“It was &longs;ome days,” continued Mr. Eldridge,
recovering him&longs;elf, “before I could venture
to enquire the particulars of what had happened
during my illne&longs;s: at length I a&longs;&longs;umed courage to
a&longs;k my dear girl how long her mother and brother
had been dead: &longs;he told me, that the morning
after my arre&longs;t, George came home early to enquire
after his mother's health, &longs;taid with them but a few
minutes, &longs;eemed greatly agitated at parting, but
gave them &longs;trict charge to keep up their &longs;pirits,
and hope every thing would turn out for the be&longs;t.

[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]

In about two hours after, as they were &longs;itting at
breakfa&longs;t, and endeavouring to &longs;trike out &longs;ome plan
to attain my liberty, they heard a loud rap at the
door, which Lucy running to open, &longs;he met the
bleeding body of her brother, borne in by two
men who had lifted him from a litter, on which
they had brought him from the place where he
fought. Her poor mother, weakened by illne&longs;s and
the &longs;truggles of the preceding night, was not able
to &longs;upport this &longs;hock: ga&longs;ping for her breath, her
looks wild and haggard, &longs;he reached the apartment
where they had carried her dying &longs;on. She knelt by
the bed &longs;ide; and taking his cold hand, `my poor
boy,' &longs;aid &longs;he, `I will not be parted from thee;
hu&longs;band! &longs;on! both at once lo&longs;t. Father of mercies,
&longs;pare me!' She fell into a &longs;trong convul&longs;ion,
and expired in about two hours. In the mean time,
a &longs;urgeon had dre&longs;&longs;ed George's wounds; but they
were in &longs;uch a &longs;ituation as to bar the &longs;malle&longs;t hopes
of recovery. He never was &longs;en&longs;ible from the time
he was brought home, and died that evening in the
arms of his &longs;i&longs;ster.

“Late as it was when this event took place, my
affectionate Lucy in&longs;i&longs;ted on coming to me. `What
mu&longs;t he feel,' &longs;aid &longs;he, `at our apparent neglect,
and how &longs;hall I inform him of the afflictions with
which it has plea&longs;ed heaven to vi&longs;it us?”

“She left the care of the dear departed ones to
&longs;ome neighbours who had kindly come in to

[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]

comfort and a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t her; and on entering the hou&longs;e where
I was con&longs;ined, found me in the &longs;ituation I have
mentioned.

“How &longs;he &longs;upported her&longs;elf in the&longs;e trying moments,
I know not: heaven, no doubt, was with
her; and her anxiety to pre&longs;erve the life of one parent
in &longs;ome mea&longs;ure abated her affliction for the
lo&longs;s of the other.

“My circum&longs;tances were greatly embarra&longs;&longs;ed,
my acquaintance few, and tho&longs;e few utterly unable
to a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t me. When my wife and &longs;on were committed
to the kindred earth, my creditors &longs;eized
my hou&longs;e and furniture, which not being &longs;ufficient
to di&longs;charge all their demands, detainers were
lodged again&longs;t me. No friend &longs;tepped forward to
my relief; from the grave of her mother, my beloved
Lucy followed an almo&longs;t dying father to this
melancholy place.

“Here we have been nearly a year and a half.
My half-pay I have given up to &longs;atisfy my creditors,
and my child &longs;upports me by her indu&longs;try: sometimes
by fine needlework, &longs;ometimes by painting.
She leaves me every night, and goes to a lodging
near the bridge: but returns in the morning, to
chear me with her &longs;miles, and ble&longs;s me by her duteous
affection. A lady once offered her an a&longs;ylum
in her family; but &longs;he would not leave me. `We
are all the world to each other,' &longs;aid &longs;he. `I
thank God, I have health and &longs;pirits to improve

[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]

the talents with which nature has endowed me;
and I tru&longs;t if I employ them in the &longs;upport of a
beloved parent, I &longs;hall not be thought an unprofitable
&longs;ervant. While he lives, I pray for &longs;trength
to pur&longs;ue my employment; and when it plea&longs;es
heaven to take one of us, may it give the &longs;urvivor
re&longs;ignation to bear the &longs;eparation as we ought:
till then I will never leave him.'

“But where is this inhuman per&longs;ecutor?” &longs;aid
'Temple.

“He has been abroad ever &longs;ince,” replied the
old man; but he has left orders with his lawyer
never to give up the note till the utmo&longs;t farthing is
paid.”

“And how much is the amount of your debts in
all?” &longs;aid Temple.

“Five hundred pounds,” he replied.

