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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Charlotte Temple, by Susanna Rowson
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Charlotte Temple
+
+Author: Susanna Rowson
+
+Release Date: March 12, 2006 [EBook #171]
+Last Updated: March 16, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHARLOTTE TEMPLE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+CHARLOTTE TEMPLE
+
+By Susanna Haswell Rowson
+
+
+
+Contents:
+
+CHAPTER I. A Boarding School.
+
+CHAPTER II. Domestic Concerns.
+
+CHAPTER III. Unexpected Misfortunes.
+
+CHAPTER IV. Change of Fortune.
+
+CHAPTER V. Such Things Are.
+
+CHAPTER VI. An Intriguing Teacher.
+
+CHAPTER VII. Natural Sense of Propriety Inherent in the Female Bosom.
+
+CHAPTER VIII. Domestic Pleasures Planned.
+
+CHAPTER IX. We Know Not What a Day May Bring Forth.
+
+CHAPTER X. When We Have Excited Curiosity, It Is But an Act of
+Good Nature to Gratify it.
+
+CHAPTER XI. Conflict of Love and Duty.
+
+CHAPTER XII. Nature's last, best gift: Creature in whom excell'd,
+whatever could To sight or thought be nam'd! Holy, divine! good,
+amiable, and sweet! How thou art falln'!--
+
+CHAPTER XIII. Cruel Disappointment.
+
+CHAPTER XIV. Maternal Sorrow.
+
+CHAPTER XV. Embarkation.
+
+CHAPTER XVI. Necessary Digression.
+
+CHAPTER XVII. A Wedding.
+
+
+VOLUME II.
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. Reflections.
+
+CHAPTER XIX. A Mistake Discovered.
+
+CHAPTER XX. Virtue never appears so amiable as when reaching forth her
+hand to raise a fallen sister. Chapter of Accidents.
+
+CHAPTER XXI. Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see,
+That mercy I to others show That mercy show to me. POPE.
+
+CHAPTER XXII. Sorrows of the Heart.
+
+CHAPTER XXIII. A Man May Smile, and Smile, and Be a Villain.
+
+CHAPTER XXIV. Mystery Developed.
+
+CHAPTER XXV. Reception of a Letter.
+
+CHAPTER XXVI. What Might Be Expected.
+
+CHAPTER XXVII. Pensive she mourn'd, and hung her languid head, Like a
+fair lily overcharg'd with dew.
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII. A Trifling Retrospect.
+
+CHAPTER XXIX. We Go Forward Again.
+
+CHAPTER XXX. And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to
+sleep, A shade that follows wealth and fame, But leaves the wretch to
+weep.
+
+CHAPTER XXXI. Subject Continued.
+
+CHAPTER XXXII. Reasons Why and Wherefore.
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII. Which People Void of Feeling Need Not Read.
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV. Retribution.
+
+CHAPTER XXXV. Conclusion.
+
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE.
+
+FOR the perusal of the young and thoughtless of the fair sex, this Tale
+of Truth is designed; and I could wish my fair readers to consider it as
+not merely the effusion of Fancy, but as a reality. The circumstances
+on which I have founded this novel were related to me some little time
+since by an old lady who had personally known Charlotte, though she
+concealed the real names of the characters, and likewise the place where
+the unfortunate scenes were acted: yet as it was impossible to offer a
+relation to the public in such an imperfect state, I have thrown over
+the whole a slight veil of fiction, and substituted names and places
+according to my own fancy. The principal characters in this little tale
+are now consigned to the silent tomb: it can therefore hurt the feelings
+of no one; and may, I flatter myself, be of service to some who are so
+unfortunate as to have neither friends to advise, or understanding to
+direct them, through the various and unexpected evils that attend a
+young and unprotected woman in her first entrance into life.
+
+While the tear of compassion still trembled in my eye for the fate of
+the unhappy Charlotte, I may have children of my own, said I, to
+whom this recital may be of use, and if to your own children, said
+Benevolence, why not to the many daughters of Misfortune who, deprived
+of natural friends, or spoilt by a mistaken education, are thrown on an
+unfeeling world without the least power to defend themselves from the
+snares not only of the other sex, but from the more dangerous arts of
+the profligate of their own.
+
+Sensible as I am that a novel writer, at a time when such a variety
+of works are ushered into the world under that name, stands but a poor
+chance for fame in the annals of literature, but conscious that I wrote
+with a mind anxious for the happiness of that sex whose morals and
+conduct have so powerful an influence on mankind in general; and
+convinced that I have not wrote a line that conveys a wrong idea to
+the head or a corrupt wish to the heart, I shall rest satisfied in the
+purity of my own intentions, and if I merit not applause, I feel that I
+dread not censure.
+
+If the following tale should save one hapless fair one from the errors
+which ruined poor Charlotte, or rescue from impending misery the heart
+of one anxious parent, I shall feel a much higher gratification in
+reflecting on this trifling performance, than could possibly result
+from the applause which might attend the most elegant finished piece
+of literature whose tendency might deprave the heart or mislead the
+understanding.
+
+
+
+
+CHARLOTTE TEMPLE,
+
+
+
+
+VOLUME I
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+A BOARDING SCHOOL.
+
+“ARE you for a walk,” said Montraville to his companion, as they arose
+from table; “are you for a walk? or shall we order the chaise and
+proceed to Portsmouth?” Belcour preferred the former; and they sauntered
+out to view the town, and to make remarks on the inhabitants, as they
+returned from church.
+
+Montraville was a Lieutenant in the army: Belcour was his brother
+officer: they had been to take leave of their friends previous to their
+departure for America, and were now returning to Portsmouth, where the
+troops waited orders for embarkation. They had stopped at Chichester
+to dine; and knowing they had sufficient time to reach the place of
+destination before dark, and yet allow them a walk, had resolved, it
+being Sunday afternoon, to take a survey of the Chichester ladies as
+they returned from their devotions.
+
+They had gratified their curiosity, and were preparing to return to the
+inn without honouring any of the belles with particular notice, when
+Madame Du Pont, at the head of her school, descended from the church.
+Such an assemblage of youth and innocence naturally attracted the young
+soldiers: they stopped; and, as the little cavalcade passed, almost
+involuntarily pulled off their hats. A tall, elegant girl looked at
+Montraville and blushed: he instantly recollected the features of
+Charlotte Temple, whom he had once seen and danced with at a ball at
+Portsmouth. At that time he thought on her only as a very lovely child,
+she being then only thirteen; but the improvement two years had made in
+her person, and the blush of recollection which suffused her cheeks as
+she passed, awakened in his bosom new and pleasing ideas. Vanity led him
+to think that pleasure at again beholding him might have occasioned the
+emotion he had witnessed, and the same vanity led him to wish to see her
+again.
+
+“She is the sweetest girl in the world,” said he, as he entered the inn.
+Belcour stared. “Did you not notice her?” continued Montraville: “she
+had on a blue bonnet, and with a pair of lovely eyes of the same colour,
+has contrived to make me feel devilish odd about the heart.”
+
+“Pho,” said Belcour, “a musket ball from our friends, the Americans, may
+in less than two months make you feel worse.”
+
+“I never think of the future,” replied Montraville; “but am determined
+to make the most of the present, and would willingly compound with any
+kind Familiar who would inform me who the girl is, and how I might be
+likely to obtain an interview.”
+
+But no kind Familiar at that time appearing, and the chaise which they
+had ordered, driving up to the door, Montraville and his companion were
+obliged to take leave of Chichester and its fair inhabitant, and proceed
+on their journey.
+
+But Charlotte had made too great an impression on his mind to be easily
+eradicated: having therefore spent three whole days in thinking on her
+and in endeavouring to form some plan for seeing her, he determined
+to set off for Chichester, and trust to chance either to favour or
+frustrate his designs. Arriving at the verge of the town, he dismounted,
+and sending the servant forward with the horses, proceeded toward the
+place, where, in the midst of an extensive pleasure ground, stood the
+mansion which contained the lovely Charlotte Temple. Montraville leaned
+on a broken gate, and looked earnestly at the house. The wall which
+surrounded it was high, and perhaps the Argus's who guarded the
+Hesperian fruit within, were more watchful than those famed of old.
+
+“'Tis a romantic attempt,” said he; “and should I even succeed in seeing
+and conversing with her, it can be productive of no good: I must of
+necessity leave England in a few days, and probably may never return;
+why then should I endeavour to engage the affections of this lovely
+girl, only to leave her a prey to a thousand inquietudes, of which at
+present she has no idea? I will return to Portsmouth and think no more
+about her.”
+
+The evening now was closed; a serene stillness reigned; and the
+chaste Queen of Night with her silver crescent faintly illuminated the
+hemisphere. The mind of Montraville was hushed into composure by the
+serenity of the surrounding objects. “I will think on her no more,” said
+he, and turned with an intention to leave the place; but as he turned,
+he saw the gate which led to the pleasure grounds open, and two women
+come out, who walked arm-in-arm across the field.
+
+“I will at least see who these are,” said he. He overtook them, and
+giving them the compliments of the evening, begged leave to see them
+into the more frequented parts of the town: but how was he delighted,
+when, waiting for an answer, he discovered, under the concealment of a
+large bonnet, the face of Charlotte Temple.
+
+He soon found means to ingratiate himself with her companion, who was a
+French teacher at the school, and, at parting, slipped a letter he had
+purposely written, into Charlotte's hand, and five guineas into that of
+Mademoiselle, who promised she would endeavour to bring her young charge
+into the field again the next evening.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+DOMESTIC CONCERNS.
+
+MR. Temple was the youngest son of a nobleman whose fortune was by no
+means adequate to the antiquity, grandeur, and I may add, pride of the
+family. He saw his elder brother made completely wretched by marrying a
+disagreeable woman, whose fortune helped to prop the sinking dignity
+of the house; and he beheld his sisters legally prostituted to old,
+decrepid men, whose titles gave them consequence in the eyes of the
+world, and whose affluence rendered them splendidly miserable. “I will
+not sacrifice internal happiness for outward shew,” said he: “I will
+seek Content; and, if I find her in a cottage, will embrace her with as
+much cordiality as I should if seated on a throne.”
+
+Mr. Temple possessed a small estate of about five hundred pounds a year;
+and with that he resolved to preserve independence, to marry where the
+feelings of his heart should direct him, and to confine his expenses
+within the limits of his income. He had a heart open to every generous
+feeling of humanity, and a hand ready to dispense to those who wanted
+part of the blessings he enjoyed himself.
+
+As he was universally known to be the friend of the unfortunate, his
+advice and bounty was frequently solicited; nor was it seldom that he
+sought out indigent merit, and raised it from obscurity, confining his
+own expenses within a very narrow compass.
+
+“You are a benevolent fellow,” said a young officer to him one day; “and
+I have a great mind to give you a fine subject to exercise the goodness
+of your heart upon.”
+
+“You cannot oblige me more,” said Temple, “than to point out any way by
+which I can be serviceable to my fellow creatures.”
+
+“Come along then,” said the young man, “we will go and visit a man who
+is not in so good a lodging as he deserves; and, were it not that he
+has an angel with him, who comforts and supports him, he must long since
+have sunk under his misfortunes.” The young man's heart was too full
+to proceed; and Temple, unwilling to irritate his feelings by making
+further enquiries, followed him in silence, til they arrived at the
+Fleet prison.
+
+The officer enquired for Captain Eldridge: a person led them up several
+pair of dirty stairs, and pointing to a door which led to a miserable,
+small apartment, said that was the Captain's room, and retired.
+
+The officer, whose name was Blakeney, tapped at the door, and was bid to
+enter by a voice melodiously soft. He opened the door, and discovered to
+Temple a scene which rivetted him to the spot with astonishment.
+
+The apartment, though small, and bearing strong marks of poverty, was
+neat in the extreme. In an arm-chair, his head reclined upon his hand,
+his eyes fixed on a book which lay open before him, sat an aged man in
+a Lieutenant's uniform, which, though threadbare, would sooner call a
+blush of shame into the face of those who could neglect real merit, than
+cause the hectic of confusion to glow on the cheeks of him who wore it.
+
+Beside him sat a lovely creature busied in painting a fan mount. She was
+fair as the lily, but sorrow had nipped the rose in her cheek before it
+was half blown. Her eyes were blue; and her hair, which was light brown,
+was slightly confined under a plain muslin cap, tied round with a black
+ribbon; a white linen gown and plain lawn handkerchief composed
+the remainder of her dress; and in this simple attire, she was more
+irresistibly charming to such a heart as Temple's, than she would have
+been, if adorned with all the splendor of a courtly belle.
+
+When they entered, the old man arose from his seat, and shaking Blakeney
+by the hand with great cordiality, offered Temple his chair; and there
+being but three in the room, seated himself on the side of his little
+bed with evident composure.
+
+“This is a strange place,” said he to Temple, “to receive visitors of
+distinction in; but we must fit our feelings to our station. While I am
+not ashamed to own the cause which brought me here, why should I blush
+at my situation? Our misfortunes are not our faults; and were it not for
+that poor girl--”
+
+Here the philosopher was lost in the father. He rose hastily from his
+seat, and walking toward the window, wiped off a tear which he was
+afraid would tarnish the cheek of a sailor.
+
+Temple cast his eye on Miss Eldridge: a pellucid drop had stolen from
+her eyes, and fallen upon a rose she was painting. It blotted and
+discoloured the flower. “'Tis emblematic,” said he mentally: “the rose
+of youth and health soon fades when watered by the tear of affliction.”
+
+“My friend Blakeney,” said he, addressing the old man, “told me I could
+be of service to you: be so kind then, dear Sir, as to point out some
+way in which I can relieve the anxiety of your heart and increase the
+pleasures of my own.”
+
+“My good young man,” said Eldridge, “you know not what you offer. While
+deprived of my liberty I cannot be free from anxiety on my own account;
+but that is a trifling concern; my anxious thoughts extend to one more
+dear a thousand times than life: I am a poor weak old man, and must
+expect in a few years to sink into silence and oblivion; but when I am
+gone, who will protect that fair bud of innocence from the blasts of
+adversity, or from the cruel hand of insult and dishonour.”
+
+“Oh, my father!” cried Miss Eldridge, tenderly taking his hand, “be not
+anxious on that account; for daily are my prayers offered to heaven that
+our lives may terminate at the same instant, and one grave receive us
+both; for why should I live when deprived of my only friend.”
+
+Temple was moved even to tears. “You will both live many years,” said
+he, “and I hope see much happiness. Cheerly, my friend, cheerly; these
+passing clouds of adversity will serve only to make the sunshine of
+prosperity more pleasing. But we are losing time: you might ere this
+have told me who were your creditors, what were their demands, and other
+particulars necessary to your liberation.”
+
+“My story is short,” said Mr. Eldridge, “but there are some particulars
+which will wring my heart barely to remember; yet to one whose offers
+of friendship appear so open and disinterested, I will relate every
+circumstance that led to my present, painful situation. But my child,”
+ continued he, addressing his daughter, “let me prevail on you to take
+this opportunity, while my friends are with me, to enjoy the benefit of
+air and exercise.”
+
+“Go, my love; leave me now; to-morrow at your usual hour I will expect
+you.”
+
+Miss Eldridge impressed on his cheek the kiss of filial affection, and
+obeyed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+UNEXPECTED MISFORTUNES.
+
+“MY life,” said Mr. Eldridge, “till within these few years was marked by
+no particular circumstance deserving notice. I early embraced the life
+of a sailor, and have served my King with unremitted ardour for many
+years. At the age of twenty-five I married an amiable woman; one son,
+and the girl who just now left us, were the fruits of our union. My
+boy had genius and spirit. I straitened my little income to give him a
+liberal education, but the rapid progress he made in his studies amply
+compensated for the inconvenience. At the academy where he received his
+education he commenced an acquaintance with a Mr. Lewis, a young man
+of affluent fortune: as they grew up their intimacy ripened into
+friendship, and they became almost inseparable companions.
+
+“George chose the profession of a soldier. I had neither friends or
+money to procure him a commission, and had wished him to embrace a
+nautical life: but this was repugnant to his wishes, and I ceased to
+urge him on the subject.
+
+“The friendship subsisting between Lewis and my son was of such a nature
+as gave him free access to our family; and so specious was his manner
+that we hesitated not to state to him all our little difficulties in
+regard to George's future views. He listened to us with attention, and
+offered to advance any sum necessary for his first setting out.
+
+“I embraced the offer, and gave him my note for the payment of it, but
+he would not suffer me to mention any stipulated time, as he said I
+might do it whenever most convenient to myself. About this time my dear
+Lucy returned from school, and I soon began to imagine Lewis looked at
+her with eyes of affection. I gave my child a caution to beware of him,
+and to look on her mother as her friend. She was unaffectedly artless;
+and when, as I suspected, Lewis made professions of love, she confided
+in her parents, and assured us her heart was perfectly unbiassed in his
+favour, and she would cheerfully submit to our direction.
+
+“I took an early opportunity of questioning him concerning his
+intentions towards my child: he gave an equivocal answer, and I forbade
+him the house.
+
+“The next day he sent and demanded payment of his money. It was not in
+my power to comply with the demand. I requested three days to endeavour
+to raise it, determining in that time to mortgage my half pay, and live
+on a small annuity which my wife possessed, rather than be under an
+obligation to so worthless a man: but this short time was not allowed
+me; for that evening, as I was sitting down to supper, unsuspicious of
+danger, an officer entered, and tore me from the embraces of my family.
+
+“My wife had been for some time in a declining state of health: ruin at
+once so unexpected and inevitable was a stroke she was not prepared to
+bear, and I saw her faint into the arms of our servant, as I left my
+own habitation for the comfortless walls of a prison. My poor Lucy,
+distracted with her fears for us both, sunk on the floor and endeavoured
+to detain me by her feeble efforts, but in vain; they forced open her
+arms; she shrieked, and fell prostrate. But pardon me. The horrors of
+that night unman me. I cannot proceed.”
+
+He rose from his seat, and walked several times across the room: at
+length, attaining more composure, he cried--“What a mere infant I am!
+Why, Sir, I never felt thus in the day of battle.” “No,” said Temple;
+“but the truly brave soul is tremblingly alive to the feelings of
+humanity.”
+
+“True,” replied the old man, (something like satisfaction darting across
+his features) “and painful as these feelings are, I would not exchange
+them for that torpor which the stoic mistakes for philosophy. How many
+exquisite delights should I have passed by unnoticed, but for these keen
+sensations, this quick sense of happiness or misery? Then let us, my
+friend, take the cup of life as it is presented to us, tempered by the
+hand of a wise Providence; be thankful for the good, be patient under
+the evil, and presume not to enquire why the latter predominates.”
+
+“This is true philosophy,” said Temple.
+
+“'Tis the only way to reconcile ourselves to the cross events of life,”
+ replied he. “But I forget myself. I will not longer intrude on your
+patience, but proceed in my melancholy tale.
+
+“The very evening that I was taken to prison, my son arrived from
+Ireland, where he had been some time with his regiment. From the
+distracted expressions of his mother and sister, he learnt by whom I
+had been arrested; and, late as it was, flew on the wings of wounded
+affection, to the house of his false friend, and earnestly enquired the
+cause of this cruel conduct. With all the calmness of a cool deliberate
+villain, he avowed his passion for Lucy; declared her situation in
+life would not permit him to marry her; but offered to release me
+immediately, and make any settlement on her, if George would persuade
+her to live, as he impiously termed it, a life of honour.
+
+“Fired at the insult offered to a man and a soldier, my boy struck the
+villain, and a challenge ensued. He then went to a coffee-house in
+the neighbourhood and wrote a long affectionate letter to me, blaming
+himself severely for having introduced Lewis into the family, or
+permitted him to confer an obligation, which had brought inevitable
+ruin on us all. He begged me, whatever might be the event of the ensuing
+morning, not to suffer regret or unavailing sorrow for his fate, to
+increase the anguish of my heart, which he greatly feared was already
+insupportable.
+
+“This letter was delivered to me early in the morning. It would be vain
+to attempt describing my feelings on the perusal of it; suffice it to
+say, that a merciful Providence interposed, and I was for three weeks
+insensible to miseries almost beyond the strength of human nature to
+support.
+
+“A fever and strong delirium seized me, and my life was despaired of. At
+length, nature, overpowered with fatigue, gave way to the salutary power
+of rest, and a quiet slumber of some hours restored me to reason, though
+the extreme weakness of my frame prevented my feeling my distress so
+acutely as I otherways should.
+
+“The first object that struck me on awaking, was Lucy sitting by my
+bedside; her pale countenance and sable dress prevented my enquiries for
+poor George: for the letter I had received from him, was the first thing
+that occurred to my memory. By degrees the rest returned: I recollected
+being arrested, but could no ways account for being in this apartment,
+whither they had conveyed me during my illness.
+
+“I was so weak as to be almost unable to speak. I pressed Lucy's hand,
+and looked earnestly round the apartment in search of another dear
+object.
+
+“Where is your mother?” said I, faintly.
+
+“The poor girl could not answer: she shook her head in expressive
+silence; and throwing herself on the bed, folded her arms about me, and
+burst into tears.
+
+“What! both gone?” said I.
+
+“Both,” she replied, endeavouring to restrain her emotions: “but they
+are happy, no doubt.”
+
+Here Mr. Eldridge paused: the recollection of the scene was too painful
+to permit him to proceed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+CHANGE OF FORTUNE.
+
+“IT was some days,” continued Mr. Eldridge, recovering himself, “before
+I could venture to enquire the particulars of what had happened during
+my illness: at length I assumed courage to ask my dear girl how long her
+mother and brother had been dead: she told me, that the morning after
+my arrest, George came home early to enquire after his mother's health,
+staid with them but a few minutes, seemed greatly agitated at parting,
+but gave them strict charge to keep up their spirits, and hope every
+thing would turn out for the best. In about two hours after, as they
+were sitting at breakfast, and endeavouring to strike out some plan to
+attain my liberty, they heard a loud rap at the door, which Lucy running
+to open, she 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 illness and the
+struggles of the preceding night, was not able to support this shock;
+gasping for breath, her looks wild and haggard, she reached the
+apartment where they had carried her dying son. She knelt by the bed
+side; and taking his cold hand, 'my poor boy,' said she, 'I will not be
+parted from thee: husband! son! both at once lost. Father of mercies,
+spare me!' She fell into a strong convulsion, and expired in about two
+hours. In the mean time, a surgeon had dressed George's wounds; but they
+were in such a situation as to bar the smallest hopes of recovery. He
+never was sensible from the time he was brought home, and died that
+evening in the arms of his sister.
+
+“Late as it was when this event took place, my affectionate Lucy
+insisted on coming to me. 'What must he feel,' said she, 'at our
+apparent neglect, and how shall I inform him of the afflictions with
+which it has pleased heaven to visit us?'
+
+“She left the care of the dear departed ones to some neighbours who
+had kindly come in to comfort and assist her; and on entering the house
+where I was confined, found me in the situation I have mentioned.
+
+“How she supported herself in these trying moments, I know not: heaven,
+no doubt, was with her; and her anxiety to preserve the life of one
+parent in some measure abated her affliction for the loss of the other.
+
+“My circumstances were greatly embarrassed, my acquaintance few,
+and those few utterly unable to assist me. When my wife and son were
+committed to their kindred earth, my creditors seized my house and
+furniture, which not being sufficient to discharge all their demands,
+detainers were lodged against me. No friend stepped forward to my
+relief; from the grave of her mother, my beloved Lucy followed an almost
+dying father to this melancholy place.
