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 No. 6, PANYER ALLEY, PATERNOSTER ROW, 
 
 And 29, Temple Street, Bristol, 
 
 THE 
 
 MYSTERIOUS MARRIAGE; 
 
 OR, THE WILL OF MY FATHER. 
 
 Btf Mrs.C G. fFARD, Authoress of the Rose ofClaremont — 
 Foems — The Daughter of St. Omer — My Native Land, ifc. 
 
 Complete in 27 weekly Numbers, price 6d. each, being 
 the Fourth Edition of this most popular and admired work, 
 with entire new plates, appropriate to the subjects, en- 
 graved by the most eminent artists. — The present pub- 
 lisher has spared no expense to render it still more worthy 
 of the hi^h estimation in which it ranks with the public. 
 
 There is, perhaps, no work of its kind more calculated for the 
 instruction and amusement of the youthful mind, at the same 
 instant that it furnishes a lesson for the more advanced season of 
 life; — tlie chaste simplicity of its style, the originality of its 
 characters, and the moral which it conveys, are so excellent, that 
 it can never fade on the recollection : it is impressive j it can 
 neither be treated with levity, nor reflected on without a con- 
 sciousness that we ourselves are the children of error, and that 
 it is only by the practice of superior virtue we can expect to 
 enjoy superior happiness. 
 
 Sequel to the above — noio publishing, 
 
 FAMILY PORTRAITS; 
 
 OR, THE DESCENDANTS OF TRELAWNEY. 
 
 Bi/ Mrs. C. G. fFARD, Authoress of the M ysteriousMarriage, ifc. 
 
 To be comprised in 25 Numbers, with Engravings. 
 
 This beautiful, moral, and interesting work is very justly 
 recommended to the attention of the readers. It contains a 
 highly finished portraiture of living manners as they rise ; it 
 searches nature through all its variety, and originality i^ admira- 
 bly preserved by the Authoress, in all the successive scenes she 
 has so accurately displayed. Whether we wander with her over 
 the boundaries of the vast Atlantic Ocean, or retire to the more 
 tranquil vale of rural and sequestered happiness, still we are 
 charmed with the powers of her creative fancy — one distinguishing 
 feature giving life to the whole of her Family Portraits, by 
 calling into existence the sweetest charms of her sex — Piety,- 
 Principle, and Sensibility. 
 
Juit published by GEORGE VIRTUE, G, Patiyer Alley 
 Paternoster Row, London, ^-29, Temple Street, Bristol^ 
 
 An entirely oiioinal ai?d interesting- Work, to be 
 conipletetl in about 25 Numbers, entitled 
 
 THE ORPHAN BOY; 
 
 OR, TEST OF liXiNOCENCE. 
 Intended as a Seqvel to FJITIIERLESS FAjYNY. 
 
 By Mrs. C G. fF^ R D , AutJwress of the Mysterious Marriage,l^c. 
 
 In the above interesting work, nature and art are combined 
 with the simple, the grand, and sublime. Tlie moral tendency of 
 which conveys instruction lo the youthful and inexperienced mind, 
 while it offers a useful and impressive lesson to mankind. 
 
 Handsomely printed in Three neat pocket volumes, and 
 embellished with 12 Engravings, to be completed in 
 28 Numbers, at 6d. each, 
 
 CHRYSAL; 
 
 OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A GUINEA. 
 
 By AN ADEPT. 
 
 Wherein are exhibited Views of several striking Scenes, with 
 interesting Anecdotes of the most noted Persons in every Rank 
 of Life, through whose hands it has passed. 
 
 To be completed in about 21 Numbers, at 6d. each, with 
 
 Engravings, 
 
 ADVENTURES 
 
 IN SEARCH OF A REAL FRIEND, 
 
 Throuob the Cities of London and Westminster, 
 
 By HENRY FIELDING, Esq. AtitJwr of Tom Jones, S;c. 
 
 The Works of Fielding, pourtraying the various virtues and 
 vices incident to human nature, in s^ true and correct a light, 
 and with a degree of life unequalled, have stamped his charac- 
 ter as an author among the highest walks of Novel writers j and 
 the Public being so well awiire of his merits, little need there- 
 fore be said, by way of recommendat'on, on introducing the 
 present new and elegant edition of his "Adventures In bearch of 
 a Real Friend" to their notice ;--the Publisher cannot, however, 
 refrain from stating that, in it will be found a true picture of 
 i-eal life> drawn in a style at once amusing and instructive. 
 
Pfcfacc. 
 
 This Novel is one of the newest and most modern now 
 extant, and is out of the common track of novel writing: 
 it is an attempt to unite the various merits and graces of 
 the ancient romance and modern novel; and, like history, 
 represent human nature as real life. To attain this end, 
 there is required a degree of the marvellous to excite 
 the attention, and real manners of life to give an air of 
 probability to the work, and to engage the heart in its 
 behalf. The characters are admirably drawn and sup- 
 ported ; the diction polished and elegant; and the whole 
 KO closely connected, as to keep the imagination of the 
 reader continually alive to the subject before him. 
 
 Thus mankind are naturally pleased with what gratifies 
 their vanity ; and vanity, like all other passions of the 
 human heart, may be rendered subservient to good and 
 useful purposes. 
 
 The reader is not, therefore, confused with the associa- 
 tion of truth with fiction, although fiction is the basis of 
 the story. The passion that awakens and gives energy 
 
H PREFACE. 
 
 to life, is alone painted in those colours which Aurora 
 gives to the morning, when all animated nature wakes to 
 feast on the luxuriant fruits of summer, when all is 
 ccstacy, harmony, and joy. 
 
 Venal orators, who are dissatisfied with their own 
 situation, ever discover either vice or error in the most 
 meritorious performances. This production is submitted 
 to the candour of a generous public, who ever censure 
 with lenity, and reward with liberality. 
 
 It seemed to me that it was possible to compose a work 
 upon the same plan, wherein these defects might be 
 avoided; and the keeping, as in painting, might be pre- 
 served. But then I began to fear it might happen to me 
 as to certain translators and imitators of Shakspeare, the 
 unities may be preserved while the spirit is evaporated ; 
 however, I ventured the attempt, and read it to a circle 
 of friends of approved judgment. 
 
FATHERLESS FANNY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Seminary . 
 
 In one of those polite seminaries devoted to fe- 
 male instruction, with which the environs of 
 London abound, lived Miss Bridewell, whose 
 despotic sway within the limits of her own juris- 
 diction, was certainly equal to that of the most 
 potant monarch in the civilized world, not ex- 
 cepting the great Napoleon himself. Her word 
 was law — her nod was fate — and her approbation 
 or displeasure settled the degree of consequence 
 enjoyed by every individual that approached her. 
 Miss Bridewell had been many years a precept- 
 ress of youth : so many years, that she began to 
 entertain thoughts of changing her appellation of 
 courtesey from Miss to Mrs. ; still, however, this 
 arrangement was delayed, and the juvenile title 
 was now the only remains of youthful pretentions. 
 With increase of years, however, Miss Bridewell 
 had the consolation of enjoying a proportionate 
 increase of fortune. When she made her first debut 
 as a governess, it was in a small house at Bromp- 
 ton, where a large board disclosed her's to be a 
 boarding school for young ladies. Her talents 
 as a school mistress, however, soon raised her 
 
^ FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 from this honourable station, and she opened 
 Cannondale House with all the eclat of modern 
 splendour. Still, however, amongst the nume- 
 rous scholars that crowded her highly esteemed 
 seminary^ some plebeian souls would creep in — 
 scarcely could the immense sums their parents 
 paid for their education, reconcile the stately Miss 
 Bridewell to the degradation of admitting them 
 into her circle. The happy lime at length ar- 
 rived, in which the flourishing state of Miss 
 Bridewell's finances enabled her to form an esta- 
 blishment upon more exalted principles. Cannon- 
 dale House was let at an enorinous premium, be- 
 sides an exorbitant rent, to a governess of a 
 subordinate degree, who was glad of an oppor- 
 tunity of treading in t{)e successful sre})s other 
 predecessor, and whose soul had not yet risen 
 above the proiilal)le task of teaching the children 
 of ambitious tradesmen. The soaring mind of 
 Miss Bridewell uas not, however, so easily con- 
 tented. Ladies of title, or at least of high family, 
 were alone the object of her atleniioo, and the 
 name of establJshmeni was given lo her seminary, 
 as having a grander sound, and beiter suited to 
 her exalted ideas. Indeed, ever since the esta- 
 blishment of the P of Wales, every petty 
 
 family's arrangement has assumed that dignified 
 appellation amongst the sons and daughters of 
 ion. We all know, however, ihat, there are many 
 people of high rank, who are straitened in their 
 circumstances, and whose names, although they 
 may bestow eclat^ will not support expence. Miss 
 Bridewell soon found tliis, and it induced her to 
 admit a few rich heiresses, as a great favour, into 
 the happy group that formed her establishment. 
 As she was a true disciple of the world, she be- 
 stowed her favours, which cost her nothing, in 
 proportion as she received those from her pupils, 
 that cost a great deal. The house Miss Bridewell 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 
 
 inhabited was spacious and elegant, and possessed 
 all the requisites of modern reHnement. A bou- 
 doir, that indispensable apartment for a real fine 
 lady; adiawin^; room, diningparlour, with break- 
 fast parlour and study, were the apartments de- 
 voted to the use of the governess ; whilst a very 
 spacious room, to which she had given the ap- 
 propriate title of la salle des sciences^ was occu- 
 pied by the young ladies during their hours of 
 impi'ovement. The house itself stood in a shrub- 
 bery, with a velvet lawn before the door: the 
 windows were on the French construction, and 
 adorned by virandas, whilst the most costly dis- 
 play of orange trees, and other exotics of the 
 rarest kind, gave the coup d'oeU, to the entrance 
 of Myrtle Grove, as tltis retreat of the muses 
 was ])oeUcally denominated. The decorations 
 of the house in the inside, were in a style of ele- 
 gance that corresponded with its outward appear- 
 ance, and every article of furniture which has 
 been invented to indulge the luxury, or gratify the 
 pride of this age of refinement, were there assem- 
 bled, to prove at once the taste and opulence of 
 the proprietor. — Could it be possible for pride to 
 be happy. Miss Bridewell must have been so, but 
 it is well known by every common observer, that 
 the gratification of our passions never yet gave 
 the happiness it promised, and pride above all 
 other feelings is the hardest to be satisfied. Miss 
 Bridewell was far from happy, for her haughty 
 temper was insatiable of homage, and, notvvith- 
 standing she supported imperial dignity amongst 
 her immediate dependents, she always felt that 
 uneasiness inseparable from conscious unvvorthi- 
 ness, whenever she went into pubbc. She fancied 
 if she was independent, she should be more res- 
 pected, and deplored the necessity there was for 
 hercontinuing the occupation of governess so long 
 after the aggrandisement of her wishes had ren- 
 
4 FATHEIILESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 dered every thing short of haut-ton degrading to 
 her inflated pride. Her domestic establishment 
 was on a very large scale ; she had two men, a 
 coachman and a porter at the gate, besides a 
 proportionate number of female servants ; and 
 this stately parade was become so necessary to 
 her existence, that it obliged her to pursue that 
 occupation which alone could preserve it for her. 
 Her avarice, therefore, increased with her in- 
 creasing fortune, and rendered her the ready tool 
 of every person whose power or riches seemed to 
 promise to assist in supporting the consequence 
 she prized so highly. Miss Bridewell, like other 
 ladies who have establishments for education, had 
 a limited number of pupils, and as her price was 
 exorbitant, the number was generally on the 
 deficit side of the question; and, notwithstanding 
 her constant boast of the many applications she 
 was obliged to refuse, she felt herself more fre- 
 quently anxious because of their poverty than 
 their multitude. 
 
 During the Christmas vacation in 1798, Miss 
 Bridewell being from home on a visit at the house 
 of one of her right honourable pupils, the care of 
 her family was left to the inspection of the lady 
 who was styled sub-governess in the teaching de- 
 partment. This lady, whose name was Dawson, 
 had long been a great favourite with her em- 
 ployer, because her disposition was of that sup- 
 ple kind, that is exactly suited to an intercourse 
 with such imperious people as Miss Bridewell, 
 whom she took care to flatter on the weak side of 
 her understanding, and by that means led her 
 which ever way she pleased. 
 
 Two young ladies, who were West Indians of 
 large fortune, always passed the holidays at 
 Myrtle Grove ; and Mrs. Dawson was sitting 
 one dismal evening with them in the drawing- 
 room, vainly endeavouring to dispel the ennui 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. « 
 
 that had crept into the company, by relating a 
 long string of adventures that had befallen her 
 during the reign of Robespierre, which term of 
 terror liad been passed by Mrs. Dawson at Paris, 
 subject to the vicissitudes of that dreadful era. 
 Miss Barlowe declared there was not such a bore, 
 in her opinion, as long dismal stories : and Miss 
 Emily, her sister, observed with a yawn, that she 
 wished there existed a probability of an interrup- 
 tion to the tedium of their solitude, fiK)m the 
 arrival of company. Just as she spoke, a violent 
 ring at the carriage gate made them all jump. 
 " Company !" exclaimed Miss Emily Barlowe, 
 dancing about in an ecstacy of joy, " company, 
 company, and we shall have something to amuse 
 us at last." A servant came into tlie room at this 
 momiiit, leading a little girl by the hand, of the 
 most prepossessing appearance, and announced to 
 Mrs. Daws'^a, tluJt a lady in a very dashing 
 equipage desired to speak with her at the gate. 
 Mrs. Dawson was very much disturbed at this 
 request, as she was particularly afraid of 
 catching cold; and one servant was sent for 
 her shawl, another for clogs, and another for 
 her swansdown lippet, while she stood lament- 
 ing the untoward circumstance that exposed 
 her to the dreadful danger: at length she was 
 equipped to her mind, and ordering the ser- 
 vant to hold an umbrella over her head, she 
 proceeded to greet the unseasonable visitor. A 
 tiiousand questions succeeded one another, in 
 swift succession, to the servant that attended 
 her, ending with a wonder of who it could pos- 
 sibly be, that had taken such a strange hour to 
 coiiie out of town. The man professed his igno- 
 rance, and poor Mrs. Dawson reached the<)arriage 
 gate as wise as she set out. But, heavens ! what 
 was her surprise and consternation when the por- 
 ter told her that the carriage was that instant 
 
» FATHERLESS I ANNY ; OR 
 
 gone. " The lady waited," said he, " as long as 
 she could, ma'am, but finding you did not come, 
 she said she must go, as her time was precious, 
 and that she would call again ; but she said, 
 jna'am," added the man " there was a letter in the 
 young lady's trunk that will explain every thing." 
 Mrs. Dawson turned herselfround in high dudgeon, 
 and walked back to the house in silence ; a secret 
 fear pervaded her mind that she should incur 
 Miss Bridewell's displeasure, although, excepting 
 in her time she had wasted in equipping herself, 
 she could not be implicated in the blame of re- 
 ceiving the child, without seeing the person who 
 brought it. When Mrs. Dawson returned to the 
 drawing room, she found tlie two Miss Barlowe's 
 amusing themselves with their new companion, 
 who was a beautiful little girl about live years 
 old, and who appeared as much delighted with 
 her playfellows, as they were with her. "This 
 is the sweetest little angel that ever was seen," 
 said Miss Emily, " pray dear Mrs. Dawson, tell 
 me ivho she is? the little creature herselt'says she 
 has no name beside Fanny." " Indeed I know 
 nothing about her," said Mrs Dawson, throwing 
 .herself down on the sofa, " I have a great mind 
 to send her to the workhouse, for I suspect it is 
 a mere swindlinj^ trick to impose the child upon 
 Miss Bridewell/' " The workhouse ! dear Mrs. 
 Dawson, how can you talk so shockiiig ?'' said 
 Miss Barlowe, " I vow you are a worse tyrant 
 than the horrid Robespierre you have been talking 
 so much about." Miss Barlowe was very generous 
 where she liked, and Mrs. Dawson had often 
 felt the pleasing effects of her bount}' ; she was 
 not willing, therefore, to incur the censure of 
 so convei-ieiit a friend, and as siie was well versed 
 in the art of lackins; about, she changed her note 
 in a minute, and taking th« child upon her knee, 
 £,ht- siud. " It is a pretty little creature, irulced. 
 
rnii LiTTLj; mcndicant. 7 
 
 my dear; I believe 1 should be as unlikel3' Jis your- 
 self to act unkindly towards her. VVliat is your 
 name, poppet ?" continued Mrs. Dawson, address- 
 ing- the child. " Fanny," answered the little in- 
 nocent. " And your otiier name," asked her 
 interrogator. " I have no other name," said the 
 child. " Who is your lather, my dear .^" " 1 
 have none," answered the prattler; " they used to 
 call me Fatherless Fanny." " Who were those 
 that called you so ?" '' 1 don't know," replied 
 the child ; " Mrs. Sydney was my mamma, and 
 that's all I can tell you." " Oh dtar I" inter- 
 rupted Mrs. Dawson, giving little Fanny to Miss 
 Barlowe, " I hafl forgotten to ask for the chikrs 
 trunk ; the porter says there is a letter in it that 
 M'ill explain every tbing." So saying, she 
 pulled the bell, and ordered the servant to 
 bring up the young lady's trunk, that was just 
 come : the servant obeyed ; and the girls pressed 
 round Mrs. Dawson, wiiilst she opened it, with 
 an eagerness of curiosity, that put the innocent 
 proprietor entirely out of their heads. On the 
 top of the package lay a letter, directed for 
 Miss Bridewell ; and as Mrs. Dawson con- 
 sidered herself that lady's representative, she 
 did not scruple to satisfy her curiosity, by 
 opening it, when the first object that presented 
 itself to her eyes on so doing, was a bank post 
 bill for two hundred pounds. " This ticket is 
 not a blank at least," exclaimed she, holding 
 open the note to the young ladies: she theii 
 proceeded to peruse the letter, and found the 
 following words: — 
 
 " The young lady who will be the companion 
 of this letter, is nobly born, and entitled to a 
 large fortune. Reasons, which cannot with 
 prudence be revealed, oblige her friends to con- 
 ceal her in some safe retreat for a few years. 
 Miss Bridewell is selected as tJie most eligible 
 
8 FATHERLESS *ANN\ , OR 
 
 preceptress for little Faniiy, to whose care, 
 therefore, she is consigned, with a strict charge 
 not to spare expense or labour in the education 
 of the child. I'he sum enclosed will be paid 
 yearly into Miss Bridewell's hands for the sup- 
 port of her ward, who is to be distinguished by 
 the appellation of Fanny only." 
 
 " There,^' said Mrs. Dawson, exultingly, '' I 
 am glad this affair has turned out so well, for 
 I was sadly afraid we should have a hurricane 
 at Miss Bridewell's return : but come, let us ex- 
 amine the little brat's wardrobe ; we shall 
 guess by that whether the account of her he 
 true or not." The clothes >vere produced, 
 and the profusion of fine muslins and ex- 
 pensive lace, of which they were composed^ 
 convinced the committee that Fannj^ was, indeed, 
 the personage the letter described iier to be. Yet 
 no trinket or picture appeared which might serve 
 as a ouide to ascertain her identity, when she 
 should be re-demanded by her friends after a 
 lapse of years had altered her person. When the 
 examination was finished, the ladies re-seated 
 themselves on the sola, where they found poor 
 Fanny extended at her full length, and fast asleep. 
 The bell was now rung, and a maid-servant 
 ordered to attend the new comer to bed. Family 
 Barlowe entreated she might share her's, " and do 
 let her be my child, Mrs. Dawson, indeed 1 will 
 teach her, and take care of her, and becoipie quite 
 a mother to her. Now say you will, my dear dear 
 Dawson," " Al), you cunning puss," replied 
 Mrs. Dawson, " thus it is that you always have 
 your way with me.'' " Oh, then 1 may have her !'* 
 interrupted Miss Emily, snatching the child up in 
 her arms, " Sweet little innocent, how I shall 
 <Ioat upon her." " You will spoil your shape, 
 Emily," said her sister, " if you carry that heavy 
 child about, and what do you think mamma will 
 
THE LllTLE MLNDKANT. 9 
 
 say wlieii she sees you ?'* " Papa desired me not 
 to spoil my heart," answered Emily, " and there- 
 fore 1 am sure he will ap])roveot" my doing any 
 thing' that keeps the amiahie feelings of humanity 
 in exercise." I'he sweet girl with her little charge 
 in her arms, now left the room, attended by the 
 maid ; Miss Barlowe was left alone with Mrs. 
 Dawson. " That girl," said the former, speaking 
 of her sister, " has such plebeian notions, she w ill 
 never make a fine lady." " Emily is very good- 
 natured," rejoined Mrs. Dawson, " but she cer- 
 tainly wants dignity ; that, hovvever, will not be 
 missed with her peiile figure." ^\ hen Emily re- 
 turned to the drawing room from putting the 
 sleeping Fanny to bed, she said, " my little girl 
 has got the prettiest necklace and bracelets made 
 of hair and locked with bullion, that ever were 
 made. 1 dare say they are composed of her 
 father and mother's hair, for i can perceive there 
 are two sorts, but 1 would not unclasp them, for 
 fear of waking the little stranger." 
 
 " 1 daresay," said Miss Barlowe, with a sar- 
 castic smile, " Emily will compose twenty ro- 
 mances upon the subject of this enfant troi/vee.'* 
 " Then they shall ail have happy terminations,"* 
 answered Emily, " for I am determined my dear 
 little Fanny shall be a fortunate heroine." 
 
 The next day when the blooming Fanny, with 
 her ' crisped locks' of golden brown, her large blue 
 eyes, and lips like the parted rose bud, made her 
 appearance at breakfast, every beholder was 
 charmed, and " sweet little creature"echoed from 
 every tongue. Even Mrs. Dawson, who was 
 generally apathy itself, where interest did not 
 excite emotion, felt her heart moved in favour of 
 the little stranger, hinumerable tjuestions were 
 addressed to the sweet prattler, but her lisping 
 accents gave but little satisfaction to the curiosity 
 of her interrogators. T'liey could only learn by 
 
lO FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 their questions that she had no jjapa, that she had 
 been used to live in very fine rooms, and that Mrs. 
 Sydney was her mamma, and that she was a very 
 old lady, and wore a black hood over her cap like 
 a picture, and that a pretty lady used to kiss her 
 at night after she was in bed, and cry over her, 
 and call her poor Fatherless Fanny, and that she 
 never saw that lady excepting at night. This was 
 the sum total of what they could collect, and they 
 were obliged accordingly to give over questioning 
 her. Of the bracelets and necklace which she 
 wore, and which had " Fanny" engraved, at full 
 length, in the inside of the chisps, she could give 
 no other account than that she found them on her 
 neck and arms one morning when she awoke, and 
 that Mamma S^^dney had said the fairies brought 
 them because she was a good girl. 
 
 After little Fanny's arrival at Myrtle Grove, no 
 complaint was made by the young ladies of the 
 enmii that had hitherto consumed them ; her 
 frolicsome gambols could even induce Miss 
 Barlowe to dispense with her dignity, and join the 
 little fairy on tiie lawn before the jiouse; but Emily 
 perfectly doated upon her adopted child, and 
 could scarcely be prevailed upon by Mrs. Daw- 
 son to practise the hours which her progress in 
 music demanded. At length Miss Bridewell came 
 home from her visit in a very ill humour ; her 
 vanity was considerably inflated by the attentions 
 she had received during her stay at the Mar- 
 quis of Petersfield's ; but, alas ! her purse had not 
 been proportionably increased ; for, although 
 her account for Lady Maria and Lady Isa- 
 bella Trentham's education, was of three years* 
 standing, no notice was taken of discharging it. 
 The fear of losing such honours as she could not 
 enjoy elsewhere, deterred Miss Bridewell from 
 pressing her demand, and an additional share of 
 the Marquis and Maichioness's good graces wa^ 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 11 
 
 ihe consequence of such complaisance ; but as I 
 hnve before observed, neither honours nor good 
 graces will support a houeshoid, and Miss Bride- 
 well, much as she loved great people's sufferance, 
 felt most sensibly that it might be purchased too 
 dearly. She had her extravagances as well as 
 the lords and ladies with whom she was so fond 
 of associating, and it was abominably provoking 
 to think that she could not purchase their society, 
 without giving up the hopes of receiving what 
 could alone enable her to support the additional 
 expense incurred by its indulgence. 
 
 Full of these reflections, Miss Bridewell entered 
 her own mansion. It was evening when she 
 arrived, and little Fanny was already retired to 
 bed. Mrs, Dawson was summoned to attend Miss 
 Bridewell in her boudoir, as soon as she had a little 
 recovered the fatigue of her journey, and requested 
 hertogiveanaccoiHitoftheoccurrencesduringher 
 absence. The wily favourite perceiving that her 
 superior wasdisconcerted at something which had 
 crossed her wishes, endeavoured to find out what 
 the grievance was, before she began her narrative, 
 that she might suit her story to the humour of the 
 moment ; with a look of anxiet}', therefore, and 
 an affectionate pressure of the hand, she said, 
 " excuse me, dear madam, but I cannot speak on 
 any subject foreign to the one that now engrosses 
 my mind, until you have quieted my apprehen- 
 sions respecting yourself: your looks betray un- 
 easiness ; deign to confide your sorrow to the 
 most faithful of your friends ?" " You are a 
 good creature, Dawson," replied Miss Bridewell, 
 '' and deserve to be trusted ; your anxiety, how- 
 ever, has overrated my present grievances, as I 
 assure you they are nothing more than what 
 spring from pecuniary disappointment. The 
 Marquis has not settled that long account, nor 
 even offered to acrommodate me with apart, and 
 
1'2 rATHERLESS FANNY ; OK 
 
 I have some pajments to make that woiiid ren- 
 der a couple of hundreds very acceptable to me 
 just now ; as all the money i am sure of receiving, 
 is appropriated before it comes, for the expenses 
 of the last year. It is very hard to beoblitired to 
 abridge myself of ail those enjoyments which are 
 suited to my taste, and to which my pretensions 
 are certainly well founded : two hundred pounds 
 would be absolute]}' worth four to me at this 
 moment." Mrs. Dawson smiled, and turning- 
 out of the room, without speaking, went in search 
 of her pocket book, which contained the bank 
 bill that had been received wiili little Fanny. So 
 fortunate an opening to her cause was, indeed, as 
 far above her hopes as her expectations ; and, like 
 a skilful lawyer, Mrs. Dawson knew well how to 
 take advantage of it. \V hen she re-entered the 
 room, she presented the pocket book to Miss 
 Bridewell. " Would to heaven," said she, " it 
 were always in my power to administer thus for- 
 tunately to your exigencies, wiiat wish of my 
 dear friesid's would then remain ungratified ?'* 
 Miss Bridewell looked surprised, but mecha- 
 nically opening the book, she cast her eye upon 
 the bank bill. " My dear Dawson," said she, as 
 she took it in her hand, " what can this mean ?" 
 *'• St xneans, my dear madam, that the two hun- 
 dred jjounds you were just w isiiing for is there, 
 at your command." Ahs. Dawson then related 
 the story of Fanny's arrival — produced the letter, 
 and described the child as a perfect cherub in 
 beauty, and a prodigy in sense. IJer narrative 
 was worded in a manner so well suited to Miss 
 Bridewell's particularities, that it had the efiect 
 upon her mind her narrator intended it should. 
 The seasonable supply of two hundred pounds, 
 at a moment when it was so much wanted, iiad 
 put her into a good humour, and the artful man- 
 ner in which the tale had been unfolded, com- 
 
THE LITTLfi M£>(DICANT. t$ 
 
 pleted the favourable impression. Fanny was 
 received at her levee the next morning in tiie 
 most gracious manner; Emily Barlowe was 
 highly commended for having noticed the" sweet 
 little creature," as Miss Bridewell styled her new 
 pupil, and of course it became the order of the 
 day at Myrtle Grove to make " Fatherless 
 Fanny," (as she sometimes pathetically called 
 herseir) the favourite of all those who aspired to 
 its lofty mistress's good graces. Every visitor 
 was sliewn the " lovely girl," and were told, with 
 a significant nod, that time would prove the child 
 to be somebody. Never was there a happier being 
 than little Fanny ; endowed by nature with a 
 sweet temper, and the most buoyant spirits, en- 
 joying the favour of every creature that ap- 
 proached her, her little heart beat responsive to 
 the blissful feelings of affection and gratitude. 
 Emily Barlowe was, however, the dearest object 
 of her infantile love, and on her gentle bosom the 
 sweet prattler generally composed herself to 
 sleep, when the hour of retirement arrived. To 
 Emily, Fanny was now become the summum 
 bonum of happiness, who filled up every moment 
 of leisure with the delightful task of instructing 
 her darling, to whom every accomplishment was 
 imparted, her tender age was capable of receiving. 
 Lady Maria Trentham was very fond of Fan4iy 
 too, and vied with Emily Barlowe in the task of 
 instructing her, and such was the zeal of the 
 teachers, and such the capacity of the scholar, 
 that the little favourite soon became a miracle of 
 clftverness, and was cited as an example to girls 
 twice her age, not only for application but ac- 
 quirements. 
 
 At the end of the first year. Miss Bridewell, 
 who had depended upon the annual two hundred, 
 promised in Fanny's recommendatory letter, felt 
 herself extremely inconvenienced at itg not ap- 
 
 e 
 
 % 
 
14 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR 
 
 pearin^ ; but when a second jear elapsed, and no 
 notice was taken either of the promise or the child, 
 her patience was entirely exhausted. Poor Fanny 
 was no )onj>era favourite; but a little troublesome 
 brat, that had been imposed upon her credulity 
 by some designing person, who, depending upon 
 the benevolence of her heart, imagined slie would 
 keep the child for nothing, when once it had got 
 such hold of her affection, as to make it painful to 
 her to part with it; however, they would find 
 themselves mistaken, for she was not a person to 
 be imposed upon in that manner. Emily Barlowe, 
 who was present \a hen Miss Bridewell was vent- 
 ing herspleen upon thisirritatingsubject, thought 
 to herself " those who depend uj)on the benevo- 
 lence of your heart, must find tliemselves mis- 
 taken." " 1 will get rid of the little troublesome 
 impostor,**continued the incensed Miss Bridewell, 
 " 1 am determined I will do so immediately. 
 Nobody shall dare to treat me in this manner 
 with impunity: I will advertise the girl in the 
 most popular newspapers, and if that expedient 
 does not make her friends come forward, I will 
 send the chit to the workhouse, where she ought 
 to have been sent at first, if Dawson had not 
 been a fool." " My dear Miss Bridewell," said 
 the amiable Emily, as soon as she could get in a 
 word, " my dear Miss Bridewell, let me plead for 
 this poor little innocent, try one year more before 
 you have recourse to such severe measures; per- 
 haps the most fatal consequences may accrue to her 
 unfortunate mother, if you should advertise the 
 particulars of this mysterious story, and may prove 
 the ultimate ruin of the dear child. If nobody 
 comes forward in that time, I will pay you the 
 expenses of this year of grace out of my own al- 
 lowance ; and if you are determined to part with 
 the lovely orphan, 1 will write to papa for permis- 
 Non to adopt her, and take her with me to Ja- 
 
THE LITTLB MENDICANT. 
 
 15 
 
 niaica when I leave scliool." Miss Bridewell knew 
 her own interest too well to refuse such a request 
 as the foregoing. She arvogaled considerable 
 merit, however, in the concession, and Fatherless 
 Fanny, as she was now generally denominated by 
 her governess, was permitted to remain at Myrtle 
 Grove, the cherished object of the benevolent 
 Emily's affection, for the space of another year. 
 
 That year elapsed like the former two, and yet 
 Fanny was not claimed by any friend, neither was 
 any money remitted for her support, and thegentle 
 Emily was obliged to pay, out of her allowance, 
 the charge made by Miss Bridewell for the last 
 year. 1 his sacriMce of all the good girl's other 
 extra expenses, was made with the most perfect 
 good will, in favour of her little darling,yet it was 
 not rewarded with the satisfaction so benevolent 
 an action was entitled to ; for, alas ! in answer to 
 thepatheticletter she had sent to her father, ])lead- 
 ing the cause of the unfortunate orphan, she re- 
 ceived one from her mother, couched in terms of 
 high displeasure: — " I have intercepted the ridi- 
 culous letter you addressed to your father," said 
 Mrs. Barlowe, " and 1 consider it a lucky circum- 
 stance that it fell intomy hands, as 1 know his silly 
 good nature would most likely have led him to 
 comply with your romantic request. Idesirelniay 
 never hear of such a thing- again. Adopt a child, 
 indeed ! 1 fancy you will find uses enough for 
 your fortune, when you get it into your hands, 
 without encumbering yourself with brats that are 
 nothing to you. Caroline would never have 
 thought of sucli a thing; i am sure she has too 
 much prudence and good sense to encourage 
 such ridiculous propensities. Remember, girl, 
 * charity begins at home."' 
 
 This severe injunction was a cruel blow upon 
 the tender-hearted Emily, who thus lost the 
 ^ower of snatching her dear Fanny from th« 
 
16 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR 
 
 evils that threatened her. The good girl well 
 knew that if she could obtain her iather's ear, her 
 request would be gianttd ; but after this prohibi- 
 tion from her mother, she did not dare to risk 
 another letter on the j-ame subject. Only one 
 year was now wanting for the completion of the 
 Miss Barlowe's education ; thej were then to re- 
 turn to Jamaica, and Emily consoled herself 
 with the reflection, that at least when she saw 
 her father, she should be able to accomplish her 
 wishes respecting Fanny, if that dear girl should 
 then stand in need of her assistance. Lady 
 Maria Trentham, who was Emily^s particular 
 friend, would gladly have assisted her in main- 
 taining Fanny ; but, alas ! a profusion of fine 
 clothes, and an unnecessary display of trinkets, 
 besides a truly benevolent heart, was all the poor 
 girl possessed. Any thing would have been 
 granted her, indeed, by Iier indulgent mother, 
 that did not require ready money, for of that 
 pleasing article there could not be less in any 
 hou etlianiu that of the noble Marquis of Pe- 
 terstield ; but poor Lady Maria knew it was of 
 no use to otier any thing short of the ready to 
 Miss Bridewell, who was already in Hamlet's 
 case, namely — " promised crammed." 
 
