IN a remote village in the northern parts of the State of New-York, on the side of a river beautifully shaded with ancient oaks, around whose branches the bellvine and honey-suckle wantonly crept, stood a small house, or cottage, environed with hawthorn: be­neath whose foliage, the meandering [...]ulet softly stole: Nature had made [...] the deficiency of Art, to render this [...] habitation truly delightful [...] At [...]mmencement of the contest with [...]nd, Mr. Villars, with his amiable [Page 6]family, retired to this sequestered spot, to shun the din of war; troubles in ear­ly life, had fixed a settled melancholy in his disposition, that suited best with retirement, particularly at this time, when the feeling heart must be ever af­fected with the distresses of others. Mr. Villars was a Briton, but prepossessed in favour of America: and though he wished to see her independent, he felt for his countrymen. Mrs. Villars was an amiable woman, and still handsome; though trouble had greatly impaired her charms: her now darling employ­ment, was forming the young mind of her daughter Louisa, whom she saw daily improving; she was now entering her seventeenth year, and her beauty, though excelled by few, was her least perfection. Mr. Villars equally em­ployed his time with two fine boys, whose good qualities promised amply to repay his care; in this manner they had passed the three first years of the [...] and enjoyed a tranquility, little kno [...] at those times; when they were [...] on hearing the enemy fast appr [...] ­ing, and for many days, they [...] [Page 7]frequent skirmishes at a little distance. One evening Louisa, accompanied by her younger brother Charles, was walk­ing on the banks of the river, the sun just sinking below the horizon, the chant­ing of the birds, and the beauty of the evening, lulled her into a pleasing reve­rie, and she wandered she knew not whither; nor did she think of the im­propriety, till reminded by her brother of the distance they were from home; at that instant a beautiful little spaniel came up to them, and fawned on Lou­isa, then whining, ran into an adjacent thicket; she immediately followed him, and perceiving a young man on the ground, to all appearance dead; who by his dress appeared to be a British officer. Louisa shrieked, and was running away, when the humane little Charles said, "My dear sister, perhaps the gentle­man is not dead, and we may be of ser­vice to him."

LOUISA, ever alive to the call of humanity, summoned all her re [...] ­ [...] advanced to the young man and [...]ng salts to his nose she perceived [...] breathe. At this instant an officer [Page 8]arrived with some water in his hat; see­ing Louisa (who was about to fly when she perceived him) he cried, "Ah, fair stranger, art thou human, or an Angel, sent to relieve the distressed?" She stopped, almost ready to faint with fright. Be not terrified, Madam, said he, "but tell me where I may carry my dying friend." She desired he would stay with him, while she ran for her father; she flew home with the ut­most precipitation and acquainted Mr. Villars, he was ever happy to be of ser­vice to his fellow-creatures, waited not a moment, but went with his servants, had the gentleman brought home and put to bed; a surgeon was sent for, who pronounced the wounds not mortal; but he had suffered so much from loss of blood, and want of timely assistance, that the greatest care was necessary.—After his wounds had been dressed some time he opened his eyes, and [...] his friend by his bed side, said, " [...] am I, my dear H [...]y?" "Under the [...] roof of hospitality," returned he. [...] pose yourself for the [...] you shall know [...] [Page 9]to whom besides yourself am I obliged?" "Talk not to me of obligation" answer­ed his friend, "Heaven has sent an An­gel in the form of a young lady, to our relief, and her benevolent father has treated you as his child." During this conversation, Mr. Villars, had retired to the other end of the room, perhaps he had his emotion.—He was extreme­ly happy to have it in his power to be of service to the wounded gentleman; but there was something in the voice and manners of his friend, that struck him so forcibly, he could not account for it; and his great resemblance to a person we shall hereafter mention, en­tirely absorbed him in thought; when the young gentleman came to him, and begged he would accept the thanks of his friend, who was now able to speak to him. Mr. Villars approached the bed, and Captain Bellmore (for that was his name) thanked him in the most [...] terms for his extreme kindness; [...] good man told him, "to make himself as easy as his situation would permit, as his speedy recovery depended [Page 10]greatly on his being quite tranquil. "Alas, sir" returned he, "I am perfect­ly easy on my own account, but very unhappy on my friends. Mr. Har­grave has left his camp in search of me; and I fear reports will be circulated to the prejudice of his honor." Mr. Vil­lars started at the thought, and turning to Mr. Hargrave, (who sat in a deep reverie) said, "Can I, sir, be of service to you?" this was pronounced with so much tenderness, that Mr. Hargrave, before greatly prepossessed in his favor, now felt an emotion he could not con­quer; bowing very respectfully, he said, "his situation indeed required a friend:" —Mr. Villars told him it was late, and it was necessary Captain Bellmore should rest, begged him to join his wife and daughter in this little palour; promis­ing Mr. Bellmore to do every thing in his power to serve his friend, he wished him a good night.—Mrs. Villars and Louisa rose to receive Mr. Hargrave, and eagerly enquired after his friend. "He is much better, Ladies," said he; and I hope, Madam (addressing himself to Louisa) will in a short time be able [Page 11]to thank you as his guardian angel. Louisa blushed; and only courtsied. Mr. Villars then begged Mr. Hargrave to inform them the manner of his friend's being wounded, and hi [...] leaving the camp.—"He told them, the day before they had had a smart skirmish—that the party returned with an account of Captain Bellmore's being missing. A deserter coming in soon after, informed them he was lying on the field, he be­lived not quite dead.—I immediately applied for a flag to go in search of him; but the orders was to march, and it could not be obtained. Our com­manding officer was newly put in, or this would not have been the case.—Disgusted with the brutality of our co­lonel, and a heart bleeding for my friend, I took the advantage of the night, and left the camp in search of him—it was near morning ere I found him. Alas! how can I describe my feelings on see­ing him in such a situation. I took him in my arms to a river not far distant, washed the blood from his face, and bound up his wounds with my hand­kerchief. After drinking a little water, [Page 12]he seemed to recover: I saw a light at a distance, and endeavored to carry him to it; but I was deceived—it was only a vapour.

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

I HAD not time to tell him, I would never leave him, when he again fainted. I ran for water to the river, when at my return, to my inexpressible joy, I beheld Miss Villars. Heaven had heard my prayer, and sent relief when I had despaired of finding it.—Mr. Villars and the Ladies, highly recommended Mr. Hargrave's humanity. The form­er [Page 13]said, "when things were properly represented, his leaving the camp would be deemed meritorious. He thought it would be dangerous to attempt return­ing. That as he was ever an enemy to dissimulation, he would advise him to write to the general, and inform him of every circumstance, and in the interim, to give himself up as a prisoner of war; he made no doubt of his being very soon exchanged."

THE young gentleman very politely thanked him for his advice, and said he would be entirely directed by him; then separated for the night, but not to sleep. Mr. and Mrs. Villars, though they saw something in Mr. Hargrave that interested them very much in his favor, they wished to be more particu­larly acquainted with him. Miss Vil­lars gentle heart was touched with com­passion: the scene she had been witness to, preyed so forcibly on her spirits, that she could not sleep. At one moment, she fancied she saw Captain Bellmore on the ground, just expiring: at [...] Hargrave dragged to prison as a [...] The next morning the surgeon arrived, [Page 14]he said "Captain Bellmore was greatly recovered, and he hoped in no danger;" which gave universal satisfaction to this benevolent family. Mr. Hargrave was so rejoiced at his friend's recovery, that he forgot his own situation, until re­minded by Mr. Villars; who proposed going with him to his commanding officer, whose quarters was not above twenty miles distance. The business was soon settled; Mr. Villars procured for them leave of absence, and they re­turned to the great satisfaction of Cap­tain Bellmore, who was much more anxious for his friend than himself. After a few days, he was able to sit up; he begged Mr. Hargrave would intreat the Ladies permission for him to thank them in person, for the favors he had received: he complied with his request. Mrs. Villars told him, smiling, "she was happy his friend was well enough to see company; that they would do them­selves the pleasure of taking a dish of tea with him that afternoon.—Louisa ap­peared more lovely than usual; her dress, which was simplicity itself, added to charms, already heightened by the [Page 15]heart-felt satisfaction of having been serviceable to the distressed.—Mr. Vil­lars attended the Ladies to the room, where Mr. Hargrave waited to receive them: he introduced Louisa to his friend, "as the person they were so much indebted to." At that moment, the little spaniel jumped on her lap, and licked her hands: Louisa caressed him, and mentioned his coming to her on the bank of the river, and the ex­treme distress he seemed in. It is need­less to relate the many obliging things that was said:—the afternoon passed away in a most agreeable manner: they parted equally pleased with each other. Capt. Bellmore told the Ladies, that it would greatly add to his recovery, if they would favor him with their com­pany often; which they promising to do, wished him a good evening.—"You are a happy fellow, Harry (said he, with a sigh,) to wait on this divine girl in all her little excursions."—He then launch­ed out so largely in Louisa's praise, that his friend rallied him; tell [...] "he believed the last wound he [...] ­ceived, would be the most ob [...] [Page 16]cure:"—Upon my word, Will," con­tinued he, "I believe your case is des­perate—Miss Villars improves so much on acquaintance, that I have little hopes of you.—"And do you really believe I am in love with Miss Villars?"—"Most sincerely I do; for though I have had the pleasure of seeing her these six days past, and been indulged with her agree­able conversation, I have not thought half the fine things of her, that you have said within this quarter of an hour."—"Can it be possible Miss Vil­lars has not charmed you? Is there any thing in her you can disapprove?" Do not mistake me, my dear Will; she is a most deserving girl. I have at this moment a sincere affection for her, and would risk my life to serve her; but love is quite out of the question; so you see I shall be no rival—but upon my soul, you must not trifle with her." "Can you be serious—do you think, said Capt. Bellmore, "if it was, as you suppose, I could be guilty of trifling with such a girl." "No, no, my friend," returned Hargrave, "I know your goodness of heart better: but I [...] [Page 17]now bid you good night, and join the agreeable group in the parlour, and strive to find out in the languid blue eyes of the fair Louisa, what effect your black ones have had." Saying this, he left him, and joined the family at supper. Mr. Villars proposed, since company was so agreeable, to Captain Bellmore, Mrs. Villars would take her work into his room the next day; and Louisa should read for his amusement. (Lou­isa blushed, she knew not why, Mr. Hargrave politely thanked Mr. Villars for this mark of attention; they soon after retired. Louisa, not much inclined to sleep, sat down and wrote this follow­ing letter to Miss Sommers:

