HARRIET VERNON;

OR,

the country, I intend residing in is; and I think, as a country 'squire, to bid defiance to bustle, care, and strife-So much for my own concerns. I have a long story

A NOVEL.

In a Series of Letters.

BY A LADY.

(Continued from p. 586.)

LETTER XXXVIII.

Mr. Johnson to Mr. Wentworth.

HOW shall I speak the joy I felt on the perusal of my dear Wentworth's letter? It could only be equalled by my surprise. From the bottom of my heart I congratulate you on your change of fortune; in all situations you are to me the same, nor is it in the power of fortune to increase or diminish my regard. Most impatiently did I wait for the first ships from India; but that they would bring me such glad tidings I could not dream. When I received your letter, my uncle lay on his deathbed. I communicated the contents to him; and he desired me to repeat to you the advice of a dying man. Tell him,' said he, to rejoice at his good fortune like a rational being; to return thanks to the all-wise Disposer of human events; to regard his wealth as a talent for which he will be accountable; and, above all things, let him be solicitous to keep a clear conscience, and acquire the title of an

honest man.'

I am now, by his decease, in possession of an estate of a clear thousand a-year. As I am fond of VOL. XXXVIII.

find yourself somewhat interested.

You may recollect any often speaking of an intimate acquaintance which I contracted at college with a student of the name of Beaumont. This young man was the son of a clergyman who enjoyed a living of four hundred a-year. He was, on the supposition of one day, possessing this living, educated for the church, and with a disposition better fitted for the army, where dissipation and extravagance too often assume the name of courage. At twenty-three he was invested with holy orders. Oh, profanation of the sacred vocation! He was dissolute in his manners, but possessed shining abilities. His wit gained him friends among his fellows, and his society was courted by all, but more particularly by me. We formed a friendship, if such an intimacy, founded on the bottle, wit, and gaiety, will bear the name. He led me into a thousand follies and extravagances. I could not but think him a dangerous companion, but I liked his company too well to renounce it. When he left college, a correspondence commenced, and he regarded me in the light of a friend. Perhaps I might have retained that title; but about that time I became acquainted with you, in every respect so opposite to Mr. Beaumont, that I could not but discern the difference; and discerning, approve and prefer. At that time my partiality for him wore off; happy was it for me that it did so. His correspondence, however, I did not drop; and as his 4 N

letters were replete with wit and entertainment, I did not find a reluctance to continue it. I never invited him to my uncle's house, knowing him to be a character he would not approve. This he knew, and often would anticipate my uncle's death, when he would pay me a visit. About twelve months since his father died, and my gay friend expected to be put into possession of the living. He had the interest of many in the university, and no one doubted his success. But to the praise of the bishop of the diocese, he caused inquiry to be made of the private character of the shepherd to whom he was to intrust the care of the flock. This would not bear investigation: another was found to fill the place his father had done with honour, and young Beaumont was left to bemoan his follies. The bishop was extremely tender of the young man's reputation, and with a humanity that does him the highest honour, after expostulating with him in the most pathetic and tender manner, told him, he would take on himself the stigma of having rejected the son of a worthy father, rather than he should suffer in his reputation or future success. In this situation was Mr. Beaumont. His mother has an income of three hundred a-year from the bequest of an uncle, which devolves to her son at her death. He had contracted debts, so that a wealthy marriage was now all he had to trust to. His person handsome, address pleasing, and family respectable, he stood a good chance with the ladies; thanks to the good bishop his character was not notoriously known, though, if, as Pope says, every woman is at heart a rake, this might have been no detriment. He did not seek

long in vain; he found an heiress of not less than thirty thousand pounds; rich, sensible, and young. A very fortunate young man, you will say. But the world says money is her principal charm; that she is ill-tempered, proud, learned to no other purpose but to make her despise all her own sex; in short, a woman that it is impossible for a man to love.

