, put a bank-note of fifteen hundred pounds in Maria's hand; she was very much affected, and said, "O, my brother! what will you not suffer on my account." "If you are happy, my dear girl, I shall be amply re­paid." About nine miles from Bath, we took a post-chaise, and Lord Sidly's carriage returned: honest John had pro­vided relays at every stage, so that we were not obliged to wait a moment. We had travelled all night, but the next day, poor Maria was so fatigued, we were o­bliged to rest some hours. We arrived without any accident. Maria bore the journey much better than I had expected she would. We were immediately mar­ried, [Page 76] and took lodgings, as I thought it best not to return directly.

THE report of our being eloped, did not spread in Bath, until the af­ternoon following our departure.— My father was extremely enraged; his proud spirit could not brook my being despised, as he was certain I should be by Lord Beauclair's family; and he made no doubt, but his lordship would use all his interest to effect his ruin. (which was indeed the case.)

LORD Winter had no sooner arrived in town, than he waited on Lord Beauclair, and told him, it was currently reported, that lady Maria received the addresses of Mr. Beverly, and Lord Sidley encoura­ged it. It is impossible to express the rage of his lordship, on this information: he dispatched a servant to his son with orders to return immediately, without [Page 77] mentioning the cause—before he receiv­ed the letter, the news of our elopement and marriage, had reached town;—Lord Beauclair's rage was now beyond all bounds;—he wrote to my father in the most opprobrious manner; and also to Lord Sidley, in which he forbid him ever to appear in his presence; that he forever renounced Maria; and was determined never to hear any interposition in favour of either of them.

LORD Sidly was extremely distressed on reading his father's letter; he did not think he would have carried his resent­ment to such lengths.—He immediately set out for London. Upon his arrival, he went directly to his father's: when a servant said, he had orders to tell him he had no home there.—He took lodgings nigh, and wrote to his mother in the most affecting manner.—After writing a third letter, he received an answer, by [Page 78] Susan Artless, Lady Maria's maid.— This was much colder than he expected from her. She informed him, Lord Beauclair was determined not to see him: and begged he would never men­tion her disobedient daughter to her; that Susan should be ordered to pack up her clothes and jewels, which should be sent to her; and desired him to let her know, it was all she had to expect. Poor Susan wept bitterly, and begged she might go to her mistress, which she soon after did.

THO' Lord Sidly had only seven hun­dred pounds a year, independent of his fa­ther, he was determined never again to seek his favour; but immediately pur­chased a majority in a marching regi­ment, destined for the East Indies—from whence he never returned.

HERE Mr. Villars stopped, from an [Page 79] incapability of proceeding. — He after some time thus continued: "Some weeks after our marriage, Susan arrived with my wife's trunks, and a letter from Lord Sidly; he mentioned his going to India, but said he would pay us a visit before he sailed.—Maria, and I, had both wrote to Lord Beauclair; and our letters had been returned unopened; she could bear with greater fortitude, their cruelty to herself, than to her brother; it most sensibly affected us, that he should suffer so much for us, he spent a fortnight with us before he sailed, and seemed prefectly chearful.—He told my wife to be intirely easy, on his account, that leaving her happy, would be a great means of making him so. Soon after he left us, we received a letter from him, in which he impower­ed me to draw upon his banker for two hundred a year, until his return.

MY wife disposed of her jewels; the [Page 80] sale of which amounted to fourteen hun­dred pounds; this we added to the pre­sent Lord Sidly had so generously made his sister, and purchased a small estate in my father's neighbourhood. But, alas! a cloud was now hanging over our heads, which burst with all its force.

MY father had been obliged to mort­gage his estate for several hundreds. Lord Beauclair bought the mortgage, and immediately closed it; this heightened my father's resentment against me; he had never been perfectly reconciled; he said, he was convinced I should be his ruin.—My wife proposed mortgaging our estate, to clear his, but he would not accept of it. His was accordingly sold for much less than the value.—My sis­ter was just married to Colonel Mont­gomery, and went with him to Scotland. Had my father been prudent, he still [Page 81] had sufficient to live comfortably; but his spirit was too great to retrench.

AFTER his affairs were settled, there were seven thousand pounds remaining, which he placed in the hands of an eminent broker: took a house in Bath; and lived as usual.—A year after our marriage, my Maria presented me with a son, whom we named Henry, after Lord Sidley.

HERE Mr. Villars ceased—the tears flowed so fast, he was obliged to leave the room; in a short time he return­ed, and thus continued: "When my son was about six months old, Lord and Lady Beauclair came to Bath. One day Lady Beauclair saw the nurse and child walking before my father's door, (for though very much incensed with me, she was fond of my child, and would often send for him.)—She stop­ped, [Page 82] and asked whose child it was: when she was told, she started and walked on; then returning, told the nurse to step into a milliner's shop with her; she caressed the infant. "It is a sweet boy," said she. She then took a gold medal, and tied it by a ribbon, round the child's neck: the nurse asked if she should tell Mrs. Beverly to whom she was obliged." She answered, "it was not material."—When the nurse came home, she acquainted my wife with the rencoun­ter.—My poor Maria was near fainting; she knew the medal, and found her Mo­ther was still determined not to see her. —She, however, resolved again to write, but they left Bath the next day.

MY father's affairs now became despe­rate—his creditors pressed upon him, and we determined to mortgage our estate, and send him relief, as from an unknown hand. We raised eight hundred pounds, [Page 83] which we sent, enclosed in a blank pa­per. But, alas! we were only involving ourselves, without doing him any ser­vice. His debts were to a much greater amount than we were worth, and I saw him dragged to the prison without the power to assist him.

I applied to several of his friends in town, but Lord Beauclair had prejudiced them against him. He suffered but a few months—he was seized with a fever, that carried him off within, a few weeks.

HOW can I express my feelings?—I looked upon myself as accessary to his misfortune. The creditors took posses­sion of every thing: my poor mother suf­fered in silence, and never reproached me; she soon went to Scotland to my sister, as Col. Montgomery had pressed her to spend the remainder of her days with them. She was scarcely gone, when [Page 84] Mr. Granville, the gentleman from whom we borrowed the money, demanded im­mediate payment. Lord Beauclair would not appear in this; but I have been since informed, he persuaded Mr. Granville to act in the manner he did.

I WAS now obliged to apply to a broker, and to give an exorbitant inte­rest. It is needless to mention the many misfortunes that attended me, in the course of two years; I was obliged to sell my estate. I had now one thousand pounds left; with which I still continued in trade, with a merchant in Bristol. Our whole stock was now embarked in one bottom, and the fate of that was un­certain; troubles seemed to thicken upon us; anxiety for my family (for I had now two children) entirely depressed my spirits: but fortune had still greater evils in store; we had been but three years married, when we received accounts of [Page 85] Lord Sidly's death: this stroke was almost too much for my poor Maria; but hea­ven supported her through it. He had left a will with her, which we opened, and found he had made her his heir: I commissioned a gentleman to wait on Lord Beauclair with a copy of the will; his Lordship flew in a violent rage, said that "Lord Henry had been very impru­dent, to allow us any thing while he was abroad; that the will was a vile forgery, and I should suffer for it." He was in­deed as good as his word; for three days after, I received his answer; I was arrest­ed for forgery.

I WILL not pretend to figure my aston­ishment, or my dear Maria's distress; we did not imagine, notwithstanding Lord Beauclair's threats, that he would have gone such lengths. The unfeeling bailiff pulled my wife, who was just sinking in­to my arms, from me, and inhumanly [Page 86] dragged me away.—Great God! shall I ever forget this scene, or the cries of my little Henry, who was not three years old." Here Mr. Villars was obliged to stop for some time, and then went on as follows:

"I begged the bailiff to be patient: that I was certain I could obtain bail." —He said, "he had orders to admit of none."—We then proceeded to a close uncomfortable goal, where I was inform­ed I was to remain until I had my trial.—Mr. Traffic (the gentleman with whom I had commenced business,) be­haved with the greatest friendship, and undertook to have the will proved; but unfortunately for us, Sir William Harly, one of the witnesses, was in India; and the other, a Mr. Scrip, an attorney, im­mediately absconded; we made the strictest search for him, but to no pur­pose; and it was supposed he was well paid for his absence.

[Page 87]MY wife wrote a most pathetic letter to her mother, and received for an an­swer, "That it was entirely out of her power to do any thing for her, unless she would consent to part from me; on those conditions she should be reinstated in their favour; that she would take her son un­der their own particular care; and I should be released, on promising to quit the country immediately, and never return; and that she should have a month to con­sider of it."

THIS was sent by a servant of Lord Beauclair's, who told Maria, he believed his mistress was compelled to write as she did; for she wept very much when she gave him the letter. Maria answered it immediately; she said it required no time to consider; that though she was deter­mined to live and die with me, and trusted to a just God, who knew my innocence, to see me righted;—to be reconciled to [Page 88] her mother, was her most earnest wish; but was grieved, it could not be accom­plished but on terms she never would con­sent to.

