CAPTAIN INGOLDSBY was a soldier of fortune; the younger son of a younger branch of a great and respectable family; but his sword was his patrimony; and having entered early into the profession of arms [...]or a maintainance, he pursued it with that enthfiuastic spirit of honour, which is dictated by the consideration of family pride, the hope of fame, the dread of disgrace, and the most ardent love of glory, and of his country.

He married too, like a soldier: interest made no part of his composition. He saw and admired his Emma [...] [...]e formed an ac­quaintance with her; and found her mind the counterpart of her person: young, handsome and gallant, he met with no difficulty in in­spiring mutual regard, or in obtaining the consent of her father, a venerable unbene­ficed clergyman.

[Page 4] Happiness is neither confined to fortune or condition: the amiable couple loved, and love supplied all deficiencies. Love restrain­ed the ga [...]ty of Mr. Ingoldsby's disposition; and taught his amiable partner the prudence necessary to regulate expences, which were to be bounded by the pay of a lieutenant of foot.

Nor did the increase of their family, (for Heaver blessed them with a female infant within the first year after their marriage) add to their difficulties; it served only to aug­ment the attention of the father, and the cir­cumspection of the mother; and they rejoic­ed in the participation of their scanty possess­ions, to the offspring of love, the pledge of the tenderest affection.

In the care and superintendance of their darling daughter, did their years roll on in peaceable and humble content. If they heav­ed a sigh, it was for their Miranda's future welfare, if they breathed a wish, it was to see her placed in a situation which might guard her against the attacks of poverty, and the designs of iniquity: from the former they were aware beauty and accomplishments would prove no shield; and they trembled when they reflected, that they might prov [...] the most powerful incitements to the latter.

[Page 5] The sweets of life are not to be enjoyed without its accompanying embitterments. These disquietudes were augmented by a circumstance as unexpected as it was alarm­ing: they were in a moment destined to be torn from each other's arms; or to purchase a continuance of the joys they had experience­ed in sixteen years society, by incurring an expence they were unable to support, and [...] ­quing dangers and difficulties which female delicacy is little calculated to encounter. The regiment in which Mr. Ingoldsby serv­ed, received orders to imbark for America in transports already prepared for their recep­tion.

On the communication of this intilligence, so subversive of their little plans of oeconomy and felicity, Mrs. Ingoldsby earnestly en­treated, that she and her daughter might be the companions of his voyage; she enumer­ated in the most lively and affectionate terms, all the advantages that might be derived from keeping their little family together; and she displayed, in all the eloquence of feeling grief, the horrors that must await her and her daughter at the moment of their se­paration. No arguments were necessary to convince him that what he wished most be right; folded his Emma and Miranda to his [Page 6] bosom; and whilst he wept over the distresses to which all he held dear might be exposed, a smile of approbation burst through the manly cloud, and he exhaulted in such a wife and such a daughter. All the difficul­ties which the narrowness of their finances suggested, were obviated by a thousand ar­rangements, the ingenious devices of love; and the command of a company, which was confered o [...] Mr. Ingoldsby before the embark­ation, relieved them from no other anxiety than what concerned a future provision for their Miranda.

Few events, differing enough from the common occurences of life to be worth re­cording, happened either in the course of their voyage, or on their arrival at Boston: except that the assiduities of a young officer of another regiment, who seemed to have made some impression on the heart of the gentle Miranda; who listened to tales of love, sanc­tioned by the approbation of her parents, and sighed out her own confession in strains of artless and irresistable harmony.

Mr. Monson was formed on the model which Captain Ingoldsby had it in idea fixed on for the husband of his Miranda. His man­ners were as mild as his soul was brave: he [Page 7] carried command in one hand, and affection in the other; and his orders were obeyed with that mingled fear and love, with which in­feriors in every station look up to those who neither exert their powers in tyranny, nor suffer them to fall into contempt by impru­dent and ill-timed indulgence. To the qual­ifications of a soldier he added those which most highly adorn private life: he was live­ly, yet steady; generous, without profusion; and, if his expences ever exceeded the strict­est limits of prudence, the excess might be attributed to some acts of violence, to which his heart and his purse were always equally open. Nor was his income limited: for he was the only son of a gentleman of fortune, who had indulged his propensity to arms at the expence of the most acute and agonizing sensations; and who, with a parental effec­tion as laudable as it is uncommon, subject­ed to no restrictions but in the choice of a wife, and in this grand object of the happi­ness [...] his life, had only enjoined him to con­side [...] birth, education, and virtue, as the most valuable possessions she could bestow on him.

But both Captain Ingoldsby and Mr. Monson were too regardful of decency and propriety to hasten an event of so much im­portance, [Page 8] till the father of the young gentle­man had been acquainted with the attach­ment; and letters from Mr. Ingoldsby and the lover were prepared to be dispatched by the first ships which should sail for Europe: and the young soldier conquered his im­patience, by the suggestions of conscious dig­nity and rectitude in this discharge of his filial duty.

But alas! these precautions were soon ren­dered fruitless, by events which dissolved the bands of affection; rent asunder the ties of mutual love; darkened the fairest pros­pects of future happiness, and involved in a gloom, apparently everlasting, connubial joys, present and promised!

On that day which will ever be marked with horror in the remembrances of those who feel for their country; and which will never revolve without renewing the most a­cute anguish in the bosoms of those whose fathers, husbands, brothers, or relatives suf­fered in the dreadful conflict! on th [...] day, when the attack of Bunker's Hill occasion­ed a carnage which thinned the British▪ ranks, and laid her heroes in the dust! Captain In­goldsby, and Mr. Monson, stood formost in the bloody contest; accident had placed [Page 9] them in the same brigade, and they fought and fell together; the body of the young officer being carried off by the Americans, and the mortally wounded Captain convey­ed to the habitation of his wretched wife and daughter!

To attempt the description of such a scene, would require a pen inspired by pity herself; let those who wish to paint it, figure to them­selves a brave officer, unstained by a single act in life which he could possibly recollect with [...]egrete, expiring of wounds received in the service of his country; and with all the dignity of virtue, administering conso­lation to the objects of his latest affection! let them represent the wife sinking under the load of accumulated woe, on the bosom of the dying possessor of her heart, and calling back his fleeting spirits to guard her against giving way to the impulses of grief, and the impressions of dispair! let them pourtray youth, beauty, and virtue, stabbed with a double blow; and bereft, in one moment of a father unequalled in affection of a lover unrivalled in fidelity, exclaiming by turns for each, and with all the frenzy of inarticu­late rage, arraigning the justice of Heaven [...] and the villainy of man! And if they de­sire to revel in all the luxuries of woe, let [Page 10] them attend to the heart-piercing shrick, which announced the departure of the brake, the regreted Ingoldsby.

We shall not follow the unfortunate mourners through the various progressions of grief, from keen and piercing anguish, to silent and corroding melancholy: in the last state, they embarked for England; after hav­ing received every attention which the gover­nor and garrison could offer, as a tribute to the memory of the deceased, and to the vir­tues and excellencies of the survivors.

On their arrival in England, the case be­ing made known to their benevolent sove­reign, they were soon relieved by his boun­ty from the apprehensions of indigence; and on a pansion granted to the mother, and continued to the daughter in case of her death, they retired to a village very remote from the metropolis, and rendered desirable to them by its being the residence of a maiden sister of Captain Ingoldsby, who possessed a con­siderable potion of the virtues of a brother, and an affection for her niece which could only by exceeded by that of her mother.

As the fortunes of this lady, though large enough to gratify her wishes, were limited▪ [Page 11] she and the widow agreed to join their narrow incomes, and as Miranda was their [...] care, so it was the earnest wish of the [...], that she might be accommodated at their mutual expence; and they entered on their little plan with the most affectionate inten­tions of rendering it as agreeable and com­fortable to each other, as the nature of a situation, in which they each felt, though in different degrees, the pangs of softened but unabated grief, would admit.

But as no retirement will conceal the charms of beauty, nor any circle, however confined, prevent the fame of accomplish­ments from spreading beyond its limit; Mr. Maxwell, a neighbouring gentleman of for­tune and character, was soon captivated with the reports of Miranda's excellencies, and as he was a widower not much past the prime of life, and had yet an inclination again to wear the silken chains of matrimony, he de­termined to visit the fair; and if he found her worthy his heart, to offer his hand; an offer which he doubted not would be accept­ed, as his person was far from being disa­greeable, his manners polished and elegant, his character unexceptionable, and his for­tune very far above any expectations which orphan indigence could form▪

[Page 12] To a man of Mr. Maxwell's consequence, few excuses were necessary for a liberty, which however improper among people of equal fortunes, custom has unworthily commission­ed the possessors of wealth to take, with those whose situations in life are less eminently fa­vored by the smiles of the blind and undisting­uishing goddess.

But Mr. Maxwell was not of a disposition to avail himself of this unmerited superiority, he languished for a proper introduction, and suffered all the pains of impatience till acci­dent threw in his way the gratification of his wishes. The house which the ladies inhabit­ed was advertised for sale; and, under pre­tence of an intention to purchase, he obtain­ed permission, in consequence of a proper re­quest, to inspect in on a particular day, which at his instance had been named by the f [...] ­tenants.

On that day, Mr. Maxwell, hastened to the village, and in the earliest moment that had been mentioned; he alighted at Mrs. Ingoldsby's door not without the most flat­tering expectations that the pol [...]ess of the ladies would prove instrumental to the at­tachment of the only object he had in view.

[Page 13] Nor were his hopes disappointed; after he had viewed the house and gardens with an air of an intended purchaser, the refresh­ment of tea was proposed to him, and be­ing accepted without hesitation, he was intro­duced to the fair, the amiable, the still mourn­ing Miranda.

Prepared by the universal voice to admire, love was the immediate consequence of a visit, which [...] requested leave to repeat in terms with which civility could not refuse to comply; and a very few days confirmed Mr. Maxwell the ardent, and the professed lover of Miranda.

But her heart was still engaged, nor could she abandon even an hopeless passion; she wished to indulge her regrets through life, and averse to every proposition which tended to turn the edge of her melancholy, and most to those which offered a new object for the affections.

Yet the character, the fortune, the un­objectionable person of Mr. Maxwell, were e [...]ged to her by her only friends, with such energy, but mildness of persuasion, that, en­forced by the declarations of her admirer, that he hoped not to inspire her with love, [Page 14] but to engage her friendship, and opinion, that in accepting the hand of a man advanc­ed in years, she offered less violence to her former engagement, than if she yielded to the solicitations of a young and pleasing lover; she was prevailed on to promise Mr. Max­well the accomplishment of his wishes; and a day, at no very considerable distance, was named for the completion of his happiness.

The necessary preparations now engaged the attention of Maxwell and the two matron ladies; whilst Miranda, like a sacrifice adorn­ed with garlands for the alter, passively yield­ed to the assiduities of her friends, and suff­ered the ornaments of her person, and the in­tended provisions of settlement, to be adjust­ed, without interfering in the management, or participating in the result.

But a very few mornings before the ap­pointed day, when the intended nuptials were to take place, as Miranda was at break­fast with her mother and aunt, a servant put into her hands a letter, which being known by the superscription to be from Mr Max­well, she immediately delivered it to Mrs. Ingoldsby, who, to the utter astonishment of both her auditors, read aloud the contents of it as follows:

P. S. Let me intreat you to suffer me to in­troduce my son to you in the course of our morning's ride.

Before the three could recover from the surprize which this extraordinary epistle had occasioned, the arrival of Mr. Maxwell and another gentleman was announced: and the [Page 17] former entered the room, he presented his son to Miranda; who having uttered the words, "Mr. Monson!" fell into the arms of his father.

The conclusion of the story is obvious. He who held the welfare of his son in high­er estimation than his own happiness, could have no objection to a match which heaven itself had ordained: and where worth, honor, beauty, virtue, and fortune, are united, hap­piness must be the sure, the constant attend­ant.