+
+“Here we have been nearly a year and a half. My half-pay I have given
+up to satisfy my creditors, and my child supports me by her industry:
+sometimes by fine needlework, sometimes by painting. She leaves me
+every night, and goes to a lodging near the bridge; but returns in
+the morning, to cheer me with her smiles, and bless me by her duteous
+affection. A lady once offered her an asylum in her family; but she
+would not leave me. 'We are all the world to each other,' said she. 'I
+thank God, I have health and spirits to improve the talents with which
+nature has endowed me; and I trust if I employ them in the support of a
+beloved parent, I shall not be thought an unprofitable servant. While he
+lives, I pray for strength to pursue my employment; and when it pleases
+heaven to take one of us, may it give the survivor resignation to bear
+the separation as we ought: till then I will never leave him.'”
+
+“But where is this inhuman persecutor?” said Temple.
+
+“He has been abroad ever since,” replied the old man; “but he has
+left orders with his lawyer never to give up the note till the utmost
+farthing is paid.”
+
+“And how much is the amount of your debts in all?” said Temple.
+
+“Five hundred pounds,” he replied.
+
+Temple started: it was more than he expected. “But something must be
+done,” said he: “that sweet maid must not wear out her life in a prison.
+I will see you again to-morrow, my friend,” said he, shaking Eldridge's
+hand: “keep up your spirits: light and shade are not more happily
+blended than are the pleasures and pains of life; and the horrors of the
+one serve only to increase the splendor of the other.”
+
+“You never lost a wife and son,” said Eldridge.
+
+“No,” replied he, “but I can feel for those that have.” Eldridge pressed
+his hand as they went toward the door, and they parted in silence.
+
+When they got without the walls of the prison, Temple thanked his friend
+Blakeney for introducing him to so worthy a character; and telling him
+he had a particular engagement in the city, wished him a good evening.
+
+“And what is to be done for this distressed man,” said Temple, as he
+walked up Ludgate Hill. “Would to heaven I had a fortune that would
+enable me instantly to discharge his debt: what exquisite transport, to
+see the expressive eyes of Lucy beaming at once with pleasure for her
+father's deliverance, and gratitude for her deliverer: but is not my
+fortune affluence,” continued he, “nay superfluous wealth, when compared
+to the extreme indigence of Eldridge; and what have I done to deserve
+ease and plenty, while a brave worthy officer starves in a prison? Three
+hundred a year is surely sufficient for all my wants and wishes: at any
+rate Eldridge must be relieved.”
+
+When the heart has will, the hands can soon 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 hypocrisy. He pitied their sufferings,
+overlooked their faults, thought every bosom as generous as his own, and
+would cheerfully have divided his last guinea with an unfortunate fellow
+creature.
+
+No wonder, then, that such a man (without waiting a moment for the
+interference of Madam Prudence) should resolve to raise money sufficient
+for the relief of Eldridge, by mortgaging part of his fortune.
+
+We will not enquire too minutely into the cause which might actuate
+him in this instance: suffice it to say, he immediately put the plan in
+execution; and in three days from the time he first saw the unfortunate
+Lieutenant, he had the superlative felicity of seeing him at liberty,
+and receiving an ample reward in the tearful eye and half articulated
+thanks of the grateful Lucy.
+
+“And pray, young man,” said his father to him one morning, “what are
+your designs in visiting thus constantly that old man and his daughter?”
+
+Temple was at a loss for a reply: he had never asked himself the
+question: he hesitated; and his father continued--
+
+“It was not till within these few days that I heard in what manner
+your acquaintance first commenced, and cannot suppose any thing but
+attachment to the daughter could carry you such imprudent lengths for
+the father: it certainly must be her art that drew you in to mortgage
+part of your fortune.”
+
+“Art, Sir!” cried Temple eagerly. “Lucy Eldridge is as free from art as
+she is from every other error: she is--”
+
+“Everything that is amiable and lovely,” said his father, interrupting
+him ironically: “no doubt in your opinion she is a pattern of excellence
+for all her sex to follow; but come, Sir, pray tell me what are your
+designs towards this paragon. I hope you do not intend to complete your
+folly by marrying her.”
+
+“Were my fortune such as would support her according to her merit,
+I don't know a woman more formed to insure happiness in the married
+state.”
+
+“Then prithee, my dear lad,” said his father, “since your rank and
+fortune are so much beneath what your PRINCESS might expect, be so kind
+as to turn your eyes on Miss Weatherby; who, having only an estate of
+three thousand a year, is more upon a level with you, and whose father
+yesterday solicited the mighty honour of your alliance. I shall leave
+you to consider on this offer; and pray remember, that your union with
+Miss Weatherby will put it in your power to be more liberally the friend
+of Lucy Eldridge.”
+
+The old gentleman walked in a stately manner out of the room; and Temple
+stood almost petrified with astonishment, contempt, and rage.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+SUCH THINGS ARE.
+
+MISS Weatherby was the only child of a wealthy man, almost idolized by
+her parents, flattered by her dependants, and never contradicted even
+by those who called themselves her friends: I cannot give a better
+description than by the following lines.
+
+     The lovely maid whose form and face
+     Nature has deck'd with ev'ry grace,
+     But in whose breast no virtues glow,
+     Whose heart ne'er felt another's woe,
+     Whose hand ne'er smooth'd the bed of pain,
+     Or eas'd the captive's galling chain;
+     But like the tulip caught the eye,
+     Born just to be admir'd and die;
+     When gone, no one regrets its loss,
+     Or scarce remembers that it was.
+
+Such was Miss Weatherby: her form lovely as nature could make it, but
+her mind uncultivated, her heart unfeeling, her passions impetuous, and
+her brain almost turned with flattery, dissipation, and pleasure; and
+such was the girl, whom a partial grandfather left independent mistress
+of the fortune before mentioned.
+
+She had seen Temple frequently; and fancying she could never be happy
+without him, nor once imagining he could refuse a girl of her beauty and
+fortune, she prevailed on her fond father to offer the alliance to the
+old Earl of D----, Mr. Temple's father.
+
+The Earl had received the offer courteously: he thought it a great match
+for Henry; and was too fashionable a man to suppose a wife could be any
+impediment to the friendship he professed for Eldridge and his daughter.
+
+Unfortunately for Temple, he thought quite otherwise: the conversation
+he had just had with his father, discovered to him the situation of
+his heart; and he found that the most affluent fortune would bring no
+increase of happiness unless Lucy Eldridge shared it with him; and the
+knowledge of the purity of her sentiments, and the integrity of his own
+heart, made him shudder at the idea his father had started, of marrying
+a woman for no other reason than because the affluence of her fortune
+would enable him to injure her by maintaining in splendor the woman
+to whom his heart was devoted: he therefore resolved to refuse Miss
+Weatherby, and be the event what it might, offer his heart and hand to
+Lucy Eldridge.
+
+Full of this determination, he fought his father, declared his
+resolution, and was commanded never more to appear in his presence.
+Temple bowed; his heart was too full to permit him to speak; he left the
+house precipitately, and hastened to relate the cause of his sorrows to
+his good old friend and his amiable daughter.
+
+In the mean time, the Earl, vexed to the soul that such a fortune should
+be lost, determined to offer himself a candidate for Miss Weatherby's
+favour.
+
+What wonderful changes are wrought by that reigning power, ambition! the
+love-sick girl, when first she heard of Temple's refusal, wept, raved,
+tore her hair, and vowed to found a protestant nunnery with her fortune;
+and by commencing abbess, shut herself up from the sight of cruel
+ungrateful man for ever.
+
+Her father was a man of the world: he suffered this first transport to
+subside, and then very deliberately unfolded to her the offers of the
+old Earl, expatiated on the many benefits arising from an elevated
+title, painted in glowing colours the surprise and vexation of Temple
+when he should see her figuring as a Countess and his mother-in-law, and
+begged her to consider well before she made any rash vows.
+
+The DISTRESSED fair one dried her tears, listened patiently, and at
+length declared she believed the surest method to revenge the slight put
+on her by the son, would be to accept the father: so said so done, and
+in a few days she became the Countess D----.
+
+Temple heard the news with emotion: he had lost his father's favour
+by avowing his passion for Lucy, and he saw now there was no hope of
+regaining it: “but he shall not make me miserable,” said he. “Lucy and I
+have no ambitious notions: we can live on three hundred a year for
+some little time, till the mortgage is paid off, and then we shall have
+sufficient not only for the comforts but many of the little elegancies
+of life. We will purchase a little cottage, my Lucy,” said he, “and
+thither with your reverend father we will retire; we will forget there
+are such things as splendor, profusion, and dissipation: we will have
+some cows, and you shall be queen of the dairy; in a morning, while I
+look after my garden, you shall take a basket on your arm, and sally
+forth to feed your poultry; and as they flutter round you in token of
+humble gratitude, your father shall smoke his pipe in a woodbine alcove,
+and viewing the serenity of your countenance, feel such real pleasure
+dilate his own heart, as shall make him forget he had ever been
+unhappy.”
+
+Lucy smiled; and Temple saw it was a smile of approbation. He sought
+and found a cottage suited to his taste; thither, attended by Love and
+Hymen, the happy trio retired; where, during many years of uninterrupted
+felicity, they cast not a wish beyond the little boundaries of their own
+tenement. Plenty, and her handmaid, Prudence, presided at their board,
+Hospitality stood at their gate, Peace smiled on each face, Content
+reigned in each heart, and Love and Health strewed roses on their
+pillows.
+
+Such were the parents of Charlotte Temple, who was the only pledge of
+their mutual love, and who, at the earnest entreaty of a particular
+friend, was permitted to finish the education her mother had begun,
+at Madame Du Pont's school, where we first introduced her to the
+acquaintance of the reader.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+AN INTRIGUING TEACHER.
+
+MADAME Du Pont was a woman every way calculated to take the care of
+young ladies, had that care entirely devolved on herself; but it was
+impossible to attend the education of a numerous school without proper
+assistants; and those assistants were not always the kind of people
+whose conversation and morals were exactly such as parents of delicacy
+and refinement would wish a daughter to copy. Among the teachers
+at Madame Du Pont's school, was Mademoiselle La Rue, who added to a
+pleasing person and insinuating address, a liberal education and the
+manners of a gentlewoman. She was recommended to the school by a lady
+whose humanity overstepped the bounds of discretion: for though she
+knew Miss La Rue had eloped from a convent with a young officer, and, on
+coming to England, had lived with several different men in open defiance
+of all moral and religious duties; yet, finding her reduced to the
+most abject want, and believing the penitence which she professed to be
+sincere, she took her into her own family, and from thence recommended
+her to Madame Du Pont, as thinking the situation more suitable for
+a woman of her abilities. But Mademoiselle possessed too much of the
+spirit of intrigue to remain long without adventures. At church, where
+she constantly appeared, her person attracted the attention of a young
+man who was upon a visit at a gentleman's seat in the neighbourhood: she
+had met him several times clandestinely; and being invited to come out
+that evening, and eat some fruit and pastry in a summer-house belonging
+to the gentleman he was visiting, and requested to bring some of
+the ladies with her, Charlotte being her favourite, was fixed on to
+accompany her.
+
+The mind of youth eagerly catches at promised pleasure: pure and
+innocent by nature, it thinks not of the dangers lurking beneath
+those pleasures, till too late to avoid them: when Mademoiselle asked
+Charlotte to go with her, she mentioned the gentleman as a relation,
+and spoke in such high terms of the elegance of his gardens, the
+sprightliness of his conversation, and the liberality with which he ever
+entertained his guests, that Charlotte thought only of the pleasure she
+should enjoy in the visit,--not on the imprudence of going without her
+governess's knowledge, or of the danger to which she exposed herself in
+visiting the house of a gay young man of fashion.
+
+Madame Du Pont was gone out for the evening, and the rest of the ladies
+retired to rest, when Charlotte and the teacher stole out at the back
+gate, and in crossing the field, were accosted by Montraville, as
+mentioned in the first CHAPTER.
+
+Charlotte was disappointed in the pleasure she had promised herself
+from this visit. The levity of the gentlemen and the freedom of
+their conversation disgusted her. She was astonished at the liberties
+Mademoiselle permitted them to take; grew thoughtful and uneasy, and
+heartily wished herself at home again in her own chamber.
+
+Perhaps one cause of that wish might be, an earnest desire to see the
+contents of the letter which had been put into her hand by Montraville.
+
+Any reader who has the least knowledge of the world, will easily
+imagine the letter was made up of encomiums on her beauty, and vows of
+everlasting love and constancy; nor will he be surprised that a heart
+open to every gentle, generous sentiment, should feel itself warmed by
+gratitude for a man who professed to feel so much for her; nor is it
+improbable but her mind might revert to the agreeable person and martial
+appearance of Montraville.
+
+In affairs of love, a young heart is never in more danger than
+when attempted by a handsome young soldier. A man of an indifferent
+appearance, will, when arrayed in a military habit, shew to advantage;
+but when beauty of person, elegance of manner, and an easy method of
+paying compliments, are united to the scarlet coat, smart cockade, and
+military sash, ah! well-a-day for the poor girl who gazes on him: she
+is in imminent danger; but if she listens to him with pleasure, 'tis all
+over with her, and from that moment she has neither eyes nor ears for
+any other object.
+
+Now, my dear sober matron, (if a sober matron should deign to turn over
+these pages, before she trusts them to the eye of a darling daughter,)
+let me intreat you not to put on a grave face, and throw down the book
+in a passion and declare 'tis enough to turn the heads of half the girls
+in England; I do solemnly protest, my dear madam, I mean no more by
+what I have here advanced, than to ridicule those romantic girls, who
+foolishly imagine a red coat and silver epaulet constitute the fine
+gentleman; and should that fine gentleman make half a dozen fine
+speeches to them, they will imagine themselves so much in love as
+to fancy it a meritorious action to jump out of a two pair of stairs
+window, abandon their friends, and trust entirely to the honour of a
+man, who perhaps hardly knows the meaning of the word, and if he does,
+will be too much the modern man of refinement, to practice it in their
+favour.
+
+Gracious heaven! when I think on the miseries that must rend the heart
+of a doating parent, when he sees the darling of his age at first
+seduced from his protection, and afterwards abandoned, by the very
+wretch whose promises of love decoyed her from the paternal roof--when
+he sees her poor and wretched, her bosom tom between remorse for her
+crime and love for her vile betrayer--when fancy paints to me the good
+old man stooping to raise the weeping penitent, while every tear from
+her eye is numbered by drops from his bleeding heart, my bosom glows
+with honest indignation, and I wish for power to extirpate those
+monsters of seduction from the earth.
+
+Oh my dear girls--for to such only am I writing--listen not to the voice
+of love, unless sanctioned by paternal approbation: be assured, it is
+now past the days of romance: no woman can be run away with contrary
+to her own inclination: then kneel down each morning, and request kind
+heaven to keep you free from temptation, or, should it please to suffer
+you to be tried, pray for fortitude to resist the impulse of inclination
+when it runs counter to the precepts of religion and virtue.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+NATURAL SENSE OF PROPRIETY INHERENT IN THE FEMALE BOSOM.
+
+“I CANNOT think we have done exactly right in going out this evening,
+Mademoiselle,” said Charlotte, seating herself when she entered her
+apartment: “nay, I am sure it was not right; for I expected to be very
+happy, but was sadly disappointed.”
+
+“It was your own fault, then,” replied Mademoiselle: “for I am sure
+my cousin omitted nothing that could serve to render the evening
+agreeable.”
+
+“True,” said Charlotte: “but I thought the gentlemen were very free in
+their manner: I wonder you would suffer them to behave as they did.”
+
+“Prithee, don't be such a foolish little prude,” said the artful woman,
+affecting anger: “I invited you to go in hopes it would divert you, and
+be an agreeable change of scene; however, if your delicacy was hurt by
+the behaviour of the gentlemen, you need not go again; so there let it
+rest.”
+
+“I do not intend to go again,” said Charlotte, gravely taking off her
+bonnet, and beginning to prepare for bed: “I am sure, if Madame Du Pont
+knew we had been out to-night, she would be very angry; and it is ten to
+one but she hears of it by some means or other.”
+
+“Nay, Miss,” said La Rue, “perhaps your mighty sense of propriety may
+lead you to tell her yourself: and in order to avoid the censure you
+would incur, should she hear of it by accident, throw the blame on
+me: but I confess I deserve it: it will be a very kind return for that
+partiality which led me to prefer you before any of the rest of the
+ladies; but perhaps it will give you pleasure,” continued she, letting
+fall some hypocritical tears, “to see me deprived of bread, and for an
+action which by the most rigid could only be esteemed an inadvertency,
+lose my place and character, and be driven again into the world, where I
+have already suffered all the evils attendant on poverty.”
+
+This was touching Charlotte in the most vulnerable part: she rose from
+her seat, and taking Mademoiselle's hand--“You know, my dear La Rue,”
+ said she, “I love you too well, to do anything that would injure you in
+my governess's opinion: I am only sorry we went out this evening.”
+
+“I don't believe it, Charlotte,” said she, assuming a little vivacity;
+“for if you had not gone out, you would not have seen the gentleman who
+met us crossing the field; and I rather think you were pleased with his
+conversation.”
+
+“I had seen him once before,” replied Charlotte, “and thought him an
+agreeable man; and you know one is always pleased to see a person with
+whom one has passed several cheerful hours. But,” said she pausing,
+and drawing the letter from her pocket, while a gentle suffusion of
+vermillion tinged her neck and face, “he gave me this letter; what shall
+I do with it?”
+
+“Read it, to be sure,” returned Mademoiselle.
+
+“I am afraid I ought not,” said Charlotte: “my mother has often told
+me, I should never read a letter given me by a young man, without first
+giving it to her.”
+
+“Lord bless you, my dear girl,” cried the teacher smiling, “have you
+a mind to be in leading strings all your life time. Prithee open the
+letter, read it, and judge for yourself; if you show it your mother, the
+consequence will be, you will be taken from school, and a strict guard
+kept over you; so you will stand no chance of ever seeing the smart
+young officer again.”
+
+“I should not like to leave school yet,” replied Charlotte, “till I have
+attained a greater proficiency in my Italian and music. But you can, if
+you please, Mademoiselle, take the letter back to Montraville, and
+tell him I wish him well, but cannot, with any propriety, enter into a
+clandestine correspondence with him.” She laid the letter on the table,
+and began to undress herself.
+
+“Well,” said La Rue, “I vow you are an unaccountable girl: have you
+no curiosity to see the inside now? for my part I could no more let a
+letter addressed to me lie unopened so long, than I could work miracles:
+he writes a good hand,” continued she, turning the letter, to look at
+the superscription.
+
+“'Tis well enough,” said Charlotte, drawing it towards her.
+
+“He is a genteel young fellow,” said La Rue carelessly, folding up her
+apron at the same time; “but I think he is marked with the small pox.”
+
+“Oh you are greatly mistaken,” said Charlotte eagerly; “he has a
+remarkable clear skin and fine complexion.”
+
+“His eyes, if I could judge by what I saw,” said La Rue, “are grey and
+want expression.”
+
+“By no means,” replied Charlotte; “they are the most expressive eyes
+I ever saw.” “Well, child, whether they are grey or black is of no
+consequence: you have determined not to read his letter; so it is likely
+you will never either see or hear from him again.”
+
+Charlotte took up the letter, and Mademoiselle continued--
+
+“He is most probably going to America; and if ever you should hear any
+account of him, it may possibly be that he is killed; and though he
+loved you ever so fervently, though his last breath should be spent in
+a prayer for your happiness, it can be nothing to you: you can feel
+nothing for the fate of the man, whose letters you will not open, and
+whose sufferings you will not alleviate, by permitting him to think you
+would remember him when absent, and pray for his safety.”
+
+Charlotte still held the letter in her hand: her heart swelled at the
+conclusion of Mademoiselle's speech, and a tear dropped upon the wafer
+that closed it.
+
+“The wafer is not dry yet,” said she, “and sure there can be no great
+harm--” She hesitated. La Rue was silent. “I may read it, Mademoiselle,
+and return it afterwards.”
+
+“Certainly,” replied Mademoiselle.
+
+“At any rate I am determined not to answer it,” continued Charlotte, as
+she opened the letter.
+
+Here let me stop to make one remark, and trust me my very heart aches
+while I write it; but certain I am, that when once a woman has stifled
+the sense of shame in her own bosom, when once she has lost sight of the
+basis on which reputation, honour, every thing that should be dear to
+the female heart, rests, she grows hardened in guilt, and will spare
+no pains to bring down innocence and beauty to the shocking level with
+herself: and this proceeds from that diabolical spirit of envy, which
+repines at seeing another in the full possession of that respect and
+esteem which she can no longer hope to enjoy.
+
+Mademoiselle eyed the unsuspecting Charlotte, as she perused the letter,
+with a malignant pleasure. She saw, that the contents had awakened new
+emotions in her youthful bosom: she encouraged her hopes, calmed her
+fears, and before they parted for the night, it was determined that she
+should meet Montraville the ensuing evening.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+DOMESTIC PLEASURES PLANNED.
+
+“I THINK, my dear,” said Mrs. Temple, laying her hand on her husband's
+arm as they were walking together in the garden, “I think next Wednesday
+is Charlotte's birth day: now I have formed a little scheme in my own
+mind, to give her an agreeable surprise; and if you have no objection,
+we will send for her home on that day.” Temple pressed his wife's hand
+in token of approbation, and she proceeded.--“You know the little alcove
+at the bottom of the garden, of which Charlotte is so fond? I have an
+inclination to deck this out in a fanciful manner, and invite all her
+little friends to partake of a collation of fruit, sweetmeats, and other
+things suitable to the general taste of young guests; and to make it
+more pleasing to Charlotte, she shall be mistress of the feast, and
+entertain her visitors in this alcove. I know she will be delighted; and
+to complete all, they shall have some music, and finish with a dance.”
+
+“A very fine plan, indeed,” said Temple, smiling; “and you really
+suppose I will wink at your indulging the girl in this manner? You will
+quite spoil her, Lucy; indeed you will.”
+
+“She is the only child we have,” said Mrs. Temple, the whole tenderness
+of a mother adding animation to her fine countenance; but it was withal
+tempered so sweetly with the meek affection and submissive duty of the
+wife, that as she paused expecting her husband's answer, he gazed at her
+tenderly, and found he was unable to refuse her request.
+
+“She is a good girl,” said Temple.
+
+“She is, indeed,” replied the fond mother exultingly, “a grateful,
+affectionate girl; and I am sure will never lose sight of the duty she
+owes her parents.”
+
+“If she does,” said he, “she must forget the example set her by the best
+of mothers.”
+
+Mrs. Temple could not reply; but the delightful sensation that dilated
+her heart sparkled in her intelligent eyes and heightened the vermillion
+on her cheeks.
+
+Of all the pleasures of which the human mind is sensible, there is
+none equal to that which warms and expands the bosom, when listening to
+commendations bestowed on us by a beloved object, and are conscious of
+having deserved them.
+
+Ye giddy flutterers in the fantastic round of dissipation, who eagerly
+seek pleasure in the lofty dome, rich treat, and midnight revel--tell
+me, ye thoughtless daughters of folly, have ye ever found the phantom
+you have so long sought with such unremitted assiduity? Has she not
+always eluded your grasp, and when you have reached your hand to take
+the cup she extends to her deluded votaries, have you not found the
+long-expected draught strongly tinctured with the bitter dregs of
+disappointment? I know you have: I see it in the wan cheek, sunk
+eye, and air of chagrin, which ever mark the children of dissipation.