I had remained six months in goal, during which time, Mr. Traffic had re­ceived accounts of our vessel having made a losing voyage. My wife took a lodg­ing contiguous to the goal, and discharged the few servants we kept, except my son's nurse, whose husband and child were both dead; and her attachment to my son was so great, she said she would never leave us.

MY wife had one day, brought the children to see me; I was caressing them whilst she leaned over me, the tears flow­ing fast down her cheeks, when the door opened, and the Hon. Charles Sidly, (now Lord Sidly, who we had not heard was returned) entered. Though he had [Page 89] not so much tenderness in his disposition, as his brother, he could not behold this scene unaffected. He tenderly embraced his sister, said "he was grieved to see us thus; and most sincerely wished the affair could be cleared up." He said that Lord Beauclair, had been more exaspe­rated against us since Lord Sidly's death, knowing that his unkindness to him, which drove him abroad, was en­tirely owing to us:" He begged we would keep up our spirits; he did not in the least doubt the authenticity of the will, (which we had shewn him) and hoped we might have it in our power to prove it.—He seemed much amazed, when we informed him of Mr. Scrip's sudden disappearance. At parting, he put a note of five hundred pounds in Maria's hand, and said he would see us again shortly.

I NOW set about settling my affairs, [Page 90] as I was resolved to leave England, as soon as I could procure my liberty.— At the end of three weeks, Lord Sidly arrived, with an order for my enlarge­ment. He said he was sorry to own, his father seemed unreasonably incensed against us; and he would advise me to leave England;—at least for a time. That I might depend upon his interest, though he did not dare openly to es­pouse my cause.—I told him, it was our intention, as I had no wish to stay in a place, in which I had experienced so ma­ny rubs from fortune.—He then gave me a note for £. 400, and told me I might every year draw upon him for the like sum, through Mr. Traffic; and if ever the will could be proved, he should with pleasure resign the estate his brother left us.

WE now prepared for our departure; we took our passage in a ship ready to sail [Page 91] for India. Mr. Traffic gave me letters to his friends in Madeira, as the vessel was to touch there. We were just ready to sail, when we were informed, that Lord Sidly was dead, occasioned by a fall from his horse; and that in his last moments, he had beseeched his parents to remember their unhappy daughter. We were now again overwhelmed with grief and des­pair; this shock had so great an effect on my poor Maria's health, that we were near losing our passage. She, however, exerted the utmost of her strength, and we went on board.

I left Lord Sidly's will with Mr. Traffic, and a power (if it could be proved,) to sue for the estate. I made no doubt, but Lord Beauclair's hatred would still follow me; so thought it expedient to change my name to Villars, which indeed was my real one; but as I never had received any of the estate of Beverly, I was not obliged [Page 92] to keep the name. Our whole fortune, af­ter providing for our sea stores, amounted to no more than twelve hundred pounds. We took no servant with us, but Mrs. Worthy, the nurse, and a girl, that at­tended Louisa, who was eleven months old.

THE fourth of June, 1766, we sailed. The weather was exceeding fine, and continued so, till the next afternoon, when a gust suddenly came up. The ves­sel rolled excessively, and my wife and poor little Henry were very sick. Mrs. Worthy took him for the benefit of the air, on deck, but unused to the motion of a ship, her head turned; she reeled, and fell overboard—and I never saw them more."—Here Mr. Villars was for some time incapable of proceeding. "It is need­less" continued he, after he had recover­ed himself, "to describe our distress on this occasion: the vessel immediately [Page 93] brought to, but the waves ran so high, it was impossible to save them. We saw two fishing boats at a distance, but there could be no possibility of their taking them up.

MY wife continued in fits for many hours; after they left her, she remained in a violent fever, and in her delirium was continually calling for her child; and it was many days e'er she became more tranquil.—I now saw it was the will of the Almighty to chastise us, and prayed fervently for fortitude, to sup­port the trial I was in all probability to go through. Our attention was now roused by the illness of our little Louisa; who had been obliged to be weaned, during her mother's illness; she was for many days so bad, that we did not expect she would have got to Madeira alive. After a short passage we reached that Island; I had letters to [Page 94] many of the principal Merchants there, which not long after our arrival I deli­vered; and received the greatest polite­ness from them.

MY wife and child's ill health, de­termined me to stay in Madeira. I wrote to Mr. Traffic, and informed him of my loss, and my intention of remain­ing at the island, which I desired him to keep secret, as well as my changing my name. I also inclosed letters to my mo­ther, and sister, whom I had not heard from in some time; I placed my small stock, in a principal house; and was enabled to live tolerably well.

NOTHING material happened, during our residence in Madeira; except my wife presenting me with another son, who we called Edward, after my father.— The climate not agreeing with either of us; we embarked for America. We [Page 95] were now possessed of about two thousand pounds sterling. "To you sir," address­ing himself to Mr. Sommers, "I was recommended, and have received the greatest marks of friendship from many gentlemen in this town.—I have lived se­veral years comfortably; and had it not been for the recollection of past misfor­tunes, I might say happily.—Here my youngest son was born, who after the Hon. Charles Sidly, we named Charles. —At the commencement of the war, we retired to the Village, where we now live, and endeavour in peaceful retire­ment to be grateful to God, who has supported us through so many trials, and has now placed us in a situation to enjoy the necessaries, and many of the comforts of life."

Mr. VILLARS here ended his story; and the company expressed the greatest obligations to him for his condescension. [Page 96] Mr. Hargrave, who could contain him­self no longer, and who had discovered visible marks of uneasiness, now ap­proached Mr. Villars; and told him, "he was extremely happy to find the family, whom most on earth he wished to see; and should ever think the accident that drew him to his house, the peculiar work of Providence."

Mr. Villars seemed surprised, and beg­ged him to explain himself. "You see be­fore you, sir," continued Mr. Hargrave, "an orphan honoured with the favour of Lord and Lady Beauclair. I have been brought up under their care, and taught (though only a distant relation of her lady­ship's) to look upon myself as their heir. —I had often heard of the son they had lost; but untill within a few years, I never heard the name of Lady Maria; and was much surprised to find it was uncer­tain whether she was still living.

[Page 97]I EVER after this looked on myself as an usurper; and determined to make all possible enquiries for the person who had a prior right to favours, I was daily re­ceiving; and in case I should be so fortu­nate as to find her, to use all my interest towards reconciling her to her family.— Heaven has in one respect, heard my prayer, and I beg I may be allowed to go immediately to Lady Beauclair."—"By no means, my excellent young friend," replied Mr. Villars, "I cannot express my obligations to you, for your genero­sity; but Lord Beauclair's hatred against me and mine, is so deeply rooted, that you would, by interceding for us, only deprive yourself of his favour, without rendering us any essential service.

HARGRAVE said, he would be ruled by him, for the present, but if ever Lord Beauclair's estate came in his possession, he should not deter him from doing jus­tice. Many obliging things were said, on [Page 98] both sides, but it growing late, the party separated for the night, after Colonel Rightly had engaged them to dine with him the next day. Miss Sommers de­lighted with the generosity of her heroic Harry (as she often called him) retired, but not to rest, the drowsy god was ba­nished from her eyes, by pleasing reflecti­ons; she rose, and determined to spend the remainder of the night in writing to her dear Louisa, to whom she gave a full account of what had passed. "Be happy my dear Louisa," concluded she, "you will have a fortune that Sir William Bell­more can have no objections to, whilst I glory in bestowing mine, on the man, who so nobly prefers generosity to afflu­ence." It was very late before Miss Som­mers finished her letter, which she dis­patched early next morning.

AT two o'clock, Captain Bellmore and Mr. Hargrave attended the ladies to Col. [Page 99] Rightly's, as Mr. Sommers had business that would engage him till late. The old gentleman received them with his usual politeness, and passed many encomiums on the generous behaviour of Hargrave, in which all the company joined him. Mr. Villars and Mr. Sommers soon join­ed them, and the day was spent with the utmost cordiality. Soon after dinner Mr. Hargrave went out of the room, and stay­ed some time. Mrs. Sommers, address­ing herself to Col. Rightly, said, "I dare say our young friend is gone to pay a visit to his old nurse:" "No doubt of it madam," replied he. He then informed Mr. Villars of the many particulars relat­ing to Mrs. Carely; "come," continued he, "we will pass her room, as if by chance, and you will be more than ever delighted with Hargrave. I think he never appears in a more amiable light, than when he is saying obliging things to this poor woman," Mr. Villars then fol­lowed [Page 100] him. The room door was open; they entered.—"Harry," said Colonel Rightly, "I am going to ask Mr. Villars's opinion of some curiosities in my green­house; will you be of the party?" Mrs. Carely rose as they entered, on seeing Mr. Villars, she started, and seemed very much astonished; Mr. Villars was equally struck. What is the matter sir?" said Hargrave, "do you know this good woman. "Oh!" said he, she is so like; — He had no time to say more, she flew to him, and grasping his knees, exclaim­ed, it is he—it is he himself, and fell senseless on the floor. Mr. Hargrave ran for water, while Col. Rightly assisted, to lay her on the bed. Villars walked the room, in great agitation; the Col. and Hargrave, were equally astonished; both wished, but dared not ask an explanation. An account of Mrs. Carley's situation, reached the rest of the company, who all immediately went to her room; she at [Page 101] length opened her eyes, but seemed insen­sible who were around her. Mr. Villars still continued walking, sometimes stop­ping and looking at Hargrave, then at Mrs. Carley.—Hargrave at length broke silence. "Sir," said he, "if you were to speak to her, it might perhaps bring her to her recollection." Oh! returned he, grasping his hand, could I be but certain; a disapointment would be too—too much —Here a friendly shower of tears came to his relief; the sound of his voice rou­sed Mrs. Carley from her lethargy— "Where—where is he, said she, rising; "can I once more behold my beloved Master." "My dear Mrs. Worthy," exclaimed he, "where is my"—. He could not proceed.