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

[Page 35]LOUISA, on first reading her friend's letter, was greatly nettled, at the vulgar sarcasms of Miss Vitrol and Miss Drip; but on second consideration, she looked on such scandal beneath her, and tho't no more of it. The family were now summoned to dinner,—after the cloth was removed, Miss Villars said "she had that morning received a letter from Miss Sommers." At the mention of her name, Captain Bellmore looked at his friend, and smiled. Mr. Villars ask­ed what news Eliza had wrote from town. As Louisa could not with pro­priety relate the conversation at Mrs. Mushroom's; she said, "nothing ex­traordinary, except the new conquest she has made of General Antique, who has with great formality, asked her Pa­pa's permission to pay his addresses to her." Mr. V. laughing, turned to the gentlemen and said, "this young Lady is a beautiful girl of eighteen, and Gen­eral Antique, an old veteran of sixty at [...]." Mr. Hargrave asked, Louisa, [...] Miss Sommers of New-York, was [...] they mentioned." She an­ [...] she [...] and asked him if he [Page 36]was acquainted with her." Hargrave looking a little confused, answered in the "negative; but that he had the plea­sure of seeing her once at the assembly. —"While the British were in posses­sion of that place, Captain Bellmore, with two other officers and himself, went in late, most of the Ladies were engaged," continued he. "And I had despaired of finding a partner; when a gentleman introduced me to Miss Som­mers, said, he had prevailed on her part­ner to excuse her for one dance." "Did you never see her after," said Louisa. "Never," returned he, "I was imme­diately sent on a distant expedition, and it has not been possibly in my power to visit that city since. "You did not tell Miss Villars," said Captain Bell­more, "what effect the bright eyes of her friend had on you. Indeed you nev­er saw a poor fellow more in love in your life."—"Bellmore, you dream," an­swered Hargrave.—"It is more than you did at that time," returned the Captain, "I positively believe you did not sleep in a month."—"Mr. Har­grave was not very dangerously wound­ed, [Page 37]if he recovered in a month." said Louisa—"No, no," continued Bell­more, "he did not in twelve: and posi­tively I have never heard him give anoth­er Lady as a toast since."—"Miss Vil­lars," answered Hargrave, "who has the pleasure of being acquainted with Miss Sommers, will, no doubt, acquit me, for thinking her a charming girl; and I will not say, if I had had the hap­piness of seeing her often, I should have brought off a whole heart."—"I'm of opinion," returned Miss Villars, "you would have lost it entirely; by what your friend says, it was pretty much shattered at first sight; and I assure you, Miss Sommers improves upon acquaintance. She is a great fortune, and it would be no bad spec, Mr. Hargrave.—"It is not for a poor wandering fellow like me, to aspire to Miss Sommers," answered Hargrave. "You should not," said the Captain, "call yourself a poor fel­low whilst the acknowledged favorite of [...]—." Here a letter was bro't [...]in Bellmore, which prevented his [...]ding. "He was desired as soon [...] was able to travel, to come to [Page 38]town, and an exchange would be imme­diately procured."—Captain Bellmore, though a good soldier, would have been content with remaining longer in the country, to have enjoyed the society of his beloved Louisa; and could not think of parting, until he had obtained her promise of being one day his.—Louisa's heart now revealed a secret; she tho't she only esteemed him as a friend; but when she heard he was soon to depart, she could scarcely hide her emotion; and making an excuse to withdraw, re­tired to her own room, to bewail the caprice of fortune.—Mr. Villars said, "he hoped they did not intend leaving them for some time; as Captain Bell­more's health was not sufficiently re­established for such a journey." After many obliging things said on both sides, it was concluded, they should set out in a fortnight.—Captain Bellmore had no opportunity of speaking to Lou­isa for some days;—when one evening, the gentlemen requested her to walk—with her Mamma's permission, she con­sented. Charles and the young [...] were of the party. Enticed by the [Page 39]beauty of the evening, they walked far­ther than they intended, when Charles exclaimed, "bless me, sister, this is the very place where we found Captain Bell­more."—They all soon recollected the spot [...] the blood forsook Louisa's cheeks, and she was near sinking. On the edge of the thicket, stood a large willow, at whose root nature (to invite the weari­ed traveller,) had placed a beautiful bank covered with moss; to this seat they led her; she soon recovered, and rose to return, but Hargrave, willing to oblige his friend, said, "she had better rest a little, and he would go and gather some wild flowers to add to her beaux­pots; as he had seen some very hand­some, near that place." And continued he, "Charles and Edward will ac­company me."—So saying, he took the boys by the hand, and was out of sight in an instant.—The reader may be assur­ [...] Captain did not lose the moments [...]tly wished for; but plead his [...] so well, that had Louisa acted from the dictates of her heart, he would have had no reason to complain. But she was sensible of the impropriety of giving [Page 40]him hopes, when she saw no probabili­ty of their being realised. He begged her to let him apply to her father; this she positively refused—and told him, she knew his opinion so well, it would be needless.—She had not, however, disguise enough to hide entirely her ap­probation; and the Captain had some consolation in thinking he was not al­together indifferent to her. They had spent nearly an hour most agreeably; when Hargrave and the little boys re­turned, with large bunches of flowers. After this, they had frequent interviews. Hargrave undertook to plead his friend's cause; but there was no occasion; he had an advocate in Louisa's breast, more powerful than any he could offer. —Captain Bellmore, at length, obtained the promise he wished. The day be­fore they were to depart, they walked to the favorite willow, where they, in presence of Mr. Hargrave, vowed to [...] only for each other; and wai [...] happy turn of fortune.

THE day arrived, when they were a­part. As no one suspected an attach­ment between the Captain and Louisa [...] [Page 41]it was not difficult for them to steal a few moments in private. They met in the jessamine bower; he pressed her to his breast when he bid her adieu,—poor Louisa could refrain her tears no longer; but dissolved with the tenderness of the moment, hid them in his bosom.

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

[Page 43]NOTHING material happened on the road. The packet was ready to sail when they arrived; they dismissed the servant with the horses, and a few lines to Mr. Villars. The wind was fair, and in six days they arrived at New-York. —Mr. Villars had recommended them to his friend Colonel Rightly.—As soon as they were dressed, they waited on him; he immediately provided them genteel lodgings, and invited them to dine with him the next day.—Captain Bellmore begged, "he would recom­mend them to a merchant, as they had some bills they wished to dispose of."—Colonel Rightly told them "he made no doubt, but Mr. Sommers would pur­chase, to whatever amount they chose." —And it was agreed, they should wait on him the next day.—Accord­ingly, Colonel Rightly called at twelve, and attended them to Mr. Sommers's, who immediately purchased the bills, [...] politely invited them up stairs; as [...] had mentioned having a letter for [...] Sommers.—She was sitting with her Mamma and sister, when they enter­ed, Mr. Sommers introduced them says [Page] [...] [Page 46]the same means. We will now leave her, and return to town.

Mr. SOMMERS had one day invited Captain Bellmore and his friend to dine. Soon after they came in, Mr. Hargrave told Mr. Sommers, "he had letters from Lord Beauclair, which mentioned this drafts being paid, and hoped he had the same account." Mr. Sommers said he had.—At the name of Lord Beau­clair, Eliza started, and changed color: In the evening, she asked Mr. Har­grave if he was any relation to him. "A very distant one," replied he, "but he has been a father to me." "Pray," said Eliza, "is Lady Beauclair living." "She is," returned Hargrave, "but why, my dear Eliza, does the name of Lord Beauclair seem to affect you;" (for during this discourse she has often changed color,) "I have heard," an­swered Eliza, "he had a daughter he used very unkindly, and I can't hear his name without emotion: do they know she is still living." "They do not," replied he. "I have heard the wen [...] several years ago to the East-Indies with her family; I have often heard [Page 47]Lady Beauclair lament her, but her name is never mentioned before my Lord."—"Good God," said Eliza, "and her only fault, was marrying a worthy man with a small fortune."—"And is that a small fault, my beloved Eliza," said he, clasping her in his arms. "Tell me, I pray, if you know any thing of this Lady or her family; for be assur­ed, though I have been taught to look on myself as the heir of Lord Beauclair, if ever I am so happy as to find Lady Maria, I shall willingly resign my pre­tensions in her favor." "Your inten­tion is truly meritorious," returned Miss Sommers. "You may perhaps find Lady Maria, or some of her family:" "Ah! Miss Sommers," said he, "rich­es or titles could only make me happy for being acceptable to you; and I am confident, you would not prize such un­justly retained."—After a long and tend­er conversation, they parted equally pleased with each other.

Miss SOMMERS was torn between love and friendship; she knew Lady Maria Beverly; but was not at liberty to discover her; and if she did, she [Page 48]would deprive the man she most re­garded of immense riches; but friend­ship and justice were predominant. She determined to write to her friend for permission to discover her, which she immediately did.—Mr. Hargrave rela­ted to Captain Bellmore the above con­versation—they both concluded, Miss Sommers must know something of La­dy Maria; but thought it best not to press her farther at present, as she might not perhaps be at liberty to discover her. Not long after this, Mr. Hargrave attended Miss Sommers and her sister, to spend the evening at Mrs. Hardy's. —Doctor Squills by accident dropt in, he said he had just come from the prison, and his feelings had not for a long time been so hurt. "A very decent woman was brought there some days before," continued he. "She is very ill, and I fear cannot live if she is not removed to a more comfortable place:"—"pray what is she charged with?" demanded Hargrave, "upon my word I cannot tell" returned the Doctor, " [...] she was taken within our line, and [...] not give a very good account of [...] [Page 49]She has travelled from the Southward, in search of a young gentleman, she was nurse to, and whom she heard was con­fined as a spy; I told her she might be perfectly easy on that account, for no British officer was confined on such sus­picion at present." Mr. Hargrave ask­ed him, "if he knew her name?" "I think it is Carely," answered the Doc­tor. "Good God!" exclaimed he, "my old nurse." He begged the La­dies to excuse him, and said, he would wait on Colonel Rightly, and prevail up­on him to use his interest, with regard to freeing Mrs. Carely." He was no sooner gone, than some of the company expressed great surprise, at what they had heard.—Captain Bellmore who had dropped in accidentally, briefly related his being wounded, and the disinterested behaviour of Mr. Hargrave; which he supposed had given rise to the report that frightened poor Mrs. Carely. The whole company joined in his praise, and [...] had the inexpressible pleasure of [...]ng the chosen of her heart extolled [...] highest degree.

