After the departure of her mother, Ann till continued to languiſh, though ſne had a nurſe who was entirely en- groſſed by the deſire of amuſing her. Had her health been re-eſtabliſhed; the time would have paſſed in a 1 im- proving manner.
During the year of mourning they lived in retirement; mulic, drawing, and reading, filled up the time; and Mary's taſte and judgment were both improved by contracting a habit of ob- ſervation, and petmitting the ſimple beauties of Nature to occupy her thoughts.
She had a wonderful quickneſs in dif- cerning diſtinctions and combining ideas, that at the fifſt glance did not appear to be ſimilar, But theſe various purſuits did Aid not baniſh all her cares, or carry off all her conſtitutional black bile. Before ſhe enjoyed Ann's ſociety, ſhe imagined it would have made her completely happy: ſhe was diſappointed, and yet knew not what to complaia of.
As her friend could not accompany her in her walks, and wiſhed to he alone, for a very obvious reaſon, ſhe would return to her old haunts, retrace her anticipated pleafures—and wonder how they changed their colour in poſ- ſeſſion, and proved ſo futile.
She had not yet found the companion dhe looked for. Ann and ſhe were not <congenial minds, nor did ſhe contribute £0 her comfort in the degree ſhe expected. She ſhielded her from poverty; but this was only a negative bleſſing; when under che preſſure it was very grievous, and ſtill more ſo were the apprehenſions; but 0 When when exempt from them, ſhe was not contented.
Such is human nature, its laws were not to be inverted to gratify our heroine, and ſtop the progreſs of her underſtand- ing, happineſs only flouriſhed in para- diſe—we cannot taſte and live.
Another year paſſed away with in- creaſing apprehenſions. Ann had a hectic cough, and many unfavourable 1 prognoſtics: Mary then forgot every thing but the fear of loſing her, and even imagined that her recovery would have made her happy.
Her anxiety led her to ſtudy obyſic, and for ſome time ſhe only read books of that caſt; and this knowledge, literally ſpeaking, ended in vanity and vexation of ſpirit, as it enabled her to foreſee what ſhe could not prevent.
As her mind expanded, her marriage appeared appeared a dreadful misfortune; ſhe was ſometimes reminded of the heavy yoke, and bitter was the recollection |!
In one thing there ſeemed to be 4 ſympathy between them, for ſhe wrote formal anſwers to his as formal letters. An extreme diſlike took root in her mind; the ſound of his name made her turn fick; but ſhe forgot all, liſtening to Ann's cough, and ſupporting her lan- gvid frame. She would then catch her to her boſom with convulſive eagerneſs, as if to ſave her from ſinking into an opening grave.
CHAP. VII.
Ir was the will of Providence that Mary ſhould experience almoſt every ſpecies of ſorrow. Her father was thrown from his horſe, when his blood was in a very in- flammatory ſtate, and the bruiſes were very dangerous.; his recovery was not expected by the phyſical tribe.
Terrified at ſeeing him ſo near death, and yet fo ill prepared for it, his daugh- ter ſat by his bed, - oppreſſed by the keeneſt anguiſh, which her piety in- creaſed.
Her grief had nothing ſelfiſh in it; he was not a friend or protector; but he was her father, an unhappy wretch, go- ng into eternity, depraved and thoughtleſs.
but dreads an eternal ſeparation. No leſs. Could a life of ſenſuality be a pre. paration for a peaceful death? Thus me- dictating, ſhe: paſſed the ſtill midnight hour by his bedſide.
The nurſe fell aſleep, nor did a violent thunder ſtorm interrupt her repoſe, though it made the night appear il more terrific to Mary. Her father's un- equal breathing alarmed her, when ſhe heard a long drawn breath, ſhe feared it was his laſt, and watching for another, a - dreadful peal of thunder ſtruck her ears. "Conſidering the ſeparation of the ſoul and body, this night ſeemed ſadly ſolemy, and the hours long. 0 Death is indeed a king of terrors when he attacks the vicious man! The com- paſſionate heart finds not any comfort; . tranſporting. greetings are anticipated, Wen the ſurvivors alſo ſhall have finiſhed theit 3 their courſe; but all is black - the grave may truly be ſaid to receive the departed — this is the ſting of death!
