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Charlotte Temple

by Susanna Rowson
Volume I

CHAPTER I.
A Boarding School.

CHAPTER II.
Domestic Concerns.

CHAPTER III.
Unexpected Misfortunes.

CHAPTER IV.
Change of Fortune.

CHAPTER V.
Such Things Are.

CHAPTER VI.
An Intriguing Teacher.

CHAPTER VII.
Natural Sense of Propriety Inherent in the

Female Bosom.
CHAPTER VIII.

Domestic Pleasures Planned.
CHAPTER IX.

We Know Not What a Day May Bring Forth.
CHAPTER X.

When We Have Excited Curiosity, It Is But an Act
of Good Nature to Gratify it.

CHAPTER XI.
Conflict of Love and Duty.

CHAPTER XII.
Nature's last, best gift:

Creature in whom excell'd, whatever could
To sight or thought be nam'd!

Holy, divine! good, amiable, and sweet!
How thou art falln'!--

CHAPTER XIII.
Cruel Disappointment.

CHAPTER XIV.
Maternal Sorrow.

CHAPTER XV.
Embarkation.

CHAPTER XVI.
Necessary Digression.

CHAPTER XVII.
A Wedding.

VOLUME II.
CHAPTER XVIII.

Reflections.
CHAPTER XIX.

A Mistake Discovered.
CHAPTER XX.

Virtue never appears so amiable as when reaching
forth her hand to raise a fallen sister.

Chapter of Accidents.
CHAPTER XXI.

Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see,

That mercy I to others show
That mercy show to me. POPE.

CHAPTER XXII.
Sorrows of the Heart.

CHAPTER XXIII.
A Man May Smile, and Smile, and Be a Villain.

CHAPTER XXIV.
Mystery Developed.

CHAPTER XXV.
Reception of a Letter.

CHAPTER XXVI.
What Might Be Expected.

CHAPTER XXVII.
Pensive she mourn'd, and hung her languid head,

Like a fair lily overcharg'd with dew.
CHAPTER XXVIII.

A Trifling Retrospect.
CHAPTER XXIX.

We Go Forward Again.
CHAPTER XXX.

And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep,

A shade that follows wealth and fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep.

CHAPTER XXXI.
Subject Continued.

CHAPTER XXXII.
Reasons Why and Wherefore.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
Which People Void of Feeling Need Not Read.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
Retribution.

CHAPTER XXXV.
Conclusion.

PREFACE.
FOR the perusal of the young and thoughtless of the fair sex,

this Tale of Truth is designed; and I could wish my fair readers
to consider it as not merely the effusion of Fancy, but as a reality.

The circumstances on which I have founded this novel were related
to me some little time since by an old lady who had personally

known Charlotte, though she concealed the real names of the characters,
and likewise the place where the unfortunate scenes were acted:

yet as it was impossible to offer a relation to the public in such an
imperfect state, I have thrown over the whole a slight veil of fiction,

and substituted names and places according to my own fancy.
The principal characters in this little tale are now consigned

to the silent tomb: it can therefore hurt the feelings of no one;
and may, I flatter myself, be of service to some who are so unfortunate

as to have neither friends to advise, or understanding to direct them,
through the various and unexpected evils that attend a young

and unprotected woman in her first entrance into life.
While the tear of compassion still trembled in my eye for the fate

of the unhappy Charlotte, I may have children of my own, said I,
to whom this recital may be of use, and if to your own children,

said Benevolence, why not to the many daughters of Misfortune who,
deprived of natural friends, or spoilt by a mistaken education,

are thrown on an unfeeling world without the least power to defend
themselves from the snares not only of the other sex, but from

the more dangerous arts of the profligate of their own.
Sensible as I am that a novel writer, at a time when such a variety

of works are ushered into the world under that name, stands
6 PREFACE.

but a poor chance for fame in the annals of literature, but conscious
that I wrote with a mind anxious for the happiness of that sex whose

morals and conduct have so powerful an influence on mankind in general;
and convinced that I have not wrote a line that conveys a wrong idea

to the head or a corrupt wish to the heart, I shall rest satisfied
in the purity of my own intentions, and if I merit not applause,

I feel that I dread not censure.
If the following tale should save one hapless fair one from

the errors which ruined poor Charlotte, or rescue from impending
misery the heart of one anxious parent, I shall feel a much

higher gratification in reflecting on this trifling performance,
than could possibly result from the applause which might attend

the most elegant finished piece of literature whose tendency might
deprave the heart or mislead the understanding.

