The &longs;torm was by this time much abated, and Rachel
having &longs;ent again to procure a coach, the officer
&longs;aid he would not leave her till he delivered her in
&longs;afety to her friends. He was &longs;tanding at the entrance
of the pa&longs;&longs;age, holding the hand of our heroine, when
a po&longs;t chariot, that was driving ha&longs;tily through Holborn,
being for a moment impeded by a number of
carts and carriages, &longs;topped directly oppo&longs;ite where
they &longs;tood. The gla&longs;s was let down, and Rachel &longs;aw
di&longs;tinctly Hamden Auberry, &longs;eated be&longs;ide an elderly
lady. She al&longs;o was certain, that he both &longs;aw and recognized
her. The blood for a moment for&longs;ook her
cheeks, and then returned with impetuo&longs;ity, dying
them of the deepe&longs;t crim&longs;on. Scarcely was there time
to exchange the glance of recognition, before the
chariot moved forward again, and a hackney-coach
drawing up to the door, &longs;he &longs;tepped into it, and, accompanied
by her protector, drove towards Dartmouth-street.

On their arrival at Mrs. Web&longs;ters, Rachel found the
family in great con&longs;ternation at her long ab&longs;ence (for
Polly having returned without her, had been dispatched
again by her mother, who &longs;eared Rachel might
lo&longs;e her way; and learning that &longs;he had been gone
&longs;ome time from Atkins's, had returned as quick as &longs;he
could, in the hope of finding her &longs;afe at home).

Mi&longs;s La Varone welcomed her with tears of joy,
and Mrs. Web&longs;ter &longs;aid &longs;he was glad to &longs;ee her &longs;afe.
Courtney, (the name of the young officer) without
particularly mentioning the circum&longs;tances, &longs;aid &longs;he
had been di&longs;agreeably &longs;ituated, and he had been fortunate
enough to be of &longs;ervice to her. But Rachel
would explain the whole; her new friend, Mi&longs;s La
Varone, &longs;ympathized with her, trembled with terror,
glowed with indignation, or melted with gratitude,
as the recital proceeded; and in the end, &longs;aid &longs;o many
obliging things to Lieutenant Courtney, that he began
to think her more than agreeable; and overlooking
the charms of our heroine, which had nothing but nature
and &longs;implicity to recommend them, he was

[figure description] Page 242.[end figure description]

powerfully attracted by the artful lures thrown out by La
Varone.

The &longs;ituation of Rachel, in regard to reputation,
was now as dangerous as it was po&longs;&longs;ible; for Courtney
claimed the privilege of vi&longs;iting her; and Archibald
Oliver, when he returned from the country,
and his &longs;i&longs;ter, called to deliver the an&longs;wer to the letter
he had taken, and one vi&longs;it led to another, till
&longs;carcely a day elap&longs;ed without his pa&longs;&longs;ing &longs;ome hours
in her company.

Rachel's intentions, when &longs;he fir&longs;t came to London,
were to apprentice her&longs;elf to &longs;ome per&longs;on who
could in&longs;truct her in &longs;ome laudable employment,
whereby &longs;he might render her&longs;elf independent. For
in her opinion, the per&longs;on who by the exertion of
any talent, or the exerci&longs;e of indu&longs;try, could &longs;upport
them&longs;elves, was in every &longs;en&longs;e of the word as independent
as they who inherited wealth or titles from their
ance&longs;tors. But the&longs;e prai&longs;eworthy re&longs;olutions were
from time to time put off, and her attention diverted
to other objects, till &longs;he began to perceive the &longs;mall
&longs;um of money &longs;he brought with her to London was
very vi&longs;ibly dimini&longs;hed, and yet no plan put in execution,
by which it could be repleni&longs;hed. `I mu&longs;t do
&longs;omething to-morrow,' &longs;aid Rachel every night as &longs;he
laid her head on her pillow. But to-morrow came,
and La Varone had ever &longs;ome new &longs;cheme of plea&longs;ure
to propo&longs;e. Juvenile indi&longs;cretion united with curiosity,
and a love of amu&longs;ement, natural to youth, led
her on from one day to another, till the la&longs;t ten pound
note was broken in upon.

Forbear, ye rigid, ye experienced matrons, to blame
our heroine; it is the particular ble&longs;&longs;ing of youth to
be enabled to enjoy the pre&longs;ent moment, forgetful of
the pa&longs;t, nor fearing the future. Then cen&longs;ure not
tho&longs;e who eagerly gather the ro&longs;es, unmindful of the
briars that &longs;urround them, or who, delighted with
their beauty and fragrance, forget, in the enjoyment
of their &longs;weets, the pain they &longs;uffered in gathering them.

Je&longs;&longs;y Oliver had written to her, had endeavoured
to advi&longs;e and comfort her; but Je&longs;&longs;y &longs;tood in need of

[figure description] Page 243.[end figure description]

advice and comfort her&longs;elf; and our heroine, though
con&longs;cious that &longs;he was not acting exactly right, could
not &longs;ummon re&longs;olution &longs;ufficient to combat inclination;
but one party of plea&longs;ure &longs;ucceeded another,
till &longs;he almo&longs;t lo&longs;t the de&longs;ire of employment, or the
wi&longs;h for independence.

When Hamden Auberry fir&longs;t &longs;aw Rachel at
the entrance of the pa&longs;&longs;age in Holborn, he
hardly could tru&longs;t his &longs;en&longs;es; but on letting down the
gla&longs;s and looking intently, he perceived it was no illusion,
but in reality the woman whom he had thought
the mo&longs;t faultle&longs;s, the mo&longs;t perfect of her &longs;ex. His
heart &longs;huddered; he dared not &longs;top the chariot in
which was his aunt, or he would have immediately
jumped out, and learnt from her own lips the rea&longs;on
of her being in &longs;uch a place; but before he could form
any plau&longs;ible pretext for quitting the carriage, it moved
forward again with rapidity, and looking out of
the open window, he &longs;aw her go into the hackney-coach,
accompanied by Courtney.

If he at fir&longs;t had imagined Rachel had voluntarily
deviated from the path of rectitude, a moment's serious
reflection made him reject the idea; and he began
to be apprehen&longs;ive that her innocence and inexperience
might have betrayed her into &longs;ociety and places,
not altogether proper for a woman of character.

But how could he &longs;atisfy him&longs;elf? Or &longs;hould &longs;he
be &longs;urrounded with danger, how could he di&longs;cover
her? how advi&longs;e, or, if nece&longs;&longs;ity required, protect her?
Had he known where to find her, he would have ventured
even to entreat his aunt to take her under her
protection; but he had not the lea&longs;t clue by which to
trace her place of re&longs;idence. He thought of writing
to his mother, for information; but lady Anne

[figure description] Page 244.[end figure description]

purposed &longs;taying in London but two days, and it was impossible
to obtain an an&longs;wer in that time. However,
he did write, mentioning what he had &longs;een, and requesting
to be informed under who&longs;e protection Mi&longs;s Dudley
was, hinting that he feared it was not what it
ought to be, or &longs;he could never have been in the situation
in which he &longs;aw her.

On the day appointed, he accompanied his aunt into
Scotland; where, &longs;ituated on the fertile banks of the
Clyde, was an antique family man&longs;ion of lord Montmorill,
her elder brother. Whil&longs;t there, he received a
letter from his mother, which &longs;lightly mentioned that our
heroine was well, and that the circum&longs;tance he had observed,
proceeded from her &longs;tanding up to avoid a &longs;hower.

She hurried over the &longs;ubject as lightly as po&longs;&longs;ible;
for &longs;he &longs;aw the growing pa&longs;&longs;ion of Hamden, and
knowing from experience the implacable tempers of
the family, wi&longs;hed to di&longs;courage hopes which &longs;he &longs;aw
he entertained, though again&longs;t his own better rea&longs;on.

Rachel her&longs;elf was far from being ea&longs;y when &longs;he
thought of the incident, on the fir&longs;t night after &longs;eeing.
Hamden; (for &longs;he &longs;eldom was allowed a moment for
thought, except in the hours devoted to re&longs;t) &longs;he felt
a plea&longs;ure in reflecting he was in town. “I can &longs;ee
him now,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “without incurring the illiberal
reproofs of Tabitha.”