"I KNOW what you would ask," re­plied she: "there," pointing to Har­grave, "behold and bless your son.— Here, gentle reader, we must draw a veil [Page 102] o'er the ensuing scene, which words are too weak to paint. Let the affectionate Father—the dutiful Son—the sincere Friend—figure to themselves the happi­ness of this joyful moment.

Mrs. CARELY was now sufficiently re­covered, to tell Mr. Villars they were taken up by a fisherman; that after much trouble and difficulty, she had conveyed the child to his Grand-Mama, where he was brought up in ignorance of his birth. —When her spirits were more composed, she said, she would give him all the par­ticulars.

"AH! my dear Harry!" said Mr. Villars, "I can now easily account for my feelings, when I first saw you. I then thought it proceeded from your likeness to Lord Sidly; but it was nature that pointed out my son. How thankful ought [Page 103] I to be to Divine Providence, who by an unforeseen accident, has bestowed the greatest of blessings on me."

CAPT. Bellmore now approached; and taking a hand of each, said, "he should ever think the event that had near­ly put a period to his days, the happiest of his life, since it had been productive of so pleasing a discovery."—"How much am I obliged to my dear William for his generous sentiments," returned Hargrave, "Heaven, for wise purposes, often chastises, to give us the higher re­lish for the blessings he intends us. The day you mention, was to me the most distressing; and it has proved the most fortunate of my life."

COL. Rightly now informed the Ladies tea was waiting. They then bid Mrs. Carely good night, and returned to the parlour.—After tea, the company [Page 104] returned to Mr. Sommers's, and the evening was spent with the greatest satis­faction.—Mr. Villars, long a stranger to happiness, now confessed, that thus unexpectedly meeting with his son, and finding him so amiable, amply compensa­ted for all the troubles he had met with. Though still his joy was not complete until his beloved Maria was acquainted with, and a partaker of his felicity.— He then proposed they should set out the next day for—. This Col. Rightly and Mr. Sommers objected to, saying, it would be wrong to surprise Mrs. Villars; and advised him to write and prepare her for their coming.

Mr. VILLARS consented, (though with some reluctance) to be guided by them; but said his spirits were so much flurried, he could not write. The sprightly Eliza (whose vivacity had been clouded at the thoughts of her Henry's leaving her) [Page 105] said, she would with pleasure undertake the task if Mr. Villars would permit her. —The eagerness with which she spoke, plainly discovered the sentiments of her heart.

Mr. VILLARS, at that moment, re­collected the conversation that had passed at his house, when first Miss Sommers was mentioned.—He took her hand, and smiling, said, "go, my dear Eliza, write your friends the happiness that await them, and give them your opinion of my Henry."—A deeper dye now o'erspread her lovely face; and, happy at having an opportunity to retire, she curtsied and withdrew.—She met ^* Hargrave in the passage and told him, she was go­ing to write to Louisa. He begged her to let him add a postscript. "I must tell [Page 106] my sister," added he, "my felicity will not be complete, until I have made her amiable friend her sister."—"Ah! said Eliza, smiling, can I aspire to the grandson of Lord Beauclair?"—"Aspire! my dearest girl! virtues like thine, merits much more, than I have, or can have, to bestow. If I was so happy as to gain a small place in your esteem, when I could not tell you on whom you be­stowed that favour, let now the brother of your Louisa plead for a confirmation of that happiness, he only dared to hope for."

"HARGRAVE," said she, (resuming her sprightly air) "you surely forget I have a long letter to write, and do you think I can write any thing coherent, after you have been talking to me in this manner. —But go and comfort Capt. Bellmore, for I see his face amazingly lengthened since your journey to — has been [Page 107] postponed for a few days."—"I will obey you," replied he, "for believe me, next to the happiness I hope for with my beloved Eliza, the first wish of my heart, is to see him happy with Louisa. He then left her, and went in search of his friend, who was waiting for him with Mr. Villars.

Mr. SOMMERS begged the company the next day to dine, and proposed that good Mrs. Carely should be there; as he supposed she had many interesting things to relate: this was concluded on, and they wished him a good night.—Eliza spent part of the night in writing to Louisa; but, as the reader is already acquainted with the purport of the letter, we will omit it, and return to Mr. Hargrave; who, after wishing his Father a good night, returned to his friend, whose bo­som was torn between hopes and fears. His Louisa's promise he knew was sa­cred; [Page 108] but the uncertainty of Mr. Villars favouring his wishes, made him wretch­ed;—he was walking the room in a pen­sive manner, when his friend entered.— "What, William," said he, "ever thoughtful—come, be chearful, and be a partaker of the happiness I now enjoy. Your Henry is not the nothing, he once thought himself."—"I do indeed most sincerely rejoice in this unexpected disco­very," returned the Captain, "you know my heart—I need not tell my friend, that whatever gives him pain or pleasure, has the same effect on me; how great then must be my satisfaction, to find him a member of so worthy a family."

"I NEVER," said Hargrave, "was hap­py in my situation, though I experienced the greatest kindness from Lord and La­dy Beauclair. I ever looked on myself as an usurper; and the idea of Lady Maria's sufferings were always in my mind. I [Page 109] had heard of many things that my Father related, and it was my determination to find her, if alive; but, Oh! William, what must be my feelings, to find that in­jured woman in my Mother.—I wish much to hear Mrs. Carely's account, for I am convinced Lord Beauclair is igno­rant of my being his grand-son."

"BUT, my dear friend," said the cap­tain, "you mention nothing of your lovely sister; shall I be happy, or forever miserable?"—"Can you doubt my wishes to see you happy?"—replied Har­grave; "be assured no interest of mine shall be wanting to make you so; and in­deed I see no great difficulty—you are sure of Louisa's affection, and ought to be satisfied for the present." And do you make no allowance for the impatience of a lover?" said Belmore. "Indeed I do," returned he, "for I have experienced a a great deal of it myself.

[Page 110]MUCH more was said on the same subject, and Hargrave had nearly persua­ded the Capt. to hope, and be happy, when the clock, by one stroke, reminded them of its being time to retire. The next day, the company all assembled at Mr. Sommers's; as soon as the cloth was removed, Mrs. Carely was called up; she was no sooner seated, than Mr. Villars begged she would favour them with an account of what befel her, after her fall from the ship. "Ah! sir, we met with many difficulties; but since I am so hap­py as to see my dear young master with you, I shall die contented." She then began as follows:

"YOU no doubt sir, remember master Harry was very sick, and I carried him on deck for the benefit of the air; it was careless in me to walk so nigh the side of the vessel. I know not what it was, but something struck me, and I fell over­board; [Page 111] I clasped the child in my arms, and I believe for some time I floated on the water; the first I remembered was finding myself in a dirty fishing-boat, with two men; they carried us to a shore which was not far distant, and which they told me was the coast of Ireland. I was too weak to walk, and one of the men sup­ported me, while the other carried the child; they carried me to a neat little house near the banks of the river, and the women supplied us with dry clothes; the dear child seemed almost insensible to every thing till the next day, he then cried very much for his Mamma. The good woman allowed us to stay several days, and then advised me to apply for a ser­vice, which I did; but I could earn very little with the child. I had three guineas, which I endeavoured to keep, to pay our passage to England.

I worked a year in Ireland, to get myself [Page 112] and the child a few clothes; but this I could not have accomplished, had it not been for the humanity of the lady, with whom I lived. I told her, and no one else, who we were; and she advised me to write to Lord Beauclair. This I did not, as I knew it would be in vain; but I wished much to go to England, and she was so good as to furnish me with neces­saries for the passage.

THE poor dear child, had forgot to call on his papa and mamma; and I would not remind him of them, as I thought it best in our present situation, to call him my own. When we arrived in Ports­mouth, I had but two guineas left; I in­tended going to Bristol, to Mr. Traffic, from whom I was in hopes to hear of you and my Lady. I set out in a waggon. I met on the road a fellow servant, that had lived with us at Bath. I asked him, if Mr. Traffic still lived in Bristol; he said [Page 113] he did, but that he had left town for the summer. I begged him to tell me if there was any accounts from you? He said he had been informed, you had sailed for India; that the ship was lost, and it was supposed, all had perished.

