[]SPANISH MEMOIRS; IN A SERIES OF ORIGINAL LETTERS.

LETTER XLVI.
DON FELIX COUNT OF ALTINA to the DUKE OF. ARANDINA.

BEING ambitious of an alliance with the illuſtrious houſe of Arandina, I propoſe myſelf the ho⯑nour of waiting on your in a few [6] days, for the purpoſe of ſoliciting the hand of the Lady Iſabella your niece. Her birth and charms will adorn any ſtation, and will ever be juſtly prized by him who is, with eſteem and reſpect,

LETTER XLVII.
DUKE OF ARANDINA in reply.

I SHALL never eſteem the houſe of Arandina degraded by a con⯑nection with that of Altina. Your [8] propoſal will certainly be approved by my niece, ſince it has met the approbation of him who is

LETTER XLVIII.
DONNA ISABELLA to DONNA LAURA.

EACH day that dawns on me is attended by ſome new wo. This morning the Duke ſent for me, and addreſſed me in the following [10] words: "You have been in danger of degrading yourſelf by a marriage with a vile fellow,—who, if he has his deſerts, will ſpend the remain⯑der of his days in the mines.

"As a puniſhment, you were con⯑demned to paſs the remainder of your days in a convent's ſolitary gloom: But a brighter proſpect now diſcloſes itſelf to your view. The Count of Altina has notified his ambition to be allied to the houſe of Arandina. His family, though not of the firſt claſs, is ancient and noble. He will be here in a few days:—Prepare therefore to receive your deſtined Lord."

[11] SCARCELY had the Duke ceaſed to ſpeak, when I ſunk motionleſs at his feet. This accident he attribu⯑ted to exceſs of joy; and in that miſ⯑take did he continue till about an hour ago, when the receipt of the incloſed letter undeceived him.

[14]I WAITED with anxiety for his anſwer, which arrived in about an hour; and was as follows:

THUS, O Laura, is my fate de⯑termined; and I now fly for refuge to thoſe very walls which I ſo lately [15] wiſhed to ſhun. But whilſt Alonzo poſſeſſes the heart, Altina ſhall never obtain the hand of

LFTTERR XLIX.
DUKE OF ARANDINA to the COUNT OF ALTINA.

SINCE I laſt wrote, my ſenti⯑ments are changed, and you will never boaſt an alliance with the houſe of Arandina. I remain

LETTER L.
FATHER ALBERTO to DONNA LAURA

POOR Iſabella's ſufferings in⯑creaſe daily. You know that ſhe has refuſed the Count of Altina, and that ſhe is now condemned, [18] without hopes of a reprieve, to paſs her days in the convent of Ven⯑tina. Her conduct has been highly proper in refuſing to marry Altina, when her hand only was at her diſ⯑poſal. I endeavour to comfort her as much as poſſible, and to ſupport her in all her diſtreſſes. That ſhe may receive from Heaven that ſup⯑port which ſhe ſo much needs, ſhall be the conſtant prayer of her af⯑flicted friend.

SHE is to be with you in about three weeks. I think with pleaſure that amidſt all her diſtreſſes, Heaven has ſpared ſo amiable and ſo real a friend as ſhe has ever found in you. I [19] wondered much that the Duke ſo readily gave up all thoughts of mar⯑rying her to Altina. But it ſeems he did not think it conſiſtent with his dignity to force her conſent; as that, he ſaid, would have appeared as if the match was an object of im⯑portance to his family;—now, ſaid he, there is no family, by a con⯑nection with which the houſe of Arandina would receive additional luſtre.

THUS, for once, has poor Iſa⯑bella been benefited by that pride which has been the ſource of her own and her parents wo! Heaven ſupport her, poor girl. I muſt go [20] and comfort her; I hear her weep⯑ing in the next room. I remain, as uſual,

LETTER LI.
DON ALONZO to DONNA ISABELLA DELLA VILLAREA.

I AM ſo uneaſy at not hearing from you, and at the report of your approaching nuptials with the [22] Count of Altina, as cannot well be conceived. Not that I ſuppoſe Iſa⯑bella would beſtow her hand on Altina, unleſs ſhe were compelled by that tyrant her uncle, who is indebted to her for the life which he now poſſeſſes — I will not ſay enjoys; as it is impoſſible that ſuch a tyrant ſhould find, enjoyment in any thing but in torturing thoſe whom fortune has ſubjected to him. Do, let me know how, you are. I fear you are ſtill an invalid. For mercy's ſake write without delay. All I aſk, is to be told that you are well and happy; for if ſuch is the lot of Iſabella, Alonzo will be [23] content to ſuffer. Adieu. Believe me

LETTER LII.
DONNA ISABELLA to DON ALONZO.

I HAVE been ſo ill, that I could not hold a pen; but, thank Heaven, am now a little better.I have refuſed the Count of Altina, [25] and the matter is no more thought of. I am too weak to add more than that I am

LETTER LIII.
DONNA LAURA to DONNA ISABELLA.

HOW my heart bleeds for dear Iſabella! oh how I pity and admire her! You have indeed acted [27] nobly. You will at once poſſeſs the pity and the reſpect of thoſe who ſhall become acquainted with your ſad tale. Next week I ſhall ceaſe to rank Iſabella amongſt the number of my correſpondents; ſhe ſhall ever poſſeſs the firſt place in the catalogue of my friends. That you may, within theſe walls, experience peace, is all which I can hope for; hap⯑pineſs will, I fear, never prove the lot of my friend on this ſide the grave. But reſt aſſured, that ſuch diſtinguiſhed virtue as a⯑dorns Iſabella will, in a future ſtate, meet that reward which Heaven often for a time with⯑holds, [28] but never in the end re⯑fuſes.

WHEN our proſpects in this world are overſhadowed with impene⯑trable gloom, it is at once our inte⯑reſt and our duty to contemplate with the eye of hope the bright prospects of a future ſtate. There the virtuous will experience bliſs unalloyed; — their pleaſure will be heightened by the remembrance of paſt ſufferings, whilſt the con⯑templations of thoſe bright ſcenes will not fail in ſome degree to gild the horrors of our preſent ſi⯑tuation.

[29] THAT Iſabella may experience the truth of theſe aſſertions, is the ſin⯑cereſt with of her

LETTER LIV.
DONNA ISABELLA to DONNA LAURA.

I HAVE juſt received Laura's kind letter. I am much indebt⯑ed to it for the ſmall ſhare of tran⯑quillity [31] I now enjoy. Small, in⯑deed, is the portion of happineſs which I ever poſſeſſed; but it was more than I deſerved. This morn⯑ing I ſhall conſecrate to the melan⯑choly employment of bidding adieu to ſeveral old friends. I think I hear you expreſs your aſtoniſhment at the term, as you have always eſteemed poor Iſabella a friendleſs and deſerted orphan; and ſuch ſhe is. But the friends, to whom I muſt now bid adieu, are the vene⯑rable oaks which ſurround theſe ancient walls; — thoſe oaks which have for ages ſheltered beneath their branches the anceſtors of her who is now to bid them an eternal adieu.

