STiEE OLD BOOK GEORGE B ARNWELL: t ( . BY T. S. S URR, Author of " Splendid Misery," " Winter in London," &c. But is amusement all ? Studious of song, And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, I would not trifle merely, though the world Be loudest in their praise, who do no more. COWPER. N E W - Y R K : BURGESS, STRINGER & CO 1 845. HOBBS, STEREOTYPER, 41 Ann Stre e t.- J. D BEDFORD, Power-Press Printer. ADVERTISEMENT. CUSTOM has long established the right of drama- tists to a property in the plots and characters of nov- elists; and recent instances might be adduced of novels and romances, which were scarcely suffered to be read, ere they were converted into dramas. The equal right of the novelist to similar tres- passes upon dramatic ground cannot be contested : whether the exercise of that right, in the present instance, will be as favourably received by the pub- lic, their voice can alone determine. As there may be those, however, who, acceding to the question of right, yet marvel at the author's taste in the selection of so hackneyed a subject, he begs leave to state the motive of his choice. Having been so fortunate as to be present at Mrs. Siddons' performance of Milwood, he was so agreea- bly surprised by the novel, yet just colouring, which that lady's incomparable talents gave to a character, till then deemed insignificant, that he determined, perhaps rashly, upon the present undertaking. Such readers, as have seen Milwood personated in the usual manner only, will conclude, that the copy attempted in the following pages differs too much from the vulgar openness of character they have been accustomed to associate with the original. Such as iv ADVERTISEMENT. have seen Mrs. Siddons' performance will, he hum- bly conceives, form a contrary opinion : and he rests perfectly at ease as to the decision of the best judges respecting the preference he has yielded to her deline- ation of Mihvood, whose most extraordinary pow- ers are only equalled by the just discrimination, which directs their display. The author has deviated in several instances from the story he has adopted ; has introduced some new characters, and changed the features of others ; yet, as the chief incidents are preserved, he thought it more candid to retain the original title, than to in- vent a new one. Of his own production, he would only observe, that he believes the design is novel, and respectfully submits it to the world, merely as the exercise of a mind somewhat contemplative, in those evening hours of leisure, which the duties of a humble des- tination in life occasionally afford him ; and by no means as the effort of a competitor for literary fame. GEORGE BARNWELL. CHAPTER I . As into air the purer spirits flow, And sep'rate from their kindred dre:*s below, So flew the soul to its congenial place. POPE. THE eye that has witnessed the peaceful departure of a just man's spirit in the presence of affectionate relatives, and revering friends, has beheld a spectacle solemnly delightful, and awfully interesting, beyond all power of description. On such occasions the heart trusts not to the tongue's feeble utterance, but, rushing to the counte- nance, there delineates its emotion in a language without words. Such was the scene at the rectory of Hanworth : its worthy incum- bent had heard with resignation the opinion of his physician, that no human means could save him. Mortification had advanced almost to its last stage. Yet, though he felt no pangs of guilt, no dread of future worlds, though perfectly resigned to die, there were attrac- tions, whose resistless force still held his wishes for a longer life. Around that couch, from which he never was to riss, knelt objects that had awakened in his breast, the finest feelings of a husband, father, friend. The amiable woman, who at an early age had given him her hand, and with it the worthiest of hearts, too deeply afflicted to weep, gazed alternately on her expiring husband, and on those who were so soon to be the orphan pledges of his love, with the soul- piercing wildness of despair. Their son, a youth of sixteen, held his father's hand clasped firmly betwixt both his own, and bent his face over it to conceal his tears. A daughter, somewhat younger, with tears and swelling sighs, mingled ejaculations to the Deity to spare a life so dear. Leaning his head against the foot-post of the bed stood Dr. Hill, the benevolent friend and skilful physician of the rector, whose serene countenance he appeared contemplating with pleasure. " I could have wished he had arrived I should have retired from the scenes of this life with less regret, had I committed these my only cares to his kind keeping," faintly uttered Mr. Barn well. " But his own good heart," continued he, " will suggest to hiia all I could have said." It was his brother to whom he alluded, who entered the room as he was speaking. His appearance changed the scene. Mrs. Barn- 8 GEORGE BARNWELL. well, Eliza, and George, clung round his knees, and seemed to hail him as the messenger of joy ; but it was a momentary joy. Sir James had been anxiously expected, and his arrival, as it ended that anxiety, occasioned a momentary impulse of pleasure. But no sooner did the melancholy cause of his visit recur, than silence and sorrow ensued. Sir James, after a pause, approached his dying brother, and an affecting farewell took place. Tears rolled down the pallid cheek of the worthy rector, as he pressed his brother's hand, and cast a meaning look upon his family. He sunk exhausted on his pillow. " Think of this world no more, my brother," said Sir James : " from this moment this is my wife these are my children and all I have is theirs !" " My God ! I thank thee," exclaimed the rector, and expired. CHAPTER II. These thoughts, my father, ev'ry spot endear, And whilst I think, with self-accusing pain, A stranger shall possess the lov'd domain. In each low wind I seem thy voice to hear I Yet, oh ! poor cottage and thou sylvan shade Remember ere 1 left your coverts green, Where in my youth I mus'd in childhood play'd, I gaz'd, I paus'd, I dropp'cl tear unseen, (That bitter from the fount of memory fell,) Thinking on him wiio rear'd you now farewell ! BOWLES. WHEN the first effusion of sorrow for the loss of friends is ex- hausted, and grief begins to listen to the voice of reason, there are certain arguments which custom almost invariably applies on such occasions; such as, that " we must all die," that " our loss is their gain," that " sorrow is useless, and tears cannot restore them to us." -Sometimes it happens that Prudence steps kindly in with some such counsel as this " that though a husband or a father is gone, it is a comfortable consideration that his widow or his children enjoy the fruits of his industry and economy ; and that, instead of grieving for a calamity that is past, it were better to rejoice in the blessings that remain." Such are the reflections that soothe the breasts of many an heir, and many a widow, beneath the sable show of sorrow ; who oft- times, by their cheerful countenance, wisely endeavour to dissipate the gloom occasioned by the escutcheon that darkens the window of their ball room, and the black equipage that conveys them to the opera "Thus bear about the mockery of wo To midnight dances and the public show !" The family of the Barn wells, inheriting from the rector little else than his good name, were in no danger of insulting his mem- GEORGE BARNWELL. ory by a joyful display of his wealth ; nor would their grief hare been lessened by the possession of thousands. Every branch of this bereaved family was sensible of the loss it had sustained , and felt, when the violence of grief was abated, a regret more calm in- deed, but not less sorrowful. Sir James was, perhaps, the individual among them who, pos- sessing the least sensibility, was the least affected ; not that the knight was deficient in those feelings which are the honourable ap- Eendages of humanity, but he was older than Mrs. Barnwell by at jast ten years, and had spent the greater part of his life in a counting house, and on the Royal Exchange ; which, though cer- tainly the schools where industry may learn an honourable way to its rewards, cannot be deemed the most favourable soil for the growth of those sensibilities which, though not virtues themselves, are at least Virtue's faithful allies. Sir James was the first, therefore, to call the attention of his sister-in-law from the tomb which held her affections, to those du- ties which she owed to society, to her children, to herself. " I am a lone man," said the knight, " and, by the blessing of heaven upon honest endeavours, have accumulated more than I shall ever spend. My brother, I know, accumulated in another way his stock was the treasure of the mind a proper posses- sion, doubtless, for a clergyman, but for which his heirs are little or nothing the better. " After the loss you have sustained, my sister," continued the knight, " I am sure your inclination is to quit this place as soon as possible. I insist on a visit to my old mansion, where we may leisurely discuss the plan I have in contemplation to make us all happy." A proposal so perfectly congenial to her wishes was readily ac- cepted by Mrs. Barnwell, and a day was named for their departure ; but whilst herself and Eliza impatiently desired that day's arrival, George deprecated its approach. To quit for ever his native home, cost his young heart, which was the shrine of sensibility, some strug- gles. Among the various objects that called reflection to its pleas- ing, painful task, there stood in the centre of the garden a small tem- ple, built in the Gothic style, and dedicated to retirement. This was constructed under the direction of George himself, and was the favourite retreat of the rector. To this place young Barnwell would frequently retire, where memory would rehearse to him those lessons, to which he had often listened with reverent attention and, aided by fancy, would place his father's countenance and form before him. As he strolled round the grounds, in one place a plant, in another some little monument with classical quotation, would remind him of the pleasing employment of his past hours. " Days of happiness! hours of hope, farewell!" exclaimed the youth : " and you, sweet home, where first the light of heaven beamed upon these eyes farewell ! Oh, you have cheated me, false Hope ! How often has my sainted father, too, added false 8 GEORGE BARNWELL. well, Eliza, and George, clung round his knees, and seemed to hail him as the messenger of joy ; but it was a momentary joy. Sir James had been anxiously expected, and his arrival, as it ended that anxiety, occasioned a momentary impulse of pleasure. But no sooner did the melancholy cause of his visit recur, than silence and sorrow ensued. Sir James, after a pause, approached his dying brother, and an affecting farewell took place. Tears rolled down the pallid cheek of the worthy rector, as he pressed his brother's hand, and cast a meaning look upon his family. He sunk exhausted on his pillow. " Think of this world no more, my brother," said Sir James : " from this moment this is my wife these are my children and all I have is theirs !" " My God ! I thank thee," exclaimed the rector, and expired. CHAPTER II. These thoughts, my father, ev'ry spot endear, And whilst 1 think, with self- accusing paiu, A stranger shall possess the lov'd Domain. In each low wind I seem thy voice to hear ! Yet, oh ! poor cottage and thou sylvan shade Remember ere I left your coverts green, Where in my youth I inus'd in childhood play'd, I gaz'd, I paus'd, I dropp'd a tear unseen, (That bitter from the fount of memory fell,) Thinking on him who rear'd you now furewell ! BOWLES. WHEN the first effusion of sorrow for the loss of friends is ex- hausted, and grief begins to listen to the voice of reason, there are certain arguments which custom almost invariably applies on snch occasions ; such as, that " we must all die," that " our loss is their gain," that " sorrow is useless, and tears cannot restore them to us." Sometimes it happens that Prudence steps kindly in with some such counsel as this " that though a husband or a father is gone, it is a comfortable consideration that his widow or his children enjoy the fruits of his industry and economy ; and that, instead of grieving for a calamity that is past, it were better to rejoice in the blessings that remain." Such are the reflections that soothe the breasts of many an heir, and many a widow, beneath the sable show of sorrow ; who oft- times, by their cheerful countenance, wisely endeavour to dissipate the gloom occasioned by the escutcheon that darkens the window of their ball room, and the black equipage that conveys them to the opera " Thus bear about the mockery of wo To midnight dances and the public show !" The family of the Barnvvells, inheriting from the rector little else than his good name, were in no danger of insulting his mem- GEORGE BARNWKLL. ory by a joyful display of his wealth ; nor would their grief have been lessened by the possession of thousands. Every branch of this bereaved family was sensible of the loss it had sustained , and felt, when the violence of grief was abated, a regret more calm in- deed, but not less sorrowful. Sir James was, perhaps, the individual among them who, pos- sessing the least sensibility, was the least affected ; not that the knight was deficient in those feelings which are the honourable ap- pendages of humanity, but he was older than Mrs. Barnwell by at least ten years, and had spent the greater part of his life in a counting house, and on the Royal Exchange ; which, though cer- tainly the schools where industry may learn an honourable way to its rewards, cannot be deemed the most favourable soil for the growth of those sensibilities which, though not virtues themselves, are at least Virtue's faithful allies. Sir James was the first, therefore, to call the attention of his sister-in-law from the tomb which held her affections, to those du- ties which she owed to society, to her children, to herself. "I am a lone man," said the knight, " and, by the blessing of heaven upon honest endeavours, have accumulated more than I shall ever spend. My brother, I know, accumulated in another way his stock was the treasure of the mind a proper posses- sion, doubtless, for a clergyman, but for which his heirs are little or nothing the better. " After the loss you have sustained, my sister," continued the knight, " I am sure your inclination is to quit this place as soon as possible. I insist on a visit to my old mansion, where we may leisurely discuss the plan I have in contemplation to make us all happy." A proposal so perfectly congenial to her wishes was readily ac- cepted by Mrs. Barnwell, and a day was named for their departure ; but whilst herself and Eliza impatiently desired that day's arrival, George deprecated its approach. To quit for ever his native home, cost his young heart, which was the shrine of sensibility, some strug- gles. Among the various objects that called reflection to its pleas- ing, painful task, there stood in the centre of the garden a small tem- ple, built in the Gothic style, and dedicated to retirement. This was constructed under the direction of George himself, and was the favourite retreat of the rector. To this place young Barnwell would frequently retire, where memory would rehearse to him those lessons, to which he had often listened with reverent attention and, aided by fancy, would place his father's countenance and form before him. As lie strolled round the grounds, in one place a plant, in another some little monument with classical quotation, would remind him of the pleasing employment of his past hours. " Days of happiness! hours of hope, farewell!" exclaimed the youth : " and you, sweet home, where first the light of heaven beamed upon these eyes farewell ! Oh, you have cheated me, false Hope ! How often has my sainted father, too, added false 12 GEORGE B A RN WELL. " Pray, sir," said Miss Lucas, "have yon among other things been taught a knowledge of the holy Scriptures?" "My father, madam, was a clergyman," said George, with a degree of warmth : " and I was intended for the same holy office ;" added he, with an emphatic sigh. "Then, pray," said Miss Lucas, without feeling the rehuke, " do you believe the story of the witch of Endor?" "Pardon me," interrupted Sir James; "but it is a custom I have established at my own table, these thirty years, never to per- mit the discussion of religious or political subjects over the bottle. 1 beg leave, therefore, to propose a walk." CHAPTER IV. "The passions affect the mind with greater strength when we are asleep than when we are awake Joy and sorrow give us more vigorous sensations of pain or pleasure at this time than at any other." ADDISON. WHY is curiosity most easily raised, or why most unquietly does it rest in the female breast? Eliza, whose modesty did not permit her to trouble the company with her observations, yet treasured in her memory all that had been said concerning the abbey. When she retired to her chamber, the windows of which com- manded a view of the ruins, she questioned the servant who attended her concerning the story of the haunted aisle. The incongruous narrative of Hannah served only to increase her curiosity, and she determined to pay a visit to the abbey the following morning before breakfast. Sleep did not conquer the senses of Eliza, that evening, with its usual ease. She had extinguished her candle, had whispered a prayer from the heart, and sought repose. A slight slumber brought with it the following dream " She had reached the abbey ruins, and was just entering the haunted aisle, when a tomb, which stood at the entrance, seemed to rock at her approach. Whilst hesitating whether to retire or advance, the tomb became enveloped in an ascending vapour. In a moment the abbey ruins echoed the groans of one in the agonies of death ; and, as the vapour dispersed, there appeared kneeling on the tomb a most beautiful female, naked to the waist. Her eyes were swollen with weeping, her hair was dishevelled, and from her wounded breast blood trickled, whilst her hands in vain attempted to remove a dagger, whose fatal point was buried in her bosom. Eliza's attention to the spectre was so intense, that she did not notice the form of a man who stood contemplating, with smiles, the ago- nies of the female, until the sound of a harp, which he touched in a rapid manner, aroused her. His figure was handsome, his com- plexion a dark brown, and jet black hair curled in ringlets on his GEORGE B A RNWELL. 13 forehead : his voice, which accompanied the harp, was melodious. Listening to his lively strain, Eliza was smitten with horror and astonishment at the following rhapsody Finn- softly gently vital stream; 1 c crimsou life-drops, stay ; Indulge me with this pleasing dream Through an eternal day. See see my soul, her agony ! See how her eye-balls glare; Those shrieks, delightful harmony, Proclaim her deep despair 1 Rise rise infernal spirits, rise, Swift dart across her brain : Thou, Horror, with blood-chilling cries. Lead on thy hideous train. O, feast, my soul revenge is sweet ; Louisa, take my scorn ; Curs'd was the hour that saw us meet, The hour when we were born ! Scarcely was the last stanza sung, when the trembling Eliza awoke from her dream ; doubting, for a considerable time, whether what she had seen or heard was not reality. Just as she had over- come the impressions arising from so horrible a vision, the nigi.fc wind wafted by the casement of her chamber the tone of an inslru- mimt, so similar to those she had heard in fancy, that, starting up in her bed, she drew aside the curtain, under an apprehension of beholding, awake, the vision of her sleep. The chamber was in total darkness ; but the same sounds were repeated ; and, hearing them now more distinctly, her heart sunk with terror at the certainty. She determined to quit her bed. and, feeling her way to the window, opened it. The same sounds were heard again, yet more distinctly, and she was convinced they came from the abbey ruins. She bent her eyes towards the spot whence thny issued : in a few moments all was silence, and she beheld c. lighted torch borne along the ruins, but the night was too dark to discern the person that carried it. Returning to her bed, terrified and astonished, she began to reason with her fears. That the music was not imaginary she was con- vinced ; arid that its influence, added to the impression of Hannah's incoherent narrative, which bore a resemblance to her dream, had occasioned the vision, she no longer doubted ; yet not less strange appeared the reality than the vision. For what purpose any one could ramble among the mouldering tombs of the abbey, she hc.d yet to learn. Fear, at length, gradually retired from her breast ; but its most constant companion, Curiosity, remained. 12 GEORGE BARNW ELL. " Pray, sir," said Miss Lucas, "have you among other things been taught a knowledge of the holy Scriptures V " My father, madam, was a clergyman," said George, with a degree of warmth : " and I was intended for the same holy office ;" added he, with an emphatic sigh. " Then, pray," said Miss Lucas, without feeling the rebuke, " do you believe the story of the witch of Endor?" "Pardon me," interrupted Sir James; "but it is a custom I have established at my own table, these thirty years, never to per- mit the discussion of religious or political subjects over the bottle. 1 beg leave, therefore, to propose a walk." CHAPTER IV. "The passions affect the mind with greater strength when we are asleep than when we are awake Joy and sorrow give us more vigorous sensations of pain or pleasure at this time than at any other." ADDISON. WHY is curiosity most easily raised, or why most unquietly does it rest in the female breast ? Eliza, whose modesty did not permit her to trouble the company with her observations, yet treasured in her memory all that had been said concerning the abbey. When she retired to her chamber, the windows of which com- manded a view of the ruins, she questioned the servant who attended her concerning the story of the haunted aisle. The incongruous narrative of Hannah served only to increase her curiosity, and she determined to pay a visit to the abbey the following morning before breakfast. Sleep did not conquer the senses of Eliza, that evening, with its usual ease. She had extinguished her candle, had whispered a prayer from the heart, and sought repose. A slight slumber brought with it the following dream " She had reached the abbey ruins, and was just entering the haunted aisle, when a tomb, which stood at the entrance, seemed to rock at her approach. Whilst hesitating whether to retire or advance, the tomb became enveloped in an ascending vapour. In a moment the abbey ruins echoed the groans of one in the agonies of death ; and, as the vapour dispersed, there appeared kneeling on the tomb a most beautiful female, naked to the waist. Her eyes were swollen with weeping, her hair was dishevelled, and from her wounded breast blood trickled, whilst her hands in vain attempted to remove a dagger, whose fatal point was buried in her bosom. Eliza's attention to the spectre was so intense, that she did not notice the form of a man who stood contemplating, with smiles, the ago- nies of the female, until the sound of a harp, which he touched in a rapid manner, aroused her. His figure was handsome, his com- plexion a dark brown, and jet black hair curled in ringlets on his GEORGE BARNWELL. 13 forehead : his voice, which accompanied the harp, was melodious. Listening to his lively strain, Eliza was smitten with horror and astonishment at the following rhapsody Flow softly gently vital stream ; Vc crimson life-drops, stay ; Indulge me with this pleasing dream Through an eternal day. See see my soul, her agony 1 Sec how her eye-balls glare; Those shrieks, delightful harmony, Proclaim her deep despair 1 Rise rise infernal spirits, rise, Swift dart across her brain : Thou, Horror, with blood-chilling cries, Lead on thy hideous train. O, feast, my soul revenge is sweet ; Louisa, take my scorn ; Curs'd was the hour that saw us meet, The hour when we were born I Scarcely was the last stanza sung, when the tremhling Eliza awoke from her dream ; doubting, for a considerable time, whether what she had seen or heard was not reality. Just as she had over- come the impressions arising from so horrible a vision, the night wind wafted by the casement of her chamber the tone of an instru- ment, so similar to those she had heard in fancy, that, starting up in her bed, she drew aside the curtain, under an apprehension of beholding, awake, the vision of her sleep. The chamber was in total darkness ; but the same sounds were repeated ; and, hearing them now more distinctly, her heart sunk with terror at the certainty. She determined to quit her bed. and, feeling her way to the window, opened it. The same sounds were heard again, yet more distinctly, and she was convinced they came from the abbey ruins. She bent her eyes towards the spot whence thny issued : in a few moments all was silence, and she beheld a lighted torch borne along the ruins, but the night was too dark to discern the person that carried it. Returning to her bed, terrified and astonished, she began to reason wilh her fears. That the music was not imaginary she was con- vinced ; and that its influence, added to the impression of Hannah's incoherent narrative, which bore a resemblance to her dream, had occasioned the vision, she no longer doubted ; yet not less strange appeared the reality than the vision. For what purpose any one could ramble among the mouldering tombs of the abbey, she had yet to learn. Fear, at length, gradually retired from her breast ; but its most constant companion, Curiosity, remained. 14 GEORGE BARNWSLt. CHAPTER V. Nature well known, no prodigies remain : Comets are regular, and Wlnirton plain. POPE. " THERE is a very singular coincidence of your dream with the music you really hearJ," said George to his sister, who had unbur- dened her mind to him, according to her usual practice. " Do you remember enough of the place you supposed was the abbey, to compare what you saw in your dream with the ruins them- selves?" " Beyond a doubt," said Eliza. " We will take a ramble there in the evening," replied George ; " and should there be a tomb in the old aisle resembling that in your dream, I think we should relate the whole to Sir James. " Murder," added he, " is a crime, above all others, offensive to the Deity; and, if ever the Omnipotent displays a miracle, I can conceive of nothing more likely to occasion his supernatural inter- ference than detection of so foul a crime." They separated. At dinner they joined a numerous circle of the neighbouring gentry. It was the custom of Sir James, once a year, to invite them all without exception. At other times he in- dulged his pleasure in a selection. On this occasion he relinquish- ed his prejudices, and though himself a whig of the old school, and a high churchman, there were at his table individuals of as various a cast, as a circuit often mile* round contained. Among these visitors, there was one most opposite to the worthy knight in his principles and his manners, and whose residence was contiguous to Sir James's. By the opposite to a whig used to be formerly understood a tory ; and by the opposite to high-church, low-church was suggested. Now Mr. Mental was neither whig nor tory, nor a high nor a low churchman ; yet were his principles more at variance with Sir James than a Jacobite presbyter's : the latter only differed with the knight as to the person of a king and the modes of religion. Mr. Mental was supposed to be equally averse to all kings, and to all religion. As his figure and dress were the most singular imaginable, they rendered him conspicuous in all companies. He was of a large make, but thin ; his face pale ; his hair, a coal black, cropped short in the neck ; his dress, always the same, a suit of plain brown cloth. He would eat nothing that had ever enjoyed life : nothing in which sugar was an ingredient ; and his drink was water. He never smiled ; and the only pleasure he ever appeared to enjoy, was the triumph of argument. To obtain this pleasure, he would con- stantly controvert the most allowed truths ; delighted in attacking revelation, and was indefatigable in discovering the scruples of his hearers on religious points. The irremediable evils of society were his dearest topics, and the GEORGE BARNWELL. 15 climax of his felicity was, by the abuse of the eloquence he pos- sessed, to render discontent triumphant. He had resided in the neighbourhood many years, but saw no company at his own house, and very rarely accepted an invitation to any other: whenever he did, it was his invariable custom to sin- gle out one from the younger part of a company, with whom he would abruptly begin a conversation. George and a young baronet, of one-and-twenty, were engaged in some trifling discourse, when Mr. Mental tapped the latter on the shoulder, and asked him if he had read a celebrated novel, much talked of. " I never read novels," said the baronet. " Why not?" asked Mr. Mental. " It is throwing away one's tune, to say the best," replied the baronet. " I make a point never to read any thing of that sort. I never read a novel in my life, and I never will : they're well enough for girls." " Prejudice prejudice prejudice how art thou worshipped in this isle !" exclaimed Mr. Mental. " I suppose, then, you plunge a pretty good depth in literature of a more abstruse or erudite na- ture?" continued he. "Have you looked into the Political Justice?" " I make a point never to read works of that description ; I un- derstand its object is to turn every thing topsy-turvy ; and I feel no sort of inclination to be made giddy. I leave this sort of thing to your revolutionists." "Prejudice again," cried Mental. "Perhaps, then, you dive into the mines of science. You read " " Oh, no, believe me, not I. 1 was obliged to do something in that way at Pembroke. But I've done with lectures completely ; and, to own the truth, the only science I care about now, is, to make an estate of ten thousand a year bring me happiness in the way I like it." " I crave your pardon then," said Mr. Mental. " Had I known yon were in the possession of ten thousand a year, I should by no means have suspected you guilty of possessing a mind." " Is there no prejudice in that observation, sir?" said Barnwell, with a smile of modest diffidence. Mr. Mental, instead of answering, fixed a pair of large black eyes on George ; and, folding his arms upon his breast, examined every feature of his countenance. After a considerable pause " You, I believe, do not possess ten thousand a year," cried he ; " but if I am not much, indeed, deceived, you have materials of which a skilful artist might form a great mind. Allow me to ask yon have you a father?" George gave an expressive look. " He has left you did I know him? was he of these parts?" Georsre satisfied his curiosity. " Unfortunate ! unfortunate, indeed !" continued Mental, " that such materials should have fallen into such hands. You of course 16 GCORGBBARNWELL. endeavour to compel your reason to adopt all those doctrines which priestcraft teaches." " Sir," replied Barn well, with a glow of indignation on his cheeks, " the honoured person to whom, without knowing him, you apply a common-place epithet, never strove to inspire a sen- timent in the breast of his children, to which the most enlightened reason could object." " You rejoice me," cried Mental " You have not then imbibed the jargon of superstition, called religion."* " Superstition and religion in your dictionary, then, are synony- mous terms," cried Barn well. " In the dictionary of truth they are so," replied Mental. " What is religion but ceremony, or a set of ceremonies : what are ceremonies, but superstition ! For instance, how absurd, how degrading to a human being, with faculties so comprehensive that all nature bows before him, to which she unfolds her secrets and submits her laws I say then it must be beneath the dignity of such a creature to bend his knees, to bow his head, and mumble syllables of absurdities strung together centuries ago, when, by the exercise of his own powers, he might be introduced into the arcana of great Nature herself." George replied " The dignity of human nature, sir, is no new subject to me. My father taught it me truly, and exemplified his doctrines by his conduct. He taught me, sir, that the dignity of our nature cannot be degraded by a public acknowledgment of our obligations to the Author of nature, according to the customs and manners of our country; and that it is better to sanction, by ex- ample, even prejudices, which cannot be momentarily and safely removed, than by ridiculing those institutions, which the mass of our fellow-citizens hold sacred, to give the reins to uncultivated nature." " There is a vein of independence in your reasoning I admire extremely, however much we may deviate in our conclusions," said Mental. This introduction led to a long conversation, in which each seemed to take an interest. Mental appeared less and less disgust- ing in the eyes of George, and George delighted old Mental, who expressed a wish that this would not be the last of their conversations. " You are an inmate of Sir James's, I presume," said he. " For the present," said Barnwell ; " but in a week or two I shall quit this place for London." " For London !" cried Mental. " What takes you to that focus of corruption and folly?" " My uncle has most generously entered into a treaty with a * Some readers may deem it an impertinent interruption, if not an impeachment of their understanding's, to be reminded " that the sentiments which are put into the mouths of various personages in a novel, are for the illustration of their various char- acters, and ought never to be viewed in any other light." Rut the author would rather incur the blame of an unnecessary interruption, than suffer the possibility of a sup- position that it was his wish to disseminate principles which it is his aim to destroy. GEORGE BARNWEtL. 17 merchant there, a share of whose concern is to become mine, after the usual initiation." "A merchant!" exclaimed Mental. "Can you confine your capacities then to the boundaries of a counting-house leger and condemn your noble faculties to calculations of courses of ex- change] Have you thought what you are about ?" " I believe I have thought too much about it," replied George. " To speak candidly, I have been at no small pains to make a match betwixt duty and inclination ; but the latter receives the addresses of the former, even yet, but coolly." " Mr. Barnwell," said Mental, earnestly, " as you value your happiness for life, reflect now is that important moment, in the period of your existence, that will gild with pleasure, or darken with discontent, every scene as yet behind the veil of time. I feel a lively interest in your welfare ; and , if you can trust yourself with me for an hour to-morrow, I will venture to say you will not regret it." CHAPTER VI. And when they talk of him they shake their heads, And whisper one another in the ear. SIIAKSFFRE. A SUMMER day drew towards its close carriage after carriage had rolled away the well-pleased guests of the worthy knight, and silence once more reigned in the temple of hospitality. While Eliza, with a palpitating heart, accompanied her brother to the haunted aisle the impressions of terror revived in her breast as they entered the avenue from the park, which led directly to the ruins. They were at the entrance of the aisle Eliza trembled "Stay," said George; "it is dark, and we are far from the house. A thought strikes me I have little dread of ghosts but it is not impossible that this retreat may be the rendezvous of be- ings less merciful, and more powerful than mere spectres. Were w to be attacked, our loudest cries would reach no friendly ear. Do you wait a moment behind this old column, and listen atten- tively. I will go on. Should there be danger, you will hear my cries, (they shall be loud enough,) and immediately run as fast as possible towards the house it's a straight road, and you cannot miss it." When George had resolved on any purpose, he always adhered to it. Remonstrance on the score of his personal danger was in vain, and the anxious Eliza clung round the pillnr in trembling ex- pectation. A few minutes elapsed Eliza grew impatient. A few minutes more passed away no noise was heard no brother re- turned. The whole space of time was less than ten minutes but how much longer it appeared in the reckoning of suspense, is easily conceived. 18 GEORGE BARNWELIi. At length she heard a distant sound of footsteps ; it approached nearer she left her retreat, thinking to meet her brother ; when a form, muffled in a long black cloak, and masked, met her at the entrance of the aisle. She screamed In an instant George was at her elbow ; but the cause of her alarm was vanished. " Surely I cannot be deceived," said George. " 'Twas certain- ly a man I saw him most distinctly. A black cloak and a mask were lying on the very tomb you have described. As I approached it, a man, who was kneeling near it, started up, hurried on the cloak and mask, and, presenting a pistol, spoke these remarkable words ' I am discovered ?' Ere I had recovered from my surprise he vanished." " Foi Heaven's sake, my dear brother, let us quit this situation : it may be the abode of murderers," said Eliza. They walked swiftly towards the house " There are so many singular circumstances combined in this adventure," said George, " that T am determined to relate the whole affair to Sir James. It was late when they reached home ; the family were assembled at supper, and the looks of Eliza answered the purpose of a pre- face to George's narrative. " Now young gentleman, said Mr. Sandall, triumphantly,! sup- pose you concede a little of your scepticism against apparitions." " Not a scruple," said George. " What ! will you allow nothing supernatural in the dream of Miss Barnwell nothing supernatural in the description she gives of the tomb she never beheld ?" "True," said George, " she never beheld this tomb ; but Han- nah has seen it, and, in describing it to my sister, so impressed the image on her mind, that it is impossible to doubt the origin of her dream." " Did Hannah, too, impress her mind with the poem she so well remembered?" " Hannah told me a confused story, something similar in its cir- cumstances to those in my dream," said Eliza. " I have heard," said Sir James, " stories of this nature fre- quently repeated ; bul, till now. I own, I never paid a serious atten- tion to them. What has happened, however, determines me to take some active measures towards unravelling the apparent mys- tery. In the morning I will myself see the place, and examine its appearances." In the morning the knight, with a numerous train of attendants, sallied forth to survey the haunted aisle. He was supported on his right hand by the superstitious Mr. Sandall ; on his left by Barn- well. A few armed domestics preceded them. Arrived at the entrance of the aisle, Mr. Sandall paused. " If I might advise," said he, "the servants, I conceive, should first search the place, for they are armed." " But what are arms against incorporeal substances, Mr. San- dall?" said George. " Besides, we can take the arms which the GEORGE BARNWELL. 