OH! Sir, I now indeed thought my heart would have broke.—This very night our dear child fell sick, occasioned by fatigue; we stopped at a small farm-house, and were obliged to stay there several weeks; the child remained long sick, and had he been well, I knew not where to go; I had but one brother, (and he lived in Wales) and no other relations, that had it in their power to serve me. The sickly looks of my poor boy prevented any one's hiring me; I was reduced to my last crown, when a thought struck me, that if lady Beauclair saw the child, she might perhaps have compassion on him; as his parents were dead, their hatred [Page 114] might be at an end: I thought she would know him by the medal, which you re­collect, Sir, she tied about his neck at Bath, and which he had worn ever since.

I determined to go to London, if I beg­ged my way. I set out the next day, carrying the child on my back; some­times he would walk a little way. I sold the best gown I had, and was enabled to hire a lodging every night. We at length arrived in London; and I waited on Lady Beauclair, at a time I knew his Lordship was out. I got admittance, and related the whole story to her Lady­ship; she at first thought me an impos­tor; but when I shewed her the medal, she wept exceedingly; "poor boy!" said she, "it is hard he should suffer for the faults of his parents. Here, nurse," added she, "is six guineas, take a small lodging nigh, and let me see you again, as soon as you have an opportunity." I [Page 115] had thanked her, and was taking my leave, when the child began to cry.— "What is the matter with him, nurse," said her Ladyship, "nurse," cried the child, "I used to call her nurse, and there was somebody I used to call Papa and Mama—but they are all gone now," said he crying, "and I have no friend left but my poor mother here: Won't you, madam, be my friend?" This so affected her Ladyship, she could scarce speak: "yes, indeed, I will," answered she, "but I cannot see you longer now. Go home, nurse," continued she, "and be sure you let no one know whose child he is." I soon after took my leave. I went again in a few days; her Ladyship asked me very particularly, if I had obeyed her orders? I told I had; she then told me, she would see me in a short time in com­pany with Lord Beauclair, and that I must not contradict any thing she said. I the next day was sent for. I was shewn [Page 116] into my Lady's dressing-room. She told me, she wished to have the child in the house; and had mentioned him, as a poor child she had taken a fancy to, and that I must most solemnly promise, not to mention to the child or any one else who he was; or make any enquiry about his parents. Though my heart recoiled at this promise, I was compel­led to make it.—She then left me, and returned to the parlour: I was soon af­ter sent for.—My Lord soon entered. "Here, my Lord," said she "is the little boy I mentioned to you."—"He is a fine fellow," answered he: "and I dare say if you wish to take the child, his parents will have no objection: as it will be greatly to his advantage.—"His parents are dead," replied her Ladyship, "and he has no one to take care of him but this good woman."—"Then you had better take her in your service, as the child will want a nurse," returned his [Page 117] Lordship.—I was now ordered to give up my lodging, and return immediately.—Oh, Sir! I thought my heart would have burst, to see the dear child taken into his Grandfathers house as an object of chari­ty; I believe my Lady read my thoughts; for as soon as we were alone, she said, "you no doubt, nurse, think it strange, that I do not own my Grandson; be­lieve me, I would willingly do it; but if Lord Beauclair had the most distant idea of his being Beverly's son, he would never be prevailed on to see him."—She then told me to call him Henry Hargrave.

I WAS shewn to a very genteel apart­ment near her Ladyship's: in this room were two beds, one for my sweet boy, and the other for myself.—There was one closet filled with genteel cloathing for him, and a great deal of very good for myself. The other was filled with a num­ber of curious toys.—I shall never for­get [Page 118] the joy he expressed in the opening of these closets; I had got all his things down, and he was sitting in the midst of them, when her Ladyship entered; he was so deeply engaged, he did not per­ceive her; she held up her finger in to­ken of silence, and stood for some time silently admiring him; he at last saw, and ran to her; he took her hand and kissed it.

"AH, madam!" said he, "have you put all these pretty things here for me?" "Yes my dear," answered her Ladyship, "and you shall have a great many more, if you are a good boy."—"Indeed I will be very good; and love you dearly, if you will allow it," said he.—This seemed to affect her very much: and in­deed it was a long time before she could see him unmoved.—Her affection for him seemed daily to encrease, and my Lord grew very fond of him. Masters of every [Page 119] kind were got for him, and my whole employment was to wait on this dear child; and had it not been for the re­collection of yourself and my Lady, I should have been perfectly happy.

I SAW with pleasure the improvement of my little master; nothing material happened during several years. Master Harry grew fast, and had every advan­tage a young man of fashion could have. —He passed for a distant relation of her Ladyship's, and was beloved by every body.

ABOUT four years ago, he heard Lord Beauclair had a daughter, whom he had disinherited; and it was uncertain whe­ther she was still living. He seemed more thoughtful, and would sometimes ask me questions that rung my very soul; and I was often tempted to break my promise; but fearing it might be a disadvantage to him, I remained silent.

[Page 120]SOMETIME after the war broke out in America, he expressed a desire to go into the army. My Lord and Lady were very much averse to it; but my Lord seeing him so anxious, he procured him a lieu­tenancy.—During my stay at lord Beau­clair's, I married Edward Carely, his Lordship's Butler. My Lady was so very uneasy at Mr. Hargrave's going alone to America, that my Lord, to make her easy, gave Edward twenty guineas to en­list, and then procured him a halbert, that we might come out with Mr. Har­grave, which we did; and both of us en­deavoured to be as serviceable as was in our power.

BUT, alas! my poor Edward was shot at the defeat of Cornwallis;—since that time, I have still continued with Mr. Hargrave.—The regiment had orders to march one morning by the dawn of day: I went, as usual, to know if my young [Page 121] master had any commands for me; when, to my great surprise, I found his bed not tumbled. He was gone—and I knew not where to look for him. I made every enquiry for him, but to no purpose.— The fourth day, I heard two officers talk­ing about him: they said, that Captain Bellmore was certainly killed; and if Mr. Hargrave had gone in search of him, he would have been back, had he not been taken. They then said, it would, they were afraid, go hard with him, as he would doubtless be taken for a spy.

THIS terrified me to such a degree, I scarcely know how I got to the tent.— I immediately took the little money I had, and a change of cloaths in a handker­chief, and set out I knew not whether.— I thought I heard the gentlemen say, he would be brought to this place.—I en­quired my way: and had not proceeded far, before I was taken up and searched. [Page 122] They said, I had been employed by the enemy to carry letters to disaffected per­sons, and gain intelligence: this I posi­tively denied. I told them the reason of my leaving the camp, but was not cre­dited.—I was immediately put under guard, and after some months confine­ment, brought here, where I must have died, had not your dear son heard of me, and came to my relief."

HERE the good woman ceased; and the company thanked her for the infor­mation she had given them. Mr. Villars said he should ever regard her for the care she had taken of his son; and the extreme tenderness she had shewn him; he then said, when Colonel Rightly could provide a person to take her place, she should go and spend the remainder of her days with them, to which she eagerly consented.

[Page 123]IT was now concluded they should set out in a few days. As nothing material happened during these few days, we will leave the gentlemen, and return to the little cottage of Mr. Villars, where the charming Louisa was sitting at work with her mamma.—Love until now, a stranger to her breast, had robbed her cheeks of its wonted bloom, and left a languid paleness, that rather added to her charms. Mrs. Villars saw, with pain, the change; and had for some time sought an oppor­tunity to speak to her.

POOR Louisa knew a Peace between England and America, was negociating; and consequently, the troops would be recalled. Though she would never con­sent to a clandestine marriage, still she could not support the thought of never again beholding her beloved William.— Forgetting she was not alone, she sighed deeply. Mrs. Villars now spoke: what [Page 124] is the matter Louisa?" said she, "you are not well, I fear.—A conscious blush o'er­spread her cheek; "I am very well, ma­dam, why do you think otherwise?"— "No, my dear Louisa," replied Mrs. Vil­lars, "your heart is not at ease; be not surprised, when I tell you I have long known the cause of the change, which I grieve to see in your health."

LOUISA, ever used to make her mama her friend and confidant, now threw herself into her arms, and confessed her love, her promise to Captain Bellmore, and all her doubts and fears.—Mrs. Vil­lars embraced her tenderly, and said ma­ny affectionate things; which, though she did not attempt to cherish her hopes, was still a balm to her drooping spirits.

SOME hours past in this manner; when Louisa ^* received a letter from her friend, [Page 125] which gave them an account of Mr. Hargrave's generous behaviour before he was discovered to be the son of Mr. Villars.

THEY had scarcely time to extol his disinterestedness, when Edward entered with another, which contained the wel­come news of the discovery. The joy of this worthy Family may be more easily imagined than described. To find in so fine a youth, the son, she had so long lost, was too much for the depressed spirits of Mrs. Villars; and Louisa and her little brothers could scarcely keep her from fainting. She at length recovered suffi­ciently to thank the Supreme Being, who, for wise purposes, had robbed her of her Son, and now blessed the declin­ing years, by returning him so worthy.

