IN a beautiful vale, watered by a winding river, in D—shire, was situated the Glebe House of Mr. Owens, who convinced of the truth and efficacy of those doc­trines it was his duty to instil, ever delivered them with that awful­ness and energy, calculated to catch the most wandering idea, and soften the heart, if not thoroughly hardened in the school of depravi­ty.

He was much esteemed in his neighborhood, and often brought to mind the good pastor of Auburn Village—his virtues and humanity [Page 4] would have adorned the most ex­alted station, while his simplicity and content appeared as if none other than his present humble one would have suited him half so well.

Moderate as was his income, he still reserved some trifle for the children of affliction—satisfied, that a small gift from the hand of real charity, would obtain the bles­sing of Providence. He knew not the vanities of life, and thought with Goldsmith,

His wife with equal simplicity, had a much larger portion of vani­ty—nor could any argument to the contrary persuade her but that more happiness must be enjoyed in a coach and six, than without [Page 5] one. She yet remembered with pride, her maiden name of pretty Fan of the Glade, but was fonder, if possible, of displaying her daugh­ter's perfections than her own; she was, to allow her all her merits, an excellent house-wife, was rec­koned the greatest adept in the country at Pope-Joan, and had in­troduced several improving ingre­dients in mixing particular pud­dings.

Her sweet little boy, Jasper as she called him, was now clearly six feet high, and in his one and twentieth year—the tints of the lilly, once conspicuous on his face, had long been usurped by a brown hue, enlivened with the brightest bloom of health; his hair of the darkest chesnut, luxuriantly thick, [Page 6] hung carelessly round his neck and forehead, while the fire of his large hazel eyes might have been played off with dangerous success, against hearts boasting of peculiar frigidness.

But except a little rustic gallant­ry with the wood nymphs, poor Jasper had confined his admiration to ladies who had flourished centu­ries back, such as Hebe, Cleopa­tra, Lucretia, &c. His father had really almost made him a pe­dant.—With such abilities 'twas surely hoped he would establish his family in prosperity.

Natural are those presages in the paternal heart, and while bounded by reason, cruel would be the hand which would seek to crush them.

[Page 7]Constantia, their only daughter, was about seventeen, her person of the midling height was formed with a pleasing delicacy, her face inclining to roundness and exqui­sitely fair, was animated by the pure blushes of nature—her blue eyes sparkled through their long lashes with that resistless look of which Thompson so eloquently speaks. A smile, ever brought into her cheeks the sweetest dim­ples, and her mouth, tempting as the rose-bud, discovered when she spoke, a set of teeth that might al­most be called pearl.

With an artless negligence, her light brown hair flowed down her back, and had the trees, (as we are told was once the case,) been occupied by Dryads, those about the Glebe might have regretted [Page 8] her charms, since the pen of pas­toral lovers on their smooth rinds, had made numberless incisions concerning them.

Vivacity and innocence were conspicuous in her every action; she joined in the merriment of her companions, and she wept at the tale of the unfortunate.

The Glebe-house was a rough old structure—the ivy crept over one wing entirely and over the door was a beautiful canopy, of honey suckles; the lawn on which it stood was hedged round with evergreens and planted with elms, and the waving poplar; the garden was laid out more for use than show, yet it was not unplea­sing, nor had a shady seat for re­creation [Page 9] after the fatigues of the day, been forgotten.

Such was the Glebe-house and its inhabitants, whom circling years still found in possession of felicity, and consenting spring shed her own rosy garland on their heads, when the death of Con­stantia's sponsor, threw them into a little commotion. She fulfilled her promise of a legacy, by a be­quest of two hundred pounds to Mrs. Owens.

That good woman shed a flood of tears when she heard the first account of the death, but soon moderated her grief by quoting an old saying of her husband's— "we are all mortal, and must die sooner or later;" in short, she ne­ver rested until she put on her [Page 10] cloak and hat, and speeded away to a particular friend of her's.

Mrs. Crofts was a lady who had retired to the country to lye-in about six months after the death of her lamented spouse; finding the people very simple, and very much what she wanted them to be, she settled near the Glebe-house, now and then taking a trip to London—in which, never ac­companying her, we cannot pre­tend to ascertain her business; no gross vapours of slander ever pur­sued her from the metropolis to lessen the esteem she was regarded with in the neighborhood, whither the purity of the surrounding at­mosphere might have repelled them we cannot determine.

[Page 11]Mrs. Owens sat down puffing and blowing, a tear dropped on her cheek, she felt another starting and timely wiped it away with the corner of her apron.

My dear friend is gone, said she, answering the interrogations of Mrs. Crofts, my sweet friend, a sad loss I have sustained—but, as poor Frank says, we must all go, my dear friend—she has left me two hundred pounds.

Mrs. Crofts declared she did not wonder at her grief, her friend was a valuable person, and she well knew what it was to lose the dearest connexions. Her husband had been dead these five years, yet she still wept over his memo­ry; here her tears began to flow, and the afflicted matrons found it requisite to partake of an admirable [Page 12] cordial which Mrs. Crofts recom­mended as a most effectual remedy for grief.

Mrs. Owens asked her advice concerning the disposal of the le­gacy, hinting her intention of go­ing to London. Mrs. Crofts de­clared it was the wisest scheme in the world—that perfections such as her children possessed should not be concealed; they were not born to bloom unseen; in short the journey was strenuously recom­mended.

The affair was discussed over and over, preliminaries adjusted; to London Mrs. Owens was de­termined to go, and Mrs. Crofts was to give recommendatory let­lers and procure lodgings at a cousin of her's.

[Page 13]When Mrs. Owens returned home—well Frank, said she, I have settled every thing about the two hundred pounds; aye, to be sure, said he—I mean to go to market next week and buy such a flock of sheep as was not seen in those parts this some time, Jasper shall have a poney, and the great dyke in the garden shall be filled up.