[32] I feel a regret at parting with them that may to you appear weak and childiſh, and perhaps is ſo. But when I reflect that, through the whole courſe of my misfortunes, they have received me under their ſhade, that they have never cenſu⯑red my imprudence, and have even appeared to expreſs their ſympathy with my ſufferings by ſolemn wa⯑vings of their aged arms, my ſorrow at leaving them is great. — But to what an exceſs of weakneſs does my grief lead me! Whither am I run⯑ning! With what nonſenſe am I peſtering Laura? Adieu. I can no longer reſtrain my tears. Wretch⯑ed as I am, I can never be completely [33] ſo till deprived of your friendſhip. I will write once more before I bid an eternal adieu to dear Vil⯑larea.

LETTER LV.
DONNA ISABELLA to DON ALONZO.

I AM, thank Heaven, ſo much recovered, as to propoſe ma⯑king an excurſion of ſome miles. When I ſhall return to Villarea, I [35] know not; but whenever I do, I will write you a longer letter. I only ſcribble this, left, hearing of my departure from any other than my⯑ſelf, you ſhould imagine that I had forgotten thoſe obligations which will be remembered with eternal gratitude by

LETTER LVI.
DONNA ISABELLA to DONNA LAURA DE CASSILDINA.

AS a few days will now termi⯑nate our correſpondence, I cannot permit the arrival of that pe⯑riod [37] without expreſsing my gratitude for the comfort I have ever experi⯑enced in the peruſal of Laura's let⯑ters. As I am now to enjoy the converſation of my kind benefactreſs (for ſuch I ſhall ever eſteem you), I have, at the requeſt of that ami⯑able man Father Alberto, depoſited in his hands all your letters, as well as copies of all that I ever wrote to you. Thoſe of Alonzo he has ob⯑tained from the Duke. He ſays, that, when we are parted, he ſhall enjoy a melancholy pleaſure in per⯑uſing the letters which contain a ſketch of my misfortunes. Oh how truly amiable he is! How I ſhall [38] regret his loſs! I which, however, will in ſome degree be compenſated by his correſpondence; and he like⯑wiſe aſſures me, that no year ſhall elapſe without his viſiting the con⯑vent of Ventina.

I HAVE juſt been viſiting the apartment which was allotted to my father when he was an inhabitant of this Caſtle. I could not refrain from tears. Indeed I never viſit that apartment without weeping, as the train of ideas which ruſh into my mind at the ſight of it are very melancholy indeed. Oh how often have I wept, when the good old [39] woman that nurſed him has deſcri⯑bed him to me. She ſpeaks of him with rapture, and mingles her tears with mine, good creature! She has never ceaſed to weep ſince the news of my departure was known. Oh, Laura, what do I not ſuffer!

OH Heaven, look down with pity; and, when it ſhall pleaſe thee, ter⯑minate by death the woes of a wretch to whom life is a heavy burden; a burden, however, which ſhe hopes to bear with becoming patience, till time ſhall being the long-expected hour of relief. Adieu, [40] my dear Laura, may happineſs be ſtill your lot; it never more on be the lot of

LETTER LVIII.
DONNA ISABELLA to FATHER ALBERTO.

YESTERDAY I entered theſe walls; and I bluſh to own, that when the iron gate, grating on [42] its hinges, cloſed with apparent re⯑luctance, I wept. Not even the appearance of Laura, who flew to embrace me, was ſufficient to ſup⯑port my drooping ſpirits. I inſtant⯑ly retired to her apartment, and there I remained till the hour of reſt. Laura endeavoured to ſooth my agi⯑tated ſoul, but in vain; for I have never ceaſed to weep ſince my arri⯑val. Oh what I felt when, in paſ⯑sing through the ſaloon, I found it filled with weeping domeſtics! To ſee the poor old woman, that had nurſed my father, wringing her hands in an agony of deſpair, and tearing thoſe venerable locks that were ſilvered by the hand of time! [43] Oh, it was too much! who could bear it? — And when I was enter⯑ing the carriage, the poor old houſe-dog licked my hand, and gave a ſhort howl; as if he knew that I was wretched, and pitied me. Oh what I ſuffered when you waved your hand from the battlements, and bid me adieu in all the ſilent agony of wo! Oh God, it was too much! At our ſad parting, the conſcious heavens wept; all nature ſeemed overcaſt with melancholy gloom. Ah, no! not nature; but my heart was ſad; and when all within is dark and gloomy, nought external will ſhow bright. If this be true (and true it is) never ſhall [44] I again behold the laughing fields, or the frant groves, in the gay livery of ſpring; to me they will be ever overcaſt. I am wretched indeed, but I muſt ſubmit to the will of Heaven. Remember me kindly to poor old nurſe, and do not forget the diſconſolate

LETTER LIX.
DONNA ISABELLA to DON ALONZO.

I MUST begin this letter with imploring your forgiveneſs of the deceit which I have practiſed on [46] you: but I was unwilling that you ſhould be acquainted with my in⯑tention of retiring to this ſad retreat, till it ſhould be too late to prevent it; as I dreaded the force of your attachment to me, unworthy as I am, might hurry you into the com⯑miſſion of ſome violence which would have involved both of us in freſh difficulties. When you have heard the motives that influenced, you will, I truſt, approve the con⯑duct of Iſabella. My uncle gave me the choice of two evils, and I have choſen what to me appeared the leaſt. I was neceſſitated either to marry Altina or to retire to this convent. My reaſons for preferring [47] the latter were two. The firſt, that I ſcorn ſo far to injure any man as to yield my hand to his ſolicita⯑tion, when my heart was devoted to another. The ſecond, that I ima⯑gined you would ſuffer much leſs from ſeeing me for ever ſecluded from the world, than from ſeeing me the property of another. In⯑deed, had I become Counteſs of Altina, I could not, conſiſtently with the dictates of honour or of virtue, have fulfilled my promiſe of correſponding with you; a promiſe which I made merely to preſerve the life of my uncle, as I dreaded the effects of unappeaſed anger. Had I not been influenced by ſo weighty a reaſon, I never would [48] have granted a requeſt, the com⯑pliance with which will certainly tend to embitter the remainder of our reſpective lives, as well as conſtant⯑ly call to our remembrance, and perhaps greatly increaſe, an unhappy paſſion, which can never now be gratiſied; for whenever the year of probation ſhall expire, I muſt aſſume the veil, and bind myſelf by the moſt ſolemn vows to conſecrate to Heaven the remainder of a life that has indeed been wretched. If you wiſh to regain that peace you have loſt, and not to embitter the re⯑mainder of my days, you will re⯑leaſe me from my promiſe; — if you are ſo blinded by your paſſion as to inſiſt on its performance, you [49] ſhall find that the laws of honour will never be violated by me.