Night after night Mary watched,, and this exceſſive fatigue impaired her own health, but had a worſe effect on Ann; though ſhe conſtantly went to bed, ſhe could not reſt; a number of uneaſy thoughts obtruded themſelves; and ap- prehenſions about Mary, whom ſhe loved as well as her exhauſted heart could love, haraſſed her mind. After a ſleepleſs, feveriſh night ſhe had a violent fit of coughing, and burſt a blood-veſſel. The phyſician, who was in the houſe, was ſent for, and when he left the pa- tient, Mary, with an authoritative voice, inſiſted on knowing his real opinion. Reluctantly he gave it, that her friend was in a critical ſtate; and if ſhe paſſed the approaching winter in England, he E E imagined imagined ſhe would die in the ſpring; a ſeaſon fatal to conſumptive diſorders, The fpring!—Her huſband was then ed. Gracious Heaven, could ſhe bear all this.
In a few days her father breathed his laſt. The horrid ſenſations his death occaſioned were too poignant to be du- table:. and Ann's danger, and her own fixuation,. made Mary deliberate what mode of conduct ſhe ſhould purſue. She feared this event might haſten the return of her huſband, and prevent her putting into execution a plan ſhe had determined on, It was to accompany * to a * ſalobrious climate.
CHAP. VIII.
] MENTIONED before, that Mary had never had any particular attachment, to give riſe to the diſguſt that. daily gained ground, Her friendſhip. for Ann occupied her heart, and reſembled a paſſion. She had had, indeed, ſeveral tranſient likings; but they did not amount to love. The ſociety of men of genius delighted her, and improved. her faculties. With beings of this claſyſhe did not often meet; it is a rare genus; her fioſt favourites were men paſt the meridian of life, and of a philoſophic turn.
_ Determined on going to the South of France, or Liſbon; ſhe wrote to the man ſhe had promiſed to obey. The 2 2 - phyſiphyſicians had ſaid change of air was neceſſary for her as well as her friend, She mentioned this, and added, © Her ce comfort, almoſt her exiſtence, de- te pended on the recovery of the invalid ec ſhe wiſhed to attend; and that ſhould ee ſhe neglect to follow the medical ad- « vice ſhe had received, ſhe” ſhould de never forgive herſelf, or thoſe who etc endeavoured to prevent her,” Full of her deſign, ſhe wrote with more than uſual freedom; and this letter was like moſt of her on, a IEA of her heart. This dear friend, ” ſhe exclaimed, ] love for her agreeable qualities, and -<i\fabſtantial virtues. Continual atten- © tion to her health, and the tender «© office of a nurſe, have created an at- ec fection very like a maternal one—1 e am her only ſupport, ſhe leans on me 2 c —could Ta 3 c —could I forſake the forſaken, and « break the bruiſed reed No I would « die firſt! I muſt—I will go.”
She would have added, you would « very much oblige me by conſenting;” but her heart revolted—and irreſolutely ſhe wrote ſomething about wiſhing him happy.—“ Do I not wiſh all the world « well?” ſhe cried, as ſhe ſubſcribed her name It was blotted, the letter ſealed in a hurry, and ſent out of her light; and ſhe began to prepare for her Journey.
By the return of the poſt ſhe received an anſwer; it contained ſome common» place remarks on her romantic friend- ſhip, as he termed it; But as the phy- « ſicians adviſed change of air, he had no objection.“ HAP. IX.
TERE was nothing now to retard their journey; and Mary choſe Lifbon rather than France, on account of its being further removed from the only perſon ſhe wiſhed not to ſee.
They ſet off accordingly for Falmouth, in their way to that city. The journey was of uſe to Ann, and Mary's ſpirits were raiſed by her recovered looks — She had been in deſpair—now ſhe gave way to hope, and was intoxicated with it. On Thip-board Ann always remained in the cabin; the fight of the water terrified her: on the contrary, Mary, after ſhe was gone to bed, or when ſhe fell aſleep in the day, went on deck, convetſed with the ſailors, and ſurveyed the boundleſs expanſe before her with de- light. One inſtant ſhe would regard the ocean, the next the | beings who braved its fury. Their inſenſibility and want of fear, ſhe could not name cou- rage; their thoughtleſs mirth was quite of an animal kind, and their feelings as impetuous and uncertain as the ele- ment they plowed.