CHARIESSA, was the youngest child of a worthy and active gentleman, who though his name had a place in the will of a very opulent father, suffered many hardships, in the early part of his [...], from the scantiness of his patrimony. His father was infected with that rediculous, or rather detestable pride, by which many persons are tempted to leave their younger children in absolute indigence, from the vain and absurd prospect of ag­grandizing and eldest son; a project which was suggested to the old gentleman we are spr [...]ing of by his discovery of a genealogi­cal table, which unluckily enabled him to trace his progenitors to the reign of Edward the Fourth, when it appeared that [...] of his ancestors was high sheriff for the county in which he resided,

[Page 19] As the father of Chariesla had keenly felt all the evils arising from an unjust distribu­tion of property, he determined to leave what­ever fortune he might himself acquire, in equal proportions among his children. From a very fortunate marriage, and much unexpected success in life, he was enabled, at his de [...]se, to leave to his son, and to each of his daugh­ters, a portion equivalent to sixteen thousand pounds.

The son had been educated in one of the first merchantile houses in London; and, at the time of his father's death, was just return­ed from a tour to the continent, where he had been engaged in fixing his future correspond­encies, before he [...]ttled as a merchant.

He had passed some few years in trade, when his uncle the eldest brother of his fa­ther, died without issue, and left him the family estate, on the condition of his quit­ting commerce entirely, and residing at the ancient seat of the Trackums. He obeyed the injunction of the will, and retired into the country with his wife; who, tho a cele­brated beauty, was a lady of infinite dis­cretion, and distinguished th [...] [...] by the most prudent attention to a numerous fami­ly.

[Page 20] Squire Trackum, as we shall now call him, changed his manners with his place of abode; and quitted the grave address of the important merchant, to assume the boistrous jocularity of the Esquires that surrounded him. In a short time he was so completely metamorphosed, that, in his first visit to town, he greatly astonished and entertained his old acquaintance of the city; but his real character remained the same.

He now concealed under the mask of rus­tic jovialty, that uncommon share of world­ly wisdom, which he formerly hid under the mantle of serious and solemn frankness: he even carried into the field of rural sport that incessant attention to interest which he used to exert upon Change; and, in the very mo­ment when he was galloping after a hare, would calculate the charges of settling a daughter in marriage, or setting a farm to advantage. In one unguarded moment of real frankness, when he was war [...]ed by the bottle, he boasted, to an intimate friend, that he never passed ten minutes in the company of any man, without considering how he might derive some degree of pecuniary or interested advantage from his acquaintance.

Before the squire assumed his rural char­acter [Page 21] Erinnis, the eldest of his two sisters, had married a gentleman of a distant county, who was respected as the descendant of an ancient family, and the possessor of a large estate.

The unmarried Chariessa, whose temper, suitable to her pleasing, elegant person, was sprightly, generous, and unsuspecting, con­ceived a most lively attachment to the wife and children of her brother, whom she al­ways regarded with such affectionate confi­dence, that she suffered herself to be guided, in all important points, by his judgment and advice.

The provident squire, considering that a rich [...]den aunt is an amiable prop to the younger branches of a very fruitful house, had very early determined within himself, that his sister, Chariessa, should pass her life in single blessedness; & he doub [...]ed not but that he had sufficient address to confirm her an old maid, by the artful device of perpetually expressing the most friendly solicitude for her marrying to advantage. He had persuaded [...]er, on his leaving London, to ch [...]se for [...]er residence a provincial town, in the neighbor­hood, of Trackun Hall; and by thus secur­ing her within the reach of his constant ob­servation, and studying to increase the in­fluence [Page 22] which he had already acquired over her frank and affectionate spirit, he took the most effectual precaution for accomplishing his wishes. As Chariessa was in that rank of life, in which matrimonial approaches are made rather in a slow and ceremonious, than a rapid and ardent manner, the watchful squire had sufficient time and opportunity to coun­tract the attempt of every man whom he found guilty, or whom he suspected, of a de­sign on the heart and hand of this devoted vestal.

By inducing his innocent sister to believe, that he most heartily wished to see her well married; and by persuading her, at the same time, to think highly of his penetration into the real characters of men—he brought the good and credulous Chariessa to see all her lovers exactly in that unfavorable point of view, in which his own interest and artifice contrived to shew them. In consequence of her affectionate reliance on his assiduous coun­sel, she absolutely rejected the overtures of three gentlemen, who were generally esteem­ed unexceptionable; but the friendly zeal of the vigilant squire had discovered that they were all utterly unworthy of so excellent a creature as Chariessa.

[Page 23] The mean designs of self interest are fre­quently punished with the heavy tax of soli­citude, concerning the many dangers to which they are commonly exposed. I hap­pened thus with our prudent and successful squire. He triumphed, indeed, by putting every suitor to flight, while Chariessa resid­ed within the reach of his indefatigable at­tention; but there were periods, in which he was torm [...]nted by the restless apprenension of losing all the fruits of his ungenerous la­bor.

Attached as she was to the person and fa­mily of her brother, Chariessa did not cease to love or to visit her sister Erinnis; and she resolved to pass the summer of every third year as the house of that lady, who was set­tled in a very distant part of the kingdom. Erinnis was one of those extraordinary wo­men, whom nature, in a fit of perversity, now and then produces, apparently for no purpose but that of proving a burden to themselves, and a torment to all around them. Erinnis had possessed, like her sister, youth and beau­ty, oppolence and understanding; but [...] possessed them only to shew that, valuable [...] these endowments are, they are utterly in­sufficient to secure happiness or esteem, with­out the noble blessings of a benevolent heart [Page 24] and a regulated mind. She was early mar­ried to Sir Gregory Gourd, a placid and honest baronet, who, in rather an advanced season of life, had united himself to this young lady, by the advice of his relations, for the two following purposes: first to pay off an incumbrance on his ancient estate with a part of her ample dower; and, secondly, to provide a male heir to that honorable house, whose antiquity he coutemplated with a com­placent and ino [...]fencive pride. The luckli­ness knight was doubly disappointed in these his two favorite projects. As to the first, in­deed, he paid off a mortgage; but soon found himself involved, by the profusion of his wife, in much heavier debts. As to his second hope, weather he had entered two [...]ar into the vail of years to be gratified in such an ex­pectation; or weather nature, who had cer­tainly given no maternal tenderness to the temper of Erinnis, had therefore wisely de­termined that she should never be a mother, I will not pretend to decide; but certain it is, that, vehemently as she painted for this event, Erinnis, had never any near prospect of producing a child. This disappointment, from what cause soever it might proceed, had such an incessant tendancy to inflame the natural contemptuous malignity of her spirit, and she insulted the poor submissive old [Page 25] knight with very humiliating outrage which an imperious wife can inflict on a terrified and unresisting husband.

Her passions, naturally vehement and ac­rimonious were inflamed into fits of frenzy by her wishes in this point being disappoint­ed; but, in the moments of her most in­temperate absurdity and extravagance, she constantly retained a considerable potion of hypocritical cunning; and, however insolent and injurious in her treatment of all her other relations, she forever ex­pressed, though in a disgusting manner, the fondest affection for her sister Chariessa. This affection was partly real, and partly pretend­ed. There was indeed, so engaging, so pure, so sublime a spirit of indulgent bene­volence, in the character of Chariessa, that it could not fail to inspire even malignity and madness with some potion either of love or respect. But this passionate attachment of Erinnis to her sister arose chiefly from a mercenary motive.

Though Chariessa was in general blessed with good health and good spirits, she was frequently subject to certain [...]everish attacks, in which her life was supposed to be in dan­ger; and Erinnis, who had squandered en­ormous sums in the public display of such [...]ukward magnificence, and in many private [Page 26] articles of expence, was grown so needy and rapacious, that she locked forward, with all the eagerness of averice, to the several thou­sand pounds which she was [...]u [...]e of gain [...] if the good angel Chariessa took her [...] to Heaven. In her most stupi [...]ying [...] of intoxication, and in her most furious sallies of ill humor, she never lost sight of this ex­pected legacy. Chariessa, whose pure and generous mind could hardly have been in­duced to believe that such an idea ever en­tered into any human breast, not only never uspected the profuse professions of this pre­tended, love but gave a very singular and touching proof of the genuine sisterly affecti­on and confidence with which her own heart was inspired. It happened that she was at­tacked by a very dangerous fever, at the house of Erinnis. After many days con­finement to her bed, being alone with her physician, she said to him, in a very calm and unem [...]affed manner—"Pray, Sir, till me very frankly, do you think I shall die!" As her destemper had just taken a favorable turn, the doctor very chearfully replied—"No, indeed, my good Madam." Upon which she exclaimed, in a very affection [...] tone—I am glad of it, for the sake of my dear sister!" Nor was this the exclamation of a f [...]ble mind, afraid of death, and dis­guising [Page 27] that fear under the mask of affection.

Chariessa was a genuine Christian, who, having weighed both this world and the next in the ballance of reason and of faith, was at all times perfectly prepared for her natural dissolution. Her exclamation was the dic­tate of a most generous and disinterested tenderness. She had seen the artful Erinnis counterfeit such inordinate sorrow during the course of her malady, and she so fondly be­lieved the truth of that well dissembled af­fection [...] that▪ totally free from every selfish idea, the innocent Chariessa considered only the joy with which she supposed her sister would contemplate her unexpected recovery.

Though her own affectionate and unsus­pecting temper made her receive with an amiable credulity, all the lavis [...] endearments of Erinnis, Chariessa was very far from be­ing blind to [...]he many glaring faults of her [...]rbulent sister; but she generously found an excuse for them, which converted them at once into objects of the tenderest com­passion. She persuaded herself, that the [...]llow and ferocious appearance, in the [...] countenance of Erinnis, proceeded enti­ [...] from a disease in her liver; and that all [...]he furious perversities of her temper were [...]wing either to the internal pain of this cruel [...]order, or to the medicines which she was tempted to try.

[Page 28] Under the influence of this kind idea, she most assiduously laboured, not only to apologize for the offensive irregularities in the conduct and manners of Erinnis, but to counteract, to the utmost of her power, all the mischievous effects of her capricious and vindictive ill-humour. She raised and com­forted the poor knight, whenever she saw him reduced to a painful state of humilia­tion by the frantic insolence of his wife; she consoled and rewarded the innocent and unfortunate domestics, whenever she found them stript and discarded by their turbulent and offended mistress; in short, she endea­vored to maintain a degree of order justice and decency, throughout a numerous house­hold [...] under the chaotic dominion of a ma­nevolent, intoxicated fury: and whoever has seen her in this trying situation, has seen a perfect image of Charity; "beliving all things, hoping all things, enduring all things."

Although the peaceable and chearful spirit of Chariessa could find but little pleasure in a house like that of Erinnis, a compassion­ate affection to her sister made her very exact in her stated visits: their duration always ex­tended to six months, and sometimes amount­ed to seven; a circumstance which did not fail to increase the tormenting sears [...] [...] [Page 29] distant brother Trackum, who always con­templated the return of Chariessa into this neighborhood with that sort of satisfaction which is felt by the tamer of a bird, on see­ing it, after flattering to the limits of an ex­tensive chamber, return, in an easy and vol­untary manner, to the open door of its cage.

Chariessa, however, was very [...]ar from feeling any degree of constraint: she depart­ed on many of these distant visits, and re­turned as often to her own mansion, without once suspecting the inquietude which her long absence never sailed to excite. Indeed the fearful squire might have saved himself the pain of many teazing doubts, and many private perplexing enquiries, had he been capable of forming a just estimate of the heart and mind of Chariessa: [...] [...] in­deed, he was not; and though he knew that the magnificent but lonely habitation of Er­inns was as much avoided as the d [...]n of a savage, yet he trembled at the idea of the lovers that the unguarded Chariessa, might meet in that pompous solitude. He was assured, that a rustic apothecary, and a more rustic divine, were the only frequent [...] at this dreary castle; [...] has he had no confidence in female de [...]racy or discretion, and as he found that the man of physic and the man of God were both single men, and [Page 30] that each would have many opportunities of being alone with Chariessa, he greatly fear­ed that she and her fortune might fall a sa­crifice to one or the other of these formiable assailants. This groundless terror, in­stead of being diminished by time, in­creasing with the increasing age of Char­iessa. The squire was very coarse in his idea of old maids: he concluded, that no virgin turned of forty, and left entirely to her own discretion, could resist any ma­trimonial offer whatever; and, as his sister had reached that decisive period on her last visit to Erinnis, his spirits were not a little depressed by his despair of her return in that state of vestal purity which he had so zealous­ly wished her to maintain. At length, how­ever, [...] apprehensions were effectually ter­minated by an event which, though much more probable than the dreaded marriage of Chariessa, was not so strongly anticipated by the imagination of the distant squire. This event was the death of Erinnis; who, hav­ing utterly worn out a good constitution by the most absurd and disgraceful intemper­ance, died, as she had lived, in magnifi­cent misery.