The heart of Rachel harboured not a wi&longs;h or thought
but what might have been made public to the whole
world; and while &longs;he was con&longs;cious of its rectitude, &longs;he
felt proudly &longs;uperior to the little prejudices of vulgar
minds. She could not under&longs;tand why &longs;he might not
conver&longs;e with or entertain a friend&longs;hip for per&longs;ons of
an oppo&longs;ite &longs;ex, as well as with tho&longs;e of her own. She
therefore indulged the hope, that Hamden would vi&longs;it
her during his &longs;tay in London; but when day after
day pa&longs;&longs;ed on, and he did not appear, &longs;he again thought
pride had prompted the neglect, and calling all her
own &longs;elf-con&longs;equence to her aid, &longs;he endeavoured to
think as little of him as he apparently thought of her.

Young Courtney, the officer who under &longs;uch favourable
circum&longs;tances was introduced to the reader

[figure description] Page 245.[end figure description]

in the preceding chapter, was the only &longs;on of his mother,
and &longs;he was a widow. He had two &longs;i&longs;ters al&longs;o,
lovely, innocent and helple&longs;s; their father had been a
veteran &longs;ailor, commander of a fir&longs;t-rate man of war,
in defending which from the enemy he lo&longs;t his life.
The pen&longs;ion of a captain's widow at that period was
very precarious, and at the be&longs;t but trifling, to maintain
three women who had been accu&longs;tomed to ea&longs;e
and elegance.

Courtney gave them all the a&longs;&longs;i&longs;tance in his power,
and had often thought he would never marry until
his &longs;i&longs;ters were &longs;ettled in the world; and then if he
could meet with a woman who could and would supply
their place in attention to his mother. But unfortunately,
a few days acquaintance with Mi&longs;s La
Varone, made him waver in his re&longs;olutions. She
could a&longs;&longs;ume any character &longs;he plea&longs;ed. She di&longs;covered
that her per&longs;onal charms had attracted the inexperienced
&longs;ailor. She wi&longs;hed to marry, that &longs;he might with
impunity launch into extravagancies, which at pre&longs;ent
the fear of a jail alone debarred her from.

La Varone, with a heart extremely depraved, possessed
one virtue in an eminent degree. She was what
the world in general calls extremely prudent, careful
to pre&longs;erve appearances, and where her own per&longs;onal
&longs;afety or intere&longs;t was concerned, cautious not to incur
the &longs;malle&longs;t degree of danger. By nature fond of
luxury, &longs;how, and expen&longs;ive plea&longs;ures, &longs;he had the art
to &longs;eem frugal, retired, and &longs;tudious. She was &longs;en&longs;ible
that at thirty years old, the &longs;ea&longs;on for conque&longs;t was
pa&longs;t, and though &longs;he did not own to more than five
and twenty, and by particular attention to her complexion
and dre&longs;s, was not &longs;u&longs;pected to be more; yet
&longs;he thought if &longs;he could &longs;ecure a permanent establishment
for her&longs;elf before old age and neglect overtook
her, it would be the wi&longs;e&longs;t &longs;tep &longs;he could po&longs;&longs;ibly take.

The name of Courtney was honourable, his per&longs;on
hand&longs;ome, his manners agreeable, and his family unexceptionable.
It was a conque&longs;t worth &longs;ome pains.
La Varone artfully drew forth his &longs;entiments in regard
to the woman he might prefer for a wife, and

[figure description] Page 246.[end figure description]

appeared the very character his warm imagination
and unadulterated heart had conceived as mo&longs;t charming.
She &longs;poke of his mother with re&longs;pectful affection,
of his &longs;i&longs;ters with all the &longs;ervour of enthu&longs;ia&longs;tic
friend&longs;hip; but if he mentioned her vi&longs;iting them previous
to their marriage, &longs;he contrived to evade his solicitation;
yet with &longs;uch mode&longs;ty, alleging &longs;uch delicate
motives for her re&longs;u&longs;al, that whil&longs;t it oppo&longs;ed his
wi&longs;hes increa&longs;ed his love.

Our heroine was equally with Courtney the dupe
of La Varone, and rejoiced in the affection that subsisted
between them; looking forward to their union, as
a period that would at once in&longs;ure their felicity, and
&longs;ecure to her&longs;elf two &longs;incere friends, in who&longs;e protection
&longs;he &longs;hould feel her&longs;elf perfectly &longs;afe till the arrival
of her brother.

During this interval of time, Rachel was frequently
vi&longs;ited by Archibald Oliver. He had at fir&longs;t beheld
her with admiration, li&longs;tened to her with delight, and
every en&longs;uing interview had heightened tho&longs;e sensations
to a degree which almo&longs;t might be termed adoration.
But Archibald po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed not a doit independent
of his father, and that father he knew was, by his
wife's extravagance, nearly ruined.

Though volatile in his temper, eccentric in his ideas,
and violent in his pa&longs;&longs;ions, young Oliver was scrupulously
honourable; and he would have deemed it the
height of cruelty to engage the affections of a woman
he could not with prudence marry, or to marry her
when he could neither provide for her &longs;upport, or for
tho&longs;e helple&longs;s innocents of which he might become the
father. And fearing to for&longs;eit the highly valued privilege
of vi&longs;iting her, he confined his feelings within his
own bo&longs;om. “She loves me now,” he would &longs;ay,
“like a brother; &longs;hall I then, by claiming more, lo&longs;e
even the affection I po&longs;&longs;e&longs;s? No; I will adore her in
&longs;ilence, and pray that her felicity may be complete,
though at the expen&longs;e of my own.”

One morning he entered the parloun (where La
Varone and our heroine u&longs;ually &longs;at at work) and seating
him&longs;elf be&longs;ide the latter, told her he came to make

[figure description] Page 247.[end figure description]

her a partaker of his own unea&longs;ine&longs;s. “Our dear
Je&longs;&longs;y,” continued he, “has left her father's protection,
nor have we any idea whither the beloved fugitive is
fled. Here is a note &longs;he left for me; inclo&longs;ed is a letter
for you, Mi&longs;s Dudley. The per&longs;ecutions the &longs;weet
girl has lately undergone, I have concealed from you,
becau&longs;e, as you could not alleviate them, I wi&longs;hed not
to make you participate. But di&longs;gui&longs;e mu&longs;t now be
at an end. This was to have been her wedding day;
but early in the morning it was di&longs;covered &longs;he was not
in her apartment. The confu&longs;ion this di&longs;covery occasioned,
reached me as I was preparing, with a desponding
heart, to accompany the devoted victim to the altar;
and as I was ru&longs;hing out to inquire the cau&longs;e (for
my mind foreboded &longs;omething fatal) the girl who usually
attended on Je&longs;&longs;y, came into my dre&longs;&longs;ing-room,
and in agitated &longs;ilence put the&longs;e papers into my hand,
retiring the in&longs;tant &longs;he delivered them. I ha&longs;tily tore
my letter open; but it contained, as you will &longs;ee, nothing
&longs;atisfactory. I learnt that a note had been delivered
to my father, and wi&longs;hing equally to avoid him,
Mrs. Oliver, and the di&longs;appointed bridegroom, I took
a coach and drove directly here.” The letter to Archibald
was as follows.

To ARCHIBALD OLIVER, E&longs;q.

WHEN the altar is decorated, the prie&longs;ts at hand,
and the knife is rai&longs;ed, that will terminate exi&longs;tence,
who can blame the poor victim devoted to &longs;acrifice, if
it break the chain by which it is held, a&longs;&longs;erts the privilege
of nature, and, bounding over the plain, &longs;ecures
at once both life and liberty? Brother, beloved brother,
they have prepared the altar, but the de&longs;tined victim
will e&longs;cape their &longs;nares.

Deliver the inclo&longs;ed to the friend of my &longs;oul, Rachel
Dudley; if &longs;he contemn me, I will return a voluntary
&longs;acrifice. For &longs;o pure is her mind, &longs;o unprejudiced
her opinions, &longs;oaring &longs;o far above the common herd,
that I would abide by her deci&longs;ion even in a cau&longs;e of
life and death.