 The expedient of advertising the helpless Fan- 
 ny was therefore adverted to by Miss Bridewell, 
 without fartlier delay, to the no small concern of 
 that lovely girl's juvenile patronesses, who daily 
 mixed their tears together at the idea of their 
 favourite being removed from their society. The 
 following is the advertisement which appeared in 
 the most popular papers of the day, relative to 
 the forsaken Fanny, and which Miss Bridewell 
 dictated herself: — 
 
 CHILD FOUND. 
 
 Whereas some ill-ijiinded person or persons^ 
 
THB LITTLB MENDICANT. 17 
 
 left a little girl at the house of Miss Bridewell, 
 Mvrtie Grove, three 3'ears aj^o, with an intention, 
 no doubt, of defrauding that lady of the mainte- 
 nance of the said child ; this is to give notice, 
 that unless the before-mentioned little girl be 
 taken away from Myrtle Grove, within one month 
 from the date h.ereof, she will be sent to the 
 workhouse. The child answers to the name of 
 Fanny. 
 
 CHAPTER If. 
 
 A Misunderstanding. 
 
 Loud Ellincourt was a young nobleman of 
 that thoughtless kind, which is but too often met 
 with in this dissipated age. He was addicted to 
 every species of gaming, not from natural inclina- 
 tion, but an acquired habit of idleness. His lord- 
 ship possessed abilities calculated to shine in the 
 senate, had their latent powers been drawn forth 
 by that best finisher of a good education — I mean 
 the society of the wise and virtuous. Instead of 
 that, however, this young sprig of nobility had 
 been precipitated iiito the vortex of extravagance 
 and folly by his connexions at college, where so 
 many of his iiight Honourable cousins assailed 
 him with the temptations, into which they had 
 long been initiated themselves, that between pre- 
 cept and example, his mind became perverted, 
 and he forsook the paths of learning for those of 
 dissipation, and soon preferred killing time, by a 
 thousand extravagant follies, to the sober enjoy- 
 ment of spending it in rational amusements, or 
 valuable acquirements. At his debut in the great 
 wprld, Lord Ellincourt kept a stud of race-horses 
 
18 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR 
 
 for the sake of employment ; two packs of hounds 
 for the same reason ; and for the same good mo- 
 tive, when the pleasures of London confined him 
 to the metropolis for the season, (winter is no 
 longer in fashion) he drove, with the fury of a 
 Jehu, a tandem, dog-cart, a mail, and an inex- 
 plicable, to the astonishment of the natives, and 
 the imminent danger of the sober foot passengers 
 who came in his way, whilst taking his dashing 
 round through Bond-street, Pali-Mall, St.James's- 
 street, and Piccadilly. Lord Ellincourt, like 
 mostmenof fashion, had many favourites amongst 
 the fair sex, but few upon whose fidelity he could 
 place much reliance. One exception, however, he 
 had long been in possession of, who, although a fe- 
 male, had never for an instant broken her faith. 
 Some of his favourites received his lordship ac- 
 cording to the state of his finances, and smiled or 
 frowned in proportion to the golden shower that 
 fell into their laps from his bounty ; but his little 
 Fan was invariable in ihe display of her affection, 
 and lavished her caresses upon her beloved lord 
 without considerino- whether he had had a run of 
 good or ill luck. His lordship was not ungrateful, 
 and his regard for Fan was quite equal to the one 
 she felt for him, nor did he ever think himself hap- 
 py when she was not by his side. W hiihersoever he 
 went, his faithful friend went with him, and even 
 partook of his bed-room ; but lest I should be 
 supposed to be a retailer of scandalous anec- 
 dotes, I must beg leave, in this place, to inform 
 my readers that poor Fan was a four-footed lady, 
 and therefore the intimacy thatsubsisted between 
 her and Lord Ellincourt could reflect no disgrace 
 on either party. A misfortune, however, hap- 
 pened, that disturbed the happiness of this loving 
 pair. Poor Fan was stolen away, and every 
 effort to find her proved ineffectual, although ad- 
 vertisements, offering large rewards, were inserted 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT, 19 
 
 in all the papers. The loss of his dear little fa- 
 vourite had been the theme of Lord Eliiiicourt's 
 convejsation for many weeks, and his gciy compa- 
 nions began to grow weary of the subject. " What 
 nonsense it is," said Colonel Ross to Sir Henry 
 Amberslejs "to beobliii^ed to listen to Ellincourt's 
 lamentations for the loss of his little mongrel, 
 every time one meets him.'* 
 
 " Let's hoax him," replied Sir Henry, " and 
 cure him of such nonsensical prosing." " In 
 M hat manner," asked his friend." " I'll shew you," 
 replied Sir Henry, taking a newspaper that lay 
 before them on the table, and pointing out Miss 
 Bridewell's advertisement. " liut what will that 
 do?" again asked Colonel Ross; " what hoax 
 can yon make of that stupid paragraph ?'* " You 
 shall see," answered Sir Henry, " here comes El- 
 lincoorr, and 1 will put my scheme into execution 
 immediately." Lord Ellincourt entered the coffee 
 room at the same instant, and coming up to the 
 two friends, he asked, with his usual ?ioncha/anre, 
 *' What news r" " The best in the world,'' replied 
 Sir Henry, " your little Fan is found." "The 
 deuce she is ; but tell me, my dear fellow, the 
 wheres and the hows, and all that ?" " 111 read 
 you the advertisement," answered Sir Henry, ta- 
 king the paper in his hand, and reading Miss 
 Bridewell'sadvertisementaloud, only substituting 
 the word dog in the place of child and girl when- 
 ever they occurred, suppressing the date, and 
 concluding line, respecting the workhouse, and 
 adding a threat to hang the poor animal, if not 
 reclaimed within a month. " What a barbarian !" 
 exclaimed Lord Ellincourt, " to talk of hanging 
 poor little Fan. If she was to do it I would burn 
 the old faggot. I will drive down there directly. 
 I know Myrtle Grove immensely well, I have been 
 there to see the Trenthams, with my mother. A 
 queer old figure that said governess is ; I remem- 
 
20 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR 
 
 ber her well. I did not hke her p/iiz. Maj I be 
 bamboozled the next Newmarket meeting, if I 
 don't scalp the savage with my own hands, 
 should I find she has used Fan ill, mind that." 
 Sir Henry and Colonel Ross laughed, " take care 
 you don't get into the stocks, my boy," said he, 
 " remember you will be on classic ground, and 
 don't sin against the muses." " Coii fusion seize 
 the muses, and the classic ground too,'' rejoined 
 my lord, " little Fan is worth all Parnassus put 
 together. — Adieu — I am oif, 1 will bring little 
 Fan back, or the old Gorgon's head, 1 am deter- 
 mined upon that." " IJad not your lordship 
 better read the advertisement yourself, before you 
 set out," said Colonel Ross, offering the paper. 
 '" Oh ! no, no," replied Lord Eliincourt, '• there 
 can be no mis(ake,thedescriptionanswersexactly, 
 and the poor little animal being shut up in tliat 
 bore of a j)lace is the reason i have not been able 
 to find her before." As he spoke, his impatient 
 lordship hastened out of the room, and left hia 
 two friends laughing at tiie credulity with which 
 he had taken the hoax. " i little imagined," said 
 Col. Ross, " tiiat he would have svVal lowed the 
 bait so easily." " You are a pretty fellow, too, a'nt 
 you ?" replied Sir Henry, " 1 thought you would 
 have spoiled the joke. Quiz me if I would not 
 give a cool hundred to be present when he and the 
 old governess get at it tooth and naii." " What, 
 do you think they will fight ?'' " I am sure of it,"jr 
 answered Sir Henry : "Eliincourt will insist upon 
 having his dog, the old girl will say she has not 
 got it, and then there will be a quarrel. She is a 
 very dragon, my sister tells me, and Eliincourt is. 
 cayenne itself; so jf there be not a row, 1 shall be 
 surprised." This was by much too good a joke 
 to be confined to two people; after a hearty 
 laugh, therefore, the fashionablepair strolled out 
 on purpose to " set it a-going," and to prepare a 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 21 
 
 merry meeting for their friend Ellincourt, at his 
 return from Myrtle Grove. 
 
 In the meantime Lord Ellincourt proceeded to 
 the livery stables, where his horses stood, and or- 
 dering his grooms to prepare his tandem immedi- 
 ately, and to follow him to Hyde Park, he walk- 
 ed thither, anticipating the joy he should experi- 
 ence, when little Fan was restored to him. The 
 drive to Myrtle Grove appeared of an immode- 
 rate length, so impatient was his lordship to 
 reach the place that contained his long-lost fa- 
 vourite. At length the white gate, leading to the 
 sweep before the mansion, struck his eye, and 
 giving a renovating crack of his whip to increase 
 the speed of his barbs, the dashing equipage pre- 
 sently stopped before it. The porter answering 
 in the affirmative to the question whether Miss 
 Bridewell was at home, Lord Ellincourt alighted 
 and was ushered into the elegant boudoir of the 
 modish governess. His lordship's patience expe- 
 rienced a severe trial, whilst waiting the arrival of 
 the antiquated virgin ; for having sent in his name, 
 the lady was too anxious to appear in style to 
 think of coming before His lordship until she had 
 consulted her mirror, to ascertain the exact state 
 of her dress, in performing this necessary sacrifice 
 to the graces. Miss Bridewell perceived that her 
 cap did not become her, and she changed it fo*' 
 another; then her gown did not please her, and 
 she ordered her maid to bring her last new dress, 
 which was substituted for the one she had on : 
 when completely equipped, she descended to her 
 expecting visitor; who, having examined every 
 picture, and turned over every newspaper that lay 
 upon the table, was standing whistling in one of 
 the windows when Miss Bridewell entered the 
 room. She began a long apology, which, how 
 ever. Lord Ellincourt interrupted in the middle, 
 by saying, " dear madam, excuse my impatience • 
 
 D 
 
$2 
 
 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 your advertisement informs me that you have got 
 my little Fan, and I am in a great hurry to see 
 the dear creature." "And does little Fanny be- 
 long to your lordship," exclaimed Miss Bridewell, 
 in a tone of surprise, whilst a smile of complai- 
 sance expressed the pleasure she felt at the intel- 
 ligence. " How happy I feel that the dear little 
 creature fell into my hands. I am sure your 
 lordship will be satisfied with the care I have 
 taken of her." " You are very good, ma'am," 
 answered his lordship, with an impatient inclina- 
 tion of the head, " I have no doubt of your kind- 
 ness to the little thing, but J really wish to see 
 her ; she is a great favourite of mine, and so was 
 her mother." " Your lordship was acquainted 
 ■with Fanny's mother, then," said Miss Bridewell, 
 drawing up her mouth in a formal manner." *' Oh 
 yes," answered his lordship, laughing, — *' her 
 mother and I were old acquaintances." Miss 
 Bridewell's formality increased at this speech of 
 his lordship's, but her features were rather re- 
 laxed atthe conclusion of it, for he added, " and so 
 indeed, was her father, I was very fond of him 
 too." " And pray, my lord," asked the prim 
 lady, "what is become of poor Fanny's father, 
 I understood he was dead ?" " I wonder by what 
 means you ever heard any thing about him," re- 
 plied Lord EUincourt, " however, if it will be any 
 satisfaction to you to know it, I must inform you 
 he was hanged, about to years ago." " Hanged/ 
 Did your lordship S3iy hanged?'' exclaimed Miss 
 Bridewell, with horror and astonishment painted 
 on her features. '* Yes, my good ma'am," an- 
 swered his lordship, with a smile, " the poor fel- 
 low was really hanged for sheep-stealing ; I did 
 what I could to save him, but my interest failed, 
 he was caught in the fact, and the farmer would 
 not hear of pardon. But what's the matter. Miss 
 Bridewell, you look frightened ?" "And enough 
 
THB LITTLE MENDICANT. 2d 
 
 to make me so, I think, my lord.*' answered she, 
 " to reflect that 1 have been harbouring the daugh- 
 ter of a sheep stealer in my house all this time." 
 *'Oh! is that all ?" answered Lord Ellincourt, 
 laughing, *' don't let that frighten you ; my life 
 upon it little Fan will never meddle with your 
 lambs. I don't intend to allow her to stay any 
 longer among them." *' I assure your lordship," 
 said Miss Bridewell, with a haughty toss of her 
 head, *' the contamination has already been too 
 great. But pray, my lord, what is become of the 
 mother of this unfortunate female, is she still 
 alive ?" *• No, she is dead too,'' answered his lord- 
 ship, '^ I kept her as long as she lived, and so I 
 mean to do by Fan, if you will but have the good- 
 ness to put an end to this long catechism, and let 
 me have the dear little creature." *' I have no 
 intention of detaining her, I assure your lordship, 
 but 1 beg leave to observe, that I shall expect to 
 be reimbursed for the expenses 1 have been at in 
 her maintenance and education." "The main- 
 tenance of such a little animal," replied his lord- 
 ship, " cannot be much to be sure, but as to her 
 education, I am certainly no judge of what that 
 may be, for I cannot imagine what the deuce you 
 can have taught her , she knew how to fetch and 
 carry before 1 lost her." •' Your lordship talks 
 in a very odd strain," answered Miss Bridewell, 
 "but I can produce the masters bills who have 
 been employed to teach hex music, dancing, and 
 drawing" Lord Ellincourt burst into an immo- 
 derate fit of laughter. " Excuse me. Miss Bride- 
 well, but really 1 cannot help it. You educating 
 ladies are for instructing every thing that comes near 
 you, or you never would have thought of teaching 
 my poor Fan such a long list of accomplishments; 
 however, to make all straight, I will agree thus 
 far to your demand, if you will prove to me that 
 your scholar has learned any thing of what you 
 
24 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 pretend to have taught her, 1 will pay for it what- 
 ever you think proper to charge, for, upon my 
 soul, 1 think I shall make my fortune by shewing 
 the little creature about the streets. Dancing she 
 may have acquired, but as to any thing else, ex- 
 cuse me if I don't believe a word of it." " Your 
 lordship is at liberty to think what you please," 
 answered Miss Bridewell, haughtily, '* but 1 shall 
 insist upon being paid, before I give up the child. 
 I will fetch her to convince your lordship that she 
 has capacity, and that she has received instruc- 
 tion.** So saying, Miss Bridewell flounced out of 
 the room, and left Lord Eilincourt mute with as- 
 tonishment. — " That old maid,*' at length said he, 
 ** is so used to have children under her care, that 
 when she gets a dog into her clutches, she fancies 
 she must educate that, and talks about it till she 
 believes a spaniel is a child." Miss Bridewell 
 was absent oniy a few minutes, and she returned 
 leading Fanny by the hand, whose terrified coun- 
 tenance and streaming eyes plainly evinced the 
 severity with which her governess had just been 
 treating her. Fanny was now turned of eight 
 years old, a tall elegantly-formed child, whose 
 dazzling complexion and beautiful features were 
 calculated to strike every beholder with admira- 
 tion. Lord Eilincourt gazed at her with surprise, 
 mingled with delight. '* What a sweet creature !*' 
 exclaimed his lordship, "but why is she weeping?" 
 *' There, my lord, is little Fanny," said Miss 
 Bridewell, not noticing his question, '^ and if your 
 lordship was really as fond of her worthless pa- 
 rents as you pretend to have been, you will not 
 think much at paying the debts their offspring has 
 contracted." *' Upon my honour, madam," re- 
 plied Lord Eilincourt, '* I am wholly at a loss 
 to guess what you are aiming at ; I never had the 
 honour of seeing the parents of that sweet girl, at 
 least to the best of my knowledge." *' Why 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 25 
 
 good heavens !" exclaimed Miss Bridewell, 'did 
 not your lordship say, not a quarter of an hour 
 ago, that her father was hanged iov sheep-stealing 
 and that her mother vidL^Q. naughty kept woman ?" 
 " Who, I ?'' rejoined Lord Ellincourt, starting, " I 
 never even imagined such a thing.'' " I am as- 
 tonished at your lordship ; indeed I am," said 
 Miss Bridewell, her eyes flashing resentment, 
 *' did not your lordship say you were come to 
 fetch Fanny away, and that you intended keeping 
 her as long as she lived, as you had done her mo- 
 ther, and all that we hesitated about was respect- 
 ing the payment of my demand for her education ?" 
 •' Here has been a great mistake," replied Lord 
 Ellincourt, " and I feel very much ashamed of 
 having occasioned you so much trouble. I came 
 here, madam, at the instigation of a friend of mine, 
 who told me you had found a little dog, belong- 
 ing to me, which I lost some time ago. The little 
 animal's name was Fanny, and hence originated 
 the mistake. My friend, Sir Henry Ambersley, 
 read an advertisement to me this morning, stating 
 that the creature was found, and might be heard 
 of here. I am persuaded he did it for a hoax, of 
 which he is too fond, a circumstance I ought to 
 have recollected when he was playing off this 
 morning; but the joy of finding Fan was predo- 
 . minant, and swallowed up every other consider- 
 ation." ** It is, indeed, a strange circumstance,'* 
 replied Miss Bridewell, " and has been produc- 
 tive of much trouble to me." " I am very sorry, 
 very sorry upon my soul," answered Lord Ellin 
 court, and what concerns me more than any 
 thing else is, that I fear I have occasioned sorrow 
 to this beautiful little angel," taking Fanny's hand 
 who had dried up her tears when she heard his 
 lordship declare that she was not the daughter of 
 a sheep'Stealer. Miss Bridewell reached a news- 
 paper which contained her advertisement, and 
 
26 FATHBRLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 begged Lord Ellincourt to read it. As soon as 
 he had complied with her request, he said, *' and 
 is it possible you intend to send this child to the 
 workhouse ?" " Yes, my lord, unless she be re- 
 claimed by the time I have specified." " By hea- 
 vens you shall not !" said his lordship, *' I will pay 
 for her myself, if no one comes forward to claim 
 her. I will keep a horse or two less at New- 
 market, to enable me to do it. Do you agree to 
 that, Miss Bridewell ?'* Miss Bridewell smiled, 
 and was vastly pleased with such an arrangement. 
 *' Your lordship understands there are arrears V* 
 ** Undoubtedly ; and as I have just had a run of 
 good luck, let us strike a balance now, let us have 
 your bill." Miss Bridewell complied with his 
 request ; and presenting her exorbitant demand, 
 which she had got ready drawn out in case of any 
 application from the child's friends. Lord Ellin- 
 court only looked at the sum total, and immedi- 
 ately drew upon his banker for the amount. 
 *' There," said he, " remember now Fanny is my 
 child henceforward, and mind you use the little 
 angel kindly, or blame me if I don't blow your 
 house up with gunpowder. I may come to see her 
 sometimes, mayn't 1?" added his lordship. " Cer- 
 tainly, my lord," answered Miss Bridewell, curt- 
 seying low, ''we shall alvvays esteem your lord- 
 ship's visits an honour, and Fanny I am sure ought , 
 to love Jjord Ellincourt." " And so I do most- 
 dearly, dearly," answered the sweet girl, holding 
 up her lovely face to kiss her benefactor, " 1 
 shall pray for Lord Ellincourt every night and 
 morning, and so will Emily Barlowe and Lady 
 Maria Trentham, for they have been so unhappy 
 about me." Lord Ellincourt embraced his adopt- 
 ed child, and said that he never felt so happy in 
 his life; "No, by heavens," added he, "not even 
 when my Miss Tiffany beat Sir Jeffery Dollman' 
 Ganderface, and the bets won two thousand gui 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 27 
 
 ncas. " Apropos," said his lordship, turning back 
 as he was leaving the room, after having embraced 
 Fanny half a dozen times for farewell, "I forgot, 
 I ought to see the Lady Trenthams', they are my 
 cousins/' Miss Bridewell entreated his lordship 
 to defer that intention until his next visit, and after 
 some hesitation he complied, and hastening to bis 
 carriage, dashed oflf in an instant. Fanny, who 
 accompanied her governess to the door, to witness 
 his departure, followed the carriage with her eyes 
 full of tears, " what a dear sweet gentleman that 
 is/' said the innocent girl, " Oh how 1 love him." 
 *^ He is a very generous man indeed," said Miss 
 Bridewell, and well she might say so, for he paid 
 her enormous charge for the whole time Fanny 
 had been with her. The two hundred pounds 
 that came with her, and Miss Barlowe's gene- 
 rous contribution, were therefore a clear profit, 
 and Fatherless Fanny thus became one of the 
 most advantageous scholars she had ever had. 
 
 CHAPTER HI. 
 
 Mutual Explanation, 
 
 When Fanny returned to the apartment where 
 the other young ladies were, she entered it with 
 a lively bound, and running up to Miss Emily 
 Barlowe, clasped her arms about her neck ; the* 
 good-natured Emily's tears flowed so fast, that 
 she could not speak ; but Miss Barlowe, the 
 haughty Caroline, came and disengaged Fanny 
 
28 FATHERLESS FANNY ' OR, 
 
 from her sister's embrace, saying, in an ill-natured 
 tone of voice, *' this disgraceful intimacy has en- 
 dured long enough, I insist now upon its termi- 
 nation." Fanny looked aghast, and turning her 
 eyes upon the other ladies, observed contempt 
 and abhorrence painted on every countenance, ex- 
 cepting those of Emily and the compassionate 
 Lady Maria Trentham, who, rising from her seat, 
 took the terrified girl by the hand, and said " don't 
 be frightened, Fanny, 1 will always be your friend/' 
 " Indeed, but 1 say nay to that," interrupted Lady 
 Isabella, " a very pretty story, truly, for the Mar- 
 quis of Petersfield's daughter to be thecompanion 
 of a sheep-stealer s child'* Here all the girls burst 
 into a fit of laughter, and poor Fanny was so 
 overcome, that, covering her face with her hands, 
 she sobbed aloud. Emily Barlowe could not sup- 
 port the sight of her favourite's sorrow, but taking 
 her in her arms, she pressed her to her bosom. 
 " Nothing short of a parent's commands shall in- 
 duce me to forsake this uear child," said she, *' let 
 her be the daughter of what she will." Soothed 
 by this kindness poor Fanny recovered her speech 
 — " I am not a sheep-stealer's daughter; indeed 
 Miss Emily it was all a mistake, for Lord Ellin- 
 court said so" "Lord EllincourtI" exclaimed 
 Lady Maria Trentham, " was it Lord Ellincourt 
 who has just been here ? he is my cousin !" " I 
 know it," replied Fanny, " and his Lordship asked 
 Miss Bridewell to let him see you and Lady Isa- 
 bella ; but she begged him to wait until he called 
 next time." " Is he coming again soon?' asked 
 Lady Maria; " Yes," replied Fanny, ** very soon. 
 Oh how I love Lord Ellincourt." " And so do 
 I," said Lady Maria, " he is so good-natured. I 
 wonder why Miss Bridewell would not let us see 
 him." " 1 don't know," answered Fanny. Miss 
 Bridewell generally had a motive for what shedid, 
 that concerned herself nearer than any body else, 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 29 
 
 and such was the case in the present instance ; for 
 her only reason for refusing Lord Ellincourt's re- 
 quest, was, that she wished to conceal, from a 
 person who had evinced such natural benevolence 
 as his lordship had done, the cruelty of her own 
 heart, which had led her to treat poor Fanny with 
 such unmerited severity, upon the strength of a 
 mere surmise. When Miss Bridewell had quitted 
 the room to fetch Fanny to Lord Ellincourt, her 
 mind was impressed with the idea of the imputed 
 worthlessness of the child's parents, and proud of 
 an opportunity of revenging the anxiety she had 
 suffered on her account, she immediately spread 
 the report of poor Fanny being the daughter of a 
 sheep-stealer, by exclaiming, when she entered, la 
 salle des sciences, ^* where is the worthless girl I 
 have been wasting so much care upon ?' Then 
 seizing Fanny's hand with an ill-natured jirk, she 
 added, " a pretty creature you are, to be sure, 
 Miss, to be brought into the society of young la- 
 dies of rank, a sheep stealer's daughter! ! !" The 
 young ladies looked astonished : " Yes, indeed, 
 ladies, said Miss Bridewell, " this girl is the off- 
 spring of a kept mistress, and a man that was 
 hanged for sheep-stealing'" The conseqence of 
 such a speech to a group of young girls, proud of 
 their births and tenacious of their consequence, 
 may readily be imagined ; every one was unani- 
 mous in execrating the innocent object of their ha- 
 tred with the exception of Lady Maria Trentham 
 and Emily Barlowe, who could only weep over a 
 misfortune they could not remedy. The joy these 
 benevolent girls experienced when they heard 
 Fanny say the whole was a mistake, may be rea- 
 dily imagined, and when it Avas confirmed by Miss 
 Bridewell herself, who related the story of the 
 dog, as an elucidation of the mistake, a hearty 
 laugh removed every vestige of sorrow and dis- 
 pleasure; and the sweet Fanny was restored to 
 
 E 
 
80 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 the same portion of favour she before enjoyed 
 with every one of her school mates. 
 
 When Mrs. Dawson was informed that the 
 hurricane had subsided, she made her appear- 
 ance in the circle she had quitted at the first in- 
 timation of Miss Bridewell's displeasure, for, as 
 she had been the ostensible person in receiving 
 Fanny, she well knew, if the disagreeable report 
 proved true, she siiould be a material sufferer, 
 both from her stately superior and the young 
 ladies. Lord Ellincourt's generosity, however, 
 had put Miss Bridewell into such a perfect jxood 
 humour, that Fanny was once more her ^'little 
 poppet ;"" and Mrs. Dawso;i from a " great ^ool,'^ 
 was become her " dear Dawson,'''' and received 
 the pleasing intelligence of the debt contracted 
 by Fanny, having been so nobly discharged, as 
 well as tiie promise made hy Lord Ellincourtof 
 supporting the little orphan ii; future. " The 
 turn off about ihe dog, my dear Dawson," said 
 Miss Bridewell, " was extremely well done, but 
 1 assure you it did not impose upon me, for 1 
 firmly believe, at this moiiient, that Fanny is 
 Lord Ellincourt*s daughter; but as much good 
 may be drawn fiom keeping tlwC girl, you n)ay be 
 sure I shall not breathe my suspicions, and i de- 
 sire you to be equally circumspect." " Oh I you 
 know my dear ma'am, tha;i you can rely upon 
 my prudence. I am as secret as the grave ; but 
 do you really think Fanny can be Lord Ellin- 
 court's daughter? I understood his lordship was 
 only just two-and-twenty, and Fanny, you know, 
 ^is turned of eight. Miss Bridewell paused — 
 then answered, in an impatient tone, " I don't 
 cure how old either of them are, I have adopted 
 my opinion, and J a«n not apt to relinquish my 
 opinions when once formed." Mrs. Dawson 
 knew this as well as Miss Bridewell, she thera- 
 fore acquiesced without farther disputation and 
 
THB LITTLE MENUIfilKT 31 
 
 Miss Bridewell proceeded to give djrections re- 
 specting Fanny's future acquirements ; notwith- 
 standing her boast to Lord Ellincourt, no mas- 
 ters had attended the poor girl since the defaica 
 tion of the payment. Miss Emily Barlowe had 
 supplied their place to the utmost of her abilities, 
 that her favourite might not entirely lose the ac- 
 complishments in which she was making such 
 rapid progress. " That girl must be attended to 
 now,'" said Miss Bridewell, '' for 1 dare say she 
 will go somewhere in the holidays, where her 
 advancement will be ascertained." " I will ob- 
 serve what you say, my dear ma'am," said the 
 supple Mrs. Dawson, "you know the neglect she 
 has experienced was at your own suggestion/' 
 "Yes, yes," replied Miss Bridewell, "I am 
 aware of that, but no doubt, you remember the 
 old French adage — " Poiut d'argerd, point de 
 Suisse and so it ought to be at Myrtle Grove.'' 
 " Undoubtedly," rejoined Mrs. Dawson, " we 
 must not throw our attention upon beggars,''^ 
 
 Whilst matters were settling according to thf^ 
 prudent plan, at Myrtle Grove, Lord Ellincourt 
 pursued his way to London, singing to himself, 
 with a gaiete de ccenr of which, till that moment, 
 be had been insensible: this may appear a para- 
 doxical assertion, after what has been said re- 
 specting the thoughtless life his lordship had 
 hitherto led, bui to any of my readers, who may 
 have trod the flowery paths of dissipated pleasure, 
 it will not be deemed impossible that a disciple 
 of Circe, should be a stranger to genuine heart felt 
 satisfaction — that sweet sensation of the soul, is 
 the result of conscious virtue, and the first time 
 Lord Ellincourt experienced its happy influence, 
 was when he first reflected on a benevolent ac- 
 tion ; it was not that his lordship was destitute of 
 bumatjity, or insensible to feeling, but from a na- 
 
o'4 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 tural thoughtlessness of disposition, and an haW- 
 tual propensity to dissipation, that he had never 
 before adopted the plan of extendina; the hand of 
 charity to the sons and daughters of misfortune, 
 as an expedient against the enmii of which he was 
 always complaining. Chance had now thrown 
 an opportunity in his ^vay, trying a new kind of 
 delassement, and the result of the experiment was 
 a determination on the part of his lordship to pur- 
 sue the path that had been struck out for him. 
 The motion of the light vehicle he was driving 
 was not more rapid than the progress of the ideas 
 that succeeded each other in Lord Ellincourt's 
 mind, as he returned towards the metropolis. — ■ 
 Fanny, the lovely artless Fanny, was the subject 
 of all these cogitations, and the fascination that 
 had seized his mind, increased with every recol- 
 lection. Her interesting countenance, at the mo- 
 ment he first beheld her, still seemed to rise be- 
 fore him; her blooming cheeks sujOfused with 
 pearly drops ; her eyes of * softest blue,' turned 
 with a supplicating look towards him, that might 
 have softened the most obdurate heart. — " Sweet 
 creature i' said his lordship, as he drove along, 
 " I never spent money with such delight as that 
 I paid for her to day. She shall be my child 1 by 
 heavens she shall, and I will maintain her like a 
 little princess !" This resolution filled Lord Ellin- 
 court's heart with pleasure, and when he drove 
 through the turnpike, at Hyde Park Corner, he 
 was so absorbed in the agreeable reverie he had 
 indulged in, that he did not perceive Colonel 
 Ross and Sir Henry Ambersley, who were stroll- 
 ing arm in arm along the pare, expressly for the 
 purpose of way-laying his lordship on his return. 
 " Ellincourt," exclaimed Sir Henry, exalting his 
 voice into the tones of Stentor, " where's little 
 Fan ?' Lord Ellincourt drew up to the side of 
 the pavement, and extended his hand to Sir 
 
THB LITTLE MENDICANT. S3 
 
 Henry, "a tnousand thanks my dear fellow/* 
 said he, " for procuring me the greatest pleasure 
 I ever experienced in my life. The little Fan you 
 sent me in search of, instead of a dog is am angel. 
 •' What, have you been peeping at Winnifred 
 Brideweirs pretty heiresses; Eh, EUincourt?" 
 said Sir Henry. LordEllincourt gave the reins, 
 to his groom, and descending from his carriage, 
 he joined his friends. Old JBridewellis a down- 
 right divinity, and Myrtle Grove superior to Ida 
 itself," said his lordship, putting an arm through 
 that of the friend on each side of him. " He's 
 caught, by all that's striking," said Col. Ross, 
 " old Bridewell knows what she's about, I war- 
 rant her; she has been showing off some title-hunt- 
 ing 31iss, and the trap has taken a lord. A true 
 bill, is it not, Ellincourt?" "That my heart is 
 touched, I allow," replied his lordship, " and by 
 a pretty girl too ; but it is an artless amour, I as- 
 sure you, on both sides, and owing entirely to 
 your hoax about the dog, Ambersley. It is an 
 attachment that will last for life, however, I am 
 persuaded, and when 1 shew the object of my af- 
 fection, if you do not say she is the most fascina- 
 ting creature you ever saw, 1 will never cite you 
 for men of taste again as long as I live." *' But 
 when shall we see her ?" asked Sir Henry, " for 
 you have set me longing; is the show open to 
 every body?" " Oh ! no," said Col. Ross, " 1 sup- 
 pose Ellincourt has ordered her to be shut up 
 until he puts his coronet on her brow. Is it not 
 so?" "Time will shew," answered his lordship, 
 " but this I will promise you, next time I go to 
 Myrtle Grove, I will take one of you, for 1 sup- 
 pose they will not grant admission to three such 
 sad dogs, and then you will be better able to form 
 your judgment of my charmer.'* " Hoax for 
 hoax, my word for it," said Colonel Ross, "El- 
 lincourt is only playing at reprisals. He has beea 
 
34 FATHERLESS fanny: OR, 
 
 put into tlie stocks at Mj'rtle Grove, for his ill 
 behaviour, and he wants to get us into the same 
 scrape/' ** You may <^o as you like about going," 
 rejoined his lordship, " but I give you my word 
 I am in earnest ; 1 never was more serious in my 
 life ; and to prove it, I intend persuading my mo- 
 ther to accompany me in my next visit. I shall 
 drive her in my mail, and you can sit with me 
 i5poii the dickey." " I will go with you," said 
 Col. Ross, " if you are not afraid of a militaire. 
 If 1 should rival you, it would not be so well.'' 
 *' True," rejoined Lord Ellincourt, "but 1 am 
 fearless on that subject. My Fanny will love me 
 best, see who she will.'' " 1 do not feel so sure 
 of that," said Sir Henry Ambersley, " and as I 
 have no inclination to measure swords with you, 
 1 will abstain from going," " Comme il vous 
 plnira." answered Lord Ellincourt, and the sub 
 lect was immediately changed. 
 
