LETTER the Twentieth.
Miſs WESTBURY TO Lady BELL SIDNEY.

THANK heaven! I begin to breath again my dear Lady Bell, for upon my honor 'tis more than I can ſay I have done freely [] for ſome time, ſo great has been my anxiety and moſt painful ſuſ⯑pence: my brother is at length pronounced out of danger, yet ſo weak and low that 'tis judged ne⯑ceſſary he ſhould drink the Briſtol waters; we therefore propoſe ſet⯑ting off for that place next Tueſday; I ſhall accompany him as I think duty demands it of me,—though I am very ſorry to ſay, I have already diſcovered his ſentiments on a cer⯑tain ſubject, continue as inveterate as ever, he has in ſpite of the unre⯑mitted; and let me ſay, the kind attention I have ſhewn him during his confinement, had the cruelty [3] to expreſs the moſt rooted aver⯑ſion to the man, on whom he knows my happineſs depends.

This horrid, this unjuſt preju⯑dice, is really unpardonable, and puts it out of my power to feel for his ſufferings as I otherwiſe ſhould;—however, 'tis ſome conſolation to reflect that he cannot prevent my felicity, though he has ſo long retarded it, and 'tis certainly very diſagreeable to hear the moſt de⯑ſerving, the moſt amiable of men thus abuſed, for ſo I may with too much reaſon term the language, he makes uſe of when talking of him. I am exceedingly hurt at this [4] moment, as you will eaſily gueſs when informed of the cauſe.

I was ſitting by him not an hour ſince when my woman brought me your letter—he fixed his eyes upon me while I read it, and obſerving the pleaſure it ſeemed to give me, cried, though ſo weak he could ſcarcely raiſe his voice without pain,—Caroline, tell me truly, is that letter from that d—n'd fel⯑low, Rochley? By Heavens! if I thought you dreamt of having any further connection with ſuch a beggarly—. Stop, Sir John, ſaid I, ſhocked beyond endurance [5] at his expreſſions, I will not pa⯑tiently hear a perſon, I bluſh not to confeſs I have the higheſt eſteem for thus vilified.—Aſk your, heart, Sir, whether he ever gave you juſt cauſe to?—Cauſe, replied he, ſee the condition to which I am reduced, Madam, and then aſk your own-heart the queſtion.—Ah, Sir John, Sir John! Does yours then acquit you? fie brother!—Do not give me reaſon to bluſh for the ſen⯑timents of one whom I wiſh to re⯑ſpect—you are, you muſt be con⯑ſcious you have only yourſelf to blame for the ſituation you have been reduced to, was he to ſacri⯑fice his life in order to ſpare that of [6] a perſon he well knew wiſhed to rob him of it in the baſeſt and moſt atrocious manner?—that of his greateſt, nay, let me ſay, his only enemy.—I hoped, Sir John, your reflections, while languiſhing on a bed of ſickneſs, while every mo⯑ment the ſear of death was before your eyes, would have taught you to ſee the nature of your ſenti⯑ments in a proper light. I am ſorry they have not produced ſo deſirable an effect.

Is that letter from him I ſay? I want none of your ridiculous ſer⯑mons,—pardon me if I do not think myſelf bound to anſwer any queſtion [7] aſked in ſo rude, ſo unbrotherly a manner,—yet that I may ſet you an example of that behaviour you have too long been a ſtranger to.—I will condeſcend to tell you it is not—thank you ſiſter for your kindneſs, only add to it by ſwearing you never will receive any from him, and you ſhall find I not only can, but will profit by it.—Excuſe me, Sir, however, I may wiſh your reformation, I cannot poſſibly pay ſo great a price for it.

I now left him to cool at his leiſure, and took up my pen as the likelieſt means to cool myſelf,, for [8] I confeſs I was too much warmed by the curious dialogue, I am determined if poſſible not to come to open war with him; I wiſh not to change my place of abode to leave him I mean, If I can any way avoid it; my late father's houſe is certainly the moſt eli⯑gible place I can inhabit while ſingle,—had he been ſtill ſpared to me, I ſhould not have been ſubjected to the tyranny of this tormenting ill-tempered brother, his reign is, thank heaven! pretty nearly expired, that reflection ena⯑ables me to bear it with tole⯑rable fortitude, and the moment it is, he may depend upon it I ſhall [9] put myſelf under the protection of a more amiable lord and maſ⯑ter—that is a point determinately fixed.

I am not quite clear whether I ſhall make any long ſtay with him at Briſtol, I certainly ſhall not if I find he is likely to receive benefit from it, having ſeen him commo⯑dioufly ſettled there, ſhall return home, where I impatiently long to be, that I may put my thoughts into ſome kind of train, for they have really for ſome weeks paſt been in a ſtate of confuſion—adieu, my dear Lady Bell.

[10] I will let you know where to direct to me next,

LETTER the Twenty-firſt.
Miſs ROCHLEY, TO Miſs LENOX.

MY Orlando has been ill, my dear Harriot, yes he has been ill, and his Iſabella at a cruel diſtance from him, he tells me he is nearly recovered; but dare I [12] flatter myſelf he does not deceive me now, as he has kindly done all the time he has been confined?—kindly the dear creatures intentions were, I well know; and yet I can hardly forgive the well meant deſ⯑ception, ſince I now reproach my⯑ſelf for having been ſo chearful, while he was perhaps in danger—he tells me he would ſtill have kept me a ſtranger to it, could he have contrived any other reaſon to give me for his not returning im⯑mediately to England; but aſſures me, though not yet able to bear the fatigue of the journey, he is out of all poſſible danger, it ſeems [13] he caught a fever from a gentle⯑man, who lodged in the ſame houſe with him, who is now, how⯑ever, perfectly well.

This perſon is a moſt agreeable young man, who is going on a tour to the South of France, and has almoſt tempted my brother to accompany him, if he ſhould be prevailed upon, it will detain him from me about two months longer, and I rather think by what he ſays, he will comply, for I find he has got a farther leave of his ab⯑ſence from his worthy general, who recommends the plan, as it [14] will not only ſerve to re-eſtabliſh his health; but alſo give him an opportunity of ſeeing that part of the world, which is well worth his notice—all this convinces me the thing is reſolved on, yet I am per⯑ſuaded, were I to expreſs a wiſh for his return, he would indulge me; but for this very reaſon, I have preſſed the contrary, indeed I am of the general's opinion, and were I not, I love him too well, not to prefer his ſatisfaction to my own at any time.

Sir John, I hear, left London laſt week, and is in a fair way of [15] recovery—that circumſtance is ſo important, that I ſhould have been the happieſt creature in the world, had I not now a thouſand ap⯑prehenſions on my Orlando's ac⯑count; however, if his next letter informs me he is actually ſet out on his tour, I ſhall be tolerably eaſy, as that will be a proof that he is better—for that letter, you may well believe I am impatient, beyond expreſſion—and now a word or two of my new neighbour.

You'll pleaſe to recollect 'tis near a fortnight ſince he came here; I mention this, leſt you ſhould wonder to find he has con⯑trived [16] to be introduced to me, though Lord Templeton could not.—ſee what it is for a man to be paſſed the age of gallantry, they have many advantages—yet 'tis poſſible, thoſe who are not, may not envy them.

It ſeems Mr. Douglas, for that is my new friends name, had heard me warbling to my harpſichord—of courſe aſked Mrs. Bellmour who it was, to whom he was in⯑debted for being ſo highly enter⯑tained, as he politely termed it—to him ſhe thought no reſerve neceſſary, but freely acquainted him with my ſituation—honeſtly owning [17] to me, ſhe thought a man of his age, a ſingle man too, and im⯑menſely rich, might be a deſirable friend, this it ſeems was her kind motive for ſo fully gratifying his curioſity—ſhe wiſhed to tell him my real name too, as he might poſſibly have known ſome of my family, but would not preſume to do it without my permiſſion.

I thanked her for her attention, ſaying ſhe had acted with her uſual propriety; that as to my name, it was of little conſequence, ſince I had taken that of Beverly, I would even continue it till my brother's return.

[18] Mrs. Bellmour, it ſeems, ſaid ſo many fine things in my praiſe, that the old gentlemen ex⯑preſſed a violent deſire to ſee me, that he might himſelf judge whether I deſerved them—in ſhort, ſhe beg⯑ged me to honor her with my com⯑pany at tea, a few days after his arrival, and there I met him, not by ſurpriſe, I ſhould tell you, for ſhe had aſked permiſſion for that alſo—if he was charmed with me, I do aſſure you I was no leſs ſo with him—how ſo delightful a man could ſo long continue a batchelor, Heaven knows!—croſſed in love, I ſuppoſe, Harriot—not [19] that he is ſo very, very old, neither: I mention this, leſt if we ſhould make a match of it, and you ſhould fancy him as old as the hills—he has ſeen a great deal of the world, has a fine underſtanding, great memory, and of courſe is a moſt entertaining companion; but muſic is his paſſion—not love—he is a great proficient on ſeveral inſtru⯑ments, his taſte is excellent, and I am not without hopes, mine will be much improved under his in⯑ſtruction, for we are already come to that my dear—I have given him permiſſion to paſs an hour with me at any time, when not [20] better engaged, which he as in duty bound, politely ſays can never happen, I now regret he is to make ſo ſhort a ſtay in London—per⯑haps it may not be quite ſo ſhort as Mrs. Bellmour fancies, I really ſhall be ſorry when he leaves us, as he makes my time paſs more pleaſantly than it did before.

Mrs. Bellmour, who I believe is ſin⯑cerely attached to me, has often re⯑greted that lord Templeton had not an opportunity of being introduced to me, as he bears ſo excellent a character, and as ſhe is certain I could not fail to be partial to him on a farther acquaintance, ſhe [21] wants to aſk Mr. Douglas whether he knows him—I bid her have patience, time is a worker of miracles—his lordſhip is certainly uncommonly handſome I tell her; but it by no means follows, I ſhould prefer him to all others, merely on that account, this ſhe allows; but adds, he is univerſally reckoned the moſt amiable, and accompliſhed man in England, and is certain we are formed for each other—if ſo, I reply, we ſhall cer⯑tainly manage the buſineſs with⯑out interference.

I find Harriot, his lordſhip has contrived to gain her good graces [22] moſt completely, and I believe ſhe now wiſhes I would be a little leſs—I will not ſay prudent—but in ſhort, leſs reſerved—ſhe muſt, however excuſe me, I cannot pre⯑vail upon myſelf to ſtoop to conquer, a proper pride, my dear, is ne⯑ceſſary, to man and woman too.

I am now going to ſing my old friend a ſong, who is this moment enquiring for me,

LETTER the Twenty-ſecond.
Same to the Same.

THE plot begins to thicken, as ſomebody ſays, Har⯑riot—Lord Templeton, has ac⯑tually, by ſome means got ac⯑quainted with my worthy friend Mr. Douglas—'tis abſolutely a [24] fact my dear: here follows what paſſed between us this morning on the ſubject.

I had been playing a leſſon to Mr. Douglas on the harpſichord, and afterwards, at his deſire ſung—in love to pine and languiſh, yet know my paſſion vain, &c.

I had no ſooner finiſhed, then he ſmiling, cried, and can you my dear young lady give ſo much ſweet expreſſion to thoſe lines; yet be the cruel, the hard hearted creature I am told you are?—Harriot, I thought I ſhould have [25] expired with confuſion—I expected the next moment to ſee him pop down on his knees at my feet—what elſe could I think after this ſpeech, but a paſſionate declaration of love?—I now wiſhed the inſtru⯑ment at Jeruſalem, that had been the means of bringing me into ſuch a ſcrape—he ſaw my embar⯑raſſment, and I have not a doubt, gueſſed my thoughts.

Pray ſaid I, at laſt, who is the enemy, who gives me a character, I flatter myſelf, I ſo little deſerve?—and have you then no idea, who it can be, replied he? is your con⯑ſcience, my dear Miſs Beverly quite [26] at eaſe? yes, upon my word it is returned, I (gaſping for breath)—and your heart too? both I aſſure you—why then, (cried he, affecting to look wondrous grave) poor Lord Templeton may as well put an end to his torments, by tucking himſelf up on the firſt friendly willow he can meet with.