He has obtained the promise of her hand, and her mother dying, the marriage is for decency's sake deferred for a few months. In the mean time he does not trust her out of his sight, but accompanies her on a visit to a relation in Wiltshire; and finds means to ingratiate himself so as to be invited to stay the whole time with the lady. You are to understand he writes all these particulars to me in confidence. At the house where his lady is he meets with another, and falls violently in love with her. She confesses a partiality for him, but reminds him of his other engagement. He declares he will break it if she will consent to marry him. She wishes him to consult his mother, and she informs her friends. As she has no fortune he has no intention to marry her, but forms a plot to seduce her by a sham marriage: for this purpose he forges a letter from his mother, in which she urges their union, and offers them a residence with her, and a participation of her income. The young lady, whom he describes as simplicity itself, joined to every thing that is good and lovely, being deserted by her brother, and destitute of the means of living, consents to the proposal. He attends the rich lady home, who is kept in ignorance of his real attachment; and they are, as by agreement, immediately married.

He writes to the lady he loves,that he has explained matters to the other, and is coming in a few days to receive her hand, and take her to his mother. Destitute of friends and fortune, and fond of him, he doubts not her consent to live with him in some retired part of England, and the ample fortune he has with his wife will enable him to supply her with all she can wish.

I have, as briefly as possible, related the substance of three long letters I have received from him, which I instantly answered, and used every argument I could think of to persuade him to relinquish his horrid purpose; but not liking his replies, I resolved at all events to rescue this poor girl, and by becoming unfaithful to a villain, save her from ruin and infamy. He had not informed me of her name, but only the family she was with. I lost no time, but immediately, on giving up all hope of his desisting, and finding that he was actually married, I set off for the seat of the gentleman he had mentioned, a Mr. Wilson. Upon my arrival I inquired for him, and was shown into a parlour. I told him my name, and asked if there was not a lady there on a visit, an acquaintance of Mr. Beaumont. I was answered in the affirmative. requested to speak with her on very particular business. He led me to a room, and opened a door, where sat two young ladies at work. Beaumont had given me so very particular a description of his charmer, that I instantly recognised her in one of them; and approaching her, I begged permission to speak to her in private, on a subject, in which I presumed she was much concerned. She blushed excessively, and replied,

I

You can have nothing, sir, to say to me, that may not be spoken before this gentleman and my sister,' pointing to the other lady. I told her I could certainly have no objection if she had not. We seated ourselves-I went on- To be the messenger of unpleasant tidings is a task I would gladly be excused from, but in the present case it is my duty.' I took Beaumont's letters from my pocket, together with the copy of the long expostulatory one I had written to him, and presented them to her - If, madam,' said I, you will peruse this packet, my errand will be explained, and my duty discharged.'-She took them with a trembling hand- If,' continued I, this gentleman is in your confidence, I will, while you retire to read the letters, acquaint him with the contents.' I shall be obliged to you, sir,' she replied,

and will attend you presently.' She took her sister's arm, and they both left the room. I then opened the whole affair to the astonished Mr. Wilson. The praises he bestowed on me for my conduct gave me the most heart-felt satisfaction. He informed me that he expected Beaumont the next day, and the young lady had consented to accompany him to his mother's, where the ceremony was to take place. He spoke in the highest terms possible of both the sisters, who were, he said, distant relations of his wife, and that their names were -Now, Wentworth, prepare for astonishment-VERNON. Do not be alarmed; it was not thy Maria, it was Harriet who had dared to love Beaumont.

my

By the time I had finished relation to Mr. Wilson, miss Vernon returned:- Oh, Mr. Johnson,' said she, what obligations

are we not under, to your humanity and goodness!"

Speak not of it, my dear madam; how is your sister?'

She is much better than I expected her to be: her joy at discovering in time the perfidy of her lover has given her strength to support the disappointment. She begs her excuse for not attending you, sir, and desired me to express her gratitude and thanks for the service you have done her. Here are the letters, but if you will favour us with a second perusal, we shall be obliged to you.'

I desired her to keep them, as they could be of no use to me. The last was dated four days before, and mentioned his marriage with the rich heiress.

We must now consult,' said miss Vernon, the method of acquainting him with the discovery your goodness has made.'

We have only to inform him,' said Mr. Wilson, that we have incontestable proof that he is married; for as it is to a relation of mine, I should be loth this vile plot should become a subject of conversation; let it rest as it is. Your sister has a providential escape from a villain. My cousin cannot be unmarried; that she will be miserable with him I have not a doubt; but it will answer no good end to expose him. The ill success of his villany will be a punishment. He comes to-morrow; I will see him, and acquaint him with our knowledge of his marriage, and your sister's determination, if she wishes it, never to see him more,'

That is her resolution,' said miss Vernon: she cannot bear the thought of seeing him.'