 The whim of adopting Fanny, did not turn out 
 like most of Lord Ellincourt's former whims, it 
 survived the lapse of several days, and seemed to 
 acquire strength from reflection. The Dowager 
 Lady Ellincourt, his lordship's mother, was one 
 of those indulgent parents that feel every other 
 sentiment absorbed in their maternal tenderness. 
 Her ladyship had been left a young widow, and 
 although several very advantageous offers had 
 been made her, she had remained in the solitary 
 state of widowhood out of pure affection to her 
 children. 
 
 Lady Ellincourt had only two children living; 
 the son of whom we have been speaking, and one 
 daughter who was some years older than hei' 
 brother. Lady Caroline Mason had been mar- 
 ried at the early age of seventeen, to the Earl of 
 Castlebrazil, an irish nobleman, and resided 
 chiefly in that country. Lord Ellincourt was 
 therefore his mother's only solace, and there was 
 
THB LITTLE MENDICANT. 35 
 
 no request tint he could make her, with which 
 she did not fed eager to comply. Her ladyship 
 was at her Villa at Richmond, when Lord JEliiii- 
 court paid his visit to Myrtle Grove : she knew 
 /iothing thereiDre of her son's new attachment, 
 vmtil her return to London, about a week after- 
 wards, when Lord Ellincourt called at her lady- 
 ship's house in Hill-Street, and broke the ice in 
 the following manner: — 
 
 " I have sotiiething toaskyou, my dear mother, 
 that I hardly know how to begin about, for fear 
 you should disapprove of it." "What is it, Ed- 
 mund ?" said Lady Ellincourt, with a smile that 
 wight have encouraged even a more timid peti- 
 tioner, "you know I am not very inaccessible," 
 
 " J know it well," replied his lordship, " and 
 therefore I don't like to intrude upon your good- 
 ness, but my heart is set upon your compliance.'* 
 " Is it money, Edmund?" "No, upon my ho- 
 nour, but 1 will not give you the trouble of guess- 
 ing, my dear mother. 1 have taken a fancy to a 
 sv. eet girl, and I want your countenance for her." 
 " Edmund," said Lady Ellincourt, looking very 
 grave, " i hope you are not forming an attach- 
 njent I am likely to disapprove of; marriages 
 Rgainst the consent of parents are seldom produc- 
 tive of happiness, and I have the most decided 
 objection to them from a knowledge of their fatal 
 tendency. My own family will furnish you uith 
 an instance of the most melancholy kind, that 
 could not fail of impresi ing your mind with a salu- 
 tary fear of falling into the same error, were 1 to 
 take the trouble of ie\ating the sad tale, but I 
 know you have a great dislike to long stories, so 
 I shall not trouble yc u with it unless you render 
 it necessary, by you. imprudence." " You give 
 excellent advice, my dear mother," replied Lord 
 EilincouT-t, " but my attachment is not of the 
 kind you suppose it to be. The girl I have taken 
 
86 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 a fancy to, is quite a child ; she is destitute of 
 friends, and I arn determined to defray the expen- 
 ses of her education ; the favour I want you to 
 grant me, is, your countenance for the sweet little 
 creature, which when you have seen, you will ad- 
 mire as much as I do." Lord Ellincourt then 
 related the trick Sir Henry Ambersley had played 
 him, about the advertisement, and the visit in con- 
 sequence of it to Miss Bridewell's Temple of In- 
 struction." Lady Ellincourt laughed; " are you 
 sure, Edmund," said she, " that this is tiie truths 
 and nothing but the truth .?'' " Upon honour^'' re- 
 plied his lordship, "when you have seen her you 
 will not doubt it : let me drive you there to-day, 
 my dear mother." "Not to-day, Edmund, re- 
 plied her ladyship, but 1 will accompany ' 'u to- 
 morrow." 
 
 The next day Lady Ellincourt kept her ap« 
 pointment, and her son, accompanied by Col. 
 Ross, drove her down to Myrtle Grove. Lady El- 
 lincourt had been in the habit of visiting the ladies 
 Trentham, and was therefore personally known 
 to Miss Bridewell, who, bein^ a devout worship- 
 per of high rank, was delighted when her noble 
 visitor was announced. Lady Isabella and Lady 
 Maria were called to see their aunt, and at their 
 entrance Lord Ellincourt demanded his dear little 
 Fanny. Miss Bridewell, with a significant nod, 
 said. " I waited for your lordship's command :" 
 and ringing the bell, ordered the servant to fetch 
 Miss Fanny. The sweet child soon obeyed the 
 summons, and regardless of the presence of Lady 
 Ellincourt and Col. Ross, ran with open arms to 
 embrace her benefactor, whose delight at this tes- 
 timony of her gratitude and affection made him 
 ready to devour her with kisses. As soon as the 
 loving pair could separate from each other, Lady 
 Ellincourt took Fanny by the hand, and examin- 
 ing her countenance, exclaimed, " What a sweet 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 37 
 
 creature! What is her name, Edmund ?" " Father- 
 less Fanny" replied Lord Ellincourt, *' she has 
 no other." " I am not to be called JFatherless 
 Fanny any more," said the child, "for Lord El- 
 lincourt will be ray papa." Col. Ross smiled, and 
 looked significant, and Lady Ellincourt pressed 
 the sweet girl to her bosom. A suspicion she 
 could not repress, made her ladyship incline to- 
 wards the Colonel's and Miss Bridewell's opinion, 
 although a moderate calculation of their respec- 
 tive ages would have proved beyond a doubt the 
 fallacy of such an idea, as that Fanny could be 
 Lord Ellincourt's daughter. The playful inno- 
 cence of the engaging Fanny, won completely 
 upon the heart of Lady Ellincourt, who became 
 as warm an advocate for the scheme of adoption 
 as her son, and added her charges to his, in desir- 
 ing Miss Bridewell to attend to the education of 
 the lovely orphan, who rose proportionably in the 
 .s,ood graces of her governess, as she appeared to 
 be esteemed by the great people that lady so con- 
 stantly bowed to. Lady Maria Trentham, 'who 
 rejoiced in Fanny's good fortune, received her 
 cousin with more than usual cordiality, and Lord 
 Ellincourt, who had been informed by Fanny of 
 herladyship's kindness to his favourite, thought 
 he had never seen the amiable Maria look so be- 
 witching. 
 
 When Lady Ellincourt found,> by her watch, 
 that she had staid to the utmost limits of her time, 
 she gave the signal for departure; and Lord El- 
 lincourt putting a little parcel into Fanny's hand, 
 which he told her contained a keep-sake, kissed 
 her for farewell, and the whole party separated. 
 
 During the drive home, Col. Ross repeated his 
 conjectures, respecting Fanny's affinity to her be- 
 nefactor, adding, with a laugh, *' that he could 
 not have supposed his lord capable of so much 
 art as he had that day displayed ; why you have 
 
iiy FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 done llie old lady completely," said he. ** If 
 you mean that I have imposed upon my mother," 
 said Lord Ellincourt, " you are mistaken, for I 
 am sure I did not know there was such a beinsin 
 existence as my little Fanny, until Ambersley sent 
 me on a fool's errand in search of her namesake." 
 ** If that be really the case," said Col. Ross, " I 
 can guess what are your views with this girl. She 
 is a pretty creature, and will make an agreeable 
 variation in yom- amours passages bye-and-bye.*' 
 *' I may have been dissipated and unthinking," 
 replied Lord Ellincourt, reddening with resentment 
 at the vile suggestion, ** but I hope I am incapa- 
 ble of deliberate villainy, such as you insinuate. 
 The precaution T have taken of giving my mo- 
 ther's sanction to my whim ought to teach you 
 better." 
 
 "You astonish me!" interrupted Col. Ross, 
 '' is it possible that you have no other view but 
 benevolence in this munificent action?" "None, 
 upon my honour, excepting, indeed, the pleasure 
 of contributing to the happiness of a being I love, 
 in a manner, wholly unaccountable, even to 
 myself," said Lord Ellincourt. 
 
 "Then I must compliment your lordship's phi- 
 lanthropf/,'' rejoined the Colonel, sarcastically, 
 **and 1 hope you will let me participate in the 
 happiness resulting from such heroism, by permit- 
 ting me sometimes to visit your beautiful protegee 
 in your company?" 
 
 *' No, by heavens," replied Lord Ellincourt, 
 ** the man who could suspect another of such 
 baseness, as the deliberate perversion of inno- 
 cence, is unfit to be trusted where he could prove 
 himself capable of the same turpitude, to the de- 
 triment of a defenceless female." "Moralizing too," 
 said Col. Ross, " by all that's pretty! Upon ray ho- 
 nour I rejoice in your lordship's conversion, and 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 39 
 
 cannot enough admire the superlatively charming 
 cause of such a wonderful reformation/' 
 
 Here the conversation ended, and the remainder 
 of the drive passed in silence on both sides. Lor* 
 Ellincourt was piqued, and Col. Ross was digest- 
 ing a scheme which had presented itself to his 
 fancy, whilst conversing on the subject of the 
 gentle Fanny; the accomplishment of which, pro- 
 mised to gratify two of his predominant passions ; 
 namely — sensuality and revenge. Lord Ellin- 
 court had oflfended his pride, by censuring his sen- 
 timents, and he wished for an opportunity of being 
 even with him; to deprive his lordship, at some 
 future period, of the object of his generous affec- 
 tion, offered a fair prospect to the diabolical Co- 
 lonel, of revenging the supposed injury, and at 
 the same time obtaining a beautiful creature to 
 administer to his unlawful pleasures, and finally 
 become the victim of them. 
 
 It was certainly a long while to look forward 
 to, but Col. Ross was one of those epicures in 
 sensuality who could deliberately plan, and un- 
 relentingly execute, the most atrocious acts of 
 cruelty, if they promised the slightest gratification 
 to his depraved appetite. His wickedness was 
 systematic and he had as much pleasure in plan- 
 ning as in executing the designs he conceived. 
 
 But we will leave him to his cogitations, and 
 proceed with our narrative. The happy Fanny, 
 as soon as her new friends had departed, opened 
 the parcel Lord Ellincourt left with her, and 
 found, to her great delight, an elegant gold chain 
 for her neck, with a small watch suspended, and 
 a pair of bracelets to correspond. It will be ea- 
 sily conceived how such a present must win upon 
 the heart of a girl like Fanny. She jumped about 
 in raptures, and displayed her " Papa's present/* 
 as she styled Lord Ellincourt, to every creature 
 that came near her, and the novelty of possessing 
 
40 FATHERLESS FANNY : OK, 
 
 '^ycli a treasure kept her awake a good part of 
 the night. 
 
 However she soon became accustomed to the 
 possession of trinkets, for Lord Ellincourt never 
 was so happy as when bestowing marks of his ge- 
 nerosity upon his favourite. Anxious to purchase 
 good treatment for her, his lordship took care to 
 remember Miss Bridewell with a munificence tha! 
 completely won that lady's heart. The improve- 
 ment of Fatherless Fanny seemed now of more 
 real consequence than that of any lady in the 
 house, and Mrs. Dawson and the subordinate 
 teachers were continually reminded of Miss Bride- 
 well's anxiety on the subject. It has already 
 been said that Fanny possessed great natural 
 abilities, her rapid progress may therefore be sup- 
 posed, under such advantageous circumstances, 
 and she soon became a brilliant proof of the skill 
 60 justly ascribed to the preceptress o." Myrtle 
 Grove establishment, in bestowing polite accom- 
 plishments upon the pupils under her care. But 
 barren is that mind, whose improvement has been 
 confined to the study of mere ornamental acquire- 
 ments; the musician, the dancer, or the paintress, 
 however skilful in the various branches, will make 
 but a poor wife, if she be deficient in the more 
 solid and valuable qualities of good sense, good 
 temper, and, above all, religion and virtue. 
 
 The softest melody cannot soothe the ear of 
 pain, nor can the anxious eye of sorrow dwell 
 ■with delight upon the graceful attitude, or highly 
 finished picture. The knowledge of languages, 
 though carried to the highest pitch of perfection, can 
 suggest no comfort for affliction, nor strengthen 
 the suffering mind to bear the reverse of for- 
 tune with fortitude and resignation. Such know- 
 ledge, therefore, may be pronounced in the words 
 of Solomon — " Vanity of vanities," unless she who 
 possesses it has first sought religion in the page 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 4 
 
 of triitb, and having found the divine precept, 
 made that the basis on which the superstruc- 
 ture of the refinement was reared. The accom- 
 plishments and graces which adorn virtue, may 
 be entitled to admiration. The skill of the lapi- 
 dary may call forth the brilliatncy ofhe diamond, 
 but cannot give the same lustre to the pebble. 
 
 All the pains bestowed upon Fanny*s education 
 by Miss Bridewell and her assistants, would have 
 availed little, had not the good precepts instilled 
 into her heart by the amiable Emily Barlowe, 
 given solidity to her principles. Piety is a natural 
 feeling of the youthful heart, and only requires 
 some skilful hand to call forth its latent energies, 
 and give them their proper bias. Emily Barlowe 
 had been instructed by her father in the principles 
 of religion; and her youthful heart glowed with 
 the fervour of genuine piety. With what rapture 
 did the amiable instructress awaken, in the docile 
 mind of her beloved Fanny, the first conceptions 
 of the Deity, and teach her guileless lips to pro- 
 nounce the first word of praise and gratitude. 
 Then judiciously turning the mind of her p^ipil 
 from the adoration of the Creator to the contem- 
 plation of the creature. Pity for the various ills 
 inseparable from human nature, soon gave birth to 
 charity, and the mercy she asked of God for her- 
 self, she felt ready to bestow upon her fellow mor- 
 tals ; not only in gifts of benevolence, but in acts 
 of forbearance and good will. Thus Fanny, in 
 imitation of the example Emily set before her eyes, 
 became good-natured, patient, and forgiving, from 
 principle, and benevolent from the irresistible 
 iieelings of her heart — 
 
 *^ Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclin'd. ' - 
 
 Tlie superiority in virtue over the generality of 
 ber sex to which Fanny afterwards attained, 
 
42 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 might justly be said to owe its perfection to the 
 early instructions of the amiable Emily, who, like 
 a guardian angel watched the infancy of her fa- 
 vourite, and took the advantage of that critical • 
 season when the human mind is fittest to receive 
 the impression of piety, and which, like the seed 
 time in agriculture, if once neglected cannot be 
 retrieved. And whilst she was anxiously incul- 
 cating the principles of religion and virtue, she 
 took especial care to eradicate every tendency lo 
 vanity or arrogance, from which, even the best 
 dispositions are not wholly exempt. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt*s presents were> but too well 
 calculated to engender pride, and the praises he 
 always lavished upon Fanny's person every time 
 he saw her, would inevitably have rendered her 
 vain, had not the watchful Emily repressed the 
 rising emotions, and by expatiating upon the pre- 
 carious tenure of personal charms, exposed as 
 they are to the ravages of sickness, and certain 
 decay of old age ; and explaining the still more 
 uncertain duration of human attachments, she 
 awakened in the mind of her youthful auditor re- 
 flections that would have done honour to a girl 
 double her number of years. 
 
 The effect Lord EUincourt's attachment to Fan- 
 ny had upon his mind, was of the most salutary 
 kind. With the genuine spirit of paternal affec- 
 tion, he was frequently calculating his expenses, 
 and projecting curtailments of their extent, in 
 order to purchase some advantage or pleasure 
 for his darling, and to the astonishment of all the 
 gentlemen of the turf, his lordship's stud at New- 
 market was sold off, and the destructive amuse- 
 ment of horse-racing abandoned within a year 
 after he took the whim of adopting Fanny, be- 
 cause he had made a determination to retrench, 
 in order to have it in his power to make a settle- 
 ment upon his favourite which resolution it was 
 
^HE LITTLE MBNDICANT. 43 
 
 impossible to put in practise whilst he kept up 
 such an extensive establishment, and incurred 
 such heavy losses as generally attended his gam- 
 bling ventures. 
 
 Lady Ellincourt, who felt greatly pleased with 
 the appearance of her son's reformation, gave every 
 encouragement to his patronage of the little or- 
 phan, and even indulged him so far as to invite 
 Fanny to spend a month with her during the 
 summer's vacation, at her country seat, which lay 
 in Yorkshire , on an estate that had been lately 
 purchased for her, by her agent, and was celebra- 
 ted for the antique grandeur of the house, and the 
 beauty of the^surrounding parks and grounds. 
 
 To this delightful retreat the happy Fanny was 
 conveyed in J^ady Eilincourt's coach, and no 
 sooner had she entered the great hall, than she ex- 
 claimed in ectasy, "Oh! this is mamma Sydney's 
 house, do let me see her?*' and running forward, 
 she made to a door opposite to her, and attempted 
 to open it. The lock resisted her efforts. " Pray 
 opon it for me ?" said the child, turning to a ser- 
 vant, "mamma Sydney is in there! and I want 
 to see her !" Lord Ellincourt, who had arrived a 
 few hours before his mother, now came into the 
 ball. " What is the matter with my Fanny ?'* 
 said his lordship, " what is the little girl doing 
 there ?" " I want to see mamma Sydney," replied 
 Fanny, "and I know she is in that room : she al- 
 ways used to sit there." 
 
 *' Were you ever in this house before my love ?" 
 asked his lordship, astonishment painted on his 
 countenance. "Oh! yes, papa, I used to live here, 
 and this door you will not open for me, is mam- 
 ma Sydney'sparlour. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt ordered a servant to inquire 
 for the key of the room, and turning to Fanny, he 
 siad '* your mamma Sydney cannot be in that 
 room for you see it is locked." Fanny stood in 
 
44 FATHERLESS FANNY; 0R> 
 
 the almost agitation whilst the key was fetched, 
 6ut appeared too much struck to speak a word. 
 In the mean time Lady Ellincourt, who had been 
 speaking to her steward relative to some altera- 
 tions that had been lately made, came up to see 
 what had arrested the attention of her son and 
 Fanny. 
 
 When she was informed of the child's assertion 
 respecting the house, — " Some resemblance, I 
 suppose," said her ladyship, " between this and 
 the house where she formerly resided ; but this 
 could not be her mamma Sydney's house, because 
 the estate belonged to a Mr. Hamilton, who had 
 resided abroad some years before his death, and I 
 purchased it of his heir. The place had not been 
 inhabited from the time Mr. Hamilton went 
 abroad, as its dilapidated condition plainly proved 
 at the time 1 took possession of it, about two years 
 ago." 
 
 At this moment the servant brought the key, 
 and the door was opened ; Fanny ran into the 
 room, but presently returned with a sorrowful 
 countenance;—" Mamma Sydney is not there," 
 said she, her eyes full of tears, " 1 wonder where 
 she is gone." " Are you sure this is the room 
 where your mamma Sydney used to sit?" asked 
 Lady Ellincourt. " Oh, yes, ma'am," replied 
 Fanny, *' see, here is her work-table !" and the 
 child going up to the fire-place, raised a bracelet 
 that seemed made for the convenience of holding 
 a candlestick or book, for any body who chose to 
 sit close to the fire. " Mamma Sydney used to 
 put her work-bag upon this, when she was work- 
 ing, and when she was doing nothing, her snuff- 
 box used to stand upon," said Fanny, " and 
 sometimes a book; and when she had done read- 
 ing, she would put her spectacles into the middle 
 of the book, and lay it down, and say to me, 
 ' Come, pitss, you must divert me 7ioiv' " 
 
'^^k-^??i/'r^/i t. ^^rmy m^^Acao' ^ (!^i^:>^,nfii/u QL- fa/n 't/u 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 45 
 
 Both Loi'd and Lady Ellincourt were very 
 much struck with an account so distinctly given 
 of an event so remote, and her ladyship said she 
 would inquire the particulars relative to the former 
 inhabitants of her mansion, and endeavour to 
 elucidate the mystery. 
 
 Fanny was now led about the spacious rooms 
 and long galleries that distinguished the noble 
 dwelling, by her beloved " joa/?a," and every now 
 and then expressed her delight at the discovery of 
 some old acquaintance, either in the rooms or 
 their furniture, and her recollection of trivial cir- 
 cumstances was so clear, that notwithstanding the 
 evidence that appeared to contradict the proba- 
 bility of Fanny's having been formerly an inmate 
 of Pemberton Abbey, neither Lord Ellincourt 
 nor his mother could divert their minds from the 
 belief that her account was correct. ' 
 
 Every inquiry was made amongst the tenantry, 
 likely to elucidate the mystery, but to little pur- 
 pose ; their answers corresponded uniformly when 
 compared together: — no Lady of the name ot 
 Sydney had resided in that house, nor did they 
 believe that Pemberton Abbey had been inhabited 
 by any body besides the servants, who had been 
 left in care of it, since the departure of Mr. Hamil- 
 ton, until it was purchased by Lady Ellincourt. 
 
 This was told Fanny; but she still persisted in 
 her assertion, nor could any argument, for a mo- 
 ment, shake her opinion. Of her removal from 
 Pemberton Abbey she could give but a very im- 
 perfect account; she remembered having been in 
 a carriage a long time, but whither she was carried, 
 or by whom, she could not tell; all she knew 
 perfectly was, that her mamma Sydney did not 
 go with her, and that the lady with whom she 
 staid for some days before she was left at Miss 
 Bridewell's, was very cross with her. 
 
 A wide field was here opened for conjecture, 
 
^t>, FATHERLESS FANNY : OR 
 
 and Lord and Lady Ellincoiirt were left to wan- 
 der in it, as all their efforts to obtain any light 
 upon the subject failed of effect. A circumstance 
 :which occurred just before Fanny's return to 
 school, served to increase the perplexity of their 
 minds, and to raise their curiosity to a pitch of 
 impatience, very ill-suited to the suspense they 
 were obliged to endure. 
 
 The apartment little Fanny slept in, was in the 
 same gallery as Lady Ellincourt's, and divided 
 from that room by a small chamber, which was 
 occupied by her ladyship's woman ; the screams 
 of poor Fanny, one night, awakened Lady Ellin- 
 court from a sound sleep, and starting from her 
 bed the amiable lady threw on her dressing gown, 
 and ran to the assistance of her favourite. Mrs. 
 Parsons, her maid, was there before her, and was 
 supporting the terrified child in her arms. 
 
 " What is the matter?" exclaimed Lady Ellin- 
 conrf, "my dear Fanny, what is the matter?" 
 ** Mamma Sydney has been here; she came and 
 looked at me, and when I spoke to her, she ran 
 away and would not answer." " You have been 
 dreaming, my love," said Lady Ellincourt. — "No, 
 indeed, Ma'am, I was wide awake," rej)lied the 
 child, " I heard her open my door, and saw her 
 come up to the bed, with a candle in her hand, 
 and she looked so angry when I spoke to her, 
 that she frightened me out of my wits. Pray, 
 dear Lady Ellincourt, call her back, and beg her 
 not to be angry with me." " My dear chiUl," an- 
 swered her ladyship, " this is mere fancy, J as- 
 sure you. Nobody could come into your room 
 without being heard by Parsons." "1 heard no- 
 thing, I assure your ladyship,'' said Mrs. Parsons, 
 " until Miss Fanny screamed out, and I was not 
 flsleep, for I had been indulging myself with a 
 Oook." 
 
 It was with great difiiculty that Lady Ellincourt 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT.' 4T 
 
 succeeded in pacifying the terrified Fanny, who 
 lay trembling, and in the greatest agitation. *' The 
 poor child has been frightened through a dream," 
 said the compassionate Lady, *' so take her into 
 my bed, Parsons, she shall not be left alone again 
 to-night, or her nerves may suffer severely." Mrs. 
 Parsons obeyed her lady's commands, and Fanny 
 was so delighted at being permitted to sleep with 
 her dear benefactress, that she forgot her terror, 
 and her tears, and gave way to such emotions of 
 joy, that Lady Eilincourt was sensibly affected, 
 by a proof of attachment so unquestionably ex- 
 quisite. 
 
 The next day, however, Fanny persisted in her 
 assertion, that she had really seen her Mamma 
 Sydney; nor could all Lady Ellincourt's disser- 
 tations on the strength of the imagination, during 
 the influence of dreams, avail any thing; the child 
 still insisted that she was wide awake when the 
 figure of Mamma Sydney had appeared before 
 her, and that the noise of some door opening had 
 awakened her. *'lt seemed," said she, "as if a 
 door had been forced open, that had been long 
 shut, for it made a bursting noise," *' There is 
 only the door that leads from Parson's door to 
 your's," replied Lady Eilincourt, "and that you 
 know stood open ; you must therefore have been 
 mistaken, my dear Fanny.'* Fanny shook her 
 wise head : " 1 cannot tell how it could be," said 
 she, " but I am sure it was as I say." 
 
 The room in which Fanny slept was pannelled 
 with cedar wood, which was carved in the most 
 curious manner, and had no doubt been esteemed 
 a chefd' tBiivre of workmanship, at the time the 
 bouse was built. The child's obstinacy respect- 
 ing the person she had seen, impressed Lady Eb- 
 lincourt's mind so strongly^ that she sent for a 
 carpenter to examine the wainscoat, with the most 
 scrupulous exactness, in order to ascertain whe- 
 
48 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 ther there was any secret entrance to the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 The scrutiuy, however, produced nothing to 
 elucidate the mystery ; the man declared the par- 
 titions perfectly sound; and asserted that it was 
 an utter impossibility that they should conceal 
 any way of entering the room impervious to his 
 minute investigation. This satisfied Lady Ellin- 
 court ; and she returned to her first opinion — i. e. 
 That Fanny had been misled by a dream ; and 
 the circumstance was soon forgotten by the child, 
 as no recurrence of the same terror could happen, 
 as her joy at sleeping with Lady EUincourt, had 
 endeared her so much to that lady, that she was 
 permitted to remain the partner of her bed during 
 her stay at Pemberton Abbey, from whence she 
 was conveyed to school, at the expiration of the 
 vacation. 
 
 The Christmas following the Miss Barlowe's 
 left Miss Bridewell's, and poor Fanny lost her 
 best friend in her beloved Emily ; her sorrow was 
 somewhat assuaged, however, by an unexpected 
 event. Mr. and Mrs. Barlowe ha<l come to Eng- 
 land to fetch their daughters, and the health of the 
 latter was so delicate, that it was judged neces- 
 sary to her recovery to breathe her native air for 
 sometime; she determined therefore to stay a 
 year in England, and thus Emily Barlowe had 
 frequent opportunities of visiting her dear Fanny, 
 as Mr. Barlowe entered into his daughter's feel- 
 ings respecting the child, with all the warmth of 
 benevolence natural to his disposition. The high 
 patronage the little orphan now enjoyed, rendered 
 all pecuniary aid unnecessary ; but Mr. Barlowe 
 knew enough of the world to believe that, not- 
 withstanding present appearances, there might 
 come a day when poor Fanny would find that 
 friendship is no inheritance. 
 
 *' If Lord EUincourt should neglect to make 
 
TUr. LITTLE MENDICANT. 49 
 
 any settlement upon his adopted child/' said the 
 good gentleman, " life is a precarious tenure, and 
 how soon may the sweet girl he exposed to the 
 frowns of a cruel world, or indeed, ^what is still 
 worse, to the various snares which are constantly 
 spread for indigent beauty, by the remorseless pan^- 
 ders of opulent depravity." 
 
 ** Surely," replied Emily, to whom this speech 
 was addressed, ** surely papa, Lord Ellincourt 
 will not be so cruel as to leave the dear child un- 
 provided for; his lordship seems so very fond of 
 her that I should think such a thing impossible.*' 
 
 " Lord Ellincourt is a very young man,'' an- 
 swered Mr. Barlowe, ** and besides that, a very 
 thoughtless one. I don't believe, by what I hear 
 of him, that he ever did a good thing in his life, 
 before he patronised Fanny. Such men as he 
 think little about death, although there is certainly 
 no situation which is more exposed to mortality, 
 than that of a true votary of fashion, since, should 
 their necks escape the perils of charioteering- — 
 their health, the intemperate excesses of midnight 
 revels — their lives lie at the mercy of every repro- 
 bate with whom they associate; for should he 
 choose to call them out for any frivolous offence, 
 whether fancied or real, the imperious laws, of 
 honour forbid them to decline the combat : yes, 
 such is the inverted order of things, that he who 
 has dared to blaspheme his God in his common 
 conversation, who has infringed the sacred rights 
 of humanity, upon the slightest temj)tation, and 
 who has trampled, in their turn, every law, human 
 and divine, as they opposed the gratification of his 
 inordinate passions ; such a man, I say, will trem- 
 ble to act in opposition to the self-created law of 
 the Moloch of these days, at whose shrine modern 
 idolaters still sacrifice their children without re- 
 morse or contrition." 
 
 If Mr, Barlowe had merely reasoned upon tlje 
 
50 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 subject of Fanny's precarious situation, little merit 
 could have been arrogated for such a negative 
 proof of his regard for her, but that worthy gen- 
 tleman had not so much of the Pharisee in his 
 composition ; he never discussed any subject, 
 either moral or divine, without acting up to the 
 principles he professed, and in this instance he 
 went even farther than common bounds of bene- 
 volence, for he provided for a contingency which 
 appeared perfectly imaginary to every eye but his 
 own. 
 
 Before Mr. Barlowe left England, he vested 
 five hundred pounds in the funds, in the name of 
 Fanny, and appointed a trustee to apply it to her 
 use, in case any thing should happen to render 
 such an assistance necessary. As Fanny had no 
 surname, Mr. Barlowe had described her actual 
 residence at the time of the donation, and other 
 circumstances proper to identify her, with a pre- 
 cision that proved his anxiety for her welfare, and 
 his own kind heart, beyond the possibility of a 
 doubt. The friend to whom the trust was con- 
 fided, was charged too, -to give immediate notice, 
 by letter, to Mr. Barlowe, should any accident 
 happen to place Fanny in circumstances of neces- 
 sity, as the generous gift was intended merely as 
 a prelude to hisfurtherbounty, in case of such an 
 event, as it had always been Mr. Barlowe's inten- 
 tion to indulge his daughter's wish of adopting 
 the pretty orphan, if it could be done without pre- 
 judice to her favourite; and although Lord Ellin- 
 court's bounty superseded that intention for the 
 present, Mr. Barlowe still cherished the idea that 
 the scheme might yet become both practicable 
 and agreeable to all parties. 
 
 The amiable heart of the gentle Emily felt the 
 most grateful impression of her father's kindness; 
 yet, still she found it impossible to believe any 
 thing that militated against the exalted opinion 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 61 
 
 she had formed of Lord Ellincourt's goodness. 
 The benevolence his lordship had evinced for her 
 favourite, in that trying moment, when her own 
 heart was nearly broken at finding herself power- 
 less in her cause, had first recommended him to 
 her favour ; the agremens of a handsome person 
 and highly-finished manners had completed the 
 conquest, and the gentle Emily had bestowed her 
 affections beyond the power of recalling them, 
 upon the unconscious Ellincourt, before she even 
 suspected such a thing was possible. 
 
 A father's anxious eyes had penetrated the 
 guarded secret of her bosom, by them he had seen 
 his daughter twice in Lord Ellincourt's company, 
 he had observed too, with equal precision, that his 
 lordship's ideas had never wandered towards the 
 love-sick Emily, and his prudence suggested an 
 immediate separation. It was this conviction, 
 too, that had induced him to dwell with such 
 force upon the general depravity oi fashionable 
 men, in his conversation with his daughter, which 
 has just been related, hoping that his just stric- 
 tures upon the manners of the great, would tend 
 lo weaken her partiality for Lord Ellincourt. But, 
 alas! when the poets' described love as a blind 
 deity, they ought to have added that he was deaf 
 also, and that his votaries were generally subject 
 to the same infirmities. 
 
 Emily Barlowe had been accustomed to believe 
 her father's opinions infallible, but on this occa- 
 sion she either did not ^e«r them, from the reason 
 above mentioned, or they failed in their usual 
 effect. 
 
 The year allotted for Emily Barlowe's stay in 
 England soon glided away, and the mournful 
 hour arrived that was to tear her from dear 
 England — her tenderly-beloved Fanny — and from 
 the contemplation of that admired countenance, 
 whose smile never failed of imparting delight, and 
 
62 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 whose frown gave the thrill of anguish to her 
 heart. 
 
 Fanny was at lady EUincourt's house, on a 
 visit, at the time of the Barlowe's departure, and 
 as Emily was a particular favourite with her lady- 
 ship, she was invited to spend the last week of 
 her stay in Loudon, under the same roof with her 
 favourite. This was a dangerous indulgence to 
 the tender girl, who had now an opportunity of 
 more frequently meeting with another J'avourite^ 
 not so conizenial to lier liappinessas the blooming 
 Fanny. Lord Ellinconrt hud always thought 
 Emily Barlowe a sweet girl, and felt grateful to 
 her for her kindness to Fanny, but he was too 
 much accustomed to the boldness of modern la- 
 dies, whose beauty demands rather than wins ad- 
 miration, to be easily charmed by unobtrusive 
 merit, and soft feminine loveliness, veiled by the 
 shade of general modesty. 
 
 His lordship felt surprised, therefore, to find 
 what a charming girl he had so long regarded with 
 indifference, when a more social intercourse dis- 
 played those attractions to his notice, which had 
 been hitherto concealed by the amiable diffidence 
 of the lovely possessor. "Upon my honour," 
 said his lordship, the morning after Emily's de- 
 parture, •' upon my honour, 1 should have been 
 desperately in love with Emily Barlowe, if she 
 had staid a little longer. Where did she hide all 
 her powers of charming so long? Most young la- 
 dies are to be known now a-days, by conversing 
 with them two or three times; at least all that is 
 agreeable in them ; but this lovely creature seems 
 to rise in one's estimation every time one con- 
 verses with her, and I have never examined her 
 blushing countenance of late, without discovering 
 some beauty unobserved before, yet which ap- 
 peared too striking to be overlooked by any, but 
 an insensible. Can you tell me, my dear mother, 
 the reason of this late discovery?" 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 5& 
 
 Lady Ellincourt smiled. "The reason, my 
 dear Edmund, lies in your own breast, where a 
 gTOwino; partiality has beautified its object, and 
 discovered charms impervious to any other vision." 
 *' What do not you admire Emily then ?" asked 
 Lord Ellincourt. *' I c?o, most sincerely,'' answered 
 her ladyship, "but so \ always did; I find no 
 new beauties, she always appeared to me a lovely 
 girl, both in mind and person." '* I wish you had 
 said before, that you thought her so," replied 
 Lord Ellincourt, with a thoughtful look. Lady 
 Ellincourt smiled : *' I never wished to direct 
 your choice, Edmund," said she, "but if it had 
 fallen on Miss Emily Barlovve, I certainly should 
 have started no objection; her fortune is large, 
 and her family unexceptionable: but she is gone^ 
 and you must endeavour to forget her." 
 