Lord Templeton! exclaimed I with amazement, good Heavens! Mr. Douglas, what can you mean?—Oh, ho! cried he, I have found you out, my lovely young friend, have I? I thought I ſhould bring you in guilty before I had done—upon my honor, (looking exceed⯑ingly [27] ſilly I believe) I never ſaw his lordſhip but once in my life, he is abſolutely a ſtranger to me.

I know it Miſs Beverly, I know it, and that is the very identical cauſe of thoſe torments I was talking of, and of which he ſo much complains—he too ſaw you once, and ſtrange to tell has been blind, ab⯑ſolutely blind to the charms of every other woman, from that moment.

But how, in the name of fortune came you ſir to know all this, ſuppoſing it true, which I have not the vanity to think [28] credible?—why, you muſt know, madam, this ſame unfortunate lord, finding, I ſuppoſe, by ſome curious means or other, that I was ſo happy as to be an inmate under the ſame roof with you, has lately taken it into his head to be particularly charmed with the coffee-houſe I uſe, the next whim that ſtruck his lordſhip, was to be no leſs charmed with me—that you know was the moſt na⯑tural thing in life, as he could not but diſcover I was the beſt com⯑panion imaginable, by my very looks; well, we all at once grew wonderfully intimate, I cannot ſay I am conſcious of making any [29] violent advances in order to obtain this honor; 'tis not my way, ſince a lord to me is pretty much upon a par with a commoner, if I find their underſtandings upon a par alſo—I own I have ſome oddities about me Miſs Beverly, and that is one of them.

Some days after this friendſhip was ſtruck up between us, which to be ſure tickled my vanity not a little—he begun to let it down gra⯑dually, by convincing me I was not the only object of his attach⯑ment, for he aſked if I had ever [...]een ſo fortunate as to ſee Miſs [30] Beverly, who lived at Mrs. Bell⯑mour's?

Oh! ho! thought I—I now begin to ſee the foundation on which our great friendſhip is built, and a very pretty foundation it is—ſeen her my lord, yes, and heard her too, and what is more, have the vanity to imagine ſhe does not behold me with in⯑difference—not behold you with indifference, (Sir, cried his lord⯑ſhip, in the fineſt agitation you can conceive)—and pray, my lord interrupting him, is that ſo ve [...] extraordinary, am I then ſo [...] guſting an object? if ſo, [...] [31] came your lordſhip to be ſo taken with me? continued I, (with an expreſſive ſmile)—he now ſeemed at a loſs to know whether I was in jeſt or earneſt, which was exactly my intention.

Have you then, really—Sir, cried he, at laſt, any ſerious thoughts of Miſs Beverly?—many very ſerious ones I give you my honor—and ſhe does not behold you with indiffer⯑ence?—I have reaſon to think ſhe does not—then I am the moſt wretched of men! exclaimed his lordſhip.—Hey day! why, pray my lord, what has Miſs Beverly's honoring me with her eſteem to [32] do with your happineſs or miſery?—Mr. Douglas, ſaid he, I adore her!—very well my lord, I think you cannot give a greater proof of your judgment, but this by no means explains to me why you are therefore to pronounce yourſelf the moſt wretched of men—Ah, Sir▪ have you not confeſſed to me, the lovely creature does not behold you with indifference?—why▪ what an unconſcionable being, yo [...] acknowledge yourſelf, my lord▪ granting you do adore her—nay granting ſhe too adored you, is [...] to look with an eye of indifferenc [...] on every other mortal? I eſtee [...] [33] her greatly, and know her to be highly accompliſhed, to poſſeſs an uncommonly fine underſtanding; all this from perſonal knowledge, I can juſtify—more in her favour, were it neceſſary, I have heard from one, who is ſtill better ac⯑quainted with her: I have con⯑ceived a very ſincere regard for her, and I will add, my lord, were I twenty years younger, I ſhould be tempted to adore her too, would you not, after this, reckon her an ungrateful gypſey, were ſhe to be⯑hold me with indifference?

Ah! my dear Sir! my dear Mr. Douglas! (taking my hand—yours [34] Miſs Beverly, not being within his reach)—can you forgive my petulance!—I confeſs you alarmed me—greatly alarmed me—I feared—I was a rival, ſaid I, interrupting him—I thank you for the com⯑pliment, my lord, 'tis a very flat⯑tering one; but ſuppoſe I had been weak enough to entertain views of that nature, I do not think it need have thrown your lordſhip into deſpair, Miſs Beverly has taſte and diſcernment—he bowed—and now added I, ſuppoſe we begin to underſtand each other; you ſay, you love this amiable girl to ado⯑ration, if I miſtake not, and I have [35] a very great friendſhip and eſteem for her—thus ſtands the caſe, what comes next—ſhall I be ſincere? cried he—O! by all means my lord—then I will freely confeſs, I hoped it might be poſſible through your kind interpoſition, for me to be introduced to her; I know you to be a man of honor, and truſt the world does me the juſtice to think me ſo—I have made every poſſible attempt to obtain that happineſs; but hitherto every ef⯑fort has been ineffectual.

Miſs Beverly, (for proper reaſons, I make not a doubt) lives retired, [36] I have not, till I had the good for⯑tune to meet with you, been able to find any perſon of her ac⯑quaintance.—Mrs. Bellmour has been deaf to all my ſolicitations, and miſerable as it has made me, I eſteem her the more for it; now my dear Sir, if you on a farther knowledge of my character, can procure me this honor, I ſhall look upon it as the greateſt obli⯑gation you can poſſibly confer—my happineſs, my peace of mind depend upon your indulging me in my requeſt.

Now Miſs Beverly, ſaid Mr. Douglas, I have done—thus much, [37] this inſinuating friend of mine prevailed upon me to promiſe, I complied with leſs reluctance; be⯑cauſe I have, to tell you the truth, conceived a very good opinion of him, though that alone would not have ſufficed; one may be de⯑ceived by appearances, but I have made it my particular buſineſs to know his character from others, and find it all I could wiſh.

What can I ſay Sir? replied I, his Lordſhip certainly does me a great deal of honor, but ſituated as I am at preſent, I cannot according to my ideas of rectitude think of receiving his viſits—I cannot in⯑deed, [38] —you have my permiſſion, Sir, to tell him I think myſelf honored by his attention; but till my bro⯑ther's return muſt decline ſeeing him.

Nay, nay, if you go on at that rate I ſhall be in love with you myſelf, and there will be an end of his lordſhip's hopes at once.—What?—you pretend to tell me you have not ſixpence in the world, yet, ſcruple to break through the forms of decorum, at the hazard of loſing the affection of a man, who is dying to make you miſtreſs of ſuch a fortune as might amply gra⯑tify the ambition of any woman in [39] England. Look'e Miſs Beverly, do not thus tempt an old fellow to play the fool.—I tell you I am determined to withſtand all your allurements, I will not fall in love with you, that's poſitive, ſo you may as well give up all hopes of it.

Is he not a delightful old man, Harriot? I vow I could find in my heart to be ſorry for the reſo⯑lution he with ſo much humor ſays he has formed,—I am to tell him then continued he, you will nor permit me to introduce him?—if you will do me that favour, my dear Sir, I ſhall think myſelf infinitely obliged to you—'tis more [40] than his lordſhip will do, however, you ſhall be obeyed;

And pray, Sir, give him to under⯑ſtand I am not as he may perhaps fancy, a woman offortune. I wiſh not to deceive him, this in⯑formation may poſſibly prove as effectual a remedy as the lover's leap.—I ſhall tell him no ſuch thing, for you know nothing of the matter; how ſhould you know what you are worth? Nay, my dear Sir,—and nay, my dear Ma⯑dam,—I have lived longer in the world than you, and could tell you a thouſand ſtranger things than that—but adieu.—I am going [41] to the coffee-houſe, ſo ſaying, he left me delighted with his agreeable manner; but utterly at a loſs to comprehend his laſt ſpeech.

Mr. Douglas had no ſooner left me than I ſat down to give you theſe particulars:—My mind is now more at eaſe, ſo I hope will his lordſhips, and that he will ceaſe all farther importunity,—I would not for worlds have ad⯑mitted his viſits, ſituated as I at preſent am, under a feigned name, and my dear protector abſent.—Ah! I could not poſſibly think of it, yet I will not deny that I am rather pleaſed to find he is ſo very [42] ſerious in the buſineſs.—Should his mind prove as engaging as his perſon, I ſhall have ſome cauſe to be vain of my conqueſt; yet, who can ſay when he has gained the point, he ſeems ſo extremely ſo⯑licitous about, I mean when he is better acquainted with me, that he has formed an idea which I ſhall by no means anſwer.—Depend upon it his imagination has given me more perfections than happen to fall to my ſhare, I do not mean by this to depreciate thoſe I really do poſſeſs neither, I have too much vanity not to have a tolerable opi⯑nion of them; but a man ſo pro⯑digiouſly in love as he would per⯑ſuade [43] me he is, muſt fancy the object of it a goddeſs at leaſt,—farewell. I am now miſtreſs of a new ſubject for your amuſement you ſee, as well as for my own; to ſay truth, it is full time my epiſtles ſhould be embelliſhed by a daſh of love.

LETTER the Twenty-third.
Miſs ROCHLEY, TO Miſs LENOX.

DO you know Harriot, I have met with the greateſt ſhock ſince my laſt that ever I received in my life? or hope ever ſhall again. I am ſtill ſo fluttered by it, though [45] it happened yeſterday, that I can hardly guide my pen—it has abſo⯑lutely affected my nerves—no, ne⯑ver was ſo inſolent, ſo deſpicable a creature.

I was ſitting in my room yeſter⯑day morning, enjoying a letter I had juſt received from my dear Orlando (who by the way is per⯑fectly recovered, and ſet off on the tour I mentioned,) when my door opened, and without ceremony in flounced—gueſs who?—only Lady Beningfield; I roſe from my ſeat at her entrance, not at that inſtant recollecting her, and was of courſe, though ſurpriſed to ſee a ſtranger, [46] going to receive her politely, but her behaviour ſoon brought her to my remembrance, and alſo account⯑ed for the honor ſhe did me, ſeeing plainly ſhe came with no friendly deſign, I very compoſedly reſumed my ſeat, leaving her ladyſhip to find one for herſelf, in caſe ſhe choſe to follow my example.—

This I ſaw piqued her moſt hor⯑ridly; fine airs, Miſs you give yourſelf upon my word, methinks you might treat a perſon of my rank (and ſhe bridled) with a little more ceremony—had your rank been pro⯑perly announced to me, before you thought fit thus to intrude your⯑ſelf [47] into my apartment, perhaps I ſhould have paid more attention to it; though your behaviour would ſoon have deſtroyed any degree of reſpect that rank might have in⯑ſpired,—inſolent, but 'tis no won⯑der your ſilly head ſhould be turned—ſhe was ſo violently agitated that ſhe could not proceed; I on the contrary felt ſo much contempt for her, that I was more compoſed then, than I am now while giving you an account of it.—Pray Ma⯑dam, may I preſume to aſk, ſaid I, how I came to be honored with your very agreeable company? I really have not the happineſs of being [48] in the leaſt acquainted with you, and conſequently am rather at a loſs

Acquainted with me! cried ſhe with a ſneer, no, really, my ac⯑quaintance I would have you to know are in a very different line of life—and to make a little variety I preſume Madam, you wiſh to add me to the number.—Do not attempt to be witty child, I ſhall be ſick of it—I ſhould be ſorry for that, ſaid I, ſince your being ill might be a means to prolong your viſit.—Don't be impertinent young wo⯑man, that may be ſtill worſe. Sup⯑poſe then, and [by this time Har⯑riot, I had taken up a purſe I am [49] netting, and began to work] ſup⯑poſe then we wave all farther cere⯑mony, Madam, and come to the point,—once more permit me to aſk what has procured me the ho⯑nor of this viſit?