19 servants carry, who may wait here, and be within call, if their assistance is wanted." " Foolish scheme enough !" said Sandall, terrified in no small degree. " Suppose," continued George, " some demon really tenants the old tomb, what do the servants know of exorcising ? Come, sir, let us enter. I'll take this musket, and if the inhabitants are formed of tangible stuff, a bullet may be useful, in case of attack ; on the other hand, should they be spiritual residentiaries, I shall turn them over to the discipline of the church." " Not so much levity," said Sir James. " I apprehend no dan- ger ; but there's no telling so go on : Joseph, we'll proceed as we set out." Some minutes passed in the most profound silence. Nothing was heard, nothing was seen, that could justify the most distant conjecture. George could hardly refrain smiling, and in his heart exclaimed " / would this solemn mockery were ended;" but his uncle's reproof was yet recent. At length " Are you sure you saw upon this tomb, this very tomb, a mask and a cloak?" said Sir Jafhes : "that you also saw a man kneel near this tomb saw him rise put on the mask and cloak? Are you perfectly convinced no part of this was imagination?" " I am sure I saw all that you have stated." " 'Tis very strange !" said Sir James. " Very strange !" said every one. " Could not this tomb be moved ?" said George. " Were we in the forests of Germany, T should be induced to think, from circum- stances, that it covers the trap-door of some subterraneous cavern." " Ah, sir," said Joseph, an old domestic of the knight's, " you have hit the right nail on its head now. To be sure it's no business of mine ; but if I were a magistrate " " Hold your tongue, Joseph What would you do if you were a magistrate?" said the knight, in a breath. " Why, might I be bold to speak the truth, I do think murder lies hid under this here moniment; and, if I was a magistrate, it should be all pulled down, and dug under ; and my life on it, but murder lies at the bottom." " That can't be done without the consent of the owner," said Sir James, " or some better grounds of suspicion than we have at present." " Do you not own the ruins, sir?" said George. " Not this part of them," said the knight. " All the land on this side the row of alder trees belongs to the next estate." " And who owns that?" asked George. " Mr. Mental, the cynic you saw yesterday. What do you start at?" " Nothing, sir," replied George, hesitating ; " but Mr. Mental is a strange man." 20 GEORGE BARNWELL. " Ah, God forgive him, if all they say be true," cried old Joseph, with an expressive shake of the head. " God can't forgive him," cried Sandall : " he's an atheist." " He is a singular man, undoubtedly," said Sir James : " and people will talk. Nobody, it seems, knows who or what he is, or where he came from. But 1 have heard old men, who remember his first coming here, whisper strange stories." George was ruminating After another fruitless search they returned home. A variety of conjectures presented themselves to the fertile imagi- nation of George, all pointed to Mr. Mental. He now conceived, that the man he had seen the preceding evening was Mr. Mental. He imagined the voice he had heard resembled Mr. Mental's, and built upon these impressions a suspicion to the disadvantage of his character. Quickly again his heart rebuked him for so illiberal a conclusion from a train of mere accidents. He recollected his invi- tation, and resolved immediately to visit him. Unwilling to awake those suspicions in the breast of another, which he was himself ashamed of cherishing, he determined to keep his visit a secret from the family ; and merely observed, that, a,s he wished to take a long stroll, it was doubtful if he should return before evening. CHAPTER VII. Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumour of oppression and deceit Might never reach me more I COWPER. THE residence of Mr. Mental was a short distance from Sir James's. It was a large, old fashioned house, containing many rooms ; of these, only three were in use ; one served as a kitchen and chamber for an old woman, his only domestic ; a second was a sitting, eating, and sleeping room of her master ; and the third was a study. George rung the bell at the iron gate, which opened on a plot of ground before the house, that was formerly a lawn. In its present neglected state it would be difficult to call it by any name that would convey an idea of its appearance. The above-named old dame appeared at a window, and demand- ed the business of Barnwell. Having informed her master, George was admitted. Wading through " weeds most rank and vile," he had at length found himself in the aforesaid sitting room, where Sarah told him that her master would come to him. After some time most patiently occupied in contemplating the motley furniture of the apartment, and a few ejaculations of surprise at so strange a mode of life, George ventured to call old Sarah, and ask if her master was particularly engaged; if so, he would take another opportunity of seeing him. GEORGE BARNWELL. 21 " As to that, come when you will, he's always at his studies," said Sarah. " Shall I g-o to him?" said George. " God forbid !" exclaimed Sarah " Go into the study ! I have been here these twenty years, and no living soul but master has been in that study." Every moment the curiosity of George was increased, and he felt a great inclination to chat with Sarah concerning her master, when tlie original himself appeared. George gazed earnestly at him as he entered, but could observe nothing in his countenance that in the least sanctioned his suspicions : there was no embar- rassment, but an air of solemn ease, a kind of look that indicated a familiarity with grief. " And you are really come !" exclaimed he. " Is it the spur of curiosity that has urged you to this compliance ? Come, be honest, sir. You wondered, doubtless, how an old fellow, like myself, could at first sight be smitten with an attachment to your counte- nance. Sir, I have read the wondrous volume of this world. I have been amongst men I have bustled in the crowd. I have also been secluded from the herd: and, in silent musings of full many a year, I have contemplated the strange variety of human nature Perhaps there is no passion, no impulse of the mind, that I have not experienced Man is familiar to me I know the whole machine its movements and the nature of the materials of which it is composed. Often by the countenance men are deceived. I may be so. If I am not, you have an honest mind ; by which I mean, that you are sincere; that your tongue utters what your heart prompts, and your reason dictates. Now tell me, sir, what kind of man you think me." " Forming my judgment solely on appearances, I should suppose you a disappointed man ; one whom misfortunes have induced to quarrel with the world." The very notions I should have entertained, had I seen my pres- ent resemblance at your age ; for then I viewed mankind through the same fairy telescope that you do now. Then my delighted fancy saw such guests on earth as Sympathy, Friendship, and Love : my heart hailed them for its own , it panted for inmates so necessary to its health and peace, and like you I should have thought that man unfortunate who missed the bliss around him. But " Vis delusion all.'" Apathy is the icy ruler of the hearts of men interest destroys all social union, and sinks the master pas- sion of the human soul below the appetites of brutes. Oh, young man, distrust distrust thy fellows ; suspect the tear of sympathy, refuse the hand of friendship ; and should some siren voice tell thee of love, fly from the serpent, that only charms to kill. There is no sympathy, no friendship, no love, amongst the apostate race of man. Do I not know it ! have I not felt it ! " The gesture that accompanied this apostrophe was that of the ex- 22 GEORGE BARNWELL. tremest anguish. George was affected, and Mental saw the emo- tion he had excited. " Nay, nay," said he, " I mean not to insinuate, that I am pe- culiarly wretched 'Tis the common lot the destiny of man to be deceived, to hope and be deceived again Just as an infant who sees the rising bubble, that his breath has formed, burst as it ascends, will still pursue another. But this is a sombre discourse to a young man just stepping into life, and by no means the sub- ject on which I wished to speak to you. You have received, I think, a liberal education." George here expatiated on the benefits he had received from the tuition of his father in most lively colours. " Your father must have been a man of erudition ; and not only so, but a man of taste and feeling. Do you imagine he would have approved of your entering into commercial concerns?" " His intentions were very opposite." " And I believe your inclinations are the same." " I cannot conceal the truth ; they certainly are." "Are you aware of the consequences of entering upon a plan of life, where your duties and interests will excite a perpetual rebel- lion of intellect, and in which it is impossible to unite the cultiva- tion of those mental powers you possess with a respectable progress in business?" " I have thought on this ; again and again have thought on it but what can I do? The will of my benefactor, of my mother, o'erpoises all other considerations. To refuse the bounty of the former would offend him, and render miserable a most excellent mother. I must therefore entreat your forbearance on this subject, however much I am obliged by your generous intentions." " Nay, I will not forbear. Would you see a passenger approach a lion's den, from which you had escaped, and think it un polite to interrupt him? Nor will I, who have experienced the miseries I see you running after, suffer any motive to stifle Caution's voice. When you shall feel shackle's weight upon your prisoned mind ; when the aspiring soul shall lift its wing to soar in vain ; then, youth, you will know the importance of this moment. " If the detail would not be tiresome, there are particulars in my own experience, that might, perhaps, teach you a lesson. I have not, for many years talked of myself to others ; but if you would not hold your time ill spent in listening to my tale " " I should ill deserve so great a favour, sir," interrupted Barn- well, " if I could estimate its worth no better." " I did not expect your compliment, nor do I admire it," said Mental; " I merely obey an impulse, which would be painful to resist, in this mark of my regard for you. You have a heart of sensibility ; you have a mind superior to your years. Don't think I compliment now, for it is matter, in my imagination, rather of condolence than congratulation. But to my story. *EORGEBARNWELL. 23 CHAPTER VIII. "It is rather singular, that none but Princes and Monsters have the privilege of ex- citing curiosity at their birth. A man of genius is dropt among the people, and has first to encounter the difficulties of ordinary men, without that confined talent which is adapted to a mean destination." D'ISBAELI en the Literary Character. " THE father of the man you see before you," said Mental, " was a tradesman. He was unfortunate in the concerns he undertook, somewhat negligent in consequence of misfortunes, and, at last, broken-hearted with disappointment, sunk poor to the grave. " My mother had gone there long before, when I was little more than five years old. My parents had brought up several of their children to the period of youth ; but at the demise of my father I was their only offspring living. " It may be well to remark to you a few traits of my earliest years, as, peradventure, you may somewhere trace a resemblance. I remember perfectly well, that, when only four years old, it was frequently my amusement to mount upon a chair, arrayed in my mother's white apron, and assembling round me my younger bro- thers, an old woman their nurse, and my mother, to preach with considerable vehemence. " The prediction concerning me at that period elevated my future fate to a mitre. After my mother's decease, I went three or four times with a relation to the theatres, and I still recollect the won- derful impulse I felt to leap upon the stage, and join the performers. "A similar sensation often seized me at church, where I always wished myself in the pulpit. I know now that this was ambition in embryo ; and had my parent's situation in life placed an army within my early views, I doubt not I should have felt the same im- pulse to have seized the truncheon from a general, as I did to dis- place the clergyman from his pulpit, or thrust the performer from the stage. " At seven years old I possessed all the gravity of a sage. The pastimes of other boys were my aversion. Books of all descriptions that came within my reach I read, but not with that delight that animated me in scribbling over every piece of paper I could procure, with what I called my studies. The effusions were generally of a similar nature with the book I had last read ; and of course I was a theologian, a dramatist, a poet, and a novelist, in turn. Nothing, however, at this period was a greater treat to me, than to be per- mitted to remain at the table after dinner, when the other children were sent to play that I might listen to the discourse of my elders. ' ' My bodily frame was such as may be expected from an indul- gent mode of bringing up in a city, and my own sedentary inclin- ation weak and delicate. This consideration induced my father, for some time, to object to placing me in a public seminary, where a relation offered to provide for me. Poverty, however, advancing rapidly towards his humble dwelling, and quickening its pace, after 24 GEORGE B A RNWELL. domestic economy had quitted it with my mother, made him soon accept the offer of his cousin. ' I left my native roof ere I was eight years old, and became a member of the celebrated public school at Eton. This I esteem the first grand era in my life. A public seminary is a little republic, where the honours and advantages of the community lie open to all ; and in no other soil can the seeds of ambition be so well cultivated. Soon was the spark of emulation felt within my bosom, infusing en- ergy and vigour into every action. The middling classes beheld me, with envy, pass their ranks, and the highest wondered at my swift approach. Success urged fresh endeavours, and ere I had attained my thirteenth year, I was qualified for the university ; where I already was in fancy, struggling for academical distinctions. " Just before my fourteenth birth day, was the second grand era in my life. My father died insolvent. A letter from his cousin, my benefactor, acquainted me that in consequence of some consid- erable failures in his speculations, his fortune was much lessened, and that he could not fulfil his intentions of supporting me at the university ; adding, that, as I was now of an age to go into the world, he wished me to think of some trade I should like. " You, Mr. Barnwell, can conceive my feelings ; I cannot de- scribe them. In the first moments of my disappointment, rage con- quered reason, and I considered my benefactor worse than an as- sassin. ' My God !' exclaimed I, ' is he not a murderer 1 Has he not made me the parent of the fondest hopes, the brightest, dearest expectations ? Did he not himself beget these dreams of bliss which I have cherished? and now, with a word, he murders every hope !' Trade! my soul sickened at the sound. Apprentice! horror was in the word, and every hope of happiness vanished from my sight. In another moment different feelings agitated me. My warm, romantic fancy could not at once relinquish the views it had fostered. Pride aided fancy ; and I persuaded myself that, were my genius but known, it would most certainly be patronised. I re- solved to write to a celebrated nobleman, at that time a patron of literature. The same evening on which I received my cousin's let- ter, I wrote one for this nobleman, intending to send it the follow- ing morning ; but in the morning my mind was in a different frame. " I resolved to see my benefactor. He was an opulent trades- man and resided in the metropolis. ' You have received my letter, Henry,' said he. ' I am sorry you should be disappointed in your views, though I have not a doubt but you will do much better in trade, than by drudging all your lifetime over books. Have you any choice?' " ' None that I can follow now, sir. I have indulged a hope that my industry at college might possibly have recommended me ' 'To be some great man's toad-eater,' interrupted he. 'Is that what you mean ? It could do nothing else for you. The church is absolutely beset with hungry suppliants. There's no arriving at the bar without a fortune ; and as to physic, a man's talents will GEORGE B A RNWELL. 25 never recommend him to a patient, if he keeps no carriage. I wish to be your friend, Henry ; and I think I know how : it must be by placing you in such a situation, as, however disagreeable it may appear on enteiing, will lead you to independence.' " I began now seriously to reflect upon the truth of these observ- ations. I recollected I was speaking to the only friend I had on earth ; and though my pride suffered a severe wound, my judg- ment was improved in my own estimation. " After a pause, I yielded my assent to the truth of his observa- tions, and expressed a wish that I could write a fine hand, as it might possibly be in his power to procure me a genteel situation in some merchant's counting-house. " He smiled at my wish ' You are in the same error there,' said he. ' I believe no set of men labour more, in general, than persons of that description ; and what is their reward ? a clean shirt, and a shining pair of shoes ? which is pleasant enough for a young man in his teens. But think of the situation of such men if they marry if they live to old age ! A mechanic, who earns fif- teen shillings a week, is a prince to them. 1 by no means control you : if you think genteel misery desirable, you will be a mer- chant's clerk.' " I was humbled in my own sight ; my heart no longer throbbed in the expectations that had delighted it ; I felt it sinking, and a passive acquiescence in his sentiments was the consequence. " We parted, with a promise from him to send me the address of a grocer the next day, on whom I was to wait as my future master. " My colleagues at school saw an alteration in my countenance, and soon discovered my future destiny ; which attracted the scorn of some, the pity of many. " Instead of sleeping that night, my mind was busily employed in contrasting the real with the fancied situation that was to suc- ceed my school days. My thirst for literature was never more to be indulged, but conquered. Ah ! fatal delusion ! I thought it might be conquered But hear me, Mr. Barnwell and would to God all men might hear me the thirst of knowledge is occasioned, sir, by an unquenchable spark, and must be gratified, or will con- sume. Imagine not I mean to sanction idleness, which oft as- sumes the mark of genius, but is not, cannot be allied to it. Im- agine not that I would sanction restlessness of mind, which scowls, dissatisfied, at its own lot, and covets every other. Imagine not that I approve that morbid sensibility, so oft mistook by its posses- sors for heaven-born genius by no means ! But if the soul per- ceives within itself that active principle, which ease nor gain can satisfy ; which, almost overlooking common things and common duties, soars into the regions of sublime inquiry ; and creative fan- cy, gazing with eagle eye even on the source of light Oh ! then let him who feels the heavenly guest obey its sacred voice ; for I, who have contended with its power, know that genius is not to be subdued ! 26 GEORGE BARNWELL. " Let such a man resist the natural impulse he will feel to yield his inclinations to the well meant, but fatal, advice even of pa- rents. Let no commands, no tears, no supplications, even of mother, bias him. Let sincerity be his guide, and firmness of mind his staff, and his pilgrimage will grow pleasanter in his progress : but if, to dry a momentary tear, or escape a momentary pang, he submits to smother genius, he seals his own misery, and deceives, besides himself, his friends. I did so ; and mark my history. " I waited on Mr. Nutting, the grocer. He received me in a little room at the back of the shop, where Mrs. Nutting was sitting. They appeared plain, plodding sort of folks, remarkably neat in their dress, and precise in their discourse. After a variety of questions, Mr. Nutting inquired if I was sensible of the importance of an in- terest in the merits and sufferings of our blessed Saviour. I cannot describe the astonishment this question occasioned me. Mr. Nut- ting saw my surprise " ' Well, well,' said he, ' I see you have not been brought up with a proper sense of your eternal welfare. It is, however, a great mercy that you have been directed to this roof, where you will have the benefit of instruction and example in the right road. You may tell Mr. Darwall (the name of my benefactor) that I like you very well, and shall be ready to receive you to-morrow ; aud after a month's trial you may be bound.' " Every necessary was provided for me at Mr. Darwall's ex- pense, and 1 bade farewell with a sigh, to my school and my school companions. " I passed my month of probation. Night after night, as I laid my head upon the pillow I meditated upon my situation ; and strong was the straggle betwixt what I esteemed my duty and my inclination. " Often would the swell of independence elevate my mind to the contemplation of the most impracticable scheme ! As often would a sense of gratitude to Mr. Darwall, as well as an implicit faith in his assurances that my present (almost intolerable) situation would lead to future ease and comfort, baffle the suggestions of my romantic fancy. " Thus, sir, were the embers of genius damped, and the power- ful energies of a thinking mind depressed by the duties of a mean destination. The progress of my tale will show, that totally to ex- tinguish the former, or destroy the latter is beyond the power of circumstances, while the senses remain unimpaired." GKORGEBARNWELL. S7 CHAPTER IX. -The high-born soul Disdains to rest her heav'u-aspiring wing Bcucath its native quarry. ARENSIDK. < THE menial offices which my situation compelled me to per- form, at first were grating to my pride ; but I soon discovered that to be a false pride, and, by degrees, became its master. I could stand behind the counter and chop sugar without feeling the shame of a mean action ; but I was often roused from a reverie by my master, when I have been weighing out teas, and at the same time busily employed in the regions of fancy. " When the business of the day was ended, my apartment was the kitchen, my companions a methodist old woman, who was the servant, and her friend, a black cat. Here I might have regaled myself after the fatigue of the day with reading ; but, unfortunate- ly, the old lady's library, consisting of the Pilgrim's Progress, the Holy War, and a volume or two of sermons, was at that time little muted to my taste. The pious discourse of the old dame was still ?ess pleasing ; thus (too fatigued for bodily employment) sleep, or a meditation, were my only alternatives ; and from these I was fre- quently roused by the tabernacle hymns, to the tune of which the old woman mended her stockings. " On Sundays I constantly attended the meeting to which my master belonged, where I was compelled to hear doctrines, at which my blood chilled, and my heart grew faint. " The gloom of Calvinism, the disappointment of my first hopes, the cdnquest of my pride, the dull and cheerless life I led, in a short space of time, so cooled the former ardour of my mind, that, if it is too much to say, I was heart-broken ; I was reduced to that state of mind, which sees no brightening prospects in futurity, and which, ceasing to hope, studies and struggles to endure. " Such was the state of mind in which, with a trembling hand, I signed the indentures that consigned me for seven years to the gloom of a cloister, without its consolations or tranquillity. " Mr. Nutting, previous to my being bound, had often hinted to me, that I was slow in business, and thinking of one thing, whilst I was doing ano.ther ; and having once caught me in the attitude of study, leaning upon a broom, with which I was sweeping the shop, he exclaimed ' Henry, this won't do ; you seem more fit for a philosopher than a tradesman.' "With this opinion, which was certainly a just one, Mr. Nat- ting ought not to have taken me as his apprentice. But Mr. Nut- ting was not a rich man ; and Mr. Darwall had promised him a premium of sixty guineas. " From what I have related, you will readily conceive that I made but. poor progress in the art and mystery of the Grocer's Company ; and though cheerfully and willingly obeying my mas- 2 28 6EORGKBARNWBLL. ter in all his commands, I yet failed to please him : the natural consequence of a want of that energy in my business, of which in- clination mast be the parent. t I was more fortunate with my mistress. She was of a mild temper, and humane disposition, and was a strict Calvinist from sincere conviction. Superior to her husband in intellect, she would frequently, when opportunity offered, enter on a conversation with me, and discovered an amiable heart. She was mistress of all the controversies upon theological topics, and felt great delight in con- fut'i? tiie arguments of the opponents of Calvin. " When you recollect sir, that Mrs. Nutting's was the only con- versation I enjoyed, which embraced in any degree mental topics, you will not be surprised, that notwithstanding it was religious, I esteemed it highly. In short, I became delighted with these occa- sional recreations from the jargon of congou, bohea, souchong, and hyscn. " Still more delighted was I to listen to her, while she qualified the doctrines of Calvinism, and laboured to reconcile the benevo- lence of the Creator with the doom of the created, and the unborn. Her language was warm her colourings exhibited the strongest lights, and deepest shades. She staggered my reason, opened aew scenes to my view, and so far concjuered my objections, as to make me wish and pray that I could believe her creed. >' ; \iig3 ? And will this worm forever Jive within me? O ! that a blow could strangle it ; that leasing into burning liquid could annihilate all thought! Why why fool that I am why do I hesitate to try?" 34 GEORGE BARNWELt. As he uttered the last words, he drew a pistol from his bosom " This, in a moment, brings me to my would I could say, my end ! But, no no no ! She did not cease to be, when this accursed arm plunged this bloody steel into her beauteous breast !" (holding up a dagger, bloody at the point) " Somewhere she still exists; for still her spirit haunts her ruthless murderer ! steals from his pillow peace ; and makes the light of day more hideous than dark and gloomy night! meets me in every walk crosses me in every path ; and here even here where like an outcast wretch T mourn away my nights here, too, it follows me, and makes a hell. O, wretch ! wretch !" As he spoke, he threw his arms upon the tomb, and buried his face in his hands. The suspicions of George were just : his voice, his face, declared this confessor of murder to be Mental. Horror and astonishment struck him to the soul ; he trembled, and shudder- ed at the discovery, while a varying train of ideas floated in his brain. In a few minutes his attention was again arrested. Mental ex- claimed " Away this dream of horror ! Was she not faithless !" And then in a softer tone " Yes ! faithless as fair .'" He flew to his harp, and, moving his fingers briskly, seemed en- deavouring to recollect some air. " Ah that was a favourite," cried he ; " how charmingly did she look when her snow-white arms were extended to touch these strings her flaxen hair flowing in ringlets about her lovely neck her expressive eyes beaming glances of love upon me while her coral lips moved to the melody of an angel's voice ! And yet I could destroy her ! could change that breathing beauty into putrefaction ! I was that monster ; and now, like an infant that has broken his toy, I could sit down and weep a life away ! O ! if repentance were availing what do 1 not suffer ! Foolish mankind ! among thy race how many a holy penitent have I viewed ; whose lengthened visage and briny eye have soothed away remorse ! Why, then, in what a mould was 1 formed, that my wounds should resist all healing applications? Is there no balsam that may cure my soul? ' Physician, Omnipotent Physician ! ' ' Here he sunk upon his knees ; but in a moment starting up ' " Mental, ar't turning monk !' exclaimed he, 'as if an inter- cession could more avail with the All-powerful than his own benev- olence? Call back time past undo past deeds bid the dead live and then expect the peace thatthou hast parted with forever !' " Not a syllable that fell from the lips of this miserable man was lost by George. Three hours passed away, during which Mental occasionally broke out into similar ejaculations, or played upon the harp. Soon as a distant bell tolled three, he lit his torch; and removing a large and heavy stone, which lay at some distance from the tomb, a kind of grave appeared, in which he deposited the harp, the lamp, and the stool, and replaced the stone ; then masking himself, he left the aisle, and George, at a cautious distance, followed him. GEORGE B A R NW ELL . 35 CHAPTER XI. He has made his fortune himself, and says that England may* he richer than other kingdoms, by as plain methods that he himself is richer than other men ; though at the same time I can say this of him that there is not a point in the compass but blows home a ship in which he is an owner. SPECTATOR. UNDETERMINED in his mind whether to reveal or conceal the dis- covery, of the preceding night, George joined the family at break- fast. To avoid their questions, however, he informed them gener- ally, that he had been partly successful in his research ; and that in another evening he expected to be able to unravel the whole mystery. Fortunately a letter arrived for the knight, which turned the con versation from a subject that George would have encountered some difficulty in disguising, and which he did not wish to reveal till he had heard the sequel of old Mental's story. This letter came from Mr. Freeman, a merchant of the old school, to whom Sir James had written concerning his nephew. Its con- tents ran thus " My goad old friend " Yours of the 17th ult. came duly to hand. Your generous proposal on behalf of rour nephew is such as becomes Sir James Barnwell. You know that, of late years, have left the labouring oar in the hands of my godson and partner, Mr. Francis Em- ery, who also married my ward, Georgiana Ruby. He is a man who will, one day or other, hold up his head as high as any merchant on 'Change. He is the confidant of the Minister, knows every thing before other people's eyes arc open, and lets nothing goby. To be sure I am told his establishment is showy and expensive; but you know, my good friend, that in our own time there was no fishing without a bait Emery knows what he is about ; and though I have not been in town these six years, he sends me such accounts that make me as easy and as comfortable as if I looked over the leger every night. Besides, is not my interest his interest ? tell me that, say I, when people would be putting me on, doubting and mistrusting Sometimes I think of with- drawing from the concern altogether ; but then I think of my dear Maria, who grows the very image of her poor mother, and is the delight and comfort of my old age, and deserves every shilling a father can bestow ; so that for her sake I keep on But I fly from the subject. When yours came to hand, I wrote him thereon ; strongly recom- mended the youth, and enclosed your overtures. Now, as an old friend, I remit to you his answer, which will be sufficient directions for your proceeding Wishing every succos to the young mau, and every happiness to yourself, brings me to a close. Sol remain your well-wisher. "Fiumcis FREEMAN." Mr. Emery's letter was as follows : "Dear Sir "I hope it is unnecessary to repeat, that your wishes will ever be considered by me iu the nature of commands, which it is my duty to obey; besides, I perfectly agree with you that Sir James's proposal is extremely liberal ; three thousand peumls down, and seven when the young man is admitted to an eighth of the profits, considering he is to take an active part, is an offer, in my opinion, not to be refused. As the nephew of Sir James Barnwell, I think he should domesticate with me; and as your friend, sir, I shall certainly treat him with every respect : we shall therefore be happy to see him in Portmau Place as early as agreeable to himself. There are favourable reports from India ; but, as I intend writing upon business to-morrow, shall make my present letter a domestic one. Will you never accede to the petitions of Mrs. Emery and my- felt', and trust your Maria with us for a winter ? You should, indeed, sir, consider her age nineteen, you know and allow her some of those pleasures so naturally looked for at her time of life, and which the metropolis aloue furnishes. Charlotte adds her entreaties to our requests, and we all unite in every good wish to you both. " I am, dear sir, gratefully and truly yours, FSANCIS * Francis Freeman, Esq., Oak Hall, Yorkshire," 2* 36 GEORGE BARNWELL. The discourse that followed the perusal of these letters was inter- esting; in which the benevolence of the worthy knight, and the gratitude of the Barnwells, were warmly delineated. That day week was fixed for the departure of George. CHAPTER XII. They lov'd but such their guiltless passion waa As iii the dawn of time informed the heart Of innocence, aud undisseiubliiig truth. THOMSOX. VARIOUS were the emotions which agitated the mind of young Barnwcll, as he strolled towards the house of Mr. Mental. When he was introduced into his presence, he trembled. " Ere we parted, sir," said Mental, abruptly, " I think I had introduced Miss Ellison to your acquaintance, and bestowed some praise upon her person. It is absolutely impossible to portray her mind, at once simple and noble, condescending and dignified. I will not attempt even to sketch its outlines, but shall confine my- self to a single narrative of facts, in which her actions will more faithfully unfold her mind, than can the most laboured description. " However dissimilar the manners of the Nuttings were to those which a polished state had made her own : however abhorrent their gloomy notions of religion to a mind of exquisite sensibility, and an understanding of uncommon strength and cultivation ; having once brought herself to believe it her duty to obey the injunctions of her father's will, she submitted, without sulleni?ess, to their mode of life, and paid a decent respect to those duties which their religion en- joined them to observe. " But do not imagine she played the hypocrite. She ever avowed her dissent from their doctrines, and scrupled not to confess her dis- like at their recluse way of living. Honoured shall I not say blessed with the confidence of this charming woman, my situation seemed changed from the most cheerless to the most blissful. We read, we conversed together ; we wrote, and submitted our perform- ances to the criticisms of each other. In short, we seemed mutually to confess, that in that house, at least, there was no pleasure but in each other's society. What the library in the loft had left unfin- ished, Miss Ellison's conversation completed ; and my soul once again glowed with hope. " I looked forward with impatience to the termination of my ser- vitude, when I imagined I should burst forth upon the world as a prodigy of genius. The hours of leisure, which were heretofore gloomily spent in reading the horrors of Calvinism, were now em$ ployed in perusing various authors, or in the composition of verses. The subject of my verses, of course, was my Elinor. " Having one day stolen a volume of Shenstone from the box in the loft, the melody of his metre chimed in my ears, and I strung GEORGE BARNWEI.I,. 37 together some lines, which I'll repeat to you, that you may form 80:712 judgment of ray romantic notions. You will remember I was little more than eighteen. Ah ! whither is Happiness fled ? Ah t where is Contentment conceal'd t I'll seek them in yon lonely shed, Through woodbines and briers reveal'd. There Health and Contentment reside, There Happiness oft is a guest ; Mirth siajs by the wood-fire side, Aud Peace rocks the cradle of rest. Affrighted from cities they fly, Where Pleasure's enamouring bowl Gives birth to the tear and the sigh ; Seduces and poisons the soul : Where Treachery calls itself Trade, And Honour dissolves into Gain ; Where the icicle heart is display'd An emblem of Apathy's reign. Sweet Peace, and Contentment, and Health ; To yon shall my orisons rise; Above all the tinsel of wealth Y'our heart-thrilling blessings I prize ; If constant my Elinor prove, And add, O Content ! to thy store Her ii.iiocence, beauty, and love, I'm happy, and sigh for no more. " Having copied this effusion for Miss Ellison, unfortunately 1 left it upon my master's desk. He found it: Not with more vo- raciousness does the hungry tiger seize upan its prey, than did Mr. Nutting upon my poor morceau. Foanxng with anger, he flew to- wards me, and, tearing into ten thousand atoms the cause of his indignation, he threw them into my face : ' Here's going on,' ex- claimed he ; ' Here's attention to business. Why, it's an abomi- nable heathenish hymn, or love elegy, or some such stuff, trumped up to seduce the affections of my ward. But I'll put a stop to it. If ever I see you speak to her, or look at her, I'll ' Here, choked with auger, he stamped his foot, and threw down three pots of honey ; an accident that by no means helped to restore him to reason. The consequence of this discovery was an abridgment of the op- portunities of conversing with my Elinor, and a more rigid line of conduct towards Miss Ellison herself. " Shortly after this event, another occurred of most decisive consequences towards us both. A relation of Mrs. Nutting was taken ill, and requested her attendance. She went to reside with her a few weeks at Hampstead. On the Saturdays Mr. Nutting uv.nt. to sleep there, and returned usually on the Monday morning. Miss Ellison was left in the strand, as a guardian to the house. On one of these Saturdays Elinor and myself had planned to briS-i the old woman, I have mentioned as the servant, to secrecy, and to embrace the opportunity of goin? to a play. The old dame would never have consented to our visiting the 'Devil's House,' as &! ? 