No truly, exclaimed she, not one of those things shall be done with my legacy. I intend going to London with the children;— Yes, Mr. Owens, continued she, with more violence, perceiving his astonishment, we are not always to be secluded, we were not born to bloom unseen; as Mrs. Crofts says.

[Page 14]You jest lovey, said he—aye, aye, deary, when I am a bishop, you shall go to London: I believe if we wait for that, replied she, we shall be as grey as your old goose; no, no, Frank the money was left to me and the money I will spend, sure in your heart you must know what advantages the children will receive from seeing the town; Jasper has such a head that I make no doubt of his getting a fortune; and as for Constance, the little rogue, she shall shew the world what pretty Fan of the Glade was in her youth.

When the poor parson was con­vinced of the seriousness of her in­tention, he earnestly besought her to alter her mind; he pointed out every avenue to danger, and con­jured [Page 15] her to avoid the destruction of their happiness.

My Fanny, he cried, you are too innocent to encounter the wickedness of the town, our dar­lings here in their proper sphere, will not behold objects which will excite wishes—wishes that create distress from an inability to grati­fy them.

All his rhetoric was vain, she was determined: he therefore made a virtue of necessity, and submitted,—Yet a tear involun­tarily fell.

Since resolved, then exclaimed he, may heaven guard you, and bring you safely back to the Glebe-house—but indulge me one mo­ment, [Page 16] my love, while I repeat a fable, which I think very applica­ble at this time.

I dont know what you mean, said Mrs. Owens, pettishly, by your doves and hawks. I suppose you would have me cooing for ever by your side, but no, Mr. Owens, it will not do, and you must positively hire a carriage to morrow, for on the next day I am resolved to go, which proves, fa­ther, replied Jasper, who had lis­tened to the whole controversy, she will have her own way, ergo to town she goes.

[Page 18]The rumor of their intended ex­pedition soon spread through the neighbourhood, and next morning brought a Mr. Coverly to the Glebe-House.

So, Madam, cried he, enter­ing the parlour, where, was only, Mrs. Owens, I hear you are going to London;—true enough, ex­claimed she, 'tis full time for the children and me to enjoy a little of life.

Alas, madam, said he, you have but an incompetent idea of enjoy­ing life, if you think it can be done no where but in the metropolis.

Oh, Sir, said she, I knew you would side with Frank, but I have conquered him, I assure you, so you may say what you will—but [Page 19] this she afforded him no opportu­nity of doing, as she quitted the room to prepare for her departure, leaving him standing at a window seemingly contemplating some­thing, though what it was, would probably puzzle himself to tell.

The entrance of Constantia rous­ed him, he took her hand, and leading her to a chair, sat down beside her; so Constantia, said he, you are going to London; you are rejoiced, I suppose; I really don't know whether I am or not, cried she.—This scheme of your mo­ther's, he proceeded, has sadly broke in upon a thousand little plans I had formed against the next sheep-shearing. I proposed having the sweetest dance on the grassplat —I had trimmed up your bower in the nicest manner—but all my [Page 20] flattering prospects are blasted— we shall no more walk down the dark lane. Oh, Constantia, you will forget every think of this kind, when a few weeks in town.

I don't think, I shall, she replied. —Oh, my sweet girl, he re­sumed, have you ever allowed me the privilege of a friend, you will therefore excuse the cautions I presume to give.

In the great world, you will behold objects calculated to dazzle every sense, you will there find flatterers very different from those rustic ones that have hitherto sur­rounded you. Should your guile­less heart be susceptible of an im­pression, should—here his voice grew so extremely low, it was quite inarticulate.

[Page 21]Constantia, said he—after a hem, of considerable length— come into the garden.—He drew her arm under his, and they went to the shady bench.—I shall often visit this, he exclaimed.— I shall here think upon you— While I'm, perhaps, forgotten.

She spoke not, but putting her hand into her pocket, pulled out a little green silk purse she had knit, and presenting it to him, de­clared she should ever rernember with gratitude his kind attentions: He received her gift with trans­port, and with an emotion he could not suppress, catching her to his bosom, cried—Oh! my lovely, my dearest Constantia, could I replenish as often as I'd wish—this purse, you would not, [Page 22] I trust, think of leaving the fold of these fond arms.

Fearing he had said too much, he quitted his hold with precipita­tion, and ran out of the garden.

Poor Constantia pursued him with her eyes, while her bosom ex­perienced strange feelings. Tears involuntarily trickled down her cheek, and at that instant she would have heard with pleasure, that her mother meant not to have quit the Glebe.

Coverly, now in his nine and twentieth year, was tall and thin, a thinness caused by an innate and secret uneasiness;—without pre­tensions to beauty, his counte­nance was strongly marked with the resistless expression of sensibi­lity, [Page 23] while the spirit of his dark eyes, denoted their illuminating soul, warm, generous and intre­pid.

Finances, scarcely amounting to a support compelled him to that obscurity, he appeared by nature never formed for.

Whether he was a connexion of Sir Roger de Coverly's is a point we could never clearly learn, if so, the good Old Knight's vir­tues were of an hereditary, or ra­ther a diffusive kind, and flowed with the stream of life to the heart of his relation.

Though poor, pity was not all that Coverly bestowed on distress, frequently has he taken from his table, the simple viands prepared [Page 24] for himself, and delivered them to the creature enfeebled by poverty and pain.

He had been about five years in the country—on his first com­ing, he seemed sedulous to avoid society, but the benevolent Owens, combatted his despondency and tempted him to become a constant visitor at the Glebe.

Constantia, then scarcely more than a child, attracted his notice; in her unfolding mind, he disco­vered qualities which wanted that cultivation to yield the most delec­table fruit, the thoughts of in­structing her in some of those ele­gant accomplishments he possessed soothed his melancholy, and those improvements her father had be­gun, [Page 25] received their last polish from the tuition of Coverly.