THE boys expressed their satisfaction in the liveliest manner. Louisa for a time for­got the sorrows of her heart; and the [Page 126] voice of joy and gladness resounded in this peaceful habitation. They passed three days in the utmost impatience; on the fourth, which was the day they were expected, Louisa, attended by her two brothers, and several of the genteel peo­ple of the village, rode out to meet them. At the end of four miles, they perceived them advancing. At the sight of Capt. Bellmore, (who Louisa had not been in­formed was coming with them,) the bri­dle dropped from her hand, and she was near falling to the ground. A Miss Her­bert, and her brother, who were nigh, supported her, and she soon recovered, sufficiently to go on.

Mr. VILLARS was extremely pleased with this mark of attention in his neigh­bours; the amiable Henry immediately dismounted, and flew to his sister. "Let me assist you to alight, my dear Louisa," said he, "you look ill; shall I call for [Page 127] any assistance?" "No, my dear bro­ther, my spirits are only a little flurried at this unexpected happiness," returned she. The company now all advanced: The complaisance which was due to the brother on this occasion, could scarcely restrain the Capt. from flying to her be­fore her brother, who, after tenderly pressing her to his breast, left her to his friend, and returned to his Father, who was receiving the congratulations of his neighbours; which took up so much time, that the lovers had an opportunity, unobserved, to pour forth the tenderest effusions of the heart.

LOUISA, being now perfectly recover­ed, remounted her horse, and they all proceeded toward the village, where they arrived in a short time.—Mrs. Villars did not wish to meet her son in company; —his Father and Louisa, therefore, con­ducted him to her apartment.—Inured to [Page 128] grief, and a stranger to excess of joy, Mrs. Villars could not summon resolu­tion sufficient to receive him with any degree of composure: when he entered the room, she was nigh fainting; and could only say when he threw himself at her feet. "My beloved! my long lost Son!"—and fell senseless in his arms.— A maternal tear came to her relief, and she soon recovered.

AFTER some time spent in the most affecting manner, she asked him several questions concerning her Parents; this was the subject, of all others, he most wished to avoid. "When you are more composed, my dear madam," said he, "I will give you all the information in my power; at present, let us join our friends, and be happy."—She consented, and suffered herself to be led to the parlour, where the company were all assembled. —The day was spent with the utmost joy [Page 129] and satisfaction; and concluded with a social dance.

THE next morning, Mr. Hargrave took an opportunity to tell Louisa, he hoped to have it in his power to make her happy with his friend, if she conti­nued as much of the turtle as he had since they left her.—"Believe me, my dear sister," said he, "I cannot be completely happy, while you and Wil­liam are wretched;—our departure for England must be speedy." At these words, the tears started in her eyes.— Oh! my brother," said she, "are you again to leave us."—"It cannot be a­voided," replied he, "our troops will soon be recalled; and indeed all our in­terest demand my going."

I intend mentioning to my grandmo­ther the discovery I have made; and make no doubt but I shall be able to [Page 130] bring about a reconciliation; for since Lord Beauclair's health has been declin­ing, I have had great reason to think something hangs heavy at his heart. This once accomplished, Sir John Bell­more's consent to your union is cer­tain."

"My dear, brother," said Louisa, "in striving to reconcile the families, you will ruin your future prospects."— "No no, my dear," returned he, "I shall go cautiously to work for all our sakes; keep up your spirits, and hope the best: but do not mention my inten­tions to any one."

CAPT. Bellmore now approached;— Henry, making an excuse, left them; "William," said he, turning to Louisa as he went out, "knows my intentions; you need be under no restraint with him." —"What an excellent Brother have I," [Page 131] said Louisa.—"You know not nigh his worth," returned the Captain. She then told him the conversation which had just passed.—"Oh! my dear Louisa," said he, "he has not let you into half his views, he seems determined to make us happy."—"You must soon leave us," interrupted she, "perhaps never to re­turn."—"My dearest life," cried he, pressing her to his heart, nothing but death shall keep me from you.—I am obliged to go with the regiment; but I will soon return."

LOUISA could with difficulty refrain from tears; the thought of their going was too much for her.—A conversation the most tender, ensued; and nigh two hours past imperceptibly.

THE generous Henry was not unem­ployed at this time; he took his parents aside, and, finding they were acquainted [Page 132] with the attachment of his friend and sis­ter, endeavoured to gain their consent to their union.—Mr. Villars said he had not the least objection, if Sir John Bellmore's consent could be obtained.

HENRY told him ingenuously, that there was no reason to expect that with­out a fortune; but he should endeavour to obtain it, and only begged his Father if he failed, not to oppose an union, on which the happiness of two people most dear to him, depended.

Mr. VILLARS was so happy at again find­ing this long-lost Son, it was difficult for him to refuse him any thing. He at length said, he would do nothing to oppose their happiness. This was so nigh con­senting, the son would press no farther; but acknowledged it a particular favour done himself.

He then returned to the lovers, and [Page 133] told them, as he was tired of seeing long faces, he had been making interest to get them in bondage, since he found nothing short of everlasting chains would content them; they both smiled, but could not comprehend him: he in a few words explained himself. The gloom was immediately banished from their countenances, and there was not a heavy heart at the cottage.

SEVERAL weeks was spent in the greatest felicity; when Mr. Hargrave received a letter from Mr. Sommers, in which he requested him to come imme­diately to town, as he had received dis­patches from England for him. He immediately prepared for his journey, and set out the next day; leaving his friend, who was now as lively as himself, to keep up their spirits until his return.

THE thought of seeing his Eliza, ob­literated [Page 134] almost every other idea, and he arrived in town much sooner than could be expected.—Mr. Sommers was gone out of town, and not expected in less than two days. Mrs. Sommers received him with the greatest cordiality, and begged he would make her house his home, whilst in town; to this he willingly consented—and his time was spent en­tirely with his beloved Eliza, excepting a visit to Col. Rightly, and the good Nurse, Mrs. Carely.

Mr. SOMMERS at length arrived; and on seeing Mr. Hargrave, who ad­vanced to meet him, he bowed respect­fully; and taking a letter out of his pocket, presented it to him.^*—My Lord," said he, I beg leave to wish your Lordship joy of a title and fortune, of which few are as deserving." He started, [Page 135] turned pale, and let the letter drop from his hand: Mr. Sommers took it up, and again presented it to him.—"Be not surprised, my Lord," said he, Lord Beau­clair lived to a good old age, and died sensible of his error.—Ah! then let me see the letter," said he eagerly; and wip­ing away the tears which flowed very fast, he opened it, and read as follows:

"Oh!" cried he, his tears flowing afresh, "had I been with him in his last days!—Providence, for wise purposes, had ordered it otherwise," said Mr. Som­mers; "had you not come to America, you would, in all probability, never have discovered the worthiest of parents." "True," answered he, "I must not re­pine. I loved Lord Beauclair as a pa­rent, though I only thought him a bene­factor, and to have attended him in his illness and to have administered consola­tion to his afflicted mind, would have [Page 138] been a great satisfaction to me; but I thank the Almighty who, by the most mysterious means, has led me to my pa­rents, and enabled me to make them hap­py in their decline of life." "Those sen­timents," answered Mr. Sommers, "are worthy of yourself."

Mrs. Sommers and her daughter now rose, to pay the accustomary compliments to the young Lord; after her mother, Miss Sommers attempted to speak, but her heart was too full lor utterance; she thought him entirely lost to her; the ac­cents died away on her tongue, and she would have sunk on the sofa, had he not caught her in his arms, and turning to Mr. Sommers, "On you, Sir, depends my fate, I cannot be happy without your charming daughter; I often attempted to speak to you on this subject, but my dependant state kept me silent; the for­tune that awaits me, I shall only prize in [Page 139] sharing it with her." Mr. Sommers had for some time seen an attachment between his young friend and daughter, and would never have been averse to the match; but now to hear him speak in this manner, was quite beyond his most sanguine expectation. "My Lord," said he, "I hope Eliza is sensible of the hon­our you do her, nothing can give me more pleasure than such a connection; though your fortune is more than she has a right to expect; believe me, I es­teem your virtues much higher, and should have been happy, had you put it in my power to have convinced you, that my consent would have as freely been given to Mr. Hargrave as to Lord Beauclair." "Oh! Sir," returned his Lordship, "you have long since convin­ced me of your friendship; you now make me the happiest of men; I will endeavour to merit, as far as lies in my power, the [Page 140] treasure you have bestowed on me; her happiness shall be my chief study."

During the above conversation, Miss Sommers retired to the window, to avoid confusion; he went to her, and pressing her to his bosom, said, "my dear Eliza, you say nothing." "You cannot, my Lord," returned she, "think me insen­sible of the honour your Lordship does me." "This still from you, my Eliza— I am still your Henry, speak to me as you used to do, and I am happy." "If any thing I can say or do will make you happy, believe me, you will never be otherwise. "Come, come, my dear," said Mr. Sommers to his Lady, "I see these young people seem to understand each other so well, I believe they will dispense with our company." So saying, they left the room.