The tender Chariessa paid the last office of affection to her unworthy sister; and re­turned in a calm and pious state of mind from the abode of joyless grandeur, whose [Page 31] vanity was now most compleatly shewn, to her own peaceful and comfortable mansion. Her disposition was still remarkably cheer­ful; and she took too kind and too virtuous an interest in the general happiness of the living, to think affected sorrow a proper compliment to the dead. She had too clear­ly seen all the various infelicity of Erinnis, not to consider her release as a blessed event; and it pleased Heaven to reward the long and indulgent attention which she has paid to the bodily and mental infirmities of that unhappy relation with many years undisturb­ed tranquilities to contemplate her inter­esting character at this season of her life; and, as I believe her to have been, for se­veral years, one of the happiest [...] [...], I shall inlarge on the particular [...] [...] which constituted that happiness; and menutely examine that invaluable cast of mind which enabled her to gain and to se­cure the rarest and most pecarious of all hu­man possessions.—Chariessa was about forty two when she returned to a constant residence in her own quiet and comfortable mansion. She was naturally fond of society; and her easy fortune enabled her to enjoy it in that temperate and rational manner which suited her inclination. Having made many just remarks on the different conditions of fe­male [Page 32] life, she was perfectly convinced, that she had great reason to be satisfied with her own single state; and no incidents arose that could make her wish to change it. Her pa­trimonial fortune had been much increased by some considerable legacies; and she en­joyed an income which by her prudent regu­lation of it, not only supplied her with all the usual comforts of affluence, but furnish­ed her with the exalted pleasure of con­ferring happiness on a selected number of in­dustrious poor. She had a spacious and cheerful house, that peculiarly pleased her own fancy; and a set of intelligent and good humored domestics, who were attached, more by affection than interest, to her person; and the neighboring seat of her brother afforded her a [...] flourishing family, whom she frequently survaved with all the tender de­light of an effectionate parent.

Such were the external circumstances that contributed to form the happiness of Chariessa; circumstances, indeed, highly desirable in themselves, yet utterly insuffici­ent to make a woman happy, without those noble internal blessings which were the true riches of Chariessa. She possessed, in the most emienent degree, a chearful simplicity of heart, inexhaustible benevolence, and un­affected piety. It was by the constant, yet [Page 33] modest exercise of those admirable qualities that Chariessa secured to herself, not only more felicity, but even more public regard and attention, than was obtained by some single ladies of her neighbourhood, who were undoubtedly her superiors in the attrac­tive endowments of beauty, opulence, and wit. Chariessa, perhaps was never known in her life to utter a witty repartee; but such is the lively influence of genuine good-nature, that her conversation never failed to delight, and her house was frequented as the abode of benevolent vivacity. Tho' she had passed the gay period of youth, and never affected to disguise her age, she took a par­ticular satisfaction in promoting the inno­cent amusements of the young: indeed, she was a general friend to every season & every rank of life; even the common acquaint­ance of Chariessa, if they had any occasion to wish for her assistance, were sure of find­ing her, without solicitation, a zealous pro­moter of their prosperity and pleasure.

There was a period in her life, at which some of her uncandid neighbours conject­ured, that the subtle vice of avarice was be­gining to infect her; she suddenly parted with her chariot, and reduced her establish­ment, without assigning her seasons for a conduct so surprizing. In a few years she [Page 34] resumed her eqiupage, and recommenced her usual stile of living, with as much, or rather more splendor than ever.

This still more engaged the attention of the neighbourhood; and the very people who, on the former alteration, had accus­ed her of avarice, now exclaimed, that she was either seized with the frenzy of ex­travagance, or was endeavoring to allure a husband. It was, however, proclaimed up­on her death, by the worthy family of a deceased merchant, that, under the promise of the most absolute secresy, she had allot­ted to his assistance, during the years of the abovementioned retranchment, a full moiety of her income; by which generous exertion she had supported him through the most cruel and undeserved distresses, enabled him to retrive his circumstances, and preserve his family from impending ruin.

Though her spirits were naturally quick, and her affections strong, I never heard an instance of her being at any time of her life betrayed into an uncanded animosity. The town in which she resided was frequently distracted by ecclesiastical and parliamenta­ry contentions. In those uncharitable strug­gles for power, the relations of Chariessa were often hotly engaged. Her affection­ate heart never failed, indeed, to take a live­ly [Page 35] interest in all their pursuits; but she ne­ver ridiculed or vilified their opponents with those eager and illiberal invectives which have been known to flow, upon such ex­asperating occasions, from the lips of many a quiet spinster, and of many a sober ma­tron. The enmity of Chariessa was as ge­nerous as her friendship; and, when ever she heard such petty abusive tales, as are basely fabricated in every popular contest, for the purpose of the hour, although they favour­ed her own party, she would discountenance that circulation, or expose their absurdity. Nor was this liberality of conduct without its reward: Chariessa had the satisfaction of perceiving, that she conciliated to herself the perfect respect and good-will of the most opposite contending characters. Perhaps their never lived a human being so fairly and fully possessed of general esteem; and, to a mind truly amiable, there can hardly be a state of earthly enjoyment superior to what arises from incessant and open proofs of being universally beloved. Having possessed for many years this tranquil and pure delight, the tender Chariessa began to sink under natural infirmity. She sustained a short but severe illness with exemplary composure: and, in the close of it, with that calm and cheerful devotion which had dis­tinguished [Page 36] her life, she resigned her bene­volent spirit to the Great Parent of benevo­lence.

The influence of her virtue was far from ceasing with her mortal existence; though twelve years now elapsed since the decease of this admirable woman, her excellent quali­ties are still fresh in the memory of all who had the happiness of her acquaintance; and they hardly ever pass the house in which she resided, without bestowing a sigh of re­gret, or a sentence of praise, on the merits of Chariessa.

THE murmurs of mankind against the degrees of Omnipotence are as unjust as they are impious. Resignation to the will of his Creator in the duty of every human being, who by presuming to censure the un­equal distribution of good and evil in this world, discovers a weak head, or a depraved heart; sometimes both.

Short sighted as we are, how childish are our complaints, how absurd are our repin­ings! repinings and complaints into which we surely should never fall, did we [...]eriously reflect on the infinite and amazing vicitudes in human affairs, did we consider that the [Page 38] severes [...] afflictions, according to our hasty apprehensions, are often eventually the most substantial blessings.

Against the degrees of Omnipotence I once murmured myself. The unequal dis­tribution of good and evil in this world, I once censured—I repined at the sight of be­ings in a more prosperous situation, and com­plained of my own hard fate in the beterest terms. I am now in another, in a better frame of mind, and sincerely hoping that many of my discontented fellow▪creatures may be rendered otherwise by reading the following narrative, written with the pen of experience, I beg the favor of you to give it a passport to the public.

I was born to the inheritance of a small paternal estate, the income arising from which would, in this age of luxury and dissipation, be reckoned a trifling one. Little, how­ever, as it was I could not hope to see it increased as I was not, being an only and a fondled child, with a tender constitution, bred up to any business, though I received a very good education.

Having lost my father and mother as soon as my education was finished, I could [Page 39] not help thinking that what had served us all three, would undoubtedly, be sufficient for me alone; especially as I looked upon my orphan situation in a desponding light, and had no desire to live in an expensive manner.

So violent was my grief, so deep was my affliction, on being deprived of my par­ents, that I gave myself up to despair, and accused heaven of cruelty for snatching them away from me instead of being thankful for having enjoyed them so long. Time how­ever, and the tenderness with which the gentleman whom my father had appointed to be the guardian, treated me, alleviated my sorrow—My friendship too for that gentleman's son, who was remarkably form­ed to please, who was as amiable in my eyes, as he was agreeable, and who pro­fessed the sincerest esteem for me, not a lit­tle contributed to its alleviation.

The happiness which I enjoyed with my young friend was excessive, and I thought that nothing could make any addition to it: but while I was pluming myself on my pe­culiar felicity, and depending upon its con­tinuance, I was extremely disapointed; for the most esteemed companion of my heart [Page 40] was obliged to make a voyage to Lisbon, his father's affairs rendering his presence at that place absolutely necessary.

During his absence, which affected me greatly I became acquainted with one of the most amiable girls in the world; and soon sell so desperately in love with her, that I had no rest night nor day, because I had rea­son to believe that her father would think my fortune too small; and that he would expect a more advantageous match for a girl with her person and accomplishments—Then—then I wished, more ardently wish­ed that I had been thrown in a way to im­prove my patrimony, and to make it more worthy of the acceptance of the only woman with whom I could be happy: without whom, indeed, I should be actually wretched.

I had been fortunate enough, as I thought, to find several opportunities to make my address to the lady; but the dread of being rejected by him, who had alone a right to dispose of her, kept me for a considerable time in a state of the most racking uncertain­ty; and I was weak enough to front the memory of my once beloved and reverend parents by accusing them of having been cruelty inatentive to my future welfare— [Page 41] "Had I been brought up to business, I might have enabled, perhaps, to offer my­self to this adorable creature, without fear­ing a refusal either from her or her father!"

I was not, indeed, too far advanced in life to settle to business, but love engaged my thoughts so much, and forbade me also to embark my little all on a precarious bot­tom, that, instead of endeavoring to increase my income by industry, I abandoned my­self to despair.

Despair, at length, drove me to ask the father of my Maria for his consent.

I was as I feared I should be, repulsed with a peremptory denial.

This was a finishing stroke; I could not support it—I murmured at Providence for not having given me the exact sum I want­ed, fretted myself ill, and was soon pro­nounced to be in danger.

My guardian and his family, who had ever behaved in the tenderest manner to me, well knowing the cause of my disorder, in­formed Maria of my situation.

[Page 42] She, who had never been averse to me, on being acquainted with it, flew to her fa­ther and with tears in her eyes, intreated him to let her come and see me.

Moved by her sorrow, he complied with her request; but he was so much more af­fected, at her return, by the account she gave of my indisposition, that he consented to our union.

Our marriage was to be solemnized as soon as my health was restored; and I believed myself to be the happiest of men.

My wife's fortune was but little, if at all superior to mine. Her parents, how­ever, reckoning upon her person and ac­complishments, had higher views for her, and had flattered themselves that she would be raised considerably by her external at­tractions co-operating with her intrinsic merit: they were consequently, at first, rather chagrined to see their schemes defeat­ed; but finding that she was satisfied with her lot, and that I continued extravagantly fond of her, they also became more content­ed.

In a short time after our marriage, her [Page 43] grandfather died and left her only five thou­sand pounds; but, at the same time ordered five thousand more to be paid on the birth of a son; and in case of our having only girls to be made over to another branch of the family.

This unkind, this unjust procedure, rou­zed my sentiments, and I insulted the mem­ory of the deceased old gentleman with the keenest invectives—I ought to have been thankful for his having remembered us at all, as he had a large family. who wanted what he had bequeathed to us more than we did.

We were now perpetually wishing, and wishing with anxiety, to have a boy, to bring so good a legacy home to us; but heaven, justly offended, no doubt, at our unreasona­ble disquietude, sent us only a female, who was to me, in particular very disgusting merely as a female; and her mother was so much displeased with her sex as to deny it nourishment from her own breast. The poor child, though as fine a one as ever was born, was turned out of the house at the ten­derest age, not only to partake of the rude accomidations and homely fare of one of the lowest cottagers, but to run the risque of [Page 44] imbibing, with the milk of a stranger, all the ill-blood and humors with which that stranger might be filled.—Thus did we throw away a treasure, of which we were not capable of estimating the value.

My wife, not finding herself breeding again, soon began to take a fancy to a dif­ferent stile of living—She had hitherto béen satisfied with privacy, and paid a proper regard to domestic oeconomy, as we were by no means in splendid circumstances; but her disappointment arising from the birth of her daughter, had made a change in her temper; and the society of some gay people of her own sex, with whom she struck up an acquaintance, at first, in order to dissi­pate her uneasiness, inspired her with too strong a passion for pleasure—Yet was not my fondness in the least abated by her new propensities.—I still doated on her and in­dulged her in the gratification of her heart's every wish. Just about this time I receiv­ed a great deal of pleasure, pleasure very little expected, from my friend Theodore's return from Lisbon: his arrival gave me the greater delight, as I had flattered myself that he would, as a sincere friend, enjoy by the force of sympathy, the happiness which I felt in my lovely Maria's company.