DIRECT your anſwer to me at the convent of Ventina; but do not ſo⯑licit an interview, as that will never be granted by her who is, with great regard,

LETTER LX.
DON ALONZO to DONNA ISABELLA DELLA VILLAREA.

OH Iſabella, how have you de⯑ceived me! Was this the ex⯑curſion you ſo ſlightly mentioned in [51] your laſt letter? You are indeed ig⯑norant when you are to reviſit Vil⯑larea. Had you entertained for Alonzo that regard you proſeſs towards him, you would have imitated the con⯑duct of your heroic mother; you would have bleſſed Alonzo with your hand. He would have aſked from Heaven no other boon; he would have ſupported in afflu⯑ence, he would, have adored Iſabel⯑la: He does adore her; he ever muſt adore her. But why ſo obſtinately cruel? why regret that ſhe is bound by honour to correſpond with Alon⯑zo? why mention that favour as the the price of her uncle's life? Her commands will alone be ſufficient to [52] prevent Alonzo from terminating the exiſtence of ſuch a monſter. But why am I never more to behold the amiable Iſabella? Why am I doomed to perpetual miſery? Oh, Iſabella! 'tis to the pride of your uncle, and to the cold inſenſibitity of your friend, that I am indebted; for my misfor⯑tunes.

I AM called to Madrid by buſineſs of importance, that will detain me about a week; and when I return, I will attempt to obtain at leaſt one interview with Iſabella. If the at⯑tempt be not crowned with ſucceſs, I ſhall meet my fate without dread, [53] as my ſufferings cannot now be heightened.

I am, as much as ever,

LETTER LXI.
FATHER ALBERTO to DONNA ISABELLA.

I WAS, as you obſerved, greatly af⯑fected by your departure, and do not wonder that you were as much ſo; [55] but I truſt, that, the bitter ſcene once paſt, you will become every day more calm, and that your grief will be moderated by time. You are, undoubtedly, a great object of pity; I never knew a greater: but ſtill, amidſt all your diſtreſſes, you will find great conſolation by reflect⯑ing on your retiring from the world ſo early; for, believe me, we are better calculated to ſtruggle with, misfortune in youth than in age. At the firſt dawn of life the world is tolerable, becauſe it is novel: but in the evening of our day (for the life of man, when compared with eter⯑nity, is no more), when life has loſt its only charm of novelty; the an⯑chor [56] of hope, unleſs it reſt beyond die grave, proves but a ſlight ſupport to the being who, oppreſſed with misfortune, relies on it alone for comfort and for happineſs.

YOUR uncle ſets out for Madrid to-morrow, having received a ſudden and unexpected call to court. He propoſes writing to you on his re⯑turn. I am to accompany him to the capital, where, he ſays, our ſtay is to be ſhort. I am ſorry to hear, that the Count of Altina is much diſ⯑pleaſed with your uncle's conduct; not ſo much by his refuſal, as by the manner of it: he has, I hear, vowed to be revenged; but I truſt [57] he will not put his threats in exe⯑cution.

I INTREATED your uncle to ſend a leſs haughty refuſal: but all I ſaid was in vain; he was determined to ſupport the dignity of the houſe of Arandina by inſolence, not only to his inferiors, but to thoſe who are nearly his equals.

I HOPE he will not have cauſe to repent his rejecting my counſel. Adieu dear girl; you ſhall at all times command the prayers of

LETTER LXII.
DONNA ISABELLA in reply.

TEN thouſand thanks for your kind letter. It found me in my cell, drowned in tears, and lament⯑ing [59] a deſtiny which is indeed ſevere: but I am grateful to heaven for the comfort I receive in your friendſhip, and that of my Laura; and I hope that time, aided by religion, will calm my tranſports, and ſoothe my anguiſh.

I HAVE written to Alonzo, in⯑forming him of my return, and the motives that induced me to prefer it to the hand of Altina. He ſeems much diſatisfied with my conduct, and even accuſes me of treachery; but he will, I truſt, in the calm mo⯑ments of reflection, approve the, con⯑duct of Iſabella. I truſt my uncle will not feel the effects of Altina's [60] vengeance: I, alas! cannot avert them, as I did thoſe of the injured Alonzo. I have no other heart to offer as a bribe; and if I had, Altina would not eſteem the atonement to his injured honour ſufficient. How fatal to repoſe are the effects of pride! The truth of this aſſertion is proved by every page of my ſad tale. Pride has been the ſource of all my parents' wo, and of my own. Had my uncle not been proud, Iſa⯑bella had never been wretched; or at leaſt not ſo wretched as ſhe now is. But what am I ſaying? am I not cenſuring the conduct of my uncle; and in ſo doing, am I not to blame? I may in private lament; [61] but I muſt not even to you mention the errors of one whoſe protection I once enjoyed; though now I can, alas! rank it amongſt the bleſſings poſſeſed by your afflicted

LETTER LXIII.
FATHER ALBERTO to DONNA ISABELLA.

SCARCE had I finiſhed the per⯑uſal of your laſt, — where you obſerve how fatal to happineſs are [63] the effects of pride, — when the Duke was brought home in the arms of two ſervants, covered with wounds and blood. He was followed by Alonzo, who was alſo wounded; but not ſo ſeverely. When the Duke was placed on a couch, and the ſur⯑geons had dreſſed his wounds, Alon⯑zo addreſſed him in the following words: "Learn, Don John, from this night's adventure, that a man may act with honour, though his an⯑ceſtors were not ennobled." On ſay⯑ing theſe words, he retired to his own houſe, attended by the ſur⯑geons; who have; declared that he is not in any danger. About the Duke [64] they art ſtill doubtful; but I hope the beſt.

