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L  I  B  R.AFIY 

OF   THL 

UNIVERSITY 

Of    ILLINOIS 


THE 

HEROINE, 

OR 

ADVENTURES 

OF 

CHERUBINA, 

BY 

EATON  STANNARD  BARRETT,   ESQ, 

*'  L'Histoire  d'une  femmc  est  toujours  un  Roman," 

©ccona  Caftton, 

WITH  COKSIDERABLE  ADDITIONS  AND  ALTERATIONS. 

IN    THREE    VOLUMES, 
VOL.  I. 


LONDON  : 
PRINTED  FOR  HENRY  COLBURN, 

fUBLlC    LIBRARY,    CONDUIT-STREET,    HANOVER-SQUARE 

AND  SOJ>D  BY   OnORGE  GOLDIE,  EDINBURGH, 

AND  JOHN   CUMMIN  G,  DUBLIN. 

1S14. 


B,  Clarke,  Printer,  Wdl-street,  London. 


I 


V^,  to    TUB 

^'  UIGHt    HONORABLE 

^  GEOllGB    CANNING, 

dso.  &e.  &c. 
Sir, 

It  was  the   happiness  of  Sterne 
to   have   dedicated  his   volumes  to  a 
Pitt.     It  is  iny  ambition  to  inscribe 
this  work  to  you.     My  wishes  would 
C^  be    complete,     could  I  resemble   the 
.^^  writer  as  you  do  the  statesman. 
I  have  the  honor  to  be, 
Sir^ 
Your  uiost  sincere, 
and  most  humble  servant, 
^  E.  S.  BARRETT. 


THE  HEROINE  TO  THE  READER. 

Attend,  gentle  and  intelligent 
reader;  for  I  am  not  the  fictitious 
personage  whose  memoirs  you  will 
peruse  in  "  The  Heroine ;''  but  I  am  a 
corporeal  being,  and  an  inhabitant  of 
another  world. 

Know,  that  the  moment  a  mortal 
manuscript  is  written  in  a  legible  hand, 
and  the  word  End  oi'  Finis  annexed 
thereto,  whatever  characters  happen  to 
be  sketched  in  it  (whether  imaginary, 
biographical,  or  historical),  acquire  the 
quality  of  creating  and  effusing  a  sen- 
tient soul  or  spirit,  which  instantly 
takes  flight,  and  ascends  through  the 
regions  of  air,  till  it  arrives  at  the 
a4 


Vlll 

MOON  ;  where  it  is  then  embodied^  and 
becomes  a  living  creature:  the  precise 
counterpart,  in  mind  and  person,  of  its 
literary  prototype. 

Know  farther,  that  all  the  towns,  vil- 
lages, rivers,  hills,  and  vallies  of  the 
moon,  owe  their  origin,  in  a  similar 
manner,  to  the  descriptions  which 
writers  give  of  those  on  earth  ;  and 
that  all  the  lunar  trades  and  manufac- 
tures, fleets  and  coins,  stays  for  men, 
and  boots  for  ladies,  receive  form  and 
substance  here,  from  terrestrial  books 
on  war  and  commerce,  pamphlets  on 
bullion,  and  fashionable  magazines. 

Works  consisting  of  abstract  argu^ 
ment,  ethics,  metaphysics,  polemics^ 
&c.  which,  from  their  very  nature, 
cannot  become  tangible  essences,  send 
their   ideas,    in    whispers,  up    to   the 


IX 


moon  ;  where  tiie  tribe  of  talking  birds 
receive,  and  repeat  them  for  the  Lu- 
narians. So  that  it  is  not  unusual  to 
hear  a  naitred  parrot  screaming  a  poli- 
tical sermon,  or  a  fashionable  jay  twit- 
tering a  compiled  bravura.  These 
birds  then  are  our  philosophers ;  and 
so  great  is  their  value,  that  they  sell 
for  as  much  as  your  patriots. 

The  moment,  however,  that  a  book 
becomes  obsolete  on  earth,  the  person- 
ages, countries,  manners,  and  things 
recorded  in  it,  lose,  by  the  law  of 
sympathy,  their  existence  in  the  moon^ 

This,  most  grave  reader,  is  but  a 
short  and  imperfect  sketch  of  the  way 
we  Moonites  live  and  die.  I  shall  now 
give  you  some  account  of  what  has 
happened  to  me  since  my  coming 
hither. 

a5 


X 

It  is  something-  more  than  three 
lunar  hours;  or,  in  other  vvords,  about 
three  terrestrial  days  ago,  that^  owing 
to  the  kindness  of  some  human  gen- 
tleman or  other  (to  whom  I  take  this 
occasion  of  returning  my  grateful 
thanks),  I  became  a  living  inhabitant 
of  the  IMoon.  Like  the  Miitonic  Eve, 
almost  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  peep 
into  the  water  and  admire  my  face;  — 
a  very  pretty  one,  I  assure  you,  dear 
reader.  I  then  perceived  advancing  a 
lank  and  grimly  figure  in  armour,  who 
introduced  himself  as  Don  Quixote; 
and  we  soon  found  each  other  kindred 
souls. 

We  walked,  hand  in  hand,  through 
a  beautiful  tract  of  country,  called  Terra 
Fertilitatis;  for  your  Selenographers, 
LangrenuSjFlorentius,  Grimaldus,  Ric- 


XI 


cioliis,  and  Heveliiis,  h'dv^  given  pro- 
per names  to  the  various  portions  of 
our  hemisphere. 

As  I  proceeded,  1  met  the  Radchf- 
fian,  Rochian,  and  other  heroines; 
but  they  tossed  their  heads,  and  told 
me  pertly  that  I  was  a  slur  on  the  sis- 
terhood ;  while  some  went  so  far  as  to 
say  that  I  had  a  design  upon  their  lives. 
They  likewise  shunned  the  E  jge\^  or- 
thian  heroines,  whom  they  thought  too 
comic,  moral,  and  natural. 

I  met  the  Lady  of  the  Lake,  and 
shook  hands  with  her;  but  her  hand 
felt  rather  hard  from  the  frequent  use 
of  the  oar;  and  I  spoke  to  the  Widow 
Dido,  but  she  had  her  old  trick  of 
turning  on  her  heel,  without  answer- 


ing a  civil  question. 


I  found  the  Homeric  Achilles  broil- 


Xll 


ino'liis   own  beefsteaks,  as  usual;   the 

CD 

Homeric  Princesses  drawing  water, 
and  washing  linen  ;  the  Virgilian  Tro- 
jans eating  their  tables  ;  and  the  Li- 
vian  Hannibal  melting  mountains  with 
the  patent  vinegar  of  an  advertisement. 

The  little  bov  in  the  ^Eneid  had  in- 
troduced  the  amusement  of  whipping 
tops;  and  Alusidora  had  turned  bath- 
ing-woman at  a  halfpenny  a  dip. 

A  Caesar,  an  Alexander,  and  an 
Alfred,  were  talking  politics,  and  quaf- 
fing the  Horatian  Falernian,  at  the 
Garter  inn  of  Shakespeare.  A  Cati- 
line was  holding  forth  on  Reform,  and 
a  Hanno  was  advising  the  recall  of  a 
victorious  army. 

As  I  walked  along,  a  mob  of  states- 
men, just  created  by  your  newspapers, 
popped  up  their  heads,  nodded,   and 


Xill 

died.  About  twenty  come  to  us  in 
this  manner,  almost  every  day;  and 
though  some  of  them  are  of  the  same 
name,  and  drawn  from  the  same  origi- 
nal, they  are  often  as  unlike  each  other 
as  so  many  clouds.  The  Buonapartes, 
thus  sent,  are,  in  general  hideous  fel- 
lows. However,  your  parliamentary 
Reports  sometimes  agreeably  surprize 
us  with  most  respectable  characters 
of  that  name. 

On  my  way,  I  could  observe  num- 
bers of  patients  dying,  according  as 
the  books  that  had  created  them  were 
sinking  into  oblivion.  The  Foxian 
James  was  paraded  about  in  a  sedan 
chair,  and  considered  just  gone;  and 
a  set  of  politicians,  entitled  All  the 
Talents,  who  had  once  made  a  terrible 
noise  among  us,  lay  sprawling  in  their 


XIV 

last  agonies.  But  the  most  extensive 
mortality  ever  known  here  was  caused 
by  the  burning  of  the  Alexandrian 
Library.  This  forms  quite  an  aera  in 
the  Lunar  Annals;  and  is  called  The 
great  Conflagration. 

I  had  attempted  to  pluck  an  apple 
from  a  tree  which  grew  near  the  road  ; 
but  instead  of  a  substance,  grasped  a 
vacuum;  and  while  Don  Quixote  was 
instructing  me  that  this  phsenomenon 
arose  from  the  Berkeleian  system  of 
immaterialism,  and  that  "this  apple  was 
only  a  globular  idea,  I  heard  a  squeak- 
ing voice  just  beside  me  cry  : 

"  I  must  remark,  Madam,  that  the 
writer  who  sent  you  amongst  us,  had  far 
too  much  to  say,  and  too  little  to  do." 

I  looked  rouiid,  but  saw  nobody. 
'  *Tis     Junius,'*       observed     Don 


XV 


Quixote.  "  He  was  invisible  on  earth, 
and  therefore  must  be  so  here.  Do  not 
mind  his  bitter  sayings.'' 

"  An  author/'  continued  the  satirist, 
"  who  has  judgment  enough  to  write 
wit,  should  have  judgment  enough  to 
prevent  him  from  writing  it.'^ 

''  Sir,*'  said  Don  Quixote^  "  if,  by 
his  works  of  wit,  he  can  attain  popu- 
larity, he  will  ensure  a  future  attention 
to  his  works  of  judgment.  So  here  is 
at  thee,  caitiff!"  and  closing  his  visor, 
he  ran  atilt  at  pure  space. 

"  Nay,'^  cried  Junius,  ''  let  us  not 
quarrel;  though  we  differ.  Mind  un- 
opposed by  mind,  fashions  false  opi- 
nions, and  deo:enerates  from  its  origi- 
nal rectitude.  The  stagnant  pool  re- 
solves into  putridity.  It  is  the  conflict 
of  the  waters  which  keeps  them  pure.'' 


XVI 

"  Except  in  dropsical  cases,  I  pre- 
sume,'' said  Tristram  Shandy,  who 
just  then  came  up,  with  his  Uncle 
Toby.  "^  How  goes  it,  heroine?  How 
goes  it? — By  the  man  in  the  moon,  the 
moment  1  heard  of  your  arrival  here,  I 
gave   three   exulting   flourishes  of  my 

hand,  thus  J^   J '^   then    apply- 

ing  my  middle  finger  to  my  thumb, 
and  compressing  both  with  the  flexory 
muscles,  I  shot  them  asunder  trans- 
versely; so    that   the    finger    coming 

plump  upon  the  aponeurosis — 

#         *         #         * 

In  short, — for  I  don't  much  like  how 
I  am  getting  on  with  the  description — 
I  snapped  my  fingers. 

"  Now,  Madam,  I  will  bet  the  whole 
of  Kristmanus's,  Capuanus's,  Schihar- 
dus's,    Phocylides's  and    Hanzelius^s 


XVil 

estates, — which  are  the  best  on  our 
disk,— to  as  much  landed  property  as 
could  be  spooned  into  your  shoe— that 
you  will  get  miserably  mauled  by  their 
reverences,  the  Reviewers.  My  life 
for  it^  they  will  say  that  your  character 
is  a  mere  daub  drawn  in  distemper  — 
the  hair  too  golden — an  eyelash  too 
much— then,  that  the  book  itself Jias 
too  little  of  the  rational  and  argumeU'- 
tative;  — that  the  fellow  merely  wrote 
it  to  make  the  worldlaugh,— and,  by 
the  bye,  to  make  the  world  laugh  is  the 
gravest  occupation  an  author  can 
chuse.  It  is  no  trifle,  splitting  the 
sides  of  people,  who  are  not  to  livjtijl 
a  thousand  years  after,  la  fine.  Ma- 
dam, it  will  appear  that  the  work  h«!is 
every  fault  which  must  convict  it  Aris- 
totellicallv    and    Eclinburo^o — revievvi- 


XVI 11 

cally,  intheeyes  ofninety-ninebarbati; 
but  which  will  leave  it  not  the  ninety- 
ninth  part  ofagrythe  worse  in  the 
eyes  of  fifteen  millions  of  honest 
Britons;  besides  several  very  respect- 
able ladies  and  gentleman  yet  unborn, 
and  nations  yet  undiscovered,  who 
will  read  translations  of  it  in  languages 
yet  unspoken.  Bless  me,  what  hack- 
ing these  Critics  will  have  at  you ! 
Small  sword  and  broad  sword — staff 
and  stiletto —  flankonnade  and  cannon- 
ade— hurry-scurry— right  w^ingand  left 
wing 

But  Tristram  paused  short  in  con- 
sternation ;  for  his  animated  descrip- 
tion of  a  fight  had  roused  the  military 
spirits  of  Don  Quixote  and  Captain 
Shandy,  who  were  already  at  hard 
knocks  ;  the  one  with  his  spear,  and  the 


XIX 

other  with  his  crutch.  I  therefore  took 
this  occasion  of  escaping. 

And  now  day  begins  to  decline  ;  and 
your  globe,  which  never  sets  to  us, 
will  soon  shed  her  pale  earthshine 
over  the  landscape.  O  how  serene^ 
tire  these  regions  !  Here  are  no  hurri- 
canes, or  clouds,  or  vapours.  Here 
heroines  cannot  sigh  ;  for  here  there  is 
no  air  to  sigh  withal.  Here  in  our 
great  pits,  poetically  called  vallies,  we 
retire  from  all  moonly  cares  ;  or  range 
through  the  meads  of  Cysatus  or  Gru- 
emberget,  and  luxuriate  in  the  cool' 
ness  of  the  Conical  Penumbra. 

I  trust  you  will  feel,  dear  reader, 
that  you  now  owe  more  to  my  disco- 
veries, than  to  those  of  Endymion, 
Copernicus,  Tycho  Brahe,  Galileus, 
and  Newton.     I  pray  you,  therefore, 


XX 

reward  my  services  with  a  long  and 
happy  life ;  though  much  I  fear  I 
shall  not  obtain  it»  For,  i  am  told, 
that  two  little  shining  specks,  called 
England  and  Ireland  (which  we  can 
just  see  with  our  glasses  on  your  globe)* 
are  the  places  upon  whose  health  and 
prosperity  mine  must  depend.  If  they 
fall,  i  must  fall  with  them ;  and  I  fancy 
they  have  already  seen  the  best  of  their 
days.  A  parrot  informs  me,  that  they 
are  at  open  Vv^ar  with  a  prodigious 
blotch  just  beside  them  ;  and  that  their 
most  approved  patriots  daily  indite 
pamphlets  to  shew  how  they  cannot 
hold  out  ten  years  longer.  The  Ster- 
nianStarlinsr  assured  me  just  now,  that 
these  patriots  write  the  triumphs  of 
their  country  in  the  most  commisera- 
ting  language;  and    portray   her   dis- 


XXI 

tresses  with  exultation.  Of  course 
therefore,  they  conceive  that  her  glories 
would  undo  her,  and  that  nothing  can 
save  her  but  her  calamities.  So  since 
she  is  the  most  flourishing  nation  in  the 
world,  I  may  fairly  infer  that  she  is  on 
her  last  legs. 

Before  I  conclude,  I  must  inform 
you  how  I  shall  have  this  letter  con- 
veyed to  your  world.  Laplace,  and 
other  philosophers,  have  already  proved 
that  a  stone  projected  by  a  volcano, 
from  the  moon,  and  with  the  velocity 
of  a  mile  and  a  half  per  second,  would 
be  thrown  beyond  the  sphere  of  the 
moon*s  attraction,  and  enter  into  the 
confines  of  the    earth's. 

Now,  hundreds  have  attested  up- 
on oath,  that  they*  have  seen  lumin- 
ous meteors  moving  through  the  sky; 


xxu 

and  falling  on  the  earth,  in  stony 
or  semimetallic  masses.  Ergo  (say 
the  philosophers),  they  came  all  the 
way  from  the  moon ;  and  the  phi- 
losophers have  a  right  to  say  so,  for 
it  is  thought  that  they  themselves  are 
moonstruck  by  blows  from  these  very 
stones. 

One  of  these  very  stones,  therefore, 
shall  convey  this  letter  to  you.  I  have 
written  it  on  asbestus,  in  liquid  gold 
(as  both  these  substances  are  the  least 
consumable  by  fire) ;  and  I  will  fasten 
it  to  the  top  of  a  volcanic  mountain, 
which  is  expected  to  explode  in  ano- 
ther hour, 

Alas,  alas,  short-sighted  Earthites  ! 
how  little  ye  foresee  the  havock  that 
will  happen  hereafter,  from  the  pelting 
of  these  pitiless  stones.     For,   about 


xxm 

the  time  of  the  millennium,  the  doc- 
trine of  projectiles  will  be  so  prodigi- 
ously improved,  that  while  there  is 
universal  peace  upon  earth,  the  planets 
will  go  to  war  with  each  other.  Then 
shall  we  Lunarians,  like  true  satellites, 
turn  upon  our  benefactors  and  instead 
of  merely  trying  our  small  shot  (as  at 
present),  w^e  will  fire  off  whole  moun- 
tains; while  you,  from  your  superior 
attraction,  will  find  it  difficult  to  hit 
us  at  all.  The  consequence  must  be, 
our  losing  so  much  weight,  that  we 
shall  approach,  by  degrees,  nearer  and 
nearer  to  you  ;  'till  at  last,  both  globes 
will  come  slap  together,  flatten  each 
other  out,  like  the  pancakes  of  Glasse's 
Cookery,  and  rush  headlong  into  pri- 
meval  chaos. 

Such  will  be  the  consummation  of 
all  things.     Adieu. 


THE  HEROINE. 


LETTER  I. 

Ah  !  my  good  Governess,  guardian 
of  my  youth,  must  I  then  behold  you 
no  more  ?  No  more  at  breakfast^  find 
your  melancholy  features  shrouded  in 
an  umbrageous  cap,  a  novel  in  the  one 
hand,  a  cup  in  the  other,  and  tears 
springing  from  your  eyes,  at  the  tale 
too  tender,  or  at  the  tea  too  hot  ?  Must 
I  no  longer  wander  with  you  through 
painted  meadows,  and  by  purling  rivu- 
lets ?  Motherless,  am  I  to  be  bereft  of 
my  more  than  mother,  at  the  sensative 
age   of  fifteen  ?     What    though   papa 

VOL.  I.  B 


26  THE    HEROINE. 

caught  the  Butler  kissing  you  in  the 
pantry  ?  What  though  he  turned  you 
by  the  venerable  shoulder  out  of  his 
house  ?  I  am  well  persuaded  that  the 
kiss  was  maternal,  not  amorous,  and 
that  the  interesting  Butler,  Simon 
Snaggs,  is  your  son. 

Perhaps  you  married  early  in  life, 
and  without  the  knov,'ledge  of  your 
parents.  A  gipsy  stole  the  pretty 
pledge  of  your  love;  and,  at  length, 
you  have  recognized  him  by  some  im- 
probable concurrence  of  events.  Hap- 
py, happy  mother ! 

Happy  too,  perhaps,  in  being  cast 
upon  the  world,  unprotected  and  de- 
famed; v/hile  I  am  doomed  to  endure 
the  security  of  a  home,  and  the  dulU 
ness  of  an  unimpeached  reputation. 
For  me,  there  is  no  hope  whatever  of 


THE    HEROINE.  27 

being  reduced  to  despair.  I  am  con- 
demned to  waste  my  health,  bloom, 
and  youth,  in  a  series  of  uninterrupted 
prosperity. 

It  is  not,  my  friend,  that  I  wish  for 
ultimate  unhappiness,  but  that  I  am 
anxious  to  suffer  present  sorrow,  in 
order  to  secure  future  felicity:  an 
improvement,  you  will  own,  on  the 
system  of  other  girls;  who,  to  enjoy 
the  passing  moment,  run  the  risk  of 
being  wretched  ever  after.  Have  not 
all  persons  their  favourite  pursuits  in 
life,  and  do  not  all  brave  fatigue,  vexa- 
tion, and  calumny,  for  the  purpose  of 
accomplishing  them  ?  One  woman  as- 
pires to  be  a  beauty,  another  a  title,  a 
third  a  belle  esprit ;  and  to  effect  these 
objects,  health  is  sacrificed,  reputation 
tainted,  and  peace  of  mind  destroyed. 
b2 


28  THE    HEROINE. 

Now  my  ambition  is  to  be  a  Heroine, 
and  how  can  I  hope  for  success  in  mv 
vocation,  unless  1,  too,  suffer  priva- 
tions and  inconveniences?  Besides, 
have  i  not  far  greater  merit  in  getting  a 
husband  by  sentiment,  adventure,  and 
melancholy,  than  by  dressings  gadding, 
dancing,  and  singing?  For  heroines 
are  just  as  much  on  the  alert  to  get 
husbands,  as  other  young  ladies  ;  and  in 
truth,  1  would  never  voluntarily  sub- 
ject niyselF  to  misfortunes,  were  1  not 
certain  that  matrimony  would  be  the 
last  of  them.  But  even  misery  itself 
has  its  consolations  and  advantages. 
It  makes  one^  at  least,  look  interest- 
ing, and  affords  an  opportunity  for  or* 
namental  murmurs.  Besides,  it  is  the 
mark  of  a  refined  mind.  Only  fools, 
children,  and  savages,  are  happy. 


THE    HEROINE.  29 

With  these  sentiments,  no  wonder 
1  should  feel  discontented  at  my  pre- 
sent mode  of  life.  Such  an  insipid 
routine,  always,  always,  always  the 
same.  Rising  with  no  better  prospect 
than  to  make  breakfast  for  papa. 
Then  ^tis,  ''  Good  morrow.  Cherry," 
or  "  is  the  paper  come,  Cherry?'*  or 
"  more  cream.  Cherry,^'  or  "  what  shall 
we  have  for  dinner.  Cherry?"  At  din- 
ner, nobody  but  a  farmer  or  the  par- 
son ;  and  nothing  talked  but  politics 
and  turnips.  After  tea  1  am  made  sing 
some  fal  lal  la  of  a  ditty,  and  am  sent 
to  bed  with  a  "  Good  night,  pretty 
miss,''  or  -'  sweet  dear."  Tlie  Clowns  ! 

Now  instead  of  this,  just  conceive 
me  a  child  of  misery,  in  a  castle,  a 
convent,  or  a  cottage  ;  becoming  ac- 
quainted with  the  hero  by  his  saving 
B  3 


so  THE    HEROINE. 

my  life — I  in  beautiful  confusion — » 
"  Good  Heaven,  what  an  angel  f  cries 
he — then  sudden  love  on  both  sides — 
in  two  days  my  hand  kissed.  Embar- 
rassments—my character  suspected — a 
quarrel — a  reconciliation-"fresh  em- 
barrassments.— O  Biddy,  what  an  irre- 
parable loss  to  the  public,  that  a  victim 
of  thrilling  sensibility,  like  me,  should 
be  thus  idling  her  precious  time  over 
the  common  occupations  of  life  ! — pre- 
pared as  I  am,  too,  by  a  five  years*  course 
of  novels  (and  you  can  bear  witness  that 
I  have  read  little  else),  to  embody  and 
ensoul  those  enchanting  reveries,  which 
I  am  accustomed  to  indulge  in  bed 
and  bower,  and  which  really  constitute 
almost  the  whole  happiness  of  my  life. 
That  I  am  not  deficient  in  the  qua- 
lities lequisite  for  a  heroine   is  indis- 


THE    HEROINE.  31 

putable.  I  know  nothing  of  the  world, 
or  of  human  nature;  1  have  lived  in 
utter  seclusion,  and  every  one  says  I 
am  handsome.  My  form  is  tall  and 
aerial,  my  face  Grecian,  my  tresses 
flaxen,  my  eyes  blue  and  sleepy. 
Then,  not  only  peaches,  roses,  and  Au- 
rora, but  snow,  lilies,  and  alabaster, 
may,  with  perfect  propriety,  be  applied 
to  a  description  of  my  skin.  I  confess 
I  differ  from  other  heroines  in  one 
point.  They,  you  may  remark,  are 
always  unconscious  of  their  charms  ; 
whereas,  I  am,  I  fear,  convinced  of 
mine,  beyond  all  hope  of  retraction. 

There  is  but  one  serious  flaw  in  my 
title  to  Heroine — the  mediocrity  of 
my  lineage.  My  father  is  descended 
from  nothing  better  than  a  decent  and 
respectable  family.  He  began  life  with 
B  4 


35  THE    HEROINE. 

a  thousand  pounds,  purchased  a  fen'm, 
and  by  his  honest  and  disgusting  in- 
dustry, has  realized  fifty  thousand. 
Were  even  my  legitimacy  suspected, 
it  would  be  a  comfort;  since,  in  that 
case,  I  should  assuredly  start  forth, 
at  one  tiniie  or  other,  the  daughter  of 
some  plaintive  nobleman,  who  lives 
retired,  and  occasionally  slaps  his  fore- 
head. 

Another  subject  perplexes  me.  It 
is  my  name  ;  and  v;  hat  a  name^^ — 
Cherry  !  It  reminds  one  so  much  of 
plumpness  and  ruddy  health.  Cherry — 
better  be  called  Pine-apple  at  once. 
There  is  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy 
in  pine-apple,  that  isinfinitely  preferable. 
1  wonder  whether  Cherry  could  possi- 
bly be  an  abbreviation  of  Cherubina. 
'Tis  only  changing  y   into  ubina,  and 


THE    HEROINi:.  i»3 

the  name  becomes  quite  classic.  Celes- 
tina,  Anf>e]ina,  Seraphina,  are  a!l  of  the 
same  family.  But  Cherubiiia  sounds 
so  empyrean,  so  something  or  other 
beyond  mortality  ;  and  besides  i  have 
just  a  face  for  it.  Yes,  Cherubina  1  am 
resolved  to  be  called,  nov^  and  forever. 

But  you  must  naturally  wish  to 
learn  what  has  happened  here  since 
your  departure.  I  was  in  my  boudoir, 
reading  the  Delicate  Distress,  when  I 
heard  a  sudden  bustle-  below,  and 
"  Out  of  the  house,  this  moment,*^ 
vociferated  by  my  father.  The  next 
minute  he  was  in  my  room  with  a  face 
like  fire. 

"  There  !"  cried  he,  '•  I  knew  Vv^hat 
your  famous  romances  would  do  for  us 
at  last.'* 

^^  Fie  1'*  said  I,    playfuliy  spreading 

B  5 


54  THE    HEROINE. 

my  fingers  over  his  face.  "  Don't  frown 
so,  but  tell  me  what  these  famous  ro- 
mances have  done  ?'' 

''  Only  a  kissing  match  between  the 
Governess  and  the  Butler/*  answered 
he.  "  I  caught  them  at  the  sport  in 
the  pantry." 

I  was  petrified.  "  Dear  Sir/'  said 
I,  "  3^ou  must  surely  mistake.'' 

"  No  such  thing/*  cried  he.  "  The 
kiss  was  too  much  of  a  smacker  for 
that. — Egad,  it  rang  through  the  pantry 
like  the  smash  of  twenty  plates.  But 
she  shall  never  darken  my  doors  again, 
never.  I  have  just  packed  the  pair  of 
wrinkled  sweethearts  off  together  ;  and 
what  is  better,  I  have  ordered  all  the 
novels  in  the  house  to  be  burnt,  by 
way  of  purification.  They  talk  so 
much  of  flames,  that  I  suppose  they 


THE    HEROINE.  ^55 

will  like  to  feel    them."      He    spoke, 
and  ran  raging  out  of  the  room. 