Why, then without farther cere⯑mony Miſs, I ſhould be glad to know what footing you are upon with Lord Templeton? I am not to learn that he has taken ſome pains to make you believe a thouſand moſt abſurd and ridiculous things; I have very particular reaſons for making this enquiry; you cannot ſurely be ſuch a fool as to fancy he has any [50] thoughts of marrying you—that is out of the queſtion: now had you been wiſe enough to have treated me with that deference I have a right to, I meant to have made you a very friendly offer; firſt, however, let me know what it is you really expect from him.

Allow me firſt, ſaid I, with aſtoniſhing calmneſs, to tell you madam what I expect from you (riſing and going to the door) which is, that you will be kind enough to find your way down ſtairs, as you found the way up.

[51] I really thought the creature would have beat me, Harriot—how dare you, cried ſhe (choking with rage) preſume to treat a perſon of my quality with this unheard of inſolence?

Becauſe, returned I, that feather quality on which you very juſtly ſet ſo high a value, conſcious you have nothing elſe to boaſt of, I pay no ſort of regard to, when poſſeſſed by a being, I have reaſon to look down upon with con⯑tempt.

So ſaying, I very quietly walked into the next room, turned the [52] key of the door, leſt ſhe ſhould think proper to follow me, and left her to her own meditations—ſhe did indeed attempt it, but find⯑ing I had put it out of her power, I heard her march down ſtairs, muttering, I know not what as ſhe went.

Now my dear Harriot, what ſay you to this pleaſant adventure? I preſume the friendly offer ſhe kindly meant to make me, was the doſe of poiſon you once men⯑tioned—ſhall I confeſs, that I no ſooner heard the creatures carriage drive from the door, than I was [53] ſimple enough to burſt into tears?—ſimple I ſay, ſince ſo deſpicable a being was certainly beneath my notice; but though pride kept up my ſpirits while ſhe was preſent, they intirely forſook me, when left to reflect on the mortifying ſcene.

I found myſelf relieved by them however, and as ſoon as my eyes were fit to be ſeen, I rung for my maid, deſiring ſhe would ac⯑quaint Mrs. Bellmour, I wiſhed to ſee her—ſhe returned, telling me, ſhe had been out all the morning.

[54] I now ſent her to aſk, who had ſhewn Lady Beningfield up ſtairs, and to my aſtoniſhment, found no mortal below, knew ſhe had been with me till they ſaw her coming down; ſhe had aſked, indeed, if I was at home, on her firſt en⯑tering the houſe, but ſaid no more about it, and when they would have attended her to the door, ſhe would not permit any one to take that trouble; ſaying, her ſer⯑vant was waiting, ſhut the par⯑lour door, and inſtead of going out, as they ſuppoſed—ſhe ſlipped up ſtairs.

[55] This is the account the young woman gave my Sally—I took no farther notice of it to any of them, but mentioned what had paſſed to Mrs. Bellmour, when ſhe returned, who was ſhocked beyond expreſſion, declaring ſhe ſhould never ſet her foot in her doors again, let what would be the conſequence—to this I objected, as ſhe was ſo good a cuſtomer—but in vain—ſhe vowed, ſhe never with her conſent ſhould gain admittance.

I am really aſtoniſhed how I had courage to bear her inſolence with ſo much calmneſs; but re⯑joice [56] moſt truly, that I had ſo much command of myſelf, as I certainly mortified her, even more than ſhe mortified me—conſcious of my innocence, it was but a momentary pain, while her lady⯑ſhip muſt be ſenſible ſhe had ren⯑dered herſelf an object of con⯑tempt, even in her own eyes.

I long much to know, whether lord Templeton has heard of it—ten to one, if the fooliſh, inſignifi⯑cant woman has prudence enough to conceal the ſtory, though it muſt ſet her in ſo deſpicable a point of view.

[57] If they have differed (which I ſhrewdly ſuſpect, or why ſhould ſhe have acted in that abſurd man⯑ner?) I make no doubt ſhe will inform him, in order to diſtract him, which it cannot, I think fail to do, if he has any ſentimentals of delicacy.

I have deſired Mrs. Bellmour to conceal the affair from my worthy friend Mr. Douglas, it hurts my pride, my feelings▪ Harriot, though I have certainly no cauſe to bluſh, whatever her ladyſhip may have; but as he is now my lords con⯑fident, he may chance to hear the ſtory from him.

[58] This, my dear Harriot, is the firſt occaſion on which I have ſeverely felt the change in my ſituation—but for that change, this could not have happened—I truſt and hope it will be alſo the laſt.

LETTER the Twenty-fourth.
Same to the Same.

IT is, as I gueſſed, Harriot—my lord is diſtracted at what has happened—I have had the whole hiſtory from Mr. Douglas, and a letter on the ſubject from his lord⯑ſhip, which I was compelled to [60] receive contrary to my inclinations; but what could I do? my worthy friend (for ſuch I really believe he is) was rather hurt at my attempt⯑ing to decline it, as it was cer⯑tainly condemning him for con⯑ſenting to convey it to me—I ſaw he was chagrined, and therefore, though unwillingly, took it from him; I will incloſe a copy for your peruſal.

I fear this may bring on a correſ⯑pondence, which I really wiſhed exceedingly to avoid till my bro⯑ther's return, his dear preſence would have ſaved me from all [61] this uneaſineſs—but there's no help for it, I muſt be doubly watchful over my conduct, that's all I can now do.

Mr. Douglas, who has ſeriouſly conceived a real friendſhip, for his lordſhip declares, he is the moſt accompliſhed, the moſt engaging young man he ever met with, gave me the following particulars of the affair yeſterday.

Their meetings are no longer confined to the coffee-houſe, on the contrary, they are ſeldom aſunder; he called upon his lord⯑ſhip, [62] it ſeems, in the morning, and to his aſtoniſhment found him almoſt frantic—for Heaven's ſake! cried he, what has thus diſturbed you my lord.

My dear friend, replied his lord⯑ſhip, you ſee before you the moſt wretched of men—what again my Lord—Oh! ſpare your railery, I am really miſerable beyond ex⯑preſſion; have you then heard no⯑thing, has the charming Miſs Be⯑verly concealed from you the un⯑pardonable, the cruel inſult ſhe has meet with on my account?—Oh! Mr. Douglas, ſhe never, never can [63] forgive it!—'tis impoſſible, every hope, every glimmering of hope is now loſt to me for ever!—prithee explain your ſelf, ſaid my good friend, in the name of fortune, what have you done, how have you in⯑ſulted, how been guilty of this unpardonable offence?

I! exclaimed his lordſhip—I inſult the moſt lovely of women!—Ah! Heaven forbid!—why then all this diſtraction, if 'tis not you?—I tell you I am the fatal cauſe, and is not that to be completely wretched?

[64] Not quite replied Mr. Douglas, in his dry way—your lordſhip may be the innocent cauſe, and ſurely that alters the caſe, but come—let me hear the whole ſtory, that I may be the better able to judge, whether 'tis time for you to hang or drown yourſelf.

Allow me Harriot to make this part of the hiſtory as ſhort as I can, becauſe you already know the ſubſtance of it, I mean her ladyſhip's paſſion for Lord Tem⯑pleton—ſuſpecting from the firſt time of his ſeeing me, that I had made an impreſſion on a heart ſhe [65] wiſhed to have wholly to her⯑ſelf, ſhe had him watched, and ſoon learned he made frequent viſits to Mrs. Bellmour—at firſt ſhe rallied him; but finding this had no effect, ſhe called him falſe, perfidious and ungrateful, in fine, ranted like any tragedy queen—he pleaded not guily—ſhe finding no better might be pleaded the violence of her love, very pleaſant that Har⯑riot—he returned a moſt graceful bow—what could a man do more?

At laſt ſhe inſiſted he ſhould ſwear her ſuſpicions were without foundation—he proteſted he was [66] not ſufficiently acquainted with either the nature or extent of her ſuſpicions, and begged to decline obliging her—ſhe raved—he looked, I ſuppoſe as every man muſt na⯑turally do, who finds a woman making love to him, inſtead of his making love to her—that is to ſay rather aukward—finding ſhe could not move his flinty heart, ſhe vowed ſhe would go in perſon to the creature who had robbed her of it, and know from herſelf what ſoot⯑ing we were upon.

This threat, which he well knew ſhe was capable of putting [67] into execution, alarmed him;—he ſwore to expoſe her conduct to the whole world, if ſhe preſumed to entertain an idea of that horrid nature.—She valued not the world, was her reply, having loſt all ſhe held dear in it:—he now con⯑deſcended to ſooth, to intreat; but this exaſperated her the more, ſenſible it was for my ſake, not her own.

They parted with mutual diſguſt, he ſtill flattering himſelf ſhe would not ſtoop to ſuch meanneſs—but to his utter confuſion, ſhe informed him of what ſhe had done, glory⯑ing [68] in the diſtreſs ſhe had cauſed, and vowing it ſhould not be the laſt.

And now, ſaid his lordſhip, (hav⯑ing ended his ſtory) What have I to hope?—Why, for the felicity of throwing yourſelf at Miſs Be⯑verly's feet, my lord, cried Mr. Dou⯑glas, the very firſt opportunity, and making your peace the beſt way you can.—Were ſhe indeed a be⯑ing caſt in the ſame mould with the gentle creature we have been talking of, I ſhould adviſe you to take a cordial drop, by way of ſav⯑ing her the trouble of adminiſtering [69] it, which ſhe certainly, in that caſe, would contrive to do; but as ſhe is not, I recommend the firſt plan as the moſt agreeable.

Ah!—cried my lord—would to heaven I durſt flatter myſelf with the hopes that ſhe would conde⯑ſcend to hear my defence▪ but if even you, my dear Sir, could not prevail upon her to admit me to her preſence, before this curſed affair, how can I now expect it?—impoſſible!—then after a pauſe, he added—perhaps, Mr. Douglas, you may have influence enough with the dear and juſtly incenſed [70] angel to perſuade her to read a letter from me, I cannot exiſt unleſs I have an opportunity of ſome kind or other to apologize for what has happened. This, ſaid my friend, I agreed to attempt.

He inſtantly ſat down, and wrote the epiſtle I mentioned having been in a manner compelled to take Har⯑riot—and which I will now tran⯑ſcribe for your peruſal, as I pro⯑miſed, having thus told you the ſubſtance of what paſſed between Mr. Douglas and me on the oc⯑caſion, as well as his dialogue with my lord.

What could I ſay to this, Har⯑riot? you will, I imagine, allow, ſince I had been ſpite of myſelf, prevailed upon to read it, ſome ſort of anſwer was unavoidably neceſſary—I accordingly ſat down, and wrote as follows:—

[76] Having deſired Mr. Douglas's opinion of it; who, ſmiling, ſaid, it was cool enough to freeze the flame I had kindled in his lord⯑ſhip's boſom, I ſealed and begged he would do me the favour to de⯑liver it.—ſo far am I, however, Harriot; from thinking it quite ſo cool as it ought to have been, that I have ever ſince wiſhed I had blotted out the word pleaſure.

This, you will perhaps ſay, is being wonderfully prudiſh—I own it would ſo, were I not circum⯑ſtanced as I at preſent am. His lordſhip, an abſolute ſtranger to [77] me, Mr. Douglas, almoſt as much ſo, though we have certainly con⯑ceived a good opinion of each other; yet, who can ſay I may not be deceived, even in him—ſorry indeed, ſhould I be at ſo mortify⯑ing a diſcovery; but all this makes me more cautious then I ſhould otherwiſe be.

Apppearances, in reality, are rather againſt me too—a young, and tolerable handſome woman, in lodgings by herſelf, my family unknown—no acquaintance, and a⯑verſe from making any—'tis certain⯑ly, rather miſterious, and that can [78] never be an advantage to any one, heartily ſick I am of it, I do aſſure you, particularly ſince that vile creature has given me ſuch horrid proofs, that appearances, as I was ſaying, are indeed againſt me, I am impatient beyond expreſſion for my brothers return, that I may reſume my own name—I now regret I was ever called by any other—yet, the ſame thing might have hap⯑pened had I not.