[figure description] Page 248.[end figure description]

Deare&longs;t Archibald, though I am driven to the
dreadful alternative of marrying the man I de&longs;pi&longs;e, or
quitting the paternal roof, do not you for&longs;ake our father.
I &longs;olicit, I conjure you, my brother, in the name
of our &longs;ainted mother, for&longs;ake not our only remaining
parent. I fear he will &longs;oon, very &longs;oon, &longs;tand in need
of a comforter. I will be con&longs;tant in my inquiries
concerning his welfare, and whenever I find my presence
nece&longs;&longs;ary to his peace or comfort, I will appear.
Any thing but truth I would have &longs;acrificed for his
&longs;ake. Could you &longs;ee my heart at this moment, you
would pity the angui&longs;h I feel in bidding you adieu,
perhaps forever.

Rachel wiped off the tear this letter had extorted,
and proceeded to peru&longs;e the one addre&longs;&longs;ed to her&longs;elf.

To Mi&longs;s DUDLEY.

WILL my dear friend pardon me that I intrude
my&longs;elf upon her, and by explaining my &longs;orrows, make
her a party in my concerns? I have &longs;uffered much
per&longs;ecution, dear Rachel, &longs;ince we parted; and to
avoid ru&longs;hing at once into guilt and mi&longs;ery, I have
taken a &longs;tep for which the world will cen&longs;ure me. But
what is the world to me? Had I voluntarily a&longs;&longs;umed
the &longs;plendid &longs;hackles prepared for me, had I become a
titled wretch, and promi&longs;ed faith and truth to one
man, whil&longs;t every wi&longs;h, every tender thought of my
heart was devoted to another, would the approving
&longs;miles of that misjudging world, the adulation it is ever
ready to pay to &longs;plendor and nobility, have compensated
for the &longs;acrifice I &longs;hould have made of internal
peace, of con&longs;cious integrity? No.—Admired, courted,
envied, I &longs;hould &longs;till have been mi&longs;erable. The
ba&longs;ene&longs;s of my conduct would be my daily reproach;
I &longs;hould have &longs;ought to bani&longs;h reflection by di&longs;&longs;ipation,
and who can tell where the career of guilt and folly
might have &longs;topped?

I have endured both &longs;tern commands and &longs;oft entreaties;
I have been &longs;oothed and threatened alternately.
That I might with more &longs;ecurity follow the

[figure description] Page 249.[end figure description]

plan I had previou&longs;ly adopted for my future conduct,
I pretended (Heaven pardon the deceit) to accept the
hu&longs;band my di&longs;&longs;olute and ambitious mother-in-law had
provided for me, and to-morrow morning I am expected
to put on the Hymeneal yoke, and become a
counte&longs;s. But before the appointed hour arrives, I
&longs;hall be far, far out of the reach of their tyranny. Let
not my &longs;weet friend, who&longs;e bo&longs;om is the &longs;acred temple
of purity, &longs;ear that I &longs;hall forget what is due to myself.
That I am &longs;trongly attached to a worthy youth,
I &longs;eruple not to confe&longs;s; but he is a &longs;tranger to my
pa&longs;&longs;ion, and in all human probability will ever remain
&longs;o; for never will Je&longs;&longs;y Oliver offer her&longs;elf un&longs;olicited
to the acceptance of any man. My affections are pure
as they are ardent; but the name of the object of them
&longs;hall never pa&longs;s my lips, or e&longs;cape my pen. I fly from
proffered wealth and grandeur, to ob&longs;curity; even
from you, my dear Rachel, I will &longs;eclude my&longs;elf.
Were I happy or affluent, you &longs;hould be my cho&longs;en
companion, the partner of my heart. But I am the
rever&longs;e, and will &longs;uffer alone. If you will conde&longs;cend
to receive and an&longs;wer the letters of a fugitive, I have
formed a plan by which we may regularly corre&longs;pond;
but do not flatter your&longs;elf that by that means you can
trace me; nor do not, I entreat you, &longs;uffer my brother
to know the means by which my letters are conveyed.

And now, my deare&longs;t Rachel, adieu! Fear not for
me. I will never di&longs;honour the name of my father,
or forget the virtue of my &longs;ainted mother. Perhaps
(my heart &longs;inks at the idea, but perhaps) I &longs;hall never
&longs;ee you again. If &longs;o, may Heaven &longs;hower its choice&longs;t
ble&longs;&longs;ings on you, and in&longs;pire me with patience and fortitude
to &longs;ubmit, without repining, to an affliction
which would lacerate the heart of

When Rachel had fini&longs;hed this letter, &longs;he imparted
to Archibald as much of the contents as &longs;he thought
nece&longs;&longs;ary; but to all his entreaties of being permitted
to peru&longs;e it &longs;he continued inexorable. She admired
the re&longs;olution of Je&longs;&longs;y, and had &longs;o good an opinion of

[figure description] Page 250.[end figure description]

her heart and under&longs;tanding, that &longs;he felt confident of
her &longs;trict adherence to truth and rectitude.

In all their pa&longs;t hours of friendly confidence, Mi&longs;s
Oliver had never &longs;uffered a &longs;yllable to e&longs;cape her lips
by which Rachel could gue&longs;s at her partiality to Reuben;
and at the time when they were mo&longs;t together,
our heroine was too inexperienced to di&longs;cover the passion
of her friend by looks and ge&longs;tures. Perhaps,
had &longs;he conver&longs;ed much with Je&longs;&longs;y after her own acquaintance
with Hamden Auberry, &longs;he might have
been more clear-&longs;ighted.

Soon after this circum&longs;tance, young Oliver, weary
of home, di&longs;&longs;atisfied with him&longs;elf, and more than ever
in love with Rachel, felt there was a nece&longs;&longs;ity for tearing
him&longs;elf from her &longs;ociety. Be&longs;ides, he hoped, in
travelling through the northern counties of England,
to be enabled to learn &longs;ome tidings of his &longs;i&longs;ter. A
di&longs;tant relation of his mother's re&longs;ided in the beautiful
little town of Alnwick, in Northumberland; thither
he repaired on a vi&longs;it. Its romantic &longs;ituation plea&longs;ed
him; the &longs;ociety of &longs;everal agreeable families in its
vicinity delighted him; and if we add that a lovely
and intere&longs;ting woman, who&longs;e fortune was large and
independent, beheld him with affection, and &longs;uffered
that affection to become manife&longs;t, it is to be hoped the
fair reader will not blame him, if he lengthened his
&longs;tay at Alnwick, and every day thought le&longs;s and le&longs;s
of Rachel.

After the marriage of Lieutenant Courtney with
Mi&longs;s La Varone, our heroine felt &longs;omewhat disappointed
that &longs;he had not been pre&longs;&longs;ed to accompany
the new Mrs. Courtney into the country. The Lieutenant
had, to be &longs;ure, &longs;olicited her company; but the
bride did not, even by a &longs;ingle mono&longs;yllable, &longs;econd
tho&longs;e &longs;olicitations; &longs;o Rachel &longs;aw them depart, fervently
wi&longs;hed them hourly increa&longs;e of felicity, and
then &longs;at down to reflect on her own &longs;ituation in London,
without friends, without employment, and with
only eight guineas in her pocket.

[figure description] Page 251.[end figure description]

“I have done wrong, (&longs;aid &longs;he mentally) very
wrong. I mu&longs;t take more care, mu&longs;t endeavour to
be more prudent for the future.”

As &longs;he ruminated on the pa&longs;t, felt no &longs;atisfaction in
the pre&longs;ent, and looked with fear and de&longs;pondency toward
the future, &longs;he heard a confu&longs;ion in the adjoining
apartment, and the voice of Polly Web&longs;ter, who was
her favourite, entreating a woman to have patience,
who by her expre&longs;&longs;ions and manner &longs;eemed a total
&longs;tranger to that virtue. She opened the door, and
learnt that Mrs. Web&longs;ter was indebted to this woman
for tea, &longs;ugar, &c. (for &longs;he kept a chandler's &longs;hop in
the neighbourhood) nearly five pounds.