FROM Alonzo, whom I this day viſited, I learned the following ac⯑count of the adventure. As the Duke was returning home in his coach, he paſſed through a retired ſtreet, where the carriage was at⯑tacked, by three Villains armed with daggers. They ordered the coach⯑man to ſtop inſtantly. The Duke, on hearing their voices, and ſeeing them attempt to force open the door of the carriage, opened the door on the opoſite ſide, and jumped out. He then ſet his back againſt a wall; and, throwing his cloke over his left arm, [65] ſtood on his defence. He was in⯑ſtantly attacked by the ruffians, who wounded him deſperately; his lac⯑keys having in the mean time run off, leaving their maſter to be aſſaſ⯑ſinated. Whilſt the Duke was en⯑gaged in this unequal conteſt, Alon⯑zo happened to paſs that way. He eaſily recognized the perſon who was calling loudly for aſſiſtance; and without delay ſtabbed two of the villains, who inſtantly fell; whilſt the other is ſecured and has con⯑feſſed that he was hired by the Count of Altina to murder the Duke.—You, Iſabella, refuſed to beſtow your, hand on one man when your heart was the property of another [66] Heaven has, you ſee, rewarded you; by delivering you from being united to a man who is in fact an aſſaſſin. A character; alas! too common in Spain: The Duke's miſfortune has not produced the leaſt change in his ſentiments. I flattered myſelf, that the perſon to whom he owed his life might have been rewarded with the hand of Iſabella: but, on my ſuggeſting the matter to him, he was much enraged; and ſaid, "that he would rather have experienced a ſtill more hateful death, than have his life prolonged only to behold the diſgrace of his family! — A family that will ſoon be extinct; and of which it may then be ſaid, that, du⯑ring [67] a courſe of nine hundred years, it has retained its nobility unconta⯑minated. As to the young man (continued he) who aſſiſted me in diſpatching thoſe villains, I ſhall reward him in a manner becoming his ſtation, by beſtowing on him a large ſum of money; — a reward much fitter for a, merchant than an illuſtrious wife!"—How Alonzo will bear this freſh inſult I know not; but as he is ſtrongly attached to you, I truſt you will be able to pacify his juſt reſentment.

I. FLATTER myſelf that you are now ſomewhat more compoſed than when you laſt wrote, and that the [68] hours paſs leſs heavily than they did.

I SHALL write again in a day or two. Till then, believe me

LETTER LXIV.
DONNA ISABELLA to DON ALONZO DE CASTINA.

GENEROUS Alonzo! to riſk your own life in the preſer⯑vation of him who has ſo groſsly in⯑ſulted [70] and ſo ſeriously injured you! Receive the thanks of Iſabella: A reward which, though greatly in⯑adequate to your deſerts, is all that ſhe has left to beſtow. Her heart has long been yours; and if her hand were at her own diſpoſal, it ſhould ſoon be added: but ſhe is not miſtreſs of her hand; and ſhe fears, that the only perſon who has a right to influence her in the diſ⯑poſal of it will never conſent to her beſtowing it on one who prizes it too highly.

I FLATTERED myſelf, that the im⯑portant ſervice you have rendered [71] the Duke might have been deemed by him a juſt claim to more valu⯑able marks of his favour than the hand of a poor orphan, who has no ambition but to be virtuous; and who, were ſhe at her own diſpoſal, would imitate her mother's conduct, and prefer Alonzo to the moſt illu⯑ſtrious grandee of Spain. But, alas! Alberto informs me that there are no hopes of any change in his ſentiments on this head. Do, write to me whenever your wounds will admit of it — but not before. I am happy to hear that the wounds you have received are only ſlight. Fa⯑ther Alberto is to ſend me a regu⯑lar [72] account of your health; for the recovery of which none will be ſo anxious as

LETTER LXV.
DON ALONZO to DONNA ISABELLA DELLA VILLAREA.

MY wounds are ſo well reco⯑vered as to admit of my ad⯑dreſſing the amiable benefactreſs, to [74] whom I am indebted for the pro⯑longation of that life which I have lately riſked in her ſervice; for ſuch I eſteem to have been the preſerva⯑tion of her uncle from the daggers of aſſaſſins. It was not for the Duke of Arandina I drew my ſword; it was for a fellow-creature, and for the uncle of Iſabella. Conſidered in either of theſe capacities, he had a right to my aſſiſtance: as Duke of Arandina, he had every thing to fear, and nothing to hope, from Alonzo. But I have juſt received from him a freſh inſult of ſuch a nature, that it ſhould not go unrevenged an hour if he were not connected with you. He has ſent me a conſiderable ſum [75] of money as a reward for the ſervice I rendered him! Can you wonder if this treatment provokes me to the laſt degree! I have returned the money with the utmoſt contempt; adviſing him, at the ſame time, not to impoſe any freſh taſk on the for⯑bearance of one whoſe patience is almoſt exhauſted. Oh Iſabella, why are you ſo rigid in your notions of duty? Is he a parent? — is he a friend? — is he a protector? — No; he is your ſole torment! Yes, he is the ſource of all the miſfortunes that have befallen yourſelf and family; and yet he is to experience from Iſa⯑bella all that obedience and reſpect which could only be due to an in⯑dulgent [76] father. Oh! do not drive me, by your prepoſterous notions of duty, into perpetual exile: and that will be my lot, if you refuſe to quit thoſe hated walls which now ſeclude you from die ſight of the wretched

LETTER LXVI.
DONNA ISABELLA to DON ALONZO DE CASTINA.

WHY does Alonzo reproach me with cruelty, which was never reckoned among Iſabella's [78] faults by thoſe who knew her? You are indeed cruel to threaten me with retiring to a perpetual baniſhment, if I refuſe to violate the laws of duty. If I had no uncle to con⯑troul me, I would, as before I told you, without a moment's heſitation, beſtow my hand on Alonzo: but I have ever been accuſtomed to con⯑ſider the Duke as a parent; and, as ſuch, ſhall ever conduct myſelf to⯑wards him. Do not preſs me to act in a manner that would ſubject me to the cenſure of all who know me: — do not, Alonzo, require from me ſo fatal a proof of my affection. Every proof conſiſtent with duty you [79] may expect: do not ſolicit others from her who is, with gratitude and ſincerity,

LETTER LXVII.
FATHER ALBERTO to DONNA ISABELLA.

THE Duke is now ſo well reco⯑vered as to propoſe ſetting out for Villarea to-morrow. Alanzo [81] has informed you, he tells me, of the new affront which the Duke has offered him; and at your requeſt he has promiſed not to reſent it. I pity you both ſincerely: You were formed for each other, and yet I fear will never be united. It is not in my power to relieve you. Oh that it were! Iſabella ſhould never then ſhed another tear. But we muſt ſubmit to the will of Heaven; and comfort ourſelves with reflecting, that this life will not prove eter⯑nal; that there is an hereafter; and that there the virtuous muſt be happy.

[82] ADIEU, dear Iſabella. I will write as ſoon as we reach Villarea Till then, believe me

LETTER LXVIII.
DON ALONZO to DONNA ISABELLA

I HAVE received your laſt — I was going to call it your cruel letter: but I muſt ſubmit to my fate, I muſt [84] be ſacrificed to your ideas of duty, and muſt contemplate the deſtru⯑ction of all my hopes. You will not, I truſt, refuſe the laſt requeſt I ſhall ever make you; and that is, to-morr⯑ow to bleſs me with an interview. If you will have the goodneſs to grant this, you ſhall never more be perſecuted by the wretched

LETTER LXIX.
DONNA ISABELLA to DON ALONZO.