I think I ought to write to him, but am fearful of the conſequences, however, I will conſider of it, for [79] the preſent my dear girl, I muſt bid you adieu,

LETTER the Twenty-fifth.
Miſs BROWN TO Lord TEMPLETON.

THE information I am going to give your lordſhip; will, I truſt, be deemed a ſufficient apology for this trouble—it pains me exceedingly to confeſs, I am, [81] and have been a daily witneſs to the moſt wicked and ſhameful plot carried on againſt your lord⯑ſhip, that ever was invented, tho' not an accomplice, as this letter, I hope, will ſerve to convince you.

I live with Mrs. Bellmour, my lord, your attachment to Miſs Beverley (as ſhe is called) is no ſecret to any one in the family, 'tis a circumſtance too flattering to be concealed—it aſtoniſhes me, indeed, that the miſterious conduct, they have thought proper to obſerve, does not alarm your lordſhip; they, however, find it anſwers their [82] villanous purpoſe▪ but forgive theſe reflections, they are foreign to what I have to relate.

Know then, my lord, that this Miſs Beverly is no other than a natural daughter of Mrs Bell⯑mours; well might ſhe ſay ſhe had the charge of her education; alas! ſhe has educated her for the moſt infamous purpoſes; beautiful and accompliſhed, ſhe is, as every one muſt allow—Mr. Douglas, her pre⯑tended friend is upon the moſt in⯑timate footing with her—I bluſh to write it; but her baſe, her moſt worthleſs mother ſacrificed her to [83] him, when ſcarce fifteen—with him, ſhe has lived ever ſince—I believe, indeed, he has nothing to reproach her with, in regard to her conduct from that time; but he has now views of another nature, and of courſe finds Miſs Bellmour, (for that is her real name) an obſtacle to them.

At the time your lordſhip was ſo much ſtruck with her appear⯑ance on ſeeing her here, her wretched mother was actually in treaty with a man of fortune, who offered to grant her a ſettlement for life, as his miſtreſs—the affair [84] was on the point of being con⯑cluded, and certainly would be⯑fore this time, had not your lord⯑ſhip given hopes that you might abſolutely, if things were properly managed, be induced to make her your wife—the great difficulty now was, what account to give of her family and connections, which they naturally imagined, would of courſe be enquired into by your lordſhip—this was a perplexity not eaſily got over—they, therefore, determined to adopt the plan they have ſince ſo ſucceſsfully followed.—that is, to acknowledge, there was a miſtery in her ſituation, [85] which ſhe was not yet at liberty to explain.

They mentioned an abſent re⯑lation, at whoſe return all would be cleared up—but the truth is, my Lord, they hoped to exhauſt your patience, for well do they know no ſuch being exiſts, though I make no doubt, they could eaſily produce a perſon to aſſume that character, could it anſwer any good purpoſe; they hoped, I ſay your lordſhip's paſſion, would at laſt ſo far blind you, as to induce you to make honorable propoſals, rather than continue to be thus denied permiſſion to viſit her.

[86] Can any thing in life, my lord, be more artful?—I confeſs it was myſelf; who ſuffered Lady Beningfield to go up to her apart⯑ment, knowing Mr. Douglas was then with her, and eaſily hoping her ladyſhip might have proof ſuf⯑ficient to have left her no doubt of thoſe ſuſpicions ſhe at preſent entertains of the duplicity of her character; though ſhe miſtakes the object, Miſs Beverly had how⯑ever, I found contrived to conceal him in a cloſet time enough to prevent ſo important a diſ⯑covery.

[87] When I wiſhed her ladyſhip to be fully convinced. I confeſs it was not from any degree of partiality I felt for her; but concluded your lord⯑ſhip would of courſe be informed of it; which knowing your worth and amiable character I moſt ſin⯑cerely deſired.

Indeed, had my wiſhes been grati⯑fied, and ſhe had given your lordſhip an account of the diſcovery; 'tis poſſible it might, coming from her, have appeared the effects of jealouſy, and not have gained credit: I am no ſtranger my lord to Lady Beningfield's motives, for her cu⯑rioſity, [88] pardon me for taking the liberty to mention this circum⯑ſtance, it leads to another—which is this!

Finding all her own hopes of gain⯑ing your lordſhip's hand at an end, ſhe now from the moſt implacable ha⯑tred and revenge would give worlds, that you may be drawn in, to marry this beautiful; but unfortunate girl—I ſhould not be ſurpriſed, were her ladyſhip artful enough to attempt, even to perſuade you to it; for ſhe has had power ſufficient by the help of gold, to learn the truth of Miſs Beverly's ſtory from [89] Bellmour, the latter from the tenor of her conſervation, found letting her into the ſecret, would rather pro⯑mote than fruſtrate her ſcandalous deſign, and when fully informed, ſhe declared, as I mentioned above, nothing on earth would give her ſo much pleaſure as to ſee your lord⯑ſhip ſo gloriouſly taken in, that was her very expreſſion.

Beware then my lord of the whole ſet, 'tis true, were Lady Beningfield to appear an advocate now, for a match, ſhe ſo lately dreaded as the greateſt of all evils, you might naturally ſuſpect her ſincerity; yet, [90] who can ſay, how much an in⯑genuous, a generous mind like your lordſhips (particularly when urged to what at preſent is ſo conſonant to your inclinations) might be in⯑duced to credit?

That I my lord can have no in⯑tereſted motives for what I write, I need hardly mention—on the contrary, were it known by any of the family, I had thus be⯑trayed them, I know not, if even my life would be in ſafety—but I have ſo much confidence in your lordſhip's honor, and am ſo ſhocked at the horrible contrivance that I venture it, without heſitation.

[91] Make what uſe you pleaſe my lord of this letter, only for the ſake of the very important intelligence it contains, conceal the name of the writer, who now begs leave to ſubſcribe herſelf,

LETTER the Twenty-ſix.
Lord TEMPLETON, TO Colonel ROCHLEY.

WHAT can tempt you thus to prolong your ſtay, my dear Rochley? after my repeatedly informing you, you have nothing [93] farther to apprehend on Sir John Weſtbury's account, the fellow is quite recovered, and ready for another tilting about whenever you will be kind enough to put your⯑ſelf unarmed in his way again, have you no compaſſion for the di⯑vine Caroline? fie upon you Or⯑lando! I believed you a man of more gallantry than to abſent your⯑ſelf one moment longer than was neceſſary for your ſafety and her happineſs of courſe.

Do prithee wheel about to the right, and march home as faſt as you can—I have ſuch a ſtory to treat you with—but I bar all [94] jokes upon the ſubject mind that or I am dumb.

I have had ſuch an eſcape—no, if I live to the age of, what's his name in the bible—I ſhall not have half time enough to be ſufficiently thankful.

Would you believe it? I had ab⯑ſolutely brought myſelf to think ſeriouſly of making an offer of marriage to the Dulcinea I have ſo heriocally raved about to you for ſome time paſt, true upon my honor, finding no poſſibility to ſtorm her caſtle—or rather I ſhould [95] ſay to gain admiſſion without ſtorming it; I had fully determined, to take her for better for worſe—her old friend—ah curſe him!—had ſo wrought on my paſſions by his flaming account of her mental perfections (thoſe of her perſon I had ſeen and admired to my coſt) that I actually authoriſed him to aſſure her, I wiſhed for nothing ſo ardently, as to make her honorably mine, and implored him to prevail on her, to accept my offered hand.

Yes, Rochley, thus far had my infatuation for the bewitching the enchanting girl, ſeduced me from [96] the paths of common ſenſe, when behold my guardian angel inſpired one of the infernal pack with ſen⯑timents of pity for the ſcrape I was in, ſhe, for which I am certainly bound to pray for her every day of my life, ſent me a full and parti⯑cular account of the birth, pa⯑rentage, life, character, and beha⯑viour, of my fair (till then un⯑known) enſlaver.—Ah! "what a falling off was there?" it was a laſt dying ſpeech to all my hopes of happineſs.

All my comfort is, I was wiſe enough to conceal her name and [97] place of abode even from you. I will not take upon me more merit than I am entitled to however, on that account, ſince the truth is, I was ſo wholly engroſſed by de⯑ſcribing the angel, that thoſe un⯑important matters never occured to me, but now my not having done it, does with no ſmall ſatis⯑faction, ſince had you known one, or either of thoſe particulars, you might poſſibly have ſtill more rea⯑ſon to laugh at me, by finding I had been ſighing for a dear crea⯑ture, who had not let you ſigh in vain.

[98] In ſhort, Rochley, I underſtand ſhe is neither more nor leſs at this precious moment, than miſtreſs of that old fellow, who has taken ſuch pains to enſnare me.

This I fortunately learned yeſ⯑terday from one who reſides in the ſame houſe, and who knows the whole riſe and progreſs of their infamous intrigue.

That I am horridly mortified I need not tell you, yet would you believe it? I am ſtill fool enough to love the dear charming girl, in ſpite of my better judgment. 'Tis [99] abſolutely incomprehenſible to me, how a paſſion, violent as this that conſumes me, could be excited by ſuch tranſient views, as merely ſeeing her twice at her window, and once, when by accident I went there with that friend, Lady Be⯑ningfield, and your Caroline, the latter was no leſs ſtruck with the elegance of her figure than myſelf, the former affected to have entirely overlooked her, though ſhe has ſince given too convincing proofs of the falſity of that aſſertion—but to this there hangs a tale, which as things are turned out, I cannot take the trouble of recounting.

[100] I was driven in my firſt tran⯑ſports of rage, almoſt to diſtraction, and was tempted to commit ſome deſperate act of violence—but that I fortunately recollected the whole crew of them as unworthy my re⯑venge, or rather fear; a lurking partiality for the object of my paſſion checked my reſentment.

I determined therefore to leave them to enjoy the diſappointment, to ſet off inſtantly for the country, and there endeavour to forget the tranſcendant charms of my perfi⯑dious fair one, who, I am ſtill credulous enough to believe is more to be pitied than blamed.

[101] For this weakneſs you, Rochley, will probably condemn me—but had you ſeen her, yes, had you ſeen the faſcinating charmer, you too muſt have adored her as I did!—did, do I ſay? the ſame infatu⯑ation ſtill perſues me, and pleads but too ſtrongly in her favor, in ſpite of the dreadful intelligence, I have received.

That appearances are againſt her, I muſt allow—ſtrongly againſt her—yet ſhe may,—but what a folly is this?—Is there a ſimple doubt remaining?—no, Orlando, no!—Let me fly then—I dare not [102] longer truſt my ſelf to write on the ſubject;—farewel, my chaiſe is ordered, my only ſafety is in flight.

Let me intreat you Rochley, to return without farther delay to England—come and introduce me to your lovely ſiſter. I have often wiſhed to get a ſight of her, hav⯑ing heard ſhe is the moſt lovely of her ſex. Come and introduce me to her; that in contemplating her perfections I may forget thoſe of a creature who had ſhe been as virtuous, muſt I think in beauty equaled even Miſs Rochley.

LETTER the Twenty-ſeventh.
Miſs ROCHLEY, TO Miſs LENOX.

I AM all aſtoniſhment my dear! Never was there ſo extraordi⯑nary an affair!—every thing that has paſt ſince my Orlando left me ap⯑pears a dream, I really dare hardly truſt my ſenſes.

[104] I have told you Harriot, repeat⯑edly told you, if I miſtake not, the unremitted endeavours Lord Tem⯑pleton made to prevail upon me to admit his viſits. I have told you I think how very earneſt he was to perſuade me he had conceived the moſt violent paſſion for me, and honorable as violent—all this you have heard, but what I am now going to tell you, will I fancy ſur⯑priſe you infinitely more.

Mr. Douglas delivered the few lines I ſent him—his lordſhip choſe to find more beauties than there were letters in the whole [105] performance, he was in raptures,—tranſported with my amiable condeſcenſion, adored me more if poſſible than ever for my candor—in ſhort, ſet a far greater value on the favour than it was worth, and ſwore he could not exiſt unleſs I would permit him to thank me in perſon, and at the ſame time to offer me his hand and heart, beg⯑ging Mr. Douglas would do all in his power to procure him this bleſſing.