Now five pounds, to a per&longs;on in abject circumstances,
is a debt of as much con&longs;equence as five thou&longs;and
would be to one who keeps high company, a carriage,
hor&longs;es, &longs;ervants, dre&longs;&longs;es gay, and, as it is generally
termed, lives in &longs;tyle; nay, perhaps, ten times more.
For the poor being, who for the ab&longs;olute nece&longs;&longs;aries
of life has incurred a &longs;mall debt, may be dragged by
a remor&longs;ele&longs;s creditor to die in a pri&longs;on, unknown, unpitied;
while he who, to indulge in luxury and superfluity,
had deceived the expectations of hone&longs;t industry,
deprived the laborious mechanic of his due, or
duped the unwary trade&longs;man, is &longs;uffered to proceed
with impunity. Nay, even tho&longs;e who criminate his
conduct, will flatter his vices, eat at his table, take
him by the hand, and &longs;mile in his face, whil&longs;t in their
hearts they laugh at his ab&longs;urdity, pity his weakne&longs;s,
or condemn his depravity. Not but there are tho&longs;e,
who, di&longs;criminating between the embarra&longs;&longs;ments of
nece&longs;&longs;ity, and tho&longs;e of wilful extravagance, pity the
one and de&longs;pi&longs;e and execrate the other. Yes, there are in
this world hearts to commi&longs;erate misfortune, whil&longs;t they
dictate to the tongue comfort, and to the hands relief
to the &longs;ufferer. And tho&longs;e cho&longs;en, tho&longs;e &longs;uperlatively
happy few, mu&longs;t &longs;urely be the favourites of Heaven.
For the ble&longs;&longs;ing they delight to confer on others, will
return a thou&longs;and-fold into their own bo&longs;oms.

But I digre&longs;s. To return to Mrs. Web&longs;ter: She
could not pay the demand, and was threatened with

[figure description] Page 252.[end figure description]

the law. Rachel had but eight guineas; but &longs;he
could pay this demand and have three left. She stayed
not to inquire what was prudent; &longs;he felt what
would be humane. She followed the heavenly precept
of “doing as &longs;he would be done by;” &longs;he paid
the money.

The heart of Mrs. Web&longs;ter dilated with gratitude;
and the pain Rachel had endured from the departure
and coldne&longs;s of Mrs. Courtney, was forgot in the transport
of the pre&longs;ent moment; &longs;o true is it, that real
happine&longs;s mu&longs;t be the re&longs;ult of the knowledge and
practice of virtue.

Mr. Spriggins, the nephew of Mrs. Web&longs;ter, though
awed by her &longs;uperior &longs;en&longs;e and the dignity of her manner,
was an ardent admirer of our heroine; but he had
never yet breathed a word that could lead her to suspect
his pa&longs;&longs;ion. La Varone, young Oliver, and Lieutenant
Courtney, had contributed to impo&longs;e &longs;ilence on
him, and keep him at a di&longs;tance. But now they were
gone, he could offer any civility to her without the
fear of having his endeavours to plea&longs;e entirely frustrated,
by officiou&longs;ne&longs;s or rivalry.

The &longs;econd day after their departure, he came, and
reque&longs;ted the Mi&longs;s Web&longs;ters and Rachel would accompany
him to the play. He fore&longs;aw that the young
ladies would not be permitted to go without Mi&longs;s Dudley,
and al&longs;o that her good-nature would not &longs;uffer
her to decline his invitation, as by &longs;o doing &longs;he would
deprive the juvenile party of a rational and (to them)
rare amu&longs;ement. His expectations were realized;
and at an early hour they were all at the pit door of
Drury-Lane Theatre. The performance was a tragedy
and pantomime, both excellent in their kind.

Rachel, who&longs;e &longs;en&longs;ibility often u&longs;urped dominion
over her rational faculties, bani&longs;hing the milder reign of
rea&longs;on, was, during the tragedy, &longs;o entirely ab&longs;orbed
by the &longs;ufferings of the hero and heroine, that the splendid
circle that &longs;urrounded her in the boxes was totally
unnoticed. But between the play and entertainment,
&longs;he looked round on the glittering throng; and in the
&longs;tage-box, conver&longs;ing with attentive carne&longs;tne&longs;s with

[figure description] Page 253.[end figure description]

an elegant and very young lady, &longs;he &longs;aw Hamden
Auberry.

The lady laid her hand on his &longs;houlder. Rachel
di&longs;covered that her &longs;eat was uncomfortable. Hamden,
as he conver&longs;ed, twi&longs;ted a curl of her luxuriant
auburn tre&longs;&longs;es round his fingers.

“I declare I am out of patience,” cried Rachel.

“At what, ma'am?” cried the officious Mr. Spriggins.

“At the players,” &longs;aid &longs;he; “they are &longs;o tedious.”

“Yes, ma'am,” replied Spriggins, “they are to be
&longs;ure a long while.”

At that moment Hamden had taken the hand of
his fair companion and pre&longs;&longs;ed it to his lips.

“I cannot endure it any longer,” cried Rachel,
“the pit is &longs;o crowded, and it is &longs;o hot.” Rachel
was not ea&longs;ily overcome; but her heart was more attached
to Hamden Auberry than &longs;he was aware of.
“It is &longs;o oppre&longs;&longs;ive,” repeated &longs;he, unwilling to acknowledge
even to her&longs;elf the cau&longs;e of her unea&longs;y sensations.
“I mu&longs;t really quit the hou&longs;e,” &longs;aid &longs;he,
ga&longs;ping for breath. And then, before any effort could
be made to get her through the crowd, a &longs;udden mi&longs;t
came over her eyes, and &longs;he fainted.

The young Web&longs;ters were frightened, and Spriggins
was entirely occupied in &longs;upporting her, &longs;o that no
method was taken to recover her. But an elderly
gentleman, who &longs;at near them, ob&longs;erved if they could
lift her up, &longs;o that &longs;he might be above the crowd, it
would accelerate her return to life. Accordingly, he
humanely &longs;tepped up on the &longs;eat, and rai&longs;ed her in his
arms. A &longs;melling bottle was now applied, and &longs;ome
lavender rubbed on her temples.

The bu&longs;tle this incident had occa&longs;ioned in the pit,
attracted the notice of the company in the boxes; and
as the old gentleman rai&longs;ed the declining head of Rachel
that &longs;he might receive the more benefit from the
air of &longs;everal fans, Auberry &longs;aw and knew her. Like
lightning he &longs;prang over the front of the box, and rushing
through the company, was by the &longs;ide of our heroine,
when returning life began to animate her lips

[figure description] Page 254.[end figure description]

and cheeks; and when &longs;he opened her eyes, Auberry
was the fir&longs;t object that met them. The tender solicitude
of his looks and manner, whil&longs;t he inquired into
the cau&longs;e of her di&longs;order, contributed to re&longs;tore her
entirely; and having thanked the old gentleman for
his care, and made room for Auberry to &longs;it between
her&longs;elf and Polly Web&longs;ter, as he held her hand, and
&longs;poke to her of his mother, Dr. Lenient, and the re&longs;t
of their acquaintance in Lanca&longs;hire, &longs;he entirely forgot
both her indi&longs;po&longs;ition and its cau&longs;e.

Though the impul&longs;e of the moment had urged
Hamden Auberry, in direct oppo&longs;ition to every rule
of politene&longs;s or even propriety, to quit his company
and &longs;pring into the pit, when he beheld the lifele&longs;s
form of Rachel, yet when he now &longs;aw her perfectly
recovered, he remembered the nece&longs;&longs;ity of immediately
returning to them, and apologizing for the abruptness
of his conduct.

“I do not feel altogether &longs;atisfied, my charming
Mi&longs;s Dudley,” &longs;aid he in a low voice, “that the society
in which, perhaps, you are obliged to mix, is proper
or congenial to your feelings. Who are the&longs;e young
women, and the young man who attends them?”

“I am not indeed,” &longs;aid Rachel, “&longs;ituated exactly
as I could wi&longs;h; but I know not how to better myself.”