They had only been a week at fea when they hailed the rock of Liſbon, and the next morning anchored at the caſtle. After the cuſtomary viſits, they were permitted to go on ſhore, about three miles from the city; and while one of the crew, who underſtood the language, went to procure them one of the ugly carriages peculiar to. the country, they waited in the Iriſh convent, which is ſi- tuated dote to the Tagus.
E 4 Some Some of the people offered to conduct them into the church, where there was a fine organ playing; Mary followed them, but Ann preferred ſtaying with a nun ſhe had entered into converſation with.
One of the nuns, who had a ſweet voice, was ſinging; Mary was ſtruck with awe; her heart joined in the devo- tion; and tears of gratitude and tender- neſs flowed from her eyes. My Father, I thank thee!- burſt from her— words were inadequate to expreſs her feelings. Silently, ſhe ſurveyed the lofty dome; heard unaccuſtomed ſounds; and ſaw faces, ſtrange ones, that ſhe could not yet greet with fraternal love.
In an unknown land, ſhe conſidered that the Being ſhe adored inhabited eter- nity, was ever preſent in unnumbered worlds. When ſhe had not any one ſhe loved near her, ſhe was particularly ſenſible Gble of the preſence of her Almighty Friend. 8 The arrival of the carriage put a ſtop to her ſpeculations; it was to conduct them to an hotel, fitted up for the re- ception of invalids. Unfortunately, be- fore they could reach it there was a vio- lent ſhower of rain; and as the wind was very high, it beat againſt the leather curtains, which they drew along the front of the vehicle, to ſhelter themſelves from it; but it availed not, ſome of the rain forced its way, and Ann felt the effects of it, for ſhe caught cold, ſpite of Mary's precautions, As is the cuſtom, the reſt of the inva- lids, or lodgers, ſent to enquire after their health; and as ſoon as Ann left her chamber, in which her complaints ſel- dom confined her the whole day, they came in perſon to pay their compli- ments.
« ments. Three faſhionable females, and two gentlemen; the one a brother di the eldeſt of the young ladies, and the other an invalid, who came, like them- ſelves, for the benefit of the air. They entered into converſation immediately, People who meet in a ſtrange country, and are all together in a houſe, ſoon get acquainted, without the formalities which attend viſiting in ſeparate houſes, where they are ſurrounded by domeſtic friends, Ann was particularly delighted at meet- ing with agreeable. ſociety; a little heRic fever generally made her low- Jpirited in the morning, and lively in the evening, when ſhe wiſhed for com- pany. Mary, who only thought of her, determined to cultivate their acquaint- ance, as ſhe knew, that if her mind could be diverted, her body might gain Krength. 17 "Fa ky + Ther They were all muſical, and propoſed aving litrle concerts. One of the gen- ic emen played on the violin, and the cher on the german-flute. The inſtru- nts were brought in, with all the agerneſs that attends putting a new ſcheme in execution.
Mary had not ſaid much, for ſhe was diffdent; ſhe ſeldom joined in general penettation enabled her ſoon to enter into the characters of thoſe ſhe con- verſed with; and her ſenſibility made her deſirous of pleaſing every human crea- ture. Beſides, if her mind was not oc- cupied by any particular forrow, or ſtudy, ſhe caught reflected pleaſure, and was glad to fee others happy, though their mirth did not intereſt her. b This day ſhe was continually thinking of Ana's recovery, and encouraging the converſations; though her quickneſs of the cheerful hopes, which though they diſſipated the ſpirits that had been con. denſed by melancholy, yet made he wiſh to be ſilent. The muſic, more than the converſation, diſturbed her reflections; but not at firſt. The gentleman who played on the german-flute, was 2 handſome, well-bred, ſenſible man; and his obſervations, if not original, were 1 pertinent. 1 The other, who had not ſaid much, began to touch the violin, and played A little Scotch ballad; he brought ſuch a thrilling ſound out of the inſtrument, that Mary ſtarted, and looking at him with more attention than ſhe had done before, and ſaw, in a face rather ugly, ſtrong lines of genius. His manners were awkward, that kind of awkwardneſs which is often found in literary men: he ſeemed a thinker, and delivered his opinions () opinions in elegant expreſſions, and mu- ſical tones of voice.
