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Rowson, Mrs., 1762-1824 [1794], Mentoria, or, The young lady's friend, volume 1 ('Printed for Robert Campbell, by Samuel Harrison Smith', Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf326v1].
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THE HISTORY OF DORCAS CONTINUED. PART II.

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The &longs;un had ju&longs;t darted his rays upon the
di&longs;tant mountains, the dew &longs;till glittered
on the waving gra&longs;s, when Dorcas for&longs;ook her
re&longs;tle&longs;s couch, and &longs;ummoned her daughters to
their daily labour, having paid their adoration
to the divine di&longs;po&longs;er of all things, and partook
of a frugal breakfa&longs;t, &longs;he again continued her
recital.

For &longs;everal mornings after the explanation I
mentioned, I repaired as u&longs;ual to the garden,
but Mel&longs;ont did not join me, indeed he &longs;eemed
particularly &longs;tudious to avoid every opportunity
of conver&longs;ing with me without a third per&longs;on being
pre&longs;ent. I was extremely unea&longs;y at this conduct,
I imagined he &longs;uppo&longs;ed me too much his

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inferior to be made the honorable partner of his
fortune, and in my heart I thanked him for that
honor, which prevented his &longs;oliciting me on other
terms; yet the vi&longs;ible con&longs;traint he put upon himself
in attempting to appear chearful, pained me
exce&longs;&longs;ively; I became ab&longs;ent, melancholy and
dejected.

Lady Laura frequently interrogated me in her
lively manner on the cau&longs;e of my altered diposition,
and one morning when Melfont was in the
room, &longs;he jocularly &longs;aid, “Why, my good cousin
Charles, what in the name of wonder po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;es
you to be &longs;o dull, one would think &longs;ome enchantment
prevailed at Seymour Ca&longs;tle, and that the
very air was infectious, here is my lively Dory,
metamorpho&longs;ed into mu&longs;ing melancholy; and
you, my late giddy cou&longs;in become the grave sentimental
philo&longs;opher. I verily believe a certain
blind deity has been bu&longs;y with you, come hither,
Charles, let me &longs;ee where the arrow entered, is
the wound deep?”

Melfont an&longs;wered rather peevi&longs;hy, and left the
room. I felt my face glow and my heart throbbed
violently, Lady Laura &longs;aw my emotion, “Poor
dear, &longs;aid &longs;he, did it fall in love, and had it no
hope; well, well, never mind it, 'twas all involuntary
I'll be &longs;worn.”

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Oh! Lady Laura, &longs;aid I, de&longs;pi&longs;e me not for
my weakne&longs;s.—I could &longs;ay no more, tears bur&longs;t
from my eyes, and I hid my face with my handkerchief.

“My dear Dory, &longs;aid &longs;he, taking my hand, I
did not mean to pain your gentle heart, I have
long &longs;een the tenderne&longs;s &longs;ub&longs;i&longs;ting between my
cou&longs;in and you, and a&longs;&longs;ure you it has given me
peculiar plea&longs;ure; but my &longs;weet little friend,
you mu&longs;t be rather cautious to guard your &longs;ecret,
for &longs;hould my father di&longs;cover it, he will u&longs;e every
method to prevent an union between you ever taking
place, for Charles Melfont is de&longs;igned by him
the hu&longs;band of your Laura.”

Had I been transfixed by lightning, my countenance
could not have expre&longs;&longs;ed more horror
and &longs;urprize. I felt in a moment that I mu&longs;t appear
a mon&longs;ter of ingratitude in the eyes of the
Earl, when he &longs;hould find I had thus, though
unintentionally counteracted his de&longs;igns, in regard
to his daughter's future &longs;ettlement. I told
Lady Laura, after what I had ju&longs;t heard, I &longs;hould
think my&longs;elf unpardonable to remain any longer
at Seymour Ca&longs;tle, or ever &longs;uffer Melfont to entertain
me again in the character of a lover. I
reque&longs;ted her to &longs;uffer me to return home, and
&longs;aid, I would, if po&longs;&longs;ible, avoid ever &longs;eeing him
again.

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She laughed at what &longs;he called my delicate
&longs;cruples, and told me, &longs;he had in her own mind
planned out future &longs;chemes of happine&longs;s for us
all; for to tell you the truth, &longs;aid &longs;he, I have no
great inclination to Charles, being engaged both
by inclination and &longs;olemn promi&longs;es, to a young
man of no great fortune, though of a good family;
he is at pre&longs;ent only an en&longs;ign in the guards, &longs;o
that I am certain my father will never con&longs;ent to
our union; but you know, my dear Dory, if you
accept Melfont, I can then avow my choice
openly, and you will at once render your&longs;elf
happy, and confer an obligation on your friend.