 " That is impossible," replied his lordship, 
 whose imagination had grown warm, in discuss- 
 ing the subject, " I can never forget the charming 
 Emily, and J have a great mind to follow her to 
 Jamaica." *' Take a little time for consideration," 
 said Lady Ellincourt, " the fit may go off, a lover's 
 eternity is not of long duration — sometimes." 
 " You treat the matter lightly, my dear mother," 
 said Lord Ellincourt, *' but depend upon it you 
 will find I am serious; in the meantime, I am 
 glad to find this alliance does not come within the 
 censure of ill-assorted matches, which I remember 
 you once seriously warned me against — apropos, 
 you said there was a melancholy instance in our 
 family, of the folly of such marriages; 1 wish you 
 would tell me the long story, as you styled it, I 
 feel an inclination for such an indulgence; will you 
 grant it me ?" " With pleasure, my dear Edmund," 
 replied Lady Ellincourt, " when we have time to 
 get to the end of it, which is not the case now. 
 This evening, however, I shall be at your service, 
 Fanny is to return tr Myrtle Grove this morning, 
 
 a 
 
54 PATKFERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 her young companions wiil console her better 
 than I can, for the loss she has sustained, or at 
 ^east make her forget her sorrow, for that is the 
 only remedy at her age." Lord Ellincourt said 
 he would accompany his mother in her morning 
 drive, and assist in taking their mutual favourite 
 to school." 
 
 Fanny was now in her eleventh year, and beau- 
 tiful as an angel. 7 here was such an expression 
 of innocence and' sweetness in her countenance, 
 that it was impossible not to love her ; and al- 
 though the tints of the rose, the lily, the violet, 
 and the carnation, combined to render her com- 
 plexion lovely, it was the emanation of her hea- 
 venly mind tliat gave that brilliancy to her coun- 
 tenance, which rendered it truly dazzling. Lord 
 Ellincourt contemplated his lovely ward, as he 
 sat opposite to her in his mother's barouche, and 
 le was more than ever struck wi(h her exquisite 
 jeauty. Tisat sweet girl, thought he, must be 
 j)rotected with unceasing vigilance, or she vvill 
 fall a sacrifice to some of the wretches, her iin- 
 rommon loveliness will not fail to attract around 
 her. But, although Lord Ellincourt felt the ne- 
 cessity of protectingFanny, he neglected tlie surest 
 method of doing so, and thereby verified Mr. Bar- 
 Jowe's opinion of him, that he was a thoughtless 
 ^s well as a young man. 
 
 We will now, however, set down Fanny atMisis 
 Bridewell's, and jumping over a few hours, or kill- 
 ing them by any fashionable device, bring our 
 'eaders to Lady Ellincouri's fire-side; where her 
 adyship on one side, and her son on the other, 
 hey may listen to our nest chapter, which con- 
 ains a long story. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 55 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A Long Story. 
 
 *' My father," said LadyElIincourt, '^vas, you 
 know, the Marquis of Petersfieid, but at the time 
 of his C(jming of age, there was very little pro- 
 bability of his ever attaining to that dignity, as he 
 was only a very distasit branch of the Trentham 
 family, and no less than thirteen living claimants, 
 besides the chance of tlieir having children, stood 
 between hiin and the title ; yet such is the muta- 
 bility of all human tenures, that notwithstanding 
 these opposing obstacles, my father became Mar- 
 quis of Petersfield by the time he was eight-and- 
 thirty. Fie was then a widower, with two chil- 
 e]ren — my dear lamented brother and myself, 
 happy would it have been for us had he never 
 been induced to re-enter the pale of wedlock! 
 My father had doated on my mother, and he 
 transferred his affections to her children, wheii 
 she was borne from him by a premature death. 
 Never was a fonder parent, a more indulgent 
 friend, than he always approved himself to us, 
 whilst we were so happy as to share his love be- 
 tween us. 
 
 " My brother was nearly three years older than 
 I was, and the most perfect friendship existed 
 between us from the first dawn of reason. My 
 beloved Seymour was of so sweet a disposition 
 that he made it hiy stutty to render me happy, 
 and the little superiority he had over me, in point 
 of age, rendered him at once my instructor and 
 playiisale. At the time of my father's second 
 marriage, I had just attained my fourteenth year, 
 and Seymour was seventeen 
 
56 FATHERLESS FANNY *. OR, 
 
 *' The lady selected for our motber-m-law, was 
 every way loy father's inferior, both as to rank 
 and fortune; being merely the daughter of & 
 subaltern officer, who had been educated as half- 
 boarder at a school of repute, and from thence 
 attained to the employment of governess to two 
 overgrown girls of fashion, whose ill-judging 
 mother had engaged Miss Henderson to relieve 
 her from the irksome task of entertaining her 
 daughters, for instruction had been long out of 
 the question with the pupils committed to her 
 care. The eldest, Miss Howard, was seventeen 
 at the time Miss Henderson entered Lady How- 
 ard's family, and the youngest considerably turned 
 of fifteen. 
 
 "The girls were co-heiresses, and perfectly 
 aware of their approaching independence — theii 
 fortunes were to be at their own disposal the very 
 day of their coming of age. 
 
 ** Miss Henderson was artful enough to consult 
 her own interest, rather than the improvement of 
 her pupils; she accordingly indulged their most 
 capricious fancies, and entered into their most un- 
 reasonable projects with a degree of patient per- 
 severance, that succeeded in rendering her indis- 
 pensible to their happiness. This was just what 
 Miss Henderson had intended, and she exulted 
 in the success of her schemes. Instead of being 
 dismissed when her pupils were presented, as is 
 usual with governesses in general, Miss Hender- 
 son was retained as their companion, with an in 
 creased salary, that she might be enabled to visit 
 with them, in a style of elegance suitable to the 
 appearance of the ladies she accompanied. This 
 much wished-for intercourse with the fashionable 
 world, introduced Miss Henderson to my father, 
 and her ambition was fired with the hopes of ob- 
 taining his notice as a lover, which hopes were 
 afterwards but too fatally realized, for the welfare 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 57 
 
 or ray unfortunate brother and myself. Miss 
 Henderson was the epitome of every thing that is 
 hateful in woman ; artful, designing, and insatia- 
 bly ambitious. 
 
 " In the subordinate station she had hitherto 
 filled, it had been necessary for her to display the 
 most unvarying complaisance. She had appeared, 
 therefore, to my father's infatuated fancy a gentle 
 timid creature, whose diffidence and unassuming 
 modesty veiled half the perfections of her mind ; 
 and he exulted in the thought of bestowing upon 
 his children a mother-in-law, who would be as 
 solicitous for their welfare as he was himself. 
 Unhappy delusion ! which cost him but too dear! 
 No sooner was Miss Henderson raised to the 
 rank of Marchioness of Petersfield, than all her 
 complaisance, her humility, and her gentleness, 
 vanished like the fading meteor. 
 
 " The most haughty airs, the most intolerable 
 caprice, were instantly displayed by the new-made 
 peeress, and felt by every unfortunate creature 
 who came within the circle of her power. To my 
 brother she took the most inveterate dislike, from 
 the first week of her marriage; and Itord />Mr- 
 Amn's extravagance, and X«or(i/>wrAam's idleness, 
 the unformed rudeness of his manners, soon became 
 the unfailing theme of her invective. Whilst he 
 was at home the poor youth never enjoyed a mo- 
 ment's respite from her malice; and when he re- 
 turned to college, his bills were censured, his al- 
 lowance curtailed, and every vexatious torture in- 
 fiicted upon him, which cruelty could invent, or 
 ingenuity devise. To me she was more indulgent, 
 for she felt not the same jealousy oimy existence, 
 which disturbed her with regard to my brother. 
 - "She was ambitious of becoming the mother, 
 as well as the wife, of a Marquis; and the birth 
 of a son a year after her marriage, rendered her 
 more formidably malicious to Lord Durhanij than 
 
58 FATHERLESS FANNY : OK, 
 
 slie had ever been before. At the age .of nineteen 
 my dear brother was sent abroad, to give that 
 necessary finish to polite education, which n-ed 
 to be acquired by visiting the different courts of 
 Europe, but which has been impracticable ever 
 since French anarchy has convulsed every Euro- 
 pean state witii war and faction. The e?ening 
 before his departure, the amiable youlh was in my 
 dressing room, passing the last tew hours of his 
 slay in the parental mansion, with the only person 
 who appeared to lament his departure. My fa- 
 ther's affection had long been weaned from him 
 by the artifices of his cruel mother-in-law. 
 . " * My dear Catherine,' said Lord Durham, 
 pressing my hand as he spoke, ' I am, at this mo- 
 ment, labouring under an affliction of which your 
 gentle breast has no idea. The pangs I feel at 
 parting from my sweet sister are severe indeed ; 
 but what will she say when I assure her that there 
 exists another dear one, from whom I cannot tear 
 rpyself without feelings of agony, nothing inferior 
 10 those which part the soul and body.' ' Good 
 heavens !' exclaimed I, * what means ray dearest 
 Seymour?' 'I mean,' replied the sweet youth, 
 
 * that I have undone myself by my imprudence, 
 and that 1 have involved the most amiable of her 
 sex in my ruin — I am married I' * Married ?' re- 
 peated I, ' and to whom ?' * To an angel,' rejoin- 
 ed he, wringing his hands in agony, ' Oh! Caroline, 
 your heart wil bleed for her, when you know her.' 
 
 * Have yon never hinted your situation to my fa- 
 ther ?' inquired J, trembling as I spoke, for i per- 
 ceived such a wildness in my brother's looks that 
 it alarmed me beyond expression. ' I never 
 touched upon the subject but once,' answered he, 
 
 * and then 1 was silenced in a manner too de- 
 cisive to admit of my again renewing it.' 
 
 " • But who is the lady ?' said 1, ' you forget 
 my anxiety, for I am sure you would not trifle 
 
• TH2 LITTLE MENDICANT, 69 
 
 with it.' * You know Lady Emily Hinchiubroke?' 
 * I do/ replied I, ' but surely it is not her, the 
 daughter of my father's deadly foe, the man who 
 would have deprived him of life?' * It is, it is,* 
 exclaimed Seymour, in an agony of grief, ' ah I 
 why did I ever behold her face? Why was I ever 
 taught the inestimable value of an affection that 
 has undone me? But I will no longer keep you 
 in suspense ; the mournful story is a short one : — 
 
 " ' 1 became acquainted with the fascinating 
 Emily whilst on a visit to Lord Kiversdale, her 
 maternal uncle, whose son has always been my 
 most intimate friend at college ; the attachment 
 was mutual, and I really believe its violence vvas 
 increased by the certainty that it never could be 
 approved by our parents. A secret correspon- 
 dence has been carried on these two years be- 
 tween us, and at length, in a fit of desperation, it 
 was determined that we should be asked in 
 church, and married, as we were both under age, 
 and could not be united by any other means. This 
 plan was the suggestion of sir Henry Poulet, 
 Lord Riversdale's son, who has been our confi- 
 dant from the beginning of our attachment. In a 
 fatal hour we both acceded to it. Emily was on 
 a visit at Lord Riversdale's, in Berkley Square, 
 and as I visited there every day, with the freedom 
 of a son, the unfortunate scheme was but too 
 easily accomplished. 
 
 '* * It is now about five months since we were 
 united, and already have we deeply repented our 
 imprudent rashness, and yet our repentance does 
 not originate in decay of affection, far from it, our 
 /ove is more tender, more ardent than ever; but 
 alas ! we see too plainly the fatal consequences 
 t)f our impatience. My own sufferings would be 
 nothing in my eyes, were it not for those entailed 
 upon my Emily. Oh ! that any selfish gratifica- 
 tion should have induced me to fill that heart with 
 
(50 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 sorrow, that beats only for nie ! The secret has 
 hitherto been kept inviolable, and I believe un- 
 suspected, but that security is at an end, for 
 Lord Somertown has fixed upon a husband 
 for his daughter, and she has received notice to 
 prepare herself for the event. The rich Mar- 
 quis of Alderney is his intended son-in-law. Emily 
 infreats me to leave her to the development of 
 our unhappy secret, and assures me that she con- 
 siders it a fortunate circumstance that I am about 
 to leave England, as she thinks her father's anger 
 will cool sooner when he feels the impossibility of 
 wreaking it upon me; but these arguments have 
 little weight with a heart so anxious as mine, and 
 1 would rather brave his utmost fury than leave 
 my angel Emily, to encounter the slightest share 
 of his resentment. 1 have done every thing in my 
 power to delay my journey, but nothing can avail 
 me to protract my departure any longer, unless I 
 make a premature discovery, which must inevita- 
 bly prove fatal to us both. 1 am constrained, 
 therefore, to abandon her my soul holds dearest 
 upon earth, at the moment she stands most in need 
 of my support. 
 
 " ' All our hopes rest upon some accidental 
 rupture of the marriaixe treaty, between Lord 
 Somertown and the Marquis of Alderney. If 
 Emily could but remain unmolested until I am of 
 age, every thing would be well. Henry Poiilet 
 has promised to give me notice, should any violent 
 step be taken with my Emily, that I may fiy to 
 her succour; for what barriers could prevent me 
 from returning, if her danger called for my pro- 
 tection? No impedimentthat seas, rocks, or moun- 
 tains can present, coidd for an instant intimidate 
 a mind absorbed as mine is, by one object, dearer 
 than life itself. 
 
 •'I listened to this recital of my brother's un- 
 fortunate story with an aching heart, too well ao- 
 
THE LITTLB MENDICANT. 
 
 d 
 
 qnainted with the animosity that existed between 
 Lady Emily's father and my own, to form the 
 slightest hope of their ever being reconciled ; my 
 prophetic eye beheld in an instant the phial of 
 vengeance poured upon their devoted heads. Lady 
 Petersfield I knew would aggravate every thin^ 
 likely to render my brother obnoxious to my fa- 
 ther's anger, and I too plainly foresaw that the 
 unpropitious union would not be long a secret. 
 Yet still I thought it better that my brother should 
 not be within reach of Lord Soraertown's ven- 
 ,qeance, duringthefirstemotionsof fury that would 
 follow the fatal discovery; I therefore urged his 
 immediate departure; and, endeavouring to veil 
 my own agonized feelings, 1 spoke the words of 
 Iiope, whilst my heart trembled with terror; my 
 faultering accents, however, but ill-accorded with 
 the cheerfulness I wished to inspire. Seymour 
 wrung my hand, whilst agony was painted on his 
 countenance. ' It is in vain, my sister, that you 
 attempt to console me — that pale cheek — that 
 quivering lip — and tear-fraught eye, but too plain- 
 ly tell me what you think of our situation. The 
 die is cast, and our fate is irrevocable. To heaven 
 i commend my Emily. Ah, surely innocence, such 
 as her's, will not be forsaken ! And yet why 
 should I abandon her? No ! I will stay, and brave 
 the worst; I will this night confess my marriage 
 lo my father, and implore his protection for my 
 •adored wife ; he will not, I am sure, be able to 
 esist the eloquence of a love like mine.' 
 
 ** * For heaven's sake,' interrupted I, * think no 
 more of such a mad scheme, replete with instant 
 ruin. You talk of softening my father by your 
 eloquence; but oh! tell me who shall be found 
 sufficiently skilled in persuasion, to soothe the 
 anger of Lord Somerown I You are both under 
 age, the marriage can therefore be set aside, and 
 you may depend upon it that would be the first 
 
 I 
 
62 ' FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, " 
 
 step her vindictive father would take, shauld you, 
 by a premature discovery, put it into bis power to 
 do so. You aregoing^ abroad, when you return 
 you will be of age. It will be easy to find an 
 opportunity of rendering your marriage indisso- 
 luble by repeating the ceremony, and who knows 
 what accidents may intervene during the period of 
 your absence, that may render its renewal more 
 propitious. Lord Snmertown is not immortal, 
 and should he die, 1 am sure my father's animo- 
 sity would die with him. He is too good a man 
 to visit the sins of the father upon the innocent 
 offspring.' 
 
 " ' True, my dear sister,' replied Lord Durham, 
 * but instead of the fair prospect, you endeavour 
 to place before my eyes, suppose my Emily's 
 stern parent should insist upon her giving her hand 
 to another; what will become of the timid girl 
 nnsupported as she will then be by the husband 
 for whose sake she must brave the brutal fury of 
 that most vindictive man ?' ' Should any treaty of 
 marriage be likely to be brought to a conclusion,' 
 said J, ' it will then be time enough for you to re- 
 turn and acknowledge your marriage. I promise 
 to take the first opportunity of getting an interview 
 with Lady Emily ; I visit a lady who is intimate 
 with her, we vvill then lay a plan for carrying on 
 a correspondence, and I promise to inform you of 
 every movement which seems likely to threaten 
 your beloved Emily with danger.' 'Kind be- 
 loved sister!' exclaimed my brother, pressing my 
 hand, ' I will rely on your friendship, and be 
 guided by your advice, and believe me it is no 
 small consolation to me, in this hour of trial, to 
 possess a confident so ready to sympathize in my 
 sufferings.' 
 
 " Soon after this'conversation my brother took 
 bis leave, and 1 passed the remainder of the night 
 ui tears and lamentations, without attempting to 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 63 
 
 undress myself or go to bed. At the peep of day 
 I heard the carriage, that was to convey him away 
 come to the door. I crept to my window, and 
 saw him step into it, attended by his tutor, the 
 door closed upon him, and the rattling of the 
 wheels was soon lost in distance. 1 listened to the 
 last faint sound, and throwing myself upon my bed 
 I exclaimed ' he is gone ! I shall see that beloved 
 face no more.' My tears nearly suffocated me, 
 and I sank upon my pillow in an agony of woe. 
 Alas ! my words were prophetic — 1 saw the noble 
 youth no more! He was doomed to fall beneath 
 the murderous steel of an assassin! But I must 
 not anticipate the catastrophe. 
 
 ." Lord Durham was no sooner gone, than our 
 cruel mother-in-law set every engine to work to 
 niin him with his father. Through the medium 
 of a discarded servant from Lord Somertown's, 
 she learned the secret of my brother's attachment 
 to Lady Emily — of the marriage, however, she 
 knew nothing, nor do I believe a suspicion of such 
 a circumstance ever crossed her imagination. This 
 was, however, sufficient to exasperate my father, 
 the bare idea of a connexion between his son 
 and the daughter of his implacable enemy, filled 
 him with fury, and so artfully did his unprincipled 
 wife work upon his irritated feelings, that he took 
 a solemn oath never to see his son again if, he 
 persisted in his choice of Lady Emily jor a wife. 
 
 " This resolution was communicated to ray un- 
 fortunate brother, in a letter from his incensed fa- 
 ther, who imprecated the most dreadful maledic- 
 tions upon his son's head, should he dare to act 
 in disobedience to his commands. 
 
 •' My Brother was at Nice when he received the 
 fatal mandate, and he pursued his way to Italy, 
 with a heart nearly broken with anguish and re- 
 morse. In the meantime I had fulfilled my pro- 
 mise of cultivating Lady Emily's friendship, and 
 
C4 .'ATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 I often uad t!ie satisfaction of observing that the 
 sweet giil seemed to receive the most salutary 
 consolation from our mutual confidence. We 
 could not meet openly, but we enjoyed our friend- 
 ly intercourses unsupected, at the house of a third 
 person Poor Lady Emily's health began to de- 
 cline rapidly: she became pale and thin, and the de- 
 pression of herspirits seemed to increase daily; she 
 was so urgent for me to pass as much timeas possi- 
 ble with her, that I often went imprudent lengths 
 to gratify her, and the consequence was, that the 
 implacable Lady Petersfield discovered our in- 
 timacy, by means of some of her spies ; this was 
 fresh food for her malice, and she did not fail to 
 make use of it, to the destruction of the unhappy 
 lovers. 
 
 ** Lady Emily had shewn so much firmness in 
 therefusal of the Marquis of Alderney's addresses, 
 that her father, who did not in the least degree 
 suspect her cause of it, yielded to her obstinacy, 
 and dismissed the lover. What then was his 
 fury when he was informed by a letter from Lady 
 Petersfield, that there was a secret correspondence 
 carried on between his daughter and Lord Dur- 
 ham. The letter wa$ couched in terms of haughty 
 defiance, and implied to have been written by my 
 father's order: it contained a peremptory injunc- 
 tion to put a stop to the connexion, or to tremble 
 for the consequences. 
 
 *' No language could do justice to the rage that 
 agitated the furious Earl, when he had read the 
 fatal letter ; he sent for Lady Emily into his pre- 
 sence, and so violent was the paroxysm of his 
 anger, that he would certainly have made her its 
 victim, by destroying her the instant she came be- 
 fore him, but for the timely interference of a ser- 
 vant, who came to her assistance, and forcibly 
 dragged her from her enraged father, at the peril 
 of his own life, and conveyed her out of her pa-. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. C5 
 
 ternal mansion before Lord Soinertown was aware 
 of his intention. The sweet girl lay concealed in 
 an obscure lodging for several days, and the ser- 
 vant having disappeared also, the voice of scandal 
 soon spread the report that Lord Somertown's 
 daughter had ran off with her father's footman. 
 
 " Lady Petersfield took care to have several 
 paragraphs respecting this pretended elopement 
 inserted in different papers, and collecting the va- 
 rious reports together, she made a packet of them 
 and sent them with Lord Durham's letters to 
 Florence. A letter from me, however, went by 
 the same mail, which informed my brother of 
 Lord Somertown's ill-treatment of Lady Emily, 
 and her fortunate escape from his tyranny. I as- 
 sured him his beloved Emily was in safe hands, 
 and had determined to return no more to her fa- 
 ther, as she found herself in a fair way of becom- 
 ing a mother, and therefore knew too well the 
 fatal consequences of such a circumstance being; 
 known to her father, to risk so dangerous a step. 
 I endeavoured to inspire my brother with a degree 
 of confidence I did not feel myself, but my letter 
 produced the contrary effect, for it made him take 
 the rash resolution of returning immediately to 
 England. 
 
 ** His tortured mind beheld his beloved wife 
 exposed to every danger, both from relations and 
 strangers. Oppressed by her father, traduced by 
 the world, and defenceless amidst a host of ene- 
 mies. The picture was too horrible to dwell upon, 
 and without giving me any notice of his intention, 
 the unfortunate youth set out on his retrogade 
 journey. In the mean time every effort was made 
 by Lord Somertown to discover the retreat of his 
 daughter, but without success ; she still eluded 
 his vigilance, and was so fortunate as to reach the 
 house of a generous friend, who had determined 
 
66 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 to run all risks for her sake, without any suspicion 
 being awakened among the numerous spies wno 
 "were upon the watch to detect her movements; 
 as soon as I was informed of this lucky circum- 
 stance, I wrote the pleasing news to my brother, 
 little imagining that he was on his way to England, 
 rej^ardless of danger and impatient of delay. 
 
 *' At this time my father removed his family to 
 the country for the summer, and I was under the 
 necessity of'accompanying him ; this was a cruel 
 trial to me, as 1 found it very difficult to obtain 
 any intelligence of Emily, as it was impossible to 
 write to her by direct means, and the tedious me- 
 thods I was forced to adopt, rendered my sus- 
 pense and anxiety intolerable. At length the 
 agreeable news reached me that she had given 
 birth to a daughter, and was in a fair way to do 
 well. 
 
 " How did 1 exultatthat moment in the pleasing 
 reflection that the sweet infant had escaped the fury 
 of Lord Somertown, from whose vindictive rage I 
 felt the mostdreadful apprehensions. Alas ! I had 
 butlittle time for exultation, as a very few days only 
 elapsed before the deepest sorrow overwhelmed me, 
 in the premature death of the most amiable of bro- 
 thers. Lord Durham had pursued his journey to 
 England with such unremitting diligence that he 
 arrived in London before I thought it probable he 
 had received my letter. 
 
 *' Dissappointed at not finding me in town, he 
 wrote to me in haste to inquire the retreat of his 
 beloved Emily. This letter, by one of those un- 
 lucky chances that too frequently occur in clan- 
 destine proceedings, fell into the hands of our im- 
 placable mother-in-law. 
 
 "Lord Durham's hand-writing was well known 
 to her, and as the London post-mark struck her eye, 
 her fertile imagination presented the possibility oi 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. C7 
 
 my brother s return to England, on Lady Emily's 
 account. Lady Petersfield had no idea that the 
 unhappy pair were already united, but supposed 
 that Lord Durham bad been brought back by 
 Emrly's entreaties, that the union might be ce- 
 mented. There was nothing Lady Petersfield 
 dreaded more than my brother's marrying, and 
 she naturally concluded, as he was so much at- 
 tached to Lady Emily, if she could but prevent 
 the marriage, there would be little danger of his 
 making another choice. Full of these ideas, there- 
 fore, the cruel woman carried my brother's letter 
 to my father, without breaking the seal, and im- 
 parting her sentiments to him, upon the subject, 
 left it to his own option whether he would read it 
 or not. My father did not hesitate a moment, but 
 tearing open the fatal letter, he soon became mas- 
 ter of the carefully-concealed secret. 
 
 "Good Heavens! what a scene followed! I 
 was sent for by my enraged parent, and loaded 
 with every epithet anger could dictate or passion 
 utter! In accents scarcely articulate from fury, 
 he demanded the place of Lady Emily's retire- 
 ment, and said he would not only disinherit, but 
 instantly renounce me, if I refused to satisfy him 
 on that head. His threats had, however, no other 
 eflfect than that of determining me to keep the 
 secret inviolable. * Oh! my father,' said I, throw- 
 ing myself on my knees before him, * oh! ray fa- 
 ther, spare your unhappy daughter, and tempt her 
 not to betray confiding friendship. I have solemn- 
 ly sworn not to reveal to any one the retreat of 
 my unhs»ppy sister, and I cannot break the sacred 
 vow, though you were even cruel enough to fulfil 
 your dreadful threats, and crush me beneath the 
 weight of your vengeance.' 
 
 *' * Begone from my presence, serpent,' said my 
 father, * begone, or 1 shall curse thee ! How soon 
 does a girl, when she is made the confident of a 
 
G8 FATHERLESS FANNY! OR, 
 
 romantic love story, lose all sense of duty, all 
 shame of acting rebellious to her parents. You 
 talk of friendship v/illi your father's bitter enemy, 
 and would prefer woundinj;'' his heart, to the un- 
 pardonable crime of betraying this highly-prized 
 friend. But call her not your sister, at your peril 
 give her not that ame. She is not — she cannot 
 be that — no marriage can be good which is con- 
 tracted by a minor, and I will take care your bro- 
 ther shall have no opportunity of renewing the 
 contract. Begone to your apartment, girl, and 
 in that retirement endeavour to recall to your per- 
 verted mind some sense of filial duty. I forbid 
 you to leave your room until I withdraw the pro- 
 hibition, and if you value your brother's happiness 
 attempt not to write to him.' 
 
 " I obeyed my father's harsh mandate in silence, 
 and retired slowly to my room, where I had the 
 mortification of finding myself constantly attend- 
 ed, and closely watched by Lady Petersfieid's 
 confidential friend — a creature who seemed to bear 
 an instructive hatred both to my brother and my- 
 self. 
 
 ** In the mean time my father wrote to Lord Dur- 
 ham, and informed him that having come to a know- 
 ledge of his most unpardonable misconduct, in 
 attaching himself to Lady Emily, he offered him 
 his pardon, on one condition only, namely, to re- 
 turn immediately to the Continent, without at- 
 tempting to see theobject of his imprudent choice. 
 * All efibrts to obtain an interview,' added my fa- 
 ther, ' will prove ineffectual, and only serve to ex- 
 pose you to my just resentment, as Lady Eujily i:^ 
 now in her father's house, where I hope she will 
 recover a proper sense of her duty, and no longer 
 endeavour to seduce you from yours. 
 
 "The receipt of this letter, instead of intimidat- 
 ing my brother, as it was intended to do, had a 
 contrary effect, and determined him instantly tc» 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 69 
 
 declare his marriacre to both families, and demand 
 iiis wife. Full of tliis resolution, he wroie a leuer 
 <'o his father, acknowledging his fault in having 
 laken a step of such importance, without his sanc- 
 tion, but at the same time declaring that it was his 
 fixed resolve to abide by the consequences, be they 
 what they might, and live only for his Emily. * I 
 am going,' added he, * to demand her of her cruel 
 father, for she shall no longer remain under his 
 tyranny.* 
 
 *' The letter concluded with the most affecting 
 entreaty for pardon, and an appeal to Lord Pe- 
 tersfield's parental feelings in behalf of his unfor- 
 tunate son. As soon as my brother had despatch- 
 ed this letter, he flew to Lord Someriown's, and 
 requested an interview with his lordship. To his 
 surprise he was immediately admitted. Lord 
 Somertown received him with haughty coldness, 
 but without any appearance of the violence he had 
 expected. Encouraged by this. Lord Durham 
 entered upon an immediate explanation of his 
 marriage with Lady Emily, and in a mild but de 
 termined manner desired to be allowed to see her. 
 
 " ' Who told you she was in my house ?* asked 
 Lord Somertown. * My father,' replied Lord 
 Durham. * The information is worthy the infor« 
 rner,' rejoined the exasperated Earl, whose coun- 
 tenance now bore testimony to the rage that boiled 
 within his bosom. * I will tell you what, young 
 man,' added he, in a voice scarcely articulate 
 through stifled fury, * I will tell you what, you 
 have injured ine beyond the reach of remedy, and 
 . i£7i7/have vengeance. Remember! I tell you so. 
 As to my daughter, she is not, nor ever shall be, 
 lour wife ; much sooner would I see her expire 
 ceneath the tortures of the rack, than acknow 
 edge such an union. Your boasted marriage is 
 ^ull and void, for you are both under age; name 
 t not again, for i will annul it.* 
 
 K 
 
70 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 " ' My marriage is valid, and no power can an- 
 nul it,' replied Lord Durliam, * we were married 
 at our parish church, after having the banns pub- 
 lished three times, in the same place, according 
 to the form prescribed ; and had you, my lord, 
 attended public worship, as you ought to do, you 
 would have had an opportunity of forbidding the 
 banjis, if the marriage did not meet with your ap- 
 probation.' 
 
 *'' Vile traitor !' exclaimed Lord Somertown, 
 * begone from my presence: and he rang the bell 
 for the servants to turn my brother out, which 
 they did by force, with the most insolent brutality. 
 
 *' ' Remember,' cried Lord Somertown, as the 
 men were dragging my brother out. ' remember I 
 will annul the marriage, there are more ways than 
 one of doing it. No Trentham shall unite with my 
 family, and live^ When my brother returned 
 home, he wrote a letter tome relating all that had 
 passed at Lord Somertown's, and entreating me to 
 inform him whither his Emily was, indeed, un- 
 der her father's roof. 
 
 '* My brother desired me to endeavour to soften 
 his father in his favour, and to lend him what as- 
 sistance I could, in finding his beloved wife. The 
 writing of this letter was the last action that was 
 known of the unfortunate youth's life. A note 
 had been given him, whilst he was employed in it, 
 and as soon as he had finished it, he took his hat, 
 and went out. His servant waited up for him, 
 until the dawn of day, and felt great alarm at his 
 itaying out, as it was very unusual with my bro- 
 ther to do so. When the porter got up. Lord 
 Durham's valet went to bed, and having slept till 
 nine o'clock, found his anxiety greatly increased, 
 when he learned that his Lord had not yet re- 
 turned. 
 
 ** My father, on the receipt of my brother's let- 
 ter, had set immediately oft' for Lotidon, and ar- 
 ■^ived there late the same night. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 71 
 
 "The bouse was in the utmost confusion when 
 he alighted from his carriage, as the bleeding body 
 of my brother had just been found in Kensington 
 Gardens, and recently owned by his affectionate 
 valet, whose anxiety for his master's safety had 
 led him all over the town in search of him. The 
 report of a wounded gentleman being found inKen- 
 sington Gardens, soon reached his ears, and he flew 
 to the spot whither Lord Durham had been con- 
 veyed by the person who found him, and where 
 surgical aid had been administered in vain; for al- 
 though my dear brother shewed signs of life for 
 several hours after he was found, he never spoke, 
 nor gave the least token of sensibility, and every 
 glimmering of hope was fled, and the last faint 
 struggle over, before poor Graham arrived, who 
 instantly recognised his beloved master, when he 
 looked upon his lifeless corpse, disfigured as it 
 was by wounds and blood ; and on searching his 
 pockets narrowly, a note, which had escaped the 
 notice of the first examiners, was found, which 
 Lord Durham had received only a few minutes 
 before he left his father's house, and which, no 
 doubt, led him to the spot where he was murdered. 
 
 *' The hand-writing was an imitation of Lady 
 Emily's, and the words were merely these :— 
 * Precisely at five o'clock this afternoon you will 
 find a person at Kensington Garden gate, who will 
 lead you to your faithful wife. — Emily.' 
 
 ** A latent hope of reviving his dear lord, not- 
 withstanding his lifeless appearance, and the 
 opinion of the surgeon, had induced poor Gra- 
 ham to have my brother conveyed home, where 
 every aid was immediately summoned, that 
 anxiety and affection could suggest ; but human 
 help was of no avail, the vital spark had fled, and 
 the inanimate body was incapable of receiving 
 succour. 
 