LORD Beauclair told her, there was [Page 141] an absolute necessity for his going imme­diately to England; and earnestly beg­ged to have the ceremony performed be­fore he went.—The thought of parting, drew tears from Eliza. She consented, to his wishes; and it was concluded, the marriage should take place as soon as Mr. Villars's family could come to town.

IT was late when they parted; Lord Beauclair retired to write to Lady Beau­clair, as an opportunity offered for Eng­land. He wrote to her in the most af­fectionate manner, giving her a full account of his meeting with his parents; his engagements with Miss Sommers, and his intention of soon returning: he said nothing of a design he had of per­suading his father and his family to return with him to England, least he should fail. —He spent the next day with his Eliza, and the following set out for—, where he soon arrived.

[Page 142]Mrs. VILLARS bore the death of her father, with greater resignation than her son expected; his having mentioned her with kindness in his last moments, seemed a great consolation. "He has forgiven me!" exclaimed she, clasping her hands, "he no doubt, blessed me with his dying breath! and I am happy my mother too! could I once more throw myself at her feet."

"YOU shall, my dearest madam." an­swered Lord Beauclair; it is my earnest desire that we will return to England." —"What," said Mr. Villars, "go to a place where I have never experien­ced any thing but trouble."—"Every comfort awaits you now, my dear Sir; —If the fifteen thousand pounds my Grandfather has left my Mother, is in­sufficient, as much of my fortune as you wish to make use of, is entirely at your service."

[Page 143]AH! my Henry, such a Son as you are, can be refused nothing. Fifteen thousand pounds is much more than we want for your Mother; and I will never alter our manner of living. If we go with you to England, we must insist on living retired." In this he was joined by Mrs Villars.

THEIR amiable son took a hand of each. "You shall live as you please, my dear Parents," said he, "only let me have the happiness of having you near me." He then informed them of his engagements with Miss Sommers. He begged his Father's pardon for not con­sulting him; he said his affections were engaged, before he knew he had a Fa­ther. That as he had often heard his opi­nion of Miss Sommers, he had ventured to ask his Papa's consent; which he had obtained, and expressed a wish, that the union might soon take place. Mr. Vil­lars [Page 144] told him, he had seen the attach­ment between them; that it gave him pleasure, and he should not retard their happiness.

LORD Beauclair thanked him; and as he thought he saw no obstacle to the union of his sister and friend, mentioned it.—Mr. Villars said he had no objec­tion; but he thought Sir John Bellmore's consent ought to be gained. "But,"— added he, "he is said to be an odd kind of a man; and I make no doubt, but he has made engagements for his son."

AT that moment, Capt. Bellmore and Louisa, with her Brothers, returned from walking. They were all soon acquaint­ed with what had happened: (as soon as they entered, Mrs. Villars retired to her chamber, to indulge her tears.) They all advanced, to congratulate the young Lord. A tear stole down the cheek of [Page 145] the gentle Louisa: her Brother's good fortune, was occasioned by the death of her Grandfather; who, unkind as he had been, she was always taught to re­vere: "come my dear Louisa," cried her Brother, "be chearful; what do you say for a trip to England." "Ah!" said she, looking at her Father. "True," said Mr. Villars, your brother has even persuaded me to go. She then turned her eyes on the Captain, who was in an extacy—"my dear Henry," said he to him in a low voice, "you are the Guar­dian Angel of us all." Louisa and her Brother, expressed much satisfaction at the thoughts of going to England.— Mr. Villars said it would ever make him happy, to have his children so; but could he have kept them all with him, he would have preferred staying in Ame­rica.

TRANQUILITY again reigned at the [Page 146] cottage; and the hearts of the worthy poor, were gladdened by the generosity of the amiable Henry. The report of their quitting the place, was soon known; and most sincerely regretted. A gentle­man whose lands joined Mr. Villars, purchased the farm; and preparations were made for their removal; which was accomplished in six weeks.

LORD Beauclair, and his sister, wrote to Miss Sommers, to apprize her of their coming; they had a short passage, and arrived, amidst the congratulations of their friends. Mr. Sommers insisted on their making his house their home, during their stay in town. The worthy Mrs. Carely, immediately waited on Mrs. Villars; she threw herself at her feet, and bathed her hands with her tears. Mrs. Villars was very much af­fected, she wished to ask her many ques­tions; [Page 147] and for that purpose retired with her to her chamber.

SOON after they arrived, preparations were made for the nuptials of Lord Beauclair and Miss Sommers; which took place in a month. The sprightly Eliza, though always charming, this day shone more than ever. Her dress, was a white lustring sprigged with silver, and flounced with a silver net; festooned with bunches of white roses, and lillies of the valley; her fine dark hair, undis­guised by powder, hang in ringlets down her neck; on her head, she wore a sprig of lillies of the valley, and a white feather.

LORD Beauclair looked remarkably well; he was dressed entirely in his regi­mentals, excepting a white sattin vest, trimmed with silver lace. Louisa appeared uncommonly beautiful. Capt. Bellmore, [Page 148] who had recovered his spirits, from the pleasing hopes he now enjoyed; was re­markably chearful, which made him ap­pear (particularly to Louisa) more charm­ing than ever. Soon after the nuptials, they were informed a fleet would sail for England, some time in July, with a division of the troops. As peace had taken place, it was not difficult for them to obtain leave to return home.

PREPARATIONS were made for the passage; and in a few weeks they were ready to embark for England.— Lady Beauclair felt a reluctance at quit­ting her parents; which nothing but the extreme affection she had for her Lord, could erase.

THE fleet being ready to sail, they embarked;—Mrs. Carely again en­tered her beloved Mistress's service.— Mr. Sommers returned home with his [Page 149] family, and though they parted with their daughter, with reluctance, they were happy to see her so well situated. The passage was pleasant; they spent the time happily, and arrived in perfect health, the first week in September.

WHEN they arrived in London, Lord Beauclair took lodgings not far from Lady Beauclair; as he wished to pre­pare his Grandmother for the interview, she so little expected. Mrs. Villars would gladly have flown to her mother; but she was persuaded to restrain her im­patience for a short time. Lord Beau­clair, sent to inform her of his arrival, and his intention of waiting on her imme­diately. The old Lady met him with emotion; "Oh! my Son!" said she, am I once more permitted to fold thee in these arms?—But say, can you forgive me? can you forgive the shade of your departed Grandfather, for the unkind [Page 150] usage your poor mother has received, and our bringing you up in ignorance of your birth?—"Dear madam," said he, "I have nothing to forgive; you have been a parent to me, all happens for the best; had I known my birth, I might not have gone to America, and conse­quently have never found my Parents." "Oh!" said she, "heaven directed you to them: my poor Maria! shall I ever behold her again—but she cannot wish to see me." "Your Ladyship is mista­ken," returned he; she wishes nothing so much as to throw herself at your feet, and crave your blessing." Ah! how readily would I give it: poor Beverly, how hardly he has been used too.

AFTER some time, Lord Beauclair told her of his marriage, and of his pa­rents having returned with him. She seemed in an extacy; she would not al­low him to stay a moment, but insisted on [Page 151] his bringing them all to her immediate­ly, which he accordingly did: the old Lady's spirits had been so exhausted, that she felt herself unequal to the task of meeting them all together, but de­sired to see her daughter alone; the meeting can be easier imagined than de­scribed: they remained some time toge­ther, and then joined the company: as Lady Beauclair entered, she turned to Mr. Villars; "Mr. Beverly," said she, holding out her hand, "we have used you unkindly; can you forgive?"— "Madam," replied he; "the happiness I now enjoy, compensates for all past troubles." "I would not blame our departed friend," said she, but believe me, I always wished to be a friend to you, had it been in my power." Mr. Villars begged she would think of nothing that had passed—but give him leave to intro­duce his children to her; so saying, he took Lady Beauclair in one hand, and [Page 152] Louisa in the other; and led them to her Ladyship, who received them in the most affectionate manner; Lord Beauclair presented his two brothers, and his friend. After a considerable time, Lady Beauclair, addressing herself to Mr Vil­lars, asked him why he had changed his name, and how he wished to settle him­self. "Is not my house," continued she, large enough for us all? If not, Hamp­ton-Hall ^* is at your service."

HER first question he evaded; as he did not wish to revive disagreeable circum­stances but as little as possible. "With regard to my settling," said he, troubles in early life.—She sighed; "excuse me, Madam—troubles have imbibed in us a love of retirement; and any other way of life, I feel, can never make me happy." "You shall live as you please," replied [Page 153] her Ladyship; "but you would not wish to retire from your friends." "By no means," answered he, "I should prefer a snug place in the country, where I could always enjoy myself and be happy with my friends."

THEY all approved his choice; and it was concluded, that they should still con­tinue with her Ladyship; and Lord Beau­clair should in a few days attend his fa­ther in looking for a place to suit him. Capt. Bellmore would again have return­ed to his lodgings, but the old Lady would not allow him.