All this the worthy man repeated to me almoſt as much tranſported with joy as his lordſhip, and no [106] leſs earneſt with me to grant his requeſt.

Fully perſuaded they were both ſincere in their profeſſions, I actu⯑ally found myſelf beginning to waver in my reſolution of wait⯑ing for my dear brothers return—ſo perpetually importuned, what could I do?—at laſt, I told Mr. Douglas, I would take a day or two to conſider the propriety of what he aſked this was giving hopes, and with theſe hopes, he flew to my lord, who was again in raptures.

During my deliberation, my good old friend had been ſo much [107] engaged in the city, that I had ſcarce ſeen him, by the way I am ſorry to tell you he talks of leaving London ſoon, and kindly declares nothing but the intereſt he takes in my affairs could have detained him here ſo long.

For two or three days, I ſay, I ſcarcely ſaw him—when yeſterday in his way from the city, he called on his lordſhip, in order, as he drolely ſaid, to enquire how his patience held out; but gueſs, if you can, Harriot, of his conſter⯑nation, when informed by the porter, his lordſhip had left Lon⯑don [108] the day before, ordering him to acquaint any perſon who might call for him, that he ſhould not return for ſeveral months, perhaps not then, as he had ſome thoughts of going abroad.

Poor Mr. Douglas was quite thunderſtruck, and for ſome time could not believe he underſtood what the man ſaid—however, after his repeating it many times he was compelled, though much againſt his inclination to credit the intelligence.

Never ſhall I forget the various paſſions diſplayed on his expreſſive, [109] his benevolent countenance when giving me this information—rage—contempt, and cruel diſappoint⯑ment were ſtrongly pictured in every feature.

How I looked at that embar⯑raſſing moment, Heaven only knows! for Mr. Douglas was too violently agitated himſelf to make any remarks; but my feelings were hurt beyond all conception—I felt a glow of pride and indig⯑nation on my cheek—aud could not articulate a ſyllable, might I have had the univerſe, yet wiſhed to ſay ſomething in order to perſuade [110] him; I was not ſo much diſcon⯑certed, as his honeſt worthy heart apprehended.

At length, after various eſſays for utterance? why, my dear Sir, are you thus uneaſy? believe me, I am not; conſider, I had in fact, very little knowledge of his lord⯑ſhip, conſequently could be no way attached to him; have I not great reaſon to be thankful, this is the caſe? I might, perhaps, had I been better acquainted with him, have conceived a partiality, then indeed this unaccountable conduct might have given me ſome pain, but as it is—what have I to regret?

[111] Talk not ſo calmly, replied he with energy; do not for the firſt time, ſince I knew you attempt to play the hypocrite! ſpeak of him, as he deſerves! execrate his very name, as I do from my ſoul! he is a vilain!—yes, I ſay a vilain!—none, but a being, who juſtly merits that harſh appellation, could have behaved in ſo baſe, ſo daſtardly a manner; but by Heavens! if ever I meet him, old as I am, I will call him to a ſtrict account, he has not only groſsly inſulted the moſt deſerving of her ſex, but me alſo;—and dearly ſhall he pay for it, if ever I am ſo fortunate, as to ſet eyes on him again.

[112] Yes, my good, my dear child; he ſhall know that, I am not a man to be affronted with impu⯑nity.

Though I juſt now blamed your prudent, your calm behaviour, be aſſured, I honor you for it, 'tis ſpirited, 'tis noble, and like every other part of your conduct, thank Heaven! you are not attached to ſo worthleſs a wretch—no Miſs Beverly, I truſt a better fate awaits you—I did mean, as I told you to leave town in a few days, but no buſineſs ſhall now oblige me to quit you.

[113] I will ſtay, at leaſt, till your brother returns, and will before I part from you, ſee you once more, ſafely under his protection, and truſt he will never again leave ſo precious a charge to the mercy of ſtrangers.

I mean not to reflect on your friend Mrs. Bellmour. I believe ſhe is a worthy well meaning woman; ſhe could neither foreſee, nor have prevented what has hap⯑pened—but let us forget it.

Come try, if you can ſo far com⯑mand yourſelf as to ſing me a [114] ſong; go to your harpſichord, let it be ſomething chearful to raiſe our ſpiris.

I own, Harriot, I thought this requeſt rather mal a propos; but, convinced he meant it well, com⯑plied, though I certainly did not either play or ſing better than uſual—he ſoon after left me, charging me to think of the fellow as he deſerved, were it poſſible, added he, I would order you not to think of him at all.

This injunction, had he given it, you may believe I could not eaſily have obeyed.

[115] Now tell me, my dear, what you think of this adventure? for my own part I can make nothing of it, 'tis as I ſaid before, abſo⯑lutely incomprehenſible, have I not infinite reaſon as I have alſo before ſaid to be thankful, he had not gained that place in my affections he pretended to be ſo anxious to obtain?—good Heavens! what cauſe ſhould I have had to reproach myſelf, had I been weak enough to have admitted his viſits—I ſhudder at the very idea of it, ſince 'tis now evident in ſpite of all his profeſſions of honor and reſpect, his views were of [116] a very different nature, it muſt be ſo—no other way can I account for his conduct—but being by mine at laſt perſuaded, he could not hope to ſucceed, he thought it needleſs to throw any more time away upon me.

Does not this, Harriot, appear the moſt probable conjecture one can form?—yet, but a few days before, how very different did his ſentiments ſeem to be, what agonies did he expreſs for the inſult I had met with from that vile Lady Ben⯑ingfield—in ſhort, I can only re⯑peat 'tis all a miſtery, all wholly incomprehenſible.

[117] Another circumſtance gives me on reflection much pleaſure, I mean my never having given a hint to my Orlando of my imagi⯑nary conqueſt—I thought it would have an appearance of vanity to tell him of it; and that it would be time enough, ſhould any thing really come of it: how lucky was this, my dear Harriot, on two accounts.

Firſt, becauſe I am thereby ſpared the mortification of his knowing I have been thus ſtrangly treated; and in the ſecond, be⯑cauſe, had he known it, and by [118] whom, how very fatal might have been the conſequences, for that he would not have let the matter paſs without reſenting it you well know.

There is, you ſee no ſituation ſo bad, as to be void of all con⯑ſolation—this I lo [...]k upon as a reward for my prudent conduct, don't you think, Harriot, I have a right to draw this flattering con⯑cluſion from thoſe circumſtances?

It is not unnatural to ſuppoſe you will now aſk what my heart ſays to this affair?—why, my dear [119] I have the pleaſure to aſſure you it behaves very well on the oc⯑caſion, I will confeſs it had formed a few mighty pleaſant plans of future felicity, in which Lord Templeton had a ſhare; but it was on a ſuppoſition, that he was all the world is pleaſed to re⯑preſent him, that is to ſay the moſt amiable and worthy of men—that he is the moſt elegant in point of perſon, there are few I fancy can deny, and were one to judge from the expreſſion of his countenance, one would really be much inclined to believe the cha⯑racter he has acquired is no more [120] than he juſtly deſerves—but it has ever been a maxim with the very wiſe not to truſt to appearances—I have pretty ſubſtantial reaſon, I think Harriot, for adopting it.

All I can ſay, in ſhort is, had he really been, what we were ſimple enough to believe him, I ſhould have been very well pleaſed with my conqueſt, as it is, I am truly thankful he failed in quite compleating his.

Adieu my dear Harriot, I am now going to preſs my Orlando's return, indeed the time he pro⯑poſed [121] being in England, draws very near—I can not expreſs half the gratitude I owe to the worthy, the kind Mr. Douglas; but you I am ſure will do me the juſtice to believe I am deeply impreſſed by a ſenſe of the many obligations he has confered upon me, of his friend⯑ſhip I can have no doubt—your's alſo, I have the happineſs to re⯑joice in,

LETTER the Twenty-eighth.
Same to the Same.

IF my laſt aſtoniſhed you, my deareſt Harriot, I think I may venture to pronounce this will do it ſtill more. I am certainly born to meet with very extraordinary adventures, if one may call them ſuch; and really, though that has rather too much of the romantic in it, I know not what other ap⯑pellation to give them.

[123] Now prepare, my dear girl, to be delighted, prepare your moſt eloquent congratulations for your Iſabella—all her misfortunes are now I truſt at an end—at leaſt, from this happy moment, ſhe may look forward with a certainty of not being again inſulted on account of her depreſſed circumſtances. I have ſuch news, my dear, to tell you, as will put you out of your little wits with joy, this you know is ever your lively expreſſion on any par⯑ticularly happy event.

I wrote, as I told you I intended, to my Orlando, begging he would [124] haſten his return—ſome time after Mr. Douglas and I were ſitting to⯑gether talking over the affair of Lord Templeton, and forming a thou⯑ſand fruitleſs conjectures concern⯑ing his unaccountable behaviour, when a poſt-chaiſe drove to the door.—I flew to the window, my heart telling me it was my Orlando. It was, Harriot! it was himſelf!—in a moment I found myſelf preſſed to his affectionate boſom, and ſuch was my tranſport, I had very near fainted; however, I luckily did not.

My firſt agitation a little ſubſi⯑ded, I recollected my good Mr. [125] Douglas, who ſtood gazing on us with the utmoſt pleaſure; taking my darling brother's hand, I led him to him.—Orlando, ſaid I, let me introduce you to this gentle⯑man; much are you indebted to him, I do aſſure you, for the con⯑ſtant attention and friendſhip he has ſhewn your poor Iſabella; he has, during your abſence, been my guardian, my generous pro⯑tector.

They embraced each other with great cordiality, my brother ex⯑preſſing his acknowledgments of my good friend's kindneſs in the [126] moſt grateful and pleaſing manner.—The worthy man would now have left us, but we begged he would do us the favour to ſtay and partake of our ſatisfaction. He then took his ſeat, and was diverted with the thouſand queſtions I aſked my dear brother, ſo rapidly as to put it out of his power to anſwer any one of them.

In this delightful ſituation were we chatting, when one of Mrs. Bellmour's ſervants opening the door of my apartment, and juſt peeping in ſaid, pray Madam, is Colonel Rochley here? the poſ⯑tillions [127] are deſirous of being diſ⯑charged—I obſerved Mr. Douglas looked amazed; I proteſt I had quite forgot the poor fellows, cried Orlando, in my hurry to ſee you my dear Iſabella; ſo ſaying, he went down ſtairs.

Did I hear right? ſaid Mr. Dou⯑glas; did not the ſervant miſtake your brother's name? did ſhe not call him Rochley?—She did, Sir. How then (cried he, with a kind of impatience, a ſort of I know not what in his manner) comes yours to be Beverley? pray explain this myſtery; I have very particular [128] reaſons for being thus inquiſitive. Rochley!—good God!—can it be? is it in nature?—ſpeak, my dear child! and put an end to this ſuſpence.

I was diverted with his emotions, looking upon them as nothing more than his ſurpriſe at finding me ſo much attached to a half brother, which I concluded he now fancied he was, by our names being diffe⯑rent; and was preparing to ac⯑quaint him with the truth, and why I had taken that of Beverly when Orlando returned to us.

[129] Come, my dear brother, ſaid I ſmiling, come and help to ex⯑pound an enigma that ſeems to puzzle my good friend not a little. I now gave him the reaſons which had induced me to adopt what in the end proved ſo very perplexing. Your name, then, is abſolutely Rochley? cried he, with ſtill more energy and expreſſion in his voice and countenance, than we thought the caſe required.—Both your names are Rochley?—pardon me, I muſt aſk a few more queſtions.—In what part of England did your father live?—what was your mo⯑thers maiden name?

[130] Harriot, this queſtion gave riſe inſtantly to a thouſand confuſed ideas—never till that moment had it once occurred to me that as her name was Douglas (as you well know) there was a poſſibility that he might be related to her, I now wondered it never had—but there are ſo many in all parts of the world of the ſame name, yet not related, that I never thought about it.