38 OEORGEBARNWELL. termed the theatre ; and therefore it became necessary to deceive her with the tale of a visit we were going to pay Mrs. Herris, the former governess of Miss Ellison. To this she yielded, after a few weighty arguments. " I can now see a great inconsistency in Miss Ellison's conduct, as well as a great impropriety in my own, in thus abusing the con- fidence placed in us both. But, sir, at the moment I am speaking of, temptation was irresistible ; you cannot conceive its strength. " Elinor was as passionately fond of theatrical performances as myself. I had not seen one in the space of four years, nor had she since her entrance into our family ; nor was there the remotest probability that any other opportunity would occur during our stay with the Nuttings. " The play to be performed that evening was Shahspere's Romeo and Juliet ; and the Romeo was Garrick. "There were several scruples to conquer; but, in the end, temptation triumphed. "Taking some precautions to disguise our persons, we went and mingled with the crowd that had assembled at the pit door of Drury Lane theatre. Unaccustomed to the place, and surrounded completely by a concourse of people, Elinor began to tremble with terror. " The attraction of Garrick had drawn an unusual throng : the heat and pressure becUme almost insupportable to Miss Ellison, and added to her fright, at length overpowered her. She told me that she felt herself fainting. I attempted to make a retreat through the crowd. It was impossible. She fainted in my arms. At the same instant the doors opened, and, being deprived of the use of my arms, we both sunk together, and I became senseless. " When my senses returned, I found myself in a strange bed, with several persons standing round me. Astonishment seized me for a moment ; but when the memory of the scene that had passed occurred, it was like an arrow shot through my brain ' The lady ! the lady ! Elinor ! Miss Ellison ! - is she alive ! where "is she !' exclaimed I, in the agony of the most torturing suspense. In lifting my hands to my head, I found I had been bled. " The people around me stared in my face, and at one another, but made no reply to my questions. ' My God ! will you not tell me?' They shook their heads in sign of pity. ' She is dead ! she is murdered then ! ' exclaimed I. ' Poor youth ! ' cried a man who stood nearest to me ; ' poor youth ! his brain is quite dis- ordered. I believe we must take a little more blood.' ' You'd better look who's to pay you,' cried a fat man in a red worsted cap ; ' I think instead of bleeding, we'd better see and get a chair, and take him to the work-house. He can't stay here all night. I don't know what business some folks have to bring all casulties to my house.' ' Why, as to that, Mr. Brown,' cried a decent-look- ing man, ' where could we take him so proper : who would have thought, to look at him, but that he was dead ; and in that case, GEORGE BARNWELL. 39 the coroner would have sat upon the body at your house, and you'd have had no objection.' " ' Where am I, then?' exclaimed T ' Where are you !' cried the fat man : ' why, you're at the Dolphin, in Drury lane: and as you seem in your senses now, young man, pray, where do you live who are your friends ? ' " My God ! what a thunderbolt was this question. Instead of answering this man, I repeated my questions concerning Elinor, but could procure no intelligence. My anxiety made me strong. I determined to arise ; nor could the whole College of Physicians have prevailed upon me to relinquish my purpose. I dressed my- self with assistance. I was severely bruised in several places, but had received no material injury. It was nine o'clock when I left the Dolphin. My inquiries after Elinor were for a long time fruitless. All the intelligence that I could gather in the neighbourhood of the theatre was, that a young lady had been trampled to death, and conveyed away in a hackney coach, but whither nobody knew. " I went home, with a faint hope that she might have been con- veyed thither. I rung the bell ; the old woman appeared, and her first inquiry was ' What have you done with Miss?' " Without answering her question, I ran away. I returned back to the door again I left it, and, from the anxiety of mind, played the antics of a madman. " The whole of the night I wandered up and down the streets, slopping every hackney coach, inquiring of every passenger after the object of my search imagination tormented me with a thou- sand horrible ideas I saw her dead ! worse than dead ! I saw her person violated ! I heard her shrieks ! I saw her agonies ! and my reason absolutely reeled. Morning appeared ! I had walked the whole night ; and had taken no refreshment ; and I found myself sinking with fatigue. " As I passed the Chapter Coffee-House in St. Paul's church- yard, the servants were taking down the shutters. I went in ; and, leaning my head upon a table, indulged a silent grief. I re- mained in this posture some time, till several persons came into the room. After them was a short, neat looking man, who seated him- self near me 'How is your patient this morning, Mr. Brookes?' said a gentleman to him. 'She still remains insensible,' replied he, ' but her fever is lower.' ' Poor thing !' said the other, ' and was there nothing about her that could give you an idea who she is? There are some aching hearts on her account by this time.' " ' Merciful Providence ! have I then found her?' exclaimed I, in a tone that alarmed the whole company. " ' If you have any heart ! if you would relieve the most wretched being on earth!' continued I, 'pray take me to my Elinor.' " The people gathered round me with astonishment. An eclair- 40 GEORGE BARNWELL. cissement took place. Tt was my Elinor. The humanity of Mr. Brookes, who was a respectable bookseller, had saved her life ; and she was then at his house in Paternoster Row. " I saw her, but she knew me not ; though in the sweetly mourning sentences she uttered my name was often mentioned. A physician attended her, who pronounced her out of danger. " Relieved from the heaviest part of my anxiety, I had now lei- sure to think of my own situation ; but could not resolve how to act. Mr. Nutting I dared not to see ; Mr. Darwall I shuddered to meet. " I made Mr. Brookes my confidant, who humanely offered me an asylum in his own house, till he could reconcile me to Mr. Nut- ting, or, at least, to Mr. Darwall, whom he determined to see the following morning. " His endeavours were unavailing with both. The former firmly protested against ever receiving me again into his house ; and so represented me to the latter, that his heart was completely steeled against me. Thus did one trivial event deprive me of the only friend I had on earth. Thus were nearly five years of my life fooled away, without affording the least advantage to myself, or satisfaction to my benefactor. *' I had now, indeed, my liberty ; but independence came too late, and in too melancholy a way. " I perceive, Mr. Barnwell, I must be less prolix. One incident leads on insensibly to another. I must content myself, therefore, with a more general account. " Passing over, then, many tender and affecting interviews I had with Miss Ellison, on her recovery, at the house of Mr. Brookes, ere she was well enough to be removed to her guardian's, I will confine myself to the one in which a mutual confession of love (for we really loved) took place. " She had that morning received a letter from Mr. Nutting, urging her return. " ' And when do you mean to go, Miss Ellison ?' said I. . " ' Never !' replied she with firmness. ' I will not sacrifice in- dependence and happiness to wealth !' " ' Miss Ellison, are you serious ?' " ' I am resolved. I went there in obedience to my father's will. I found the situation barely tolerable. " ' After this unfortunate accident it will no longer be so. I shall, therefore, relinquish all claim to my fortune, and retain the rights of a human being !' " ' My God, Elinor ! Madam, what are you pursuing what means of living, what prospects even of a subsistence have you in view ? ' " ' Let me retort your questions, sir. You have, on my account, lost your late prospects. What is your determination ?' " ' I I Madam I I am a man ' " ' And is the privilege of procuring a subsistence confined to GEORGE BARNWELL. 41 men exclusively? Have women, then, no hands to labour, no judgment :o plan, or resolution to pursue a project? I am ready to concede to your sex superior prowess in bodily exercises ; but I am yet to be convinced, that nature made the female that passive animal, which custom exhibits in our cities. My resolution is fixed my plan is arranged Mr. Brookes approves it at least ac- quiesces in it.' " ' May I ask the nature of it?' " ' I have no desire to keep it a secret, particularly from you. I am going to commence author by profession. For the present I shall remain in his house as a boarder. 'Tis no hastily formed project, but the result of serious consideration.' " I was struck dumb with surprise and regret. " ' What ails you, Mental ?' said she ; ' you are unwell ?' " ' Why did you not acquaint me with this plan yesterday 1' said I. ' It perhaps would have been possible to havu procured some similar employ myself.' " ' Certainly, nothing is more easy. Mr. Biookes himself means to offer you a proposal this very day.' " ' Why did he not propose it yesterday?' " ' What happened yesterday, then, sir? Is it too late? Tell me, what of yesterday?' " ' 0, Madam ! O, Elinor ! yesterday was a fatal day. De- pressed with gloomy ideas, I wandered through the busy streets of this metropolis, ruminating on the past, and on the future. I looked back, without much regret, at what I have left, but with sorrow at what I have done. I had sacrificed the most important part of life to an implicit submission to another's judgment. 1 had lost that ' tide in the affairs of men, which leads to fortune,' and nothing but miseries and shallows presented themselves in the ' rest of my voyage.' In all the boundless ocean of futurity I could behold no single spot on which to cast Hope's anchor. " ' As I walked on, musing in this strain, the carriage of a cele- brated pleader passed me, in which he lolled at ease ; and opposite to him sat his son, a youth seemingly about my own age. I sigh- ed ; perhaps (1 ought to own the truth) I envied him. Yes, Eli- nor, envied him ; for that which is emulation where competition is open, is envy where it is shut. " ' Would I were that happy youth, sighed I. What admirable exercise for the mind does such a profession open ! what opportu- nities for displaying its powers ! And it is mere prejudice to ima- gine a man cannot possess a liberal mind who is a lawyer. " ' The carriage stopped instinctively I followed them into the Guild Hall. The courts were sitting. A cause was arguing I listened I became interested in the arguments I wondered at the omission of many, which would have made for or against the ques- tion. The judge rose to give his opinion. I had anticipated much that he said. My proud heart fluttered ; I was a pleader in ima- gination ; I applauded myself was happy in my fancies. The 42 GEORGE BARNWELl. verdict was given ; the crowd dispersed ; and then I felt ichat I realty was ! " ' As the concourse of people separated at the door, one cried, shaking another's hand ' I must go so and so such business calls me.' Another replied, ' I should have been at such a place.' Every one appeared to be running after some object that occupied his mind, and brought emolument to himself. ' And where shall I goT' sighed I. " ' In King street I met a mob, dragging a poor ragged wretch to justice, who had been detected in picking a pocket. I mingled with the crowd to hear the examination. ' What means have you of getting a livelihood 1 ?' said the magistrate. The culprit was silent. ' Why, then, to save you from the gallows, I shall send you for a soldier.' " ' What means hare you of getting a livelihood! rung in my ears. I traversed street after street. Often would I check myself with the question What means have I of getting a livelihood * Where am I going 1 Not to rny father, mother, sister, or brother these are unmeaning sounds to me! Not to my home even that cheerin? sound, which delights the poorest, was but a mockery to me. Then darted across my mind yes, let me own it your image, Elinor. I saw, at that moment, the utter impossibility of your ever being mine nay, bear with me a moment ! I saw you given to some rich idiot, whose bigotry might please old Nutting ; and I almost cursed existence ! " ' Just then the martial sound of fife and drum struck my ears. A recruiting party appeared I paused ! What means have you of getting a livelihood ? still rung in my ears. Frensy seized me I ran to the lieutenant, and offered him my hand ' I'll serve the king!' cried I. The men pulled off their hats, and gave three cheers. The lieutenant shook me by the hand, and, after looking in my face, exclaimed, with an oath ' Harry Mental !' He had been my chum at Eton.' " ' Merciful Heaven ! and I have been the cause of this,' cried Elinor. ' O, then, it is time, my Henry my love it is time to throw off every little affectation of our sex, and let you see my heart a heart, my Henry, that, whether you accept or reject it, is only yours. I love you, Henry ; and, go where you will, no earthly power, that leaves me life, shall separate me from you.' "Excuse these few drops of weakness," said Mental, as he wiped his eyes, " they are sacred to the memory of a martyr ! Yes, sir, she made this frank avowal of her love, whilst her beau- teous face concealed its virgin blushes in my bosom. O ! memory memory ! too faithful memory !" And again the tears would flow. " A declaration so frank, so noble, so worthy her uncommon character, was met, on my part, by one at least as sincere, as ar- dent as disinterested, as her own. " The lieutenant being my friend, by his interest I obtained a GEORGE BAR SWELL. 43 discharge from my rash engagement, and Elinor and myself were shortly after married. " Mr. Brookes continued the friendly rock on which we built our little bovver of bliss. His counsel directed, his benevolence aided, his generosity munificently remunerated our labours. He was en- gaged in a very extensive concern, and found us abundant employ. Elinor wrote a novel, which succeeded well. We published, jointly, a volume of poetry ; and we mutually laboured at transla- tions. Competence was the sweet reward of our labours, supply- ing us with all the necessaries, and many of the decent luxuries of life. We resided in a small but neat cottage at Walworth, only visiting the metropolis occasionally. " The life I now Jed was the very reality of that picture which imagination had taught my youthful heart to doat upon ; and yet, possessing this reality, I was not content. When literary compo- sitions became the means of my subsistence, I found it irksome ; I fancied it a mean employ of talent to let it out for hire. I grew dissatisfied ; I formed a variety of new schemes, which alternately delighted and disgusted me. " A period, however, approached, which compelled me to submit to the irksomeness, and even meanness, (as I deemed it.) of my employment. My Elinor bore me a daughter. I wept tears of joy ; my heart beat with rapture ; for at that moment, sir, I did not dream how many curses, in disguise, I hailed as blessings I sometimes laugh to think how my silly heart was cheated." [Here Mental laughed, but in a manner that conveyed the misery and horror of his recollections.] He continued " A year or two marched onwards in the track of time, unmark- ed by any record of the memory ; but about the time my little girl was three years old, and began to prattle, there happened an event which is so firmly printed on my mind's register, thatnot even the flaming fingers of the fiends of hell can burn the page, nor all the pitying dews that drop from angels' eyes blot out the bloody cha- racter ! " But spare me now a task I feel beyond my powers. Retire retire, my young friend see me to-morrow ; and come prepared to hear a tale of horror !" The anguish of his heart was visible iu the struggling features of his face, and he breathed painfully convulsive sighs. George pressed his hand, and retired in silence. 44 GBOROE BARNWELL. CHAPTER XTII. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all ! SHAKSPEKE. " THIS tale of horrors, to which he alluded," said George, mus- ing on his way home, " must be the murder of the Louisa of his ballad, and the Elinor of his tale. Why does he change the name then?" A chain of conjectures on poor Mental's tale occupied his mind till he reached home, when a fresh occurrence demanded his atten- tion. Upon entering the drawing-room, he started back with surprise, at the sight of the harp, the lamp, and the stool, which he had the preceding night seen deposited by Mental under the stone in the haunted aisle. There was nobody in the room ; he had found the hall door open, and had entered without seeing any of the servants. Descending the stair-case, he met old Joseph. " O, sir!" said Joseph, " such discoveries !" " Such discoveries !" cried George " Where?" " At the haunted aisle, sir. Have you not seen the music and the lamp?" " Yes : but how were they discovered ?" " I discovered them," with an air of impatience. " This morn- ing, sir, I was going to the doctor's for some conserve of roses, for Mrs. Meredith, the house-keeper, who has got a terrible blight in her eyes, as I take it, by sitting in the garden when the night air" " Well well, Joseph you were going to the doctor's never mind what about." " True, sir, as you say, that's no matter ; that's neither here nor there as to the discovery. Well, sir, the nearest way to Doctor Saffron lies through the park, and the ruins ; and though I have many times gone round by the road-way for fear, I was determined this morning to go boldly on through the haunted aisle : and so I did ; for since our search there, I began to think less of the matter than I used to do. I did tremble a little, to be sure, when I got there ; but some how or other, as if Providence had ordered it so, I grew bold when I had been there a while ; and, finding myself a little fatigued with my walk, I sets me down boldly upon the very tomb where they say the naked lady sets every night. Now only mind, sir, what great discoveries sometimes happen from trifling things. I had a hat on that was bran new last Sunday ; the day was hot, so I pulls off my hat, and lies it down upon the tomb. Well, when I had rested me, I takes my hat up, and, behold, all the top of the crown was soaked in lamp oil. I was struck very strange, to think how this could happen : when, lo, and behold ye, I find a quantity of oil, as if it had been spilt upon the tomb-stone ; and I find it had dripped, dripped, dripped, all the way along the moniment to a large stone covered over with moss, and beyond that stone aot a drop of oil was there to be seen or smelt. Then all of GEORGE BARNWELL. 45 a sudden it came into my head about the light that has been so often seen of a night. And " "Enough enough " cried George, with his usual impetuosity of temper " I know the rest, good Joseph, and will spare TUU the trouble of reciting it You moved the stone and there ;le harp and the lamp was found But here comes Sir James ." "The strangest discoveries !" said the baronet '' Joseph has been relating it, sir," replied G' orge. " Well," continued the knight " and what conjectures do you draw from it?" Mr. Sandall, Mrs. and Miss Barnwell joined them. " The music that has been heard, and the lights that have been seen, are rationally accounted for, at least, by this discovery," said George ; " but the performer of these nocturnal orgies we have yet to discover. I should think, Mr. Sandall, a ghost would not be at the trouble of hiding those things." Mr. Sandall was silent. " It seems a strange propensity," said Sir James, " in any man to amuse himself in such midnight recreations. I know nobody I could suspect of such exploits ; unless, indeed, the strange old fel- low, who is the proprietor of the ruins." " And who else would you suspect, Sir James," said Sandall : " Is not the man known to be every thing that's bad? Who knows for what infernal purposes he might hold his nightly sittings there? These are strange times, Sir James. I was reading to you the History of the Illuminati, a book which proves the existence of con- spirators against all the world ; and 1 believe that this country is not free from them. The place is retired ; Mental's house is large; and no one is seen to enter his door by day-light. Now, who knows but he may entertain in that house, or have concealed about the ruins, a gang of these horrible villains, who would go any lengths to overturn all religion and order. I should not presume to dictate to you, Sir James; but you are a magistrate, Sir James; and a hint to a man of your penetration is sufficient " George would certainly have incurred the displeasure of the 'knight by a hearty laugh at his chaplain, had he not been prevented by a noise in the hall below, and alarmed at the voice of Mental himself. The rumour of the discovery had spread widely in a short time, and had gathered numberless additions in its progress : till at length the story of a murder, committed by Mental, had actually gathered an assembly of peasantry about iiis gate, who were point- ing to his house, and significantly lifting up their hands and eyes to heaven. The old man had noticed them; and, by piece-meal, had obtained information of the discovery. Rudely rushing into the drawing-room, to the extreme terror of Mr. Sandall and the ladies ; his head covered, his hands clenched, his eyes darting anger and revenge " By what authoiity, what law by the show of what prerogative, is my property removed 46 G-*ORK BARNWELL- from my own estate, and placed here?" exclaimed he "Yet do not answer me ! I know the tale that hangs upon your lips. But I demand to know the author of those vile calumnies, which the deluded peasantry are blowing round my dwelling. I think I trace the infamous suggestion in the coward countenance of yonder priest , ' ' pointing to Mr. Sandall. "Me me!" exclaimed Sandall, skulking behind Sir James's chair. " Mr. Mental, I assure you, sir, I have had no hand what- ever in the business." "What! can you lie V said Mental " O, how ill does it be- come the man whose lips spout forth the purest and sublimest doc- trines ever taught mankind, to retail calumnies ! How ill does it become a man of any faith to wound the reputation of his absent fellow ; then shrink at his approach, conscious of the injury be- stowed, and yet most dastardly disown the blow !" Mr. Sandall was of a pale complexion ; but at this moment his lips were paler than his cheeks, and he could not stand upright. "Does your reverence know this man?" asked Mental. [It was farmer Cornall.] Sandall trembled. " The tale you have in- stilled in this man's ear was wanton or malicious. Be it as it may, sir, it shall be refuted. You have spread stories of enchantment, necromancy nay, of murder ! to my prejudice : that I conceal bandftti of Illuminati in my house. Now, Sir James," to the knight " You are a magistrate I surrender myself on the charge of this zealous protector of the Christian faith, and am your prison- er till acquitted. Go to my servant, take the keys of every room nay, I insist on it search every drawer, examine every paper. I fear no discoveries." After many objections, Sir James consented to visit the residence of Mr. Mental, as the only means of adverting the threats of the la- bourers, assembled from the neighbouring villages to pull down the house. Accompanied by Mr. Sandall and George, he walked toward the house ; and, at the particular request of Sir James, Mental went with them, smiling as he passed the insulting throng assembled round them, which all the eloquence and authority of the knight could scarcely keep in order. As they were entering the house, Mental took an opportunity of whispering to George, unnoticed " You have not tattled, boy?" " I am no babbler," said George. " Then whatever you may now observe, be secret still. How- ever strange or mysterious may appear my future conduct, at pres- ent, disclose nothing that you know concerning me." Then, squeezing his hand " Let this memorial sometimes claim a place, for me in your thoughts !" and he sighed heavily as he slipped a miniature into his hands George put it in his bosom. By this time they had reached the sitting and sleeping room " Here, Sir James," said Mental, " I eat and sleep ; 'tis my whim ; there's no statute to the contrary, I believe, Mr. Chaplain? That GEORGE BARNIVELL. 47 closet will open, by turning the handle of the lock. It contains my wardrobe, a few changes of linen, and a roquelaure. The bayonet and belt, that hang upon that peg, T once wore nay, I once used! I drew human blood with that weapon Christian blood, Mr. Sandall ; English blood, Sir James. 'Twas an un- happy cause : but I was then a soldier in the ranks, and endeavour- ed to annihilate the powers of mind that I possessed, for they were useless ; and my arm sent death where the discretion of my officers directed. It makes me cold to think on it. I see the belt is mouldy, and the bayonet rusty. I wish they were buried in the plains of Quebec. There is nothing else worth notice in this room." They entered the apartment of poor old Sarah, who was in tears. " Why why Sarah Come, come, dry these tears I can bear any calamity better than see a faithful creature, like you, mis- erable through my means," said Mental. " It han't for myself, it's for you I cry. I always thought it would come out." "Come out!" said Sandall. " What do you mean, good wo- man?" " O, the study the study!" " Poor wretch !" cried Mental. "What about the study, good woman]" said Sandall t and then taking Sir James's arm " Come, lead us to the study." " I lead you to the study ! God forbid ! no, no let them that will, go for me," cried Sarah. George recollected her former dread of the study. " This faithful creature has resided with me twenty years," said Mental. " In all that time she has not seen the inside of my study. I spend many hours there alone ; and often the whole night, if it rains, and I am prevented from walking in the abbey, which I prefer in fine weather. The circumstance has created a mysterious fear in poor Sarah's brain, and she would not enter the study, I believe, to save her life. But you shall yourselves judge how little cause of terror exists there." As they were leaving the room, Sarah took an opportunity, un- perceived by Mental, to pull Sandall by the coat, and make ear- nest signs to him not to go. George himself was staggered for a moment by this circumstance but Sandall seemed petrified with terror. " Come, Sir James," said Mental, " I'll show you this study." They moved on. At the door of the kitchen Sandall turned round, and perceived that Sarah had dropped upon her knees-, and was in the attitude of praying. His knees tottered as he ascended two flights of stairs, which led to a gallery, at the end of which was a door, which Mental informed them was the study. He opened the door, and the first object that struck their sight was, the lid of a coffin covered with black cloth : there was a plate fixed on it, with this inscription 49 GEORGE BARNWELL . SSHnor JHnttsl, DIED JULY 12-TH, 1722; AGED 22." George cast his eyes curiously about the study, and appeared entering in his memory an inventory of its contents. The coffin lid was placed upright in one corner of the room ; on a corner shelf over it was a human skull, in excellent preservation ; near it was a writing table, on which burnt a lamp, the shutters of the windows being continually closed ; the floor was strewed with books, pamphlets, and newspapers. A chest under the desk con- tained a large quantity of manuscript. In another corner stood an electrical machine, covered with dust, the cylinder broken. In an- other, a furnace had been raised for chymical experiments, but had evidently been long in disuse, and was half concealed by broken crucibles and charcoal dust. The general appearance of the place conveyed the most gloomy ideas, and its furniture constituted mel- ancholy memorandums of energies of mind decayed and faded ; as tattered banners and broken helmets tell of some valiant arm laid low! As Mental stood with his arms folded, leaning against the wain- Bcot, Sir James and Mr. Sandall alternately fixed an eye of wonder on the apartment and its mysterious owner. After a considerable silence - - " Well, Mr. Sandall," said Mental, " you are now in the very council chamber of your supposed secret committee ! You have my willing permission to inspect any paper, book, or drawer ; and if the appearance of this place, or any thing in it, suggests any questions, even of curiosity, I will as truly answer it as if I were on oath. " That piece of elm covered with black cloth, was intended to be buried with the person whose name is inscribed on the plate. I had some regard for her memory, and chose to have it preserved. 'Twas a strange fancy, you may say -Be it so. " That structure of bone, on the shelf over it, I also kept as a memorandum It was once the repository of much intelligence ; and in those sockets once beamed eyes which glistened with the dews of sensibility, and won the gazer's admiration ere their owner spoke. Yet, sir, there was a something contained within that skull, which plotted and executed the most mischievous damnation that ever blasted the tender blossoms of human hope! ! now gaze upon it by the hour, and wonder where the animating spirit of the deserted cavity has fled ! We can gather no intelligence of this nature, Mr. Sandall. Science is ignorance, and genius madness, as to such information. " That machine, whose electrical powers have amused me many a year, attracted for a while the powers of my reason ; till, having gained a thorough knowledge of its principles, my mind sought GEORGE BARK WELL. 49 novelty. The labours of chymistry kept me still longer in play ; till at length research was satisfied. But nothing I can read, noth- ing I can study, resolves me what I am ! whence I came ! or whither I shall go ! This perplexity may, and I know does, trouble me more than many men. 1 own, too, its inutility Yet, be the torture of doubts its punishment ; and let me not incur suspicions that I do not merit. I know no Illuminati, Mr. Sandall." " Why, sir, I I am surprised at your odd ways. I I have no reason to doubt your good intentions But it appears strange, that a person of your sense that is, it is as I may say at is sur- prising " stammered out Mr. Sandall " Spare yourself, sir," said Mental, " and I will spare you also ; for I perceive you are not such a being as a man of any strength of mind ought to be offended with. Therefore, though you are the means of again unsettling me -the busy meddler that once more drives me from a spot I chose to die on yet I, atheist as you deem me, can be so much a Christian as to forgive you. " To you, Sir James, I owe a fuller explanation. In a few words, then, sir, I am a miserable man ! whose views of happiness have been almost constantly obscured by unexpected blights and storms, just as I thought them mine : and being of a frame and constitution, perhaps, ill suited to these buffetings of fortune, I find they have inflicted wounds upon my heart which have engendered a disease, whose baneful influence has made me seem the thing you see me What I really am, is my own concern But I am sorry that, if, by word or act, I have offended you ; and I know I have. " You, Sir James, are happily not troubled with the mania of inquiry, and are content to take this world as you find it. I have too frequently indulged a pettishness of mind at your expense, when I have aimed to decompose that order of things, and system of soci- ety, with which I am dissatisfied. Let me, then, make you the only recompense I can, by a solemn and sincere assurance, that what I have frequently uttered in your presence has been the off- spring of a distorted fancy a sickly heart a feverish, giddy brain. Let me assure you, sir, I am no wiser man, because I can detect an error in another's creed I am no happier man, because I laugh at others' hopes of future life and bliss. No, no, sir ; I know now less than when I was a boy : the learning and the sciences- of men have but confused the simple thoughts of nature ; and as to happi- nessHah ! ha ! ha ! (grinning horribly) this world affords me no prospect of peace ; and as to futurity, my doubts obscure all hope. " Thus much I owed to you, Sir James ; but the suspicions of this reverend gentleman are as groundless as they are mean, and unbecoming that faith which teaches charity !" Sir James apologized. Mr. Sandall bowed, and stammered; and, after examining a few empty apartments, they retired. On their return home, the knight published Mr. Mental's inno- cence, and sent a servant to his house with the articles found in the haunted aisle. 60 GEORGE BARNWKLL. CHAPTER XIV. Ah me ! the prospect saddened as she sung : Loud on my startled enr the death-bell rung : Chill darkness wrapt the pleasurable bow'rs, While Horror, pointing to yon breathless clay, " No peace be thiue !" exclaimed " Away, away." BOWLES. TOWARDS evening on the following day, as George was saunter- ing near home, a post-chaise passed him, in which were Mental and his old servant. At the lodge gate the porter delivered him a packet. Conclud- ing it came from Mental, he hastened with it to his apartment, and broke the seal. On a slip of paper was written the following note : "The events of yesterday drive me from a retreat in which I had hoped to die. I shall see you no more till we meet in London. In that polluted place I shall awhile reside. I shall discover your abode, and will not fail to see you. " In the meantime, I have hastily composed, for your perusal, the sequel of my me- lancholy story. You will perceive what a blank there is in my affections how cold and empty a space my bosom has become. Sometimes I think, that if the glow of so- cial feeling is ever more to warm my frozen breast, it must be kindled by yourself. But if my story fail to gain the tear of sympathy, I trust it may at least be beneficial to you as a warning. " Farewell. May the present tranquillity of your breast never be exchanged for the torture that racks the bosom of MENTAI.." The narrative ran thus : " There resided near our cottage, at Walworth, a youth of fortune, who visited us, and became our intimate acquaintance. I soon discovered in him uncommon genius and ardent feelings. "This youth, with about ten or eleven others, of similar dispositions and talents, had formed themselves into a club, for the purpose of candid and free inquiry. I had the honour of being invited a member. ' My friend possessing, from his fortune, a considerable influence with the club, his patronage procured me a respect I otherwise was not entitled to ; and I was elected their secretary. I say nothing of our labours, which were published at a joint ex- pense, and circulated with a zeal beyond description. "Experience, however, has taught me one truth, that every structure of morality or philosophy we raise upon the ruins of those we overthrow, is unable to stand the test of practical experiment, and are, many of them at least, greater nuisances iu society than those we attempt to destroy. " As secretary of this society, my house became a sort of rendezvous for its members. My Elinor and I were delighted iit our good fortune in this respect, as it afforded us many hours of rational amusement in the conversation of men of taste and letters. "Among others was a celebrated painter of that day. He had a person of manly beauty ; a countenance expressive of the most tender sympathies ; his manners were engaging; his converse truly captivating. We delighted in the company of Mr. Lin- more, and he seemed to receive an equal satisfaction in ours His gratitude for the humble entertainment our roof afforded him was beyond all bounds. His paintings were the ornaments of our rooms, and the testimonies of his favour. " We passed the greater part of a year in a state the nearest to bliss I ever saw on earth. Fortune seemed determined to heap her favours on us all at once; for in the course of this period Mr. Nutting, the grocer, died ; and smitten with the injustice of possessing the fortune which Elinor's conduct bestowed upon him, on his death-bed made a will, by which she regained her right to a property that made us completely independent. "Now, mark the fickleness of fortune. Just as the sun of prosperity was ascending the meridian, and his beams had gilded a wide and beauteous landscape of enchanting hopes, a little sable cloud sprung up, and floated in a corner of the hemisphere. It (ailed towards my dwelling. It swelled as it drew near ; it increased till the sun wag hidden from my sight; and then, descending burst upon my head, overwhelmed all GEORGE BARNWELL. 51 prospects of the hopes 1 had beheld, and left me nothing to contemplate, save the fright- ful desolations of despair! " To dwell as little as possible upon a subject that shakes every .nerve with horror at its remembrance, know, then, young man, that this specious moralist, this zealous friend, this smooth-speech ed Liumore, proved himself a most consummate villain. " He came to our dwelling, and found Peace, Innocence, and Love, its inmates ; he caw as fund a pair as Nature ever designed for each other's bosom. What, then, was that principle that could excite within his breast the horrid purpose, the execrable, vile design, to mar such bliss ? With the dissembled visage of benevolence, he must have borne a heart that languished for the murder of his species, or how could he deli- berately have planned the destruction of one of Nature's noblest works! "You have not yet felt the influence of love ; you cannot, therefore, feel like those who have. But if you shall ever love, if all the mental energies, and all the glow of passion, that constitute the essence of existence in your nature, ever centre in one Foiiit, fix on one object you may then conceive what I experienced, when all at once, found that object vanished. O! what a chilling void I felt in my breast! Such it became, soon as suspicion pointed to her dishonour; but, when I tell you Alas' my poor brain cannot bear the recollection ! * * * * "With trembling hand I take my pen once more. Circumstances awakened in my breast a jealousy of Linmore, and determined me to watch his every emotion. "Start not: my jealousy was well founded The damn'd darts of the arch fiend succeeded Virtue was subdued, and treacherous lust triumphant O ! that the light- nings of heaven had blasted him or me, ere I had seen the smiling murderer! "One fatal day, when, having pretended a day's absence, I concealed myself at home, I saw her enter her chamber, and in a few minutes Linmore followed. This was conviction ; and all the powers of my reason fell beneath the impulse of revenge My hand instinctively grasped a dagger that was near me I rushed into the room, and, aiming a just reward at the seducer's heart, the cursed villain shrunk from my vengeance, and it fell on the poor, lost Elinor ! " The coward fled, and I was discovered kneeling by my bleeding wife, the fatal weapon still buried in her breast. " In that moment of agony, I know not what occurred. I was dragged by force from the body, and confined, in my own house, under the care of some medical gentlemen. " In a few days my senses returned, and I was able to give some account of the hor- rible transaction ; which being corroborated by the circumstance of Linmore's flight, the coroner's jury returned a verdict of accidental death, and the remains of my poor Elinor were interred. " Though I was not then deemed a madman, my reason had sustained a shock it never has perfectly recovered. " When I looked back upon the happiness I had enjoyed, and gazed upon the dread- ful wreck around me, my blood now chilled to ice now flowed like burning lava through my veins and my affrighted reason fled at the horrid view ! My adoration of the object would scarcely allow me to believe her false, and my love seemed unac- countably increased I " She was then in her coffin I flew to it I threw myself in agony upon it ; nor would I quit it, till my strange wish was gratified, in preserving the coffin lid, as a memento, to be ever in my sight. Another was accordingly made. " After her interment, I secluded myself some months from the world. Human na- ture- suffered a degradation indeed in my estimation. I grew disgusted with mankind, and with the system of the moral government of the universe. Vet I had not then ex- perienced more than half the misery I have since endured. " My cottage at Walworth now became frightful ; every room reminded me of some happy scene ! and brought to mind my Elinor ! They brought to me my child O, how it chilled my blood to look at her ! I thought her little eyas seemed to dart reproach and vengeance on her mother's murderer I could not bear her presence! " After some time I determined to quit not only Walworth, but England ; and went to reside in America. " I placed my daughter under the care of a respectable person in the neighbourhood ; made an ample provision for her education ; and, in case of my death, had left her the whole of her mother's fortune. "Now, sir, let your imagination, and your pity, follow a heart-broken man to another quarter of the globe ; and even there you will find that misery pursued him. "Scarcely was I settled in any degree of intimacy with any of my fellow creatures, and had begun to feel something like humanity reviving in my heart, when those trou- bles, of which the world knows so well, broke out " My friend was an American by birth, and sided with Congress. My opinions, though they did not coincide with the rulers of England, yet compelled me to resist the entreaties of my friend to take up arms against my mother country. I would have 3 52 GEORGE BARNW ELL. remained neater, but that could not be ; and thus, soon as my heart began to cherish a love for my friend, my arm was lifted to destroy him. 