[Page 45] I flew to him, therefore, immediately, and presented him to my wife with the high­est encomiums on each other, which, in­deed, they both deserved, and with they both soon felt neither proceeded from the extra­vagence of love, or the romantic ardour of friendship.—Few men were more agreeable than Theodore; few women more amiable than Maria.

I now began almost to forget my late dis­apointment in the arms of my wife, and in the conversation of my friend, between whom I spent all my happy hours—My felicity was, in truth, so complete, that I even thought not of the diminution of our for­tune—My felicity, however,—(how can we expect permanent felicity here?) was soon interrupted.—My wife fell sick of a fever—In a few days afterwards she was declared to be hastening to her dissolution, and in a few more expired in my arms.

It is impossible to describe the agnonies which my soul endured when I beheld the woman whom I had ever loved to distriction stretched out before me a lifeless corpse.—I behaved like a mad man, and, in the height of my frenzy, dared, impiously dared, to ac­cuse the Almighty of having given her to [Page 46] me only to make me a thousand times more miserable than I should have been, if I had never known her, by an early separation. I stamped—I tore my hair—I committed innumberable irregularities. When I grew somewhat less distrubed, I sunk into a full­enness which nothing could remove.

Soon after the death of my wife, my friend Theodore was obliged to settle abroad—His departure occasioned new murmur­ings, new impieties.

There was now but one object left so at­tract my attention; that object was my lit­tle girl, against whom, from her birth, my bosom was steeled.

Maria now had just entered into her fourth year; but having been shamefully neglected both by her mother and me, had contracted a great many low ways, under the tuition of her vulgar nurse. I went to see her—but O, sharp reproach for having so long stifled parental affection in my bo­som—she screamed at the sight of me—was, indeed, a stranger.

Pitying the poor child's situation, I to [...] her home: however, as I gave myself [Page 47] trouble about her education, she only ex­changed as she grew up, the coarse dialect of the nurse, for the pert language of the cham­bermaid—Forced by recollection to dwell on the losses I had sustained, certain of never seeing my beloved wife again, and doubt­ful with regard to the reappearance of my friend, I sat either stupified with sorrow, or raving with despair; unmindful of my mouldering fortune; unmindful of my in­jured daughter.

One day the maid came into my room telling me, that Miss was cutting her dou­ble teeth, and was very ill, adding, that she wished I would give her an anodyne necklace, which she knew her mistress had in her cabinet.

On being thus unnecessarily, I thought, reminded of my wife, I was thrown into a violent rage and in the first transports of my passion, severely reprimanded the maid for her officiousness; but passing soon after­words through a room in which the young Maria lay on her lap in extreme pain, I was struck with the resemblance between her and her late lovely mother, a little while be­fore she expired.

[Page 48] A sigh, which I could not suppress, heaved my bosom; and as I hung over the innocent, the tears of paternal sensibility rushed from my eyes, and rushed down her pallid face.—I then hastened to the cabinet to search for the necklace, or any thing that might probably relieve her.

In turning over several papers, which were intermixed with my dear Maria's trin­kets, I recognized the hand of Theodore.

Astonished beyond expression at so unex­pected a sight, I opened the letter with precipitation, and read it with horror—I was stabbed with the perusal of it—Every word planted a dagger in my heart—It was—Oh, heaven! I still tremble at the recol­lection of it—a letter from Theodore, the man whom I believed to be my firmest, sincerest friend, to Maria, to my wife who doated on me, I also believed, as fondly as I did on her—After having thanked her for the great regard which she had discovered for him, he thus proceeded—"You need not be in the least afraid of your husband's suspicions, for I do not know upon the face of the earth a man who has a stronger con­fidence in any person than he has both in you and me; nor is there a man in the [Page 49] world, in my opinion, more easy to be dup­ed."

This heart-breaking discovery made me quite furious—I now exclaimed against Providence in the most daring and irrever­ent terms, for having suffered me to be so deceived, and dispised; so grossly imposed upon, and injuriously treated. I declared with much vehemence that no human be­ing had ever been so cruelly used, and swore in tremendous accents that no man should so use me with impunity.

Could I have reached Theodore in those moments of madness, when I smarted with resentment, and breathed nothing but re­venge, I should have certainly murdered him; but luckily he was at a distance, and I had leisure to grow cool—My rage gra­dually subsided; but the misery I felt by reflecting on the undeserved treatment which I had received from two persons the dearest to me in the world, threw me into a viol­ent fever.

From that fever, I with great diffi [...], recovered, and sunk into a dejection which almost rendered me incapable of doing any thing. I neglected my affairs—life be­came [Page 50] came burdensome to me—all the efforts of my acquaintance to rise my spirits, and to put me in humor with existence, were in­effectual—I at last grew so disgusted with society that I only admitted the visits of the old gentleman, who was a man of ex­ceeding good sense, and irreproachable mo­rals. By his frequent visits I found my­self by degrees less and less embarrassed in his company; and at last I grew so un­guarded, that I made a discovery of the true cause of my melancholy, which I had tell then concealed from every living crea­ture.

No sooner was he acquainted with the source of my sorrow, then he told me that I was in his opinion, very deservedly pun­ished—"Learn henceforward," said he, to submit without the least murmuring to the will of the Supreme▪ for you may be assur­ed, that every thing in this world is order­ed by unerring wisdom▪ and that we poor, imperfect beings, know not what i [...] best for us. You thought yourself the most miser­able of men when you loft your wife; but had she lived, what torments would you have endured! you would have seen her prefer your friend to yourself: you would have known that she had been guilty of a [Page 51] very atrocious crime, and the continued sight of her would have doubled your con­cern as well as your aversion.—Had you been divorced or only separated from her, the talk occasioned by it, and the appre­hensions with regard to your meeting some­where, might have produced the most pain­ful sensations in your breast. Besides, with what propriety could your daughter have been educated under the eye of a mother who had violated her conjugal vows; and how severely must she have been shocked at the idea of a woman whom she could not, without being scandalized at her conduct, acknowledged as a parent! You, ought, therefore fervently to offer up praises to hea­ven for having delivered you from so much unhappiness by the death of your wife: and not with less fervency ought you to pour out your thanksgivings for the absence of your friend—Had your friend been within your reach at the time when you discover­ed the treachery, you would have, it is high­ly probably, challenged him in the heat of your resentment. You might by so doing, possibly have been sent yourself, unprepared and loaded with guilt, into the awful pre­sence of Him, who has expressly prohibit­ed revenge in these emphatical words: Vengeance is mine, and I will repay it. Look [Page 52] up, therefore, with devotion and with gra­titude to that Being, who is as merciful [...] as he is almighty; think, seriously think, how unworthy you have been of his inter­position in your favor; and may you al­ways be able to say, for the future, on the most trying occasions, Thy will be done, without feeling your heart at variance with your lips."

I was struck with the good sense & piety uttered by my valuable neighbor, who had taken the most efficacious measures to re­store the tranquility of my mind by setting things before me in a proper light, and by endeavoring to make me sensible, that under the pressure of any misfortunes whatever, a thorough submission to the dispensations of Providence is as much our interest as it is our duty.

I now began to reproach myself severe­ly for having behaved in so unbecoming, so unjustifiable a manner; and tried to alone for my past ill conduct, by making myself [...] [...] satisfied as the situation of my affairs, which ha [...] been considerably injured by the extravagance of my wife, in consequence of her immoderate love of pleasure, would suf­fer me to be.—Yet still I could not bring [Page 53] myself to behold my little daughter with eyes of an affectionate parent—I repined continually because my child was not a son, as I should have had during the minority of a son, the management of five thousand pounds, which would have been of great ser­vice to be. Setting aside her having been estranged from me for so long a time, Maria had none of those whinings, fond yearn­ings after me, which children generally have who are trained up under the inspection of their fathers and mothers. Of this want of filial sensibility in my d [...]ughter, I com­plained in the betterest terms, to my good old neighbor, who told me that I had brought upon myself the disquitetude which tormented me—"At the very time," con­tinued he "that the tender affections take root, you cast your daughter from you as if she had been an alien; from your unfatherly behavior, therefore, to her, during her infan­cy, arises her attention to you. Folly is its own punishment—However, it is not yet too late to make her sensible, by a proper carriage, that you are her best friend; and possibly, that dispised girl may turn out every thing you can wish her to be."

I listened a second time to the voice of reason—I began to apply myself to the edu­cation [Page 54] of my child. I hired, in the place, an elderly woman, recommended by my friend, who had been bred a gentlewoman, but having met with misfortunes, was glad, with a moderate allowance, to undertake the care of my family, and to teach my girl all kinds of needle work: in reading, writing, accomp [...], geography, French, and music, I was her only instructor; and by accompanying my instructions with many rewards and few punishments. I at length carried my point so far, as to make her love the father, while she revered the master [...] I had at the same time the satisfaction to see that she improved every day in her person and manner, and became a very fine girl.

When she was about 11 years old, my ex­cellent friend and neighbor (to whom I was indebted for all the pleasure I at last receiv­ed as a parent, and to whom my daughter was also indebted both for her father and her education; as I should not, probably, have behaved to her in a paternal way, or have taken any pains to render her an ac­complished woman, if I had not been ac­quainted with him) was suddenly taken ill, and died in a few [...].

The first news of his [...] was a blow [Page 55] which almost stunned me—So deeply was I affected by it, that I gave myself up again to murmuring and despondence.

While I was throwing out some very melancholy effusions, dictated by despair, I was informed that he had left my daughter in his will, having few relations of his own, and none who were not richer than himself, ten thousand pounds, five of which I was at liberty to improve by any sort of business or traffic, the most agreeable to me till my daughter was six and twenty: with the other five she was to be invested on her being of age. I had, however, only the use of my five thousand during the stipulated term of years, on condition that I tied up a part of of my estate which would produce an equi­valent sum at the expiration of them, in case I should be guilty of any embezzlements, o [...] be disabled by unforeseed contingencies from making a restitution.

This was a noble legacy, as unmerited as it was unexpected; but it administered no consolation to me for the loss of the worthy testator. The generosity of my excellent friend I remembered every hour of with the sincerest regret. However, as I paid too great a regard to the memory of him whom [Page 56] I had so justly and so highly esteemed when living, to nelect the improvement of the sum for which I was responsible, I offered my­self to a sober careful man, who had been his book keeper, to go into partnership with him, provided he would thoroughly instruct me in his business; and he chearfully com­plied with my proposal, as the stock ad­vanced by me would be of considerable ad­vantage to him.

In this manner I obeyed my dear deceas­ed friend's injunctions, and made an honest old servent of his happy. By strictly at­tending to the duties of my new employ­ment, I not only kept my mind from dwell­ing on any disagreeable subjects; but, in a few years, trebled the five thousand com­mitted to my stewardship. When my daughter came of age, I made over ten thousand pounds to her, and married her to a very amiable and deserving young man, for whom she had a great affection. With the remaining sum, added to my little pa­trimony, I resolved to spend the rest of my days in doing all the good in my power, as my daughter and her husband were in too affluent circumstances to wish for my de­cease. In acts of benificence, therefore, I have spent my time from that happy aera, [Page 57] in supplicating the Almighty's pardon for my past offences, and in pouring forth praises to Him for all the blessings which he has showered on on my undeserving head—Never am I so happy, never do I feel such transporting sensations, as when I am offering up my fervent thanksgivings to the throne of grace—More and more am I every hour convinced, that the goodness of the Deity is equal to his power; that we ought ever to pay the most implicit sub­mission to his decrees; and that whatever he permitts to be is permitted for the wisest ends.

PREVIOUS to the late wa [...] between America and Great-Britain, a British officer, by the name of Jones, an accomplished young man, resided near Fort Edward. His visits thither became more frequent, when he found himself irresistibly drawn by the charms of native worth and beauty. Miss M'Kray, whose memory is dear to humanity and true affection, was the object of his peregrinations.

Mr. Jones had not taken the precautions necessary in hazardous love, but had man­ifasted to the lady by his constant atten­tion, undissembled and ingenuous demean­or, that ardea [...]t affection, which a suscepti­ble heart compelled her implicitly to re­turn. In this mutual interchange of passions, they suffered themselves to be transported on the ocean of imagination, till the unwel­come necessity of a seperation cut off every springing hope.