In fine, I had no ſooner told him it was Douglas, and that our father's ſeat was in Warwickſhire, with ſome other particulars, than [131] riſing from his ſeat, and gazing on us both with every mark of kind⯑neſs, affection, and ſurpriſe, he exclaimed, it muſt be—it muſt be ſo! I can no longer doubt it; come to my arms, my dear chil⯑dren, let me preſs to my delighted heart the ſon and daughter of my lamented, my beloved ſiſter—yes, behold in me her only brother.

Can you, my dear Harriot, figure to yourſelf our aſtoniſhment or our joy?—'tis impoſſible—for ſome moments, it produced a ſcene of the moſt agreeable confuſion; he continued to aſk a thouſand queſ⯑tions, [132] to which our anſwers were ſo fully ſatisfactory, that not a doubt remained of the very im⯑portant truth. No wonder, cried the delighted Mr. Douglas, I was ſo tenderly attached to this dear child; ſhe made a moſt extraor⯑dinary impreſſion on me the firſt moment I beheld her—but 'tis now eaſily accounted for—though then it amazed me, all lovely and de⯑ſerving as ſhe is, to find how much I felt myſelf intereſted in her happineſs.

May I not flatter myſelf, ſaid Orlando, reſpectfully, taking his [133] hand, the brother of your engaging favourite will alſo be honored with a place in your eſteem? be aſſured, my dear Sir, it ſhall from this happy moment be the ſtudy of his life to merit that diſtinction.

Doubt it not, cried our kind un⯑cle, the ſtriking reſemblance I find in you to your amiable mother, would alone inſure it to you; but you have ſtill better claims; this dear child has ſaid ſo much in your praiſe, has ſet your character in ſo fair a light, that you poſſeſſed it long before I ſaw you; and I need not add, your manner, per⯑ſon, [134] and addreſs, have confirmed the idea I had formed of you.

He again embraced us both with tender affection, bidding us look upon him as a father, whoſe great⯑eſt pleaſure it would be to do every thing in his power to render us happy; and if wealth, con⯑tinued he, can do it, that power, thank providence, is mine.

The news of this diſcovery was ſoon ſpread through the family, and my kind friend, Mrs. Bell⯑mour, ſent up her reſpectful com⯑pliments, begging we would per⯑mit [135] her to wait upon us, that ſhe might offer her ſincere congratu⯑lations upon the fortunate event.

This, Harriot, you may eaſily gueſs, was readily granted—ſhe came up, and abſolutely ſhed tears of joy—When we were tolerably compoſed, and the firſt delightful emotions began to ſubſide, Mr. Douglas gave us his hiſtory in few words, as follows:

At eighteen he went to the Eaſt-Indies, in a very lucrative employ⯑ment, there he ſoon made a con⯑ſiderable fortune; he married an [136] amiable woman, who brought him a large addition to it; by her he had two ſons, who when they were of a proper age, he brought over to England, for their education.

At that time our dear mother was juſt going to be married; ſhe was many years younger than her brother—he was preſent at her nuptials, and having placed his boys under the care of proper maſters, he returned to India.

He had not been there more than twelvemonths, when he re⯑ceived the melancholy intelligence [137] of his eldeſt ſon's death, this was a ſevere ſtroke, you may imagine, my dear Harriot, to ſo affectionate, ſo tender a parent—but his affliction was ſoon after greatly encreaſed by the loſs of a wife he adored—I need make no comments on theſe diſtreſſing circumſtances, your own feelings will render that unne⯑ceſſary.

All his care, all his affection now centered in his ſurviving ſon;—for ſeveral years the accounts he heard of his improvements, con⯑ſoled him as far as conſolation was poſſible for his former loſſes.

[138] He had thoughts of coming to England, in order to judge how far the encomiums he heard of his ſon were juſt, when he received a letter from this darling ſon, in⯑treating his permiſſion to join him in India, as his education was now fully completed, and his inclination led him to return to the land of his nativity. To this his father readily conſented. He ſoon after obtaining the deſired permiſſion, but alas, Harriot—never reached the deſtined port, the ſhip was loſt, and every ſoul on board pe⯑riſhed.

[139] This dreadful event gave riſe [...]o the conjecture, that my worthy uncle was alſo dead, as it was be⯑ [...]ieved he was the Mr. Douglas who ſuffered that cruel fate; and his not returning to England, con⯑firmed his friends in this opinion. You may have heard it mentioned, my dear Harriot, that my mother had a brother who was ſuppoſed [...]oſt, either going or coming from [...]ndia.

My uncle had heard of our mo⯑ [...]her's death before this laſt af⯑fliction, and that ſhe had left a ſon and daughter.—Theſe he now be⯑ing [140] deprived of all he held dear, determined ſhould be heirs to his fortune.—He therefore ſettled his affairs, and returned to England, and was but juſt arrived, when chance brought him to Mrs. Bell⯑mour.

Having tranſacted the buſineſs he had to do in London, his deſign was to go into Warwickſhire, to enquire for our family—he heard however, in London, of our father's death, and the fatal conſequences of his miſconduct. He had in⯑telligence alſo, that his nephew was abroad, and was highly pleaſed [141] with the character given of him, of me he had no hopes of gaining any information, till he went to the country.

Thus, Harriot, have I in as few words as poſſible, made you ac⯑quainted with the important, but happy change in our ſituation.—

I am ſtill in ſo agreeable a flutter, that you muſt excuſe me if I now bid you adieu.

I think, conſidering all things, I have been very minute. I will write again ſoon; till then, and [142] ever, believe me to be affectionately yours,

LETTER the Twenty-ninth.
The ſame to the ſame.

OUR generous, our worthy uncle has now no motive for leaving London, having found here what he was going to the [144] country in ſearch of, he is there⯑fore buſily employed in providing a houſe, carriage, ſervants, &c. &c. the former he has met with in Portland-place, the latter you know is eaſily managed.

In this ſuperb manſion, my dear Harriot, is your Iſabella to preſide, for he will not enter it, he ſays, unleſs we will both conſent to reſide with him, to this kind re⯑queſt, we could not poſſible make any objections, as you may readily conceive:—it is to be furniſhed in the moſt ſplendid manner—a [145] moſt elegant vis à vis, is now build⯑ing for my Orlando, and for me, ſuch a profuſion of finery is pre⯑paring, that were I going to wed an emperor, nothing would be found wanting.

The worthy man really dotes upon us both, and enjoys the thoughts of a certain lord's aſtoniſh⯑ment, when he ſees me in this ſtateof grandeur, beyond expreſſion, we have not yet found a leiſure hour, to treat my brother with his lordſhip's adventure, but mean to do it the firſt opportunity—in a [146] few days we hope to get into our houſe, 'tis what is called ready furniſhed; but my uncle finds ten thouſand things wanting, and many he means to change for more ex⯑penſive ones, ſuch as glaſſes, com⯑modes, &c. &c. in ſhort he has the ſpirit, and I have alſo reaſon to believe the purſe of a prince.

I confeſs Harriot I enjoy no leſs then he does, the amazement Lord Templeton will be in when he finds the inſignificant Miſs (as he no doubt thought me, or he durſt not have treated me in the [147] ſtrange unaccountable manner he did) is thus transformed into a woman of faſhion and fortune, all my fear is that he is gone abroad as he threatened, this would be a woeful diſappointment to my uncle and me too, for we promiſe our⯑ſelves much diverſion from his em⯑barraſſment, ſhould we meet.

All his kind purpoſes of revenge Mr. Douglas's I mean, are now laid aſide, our triumph he very juſtly thinks, will be quite ſufficient puniſhment, when joined to our con⯑tempt, for he makes a point of my [148] looking upon him as a deſpicable wretch; this I am obliged to pro⯑miſe, you know Harriot, but pri⯑vately add, he is a moſt intolerably handſome one; this, however is, entre nous, I dare not for my life ſay as much to my uncle.

He is now abroad making ſome purchaſes, and my Orlando is on guard, I ſhall ſee but little of him for ſome time, as he has ſo much extra duty to do, to make up for the time he has been abſent: dear creature, he is ten times handſomer than ever; no, you never beheld [149] ſo fine a figure as he makes in his regimentals; 'tis certainly on a perſon ſo graceful as he is, a moſt captivating dreſs, it has always been ſaid, we females are partial to a red coat, and I believe 'tis a fact; I am ſo, I confeſs.

Think on Miſs Weſtbury's joy on this happy occaſion, Harriot, but above all, think of her brother's—he will no doubt be prodigiouſly delighted—not a ſpark of envy—O! no to be ſure—I wonder if they have yet heard of what has happened—yet I can hardly ſuppoſe [150] Orlando could ſo long refrain from informing her of it, though he might forget to ſend a few lines to his amiable friend Sir John—Lady Beningfield too—how I enjoy the thought of meeting her, there I ſhall indeed triumph. Surely ſhe muſt ſink into the earth with con⯑fuſion, but ſhe muſt be callous to every ſenſe of feeling, or ſhe could not have behaved in the horrid, the inſolent manner ſhe has done.

I hear my uncle's voice—adieu, my dear friend, I muſt attend him, [151] my next will be from Portland⯑place,

LETTER the Thirtieth.
Colonel ROCHLEY.
TO Lord TEMPLETON,

WHY make ſuch a buſtle about my returning to England, my good friends? when behold on my arrival, I find [153] you have thought proper to fly from London, the reaſon your lordſhip gives for your precipitate retreat, is a moſt laughable one I confeſs; but by no means ſatiſ⯑factory.

I think you might have con⯑trived ways and means to have baniſhed the remembrance of your fair, what ſhall I call her? not jilt, my lord, for I think you certainly jilted her.

Do let me beg you will return to town, I am impatient to have [154] the whole account from yourſelf, I have it in fifty different ways, already you may be ſure; but not one of them ſo clearly as I wiſh, I can make nothing of it—ſo pray ſet off on the receipt of this, on that condition I promiſe to tell you a ſtory in return for yours; which, if not quite ſo laughable, is at leaſt ten times more intereſt⯑ing and important; but not one word till we meet, your lordſhip may, perhaps, alſo hear mine fifty different ways, as I have yours; but if you can be ſatisfied with vague reports, I ſhall begin to think [155] what I never did before, that you are not ſo much intereſted in my happineſs, as I have hitherto imagined.

If what I have ſaid, ſhould pre⯑vail upon you to leave the ſhady groves and purling ſtreams, where you are now ſighing out your un⯑fortunate love, though by the by, 'tis rather a cool amuſement, at this ſeaſon of the year, your lord⯑ſhip will find me in Portland Place, and there I will have the honor of introducing my ſiſter to you, as you deſired in your laſt.

[156] She is now in town, and I think if a brother's partiality does not miſlead his judgment, bids as fair to make you forget your preſent flame as any girl in England—come and ſee what you think of my taſte,

LETTER the Thirty-firſt.
Miſs ROCHLEY, TO Miſs LENOX.

I Have abſolutely exhauſted my whole ſtock of exclamations, Harriot, before I have half got through the wonderful things I [158] had to relate, I ſhall be compelled to take to your ahs! and ohs! from mere neceſſity, though they are more adapted to the tragic than my preſent ſtory, which is rather comic.

We have been ſettled in our new habitation about a week or ten days, you may poſſibly think I ought to have told you ſo before now; but I had ſomething elſe to do than ſcribble

You ſee I begin to give myſelf airs of importance already, Har⯑riot, [159] could I be a perſon of faſhion and fortune, think you, if I did not? are they not in general a very ſaucy ſet of beings? I at leaſt have ſome reaſon to know they are not all the reverſe; the lady, however, to whom I am indebted for ſo much know⯑ledge, was a twig of quality, and that to be ſure does admit of more hauteur and impertinence than I am yet intitled to exhibit; but all in good time.

Your chief regret, I think, Har⯑riot, during my late retirement, [160] was my being debarred the joys of ſociety—make yourſelf eaſy, as to that article now my dear, my uncle ſeems determined to make up for loſt time, he has a numerous acquaintance amongſt the Nabobs,—that is to ſay, amongſt thoſe, who like himſelf have made for⯑tunes in India; not that he con⯑fines his attention to thoſe only who have ſucceeded there—which is indeed by no means all who go with that view, thoſe who have failed are no leſs welcome to his table, if having failed is their only crime—in ſhort he is the worthieſt, [161] the moſt generous of men, and idoliſes your friend Iſabella.