[Page 50]Mr. HARGRAVE went immediately to Colonel Rightly, who promised to do every thing in his power upon the occa­sion — They went that night to the prison, though it was late. Hargrave entered the room, followed by the Col. they approached the bed — she was sleep­ing. They had stood a few moments, when she awoke, praying for blessings on her Harry.—"Your Harry is with you." said Hargrave, advancing. — The poor woman was near fainting.—"My son," returned she, "I shall die easy, since I see you safe."—"Compose yourself, good mother, and tell me how you came here," replied Hargrave.—"O! sir, I have not strength;—I heard somebody say, you would be taken as a spy; so came off in the night, and wan­dered, I knew not where. I have been several months a prisoner, but not con­fined so closely as at present."

Col. RIGHTLY told her, "to make herself easy—that he would procure her liberty, and take her to his own ho [...] —The good woman thanked him wi [...] her tears; her heart was too full for [...] ­terance. Next morning, Col. Rig [...] [Page 51]applied to the General, and had her brought home, where she very soon re­covered; and took the place of a house­keeper he had just discharged.—About this time, a peace was negociating; and hostilities ceased with Britain.

Mr. VILLARS, who had adjourned going to town (as he did not wish to leave his family at such a time) now paid a visit to the metropolis. His first in­quiries were for Capt. Bellmore and Mr. Hargrave, who received him with the highest satisfaction. They dined the next day at Mr. Sommers's with Colo­nel Rightly and Major Beaucamp, who was also a British officer on leave of ab­sence. The company had assembled sometime before the Major came in. Mr. Sommers introduced him. As he approached Mr. Villars, he started and stopped. "Excuse me, sir—your like­ness is so great to a friend of mine, that was I not almost certain of his death, I should think I now saw him before me." —"You are not mistaken, my friend," [...] Mr. Villars, his eyes swiming in [...]; "and can I be so happy," repli­ed the Major pressing him to his breast, [Page 52]"again to meet my Beverly!"—"You see indeed the man who once was Bev­erly," returned Mr. Villars; "but, ah! the trials I have met since last we part­ed!"—The reader may easily imagine the astonishment of Mr. Hargrave and Captain Bellmore, at the above conver­sation:—the former would immediate­ly have gone to Mr. Villars's, and dis­covered his intentions in his favor; but Miss Sommers detained him. "Con­sider," said she, "you are dependent on Lord Beauclair; and should you diso­blige him, by interfering in this matter, you may be deprived of his favor, and not have it in your power to serve them. You will, no doubt, hear Mr. Villars's story; you may then mention your connections with Lord Beauclair, and your intentions, should the estate come within your possession;"—"you are extremely right, my dear Eliza," answered he: "I can at present do noth­ing; but I feel exceedingly interested in their behalf." In the mean time, Major Beaucamp was asking M [...] ▪ Vil­lars many questions, as he had [...] him since his Marriage. Mr. Sommers [Page 53]said, "He hoped the long friendship subsisting between Mr. Villars and him­self, would excuse his begging to hear his story,^* which he thought would be very interesting." "My history is a melancholy one," returned he, "and I believe will afford little satisfaction; though notwitstanding I'll endeavor to recollect facts, that will tear open wounds, time can never heal." Accordingly, as soon as the cloth was removed, Mr. Villars began as follows:

MY father was the youngest son of an ancient family in Cumberland, of the name of Villars. My grandfather, at an advanced age, married a widow of small fortune; she had one daughter, who was very beautiful; and her mother possessed of a great deal of art, soon made a match between her and my father's elder brother. She had great ascendancy over my grandfather, and found means to withdraw his affection from his younger children.—My father and a sister of twelve years of age, [...] [Page 54]sent to a boarding-school, and never allowed to come home. At my grand­father's death, they found themselves thrown on the world, possessed of a very few hundreds.—Miss Villars took her father's usage so much to heart, that she died not long after.—She was in her eighteenth year when this melancholy event took place. My father who was of a lively turn, submitted to the ca­price of fortune, and strove to be con­tent: he had studied the law, but did not pay such strict attention to it as he ought.—When he had entered his two and twentieth year, a brother of my grandfather's mother died, and left my father an estate near Bath, of six hundred pounds a year; with which he was to take the name of Beverly. He soon after married Miss Louisa Herbert, a very accomplished young Lady, with a fortune of ten thousand pounds.

A YEAR after their marriage, I was born; and in two years more, they re­ceived a second addition to their happi­ness, by the birth of a daughter.—Nothing material happened during our minority, until I attained my nineteenth [Page 55]year. My father paid the greatest at­tention to our education, ( [...]t impru­dently lived to the extent of his income.) My mother often remonstrated to little purpose; he was not of a disposition to brook restraint.

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

Mr. VILLARS stopped and wiped his eyes. "We stayed," continued he, [...] two years abroad, and returned to­ [...].—My father was chosen as a [...]ber for a neighboring borough, [...] the winter after I returned, I accom­panied him to town; my first enquiri [...] [Page 56]were for Lord Sidly. He received me with great cordiality, and introduced me to Lady Beauclair, the Hon. Charles Sidly, and Lady Maria, his sister.—I was great part of my time with Lord Sidly; and had frequent opportunities of seeing Lady Maria.—I was admitted to all their parties;—the friendly and familiar footing I was on [...] the family, (for even Lord Beauclair seemed particu­larly attentive to me) made me forget the difference of rank; and my heart aspired to this lovely girl.—I sometimes fancied myself not indifferent to her; but I still endeavored to conceal my own sentiments, in company with her brother.

I ONE night attended her to the play; there happened to be a riot—Lady Maria was extremely frightened; and we were making our way through the croud, with an intention to ge [...]ut, when a man rudely caught her arm. This way Ma'am, said he. Throwing herself in my arms, "Oh! sa [...] Beverly," exclaimed she. I [...], and bore her to the car [...] which I placed her almost fainting. [...] seated myself by her and ordered [...] [Page 57]carriage to drive home. Lady Maria asked for her brother; I told her "we had left him at the theatre; but if she wished, I would return and seek him." —"O, no!" said she, "do not leave me."—I pressing her hand to my heart, told her, I would wish never to leave her;—her head was still reclined on my shoulder.—At these words she sighed, and starting, withdrew the hand I pressed, saying, "excuse me, Mr. Beverly, I have been exceedingly fright­ened." The coach now stopped, and I attended her to the parlour. Lady Beau­clair asked, "why they came home so soon, and what had become of Lord Sidly." I related what had happened. "I have caused a great deal of trouble to Mr. Beverly," said Lady Maria; "he was so good as to carry me a considerable distance in his arms." I could only an­swer her by a look, which I thought she understood. The day following, the Hon. Charles Sidly set out on his trav­els. His departure afforded mutual concern, as he was to take the [...] of [Page 58]Europe; and he was not expected to return in some years.

SOON after this, I returned home, I corresponded with Lord Sidly, but dared not mention my beloved Maria, agreea­ble to the dictates of my heart. When the bathing season came on, he wrote me, that he should soon wait on Lady Maria to Bath, as she was in ill health, and begged me to procure him lodgings; which I immediately did, and waited with impatience for their arrival. It was not long before I received a card with the welcome intelligence. I flew to their lodgings, Lord Sidly met me on the stairs, and expressed the greatest happiness at seeing me. Lady Maria arose as I entered; she looked very pale and languid: I begged her to be seated, and told her, "I was grieved to owe the happiness of seeing her, to ill health." Lord Sidly soon left the room;—I was thrown from my guard, and said some­thing of a more tender nature, than I had ever dared before: she seemed much affected, but I thought not dis­pleased.—In the evening, I attended my sister Caroline to her lodgings.—They [Page 59]were equally pleased with each other; and the next day we went to the rooms. The Ladies prefered walking home; as it was but a very short distance, Lord Sidly gave his arm to Caroline, and I offered mine to Lady Maria. We had not proceeded far, when she said, "you know not how unhappy I have been, Mr. Beverly, since you left us." She then told me, "that her Papa had en­couraged the addresses of Lord Winter; whom I knew was very disagreeable to her: that he had given her positive or­ders to prepare to marry him.—And had it not been for the intercession of her brother, who had prevailed on him to allow her a little time, she should e're this have been dragged to the altar." She said, "she would rather die, than marry that deserted Lord, which she supposed she should be obliged to do when she returned." This was like fire to my brain; though I had no right to hope. Yet to see her sacrificed to a su­perannuated wretch, who had nothing to recommend him but imm [...] was more than I could bear [...] pressing the hand I held to my boso [...] [Page 60]"my beloved Maria," cried I, "this cannot, this must not be."—She sighed, but made no reply. We had now reach­ed the house: Lord Sidly insisted upon our spending the day with them.—My father waited on him the next day, and invited them to dine; they accepted the invitation. That and many more days we spent together. I was no longer master of myself: I declared my senti­ments without reserve, and pathetically lamented my hard fortune; I had the pleasure to find she was not displeased: but would say, "O! Beverly, I am sufficiently wretched, do not add to my distress, by making me think I am the cause of unhappiness to you."

THUS we had spent six weeks, when one evening at an assembly, we were ac­costed by Lord Winter: he told Lady Maria, "he had just arrived from town; and as he did not know where she lodg­ed, he expected to have the pleasure of meeting her there: and very carelessly begged her to go down the next dance with him. She answered, "she should dance but little, and was engaged;" "who is the happy person that usurps [Page 61] [...] right," said he, indignantly. "Very well my Lady, perhaps I may not be al­lowed to wait on you home neither?" —"Very probable, my Lord," replied she. At that moment, the dance was called—as I advanced, she arose and gave me her hand; she trembled so exceed­ingly, she could scarcely move. When the dance was over, seeing her very much flurried, I led her to a seat, and called her brother and Caroline to her. I told Lord Sidly, the sight of Lord Winter had affected her so much, she was near fainting.—"Lord Winter here!" said he: "Damn him, he'll be the death of the girl yet."