Temple &longs;tarted: it was more than he expected.
“But &longs;omething mu&longs;t be done,” &longs;aid he: “that
&longs;weet maid mu&longs;t not wear out her life in a pri&longs;on.
I will &longs;ee you again to-morrow, my friend,” &longs;aid
he, &longs;haking Eldridge's hand: “keep up your
&longs;pirits: light and &longs;hade are not more happily blended
than are the plea&longs;ures and pains of life; and the
horrors of the one &longs;erve only to increa&longs;e the splendor
of the other.”

“You never lo&longs;t a wife and &longs;on,” &longs;aid Eldridge.

“No.” replied he, “but I can feel for tho&longs;e

[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]

that have.” Eldridge pre&longs;&longs;ed his hand as they went
toward the door, and they parted in &longs;ilence.

When they got without the walls of the pri&longs;on,
Temple thanked his friend Blakeney for introducing
him to &longs;o worthy a character; and telling him he
had a particular engagement in the city, wi&longs;hed
him a good evening.

“And what is to be done for this di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed man,”
&longs;aid Temple, as he walked up Ludgate Hill.
“Would to heaven I had a fortune that would
enable me in&longs;tantly to di&longs;charge his debt; what
exqui&longs;ite tran&longs;port, to &longs;ee the expre&longs;&longs;ive eyes of Lucy
beaming at once with plea&longs;ure for her father's deliverance,
and gratitude for her deliverer: but is
not my fortune affluence,” continued he, “nay
&longs;uperfluous wealth, when compared to the extreme
indigence of Eldridge; and what have I done to deserve
ea&longs;e and plenty, while a brave worthy officer
&longs;tarves in a pri&longs;on? Three hundred a year is &longs;urely
&longs;ufficient for all my wants and wi&longs;hes: at any rate
Eldridge mu&longs;t be relieved.”

When the heart has will, the hands can &longs;oon find
means to execute a good action.

Temple was a young man, his feelings warm and
impetuous; unacquainted with the world, his heart
had not been rendered callous by being convinced
of its fraud and hypocri&longs;y. He pitied their sufferings,
overlooked their faults, thought every bosom
as generous as his own, and would chearfully

[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]

have divided his la&longs;t guinea with an unfortunate fellow
creature.

No wonder then that &longs;uch a man (without waiting
a moment for the interference of Madam Prudence)
&longs;hould re&longs;olve to rai&longs;e money &longs;ufficient for
the relief of Eldridge, by mortgaging part of his
fortune.

We will not enquire too minutely into the cau&longs;e
which might actuate him in this in&longs;tance: &longs;uffice it
to &longs;ay, he immediately put the plan in execution;
and in three days from the time he fir&longs;t &longs;aw the unfortunate
Lieutenant, he had the &longs;uperlative felicity
of &longs;eeing him at liberty, and receiving an ample reward
in the tearful eye and half articulated thanks
of the grateful Lucy.

“And pray, young man,” &longs;aid his father to
him one morning, “what are your de&longs;igns in
vi&longs;iting thus con&longs;tantly that old man and his
daughter?”

Temple was at a lo&longs;s for a reply: he had never
a&longs;ked him&longs;elf the que&longs;tion: he he&longs;itated and his father
continued—

“It was not till within the&longs;e few days that I
heard in what manner your acquaintance fir&longs;t
commenced, and cannot &longs;uppo&longs;e any thing but
attachment to the daughter could carry you &longs;uch
imprudent lengths for the father: it certainly mu&longs;t
be her art that drew you in to mortgage part of
your fortune.”

[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

“Art, Sir!” cried Temple eagerly. “Lucy
Eldridge is as free from art as &longs;he is from every
other error: &longs;he is —”

“Every thing that is amiable and lovely,” &longs;aid his
father, interrupting him ironically: “no doubt
in your opinion &longs;he is a pattern of excellence
for all her &longs;ex to follow; but come, Sir, pray tell
me what are your de&longs;igns toward this paragon.
I hope you do not intend to complete your folly by
marrying her.”

“Were my fortune &longs;uch as would &longs;upport her
according to her merit, I don't know a woman
more formed to en&longs;ure happine&longs;s in the married
&longs;tate.”

“Then prithee, my dear lad,” &longs;aid his father,
&longs;ince your rank and fortune are &longs;o much beneath
what your Prince&longs;s might expect, be &longs;o kind as to
turn your eyes to Mi&longs;s Weatherby; who having
only an e&longs;tate of three thou&longs;and a year, is more
upon a level with you, and who&longs;e father ye&longs;terday
&longs;olicited the mighty honour of your alliance. I &longs;hall
leave you to con&longs;ider on this offer; and pray remember,
that your union with Mi&longs;s Weatherby will
put it in your power to be more liberally the friend
of Lucy El dridge.”

The old gentleman walked in a &longs;tately manner
out of the room; and Temple &longs;tood almo&longs;t petrified
with a&longs;toni&longs;hment, contempt, and rage.

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