+Pleasure is a vain illusion; she draws you on to a thousand follies,
+errors, and I may say vices, and then leaves you to deplore your
+thoughtless credulity.
+
+Look, my dear friends, at yonder lovely Virgin, arrayed in a white robe
+devoid of ornament; behold the meekness of her countenance, the
+modesty of her gait; her handmaids are Humility, Filial Piety, Conjugal
+Affection, Industry, and Benevolence; her name is CONTENT; she holds
+in her hand the cup of true felicity, and when once you have formed an
+intimate acquaintance with these her attendants, nay you must admit them
+as your bosom friends and chief counsellors, then, whatever may be your
+situation in life, the meek eyed Virgin wig immediately take up her
+abode with you.
+
+Is poverty your portion?--she will lighten your labours, preside at your
+frugal board, and watch your quiet slumbers.
+
+Is your state mediocrity?--she will heighten every blessing you enjoy,
+by informing you how grateful you should be to that bountiful Providence
+who might have placed you in the most abject situation; and, by teaching
+you to weigh your blessings against your deserts, show you how much more
+you receive than you have a right to expect.
+
+Are you possessed of affluence?--what an inexhaustible fund of happiness
+will she lay before you! To relieve the distressed, redress the injured,
+in short, to perform all the good works of peace and mercy.
+
+Content, my dear friends, will blunt even the arrows of adversity, so
+that they cannot materially harm you. She will dwell in the humblest
+cottage; she will attend you even to a prison. Her parent is Religion;
+her sisters, Patience and Hope. She will pass with you through life,
+smoothing the rough paths and tread to earth those thorns which every
+one must meet with as they journey onward to the appointed goal. She
+will soften the pains of sickness, continue with you even in the
+cold gloomy hour of death, and, cheating you with the smiles of her
+heaven-born sister, Hope, lead you triumphant to a blissful eternity.
+
+I confess I have rambled strangely from my story: but what of that? if
+I have been so lucky as to find the road to happiness, why should I be
+such a niggard as to omit so good an opportunity of pointing out the way
+to others. The very basis of true peace of mind is a benevolent wish to
+see all the world as happy as one's Self; and from my soul do I pity the
+selfish churl, who, remembering the little bickerings of anger, envy,
+and fifty other disagreeables to which frail mortality is subject, would
+wish to revenge the affront which pride whispers him he has received.
+For my own part, I can safely declare, there is not a human being in
+the universe, whose prosperity I should not rejoice in, and to whose
+happiness I would not contribute to the utmost limit of my power: and
+may my offences be no more remembered in the day of general retribution,
+than as from my soul I forgive every offence or injury received from a
+fellow creature.
+
+Merciful heaven! who would exchange the rapture of such a reflexion for
+all the gaudy tinsel which the world calls pleasure!
+
+But to return.--Content dwelt in Mrs. Temple's bosom, and spread a
+charming animation over her countenance, as her husband led her in, to
+lay the plan she had formed (for the celebration of Charlotte's birth
+day,) before Mr. Eldridge.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+WE KNOW NOT WHAT A DAY MAY BRING FORTH.
+
+VARIOUS were the sensations which agitated the mind of Charlotte, during
+the day preceding the evening in which she was to meet Montraville.
+Several times did she almost resolve to go to her governess, show her
+the letter, and be guided by her advice: but Charlotte had taken one
+step in the ways of imprudence; and when that is once done, there are
+always innumerable obstacles to prevent the erring person returning to
+the path of rectitude: yet these obstacles, however forcible they may
+appear in general, exist chiefly in imagination.
+
+Charlotte feared the anger of her governess: she loved her mother,
+and the very idea of incurring her displeasure, gave her the greatest
+uneasiness: but there was a more forcible reason still remaining: should
+she show the letter to Madame Du Pont, she must confess the means by
+which it came into her possession; and what would be the consequence?
+Mademoiselle would be turned out of doors.
+
+“I must not be ungrateful,” said she. “La Rue is very kind to me;
+besides I can, when I see Montraville, inform him of the impropriety of
+our continuing to see or correspond with each other, and request him to
+come no more to Chichester.”
+
+However prudent Charlotte might be in these resolutions, she certainly
+did not take a proper method to confirm herself in them. Several times
+in the course of the day, she indulged herself in reading over the
+letter, and each time she read it, the contents sunk deeper in her
+heart. As evening drew near, she caught herself frequently consulting
+her watch. “I wish this foolish meeting was over,” said she, by way of
+apology to her own heart, “I wish it was over; for when I have seen him,
+and convinced him my resolution is not to be shaken, I shall feel my
+mind much easier.”
+
+The appointed hour arrived. Charlotte and Mademoiselle eluded the eye of
+vigilance; and Montraville, who had waited their coming with impatience,
+received them with rapturous and unbounded acknowledgments for their
+condescension: he had wisely brought Belcour with him to entertain
+Mademoiselle, while he enjoyed an uninterrupted conversation with
+Charlotte.
+
+Belcour was a man whose character might be comprised in a few words; and
+as he will make some figure in the ensuing pages, I shall here describe
+him. He possessed a genteel fortune, and had a liberal education;
+dissipated, thoughtless, and capricious, he paid little regard to
+the moral duties, and less to religious ones: eager in the pursuit of
+pleasure, he minded not the miseries he inflicted on others, provided
+his own wishes, however extravagant, were gratified. Self, darling self,
+was the idol he worshipped, and to that he would have sacrificed
+the interest and happiness of all mankind. Such was the friend of
+Montraville: will not the reader be ready to imagine, that the man who
+could regard such a character, must be actuated by the same feelings,
+follow the same pursuits, and be equally unworthy with the person to
+whom he thus gave his confidence?
+
+But Montraville was a different character: generous in his disposition,
+liberal in his opinions, and good-natured almost to a fault; yet eager
+and impetuous in the pursuit of a favorite object, he staid not to
+reflect on the consequence which might follow the attainment of his
+wishes; with a mind ever open to conviction, had he been so fortunate
+as to possess a friend who would have pointed out the cruelty of
+endeavouring to gain the heart of an innocent artless girl, when he
+knew it was utterly impossible for him to marry her, and when the
+gratification of his passion would be unavoidable infamy and misery to
+her, and a cause of never-ceasing remorse to himself: had these dreadful
+consequences been placed before him in a proper light, the humanity of
+his nature would have urged him to give up the pursuit: but Belcour
+was not this friend; he rather encouraged the growing passion of
+Montraville; and being pleased with the vivacity of Mademoiselle,
+resolved to leave no argument untried, which he thought might prevail on
+her to be the companion of their intended voyage; and he made no doubt
+but her example, added to the rhetoric of Montraville, would persuade
+Charlotte to go with them.
+
+Charlotte had, when she went out to meet Montraville, flattered herself
+that her resolution was not to be shaken, and that, conscious of the
+impropriety of her conduct in having a clandestine intercourse with a
+stranger, she would never repeat the indiscretion.
+
+But alas! poor Charlotte, she knew not the deceitfulness of her own
+heart, or she would have avoided the trial of her stability.
+
+Montraville was tender, eloquent, ardent, and yet respectful. “Shall I
+not see you once more,” said he, “before I leave England? will you not
+bless me by an assurance, that when we are divided by a vast expanse of
+sea I shall not be forgotten?”
+
+Charlotte sighed.
+
+“Why that sigh, my dear Charlotte? could I flatter myself that a fear
+for my safety, or a wish for my welfare occasioned it, how happy would
+it make me.”
+
+“I shall ever wish you well, Montraville,” said she; “but we must meet
+no more.” “Oh say not so, my lovely girl: reflect, that when I leave my
+native land, perhaps a few short weeks may terminate my existence; the
+perils of the ocean--the dangers of war--”
+
+“I can hear no more,” said Charlotte in a tremulous voice. “I must leave
+you.”
+
+“Say you will see me once again.”
+
+“I dare not,” said she.
+
+“Only for one half hour to-morrow evening: 'tis my last request. I shall
+never trouble you again, Charlotte.”
+
+“I know not what to say,” cried Charlotte, struggling to draw her hands
+from him: “let me leave you now.”
+
+“And you will come to-morrow,” said Montraville.
+
+“Perhaps I may,” said she.
+
+“Adieu then. I will live upon that hope till we meet again.”
+
+He kissed her hand. She sighed an adieu, and catching hold of
+Mademoiselle's arm, hastily entered the garden gate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+WHEN WE HAVE EXCITED CURIOSITY, IT IS BUT AN ACT OF GOOD NATURE TO
+GRATIFY IT.
+
+MONTRAVILLE was the youngest son of a gentleman of fortune, whose
+family being numerous, he was obliged to bring up his sons to genteel
+professions, by the exercise of which they might hope to raise
+themselves into notice.
+
+“My daughters,” said he, “have been educated like gentlewomen; and
+should I die before they are settled, they must have some provision
+made, to place them above the snares and temptations which vice ever
+holds out to the elegant, accomplished female, when oppressed by the
+frowns of poverty and the sting of dependance: my boys, with only
+moderate incomes, when placed in the church, at the bar, or in the
+field, may exert their talents, make themselves friends, and raise their
+fortunes on the basis of merit.”
+
+When Montraville chose the profession of arms, his father presented him
+with a commission, and made him a handsome provision for his private
+purse. “Now, my boy,” said he, “go! seek glory in the field of battle.
+You have received from me all I shall ever have it in my power to
+bestow: it is certain I have interest to gain you promotion; but be
+assured that interest shall never be exerted, unless by your future
+conduct you deserve it. Remember, therefore, your success in life
+depends entirely on yourself. There is one thing I think it my duty to
+caution you against; the precipitancy with which young men frequently
+rush into matrimonial engagements, and by their thoughtlessness draw
+many a deserving woman into scenes of poverty and distress. A soldier
+has no business to think of a wife till his rank is such as to place him
+above the fear of bringing into the world a train of helpless innocents,
+heirs only to penury and affliction. If, indeed, a woman, whose fortune
+is sufficient to preserve you in that state of independence I would
+teach you to prize, should generously bestow herself on a young soldier,
+whose chief hope of future prosperity depended on his success in the
+field--if such a woman should offer--every barrier is removed, and I
+should rejoice in an union which would promise so much felicity. But
+mark me, boy, if, on the contrary, you rush into a precipitate union
+with a girl of little or no fortune, take the poor creature from a
+comfortable home and kind friends, and plunge her into all the evils
+a narrow income and increasing family can inflict, I will leave you to
+enjoy the blessed fruits of your rashness; for by all that is sacred,
+neither my interest or fortune shall ever be exerted in your favour. I
+am serious,” continued he, “therefore imprint this conversation on your
+memory, and let it influence your future conduct. Your happiness will
+always be dear to me; and I wish to warn you of a rock on which the
+peace of many an honest fellow has been wrecked; for believe me, the
+difficulties and dangers of the longest winter campaign are much easier
+to be borne, than the pangs that would seize your heart, when you beheld
+the woman of your choice, the children of your affection, involved
+in penury and distress, and reflected that it was your own folly and
+precipitancy had been the prime cause of their sufferings.”
+
+As this conversation passed but a few hours before Montraville took
+leave of his father, it was deeply impressed on his mind: when,
+therefore, Belcour came with him to the place of assignation with
+Charlotte, he directed him to enquire of the French woman what were Miss
+Temple's expectations in regard to fortune.
+
+Mademoiselle informed him, that though Charlotte's father possessed a
+genteel independence, it was by no means probable that he could give his
+daughter more than a thousand pounds; and in case she did not marry to
+his liking, it was possible he might not give her a single SOUS; nor
+did it appear the least likely, that Mr. Temple would agree to her union
+with a young man on the point of embarking for the feat of war.
+
+Montraville therefore concluded it was impossible he should ever marry
+Charlotte Temple; and what end he proposed to himself by continuing the
+acquaintance he had commenced with her, he did not at that moment give
+himself time to enquire.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+CONFLICT OF LOVE AND DUTY.
+
+ALMOST a week was now gone, and Charlotte continued every evening to
+meet Montraville, and in her heart every meeting was resolved to be the
+last; but alas! when Montraville at parting would earnestly intreat one
+more interview, that treacherous heart betrayed her; and, forgetful
+of its resolution, pleaded the cause of the enemy so powerfully, that
+Charlotte was unable to resist. Another and another meeting succeeded;
+and so well did Montraville improve each opportunity, that the heedless
+girl at length confessed no idea could be so painful to her as that of
+never seeing him again.
+
+“Then we will never be parted,” said he.
+
+“Ah, Montraville,” replied Charlotte, forcing a smile, “how can it be
+avoided? My parents would never consent to our union; and even could
+they be brought to approve it, how should I bear to be separated from my
+kind, my beloved mother?”
+
+“Then you love your parents more than you do me, Charlotte?”
+
+“I hope I do,” said she, blushing and looking down, “I hope my affection
+for them will ever keep me from infringing the laws of filial duty.”
+
+“Well, Charlotte,” said Montraville gravely, and letting go her hand,
+“since that is the case, I find I have deceived myself with fallacious
+hopes. I had flattered my fond heart, that I was dearer to Charlotte
+than any thing in the world beside. I thought that you would for my sake
+have braved the dangers of the ocean, that you would, by your affection
+and smiles, have softened the hardships of war, and, had it been my fate
+to fall, that your tenderness would cheer the hour of death, and smooth
+my passage to another world. But farewel, Charlotte! I see you never
+loved me. I shall now welcome the friendly ball that deprives me of the
+sense of my misery.”
+
+“Oh stay, unkind Montraville,” cried she, catching hold of his arm, as
+he pretended to leave her, “stay, and to calm your fears, I will here
+protest that was it not for the fear of giving pain to the best of
+parents, and returning their kindness with ingratitude, I would follow
+you through every danger, and, in studying to promote your happiness,
+insure my own. But I cannot break my mother's heart, Montraville; I must
+not bring the grey hairs of my doating grand-father with sorrow to the
+grave, or make my beloved father perhaps curse the hour that gave me
+birth.” She covered her face with her hands, and burst into tears.
+
+“All these distressing scenes, my dear Charlotte,” cried Montraville,
+“are merely the chimeras of a disturbed fancy. Your parents might
+perhaps grieve at first; but when they heard from your own hand that you
+was with a man of honour, and that it was to insure your felicity by an
+union with him, to which you feared they would never have given their
+assent, that you left their protection, they will, be assured, forgive
+an error which love alone occasioned, and when we return from America,
+receive you with open arms and tears of joy.”
+
+Belcour and Mademoiselle heard this last speech, and conceiving it
+a proper time to throw in their advice and persuasions, approached
+Charlotte, and so well seconded the entreaties of Montraville, that
+finding Mademoiselle intended going with Belcour, and feeling her own
+treacherous heart too much inclined to accompany them, the hapless
+Charlotte, in an evil hour, consented that the next evening they should
+bring a chaise to the end of the town, and that she would leave her
+friends, and throw herself entirely on the protection of Montraville.
+“But should you,” said she, looking earnestly at him, her eyes full
+of tears, “should you, forgetful of your promises, and repenting the
+engagements you here voluntarily enter into, forsake and leave me on a
+foreign shore--” “Judge not so meanly of me,” said he. “The moment we
+reach our place of destination, Hymen shall sanctify our love; and when
+I shall forget your goodness, may heaven forget me.”
+
+“Ah,” said Charlotte, leaning on Mademoiselle's arm as they walked up
+the garden together, “I have forgot all that I ought to have remembered,
+in consenting to this intended elopement.”
+
+“You are a strange girl,” said Mademoiselle: “you never know your
+own mind two minutes at a time. Just now you declared Montraville's
+happiness was what you prized most in the world; and now I suppose
+you repent having insured that happiness by agreeing to accompany him
+abroad.”
+
+“Indeed I do repent,” replied Charlotte, “from my soul: but while
+discretion points out the impropriety of my conduct, inclination urges
+me on to ruin.”
+
+“Ruin! fiddlestick!” said Mademoiselle; “am I not going with you? and do
+I feel any of these qualms?”
+
+“You do not renounce a tender father and mother,” said Charlotte.
+
+“But I hazard my dear reputation,” replied Mademoiselle, bridling.
+
+“True,” replied Charlotte, “but you do not feel what I do.” She then
+bade her good night: but sleep was a stranger to her eyes, and the tear
+of anguish watered her pillow.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+     Nature's last, best gift:
+     Creature in whom excell'd, whatever could
+     To sight or thought be nam'd!
+     Holy, divine! good, amiable, and sweet!
+     How thou art fall'n!--
+
+WHEN Charlotte left her restless bed, her languid eye and pale cheek
+discovered to Madame Du Pont the little repose she had tasted.
+
+“My dear child,” said the affectionate governess, “what is the cause of
+the languor so apparent in your frame? Are you not well?”
+
+“Yes, my dear Madam, very well,” replied Charlotte, attempting to smile,
+“but I know not how it was; I could not sleep last night, and my spirits
+are depressed this morning.”
+
+“Come cheer up, my love,” said the governess; “I believe I have brought
+a cordial to revive them. I have just received a letter from your good
+mama, and here is one for yourself.”
+
+Charlotte hastily took the letter: it contained these words--
+
+“As to-morrow is the anniversary of the happy day that gave my beloved
+girl to the anxious wishes of a maternal heart, I have requested your
+governess to let you come home and spend it with us; and as I know you
+to be a good affectionate child, and make it your study to improve in
+those branches of education which you know will give most pleasure to
+your delighted parents, as a reward for your diligence and attention
+I have prepared an agreeable surprise for your reception. Your
+grand-father, eager to embrace the darling of his aged heart, will come
+in the chaise for you; so hold yourself in readiness to attend him
+by nine o'clock. Your dear father joins in every tender wish for your
+health and future felicity, which warms the heart of my dear Charlotte's
+affectionate mother, L. TEMPLE.”
+
+“Gracious heaven!” cried Charlotte, forgetting where she was, and
+raising her streaming eyes as in earnest supplication.
+
+Madame Du Pont was surprised. “Why these tears, my love?” said she.
+“Why this seeming agitation? I thought the letter would have rejoiced,
+instead of distressing you.”
+
+“It does rejoice me,” replied Charlotte, endeavouring at composure, “but
+I was praying for merit to deserve the unremitted attentions of the best
+of parents.”
+
+“You do right,” said Madame Du Pont, “to ask the assistance of
+heaven that you may continue to deserve their love. Continue, my dear
+Charlotte, in the course you have ever pursued, and you will insure at
+once their happiness and your own.”
+
+“Oh!” cried Charlotte, as her governess left her, “I have forfeited both
+for ever! Yet let me reflect:--the irrevocable step is not yet taken:
+it is not too late to recede from the brink of a precipice, from which I
+can only behold the dark abyss of ruin, shame, and remorse!”
+
+She arose from her seat, and flew to the apartment of La Rue. “Oh
+Mademoiselle!” said she, “I am snatched by a miracle from destruction!
+This letter has saved me: it has opened my eyes to the folly I was
+so near committing. I will not go, Mademoiselle; I will not wound the
+hearts of those dear parents who make my happiness the whole study of
+their lives.”
+
+“Well,” said Mademoiselle, “do as you please, Miss; but pray understand
+that my resolution is taken, and it is not in your power to alter it.
+I shall meet the gentlemen at the appointed hour, and shall not be
+surprized at any outrage which Montraville may commit, when he finds
+himself disappointed. Indeed I should not be astonished, was he to come
+immediately here, and reproach you for your instability in the hearing
+of the whole school: and what will be the consequence? you will bear
+the odium of having formed the resolution of eloping, and every girl
+of spirit will laugh at your want of fortitude to put it in execution,
+while prudes and fools will load you with reproach and contempt. You
+will have lost the confidence of your parents, incurred their anger, and
+the scoffs of the world; and what fruit do you expect to reap from this
+piece of heroism, (for such no doubt you think it is?) you will have the
+pleasure to reflect, that you have deceived the man who adores you,
+and whom in your heart you prefer to all other men, and that you are
+separated from him for ever.”
+
+This eloquent harangue was given with such volubility, that Charlotte
+could not find an opportunity to interrupt her, or to offer a single
+word till the whole was finished, and then found her ideas so confused,
+that she knew not what to say.
+
+At length she determined that she would go with Mademoiselle to the
+place of assignation, convince Montraville of the necessity of adhering
+to the resolution of remaining behind; assure him of her affection, and
+bid him adieu.
+
+Charlotte formed this plan in her mind, and exulted in the certainty of
+its success. “How shall I rejoice,” said she, “in this triumph of reason
+over inclination, and, when in the arms of my affectionate parents, lift
+up my soul in gratitude to heaven as I look back on the dangers I have
+escaped!”
+
+The hour of assignation arrived: Mademoiselle put what money and
+valuables she possessed in her pocket, and advised Charlotte to do
+the same; but she refused; “my resolution is fixed,” said she; “I will
+sacrifice love to duty.”
+
+Mademoiselle smiled internally; and they proceeded softly down the back
+stairs and out of the garden gate. Montraville and Belcour were ready to
+receive them.
+
+“Now,” said Montraville, taking Charlotte in his arms, “you are mine for
+ever.”
+
+“No,” said she, withdrawing from his embrace, “I am come to take an
+everlasting farewel.”
+
+It would be useless to repeat the conversation that here ensued, suffice
+it to say, that Montraville used every argument that had formerly been
+successful, Charlotte's resolution began to waver, and he drew her
+almost imperceptibly towards the chaise.
+
+“I cannot go,” said she: “cease, dear Montraville, to persuade. I must
+not: religion, duty, forbid.”
+
+“Cruel Charlotte,” said he, “if you disappoint my ardent hopes, by
+all that is sacred, this hand shall put a period to my existence. I
+cannot--will not live without you.”
+
+“Alas! my torn heart!” said Charlotte, “how shall I act?”
+
+“Let me direct you,” said Montraville, lifting her into the chaise.
+
+“Oh! my dear forsaken parents!” cried Charlotte.
+
+The chaise drove off. She shrieked, and fainted into the arms of her
+betrayer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+CRUEL DISAPPOINTMENT.
+
+“WHAT pleasure,” cried Mr. Eldridge, as he stepped into the chaise to go
+for his grand-daughter, “what pleasure expands the heart of an old
+man when he beholds the progeny of a beloved child growing up in every
+virtue that adorned the minds of her parents. I foolishly thought, some
+few years since, that every sense of joy was buried in the graves of my
+dear partner and my son; but my Lucy, by her filial affection, soothed
+my soul to peace, and this dear Charlotte has twined herself round my
+heart, and opened such new scenes of delight to my view, that I almost
+forget I have ever been unhappy.”
+
+When the chaise stopped, he alighted with the alacrity of youth; so much
+do the emotions of the soul influence the body.
+
+It was half past eight o'clock; the ladies were assembled in the school
+room, and Madame Du Pont was preparing to offer the morning sacrifice
+of prayer and praise, when it was discovered, that Mademoiselle and
+Charlotte were missing.
+
+“She is busy, no doubt,” said the governess, “in preparing Charlotte for
+her little excursion; but pleasure should never make us forget our duty
+to our Creator. Go, one of you, and bid them both attend prayers.”