[Page 59] The different nations, of which they were members, were at war. A removal, from this Elvsium, was suggested to Mr. Jones, as indispensable.

Nothing could alleviate their mutual hor­ror, but duty—nothing could allay their re­ciprocal grief, so as to render a seperate cor-Fort, a descent was daily [...]rojecting. Here Mr. Jones could not but recognize the spot, on which rested all his joys. He figured to his mind the dread, which his hostile ap­proach must raise in the breast of her, whom of all others, he thought it is highest inter­est to delight!

In spite of arrettes and commands to the contrary, he [...]ound means secretly to convey poreal existence tolerable, but solemn vows, with the ideas of a future meeting. Mr. Jones repaired to Canada, where all inter­course with the Provincials was prohibited. Despair, which presented itself in aggrava­ted colors when General Burgoyne's expe­dition through the States was fixed, succeed­ed to his former hopes. The British army being encamped about three miles from the a letter, entreating her not to leave the town with the family, assuring her, that as soon as the fort should have surrendered, he [Page 60] would convey her to an asylum, where they might peaceably consummate the nuptial ceremony. Far from discrediting the sin­cerity of him who could not deceive her, she heroically refused to follow the flying villagers. The remonstrances of a father, or the tearful entreaties of a mother and nu­merous friends could not avail [...] It was e­nough that her Lover was her friend, She confidered herself protected by the love and voluntary asseverations of her youthful hero. With the society of a servant maid, she im­patiently waited the desired conveyance. Mr. Jones finding the difficulty into which he was brought, at length, for want of bet­ter convey, hared a party of twelve Indians, to carry a letter to Miss M'Kray, with his own horse, for the purpose of carrying her to the place appointed. They set off, f [...]ed with the anticipation of their promised prem­ium, which was to consist of a quantity of spirits, on condition that they brought her off in safety, which, to an Indian, was the most cogent stimulus the young Lover could have named. Having arrived in view of her window, they sagaciously held up the letter, to prevent the fears and apprehensions which a savage knows he must excite, in the sight of tenderness and sensibility. Her faith and expectations enabled her to divine the means [Page 61] of these ferocious missionaries, while her frigh­tened maid uttered [...]ought but shrieks and cries. They arrived, and by their signs convinced her from whom they had their instructions.

If a doubt could remain, it was removed by the letter—it was from her Lover. A lock of his hair, which it contained, pre­sented his manly figure to her glowing fan­cy. This confirms a truth she had too well understood.

Here, reader, g [...]ss what must have been her ecstacy.—She resolved to "brave even the most horrid aspect, which might appear between her and him, whom she considered already hers," without a sigh. She did not for a moment hesitate to follow the wishes of her Lover; and took journey with these bloody messengers, expecting very soon to be sheilded in the arms of le­gitimate affection.

A short distance only then seemed to sep­ [...]ate two of the happiest of mortals. A­las! how soon are the most briliant pictures of felicity defaced by the burning hand of affliction and wo! How swiftly are the hal­cyon dreams, which lull the supine indo­lence of thought, succeeded by the real pangs which are inflicted by a punishing Providence, or a persecuting foe!

[Page 62] Having risen the hill, at about equal dis­tances from the camp and her former home, a second party of Indians having heard of the captivating offer made by Mr. Jones, determined to avail themselves of the op­pertunity. The reward was the great ob­ject. A clashing of real and assumed rights was soon followed by a furious and bloody engagement, in which several were killed on each side. The commander of the first party, perceiving that nought but the lady's death could appease the fury of either, de­liberately knocked her from her horse, mang­ling her scalp from her beautiful temples, which he exultingly bore as a trophy of his zeal to the expectant and anxious Lover! Here, O disappointment, was "thy sting." It was with the greatest difficulty that Mr. Jones could be kept from total delirium. His horror and indignation could not be appeased; his remorse for having risked his most valuable treasure in the hands of sava­ges, drove him almost to madness.

When this reached General Burgoyne, he ordered the survivors of both these par­ties to immediate execution; and all those who would not subject themselves to mar­tial law, he remanded back to Canada.

AUGUSTUS had just entered his 19th year, when, by the death of a father he came to the possession of a large and in­dependent fortune; he had one year before compleated his education. [...] was not re­markable for regularity of beauty and fair­ness of complexion, but for a manly appear­ance and winning demeanor. Although he possessed some foibles which are always attendant on mortality, yet his many shin­ing qualities far preponderated. His was not like to the authority of a British noble whom his tenants almost worshipped. He acknowledged the plain and industrious far­mer his equal, and to them his house and heart were open; for he dwelled in the beau­tiful and fertile regions of America, where liberty and equality spread their extensive domain; where the language of the inhab­itants is, "We will be free." A refined sensibility which he possessed made him seek for the distressed, and to delight to soothe the breast of affliction by his affability and charity. He now resided at his country [Page 64] seat with an only sister and his family domes­tics, beloved by all who knew him. His seat was large and beautifully situated; his youthful mind was not yet inclined to do­mestic affairs, he therefore intrusted them to an old and faithful steward who had long been attached to the house. His time he commonly employed in the improvement of his mind, and in the company of some select friends. He delighted often to wan­der from home, to behold the beautiful scenes with which the country abounds.

As Augustus and his sister Louisa were returning from a rural excursion, they were much delighted with the beauty and situa­tion of a little cot which stood on their property; they would have advanced unto it, but the evening being far spent prevent­ed them.

Some time after as Augustus was walk­ing out unaccompanied in the evening, he directed his steps towards this cot which he formerly so much admired, and when he had come up to it he leaned on the fence with which it was inclosed; he cast his eyes around and beheld with admiration and pleasure the neatness of the house, as well as the improvements which surrounded it; but a still more beautiful object attracted his attention, he beheld a beautiful young [Page 65] female gracefully reclined beneath a tree; her side face was turned towards him, and he indulged himself with the pleasing feel­ing that he feasted not at the expence of delicacy. He observed by her pale coun­tenance, on which he could perceive that the rose formerly bloomed, that some secret uneasiness sat heavy on her heart; she was stroaking the neck of a little dog which fawned at her feet; she was cloathed in the simple weeds of rusticity, but even at her first appearance the idea arose in Augustus's mind, that so much beauty could not be born in so low a sphere. Augustus silent­ly retired behind some trees for fear that this beautiful stranger should perceive him. He had not been long there before she arose, cast her expressive black eyes around, and walked towards the door of the cot, calling her little dog, in a voice which eq [...]lled the sweetest music. Her graceful move­ment and elegantly proportioned person did not then escape the transported attention of Augustus. From her appearance he judg­ed her to be about sixteen years of age. After she had disappeared, Augustus rose from his place of concealment, and direct­ed his steps towards home reflecting on the beauty of this fair cottager, and planning some scheme to become acquainted with [Page 66] her. His imagination from such an out­side appearance, already painted the amia­ble and cultivated mind, while his suspi­cion that she was not the daughter of the possessor of the cot, was greatly increased. When he returned home his first enquiry was for his old steward; he enquired of him who it was that lived in the cot; but all that the steward could inform him, was, that a Mr. Amber [...], a clever honest man had been there for the space of a year. To his ques­tion whether he had any daughters, was an­swered, he had never perceived any chil­dren there but a little son. These answers, although they did not satisfy Augustus, confirmed him that the young female was not the farmer's daughter. While his cu­riosity was greatly excited to discover who she was, his feelings were much more now interested; his heart already beat with sym­pathy for the distress which he thought he discovered, in this beautiful unknown. When he had related these circumstances and suspicions to his sister Louisa, her curi­osity was immediately excited, and she was already planning some scheme to become acquainted with her situation, but hers was sympathy for imagined distress, unaccompa­nied with the feeling which afflicted beauty imparted to the tender breast of Augustus, [Page 67] and which none of a different sex could feel. Augustus resolved by some mean or another to get acquainted with the posses­sor of the cot, in order to draw from him some particulars relative to the affair, and to render his visiting at the cot proper. He therefore dispatched a servant next morning with a letter, inviting him to his house in the evening, the servant returned with an answer, that Mr. Ambern would do him­self the honour of waiting on him, and when asked by Augustus who he had seen, O [...] cries he, besides the man and his wife, I saw a most beautiful young lady, who ap­peared about the age of Miss Louisa, sit­ting in the corner with her eyes swimming in tears, and a beautiful picture tied by a ribbon hung from her neck, I think it must surely be that of some lover. This simple speech of the servant made such an impres­sion on the mind of Augustus, as convinced him that his breast was in this instance sus­ceptible to the charms of beauty, as well as to the feelings of sympathy and sorrow. In short, let it be sufficient to say, that the charms of this lovely maid had smitten the susceptible breast of Augustus. When the evening arrived, and Augustus was alone in his chamber, a rap was heard at the door, and a servant directly led in Mr. Ambern▪ [Page 68] Augustus arose to receive him, and after he had welcomed him to his house, they sat down sociably together. Although his manners were not what is commonly called graceful, they were simple and easy, free from all affectation. Augustus was infor­med by him, that he had been an officer in the American army; that he had been in several engagements, in one of which he had received a wound. Augustus's young mind, which glowed with patriotism, now burned with redoubled friendship towards him. He enquired how many children he had, to which he replied after a little hesi­tation only one. He was about to ques­tion him concerning the young lady which he meant to say his servant had seen there; when Mr. Ambern looking at him with a smile, cried, I know it is in vain, my young friend, to hide from you what you allude to, and although requested to secrecy I will inform you of what little I know, [...] only from a motive to satisfy you, but that you being acquainted with the circumstan­ces, may be in some degree useful. Au­gustus replied, that there needed not [...] other plea but distress to engage his p [...] ­tection; but especially, in favour of [...] arrayed in such charms, his interested [...] must be greatly increased, for he now in­formed [Page 69] Mr. Ambern he had been an eye witness of them. Mr. Ambern replied, you are yet acquainted with but half her charms, for equal to her beauty is the cul­tivation of her mind; her sweet enticing manners, her engaging conversation, have so won upon the affections of my wife and myself, that we love her almost equally with our son. We feel almost equally with her­self for the distress under which she appears to labour. She has a little instrument through which she breathes the sorrows of her soul in such melancholy strains as to often draw tears from our eyes. But, my friend▪ I will pass from this, to tell you what little I know concerning this amiable young lady. About a week past late in the even­ing [...] we sat at tea, we heard a carriage stop, and soon after a knocking at the door, when opening it, a young gentleman of genteel appearance, and noble countenance, led in this young female; they both appear­ed to be in distress; I invited them to sit down, which they immediately did; we all sat for some time in profound silence, at last the young gentlemen arose, and in the sweetest and most melancholy [...]cents de­sired me to walk a little way [...]n the field with him. I immediately complied, leav­ing the young lady with my wise; we had [Page 70] not proceeded far when he thus addressed me—you will, no doubt, wonder to see two persons thus enter your house with whom you have not the least acquaintance; but it will be sufficient to inform you that it is distress which has thus obliged us ab­ruptly to claim an entrance; and at the door of the industrious and honest countryman, misery is seldom refused admittance. I interrupted him with assurances of the suf­ficiency of his apology, and expressed, in sincere terms, my interest in his sorrows; that if I could in any way serve him, it would give me the greatest pleasure. With tears of joy and gratitude he acknowledged my kindness and hospitality: He told me, I need not harbour the least suspicion of their dishonesty, for it was virtue that bade them fly hither. But (continued he) you must pardon me for not relating the cause of our appearance here, you shall hear it at some future time; the few minutes which circumstances allow me to stay here will not permit me: But let me now call your attention to the trouble which I so­licit from you—This lovely female which I have brought under your roof, I beseech you to protect▪ let her remain with you as one of your family; be a kind and indul­gent parent to her; let it remain a secret [Page 71] that she is here; endeavor to soothe her in her affliction, but do not endeavor to draw the cause of it from her, as it will heighten it—excuse, my protector, the shortness and abruptness of my expressions, as haste will allow me no others. We then turned to­wards the house; when the young gentle­men entered it, and, while the tears trick­led down his cheeks, he exclaimed, now, my Aurelia, having found a faithful guar­dian for you, suffer me to bid you farewell: It shall not be long before I shall return to restore you to joy and to your home. The lovely Aurelia sprang from her chair, and encircled his neck with her snowy arms, exclaiming, in accents almost inarticulate, return soon my Ferdinand, my dearest—. The last word here I was unable to disting­uish. Ferdinand, after having embraced her, and, with all the politeness of afflicted gratitude, bid us farewell, walked hastily from the door. He immediatly sprang in his carriage, dropping his purse, which I had formerly refused. I returned to the house, much touched by the generosity and distress of the youth. Aurelia the next morning seemed to have much recovered her spirits—to prevent discovery she dressed herself in those garments in which you have seen her. This is all my dear young [Page 72] gentleman, that I know about the beauti­ful Aurelia. After much other conversa­tion chiefly concerning the same subject, Mr. Ambern returned home. When Au­gustus was left alone, his thoughts natural­ly remained with the object of his late con­versation: his curiosity, instead of being diminished, was rather increased. The be­havior of Ferdinand, the young gentleman who accompanied her, and the picture which the servant had seen about Aurelia's neck, convinced him that he was her lover. The pain which these reflections gave, told him the state of his heart—He was resolved to guard himself against her charms.

