Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 81) (1881 05 31)
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The Only Young Ladies’ Library of First-Class Copyright Novels Published! Price, but 5 cents each. ° Ys, 40} an pails / 7-8 TINT RURWA AEN OP Bath | et ALD ot at : ir af st i Ka nd $2.50 a year. Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., at Second Class Mail Rates. Copyrighted in 1881 by BEADLE AND AMS. May 31, 1881. a ED No. 81. VoL. IV. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY BEADLE AND ADAMS, 98 WILLIAM ST., N. y. PRICE, 5 CENTS . THE HEROIWE, . 4 | lh “Binding up gid Blandford’s leg, ma’am,” said the kind-hearted Cy a | young creature, looking up in the face of the person hy aie wet to her. At the same time, rising upon one knee, she rested the Mes a ee aot oo! bd o8 >was there no one’ Bit ?you,” Miss Blakeney, who-could perform hig Wier’, YG” Weld Mina Cavendish to wlovely’'} S4 dis nok thik any deorndation Sa here ‘said Miss Cavendish, to a lovely “not: it any degradation,” replied Lu ‘to perform an | as} Gieet ort * i ‘Of kindgess to fellow-creature ; but Uhave done’now continued te tag ytaaled about ve idee mn Bovhamp = wine the pergeant 0d right onl pe her bonnes shire. ee | ee | thro her ent, she : there, child?” she said, in a rather sharp tone, | Miss Cavendish’s arm, and they proceeded to the house of the rector of 4
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2 “There! Mr. Matthews,” exclaimed the lady on entering the parlor, ‘‘ there! I have brought home Miss Blakeney, and where do you think I found her, and how employed dd ‘“Where you found her,” replied Mr. Mat- thews, smiling, ‘‘I will not pretend to say, for she isa sad rambler. But I dare be bound that you did not find her either foolishly or improp- erly employed.” “T found her in old Blandford’s cottage, swathing up his lame leg.” “And how, m madam,” inquired Mr. Matthews, ‘‘ could innocence be better employ- ed than in administering to the comforts of the defender of his country?” ‘* Well—well, you always think her right, but we shall hear what my sister says to it. Mrs. Matthews, do you approve of a young lady of rank and fortune maki g herself familiar wae. ve the beggars and low people in the ‘By no means,” said the stately Mrs. Mat- thews, ‘‘and I am astonished that Miss Blak- eney has not a higher sense of propriety and her own consequence.” “Dear me, ma’am,” interrupted Lucy, “it ‘was to make myself of consequence that I did it, for Lady Mary here, at home, says I’m no- body, an insignificant Miss Mushroom, but Ser- ant Blandford calls me ‘his guardian angel, is comfort,’ and I’m sure those are titles of consequence,” * Bless me,” said Miss Cavendish, ‘‘ what ple- beian ideas the girl has imbibed; it is lucky for be: child, that you were so early removed rom those people.” | ‘*T hope, madame,” replied Lucy, ‘‘ you do not mean to say it was fortunate for me that I was so early deprived of the protection of my dear grandfather? Alas! it was a heavy day for me; he taught me that the only way to be- come of real consequence is to be useful to my fellow-creatures.” Lucy put her hand before her eyes to hide the tears she could not restrain, and courtesying tfully to Mr. Matthews, his wife and sister, she left the room. ‘“ Well, I protest, sister,” said Miss Cavendish, “that is the most extraordin girl I ever knew; with a vast number of low ideas and habits, she can sometimes assume the hauteur and air of a duchess. In whata r ful yet independent manner she went out of the room.” Mrs. Matthews was too much irritated to reply with calmness; she therefore wisely continued . silent. Mr. Matthews was silent from a different cause, and supper being soon after announced, the whole family went into the lor; Lucy had dried her tears, and with a placid counte- nance seated herself by her reverend friend, Mr. Matthews. ‘You, I hope, are not angry with me?” said she, wit iar emphasis. “No, my child,” he replied, pressing the hand she had laid upon his arm, “no, Iam not angry, but my little Lucy.must remember that she is now advancing toward womanhood, and that it is not always safe, or perfectly Lest to be rambling about in the dusk of the even ‘without a companion.” “Then if you say so, sir, I will never do it again; but indeed you do not know how happy my visits make old Mr. Blandford; you know. sir, he is very poor; so would no go with meif 1 asked her; and he is very lame, and if Aura went with me she is such a mad-ca perhaps she might la at him; besides when ; jhews to let me walk with her, can not “T did not mean to offend,” said wey *No, I am sure you did not,” said Mr. Mat- thews, ‘‘and so let us eat supper, for when a. man or woman, sister, is turned sixty, they may be termed old, without much exaggera- tion or the smallest breach of politeness.” But the reader will perhaps like to be intro- duced to the several this family. _ CHAPTER II. "i THE LITTLE HEIRESS, AND THE MASTER OF THE _ Luvox BLAKENEY j "had, from her lest in-. eee barman had a an za ral that “who. compose | _ » tinetu kg | Se LUCY TEMPLE. —_—— —— life at the expense of her own, and Captain Blakeney, of the navy, having been her god- father, she was ba tized by the name of Blake- ney in addition to her own family name. aptain Blakeney was the intimate friend of her grandfather, he had loved her mother as his own child, and dying a bachelor when Lucy was ten year's old, he left her the whole of the property he had acquired during the war which ad given to the United States of America rank and consequence among the nations of the earth; and during which period he had been fortunate in taking prizes, so that at the time of his death his. property amounted to more than twenty thousand pounds sterling. This he bequeathed to his little favorite on condition that she took the name and bore the arms of Blakeney ; podoed,.sbe had never been called by any other name; assumption should be legally authorized, and a further condition was, that whoever married her should change his own family name to that of Blakeney ; but, on failure of this, the original sum was to go to inerease the pensions of the widows of officers of the ny d ying in actual service, Lucy only retaining the interest which might have accumulated during her minority. About two years after this rich bequest, Lucy literally became an orphan by the death of ‘both her grand nts, within a few months of each other. She inherited from her grand- father a handsome patrimony, enough to sup- port and educate her in a very superior style, without infringing on the uest of Captain Blakeney, the interest of which, yearly ac- cumulating, would make her by the time she was twenty-one, a splendid heiress. The reverend Mr, Matthews had lived in habits of intimacy with both the grandfather of Lucy and Captain Blakeney, though consider- ably younger than either; he was nominated her A gph in conjunction with Sir Robert Ainslie, a banker in London, a man of strict petty, to whom the management of her ortune was intrusted. To Mr. Matthews the care of her person was vw yma he had promised her grandfather e should reside constantly in his family, and under his eye receive instructions in the accomplishments bécoming the rank she would most probably fill'in society, from the best masters; while the cultivation of her mental powers, the formation of her moral and religious character, and the correction of those errin propensities which are the sad inheritance o all the sons and daughters of Adam, he solemn- ly Ps mised should be his own peculiar care. . Matthews was, what every minister of the gospel should be, the profound scholar, the finished gentleman, and the sincere, devout Christian. Plain and unaffected in his address to his parishioners on the Sabbath day, or an day set apart for devotional exercises, he at other times exemp! his own conduct the ety and pure morality he had from the pulpit orcibly recommended to others. ~ Liberal as far as bis cireumstances would al- low, without ostentation; strictly economical, without meanness; conscientiou y pious, with- out bigotry or intolerance; mild of temper, meek and gentle in his demeanor, he kept his eye steadily fixed on his Divine Master, and in rfect humility of spirit endeavored, as far as uman nature permits, to tread in His steps. Alfred Matthews was the youngest son of a youbasr branch of an honorable but reduced ‘amily; he received his early education in Eton, on the foundation, from whence he removed to where he finished his studies and received the honors of the univel ; his moral character, steady deportment and literary abil- ities had raised him so high in the esteem of the heads of the college, that he was recom- mended as private tutor, and afterward became ka companion to the young Earl of Hart- ford and his brother, Lord John Milcombe, Returning from this tour, he, fora consider- able time, became ry open § as domestic-chap-- lain in the family of the ear. The nobleman had two sisters, the children of his mother by a former marriage, both by sev- eral years his seniors. The elder, Phili was of a serious cast, accomplished, sensible and well-inform easing in her person and ep- i in “2 manners. Constantina, the ie way tes ened 8 ut the will required that the. | sum) his each. ‘ing, hews v¥ si ‘an acceptable companion, and from the society of both he reaped the most unaffected pleasure. He admired their talents and esteemed their virtues; but his heart felt no warmer sentiment, till from several concurring circumstances he could not but perceive that the amiable Philip- pa evinced a tenderer attachment than her sister. On some subjects she could never converse with him without hesitation and blushes, while er pam was easy and unembarrassed on all ics. his discovery at once awakened his grati- tude, but honor told him that the sister of his tron was in too elevated a station for him to to obtain her brother’s consent to their union; he, therefore, requested permission to retire from the family. “T am sorry to lose you from our family cir- cle, Mr. Matthews,” said the earl, when he men- tioned his desire; ‘‘but it is natural that you should wish to have a fireside of your own, and as it is probable that you may also wish for a companion to make the fireside cheerful, I must beg you to. accept the rectory of L——, which, has ately become vacant, and is in my gift, until something better can be offered.” very- thing being arranged for his leaving the family, it was mentioned the next evening at supper. Philippa felt her color vary, but she neither looked up nor spoke; Constantina, “sage ry at ward him, with vivacity, inquired: ‘How long he had taken the whim of keeping bache- lor’s hall, though I beg your pardon for the suggestion,” said she, ‘‘Perbaps some fair y ”—here she stopped, for Philippa’s agitation was evident, and Constantina perceived that her brother noticed it. - When the ladies had retired, the earl sudden- ly addressed his friend: “Tf [am not very much. mistaken, Mr. Mat- thews, one of my sisters would have no objec- tion to break in upon your bachelor scheme. Come, be candid, is the inclination mutual?’ “ft hope, my lord,” replied Mr. Matthews, ‘* that you do not suspect me of the presump- tion. ‘*T see no presumption in it, my friend,” re- plied the earl; ‘‘your family, your education, your talents set you on an equality with any woman, and though Philippa is not rich, yet her fortune and your incom® from the rectory will mony the comforts, conveniences and many of the elegancies of life.” The conversation continued till the hour of repose, when, after taking counsel of his pillow. Mr. Matthews resolved to solicit the favor Miss Cavendish, and proved a successful wooer. A few months after, he became master of the rectory—had a fireside of his own, and an ami- able companion to render that fireside cheerful. In the course of twenty years many changes had taken place; the Earl of Hartford had mar- ried a vee beautiful but dissipated woman, who, though she brought him a very small for- tune, knew extremely well how to make use of pe and to diffuse its benefits in a most elegant and fashionable style. Her profusion knew no bounds, and the earl being taken off mS rapid fever, his affairs were found in so. embarrassed a state that his sisters’ fortunes, which had never been paid, though they had regularly re- ceived the interest, were reduced to less than half their original value, which was twenty thousand pounds. ‘ith this coumpesanrely small portion, Mrs. Matthews and Miss Con- stantina Cavendish were obliged to be content. Mr. Matthews continued rector of L——, but no change of circumstances could lead him to accept a plurality of livings. It was a point of conscience with him to t for no more duty than he was able pe himself, and a8 as he was not able to stipend, he aed ' stantina ar ith him on the subject, as she perform all offices of the rectorship himself, when he might have a curate who would think himself wel by fifty pounds a year. “T should for doing? Eve’ gentleman, ‘and one minister of the cushions, rolling in think it highly disgraceful for 1 to 04 urttng torwaad fied *
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LUCY TEMPLE. CHAPTER Ii. THE THREE ORPHANS. Wx have already announced Lucy Blakeney, and if what has been said does not give a competent idea of her character, we must leave it to time to develop. As to her person, it was of the middle size, perfectly well-proportioned, and her figure and limbs had that roundness, which, in the eye of an artist, constitutes beauty. Her complexion was rather fair than dark, her eyes open, large, full hazel, her hair light brown and her face animated with the glow of health and the smile of good humor. Lady Mary Luiley had lost her mother a few years previous to the commencement of our story. She was an only child, and had beeh indulged toa degree of criminality by this dotingly-fond but weak mother, so that she had reached her sixteenth year without having had one idea impressed upon either head or heart that could in the least qualify her for rational society, or indeed, for any society but such as her fancy had created, from an indiscriminate pe- rusal of every work of fiction that issued from the press. Her father died when she was an infant; his estate, which had never been adequate to his expenses, pass- ing with the title to a male branch of the family, her mother retired to her jointure house in Lancashire. Il health secluded her from company, and finding her dear Mary averse to study, she sought, in a gov- erness for her daughter, more an easy companion for herself, than a conscientious, able instructress for her child) The common elements of education, read- ing, writing, and English grammar, a little dancing, a little music, and a flirting knowledge of the French language, constituted the whole of her accomplish- ments, when, at the death of her mother, the ard- ian to whom the care of her little fortune had heen intrusted entreated Mrs. Matthews to receive her into her family. There was some relationship in the case, and Miss Cavendish thinking that, with her romantic ideas and uninformed mind, a boarding-school, such as her in- come could afford, would not be a proper asylum for her, oe atas on her sister to accede to the pro- posa! When scarcely past the age of childhood, or, indeed, infancy, she had been allowed to sit beside her mother while the tale of misfortune, of love, or folly was read aloud by the governess, and — possessed of a quick oA ae strong sensibility, and a fertile imagination, she peopled the world, to which she was in effect a stranger, with lords and ladies, distressed beauties and adoring lovers, to the absolute exclusion of every natural character, every rational idea, and truly moral or Christian-like feeling. ' Wealth and titles which were sure to be hea: on the hero or heroine of the tale at last, she considered as the ultimatum of all sublunary good. Her mother had been a woman of high rank, but gmall fortune; she had, therefore among other weak prejudices, imbibed a strong predilection in favor of ancient nobility, and not to have a particle of ancient blood in one’s veins was, in her opinion, to be quite insignificant. This orphan of quality was as handsome as flaxen hair, light eyebrows, fair skin, blooming cheeks, and sarge, dreamy blue eyes could make her, he features of her face were perfectly regular, Dut there was no expression in them; her smile was the smile of innocence, but it was also the smile of vacancy. She was tall, her limbs were long, and her figure flat pgs Boney yet she thought herself a perfect model for @ statue, Her temper was naturally good, but the overween- ing pride and morbid sensibility which were the fruits of the imprudent system of her education, ren- dered her quick to take offence where no offence was meant, and nct unfrequently bathed her in tears without any real cause, At the period when we introduce her to our read- ers she was nearly seventeen years old, and had been uncer the care of Mr. Matthews for the last four years. Aura Melville completed the trio of fair orphans. Aura was the only child of a poor cle an to whom Mr. Matthews had been, during along and painful illness, an undeviating friend; she was ten years old when death released her father from a state of suffering—her mother had been dead several years previous to this’ event. It was an evening towards the end of J uly, the pale light of a moon just entered on its second quarter shone faintly into the chamber of the feeble invalid, ad been confined for more »} chamber to which he h the casement was open, and the chan eight months; through the blooming jessa- evening breeze passin mine that climbed the thatch of the humble cot wafted its ee earns to cool the hectie cheek of the almost exp’ : He was sé Mr. Matthews by hhis side, and the little Aura on a cushion at his feet. “how beautifully maaan a oe but please our good God to maké you well ‘ Ve pressed her hand, Mr. Matthews felt the of sensibility erinets his eye, but neither of them e. } 16 child both of them remain silent, con- @ alt ey PR Rha I eeraainiy shall not do at or unadvisedly lavished away. It might rescue same suffering individuals from absolute want.” “Yes, sir, it is for that I want it; I know you will let me have it.’’ “Tam not quite so sure about that. But come Mary Lumly,” for so the good man was wont to call her when he was pleased with her, ‘‘ come, draw nigh and take your tea, after which you shall tell your story, and to-morrow morning we will see what can be done.” **To-morrow! sir, to-morrow!” exclaimed she, wild- ly, ** Fo-mogrow it may be too late; they are suffer- ing the extremity of want, and are you so cold-heart- ed as to talk of to-morrow?” » Miss Blakeney and Aura Melville exchanged looks age each other. Mr. Matthews sat down and began is tea, 3 “You must permit me to tell you, Lady Mary Lumly,”’ said Miss Cavendish, in her stately manner, ‘that this is very unbecoming behavior. You call it, no doubt, sensibility, but you give it too dignified aname. It is an affectation of fine feeling. It arises more from a wish to display your own humanity, than from genuine sympathy. The heart has little to do with it. You have spoken rudely to my brother Matthews; he, worthy man, knows what true sensibility is, and is actuated OF its dictates, though you, disrespectful girl, have called him celd- hearted.” Resentment at being spoken to in so plain a style, soon dried Lady Mary’s tears. She seated herself at the tea-table, took her cup, played with her spoon, poured the tea into the sau- cer, then back into the cup; in short, did everything but drink it. The tea-service removed, Mr. Matthews said: “Come hither, Mary Lumly, and now let us hear your tragical tale.” Lady Mary’s excessive enthusiasm had by this time considerably abated, but she felt somewhat be raid at the plain, well-meant reproof of Miss Cav- e 9 However, she seated herself on the sofa beside Mr. Matthews, and, ina conciliatory tone, began: “T am afraid that I have not been so respectful as I ought to be, sir, but my feelings ran away with me. “Your im tuosity, you should say child,’’ inter- rupted Miss Cavendish. y Mary colored highly. “The evening is really very fine,” said the rector. me, , you and I will goand i : t *Co Mary d I will d inhale he sweets of the flowers;” then drawing her arm under his, he led her into the garden. “So you have been taking a ramble with Miss Bren- ton this afternoon?” “Yes, sir, and we went further than we intended, for we went Scape the little copse, and took a path which neither of us had any knowledge of, and having walked a considerable way without any house, or meeting any one, we began of T think i Ma * nk you were ve mprudent, 5; you might have encountered ill-bred clowns, or pea ed phone who would have insulted you.” tah know it, sir, but Iam very glad I went, for all “T hope you will be better, a great deal better, be- fore next new moon.” *“T shall be well, quite wellin avery little time,”’ said her father, *‘ for before this moon is at the fuil I shall be at rest. . ** You will rest a good deal before that, I hope,”’ said she, with tender simplicity; then pausing a mo- ment, she sprang up, and throwing her arms around his neck, she exclaimed: “‘ Ah! I understand you now, Oh, my own déar papa! what will become of Aura? Oh, my good God! if it please you to let me die with my papa; for when he is gone there will be no one to love or care for poor Aura.” Her sobs impeded further ugterance—Melville had a the interesting child“in his arms, his head sunk on her shoulder, her cheek rested on his. Mr. Matthews, fearing that this tender scene would be too much for his debilitated frame, went towards corre and endeavored to withdraw her from his em- race, At the slightest effort her arms relaxed their hold, his head was raised from her shoulder, but instantly falling back against the chair, Mr. Matthews, shocked to the very soul, perceived that Aura was an orphan. The poor child’s anguish, when she discovered the truth, is not to be described. “She shall never want a protector,’ said he; men- tally, as he was leading her from the house of death te his own mansion. ‘*Philippa,”’ said he, presenting Aura. to his wife, ** Providence has sent us a daughter; be a mother to her, my dearcompanion, love her, correct her, teach id to be like yourself; she will then be most estima- e.* Mrs. Matthews, with all her family pride, possessed a kind and feeling heart; that heart loved most ten- derly Alfred Matthews—could she do otherwise than comply with his request? She took the poor girl to her bosom, and though she experienced not the most tender affection, yet Aura Melville found in her all the care and solicitude of a mother. Her father had laid a good foundation in her in- nocent mind, and Mr. Matthews carefully completed the education he had begun, and at the age of nine- teen, the period when first she appears in our pages, she was a ae well-informed woman; highly polished in her manners, yet without one showy ac- complishment. She knew enough of music to enjoy and under- stand its simple beauties, but she performed on no instrument. She moved gracefully, and could, if called upon join a cotillion or contra-dance, without distressing others; her understanding was of the highest order, and so well cultivated that she could converse with sense and propriety on almost any subject. Yet unobtrusive, modest and humble, she was silent and retired unless called forth by the voice of kindness and encouragement. She was beloved by the family; industrious, discreet, cheerful, good hu- mored, er aia to her benefactors, and contented with her lot; she won the regard, and, without exact- ing it, gained the respect of all who knew her, CHAPTER IV. ROMANCE, PIETY, SENSIBILITY, * How so?” “Why, just as we began to feel a little frightened, we heard a child cry, and following the sound, we came toa very wretched hovel, for it could not be called even a cot' . At the door sat a child about four years old, crying. ‘What is the matter, child?’ said Miss Brenton, ‘Mammy is sick, and granny fell out of her chair, and daddy ain’t home yet.’ We. both of us, were in the hut in a moment; oh, dear sirt I never shall forget it. On the bed, as they called it, but it was only straw laid upon a kind of a shelf made of boards and covered with a ragged blanket, so dirty that I was almost afraid to go near it, and—and on this wretched bed lay a poor, pale woman with little, very little baby on her arm. Luoy, after the gentle reproof she received from Mr. Matthews, was careful not to go out in the even- ing without a companion. She frequently visited the cottages of the poor class of industrious peasants, and as her allowance for clothes and pocket money was liberal and her habits by no means expensive, she had many opportunities of relieving the distress- es of some and adding tothe comforts of others. Sometimes she would tempt Lady Mary to ramble with her, but that young lady but little understood the common incidents of life, and even had she com- rehended them ever so well, she was so thoughtless in her Se Serpe vem for dress and trifles, that she sel- dom anything to bestow. Aura Melville was therefore her usual] associate and adviser in these visits of charity. Her bosom sympathized in their sufferings, and her judgment suggested the relief likely to be of most benefit. One evening Lady ore been walking with a young lady in the neighborhood, whose tastes and eelings resembled her own, when, just as the family were preparing to take their tea, she rushed into the parlor in a flood of tears, pany Mo, ‘Oh, my dear sir! my kind Mr. thews, if you do not help me I shall lose my senses.” ‘How, my dear?”’ said he, enti the seat on which she had thrown he an attitude of the utmost distress. : ; ‘Oh, sir!” said she, sobbing, ‘I must have. five guineas directly, for 1 wan so many things when you paid me my last allowance, that I have not guinea left.” ‘lam sorry for that,” replied Mr. Matthews, “ for you know that it will be six weeks before another paymentis due.” * Oh, yes, I know that, but I thought you would be }, so das to lend it to me on this very—very urgent eqension,” patie | pie that she was afraid of contracting And, pray, what may the very—very urgent occa- ous disorder.” , : sion be?” asked he, — acing @ chair near eee eee pet eaarets for I suppose she ram i away and : ; “Yes, she Lady Mary’s lip quivered; Mr. Mathews pressed her hand and said: “But the poor old granny? You have not told. me about her.”’ ‘She had been up all the precedin ht with her daughter, and not having any help a om or much nourishment I believe; she had fainted fell out of her chair; the little girl, whose had brought us to the place, had ran out in - but when we entered the house, the old woman ha recovered, and was sitting, pale as a ghost and unable to > by the handful of fire, over which hung oe Why, this is a most deplorable tale, my dear “Why, L to give h EN tea po ag Pe you. 8 nod rest of the were now waiting. mer oaambt pray i I cannot, sir,” she replied, with a hysterical eos, Loandonsthing till you com- child. 1} a eam ccamang of it. Hive guineas, Lady 7 is a considerable suza; it should be hastily - sick woman with the iy ream teeta man with rl came in; he went to sick wo- how ta greet said ‘eve did, and then supper?’ ‘Yes, got summat for ye, John, which said: ‘ ioShime tagthiog “A