+
+The lady who went to summon them, soon returned, and informed
+the governess, that the room was locked, and that she had knocked
+repeatedly, but obtained no answer.
+
+“Good heaven!” cried Madame Du Pont, “this is very strange:” and turning
+pale with terror, she went hastily to the door, and ordered it to be
+forced open. The apartment instantly discovered, that no person had been
+in it the preceding night, the beds appearing as though just made.
+The house was instantly a scene of confusion: the garden, the pleasure
+grounds were searched to no purpose, every apartment rang with the names
+of Miss Temple and Mademoiselle; but they were too distant to hear; and
+every face wore the marks of disappointment.
+
+Mr. Eldridge was sitting in the parlour, eagerly expecting his
+grand-daughter to descend, ready equipped for her journey: he heard
+the confusion that reigned in the house; he heard the name of Charlotte
+frequently repeated. “What can be the matter?” said he, rising and
+opening the door: “I fear some accident has befallen my dear girl.”
+
+The governess entered. The visible agitation of her countenance
+discovered that something extraordinary had happened.
+
+“Where is Charlotte?” said he, “Why does not my child come to welcome
+her doating parent?”
+
+“Be composed, my dear Sir,” said Madame Du Pont, “do not frighten
+yourself unnecessarily. She is not in the house at present; but as
+Mademoiselle is undoubtedly with her, she will speedily return
+in safety; and I hope they will both be able to account for this
+unseasonable absence in such a manner as shall remove our present
+uneasiness.”
+
+“Madam,” cried the old man, with an angry look, “has my child been
+accustomed to go out without leave, with no other company or protector
+than that French woman. Pardon me, Madam, I mean no reflections on your
+country, but I never did like Mademoiselle La Rue; I think she was a
+very improper person to be entrusted with the care of such a girl
+as Charlotte Temple, or to be suffered to take her from under your
+immediate protection.”
+
+“You wrong me, Mr. Eldridge,” replied she, “if you suppose I have ever
+permitted your grand-daughter to go out unless with the other ladies.
+I would to heaven I could form any probable conjecture concerning her
+absence this morning, but it is a mystery which her return can alone
+unravel.” Servants were now dispatched to every place where there was
+the least hope of hearing any tidings of the fugitives, but in vain.
+Dreadful were the hours of horrid suspense which Mr. Eldridge passed
+till twelve o'clock, when that suspense was reduced to a shocking
+certainty, and every spark of hope which till then they had indulged,
+was in a moment extinguished.
+
+Mr. Eldridge was preparing, with a heavy heart, to return to his
+anxiously-expecting children, when Madame Du Pont received the following
+note without either name or date.
+
+“Miss Temple is well, and wishes to relieve the anxiety of her
+parents, by letting them know she has voluntarily put herself under
+the protection of a man whose future study shall be to make her happy.
+Pursuit is needless; the measures taken to avoid discovery are too
+effectual to be eluded. When she thinks her friends are reconciled to
+this precipitate step, they may perhaps be informed of her place of
+residence. Mademoiselle is with her.”
+
+As Madame Du Pont read these cruel lines, she turned pale as ashes, her
+limbs trembled, and she was forced to call for a glass of water. She
+loved Charlotte truly; and when she reflected on the innocence and
+gentleness of her disposition, she concluded that it must have been
+the advice and machinations of La Rue, which led her to this imprudent
+action; she recollected her agitation at the receipt of her mother's
+letter, and saw in it the conflict of her mind.
+
+“Does that letter relate to Charlotte?” said Mr. Eldridge, having waited
+some time in expectation of Madame Du Pont's speaking.
+
+“It does,” said she. “Charlotte is well, but cannot return today.”
+
+“Not return, Madam? where is she? who will detain her from her fond,
+expecting parents?”
+
+“You distract me with these questions, Mr. Eldridge. Indeed I know not
+where she is, or who has seduced her from her duty.”
+
+The whole truth now rushed at once upon Mr. Eldridge's mind. “She has
+eloped then,” said he. “My child is betrayed; the darling, the comfort
+of my aged heart, is lost. Oh would to heaven I had died but yesterday.”
+
+A violent gush of grief in some measure relieved him, and, after several
+vain attempts, he at length assumed sufficient composure to read the
+note.
+
+“And how shall I return to my children?” said he: “how approach that
+mansion, so late the habitation of peace? Alas! my dear Lucy, how will
+you support these heart-rending tidings? or how shall I be enabled to
+console you, who need so much consolation myself?”
+
+The old man returned to the chaise, but the light step and cheerful
+countenance were no more; sorrow filled his heart, and guided his
+motions; he seated himself in the chaise, his venerable head reclined
+upon his bosom, his hands were folded, his eye fixed on vacancy, and
+the large drops of sorrow rolled silently down his cheeks. There was a
+mixture of anguish and resignation depicted in his countenance, as if he
+would say, henceforth who shall dare to boast his happiness, or even
+in idea contemplate his treasure, lest, in the very moment his heart is
+exulting in its own felicity, the object which constitutes that felicity
+should be torn from him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+MATERNAL SORROW.
+
+SLOW and heavy passed the time while the carriage was conveying Mr.
+Eldridge home; and yet when he came in sight of the house, he wished a
+longer reprieve from the dreadful task of informing Mr. and Mrs. Temple
+of their daughter's elopement.
+
+It is easy to judge the anxiety of these affectionate parents, when they
+found the return of their father delayed so much beyond the expected
+time. They were now met in the dining parlour, and several of the young
+people who had been invited were already arrived. Each different part of
+the company was employed in the same manner, looking out at the windows
+which faced the road. At length the long-expected chaise appeared. Mrs.
+Temple ran out to receive and welcome her darling: her young companions
+flocked round the door, each one eager to give her joy on the return
+of her birth-day. The door of the chaise was opened: Charlotte was not
+there. “Where is my child?” cried Mrs. Temple, in breathless agitation.
+
+Mr. Eldridge could not answer: he took hold of his daughter's hand and
+led her into the house; and sinking on the first chair he came to, burst
+into tears, and sobbed aloud.
+
+“She is dead,” cried Mrs. Temple. “Oh my dear Charlotte!” and clasping
+her hands in an agony of distress, fell into strong hysterics.
+
+Mr. Temple, who had stood speechless with surprize and fear, now
+ventured to enquire if indeed his Charlotte was no more. Mr. Eldridge
+led him into another apartment; and putting the fatal note into
+his hand, cried--“Bear it like a Christian,” and turned from him,
+endeavouring to suppress his own too visible emotions.
+
+It would be vain to attempt describing what Mr. Temple felt whilst he
+hastily ran over the dreadful lines: when he had finished, the paper
+dropt from his unnerved hand. “Gracious heaven!” said he, “could
+Charlotte act thus?” Neither tear nor sigh escaped him; and he sat
+the image of mute sorrow, till roused from his stupor by the repeated
+shrieks of Mrs. Temple. He rose hastily, and rushing into the apartment
+where she was, folded his arms about her, and saying--“Let us be
+patient, my dear Lucy,” nature relieved his almost bursting heart by a
+friendly gush of tears.
+
+Should any one, presuming on his own philosophic temper, look with an
+eye of contempt on the man who could indulge a woman's weakness, let him
+remember that man was a father, and he will then pity the misery which
+wrung those drops from a noble, generous heart.
+
+Mrs. Temple beginning to be a little more composed, but still imagining
+her child was dead, her husband, gently taking her hand, cried--“You are
+mistaken, my love. Charlotte is not dead.”
+
+“Then she is very ill, else why did she not come? But I will go to her:
+the chaise is still at the door: let me go instantly to the dear girl.
+If I was ill, she would fly to attend me, to alleviate my sufferings,
+and cheer me with her love.”
+
+“Be calm, my dearest Lucy, and I will tell you all,” said Mr. Temple.
+“You must not go, indeed you must not; it will be of no use.”
+
+“Temple,” said she, assuming a look of firmness and composure, “tell
+me the truth I beseech you. I cannot bear this dreadful suspense. What
+misfortune has befallen my child? Let me know the worst, and I will
+endeavour to bear it as I ought.”
+
+“Lucy,” replied Mr. Temple, “imagine your daughter alive, and in no
+danger of death: what misfortune would you then dread?”
+
+“There is one misfortune which is worse than death. But I know my child
+too well to suspect--”
+
+“Be not too confident, Lucy.”
+
+“Oh heavens!” said she, “what horrid images do you start: is it possible
+she should forget--”
+
+“She has forgot us all, my love; she has preferred the love of a
+stranger to the affectionate protection of her friends.
+
+“Not eloped?” cried she eagerly.
+
+Mr. Temple was silent.
+
+“You cannot contradict it,” said she. “I see my fate in those tearful
+eyes. Oh Charlotte! Charlotte! how ill have you requited our tenderness!
+But, Father of Mercies,” continued she, sinking on her knees, and
+raising her streaming eyes and clasped hands to heaven, “this once
+vouchsafe to hear a fond, a distracted mother's prayer. Oh let thy
+bounteous Providence watch over and protect the dear thoughtless girl,
+save her from the miseries which I fear will be her portion, and oh!
+of thine infinite mercy, make her not a mother, lest she should one day
+feel what I now suffer.”
+
+The last words faultered on her tongue, and she fell fainting into the
+arms of her husband, who had involuntarily dropped on his knees beside
+her.
+
+A mother's anguish, when disappointed in her tenderest hopes, none but
+a mother can conceive. Yet, my dear young readers, I would have you read
+this scene with attention, and reflect that you may yourselves one day
+be mothers. Oh my friends, as you value your eternal happiness, wound
+not, by thoughtless ingratitude, the peace of the mother who bore you:
+remember the tenderness, the care, the unremitting anxiety with which
+she has attended to all your wants and wishes from earliest infancy to
+the present day; behold the mild ray of affectionate applause that beams
+from her eye on the performance of your duty: listen to her reproofs
+with silent attention; they proceed from a heart anxious for your future
+felicity: you must love her; nature, all-powerful nature, has planted
+the seeds of filial affection in your bosoms.
+
+Then once more read over the sorrows of poor Mrs. Temple, and remember,
+the mother whom you so dearly love and venerate will feel the same, when
+you, forgetful of the respect due to your maker and yourself, forsake
+the paths of virtue for those of vice and folly.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+EMBARKATION.
+
+IT was with the utmost difficulty that the united efforts of
+Mademoiselle and Montraville could support Charlotte's spirits during
+their short ride from Chichester to Portsmouth, where a boat waited to
+take them immediately on board the ship in which they were to embark for
+America.
+
+As soon as she became tolerably composed, she entreated pen and ink
+to write to her parents. This she did in the most affecting, artless
+manner, entreating their pardon and blessing, and describing
+the dreadful situation of her mind, the conflict she suffered in
+endeavouring to conquer this unfortunate attachment, and concluded
+with saying, her only hope of future comfort consisted in the (perhaps
+delusive) idea she indulged, of being once more folded in their
+protecting arms, and hearing the words of peace and pardon from their
+lips.
+
+The tears streamed incessantly while she was writing, and she was
+frequently obliged to lay down her pen: but when the task was completed,
+and she had committed the letter to the care of Montraville to be sent
+to the post office, she became more calm, and indulging the delightful
+hope of soon receiving an answer that would seal her pardon, she in some
+measure assumed her usual cheerfulness.
+
+But Montraville knew too well the consequences that must unavoidably
+ensue, should this letter reach Mr. Temple: he therefore wisely resolved
+to walk on the deck, tear it in pieces, and commit the fragments to the
+care of Neptune, who might or might not, as it suited his convenience,
+convey them on shore.
+
+All Charlotte's hopes and wishes were now concentred in one, namely that
+the fleet might be detained at Spithead till she could receive a letter
+from her friends: but in this she was disappointed, for the second
+morning after she went on board, the signal was made, the fleet weighed
+anchor, and in a few hours (the wind being favourable) they bid adieu to
+the white cliffs of Al-bion.
+
+In the mean time every enquiry that could be thought of was made by Mr.
+and Mrs. Temple; for many days did they indulge the fond hope that she
+was merely gone off to be married, and that when the indissoluble knot
+was once tied, she would return with the partner she had chosen, and
+entreat their blessing and forgiveness.
+
+“And shall we not forgive her?” said Mr. Temple.
+
+“Forgive her!” exclaimed the mother. “Oh yes, whatever be our errors,
+is she not our child? and though bowed to the earth even with shame
+and remorse, is it not our duty to raise the poor penitent, and whisper
+peace and comfort to her desponding soul? would she but return, with
+rapture would I fold her to my heart, and bury every remembrance of her
+faults in the dear embrace.”
+
+But still day after day passed on, and Charlotte did not appear,
+nor were any tidings to be heard of her: yet each rising morning was
+welcomed by some new hope--the evening brought with it disappointment.
+At length hope was no more; despair usurped her place; and the mansion
+which was once the mansion of peace, became the habitation of pale,
+dejected melancholy.
+
+The cheerful smile that was wont to adorn the face of Mrs. Temple was
+fled, and had it not been for the support of unaffected piety, and a
+consciousness of having ever set before her child the fairest example,
+she must have sunk under this heavy affliction.
+
+“Since,” said she, “the severest scrutiny cannot charge me with any
+breach of duty to have deserved this severe chastisement, I will bow
+before the power who inflicts it with humble resignation to his will;
+nor shall the duty of a wife be totally absorbed in the feelings of the
+mother; I will endeavour to appear more cheerful, and by appearing in
+some measure to have conquered my own sorrow, alleviate the sufferings
+of my husband, and rouse him from that torpor into which this misfortune
+has plunged him. My father too demands my care and attention: I must
+not, by a selfish indulgence of my own grief, forget the interest those
+two dear objects take in my happiness or misery: I will wear a smile on
+my face, though the thorn rankles in my heart; and if by so doing, I in
+the smallest degree contribute to restore their peace of mind, I shall
+be amply rewarded for the pain the concealment of my own feelings may
+occasion.”
+
+Thus argued this excellent woman: and in the execution of so laudable
+a resolution we shall leave her, to follow the fortunes of the hapless
+victim of imprudence and evil counsellors.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+NECESSARY DIGRESSION.
+
+ON board of the ship in which Charlotte and Mademoiselle were embarked,
+was an officer of large unincumbered fortune and elevated rank, and whom
+I shall call Crayton.
+
+He was one of those men, who, having travelled in their youth, pretend
+to have contracted a peculiar fondness for every thing foreign, and to
+hold in contempt the productions of their own country; and this affected
+partiality extended even to the women.
+
+With him therefore the blushing modesty and unaffected simplicity of
+Charlotte passed unnoticed; but the forward pertness of La Rue, the
+freedom of her conversation, the elegance of her person, mixed with a
+certain engaging JE NE SAIS QUOI, perfectly enchanted him.
+
+The reader no doubt has already developed the character of La Rue:
+designing, artful, and selfish, she had accepted the devoirs of Belcour
+because she was heartily weary of the retired life she led at the
+school, wished to be released from what she deemed a slavery, and to
+return to that vortex of folly and dissipation which had once plunged
+her into the deepest misery; but her plan she flattered herself was now
+better formed: she resolved to put herself under the protection of no
+man till she had first secured a settlement; but the clandestine manner
+in which she left Madame Du Pont's prevented her putting this plan
+in execution, though Belcour solemnly protested he would make her a
+handsome settlement the moment they arrived at Portsmouth. This he
+afterwards contrived to evade by a pretended hurry of business; La Rue
+readily conceiving he never meant to fulfil his promise, determined to
+change her battery, and attack the heart of Colonel Crayton. She soon
+discovered the partiality he entertained for her nation; and having
+imposed on him a feigned tale of distress, representing Belcour as a
+villain who had seduced her from her friends under promise of marriage,
+and afterwards betrayed her, pretending great remorse for the errors she
+had committed, and declaring whatever her affection for Belcour might
+have been, it was now entirely extinguished, and she wished for nothing
+more than an opportunity to leave a course of life which her soul
+abhorred; but she had no friends to apply to, they had all renounced
+her, and guilt and misery would undoubtedly be her future portion
+through life.
+
+Crayton was possessed of many amiable qualities, though the peculiar
+trait in his character, which we have already mentioned, in a great
+measure threw a shade over them. He was beloved for his humanity and
+benevolence by all who knew him, but he was easy and unsuspicious
+himself, and became a dupe to the artifice of others.
+
+He was, when very young, united to an amiable Parisian lady, and perhaps
+it was his affection for her that laid the foundation for the partiality
+he ever retained for the whole nation. He had by her one daughter, who
+entered into the world but a few hours before her mother left it. This
+lady was universally beloved and admired, being endowed with all the
+virtues of her mother, without the weakness of the father: she was
+married to Major Beauchamp, and was at this time in the same fleet with
+her father, attending her husband to New-York.
+
+Crayton was melted by the affected contrition and distress of La Rue:
+he would converse with her for hours, read to her, play cards with her,
+listen to all her complaints, and promise to protect her to the utmost
+of his power. La Rue easily saw his character; her sole aim was to
+awaken a passion in his bosom that might turn out to her advantage,
+and in this aim she was but too successful, for before the voyage was
+finished, the infatuated Colonel gave her from under his hand a promise
+of marriage on their arrival at New-York, under forfeiture of five
+thousand pounds.
+
+And how did our poor Charlotte pass her time during a tedious and
+tempestuous passage? naturally delicate, the fatigue and sickness which
+she endured rendered her so weak as to be almost entirely confined to
+her bed: yet the kindness and attention of Montraville in some measure
+contributed to alleviate her sufferings, and the hope of hearing from
+her friends soon after her arrival, kept up her spirits, and cheered
+many a gloomy hour.
+
+But during the voyage a great revolution took place not only in the
+fortune of La Rue but in the bosom of Belcour: whilst in pursuit of
+his amour with Mademoiselle, he had attended little to the interesting,
+inobtrusive charms of Charlotte, but when, cloyed by possession,
+and disgusted with the art and dissimulation of one, he beheld the
+simplicity and gentleness of the other, the contrast became too striking
+not to fill him at once with surprise and admiration. He frequently
+conversed with Charlotte; he found her sensible, well informed, but
+diffident and unassuming. The languor which the fatigue of her body and
+perturbation of her mind spread over her delicate features, served only
+in his opinion to render her more lovely: he knew that Montraville did
+not design to marry her, and he formed a resolution to endeavour to gain
+her himself whenever Montraville should leave her.
+
+Let not the reader imagine Belcour's designs were honourable. Alas! when
+once a woman has forgot the respect due to herself, by yielding to the
+solicitations of illicit love, they lose all their consequence, even in
+the eyes of the man whose art has betrayed them, and for whose sake they
+have sacrificed every valuable consideration.
+
+     The heedless Fair, who stoops to guilty joys,
+     A man may pity--but he must despise.
+
+Nay, every libertine will think he has a right to insult her with his
+licentious passion; and should the unhappy creature shrink from the
+insolent overture, he will sneeringly taunt her with pretence of
+modesty.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+A WEDDING.
+
+ON the day before their arrival at New-York, after dinner, Crayton arose
+from his seat, and placing himself by Mademoiselle, thus addressed the
+company--
+
+“As we are now nearly arrived at our destined port, I think it but my
+duty to inform you, my friends, that this lady,” (taking her hand,) “has
+placed herself under my protection. I have seen and severely felt the
+anguish of her heart, and through every shade which cruelty or malice
+may throw over her, can discover the most amiable qualities. I thought
+it but necessary to mention my esteem for her before our disembarkation,
+as it is my fixed resolution, the morning after we land, to give her
+an undoubted title to my favour and protection by honourably uniting my
+fate to hers. I would wish every gentleman here therefore to remember
+that her honour henceforth is mine, and,” continued he, looking at
+Belcour, “should any man presume to speak in the least disrespectfully
+of her, I shall not hesitate to pronounce him a scoundrel.”
+
+Belcour cast at him a smile of contempt, and bowing profoundly low,
+wished Mademoiselle much joy in the proposed union; and assuring
+the Colonel that he need not be in the least apprehensive of any one
+throwing the least odium on the character of his lady, shook him by the
+hand with ridiculous gravity, and left the cabin.
+
+The truth was, he was glad to be rid of La Rue, and so he was but freed
+from her, he cared not who fell a victim to her infamous arts.
+
+The inexperienced Charlotte was astonished at what she heard. She
+thought La Rue had, like herself, only been urged by the force of her
+attachment to Belcour, to quit her friends, and follow him to the feat
+of war: how wonderful then, that she should resolve to marry another
+man. It was certainly extremely wrong. It was indelicate. She mentioned
+her thoughts to Montraville. He laughed at her simplicity, called her a
+little idiot, and patting her on the cheek, said she knew nothing of
+the world. “If the world sanctifies such things, 'tis a very bad world I
+think,” said Charlotte. “Why I always understood they were to have been
+married when they arrived at New-York. I am sure Mademoiselle told me
+Belcour promised to marry her.”
+
+“Well, and suppose he did?”
+
+“Why, he should be obliged to keep his word I think.”
+
+“Well, but I suppose he has changed his mind,” said Montraville, “and
+then you know the case is altered.”
+
+Charlotte looked at him attentively for a moment. A full sense of her
+own situation rushed upon her mind. She burst into tears, and remained
+silent. Montraville too well understood the cause of her tears. He
+kissed her cheek, and bidding her not make herself uneasy, unable to
+bear the silent but keen remonstrance, hastily left her.
+
+The next morning by sun-rise they found themselves at anchor before
+the city of New-York. A boat was ordered to convey the ladies on shore.
+Crayton accompanied them; and they were shewn to a house of public
+entertainment. Scarcely were they seated when the door opened, and the
+Colonel found himself in the arms of his daughter, who had landed a few
+minutes before him. The first transport of meeting subsided, Crayton
+introduced his daughter to Mademoiselle La Rue, as an old friend of her
+mother's, (for the artful French woman had really made it appear to the
+credulous Colonel that she was in the same convent with his first wife,
+and, though much younger, had received many tokens of her esteem and
+regard.)
+
+“If, Mademoiselle,” said Mrs. Beauchamp, “you were the friend of
+my mother, you must be worthy the esteem of all good hearts.”
+ “Mademoiselle will soon honour our family,” said Crayton, “by supplying
+the place that valuable woman filled: and as you are married, my dear, I
+think you will not blame--”
+
+“Hush, my dear Sir,” replied Mrs. Beauchamp: “I know my duty too well to
+scrutinize your conduct. Be assured, my dear father, your happiness
+is mine. I shall rejoice in it, and sincerely love the person who
+contributes to it. But tell me,” continued she, turning to Charlotte,
+“who is this lovely girl? Is she your sister, Mademoiselle?”
+
+A blush, deep as the glow of the carnation, suffused the cheeks of
+Charlotte.
+
+“It is a young lady,” replied the Colonel, “who came in the same vessel
+with us from England.' He then drew his daughter aside, and told her in
+a whisper, Charlotte was the mistress of Montraville.
+
+“What a pity!” said Mrs. Beauchamp softly, (casting a most compassionate
+glance at her.) “But surely her mind is not depraved. The goodness of
+her heart is depicted in her ingenuous countenance.”
+
+Charlotte caught the word pity. “And am I already fallen so low?” said
+she. A sigh escaped her, and a tear was ready to start, but Montraville
+appeared, and she checked the rising emotion. Mademoiselle went with the
+Colonel and his daughter to another apartment. Charlotte remained with
+Montraville and Belcour. The next morning the Colonel performed his
+promise, and La Rue became in due form Mrs. Crayton, exulted in her
+own good fortune, and dared to look with an eye of contempt on the
+unfortunate but far less guilty Charlotte.