'TV as then I was compelled to wear and use the arms you saw at my residence. But let me bury in oblivion my country's shame ! "One instance of retributive justice I met with in America, which, in some degree, reconciled me to the notion of a Providence. The villain, Linmore, who had made that cou.itry his refuge, was in prison when I arrived there, implicated in a charge of murder. He was one of the party where murder ensued, in consequence of an unlaw- ful project. He was executed, and dissected. I offered any price for bis skeleton, and did actually obtain the skull, which you saw in my closet . " Disgusted with the scenes which passed before me, I embraced the first opportu- nity of returning to England, and bought the estate of the abbey, near your uncle's. " This retreat suited me well. Its distance from any other dwelling, the romantic scenery around it, and the gloomy walks among the abbey ruins, accorded well with 'my soul's sadness.' " The old woman I retained as my servant had lived some time in the house before I bought it. When I received the little furniture I wanted, I deposited the coffin lid, and the Unman skull, in my study ; and from that moment the poor woman resolved nerrer to enter it. Here I had proposed to end my days of disappointment aud remorse. "Time will not now permit me to describe the state of my troubled mind. Shook to its foundation was my faith in all revealed religion. I employed whole nights in the painful study of metaphysics, with no other reward than a confirmation or increase of doubts. Resolving to give over every other pursuit of that nature, I flew for amuse- ment to chemistry, electricity, anatomy, and grew tired of each. " Hating the sight of human beings, I general. y kept close at borne all day, and walked among the ruins when others slept " Among a few other memorandums of my former happiness, I reserved the harp discovered in the old aisle : it was my Elinor's delight ! " Annexed to these memoirs are several pieces of poetry, which I composed in the calm silence of midnight, at the abbey they all relate to my poor Elinor, whom 1 have there called Louisa! ' Thus rolled away year after year. I only saw the active world through the medi- um of report. Newspapers, pamphlets, reviews, and various publications showed me the bustling scenes of men, on which I gazed an unconcerned spectator. Yet there was still one object in the world, for whom ray heart felt a glowing interest my daughter ! My young Elinor often started to the vision of my memory, and painted me with the dreadful anticipation of her fate in such a world of treachery and wo. "I heard frequently from her governess, but I could never bring myself to fee her. The accounts I received were, with little variation, satisfactory, until her eighteenth rear ; when, all at once, a letter came with tidings that, without any known cause, she *._d eloped ! " Any attempt to describe my feelings at this intelligence were Tain. I reproached myself as the author of her guilty fate, in having abandoned her education to stran- gers. "A severe illness followed this intelligence, which threatened my dissolution. Every etibrt to discover her proved unavailing. Where she is. or whether she exists at all, I know not. Thus misery weighs down my declining years ; acd yet I live live in torturing suspense as to my child in dreadful doubt as to her fate. Will you, then, not pity a miserable old man, almost distracted, and commiserate his fate ! Talk of him as litt'e as possible ; but when his name is mentioned, do that justice to his ,-iory which these memoirs enable you. " In London I shall see you ; till then, farewell, youth. Thy breast is pure thy lumbers are sweet: May they ever be *o. Farewell. MENTAL.'' GEORGE BARNWELL. 53 CHAPTER XV. Rank abundance breeds In gross and pamper'd cities, sloth and lust, And wantonness, and gluttonous excess ; Such London is by taste and wealth proclaim'd The fairest capital in all the world ; By riot and incontinence the worst.- COWPER. THE departure of Mental from the abbey was soon buzzed around the country, and various stories were circulated concerning him. Whilst curiosity, or the love of scandal actuated the many, George felt his heart warmly interested in the fate of so unhappy a fellow creature, and sighed earnestly for the power of alleviating his sorrows. The tender hearted Eliza and the benevolent Mrs. Barn well, to whom he had communicated the outlines of the melancholy tale, united in commiseration for the sufferings of a man, whose life, al- most from infancy, had been marked by disappointment and sorrow. " How much is he to be pitied !" said Mrs. Barnwell ; " his heart torn with the keenest sorrows, and his mind prevented by scepticism from reposing in the consolations of religion. Let his story, my dear George, teach you the value of those truths a de- parted saint early instilled into your mind, and never suffer the subtlety of eloquence to destroy those impressions which Christian- ity has formed in your heart." " How unfortunate for him," said George, " that doctrines so admirably adapted to the human heart, should have been presented to his view in so distorted a shape as they were by the Nuttings. It surely is not assuming too much, to attribute his rejection of all revelation to that circumstance. Such a mind as Mental's would doubtless have received the uncorrupted principles of Christianity as congenial to its wants, and its expectations, and would not have re- mained, as at present, an unorganized mass of useless energies, which are attracted to one centre ; but, flying off at all points, rouse the imagination of the most painful doubts, and leave the heart unbenefitted by their operations." " Your remarks are certainly just," replied Mrs. Barnwell ; " and it affords me the greatest pleasure to hear such observations fall from a son I am so soon to part with. In the long absence we are to suffer, it will be no inconsiderable source of pleasing re- flection, that you leave us with such sentiments. " The scenes in which you are about to perform a part, my George, are of a complexion that dazzle and intoxicate the mind ; and you will have occasion frequently to recur to those principles for direction ; let me hope you will ever make them your guide, and then, I am persuaded, I shall never blush at the mention of my son." Conversations of a similar nature frequently took place till the day of departure arrived, when George, with abundant proofs of 54 GEORGE BA.RNWEL1. the liberality of his uncle, quitted his hospitable roof, which still remained the asylum of his mother and Eliza. For the first time George entered the metropolis for the first thne breathed the fashionable air of Portland Place, where Mr. Emery resided. From the account George had received from Mental of the meanness and avarice of traders, he was not a little surprised to observe the elegant appearance of Mr. Emery's residence. His as- tonishment increased, when, upon admission into the hall, he was surrounded by four or five stout, tall fellows, in blue and silver, large bunches of flowers in their bosoms, and white cambric hand- kerchiefs in their hands. The youth was absolutely confused, and felt some difficulty in persuading these gentlemen of the ceremo- nies to procure him an audience of Mr. Emery, who was entertain- ing the cabinet ministers that evening at dinner, at his own table. They condescended, however, at length, to show him to a par- lour, where, in about an hour afterwards, Mr. Emery came to him ; George having sent in his name. Instead of the merchant of the old school George expected to meet, Mr. Emery was a man of the most elegant deportment, dressed in the extreme of fashion. He entered the room in style so commanding, yet easy, that his presence bespoke the most accomplished manners. " I am extremely concerned, sir," said he, " that very particu- lar people are with me to-day, and prevents my receiving you more agreeably with my wishes, and the respect due to a nephew of Sir James Barnwell. Allow me, however, to congratulate you upon your safe arrival, and to introduce you to Mrs. Emery and her daughters." George apologized for his appearance, and would have avoided the introduction. " O, by no means," said Mr. Emery, ringing " In what part of the house is your mistress?" said he to the servant who ap- peared. " The ladies have drove down to the Pavilion this morning, sir; and do not return till to-morrow." " That's unfortunate, indeed ; but you will excuse me, I'm sure ; we shall be better acquainted soon, and apologies will become un- necessary, William, serve dinner in this room to my friend, Mr. Barnwell, and tell the butler to bring what wine he orders." With a cordial shake of the hand, Mr. Emery left his young friend to a soliloquy, full of wonder, at the scenes before him. The manner in which he was received astonished him . Cabinet minis- ters dining with a merchant was a novelty to him ; but more strange than every thing else, appeared the idea of a man's not knowing whether his wife and daughters were at home, or in the country. A profuse dinner was served up, consisting of every delicacy that the season afforded, and in a style of elegance beyond all George had ever seen. GEORGE BARNWELL. 55 It was near ten o'clock when he had finished his sumptuous din- ner ; and about eleven, he was thinking of retiring to rest, when Mr. Emery entered, introducing a young man, apparently about twenty, of an effeminate countenance, and delicate frame. " Mr. Barnwell," said he, " this is a pupil of mine. Mr. Rig- by, let me recommend Mr. Barnwell to your friendship. I have mentioned him to you before." " I shall be very proud of rendering you any service, sir," said Mr. Rigby. Mr. Emery retired, calling to the servants in the hall " The chariot in a quarter of an hour." The pupils were left together. What a contrast did they form ! George's cheeks glowed with health Rigby's were sunk and pale ; George's form and limbs proclaimed the temperance and exercise he used Rigby's slender legs and shrivelled arms as plainly de- clared a life of sloth and intemperance. The dress of the former was simple and manly that of the latter disgustingly effeminate : his whole appearance prejudiced George against him, whilst he in return considered George as a boor. " The chariot in a quarter of an hour," was echoed three or four times in the hall. George could not refrain from asking whether any thing particu- lar drew Mr. Emery abroad so late. " So late ! Eh, demme ! that's neat Excusez moi. Upon my soul, 1 can't help laughing !" which laughing was merely a hec- tic barking. " Why, my dear fellow, you must be very raw, very green, indeed ! excusez moi it's not eleven!" whirling a gold watch round by the chain " The Principal's only going his usual round." " May I be so free as to inquire what you mean by that phrase, Mr. Rigby? I believe you know I am a stranger in London." " O yes ; excusez moi that's plain enough ! However, one should not be too severe. I remember when I I I was as great a quiz excusez moi as you, sir. By going his round I mean look- ing in at the opera squeezing a new figurante lounging in the way of the scene-shifters, and getting hissed off the stage. Then whirl to Lady Strongbox splash away the Spanish make an as- signation for the morning, and off again to the House take a lounge there for an hour get a bow from the Treasury Bench gape at Dr. Sceptic's doubts and then to Brookes's lose a trifle get the headache and dash home with two flambeaux by daylight !" \ " You are very happy at a description, Mr. Rigby," said George : ," a little ad libitum in the colours though, I presume." ( " No, demme, not I I'm, a plain matter of fact, absolutely. But what are you going to do with yourself till bed-time?" " That time is come with me, sir, for I am fatigued." " To bed at eleven o'clock O, horrible ! For heaven's sake sham sick, my good fellow ; sham sick, or the servants will die with a convulsion of laughter !" - 56 GEORGE BARNWELt,. George smiled ; Mr. Rigby supposed at his wit; it was, in fact, at his folly. How wide a field for reflection did the incidents of the last few hours open to a mind like George's, ever active and discerning, and " never less alone, than when alone." CHAPTER XVI. Sound, unbroken youth, Health ever blooming unambitious toil Calm contemplation and poetic ease. THOMSON. FROM the specimens he had seen on the day of his arrival, George was prepared to expect a very different style of living from that which he had anticipated in the country, and such was the reality. He was established in Mr. Emery's house in the capacity rather of a private secretary than a clerk. Instead of being confined from an early hour in the morning till late at night, in posting legers and copying invoices, as Sir James had taught him to expect, and as was the case with all merchants' clerks when Sir James was in trade, George found that the sons, or nephews, or cousins of mer- chants, who threw a capital into the firm, underwent no such drudg- ery, which is consigned to boys who had learnt to write fine hands at charity schools. About eleven o'clock, George usually went from Portland Place to the counting-house, Broad-street Buildings, where Mr. Drudge, the fagging partner, resided. Any communications of consequence, between Mr. Emery and Mr. Drudge, were conveyed by George ; as well as papers that required the signature of the former, who seldom visited the counting-house himself. From Broad-street Buildings to Batson'scoflfee-honse was a reg- ular one-o'clock walk for George, where he met the rich Jew brokers, and made Mr. Emery's proposals for the barter of bullion, consols, omnium, or lottery, according to previous instructions ; which, from his intimacy with ministers, gave generally the tone to the market. At three he paraded the Royal Exchange, and invited the foreign merchants to dine in Portland Place, which completed the labours of the day ; except on particular occasions, when letters of confi- dence were to be copied, or memorials for contracts sent to the Treasury. Such a slender portion of employ left void a large space of time for his own inclination to fill up. It being but the commencement of the season, Mrs. Emery and her daughters were seldom in town ; and Mr. Emery was scarcely visible in his own house, except at a few dinners, surrounded by company . Mr. Rigby, in addition to an extreme opposition of taste and GEORGE BARNWELL. 57 pursuits, had the motives of jealousy and envy to render George, disgustful to him ; aad therefore beyond the ceremonials of OCCP. sional meetings, they never spoke to each other. Thus leisure for a considerable time, was a!so solitude to Geore>'. who had refused several invitations to visits, tor the vulgar reason of not liking the party. A well stored library was his usual lounge after dinner, and iu the evening, he amused himself with music, or drawing , in a fa- miliar correspondence with his sister ; and occasionally of attempts at poetry, of which he was fond to excess. The library of Mr. Emery comprised an assemblage of literature in all its branches, and the privilege of access to such a store was, perhaps, the greatest happiness George had ever experienced. Having, one afternoon, finished reading Dr. Gregory's life of the unfortunate Chatterton, he was detected in tears by the servant who brought him his tea and the evening papers. George hastily snatched up the newspaper, to conceal his emo- tion, and cast his eyes rapidly over its contents. Whilst his heart beat indignant at the fate of Chatterton, a para- graph presented itself, in which the enormous sums paid in one season to Didelot and his wife for dancing at the opera were. enu- merated. " Good God !" exclaimed he, when he was left to himself, " how small a portion of this wealth might have saved to England, and to the world another Milton !" His ardent mind pursued the melancholy thought and he penned the following sonnet : SONNET. Blush Blush ye great! to hear the frequent sigh Despair extorts from many a Briton's breast, Inspired by Genius, and by Want deprest, Whose life is misery whose hope to diet Whilst iu your gorgeous theatres, behold, From foreign shores a pantomimic band Sublimely daring on one leg to stand, Delishts your folly, and receives your gold. O sons of Levily. with hearts of air, Awake, arise from Fashion's flowery bed ; Go search where Genius lies, unhous'd, unfed ; And rescue suffering Merit from despair ; Unbend stern Suicide's determined brow. And give his palsied heart with gratitude to glow! Such were his pursuits, such his propensities ; a conduct so dif- ferent from other young men of his age, was the source of ridicule all over the house. The footmen as they picked their teeth after dinner, " wondered where the devil the Hottentot was bred ?" The maids " never saw such an insipid creature in their lives sup- posed he had left his heart behind him, if indeed, he ever had any ;" whilst Mrs. Jennings, the housekeeper vowed, " that she verily be- lieved, for her part, that he was sent into the house as a spy upon their conduct." 58 GEORGE BAUNWELL. This latter suspicion aroused the jealous resentment of the but- ler, and the whole corps domestique resolved upon a war of indo- lence a gainst him, which, however, the engaging suavity of his manners soon converted into the homage of grateful respect. Such was the situation of George, when orders arrived from the Pavilion to prepare the house for the reception of its mistress dur- the winter. Though, to the rusticated mind of George, every apartment seemed an assemblage of splendid unnecessaries, yet every apart- ment was thrown into confusion by tho addition or exchange of sofas, cabriolets, tripods, chandeliers, and chimney ornaments, as if the house for the first time was to be furnished. CHAPTER XVTI. Time was, a sober Englishman would knock His servants up, and rise by five o'clock ; Instruct his family in ev'ry rule, And send bis wife to church, his sou to school ; Now times are changed POPE. NEW scenes now opened. The reign of dissipation commenced for the season by the arrival of Mrs. Emery and her daughters. George was introduced by Mr. Emery. " Lord, child," said Mrs. Emery, " you can't think how excessively I've been longing to see you, ever since I knew of your arrival. Well, how do you like London? ' Is not it delightfully charming 1 ? Don't you think yourself transported to Paradise? What do you think of the thea- tres ? Which do you like best, Drury Lane or Covent Garden ? Have you seen Parisot? Have you heard Banti?" George was never so confused in his life, as at the abrupt volu- bility of this lady. He was thinking how to reply to her string of questions, when, all of a sudden, she exclaimed " O, pray do me the favour to write a note to the Countess of Codrington, to say we are come to town, and mean to be at the opera to-night ; and do me the favour to write to the Duchess of O, no now I think of it, it will be quite delightful to take them all by surprise and I'll positively frighten them all out of their senses. Come, Emma Come, Charlotte," looking at her watch, "we have just time enough to dxive round the squares before we dress ; and away they flew leaving George in a state of perfect astonishment. At dinner he saw them again, and more particularly surveyed the Miss Emerys. They were mere fashionables ; their counte- nances rather pretty than handsome, without any traces of intelli- gence or sensibility. The youngest possessed more vivacity, and the eldest more sense ; the former loved laughter, but the delight of the latter was scandal. As they were reputed fortunes, they were not without admirers, GEORGE BARNWELL. 59 whom they both kept in that doubtful state of vassalage, so pleas- ing to the vanity of the giddy part of the fair sex, but at which a woman of virtue and understanding revolts. By the attention of Lord Morley to Miss Emma, and the Rev. Mr. Eastwood to Miss Charlotte, George easily discovered the fa- vourites of the day. " The hour for the opera arrived ; the carriages were ordered ; each of the favoured lovers handed his idol to his own chariot, whilst Mr. Emery's was reserved for Mrs. Emery and her new friend George, of whom she affected to be extravagantly fond ! and kindly undertook to lead him through all the mazes of the high world. When they entered the magnificent structure of the opera house, which was extremely crowded, George was absolutely overcome by the strength of the new impressions which so sudden a blaze of splendour created. The opera was over, and the overtures of the ballette was per- forming. Upon a mind tasteful by nature, and uncommonly sus- ceptible, charms of music were not lost. While every one else had seated themselves in the box, and were busily employed in nodding round the brilliant circle, exchanging looks of smiling affability, and at the same moment whispering mutual calumnies, George stood absorbed in exquisite sensations. A tittering sort of laugh aroused him, and he found he had been the laughing stock of the party. " In the name of wonder," cried Lord Morley, " what have you found so petrifying?" " Why, child," said Mrs. Emery, " you have used an attitude in the wrong place. Nobody ever listens to the overtures ; and as to being astonished, you must remember it's the vulgarest thing in the world to be surprised at any thing one sees !" "Possibly," said Mr. Eastwood, " this is Mr. Barnwell's first appearance in this character." George assented. " O, monstrous !" screamed Mrs. Emery. " Thou brute ! A month in London, and not one night at the opera ! How can you have possibly amused yourself?" said Lord Morley. "Have tragedy and comedy entirely engrossed you?" He had not seen either. " Mercy on me," exclaimed Mrs. Emery, " what a task have I undertaken ! Mon petit enfant, come, tell your mamma what you really have seen, and what you really do know." Such was the trifling that prevented George from paying atten- tion to the music or dancers. For what purpose do so many persons assemble here ? thought he. The entertainments of the orchestra or stage might certainly as well be altogether omitted, as so slightly attended to. All that he had been permitted to see or hear, -only served to excite his 3* 60 6EOR8E BARNWELL. curiosity,, and determined him to take an early opportnnity of visit- ing the theatre alone. As they were leaving their box " I must relinquish going to the Duchess's delightful party to-night," said Mrs. Emery, or dismiss my novitiate; for positively, George, you would disgrace me. Besides, nobody knows you. I should have imagined Mr. Emery might, at least, have introduced you to a few fashionables. But he is so necessary to the ministers. Do you think they'll give him a coronet, my Lord?" turning to Lord Morley. " I know they can refuse him nothing," said Lord Morley. " Well," said Mrs. Emery, after a pause, " I shall certainly dismiss you, George. And, merely for your sake, I'll positively give a route on Thursday, (though its abominable early in the sea- son,) ask all the world, and introduce you myself to every body. So, go go your ways." George parried these blows very well ; for, though unlearnt in the fashionable jargon of the beau monde, he was wanting neither in genteel deportment, or even an elegant and agreeable manner of expressing his ideas, which were superior, beyond all comparison, to the united efforts of his party. As he was making his bow to Mrs. Emery, at the chariot door, three gentlemen walking abreast, pushed the soldiers on one side, and were passing on, when Mrs. Emery's carriage attracted their notice, and they stopped to pay their respects : " O Middleton," said the lady, " are you here ?" " We've just looked in," said a florid faced man, with an amaz- ing large cocked hat, and an insolent air: " but, who the devil's that quiz?" in a whisper. " A very particular friend of Mr. Emery's, just escaped from rural fetters. Have a little compassion on him, for our sakes. George," continued she, " this is Captain Middleton ; he wishes the pleasure of your acquaintance !" and the carriage whirled off. George now found himself in a new society. Captain Middleton took his arm in as familiar a style as if they were old acquaint- ances, and began a sort of catechism, and soon discovered his own most libertine principles, and proved to himself the unsullied mind of his new acquaintance. It was a dark night, and began to rain ; a hackney coach was called, and orders given to drive to St. James's street. They alighted at a coffee-house ; and George, having acknowledged that he had no engagement, felt compelled to sit down with them to supper. Wine was quaffed in goblets, laughter expelled thought, and was kept up by a continued series of obscene merriment. Unaccustomed to such scenes, George performed his part but in- differently. It was the first time in his life he had ever listened to an unbridled ridicule of religion and morality. Religion was abso- lutely scouted ; and as to what was, or was not morality, it was so indefinable to the comprehension of those wits, that, according to their system, a man of liberal ideas had no other guide for his con- duct than his own convenience. GEORGE BARNWELL. Cl As the wine circulated through their veins, their stories gained a richer colouring, and their principles became more naked. lu this situation was placed a youth of seventeen, whose heart had hitherto ever beat in unison with reason. It had knowu r.o irregular desires ; had never felt the fire of lust, or cherished any inclination unsanctionol by his head. Yet was his heart not stoL* ; it was open, generous, Blowing with good will to all arourid him. Thence sprung that general wish, so fatal in its effects, to accom- modate his conduct to his company to do as others do. To refuse a glass is frequently to refuse a toast ; and to refuse some toasts would so impeach a man's principles, that he would be forever after pointed at as a monster of virtue ! George was too good natured to refuse his wine, and too unac- customed to its effects to keep pace with his companions. The consequences were, insensibility for the night, and a most inveterate headache in the morning, with reflections more painful to his mind than any he had hitherto experienced. CHAPTER XVIII. As all tbo persons who compose this lawful assembly are masked, we dare not attack any of them in our way, lest we should send a woman of quality to Bridciccll. or a peer of Great Britain to the Counter. SPECTATOR. EVERY succeeding day now brought with it some novelty. The route at Mrs. Emery's was as splendid as any in London, and as ciwwded as her ambition could desire. At this route George was introduced to a numerous host of per- sonages, male and female ; and their various titles, names, and descriptions, danced in his brain the whole night : yet, amongst them all, there was but one for whose further acquaintance he leit ibe least inclination. A very genteel young man, in mourning, who, with his two sisters, were introduced under the names of Mr. and the Miss Lamb- ons, had left a very favourable impression upon his mind. His manners would have passed, with many, as proudly forbid- ling ; but George, with more discernment, saw in them the effects )f a dignified reserve. His conversation was elegant, and rational. He appeared to possess a considerable knowledge of the world, and to be familiar with the etiquette of the higher circles. The Miss Lambtons were pleasing and intelligent young women. Having passed an hour in delightful converse with Mr. Lambton, George felt extremely concerned at his departure ; and the raor" so, as not the most distant hint of a second meeting fell from his lip.;. Upon inquiring, he learned from Mrs. Emery, that this gcvt Io- nian was the son of a deceased Welsh squire, who had left his chil- 62 GEORGE BARNWELL. dren the fame of a liberal hospitality, in return for having frittered away, almost to nothing, his estate. Mr. Lambton was studying the law ; and his sisters, who had just arrived from Wales, at present resided with him in town, and were entirely dependent upon his generosity. George sighed to think that the only individual he had met with in London, whose friendship he should wish to cultivate, he might in all probability never behold again. He was agreeably disappointed. A few days after the route, there was a masquerade at the opera house. Mrs. Emery had en- gaged George to accompany her, and a party was accordingly formed. They had scarcely entered the room, when a black domino, with two females under his care, advanced. Mrs. Emery, with her usual volubility, was trying the patience of George just as this party passed. " I have heard that voice before," said the black domino to his companions. George instantly recollected Mr. Lambton's voice, which was confirmed by the reply of his sisters. Noticing carefully his dress, he determined, if fate relieved him of his patroness, to make himself known. Lord Morley and Miss Emery came running out of breath, to ac- quaint them that there was a most singular character at the other end of the room. Mr. Eastwood and Miss Charlotte Emery arrived with a confir- mation of the same intelligence. At the same instant Captain Mid- dleton appeared, and Mrs. Emery taking hold of his arm, relin- quishing George's, he made his escape, and went in pursuit of Mr. Lambton. In a few minutes he discovered him ; and walking a small distance behind him, listened to his voice again, that he might be confirmed in his opinion. " Well, then, my girls," said Lambton, for 'twas he, " masquer- ades will not be among the number of those indulgences you may sigh to think a parent's indiscretions have deprived you of. What but inanity of mind can find pleasure in a scene like this ? Are you not already tired with it?" George was now convinced ; and, walking up to him, respect- fully said " Am I mistaken? or have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Lambton?" " My name is Lambton, sir ; but I have to learn that of the per- son who honours me with his notice." "Barnwell," replied George, unmasking. Lambton bowed, and presented his sisters. " I must absolutely offer a sacrifice to chance for this unexpected good fortune," said Barnwell. " I think it so long since I had the pleasure of your conversation, that I began to despair of its renewal." " Do you expect me to reply sincerely, or fashionably, to so handsome a compliment?" said Lambton. GEORGE BARNWELL. 63 "That will depend, I apprehend, upon your own opinion, of which I am most likely to be pleased with ; though, if my own as- sertion will pass for any thing, I prefer sincerity, and yet desire to receive no greater than I bestow." " Am I to understand, then, that residing with the most fashion- able commoners, in the metropolis, with the most easy access to every amusement it affords, you can find leisure and inclination for so dull an employment as conversation?" "I am happy to find you do not judge of me personally, but rela- tively." A pause ensued. " I am surprised to see so few characters," said George. " I am rather surprised at the contrast of ihe real and assumed character of the metamorphoses we have. What, for instance, should you suppose was the real character of that prim Quaker ! The dress of purity conceals one of the most celebrated votaries of impure pleasure in this city. With the imbecility of accelerated old age is combined the folly and dissipation of youth. " He has the disposal of immense wealth, which he lavishes upon the lowest objects of pollution ; yet, to discharge a just debt is painful to him. " He disgraces the patrician order, by having been born to a dukedom ; nay, he lessens the dignity of human nature, by show- ing that the spirit of a satyr may animate the resemblance of a man." " Miserable old man !" cried George. " And yet, observe how his company is sought after. His riches procure him the attention of a train of parasites, whose praise is infamy, but which he, poor man, gratefully receives, as the only substitute for those pleasing sensations, which play about the heart where virtue is respected. " That fine form in the vest of a nun, who seems so desirous of attracting the Quaker's attention, is one of the wildest daughters of fashionable levity. " Her parents are respectable and opulent citizens ; but Matilda unfortunately has an aunt, who is a widow of quality, with whom she resides at a distance from parental observation. If she has not yet absolutely bartered virtue for pleasure, she cannot justly be surprised that the world has already attached that infamy to her character which she so sedulously courts. " You will observe that, if she fails in obtaining the notice of the Cyprian Quaker, which would be the climax of notoriety, that she will attack at least half the young men in the room, be familiar with each, and tell them all that she perfectly despises the last one she flirted with." " How much to be pitied ! 5 ' said George. "How much more to be blamed!" replied Lambton : "for, though we make every allowance for an improper education, what can palliate such a contemptible thirst for admiration. Her errors 64 GEORGE BARNWELL. are not the offspring of nature, but a mean and disgusting self-van- ity, which impeaches her heart as well as her understanding. I can admit the volatility of youthful blood as an excuse for vivacity , but where that is natural, it never permits a disguise. " Matilda is a mistress of cunning, and, to obtain notoriety, would sacrifice the feelings of half mankind. " It would be a task for the night to enumerate the uneasiness she has occasioned in various families, the discord she has foment- ed between friends and lovers. But see, she has relinquished the Quaker in despair, and is crossing herself in the attitude of suppli- cation before a monk." " And does your information extend to a knowledge of his reality?" " He is the son of a courtier ; a young man whose acquaintance is coveted by such as prefer a warm and luxurious description of obscene incidents to rational conversation. He has travelled, and will recount to you the intrigues of convents in such glowing lan- guage, as delights the depraved taste of such of his company as would be fatigued to death with any thing intellectual. I believe, in general, his stories are credited ; but for my own part I cannot help a little scepticism, that makes me revolt at narrations so full of the marvellous. In fact, I have heard well informed people say, that, in the company of men of sense, he will himself laugh at the credulity and false taste of his dupes." " Do you observe a very well sustained resemblance of the tragic muse?" said George. "It is an exception to my former remark," replied Lambton ; " and is supported by an amiable woman, as melancholy at all seasons as she now appears. Her fate excites the sympathy of all who are susceptible of pity. With an admirable mind, and beau- teous form, Fortune had also bestowed upon her riches and inde- pendence. " Her ambition was a title. The earl of wanted mate- rials to repair an impoverished estate, and possessed art sufficient to entangle her judgment. She became the Countess of , and, too late, discovered that, for the inanity of a title, she had ex- changed independence and all prospect of happiness ; she discover- ed that she had married a libertine, and a gamester. " Her friends interposed ; and have saved just so much from the wreck of her fortune as maintains her in economical gentility. " She is separated from her husband ; and, with the title of a countess, is compelled to live in lodgings, and seldom appears in public. " The frivolous part of her former acquaintance shun her with silly scorn ; and the more sensible and sincere few, who still visit her, can afford her little else than their pity ; the consolations of which, a dignified mind like hers would much rather dispense with. " Without a husband, without progeny, she is still a wife ; and her present misfortunes are in no small degree heightened by the painful reflection, that they are attributed to her own fatal error." GEORGE BARNWELL. 