IN the course of the evening, Lord Winter had learnt, "I was the only one that had attended Lady Maria since her arrival at Bath: that she spent the great­est part of her time at our house; in short, it was supposed, I was her favored admirer." He advanced, and address­ing himself to her, asked "if he should order his chariot."—She thanked him; but said, "she should return with her brother;"—Lord Sidly gave him a card, and begged the favor of his company so [Page 62]dine the next day: he returned a slight bow, and retired to a little distance, where he could observe who went into the carriage.—I led Lady Maria to the door; when Lord Sidly said, "Bever­ly I must see you to-morrow morning." —I went accordingly, and learnt Lady Maria had been so ill all night, she was not able to come down to breakfast. "I cannot conceive," said Lord Sidly, "why my father insists on sacrificing the girl for riches."—"Oh! my Lord," cried I, "do you know no way to save her?"—He saw my emotion, but taking no notice of it, said, "what can I do for her? can't you advise me?"—"I could, but"—"but what," said he smiling, "I suppose you would advise me to get some clever fellow to take her out of his way."—"My Lord," said I, starting, "be not amazed, would not you like to assist me in preventing this match?"—"I would willingly lose my life, to contribute to her felicity." "But if I'm not mistaken, you must preserve your life, to make her happy." "Hen­ry," continued he, "I will trifle no longer. I have long seen the affection [Page 63]between you and Maria; and with my parent's consent, no man on earth I would as soon call brother—but as it is, I can't bear to see her wretched. I am sensible the blame will fall on me, but I am better able to bear it."

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

WE had been nearly two hours to­gether, [Page 64]when Lord Sidly returned; he seemed thoughtful, and walked the room sometime without speaking; then turn­ing to us, he said Lord Winter had left Bath; that he had made particular en­quiries concerning me, and was heard to say, "Lord Beauclair should be ac­quainted with his children's behaviour." "What is to be done, Beverly?" con­tinued he.—I told him, "I thought no time was to be lost; and begged him to let us set out immediately for Scot­land."

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

LORD Sidly, at parting, put a bank­note of fifteen hundred pounds in Ma­ria's [Page 65]hand; she was very much affected, and said, "O, my brother! what will you not suffer on my account." "If you are happy, my dear girl, I shall be amply repaid." About nine miles from Bath, we took a post-chaise, and Lord Sidly's carriage returned: honest John had provided relays at every stage, so that we were not obliged to wait a mo­ment. We had travelled all night, but the next day, poor Maria was so fa­tigued, we were obliged to rest some hours. We arrived without any acci­dent. Maria bore the journey much better than I had expected she would. We were immediately married, and took lodgings, as I thought it best not to re­turn directly.

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

[Page 66]LORD Winter had no sooner arrived in town, than he waited on Lord Beau­clair, and told him, it was currently re­ported, that Lady Maria received the addresses of Mr. Beverly, and Lord Sid­ly encouraged it. It is impossible to express the rage of his lordship, on this information: he dispatched a servant to his son with orders to return immedi­ately, without mentioning the cause—before he received the letter, the news of our elopement and marriage, had reached town;—Lord Beauclair's rage was now beyond all bounds;—he wrote to my father in the most approbious manner; and also to Lord Sidly, in which he forbid him ever to appear in his presence; that he forever renounced Maria; and was determined never to hear any interposition in favor of either of them.

LORD Sidly was extremely distressed on reading his father's letter; he did not think he would have carried his resent­ment to such lengths.—He immediately set out for London. Upon his arrival, he went directly to his father's: when a servant said, he had orders to tell him he [Page 67]had no home there.—He took lodgings near, and wrote to his mother in the most affecting manner.—After writing a third letter, he received an answer, by Susan Artless, Lady Maria's maid.—This was much colder than he expected from her. She informed him, Lord Beauclair was determined not to see him: and begged he would never mention her disobedient daughter to her; that Susan should be ordered to pack up her clothes and jewels, which should be sent to her; and desired him to let her know, it was all she had to expect. Poor Susan wept bitterly, and begged she might go to her mistress, which she soon after did.

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

HERE Mr. Villars stopped, from an incapability of proceeding.—He after some time thus continued: "Some weeks after our marriage, Susan arrived with my wife's trunks, and a letter from [Page 68]Lord Sidly; he mentioned his going to India, but said he would pay us a visit before he sailed.—Maria and I had both wrote to Lord Beauclair; and our let­ters had been returned unopened; she could bear with greater fortitude, their cruelty to herself, than to her brother; it most sensibly affected us, that he should suffer so much for us; he spent a fortnight with us before he sailed, and seemed perfectly chearful.—He told my wife to be entirely easy, on his account, that leaving her happy, would be a great means of making him so. Soon after he left us, we received a letter from him, in which he impowered me to draw upon his banker for two hundred a year, until his return.

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

MY father had been obliged to mort­gage his estate for several hundreds. [Page 69]Lord Beauclair bought the mortgage, and immediately closed it; this height­ened my father's resentment against me; he had never been perfectly reconciled; he said, he was convinced I should be his ruin.—My wife proposed mortga­ging our estate, to clear his, but he would not accept of it. His was accord­ingly sold for much less than the value. —My sister was just married to Colonel Montgomery, and went with him to Scotland. Had my father been pru­dent, he still had sufficient to live com­fortably; but his spirit was too great to retrench.

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

HERE Mr. Villars ceased—the tears flowed so fast, he was obliged to leave the room; in a short time he returned, and thus continued: "When my son was about six months old; Lord and [Page 70]Lady Beauclair came to Bath. One day Lady Beauclair saw the nurse and child walking before my father's door, (for though very much incensed with me, she was fond of my child, and would often send for him.)—She stop­ped, and asked whose child it was: when she was told, she started and walk­ed on; then returning, told the nurse to step into a milliner's shop with her; she caressed the infant. "It is a sweet boy," said she. She then took a gold medal, and tied it by a ribbon round the child's neck: the nurse asked if she should tell Mrs. Beverly to whom she was obliged. She answered, "it was not material."—When the nurse came home, she acquainted my wife with the ren­counter.—My poor Maria was near faint­ing; she knew the medal, and found her mother was still determined not to see her.—She, however, resolved again to write, but they left Bath the next day.

MY father's affairs now became des­perate—his creditors pressed upon him, and we determined to mortgage our es­tate, and send him relief as from an un­known hand. We raised eight hundred [Page 71]pounds, which we sent, enclosed in a blank paper. But, alas! we were only involving ourselves, without doing him any service. His debts were to a much greater amount than we were worth, and I saw him dragged to the prison without the power to assist him.

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

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

[Page 72]I WAS now obliged to apply to a broker, and to give an exhorbitant in­terest. It is needless to mention the many misfortunes that attended me in the course of two years; I was obliged to sell my estate. I had now one thou­sand pounds left; with which I still continued in trade, with a merchant in Bristol. Our whole stock was now em­barked in one bottom, and the fate of that was uncertain; troubles seemed to thicken upon us; anxiety for my fami­ly (for I had now two children) entirely depressed my spirits: but fortune had still greater evils in store; we had been but three years married, when we receiv­ed accounts of Lord Sidly's death: this stroke was almost too much for my poor Maria; but heaven supported her through it. He had left a will with her, which we opened, and found he had made her his heir: I commissioned a gentleman to wait on Lord Beauclair with a copy of the will; his Lordship flew in a violent rage, said that "Lord Henry had been very imprudent, to al­low us any thing while he was abroad; that the will was a vile forgery, and I [Page 73]should suffer for it." He was indeed as good as his word; for three days after, I received his answer and was arrested for forgery.

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

"I begged the bailiff to be patient; that I was certain I could obtain bail." —He said, "he had orders to admit of none."—We then proceeded to a close uncomfortable gaol, where I was inform­ed I was to remain until I had my trial. —Mr. Traffic (the gentleman with whom I had commenced but [...] ­haved with the greatest friend [...] undertook to have the will proved; [...] [Page 74]unfortunately for us, Sir William Har­dy, one of the witnesses, was in India; the other, a Mr. Scrip, an attorney, im­mediately absconded; we made the strictest search for him, but to no pur­pose; and it was supposed he was well paid for his absence.

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

THIS was sent by a servant of Lord Beauclair's, who told Maria, he believed his mistress was compelled to write as she did; for she wept very much when she gave him the letter. Maria answer­ed it immediately; she said it required no time to consider; that though she was determined to live and die with me, and trusted to a just God, who knew [Page 75]my innocence, to see me righted;—to be reconciled to her mother, was her most earnest wish; but was grieved, it could not be accomplished but on terms she never would consent to.

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

MY wife had one day, brought the children to see me; I was caressing them whilst she leaned over me, the tears flowing fast down her cheeks, when the door opened, and the Hon. Charles Sidly, (now Lord Sidly, who we had not heard was returned) entered. Tho' he had not so much tenderness in his disposition as his brother, he could not behold this scene unaffected. He ten­derly embraced his sister, said [...] was grieved to see us thus; and [...]ly wished the affair could be cle [...] [Page 76]up." He said that Lord Beauclair had been more exasperated against us since Lord Sidly's death, knowing that his unkindness to him, which drove him abroad, was entirely owing to us: He begged we would keep up our spirits; he did not in the least doubt the au­thenticity of the will, (which we had shewn him) and hoped we might have it [...] our power to prove it.—He seemed much amazed, when we informed him of Mr. Scrip's sudden disappearance. At parting, he put a note of five hundred pounds in Maria's hand, and said he would see us again shortly.

I NOW set about settling my affairs, as I was resolved to leave England, as soon as I could procure my liberty.—At the end of three weeks, Lord Sidly arrived, with an order for my enlarge­ment. He said he was sorry to own, his father seemed unreasonably incensed against us; and he would advise me to leave England, at least for a time. That I might depend upon his interest, though he did not dare openly to es­pouse my cause.—I told him, it was our intention, as I had no wish to stay i [...] [Page 77]place, in which I had experienced so ma­ny rubs from fortune.—He then gave me a note for £. 400, and told me I might every year draw upon him for the like sum, through Mr. Traffic; and if ever the will could be proved, he should with pleasure resign the estate his broth­er left us.