At this period his affection for her, was that of a brother, as she grew up, feelings of a more ten­der, at least a more anxious na­ture, occupied his breast; her modesty, her artless innocence, her blushing charms, were to him irresistible. He had seen the most polished parts of the world, yet he never beheld her counterpart. The sweets of domestic life would have been balm to his sorrows, but these were sweets he durst not think of tasting, his narrow in­come rendering the maintenance of a family impossible.

Accursed, cried he, with enthu­siastic warmth, be that man, who [Page 26] for self gratification involves a wo­man he pretends to love, and per­haps a number of innocents, into the extremes of poverty; Constan­tia, thy Coverly shall never be guilty of such villainy.

Her going to London was an unexpected stroke; he knew the credulity and vanity of Mrs. Ow­ens would expose the lovely blos­som, to the infectious blasts of flattery and vice.—He sighed to point out the danger, but was ac­quainted with her positiveness, and feared the family might im­pute his caution to interested mo­tives.

He continued his race, with very little abatement, from the garden to the adjoining village which was two miles from the [Page 27] Glebe. Here the noise of the peo­ple roused him from his reverie, he feared he had uttered too much; he does just scarcely wish to excite a passion, before whose completion fate had thrown so ma­ny obstacles. He regretted his abrupt departure, had ten thou­sand things to say—the ensuing morning the journey was to com­mence.—He could not bear to pass the few remaining hours from the Glebe.—So buying some spiced cakes, as an excuse for his speedy return, in the evening brought them to Mrs. Owens.

The bustle of preparation was now over, the stage was to take them up early the next day, and he found Mrs. Crofts writing let­ters of recommendation.

[Page 28]Coverly felt peevish, he could not controul himself, and contra­dicted the poor Parson more than once. He wanted to say a thou­sand things to Constantia without knowing what they were. Some heavy showers falling, he was de­barred the pleasures of a private walk with her. Supper was early served, and at ten Mrs. Crofts rose to depart. Coverly of course fol­lowed the motion. He saluted Mrs. Owens, shook Jasper by the hand, and wished him much a­musement; then turning to Con­stantia, attempted to speak, but sound it impossible. He pressed his cold lips to her's, a sigh heav­ed the bosom of both;—he look­ed round, the rest were too busy talking to observe the emotions of love. He strained her to his breast, snatched another kiss, and [Page 29] was about leaving the room, when the voice of Mrs. Crofts exclaimed, "Sure Mr. Coverly you will see me home," detained him.

Early in the morning the stage coach took them up: had duty al­lowed it, the worthy parson could have wished to be the guardian of his family, but that was impossi­ble.—He wept in spite of his ef­forts.

Mrs. Owens, now sure of go­ing, was also affected—she shed tears, and gave old Deb a thou­sand charges to take care of her master.

Jasper whistled, looked askance, skipped about, felt in his pocket to be certain of Horace, assured his [Page 30] father that he would be an old Trojan by the time he came back.

Constantia wanted power to speak,—never did she appear more attracting. Drest in a habit of dimity, her hair in its wonted lux­uriance, flowing from under a straw hat, lined with the palest shade of pink, which gave a faint tint to her cheeks that were this morning totally pale.

The parson recommended a number of good books to his wife, particularly a volume of excellent sermons: but whether from mis­take or hurry, is not certain, she took the Fortunate Country Maid in its place.

[Page 31]There were no other passengers in the coach, and they wheeled off with varied emotions.

As they approached the dwell­ing of Coverly, Constantia▪ bent forward; an uninterested object might have viewed the prospect with pleasure.

The cottage which was small, but elegantly neat, stood on the summit of one of those low hills which skirted the vale. Some clumps of trees cast a shade upon the windows, and a winding path led up to the door.

The sloping garden on the [...]r of the hill, was adorned with the most beautiful flowers, interspersed with choice old fruit trees; on the bank of the river winding beneath, [Page 32] was formed a bower, consisting of the interwoven branches of wood­bine, part of which had crept round an old elm, on whose bark the name of Constantia was en­graved.

As she probably conjectured, Coverly was watching their ap­pearance. He called to the man to stop. Constantia's hand rested on the door; Coverly darted for­ward, seized it, and pressed it to his lips, while the glistening tear stood in either eye—he hemmed, complained of a cold, and put into the carriage a handkerchief of fruit just pulled.

Mrs. Owens begged him to vi­sit poor Frank often, and that he would take care of himself, as he looked very ill, assuring him, that [Page 33] Deb made excellent whey. He bowed, smiled, and drew back, the coachman whipped his horses, and off they flew.

Coverly was transfixed, the noise of the wheels still resounded in his ears—at length he return­ed to his house. The little boy who attended him, asked if he was ill? he neither could answer the poor child, nor partake of the breakfast he assiduously had pre­pared. Shortly after, he walked out, and soon found himself in the road the carriage had taken. Ashamed of his weakness, he changed his course, nor recollect­ed, till the striking of the village clock▪ that it was time to visit the parson.

[Page 34]The poor forsaken old man, was sitting down to a solitary din­ner, he brightened up a little at the entrance of Coverly,—You saw the travellers, I suppose, ex­claimed he,—they set forward with the exultation of hope. Oh may they return with that sereni­ty of innocence in which they left me: Yet, alas, my heart trembles for them, they are all the offspring of simplicity, and exposed to the machinations of the base. I did all that the gen­tleness of my temper would allow, to combat the inclination of my wife. Oh, may she never have reason to rue her opposition to my wishes.

He wanted Coverly to reside with him during their absence. Coverly promised to be frequently [Page 35] with him, but could not think of quitting his cottage entirely, where he could have some private hours for the luxurious indulgence of concealed grief.

After feeding Constantia's gold­finches he touched her guittar, which had been a New Year's gift from him, but the strings were discordant, and he found that with her, Harmony had for­saken the Glebe House.

We shall now bid adieu to the gentlemen for some time, and pursue the travellers.

Nothing occurred during the first day of their journey worth reciting, on the second, when ar­rived at the inn where they were to dine; a gentleman, who had [Page 36] just alighted from an elegant phae­ton, accompanied by a lady, ad­vanced, and with the utmost po­liteness handed them out.