Adieu,  then,  ye  dear  romances, 
adieu  for  ever.  No  more  shall  I  sym- 
pathize with  your  heroines,  while 
they  faint  and  blush,  and  weep, 
through  four  half-bound  octavos. 
Adieu,  ye  Edwins,  Edgars,  and  Ed- 
munds; ye  Selinas,  Evelinas^  Malvi- 
nas :  ye  inas  all  adieu  !  The  flames 
w^ill  consume  all.  The  melody  of 
Emily,  the  prattle  of  Annette,  and  the 
hoarseness  of  Ugo,  will  be  confound- 
ed in  one  indiscriminate  crackle. 
The  Casa  and  Castello  will  blaze  with 
equal  fury ;  nor  will  the  virtue  of 
Pamela  aught  avail  to  save  ;  nor  Wol- 
mar  delighting  to  see  his  wife  in  a 
swoon  ;  nor  Werter  shelling  peas  and 
reading  Homer,  nor  Ciiarlotte  cutting 
bread  and  butter  for  the  children. 


56  THE    HEROINE. 

Write  to  me,  my  friend,  and  advise 
me  in  this  emergenc3\  Alas !  I  am 
torn  with  grief  at  the  destruction  of 
my  romances,  and  the  discharge  of  my 
loved  governess,  who  w^as  not  even 
permitted  to  take  and  receive  a  hyste- 
rical farewell.     Adieu. 

Cherubina. 


LETTER  ]!• 

A  thousand  thanks,  my  dear  Go- 
verness, for  your  inestimable  letter;  and 
though  I  must  ever  regret  our  separa- 
tion as  the  greatest  misfortune  of  my 
life,  yet  I  cannot  but  consider  it  aus- 
picious in  this  respect,  that  it  has  irri- 
tated you  to  inform  me  of  your  suspi- 
cions respecting  my  birth. 

And  so  you  really  think  I  am  not  the 


THE    HEROINE,  37 

daughter  of  my  reputed  father,  but  a 
child  of  mystery  ?  Enchanting!  And 
so  the  hypocrite  calls  me  Cherry 
Bounce,  and  all  sorts  of  nicknames  be- 
hind my  back,  and  often  wishes  me 
out  of  his  house  ?  The  traitor!  Yes, 
I  will  comply  with  his  desire,  and  with 
your  excellent  advice,  by  quitting  the 
iniquitous  mansion  for  ever. 

Your  letter  on  the  subject  reached 
me  just  before  breakfast.  Heavens  ! 
how  my  noble  blood  throbbed  in  my 
veins  !  What  a  new  prospect  of 
things  opened  on  my  soul  !  I  might 
be  an  heiress.     I  might  be  a  title.     I 

might   be I  would     not    wait    to 

think  ;  I  would  not  wait  to  bind  my 
hair.  I  flew  down  stairs,  rushed  into 
the  parlour,  and  in  a  moment  was  at 
the  feet  of  my  persecutor.     My  hands 


SS  THE    HEROINE. 

were  folded  on  my  bosom,  and  my  agi- 
tated eyes  raised  to  his  face. 

"  Heyday,  Cheriy,*'  said  he,  laugh- 
ing, "  this  is  a  new  flourish.  There, 
child,  now  fancy  yourself  stabbed,  and 
come  to  breakfast.^' 

"  Hear  me,^'  cried  I. 

"  Why,  said  he,  "  you  keep  your 
countenance  as  stiff  and  steady  as  the 
face  on  our  rapper.'* 

"  A  countenance,"  cried  I,  "  is 
worth  keeping,  when  the  features  are  a 
proof  of  the  descent,  and  vindicate  the 
noble  birth  from  the  baseness  of  the 
adoption.'* 

"  Come,  come,^'  said  he,  "  your  cup 
is  full  all  this  time." 

"  And  so  is  my  heart,'^  cried  I, 
pressing  it  expressivrly. 

"   What   the  mischief  can    be   the 


THE    HEROINE.  39 

meaning  of  this  mummery  ?"  said 
he. 

"  Hear  me,  Wilkinson,'*  cried  the 
fair  sufferer,  rising  with  dignified  tran- 
quillity. *'•  Candor  is  at  once  the  most 
amiable  and  the  most  difficult  of  vir- 
tues ;  and  there  is  more  magnanimity 
in  confessing  an  error,  than  in  never 
committing  one.'^ 

"  Confound  your  written  sentences," 
cried  he,  "  can't  you  come  to  the 
pomt  ? 

"  Then,  Sir/*  said  I,  "  to  be  plain 
and  explicit,  learn,  that  I  have  disco- 
vered a  mystery  in  my  birth,  and  that 

you — you,  AYilkinson,  are  not my 

real  Father!*' 

I  pronounced  these  words  with  a 
measured  emphasis,  and  one  of  my  in- 
effable looks.  Wilkinson  coloured  like 
scarlet,  and  stared  steadily  in  my  face. 


40  THE    HEROINE. 

"  Would  you  scandalize  the  mother 
that  bore  you  ?**  cried  he,  fiercely. 

"  No,  Wilkinson,^*  answered  I, 
"  but  you  would  by  calling  yourself 
the  father  of  her  daughter/' 

''  And  if  /am  not,^'  said  he,  "  what 
mustyo?i  be  ?'' 

"  An  illustrious  heiress,"  cried  I, 
*'  snatched  from  her  parents  in  her  in- 
fancy ;— snatched  by  thee^  vile  agent 
of  the  diabolical  conspiracy  !'' 

He  looked  aghast. 

"  Tell  me  then,''  continued  T,  "  mi- 
serable man,  tell  me  where  my  dear, 
my  distracted  father  lingers  out  the 
remnant  of  his  wretched  days  ?  My 
mother  too — or  say,  am  I  indeed  an 
orphan  ?'^ 

Still  he  remained  mute,  and  gazed 
on  me  with  a  searching  intensity.  I 
raised  my  voice : 


THE    HEROINE.  41 

*'  Expiate  thine  offences,  restore 
an  outcast  to  her  birthright,  make 
atonement,   ox  tremble  at  retribution!^' 

i  thought  the  farmer  would  sink 
into  the  ground. 

"  Nay/'  continued  I,  lowering  my 
voice,  "  think  not  I  thirst  for  ven- 
geance. I  myself  will  intercede  to 
stay  the  sword  of  Justice.  Poor 
wretch  !   I  w^ant  not  thy  blood.^' 

The  culprit  was  now  at  the  climax 
of  his  agony ;  he  writhed  through 
every  limb  and  feature,  and  by  this 
time  had  torn  the  newspaper  to  tatters. 

"  What  !"  cried  I,  "  can  nothing 
move  thee  to  confess  thy  crimes  ?  1  hen 
listen.  Ere  Aurora  with  rosy  fingers 
shall  unbar  the  eastern  gate ^^ 

"  My  child,  my  child,  my  dear 
darling  daughter  !"  exclaimed  this  ac- 


42  THE    HEROINE. 

complished  crocodile,  bursting  into 
tears,  and  snatching  me  to  his  bosom, 
"  what  have  they  done  to  you  ?  What 
phantom,  what  horrid  disorder  is  dis- 
tracting my  treasure  ?" 

"  Unhand  me,  guileful  adulator,'* 
cried  1,  ''  and  try  thy  powers  of  trage- 
dy elsewhere,  for—  /  know  thee  /"  I 
spoke,  and  extricated  myself  from  his 
embrace. 

"  Dreadful,  dreadful  !"  muttered 
he.  "  Her  sweet  senses  are  lost.  My 
love,  my  life,  do  not  speak  thus  to 
your  poor  old  father.'* 

"  Father!''  exclaimed  T,  accom- 
plishing with  much  accuracy  that 
hysterical  lau-jih,  which  (oratefully  let 
nie  own)  i  owe  to  your  instruction; 
"  Father  ?  Oh,  no  Sir,  no  thank  you. 
*Tis  true  you  have  blue  eyes  hke  my- 


THE    HEROINE.  43 

self,  but  have  you  my  pouting  lip  and 
dimple?  You  have  the  flaxen  hair, 
but  can  you  execute  the  rosy  smile  ? 
Besides,  is  it  possible,  that  I,  who  was 
born  a  Heroine,  and  who  must,  there- 
fore, have  sprung  from  an  idle  and  il- 
lustrious family,  should  be  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  fat  funny  farmer  ?  Oh,  no 
Sir  ;  no  thank  you/' 

The  fat  fuimy  farmer  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands,  and  rushed  out  of 
the  room,  nor  left  a  dpubt  of  his  guilt 
behind. 

You  see  I  relate  the  several  conver- 
sations, in  a  dramatic  manner,  and  word 
for  v^  ord,  as  well  as  I  can  recollect  them, 
since  heroines  do  the  same.  Indeed,  I 
cannot  too  much  admire  the  fortitude  of 
these  charming  creatures,  who,  even 
while  they  are  in  momentary  expect- 


44  THE    HEROINE. 

ation  of  losing  their  honors,  sit  down 
with  the  utniost  unconcern,  and  in- 
dite the  sprightliest  letters  in  the  world. 
They  have  even  presence  of  mind 
enough  to  copy  the  vulgar  dialect,  un- 
couth phraseology,  and  bad  grammar, 
of  villains,  who,  perhaps,  are  in  the 
next  room  to  them,  and  who  would  not 
matter  annihilating  them  with  a  poig- 
nardj  while  they  are  mending  a  pen. 

Adieu. 


LETTER  III. 

Soon  after  my  last  letter,  I  was 
summoned  to  dinner.  What  heroine 
in  distress  but  starves  ?  so  1  sent  a 
message  that  [  was  unwell,  and  then 
solaced  myself  with  a  volume  of  the 


THE    HEROINE.  A^S 

Mysteries  of  Udolpho,  which  had 
escaped  the  conflagration.  Afterwards 
I  flung  myself  on  my  bed,  in  ho}3es  to 
have  dreams  portentous  of  my  future 
fate;  for  heroines  are  remarkably  sub- 
ject to  a  certain  prophetic  sort  of 
night-mare.  You  remember  the  story 
which  Ludovico  read,  of  a  spectre  that 
beckons  a  Baron  from  liis  castle  in  the 
dead  of  night,  and  leading  him  iiito  a 
forest,  points  to  its  own  corpse,  and 
bids  him  bury  it.  Well,,  owing,  I 
suppose,  to  my  having  just  read  this 
episode,  and  to  my  haviiig  fasted  so 
long,  1  had  the  following  dreams. 
Methousfht  a  delicious  odour  of  vi- 

o 

ands  attracted  me  to  the  kitchen, 
where  I  found  an  iron  pot  upon  the 
fire  simmering  in  unison  with  my 
sighs.  As  I  looked  at  it  with  a  long- 
ing eye,  the  lid    began   to  rise,   and  I 


46  THE  HEROINE. 

beheld  a  half-boiled  turkey  stalk  ma- 
jestically forth.  It  beckoned  me  with 
its  claw.  I  followed.  It  led  me  into 
the  yard,  and  pointed  to  its  own  head 
and  feathers,  which  were  lying  in  a 
corner. 

What  a  vulgar,  what  a  disgusting 
vision,  w^hen  I  ought  to  have  dreamt 
of  nothing  but  coffins  and  ladies  in 
black  ! 

At  tea  (which  I  could  not  resist 
taking,  I  was  so  hungry),  Wilkinson 
affected  the  most  tender  solicitude  for 
my  health  ;  and  as  I  now  watched  his 
words,  I  could  discover  in  almost  all 
that  he  said,  something  to  confirm  my 
surmise  of  his  not  being  my  father. 

After  tea,  a  letter  was  handed  to  him, 
which  he  read,  and  then  gave  to  me. 
It  ran  thus : 


THE  HEROINE.  47 

London. 

In  accepting  your  invitation  to  Syl- 
van Lodge,  my  respected  friend,  I  con- 
fer a  far  greater  favour  on  myself,  than, 
as  you  kindly  tell  me,  I  shall  on  you. 
After  an  absence  of  seven  years,  spent 
in  the  seclusion  of  a  college,  and  the 
fatigues  of  a  military  life,  how  delight- 
ful to  revisit  the  scene  of  my  childhood, 
and  those  who  contribute  to  render  its 
memory  so  dear!  I  left  you  while  you 
were  my  guardian  ;  I  return  to  you 
with  your  assurances  that  I  shall  find 
you  a  friend.  Let  me  but  find  you 
what  I  left  you,  and  you  shall  take 
what  title  you  please. 

Yet,  much  as  1  flatter  myself  with 
your  retaining  all  your  former  feelings 
towards  me,  I  must  expect  a  serious 
alteration  in  those  of  my  friend  Cherry. 


43  THE  HEROINE. 

"VYill  she  again  make  me  her  playmate  ? 
Again  climb  my  shoulders,  and  gallop 
me  round  the  lawn  ?  Are  we  to  renew 
all  our  little  quarrels,  then  kiss  and  be 
friends  ?  Shall  we  even  recognize  each 
others'  features,  through  their  change 
from  childhood  to  maturity  ?  There  is, 
at  least,  one  feature  of  our  early  days, 
that,  I  trust,  has  undergone  no  alter- 
ation— our  mutual  affection  and  friend- 
ship. 

My  servant,  whom  I  send  forward, 
takes  this  letter.  At  ten  to-night  1 
shall  see  you  myself. 

Ever  affectionately  your's, 

Robert  Stuart. 
To  Gregory  JVilkinson,  Esq, 

"  There,''  cries  the  farmer,  "  if  I 
have  deprived  you  of  an  old  woman,  I 


THE  HEROINE.  49 

have  got  you  a  young  man.  Large  es- 
tates, you  know  ; — handsome,  fashion- 
able ; — come,  pluck  up  a  heart,  my 
girl ;  ay,  egad,  and  steal  one  too.'* 

I  rose,  gave  him  one  of  my  ineffable 
looks,  and  retired  to  my  chamber. 

"  So,^*  said  I,  locking  my  door,  and 
flinging  myself  on  the  bed,  "  this  is 
something  like  misery.  Here  is  ano- 
ther precious  project  against  my  peace. 
I  am  to  be  forced  into  marriage,  am  I  ? 
And  with  whom  ?  A  man  whose  legi- 
timacy is  unimpeached,  and  whose 
friends  would  certainly  consent.  His 
name  Robert  too : — master  Bobby,  as 
the  servants  used  to  call  him.  A  fellow 
that  mewed  hke  a  cat,  when  he  was 
whipt.  O  my  Bob  !  what  a  pretty  mo- 
nosyllable for  a  girl  like  me  to  pro- 
nounce.    Now,  indeed,  my  wretched- 

VOL.  I.  c 


^0  THE   HEROINE. 

ness  is  complete  ;  the  cup  is  full,  even 
to  overflowing.  An  orphan,  or  at  least 
an  outcast ;  robbed  of  my  birthright, 
immured  in  a  farm-house — threatened 
with  a  husband  of  decent  birth,  pa- 
rentage and  education — my  governess 
gone,  my  novels  burnt,  what  is  left  to 
me  but  flight?  Yes,  I  will  roam  through 
the  wide  world  in  search  of  my  parents; 

I  will  ransack  all  the  sliding  panneis 
and   tapestries  in  Italy ;  I  will  explore 

II  Casteilo  Di  Udolpho,  and  will  then 
enter  the  convent  of  Ursulines,  or  Car- 
melites, or  Santa  della  Pieta,  or  the 
Abbey  of  La  Trappe.  Here  I  meet 
with  little  better  than  smiling  faces  and 
honest  hearts.  No  precious  scoundrels 
are  here,  no  horrors,  or  atrocities,  worth 
tolerating.  But  abroad  1  shall  encoun- 
ter banditti,  monks,  daggers,  racks — 


THE   HEROINE.  51 

O  ye  celebrated   terrors,  when  shall  I 
taste  of  you  ?" 

I  then  rose,  and  stole  into  lYilkin- 
son^s  study,  in  hopes  of  finding,  before 
my  flight,  some  record  or  relic  that 
might  aid  me  in  unravelling  the  mys- 
tery of  my  birth.  As  heroines  are  pri- 
vileged to  ransack  priva4:e  drawers,  and 
read  whatever  they  find  there,  I  opened 
his  scrutoire,  without  ceremony.  But 
what  were  my  sensations,  when  I  dis- 
covered in  a  corner  of  it,  an  antique 
scrap  of  tattered  parchment,  scrawled 
all  over  with  this  frightful  fragment. 

For  and  in  consideration  of 
Doth  grant,  bargain,  release 
Possession,  and  to  his  heirs  and  assigns 
Lands  of  Sylvan  Lodge,  in  the 
TreeSj  stones,  quarries,  &c, 
c  2 


UmVERSlTrf  OF  ILUNOtS 


52  THE  HEROINE. 

Reasonable  amends  and  satisfaction 

This  demise 

Molestation  of  him  the  said  Gregory  Wilkinson 

The  natural  life  of 

Cherry  Wilkinson  only  danghter  of 

De  Willoughby  eldest  son  of  Thomas 

Lady  Gwyn  of  Gwyn  Castle. 

O  Biddy,  does  not  your  blood  run 
cold  at  this  excruciating  manuscript  ? 
for  already  you  must  have  decyphered 
its  terrific  import.  The  part  lost  may 
be  gathered  from  the  part  left.  In  short, 
it  is  a  written  covenant  between  this 
Gregory  Wilkinson,  and  the  miscreant 
(whom  my  being  an  heiress  had  pre- 
vented from  enjoying  the  title  and  es- 
tate that  would  devolve  to  him  at  my 
death),  stipulating  to  give  Wilkinson 
"Sylvan  Lodge,*'  together  with,  "trees, 
stones,  quarries,  &c."  as  "  reasonable 


THE  HEROINE.  63 

amends  and  satisfaction,"  for  being  the 
instrument  of  my  "  Demise  ;''  and  de- 
claring that  there  shall  be  "  no  moles- 
tation of  him  the  said  Gregory  Wil- 
kinson/' for  taking  away  "  the  natural 
life  of  Cherry  Wilkinson" — "  only 
daughter  of—'*  somebody  "  De  Wil- 

loughby,  eldest  son  of  Thomas'* 

Then  follows,  "  Lady  Gwyn  of  Gwyn 
Castle/'  So  that  it  is  evident  I  am  a 
De  V/ilioughby,  and  related  to  Lady 
Gwyn  !  What  perfectly  confirmsjme 
in  the  latter  sujDposition  is  an  old  por- 
trait which  I  found  soon  after,  among 
Wilkinson's  papers,  representing  u 
young  and  beautiful  female  superbly 
dressed  ;  and  underneath,  in  large  let- 
ters, the  name  of,  "  Nell  Gwyn/' 

Distraction  !   what  shall  I  do  ?  Whi- 
ther   turn  ?     To   sleep    another   night 
c  3 


^4  THE    HEROINE. 

under  the  same  roof  with  a  wretch, 
who  has  bound  himself  to  assassinate 
me,  would  be  little  short  of  madness. 
Besides  Stuart  arrives  here  to-night ;  so, 
if  I  remain  any  longer,  I  must  endure 
his  odious  addresses.  My  plan  of  es- 
cape, therefore,  is  already  arranged,  and 
this  very  evening  I  mean  to  begin  my 
pilgrimage. 

The  picture  and  parchment  I  v^ill 
keep  in  my  bosom  during  my  journey; 
and  I  will  also  carry  a  small  bandbox, 
containing  my  satin  petticoat,  satin 
shoes,  a  pair  of  silk  stockings,  my 
spangled  muslin,  and  all  my  jewels. 
For  as  some  benevolent  duchess  may 
possibly  receive  me  into  her  family, 
and  her  son  persecute  me,  I  might  just 
as  well  look  decent,  you  know. 

On  mature  deliberation,  I  have  re- 


THE    HEROINE.  55 

solved  to  take  but  five  guineas  with 
me,  since  more  would  only  make  me 
too  comfortable,  and  tempt  me,  in 
some  critical  moment,  to  extricate 
myself  from  distress. 

1  shall  leave  the  following  billet  on 
my  toilet. 

To  Gregory/  Wilkinson ,  Farmer, 

Sir, 

When  this  letter  meets  your  eye, 
the  writer  will  be  far,  far  distant.  She 
will  be  wandering  the  convex  earth  in 
pursuit  of  those  parents,  from  whose 
dear  embraces  you  have  torn  her.  She 
will  be  flying  from  a  Stuart,  to  whose 
detestable  embraces  you  have  destined 
her. 

Your  motive  for  this  hopeful  match 
I  can  guess.  As  you  obtained  one  pro- 
c  4 


66  THE    HEROINE. 

perty  by  undertaking  my  death,  yon 
are  probably  promised  another  on  ef- 
fecting my  marriage.  Learn  that  the 
latter  fate  has  more  terrors  for  ine  than 
the  former.  But  I  shall  escape  both. 
Alas!  Sir,  1  once  doated  upon  you  as 
the  best  of  fathers.  Think  then  of  my 
consternation  at  finding  you  the  worst 
of  persecutors.  Yet  I  pity  more  than 
hate  you  ;  and  the  first  moment  of  your 
repentance  shall  be  the  last  of  my  ani- 
mosity. 

The  much  injured, 
Cherubtna  de  Willoughby. 

All  is  prepared,  and  in  ten  minutes 
I  commence  my  interesting  expedition. 
As  London  is  the  most  approved  re- 
fuge for  distressed  Heroines,  and  the 
most  likely  place  for  obtaining  infor- 


THE    HEROINE.  67 

mation  about  my  birth,  I  mean  to  bend 
my  steps  thither. 

O  peaceful  shades,  why  must  1  leave 
you  ?  In  your  retreats  I  should  still  find 
pleasure  and  repose. 

Adieu. 


LETTER  IV. 

The  hail  rattled  and  the  wind  whist- 
led, as  I  tied  on  my  bonnet  for  my 
journey.  With  the  bandbox  under 
my  arm,  I  descended  the  stairs,  and 
paused  in  the  hall  to  listen.  I  heard 
a  distant  door  shut,  and  steps  advanc- 
ing. I  sprang  forward,  opened  the  door, 
and  ran  down  the  shrubbery. 

I  then  hastened  into  the  road,  and 
e  5 


6S  THE    HEROINE. 

pressed  onward  with  a  hurried  step, 
while  a  violent  tempest  beat  full  against 
my  face. 

In  this  manner  I  Avalked  four  long 
and  toilsome  miles.  At  length,  find- 
ing myself  fatigued,  I  resolved  to  rest 
awhile,  in  the  lone  and  uninhabited 
house,  which  lies,  you  may  recollect, 
on  the  grey  common,  about  a  hundred 
paces  from  the  road.  Besides,  I  was 
in  duty  bound  to  explore  it,  as  a  ruin- 
ed pile. 

I  approached.  The  wind  moaned 
through  the  broken  windows,  and  the 
rank  grass  rustled  in  the  court.  I  en- 
tered. All  was  dark  within  ;  the  boards 
creaked  as  I  trod,  the  shutters  flapped, 
and  an  ominous  owl  was  hooting  in  the 
chimney.  I  groped  my  way  along  the 
hall,  thence  into  a  parlour—- up  stairs 


THE    HEROINE.  59 

and  down^ — not  a  horror  to  be  found. 
No  dead  hand  met  my  left  hand  ;  no 
huge  eye-ball  glared  at  me  through  a 
crevice.     How  disheartening! 

The  cold  was  now  creeping  through 
my  veins  ;  my  teeth  chattered,  and  my 
frame  shook.  I  had  seated  myself  on 
the  stairs,  and  was  weeping  piteous- 
ly,  wishing  myself  at  home,  and  in 
bed,  and  deploring  the  dire  necessity 
which  had  compelled  me  to  this  fright- 
ful undertaking,  when  on  a  sudden  I 
heard  the  sound  of  approaching  steps. 
I  sprang  upon  my  feet  with  renovated 
spirits.  Presently  several  persons  en- 
tered the  hail,  and  a  vulgar  accent 
cried : — 

"  Jem,  run  down  to  the  cellar  and 
strike  a  lisjht.'* 

"  What  can  vou  want  of  me,  now 


60  THE    HEROINE. 

that  you  have  robbed  me?"  said  the 
voice  of  a  gentleman. 

"  Why,  young  man,"  answered  a 
ruffian,  ''  we  want  you  to  write  home 
for  a  hundred  pounds,  or  some  such 
trifle,  which  we  will  have  the  honour 
of  spending.  You  must  manufacture 
some  confounded  good  lie  about  where 
you  are,  and  why  you  send  for  the 
money ;  and  one  of  us  will  carry  the 
letter." 

"  I  assure  you,*'  said  the  youth,  "  I 
shall  forge  no  such  falsehood.*' 

"  As  you  please,  master,**  replied 
the  ruffian,  "  but,  the  money  or  your 
life  we  must  have,  and  that  soon.** 

"  Will  you  trust  my  solemn  promise 
to  send  you  a  hundred  pounds?**  said 
the  other.  "  My  name  is  Stuart:  I 
am  on  my  way  to  Mr.  Wilkinson,  of 


THE    HEROINE.  6l 

Sylvan  Lodge,  so  you  may  depend 
upon  my  sending  you,  by  his  assist- 
ance, the  sum  that  you  require,  and  I 
will  promise  not  to  betray  you." 

"  No,  curse  me  if  I  trust,"  cried  the 
robber. 

"  Then  curse  me  if  I  write,^^  said 
Stuart. 

"  Look  you,  Squire,"  cried  the  rob- 
ber :  "  we  cannot  stand  parlying  with 
you  now  ;  we  have  other  matters  on 
hands.  But  we  will  lock  you  safe  in 
the  cellar,  with  pen,  ink,  and  paper, 
and  a  lantern;  and  if  you  have  not  a 
fine  bouncing  lie  of  a  letter,  ready 
written  when  we  come  back,  you  are 
a  dead  man — that  is  all.^* 

"  I  am  almost  a  dead  man  already,'^ 
said  Stuart,  "  for  the  wound  you  gave 
me  is  bleeding  torrents.'^ 


62  THE    HEROINE. 

They  now  carried  him  down  to  the 
cellar,  where  they  remained  a  few  mi- 
nutes, then  returned,  and  locked  the 
door  outside. 

"  Leave  the  key  in  it,"  says  one, 
"  for  we  do  not  know  which  of  us 
may  come  back  first."  They  then 
went  away. 

Now  was  the  fate  of  my  bitter  ene- 
my, the  wily,  the  wicked  Stuart,  in  my 
power;  I  could  either  liberate  him,  or 
let  him  perish.  It  struck  me,  that  to 
miss  such  a  fruitful  interview,  would 
be  stupid  in  the  extreme ;  and  I  felt  a 
sort  of  glow  at  the  idea  of  saying  to 
him,  live!  Besides  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly recognize  me,  since  I  was  but 
eight  years  old  when  we  saw  each 
other  last.  So  I  descended  the  steps, 
unlocked  the  door,  and  bursting  into 


THE    HEROINE.  65 

the  cellar,  stood  in  an  unparalleled  at- 
titude before  him.  He  was  sitting  on 
the  ground,  and  fastening  a  handker- 
chief about  his  wounded  leg,  but  at 
my  entrance,  he  sprang  upon  his  feet. 

"  Away,  save  thyself !"  cried  I. 
*'  She  who  restores  thee  to  freedom 
flies  herself  from  captivity.  Look  on 
these  features — Thou  wouldest  have 
wrung  them  with  despair.  Look  on 
this  form — Thou  wouldest  have  prest 
it  in  depravity.  Hence,  unhappy  sin- 
ner, and  learn,  that  innocence  is  ever 
victorious  and  ever  merciful.^' 

"  I  am  all  amazement!"  exclaimed 
he.  "  Who  are  you  ?  Whence  come 
you?  Why  speak  so  angrily,  yet  act 
so  kindly  ?" 

I  smiled  disdain,  and  turned  to 
depart. 

"  One  moment   more,"    cried    he. 


64  THE    HEROINE. 

''  Here  is  some  mistake,  for  I  never 
even  saw  you  before." 

"  Often,  often /^  exclaimed  I,  and 
was  again  going. 

"  So  you  will  leave  me,  my  sweet 
preserver,'^  said  he,  smiling.  "  Now 
you  have  all  this  time  prevented  me 
from  binding  my  wound,  and  you  owe 
me  some  compensation  for  loss  of 
blood." 

I  paused. 