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

I LEFT Lord Sidly's will with Mr. Traffic, and a power (if it could be pro­ved,) to sue [...] the estate. I made no [Page 78]doubt, but Lord Beauclair's hatred would still follow me; so thought it expedi­ent to change my name to Villars, which indeed was my real one; but as I never had received any of the estate of Bever­ly, I was not obliged to keep the name. Our whole fortune, after providing for our sea stores, amounted to no more than twelve hundred pounds. We took no servant with us, but Mrs. Worthy, the nurse, and a girl that attended Lou­isa, who was eleven months old.

THE fourth of June, 1766, we sailed. The weather was exceeding fine, and continued so, till the next afternoon, when a gust suddenly came up. The vessel rolled excessively, and my wife and poor little Henry were very sick. Mrs. Worthy took him for the benefit of the air, on deck, but unused to the motion of a ship, her head turned; she reeled, and fell overboard—and I never saw them more."—Here Mr. Villars was for some time incapable of proceeding. "It is needless" continued he, after it had recovered himself, "to describe our distress on this occasion: the vessel im­mediately brought too, but the [...] [Page 79]ran so high, it was impossible to save them. We saw two fishing boats at a distance, but there could be no possibil­ity of their taking them up.

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

MY wife and child's ill health, deter­mined me to stay in Madeira▪ I wrote to Mr. Traffic, and informed him of my [Page 80]loss, and my intention of remaining at the island, which I desired him to keep secret, as well as my changing my name. I also inclosed letters to my mother and sister, whom I had not heard from in some time; I placed my small stock in a principal house, and was enabled to live tolerably well.

NOTHING material happened, during our residence in Madeira; except my wife presenting me with another son, whom we called Edward, after my fa­ther.—The climate not agreeing with either of us; we embarked for Ameri­ca. We were now possessed of about two thousand pounds sterling. "To you sir," addressing himself to Mr. Sommers, "I was recommended, and have received the greatest marks of friendship from many gentlemen in this town.—I have lived several years com­fortably; and had it not been for the recollection of past misfortunes, I might say happily.—Here my youngest son was born, who after the Hon. Charles Sidly, we named Charles.—At the com­mencement of the war, we retired to the Village, where we now live, and endeav­our [Page 81]in peaceful retirement to be grate­ful to God, who has supported us thro' so many trials, and has now placed us in a situation to enjoy the necessaries, and many of the comforts of life."

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

Mr. VILLARS seemed surprised, and begged him to explain himself. "You see before you, sir," continued Mr. Har­grave, "an orphan honored with the [...]vor of Lord and [...] Beauclair. I have been brought [...]er their care [...] [...] of her [...] [Page 82]within a few years, I never heard the name of Lady Maria; and was much surprised to find it was uncertain wheth­er she was still living.

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

HARGRAVE [...]id, he would be ruled by him, for the present, but if ever [...] Beauclair's [...]e came in his possession, he should [...] deter him from doing ju [...] ­tice. M [...] obliging things were said on [Page 83]both sides, but it growing late, the party separated for the night, after Colonel Rightly had engaged them to dine with him the next day. Miss Sommers de­lighted with the generosity of her heroic Harry (as she often called him) retired, but not to rest, the drowsy god was ban­ished from her eyes, by pleasing reflec­tions; she rose, and determinied to spend the remainder of the night in writing to her dear Louisa, to whom she gave a full account of what had passed. "Be hap­py my dear Louisa," concluded she, "you will have a fortune that sir Wil­liam Bellmore can have no objections to, whilst I glory in bestowing mine on the man who so nobly prefers generosity to affluence." It was very late before Miss Sommers finished her letter, which she dispatched early next morning.

AT two o'clock, Captain Bellmore and Mr. Hargrave attended the Ladies to Col. Rightly's, as Mr. Sommers had business that would engage him till late. The old gentleman received them with his usual politeness, and passed many encomiums on the generous behaviour of Hargrave, in which all the company [Page 84]joined him. Mr. Villars and Mr. Som­mers soon joined them, and the day was spent with the utmost cordiality. Soon after dinner Mr. Hargrave went out of the room, and stayed some time. Mrs. Sommers, addressing herself to Colonel Rightly, said, "I dare say our young friend has gone to pay a visit to his old nurse:" "No doubt of it madam," re­plied he. He then informed Mr. Vil­lars of the many particulars relating to Mrs. Carely; "come," continued he, "we will pass her room, as if by chance, and you will be more than ever delight­ed with Hargrave. I think he never appears in a more amiable light, than when he is saying obliging things to this poor woman." Mr. Villars then fol­lowed him. The room door was open; they entered.—"Harry," said Colonel Rightly, "I am going to ask Mr. Vil­lars's opinion of some curiosities in my greenhouse; will you be of the party?" Mrs. Carely rose as they entered, on see­ing Mr. Villars, she started, and seemed very much astonished; Mr. Villars [...] equally struck. What is the matter [...] said Hargrave, "do you know this good [Page 85]woman? "Oh!" said he, she is so like — He had no time to say more, she flew to him, and grasping his knees, ex­claimed, it is he—it is he himself, and fell senseless on the floor. Mr. Hargrave ran for water, while Col. Rightly assist­ed, to lay her on the bed. Villars walk­ed the room, in great agitation; the Col. and Hargrave were equally astonish­ed; both wished but dared not ask an explanation. An account of Mrs. Car­ley's situation reached the rest of the company, who all immediately went to her room; she at length opened her eyes, but seemed insensible who were around her. Mr. Villars still continued walking, sometimes stopping and look­ing at Hargrave, then at Mrs. Carley. —Hargrave at length broke silence. "Sir," said he, "if you were to speak to her, it might perhaps bring her to her recollection." Oh! returned he [...] grasp­ing his hand, could I be but certain [...] a disappointment would be too—too much—here a friendly shower of tears c [...]me to his relief; the sound of his [...] roused Mrs. Carley from her [...]— ‘Where [...] is [...] said [Page 86]she, rising; can I once more behold my beloved Master.’ "My dear Mrs. Worthy," exclaimed he, "where is my"—. He could not proceed.

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

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

"AH! my dear Harry!" said Mr. Villars, "I can now easily account for my feelings, when I first saw you. I then thought it proceeded from your likeness to Lord Sidly; but it was [...] that pointed out my son. How thank­ful [Page 87]ought I to be to Divine Providence, who by an unforeseen accident, has be­stowed the greatest of blessings on me."

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

COL. Rightly now informed the La­dies tea was waiting. They then bid Mrs. Carely good night, and returned to the parlour.—After tea, the com­pany returned to Mr. Sommers's, and the evening was spent with the greatest satisfaction.—Mr. Villars, long a stran­ger to happiness, now confessed, that thus unexpectedly meeting with his son, and finding him so amiable, amply compen­sated for all the troubles he had met with. [Page 88]Though still his joy was not complete until his beloved Maria was acquainted with, and a partaker of his felicity.—He then proposed they should set out the next day for —. This Col. Rightly and Mr. Sommers objected to, saving, it would be wrong to surprise Mrs. Villars; and advised him to write and prepare her for their coming.

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

Mr. VILLARS, at that moment, re­collected the conversation that had [...] ­ed at his house, when first Miss Som­mers was mentioned.—He took [...] hand, and smiling, said, "go, my [...] Eliza, write your friends the [...] that awaits them and give them your opinion of my Henry."—A deeper [...] [Page 89]now o'erspread her lovely face; and, happy at having an opportunity to retire, she curtsied and withdrew.—She met Hargrave^* in the passage and told him, she was going to write to Louisa. He begged her to let him add a postscript. "I must tell my sister," added he, "my felicity will not be complete, until I have made her amiable friend her sister."—"Ah! said Eliza, smiling, can I aspire to the grandson of Lord Beauclair?"—"Aspire! my dearest girl [...] virtues like thine, merit much more than I have, or can have to bestow. If I was so happy as to gain a small place in your esteem, when I could not tell you on whom you bestowed that favor, let now the broth­er of your Louisa plead for a confirma­tion of that happiness, he only dared to hope for."

"HARGRAVE," said she, (resuming her sprightly air) "you surely forget I have a long letter to write, and do you think I can write any thing coherent, [Page 90]after you have been talking to me in this manner.—But go and comfort Capt. Bellmore, for I see his face amazingly lengthened since your journey to — has been postponed for a few days."—"I will obey you," replied he, "for be­lieve me, next to the happiness I hope for with my beloved Eliza, the first wish of my heart, is to see him happy with Louisa. He then left her, and went in search of his friend, who was waiting for him with Mr. Villars.

Mr. SOMMERS begged the company the next day to dine, and proposed that good Mrs. Carely should be there; as he supposed she had many interesting things to relate; this was concluded on, and they wished him a good night.—Eliza spent part of the night in writing to Louisa; but, as the reader is already acquainted with the purport of the let­ter, we will omit it, and return to Mr. Hargrave; who, after wishing his Fa­ther a good night, returned to his friend, whose bosom was torn between [...] and fears. His Louisa's promi [...] knew was [...]cred; but the unce [...] of Mr. Villars [...]avoring his [...] [Page 91]him wretched; he was walking the room in a pensive manner, when his friend en­tered.—"What, William," said he, "ever thoughtful—come, be chearful, and be a partaker of the happiness I [...]ow enjoy. Your Henry is not the nothing, he once thought himself."—"I do [...] in­deed most sincerely rejoice in this unex­pected discovery," returned the Captain, "you know my heart—I need not tell my friend, that whatever gives him pain or pleasure, has the same effect on me; how great then must be my satisfaction, to find him a member of so worthy a family."

"I NEVER." said Hargrave, "was happy in my situation, though I expe­rienced the greatest kindness from Lord and Lady Beauclair. I ever looked on myself as an usurper; and the idea of Lady Maria's sufferings were always in my mind. I had heard of many things that my father related, and it was my determination to find her, if alive; [...] Oh! William, what must be my feel­ings, to find that injured woman in my Mother.—I wish much to hear Mrs. Carely's account, for I am convinced [Page 92]Lord Beauclair is ignorant of my being his grand-son."