“Where &longs;hall I call on you,” &longs;aid Hamden; “I
cannot now &longs;tay to &longs;ay all I think. I mu&longs;t return to
my cou&longs;in, lady Lucy.”

“Is that your cou&longs;in?” &longs;aid Rachel, glancing her
eye upon the young lady in the box.

“Yes; I came to town by my aunt's de&longs;ire merely
to accompany her; &longs;he is come upon a vi&longs;it to a friend
of her mother's, and is going with her to make a &longs;hort
tour on the continent.”

“And do you accompany her?” &longs;aid Rachel; but
&longs;he dared not rai&longs;e her eyes to his face as &longs;he made
the interrogation; for &longs;he felt that her own was suffused
with a blu&longs;h.

“No; I &longs;hall only go with them as far as Dover.
But as we do not &longs;et forward till Saturday, I &longs;hall

[figure description] Page 255.[end figure description]

hope to pa&longs;s a few delightful hours in your &longs;ociety
previous to my journey. At what time will you be
at lei&longs;ure to-morrow morning?”

“I am always at lei&longs;ure to &longs;ee my friends,” replied
Rachel, with a fa&longs;cinating &longs;mile.

Hamden's countenance expre&longs;&longs;ed his gratitude, and
the plea&longs;ure her frankne&longs;s gave him, and pre&longs;&longs;ing her
hand, he wi&longs;hed her a good night, returned to the
box, and a few moments afterwards, the whole party
in which he was engaged left the theatre.

The remainder of the performance was entirely lo&longs;t
upon our heroine. Her per&longs;on was pre&longs;ent, and &longs;he
&longs;aw the figures that pa&longs;&longs;ed and repa&longs;&longs;ed before her;
but her mind was totally ab&longs;ent, and &longs;he might as well
have gazed upon vacancy. She was di&longs;&longs;atisfied with
her&longs;elf; &longs;he had di&longs;covered that &longs;he was too much interested
in whatever concerned Hamden Auberry;
&longs;he feared too that he had di&longs;covered her weakne&longs;s.
The&longs;e reflections entirely employed her thoughts.

When the performance was ended, &longs;he mechanically
followed her party out of the hou&longs;e. When freed
from the hurry of coaches, chairs, orange-women,
link-boys, and the crowd that had ju&longs;t immerged from
the play-hou&longs;e, &longs;he took hold of Polly's arm, and in
&longs;ilence pur&longs;ued her walk home. When &longs;he entered
the parlour &longs;he a&longs;ked for a candle, and would have
retired to her chamber; but Mrs. Web&longs;ter had prepared
&longs;ome little delicacy for her &longs;upper, and &longs;he had
too much good-nature and politene&longs;s to refu&longs;e &longs;itting
up to partake of it.

The curio&longs;ity of Spriggins and the two elder Websters
was excited by the behaviour of Hamden Auberry.
They had talked it over as they walked home together,
and all agreed that he was certainly a lover.
The company he was with declared he was of a superior
rank in life; but they had not been quite plea&longs;ed
that our heroine had neglected to introduce them.

“He is a mon&longs;trous hand&longs;ome man,” &longs;aid Belle, the
&longs;econd daughter.

“He is well enough,” &longs;aid the elde&longs;t, “but he
&longs;eems &longs;o proud and &longs;elf-conceited.”

[figure description] Page 256.[end figure description]

We'll joke Mi&longs;s Rachel a little about him at &longs;upper
time,” &longs;aid Spriggins.

“I wonder what made her faint,” &longs;aid Belle.

“Why lawk, Belle!” replied the &longs;i&longs;ter, “you know
&longs;he has always lived in the country, and &longs;o I &longs;uppo&longs;e
the lights, and the noi&longs;e, and the heat—”

Ju&longs;t then they arrived at home, and in a few minutes
they were all &longs;eated round the &longs;upper table.

Mi&longs;s Dudley has been very ill at the play, mamma,”
&longs;aid Polly.

“Yes, indeed,” cried the elde&longs;t, “&longs;he fainted quite
away, and there was &longs;uch a fine gentleman jumped
out of the box and came to her, I believe he is an old
acquaintance.”

“I believe &longs;o too,” &longs;aid Belle, laughing; “for he
&longs;eemed mon&longs;trous anxious, and looked &longs;o happy when
&longs;he began to recover.”

“He is an old acquaintance,” &longs;aid Rachel, at once
di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed and flattered by the manner in which his
anxiety and a&longs;&longs;iduity was mentioned; “it was Major
Auberry, madam,” addre&longs;&longs;ing her&longs;elf to Mrs. Webster;
“the &longs;on of our re&longs;pected friend.”

“Indeed! Well, I have not &longs;een him &longs;ince he was
an infant; and be&longs;ides, if he even remembered me, he
is &longs;o much among&longs;t the great folks, it would be beneath
him to notice me, or any of my family, though
his mother and I, when girls, were ju&longs;t like &longs;i&longs;ters.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Spriggins, who&longs;e &longs;elf-con&longs;equence
had been lowered by his being entirely overlooked by
the Major; “yes! when folks get up in the world,
they generally forget their poor friends.”

“But I dare affirm Major Auberry is not one of
tho&longs;e kind of people,” &longs;aid Rachel; “he intends calling
on me to-morrow, and I have no doubt but he will rejoice
in being introduced to Mrs. Web&longs;ter and her family.”

“Well, we &longs;hall &longs;ee!” cried Spriggins; “but I am
&longs;ure he is not overburthened with good manners, or he
would have &longs;aid good night, or your &longs;ervant, or &longs;ome
&longs;uch like, to me, when he went away; for though
mayhap I am not &longs;o grand, nor &longs;o fine, nor &longs;o learned,
I thinks I under&longs;tands good-breeding as well as any

[figure description] Page 257.[end figure description]

body. And for the matter of that, a man is but a
man, and I don't &longs;ee why wearing a laced coat, or being
called Sir, or My Lord, or Your Grace, makes
one man a bit better than another.”

Rachel found that it would be in vain to attempt
defending Hamden again&longs;t the complaints and prejudices
of Spriggins, who&longs;e contracted mind and very
&longs;mall portion of under&longs;tanding, would not &longs;uffer him
to comprehend tho&longs;e nice di&longs;tinctions which, allowing
for the natural equality of man, &longs;till pre&longs;erves that respect,
that nece&longs;&longs;ary &longs;ubordination, due from inferiors
to per&longs;ons of &longs;hining abilities, liberal education, and
&longs;uperior under&longs;tanding; and the ignorant, self-opinionated
being who prates of equality, never once conceives
the cau&longs;e of the di&longs;tinction, which education
(more than any other cau&longs;e) makes between man and
man. Per&longs;ons of large fortunes are enabled to enjoy
the benefits of in&longs;truction in its mo&longs;t extended &longs;en&longs;e;
and they who have cultivated their minds with care,
who&longs;e ta&longs;tes and manners are highly poli&longs;hed, feel
as great a repugnance to the &longs;ociety of the vulgar
ignorant, in whom mean pride, ob&longs;tinacy and vanity
in general combine, as the pure and uncontaminated
mind would feel in being forced into an intercour&longs;e
with the vicious. But Rachel knew the&longs;e arguments,
if advanced, would have no effect on Spriggins; &longs;he
therefore li&longs;tened in &longs;ilence to the end of his harangue,
then wi&longs;hing them all a good night, retired to her
apartment.

The next morning by ten o'clock, Hamden Auberry
was in Dartmouth-&longs;treet. He was introduced
to Mrs. Web&longs;ter and her daughters; to the former,
as the friend of his mother, he was uncommonly
re&longs;pectful, and he &longs;poke to the girls with &longs;uch freedom,
politene&longs;s and affability, that when they went

[figure description] Page 258.[end figure description]

into the adjoining room, Belle declared he was a mo&longs;t
captivating man.

Polly &longs;aid &longs;he hoped, if he was going to marry dear
Mi&longs;s Dudley, that he was as good as he was handsome.
For if he was a king, he could not be too good
for her.

