“Bless my heart,” cries my young volatile
reader, “I &longs;hall never have patience to
get through the&longs;e volumes, there are &longs;o many ahs!
and ohs! &longs;o much fainting, tears, and di&longs;tre&longs;s, I
am &longs;ick to death of the &longs;ubject.” My dear, chearful,
innocent girl, for innocent I will &longs;uppo&longs;e you
to be, or you would acutely feel the woes of Charlotte,
did con&longs;cience &longs;ay, thus might it have been
with me, had not Providence interpo&longs;ed to &longs;natch
me from de&longs;truction: therefore, my lively, innocent
girl, I mu&longs;t reque&longs;t your patience; I am writing
a tale of truth: I mean to write it to the heart:
but if perchance the heart is rendered impenetrable
by unbounded pro&longs;perity, or a continuance in vice,

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I expect not my tale to plea&longs;e, nay, I even expect
it will be thrown by with di&longs;gu&longs;t. But &longs;oftly, gentle
fair one; I pray you throw it not a&longs;ide till you
have peru&longs;ed the whole; mayhap you may find
&longs;omething therein to repay you for the trouble.
Methinks I &longs;ee a &longs;arca&longs;tic &longs;mile &longs;it on your countenance.—
“And what,” cry you, “does the conceited
author &longs;uppo&longs;e we can glean from the&longs;e pages,
if Charlotte is held up as an object of terror, to prevent
us from falling into guilty errors? does not
La Rue triumph in her &longs;hame, and by adding art
to guilt, obtain the affection of a worthy man, and
ri&longs;e to a &longs;tation where &longs;he is beheld with re&longs;pect, and
chearfully received into all companies. What
then is the moral you would inculcate? Would you
wi&longs;h us to think that a deviation from virtue, if
covered by art and hypocri&longs;y, is not an object of
dete&longs;tation, but on the contrary &longs;hall rai&longs;e us to
fame and honour? while the haple&longs;s girl who falls
a victim to her too great &longs;en&longs;ibility, &longs;hall be loaded
with ignominy and &longs;hame?” No, my fair queri&longs;t,
I mean no &longs;uch thing. Remember the endeavours
of the wicked are often &longs;uffered to pro&longs;per, that in
the end their fall may be attended with more bitterness
of heart; while the cup of affliction is poured
out for wife and &longs;alutary ends, and they who are
compelled to drain it even to the bitter dregs, often
find comfort at the bottom; the tear of penitence
blots their offences from the book of fate, and they

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ri&longs;e from the heavy, painful trial, purified and fit
for a man&longs;ion in the kingdom of eternity.

Yes, my young friends, the tear of compa&longs;&longs;ion
&longs;hall fall for the fate of Charlotte, while the name of
La Rue &longs;hall be dete&longs;ted and de&longs;pi&longs;ed. For Charlotte,
the &longs;oul melts with &longs;ympathy; for La Rue,
it feels nothing but horror and contempt. But perhaps
your gay hearts would rather follow the fortunate
Mrs. Crayton through the &longs;cenes of plea&longs;ure
and di&longs;&longs;ipation in which &longs;he was engaged, than
li&longs;ten to the complaints and mi&longs;eries of Charlotte.
I will for once oblige you: I will for once follow
her to midnight revels, balls, and &longs;cenes of gaiety,
for in &longs;uch was &longs;he con&longs;tantly engaged.

I have &longs;aid her per&longs;on was lovely; let us add
that &longs;he was &longs;urrounded by &longs;plendor and affluence,
and he mu&longs;t know but little of the world who can
wonder, (however faulty &longs;uch a woman's conduct,)
at her being followed by the men, and her company
courted by the women: in &longs;hort, Mrs. Crayton
was the univer&longs;al favourite: &longs;he &longs;et the fa&longs;hions,
&longs;he was toa&longs;ted by all the gentlemen, and copied
by all the ladies.

Colonel Crayton was a dome&longs;tic man. Could
he be happy with &longs;uch a woman? impo&longs;&longs;ible!
Remon&longs;trance was vain: he might as well have
preached to the winds, as endeavour to per&longs;uade
her from any action, however ridiculous, on
which &longs;he had &longs;et her mind: in &longs;hort, after a little

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ineffectual &longs;truggle, he gave up the attempt, and
left her to follow the bent of her own inclinations:
what tho&longs;e were, I think the reader mu&longs;t have &longs;een
enough of her character to form a ju&longs;t idea. Among
the number who paid their devotions at her &longs;hrine,
&longs;he &longs;ingled one, a young En&longs;ign of mean birth,
indifferent education, and weak intellects. How
&longs;uch a man came into the army, we hardly know
to account for, and how he afterwards ro&longs;e to po&longs;ts
of honour is likewi&longs;e &longs;trange and wonderful. But
fortune is blind, and &longs;o are tho&longs;e too frequently
who have the power of di&longs;pen&longs;ing her favours:
el&longs;e why do we &longs;ee fools and knaves at the very
top of the wheel, while patient merit &longs;inks to the
extreme of the oppo&longs;ite aby&longs;s. But we may form
a thou&longs;and conjectures on this &longs;ubject, and yet never
hit on the right. Let us therefore endeavour
to de&longs;erve her &longs;miles, and whether we &longs;ucceed or
not, we &longs;hall feel more innate &longs;atisfaction, than
thou&longs;ands of tho&longs;e who ba&longs;k in the &longs;un&longs;hine of her
favour unworthily. But to return to Mrs. Crayton;
this young man, whom I &longs;hall di&longs;tingui&longs;h by the
name of Corydon, was the reigning favourite of her
heart. He e&longs;corted her to the play, danced with
her at every ball, and when indi&longs;po&longs;ition prevented
her going out, it was he alone who was permitted
to chear the gloomy &longs;olitude to which &longs;he was
obliged to confine her&longs;elf. Did &longs;he ever think of
poor Charlotte?—if &longs;he did, my dear Mi&longs;s, it

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was only to laugh at the poor girl's want of &longs;pirit in
con&longs;enting to be moped up in the country, while
Montraville was enjoying all the plea&longs;ures of a gay,
di&longs;&longs;ipated city. When &longs;he heard of his marriage,
&longs;he &longs;miling &longs;aid, &longs;o there's an end of Madam
Charlotte's hopes. I wonder who will take her
now, or what will become of the little affected
prude?

But as you have led to the &longs;ubject, I think we
may as well return to the di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed Charlotte, and
not, like the unfeeling Mrs. Crayton, &longs;hut our hearts
to the call of humanity.