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

MUCH more was said on the same subject, and Hargrave had nearly per­suaded the Capt. to hope, and be happy, when the clock, by one stroke, reminded them of its being time to retire. The next day, the company all assembled at Mr. Sommers's; as soon as the clot [...] removed, Mrs. Carely was called up; she was no sooner seated, than Mr. Vil­lars begged she would [...]vor them with an account of what befel her, after his [Page 93]fall from the ship. "Ah! sir, we met with many difficulties; but since I am so happy as to see my dear young master with you, I shall die contented." She then began as follows:

"YOU no doubt sir, remember master Harry was very sick, and I carried him on deck for the benefit of the air; it was careless in me to walk so near the side of the vessel. I know not what it was, but something struck me, and I fell overboard; I clasped the child in my arms, and I believe for some time I float­ed on the water; the first I remember was finding myself in a dirty fishing-boat, with two men; they carried us to a shore which was not far distant, and which they told me was the coast of Ireland. I was too weak to walk, and one of the men supported me, while the other carried the child; they carried me to a neat little house near the banks of the river, and the women supplied us with dry clothes; the dear child seemed almost insensible to every thing till the next day, he then cried very much for his Mama. The good woman allowed [...] to stay several days, and then advised [Page 94]me to apply for a service, which I did; but I could learn very little with the child. I had three guineas, which I en­deavored to keep, to pay our passage to England.

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

THE poor dear child had forgot to call on his papa and mama; and I would not remind him of them, as I thought it best in our present situation, [...] call him my own. When we arrived in Portsmouth, I had but two guineas left; I intended going to Bristol, to Mr. Traffic, from whom I was in hopes to hear of you and my Lady. I set out in a waggon. I met on the road a fellow servant, that had lived with us at Bath [...] I asked him if Mr. Traffic still lived [...] [Page 95]Bristol; he said he did, but that he had left town for the summer. I begged him to tell me if there was any accounts from you; he said he had been inform­ed, you had sailed for India; that the ship was lost, and it was supposed, all had perished.

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

[Page 96]I determined to go to London, if I begged my way. I set out the next day, carrying the child on my back, some­times he would walk a little way. I sold the best gown I had, and was enabled to hire a lodging every night. We at length arrived in London; and I waited on Lady Beauclair, at a time I knew his Lordship was out. I got admittance, and related the whole story to her Lady­ship; she at first thought me an impos­tor; but when I shewed her the medal, she wept exceedingly; "poor boy!" said she, "it is hard he should suffer for the faults of his parents. Here nurse, added she, is six guineas, take a small lodging nigh, and let me see you again, as soon as you have an opportunity." I had thanked her, and was taking my leave, when the child began to cry.—"What is the matter with him nurse," said her Ladyship, "nurse." cried the child, "I used to call her nurse, and there was somebody I used to call Papa and Mama—but they are all gone now," said he crying, "and I have no friend left but my poor mother here: won't you, madam, be my friend?" Th [...] [Page 97]affected her Ladyship, she could scarce speak: "yes, indeed, I will." answered she, "but I cannot see you longer now. Go home, nurse, continued she "and be sure you let no one know whose child he is." I soon after took my leave. I went again in a few days; her Ladyship asked me very particularly, if I had obey­ed her orders? I told her I had; she then told me she would see me in a short time in company with Lord Beauclair, and that I must not contradict any thing she said. I the next day was sent for, I was shewn into my Lady's dressing-room. She told me, she wished to have the child in the house; and had men­tioned him, as a poor child she had ta­ken a fancy to, and that I must most solemnly promise, not to mention to the child or any one else who he was; or make any enquiry about his parents. Though my heart recoiled at this prom­ise, I was compelled to make it.—She then [...]t me, and returned to the [...] I was soon [...]er sent for.—My [...] soon entered. "Here, my Lord," [...]e, [...] is the little boy I mentioned [Page 98]to you."—"He is a fine fellow," an­swered he: "and I dare say if you wish to take the child, his parents will have no objection; as it will be greatly to his advantage."—"His parents are dead," replied her Ladyship, "and he has no one to take care of him but this good woman.—"Then you had better take her in your service, as the child will want a nurse," returned his Lordship.—I was now ordered to give up my lodging, and return immediately.—Oh, Sir! I tho't my heart would have burst, to see the dear child taken into his Grandfather's house as an object of charity; I believe my Lady read my thoughts; for as soon as we were alone, she said, "you no doubt, nurse, think it strange, that I do not own my Grandson; believe me, I would wil­lingly do it; but if Lord Beauclair had the most distant idea of his being Bev­erly's son, he would never be prevailed on to see him."—She then told me to call him Henry Hargrave.

I WAS shewn to a very genteel apart­ment near her Ladyship's: in this room were two beds, one for my sweet boy [...] and the other for myself.—There [...] [Page 99]one closet filled with genteel cloathing for him, and a great deal of very good for myself. The other was filled with a number of curious toys.—I shall never forget the joy he expressed in the open­ing of these closets; I had got all his things down, and he was sitting in the midst of them, when her Ladyship en­tered; he was so deeply engaged, he did not perceive her; she held up her finger in token of silence, and stood for some time silently admiring him; he at last saw, and ran to her; he took her hand and kissed it.

"AH, madam!" said he, "have you put all these pretty things here for me?" "Yes my dear," answered her Ladyship, "and you shall have a great many more, if you are a good boy."—"Indeed I will be very good [...] and love you dearly, if you will allow it," said he.—This seemed to affect her very much: and indeed it was a long time before she could see him, unmoved.—Her affection for him seem­ed daily to encrease, and my Lord [...]w very fond of him. Masters of [...] kind were got for him, and my [Page 100]whole employment was to wait on this dear child; and had it not [...] for the recollection of yourself and my Lady, I should have [...] perfectly happy.

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

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

SOMETIME after the war broke out in America, he expressed a d [...]re to go into the army. My Lord a [...] very much averse to it; but [...] him so anxious, [...] a lieutenancy.—Duri [...] [Page 101]stay at lord Beauclair's, I married Ed­ward Carely, his Lordship's Butler. My Lady was so very uneasy at Mr. Hargrave's going alone to America, that my Lord, to make her easy, gave Edward twenty guineas to enlist, and then procured him a halbert, that we might come out with Mr. Hargrave, which we did; and both of us endeav­ored to be as serviceable as was in our power.

BUT, alas! my poor Edward was shot at the defeat of Cornwallis;—since that time, I have still continued with Mr. Hargrave.—The regiment had orders to march one morning by the dawn of day: I went, as usual, to know if my young master had any commands for me; when, to my great surprise, I found his bed not tumbled. He was gone—and I know not where to look for him. I made every enquiry for him, but to no pur­ [...]e.—The fourth day, I heard two [...]icers talking about him: they said, that Captain Bellmore was [...]; and if Mr. Hargrave [...] search of him, he would have [...] [Page 102]back, had he not been taken. They then said, it would, they were afraid, go hard with him, as he would doubt­ [...] be taken for a spy.

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

HERE the good woman ceased, a [...] the company thanked her for the [...] formation she had given them. [...] Villars said he should ever [...]gard [...] [Page 103]for the care she had taken of his son; and the extreme tenderness she had shewn him; he then said, when Col. Rightly could provide a person to take her place, she should go and spend the remainder of her days with them, to which she eagerly consented.

It was no [...] concluded they should set out in a few days. As nothing material happened during these few days, we will leave the gentlemen, and return to the little cottage of Mr. Vil­lars, where the charming Louisa was sitting at work with her mamma.—Love until now, a stranger to her breast, had robbed her cheeks of its wonted bloom, and left a languid paleness, that rather added to her charms. Mrs. Villars saw, with pain, the change; and had for some time sought an opportunity to speak to her.

POOR Louisa knew a Peace between England and America was negocia­ting; and consequently, the [...] would be recalled. Though [...] never consent to a clandestine [...], still she could not suppo [...] never again beholding [...] [Page 104]William.—Forgetting me was not alone, she sighed deeply. Mrs. Vil­lars now spoke: "what is the matter Louisa?" said she, "you are not well, I fear.—A conscious blush o'erspread her cheek; I am very well, madam, why do you think otherwise?"—"No, my dear Louisa," replied Mrs. Villars, "your heart is not at ease; be not surprised, when I tell you I have long known the cause of the change, which I grieve to see in your health.

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

SOME hours past in this [...] when Louisa received a letter [...] which gave them [...] Hargrave's gener [...] [Page 105]before he was discovered to be the son of Mr. Villars.

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

THE boys expressed their satisfaction in the liveliest manner, Louisa for a time forgot the sorrows of her heart; and the voice of joy and gladness re­sounded in this peaceful habitation. They passed three days in the utmost impatience; on the fourth, which was [...] were expected Louisa, at­ [...]e [...]ed by her two brother, and several [Page 106]of the genteel people of the village, ro [...] out to meet them. At the end of four mile [...], they perceived them advan­cing. At the fight of Capt. Bellmore, (who Louisa had not been informed was coming with them,) the bridle dropped from her hand, and she was near falling to the ground. A Miss Herbert, and her brother, who were nigh, supported her, and she soon re­covered, sufficiently to go on.

Mr. VILLARS was extremely pleas­ed with this mark of attention in his neighbours; the amiable Henry imme­diately dismounted, and flew to [...] sister. "Let me assist you to [...]light, my dear Louisa," said he, "you look ill; shall I call for any assista [...]" "No, my dear brother, my spirits are only a little flurried at this unex­pected happiness," returned she. The company now all advanced: The complaisance which was due to the brother on this occasion, could scarcely [...] the Capt. from flying to [...] be­fore her brother, who, after [...] to his breast, [...] his friend, and r [...]ned to his brother, [...] [Page 109]bring about a reconciliation; for since Lord Beauclair's health has been de­clining, I have had great reason to think something hangs heavy at his heart. This once accomplished, Sir John Bell­more's consent to your union is certain."