CHARLOTTE TEMPLE,
VOLUME I

CHAPTER I.
A BOARDING SCHOOL.

"ARE you for a walk," said Montraville to his companion,
as they arose from table; "are you for a walk? or shall we order

the chaise and proceed to Portsmouth?" Belcour preferred the former;
and they sauntered out to view the town, and to make remarks on

the inhabitants, as they returned from church.
Montraville was a Lieutenant in the army: Belcour was his

brother officer: they had been to take leave of their friends
previous to their departure for America, and were now returning

to Portsmouth, where the troops waited orders for embarkation.
They had stopped at Chichester to dine; and knowing they had

sufficient time to reach the place of destination before dark,
and yet allow them a walk, had resolved, it being Sunday afternoon,

to take a survey of the Chichester ladies as they returned
from their devotions.

They had gratified their curiosity, and were preparing to return
to the inn without honouring any of the belles with particular notice,

when Madame Du Pont, at the head of her school, descended from
the church. Such an assemblage of youth and innocence naturally

attracted the young soldiers: they stopped; and, as the little
cavalcade passed, almost involuntarily pulled off their hats.

A tall, elegant girl looked at Montraville and blushed:
he instantly recollected the features of Charlotte Temple,

whom he had once seen and danced with at a ball at Portsmouth.
At that time he thought on her only as a very lovely child,

she being then only thirteen; but the improvement two years had made
in her person, and the blush of recollection which suffused her

cheeks as she passed, awakened in his bosom new and pleasing ideas.
Vanity led him to think that pleasure at again beholding him might

have occasioned the emotion he had witnessed, and the same vanity
led him to wish to see her again.

"She is the sweetest girl in the world," said he, as he entered the inn.
Belcour stared. "Did you not notice her?" continued Montraville:

"she had on a blue bonnet, and with a pair of lovely eyes
of the same colour, has contrived to make me feel devilish odd

about the heart."
"Pho," said Belcour, "a musket ball from our friends, the Americans,

may in less than two months make you feel worse."
"I never think of the future," replied Montraville; "but am

determined to make the most of the present, and would willingly
compound with any kind Familiar who would inform me who the girl is,

and how I might be likely to obtain an interview. "
But no kind Familiar at that time appearing, and the chaise which they

had ordered, driving up to the door, Montraville and his companion
were obliged to take leave of Chichester and its fair inhabitant,

and proceed on their journey.
But Charlotte had made too great an impression on his mind

to be easily eradicated: having therefore spent three whole
days in thinking on her and in endeavouring to form some plan

for seeing her, he determined to set off for Chichester,
and trust to chance either to favour or frustrate his designs.

Arriving at the verge of the town, he dismounted, and sending
the servant forward with the horses, proceeded toward

the place, where, in the midst of an extensive pleasure ground,
stood the mansion which contained the lovely Charlotte Temple.

Montraville leaned on a broken gate, and looked earnestly at the house.
The wall which surrounded it was high, and perhaps the Argus's

who guarded the Hesperian fruit within, were more watchful than
those famed of old.

"'Tis a romantic attempt," said he; "and should I even succeed
in seeing and conversing with her, it can be productive of no good:

I must of necessity leave England in a few days, and probably
may never return; why then should I endeavour to engage

the affections of this lovely girl, only to leave her a prey
to a thousand inquietudes, of which at present she has no idea?

I will return to Portsmouth and think no more about her."
The evening now was closed; a serenestillness reigned;



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