One evening, which was very calm and beautiful, when silence wafted her gentle hand, and hushed the world in quiet and repose, when the mind is filled with thoughts congenial to the scene, Augustus took up his flute, upon which he was a great profi­cient, and directed his steps towards a little grove, which grew a small distance behind the house of Mr. Ambern. Aurelia was the subject of his meditation. When he came to the grove, he reclined himself be­neath a tree, and, after having remained for some time in silence, he applied his mouth to his flute, and through it breathed forth such harmonious strains as corresponded [Page 73] his feelings: The melody, in sweetest vibra­tions, floated on the air, and the hills were responsive to the trembling notes—The feathered songsters forgot their song and listened in attentive silence—Nor were these the only listeners—This grove was often the resort of Aurelia—The beauty of the present evening had invited her thither, and she was now listening in a little place sur­rounded by bushes, a silent hearer and spec­tator of Augustus—She, unseen, now per­ceived him, as he formerly did her—She was charmed with the beauty of the music, which was also congenial to her feelings—but the manly appearance of Augustus claimed her attention more than his strains. While thus Augustus indulged his feelings, his sister Louisa, who had observed him walk towards the grove, and who determin­ed to follow him, now came up, and, laugh­ing, caught old of his flute, and said, Why, Augustus, what is the matter with you—what makes you so grave and serious of late, that you must run into the woods to play such dolesome d [...]ties?—Augustus smil­ing, without making any reply, took his sister by the hand, and they directed their steps home.—Aurelia, when she returned to the co [...], did not [...] relate what she had seen—From the appearance of Augustus, [Page 74] she supposed he was a young gentleman of fortune, and that some secret uneasiness dwelled within his breast—Her heart ac­knowledged the charms of his music, and of himself. The next morning Augustus de­termined to pay a visit at the cot—He, therefore, after breakfast, went unaccompa­nied, and was received with great joy by its industrious inhabitants—In casting his eyes around the room, he missed the object for whom the present visit was designed—Delicacy prevented him from expressing his disappointment, but Mr Ambern perceived it by his countenance—It was however of short duration, for he had set but a few minutes, when Aurelia entered, with her hat on, just returned from a walk—She did not perceive Augustus, who had arisen at her entrance, until she had advanced a few steps in the room; but directly after, her eyes meeting his, a crimson blush diffused itself over both their countenances—Aure­lia immediately recollected the young gen­tleman she had seen in the grove, whose music had so greatly entertained her. Mr. Ambern then introduced them to each oth­er—a certain embarrassment was visible in Aurelia—After they had set down, Augus­tus, with his usual engaging demeanor, en­deavoured to enter into conversation, nor [Page 75] were his attempts unsuccessful, and the common embarrassment which subsists be­tween strangers was soon removed—He could not behold, but with admiration and emotion, her beauty, which was heightened by the exercise she had been taking—With­out the aid of ornament, and richness of dress, she now appeared in her own cha [...]is—her beautiful eyes beamed sweetness and love—her flowing locks hung graceful on her back, unadorned by the hand of art—She had not the fragrance of cosmetic per­fume, but the flowers of the garden bloom­ed on her bosom. Augustus was equally pleased with her conversation, and he found that his imagination had not painted her in two high colours.

He passed the evening in her company, and was sorry to see it so happily glid a­way. At his departure, he informed Au­relia, that he had a sister nearly of the [...]ame age with herself, who would be happy to possess such an invaluable acquaintance▪ Aurelia thanked him for his politeness, and expressed the happiness she should experi­ence from a friend. When Augustus re­turned home, his mind was almost wholly occupied with Aurelia—His sister Louisa [...]ocularly questioned him concerning whe [...] [...] had been—He, without disguise, infor­med [Page 76] her of the conversation at the cot, and of the liberty he had taken in offering her friendship to Aurelia. Louisa rejoiced in this opportunity of getting acquainted with her—Her curiosity had become so greatly excited that she resolved the very next day to visit her—She did so, and she and Au­relia became intimates at the very first meeting—This intimacy gradually increas­ed; Aurelia often visited Augustus's seat, himself and his sister often at the cot. Au­gustus now informed Aurelia, where he had first seen her, but never ventured to utter a syllable respecting her situation. She▪ in return, informed Augustus where she had first seen him, and how much she had been entertained with his flute.

While thus the intimacy and passion of Augustus were daily increasing, an event happened, which draws my tale to a speedy conclusion:—

One evening Augustus was on a visit to the cot; when he had approached within view of it, he perceived a carriage standing before the door; his curiosity was greatly excited, to know to whom it belonged. He softly entered the house, but what was his surprize, when the first object that struck his eyes, was a young gentleman with Au­relia clasped in his arms—His heart throb­bed, [Page 77] his pulse beat quick, the thought im­mediately occurred, that he was to have his beloved Aurelia snatched from him forever▪ by a successful lover. The young gentle­man who held Aurelia, did not perceive Augustus at his first entrance, but upon her whispering to him, he turned round. They instantly caught each other's eye stood for a moment gazing on each other, then flew into each other's arms, while Augustus ex­claimed, O my Ferdinand, is it you, my former dearest friend and classmate? After this warm embrace, Augustus's first enquiry to Ferdinand was, why he had come hither?—Ah! my dear Augustus (he cried) I have come on a very pleasing embassy; to recall home an only and beloved sister, who has fled here for protection from a father who was going to force her into marriage with one whom she detested. As soon as Fer­dinand pronounced the name of sister, Au­gustus was unable to contain himself—he sprang forward towards Aurelia, and pres­sed her rosy cheek to his—she did not re­ceive him with a frown, but with a [...] blush and a smile. Here the author breaks off his narrative, assuring those who have hon­ored his little tale with their perusal, that the conclusion which they will be naturally led to draw, will be the true and right one; [Page 78] such an one as the author, if he had felt, himself disposed, would have drawn him­self.

AN industrious and virtuous education of children is a better inheritance for them than a great estate. To what purpose is it said Crates, to heap up great riches, and have no concern what manner of heirs you leave them to?

The foundation of knowledge and vir­tue is laid in our childhood, and without an early care and attention we are almost lost in our very cradles; for the principles we imbibe in our youth we carry common­ly to our graves. It is education that makes the man. To speak all in a few words, children are but blank paper, ready indifferently for any impression, good or bad; for they take all upon credit, and it is much in the power of the first comer to write saint or devil upon it, which of the two he pleases; so that one step out of the way of the institution is enough to poison the peace and reputation of a whole life.

In a family where I lately spent some days [Page 79] on a visit, I observed a very remarkable instance of the outward management of two children. Young master is a boy of strong, ungovernable passions, of no mean capacity, and an open, liberal temper; add to this, the disadvantage that he is brought up to the prospect of a great estate. The girl is of surprising natural parts; but pettish, sul­len, and haughty, though not without a con­siderable fund of native goodness. Both of them are excessively ind [...]led by their par­ents. The father, who jumped into the e­state by means of his relation to a wealthy citizen, is a strange ignorant, unpolished creature; and having had no education himself, has little notion of the importance of one; and is neither anxious about theirs, nor meddles in it; but leaves them to the chances of life, and the ordinary track of training up children. The mother, a wo­man of goodness, but who never had any of the improvements of education, is, you may very well believe, but little versed in the arts of forming young minds; yet she thinks herself qualified by her natural s [...] ­gacity, of which, indeed she has a consid­erable share for directing and managing her own children. But though she were better qualified than she is, her immoderate fond­ness would baffle the nicest management▪ [Page 80] Her son is her favourite, in whom she sees no fault; or, if they are too glaring to be hid she winks at them: and if any of [...]he family or friends complain of them to her, she is ready to put the fairest colouring on them, and is ready to ascribe the complaints to some unreasonable partiality or prejudice against her darling boy. The young gen­tleman, finding himself so secure of ma­ma's favour, takes all advantages, and stretches his prerogative to the utmost. The servants of the family he disciplines with all the force his fists and feet are masters of; and uses strangers who come to visit the family with the most indecent familiarities: some he calls names, others he salutes with a slap, or pulls off their wigs, or treads on their toes, with many such instances of rough courtesy. His is indulged, and (if I may use the expression) trained in the love of money. It is made the reward of doing his task; and the end of all his labours. His pockets are generally full; at least, money is never denied him when he either coaxes or cries for it; and indeed I have seen him do both with great dexterity. He is allowed to play as much as he pleases at cards, draughts, or any other game; and it is always for money. I have been divirted to see how how the chances of the game [Page 81] have roused all his little passions. If he won, he triumphed over his adversary with immense eagerness and joy; if he loft, he cried, stormed, and bullied, like a petty ty­rant, and parted with his money with infi­nite regret. If the mother was provoked at any time to take notice of his irregula­rities, she did it with so little judgment, and so much heat, that it had little or no influence. Perhaps she frowned, and fired, and made a thundering noise for a while, but this was soon over; and master's tears, or fullen silence, soon brought on a perfect reconciliation. She shewed no care and steady indignation, such as would have been sufficient to produce a lasting affect; nor were her rebukes seconded with any sub­stantial marks of displeasure, so as to make a deep impression on such a perverse child.

The young lady's temper is a little soft­er, but not less imperious. She is brought up with a high opinion of the dignity of her rank, and contempt of the vulgar; therefore the little thing imagines herself al­ready a very considerable personage, take [...] state upon her in all companies, swells with rage at every little imaginary affront, and never thinks she is treated with respect e­nough; the servants must pay her uncom­mon homage; she must be helped at table [Page 82] before strangers of an ordinary rank. Her pretty features must not be discomposed by crossing her; in short, humoured she must be in all things; and when her ladyship is dressed in all her finery, she is admired, ca­ressed, and exalted into a little queen. This makes her vain and insolent to a degree of extravagance. She and her brother have pretty nearly the same task set them. They read, write, dance, and play together; but will only read, or write, or do just as much as their little honours think proper. They go to learn as to some terrible task are rest­less and impatient till it is over▪ and mind their tutor almost as much as the maid that puts them to bed: for his authority not be­ing duly supported by their parents, has no weight. In fine they are so much humour­ed, so little restrained or kept under prop­er government, that he must have more than the patience of a man who can bear with their insolence, and almost the capaci­ty of an angel to shape and improve them into any tolerable figure: though with the genius and temper they have, they migh be taught any thing, or moulded into any form, were they under the influence of pro­per discipline and authority. Upon the whole, I could not help thinking them an instance of the indiscreet conduct of parents [Page 83] in the management of their children, whom by an ill judged fondness, they expose to the contempt and derision of mankind, and perhaps to irretrivable calamities.

EUGENIO is just out of his minority, and in the twenty-second year of his age; be practises the man with all that virtue and decency that makes his father's acquain­tance cover his company; and indeed they may learn by his discourse the art of good reasoning, as well as the precepts of reli­gion from his example. He is an enter­taining companion to the gay young gentle­men his equals; and yet divines and philo­sophers take a pleasure to have Eugenio a­mongst them. He is caressed by his supe­riors in honour and in years; and though he is released from the discipline of paren­tal education, yet he treats the lady his mother with all the affectionate duty that could be desired or demanded of him ten years ago: his father is content to see his own youth outshone by his son, and con­fesses that Eugen [...]o already promises great­er things than Agathus did at thirty.