THE next day, he set out for Portland-Grove, his Father's country seat. He had not an opportunity of speaking to Lou­isa in private; but, at parting, put a let­ter into her hand, filled with the most last­ing professions of love, and a promise to see her again in a short time. After taking a [Page 154] polite leave, he mounted his horse, and rode off.

THE old Lady saw the trembling tear in the languid blue eye of Louisa, which followed him until out of sight; and her pretence to quit the room, did not pass unobserved.

"MY dear Eliza," said Lady Beauclair, "has not this handsome Captain made an impression on the heart of your sis­ter!"—"Why does your ladyship think so?" "I think I see it," said she; it is not from curiosity; but I have heard Sir John Bellmore has made engagements for his Son, with Sir Danvers Lovemore, who has an only Daughter, whose for­tune will be forty thousand pounds.

"AH!" said Eliza, whose gentle heart caught the alarm for her friend, "my dear madam," do not mention this to [Page 155] Louisa—it is then as I feared, cried the old Lady, "if this is the case," answered Lady Beauclair, "they are the most un­happy people on earth."

Mrs. VILLARS and Louisa just enter­ing, put a stop to the discourse. Louisa perceived her friends countenance change, "What is the matter, my dear Eliza," said she, "are you not well?" "O yes," replied she, "only a little vaporish; I will go and look for your Brother, and we will take a walk in the Park:" so say­ing, she quitted the room. "Indeed ma­dam, said Louisa," turning to her Mama, "my sister is not well; I had better fol­low." "You are a good girl, Louisa," said her Grandmother, I believe your fears are without foundation,"—Louisa, sat down; but seemed very uneasy.

LORD Beauclair soon came in leading [Page 156] his Lady, who had on her hat and gloves. "Come Louisa," said he, "Eliza wishes to walk in the Park this morning; get your hat." She rose immediately, and accompanied them. They had not walked far, before they past two Ladies; one most superbly dres­sed, and very much affected, hanging on the arm of the other; and talked so loud, that the conversation was plainly heard by Lord Beauclair and the Ladies. "Lord, my dear," said the affected Lady, "it is monstrous to walk thus without a Beau; why does Sir George leave us?" "He will return directly, said the other—but is not your intended re­turned from America?" "No, I believe not," replied she carelessly; "I am very easy about it, I assure you."— "Why," returned the other, "he is very handsome, they tell me."—"Aye, but he has no title; its a freak of Papa's, because there is a good deal of money. [Page 157] But, upon my life, I had rather have Lord Boquet, with his small fortune."

"BUT, my dear," said her friend, you are not acquainted with this hand­some young Captain.—"True; but they say he is as grave as a Methodist Parson; and would you believe it, he would as soon touch a snake as a card." At that moment, a gentleman joined them, and they walked another way.

"WHO can that affected creature be?" said Lady Beauclair.—"A Miss Lovemore," replied my Lord: A fan­tastical fool, with a great fortune; I sup­pose some miserly fellow has been mak­ing a bargain with her father to encrease his son's riches, at the expence of his peace." "I am sure," said Louisa, "I should sincerely pity the man that is sold for a fortune, to such a creature."— "You would indeed have thought so, [Page 158] Lady Beauclair, if you knew who it was."

SHE had told his Lordship, what his Grandmother had told her, (but did not mention the name, as it had escaped her memory). He would not credit it, but laughed at it as an idle report. This con­versation, however, convinced her of its truth, and she was happy to find the Lady so indifferent. As soon as an op­portunity offered, she mentioned it to his Lordship, who now began to think seri­ously of the matter; and to form schemes to serve his friend; where we will leave him, and return to Captain Bellmore, who arrived at his Father's gate just as he was returning from riding.

"MY dear William," said he, "how glad I am to see you. I intended writing to you by the next packet."—"I am happy, Sir," replied he, "to have saved you that trouble.". They now entered [Page 159] the house; his Mother and Sister re­ceived him with the greatest joy. Sir John seemed in high spirits, and often hinted having something of consequence to impart to him.

THE next morning, Miss Bellmore followed her Brother into the garden.— "I come, my dear William, to prepare you for a disagreeable piece of intelli­gence, which you will no doubt soon hear."—She then briefly informed him of the engagements his Father had formed for him.

HE stood like one amazed: at length "my Augusta," said he, "whatever mer­cenary views my Father may have for me, I call my God to witness can never be fulfilled."—"Hush! William, you know my Father is arbitrary."

CAPT. Bellmore then informed his [Page 160] Sister of his attachment to Louisa; and his positive determination to marry no one else.—The gentle heart of Miss Bellmore was pained from the first men­tion of this affair: how much more did she feel for him, when she found his af­fections were engaged. She once had loved a worthy object; and but for the unbounded avarice of Sir John, had been happy. Her tears flowed too fast for ut­terance; her brother's situation reminded her of her own. She wept for both— and, waving her hand in silent anguish, left him" and Capt. Bellmore returned to the house with a heavy heart.

AT breakfast, Sir John told him, he had something of consequence to men­tion to him: and desired him to follow him to his study; in a few words, Sir John informed him of the engagements he had made, and desired he would im­mediately fulfil them.—His son, in vain, [Page 161] endeavoured to remonstrate with him; he gave him only two days to consider of his proposal; and if he would not consent to marry Miss Lovemore, he should immediately sail for India; and there stay until he found himself dis­posed to obey.

HIS son now told him, his affections were engaged to a Lady, whose connec­tions were far more noble than Miss Lovemore's, and whose fortune, though not so large, was very handsome. His father replied, "had he known it sooner, he might, perhaps, have considered of it; but his word was given to Sir Dan­vers; and he was determined to be obeyed, on pain of his lasting displea­sure; so saying, he flounced out of the room.

CAPT. Bellmore threw himself on the sofa, and gave a loose to tears he could [Page 162] not retain.—Lady Bellmore came to him, and taking his hand, said, "my dear William! compose yourself."—"Ma­dam," cried he, rising, "my Father has given me two days to consider of his hated proposal;—there needs not two hours; tell him, I will leave the country if he insists upon it; for never, never, will I consent to this detested marriage; so saying, he left the room, ordered his horses; and, after bidding his mother and sister, (who intreated him to stay) adieu, he set out for London.

SIR John was in a violent rage, when he heard of his son's determination and departure.—Lady Bellmore wept, and begged him to break with Sir Danvers, but in vain.

WHEN Capt. Bellmore arrived in London, he waited only to dress, and flew immediately to his Louisa. His [Page 163] pale and altered countenance, directly informed her something had happened.

THERE was a great deal of company when he arrived; and he had not an opportunity of speaking to Louisa, until the evening. "What is the matter?" said she; "you are ill, or something has troubled you."—"Oh, my Louisa! my beloved Louisa! we must part! I must leave you—perhaps for ever."

SHE heard no more, but fell senseless in his arms; at that instant, Lord and Lady Beauclair entered.—Oh! my friend, said the unhappy William, "my inhuman Father will be the death of us both."—"I know how it will be," re­plied his Lordship; "I dreaded this in­terview, but endeavour to be easy, all may yet be well."

CAPT. Bellmore heard him not; he [Page 164] clasped his lovely burden to his breast, whilst Lady Beauclair was endeavouring to bring her to life. Mrs. Villars and her mother now entered; Bellmore seemed not to see them; but, bathing the hands of his Louisa with his tears, said, "would to heaven, my angel, thou hadst let me die in the American forest; we then had both been happy."

LOUISA then looked up. "Ah!" said she, wildly, "they have taken him away; he is gone—he is gone."—"No, my life," cried he, "I am here, and if you can take a beggar to thy arms, will never leave thee.

THE old Lady seemed very much af­fected. "These hearts," said she, must not be parted.—Mrs. Villars, whose fright had rendered her in almost the same situation with Louisa, now advan­ced towards her. "Louisa," said she, [Page 165] "you must go and lay down; you will be better presently."—She rose and fol­lowed her Mama, giving Capt. Bellmore, who stood motionless, a look of infinite distress. The Ladies all went with Loui­sa, for whom they were very apprehen­sive.

LORD Beauclair attempted to comfort his friend. "William," said he, "you have no resolution; why so soon cast down; we have heard of your Father's design, and have the pleasure to tell you the Lady has not more inclination to ful­fil the engagement, than yourself. He then related the conversation they had heard in the Park. This afforded some consolation to his depressed spirits; and he consented that Lord Beauclair should endeavour to persuade Miss Lovemore to refuse him.

ELIZA now entered in tears; she said [Page 166] Louisa was very ill; that she made no answer to any thing that was said to her; that Lady Beauclair, and her Mama, de­sired Capt. Bellmore would go to her, and appear to be quite composed; they both followed her to Louisa's room: Lord Beauclair approached the bed, and affecting a lively air; "what is the mat­ter Louisa," said he? "Brother," an­swered she, wildly; "William is gone— he said he must leave me for ever;"— "you mistake," replied the Captain— "your William is here." He then ap­proached, and threw himself on his knees by her bed-side; here I am, my love, no force on earth shall tear me from you." "Why did you say, we must part then?" said she. A flood of tears now came to her relief, and she seemed better. "Tell me, William," exclaim­ed she; "what has troubled you,"— "when you are more composed, my life, answered he. "I am much better [Page 167] now," said she, raising herself on the bed. "My dear sister," cried Lady Beauclair; "you must ask no questions to night, it is late; to-morrow you shall be informed of what you wish to know." Capt. Bellmore, after folding her in his arms; and swearing no force on earth should constrain him to leave her, took his leave. Lord Beauclair was obliged to do the same, as his Eliza would not be prevailed on to leave her friend that night.