+
+
+
+
+
+VOLUME II
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+REFLECTIONS.
+
+“AND am I indeed fallen so low,” said Charlotte, “as to be only pitied?
+Will the voice of approbation no more meet my ear? and shall I never
+again possess a friend, whose face will wear a smile of joy whenever I
+approach? Alas! how thoughtless, how dreadfully imprudent have I been! I
+know not which is most painful to endure, the sneer of contempt, or the
+glance of compassion, which is depicted in the various countenances
+of my own sex: they are both equally humiliating. Ah! my dear parents,
+could you now see the child of your affections, the daughter whom you so
+dearly loved, a poor solitary being, without society, here wearing out
+her heavy hours in deep regret and anguish of heart, no kind friend of
+her own sex to whom she can unbosom her griefs, no beloved mother, no
+woman of character will appear in my company, and low as your Charlotte
+is fallen, she cannot associate with infamy.”
+
+These were the painful reflections which occupied the mind of Charlotte.
+Montraville had placed her in a small house a few miles from New-York:
+he gave her one female attendant, and supplied her with what money she
+wanted; but business and pleasure so entirely occupied his time, that
+he had little to devote to the woman, whom he had brought from all her
+connections, and robbed of innocence. Sometimes, indeed, he would steal
+out at the close of evening, and pass a few hours with her; and then so
+much was she attached to him, that all her sorrows were forgotten while
+blest with his society: she would enjoy a walk by moonlight, or sit
+by him in a little arbour at the bottom of the garden, and play on the
+harp, accompanying it with her plaintive, harmonious voice. But often,
+very often, did he promise to renew his visits, and, forgetful of his
+promise, leave her to mourn her disappointment. What painful hours
+of expectation would she pass! She would sit at a window which looked
+toward a field he used to cross, counting the minutes, and straining her
+eyes to catch the first glimpse of his person, till blinded with tears
+of disappointment, she would lean her head on her hands, and give free
+vent to her sorrows: then catching at some new hope, she would again
+renew her watchful position, till the shades of evening enveloped every
+object in a dusky cloud: she would then renew her complaints, and, with
+a heart bursting with disappointed love and wounded sensibility, retire
+to a bed which remorse had strewed with thorns, and court in vain that
+comforter of weary nature (who seldom visits the unhappy) to come and
+steep her senses in oblivion.
+
+Who can form an adequate idea of the sorrow that preyed upon the mind of
+Charlotte? The wife, whose breast glows with affection to her husband,
+and who in return meets only indifference, can but faintly conceive her
+anguish. Dreadfully painful is the situation of such a woman, but she
+has many comforts of which our poor Charlotte was deprived. The duteous,
+faithful wife, though treated with indifference, has one solid pleasure
+within her own bosom, she can reflect that she has not deserved
+neglect--that she has ever fulfilled the duties of her station with the
+strictest exactness; she may hope, by constant assiduity and unremitted
+attention, to recall her wanderer, and be doubly happy in his returning
+affection; she knows he cannot leave her to unite himself to another: he
+cannot cast her out to poverty and contempt; she looks around her,
+and sees the smile of friendly welcome, or the tear of affectionate
+consolation, on the face of every person whom she favours with her
+esteem; and from all these circumstances she gathers comfort: but the
+poor girl by thoughtless passion led astray, who, in parting with
+her honour, has forfeited the esteem of the very man to whom she has
+sacrificed every thing dear and valuable in life, feels his indifference
+in the fruit of her own folly, and laments her want of power to recall
+his lost affection; she knows there is no tie but honour, and that, in
+a man who has been guilty of seduction, is but very feeble: he may leave
+her in a moment to shame and want; he may marry and forsake her for
+ever; and should he, she has no redress, no friendly, soothing companion
+to pour into her wounded mind the balm of consolation, no benevolent
+hand to lead her back to the path of rectitude; she has disgraced her
+friends, forfeited the good opinion of the world, and undone herself;
+she feels herself a poor solitary being in the midst of surrounding
+multitudes; shame bows her to the earth, remorse tears her distracted
+mind, and guilt, poverty, and disease close the dreadful scene: she
+sinks unnoticed to oblivion. The finger of contempt may point out to
+some passing daughter of youthful mirth, the humble bed where lies this
+frail sister of mortality; and will she, in the unbounded gaiety of her
+heart, exult in her own unblemished fame, and triumph over the silent
+ashes of the dead? Oh no! has she a heart of sensibility, she will stop,
+and thus address the unhappy victim of folly--
+
+“Thou had'st thy faults, but sure thy sufferings have expiated them:
+thy errors brought thee to an early grave; but thou wert a
+fellow-creature--thou hast been unhappy--then be those errors forgotten.”
+
+Then, as she stoops to pluck the noxious weed from off the sod, a tear
+will fall, and consecrate the spot to Charity.
+
+For ever honoured be the sacred drop of humanity; the angel of mercy
+shall record its source, and the soul from whence it sprang shall be
+immortal.
+
+My dear Madam, contract not your brow into a frown of disapprobation. I
+mean not to extenuate the faults of those unhappy women who fall victims
+to guilt and folly; but surely, when we reflect how many errors we are
+ourselves subject to, how many secret faults lie hid in the recesses of
+our hearts, which we should blush to have brought into open day (and yet
+those faults require the lenity and pity of a benevolent judge, or
+awful would be our prospect of futurity) I say, my dear Madam, when we
+consider this, we surely may pity the faults of others.
+
+Believe me, many an unfortunate female, who has once strayed into the
+thorny paths of vice, would gladly return to virtue, was any generous
+friend to endeavour to raise and re-assure her; but alas! it cannot be,
+you say; the world would deride and scoff. Then let me tell you, Madam,
+'tis a very unfeeling world, and does not deserve half the blessings
+which a bountiful Providence showers upon it.
+
+Oh, thou benevolent giver of all good! how shall we erring mortals
+dare to look up to thy mercy in the great day of retribution, if we now
+uncharitably refuse to overlook the errors, or alleviate the miseries,
+of our fellow-creatures.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+A MISTAKE DISCOVERED.
+
+JULIA Franklin was the only child of a man of large property, who, at
+the age of eighteen, left her independent mistress of an unincumbered
+income of seven hundred a year; she was a girl of a lively disposition,
+and humane, susceptible heart: she resided in New-York with an uncle,
+who loved her too well, and had too high an opinion of her prudence, to
+scrutinize her actions so much as would have been necessary with many
+young ladies, who were not blest with her discretion: she was, at the
+time Montraville arrived at New-York, the life of society, and the
+universal toast. Montraville was introduced to her by the following
+accident.
+
+One night when he was upon guard, a dreadful fire broke out near Mr.
+Franklin's house, which, in a few hours, reduced that and several others
+to ashes; fortunately no lives were lost, and, by the assiduity of the
+soldiers, much valuable property was saved from the flames. In the midst
+of the confusion an old gentleman came up to Montraville, and, putting
+a small box into his hands, cried--“Keep it, my good Sir, till I come
+to you again;” and then rushing again into the thickest of the
+crowd, Montraville saw him no more. He waited till the fire was quite
+extinguished and the mob dispersed; but in vain: the old gentleman did
+not appear to claim his property; and Montraville, fearing to make any
+enquiry, lest he should meet with impostors who might lay claim, without
+any legal right, to the box, carried it to his lodgings, and locked it
+up: he naturally imagined, that the person who committed it to his care
+knew him, and would, in a day or two, reclaim it; but several weeks
+passed on, and no enquiry being made, he began to be uneasy, and
+resolved to examine the contents of the box, and if they were, as he
+supposed, valuable, to spare no pains to discover, and restore them
+to the owner. Upon opening it, he found it contained jewels to a large
+amount, about two hundred pounds in money, and a miniature picture set
+for a bracelet. On examining the picture, he thought he had somewhere
+seen features very like it, but could not recollect where. A few
+days after, being at a public assembly, he saw Miss Franklin, and the
+likeness was too evident to be mistaken: he enquired among his brother
+officers if any of them knew her, and found one who was upon terms of
+intimacy in the family: “then introduce me to her immediately,” said
+he, “for I am certain I can inform her of something which will give her
+peculiar pleasure.”
+
+He was immediately introduced, found she was the owner of the jewels,
+and was invited to breakfast the next morning in order to their
+restoration. This whole evening Montraville was honoured with Julia's
+hand; the lively sallies of her wit, the elegance of her manner,
+powerfully charmed him: he forgot Charlotte, and indulged himself in
+saying every thing that was polite and tender to Julia. But on retiring,
+recollection returned. “What am I about?” said he: “though I cannot
+marry Charlotte, I cannot be villain enough to forsake her, nor must
+I dare to trifle with the heart of Julia Franklin. I will return this
+box,” said he, “which has been the source of so much uneasiness already,
+and in the evening pay a visit to my poor melancholy Charlotte, and
+endeavour to forget this fascinating Julia.”
+
+He arose, dressed himself, and taking the picture out, “I will reserve
+this from the rest,” said he, “and by presenting it to her when she
+thinks it is lost, enhance the value of the obligation.” He repaired to
+Mr. Franklin's, and found Julia in the breakfast parlour alone.
+
+“How happy am I, Madam,” said he, “that being the fortunate instrument
+of saving these jewels has been the means of procuring me the
+acquaintance of so amiable a lady. There are the jewels and money all
+safe.”
+
+“But where is the picture, Sir?” said Julia.
+
+“Here, Madam. I would not willingly part with it.”
+
+“It is the portrait of my mother,” said she, taking it from him: “'tis
+all that remains.” She pressed it to her lips, and a tear trembled in
+her eyes. Montraville glanced his eye on her grey night gown and black
+ribbon, and his own feelings prevented a reply.
+
+Julia Franklin was the very reverse of Charlotte Temple: she was tall,
+elegantly shaped, and possessed much of the air and manner of a woman
+of fashion; her complexion was a clear brown, enlivened with the glow of
+health, her eyes, full, black, and sparkling, darted their intelligent
+glances through long silken lashes; her hair was shining brown, and her
+features regular and striking; there was an air of innocent gaiety that
+played about her countenance, where good humour sat triumphant.
+
+“I have been mistaken,” said Montraville. “I imagined I loved Charlotte:
+but alas! I am now too late convinced my attachment to her was merely
+the impulse of the moment. I fear I have not only entailed lasting
+misery on that poor girl, but also thrown a barrier in the way of my own
+happiness, which it will be impossible to surmount. I feel I love Julia
+Franklin with ardour and sincerity; yet, when in her presence, I am
+sensible of my own inability to offer a heart worthy her acceptance, and
+remain silent.” Full of these painful thoughts, Montraville walked out
+to see Charlotte: she saw him approach, and ran out to meet him: she
+banished from her countenance the air of discontent which ever appeared
+when he was absent, and met him with a smile of joy.
+
+“I thought you had forgot me, Montraville,” said she, “and was very
+unhappy.”
+
+“I shall never forget you, Charlotte,” he replied, pressing her hand.
+
+The uncommon gravity of his countenance, and the brevity of his reply,
+alarmed her.
+
+“You are not well,” said she; “your hand is hot; your eyes are heavy;
+you are very ill.”
+
+“I am a villain,” said he mentally, as he turned from her to hide his
+emotions.
+
+“But come,” continued she tenderly, “you shall go to bed, and I will sit
+by, and watch you; you will be better when you have slept.”
+
+Montraville was glad to retire, and by pretending sleep, hide the
+agitation of his mind from her penetrating eye. Charlotte watched by him
+till a late hour, and then, lying softly down by his side, sunk into a
+profound sleep, from whence she awoke not till late the next morning.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+     Virtue never appears so amiable as when reaching forth
+     her hand to raise a fallen sister.
+
+CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
+
+WHEN Charlotte awoke, she missed Montraville; but thinking he might have
+arisen early to enjoy the beauties of the morning, she was preparing
+to follow him, when casting her eye on the table, she saw a note, and
+opening it hastily, found these words--
+
+“My dear Charlotte must not be surprised, if she does not see me again
+for some time: unavoidable business will prevent me that pleasure: be
+assured I am quite well this morning; and what your fond imagination
+magnified into illness, was nothing more than fatigue, which a few hours
+rest has entirely removed. Make yourself happy, and be certain of the
+unalterable friendship of
+
+“MONTRAVILLE.”
+
+
+“FRIENDSHIP!” said Charlotte emphatically, as she finished the note, “is
+it come to this at last? Alas! poor, forsaken Charlotte, thy doom is now
+but too apparent. Montraville is no longer interested in thy happiness;
+and shame, remorse, and disappointed love will henceforth be thy only
+attendants.”
+
+Though these were the ideas that involuntarily rushed upon the mind
+of Charlotte as she perused the fatal note, yet after a few hours had
+elapsed, the syren Hope again took possession of her bosom, and she
+flattered herself she could, on a second perusal, discover an air of
+tenderness in the few lines he had left, which at first had escaped her
+notice.
+
+“He certainly cannot be so base as to leave me,” said she, “and in
+styling himself my friend does he not promise to protect me. I will not
+torment myself with these causeless fears; I will place a confidence in
+his honour; and sure he will not be so unjust as to abuse it.”
+
+Just as she had by this manner of reasoning brought her mind to some
+tolerable degree of composure, she was surprised by a visit from
+Belcour. The dejection visible in Charlotte's countenance, her swoln
+eyes and neglected attire, at once told him she was unhappy: he made no
+doubt but Montraville had, by his coldness, alarmed her suspicions,
+and was resolved, if possible, to rouse her to jealousy, urge her to
+reproach him, and by that means occasion a breach between them. “If I
+can once convince her that she has a rival,” said he, “she will listen
+to my passion if it is only to revenge his slights.” Belcour knew but
+little of the female heart; and what he did know was only of those of
+loose and dissolute lives. He had no idea that a woman might fall a
+victim to imprudence, and yet retain so strong a sense of honour, as to
+reject with horror and contempt every solicitation to a second fault.
+He never imagined that a gentle, generous female heart, once tenderly
+attached, when treated with unkindness might break, but would never
+harbour a thought of revenge.
+
+His visit was not long, but before he went he fixed a scorpion in the
+heart of Charlotte, whose venom embittered every future hour of her
+life.
+
+We will now return for a moment to Colonel Crayton. He had been three
+months married, and in that little time had discovered that the
+conduct of his lady was not so prudent as it ought to have been: but
+remonstrance was vain; her temper was violent; and to the Colonel's
+great misfortune he had conceived a sincere affection for her: she saw
+her own power, and, with the art of a Circe, made every action appear
+to him in what light she pleased: his acquaintance laughed at his
+blindness, his friends pitied his infatuation, his amiable daughter,
+Mrs. Beauchamp, in secret deplored the loss of her father's affection,
+and grieved that he should be so entirely swayed by an artful, and, she
+much feared, infamous woman.
+
+Mrs. Beauchamp was mild and engaging; she loved not the hurry and bustle
+of a city, and had prevailed on her husband to take a house a few
+miles from New-York. Chance led her into the same neighbourhood with
+Charlotte; their houses stood within a short space of each other, and
+their gardens joined: she had not been long in her new habitation before
+the figure of Charlotte struck her; she recollected her interesting
+features; she saw the melancholy so conspicuous in her countenance,
+and her heart bled at the reflection, that perhaps deprived of honour,
+friends, all that was valuable in life, she was doomed to linger out a
+wretched existence in a strange land, and sink broken-hearted into
+an untimely grave. “Would to heaven I could snatch her from so hard
+a fate,” said she; “but the merciless world has barred the doors of
+compassion against a poor weak girl, who, perhaps, had she one kind
+friend to raise and reassure her, would gladly return to peace and
+virtue; nay, even the woman who dares to pity, and endeavour to recall
+a wandering sister, incurs the sneer of contempt and ridicule, for an
+action in which even angels are said to rejoice.”
+
+The longer Mrs. Beauchamp was a witness to the solitary life Charlotte
+led, the more she wished to speak to her, and often as she saw her
+cheeks wet with the tears of anguish, she would say--“Dear sufferer, how
+gladly would I pour into your heart the balm of consolation, were it not
+for the fear of derision.”
+
+But an accident soon happened which made her resolve to brave even the
+scoffs of the world, rather than not enjoy the heavenly satisfaction of
+comforting a desponding fellow-creature.
+
+Mrs. Beauchamp was an early riser. She was one morning walking in the
+garden, leaning on her husband's arm, when the sound of a harp attracted
+their notice: they listened attentively, and heard a soft melodious
+voice distinctly sing the following stanzas:
+
+                    Thou glorious orb, supremely bright,
+                        Just rising from the sea,
+                    To cheer all nature with thy light,
+                        What are thy beams to me?
+                    In vain thy glories bid me rise,
+                        To hail the new-born day,
+                    Alas! my morning sacrifice
+                        Is still to weep and pray.
+                    For what are nature's charms combin'd,
+                        To one, whose weary breast
+                    Can neither peace nor comfort find,
+                        Nor friend whereon to rest?
+                    Oh! never! never! whilst I live
+                        Can my heart's anguish cease:
+                    Come, friendly death, thy mandate give,
+                        And let me be at peace.
+
+“'Tis poor Charlotte!” said Mrs. Beauchamp, the pellucid drop of
+humanity stealing down her cheek.
+
+Captain Beauchamp was alarmed at her emotion. “What Charlotte?” said he;
+“do you know her?”
+
+In the accent of a pitying angel did she disclose to her husband
+Charlotte's unhappy situation, and the frequent wish she had formed of
+being serviceable to her. “I fear,” continued she, “the poor girl has
+been basely betrayed; and if I thought you would not blame me, I would
+pay her a visit, offer her my friendship, and endeavour to restore
+to her heart that peace she seems to have lost, and so pathetically
+laments. Who knows, my dear,” laying her hand affectionately on his arm,
+“who knows but she has left some kind, affectionate parents to lament
+her errors, and would she return, they might with rapture receive the
+poor penitent, and wash away her faults in tears of joy. Oh! what a
+glorious reflexion would it be for me could I be the happy instrument of
+restoring her. Her heart may not be depraved, Beauchamp.”
+
+“Exalted woman!” cried Beauchamp, embracing her, “how dost thou rise
+every moment in my esteem. Follow the impulse of thy generous heart,
+my Emily. Let prudes and fools censure if they dare, and blame a
+sensibility they never felt; I will exultingly tell them that the heart
+that is truly virtuous is ever inclined to pity and forgive the errors
+of its fellow-creatures.”
+
+A beam of exulting joy played round the animated countenance of Mrs.
+Beauchamp, at these encomiums bestowed on her by a beloved husband, the
+most delightful sensations pervaded her heart, and, having breakfasted,
+she prepared to visit Charlotte.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+                      Teach me to feel another's woe,
+                         To hide the fault I see,
+                      That mercy I to others show,
+                         That mercy show to me.       POPE.
+
+WHEN Mrs. Beauchamp was dressed, she began to feel embarrassed at the
+thought of beginning an acquaintance with Charlotte, and was distressed
+how to make the first visit. “I cannot go without some introduction,”
+ said she, “it will look so like impertinent curiosity.” At length
+recollecting herself, she stepped into the garden, and gathering a few
+fine cucumbers, took them in her hand by way of apology for her visit.
+
+A glow of conscious shame vermillioned Charlotte's face as Mrs.
+Beauchamp entered.
+
+“You will pardon me, Madam,” said she, “for not having before paid my
+respects to so amiable a neighbour; but we English people always keep up
+that reserve which is the characteristic of our nation wherever we go. I
+have taken the liberty to bring you a few cucumbers, for I observed you
+had none in your garden.”
+
+Charlotte, though naturally polite and well-bred, was so confused she
+could hardly speak. Her kind visitor endeavoured to relieve her by
+not noticing her embarrassment. “I am come, Madam,” continued she, “to
+request you will spend the day with me. I shall be alone; and, as we are
+both strangers in this country, we may hereafter be extremely happy in
+each other's friendship.”
+
+“Your friendship, Madam,” said Charlotte blushing, “is an honour to
+all who are favoured with it. Little as I have seen of this part of the
+world, I am no stranger to Mrs. Beauchamp's goodness of heart and known
+humanity: but my friendship--” She paused, glanced her eye upon her own
+visible situation, and, spite of her endeavours to suppress them, burst
+into tears.
+
+Mrs. Beauchamp guessed the source from whence those tears flowed.
+“You seem unhappy, Madam,” said she: “shall I be thought worthy your
+confidence? will you entrust me with the cause of your sorrow, and
+rest on my assurances to exert my utmost power to serve you.” Charlotte
+returned a look of gratitude, but could not speak, and Mrs. Beauchamp
+continued--“My heart was interested in your behalf the first moment I
+saw you, and I only lament I had not made earlier overtures towards an
+acquaintance; but I flatter myself you will henceforth consider me as
+your friend.”
+
+“Oh Madam!” cried Charlotte, “I have forfeited the good opinion of all
+my friends; I have forsaken them, and undone myself.”
+
+“Come, come, my dear,” said Mrs. Beauchamp, “you must not indulge
+these gloomy thoughts: you are not I hope so miserable as you imagine
+yourself: endeavour to be composed, and let me be favoured with your
+company at dinner, when, if you can bring yourself to think me your
+friend, and repose a confidence in me, I am ready to convince you it
+shall not be abused.” She then arose, and bade her good morning.
+
+At the dining hour Charlotte repaired to Mrs. Beauchamp's, and during
+dinner assumed as composed an aspect as possible; but when the cloth
+was removed, she summoned all her resolution and determined to make Mrs.
+Beauchamp acquainted with every circumstance preceding her unfortunate
+elopement, and the earnest desire she had to quit a way of life so
+repugnant to her feelings.
+
+With the benignant aspect of an angel of mercy did Mrs. Beauchamp listen
+to the artless tale: she was shocked to the soul to find how large a
+share La Rue had in the seduction of this amiable girl, and a tear fell,
+when she reflected so vile a woman was now the wife of her father.
+When Charlotte had finished, she gave her a little time to collect her
+scattered spirits, and then asked her if she had never written to her
+friends.
+
+“Oh yes, Madam,” said she, “frequently: but I have broke their hearts:
+they are either dead or have cast me off for ever, for I have never
+received a single line from them.”
+
+“I rather suspect,” said Mrs. Beauchamp, “they have never had your
+letters: but suppose you were to hear from them, and they were willing
+to receive you, would you then leave this cruel Montraville, and return
+to them?”
+
+“Would I!” said Charlotte, clasping her hands; “would not the poor
+sailor, tost on a tempestuous ocean, threatened every moment with
+death, gladly return to the shore he had left to trust to its deceitful
+calmness? Oh, my dear Madam, I would return, though to do it I were
+obliged to walk barefoot over a burning desert, and beg a scanty
+pittance of each traveller to support my existence. I would endure it
+all cheerfully, could I but once more see my dear, blessed mother, hear
+her pronounce my pardon, and bless me before I died; but alas! I shall
+never see her more; she has blotted the ungrateful Charlotte from her
+remembrance, and I shall sink to the grave loaded with her's and my
+father's curse.”
+
+Mrs. Beauchamp endeavoured to sooth her. “You shall write to them
+again,” said she, “and I will see that the letter is sent by the first
+packet that sails for England; in the mean time keep up your spirits,
+and hope every thing, by daring to deserve it.”