Scarce had they entered the par­lour, when the hostess followed, presenting the compliments of the strangers, with an invitation to an entertainment they were just sit­ting down to.

Mrs. Owens elated by this un­expected civility, instantly drew up her head, and with elevated crest, cried, upon my word they are vastly polite; but pray, my good woman do you know—

Truly, mistress, interrupted the hostess, you need not demur, the gentleman is my young Lord Stanville—heaven bless him as [Page 37] pretty a man as one shall see in a summer's day, as the saying is, and the lady is his ward.—Oh, Lord bless me, if you knew the power of money they spend, 'its themselves that would'nt stand hagling about this thing, and scolding about t'other thing, but fling it from them just as I would do a rotten apple.

No sooner had the sound of a title reached the ears of Mrs. Ow­ens, than she made but three steps to the glass, fell to adjusting her dress, repeating, "upon my word they are vastly polite, but I have always the good fortune to meet with civility, to be sure, there's something in the appear­ance of some people, that cannot fail commanding respect; there [Page 38] was a great lord came down to our country once,—bless me,—I forgot his name, but that is nei­ther here nor there,—and he was so attentive, and so,—but I am afraid we shall keep his lord­ship, my lord Stanville, waiting."

She was accordingly ushered to the apartment, at the door of which, his lordship received her, and taking her by the hand, ex­pressed himself particularly obliged by her condescension.

He seated them at the table, taking care to place himself oppo­site Constantia, of whose person, in a sly manner, he took an ex­act survey, and evidently appear­ed enraptured with her.

[Page 39]Having learned their place of residence, he said he had been there, mentioning several great families he had visited, whom Mrs. Owens knew perfectly, though they were too exalted for her to have any intimacy with.

I remember, continued his lordship, when there, of a Mr. Owens, a very worthy divine, who they said had married the greatest beauty in that country, —she had some particular name —bless me, how forgetful I am,—it was either Maria, Harri­et, or,—

Perhaps, my lord, cried Mrs. Owens, in raptures, she could not conceal, it might have been Fan, pretty Fan of the Glade.

[Page 40]The same, the same,—I presume madam, you have seen her, will you be so good as to inform me, if your opinion coincides with the admiring villagers.

It would be impossible to de­scribe Mrs. Owens countenance, when she faultering pronounced, "my lord, I had the honor of bearing that name."

Pardon me, dear madam, ex­claimed his lordship, with a look of astonishment, how could I be so stupid; surely, when I heard where you came from, I need no longer have doubted, since in you I behold all those graces for which she was so deservedly extolled.

This young lady, I presume, ma­dam, is your daughter—how love­ly [Page 41] a copy—I tremble for the safety of the beaux hearts in London.

Your lordship, said Miss Somers, has never yet trembled for your own, you are very hard to be pleased.

Why hitherto I have been so, my dear, replied he, but the time perhaps approaches (glancing at Constantia) when I shall be as vul­nerable as any other mortal, to the shafts of cupid.

In the midst of this scene, a wai­ter entered, to inform them that the coachman was impatient; a cloud immediately overspread the countenance of Mrs. Owens, which however was soon dissipated by his lordship, who declared, he could [Page 42] not relinquish the pleasure of their society; his ward and he proposed going off in a few days to London —they would be happy to have the vacant places in their carriages occupied by them. He urged his request—much entreaty was not requisite, their baggage was brought from the stage, and Mrs. Owens was rejoiced to hear it drive off.

She may with justice be con­demned for imprudence in thus putting herself in the power of total strangers.—But though vain to excess, she was artless, and credulity is reckoned the sister of innocence.

The attention of his lordship will not be wondered at, when it is known he was an intimate of [Page 43] Mrs. Crofts, who had given him a sketch of the family, and from whom he received the following letter:

[Page 44]From this intimation, his lord­ship took such measures as he thought would accomplish his purposes. His ward was in reali­ty the daughter of a tenant who had fallen a victim to his wiles.

His carriage came soon after dinner, and carried them to a magnificent house at seven miles distance.

Lord Stanville frequently said that it was a pity a man like Mr. Owens should be in so circum­scribed a station—threw out many hints of having livings in his gift —that he could distinguish merit, and knew how to reward it.

In short Mrs. Owens' head, was by the time she returned to her chamber, totally filled with pros­pects [Page 45] of grandeur; she settled in her own mind that Constantia had made a conquest of the peer, that he would provide for her father, give Jasper a genteel em­ployment, and elevate her family to that grandeur her heart so long had sighed for.

Well, child, said she, I wonder what your father would say now, if we had staid cooing in the nest like the fusty old doves as he wan­ted us, things would never have come to this—ah, lord, there's no­thing like having a person with some kind of a head to manage affairs—Mr. Coverly too, would have had us stay.

Would he, indeed Mamma, cried Constantia—I dare say [...]he [Page 46] and my poor father are very dull without us.

Oh! never think of that, said her mother, you don't know what may happen, I always thought there was something great before you.

Constantia felt a sadness cling around her heart she could not conquer, and availed herself of her mother's falling asleep to peruse a letter which Coverly had slipt into her hand at parting.

Her tears fell as she perused it— oh! was thy own felicity perfect, she cried, what rapture should I feel. Forget thee Coverly, no no—thou may'st perhaps be re­membered too tenderly for my peace.

The portrait was wrapt in a pa­per which contained the following lines.

Constantia very eagerly gazed for the portrait, it was indeed a pensive shadow, for the limner had thrown into the countenance all that lock of despondency for which Coverly was so remarkable.

'Tis probable she might have staid hours contemplating it, had not her mother waked and hastily called her to bed.

[Page 50]In the morning they were ush­ered into a magnificent saloon, where a sumptuous breakfast was prepared; his lordship, if possible, was more assiduous than the pre­ceeding night.

After breakfast, he conducted them through a long serpentine walk to a plain, opening in front to a spacious river, and encom­passed by an ampitheatre of trees, an awning of light silk, spread over some of them, formed a kind of bower—where they seated themselves on a bank of turf, em­broidered with the gayest flowers.