In this manner did the artful Laura work on
my feelings, and at length won Melfont over to
her party. We were frequently witne&longs;&longs;es to private
interviews between her lover and her&longs;elf,
and in a &longs;hort time &longs;o far forgot what was due to
our parents, and to our own intere&longs;t and honor,
that we not only planned her e&longs;cape but accompanied
her &longs;light, and the &longs;ame ceremony united
Lady Laura to Mr. Wal&longs;h, and your mother to
Melfont.

When we returned to Seymour Ca&longs;tle we found
it a &longs;eat of tumult and confu&longs;ion; the Earl refu&longs;ed
us admittance, and my father, irritated at my ingratitude
to his patron and benefactor, would not
&longs;uffer me to enter his habitation, not did I from

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that unhappy day ever &longs;ee him; my behaviour
had made &longs;uch an impre&longs;&longs;ion on his mind, that
he fell into a deep melancholy, which &longs;oon put a
period to his exi&longs;tence; the whole of his possessions
were left to his neare&longs;t male relation, and my
name was only mentioned in the will, that he
might reprobate my ingratitude.

I can truly &longs;ay, the affliction I felt when informed
of his decea&longs;e, proceeded &longs;olely from the
reflection, that I de&longs;erved his anger, and had not
&longs;een him or endeavoured to gain his pardon before
his death.

The angui&longs;h of my heart was beyond expression,
but the unremitting tenderne&longs;s which I experienced
from my hu&longs;band &longs;oon hu&longs;hed my
griefs to re&longs;t, and I became tranquil, and even
happy.—Alas! this &longs;cene of &longs;erene plea&longs;ure
was not long to la&longs;t; it fleeted away like a vision,
and like a pa&longs;&longs;ing &longs;hadow left no trace
behind.

One year of connubial love was pa&longs;t, when
you, my beloved girls, were in one day u&longs;hered
into the world. Melfont was di&longs;appointed, he
had hoped for a boy, as his family had never
been reconciled to what they termed &longs;o disproportionate
a match, he imagined &longs;uch an event might
in &longs;ome mea&longs;ure have conciliated their regard,

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but the birth of my daughters fru&longs;trated the&longs;e
hopes; however he &longs;till continued the kind attentive
hu&longs;band.

I lived extremely retired, con&longs;oling my&longs;elf for
the lo&longs;s of every plea&longs;ure which a per&longs;on of my
age might wi&longs;h to enjoy, in Melfont's affection;
and while that continued I had no wi&longs;h ungratified.

Lady Laura frequently vi&longs;ited me; her father
had never forgiven her precipitate marriage, nor
did he ever give her any fortune.

Wal&longs;h had married more from the hope of
aggrandizing him&longs;elf than from any affection he
felt for her Lady&longs;hip. When he found the&longs;e
hopes were illu&longs;ive he threw off the ma&longs;k, and
treated her with contempt and unkindne&longs;s, by
which means he rendered her life extremely
wretched.

She &longs;aw the love and harmony which
between your father and me, and from that spint
of envy which hates to &longs;ee happine&longs;s in another
family, which it cannot enjoy at home, &longs;he
determined to undermine my felicity, and render
me as completely wretched as her&longs;elf.

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There is a caprice in the heart of man, or rather
a depravity in their natures, which leads
them to neglect and de&longs;pi&longs;e a woman totally in
their power, and pur&longs;ue with avidity tho&longs;e who
by almo&longs;t in&longs;urmountable ob&longs;tacles, are placed at
a di&longs;tance from them. This was exactly the ca&longs;e
with Melfont. When Lady Laura was offered
to him by her father, when wealth and honor
would have attended his acceptance of her, he
rejected her---but now, irrevocably united to me,
and Laura the wife of another, he began to feel
a pa&longs;&longs;ion for her, and to wi&longs;h he had not married
&longs;o precipitately.

This pa&longs;&longs;ion was at fir&longs;t admitted into his bo&longs;om
under the ma&longs;k of pity, he would li&longs;ten to the
frequent complaints &longs;he made of her hard fate,
&longs;oothe her di&longs;tre&longs;s, and offer every con&longs;olation in
his power.

For &longs;ome time I joined him in endeavouring to
alleviate the &longs;orrows of the unhappy Laura; but
at length his attentions to her became too pointed
to e&longs;cape the penetrating eye of watchful tenderness,
and I was unable to &longs;tifle that jealou&longs;y
which I had long &longs;trove to &longs;uppre&longs;s.