THOUGH I think it highly im⯑prudent in me to grant your requeſt, as an interview will only [86] increaſe our miſery; yet at twelve to-morrow you will be expected by the wretched

LETTER LXX.
DONNA ISABELLA to FATHER ALBERTO.

TIS paſt — the worſt is now over. I have juſt bid an eternal adieu to Alonzo! Oh! the [88] ſcene was dreadful. Twice I fainted, and twice the cruel friendship of Laura recalled me to life and to wo. He is gone — never will Iſabella be⯑hold him more. May Heaven pro⯑tect him. He is quite in deſpair. He accuses me — Yet what could I do? I am indeed wretched. Do, viſit Alonzo, and try to ſoothe him. I am ſo diſtracted with agony, I can write no more. Do, write to me. Teach me to ſubmit, without repi⯑ning, to the will of Providence: teach me to bear life; a heavy load I have found it.

[89] ADIEU. Oh! my heart, how it beats! ſure it will break. — Oh Heaven ſupport me! — 'tis too much. Once more adieu.

LETTER LXXI.
DON ALONZO to DONNA ISABELLA DELLA VILLAREA.

TO-MORROW will Alonzo bid an eternal adieu to Spain; but not to miſery: That will be his lot [91] wherever he goes; that has been his lot ever ſince the appearance of Iſa⯑bella preserved his life. Exiled by your cruelty, I have procured an appointment in. New Spain, and to-morrow I am to embark. As the ſhip in which I ſail now lies off that part of the ſhore where ſtand Ventina's hated-walls, the laſt object: which I ſhall contemplate in Old Spain will-be the priſon of Iſa⯑bella; and may the grave, of Alonzo be the firſt object I behold in New Spain. What have I not ſuffered ſince our parting! It is now two long months ſince I have ſeen or even heard from Iſabella. Did I not promiſe to terminate our correſpond⯑ence? [92] I will never write again; and you cannot reproach me with breach of promise — For, oh heaven! We never more ſhall meet. The thought diſtracts me! Farewell, a ſad farewell to the brighteſt ornament of the ſex, to cruel Iſabella; who dooms to per⯑petual miſery the wretched youth that adores her. Adieu; may you, whilſt exile and miſery are the lot of Alon⯑zo, experience every earthly happi⯑neſs. Oh Iſabella! you have for ever deſtroyed the peace of the wretched

LETTER LXXII.
THE LADY ABBESS OF VENTINA to FATHER ALBERTO.

YOU will not experience more pain in the peruſal of this mournful letter, than I ſhall in wri⯑ting [94] it; for it is with unſeigned grief that I communicate to you the dread⯑ful intelligence.

THREE nights ago, this convent was near being reduced to aſhes by the heedleſſness of a ſervant, who neglected to extinguiſh the fire of the kitchen before ſhe went to reſt. About eleven at night, I was alarm⯑ed by the cry of fire; and as ſoon as I had left my apartment, I found that, owing to the violence of the wind which then blew high, the flames had made a conſiderable progreſs. I ordered the doors to be inſtantly thrown open; and adviſed every one [95] to ſecure herſelf by flight: an ad⯑vice which was followed by all but the amiable girl, who was ſo lately added to our ſociety. After we had retired to a neighbouring church, I inquired if all the ſiſterhood were there in ſafety; and was ſhocked to find that ſhe was ſtill miſſing. I in⯑ſtantly returned to the convent, where I found the flames ſtill raging with the utmoſt violence, notwith⯑ſtanding every attempt to extinguiſh them; but in vain I endeavoured to learn any thing concerning the love⯑ly Iſebella. You will eaſily conceive what muſt have been my feelings. The next morning, however, I re⯑ceived [96] the melancholy information that ſhe was ſeen, after we had quit⯑ted the convent, lying at the foot of the altar: but the confuſion was ſo great, that no one was ſufficiently recollected to render her the leaſt aſſiſtance; and as that part of the chapel was totally deſtroyed, there is, alas! no room to doubt that ſhe pe⯑riſhed in the flames. All attempts to diſcover even the leaſt remains of the dear girl have proved totally in⯑effectual. You will do me the ju⯑ſtice to believe, that amongſt all the fatal conſequences of this ſad cataſ⯑trophe, the loſs of that dear girl moſt deeply affects her, who is, with ſin⯑cere [97] reſpect for your character, and with the greateſt pity for your miſ⯑fortune,

LETTER LXIII.
FATHER ALBERTO to HENRIETTA, ABBESS OF VENTINA.

THOUGH misfortune has been through life my lot; though I have been accuſtomed to ſuffer; [99] I own the news you have com⯑municated to me has affected me beyond deſcription. I have never ceaſed to weep ſince the peruſal of your ſad letter. As ſoon as I was a little recovered from the aſtoniſh⯑ment it had occaſioned me — I laid your letter before the Duke; who con⯑doles with you on your loſs, and who bears his own otherwiſe than I ex⯑pected. He has ordered a monu⯑ment to be erected to her memory in the family mauſoleum, and an inſcription to be engraved, mention⯑ing her deſcent, and the misfortune that occaſioned her ever-to-be lament⯑ed death.

[100] I REMAIN, Madam, with reſpect, eſteem, and pity for your misfor⯑tune,

LETTER LXXIV.
DONNA LAURA to FATHER ALBERTO.

YOU, alas! are too well ac⯑quainted with the ſad tale to need any freſh information on the [102] ſubject. O! Alberto, why was Iſa⯑bella wretched? — why did ſhe, who merited ſo much, never poſſeſs a mo⯑ment's happineſs? Never ſhall I be⯑hold her more! Dear, amiable girl! poſſeſſed of every human virtue — ſhe is gone to join her ſiſter ſeraphs in the realms of day — How ſelfiſh is it in me thus to lament her fate! Happineſs was never her lot on earth; but now it is hers beyond the reach of wo. Not the leaſt remains of our gentle friend have eſcaped the ravages of the fire; and I have the melancholy reflection, that her ſa⯑cred aſhes are now trampled under⯑foot by the clowns who are repair⯑ing the convent. Happily for me, [103] Iſabella's apartment is deſtroyed; ſo that I ſhall not have my grief heigh⯑tened (if that be poſſible) by con⯑templating the cell where ſhe wept: For to that ſad employment alone did ſhe conſecrate her hours ſince her quitting Villarea.

JUST heaven! for heaven ſtill is juſt — what do I not ſuffer? Is there no ſpot on this vaſt globe that will afford to mortals a retreat ſecure from wo! I have ſought repoſe in vain. I, who have ſpent my whole life within Ventina's now deſolated walls, ſecluded from that world which has proved ſo fatal to the repoſe of my dear, my ever-to-be lamented [104] friend, am now completely wretched! I have now no ſource of comfort but the certainty of death: that once paſt, and Iſabella will again be mine. That Heaven may accelerate the ar⯑rival of that: wiſhed-for hour, ſhall be the conſtant prayer of one who is, with ſincere regard,

"You will have the kindneſs to addreſs your anſwer to me at the Convent of Bellmata; as there we are received till our own be repaired."

