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a-little of it, and it seemed to renovate her much. She ceased to tremble, except from agitation; and overcome by Julia's tender kindness, reposed in her the full story of Fanny's seduction, and her

own sorrows.

Dear me! said the sobbing dame, I seems like not to know what I ought to do. Sometimes I think I ought not to tell you, to grieve your good and tender heart with such things of those you love; and then met inks it is meant by Providence for me to tell you, since you, of all the world, were sent to me in the sad time of my trouble; and you may be, of all the world, the one marked out to rescue Fanny from her guilty ways, and lead her back to penitence and me.'

Julia shuddered with anticipating apprehension; her heart was agonized; but, endowed with something apparently more than mortal firmness, she listened, without betraying her feelings, to a tale-to her, a tale of horrors.

It is now about four years, dear my lady, since Fanny-cruel girl!-first began to be praised for her beauty. She had many a good offer from the neighbouring young farmers, but she refused them all; as she needs must be in love with the man she should marry:-but she'll ne'er marry now! no honest man would have her.-Well, dear young lady, she got all this lovestuff in her head at her uncle's, where the girls are always falling foul of story-books (that were written for ladies, not the poor), instead of minding the pigs, and the poultry.

Well, my lady, sir Charles Stratton saw Fanny one day, as she was bringing home work to do for the repository; and he followed her,

and came ever so often here, talking nousense to Fanny about her beauty; and at last I determined to tell my lady of it;-and I wish I had!-but soon I thought there was no occasion for it; as, one day, who should come in, but 'squire Fitzroy, to look for his brother: and the next day he came alone, and began to advise Fanny not to listen to his brother, and-oh,goodness! how with his silver tongue he hushed my suspicions!-as Fanny listened to every word he said, I thought there was no use in making mischief with my lady, as Fanny would never listen no more to sir Charles, and so he stopped from coming. But 'squire Fitzroy, whenever he was staying at the castle, used to come often to my cottage; and I-fool that I was!-always made him welcome, thinking he was so good and pious! -for he would read the Bible to me for half an hour together, so finely! and then retire, to yonder window there, to explain texts of Scripture to Fanny: and when I wished to hear him too, he advised me not, in so friendly and kind a way! telling me, as I had not so much learning as Fanny, it would only disturb my mind, and perhaps make me waver in my faith; while Fanny, as she comprehended all, it served to strengthen in her religious principles.

Well-a-day!-So this went on for a couple of years; and it never once came into my old stupid head that Fanny could fall in love with so great a gentleman: but, O dear me! how I was terrified, and trembled, when Fanny, hearing you were to be married to the squire, cried all day long about it; and, from dearly loving you, began to say you were painted, red and white, and a many such spiteful

things of you. I then said,

I hoped she was not so mad as to have fallen in love with a man who would not think the like of her worthy to wipe his shoes?' She answered me pertly, for the first time in her life; and it cut me to the heart..... Well, dear me! Fanny, one day, had been at Sedley, to buy threads for her needlework; and home she came from it, her eyes sparkling with joy, and her cheeks like roses; and as she came in, she said- She cared for nothing now, since 'squire Fitzroy thought (for he had just told her so himself) that she was ten thousand times more beautiful than miss De Clifford.'

• If the 'squire told you so,' said I, it was only to make game of you; for every one, who has eyes, must see that miss De Clifford is as much more beautiful than you are, as you are prettier than the generality of girls one sees.' Well, she gave me another saucy answer, and I cried for grief.

Well, dear young lady, the 'squire went away to be made a markis; and when you fell sick, Fanny's natural goodness and love for you got the better of spite, and she was very sorry about you, and went twice a-day up to the castle, to inquire for you; and when you grew so bad, that no one thought you could get over it, and that Fanny, when she returned home of an evening, (as I thought, from neighbour Hawthorn's, where I believed she was at needle-work,) and that she seemed melancholy, silent, and odd, I thought it all was grief for you.

At last, she

asked my leave to go to her uncle's, at Lyme; and I consented, thinking it would amuse her; and I could not bear to see her sad. She told me, Hobbs, the miller, VOL. XXXVIII.