 "The fatal sentence had just been pronounced 
 
fn 
 
 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 by the surgeons Graham's care had assembled, at 
 the moment of ray father's arrival. It is impos- 
 sible to describe the a^ony of that distracted pa- 
 rent, when the fatal news was revealed to him. 
 He had set out on his journey with sentiments of 
 the most violent anger towards his son, and de- 
 termined at all events to annul the marriage, which 
 was the cause of his displeasure, little expecting 
 to find it for ever set aside, by a catastrophe so fa- 
 tal. The circumstances of ray poor brother's be- 
 ing discovered were extraordinary. Two men, 
 employed in the gardens, had heard the report of 
 two pistols, whilst they were at the opposite side 
 of the gardens, they both agreed that it was a 
 duel, and made the best of their way towards the 
 spot the sound appeared to come from. 
 
 **They were some time, however, before they 
 found any thing to confirm eir suspicions. As 
 U was a rainy day no person was walking, and 
 when they had looked, in vain, for some traces of 
 the supposed duellists, they were about to aban- 
 don their opinion, and return to their work, when 
 one of them stumbled over something lying on the 
 grass, and on stooping to examine what it was, 
 found a pistol. This circumstance reviving their 
 former suspicion, they made a diligent search, 
 and soon afterwards discovered my unfortunate 
 brother lying extended at the foot of a large tree, 
 whose spreading branches had so darkened the 
 spot, that the long grass concealed him, until the 
 men were close to him. His hat was off, and lay 
 at some distance from him, and a pistol, unloaded, 
 lay close beside him. Some faint signs of life, 
 that appeared on a close examination, induced 
 the men to lift him from his cold bed, and convey 
 him to the nearest public house, though a fear for 
 their own safety had weiUnigh deterred them from 
 the charitable act, as the mysterious circumstances 
 of his death rendered it but too probable that they 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. ' 73 
 
 might be suspected of murdering him. Their hu- 
 nrinity triumphed over their fears, and they acted 
 the part of the good Samaritan. On their entrance 
 in the public house, the men desired the landlord 
 to examine the dear youth's pockets, when his 
 purse was found, containing a considerable sum 
 of money, and his watch, which was a gold re- 
 peater of great value ; which proved beyond a 
 doubt that he had not been robbed. 
 
 ** From a fear of getting into trouble, the land- 
 lord of the public house where my brother lay, 
 had summoned the coroner, with the utmost des- 
 ])atcb, and an inquest was held upon the body 
 before it was cold. At this investigation it had 
 been decided that the gentleman had been killed 
 in a duel with some person unknown, as the two 
 pistols being found at a distance from each other, 
 proved he had not put an end to his own exist- 
 ence, and his property being untouched, was a 
 presumptive evidence that he had not fallen by 
 the hand of a robber. The mournful ceremony 
 was over before the arrival of Graham, who repro- 
 bated their precipitation in the strongest terms, ex- 
 claiming ' That he was sure his dear master was not 
 dead, but had only fainted through loss of blood.' 
 
 " He had his lord removed, therefore, as soon as 
 a litter could be provided, with the tenderest cau- 
 tion; but, as I have already related, disappoint- 
 ment was the sad result of all the faithful creature's 
 endeavours. 
 
 " The consequence of this mournful event, was 
 a serious fit of illness to my father, whose agonised 
 feelings were too much for his constitution, he re- 
 proached himself incessantly with his son's death, 
 believing that his own severity had driven him on 
 his ruin ; notwithstanding the circumstance of two 
 pistols being found at a distance from each other, 
 my father always thought Lord Durham had kil- 
 led himself, although the note found in his pocket 
 
74 FATEHRLESS FANInY ; OR, 
 
 by Graham, but too plainly pointed out the mourn- 
 ful truth, and left not a shadow of doubt upon my 
 mind that my brother had been trepanned by the 
 vile forgery, into the power of an assassin ; who 
 that assassin was, has never been discovered, 
 though I must own my suspicions rested on one 
 person only, either as the principal, or at least the 
 employer. My father sent for me the day after 
 he took to his bed, and endeavoured by his ten- 
 derness to atone for the harsh manner in which he 
 had treated me. 
 
 " He mentioned his intentions of acknowledging 
 Lady Durham and her infant, and sent me to the 
 place of her concealment, with a kind message to 
 that purport. 
 
 *' But alas ! a new sorrow was prepared for me : 
 the retreat of the unfortunate Emily had been 
 discovered by her implacable father, who forcibly 
 conveyed her to one of his own mansions in a dis- 
 tant county. The lovely creature had refused to 
 part with her child, who was accordingly permit- 
 ted to accompany her in her banishment. 
 
 " My father received the news of this fresh act 
 of cruelty with real concern. He had rested his 
 hopes of conciliating his uneasy conscience by 
 showing to the beloved wife of his lamented son, 
 the deep penitence he felt for his former cruelty, 
 and endeavouring to atone for it by every act of 
 tenderness her forlorn situation required. This 
 mournful satisfaction was, however, denied him, 
 and he took on so heavily, that his grief produced 
 a train of disorders, which soon became fata). 
 He survived his son only thirteen months ; during 
 the whole of that melancholy period, I lived to- 
 tally secluded from society. Lady Petersfield 
 endeavoured in vain to displace me from my fa- 
 ther's sick-room; I was tenacious of my post as 
 head nurse, and as my services appeared more 
 agreeable to my unhappy parent than any other 
 person's all hei* manceuvres were fallacious. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. T5i 
 
 " Wlien lier la(lyshi{3 found I was stationary, 
 she came less frequently into the ajDartment, and 
 soon returned to her gay habits, without concern- 
 ing- herself al)0ut the invalid, whom she represent- 
 ed as a hypochondriac, to all her acquaintance. 
 Indeed her ladyship's spirits appeared better than 
 ever, after my dear brother's death. Her favourite 
 point was obtained, her son was now Lord Dur- 
 ham. She heard of my brother's marriage, and 
 that there was a child, but her indefatigable ge- 
 nius soon discovered that it was a daughter, and 
 therefore not to be feared. During the whole time 
 ray father lived, [ received no letter from Lady 
 Durham, nor could I gain any access to her by 
 all the stratagems I could devise; various and 
 tormenting were the reports spread abroad of that 
 interesting creature. 
 
 " Sometimes 1 heard she was in a deep decline; 
 at others, that she had quite recovered iier health 
 and spirits, and was about to emerge from her re- 
 tirement, and become the ornament of ton. I 
 dared not to mention these vague rumours to my 
 father, whose spirits became weaker every day, 
 and whose remorse was frequently beyond the 
 control of reason. At length the awful moment 
 arrived — the agonised frame could no longer sup- 
 port the painful struggle — my poor father died of 
 a broken heart, in his forty-ninth year, and left me 
 an isolated being, without one friend to console 
 me. I could not remain with Lady Petersfield, 
 the sight Of her was insupportable; I therefore re- 
 moved as soon as I decently could to my Aunt 
 Morrison's, where 1 remained until I married Lord 
 Ellincourt, which event took place the ensuing 
 }ear. 
 
 *' The bustle of my marriage obliged me to mix 
 more with the world, and by degrees I recovered 
 a portion of my former spirits, yet still I heard 
 nothing of my poor Emily that was satisfactory : 
 
76 FATHERLESS FANNY I OR, 
 
 she never appeared in public, and I had every 
 reason to suppose she was a close prisoner in her 
 father's gloomy mansion in Westmoreland. Seven 
 years had elapsed without ray obtaining any light 
 upon the subject, when, one day, taking up the 
 newspaper, I was struck by reading the following 
 paragraph: — 'On Thursday died, at her father's 
 seatjin Westmoreland, Lady Emily Hinchinbroke, 
 only daughter of the Earl of Somertown ; her la- 
 dyship has been long in a declining state.' I was 
 inexpressibly shocked. * Poor victim of impla- 
 cable revenge,' said I, ' thou hast then escaped 
 from thy dreary prison! But what alas! is become 
 of thy offspring?' The air of disclaiming her hus- 
 band's title, in announcing Lady Durham's death, 
 seemed to indicate that her child was no more. 
 
 ''Eight years more elapsed before 1 was con- 
 vinced this idea was erroneous ; I then received 
 the following words, written in a beautiful small- 
 band : — 
 
 " Dear Aunt, 
 
 " I have been taught to love you by the best 
 of mothers, and 1 do love you with all my heart, 
 though T have never been so happy as to see you. 
 My grandfather is gone to Ireland on some busi- 
 ness, and my kind governess has promised to take 
 me to your house, if you will condescend to re- 
 ceive your dutiful and affectionate Niece, 
 
 Emily Trentham." 
 
 " I could not doubt that this letter came from 
 my brother's child, and I was delighted beyond 
 measure with the sweet idea of folding her to my 
 i)osom. My answer may be guessed, and the 
 next day the sweet angel was introduced to rne^ 
 1 M'ill not pretend to describe what I felt when I 
 beh.eld the most striking likeness of my injured 
 
THE LITTLE MKNBICANT. 77 
 
 Seymour, in the soft features of his lovely daugh- 
 ter. A more perfect beauty I never saw, nor a 
 female so devoid of vanity. She seemed the very 
 soul of affection, and capable of interesting the 
 sternest lieart in lier favour. This opinion was 
 confirmed by her governess, who assured me that 
 Lady Emily had so won upon her grandfather, 
 that she believed his lordship loved no other being' 
 upon earth but herself. The sweet girl could stay 
 but a short time with me, but we often renewed 
 the pleasure we experienced in meeting during 
 Lord Somertown's absence. 
 
 " These visits were, however, suspended at his 
 return, and a letter now and then, clandestinely 
 exchanged, was ail our consolation, under the 
 privation. I did not see the dear Emily again for 
 two years, and then i found her every thing the 
 fondest heart could wish, in mind and person ; 
 birt there was an aii f melancholy about her that 
 greatly distressed me, as it appeared unnatural 
 to her; she. blushed when I questioned her, and 
 replied that she would some day lay open every 
 thought of her heart to me ; but at present she 
 must be excused. Alas ! I saw her no more from 
 that period, for about this time her cruel grand- 
 father died, and I at first hoped, when I heard the 
 news, that the lovely girl's emancipation would 
 follow. In this hope 1 was fatally mistaken, his 
 son and successor, the present lord, was the coun- 
 terpart of his father, and seemed to consider his 
 cruelty as much an inheritance as his estate. 
 
 ** In his hands the hapless Emily found another 
 tyrant, and she was soon afterwards married, 
 against her inclination, it is generally thought, to 
 a nobleman, whose name I shall not now mention, 
 and went over with him to Ireland immediately. 
 1 am astonished she has never written lo me since, 
 although I have addressed several letters to her, 
 supposing that the restraint she formerly' suffered j 
 
78 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 had now been agreeably changed to liberty. A 
 murmur which has lately reached me, respecting^ 
 her present situation, makes me very *unhappy, 
 but as it has not yet been confirmed, I will pass it 
 over in silence. 
 
 *' I hope, however, that my melancholy story 
 has sufficiently impressed your mind with the truth 
 of what I first advanced — That marriages con- 
 trary to the express prohibition of parents are ge 
 nerally unhappy, and often fatal." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A Modern Bluebeard. 
 
 *' Would you imagine my stupidity, my dear 
 mother," said Lord Ellinconrt, *' I have been lis- 
 tening to your story with the most profound in- 
 terest, because I took it into my wise head, that 
 the denotiment would prove my Fanny to be the 
 daughter of your hero and heroine. A curious 
 anachronism, certainly." 
 
 " Yes," replied Lady Ellinconrt, " the daughter 
 of my unfortunate brother is at least six years older 
 than you are, and has been married several years." 
 
 *' My sapience will be found a little more pro- 
 found," said Lord Ellinconrt, " in regard to the 
 name of the nobleman who married that child of 
 misfortune — I know him well." 
 
 "How is that possible?" asked Lady Ellin- 
 court, " 1 am sure I never mentioned one of the 
 personages in this mournful drama to you before. 
 As Lord Somertown never a.-^knowledged my 
 brother*s marriage with his daughter, nor would 
 
The little mendicant. 79 
 
 ever permit her unfortunate offspring to be called 
 by his name, 1 have strenuously avoided advert- 
 ing to the melancholy story, even in my own 
 family/' 
 
 " Your own family have learned some of the par- 
 ticulars, nevertheless," answered Lord Ellincourt, 
 *' as 1 will shew you. About two months ago, 1 
 received a letter from my sister, which contains a 
 long history of the lady you allude to, and who, 
 by the bye, is wife to the Earl of Ballafyn, the 
 Bluebeard of Ireland. You shall read Caroline's 
 letter." 
 
 " Pray let me look at it directly," said Lady 
 Ellincourt, " for the account I had was a very 
 injperfect one, and I did not dare to inquire more 
 particularly, lest I should revive a tale, which I 
 wish to be forgotten." 
 
 *' I never liked Lord Ballafyn,*' said Lord El- 
 lincourt, " I have been often in his company, dur* 
 ing his visits to England, though 1 little thought 
 he was related to me. By Caroline's account he 
 is a monster in the form of a man, who not con- 
 tent with rendering an innocent woman wretched, 
 has now taken the diabolical measure of blacken- 
 ing her character. 1 will bring the letter when 
 I come to-morrow, but 1 am engaged this evening, 
 and cannot possibly call again." 
 
 " You are a provoking creature,*' replied Lady 
 Ellincourt, " for I shall be upon thorns until I 
 read Caroline's letter. J wonder she never men- 
 tioned the subject to me." 
 
 " She knew that it would revive some disagree* 
 able remembrances," said Lord Ellincourt, " and 
 therefore she forebore to touch upon it. You will 
 see her reasons, when you read her letter ; for my 
 part 1 did not understand to what event she al- 
 luded, until your melancholy recital explained the 
 enigma. To curtail the endurance of your sus- 
 pense, I will inclose my sister's letter to you, in a 
 
80 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 cover, as soon as I return home, and then my dear 
 fliother can indulge her curiosity immediately." 
 
 Lord Ellincourt kept his promise, and in a few 
 hours his mother was in possession of the letter 
 It was as foMows : — 
 
 ** My dear Edmund, 
 
 *• I am truly sorry to hear you do not intend 
 visiting Ireland this year, as I had made up my 
 mind to expect yon, and my good lord has posi- 
 tively assured me that he cannot afford to take me 
 with him, when he goes to England, we shall not 
 meet, therefore, for many months. I had a story, 
 so much in the marvellous to entertain you with, 
 had you kept your word of spending the Christmas 
 with us, and I had intended to reserve the surprise 
 for a winter evening's delassement, but now you 
 must have it in a letter. 
 
 *' You have frequently mentioned Lord Balla- 
 fyn's brother, Col. Ross, as one of your intimates, 
 and therefore I daresay you are no stranger to his 
 lordship. Whether his beautiful exterior has the 
 power of prejudicing his own sex in his favour, I 
 cannot tell, but it has had but too much success 
 with ours. Some years ago, this fascinating no- 
 bleman married oneof the loveliest women England 
 ever produced, and brought his bride with him to 
 Ballafyn Castle, where she was looked up to as a 
 divinity by all the guests who were admitted to 
 the Castle. 
 
 " Lady Ballafyn's carriage was such as the 
 strictest prudence, joined to the most unaffected 
 modesty, would dictate ; but the melancholy that 
 seemed to prey upon her spirits excited the sym- 
 pathy of many, and the curiosity of all. This 
 was naturally supposed to originate in the treat' 
 ment she received from her husband, who, although 
 thegrsatest libertine that ever entered the pale of 
 matrimony, took it into his wise head to be jealous 
 
THE LITTLB MENDICANT. 81 
 
 of lier, and led her a life suitable to his lioeral 
 ideas of female chastity. 
 
 ** All this, Lady Ballafyn bore With unrepining 
 patience, and findinoj that her unreasonable lord 
 appeared displeased with the admiration she ex- 
 cited, the charming Emily declined going into 
 public as much as she possibly could. 
 
 " Lord Ballafyn permitted his wife to return to 
 England for her lying-in, and she passed several 
 months in her native country after that event ; 
 during which period the child died, and the poor 
 rddy returned to Ireland, in a state of mind bor- 
 deringon melancholy, and never afterwards mixed 
 with any company whatever. Lord Ballafyn's 
 visitors now consisted of gentlemen only ; and 
 Lady Ballafyn, either by her own choice, or his 
 cruelty, inhabited an obscure corner of the castle, 
 where her very existence was nearly forgotten. 
 
 " It is said that she has visited England once, 
 during one of her lord's absences, unknown to 
 him, and that a discovery which he lately made of 
 that transaction, has been the cause of the cruelty 
 with which she has been treated within these few 
 months. Such unheard of barbarities, were, I be- 
 lieve, never before practised, unless by his name- 
 sake, Sluebeard, which title has been bestowed 
 upon his lordship for his savage conduct, by all 
 the ladies in the neighbourhood. 
 
 ** My maid assures me that the poor lady has 
 been shut up for days together without provision, 
 and that the monster has more than once lifted his 
 ugly paw against her, and even dragged her by 
 the hair of her head from one apartment to another. 
 No person is suffered to have access to her, nor 
 can any letter reach her hand, as she is surrounded 
 by his creatures, and never left one moment to 
 herself. 
 
 " A few months ago a young man of noble mien, 
 and with the most beautiful countenance in the 
 
^ FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR 
 
 world, was seen creeping about the purlieus of the 
 castle, and endeavouring to penetrate within its 
 ponderous walls; his attempts were, however, 
 fruitless, and at last he applied himself to one of 
 the servants, whom he endeavoured to interest in 
 his cause, by a bribe, that showed however mean 
 his apparel might be, that he was not in indigent 
 circumstances. 
 
 *' The servant pocketed the bribe, andj like 
 many of his betters, who do the same, without the 
 least intention of earning what he had accepted, 
 he listened to all the stranger had to say, and pro- 
 mised to obtain for him what he wished, namely — 
 an interview with Lady Ballafyn. The hour of 
 midnight was appointed for the meeting, and the 
 unwary youth, trusting to his deceitful betrayer 
 was led into the presence of the exasperated lord; 
 who, after loading him with every epithet of abuse, 
 assured him that the only means of saving his life, 
 was by making a full confession of his own and 
 Lady Ballafyn's guilt. The youth listened to the 
 base proposal with silent contempt, and when 
 forced by his persecutors to answer the charge, he 
 persisted inasserting theinnocence of the traduced 
 , lady, and declared that she knew not of his coming, 
 and therefore could not be culpable, if he was. 
 
 *' He refused to answer any farther questions; 
 treating the threats of his persecutors with ineff- 
 able disdain. ' To die,' said the gallant youth, 
 * is no such mighty hardship, but to betray a trust 
 is impossible to a man who thinks as J do.' He 
 was kept several days prisoner at the castle,, in or- 
 der to extort some confession from him, but when 
 Lord Ballafyn found him impervious to all his 
 stratagems, he employed some of his myrmidons 
 to get rid of him in a way that has not yet been 
 properly ascertained. Some reports say that the 
 
 stranger has been sent to T Goal to take his 
 
 trial the next assizes, as a housebreaker: Others, 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 83 
 
 that he has been smuggled on board a transport 
 
 lying at Y at the time, that was bound 
 
 for the West Indies, whither he was sent as a re- 
 cruit in a regiment going in that ship thither ; the 
 captain of which is a creature of Lord Ballafyn s. 
 But my maid, who always deals in the marvellous 
 as well as the horrific, assures me that he was 
 thrown down the black rock, that hangs over the 
 sea, a little distance from Ballafyn Castle, and 
 that his ghost has been seen every moonlight night 
 since, standing on the crag of the rock, and point- 
 ing to the restless surges beneath. 
 
 *' The people pretend that this interesting stran- 
 ger resembled Lady Ballafyn so strikingly, that 
 he might have been supposed to be herself in man's 
 attire. 
 
 " It is impossible to hear stories like these with 
 indifference ; I confess, therefore, that I have been 
 deeply interested by this tale, particularly so, as 
 I understand the unfortunate lady is a near rela- 
 tion of ours. I don't know whether you ever 
 heard of an ill-fated marriage in our famiiy, that 
 caused my poor grandfather's death. My mother 
 could tell you the sad history more perfectly than 
 I can, but I would not have you ask it, unless she 
 leads to it herself, for I have heard that the sad 
 consequences o-f that fatal union nearly overset her 
 reason, during the first shock she sustained. 
 
 " Lady Ballafyn is theofFspringof that marriage, 
 and seems to inheritthemisfortunes of her parents. 
 But to return to my own ideas on the subject. 
 My imagination, which you know, my dear bro- 
 ther, is tolerably fertile, has formed half a score 
 of romances out of the materials I have been able 
 to collect, the most probable of which, appears to 
 me to resemble the pathetic tale of ' Owen of Car- 
 ron ; or, the tragedy of Douglas.' The stranger 
 must be a son of Lady Ballafyn's, by a former 
 marriage, and having just found out who is his 
 
84 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 parent, he has experienced the fate of the artless 
 Owen, or the more magnanimous Douglas. And 
 my maid says that the stranger appeared too old 
 to be the son of Lady B. and if that be true, he 
 must be her lover, and her lord is not quite so cul- 
 pable as we think him. And yet the said Lady 
 Ballafyn did not expect him, nor know any thing 
 of his coming. He might therefore be a lover, 
 though not a favoured one ; and yet why did he 
 not come before, if he meant to come at all ; and 
 if Lady B. did not know of his coming, how could 
 he expect she would receive him, or, what end 
 could he hope to have answered by so dangerous 
 a step? In short I am lost in a labyrinth of con- 
 jecture, and 1 heartily wish you were here, Ed- 
 mund, to aid my search for the clue that must 
 lead me out of it. 
 
 *' I think it would have 'been a deli?3,htful feat 
 of knight-errantry, for you to have delivered the 
 fair lady from the claws of her persecutor, which 
 you might have done in thecharacterof her nearest 
 relation. Your intimacy with Col. Ross would 
 have gained access to the Castle for yon, and your 
 own ingenuity must have accomplished all the 
 rest. You sec what a charming plan I had laid 
 out for your winter's campaign, but your obstinate 
 attachment to your own country spoils every thing. 
 One thing [ forgot, which is a material part of my 
 story — Lord BaH-afyn has publicly reported that 
 his lady has been guilty of infidelity, and that, 
 for (hat reason, he chooses to iiimuireher in soli- 
 tory confinement ; he pretends that he has defected 
 tjie criji!^ he alleges against her, asserting that he 
 has several letters in his possession that are irre- 
 fragable proofs of her delinquency. 
 
 '* One of his lordship's friends ventured to ask 
 him why he did not sue for a divorce, from a 
 M'omaii, wlio reflected such dishonour upon his 
 name. But he replied, that he knew that was 
 
THE LITTLE MENI>ICANT. 85 
 
 wliat Lady Ballafyn wished, and therefore he was 
 determineil to disappoint her. This is his ostensi- 
 ble reason, but depend upon it the rp«/one origi- 
 nates in his own evil conscience. How could a 
 man demand justice upon his wife for a breach of 
 faith who has a mistress in every placa he inha- 
 bits? He keeps a very expensive hidy in Dublin; 
 another in Enp;land ; and there is one who was 
 his favourite before he married, who resides within 
 the ]}recincts of his own demesne, and this woman 
 it is, they say, who institutes his cruelty to iiis 
 snftering lad v. Wiinl think you of our modern 
 Bhieheard .?" 
 
 When Lady Eilincourt had perused her daugh- 
 ter's letter, she felt the niost poignant atliiction. 
 
 Some faint rumours had reached her that Lord 
 Ballafyn had suspected his lady's fidelity, but as 
 no steps were taken lo obtain a divorce, Lady Ei- 
 lincourt gave no credit to them. The iisiserable 
 Irutii was now but too evident; her niece was in 
 the hands of a cruel an.'i abandoned libertine, and 
 her character, and perhaps her life, would be sa- 
 crificed to gratify the malice and revenge of his 
 depraved mistress. The sweet creature appeared 
 destitute of friends to espouse her cause, and 
 therefore wholly at the villain's mercy ! 
 
 " Oh ! my brother," exclaimed Lady Eilincourt, 
 clasping her hands in agony, *' my beloved bro- 
 ther, tliesuilerings ofthe innocent offspring awaken 
 in my mind the sad remembrance of thy cruel 
 death- The wounds of my heart are torn open, 
 and bleed afresh, and I am still the same power- 
 Jess creature, as when weeping thy misfortunes, I 
 can only lament; to remedy is not within the com- 
 pass of my power I" 
 
 M 
 
^ FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 Correspondence, 
 
 When the first emotions of Lady Ellincourt's 
 sorrow had subsided, she sat down to write to her 
 daughter. Her letter contained a gentle repri- 
 mand for not immediately informing her of ihe 
 mournful situation of her beloved niece, and re- 
 quested her never to s}3are her feelings, in future, 
 at the expenceofher humanity. *' J know," added 
 she, " that I am a poor powerless creature, as to 
 any thing I can do, but my mind suggests a mea- 
 sure which may, perhaps, be advertec to with 
 success. 
 
 "Cannot you, my dear Caroline, find some ge- 
 nerously disinterested person who could be per- 
 suaded to write to Lord Somertown, and state 
 the actual situaton of his niece. 1 have been 
 fold he is very fond of her, and J think if he kncM'- 
 how she is treated, he would find some means to 
 redress her wrongs. 
 
 " The notice must not come from our famil}^ or 
 liow readily would I fly to acquaint him with her 
 peril ; for my anxiety for my poor Emily, would 
 supersede every feelingof resentment in my bosom 
 and force me to act in concert with my bitteres, 
 enemy, so that her welfare appeared likely to re- 
 sult f^i'om such a coalition. I understand that 
 Lord Somertown resides constantly how at his 
 seat in Yorkshire, a prey to the most profound 
 melancholy. J fear there is but too much cause 
 for such a disposition. Reflection to a mind like 
 his, must be exquisite torture. Surely he will be 
 glad of something to rouse him from the torpor of 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 87 
 
 despair, and force bim to exert all the energy he 
 possesses in behalf of his sufferinq: niece." 
 
 In answer to this letter, Lady Eiiincourt receiv 
 ed the following from her daughter ; — 
 
 " The object of your solicitude, my dearest 
 mother, is no longer an inhabitant of this cruel 
 world ! Lady Ballafyn had been dead a fortnight 
 when your letter reached me. J wonder yon have 
 not seen it announced in the English papers. 
 
 "Innumerable reports are spread about here, 
 concerning this event. Many people assert that 
 her ladyship met an untimely death by poison, 
 administered to her by her cruel lord. Of this 
 number Mrs. Flyn, my maid, is the most devout 
 believer, for she has seen people there who have 
 seen Lady Ballafyn's ghost all in white upon the 
 crag of the rock, where her lover appeared some 
 time ago. ' And what, uiy lady, could take her 
 ladyship's ghost there, you know, if she had come 
 fairly by her death ':' This is Flyn's creed, and the 
 whole bench of bishops could not turn her from 
 it, were they to try. 
 
 " Other people assert that Lady B. has made 
 her escape to England, and that it was only a log 
 of wood that was so pompously interred, a few 
 days ago, and that my lord's reason for choosing 
 to believe her dead, is because heintends marrying 
 the woman he has kept so long, and make her 
 as good as a great many more ladies who wear 
 coronets, and came by them in the same manner. 
 But for my part 1 must confess that I am a con- 
 vert to neither opinion ; for I think it extremely 
 natural that a person of a delicate frame, like 
 Lady Ballafyn, should sink under the pressure of 
 ill-treatment and confinement, particularly as she 
 had not one sympathi.sing bosom to whom she 
 could impart her sorrows — I only wonder she has 
 lived so long. 
 
 *• I hope my dear mother's excellent sense will 
 
88 FA I'HERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 sni2:gest the best consolation to her. The neath 
 of Lady Ballafynis the emancipation of a wre ched 
 slave, and ought to be hailed with joy inste id of 
 lamentation. 
 
 •' That she was innocent I don't entertain a 
 doubt, and in that case what an exchange is her's! 
 Sinking as she v/as beneath accumulated sorrow 
 and distress, both of body and mind. She is now 
 translated to the fulness of glory and happiness 
 for evermore.'* 
 
 '* Lady EHincourt's mind was relieved from the 
 tortures of suspense and anxiety, by the mournful 
 news conveyed to her in her daughter's letter, and 
 her agitated feelings gradually sunk into the calm 
 of settled melancholy. The last vestige of her be- 
 loved brother was now extinct, and his name for 
 ever blotted out. The sweet offspring of that un- 
 happy marriage had terminated her youthful ca- 
 reer in a manner no less wretched than her parents 
 had done before her ; but she could now suffer no 
 more, and fear subsided with hope, in the heart 
 of Lady Ellincourt. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt beheld, with real concern, the 
 liavock grief was making on the delicate frame of 
 his indulgent mother, and he used his utmost en- 
 deavour to divert her melancholy. The society 
 of the engaging Fanny seemed to promise the 
 best antidote to the gloom that was creeping over 
 her. Lord Ellincourt intreated his mother there- 
 fore to take the child from school, and by making 
 her the constant inmate of the house, insure to 
 herself the comfort of a companion, whose intru- 
 sions on her privacy would be optional. 
 
 Lady Ellincourt approved of the scheme, and 
 Fanny was installed in her new abode before an- 
 other week had elapsed, to the almost uncontrol- 
 abie joy of the lively girl, who thought she could 
 never sufliciently express her gratitude to her dear 
 — dear mamma, as shesio w styled Lady Ellincourt, 
 
THE LITTLB MENDICANT. 89 
 
 for a flavour as delightful as nnlooked for. That 
 Fanny might be no loser by (he removal, Lady 
 Ellincourt determined to engage an accomplished 
 governess to complete the education of her darling 
 under her roof. 
 
 Miss Bridewell who just at that period was 
 'svishing to get rid of her dear Dawson, recom- 
 mended that Lady as the fittest person she knew 
 to fill up the important station. 
 
 Lady Ellincourt approved the measure, and 
 M rs.DsLWsonheczmcihe governanteof Fatherless 
 Fanny, assuming as much importance upon the 
 occasion, as if she had been appointed to the tui- 
 tion of the first princess in the known world. 
 
 it is necessary in this place to mention, that soon 
 after the Lady Trenthams' left school, the amiable 
 Lady Maria, became the wife of the/ar/rom ami- 
 able Col. Ross, whose pleasing exterior had be- 
 guiled her of her heart, before she was aware that 
 she had one ; and whose large fortune and high 
 family rendered him agreeable to the marquis of 
 Petersfield as a son-in-law, particularly as there 
 appeared to be a fair chance of the family title and 
 estate of Ballafyn centering in that gentleman, as 
 his brother had been married many years without 
 having an heir, and the rumours that had reached 
 the Marquis respecting Lady Ballafyn's supposed 
 infidelity, rendered it probable his lordship would 
 never marry again. 
 
 During the ensuing five years of Fanny's life, 
 little occurred to vary the scene. She was the 
 cherished companion of her kind benefactress, and 
 thestill undiminished favourite of Lord Ellincourt, 
 who, though he continued his giddy career through 
 the mazes of fashion, never abated aught of his 
 kindness towards his adopted child. 
 
 Mrs. Dawson had now cornpleted the educa- 
 tion of her pupil, and the recommendation of 
 Lady Ellincourt, obtained for that lady a sijuilar 
 
90 FATHERLESS FANNY *, OR, 
 
 situation in the family of a lady who resided a 
 pan of the year in Ireland. 
 
 Mrs. Dawson it has before been observed, was 
 of a disposition exactly calculated to make her 
 way in the world. She well knew how to catch 
 the whim of the moment, and to humour it with 
 the most consummate skill. 
 
 She was always, therefore, a great favourite 
 with her employers. Lady Ellincourt, who was 
 one of the best women in the world, thought Mrs. 
 Dawson the epitome of perfection, for to her ob- 
 servation she had appeared as pious as she was 
 accomplished, and, in the latter point there was no 
 deception ; Mrs. Dawson was certainly full ca- 
 pable of the task she had undertaken, as far as 
 ele.o-ant attainments extended, but poor Fanny 
 would have imbibed but little of the true spirit of 
 piety from her governess, had it not been for the 
 genuine lessons bestOM^ed upon her by her affecti- 
 onate friend. Lady Ellincourt; and the firm found- 
 ation that had been laid by the amiable Emily 
 Barlowe, during the infant years of the interesting 
 orphan. 
 
 Mrs. Dawson had found the secret, however, 
 of winning Fanny's affection, whose artless bosom, 
 as incapable of suspicion asof deceit, judged every 
 body of the pure model of her own heart. Every 
 secret of her soul had been reposed in Mrs. Daw- 
 son's keeping, and she had not a thought she 
 wished to conceal from the person she liad so 
 long considered in the light of a second self. To 
 ])art with this tenderly beloved friend, was there- 
 fore a most painful trial for the affectionate girl, 
 and Mrs. Dawson took care the impression should 
 not be softened by any of the attentions Lady El- 
 lincourt bestowed upon her favourite by way of 
 amusing her thoughts, and divertingthem from the 
 object of her regret. 
 
 Fanny's grief, which had been continually in-* 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 91 
 
 creased by the artful suggestions of Mrs. Dawson, 
 appeared beyond the control of reason when the 
 final separation took place, andto mitigate its vio- 
 lence Lady Ellincourt consented to an arrangement 
 which had not her entire approbation, namely, the 
 establishing of a regular correspondence between 
 the pupil and her ci-devant governess, when at a 
 distance from each other. 
 