Two gaudy barges were lying on the river, occupied by a num­ber of young men drest in uni­form; soft music played, and [Page 51] seemed to steal along the waters, till at a signal given by his lord­ship, the barges set off to a small island, the destined gaol for dis­playing their abilities.

On their return, the victor im­mediately landed, and coming to the bower, modestly bent his knee to Constantia—his lordship pre­sented her a chaplet of artificial flowers, and begged she would reward merit—blushing, and confused at this piece of gallantry, with a trembling hand she decked the brows of the youth.

You may now, cried his lord­ship, esteem yourself the happiest fellow in the universe, since re­warded by the hands of beauty; [Page 52] Oh! with what rapture would I be bound with the flowery fetters of love.

Constantia blushed, but made no reply.

Numberless other devices were practised to divert and beguile the hours.

At length they were led to a rustic building, embosomed among the loftiest trees; where a colla­tion was laid out, which present­ed every luxury that wealth could purchase.

His lordship had, indeed, been assiduous in procuring what he thought most calculated to tempt, betray and intoxicate the senses; [Page 53] while his unsuspecting victims gave hopes by the pleasure mani­fested, that his trouble would be soon recompenced.

He entreated Constantia to sing in the course of the evening, she at length yielded to his importu­nity— or rather the command of her mother, and sung, from the Hermit, of Goldsmith

Lord Stanville pressed her hand and sighed—such was the gentle pressure she had from Coverly, when sitting by him, she sung in this manner—such the profound [Page 54] sigh that heaved his bosom;—she raised her eyes replete with most bewitching softness, and gave a look that sunk to his lordship's soul.

Her mother was enraptured with every thing; nor till this pe­riod, imagined she ever knew per­fect felicity.

Alas! such is the delusion vice so frequently spreads before our eyes, thoughtless we rove in its flowery paths; nor perceive till the poignant sting of sorrow comes, those rocks and quick sands, which so temptingly were covered.

Lord Stanville left them to give some orders to his attendants;— Miss Somers was rambling about [Page 55] with Jasper, who was comparing her to all the beauties of antiquity, as the most finished original, in his opinion, while his mother was stealing after, to listen to his gal­lantry.

As Constantia was going to fol­low them, she felt her gown sud­denly twitched, and turning, per­ceived a servant, who with a sig­nificant look slipt a paper into her hand, and ran off.

Surprize for a moment deprived her of the power of perusing its contents—judge of her amazement and horror when she read as fol­lows:

"Let innocence beware; there's treachery on foot. Fly! ere the [Page 56] shades of night afford an oppor­tunity for the contemplation of the darkest design.—The bearer will conduct you to a place of se­curity;—be guarded if you hope to escape."

Oh, my father! why did we leave you? oh, Coverly! my Coverly, exclaimed Constantia, why are you not here to protect us?

A flood of tears relieved her from that distraction, which in the first moment had overwhelmed her senses—she resolved on col­lecting all her fortitude, and act­ing with that circumspection, which her unknown guardian had desired.

[Page 57]As she was quitting the retreat, Jasper appeared to acquaint her that Miss Somers and his mother were going to the house, and re­quested her to follow.

She instantly communicated the contents of the letter; all on fire at the designed injury, he was for venting openly the impetuosity of his passion, had she not conjured him to the contrary.

She represented to him, how unavailing the display of either re­sentment or resistance, surround­ed as they were, by minions of the monster—that, their only re­source was, for him to seek the servant; she was assured he would befriend them, and was [Page 58] determined, with his assistance, to fly the baneful mansion.

With words like those, Con­stantia won her brother to convic­tion, he went in quest of their humble friend; while she, trem­bling with horror, pursued the footsteps of her mother.

When they reached the house, she made an excuse for going to her apartment, to change her hat, which was damp with dew and unnoticed, whispered her mother to follow.

After securing the door, she acquainted her with the source of her terrors—to describe those of her mother at that moment, is im­possible, all her flattering prospects [Page 59] vanished—humbled to the dust; experiencing all the agonies of self-accusation.

Raising her streaming eyes to that fair blossom, which she had torn from his native shade, and ex­posed to the pestilential blasts of iniquity; like the wandering dove, how joyfully would she have fled to the sheltering arms of her hus­band—she could not speak.

Constantia, shocked at the dis­tress of her mother wept upon her neck, and besought her to be composed;—Heaven, she said, ever protects the virtuous.

Jasper softly tapped at the door, attended by the servant, who con­ducted them down the back-stairs, [Page 60] into an orchard, at the extremity of which, was a bye-road; a coach was prepared, into which they eagerly entered, Jasper first flourishing his stick, and vowing revenge; declaring, he disapprov­ed highly of this inglorious flight —the way would have been—to challenge—and in single combat, chastise—thus did the heroes of antiquity.

Fast as the horses went, they could not keep pace with the wish­es of Mrs. Owens and her daugh­ter; at length they stopped, as well as they could discern by the saint light which a few stars afford­ed at a large edifice.

They were conducted into a parlour, where they beheld a lady [Page 61] and gentleman, the terrors which had taken possession of them, sub­sided almost instantly at their ap­pearance.

The gentleman was old, and from a certain dejection in his look, appeared perfectly acquaint­ed with sorrow; his grey hair was thinly spread upon his fore­head, a placid lustre in his eyes denoted how brilliant they had been in the gay morning of youth, a faint hectic tinged his cheek; and the softest sensibility over­spread his countenance.

Constantia had eyes for no other object, she felt a pleasing awfulness at his sight—her bro­ther, however, thought there was [Page 62] one still more attracting in the room, and could not forbear gaz­ing at the young lady, though he blushed at the same time; she was about eighteen, with a beau­tiful simplicity in her looks.