When the concert was over, they all retired to their apartments. Mary always ſlept with Ann, as ſhe was ſubject to terrifying dreams; and frequently in e night was obliged to be ſupported, o avoid ſuffocation. They chatted about heir new acquaintance in their own apartment, and, with reſpect to the gentlemen, differed | in opinion. 42 ' i .
f 1 : : J. =_ - 1 : . 3 = macy. Mary ſometimes, left her fricnd viewing new modes of life, and ſearching tracted her attention, and gave riſe i CHAP. 5 Evrr day almoſt they ſaw their ney acquaintance; and civility produced int with them; while ſhe indulged herſelf u out the cauſes which produced them, She had a metaphyſical turn, which incline her to reflect on every object that paſſed by her; and her mind was not like a mirror, which receives every floating image, but does not retain them: ſhe had not a prejudices, for every opinion was er- amined before it was adopted.
The Roman Catholic ceremonies at converſations when they all met; and on one of the gentlemen continually intro- duced deiſtical notions, when he ridi- culed the pageantry they all were ſur- priſed at obſerving. Mary thought of both the ſubjects, the Romiſh tenets, and the deiſtical doubts; and though not a ſceptic, thought it right to exa- mine the evidence on which her faith was built, She read Butler's Analogy, and ſome other authors: and theſe reſearches made her a chriſtian from conviction, and ſhe learned charity, particularly with reſpeCt to ſectaries; ſaw that appa- rently good and ſolid arguments might take their riſe from different points of view; and ſhe rejoiced to find that thofe ſhe ſhould not concur - "with had ſome reaſon on their fide, age $f tC HAP. XI.
þ + Wixi I mentioned the r ladies, '2 I faid they were faſhionable women; and it was all the praiſe, as a faithful hiſto- . Tian, I could beſtow on them; the only thing in which they were conſiſtent. | forgot. to mention that they were all of [ one family, a mother, her daughter, 18 and niece., The daughter was ſent by her phyſician, to avoid a northerly winter; 4 the mother, her niece, and nephew, ac- .companied her.
They were people of rank; but un- fortunately, though of an ancient family, 5 the title had deſcended to a very remote branch—a branch they took care to be K » 77 intimate ws 1 e intimate with; and ſervilely copied the Counteſs's airs. Their minds were ſhack - led with a ſet of notions concerning pro- priety, the fitneſs of things for the world's eye, trammels which always hamper weak people. What will the world fay? was the firft thing that was thought of, when they intended doing any thing they had not done before. Or what would the Counteſs do on ſuch an occaſion? And when this queſtion was anſwered, the right or wrong was diſco- yered withont the trouble of their having any idea of the matter in their own heads. This ſame Counteſs was a fine planet, and the ſatellites obſerved a moſt harmonic dance around her.
After this account it is ſcarcely neceſ- ſary to add, that their minds had received very little cultivation. They were taught French, Italian, and Spaniſh; Engliſh was their vulgar tongue. And what did they learn? Hamlet will tell vou words — words. But let me not forget that they ſqualled Italian ſongs in the true guſta. Without having any ſeeds ſown in their underſtanding, or the aſ- ſections of the heart ſet to work, they were brought out of their nurfery, or the place they were ſecluded in, to prevent their faces being common; like blazing ſtars, to captivate Lords.
They were pretty, and hurrying from one party of pleaſure to another, occa- foned the diſorder which required change of air. The mother, if we ex- cept her being near twenty years older, was juſt the ſame creature; and theſe additional years only ſerved tu make her more tenaciouſly adhere to her habits of folly, and decide with ſtupid gravity, ſome trivial points of ceremony, as 4 matter Coy» of the laſt importance; of which was a competent judge, from hav- ing lived in the faſhionable world ſo long: that world to which the igno- ant look up as we do to the ſun.
It appears to me that every creature has ſome notion or rather reliſh, of the ſub- lime. Riches, and the conſequent ſtate, are the fublime of weak minds:—Theſe images fill, nay, are too big art * narrow ſouls.
