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frequently give others by the gratification of their own propensities. During her recital I could not look at Mr. Beaumont; as for miss Jones, she did not take her eyes off from a book which she was reading, and whether she heard it I cannot say. Mr. Wilson spoke friendly, and seconded his wife's invitation to Maria. I was excessively embarrassed to observe my self not included, and was on the point of leaving the room; when Mr. Beaumont relieved me by proposing a walk, as it was a fine moonlight evening. Being a little recovered, I ventured to meet his eyes, and thought I discovered an uncommon pleasure in his countenance: Mr. Wilson, Maria, and myself, assented to the proposal. Miss Jones would not leave her book. She has never appeared in the least jealous of ine, which I have sometimes wondered at; but I suppose she has too much confidence in her golden charms to fear a rival.

Mr. Wilson's terrace and garden is large; there we walked, and Mr. Wilson soon detached himself and Maria from Mr. Beaumont and me. I trembled so that I could scarcely walk. The exertion of spirits I had used in my late conversation with my brother had exhausted them; and I was now in a state of mind to comply with almost any proposal which Mr. Beaumont might make. He failed not to take the advantage; and, in short, my dear madam, after a variety of arguments which I was unable to controvert, he prevailed on me to give my consent to our union. He informed me that miss Jones had that morning signified her intention of leaving Mr. Wilson's in a few days, her house being ready for her recep

tion; that he had discouraged her on account of leaving me, as common politeness would oblige him to accompany her; but that he would now second her intention: and hoped in a few days to set off, and in a few days more to return and make me his in presence of Mr. and Mrs. Wilson; that in the mean time his mother would prepare for our reception, and would inform miss Jones. What could I say to proposals urged by so much love and sincerity? It is, indeed, nothing but your disapprobation that can make me at present regret my determination in his favour.

We returned to the house, I, all confusion, and embarrassed at seeing miss Jones. Maria and Mr. Wilson had likewise returned, and were engaged in pacifying Mrs. Wilson, who had, in our absence, fallen into a dispute. Miss Jones declaring she would return home the next day, Mrs. Wilson, who when she is angry sets politeness at defiance, told her that she approved her resolution. On the entrance of Mr. Beaumont and myself, miss Jones darted a look at me expressive of disdain and anger. I sat down in the first chair I found, silent and confused. Maria came to me, and said, if Mrs. Wilson pleased we would withdraw for the evening. I was happy to escape from such a scene. As we left the room I heard miss Jones say, 'Poor creature! her vanity will be her ruin.' Maria told me that Mrs. Wilson, during our absence, informed her of the attachment between Mr. Beaumont and me. Miss Jones had ascribed to my vanity the whole story, and did not, or would not believe a tittle of it. High words had ensued, and miss Jones had resolved to set

off the next morning; confiding entirely in Mr. Beaumont's honour and attachment to her.

Think, my dear madam, what were now my feelings! I almost resolved instantly to go down, confess all to her, and resign all hopes of Mr. Beaumont. Conscious of having injured her, I could have borne her reproach. Maria seemed rather to advise this measure; but whilst we were hesitating, and revolving the subject in our minds, I was seized with such a giddiness and faintness that I was incapable of exerting myself. Maria, alarmed at seeing me so ill, insisted on my going to bed, and composing myself; but that was not in my power. I was, however, better in the morning. Maria went down to breakfast, and brought me a letter from Mr. Beaumont which he had requested Mrs. Wilson to convey to me. The contents are as follow:

Two o'clock, Tuesday Morning. Will my dearest miss Vernon pardon my conduct, when she shall hear that I accompany miss Jones to her house this morning? In my first emotion of my surprise and resentment for the unworthy treatment bestowed on you last night, I was on the point of throwing myself at your feet, and avowing, in the face of the company, an attachment which I must ever glory in as my honour and happiness; but you left the room so suddenly that I had not time to obey the impulse. The instant you were gone miss Jones caught my arm, and, bursting into tears, conjured me, with a tenderness I never saw her assume, to vindicate, as she termed it, my injured honour; and added," I leave this place, sir, at six to-morrow morn

ing."-How could I act in this situation? To have undeceived her then would have been to have exposed her to the insults of Mrs. Wilson who was in a passion I never saw equalled. I thought it a politeness due to miss Jones, to suffer her to believe herself in the right whilst in this house. What a delicate situation was mine!"Be candid, sir," exclaimed Mrs. Wilson, "and declare that I have told the truth." I made her no answer, but taking miss Jones by the hand, led her to the door, entreated her to calm herself, and told her that I would attend her to the hour she mentioned. She retired to her room, and from Mrs. Wilson I received a torrent of abuse for my cowardly conduct, as she calls it; but if I have not incurred your censure, I shall utterly disregard all other.-I shall, as I think I am by politeness bound, conduct miss Jones to her house, and then will acquaint her with a subject I now reproach myself for having so long concealed. My mother's wish cannot now be complied with. Unworthy, in deed, should I be of a place in your heart, if I did not risque her displeasure on such an occasion. What then remains? but that you, my dearest life, will consent to make me happy. I shall go to my mother, and consult on proper measures; which, if you approve, delay will be unnecessary.

A

thousand thanks do I bestow on your unnatural brother, who, by depriving you of his protection, has given me a title that I would not exchange for the universe. A happy day was yesterday for me; nor shall my amiable Harriet ever have reason to regret it. My life is devoted to your happiness, and in your favour alone can I find my

own. Within a fortnight at most I hope to call you mine; in the mean time I beg your permission to write, and flatter myself that you will accept this as flowing from a heart unalterably yours.

HENRY BEAUMONT.'

On perusing this letter I saw no reason to be dissatisfied with it. It was certainly more delicate to acquaint miss Jones in private with such an affair than to mortify her pride by a public avowal. I have often wondered at her want of penetration in not discovering Mr. Beaumont's attachment to me; but it is now clear she had the most perfect confidence in him. I can truly say I pity her, and, on that account, shall accept his hand with some degree of regret.

When we met at dinner I showed Mr. and Mrs. Wilson my letter, for I think no reserve should be used with them. Mrs. Wilson could not be satisfied with his conduct, and said, that were she in my place, she would have nothing to say to him. I could not refrain from tears.-Alas! madam,' said I, what right has such a poor, forlorn girl as I am to expect a man to sacrifice every thing to my wishes? Has not Mr. Beaumont, for my sake, given up fortune, and, in some degree, his honour already?'

Mr. Wilson took my hand, and entreated me not to distress myself: he had no doubt we should be one of the happiest couple in the world.

Very likely,' said Mrs. Wilson; 'but they shall not be married at this house, I promise you!'

I felt myself shocked and confounded by the bluntness of this speech, and was unable to reply to it.

Mr. Beaumont has now been gone a week, during which time Mrs. Wilson has behaved towards me in a sullen and reserved manner, for which I can no way account; but to Maria she is very complaisant. Mr. Beaumont has written to me once. He comes. next week, hoping, as he says, to make me his. He says little of miss Jones, but that she received the intelligence from him by letter, and that he has not seen her since. Her injured pride, he supposes, will enable her to bear her disappointment.

Thus, my dear madam, do matters now stand. Maria has written to Mrs. Ambrose a similar account. I am, as you see, on the verge of marriage, and that with a man whom of all others I prefer: but I am not happy. I feel I have not acted by miss Jones the candid, open part I ought to have done; and under the consciousness of improper conduct we cannot enjoy peace of mind. I think I ought to have relinquished or never suffered myself to be attached under such circumstances. I leave my dear sister in an unpleasant situation, and am about to marry in a way in which I can render her no assistance. All these unpleasant ideas obtrude themselves, in spite of all my exertions to the contrary. I beg your acceptance of my best thanks for all your goodness to me. With kind love to Susan, I remain

Your ever obliged,
H. VERNON.

