distant spring up spontaneous in her heart. But when the following spring arrived, and Mary still refused to visit Crediton, pleading an engage ment with sir Thomas and lady Facwett to go to Brighton, he no longer had hopes of comfort from her society, and began to look abroad for that pleasure his own solitary fire--ide failed to afford. He still loved his Mary with too much tenderness to think of supplying her place with a mercenary; but his heart was a social one, and he was under the necessity of attaching him self to some person, to some society where its joys and sorrows would be attended to, and where a congruence of sentiment would cement a reciprocal friendship. Unhappily, he fell in with a set of young men of splendid talents, of shining abilities, of sparkling wit, of worthy families, but of profligate manners: fascinated by their conversation, he spent whole nights in their company at a tavern, where they met regularly to spend their evenings. Their wit, their mirth, their songs, their unceasing good-humour, acted with talismanic influence on the heart of Gordon, nor was it till his health was materially affected that he discovered their frequent libations to the jolly god would ruin his constitution if persisted in; still he wanted resolution to give up their society: he had not the eye of an affectionate wife to observe the change in his countenance, which nevertheless was too obvious. Mary, wholly engaged in her preparation for Brighton, heeded not the alteration. He no longer objected to her departure; and she cared little what were his amusements, or what effect they had on his health, Lady Facwett was alarmed when she found he proposed staying in London, and hinted to Mary her wishes that she would not leave him. But Mary peremptorily

refused to stay in London a day after her ladyship. 'Let him please himself," said she: if he is fond of stupefying himself in a tavern, and sotting his hours away, I am not. I wish to give and receive pleasure, to see and be seen.'

Lady Facwett-made no reply; but from that day she thought but slightly of Mary's conjugal affection, and would gladly have given up her journey to Brighton, to watch the declining health of her brother, to promote his comfort, to supply to him the loss of his wife's society, and to become wholly his nurse, his companion, and adviser; but sir Thomas was a gay man, was fond of company, and would by no means hear of her kind proposal. Gordon was therefore left to himself in London; while Mary, at Brighton, added one more to the thoughtless train, and in every gay circle was the gayest of the gay.

Far different passed the months at the white cottage. The anxious mother, the sorrowing sister, had been surprised at Mary's absence the first spring, which she had so faithfully promised to spend with them; but when the second elapsed and still she came not, they were truly miserable. It had been seldom, very seldom, Mary favoured them with a letter; but for some months they had ceased to receive any. The newspapers were the only vehicle of intelligence of what the great world were doing, and newspapers were a luxury Mrs. Gayton's small income would not afford, especially as, since the death of the worthy Westwood, she had been obliged to give up her drawing and embroidery, as the expence of the carriage to and from London so much lessened her profits, that it was no longer worth her care. A constant nervous fever, occasioned by anxiety, had greatly weakened her health and spirits; and

against the belle of Brighton, who, with uncommon spirit, slapped the porter's face, threw his wig into the square, kicked the house-dog, played a sonorous peal on the knocker, and then triumphantly stept into her carriage to the captain, who was her escort in this bold adventure. It has been since whispered in the fashionable circles, that the brave captain and the spirited Mary are off together."

The paper dropped from the hand of poor Rebecca, and she feli back in the chair in a strong fit, from which she was not recovered when Sabina returned. By her frantic cries, the terrified girl brought up the landlady and her daughter; but it was long ere their united endeavours restored animation to the care-worn form of her broken-hearted mother. When she did open her eyes, she pointed to the newspaper which lay at her feet. Sabina instantly discovered the cause of her mother's illness, and, putting the fatal paper in her pocket, assisted her agitated parent to bed, from which she rose no more for seven weeks. During this time, Sabina was her nurse, her friend, her comforter.