"  I  would  ask  you  to  assist  me,'' 
continued  he,  "  but  in  binding  one 
wound,  1  fear  you  would  only  inflict 
another.^' 

Mere  curiosity  made  me  return  two 
steps. 

"  I  think,  however,  there  would  be 
healing  in  the  touch  of  so  fair  a  hand," 
and  he  took  mine  as  he  spoke. 

Mere    humanity    made    me    kneel 


THE    HEROINE.  65 

down,  and  begin  to  fasten  the  bandage  ; 
but  i  resolutely  resolved  on  not  utter- 
ing another  word. 

"  What  kindness!"  cried  he.  "  And 
pray  to  wiion:i  am  I  indebted  tor  it?'' 

No  reply.' 

"At  least,  may  I  learn  whether  I 
can,  in  any  manner,  repay  it.^'* 

No  reply. 

"  You  will  stain  your  beautiful 
locks."  said  he.  "  My  blood  would 
flow  to  defend,  but  shall  not  flow  to 
disfigure  them.  Pray  let  me  collect 
these  charming  tresses.'' 

"  Oh  !  dear,  thank  you,  Sir!"  stam- 
mered I. 

"  And  thank  you,  ten  thousand 
times,"  said  he,  as'i  finished  my  dis- 
agreeable task  ;  "  and  now  never  will 
i  quit  you  till  I  see  you  safe  to  your 
friends." 


66  THE    HEROINE. 

''  You  r*  exclaimed  I.  "  Ah,  trai- 
tor!" 

He  gazed  at  me  with  a  look  of  pity. 
"  Farewell,  then,"  said  he  :  ''  ^tis  a 
long  way  to  the  next  habitation,  and 
should  my  wound  open «  afresh,  and 
should  I  faint  with  loss  of  blood — ^* 

"  Dear  me,''  cried  I,  springing  for- 
ward, "  let  me  assist  you/' 

He  smiled.  "  Yie  will  assist  each 
other,^^  answered  he  ;  "  and  now  let  us 
not  lose  a  moment,  as  the  robbers  may 
return.^^ 

He  took  the  lantern  to  search  the 
cellar  for  his  watch  and  money.  How- 
ever, we  saw  nothing  there  except  a 
couple  of  portmanteaus,  some  rust}'- 
pistols,  and  a  small  barrel,  half  full  of 
gunpowder.  We  then  left  the  house; 
but  had  hardly  proceeded  twenty  yards, 
when  he  began  to  totter. 


THE    HEROINE.  67 

''  I  can  go  no  farther,"  said  he,  sink- 
ing down.  ''  I  have  lost  so  much 
blood,  that  my  strength  is  entirely  ex- 
hausted.'' 

"  Pray,  dear  Sir,"  said  I,  «'  exert 
yourself,  and  lean  on  me." 

"  Impossible,'^  answered  he ;  "but 
fly  and  save  your  own  life." 

*'  I  will  run  for  assistance,**  said  I, 
and  flew  towards  the  road,  where  I  had 
JMst  heard  the  sound  of  an  approaching 
carriage.  But  on  a  sudden  it  stopped, 
voices  began  disputing,  and  soon  after 
a  pistol  was  fired.  I  paused  in  great 
terror,  for  I  judged  that  thesevvere  the 
robbers  again.  What  was  I  to  do  ? 
When  a  heroine  is  reduced  to  extremi- 
ties, she  alwavs  does  one  of  two  things 
— either  faints  on  the  spot,  or  exhibits 
energies  almost  superhuman. 


6s  THE    HEROINE. 

Faint  I  could  not,  so  nothing  remain- 
ed for  me,  but  energies  almost  superhu- 
man. 1  pondered  a  moment,  and  a  grand 
thoughtstruckme.  Ilecoilectingthegun- 
powder  jn  the  cellar,  I  flew  for  it  back  to 
the  ruin,  carried  it  up  to  the  hail,  threw 
most  of  it  on  the  floor,  and  with  the  re- 
mainder, strewed  a  train,  as  1  walked 
towards  Stuart. 

When  i  was  within  a  few  paces  of 
him,  I  heard  quick  steps ;  and  a  hoarse 
voice  vociferating,  "Who  goes  yonder 
with  the  light  ?'^  for  I  had  brought  the 
lantern. 

"  Fly  r*  cried  Stuart,  "  or  you  are 
lost/' 

I  snatched  the  candle  from  the  lan- 
tern, applied  it  to  the  train,  and  the 
next  moment  dropped  down  at  the 
shock  of  the  tremendous  explosion  that 


THE    HfeROINE.  69 

took  place.  A  noise  of  falling  timbers 
resounded  through  the  ruin,  and  the 
robbers  were  heard  scampering  off  in 
every  direction. 

"  There!"  whispered  T,  after  a  pause; 
^'  there  is  an  original  horror  for  you; 
and  all  of  my  own  contrivance.  The 
villains  have  fled,  the  neighbours  will 
flock  to  the  spot,  and  you  wnll  obtain 
assistance.'^ 

By  this  time  we  heard  the  people  of 
the  carriage  running  towards  us. 

"  Stuart !"  cried  I,  in  an  awful  voice. 

''  My  name,  indeed!"  said  he.  *'This 
is  completely  inexplicable.^' 

"  Stuart,"  cried  i,  ''  hear  my  parting 
words.  Never  agairi*^  (quoting  his  own 
letter),  "  will  I  make  yoa  my  play- 
mate/  never  again  climb  your  shoul- 
ders^ and  gallop  you  round  the  lawn! 


70  THE    HEROINE. 

Ten  o'clock  is  past.  Go  not  to  Sylvan 
Lodge  to-night.  She  departed  two 
hours  ago.     Look  to  your  steps.'* 

I  spoke  this  portentous  warniHg, 
and  fled  across  the  common,  JMiss 
Wilkinson  !  Miss  Wilkinson  !  sounded 
on  the  blast ;  but  the  wretch  had  dis- 
covered me  too  late.  1  ran  about  half 
a  mile,  and  then  looking  behind  me, 
beheld  the  ruin  in  a  blaze.  Renovated 
by  the  sight  of  this  admirable  horror,  1 
walked  another  hour,  without  once 
stopping;  till,  to  my  surprise  and  dis- 
may, I  found  myself  utterly  unable  to 
proceed  a  step  farther.  This  was  the 
more  provoking,  because  heroines  of- 
ten perform  journies  on  foot  that  would 
founder  fifty  horses. 

However,  I  crossed  into  a  field,  and 
contrived  to  make  a  nest  of  hay,  where 


THE    HEROINE.  71 

i  remained  till  day  began  to  dawn. 
Then,  stiff  and  shivering,  I  proceeded 
on  my  journey;  and  in  a  short  time, 
met  a  little  girl  vvith  a  pail  of  milk.  She 
consented  to  let  me  change  my  wet 
dress  at  her  cottage,  and  conducted  me 
thither. 

It  was  a  family  of  frights.  Flat  noses 
and  thick  lips  without  mercy.  No 
Annettes  and  Lubins,  or  Amorets  and 
Phyllidas,  or  Florimels  and  Fiorellas ; 
no  rosy  little  fallings,  or  Cherubim  and 
Seraphim  amongst  them.  However,  I 
slipped  on  (for  slipping  on  is  the  heroic 
mode  of  dressing)  my  spangled  muslin, 
silk  stockings,  and  satin  shoes,  and 
joined  their  uglinesses  at  breaktast,  re- 
solving to  bear  p<.tieatly  with  their  fea- 
tures. 

On  the  whole,  I  see  much  reason  to 


72  THE    HEROINE. 

be  pleased  with  what  has  happened  hi- 
therto. How  fortunate  that  I  went  to 
the  house  upon  the  common !  I  see 
plainly,  that  if  adventure  does  not  come 
to  me,  I  must  go  to  adventure.  And, 
indeed,  1  am  authorized  in  doing  so  by 
the  example  of  ray  sister  heroines  ; 
who,  with  a  noble  disinterestedness,  are 
ever  the  chief  artificers  of  their  own  mis- 
fortunes: for,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten, 
were  they  to  manage  matters  like  mere 
common  mortals,  they  would  avoid  all 
those  charming  mischiefs  which  adorn 
their  memoirs. 

As  for  this  Stuart,  I  know  not  what 
to  think  of  him.  1  will,  however,  do 
him  the  justice  to  say,  that  he  has  a  re- 
putable Roman  nose;  and  although  he 
neither  kissed  my  hand,  nor  knelt  to 
me,  yet  he  had  the  decency  to  talk  of 


THE    HEROIKE.  7S 

"  wounds,'^  and  my  "  charming  tresses.** 
Perhaps,  if  he  had  saved  my  life,  in- 
stead of  my  having  saved  his ;  and 
his  name  had  consisted  of  three  sylla- 
bles ending  in  i  or  o ;  and,  in  fine,  if  he 
were  not  an  unprincipled  profligate,  the 
man  might  have  made  a  tolerable  Hero. 
A  public  coach  to  London  passes 
shortly,  so  I  shall  take  a  place  in  it. 

Adieu. 

LETTER  V. 

'*  I  SHALL  find  in  the  coach,*'  said  I,, 
approaching  it,  "some  emaciated  Ade- 
laide, or  sister  Olivia.  We  will  inter- 
change congenial  looks — she  will  sigh, 
so  will  I — and  we  shall  commence  a  vi- 
gorous friendship  on  the  spot." 

Yes,  I  did  sigh ;  but  it  was  at  the 

VOL.  I.  D 


74*  THE    HEROINE. 

huge  and  hideous  Adelaide  that  pre- 
sented herself,  as  I  got  into  the  coach. 
In  describing  her,  our  wittiest  novelists 
would  say,  that  her  nose  lay  modestly 
retired  between  her  cheeks ;  that  her 
eyes,  which  pointed  inwards,  seemed 
looking  for  it,  and  that  her  teeth  were 

^'  Like  angels'  visits ;  short,  and  far  between." 

She  first  eyed  me  with  a  supercilious 
sneer,  and  then  addressed  a  diminutive 
old  gentleman  opposite,  in  whose  face 
Time  had  ploughed  furrows,  and  Lux- 
ury sown  pimples. 

"  And  so.  Sir,  as  I  was  telling  you, 
when  my  poor  man  died,  I  so  bemoaned 
myself,  that  between  swoons  and  hysto- 
rics,  I  got  nervous  all  over,  and  was 
obliged  to  go  through  a  regiment.^* 

I  stared  in  astonishment.     "  What  !*' 


THE    HEROINE.  75 

thought  I,  "  a  woman  of  her  magnitude 
and  vulgarity,  faint,  and  have  nerves? 
Impossible  V* 

''  Hovvsomdever,''  continued  she, 
"  my  Bible  and  my  Moll  are  great  con- 
solations to  me.  Moll  is  the  dearest 
little  thing  in  the  world  ;  as  straight  as  a 
popular;  then  such  dimples;  and  her 
eyes  are  the  very  squintessence  of  per- 
fection. She  has  all  her  catechism  by 
heart,  and  moreover,  her  mind  is  un- 
contaminated  by  romances  and  novels, 
and  such  abominations/' 

"  Pray,  Ma*am,  said  I,  civilly,  "  may 
I  presume  to  ask  how  romances  and 
novels  contaminate  the  mind  r" 

"  Why,  Mem,*'  answered  she  tartly, 
and  after  another  survey,  "  by  teach- 
ing little  misses  to  go  gadding,  Mem, 
and  to  be  fond  of  the  men,  Mem,  and 
of  spangled  muslin,  Mem." 
i>2 


76  THE    HEROINE. 

"  Ma'am/'  said  I,  reddening,  "  I 
wear  spangled  muslin  because  I  have 
no  other  dress  :  and  you  should  be 
ashamed  of  yourself  for  saying  that  I 
am  fond  of  the  men.'* 

"  The  cap  fits  you  then,"  cried  she. 

"  Were  it  a  fool's  cap,''  said  I,  "  per- 
haps I  might  return  the  compliment." 

I  thought  it  expedient  on  my  first 
outset  in  life  to  practise  apt  repartee, 
and  emulate  the  infatuating  sauciness, 
and  elegant  vituperation  of  Amanda, 
the  Beggar  Girl,  and  other  heroines  ; 
who,  when  irritated,  disdain  to  speak 
below  an  epigram. 

"  Pray,  Sir,"  said  she,  addressing 
our  fellow  traveller,  "  what  is  your  opi- 
nion of  novels  ?  An't  they  all  love  and 
nonsense,  and  the  most  unpossible  lies 
possible  ?'^ 
'^  They  are  fictions,  certainly,'^  said  he. 


THE    HEROINE.  77 

"Surely,  Sir/^  exclaimed  I,  "you 
do  not  mean  to  call  them  fictions  ?'' 

"  Why,  no/'  replied  he,  "  not  abso- 
lute fictions/' 

"  But,"  cried  the  big  lady,  "  you 
don't  pretend  to  call  them  true/' 

"  Why  no/'  said  he,  "  not  abso- 
lutely true/' 

"  Then,''  cried  I,  "  you  are  on  both 
sides  of  the  question  at  once/* 

He  trod  on  my  foot. 

"  Ay,  that  you  are/'  said  the  big 
lady. 

He  trod  on  her  foot. 

"  I  am  too  much  of  a  courtier," 
said  he,  ''  to  differ  from  the  ladies,^' 
and  he  trod  on  both  our  feet. 

"  A  courtier  !"  cried  I  :  "  I  should 
rather     have     imagined   you   a   musi- 


cian/' 


D  3 


7S  THE    HEROINE, 

*'  Pray  why  ?'*  said  he. 

*'  Because,'^  answered  I,  '*  you  are 
playing  the  pedal  harp  on  this  lady's 
foot  and  mine." 


"  I    wished  to   produce  harmony, 


>» 


said  he,  bowing. 

'*  If  you   vvisli  it  with    me,"  said  I, 

^•*  you  must  confess  that  novels  are  more 

true  than  histories,   because  historians 

often   contradict   each  other,   but  no- 

A^elists  never  do." 

"  Yet  do  not  novelists  contradict 
themselves  ?'^  said  he. 

"  Certainly,'^  replied  I,  "  and  there 
lies  the  surest  proof  of  their  veracity. 
For  as  human  actions  are  always  con- 
tradicting themselves,  so  those  books 
which  faithfully  relate  them  must  do 
the  same." 

"  Admirable  !"  exclaimed  he.    *'  And 


TPIE    HEROlIfE.  79- 

yet  what  proof  have  we  that  such  per- 
sonages as  Shedoni,  Vivaldi,  Camilla, 
or  Cecilia,  ever  existed  ?" 

"  And  what  proof  have  we,"  cried 
I,  "  that  such  personages  as  Alfred  the 
Great,  Henry  the  Fifth,  Ehrida,  or 
Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  ever  existed  ? 
Why,  Sir,  at  this  rate  you  aiight  just 
as  well  question  the  tiuth  of  Guy 
Faux's  attempt  to  blow  up  the  Parlia- 
ment-House, or  of  my  having  blown 
up  a  house  last  night.'' 

"  You  blow^  up  a  house!"  exclaim- 
ed the  big  lady  with  amazement. 

"  Madam,"  said  I,  modestly,  '*  I 
scorn  ostentation,  but  on  my  word  and 
honour,  'tis  fact." 

"  Of  course  you  did  it  accidentally,'* 
said  the  srentleman. 

o 

"  You  wrong  me.  Sir,"  replied  I  ; 
*'  I  did  it  by  design," 


80  THE    HEROINE. 

''  You  will  swing  for  it,  however/' 
cried  the  big  lady. 

'*  Swing  for  it  !*'  said  I ;  "  a  heroine 
swing?  Excellent !  I  presume,  Madam, 
you  are  unacquainted  with  the  conriinon 
law  of  romance.*' 

'■  Just/'  said  she,  ''  as  you  seem  to 
be  with  the  common  law  of  England.'* 

"  I  despise  the  common  law  of  Eng- 
land,^^  cried  I. 

"  Then  1  fancy,''  said  she,  "  it 
would  not  be  much  amiss  if  you  were 
hanged.'* 

"  And  I  fancy,"  retorted  I,  nodding 
at  her  big  figure,  "  it  would  not  be 
much  amiss  if  you  were  quartered.'* 

Meantime  the  gentleman  coincided 
with  every  syllable  that  I  said,  praised 
my  parts  and  knowledge,  and  disco- 
vered evident  symptoms  of  a  discrimi- 
nating   mind,    and   an    amiable   heart. 


THE    HEROINE.  gj 

That  I  am  right  in  my  good  opinion  of 
him  is  most  certain;  for  he  himself  as- 
sured me  it  would  be  quite  impossible 
to  deceive  me,  I  am  so  penetrating. 
In  short,  1  have  set  him  down  as  the 
benevolent  guardian,  who  is  destined  to 
save  me  several  times  from  destruction. 
Indeed  he  has  already  done  so  once  ; 
for,  when  our  journey  was  almost 
over,  he  told  me,  that  my  having  set 
fire  to  the  ruin  might  prove  a  most  fatal 
affair;  and  whispered  that  the  big  lady 
w^ould  probably  inform  against  me. 
On  my  pleading  the  prescriptive  immu- 
nities of  heroines,  he  solemnly  swore, 
that  he  once  knew  a  golden-haired, 
azure-eyed  heroine,  called  Angelica 
Angela  Angelina,  who  was  hanged  at 
the  Old  Bailey  for  stealing  a  broken 
lute  out  of  a  haunted  chamber;   and 

D  5 


82  THE    HEROINE. 

while  my  blood  was  running  cold  at 
the  recital,  he  pressed  me  so  cordially 
to  take  refuge  in  his  house,  that  I  threw 
myself  on  the  protection  of  the  best  of 
men. 

I  now  write  from  his  mansion  in 
Grosvenor  Square,  where  we  have  just 
dined.  His  name  is  Betterton ;  he  has 
no  family,  but  possesses  a  splendid  in- 
dependence. Multitudes  of  liveried 
menials  watch  his  nod ;  and  he  does 
me  the  honour  to  call  me  cousin.  My 
chamber  too  is  charming.  The  cur- 
tains hang  quite  in  a  new  style,  but  I 
do  not  like  the  pattern  of  the  drapery. 

To-morrow  I  mean  to  go  shopping ; 
and  I  may,  at  the  same  time,  pick  up 
some  adventures  on  my  way;  for  busi- 
ness must  be  minded. 

Adieu. 


THE    HEROINE.  83 


LETTER  Vr. 


Soon  after  my  last  letter,  I  was  sum- 
moned to  sup{3er.  Betterton  appeared 
much  interested  in  my  destiny,  and  I 
took  good  care  to  inspire  him  with  a 
proper  sense  of  my  forlorn  and  unpro- 
tected state.  I  told  him  that  I  had  not 
a  friend  in  the  w^de  world,  related  to 
him  my  lamentable  tale,  and  as  a  proof 
of  my  veracity  produced  the  parchment 
and  the  picture. 

To  my  surprise,  he  said  that  he  con- 
sidered my  high  birth  improbable  ;  and 
then  began  advising  me  to  descend 
from  my  romantic  flights,  as  he  called 
them,  and  to  seek  after  happiness  in- 
stead of  misery. 


84  THE    HEROINE. 

"  In  this  town/'  continued  he,  after 
a  long  preamble,  "  your  charms  would 
be  despotic,  if  unchained  by  legal  con- 
straints. But  for  ever  distant  from  you 
be  that  cold  and  languid  tie  which  er- 
roneous policy  invented.  For  you  be 
the  mystic  union,  whose  tie  of  bondage 
is  passion,  the  wish  the  licence,  and  im- 
pulse the  law." 

"  Pretty  expressions  enough,"  said  I, 
*'  only  I  cannot  comprehend  them/* 

"  Charming  girl!'*  cried  he,  while 
he  conjured  up  a  fiend  of  a  smile,  and 
drew  a  brilliant  from  his  finger,  "  ac- 
cept this  ring,  and  the  signature  of  the 
hand  that  has  worn  it,  securing  to  you 
five  hundred  a-year,  while  you  remain 
under  my  protection." 

"  Ha,  monster  !'*  exclaimed  I,  "  and 
is  this  thy  vile  design  ?" 


THE   HEROINE.  85 

So  saying,  I  flung  the  ruffian  from  me, 
then  rushed  down  strJrs,  opened  the 
door,  and  quick  as  lightning  darted 
along  the  streets. 

At  last,  panting  for  breath,  I  paused 
underneath  a  portico.  It  was  now 
midnight.  Not  a  wheel,  not  a  hoof  fa- 
tigued the  pavement,  or  disturbed  the 
slumbering  mud  of  the  metropolis.  But 
soon  steps  and  voices  broke  the  silence, 
and  a  youth,  encircling  a  maiden's 
waist  with  his  arm,  and  modulating  the 
most  mellifluent  phraseology,  passed  by 
me.  Another  couple  succeeded,  and 
another,  and  another.  The  town  seem- 
ed swarming  with  heroes  and  heroines. 
"  Fortunate  pairs!''  ejaculated  I,  "  at 
length  ye  enjoy  the  reward  of  your 
incomparable  constancy  and  virtue. 
Here,  after  a  long  separation,  meeting 


S6  THE  HEROINE. 

by  chance,  and  in  extreme  distress,  ye 
pour  forth  your  unpolluted  souls.  O 
blissful  termination  of  unexampled  mi- 
series !" 

1  now  perceived,  on  the  steps  of  a 
house,  a  fair  and  slender  form.  She 
was  sitting  with  her  elbow  in  her  lap, 
and  her  head  leaning  on  one  side,  with- 
in her  hand. 

"  She  seems  a  congenial  outcast,^' 
said  I ;  "  so,  should  she  but  have  a 
Madona  face,  and  a  name  ending  in  a, 
we  will  live,  we  will  die  together." 

I  then  approached,  and  discovered  a 
countenance  so  pale,  so  pensive,  so 
Roman,  that  I  could  almost  have  knelt 
and  worshipped  it. 

"  Fair  unfortunate,'^  said  I,  taking 
her  hand  and  pressing  it;  "  interest- 
ing unknown,  say  by  what  name  am 


THE    HEROINE.  87 

I  to  address  so  gentle  a  sister  in 
misery.'' 

"  Eh  ?  What  ?"  cried  she,  with  a 
voice  somewhat  coarser  than  I  was  pre- 
pared to  expect. 

"  May  I  presume  on  my  sudden  pre- 
dilection," said  I,  "and  inquire  your 
name  ?" 

"  Maria,"  replied  she,  rising  from 
her  seat :  ''  and  now  1  must  be  gone." 

"  And  where  are  you  going,  Ma- 
ria ?"  said  1. 

"  To  the  Devil  !'*  said  she. 

I  started.  "  Alas !  my  love,'*  whis- 
pered I,  "  sorrow  hath  bewildered  thee. 
I  am  myself  a  miserable  orphan  ;  but 
happy,  thrice  happy,  could  I  clasp  a 
sympathetic  bosom,  in  this  frightful 
wilderness  of  houses  and  faces,  where, 
alas  !  I  know  not  a  human  being." 


88  THE    HEROINE. 

"  Then  you  are  a  stranger  here  ?" 
said  she  quickly. 

"  I  am  here  but  a  few  hours,"  an- 
swered I. 

"  Have  you  money  ?'"  she  demanded. 

"  Only  four  guineas  and  a  half,"  re- 
plied I,  taking  out  my  purse.  *'  Per- 
haps you  are  in  distress — perhaps — for- 
give this  officiousness — not  for  worlds 
would  I  wound  your  delicacy,  but  if 
you  want  assistance '* 

"  I  have  only  this  old  sixpence  upon 
earth,^'  interrupted  she,  "  and  there 
'tis  for  you,  Miss." 

So  saying,  she  put  sixpence  into  my 
purse,  which  I  had  opened  while  I  was 
speaking." 

"  Generous  angel !"  cried  I. 

*'  Now  we  are  in  partnership,  a'nt 
we  ?"  said  she. 


THE    HEROINE.  S9 

*'  Yes,  sweet  innocent,"  answered 
I,  '*  we  are  partners  in  grief." 

"  And  as  grief  is  dry/'  cried  she, 
'^  we  will  go  moisten  it.'* 

"  And  where  shall  we  moisten  it, 
Maria?"  said  1. 

"•  In  a  public-house,'*  cried  she. 
"  It  will  do  us  good." 

"  O   my  Maria!"  said  I,  "  never, 


never!" 


"  Yv^hy  then  give  me  back  my  six- 
pence," cried  she,  snatching  at  my 
purse;  but  I  held  it  fast,  and,  springing 
from  her,  ran  away. 

"  Stop  thief,  stop  thief!'*  vociferat- 
ed she. 

In  an  instant,  I  heard  a  sort  of  rat- 
tling noise  from  several  quarters,  and 
a  huge  fellow,  called  a  watchman,  came 
striding  out  of  a  wooden  box,  and 
grasped  me  by  the  shoulder. 


90  THE    HEROINE. 

"  She  has  robbed  me  of  ray  purse/* 
exclaimed  the  wily  wanton.  "  'Tis  a 
green  one,  and  has  four  guineas  and  a 
half  in  it,  besides  a  curious  old  six- 
pence." 

The  watchman  took  it  from  me,  and 
examined  it. 

"  *Tis  my  purse,"  cried  I,  **  and  I 
can  swear  to  it." 

*'  You  lie!''  j^:\id  the  little  wretch  ; 
'*  you  know  r^ell  that  you  snatched  it 
from  my  hand,  when  I  was  going  to 
give  you  sixpence,  out  of  charity/* 

Horror  and  astonishment  struck  me 
dumb;  and  when  1  told  my  tale,  the 
watchman  declared  that  both  of  us 
must  remain  in  custody,  till  next  morn- 
ing ;  and  then  be  carried  before  the 
magistrate.  Accordingly,  he  escorted 
us  to  the  watchhouse,  a  room  filled 
with   smoke  and  culprits;    where  we 


THE    HEROINE.  ^1 

Stayed  all  night,  amidst  a  concert  of 
swearing,  snoring,  laughing,  and  cry- 
ing. 

In  the  morning  we  were  carried  be- 
fore a  magistrate  ;  and  with  step  sUf 
perb,  and  neck  er^ct,  I  entered  the 
room. 

"  Pert  enough,"  said  then:agistrate; 
and  turning  from  me,  continued  his 
examination  of  two  me  a  who  stood 
near  him. 

It  appeared  that  one  of  them  (whose 
name  was  Jerry  Sullivan)  had  assault- 
ed the  other,  on  the  following  occa- 
sion. A  joint  sum  of  money  had  lately 
been  deposited  in  Sullivan's  hands,  by- 
this  other,  and  a  third  man,  his  partner; 
u  hich  sum  Sullivan  had  consented  to 
keep  for  them,  and  had  bound  himself 
to  return,  whenever  both  should  go  to- 


95  THE    HEROINE^ 

gether  to  him,  and  demand  it.  Some- 
time afterwards,  one  of  them  went  to 
him,  and  told  him  that  the  other,  being 
ill,  and  therefore  unable  to  come  for 
the  money,  had  empowered  him  (the 
partner)  to  get  it.  Sullivan,  believing 
him,  gave  the  money,  and  when  he 
next  met  the  other,  mentioned  the  cir- 
cumstance. The  other  denied  having 
authorized  the  act,  -^nd  demanded  his 
own  share  of  the  deposit  from  Sul- 
Jivan,  who  refi'.sed  it.  Words  ensu^ 
ed,  and  Sullivan  having  knocked 
him  down,  was  brought  before  the 
magistrate,  to  be  committed  for  an  as- 
sault. 

"  Have  you  any  defence  ?'*  said  the 
magistrate  to  him. 

"  None  that  I  know  of,"  answered 
Sullivan,  "  only  my  arm  is  subject  to  a 


THE    HEROINE.  93 

kind  of  a  sort  of  jerking  spasm,  ever 
since  I  was  bewitched  by  Molly  Cra- 
iiahan  the  Fairy  Woman  ;  so  I  do  sup- 
pose it  was  a  jerking  spasm  that  knock- 
ed the  man  down." 

"  And  is  this  your  defence?'*  said 
the  magistrate. 