LETTER XXXV.
Dorcas to the Miss Vernons.

My dear young Mistresses,

I AM So sad and mournful I hardly know how to write. That

I

ever I should live to see this day! Ah! my poor young ladies, master told me all about his going to see you. It was a pity, methinks, miss Harriet was so hasty. God will take care of you I am sure: to be certain master won't. can't describe the passion he is in when I says any thing about you. But I will not say all that is in my head on that score; for to be sure you are low-spirited enough with out my writing dismal things.

I remain your loving nurse, and dutiful servant, till death,

DORCAS JENKINS. P.S. I thought what my dreams would come to.

Miss Vernon, in Answer.

Do not, good Dorcas, distress yourself about us. I am persuaded God will provide for us. We have not brought this trouble on our selves, and there is great comfort you know in that. Our brother ought to have been our protector and friend through life, but although he has in so unnatural a manner forsaken us, I doubt not we shall meet with friends and do very well.

I have a fine piece of news for you, Dorcas: my dear sister is go ing to be married to a young clergyman; but don't tell your master of it: I tell it you because I know it will comfort you. I am as much surprised as you at the lady's marrying my brother, but there is no accounting for these things some, times. I hope to hear from you as often as you can. I am sorry for the lameness in your hand. I shall continue with Mrs. Wilson at her desire: so you see we are not so badly off as you feared.

Well, master was married yesterday to this same widow lady, and a fine looking woman she is; but I shall never like her though she has such a great fortune. All that makes me wonder is how she came to have master; but lawyer Dixon brought it about. They talk of journeying to Jamaica about her fortune. No matter where they go; for certain if I could provide for myself I would run away. I don't know where they were married, not I, there was only lawyer Dixon at the wedding. I heard talk about settlement; but master swore he wou'd not make none; so he had it all his own way I think. He told me this morning to pack up all your odds and ends (as he call'd them), and send them by the first waggon to madam Wil- And now, dear Dorcas, I must son's so this letter will warn you make a request, which, if you of their coming. I wou'd write a have any regard for me, you will longer letter, but have the rhumatis comply with; which is, that you in my hand, so that I can scarce will behave in a respectful manner hold the pen. I thinks it was to my brother, and his wife, who brought on by fretting; for I does is now your mistress. On no occanothing but cry all day long. It sion mention our names to either will give me some comfort to hear of them; but, by a prudent conhow you go on. Please to direct duct, secure to yourself a provision for me at Martha Jenkins' green- under his roof: for, consider, what stall, in this street; for master will be the consequence if you will put himself in a passion if he disoblige them. To know you sees your hand-writing to me. So destitute of a support would add hoping this will find you in health, greatly to my trouble.

I thank you for sending our poor remains of clothes, I suppose I shall never enter my brother's house again, but I do not despair of seeing you one day or other.Be that as it may, I shall ever remain

Your true friend,
MARIA VERNON.

(To be continued.)

A NIGHT WALK

IN OCTOBER.

By J. M. L.

In russet garment clad, of sober hue, With ruddy hawthorn-berris for his

crown,

October enters sad with tears of dew, And pulls the leafy grove's last honours down.'

Author's Manuscript Poems. SUMMER was fled, and Autumn had commenced her not

unpleasing sway: for, although the extreme heat of milder days was gone, yet the present month gave renovated Man an invitation

to exercise and brace his relaxed system. The chief reflection that makes Autumn, in some degree, unenjoyed, is the near appoach of Winter. The feathered songsters have forgot their melodies, or feebly twitter their tremulous lay from the leafless boughs.-The simple flowerets that graced the borders of the wanderer's path, or scented the air with fragrance as he passed, are no more; even the reapers song has ceased, and not a gleaner is to be seen strolling over the stubbles.-The frequent report of the sportsman's gun, or the babbling cries of the noisy pack, are nearly the only sounds that strike the rural ear; and all VOL. XXXVIII.

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