Welcome! thrice welcome! to this mansion, exclaimed the old gentleman—forever blessed be the hour in which Providence made me the humble instrument of pre­serving a family from destruction —yes madam, continued he, tak­ing Mrs. Owens's hand, I consider myself particularly fortunate, in being enabled to save you from that heart-rending distress you would have experienced, had the basest of schemes been executed.

[Page 63]He then briefly informed them, that Lord Stanville's man, who was son to a tenant of his, had told him of their being decoyed to the house, he knew the whole plot; having found Mrs. Croft's letter in the room where his lord­ship had been dressing—he de­clared it made him quite sad to think his master should have the power of ruining an innocent family. His artless representa­tions, continued the gentleman, so excited my pity and resentment, that I resolved to do all in my power for their protection, and laid the plan which has so happily succeeded.

They poured forth their ac­knowledgments, called him their [Page 64] guardian, and vowed unaltera­ble gratitude; Mrs. Owens in her present humbled state, hesitated not confessing her motives for go­ing to London, her husband's dis­like to the excursion, and her op­position.

Alas! cried the benevolent man, such is the waywardness of mankind; they seek for felicity in every station but their own, where alone they should look for, and cultivate it.

Oh! most erroneous opinion, to suppose riches only can bestow bliss, I am an evidence to the con­trary, had I been a shepherd swain, with the sweat of my brow was obliged to till my parent earth and reaped her fruits, I might have been happy; but born in the lap [Page 65] of affluence how bitter has been my fate.

He was checked by his emotions and paused a few moments, then raising his head, said, if you will honor me with your attention for a short time, I may, by reciting the incidents of my life, more ful­ly convince you of the truth of what I have said.

They entreated him to begin the relation, which he accordingly did,—

[Page 93]Like enough Jasper, said Mrs. Owens, as sure as day you have guessed;

Why Sir, Mr. Coverly lives just by us, and is as fond of us, as the saying is, as if we were all of a kin.

He should now, said Mr. Mont­fort, eagerly, be about nine and twenty, and his name Edward Coverly.

The same, the same, cried Jas­per and his mother in a breath.

Oh Providence! exclaimed the old gentleman accept my thanks, should it indeed be the son of my Isabella:—but say my friend —what is he?—what is he [Page 94] like?—is he all that the son of Isabella should be?

Why Sir, said Jasper, he is tall —but not so tall as I am—his face is neither round nor short; but —

Oh Sir, exclaimed Constantia, with warmth, he's all that the de­scendant of that most amiable wo­man should be; sincerity and wis­dom are the inmates of soul;—as to his countenance, you shall see —so saying, she drew forth the picture.

Good gracious! Con, cried Jas­per, staring, how came you by that?

[Page 95]Aye child, said her mother, tell us? it's quite an inexplicable mys­tery to me.

Constantia recollected herself; and covered with confusion, sunk into a chair.

'Tis probable they would have questioned her more minutely, had not their attention been en­grossed by the old gentleman com­paring the portrait with one of Is­abella's, and exclaiming, it is in­deed the counterpart, the compla­cence of features, the same air of dejection; he then put both into his bosom, who, with an air of chagrin found herself deprived of her plaintive shadow.

[Page 96]Mr. Montfort informed Mrs. Owens he would bring them, the ensuing day, to the Glebe House, as he longed to see his al­ready beloved Coverly. This hap­py change, my friends, said he, is a proof that a good action is ever recompenced; had I not sought to preserve you from destruction in all probability I never should have obtained the only felicity this world can bestow.

After supping, they retired to their apartments, filled with gra­titude to Providence for their pro­tection, and astonished at the me­morable transactions of the day.

A coach and six waited for them early in the morning, travelling in such style, was quite agreeable [Page 97] to Mrs. Owens. Notwithstanding her humiliation, so powerful was the effect of her spirits, that they gradually rose as she approached the Glebe; at the beginning of the village she let down the win­dow, and sat quite on the edge of the seat, that all her neighbours might see her.

When stopp'd at the house, she felt somewhat confused; but de­termined to put a good face on the matter, so running into the parlour, where her husband, aston­ished at the appearance of the equipage, was standing almost motionless—ah, lovey! she ex­claimed, embracing him, I believe your head is almost as wise as mine; in truth I have met with some of these nasty hawks you predicted, and am again returned, [Page 98] with a determination of remaining in my nest, so say no more about it lovey, you shall buy the flock of sheep, the poney for Jasper, and have the great dyke in the gar­den filled up.

While the parson alternately clasp'd his wife and children to his breast, he raised his mild eyes to heaven in thankfulness for their return.

No, my Fanny, cried he, I will never mention an error, which, perhaps, has been serviceable, by teaching you forbearance, since thus I hold to my heart, its darl­ings, be banished every care.

Mr. Montfort now was noticed, their obligations were instantly de­clared, the affectionate Owens shed tears upon the hand he [Page 99] press'd; while he poured forth acknowledgements to him, for warning his artless family of their danger.

Constantia from a window be­held Coverly in an alcove in the garden, she darted out of the parlour, nor stopt till she gently touched his arm,—he quickly lift­ed his eyes, the book he had been reading dropped out of his hand, he doubted his senses, so you wont speak to me, Mr. Coverly? exclaimed she.

And are you really returned? cried he, catching her in his arms —so soon?—so unexpectedly?— oh Constantia! this is rapture in­deed.

[Page 100]Are you glad I'm come back? said she—Oh Constantia, what a question!

Jasper at this moment, halloo'd for them to come in directly; they hastened to obey his sum­mons.

The moment Coverly entered the parlour, Mr. Montfort eager­ly caught his hand, and burst in­to tears.

Coverly gazed at him; a kind of benign awe overspread his countenance, and he looked a­round, as if to enquire who the reverend stranger was.

He is indeed her son, said Montfort, in every feature, I trace the loved resemblance— Oh! come to my arms, adopted [Page 101] child of my affections; sole, pre­cious remains of my adored Isa­bella.

What Sir? replied Coverly, did you then know the dear pa­rent, of whom I was so early de­prived?

