a pleasinglively girl, with a large fortune."

"She may be richer, may be handsomer," cried Charlotte, "but cannot
love him so well. Oh may she beware of his art, and not trust him

too far as I have done."
"He addresses her publicly," said he, "and it was rumoured they

were to be married before he sailed for Eustatia, whither his
company is ordered."

"Belcour," said Charlotte, seizing his hand, and gazing at him earnestly,
while her pale lips trembled with convulsive agony, "tell me,

and tell me truly, I beseech you, do you think he can be such
a villain as to marry another woman, and leave me to die with want

and misery in a strange land: tell me what you think; I can bear
it very well; I will not shrink from this heaviest stroke of fate;

I have deserved my afflictions, and I will endeavour to bear them
as I ought."

"I fear," said Belcour, "he can be that villain."
"Perhaps," cried she, eagerly interrupting him, "perhaps he is

married already: come, let me know the worst," continued she
with an affected look of composure: "you need not be afraid,

I shall not send the fortunate lady a bowl of poison."
"Well then, my dear girl," said he, deceived by her appearance,

"they were married on Thursday, and yesterday morning they
sailed for Eustatia."

"Married--gone--say you?" cried she in a distracted accent, "what without
a last farewell, without one thought on my unhappy situation!

Oh Montraville, may God forgive your perfidy." She shrieked,
and Belcour sprang forward just in time to prevent her falling

to the floor.
Alarming faintings now succeeded each other, and she was conveyed to

her bed, from whence she earnestly prayed she might never more arise.
Belcour staid with her that night, and in the morning found her in a

high fever. The fits she had been seized with had greatly terrified him;
and confined as she now was to a bed of sickness, she was no longer

an object of desire: it is true for several days he went constantly
to see her, but her pale, emaciated appearance disgusted him:

his visits became less frequent; he forgot the solemncharge given
him by Montraville; he even forgot the money entrusted to his care;

and, the burning blush of indignation and shame tinges my cheek
while I write it, this disgrace to humanity and manhood at length

forgot even the injured Charlotte; and, attracted by the blooming
health of a farmer's daughter, whom he had seen in his frequent

excursions to the country, he left the unhappy girl to sink
unnoticed to the grave, a prey to sickness, grief, and penury;

while he, having triumphed over the virtue of the artless cottager,
rioted in all the intemperance of luxury and lawless pleasure.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
A TRIFLING RETROSPECT.

"BLESS my heart," cries my young, volatile reader, "I shall never have
patience to get through these volumes, there are so many ahs! and ohs!

so much fainting, tears, and distress, I am sick to death of the subject."
My dear, chearful, innocent girl, for innocent I will suppose you to be,

or you would acutely feel the woes of Charlotte, did conscience say,
thus might it have been with me, had not Providence interposed

to snatch me from destruction: therefore, my lively, innocent girl,
I must request your patience: I am writing a tale of truth:

I mean to write it to the heart: but if perchance the heart is
rendered impenetrable by unbounded prosperity, or a continuance

in vice, I expect not my tale to please, nay, I even expect it
will be thrown by with disgust. But softly, gentle fair one;

I pray you throw it not aside till you have perused the whole;
mayhap you may find something therein to repay you for the trouble.

Methinks I see a sarcastic smile sit on your countenance.--"And what,"
cry you, "does the conceited author suppose we can glean from these pages,

if Charlotte is held up as an object of terror, to prevent us from
falling into guilty errors? does not La Rue triumph in her shame,

and by adding art to guilt, obtain the affection of a worthy man,
and rise to a station where she is beheld with respect, and chearfully

received into all companies. What then is the moral you would inculcate?
Would you wish us to think that a deviation from virtue, if covered

by art and hypocrisy, is not an object of detestation, but on
the contrary shall raise us to fame and honour? while the hapless

girl who falls a victim to her too great sensibility, shall be loaded
with ignominy and shame?" No, my fair querist, I mean no such thing.

Remember the endeavours of the wicked are often suffered to prosper,
that in the end their fall may be attended with more bitterness of heart;

while the cup of affliction is poured out for wise and salutary ends,
and they who are compelled to drain it even to the bitter dregs,

often find comfort at the bottom; the tear of penitence blots
their offences from the book of fate, and they rise from the heavy,

painful trial, purified and fit for a mansion in the kingdom of eternity.
Yes, my young friends, the tear of compassion shall fall for the fate

of Charlotte, while the name of La Rue shall be detested and despised.
For Charlotte, the soul melts with sympathy; for La Rue, it feels

nothing but horror and contempt. But perhaps your gay hearts
would rather follow the fortunate Mrs. Crayton through the scenes

of pleasure and dissipation in which she was engaged, than listen to
the complaints and miseries of Charlotte. I will for once oblige you;

I will for once follow her to midnight revels, balls, and scenes
of gaiety, for in such was she constantly engaged.

I have said her person was lovely; let us add that she was
surrounded by splendor and affluence, and he must know but little

of the world who can wonder, (however faulty such a woman's conduct,)
at her being followed by the men, and her company courted by

the women: in short Mrs. Crayton was the universal favourite:
she set the fashions, she was toasted by all the gentlemen,

and copied by all the ladies.
Colonel Crayton was a domestic man. Could he be happy with such

a woman? impossible! Remonstrance was vain: he might as well
have preached to the winds, as endeavour to persuade her from

any action, however ridiculous, on which she had set her mind:
in short, after a little ineffectual struggle, he gave up the attempt,

and left her to follow the bent of her own inclinations:
what those were, I think the reader must have seen enough

of her character to form a just idea. Among the number who paid
their devotions at her shrine, she singled one, a young Ensign

of mean birth, indifferent education, and weak intellects.
How such a man came into the army, we hardly know to account for,

and how he afterwards rose to posts of honour is likewise
strange and wonderful. But fortune is blind, and so are those

too frequently who have the power of dispensing her favours:
else why do we see fools and knaves at the very top of the wheel,

while patient merit sinks to the extreme of the opposite abyss.
But we may form a thousand conjectures on this subject, and yet never

hit on the right. Let us thereforeendeavour to deserve her smiles,
and whether we succeed or not, we shall feel more innate satisfaction,

than thousands of those who bask in the sunshine of her favour unworthily.
But to return to Mrs. Crayton: this young man, whom I shall distinguish

by the name of Corydon, was the reigning favourite of her heart.
He escorted her to the play, danced with her at every ball,

and when indisposition prevented her going out, it was he alone
who was permitted to chear the gloomysolitude to which she was

obliged to confine herself. Did she ever think of poor Charlotte?--
if she did, my dear Miss, it was only to laugh at the poor girl's want

of spirit in consenting to be moped up in the country, while Montraville
was enjoying all the pleasures of a gay, dissipated city.

When she heard of his marriage, she smiling said, so there's an end
of Madam Charlotte's hopes. I wonder who will take her now,

or what will become of the little affected prude?
But as you have lead to the subject, I think we may as well return

to the distressed Charlotte, and not, like the unfeeling Mrs. Crayton,
shut our hearts to the call of humanity.

CHAPTER XXIX.
WE GO FORWARD AGAIN.

THE strength of Charlotte's constitution combatted against her disorder,
and she began slowly to recover, though she still laboured

under a violentdepression of spirits: how must that depression
be encreased, when, upon examining her little store, she found

herself reduced to one solitaryguinea, and that during her illness
the attendance of an apothecary and nurse, together with many other

unavoidable expences, had involved her in debt, from which she saw
no method of extricating herself. As to the faint hope which she

had entertained of hearing from and being relieved by her parents;
it now entirely forsook her, for it was above four months