LETTER LXXV.
FATHER ALBERTO to DONNA LAURA.

YOUR melancholy letter arri⯑ved here this evening; and as I am a fellow-ſufferer with, you, [106] you will eaſily believe how ſincerely I ſympathiſe with you on your loſs. The ſad cataſtrophe, as you obſer⯑ved, affects only thoſe friends who are, perhaps for years, to lament the fate of the dear Iſabella. You have indeed ſuſtained a loſs, in ſome re⯑ſpects, ſeverer than mine; as I was, from the moment ſhe quitted Villarea, deprived of her ſweet ſociety. Yet I ſhould have had the pleaſure of her correſpondence. But ſhe is now happy; her ſorrows are no more; all her cares are paſt; and ſhe is now receiving that reward her di⯑ſtinguiſhed virtue claimed. [107] I WILL not, however, by dwelling on the merits of her who is now at peace, add to the diſtreſs of her amiable friend. But I cannot lay down my pen without informing you of the manner in which the Duke received the news of her death. After per⯑uſing the fatal letter, ‘She has not (ſaid he) diſgraced her family, and ſhall therefore have a monument erected, to her memory in the bu⯑rying-place of the Dukes of Aran⯑dina. You (ſaid he) ſhall draw up an inſcription for the monument: but do not mention the names of her parents; only ſay, that ſhe was niece to Don John, [108] twentieth Duke of Arandina, &c. &c.’

THUS was he afficted by her death! and ſince that time he has never mentioned her name; though I do not ſo much wonder at his con⯑duct as his pride now nearly ap⯑proaches to madneſs; and if his life be ſpared much longer, I have juſt reaſon to apprehend a total loſs of his reaſon: — A puniſhment that, which Heaven often inflicts on thoſe who are ſo haughty as is the poor Duke.

[109] WISHING that you may enjoy all the happineſs of which you are now capable, I remain, Madam, with reſpect and eſteem,

LETTER LXXVI.
DON ALONZO DE CASTINA to FATHER ALBERTO.

THE happieſt of beings has now the pleaſure to addreſs you; and to inform you, that Iſabella, [111] whom you doubtleſs conſider as no more, is in perfect health in New Spain. To explain this myſtery, you muſt know, that after I had em⯑barked for that country, whence I never thought to return, I found it would be impoſſible to ſail till one in the morning. On receiving this intelligence, I got into a boat, and went on ſhore to contemplate, for the laſt time, thoſe hated walls that deprived me of Iſabella. As the convent is, you know, almoſt cloſe to the ſhore, I ſoon found myſelf there; and deſiring the men to wait a little, I quitted them to indulge myſelf in walking round the walls of the garden. But as I was going to [112] return to the boat, obſerving the convent in flames, and the doors thrown wide open, I inſtantly flew to the gate, and paſſed unobſerved through the crowd of nuns who were ruſhing out, and who were too much engaged by attention to their own preſervation even to ob⯑ſerve me. As I knew that my Iſa⯑bella had not yet aſſumed the con⯑ventual dreſs, I was ſure ſhe had not eſcaped me in the crowd. I flew therefore to that part of the convent where ſhe reſided; and as I paſſed through the chapel, I ob⯑ſerved a female proſtrate at the foot of the altar; who, on a nearer ap⯑proach, proved to be that dear angel, [113] who had fallen down in a ſwoon, and lay there without any ſigns of life. I, however, loſt no time; but, catching the lovely burden in my arms, bore her, ſtill ſenſeleſs, to the boat that waited for me; which, as the nuns had all fled the other way, I reached totally unobſerved. No ſooner had I placed her in the boat, than I tried every poſſible means to reſtore her; but to no pur⯑poſe. My agonies were now incon⯑ceivable, but I ſtill continued my endeavours; and after rowing about thirteen minutes, we reached the veſſel, which was juſt going to hoiſt ſail. The Captain, who had ob⯑ſerved the fire, eaſily gueſſed whence [114] I had ſtolen ſo invaluable a treaſure, and objected to receiving her for fear of conſequences; till obſerving that ſhe had not the dreſs of a nun, at my earneſt entreaties he conſented to receive the dear girl; who now, to my inexpreſſible joy, began to diſcover ſigns of life. As ſoon as we were on board, the veſſel got under way, whilſt I conveyed Iſa⯑bella into the great cabin; where ſhe was ſoon reſtored, owing to the kindneſs of a lady, who, with her huſband, was going to New Spain. As ſoon as ſhe recovered and learned her ſituation, ſhe inſtantly relapſed, and it was with difficulty that ſhe was the ſecond time reſtored at all. When [115] ſhe came to herſelf, I informed her of the ſituation in which I had found her; and that, had I not arrived at the inſtant I did, ſhe muſt have pe⯑riſhed in the flames, as every one had fled and left her to meet her fate. She in time became more re⯑conciled to her ſituation; but at firſt ſhe earneſtly intreated to be put on ſhore. This, however, the Captain aſſured her, was impoſſible; as the ſhip run nine notes in the hour, and our diſtance was then near twenty miles from the ſhores of Spain. She expreſſed her gratitude to me for preſerving her life, but regretted that I had taken advantage of the general confuſion to elope with her. [116] I pleaded only in my defence, that I was human, and that no man could have neglected to embrace ſo heaven⯑born an opportunity of poſſeſſing all he held dear on earth. But, an⯑ſwered ſhe, my uncle will always ſuſpect that mine was a voluntary eſcape, and will never pardon me. Nay, perhaps good Alberto may even ſuſpect me (and here ſhe wept bitterly.) If Laura ſtill live (Hea⯑ven grant ſhe do), every ſhe may ſu⯑ſpect Iſabella. — I aſſured her, that thoſe who knew Iſabella would never ſuppoſe her capable of acting but as an angel would do, were it in her ſituation. As to Laura, I could only ſay, that I thought ſhe paſſed me in [117] the crowd which ruſhed out as I entered; and that as I ſaw no one in the convent, I hoped and believed ſhe was ſafe. In about a week, I preſumed to ſolicit the bleſſing of her hand, exerted all the perſuaſion I was maſter of, and with great difficulty prevailed on her to confer on me a reward that would have overpaid whole ages of miſery. As there was a prieſt on board, who was alſo a paſſenger, we were married, and have now been here five months; but no ſhip having failed ſince we arrived, I could not ſooner commun⯑icate to you the agreeable intelli⯑gence contained in this letter. It is [118] almoſt ſuperfluous to add, that the happieſt of beings is

ISABELLA begs to hear from you as ſoon as poſſible; and requeſts you to ſtate the caſe to the Duke; whoſe pardon we ſolicit, and whoſe com⯑mands we await with the greateſt anxiety. If he will pardon my raſh⯑neſs, and permit me to pay my re⯑ſpects to him in perſon, I ſhall eſteem myſelf, if poſſible, happier than I now am. Poor Iſabella trembles at the mention of his name. She would write to you; but as [119] ſhe has only time to write one letter before the packet ſails, ſhe addreſſes that ^* to Laura, but incloſed to you; [120] ſo that if her friend is no more, you will of courſe retain the letter. She begs you would ſhow this to Laura. The letter is called for. Once more adieu. On your well-known good⯑neſs we rely.