+
+She then turned the conversation, and Charlotte having taken a cup of
+tea, wished her benevolent friend a good evening.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+SORROWS OF THE HEART.
+
+WHEN Charlotte got home she endeavoured to collect her thoughts, and
+took up a pen in order to address those dear parents, whom, spite of her
+errors, she still loved with the utmost tenderness, but vain was every
+effort to write with the least coherence; her tears fell so fast
+they almost blinded her; and as she proceeded to describe her unhappy
+situation, she became so agitated that she was obliged to give over the
+attempt and retire to bed, where, overcome with the fatigue her mind had
+undergone, she fell into a slumber which greatly refreshed her, and she
+arose in the morning with spirits more adequate to the painful task she
+had to perform, and, after several attempts, at length concluded the
+following letter to her mother--
+
+TO MRS. TEMPLE. NEW-YORK.
+
+“Will my once kind, my ever beloved mother, deign to receive a letter
+from her guilty, but repentant child? or has she, justly incensed at my
+ingratitude, driven the unhappy Charlotte from her remembrance? Alas!
+thou much injured mother! shouldst thou even disown me, I dare not
+complain, because I know I have deserved it: but yet, believe me, guilty
+as I am, and cruelly as I have disappointed the hopes of the fondest
+parents, that ever girl had, even in the moment when, forgetful of my
+duty, I fled from you and happiness, even then I loved you most, and my
+heart bled at the thought of what you would suffer. Oh! never, never!
+whilst I have existence, will the agony of that moment be erased from my
+memory. It seemed like the separation of soul and body. What can I plead
+in excuse for my conduct? alas! nothing! That I loved my seducer is
+but too true! yet powerful as that passion is when operating in a
+young heart glowing with sensibility, it never would have conquered my
+affection to you, my beloved parents, had I not been encouraged, nay,
+urged to take the fatally imprudent step, by one of my own sex, who,
+under the mask of friendship, drew me on to ruin. Yet think not your
+Charlotte was so lost as to voluntarily rush into a life of infamy; no,
+my dear mother, deceived by the specious appearance of my betrayer, and
+every suspicion lulled asleep by the most solemn promises of marriage,
+I thought not those promises would so easily be forgotten. I never once
+reflected that the man who could stoop to seduction, would not hesitate
+to forsake the wretched object of his passion, whenever his capricious
+heart grew weary of her tenderness. When we arrived at this place, I
+vainly expected him to fulfil his engagements, but was at last fatally
+convinced he had never intended to make me his wife, or if he had once
+thought of it, his mind was now altered. I scorned to claim from his
+humanity what I could not obtain from his love: I was conscious of
+having forfeited the only gem that could render me respectable in the
+eye of the world. I locked my sorrows in my own bosom, and bore my
+injuries in silence. But how shall I proceed? This man, this cruel
+Montraville, for whom I sacrificed honour, happiness, and the love of my
+friends, no longer looks on me with affection, but scorns the credulous
+girl whom his art has made miserable. Could you see me, my dear parents,
+without society, without friends, stung with remorse, and (I feel the
+burning blush of shame die my cheeks while I write it) tortured with the
+pangs of disappointed love; cut to the soul by the indifference of him,
+who, having deprived me of every other comfort, no longer thinks it
+worth his while to sooth the heart where he has planted the thorn of
+never-ceasing regret. My daily employment is to think of you and weep,
+to pray for your happiness and deplore my own folly: my nights are
+scarce more happy, for if by chance I close my weary eyes, and hope
+some small forgetfulness of sorrow, some little time to pass in sweet
+oblivion, fancy, still waking, wafts me home to you: I see your beloved
+forms, I kneel and hear the blessed words of peace and pardon. Extatic
+joy pervades my soul; I reach my arms to catch your dear embraces; the
+motion chases the illusive dream; I wake to real misery. At other times
+I see my father angry and frowning, point to horrid caves, where, on the
+cold damp ground, in the agonies of death, I see my dear mother and my
+revered grand-father. I strive to raise you; you push me from you, and
+shrieking cry--'Charlotte, thou hast murdered me!' Horror and despair
+tear every tortured nerve; I start, and leave my restless bed, weary and
+unrefreshed.
+
+“Shocking as these reflexions are, I have yet one more dreadful than the
+rest. Mother, my dear mother! do not let me quite break your heart when
+I tell you, in a few months I shall bring into the world an innocent
+witness of my guilt. Oh my bleeding heart, I shall bring a poor little
+helpless creature, heir to infamy and shame.
+
+“This alone has urged me once more to address you, to interest you in
+behalf of this poor unborn, and beg you to extend your protection to the
+child of your lost Charlotte; for my own part I have wrote so often, so
+frequently have pleaded for forgiveness, and entreated to be received
+once more beneath the paternal roof, that having received no answer, not
+even one line, I much fear you have cast me from you for ever.
+
+“But sure you cannot refuse to protect my innocent infant: it partakes
+not of its mother's guilt. Oh my father, oh beloved mother, now do I
+feel the anguish I inflicted on your hearts recoiling with double force
+upon my own.
+
+“If my child should be a girl (which heaven forbid) tell her the unhappy
+fate of her mother, and teach her to avoid my errors; if a boy, teach
+him to lament my miseries, but tell him not who inflicted them, lest in
+wishing to revenge his mother's injuries, he should wound the peace of
+his father.
+
+“And now, dear friends of my soul, kind guardians of my infancy,
+farewell. I feel I never more must hope to see you; the anguish of my
+heart strikes at the strings of life, and in a short time I shall be
+at rest. Oh could I but receive your blessing and forgiveness before I
+died, it would smooth my passage to the peaceful grave, and be a blessed
+foretaste of a happy eternity. I beseech you, curse me not, my adored
+parents, but let a tear of pity and pardon fall to the memory of your
+lost
+
+“CHARLOTTE.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+A MAN MAY SMILE, AND SMILE, AND BE A VILLAIN.
+
+WHILE Charlotte was enjoying some small degree of comfort in the
+consoling friendship of Mrs. Beauchamp, Montraville was advancing
+rapidly in his affection towards Miss Franklin. Julia was an amiable
+girl; she saw only the fair side of his character; she possessed an
+independent fortune, and resolved to be happy with the man of her heart,
+though his rank and fortune were by no means so exalted as she had a
+right to expect; she saw the passion which Montraville struggled to
+conceal; she wondered at his timidity, but imagined the distance fortune
+had placed between them occasioned his backwardness, and made every
+advance which strict prudence and a becoming modesty would permit.
+Montraville saw with pleasure he was not indifferent to her, but a
+spark of honour which animated his bosom would not suffer him to take
+advantage of her partiality. He was well acquainted with Charlotte's
+situation, and he thought there would be a double cruelty in forsaking
+her at such a time; and to marry Miss Franklin, while honour, humanity,
+every sacred law, obliged him still to protect and support Charlotte,
+was a baseness which his soul shuddered at.
+
+He communicated his uneasiness to Belcour: it was the very thing this
+pretended friend had wished. “And do you really,” said he, laughing,
+“hesitate at marrying the lovely Julia, and becoming master of her
+fortune, because a little foolish, fond girl chose to leave her friends,
+and run away with you to America. Dear Montraville, act more like a
+man of sense; this whining, pining Charlotte, who occasions you so much
+uneasiness, would have eloped with somebody else if she had not with
+you.”
+
+“Would to heaven,” said Montraville, “I had never seen her; my regard
+for her was but the momentary passion of desire, but I feel I shall love
+and revere Julia Franklin as long as I live; yet to leave poor Charlotte
+in her present situation would be cruel beyond description.”
+
+“Oh my good sentimental friend,” said Belcour, “do you imagine no body
+has a right to provide for the brat but yourself.”
+
+Montraville started. “Sure,” said he, “you cannot mean to insinuate that
+Charlotte is false.”
+
+“I don't insinuate it,” said Belcour, “I know it.”
+
+Montraville turned pale as ashes. “Then there is no faith in woman,”
+ said he.
+
+“While I thought you attached to her,” said Belcour with an air of
+indifference, “I never wished to make you uneasy by mentioning her
+perfidy, but as I know you love and are beloved by Miss Franklin, I was
+determined not to let these foolish scruples of honour step between you
+and happiness, or your tenderness for the peace of a perfidious girl
+prevent your uniting yourself to a woman of honour.”
+
+“Good heavens!” said Montraville, “what poignant reflections does a man
+endure who sees a lovely woman plunged in infamy, and is conscious he
+was her first seducer; but are you certain of what you say, Belcour?”
+
+“So far,” replied he, “that I myself have received advances from her
+which I would not take advantage of out of regard to you: but hang it,
+think no more about her. I dined at Franklin's to-day, and Julia bid
+me seek and bring you to tea: so come along, my lad, make good use of
+opportunity, and seize the gifts of fortune while they are within your
+reach.” Montraville was too much agitated to pass a happy evening even
+in the company of Julia Franklin: he determined to visit Charlotte early
+the next morning, tax her with her falsehood, and take an everlasting
+leave of her; but when the morning came, he was commanded on duty, and
+for six weeks was prevented from putting his design in execution.
+At length he found an hour to spare, and walked out to spend it with
+Charlotte: it was near four o'clock in the afternoon when he arrived at
+her cottage; she was not in the parlour, and without calling the servant
+he walked up stairs, thinking to find her in her bed room. He opened the
+door, and the first object that met his eyes was Charlotte asleep on the
+bed, and Belcour by her side.
+
+“Death and distraction,” said he, stamping, “this is too much. Rise,
+villain, and defend yourself.” Belcour sprang from the bed. The noise
+awoke Charlotte; terrified at the furious appearance of Montraville, and
+seeing Belcour with him in the chamber, she caught hold of his arm as he
+stood by the bed-side, and eagerly asked what was the matter.
+
+“Treacherous, infamous girl,” said he, “can you ask? How came he here?”
+ pointing to Belcour.
+
+“As heaven is my witness,” replied she weeping, “I do not know. I have
+not seen him for these three weeks.”
+
+“Then you confess he sometimes visits you?”
+
+“He came sometimes by your desire.”
+
+“'Tis false; I never desired him to come, and you know I did not: but
+mark me, Charlotte, from this instant our connexion is at an end. Let
+Belcour, or any other of your favoured lovers, take you and provide for
+you; I have done with you for ever.”
+
+He was then going to leave her; but starting wildly from the bed, she
+threw herself on her knees before him, protesting her innocence and
+entreating him not to leave her. “Oh Montraville,” said she, “kill me,
+for pity's sake kill me, but do not doubt my fidelity. Do not leave me
+in this horrid situation; for the sake of your unborn child, oh! spurn
+not the wretched mother from you.”
+
+“Charlotte,” said he, with a firm voice, “I shall take care that neither
+you nor your child want any thing in the approaching painful hour; but
+we meet no more.” He then endeavoured to raise her from the ground;
+but in vain; she clung about his knees, entreating him to believe her
+innocent, and conjuring Belcour to clear up the dreadful mystery.
+
+Belcour cast on Montraville a smile of contempt: it irritated him almost
+to madness; he broke from the feeble arms of the distressed girl; she
+shrieked and fell prostrate on the floor.
+
+Montraville instantly left the house and returned hastily to the city.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+MYSTERY DEVELOPED.
+
+UNFORTUNATELY for Charlotte, about three weeks before this unhappy
+rencontre, Captain Beauchamp, being ordered to Rhode-Island, his lady
+had accompanied him, so that Charlotte was deprived of her friendly
+advice and consoling society. The afternoon on which Montraville had
+visited her she had found herself languid and fatigued, and after making
+a very slight dinner had lain down to endeavour to recruit her exhausted
+spirits, and, contrary to her expectations, had fallen asleep. She
+had not long been lain down, when Belcour arrived, for he took every
+opportunity of visiting her, and striving to awaken her resentment
+against Montraville. He enquired of the servant where her mistress was,
+and being told she was asleep, took up a book to amuse himself: having
+sat a few minutes, he by chance cast his eyes towards the road, and saw
+Montraville approaching; he instantly conceived the diabolical scheme
+of ruining the unhappy Charlotte in his opinion for ever; he therefore
+stole softly up stairs, and laying himself by her side with the greatest
+precaution, for fear she should awake, was in that situation discovered
+by his credulous friend.
+
+When Montraville spurned the weeping Charlotte from him, and left her
+almost distracted with terror and despair, Belcour raised her from
+the floor, and leading her down stairs, assumed the part of a tender,
+consoling friend; she listened to the arguments he advanced with
+apparent composure; but this was only the calm of a moment: the
+remembrance of Montraville's recent cruelty again rushed upon her mind:
+she pushed him from her with some violence, and crying--“Leave me, Sir,
+I beseech you leave me, for much I fear you have been the cause of my
+fidelity being suspected; go, leave me to the accumulated miseries my
+own imprudence has brought upon me.”
+
+She then left him with precipitation, and retiring to her own apartment,
+threw herself on the bed, and gave vent to an agony of grief which it is
+impossible to describe.
+
+It now occurred to Belcour that she might possibly write to Montraville,
+and endeavour to convince him of her innocence: he was well aware of her
+pathetic remonstrances, and, sensible of the tenderness of Montraville's
+heart, resolved to prevent any letters ever reaching him: he therefore
+called the servant, and, by the powerful persuasion of a bribe,
+prevailed with her to promise whatever letters her mistress might write
+should be sent to him. He then left a polite, tender note for Charlotte,
+and returned to New-York. His first business was to seek Montraville,
+and endeavour to convince him that what had happened would ultimately
+tend to his happiness: he found him in his apartment, solitary, pensive,
+and wrapped in disagreeable reflexions.
+
+“Why how now, whining, pining lover?” said he, clapping him on the
+shoulder. Montraville started; a momentary flush of resentment crossed
+his cheek, but instantly gave place to a death-like paleness, occasioned
+by painful remembrance remembrance awakened by that monitor, whom,
+though we may in vain endeavour, we can never entirely silence.
+
+“Belcour,” said he, “you have injured me in a tender point.” “Prithee,
+Jack,” replied Belcour, “do not make a serious matter of it: how could I
+refuse the girl's advances? and thank heaven she is not your wife.”
+
+“True,” said Montraville; “but she was innocent when I first knew her.
+It was I seduced her, Belcour. Had it not been for me, she had still
+been virtuous and happy in the affection and protection of her family.”
+
+“Pshaw,” replied Belcour, laughing, “if you had not taken advantage of
+her easy nature, some other would, and where is the difference, pray?”
+
+“I wish I had never seen her,” cried he passionately, and starting from
+his seat. “Oh that cursed French woman,” added he with vehemence, “had
+it not been for her, I might have been happy--” He paused.
+
+“With Julia Franklin,” said Belcour. The name, like a sudden spark
+of electric fire, seemed for a moment to suspend his faculties--for a
+moment he was transfixed; but recovering, he caught Belcour's hand, and
+cried--“Stop! stop! I beseech you, name not the lovely Julia and
+the wretched Montraville in the same breath. I am a seducer, a mean,
+ungenerous seducer of unsuspecting innocence. I dare not hope that
+purity like her's would stoop to unite itself with black, premeditated
+guilt: yet by heavens I swear, Belcour, I thought I loved the lost,
+abandoned Charlotte till I saw Julia--I thought I never could forsake
+her; but the heart is deceitful, and I now can plainly discriminate
+between the impulse of a youthful passion, and the pure flame of
+disinterested affection.”
+
+At that instant Julia Franklin passed the window, leaning on her uncle's
+arm. She curtseyed as she passed, and, with the bewitching smile of
+modest cheerfulness, cried--“Do you bury yourselves in the house this
+fine evening, gents?” There was something in the voice! the manner! the
+look! that was altogether irresistible. “Perhaps she wishes my company,”
+ said Montraville mentally, as he snatched up his hat: “if I thought she
+loved me, I would confess my errors, and trust to her generosity to pity
+and pardon me.” He soon overtook her, and offering her his arm, they
+sauntered to pleasant but unfrequented walks. Belcour drew Mr. Franklin
+on one side and entered into a political discourse: they walked faster
+than the young people, and Belcour by some means contrived entirely to
+lose sight of them. It was a fine evening in the beginning of autumn;
+the last remains of day-light faintly streaked the western sky, while
+the moon, with pale and virgin lustre in the room of gorgeous gold and
+purple, ornamented the canopy of heaven with silver, fleecy clouds,
+which now and then half hid her lovely face, and, by partly concealing,
+heightened every beauty; the zephyrs whispered softly through the trees,
+which now began to shed their leafy honours; a solemn silence reigned:
+and to a happy mind an evening such as this would give serenity, and
+calm, unruffled pleasure; but to Montraville, while it soothed
+the turbulence of his passions, it brought increase of melancholy
+reflections. Julia was leaning on his arm: he took her hand in his, and
+pressing it tenderly, sighed deeply, but continued silent. Julia was
+embarrassed; she wished to break a silence so unaccountable, but was
+unable; she loved Montraville, she saw he was unhappy, and wished to
+know the cause of his uneasiness, but that innate modesty, which nature
+has implanted in the female breast, prevented her enquiring. “I am bad
+company, Miss Franklin,” said he, at last recollecting himself; “but
+I have met with something to-day that has greatly distressed me, and I
+cannot shake off the disagreeable impression it has made on my mind.”
+
+“I am sorry,” she replied, “that you have any cause of inquietude. I am
+sure if you were as happy as you deserve, and as all your friends wish
+you--” She hesitated. “And might I,” replied he with some animation,
+“presume to rank the amiable Julia in that number?”
+
+“Certainly,” said she, “the service you have rendered me, the knowledge
+of your worth, all combine to make me esteem you.”
+
+“Esteem, my lovely Julia,” said he passionately, “is but a poor cold
+word. I would if I dared, if I thought I merited your attention--but
+no, I must not--honour forbids. I am beneath your notice, Julia, I am
+miserable and cannot hope to be otherwise.” “Alas!” said Julia, “I pity
+you.”
+
+“Oh thou condescending charmer,” said he, “how that sweet word cheers my
+sad heart. Indeed if you knew all, you would pity; but at the same time
+I fear you would despise me.”
+
+Just then they were again joined by Mr. Franklin and Belcour. It had
+interrupted an interesting discourse. They found it impossible to
+converse on indifferent subjects, and proceeded home in silence. At
+Mr. Franklin's door Montraville again pressed Julia's hand, and faintly
+articulating “good night,” retired to his lodgings dispirited and
+wretched, from a consciousness that he deserved not the affection, with
+which he plainly saw he was honoured.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+RECEPTION OF A LETTER.
+
+“AND where now is our poor Charlotte?” said Mr. Temple one evening, as
+the cold blasts of autumn whistled rudely over the heath, and the yellow
+appearance of the distant wood, spoke the near approach of winter. In
+vain the cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, in vain was he surrounded
+by all the comforts of life; the parent was still alive in his heart,
+and when he thought that perhaps his once darling child was ere this
+exposed to all the miseries of want in a distant land, without a friend
+to sooth and comfort her, without the benignant look of compassion to
+cheer, or the angelic voice of pity to pour the balm of consolation on
+her wounded heart; when he thought of this, his whole soul dissolved in
+tenderness; and while he wiped the tear of anguish from the eye of his
+patient, uncomplaining Lucy, he struggled to suppress the sympathizing
+drop that started in his own.
+
+“Oh, my poor girl,” said Mrs. Temple, “how must she be altered, else
+surely she would have relieved our agonizing minds by one line to
+say she lived--to say she had not quite forgot the parents who almost
+idolized her.”
+
+“Gracious heaven,” said Mr. Temple, starting from his seat, “I, who would
+wish to be a father, to experience the agonizing pangs inflicted on a
+parent's heart by the ingratitude of a child?” Mrs. Temple wept: her
+father took her hand; he would have said, “be comforted my child,”
+ but the words died on his tongue. The sad silence that ensued was
+interrupted by a loud rap at the door. In a moment a servant entered
+with a letter in his hand.
+
+Mrs. Temple took it from him: she cast her eyes upon the superscription;
+she knew the writing. “'Tis Charlotte,” said she, eagerly breaking
+the seal, “she has not quite forgot us.” But before she had half gone
+through the contents, a sudden sickness seized her; she grew cold and
+giddy, and puffing it into her husband's hand, she cried--“Read it: I
+cannot.” Mr. Temple attempted to read it aloud, but frequently paused
+to give vent to his tears. “My poor deluded child,” said he, when he had
+finished.
+
+“Oh, shall we not forgive the dear penitent?” said Mrs. Temple. “We
+must, we will, my love; she is willing to return, and 'tis our duty to
+receive her.”
+
+“Father of mercy,” said Mr. Eldridge, raising his clasped hands, “let
+me but live once more to see the dear wanderer restored to her afflicted
+parents, and take me from this world of sorrow whenever it seemeth best
+to thy wisdom.”
+
+“Yes, we will receive her,” said Mr. Temple; “we will endeavour to heal
+her wounded spirit, and speak peace and comfort to her agitated soul. I
+will write to her to return immediately.'
+
+“Oh!” said Mrs. Temple, “I would if possible fly to her, support and
+cheer the dear sufferer in the approaching hour of distress, and tell
+her how nearly penitence is allied to virtue. Cannot we go and conduct
+her home, my love?” continued she, laying her hand on his arm. “My
+father will surely forgive our absence if we go to bring home his
+darling.”
+
+“You cannot go, my Lucy,” said Mr. Temple: “the delicacy of your frame
+would but poorly sustain the fatigue of a long voyage; but I will go and
+bring the gentle penitent to your arms: we may still see many years of
+happiness.”
+
+The struggle in the bosom of Mrs. Temple between maternal and conjugal
+tenderness was long and painful. At length the former triumphed, and she
+consented that her husband should set forward to New-York by the first
+opportunity: she wrote to her Charlotte in the tenderest, most consoling
+manner, and looked forward to the happy hour, when she should again
+embrace her, with the most animated hope.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+WHAT MIGHT BE EXPECTED.
+
+IN the mean time the passion Montraville had conceived for Julia
+Franklin daily encreased, and he saw evidently how much he was beloved
+by that amiable girl: he was likewise strongly prepossessed with an idea
+of Charlotte's perfidy. What wonder then if he gave himself up to the
+delightful sensation which pervaded his bosom; and finding no obstacle
+arise to oppose his happiness, he solicited and obtained the hand of
+Julia. A few days before his marriage he thus addressed Belcour:
+
+“Though Charlotte, by her abandoned conduct, has thrown herself from my
+protection, I still hold myself bound to support her till relieved
+from her present condition, and also to provide for the child. I do not
+intend to see her again, but I will place a sum of money in your hands,
+which will amply supply her with every convenience; but should she
+require more, let her have it, and I will see it repaid. I wish I could
+prevail on the poor deluded girl to return to her friends: she was an
+only child, and I make no doubt but that they would joyfully receive
+her; it would shock me greatly to see her henceforth leading a life of
+infamy, as I should always accuse myself of being the primary cause of
+all her errors. If she should chuse to remain under your protection, be
+kind to her, Belcour, I conjure you. Let not satiety prompt you to treat
+her in such a manner, as may drive her to actions which necessity might
+urge her to, while her better reason disapproved them: she shall never
+want a friend while I live, but I never more desire to behold her; her
+presence would be always painful to me, and a glance from her eye would
+call the blush of conscious guilt into my cheek.