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would take her there, in his cart, as he always did; but she must, this time, walk over to his house, and his new man would fetch her box. Well, I believed her, for I never had reason to doubt her word. I made a nice cake for her, and gave her a bottle of milk, to take on the road. A strange man came for her box; and as I kissed and blessed her at parting, her tears bedewed my cheeks.

Well, dear lady, she is three weeks gone to-day, and yet my mind misgave me not;-though the time of her absence was always sad days for me;-but she mostly staid five or six weeks at her uncle's, and I was no way prepared for this cruel letter!'

..... Dame Banks now took from between the leaves of her Bible, a letter, which she handed to Julia; and Julia had power to open it, and read every agonizing word it contained.—

Dear grandmother,

As I unluckily met neighbour Turton to-day, in my linen-draper's shop, and as he is going home in the mail to-morrow night, I hasten to write to you, because, as soon as he gets home, the murder will out, and you must then know where I am, though he, with all his curiosity, cannot tell with whom. But don't you be cast down at what has happened, as it is a good thing for you;-for as long as your existence lasts, you shall live like a lady, with a maid to wait on you; and you shall not stay in your mean cottage, but, as soon as I have got a handsome lodging near me for you, I shall send you money to bear your expenses up to town in a post-chaise, like a lady, and not in a mean, filthy stage.

You will wonder, dear grand

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mother, how I came by all this money; and I have the comfort to tell you, I am with my dear markis of Penmorra, and as happy as a queen, though only his miss-for his wife he could not make me, having been teased by his foolish meddling uncle Ashgrove, and his parents, into marrying that miss De Clifford, who he does not care for-never, in all his born days, loving any one but me: so, poor thing she may be his wife; but I shall be dressed as grand as she, and shall have all his love, and his tender attentions.

Ah! my dear grandmother! how nicely iny dear lord markis deceived you, reading the Bible to you, and in explaining texts of Scripture to me!-Well he knowed how to gull you, and win me.

It is now two years, since my lord markis began to toil (as he calls it) for my love, and to get me into his possession. My love he won in a twinkle; but he found it not so easy to make me forget the rigmaroles you put in my head, about-what not; and I did not like to leave you; and so he never could have got me to be his miss, had he not removed from my mind the clouds of ignorance, and had not chance throwed him in my way, when he was in grief about that miss De Clifford, who, though he is not at all in love with, he regards as a sister, and therefore was in great trouble at the thoughts of her death.

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with my lord markis, who seemed in such trouble I stopped to comfort him; and so he asked me to walk with him; and so I did, leaning on his arm, like his wife-no, not like an insipid wife either, but like the idol he adored-and he making love so sweetly! quite forgetting miss De Clifford, and every one but me: so that, when he asked me to meet him next morning, I could not find in my heart to refuse him; so I met him next day, and every day, telling you I was working at Hawthorn's, till at last he persuaded me to go off with him; and I did, the evening I left you, when he went up to parliament. We travelled all night

as he had staid to the last moment at the castle, hoping miss De Clifford would let him see her and we went a round-about road, where he was not known at the inns, feard that it should be knowed he had me with him ;-for he is terribly afeared it should be knowed at the castle-so mind, dear grandmother, that you don't 'peach. The time we travelled, I wished myself at home again, and cried sadly; my dear markis made such a fuss about how sweet, and beautiful, and innocent, miss De Clifford looked, as she slept in her chair; and was so alarmed about the delicate state of her health,' that I feared he had deceived me; that it was she he loved, and not me; but when he found how much I took on about it, he talked no more of her, and repeated his vows of everlasting love and constancy to me.

To keep my being with him a secret from the prim folks at Delamore castle, my lord markis could not take me to his own fine house in Po dand-place; but on our arrival in town he placed me to

board in a very grand house, with one of the sweetest ladies I ever knowed, who has several young ladies boarding with her, who are in the same situation with myself-not living publicly with their lovers.