One afternoon, which they had en- gaged to ſpend together, Ann was ſo ill, that Mary was obliged to ſend an apology for not attending the tea-table. The apology brought them on the carpet; and the mother, with a look of ſolemn importance, turned to the fick man, whoſe name was Henry, and faid; « Though people of the firſt faſhion are * irequently at places of this kind, inti- 5 F 2 « mate 5 F 2 « mate dc mate with they know not who; yet] ce do not chooſe that my daughter, whoſ: « family is ſo reſpectable, ſhould be in- ce timate with any one ſhe would bluþ * to know elſewhere. It is only on tha ec account, for J never ſuffer her to be « with any one but in my company,” added ſhe, ſitting more erect; and: ſmile of ſelf-complacency dreſſed he: countenance.
c I have enquired concerning thek ee ſtrangers, and find that the one who « has the moſt dignity in her manner, c 1s really a woman of fortune. Lord, e mamma, how ill ſhe dreſſes: mamma went on; © She is a romantic creature, you muſt not copy her, miſs; yet ſhe « is an, heireſs of the large fortune in © —————ſhire, of which you may re member to have heard the Counteß « ſpeak the night you had on the danc- cc ing ing - dreſs that was ſo much admired; (c put ſhe is married.“ = She then told them the whole ſtory as me heard it from her maid, who picked it out of Mary's ſervant. © She is a W< fooliſh creature, and this friend that W< ſhe pays as much attention to as if ſhe « was a lady of quality, is a beggar.” « Well, how ſtrange!” cried the girls. « She is, however, a charming crea- ture, ſaid her nephew. Henry ſigh- ed, and ſtrode acroſs the room once or twice; then took up his violin, and played the air which firſt ſtruck Mary; he had often heard her praiſe it. The muſic was uncommonly melo- dious, © And came ſtealing on the « ſenſes like the ſweet ſouth.” The well-known ſounds reached Mary as ſhe lat by her friend—ſhe liſtened without knowing that ſhe did—and ſhed tears F 3 almot almoſt without being conſcious of it, Ann ſoon fell aſleep, as ſhe had taken an opiate. Mary, then brooding over her fears, began to imagine ſhe had de. ceived herſelf—Ann was till very il; hope had beguiled many heavy hours, yet ſhe was diſpleaſed with herſelf for ad. mitting this welcome gueſt.— And he worked up her mind to ſuch a degree d anxiety, that ſhe determined, once more, to ſeek medical aid.
No ſooner did ſhe determine, than ſhe ran down with a diſcompoſed look, to enquire of the ladies who ſhe ſhould ſend for. When ſhe entered the room ſhe could not ' articulate her fears—it ap- peared like pronouncing Ann's ſentence of death; her faultering tongue dropped ſome broken words, and ſhe remained filent. The ladies wondered that a per- ſon of her ſenſe ſhould be fo little miſtrels miſtreſs of herſelf; and began to ad- miniſter ſome common- place comfort, as, that it was our duty to ſubmit to the will of Heaven, and the like trite conſo- lations, which Mary did not anſwer; but waving her hand, with an air of impas tience, ſhe exclaimed, ** I cannot live c without her!—TI have no other friend; « if J loſe her, what a deſart will the ce world be to me.” No other te friend,” re-echoed they, © have you te not a huſband?”
+ Mary ſhrunk back, and was ai pale and red. A delicate ſenſe of pro- priety prevented her replying; ag re- called her bewildered reaſon. — Aſftitaing, in conſequence of her recollection, 'A more compoſed manner, ſhe made the intended enquiry, and left the room. Henry's eyes followed her while the fe- males very freely animadverted on her rl behaviour..
F 4 CHAP.
CHAP, XII.
TE phyſician was ſent for; his pre- ſeription afforded Ann a little temporary relief; and they again joined the circle, Unfortunately, the weather happened to be conſtantly wet far more than a week, and confined them to the houſe. Ann then found the ladies not fo agreeable; when they ſat whole hours together, the thread-bare topics were exhauſted; and, but for cards or muſic, the long even- ings would have been yawned away in liſtleſs indolence.