+
+“I will write a letter to her, which you may deliver when I am gone, as
+I shall go to St. Eustatia the day after my union with Julia, who will
+accompany me.”
+
+Belcour promised to fulfil the request of his friend, though nothing
+was farther from his intentions, than the least design of delivering the
+letter, or making Charlotte acquainted with the provision Montraville
+had made for her; he was bent on the complete ruin of the unhappy girl,
+and supposed, by reducing her to an entire dependance on him, to bring
+her by degrees to consent to gratify his ungenerous passion.
+
+The evening before the day appointed for the nuptials of Montraville and
+Julia, the former refired early to his apartment; and ruminating on the
+past scenes of his life, suffered the keenest remorse in the remembrance
+of Charlotte's seduction. “Poor girl,” said he, “I will at least write
+and bid her adieu; I will too endeavour to awaken that love of virtue in
+her bosom which her unfortunate attachment to me has extinguished.” He
+took up the pen and began to write, but words were denied him. How could
+he address the woman whom he had seduced, and whom, though he thought
+unworthy his tenderness, he was about to bid adieu for ever? How should
+he tell her that he was going to abjure her, to enter into the most
+indissoluble ties with another, and that he could not even own the
+infant which she bore as his child? Several letters were begun and
+destroyed: at length he completed the following:
+
+TO CHARLOTTE.
+
+“Though I have taken up my pen to address you, my poor injured girl, I
+feel I am inadequate to the task; yet, however painful the endeavour, I
+could not resolve upon leaving you for ever without one kind line to bid
+you adieu, to tell you how my heart bleeds at the remembrance of what
+you was, before you saw the hated Montraville. Even now imagination
+paints the scene, when, torn by contending passions, when, struggling
+between love and duty, you fainted in my arms, and I lifted you into
+the chaise: I see the agony of your mind, when, recovering, you found
+yourself on the road to Portsmouth: but how, my gentle girl, how could
+you, when so justly impressed with the value of virtue, how could you,
+when loving as I thought you loved me, yield to the solicitations of
+Belcour?
+
+“Oh Charlotte, conscience tells me it was I, villain that I am, who
+first taught you the allurements of guilty pleasure; it was I who
+dragged you from the calm repose which innocence and virtue ever enjoy;
+and can I, dare I tell you, it was not love prompted to the horrid deed?
+No, thou dear, fallen angel, believe your repentant Montraville, when
+he tells you the man who truly loves will never betray the object of his
+affection. Adieu, Charlotte: could you still find charms in a life of
+unoffend-ing innocence, return to your parents; you shall never want the
+means of support both for yourself and child. Oh! gracious heaven!
+may that child be entirely free from the vices of its father and the
+weakness of its mother.
+
+“To-morrow--but no, I cannot tell you what to-morrow will produce;
+Belcour will inform you: he also has cash for you, which I beg you will
+ask for whenever you may want it. Once more adieu: believe me could I
+hear you was returned to your friends, and enjoying that tranquillity of
+which I have robbed you, I should be as completely happy as even you,
+in your fondest hours, could wish me, but till then a gloom will obscure
+the brightest prospects of MONTRAVILLE.”
+
+After he had sealed this letter he threw himself on the bed, and enjoyed
+a few hours repose. Early in the morning Belcour tapped at his door: he
+arose hastily, and prepared to meet his Julia at the altar.
+
+“This is the letter to Charlotte,” said he, giving it to Belcour: “take
+it to her when we are gone to Eustatia; and I conjure you, my dear
+friend, not to use any sophistical arguments to prevent her return to
+virtue; but should she incline that way, encourage her in the thought,
+and assist her to put her design in execution.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+     Pensive she mourn'd, and hung her languid head,
+     Like a fair lily overcharg'd with dew.
+
+CHARLOTTE had now been left almost three months a prey to her own
+melancholy reflexions--sad companions indeed; nor did any one break in
+upon her solitude but Belcour, who once or twice called to enquire after
+her health, and tell her he had in vain endeavoured to bring Montraville
+to hear reason; and once, but only once, was her mind cheered by the
+receipt of an affectionate letter from Mrs. Beauchamp. Often had she
+wrote to her perfidious seducer, and with the most persuasive eloquence
+endeavoured to convince him of her innocence; but these letters were
+never suffered to reach the hands of Montraville, or they must, though
+on the very eve of marriage, have prevented his deserting the wretched
+girl. Real anguish of heart had in a great measure faded her charms, her
+cheeks were pale from want of rest, and her eyes, by frequent, indeed
+almost continued weeping, were sunk and heavy. Sometimes a gleam of hope
+would play about her heart when she thought of her parents--“They cannot
+surely,” she would say, “refuse to forgive me; or should they deny their
+pardon to me, they win not hate my innocent infant on account of its
+mother's errors.” How often did the poor mourner wish for the consoling
+presence of the benevolent Mrs. Beauchamp.
+
+“If she were here,” she would cry, “she would certainly comfort me, and
+sooth the distraction of my soul.”
+
+She was sitting one afternoon, wrapped in these melancholy reflexions,
+when she was interrupted by the entrance of Belcour. Great as the
+alteration was which incessant sorrow had made on her person, she was
+still interesting, still charming; and the unhallowed flame, which had
+urged Belcour to plant dissension between her and Montraville, still
+raged in his bosom: he was determined, if possible, to make her his
+mistress; nay, he had even conceived the diabolical scheme of taking her
+to New-York, and making her appear in every public place where it was
+likely she should meet Montraville, that he might be a witness to his
+unmanly triumph.
+
+When he entered the room where Charlotte was sitting, he assumed
+the look of tender, consolatory friendship. “And how does my lovely
+Charlotte?” said he, taking her hand: “I fear you are not so well as I
+could wish.”
+
+“I am not well, Mr. Belcour,” said she, “very far from it; but the pains
+and infirmities of the body I could easily bear, nay, submit to them
+with patience, were they not aggravated by the most insupportable
+anguish of my mind.”
+
+“You are not happy, Charlotte,” said he, with a look of well-dissembled
+sorrow.
+
+“Alas!” replied she mournfully, shaking her head, “how can I be happy,
+deserted and forsaken as I am, without a friend of my own sex to whom I
+can unburthen my full heart, nay, my fidelity suspected by the very man
+for whom I have sacrificed every thing valuable in life, for whom I have
+made myself a poor despised creature, an outcast from society, an object
+only of contempt and pity.”
+
+“You think too meanly of yourself, Miss Temple: there is no one who
+would dare to treat you with contempt: all who have the pleasure of
+knowing you must admire and esteem. You are lonely here, my dear girl;
+give me leave to conduct you to New-York, where the agreeable society
+of some ladies, to whom I will introduce you, will dispel these sad
+thoughts, and I shall again see returning cheerfulness animate those
+lovely features.”
+
+“Oh never! never!” cried Charlotte, emphatically: “the virtuous part
+of my sex will scorn me, and I will never associate with infamy. No,
+Belcour, here let me hide my shame and sorrow, here let me spend my
+few remaining days in obscurity, unknown and unpitied, here let me die
+unlamented, and my name sink to oblivion.” Here her tears stopped her
+utterance. Belcour was awed to silence: he dared not interrupt her; and
+after a moment's pause she proceeded--“I once had conceived the
+thought of going to New-York to seek out the still dear, though cruel,
+ungenerous Montraville, to throw myself at his feet, and entreat his
+compassion; heaven knows, not for myself; if I am no longer beloved,
+I will not be indebted to his pity to redress my injuries, but I would
+have knelt and entreated him not to forsake my poor unborn--” She could
+say no more; a crimson glow rushed over her cheeks, and covering her
+face with her hands, she sobbed aloud.
+
+Something like humanity was awakened in Belcour's breast by this
+pathetic speech: he arose and walked towards the window; but the selfish
+passion which had taken possession of his heart, soon stifled these
+finer emotions; and he thought if Charlotte was once convinced she had
+no longer any dependance on Montraville, she would more readily throw
+herself on his protection. Determined, therefore, to inform her of all
+that had happened, he again resumed his seat; and finding she began to
+be more composed, enquired if she had ever heard from Montraville since
+the unfortunate recontre in her bed chamber.
+
+“Ah no,” said she. “I fear I shall never hear from him again.”
+
+“I am greatly of your opinion,” said Belcour, “for he has been for some
+time past greatly attached--”
+
+At the word “attached” a death-like paleness overspread the countenance
+of Charlotte, but she applied to some hartshorn which stood beside her,
+and Belcour proceeded.
+
+“He has been for some time past greatly attached to one Miss Franklin, a
+pleasing lively girl, with a large fortune.”
+
+“She may be richer, may be handsomer,” cried Charlotte, “but cannot love
+him so well. Oh may she beware of his art, and not trust him too far as
+I have done.”
+
+“He addresses her publicly,” said he, “and it was rumoured they were
+to be married before he sailed for Eustatia, whither his company is
+ordered.”
+
+“Belcour,” said Charlotte, seizing his hand, and gazing at him
+earnestly, while her pale lips trembled with convulsive agony, “tell me,
+and tell me truly, I beseech you, do you think he can be such a villain
+as to marry another woman, and leave me to die with want and misery in
+a strange land: tell me what you think; I can bear it very well; I
+will not shrink from this heaviest stroke of fate; I have deserved my
+afflictions, and I will endeavour to bear them as I ought.”
+
+“I fear,” said Belcour, “he can be that villain.”
+
+“Perhaps,” cried she, eagerly interrupting him, “perhaps he is married
+already: come, let me know the worst,” continued she with an affected
+look of composure: “you need not be afraid, I shall not send the
+fortunate lady a bowl of poison.”
+
+“Well then, my dear girl,” said he, deceived by her appearance,
+“they were married on Thursday, and yesterday morning they sailed for
+Eustatia.”
+
+“Married--gone--say you?” cried she in a distracted accent, “what
+without a last farewell, without one thought on my unhappy situation!
+Oh Montraville, may God forgive your perfidy.” She shrieked, and Belcour
+sprang forward just in time to prevent her falling to the floor.
+
+Alarming faintings now succeeded each other, and she was conveyed to
+her bed, from whence she earnestly prayed she might never more arise.
+Belcour staid with her that night, and in the morning found her in a
+high fever. The fits she had been seized with had greatly terrified him;
+and confined as she now was to a bed of sickness, she was no longer an
+object of desire: it is true for several days he went constantly to see
+her, but her pale, emaciated appearance disgusted him: his visits became
+less frequent; he forgot the solemn charge given him by Montraville; he
+even forgot the money entrusted to his care; and, the burning blush of
+indignation and shame tinges my cheek while I write it, this disgrace to
+humanity and manhood at length forgot even the injured Charlotte; and,
+attracted by the blooming health of a farmer's daughter, whom he had
+seen in his frequent excursions to the country, he left the unhappy girl
+to sink unnoticed to the grave, a prey to sickness, grief, and penury;
+while he, having triumphed over the virtue of the artless cottager,
+rioted in all the intemperance of luxury and lawless pleasure.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+A TRIFLING RETROSPECT.
+
+“BLESS my heart,” cries my young, volatile reader, “I shall never have
+patience to get through these volumes, there are so many ahs! and
+ohs! so much fainting, tears, and distress, I am sick to death of the
+subject.” My dear, cheerful, innocent girl, for innocent I will
+suppose you to be, or you would acutely feel the woes of Charlotte,
+did conscience say, thus might it have been with me, had not Providence
+interposed to snatch me from destruction: therefore, my lively, innocent
+girl, I must request 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 prosperity, or a continuance in vice, I expect
+not my tale to please, nay, I even expect it will be thrown by with
+disgust. But softly, gentle fair one; I pray you throw it not aside till
+you have perused the whole; mayhap you may find something therein to
+repay you for the trouble. Methinks I see a sarcastic smile sit on your
+countenance.--“And what,” cry you, “does the conceited author suppose
+we can glean from these 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 shame, and by adding art to guilt, obtain the affection
+of a worthy man, and rise to a station where she is beheld with respect,
+and cheerfully received into all companies. What then is the moral
+you would inculcate? Would you wish us to think that a deviation
+from virtue, if covered by art and hypocrisy, is not an object of
+detestation, but on the contrary shall raise us to fame and honour?
+while the hapless girl who falls a victim to her too great sensibility,
+shall be loaded with ignominy and shame?” No, my fair querist, I mean no
+such thing. Remember the endeavours of the wicked are often suffered to
+prosper, that in the end their fall may be attended with more bitterness
+of heart; while the cup of affliction is poured out for wise and
+salutary 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 rise from the heavy,
+painful trial, purified and fit for a mansion in the kingdom of
+eternity.
+
+Yes, my young friends, the tear of compassion shall fall for the fate of
+Charlotte, while the name of La Rue shall be detested and despised. For
+Charlotte, the soul melts with sympathy; for La Rue, it feels nothing
+but horror and contempt. But perhaps your gay hearts would rather
+follow the fortunate Mrs. Crayton through the scenes of pleasure and
+dissipation in which she was engaged, than listen to the complaints
+and miseries of Charlotte. I will for once oblige you; I will for once
+follow her to midnight revels, balls, and scenes of gaiety, for in such
+was she constantly engaged.
+
+I have said her person was lovely; let us add that she was surrounded by
+splendor and affluence, and he must know but little of the world who can
+wonder, (however faulty such a woman's conduct,) at her being followed
+by the men, and her company courted by the women: in short Mrs. Crayton
+was the universal favourite: she set the fashions, she was toasted by
+all the gentlemen, and copied by all the ladies.
+
+Colonel Crayton was a domestic man. Could he be happy with such a woman?
+impossible! Remonstrance was vain: he might as well have preached to the
+winds, as endeavour to persuade her from any action, however ridiculous,
+on which she had set her mind: in short, after a little ineffectual
+struggle, he gave up the attempt, and left her to follow the bent of
+her own inclinations: what those were, I think the reader must have seen
+enough of her character to form a just idea. Among the number who paid
+their devotions at her shrine, she singled one, a young Ensign of mean
+birth, indifferent education, and weak intellects. How such a man came
+into the army, we hardly know to account for, and how he afterwards rose
+to posts of honour is likewise strange and wonderful. But fortune is
+blind, and so are those too frequently who have the power of dispensing
+her favours: else why do we see fools and knaves at the very top of the
+wheel, while patient merit sinks to the extreme of the opposite abyss.
+But we may form a thousand conjectures on this subject, and yet never
+hit on the right. Let us therefore endeavour to deserve her smiles, and
+whether we succeed or not, we shall feel more innate satisfaction, than
+thousands of those who bask in the sunshine of her favour unworthily.
+But to return to Mrs. Crayton: this young man, whom I shall distinguish
+by the name of Corydon, was the reigning favourite of her heart. He
+escorted her to the play, danced with her at every ball, and when
+indisposition prevented her going out, it was he alone who was permitted
+to cheer the gloomy solitude to which she was obliged to confine
+herself. Did she ever think of poor Charlotte?--if she did, my dear
+Miss, it was only to laugh at the poor girl's want of spirit in
+consenting to be moped up in the country, while Montraville was enjoying
+all the pleasures of a gay, dissipated city. When she heard of his
+marriage, she smiling said, so 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 lead to the subject, I think we may as well return to
+the distressed Charlotte, and not, like the unfeeling Mrs. Crayton, shut
+our hearts to the call of humanity.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+WE GO FORWARD AGAIN.
+
+THE strength of Charlotte's constitution combatted against her disorder,
+and she began slowly to recover, though she still laboured under a
+violent depression of spirits: how must that depression be encreased,
+when, upon examining her little store, she found herself reduced to
+one solitary guinea, and that during her illness the attendance of an
+apothecary and nurse, together with many other unavoidable expences,
+had involved her in debt, from which she saw no method of extricating
+herself. As to the faint hope which she had entertained of hearing from
+and being relieved by her parents; it now entirely forsook her, for
+it was above four months since her letter was dispatched, and she had
+received no answer: she therefore imagined that her conduct had either
+entirely alienated their affection from her, or broken their hearts, and
+she must never more hope to receive their blessing.
+
+Never did any human being wish for death with greater fervency or
+with juster cause; yet she had too just a sense of the duties of the
+Christian religion to attempt to put a period to her own existence. “I
+have but to be patient a little longer,” she would cry, “and nature,
+fatigued and fainting, will throw off this heavy load of mortality, and
+I shall be released from all my sufferings.”
+
+It was one cold stormy day in the latter end of December, as Charlotte
+sat by a handful of fire, the low state of her finances not allowing her
+to replenish her stock of fuel, and prudence teaching her to be careful
+of what she had, when she was surprised by the entrance of a farmer's
+wife, who, without much ceremony, seated herself, and began this curious
+harangue.
+
+“I'm come to see if as how you can pay your rent, because as how we hear
+Captain Montable is gone away, and it's fifty to one if he b'ant killed
+afore he comes back again; an then, Miss, or Ma'am, or whatever you may
+be, as I was saying to my husband, where are we to look for our money.”
+
+This was a stroke altogether unexpected by Charlotte: she knew so little
+of the ways of the world that she had never bestowed a thought on the
+payment for the rent of the house; she knew indeed that she owed a
+good deal, but this was never reckoned among the others: she was
+thunder-struck; she hardly knew what answer to make, yet it was
+absolutely necessary that she should say something; and judging of the
+gentleness of every female disposition by her own, she thought the best
+way to interest the woman in her favour would be to tell her candidly to
+what a situation she was reduced, and how little probability there was
+of her ever paying any body.
+
+Alas poor Charlotte, how confined was her knowledge of human nature, or
+she would have been convinced that the only way to insure the friendship
+and assistance of your surrounding acquaintance is to convince them you
+do not require it, for when once the petrifying aspect of distress and
+penury appear, whose qualities, like Medusa's head, can change to stone
+all that look upon it; when once this Gorgon claims acquaintance with
+us, the phantom of friendship, that before courted our notice, will
+vanish into unsubstantial air, and the whole world before us appear a
+barren waste. Pardon me, ye dear spirits of benevolence, whose benign
+smiles and cheerful-giving hand have strewed sweet flowers on many a
+thorny path through which my wayward fate forced me to pass; think not,
+that, in condemning the unfeeling texture of the human heart, I forget
+the spring from whence flow an the comforts I enjoy: oh no! I look up
+to you as to bright constellations, gathering new splendours from the
+surrounding darkness; but ah! whilst I adore the benignant rays that
+cheered and illumined my heart, I mourn that their influence cannot
+extend to all the sons and daughters of affliction.
+
+“Indeed, Madam,” said poor Charlotte in a tremulous accent, “I am at a
+loss what to do. Montraville placed me here, and promised to defray all
+my expenses: but he has forgot his promise, he has forsaken me, and I
+have no friend who has either power or will to relieve me. Let me hope,
+as you see my unhappy situation, your charity--”
+
+“Charity,” cried the woman impatiently interrupting her, “charity
+indeed: why, Mistress, charity begins at home, and I have seven children
+at home, HONEST, LAWFUL children, and it is my duty to keep them; and do
+you think I will give away my property to a nasty, impudent hussey, to
+maintain her and her bastard; an I was saying to my husband the other
+day what will this world come to; honest women are nothing now-a-days,
+while the harlotings are set up for fine ladies, and look upon us no
+more nor the dirt they walk upon: but let me tell you, my fine spoken
+Ma'am, I must have my money; so seeing as how you can't pay it, why you
+must troop, and leave all your fine gimcracks and fal der ralls behind
+you. I don't ask for no more nor my right, and nobody shall dare for to
+go for to hinder me of it.”
+
+“Oh heavens,” cried Charlotte, clasping her hands, “what will become of
+me?”
+
+“Come on ye!” retorted the unfeeling wretch: “why go to the barracks and
+work for a morsel of bread; wash and mend the soldiers cloaths, an cook
+their victuals, and not expect to live in idleness on honest people's
+means. Oh I wish I could see the day when all such cattle were obliged
+to work hard and eat little; it's only what they deserve.”
+
+“Father of mercy,” cried Charlotte, “I acknowledge thy correction just;
+but prepare me, I beseech thee, for the portion of misery thou may'st
+please to lay upon me.”
+
+“Well,” said the woman, “I shall go an tell my husband as how you can't
+pay; and so d'ye see, Ma'am, get ready to be packing away this very
+night, for you should not stay another night in this house, though I was
+sure you would lay in the street.”
+
+Charlotte bowed her head in silence; but the anguish of her heart was
+too great to permit her to articulate a single word.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+                    And what is friendship but a name,
+                       A charm that lulls to sleep,
+                    A shade that follows wealth and fame,
+                       But leaves the wretch to weep.
+WHEN Charlotte was left to herself, she began to think what course she
+must take, or to whom she could apply, to prevent her perishing for
+want, or perhaps that very night falling a victim to the inclemency of
+the season. After many perplexed thoughts, she at last determined to
+set out for New-York, and enquire out Mrs. Crayton, from whom she had no
+doubt but she should obtain immediate relief as soon as her distress was
+made known; she had no sooner formed this resolution than she resolved
+immediately to put it in execution: she therefore wrote the following
+little billet to Mrs. Crayton, thinking if she should have company with
+her it would be better to send it in than to request to see her.
+
+TO MRS. CRAYTON.
+
+“MADAM,
+
+“When we left our native land, that dear, happy land which now contains
+all that is dear to the wretched Charlotte, our prospects were the same;
+we both, pardon me, Madam, if I say, we both too easily followed the
+impulse of our treacherous hearts, and trusted our happiness on a
+tempestuous ocean, where mine has been wrecked and lost for ever;
+you have been more fortunate--you are united to a man of honour and
+humanity, united by the most sacred ties, respected, esteemed, and
+admired, and surrounded by innumerable blessings of which I am bereaved,
+enjoying those pleasures which have fled my bosom never to return; alas!
+sorrow and deep regret have taken their place. Behold me, Madam, a poor
+forsaken wanderer, who has no where to lay her weary head, wherewith to
+supply the wants of nature, or to shield her from the inclemency of the
+weather. To you I sue, to you I look for pity and relief. I ask not to
+be received as an intimate or an equal; only for charity's sweet sake
+receive me into your hospitable mansion, allot me the meanest apartment
+in it, and let me breath out my soul in prayers for your happiness; I
+cannot, I feel I cannot long bear up under the accumulated woes that
+pour in upon me; but oh! my dear Madam, for the love of heaven suffer me
+not to expire in the street; and when I am at peace, as soon I shall be,
+extend your compassion to my helpless offspring, should it please heaven
+that it should survive its unhappy mother. A gleam of joy breaks in on
+my benighted soul while I reflect that you cannot, will not refuse your
+protection to the heart-broken. CHARLOTTE.”
+
+When Charlotte had finished this letter, late as it was in the
+afternoon, and though the snow began to fall very fast, she tied up a
+few necessaries which she had prepared against her expected confinement,
+and terrified lest she should be again exposed to the insults of her
+barbarous landlady, more dreadful to her wounded spirit than either
+storm or darkness, she set forward for New-York.
+
+It may be asked by those, who, in a work of this kind, love to cavil at
+every trifling omission, whether Charlotte did not possess any valuable
+of which she could have disposed, and by that means have supported
+herself till Mrs. Beauchamp's return, when she would have been certain
+of receiving every tender attention which compassion and friendship
+could dictate: but let me entreat these wise, penetrating gentlemen to
+reflect, that when Charlotte left England, it was in such haste that
+there was no time to purchase any thing more than what was wanted
+for immediate use on the voyage, and after her arrival at New-York,
+Montraville's affection soon began to decline, so that her whole
+wardrobe consisted of only necessaries, and as to baubles, with which
+fond lovers often load their mistresses, she possessed not one, except a
+plain gold locket of small value, which contained a lock of her mother's
+hair, and which the greatest extremity of want could not have forced her
+to part with.