"  It  is  so,"  replied  Sullivan,  "  and 
I  hope  your  worship  likes  it,  as  well  as 
I  like  your  worship.'^ 

"  So   we'  ,^'   said    the   magistrate, 
"  that  I  now  mean    to  do  you  a  signal 


service." 


"  Why  then,"  cried  Sullivan,  "the 
heavens  smile  on  you  for  a  kind  gen- 
tleman." 

"  And  that  service,"  continued  the 
magistrate,  "  is  to  commit  you  imme- 
diately." 

"  Why  then,"  cried  Sullivan,  "  the 


94  THE   HEROINE. 

Devil  inconvenience  you  for  a  big 
blackguard." 

"  By  your  insolence,  you  should  be 
an  Irishman,"  said  the  magistrate. 

"  I  was  an  Irishman  forty  years  ago/* 
replied  the  other;  "and  I  don't  sup- 
pose I  am  any  thing  else  now.  Though 
I  have  left  my  country,  I  scorn  to 
change  my  birth-place.'^ 

"  Commit  him,'*  said  the  magistrate. 

Just  then,  a  device  struck  me,  which 
I  thought  might  extricate  the  poor  fel- 
low ;  so,  having  received  permission,  I 
went  across,  and  whispered  it  to  him. 

He  half  crushed  me  with  a  hug,  and 
then  addressed  his  accuser :  "  Now, 
Sir,  if  I  can  prove  to  you  that  I  have 
not  broken  our  agreement  about  the 
money,  will  you  promise  not  to  prose- 
cute me  for  this  assault  ?'' 


THE    HEROINE.  9«5 

"  With  all  my  heart/*  answered  the 
man ;  "  for  if  you  have  not  broken  our 
agreement,  you  must  give  me  the  mo- 
ney, which  is  all  I  want/*' 

"  And  will  your  worship/'  said  Sul- 
livan, ''  approve  of  this  compromise, 
and  stand  umpire  between  us?*' 

"  I  have  not  the  least  objection,'^ 
answered  the  magistrate;  "  for  I  would 
rather  be  the  means  of  your  fulfilling 
an  agreement,  than  of  your  suffering 
a  punishment/^ 

"  Well  then/'  said  Jerry  to  his  ac- 
cuser; "  was  not  our  agreement  that  I 
should  return  the  money  to  yourself 
and  your  partner,  whenever  both  of  you 
came  together  tome,  and  asked  for  it  ?'* 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  man. 

"  And  did  both  of  you  ever  come 
together  to  me,  and  ask  for  it  ?" 


96  THE    HEROINE. 

"  Never,'"  said  the  man. 

*'  Then  I  have  not  broken  our  agree- 
ment/' cried  Sullivan. 

"  But  you  cannot  keep  it/*  said  the 
man  ;  *'  because  you  have  already  given 
the  money  nw^yj^ 

"No  matter,*' cried  Sullivan,  "pro- 
vided I  have  it  whenever  both  of  you 
come  together  and  demand  it.  But  i 
believe  that  will  be  never  at  all  at  all, 
for  the  fellow  who  ran  off  with  it  won't 
much  like  to  shew  his  face  again.  So 
now  will  your  worshipful  honor  de- 
cide ?" 

The  magistrate,  after  complimenting 
me  upon  my  ingenious  su2:gestion,  con- 
fessed, he  said,  v/ith  much  unwilling- 
ness, that  SuUivaii  had  made  out  his 
case  clearly.  The  poor  accuser  was 
therefore    obliged    to    abide    by    his 


THE    HEROINE.  97 

covenant,  and  Sullivan  was  dismiss- 
ed, snapping  his  fingers,  and  offer- 
ing to  treat  the  whole  w^orld  with  a 
tankard. 

My  cause  came  after,  and  the  trea- 
cherous Maria  was  ordered  to  state  her 
evidence. 

But  what  think  you,  Biddy,  of  my 
keeping  you  in  suspense  till  my  next 
letter?  The  practice  of  keeping  in 
suspense,  so  common  among  novelists, 
is  always  interesting,  and  often  neces- 
sary. In  the  Romance  of  the  High- 
lands, a  lady  terminates,  not  her  let- 
ter, but  her  life,  much  in  the  same 
style,  and  with  great  effect ;  for  when 
dying,  she  was  about  to  disclose  the 
circumstances  of  a  horrid  murder, 
which,  had  she  done,  not  a  single  in- 
cident that  afterwards  happened,  would 

VOL.  I.  E 


98  THE    HEROINE. 

then  have  happened.  But  fortunately, 
just  as  she  was  on  the  point  of  telling 
all,  she  clianced  to  expend  her  last 
breath  in  a  beautiful  description  of  the 
verdant  hills,  rising  sun,  all  nature 
smiling,  and  a  few  streaks  of  purple  in 
the  east. 

Adieu. 


LETTER  VII. 

Maria  being  ordered  to  state  her 
evidence,  "  That  I  will,'*  said  she. 

"  I  was  walking  innocently  home, 
from  my  aunt's,  with  my  poor  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  ground,  for  fear  of  the  fel- 
lors,  when  what  should  I  see,  but  this 
girl,  talking  on  some  steps,  with  a 
pickpocket,  I  fancy,  ^cause  he  looked 


THE    HEROINE.  99 

pretty  decent.  So  I  ran  past  them, 
for  I  was  so  ashamed  you  can't  think ; 
and  this  girl  runs  after  me,  and  says, 
says  she,  '  The  fellor  wouldn't  give  me 
a  little  shilling,*  says  she,  '  so  by 
Jingo,  you  must,'  says  she/* 

*'  By  Jingo!  I  say  by  Jingo?'*  cried 
I.  "  St.  Catherine  guard  me!  Indeed, 
your  Excellenza,  my  only  oath  is  Santa 
Maria/* 

"  She  swore  at  me  like  a  bilking 
trooper,'^  continued  the  little  imp, 
"  so  I  pulled  out  my  purse  in  a  fright, 
and  she  snatched  it  from  me,  and  ran 
away,  and  1  after  her,  calling  stop 
thief;  and  this  is  the  whole  truth  'pon 
my  honor  and  word,  and  as  1  hope  to 
be  married/* 

The  watchman  declared  that  he  had 
caught  me  running  away,  that  he  had 
E  2 


100  THE    HEROINE. 

found  the  purse  upon  my  person,  and 
that  Maria  had  described  it,  and  the 
money  contained  in  it,  accurately. 

"  And  will  your  worship,'*  said  Ma- 
ria, "  ask  the  girl  to  describe  the  six- 
pence that  is  in  it?*' 

The  magistrate  turned  to  me. 

*'  Really,^*  said  I,  "  as  I  never  even 
saw  it,  I  cannot  possibly  pretend  to 
describe  it." 

"  Then  I  can,'*  cried  she.  "  ^Tis 
bent  in  two  places,  and  stamped  on  one 
of  its  sides  with  a  D  and  an  H.'^ 

The  sixpence  was  examined,  and 
answered  her  description  of  it. 

"  The  case  is  clear  enough,**  said 
the  magistrate,  "  so  now.  Miss,  try 
whether  you  can  advocate  your  own 
cause  as  well  as  Jerry  Sullivan's.** 

Jerry,    who  still  remained  in  the 


rHE    HEROINE.  101 

room,  came  behind  me,  and  whispered, 
*'  Troth,  Miss,  I  have  no  brains,  but 
I  have  a  bit  of  an  oath,  if  that  is  of 
any  use  to  you.  I  would  sell  my  soul 
to  Old  Nick  out  of  gratitude,  at  any 
time." 

"  Alas !  your  Excellenza,"  said  I 
to  the  magistrate,  "  frail  is  the  tenure 
of  that  character  which  has  Innocence 
for  its  friend,  and  Infamy  for  its  foe. 
Life  is  a  chequered  scene  of  light  and 
shade " 

"  Talking  of  life  is  not  the  way  to 
save  it,"  said  the  magistrate.  "  Less 
sentiment  and  more  point,  if  you 
please." 

I  was  silent,  but  looked  anxiously 
towards  the  door. 

"  Are  you  meditating  an  escape  r" 
asked  he. 

E  3 


iC2  THE    HEROINE. 

''  No,"  said  I,  "  but  just  wait  a 
little,  and  you  shall  see  what  an  inter- 
esting turn  affairs  will  take." 

"  Come/'  cried  he,  "  proceed  at 
once,  or  say  you  will  not." 

"  Ah,  now,"  said  I,  "  can't  you 
stop  one  moment,  and  not  spoil  every 
thing  by  your  impatience.  I  am  only 
watching  for  the  tall,  elegant  young 
stranger,  with  an  oval  face,  who  is  to 
enter  just  at  this  crisis,  and  snatch  me 
from  perdition.** 

''  Did  he  promise  to  come?"  said 
the  magistrate. 

"  Not  at  all,"  answered  I,  "  for  I 
have  never  seen  the  man  in  my  life. 
But  whoever  rescues  me  now,  you 
know,  is  destined  to  marrv  me  here- 
after.     That  is  the  rule." 

"  You   are    an    impudent    minx," 


THE    HEROI.NE.  103 

said  the  magistrate,  *'  and  shall  pay 
dear  for  your  jocularity.  Have  you 
parents  ?'' 

"  I  cannot  tell." 

"Friends?*' 

"  None.'' 

"  AFhere  do  you  live  ?*' 

*'  No  where.'' 

"  At  least  'tis  plain  where  you  will 
die.     What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Cherubina." 

"  Cherubina  what?" 

"  I  know  not." 

"  Not  know  ?  I  protest  this  is  the 
most  hardened  profligate  I  have  ever 
met.     Commit  her  instantly." 

I  now  saw  that  something  must  be 
done;  so  summoning  all  my  most  at- 
suasive  airs,  I  related  the  whole  ad- 
venture, just  as  it  had  occurred. 
E  4 


1U4  THE    HEROINE. 

Not  a  syllable  obtained  belief.  The 
fatal  sixpence  carried  all  before  it.  I 
recollected  the  fate  of  Angelica  An* 
gela  Angelina,  and  shuddered.  What 
should  1  do?  One  desperate  experi- 
ment remained. 

"  There  were  four  guineas  and  half 
a  guinea  in  the  purse,'*  said  I  to  the 
girl. 

"  To  be  sure  there  were,*'  replied 
she.  "  Bless  us,  how  obliging  you 
are  to  tell  me  my  own  news !" 

"  Now,"  said  I,  "  answer  me  at 
once,  and  without  hesitation,  whether 
is  it  the  half  guinea  or  one  of  the  gui- 
neas that  is  notched  in  three  places, 
like  the  leeth  of  a  saw  ?" 

She  paused  a  little,  and  looked  con- 
fused. 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  no  thinking,'* 


THE    HEROINE.  105 

'*  I  have  a  long  slory  to  tell  about 
those  same  notches,"  said  she  at  length. 
*'  I  wanted  a  silk  handkerchief  yester- 
day, so  1  went  into  a  shop  to  buy  one, 
and  an  impudent  ugly  young  fellor  was 
behind  the  counter.  Well,  he  began 
ogling  me  so,  I  was  quite  ashamed; 
and  says  he  to  me,  there  is  the  change 
of  your  two  pound  note,  says  he,  a 
guinea  and  a  half  in  gold,  says  he, 
and  you  are  vastly  handsome,  says  he. 
And  there  are  three  notches  in  one  of 
the  coins,  sa3^s  he;  guess  which,  says 
he,  but  it  will  pass  all  the  same,  says 
he,  and  you  are  prodigious  pretty, 
says  he.  So  indeed,  I  was  so  ashamed, 
that  though  I  looked  at  the  money, 
and  saw  the  three  notches,  I  have 
quite  forgotten  which  they  were  in — 
guinea  or  half  guinea;  for  my  sight 
£  5 


106'  THE    HEROINE. 

spread  so,  with  shame  at  his  compli- 
ments, that  the  half  guinea  looked  as 
big  as  the  guinea;  and  I  frowned  so, 
you  can*t  think.  And  I  am  sure,  I 
ne^^er  remembered  to  look  at  the  money 
since ;  and  this  is  the  whole  truth,  I 
pledge  you  my  credit  and  honour,  and 
by  the  immaculate  Wenus^  as  the  gen- 
tlemen say/* 

The  accusing  witness  who  insulted 
the  magistrate's  bench  with  the  oath, 
leered  as  she  gave  it  in  ;  and  the  re- 
cording clerk,  as  he  wrote  it  down, 
drew  a  line  under  the  words,  and 
pointed  them  out  for  ever. 

"  Then  you  saw  the  three  notches?" 
said  I. 

"  As  plain  as  I  see  you  now,"  re- 
plied she,  "  and  a  guilty  poor  object 
you  look." 


THE    HEROINE.  107 

*'  And  yet,"  said  1,  "  if  his  Worship 
will  try,  he  will  find  that  there  is  not  a 
single  notch  in  any  one  of  the  coins  !** 

"  'Tis  the  case  indeed,"  said  the 
magistrate,  after  accurately  examining 
them. 

Then  turning  to  me,  "  Your  con- 
duct, young  woman,  is  unaccount- 
able :  but  as  your  accuser  has  certainly 
belied  herself,  she  has  probably  belied 
you.  The  money,  by  her  own  ac- 
count, cannot  be  her's,  but  as  it  was 
found  in  your  possession,  it  may  be 
your's.  I  therefore  feel  fully  justified 
in  restoring  it  to  you,  and  in  acquit- 
ting you  of  the  crime  laid  to  your 
charge." 

I  received  the  purse,  gave  Maria 
back  her  sixpence,  and  hurried  out  of 
the  room. 


108  THE    HEROINE. 

Jerry  followed  me. 

*'  Why  then,"  cried  he,  shaking  me 
heartily  by  the  hand,  as  we  walked 
along,  "  only  tell  me  how  I  can  serve 
you,  and  ^tis  I  that  will ;  though,  to 
be  sure,  you  must  be  the  greatest  little 
reprobate  (bless  your  heart!)  in  the 
three  kingdoms.** 

"  AlasT'  said  I,  "  you  mistake  my 
character.  I  am  no  reprobate,  but  a 
heroine — the  proudest  title  that  can 
adorn  a  woman." 

"  I  never  heard  of  the  title  before," 
said  Jerry,  *'  and  J  warrant  'tis  no  bet- 
ter than  it  should  be." 

"  You  shall  judge  for  yourself,"  said 
I.  "  A  heroine  is  a  young  lady,  rather 
taller  than  usual,  and  often  an  or- 
phan ;  at  all  events,  with  the  finest 
eyes  in  the  world.     She  blushes  to  the 


THE  HEROINE.  109 

tips  of  her  fingers,  and  when  mere 
misses  would  laugh,  she  faints.  Be- 
sides, she  has  tears,  sighs,  and  half 
sighs,  at  command  ;  can  live  a  month 
on  a  mouthful,  and  is  addicted  to  the 
pale  consumption/' 

"  Why  then,  much  good  may  it  do 
her,"  cried  Jerry;  "  but  in  my  mind, 
a  tisicky  girl  is  no  great  treasure  ;  and 
as  to  the  fashion  of  living  a  month  on 
a  mouthful,  let  me  have  a  potatoe  and 
chop  for  my  dinner,  and  a  herring  at 
nights,  and  I  would  not  give  a  farthing 
for  ail  the  starvation  you  could  offer 
me.  So  when  I  finish  my  bit  of  her- 
ring, wife  says  to  me,  winking,  '  a 
fish  loves  water,'  says  she,  and  imme- 
diately she  fetches  me  a  dram.^* 

"  These  are  the  delights  of  vulgar 
life,'^  said  I.     "  But  to  be  thin,  iiiiio- 


110  THE  HEROINE. 

cent,  and  lyrical ;  to  bind  and  unbind 
her  hair;  in  a  word,  to  hh  the  most 
miserable  creature  that  ever  augment- 
ed a  brook  with  tears,  these,  my  friend, 
are  the  glories  of  a  heroine/' 

"  Famous  glories,  by  dad  !'*  cried 
Jerry  ;  "  but  as  I  am  a  poor  man,  and 
not  over  particular,  I  can  contrive  to 
make  shift  with  health  and  happiness, 
and  to  rub  through  life  without  binding 
my  hair.  -  Bind  it  ?  by  the  powers,  ^tis 
seldom  I  even  comb  it.** 

As  I  was  all  this  time  without  my 
bonnet  (for  in  my  hurry  from  Better- 
ton's  1  had  left  it  behind  me),  1  deter- 
mined to  purchase  one.  So  I  went  into 
a  shop,  and  asked  for  an  interesting 
and  melancholy  turn  of  bonnet. 

The  woman  looked  at  me  with  some 
surprise,  but  produced  several  ;  and  I 


THE  HEROINE.  Ill 

fixed  upon  one  which  resembled  a  bon- 
net that  I  had  once  seen  in  a  picture 
of  a  wood  nymph.  So  I  put  it  on  me, 
wished  the  woman  good  morning,  and 
was  walking  away. 

"  You  have  forgotten  to  pay  me. 
Miss,'*  said  she. 

"  True,'*  replied  I,  "  but  I  will  call 
another  time.     Adieu." 

"  You  shall  pay  me,  however,"  cried 
she,  ringing  a  bell,  and  a  man  entered 
instantly  from  an  inner  room. 

"  Here  is  a  hussey,*'  exclaimed  she, 
"  who  refuses  to  pay  me  for  a  bonnet.** 

"  My  sweet  friend,*'  said  I  to  her, 
"  a  distressed  heroine,  which  I  assure 
you,  I  am,  runs  in  debt  every  where. 
Besides,  as  I  like  your  face^  I  mean  to 
implicate  you  in  my  plot,  and  make 
you  one  of  the  dramatis  personce  m  the 


113  THE  HEROINE. 

history  of  my  life.  Probably  you  will 
turn  out  to  be  my  mother's  nurse's 
daughter.  At  all  eventS;  I  give  you 
my  word  I  will  pay  you  at  the  denoue- 
ment, when  the  other  characters  come 
to  be  provided  for;  and  meantime,  to 
secure  your  acquaintance,  I  must  in- 
sist on  owing  you  money.^* 

"  By  dad,'*  said  Jerry,  "  that  is  the 
first  of  all  ways  to  lose  an  acquaint- 
ance." 

''  The  bonnet  or  the  money  \"  cried 
the  man,  stepping  between  me  and  the 
door. 

Jerry  jumped  forward,  and  arrested 
his  arm.  "  Hands  off,  bully,*'  cried 
the  shopman. 

'*  No,  in  troth,"  said  Jerry;  "  and 
the  more  yot\  bid  me,  the  more  I  won't 
let  you  go/* 


THE   HEROINE.  113 

"  Do  you  want  to  rob  me  ?*'  cried  the 
shopman. 

"  if  her  ladyship  has  set  her  heart  on 
a  robbery,"  said  Jerry,  "  I  am  not  the 
man  to  baulk  her  fancy.  Sure,  did'nt 
she  save  me  from  a  gaol?  And  sure, 
would'nt  I  help  her  to  a  bonnet  ?  A 
bonnet?  'Pon  my  conscience,  she  shall 
have  half  a  dozen.  'Tis  I  that  would 
not  mind  being  hanged  for  her  L** 

So  saying,  he  snatched  a  parcel  of 
bonnets  from  the  counter,  and  was  in- 
stantly knocked  down  by  the  shopman. 
He  rose,  and  both  began  a  furious  con- 
flict. In  the  midst  of  it,  I  was  at- 
tempting to  rush  from  the  shop,  when 
I  found  my  spangled  muslin  barba- 
rously grasped  by  the  woman,  who 
tore  it  to  pieces  in  the  struggle;  and 
pulling  off  the  bonnet,  pushed  me  into 


114  THE    HEROINE. 

the  street,  just  as  Jerry  had  stunned 
his  adversary  with  a  blow.  Taking 
this  opportunity  of  escape,  he  dragged 
me  through  several  streets  without  ut- 
tering a  word. 

At  length  I  was  so  much  exhaust- 
ed, that  we  stopped ;  and  strange 
figures  w^e  looked.  Jerry's  face  was 
smeared  with  blood,  nothing  was  on  my 
head:  my  long  locks  were  hanging  loose 
about  me,  and  my  poor  spangled  muslin 
was  all  in  rags. 

"  Here,"  said  Jerry  to  an  old  wo- 
man who  sold  apples  at  a  corner, 
''  take  care  of  this  young  body,  while 
I  fetch  her  a  coach."  And  off  he 
ran. 

The  woman  looked  at  me  with  a 
suspicious  eye,  so  I  resolved  to  gain 
her  good  opinion.     It  struck  me  that 


THE    HEROINE.   .  115 

I  might  extract  pathos  from  an  apple, 
and  taking  one  from  her  stall,  "  An 
apple,  my  charming  old  friend,"  said 
1,  "  is  the  symbol  of  discord.  Eve 
lost  Paradise  by  tasting  it,  Paris  exas- 
perated Juno   by  throwing  it.'^ A 

burst  of  laughter  made  me  turn  round, 
and  I  perceived  a  crowd  already  at  my 
elbow. 

"  Who  tore  her  gown  ?*'  said  one, 

'*  Ask  her  spangles,**  said  another. 

*^  Or  her  hair,''  cried  a  third. 

*'  'Tis  long  enough  to  hang  her," 
cried  a  fourth. 

'*  The  king's  hemp  will  do  that  job 
for  her,''  added  a  fifth. 

A  pull  at  my  muslin  assailed  me  on 
the  one  side,  and  when  1  turned  about, 
my  hair  was  thrown  over  my  face  on 
the  other. 


116  THE    HEROINE. 

I  was  just  beginning  to  cry,  when  a 
butcher's  boy  advanced :  "  Will  your 
ladyship/*  said  he,  "permit  me  to 
hand  you  into  that  there  shop  ?*' 

I  bowed  assent,  and  he  led  me, 
nothing  loath.  Peals  of  laughter  fol- 
lowed us. 

*'  Now,"  said  I  as  I  stood  at  the  door, 
''  I  will  reward  your  gallantry  with  half 
a  guinea.'^ 

As  I  drew  forth  my  money,  I  saw 
his  face  reddening,  his  cheeks  swel- 
ling, and  his  mouth  pursing  up. 

"  What  sensibility!"  said  T,  "  but 
positively  you  must  not  refuse  this 
trifle/' 

He  took  it,  and  then  just  think,  the 
brute  laughed  in  my  face! 

"  1  will  give  this  guinea,"  cried  I, 
quite  enraged,  ''  to  the  first  who  chas- 
tises that  ungrateful  I'^ 


THE    HEROINE.  117 

Hardly  had  I  spoken,  when  he  was 
laid  prostrate.  He  fell  against  the  stall, 
upset  it,  and  instantly  the  street  was 
strewn  with  apples,  nuts,  and  cakes. 
He  rose.  The  battle  raged.  Some 
sided  with  him,  some  against  him. 
The  furious  stall-woman  pelted  both 
parties  with  her  own  apples;  while 
the  only  discreet  person  there  was  a 
ragged  little  girl,  who  stood  laughing 
at  a  distance,  and  eating  one  of  the 
cakes. 

In  the  midst  of  the  fray,  Jerry  re- 
turned with  a  coach.  I  sprang  into  it, 
and  he  after  me. 

"  The  guinea,  the  guinea  !'*  cried 
twenty  voices  at  once.  At  once  twenty 
apples  came  rattling  against  the  glasses. 

'"•  Pay  me  for  my  apples  !"  cried  the 
woman. 


118  THE    HEROINE. 

*'  Pay  me  for  my  windows!"  cried 
ihr  rrrrliman. 

"  Drive  like  a  devil/*  cried  Jerry, 
"and  I  will  pay  you  like  an  empe- 
ror 1" 

*'  Much  the  same  sort  of  persons, 
now-a-days,"  said  the  coachman,  and 
away  we  flew.  The  guinea,  the  gui- 
nea !  died  along  the  sky.  I  thought 
I  should   drop  with  laughter. 

I  write  from  Jerry's  house,  where  I 
have  taken  refuge  for  the  present. 

I  am  extremely  distracted,  I  assure 
you. 

Adieu. 


THE    HEROINE.  119 


LETTER  VIII. 

Jerry  Sulltvax  is  a  petty  wool- 
len-draper in  St.  Giles's,  and  occupies 
the  lower  floor  of  a  small  house.  At 
first  his  wife  and  daughter  eyed  me 
with  some  suspicion  ;  but  when  he  told 
them  how  I  had  saved  him  from  ruin, 
they  became  very  civil,  and  gave  me  a 
tolerable  breakfast.  Soon  afterwards  I 
threw  myself  on  a  bed,  and  slept  several 
hours. 

I  woke  with  pains  in  all  my  limbs; 
but  anxious  to  forward  the  adv^entures 
of  my  life,  I  rose,  and  called  mother 
and  daughter  on  a  consultation  about 
my  dress.  As  my  spangled  muslin 
was   in  ruins,  they  furnished  me  with 


120  THE    HEROINE. 

the  best  of  their  wardrobe.  I  bargained 
to  give  them  two  guineas;  and  1  then 
began  equipping  myself. 

While    thus    employed,  I  heard  the 
voices  of  husband  and  wife  in  the  next 
room,  rising  gradually  to  the  matrimo- 
nial key.     At  last  the   wife  exclaims, 
"  A    Heroine?  I  w\\\  take  mj  cor- 
pular  oath,  there  is  no  such  title  in  all 
England ;  she's  a  fragrant   impostume 
and    if  she  has  the  four  guineas,  she 
never  came  honestly  by  them  ;  so  the 
sooner  she  parts  with  them  the  better  ; 
and  not  a  step  shall   she   stir   in   our 
clothes  till  she  launches  forth  three  of 
them.     So  that's  that,  and  mine's   my 
own,  and  how  do  you  like  my  manners, 
Ignoramus  ?" 

"  How   dare   you  call   me   Ignora- 
mus ?"    cried  Jerry.     "  Blackguard  if 


THE    HEROINE.  l!?l 

you  like,  but  no  ignoramus,  I  believe; 
I  know  what  I  could  call  you, 
though/' 

"  Well  ?**  cried  she,  *'  well  ?  saving  a 
drunkard  and  a  scold,  what  else  can 
you  call  me?*' 

"  I  won't  speak  another  word  to 
you,'*  said  Jerry.  "  I  would  not  speak 
to  you,  if  you  were  lying  dead  in  the 
kennel." 

"  Then/'  cried  she,  "  you're  an  ugly 
unnatural  beast,  so  you  are ;  and  your 
Miss  is  no  better  than  a  bad  one, 
so  she  is  ;  and  I  warrant  you  understand 
one  another  well,  so  you  do  !^' 

This  last  insinuation  was  perfectly 
jBufficient  for  me.  What!  remain  in  a 
house  where  suspicion  attached  to  my 
character  ?  What !  act  so  diametrically, 
so  outrageously  contrary  from  the  prin- 

VOL.  I.  F 


122  THE    HEROINE. 

ciple  of  aspersed  heroines,  who  are  sure 
on  such  occasions  to  pin  up  a  bundle, 
and  set  off?  I  spurned  the  puny  notion, 
and  resolved  to  decamp  instantly.  So 
having  hastened  my  toilette,  I  threw 
three  guineas  on  the  table,  and  then 
looked  for  a  pen  and  ink,  to  write  a 
sonnet.  I  could  find  nothing,  however, 
but  a  bit  of  chalk,  and  with  this  substi- 
tute, I  scratched  the  following  lines 
upon  the  wall. 

SONNET, 
To  J .  Sullivan^  on  leaving  his  House, 

As  some  deputed  angel  downward  steers, 

His  golden  wings,  with  glittering  nectar  dew'd; 

Mid  firmamental  wilds  and  radiant  spheres, 
To  starless  tracts  of  black  infinitude 

Here  the  chalk  failed  me,  and  just 
at  the  critical  moment ;  for  my  simile 


THE    HEROINE.  IfS 

had  also  failed  me,  nor  could  I  have 
ever  gotten  beyond  infinitude.  I  got 
to  the  hall-door,  however,  and  with- 
out fear  of  being  overheard  :  to  such  an 
altitude  of  tone  had  ribaldry  arisen 
between  husband  and  wife,  who  were 
now  contesting  a  most  delicate  point 
— which  of  them  had  beaten  the  other 
last. 