Know her, replied he— oh! how well did Montfort know and reverence her virtues?

Montfort! exclaimed Coverly, looking sorrowfully on him— Oh Sir! is it possible, in you I behold him.

Yes, said he, and long have I been in search of you, as a trea­sure which should bless me;—it is now found, nor will I lose it, without my existence.

[Page 102]Coverly was unable to reply; but the grateful tear of sensibility bedewed his cheek.

Mrs. Owens now began to bus­tle and provide something for the entertainment of her guests;—on inspecting the state of her larder, she found that Mr. Owens had not been very attentive, all she could procure for supper was eggs, cheese and fruit;—at this simple fare, what contentment reigned, at the board of luxry never appear­ed more smiling countenances.

Montfort and Coverly were press'd to stay at the Glebe; but the former chose to go to Cover­ly's house, but left Miss Lucy be­hind; with whom Jasper had commenced a flirtation, which, had we heard, we would certainly [Page 103] have put down as an original of the kind.

Jasper and Constantia rose early in the morning, as neither could taste the sweets of Morpheus, from some particular sensations of their own; they met almost the same instant, in the alcove.

Jasper, after some prefacing, be­gan talking of Lucy, and asked his sister's opinion of her; who gave a very favorable one.—After some hemming and stammering, he said he proposed sending her a letter, by way of disclosing some tender sentiments which she had inspired him with, and desired her assistance;—I know, cried he, (flourishing his hand round his temples) girls have heads—heads fit for such light frivolous matters.

[Page 104]Well Jasper—as there never was a letter without eyes, you must begin with them:—

"Your eyes, dear madam, have pointed the shafts of Cupid, and transfixed thro' and thro' my heart with arrows;—in you madam, I perceive all constellations of charms of which youthful poets have so often sung—What's the lilly—the jessamine—the rose—the pink— or even the violet, that sweetest of all flowers, when compared to you? The effulgence of your beau­ty has dazzled me, and I wrest the palm from the hands of Helen and Cleopatria to put it in your's"

Jasper, whose patience was wound up to the last extremity, started up—may I never translate another ecclogue of Virgil, cried he, Con, but I wish you, I don't [Page 105] know what!—such an inundation of roses—lillies—and violets—He­len's and Cleopatra's;—but know Miss, had you even given proper directions, I should not have taken them, for I have already pen'd my letter, by which, you may per­ceive, I have not read the ancient poets in vain. So saying, he drew it from his pocket book; and with an elevated voice, read as follows:

Constantia laughed at the pro­duction, and Jasper walked off in [Page 106] high dudgeon; she followed him into the house, and perceived him put a letter into a book he pro­mised to lend Miss Montfort the preceding night, and gave it to her maid, with his "best respects" to carry up to her Mistress.

Constantia soon followed to pay her compliments and perceiving the book on the toilette, slily took it from thence, first dropping the note; then repairing to her cham­ber, in a disguised hand, returned this answer.

This letter she conveyed into the book and carried it to Jasper's chamber; who soon discovered it —He raged—whistled—hemm'd— stamped and went through all the strange contrarieties of passion, till a summons to breakfast put a stop to his violence—He found Mr. Montfort and Coverly in the par­lour.—After some little conversa­tion, Mr. Montfort asked Coverly had he considered of what he had been speaking to him about? You must know my dear sir, and my dear madam, cried he, addressing [Page 108] Mr. and Mrs. Owens, I have been advising my Son to think of entering into the married state.

Aye and a most comfortable state it sometimes is, said Mrs. Owens, as my Frank can tell you —eh, lovey?

Coverly and Constantia blush­ed; their eyes sympathetically fastened for a moment on each other.

I know a young lady, resumed Mr. Montfort, possessed of a valu­able fortune, to whom I desire to see him united.

[At the mention of the word 'Fortune,' a sudden gloom over­cast the countenance of Coverly, who had indulged the fond idea [Page 109] that Constantia was in the old gentleman's thoughts.]

Yes, my son, continued he, such an event would yield a ray of felicity to the closing evening of my life; I am not disinterested solely in my friendship, and ex­pect this return for it?—my wealth, my most perfect esteem shall then be yours.

Coverly hastily rose from his seat; his cheeks were flushed, and his eyes sparkled with indig­nant haughtiness:—

Retain your wealth Sir, he ex­claimed, your esteem I wished to preserve, but on these terms can­not purchase it.

Worlds would be no equivalent for a union that a reluctant heart must render everlastingly wretch­ed.

[Page 110]Know Sir, I would not give up the delightful privilege of loving, though despairingly, one of the first in my opinion, of her sex, for the sordid advantage of rising into splendor.

When your friendship was of­fered me, I sketched out prospects full of extacy, and looked to par­ticipating my happiness with the only object who could afford me any; the fabric of my hopes is rased to the dust; but I'm inured to disappointments, and though this is the severest stroke, I trust it will be sustained without ano­ther complaint.

But surely Sir you will not de­prive me of your esteem; my soul already ruffled by two circum­stances would feel yet more dis­gusted with the world, should the sweet bond of friendship, it was entering into with you, be thus rudely broken.

[Page 111]Deprive you of my esteem, ex­claimed Montfort, rushing into his arms, and falling on his neck, unable, from his powerful emo­tions, to utter more.

True son of Isabella, cried he, recovering, such was her spirit, her nobleness, her fortitude; oh! thou who art bound in my heart and interwoven in all its affections, didst thou suppose I would lead thee from thy pictured felicity? I mentioned a lady of fortune, and in my estimation she has the most valuable of all possessions: Virtue, innocence and beauty, great is her dowry, inestimable her worth;— take to thy arms oh Coverly, take Constantia to thy noble breast!

Coverly started! his uplifted clasp'd hands, and speechless rap­ture evinced more strongly than words, his gratitude and joy; the deadly paleness of Constantia [Page 112] gave way to natural blushes;— in the height of her agitation, her cup fell from her hand on Jas­per's foot, fortunately the contents were not very warm, yet suffici­ently so, to make him leap from surprize, to the farthest part of the room.