It you ask whence these happy qualities arise, I grant there was some foundation for them in his very nature, there was [...] ­thing of complexional virtue min [...] with [Page 84] this frame; but it is much more owing to the wife conduct of his parents from his ve­ [...]ry infancy, and the blessing of Divine grace attending their labours, their prayers, and their hopes.

He was trained up from the very cradle to all the duties of infant virtue, by the al­lurements of love and reward, suited to his age; and never was driven to practise any thing by a frown or a hasty word, where it was possible for kinder affections to work the same effect by indulgence and delay.

As fast as his reasoning powers began to appear and exert themselves, they were con­ducted in any easy track of thought, to find out and observe the reasonableness of every part of his duty, and the lovely char­acter of a child obedient to reason and to his parents will; while every departure from duty was shewn to be so contrary to reason, as laid an early foundation for con­science to work upon: conscience be­gan here to assume its office, and to manifest its authority in dictates, and re­proofs, and reflections of mind, peaceful or painful, according to his behaviour. When his parents observed this inward monitor to awake in his soul, they could better trust him our of their sight.

When he became capable of conceiving [Page 85] an almighty and invisible Being, who made this world and every creature in it, he was taught to pay all due regard to this God his Maker; and from the authority and love of his father on earth, he was led to form right ideas (as far as childhood permitted) of the power, government, and goodness of the u­niversal and supreme Father of all in Heav­en.

He was informed why punishment was due to an offence against God, or his par­ents, that his fear might become an useful passion to awaken and guard his virtue; but he was instructed, at the same time, that where heartily repented of a fault, and re­turned to his duty with new diligence, there was forgiveness to be obtained both of God and man.

When at any time a friend interceded for him to his father, after he had been guilty of a fault, he was hereby directed into the doctrine of Jesus, the mediator between God and man; and thus he knew him as an intercessor, before he could well understand the notion of his sacrifice and atonement.

In his younger years he passed but twice [...]nder the correction of the rod: once for a [Page 86] sit of obstinacy and persisting in a falsehood; then he was given up to severe chastisement, and it dispelled and cured the sullen humou [...] for ever: and once for the contempt of his mother's authority he endured the scourge again, and he wanted i [...] no more,

He was enticed sometimes to the love of letters, by taking his lesson a reward of some domestic duty; and a permission to pursue some parts of learning was the appointed recompense of his diligence and improve­ment in others.

There was nothing required of his mem­ory but what was first (as far as possible) let into his understanding; and by proper ima­ges and representations, suited to his years, he was taught to form some conception of the thin [...] described, before he was bid to learn the words by heart. Thus he wa [...] freed from the danger of treasuring up the cant and jargon of mere names, instead of the riches of solid knowledge.

Where any abstruse and difficult notions occurred in his course of learning, his pre­ceptor postponed them till the had gone through that subject in a more superfici [...] way; for this purpose he passed twice thro [Page 87] all the sciences; and to make the doctrines of Christianity easy to him in his childhood, he had two or three Catechisms composed by his tutor, each of them suited to his more early or more improved capacity, till at 12 years old he was thought fit to learn that public form, which is more universally taught and approved.

As he was inured to reasoning from his childhood, so he was instructed to prove e­very thing, according to the nature of the subject, by natural or moral arguments, as far as years would admit: and thus he drew much of his early knowledge from reason or from revelation by the force of his judg­ment, and not merely from his teachers by the strength of his memory.

His parents were persuaded indeed that they ought to teach him the principles of virtue while he was a child, and the most important truths of religion [...] natural and revealed, before he was capable of deriving them from the fund of his own reason, or of fraiming a religion for himself out of so large a book as the Bible. They thought themselves under the obligation of that di­vine command, "Train up a child in the way that he should go, and when he it old to [Page 88] he will not depart from it." And there­fore from a child they made him acquainted with the Holy Scriptures, and presuaded him to believe that they were given by the inspiration of God, before it was possible for him to take in the arguments from reason, history, tradition, &c. which must be joined together to confirm the sacred canon, and prove the several books of the Bible to be divine. Thus, like Timothy, "he contin­ued in the things which he had learned." Yet as his years advanced, they thought it requisite to show him the solid and national foundation of his faith, that his hope might be built upon the authority of God and not of men.

After he arrived at fifteen, he was suffered to admit nothing into his full assent, till his mind saw the rational evidence of the pro­position itself; or at least till he felt the pow­er of those reasons which obliged him to as­sent, upon [...] evidence and testimony▪ where the evidences of sense or of reason ought not to be expected. He knew tha [...] he was not to hope for mathematical proof that there is a pope at Rome, that the Turks have dominion over Judea, that St. Paul wrote an Epistle to the Romans, that Christ was crucified without the gates of Jerusalem, [Page 89] and that in three days time he rose from the dead; and yet that there is just and reason­able evidence to enforce and support the be­half of all the facts. Where truths were too sublime for present comprehension, he would never admit them as a part of his faith till he saw the full evidence of a speak­ing God and a divine revelation.

His tutor never imposed any thing on him with a magisterial air; but by way of advice recommended to him such studies and such methods of improvement, as his expe­rience had long approved; he gave frequent hints of the danger of some opinions, and the fatal consequences of some modish and mistaken principles. He let him know gen­erally what sentiments he himself embraced among the divided opinions of the age; and what clear and comprehensive knowledge, what satisfaction of judgment, serenity of mind, and piece of conscience, where to he found in the principles which he had chosen: but he exhorted his pupil still to choose widely for himself, led him onward in the sciences, and, in common and sacred affairs, to frame his own sentiments by just rules of reasoning. Though Eugenio did not su­perstitiously confine his belief to the opinions of his instructor, yet he could not but love [Page 90] the man that indulged him such a liberty of thought, and gave him such an admirable clue, by which he let himself into the se­crets of knowledge, human and divine▪ thus, under the happy and insensible inflen­ces of so prudent a supervisor, he traced the paths of learning, and enjoyed the unspeak­able pleasure of being his own teacher, and of framing his opinions himself. By this means he began early to use his reason with freedom, and to judge for himself, without a servile submission to the authority of others; and yet to pay a just and solemn deference to persons of age and experience, and particu­larly to those who were the proper appointed guides of his youth, and who led him on so gently in the paths of knowledge.

He was not kept a stranger to the errors and follies of mankind, nor was he let loose amongst them either in books or in compa­ny, without a guard and a guide. His pre­ceptor let him know the gross mistakes and iniquities of men, ancient and modern, but inland him with proper principles of truth and virtue, and furnished him with such rules of judgment, as led him more easily to distinguish between good and bad; and thus he was secured against the infection and the poison, both of the living and the dead.

[Page 91] He had early cautions given him to a­void the bantering tribe of mortals, and was instructed to distinguish a jest from an argu­ment, so that a loud laugh at his religion never puts him nor his faith out of counte­nance. He is every ready to render a reason of his christian hope, and to defend his Creed; but he scorns to enter the lists with such a disputant that has no artillery but squib and flash, no arguments besides grim­ance and ridicule. Thus he supports the character of a Christian with honour: he confines his faith to his Bible, and his prac­tice to all the rules of piety; and yet thinks as freely as that vain herd of Atheists and. Deists who arrogate the name of Free-think­ers to themselves.

You will inquire, perhaps, how he came to attaint so manly a conduct in life at so early an age, and how every thing of the boy was worn off so soon. Truly, besides other influences, it is much owing to the happy management of Eraste, (the name of the lady his mother); the was frequent into the nursery, and inspired sentiments into his childhood becoming riper years. When their was company in the pa [...]our, with whom she could use such a freedom, she brought her son in among them, not to en­tertain [Page 92] them with his own noise and tattle and impertinence, but to hear their discourse, and sometimes to answer a little question or two they might ask him. When he was grown up to a youth, he was often admitted into the room with his father's acquaintance, and was indulged the liberty to ask and in­quire on subjects that seemed to be above his years: he was encouraged to speak a sen­tence or two of his own thoughts, and thus to learn and practise a modest assurance. But when the company was gone he was ap­proved and praised if he behaved well, or received kind hints of admonition that he might know when he had been too silent, & when too forward to speak. Thus, by en­joying the advantage of society above the level of his own age and understanding, he was always aspiring to imitation; and the excesses and defects of his conduct were daily noticed and cured.

His curiosity was gratified abroad with new sights and scenes as often as his parents could do it with convenience, that he might not stare and wonder at every strange object or occurrence; but he was made patient of restraint and disappointment, when he seem­ed to indul [...]te an excessive desire of any needless diversion. If he sought any crimi­nal [Page 93] pleasures, or diversions attended with great danger and inconvenience, the pursuit of them was absolutely forbidden; but it was done in so kind a manner, as made the guilt or peril of them appear in the strongest light, and thereby they were rendered hate­ful or formidable, rather than the objects of wish or desire.

When Eugenio first began to go abroad in the world, his companions were recom­mended to him by the prudence of his par­ents; or if he chose them himself, it was still within the reach of his tutor's observation, of the notice of his father's eye: not was he suffered to run loose into promiscuous com­pany, till it appeared that his mind was fur­nished with steady principles of virtue, till he had knowledge enough to defend those principles, and to repel the assaults that might be made upon his faith and manners.

Yet it was hardly thought fit to trust him to his own conduct for whole days together, lest he should meet with temptations too hard for his virtue, till he had gained reso­lution enough to say NO boldly, and to maintain an absolute refusal of pre [...]cious pleasures. He was told beforehand how the profane and the lewd would use all the [Page 94] arts of address, and how subtilely they would practise upon his good humour with pow­erful and tempting importunities. This set him ever upon his guard; and though he carried his sweetness of temper always about with him, yet he learned to conceal it where­soever it was neither proper nor safe to ap­pear. By a little converse in the world, he found that it was necessary to be positive, bold, and unmoveable in rejecting every pro­posal which might endanger his character or his morals: especially as he soon became sensible that a soft and cold denial gave courage to new attacks, and left him liable to be teased with fresh solicitations. He laid down this therefore for a constant rule, that where his reason had determined any practice to be either plainly sinful or utter­ly expedient, he would give so firm a deni­al, upon the principles of virtue and reli­gion, as should for ever discourage any far­ther solicitations. This gave him the char­acter of a man of resolute virtue, even a­mong the rakes of the time, nor was he ev­er esteemed the less on th [...] account. At first indeed he thought it a happy victory which he had gotten over himself, when he could defy the shame of the world, and re­solve to be a Christian in the face of vice and infidelity: he found the shortest way to [Page 95] conquor this foolish shame was to renounce it at once: then it was easy to practise sing­ularity amidst a profane multitude. And when he began to get courage enough to profess resolute piety without a blush, in the midst of such company as this, Agathus and E [...]aste then permitted their son to travel a­broad, and to see more of the world, under the protection of their daily prayers. His first tour was through the neighbouring counties of England; he afterwards enlarg­ed the circuit of his travels till he had visi­ted foreign nations, and learned the value of his own.

In short, the restraints of his younger years were tempered with so much liberty, and managed with such prudence and ten­derness, and these bonds of discipline were so gradually loosened as fast as he grew wise enough to govern himself, that Eugenio al­ways carried about with him an inward con­viction of the great love and wisdom of his parents and his tutor. The humours of the child now and then self some reluctance a­gainst the pious discipline of his parents; but now he is arrived at man's estate, there is nothing that he looks back upon with greater satisfaction than the steps of their conduct, and the instances of his own sub­mission [Page 96] He often recounts those things with pleasure, as some of the chief favours of heaven, whereby he was guarded through all the dangers and follies of youth and childhood, and effectually kept, through Divine Grace operating by those happy means, from a thousand sorrows, and per­haps from everlasting ruin.