“Marry,” &longs;aid the elde&longs;t, putting up her lip, “I
dare &longs;ay he would be frightened to hear you &longs;ay &longs;uch
a thing. No! no! young men of his rank and fashion
don't often marry poor girls; if they did, I
don't &longs;ee why &longs;ome folks might not &longs;tand as good a
chance as others.” And &longs;he ca&longs;t a &longs;ly glance at the
looking-gla&longs;s, which hung directly oppo&longs;ite to where
&longs;he was &longs;itting.

Hamden, in this interview with our heroine, felt his
admiration increa&longs;e. Every circum&longs;tance that had
taken place during her re&longs;idence in London, &longs;he recapitulated
to him, with an ingenuous freedom that
captivated his heart, whil&longs;t his rea&longs;on applauded the
involuntary tribute of admiration and re&longs;pect, her
manners and &longs;entiments exacted.

When &longs;he had fini&longs;hed her artle&longs;s recital, (which
was drawn forth by his inquiries, not voluntarily obtruded
on his attention) “You are, I fear, improperly,
as well as uncomfortably &longs;ituated,” &longs;aid he with energy.

“I acknowledge it,” replied Rachel, “but I mu&longs;t
bear it with patience; there is no remedy.”

“What do you mean, my dear Mi&longs;s Dudley? You
&longs;urely have friends.”

“I dare &longs;ay I have, Sir, many friends; but I &longs;hould
be &longs;orry to tre&longs;pa&longs;s on their goodne&longs;s.”

“Is it po&longs;&longs;ible Mi&longs;s Dudley can imagine—” He
was proceeding, but &longs;he &longs;topped him.

“Do not mi&longs;under&longs;tand me, Major Auberry; I do
not think meanly of my friends, but I am con&longs;cious of
my own defects; I am too proud to live in a &longs;tate of
&longs;ervile dependence.”

“Good heavens! what do you mean?”

“Nothing very extraordinary. My brother is absent;
my late dear father's agent, I greatly fear, is

[figure description] Page 259.[end figure description]

difhonest; and perhaps I &longs;hall find it nece&longs;&longs;ary to be industrious,
in order to continue in &longs;ome degree respectable.”

She &longs;aid this without embarra&longs;&longs;ment, and with a
cheerful &longs;mile. She felt no degradation in the idea of
exerting her talents to procure &longs;upport.

Hamden was &longs;ilent; a certain &longs;omething &longs;truck cold
upon his heart. No wonder; it was the cold, hard
drop that turns whatever it falls upon to &longs;tone. Poverty
has a mo&longs;t unaccountable petrifying quality;
many a heart has it rendered impenetrable as adamant;
many a bo&longs;om has it inca&longs;ed in marble, or enveloped
in ice, &longs;o firmly congealed, that only the &longs;un of prosperity,
riding in full meridian, could &longs;often or relax
it. Hamden felt the cold chill run trembling through
every nerve; but his heart defied its frigid power, and
glowed with more fervour. He &longs;aid but little after
this explanation, and &longs;oon took his leave.

On his return to his lodgings, he thus inquired of
him&longs;elf. Do I love Rachel Dudley? Mo&longs;t a&longs;&longs;uredly,
beyond all other women. Does &longs;he return my pa&longs;&longs;ion?
That is a que&longs;tion yet to be determined. If I might
judge from the intelligence of her eyes—But hope
may be pre&longs;umption. Would I marry her? Yes, with
delight and tran&longs;port, if &longs;he would accept me. What?
in defiance of my aunt's wi&longs;hes and injunctions?

Here was a moment's pau&longs;e. At length he proceeded
in his que&longs;tions. Would I be willing to relinquish
all hope of future affluence, honour, title, and
devote my life to ob&longs;curity and Rachel Dudley? I
fear not. I &longs;hould repine at the advantages I had relinquished,
and embitter her life by my own fruitle&longs;s
regret. Then is it honourable, by indirect attentions,
to lead her to &longs;uppo&longs;e &longs;he has an exclu&longs;ive preference
in my bo&longs;om, or to awaken expectations, which will
end only in di&longs;appointment? Certainly no.

After thus clo&longs;ely interrogating his own heart, Hamden
determined to avoid vi&longs;iting Rachel again; but
on the morning following, he received a letter from his
mother; it would be but kind to call and let Mi&longs;s Dudley
know her friend Dr. Lenient was well, and that Tabitha

[figure description] Page 260.[end figure description]

Holdfa&longs;t had taken to her&longs;elf a help-mate of one of
the faithful.

He accordingly went; one vi&longs;it produced another.
Prudence on one &longs;ide, and pride on the other, were for
a while forgotten. Hamden talked of love, and Rachel
li&longs;tened with complacency.

It was on a fine evening in the beginning of September,
as wandering on the banks of the Thames, where
a row of young willows drooped their pendent branches
over the &longs;oftly gliding &longs;tream, that Hamden (on
who&longs;e arm Rachel reclined with the confidence of fraternal
affection) &longs;poke of the happy intercour&longs;e of congenial
minds.

“Dear, charming Rachel!” &longs;aid he, “it &longs;eems as
though our &longs;ouls were formed at the &longs;ame moment,
and partake of congenial particles.”

“Our &longs;entiments are certainly much alike in mo&longs;t
things,” &longs;aid Rachel.

“And why not in every thing,” cried Hamden eagerly.
“Why, my lovely friend, loving as we love
each other, (for you do not deny though you he&longs;itate
to avow your affection) why do we not &longs;anctify that
affection by the mo&longs;t &longs;olemn vows?”

“You have an aunt, Hamden Auberry,” &longs;aid Rachel
with firmne&longs;s, “and on her depends your future
fortune. She will not approve of the untitled, unportioned
Rachel for your wife.”

“Do not name her. I will renounce her favour.
I will henceforth live but for you.”

“Hamden,” &longs;aid Rachel, and her features a&longs;&longs;umed
a &longs;erene &longs;olemnity that was almo&longs;t cele&longs;tial, “Hamden,
I have not expre&longs;&longs;ed the feelings of my &longs;oul, because
I was &longs;en&longs;ible of the impo&longs;&longs;ibility of our ever being
united with the con&longs;ent of your aunt; and know,
though you were dearer to me than life it&longs;elf, I will
never intrude my&longs;elf into a family, who would think
them&longs;elves degraded by the alliance. That I am an
unconnected being, is certain; no one has a right to
&longs;ay, Rachel, why do&longs;t thou &longs;o? But I have a heart
that tells me when I err. To the reproaches of this
tru&longs;ty, &longs;ilent monitor, I will never &longs;ubject my&longs;elf; to

[figure description] Page 261.[end figure description]

the contumely and con&longs;ures of the world I am invulnerable;
they too often misjudge and condemn the
innocent unheard.”

“Sweet, charming morali&longs;t, whither would&longs;t thou
lead me?” &longs;aid Hamden.

“To happine&longs;s, I hope,” &longs;aid Rachel &longs;miling.
“That I feel my heart glow with e&longs;teem to you,”
continued &longs;he, “is a truth I wi&longs;h not to deny; but
that e&longs;teem is pure; nor per&longs;onal intere&longs;t, nor hope of
future aggrandizement, will ever bias me. You a&longs;k
me for a wife; here is my hand; let us &longs;anctify our
loves in the face of Heaven. Enable me to &longs;atisfy
my dear Renben, when he returns, that I have not dishonoured
the name of Dudley; and for the indiscriminating,
curious, idle multitude, let them think as they
may. Happy in your affection, their &longs;mile or their
frown will be alike incon&longs;equential.”

The gratitude of Hamden was manife&longs;ted in wild,
enthu&longs;ia&longs;tic expre&longs;&longs;ions of everla&longs;ting love. But Hamden's
pride &longs;till predominated, and he accepted the
title of hu&longs;band to an amiable woman, who&longs;e virtue
and under&longs;tanding would have done honour to a diadem;
yet, fearing to forfeit the paltry di&longs;tinctions of
wealth and title, he &longs;uffered her to bear the ignominy
of &longs;u&longs;picion, and the bitterne&longs;s of reproach, from tho&longs;e
who neither comprehended or could e&longs;timate her merit.

They were married in St. John's Church, Westminster;
and Rachel removed to a lodging provided for
her by her hu&longs;band in the neighbourhood of Mary-lebone.