Need I say Mr. Montfort had occasion to reiterate his words to Coverly, oh! no, he clasped his Constantia to his heart, a heart which had so long, so constantly, so sadly sighed for her.—Oh! Vir­tue and Sincerity, how great was thy reward at that moment?

And am I to call Constantia mine? cried he, in half broken accents;—no fears to oppose?— with thee to unite my fate;—say my beloved, am I really possessed of such bliss?

Her tears fell—her tears of joy she could not suppress,—yes, dear [Page 113] Coverly, she gently said, ever precious to me will be the remem­brance of this hour.

Serenely, said Montfort, may ye walk through life; and should Providence afflict, from sympa­thy and love may balm be deriv­ed; but oh! be every ill averted from your heads; thine be the roses unmixed with thorns,—so shall my life, long obscured in clouds, set at last with some degree of brightness.

All now was gratitude and ac­knowledgements; till the first im­petuosity of those sensations sub­siding, they began to grow a little rational and composed.

Mr. Montfort, now noticed the dejection of Jasper's looks; who was sitting very ruefully rubbing his foot.

[Page 114]As for you my young hero, cried he, we all perceive that you are at least, vulnerable in your heel, like the great Achilles;— and I make no doubt but your heart is also penetrable to the soft influence of a sly urchin, deno­minated Love.

I have in some degree, a pro­perty like Pope's Aerial, of look­ing into the human breast;—and I think I've discerned something in your's and a certain lady's, which looks like sympathetic feeling.

Why, what Sir? exclaimed Jasper, has Miss Lucy discover­ed?—if she has upon my—

Here the parson interrupted him, for he had an aversion to swearing, and saw an expression in his countenance, that threaten­ed something tremendous.

[Page 115]The anger of Jasper quickly led to a discovery of its cause, and when the letter was produced, which he had not power to de­stroy, from beholding the signa­ture of "Lucy Montfort," no­thing except Constantia's confu­sion, could equal that of the young lady's.

His sister's embarrassment con­vinced them she was the culprit: she pleaded guilty,—received a chiding from Coverly,—a rebuke from her mother, for distressing the sweet child,—and was told by her father, that she had deviated from the Golden Rule.

But it's impossible to describe the transports of Jasper—starting up, forgetful of pain and ridicule, he caught Lucy's hand to his lips; and seized Mr. Montfort's with a squeeze, that made the old gentle­man hastily strive to disengage it.

[Page 116]His resentment to his sister was not quite appeased; and he as­sured her, he would not write the epithalamium he had long ago planned against her marriage.

To have my fair kinswoman settled, said Montfort, is now all I can desire; 'tis certain she and you, my friend Jasper, know each other but a short time; but in affairs of happiness I always wave ceremony—there is an art­lessness in both, which at once declares the disposition, and shews time is not wanting to discover their propensities;—why then should there be any delay?

Aye, why should there? ex­claimed Mrs. Owens, her eyes swimming in tears of delight, my maxim is to secure good when it's offered; ah, bless you, I'm not one of those shilly shally folks that stands as if I did'nt know whether [Page 117] to take or refuse what I have a de­sire for.

No, that you are not, my love, said the parson, don't you remem­ber how you threw me out of my chair, once in your hurry?— and how another day you broke the set of candle-cups your aunt Bridget gave you, by your haste?

Mr. Montfort interrupted the parson's enumeration of accidents, by leading Jasper to the blushing Lucy, who at first hesitated, but as her inclination coincided with his, (though modesty deemed it necessary at first to oppose) she soon yielded consent to change her state on the same day with Con­stantia; and received from the transported Jasper a string of com­pliments quite in the sublime or­der.

Mrs. Owens appeared scarcely sensible of what she was doing; in vain her husband preached mo­deration, all was hurry and schemes [Page 118] of grandeur; and in this derange­ment of ideas, she was near demo­lishing some of his manuscript ser­mons, to put under confectionaries, had he not timely entered, and res­cued them from her merciless hands.

The wished for morning at length arrived—the party walked to the church without any pomp, innocence and felicity were alone in their train, the birds from every bough appeared to sing hymeneals, and to their gladdened eyes the earth wore a more smiling aspect. —Montfort gave both ladies away, and the good parson tied the irre­vocable knot.

Having now I think (as Adam says) brought my story to the sum of earthly bliss, I cannot conclude without first relating the establish­ments of my heroes and heroines:

Montfort, their generous friend, provided for all;

[Page 119]Coverley's house was enlarged, but still retained all the simplicity of architecture; from its amiable inmates he experiences that soothing unremitting attention, which has diffused felicity through his mind; he has made it his constant abode, and terms it—"The Residence of True Content."

Jasper took orders, and has a beneficial living about five miles from the Glebe;—he perseveres in that path which his father led him from his infantine days; pos­sessed of conscious rectitude, an amiable wife, and a blooming pro­geny he boasts a happiness, even the great might envy.

Pure and unruffled flow on the days of Coverly and Constantia. Montfort's tears often steal down, from the fulness of joy in behold­ing theirs; and, in those moments he withdraws to solitude with his little God-daughter Isabella, in whose features, he traces a resem­blance of his ever beloved.

[Page 120]The parson and his wife, are as happy a couple as live;—and though she sometimes takes a short flight from the nest, she always returns to her lovey with smiles of affection.

Mr. Montfort seeks the dwell­ings of the wretched, chearing and relieving every child of sorrow;— so that the poor inhabitants have reason to bless the hour he settled near the Glebe House.

We have long detained our rea­ders in a simple mansion, from which, perhaps, they thought no­thing could be observed worthy regard—though the prospect is plain and unvariegated, we trust, no object appeared in it, that had not a tendency to prove that—a perseverance in prudence and vir­tue only can bestow felicity.

We now bid them FAREWELL, and hope if they have found no­thing in The Glebe House to ap­plaud, they will at least be a neu­tral power, and not condemn.