However afflicted I might be, at the vi&longs;ible alteration
in your father's manner, I &longs;uffered no
complaint to break forth, but nur&longs;ed my

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corroding &longs;orrows in &longs;ilence and &longs;olitude; in his presence
I endeavoured to appear chearful, though
my heart was almo&longs;t broken by his unkindness.

Two years had pa&longs;&longs;ed in this dreadful manner,
when Mr. Wal&longs;h died, and Lady Laura became
a blooming widow. Lord S—, her
father, was at that time upon the continent,
therefore &longs;he had no opportunity to make an immediate
per&longs;onal application to him for reconciliation.

Lady Laura had long treated me with a cool
, &longs;he now no longer wore even the semblance
of politene&longs;s, but whenever &longs;he came to
the hou&longs;e, would either not &longs;peak to me at all,
or treat me with the mo&longs;t cruel di&longs;re&longs;pect. I
ventured to complain to Melfont of her ungenerous
behaviour, when his an&longs;wer &longs;truck me almost
dumb with &longs;orrow and a&longs;toni&longs;hment.

I am &longs;urpri&longs;ed, Madam, &longs;aid he, that you
&longs;hould complain to me in this manner, what right
have you to expect particular attention from a
woman of Lady Laura's di&longs;tinction, I think &longs;he
does you too much honor by to
enter the hou&longs;e where you live. You &longs;hould consider,
Dory, you are only my mi&longs;tre&longs;s.

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Your mi&longs;tre&longs;s, Melfont?

Yes, &longs;urely; you know I was under age when
the ceremony was performed. I have never introduced
you to my family as my wife, nor have
they ever con&longs;idered you as &longs;uch.”

I heard no more, a cold damp came over me,
I &longs;huddered and fell lifele&longs;s to the floor.—When
I recovered, I found your cruel father had left
me, in that &longs;tate of in&longs;en&longs;ibility, to the care of
the &longs;ervants. I gave free vent to my &longs;orrows in
a flood of tears, and then &longs;ummoning all the fortitude
I could to my a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance, called for pen and
ink, and wrote a letter to Melfont, a copy of
which I have pre&longs;erved.

TO MELFONT.
SIR,

Since you inform me I am not your wife,
be a&longs;&longs;ured I retain too high a &longs;en&longs;e of honor to
remain with you on any other terms; but do not
flatter your&longs;elf I mean tamely to give up a title
which I think I have an undoubted right to, having
received it at the altar, and borne it three
years, during which time I have never di&longs;graced
it by thought, word, or action. Before you

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receive this, I &longs;hall be far advanced on my way towards
Paris, where I mean to &longs;ubmit my cau&longs;e to
the deci&longs;ion of the Earl of S—, who, though
I have greatly injured, is the only per&longs;on I can at
this time with propriety apply to, or hope to receive
a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance from. I know him to be a nobleman
of too much honor and humanity to &longs;uffer an
in&longs;ult offered to an unprotected woman to go unrevenged.
He is the friend of the widow and
the fatherle&longs;s, and in that rank I mu&longs;t place myself,
and your unhappy children, till you re&longs;tore
me to that which no action of mine has ever for
.

Your affectionate,
but injured wife,

DORCAS MELFONT.

When I had fini&longs;hed this letter I ordered a
chai&longs;e and four, and bidding the &longs;ervant put up
a few things, took you, my beloved girls,
and de&longs;iring the letter might be delivered to
your father when he came home, which I knew
would not be till late at night, &longs;et off full &longs;peed to
Dover.

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We travelled all night, and was lucky enough
to arrive ju&longs;t as a packet was &longs;ailing for Calais, I
immediately embarked, a few hours wa&longs;ted us
acro&longs;s the channel, and I then travelled with as
much &longs;peed as po&longs;&longs;ible to Paris. It was late when
I arrived, and being greatly fatigued with my
journey, I determined to &longs;tay till the next morning
before I waited on the Earl. I took an ha&longs;ty
&longs;upper and retired, in hope to recruit my exhausted
frame by &longs;leep.

The next morning I aro&longs;e early, and dre&longs;&longs;ing
my&longs;elf, took my dear children in my hand, and
repaired to the Earl's. I was with difficulty admitted,
and when I entered the room where his
Lord&longs;hip was at breakfa&longs;t, my agitation was &longs;o
great I could &longs;carcely &longs;tand.

Dorcas! &longs;aid his Lord&longs;hip, &longs;tarting from his
&longs;eat.