THE old Lady, and Mrs. Villars had left the room, when they found her rea­son returning, least their presence might be a restraint. As soon as the Captain left the room, they returned, and finding her so much better, wished her a good night, and left her with Lady Beauclair.

LOUISA rose with the sun, and stole from her sister, who had just fallen in a [Page 168] deep sleep. She went to the saloon, where, as she expected, she met Capt. Bellmore, who had no more inclination for sleep than herself. "My dear Loui­sa," said he; "why will you rise so ear­ly; you have no regard for your health." —"O!" I am quite well; you must now tell me what has happened, I can­not bear this suspense." He then led her to a settee, and briefly related what the reader is already informed of. She heard him with a tolerable degree of composure. "So," cried she, with a sigh; when he concluded, "you had determined to obey him."—"But partly my love; could I expect my Louisa would marry a beggar! —My determination was to go to India, and endeavour to acquire a competence, which, if I succeeded in, to return to you—if I failed—to die in a foreign country."

"COULD you consent to leave me?" [Page 169] said she, the tears starting from her eyes: "Easily, my Louisa," tenderly pressing her to his bosom; "Heaven knows the conflicts of my heart; your discerning eye perceived it. The tender manner in which you asked the cause, threw me off my guard, and I absolutely uttered words that so much affected you: But, Oh! my Louisa, to find myself so dear to you, compensates for all I have met with."

JUST now Eliza entered, and rallied Louisa severely, for giving her the slip. She imagined Capt. Bellmore had related his story to her, and was happy to see her so composed. They were soon sum­moned to breakfast; Louisa seemed much confused at meeting the rest of the Family; but her indisposition was slight­ly touched on; and the conversation changed to a different subject.

LORD Beauclair thought no time like [Page 170] the present, and went as soon as dressed, to wait on Miss Lovemore; he sent up his name; she had seen him, and had heard of his new acquired title, and flat­tered herself, his Lordship would be ad­ded to the train of her admirers, as she had not heard of his marriage; she kept him waiting some time, in order to add new lustre to her charms, by a prepos­terous dress, rouge, &c. &c.

SHE at last came swimming into the room, with such an air, that his Lordship could with difficulty, keep his muscles in order. After some conversation, too trifling to relate, he mentioned Capt. Bellmore, and the connection which he heard was to take place. "O Lord," I hate these made up matches; I am cer­tain I shall detest him, and my Father need not think I will ever consent to the match."

[Page 171]LORD Beauclair said he was happy to see her so averse to it, "for," added he, "the Captain, though he is a fine young man, is much too grave for you—a per­son of your life and spirits, would suit much better with a man of the Bon Ton." "You do me honour, my Lord, "I assure you I will never marry Capt. Bellmore; I can't abide the thought of a husband, whose grave looks would al­ways be giving one lessons of morality; they tell me, he does not touch cards." O no, Madam; when he is from the re­giment, he spends his time in reading, and writing love-sonnets on the favourite of his heart, or perhaps, spending a social hour where cards and scandal are perhaps never thought of."—"Oh! heaven de­fend me from such a husband," cried she, with an affected laugh; "I shall give him a positive refusal, the first time he comes."—"Upon my word, Madam, if that is your intention, I think you had [Page 172] better put an end to this affair, by writ­ing to him; and by so doing, bring it to a more speedy conclusion; as the young man, after having the pleasure of seeing you, and finding you so fascinating, may not so readily resign you."

"OH! you have hit it," said she, "I will positively write to him. I told Pa­pa yesterday, I was determined not to marry him, unless he would purchase him a title; but I knew the old gentle­man was too fond of his money to do that. Will you do me the honour, Ma­dam, to be the bearer of the letter?"

SHE consented, and flew to write; but she soon returned, and presented a letter to his Lordship, though he had said no­thing to make her imagine him her lover. She seemed much disappointed, when he took leave; she, however, comforted [Page 173] herself, with the thought of soon seeing him again.

LORD Beauclair returned in high spi­rits, and delivered the letter to Capt. Bellmore, who read as follows:

[Page 174]THE Captain folded him in his arms, and called him his guardian angel; he flew to Louisa with the welcome intelli­gence. Lord Beauclair then related their conversation, which afforded a great deal of diversion; the next day Capt. Bellmore set off for his Father's. When he arrived, Sir John was out; his Mother and Sister, flew to welcome him; are you returned to make us happy, said they; "I hope so, Madam," returned he. He then shewed his Mother the letter; at that instant, Sir John entered; "well, William," said he, "are you re­turned to a sense of your duty." He made no answer, but put the letter in his hand; he frowned: "damned non­sense," cried he? "what are her whims, to Sir Danvers and my engagements?" "what a life do you think Sir, two per­sons so averse to each other could lead; besides, I have heard Sir Danvers will not thwart his daughter's inclinations." [Page 175] Well, well, if Sir Danvers has a mind to let this foolish girl rule him, I am willing to let it drop."

AUGUSTA had told Lady Bellmore, of her brother's attachment to Miss Vil­lars, and that, it was more than proba­ble she would have a genteel fortune; Lady Bellmore had mentioned it to Sir John, which was the reason he was so easily persuaded to relinquish his fa­vourite scheme. A few days after Sir John called the Captain to his study, and questioned him, with regard to his affections for Miss Villars; and pretend­ed to be angry at his engaging his affec­tions without his knowledge; he asked him, what her fortune would be;— in this he could not satisfy him, but told him it would be something very handsome. Sir John said, Sir Danvers had wrote to him, and begged to be off, which he had agreed to; and if he [Page 176] liked Miss Villars's fortune, he would have no objection to the match. That he should go to London, and he would call on her Father.

AFTER the Captain's departure from London, Lady Beauclair presented Mr. Villars a deed for twenty thousand pounds, for Louisa's fortune; ten to be paid on the day of her marriage, and the other ten at her death; saying, she made no doubt, but her grandson would add to it if it was required.

Mr. VILLARS was thinking her in terms she merited, when she interupted him, saying, "the only compensation I can make for what you have suffered, is to make you and your children happy.

LORD Beauclair, who had been made acquainted with Lady Beauclair's genero­sity, added ten thousand pounds more to [Page 177] Louisa's fortune; and a few days after, Sir John arrived, and was so pleased with Louisa, that he was as eager for the match, as he before had been against it.

HE returned and told his Son, he might go and see his little blue-eyed girl as soon as he pleased, that he liked her very well. The now happy Captain flew on the wings of love.—Mr. Villars receiv­ed him with open arms.—"Welcome, my dear Bellmore," cried he, let me now have the pleasure of making my children happy. "So saying, he led him to Louisa, who, blushing, rose to receive him." "God bless you both," said he, joining their hands, "and may you meet with the reward of your merits."

LORD Beauclair pressed his friend to his bosom, saying, "my dear, dear Wil­liam, shall I be so happy as to call you Brother."—In less than a month, the [Page 178] marriage was solemnized, to the general satisfaction of their friend; and Miss Bellmore for a time, forgot her own sor­rows, in the joy she felt at seeing her Brother happy.

A FEW days after, the whole family went to spend some time at the grove.

AFTER they returned to London; and the ceremony of visiting was over, Mr. Villars and his family, retired to a beau­tiful little retreat, Lord Beauclair had purchased for them nigh Hampton-Hall. Lord and Lady Beauclair continued with the old Lady, and spent their summers with her in the country.

CAPT. Bellmore went to live at Union-Park, (a seat which his Father had pre­sented him on his marriage) about five miles from the Hall. He gave up his commission, and resided wholly in the [Page 179] country: blessed with his Louisa, his happiness was complete, and joy beam­ed around. Lady Beauclair lived to an advanced age, honoured by her children.

Mr. and Mrs. VILLARS, in their de­cline of life, enjoyed every felicity. Blessed in seeing their children happy, their every wish was complete.

THEIR sons, Edward and Charles, re­turned from the university, possessed of every manly grace and virtue.

LORD and Lady Beauclair, already blessed with two fine boys and a girl, live beloved by their friends, and adored by their domestics.

Mr. SOMMERS in a few years returned to England, and settled in their neigh­bourhood.—The lively Caroline, whose beauty was much improved, made an [Page 180] impression on the youthful heart of Ed­ward Villars, which ended in a happy marriage.

Miss BELLMORE was united to the man of her heart, who returned from In­dia, with a fortune equal to the most mercenary wish of Sir John.—Mrs. Car­ley grew old in the service of the Family, and found friends in every branch of it; she latterly attached herself to the little daughter of Louisa; and in the decline of life, received the reward of her fidel­ity.