"  I  know^,''  cried  Jerry,  "  that  I 
gave  you  the  last  blow.'* 

"  Then  take  the  first  now,"  cried  his 
wife,  as  I  shut  the  door. 

Anticipating  that  I  should  probably 
have  occasion  for  Jerry's  services  again, 
I  marked  the  number  of  his  house,  and 
then  hastened  along  the  street.  It  was 
swarming  and  humming  like  a  hive  of 
bees,  and  1  felt  as  if  1  could  never  es* 
cape  alive  out  of  it.     Here  a  carriage 


124  THE    HEROINE. 

almost  ran  over  me  ;  there  a  sweep 
brushed  against  me.  "  Beauty  !'*  cried 
a  man  like  a  monkey,  and  chucked  my 
chin,  while  a  fellow  with  a  trunk 
shoved  me  aside. 

The  shops  soon  attracted  my  atten- 
tion, and  I  stopped  to  looked  at  some 
of  them.  You  cannot  conceive  any 
thing  more  charming:  Turkish  turbans, 
Indian  shawls,  pearls,  diamonds,  fans, 
feathers,  laces;  all  shewn  for  nothing 
at  the  windows.  Alas  !  I  had  but  one 
guinea  remaining! 

At  length  I  reached  an  immense  edi- 
fice, which  appeared  to  me  the  castle 
of  some  Marquis  or  Baron.  Ponderous 
columns  supported  it,  and  statues  stood 
in  the  niches.  The  portal  lay  open. 
I  glided  into  the  halh  As  I  looked 
tnxiously  around,  I  beheld  a  cavalier 


THE    HEROINE.  125 

descending  a  flight  of  steps.  He  paused, 
muttered  some  words,  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  heart,  shook  his  head,  and 
advanced. 

I  felt  instantly  interested  in  his  fate; 
and  as  he  came  nearer,  perceived,  that 
surely  never  lighted  on  this  orb,  which 
he  hardly  seemed  to  touch,  a  more  de- 
lightful vision.  His  form  was  tall,  his 
face  oval,  and  his  nose  aquiline.  Once 
more  he  paused,  frowned,  and  waving 
his  arm,  exclaimed,  with  an  elegant 
energy  of  enunciation  ; 

"If  again  this  apparition  come,  he 
may  approve  our  eyes,  and  speak  to 
it." 

That  moment  a  pang,  poignant,  but 

delicious,  tr^msfixed  my  besom.     Too 

well  I  f-^lt  and  confessed  it  the  dart  of 

love.     In  socth,  too  well  1  kiiC^v  that 

i  3 


126  THE    HEROINE. 

my  heart  was  lost  to  me  for  ever.    Silly 
maiden!   But  fate  had  decreed  it. 

I  rushed  forward,  and  sank  at  the 
feet  of  the  stranger. 

"  Pity  and  protect  a  destitute  or- 
phan!*' cried  I.  "  Here,  in  this  lios- 
pitabie  castle,  I  may  hope  for  repose 
and  protection.  Oh,  Signor,  conduct 
me  to  your  illustrious  mother,  the  Ba- 
roness, and  let  me  pour  into  her  ear 
my  simple  and  pathetic  tale.'' 

'•'  O  ho!  simple  and  pathetic!*' 
cried  he.  ''  Come,  my  dear,  let  me 
hear  it." 

I  seated  myself  on  the  steps,  and 
told  my  whole  story.  During  the  re- 
cital, the  noble  youth  betrayed  extreme 
sensibility.  Sometimes  he  tiirned  his 
head  aside  to  conceal  his  emotion  ;  and 
sometimes  stifled  a  hysterical  laugh  of 
agony. 


THE    HEROINE.  127 

I  ceased,  be  heaved  a  profound  sigh, 
and  begged  to  know  whether  I  was 
quite  certain  that  I  had  ten  thousand 
pounds  in  my  power; — 1  replied,  that 
as  Wilkinson's  daughter,  1  certainly 
had ;  but  that  the  property  must  de- 
volve to  some  one  else,  as  soon  as  I 
should  prove  myself  a  nobleman's 
daughter." 

He  then  made  still  more  accurate  in- 
quiries about  it ;  and  having  satisfied 
himself: 

*'  Beshrew  my  heart  T*  exclaimed 
he  ;  *'  but  I  will  avenge  your  injuries ; 
and  ere  long  you  shall  be  proclaimed 
and  acknowledged  the  Lady  Cheru- 
bina  De  Willoughby.  Meantime,  as 
prudence  demands  that  you  should  lie 
concealed  from  the  search  of  your  ene- 
mies, hear  the  project   which    1   pro- 

F   4t 


ISS  THE    HEROINE. 

pose.  I  lodge  in  Drury-lane,  an  ob- 
scure street ;  one  apartment  of  the 
house  is  unoccupied,  you  can  hire  it, 
and  remain  there,  a  beautiful  recluse, 
till  fortune  and  my  indefatigable  efforts 
shall  rescue  from  oppression  the  most 
enchanting  of  her  sex.'* 

He  spoke,  and  seizing  my  hand,  car- 
ried it  to  his  lips. 

'*  What !"  cried  I,  "  do  you  not 
live  in  this  castle,  and  are  you  not 
its  heir  ?" 

'*  This  is  no  castle, '^  said  he,  "  but 
Covent  Garden  Theatre.'' 

*'  And  you  ?"  asked  I  with  anxiety. 

"  Am  an  actor,"  answered  he. 

''  And  your  name?'^ 

''  Is  Abraham  Grundy." 

"  Then,  Mr.  Abraham  Grundy,  allow 
me  to  have  the  satisfaction  of  wishing 
you  a  very  good  evening.'* 


THE    HEROINE.  129 

"  Stay !"  cried  he,  detaining  me, 
"  and  you  shall  know  all.  My  extrac- 
tion is  illustrious,  and  my  real  name 
Lord  Allamont  Mortimer  Montmoren- 
ci.  But,  like  you,  I  am  enveloped  in  a 
cloud  of  mysteries.  Hereafter  I  will 
acquaint  you  with  the  most  secret  par- 
ticulars of  my  life;  but  at  present  you 
must  trust  to  my  truth.  Truth  is  the 
tie  which  binds  society  together,  and 
those  who  have  honour  themselves,  are 
ever  forward  to  confide  in  the— in  the 
—the—' 

"  Amiable  Montmorenci  !'^  exclaim- 
ed I,  giving  him  my  hand,  ''  I  repose 
implicit  credence  in  your  disclosure, 
and  I  throw  myself  on  your  protec- 
tion.'' 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  you  must  pass 
at  these  lodgings  as  my  near  relation, 
or  they  will  not  admit  you.'* 
F  i 


130  THE     HEROINE. 

At  first,  I  hesitated  at  deviating  from 
veracity;  but  soon  consented,  on  re- 
collecting, that  though  propriety  makes 
heroines  begin  with  praising  truth,  ne- 
cessity makes  them  end  with  being 
the  greatest  story-tellers  in  the  world. 

During  our  walk  to  the  lodgings, 
Montmorenci  instructed  me  how  I 
should  play  my  part.  On  our  arrival, 
he  introduced  me  to  the  landlady,  who 
was  about  fifty,  and  who  looked  as  if 
the  goddess  of  fasting  had  bespoken 
her  for  a  handmaid. 

With  an  amiable  effrontery,  and  a 
fine  easy  flow  of  falsehood,  he  told  her, 
as  we  had  concerted,  that  I  was  his 
second  cousin,  and  an  orphan;  and  that 
I  had  come  to  Town  for  the  purpose  of 
procuring,  by  his  interest,  an  appoint- 
ment at  the  Th'jatre. 

The  landlady  said  she  would  move 


THE    HEROINE.  131 

heaven  and  earth,  and  her  own  bed,  for 
so  ii^ood  a  2:entleman ;  and  then  consent- 
ed  to  give  me  her  sleeping-room  on 
the  lower  floor,  at  some  trifle  or  other, 
— I  forget  what.  I  have  also  the  use  of 
a  parlour  adjoining  it.  There  is,  how- 
ever, nothing  mysterious  in  these 
chambers,  but  a  dark  closet  belono^ins: 
to  the  parlour,  whither  I  may  fly  for 
refuge,  when  pursued  by  my  persecu- 
tors. 

Thus,  my  friend,  the  plot  of  my  his- 
tory begins  to  take  a  more  interesting 
shape,  and  a  fairer  order  of  misfortune 
opens  upon  me.  Trust  me,  there  is  a 
taste  in  distress  as  well  as  in  millinery. 
Far  be  from  me  the  loss  of  eyes  or 
limbs,  the  sufferings  of  the  pillory,  or 
the  grossness  of  a  jail-fever.  I  would 
be  sacrificed  to  the  lawless,  not  to  the 


135  THE    HEROINE. 

laws;  dungeoned  in  the  holy  Inquisi- 
tion, not  clapped  into  Bridewell ;  and 
recorded  in  a  Novel,  not  in  the  New- 
gate Calender. 

Yes,  my  Biddy,  sensations  hitherto 
unknown  now  heave  my  bosom,  vary 
the  carnation  of  my  cheeks,  and  irra- 
diate my  azure  eyes.  I  sigh,  gaze  on 
vacancy,  start  from  a  reverie;  now 
bite,  now  moisten  my  lip,  and  pace  my 
chamber  with  unequal  steps.  Too  sure 
I  am  deeply,  distractedly  in  love,  and 
Altamont  Mortimer  Montmorenci  is 
the  first  of  men. 

Adieu. 


THE    HEROINE.  13S 


LETTER  IX. 


The  landlady,  his  Lordship,  and  an- 
other lodger,  are  accustomed  to  dine  in 
common;  and  his  lordship  persuaded 
me  to  join  the  party.  Accordingly, 
just  as  I  had  finished  my  last  letter, 
dinner  was  announced  ;  so  I  tripped  up 
stairs,  and  glided  into  the  room.  You 
must  know  I  have  practised  tripping, 
gliding,  flitting,  and  tottering,with  great 
success.  Of  these,  tottering  ranks 
first,  as  it  is  the  approved  movement 
of  heroic  distress. 

"  1  wonder  where  our  mad  poet  can 

be  ?**    said  the    hostess ;    and    as    she 

spoke,    an    uncouth    figure    entered, 

muttering  in  emphathic  accents  :  — 

*'  The  hounds  around  bound  on  the  sounding 
ground." 


134?  THE    HEROINE. 

He  started  at  seeing  me,  and  when 
introduced  by  his  Lordship,  as  Mr.  Hig- 
ginson,  a  fellow-lodger,  and  a  celebrat- 
ed poet,  he  made  an  unfathomable  bow, 
rubbed  his  hands,  and  reddened  to  the 
roots  of  his  hair. 

This  personage  is  tall,  gaunt,  and 
muscular;  with  a  cadaverous  counte- 
nance, and  smutty  hair  hanging  in 
strait  strings.  He  seems  to  be  one  of 
those  men  who  spend  their  lives  in 
learnins:  how  the  Greeks  and  Romans 
lived;  how^  they  spoke,  dressed,  ate; 
what  were  their  coins  and  houses, 
&c, ;  but  neglect  acquainting  them- 
selves with  the  manners  and  customs 
of  their  own  limes.  Montmorenci 
tells  me  that  his  brain  is  affected  by 
excessive  study;  but  that  his  manners 
are  harniless. 

At  dinner,  his  Lordship  looked  all, 


THE    HEROINE.  1  5j 

said  all,  did  all,  which  conscious  no- 
bility, united  with  ardent  attachment, 
could  inspire  in  a  form  unrivalled,  and 
a  face  unexcelled.  I  perceived  too  that 
the  landlady  regarded  him  with  eyes  of 
tender  attention,  and  languishing  al- 
lurement, but  in  vain. 

As  to  Higginson,  he  did  not  utter  a 
word  during  dinner,  except  ask  ins:  ior 
a  bit  of  lambkin;  but  he  preserved  a 
perpetuity  of  gravity  in  his  lace,  and 
stared  at  me  t,he  whole  time,  with  a 
stupid  and  reverential  fixedness.  When 
I  spoke,  he  stopped  in  whatever  attitude 
he  happened  to  be;  whether  with  a 
glass  at  his  mouth,  or  a  fork  half  lifted 
to  it. 

After  dinner,  I  proposed  that  each  of 
us  should  relate  our  histories;  an  use- 
ful custom  established  by  heroines,  who 


136  THE    HEROINE. 

seldom  fail  of  finding  their  account  in 
it,  and  discovering  either  a  grandmo- 
ther or  a  murder.  Thus  too,  the  con- 
fession of  a  monk,  the  pratile  of  an  old 
woman,  or  the  half-eaten  words  of  a 
parchment,  are  the  certain  forerunners 
of  virtue  vindicated,  vice  punished, 
rights  restored,  and  matrimony  made 
easy. 

The  landladv  was  asked  to  besfin. 

"  1  have  nothing  to  tell  of  myself,'' 
said  she,  "  but  that  my  mother  left  me 
this  house,  and  desired  me  to  look  out 
fpr'a  good  husband,  Mr.  Grundy;  and 
Lam  not  as  old  as  I  look  ;  for  1  have 
Jiad  my  griefs,  as  well  as  other  folks, 
and  every  tear  adds  a  year,  as  they 
s?y ;  and  'pon  my  veracity,  Mr.  Grundy, 
I  was  but  thirty-two  last  month.  And 
my  bitterest  enemies  never  impeached 


THE    HEROINE.  137 

my  character,  that  is  what  thry  did'nt, 
nor  coukrnt ;  they  dare'nt  to  my  face. 
I  am  a  perfect  snowdrop  for  purity. 
Who  presumes  to  go  and  say  that  a 
lord  left  me  an  annuity  or  any  such 
abomination?  Who,  I  ask?  The 
wretches!  But  I  got  a  prize  in  the 
lottery.  So  this  is  all  I  can  tell  of 
myself;  and,  Mr.  Grundy,  your  health, 
and  a  good  wife  to  you.  Sir." 

Afur  this  eloquent  morsel  of  biogra- 
phy,  1  requested  that  Higginson  would 
recount  his  adventures;  and  he  read  a 
sketch,  which  was  to  have  accompa- 
nied a  volume  of  poems,  only  unfor- 
tunately the  booksellers  refused  to 
publish  either.     I  copy  it  for  you. 


13S  THE    HEROINE. 

MEMOIRS  OF  JAMES  HIGGLNSON 


BY    HIMSELF. 


"  Of  the  lives  of  poets,  collected 
from  posthumous  record,  and  oral  tra- 
dition, as  little  is  known  with  certain- 
ty, much  must  be  left  to  conjecture. 
He,  therefore,  who  presents  his  own 
memoirs  to  the  public,  may  surely 
merit  the  reasonable  applause  of  all, 
whose  minds  are  emancipated  from  the 
petulance  of  envy,  the  fastidiousness 
of  hypercriticisin,  and  the  exacerba* 
tion  of  party. 

"  I  was  born  in  the  year  \77U  ^^ 
24,  Swallow  Street;  and  should  the 
curious  reader  wish  to  examine  the 
mansion,  he  has  every  thing  to  hope 
from  the  alert  urbanity  of  its  present 


THE    HEROINE.  139 

landlord,  and  the  civil  obsequiousness 
of  bis  notable  lady.  He  who  gives  ci- 
vilit}^,  gives  what  costs  him  little, 
while  remuneration  may  be  multiplied 
in  an  indefinite  ratio. 

"  My  parents  were  reputable  to- 
bacconists, and  kept  me  behind  the 
counter,  to  negociate  the  titillating 
dust,  and  the  tranquillizing  quid.  Of 
genius,  the  first  spark  which  I  elicited, 
was  my  reading  a  ballad  in  the  shop, 
while  the  woman  who  sold  it  to  me 
was  stealing  a  canister  of  snufF.  This 
specimen  of  mental  abstraction  shewed 
that  I  would  never  make  a  good  trades- 
man ;  but  it  also  evinced  that  I  would 
make  an  excellent  scholar.  A  tutor 
was  accordingly  appointed  for  me  ;  and 
during  a  triennial  couise  of  study,  I 
had  passed  from  the  insipidity  of  th« 


140  THE    HEROINE. 

incipient  hic^  Ikbc^  hoc,  to  the  music 
of  a  Virgil,  and  to  the  thunder  of  a 
Demosthenes. 

*'  Debarred  by  my  secluded  life 
from  copying  the  polished  converse  of 
high  society,  1  have  at  least  endea- 
voured to  avoid  the  vulgar  phraseology 
of  low  ;  and  to  discuss  the  very  wea- 
ther with  polysyllabical  ratiocination. 

"  For  illustrations  of  my  juvenile 
character,  recollection  affords  me  but 
small  materiality.  That  1  have  always 
disliked  the  ceremony  of  diurnal  ablu- 
tion, and  a  hasty  succession  of  linen, 
is  a  truth,  which  he  who  has  a  sen- 
sitive texture  of  skin  will  readily  credit; 
which  he  who  will  not  credit,  may,  if 
he  pleases,  deny;  and  may,  if  he  can, 
controvert.  Life,  among  its  quiet 
blessings,  can  boast  of  few  things  more 


THE    HEROINE.  141 

comfortable  than  indifference  towards 
dress. 

"  To  honey  with  my  bread,  nnd  to 
apple-sauce  with  my  goose,  I  ncc/e 
ever  felt  a  romantic  attachment,  result- 
ing from  the  classical  allusions  which 
they  inspire.  That  man  is  little  to  be 
envied,  whose  honey  would  not  re- 
mind him  of  the  Hyblean  honey,  and 
whose  apple-sauce  vvould  not  suggest 
to  him  the  golden  appie. 

*'  But  notwithstanding  my  cupidity 
for  such  dainties,  1  have  that  happy 
adaptation  of  taste,  which  can  banquet, 
with  delight,  upon  hesiernal  offals; 
can  nibble  ignominious  radishes,  Of 
masticate  superannuated  mutton. 

"  My  first  series  of  teeth  I  cut  at 
the  customary  time,  and  the  second 
succeeded  them  w^ith  sufficient  punc- 


142  THE    HEROINE. 

tuality.     This    fact    I    had    from    my 
mamma. 

"   My  first  poetical  attempt   was  an 
epitaph  on  the  expiration  of  my  tutor. 

EPITAPH. 


19 


Here  lies  the  body  of  John  Tonikins,  \vh< 

Departed  this  life,  aged  fifty-two  ; 

After  a  long  and  painful  illness,   that 

He  bore  with  Christian  fortitude,   tho'  fat. 

He  died  lamented  deeply  by  this  poem, 

And  all  who  had  the  happiness  to  know  him." 

*'  The  first  Latin  verse  which  I  ever 
composed  was  this : 

"  Fert  roscos  rores  oriens  Aurora  per  oras. 

"  And  my  tutor  assured  me  that  it 
was  the  most  roaring  line  in  the  world. 

"  These  compositions  my  father  did 
not   long   survive;    and    mamma,    t@ 


THE    HEROINE.  143 

the  management  of  the  business  feel- 
ing quite  unequal,  relinquished  it  al- 
together, and  retired  with  the  respect- 
able accumulation  of  a  thousand 
pounds. 

"  I  still  pursued  my  studies,  and 
from  time  to  time  accommodated  con- 
fectionaries  and  band-boxes  with 
printed  sheets,  which  the  world  might 
have  read,  had  it  pleased,  and  might 
have   been  pleased  with,  had   it   read. 

"  On  a  pretty  little  maid  of  mam- 
ma's, I  made  my  next  poetical  effort, 
which  1  present  to  the  reader. 

TO  DOROTHY  PULVLRTAFT. 

If  Black-sea,   W  hitc-sta,   Red-sea  ran 
One  title  of  ink  to  Ispahan  ; 
If  all  the  geese  iu  Lincoln  fens, 
Produc'd  spontaneous,   well-made  pens  ; 
If  Ho!  and  old,  or  Hjllau^l  neiv. 
One  wond'rous  sheet  of  pa'ier  giew; 


144  THE   HEROINE. 

Could  I)  by  stenographic  power, 
Write  hventy  libraries  an  hour; 
And  should  I  sing  but  half  the  grace 
Of  half  a  freckle  on  thy  face  ; 
Each  syllable  I  wrote,  should  reach 
From  Inverness  to  Bognor's  beach  ; 
Each  hairstroke  be  a  river  llhiue. 
Each  verse  an  equinoctial  line. 

"  Of  the  girl,  an  iinmediate  dismis- 
sion ensued ;  but  for  what  reason,  let 
the  researches  of  future  biographers 
decide. 

"  At  length,  having  resolved  on 
writing  a  volume  of  Eclogues,  I  under- 
took an  excursion  into  the  country  to 
learn  pastoral  manners.  An  ampu- 
tated loaf,  and  a  contracted  Theocritus, 
constituted  my  companions. 

"  In  vain  I  questioned  the  youths 
and  maidens  about  their  Dara^^'is  and 
Delias;  their  Dryadr,  and  Hama- 
dryads;  their  Amaboean   coatentions 


THE    HEROINE.  145 

and  amorous  incantations.  When  I 
talked  of  Pan,  they  asked  me  if  it  was 
a  pan  of  milk  ;  when  I  requested  to 
see  the  pastoral  pipe,  they  shewed  me 
a  pipe  of  tobacco ;  when  I  spoke  of 
satyrs  wnth  horns,  they  bade  me  go  to 
the  husbands ;  and  when  I  spoke  of 
fawns  with  cloven  heel,  they  bade  me 
go  to  the  Devil.  I  met  wrinkled  shep- 
herdesses, and  humpy  milkmaids:  I 
recumbed  on  a  bank  of  cowslips  and 
primroses,  and  my  features  were  trans- 
pierced by  w^asps,  and  ants,  and  nettles* 
I  fell  asleep  under  sunshine,  and  awoke 
under  a  torrent  of  rain.  Dripping  and 
disconsolate,  I  returned  to  my  mam- 
ma, quailed  some  whey;  and  since 
that  misadventurous  perambulation 
have  never  ruralizod  again.  To  him 
who  subjects  himself  to  a  recurrence 
VOL.  I.  a 


146  THE    HEROINE. 

of  disaster,  the  praise  of  boldness  may 
possibly  be  accorded,  but  the  praise  of 
prudence  must  certainly  be  denied. 

"  A  satirical  Bucolic,  however,  was 
the  fruit  of  this  expedition.  It  is  ep- 
tituled  Antiquated  Amours,  and  is 
designed  to  shew  that  passions  which 
are  adapted  to  one  time  of  life  appear 
ridiculous  in  another.  The  reader  shall 
have  it. 

ANTIQUATED  AMOURS. 
AX    ECLOGUE. 

*Tis  eve.     The  sun  his  ardent  axle  cools 
In  ocean.     Dripping  geese  shake  off  the  pools. 
An  elm  men's  shadows  measure  by  the  sun ; 
The  shattered  leaves  are  rustling  as  they  run ; 
While  two  antiques,  a  bachelor  and  maid, 
Sit  amorous  under  an  old  oaken  shade. 
He  (for  blue  vapours  damp  the  scanty  grass) 
Strews  fodder  underneath  the  hoary  lass; 


THE  HEROINE.  147 

Then  thus, — O  matchless  piece  of  season'd  clay, 
'Tis  Autumn,  all  things  shrivel  and  decay. 
Yet  as  in  withered  Autumn,  charms  we  spe, 
Say,  faded  maiden,  may  we  not  in  thee  ? 
What  tho'  thy  cheek  ha?e  furrows  ?  ne'er  de- 
plore ; 
For  wrinkles  are  the  dimples  of  threescore  : 
Come  then,  age  urges,  hours  have  winged  feet^ 
Ah  !  press  the  wedding  ere  the  winding  sheet. 
To  clasp  that  waist  enwrapt  in  silken  fold, 
Of  woof  purpnreal  flowered  with  radiant  gold  ^ 
Then,  after  stately  kisses,  to  repair 
That  architectural  edifice  of  hair, 
These,    theic  are  blessings. — O  my  grey  de- 
light, 
O  venerable  nymph,  O  painted  blight, 
Give  me  to  taste  of  these.     By  Heaven  above, 
My  members  tremble  less  with  years  than  love; 
Tho',  while  ray  husky  whispers  creak  uncouth, 
My  words  flow  unobstructed  by  a  tooth. 
Come  then,  a^e  urges,  hours  have  winged  feet, 
Ah  !  press  the  wedding  ere  the  winding  sheet. 
Come,  thou  wilt  ne'er  provtke  crimconic  law, 
Nor  lie,  maternal,  on  the  pale-eyed  straw. 
G  2 


148  THE    HEROIKE. 

Come,  and  in  formal  frolic  intertwine. 
The  braided  silver  of  thy  hair  with  mine. 
Then  sing  some  bibulous  and  leering  glee. 
And  quaif  the  grape  upon  my  pranksome  knee. 
The  wine  loquacious  let  no  brook  dilute; 
'Tis  drinking  water  makes  the  fishes  mute. 
Come  then,  age  urges,  hours  have  winged  ft  et; 
Ah  !  press  the  wedding,  ere  the  v/inding  sheet. 

Thin  as  the  spectre  of  a  famished  eel, 
He  spoke,  and  coughing  shook  from  head  to 
heel. 

Sharpening  the  blunted  glances  of  her  eyeSj 
The  -virgin  a  decrepid  ogle  plies. 
Then  stretches   unused   simpers,    which   shew 

plain 
Her  passion,  and  some  teeth  that  still  remain. 

Innocent  pair'.   But  now  the  rain  begins, 
So  both  knot  kerchiefs  underneath  their  chins. 
And  homeward  haste.     Such   loves   our  Poet 

wrote, 
III  the  patch'd  poverty  of  half  a  coat; 
Then  diadem'd  with  quills  his  brow  sublime, 
Magnanimously  mad  in  mighty  rhime. 


THE    HEROINE.  149 

*'  Whether  the  public  will  admire 
my  works,  as  much  as  my  mamma 
does,  far  be  froui  me  to  determine. 
If  they  canuot  boast  of  wit  and  judg- 
ment, to  the  praise  of  truth  and  mo- 
desty they  may  at  least  lay  claim.  To 
be  unassuming  in  an  age  of  impudence, 
and  veracious  in  an  age  of  mendacity, 
is  to  combat  with  a  sword  of  glass 
against  a  sword  of  steel;  the  transpa- 
rency of  the  one  may  appear  more 
beautiful  than  the  opacitj^of  the  other  ; 
yet  let  it  be  recollected,  that  the  trans- 
parency is  accompanied  with  brittleness, 
and  the  opacity  with  consolidation." 

This  evidence  of  a  perverted  intel- 
lect being  read,  my  turn    came    next, 
and  I  repeated  the  fictitious   tale  that 
Montmorenci  had  taught  me.   He  con- 
G  3 


150  THE    HEROINE. 

firmed  it;  and  when  asked  to  relate 
his  own  life,  gave  us,  with  great  tnste, 
such  a  natural  narrative  of  a  man  liv- 
ing on  his  wits,  that  any  one  who 
knew  not  his  noble  origin  must  have 
believed  it. 

Soon  afterwards  he  repaired  to  the 
Theatre,  and  as  I  was  now  alone  with 
Higginson,  I  determined  to  discover 
his  real  character  ;  for  his  countenance 
belies  his  memoirs,  and  bespeaks  the 
villain.  Should  he  prove  one,  he  may 
conduce  to  the  horror  and  romance  of 
ray  story, 

"  Your  life,  Mr.  Higginson,"  said  I, 
''  has  not  near  so  much  of  the  terrible 
in  it,  as  I  had  expected  from  your  ap- 
pearance;  for,  to  do  you  justice,  you 
have  a  most  fatal  face  —pale  and  'grim 
to  a  degree.'* 


THE    HEROINE.  131. 

*'  Madam/*  returned  he,  with  evi- 
dent agitation,  *'  nny  mamma  says  of 
my  face,  that  though  not  regularly 
handsome,  'tis  extremely  interesting." 