I told them this plan met my approbation, for although I scrupled

not on such an important occasion to break the bonds of secrecy and friendship, yet I did not conceive I had a right to publish to the world the disgrace that had in confidence come to my knowledge, of one who had not personally offended me-I cannot recollect all that passed in this conversation, but finding she was indeed the young lady you have so frequently mentioned, and with whom you was, when you left England, yo deeply enamoured, I was resolved to see her again if possible. Mr. Wilson wished me to spend the day, and sleep at his house, if the expected arrival of Mr. Beaumont was no objection. I did not wish to see him just then; and to be at hide, and seek in Mr. Wilson's house was out of the question. Mr. Wilson's house is distant from mine seventy miles. I had come in a stage-coach. I recollected, however, an old college acquaintance who lived in the neighbourhood; and had frequently pressed me to pay him a visit. To him I resolved to go, and told Mr. Wilson I would, on my return from this visit, do myself the pleasure of waiting on him and the ladies.

I took my leave with that inward satisfaction that results from haring performed a commendable action. I was too impatient to see the charming sisters to have made a long visit, had I found it ever so agreeable. But it was not so; absence and other circumstances had changed my once warm and hearty acquaintance into a cold and formal one; and the respect he paid me, I could perceive, was more to my estate than my person. I spent, however, two nights, quitted him with disgust, and arrived a second time at Mr. Wilson's, who welcomed me with politeness,

and introduced me to his lady, a fine elderly woman, whom I doubt not you have heard the miss Vernons mention. He informed me that Mr. Beaumont came as expected; that he saw him alone, and told him, if he valued his reputation and domestic peace, he must quit that house immediately, and relinquish all pretensions to miss Vernon, otherwise he (Mr. Wilson) would acquaint the world and his wife with the whole affair.

My wife!' said he, What do you mean? Come, come,' said Mr. Wilson, it is too late to dissemble; we have been your dupes long enough; and I assure you, was you not married to my cousin, I would expose you to all the world.'-He affected to be in a passion, and insisted on Mr. Wilson's discovering the person who had defamed his character-That Mr. Wilson told him he never should; he had incontestable proof of what he asserted, which, for his cousin's sake, should remain a secret with him. He had saved the young woman he pretended to love from infamy, and should continue to protect her. He insisted on seeing miss Vernon, and high words ensuing, the servant was sent to inform her. She was in agonies at the thoughts of seeing him; but reflecting that he might construe her refusal as the effect of unconquered love, or weakness, she summoned all her pride and fortitude, and sent word she had no objection to seeing Mr. Beaumont in company with Mr. Wilson.Think, Wentworth, what must have been her feelings!-What a noble spirit did she display! for my part, I cannot sufficiently admire her behaviour, as related to me by Mr. Wilson. She came down, accompanied by her sister.

Never, Mr. Wilson told me, was he witness to so interesting a scene. She entered the room with a dignified air and aspect, and looking at Mr. Beaumont with a steady and penetrating eye, asked him for what purpose he was so earnest to see her?

To plead my cause, madam,' said he, and vindicate my injured honour.'

Talk not of honour,' said she, interrupting him. Deny, if you can be bold enough, that you are married, for I suppose that was your intention for wishing to see me.'

Little did I think that you, my dearest miss Vernon, after you had honoured me with your love, and thought me worthy of it, would believe every idle report to my disadvantage. Heavens! do you suppose my mother, from whom I now come purposely by your own consent to present you to her, would conspire to deceive you.'

Perhaps, sir, you might as easily forge the person of your mother as her hand-writing.'

Guilt was now discernible in every feature; he hesitated, and was too much confounded to reply. She went on

I could almost pity your confusion, but I intend not to expostulate, it is sufficient for my own happiness that I have found you out before it was too late. If you think you have triumphed over my peace of mind you are mistaken; I have too much sense and resolu- . tion to regret the loss of a man so devoid of principle as yourself."

Never, Mr. Wilson said, did he see a woman look so lovely as this sweet girl; her countenance animated with conscious virtue, and a glow of injured pride on her cheeks. Beaumont looked the poor