When Rachel propo&longs;ed removing from Mrs. Webster's,
&longs;he found no &longs;mall difficulty in &longs;atisfying her inquiries
re&longs;pectting the cau&longs;e of her removal. She had
imprudently acquainted Mrs. Web&longs;ter with the diminished
&longs;tate of her finances; when therefore on the
morning of her marriage, which took place a little
after eight o'clock; for Rachel, though &longs;he had now
been &longs;ome months in London, continued the healthgiving
cu&longs;tom of early ri&longs;ing, and frequcntly walked
before breakfa&longs;t, &longs;o that it was nothing extraordinary
for her to be abroad &longs;o early; when, in con&longs;equence

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of this union, &longs;he prepared to quit her lodging, and
gave Mrs. Web&longs;ter a bank bill for forty pounds, requesting
her to get it changed, the old lady looked at
her with a &longs;crutinizing eye; and though not apt to
make remarks, could not avoid &longs;peaking to our heroine
in the following words:

“It is no bu&longs;ine&longs;s of mine, to be &longs;ure, Mi&longs;s Dudley;
but I am afraid you are going to do a very imprudent
thing. To your family and connexions I am a
total &longs;tranger; but for the &longs;ake of my friend, Mrs.
Auberry, I could wi&longs;h you had conducted your&longs;elf with
more circum&longs;pection.”

“In what, madam?” &longs;aid Rachel indignantly,
“have I tran&longs;gre&longs;&longs;ed the laws of prudence?”

“You have received the vi&longs;its of &longs;everal young men.
Mr. Oliver, I concluded, was your lover for &longs;ome
time; but after vi&longs;iting, taking you on parties of pleasure,
and being as attentive as man could be, whi&longs;k he
goes off into the country, and there's an end of the
matter.”

Rachel could not help &longs;miling as &longs;he replied—“Mr.
Oliver, I believe, madam, never thought of me in any
other light than as a friend. I am &longs;o happy as to be
e&longs;teemed by his &longs;i&longs;ter, and for her &longs;ake he &longs;hewed me,
whil&longs;t he &longs;tayed in town, more than common re&longs;pect.”

“Well, it may be &longs;o; but it had a very odd appearance
though. Then came Mr. Courtney. I made
quite certain that he would be the happy man, when,
behold! in&longs;tead of you, he marries Mi&longs;s La Varone.
To be certain, &longs;he was a clever &longs;ort of a body; but
then one would have thought a young man would
not be at a lo&longs;s to choo&longs;e between you and her.”

“Well, you find he was not at a lo&longs;s,” an&longs;wered
Rachel rather petulantly.

“And now,” continued Mrs. Web&longs;ter, not noticing
her reply, “now here has been Major Auberry, dancing
attendance above a month pa&longs;t. I am afraid he
means no good; he is, as one may &longs;ay, one of the
quality folks; and his aunt, lady Anne, would no
more agree to his marrying a poor girl, than &longs;he would
to his going to Jeru&longs;alem. What then does he de&longs;ign?

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Take care, Mi&longs;s Dudley, do not let him make you his
dupe. You are going from me; for what purpo&longs;e,
or into who&longs;e protection, you have not thought proper
to tell me; however, that is neither here nor there.
As I &longs;aid before, it is no bu&longs;ine&longs;s of mine. But when
I think, that not a fortnight &longs;ince you &longs;hewed me the
contents of your pur&longs;e, which were very trifling, and
declared it was all you po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed in the world, and that
I now &longs;ee you in po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ion of forty pounds, I cannot
help thinking all is not as it &longs;hould be.”

“I thank you, madam, for your care and anxiety
on my account,” &longs;aid Rachel, who perceived, in Mrs.
Web&longs;ter's manner, more of curio&longs;ity than real solicitude
for her welfare, “but to quiet your apprehen&longs;ions,
permit me to a&longs;&longs;ure you, I &longs;hall be careful never to
offend again&longs;t virtue and morality. My conduct may
incur cen&longs;ure, but &longs;hall never be criminal. Whil&longs;t
my dear brother is from England, I hold my&longs;elf accountable
to no one for my actions; and whil&longs;t my
own heart acquits me of any breach of my duties
either moral or religious, I am perfectly indifferent as
to what opinion the world in general may form concerning
me.”

Thus argued Rachel; but her ideas were erroneous,
and &longs;he found, when too late, it is not only nece&longs;&longs;ary
to be virtuous, but to appear &longs;o. Alas! pity it is, but
the &longs;emblance is often more re&longs;pected than the reality.

“I &longs;uppo&longs;e we &longs;hall &longs;ee you &longs;ometimes, Mi&longs;s Dudley?”
&longs;aid Mrs. Web&longs;ter with a &longs;neer, as &longs;he took leave
of her.

Rachel &longs;lightly an&longs;wered in the affirmative, &longs;hook
hands with her and Belle, ki&longs;&longs;ed the affectionate little
Polly (who &longs;tood &longs;obbing by the window) and put a
guinea into her hand; then ordering her trunk to be
placed in a hackney-coach that waited at the door, &longs;he
&longs;tepped in, drew up the gla&longs;s, and a few moments conveyed
her to her new lodgings, where her hu&longs;band
was ready to receive her.

The attachment of our heroine to Major Auberry
was pure as it was ardent. Accu&longs;tomed from infancy
to confine her affections within a narrow circle, &longs;he

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would have felt no repugnance to &longs;eclude her&longs;elf from
all other &longs;ociety, could &longs;he have been certain by &longs;o
doing to in&longs;ure his eternal love and &longs;idelity. She had
a&longs;ked leave of Hamden to inform Je&longs;&longs;y Oliver, with
whom &longs;he regularly corre&longs;ponded, of the change in her
circum&longs;tances; but he &longs;orbade her. She acquie&longs;ced in
&longs;ilence.

It had never entered her mind, that an unknown indrividual
like her&longs;elf, could excite the curio&longs;ity of her
neighbours. She was the lea&longs;t inqui&longs;itive of any human
being. “Of what con&longs;equence,” &longs;he would often
&longs;ay, “is the bu&longs;ine&longs;s, plea&longs;ures or pur&longs;uits of others
to me. I harbour no ill will towards any; and
have I a right to &longs;crutinize their actions? No.”

Hamden Auberry, &longs;till the &longs;lave of pride, and fearing
to forfeit the favour of lady Anne, &longs;uffered his
wife to go by the a&longs;&longs;umed name of Dacres. Our heroine
too was equally the &longs;lave of the &longs;ame pa&longs;&longs;ion, but
it was of a more laudable kind. He &longs;acrified the
reputation of a virtuous woman, rather than relinqui&longs;h
the in&longs;ignificant di&longs;tinction wealth and power could
give; and &longs;he nobly (though romantically) braved
the cen&longs;ures of the world, to evince her thorough contempt
of both.

As Variety is &longs;aid to be the &longs;a&longs;cinating charm that
intrances the &longs;en&longs;es, awakens attention, and, displaying
her many coloured wings in a thou&longs;and different
lights, ob&longs;cures from our view the &longs;cythe and
gla&longs;s of Time, and &longs;uffers him to pa&longs;s unheeded by;
at her &longs;hrine I kneel, her aid I invoke. Come, enchanting
phantom, who, as thou pa&longs;&longs;e&longs;t momentarily,
a&longs;&longs;ume&longs;t &longs;ome new &longs;ome charming form. Whether
as plea&longs;ure, tripping lightly forward, thy temples
wreathed with ro&longs;es, and thy hands &longs;triking with

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sportive lay the dulcet lyre; or whether, in the robe of sonrow
clad, with pale, cold cheek, and uplift, tearful
eye; or cheerful indu&longs;try, with placid &longs;mile, with bosom
tranquil, and with moderate &longs;crip, &longs;tored with
life's comforts, not its &longs;uperfluities; or as meek patience,
bowing with &longs;ubmi&longs;&longs;ion before the keen bla&longs;t of
unde&longs;erved calamity; whatever &longs;hape thou do&longs;t assume,
to me thou art welcome. Ha&longs;ton then, for
with thee ever comes the Mu&longs;e. Her ve&longs;tments white
cla&longs;ped by a golden zone, her bu&longs;kined leg half bare,
her auburn tre&longs;&longs;es floating in the wind; her veil,
which part conceals her beauteous face, and part plays
loo&longs;ely in the breeze, wrought with devices &longs;trange
and rare; Hi&longs;tory, Poetry, Fiction and Truth,
blended &longs;o &longs;oft as to relieve each other; ethereal
vi&longs;ion, come; I wait thee here. For many is the
painful hour thou ha&longs;t &longs;oothed; many the heartache
thou ha&longs;t lightened. Wearine&longs;s has fled at thy
approach, and the &longs;till hour of night has been as cheerful
as the full blaze of day.