"  Why  now,''  cried  I,  "  instead  of 
the  Hesperian  curls,  and  slender  eye- 
brows of  a  lover,  have  you  not  the 
bushy  overshadowing  eyebrows,  and 
lank,  raven  hair  of  an  assassin  ?  Nay, 
start  not,  but  answer  me  candidly — for 
upon  my  honour  you  may  find  your 
account  in  it  ;■ — can  yon  handle  a  dag- 
ger?" 

"  Dear,  dear,  dear !"  muttered  he, 
and  made  a  precipitate  retreat  from  the 
room. 

As  sure  as  fate,  the  man  is  an  as- 
sassin. 

Adieu. 

G  4 


lo2  THE    IlEROINI.:. 


LETiCll  X, 


This  morning,  soon  -after  breakfast, 
I  heard  a  gentle  knocking  at  my  door, 
and,  to  my  great  astonishment,  a  i'lgure, 
cased  in  shining  armour,  entered.  Oh, 
ye  coiiscious  bliislics,  it  was  my  Mont- 
morenci !  A  plume  of  white  feathers 
nodded  on  his  hehnet,  and  neither 
spear  nor  shield  were  wanting, 

"  I  come,'*  he  cried,  bending  upon 
one  knee,  and  taking  my  hand  ;  '^  I 
come  in  the  ancient  arnionr  of  my  fa- 
mily, to  perform  my  promise  of  re- 
counting my  melancholy  memoirs.'^ 

*'  My  lord,''  said  1,  "  rise  and  be 
seated.  Cherubina  knows  how  to  ap- 
preciate the  lionour  that  jNlontmorenci 
confers." 


THE    HEROINE.  1j3 

He  bowed;  and  having  laid  aside  his 
spear,  shield,  and  helnaet,  he  placed 
himself  by  me  on  the  sofa,  and  began 
his  interesting  history. 

"  All  was  dark.  The  hurricane  howl* 
ed,  the  wet  rain  fell,  and  the  thunder 
rolled  in  an  awful  and  Ossianly  man- 
ner. 

*'  On  a  beetling  rock,  lashed  bv  the 
Gulph  of  Salerno,  stood  II  Castello  di 
Grimgothico. 

"  My  iads,  are  your  carbines  charged* 
and  your  sabres  sharpened  ?'  cried  Sti- 
letto. 

"If  the}^  an't,  we  might  load  our 
carbines  with  this  hail,  and  sharpen 
our  sabres  against  this  northwind/  cried 
Poignardi. 

"  The  wind  is  east-south-east/  cried 
Daggeroni. 

G  6 


1^4  THE    HEROINE. 

'•  At  that  moment  the  bell  of  Grim- 
gothico  tolled  one.  The  sound  vibrated 
through  the  long  corridors,  the  spiral 
staircases,  the  suites  of  tapestried  apart- 
ments, and  the  ears  of  the  personage 
who  has  the  honour  to  address  you. 
Much  alarmed,  I  started  from  my 
couch  ;  but  conceive  my  horror  when 
1  beheld  my  chamber  filled  w^ith  ban- 
ditti !  They  were  sent  by  Napoleon 
(that  awful  oddity)  to  dispatch  me, 
because  of  my  glorious  struggle  against 
him  in  Italy. 

"  Snatching  my  faulchion,  I  flew  to 
the  armoury  for  my  coat  of  mail.  The 
bravos  rushed  after  me ;  but  I  fought 
and  dressed,  and  dressed  and  fought, 
till  I  had  perfectly  completed  my  un- 
pleasing  toilette. 

^'^  AJack  !  there  lies  more  peril  in  thine  eye, 
TIiLM  twenty  of  their  swords." 


THE    HEROINE.  1;55 

"  To  describe  the  contest  that  follow- 
ed, were  beyond  the  pen  of  an  Anacreon. 
The  bullets  flew  round  me,  thick  as 
hail, 

''  And  whistled  as    they  went   for  want  of 
thought." 

*'  At  length  I  murdered  my  way 
down  to  my  little  skiff,  embarked  in  it, 
and  arrived  at  this  island.  As  I  first 
touched  foot  on  its  chalky  beach,  '  Hail, 
happy  land,' cried  I,  ^  hail,  thrice  hail!* 

"  There  is  no  hail  here,  Sir,'  said  a 
child  running  by;  but  come  with  me, 
and  I  will  shew  you  a  wedding.' 

''  And  who  are  to  be  married  ?*  asked 
I,  lifting  the  little  innocent  in  my 
arms. 

"  The  Marquis  de  Furioso,  and  the 
Lady  Sympathina,  daughter  to  Baron 


1^6  THE    HEROINE. 

Hildebrand,'  answered  little  Billy. 
'  Love  is  a  primary  principle,  incul- 
cated on  the  humaa  heart,  and  consub- 
stantiated  with  oui'  beings/  And  so 
saying,  he  playfully  belabour^^d  me  with 
an  infinitude  of  small  thumps. 

"  Happy  childhood  ! — Ah,  if  when 
vitiated  by  the  vile  world,  man,  misera- 
ble man,  could  recall — recall  — pool 
But  to  continue: 

''  As  1  walked  towards  the  chapel, 
my  heart  dilated  at  beholding  the  pic- 
turesque scenery  around.  On  the  left 
were  plantations  or  tufted  turnips,  on 
the  right  the  venerable  grandeur  of  a 
dilapidated  dog-  kennel,  and  every  where 
the  eye  caught  monstrous  mountains, 
and  minute  daisies  ;  while  grou|5s  of 
children  and  chickens  added  hilarity  to 
the  landscape.     Rural  beauties  vievate 


THE    HEROINE.  \57 

the  soul  to  virtue,  and  virtue  alone  is 
true  nobility. 

"  At  length  1  reached  the  chapel,  and 
found  the  ceremony  about  to  begin. 
But  1  must  describe  Lady  Sympathina. 
Perhaps  lier  face  was  not  perfect,  but 
it  was  more — it  was  nterestiiig,  it  was 
oval.  Her  eyes  were  of  the  real,  ori- 
ginal, old  blue,  and  her  eyelashes  of  the 
best  silk.  The  roses  of  York  and  Lan- 
caster united  in  her  cheek,  and  a  nose 
of  the  Grecian  order  surmounted  the 
whole.  She  was  habited  in  white  dra- 
pery. Ten  signs  of  the  Zodiac,  worked 
with  spangles,  sparkled  over  it;  but 
Virgo  was  omitted  at  her  own  desire, 
and  the  bridegroom  stipulated  to  dis- 
pense'with  Capricorn.  Sweet  delicacy  ! 

"  And  now  the  ceremony  had  com- 
menced, and  was  passing  off  with  great 


\5S  THE    HEROINE. 

spirit,  till,  in  an  evil  moment,  the  bride 
happened  to  glance  at  me.  I  stood 
leaning  on  my  sword.  Seducing  sweet- 
ness dwelled  in  my  smile.  She  shrieked, 
turned  pale  :  '  Comment  vous  portez 
vous,'  cried  she,  as  she  rushed  into  my 
astonished  arms,  with  distracted  tresses, 
and  a  look  that  would  have  shocked 
the  Humane  Society. 

"  This,  this  is  he,'  she  cried,  '  who 
hath  nightly  haunted  my  dreams.  This, 
this  is  my  destined  husband.  Marquis 
De  Furioso,  never  will  I  wed  thee!' 

"  Flattered  by  her  preference,  I  depo- 
sited a  kiss  on  her  cheek,  and  a  blush 
was  the  rosy  result.  I  therefore  re. 
peated  the  application.  The  domestics 
tore  her  from  me.  'To  arms!'  cried 
the  Mareschal:  little  Billy  began 
screaming  prodigiously  for  an  urchin 


THE    HEROINE.  159 

of  his  age,  and  the  Marquis  De  Furioso, 
bowing  gracefully  to  the  bride,  stabbed 
himself  to  the  heart. 

"  The  bride  was  carried  ofFin  a  swoon, 
and  from  continual  weeping,  fell  ill  of 
an  inverted  eyelash. 

"  Meantime  I  was  hurraed  from  the 
chapel,  and  conveyed  to  the  spectral 
chamber,  where  I  strained  my  left  leg 
in  the  composition  of  an  extatic  ode. 

"  One  night  I  had  thrown  myself  on 
the  bed,  to  draw  upon  the  contempla- 
tion of  future  misfortune  for  a  supply 
of  that  melancholy  which  my  immedi- 
ate exigencies  demanded,  when  to  my 
particular  consternation,  a  winged  eye- 
ball began  flying  about  my  face. 

"  Say  little  foolish  fluttering  thing.'» 

^'  Much  disconcerted,!  walked  to  the 


160  THE    HEROINE. 

glas?.  and  was  sleeking  my  slender  brow 
with  my  finger,  wiienlo!  an  impert'r 
nent  apparition  peeped  over  my  shoiil" 
der,  and  made  faces  at  me.  1  felt  of- 
fended, and  determined  on  asserting  my 
dignity. 

*'  Is  it  not  enough/  said  I,  with  an 
elevated  voice,  'to  be  harassed  by  beings 
of  this,  life,  but  those  of  the  life  to 
come  must  interfere?  En  verite,  I 
would  advise  a  certain  inhabitant  of  a 
certain  world  (not  the  best,  I  fancy),  to 
think  less  of  my  affairs,  and  more  of  his 
own.* 

"  The  ghost  looked  coni\ised,  and 
adopted  invisibility. 

"  At  that  momenta  sudden  thought 
struck  me. 

"  Let  me  escape!"  said  I. 
*'  Gods,  what  a  thouglit  was  there  I'' 


THE    HEROINE.  161' 

*'  I  then  contrived  this  ingenious 
mode  of  accomplishing  my  object.  My 
chamber  had  a  window .  i  opened  it,  and 
got  out  at  it.  During  eighteen  months 
afterwards,  I  wandered  about  the  coun- 
try, an  itinerant  beggar;  for  Napoleon 
had  confiscated  ail  my  patrimony. 

'*  One  day,  the  cattle  lay  panting 
under  the  broad  umbrage;  the  sun  had 
burst  into  an  immoderate  fit  of  sf)len- 
dour,  and  the  struggb'ng  l)rook  chicled 
the  matted  arass  for  obstructing^  it.  I 
sat  beside  a  hedge,  and  began  eating 
wjid  strawberries;  when  lo  !  a  form, 
flexile  as  the  flame  that  ascends  from 
a  censer,  and  undulates  with  the  siohs 
of  a  dying  vestal,  flitted  inaudible  by 
me,  nor  crushed  the  daisies  as  it  trod. 
What  a  divinity!  she  was  fresli  as  the 
AnadyomeTie  of  Apelles,  and  beautiful 


162  THE  HEROINE. 

as  the  Gnidus  of  Praxitiles,  or  the 
Helen  of  Zeuxis.  Her  eyes,  which 
were  sky-blue—*' 

"  Sir/'  said  I,  "  you  need  not  mind 
her  eyes :  1  dare  say  they  were  blue 
enough.  But  pray  now,  \vho  was  this 
immortal  doll  of  your's  ?'' 

"  Who !"  cried  he.  "  lYhy  who 
but — shall  I  speak  it?  V/ho  but — 
the    Lady    Cherubina    De    Wil- 

LOUGHBY  V^ 
<c    I?" 

''  You!" 

"  Ah,  Montmorenci !" 

"  Ah,  Cherubina!  I  followed  you 
with  cautious  steps,*'  coniinued  he, 
*'  till  I  traced  you  into  your — ^^you 
had  a  garden,  had  you  not?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Into  your  garden.     I  thought  ten 


THE    HEROI^^E.  \63 

thousand  flowers  would  have  leapt  from 
their  beds  to  offer  you  a  nosegay. 

*'  You  disappeared,  I  was  quite  au 
desespoir,  and  next  morning  resumed 
my  station  at  a  corner  of  the  garden/' 

*'   At  whicli  corfjer?"  asj^ed  [. 

'^  Why  really/'  said  he,  ••  i  cannot 
explain  ;  for  tho  place  w^as  then  novel 
to  me,  and  the  ground  was  covered 
with  snow/* 

*'  With  snow  V*  cried  I.  "  Why  I 
thought  you  w^ere  eating  wild  straw- 
berries only  the  day  before/' 

"I?  Sure  you  mistake/* 

"  I  declare  most  solemnly  you  told 
me  so/' 

"  Oans,  Madam,  1  said  no  such 
thing/' 

''  Sir,    I    must  remark  that  your 
manners — " 


i64<  THE    HEROIXE. 

'^'Kow,  by  St.  Bryde  of  ijothwell, 
I  did  say  so,  sure  enough,  and  I  did 
eat  wild  strawl)erries  too;  but  they 
weve pre.served  wild  strawberries.  I  had 
gotten  a  crock  of  them  from  a  nun, 
who  was  opening  o}stersjn  a  meadow 
for  a  hysterical  butcher  ;  and  her  knife 
having  snapt  asunder,  1  lent  her  my 
sword  ;  so,  out  of  gratitude,  she  made 
me  a  present  of  the  preserves.  By  the 
bye  they  were  mouldy. 

"  One  morning,  as  1  sat  at  the  side  of 
the  road,  asking  alms,  some  provincial 
-players  passed  by.  1  accosted  them, 
and  offered  my  services,  in  short, 
they  took  me  with  them  ;  I  performed, 
was  applauded:  and  at  length  my  fame 
reached  London,  where  I  am  at  pre- 
sent acting  understrappers  wonderfully 
well,   considering  my  genealogy. 


THE    HEROINE.  1 6i 

"  You  may  now  wish  to  learn  what 
has  become  of  the  personages  mentioned 
in  this  narrative.  The  Baron  Hildebrand 
still  paces  his  chamber,  and  hiseyebrows 
have  gotten  a  portentous  trick  of  meet- 
ing together.  The  Lady  Sympathina 
remains  immured  in  the  northern  tur- 
ret. Little  Billy  died  with  the  Bible 
before  him,  so  the  Coroner's  Inquest 
brought  in  a  verdict  of  Lunacy.  Sti- 
letto is  dead,  Poignardi  is  no  more, 
Daggeroni  has  departed  this  life,  and 
the  rest  of  the  bandits  are  in  another, 
and  1  trust  a  better  world. 

'•I  shall  conclude  my  tale  with  amo- 
ral remark,  founded  on  circumstantial 
evidence — that  to  suffer  is  an  attribute 
of  mortality. 

'•  But  wherefore,'^  cried  he,  '* where- 
fore talk   of  the  past  ?     Oh  !  let  me 


\C6  THE    HEROINE. 

tell  you  of  the  present  and  of  the  fu- 
ture. Oh  !  let  me  tell  you,  how  dear- 
ly, how  deeply,  how  devotedly  I  love 
you  I" 

"  Love  me  !'*  cried  I,  giving  such  a 
start  as  the  nature  of  the  case  re- 
quired. "  My  lord,  this  is  so — really 
now,  so — '* 

I  remained  silent,  and  with  the  ele- 
gant embarrassment  of  modesty,  cast 
my  blue  eyes  to  the  ground.  I  never 
looked  so  lovely. 

"  But  I  go  !'*  cried  he,  springing  on 
his  feet.  "  I  fly  from  you  for  ever ! 
No  more  shall  Cherubina  be  perse- 
cuted with  my  hopeless  love.  Yet, 
Cherubina!  Cherubina!  I  will  teach 
the  songsters  of  the  grove  to  articulate  ; 
and  the  hills  and  the  vallies  to  echo 
Cherubina!  Cherubina! 


THE    HEROINE.  16/ 

*'  I  will  turn  hermit  on  Mount  Cau- 
casus, and  I  call  all  the  stars  of  respec- 
tability to  witness  the  vow.  Then, 
Lady  Cherubina,''  and  he  stopped 
short  before  me,*  "  then,  when  mad- 
dened and  emaciated,  I  shall  pillow 
my  haggard  head  on  a  hard  rock,  and 
lulled  by  the  hurricanes  of  Heaven, 
shall  sink  into  the  sleepof  the  grave." — 

"  Dear  Montmorenci !"  said  h 
quite  overcome,  "  live  for  my  sake — 
as  you  value  my — friendship, — live.'* 

"  Friendship  I"  echoed  he.  "  Oh  ! 
Cherubina,  oh  !  my  soul's  precious 
treasure,  say  not  that  chilling  word. 
Say  hatred,  disgust,  horror;  any  thing 
but  friendship." 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?"  cried  I,  inef- 
fably afftcted,  "  or  what  shall  I  do?'' 

"  What  you  please,"  muttered  he, 


168  THE    JIEROTNE. 

looking  wild  and  pressing  his  forehead. 
"  My  brain  is  on  fire.  Hark  !  chains 
are  clanking — save  me,  Cherubina, 
save  me,  save  me  !  Ha !  she  frowns 
at  me — she  darts  et  me — she  pierces 
my  heart  with  an  arrow  of  ice  !'' 

He  threw  himself  on  the  floor, 
groaned  grievously,  and  tore  his  hair. 
I  was  horror-struck. 

"  I  declare,''  said  I,  "  I  would  say 
any  thing  upon  earth  to  relieve  you  ;— 
only  tell  me  what." 

"  Angel  of  light!"  exclaimed  he, 
springing  upon  his  feet,  and  beaming 
on  me  a  smile  that  might  liquefy  mar- 
ble. "  Have  I  then  hope  ?  Dare  I 
pronounce  the  divine  words — she  loves 
me  ?'' 

''  I  will  not  be  angry,"  murmured  I, 
while  the  chamber  swam  before  me. 


THE    HEROINE.  l69 

He  took  both  my  hands  in  his  own, 
pressed  them  to  his  forehead  and  lips, 
and  leaned  his  burning  cheek  upon 
them.  Then  encircling  my  waist  with 
his  arm,  he  drew  me  to  his  heart.  It 
was  Cherubina's  hand  that  fell  on 
his  shoulder,  it  was  Cherubina*s  tress 
that  played  on  his  cheek,  it  was 
Cherubina's  sigh  that  breathed  on  his 
lip. 

"  Moment  of  a  pure  and  exquisite 
emotion  \"  cried  he.  "  Now  to  die 
would  be  to  die  most  blest  !^* 

Suddenly  he  caught  me  under  the 
chin,  and  kissed  me.  I  struggled  from 
him,  and  sprang  to  the  farther  end  of 
the  room ;  while  my  neck  and  face 
burst  into  aglow  of  indignation. 

*'  Really,''  said  I,  panting  with  pas 
sion,  ''  this  is  so  unprovoked,   so  pre- 
suming.*' 

VOL.  I.  H 


170  THE    HEROINE. 

He  cast  himself  at  my  feet,  execra- 
ted his  folly,  and  besought  my  pardon. 

"  1  fancy;,  my  lord,"  said  J,  "you 
will  find,  that  as  far  as  a  kiss  on  the 
hand,  Heroines  have  no  particular 
objection.  But  a  salute  on  the  hps  is 
considered  inaccurate.  jMy  lord,  on 
condition  that  you  never  repeat  that  li- 
berty, here  is  my  hand.^' 

He  snatched  it  with  ardor,  and 
strained  it  to  his  throbbing  bosom, 

"  And  novv,'^  cried  he,  "  make  my 
happiness  coniplete,  by  making  this 
hand  mine  for  ever." 

On  a  sudden  an  air  of  sfrandeur  in- 
volved  my  form.  !\Iy  mind,  for  the 
first  time,  was  called  upon  to  reveal  its 
full  force.  It  felt  the  solemnity  of  the 
appeal,  and  triumphed  in  its  conscious 
ability. 

''  What !'' exclaimed  I,  '*can*st  thou 


THE    HEROINE.  171 

suppose  the  poor  orphan  Cherubina  so 
destitute  of  principle  and  of  pride,  as 
to  intrude  herself  unknown,  unowned, 
unfriended,  mysterious  in  her  birth, 
and  degraded  in  her  situation,  on  the 
illustrious  and  Italian  house  of  Mont- 
morenci  ? 

"  Here  then  I  most  inviolably  vow 
never  to  wed,  till  the  mystery  which 
hangs  over  my  birth  be  developed." 

As  soon  as  I  had  made  this  fatal 
vow,  his  lordship  fell  into  the  most 
afflicting  agonies  and  attitudes. 

"  Oh  !"  cried  he,  "  to  be  by  your 
side,  to  see  you,  touch  you,  talk  to 
you,  love  you,  adore  you,  and  yet 
find  you  lost  to  me  forever.  Oh,  'tis 
too  much,  much  too  much  !'* 

''  The  milliner  is  here,  Miss,"  said 
the  maid,  tapping  at  the  door. 
H  2 


172  THE    HEROINE. 

*'  Bid  her  call  again,"  said  I;  but 
as  1  spoke,  in  she  came,  with  a  charm- 
ing assortment  of  bonnets  and  dresses. 

""  We  will  talk  over  the  matter 
another  time,"  whispered  I  to  his  lord- 
ship. 

His  lordship  declared  that  he  would 
drop  dead  that  instant. 

The  milliner  declared  that  she  had 
brought  the  newest  patterns. 

"  On  my  honour,"  said  I  to  his 
lordship,  "  you  shall  finisli  this  scene 
to-morrow  morning,  if  you  wish  it." 

"  You  may  go  and  be Heigho  1" 

said  he,  suddenly  checking  himself. 
What  he  was  about  to  say,  I  know 
not ;  something  u^.ysterious,  I  should  . 
think,  by  the  knitting  of  his  brows. 
However,  ho  snatched  his  spear, shield, 
and  iiehnet ;  made  a  low  bow,  laid  his 


THE    HEROINE.  173 

hand  on  his  heart,  and  stalked  out  of 
the  chamber.     Interesting  youth ! 

I  then  ran  in  debt  for  some  milli- 
nery, drank  hartshorn,  and  chafed  my 
temples. 

I  think  1  was  right  about  the  kiss. 
I  confess  I  am  not  one  of  those  girls 
who  try  to  attract  men  by  permitting 
liberties  ;  and  who  thus  excite  pas- 
sion at  the  expence  of  respect.  Indeed, 
had  I  not  been  fortified  by  the  prece- 
dent of  other  heroines,  I  should  actual- 
ly have  felt,  and  I  fear  did  feel,  even 
the  classical  embrace  of  clasping  to  the 
heart  too  great  a  freedom.  But  I  am 
certain  I  shall  never  attain  hardihood 
enough  to  ravish  a  salute  from  a  man's 
mouth,  as  the  divine  Heloise  did ; 
who  once  ran  at  St.  Preux,  and  asto- 
nished him  with  the  most  balmy  and 
H  3 


174  THE    HEROINE. 

remarkable  kiss  upon  record.  Poor 
fellow  !   he  was  never  the  same  after  it. 

I  must  say  too,  that  ]Montmorenci 
did  not  shew  much  judgment  in  urging 
me  to  matrimony,  before  I  had  under- 
gone adventures  for  four  voUimes. 
Because,  though  the  heroic  etiquette 
allowed  me  to  fall  in  love  at  first  sight, 
and  confess  it  at  second  sight,  yet  it 
vvouM  not  authorize  me  to  marry  my- 
self off,  without  agony  and  interruption. 
Even  the  ground  must  be  lacerated,  be- 
fore it  will  bring  forth  fruits  ;  and  often 
w^e  cannot  reach  the  lovely  violet,  till 
we  have  torn  our  hands  with  brambles. 

1  met  his  lordship  again  at  dinner; 
which  we  had  almost  finished,  before 
the  poet  made  his  appearance,  and  his 
bow.  His  bow  was  as  usual,  but  his 
appearance  was  oddly  altered.   His  hair 


THE  HEROINE.  17^ 

stood  in  stiff  ringlets  on  his  forehead, 
and  he  had  pruned  his  bushy  eyebrows, 
till  hardly  one  bristle  remained;  while 
a  pair  of  white  gloves,  small  enough 
for  myself,  were  forced  upon  his  hands. 
He  glanced  at  us  with  a  conscious  eye, 
and  hurried  to  his  seat. 

"  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  by  Jupi- 
ter!" exclaimed  ^lontmorenci.  "  Why, 
Higginson,  how  shameful  for  the  mice 
to  have  nibbled  your  eyebrows,  while 
Apollo  Belvidere  was  curling  your 
hair!'* 

*'  I  will  tell  my  mamma  of  you  !" 
cried  the  poet^  half  rising  from  his 
chair. 

Now  this  mamma  is  an  old  bed-rid- 
den cripple  in  one  of  the  garrets.  How- 
ever, 1  pacified  him  so  successfully  by 
praising  his  Hesperian  curls,  that  he 
h4 


170  THE    HEUOIKE. 

consented  not  to  lodge  the  complaint. 
An  assassin  !  Ah,  no.  The  hideous 
innocent  would  plunge  into  the  ocean 
to  save  a  drowning  fly. 

After  dinner  1  requested  ten  pounds 
from  his  Lordship  for  the  purpose  of 
paying  the  milliner.  Never  was  regret 
so  finely  pictured  in  a  face,  as  in  his, 
while  he  swore  he  had  not  a  penny 
upon  earth.  Indeed,  so  graceful  w^as 
his  lamentation,  so  interesting  his  pe- 
nury, that  though  the  poet  stole  out  of 
the  room  for  ten  pounds,  which  he  slip- 
ped into  my  hand,  I  preferred  the  re- 
fusal to  the  donation. 

Yes,  this  amiable  young  nobleman 
increases  in  my  estimation  every  mo- 
ment. Never  can  you  catch  him  out 
of  a  classical  posiiioii.  He  would  ex» 
haust,  at  one  sitting,  all  the  attitudes 


THE    HEROINE,  17/ 

ot  all  the  statues  ;  aud  when  he  talks 
tenderness,  he  brings  m  his  heart  witli 
great  effect.  Then,  too,  his  oatiis  a^e 
well  conceived,  and  elegantly  expr^st. 
Thunderbolts  and  the  fixed  stars  are 
ever  at  his  elbow,  nor  cai\  any  maa 
siiik  himself  to  perdition  with  so  pic- 
turesque a  frown.  And  yet  sometimes 
his  imprecations 

But  my  paper  is  almost  filled. 

O  I  could  write  of  him,  talk  of 
him,  think  of  him,  hour  after  hour, 
minute  after  minute;  even  now^  while 
the  shadows  of  night  are  blackening 
the  blushes  of  the  rose^  till  dawn  shall 
stain  with  her  ruddy  fire,  the  snows 
of  the  naked  Appennine  ;  till  the 
dusky  streams  shall  be  pierced  with 
darts  of  lights  and  the  sun  shall 
quaff  his  dewy  beverage  from  the  cup 
H  5 


178  THE    HEROINE. 

of  the  tulip    and    the   chalice  of  the 
lilv. 

V 

Adieu. 


LETTER  XI. 

'^  It  is  my  lad}^  O  it  is  my  love  !'^ 
exclaimed  Lord  Altamont  Morti- 
mer Montmorenci^  as  he  flew  like  a 
winged  Mercury,  into  my  apartment 
this  morning.  A  rap  at  the  door 
checked  his  eloquence,  and  spoiled  a 
most  promising  posture. 

My  door  was  then  thrown  open^  and 
who  should  waddle  into  the  room^  but 
fat  Wilkinson  ! 

My  first  feeling  (could  you  believe 
it.^)  was  of  gladness  at  seeing  him;  nor 
had  I  presence  of  mind  enough,  either 
to   repulse   his   embrace,     or   utter   a 


THE    HEROINE.  179 

piercing  shriek.  Happily  my  recol- 
lection soon  returned,  and  I  flung  him 
from  me. 