+
+I hope, Sir, your prejudices are now removed in regard to the
+probability of my story? Oh they are. Well then, with your leave, I will
+proceed.
+
+The distance from the house which our suffering heroine occupied, to
+New-York, was not very great, yet the snow fen so fast, and the cold so
+intense, that, being unable from her situation to walk quick, she found
+herself almost sinking with cold and fatigue before she reached the
+town; her garments, which were merely suitable to the summer season,
+being an undress robe of plain white muslin, were wet through, and
+a thin black cloak and bonnet, very improper habiliments for such a
+climate, but poorly defended her from the cold. In this situation she
+reached the city, and enquired of a foot soldier whom she met, the way
+to Colonel Crayton's.
+
+“Bless you, my sweet lady,” said the soldier with a voice and look of
+compassion, “I will shew you the way with all my heart; but if you are
+going to make a petition to Madam Crayton it is all to no purpose I
+assure you: if you please I will conduct you to Mr. Franklin's; though
+Miss Julia is married and gone now, yet the old gentleman is very good.”
+
+“Julia Franklin,” said Charlotte; “is she not married to Montraville?”
+
+“Yes,” replied the soldier, “and may God bless them, for a better
+officer never lived, he is so good to us all; and as to Miss Julia, all
+the poor folk almost worshipped her.”
+
+“Gracious heaven,” cried Charlotte, “is Montraville unjust then to none
+but me.”
+
+The soldier now shewed her Colonel Crayton's door, and, with a beating
+heart, she knocked for admission.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+SUBJECT CONTINUED.
+
+WHEN the door was opened, Charlotte, in a voice rendered scarcely
+articulate, through cold and the extreme agitation of her mind, demanded
+whether Mrs. Crayton was at home. The servant hesitated: he knew that
+his lady was engaged at a game of picquet with her dear Corydon,
+nor could he think she would like to be disturbed by a person whose
+appearance spoke her of so little consequence as Charlotte; yet there
+was something in her countenance that rather interested him in her
+favour, and he said his lady was engaged, but if she had any particular
+message he would deliver it.
+
+“Take up this letter,” said Charlotte: “tell her the unhappy writer of
+it waits in her hall for an answer.” The tremulous accent, the tearful
+eye, must have moved any heart not composed of adamant. The man took the
+letter from the poor suppliant, and hastily ascended the stair case.
+
+“A letter, Madam,” said he, presenting it to his lady: “an immediate
+answer is required.”
+
+Mrs. Crayton glanced her eye carelessly over the contents. “What stuff
+is this;” cried she haughtily; “have not I told you a thousand times
+that I will not be plagued with beggars, and petitions from people one
+knows nothing about? Go tell the woman I can't do any thing in it. I'm
+sorry, but one can't relieve every body.”
+
+The servant bowed, and heavily returned with this chilling message to
+Charlotte.
+
+“Surely,” said she, “Mrs. Crayton has not read my letter. Go, my
+good friend, pray go back to her; tell her it is Charlotte Temple who
+requests beneath her hospitable roof to find shelter from the inclemency
+of the season.”
+
+“Prithee, don't plague me, man,” cried Mrs. Crayton impatiently, as the
+servant advanced something in behalf of the unhappy girl. “I tell you I
+don't know her.”
+
+“Not know me,” cried Charlotte, rushing into the room, (for she had
+followed the man up stairs) “not know me, not remember the ruined
+Charlotte Temple, who, but for you, perhaps might still have been
+innocent, still have been happy. Oh! La Rue, this is beyond every thing
+I could have believed possible.”
+
+“Upon my honour, Miss,” replied the unfeeling woman with the utmost
+effrontery, “this is a most unaccountable address: it is beyond my
+comprehension. John,” continued she, turning to the servant, “the
+young woman is certainly out of her senses: do pray take her away, she
+terrifies me to death.”
+
+“Oh God,” cried Charlotte, clasping her hands in an agony, “this is too
+much; what will become of me? but I will not leave you; they shall
+not tear me from you; here on my knees I conjure you to save me from
+perishing in the streets; if you really have forgot me, oh for charity's
+sweet sake this night let me be sheltered from the winter's piercing
+cold.” The kneeling figure of Charlotte in her affecting situation might
+have moved the heart of a stoic to compassion; but Mrs. Crayton remained
+inflexible. In vain did Charlotte recount the time they had known each
+other at Chichester, in vain mention their being in the same ship, in
+vain were the names of Montraville and Belcour mentioned. Mrs. Crayton
+could only say she was sorry for her imprudence, but could not think of
+having her own reputation endangered by encouraging a woman of that kind
+in her own house, besides she did not know what trouble and expense
+she might bring upon her husband by giving shelter to a woman in her
+situation.
+
+“I can at least die here,” said Charlotte, “I feel I cannot long
+survive this dreadful conflict. Father of mercy, here let me finish
+my existence.” Her agonizing sensations overpowered her, and she fell
+senseless on the floor.
+
+“Take her away,” said Mrs. Crayton, “she will really frighten me into
+hysterics; take her away I say this instant.”
+
+“And where must I take the poor creature?” said the servant with a voice
+and look of compassion.
+
+“Any where,” cried she hastily, “only don't let me ever see her again. I
+declare she has flurried me so I shan't be myself again this fortnight.”
+
+John, assisted by his fellow-servant, raised and carried her down
+stairs. “Poor soul,” said he, “you shall not lay in the street this
+night. I have a bed and a poor little hovel, where my wife and her
+little ones rest them, but they shall watch to night, and you shall be
+sheltered from danger.” They placed her in a chair; and the benevolent
+man, assisted by one of his comrades, carried her to the place where his
+wife and children lived. A surgeon was sent for: he bled her, she gave
+signs of returning life, and before the dawn gave birth to a female
+infant. After this event she lay for some hours in a kind of stupor; and
+if at any time she spoke, it was with a quickness and incoherence that
+plainly evinced the total deprivation of her reason.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+REASONS WHY AND WHEREFORE.
+
+THE reader of sensibility may perhaps be astonished to find Mrs. Crayton
+could so positively deny any knowledge of Charlotte; it is therefore but
+just that her conduct should in some measure be accounted for. She had
+ever been fully sensible of the superiority of Charlotte's sense and
+virtue; she was conscious that she had never swerved from rectitude, had
+it not been for her bad precepts and worse example. These were things as
+yet unknown to her husband, and she wished not to have that part of her
+conduct exposed to him, as she had great reason to fear she had already
+lost considerable part of that power she once maintained over him. She
+trembled whilst Charlotte was in the house, lest the Colonel should
+return; she perfectly well remembered how much he seemed interested in
+her favour whilst on their passage from England, and made no doubt, but,
+should he see her in her present distress, he would offer her an asylum,
+and protect her to the utmost of his power. In that case she feared the
+unguarded nature of Charlotte might discover to the Colonel the part
+she had taken in the unhappy girl's elopement, and she well knew the
+contrast between her own and Charlotte's conduct would make the former
+appear in no very respectable light. Had she reflected properly, she
+would have afforded the poor girl protection; and by enjoining her
+silence, ensured it by acts of repeated kindness; but vice in general
+blinds its votaries, and they discover their real characters to the
+world when they are most studious to preserve appearances.
+
+Just so it happened with Mrs. Crayton: her servants made no scruple of
+mentioning the cruel conduct of their lady to a poor distressed
+lunatic who claimed her protection; every one joined in reprobating her
+inhumanity; nay even Corydon thought she might at least have ordered her
+to be taken care of, but he dare not even hint it to her, for he lived
+but in her smiles, and drew from her lavish fondness large sums to
+support an extravagance to which the state of his own finances was very
+inadequate; it cannot therefore be supposed that he wished Mrs. Crayton
+to be very liberal in her bounty to the afflicted suppliant; yet vice
+had not so entirely seared over his heart, but the sorrows of Charlotte
+could find a vulnerable part.
+
+Charlotte had now been three days with her humane preservers, but
+she was totally insensible of every thing: she raved incessantly for
+Montraville and her father: she was not conscious of being a mother, nor
+took the least notice of her child except to ask whose it was, and why
+it was not carried to its parents.
+
+“Oh,” said she one day, starting up on hearing the infant cry, “why, why
+will you keep that child here; I am sure you would not if you knew
+how hard it was for a mother to be parted from her infant: it is like
+tearing the cords of life asunder. Oh could you see the horrid sight
+which I now behold--there there stands my dear mother, her poor bosom
+bleeding at every vein, her gentle, affectionate heart torn in a
+thousand pieces, and all for the loss of a ruined, ungrateful child.
+Save me save me--from her frown. I dare not--indeed I dare not speak to
+her.”
+
+Such were the dreadful images that haunted her distracted mind, and
+nature was sinking fast under the dreadful malady which medicine had
+no power to remove. The surgeon who attended her was a humane man; he
+exerted his utmost abilities to save her, but he saw she was in want of
+many necessaries and comforts, which the poverty of her hospitable host
+rendered him unable to provide: he therefore determined to make her
+situation known to some of the officers' ladies, and endeavour to make a
+collection for her relief.
+
+When he returned home, after making this resolution, he found a message
+from Mrs. Beauchamp, who had just arrived from Rhode-Island, requesting
+he would call and see one of her children, who was very unwell. “I do
+not know,” said he, as he was hastening to obey the summons, “I do not
+know a woman to whom I could apply with more hope of success than Mrs.
+Beauchamp. I will endeavour to interest her in this poor girl's behalf,
+she wants the soothing balm of friendly consolation: we may perhaps save
+her; we will try at least.”
+
+“And where is she,” cried Mrs. Beauchamp when he had prescribed
+something for the child, and told his little pathetic tale, “where is
+she, Sir? we will go to her immediately. Heaven forbid that I should
+be deaf to the calls of humanity. Come we will go this instant.” Then
+seizing the doctor's arm, they sought the habitation that contained the
+dying Charlotte.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+WHICH PEOPLE VOID OF FEELING NEED NOT READ.
+
+WHEN Mrs. Beauchamp entered the apartment of the poor sufferer, she
+started back with horror. On a wretched bed, without hangings and but
+poorly supplied with covering, lay the emaciated figure of what still
+retained the semblance of a lovely woman, though sickness had so altered
+her features that Mrs. Beauchamp had not the least recollection of her
+person. In one corner of the room stood a woman washing, and, shivering
+over a small fire, two healthy but half naked children; the infant
+was asleep beside its mother, and, on a chair by the bed side, stood
+a porrenger and wooden spoon, containing a little gruel, and a tea-cup
+with about two spoonfulls of wine in it. Mrs. Beauchamp had never
+before beheld such a scene of poverty; she shuddered involuntarily, and
+exclaiming--“heaven preserve us!” leaned on the back of a chair ready to
+sink to the earth. The doctor repented having so precipitately brought
+her into this affecting scene; but there was no time for apologies:
+Charlotte caught the sound of her voice, and starting almost out of bed,
+exclaimed--“Angel of peace and mercy, art thou come to deliver me? Oh,
+I know you are, for whenever you was near me I felt eased of half my
+sorrows; but you don't know me, nor can I, with all the recollection I
+am mistress of, remember your name just now, but I know that benevolent
+countenance, and the softness of that voice which has so often comforted
+the wretched Charlotte.”
+
+Mrs. Beauchamp had, during the time Charlotte was speaking, seated
+herself on the bed and taken one of her hands; she looked at her
+attentively, and at the name of Charlotte she perfectly conceived
+the whole shocking affair. A faint sickness came over her. “Gracious
+heaven,” said she, “is this possible?” and bursting into tears, she
+reclined the burning head of Charlotte on her own bosom; and folding her
+arms about her, wept over her in silence. “Oh,” said Charlotte, “you are
+very good to weep thus for me: it is a long time since I shed a tear for
+myself: my head and heart are both on fire, but these tears of your's
+seem to cool and refresh it. Oh now I remember you said you would send
+a letter to my poor father: do you think he ever received it? or perhaps
+you have brought me an answer: why don't you speak, Madam? Does he say I
+may go home? Well he is very good; I shall soon be ready.”
+
+She then made an effort to get out of bed; but being prevented, her
+frenzy again returned, and she raved with the greatest wildness and
+incoherence. Mrs. Beauchamp, finding it was impossible for her to be
+removed, contented herself with ordering the apartment to be made more
+comfortable, and procuring a proper nurse for both mother and child; and
+having learnt the particulars of Charlotte's fruitless application
+to Mrs. Crayton from honest John, she amply rewarded him for his
+benevolence, and returned home with a heart oppressed with many
+painful sensations, but yet rendered easy by the reflexion that she had
+performed her duty towards a distressed fellow-creature.
+
+Early the next morning she again visited Charlotte, and found her
+tolerably composed; she called her by name, thanked her for her
+goodness, and when her child was brought to her, pressed it in her
+arms, wept over it, and called it the offspring of disobedience. Mrs.
+Beauchamp was delighted to see her so much amended, and began to hope
+she might recover, and, spite of her former errors, become an useful and
+respectable member of society; but the arrival of the doctor put an end
+to these delusive hopes: he said nature was making her last effort, and
+a few hours would most probably consign the unhappy girl to her kindred
+dust.
+
+Being asked how she found herself, she replied--“Why better, much
+better, doctor. I hope now I have but little more to suffer. I had last
+night a few hours sleep, and when I awoke recovered the full power of
+recollection. I am quite sensible of my weakness; I feel I have but
+little longer to combat with the shafts of affliction. I have an humble
+confidence in the mercy of him who died to save the world, and trust
+that my sufferings in this state of mortality, joined to my unfeigned
+repentance, through his mercy, have blotted my offences from the sight
+of my offended maker. I have but one care--my poor infant! Father of
+mercy,” continued she, raising her eyes, “of thy infinite goodness,
+grant that the sins of the parent be not visited on the unoffending
+child. May those who taught me to despise thy laws be forgiven; lay not
+my offences to their charge, I beseech thee; and oh! shower the choicest
+of thy blessings on those whose pity has soothed the afflicted heart,
+and made easy even the bed of pain and sickness.”
+
+She was exhausted by this fervent address to the throne of mercy, and
+though her lips still moved her voice became inarticulate: she lay for
+some time as it were in a doze, and then recovering, faintly pressed
+Mrs. Beauchamp's hand, and requested that a clergyman might be sent for.
+
+On his arrival she joined fervently in the pious office, frequently
+mentioning her ingratitude to her parents as what lay most heavy at her
+heart. When she had performed the last solemn duty, and was preparing to
+lie down, a little bustle on the outside door occasioned Mrs. Beauchamp
+to open it, and enquire the cause. A man in appearance about forty,
+presented himself, and asked for Mrs. Beauchamp.
+
+“That is my name, Sir,” said she.
+
+“Oh then, my dear Madam,” cried he, “tell me where I may find my poor,
+ruined, but repentant child.”
+
+Mrs. Beauchamp was surprised and affected; she knew not what to say; she
+foresaw the agony this interview would occasion Mr. Temple, who had just
+arrived in search of his Charlotte, and yet was sensible that the pardon
+and blessing of her father would soften even the agonies of death to the
+daughter.
+
+She hesitated. “Tell me, Madam,” cried he wildly, “tell me, I beseech
+thee, does she live? shall I see my darling once again? Perhaps she is
+in this house. Lead, lead me to her, that I may bless her, and then lie
+down and die.”
+
+The ardent manner in which he uttered these words occasioned him to
+raise his voice. It caught the ear of Charlotte: she knew the beloved
+sound: and uttering a loud shriek, she sprang forward as Mr. Temple
+entered the room. “My adored father.” “My long lost child.” Nature
+could support no more, and they both sunk lifeless into the arms of the
+attendants.
+
+Charlotte was again put into bed, and a few moments restored Mr. Temple:
+but to describe the agony of his sufferings is past the power of
+any one, who, though they may readily conceive, cannot delineate the
+dreadful scene. Every eye gave testimony of what each heart felt--but
+all were silent.
+
+When Charlotte recovered, she found herself supported in her father's
+arms. She cast on him a most expressive look, but was unable to speak.
+A reviving cordial was administered. She then asked in a low voice,
+for her child: it was brought to her: she put it in her father's arms.
+“Protect her,” said she, “and bless your dying--”
+
+Unable to finish the sentence, she sunk back on her pillow: her
+countenance was serenely composed; she regarded her father as he pressed
+the infant to his breast with a steadfast look; a sudden beam of joy
+passed across her languid features, she raised her eyes to heaven--and
+then closed them for ever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+RETRIBUTION.
+
+IN the mean time Montraville having received orders to return to
+New-York, arrived, and having still some remains of compassionate
+tenderness for the woman whom he regarded as brought to shame by
+himself, he went out in search of Belcour, to enquire whether she was
+safe, and whether the child lived. He found him immersed in dissipation,
+and could gain no other intelligence than that Charlotte had left him,
+and that he knew not what was become of her.
+
+“I cannot believe it possible,” said Montraville, “that a mind once so
+pure as Charlotte Temple's, should so suddenly become the mansion of
+vice. Beware, Belcour,” continued he, “beware if you have dared to
+behave either unjust or dishonourably to that poor girl, your life shall
+pay the forfeit:--I will revenge her cause.”
+
+He immediately went into the country, to the house where he had left
+Charlotte. It was desolate. After much enquiry he at length found the
+servant girl who had lived with her. From her he learnt the misery
+Charlotte had endured from the complicated evils of illness, poverty,
+and a broken heart, and that she had set out on foot for New-York, on a
+cold winter's evening; but she could inform him no further.
+
+Tortured almost to madness by this shocking account, he returned to the
+city, but, before he reached it, the evening was drawing to a close.
+In entering the town he was obliged to pass several little huts, the
+residence of poor women who supported themselves by washing the cloaths
+of the officers and soldiers. It was nearly dark: he heard from a
+neighbouring steeple a solemn toll that seemed to say some poor mortal
+was going to their last mansion: the sound struck on the heart of
+Montraville, and he involuntarily stopped, when, from one of the houses,
+he saw the appearance of a funeral. Almost unknowing what he did, he
+followed at a small distance; and as they let the coffin into the grave,
+he enquired of a soldier who stood by, and had just brushed off a tear
+that did honour to his heart, who it was that was just buried. “An
+please your honour,” said the man, “'tis a poor girl that was brought
+from her friends by a cruel man, who left her when she was big with
+child, and married another.” Montraville stood motionless, and the man
+proceeded--“I met her myself not a fortnight since one night all wet and
+cold in the streets; she went to Madam Crayton's, but she would not take
+her in, and so the poor thing went raving mad.” Montraville could bear
+no more; he struck his hands against his forehead with violence; and
+exclaiming “poor murdered Charlotte!” ran with precipitation towards the
+place where they were heaping the earth on her remains. “Hold, hold, one
+moment,” said he. “Close not the grave of the injured Charlotte Temple
+till I have taken vengeance on her murderer.”
+
+“Rash young man,” said Mr. Temple, “who art thou that thus disturbest
+the last mournful rites of the dead, and rudely breakest in upon the
+grief of an afflicted father.”
+
+“If thou art the father of Charlotte Temple,” said he, gazing at
+him with mingled horror and amazement--“if thou art her father--I am
+Montraville.” Then falling on his knees, he continued--“Here is my
+bosom. I bare it to receive the stroke I merit. Strike--strike now, and
+save me from the misery of reflexion.”
+
+“Alas!” said Mr. Temple, “if thou wert the seducer of my child, thy own
+reflexions be thy punishment. I wrest not the power from the hand of
+omnipotence. Look on that little heap of earth, there hast thou buried
+the only joy of a fond father. Look at it often; and may thy heart feel
+such true sorrow as shall merit the mercy of heaven.” He turned from
+him; and Montraville starting up from the ground, where he had thrown
+himself, and at that instant remembering the perfidy of Belcour, flew
+like lightning to his lodgings. Belcour was intoxicated; Montraville
+impetuous: they fought, and the sword of the latter entered the heart
+of his adversary. He fell, and expired almost instantly. Montraville had
+received a slight wound; and overcome with the agitation of his mind and
+loss of blood, was carried in a state of insensibility to his distracted
+wife. A dangerous illness and obstinate delirium ensued, during which
+he raved incessantly for Charlotte: but a strong constitution, and
+the tender assiduities of Julia, in time overcame the disorder. He
+recovered; but to the end of his life was subject to severe fits of
+melancholy, and while he remained at New-York frequently retired to the
+church-yard, where he would weep over the grave, and regret the untimely
+fate of the lovely Charlotte Temple.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+CONCLUSION.
+
+SHORTLY after the interment of his daughter, Mr. Temple, with his
+dear little charge and her nurse, set forward for England. It would be
+impossible to do justice to the meeting scene between him, his Lucy, and
+her aged father. Every heart of sensibility can easily conceive their
+feelings. After the first tumult of grief was subsided, Mrs. Temple
+gave up the chief of her time to her grand-child, and as she grew up and
+improved, began to almost fancy she again possessed her Charlotte.
+
+It was about ten years after these painful events, that Mr. and Mrs.
+Temple, having buried their father, were obliged to come to London on
+particular business, and brought the little Lucy with them. They had
+been walking one evening, when on their return they found a poor
+wretch sitting on the steps of the door. She attempted to rise as they
+approached, but from extreme weakness was unable, and after several
+fruitless efforts fell back in a fit. Mr. Temple was not one of those
+men who stand to consider whether by assisting an object in distress
+they shall not inconvenience themselves, but instigated by the impulse
+of a noble feeling heart, immediately ordered her to be carried into the
+house, and proper restoratives applied.
+
+She soon recovered; and fixing her eyes on Mrs. Temple, cried--“You know
+not, Madam, what you do; you know not whom you are relieving, or you
+would curse me in the bitterness of your heart. Come not near me, Madam,
+I shall contaminate you. I am the viper that stung your peace. I am the
+woman who turned the poor Charlotte out to perish in the street. Heaven
+have mercy! I see her now,” continued she looking at Lucy; “such, such
+was the fair bud of innocence that my vile arts blasted ere it was half
+blown.”
+
+It was in vain that Mr. and Mrs. Temple intreated her to be composed and
+to take some refreshment. She only drank half a glass of wine; and then
+told them that she had been separated from her husband seven years,
+the chief of which she had passed in riot, dissipation, and vice, till,
+overtaken by poverty and sickness, she had been reduced to part with
+every valuable, and thought only of ending her life in a prison; when a
+benevolent friend paid her debts and released her; but that her illness
+increasing, she had no possible means of supporting herself, and her
+friends were weary of relieving her. “I have fasted,” said she, “two
+days, and last night lay my aching head on the cold pavement: indeed it
+was but just that I should experience those miseries myself which I had
+unfeelingly inflicted on others.”
+
+Greatly as Mr. Temple had reason to detest Mrs. Crayton, he could not
+behold her in this distress without some emotions of pity. He gave her
+shelter that night beneath his hospitable roof, and the next day got her
+admission into an hospital; where having lingered a few weeks, she died,
+a striking example that vice, however prosperous in the beginning, in
+the end leads only to misery and shame.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Charlotte Temple, by Susanna Rowson
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