 " This was exactly the object Mrs. Dawson had 
 in view all the time, and the attainment of her 
 wishes promised to gratify the two ruling passions 
 of her mind, curiosity, and selfish policy. Slie 
 well knew that by Fanny's letters she could ob- 
 tain the knowledge of every material occurrence in 
 Lady Ellincourt's family, and, over and abov€ the 
 satisfaction of acquiring that knowledge to her 
 naturally curious mind, she might be able through 
 her skill in manceuvreing, to turn some of them to 
 her own advantage. Things being thus arranged 
 in her own mind, Mrs. Dawson took her leave, 
 with every exterior appearance of the deepest re- 
 gret, although her heart secretly rejoiced at the 
 change, as her salary was considerably augmented 
 by the event, and she went away laden with marks 
 of Lady Ellincourt's munificence, besides all the 
 valuable trinkets she had obtained from the simple 
 Fanny, by " loving" them for the sake of the ^' dear 
 "^dear wearer.' 
 
92 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Separation. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt's attachment to Emily Bar- 
 lowe, although it had never yielded to any new 
 attraction, had not been sufficiently strong to 
 induce his lordship to follow the amiable girl to 
 Jamaica, as he had once talked of doing. 
 
 At length, however, an incident occurred that 
 re-united them in the most unexpected manner 
 possible. 
 
 Lady Ellincourt's health had been visibly de 
 dining for some time, and her physicians, after 
 trying every remedy this country afforded, recom- 
 mended the mild climate of Lisbon as the dernier 
 resort. Lady Ellincourt received the Jiai with 
 real regret, as she was an enthusiastic lover of Old 
 England, but the united entreaties of her sou 
 and the affectionate Fanny, at length overcame 
 her objection, and she promised to acquiesce 
 with the doctor's injunctions, provided her dear 
 Edmund would accompany her. 
 
 This was precisely what her dear Edmund had 
 always intended to. do, and he assured his mother 
 that nothing would give him greater pain than to 
 be denied the pleasure of administering to her 
 comfort and her safety during her exportation. 
 And so said her tenderly-attached Fanny, when 
 Lady Ellincourt asked her whether she would 
 prefer being left at Miss Bridewell's or Lady 
 Maria Ross's, during the forced absence of her 
 maternal friend. " Siu'el^iuy dear, dear mamma 
 would not be so cruel as to talk of leaving me m 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. . 93 
 
 England, when ill-liealth obliges her to seek a dis- 
 tant home." As Fanny pronounced these words 
 she clasped her arms round Lady Ellincourt's 
 neck, and endeavoured, with one of her fascinating- 
 smiles, to shake the good lady's resolution. But 
 although deeply affected by the sweet girl's earnest- 
 ness in the cause she was pleading, Lady Ellin- 
 court was not to be persuaded by all the rhetoric 
 poor Fanny was mistress of. 
 
 " I have well considered the subject we are 
 upon, my sweet girl," replied her ladyship, " and 
 I feel so thoroughly convinced of the impropriety 
 of complying with your request, that I cannot suf- 
 fer any persuasion to shake my resolution. You 
 will believe me, when 1 assure you, that I practise 
 great self-denial in withstanding your affectionate 
 solicitations, for I can affirm, with truth, that there 
 is nothing I leave behind I shall so truly regret as 
 my tender and affectionate little nurse, Fanny. 
 Life is uncertain even to the healthy ; with invalids 
 it seems still more precarious ; and greatly would 
 it embitter the pangs of death, could the painful 
 reflection present itself to my mind that my Fanny 
 was exposed, by my imprudence, to the trying- 
 situation of being left in a strange country, without 
 a proper protector of her own sex to re-conduct 
 her to her native country." 
 
 " But, my dear mamma," interrupted Fanny, 
 " will not Lord Ellincourt go with you, and whose 
 protection could be better than his, should I indeed 
 be deprived of my best friend?" 
 
 *' Edmund would prove a kind friend and a 
 powerful protector to my girl, I am sure," answered 
 Lady Ellincourt; *' but so young a man is not a 
 Ijroper chaperon iov\\Q\\ and that must be studied, 
 my sweet girl. Maternal anxiety such as mine 
 forsees and provides for every contingency. Be 
 reconciled, therefore, my Fanny, to a determination 
 which cannot be repealed." 
 
 N 
 
94 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 It was in vain that Lady Ellincourt preached 
 patience and submission to Fanny; no argument 
 could convince her that it was right to separate her 
 from lier beloved mamma, and she wept incessantly 
 at ihejiat she could not alter. When urged by Lady 
 Ellincourt to decide upon her choice of residence, 
 during her absence, she would reply, " It matters 
 not where I go, all places will be alike to me, when 
 my dear mamma is taken from me. " 
 
 At length, however, she was induced, by Lady 
 EUincourt's insisting upon an answer, to choose 
 Lady Maria Ross for her protectress, in preference 
 to Miss Bridewell. Col. Ross's intimacy with 
 Lord Ellincourt, and Lady Maria's near relation- 
 ship to the Ellincourt family, had conspired to 
 render them the most frequent visitors Lady Ellin- 
 court had ; and as Fanny loved Lady Maria with 
 the truest affection, from the time she first became 
 acquainted with that lady at Miss Bridewell's, it 
 was natural she should prefer her protection to the 
 formal jurisdiction of her ^z«o?tc?am governess. Col. 
 Ross had never been a favourite of Fanny's, 
 although the uniform kindness and attention, with 
 which he treated her, seemed to demand her gra- 
 titude. 
 
 Since his marriage, the Colonel had affected 
 to consider Fanny in the light of a child : a 
 mode of behaviour which seemed to increase 
 rather than diminish with her increasing years 
 and stature. 
 
 Lady EUincourt's allowance for her favourite's 
 maintenance, was extremely liberal ; and both the 
 Colonel and Lady Maria appeared pleased with 
 the arrangement, when they learnt that Fanny was 
 to become their guest. Not so the affectionate 
 girl ; no projected plan of pleasure could rouse 
 her from the sorrow into which Lady EUincourt's 
 determination of leaving her behind, had plunged 
 her, and she was deaf to every thing Lady Maria 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 95 
 
 could say, by way of consolatory advice upon the 
 subject. 
 
 At length the dreaded moment arrived, and 
 Fanny was torn more dead than alive, from the 
 arms of her dear Lady Ellincourt, whose heroism 
 never forsook her, and conveyed in Lady Maria's 
 coach to that lady's house. Lady Ellincourt had 
 wisely insisted that the parting should take place 
 the day before her departure, as she judged her- 
 self unequal to the task of bidding her darling 
 'farewell, when about to encounter the fatigues and 
 bustle of a journey, which in her weak state 
 appeared already but too formidable. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt, notwithstanding the levity 
 natural to him, possessed an excellent heart, and 
 the tender attachment of the artless Fanny deeply 
 afflicted it. When he pressed her in his arms, and 
 kissed oft' the tears that rolled down her blooming 
 cheeks, he thought it was impossible he should 
 ever love any human being as he at that moment 
 loved Fanny. 
 
 " Dear girl," said his lordship, " how shall I 
 bear to live apart from you. The sight of you is 
 become necessary to my happiness, nay, almost to 
 my existence, and I verily believe 1 shalj soon find 
 that I cannot do without you." 
 
 Col. Ross was present when Lord Ellincourt 
 thus expressed himself, and the heightened colour 
 of his cheek, and the stern expression of his eye, 
 too plainly told to the observing Lady Maria, that 
 her husband was not pleased. Of the cause from 
 whence his displeasure sprung she was ignorant, 
 but she had already learned to watch the variation 
 of his countenance, with the trembling anxiety of 
 a dependant vassal. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt was too deeply absorbed in his 
 own feelings, to observe his friend, or he might 
 have been tempted to join his solicitations to 
 Fanny's, to persuade Lady Ellincourt to revoke 
 
0(] FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 her decree, and, even at that late moment, to suffer 
 her disconsolate favourite to accompany her. 
 
 *' Oh I that I were so dear to you as you say," 
 exclaimed the artless Fanny, " O ! that it were 
 true, indeed, that you could not exist without 
 seeing me. Lady Ellincourt would not then 
 refuse to take me with her, she would compas- 
 sionate the feelings of her son, although she has 
 no pity for mine." Unconscious of the full force 
 of what she had said, Fanny clasped her hands 
 together, with an expression of tender anguish, 
 wliilst tears poured in abundance from her eyes, 
 which were raised, as in supplication, to watch the 
 countenance of her dear mamma, still cherishing 
 the hope that she might relent. 
 
 Such a thing was, however, farther than ever 
 from Lady EUincourt's thoughts, as a suspicion 
 that moment crossed her imagination, that ren- 
 dered her dreaded journey a most fortunate cir- 
 cumstance in her estimation. Fanny's beauty had 
 been an object so familiar to her eye, that its pro- 
 gressive improvement had not awakened any fears 
 on Lord EUincourt's account until that moment, 
 but her eyes appeared to be suddenly opened, 
 and the energy with which he had just expressed 
 himself, joined to Fanny's artless wish of the 
 realization of his love for her, seemed to strike 
 conviction on her mind. "They love each other," 
 said she, mentally, " and my imprudence has 
 imdone them both, unless this fortunate separation 
 should wean them from each other." 
 
 Dear as Lady Ellincourt loved Fanny, and 
 tenderly alive as she was to the happiness of her 
 son, yet such was the effect of hereditary pride 
 upon her mind, that the idea of uniting her son 
 to a person of obscure birth was worse, to her 
 imagination, than even the prospect of his being 
 miserable for life. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 97 
 
 CHAPTER Vlfl. 
 
 A Wedding. 
 
 Under such impressions, the result may be anti- 
 cipated. Lady Ellincourt remained firm, and 
 Fanny inconsolable. The latter was conveyed, in 
 a state of mind bordering on despair, to the house 
 of Col. Ross, where the tenderest attentions were 
 lavished upon her by the amiable l^ady Maria, and 
 every scheme of pleasure devised likely to dissi- 
 pate her melancholy. In the mean time, Lady 
 Ellincourt pursued her journey, accompanied by 
 her son, on every turn of whose countenance she 
 dwelt with unceasing anxiety, and endeavoured 
 to trace in his minutest actions, and most un- 
 guarded expressions, the fatal effects of the passion 
 she imagined he had imbibed for the too lovely 
 object of both their affections. 
 
 What pleasure did it give this anxious mother 
 then, when the amount of all her scrutiny, proved 
 the supposition an error, and convinced her, beyond 
 the possibility of a doubt, that she was mistaken 
 in her conjecture, at least as far as related to her 
 son. Li regard to poor Fanny, she did not feel 
 the same assurance; the excess of her grief — the 
 artless manner in which she had expressed it — and 
 her wish, so fervently uttered, that she were indeed 
 necessary to Lord Ellincourt's happiness, conti- 
 nually recurred to Lady Ellincourt's mind, and 
 filled it with sadness ; for so dear was Fanny to 
 her maternal heart, that the idea of her being 
 doomed to suffer under the influence of a hopeless 
 passion, gave the most poignant feelings of anguish 
 to her bosom. 
 
 Arrived at Lisbon, Lady Ellincourt soon found 
 benefit from its salubrious atmosphere, and her 
 
98 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 son had the satisfaction of seeing his mother's 
 health iniproving hourly 
 
 A few weeks after their arrival, they were agree- 
 ably surprised, one morning, by a visit from Mr. 
 Barlowe, who informed Lord and Lady Ellincourt 
 that he and his whole family were come to reside 
 some months, perhaps years, at Lisbon ; as their 
 stay depended upon the life of an infirm relation, 
 who was immensely rich, and who intended to 
 make Mr. Barlowe her heir, had entreated him to 
 come and reside near her, during the little time 
 that she had to stay in this world ; and that in 
 order to comply with that request, he had brought 
 his whole family with him, intending to go to 
 England, after the death of his relation, and fix 
 his abode there, as his estate in Jamaica had been 
 disposed of previous to his quitting that island. 
 The evident pleasure with which Lord Ellincourt 
 listened to this recital, delighted his mother, as she 
 saw plainly in his eager, but confused inquiries 
 after Emily Barlowe, that the interest that sweet 
 girl had excited in her son's bosom, was still un- 
 diminished in fervour. 
 
 It gave her still greater satisfaction, when she 
 learned, by a seemingly careless enquiry, that 
 Emily was disengaged, or at least that no positive 
 plan of a matrimonial nature had yet occupied her 
 lather in that respect to her. 
 
 The eldest daughter was on the point of mar- 
 riage, with a young West Indian, of inuuense 
 fortune, whose attachment to her was sufficiently 
 potent to induce him to follow her to Lisbon ; 
 whither curiosity, or, perhaps, coquetry had led 
 her, in spite of her lover's entreaties and her 
 father's remonstrances, who had intended to wit- 
 ness her nuptials before he left Jamaica. 
 
 The haughty Caroline, however, chose to enjoy 
 the triumph of leading her captive from one quar- 
 ter of the globe to the other, and her vanity was 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 99 
 
 not a little inflated, when she found her influence 
 strong enough to accomplish her wishes. The 
 gallantry of this ardent lover devised a thousand 
 fetes J for the gratification of his beloved mistress, 
 and on these occasions Lord Ellincourt was sure 
 to make one of the party, and by his attentions to 
 Emily, prove that she too had a lover no less 
 ardent than her sister's. 
 
 To talk about Fanny the mutual favourite, was, 
 at first, their excuse for being so often seated near 
 each other, but by degrees another topic, more 
 agreeable to both, was substituted in the place of 
 Fanny, and the result was an application to Mr. 
 Barlowe,forhis permission to address his daughter, 
 and as no reasonable objection could be started to 
 the alliance, it was soon agreed to on both sides. 
 
 Lady Ellincourt had now the happiness of seeing 
 her son united to the lady she most approved of, 
 and safe from the witchery of the fascinating Fanny. 
 Yet still the good lady heaved a sigh now and then 
 for the poor girl, lest her youthful heart should have 
 been touched by the influence she had dreaded for 
 her son. The letters which her ladyship received 
 from her favourite, did not however give any reason 
 to suppose her so afiected, for when she replied to 
 the one in which Lady Ellincourt had spoken of 
 her son's intended union with Emily Barlowe, 
 Fanny thus expressed herself — 
 
 " Thank you, dearest, dear nitimma, for your 
 charming news. Oh ! what a happy girl will your 
 Fanny be, when she sees her dear papa and her dear 
 Emily together, and thinks that they will never 
 more be parted, and that she shall always live 
 with them, and love them, and see them every 
 day!" 
 
 These expressions certainly had not the appear- 
 ance of a hopeless attachment ; yet still Lady 
 Ellincourt had taken the idea so strongly in her 
 
100 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 head, that like most old ladies when they form 
 an opinion, she did not like to give it up, and ac- 
 kiiowledge herself in an error, even to herself. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A Female Rattle. 
 
 In the mean time, Fanny, *' who never dreamt 
 of love," was passing her time in the full enjoy- 
 ment of innocent delight. The spirits at sixteen 
 are very elastic, and her sorrow for the loss of her 
 dear Lady Ellincourt's society, soon gave way to 
 the kind attentions of the affectionate Lady Maria, 
 "who spared no pains in the friendly task of amus- 
 ing her dear Fanny. 
 
 Col. Ross was no less attentive, no less kind 
 to the happy girl, but far less successful in his 
 efforts to please. It was not that Fanny felt un- 
 grateful for his kindness, but that she experienced 
 sensations of repugnance she could not account 
 for, whenever he addressed himself to her, par- 
 ticularly when they happened to be alone; for 
 then there was a fervour in his manner, a look in 
 his eyes, as disagreeable as it was new to her; 
 and which, though it roused her resentment, she 
 dared not to complain of, as she knew not why 
 she felt offended, although the emotions of anger 
 were irresistible. 
 
 Col. Ross had penetration enough to see that 
 he was no favourite with Fanny, and this he at- 
 tributed to a prepossession in favour of Lord Ellin- 
 court, rather than any deficiency in his own powers 
 of pleasing ; and the same vanity suggested the 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 101 
 
 probability of gaining upon the unsuspecting heart 
 of his intended victim, and supplanting the image 
 of Lord Ellincourt, which he supposed was che- 
 rished there with all the fervour of a first love. 
 Amongst the friends to whom Fanny was now in- 
 troduced by her new protectors, was a young lady 
 of immense fortune, of the name of Stanhope, who 
 was, like most other heiresses, a spoiled girl in 
 the fullest sense of the word. 
 
 Accustomed from her infancy to have her will 
 the law of all about her, she had reached the age 
 of eighteen, without having been once contradicted. 
 Miss Stanhope was, therefore, the epitome of ca- 
 price, and fashionable folly. Yet was she natu- 
 rally of a generous disposition, and perfectly good- 
 tempered. This young lady had hitherto resided 
 with he"* grandmother, whose doating affection 
 had been the cause of her follies. 
 
 This lady was lately dead, and the care of Miss 
 Stanhope's person and fortune had devolved upon 
 the Marquis of Petersfield, whose ward she was,. 
 and at whose house she was to reside, until her 
 marriage, which was expected to take place in a 
 few months. 
 
 This alliance had been projected by the parents 
 of the young people, during their infancy, and was 
 considered a most advantageous unio7i oi property 
 for both parties. The young nobleman intended 
 for Miss Stanhope's husband, was the Duke of 
 Albemarle, who was about four years older thaa 
 herself, and also an orphan, and only child. 
 
 The young duke had been abroad some years, 
 on account of the delicate state of his health, for 
 which the climate of Sicily had been recommended 
 by his physicians. He was now on the point of 
 returning to his native country, in order to fulfil 
 his father's will, by marrying Miss Stanhope, 
 
 Lady Ellincourt had been absentseveral months, 
 at the time of Fanny's introduction to Miss Stan- 
 
102 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 hope, and it was declared absolutely necessary for 
 the perfect re-establishment of her health, that her 
 ladyship should remain in Portugal some months 
 longer, a circumstance which gave the utmost 
 alarm to poor Fanny, whose terrified imagination 
 was continually presenting to her the dangers of 
 her benefactress's protracted stay, in a country so 
 formidably threatened by the rapacious invader. 
 
 Miss Stanhope laughed at her fears, " My dear 
 girl," said that wild young lady, *' I perceive you 
 are as fond of Lady EUincourt, as I was of my 
 poor grand-mamma; and if you live with her niuch 
 longer you will be just such a fool as I am; so I 
 think it will be an excellent thing if the French 
 should run away with her, and not let her come 
 home any more." 
 
 " Lady EUincourt is certainly very indulgent to 
 me," replied Fanny, " but she never spoiled me." 
 
 " There's a conceited puss," interrupted Miss 
 Stanhope, " she wishes people to think that she 
 can bear indulgence better than 1 can, and that 
 all the old women in the world cannot spoil her. 
 Well, child," added she, laughing, " since you are 
 indulgence proof, by your own confession, you 
 must promise to spend the honey-moon with the 
 poor duke and me, when we are married, for we 
 shall be vapoured to death, depend upon it, until 
 we get used to each other's ways.!' 
 
 " You seem to have formed a strange idea of 
 conjugal felicity. Miss Stanhope," replied Fanny» 
 ** to talk of being vapoured to death in the society 
 of your husband, so soon after your marriage." 
 
 " Formal creature !" rejoined the mad-cap, " I'll 
 venture to lay a wager, when thou art married, 
 thou wilt trot about, arm-in-arm, with thy lord 
 and master, like Darby and Joan, and talk about 
 the supreme felicity of unlimited conjidence and 
 congenial spirits." 
 
 " 1 hope," said Fanny, smiling, *' if ever 1 do 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 1(^3 
 
 marry, I shall be able to realize your charming 
 picture, or else I would rather live single." 
 
 *' Live single, my dear!" interrupted Miss 
 Stanhope, " why that is the extent of human feli- 
 city, in my idea of happiness. I would give half 
 my fortune this minute to be allowed to live single ; 
 at least until I could find somebody amiable 
 enough to make me change my mind." 
 
 " Is not the duke amiable?" asked Fanny. 
 
 ** 1 really cannot tell," replied Miss Stanhope, 
 " I have never seen him since he was an Eton boy, 
 and then the animal was well enough to look at, 
 but 1 always hated him because I knew I should 
 be obliged to marry him." 
 
 " But who can oblige you to marry his Grace," 
 said Fanny, " against your inclination? You have 
 no parents alive, and surely your guardian's power 
 cannot extend to such violence." 
 
 *' You are a little simpleton," answered Miss 
 Stanhope, " and know nothing about the world, or 
 its ways, I can see that, so i must teach you. It 
 is but too often seen that frail mortals are apt to 
 repine at the unequal distribution of the good 
 things of this life. This is a most silly calculation, 
 the possessions of the wealthy have always their 
 concomitant miseries, supplied either by the pride, 
 avarice, or ambition of their relatives. The wise 
 junto of fathers, mothers, uncles, and aunts, that 
 made up this wise match for the poor Duke of Al- 
 bemarle and me, took infinite pains to strike the 
 balance between those that envied his title and my 
 riches, and the then unconscious possessors of the 
 baubles, by dooming us both to be tied together, 
 whether we liked it or not. Whichsoever refuses to 
 fulfil the compact, forfeits the bulk of their fortune 
 to the other, and is to suffer the punishment of po- 
 verty and repentance all the remainder of their life 
 for the delinquency. Now, though I would give 
 half my fortune to be off the wedding, I shouM 
 
104 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 not like to lose the wholcy and therefore I must 
 submit to be noosed. The duke, I dare say, is of 
 the same mind, but I suppose, though he might 
 prefer my fortune without myself, to the taking it 
 with all the incumbrances ; yet he would not like 
 to give me his largest estate, to be off the bargain. 
 Thus you see are two people going to be tied 
 together to please their dead papas and mammas, 
 who wish each other at the Antipodes." 
 
 Whilst Fanny listened to Miss Stanhope's wild 
 description of her embarrassing situation, the smile 
 of gaiety forsook her lip, and tears trembled in her 
 eyes. " Merciful heavens!" thought she, " how 
 inscrutible are thy ways! The rich heiress of in- 
 calculable wealth is an object of pity, to the pen- 
 nyless orphan, whose daily maintenance depends 
 upon the bounty of a stranger!" 
 
 " Moralizing, I wager," said Miss Stanhope, 
 looking earnestly in Fanny's face, " yes, yes, I see 
 it in that twinkling eye, and care-fraught brow. 
 I dare say, my little nun would renounce the pomps 
 and vanities of this wicked world, and run into a 
 cloister, or any where, rather than marry a man she 
 did not like. Oh ! I can see a very eloquent ex- 
 ordium ready to escape the ruby boundaries of that 
 pretty little mouth, which, I dare say, would be 
 very edifying to any little miss or master, that would 
 twirl their thumbs, and listen to it: but keep it in, 
 my dear, for it will be lost upon me. I can neither 
 moralize nor sermonize, nor listen to those who do; 
 I am a predestinarian ; what must be, ivill be; so 
 if I am to have the duke, 1 shall have him, if I 
 am not to have him, some giant or genii, or young 
 LiOchinvar, will come just in time to carry me off 
 at the last moment, and then you shall write me 
 word whether the bridegroom behaved like the 
 poor fool in Marnjion, or whether he took another 
 wife, as he ought to do." 
 
 "Oh / will have nothing to do with your wed- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 105 
 
 ding," replied Fanny, '* nor your bridegroom 
 either, for you talk so shockingly upon the sub- 
 ject, that you frighten me, I assure you." 
 
 " Did you never hear, my dear," said Miss 
 Stanhope, " of boys making a great noise to drown 
 their own fears, when obliged to go through a 
 church-yard at night. Such is my case at this 
 moment: I rove and talk nonsense to banish un- 
 pleasant thoughts that crowd upon me: were I to 
 suffer my spirits to flag, 1 should find it impos- 
 sible to raise them again, so 
 
 " Away with melaccholj!" 
 
 and the lively girl left the room singing that popu- 
 lar air, with no small portion of Catalini s sweet- 
 ness and vivacity. 
 
 Fanny's artless sweetness, and the gaiety result- 
 ing from innocence, that so particularly characte- 
 rized her, rendered her a great favourite with Miss 
 Stanhope. Her vivacity was congenial to her own, 
 but far more equal in its tenor. Unaccustomed to 
 control, the slightest contradiction, the most 
 trifling disappointment, had the power to discom- 
 pose Amelia Stanhope, and put her into the 
 *' pouts,'' as she herself styled her (its of ill-humour; 
 and whenever the demon of ill-temper spread his 
 malign influence, Fanny was the only person who 
 could effectually dispel the cloud that obscured 
 her countenance, and restore the capricious girl to 
 her smiles again. Miss Stanhope became, there- 
 fore, the inseparable companion of Fanny, and as 
 Lady Maria Ross positively refused to let her 
 charge become a guest at the Marquis of Peters- 
 field's, as Miss Stanhope was continually teazing 
 her to be, that young lady passed nearly the 
 whole of her time with her new friend, at Lady 
 Maria's house iu Grosvenor Street. 
 
 Miss Stanhope was very fond of riding on horse- 
 
100 TATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 back, and so eager was she for her favourite to par- 
 take of the amusement, that she presented her with 
 one of the most beautiful horses that she could 
 purchase, at which Fanny was not a little de- 
 lighted, as she was as partial to the exercise as 
 her lively friend, and had learned to be a tolerably 
 expert horse-woman, during her summer visits to 
 Ellincourt's country seat. 
 
 Miss Stanhope had a carriage appropriated for 
 her own use, and this conveyed the young friends 
 out of town, where the horses, attended by two 
 grooms, in Miss Stanhope's livery, waited their 
 pleasure. 
 
 These rides formed the most delightful part of 
 Fanny's life, for she was far from having any pre- 
 dilection in favour of nocturnal amusements ; and 
 although Miss Stanhope insisted upon her accom- 
 panying her wherever she could go, yet she would 
 often have preferred the quiet retirement of her 
 own chamber, to the brilliant ball-room, thronged 
 opera, or motley masquerade. 
 
 Some of Lady Maria Ross's friends made a point 
 of inviting Fanny to their entertainments, par- 
 ticularly when they perceived what a great favour- 
 ite she was with the rich and celebrated Miss 
 Stanhope, but a great number declined showing 
 her that favour, from the aristocratical fear of 
 making acquaintance with some obscure person, 
 whom nobody knew. 
 
 Fanny's story, as far as Lady Ellincourt was ac- 
 quainted with it, was generally known, as the hope 
 of tracing Fanny's family, by detailing the adven- 
 tures, had induced that good lady to talk more of 
 them than she would otherv/ise have done. Her 
 ladyship had strictly adhered to the request mad^ 
 in the letter addressed to Miss Bridewell, by the 
 person who put Fanny under that lady's care; 
 namely — not to add any name to the simple ap- 
 pellation of Fanny, by which only she had hitherto 
 been distinguished. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 107 
 
 These precautions, without having the desired 
 effect, had exposed the sweet girl to the malevo- 
 lent remarks of the envious and the unfeeling, and 
 often had she experienced the mortification of 
 hearing the inquiry of a stranger, respecting her 
 name, answered by some ill-natured insinuation, 
 from those whose envy had been excited by the 
 eulogium that preceded the question. 
 
 One evening, in particular, a gentleman, whose 
 attention had been long fixed upon Fanny, asked 
 a lady who was sitting next him, if she could in- 
 form him who that beautiful girl was, " I never 
 beheld such a lovely creature," added he, in a 
 tone of rapturous admiration. 
 
 " The girl is a perfect mystery," replied the ill- 
 natured fair one, " I don't believe any body knows 
 who she is, unless, indeed, it is the Ellincourts. 
 Some people suppose she is Lord Elliucourt's 
 daughter, but for my part I think it much more 
 likely she is his mistress, and I am astonished that 
 any body will admit such an unaccountable person 
 to their parties. She has no name but that of 
 Fanny, and she is generally called, by way of dis- 
 tinction, Fanny nameless! But 1 think it is past a 
 joke to be obliged to sit in the same room with a 
 person of such doubtful origin, and, indeed, for 
 what we can tell, of such doubtful character.'' 
 ' " I do 'not wonder," answered the gentleman,; 
 drily, " that any lady should object to sitting in the 
 same room with that lovely creature, who is not 
 proof against the envy natural to her sex; for, 
 however dubious her origin may be, her claims to 
 admiration are undoubted, and that is what few 
 women will excuse in her." 
 
 Fanny had heard all that passed, for she was 
 placed so near, it was impossible to avoid it; and 
 her confusion may be imagined. When she was 
 talking to Miss Stanhope, the next day, she men- 
 tioned the distress she had suffered, adding, " that 
 
108 FATHERLESS FANNY; Oft, 
 
 she preferred staying at home, to the being ex- 
 posed to such cruel remarks." 
 
 " My dear creature," replied Miss Stanhope, " all 
 this arises from that fiddle faddle Lady Elliucourt 
 permitting your story to be exposed, and persisting 
 in calling you by the name of Fanny, only. Tell 
 me candidly, is not such a proceeding calculated to 
 raise the curiosity of the quietest creatures in the 
 world, and to setthegiantobservation staringatyou, 
 wherever you go? Now, if Lady Ellincourt, with 
 her old fashioned ideas, as stiff and' as formal as 
 Queen Elizabeth's ruff, chooses to behave so ridi- 
 culously, surely Lady Maria Ross might have had 
 more sense; she might have given you some fine- 
 sounding surname, and trumped up a probable 
 story about you, that would have quieted all the he 
 and she gossips that visit her, and then every thing 
 would have gone on smoothly ; but never mind, 1 
 have a scheme in my head, and will put it in 
 execution the first opportunity, and depend upon 
 it, it will answer." 
 
 " What is that, dear Amelia?" said Fanny, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Oh ! never mind," replied Miss Stanhope, 
 ** you shall know nothing about it, until my plot is 
 ripe. The beauty of a novel consists in well- 
 managed surprises, and I am determined mine 
 shall be a first-rate performance. Do you know 
 Lord Somertown?" 
 
 " No," replied Fanny, " I have heard his lord- 
 ship's name, but Lnever saw him." 
 
 *' Oh ! then you have a great pleasure to come," 
 said Miss Stanhope, " he is the greatest quiz in na- 
 ture, and I hate him abominably. He is the Duke 
 of Albemarle's uncle and guardian; there is no- 
 thing in the world would please me so well as to 
 see the wretch stand in the pillory ; but I am afraid 
 I shall never attain to such a 2:ood fortune. How- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 109 
 
 ever if I can but succeed in plaguing him, I declare 
 I shall be the happiest girl in Christendom." 
 
 ** 1 hope, if you are going to play any tricks with 
 Lord Soniertown," said Fanny, looking grave, 
 *' that, my dear Amelia, you will not bring me 
 into the scrape, for you know, what would be 
 tolerated in you, vtould be deemed unpardonable 
 in me." 
 
 *' Oh ! don't frighten yourself," replied Miss 
 Stanhope, " you shall have no hand in the plot, 
 though the heroine of the piece." 
 
 " How the heroine? dear Amelia, you frighten 
 me," said Fanny, looking alarmed. 
 
 " Nay, never look so terrified," replied her lively 
 friend, " I don't intend you to marry Lord Sonier- 
 town, although that would be an excellent method 
 of plaguing him, if you had my spirit. I would 
 be bound to break his heart in three months; but 
 you are too gentle, and too good for such a task, 
 so I don't think of that scheme. 
 
 " No, no, he must be tormented, and I think I 
 know how. They say he broke his niece's heart 
 by his cruel usage, and if I can find the way to 
 his, I will remunerate him as he deserves. 
 
 " I dare say there is not a spot bigger than half 
 a split pea, in his whole heart, that is vulnerable to 
 the sense of feeling, and my skill must be exerted 
 to find it out, and transfix it with the shaft of re- 
 morse." 
 
 ** Do what you please to Lord Somertown,'' said 
 Fanny, " but for heaven's sake spare me, foi* I 
 feel the most unaccountable dread of being impli- 
 cated in the hoax, be it what it may !" 
 
 " You are a silly child," answered Miss Stan- 
 hope, Jaughing, " and your unaccountable dreads 
 must not spoil the getting up of my play." 
 
 " Don't make it a Tragedy" said Fanny, em- 
 phatically. 
 
 '* No, my dear, it is to be a Melo-Drame, suited 
 
 p 
 
110 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 to the taste of the time— something between an 
 Opera and a PuppetShoiv, with a great deal of 
 Pantomimic gestures, Operatic Pathos, and fashion- 
 able want of Common Sense.^^ 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 An Adventure. 
 
 Fanny had always been accustomed to early 
 rising from her infancy, and, therefore, unless she 
 went to bed very late indeed, she always, in fine 
 weather, took a walk before breakfast. 
 
 As Lady Maria Ross was a dormouse, she knew 
 nothing of this indulgence, or she certainly would 
 not have suffered a girl of such extraordinary 
 beauty as Fanny, to go strolling in the Park of a 
 morning, accompanied only by her maid, who was 
 very little older than herself, and far less fit to be 
 trusted. The grove in the Deer Park, was Fanny's 
 favorite stroll, and one beautiful morning in May, 
 having taken a longer round than usual, she deter- 
 mined to rest herself beneath the shade of one of 
 the large trees, in that beautiful spot. 
 
 Her maid, Betty, had seated herself near her 
 mistress, on the grass, and was expatiating in her 
 simple dialect, on the preference that ought to be 
 given to a walk, such as they had had, to the un- 
 wholesome custom of lying in bed, in a close room, 
 until " the sun was ready to burn their noses,'' to 
 use an expression of her own. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT; 111 
 
 *' Well the ladies may want to wear sucli a heap 
 of red powder on their cheeks, Miss Fanny," con- 
 tinued the girl, " for sure enough they stew them- 
 selves so, they must be, for all the world, like a 
 boiled turnip, until they have daubed themselves 
 over with paint ! Well, Miss, yuu take the right me- 
 thod to look ruddy and wholesome, and that's what 
 makes people call you so deadly pretty. Yes, and 
 look, there stands a gentleman as thinks so, I am 
 sure, for he looks for all the world as if he was 
 planet-struck, as my grandmother used to call it. 
 Do, dear Miss Fanny, just look at him, it will do 
 your heart good to see what a fool he looks like." 
 