''  Cherry,'^  said  he^  ''  dear  Cherry, 
what  have  I  done  to  you^  that  ^^ou 
should  use  me  thus  ?  Was  there  ever 
a  wish  of  your  heart  left  ungratified  by 
me  ?  And  now  to  desert  me  in  my 
old  age  !  Only  come  home  with  me^ 
my  childj  only  come  home  with  me^ 
and  I  will  forgive  you  all.*' 

"  Wilkinson/^  said  I,  "  this  inter- 
view must  be  short,  pointed,  and  deci- 
sive. As  to  calling  yourself  my 
father,  that  is  a  stale  trick,  and  will 
not  pass ;  and  as  to  personating  (what 
I  perceive  j'ou  aspire  to)  the  grand  vil- 
lain in  my  Memoirs,  your  corpulency, 
pardon  me,  puts  that  out  of  the  ques- 
tion for  ever.  Ah  !  no,  Sir,  you  are  not 
at  all  a  real  villain.     You  are  only  a 


ISO  THE  hp:roine. 

sleek,  good-humoured,  chuckle-head- 
ed schemer.  For  instance,  you  never 
murdered  me,  though  you  stipulated  to 
do  so  fourteen  years  ago.  Remain  then, 
what  nature  made  you  ;  return  to  your 
plough  ;  mow,  reap,  fatten  your  pigs 
and  the  parson  ;  but  never  again  at- 
tempt to  get  yourself  thrust  into  the 
pages  of  a  romance.^' 

Disappointment  and  consternation 
imprinted  his  thick  features  with  more 
angles  than  1  thought  practicable.  The 
fact  is,  he  had  never  imagined  that  my 
notions  of  v/hat  villains  ought  to  be 
were  so  refined  ;  and  that  1  have  form- 
ed my  taste  in  these  matters  upon  the 
purest  models. 

As  a  last  effort  of  despair^  the  silly 
man  flung  himself  on  his  knees  before 
me,  and  grasping  both  my  hands^  look- 
ed up  in  my  face  with  such  an  implor- 


THE    HEROINE.  181 

ing  expression,  while  the  silent  tears 
rolled  down  his  cheeks,  that  1  confess 
I  was  a  little  moved;  and  at  the  mo- 
ment fancied  him  sincere. 

''  Now,  goodness  bless  thee, "  said  he^ 
at  length  ;  ^*  goodness  bless  thee,  for 
these  sweet  tears  of  thine,  my  daugh- 
ter !" 

''  Tears  !"  cried  I,  quite  shocked. 

"  Yes,  darling;,"  said  he,  '*"  and  now 
with  this  kiss  of  peace  and  love  we 
will  blot  out  all  the  past.'* 

I  shrieked,  started  Irom  my  seat,  and 
rushed  into  the  expanded  arms  of 
Montmorenci. 

'^  And  pray.  Sir,  cried  Wilkinson, 
advancing  fiercely,  ''  who  are  you  ?*' 

''■  A  lodger  in  this  house.  Sir,'*  an- 
swered his  lordship,  "  and  your  best 
friend,  as  I  trust  you  will  acknowledge 
hereafter.     I  became  acquainted  with 


1S2  THE  HEROINE, 

this  lady  at  the  table  of  our  hostess  ; 
and  learned  from  her 'that  she  had  left 
your  house  in  disgust.  Yesterday 
morning,  on  entering  her  apartment,  to 
make  my  respects^,  I  found  an  old  gen- 
tleman there,  one  Doctor  Merrick, 
whom  I  recognized  as  a  wretch  of  infa- 
mous character. 

Sir,  I  was  present  at  a  trial,  where 
the  American  Ambassador  prosecuted 
him  for  stealing  ag  olden  tweezer-case ; 
and  where  a  flaw  in  the  indictment 
saved  his  life,  as  he  proved  the  stolen 
article  a  golden  tooth-pick  case. 

Being  well  acquainted  with  thisyoung 
lady's  high  respectability^  I  presumed 
to  warn  her  against  such  a  dangerous 
companion ;  when  I  found,  unfortu- 
nate girl!  that  she  had  already  pro- 
mised her  hand  to  him  in  marriage." 

Wilkinson  groaned  :  I  stared. 


THE    HEROINE.  ISS 

''  Once  apprised  of  his  character,'* 
continued  Montmorenci,  "the  lady 
was  willing  enough  to  drop  the  con- 
nection; but  unhappily,  the  ruffian  had 
previousl}^  procured  a  written  promise 
of  marriage  from  her,  which  he  now  re- 
fuses to  surrender;  and  at  the  moment 
you  came,  I  was  consulting  with  your 
daughter  on  what  should  be  done.'^ 

"  Lead  me  to  the  villian,''  cried  Wil- 
kinson, "  and  I  will  shew  you  what 
should  be  done  !" 

"  I  have  already  appointed  an  inter- 
view with  him,'^  said  his  Lordship  ; 
"  but  as  your  feelings  might  probably 
prompt  you  to  too  much  warmth,  per- 
haps you  had  better  not  accompany  me. 
However,  should  1  fail  in  persuading 
him  to  resign  the  fatal  paper,  you  shall 
then  see  him  yourself." 

*'  You  are  a  fine  fellow !"  cried  the 


184  THE    HEROINE, 

farmer,  shaking  his  hand^  "  and  have 
made  a  friend  of  me  for  ever." 

"  I  will  hasten  to  him  now,"  said 
his  Lordship;  and  with  a  significant 
glance  towards  me,  went  away,  leaving 
me  quite  astonished,  both  at  his  story, 
and  his  motive  for  fabricating  it.  How- 
ever, my  business  was  to  support  the 
deception. 

Wilkinson  then  told  me  that  he 
learned  my  residence  in  London  from 
the  discharged  Butler,  who  had  heard 
it  from  you.  The  wretch  made  the 
disclosure  for  forty  guineas;  and  Wil- 
kinson says  that  he  wants  to  marry 
you,  merely  for  your  annuity.  Ah  ! 
how  unlike  the  disinterested  Montmo- 
renci  ;  who  would  rather  marry  me,  at 
this  moment,  as  plain,  plebeian  Cherry 
Wilkinson,  with  my  paltry  ten  thou- 
sand pounds,  than  wait  till  I  am  the 


THE   HEROINE.  185 

acknowledged  Lady  Cherubina  De 
Willoughby,  with  all  my  restored  es- 
tates. 

Biddy,  Biddy  !  if  you  knew  as  much 
of  the  world  as  I  do,  a  foicune-bunter 
would  not  impose  upon  you. 

But  to  return.  In  the  midst  of  our 
conversation,  the  maid  brought  me  this 
note. 

"  Will  my  soul's  idol  forgive  the  tale 
I  told  \yilkinson,  since  it  was  devised 
in  order  to  save  her  from  his  fangs? 
This  Doctor  Merrick,  whom  I  men- 
tioned to  him,  keeps  a  private  mad- 
house. I  have  just  seen  him,  and  in- 
formed him  that  I  am  about  to  put  a 
lunatic  gentleman,  my  honoured  uncle, 
under  his  care.  I  told  him,  that  this 
dear  uncle  (who,  you  may  well  sup- 
pose, is  Wilkinson)  has  lucid  intervals; 


186  THE  HEROINE. 

that  his  madness  arose  from  grief  at  an 
unfortunate  amour  of  his  daughter's  ; 
that  he  fancies  every  man  he  sees  is 
attached  to  her,  and  has  her  written 
promise  of  marriage  ;  and  that  the  first 
demand  he  makes  of  every  stranger,  is 
to  give  him  the  paper  containing  it. 

"Now,  my  love,  let  not  a  lurking  kind- 
ness, whicli  I  fear  you  still  retain  for 
Wilkinson,  prevent  you  from  joining 
in  this  plot  against  him.  Indeed,  to 
confine  him  is  an  act  of  humanity  ;  be- 
cause if  the  ruffian  be  suffered  to  walk 
at  large,  he  will  probably  (since  he 
now  knows  that  his  desisfns  are  disco- 
vered)  contrive  to  have  you  assassi- 
nated. With  this  conviction  on  my 
mind,  I  must  declare,  thatit'you  betray 
my  scheme  to  him,  1  shall  feel  myself 
perfectly  justified  in  prosecuting  him 


THE    HEROINE.  187 

for  a  conspiracy  against   your  life,  and 
having  him  hanged. 

Ever,  ever,  ever, 
Your 

MONTMORENCI. 

p.  S.  Excuse  tender  language,  as  I 
am  in  haste. 

This  advice  my  prudence  induced 
me  to  adopt,  and  my  desire  of  saving 
Wilkinson  from  an  ignominious  end  ; 
for  unfortunately,  such  is  my  weak- 
ness, that  1  cannot  divest  myself  of  all 
my  former  feelings  towards  him.  Nay, 
even  when  he  presented  me,  during  our 
conversation,  with  a  hundred  pounds, 
to  purchase  baubles,  as  he  said,  and 
reward  me  for  my  promises  of  discard- 
ing the  Doctor,  1  thanked  him  witli  as 
much  gratitude  asif  i  had  not  known 
that  he  gave  the  money  merely  to  de- 


188  THE    HEROINE. 

coy  me  home  again,  and  perhaps  im- 
prison me  for  ever. 

Soon  afterwards,  our  hero  returned, 
and  told  us  that  his  interview  had 
proved  unsuccessful  ,*  so  it  was  deter- 
mined that  the  whole  party  should  repair 
to  the  Doctor's,  and  make  another  at- 
tempt. Accordingly,  off  we  set  in  a 
hired  coach,  and  on  our  arrival  were 
shewn  into  a  parlour.  After  some  mi* 
nuies  of  anxious  suspense,  the  Doctor, 
a  shrivelled  little  figure,  entered  with 
two  servants. 

Wilkinson  being  introduced,  the 
Doctor  commenced  operations,  by  try- 
ing the  state  of  Ins  brain. 

"  Any  news  tu-day,  Mr.  Wilkin- 
son ?"  said  he. 

"  Very  bad  news  for  me,  Sir,'^  re- 
plied WilkiUbOaj,  sullenly. 


THE    HEROINE.  1S9 

"  I  mean  public  news,''  said  the 
Doctor. 

"  A  private  grievance  ought  to  be 
considered  of  pubHc  moment,"  said 
Wilkinson. 

"  Well  remarked.  Sir,"  cried  the 
Doctor,  "  a  clear-headed  observation 
as  possible.  I  give  you  credit.  Sir,  if 
you  continue  to  talk  so  rationally,  you 
will  not  remain  long  in  my  house,  I 
promise  you." 

*'  I  am  sorry,"  replied  Wilkinson, 
"■  that  talking  rationally  is  the  way  to 
get  turned  out  of  your  house,  because 
I  have  come  for  the  purpose  of  talking 
rationally.  I  believe.  Doctor,  I  talk 
rationally  when  I  say,  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  every  man  to  rescue  his  fellow- 
creature  from  misery.*' 

"-  Few   sentiments,'^    answered  the 


190  THE    HEROINE. 

Doctor,  "  could  do  more  honour  both 
to  your  head  and  to  your  heart/* 

*'I  believe  too/'  resumed  Wilkinson, 
"  it  is  the  duty  of  a  parent  to  consult 
the  happiness  of  his  child.  Is  that 
talking  rationally,  eh  ?*' 

''Clearly  so," said  the  Doctor.  "  *Tis 
a  corollary  from  your  first  proposition.*' 

"  Wh}''  then,  I  have  you  in  a  fine 
quandary!'*  cried  Wilkinson,  "  For 
since  my  child  feels  unhappy  at  having 
given  you  the  paper  containing  her  pro- 
mise of  marriage,  it  is  my  duty,  by 
your  own  admission,  to  get  this  paper 
out  of  your  hands.  Aha,  I  have  you 
there,  I  think.  Egad,  I  have  you  there. 
A  n't  that  talking  rationally,  eh  ?*' 

"  So  far  from  it,"  said  the  Doctor, 
*'  that  if  you  ask  for  the  paper  again, 
1  must  be  under  the  disagreeable  neces- 


THE    HEROINE.  191 

sity  of  punishing  you    most  severely. 
To  be  candid,  Sir,  1  musthandcufFyou.'* 

"  Od's  bobs,  and  bobbin,  and  bon- 
bobbin,  and  bonbobinet !"  shouted 
Wilkinson,  with  a  yeli  of  laughfer. 
"  Handcuff  me?  Great,  very  great! 
Any  thing  more,  my  fine  fellow  ?" 

"  And  as  often  as  you  persist  in  ask- 
ing for  the  paper,"  said  the  Doctor, 
"  I  must — excuse  me — I  must  have 
you  plied  with  exemplary  horsewhip- 
pings." 

''  Why,  you  ruffian  !'^  cried  Wilkin- 
son, as  he  marched  up,  shaking  his 
head,  and  clapping  his  hands  to  his 
sides  ;  ^'  I  vviil  ask  }ou  for  it  ten  thou- 
sand times  over  and  over.  Give  me 
the  paper,  give  me  the  paper,  give  me 
the  paper,  the  paper,  the  paper,  the 
paper,  paper,  paper,  paper  !  Confound 
you,youshallhaveaquireofitatoncer' 


195  THE    HEROINE. 

"  This  is  indeed  a  bad  case/*  said 
the  Doctor. 

"  Case  ?"  exclaimed  Wilkinson.  "  Is 
it  a  golden  tvveezer-case,  eh  ?  Or  a  gol- 
den tooth-pick  case,^  eh  ?  or  a  case  where 
you  were  near  being  hanged  by  the 
American  Ambassador,  eh  ?  There  are 
cases  for  you,  my  old  buck  !" 

"Madder,  and  madder,  I  protest," 
whispered  the  Doctor. 

"  O  you  withered  wasp,  O  you  un- 
common weasel!''  cried  Wilkinson, 
*'  how  could  the  girl  ever  bring  herself 
to  fancy  you  ?  A  fellow^  by  all  that  is 
horridj  as  ugly  as  if  he  were  bespoke : 
an  old  fellow^  too^  and  twice  as  disgust- 
ingj  and  not  half  so  interesting,  as  a 
monkey  in  a  consumption  l" 

"  Perfectly  distracted,  'pon  my  con- 
science!''muttered  the  Doctor.  *"^Here^ 
John,  Tom,  secure  the  wretch  this  mo- 


ment." 


THE    HEROINE.  1^3 

Wilkinson  instantly  darted  at  the 
Doctor^  and  knocked  him  down.  The 
servants  collared  Wilkinson,  who  call- 
ed to  Montmorenci  for  assistance  ;  but 
in  vain  ;  and  after  a  furious  scuffle^  the 
farmer  was  handcuffed. 

''  Dear  uncle,  calm  these  transports!'^ 
said  his  Lordship.  ""Your  dutiful  and 
affectionate  nephew  beseeches  you  to 
compose  yourself.^' 

''  Uncle  !— nephew  !"  cried  the  far- 
mer. ''  What  do  you  mean,  fellow  ? 
Who  the  devil  is  this  villain  ?'' 

''  Are  you  so  far  gone  as  not  to  know 
your  own  nephew  ?"  said  the  Doctor^ 
grinning  with  anger. 

"^  Never  set  eyes  on  the  poltroon  till 
an  hour  ago  I''  cried  Wilkinson. 

''  Merciful  powers!''  ei^claimed 
Montmorenci.     '^  And  when  I  was  a 

VOL.  I.  I 


194?  THE    HEROINE. 

baby,  he  dandled  me ;  and  when  I  was 
a  child,  he  gave  me  whippings  and 
sugar-plums;  and  when  I  came  to 
man's  estate,  he  cherished  me  in  his 
bosom,  and  was  unto  me  as  a  father  V* 

*'  Curse  me^  but  the  wretch  is  cra- 
zed !"  cried  Wilkinson. 

*'  No,  dear  uncle,'^  said  Montmb- 
renci,  ^^'^  but  you  are  shockingly  crazed  ; 
and  to  be  candid  with  you,  this  is  a 
madhouse,  and  this  gentleman  is  the 
mad-doctor,  and  with  him  you  must 
now  remain,  till  you  recover  from  the 
most  afflicting  attack  of  insanity  that 
ever  visited  a  country  gentleman.'* 

''  Insanity!*'  faltered  the  farmer, 
turning  deadly  pale. 

"^  You  are  the  maddest  man  that 
ever  bellowed  in  Bedlam/^  said  the 
Doctor. 


THE    HEROINE.  195 

''Mad!  I  mad!"  cried  Wilkinson. 
''  I  vow  to  my  veracity.  Doctor,  that  I 
was  always  reckoned  the  quietest,  mer- 
riest, sweetest — sure  every  one  knows 
honest  Greg  Wilkinson,  and  his  bottle 
of  claret.  Don't  they.  Cherry?  Dear 
child,  answer  for  your  father.  Am  I 
mad  ?  Am  I,  Cherry  ?'^ 

'*  As  butter  in  May,''  said  Montrao- 
renci. 

''  You  he  like  a  thief!"  vociferated 
the  farmer,  struggling  and  kicking. 
*'  You  lie,  yo'u  sneering,  hook-nosed 
reprobate !'" 

'-'  Why^  my  dear  uncle,'*  said  Mont- 
morenci,  ''don't  you  recollect  the  night 
you  began  jumping  like  a  grasshopper^ 
and  scolding  the  full-moon  in  my  deer- 
park  ?" 

"  Your  deer-park  ?  I  warrant  you 
are  not  worth  a  cabbage-garden  !  But 
i2 


196  THE    HEROINE, 

now  I  see  thr  ugh  the  whole  plot.  Ay, 
•^  am  to  be  kept  a  prisoner  here^  while 
my  daughter  marries  that  old  mummy 
"efore  my  face.  It  would  kill  me^ 
Cherry  ;  I  tell  you  I  should  die  on  the 
Spot.  Oh,  my  unfortunate  girl^,  are  you 
too  conspiring  against  me?  Are  you^ 
Cherry  ?  Dear  Cherry,  speak.  Only 
say  you  are  not !" 

"^  Indeed,  my  friend,'*  said  I,  '^  you 
shall  be  treated  with  mildness.  Doc- 
tor, I  beg  you  will  not  act  harshly  to- 
wards him.  Notwithstanding:  all  his 
faults,  the  man  is  goodnatured  and  well 
tempered,  and  to  do  him  justice,  has 
always  used  me  kindly." 

"  Have  I  not?'^  cried  he.  "  Sweet 
Cherry,  beautiful  Cherry,  blessings  on 
you  for  that !" 

''  Come  away,'*  whispered  Montmo- 
renci  hastily. 


THE   HEROINE.  197 

" Farewell^  Doctor/'  said  I,  "  Adieu, 
poor  Wilkinson/' 

''  For  pity's  sake^  stay  five  minutes  !^^ 
cried  Wilkinson,  struggling  with  the 
servants. 

"  Come,  my  \ov^ !"  whispered 
Montmorenci. 

"  Only  one  minute — one  short  mi- 
nute !"  cried  the  other. 

""  Weil/'  said  I,  stoppings  *'  one  mi- 
nute then." 

"  Not  one  moment !"  cried  his  Lord- 
ship^ and  was  hurrying  me  away. 

"  .wy  child,  my  child!"  shrieked 
Wilkinson,  with  a  tone  of  such  inde- 
scribable agony,  as  made  my  blood  cur- 
dle in  my  veins. 

"  Dear  Sn  /'  said  T,  returning;  "  you 
know  well  1  am  not  your  chilu/' 

'^  You  are/^  cried  he.  '•  By  all  that 
I  3 


19S  THE    HEROINE. 

is  just  and  good^  you  are  my  own,  own 
child/' 

"  By  all  that  is  just  and  good/'  ex- 
claimed Montmorenci  to  me,  ''  you 
shall  come  away  tiiis  instant,  or  remain 
here  for  ever.*'  And  he  dragj^^ed  me 
out  of  the  room. 

"  Now  then,*'  said  the  poor  pri- 
soner bursting  into  tears,  as  the  door 
was  closing,  *'  now  do  what  you 
please  with  me,  for  my  heart  is  quite 
broken  V' 

I  too  began  crying;  nor  for  many 
minutes  could  Montmorenci  reason 
me  out  of  my  folly.  Yet,  after  all,  I 
am  not  so  very,  very  blameable.  Were 
a  wretch  going  to  the  gallows,  I  could 
not  help  feeling  for  him.  How  much 
more  then  must  I  feel  for  a  man,  who, 
villain  as  he  indisputably  is,  had  acted 


THE    HEROINE.  199 

as  a  parent  towards  me,  during  fifteen 
years  of  my  life. 

On  our  way  home,  I  shewed  the 
hundred  pounds  to Montmorenci,  whose 
joy  at  this  seasonable  acquisition  was 
truly  friendly,  I  purchased  a  charm- 
ing scarf,  a  shawl,  a  bonnet,  two  dresses, 
and  a  pair  of  pearl  earrings.  His  Lord- 
ship borrowed  a  guinea  from  me,  and 
with  it  bought  a  little  casket,  which  he 
instantly  presented  to  me  in  the  hand- 
somest manner. 

Adieu. 

LETTER  XIL 

On  my  first  arrival  at  tliese  lodgings, 
I  sent  the  servant  to  Betterton's  house, 
for  the  bandbox  which  1  had  left  be- 
hind, the  night  I  fled  from  him. 

To  my  amazement,  who  should  enter 


500  THE    HEROINE. 

my  room,  this  morning,  but  Betterton 
himself!  1  dropped  my  book.  He  bow- 
ed to  the  dust. 

'•'  Your  business,  Sir?"  said  I. 

*'  To  make  a  personal  apology,**  an- 
swered he,  "  for  the  disrespectful  treat- 
ment which  the  loveliest  of  her  sex  ex- 
perienced at  my  house.^' 

"  An  apology  for  one  insult,*'  said  I, 
"  must  seem  insincere,  when  the  mode 
adopted  formakingit,  is  another  insult  !^' 

"  The  retort  is  exquisitely  elegant,*' 
answered  he,  "  but  I  trust,  not  true. 
For,  granting  that  I  offered  a  second 
insult  by  my  intrusion,  still  I  may 
lessen  the  first  so  much  by  my  apology, 
that  the  sum  of  both  may  be  less  than 
the  first,  as  it  originally  stood.^' 

"  lleally,'^  said  1,  "  you  have  blend- 
ed politeness  and  arithmetic  so  happily 


THE    HEROINE.  201 

together;  you  have  clothed  multipli- 
cation and  subtraction  in  such  polished 
phraseology—" 

"  Good !"  cried  he, «'  that  is  real  wit." 

"  You  have  added  so  much  algebra 
to  so  much  sentiment — '*  continued  I. 

'^  Better,  still  better  !'^  interrupted 
he  again. 

'*  in  a  word,  you  have  apologized  so 
gracefully  by  the  rule  of  three,  that  I 
know  not  which  has  assisted  you  the 
most — Chesterfield  or  Cocker.'^ 

'^  Inimitable/' exclaimed  he.  "Real- 
ly your  retorting  powers  are  superior 
to  those  otany  heroine  on  record.^' 

In  short,  my  friend^  I  was  so  delight- 
ed with  my  repartee,  that  1  could  not, 
for  my  life,  continue  vexed  with  the 
object  of  it ;  and  before  he  went,  I  said 
the  best  things  in  the  world,  found  him 
I  ,5 


202  THE    HEROINE. 

the  most  agreeable  old  man  in  the  uni- 
vers63j  shook  hands  with  him  at  parting, 
and  gave  him  permission  to  visit  me 
again. 

On  cahn  consideration,  I  do  not  dis- 
approve of  my  having  allowed  him  this 
liberty.  Were  he  merely  a  good  kind  of 
good  for  nothing  gentleman,  it  would 
only  be  losing  time  to  cultivate  an  ac- 
quaintance with  him.  But  as  the  man 
is  a  reprobate,  I  may  find  account  in 
enlisting  him  amongst  the  other  cha- 
racters; particularly,  since  I  am  at  pre- 
sent miserably  off  for  villains.  Indeed, 
I  augur  auspiciously  of  his  intriguing 
talent,  from  the  fact  (which  he  confess- 
ed), of  his  having  discovered  my  place 
of  abode,  by  tracing  the  maid,  when  she 
was  returning  from  his  house  with  the 
bandbox. 


THE    HEROINE.  20^ 

But  I  have  to  inform  you  of  another 
renctintre. 

Last  night,  the  landlady,  Higginson, 
and  myself,  went  to  see  his  lordship 
perform  in  the  new  Spectacle.  The 
first  piece  was  called  a  melo-drame  ;  a 
composition  of  horror  and  drollery, 
where  sceiery,  dresses,  and  decora- 
tions, answered  for  nature,  genius,  and 
moral.  As  to  the  plot,  I  could  make 
nothing  of  it ;  only  that  the  hero  and 
heroine  were  in  very  great  trouble 
about  trifles,  and  quite  unconcerned 
amidst  real  distress.  For  instance, 
when  the  heroine  had  arrived  at  the 
height  of  her  misery,  she  sang  a  song 
in  thunder  and  lightning.  Then  the 
hero,  resolving  to  revenge  her  wTongs, 
falls  upon  one  knee,  turns  up  his  eyes, 
and  calls  on  God  for  assistance.    This 


SO^  THE    HEROINE. 

invocation  lo  the  Divinity,  nriight,  per- 
haps, prove  the  hero's  piety,  but  I 
am  afraid  it  shewed  the  poet's  want  of 
any.  Certainly,  however,  it  produced 
a  powerful  effect  on  my  feelings.  I 
heard  the  glory  of  God  made  subser- 
vient to  a  theatrical  clap-trap,  and  my 
blood  ran  cold.  So,  I  fancy,  did  the 
blood  of  six  or  seven  sweet  little  chil- 
dren behind  the  scenes,  for  they  were 
presently  sent  upon  the  stage,  to  vv-arm 
themselves  with  a  dance.  After  danc- 
ing, came  murder,  and  the  hero  grace- 
fully staggered  forward  with  a  bullet  in 
his  head.  He  falls ;  and  many  well- 
meaning  persons  suppose  that  the  cur- 
tain will  fail  with  him.  No  such  thing: 
Hector  had  a  funeral,  and  so  must 
Kemble.  Accordingly,  the  corpse  ap- 
pears, handsomely  dished  up  on  an  es- 


THE    HEROINE.  9Q5 

cutcheoned  coffin  ;  while  certain  vir- 
gins of  the  sun  (who,  I  am  told,  sup- 
port tliat  character  better  than  their 
own),  chaunt  a  holy  requiem  round  it. 
When  horror  was  exhausted,  the  poet 
tried  diso'ust. 

After  this  piece  came  another,  full 
of  bannered  processions,  gilded  pillars, 
paper  snows,  and  living  horses,  that 
were  far  better  actors  than  the  men 
who  rode  them.  It  concluded  with  a 
grand  battle,  where  twenty  soldiers  on 
horseback,  and  twenty  on  foot,  beat 
each  other  indiscriminately,  and  with 
the  utmost  good  humour.  Armour 
clashed,  sabres  struck  fire,  a  castle  was 
burnt  to  the  ground,  the  horses;  fell  as 
dead,  the  audience  rose  shouting,  and 
clapping  the  horses,  and  a  man  just 
below  me  exclaimed  in  an  ecstasy :  — 


206  THE    HEROINE. 

*'  I  made  their  saddles!  I  made  their 
saddles!'* 

As  to  Montmorenci's  performance, 
nothing  could  equal  it;  and  though  his 
character  was  the  meanest  in  the  piece, 
he  contrived  to  make  it  the  most  pro- 
minent. He  had  an  emphasis  for  every 
word,  an  attitude  for  every  emphasis, 
and  a  look  for  every  attitude.  The 
people,  indeed,  hissed  him  repeatedly, 
because  they  knew  not,  as  1  did,  that 
his  acting  a  drunken  waiter  like  a  de- 
throned monarch,  proceeded  from  na- 
tive nobility,  not  want  of  talent. 

After  the  performance,  we  were 
pressing  through  the  crowd  in  the  lob- 
by, when  I  saw  Stuart  (Bob  Stuart!) 
at  a  distance.  Now  was  my  time  to 
lay  a  foundation  for  future  incident.  I 
therefore  separated   myself  from  my 


THE  HEROINE.  207 

party,  like  Evelina  at  the  Opera,  and 
contrived  to  cross  his  path. 

"  Miss  Wilkinson  !'^  exclaimed  he. 

"  Hush  !"  whispered  I  ;  *'  conduct 
me  from  the  Theatre  in  silence." 

He  put  my  hand  under  his  arm,  and 
hurried  me  away.  When  we  had  gain- 
ed the  street;  "  Where  is  your  father?'* 
said  he.  "  Have  you  not  seen  him 
since  he  came  to  Town?" 