65 " How much 1 am obliged by your communications," said George, " and how much would my dislike to London, and its Harlequinades be softened, could I have recourse to the intelli- gence of such a mind. Why are the terms friend and friendship become so ridiculously unmeaning," continued George, " that, whilst one's heart is prompted to confess its attachment, the force of ridicule repels the generous instinct? " But for this, Mr. Lambton, I would not hesitate to ask a pro- bation of my professions ; and am not without hope that I should obtain your regard." " It's well the party you have left do not overhear you," said Lambton. " Had Captain Middleton heard such a sentimental speech, you would never have been admitted into any of his par- ties ; and the rejection would have marked you for a milk-sop all the rest of your life." " Would to God he had been here, then," cried George. " Softly, young man," said Lambton ; " you are not sufficiently aware of the evil you so bravely spurn. Could you be content to be sneered at by the men, and laughed at by the women of your acquaintance^" " Would all my acquaintance," said George, archly, " act so ab- surdly?" " I perceive your allusion," said Lambton, smiling, " but you are too young for a philosopher What comes here?" continued he. A mask now approached, followed by a crowd, which his strange dress, and still more strange behaviour, attracted. He appeared as a hermit. " Does any one know him? Does any one know him!" was buzzed about the room. Captain Middleton, Mrs. Emery and her daughters, with Lord Morley and Mr. Eastwood, were among the followers of the hermit. " The man should certainly be confined," said Captain Middle- ton : " he must absolutely be mad." " Somebody had better take care of him," cried Mrs. Emery ; " he may commit some mischief." " It is excessively unpleasant to be so bored with his sermons," said Lord Morley. " Insects, away !" cried the hermit, in a voice which George immediately recollected to be Mental's. " Insects away ! Ye flies of fashion ! Ye fluttering nothings ! Devoid of thought Caprice impels, or Folly leads your steps. Leave me leave me to my own reflections Ay Can you laugh ! Grin on 'tis Lev- ity's meridian now, and this the paradise of Folly ! Oh, how de- lightful to flutter in the blaze of such a sun, sipping the dews of pleasure, and breathing the soft gales of amorous respiration ! 'Twere well were this your everlasting region. But, Oh ! ye silly ones how will ye bear the nipping frost, when chill adversity ob- scures a distant sun ! how will you palate the bitter cup of mis- ery ! How will you meet the herald of your dissolutions, who 66 QEORGBBARNWEI.Iii have never fostered the unfortunate, or sympathized with the mis- erable, or the dying !" " Lord !" cried Charlotte Emery, " let's leave him : one had as well be obliged to listen to the man that preaches to the Jews." " True, my sweet girl," said the Rev. Mr. Eastwood. " Mo- rality is certainly very necessary in the world , but there are times for all things : besides, one may contrive means to acquaint people with their duty without a breach of good manners." George had stood silently observing what passed ; but, when Mental and the crowd had passed him, he could not help exclaiming " Good heavens ! the last man in the world I should have ex- pected to meet at a masquerade !" " Do you know him, then?" said Lambton. George briefly related the outlines of his story, which, with the remarks of Lambton on the tale, occupied the remainder of the time till they separated ; when, to the great pleasure of George, Mr. Lambton gave him his address, and requested the favour of an early visit. CHAPTER XIX. I must have liberty Withal, as large a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please for so fools have, And they that are most galled with my folly, They most must laugh. SHAKSPERE. SEVERAL weeks passed away unmarked by any event of conse- quence. Mental never appeared, though, since the night of the masquer- ade, George constantly expected him. New scenes of business or amusement succeeded each other so rapidly, as to leave little room for reflection, or little leisure for the conversations of Lambton, which were the source of considerable improvement, and real delight. Imperceptibly his mind became moulded into a compliance with fashionable life, and his manners assimilated to its modes ; yet still the native purity of his principles remained unshaken : honour still glowed in his breast, and sincerity dwelt on his tongue. He had now passed his seventeenth year, though the expression of his features, and his manly person, made him appear considera- bly older. About this time Mr. Freeman wrote Mr. Emery intelligence of his intention to comply with his request, and permit his daughter to visit the metropolis ; and added that he meant himself to accom- pany her to town. The agitation of Mr. Emery at this intelligence surprised George extremely. Uneasiness of mind became evident in every transac- tion. He would order the chariot and forget his orders ; he would CEORGEBARNWELL. 67 employ George to copy statements of accounts, which he would alter as frequently as if it depended upon his fancy to arrange the figures. Mr. Drudge, the acting partner, was closeted with him for hours together. Letters after letters were despatched to the Treasury ; and anxiety was expressed in his looks, words, and actions. At length Mr. Freeman and his daughter arrived. The latter was a beautiful girl, about the age of seventeen. George, who happened to be with Mr. Emery when their chaise stopped at his door, was struck with his exclamation, as he went to receive them " He's here, by G ! Then there's nothing for it but deception !" In a moment the chagrin of his countenance was half concealed by a hypocritical smile of welcome. " Well," cried Mr. Freeman, as he stumped through the hall, leaning on a gold headed cane, " Well, Master Emery, here am I, once more, in London. Upon my conscience, but you've an ele- gant house here. Ay, and here are my old acquaintances, Emma and Charlotte. Why, they are grown out of mind ; and so fine too why, Maria," to his daughter, " our country clothes will make our fashionable friends here blush for us. Where is my ward, Georgiana ? and where is young Barnwell ?" Congratulations and embraces now took place, and about six o'clock the servant announced dinner. "Dinner!" exclaimed Mr. Freeman: "by my credit, but I'm shocked ! What, have you not dined ? Well, well I suppose it's the fashion." By design, Mr. Emery had no party that day. As they were at dinner " And pray, how go things now in London? Have sugars advanced as much as was expected?" " Sir, Eh sugars " cried Emery, and looked significantly at George. George answered the question. Mr. Emery, fearful of more questions, began talking himself. " Have you heard how many millions Mr. Pitt wants?" " No," replied Mr. Freeman, " nor I don't care." " I beg your pardon," said Emery; "but it will make some material difference to us, that I happened to know to a certainty. The turn of the market hangs on that point." " What market?" said Mr. Freeman. Mr. Emery appeared confused. " I mean," said he, " the funds. You are aware, that during the war, part of our capital would lie dead, were it not for the op- portunities offered by loans." " Why, truly," said Mr. Freeman, " loans, or those things, I don't know much about. Merchandise, in my younger days, con- sisted in imports and exports ; a good cargo outwards, or home- wards ; and I can't say I much like the new sort of merchandise, where the freight is invisible, and the bills of exchange are abund- 68 GEORGE BARKWELL. ant. Not but, in my time, if the state stood in need of assistance the merchants of London could advance their cash at fair interest ; but they never made the distress of their country the means of their profit, or degraded the character of an English merchant into that of a money lender !" " But you must consider the difference of the times, sir," said Emery. " Things are much altered since then." " I'm afraid they are," said Mr. Freeman, emphatically. After dinner Mr. Freeman, Mr. Emery, and George, were left to themselves. Mr. Emery drank glass after glass till he seemed to have conquered his feelings, and George thought proper to leave them together. They soon, however, joined the ladies in the drawing room, and were scarcely seated, when Lord Morley was announced. "Lord who?" cried Mr. Freeman. "Why, you did not say you expected any lords." " O dear sir," said Mrs. Emery, " they tire us to death with their freedom." " Either, then, the dignity of the nobleman is diminished, or the consequence of Master Emery considerably advanced," said Mr. Freeman. A hectic cough introduced his lordship. " My dear creatures," cried he, entering, " am I the first to give you joy have you heard it Eh But T beg pardon, I did not observe " Mr. Freeman was introduced. " What's the news, you tiresome creature?" said Miss Emery. " How can you keep us in such suspense !" " Any thing of importance, my Lord?" said Mr. Freeman. " News of the first consequence, sir," replied the Lord. " From the continent, I suppose ?" said Mr. Freeman. " You are right, sir from the continent. We totally despaired of such good fortune ; for, though we would absolutely not have scrupled sending over a whole corps in exchange for him, the Great Nation would have still persisted in detaining him, had he not es- caped sans ceremonie." " He is safe arrived, then?" said Mr. Freeman. " I have seen him," said his lordship. " Bravo ! Bravo !" cried Mr. Freeman, rubbing his hands. " He is a brave and gallant fellow, and I am glad of it with all my heart; and hope it won't be long before they send him upon an- other blazing expedition against their navy." Lord Morley stared "Blazing expedition! Navy! You'll pardon me, sir ; but, 'pon my honour, I don't comprehend the allusion." "Why, I'm alluding v to Sir Sidney Smith, who you say has escaped from the French." " Sir Sidney! the devil !" exclaimed his lordship. " No, sir, I do not concern myself about any such gunpowder gentry. I sir GEOR6BBARNWELL. 69 am alluding to that dear, delightful creature Monsieur Capero- nis the first dancer in Europe." " Psha!" said Mr. Freeman ; "is that your important intelli- gence?" " Delightful! charming ! charming !" cried Mrs. and the Miss Emerys. The Reverend Mr. Eastwood now entered the room ; his pretty features screwed into a simper twirling an eye-glass in his hand, which was suspended gracefully round his neck by a purple riband ; a white cambric handkerchief hung half out of his pocket ; his left toe just touched the ground, and he stood the complete image of the most disgusting character in the world " a clerical fop !" " Have they imposed upon me, my dear Lord Morley, or is it really true The Caperonis is he really arrived?" The conversation flowed now solely in this channel, and Mr. Freeman, evidently disgusted, strolled out of the room, and Mr. Emery followed him. The ladies engrossed Maria to themselves ; and George could only now and then make a remark. When, however, he had that opportunity, the sense of feeling of his observations was eagerly noticed by Maria, who failed not to contrast them, to their advan- ta^t\ with the insipidity and impertinence of the rest of the party. The appearance of Lambton was a relief to Barnwell, who call- ed, by appointment, to introduce him that evening to Mr. Heavi- side's converzazioni. " What a comfortable escape," said George to his friend ; " and yet these are the beings so emphatically styled, by Shakspere, the ' makers of manners /' Well may our manners be vapid. Here, however," continued he, as they entered Mr. Heaviside's theatre, " we shall meet minds of a different mould." Mr. Lambton found pleasure in answering the questions of George concerning what he saw, for he was perfectly well read in the theory of anatomy, and was in the habit of intimacy with sev- eral professional men. Among a group that were assembled round the fire, he pointed out to him a young man as a poet of uncom- mon genius. " He has the fire of Milton," said he ; " but wants judgment. His writings resemble a wild, uncultivated spot of ground, where the most beautiful productions of nature occasionally surprise and delight the eye, but wanting the uniformity of design and arrange- ment of taste, fail in making any lasting impression on the fancy. It is exactly so with the works of that young enthusiast, who has published already enough to raise the highest ideas of what he might have been, and at the same time to show the world that he will never reach that eminence. " 1 perceive," continued he, "he is now debating most vehe- mently. We will join the party,; but let me first guard you against the warmth of his language and sentiments. He is a democrat from feeling. The French revolution burst upon his 70 GIORGEBARNWKLL. opening mind like a new created sun, and the rays of the new phi- losophy have so dazzled his discernment, that his mind, enlightened only on one side, can discover neither beauty nor truth out of the new system." They joined the group, which consisted of several celebrated characters George all ear, listened with avidity to the conver- sation and felt a real delight when it was proposed to adjourn to a tavern, to supper. During supper the conversation was general, and not very inte- resting, but when the waiters withdrew, and the glasses were placed on the table, George's heart beat high with expectation. When he saw such celebrated characters seated with himself, at the same board, he almost debated with himself which he desired to hear most drawn out ; and justly imagining, that, most probably, he should never behold such another meeting, he hoped they would all enter into the conversation. How unstable are human hopes ! The young poet, whose ar- dent fancy had formed some hundred lines, which he presented to the managers of the theatre, as a tragedy, now appealed to the com- pany for their opinion of his production. Then, pulling out a bun- dle from his pocket, he began reading his tragedy, nor once at- tempted to desist, till the exeunt omnes of the last scene of the last act. The production, which at any other time might have entertained him, appeared to George now perfectly disgusting ; as, by its ob- trusion the mouths of the whole company were closed, till the sal- utation of" Good night" broke up the company. CHAPTER XX. Ah ! turn thine eyes Where the poor houseless, shiv'ring female lies ; She once, perhaps, in village plenty blest, Has wept at tales of innocence distrest. GOLDSMITH. AFTER a week spent in London, during which time he had in- spected the accounts which his partners laid before him, Mr. Free- man returned to his seat in Yorkshire, leaving his daughter Maria in Portland Place. The remainder of the winter was passed by the fashionable fam- ily of the Emerys in a round of amusements, of which the repeti- tion would be tedious. The theatres, the opera, concerts, balls, routes and faro banks at length, however, yielded their influence over the beau monde to the various attractions of summer. Away flew the Emerys to the Pavilion ; which was a most beau- tiful Villa, built by Mr. Emery, from a design of Wyat's, on the bank of the Thames near Richmond. To this delightful spot George frequently rode on an evening, and returned to town in the morning ; or sometimes would remain GEORGE BA UNWELL. 71 there two or three days. The whole family delighted in his com- pany ; and though the Pavilion was never without a party of six or seven besides themselves, yet the additional society of Mr. Barnwell was always matter of pleasure. But to none was his converse so sweet, his manners so pleasing, as to the gentle Maria. Nor was her well cultivated mind, her well grounded principles, her grace, her elegance of manners, and winning softness of dispo- sition, unnoticed by Barnwell. A mutual esteem was the result. It may be properly called esteem, for it was the homage of the judgment and the heart, unblended with passion : it was the de- lightful dawning of love ; a serene, pleasing sensation of the mind, unruffled by desire. In their walks, they would oftimes hear of each other's benevo- lence from the neighbouring cottagers. In mixed companies, a smile of approbation from one rewarded the expressions or sentiments from the other. In the library their choice of authors was frequently the same ; whilst their private conferences still more fully discovered their conformity of senti- ments and taste. Dividing his time between the Pavilion and Portland Place, al- ternately enjoying the society of his friend Lambton and the amiable Maria, with just enough of business to make his leisure more agreeable, George passed the months of this summer more pleasantly than any former period of his life. The letters he received from his mother and Eliza every week brought him the happiest accounts of their health, and comfortable situation. The world appeared to his glad view a pleasant gar- den ; and blossoms of delight decorated his tranquil path. Such was Barnwell ; when, towards the close of the day, about the middle of September, a person muffled up in a long black cloak, inquired for him in Portland Place ; and, upon being shown into a parlour, discovered himself to be Mental. He was grown paler, and much thinner, than when George saw him last. " Are you alone ?" cried he. " Yes," replied George. " And are you at leisure ? Does no banquet wait for you?" " None, I assure you," replied Barnwell ; " Mr. Emery is at Buxton, and the rest of the family at the Pavilion." " Is the door fast? Bolt it I have a secret to impart." George began to survey him more closely. His manners seem- ed even more wild, and his words more like madness, than when he parted with him. He obeyed him, however, and repeated his as- surances that they were alone. "When I last saw you, I gave you a miniature," said Mental. " Have you it about you ?" George drew it from his bosom. " Yet do not show it me ! Confirmation is unnecessary. Put it up put it up! O, horrible!" and he shuddered as if seized with an ague. 72 GEORGE BARNWELL. Barnwell was affected " What new sorrow, sir," said he, " afflicts you thus? May I be intrusted ?" ' Sorrow !" cried Mental ; " give it not so soft a name ! Fools, women, children, can be sorry. If it rains, if the dews of heaven wet their silks, they are sorry. If a dance is postponed, or a play deferred, or a dinner spoiled, folks are sorry. What, then, but horror is it that a man must feel, who, having murdered his wife, drives his child to perdition ! My Elinor! my daughter!" " Have you heard any tidings of your daughter, sir," said Barn- well. " Look at that miniature," said Mental. " It is the counterpart of that which you possess." Walking three or four times up and down the room, which hap- pened to be a dining parlour, and drinking a tumbler of water which stood on the sideboard, he appeared, after a while, more composed, and threw himself into a chair. " It was my intention when you came to reside here, of which I was apprized, to have visited you, but a strange discovery prevent- ed me. Sauntering, one day, through the streets of the metropolis, my eye was attracted by a brilliant show of jewelry and trinkets in the window of a pawnbroker. Among a crowd of other articles, in one corner of the window, were three miniatures, one of which (imagine my surprise) struck me as greatly resembling what I had once seen. Upon a closer examination, not a doubt remained of its being the counterpart of that which I presented you at the abbey. The villain, Linmore, in our happy days, painted the two like- nesses. One was my poor Elinor, which I gave you : the other was given to the governess of my daughter, to be presented to her, and I know was presented to her, on her twelfth birthday. " To see this miniature, then, was to see my daughter, and brought to my mind the painful recollection of her uncertain fate. I purchased it ; and then, with an earnestness that surprised the pawnbroker, requested him to relate to me all he know concerning it. Barren was his intelligence, amounting merely to the recollec- tion, that it was pledged there about two years ago, by a woman who lived as a servant to some ladies, at that time lodging nearly opposite, at a house that had since been pulled down. "'The woman,' he continued, 'still very often comes here; and you may, perhaps, learn something further from her.' " Day after day, forgetful of every thing else, I waited on the pawnbroker, and, in about a week, was informed the woman had been there, and had left her direction. I sought her residence a miserable one it was the abode of infamy and lewdness ! Oh, how rny heart sickened at the picture of misery and vice, wietch- edness and debauchery ! and how fearfully I gazed at each coun- tenance, dreading to behold, among the hirelings of prostitution, my poor, abandoned child ! " The woman who had pledged the miniature told a plain tale GEORGE BARNWELL. 73 frankly, that made the blood freeze in my veins ! The ladies with whom she resided, she owned, were of that description I feared that the miniature, she believed, belonged to the one who went by the name of Ellen, who had been well brought up, and. had eloped very young, from a boarding school, with an Irish officer. " I doubted no longer. Ellen, I persuaded myself, was an abridgment of her own name ; and T determined not to rest till I discovered her retreat, if living her grave, if dead. " The clue I gathered was, that, soon after the miniature was parted with, these unfortunate women quarrelled and separated. Ellen went with a young nobleman to Bath, and the other unfor- tunate went abroad. " To Bath, the next day, I travelled post ; and by inquiries, found that the poor wretch resided there about six months, and then quitted that place for Bristol, where she opened a little shop with the wages of her infamy, the nobleman having quitted her. Here she resided nearly twelve months, when, having met with impositions and losses, she became involved in debt, and was com- pelled once more to seek refuge from her creditors in the crowd of this metropolis, and returned to a miserable traffic of shame ! Oh, what a year of misery have I since endured ! " Every place of amusement, every haunt of pleasure, every mart of shame, I have visited. I have strolled whole nights through the streets of London, viewing each female with a dread- ful curiosity. But all was in vain : till about a fortnight since, at the corner of Exeter Street, in the Strand, I met the woman to whom I first applied. She recognized, and thus accosted me " ' Ah ! sir,' cried she, ' poor Ellen !' " I seized her by the arm ' What of Ellen? Where is she? answer me ! show me where she is !' exclaimed I. " ' Hav'n't you seen her, then, sir? Poor thing, she wou'dn't know you now, then She's quite delirous /' " ' Take me to her this moment ! ' said I. I followed her silently through several lanes and alleys at the back of the Strand ; till at length she stopped at a dirty old house, kept by a woman who sold green grocery. Feeling my way up two pair of dark stairs, I en- tered a miserable apartment. The walls had once been white- washed, but were now covered with smoke and dirt. A dull light was admitted through a small casement, darkened by pieces of old rags stuffed in several places where the glass was broken. Not a chair, nor table, was in the room ; no grate nor stove was in the fire-place ; but a few bits of wood were burning in one corner, over which an old woman, covered with rags and filth, was warm- ing something in a pipkin. " On the floor on the floor ! Mr. Barnwell," repeated Mental, " was a sight to agonize a heart of stone ! A thin mattress only was between the bare boards and a poor emaciated wretch, breath- ing out the last sigh of anguish and despair ! " ' There's poor Ellen, sir,' said the woman who conducted me. 74 GEORGE BARNWELL. And then, addressing herself to the old woman ' Here, mother Andrews,' said she, ' is a good gentleman, come to see poor El- len !' ' God bless him for it,' said the old woman ; ' but I'm afeard it's all over. I've been warming her a little tea it's all I've got to give her.' " All this passed during my profound silence, for I was amazed. I knelt by the poor dying object ; took her lifeless hand, but in vain searched for the resemblance of my Elinor. The agonies of death had altered and deformed the countenance ; and in a few minutes, with a groan, she expired ! I dropped a tear upon the lifeless hand the first I had long shed and it greatly relieved me. " ' God receive her poor soul !' said the old woman. " This aroused me. ' Ill-fated child ! of an ill-fated mother !' cried I, and embraced the senseless corpse. ' Oh, what a change from the blooming cherub of innocence, that I abandoned !' I sunk in agony upon the body. At length the voice of the old woman again aroused me ' Is there a Deity ! is there a Deity !' ex- claimed I ; ' and is this his world and are we his creatures ? 0, no, no, or these things would not be !' It was an ejaculation ex- torted by the keenest anguish that ever pierced the human breast. The poor wretch gazed at me with a sort of horror " ' Ah ! sir,' cried she, ' don't talk so ! There is a God who knows what's best for us all ; and if we suffer in this world, he can reward us in another ! and I am sure, poor soul, she went thro.ugh enough to atone for her folly. Poor creature ! nobody knows, but them that sees, what they go through ?' " '. And who art thou, that hast seen so much ?' said I. ' Come sit you down ; (there was a washing tub and an old box, which served for chair and table) and, if you can, relate me the story of this poor wretch ? ' " ' I only know'd her lately. In their best days they keep higher company. I have lived ten years in this room ; and, though Ellen is the first that died here, I have tended many a one in sickness on that bed. But then, if they get worse, they mostly got into some hospital, or went to their parish.' " ' And were there no hospital, or parish, for her?' " ' Why, you shall hear. It's about two months ago, since, one very rainy night, this poor creature was brought here by one that had formerly had half of my bed. She was that day thrust out of doors by a hard-hearted creature, who thought herself an angel, truly, because she did not send the poor soul to jail, for about two- and-forty shillings, that she owed her. " ' She was as thin as a lath ! and had a cough ; it made one's heart ache to hear it. The clothes upon her back, and two shil- lings and a pocket piece, were all she had in the world. The girl that brought her was a tender-hearted thing, and promised that, if I would let her have half of my bed, she would see me paid my groat a week regularly ; and for a while, sure enough she did, and brought her poor friend, now and then, a raspberry tart, and a little GEORGE BARN WELL. 75 wine. But all of a sudden she left it off, and I have never seen her since. God kaows but she may now be in want herself.' " ' This is society ! ' cried I, shaking, as with an ague. ' Anan V said the old woman, not understanding me. She went on. " ' So, then, I was obliged to break into her two shillings ; one went all at once for a bottle of stuff for her cough ; and soon the other was spent also. Then the poor clothes went ; one thing after another. And at last she grew quite delirous. " ' I had saved up a crown, but that I know'd wou'dn't last long, and, as I could do no washing for the other girls while I tended her, there was nothing coming in ; and so I was obliged to apply for an order for her to be moved to the workhouse, where she was to have gone this morning ; but last night she changed so for the worse, I thought it cruel to move her ; and as she wanted nothing but a little moisture in her mouth, I said I'd tend her till she was released, and then they might send for a coffin .' " ' No no' cried I ' 1 will provide what's wanting now. Per- haps an earlier meeting might have saved her life.' " She was decently interred. The good Mrs. Andrews was re- warded. Good, I call her, for whatever in her youth she may have been, she now possesses a heart that wills all good imaginable to her fellow creatures. " Thus far I had acted upon the presumption of her being my child. There was little doubt upon the point, indeed ; but still it was not certain : when a circumstance took place that confirmed me in doubting rather than believing. I applied to the woman, who so inhumanly thrust her from her house, for information ; but she could afford me none. There was a trunk of hers, she said, in her possession, which, upon paying what was owing, I might re- ceive. She believed it was full of letters. " I eagerly consented ; and, upon opening the trunk, found it, as she said, full of letters. Among them was a bundle written in a neat female hand. I untied this bundle, and found the letters signed 'Elinor.' They are compositions of uncommon merit, as to style and manner ; but the matter, though ingenious, is highly exceptionable. " This circumstance staggered me extremely. That the letters were wrote by my daughter, is beyond a doubt. They had been sent under cover, and began ' Dear Friend ;' but no address was upon them. " The only conjecture, then, that can reconcile the deceased's having these letters, written by herself, in her possession, is, that they have been returned from the person to whom they were writ- ten." " It may be so," said George ; " but surely it is not too much to hope, that the deceased, after all, was the friend who resided with vour daughter ; and that she herself may yet be living." " Not for the wealth of worlds would I change the certainty of her death for such a torturing suspense. No no no I will cher- 4 76 GKORQBBARNWELL. ish the thought of having laid her in the silent grave, though it he delusion. " Come with me Come with me I'll show you the spot where she lies. I'll repeat to you the story of her sufferings : for, Oh, voung man, in such a house as this, these lessons are not common. The riot, the mirth, the glitter of guilt alone, you behold here. Come come to the abodes of the dying, and the graves of the dead, and learn its certain consequences !" They walked out to- gether. CHAPTER XXI. Yet know the time arrives, the dangerous time, When all these virtues, opening now so fair, Transplanted to the world's tempestuous clime, Must learn each passion's boist'rous breath to bear. MASOX. A FEW days after Mental's visit, and while the Emerys were yet ?.t the Pavilion, Barnwell xeceived the following letter : " SIH It is with extreme reluctance that an unhappy stranger obtrudes herself upon your notice. The forms of society do not so strongly rondemn me as the emotions of my own proud heart, but adversity weakens, even where it does not conquer, pride, and I have known adversity ! Have known do I say ! "Though perfectly unknown to his son, the Rev. Mr. Barnwell once honoured me V'th his friendship, and if a countenance so resembling his father's may be trusted as indicative of a similar generosity of heart, that son will not spurn the suit of tlie un- i'ort"nitR. It is, indeed,*almost too much to solicit the favour of a visit, though the tale I am compelled to relate I should be unwilling to trust on paper. I will venture, then, to beg oue hour of your time, whenever it can be best spared from more cheer- ful occupations, to listen to the distresses of " Sir, your most obedient servant, E. MII/WOOD. "Berr.crs street, Wednesday. " 1*. S. I shall take the liberty of ordering my servant to call for an answer in the evening." Curiosity and compassion were awaken^ hv this letter in the h.oast of Barnwell. Repeatedly, and distinctly, he read its con- tf-r.ts. There was distress, yet delicacy there was an appeal to lu-3 heart through the most fine- wrought flattery. Above all, there was praise to the memory of a father, whose shade he adored. In the warmth of his first impressions, he was going immediately to Berners street ; but the impropriety of such a step soon occurred. This incident occupied his entire thoughts ; he formed a variety of conjectures, planned his conduct according to the supposed cases, and as speedily renounced his imagination as absurd. That the purport of this visit was to afford him an opportunity of displaying his generosity seemed certain ; and he began a calcula- tion of his finances. His uncle had remitted him large sums. His expenses, though great, were well managed. He was a strict economist; and therefore, though his hand had been liberal, his purse, was not empty. If, therefore, thought he, a temporary assistance will avail, I shall have the satisfaction of affording it ; and if, on the contrary^ GEORGE BARNWELL. 77 a more deep calamity, than my ability can disperse, claims the just notice of discriminating benevolence, there is my uncle, or even old Mental, who, I am sure will thank me for the information : and surely the writer of this letter cannot be unworthy of their favour. Such were the reflections of inexperience, and such the feelings of a benevolent and uncorrupted heart. He wrote an answer, appointing the next morning, at twelve o'clock, for the interview ; and felt no inconsiderable anxiety till its arrival. At the appointed hour he repaired to Berners Street, and was ushered into a very neat and elegant drawing room. IIWB few min- utes a lady entered, in deep mourning, with a work basket in her hand. She seemed almost sinking with diffidence ; and the strug- gles of her wounded pride appeared depicted in her countenance. George rose, and bowed respectfully. "This condescension, sir," said she, hesitating; "the conde- scension of this visit is, at the same time, the source of so much satisfaction and pain ! that I must request your pardon : but I really I! " And she sunk into her chair, and applied her handkerchief to her face. Barnwell stood mute with surprise. Instead of the female of his imagination, worn with wo, and wasted with despair a form and face had burst upon his view, the most beautiful he had ever seen. Her figure considerably above the middle size, was majestic, dig- nified and elegant : her countenance admirably corresponded with her person. Dark hair flowing in luxuriant ringlets on her fore- head, and hanging loose on her neck, greatly heightened the effect of a most delicate complexion, still further assisted by well formed eye-brows, and lips of coral hue. Her dress was simply elegant, and displayed the beauteous symmetry of her person to advantage. After a pause of some du- ration " Pray be seated, sir," said she, recovering herself; for Barn- well, unconscious that he did so, had stood silently gazing on the form before him " How weak are our strongest resolves!" con- tinued she. " I had, I imagined, prepared myself for this inter- view ; and thought myself strongly armed against all the attacks of pride : but the remembrance of what they have been, is among the last things with which the unfortunate are compelled to part." George, extremely afflicted at her distress, attempted once or twice to speak himself, but failed in the attempt. The lady continued " Many and powerful were the struggles I have encountered, ere I resolved upon soliciting this interview; but the character of Mr. Barnwell, so opposite to the volatile and unthinking youths of fashion, (to whom a story of distress is the source either of spleen or scorn,) added to the very encouraging traits of benevolent symyathy so strongly portrayed in his counte- nance, at length emboldened me to take a step I have since, more than once, repented. I have therefore, sir, to entreat your pardon 78 GEORGE BARN WELL. for so great a liberty ; and hope you will completely erase from your memory the indiscreet request I have made." " Madam I If I can if it is in my power I shall be happy, madam I hope if there is any thing that " Such were the incoherent words of Barnwell, in whose breast pity, which was its constant guest, now mingled its influence with a new and strange sensation ; so strange, so new, as to create a wild alarm not only in his countenance, but in his words and man- ners. " I perceive your generous intentions^ but I cannot I ought not to tajte advantage of so much goodness ! How strongly you resemble your worthy father !" " You knew my father?" " Yes, sir, I knew him once They were happy days when I knew Mr. Barnwell ! I little dreamt how severe a destiny was to succeed those joyful days. But, alas, how feeble is our hold on earthly bliss how fleeting our joy how unstable our hopes of happiness ! Oh, painful to contemplate the picture of what I have been and view the gloomy scenes before me! Wealth, and friends, and hope, were then all mine. Now poverty, and ene- mies, and fell despair, surround me ; and the worst that Fate can ordain to mortals is my gloomy expectation !" Barnwell had struggled to overcome his embarrassment ; and collecting himself as much as possible, he said " If the calamity which has wrought so unhappy a change, may be communicated without pain, believe me, madam, the confidence with which you honour me shall be respected, by one who has ever felt for the un- happy, but who never felt so deeply as at the present moment." "Ah, sir!" said Milwood and sighed "The soothing voice of friendship," continued she, " has been so long unheard ; my ear has been so used of late to the sounds of anger and defiance, that the tenderness of your expressions has the influence of music on ray mind, But when you are acquainted with my story, I much fear that your language will be altered ; and that, ceasing to pity my misfortunes, you will only censure my misconduct." " Pardon me, madam," said Barnwell. " The emotions of pity are arbitrary sensations, for the justice of which we cannot be pre- sumed responsible ; but the voice of censure ought at least to have the sanction of experience, and the motives of prevention. To add poignancy of reproof to the stings of conviction betrays an unfeel- ing heart at all times ; but most unpardonable, indeed, would it be to pour reproach into the breast that seeks, by confidence, the balm of consolation ! ' ' "Cease, sir! I beseech you, cease to speak thus! You are not aware how much you increase the wound you seek to heal !" Then rising from her chair, and walking with considerable emo- tion about the room ** " I have borne oppression !" continued she ; "I have suffered, with some degree of dignity, the " th? stings and arrows of out- GEORGE B A RNWELL. 79 rageous fortune ; but your pity, your sympathy, Mr. Barnwell, dis- arms me of my purpose, and increases the weakness I had almost subdued. I will hasten to relate to you my errors, that your scorn and contempt may subdue the baneful effects of your too cruel tenderness!" " Mysterious!" exclaimed Barnwell, in a low tone of voice. " Hear me, sir. My name is Milwood : my family is one of the most ancient and respectable in the country where they reside. My patents both died erjs I had attained an age to be sensible of their loss. I was the youngest of six orphans. My eldest brother, who succeeded to the title and estates of his father, was at the pe- riod of his decease, a student at Cambridge university ; another brother was an ensign in the militia of the country ; and a third served as a midshipman in the navy. " I had two sisters, who, with myself, were taken under the guardianship of my mother's brother, the dean of . With this gentleman we resided, enjoyed every advantage which his fortune or abilities could bestow. As my father died intestate, and the whole of his property was in landed estates, every branch of the family was left dependent on the discretion and generosity of my elder brother, " Poor Edward ! Thy memory shall not be insulted by me, how- ever severely the consequences of thy errors fall on thy unhappy sister. Suffice it, then, to observe, that the indiscretions of the youth at college were made the means of enriching a few worth- less characters, who preyed upon the openness of his soul, and consigned to poverty and dependence those, who were born with far better expectations. " The remorse he felt, that a fate so unworthy of his house should be brought upon it by himself, drove the ill-fated Edward to those wretched expedients, which, lulling for a moment the pangs of recollection, increase the dread of thought, and hurry those who seek them to a grave of shame. " So 'twas with my poor Edward ! Peace to his spirit ! My other brothers are each rising to wealth and eminence in their pro- fessions. The eldest of my sisters married to the satisfaction of the dean, and is now the happy mother of several children. My other sister died. " Now, sir, I am to speak of myself. From a long residence in his family, from his parental fondness, I had imbibed for the dean, my uncle, all the tender feelings of a daughter. The deanery was as my native home ; and every desire that the young heart knows was gratified as soon as known. 