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

CAPT. Bellmore now approached; — Henry, making an excuse, left ther [...]; "William," said he, turning to Louisa as he went out, "knows my intentions, you need be under [...]o restraint with [...]."—What an excellent Brother have I," said Louisa.—"You know [...]gh his worth [...] returned the Capt. [...] then told him the conversation [...]ch had just passed.—"Oh! my dear Louisa," said [...], "he has not let you into [...] his views, he [...] de­termined to make us happy."—"You [...] soo [...]." interrupted [...], [Page 110]"perhaps [...] to return. —My dearest [...]he, pressing [...] to his [...] nothing but death shall keep me from you.—I am obliged to [...]o with the regiment; but [...] soon return."

LOUISA [...] with difficult refrain from tear [...], the thought of their going was too much for her.—A conversation [...]he most tender, ensued; and nearly two hours past imperceptibly.

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

HENRY told him ingenuously, that there was no reason to expect that with [...]rtune; but he should endeavor to obtain it and [...]is F [...]r [...] faile [...], not to oppose a union, [...] which the happine [...] of two people m [...] depended.

Mr. Villars was so [...]ding th [...] Son [...] for [...] [Page 111]at length said, he would do nothing to o [...]ose their happiness. This was [...]o nig [...] the son would press no farth [...] but acknowledged it a particu­lar favour [...] himself.

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

SEVERAL weeks were spent in the greatest felicity; when Mr. Hargrave received a letter from Mr. Sommers, in which he requested him to come im­mediately to town, as he had received dispatches from England for him. He [...] prepared for his journey, [...] but the [...] day; leaving [...], who was [...] as [...] his Eliza, ob­literated [Page 112]almost every other idea, and he arrived in town much sooner than could be expected.—Mr. Sommers was gone out of town, and not expected in less than two days. Mrs. Sommers re­ceived him with the greatest cordiality, and begged he would make her house his home, whilst in town; to this he willingly consented—and his time was spent entirely with his beloved Eliza, excepting a visit to Col. Rightly, and the good Nurse, Mrs. Carely.

MR. SOMMERS at length arrived; and on seeing Mr. Hargrave, who ad­vanced to meet him, he bowed respect­fully; and taking a letter out of his pocket, presented it to him.^*—My Lord." said he, I beg leave to wish your Lordship joy of a title and fortune, of which few [...]re [...]as deserving." He [...]rted, turned pale, and let the letter drop from his hand: Mr. Sommers took it up, and again presented it to him.—"Be not surprised, my Lord." said he, Lord Beauclair [...]ed to a good [Page 113]old age, and died sensible of his error. —Ah! then let me see the letter," said he eagerly; and wiping away the tears which flowed very fast, he opened it, and read as follows:

"Oh!" cried he, his tears flowing [Page 115]afresh, "had I been with him in his last days!—Providence, for wise purposes, had ordered it otherwise," said Mr. Sommers; "had you not come to America, you would, in all probability, never have discovered the worthiest of parents." "True," an­swered he, "I must not repine. I loved Lord Beauclair as a parent, though I only thought him a benefactor, and to have attended him in his illness and to have administered consolation to his afflicted mind, would have been a great satisfaction to me; but I thank the Almighty who, by the most mysterious means, has led me to my parents, and enabled me to make them happy in their decline of life." "Those senti­ments," answered Mr. Sommers, "are worthy of yourself."

MRS. Sommers and her daughter now rose, to [...] the accustomary compliments to [...] Lord; after her mother, Miss Sommers attempted to [...]ea [...]eart was too full for [...]; she thought him entirely lost to her; the [...] died [...] on [...], and she would have sunk [Page 116]on the sofa, had he not caught her in his arms, and turning to Mr. Som­mers, "On you, Sir, depends my fate, I cannot be happy without your charm­ing daughter; I often attempted to speak to you on this subject, but my dependent state kept me silent; the fortune that awaits me, I shall only prize in sharing it with her." Mr. Sommers had for some time seen an attachment between his young friend and daughter, and would never have been averse to the match; but now to hear him speak in this manner, was quite beyond his most sanguine expect­ation. "My Lord," said he, "I hope Eliza is sensible of the honour you do her, nothing can give me more pleasure than such a connection; though your fortune is more than she has a right to expect; believe me, I esteem your vir­tues much higher, and should have been happy, had you put it in my pow­er to have convinced you, that my con­sent would have as freely been given to Mr. Hargrave as to Lord Beauclair." "Oh! Sir," returned his Lordship, "you have long since convinced me of [Page 117]your friendship; you now make me the happiest of man; I will endeavor to merit, as far as lies in m [...] power, the treasure you have bestowed on me; her happiness shall be my chief study."

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

LORD Beauclair told her, there was an absolute necessity for his going im­mediately to England: and earnestly begged to have the ceremony performed [Page 118]before he went. — The thought of part­ing, drew tears from Eliza. She con­sented, to his wishes; and it was con­cluded, the marriage should take place as soon as Mr. Villars's family could come to town.

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

MRS. Villars bore the death of her father, with greater resignation than her son expected; his having mentioned her with kindness in his last moments. seemed a great consolation. "He [...] forgiven me!" exclaimed she, clasping her hands, "he no doubt, blessed me [Page 119]with his dying breath! and I am happy; my mother too! could I once more throw myself at her feet."

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

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

THEIR amiable son took a hand of each. "You shall live as you please, [...] dear Parents," said he, "only let me have the happiness of having you near me." He then informed them of [Page 120] [...] [Page 121]to her chamber, to [...] They all advanced [...] the young Lord. [...] down the cheek of the gentle Louisa, her [...]th­er's good fortune, was [...] by the death of her Grandfather; who, unkind as he had been, she was always taught to rev [...]e: "come my dear Louisa," cried her Brother, "be chearful; what do you say for a trip to England." "Ah!" said she, looking at her Father. "True," said Mr. Villars, your broth­er has even persuaded me to go [...] then turned her eyes on the Captain, who was in an extacy —"my dear Henry," said he to him in a low voice, "you are the [...]," Louisa and her Brother [...] much satisfaction [...] going to [...].

[...] [Page 122]of the amiable Henry. The [...] of their qui [...]ng the place was soon known; a [...] sincerely regretted. A gentleman whose lands joined Mr. Villars, purchased the farm; and prep­arations were made for [...]ir rem [...]; which was accomplished in [...].

LORD Beauclair, [...] wrote to [...] Sommers, to apprize her of their [...]ning: they had a short passage, [...]ed, amidst the congratulations [...] friends. Mr. S [...] insisted on their mak [...] house [...] home, during their stay [...]wn. [...] Mrs. Carely, immediate [...] Mrs. Villars; she threw herself at [...] feet, and bashed her hands with h [...]. Mrs. Villars was very much af­fected, she wished [...] ask her [...] purpose ret [...] to her chamber.

SOON after they arrived [...] made for the [...] of Lord Beauclair and Miss Sommers, which took place [...] The [...] [Page 123]and flounced with a silver net; [...] with bunches of white roses. and lillies of [...]; her fine dark hair, undisguised by [...], hung in ring­lets [...] her neck [...] her head, she wore a sprig of lillies of the valley, and a white leather.

LORD Beauclair looked remarkably well; he was dressed entirely in his reg­imentals, excepting a white sattin [...]est, trimmed with silver lace. Louisa ap­peared [...] beautiful. Capt. Bellmore, who had recovered his spir­ [...] the [...] hopes he now en­j [...]d, was rema [...] chearful, which made [...] appear [...]ticularly to Loui­sa) m [...] charming than ever [...] place, it was [...] for them to obtain leave to return home

PREPARATIONS [...] made for the [...] a few weeks they were [...] for England.— [...] Beauclair felt [...] reluctance a [...] nothing [Page 124]but the extreme affection she had for her Lord, could erase.

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

WHEN they arrived in London, Lord Beauclair took lodgings not far from Lady Beauclair, as he wished to prepare his Grandmother for the inter­view she so little expected. Mrs. Villars would [...] have flown to her mother, but [...]e was persuaded to re­ [...]in her impatience for a short time. Lord Beauclair sent to inform her of his arrival, and his intention of waiting on her immediatel [...] The old Lady [...] him with emotion; "Oh! my [...] she, [...] more [...] to [...] these a [...]— [...], can you [...] me? [...]an you [...] your [...] [Page 125]Grandfather, for the [...]kind usage your [...] has received, and our bringing you up in ignorance of your birth?—"Dear madam," said he, "I have nothing to forgive; you have been a parent to me, all happens for the best; had I known my birth, I might not have gone to America, and consequently have never found my Pa­rents." "Oh!" said she, "heaven directed you to them: my poor Maria! shall I ever behold her again—but she cannot wish to see me." "Your La­dyship is mistaken," returned [...] wishes nothing so much as to throw herself at your feet, and crave your blessing." Ah! how [...] would I gi [...] poor Beverly [...] how hardly he has been used too.

AFTER some time, Lord Beauclair told her of his marriage, and of his pa­rents having returned with him. She seemed in an extacy; she would [...] allow him to [...] a moment, but insist­ed [...] bringing [...] all to her [...] according [...] Lady's spirits had been so [...]equal: [Page 126]the task of meeting the [...] all together, but desired to see her daughter alone; the meeting can be [...]er imagined than described; they remained some time together, and then joined the compa­ny: as Lady Beauclair entered, she [...]rned to Mr. Villars; "Mr Bever­ly," said she, holding out her hand, "we have used you unkindly; can you for­give?"—"Madam," replied he; "the happiness I now enjoy, compensates for all past troubles." "I would not blame our departed friend," said she, but be­lieve me, I always wished to be a friend to you, had it been in my [...]." Mr. Villars [...]ged she would think of nothing that had pa [...] give him leave to introduce his children to her; [...]ing, he took Lady Beauclair in one hand, and Louisa in the other; and led them to her Ladyship, who re­ceived them in the most affectionate manner [...] Lord Beauclair presented his two brothers, and his friend. After a considerable time, Lady Beauclair, ad­dressing herself to Mr. Villars, asked him why he had hanged his [...] and how he wi [...]ed to [...] [Page 127]not my house," continued she, "large enough for us all? If not, Hampton- [...] ^* is at your service."