The bad weather had had as ill an effect on Henry as on Ann. He was frequently very thoughtful, or rather melancholy; this melancholy would of itſelf itſelf have attracted Mary's notice, if* ſhe had not found his converſation ſo in- finitely ſuperior to the reſt of the group, When ſhe converſed with him, all the faculties of her ſoul unfolded themſelves; genius animated her expreſſive counte- nance; and the moſt graceful, unaffected geſtures gave energy to her diſcourſe. They frequently diſcuſſed very im- portant ſubjects, while the reſt were ſinging or playing cards, nor were they obſerved for doing ſo, as Henry, whom they all were pleaſed with, in the way of gallantry ſhewed them all more attention than her, Beſides, as there was nothing alluring in her dreſs or manner, they never dreamt of her being preferred to them, - Henry was a man of learning; he had alſo ſtudied mankind, and knew many of the intricacies of the human heart, from having Having felt the infirmities of his own, His taſte was juſt, as it had a ſtandard. Nature, which he obſerved with a criti. cal eye. Mary could not help thinking that in his company her mind expanded, as he always went below the ſurface, She increaſed her ſhock of ideas, and her taſte was improved. C ma his rational religious ' ſentiments received warmth from his ſenſibility; and, except on very particular occafions, kept it in proper bounds; theſe ſentiments had likewiſe formed his temper; he was gentle, and eaſily to be intreated. The ridiculous ceremonies they were every day witneſs to, led them into what are termed grave ſubjects, and made him explain his opi- nions, which, at other times, he was neither aſhamed of, — — 8 an * = CHAP.
e 7s) CHAP. XIII.
WIEN the weather began to clear up, Mary ſometimes rode out alone, purpoſely to view the ruins that ſtill re- mained of the earthquake: or ſhe would ride to the banks of the Tagus, to feaſt ber eyes with the ſight of that magnifi- cent river. At other times ſhe would viſit the churches, as ſhe was particularly fond of ſeeing hiſtorical paintings. One of theſe viſits gave riſe to the ſubject, and the whole party deſcanted on it; but as the ladies could not handle it well, they ſoon adverted to portraits; and talked of the attitudes and charac- ters in which they ſhould wiſh to be drawn, Mary did not fix on one — hen 1 Henry, with more apparent warmth than uſual, ſaid, I would give the world « for your picture, with the expreſſion rc J have ſeen in your face, when you © have been ſupporting your friend.“ This delicate compliment did not gratify her vanity, but it reached her heart. She then recollected that ſhe had once ſat for her picture for whom was it deſigned? For a boy! Her cheeks fluſned with indignation, ſo ſtrongly did ſhe feel an emotion of contempt at having been thrown _ given in with an eſtate.
As Mary again gave way to. her mind was more diſengaged; and her thoughts were employed about objects around her.
She viſited ſeveral convents, and found that ſolitude only eradicates ſome paſſions, to give ſtrength to others; the moſt C A c * moſt baneful ones. She ſaw that religion does not conſiſt in ceremonies; and that many prayers may fall from the lips without purifying the heart. | They who imagine they can be reli- gious without governing their tempers, or exerciſing benevolence in its moſt ex- tenſive ſenſe, muſt certainly allow, that their religious duties are only practiſed from ſelfiſh principles; how then can they be called good? The pattern of all goodneſs went about doing good, Wrapped: up in themſelves, the nuns only thought of inferior gratifications. And a number of intrigues were carried on to accelerate certain points on which their hearts were fixed: | | Such as obtaining offices of truſt or authority; or avoiding thoſe that were ſervile or laborious. In ſhort, when they could be neither wives nor mothers, they.
They aimed at being ſuperiors, and be. came the moſt ſelfiſh creatures in the world: the paſſions that were curbed gave ſtrength to the appetites, or to thoſe mean paſſions which only tend to provide for the gratification of them, Was this ſecluſion from the world? or did they conquer its vanities or avoid its vexa- tions?
In theſe abodes the unhappy individual, who, in the firſt paroxyim of grief, flies to them for refuge, finds too late The took a wrong ſtep. The ſame warmth which determined her will make her repent; and ſorrow, the ruſt of the mind, will never have a chance of being rubbed off by ſenſible con verſa- Lion, or new-born affections of the heart.
She will find that thoſe affettions that have once been called forth and 4 ſtrengthſtrengthened by exerciſe, are only ſmo- thered, not killed, by diſappointment and that in one form or other diſcontent will corrode the heart, and produce thoſe maladies of the imagination, for which there is no ſpecific.
The community at large Mary diſ- liked; but pitied many of them whoſe private diſtreſſes ſhe was informed of; and to pity and reheve were the fame things with her.
The exerciſe of her various virtues gave vigor to her genius, and dignity ta her mind; ſhe was ſometimes inconſi- derate, and violent; but never mean or. cunning.
Ct) CHAP. XIV.