Though he has been released some years from the strictness of paternal government, yet he still makes his parents his chosen friends; and though they cease to practise authority upon him and absolute command, yet he pays the utmost deference to their counsels, and to the first notice of their in­clinations. You shall never find him resis­ting and debating against their desires and propensities in little common things of life, which are indifferent in themselves; he thinks it carries in it too much contempt of those whom God and nature require him to honour. Whensoever he enters into any important action of life, he takes a filial pleasure to seek advice from his worthy par­ents; and it [...] uneasy to him to astempt any thing of moment without it. He does not indeed universally practise all their senti­ments, but he gains their consent to follow his own reason and choice,

[Page 97] S [...]me of the wild young gentlemen of the age may happen to [...]ugh at him for being so much a boy still, and for showing such subjection to the old folks (as they call them▪) With a scornful [...] they bid him "Break off his leading-strings, and cast away his yokes of bondage." But for the most part he observes, that the sa [...] persons shake off all yokes at once, and at once break the bonds of nature, duty, and [...]eligion▪ they pay but little regard to their Superior in heaven, and more than to those on earth, and have forgotten God and their parents together. "No [...] will I ever be moved (says he) with the reproaches of those who make a jest of things sacred as well as civil, and treat their mother and their Maker with the same contempt."

WHEN Damon was sentenced by Di­onysius of Sy [...]se to die on a certain day, he begged permission, in the interim, to re­tire to his own country, to set the affairs of his disconsolate family in order. This the tyrant intended peremptorily to refuse, by granting it, as he conceived on the impos­sible [Page 98] conditions of his procuring some one to remain as hostage for his return, under equal forfeiture of life. Pythias heard the conditions, and did not watt for an applica­tion upon the part of D [...]mon: he instantly offered himself as security for his friend; which being accepted, D [...]mon was imme­diately set at liberty. The king and all the courtiers were astonished at this action; and therefore when the day of execution drew near, his majesty had the [...]ur [...]osity to visit Pythias in his confinement. After some conversation on the subject of friendship, in which the tyrant delivered it as his opin­ion that self-interest was the [...]ole mover of human actions; as for virtue, friendship, benevolence, love of one's country, and the like, he looked upon them as terms inven­ted by the wise to keep in awe and impose upon the weak. "My lord," said P [...]thias, with a firm voice and noble aspect, "I would it were possible that I might suffer a thousand deaths, rather than my friend should fail in any article of his honour. He cannot fail therein, my lord: I am as confident of his virtue, as I am of my own existence. But I pray, I beseech the gods, to preserve the life and integrity of my Da­mon together: oppose him, ye winds, pre­vent the eagerness and impatience of his [Page 99] honourable endeavou [...]s, and suff [...]r him not to arrive till by my death I have redeemed a life a thousand times of more consequence, of more value, than my own; more estima­ble to his lovely wi [...]e, to his precious little innocents, to his friends, to his country. [...] leave me not to die the worst of deaths in my Damon." Di [...]nysius was awed and confounded by the dignity of these senti­ments, and by the manner in which they were uttered: he felt his heart st [...]uck by a slight sense of invading truth; but it served rather to perplex than undeceive him. The fatal day arrived. Pythias was brought fourth, and walked amidst the guards with a seriou, but satisfied air, to the place of execution. Dion sin; was already there; he was exalted on a moving throne, that was drawn by six white horses, and sat pen­sive and attentive to the pr [...]soner. Pythias [...]me, he vaulted I [...] on the scaffold, and beholding for some [...] the apparatus of [...] death, be [...] with a placed counte­ [...]ance, and ad [...]ressed the specta [...]ors; "My rayers are heard," he cried, "the gods [...] propitious; you know, my friends, that [...] winds have been contrary till yesterday. Damon could not come, he could not con­ner impossibilities; he will be here to­morrow, and the blood which is shed to-day, [Page 100] shall have ransomed the life of my friend. O could I erase from your bosoms every doubt, every mean suspicion, of the honour of the man for whom I am about to suffer, I shall go to my death even as I would to my br [...]al. Be it sufficient in the mean time, that my friend will be found noble; that his truth is unimpeachable; that he will speedily prove it; that he is now on his way, hurrying on, accusing himself, the adverse elements, and the gods: but I haste to prevent his speed; execu [...]ner do your office." As he pronounced the last words, a buz began to [...] among the remotest of the people; a distant voice was heard, the crowd caught the words, and Stop, stop the execution; was repeated by the whole as­sembly: a man at full haste; the throng gave way to his approach: he was mounted on a steed of foam; in an instant he was off his horse, on the scaffold, and held Pythias straitly embraced. "You are safe," he cri­ed, "you are safe, my friend, my beloved friend, the gods be praised you are safe. I now have nothing but death to suffer, and am delivered from the anguish of those re­proaches which I gave myself for having en­dangered a life so much dearer than my own." Pa [...]e, cold, and halt-speechless in the arms of his Damon, Pythias replied in broker-accents [Page 101] —"Fatal haste!—Cruel impatienced—What envious powers have wrought im­possibilities in your favour?—But I will not be wholly disappointed.—Since I can­not die to save, I will not survive you. Di­onysi [...]s heard, beheld, and considered all with astonishment. His heart was touched, he wept, and leaving his throne he ascen­ded the scaffold: "Live, live, ye incom­parable pair I" cried he, "ye have borne unquestionable testimony to the ex [...]stence of virtue! and that virtue equally evinces the existence of a God to reward it. Live hap­py, live renowned; and, O! form me by your precepts, as ye have invited me by your example, to be worthy of the partici­pation of so sacred a friendship."

LUCRETIA was a lady of great be [...] ­ty and noble ex [...]raction; she married [...] ­tinus, a relat [...]on of Tarq [...]nius Suppe [...], king of Rome. During the siege of A dea, which lasted much longer than was expec­ted, the young princes passed their time in entertainments and diver [...]. One day as they were at [...] at Sexi [...]s T [...]rquin's [Page 102] the king's eldest son, with Collatinus, Lu­eretia's husband, the conversation turned on the merit of their wives; every one gave his own the preference. "What signify so many words?" says Collati [...]us; "you may in a few hours, if you please be con­vinced by your own eyes, how much my Lucretia excels the rest. We are young: let us mount our horses, and go and surprise them. Nothing can better decide our dis­pute than the state we shall find them, in at a time, when most certainly they will not expect us." They were a little warmed with wine: "Come on, let us go," they all cried together. They quickly galloped to Rome, which was about twenty miles from Ardes, where they find the princesses, wives of the young Tarquins, surrounded with company, and every circumstance of the highest mirth and pleasure. From thence they rode to Collatia, where they saw Lucre­tia in a very different situation. With her maids about her, she was at work in the in­ner part of her house, talking on the dan­gers to which her husband was exposed. The victory was adjudged to her unanimous­ly. She received her guests with all possi­ble politeness and civility. Luc [...]etia's vir­tue which should have commanded respect, was the very thing which kindled in the [Page 103] breast of Sextus Ta [...]quin a strong and de­testable passion. Within a sew days he re­turned to Collatia, and upon the plausible excuse he made for his visit, he was receiv­ed with all the politeness due to a near re­lation, and the eldest son of a king. Watch­ing the fittest opportunity, he declares the passion she had excited in his last visit, and employed the most tender entreaties, and all the artifices possible to touch a woman's heart; but all to no purpose. He then en­deavoured to extort her compliance by the most terrible threatenings. It was in vain. She still persisted in her resolution; not could she be moved, even by the fear of death. But, when the monster told her that he would first dispatch her, and then having murdered a slave, he would lay him by her side, after which he would, spread a report, that having caught them in the act of adultery, he had punished them as they deserved; this seemed to shake her resol [...] ­tion. She hesitated, not knowing which of these dreadful alternatives to take, whether, by consenting, to dishonour the bed of h [...] husband, whom she tenderly loved; or, by refusing, to die under the odious character of having prostituted her person to the lust of a slave. He saw the struggle of her soul; and seizing the unlucky moment, ob­tained [Page 104] an inglorious conquest. Thus Lu­cretia's virtue, which had been proof against the fear of death, could not hold out a­gainst the fear of infamy. The young prince, having gro [...]ified his passion, return­ed home as in triumph.

On the morrow, Lucretia, overwhelmed with grief and despair, lent early in the morning to desire her father and her hus­band to come to her, and bring with them each a trusty friend, assuring them there was no time to lose. They came with all speed, the one accompanied with Vale [...]ius, (so famous after under the name of Publi­cola) and the other with B [...]utus. The mo­ment she saw them come, she could not command her tears; and when her husband asked her if all was well: "By no means," said she, "it cannot be well with a woman after she has lost her honour. Yes, Collo­nus, thy bed has been defiled by a stranger: but my body only is polluted; my mind is innocent, as my death shall witness. Pro­mise me only, not to suffer the a [...]ulterer to go unpunished: it is Sext [...] Tarq [...]ius, who last night, treacher [...]s guest, or rath­er cruel she, offered me violence, and reap­ed as joy [...] to me; but if you are men it will be still more fatal to him." All prom­ised [Page 105] to revenge her: and, at the same time, tried to comfort her with representi [...], that the mind only sins, not the body; and where the consent is wanting, there can be no guilt." "What Sextus deserves," re­plies Lucretia, "I leave you to judge; but for me, though I declare myself innocent of the crime, I exempt not myself from pun­ishment. No immodest woman shall [...]lead Lucretia's example to outlive her dishon­our." Thus saying, she plunged into her breast a dagger she had concealed under her to [...]e, and expired at their feet.

Lucretia's tragical death has been praised and extolled by Pagan wr [...]ers, as he high­est and m [...]st noble act of her [...]. The g [...]spel thinks not so: it is murder, even ac­cording to Lucretia's own principles, since she pun sh [...]d with death an innocent [...], at least acknowledged as such or [...]. She was ignorant that our life is not in our own power, but in his disposal from whom we receive it.

St. Austin, who carefully examines, in his book "D [...]civitate D [...]." what we are to think of Lucretia's death, considers it not as [...] courageous action, flowing from a true love of chastity, but as an infirmity of a wo­man [Page 106] two sensible of worldly same and glory; and who, from a dread of appearing in the [...]es of men an accom [...]ce of the violence she abhorred, and of a crime to which she was entirely a stranger, commits a real crime upon herself voluntarily and designedly. But what cannot be sufficiently admired in this Roman lady is her abhorrence to adul­tery, which the seems to hold so detestable as not to bear the thoughts of it. In th [...] sense, she is a noble example for all her sex.

A person of birth and fortune struck with beauty of a Lacedemonian lady, sent her a letter, intreating the last favour; to which she [...] the following answer.

"When I was a child, I acted in obedi­ence to my parents, and I was very punctu­al in it; since I became a wife, I have been equally obedient to my husband; and there­fore, if you want my consent to a dishonest action, first propose the matter to him."

CHIOMARA, the wife of Ortiagon, a Gaulish prince, was equally admirable for her beauty and chastity. During the war between the Romans and the Gauls, A. R. 563, the latter were totally defeated on Mount Olympus. Chiomara, among ma­ny other ladies, was taken prisoner, and com­mitted [Page 107] to the care of a centurion, no less pas­sionate for money than women, He, at first, endeavoured to gain her consent to his infa­mous desires, but not being able to prevail upon her, and subvert her constancy, he thought he might employ force with a wo­man whom misfortune had reduced to slavery. Afterwards, to make her amends for that treatment, he offered to restore her liberty; but not without ransom. He a­ [...]eed with her for a certain sum, and to con­ [...]l this design from the other Romans, he [...]mitted her to send any of the prisoners [...] should choose to her relations, and as­signed a place near the river where the la­dy should be exchanged for gold. By ac­cident, there was one of her own slaves a­mongst the prisoners. Upon him she fixed, and the centurion soon after carried her be­yond the advanced posts, under the cover of a dark night. The next evening two of the relations of the princes came to the place appointed, whither the centurion also carri­ed his captive. When they had delivered him the Attic talent they had brought, which was the sum they had agreed on, the lady in her own language, ordered th [...] who came to receive her to draw their swords and kill the centurion, who was than [...] ­sing himself with weighing the gold. Then [Page 108] charmed with having revenged the injur­ry done her chastity, she took the head of the officer, which she had out off with her own hands, and hiding it under her robe, went to her husband Ortiagon, who had re­turned home after the defeat of his troops. As soon as she came into his presence, she threw the centurions head at his feet. He was strangely surprized at such a sight; and asked her whose head it was, and what had induced her to do an act so uncommon [...] her sex? With a face covered with a [...] blush, and at th [...] same time expressing [...] fierce indignation, she declared the [...] which had been done her, and the [...] she had taken for it.

During the rest of her life, she sted [...]a [...] retained the same atrachment for the purity of manners which constitutes the principal [...] of the sex, and nobly sustained the honor of so glorious, bold, and herion a [...] ­nction.