All I fear is, he may take it in his head, (fond as he is of his niece) to make her a preſent to ſome one of theſe ſun-burnt heroes, as a reward for the ſervices they have done their country—however, I have nothing of that kind to ap⯑prehend at preſent, though I have reaſon to think, I have made ſome impreſſion on a few of their hitherto impenetrable hearts, for we have had half a hundred of them to dine with us already.

[162] I ought firſt to have told you the family, on whoſe account my uncle wiſhed to be at Mrs. Bell⯑mour's (and who are alſo from the Eaſt) begged to be introduced to me, the moment they heard of the happy diſcovery.

It conſiſts of a Mr. Harcourt, his lady, a moſt amiable woman; a daughter, who, though not a beauty, is infinitely more pleaſing, more engaging than many who figure under that denomination, and two ſons, very agreeable young men, they are immenſely rich, [163] and live in a princely ſtile—theſe are my intimates, for all formality was totally laid aſide before we had been an hour in each others company.

Sophia Harcourt and I are in⯑ſeperable—don't be jealous, Har⯑riot, ſhe is my town friend, you my country one, and being of an older date, muſt continue to oc⯑cupy the firſt place in my heart, the female department in it—I mean my dear—as for the other,—apropos—that leads to the ſtory before-mentioned, and ſo here it comes.

[164] But firſt, let me tell you what you will ſay, when you have read it, Harriot.

How could you Iſabella be ſo provokingly teaſing, as to leave ſuch a ſcene to the fag end of your letter? 'twas really ridiculous particularly as all the reſt was mere chit chat, neither worth your writing nor my reading.

Let me know in your next, if theſe were not your very words—and now for my ſtory.

[165] Orlando was ſitting with me in my dreſſing room the other morning, my uncle was from home, and I had determined to take that opportunity to acquaint [...]im with the hiſtory of Lord Templeton, which I had never [...]ill then found leiſure to do; but [...]uſt as I was on the point of be⯑ginning, a violent rap at the door [...]gain obliged me to defer it.

A ſervant now entered, and to my great amazement, announced Lord Templeton—who, following [...]im into the room, ran to em⯑brace [166] my brother with the utmoſt appearance of friendſhip and af⯑fection; but while in the very act of doing ſo, caſting his eyes on me, he ſtarted, turned pale a [...] death, and ſeemed at a loſs whethe [...] to credit his ſenſes.

It would require fifty pens, Ha [...] ⯑riot, inſtead of one, to give yo an idea of the ſcene—his lordſh [...] ſtood, as if petrified with aſtoniſ [...] ⯑ment—I no leſs ſo, trembling fro [...] head to foot, gaſping for breat unable to account for his impe [...] ⯑tinent intruſion, as it appeared [167] me—my Orlando, gazing at us by turns, with looks of ſurpriſe and inquietude.

I put on a forbidding air, and went towards the window; my lord, a little relieved, by being no longer under my ſcrutinizing eye, ven⯑tured to exclaim in a half whiſper,—good Heaven's! Rochley, what am I to think of all this? I am confounded! amazed!—what muſt you—

Nay, my lord, interrupted my brother, rather let me aſk what I am to think? you will particularly [168] oblige me, if you will be kind enough to inform me, for upon my ſoul I can make nothing of it.

All I know for certain, is that I was truly glad to ſee you, and after telling you ſo, meant to have introduced you to my ſiſter, but you ſeem to me to be both ab⯑ſolutely thunderſtruck by the very ſight of each other, ſo I may as well give up all thoughts of that nature, ſince 'tis pretty evident it will afford no great pleaſure to either.

[169] Your ſiſter, my dear Rochley! cried his lordſhip, in the moſt violent emotion—your ſiſter!—Heaven and earth! what do I hear?

All this time, Harriot, I kept my place at the window, my heart beating as if it would burſt my ſtays.

Good God! Orlando, continued his lordſhip, then I am the moſt wretched, the moſt unfortunate of men; I have ſinned, yes, I have ſinned, beyond all hopes of for⯑giveneſs: [170] he then flew to me, and throwing himſelf on his knees, took hold of my gown, imploring me with the greateſt energy to ſave him from diſtraction, by explaining thoſe perplexities, which had nearly turned his brain.

Orlando now took my hand, ſeeing I was greatly agitated; Iſabella, my love, ſaid he, if you can oblige my lord in his requeſt, let me intreat you to do it, for I am in no leſs danger of having my brain turned between you, than his lordſhip—ſpeak I beſeech you, my [171] dear ſiſter, that we may if poſſible be reſtored to our ſober ſenſes.—It ſeems you only can reſtore them, and for heaven's ſake be quick in your reſolves, leſt your power ſhould come too late.

Pray riſe, my lord, cried I, turn⯑ing to him—I confeſs I was rather ſurprized to find in a friend of my brother, a man who—

Ah, Miſs Beverly! ſaid his lord⯑ſhip, interrupting me, and ſtill on his knees, confeſs rather, I have infinitely more cauſe for wonder [172] to find in the woman I have ſo long adored, the ſiſter of my friend; to find Miſs Beverley, the lovely, the inflexible, the obdurate Miſs Beverly! ſo unaccountably tranſ⯑formed into the no leſs charming Miſs Rochley!—if you can ac⯑count for it.

My brother now burſt into a violent fit of laughter, the name of Beverly having explained to him the hitherto ſeeming enigmatical puzzle—or at leaſt a great part of it; he had only therefore to learn how we became known to each [173] other, and why his poor ſiſter was treated with ſo many harſh epithets.

This, Harriot, was all I then fancied he had to be acquainted with, but ſoon found he had heard more of the matter than I had imagined.

I never ſaw a creature ſo much diverted as he was with our perplexity—and to crown all, who ſhould now enter the apartment but my uncle.

My lord was ſtill at my feet, where he ſeemed determined to [174] remain, notwithſtanding all my ef⯑forts to raiſe him; but had no ſooner caſt his eyes on Mr. Dou⯑glas, than he ſtarted up as if he had actually ſeen a ghoſt. To ſay truth, his viſit had turned out rather extraordinary.

Heyday! cried his old friend—(alas! a friend no longer, Harriot) who have we here? upon my ho⯑nour, this is as complete a piece of aſſurance as ever I was witneſs to. Some men, after a behaviour like yours, my lord, would rather have gone a thouſand miles out of their [175] way, than have run the hazard of meeting▪ a lady they had treated as you have treated Miſs Rochley. But lords have none of that timid baſh⯑fulneſs in their compoſition, I pre⯑ſume.

What, you have heard, I ſup⯑poſe, that ſhe is now miſtreſs of a fortune more than equivalent to your merit, and very wiſely thought it time to renew your addreſſes, as ſhe cannot ſure do leſs than reward ſuch merit as it deſerves.—Pray, Sir, may I aſk what the devil put it into your head to—

[176] Spare me, I entreat you, cried my lord, advancing towards my uncle: how and why I came here, I can anſwer without heſitation, or even a bluſh, Mr. Douglas; but all I have met with ſince I came, appears to me the work of en⯑chantment.—I heard my friend Colonel Rochley was in town, and as I had every reaſon to flatter myſelf he would be glad to ſee me (nay I have it under his own hand) I flew to welcome him on his re⯑turn to England—he received me with his uſual cordiality—but to my utter confuſion, the firſt object [177] that ſtruck me on entering here, was Miſs Beverly. Miſs Beverly however no longer, but trans⯑formed into the ſiſter of my friend, and next (to complete my aſtoniſh⯑ment) although I have hitherto conceived your acquaintance with that lady, to have been of very ſhort duration, you ſurprize me with your appearance, and in an authoritative and peremptory man⯑ner, which would imply your being perfectly at home here, very po⯑litely term my viſit the height of aſſurance.

[178] That I have ſomething to an⯑ſwer for, in regard to Miſs Rochley, (or rather to Miſs Beverly) I freely confeſs—and I truſt I can in ſome meaſure exculpate my apparent unpardonable conduct, if you, my dear Sir, will with your uſual can⯑dour deign to liſten to my defence; that is to ſay, in caſe you are ſtill as much intereſted in Miſs Be⯑verly's affairs as when I had firſt the honor of your acquaintance, but of this I can by no means be certain, as all things ſeem to have undergone ſo ſtrange, ſo incompre⯑henſible a revolution.

[179] My uncle himſelf, Harriot, could not forbear a ſmile at his diſtreſs, yet far from being ſatisfied that he could, as he had ſaid, excuſe his conduct, inſtantly checked it, ſaying, Yes, my lord, I am, and ever ſhall be, as much intereſted in Miſs Beverly's affairs as I formerly was; and if that circumſtance ap⯑pears a ſufficient reaſon to you, why you ſhould endeavour to juſ⯑tify a behaviour, which I fear it will puzzle your lordſhip not a little to do fully, I am ready to give all my attention.

[180] Are you, my Iſabella, diſpoſed to hear my lord's defence? your con⯑nection with the lady in queſtion, I think, demands from you this indulgence—(I bowed aſſent, Har⯑riot, to utter a ſyllable was abſo⯑lutely out of my power)—as for you, Orlando, you being the friend of this very gallant nobleman, can do no leſs.

My brother ſmiling replied, 'tis true, my dear Sir, we have long been friends, and I would gladly believe, when this mighty hiſtory is fairly unravelled, we ſhall find [181] no reaſon why we ſhould not con⯑tinue ſuch, ſo pray, my lord, begin.

I, Harriot, was by this time ſo exceedingly fluttered that I feared I ſhould faint, and was obliged to have recourſe to my ſalts.—Shall I honeſtly confeſs I began to feel my⯑ſelf more intereſted in the buſineſs than I had hitherto been, 'tis need⯑leſs to deny it. I trembled for the event, and moſt earneſtly wiſhed it happily over.

His lordſhip now took a letter out of his pocket-book, and pre⯑ſenting [182] it to my uncle, begged him to read it to himſelf.

And why not to the company, my lord?

Pray, Mr. Douglas, indulge me ſo far as to look it over firſt, and if you ſhall then think proper to make the contents known, I ſhall readily acquieſce, as I am no ſtran⯑ger to the delicacy of your ſenti⯑ments.

I would now have retired; in⯑deed I wiſhed to have done ſo be⯑fore, [183] but my uncle would not ſuf⯑fer it, either then or now, ſaying, ſit ſtill, my child, you can have nothing to bluſh for.

He had, however, no ſooner read a few lines, than I obſerved him change colour as he went on, rage and indignation appeared viſibly in his expreſſive countenance, vile, abominable wretch (he muttered repeatedly as he peruſed the ſcrol) Orlando and I looked on each other, unable to gueſs how the ſcene would end.

[184] My lord frequently ſtole a glance at me; a thouſand hopes and fears ſeemed alternately to agitate his boſom.

I really pitied him, Harriot, a ſomething told me he could not be ſo guilty as we had till now be⯑lieved however ſtrong appearances were againſt him, I began, there⯑fore, to flatter myſelf he would come off with honor—alas! I lit⯑tle dreamed that appearances in his lordſhip's opinion had been infinitely ſtronger againſt your poor Iſabella—but to go on.

[185] My uncle had no ſooner finiſhed the vile taſk allotted him, than turning to me with the kindeſt look he could aſſume,—you may retire for a moment, my dear child, ſaid he, I muſt talk this matter over with his lordſhip; it will pain your amiable heart to be preſent. I will ſay thus much for my lord; he is not perhaps quite ſo blameable as I have hitherto imagined. Retire, Iſabella, the ſubject is by no means proper for your ear.

I could make no reply, Harriot, I was in the moſt violent palpi⯑tation [186] when I roſe from my ſeat, inſomuch that I could ſcarcely ſupport myſelf. They all obſerved it; my Lord and Orlando both flew towards me; the latter in pity to his friend drew back, and gave my lord an opportunity to lead me to the door; he in the mean time ringing the bell for my woman.