 Fanny turned mechanically to look at the object 
 Betty had pointed out to her. At a little distance 
 from the spot where she was sitting, she beheld a 
 tall gentleman habited in black, of the most ele- 
 gant form, whose countenance wore the interesting 
 cast of settled melancholy. His large dark eyes 
 were fixed upon Fanny, with a look of inquiry, in 
 which sorrow seemed blended with curiosity. So 
 absorbed too was he in the contemplation, that he 
 attempted not to withdraw his eyes, when Fanny 
 turned to observe him. Confused at the scruti- 
 nizing glances of the stranger, Fanny arose to 
 depart, without making any answer to , Betty's 
 animadversions. 
 
 " There, Miss," said the girl, in a discontented 
 tone, " now you must go and stew yourself up at 
 home, instead of taking the fresh air as you ought 
 to do, and all along with that saucy jackanapes 
 staring at you so. Well, I wish I was a man, I 
 would soon teach him better manners." 
 
 Fanny walked on in silence, and with a hurried 
 step, whilst Betty followed her reluctantly, and 
 continually turning her head to observe the stran- 
 ger ; at length she exclaimed, " well, to be sure, 
 if that dismal looking man is not following us, I 
 wi.«b T may never be married." 
 
112 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 " Betty," replied Fanny, in an angry tone, " you 
 behave so ridiculously, that it is no wonder you 
 excite the notice of every body that passes." 
 
 " Dear me, Miss Fanny, don't go to lay the 
 blame upon me, for you know very well th'e gen- 
 tleman is looking at you ; so that, I dare say, he 
 does not know I am here, no more than nothing 
 at all." 
 
 Betty talked so *loud, and stared about her so, 
 that she verified Fanny's accusation of attracting 
 the notice of every body that passed her. A gen- 
 tleman on horseback, had been observing her 
 some time, and when he drew quite near, he 
 jumped off his horse, and giving it to his groom, 
 he came up to the terrified Fanny, and placing 
 himself familiarly by her side, " for Heaven's sake, 
 my sweet girl," said he, attempting to take her 
 hand, '* where did you pick up that strange mon- 
 ster for an attendant. I am sure you might get a 
 good price for her at Exeter Change, to be shown 
 amongst the wild beasts, Do you take her out 
 with you to serve as a foil to your beauty?" 
 
 Fanny made no reply to this unmeaning jargon. 
 But Betty felt herself so exasperated at the men- 
 tion of being shown amongst the wild beasts, that 
 she could not contain her spleen, and she said, in 
 an angry tone of voice, " that some people, that 
 found fault with some people, was a deal more joro- 
 perer to be sent amongst the \\\\f\ beasts, than 
 those they sneered at; and I wish," added she, 
 tossing her head disdainfully, " that those that 
 be dressed like gentlemen, behaved like gentle- 
 men, and not go about affronting young ladies 
 that are walking quietly along." The idea 
 of ranking herself with the lady never entered 
 poor Betty's head, but the gentleman understood 
 her that she meant to be included amongst the 
 young ladies she had mentioned, and he burst into 
 an immoderate fit of laughter, and throwing his 
 arm familiarly round Fanny's waist, he expressed 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 1 13 
 
 his hopes that sAe was not affronted with him, and 
 as to the other young lady^ he did not care about 
 herr 
 
 Distressed and terrified beyond expression, 
 Fanny struggled to get from her persecutor, who 
 seemed equally diverted by her terror, and her 
 attendant's angry remonstrances. As it was early 
 in the morning, but fevv people were in the Park, 
 and the gentleman, who had assailed Fanny, feel- 
 ing no fear of rescue, amused himself, by seeming 
 to let her escape, and then catching her again, 
 until her exhausted spirits gave way, and she 
 burst into tears. 
 
 At that moment the stranger, whose observation 
 of Fanny, had first excited Betty's loud exclama- 
 tions, advanced to the assistance of the distressed 
 girl, and waving his hand with an air of dignity, 
 that immediately awed the rude object of his 
 resentment, " Desist, Sir," said he, in a tone of 
 authority, " that young lady shall not be insulted 
 whilst I can protect her." 
 
 *' And pray, Sir," said the brute, '''who areyouT" 
 
 ' " A man," replied the majestic stranger, ** and 
 
 that is a title j/o?* can lay no claim to, whilst you 
 
 debase yourself so low as to insult a defenceless 
 
 woman 
 
 I" 
 
 Ashamed of the part he had acted, and yet 
 unwilling to acknowledge his error, the gentleman 
 appeared inclined to resent the interference of 
 Fanny's protector, and muttered something about 
 satisfaction. But with a dignity truly irresistible, 
 the interesting stranger again waved his hand, 
 ** Begone!" said he, " and talk not of having sus- 
 tained any degradation from me, since it is impos- 
 sible, by the utmost exertion of malice, to place 
 you in a more despicable light than that in which 
 1 first beheld you." 
 
 Then turning to Fanny, — *' Rely safely on my 
 protection, sweet girl," said he, " and rest assured 
 
114 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 that I would sooner forfeit my life than suffer you 
 to be insulted," Confused beyond the power of 
 expression, Fanny could only curtsey in silence to 
 her deliverer, and pursue her way towards home 
 with a quickened step, in which agitation and 
 alarm were still visible. Her persecutor, however, 
 had quitted the Park, and mounting his horse, was 
 out of sight in a minute ; as he turned away from 
 her, however, he said, in an insulting tone, he 
 hoped that as she had found somebody more to 
 her mind, she would act conformably to her own 
 real character, and not give herself airs that did 
 not belong to her. 
 
 "My dear young lady," said the benevolent 
 stranger, who had just rescued Fanny, " I feel 
 persuaded that you are as innocent as you look, 
 but 1 entreat you in future not to walk out without 
 some attendant more proper to protect you than 
 the one you have now got. This town and its ways 
 I can perceive, are new to you, and you are there- 
 fore more liable to encounter such treatment as 
 that you have just escaped from, and, believe me, 
 you may not always be so fortunate as you have 
 now been. My sex are in general the staunch 
 supporters of each other, and but too much iur 
 clined to join in oppressing, rather than in pro- 
 tecting those, whose guardians thiey are by the laws 
 of nature and humanity. The strong resemblance 
 you bear to a dear departed friend of mine, first 
 attracted ray notice, and as I gazed upon your 
 features, a train of melancholy recollections 
 crowded upon my mind, and 1 mechanically, and 
 without design, followed your footsteps. 1 am 
 most happy that 1 did so, as it gave me an oppor- 
 tunity of being of service to you." 
 
 Fanny thanked her deliverer in terms of grate- 
 ful respect, and assured him that in future she 
 would never venture to walk out unprotected. 
 
 They had now reached the confines of the Park, 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 115 
 
 and as they were preparing to cross the road into 
 Park-lane, Col. Ross overtook them on horseback. 
 He immediately dismounted, and giving his horse 
 in charge to his groom, joined the party, with as- 
 tonishment painted on his countenance. 
 
 Fanny, who saw that he expected an explana- 
 tion, briefly related the circumstances of the insults 
 she had received, and acknowledged the kind 
 interference of the benevolent stranger. When 
 Col. Ross had listened to the recital, he thanked 
 the stranger for his timely assistance to his young 
 Avard, adding, in a tone that shewed he did not 
 wish to cultivate the acquaintance, '* The young 
 lady being now under the immediate protection of 
 her guardian, your walk, Sir, need not be any 
 farther interrupted ?" and then with a stiff bow, he 
 wished the gentleman a good morning. 
 
 The bow was returned with equal stiffness, and 
 measuring the Colonel with a penetrating glance, 
 the stranger said to Fanny, " Farewell, sweet girl, 
 may Heaven protect and keep you from the sly 
 designs of the wicked, as well as the open attacks 
 of the licentious. Remember the advice of a friend 
 — trust no man, for, as the poet says, too truly, 
 
 " Women, like Princes, find few real friends." 
 
 Then waving his hand in the same dignified 
 manner he had done before, and which seemed 
 peculiar to himself, the stranger turned round, and 
 left them, pointing his footsteps towards the place 
 he had left. As soon as Fanny reached Grosvenor 
 Street she retired to her chamber, where she was 
 long before she could recover her wonted serenity. 
 
 Her terror, indeed, had subsided, but the recol- 
 lection of the interesting stranger, affected her in 
 a manner she could not account for. 
 
 Every look of his beautiful countenance, every 
 word he had uttered, seemed indelibly engraved 
 upon her memory, and she dwelt with a mixture of 
 
116 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 pain and pleasure upon the most interesting image 
 her fancy Jiad ever yet contemplated, which as- 
 sociating with a thousand other delightful ideas, 
 in which it M'as both natural and innocent to in- 
 dulge, produced from her pen the following 
 poetical effusion, the source of which may not 
 altogether be undefinable to those whose hearts, 
 youthful and innocent as that of the artless and 
 inexperienced Fanny, delighted to dwell on the 
 perfections of an admired and justly esteemed 
 object. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP: 
 
 To THE UNKNOfTN, 
 
 As the dews from heaven descend 
 
 Upon the summer llowVs, 
 So comes tlie presence of a friend. 
 And cheers the heavy hours. 
 
 J]ut heavy hours will soon depart. 
 
 And fled be Fanny's care, 
 When friendship soothes the acliins? heart, 
 
 That bids her uot despair. 
 
 Lons may thy gen'rous bosom glow. 
 
 With friendship's sacred flame ; 
 As long the grateful tear shall flow, — 
 
 And Fanny bless thy name. 
 
 The ungrateful manner in which Col. Ross had 
 treated her deliverer, pained her to reflect upon, 
 and she felt surprised that a man of the Colonel's 
 refined breeding shoidd have shown himself so 
 wanting in common civility, on an occasion which 
 certainly did not warrant such an infringement on 
 the laws of politeness. Fanny little imagined 
 that jealousy had actuated the Colonel's beha- 
 viour, whose suspicious eye had beheld in the 
 stranger a more formidable rival than Lord Ellin- 
 court himself. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 117 
 
 At breakfast, Fanny related the adventures of 
 the morning, and received a lecture from Lady 
 Maria, for her imprudence in walking out so far 
 without any companion but a silly country girl, 
 more likely by her awkwardness and folly to excite 
 than to repel impertinence. 
 
 In this reprimand her ladyship was joined by 
 the Colonel, who at the same time upbraided his 
 lady for allowing Fanny so much liberty, and con- 
 cluded by adding: — " 1 don't know what may be 
 the consequence of Fanny's adventure, the man 
 who delivered her from her first persecutor, being, 
 in my opinion, the most dangerous of the two." 
 
 " Why do you think so. Sir," asked Fanny, 
 blushing deeply as she spoke. 
 
 " Because," replied the Colonel, " I believe him 
 to be a notorious fellow that 1 remember seeing 
 tried for a swindler some years ago, and if my 
 conjecture is right, he will no doubt jendeavour to 
 make something out of this adventure." 
 
 " Oh, dear !" said Lady Maria, " I am frightened 
 to death. We shall be robbed, I dare say. Indeed, 
 Fanny, you must be very careful, and above all 
 things never speak to that man, if you should 
 happen to see him, let his appearance be ever so 
 prepossessing, or the company you see him in ever 
 so respectable." 
 
 This was the very distrust Colonel Ross had 
 wished to inspire, aiW he was happy to see his 
 artifice had produced the desired effect upon his 
 lady. 
 
 Fanny did not feel herself at all inclined to 
 give credit to Col. Ross's insinuations against 
 her deliverer, and she exclaimed, " I must con- 
 fess, nothing short of conviction should induce me 
 to think unworthily of that gentleman. His man- 
 ner was so gentle, yet firm and manly, that it at 
 once excited my esteem and respect. The expres- 
 sion of his eyes too, spoke the goodness of his 
 
 Q 
 
118 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 heart, and there was a something in the tone of 
 his voice that seemed persuasion itself." 
 
 ** At seventeen,^' replied Col. Ross, " such a su- 
 perficial way of jud^^ing people may be excused, 
 but, believe me, Fanny, when I lell you as a friend, 
 that it would be very dangerous for you to rely 
 upon so erroneous a guide, in choosing your ac- 
 quaintance. The sound of a man's voice may be 
 very pleasing, and the expression of his eyes well 
 calculated to ensnare the hearts of young girls like 
 you, without his possessing one virtue to entitle 
 him to your esteem." 
 
 Fanny was silenced, without being convinced, 
 and the conversation was here interrupted by the 
 arrival of Miss Stanhope, who came to ask Fanny 
 to ride out with her. 
 
 *• If Fanny is prudent she will refuse your re 
 quest,'* said Col. Ross, " she has made one excur 
 sion too many this morning." 
 
 *'Howso?'' asked Amelia. 
 
 Tiie Colonel then told the story in his own way, 
 whilst Fanny, out of all patience at the account he 
 gave of her kind deliverer, took i^p the subject, 
 and drew a picture of her new acquaintance that 
 delighted .\Jiss Stanhope. " Oh," said that giddy 
 girl, " I am dying to see your swain, Fanny, 1 love 
 pensive countenances beyond description. I hope 
 you are not far gone in the tender passion, for you 
 may depend upon it 1 shall become your rival, 
 provided your delineation be a faithful one." 
 
 " It will be an honourable rivalship to be sure,'* 
 said Col. Ross, Avith a sneer, " a compelition who 
 sliall accompany the hero on his voyage to Botany 
 Bay, for there his career will end, depend upon 
 it. He is a swindler, or I am a dunce 1" 
 
 " I should think the latter assertion far more 
 likely to be true than the /brmer," said Miss Stan- 
 hope, laughing, *' Fanny's account of the charm- 
 ing creature convinces me he is some incognito of 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 119 
 
 consequence, and the glory of developing his real 
 character, will, perhaps, bemine. Thank you, my 
 dear girl, for giving me something to do, that will 
 protect me from the Demon Ennui. The delightful 
 task of finding out who this stranger is, will amuse 
 me for this month to come. But mind, you must 
 look out for him, and show him to me." 
 
 "You are likely to have better employment, 
 Miss Stanhope," said the Colonel, " employment 
 that will effectually defeat the attacks of that foe 
 to the happiness of the idle and the vain, which 
 you have just mentioned." 
 
 *' And pray. Sir, to what employment do 5'ou al- 
 lude?" asked Amelia. 
 
 "The duke of Albemarle is expected in town 
 to-day, and it will be hard if the preparations for 
 your nuptials cannot supercede the idle curiosity 
 this silly story has excited.'' 
 
 ** A pretty remedy for ennui, upon my honour." 
 s^id Miss Stanhope, "I am sure the very thoughts 
 of my nuptials, as you call them, give me the va- 
 pours in an instant. Married, indeed! I am sure, 
 if the Duke is as much averse to the match as I 
 am, our union will make an excellent subject for a 
 
 tragedy, and may be called — ^' The Double Sacri- 
 
 > j> 
 
 ce. 
 
 " Oh the perverseness of human nature," ex 
 claimed Lady Maria, " how many girls would be 
 glad to change places with you. The Duke is a 
 very handsome man, I understand, and very ami- 
 able. His title is ancient, and his fortune equal to 
 your own.'* 
 
 "The two last considerations are the iron links 
 that unite our destiny," said Miss Stanhope, " all 
 the rest is of no consequence. But I'll tell you 
 what, my dear friend, there is nobody that can 
 judge so well of the fitting of the shoe, as the per- 
 son that wears it. The world may think mine a 
 bullion lot, but it must not be very angry with me 
 
130 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 for dissenting from its opinion. I would give half 
 my fortune, and a//the honour of beinga Duchess, 
 for the delightful privilege of choosing for myself." 
 
 Fanny sighed deeply, and then blushing, be- 
 cause Col. Ross looked at her as if he wished to 
 penetrate her thoughts. She rose from the table, 
 and walked to the window. '' Nay, don't sigh 
 about il," said Miss Stanhope, " perhaps I might 
 not choose your swain if I w^re to see him, and if 
 I should, 1 would give you the Duke in his stead, 
 and you hear what a fine bargain his Grace is !" 
 
 " You are a mad creature, Amelia," said Lady 
 Maria, "but I would advise you to see the Duke 
 before you give him away, for you confess you do 
 not know whether you like him or not." 
 
 '* That is the only thing I do know," replied 
 Miss Stanhope, " 1 am sure 1 do not like him, and 
 I am sure I never shall like him, and all I have to 
 ■wish,is, thathemay notlikeme, for/iehasthe power 
 of declining the alliance by the triflinsj sacrifice of 
 ten thousand per annum, but poor I must loose all 
 my fortune, if I rebel; but enough of this hateful 
 subject, you have given me the horrors, so if you 
 do not let Fanny ride with me this morning, to drive 
 them away, 1 will never forgive you." 
 
 "Jf Fanny rides with you, /must make one of 
 the party," said Col. Koss, *' lest she should meet 
 with either of those impertinent fellows she saw 
 this morning." 
 
 " By all means," said Miss Stanhope, " we shall 
 have no objection to a beau. Will you go, Lady 
 Maria?" 
 
 '* Oh no," hastily answered Col, Ross, " Maria 
 is such a timid rider, 1 beg we may not have the 
 hare of her company !" 
 
 " I did not intend to intrude upon you," said 
 Lady Maria, suppressing the tears that rose in her 
 eyes, and endeavouring to speak in a gay tone, 
 "but 1 remember the time whtn vou ui-jed to be 
 
> 
 
 ^tUtu. T'*"' ^fe^ 
 
 ^'^ il' 
 
 ^^^p" ''^'l 
 
 
 -,^ 
 
 
THB LITTLE MENDICANT, 121 
 
 (lelijo^hted if 1 would condescend to allow you to 
 instruct me in the art of the manege.'' 
 
 " My dear Maria, you talk of things that hap- 
 pened a hundred years ago," said the Colons!. 
 
 " I can only wish then," replied his lady, " that 
 instances of the same kindness were more recent !" 
 And as she spoke she left the room. 
 
 Fanny soon followed, to i)repare for her ride, 
 and tlie Colonel and Miss Stanhope were left 
 tete-a-tete, for half an hour. With the utmost 
 finesse he endeavoured to persuade Amelia into a 
 belief that the person who had rescued Fanny was 
 a person of bad character, pretending that he had 
 a perfect recollection of his person, having seen 
 him tried for the offence he alleged against him. 
 
 "All I dread is," said he, "that this artful fel- 
 low will presume upon the service he has ren- 
 dered Fanny, and endeavour to interest her in his 
 favour; the girl is so romantically grateful, that it 
 will not be difficult to accomplish such a scheme, 
 and then, depend upon it, we shall suffer by some 
 unforeseen imposition. Join your influence, then, 
 dear Miss Stanhope, with mine, and help to frighten 
 Fanny out of her good opinion." 
 
 " If you had not made such a parade about this 
 story," replied Amelia, "perhaps I should have 
 been on your side, but now you seem to set your 
 heart upon it, I shall disappoint you, for 1 love 
 contradiction, so expect to see me on the opposi- 
 tion benches when the matter comes before the 
 house." 
 
 Col. Ross laughed in apparent good humour, 
 but he devoutly wished his fair friend at New 
 York for her perverseness. 
 
 When Fanny had put on her riding habit, she 
 returned to the breakfast parlour, and Miss Stan- 
 hope's carriage conveyed the trio to the spot where 
 the grooms were waiting with the horses. 
 
 The animal Amelia rode was very spirited, and 
 
122 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 she frequently expressed her fears that he would 
 be too much for her skill to manage. Fanny, who 
 was the l)etter horse-woman, offered to change 
 with her friend ; but the Colonel endeavoured to 
 persuade her not to venture such a hazardous un- 
 dertaking, but rather to return to the carriage, and 
 defer the ride until another day, when a safer 
 horse could be provided for Miss Stanhope. 
 
 The giddy Amelia refused to listen to this salu- 
 tary advice, however ; and as Fanny repeated her 
 offer, the exchange was made. For some time the 
 liery animal seensed to submit to the suptM'ior skill 
 of his new manager, and all went smoothly on, 
 until the sudden elevatiouof a boy's kite startled 
 him, and darting forward with fury, he presently 
 left his companions far behind iiim. 
 
 Tenor deprived Fanny of all power to check 
 his speed, and losing her balance, she was thrown 
 to the ground, with a violence that stunned her ; 
 and when Col. Ross and Miss Stanhope came up 
 lo her, they found her lying, apparently lifeless, 
 in the arn)s of a gentleman, who had stopped his 
 carriage when he saw the accident, and flown to 
 her assistance. 
 
 For the first few minutes they were too much 
 absorbed in terror to observe the countenance of 
 Fanny's supporter, but when, after the application 
 of cold Avater to her temples, she revived, and as- 
 sured her friends that she was not materially hurt, 
 Miss Stanhopeinstantly recognised, in thefeatures 
 of the gentleman who had assisted Fanny, too 
 strong a resemblance to the Duke of Albemarle lo 
 be in doubt of his identity. 
 
 Though only a boy of fourteen when she had 
 last seen him, the peculiar cast of his countenance 
 was too remarkable to be mistaken, and she had 
 soon the satit^faction of observing that she had the 
 advantage over her intended Inisband, and was 
 convinced that her own form had undergone a 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 123 
 
 more material alteration in the space of seven 
 years than his had done, since he appeared not to 
 have the slightest idea who she was. 
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 
 A Hoax I 
 
 The Duke of Albemarle, for it was really him, 
 offered his carriage to convey Fanny home, but 
 Amelia replied," that as Miss Stanhope' sown cTiv- 
 riage would be there immediately, there was no 
 occasion to intrude upon his politeness." A groom 
 had been sent in search of the coach, which had 
 conveyed the ladies as far as the Edgeware Road, 
 and it was but a very little while before it made 
 appearance. 
 
 The Duke instantly recognised the arms, and 
 became the dupe of Miss Stanhope's artifice, by 
 mistaking Fanny for his bride elect ; a hoax Ame- 
 lia had determined upon playing him as soon as 
 she found herself unknown to him. 
 
 The Duke assisted Fanny to the carriage, and 
 then took his leave, without taking any notice of 
 the discovery he thought he had made, and pro- 
 ceeded to town, full of the most pleasing anticipa- 
 tions of happiness, in his approaching union with 
 a girl of such exquisite beauty, as the one he had 
 just been admiring. 
 
 He retained but a very slight recollection of the 
 infantile grace that had been presented to him as 
 his future wife, before he left England, and could 
 only remember that he thouoht her a pretty girl. 
 
124 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 although there was certainly nothing in her ap- 
 pearance that promised such a full harvest of per- 
 fection as that he had just been conteniplating. 
 
 Lord Sotnertown's house was to be the Duke's 
 town residence, until he shouhi be able to fix upon 
 one to his mind, and he alighted there in the highest 
 spirits imaginable, in about half an hour after he 
 had parted with Fanny. 
 
 His uncle was pleased to see him so cheerful, as 
 the Duke's last letter had be^n written in a style of 
 despondency that showed he was notvery sanguine 
 in his e-^pectations of happiness, in his approach- 
 ing marriage. 
 
 When the Duke related the accident that had 
 brought him acquainted with Miss Stanhope, Lord 
 Somertown was still better pleased, as the descrip- 
 tion he gave of the impression her beauty had made 
 upon his fancy was in the true style of a lover. 
 *' When I saw the lovely creature thrown from her 
 horse," said his Grace, " terror was the instinctive 
 emotion of my heart, but little did I imagine how 
 deeply my own happiness w^rs concerned in her 
 safety. Thank heaven," added he, "the sweet 
 girl, though greatly frightened, was not hurt." 
 
 '* Well, well boy," answered Lord Somertown, 
 •* I am glad it is as it is, for it would have been an 
 inconvenient thing if the girl had been killed hpfore 
 you had married her; her fortune is very necessary 
 to the repair of yours, as that long Chancery suit 
 M'ith the pretended heir to your title cost an im- 
 mensity of money. I am glad you like the doll 
 so well, too, as that will make the matriinonial pill 
 go down easier. For my part 1 think all (he girls 
 of fashion are exactly alike no w-a-days, they all re- 
 semble walkiny-sticks in their shapes, and French 
 puppets in their faces ; their dress consists of ex- 
 actly enough drapery to attract one's eye, whilst 
 it is sufficiently scanty and transparent to shock 
 one's modesty, and there is so much unmeaning 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 125 
 
 frippery in their conversation, and so little delicacy 
 IT good sense in their conduct, that 1 am convin- 
 •ed that the man who marries for love^ in these 
 days, must be either a boy or d^ dotard." 
 
 *' Your Lordship's picture of female excellence 
 is not very inviting,'* said the Duke. 
 
 '' Female excellence/'' rejoined Lord Somerto\vn, 
 '* why there is no such thing; but, however, I do 
 not wish to set you against thepotionyou are obli- 
 ged to swallow, you will find out its bitterness time 
 enough. Apropos, who" was with Miss Stanhope 
 in her unlucky excursion this morning?" 
 
 " A lady and a gentleman,*' replied the Duke. 
 
 " The lady 1 dare say 1 can guess at, for she has 
 picked up an adventress, who is making a good, 
 thing out of her, and I hope the first act of your 
 power, when you marry Miss Stanhope, will be to 
 break that connexion. 1 hope the gentleman was 
 not a rival though ; girls are such vain creatures 
 that they cannot live without an admirer, and I 
 have begun to be afraid, for some time past, that 
 you would stay so long abroad, that some needy 
 fellow would snatch up the prize, before you re- 
 turned." 
 
 *' I heard the young lady, who was with Miss 
 Stanhope, call the gentleman Col. Ross," said the 
 Duke. 
 
 " Oh ! then all is well,'* rejoined Lord Somer- 
 town, " Col. Ross is married, so there are no fears 
 from that quarter." 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said the Duke, " for 
 there was so much anxiety painted on his counte- 
 nance, that I could almost have ventured to be- 
 lieve that he was an admirer of the lady, who had 
 met the accident. But, my dear u!icle, you talk 
 of Miss Stanhope's marrying someneedy man, as if 
 ner fortune was at her own disposal. I thought 
 her father's will insisted upon her msrrying me, 
 on the penalty of loosing the bulk of her fortune, 
 
 R 
 
120 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 and that / was bound by a similar injunction to 
 marry none but Amelia." 
 
 *' A mere fairy tale invented by my ingenuity," 
 rejoined Lord Somertovvn, " to make you both 
 cement the union 1 have set my heart upon ; as 
 you have fallen in love with the girl, I may venture 
 to disclose the secret to you, but 1 beg you will 
 guard it carefully from Amelia, on whose docility 
 we must not rely a single instant, after that re- 
 straint is taken off." 
 
 " Deceive her no longer, I entreat you," said the 
 Duke, '* to be the object of Miss Stanhope'simre- 
 sfraju^c? choice would make me happier than I can 
 express, and how can J ever know that I am so, 
 ^yhilst she acts under the influence of the suppo- 
 sed clause in her father's will ?" 
 
 *' I did not imagine you were such an idiot, 
 Henry," exclaimed Lord Somertown, angrily, 
 ** you talk of things that never existed. No wo- 
 man ever had an unbiassed choice in a husband. 
 They are influenced by vanity, avarice, or ambi- 
 tion, and sometimes by all three. When you 
 know as much of sex as 1 do, you will despise 
 them as completely as I do. There is no animal 
 so perverse as a headstrong girl, trust not your 
 happiness to her keeping therefore. 1 have confi- 
 ded my secret to you, and if you betray it, 1 will 
 find a method of revenging the affront. You 
 ought to know me, Henry," continued Lord Som- 
 ertown, looking sternly at the Duke. "1 have 
 done much to be revenged of those who scorned 
 my power, and yoti have benefited by it : take 
 care therefore how you incur my displeasure ; no 
 one ever yet did so with impunity. You know the 
 ties of blood are nothing in my estimation, when 
 opposed to excited vengeance. Remember that, 
 and tremble! I leave your mode of acting to your 
 self, after this caution." 
 
 The Duke shuddered as he listened to this ex- 
 
TJIE LITTLE MRNDICANT. 127 
 
 ordium, for he well understood his uncle's allu- 
 sion, and he would gladly have given his title and 
 estate to be freed from the unpleasant sensations, 
 the recollections it awakened, excited in his bosom. 
 He knew, however, the vindictive temper of Lord 
 Soraertown too well to hazard the slightest contra- 
 diction. 
 
 ** Where my duty and my inclination go hand- 
 in-hand," said his Grace, " there is little fear ot 
 my disobeying your Lordship's injunctions : to 
 marry Miss Stanhope is the most ardent wish of my 
 heart : that 1 should do so is your Lordship's : 
 I shall not therefore risk the possibility of a disap- 
 pomtment, by divulging the important secret !" 
 
 f^v'^^^tf^t^ 
 
 CHAPTER Xn. 
 A Hoax / 
 
 In the mean time Miss Stanhope and Fanny re- 
 turned to town ; the former full of spirits and 
 drollery, secretly exulting in theimposition shehad 
 practised, of which, however, she avoided giving 
 the slightest hint to either of her companions^ 
 fearing lest they should impede the success of her 
 plot, before she had an opportunity of laying its 
 foundation with the security she meditated, and 
 .which once put in train, she felt certain would 
 defy their geriius to overturn. 
 
 Fanny's spirits were flurried with the accident 
 she had met with, and she was but ill able to bear 
 the raillery with which her lively friend attacked 
 her 
 
129 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 '** My dear Fanny,'* said Amelia, " I really 
 think it would be the safest expedient we could 
 hit upon, to send you into the country immedi- 
 ately." 
 
 *' And why so ?" asked Col. Ross, for Fanny 
 •was silent. 
 
 " Why don't you perceive,*' rejoined Miss Stan- 
 hope, " that she can neither walk nor ride without 
 meeting with adventures and knight-errants. De- 
 pend upon it she will be run away with some day, 
 and then we shall lament the temerity that ex- 
 posed her to such danger." 
 
 Col. Ross bit his lips. It was a suggestion his 
 own anxious heart had often presented to his fancy, 
 but he did not dare to avow it. *' Now don*t you 
 think it very likely to happen ?" continued Miss 
 Stanhope, looking archly, *' you were afraid of 
 the Adonis she met in the morning, but I have the 
 most reason to be afraid now, for 1 will wager a 
 thousand guineas she steals my lover from me be- 
 fore I am a week older." 
 
 '* Your lover," re-echoedthe Colonel, '* for Hea- 
 ven's sake. Miss Stanhope, who do you allude to ?" 
 
 "To the Duke of Albemarle." replied she, 
 " that was the invincible knight who just now 
 spread his fostering arms to shelter this beautiful 
 damsel." 
 
 As Miss Stanhope spoke, Fanny's cheeks were 
 dyed with crimson, and a deep sigh escaped her. 
 An indistinct feeling like disappointment shot 
 through her heart. She was sorry to hear that the 
 .stranger she had thought so agreeable, was a man 
 of whom she must think of no more. She tried, 
 however, to turn the conversation, by observing, 
 that she wondered the Duke had not recognised 
 Miss Stanhope. 
 
 " I dare say," answered Amelia, laughing, *' that 
 the Duke thinks me so much improved in beauty, 
 that he does not suspect his happiness in being des- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 129 
 
 lined to so lovely a creature, and so his humilittf 
 ])ainted out a fair one more upon a par with his 
 own merits. Well, never mind, iny dear, I will not 
 pull caps with you. The dnke does not please 
 me, but I shall not say so. Let him cry out first. 
 A (iiw thousands per annum will be a trifHng sacri- 
 fice in the cause, for which Mark Anthony lost the 
 world r 
 
 In this unmerciful manner did Amelia continue 
 to roast poor Fanny, until the carriage stopped at 
 Col. Ross's door, and for the first time since they 
 had become acquainted, Fanny felt rejoiced to get 
 rid of her agreeable friend, who could notcoramand 
 time enough to alight to tell Lady Maria Ross 
 " The wonders of the ride" a circumstance she 
 lamented most pathetically. 
 
 Col. Ross was as glad as Fanny to see Amelia 
 depart, for the tempest of jealousy her suggestions 
 had raised in his bosom, required the retirement of 
 his closet to subdue and bring within the. limits of 
 his usual self-command. To his closet, therefore, 
 he flew, as soon as he entered the house, and Fanny 
 repaired to her own chamber, where, throwing 
 herself on her bed, she gave way to the flood of 
 tears that had long been struggling for freedom. 
 She had suppressed them whilst in Amelia's pre- 
 sence, because she feared she would attribute their 
 flowing to a silly and sudden partiality imbibed by 
 a^r.<?#-sj<7^^ impression, a species of romance Fan- 
 ny had always condemned, when conversing with 
 Miss Stanhope upon the subject of attachment. 
 
 Scarcely indeed could she herself tell front 
 whence the weeping propensity originated, but feir 
 most inclined to attribute it to the influence of her 
 wounded pride, which had shrunk from Miss 
 Stanhope's raillery, with a degree of pain very un- 
 usual to the naturally humble minded Fanny. 
 
 " Poor outcast Orphan as 1 am," said the weep- 
 ing girl, " dependant on the bounty of strangers. 
 
130 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 aiid unblest even with a name. My nature assimi- 
 Jales not with such degrading circumstances. J 
 feel no innate symptoms of baseness : why then 
 should I be trampled upon by those whose fortunes 
 are better, although their sentiments may be infe- 
 rior to mine ? Miss Stanhope is blest with fortune 
 and its sure attendants— y?'ie«c/5. She can com- 
 mand admirers ; it is ungenerous therefore in her 
 to make my insignificance the subject of heramuse- 
 nient." 
 
 These reflections were the bitterest Fanny had 
 ever made, the secret cause that made thetn so, 1 
 leave to my sagacious ^<?ma/e readers to find out ; 
 not in the least doubting that they will be able to 
 ascribe the effect to its genuine cause; and 
 with those who are clear-sighted enough to 
 unravel the mystery, I flatter myself poor Fanny 
 will stand acquitted of kabitualiW-humour. A lit- 
 tle acrimony may surely be excused on so trying 
 occasion. 
 
 In a few hours after Miss Stanhope's return 
 home, she received a note from the Duke of Albe- 
 marle, announcing his arrival, and entreating per- 
 mission to pay his compliments in person to the 
 lady who held his future happiness at her disposal? 
 