LETTER LXXVII.
FATHER ALBERTO to DONNA ISA⯑BELLA DE CASTINA.

LITTLE did you know the heart of Alberto, if you thought that when the heavenly news of your [122] eſcape reached him, he would, with all the inſenſibility of a Dutch pro⯑feſſor of ethics, proceed to inquire how far you were culpable in ſuf⯑fering yourſelf to be ſo delivered. Far from making theſe inquiries, I had no ſooner read the letter than I burſt into tears of joy — of ecſtacy; and have never ceaſed, ſince I heard the news, to thank the Heaven that delivered you from death and from miſery.

IT is with regret I inform you, that the Duke can never be made acquainted with the; ſtory of your eſcape; as he has been for ſome [123] time delirious, and all attempts to recal his baniſhed reaſon have proved ineffectual. This ſad cala⯑mity was occaſioned totally by his pride; which, of late, became ex⯑ceſſive indeed! He is now attended by a medical man, who never loſes ſight of him for an inſtant; but who ſays, he does not apprehend that his life will laſt long, as his blood is in a horrid ſtate.

I WOULD wiſh you to return as ſoon as poſſible that, ſhould any thing happen, you may be ready to claim your family poſſeſſions. Poor man! it is really dreadful to ſee how [124] his pride increaſes! Even now he deſires that no ſervant will preſent him any thing but on the knee; and gives every day ſome freſh inſtance of growing arrogance. He is indeed an object of pity and terror to all who ſee him. Heaven reſtore him to reaſon before it call him hence.

LAURA is, as you will hear from herſelf, in health, and happy be⯑yond conception to find that Iſabella living over whom ſhe had ſhed ſo many tears. As ſhe writes by this packet, I ſhall now conclude with wiſhing, that as much happineſs may be the lot of Iſabella as the [125] ſhortneſs of human life will ad⯑mit. Adieu, dear child. Believe me

TELL Alonzo I would have wri⯑tten to him alſo; but you are now one.

LETTER LXXVIII.
DONNA LAURA to DONNA ISABELLA DE CASTINA.

No ſooner did I behold the well-known hand of Iſabella, than I ſwooned for joy. No ſooner [127] was I recovered than I tore open the letter with the utmoſt anxiety. I was ſo much affected by the contents, that it was with difficulty I ever got through it. I wept, but it was from exceſs of joy. Oh, Iſabella! ſu⯑ſpected you of having acted impro⯑perly! — No. Joy ſo wholly occu⯑pies my breaſt, that ſuſpicion will find no admiſſion; and if it did, at the name of Iſabella it would vaniſh — the charm would be too powerful for it. Oh, Iſabella! haſten to Old Spain: I die with anxiety to embrace you.

I HAVE read Alonzo's letter to Alberto, and have ſent yours to that [128] excellent man. You are to receive from him an account of the Duke's misfortune. Poor wretch! cruel as he has been, I pity him. He is a ſad inſtance of the melancholy effect of pride, when carried to that dread⯑ful length. Happy had it been for him, if all his anceſtors had been honeſt peaſants, inſtead of illuſtrious Dukes. The only effect that a long train of coroneted anceſtry ought to produce in the mind of their repre⯑ſentative is, to encourage him in at⯑tempting to imitate the virtues of thoſe illuſtrious men from whom he boaſts his deſcent. If it produce this effect, a long train of anceſtors may indeed be eſteemed an import⯑ant [129] advantage; but if it be only conſidered as conſerring on us a power of inſulting thoſe whoſe ance⯑ſtors were unknown, it may be juſt⯑ly eſteemed a misfortune. Of the truth of this aſſertion the poor Duke is too fatal an inſtance — But I muſt conclude, as Father Alberto has ſent for my letter that he may incloſe it with his. Do, write to me once more, ere you enable me to aſſure you in perſon how ſincerely I am

ALL this appears to me like a dream. That Iſabella, whoſe fate I have ſo often wept — does ſhe ſtill live! — and ſtranger ſtill, — is ſhe happy!

LETTER LXXIX.
DONNA LAURA to FATHER ALBERTO.

I HAVE been much queſtioned concerning Iſabella's eſcape by all our ſiſterhood; many of whom [162] now recollect having ſeen a young man ruſh into the convent the mo⯑ment the doors were opened. They all rejoice greatly that the dear an⯑gel has eſcaped, and are very anxious to ſee her in Old Spain again. They cannot, however, be ſo anxious as I am. I believe there is not one here who ſuppoſes that Iſabella even knew where ſhe was till the ſhip had fail⯑ed; and if ſhe did, I do not think her conduct reprehenſible. The news of her eſcape has been much noiſed about, and has every where occaſioned much joy. Several people who viſited the convent have deſired to ſee me, though I was totally; un⯑known to them, merely that they [163] might congratulate me on the joy⯑ful news. I now indeed am happy. How unſearchable are the ways of Providence? Had Iſabella not re⯑turned to Ventina, ſhe would pro⯑bably never have been the wife of Alonzo. I remain, with reſpect and eſteem,

LETTER LXXX.
FATHER ALBERTO to DONNA LAURA.

I WAS this day alarmed with a great noiſe iſſuing from the Duke's apartment. I inſtantly went [165] to learn the reaſon of the tumult; and the moment I entered the room, perceived the Duke weltering in his blood. The phyſician who attended him told me, that he had left the Duke only an inſtant, whilſt he went to the next apartment to bring him ſome medicine; and when he return⯑ed, he found him in this horrid con⯑dition, with a dagger in his hand; which it ſeems he had procured, but how I have not been able to diſco⯑ver. When I arrived, there were ſcarce any ſigns of life; and in a few moments the Duke breathed his laſt. Poor wretched man! he is a ſad instance of the fatal effects of pride.

[166] I HAVE ordered ſeveral hundred maſſes to be offered up for his ſoul, that, through the infinite mercy of the Almighty, ſhe may at laſt gain admiſſion into the bright regions of eternal day; where the vain diſtinc⯑tions of birth are unknown, and where humility is preferred to ela⯑tion of heart. May his example warn others to ſhun thoſe errors that embittered his preſent, and clouded his proſpects of a future, life!