My conductor returned a look of gratitude to my kind brother for his indulgence, and his coun⯑tenance brightened at this proof that his friend did not think his cauſe entirely hopeleſs▪

[187] Can you, my dear Harriot, figure to yourſelf a more diſtreſſing ſituation than mine during this uneaſy ſtate of ſuſpence?—ten thouſand conjectures offered them⯑ſelves to my imagination, but not one that appeared ſatisfactory.

What that letter could contain, on which his lordſhip ſeemed to build all his hopes of juſtification, I could not poſſibly comprehend—who was the author? what was the ſubject?—when did he receive it?—and why not mention it to my uncle at the time he did receive [188] it, if he then wiſhed to be juſtified?—and if it was at that time a mat⯑ter of indifference to him, why ſo anxious for it now?

Theſe were ſome out of the many queſtions with which I was per⯑plexing my poor brain, when a ſervant came to deſire I would if agreeable to me, return to the com⯑pany.

A moment before, I was dying with impatience for permiſſion to do ſo, but now found my courage fail me. I pauſed, I heſitated, [189] wiſhed to go—but after endea⯑vouring to compoſe the pertur⯑bation of my ſpirits for that pur⯑poſe, found it impoſſible, and was obliged to ſend my compliments, begging my uncle would excuſe me, as I had a ſevere head-ach.

What effect this meſſage had on his lordſhip, I know not, but in an inſtant my affectionate Orlando was with me.

My deareſt Iſabella, ſaid he (throwing his arms around me) why this agitation?—why theſe [190] tremors, my dear ſiſter? be com⯑poſed (leading me to a ſopha on which he ſat down by me.)

Ah! can I be otherwiſe than in tremors, my kind brother, wha am I to think of all this?

Think! (with one of his engag⯑ing ſmiles, Harriot) why that yo have been a ſly little gipſey; th [...] had you, as a dutiful ſiſter ough to have done, acquainted me wit the important conqueſt you ha made, all this fracas would ha [...] been prevented, and my poor frien [...] [191] would not have been the miſer⯑able being he is at this moment.

He, however, was more com⯑municative than you choſe to be Iſabella. From him I learned the whole progreſs of his paſſion while I was abroad, but little did I dream my ſiſter was the object of it, as he never happened to mention the name of his fair enſlaver, either by chance, or taking it for granted I ſuppoſe, I ſhould not be the wiſer, but ſo it happened, and ſo have happened all the conſequences that have followed; I mean they have [192] been the conſequence of your mu⯑tual ſilence.

Indeed, my dear Orlando, I ne⯑ver thought what had paſſed be⯑tween his lordſhip and me, worth your attention. Beſides, would it not have had the appearance of va⯑nity, had I been ſo impatient to acquaint you with it as not to be able to wait your return, which I every day expected. Had I indeed gueſſed he was your friend, or even known to you, 'tis poſſible I might have given him a page now and then in my letters; but pray let [193] me hear what has paſſed below ſince I left you.

Firſt tell me cried he (ſweetly taking my hand) does my Iſabella wiſh to find his lordſhip acquitted?

Nay, my dear brother, that is ſo odd a queſtion (and I fear, Har⯑riot, I felt ſomething very like a bluſh riſe to my cheek) I vow I hardly know whether I do or not. My lord is nothing to me. I can⯑not ſtrictly ſay I have any acquaint⯑ance with him, though he has con⯑trived to make all this confuſion.

[194] Well, then (replied the ſly crea⯑ture) I may without fear of adding to that confuſion, tell you his lordſhip made but an indifferent kind of a defence—our uncle you know, my dear, is not a man to be jeſted with in ſuch ſerious matters, eſpecially where the happineſs of a lady is at ſtake, and that lady his darling niece.

Is it poſſible? is it really ſo? good heavens!—but how ridi⯑culous, thus to pretend he even wiſhed for a reconciliation—how⯑ever, 'tis of no conſequence—that [195] is—I mean—in ſhort, one would like to have known what apology he had fabricated.

Ah! Iſabella, Iſabella!—your defence, my dear girl, is ten times worſe than his lordſhip's apology (cried Orlando, laughing.)

My defence, why what defence have I to make, in the name of wonder?

More than you are aware of. That becoming bluſh, for inſtance, is one charge I could bring againſt you, [196] were I inclined to malice; but the truth is, I make the obſervation with much pleaſure, admitting it will bear the conſtruction I wiſh to put upon it—but I will keep you no longer in ſuſpence, my dear ſiſter, you have ſuffered too much from that painful ſenſation already.

Know, then, that whatever ap⯑pearances have been againſt my poor friend Templeton, he had reaſon to think there were abun⯑dantly ſtronger againſt my Iſabella.

[197] Againſt me! (exclaimed I al⯑moſt breathleſs) Ah! for heaven's ſake, my dear brother, be quick in explaining to me the horrid cauſe of ſuch injurious, ſuch ambigu⯑ous accuſations. How on earth can it be?—in what manner can I have incurred ſo much cenſure? is it poſſible to—

Have patience my love, and I will endeavour to clear up the whole affair.

I was unfortunately obliged to go abroad—for reaſons already [198] known to you, and which I thought ſufficient, (though I be⯑lieve 'twas only my anxiety to ſave you from the very poſſibility of trouble or inſult, as I then told you that ſuggeſted the idea, rather than any real neceſſity) I adviſed you to change your name till my return.

To this ſingle circumſtance, we may impute all that has happened,—'tis a proof, Iſabella, that we are poor ſhort ſighted mortals. I adviſed it in order to protect you, and it has on the contrary oc⯑caſioned [199] the very thing I hoped it would prevent.

Lord Templeton ſaw you—your charms made a deep (and I believe it will be a laſting) impreſſion on his heart—how he contrived to in⯑form you of his paſſion, you al⯑ready know, and I alſo now know with what propriety, what true de⯑licacy my Iſabella conducted her⯑ſelf on the occaſion.

The cauſe of his quitting London in the ſtrange abrupt manner he did, which ſo juſtly gave riſe [200] to your aſtoniſhment and diſ⯑pleaſure, (appearances were un⯑doubtedly ſtrongly againſt him) the cauſe I ſay was the letter he gave my uncle to read—in that letter, my poor ſiſter is moſt capitally ſlandered, and our worthy generous uncle no leſs ſo—I will not ſhock your ears my dear with all the infamous, the horrid particulars, ſuffice it to ſay, they are ſuch as fully excuſes Lord Templeton, the circumſtances are but too plauſibly put together—but you will never gueſs who is the diabolical author of it, who [201] nevertheleſs has not ſcrupled in order to give the calumny more weight to ſign her name to it.

Ah! tell me that, at leaſt my deareſt Orlando, let me conjure you; but to inform me who can have been ſo cruelly, ſo cauſleſsly my enemy? for ſure I am, I am unconſcious of ever having to my knowledge given offence to any living creature.

No other my dear, than one of the young women at Mrs. Bell⯑mour's, her name Jane Brown.

[202] Good Heavens! (exclaimed I in the greateſt amazement) what on earth could be her motive for ſo horrid a piece of wickedneſs? I am confounded! abſolutely a⯑ſtoniſhed.

After reflecting a few minutes, Orlando, continued I, ſhe muſt have been bribed to this, ſhe could have no intereſt in the affair—'tis impoſſible—ſhe muſt have been tempted to lend her name to ſome perſon of more importance, and that perſon I am poſitive can be no other than Lady Beningfield.

[203] In order to convince my brother, my conjecture was at leaſt founded on probability, Harriot: I now told him of the treatment I had met with from her—I found he was no ſtranger to her paſſion for his lord⯑ſhip, and of courſe putting thoſe two circumſtances together as I had done, was fully perſuaded I had cleared up that miſtery, which to them had been inexplicable.

However, ſaid my brother, we ſhall ſoon put the matter beyond all doubt, for my friend left us in order to wait upon the amiable Miſs [204] Jane Brown, and if ſhe has not had the wiſdom and decency to de⯑camp, he will ſpare no pains to make her ſpeak truth for once in her life.

Now, my dear Iſabella, (if you knew all you would) confeſs that appearances were rather againſt you, as well as your penitent adorer.

But ought, the ſaid penitent adorer, my dear brother, to have ſo readily given credit to the vile inſinuations whatever they [205] were?—I feel my pride a good deal piqued I aſſure you, Orlando, at his daring to ſuſpect—

Iſabella, your obſervation in al⯑moſt any other inſtance of a ſimilar nature would have been per⯑fectly juſt, (anſwered my brother) but if ever a man might be excuſed for his credulity, I muſt ſay, this caſe is one of them, never was there ſo infamous a falſhood made to appear ſo like truth, never was there a ſtory of ſo much plauſi⯑bility invented, or one ſo likely to gain belief.—A girl like that could [206] not I verily think have compoſed it—yet Lady Beningfield appears to me even leſs capable—I mean in regard to the ſtile, and manner of expreſſion, in ſhort 'tis a maſter piece in its kind—but we ſhall ſee.

In the mean time, tell me my love, what am I to ſay to poor Templeton? for he is as unhappy as any mortal can poſſibly be.

Firſt tell me what ſaid our uncle? is he ſatisfied? does he think my lord ſtands acquitted?

[207] Why, to tell you the truth, my dear Iſabella, he too thinks he ought not to have given ſuch implicit credit to the d—nd ſcrawl, (as he very juſtly calls it) as not to have made ſome farther enquiries, and continues rather ſtately, yet he owns ſomething may be ſaid in the poor culprits favor, but is at preſent too much irritated to ſay it him⯑ſelf, or hearken to it from another,—time, however, will I truſt, reſtore him to his favor and friend⯑ſhip; but 'tis in regard to your's my dear, my friend is infinitely more anxious.

[208] Oh, as to mine, that's a trifle, men get over theſe violent attach⯑ments with wonderful eaſe, be under no apprehenſions brother, his lordſhip will do mighty well, however I may think proper to de⯑cide the matter.

Iſabella, that is not ſpoke with your uſual candour—and in re⯑venge, I will now tell you, that I know to a certainty—yes, to a certainty, that little heart of thine would be a good deal mortified, if you now ſpoke your real ſenti⯑ments, my friend Templeton is [209] not the kind of man to be looked upon with ſo much cool indiffer⯑ence as my ſly ſiſter would per⯑ſuade me ſhe beholds him with, ſo you may as well drop a character that is not natural to you my dear, and be again yourſelf, for believe your Orlando, you cannot poſſibly aſſume any other half ſo amiable.

I kiſſed his dear cheek, Harriot, for this very kind and pleaſing ſpeech, and honeſtly told him, I believed he had diſcovered a window in my breaſt, as he had ſo eaſily [210] contrived to get a peep into that heart, whoſe feelings I had ſo fooliſhly wiſhed to conceal.

That's a good girl, now you are again my own Iſabella.

No need to let his lordſhip into this pretty ſecret, though my dear brother (as he was taking his leave of me) remember that if you pleaſe.

O, never fear, I ſhall leave him to make the flattering diſcovery as I have done.

[211] So ſaying, he with a ſignificant ſmile on his fine face left me, no doubt to go in ſearch of his penitent friend.

Really Harriot, 'tis full time I ſhould now take my leave of you, for this is a moſt enormous packet, but I wiſhed to give you the whole ſtory without any interruption in my narrative, how it will end, is more than I can at preſent take upon me to inform you of, though things ſeem to be taking rather an agreeable turn.

[212] I have had ſo much to ſay about myſelf, that I have had no time lately to write a ſingle word about my Orlando's fair one. I will juſt mention, however, that he has had a moſt delightful billet doux from the dear girl, and that ſhe continues all he can poſſibly wiſh.

Sir John is in ſtatu quo—which being rendered into plain Engliſh, is a bear ſtill, ſwearing ſhe ſhall never, if he can prevent it, give her hand to the man who would have taken his life.

[213] If he can prevent it, Harriot—that's a ſaving clauſe—for it runs ſtrangely in my head he cannot ergo, ſhe will give it him, and that too e'er, many months enſue.

This I know is your wiſh as well as mine, adieu my dear girl▪