`But, madam, if you plea&longs;e, we would prefer a little
le&longs;s of the figurative, and a little more plain matter
of fact.'

Pardon me, gentle reader. I forgot I was writing
the hi&longs;tory of Reuben and Rachel, and was giving you
the hi&longs;tory of my own &longs;eelings.

A poor &longs;ub&longs;titute, you &longs;ay. I acknowledge the
truth of the ob&longs;ervation, and therefore return to my hero.

After a pa&longs;&longs;age of thirty days, Reuben Dudley arrived
&longs;afe in the Delaware, and on the thirty-&longs;econd
day after his departure from Liverpool, landed in the
city of Philadelphia. He had with him &longs;everal letters of,
what is called, recommendation from merchants in
Liverpool, to their tran&longs;-atlantic corre&longs;pondents; but
they contained nothing more than a general mention
of his family, and that his character and morals had
been hitherto unimpenched.

“I will not inquire out the gentlemen to whom
the&longs;e letters are directed, till I have &longs;een my good
friend Jacob Holmes,” &longs;aid Reuben to him&longs;elf, as he
walked up the main &longs;treet. “He will, without doubt,

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accompany me, when I wi&longs;h to vi&longs;it them. How glad
will he be to &longs;ee me,” continued he mentally. “His
natural love to my &longs;i&longs;ter and &longs;elf, his gratitude to my
father—”

At the remembrance of his father, Reuben's heart
became full; and when he &longs;eated him&longs;elf in the tavern
to which he had been recommended, and began to reflect
&longs;eriou&longs;ly upon where he was, and that it was more
than probable his father might have been in that very
hou&longs;e, in that very room, nay, he might have re&longs;ted on
the identical chair he was now &longs;eated on, the fulne&longs;s
of his heart overflowed at his eyes, and he indulged in
the effu&longs;ion without re&longs;traint.

He had ordered &longs;ome &longs;upper. As the ma&longs;ter of
the hou&longs;e came in with it, Reuben a&longs;ked him if he had
ever known one Mr. Dudley, who had re&longs;ided in Philadelphia
between two and three years.

The landlord had, previous to the que&longs;tion being
a&longs;ked, drawn a chair to the oppo&longs;ite &longs;ide of the table
to that where our hero was &longs;eated, and when he heard
the interrogation, an&longs;wered it by another.

“I expect he is &longs;ome relative of yours, by your being
&longs;o inqui&longs;itive about him.”

“He was,” &longs;aid Reuben mournfully, “a very near
and dear relative.”

“So I expect,” replied the landlord. “Pray where
is he now?”

“In heaven,” &longs;aid Reuben, rai&longs;ing his eyes, whil&longs;t
every pul&longs;ation vibrated in exulting confidence of his
father's worth.

“You mu&longs;t not be too &longs;ure of that,” &longs;aid the landlord.

“Had you known him, Sir,” &longs;aid Reuben with a
firm and earne&longs;t manner, “you would have no more
doubt of his pre&longs;ent happine&longs;s than I have.”

“I did know him,” replied the ho&longs;t.

“Then you knew one of the be&longs;t men that ever lived.”

“Yea, he was good in the worldly acceptation of
the word; he did alms, told no lies, hated no one,
paid every man, yea, more than his due; but all this

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is vanity, filthy rags, unclean ve&longs;tments. He was not
one of the cho&longs;en; he was in a lo&longs;t &longs;tate.”

Here a di&longs;pute en&longs;ued, in which Reuben evidently
lo&longs;t ground with his antagoni&longs;t; for Reuben argued
with coolne&longs;s, and took rea&longs;on for his monitor; whereas
his opponent was wild, enthu&longs;ia&longs;tic, and extremely
ignorant. He had adopted &longs;ome eccentric ideas in
regard to religion, and he a&longs;&longs;erted that his opinions
were right, “becau&longs;e they were,” and that all who
did not think exactly as he did, were in the high road
to de&longs;truction, for the &longs;ame unan&longs;werable rea&longs;on, “because
they were.”

Before Reuben had fini&longs;hed his &longs;upper, the landlord
left him, to impart to his &longs;pou&longs;e all he had learnt concerning
the &longs;tranger. The curio&longs;ity of Jael was not
&longs;atisfied with this intelligence of her helpmate's.

“Thou ha&longs;t learned nothing, Zekell,” &longs;aid &longs;he; “I
will go and que&longs;tion the young man my&longs;elf.”

Jael entered the parlour.

“You are ju&longs;t arrived,” &longs;aid &longs;he, &longs;itting down in the
place her hu&longs;band had ju&longs;t left.

“Yes, ju&longs;t landed.”

“From England?”

“Yes.”

“What part?”

“Liverpool.”

“Liverpool?”

“Yes.”

“I expect you have got &longs;ome kinsfolks in the city.”

“Not that I know of.”

“No friends, no acquaintances?”

“Oh yes! Do you know Jacob Holmes?”

“Yes, to be &longs;ure I do. Ma&longs;ter has rea&longs;on to know
him; he is a dire hard man to deal with.”

“What bu&longs;ine&longs;s does he follow?”

“Bu&longs;ine&longs;s! Well, I expect you don't know much
about him, to a&longs;k that que&longs;tion. Why Jacob Holmes
is one of our grande&longs;t men, for all he be a Quaker.
And then he married &longs;uch a grand woman; why I
expect &longs;he had a matter of five hundred pounds to her
fortin.”

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“Mr. Holmes is married then?”

“What, did not you know that? Well, I thought
you were a boa&longs;ting &longs;ort of fellow, pretending to know
folks who you never &longs;aw'd.”

“How long has he been married?” &longs;aid Reuben.

“Why I expect it is about a year and a half ago.”

“So long?”

“Yes, &longs;o long; and madam Holmes has got a &longs;weet
little baby, about three months old.”

Reuben pau&longs;ed a moment, and then without reflection
exclaimed, “Why he mu&longs;t have married immediately
after my father's departure for England.”

“And pray what may be your name?” &longs;aid Jael,
placing both her elbows on the table, and re&longs;ting her
chin on her hands, whil&longs;t her large blue gla&longs;s eyes
were fixed on the face of our hero with a mo&longs;t unmeaning
&longs;tare.

“My name is Dudley,” replied Reuben.

“So I expected,” &longs;aid &longs;he, and &longs;omething like low
cunning informed her broad and inexpre&longs;&longs;ive features.
“And &longs;o you are cum'd to look ater the fortin &longs;quire
Dudley left?”

“Even &longs;o,” replied Reuben, pu&longs;hing from him the
plate that contained his almo&longs;t unta&longs;ted &longs;upper. “How
far from Philadelphia does the late Mr. Dudley's estate
lay, and which is my neare&longs;t road to it?”

“Ah, young man!” &longs;aid Jael, “I expect you be
cum'd on a fool's errant. It matters not to you where
it lies; he never paid for it; and cording to counts
that we have heard, the &longs;quire owed a pretty deal before
he cum'd from home.”

Reuben &longs;tarted. “Of whom are you &longs;peaking?”
&longs;aid he.

“Of &longs;quire Dudley.”

“What Dudley? what was his Chri&longs;tian name?”

“Name! name! I can't ju&longs;t now &longs;ay; but I expect
it was a bible name.”

“Was it Reuben?” a&longs;ked our hero eagerly.

“I do expect it was,” &longs;aid the woman, ri&longs;ing without
the lea&longs;t emotion, and beginning to remove the
&longs;upper from the table.

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