'Twas here I once was honoured with the society of your father. He was an excellent man." [George bowed.] " I have no particular event to detail," continued Milwood, " till, about two years ago, when a distant relation of the dean's, who had been some time upon a visit at the deanery, did me the honour to offer me proposals of marriage. It was not the 80 GEORGS BARNWELL. first offer I had received ; but it was the first that had received the pressing recommendation of the dean. " I answered, however, to this proposal, aa I had uniformly done to others ; and candidly intimated, that I did not feel that affection, on which alone I built my hopes of happiness in the married stale ; and without which, it was my firm determination never to approach the altar ! " Why, then, did he still pursue me ? Why did he commence a persecution, that can only terminate with my existence ! Or why -O, my beloved uncle ! why did the cold calculations of interest outweigh, in thy breast, the pleadings of nature ! " I must check myself. The wealth and honours of the gentle- man who was my suitor were among his inferior recommendations. Elegant in his person and manners ; happy and uniform in his tem- per ; mild and benevolent in his disposition ; learned without pedan- try ; witty without satire ; he possessed almost every qualification that could render him amiable and estimable. Yet, sir, I felt for Lord Naresby nothing like love. I admired his accomplishments; I respected his virtues ; but, alas ! that state of mind is far short of love. You, perhaps, Mr. Barnwell, as well as myself, are, I presume, sensible how different the operations of our hearts are from the cool exercises of our understandings !" The abruptness of this appeal, and the penetrating look that ac- companied it, overwhelmed with confusion the youth to whom it was addressed. Barnwell blushed deeply : he stammered ; but his words were incoherent sounds. Of love, as a passion, he had hitherto known nothing but the name. There was, perhaps, something extremely like the begin- nings of love now struggling for existence in his bosom ; but it was a new, a strange sensation, of whose origin he was ignorant : of whose influence he had no conception. Milwood, whose penetration and art equalled her beauties, ob- served with satisfaction, with delight, the disorder of which she well knew herself the creator. Dissembling, however the joy she felt under the well feigned semblance of sorrow, she continued her tale. " My uncle," said she, " so warmly espoused the cause of Lord Naresby, as to descend to threats of his displeasure, if I persisted in refusing his proposals. He is naturally a humane man, but, in this instance, his anger overcame him, and his expressions were harsh and cruel. Still, sir, I persisted in my refusal. " My brothers were appealed to. My married sister, and her Lord, were also made my judges ; and with one voice they all condemned me to the cruel alternative of marrying a man, for whom I felt no preference ; or of forfeiting, for ever, their protection and esteem ! " The most insulting and unfeeling motives were attributed to me in rejecting so splendid and honourable a proposal. I was shunned by the whole family. My walks were at first watched ; GEORGE BARNWKL1. 81 at last, prohibited. I was detained a prisoner in my uncle's castle, nor ever permitted to walk beyond the boundaries of his park. " As my relations increased their cruelty towards me, Lord Naresby redoubled his tenderness and attention ; obtaining by his interest occasional liberties, and some few marks of concern from my tyrants ; but, instead of gaining, by this conduct, any advance in my esteem, it sunk him beneath the former level of indifference, and I became disgusted with a man, who would consent to receive such mean advantages. " My situation grew daily more and more intolerable. A faith- ful servant, who had attended me for many years, was discharged, upon the pretended suspicion of aiding me in an ideal correspon- dence, which they said I carried on with some low born wretch, whom I had the meanness to prefer to the man of their choice. " Alas ! how much were they mistaken, if, indeed, they imagin- ed my heart at that lima had a preference among mankind. No, sii, not even a friend, beyond poor Mary, whom they discharged, ha 1 I in the whole world. " When she was gone, they placed over me a cruel, insolent old woman, in the capacity of a servant, but with the powers of a mis- tress. " Debarred the comforts of society, of reading, drawing or any otaer amusement, my mind, unshaken in its resolution, became desperate ; and, after duly weighing all the obstacles that oppos^ 1 themselves to such a step, I determined to quit, for ever, the house that had hitherto been my asylum. " My faithful Mary found means to acquaint me, in my captivity, thit, after her dismissal, she had travelled, at her own expense, twenty-eight miles troui the castle to an oM lady who was my father's distant relation, but an inveterate foe to my uncle, and all my mother's relations. " This lady, a widow, and childless, was extremely rich : and, though she had never seen me, such was the success of Mary's tale of my sufferings, that she commissioned her to tell me, she would receive me as her daughter, if I could escape from the castle. "I did escape ; and Mary and I were received by my relauou wkth every mark of kindness and respect. "I have particular reasons for concealing, for the present, the name of this lady and her residence. " My uncle soon discovered my retreat, and wrote a letter filled with indignation at my conduct, and a formal renunciation ; in which he was joined by my brothers and sisters. " In my new situation I was, for some time, as happy as I could wish ; till an event But let me stop in time If I proceed with sincerity to relate the cause of my unhappiness, I am afraid in- deed, Mr. Barnwell I am much afraid, the loss of your esteem would be the painful consequence ; and heaven only knows how highly I esteem your good opinion." " Madam !" exclaimed Barnwell. 82 GEORGK BARNWELL. " Ay, sir, you may well be surprised ! my face, my voice, are new to you ; but not so yours to me." "Indeed!" said Barnwell. "Where, pray, have you then seen it?" " No matter, sir since I now see it for the last time !" "I hope not!" said Barnwell, with warmth. "Stranger as you are to me, madam, 1 feel so deeply interested, so much con- cerned, for your welfare, that, excepting my sister and my mother, I know no person in the world I more ardently desire to serve. ' ' " You are kind you^re very kind !" said Milwood. " Can I serve you, madam 1" ' You, afone, can serve me ; but you will not, nay, you shall not serve me." " You speak mysteriously, and look wild. Fear not, I beseech you, to confide to me your sorrows ! my bosom shall be their sa- cred repository." "Generous generous youth!" said Milwood; and, with a seeming unconsciousness, threw her arm upon his shoulder : then, appearing to recollect herself, hastily withdrew it. Every moment now increased the desire of George to be made acquainted with her distress. He gazed earnestly upon her face, endeavouring to read her sorrows in her countenance. He ven- tured to take her hand " Dear lady, let me entreat you no longer to delay the recital of your woes. Of whatever nature they may prove, God only grant me the power to remove them, and I shall be the happiest of all men." " Your generosity of mind, your tenderness of heart, are indeed the objects of my admiration ! But, alas, my calamity is of so pe- culiar a nature, that the most generous mind, the most susceptible heart, cannot conceive any thing that can alleviate it. Mine is a silent sorrow, that broods within my own breast. A sigh is its only expression a tear is its only relief: no tongue has pro- claimed it : no ear has received its complaint. To you it desires to speak to you alone it mil ever speak ; but spare me pardon me leave me !" And she wept. How strange is her behaviour, thought Barnwell : how wild, yet how mournful her countenance ! After a pause, Milwood re- covered her former serenity, and continued " I am to blame, sir, thus to trifle with your time. I will en- deavour to conclude my dull narrative, and at all hazards venture to explain the motive of my request to see you. " My benefactress, whose bounty was my only resource, contin- ued to treat me with the affectionate regard of a parent ; my days rolled on in comfort ; and my heart knew no distress, till that event to which I before alluded. O God ! how shall I relate it ! but it must be told. " There resided near our dwelling a family of respectability, but not wealthy ; they therefore did not visit our house, but we once or GEORGE BAR SWELL. 83 twice met in the neighbourhood. Of the father of the mother of the daughter, I shall say nothing ; but of the son ! Pardon me Indeed, I cannot proceed !" " Waive this reluctance/' cried Barnwell. " Confide in me, as your brother : 'you shall find me as tender of your feelings, as xcalous in your service, as if one womb had borne us." " What do I hear!" cried Milwood, with quickness. "Is it possible ! Did you say you loved me as a brother ! Happy, hap- py moment !" she took his hand, and, kissing it with warmth, ex- claimed " My brother my brother !" Barnwell starting from his chair, and snatching away his hand, seemed thrown into a delirium ; whilst Milwood, appearing to re- collect herself, hung down her head, and blushed. " In the name of Heaven, madam, tell me, who and what you are? Finish, I beseech you, this mysterious tale, and quickly, that I may, if possible, serve you ; or. if not, may instantly escape a presence that creates emotions of pain and pleasure too powerful to be long endured !" " I entreat your forgiveness," cried Milwood. " But go, sir go ere you know the misery you have occasioned the storm of ruin that you have raised Go, ignorant of my wretchedness, which to know, would perhaps excite a painful pity in your breast, but no relief to me ! Since to behold me is so painful " " I did not say so !" cried Barnwell, " or if I did " " I see," said Milwood, " we are both too much agitated. Your surprise, and perhaps your pity, have overpowered you ; whilst I I am the prey of feelings which rack my bosom with torture in- expressible !" '"Tis suspense alone that tortures me," cried Barnwell. " Your manner your mysterious words and the wildness of your eyes, make me dread a something, which I fear yet ask to know ! You speak of a youth who resided near you You talk of ruin, of misery of which I am the author You request to see me You desire me to leave you, as ignorant as I came ! Whence spring such incon- sistencies ? ' ' " From a source you have never dreamt of," said Milwood, with firmness ; " from love !" Her countenance was now altered from the picture of contending influence to a portrait of determination ! Her eyes were fixed firmly on Barnwell : she remained silently gazing on his face a considerable time. Barnwell himself was dumb, "'Tis over!" at length cried Milwood : " I have conquered ! The youth to whom I alluded is George Barnwell ! Yes ! he it is, whom Fate has ordained my destruction ! For him I quit my friends, my country For him I forfeit affluence, and embrace the horrors of poverty, in a foreign and distant clime ! Was it, then, too much to ask the favour of one hour's interview, merely to de- clare how ardently I love, and how largely I sacrifice to a hopeless passion ! 4 84 GEORGE BARNWELL. "0 Nature ! can I thank thee for the liberal share of personal attractions thy hand has given me, since they have but served to heap upon my head the persecutions of a train that I cannot help despising, while on that heart alone, which I esteem, their in- fluence is too weak to impress even a cold regard !" Barn well was lost in wonder ! after various attempts " I do not remember ever to have seen you before !" said he. " I can too easily believe you, sir." " And yet, I think, if ever I had beheld such a countenance as yours, surely, madam, I could not have forgotten its interesting traits!" " Nay, sir," cried Milwood, " I must not hear you, if your voice assumes that strain. Do not imagine, sir, my declaration meant to claim your pity ? No, my resolution is fixed as firmly as the de- crees of Fate. One moment longer let me detain your ear, and, then, farewell for ever ! Briefly, then ; the same persecutions, though from different quarters, rendered the abode of my benefac- tress as miserable as my uncle's, with this addition of wretched- ness that, in the latter, my heart was wholly disengaged ; in the former, your image, your worth, barred all avenues to affection for another. "The object so dear to me was unknown to my benefactress to all the world but myself. My refusals were therefore deemed obstinacy ; my perseverance became rebellion ; and I was at length driven to the dreadful alternative of quitting forever, the refuge I had obtained, or to approach the solemn altar, and vow fidelity with my lips, whilst my heart would be adulterous for ever. " Such was the choice held out for my adoption : and could I hesitate ? No, not for a moment ! I waited not to be driven from a home : voluntarily I departed. I have remained some time in the metropolis ; I determined to see you ; and now will forever quit the country that gave birth to my existence and my woes ! I will seek in some corner of a distant land that grave, which can alone restore peace to my heart, by an oblivion of you !" She ceased. Barnwell, who had risen from his chair, and was walking about the room, was deeply involved in thought, combating one suggestion of his fancy after another, till his head became giddy. He threw himself on a sofa, and leaned his head on his arm. Milwood, with the tenderest expressions of concern, took his hand, and pressed it warmly. " If J have given you pain if I have relieved my own breast at the expense of a moment's uneasiness to you what a source of eternal regret ! Or, if I have rendered myself odious by a declara- tion which custom condemns, and have erected a monument of scorn in that remembrance where I sought to deposit the pearl of pity O, how miserable has my folly made me ! Say then, only, that you do not despise me that you do not abhor me and I will never never trouble your quiet more !" "His heart must be differently moulded from mine," said GEORGE BARN WELL. 85 George, " that can despise, or abhor you, madam. Your confcs- sijn has so much influence on mine, I would say more ; but at pre- sent, let me, at least, entreat you not to quit this place, till I have been favoured with another interview. I have a mother, I have " " Hear me on my knees, Mr. Barnwell," interrupted Milwood ; " if you do not wish to drive me to the most awful crime our nature can commit, grant me my request : silence, silence, eternal silence to my story. There is not a calamity in life I should so hardly bear, as the discovery of my imprudence ! Then swear to me nay, I will not quit this posture till you do swear to me, that you will not, to your dearest friend, utter a breath, that may betray me!" " Good God, what do you ask !" cried Barnwell. " In the most trying situation of my life, would you deprive my inexperience of their superior counsel, who love me and have wisdom to direct me?" " What counsel can you want? what is there to determine?" cf.ied Milwood. " By to-morrow's setting sun, I shall be the ocean's charge. All that you have heard will then be only as a vision, that may occasionally ask a sigh ; whilst it reminds you, that there ia one in the universe, on whom the night will never steal, or the d:iwn break, without a prayer to nature's Author for your heart's poace ! Why, then, should you wish to make her errors tales of common tattle, or give her conduct to the examination of beings, who have not her feelings? Will you deny me this oath then?" " Rise ! I beseech you, rise !" " Not till I have received your solemn promise !" George hesitated some minutes ; during which time, she held his hand between both her own, and leaned her warm cheek upon it. " Will you, then, promise me," said Barnwell, " to remain here till to-morrow?" " By no means!" " Will you permit me an interview this evening ?" " For what purpose Mr. Barnwell?" " Nay, I know not !" cried Barnwell ; " but my heart tells me -that 1 am to blame. I would prevent the necessity of your Isav- ing England." "Necessity!" interrupted Milwood ; " 'tis my choice!" " But if if " cried Barnwell ; and ins breath grew short. " Why why do you wish to restrain me from consulting my friends ? I have an important, very important point to decide ; auJ I dare not trust my feelings with the decision." "I understand the insult now!" cried Milwood, rising scorn- fully. " You would insinuate, that, if your relations can find no just objection to my character and fortune, you might condescend to pity me, and perhaps, if, and supposing so and so, you wonid then offer ma a love, not the offspring of my creation, but a conde- scending acceptance of overtures, you may imagine I have made to 86 GEORGEBARNWELL. Sju ! I had conceived your heart a different composition, Mr. arnwell, or mine never would have been known to you." " You judge wrong, madam, I assure you ! Your candour, your noble-mindedness, have impressed me with reverence, not contempt ; and if this new sensation in my bosom be not But spare me only a few hours Permit me to see you in the evening and if, then, you require the oath, I will most solemnly take it ; and till then, not a whisper shall escape my lips concerning you." After a pause " I cannot see the necessity for this, Mr. Barn- well. Why should we meet again ? Why not immediately sepa- rate for ever ! But " pausing again " since your request is otherwise be it so, sir. I shall expect you in the evening ; till then, farewell !" "Adieu, madam," cried George, and with trembling feet re- tired. CHAPTER XXII. The other dame seem'd e'en of fairer hue ; But bold her mien ; unguarded rov'd her eye ; And her flush'd cheeks confessed, at nearer view, The borrow'd blushes of an artful dye. SPENCE. IN the most profound reverie Barnwell passed the distance be- tween Berners Street and Mr. Emery's. The crowd that sur- rounded him, the bustle of carriages, were insufficient to arouse him from a sort of stupor into which he had fallen. When he arrived at home, he rushed through the hall, and, hur- rying to his own room, he threw himself into a chair " Milwood ! Milwood !" muttered he ; "I never heard the name ; I have no recollection of the face before to-day ! Oh, what an important day 1 Those looks ! that form ! never will my memory lose the impressions!" He sighed deeply, and painfully. " Love me ! Yes, she loves me ! She owns it : nay, her behaviour declares it more power- fully than her words ! What a wondrous effect has she wrought upon me ! What means this swelling of the heart this quick- ness of the pulse this difficulty of respiration 1 Can I imbibe a partiality so instantaneously? Are our natures, indeed, so suscep- tible 1 Surely, it cannot be ! 'Tis pity for Milwood for her suf- ferings that pains me thus. Then let me soften them as much as possible let me send her in writing the oath she requires, and spare her the pain of another interview ! and yet never to see her again ! Why do I feel a dread at that thought ? Suppose she should be already gone '\ Forbid it, Heaven ! Once more once more, let me behold a form so lovely ! What brilliant expression in her eyes ! what sense ! what animation in her countenance ! How happily might I pass my life with such a woman ! But then GEORGE BARNWELL. 87 her situation my own too ! Madness alone can suggest such a thought. She is proud I dare not offer pecuniary aid. Where can she go? What part of the globe does she seek? Unhappy Mihvood ! Would I had never seen you ! Would to God I had never seen you !" Such were the meditations of Barnwell Milwood absorbed all his thoughts, while her beauteous form floated in air before his imagination ! Never, till this day, had his imagination been heated by the charms of woman ! In Maria Freeman he beheld an amiable companion, whose modesty and beauty, mingled, won the esteem of his heart, and the approbation of his understanding ; but in Milwood he saw a far different female. This woman was beautiful in the extreme. Nature had, indeed, been liberal of her gifts, and education had increased the value of her bounty. Milwood had once possessed every thing desirable in the female character ; for she once possessed virtue and innocence. But she parted with innocence, and in its stead had admitted, as the guest of her heart, the most accomplished cunning. At an early period of her life she had surrendered all claim to chastity, and had since then submitted to that miserable traffic, which is the most severe libel on civilized society. Too aspiring to herd with the unhappy class to which she had reduced herself, her strong and towering mind was perpetually busied upon schemes more valuable to herself and far loftier in the scale of wickedness than the generality of those of the unfortunate beings, whose daily infamy is their daily bread ! " In her own fall, she was the dupe of a professed rake ; and her own schemes upon the tranquillity of others were all infused with a large portion of revenge. Man at large she deemed her enemy ; and the talents, and the charms she possessed, she con- sidered as the weapons of revenge. Unlike many a sighing wretch, whom severe distress urges to compunctive acts of shame, Milwood was systematically vicious. The present world bounded her views of futurity, and the strug- gles of the present scene ended, in her imagination, the drama of existence ! Thus no principles of a religious nature swayed her thoughts, no checks of conscience ever intervened between the inclination and the deed. Pity, and all the tender sensibilities which many na- tures feel, were her inward derision ; but their semblance was per- fectly at her command. Such was Milwood ! Such was she, for whom Barnwell, at first sight, had unconsciously imbibed the mpst powerful love ! She had never once seen his father, or any of his relations ; nor had ever beheld Barnwell himself, till his arrival at Mr. Emery's. Having learnt the very great confidence reposed in him, the large sums intrusted to his care, she was not long in arranging a method to ensnare him within her power. For this purpose, she had spared 88 GBORGfc BARN WELL. no pains to obtain the intelligence she had gained concerning his family, and had feigned the story she had related to him, and which contained not one syllable of truth. Her sentiments, her tone of voice, her gestures, were studied for the occasion ; and she was guided, from moment to moment, in the plan she would pursue, by the effect which her penetration dis- covered she had wrought on her victim. Thus artfully had she prepared the ground-work of her plot ; and had thus far succeeded to the extent of her wishes. The interim, between his departure and the hour at which she expected his return, was anxiously spent by Mil wood ; and she repented, more than once, that she had suffered him to leave her: a step to which she had consented, chiefly to carry on appearances, and from a persuasion, in which she was not mistaken, of her pow- er over him. Meanwhile he, for whom her machinations were devised, was planning the means of rendering her happy. Many and various were the resolutions he formed, but all unstable. His heart had admitted a spark, which his reason was too impotent to extin- guish ; and which was rising rapidly into a flame, of whose influ- ence he was ignorant, but whose warmth he began to discover. If the imagination of Barn well was already wrought to a dan- gerous warmth, the next reception he met with in Berners Street was well calculated to increase it. On a crimson damask sofa, placed under a brilliant mirror, illu- minated by wax lights, reclined the siren Milwood. A most ele- gant white dress had superseded the sable weeds of the morning, with a Turkish turban, ornamented with gold cords and tassels. The solemn air of dignified sorrow was exchanged for the most fascinating smiles ; and, instead of the reserved and bashful de- meanour Barnwell had prepared himself to meet, he was thrown off his guard by the most alluring glances. She did not rise when he entered the room, but, holding out a most beautiful arm, encircled at the wrist with a brilliant brace- fet " Mr. Barnwell !" said she, with an enchanting softness. George approached in the most profound astonishment, and re- ceived her offered baud. " Am I not a strange creature V continued she. " My trappings of wo, you see, are soon thrown off. But, in truth, 1 did not think it consistent with the pleasure I expected in your society, to wear the semblance of sorrow." George was petrified with amazement, and doubted, for a mo- ment, whether the woman of sentiment he had seen in the morning, and the wanton form now before him, were the same. As she still held his hand in hers, she fixed her sparkling eyes full on his face. j " You have an uncommon countenance !" said she. " You are very severe and yet have great sensibility. You are a compound GEORGE BARN WELL. 89 of the stern and the tender ; Isscarcely know which preponderate in your nature. You do not lack courage or fortitude ; at the same time you will weep at a tale of misery, and the unfortunate are sure of your sympathy. Is it not so 1 I have studied Lavater. Now, let me try if I am mistaken. Place that harp nearer me, and I'll sing you a ditty about a poor simple maid ' who never told her love, hut let concealment,' as the poet says and so on Now be silent !" It is difficult to convey an idea of Barnwell's situation at the present moment. The feelings with which he entered the room, were changed so suddenly, it seemed the work of enchantment. Pity for the sorrows of Milwood was absolutely forgotten in the bewildered admiration of her charms ; and the determination of his reason, as to the steps he should pursu^, was lost in the delightful and intoxicating dream of the existing moment. He placed the harp and Milwood, changing her features from the wanton to the languishing, gave him the manuscript to hold, while she sung and accompanied a simply pleasing ballad with ex- quisite taste and melody. The expression of her eyes was per- fectly in unison with the words ; and her voice uttered the sweet- est sounds! It was a pathetic story, and affected Barnwell ex- tremely. " There," cried she, " I knew you would weep at a fiction, too ! And will not real sufferings," continued she, in a tender voice, " at least as much affect you ! Ah ! Mr. Barnwell to me only you are insensible ! My abrupt sincerity has made me the object of your scorn ! Yes, cruel and insensible, you return the most glow- ing affection with the coldest disdain." '" Disdain ! Oh, no !" said Barnwell : " say rather, admira- tion and esteem ! Where is the being, who conld gaze on such charms, and disdain their possessor? How must the heart be formed, that can remain insensible to so much beauty !" " There are hearts, I fear," said Milwood, " round which the icy hand of worldly prudence forms a circle, that freezes every passion of the soul. There are beings who can love according to a scale of reason, and model their affections by a standard ! But I do not cannot think so young a heart as yours " "Our reason," interrupted Barnwell, "should regulate, not destroy our passions !" " Charming philosophy !" cried Milwood, with a satirical smile. " And where did you learn that maxim? I should suppose some ponderous folio so says. But have books hearts? No, no, Mr. Barnwell. Ask those who wrote the senseless lies, what is this Reason, that is so omnipotent? Where is it to be seen? or who possesses it?" " Astonishing!" said Barnwell. "Do you then, deny the ex- istence of Reason?" " Yes, such Reason as the black letter gentlemen depict. Can Reason quench the thirst, or satiate the appetite of hunger ? Ah ! 90 GEORGE BARNWELL. no no ! And ia the strongest impulse of our natures to be so easily swayed by Reason then? Why have we passions? merely to torment us? Oh, infamous libel on the Author of our existence, who has given his creatures all things to enjoy. 'Well sings the poet To enjoy is to obey .'" The air, the doctrine of Milwood now roused, for the first mo- ment, a suspicion in his mind of her intentions, which startled Barn well. He sunk into a profound reverie, his eyes cast on the floor. Milwood observed it, and saw the struggle that was rising in his breast. Perfect mistress of her art, she was aware how im- perceptibly her bold advances had stolen into his heart, and with a cunning caution restrained her efforts, and changed her operations. Instead of attempting to continue an argument, at which she well knew he revolted, she touched the strings of the harp, and raised an enchantment of melody ; from the slowest and the softest, to the most brisk and lively measures, her fingers swept the trembling chords. The effect on Barnwell was instantaneous. Tn vain did the enamoured youth aim to repress the rising flame in vain at- tempt to resist the maddening impulse of desire ! On the precipice of danger, he was ignorant of his situation. His cheeks flushed, his eyes looked wild, and he fell back on the sofa, overcome with the force of such new and powerful emotions. The siren saw her time. She struck the harp again, and " Softly sweet in Lydian measures, Soon the sooth'd his soul to pleasures." She sighed she gazed with looks of warmest love she seemed to yield her soul to her desires sunk by the side of Barnwell re- clined her head upon his cheek pressed her warm lips to his, and conquered. CHAPTER XXIII. I this ni?ht (Such nhrht till this t never pass'd) have dream'd, If dream'd, not, as I oft am wont, of thee, Works of day past, or morrow's next design, But of offence and trouble, which my mind Knew never till this irksome night. MILTON'. " NOT at home all night !" exclaimed Mental, in the hall at Mr. Emery's " Not at home all night!" repeated he. Whilst he was speaking, Barnwell knocked at the door. At the sight of Mental he started back, and hung down his head. His hair was undressed, his eyes were red and swelled, and his whole ap- pearance proclaimed the revelry in which the night had passed. Mental surveyed him leisurely from head to foot ; during which time Barnwell recovered from his surprise, and invited him into a parlour. GEORGE BARNWELL. 91 " Having a few hours of leisure this morning," said Mental, throwing himself into a chair, and leaning on an oaken staff, " I came to have some conversation with you. I am sorry that my visit is so ill-timed. I really had no intention of breaking in upon your hours of rest ; but my vulgar ideas had not associated going to bed with the sun in the meridian." " You are satirical," said George, endeavouring to force a smile. " You are hypocritical," replied Mental. "Sir!" exclaimed Barnwell. " He who attempts to put a simper on his countenance, whilst his heart aches with remorse, is a hypocrite!" said Mental. Barnwell's cheek glowed with the blush of shame " Young man," continued Mental, " accident has brought us ac- quainted with each other. I love you, sincerely love you. I have wealth I have no one to inherit it. The grave has covered those who were mine You know my history you know my heart I ask, in return, yours Give it me Let me know its emotions its trials! Tear from it, with noble indignation, the veil that would conceal it. 1 know it is human I know it cannot be perfect. O, let me at least receive from a life of painful experience the reward- ing pleasure of being useful to you. I know, by your countenance, that you have committed some act, which reflection condemns as indiscreet perhaps vicious. Tell me, sincerely, where have you spent the night? in whose society? in what pursuit?" "Spare me spare!" cried Barnwell. "I have fallen suffi- ciently in my own esteem Let me not forfeit yours !" " You, Mr. Barnwell, who possess faculties of no common mag- nitude, cannot have so far descended from the dignity of a human creature, as to have surrendered the distinguishing powers of in- tellect to the grovelling pleasures of the bottle ? You have not, I am sure, devoted a whole night to inebriety!" " No no, indeed, I have not." " Nor can I, for a moment, suppose you have yet sunk into the the despicable character of a gamester!" "Never never," cried Barnwell, with warmth, "shall you have to upbraid me with so mean a vice !" " There is but one conjecture more, then," said Mental, with peculiarly satirical expression : " but that would scarcely make you sad ! Besides, at your age in this hot-bed of the passions, London I presume chastity has long been relinquished, as a vir- tue unsuited to the times in which you live ; an encumbrance, in- deed, which young men of fashion must not be suspected of retain- ing. Long ere last night, therefore " " Forbear, I beseeeh you, sir!" said Barnwell ; " you strike a painful chord! Till last night I had not to upbraid myself with a crime, beyond all others base seduction!" " Hold hold hold ! if you would not have me curse you !" cried Mental. " Do you not remember," continued he, clasping his hands together, " that I once possessed an angel,till Seduction 93 GEORGE BARNWKLL. tore her from my arms ! that 1 had once a daughter ! that I aban- doned her ; and that she, too, was seduced ! driven to infamy ! to death! And can you confess yourself a seducer! Oh, how often have I invoked eternal vengeance on the deliberate betrayer of confiding innocence i Recall the odious charge, or you will become more loathsome to my sight than leprosy. But it is impossible ! You a seducer! It cannot be. The deliberate seducer must be a being allied to natures differing from human. His heart must bs a salamander's bed ; his head the cool repository of design and artifice. The passions 'that rob other men of prudence, increase his cunning, and render him the agent of the deepest villany ! Such you cannot be! But you are agitated I speak too warmly My feelings must excuse me." Changing his voice and manner into the softest and most gentle, he ceased not his importunities till he had obtained from Barnwell a relation of all that had passed between himself and Milwood. When he had heard the whole narrative " 'Tis a strange tale !" cried he; " a very strange story! But, as you relate it, you charge yourself with too large a share of blame. I have strong doubts of this Milwood." "Oh, sir, you have not seen her or her countenance would prevent such undeserved suspicion." " You have promised to see her again, of course," said Mental. " See her again !" echoed Barnwell : " what tortures would be severe enough for the wretch who could abandon her!" " Do you mean to marry her, then?" said Mental. Barnwell started at the question. " Your uncle Sir James, your mother, your sister, perhaps will scruple to receive into their family a relation of so mysterious a character!" "You have taken me by surprise, sir," said Barnwell : "I have as yet determined upon nothing. My mind has not yet recovered from the emotions that have so powerfully agitated it. I thank you sincerely for your generous concern ; but I want reflection I want to be alone ! ' ' " I will leave you then to yourself awhile ; but I will not relin- quish my claim to your confidence. Thus far you have acted openly, and worthy of yourself: but, if I am not deceived, it is but the commencement of a struggle, in which you are at present victor. Adieu, youth, adieu !" and abruptly he departed. Barnwell immediately retired to his chamber, and threw himself upon the bed. Overcome with want of sleep and anxiety of mind, he fell into a slumber ; but even in his sleep Milwood haunted his imagination. He dreamt ' that he was sitting in the little temple dedicated to Retirement, in his father's garden, and that, from a window, he beheld a wide expanse of ground. His mother and Eliza were sitting near him, and he was reading to them Spenre's Judgment of Hercules. After he had recited the poem, as he re- clined his head on his arm, and mused upon the view before him, GEORGE B A UNWELL. 