"  I  have  not,"  answered  I ;  an  eva- 
sive, yet  conscientious  declaration,  be- 
cause Wilkinson  is  not  my  father. 

"  How  strange!"  cried  he,  "  for  he 
left  the  hotel  yesterday  to  call  on  you. 
Oh,  Miss  Wilkinson,  what  tempted  you 
to  leave  home  ?  How  are  you  situated 
at  present?  with  whom?  and  what  is 
your  object  ?*' 

"  Alas  !"  said  I,  "  a  horrible  mystery 
hangs  over  me,  which  I  dare  not  nov7 


208  THE    HEROINE. 

develope.  It  is  enough,  hat  in  flying 
from  one  misfortune,  I  have  plunged 
into  a  thousand  others,  that  ace  has 
fled  from  my  heart,  and  that  1  am 
ruined/' 

"  Ruined  !"  exclaimed  he,  with  a 
look  of  horror. 

"  Past  redemption,"  said  I,  hiding 
my  face  in  my  hands. 

*■'  The  very  first  night  I  came  to 
Town,  a  gentleman  decoyed  me  into 
his  house,  and  treated  me  extremely 
ill. 

"  Afterwards  I  left  him,  and  walk- 
ed the  streets,  till  I  was  arrested  for  a 
robbery,  and  put  into  the  vvatchhouse; 
.and  to  conclude  my  short,  but  event- 
ful tale,  a  gentleman,  a  mysterious  and 
amiable  youth,  met  me  by  mere  acci- 
dent, after  my  acquittal  ;  and  1  am,  at 
present,  under  his  protection.'^ 


THE    HEROINE.  209    ' 

"  The  villain  !"  exclaimed  Stuart, 

"  Villain  ?'*  said  I.  "  Ah,  his  large 
and  piercing  eye  is  but  the  index  of  a 
soul  fraught  with  every  human  virtue.- 
And  now,  here  are  my  lodgings,  and  if 
you  will  sup  with  me  to-night,  you 
shall  see  him." 

Stuart  gladly  consented.  We  then 
entered  the  house;  but  none  of  my 
party  had  returned.  1  therefore  con- 
ducted him  into  my  room,  and  appriz- 
ed the  maid  that  he  would  stay  for 
supper. 

"  Can  nothing,"  said  he,  as  we  sat 
down,  "  induce  you  to  relinquish  the 
mode  of  life  you  have  adopted  ?" 

"  Nothing  whatever,*'  answered  I. 
"  It  is  by  far  the  most  exalted  that  a 
girl,  with  the  requisite  qualifications, 
could  select.'' 


210  THE    HEROINE, 

"What!"  cried  he,  "to  form  an 
improper  connection  with  a  Hbertine?" 

"  There  now !"  exclaimed  L  "  There 
is  a  pretty  insinuation.  Ay,  this  is  al- 
ways the  way  with  us  poor  heroines. 
And  so,  Sir,  you  presume  to  say  that  I 
have  formed  an  improper  connection?'^ 

"  Did  you  not  tell  me  you  were 
ruined?'^  said  he. 

"  Well,'^  answered  I,  *'  and  so  I  am 
ruined..  Am  I  not  expelled  from  my 
pateriial  home?  x\m  I  not  deprived  of 
my  property  ?  Am  I  not  under  sentence 
of  assassination  ?  Is  not  old  Wilkinson, 
who  calls  himself  my  father,  v/orking 
heaven  and  earth  to  make  me  marry 
you?  Ay,  you,  you, — so  no  pretended 
stare,  if  you  please.  Ruined?  to  be 
sure  I  am  ruined.'^ 

''  At  least,  1  rejoice  to  perceive,'^ 


THE    HEROINE.  211 

said  he,  "  that  it  is  your  understand- 
ing only  which  is  perverted,  and  that 
your  moral  conduct  and  principles  re- 
main undepraved/' 

At  this  moment,  the  maid  beckoned 
me  from  the  room.  I  found  Montmo- 
renci  outside,  who  begged  of  me  to  ac- 
company him  up  stairs.     1  went. 

"  The  landlady  tells  me,"  said  he,  in 
much  agitation,  ''that  you  strayed  from 
yaur  party  to-night,  picked  up  a  young 
man,  and  have  brought  him  home  to 
sup  with  you." 

"  'Tis  true,  my  Lord,"  answered  I. 

"  And  who  is  tlie  fallow?''  cried  he. 

"  Stuart,''  said  i.  ''  Master  Bobby. 
I  find  him  rather  agreeable.  An  im- 
proper education  has  perverted  his  un- 
derstanding, but  has  not  depraved  his 
principles.     He  says  the  same  of  me. 


S12  THE    HEROINE. 

His  face  improves  on  acquaintance, 
and  I  am  sure  you  will  like  him." 

"  Like  your  grandmother!'*  cried 
he,  discarding  attitude,  elegance,  every 
thing.  "  O  the  varment,  the  circum- 
venting villain  !  Pack  him  out  of  the 
house,  pack  him  out,  I  say,  or  by  the 
infernal  turnspit,  1  will  lend  him  such  a 
bother  on  the  side  of  the  head,  as  shall 
do  his  business  in  no  time/^ 

I  was  thunderstruck.  "  Sir/'  said  I, 
"you  have  agitatid  the  gentle  air  with 
the  discordance  of  ineicL-ant  oati  s  atid 
idioms,  uttered  in  the  most  ungrace- 
ful manner.  Sir,  your  vulgarity  is 
unpardonable,  and  we  now  part  for 
ever." 

«'  Forever!"  exclaimed  he,  revert- 
ing into  attitude,  and  interlacing  his 
knuckles  in  a  clasp  of  agony.     "  Hear 


THE    HEROINE.  215 

me,  Cherubina.  By  the  shades  of  my 
immortal  ancestors,  my  vulgarity  was 
assumed  !*' 

''Assumed,  Sir?*^  said  I,  "  and  pray, 
for  what  possible  purpose?" 

"  Alas!"  cried  he,  *'  I  must  not, 
dare  not  tell.  It  is  a  sad  story,  and 
enveloped  in  a  mysterious  veil.  Oh, 
fatal  vow !  Oh,  cruel  Marchesa  !" 
Shocking  were  his  contortions  as  he 
spoke. 

"No!"  cried  I.  ''No  vow  could 
ever  have  produced  so  dreadful  an  ef- 
fect on  your  language." 

"  AVell,"  said  he,  after  a  painful 
pause,  "  sooner  than  incur  the  odium 
of  falsehood,  I  must  disclose  to  you 
the  horrid  secret. 

"  The  young  Count  Di  Narcissini 
was    my  friend.      Educated   together, 


214?  THE    HEROINE. 

we  became  competitors  in  our  studies 
and  accomplishments  ;  and  in  none  of 
them  could  either  of  us  be  said  to  excel 
the  other;  till,  on  our  introduction  at 
the  Court  of  Naples,  it  was  remarked 
by  the  Queen,  that  I  surpassed  the 
Count  in  shaking  hands.  '  Narcissini,' 
said  her  Majesty,  '  knows  well  enough 
when,  where,  and  how,  to  present  a 
single  finger,  or  perhaps  two ;  but,  for 
the  positive  pressure,  or  the  negligent 
hand  half  offered  with  a  drooping 
wrist ;  or  the  cordial^  honest,  dislocat- 
ing shake,  give  me  Montmorenci.  I 
cannot  deny  that  the  former  has  great 
taste  in  this  accomplishment;  but  then 
the  latter  has  more  genius — more  exe- 
cution— more^  as  it  were^  of  the  mag- 
ni/iqite  and  aimahle/ 

'*  His  mother  the  Marchesa  over- 


THE    HEROINE.  215 

heard  this  charming  critique,  turned  as 
pale  as  ashes,  and  left  the  levee. 

''  That  nightj  hardly  had  I  fallen 
into  one  of  those  gentle  slumbers 
which  ever  attends  the  virtuous^  when 
a  sudden  noise  aroused  me ;  and  on 
opening  my  eyes,  I  beheld  the  detested 
Marchesa,  with  an  Italian  assassin, 
standing  over  me. 

"  Montraorenci !'  cried  she,  '  thou 
art  the  bane  of  my  repose.  Thou  hast 
surpassed  my  son  in  the  graces.  Now 
listen.  Either  pledge  thyself,  by  an 
irrevocable  vow,  henceforth  to  vitiate 
thy  conversation  with  uncouth  phrases, 
and  colloquial  barbarisms,  or  prepare 
to  die!' 

"  Terrible  alternative !  What  could 
I  do  ?  The  dagger  gleamed  before  my 
face.  I  shuddered,  and  took  the  fatal 
vow  of  vulgarity. 


916  THE    HEROINE. 

"  The  Marcliesa  then  put  into  my 
hand  the  Blackguarcrs  Dictionary, 
which  I  studied  night  and  day  with 
much  success ;  and  I  have  now  the 
misfortune  to  state,  that  I  can  be,  so 
far  as  language  goes,  the  greatest 
blackguard  in  England. 

"  I  must  add,  however,  that  the 
Marchesa  permitted  me  to  resume  my 
natural  elegance,  as  soon  as  my  mar- 
riage should  put  an  end  to  competition 
between  her  son  and  me." 

"  Weil,"  cried  I,  "  of  all  the  ex- 
traordinary,  unmeaning,  execrable  vows 
ever  invented — Oh,  I  have  not  com- 
mon patience  with  it!  Let  us  change 
the  subject.  And  now,  my  Lord,  I 
must  insist  on  entertaining  Stuart  to- 
night. Indeed,  I  will  own,  that  my 
principal  motive  in  doing  so,  is  to  see 
the  difference  between  a  mere  oentle- 


THE    HEROINE.  217 

inaii,  and  an  actual  hero.  That  you 
will  gain  by  the  coniparison,  J  make 
no  doubt;  since  I  know  vou  will  Gur- 
pass  him  in  majesty  of  manner,  amiable 
sentiment,  and  antithetical  repartee. 
You  have  but  a  few  minutes  to  prepare 
for  the  contest,  so  pray  make  the  most 
of  them.'' 

His  Lordship  expostulated  again, 
and  swore  that  Stuart  would  unhe- 
roinize  me,  and  supplant  him.  How- 
ever, 1  rallied  this  devoted  lover  out 
of  his  jealous  fears  ;  then  returned  to 
Stuart,  and  remained  with  him  till 
supper  was  announced. 

At  the  introduction^  both  youths 
eyed  each  other  earnestly  ;  and  as  soon 
as  we  were  seated  round  the  table,  his 
Lordship  broke  the  pause. 

*'  Ah/*  cried  he,  "  how  many  thou- 

VOL.  I.  K 


218  THE    HEROINE. 

sands  of  our  fellowmen  are  now  sick, 
naked,  and  hungry;  while  we  have 
health,  raiment,  and  a  festive  board. 
Ah,  how  can  we  repay  these  blessings 
but  by  virtue  ?*' 

Stuart  stared.  Already  he  began  to 
perceive,  that  his  Lordship's  was  no 
common  mind. 

"  Ah,"  resumed  his  Lordship^  "  how 
sweetly  the  fineness  of  this  weather 
attuneih  each  harmonized  soul  to  uni- 
son with  virtue  !" 

«'  It  is  indeed  a  most  favourable  sea- 
son for  the  cropSj^'  said  Stuart. 

I  tittered. 

'^  That  is  precisely  wbat  you  have 
said.  Sir,"  cried  his  Lordship,  and 
winked  at  me.  "  But  I  must  trouble 
you  for  another  observation  ;  as,  1  fan- 
cy, that  is  not  quite  original.     I  dare 


THE   HEROINE.  219 

say_,  now,  one  hundred  thousand  gen* 
tlenien  have  made  it  within  a  week/' 

''  And  I  daresay,"  returned  Stuart, 
"  that  no  gentleman,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, ever  made  your  iast  re- 
mark before/' 

"  I  am  a  gentleman^  however^*' 
cried  his  Lordship. 

"  Perhaps.  Sir/'  said  Stuart^  smil- 
ing, "  that  is  another  original  obser- 
vation/' 

Montmorenci  writhed  his  remarkable 
sneer^  but  was  mute. 

"  Say  something  pointed,''  whisper- 
ed I. 

''  That  I  will/'  returned  he.  ''  Pray 
Sir — talking  of  original  observations- 
how  many  legs  has  a  sheep  ?'' 

"  It  has  four  in  a  field,''  answered 
Stuart.  "  But  (and  he  measured  Mont- 


220  THE  HEROINE. 

morenci  with  a  most  meaning  eye)  we 
do  not  allow  it  more  than  two  at  a 
table." 

"  Had  the  scoundrel  answered  as  he 
ought/*  whispered  his  Lordship  to 
me,  "  I  would  have  said  the  wittiest 
thing  in  the  world!'* 

So  closed  the  first  dialogue ;  and 
now  the  conversation  became  general^ 
and  on  the  topics  of  the  day.  These^ 
Stuart  discussed  with  much  ease  and 
animation  ;  while  his  Lordship  remain- 
ed silent  and  contemptuous.  I  fancy 
his  illustrious  tongue  disdained  to  trifle. 

Meantime  Higginson  sat  Anglicising 
the  Latinity  of  his  face,  and  aping  the 
postures  of  jNIontmorenci ;  whom  the 
simple  maUj  I  verily  believe,  is  already 
endeavouring  to  rival. 

At  length  we  talked  of  the  Theatre^ 


THE    HEROINE.  221 

and  afterwards  of  acting  in  general; 
till  his  Lordship  concluded  a  long  ha- 
rangue by  declaring,  that  he  thought 
actors  the  most  useful  members  of  the 
community^  because  they  ridicule  hu- 
man foibles  with  the  best  effect. 

"  Sir,"  said  Higginson^  as  he  rubbed 
the  crumbs  from  the  elbow  of  his  new 
coat,  and  began  an  attitude  which  he 
was  ashamed  to  finish,  "  1  must,  in 
all  humility,  dissent  from  your  ex p rest 
proposition,  and  support  the  superior 
claims  of  the  writer.'^ 

"  Observe,'*  whispered  I  to  his 
Lordship,  "  how  the  ruling  passion 
betrays  itself." 

"  For,'*  continued  the  poet,  "  in- 
asmuch as  the  works  of  the  writer  live 
f(;r  ev  r,  while  the  phiyer  but  '  lives 
and  struts  his  liour,'    it  is  an   indis- 

K  J 


522  THE    HFEOINE. 

putable  sequitur,  that  the  writer  must 
be  the  more  useful  member.'^ 

"  Pardon  me,  gentlemen/*  said  I, 
'*  the  > most  useful  members  are,  not 
actors  who  merely  mimic^  or  writers 
v/ho  merely  describe,  but  heroes  and 
heroines,  who  really  perform/' 

''  If  you  mean  the  heroes  and  hero- 
ines of  romance,''  said  Stuart,  "  they 
are  useful  certainly;  but  it  is  in  teach- 
ing us  what  we  should  shun^  not  what 
we  should  imitate.  The  heroine  quits 
a  comforrrible  home^  takes  extreme 
pains  to  lose  her  character,  and  none 
to  recover  it;  blushes  by  the  chapter; 
mm  after  weeping  tears  enough  to  float 
her  work'basket,  weds  some  captious, 
passionate,  and  idle  hero." 

*'  Better,"    cried  I,    '*  than    remain 
a  doa:iesticated  rosy  little  Miss,    who 


THE    HEROINE.  223 

romps  with  the  squire,  plays  an  old 
tune  upon  an  old  piano,  and  reads 
prayers  for  the  good  family — servants 
and  all.  At  last  marrying  some  honest 
gentleman,  who  resides  on  his  saddle  ; 
she  degenerates  into  a  dangler  of  keys 
and  whipper  of  children  ;  trots  up  and 
down  stairs,  educates  the  poultry, 
and  superintends  the  architecture  of 
pies." 

"  Now^  for  my  part/^  said  Stuart, 
*'  I  would  have  a  young  lady  neither  a 
mere  homely  drudge,  nor  a  heroic  sky- 
rocket, let  off  into  the  clouds.  I  would 
instruct  her  heart  and  head,  as  well  as 
her  fin.ofers  and  feet.  She  should  be  at 
once  the  ornament  of  the  social  group^ 
and  the  delight  of  the  domestic  circle; 
abroad  attractive,  at  home  endearing; 
the  enchantress  to  whom  levity  would 
K  4 


224  THE    HEROINE. 

apply  for  mirth  J  and  wisdom  for  admo- 
nition ;  and  her  mirth  should  be  grace' 
fuL  and  her  admonition  fascinating. 
Yv^hen  solitary^  she  should  have  the 
power  of  contemplation,  and  if  her 
needle  broke,  she  should  be  capable  of 
finding  resource  in  a  book.  Finally, 
she  should  present  a  proof,  that  wit  is 
not  inconsistent  with  good-nature,  nor 
liveliness  with  good-sense;  and  that  to 
make  the  Virtues  be  admired  and  imi- 
tated, they  ought  to  be  accompanied 
by  the  Graces." 

"  So  much  for  the  Heroine/'  said  I. 
**  Now  what  is  a  ilero  ?" 

''  The  first  and  best  of  men,'*  an- 
swered he.  ''  His  proper  province  is 
to  keep  the  wheels  of  a  Novel  going, 
by  misconstruing  the  motives  of  his 
mistress,  aspersing  her  purity,  and  on 


THE    HEROINE.  225 

every  decent  occasion^  picking  a  quar- 
rel with  her.  He  must  hunt  her  iroin 
castle  to  convent,  and  from  convent  to 
cottage.  He  must  watch  under  her 
window^  in  all  weathers,  without  ever 
taking  cold,  and  he  must  save  her  life 
once  at  least.  Then  when  he  has  res- 
cued her  from  the  impending  pj^ril,  he 
must  bend  on  one  knee,  sigh  through 
the  amorous  gamut,  and  ask  her  to 
marry.  If  she  knows  her  busiisess,  she 
will  refuse  him  ;  upon  v^  hich,  he  mi.st 
act  the  most  heart-rending  antxs^  sum- 
mon planets^  grow  pathetically  fretful, 
w^rithe  with  grace,  and  groan  in  me- 
lody. To  sum  all,  if  such  an  animal 
as  a  Hero  ever  existed  on  earthy  he 
would  certainly  be  something  between 
a  monkey  and  an  angel." 

"  It  a  Hero  ever  existed!"  cried  !• 
K  5 


§26  THE    HEROINE, 

''  if  he  ever  existed  !  i/'/^  Well,  well, 
what  infatuation  !  And  so.  Sir,  your's 
is  one  of  those  distorted  nninds,  which 
deny  that  Heroes  ever  existed  on 
earth/' 

"  It  has  the  misfortune,"  said  he. 

*'  Then,"  cried  I,  "  you  will  pro- 
bably be  somewhat  surprised,  when 
you  learn,— -since  you  provoke  me  to  it 
— that  so  far  from  there  being  no  Hero 
on  earth,  there  is  one  in  this  very 
room,  at  this  very  moment.  Here, 
Sir,  is  a  Hero;  and  let  me  add,  as  in- 
controvertible  a  Hero  as  ever  breathed 
a  sigh.  Nay,  notwithstanding  the  very 
unpleasant  drollery  of  your  counte- 
nance, 1  will  condescend  so  far  as  to 
inform  you,  that  he  is  the  actual  in- 
heritor   " 

*'  Plush  !'*  whispered  Montaiorenci, 


THE    HEROINE.  227 

"  Never  fear,"  said  I.  ''  I  will  not 
commit  myself.  The  actual  inheritor 
of  a  Gothic  castle,  situated  on  a  beet- 
ling rock,  and  lashed  by  a  certain  Ita- 
lian gulph,  which  shall  be  nameless." 

"  Has  he  told  you  so  ?"  asked  Stuart. 

"  Certainly,"  answered  I.  "  Oh,  I 
have  it  from  the  best  authority." 

'^  Why  then,  noble  unknown,"  cried 
Stuart^  "  since  Grundy  must  be  but 
an  assumed  name,  may  I  beg  your 
real  name  ?'' 

"  My  name  is  Norval  on  the  Gram- 
pian hills!"  said  his  Lordship,  with 
infinite  humour. 

"  And  pray.  Sir,"  said  Stuart,  as- 
suming a  severe  countenance,  "  what 
name  does  that  man  deserve,  who  per- 
sonates one  of  those  imaginary  Heroes, 
in  order  to  play  upon  the  passions  of 


228  THE    HEROINE. 

an  innocent  girl,  and  to  make  her 
harmless  illusions  become  the  fatal  in- 
struments of  her  destruction  ?'' 

Here  an  unpleasant  pause  took  place, 
and  his  Lordship  appeared  unaccount- 
ably agitated. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?" 
whispered  I  to  him.  "  For  shame,  my 
Lord.  Never  suffer  him  to  bear  you 
down.^^ 

"  I  take  it,  Sir,'*  cried  his  Lordship, 
turning  towards  Stuart,  "  1  take  it — 
or  rather  I  give  it — I  give  it,  Sir,  as 
my  decided  opinion,  that — you  are  no 
—Hero  1" 

"  And  yet,"  said  I,  anxious  to  as- 
sist his  Lordship  at  this  crisis,  "  though 
Master  Bobby  is  no  Hero,  1  dare  be 
sworn   lie  is  a  mighty  good  sort   of  a 


man.*' 


THE    HEROINE.  229 

"  Oh,  a  decent,  proper-behaved 
yoinig  p'jrson,  no  doubt,"  cried  his 
Lordship. 

''  An  honest  bon  diable  !"  cried  I. 

"  A  respectable  citizen  !"  cried  he. 

"  A  loyal  subject!"  cried  1. 

"  A  humane  and  pious  Christian  1" 
cried  he. 

This  last  hit  was  irresistible,  and 
both  of  us  burst  into  laughter,  while 
Stuart  sat  silent,  and  even  affected  a 
smile. 

''  Now  is  your  time,'*  whispered  I, 
to  his  Loidsliip.  "  Another  sarcasm, 
and  your  victory  is  decisive." 

"  1  tancy,  Master  Bobby,"  said  his 
Lordship,  facing  round  upon  Stuart, 
and  laughing  so  long,  that  1  thought 
he  would  never  finish  the  sentence; 
*'  I  fancy,  my  tight  fellow,  you  may 
now  knock  under!" 


250  THE    HEROINE. 

"  I  am  not  always  inclined  to  knock 
iinder^  as  you  elegantly  term  it/*  an- 
swered Stuart ;  "  neither  am  I  often 
provoked  to  knock  down." 

"^  Knock  down  whom?"  demanded 
his  Lordship,  with  the  most  highly- 
finished  frown  I  had  ever  beheld. 

''  A  puppy/*  said  Stuart  coolly. 

'•  You  he!''  vociferated  our  hero. 

*'  Leave  the  room,  Sir,'*  cried  Stuartj, 
starting  from  his  seat. 

Montmorenci  rose,  retreated  towards 
the  door; — stopped — went  on — stop- 
ped again — moved — stopped  — 

"  J  tell  you  what,"  said  he,  "  if  you 
want  satisfaction,  I  am  the  manner  of 
man  that  will  accomm«)date  yon.  I 
am  none  of  your  slovenly,  slol>bering 
shots.  Damme,  1  scorn  to  pistol  a  gen- 
tleman about  the  ankles.  1  can  teach 
the  young  idea  how  to  shoot,  damme.^' 


THE    HEROINE.  S31 


(( 


Vanish!"  cried  Stuart,  advancing. 

His  lordship  vanished. 

i  ran,  snatched  a  pen,  and  wrote  on 
a  scrap  of  paper. 

"  Vindicate  your  honour^  or 
never  appear  in  my  presence 

AG^IN." 

I  then  rang  the  bell,  and  bade  the 
maid  deliver  the  paper  to  him. 

During  half  an  hour,  I  remained  in 
a  state  of  the  most  distracting  suspense, 
for  he  never  returned  !  Meantime,  Stu- 
art was  privately  pressing  me  to  leave 
my  lodgings,  and  remain  with  one  of 
bis  relations,  till  Wilkinson  should  be 
found-  Indignant  at  the  cowardly  con- 
duct of  his  Lordship,  I  had  ahnost  con- 
sented ;  when  on  a  sudden,  the  door 
flew  o])cn,  and  with  a  slow  step  and 
majestic   deportment,   Lord   Aitamont 


232  THE    HEROINE. 

Mortimer  Montmorenci  entered.  There 
was  a  dead  silence.  He  walked  to- 
wards Stuart,  and  fell  upon  one  knee 
before  him  : 

*'  I  come,  Sir,''  said  he,  *'  to  retract 
that  abuse  which  I  gave  you  just  now. 
I  submit  to  whatever  punishment  you 
please  ;  nor  shall  I  think  my  honour 
re-established^  till  my  fault  is  repaired. 
Then  grant  me  the  pardon  that  1  beg, 
on  whatever  conditions  you  think  pro- 
per.'^ 

"  ^Tis  granted,  my  hero,'*  said  Stuart. 

"  Hero  !''  exclaimed  1,  with  an  in- 
dignation which  I  could  not  suppress. 
*'  He  a  hero?" 

His  Lordship  instantly  snatched  a 
book  from  his  pocket,  and  openino^  a 
passage,  presented  it  to  me.  I'he  book 
was  La  Nouvtlle  Heioise, 


TilE    HEROINE.  233 

^i  You  see  there,"  said  he,  "  how 
Lord  B.,  after  having  given  St.  Preux 
the  lie,  as  I  did  Mr.  Si.uart,  begs  for- 
giveness on  his  knesSj  and  in  the  pre- 
cise words  which  1  have  just  used. 
Will  Cherubina  condemn  the  conduct 
that  Heloise  applauded  ?'* 

"  Ever  excellent,  ever  exalted  mor- 
tal!'' cried  1.  "O  thou  art  indeed,  all 
that  is  just,  dignified,  magnanimous.'* 

I  presented  my  hand  to  him  ;  he 
bowed  over  it.  And  now  mirth  ruled 
the  night.  The  landlady  laughed ; 
Montmorenci  sang;  Stuart  utlered  a 
thousand  witticisms ;  and  even  the 
poet,  whom  his  lordship  had  amply 
plied  with  the  grape,  determined  to  be 
heard;  for,  in  the  midst  of  our  merri- 
ment, I  saw  him,  with  his  mouth  open, 
and  his  neck  stretched  forward,  reidy 


934f  THE    IIEHOINE. 

to  arrest  the  next  moment  of  silence. 
It  caiiie. 

'«  This  is  the  fim, 
Equalled  by  none  ; 
So  never  have  done  !'* 

cried  the  uncouth  creature,  and  then 
protruded  such  an  exorbitant  laugh,  as 
made  amends  for  the  gravity  of  his 
whole  life. 

"  You  are  a  happy  mortal,'^  said 
Stuart. 

"  So  i  am  happy,*'  cried  he,  "  and 
every  thing  seems  to  be  happy,  for  every 
thing  seems  to  be  dancing  1*' 

He  spoke,  and  rolled  from  his  chair. 
Montmorenci  carried  him  to  bed  ;  Stu- 
art took  leave  ;  and  the  landlady  and  1 
separated  to  our  apartments. 

Think  of  Stuart,    that   never  once 


THE    HEROINE.  235 

fixed  his  eyes  on  me,  with  a  speaking 
gaze  !  Nay,  not  only  is  the  feiiow  far 
from  a  pathetic  turn  Iiimseh",  but  he 
has  also  an  odd  talent  of  detaching- 
even  me  from  my  miseries,  and  of  re- 
ducing me  to  horrid  hilarity.  It  would 
vex  a  saint  to  see  how  he  makes  me 
laugh,  though  I  am  predetermined  not 
to  give  him  a  single  smile.  But  ^rlont- 
morenci,  the  sentimental  Montmorenci, 
timely  interposes  the  fine  melancholy 
of  his  features  ;~he  looks,  he  siglis,  he 
speaks;  and  in  a  moment  1  am  recalled 
to  the  tender  einotions,  and  to  soft  com- 
plaints of  my  deplorable  destujy. 

Adieu. 

END  OF  VOL.  I. 


II.  Clarke,  Printer,   Well-street,  Lomljii. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBANA 


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