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LUCY TEMPLE. Christian man gave me this morn.’ She then opened the pot, took out a small piece of meat and two or three turnips, and said: ‘There, John, is a nice iece of mutton, and Sally has supped a little of the roth. Oh! ’twas a great comfort to her; and here, dears,’ taking up some of the water in which the meat had been boiled, in porringers, ‘here’s a nice supper for ye all.’ . She then gave the children each a piece of bread so black that I ran out of the place, ashame that my curiosity had kept me there so long, when I had so little to give.” ‘*It was not curiosity, Mary, it was a better feel- ing; but had you been mistress of five guineas, and had them in your purse at that moment, would you have given them?” “Oh! yes; ten, if I could have commanded them; but now, sir, that you know the whole, you will, lam sure, lend me the money.” « ‘* We will see about it to-morrow; your crown will, for the present, provide a few necessaries, so rest in quiet, my good girl, for believe me the bit of boiled mutton and turnips. were heartily relished by the man; and the water, as you call it; the children, who, I suppose, had been out at-work all day, ate with a keener appetite than you would have partaken of the gost delicate viands.”” - The next morning, Lady Mary, who was not an early riser, and did not generally make her appear- ance till the rest of the family were seated at the breakfast-table, was surprised, upon entering the parlor, to fiod Miss Blakeney and Miss. Melville had just returned from a walk in which they had been accompanied by their guardian, their hair disordered by the morning breeze, and their countenances glow- ing with health and pleasure. “Vou are anidler, Mary Lumley,” said Mr. Mat- thews; ‘“‘but exercise is so necessary to preserve health, that fam resolved that you shall accompany me in a round of visits, to some of my parishioners this. morning.”’ This was an invitation he frequently gave to one or the other of the fair orphans under his protection. The morning was fine, and Lady Mary, hoping he would take the path through the copse, readily as- sen and at soon emapred forher walk, gayly tripped by his side till she found he took a directly opposite path to what she had expected. “Twas in hopes pot would have gone with me to visit the poor people I mentioned,” said she, in rather a supplicating voice... se in good time, child,’ he replied; “T have several, poor and sick persons to visit.” The first cottage they entered, they saw a. pale- looking woman at) her spinning; near her, two children seated on a stool held a spelling-book | be- tween them, and:in an old high-backed arm-chair, sat a man, the very ae of misery; his feet and hands wére wrapped in coarse flannel. Everything around them indicated-extreme poverty, yet every- thing was perfectly clean; the children’s clothes were coarse but not ragged, the mother a. a patch of a different Color to:a/hole or rent. your own labor to support him, yourself and your children?’ ihe ni : “Oh, sir!’’ said the woman, rising, “‘ we have much might best) b dis “What is the matter with your husband?” asked Lady Mary, with a look of wonder at the woman's ex ion of contentment when there ‘was so much apparent wretchedness around her. : bale your ladyship, Thomas, though he be an So, you see, he got a cold, and his fever came on woie ian ‘oeaaracie the rheumatics set in, and ever hoor he has been a eripple like, not being able to use ra Bye? gs od “iw tovy oui 20 Dalia é “T gets up early, my lady, andsits up late; some- times I can Boog a week, and sometimes, but not very often, five shillings." ond aeyrg fyi : : ‘Five !”’ repeated the astonished Mary; “can four Te live on five shillin 4 Mr. Matthew had been, during this time, talking —— the invalid, but catching her last words, he re- ‘ opt. elke: é a ps ye, child, and many worthy, honest Christians, with er / are: d to do with less.” ‘We, I am sure,’’ said Thomas,“ ought not to com- plain; ; be to ; | my good main comfortable; but, I fear me, your reverence, she will kill herself; she" washes and mends our clothes when she ought to be resting, after nning all day or seng Our to work to help the gentlefolk’s servants to wash and clean house. Isometimes hope and pray that 1 may soon recover the use of my handsand feet, or that it may please my Maker to “TSE cae Micweetevdd. ‘Theamoms Bina teanhy wots ‘ No—no, j Thomas; I can well; Lean be enmbuis:: with anyt 5 you wor hr well by “had for some time trembled in Masy's eyes now rushed down her cheeks; she drew * ‘areowe? This is a poor place, to be sure, but it dame, we are: “aud-by; and then we | forth her empty purse and looked beseechingly at Mr. Matthews. but asked: : “Does the doctor attend you regularly? Is he kind and considerate?” e did not particularly notice her, “Oh, yes, sir! and we gets all the physic and such stuff from the potticary without paying, thanks to ou, reverend sir; then the housekeeper at the great ouse sent us some oat-meal and sago, a hutmeg and a whole bottle of wine, and that has made poor Thomas comfortable for above a month past. Oh! we have many blessings.”’ Mr, Matthews gave ie yoman an approving smile, and presenting her with Half-a-crown, said: “This young lady desires me to give you this, It may enable you to add a little to your comforts. Good morning. Continue this contented frame of mind, and rely on your Heavenly Father. He will in His own good time relieve you from your difficul- ties, or enable you to aupeart them with patience,” Aa My dear sir,” said Lady Mary, when they had left the cottage, ‘‘ what a trifle you gave to that dis- tressed family.” ‘* Mary,” replied the rector, “itis not the bestow- ing large sums that constitutes real benevolence, nor do such donations ultimately benefit the persons on whom. they are bestowed; Hep rather serve to para- lyze the hand of industry, while they lead the indi- vidual to depend on adventitious. circumstances for relief, instead of pir tke, | his own energies to soften or surmount the difficulties with which he may be surrounded,” Many other calls were made inthe course of the morning, till at length they stopped at a very small cottage, and, on entering. Mary was struck with the appearance of an elderly man-and woman, both seemingly past the period of being useful, either to themselves or others, A few embers were in the grate, over which hung a tea-kettle, and on a deal table stood a pewter tea- pot, some yellow cups and saucers, and a piece of the same kind of bread, the sight of which had filled her with disgust the evening before; a little dark- brown sugar, and about a gill-of skimmed milk com- pleted the preparation for their humble meal. “Why, you are early at_your tea, or late at your Pa Gammer,” said Mr. Matthews, ashe en- re The old dame Jaid down the patchwork with which she had been employing herself, and her husband closed thé Bible in which he was reading. ‘Bless you, good sir,” said he, “‘ tea is often all our sustenance, and serves for breakfast, dinner and sup- per; but we are old, and can take but little exercise, so alittle food suffices; if sometimes we can get a morsel of bacon or a crumb of cheese to relish our bread, it is quite a treat, anda herring laid on,;the coals is a feast indeed; but it is long since we have known better times, and we be got-used to the change. I wish, indeed, sometimes that I had some- ee comfort my poor old dame, but since the death of our little darlings, what sustains our totter- ing frames is of little consequence; we are thankful for what we have.”’ ~~ “Thankful!” said Lady Mary, internally, ‘‘thank- ful for such a poor. shed to keep them from the weather, such a miserable looking bed to rest their old lhmbs upon, and some black tea and dry bread for their only meal.” Mr. Matthews saw thatshe was struck, and willing to give her: time for rumination sat down beside the old man on a stool, The only vacant wooden chair being dusted by the dame, Lady Mary seated her- self, and pursuing her train of thought, audibly d: ? ‘*T should think, poor woman, you had cause for repining and discontent rather than thankful- ness. : “Ab, no, lady,” she replied, “ what right have I to e t more than others; how many thonsands in this kingdom have not even a hovel to shelter them, scarcely a rag to cover them, and only the bare | ground to sleep on, while their poor children beg their daily bread from door to door.”’ ‘Dreadful!’ said Lady Mary, and her cheeks as- sumed a marble hue. -: , ‘But that is not the worst,” continned the woman; ‘many of these poorsouls are as ignorant as. the blackamoors of Africa; they cannot read their Bibles; they do not know that idleness: is next to thieving; they. do not know the God who made them, or the Saviour who redeemed them. How much happier our own, and if our bed is hard, we can lay down with quiet consciences; if we have but little food we eat it with thankfulness; and when we are low-spirited, our frames feeble, and our hearts oppressed, we can read the word of ae in God's own bouk. Oh, lady! these are great *ButI waddract fro f that you had seen better days; how can you bring your mind’to bear the ills of age and poverty without complaint?” : “It is because I know that He who hasvallotted ay rtiun knows what is best for me. It is because ‘am — sensible that His bounties are far beyond my deserts.” ‘What!'such poor fare! sucha hut! and you a good, well-conducted woman, and these ed ac- comimodations more than you deserve?” ‘* Yes, lady; had the best of us no more than we deserve, our portion. would be hard, indeed. ~ You ‘say I have seen better days;so I have. But I weary ou, and I beg your pardon, too, reverend sir.” if You have ty dame; go a en oe story = — young lady, Ihave, } ae, r good | Z “ Thus encouraged, Gammer | eokale: again ad- hundred pounds, which had n left me by my gran what your husband said oreeynen married my good man there, I had three. father, and my husband had scraped together about: as much more. So we stocked a farm, and for years: went on quite well; we never had but one child; it was agirl, and, God forgive us, we were very proud’ of her, for Alice Lounsdale grew up a very pretty young woman. I taught her to be domestic, and to use her needle, but alack-a-day, I did not teach her to know herself. There was our first great faplt, and when the people praised her beauty or her singing, (for Alice sung sweetly, lady) we used to join in the praise, and her father, poor man, would chuck her under the ehin, and say, ‘aye—aye! in good time we shall see our girl either a squire’s or a parson’s lady.’ So Alice grew vain and conceited, and in an evil hour we consented that she should pay a visit to the neigh- boring market town, and attend a dancing school; for as we had settled in our weak heads that sne was % be a lady, it was but right that she should learn to ance, “Alice was now turned of fifteen, and during the time of her visit to Dorking (for at that period we lived in Surrey), she become acquainted with a young: man, the son of a reputable tradesman in that town. After her return, he sometimes called to see her, and. to make short of my story, when she was. eighteen,, with the consent of both his parents and her own, Alice beeame his wife. We gave her five hundred unds, his father gave him seven hundred, which urnished a small house neatly in Croyden, where he: had some family connection, and stocked a shop in the grocery line. . ‘Por some time things went on smoothly; anc when her father and I visited them about a year after their marriage, we thought they were getting beforehand. He appeared to be industrious and attentive, and Alice was cheerfuland happy. I staid with my poor girl during her first confinement, and was very proud. of the little i with which she presented me. After this [saw her no more for two. years, but I used to fancy that her letters were not so sprightly as formerly. However, I knew that when a woman becomes a wife and a mother, the vivacity of girlhood is sobered. However,‘some reports having reached us that her husband was become unsteady, and that it was thought he was much involved in debt, my 1 man took a journey to inquire about it. He ‘ound things worse than had been represented. Alice was pale, dejected, and miserable; ber husband had got acquainted with a set of worthless beings who called themselves, honest fellows; frequented clubs, and acted. plays, which being done once in the hall of a public house, and money. taken for ad: mission, they were all taken up and hadto pay a heavy fine. “My husband had not been many days in Croyden before he had reason to think that Alice wasi\injured in the tendereést point, and that with her own domes- tic; but she made no complaint, and while her father was considering what he should do that might best ppmate her happiness, Lewis, for that was her hus- and’s name, was arrested for fifteen hundred pounds, on his nete which he had given for stock, and as we afterwards learned, sold at under price to supply his extravagance. “Alice pleaded with her father to assist him, her situation was delicate, and old Mr. Lewis being sent for, his affairs were compromised, the two fathers being bound for him. : ** My good manthen returned home, where he ha& not been more than a month, when one evening just at dusk, a chaise stopped at the gate, and-+in a few moments, Alice, leading her little boy, ran up the walk, and throwing herself into my arms with a hys- re ys sob, fainted. 1t was long before she could ar- ticulate. ‘* At length she told us old Mr. Lewis was dead, hie property was not sufficient to pay his debts, that her eartless husband had taken what valuables he could collect; and raised money on everything that was not already mortgaged, and absconded with the aband- oned woman I told you about. He had told Alice that he was going to e-esig ay 3 to look into his. late. father’s affairs. Ah, lady, he had been there before, and gleaned all he could from the wreck, even to the leaving his old widowed mother destitute. ‘The same night, the woman who lived with Alice,, having asked leave to go out, never returned, and upon examination it was found that she had taken her clothes, to. which she had added some of the most valuable belonging to her sister... . ‘The next day the furniture of the house was taken by a man who said he had advanced money upon it, and my Lperr girl was literally turned into the street. In this distress, the landlord of alarge inn had com- passion on her, Headvanced her a few guineas and sent her in his own chaise to her father, her best and only friend. **T found upon eae Lag my child had not been altogether : faultless. e had been thoughtless in her expenses, and never having controlled in her youth, she could not. practice the necessary pa- tience and forbearance which her situation. required ; 50 that instead of weaning her nohapey er from is temper and his en perh irritated made him ewsindinal ated, art “A few days after her return, my husband was arrested upon the note, and being unable to pay so large a sum, his stock u his farm was seized not being able to meet circumstances had run for six months, we were oblig- ed to quit the farm and take a cottage a little way m Croyden. Here Alice gave birth to a daughter, and a few more days after was laid at rest in the rave, But our misfortunes were not ended. Though working hard and living poor, we kept free from debt, yet it was a struggle to maintain the two chil- en, “But we managed to keep them clean and tidy, so h we ‘that they went to sehool, and lovely littk babies were, and my vain, proud heart made them my idols, 2 %. oe. f ’ and fi ‘rent, which from yarieus. ~ a
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“whom he had rented the hut we had lived in, LUCY TEMPLE. but it was God's will that [should be humbled to the very dust. One night the thatch of our coe, eaught fire, aud we awoke almost suffocated with smoke. We sprang up; I eaught up the girl and ran out, but before my husband could escape with the boy, a raft- er fell, and lthought I had lost them both; but with great struggling he got out, though greatly bruised and burnt, The child was so hurt that he wasa crip- ple as long as he lived. ‘We were now houseless, penniless and naked; neither of us very young, my health not good, and my husband likely to be confined months before he could go to work again. A cottager who lived about a mile from us, who had got up early to carry some- thing to Croyden market, saw the fire, and calling his son, they ran to our assistanceybut nothing was saved. He took my husband on his back, the lad took the boy; both father and son had pulled off their outer jackets to wrap them around me and my little girl; and we proceeded aswell as we could to neigh- ‘bor Woodstock's cottage. ‘They didall they could for us, but they were poor ‘themselves. However, on applying to the wage e e his Bopspbectet send us some old clothes. She not Only obeyed him in that, but brought us some little eomforts, and with her came a sweet boy about the age of little Alice. ‘‘ When this dear child went back he told his fath- er, who was then visiting the squire, how poor and how sick we were, and the next day brought him to see us, ; ‘\Sir Robert Ainslie, for it was he himself, spoke to us kindly, gave us money to purchase some clothing, and procured, a doctor to visit nyy husband and grandson; he also spoke to the minister about,us, and he came to console.and pray withus, Oh! lady, that was the greatest charity of all; for we did not know where to.look for consolation till he taught us. We had never considered that: a good and all-wise Father has a right to chastise his childrem when and how He pleases; we had been full of complainin and discontent before. But he read to us and praye with us, and at length convinced us that it was pos- sible to be happy, though poor. “*When my husband got able to move about, the dear boy, Master Ainslie, came with. his. father one day, and laying a folded paper on my lap, said: “* Papa gives you that.’ Sol opened it and found it wasa gilt of this place we now live in, and a prom- lise of five guineas a year as long asLlived, : “T could not speak to thank him. He told me that he had lately purchased an estate in Hampshire; that he had-been to look at it, and have it putin re- air just before he came into Surrey; that he recol- Teoten this cottage, and had written to his steward to have it got ready for us, and that he would have us sent back to it free of all expense. é' *Weill,.in a short time we moved here, and were happier than we had ever been in our lives before, for Sir Robert wrote about us to our good rector here, who has comforted and strengthened our minds, Our dear Alice grew apace; she earned a little towards clothing herself, and then she was so dutiful to her grandfather and me, and so kind to her crippled broth- er, But seven years agone last Lammas, the small- ox caine into the neighborhood, The boy took it First. Nothing could separate his sister from him, and in one short week I followed both my darlings to the grave.” The old woman stopped a moment, put her hand to her forehead, then looking up meekly, eried, in an undertone? “Thy willbe done! It will not be long before I go to them, but they can never return to me. It was the hand of mercy that took them,for what had they to make life desirable? The boy’s inheritance was decrep- itude and poverty, and poor Alice had all ne mother’s beauty, and who knows what snares might have been laid, what temptations might have assailed her. She might have been lost both body and soul Now, thanks be to God! she is safe in the house of her heavenly Father!” saint “Come, child, it is time for us to be walking,” ex- claimed Mr. Matthews, so taking leave of the old ople, he led her out of the cottage. Perceiving er eheeks wet with tears which she was endeavoy- ing to conceal— Y ““These are good tears,” said he, “indulge them freely, they flow from pity and admiration.” * From pity, indeed,” she replied.‘ But I cannot admire w I do not rightly understand.” Then pausing @ moment, she continued, “ Pray, sir, are not these people Methodists?” : What do you'mean by a Methodist?” T hardly know how to explain myself, but I know Ihave often heard my mama and governess laugh about some folks that lived in our neighborhood, who used to talk a great deal about religion, and pray and sing psalms, even when they were in trouble, and they called them Methodists!" : ‘Is it, then,” said Mr. Matthews, gravely, ‘a ridi- ‘culous thing to say our prayers, or praise the name of Him from whom all blessings proceed?” **No, sir, but when he has taken from us those we Jove, itis difficult to feel perfectly resigned, I am sure L-eould not praise Him when my mama died,” “ But you could pray to Him, I hope?” “No, indeed, I could not, I thought Him very eruel,” : y “Poor child,” said he, tenderly, “what a barren waste thy mind was at that time.” ‘But Fhope you have made me better, sir.”* “T hope God will make you wiser, my love! And now, Mary, let me advise you never to use the cerm Methodist in this way again. Dame Lounsdale and her husband are good, pious members of the Church of England; they are what every Christian should be, humble, devout, and grateful, but let the mode in which they wor- ca tag — 2 4 q ship be what it may, if they are sincere they will be accepted; there are inany roads to the cross, and which ever may be taken, if it is pursued with a pure and upright heart, is safe, and He who suffered on it will remove every burthen from us whether it be earthly affliction, or sorrow for committed offences.” While Mr. Matthews was speaking, a sudden turn in the road made Lady Mary start, for she beheld bap before her the identical cottage to which she had ene desirious to come when they first began their ramble, CHAPTER V. A LESSON—CHANGE OF SCENE, ** As T live,’’ said she, in delight, “there is the place I wanted to visit.” : “Then we will goin and see how the’poor people are,’’ said Mr. Matthews. They entered, but how changed was the scene. A clean, though coarsely furnished bed stood in one corner of the room; the old wooden frame had been removed; the room was neatly swept and sanded, a new saucepan was by the fire, in which gruel was boiling, the sick woman and her infant were in clean clothes befitting their station, and the old mother also appeared in better habiliments, while a healthy- looking woman was busied about some domestic con- cerns. : Sa Mec wore such a look of comfort, that Lady Mary thought she had mistaken the place. But the old-woman recognized her, and rising, began to say how lucky her good ladyship’s visit had been to them all, for that morning two beautiful young ladies came to see them. ““Mayhap,” continued she, “they be your sisters, pd Si they were so good-natured and condescend-. ing they seemed more like angels than aught else; and it. was not more than two hours after they went away before @ man came tothe door witha cart. and what should be init but that. nice bedstead and bed, ‘with. blankets, and sheets, and coverlet, and some clothes for Sally and her baby, and he brought that good young body to tend her till she be up again; dear heart! how John will be surprised when he comes home; he won't know his place, not he, but will think the fairies have been here.” “ Ah,’ said Lady Mary, looking at Mr. Matthews, “*T fancy I know who the fairies were.” The rector Et his finger on his lip, and telling the woman that he was glad to find they were so well provided for, he led his ward from the cottage. : “Now, Mary,” said he, smiling, ‘‘how much do you think those fairies whom you so shrewdly guess at expended for -all tt.e comforts and conveniences these poor people seem to have acquired since last evening?” ir “Oh, a great deal,’ she said, ““more than five guineas, [dare say. First there is a bed ——” ‘‘That is not a bed, but a second-hand mattress, which, though a good one, cost little or nothing. The blankets and coverlet came from my house and are, with the bed linen, lent only. If we find the woman, on her recovery, industrious, clean, and well-behaved, they will be given to her, , The rest was very trifling—a little tea, oatmeal, sugar, and materials for brown bread, half a cheese, half a side of bacon, some coal and candles, weré all pur- chased for Jess than a guinea and a half. Had you Ces! the sum you intend, they would have rt be ered it away, and not made themselves half so comfortable. I make it a point of inquiring the character of any poor who are my parishioners be- fore I give them any relief, and this morn when Luey and Aura were visiting your proteges, I inves- tigated their character. The man is an_ honest, hard-working fellow; his wife, I find from thority, is idle, and by no meanscleanly in her hab- its. You, child, have no idea how much the. pros- perity of a poor man, and often a rich man too, de- ends on the conduct of his wife. The old woman is 1is wife’s mother; she is old and feeble, and can do but little, and often, by a querulous temper, makes things worse than they would otherwise be. You say the children were ragged and dirty; I shall ‘see that they are comfortably clothed, and if I find that the clothes are kept whole and clean, TI will be- friend the family further; but if they are let run to rags, without washing or mending, I shall do no more.’ ) Thus in walking, chatting, making various calls and commenting on the scenes they had witnessed, time passed unobservec by Lady Mary. At length Mr. Matthews, drawing out his watch, exclaimed: “T protest, it is almost four o’clock.” : “Indeed,” said Mary, ‘‘I am afraid we shall have dinner waitinz.” The rector’s hour of dining was half-past three. “I do not think they will wait,” he replied, “I have often requested they would not wait for me, for you know I am frequently detained by a sick righ oran unhappy person whose mind is depress- They had now a mile to walk, and Lady Mary as- sured the rector that she was‘ very—very hungry.” Arriving at home, they discovered that the family had dined, and the ladies gone out for some particu- a rat ose. A cloth had therefore been laid in the stu or the ramblers. * Come,” said Mr. Matthews, “‘ sit down, Mary, you say you are hungry; we will waive ceremony on this gomeson, and you shall dine in your morning ress, ** What have we here?” he continued, raising a cov- er, and discovering part of a boiled leg of mutton, which had been kept perfectly hot, and on a dish be- side it stood a few turnips, not mashed. * Are there uo capers, John?” ood au- “No, sir; the cook did not recollect that they were out till it was too late to get any, and my mistress said she was sure you would excuse it.” ““Well—well, we must do as well as we can,” said he, laying a slice of mutton and one of the turnips on Lady Mary’s plate. She did not wait for other sauce than a keen appe- tite, but having dispatched two or three slices of.the meat with a good quantity of the vegetable and bread, declared she had never relished a dinner so well in her life, “You will have a bit of tart?’ said the rector. “I warrant John can find one, or a bit of cheese and biscuit.” “Oh, my—my dear sir, I have eaten so heartily.” “Poor dear young woman!” said Mr, Matthews, in an affected tone of sensibility, ‘‘ how my heart aches for you; out all the morning, walking from cottage to cottage, coming home hungry and weary, and had nothing to eat but a bit of boiled mutton and turnips, and to wash it down, a glass of cold water.” Here Mr. Matthews abeisct rp to sob; and Lady pays comprehending the ridicule, burst out laugh- n *You.see, my child,’ said he, assuming his own kind and gracious manner, ‘how misplaced sensibil- ity is when it fancies anything more than wholesome fare, however plain or coarse it may be, is n to satisfy the appetite of those whom exercise or labor have rendered really hungry, Where indeed there is a scanty quantity, it should awaken our good. feelings, and lead us to extend the hand of charity. “Dear sir,” said Lady Mary, PP od have this da taught.me a lesson that I trust through life I shall never forget.” Month after month, and year after year, on while Mr? Matthews was endeavoring to cultivate the understan@ings, fortify the principles, and by airand exercise, invigorate the frames of his fair wards. During the six pleasantest months, masters in music and drawing, from Southampton, attended Lady Mary and Miss Blakeney, and the other six they em- ployed themselves in imparting what they had gain- ed to Aura Melville, in her leisure hours.” Thus they were improved in a far greater degree by the attention necessary to bestow on every ac- quirement in which they were desirous to instruct her. There were many yee families in the neigh- borhood, but none visited on a more intimate footin, than that of Sir Robert Ainslie, His son Edw: had become a great favorite at the rectory, ever since they had known the stary of old Dame Louns- dale and the cottage; but as he was pursuing his studies at Oxford, they saw him but seldom. It was inthe summer of 1794, when Lucy had just entered her twentieth year, that Miss ah St pro- posed that, to change the scene, and give the yo ott i a glimpse of the fashionable world, a few weeks should be ad in Brighton, and that the ensu- ing winter they should go toLondon, Mr. and Mrs. Matthews were fondly attached to the place where they had passed so many happy years, yet, sensible that Lucy in particular shoul introduoed properly into a world where she would most likely be called upon to act a prominent part, they consented, and about the latter part of June they commenced their journey. se Sir Robert Ainslie and his son were to meet them there, for Edward was to be their escort to public places when Mr. Matthews felt disinclined to mix im the gay scenes of fashionable life, their attendant in the walks upon the Steine, or excursions in the beau- tiful environs of Brighton. wide This was very pleasant to the whole party. The elderly ladies were fond of the society of Sir Robert. Mr. Matthews regarded him as an old and cA we friend, and the young ones as a kind of parent, and his son as their brother. Lady Mary, indeed, could have fancied herself in love with Edward, and often, in the most parte terms, lamented to her young companions that he was not nobly born, he was so handsome, so generous, 80 gallant. * — | | “Yes,” said Aura, with an arch glance trom under her long eyelashes, ‘so generplly gallant that no one can have the vanity to suppose herself a particular Ere indded Chat ty thie: dnd 2-aMOue’ sia to **No, indeed, tis true, and I shou 4 find myself particularized by ten: as you know my poor thothe* used to say, she shoul dot rest in her grave if she thought I should ever match myself with any one below the rank of nobility,” = “T think,” said Aura, laughing, ‘you need be un- der no apprehension, unless indeed it should be from the fear that, should he offer, you might not beable to keep your resolution.” > ' They were soon settled in their new abode at Brigh- ton, their names enrolled on the books at the rooms, libraries, etc., and the unaffected manners of the three fair orphans, their simple style of dress, unob- trusive beauty, and the general report that they were all three heiresses, drew numerous admirers and ae tenders around them, But the grave and gentleman- ly manners of Mr, Matthews, the stately hauteur of Miss Cavendish, with the brotherly attention of Ed- ward Ainslie, kept impertinence and intrusion at an awful distance. 2 oped Edward felt kindly to all, but his heart gave the de feeb to Luey, though ‘he feared to give way its natural impulse, lest the world—nay, even the object of his tenderness, should think him interest- ed. Sir Robert Ainslie had two sons and a daughter a4 a former marriage; these were married and settled, and were too much the seniors of the present. young party, to ever have been in habits of eat wi hem. The mother of Edward had survived his birth but a few years: and he became the the consoler, de- light and darling of his father. The youth was en- dowed with fine talents, a mind of the strictest recti- *
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6 LUCY TEMPLE. the language of heraldry, under the tuition of her mother, who doted on rank, pedigree, etc., and could have held forth for hours on the crests, sup ers, mottoes, and heraldic bearings of most of the noble families of England. ‘Who was that young lady who offered your father the eau de luce, and to whom you bowed this morn- ing, Jack?” asked the mother of Franklin, as he sat tete-a-tete with her after a melancholy dinner on the evening of the day on which the events just related took place. “A Miss Blakeney; a very amiable girl, under the protection of the Rev. Mr. Matthews, who, with his. wife and her sister, the honorable Miss Cavendish, and two young*ladies to whom he is guardian, are assing a few weeks in Brighton. They are a charm- ing family. I wish my father would permit my bring- ing you acquainted with them.” **It is impossible,” said his mother, sighing, ‘‘ for besides that the health of your dear father is in a. precarious state, I fear that he has something heavy at his heart; he is much altered, Jack, within the last few months; his rest is disturbed, and it is only Ay powerful ‘opiates that he obtains any, and by them alene the smallest exhilaration of spirits.” **His wound isno doubt very painful, my dear madame,” replied the son, “but we will hope that change of scene, and strict attention to the advice of vhe medical gentlemen who attend him will in time restore him. At that moment the colonel’s bell summoned: his servatt, and the mother of Franklin flew to the apartmentof her husband, to strive to alleviate his sufferings by her tenderness and cheer him by her conversation. “Where was I, Julia,” said the colonel, ‘‘ when that faintness seized me?” ** At the library near the Stiene, my dear. Doyou not recollect the interesting girl who presented her smelling bottle?” The colonel put his hand to his head, spoke a few words in anunder voice, and leaning back on a sofa. on which he was seated, closed his eyes, and his wife: ee silent, he dropped into a perturbed slum- r. was yet extremely simple In her attire; her apparel was ever of the best quality, but it was unostenta- tious; no display of splendor, no glitter or finery dis- figured her interesting person; and she soapcely ever purchased a handsome article of dress for public oc- casions without presenting something of the same kind, aeroies more elegant or of a finer texture than her own, to her friend Miss Melville; yet she contrived to do this withoutits being observed, for in all their litlte shopping parties Aura was uniformily purse- bearer, as Lucy used laughingly to say, to save her- self trouble, but in reality to hide her own liberal- ity. Franklin then easily fell into the commou error; and charmed with the person and manners of Miss Blakeney, feeling how proud and happy he should feel to raise so lovely a young woman from depend- ence to a state of comparative affluence, he deter- mined to scrutinize, her conduct, mark her. disposi- tion, and should all agree with the captivating exter- nal, to offer her his. hand, and devote his life to her happiness, Lucy Blakeney, had she been really a destitute orphan, would, when she perceived Frank- lin’s attentions to be serious, and supposed that_he imagined her to be an heiress, have insisted on Mr, Matthews explaining her real situation: but when the reverse was the case, what woman but would have felt highly flattered by the attention of one of the handsomest officers of the corps to which he be- longed, a man of honor and perfect rectitude of con- duct, high in the esteem of personages of. the first rank, and known to be in possession of a handsome fortune, who thus avowedly loved her for. herself tude, and perhaps a remark that his cool, calculating eldest brother once made, that it would be a fine spec for Ned if he could catch the handsome heiress, led him to put a curb on that sensibility and admiration which might othérwise have led him to appear as her professed lover. One fine morning, as they were strolling on the Steine, an elegant outh, in military uniform, accost- ed him with “ Ainslie, my dear lad, how are you? this is alucky encounter for me, for I hope to spend some time here; my regiment is here on duty for six months.”’ Edward received his proffered hand with great cor- diality, and. presenting him to the ladies as Lieuten- ant nklin, of the regiment, named to his friend each of the fair trio; and he joining the party, they sauntered on the sands an hour longer, waited on the ladies to Mr. Matthews’ door, and then both gentlemen bade them good morning. ‘““Why, you are in luck’s way, Ned,” said the offi- cer, ‘‘to be on such easy terms with the graces, for really I must say your three beauties are worthy — appellation. Are you in any way related to them?” ‘By no means,” he replied, ‘‘ my father is erringa to one, who is a splendid heiress, and in habits of iad intimacy with the reverend Mr. Matthews, who guardian to the other two.” ‘Heiresses, also, eh, Ned?” “Not exactly so; one has.a genteel independence, the other r girl is an 0 han, whose family is only known to her guardian, and whose fortune, if report says true, depends entirely on his kiadness.%y, “But which is the heiress?” “That I shall leave to your sagacity to discov- er; but I hope you do not mean to set out in aba interested .views in the choice of a part- ner ® ‘*Oh, no; my good | cyrioring og took care I should have no occassion to do that; he left me enough for comfort, and even elegance with Sige 30 manage- ment, and as I have no_ propensities for gaming. racing, or other fashionable follies, I shall look ou for good nature, good sense, and discretion in a wife in preference to wealth. To be sure, a little beauty and a handsome address, would, though not indispensable, be very acceptable qualties.”” Lieutenant Franklin was the eldest of four. sons; s father was an officer of artillery, had seen some hard service, passed a number of years abroad, an during that period had accumulated a large fortune, He had married the only daughter of a wealthy man, resident in the part of the world where he was sta tioned: was intrusted by the government with pro- viding military stores, etc., during a seven years’ war, for a army in actual service; and when the war was ended, returned to his own country, which he had left nine years before a captain of artillery with little besides his pay, an honorable descent, and fair character, to receive the thanks of royalty for his ery pate, and to dash into the world of splendor an ety. His house was one of the most elegant in Portland Place, his equipage and establishment such as might have become a nobleman of rank. Bellevue, a large estate near Feversham, in Kent, consisting ofa large, handsome, and commodious mansion, several well- tenanted farms, pleasure-ground, fish-ponds, green and hot-houses, was purch or his summer resi- dence. Promoted to the rank of colonel of artillery, and - having held the office of chief engineer during his service abroad, the father of Lieutenant Franklin stoodin an elevated rank, and associated with the first mages inthe kingdom. His eldest son, as m mentioned, was amply provided for, and had chosen the army for his profession, The others, as yetlittle more than boys, were finishing their ed- ucation at some of the best establishments near Lon- don. His two daughters—Julia and Harriet—were attended by masters at home, under the superintend- ence of an. excellent governess. From the moment of his introduction to the family oe Matthews, Sir Robert Ainslie having spoken of h 3 high one. Mr. Matthews had a little spice of romance in his somposition, and although he did not withdraw. the veil from Miss Blakeney’s situation, he would have shrunk with horror from the idea of obtaining a splendid alliance for Aura upon the false supposition of her being an heiress. But there was no immediate call on the integrity of the conscientious guardian on this account. ough numerous were the moths and summer flies who, in tation of a rich remuneration, flitted around Aura Melville, she kept them at such a distance that they neither disturbed her peace or annoyed her in any way. They were all treated alike, sometimes listened ‘to with perfect. nonchalance, sometimes laughed at, and often mortified with a hauteur which bordered on contempt. “We will return to London,” said he, on awaken- ing; “we will set off to-morrow, and then make an excursion to Margate and Ramsgate; from thence to. Bellevue, where we will finish the summer.” “Why not go to your sister’s for a few weeks? she. will be much disappointed if wedo not make her a visit this season.’ “What, to Hampshire? No—no! I cannot go to Hampshire,” : The next morning, Mr. Franklin, having breakfast- edand taken leave of his parents, they set off from Brighton, where they had been but three days, inthe vain hope that another place would contribute tore- store the health and spirits of the colonel. As the delicacy of every member of Mr. Matthews” family forbade the smallest recurrence to the re- contre in the library with the invalid officer, who, they learned, was the father of Lieutenant when, two days after, he mentioned the departure of his parents from Brighton, no remark was made, but the kind wish offered that his health might soon be restored. The officers upon duty at Brighton having reonyed. many civilties from numerous families of distinction, temporary residents there, determined, as it drew near the close of the season, to give a splendid ball. Mr, Matthews family were among the invited guests. Lady Mary was wild with delight; even Lucy felt. somewhat exhilarated at the idea of a ball where all the splendor and fashion of the place would assem- ble, and where it was expected some personages of exalted rank would make their appearance. Aura Melville was the most. stoical of the trio, * Heavens!” exclaimed the lady who stood by the | though it must be confessed her heart did palpitate: military invalid. ‘“‘What is the matter, my dear? | a little quicker than usual, when Edward Ainslie re- Oh, pray make way, let him haye air, he is very | quested to be her partner the first two dances, Per-- weak,”’ haps those quickened pulsations will in some measure. Lucy looked around; the veteran had sunk upon | account for the perfect indifference with which she- the shoulder of his wife, pale and almost lifeless, had listened to all her admirers. Having some eau de luce in her hand which she had | Balls in anticipation, and, indeed, in reality, are. just. before purchased, Lucy stepped forward. and 7 pleasant to those engaged in them, but most in- presented it to the bangle sufferer. The volatile | su erably dullin detail. 1t will therefore be suffi- revived him, he opened his eyes, and gazing wildly | cient to say that our three orphans enjoyed them- on Lucy, pened her hand away, excl ng: selves extremely well. . “Take her away; this vision haunts me forever;| The attentions of Franklin to Lucy were very” secp or waking, it is still before me.” pointed. So much so, that Mr, Matthews was re- At that moment, Lieutenant Franklin. broke | solved, should they continue, and the lieutenant fol- through the crowd that filled the room, and giving low them into Hampshire, to call upon him for an Ainslie and the ladies aslight bow of reaognivion. explanation of his intentions, and candidly state to helped the poor invalid to rise, and, assisted by the | hi him Miss Blakeney’s real situation; in order that, lady, led him to a carriage which waited atthe door | should a.union take place, such settlements might be of theshop. The footman helped him in, and Frank made as should secure to, her independence for - banding in the lady, sprang in after them, and it | life, whatever events might hereafter rove 0: ; ‘‘Who is he?” ‘‘ What’s the matter?” was the gen- eral inquiry. Ainslie’s party merely heard. that it was a brave veteran who had served many years abread, and received a wound, from the effects of which he still continued to suffer, and that he some- times labored under slight fits of insanity. Lucy’s eyes filled. She thought of Sergeant Blandford. “But what is his disabled limb,” said she, mentally, Sig potap etn fe the sufferings of this brave officer? Blandford has but a poor cottage and the pay of an invalid, ‘tis true, but he is cheerful and even happy. This. poor gentleman seems to be surrounded by afilu- ence, but yet is miserable,” j Ainslie sighed as he led them from the library, but made no remark, While Lady Mary said: “ Dear! what a pity that a man who has so beauti- ful an capaene should be so sick and unhappy. Only think how elegant his liveries were, and how richly the arms were emblazoned on the panels of his carriage.” Lady Mary had become skillful in CHAPTER, VI. A RENCONTRE—A BALL—LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. Tr was on one of those mornings when the visitants of Brighton sally forth to ransack libraries, torment shopkeepers, and lounge upon the Stiene, when Ed- ward Ainslie, taking Lucy under one arm and Lady Mary under the other, having taken a walk upon the downs, strolled into one of the publie libraries, where raffles, scandal, and flirtation were going forward among a heterogeneous crowd assembled there. At the upper end of the room sat an elderly gentle- man if a military undress, apparently in very ill health; beside him stood an elegant, fashionable wo- man, evidently past the meridian of life, but still bearing on her countenance traces of beauty and strong intellectual endowments, Ainslie and his party had been conducted by the master of the shop 0 seats near these persons. “T wonder where Mr. Franklin is?’ said Lady Mary, as she seated herself; “‘ he has neglected us all last evening and this morning, and I 1 scold him well when I see him again.” : “T have no doubt,’ said Lucy, ‘but Mr. Franklin can give a very good account.” terms, Mr. Franklin became a frequent and always a welcome guest. Though Miss Blakeney . was known to. have an independent fortune, its ex: tent was not confided even to herself; for Mr. Matthews knew that wealth attracts flattery, and as he believed Lucy’s heart to be, he feared for e frailty of human nature, if exposed to the breath _of that worst of mental poiso: judicious and in discriminate adulation. A cursory observer would never have taken Lucy for the independent heiress; the retired modesty of her manners, the respectful deference which she paid her guardian and his family, united to an intuitive politeness and real affection with which she ever dis tinguished Aura Melville, would have led any one to think she was the dependent. Mary was afraid of Aura; her wit, though in genera) harmlessly playful, was sometiines sarcastic, and the vain girl of Lt often smarted under its lash, and if she met thesteady eye of Aura, at a time when she was displaying airs of self-complacency, her own would sink under it. The seniors of the family -ncouraged this respect paid to their protege, and by their own manner towards her. gave their vis- . itors reason to think that they were receiving rather |. . chen conferring a favor by her residence among em. Thus every circumstance coincided to establish the general idea entertained that Aura was the independ- ent heiress; Lady Mary, a young person of rank, with only a moderate fortune, and Lucy Blakeney, eRe ae, depending on the kindness of Mr Mat- ews. mp Pes ircumstance contributed to the mistake. Miss Blakeney, though her guardian allowed her a very handsome stipend for clothes and pocket money, en. The morning after the ball, Lady Marg held forth for a full hour upon the splendid appearance, gallant. manners, and evident admiration of a young baroné who had danced, flirted and flattered, he ha stirred up a strange commotion in her little vain heart. Lucy heard her and smiled. Aura smiled too, but it was with a look of arch meaning, while she re- plied to the often repeated question of ““Do you not. own he is very handsome?” “Why, yes, as far as tolerable features, good eyes and teeth, with more than tolerable dress goes, I think he is passable; but, my dear Lady Mary, he has: no noble blood in his veins; his grandfather was only Lord Mayor of London, and you know you told me your mother would not rest in her grave if you matched with aught below nobility. res “Now, Sir Stephen Haynes’ father and his father: before him were only stationers and booksellers; and who knows, my pretty Mary—Lady Mary, I beg your pardon—who knows but this very Sir Stephen Haynes may, on the female side, be a collateral descendant. ~~
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LUCY TEMPLE. 7 of the renowned Whittington, who made such a for- tunate voyage to St. Helena with his cat?” “How do you know it was to St. Helena, Aura?” said Mr. Matthews, looking up, for he had been read- ing in the parlor where the young foiks were talking “over the events of the preceding evening, “Oh! I only surmised, sir, because I read in some eographical work that the island of St Helena was infested with rats, so that the inhabitants could neith- er raise or preserve grain of. any kind upon it, in wae case 4 cat must have been a very valuable ani- mal. Lady Mary would have left the parlor in a pet, but that she hoped the baronet would call in the course of the morning. He did so, and exercised the art of fiattery so successfully, that Mary Lumly totally for- ot the expressions of her dying mother about her egrading herself by a plebeian pores and began to think she could be well content to be Lady Mary cy Langa though her husband was not. a sprig of no- ility. Mr, Matthews had the interest and happiness of each of the orphans under his guardianship much at heart. He thoughs that Mary Lumly had many good natural qualities; he saw they had been injured by the injudicious conduct of her mother; he had en- deavored to rectify some of her romantic notions, and in some measure he had succeeded, but he knew enough: of human nature to be quite aware that, when love and romance unite in the mind of .a vola- tile: young woman, there is scarcely a, possibility of restraining her from taking her ownway. Yet he felt it his,duty to inquire into the circumstances of the baronet. In three months Lady Mary would be her own mis- tress, and though her fortune was but trifling, yet, settled on herself, it might secure to her those com- forts‘and conveniences of life'to which she had ever been accustomed, He found upon inquiry that Sir Stephen Haynes, though the only son of a wealthy city knight, had pretty well ches Ager his patrimony, and of the many thousand pounds and hundred acres he had inherited from his father, all that remained was Walsteid Hall, a handsome seat in Wiltshire, with gardens, pinery, andfarms for pasturage and tillage annexed, but which was deeply mortgaged; so that his whole income at that period would not amount to seven hundred pounds a year, “Mary Lumly has good sense,” said he to himself; _T will speak to her upon this momentous subject. For what will her seven thousand pounds do? It will not clear him of incumbrances, and when it is gone, what isshe to do? Mary,” said he, addressing her one morning when she was alone with him in the breakfast parlor, ‘‘ does this young man who is such a favorite with you, aspire to your hand?” **He loves me, sir,” replied she; “he has a noble estate in Wiltshire, is the only son of a good family, and is willing to make any honorable arrangement ous te our union.” ‘You have, then, agreed to accept him?” Lady Mary looked foolish. oy “*1—L have not refused him, sir.” “Well, ecg allow me to tell you that he is a bank- _rupt in both fortune and character. He has lost large . to gums at the gaming-table, has associated with aban- doned women and unprincipled men. Can you hope for happiness in a union with such a person?” “He may, and I have no doubt will, reform, sir.” .. ‘' May is hardly ig eed will aay probable. en who in early life have associated with pro- fliigate women, form their opinion of the sex in gen- tral from that early knowledge, They will not be- lieve any woman yale of resisting temptation, or ‘practicing self-denial on principle, because they have ound dissolute wives, and easy pee yes in youn; women who are void of religion and virtue, Suc ing me, the guardian under whom you were Placed, m rs of youth and inexperience are liable to be wrecked; Iam very earnest in this cause; with which you have been . brought up, Iam well acquainted with the danger, I Weak, sensibility to which you too frequently horton It is my duty as your guardian to take care that @ proper settlemeat be made before ou ~~ Sea 9 ghee “Ishall not marry directly, sir,” said she, ‘and 1 believe in a short period the law will consider me of an age to dispose of my own person, and take care of my own interests. , “That is very true,” said Mr. Matthews, with a sigh; “ but let me conjure you, Lady Mary, not to be a gam Consult your friends. Be ‘advised by hose who Jove you. Ill could you support the depri- vation a dissipated, heartless husband may bring upon you; dreadful would be the pangs that would agonize our heart, when that husband should treat with con- tempt and coldness the woman he now pretends to 129,” 2 ‘T cannot believe either possible, sir.” ‘May you never find the suggestions realized, my poor child. I will, however, see Sir Stephen, and Speak to him,” continued Mr, Matthews. “T must beg you will not,” said the young lady, petulantly. gtr Stephen's views must be disinter- ested. at is my paltry fortune to his estates and possessions? He says he.does not want a shilling with me,” “Then, Mary, let him self “What, sir! when his mind is liberal, shall I prove myself a narrow-minded, selfish wretch, who has no hom she is about to make her husband? No, sir; when I make him master of my person, I shall also give him possession of my property, and I trust he is of too generous a disposi- confidence in the man w tion ever to abuse my confidence.’ Lady Mary left. the room almost in tears, and Mr. Matthews, in order to com been somewhat irritated by this unpleasant discus- sion, walked towards the Stiene. “What is the matter, Lady Mary?” said Miss Blakeney, as she encountered her young associate on the stairs. “Oh, nothing very particular; only my guardian has been lecturing me about Haynes; as if a young woman néarly twenty-one was not competent to con- duct herself, and judge of her own actions,” ‘* Why, as to that,’’ replied Lucy, smiling, as they entered the drawing-room’ together, “some women are not adequate to the task at forty;.but, F dats aside, I sincerely hope you will not take any decide step in this business contrary to the advice of Mr. Matthews. You have scarcely known Sir Stephen Haynes a fortnight, and are almost a stranger to his core’ habits and principles,” * You are nearly as much a stranger to Lieutenant Franklin, and yet I do not think that you would refuse himif he offered himself.” ““You are mistaken, Lady Mary; Lhave no idea of | romantic attachments, and laugh when I hear of love at first sight. I should never accept of any man without the approbation of Mr. Matthews and m uardian, Sir Robert Ainslie; andI must have taken eave of my senses before I should enter into an en- Ce bred with a young man not quite twenty; for [ understand Mr, Franklin is nearly a year younger than myself.” Here the conversation was interrupted by the en- trance of the elder ladies and Aura Melville. Pleas- urable 7 te ey occupied the remainder of the day, and no incident of consequence took place while they continued at Brighton. . About the middle of September they returned to their delightful residence near Southampton, and for two months, Ainslie, Haynes and Franklin a red not in the ena A circle, The first attend fa- ther to London; the second was on the turf, dashing away eee the credit of intending soon to pay Lady 'y Lumly, whom he represented as a ric heiress; and the third confined at Brighton by his re- maining term of duty. ee CHAPTER VII, FOLLY—RECTITUDE—A VISIT TO SERGEANT BLAND FORD'S. : “ WHerE in the world can Lady Mary be?” said Miss Cavendish, as the evening drew in, and the chill air of October reminded the inmates of Mr. Mat- thews’ mansion, that no one could be walking for pleasure at that hour. “ae Lady Mary had gone out in the morning, express- ing her intention of spending the day with ren- in. R . Now, as it was customary for Miss Brenton’s serv- ant to attend the young lady home if she stayed to a late hour, the family did not feel much alarmed until ten o’clock approached, a Mr, Matthews broke off a game of chess he was playing with Lucy, and looked at his watch; Aura paced the room, and the two elder ladies expressed much uneasiness, Atlength a ring at the gate made them start, Mr. Matthews, in his anxiety, preceded the servant to the door, and was well convinced by the hig wee re- treat of the person who accompanied Lady Mary that it was no menial; nay, he fancied that he saw him kiss her hand, as he opened the door for her admit- tance. y “You are imprudent, Mary,” said the anxious guard- ian, ‘‘to be out so late on _ this chilly evening, and with such slight oprenne. Who was the person who parted from you at the door?” ; ‘A gentleman who dined at Mrs, Brenton’s.” * And does the Lady Mary Lumly allow herself to be escorted the distance of nearly a mile in an unfre- quented road, at this hour, by a stranger?” ‘*He was no stranger to Mrs. Brenton, sir.” “Nor to you, Mary, or lam mistaken.” ‘‘T have seen him before,’’said she, hesitating. “I have met him several times,” and taking a light from the sideboard, where several were placed, she left the room, a Mary will throw herself away,’’ said Mrs. Mat- thews. : “Then she must abide the consequences,” replied Miss Cavendish. ‘Ah! Imuch fear,” rejoined her sister, ‘‘ the pup- ishment will exceed the offence. That may be com- mitted in a moment of romantic folly; but the bitter repentance that will succeed may last through a long and miserable life.” Soon after Christmas, which no cirettmstance what- ever would have prevented Mr. Matthews from cele- brating in his own mansion and at his own church, the family removed to London, where a handsome ready furnished house in Southampton street, Bloomsbury square, had been taken for them by Sir Robert Ainslie. Here Sir Stephen Haynes renewed his visits, but generally took care to call when he was sure of meeting other company, and assiduously rove the truth of his asser- tion by settling the whole of your fortune on your- se his temper, which had .ton, which stated that she was t avoided giving Mr. Matthews an <eodvreg of Rbeaking to him alone. His manners to Lady Mary were polite but distant, and her guardian began to surmise that he had altered his plans, and had some wealthier prize in view; he was, there<ore, thrown off his guard, and determined to take no further notice of the subject to his fair ward. The seventeenth day of February was Lad~ Mary’s birthday, that ardently de#fred day whic.. creed her from the trammels of restraint, and made her, as, she joyously expressed it, when Lucy and Aura af- fectionately kissed her and gave her their congratu- lations, a free and independent agent, “Then,” said Aura, ‘seriously, ‘‘Ihope you will remain so at least for some years; enjoy this liberty you seem to prize so much; for, be assured, there are shackles much less endurable than the salutary re- straints of the exceilent Mr. Matthews and his re- vered wife and sister, and not so easily thrown off.” At one o’clock, the writings necessary being pre- ared, Lady Mary was put in possession of her little ‘ortune. hen all was finished, Mrs. Matthews ex- ressed her hope that she would remain in their fam- ily, at least during the ensuing sammer. She answered, formally, that “she had mot yet de- termined how she should dispose of herseif; she should remain with them during the time she stayed in London, and then in all proba ility make a visit to her friend, Mrs. Brenton, About three weeks after this event, Lieutenant Franklin made a short visit to London, and paid his respects to Lucy and her guardian’s family, lament- ing shat, as his father’s ill-health obliged him to pass the winter in Bath, he could not have the pleasure of making her acquainted with persons she was pre- pared so highly to esteem. ** And for myself, Miss Blakeney,’ continued he, ‘‘I shall not be so happy as to see you above once more. as I have only a fortnight’s leave of absence, and must devote the larger of that time to attentions to my suffering father, and striving to soothe and cheer the’ depressed spirits of my mother. But in June, I hope, my dea sir,” turning to Mr. Matthews, m) be permitted to pay my respects to you in Hamp- shire. Mr, Matthews expressed the pleasure it would he him to see him there, reflecting at the same time, that at the period of the intended visit, he should decide upon the conduct to be observed in developing his in- tentions towards Lucy. It was now determined that before Easter Mr. Mat- thews and his a should return to their pleasant residence near Southampton. Lucy and Aura were delighted to leave London and return to inhale the sweets of the opening spring and invigorating breezes from the sea. beg d Mary appeared indifferent; but three ange be fore their intended departure, she showed Miss Blake- ney a letter which she had received from Miss Bren- ) ing to pass Easter with an aunt who lived near Windsor, and entreated Lady Mary to accompany. her. : “JT never was at Windsor, Miss Blakeney, and IE should like to see that celebrated castle. [have heard my poor mother talk of it,” As Lady ine pronounced the words ‘ poor moth- er,” a deep blush suffused her face and neck, and her voice faltered almost to a sob, as she finished the sen- sao Lucy eres did ne want Ser ype tre = ooked earnestly at Lady ° and catching her hand, said, tandeel , but euphatinnes : “But do not go e it now, dear Mary; with us into Hampshire, and I promise you when , yt of age, which you know /we will make a most delectable excursion; take Guardy, and Mr. Matthews, majestic Miss Cavendish, and our lively Aura, and setting out in search of adventures, storm Windsor Castle in the course of our route; and you shall repeat all your lameuted mother told you, for yon know she was better acquainted in history than we are, especially when it was kings and princes, dukes and lords.” Now, all this was said ina pay tuly -humored manner; but at her heart Lucy feared that the excur- sion with Miss Brenton would to no are, “T cannot retract my promise, dear L Mary, in a. soft, tremulous voice; ‘*‘ Miss Brenton will be in town to-night, and will call for me to-morrew as she proceeds to Windsor.”’ 4 Would it not have been as well to have consult- eda—— Lucy would have procéeded, but Lady Mary stop- ped her with: : “T cannot consent to ask leave of the stiff Mr. Mat- jek his precise lady, and the dictatorial Miss Cav- endish, “Oh, fie! Lady Mary,” replied Lucy, with some- thing of sternness in her voice; ‘can you forget the parental kindness they have shown you for five years — You will say, perhaps, the interest of your ortune paid for your board, ete. True, those pecu- niary debts were amply discharged, But who can re- pay the debt of gratitude to those who cultivate the st gene of a heart, and direct the understanding to the highest sources of improvement; whose pre- cept and example go hand in hand to lead inexperi- enced youth into the path of happiness?” *‘T never shall forget what I owe them, Miss Blake- ney,’ she replied, ‘but I cannot consent to solicit. permission todo what I like, and go where I please, from persons who, however good in their way, have boright now to control me. I shall myself mention my intention to the family at the breakfast table te- morrow morning. Miss Brenton will commence her journey about noon, and will call for me; in the meantime, I must beg it as a favor, you will not dis- close this conversation to anyone.”’ : When she had left. the room, Lucy stood for a mo- ment irresolute what course to pores. 4 “Tt will dono good,” she said, mentally, “to dis-
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-eursion of a few months to the continent. LUCY TEMPLE. tress the family by mentioning this mtended excur- sion, which, however they may disapprove, they can- not prevent; and perhaps I judge too hard of Lady Mary, when f think there issome other point in view than merely visiting Windsor Castle.”’ Thus resolving upon silence, she joined the family at dinner, and found, to her surprise, that Lady Mary had complained of a headache, and requested to have some trifling refreshme@nt in her own apartment. The next morning at breakfast no Lady Mary ap- peared; and when the footman was desired to send one of the female servants to call her, he replied: “Lady Mary is not in the house.” “Not in the house!’ cried Mr. Matthews, starting from his chair; ‘*poor stray lamb, I fear the shep- herd too easily gave up his trust, and thou wilt re- turn no more to the fold.” Mrs. Matthews turned deadly pale, and leaned back in her chair. “Tt is no more than I expected,” said Miss Caven- dish, drawing herself up, and taking a cup of tea from the trembling hand of Aura. ‘*Be not too much alarmed,” said Lucy Blakeney; “TI believe re | Mary was’ engaged in a pleasurable excursion to Windsor, with Miss Brenton, who arriv- ed in town last evening, and was yeaa s thither. to visit her aunt. She mentioned it to me yester- day, but said they should not leave town till noon, and that at breakfast she would take leave of the family. Perhaps her friend went earlier than she expected, and Mary Lumly did not like to have the ‘family disturbed; but I have no doubt she has left some letter or message.” _ ly Mary left the house at four o'clock in the morning,”’ said the footman; ‘she went out through the area, because she was afraid of making a noise to alarm any one; the chaise did not draw up to the house, but stood at the bottom of the street. Betty, the housemaid, took her bandbox, and I carried her trunk, when, on her jumping in, I saw she was re- ceived by a gentleman, and a lady seemed to be in the farther corner. There were four horses to the chaise, and a groom in livery followed it. on horse- back. ‘To ndsor,’ said the gentleman, as. the deor was shut, and they went off like lightning.” “Call Betty, this instant,” said Mr. Matthews. Betty appeared. & re is Lady Mary Lumly gone?” said he. bet Ww Stiss indsor, with her friend, Brenton,” she nepéed, ote : a. she leave no letter or message, girl?” ‘Laws me, yes; there isa letter up stairs for you, I believes.” * Go fetch it instantly.” .. stop,” said he, when the girl gave him a sealed billet; ‘* why dia you assist her out of the house in so clandestine a manner? Why not boldly open the front door, have the carriage drawn up, and call one of my servants to have adjusted her baggage, and if necessary, to have proceeded with her?’ **Cause the poor dear lady cried, and said yonand my ladies there wanted to makeaslave of her, when she was as free to act for herself as you was, gue if you knew of her going you would try to stop er. a “Tis well, go!” said Mr, Matthews, waving his hand. Betty withdrew with an papenigant toss of nee head, and Mr. Matthews opened the letter. It ran thus: . “Sm—I am sensible you will blame the step I am about to take, but I cannot be happy unless as the wife of Sir Stephen Haynes. Before you will receive this I shall be considerably . advanced on the road to Scotland; not that, being my Own mistress, any one has a right to control me, but I dread expostulation, and shuddering at the idea of publishing bans, or a formal wedding by license, with settlements, lawyers and ments. These things have, I believe, little * to do with love——” “But they have a great deal to do with prudence, I conceive,” said the agitated rector, pausing a mo- ment from the perusal of the letter. “Sir Stephen,”’ he at length proceeded, ‘‘ has pro- mised to settle half his fortune on me, as a voluntary act of gratitude, afterlam his wife; and, in return for this liberality, Ihave given my fortune into his hands. He talks of purchasing a peerage; and I be- gin to have different ideas nobility since he has convinced me that all by nature are equal, and that distinctions have been always purchased by some means or other; and what matter is it, whether by fighting for the rights of the monarch, or by advanc- ing money to supply his necessities? __ “My dear friend, Miss Brenton, accompanies me to Scotland. I shall, after a short tour, visit her in Hampshire; then, having taken a view of Sir Stephen’s place in Wiltshire, and given our orders for repairs, new furnishing, etc., we shall make aa ex- n our return we shall pay our respects to you in Hamp- shire, and solicit a visit from any of the inmates of poe mansion who may feel disposed so to honor us. beg you to accept my thanks for your care of my interests and happiness, although we happened not to think alike upon the latter subject, and make my acknowledgment to Mrs. Matthews and the other ladies of the family for their kind attentions, “Tam, with respect and esteem, ‘* Mary Lumuy.”’ Mr. Matthews folded the letter. “The die is cast,” said he. ‘Poor Mary Lumly, ou have fallen into bad hands. Settle half his for- ! According to the course he has pursued, by ‘a matrimoni this time he may not have an acre of land ora single guinea he can call his own. That Miss Brenton has been of great injury to the unfortunate girl; for nothing can’ be more prejudicial to a young woman of. strong imagination and ill-regulated feelings than those kind cf artificial friendships and tender confi- dences where flattery is substituted for real affection, and mutual self-complacency for disinterested at- tachinent;. where self-willed folly is dignified with the name of enthusiastic liberality of sentiment, and the excitement of gratified vanity is mistaken for un- changable, exalted love; such, I am persuaded, was the only friendship that subsisted between Julia Brenton and our thoughtless Mary Lumly; and by. her she has been led on to adopt the idea of ‘all for love, or the world well lost,’ and to act upon that mischievous, I could almost say dissolute, principle.” “T always knew Lady Mary to be vain and thought- less, and from the romantic bias given to her early ideas, easily led and highly enthusiastic,” said Aura elville, ‘‘ but I do believe her mind is pure.” “There is the misery of it!’’ said Mr, Matthews, sighing; ‘ for when that pure mind shall discover that it allied itself to sensuality and profligacy; that it has chosen for its associate a being who will divide his time between jockeys and gamesters, and that he is never so happy as when in company with men and women of iow breeding and gross conversation, what must it feel?” No answer was made. The breakfast was removed almost untasted. No steps, however, could be taken to prevent this ill-starred union. Mr. Matthews walk- ed to Sir Robert Ainslie’s, and discovered that the whole of Lady Mary’s fortune had been the day be- fore withdrawn from his hands, where it had been placed by her guardian on delivering up his trust, by an order under her own signature. ** What, all? principal, and the few hundreds of in- terest Isaved for her, that she might havo a little store to supply her purse upon coming of age?” ** All,” replied Sir Robert. “J was not aware of the circumstance till this morning, and was preparing to call on you-when you were announced. he order was in favor of Julia Brenton. There was no author- ity by which we could refuse to pay it.” “Certainly not,” said Mr. Matthews, ‘‘ but she has ruined herself.”’ The second morning after this very painful occur- rence, Mr. Matthews’ family set off towards home, where they arrived in safety, and with real pleasure took possession of their old apartments, and began to pursue their usual avocations in that beloved man- sion; reading, working, walking, arranging their plants and flowers in the garden green-house, and occasionally ey around the country, accompanied by their paternal friend, the rector. Mr. Matthews took an early opportuni: to call on Mrs. Brenton, but the old lady knew nothing of her daughter’s plans, haying recived but one letter from her since her departure. That, indeed, was dated from Windsor, but she appeared. totally ignorant of the marriage of Lady Mary, or the active part her daughter had taken in the affair. Lucy and Aura recommenced their rambles to the cottages of their poor neighbors, nor was the old ser- Seem forgotten; and be it known, that though Miss lakeney sometimes thought that June would in- crease their party, yet she was never heard to com- —_ of the leaden wings of time, or to sigh profound- , and look interestingly sentimental. The latter end of June brought Sir Robert Ainslie’s family to their seat in Hampshire, and a few days af- ter Lieutenant Franklin, to visit his friend Edward. “Tucy, my love,” said Mr, Matthews, a few days after the arrival of these young men in the neighbor- hood, ‘‘ will you candidly answer me one question, and seriously make me one promise?” “T will answer any question you may please to make, very honestly, my dear sir,’’ said she, syeiling ‘‘and as to promises, I am convinced that you wou d require none but what was meant to secure my hap- piness.”’ ‘* Now, my good girl, to put you to the test, has Mr. Franklin ever made any profession to you, or sought more.than by general attentions to engage your af- fections?” —- “Never, sir; Mr. Franklin never uttered a syllable to me that could be construed into anything more than that politeness and gallantry which gentlemen of his profession think incumbent upon them to pay to our sex.” A slight blush tinged her face as she spoke, “But, my dear Lucy, have you never thought those polite gallantries, as you term them, were sometimes a little particular?’ » * The thought,” she lied, with a little hesitation, “but pray do not think me a vain girl, I have push his looks and manner said more than his words.’ “Good, ingenuous girl,” said the rector, ‘‘and you would not be displeased if you found yourself the ob- ject of his affection? Well—well,” he continued, “T will not insist on an answer to this last question. But now to your promise.” “Name it, sir.” “Tt is that aan will enter into no engagements of al kind till you have seen your twenty- first. birthday. I have a letter in my possession, written by your grandfather inthe last hour of his life. It was designed to be delivered to you when your minority ended; you surely remember how very suddenly that good man was called out of time into eternity.” * Can I ever forget it?’ replied Lucy, with emotion. “He had retired to his study, as he imagined, for a few hours’ repose, which it was his custom:to take of an afternoon, and was found dead in his easy-chair, I think I was told, with a written paper before: him, and the pen still between his fingers.” “It was so, my child. I was in the house at the time, where I arrived after he had retired; and that paper was an unfinished letter to you. Promise me, therefore, Lucy, that you will enter into no serious engagements till you have read that letter.” ‘**I do promise most solemnly; and also voluntarily add that every behest in the letter of that dear lamented parent shall be adhered to by me.” ‘‘T know I can depend on you,” replied Mr. Mat- thews, ‘‘and I am satisfied.” A few days after this conversation, Franklin, hav- ing taken his tea at the rectory, denen, a walk, and Aura being engaged in some domestic concerns which Mrs. Matthews had requested her to see per- formed, Lucy accepted the invitation. ; “IT will take this young soldier _to the cottage of my old friend, Sergeant Blandford,” said she to Mr. Matthews, ‘‘ and he shall tell him some of his famous stories, and fight over his battles.” It was a very fine evening, but as the sun descend- ed, a dark cloud received the glorious orb, w , as it shrouded his beams, transfused their radiance into itself, making the edges of its deep purple tint flame with a gold and crimson, “That cloud foretells a shower, I think,” said Lucy, as, approaching the old man’s dwelling, she turned her eyes for the first time toward the declining sun, : “Tt will not come on very rapidly,” said Frank- ‘*We will make a short visit to the old soldier,” said she, Then, looking steadfastly at. the advanc- ing cloud, she continued: ‘‘ That cloud is an emblem of misfortune, overwhelming fora while the virtuous; which, though for a time may prevent their gene usefulness, and obscure the splendor of their actions, cannot entirely hide their brilliancy, but eatches, as it were, a glory ‘rom the radiance it partially ob- scures. “Or, rather,” said Franklin, “it is like a veil thrown over the face of a beautiful woman, which shades, but cannot diminish her loveliness.” Before they reached old Blandford’s hut the cloud had spread rapidly, and large drops of rain had fall- en,so that Lucy’s muslin dress was but a poor de- fence, and was easily wet through. She had thrown a black lace mantie over her shoulders whén she be- gan her walk; but, pulling it off as she rushed into the house, and.at the same time divesting her head of astraw cottage bonnet, her redundant hair fell over her face and shoulders. “Bless me! is it you, Miss Blakeney?’’. said the ia rising anu supporting himself with his crutch, “Yes, it is, good’ Blandford, and finely wet I am; but I use myself so much to all changes of atmosphere that I donot fear taking cold. I walked very fast when it began to rain, and am incommoded bythe heat. So let me sit down, and give me a draught a of water,” : [sot “Drink sparingly,” said Franklin. _ ; At the sound of his voice old Blandford started, ane looking first at one and then at the other, ask- ed: ‘* Who is this, Miss Lucy?” ore ‘*My name is Franklin,” said the lieutenant, “and I come to visit an old brother soldier.’’ He then prapensed the veteran his hand, who, gaz- ing earnestly on him, exclaimed: “T could almost havé sworn that you were—but I’m an old fool, itis impossible—and this dear lady has often made me think I had seen. her face before. though not till this moment could I bring to mind whom she was so like, But just as she is now, only rg and in great distress, I once saw ”’—he paus- i ; “Saw whom?’ said Lucy. “TItisa melancholy story, miss, and yeu will not like to hear it, mayhap.” , “J have no objection to hear it if it is not yety long, for the rain is almost over, and the moment it ceases we must set off toward home,” Blandford stretched out his disabled leg, rested his chin on the handle of his crutch, and thus be- gan: “You know, Miss egret I served abroad sev- eral years, and got my wound fighting with the ——"’ ‘* Well, never mind, you have told me all that be- fore; now to your story.” “Why, miss, it was one cold night about the end of October, 1774—I was but a private —when, as Thad been to the colonel’s quarters for orders, as I went from the door, a poor, shivering young crea- ture, her face pale as death, and nothing over her but a thin white gown, and a black something, like that you threw off just now, though the snow was falling fast, and the wind was very bleak—” Just then Mr. Matthews’ carriage drove up to the cottage, and arequest was delivered to Miss Blake- ney that she would return in it, as her friends feared she might take cold. The sergeant was therefore obliged to break off his story when it was scarcely begun, Lucy saying: “You shall tell it to me some other time, my good Blandford, but now, good-night.”’ Lieutenant Franklin handed her into the coach, bowing, as he laughingly said:
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LUCY TEMPLE. 9 fe ee 2 REE SRST SRE NAR ES PST EY SO ER SSI PST TCE OSE PRES LPP OL eT Gd Se, ee Eo “A soldier is not afraid of the damp arising from @ trifling shower, so I shall walk back to Sir Robert .Aimslie’s,”’ : This délicate conduct was not lost upon Miss Blake- mey, and raised the young manin the estimation of Mr, Mathews. A short time after this, Mr. Franklin openly made @ declaration of his sentiments to Lucy, who referred him tovher i ae poem for the reason why she could not wive a decided answer till her twenty-first birthday was passed. When Franklin heard that Miss Blake- mey was, in reality, a wealthy heiress, instead of the dependent orphan he had depicted in his own mind, and found that he must adopt her name or relinquish -her fortune, he felt something like hesitation; he had alread laid aside his own family nameand assumed that of his grandfather. ‘ “Twill be candid, my dear sir,” said he; ‘ happi- mess to me appears unattainable unless in a. union ‘with Miss Blakeney; bnt I must consult’ my father, and I fear he will never consent to my changing the venerated name I now bear for any other, You know fortune has not been an object with me, for I loved and would have married your ward, though whe had nothing but her invaluable self to bestow; but I cannot reconcile it to my own sense of integrity’ ‘to despoil her of so fair an independence, which en- titles her to those appendages: and elegances which my woderate fortune could not afford.” “You are a worthy young man,” said Mr; Mat- thews; “persevere in this course of integrity, and Rerheee things my turn out so as to obviate these culties, At any rate you will avoid self-reproach and happiness is so hardly attainable in this world that it would be a pity, while too eagerly pursuing it, to run the risk of mingling gall with the:>honey.” When Franklin took leave of Lucy, she held out her hand, and he pressed it to his lips. Her eyes were pi reused full, while, with a tremulous voice, she said: ‘Remember, I have entered into no engagements; and whatever the import of my grandfather's letter may be, lam firmly resolved to abide by his direc- tions. You have requested leave to commence a correspondence; you mustallow me to decline it. It ‘could be of no service, When the time comes that I shall see this formidable. letter, you shall hear either ‘from Mr. Matthews or myself the result; and let that ‘be what it may, I shallever retain a most grateful sense of your disinterested attachment; and if no mearer, tie can ever connect us, I shall ever regard you as a friend and brother.” She then hastily left the room, and_ shut herself in her own apartment, to give vent to feelings she was ugwilling to have witnessed, though ‘she was unable to suppress. Franklin returned to Sir Robert ‘Ains- lie’s, from whence, at anearly hour the next morn- ing, he departed with his young friend for London, ‘CHAPTER VIII. ‘UNPLEASANT DISCOVERIES—BITTER REPENTANCE, Txovexr Sir Stephen Haynes had proposed to the eredulous Lady Mary the delightful excursions which she stated in her letter to Mr. Matthews, he never weriously intended any other excursion than the one that made him master of her fortune; and, indeed, could he have obtained possession of that without en- cumbering himself with her person, he would gladly have doneit, When, however, the hymenial knot was tied, and the romantic, thoughtless girl had paid him the seven thousand pounds, he carelessly asked hor if she had reserved any for her own use. | Miss Brenton, who was present, not giving her friend time to speak, answered for her: ‘** Certainly, Sir Stephen, Lady Mary has retained a trifle for her pocket ex- nses, till you have the settlements properly ad- usted, and can pay her first quarter.” Sir Stephen looked out of the window and began to whistle. Miss Brenton laid her finger on herlip, look- ing earnestly at Lady Mary to impose silence upon her; for the truth was, she had persuaded her to re- tain five hundred pounds, which was the sum Mr. Matthews had mentioned as having laid by for her during her minority. “It will be time enough to talk of these thin ‘when we have been to Wiltshire,” said the new made bride. |“ Sir Stephen will then make his own gene- rous arrangements, and I shall not have occasion for much money till I get to London, when I must have an entire new wardrobe, and have the few jewels my mother left me more fashionably set. You will have anew carriage, T presume, Sir Stephen,” addressing ber husband, ** and new livery?” ‘“*T don’t know that I shall ha#e either, madame,” Said he, It was the first time he had ever addressed her by the formal title of madame. She looked at him, and her color varied, but thinking he might suppose that she wished to hurry to London, she sald: “T did not mean that we should go directly there; if we are there time enough to have Pray ining ready for the birthday, when I shall expect to be presented by some of my mother’s relations. “Then ke will be disappointed he replied, sha ly, “for I do not think Ishall go to London at all, It is a devilish expensive place, and you cannot suppose that your fortune entitles you to form ei h expectations, however your ladyship’s rank may a, “T never deceived you in regard to my fortune, Sir Stephen,”’ she answered, her lip beginning to quivers, fos a choking sensation to arise in her roat, “But 1 suppose you knew that your accommodat- ing friend there had done it; she represented your fortune moré than quadruple the paltry sum you have given me.” “T have given you all, Sir Stephen,” said she, “and had it been a thousand times as much, would have given itas freely.” She hid her face with her handkerchief, and burst into a hysterical sob. ‘*Oh, pray, don’t let us have a crying match so early in the honeymoon,” said he. “I hate whim- pering; it spoils a pepe? face, and makes an ugly 1d gaa ag e snatched up his bat and saun- te out. It may be easily imagined what a young woman of such uncontrollable feelings as Lady Mary must have endured at this discovery of the selfish disposition of a man to whom she had intrusted all her fortune, her all of earthly felicity; she threw herself into the arms of Miss Brenton and exclaimed: “Theresa, why have you done this? I thought him disinterested; I thought he loved me for myself; why —why, did you lead him to think——” ‘““My dear Mary,” said Miss Brenton, soothingly, ‘how can you blame me? I did not know the extent of yourfortune. You were pepeses, an heiress; your uardian never contradicted the report; and know- ing how immensely rich Sir Stephen was left by his father, I rejoiced in the prospect of seeing my dear friend, so amiable, so realy united to a man able to add to her exalted rank the gifts of fortune. And when [ knew your sensitive heart was engaged by him, I thought, in. promoting your union, 1 was promoting your happiness,”’ ‘Forgive my petulance, Theresa,’ said Lady Mary. drying her eyes, ‘‘ but what must I do? how must I conduct myself?” _ Let it be remembered that Lady Mary was but a wife of three days; for on her return from Scotland they had stop at Alnwick in Northumberland, where so much of antiquity and ancient Pence were to be seen, connected with historical tales of chivalry and renown, that Mary Lumly, asshe passed through it on her imprudent expedition, had ex- pressed a wish to stop on her return and view the castle, the gates of the town, and other objects, to which her enthusiastic¢ spirit of romance had given the highest interest. Accordingly, on the second night of their retro- grade sabia they wor well-attended, comfortable inn, in the ancient town of Alnwick, not very far from the beautiful seat so long descended from father to son in the noble fami- ly of Percy, of Northumberland. On the second morning after her arrival there the scene took place which led to the question of “What must I do? how must I conduct myself?’ “Struggle to suppress your feelings,” said Miss Brenton; ‘‘when Sir Stephen returns receive him with composure, and on no account let him know of the small amount you have retained, for, from. all I see and hear, I suspect. it will be some time befere you gain anything from him.” Theresa Brenton was an artful, selfish young wo- man; her mother was a widow, with a sma qoute and Theresa, with a very trifling fortune of her own looked around for ways.and means to lead. a life of ease and affluence, without infringing on a small patrimony inherited from her father, except to su piy her with necessary articles of clothing and pock- etmoney. She had early begun to try her talent of flattery upon Lucy Blakeney; but Lucy had too much sense to be led or hoodwinked by soft speeches and a yielding versatility of manners, She was al- ways polite, and treated Miss Brenton with that suav- ity of demeanor which was er general characteris- tic; but she could not love her, associate with nor confide in her as a friend, . It may be here observed that a. conduct which was kind and consoling toa woman formerly followed and courted by an admiring world, moving in the most splendid circles, indulging in every wish of her heart, but who was now weak in health, dep in fortune, and neglected by -that world, it was the hight of cruelty to practice toward a young creature just entering into life. When, after the death of her mother, Lady Mary was removed to the regular, well-conducted family of Mr. Matthews, where a kind of sedate cheerfulness went hand in hand with rational amusement and mental improvement, the change was so great that she was "4 to meet a more congenial associate in Theresa Brenton. The consequence was, that they became, in the language of romantic ppiseeee ew ol friends.’ Lad ary would complain of the form- ality of Miss Cavendish, the strictness of Mr. Mat- thews, and the undeviating preciseness of his wife. Miss Brenton would reply: “T feel for you, my dear Mary; it must be very painful to your sensitive mind; but be patient, it can- not last for ever, and the time will arrive, when, being your own mistress, you can indulge those ami- able sensibilities which throw a fascinating charm around you, and, while constituting your own happiness, render you the delight of all who know you, Inthe meantime, Theresa Brenton would, when Mary Lumly received her quarterly allowance, ac- company her, from pure good-nature, on her shop- ping expeditions, and where her friend purchased any elegant or expensive article, would lament that she had not the power to indulge herself in any- thing beyond usefulness; when often the thought- less yet generous minded Mary would suffer con- siderable depredations on her purse rather than dear Theresa should feel the want of an article that would set off her pretty person so well, but which at an old-fashioned but. her confined finances. would not allow her to pur- chase. Miss Brenton was herself deceived in regard to Sir Stephen’s fortune, when, following Lady Mary from Brighton, he contrived to get an introduction to the fault, where he found he could make a staunch auxuliary by a profusion of protestations and a few showy presents. His equipage and dress were. so elegant, his disregard of expense so evident, that both Mrs. and Miss Brenton conceived his revenues to be immense, and Theresa thought, by assisting her friend in eluding her guardian’s watchfulness, and forming a matrimonial union with Sir Stephen, she should secure herself an invitation to S one sum- mer at least in London, during which period she might .secure an establishment for herself, an another season, dash forth at parties, balls, an routs, at the opera, theater, or masquerade, as the rival or superior of her angelic friend, Lady Mary Haynes. She, therefore, pretended not to know the extent of Lady Mary's fortune, but led the scheming, selfish batone to believe that it was above twenty thousand pounds, _ Mary Lumly herself would have spurned such an imposition, but she never made that mental exertion which is necessary when persons mean to judge and decide for themselves. She had been: blindly led by the flattery and a ion of Theresa Brenton, and was taught to believe that in asking for or submitting to the advice of Mr. Matthews, she was making herself a slave to the will of one who, being old and fastidious, was incapable of deciding’ upon what would constitute the happi- ness of a young and beautiful woman. But Theresa Brenton, in abetting the elopement, had overreached herself. She had no idea, when she received, by Lady Mary’s order, the whole of her lit- tle fortune from Sir Robert Ainslie, that the inno- cent, confiding gin meant to give it unconditionally to her husband before he had made the promised settlements, which even at that time she had no doubt he had the power to make, But when she found it impossible to persuade her from so doing she strongly urged her to retain the five hundred pounds in her own hands, When dinner was announced, and the I met Sir Stephen, Lady Mary strove to smile; Miss Bren- ton was remarkably cheerful, and when the cloth was removed, he made a proposal to visit Alnwick Castle that afternoon, " The smiles naturally returned to,the face of his bride; and the carriage being ordered, they proceed- ed to the stately mansion of the Percys. 7 Sir Stephen knew, when he made the p 1, that some of the family being in Northumbsnaal, was not likely that they would be admitted to view the castle; and when he received for answer, on ap- plying for admittance at the porter’s lodge, that there was company there at present, turning to Lady Mary, he said: ; “Well, it can’t be helped, but we will take a drive around to view a little romantic spot which I amsure you will be pleased with. When I went out this morning, I met a friend I had not seen for many years, who now lives within a short distance of Aln- wick; I walked with him to his house, where he re- sides with his mother, and from thence, on one of the horses, accompanied him on a ride in this delightful country, where there is so much to gratify the taste and the judgment,” ; As they rode pence Stephen was uncommonly attentive and entertaining. At an opening from a wood he pointed out a cottage, built in the antique style, with a garden gay with early spring flowers, and surrounded by a small patch of ground, in which was. a variety of beautiful flowering shrubs, tho they now only shewed their under green leaves. The ladies both exclaimed: y ‘* Well, what a lovely place! itis just a situation to realize the idea of love in a cottage.” ae Stephen bade the postilion drive up to the gate. Seis : “Come,” said he, “we will alight’ and get some tea Mera ‘There will’ bes tmp incon this evening, and we shall have a pleasant drive afterwards.” ~ ; But Miss Brenton observed, “that she thought ne road they had come was very lonely; they had seen but few ngers, and those not very prepossessing in their fooks.”* “Beside,” said Lady Mary, “ this is certainly not a house of entertainment,” 7 “We shall try that,” said he, dpnping out; and, in- sisting on the ies alighting, he the way up to an old-fashioned porch, over which climbed the wood- bine and sweetbriar, just bursting into vegetation. An elderly woman opened the door and ushered them into a not inelegant but small parlor, “Where is Mr. Craftly?” asked Sir St Dn. “Texpect him every moment, your honor,” said the woman, whom. we will call Janet, ‘and he, told me, should your honor arrive before him, to show the ladies to their rooms, and obey their orders in everything.” The ladies were struck almost dumb with astonish- ment. “Our rooms! why, are we to remain here all night?” faintly articulated Lady Mary. “Your lady, Sir Stephen, bas no night clothes here,” said Miss Brenton, with rather more firmness of voice, ‘and how can we be accommodated in this little place?” “Pho, Theresa!’’ he replied; half-jocularly, * don’t raise obstacles where none really exist; 1 have order- ed the trunks to be brought. Udid neé like our sif
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oo eo his.) a » ’ _ “What a fool to early hours, was Shonehs es i; } cheerful as she entere 10 LUCY TEMPLE. uation at the inn, and my friend, having offered me the use of this cottage for a short period, I concluded it would just suit Lady Mary’s taste; and you know you both declared just now it was exactly the situ- ation to realize the idea of love in a cottage!” “True,” said Lady Mary, witha slight degree of acrimony, ‘‘ but I do not know how I will like the cot- tage without the love.” At thie moment Craftly entered, and Sir Stephen taking his arm, walked into the little shrubbery, ‘What can this mean, Theresa?” inquired the pale and agitated bride. Miss Brenton. shrugged his shoulders, but remained silent; and they concluded to go and inspect the apartments. The cottage consisted of two parlors, a kitchen, and four -chambers, neatly but not elegantly fur- nished. ““T won’t stay here,” said Lady Mary. “But how shall we get away?” rejoined her com- panion, “for I believe the carriage is gone in which wecame. But be patient, dear Mary; this may only be a frolic of Sir Stephen's; ask no questions, en- deavor to he cheerful, and all may be wellyet. He knew your mother’s attachment to rank and ‘splen dor; he may fear that youinherit her family pride.” “] ‘ish to Heaven I had!”’ she ardently replied, ‘I should never have fallen into this humiliating situa- tion,”’ “Well, what is done cannot be undone,” said Theresa, with a nonchalance surprising to her friend. At tea, ape Lady Mary was calm, she could not be cheerful. Miss Brenton was rather silent and ob- servant. Craftly stayed the evening, and after sup- er challenged Sir Stephen to a game at piquet. The Taaies retired to their chambers, where they found hs trunks; but on looking ground, Tad, Mar ' missed her dressing-case; in which were her jewe and all her money, except about twenty-five guineas | which were in Theresa’s purse. . She-had inquired into the establishment of the cottage, and found it consisted only of the elderly rson shé had first seen, who acted as cook and ousekeeper, and a rude country girl, who was to at- tend the ladies and take care of the chambers; a half- grown boy to clean knives and attend at meal times, and r.old crone who occasionally came tosuper- intend the garden and grounds. The girl, accustom- one to ; the woman er work was finished when the supper stabi was Cleared, and the boy expressed his discontent _ when he found he must sit up to wait on the gentle- men. ‘When, therefore, Lady Mary, on retiring to her room,found no one to assist her in undressing,or to go - to Sir Stephen to inquire for her dressing-case, Ss Brenton, who felt more alarmed than she was willi to own, snatched up the candle—for there was bu one in the peerecaty Oat, without apology, hasten- ed back to the parlor, ‘*Sir Stephen," said she, throwing open the door, vin your ady’s dressing-case is not come.” “Well,” he replied, “ what of that? I suppose she can do without it for one night. Lend her some of 2ope hinge, Theresa, forI believe they are come.”’ “ They may be, but I was so disturbed upon missing this valuable case (for it belonged to your lady’s mo- ther, and she prizes it very highly), that I did not look for or even think of my own things.”’ ; “+ Well—well, I dare say it is safe enough; I willsee about it to-morrow. So, good Theresa, do go now, leave us to play our game in peace,” tee i peve Deer. and how I have misled poor y Mary!” sa. i ascended the stairs. But, endeavoring to suppress her feelings, and look 1 oa ithe room where her friend was undressing, she said: “The box will be here to-morrow; you must con- dear Mary, to use my dressing apparatus to- night, and in the ~ eee. I hope we shall prevail on ' t am sure my mo Sir hen'to give up the wild scheme of staying any time in this cottage, and commence a journey if. not to London, at least into Hampshire, where i a , ther will be happy to receive you till Sir Stephen can look around and settle ina proper habitation.” _ After a few remarks, not very pleasant to either party, the ladies separated; but though they retired bed, sleep visited neither of them till nearly day- light. When it did overtake them, it was so pro- found that they did not awake till after nine in the morning. , Lady Mary, on looking around, soon perceived that Sir Stephen had not been in bed@ll night. A vague sensation of desolation struck upon her heart; she started up and searched for a bell, but no bell was to be found. ‘She opened the chamber door, and called aloud for Theresa, and ina few moments, wrapped only in a dressing-gown, her friend entered the room. “Sir Stephen has not been in his apartment, all night, Theresa; what can be the meaning of this?” she exclaimed, wildly. Before Miss Brenton could re ly’ Janet, who had been listening, hearing the @3 S) ready above an hour. “Where is your master, good woman?” asked Miss srenton, as calinly as she could, “My master! Mr. Craftly, does your ladyship .nean? He walked out with his honor, Sir Stephen, before five o’clock, and said he should not return to breakfast; but Dora, when she was cleaning the par- lor where their honors played cards last night, saw . this bit of paper; but what it’s about we ean’t tell, for neither she nor ican read joining hand.” ss Brenton, mentally, as she ak, came up to say that breakfast had been, Before Janet had finished her harangue, Theresa had snatched the note from her hand, eagerly broke the seal, and read as follows: “To Miss THERESA BRENTON: ‘You cannot be surprised, Theresa, after the explanation between Lady Mary and myself yester- day, that I should declare my utter inability to make those settlements which I talked of before our ex- cursion to the north. I must beg you to make my ac- knowledgments, to the dear, se pcan girl for all marks of favor and kindness bestowed by her un- worthy, humble servant; but my finances are in such a state, that it is totally impossible for me to take a journey to Wilts, as proposed, or to solicit her com- pany to France, whither I must repair as speedily as possible to rusticate, while my affairs in England are put in train to restore me to some comparative de- gree of affluence. My friend, Richard Craftly, Esq. as offered the cottage to you and your lovely friend as long as you may please to occupy it. He is, Miss Brenton, a man of good abilities, amiable disposition, and essed of asmall, but genteel and unencum- bered estate, which upon the death of his mother will be augmented. He will call on you this afternoon. 7 recommend him to your notice. My best wishes at- tend you and your fair associate—Lady Mary. “Tam, dear Theresa, “Your obliged friend, etc., etc., “ SrmpHEen Haynes.”’ “ Give it to me—give me that letter, Theresa!’ ex- claimed Lady Mary, snatching it from Miss Brenton. Her frenzied eye glanced rapidly over its contents, and muttering: “ Friend! associate / Yes, it flashes on my mind— I have no cértificate; he gives meno name. I am undone—undone!” : . “The letter fell from her hand; she clasped_her fin- gers tightly across her forehead, and before the terri- ed and humane Janet could step forward to catch her, she fell lifeless on the floor. CHAPTER IX. THE LETTER—THE BIRTHDAY, Ocronzn had almost expired, and Lucy Blakeney began to count the hours when she should be relieved from the state of suspense in which she was placed and which, notwithstanding her well-regulated mind and subdued feelings, was very painful. She had occasionally heard, through the Ainslie family, of Franklin's health, and that his father remained in a weak and sometimes deranged state. Her mind was harassed; she even no longer took pleasure in visit- ing Blandford’s cottage. “T cannot account for it, Aura,’’ said she, one day, to Miss Melville, “ but, though my _ curiosity was awakened by the manner in which the old sergeant commenced his story, yet Ieannot summon resolu- tion to ask him to tell it to me; a certain terror spreads through my frame, and 1 wish to hear no moreof it till I can hear it in company with Mr. Franklin. ‘Alas, and a-well-a-day,” replied Aura, tanning. “what a sad thing this tender something is, whic we hardly dare own, and know not how to describe.” “Well. I will not deserve to be laughed at, Aura; for I will act upon principle, and am resolved to par- take of and cudoy at the comforts and_ innocent pleasures of life that may faJl in my path, though one little thorn should pierce my foot in my pilgrim- age. ; ‘Your foot.or yout heart, Lucy?” , ‘“Why, my good Aura, I shall strive to keep it as far from my heart as I can,” “Do you remember, Lucy, what day next Thurs- day is?’ asked Mr, Matthews, one morning, as he sat at breakfast with his family. “Tt ismy birthday, sir, is it not?” “Even so, a good little girl,’”’ for with Mr. Mat- thews, everything that was held very dear to him was denominated little. “Well,” continued he, ‘‘and what shall we do to celebrate the day? Ihave no doubt that all the beaux and misses in the environs of Southampton have long been anticipating splendid doings on the day when Miss Blakeney obtains her majority,” ‘*T mean to have very splendid doings, sir.” * Indeed!” ae ¥es-—” “T wonder then, Miss Blakeney, you did not give my brother and sister intimation of your intent,” said Miss Cavandish, ‘‘that proper preparations might have been made, without the hurry whicir must now ensue.” Oh, my dear madame!” said Aura, ‘“‘Lucy and I have been busy these two months pastin preparing for this interesting occasion, and, indeed, our invita- tions are already sent out, and every one, I do assure you, accepted.” : “Very extraordinary conduct, I think,’ said the consequential old lady. f ““T wish you had given alittle more time,” said Mrs. Matthews, mildly; ‘but, however, we will see what can be done.’ But what is it to be? a ball and supper? or a breakfast in fasbionable style?’ “Oh, neither, madame, though I hope to make some dance, and some sing, Who are not much in the havit of doing such things.”’ Miss Cavendish had taken a large pinch of snuff, and having wiped the poudre tabac from her upper lip with one of. her finest colored silk handkerchiefs, which, together with her elegant snuff-box, she de- pocites in a filagree work-basket. which always stood. eside her, and opened her delicate. white cambric: one, and laid it on her lap, was beginning to speak, when Mr. Matthews said: ‘‘These girls are only playing tricks with us, sister. Lucy no more intends. to have a party than Iintend to take avoyage te the moon,”’ “Don’t you be too sure, my dear sir,” said. Lucy, laying her hand playfully on his arm. ‘Ihave real- ly invited a party of forty to dine here on Thursday next; and allI have to ask is that you will lend me the hall, and that Mrs. Matthews will have. the good- ness to order John to lay the cloth in a simple man- ner for my guests, and permit the, cook and house- eg ge for all day on Wednesday to obey my injunc- ions.’ ‘““Well, children,’ said Mrs. Matthews, “IT believe you must have your waythisonce, Itshall be, Lucy, as you wish.” ‘But come, Lucy,” said Mr. Matthews, “let us somewhat into the secret; I suspect you will want a little cash to earry your fine plans into effect?” “Not a doit, dear sir, till Thursday morning, when Ishall want one hundred pounds in guineas, half- guineas, crowns, and half-crowns.”’ “ Extravagant baggage,” he replied, his fine, ven- erable countenanee: glowing with pleasure, ‘Now, tell us the arrangements of the day.” ‘*Oh, they: are very simple. You know, my ever venerated Mr, Matthews, on that day lexpect to read a letter, the'contents of which will most probably de- termine the hue of my future fate.” She spoke with solemnity, and a slight, convulsive tremor passed over her intelligent features, “Tf you please, let that letter remain uninvesti- gated till I retire for the night. I would enjoy the in- nocent festivities I have prowectes for the day, and now,”’ she continued, with moré hilarity of manner, “T will cell youmy plan: About twelve o’clock I ex- pect my guests to begin to assemble; they will con- sist. of a few of the oldest and most res d poor of your parish, with children and grandchildren. Aura. and myself will receive them in the large sitting par- lor, when yourself; with whom Ishall deposit my hundred pounds, shall portion itout «mongst them according to your own judgment; for you must be the most p: r person to decide upon their necessi- ties and merits, You have been so liberal in your allowance to me, that having laid by a little hoard, Aura and myself have provided garments for the old- est and most infirm, the youngest and most desolate, aud suitable presents for the rest,”’ 3 “Oh—oh,” said Mr. Matthews, ‘‘so now the secret is out of the cause of the many jaunts to Southampton. lately, and the long conferences held in the dressing- room, of a morning early, to which none but a few industrious young women were admitted.” “Even so, sir; for while we were gratifying our owm whims, it was but just that they should not be selfish ones; so, when Aura and Lhad cut the garments, we employed those young A ae to make them, so that they might be benefited by forwarding our scheme without feeling the weight of obligation, which i should think was a feeling most repugnant to the young and active, They have none of them been let into the secret of the use for which these garments are designed, but some of them, if not all, will par- take of our festivities.” ( Miss Cavendish’ had, snes this explanation, sat with her eyes fixed on Miss Blakeney’s face; she had folded and unfolded her cambric handkerchief sever- al times; her eyes twinkled, she hemmed, applied the before-mentioned silk handkerchief to her nose, and at length, reaching her hand across the table, she said, in no very firm voice: ; sal be “You are certainly a most extraordinary young lady, and I begin to think I have ever rightly under- stood you. Pardon me, child, I fear I have this morn- ing been both illiberal and rude. w ‘« Well—well,” continued the old lady, with one of her most knowing nods, ‘I trust I ow you better in future,” On the Wednesday following, several good sirloins of beef were roasted, hams boiled, ies baked, and on Thursday morning plum puddings boiled for the ex- pected regale, It was scarcely twelve o’clock when the company began to assemble; the young brimful of joy, and the old anticipating they hardly knew what; but all were cheerful and blithe with the most delightful sensations. Among the first arrived old ice Lounsdale and her good man, brought by one of their neighbors whom Lucy had engaged for the purpose, in a chaise; nor was Thomas, who had row recovered the use of his limbs, with his good dame and children, forgotten. The family which had excited so warmly Lady Mary Lumly’s romantic enthusiasm, were the blithest. among the blithe in the happy group, that not only filled the rector’s eating-parior, but partially filled the benches in the at an: for Lucy’s forty, when. children, grandchildren, and in some Cases great- grandchildren were collected, amounted to about six- ty. Dishes of common eake were handed around, with cheese and ale for the men, and wine-sangaree for the women. Mr. Matthews then, with a discrim- inating hand, portioned out the bounty of the heiress, according to the necessities of all; and many were that day provided with the means of passing through the ensuing winter with comfort, who else must have been pinched, both for fuel and sustenance, At half past two, the tables were iaigete spread, at which, among the elder guests, . and Mrs. Mat- thews presided, and at that with the younger, sat
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reo LUCY TEMPLE. 1i Lucy and Aura, while Miss Cavendish walked around looking at their happy faces, and took her pinch of snuff with more exhilarated feelings than she had ex- periencec for years before. After dinner, Lucy and Aura invited the matrons to their own apartments, which adjoined each other, where each received a present of enmr adapted to their age, circumstances and family. The young ones sported cheerfully in the pee the old men talked in groups around the hall seven eB where blazed an old-fashioned, large and cheerful fire. At six, a regale of coffee, tea, and simple cakes, with bread and butter were set forth; and before eight, all had retired to seek their homes under the light ofa brilliant full moon. And_ how did Lucy feel when all were departed? She felt as a Christian ought to feel; she had cheer- ed and peer Nance the hearts of many; she had her- self enjoyed the purest felicity during the whole day, and she mentally ejaculated, as, taking the letter from her guardian, she sought her own apartment: “T have now a bitter cup to drain, let me not re pine. I have much, very much to be grateful for, and what right have I to expect to walk over fields of roses Without feeling the briers which surround the Pterrae on which those beautiful and fragrant flowers ossom, ' ‘ ._. She entered her chamber, bidding Aura good- night at the door, which closing, she sat down, the letter,in her hand, which, though unsealed, she had not the courage to open; at length, rallying her spirits, she unfolded the paper and read; ad To Miss Lucy BLAKENEY: “ To be delivered on the day she attains the age of twenty-one. : ‘‘Prom the hour when I closed the eyes of your be- loved, ill-fated mother, you, my dear Lucy, haye been the delight and solace of your grandmother and my- self. And your amiable disposition has led us to hope. that you may in future be the happy inheritress of the estate and property on which we have lived above thirty-five years; happy, my. child, in. bestow- ing comfort on others, and doubly happy in the en- joyment of reflected joy from grateful hearts, *“You are in possession of independence from the paaost of Captain Blakeney, but yon will find by my will, that itis my wish that not a farthing of that be- quest, either principal or interest, should be expend- ed during your minority, the income arising from your he tary estate, etc., being amply sufficient to clothe, board, and educate you, in the style of a gentlewoman, You are by law entitled to the name and arms of Blakeney, but there was a clause anrex- _ edtoyour godfather’s will which gave your dear grandmother and myself great uneasiness. It is that which insists that your future husband should change his own name to that of Blakeney, or the whole of the original bequest will be forfeited and the accuma- ted interest only be yours. cg ty lamented wife in her last hours, Lucy, said to me, ‘I wish, love, you may live tosee our lovely child of an age when you may adviseher never to shackle sa pope ney. by, feeling as if she were obliged to re- e Bee aed very happy, because himself or his friends should object toachange of name. Imyself have such a predeliction for family names, that had it not been for particular circumstances, and thatthe name of a female must at some time or other in all proba- bility be changed, I should never have consented to our Lucy assuming the name of Blakeney. Should you be called hence before she is of a proper age to understand and be instructed with every necessary ‘commanication on the subject of her birth, and other potenti 2 Circumstances, Imust eaten ou a be ‘phic er guardians, an 0 leave a let- ter addressed to herself.” s “Soon after this conversation, the companion and friend of my life, the hightener of all my joys, the consoler of all my sorrows, the only woman I ever loved, left this transitory sphere for a more blissful peeton. From that moment the world, my Lucy, he i gmt a blank, Not even your mp | ee: er , your affectionate sympathy could ca wt in to any enjoyment in life. I endeavored sev- pe fy con nérve my feelings to the preformance ce) 4 sony and have blamed myself dor thus pro- crastinating it. But from several symptoms of failure rays 8 ane bodily vigor, z feel it will not be world of spiriéns my regretted partner into the “‘Lexpect to see Mr. Matthews in the course of a few weeks; I shall thén make him the confidant of many sorrows, which have sunk deep into my heart and drank its vital energies, earlier than, perhaps, time might have impaired them. I entreat, my Lucy, my last earthly treasure, that in no momentous con” cerns of your life you will act without consulting him, and when you have consulted, abide entirely by his decision. “Asit regards a matrimonial connection, let not the clause of your godfather’s will have any influence. Your own patrimony will yield four hundred pounds a year; half this must b2 settled on yourself. The ac- cumulation of the interest on =f friend Blakeney's bequest will be very considerable in eleven years. 8 is your own, to be settled or disposed of as your- self may direct. I have, by insisting on half your patrimony being settled on yourself previous to the day of marriage,secured to you the comforts and con- veniences of life, as long as life may be continued; for the rest, I leave you in charge of a good and heavenly Protector, who will never leave those to perish, who rely on His providence. man whom she may love, and who might. “There is one thing, my ever dear child, Lam ve anxious about, and on which my charge to you will be very solemn. It is, that you will never marry any of the family of N——”’ Here the stroke of death arrested the hand which held the pen, and the good old gentleman was found, as already mentioned dead in his easy chair. “What can I think—how must I act?’’§ said Lucy, as with stunned faculties she still gazed on the open letter upon the table before her, “I will determine on nothing till I know the opinion of my guardian on the subject; in the meantime I will implore the guidance and _ protection of Him who knoweth best what is good for his children, and leave the event to time.’ So concluding, she folded the letter, perform- ed her nightly devotions, and retired to rest. Lieutenant. Franklin was now in London; his fath- er, whose health was very feeble, had, with his fam- ily, taken up his residence in his house in Portland ace, He had counted the days with anxiety till the arrival of Lucy’s birthday; after that, time seemed to have added lead to his pinions, and every hour and day was as a hundred, AtJength he received the following letter from Mr. Matthews: “To LIEUTENANT JOHN FRANKLIN: “T have sat down, my dear sir, to fulfil a, most unpleasant task, in communicating you, by the desire of our lovely and esteemed friend, Miss Blake- ney; a meus Bn her grandfather’s letter, which I en- a o thinking it best to keep the orignal in my pos- session, : ““You will perceive that the old gentleman was by no means averse to her marrying to suit herself, though it might be to the diminution of her fortune. That there were. some unhappy circumstances at- tending the birth of Miss Blakeney I have every reason to conclude; though what those circumstances were I never could ascertain. For, ey 24 my. respected old friend frequently promised to impart them to me, the communication was deferred from time to time, till with him, poor man, time was no more. : “You will also perceive that there is some par- ticular family into which he had strong objections to her marrying; but the unfinished capital, which Iam at a loss to decide whether meant for an N, or an M, or an A, leads to no direct conclusion. I ‘know he had a peculiar dislike to a family of the name of Lewis, the descendants of which in one branch are Mertons, in’ another Northallertons. ‘“There was a person also of the name of Allister, who gave him much trouble by a lawsuit. But I can hardly think my old friend was so little of a Christian as to let his Fr eindice descend from generation to generation. owever, be that as it may, there is nothing in the unfinished capital that looks like F. Miss Blakeney is well, and has kept her birthday ina most novel and splendid manner. I wish you could have seen her presiding among her guests, but I presume it will not be long before we see you at. the rectory, When yoa will hear from every tongue—yes, even from sister Cavendish, her eulogium. **Tam, dear sir, yours, with esteein, “ALFRED MATTHEWS.” The evening after Mr. Matthews had di hed this letter, he entered the sitting-parlor, where his family were assembled at work, some reading, and Aura Melville strumming, as she called it, on the gui- tar. He tooka morocco case from his waistcoat- ket, and seated himself by a work-table where ucy was elaborately plying the needle’s art, without hav ing any definite end for which the work was de- signed when completed. He opened the case; a min- iature of a lady, set in wrought gold. and suspended by a superb chain, was taken from it, and throwing the chain over Lucy’s neck, he said: “This, my little girl, should have been a birthday present, but you weré so happy on that day, I thought ou should not have too much satisfaction at once; it is good and prudent to portion out pleasure by de- grees. If we are too lavish of it, the sense of enjoy- ment becomes torpid.’’ Lucy took the picture; it was that of a lovely fe- male, not more than sixteen — old; on the reverse was a braided lock of brown hair, surmounted by the initials C; T. in fine seed-pear!, “Who is this lovely creature?” said Lucy. “Come to the glass, my child, and tell me who it is like,’’ said Mr, Matthews, leading her to the glass, and raising a candle near her face. . Lucy looked and hesitated, “Only,” at length she said, ‘only that it is much handsomer, and the eyes are blue, I should think “That it was like yourself,” said Mr. Matthews, leading her to the sofa, where Aura, having laid aside her instrument, was ready to receive her. “It is the portrait of your mother, Lucy. It was taken, your father informed me, about three years previous to your birth, and was. constantly worn by your grandmother, tillsome deeply afflicting oecur- ; ences, to which I am a stranger, induced her to lay it aside.” Lucy pressed the fair semblance of youth and in- nocence to her lips and to her heart; tears rushed from her eyes, and, depositing the portrait in her bosom, she rested her head on the shoulder of Aura, and perfect silence for several minutes pervaded the apartment, “So here is our good friend Franklin,” said the good rector, a few mornings after, presenting the young lieutenant to the busy group drawn around the fireside in the breakfast parlor, Franklin bowed, and, with a face wae AanNene. half-delighted, took a chair beside Lucy. Shesmiled, blushed, broke off her thread, unthreaded needle, threaded it ain, and worked most assiduously, without one single idea of why or wherefore. She asked when he left London. What was the state of his father’s health? When he last saw Edward Ains lie? till, without being perceived by them, separ: ately and silently, every person but themselves hac. left the room. Of all the scenes to be repeated in narrative, love- scenes are the most sickening, silly, and uninstruct- ive. Suffice it to say, that in an hour after they found themselves alone, Lucy had resolved to relin- quish the principal of Blakeney’s legacy, Franklin, with entire satisfaction, accorded to the terms of set- ting half her paternal inheritance on herself, and re- ceiving the accumulated interest of eleven years om twenty thousand pounds as a fortune to be disposed of according as his judgment should direct. Friendship, love and harmony now took up their residence in the rectory; the unostentatious though silently gg Snr 3 preparations. making for the wedding of Miss Blakeney, furnished oce tion for every female of the family. Even Miss Cavendish relaxed her stern, yet really handsome features into smiles, as she gave her opinion upon some new pur- chase, or told the young persons whom Lucy had. chosen to employ on this occasion, how such a dress: and such a dress was made and trimmed when she was some few years younger. It was one of Miss Blakeney’s eccentricities, that. nothing that could.be performed by the industrious. young women in the immediate vicinity of the rec- tory shouldbe sent for from London; and one morn- naibaue Mrs. Matthews and Miss Cavendish argued that her outward | ggate ge might be more tastefub . fashionable if made in the metropolis, she re- pied: ) “But Iam so yain as to think I should not lookany handsomer in them, and I'am sure I should not feek so happy. I knowthese good young women; some of them have aged parents to su , some young brothers and sisters to educate and put in a wer a get their own bread. Iam very sénsible that, with the assistance of Miss Melville and our female domestics, more than two-thirds of the'work that is. to be done might be sito ey without any addition- alexpense. But it has been a principal with me, ever since I was capable of reflecting onthe subject. that those who can afford to pay for having their clothes, etc., made, defraud the industrious of what. is their due, by making those articles themselves. L have also another odd fancy; I will not always em- loy those in the highest class of their profession,, use, having some taste of my own, and not being very fond of finery, or going to theextreme of fash- ion, I can generally give such directions as shall cause: my clothes to be made in a neat, becoming manner; and when I go to town, it will be time enough to pur- chase whatever splendid dresses I may require for making my entrance into the gay world, so as not to aoe the family, or impeach the gadgment of Mr. A month had flitted by on rapid wings, when just at the close of a cold, dismal November day, as Franktin, having dined with the family at the rectory, was proposing a game of chess with Mr. Matthews, a. letter was delivered te him by a servant, who said it. was brought by one of Sir Robert Ainslie’s grooms, who had ridden post from London, not stopping for er but slight refreshment, and to change orses, Lucy watched his countenance, as having apolo- gized to the company, he eagerly broke the seal and read it. The color fled from his cheeks; his 4 Feige and putting his hand to his forehead, he aintly articulated: ““My poor father! my poor mother!” * Are they ill? Has anything happened to either of them?” asked Lucy, as pale and aofated as himself. “Something MF idee has befallen them,”’ he replied, ‘‘ but of what nature I cannot tell. There are a few almost incoherent lines from Edward Ainslie, requesting I will not lose & moment in setting off for London, He will meet me a few miles from town, and explain what he did not choose to commit to aper. {shall set out for Sonthamptom immediate- y on horseback, and from there to my father’s house. as fast as a chaise and four horses can carry me." i You will let us hear from you?” said Mr. Mat- ews. ' * As early as the state of affairs will permit,’ was the reply. “You know fou have friends here who will not desert you in day of adversity,”’ said Mrs. Mat- thews, with one of her most benevolent looks. The pale lips of Miss Blakeney moved, but no sound: peat Fe: op rye ae out ak pes hand to 43 og Ww ving tenderly pressed, and respectfully kiss- ed, he hastily said: ‘God bless you all and harried out of the room. In a moment his horse was heard going at a quick gece down the avenue, and anxiety and suspense ame inmates of the bosoms of Lucy and her sym- pathizing friends, : d CHAPTER X. MANEUVERING—--ESTABLISHMENT FORMED—-CHANGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES ALTERS CASES, _Ir cannot be —— but that, in the length of time elapsed since Lady Mary Lumly left the protect- ion of her friends to trust to the honor of a profligate, ne
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b , _ tatk of Sir Stephen’s return, of » eapacity, nor bad feeli 12 : a ee ee eye nn ann IE nnn nneerenet LUCY TEMPLE. as ‘many conjectures had been formed concerning her ‘situation, and the treatment she met ‘with from her husband. Ali'the family at the rectory were anxious ‘to hear from her, but how to direct their inquiries they were entirely at a loss. ; Mr. Matthews once or twice called on Mrs. Bren- ton, but the old lady could give them no intelligence. ‘The last letter she received from Theresa was dated from Alnwick, and that was above seven months since; in that she said Sir Stephen and his lady talk- ed of making a short trip tu the continent, and if they invited her to accompany them she should cer- tainly go. The old lady did not express any uneasi- ‘ness, concluding they were in France;and as Theresa was never a very attentive carrespondent of her mother, she supposed her time was too much absorb- ed in pleasure to think much about her. Miss Cavendish then wrote to some of Lady Mary’s relations on the mother’s side, to inquire if they had heard from her; but they, offended at her imprudent conduct, and the marriage connection she had form- ed, answered, that “They neither knew nor wished ‘to know anything about her.”’ The uneasiness of the family increased, when a day or two after Mr. Frank- lin’s departure, a gentleman lately returned from France called to deliver letters to Mr. Matthews, and staying to dinner, mentioned having seen Sir Stephen ‘Haynes in Paris some little time since. * Was his lady with him?” asked Miss Cavendish. “There cenanty was a lady with him,” replied the gentleman, ‘but I did not understand she was his wife, Isawher several times, but never in his com- manners, and was said to lead a very gay ‘ ber She was a bold looking woman, of exceeding- 4 ‘ee.’ ue “That was not, our poor Mary," waleprted Aura to Miss Blakeney. Lucy shook her head, and the sub- ject was. dropped. We left this victim of self-will and ill-directed sen- | ibility at a cottage not many miles distant from Aln- wick Castle, under the care of Mr, Craftly; but so ignorant were both Lady Mary and her friend of the scoters in which the cottage was situated, that they would have been unable to direct a servant, had any . been allowed them, to find.a post-town or Nig = Ze by which means to transmit a letter to their friends. But for weeks after the departure of Sir Brepnen, ‘Lady Mary was in nostate to write or hardly to think, being ill with a slow neryous fever and at times delirious. Her highly excited state of feeling, her keen SeepirSnncey. added to a degree of self-ac- ecusation which her ingenaees mind could not sup- press, was more than she could support, and she had nearly sunk under it—perhaps would have done so, but that Craftly, though he considered her as an im- prudent. Founs woman, pitied her sufferings, and in- terested his mother and sister in her behalt. hier a truly virtuous and respectable women did ot think that the comnmission of one fault was suffi- ient to banish a human being from hog or ex- ccuse in others the want of humanity or indness. ‘They went to the cottage; they hovered over her like guardian angels; and when, in her wanderings she would call for Lucy, Aura, or Mrs. Matthews, they would one or the, other present themselves at ‘her. bedside, soothe. her, administer ler medicines, er reunion with her friends, and by degrees, brought her back to health, and a comparative degree of comfort. Miss Brenton, taking her tone from these kind- ‘hearted women, was tender and attentive. Lady Mary tevived, as to external appearance, but: her warm, enthusiastic heart had been chilled, the bright prospects of youth were to her shrouded, and the Sweet blossoms of hope were crushed forever. _ Who and what was Craftly?. A man of no mean , who had been brought up to the profession of the law. He had lost his father early in life, but that father had secured, to his wife and daughter, who was ten years the senior of her brother, a decent competency, and a genteel house in the vicinity of Alnwick. The residue of his estate and DEORET ty, he left to hisson, There was considerable roady money. Oraftly wished tu taste the pleasures of a London season during that winter, but being young and nyawershced, he became the prey of Sharpers and gamesters, and rial the rest, became a debtor to Sir Stephen Haynes. His money was run out; the few and trifling rents he had to receive had not become due, and the only security he had to offer was the mortgage of asmall cottage and the grounds he held in Northumberland. ~ When, therefore, Haynes met Craftly upon his re- turn from the north with his newly-niade and lovely bride, it occurred to bis unprincipled inind that he might make him subservient to his views in getting | his intended | free from Lady Mary, and enjoyin tour to the coutinent in company with a dissolute woman, who had persuaded him that, though mar- ried and the mother of two lovely children, her in- vincible attachment to him had induced her to’ sacri- fice all at the shrine of her illicit love. This woman Sir Stephen Haynes had set up in his heurt as a paragon of perfection; he did not feel that it was her blandishments that drew him first from the paths of rectitude; he did not know that a profligate, unprineipled woman is the bane of man's peace, both here and hereafter. ; Mary Lumly was agreeable in her person, sportive in her manners, and easily assailed by flattery. Her fortune had been represented as more than treble its value. He sought to obtain that fortune, but shrunk ‘from proclaiming her as a wife. Possessed of her lit- tle patrimony, his thoughts reverted to the woman who had enslaved his youthful mind, and, leaving od -gonfiding victin to what chance or time might pr ” * duce, he took his adulterous paramour with him on his journey to France. 