93 *^l two female forms appeared, at a distance, resembling in every res- pect those described by the poet " Both far exceeding human beauty fair ; Graceful yet each with different grace they move, This striking sacred awe that, softer, winning love." ' As they drew nearer, a voice, which seemed to descend from above proclaimed that the trial was at hand which was to deter- mine his future doom ; and that his happiness or misery depended upon the choice of the present moment. The females continued to advance, and he now beheld their countenances distinctly, and im- mediately recognized two well-known faces those of Maria Free- man, and the siren Mil wood. The former supported on one arm a bee-hive, on the top of which, linked by a golden chain, perched two turtle doves : her other arm reclined upon a pedestal of white marble, on which was inscribed " LOVE born of ESTEEM, and cherished by CONSTANCY : PLEASURES the produce of INDUSTRY !" ' He was tat the point of kneeling before the lovely visioi , when the other female stepped gaily on, and placed herself before the pedestal. Arrayed in a robe, "that betray 'd, Thro' the clear texture ev'ry tender limb, Hci-fht'niiisr the charms it only seemed to shade; And as it flow'd artown so loose and thin, Her statue show'd more tall more snowy white her skin !" ' Her right hand held a chalice, into which dropped, unpressed from a cluster of grapes suspended by her left, the intoxicating juice. Light as the motion of the air she danced awhile, and then, with graceful agility, sprung on a pedestal of ruby, on which, in- scribed in golden letters, were the words " LOVE, free as air ! PLEASURES stolen from other's TOILS!" ' He quitted his mother and sister, and descended into the plain. As he stood wavering before these forms, his soul, now swelled to virtuous achievements, by the majestic look and inspiring language of the one ; now sinking into wanton ease, beneath the alluring glances and the siren songs of the other. A chorus, in sound like that which fills the vaults of heaven, from golden harps and an- gels' voices, struck his enamoured ear Shun. O, youth, the siren's arms ; Ruin lurks beneuth her charms I From her offered cup refrain, As you dread severest pain, "Tis the trench' rous cup of Vice- Peace of mind its only price I ' As this chorus was singing, the female, who resembled Mil- wood, scoffed by her smiles and gestures the warning voice, and in derision flourished h 110 GEORGE BARNWELL. your custom to describe to us the events of every day. What then is the nature of those engagements you keep back from our knowledge ? Your situation must be changed, indeed, if press of business has so quickly succeeded a leitttre. of which you formerly complained I Ah, George, that leisure, in such a place as London, ever oc- casioned our dear parent some concern for you. But when we found ft devoted to the improvement of mind, to tlie elegant pursuits of literature, and particularly when spontaneously you devoted so large a portion of it to a correspondence, that brought us, as it were, daily into each other's presence, her heart glowed with gratitude to the memory of him, who is now no more, as she hailed with joy the sweet blossoms of his early cultivation. " Shall we then be deceived at last ! Say, my brother, were those blossoms so ten- der, that Temptation's tempest can have blighted themT Forgive the thought ! It cannot cannot be ! It may have checked them: it cannot have destroyed them. Some indescretion has, for a while, shed its sombre influence over a mind that cannot be at once in error and at ease. Is it so, my dear brother ? I have a right to presume it is. from your conduct ; for on no other ground can I define it. And if it should be to, what have we ever done, that our hearts are denied Iheir just right to a knowl- edge of your imperfections? How often have the imperfections of human nature been our theme ! How often have we pitied the poor disciples of modern philosophy, who boast the reverse. We have heard persons declare, that they have never re- pented of on? act of their lives, and we have smiled. It must be false shame, or false fear, then, that has betrayed my dear brother into the concealment of his errors. "Perhaps you may imagine that to acquaint us with them would occasion us pain ; and that what we do not know we cannot rezret. Fatal delusion ! How many wrecks of promised happiness has that rock occasioned! Most, who approach it. perish. Examine this specious suggestion of Pride It is no more. We are unwilling to de- scend in the esteem of those we love, and we conceal from their knowledge indiscre- tions, which we imagine would have that effect; forgetting that, by the very conceal- ment, we practise a crime, instead of committing an error; and are guilty of the meanest hypocrisy, in passing ourselves upon our friends for such miracfes of perfec- tion, as make a comparison with their own experience painful. Besides the mean- ness of this deception, it will be found impolitic. It is the unvarying law of nature, that all causes proiir brought a swift succession of demands upon the house, which appears to be in a most wretched and beggarly state of insolvency. Mr. Freeman, and the other person concerned, are ol.so ruined, in the full sense of the word. Your nephew, overcome by these events, or some other cause, has become deranged. He left the house in a fit of insanity this morninir, and has not since been heard of. It is truly afflicting to a delicate mind, to relate such events ; hut as Mrs. Emery is unfit for such a task, it has devolved upon, sir, your most obedient, H. EASTWOOD." " Sir J. Barn'xell, ' Hotel." " Lord Morley, and the Rev. Mr. Eastwood, most cruelly tortured at the events v. hich have t.iken place in Mrs. Emery's family, would merit the severest censure, if, by their presence, they continued to remind the unfortunate of their former situation in life. They are sensible, therefore, that they are consulting Mrs. and Miss Emerys' tenderness of feeling, when they resolve to save them the pain of a farewell, under their present circumstances. Lord M. and Mr. E. will never cease to remember, most gratefully, the many civilities they have received from every branch of the family; and will feel infinite satisfaction if, at any time, the exigencies of that family can be relieved either by their advice, or their fortunes." " Mr*. Emery," 170 GEORGE BARNWELL. Thus fled these summer friends, at the first blast of wintry ad- versity. How different the conduct of the worthy Sir James Barn- well! Soon as he had perused Mr. Eastwood's note, he repaired to the house of mourning ; nor did the heartfelt sorrow, which seized him on his nephew's account, prevent him from tendering every consolation in his power to the unfortunate Emerys. These ladies felt the change of circumstances severely indeed. Mother and daughters so resembled each other in their feelings, that one description serves each and all. Uneducated in any true principles of religion or morality, they had borne prosperity too ill to sustain adversity with fortitude. When they were surrounded by the luxuries and dainties of life, and seemed placed on an emi- nence above the reach of want or wo, they had never been taught to reflect upon the means by which they were thus exalted whilst millions of their fellow-creatures struggled to endure existence : they never reflected it was that chance " in the affairs of men" which gave them wealth, and others want ; but, vainly arrogating to themselves a visionary superiority in the scale of human beings, called not the poor their brethren. Instead, therefore of allevia- ting the consequences of that inequality in society, (which expe- rience seems to pronounce inevitable,) the occupation of their lives was to increase that splendour, which dazzled but never cheered, the poor! The feelings of benevolence, the impulse of charity, the glow of sensibility, are words they may have heard, but emo- tions they had never felt. How pitiable, then, their present situa- tion. In an instant that pinnacle, on which they were exalted, sinks; and from affluence to poverty is but the journey of an hour. The sentiments they had imbibed continue ; and, judging from their own feelings, they consider themselves, of course, objects of con- tempt to the rich ; whilst at the same time, fallen pride is naturally the ridicule, of the poor. The benevolent knight in vain offered consolation to minds the victims of childish fretfulness : sobs, tears, and fits succeeding fits, prevented the voice of reason from approaching their ears. Turning, therefore, from so vain an effort, he rendered them, unknown to themselves, a most essential service. The proprietor of the ready furnished house they occupied had expressed, in his hearing, his wish they should quit his premises, as he saw no chance of ever being paid. Sir James became respon- sible, and the landlord became quiet. Meanwhile, he had not neg- lected any steps immediately necessary for the discovery of his nephew. Hand-bills were printed, and brought home, describing his person and dress, and were about to be circulated, when a fish- erman brought a letter, "which," he said, " a strange young gen- tleman wrote, at a public house in Sandwich, where he was, and gave him a crown to bring it to this house." It bore this direction " Let any person, except the servants, open it. G. B." Sir James broke the seal, and read as follows : GEORGE BARNWELL. 171 " George Barnwcll entreats most earnestly, that his abrupt departure, and his ab- sence may be most scrupulously concealed from the knowledge of his mother, his sis- ter, and his uncle. Whoever is officious enough to hint it to either, must answer for the most dreadful consequences. A day only a day or two, at most, he begs upon his knees, for the concealment of this act. If he returns not by to-morrow night, discovery mutt take place for he will return ere then or never ! Any at- tempts to discover him, uow, will be fatal. Again he implores, in pity to his mother, to his sister, to his uncle, aud in mercy to himself, secrecy for a day 1" While Sir James held this note in his hand, and just as he wiped a tear from his eyes, entered Mr. Sandall. He had heard the state of Mr. Emery's affairs, and accordingly followed his patron to enjoy the whole, true, and full account, as a most ample meal of scandal, upon which poisonous food he loved to gormandize. Obsequiously cringing, as he held the door in his hand " I fear, Sir James, I intrude I " " O, Mr. Sandall," cried the knight, "my poor nephew Read read!" "Alas, alas!" said Sandall, when he had perused it. "Ay, this is always the end of such fiery, uncontrollable youths. I was afraid what would be his conduct, ever since he so obstinately re- sisted our argument upon apparitions ; there was too much inquir- ing, doubting, heresy, about that youth ; and then, his connecting himself with that impious, atheistical Illuminati, Mental ; for I have proofs that he is one ; or else what could the meaning of his mystic coffin lid, and his skull, and his nightly orgies in the abbey?" " Silence silence," cried Sir James. " You judge too quickly to judge impartially. May it not prove that some youthful indiscre- tions have brought on embarrassments, of which he is ashamed? But what can he mean by a day or two's concealment? So sudden- ly to leave the house, tooIt is all extraordinary !" " It is extraordinary," said Sandall, who never differed many moments from his patron's opinion. " To acquint his mother with the affair at present, would be cruel." " It would be cruel," cried Sandall. " And would answer no end," said Sir James. " No end at all," rejoined Sandall. The result of their deliberations was, to continue their search and inquiries after the poor fugitive, and at least, for a day or two, to keep his mother and sister ignorant of the event. CHA PTER XLII. But grant that those can conquer, these can clfeat, "Tig phrase absurd to cull a villain grertl : Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave> Is but the more a fool, the more a kmive. Porr. WHILE such was the state of affairs at Emery's, the following letter, from Milwood to Zelotti, will unfold the scenes passing at 8 172 GEORGE BARNWELL. the cottage. It was written the evening of the day on which Barnwell fled. "ZELOTTI Hasten, on the wings of mighty Mischief! Events are rapidly suc- ceeding each other, of high and interesting import. There are materials now ready to our hands, Zelotti, of which thy matchless talents might frame fabrics of felicity for thy Milwood, that will exist with her existence. In plain terms, there is wealth ready to be gathered, that shall furnish all the goods of existence, all the pleasures, enjoy- ments, and voluptuousness of living, as long as I shall live. " This will meet you, I hope, near my present humble cottage. I intend it merely as a plan of the camp you are entering. The stranger is rich, I am convinced beyond all doubt There lie in a chair, by hU bed-side, two packets, sealed ; only part of their contents were, therefore, visible to the prying eye. I could discover enough, how- ever, to know that Barnwell is the sole possessor of his wealth after his decease ; and the words, ' estates in Hertfordshire, jewels, cash, &c.,' I could catch glimpses of. On the same chair is a casket, doubtless the repository of these jewels. My hand is eager for the blow, Zelotti ! " From old Townley, let me lead you to another character. Emery has thrown his die, and lost ! We ever, you know, concluded that would be the case. Half villains and half wits never thrive in this planet of the system Perhaps they may do better, should they hereafter tenant the moon! Middleton too rejoice with me, my friend Middleton is compelled to fly the kingdom, whilst Emery, whom he has long made his staff of life, is reduced to beggary. This is all well this is a most delicious draught for the thirst of proud revenge ! But it shall not intoxicate the sober Mil- woodl No, Zelotti ; 'twere but a puny gratification for a mind like mine, did it end here ; but murk the consequences: The forged acceptance of five hundred pounds, on which our tool Blackmore advanced me three, you recollect, he was to reserve in bis own possession till nearly due ; but the needy rogue broke his promise, and dis- counted it to some Jew, or, in other words, sold it for three hundred and ei.'iity. This bill, naturally enough, was suspected, and Blackmore was acquainted with the circumstance. This discovery, and the dread of gome others, gave wings to the man of law, and by this time he is on his voyage to America. The boy Barnwell, terrified beyond all measure, at this discovery, fled from his friends, like a lunatic, the moment he heard it ; and having rambled the whole of this day without food, by secret paths, and under cover of the night, arrived here about an hour ago. Of all the compositions of human nature, that I have hitherto studied, he is by far the nearest to that standard, which is called good in society : of course the best adapted to our purpose ; for do we not know, Zelotti, that the wicked are wary? Had Barnwell brought with him. to Berners Street, polluted passions, would he so easily have fallen our victim ? Had Barnwell been in the habit of dissembling, would he have scrupled to have told some varnished tale to Emery, as an excuse for borrowing three hundred pounds ? Or, had his heart been cased in adamant, as Middleton's, as ours, as half mankind's are, would he have committed himself to the risk of death to have preserved another's life .' Oh. never! But no matter by what means we have ensnared him; he is now as completely in my power as my heart can wish. I am not altogether sorry you are not here, till I have disposed of him. He is concealed in the chamber which must be yours. Most fortunately for us he refuses to see old Townley, and begs earnestly that he may not be acquainted with big arrival. " Nor is this all : as if chance itself had espoused our cause, it has directed, just at this momentous crisis, Barnwell's uncle to Ramsgate, who has taken up his residence at the house where Emery resided. This event has filled me with ambitious, bold desires ! ' What think you, Zelotti ; is it not possible to combine our schemes, and by a double blow, accomplish the dismissal of Townley and old Barnwell both ? 'Twould be a glorious achievement, and its result would be a consonant reward. Hush ! Twas Barnwell stealing from his chamber; he tapped at my door, and I had just sufficient time to conceal my letter, when he entered more like a spectre than a man his hair dishevelled, his eyes red with weeping, his cheeks and lips pale as consumption. Speechless, he tottered towards my chair, and seated himself on the floor at my feet, reclining his head on my lap. " As old Townley sleeps in the room above, I dared not suffer him to speak. I forced him to swallow a cordial, and have prevailed on him to throw himself upon the bed. He slumbers; but his mind, even in sleep, is haunted. At intervals be pronounces 'Milwood ' so loudly that if old Townley wakes, he must surely hear it. At other times he calls upon his mother, his Eliza, and has this moment uttered, in a voice of a_'ouy, ' Father, Father ! save me save me ! ' " If these powerful effects follow the dread of a detection of forgery, a common rea- GEORGE BARNWELL. 173 oner would say, there is but poor hope that we shall compel him to murder. That very dread, however, is the basis of my hope I'll keep him the whole of to-morrow in my own room, so that the chamber is ready for your reception. The light of to- morrow's sun will show mo my Zelotti. Remember your part, and I will devote the whole of this night to the study of mine. Yours, EUNOB." Whilst, with a fiend-like industry, Milwood thus spread new toils for the unsuspecting victim of her infernal machinations, he, in bro- ken slumbers, felt all the horrors of his situation ; and, when the light of morning dispelled his dreams, the reality of his fate was to his exquisitely feeling heart intolerable. In the meanwhile Mental passed his hours most unpleasantly. His situation became torture. He was placed under the same roof with his own, his only child ; but every opportunity of converse which he snatched, all the observations he could form, tended to confirm him more and more in the opinion, that this child was lost to virtue forever ! Despairing, therefore, for the success of any attempts towards her reformation, he that morning resolved to re-i move from the cottage, without making himself known. Ignorant of those important events, which had taken place at Mr. Emery's, he began to murmur at the absence of Barnwell, and hinted his intention of inquiring for him at Mr. Emery's if he did not call in the course of that morning. This step Milwood deter- mined to prevent. About noon Zelotti arrived. Mental was in the parlour when he entered, and Milwood introduced them to each other. The person and manners of this Italian were extremely prepos- sessing, and in a very few minutes he found means to entangle Mental in a conversation, in spite of the general taciturnity of the latter. Mental was, perhaps, in some degree induced to this con- versation by the curiosity he felt concerning Zelotti ; but the Italian was too wary to allow the least possible clue to his real character to escape him. Mental perceived, however, that Zelotti was no com- mon man. The first employment of Zelotti, after a consultation with Mil- wood, was to assume the disguise of a fisherman, and reconnoitre Mr. Emery's late residence. He was admitted to the presence of the almost distracted uncle of Barnwell. His olive complexion helped his disguise, and he spoke English* very well. " 1 believe I am right," said the impostor ; " you are the master, as I take it, of one George Barnwell." " No, no," cried Sir James, " I am his uncle Where is he? Where is my nephew ?" " That is more than I must tell.'' " But you shall be compelled to tell." " No, sir; I am poor, and roughly finished; but I have never yet, nor I never will, betray my trust." " But 'tis for his interest, 'tis for his happiness alone, I wish to know. Take me, then, to the poor distracted youth, and he him- self will bless you for it to the latest hour of his life." " It must not be I have sworn an oath, your honour, a sacred, 174 GEORGE BARNWELL. solemn oath, that I would not utter a word that might lead to his discovery." " What is the purpose of your errand, then ?" " This, your honour to say, that he will either come home to- night, or else that he will write a letter ; but, being much afraid his absence might be blazed abroad, he wanted much to be assured that his mother nor his uncle were apprized of it." " His mother and sister are yet ignorant of it ; and, if he would return immediately, they might never know it. I have letters to deliver from them ; but, being ignorant of their contents, I know not how they might affect him." " I'll answer for it, they will be the means of hastening his re- turn ; besides, your honour, if you were to send them, and some kind message from yourself, I'd back it to the best of my power. Whilst he is at my hut no harm shall come to him ; and either I, Or Margery, my dame, have always our eyes upon him. When he leaves us, I'll see, too, that he goes no where but to this house." " Will you promise to do this will you, on your oath, promise to do this?" said the knight. " And do you really think he will come to-night?" " I do, I do," cried Zelotti. " Then, here, honest fellow, take him these two letters from his mother and sister, and tell him, if all I possess can render him hap- py, it is his own. Tell him, that if he will return to me this night, all that has passed shall be kept secret forever ; tell him, in short, good man, whatever you think can induce him to return ; and, de- pend on it, your reward shall not be small." (Sir James was un- tying his purse.) " Put up your purse, your honour," cried Zelotti ; " the pleasure of carrying such a kind message to heal his poor broken heart is reward enough to Ned Martin." He retired. Sir James's heart was lightened considerably by the hope which this impostor occasioned, and he wrote to his sister- in-law, and his niece, to apprize them of the change in his old friend Mr. Freeman's affairs, and slightly mentioned that his nephew was well ; but much employed, in consequence of the un- fortunate alteration in the circumstances of his friends. CHAPTER XL1II. I was contriving how to make you happy. Think you to merit by your idle sighs, And not attest your love by one brave action ? TRE DISTBESSED MOTHER. UPON the return of Zelotti, conference was held between that subtle Italian and Milwood, the result of which was the following conduct : GEORGE BARNWKLL. 175 " Bamwell had made her chamber his prison. It was nearly dark when Milwood, confusion and dismay pictured in her countenance, rushed into the apartment, and locked the door. " Barnwell !" exclaimed she, " Bamwell ! arouse yourself, or we are lost forever?" The unhappy Barnwell, almost stupified with sorrow, sat on a chair, his legs placed on a window-seat, reclining his head on his hand, like one inanimate. He noticed nothing that she said. She approached him, took his hand in hers, and gazed full in his face. " Oh, Milwood ! that face those eyes were they designed by nature to accomplish such wide ruin? Poor Eliza! poor mother!" There was such a settled wildness in his eyes, that Milwood doubted, for a moment, whether he was sensible. After some time, a deep sigh was followed by a flood of tears, which seemed greatly to relieve him. " Come, come ; for shame," said she, " conquer these unmanly vapours ; summon the energy of your mind ; it is now, Barnwell, you need it. This weak, puerile, dejection, is ruinous and dis- graceful. Arouse, Barnwell, arouse ! think what you owe to the law of nature your own defence think what you owe the dignity of your nature, and scorn to crawl thus, on captive knees, beneath the iron sceptre of imperious fate. Such base yielding ill becomes the man of mind, of sovereignty of soul it ill-becomes my Barn- well. Arm yourself, then, with the intrepidity of manhood, and struggle to the last gasp with fate, till death or triumph end the strife." " Alas! what is there more to be achieved? Do not the swift feet of Justice haunt me? Does not her out-stretched arm hold over my devoted head the sword of death ? What have I then, to do, but to submit?" " Cowardly, grovelling notion ! Why, a poor reptile outcast of society, a being rising scarcely any thing in intellect above the worm we tread on, a petty common thief, trembling beneath the shadow of his gibbet, could not concede a meaner, more humili- ating confession. And shall Barnwell sneak thus like a reptile to his hole, and die? Oh, whither are thy feelings fled? Where are the powers of thy memory ? What, tamely yield yourself to a fel- on's fate chains, public infamy, and public death ? Look at the effects of such conduct on others behold the pale, death-like form that gave you life gaze on her agonies see how she rends her gray hairs, how she mangles those breasts that have nurtured thee ! See, too, a beauteous sister falling, in the bloom of life, a victim to 'thy disgraceful fate ! while I " Hold, Milwood, as you value my existence ! If thus you paint the horrors that await me, no strength of reason, no suggestions of moral duty, will prevent me from instant suicide. Surely I was born for the accursed purpose of inflicting tortures on those I love But spare me the painful picture. In my heart, in my brain, 176 6 E R Q-E BARNWELL. the impression of all these horrors is fixed with unutterable an- guish ! ' ' " You feel all these horrors, you say ; yet who can believe hi You make no single effort to avert them Insensible to the dangers that threaten us, tamely you indulge a fruitless sorrow." " Is it not impossible to escape those dangers ?" " It is possible not to endure them." " What possible means of avoiding detection can you devise, Mil wood ? Is not the forgery discovered ? Is it not traced even to Blackmore?" "Ay, even to Mil wood but what then ? think you that Mil wood will surrender up herself to galling fetters, to a public trial , to an ignominious death, while this friendly steel is here 1" [At these words she exposed the handle of the dagger, which she constantly wore in her bosom.] " Mil wood, you dare not meditate such mischief!" said Barn- well, seizing her hand. " Oh, here, in this breast, rather plunge the weapon ! Why should you bleed for my crimes why Oh, my brain burns I am giddy with madness of thought !" "Of what does Barnwell think the nature of his Milwood is compounded 1 Surely he must think the fear of death is an ingre- dient in her composition, if he supposes she can undergo, with coward patience, the solemn mockeries of funereal preparations, ascend a scaffold, face a multitude, and bear the tortures of super- stitious rites and ceremonies, merely for a little longer life. No, since we must die, let us, like Romans, meet the blow, rather than wait the lingering stroke of systematic murder." " You speak as if we were already apprehended, and even sen- tenced." " And is it not so? Do you imagine that in our present condi- tfon, there is a possibility of our escape? Have I have you ten pounds in your possession ? Will the billows of the ocean bear us on their naked waves to shores of safety ? Will the owner of any vessel shelter poor and pennyless fugitives ! Folly's own sons would spurn so poor a hope. To-morrow, in all human probability, if we resolve to live, a prison will be our dwelling. Then, the very means of freeing our spirits from their bondage will be taken from our hands, and we shall curse the torpor of soul, that let this precious moment pass. Come, man, be bold, and let a woman's courage give you strength This draught" (presenting a phial) " will give your troubled soul, my Barnwell, an everlasting calm." Barnwell shuddered with horror ; his whole mass of blood seemed in a moment congealed ; the coldness of death seized his limbs, and the features of his face were worked up to phrensy . " Thou a woman !" exclaimed he, " a woman ! No no no thou art some spirit of the grand enemy of mankind, permitted to assume this lovely form to blast the peace of families, to sever the hearts of mother, sister, son, and brother, from each other ; to drain the human heart of its own natural affections, and in their GEORGE BARNWELL. 177 place implant a poisonous lust, that generates a chilling apathy to all but thine accursed self: that wars with all that is good and amiable in society, that stirs rebellion against God himself, prompts the despairing soul to the last damning act of sin, and bears it, with a horrid yell of triumph, to scenes of endless tortures and despair!" In the extreme of agony, the lost youth tore his hair, threw him- self upon the floor, and abandoned himself to the violence of his despair ! Milwood, with the malice and art of a demon, silently contem- plated the progress of her operations. She suffered him to exhaust the violence of his feelings, and sat covering her face with her handkerchief. After some time Barnwell raising his eyes from the floor, beheld her in tears. What is that potent, most mysterious influence, to which is given the name of Love T Say, ye, who aim at defining all the influences and operations of our nature, who presume to have discovered causes for all the actions of men how is it, that a being, endowed with more than the common powers of reason, whose heart has been fenced with the lessons of virtue, should, by the influence of this most powerful passion, be impelled to the commission of deeds, at which, when that influence ceases to operate, his heart recoils with horror, and his reason surveys with astonishment? Barnwell saw her tears ; they were like burning drops upon his own heart he arose he flew to the dissembler. " Milwood, Milwood ! you weep you are wretched and I have made you so !" " You have, indeed," said she. " Oh, unkind Oh, cruel ! But I deserve it yes, I deserve it, Barnwell ; but could I have imagined you, of all men, would thus heap reproaches upon the poor heart over which you have triumphed? Oh, no the taunts? of society, the scorn of my own sex, the derision of yours these I expected, Barnwell ; but that you should revile me that you should Oh ! 'tis this overcomes me !" She wept, and her whole soul seemed melted into wo. Barn- well, irresolute and wavering in his mind, was at a loss in what language to address her. She continued " If our fates have proved calamitous ; if evil, following on the heels of evil, pursues us, how am I to blame? Did /request that second fatal interview, the source of all our woes ? Was I not prepared to leave forever the isle which you inhabited ? Have I received an interest or a pleasure, separate from yours, since that ill-fated hour ? And yet I am arraigned as guilty of intentional crimes. Oh, youth ! lovely, yet unfortunate, be just, even amid your sufferings. Why have I offered the antidote of death to the miseries that threaten ? because I knew you timid, scrupulously hesitating ; when the only means of escaping them are bold, enter- prising, and uncommon ; such as, indeed, are above the use of beings educated in the prejudices and errors of systems ; such as 1 173 GEORGE BARN WELL. know you could never be brought to use ; and, therefore, we must die!" "Die!" exclaimed Barnwell ; "you you must die? Oh, God, forbid! Let us fly let us fly this instant, Milwbffei I begin to see your horrible condition" (putting his hand to his forehead.) " Merciful Heaven! Milwood, why did you concern yourself in the accursed forgery? Oh, forgive my madness, when I accused you. Where is where is my friend where is Townley? I must see him, or it will be too late perhaps it is already too late to es- cape our pursuers. He will give me any sum of money we may want Let me go to him." " Alas ! my Barnwell," cried Milwood, prepared for this propo- sal, " hope nothing there. He left the cottage this morning early, as he said, on urgent business, and will not return till to-morrow : by that period our fate will be decided." " Our fate, Milwood ! No, no, you must not suffer. On me on me, just Heaven, pour thy vengeance ! But has not my friend left his casket '? I know its value I know your right to it." " You talk wildly, my Barnwell ! But even had we the right you speak of, we have not the power ; the casket is not here." " Did he not say whither he was gone?" "No." " Did he ever converse with you on any subjects besides com- mon ones ? Did he ever make any discovery, or throw out any hints?" " No no none but let us not now waste time in words, when every moment that escapes us brings the crisis of our fate still nearer." " You are calm, Milwood ! Ah! then, I know your resolution Give me that dagger." " No, Barnwell ; 'tis the last wreck of hope that's left to cling to." The distracted youth now raved again all the endearments of the siren, all the high wrought picturing^ of memory, burst at once on his imagination. She was every thing to him, in this moment of transportation from himself. All other existence was to him as though it existed not ; and to contemplate the destruction of this idol of his soul, or rather the extinction of this essence of his own existence, was beyond the efforts of his reason. He sunk sense- less on her bosom. " Oh, were there any means, however desperate, however dan- gerous, by which I might save you, Milwood !" said he, after some time. " There is a way, Barnwell ; but it is a track unmarked by vul- gar footsteps : the great of soul alone walk in this path the vota- ries of ambition, of revenge, and all the higher, nobler propensities of our nature. Men of low and grovelling impulses tremble at its entrance, and turn aside, seeking each little petty avenue of cow- GEORGE BARNWELL. 179 ardly escape, while those of higher daring boldly tread the paths of blood!" " Go on," cried Barnwell : " I understand you." " If he who holds the fatal paper, which is to witness against us to our death if he and you, Barnwell, were in some retired spot, far from the prying eye of mortals how would you act?" " Milwood, there is a desperate meaning in your words Know you who holds the bill?" "I do." "Is he some villain some usurious shark, that has long preyed upon the distresses of his fellow-creatures ? Say, is he a father or a husband? Would his death Oh, whither am I wandering?" " In the road to safety to future years of peace and joy had you but the courage of a man. You have discovered, Barnwell, the only avenue of escape from death. Think on't, man Does not the law of nature loudly call on you to act? If, in the highway, another meet you with some deadly weapon, and threaten your de- struction, what is the impulse nature gives? Here is but trifling difference An instrument of death no matter what is in the hands of one who threatens you, and in you, all who love you, with destruction! If, then, by a blow that nature prompts, you can disarm your foe Barnwell, do you understand me ?" He had fixed his eyes, which had a death-like glassy appearance, firmly on Milwood ; his hands were clenched tightly together, and rested on his knees. "Milwood," said he, continuing in the same posture, "Mil- wood, I have taken a desperate resolve ! Who had dared have told me, a few manths ago, that I should prove a murderer! But I shall ay, you shall live, Milwood, in mirth and jollity ; After these hands have done the bloody deed, will we not be merry? Nay, you look grave, my love !" This was not the precise disposition to which she had aimed to bring him. There was a wildness in his manner, bordering so nearly on insanity, that she trembled with the apprehension, that he might betray their purpose. "This is the rant of madness," cried she ; "not the decision of courage." " By Heaven, I'll do it ! I have dismissed that troublesome guest that has hitherto daunted my courage it is fled fled forever. I have now no conscience but thy voice, my love. Come let us to action Where does the old villain dwell?" " Be more yourself, Barnwell you rave." " No, by my soul, I am calm ! Come, give me my victim see, the moon rises, and the hour of foul deeds draws nigh ." Milwood paused she meditated she saw his soul wound up to desperation, and ripe for the deed she wished concluded ; but, ever wary in her designs, she looked beyond the deed, and saw his state of mind ill calculated for its concealment, when performed. She paused again she recollected, that there is a crisis in mental opera- 8* 180 GEORGE BARNWELL. tions, and knew, that if she suffered the crisis of desperation to arrive, without accomplishing her end, it never would return. She well knew the state of languor that would succeed it, and with a boldness of determination, resolved upon the risk. When she had resolved, she took his hands, she kissed them, bathed them with tears, and called him by the dearest title of Saviour. "Every hour of my future existence will be a gift of thine," said she ; " to thee, my saviour, shall I owe all the years of life I may enjoy. But, are you firm, my hero?" : ' I am resolved." " But when you shall hear who is the victim, the necessary vic- tim, for whom Fate calls Oh, then, all my hopes of life will van- ish ! You will prefer his life to mine, to a mother's, a sister's, to your own !" " No no no," cried he : " were my father living, and in the way 'twixt life and you, I think yes, I think I should, Mil- wood !" " But you have a near relation, who yet lives, Barnweli you have an " (she held his hand grasped tightly in her own) " an an uncle !" " Is it my poor uncle, then? Oh!" He struck his head violently. She suffered him to remain silent a few minutes, and then, in a most tender voice " Barnweli, speak to me tell me am I to die?" He threw himself into her arms. "Live, Milwood, live! though perdition, everlasting perdition, be the price of your existence !" From this moment he was lost. The situation of his uncle at Mr. Emery's was made known to him ; she persuaded him that the forged bill had passed into his possession ; that, ignorant who had forged it, he still held it ; and, if he lived, must in spite of every wish to the contrary, be compelled to appear against them. CHAPTER XLIV. Hear me, you wicked one You have put bills of lire within this breast, Not to be quench'd with tears ; for which my guilt Sits on your bosom ! TRAGEDY OF PIIILASTEB. SIR JAMES BARNWELL had just finished a solitary sapper, when Barnweli, attended by Zelotti, rung the bell at the gate of the court yard. The pride of Mrs. Emery and her daughters confined them to their chambers ; the poor Maria was intrusted to the care of a nurse ; and Mr. Sandall was gone to visit a friend at Margate. The pretended fisherman introduced Barnweli to his rejoicing' uncle, who fell on his neck, and embraced him. Barnweli, pale and trembling^ seated himself silently on a chair, and supported GEORGE BARNWELL. 