TI E W are certainly the moſt uncivilized nation in Europe. Dr. Johnſon would have ſaid, © They have the leaſt mind.” And can ſuch ferve their Creator in fpirit and in truth? No, the groſs ritual of Ro- miſh ceremonies is all they can compre- hend: dey cr do penance, but not con- quer their revenge, or luſt.: Religion, or- love, has never humanized their hearts; they want the vital part; the mere body worſhips. Taſte is un- known; Gothic finery, and unnatu- ral decorations, which they term or- naments, are conſpicugus in their churches and dreſs, Reverence for 2 mental 1 mental excellence is only to be found in a poliſhed nation. = AS Could the contemplation of ſuch a people gratify Mary's heart? No: ſhe turned diſguſted from the proſpects — turned to a man of refinement. Henry had been ſome time ill and low-ſpirited; Mary would have been attentive to any one in that ſituation; but to him ſhe was particularly ſo; ſhe thought herſelf bound in gratitude, on account of his con- ſtant endeavours to amuſe Ann, and pre- vent her dwelling on the dreary proſpect before her, which ſometimes ſhe could not help anticipating with a kind of quiet deſpair.
She found ſome excuſe for going more | frequently into the room they all met in; nay, ſhe avowed her deſire to amuſe him: offered to read to him, and tried to draw him into amuſing converſations; - G and and when ſhe was full of theſe little ſchemes, ſhe looked at him with a degree of tenderneſs that ſhe was not conſcious of. This divided attention was of uſe to her, and prevented her continually thinking of Ann, whoſe fluctuating diſ- order often yave riſe to falſe hopes.
A trifling thing occurred now which occaſioned Mary ſome uneaſineſs. Her maid, a well-looking girl, had captivated the clerk of a neighbouring — gompting-houſe. As the match was an advantageous one, Mary could not raiſe any objection to it, though at this junc- ture it was very diſagreeable to her to have a. ſtranger about her perſon. How- ever, the girl conſented to delay the marriage, as ſhe had ſome affection for her miſtreſs;. and, beſides, looked for- ward to Ann's death as a. time of har- veſt. ' Henry's.
Henry's illneſs was not alarming, it was rather pleaſing, as it gave Mary an _ excuſe to herſelf for ſhewing him how much ſhe was intereſted about him; and giving little artleſs proofs of affection, which the purity of her heart mage her never wiſh to reſtrain.
The only viſible return he made was not obvious to common obſervers, He would ſometimes fix his eyes on her, and take them off with a ſigh that was coughed away; or when he was leiſurely walking into the room, and did not ex- pect to ſee her, he would quicken his ſteps, and come up to her with eagerneſs to aſk ſome trivial queſtion. In the ſame ſtyle, he would try to detain her when he had nothing to ſay—or ſaid no- thing.
Ann did not take notice of either his or Mary's behaviour, nor did ſhe ſuſpect G 2 that that he was a favourite, on any other account than his appearing neither well nor happy. She had often ſeen that when a perſon was unfortunate, Mary's pity might eaſily be miſtaken for love, and, indeed, it was a temporary ſenſa- tion of that kind. Such it was—why it was ſo, let others define, I cannot argue againſt inſtincts. As reaſon is cultivated in man, they are ſuppoſed to grow - weaker, and this may have given rife to the aſſertion, © That as judgment im- _ © proves, genius evaporates.”
GAA P.- AF.
GAA P.- AF.
ONE morning they ſet out to viſit the aqueduct; though the day was very fine when they left home, a very heavy ſhower fell before they reached it; they lengthened their ride, the clouds diſ- perſed, and the ſun came from behind them uncommonly bright, Mary would fain have perſuaded Ann not to have left the carriage; but ſhe was 1n ſpirits, and obviated all her objections, and inſiſted on walking, tho?.
the ground was damp. But her ſtrength was not equal to her ſpirits; ſhe was ſoon obliged to return to the carriage ſo much fatigued, that ſhe fainted, and remained inſenſible a long time.