BY his death Iſabella ſucceeds to his enormous property; which, had ſhe not eſcaped that fatal night, would have devolved to the [167] Crown. I have ſent immediate intelligence to the Marchioneſs of Villarea (for the dukedom being extinct, that title devolves to the amiable Iſabella); and have, in her name, taken poſſeſſion of the eſtate.

THE Duke's funeral is fixed for to-morrow, and as his rank was ſo high, I have ordered it to be con⯑ducted in a pompous manner; tho', alas! I fear his ſpirit will receive little pleaſure from the pomp with which his remains will be conſigned to the grave, where all diſtinction ceaſes. You will not have an oppor⯑tunity [168] of writing for ſome time, if you neglect the preſent one. I re⯑main, as uſual,

LETTER LXXXI.
FATHER PEREZ to FATHER ALBERTO.

YESTERDAY a veſſel from New Spain arrived here; on board of which there was a lady of [170] diſtinction, whoſe huſband had been drowned in the courſe of the voyage; and I was informed that ſhe was in a very bad ſtate. On receiving this in⯑telligence, I, as was my duty, went on board the ſhip, and found that the lady was of Villarea; and that her only ſon, an infant of nine months old, was with her. She was ſo weak as not to be able to ſpeak, and it was apprehended ſhe could not ſurvive many days. I had her landed and placed in one of the beſt houſes here where ſhe is attended by the faculty of the place; and they give me hopes that ſhe may yet recover. I learnt from one of her attendants, that you are her [171] particular friend, which has occa⯑ſioned my informing you of her ſ⯑ituation.

I am, Sir,

LETTER LXXXII.
FATHER ALBERTO to DONNA LAURA.

I TOLD you in my laſt hurried ſcrawl, that our Iſabella was ar⯑rived in Spain, and what misfortunes [173] had befallen her. The inſtant I had ſcratched theſe few lines to you, I ſet off for Cadiz, and found the ſad mourner in a very miſerable ſtate, as you will ſuppoſe. She had, how⯑ever, recovered her ſtrength ſo much as to be able to ſpeak; and ſhowed great pleaſure at my arrival. She was in bed, and appeared wan and much exhauſted. On a little couch, near the bed, lay a ſmiling inſant that ſeems to inherit all its mo⯑ther's charms. She wept bitterly on my kiſſing the ſweet babe; and ſaid, it was all ſhe had by which to remember her Alonzo. It was about nine months old; [174] and ſhe has named it Frederick Alonzo.

I HOPE God will ſupport her in all her diſtreſſes, of which Hea⯑ven has given her a large propor⯑tion. Indeed I have never ceaſed to weep ſince I arrived here. To ſee the mother hang in agony over her infant ſon, to hear her ſighs, and to witneſs. her ſorrows, is too much for me.

OF poor, amiable, Alonzo's death, I received the following account from one of her attendants. After they had embarked for Old Spain, [175] and were juſt out of the harbour, Iſabella recollected a caſket, con⯑taining the certificate of her mar⯑riage, which ſhe had left on ſhore. Alonzo inſiſted on going to fetch it himſelf, and got into a boat; they were about this time two miles from ſhore. Scarce had the boat got half way, when a hurricane overſet her; all her crew periſhed, and the ſhip was driven out to ſea. The hurri⯑cane continued for twelve hours; du⯑ring which time the ſhip was in the greateſt danger of foundering. When the hurricane ſubſided, they found themſelves far out at ſea; and the wind was ſo contrary, that they [176] could not return to inquire if the corpſe of Alonzo had been driven on ſhore; for there were no hopes of his life being preſerved, as the hurricane was ſo violent that no one could gain the ſhore. Poor Iſabella was for a long time quite delirious, and accuſed herſelf as the cauſe of his death. I truſt, however, that ſhe will yet recover, and that the young Alonzo will not be deprived of both his parents.

SHE ſays, whenever ſhe is able to hold a pen, ſhe will write to you. She ſends her love to you: and I muſt now lay down my [177] pen, as the phyſicians are arrived; and I always attend her when they come.

I am, as uſual,

LETTER LXXII.
FATHER ALBERTO to DONNA LAURA.

I HAVE at length removed your Iſabella hither. She was much affected on her firſt arrival; but time [179] will, I truſt, reconcile her to the place. The ſight of the caſtle recall⯑d to her memory many paſt tranſ⯑ctions: the meeting between her and the poor old nurſe, was truly affecting; the good old woman wept in ſilence, whilſt Iſabella em⯑raced her with the greateſt affection.

HER arrival has made all the ſervants diſtracted with joy; of which there never was ſo much in the Caſtle of Villarea: But your friend herſelf is inconſolable for the death of Alonzo, and will, I fear, ſoon fol⯑low him; — ſhe is at preſent reduced to a mere ſketeton. She is ever grate⯑ful [180] for your letters^*, and regrets that ſhe cannot yet anſwer them.

LETTER LXXI.
FATHER ALBERTO to DONNA LAURA.

O LAURA, what ecſtacy will you feel at the peruſal of this letter! Yeſterday, as the Marchioneſs [182] and I were walking in the grove, a figure approached us, which ſo near⯑ly reſembled Alonzo that I ſtarted; but on a nearer approach it proved to be that very Alonzo, whoſe ſup⯑poſed death had nearly proved fatal to Iſabella. The interview, as you will ſuppoſe, was intereſting in the extreme. I will not attempt to de⯑ſcribe it, leſt I ſhould not do juſtice to ſuch a ſcene. Suffice it to ſay, that pleaſure now reigns unrivalled within theſe happy walls. The eſcape of Alonzo was indeed nearly miraculous! He alone, of all the crew, eſcaped by clinging to a plank, and at length reached the ſhore near⯑ly [183] dead with fatigue. His ſuffer⯑ings, during his abſence from Iſa⯑bella, were doubtleſs of the ſevereſt nature. Ignorant of her fate, and Unable to acquaint her with his eſcape, he embarked for Old Spain in the next fleet that failed; and immediately oh his arrival, wrote to me to prepare Iſebella for his return: but unhappily the letter never ar⯑rived. Unhappily, I ſay, becauſe the ſurpriſe had nearly proved fatal to Iſabella.

GOD grant that the happineſs which this amiable couple now en⯑joy, may henceforth remain unal⯑loyed [184] by misfortune, and that the remainder of their days may be ſpent in a ſtate of uninterrupted tran⯑quillity. In this prayer you, I am ſure, will readily join, as well as in admiring the unſearchable ways of Providence. Don Alonzo joins your Iſabella in every warmeſt wiſh for the happineſs of Donna Laura, as does her

P. S. As ſoon as Iſabella's ſpirits are at all recovered from their pre⯑ſent [185] agitated ſtate, ſhe means to ſet out for Ventina; there to embrace her much-loved Laura.