Oh! my Lord, &longs;aid I, (throwing my&longs;elf at his
feet, and pre&longs;enting my girls to him) behold a
mi&longs;erable woman and two helple&longs;s infants, who
without your a&longs;&longs;i&longs;ting hand mu&longs;t be plunged
infamy and inevitable ruin.

Ri&longs;e, Dorcas, &longs;aid his Lord&longs;hip, explain yourself,
your agitation at pre&longs;ent deranges your
ideas.

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I then in a few words told him, that Melfont
had di&longs;owned me for his wife, and that I was certain
he meant to marry Lady Laura.

Heaven forbid, &longs;aid the Earl, that my poor in
girl &longs;hould add &longs;uch an heinous offence
again&longs;t humanity, to the catalogue of her former
crimes. Oh! Dorcas, her undutiful behaviour
has been like a viper preying upon my heart; and
to increa&longs;e my affliction, I have been told &longs;he
has di&longs;honored even the man for whom &longs;he for&longs;ook
her father's protection. But this will be an act to
make honor and humanity blu&longs;h. Be comforted,
continued he, for the &longs;ake of the&longs;e poor innocents,
I will not &longs;uffer your wrongs to pa&longs;s unnoticed
or unredre&longs;&longs;ed. Cheared by the&longs;e kind expressions
I returned to my lodgings, with a heart
con&longs;iderably lightened, and was de&longs;ired to call
on the Earl again in about ten days, when he
&longs;hould have had time to con&longs;ult what was be&longs;t to
be done. On the appointed morning I repaired
to the Earl, I found him &longs;eated at a table writing,
a letter lay unfolded before him.

Dorcas, &longs;aid he, (ri&longs;ing and leading me to a
&longs;eat) I have received letters from England &longs;ince
I &longs;aw you.

Do they mention me, my Lord?

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Yes, they &longs;ay you have long led a very dissolute
life, and that you have eloped from your husband
with a young officer, and taken with you a
quantity of money and jewels.

Heaven forgive them, &longs;aid I, and bur&longs;t into
tears.

But this is not all, my poor girl, continued the
Earl, you have wor&longs;e trials than this to encounter.

Then I hope God will give me fortitude to
&longs;upport them, &longs;aid I, but indeed my heart is almost
broke already. However, my Lord, let me
know the wor&longs;t, and I will endeavour to bear it
with patience.

Melfont is married to Lady Laura.

Cruel Melfont, how have I de&longs;erved this inhuman
u&longs;age.

After you left me the other day, &longs;aid the Earl,
I &longs;ent a me&longs;&longs;enger expre&longs;s to endeavour to procure
a certificate of your marriage, and to take a letter
to Laura, promi&longs;ing pardon and forgetfulne&longs;s of
all that was pa&longs;t if &longs;he would not marry Melfont,
but in ca&longs;e &longs;he cho&longs;e to follow the bent of her own
depraved inclination, to never a&longs;&longs;ume the title of

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my daughter again, for from that moment I would
di&longs;own her. My me&longs;&longs;enger returned ye&longs;terday,
and informs me, it is impo&longs;&longs;ible to procure a certificate,
as the clergyman who married you was
dead, and that the day after you left England,
Melfont publicly e&longs;pou&longs;ed Lady Laura.

Merciful heaven, &longs;aid I, (&longs;inking on my knees)
to your care I commit my dear injured children.
Oh! &longs;uffer them not to be puni&longs;hed for the &longs;ins of
their parents; make me the object of thy wrath
for my di&longs;obedience and ingratitude, but Oh! of
thy infinite mercy avert the &longs;hafts of keen adversity
from the bo&longs;om of my beloved girls.

The Earl was affected, he dropped a tear in
compa&longs;&longs;ion to my angui&longs;h, and promi&longs;ed to be my
protector. The next day he gave me a deed, in
which he &longs;ettled this cottage and its appendages,
with one hundred pounds a year, on me during
my life, and to be continued to my children as
long as they by their conduct &longs;hould merit his
protection. I remained in France a few days,
ju&longs;t to recruit my &longs;trength and &longs;pirits, and then
&longs;et forward for this place, where I have lived now
&longs;eventeen years, endeavouring to form the minds
of my children in &longs;uch a manner, that the follies
which occa&longs;ioned their mother's misfortunes
might never find entrance in their hearts.

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Oh! Marian, li&longs;ten not to the voice of adulation,
&longs;tifle every ri&longs;ing ambitious thought, be humble,
be innocent, and be happy.

END OF VOL. I.
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Rowson, Mrs., 1762-1824 [1794], Mentoria, or, The young lady's friend, volume 1 ('Printed for Robert Campbell, by Samuel Harrison Smith', Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf326v1].
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