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

THEY all approved his choice: and it was concluded, that they should [...] with her Ladyship; and Lord [...] in a few days [...] his father in looking for a place to [...] Capt. Bellmore would [...]turned to his lodgings, but the [...]ly would not allow him.

[Page 128]THE next day, he set out for Port­land Grove, his Father's country seat. He had not an opportunity of speaking to Louisa in private, but at parting, put a letter into her hand, filled with the most lasting professions of love, and a promise to see her again in a short time. After taking a polite leave, he mounted his horse, and rode off.

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

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

"AH!" said Eliza, wh [...] heart caught the alarm for he [...]e, and "my dear madam, do not me [...] [Page 129]to Louisa—it is then as I feared, cried the old Lady, "if this is the case," an­swered Lady Beauclair, "they are the most unhappy people on earth."

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

LORD Beauclair soon came in lead­ing his Lady, who had on her hat and gloves. "Come Louisa," said he, Eliza wishes to walk in the Park this morning; get your hat." She rose immediately, and accompanied [...]y had not walked far, before [...] [Page 130]past two Ladies; one most superbly dressed, and very much affected, hang­ing on the arm of the other; and talked so loud, that the conversation was plainly heard by Lord Beauclair and the Ladies, "Lord, my dear," said the affected Lady, "it is monstrous to walk [...] without a Beau; why does Sir George leave us?" "He will return di­rectly, said the other—but is not your intended returned from America?" "No, I believe not," replied she care­lessly; "I am very easy about it, I as­sure you."—"Why," returned the other, "he is very handsome, they tell me."—"Aye, but he has no title; its a freak of Papa's, because there is a good deal of money. But, upon my life, I had rather have Lord Boquet, with his small fortune."

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

[Page 131]"WHO can that affected creature be?" said Lady Beauclair.—"A Miss Lovemore," replied my Lord: A fan­tastical fool, with a great fortune; I sup­pose some miserly fellow has been mak­ing a bargain with her father to encrease his son's riches, at the expense of his peace." "I am sure," said Louisa, "I should sincerely pity the man that is sold for a fortune, to such a creature."—"You would indeed have thought so, Lady Beauclair, if you knew who it was."

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

[Page 132]"MY dear William," said he, "how glad I am to see you. I intended writ­ing to you by the next packet."—"I am [...]py, Sir," replied [...] "to have saved you that troube. They now entered the house; his mother and sist­er received him with the greatest joy. Sir John seemed in high spirits, and often [...]in [...]ed having something of consequence to impart to him.

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

HE stood like one amazed: at length "my Augusta," said he, "whatever [...] views my Father may have for me, I call my God to witness can [...]ver be fulfilled."—"Hush! Wil­liam, you know my Father is arbitrary."

CAPT. Bellmore then informed his Sister of his attachment to Louisa; and his positive determination to marry no one else.—The gentle heart of Miss [Page 133]Bellmore was pai [...] from the first men­tion of this affair: how much m [...] did s [...] for him, when she found his af­f [...] were engaged. She once had loved a worthy object; and but for the unbounded avarice of Sir John ha [...]en happy. Her tears flowed too [...], [...] brother's situation remin [...] her of her own. She wept for bo [...] and, waving her hand in silent ang [...], left him" and Capt. Bellmore returned to the house with a heavy heart.

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

HIS son now told him, his affections were engaged to a Lady, whose connec­tions [Page 134]were far more noble than Miss Lovemore's, and whose fortune, though not so large, was very handsome. His [...]er replied, "has he known it [...] might, perhaps, have considered of [...]; but his word was given to Sir Danvers; and he [...] determined to be [...] pleasure; so saying [...]ut of the room.

CAPT. Bellmore threw himself on the sofa, and gave a loose to tears he could not restrain.—Lady Bellmore came to him, and taking his hand, said, "my dear William! compose yourself."—"Madam," cried he, sister, "my father has given me two days to consider of his h [...]ed propos [...]—there needs not [...] tell him, I will leave the country if he insists upon it; for never, never will I consent to this detested mar­ [...] so saying, he left the room, or­ [...]; and, after bidding his brother and sister (who intreated hi [...]) adieu, he [...] out for London

SIR John [...] violent rag [...], when he heard of his son's determination and departure.—Lady Bellmore went, and [Page 135]begged him to break with Sir Danvers, but in vain.

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

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

SHE heard no more, but fell senseless in his arms; at that instant, Lord and Lady Beauclair entered.—O [...] my fri [...]d, said the unhappy William, " [...]uma [...] [...] will be the [...] of us both."—"I know how [...] re­plied his Lordship; "I [...]ed this [...], but endeavor to be [...] may [...] well."

CAPT. Bellmore heard him not; he clasped his lovely burden to his [...] Lady Beauclair was endeavoring [...]ng her to [...]e. Mrs. Villars and [Page 136]her mother now entered; Bellmore seemed not to see them; but, ba [...]ing the hands of his Louisa with his tears, said, "would to heaven, my angel, thou hadst let me die in the American forest; we then had both been happy.

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

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

LORD Beauclair attempted to com­fort his friend. "William" said [...], "you have no resolution, why [...] [Page 137] [...] down; we have heard of you [...] design, and have the pleasure to [...] you the Lady has not m [...] inclina­tion to fulfil the engagement, than yourself. He then related the conversa­tion they had heard in the Park. This afforded some consolation to his depress­ed spirits; and he consented that Lord Beauclair should endeavor to persuade Miss Lovemore to refuse him.

ELIZA now entered in tear [...]; she said Louisa was very ill; that she made no answer to any thing that was said to her; that Lady Beauclair and her Ma­ma, desired Capt. Bellmore would go to her, and appear to be quite composed; they both followed her to Louisa's room: Lord Beauclair approached the bed, and affecting a lively air; "what is the mat­ter Louisa," said he? "Brother," an­swered she, wildly; William is gone—he said he must leave me for ever;"—"you mistake," replied the Captain—"your William is here." He then ap­proached, and threw himself on his knees by her bed-side; here I am, my love; no force on earth shall hear me stop you [...] [Page 138]"Why did you say, we must part then?" said she. A flood of tears now came to her relief, and she seemed better. "Tell me, William," exclaimed she; "what has troubled you,"—"when you are more composed, my life, answered he, "I am much better now," said she, rais­ing herself on the bed. "My dear sis­ter," cried Lady Beauclair; "you must ask no questions to night, it is late; to­morrow you shall be informed of what you wish to know." Capt. Bellmore, after folding her in his arms; and swear­ing no force on earth should constrain him to leave her, took his leave. Lord Beauclair was obliged to do the same, as his Eliza would not be prevailed on to leave her friend that night.

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

LOUISA rose with the sun, and stole from her sister, who had just fallen in a deep sleep. She went to the saloon [Page 139]where, as she expected, she meet Capt. Bellmore, who had no more inclination for sleep than herself. "My dear Loui­sa," said he; "why will you rise so ear­ly; you have no regard for your health." —"O!" I am quite well; you must now tell me what has happened, I cannot bear this suspense." He then led her to a settee, and briefly related what the reader is already informed of. She heard him with a tolerable degree of composure. "So," cried she, with a sigh; when he concluded, "you had determined to obey him."—"But partly my love; could I expect my Louisa would marry a beggar!—My determination was to go to India, and endeavor to acquire a competence, which, if I succeeded in, to return to you—if I failed—to die in a foreign country."

"COULD you consent to leave me?" said she, the tears starting from her eyes: "Easily, my Louisa," tenderly pressing her to his bosom; "Heaven knows the conflicts of my heart; your discerning eye perceived it. The tender manner in which you asked the cause, threw me off my guard, and I absolutely uttered [Page 140]words that so much affected you: But, Oh! my Louisa, to find myself so dear to you, compensates for all I have met with."

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

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

SHE at last came swimming into the room, with such an air, that his Lord­ship could with difficulty, keep his [...] [Page 141]in order. After some conversation, too trifling to relate, he mentioned Capt. Bellmore, and the connection which he heard was to take place. "O Lord," I hate these made up matches; I am certain I shall detest him, and my Father need not think I will ever con­sent to the match."

LORD Beauclair said he was happy to see her so averse to it, "for," added he, "the Captain, though he is a fine young man, is much too grave for you—a per­son of your life and spirits, would suit much better with a man of the Bon Ton." "You do me honor, my Lord, I assure you I will never marry Capt. Bellmore; I can't abide the thought of a husband, whose grave looks would al­ways be giving one lessons of morality; they tell me, he does not touch cards." O no, Madam; when he is from [...] regiment, he spends his time in reading and writing lo [...] sonnets [...] the favorite of his heart, or perhaps [...] a so­cial hour where [...] perhaps never thought [...] heaven defend me from such a [...] with an affected [...] [Page 142]shall give him a positive refusal, the first time he comes."—"Upon my word, Madam if that is your intention, I think you had better put an end to this affair, by writing to him; and by so doing, bring it to a more speedy conclusion; as the young man, after having the plea­sure of seeing you, and finding you so fascinating, may not so readily resign you."

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

SHE consented, and flew to write; [...] soon returned, and presented a let­ter to his Lordship, though he had said nothing to make her imagine him her love [...] She seemed much disappoin [...], when he took leave; she, however, com­ [...], with the thought of [...] [Page 143] [...] Bellmore, who read as follows:

THE Captain folded [...] [Page 144]deal of [...]ersion: the next day Capt. Bellmore set off [...]ther [...] When he [...], Sir John was out, his Mo­ther and Sister flew to welcome him; are you returned [...] happy, said they; "I hope so, Madam," returned he. He then shewed his mother the letter; at that instant Sir John entered; "well, William," said he, "are you returned to a sense of your duty." He made no answer, but put the letter into his hand; he frowned: "damn'd non­sense," cried he? "what are her whims, to Sir Danvers and my engagements?" "what a life do you think Sir, two per­sons so averse to each other could lead; besides, I have heard Sir Danvers will not thwart his daughter's inclinations." Well, well, if Sir Danvers has a mind to let this foolish girl rule him, I am wil­ling to let it drop."

AUGUSTA had told lady Bellmore, of her brother's attachment to Miss Vil­lars, and th [...] it was more than proba­ble she would have a genteel fortune, Lady Bellmore had mentioned it to Sir John, which was the reason he [...] so easily persuaded to relinquis [...].