1 / Lady Mary, recovered by thecare of her unknown friends, began to think of living; and when she dis- covered she was likely to become a mother, life itself became more endeared to her. Lady Mary Lumly, however headstrong in her resolves—however misled. by the spirit of romance and the flattery of pretended friends, had naturally a good heart, and an under- standing above mediocrity. The time she had passedin the family of Mr. Mat- thews had been of infinite service to her; the principles and habits of the individuals who formed that family were such as had taught her that the neglect of duty eh was no excuse for the same neglect in our- selves. “T am forsaken,’ she merely argued, “deceived and plundered of fortune and good name; but if my misconduct is the cause of a human being coming into the world—a being dependent on me for every- thing, it is my duty to submit to the evils I have brought upon myself, and to be to the little innocent father, mother, all. How we are to be supported God alone can tell; my reverend guardian used to tell me that our heavenly Father would maintain the cause of the orphan, and be the judge of the widow. Alas! for me, lam more desolate than a widow; my infant, if.ever it sees the light—unless his father be es to dor us justice—more wretched than an or- phan,’ It may be asked why she did not write to, those friends she now knew how to appreciate. She did write, but Craftly had received orders to forward no letters whatever; he had, therefore, re- uested his mother and sister, before he agreed to their attending the sick bed of Lady Mary, to give all letters, whether written by her or Miss Brenton, to him; alleging as a reason, that he could conveniently send them to the post office without trouble to them. It may be remembered that Haynes had represent- ed Theresa Brenton to Crafty as an object, in regard to fortune, worthy of pursuit, and had intimated to that lady that Crafty was an independent man, A genteel establishment was the aim of the lady; a lit- tle ready money would be yery acceptable to the gen- tleman; therefore, mutual civilities, condescension and uniform politeness were scrupulously practic between them. He asserted that Sir Stephen Haynes said he was not the husband. of 5 Mary; that she was a thoughtless, romantie girl, of fashion, who was so madly in love with him that she had thrown. herself wre his protection without waiting for those forms which her friends would have insisted on, and which he had.no inclination to submit to. ' Theresa knew this in part to be true; but ‘she also knew that the marriage ceremony had passed at Gretna Green, and that Mary Lumly was, in her own Speers though perhaps not in the eye of the law, the wife of Sir Stephen Haynes. But Lady Mary was now poor; what was the use of her (Theresa) ir- ritating Sir Stephen? it would do her r, mis- guided friend no good, and might be of injury to the aor she had formed for herse:f. Miss Brenton then ecame in externals an entirely new character; she had entirely developed the pure, unassuming charae- ter of Mrs. Craftly and her daughter. Brought up in the coultry, mixing with but little society, though that little was select; of plain, good understanding, Krad were urbane in their. manners, without being highly polished, and very pleasant companions, with- out being thought wits, or aiming to appear deeply learned, Of strict principles, both as it regarded re- ligious duty and moral rectitude; cheerful without levity, and grave without affected sanctity; theirown minds, actuated by unsuspicious simplicity, thought no evil of others, until positive facts obliged them to believe it. With the son and brother they had lived in har- mony; for he was the idol of. both, and they either did not or could not perceive a fault in him... He, on his part, had so much regard for their peace, as to guard against any of his misconduct.reaching them, or giving them any disturbance. Theresa Brenton, then, appeared to this family everything that was amiable.. She was conciliating to the Crattlys; would talk most sagely upon econ- my, domestic concerns, quiet seclusions, and love of mental improvement; and when the gentleman was present, would descant on the beauties of her moth- er’s seat near Southampton, without Perey ing that it was only a hired place, and that its chiet beauties consisted inthe neat, snug appearance of a small house and garden surrounding it, and a view of the bay from the upper windows. Then she would pathet- ically lament poor Lady Mary’s misfortune, and speak of her asa young woman of impetuous feel- ings, which had never been kept under any restraint; concluding, with a sigh: “ She fully believes herself Sir Stephen’s wife, and it will be as well not to contradict her; in her present délicate state of health, it might produce fatal con- sequences. Though what is to become of her, I can- not think; for, by her not hearing from her friends, I fear they have cast her off. Imyself feel uneasy sometimes at not hearing from my mother; but elderly persons are not very fond of writing, so 1 do not think so much of it as I otherwise should.” ‘Lady Mary endeavored to obtain from Oraftly her husband’s address; but he always a ia that he believed him to beso unsettled thata letter would have little chance of finding him. . Allletters addressed to any member of Mr, Mat- thews. family “were condemned to the flames, or thrown by ina drawer among waste paper; nor was he more careful of those written by Theresa to her mother, though to own the truth, she did not trouble him, with peony He well knew that. to send intelli- gence to Mrs, Brenton was furnishing a direct clew to the discovery of Lady Mary; and this he had promis- ed his friend Haynes should not. be made in less than six months after his departure. “Besides,” thought *Craftly, ‘‘Theresa might men- tion my attention bo pee mother; and if bring my- self to marry the girl I might be plagued. from that quarter about.a settlement, and subject. myself to have inquiries made which it may be neither easy or convenient to answer,” “T have been thinking, my dear Theresa,” said he one aia as, seated in the porch, they were.en- joying the full splendor of the harvest moon, ‘‘I have been thinking and wishing, indeed it is the wish also of my mother and sister, they think it would be for the happiness of all concerned, to unite our hands, as I trust our hearts are already in unison with each other, and form our establishment before the winter commences,” He then proceeded to explain his actual fortune and his expectations, and made it appear that his annual income was about five fuumdeed pounds a year; but in this he included the cottage, without one word of the mortgage which Sir Stephen Haynes still held; though he had agreed to give up the in- terest which might arise from it for eighteen months to come, if Craftly would oplige him in the manner we have already seen he did. Finding the lady silent, the lover went on to say: ‘* You will have no objection, my dear girl, to mak- ing this cottage our residence for the present. My mother will, undoubtedly, give us an invitation to pass part of the winter with her in Alnwick, which I do assure you is a very lively and genteel place, af- fording many rational and Piearan’ amusements; rsa society they mix in is of the most respectable class.” “T can have no objection to pass afew weeks or months with Mrs. and Miss Craftly,” said Theresa, interrupting him; ‘‘but as to agreeing to make this Gothic cottage a place of residence, except for a few months, in the heat of summer, I can never agree to it. -Lexpect, at least the fivst wiater after our mar- riage, that you will permit meto partake in your society, of the pleasure #f either York or London. shoul ee the latter, Indeed, it will be almost impossible to give my little fortune into your hands without a journey to the metropolis; we can then make a visit to my mother, who I am afraid must be- gin to think me very aegligent.” ‘Well,’ thought Craftly, ‘‘ this is moderation with a vengeance! A wititer in London! [have had enough of winters in London, I must persuade her out of this notion, or there is an end to the matter. She cannot be rich eaough to justify such a piece of ex- travagance.” Putting on, therefore, one of Lis most engaging smiles, he repited: “But, my dear Theresa, have you duly considered the expense of a London winter, ur even a winter in York? The whole of. my veay. income would not pay our expenses, living in barely decent style. And though JT do not know the amount of your fortune, yetI will take it upon me to say that the greater part of it mizat be run outin a single winter in London, without enabling either of us to be considered some- body. You are certainly too well yersed in economy not to consider it better to spend only our income in cutting a good figure in the respectable town of Aln- wick for many Winters, than to spend half our for- tunes in cutting no figure at all in the great city of, London one winter, Think better of the project, entreat you, my Theresa,” eur ie There was reason. in this, . Determined, however, not to be easily thwarted, she made some further attempt to carry her point, but finding the gentleman was growing rather cold and distant during the sey- eral days that she held out, she prudently yielded, and the preparations for the marriage were com- menced with great alacrity. CHAPTER XI. FRUITS OF ERROR. LIsUTENANT FRANKLIN did not meet his friend, Ainslie, on the road to London, as he had expected, ae his arrival in town, he hastened to Portland The blinds of his fathér’s splendid mansion was closed, and everything about wore an aspect of gloom. . The door was opened by a servant whose counten- ance indicated some terrible calamity. Franklin hastened towards his mother’s apartment, but was met on the stairs by one of his brothers, who had been summoned home from Eton. From him he learned that his father Jay apparently at the point of death, having ruptured a blood-vessel; that his moth- er had been by his bedside almost incessantly since the accident had happened, and that the whole family were in a state of the greatest alarm and trepidation, ‘ : As he entered the sick chamber, the closed win- dows—the low whisperings of the attendants—the odors of medicinal pees a and, most of all, an occasional stifled sob from one of the children, who were permitted to be in the apartment for a few mo- ments, brought home to his bosom the eonviction so
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a a 1 NT and he mentioned that the reago LUCY TEMPLE. that he was about to become fatherless. He ap- proached the bed. His father lay perfectly motionless and silent, with clesed eyes, watched by the partner of all his sor- rows, who bent over him like some kind angel with a ministry unremitted and untiring. An indifferent gazer might have read upon the marble forehead and classic features of the patient, noble and gener- ous feelings, commanding talents—a promise of everything that was excellent in character and de- sirable in fortune—all blinded by once yielding to the impulse of guilty passion. The wife and Son saw nothing but the mysterious hand of Providence, visiting, with severest affliction, one whom they had ever regarded with reverence and love. Franklin pleped himself near the bed, and pressing the hand of his mother, waited in unutterable sus- pense the moment when his father should awake. At length he slowly opened ms eyes, and fixing them on his son with a faint smile, said, in a low voice: . “My dear boy, I was this moment thinking of you. It gives me happiness to remember how soon you are to be blessed with the society of one you love, and who deserves your affection. I have not been so tranquil for years, asl am just now in this thought. I wish that I could see her. [ think Icould read in her features the promise of your happiness, and then go my account in peace.” Franklin presen his father’s hand. The bi of mingled love, gratitude, and sorrow coursed down his cheeks. He could not speak inreply. He saw by his countenance that it was too late to comply liter- ally with his request, but, in the same moment, it occurred to him that he could almost accomplish his wish, by showing him the miniature of Lucy’s mother, which he had playfully taken from her on the day of is departure, and, in haste and alarm at the sudden summons, had forgotten to restore. “Thave a picture of her mother,” said he, putting his handimhis bosom. ‘It isa good resemblance of erself.”’ He drew forth the miniature and held it ‘up before his father, who rose up, seized it, with a convulsive grasp the moment the light fell Open: her. features, ry ooking upon the initials on the backof it, shriek- out: : tears “Tt is—it is come again to blast 1ay vision in my last hour! The woman you would marry is my own daughter! Just Heayen? Oh! that I could havé been 5pared this! Go, my’son, go to my ‘private desk—you will there find the records of your father’s shame, and your own fate!’ Nature was exhausted by the effort. He fell back On the bed, supported by his trembling wife, and ina few moments the wretched Franklin, the once gay, t, happy Montraville, was no more, ——s CHAPTER XI. .. DISCLOSURES, THE obsequies of Colonel Franklin were attended with the circtimstances of pomp and state which his rank pit cared and the journals of the day proclaimed his patriotisny and public worth, while ‘his family mourned in secret over the ruin caused by his un- bridled passions, ‘ Closeted with his bosom friend, Edward Ainslie, young. Franklin laid before him the manuscript which e had found by his father’s direction, It had been written in a season of deep remorse, and its object thes evidently to redeem from undeserved obloquy @memory of the unfortunate Charlotte Temple, the masher of Lucy Temple Blakeney, Probably Colonel I fiesta d intended to transmit it to ber friends. ndeed, a direction to that effect was found on a loose aper inthe desk. He took the whole blame of her hii Fated eros. upon herself, H ) t 6 disclosed cir+ _ cumstances which he had discovered after her de- cease, which proved her faithfulness‘to himself; and peg toi in terme of the deepest sorrow, that it was her inne ‘tomake her no better a for all thus yoo weet injuries, than the. poor one of ring testimony orien aed inju i. ia hed paper to be seen until after not bear to make thess, yay wards look upon the countenances of his children; wife, that he. phould phangs his f. name of Mon- rect. She is Christian. eat trial, sent to d exalt be xn er for a bright- which is ordered to India, and to-morrow I bid fare- well to England!” Edward promised implicitly to obey his friend’s direction; and receiving from him the fatal mini- ature, he took leave of fim for that day, and return- ed to his father’s residence to Cispateh a letter to Mr. Matthews, promising to be with him ina few days, and bring full intelligence of all that related to these unfortunate occurrences. The nextday he attended his friend for the last time, and witnessed the final preparations for his de- parture. There was a firmness, a sternness of pur- hg: in Franklin’s countenance, which indicated that is thoughts were fixed on some high and distant ob- ect; and though he spoke not.of his future prospects, dward, who knew the force of his character, men- tally predicted that his name would be found in the records of military renown. There was an impatience to be gone in some of bis movements, as if he feared to linger a moment on English ground. But this was inadvertently display- ed, and he took leave of his mother, family, and friend, with that deep emotion which must ever affeet a feeling heart on such an occasion. Edward was surprised at one circumstance, which was, that. Mrs. Franklin seemed. to approve of her son's purpose to leave the kingdom, He had expect- ed to find her very anxious to retain him asa pro- tector for herself. But he had not attributed to that lady all the judgment and firmness which. belonged to her character. He had witnessed her enduring affection, and her noble example of all the passive virtues. Her energy and decision were to aprear, When the carriage which bore his friend the place of embarkation had disappeared, he turned to the window, and made a most cordial tender of his services in whatever the most active friendship could perform for her in her new and trying situation, He mentioned his purpose of going to Hampshire, and offered to return, and await her commands as soon as the purpose of his journey was accomplished. This friendly offer was very gratefully rt pl f ed, but the’ tender of ‘his services in the city was de- clined. It was not her purpose, she said, to remain in London; but should any circumstances occur which would render it. necessary for her to avail herself of his kind offer, she would not fail to do it, in virtue of the claim which his friendship for her son gave her. At any rate, he should be apprised of the future Porererais of the family by some one of its mem- ers. Satisfied with this arrangement, Ainslie retired. : , CHAPTER XIII AN ARRIVAL, It may be supposed that the famity at the rec- tory were ina state of great anxiety at the de- parture of Franklin. The air of mystery which attended this hasty summons to town served toincrease their dis- tress. Lucy struggled severely,’ but vainly, to pre- serve an air of composure. : Much o time was spent in the retirement of her ch er: and when she was in the family, her sorrows by joining in the usual occupations of the busy little circle, a sigh would escape from her in. spite of all her efforts to preserve an ap- pearance of calmness. It seemed to her that a known calamity, how- ever terrible and irremediable in its nature, would have been much more easy to be borne than this state of suspense. , Alas! she was soon, too’ soon, to be undeceived on this point: The third day brought a hasty letter from Ainsley to Mr. Matthews, simply stating the sudden demise of Colonel Fr , without any mention of the attending circumstance. This was a relief—a melancholy one, indeed— but still Lucy felt itas a relief, use it seemed to set some bounds to her apprehensions. employed to write atsuch a moment, The sudden affliction — have rendered Franklin incapable of the effort. Lucy now awaited the result with apparent tranquility. But the second letter of Edward, written after the disclosure made by his friend, which spoke of “painful and © unfortunate circum- Was more mystery. first which sum oubtful. renewed On the second day after the receipt of this let- | n and apparently deriving a temporary relief from, It seemed natural, too, that Ainslie should be a gpepeterey eae ter Lucy was sitting alone by the pee fire. It was late in the afternoon; Mr. tthews and Aura were absent, administering to the wants of the poor, and distributing clothing to the desti- tute, in anticipation of the approaching inclement season. Mrs. Matthews and her sister were busied. about their household affairs, ; Lucy was musing on the memory of past joys, and faintly endeavoring to conjecture the rea- son of Franklin’s mysterious silence, when the door opened, and Edward Ainslie stood before her, haggard and weary with his journey, and evidently suffering under mental perplexity and distress. At that moment he would have given the world for the relief of Mr. Matthews’ presence. He felt as though possessed of some guilty secret, and his eye was instantly averted when he met her searching glance. He had hoped to encounter some other member of the family first, and agg felt his mistake in not having sent for Mr. tthews to meet him elsewhere. But retreat was now impossible. He felt that he must stand and answer, Lucy had advanced and presented her hand as usual, but with such a look of distressed inquiry as went to his inmost soul. With an old. and tried friend like Ainslie cere- mene ee out of the the question. ‘Where is Franklin?; Is he well? Is he safe?” so distressed.” Ainslie knew not: what to say. ; ‘Is he well? Then why—oh, why are ‘you alone, Edward?” " a ring are — ainful circumstances which have preven accom ing me. ‘You shall know them—but——” ty eae “Oh, tell, I entreat you, tell me all! I have borne this terrible suspense long enough. Any- thing will be preferable to what I now suffer. "I have firmness to bear the worst certainty, but I have not patience to endure these doubts. If he is lost_to me, say so, I charge you.” There was a vehemence,a solemnity in her man- ner, an eagerness-in her look, a deep pathos in her voice, which Edward could no longer with- stand, He trusted to the strength of her char- acter, and determined to disclose’ the worst. With averted eyes, and a low and hardly audi~ ble voice, he replied: ‘‘Alas, he is indeed lost to you!” _ She did not shriek nor faint, nor fall into con- vulsions, but, placing her hand upon her brow reclined against the mantle-piece a moment; and then left the apartment. wit Tee a Ainslie lost no time in findirig’ Mrs. Matthews,” passed, and that. and apprising her of what h lady te ment. tantly followed her friend to her a’ She had over-estimeted her strength. almost to exhaustion, and this stroke completed the prostration of her system. A violent fever’ was the consequence, and for several days her life was’ despaired of. The distress of Ainslie during this period may be imagined. , CHAPTER XIV. ACTIVE BENEVOLENCE THE BEST REMEDY FOR AFFLICTION. naeas On Ainslie’s communicating to Mr. Matthews learned from — the circumstances which he Ma ; disclosure of them to Lucy, that good man peared diuctious to alleviate his unae ing re ret and to bring forward every palliation for what ob Sha Wiprencaisene Miose: ment and could scarcely have been made descend more gently upon the heart of the devoted girl. ly stances, which he would explain on his arrival,” | #2028 threw her into a new state of suspense, Here | ‘He is well. Be composed, Lucy; do not look The ster igen wg this last week had reduced her He could not permit his y i e co young: a 2 r himself responsible for the / ‘since the stroke could not have ane
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. wi)» J = © 14 LUCY TEMPLE. What was his joy to find that she received the disclosure, which he so much dreaded to make, not with resignation merely, but with satisfac- tion! It brought a balm to her wounded spirit to know that she had not been voluntarily aban- doned—that the man on whom she had placed her affections had yielded toa stern necessity, a terrible fate, in quitting her without even a last farewell. She approved his conduct. She regarded him as devoted to his country, herself as set apart for the holy cause of human- ‘ity; and, in accordance with this sentiment, she resolved to pass the remainder of her life in min- istering to the distressed, and promoting the hap- ‘piness of his friends. Nor did she delay the commencement of this ‘pious undertaking. Aided by her reverend friend, the pastor, she entered upon the schemes of active benevolence with an alacrity which, while it surprised those ‘who were not intimately acquainted with her character, and justified the exalted esteem of her friends, served efectually to divert her mind from harrowing recollections and useless re- grets. Among the earliest of her plans for amelior- ating the condition of the poor, was the founding of a little seminary for the education of female children. She chose a gee spot near the rectory, a quiet little nook, embosomed among the wooded hills, and commanding a view of the village, and a wide expanse of soft, mellow scenery ; and there she caused to be erected a neat little building, a specimen—one might almost say a model—of Ionic architecture. s Its chaste white pillars and modest walls, peeri through the surrounding = elms. were just visible from her own window; and many were the Sh ap ag and comparatively happy moments which she spent sitting by that window and planning in her own mind the inter- nal arrangement and economy of the little estab- lishment. She had it divided into several apartments, and placed an intelligent and deserving young woman in each, to superintend the different parts of education which are to be taught. In one, the most useful kinds of needlework; in another, the common branches of instruction in schools; and in another, the principles of moral- ity and the plainest truths and precepts of relig- ion; while, over all these, there was a sort of igh school, to which a few only were promoted who gave evidence of that degree of talent an Fakocacd which would fit them for extended use- ess. These, under the instruction of the preceptress of the whole establishment, were to receive a more finished education than the rest, , Into every part of the arrangement of these matters, Lucy entered with an interest which surprised herself. She delighted in learning the natural bent and disposition of the young pupils, and would spend whole hours in conversing with them, listening with a kind interest to their art- Jess answers and opinions, and often discovering, or supposing that she discovered, in. them the elements taste and fancy, or the germs of acute reasoning or strongly inventive power. But it was in developing their affections and moral capabilities that she chiefly delighted. This was a field of exertion in which the example of the patron was of infinite value to the instruct- ors.. Herown education, her knowledge of hu- man character and of nature, her cultivated and refined moral taste, and, abeve all, the healing and Toligions light which her admirable submis- sion to the g hand of Providence had shed over the world and all ‘ts concerns, as aver t peated. to her view; all these things. served er for ei species of ministry to the minds and hearts of these young persons... + | In these pursuits, it is hardly necessary to sa sha ait emi mca ri is) ‘can nev-~- poy vere ; ¢ rt CHAPTER XV. . | ately, of course?” | “Yes, sir; but I wish to visit Ha: for a. | few days before] sot off for the north ” O Inclination prompted him to devote himself to the church. His father was anxious that he should become a political character; probably being influenced by an offer which he had had from one of the ministry, of a diplomatic ap- pointment for his son. This interesting subject was under considera- tion at the very time when the events which we have just been recording transpired. Edward had returned to London after witness- ing the perfect recovery of Lucy, and the discus- sion concerning his future career was renewed with considerable interest. On the evening after his return, he was sitting in the parlor of his father’s splendid mansion. All the family except his father and himself had retired,. They lingered a few moments to confer on the old subject. “Well, Edward,” said his father, ‘‘I hope you are ready now to gene our friends in, a certain saab and strengthen the hands of govern- ment. “Indeed, sir, my late visit to the country has served rather to increase my predilection for the life of a country parson.” “My Lord Countly says it is a thousand pities our talents should be so thrown away; and hough I should not regard the thing in that light, yet I think that your country has some claims upon you. Let the livings of the church be given to the thousands who are unfit for or unable to.attain the promotion that is offered to you. If be accept a living, it is ten to one you disappoint some equally worthy expectant.” ‘Perhaps I shall do the same if I accept this diplomatic appointment.” ‘Little danger of that, I fancy, when the ap- pointment is so freely offered you—-when, in fact, you are solicited to rena it. Let me tell you, ward, you know not how splendid a career you may be refusing to enter upon.” “TY fear, my dear father, that you have not duly considered the cares and anxieties of a po- litical life. It is a constant turmoil and struggle for distinction. All the sterner feelings of our nature are brought into action. All the generous emotions and amiable weaknesses of humanity are regarded as fatal to one’s success. A blunder in state affairs is considered worse than a crime.” all your gener- onor into public life, without in the ‘least endangering your success.’ ‘What you say may be strictly true, sir, but I have feelings and partialities which cannot fail to prove a hindrance, I shall sigh for seclu- sion and domestic et ees amid. the splendor of foreign courts, and never pena dispatch to old England, without longing to see i ir pros- ts of green fields and smiling cottages. Ilove converse with nature in her still retreats; and if I must mingle with my fellow-men, let it not be in the vain strife teks and distinction, but rather in the delightful intercourse of social life, or in the more - interesting relation of one who cares for their eternal welfare. If I were rich, the character Ishould most wish to figure in would be that of a useful, benevolent, and reli- gious country gentleman; as the advice and in- struction I could. thus impart. would not arise eye id from official duty, and might be rendered doubly efficient by acts of benevolence, Since that may not be, Iam content with the humbler office of a country parson.” At this period of the conversation a servant entered hea Tal le pens ie baronet, saying that i n bro y an express. He opened it, and hastily cant it over, ex- claimed; ‘*Well, my boy, you can haye your wish now. See there!” se him the open letter. It was from the executor of a distant relation, who had taken'a fancy to Edward, in his child- hood, and had now ueathed him the whole a) ry large estate, situated in the north of Eng- ope of events were visible in the countenance | of the youth, as he silently lifted up his eyes in thanksgiving. ; ; : , After a few minutes. gratitude to the divine Dis- chis father said: l, you will your property immedi- And so saying, he bade his father good-night and retirec. 4 — CHAPTER XVI. AN ENGAGEMENT. Brrorez leaving London, Ainslie called at the late residence of Mrs. Franklin, and was surprised to find the house in other hands. On making further inquiries of his father, he learned that she had embarked for New York with the whole of her family. On reflection, he was satisfied that this was the most natural and pecate course for her. eri- ca was the land of her nativity, and the scene of all the rR aya she had enjoyed in early life— England,the country where she had known noth- ing but misfortune and trial. Her young sons, too, would be able to figure with great advantage in the new country; and its existing friendly relations with that to which her oldest son owed allegiance, prevented her feeling an uneasiness on the score of his present employment in the Indian service. ward’s father also informed him that Mrs. Franklin’s affairs in England were intrusted to the most re- sponsible agents. Being satisfied that there was nothing further which ving org [see of him in that cumivcd he set out for Hampshire, with rather erent feelings from those which oppressed him on_his last visit there. We will not attempt to analyze his feelings at this time, but rather follow him to the rectory. whither he has hastened after a half-hour spent at his father’s seat. On entering the parlor, he found Mrs. Matthews and Miss Cavendish, and learned from them that the young ladies were gone to visit Lucy’s favorite school. He determined to take a short cut to this place; and accordingly strolled along a shaded pathway which led from the garden towards the spot. The sun was goat approaching the horizon, and shed a rich splendor over a pile of massy clouds which reposed in the west. As he passed rapidly along, a turnin the path revealed to him the solitary figure of Aura Melville in strong relief against the western sky, as she stood on the edge of a bank, and upon the last footsteps of the re- tiring sun. He approached uno ed, and just as he was on the point of ing, heard her say in a low voice, as though thinking aloud; “How beautiful! How much more beautiful it would be if a certain friend were with me to pronounce it so!” Laying his hand gently on her arm, he mur- mured, in the same soliloquizing tone: “* How happy should I be if I might flatter my- self that I were that friend!” : She turned, and the “ orient blush of quick sur- prise,” gave an animation to her features, which made her lover own to himself that he had never seen her half so lovely. We have already hinted at Aura’s partiality for Edward, and when we apprise the reader that he had long loved her with a respectful and devot- ed attachment, which he had only been prevent- ed from declaring by his dependent si on and uncertainty with regard to hi ge og in life, it will readily be muppeeed they were not many minutes after this in coming to a perfect understanding. ~ With lingering steps, and many a pause, the ‘turned toward the pep a long after the wd ows of night began to The rapture of those moments; thé ardent expression of the youth; the half-uftered confessions, the timid glances and averted looks of the maiden, and the inter- vals of silence—silence full of that iness which is cry th “nde but once—all must be i i ‘the reader. 1 by} Ga eanersivat at the rectory they found that Lucy, who had been left at the school by at by the more frequented road, an¢ tho famnit ' aiting their wate the — e were Ww: co’ \ ty urn sent forth abbting invita- _ ‘he the most sump- its b tion to the most cheerful, if not tuous of all entertainments. |< Wittts Edward” sid the good reetor, aa he ‘Ly sipped his vorite “ is
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_ 00 his journey to the north. LUCY TEMPLE. abs) OSES ot SER aR TT MOE EC SD TERT 2 CER RR ET RE TT TS SEL TS LSE TE wishes. of your father and the rhetoric of the rected that every attention should be paid to her, sinister. had prevailed over your philosophical and promised ample remuneration to the family resolution, and that you were already half-way for their trouble. ; to St. Petersburg. Perhaps you are only come Then, hastily mounting his horse, he rode to ay us a fare-well visit, and are soon to set the nearest medical attendant, whom he dis. off for the north? patched to the cottage before he returned home. “Indeed, sir,” replied Ainslie, ‘‘I am soon to set off for the north; but shall hardly, reach the sourt of the Czars this winter,” “To Berlin, perhaps?” “Too far, sir.” ‘‘Peradventure to Copenhagen?” “Hardly so far, sir, as the ‘Land o’ cake an’ brither Scots.’ Iam to sojourn for the next few meat among the lakes and hills of Cumber- nd,’ ““Cumberland?” exclaimed three or four voices at once. “* For what REipona can you be going to Cum- berland?” said Lucy Blakeney. ‘‘ I never heard oe he court in that quarter, except Queen ab. “Tam going$to look after a little property ‘there,” : ‘‘Lnever heard your father say that’ he owned any estates in Cumberland,” said the rector. “ But. my. great-uncle Barsteck did... You. re- member the old gentleman who used to visit m: to have received additions and improvements from several generations of its occupants. The orchard, too, had its trees of all ages, and one crazy-looking apple tree, which s before the door, seemed, by its accumulation of moss, and its frequently protruding dry branches, to be coeval with the house itself. There was a little garden, with its shed full of bee-hives, and its narrow beds of herbs and bor- ders of flowers, anda small but noisy rill that came dashing down from the rocks in the rear of the cottage, and sent asmile of verdure anda fairy shout of melody over the whole scene. Edward alighted and entered the cottage, where he was received with a hearty welcome. The farmer himself was away among the hills; but the good dame was ‘‘main glad to see his honor, and hoped his honor was coming to live among them, as his worship’s honor that was dead and gone had always done.” He assured her that such was his intention. ‘*T am glad your honor has come here this af- ternoon,” she proceeded, “for more reasons than one. Your honor must know there is a poor, dis- tressed youn creature in the other room who wandered here yesterday, after a weary, long journey. She is come of gentle blood, and talks of her relations, who seem: to’ be all lords and I : 7 ladies. But, sure enough, the poor thing is quite father, and take me with him’ in all his strolls | beside herself; and a woeful sight she was, when about the pleasant hills and meadows here. He |she came to our door yesterday, with nothing in has long been declining in health; and_the letter | the world but an open-work straw bonnet on her which brought us the melancholy intelligence of | head, and a thin shawl over her shoulders, poor his decease brou ht also the information that he | soul, in such a biting cold day! Would not your had remembered his old. favorite. I could have | honor please to be so good as just to speak a kind wished to be enriched by almost any other event | word to her? I’m thinking she’s come from the than the loss of so good'a friend.” south, and would be cheered at the sight of one The remembrance of his relative’s early kind- | from her own part of the country,and of her own hess came over him with such force at this mo- | degree, too.” ment that he arose and turned away to the win-| It will be readily supposed that Edward ex- dow; and it was some minutes before he was suf- | pressed a desire to'see hers and was according! ep composed to resume the conversation, in | conducted from the neat sitting-room, into whic which he informed his friends that he had given | he had first been invited, into a small'back room, up all thoughts of public life, and resolved to devote himself to more congenial pursuits amid the romantic scenery of his lake country. mn It may sean? be oi ge ba this B etracnia lon was highly approv y the wo pares, and that in the Cine interview ahah e had with Edward the next day, it had no small in- fluence in procuring his iran of the suit hie he then preferred for the hand of his fair ward, After a few delightful days spent in the society of his friends at the rectory, Edward set forward CHAPTER XVIII. THE CONSEQUENCES OF IMPRUDENCE. For several days after the occurrence which we have described in the last chapter, Lady Mary continued in a high fever, and the physician gave little hopes of hersrecovery. Edward visited the cottage every day to in- 7 spare after her, and was at length happy to learn that by the unremitted kindness and care of the worthy family, she was safely past the crisis of her disorder, and that her reason was restored; but her weakness was such that she had not been. permitted to attempt giving any account of the manner in which she came into the miserable state in which she was found. _ She was assured that she was under the care of a friend who had known her in early life, and would visit. her as soon as her strength would permit. Satisfied with this assurance, she re- covered rapidly, and, ina month from the time of Edward’s first visit to the cottage, was able to sit up arent part of the day, and to receive a visit from. him. The interview, as may readily be supposed,-was an affecting one to both parties. Poor Mary seemed to be entirely, humbled by misfor- tune, and was desirous of nothing so much as to see her early friends and receive their on for her unwo conduct in deserting them. Ed- ward assured her that their affection for her was the same as ever; that they had regarded her as misled by po and artful persons, and that nothing would render them such heartfelt pleas- ure as to welcome her once more to their hospit- able home. Thus soothed and encouraged, she informed him of the events we have already narrated con- cerning her elopement, and the su uent de- sertion of her husband. She proceeded to say that she had lost her child, a beautiful boy, born at ~ a cottage of meee Set have so fre- uently spoken; that after the marriage Craftly and Theresa, which, out of regard to that young lady’s taste, was celebrated with consider- able parade, she had continued to reside with them in the cottage, in a state of indescribable where, to his no small astonishment, he saw seated in an easy chair by the fire, and attended by alittle girl, the unfortunate Lady Mary, the wife of Sir Stephen Haynes. Her attire consisted of a soiled traveling dress, which had once been rich and showy; her coun- tenance, though thin and wasted, was flushed and feverish; and there was a wildness in her eye which told the saddest tale of all, that not sm f was the wretched lady forsaken by friends and fortune, but at least partially deprived of the blessed light of reason. She started at the sight of Edward, and ex- claimed: Edward’s estate was in the vicinity of the ro- Mantic vale of Heswick. The mansion-house, lately inhabited by his uncle, was an old-fash- jloned, but comf ble house, situated on the Southern declivity of the mountain Skiddaw, with a beautiful garden and extensive, but un- ©ven grounds, laid out in a style entirely suited to the surrounding scenery. The view from the balcony in front of. the A long valley stretched | to the south, di. ill, g surface of ‘Hal so you have come at last. Well, there, T have been er da 2 here the live-long morning! My husband, the duke, is to be beheaded on Tow- er Hill to-morrow morning for high treason! But,” said she, ing Edward’s arm and whis- pering vehemently in ear, ‘‘I came within an ace of being queen for all that. ‘Then, too,” she continued, weeping bitterly, oe ey have imprisoned me here, and the consta- ble of the castle has’ taken away my jewels, and sent away my waiting-maid, and left nobody but | out with considerable difficulty. ‘When, at last, this simple maiden here to attend upon me. I| she succeeded in drawing it out, what was her could have forgiven them all this, but they have | astonishment to find a great part of the letters taken away my child, my pretty wo! his | which she had written to her husband and friends bright eyes and his golden locks. , why do | tumbled into it after being broken open. There husband. She said that one day, when the rest of the family were out on an afternoon visit, she went into one of the chambers to look for a book, which Theresa had told her, as she went out might be found ina drawer there. She pulled out one drawer of the bureau after r in vain, till she came to the lower one, which came L ; they let me live any longer!” and she wrung her | were a great many more letters, and some am n Pie tiplaying ia picturesque varieties of | hands as one not to be comforted, them directed to Craftly in her husband’s we and rocks, _“ Poor creature!” whispered the good woman iy the house, “she has not been so raving be- ore. Convinced that she was suffering by some vile conspiracy, she felt justified im cab ila the whole The cottages and farm-houses of his tenants were scattered about in such points of view as to afford a pleasing sort of embellishment: to the : : to her room, after first closing the drawer to landscape. “Many of +1 se teed ew “Tam acquainted with the unfortunate lady,” aa ii ssegenhll on : wtone; a d roofed apae me a replied Edward, in a low voice, “but she does | #Voida y Ln not seem to know me.” to iten houses were not unfré tly. overgrown. with | %.‘‘Know you!” shrieked Lady Mary, catchin lichens and mosses, as ‘ell : / surro ! with | his last words. ‘‘Yes,I do know you, Edward larches and sycamores., «.. a we mnded, Ainslie, and I know, t00 _what you are come for. | You have come to preach to me on. the folly of -ambition—to upbraid me for deserting my friends | *« pand protectors. But you may there yourself the these | trouble. I shall answer for to-morrow. I will} die with my husband.” s 4 | She said this with great energy, and then, after pausing a moment and looking thoughtful ; we pe floor, she burst into tears again, pi ian were several of Theresa’s to her mother. Her husband was living in Paris, immersed in dissipation. Craftly had been instructed by him and was repeatedly charged in the letters, to above. with the picturesque ; wretchedness on account of the neglect of her Besides her own and Sir agement pag on ds, and. what shocked the unfortunate most of all, and deprived her of recol- | i oments, was a determined ex- Se 4c et ae
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16 many tears and many prayers to Heaven for sup- te) * Never in my life,” said she, ‘“‘did I pass an af- ternoon of such complete and thorough wretched- ness, Ithought myself lost beyond all hope—sur- rounded by enemies, and without a single protector or friend. : Loh ‘Before the family returned, I restored the saw acd part of the letters to the drawer; and when desired to join them at tea, I sent an excuse, and was glad to be left neglected and undisturbed in my room un- til the next morning. f hes i this timé I had considered all the circum- stances of my situation. It was apparent, from the suppression of Theresa’s letters, that she had not from the first been a full participator in the plot against me. Yet it was not possible for me to give her-my ‘confidence, now that she had) become the wife of Brotins vee was the chief instrument of the conspiracy. e mother aad .sister of this hypocrite were so ly persuaded of his honor that they would have considered me a maniac or a calumnia- torif I had disclosed the truthto them. I had found out by the letters. that Craftly was paid for my sup port by my husband, who’ relinquished the interest of a mortgage on Craftly’s estate as payment. This I regarded as a tacit acknowledgment that I was his. wife. But the evidence of Theresa, which I puppoued could be drawn from her at some future time y my friends, I considered of still greater value. ‘“‘T had no reason to fear that I should be left in absolute want, or that I should be treated with open unkindness by any of the family. But it was dread- ful to me to know that I was living under the roof of aman who had conspired to deprive me of evyery- thing that is valuable in life. | I could not look upon him without a secret shudder running through my frame, After revolving the- civctueatnaseen of m situation for several days, during which I with diffi- culty p an outward appearance of com- , Lat length came to the resolution to seek shelter with Mr. Matthews, and endeavor to recover the favor of my relations. rcs i i “ But how to effect my escape; with any prospect was a difficult question, . I had no money nor jewels of any considerable value, nae ay OF rie a em up with great care; and learning that there was tor bb Seria the cealed my treasure, and set forward with mingled emot: pet gla ess and apprehension. Peaittke lacés without difficulty, though for considerably m tinue one bat i ed.one, w other was but momentary. played my part, Apwey r, as confidently Re paula and ae The fatigues of the last two days, however, were |. * so great, that I was nearly overcome when we ar- rived at ;the inn which was at the termination, of this'stage, and I retired to a room apart as soon as we ‘arrived. I observed a newspaper lying in the low-seat, and after refreshing mysel acu of tea, I took it up, roe cnet goy to see the nameé o some friend in its columns. Judge of my. horror on reading the fatal record of my husband’s death, He had fallen in a-duel,in Paris,. I hadloved him— OL, TOO WAU Be ere: ted ip t ot ate Here Lady ty became too much affected. to proceed with her narrative. Indeed, she had little more to relate; for the shock had proved too great for reason, and from that. moment she recoll ‘little more than that she had wandered from village to e, pitied and relieved by some and derided by villag othe til she found herself in her present asylum, ae ape collection by the care of the | peo- ple around her. OTHE YOM ard had listened to her narrative ‘with the t interest and compas her of mimodation ted the 7 Bd t ard set out for the south as Plo con the rig ved in the d-euppaneat nee rende mhate e “ : er iy A : the determination ba Telatives. Ho | aL chee er LUCY TEMPLE. ‘How goes on the school, Lucy?” said Edward. “T regard that as the most effective instrument of* benevolent exertion.” : “TI hope it has effected some good,” answered Lucy. “There haye been a considerable number from the school: who have proved useful and .re- spectable so far; several of the pupils are now mar- ried, and othérs are giving instruction in different. parts of the country. A circumstance which has: offered us considerable gratification is that @ pupil, whose merit has raised her to a high’ station of life, has visited us lately, and presented a handsome donation toward rendering the .establishment per-- manent.” ; After a short, pausé in the conversation, Mr. Mat-. thews expressed a wish that they might have some: intelligence from their absent friends. — - “*T have this day received a letter from America,”” said Edward, taking it from his pocket and looking inguiringly at Lucy: it I think you can venture to read it to us,” said she. It was from Mrs. Franklin, ‘and‘informed | him that she had purchased a beautiful seat on the banks: of the Delaware, and ‘was living there’ inthe et ment of all the La gi hy which was to be derived. from the society of her family. and the delightful. serenity of nature. ' ade Mle) One circumstance only had happened since her’ departure from Hngland to mar. this. enjoyment, the Sy of which must be given in her own. words: ‘* My eldest son, your friend—no doubt you have often heard from him. He soon grew tired of the: India service, and was at his own desire exchanged into a regiment which had been ordered. to join the: army in Spain. There his career was marked with heroism and generosity which had ever a eb ze his character. A young officer is now visi me: who accompanied him in his last cam proached, her attention was directed to the proper mode of honoring the event, and at the same time rendering it memorable among those who had. long regarded both these young persons as the joint guardians of their happiness, Mr. and Mrs. Matthews, and Miss Cavendish, too, desired to have the marriage celebrated after the fashion of the good old times, when the poor not only looked up to the gentry for protection. and friendship, but took a lively interest in their domes- tic affairs, and were both depressed at their misfor- tunes, and proud and happy in the fame and happi- ness of their patrons. Nor was Edward Ainslie backward in promoting this design, Accordingly, the, preparations for the marriage were made with a view to interest and gratify, rather than to dazzle the guests. The’ bridal array was rather plain than’ sump- tuous, the carriages and horses of Edward and his family were decked with ribbons, and the church ornamented with flowers and evergreens, prepared by the pupils of Lucy’s establishment, who also walked in procession, and had their dance upon the green, to the music of the pore and tabor. The villagers crowded the church to witness the ceremony, and repaired to tle rectory to partake of the bride-cake, while the Pace who had been invited to celebrate Luey’s birthday, found an entertain- ment not less substantial and exhilarating than the rr en one prepared for them at her friend’s wed- ing. A long summer’s day was spent in the festivities of this happy oceasion, and when, late in the evening, the full moon was seen rising behind the church tower, and shedding her quiet luster over hill and valley, streamlet and grove, the music was still sounding, and the merry laugh of the light- hearted guests was heard in parlor and hall. None seemed to enjoy the a more deeply and feelingly than Lucy. e had learned the great sécret of woman’s banenees, to enjoy the happi- ness. of, others. Selfish gratification was no con- eern ‘of hers. When, on the following morning, Edward and his bride set off for the North, she, with the rest of the family, bade them a tender adieu, and re- turned to her usual, benevolent occupations with that Wangul and calm spirit, that firm. reliance teous Disposer of all things, which, in every situation of life, is indeed the pearl of in- estimable value. CHAPTER XX. CONCLUSION. SEVERAL years rolled ayer after the event record- last chapter without affording anything worthy the attention of the reader. The persons to whom our narrative relates, were ta if that calm happiness which, as has frequently been re- marked, affords so little matter for history. .We must accordingly conclude the story with the inci- dents of a somewhat later period, It was the season of the Christmas holidays, Edward and his blooming wife, with their two lovely children, were on @ visit to his father, and had:come to pass an evening at the rectory. Lady Mary, too, was there. She had recovered from. the wreck o her husband’s property ‘enough to support her genteelly, and had found an roe with ‘her old preceptor and guide in the only ace where she had ever enjoyed anything like solid happiness, e: rector, now replay. declining into the vale of years, afforded a picture of all that is venerable in goodness; ‘his lady retained her placid and amiable virtues, although her activity was gone; and the worthy Miss Cavendish, who was still stately in her carriage and. shrewd and decisive in her remarks, ‘presented no bad counterpart to her milder sister, |. Last, but not the least interesting of the cheerful group which was now assembled around the fireside of the rector; was Lucy Blakeney. Her sean A nimpaired by her early sorrows, and preserved by e in- When the English force advanced, the ‘unfortunate: rs, and ‘my poorson lived he est ‘hours after the bs - "oO é mander-in-chief, with ed to the mer of the wounded officers. “Poor Franklin,’ says his friend, ‘ was lying in the arms of:his faithful. servant, and, breathing heavily, when the illustrious Veuingicn entered. the room. It was apparent to all that’ he had but, a few mo- ments to live. ‘ ; Neg “ mppointmente the niches. troite of wirtue. and ;