We are a very gay society; all full of spirits. I have been to both theatres, all in a blaze of real diamonds; and beside, grandly dressed, with scarcely a stitch of clothes on. I quaked for the miss of my stuff coats, and warm stays; but I looked so beautiful for the change, I did not mind the cold. The markis did not go with me, for feard of a discovery; that I did not much mind, I had such a plenty of beaus, and was so followed and admired. I scarcely knowed myself, I looked so lovely; and my lord markis says, he could not have thought it was possible for me to look more lovely than I did in my homely apparel, but that he is astounded, and fascinated, at my increase of beauty, my blaze of charms, now dress shows off my person to the most liberal advantage.

I have not exhibited at the operar yet, it not being open; but I have been to a masquerade, and there my dear lord markis attended me; I was greatly delighted, we had such a gay party: and all would have been well, only they made me drink too much shampain;but it proved no sham for me, as, not being used to it, my head ached sadly all next day.

I never lived till now. I am as happy as a queen and my dear markis is such an adoring lover, he spends all the time he can spare from parliament business with me, and quite sickens at the thoughts of leaving me, to go (which he must soon do) to Delamore castle, to

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It was impossible for Julia to utter one word of comment upon this dreadful letter. Her heart was now cold, and horror-chilled, as the heart-broken grandmother's; and to speak comfort to poor dame Banks, it was now not in the power of any one to do: but, speechless, and almost torpid with grief and dismay, the lovely Julia sat motionless, apparently listening, with the deepest interest, to the lamentations of the venerable, virtuous, shame-stricken parent, until Edward, tenderly taking her hand, asked Why she looked so very, very pale? and, if she was ill, to come away to good Mrs. Beville, to make her well again.'

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Roused by his question and entreaty, Julia hastily arose; and finding from her powerful agitation, and the anguish of her heart, that she could not long sustain the conflict without betraying her feelings, and increasing the distress of the poor deserted parent, spoke some scarcely articulate words of kindness to her, promised to send Mrs. Beville immediately, and to provide some eligible woman-to

remain with her, and to see her as often as possible herself.

The poor woman thanked and blessed her; entreated her to take that cruel letter away, out of her sight, for ever; and added, that she, and her sorrows, would not long trouble the compassionate.'

To the EDITOR of the LADY'S MAGAZINE.

A CARD; To W. M. T.

SIR, JOHN WEBB begs leave to inform W. M. T. that notwithstanding his officiousness in recommending him to commit his Solitary Walks to a solitary corner of his port-folio, till he can clothe them in more spirited diction,' he shall still continue to publish them.

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It is indifferent to him what may be W. M. T's opinion of them; for, however they may be defective in spirited diction,' he is conscious their morality cannot be impeached and that, though they may be ridiculous effusions' (which he has quoted nothing to prove), they are harmless ones; and possess a kind of negative merit-they will not tire the reader by their length.

J. W. is rather surprised that as W. M. T. declared these ridiculous effusions' scarcely deserve the trouble of criticism, that he condescended to notice them.

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To the EDITOR of the LADY'S MAGAZINE *.

SIR,

DEPENDING on the civility and impartiality of the Editor, I, through this medium, beg to give you my sentiments on your criticism. So far as it relates to myself, I must confess, sir, your attack might have been a little more tolerated! but it is always usual with me (when in my power) to return obligations; and debts of this nature I repay in their own coin. Be assured, most learned! I am not so allied to either Billingsgate or St. Giles' as you seem to consider me.

As a subscriber to the Lady's Magazine, I beg to propose that you have some honour conferred upon you, for so important a discovery! You, sir, are a kind of literary Jackall—anice provider! you may fairly claim some appellation of this kind! A scurrilous critic should wear the wreath of scurrillity! I make no pretensions to infallibility, For my imperfections I stand corrected; and, to dismiss this subject, I subjoin the following lines; though anony mous they are well calculated for the purpose.

Since you so plainly can discern

My faults and make them known, Let me advise you, in return,

To contemplate your own. And when to CENSURE you're inclin'd, Thou self-sufficient youth, Pray let your censure be confin'd

Within the bounds of TRUTH. Had Nature but ONE grain of sense

Infus'd into your brain, I had escap'd your INSOLENCE, And you escap'd my PEN. I remain, with due indifference, D. Y.-The STROLLER,

Nov. 2, 1807.

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