G 3 Henry Henry would have ſupported her; but Mary would not permit him; her recol- lection was inſtantaneous, and ſhe feared fitting on the damp ground might do him a material injury: ſhe was on that account poſitive, though the company did not gueſs the cauſe of her being ſo. As to herſelf, ſhe did not fear bodily pain; and, when her mind was agitated, ſhe tould endure the greateſt fatigue without appearing ſenſible of it, When Ann recovered, they returned ſlowly home; ſhe was carried to bed, and the next morning Mary thought ſhe obſerved a viſible change for the worle. The phyſician was ſent for, who pro- nounced her to be in the moſt imminent danger.: All Mary's former fears now returned Jike a torrent, and carried every other care away; the even added to her preſent Tent anguiſh by upbraiding herſelf for her late tranquillity—ir haunted her in the form of a crime.
The diſorder made the moſt rapid ad- vances—there was no hope!—Bereft of it, Mary again was tranquil; but it was a very different kind of tranquillity. She ſtood to brave the approaching ſtorm, conſcious ſhe only could be overwhelmed by it.
She did not think of Henry, or if her thoughts glanced towards him, it was only to find fault with herſelf for ſuffer- ing a thought to have ſtrayed from Ann. Ann!—this dear friend was ſoon torn from her— ſhe died ſuddenly as Mary was aſſiſting her to walk acroſs the room. —The firſt ſtring was ſevered from her heart —and this“ ſlow, ſudden-death” diſturbed her reaſoning faculties; ſhe ſeemed ſtunned by it; unable to reflect, or even to feel her miſery.
G 4 The The body was ſtolen out of the houſe the ſecond night, and Mary refuſed to ſee her former companions. She deſired her maid to conclude her marriage, and requeſt her intended huſband to inform her when the firſt merchantman was to leave the port, as the packet had juſt ſailed, and ſhe determined not to ſtay in that hated place any longer than was ab- ſolutely neceſſary.
She then ſent to requeſt the ladies to viſit her; ſhe wiſhed to avoid a parade of grief—her ſorrows were her own, and appeared to her not to admit of increaſe or ſoftening, She was right; the ſight of them did not affect her, or turn the ſtream of her ſullen ſorrow; the black wave rolled along in the ſame courſe; it was equal to her where ſhe caſt her eyes; all was impenetrable gloom.
CHAP.
CHAP. XVI.
SOON after the ladies left her, ſhe re- ceived a meſſage from Henry, requeſt- ing, as ſhe ſaw company, to be permit- ted to viſit her: ſhe conſented, and he entered immediately, with an unaſſured pace. She ran eagerly up to him—ſaw the tear trembling in his eye, and his countenance ſoftened by the tendereſt compaſſion; the hand which preſſed hers ſeemed that of a fellow- creature. She burſt into tears; and, unable to reſtrain them, ſhe hid- her face with both her hands; theſe tears relieved her, (ſhe had before had a difficulty in breathing, ) and ſhe fat down by him more compoſed - 5 than than ſhe had appeared ſince Ann's death; but her converſation was incoherent.
She called herſelf “a poor diſconſo- <c late creature! — Mine is a ſelfiſh cc grief, ſhe exclaimed —* Yet, Hea- < ven is my witneſs, I do not wiſh her c back now ſhe has reached thoſe peace- «© ful manſions, where the weary reſt. < Her pure ſpirit 1s happy; but what a < wretch am I!” | Henry forgot his cautious reſerve. % Would you allow me to call you 4 friend?” ſaid he in a heſitating voice. I feel, dear girl, the tendereſt intereſt < 1n whatever concerns thee.” His eyes poke the reſt. They were both ſilent a few moments; then Henry reſumed the converſation. © I have alſo been ac- «« quainted with grief! I mourn the loſs « of a woman who was not worthy of * my regard, Let me give thee ſome 0 account Wa account of the man who now ſolicits « thy friendſhip; and who, from mo- « tives of the pureſt benevolence, wiſhes « to give comfort to thy wounded heart. « ] have myſelf,” ſaid he, mourn- fully, „“ ſhaken hands with happineſs, « and am dead to the world; I wait pa- « tiently for my diſſolution; but, for « thee, Mary, there may be many « bright days in ftore.” | c Impoſſible,” replied ſhe, in a peeviſh rone, as if he had inſulted her by the ſuppoſition; her feelings were ſo much in uniſon with his, that ſhe was in love with miſery, He fmiled ar her i impatience, and went on, * My father died before I knew * him, and my mother was ſo attached * to my eldeſt brother, that ſhe took * yery little pains to fit me for the * profeſſion to which I was deſtined: F ce and,