181 his head by leaning his elbow on the table. Zelotti, in a whisper to Sir James, observed, that the less notice was taken of him, and the earlier they retired, the better, and then departed. The an- guish of the old man, as he looked upon his nephew, was keen indeed. " You look ill, my nephew ; you are fatigued. We will not en- ter on the cause of your uneasiness to-night ; but if your happiness can be restored by any means in my power, assure yourself of my best endeavours." "You are very good yes, you are truly good and that's one comfortable reflection," said Barnwell. Sir James little suspected the drift of his discourse. " Have you supped George?" " I have not eat a long while, sir ; my appetite is gone, quite gone but I can drink what have you there, wine V The wine was on the table : he drank a bumper greedily. "You don't inquire after your mother or your sister, George." "Oh, true! you're right my mother ah, my mother and Eliza poor girl ! Come, sir, won't you take some wine?" Sir James was alarmed at his wild manner. Barnwell poured out another bumper and swallowed it. " How much does it want to one o'clock?" said he. " 'Tis not twelve," said Sir James. At that instant Mr. Sandall entered the room. Sir James inti- mated silence to him. Barnwell looked at him, but did not notice him. " What an altered house is this!" said Barnwell. " No more merriment ! Well, I must to bed and you, Mr. Sandall, being a divine, will pray for us all Uncle, do you pray every night?" Sir James, who conceived his brain injured, humoured him, and answered him " Always, George." " I am glad of that," said he ; " you are a righteous man, and your prayers are heard." He rung for the servant. At the door he turned round, and stood with his eyes fixed for some time on his uncle, then retired, saying, as he left the room, " God bless you, sir good night." When the man had attended him to his chamber door, which was one, among several, in a long gallery " There poor Miss Freeman sleeps does she not, Sam?" " Yes, sir." " And in that room, I suppose, my uncle sleeps." " No, sir, the other gentleman has that room Sir James lies in this here, next to yours." " Does that clock, that stands at the end of the gallery, strike the hours, Sam?" "Yes, sir." " Do the lamps at each end of the gallery burn all night?" " Yes, sir, till near daylight." "Goodnight, Sam." 183 GEORGE BARNWELI,, He retired to his chamber. The clock struck twelve. " One hour mo re! "'exclaimed he. Ho paced about the chamber in agony of thought. "Hush !'' murmured he to himself; "I hear his aged footsteps he passes my door he enters his chamber. Will he lock the door ? no he dreads the danger of fire, and rather trusts to man's mercy than a senseless element ! Hark ! he prays Good God ! he prays for me even me ! Listen ! ! Restore his peace of mind.' Oh, poor martyr ! that's a vain petition Alas, Milwood ! what have I sworn to do T But you cannot both live? Why, oh, why was I permitted to see this hour? Hark ! the bed creaks he lays his aged limbs to rest never, never more to rise !" All was now perfect silence in the house, so that the dashing of the ocean's waves were heard distinctly, the windows of that range of chambers overlooking the sea. When he parted from Milwood, she had furnished him with a dagger, and gave him a small packet, with an injunction not to open it till the bell tolled one. This dag- ger he now drew from his bosom, and placed it, with the packet, on the tabre. His reflections now grew more and more tormenting ; his reso- lution was a hundred times shaken, and raised again by the mem- ory of Milwood. When the idea of her public death rushed across his brain, madness nerved his arm, and he often grasped the dag- ger in a state of phrensy. In this horrible conflict the hour passed away ; the clock in the gallery struck one. A chilly sweat dewed his whole frame his blood shot like a bolt of ice to his heart. With a trembling hand he opened the packet ; it contained a most animating likeness of Milwood, in miniature, and fully answered the purpose she intended. A small scroll of paper contained, in her own hand-writing, these words : " If another hour elapses, and the deed is not performed, you may gaze on the resemblance of Milwood, but will never be- hold the original alive." He gazed on the portrait; he read the scroll again ; again he contemplated the miniature he kissed it with fervour his brain grew inflamed imagination rioted He kissed the miniature again he placed it in his bosom, grasped the dagger, and, throwing off his slippers, opened his chamber door. Not a breath moved along the gallery he stood trembling for a few moments, fearfully gazing around him his shadow on the floor startled him he shuddered . Once more he drew the portrait from his bosom, and looked on it by the light reflected from the lamp. Summoning a desperate effort, he made two or three strides, and found himself in his uncle's chamber. He closed the door after him, and approached the bed-side. A chamber lamp burned in the fire place : by this light, as he leaned against the feet of the bed, he perceived his uncle slept. At that moment he fancied, that he heard a footstep in the gallery he listened, and was confirmed it was so. He fixed his eyes upon the door in horrid dread of a de- tection, and half concealed the dagger in his bosom, still holding the candle. No one entered all was again silent. Once more he GEORGE BARN WELL. 183 slowly drew the dagger forth, and once more turned his eyes upon his sleeping uncle. The dim, faint light, emitted from the lamp, just served to discover his tranquil features. His lips were closed in a smile, that indicated peaceful slumbers. As he contemplated this scene, a deep groan pierced the ears of Barnwell : frozen with horror, he dared not to turn his head towards the gallery, whence it seemed to issue, but remained fixed as a statue. In another mo- ment a voice, softly, but distinctly, uttered " I'll sit all night on his cold, cold grave !" He fancied it was the voice of his sister. The dagger fell from his senseless hand, and he clung to the pillars of the bedstead for support. Waked by the noise and motion, his uncle started up. Barnwell, instigated by a sudden impulse, in which fear was an ingredient, snatched up the dagger, spiung upon the breast of the venerable old man, and plunged its fatal point deep iu his heart! One groan only preceded his dissolution! The moment the fatal blow was struck, remorse was kindled, with all its horrors, in the breast of Barnwell ; a remorse too pow- erful for words or action ; it was a consuming fire kindled in the centre of his heart. In a few moments the same voice he had heard before exclaimed "In heaven he will be mine, for Milwood cannot come to heaven." Roused to madness, he rushed like lightning to the door, opened it without regard to the noise he made, and be- held, sitting in her night gown at his own room door, Maria Free- man. This amiable and afflicted girl, still the victim of concealed affection, grew hourly worse. Her mind, constantly fixed on the object of her love, was now impressed with the notion of his death, and her attendant having fallen asleep, the lovely maniac had left her bed under the impression of visiting his tomb. The noise and his appearance caused her to utter the most violent shrieks, which brought Mr. Sandall and the servants to be witnesses to a scene of the utmost horror! Barnwell, taking the advantage of their con- fusion, burst through them all, and fled, with incredible speed, to- wards the cottage. Urged on by an instinctive sense of danger, scarcely knowing the route he took, and without bestowing a thought on the certain consequences of his sudden flight, he pursued his way. Each step he took he trembled ; even the falling leaf, that floated in the air, alarmed him. As he approached the sea, the roaring of the water appalled his guilty soul with terror. If, for a minute, he raised his eyes from the ground, the most horrid images floated before them. His uncle's mangled, bleeding corpse, his father's angry ghost, the very torments of the damned, racked his imagination ! The gloomy aspect of the heavens aided the force of these guilt-born terrors, and rendered his situation horrible beyond expression ! With difficulty he at length found the wicker gate of the cot- tage it was locked, nor could all the noise he was capable of making, gain him admission. Dreading to remain unhoused, he endeavoured to explore an entrance at the back of the garden, by climbing up to the arbour from the sands. The tide was flowing 184 GEORGE BARNWELL. rapidly in, and he found he had no time to lose. By perseverance, spurred on by the desperation of his mind, he gained, at length, a footing on a part of the cliff that overhung the sea, and was within a few paces of the arbour. Exhausted with fatigue, and overpowered by the conflicting ex- ercises of his mind, he threw himself down on the rock, with a groan of agony. The fever of the soul became exchanged for a most awful languor he dared not to think. The roaring of the waters underneath at length aroused him, and the horrors of his situation flashed once more across his imagination. At that moment, rising from the ground, he felt strongly im- pelled to plunge from the precipice, on which he stood, into the gulf of waters ; but, almost at the same instant, the murmuring of approaching whispers startled him, and arrested his attention. It was too dark to discern their faces ; but he could distinguish a man and woman plainly, as the former carried a lantern in his hand. They approached the edge of the cliff, and appeared to make to- wards the spot where he stood. A little to the right there was a spot, where the chalk had fallen away some feet in depth, and left a hollow space. Here he crept and concealed himself. In a few moments they were close to the place of his concealment A voice, which he too well knew, now struck his ear 'twas Milwood's. " Well," said she, " how is the tide?" " Coming in," said the man, who was Zelotti ; "but it won't do this tide ; it will be break of day ere there be sufficient depth of water." "Cursed delay!" cried Milwood ; "what must be done with the body, then?" " Let it remain in the sack, under the seat, in the arbour, till another night." " That might do, if we were certain of remaining here; but I dread the morning, Zelotti. Fool that I was, to trust a work of such a nature to his hands. If Barnwell should be detected in the act, or by his weakness discover it when done, we must fly in- stantly, and then old Townley's corpse would be discovered, and his murder clearly traced to me." (How poor Barnwell shudder- ed !) " That's true," replied Zelotti. " Let me consider : as there are no marks of violence upon his person, suppose we strip him ; the effects of the poison in swelling the body, may pass well enough for the same effects produced by drowning ; so that if it floats, and is discovered in the morning, there would be no ground of suspi- cion." " Quick, then, about it!" cried Milwood ; " there has been too much delay. O, Zelotti ! if Barnwell's heart were but moulded like our own, what a glorious harvest should we reap! But my soul misgives me I fear his tenderness, his foolish remorse Would this night were well over !" They had now retired out of the hearing of Barnwell. He had, GEORGE BARNWELL. 185 however, heard enough to petrify his soul with horror. It was plain that Milwood had poisoned her father ! Language is not equal to the task of describing what now passed in his agonized bosom : Dreading to meet them, he was compelled to keep his sit- uation. Sooner than he imagined, they returned, and in a few moments the awful sound smote his ear of the fall of poor Mental's corpse into its grave of billows ! He could not check a deep groan at that instant. " Did you hear any thing?" said Zelotti. "No," said Milwood; "you are not surely turning supersti- tious!" " I am sure I heard a groan," said Zelotti. " Fancy fancy, man," cried she " Come, we have work to do Peace to old Townley now for his treasures." They bent their way towards the arbour. Barnwell followed them with his eye. In their hurry they forgot the ladder by which they descended from the window of the arbour. He noticed this neglect, and, waiting a considerable time, his first impulse was to ascend the ladder ; but he checked it, and continued wandering near the spot till break of day. The tortures inflicted by his conscience became almost insup- portable, and he once again resolved to die. At the very moment, however, of acting upon this dreadful reso- lution, an indescribable terror seized him, and turned him from his purpose. The conviction of a future state was so deeply impressed upon his mind, that, though surrounded by misery, he dared not to plunge, uncalled, into eternity. Again, when the horrible conse- quences of his crime rushed in force upon his imagination, he felt almost irresistibly impelled to escape them by the only means left the guilt of suicide ! Thus wretchedly passed the hours of darkness : now the tor- ments of his situation drove him almost to self-murder ; and now the dread of what another world might prove, deterred him from the crime. Nor was the recent scene he had witnessed the least part of his present wretchedness sorrow for the fate of Mental, at any common period, would have powerfully afflicted him ; but when the incontrovertible evidence of his own sight and hearing proved to him the real character of Milwood, surprise, agony, and despair, took possession of his soul. Such was the the state of mind in which, early in the morning, Milwood and Zelotti discovered the poor lost Barnwell. Anxiety respecting the body of the murdered Mental brought them to ob- serve if the tide had thrown it on the shore. When Milwood first saw Barnwell, he was kneeling, his hands clasped, and his eyes were fixed on the rising sun. "Amazement!" exclaimed she. "Barnwell! Barnwell! Tell me, do my senses deceive me?" Barnwell surveyed her with a wild, inquiring gaze, but spoke not. 186 GEORGE BARNWELL. " Answer me," said she, " does he live?" "In heaven!" said Barnwell, shaking his head, and showing some blood upon his hands. "Why then are you here?" said she; "you should have re- mained in your chamber, as I directed you, to avoid suspicion. Where is the dagger? where is the miniature ?" " By his bleeding corpse !" said Barnwell, solemnly. " Fool ! madman ! Did you intend detection T My portrait left in the room! perhaps my letter too. Zelotti, we must fly this instant we must fly ! Away away ! and leave this whimper- ing boy to the fate his folly merits." She cast a look of contemptuous rage on him, and walked swiftly towards the arbour, followed by Zelotti. Barnwell, roused from his stupor of misery by this conduct, pur- sued them, exclaiming, as he went " Milwood Milwood hear me !" At the foot of the ladder he seized her hand eagerly " Lost lost woman ! Why am I still anxious concerning vou ? Why, even after you have driven me to perdition, do I still love you? Why is it, that, though I know you a murderer, I cannot cannot detest you? O, then, listen to me, Milwood ; and, instead of at- tempting to escape the just punishment of our crimes, let us sur- render ourselves to death, as the only atonement in our power, and devote the few hours we may live in preparing' for eternity !" "Canting babe preaching infant ;" cried Milwood, scornfully. " Know, fool, that she, to whom you preach, is of a nature above indulging such dreams, as haunt children of prejudice, and dupes of priestcraft, like yourself. She scon's your counsel, and despises you for offering it. To you, and such as yon, she leaves it to bend the neck submissively to laws and ordinances. Her life is her all ; she dreams of no future worlds, nor dreads accounts hereafter. On such, the puny fears of others, she builds her towering projects, and would not scruple, if she had the power, to hurl yon blazing orb of liffht from its fixed centre to destroy whole systems that opposed her purpose." " Can human nature fall so low? 7 ' cried Barnwell ; "can that which we are taught to believe emanates from Deity itself become infernal ?" " Who is this Deity you speak of? Where is his power? If he exists, why did he suffer you, a villain, maddened by lust, to murder sleeping innocence? Fool ! fool ! fool! Away, Ze- lotti." " Yet, one moment, hold," cried Barnwell. " Where is my friend where is Townley ? Oh, what must be your agony, Mil- wood, when you hear, that Townley, he whose murdered corpse, last night, you yielded to the deep, was your father?" " Already is the mighty secret known !" said she. " I know he was my father I own, too. that these hands mixed and admin- istered the dose that poisoned him ! Where was the Deity you talk of then ? Why did not his power, if he possesses it, prevent GEORGE BARN WELL. 187 so foul a deed ? I knew not, at the moment, that he was my father- : the contents of his casket, and his papers told me, that he had played a character that he was not in reality, and he has fallen in consequence. Tis possible he might have lived, but for his decep- tion." Barn well was petrified with horror and astonishment ! " In a few hours," continued Milwood, as she ascended the lad- der, " some dungeon may immerse us, if we remain, Zelotti. Come, then, nor let us waste the present opportunity." As she uttered the last words, she entered the arbour by the window. In the same instant she shrieked violently, and three men rushed down the ladder, from the window, and secured Barn- well and Zelotti. The ravings of Milwood were too horrible to describe. During their absence from the cottage, Mr. Sandall, at- tended by several of the domestics, and conducted by the informa- tion found in Barnwell's papers, had arrived there, and forced the outer gates. As the garden door was open, they had just entered the arbour, when the voice of Barnwell arrested their attention ; and concluding, from the replies of Milwood, that she was return- ing, they stationed themselves in such a manner as to secure her when she entered. The criminals were immediately conveyed be- fore a magistrate, and committed to prison. Milwood continued to rave. Zelotti loaded her with reproaches ; but Barnwell silently hung down his head, and endeavoured to conceal the tears, that bedewed his pallid cheeks. CHA PTER XLV. Think timely, think, on the last dreadful day, How you will tremble there to stand exposed The foremost in the rank of guilty gho&g, That must be doom'd for murder ! DBYDEN. NIGHT approached Milwood, who, during the whole day, had sought, in vain, an opportunity of self-destruction, at length, over- come by the violent exertions of despair, sunk on her pillow, and slept. Two women, who were appointed to watch in her apart- ments, soon after midnight, were aroused by the violent shrieks which she uttered in her sleep. Pierced to the heart by her excla- mations, which seemed to indicate the most excruciating tortures of her mind, they were yet too superstitious to awaken her. Seve- ral inhabitants of the prison, alarmed by her dreadful cries, entered the apartment, and stood trembling around the bed of the despair- ing Milwood. Big drops of sweat rolled down her cheeks, her eyes were half open, her teeth gnashed horribly, and her whole frame was strongly convulsed. At length, starting up in the bed, she seized the hand of a by- stander, exclaiming, in a voice of horror " Am I in hell? Oh, 188 GEORGE BARNWELL. torment me not, my father ! do not you inflict the tortures ! Barnwell Barnwell end my miseries ! Oh, they have torn my flesh with burning pincers ! Now they are shooting sparks of fire in my eyes scorpions fasten on my breast and see, my murdered father fixes his ghastly eyes on me ! Barnwell, I own the deed : thy uncle's bleeding ghost approaches ! Save me save me ! See, they bring more brands of fire showers of fire descend! Oh, my heart burns it burns and yet I to not die !" A shivering fit now seized her, and she awoke. Casting her eyes wildly round her, by degrees she recollected her situation. Among the prisoners, who stood near her, was a clergyman confined for debt. Viewing the horrors of her mind, he was prompted to offer her some consolation. " Unhappy woman !" said he, " see the sad consequences of guilt! As yet thy terrors are only imaginary ; may they prove salutary, and lead you to seek, by heart-felt penitence, that Christian hope of mercy, which alone can calm your mind ! Are you willing I should pray with you. " She fixed her eyes upon him " Mercy!" cried she. " Pen- itence ! Pray for me ! To whom ?" " To your Almighty Judge !" " There is not an Almighty Judge 'Tis false, old man. There is not cannot no no there cannot be another world or if there is, why am I tortured with the thought of it when, if there is I I Oh! no no do not say there is another world !" " Surely, most surely, there is," said the good old man, with a vehemence that made her tremble. She struck her hand violently against her head " If, indeed, there should," exclaimed she "horrible thought! I dare not think! Oh, if you have any pity for my wretched lot, give me some potent draught, some cordial, that will drown all sense of what is past all dread of what may come !" The worthy minister who truly merited the title of a Christian priest, exerted every effort to soothe the workings of despair. He dismissed the idle gazers from the room, and was in the act of kneeling to offer up a prayer, when the poor object of his solici- tude shrieked violently, and implored him to desist. " 'Tis torture torture torture !" cried she ; "I am accursed, and I hate all good !" Finding his intentions increased her despair, in her present frame of mind, he desisted, in the hope of a more tranquil moment. By his advice, they permitted her to take some wine, and she, once more, seemed to sleep. But a few minutes, however, had elapsed, ere she awoke again, under the same impressions of horror ! " Mr. Elderton, the clergyman, had not left tfie room, but had employed himself in silent prayer. Her despair now rose to fury ; her expressions were horribly blasphemous, and assistance was necessary to keep her in her bed. Her exertions were fatal. Tn the paroxysm of her despair she burst a blood vessel ; the blood GEORGE BARNWELL. 189 gushed rapidly from her mouth, and, notwithstanding every possi- ble assistance was instantly procured, before the sun arose, de- spairing she expired ! At break of day, upon visiting Zelotti's apartment, the keeper of the prison discovered he had taken poison the preceding night. He had not undressed himself, and his corpse lay a dreadful spec- tacle, stretched upon the floor. A scrap of paper lay near him, on which were scrawled with a pencil these words, barely legible, supposed to have been written after he had drunk the poison : " Milwood there is a God! defy him not ! Zelotti." CHAPTER XLVI. What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow 1 SHAKSPERE. THE worthy clergyman, who had witnessed the dreadful death of Milwood, influenced by the pure motives of Christian charity, determined to visit the fallen victim of her wiles. Sad change had marked the face of Barnwell. The horror of guilt had marred one of the finest countenances nature ever formed. No more the rosy glow of health adorned his cheek ; no more the smile of innocence and peace hung on his lips ; no longer the tranquillity, that once dwelt in his bosom, beamed from his eyes ! Bitter misery had traced its sickly characters over all his wasted form. At the en- trance of Mr. Elderton he started, but still kept his eyes on the floor. " I have in traded," said Mr. Elderton, "upon hours which, 1 hope, are devoted to penitence, to announce to you the melancholy end of " " Oh, God !" cried Barnwell, clasping his hands together, " my mother I have slain my mother!" " No no no," said Mr. Elderton, eager to undeceive him ; "I speak of the unhappy partners of your guilt, who are now no more. The wretched woman died by the bursting of a blood vessel in a paroxysm of despair, and the man has poisoned himself!" " God forgive them!" cried Barnwell, "God forgive them ! Poor Milwood!" Even in his present awful situation, a pang shot through his heart when he heard she was gone forever ! " You mentioned a mother, sir," said Mr. Elderton ; " have you a mother?" " Oh, spare me, T beseech you, whoever you are, spare my poor bursting heart the anguish of that thought !" At that moment the door was thrown open, and Mrs. Barnwell, Eliza, and Mr. Sandall, were in the room. The rumour of Barn- 190 GEORGE BARNWELL. well's absconding by some means had reached them, and they immediately followed Sir James to Ramsgate. Soon as the wretch- ed mother saw the object which guilt had rendered her son, when attempting to meet her his fetters grated on her ears, overcome by the horrid vision, she sunk senseless on the floor. Eliza fainted on the bosom of her brother, and the prison rung with the imprecations of Barnwell on his own guilty head ! By the direction of Mr. Sandall, whose folly had permitted the interview, they were torn asunder, and conveyed home to the house that had been Mr. Emery's. The shock which Mrs. Barnwell had received was severe, and its effects, even when her senses returned, confined her to her bed, and rendered the attendance of a physician necessary. Eh'za who loved her brother almost to adoration suf- fered an inconceivable pain of heart ; but her youth enabled her to sustain the blow with less injury to her health, than their unhappy parent : an alarming attack of the asthma, to which she was subject, occasioned serious apprehensions of her life. Though the dutiful and affectionate Eliza would not quit her bed-side, she yet divided her painfully anxious thoughts between the sick couch of her pa- rent, and the sad destiny of her brother. In the mean time, Barnwell struggled to meet his fate with re- signation ; and if, at times, the horrors that surrounded him open- ed an avenue for thoughts of suicide, the truly pious Elderton was constantly at hand to administer the consolations of hope to his de- spair. Some days passed, during which the remains of Sir James Barn- well were conveyed to his late seat, and interred. Mrs. Barnwell remained confined to the bed of sickness, and very slender hope was entertained of her recovery. The unfortunate victim of unlimited confidence, Mr. Freeman, had received from the numerous and injured creditors of his house that discriminating generosity, for which the merchants of London are celebrated in every part of the globe. He received an immedi- ate and full discharge, upon assigning over all his estates, from which an annuity of six hundred pounds, for his own life and that of his daughter, were liberally settled upon them by the unanimous voice of the creditors, in opposition only to his own sincere wishes to the contrary. Mr. Drudge likewise experienced their liberality ; but the exasperation of the majority of the creditors was fully dis- played in their conduct to Emery, who, abandoned by his titled friends, was left literally destitute, and being unable to procure his certificate, the vengeance of several pursued him so far as to termi- nate the future prospects of his existence with the gloomy evils of confinement. Such was the situation of his affairs when Mr. Freeman returned to Ramsgate, after the funeral of his old friend Sir James, who had left him his executor. The greatest part of his estates were bequeathed to his wretched nephew, and, in failure of issue, to his sister and her descendants. Very handsome provision was made GEORGE BARNWELL. 191 for Mrs. Barnwell and Eliza, and, excepting a few complimentary legacies, no part of his property was bequeathed out of the family of his brother. The horrid deed of Barnwell received a still deeper tint of horror by the benevolent intentions thus displayed. Not the combined wealth of worlds is able to eradicate the cank- er speck of guilt, or prevent that course of consequence which nature has decreed. Never, perhaps, was the insufficiency of wealth to make the heart happy, more powerfully proved than in the misera- ble Barnwell's! As the awful day of public trial drew near, the channels of grief flowed in more painful violence through the heart of this most wretched family. The good and tender-hearted Freeman sympa- thized deeply with the mourners, and stole occasionally a thought from the melancholy image of his beloved daughter, bereft of reason, to mingle sorrow with them. Barnwell had particularly requested to be alone, and peremptori- ly refused the visits of all but the pious Elderton. By these means he gradually prepared his mind for those awful scenes which he was shortly to encounter. Eliza, whose mind was considerably above the common level, calling the energies of reason and the hopes of religion to her aid, thus tempered the sensibility of her heart to sustain the miseries that pressed heavily upon her. The following letter will exhibit the state of her mind. LETTER. 1 Oh, my poor brother ! Oh. George ! how shall I endure this greatest of calami- ties that coultt hare befallen me ? But I do not upbraid you, my dear, dear brother ! no, HO, it is not necessary that a sister's voice should add cruel reproofs to those which conscience, I am sure, inflicts ! Oh, could that sister's blood assuage the wounds she sees, .she feels, are in your heart! Oh, no ! her tears, her prayers, are vain ! The storm of passion, in which that heart has floated, leaves it a wreck beyond all repara- tion! Tiiat noble, generous, manly heart that heart which was our boast, our But let me turn from the painful retrospect to what ? Oh, mighty God, support me I to what ? To the sad, solitary cell that holds thee, that dear, loved brother, who has often clasped me, in pure transport, to his fonder breast ! to those chains, whose weight is nothing to thy limbs, but a load of infamy to thy once great soul! Is this the spectacle on which imagination now must gaze ? Would the dreary picture finished here ! But, ah ! sad. trembling' culprit how wilt thou face the members of that com- munity whose laws thou hast violated ? How wilt thou meet a fellow-man's offended countenance, whose very nature is debase;! by a crime like thine ! " These are torturiir.' thoughts ; but these are not thy keenest sufferings ! I know how often the reflection of a mother's, of a sister's agonies kindle in thy breast ! thy brain flames fiercer than the fires of Etna ! But, ah ! poor sufferer ! even this is not the climix of thy miseries Imagination tortures thee with all the dreadful apparatus of a public ignominious death ; but there behold the period ! In the shame, in the pain of that hour, my loved, though fallen brother, view the consequences 'of thy crimes, and Heaveai strengthen thee *.o meet them ! " Now droopiiiir spirit, rise ! Beyond that gulf a sweetly-soothing strain lures thy approach Hope beckons thee to brighter realms ! No more, then, let the agonized eight be limited to the bounds of time ! Endure yet a little longer the chequered scones of life, where passion wars with reason, and the benevolent mind trembles to contemplate the oriffin of vice and woe ! Behold a glorious vision, which the wonder- in; soul wakes to admit e, a DF.ITV DISPLAYED! Nor fear to raise thine eye ! Away with terrors of imaginary wrath away with impious expectations of retaliating fury ! Doubt not that God is Love, ami when necessity demands no more evil, then from the sourcn of love, shall flow UNMIXGLED GOOD ! "May peace spread her wings o'er thy miud, prays "Your affectionate sister, E. B." 192 GEORGE BARNWELL. The solemn moment now arrived, that placed Barn well at the bar of temporal justice. The court was crowded with spectators, and, as his fatal story was generally known, there was scarcely an individual present, whose eye did not testify the compassion of his heart. The pale and trembling culprit pleaded guilty in a voice barely audible ! The judge pronounced the awful sentence of death in the usual words, at the conclusion of which Barnwell ex- claimed " Oh, God !" placed his hands before his eyes, and was removed from the bar. Conveyed to the cell appropriated to the wretched victims of death, he was left to his own reflections, and, having solicited pen, ink, and paper, he committed several of his thoughts to writing : " Saturday Evening, 9 o'clock, ' " I am condemned to die I know the very hour of my dissolution On Monday morning at 8 o'clock I shall Why do I still feel this weight of shame ? Why is the ignominy of death even yet more painful to nie than any apprehensions of its tor- tures ! A spectacle ! a public punishment! a warning exhibition to the wicked of society ! Oh, my poor, expiring mother, was it for this yon suffered the anguish of my birth 1 was it for this, with anxious, fond attention, you hung over my cradle, aud watched the very moment of my infant wants ! Was it for this most shameful end, oh, spirit of my sainted father, for this, that you, with the same tender vigilance, gazed on the opening intellect, nurtured each growing virtue, and rooted out the early weeds of vice ! "Oh, hear me on my knees, thou sacrcJ shade, and send some ministering angel to calm the soul of thy afflicted, lost, and guilty son ! Oh, no! I see thee frown I see thee point a bloody dagger to thy brother's grave, and hear the host of heaven shriek abhorrence also foul a crime ! Father, I own it 'twas this parricidal hand but re- collection sickens at the thought my brain is giddy, and my heart's blood chills with horror at the bare idea ! Tell me, then, some holy sage, oh, tell me, how shall ever peace again be wooed within this bosom ? "How could I do it ! can it be possible ! -was it this very beart, this same mind that now shudders at the memory of the act, th:it could devise a mischief, which, were it to do again, I think no power on earth, nor fiend of hell, could, by all its tortures, force me to commit ! Murder ! Oh, God ! have I not pitied the sacrifice of a lamb to man's necessities? Have I not often saved a captive fly from the torturing pastimes of my school follows ? And yet I have committed murder ! and on whom a fellow- creature 1 worse a benefactor ! 'Twas a devil's blow ! " Oh, Milwood ! dare I, in such a solemn moment, so near, so very near the dread- ful entrance of eternity dare I call back the spirit that has flitted over the gulf that is before me, bid it appear in that form of beauty that kindled the flame of lust in ray bosom ? Dare I inquire how, or from whence, those tumults sprung, that hurried on the soul to its destruction ! Oh, vast rasenrch ! chaos of inquiry ! 'Till thy form at- tracted me, till thy touch, intoxicated me Oh, fatal beauty ! I could not have allowed even a thought of injury to a fellow-creature admission to my heart! What, then, wert thou, oh, wondrous power, what was the nature of that potent influence, which thy charms shed over my soul, that it could change the soft and gentle influences of compassion, that ever played around my heart, into the maddened impulse of a parri- cide ? Say, was it passion V As Barnwell wrote the last sentence, the pious Mr. Elderton en- tered the cell, and, casting his eye over his paper, caught the ques- tion. " Yes, my young friend," said he, " 'twas passion ; but ask thyself, if, in the composition of our natures, passion has no anti- dote? Where was the voice of reason, when first the subtle tempter wooed thee to thy ruin?" " Stifled," said Barnwell, " by the stronger cries of passion." " Granted," said Mr. Elderton ; " but passion's boisterous breath became at length exhausted, and conscience then was heard ! Ah, GEORGE BARN WELL. 193 poor friend !" continued he, taking him affectionately by the hand, " had you but listened then, though you had sinned, yet how far short would you have stopped of your present depth of guilt ! But I wonder not, when I contemplate the uncommon talents of the se- ducer, the frailties of nature, and the inexperience of your heart. Had you but revealed your situation, the strong foundation of all Milwood's plans must have vanished, and you would have been saved. Fatal reverse ! Oh, may the dread example operate with every hesitating youth, who, bending beneath the weight of secret shame, longs, yet dreads, to confide his sorrows and his errors in some pitying breast. And may each individual, honoured with the name of parent, or of guardian, who hears thy woful story, aim, with increasing zeal, to WIN THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTHFUL HEARTS ! May they reflect of what warring compounds human hearts are framed, reflect how much at variance with the institutions of society are many of our passions ! And God forgive the man, who, by a COLD FROWN at venial errors, shall DRIVE HIS SON TO HIDE THE WEAKNESS OF HIS NATURE IN AN ALIEN'S BREAST ! But let us turn from a painful retrospect to scenes where Christian hope points our attention." Fortunately for Barnwell, Mr. Elderton was no bigot ; he la- boured not to bend his penitent to the feigned belief of controverted doctrines ; he laboured not to exchange the principles of reason for Christian iaith, but aimed to strengthen the hopes of the former, by the assurances of the latter. He succeeded, and the last thoughts of Barnwell were thus expressed, with a tranquillity that consoles the heart, which pities his sad end, and bows the spirit that would question the JUSTICE of that OMNIPOTENCE, that permitted his fall. Sunday, midnight. "A few more fleeting hours! How awful rolls the echo of the midnight bell along these dark anil dismal vaults! Solemn, silent hour! How many sons of care now sleep, lightened of their anxious loads! I, too, shall shortly sleep but they shall wake again to care again become the sport of hopes and fears ! Shall /, too, wake ? Say, can the narrow limits of an earthly life bound the existence of the aspiring soul ! O, trembling inmate of this frail form, prepare ! thy present tenement in a few hours falls, forever falls ! Prepare to wing thy flight, see brighter realms appear, and kindred spirits wait to waft thee to their blest abode ! I'll think no more of earth, then ! Mother sister friends and if I have a foe all, all farewell! Seek not to know why Heaven permitted murder, or how my arm has done a deed, at which my heart recoils ! Kvil is in the world ; and man's best employ is to avoid its certain consequences as much as possible himself, and, if he have benevolence of heart, study to ameliorate its sad effects on others. There is, there must be, a recompense for virtue, oft denied here, since even guilty wretches, like myself, can feel a hope, that sustains the soul at the approach of ignominious death ! a hope not to be defined a hope beyond their comprehension who do not feel its influence. Yet is it not less real, less worth research ; for, in the agonies of dissolution, what sounds so soothing to the soul, as the sweet voice that whispers 'There is another and a better world !' " These were the last words he wrote. The hour of suffering, of shame, of death arrived, and Barnwell having penitently yielded to the consequences of his crimes, his liberated spirit winged its trembling flight to the bright throne of mercy ! The pangs a mother felt at this sad catastrophe who can de- 194 GEORGE BARNWELt. scribe ! Happily, they were short soon the welcome herald, Death, arrived, and changed those temporal scenes, a son's crimes had rendered painful, for views of bliss no clouds can ever darken! Maria, too, fell, like a blighted blossom, to the earth, and with her last sigh mingled the name of Barn well. The worthy Mr. Freeman met the event with calm, yet heart- felt sorrow. The painful vicissitudes of fortune, reserved for this, the evening of his life, had bowed his mind ; and having stripped him of this his last hold on earthly bliss, he endured, with resigna- tion, an existence of tranquillity, almost without a hope or an anxiety ! Eliza, the sister of Barnwell, became his charge, and if ever a temporal concern floated in his mind, it was on her account. By the recent sad events, she acquired the very large property of her late uncle, and retired with her guardian to his residence. Sorrow oft visited her in this retirement, when memory mused on melan- choly scenes gone by. Yet Eliza struggled with regret : she had imbibed some early lessons of sound and pure philosophy, the ad- vantages of which now shone conspicuous. She contemplated, with earnestness, her situation, and the strongest feeling of her heart was a dread, that she should misapply the loan of wealth, which Heaven had entrusted to her care. Her next concern was, to render Mr. Freeman as happy as her society and means could make him, and she aimed with zealous dil- igence to amuse his reflection from the past. The situation of the Miss Emerys and their mother attracted her attention, and indulged her with an opportunity of exercising that benevolence which was the chief trait in her character. With the consent of Mr. Free- man, she afforded them an asylum in her house, and studied to make their dependence as little felt as possible. She frequently enabled the daughters, by her generosity, to remit those comforts to their father which ameliorated the horrors of confinement ; and she looked forward to the termination of her minority for the pleas- ing ability of placing them beyond the fear of dependence, by the settlement of an annuity that would ensure them, with frugality, the decencies, though not the luxuries, of life. In such delightful employ we leave Eliza, whose discriminating generosity afforded her many heartfelt pleasures, and the exercise of which was her constant resource, whenever memory pointed to the consequences of CONCEALED ERRORS in the melancholy fate of her brother. v'V ft. ;SB UBRMIV .