Sabina wrote twice to her sister, but receiving no answer, unknown to her mother, she addressed a few lines to lady Facwett, conjuring her, for the love of Heaven, to honour her with one line informing her of her sister's fate. In a few days the following answer arrived :

'AMIABLE SABINA,

Though personally unknown to you and your excellent mother, my brother has taught me to love you both with much affection. I therefore hasten to ease your worthy hearts of part of their distress,

Mrs. Gordon, though highly culpable, is not, I flatter myself, so guilty as the daily prints (ever given to calumny) have insinuated. Cap

tain and miss Bently are persons of specious manners, but depraved principles. To miss Bently your sister became attached. I frequently warned the volatile Mary of this syren, but without effect: she was never happy but in her company. The captain (an artful coxcomb) introduced a set of wretches to his sister's house, in whose society Mrs. Gordon lost sums of money which I knew my brother's fortune was unable to pay without hurting his child. I therefore informed Mary that she must give up miss Bently, or me. The next morning she called as usual, but as I had the mortification to observe from my window the captain was in her carriage. I gave orders to be denied. I am sorry I did, for Mary's conduct was so very ridiculous on the occasion, that the affair became quite public; and hence arose the foolish paragraph which so affected Mrs. Gayton. I wrote to my brother an account of the business. He came to Brighton, and insisted Mary should accompany him to a little estate of sir Thomas's, in the north of England, where they will remain till their affairs can be adjusted, which at present are very deranged, and I hope, by their economy, will retrieve the large sums which have been so thoughtlessly lavished in scenes of dissipa tion and folly. With a thousand good wishes to yourself and mother, I am your affectionate friend and servant,

'A. FACWETT.'

Sabina was sitting with her mo ther when this letter was delivered, and as she thought that a knowledge of its contents would rather tend to alleviate her suspence, she put it into hand, saying- 'My dear mother, I hope you will pardon my temerity in daring to write to lady Facwett without her knowledge, as our dear

Mary is not so guilty as we feared.' Mrs. Gayton read the letter, observing, that she was sure Sabina had done it for the best; but added, the blow was already given, and all she wished for now was to return to her own little cottage, and die at home.

Sabina in vain wished her mother to stay another month at Bath; Mrs. Gayton had that morning paid her last guinea for lodging, and she determined to return to Crediton while she was able. She sent for a jeweller, and sold the jewels which had ornamented the portrait of colonel Bomfield for one hundred pounds; and this small sum was her all, as it wanted more than five months of her annuity becoming due.

Poor Sabina commenced this jours ney with far different sensations from those she experienced when she set out for Bath. Then hope smiled, and promised wonders from the so much extolled waters. These waters had been tried in vain; the poor in valid was returning worse than she came, and the demon of despair occupied the place hope had hitherto held in her sanguine imagination.

They travelled by easy stages, yet, on the third day, Mrs. Gayton became so much exhausted by fatigue as to be unable to proceed, Sabina observed her countenance chauge, and stopped the chaise. The post-boy informed her, that a little from the high road he had an aunt, who was. a very motherly, good sort of woman, and he was sure would do any thing in her power for the sick lady, and perhaps it might be better to take her there than to a public inn. bina acquiesced, and the chaise drove up a shady lane; 'and stopped before a neat house. A fresh-coloured woman came out, and learning from her nephew that a lady was ill she assisted Rebecca to alight, who, as soon as she entered the house, faint

Sa

ed, and was carried to bed insensible.

Sabina had often heard her mother speak in terms of high commendation of the skill of sir W. H. and without considering the distance, or expence of his attendance (happening to recollect his address), she wrote, intreating his immediate presence. On the third day sir W- arrived in a post-chaise and four. When he approached the bed, Rebecca was insensible. His countenance changed as he looked on the beautiful ruin. I can be of no service,' said he. Death has already marked her for his own. I do not even think her senses will return: if they should, keep her perfectly quiet; that is all that can be done. I will write a prescription which shall be merely a cordial, and may be given, if she is able to take it, at any time. But I rather think she will go off as she is.' He then retired to his inn, and the next morning sent in his bill of expences on the road, which amounted to twenty-five pounds; though he had humanely declined a fee, as his skill was useless. Sabina opened her mother's pocket-book, and taking a fifty pound note sent it to sir W--, who again looked in before he commenced his journey, and finding Rebecca in the same state he had left her the preceding evening, was confirmed in his opinion that her senses would not return, and departed for London.

Thus poor Sabina lessened her small store, and had the mortification to find she had lessened it for nothing but the satisfaction of knowing that every thing in her power had been done for the restoration of her beloved mother, but, alas! without effect.

That same evening Rebecca opened her eyes. She beheld her daughter with tender solicitude bending ever oor bed- My own Sabina,"