 Amelia answered the note, and fixed the follow- 
 ing morning for receiving the visit of the impatient 
 lover. The Duke thought this interval an a(j€, 
 but he was forced to submit, and the mischievous 
 Ahielia enjoyed the double pleasure of reflecting 
 on his present suspense, and approaching disap- 
 pointment. When the appointed hour arrived, the 
 Duke was announced, and entered the apartment 
 where Amelia was sitting at her music, with such 
 a degree of eagerness, that he scarcely gave the 
 servant tin)e to name him 'ere he stood before her. 
 His impatience, however, was not more evident than 
 his disappointment, when, on Amelia's rising to 
 
THE LITTLB MENDICANT. 131 
 
 receive him, he perceived that she was not the 
 lady he had expected to see. The words he had 
 begun to speak faltered on his tongue, and he 
 stopped short in the middle of a fine speech, to the 
 diversion of his cruel mistress, and the inexpressi- 
 ble confusion of his own feelings. 
 
 The Duke was accompanied by Lord Somer- 
 tovvn : he did not, therefore, dare to account for his 
 embarrassment, and that nobleman attributed it 
 solely to the foolishness inseparable from a boys 
 Attachment. The Marquis of Petersiield soon en- 
 tered the room, and relieved him in some degree 
 by turning the conversation upon general subjects. 
 
 After some little discussion of the politics and 
 news of the da}'^, Lord Smuertown asked the Mar- 
 quis whether he had purchased the pictures at 
 Christie's, which he saw him bidding for. 
 
 " I have," replied Lord Petersfield, " and if 
 your lordship will do me the favour to give your 
 opinion of a Titian I have amongst the number, it 
 will greatly oblige me?" 
 
 "Certainly," answered Lord Somertown, "let 
 us look at it directly. The young people," added 
 he, nodding significantly, " will excuse our leav- 
 ing them together for a few minutes.'* So saying, 
 the two guardians left the room, and the Duke's 
 embarrassment returned with increased violence. 
 Miss Stanhope, who enjoyed her poor lover's con- 
 fusion, determined to increase it. "I little thought/' 
 said she, smihng archly, " when I received such 
 polite attention from your Grace yesterday morn- 
 ing, after my unfortunate fall, that it was to the 
 Duke of Albemarle I was indebted for assistance; 
 but your Grace seems to have forgotten the whole 
 circumstance, for you have not once enquired how 
 I am after my fright" 
 
 The Duke was struck dumb at this speech ; he 
 mechanically put his hand to his eyes, as if to as- 
 certain whether they were rsally his own eyes, 
 
132 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 and Miss Stanhope burst into a fit of laugliter, 
 ihat completely disconcerted him. 
 
 *'ltis time,*' said she, "to finish the joke. I 
 perceive your Grace's distress, which is, indeed, an 
 awkward one, and although I have been mischiev- 
 r«us enough to enjoy it for a little while, I cannot 
 3nd in my heart to protract it any longer. I have 
 entered most unwillingly into the descent that is 
 •practised upon you, and 1 feel myself unequal to 
 :he task of imposing any longer upon your creduli- 
 iy. I will therefore be candid, provided your 
 Grace will pledge your word and honour that you 
 will not own I have done so, until / give you 
 leave.*' 
 
 The Duke, whose curiosity was raised to the 
 highest pitch by this preamble, and whose hopes 
 began to revive at the same time, readily entered 
 into the conditional promise, and Miss Stanhope 
 proceeded with her hoax. 
 
 " Amelia Stanhope,'* said she, *' is a whimsical 
 creature, for, although 1 love her dearly, nobody 
 is quicker in discovering her errors than I am. 
 This giddy girl could not bear the idea o'f being 
 introduced to her husband elect as a commodity he 
 was obliged to take, whether he liked it or not, 
 and having read in some novel, 1 suppose, of the 
 metamorphosis of lovers to render themselves more 
 amiable in the eyes of those they v/ished to please, 
 she determined to get up a little drama, which was 
 to be performed in honour of your Grace's arrival. 
 In this piece /have the principal part, for I am ho- 
 noured by personating Miss Stanhope, whilst she 
 herself has assumed the simple guise which belongs 
 to me, and which you will see her, perform with ad- 
 mirable grace and naivete. In that disguise she 
 expects to win your Grace's heart, and if I have 
 any skill in augury, her expectations are not iil- 
 founded. Lord Somertown and the Marquis are 
 both in the secret, and they are anticipating the 
 
THE LITTLK \fKNDlCANT. 133 
 
 pleasure of seeing your embarrassment, when you 
 ihul yourself entangled in an attaclinient so seem- 
 ingly contrary to their wishes, and which t'le de^ 
 nouement of the piece is to dissipate in the pretti- 
 est manner imaginable. The moment I saw your 
 Grace enter the room this morning, I recollected 
 your features, and knew you for th» gentleman 
 who assisted Miss Stanhope yesterday morning. 
 The hoax I knew, lhererore,m?fsnall to the ground, 
 and this determined me to tell you of it first, and 
 if you have half a grain of wit, you will turn the 
 tables upon the authors of it, by appearing to be- 
 lieve things as they represent them, and acquiesc- 
 ing in their wishes as to the proposed alliance, this 
 v.'iil secretly mortify them, whilst you can insure 
 Amelia's good will by clandestine testimonies of 
 your admiration, and by private marriage with her 
 under her borrowed character, you can put the 
 most romantic llnisjh to the whole alfajr Rest 
 assured of my assistance, provided you keep the 
 secret; and when you have seen the pretended 
 Fanny, you will be better able to tell me how Jar 
 you will like to proceed under my directions." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the astonishment and 
 delight that filled the Duke's mind as Amelia laid 
 her pretended scheme before him ; but although 
 he wondered, he did not doubt. He readily, 
 therefore, promised to act under the direction of 
 his treacherous guide, who, in return, assured him 
 that he should 5ee the real Miss Stanhope that 
 night, if he would meet them at the Opera. 
 
 The arrangement was but just made when the 
 \vv'0 Lords returned, and the Duke soon after- 
 wards took his leave; saying, as he quitted the 
 joom, " at the Opera, then. Madam, I shall hope 
 Jo renew the pleasure I have enjoyed this mdrn- 
 Jiig." Amelia nodded assent, and llie lover de- 
 liarted, accompanied by Lord Somertown ; nei- 
 
 s 
 
134 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 tner of ibem dreaming of the trick Miss Stanhope 
 l)ad been playing. 
 
 She, however, was so diverted witli the thoughts 
 of it, and so delighted with the success which had 
 crowned her first attempts, that she was in per- 
 fect extacies, and could scarcely perform the du- 
 ties of her toilet, for laughing at the frolic. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Cross purposes. 
 
 As the Duke and Lord Somertown returned to- 
 gether in the carriage, the latter said with a smile, 
 " and do you really think the impression you have 
 received indelible ? Do you believe your heart 
 invificible to any other attachment?" 
 
 " My heart," replied the Duke, " must be very 
 deceitful if it has not received a lasting impres- 
 sion. I think I shall not easily change." 
 
 " I am glad you speak dubiotisly upon the sub- 
 ject," answered Lord Somertown, laughing, " it 
 shows you are less of the blockhead than I took 
 you to be, from your Jirst rhapsody. I wish you 
 to marry Miss Slanhope, but I don't think it ne- 
 cessarily follows that you should iiiake Tifool oi 
 yourself!" 
 
 The Duke smiled, but he made no reply. He 
 attributed Lord Somertown's asperity, not to his 
 natural morose disposition, but to the particular 
 mortitication he felt at supposing he, the ]>nke, 
 admired the Jictitious, instead of the real iMiss 
 Stanhope. 
 
 Notliing raoie, however, passed on the subject 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 135 
 
 between Ihem ; and the Duke passed llie hours 
 that intervened betweeeu that and the Opera, in 
 arranging- his plans respecting the double pari he 
 was to act, so as to keep up the J'arce of attention 
 to the pretender, and yet satisfy the rightful sove- 
 reign that he was devoted to her alone. 
 
 In the meantime Mi*s Stanho|. a called upon 
 Fanny to intreat her to accompany her to the 
 Opera and spend a few days with her at the 
 Marquis of Petersfield's. Fanny did not appear 
 much inclined to join the party ; but after a little 
 persuasion, and a good deal of raillery upon her 
 sudden predilection for solitude, she yielded to her 
 lively friend, and promised to make one in the 
 Marchioness of Petersfield's box that evening, 
 and accompany Amelia home for a few days, pro- 
 vided the scheme was approved by Lady Maria 
 Ross, who was also of the party, and about half- 
 past nine they entered the Opera House. 
 
 The poor Duke had been there ever since the 
 opening of the doors, devoutly cursing the fashion- 
 able folly which rendered it vulgar to see the be- 
 ginning of any public exhibition. 
 
 His Grace was in the pit, with his eyes fixed on 
 that part of the gay hemisphere where he expected 
 the rising of the star he worshipped. No sooner 
 had he recognised the entrance of the party, than 
 he flew to join them. 
 
 Miss Stanhope received his compliments with a 
 smile, and turning to Fanny, begged leave to intro- 
 duce hev friend to his Grace. 
 
 *' Miss Fanny, ^' said «he, emphatically, " I would 
 add another name if I could, but I must leave that 
 for your Grace's ingenuity to supply in what man- 
 ner you please." The l-atter part of this was spok- 
 en in a low voice, and the arch smile that accom- 
 panied it, convinced the Duke that Amelia allud- 
 ed to her own assumed character. 
 
 The admiration the Duke had felt at the first in- 
 
138 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 terview with Fanny was increased at this moment : 
 there was a dignity in her look and manner he had 
 ii(»t !)eforeobserved, and the expression that beam- 
 ed from her beautiful eyes was calculated to 
 awe, as well as to enchant. 
 
 The cause of this change in the usual appearance 
 of Fanny, whiclj generally gave the idea of femi- 
 nine softness, rather than dignity, originated in 
 the peculiarity of her feelings respecting the 
 Duke. 
 
 His appearance had struck her as the most 
 agreeable she had ever seen, before she knew who 
 he was, and when she learnt the disagreeable truth, 
 she instantly determined to subdue the slight par- 
 tiality she. felt. Miss Stanhope's raillery had rous- 
 ed her pride, and her promise not to " pull caps" 
 with her for the Duke, seemed to iiiiply that she 
 thought Fanny would be glad to attract his Grace's 
 notice, if she could do it with impunity. *' I wish 
 not to interfere with Amelia' slovers," thought she, 
 " and she shall see that the Duke is not an object 
 to excite my ambition." 
 
 Full of tliese proud resolutions, Fanny's eyes 
 wore a look oi hauteur very different from their 
 usual expression ; yet was the change an improve- 
 ment, as it gave a spiiit to her beauty, that ren- 
 dered it more striking and impressive. 
 
 Deep blushes mantled on hercheeksasthe Duke 
 paid his compUments to her, but the coldness with 
 which she turned away from him, the moment he 
 had done speaking, mortified, though it tended to 
 increase his passion. 
 
 In vain did the Duke endeavour to engage her 
 '■{\ conversation ; her laconic answers, politely, 
 out coldly given, still terminated every subject he 
 started. 
 
 In the coffee-room, after the Opera was over. 
 Lord Somertown joined the party, and the Duke's 
 attention io Fanny wais not lost upon that synicai 
 
THE LITTLE MBNDICANT. 137 
 
 nobleman. " The bay is a fool," said he, mentally, 
 *' and ready to fall in love with every school girl he 
 meets with. A few hours 3.2:0 he was dying for 
 MissStanhojje, and now the idiot is worshipping a 
 new divinity ; but I know boys too well to notice 
 their folly. Opposition only gives fire to romantic 
 love, the spark will go out of itself, if the breath 
 of contradiction does not fan it into flames." 
 
 The next day the Duke of Albermarle paid Miss 
 Stanhope an early visit. " What an amiable crea- 
 ture are you, my dear Madam," said he, "in show- 
 ing such compassion to. me. Had you left me in 
 ignorance on this trying occasion, my sufferings 
 would have been insupportable." 
 
 '* It is plain you think me very amiable,"" replied 
 Amelia, laughing, " when you confess so candidly 
 to my face, thatthe bare idea of being united to me, 
 would have been insupportable to you. But if 
 Jove forgave the perjuries of lovers, surely mere 
 mortals may pardon their rudeness." 
 
 *' Nay," interrupted the Duke, " you wrong me. 
 Madam, and wrest my words from their real mean- 
 ing. I did not say the idea of marrying you would 
 be insupportable, it was my suspense respecting 
 the object of my choice, thatl exclaimed against, 
 and as that choice, as sudden as it is ardent, was 
 made before I had ever looked at you, surely the 
 shadow of offence cannot be imputed to me." 
 
 "Tolerably well turned," answered Miss Stan, 
 hope, "but tell me, my Lord, candidly, supposing 
 all that I have told you should be proved a mere 
 fabrication of my own brain, how would you be in- 
 clined to act? Would you play Mark Anthony, or 
 Shylock ? Would you throw away the world for 
 love, or insist upoii your ' bondf ' 
 
 The Duke started — he did not like the sugges- 
 tion, it gave rise to doubts that had not before tor- 
 mented him, and he knew not what to answer. 
 Amelia saw his confusion, and enjoyed it. 
 
138 FATHERLESS FAN^Y : OR, 
 
 ''I'll tell you what'' said she, " I am afraid you 
 are too lukewarm a lover for Amelia Stanhope; 
 she is romance personified, and theman who would 
 not run away with her, at the risk of never pos- 
 sessing a shilling of her fortune, will never marry 
 her you may depend upon it." 
 
 "Theman who could ihinko^ Jor time, when put 
 in competition with the possession of Miss Stan- 
 hope, would be unworthy such a prize !" said the 
 Duke, *' but why, dear Madam, torment me with 
 queries that involve even your own veracity as well 
 as my happiness, in clouds of obscurity ?" 
 
 " J don't know why I started the difficulty," 
 said Miss Stanhope, laughing, unless it were 
 meant to increase your passion, for say what you 
 will, there is no stimulus in love equal to diffi- 
 culty." 
 
 *' There is a charm in your mischief-loving spi- 
 rit, that would be dangerous to contemplate," said 
 the Duke, " to a man less a captive that I am. 
 The witchery of your smiles is increased by the 
 mischief that seems to lurk beneath then), and 
 those you most delight to torment, would be most 
 likely to feel pleasure from the infliction.'' 
 
 *' Don't waste your time in complimenting me," 
 said Amelia, laughing, " for betide what will, from 
 me you can have no expectations. Had I not been 
 quite clear upon that head, I would not have 
 undertaken the part 1 am playing." 
 
 " If then you are so clear as what I may hope 
 for from yourself," said the Duke, " deign, dear 
 Madam, to inform me what are my dependencies 
 with your J'riend ?" 
 
 "There are few women who can answer for 
 themselves," said Amelia," and you are unreason- 
 able enough to expect that I should answer iov my 
 J'riend. I do not give so wide a latitude to the 
 duties of friendship. Thus far I will venture to 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 139 
 
 tell you, if you win Amelia Stanhope, you must 
 possess more merit than is at this moment appa- 
 rent to your humble servant. Do not let my can" 
 dor, however, drive you quite au desespoir; for I 
 confess, it is not absolutely impossible that your 
 " lady love" may possess more discernment than I 
 pretend to, and discover recommendations that 
 are hidden to me. Exert your energies, therefore, 
 my Lord Duke, call up your powers of captiva- 
 tion, and who knows what may happen." 
 
 " Provoking, tantalizing girl," exclaimed the 
 Duke, in a tone of impatience ; " have you no feel- 
 ings of sympathy for the suspense 1 am doomed to 
 suffer? How can you make an amusement of ray 
 sufferings, and laugh at my distress? Surely such 
 softness of feature was never intended to enshrine 
 a heart so impervious to humanity." 
 
 " Really," replied Amelia, " I ought to curtsey 
 down to the ground in return for your Grace's 
 compliment. A pretty story truly, that 1 am to be 
 stigmatized with the appellation of barbarian, 
 because forsooth I do not melt into sympathetic 
 tears at the unheard of sufferings of a man, who 
 having been eight arid forty hours in love, is still in 
 dreadful uncertainty whether his mistress approves 
 of him or not ! to say nothing of the insinuation 
 against n)y honor, in supposing that I am capable 
 of betraying Miss Stanhope's secrets. Thank hea- 
 ven, however, my sensibility does not keep pace 
 with your impetuosity, if it did, my, poor nerves 
 would be in a lamentable condition indeed." 
 
 The Duke could scarcely help smiling at the 
 consequential air Amelia assumed, and the ludi- 
 crous turn which she gave to his complaints, but 
 he felt that this was a subject too serious to be 
 trifled with ; — the future happiness or misery of 
 his life were at stake, and he resolved not to be 
 baffled or laughed out of his attempts to ascertain 
 whether his addresses would or would not be re- 
 
140 FATHERLESS FANNY; 0R» 
 
 ceived by his fair enslavei* with complacency. 
 At least, thought he, I shall learn whether the 
 lovely creature's heart is free from any preposses- 
 sion for another. The bare possibility that it might 
 be already occupied with the image of another 
 inflicted the most acute agony, and the earnestness 
 of his manner encreased as he again addressed 
 his to rm enter. 
 
 " Forgive me, dear Madam, I know I am 
 importunate and unreasonable, 
 
 " He jests at scars who never felt a wound," 
 
 — but let the remembrance that even you are not 
 invulnerable, and may sometime or other be 
 doomed to feel a portion of that all potent passion, 
 which, like death, pays no respect to persons, 
 induce you to bear a little longer with my infir- 
 mity. To a plain question, therefore, 1 be- 
 seech you, give a plain answer, and for once lay 
 aside that ingenuous art of tormenting, in which 
 study I confess you unrivalled. Tell me then, 
 without equivocation, is Miss Stanhope's heart 
 entirely disengaged, or have 1 the misfortune 
 of having to combat with a more fortunate 
 rival ?" 
 
 " And your Grace really expects me to give 
 the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the 
 truth, in answer to this very plain question. Well 
 then, as far as a woman's heart can be depended 
 upon, I seriously believe that Amelia Stanhope's 
 heart is at this moment as free from any pre- 
 possession as my own, and that is saying a great 
 deal, you know, my Lord Duke, for the heart is 
 deceitful above all things." 
 
 "If it is possible for her to be serious a mo- 
 ment, will my fair instructress tell me, what 
 I am to say to my uncle as to Miss Stanhope's 
 reception of me r" said the Duke. 
 
 " Nay, I leave that to your own discretion," 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 141 
 
 replied Amelia, "/am the ostensible Miss Stan- 
 hope, and J am sure / have received you very 
 liindly ; therefore you may safely say so. Suffer 
 all the preliminaries to be settled just as if you 
 intended to marry Miss Stanhope in her proper 
 character, and then give zest to the joke, run 
 away with her a few days before the one fixed 
 for your nuptials, under the fictitious name of 
 Fatherless Fanny. Oh the story will make the 
 prettiest novel that ever was, and Amelia Stan- 
 hope will be better pleased with the denouement 
 than any other person !" 
 
 '* Would to Heaven I were sure of that!" said 
 the Duke, " but the expression of her eyes does 
 not speak so flattering a language," 
 
 "Nay, never mind that," replied Amelia, laugh- 
 ing. " A faint heart never won a fair lady. Go 
 on, therefore, and prosper." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The Concert. 
 
 Miss Stanhope, without disclosing a tittle of 
 her plot to Fanny, managed it so well, that she 
 made her act in concert with her. The necessity 
 of meeting the Duke continually was very irksome 
 to Fanny ; but Amelia laid her plans so adroitly 
 that the former could not excuse herself from 
 joining the parties of the latter, without giving the 
 very reason she wished to conceal. 
 
 Instead of feeling flattered by the Duke's at- 
 tentions, as she would have done had she con- 
 sidered herself entitled to receive his addresses, 
 Fanny looked upon them as little short of insult. 
 
 T ' 
 
142 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 "To what end," would she say to herself, 
 "does the Duke of Albemarle address himself to 
 me ! Does he not know that I am acquamted with 
 the nature of his engagements to Miss Stanhope? 
 are they not publicly acknowledged to the world 
 by the preparations that are making for their 
 union? He is received as her acknowledged 
 lover, which renders his addresses to any other 
 woman a gross insult to delicacy." 
 
 While these ideas were passing in Fanny's mind, 
 the Duke, who supposed her a party in a plot to 
 deceive him, persevered in paying her the most 
 marked attention, still carefully adhering to Miss 
 Stanhope's injunctions not to give a hint of his 
 knowledge of the deception. His Grace was a 
 general favourite with the ladies, and his attentions 
 to Fanny were not observed without exciting con- 
 siderable emotions of envy and malice. "It was 
 a shame," they said, " that a girl like that should 
 be suffered to rival a young lady of Miss Stan- 
 hope's consequence ; and they wondered the Mar- 
 quis of Fetersfield and Lord Somertown would 
 allow of such doings." 
 
 These whispers reached Lord Somertown's ear, 
 and as he had always felt the most decided aver- 
 sion for poor Fanny, he determined to speak to 
 Col. Ross and Lady Maria on the subject, and 
 try if nothing could be done to get rid of so dan- 
 gerous a person before the mischief had gone too 
 far. After all the pains he had taken, and the 
 guilt he had incurred, to insure the title of Albe- 
 marle to his nephew, the bare idea of ])is ingrati- 
 tude was distraction! — Should he marry the 
 portionless girl that seemed now to engross all 
 his attention, Lord Somertown felt that he should 
 scarcely survive the event. 
 
 From the first moment he had seen the sweet 
 girl, he had hated her ; and the expression of his 
 eyes had been so true to the feelings of his soul. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 143 
 
 lliat Fanny liad felt a terror she could neither ac- 
 count for nor subdue, whenever slie had found 
 herself the ohject of liis scrutiny. 
 
 The Dnke of Albemarle had been in England 
 now about two months, and it "was daily expected 
 ihat his Grace*s nuptials would be shortly fixed 
 nith the rich Miss Stanhope, whilst the busy cir- 
 (le that reported these conjectures never failed to 
 add that " the divine friendship' that subsisted 
 between Amelia and Fanny, would be a source of 
 •inuch pleasure to the Duke, whenever the union 
 took place : and as, no doubt, all parties were 
 agreed, it might prove a happy compact. 
 
 The only persons who heard nothing of these 
 whispers, were those most concerned in their im- 
 port, — the trio themselves. That they were the 
 objects of particular observation they could not 
 fail of being conscious ; but this they attributed to 
 the celebrity of Miss Stanhope's fortune and ap- 
 proaching nuptials. 
 
 At a concert, one evening, however, the buz 
 was more than usually active ; and Fanny, who 
 v/as more particularly the object of ill-natured ob- 
 servation, fell the painful impression of the whis- 
 per in circulation. Her nature delicate and 
 modest, shrunk from the general stare, and 
 sutTerings the most exquisite were painted on her 
 intelligent countenance. 
 
 Not so Miss Stanhope; she, with her accustom- 
 ed liveliness, was listening to the nonsense of Sir 
 Everard Moi nin-^ton, a young man of dashing ce- 
 lebrity, who, besides being a member of the Fbur- 
 in-Hand Club, was the epitome of every thing 
 ridiculous in the long list of fashionable folly. His 
 fortune was large, and his person handsome, and 
 therefore even tliose people who had sense enough 
 to laugh at his foibles, pretended to tolerate them 
 in consideration of his extreme good nature and 
 generosity. In Miss Stanhope's ejes, however, 
 
344 
 
 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 he rose above toleration, for she doated upon ec- 
 centricity, and her ear was charmed by the fre- 
 quent repetitions of those elegant phrases prime 
 and bang-up, and the rest of that unintelligible 
 slang which has lately been substituted for good 
 sense and good breeding. The relation of his ex- 
 ploits in the Olympic art of charioteering, was more 
 interesting to her feelings than she could possibly 
 have found in the annals of the most distinguished 
 conquerors. Sir Everard was not insensible to 
 the honour of Miss Stanhope's approbation; and 
 from the first evening of their acquaintance, he 
 had determined that she alone, of all the girls he 
 knew, black, brown, or fair, should sit beside him 
 on the dicky, when he drove to the temple of hy- 
 men. The slight difficulty of a prior' engagement 
 was nothing to his magnanimous soul. " There 
 was but little merit," he said, " in winning a race 
 where all the competitors started fair ; but to 
 overtake and overturn a seemingly successful ri- 
 val, would be prime and hang-up with a ven- 
 geance!" 
 
 The Duke had been conversing with Fanny, at 
 the beginning of the entertainment, and paying her 
 those thousand delicate and nameless attentions 
 which mark so well the affection of the heart. 
 Fanny had received them, as she always did, 
 with the most frigid coldness. When a delicate 
 mind feels it necessary to struggle with a grow- 
 ing partiality for an object every way calculated 
 to render the task difficult, the effort is made with 
 all the fervour of determined virtue, and no out- 
 ward symptom betrays the struggle within. The 
 Duke felt piqued at her indifference, and began 
 to doubt whether he had not been deceived by 
 his informer, when he was taught to suppose she 
 had cherished a wish to enslave him. 
 
 Full of these thoughts he had quitted Fanny's 
 
' THE LITTLB MENDICANT. 145 
 
 side, and wandered to the opposite side of the 
 room. 
 
 Lady Maria Ross, who sat on the other side of 
 Fanny, was engaged in deep conversation with 
 some ladies near her, and the poor girl was left 
 exposed to the whispers and the observations of 
 the surrounding ladies, as we just now related, a 
 situation of whose disagreeables she was by no 
 means insensible. 
 
 Absorbed in her own unpleasant reflections, she 
 did not observe that a gentleman had taken the 
 seat next her, which the Duke had just left, until 
 his voice addressing her roused her from her re- 
 verie. 
 
 '* Once more," said he, in a tone which Fanny 
 instantly knew to be the voice of the stranger 
 whose politeness had rescued her from insult in 
 the Park, on the morning of her well-remembered 
 walk; ** once more I am so happy as to meet 
 with the sweet girl whose image has lived in my 
 heart ever since the first moment 1 beheld her. 
 Yet mistake me not, gentle lady," continued he, 
 speaking more softly, *' I am no lover come to 
 offer the incense of flattery at the shrine of beauty. 
 That passion is for ever extinct in this bosom: it 
 is buried in the tomb of her you resemble. The 
 offering Fbring you is friendship the most sublime; 
 such love as guardian angels feel for those they 
 watch over. Deign then to listen to my warning 
 voice : — temptation and danger, nay, even death 
 itself, appear to threaten you ; refuse not then the 
 friend that heaven itself has sent." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the variety of emo- 
 tions that filled the bosom of Fanny as she listen- 
 ed to this strange address. The most predomi- 
 nant was fear; terrified at perceiving that she 
 was observed more than ever, her first impulse 
 was to fly; and she was rising from her seat, un- 
 conscious of the action, when she felt the stran- 
 
14G FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 ger's hand laid upon her arm to prevent hei 
 removal, and she mechanically re seated herself. 
 
 " You seem to fear observation," said lie, 
 in a gentle voice, " and yet you were about Ui 
 excite it in the most imprudent manner. Sit still, 
 sweet girl, and be not afraid of tlie only friend this 
 room contains for you." 
 
 There was a charm in the voice of the stranger 
 that had a powerful effect upon the heart of Fan- 
 ny ; she had felt it the first time he spoke to her, 
 and it seemed to increase rather than diminish in 
 the repetition. 
 
 She raised her timid eyes to his face, and won- 
 dered at the delight that thrilled through her 
 frame, as she read affection in I hose of the persua- 
 sive speaker. She immediately checked the emo 
 tion and endeavoured to recover her serenity, but 
 she could, only look composed ; the feelings of her 
 mind were not to be subdued. The penetrating 
 eye of the stranger perceived the struggle, and 
 again addressed her. 
 
 *' J am impelled towards you, lovely girl," said 
 he, *' by an interest as ujidefiuable as it is irresis- 
 tible. 1 observe with pleasure that you partici- 
 pate in, my feelings, although the sympathy is in- 
 voluntary. The instinct of the soul is incapable 
 of error; I am persuaded, therefore, that we shall 
 one day be satisfied why we experience the emo- 
 tions that now agitate us both.'* 
 
 Fanny continued silent during the whole of this 
 address ; for she feared to trust her voice, lest its 
 tremulous sound should betray her agitation. She 
 did not feel so well assured that it was the effect 
 of divine inspiration, and therefore chose rather to 
 check than encourage it. 
 
 She had been combating with the rising partia- 
 ity that had been awakened in her bosom by the 
 Duke of Albemarle, and she could not help feeling 
 noth surprised and provoked that a person, of 
 
THK I.ITTl.F. MIO'DICANT. 147 
 
 whose very name she was is^norant, and whom 
 sue had seen butouce before, siioidd be able to 
 excite sentiments of tenderness in her heart, far 
 superior to any she had ever before experienced, 
 and which, although they bore no resemblance to 
 the partiality she felt for the Duke, were so new 
 and undefinable, that she trembled to admit them. 
 
 *' I perceive," said the stranger, observing that 
 Fanny's reverie was both deep and painful, " I 
 perceive that the abruptness of my address has 
 alarmed your delicacy ; but fear not, sweet girl,. 
 1 repeat I am no lover ; consider me as a moni- 
 tor and friend, and listen to my admonitions : you 
 are surrounded by treachery ; beware of the 
 Duke of Albemarle; beware of Col. Ross; but 
 above all, beware of Lord Somertown." 
 
 Fanny turned pale. "Good heaven," exclaim- 
 ed she, "^ what danger threatens me? The people 
 of whom you warn me are nothing to me. Why 
 then should I fear them? Explain your myste- 
 rious caution, I implore you; for it terrifies with- 
 out instructing me.'' 
 
 " Explanation here is impossible," replied the 
 stranger, " but meet me in the park, where I first 
 saw you, to-morrow morning, and I will reveal 
 the mystery that perplexes you." 
 
 " Meet a stranger by appointment," said Fanny, 
 colouring with indignation, *' it is you, Sir, I ought 
 toj^ear, who advise me so imprudently ;" and rising 
 from her seat as she spoke, she quitted the side of 
 the stranger, and immediately joined Miss Stan- 
 hope, who had just beckoned her to come to her. 
 " You are a pretty Miss, indeed," said she, laugh- 
 ing as Fanny approached her, " two conquests in 
 hn evening^is too much." "How /t£?o conquests," 
 lepeated Fanny, *' 1 do not understand you ?'* 
 '*0h! I will enlighten your understanding, my 
 dear — you have been first flirting with the Duke 
 
148 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 of Albeniar e, and now I have caught you coquet- 
 ing with the rich Mr. Hamilton." 
 
 *• Mr. Hamilton !" said Fanny, " is the gentle- 
 man who has just been talking to me named Ha- 
 milton ?" " Yes, my dear, do you like the name 
 better than Albemarle?" 
 
 " Oh, no," said Fanny, naively, " I only repeat- 
 ed the name because the house Lady Ellincourt 
 purchased in Yorkshire, belonged to a Mr. Ha- 
 milton, and 1 have always had my thoughts about 
 that house." 
 
 " Well, and now 1 suppose you will have your 
 own thoughts about its late master," said Miss 
 Stanhope, "for that gentleman in black is he. 
 The late Mr. Hamilton left his immense fortune 
 to him, on the condition of taking his name; — he 
 met him abroad, and took a fancy to him for some 
 of his winning ways that seemed to have charmed 
 you, for I hear tie ^vas no relation to him. There's 
 a history for you, my dear, so now let's have your 
 part of the romance, has he been making love to 
 you? he looked mighty sweet methinks.*' 
 
 *' No, indeed \" said Fanny, '* he has not been 
 making love to me; but do you know he is the 
 stranger 1 met with in Hyde Park, that morning 
 when Col. Ross was so angry with me ; and he is 
 the person the Colonel said was a swindler.'' 
 
 " Charming, charming!" rejoined Miss Stan- 
 hope, " the plot thickens. Well ! my dear, I like 
 the story vastly, and you shall marry which you 
 like, the Duke or Mr. Hamilton." 
 
 '* It is ridiculous to talk of marrying either," re- 
 plied Fanny, in a tone of vexation. 
 
 " It is not so ridiculous as you may choose to 
 think it," interrupted Miss Stanhope, " for 1 have 
 the most unquestionable authority for asserting 
 that the Duke of Albemarle is in love with you." 
 
 Amelia raised her voice a little as she pro- 
 nounced the latter part of her speech, and Lord 
 
THE LlTTLi: MENDICANT. 149 
 
 Somertown's ear canglit tlieimportant iiiformatiun 
 \ conveyed, as he was approaching in order to 
 *j)eak to her. It wps enough to rouse all the de- 
 mon within him, and turning upon his heel, he 
 sought for Colonel Ross, to whom he merely said, 
 that " he wished for a private conference with him 
 the next morning, on a subject of importance, and 
 begged to know whether he would do him the ho- 
 nour of receiving him to breakfast with him.'^ 
 
 The Colonel said, " he was disengaged, and 
 would certainly expect his Lordship at the hour 
 appointed." Lord Somertown bowed, and imme- 
 diately quitted Colonel Ross for the purpose of 
 more strictly observing Fanny. 
 
 The result of this observation was not pleasing 
 to him, for he had soon the pain of seeing the Duke 
 of Albemarle resume his place beside her, and 
 Lord Somertown had been too long an inhabitant 
 of the world to remain any longer ignorant of his 
 nephew's sentiments respecting her. 
 
 Fury flashed from his eye as conviction shot 
 through his heart, and the emotion was so strong, 
 that the following words escaped his clinched 
 teeth, as his terrible glance fell upon the object of 
 his hatred : — Base worm ! thou shalt perish for 
 daring to oppose my wishes. 
 
 His rage was changed to horror, however, when 
 a voice, close to his ear exclaimed in an awful tone, 
 — " Thou too art perishable, frail mortal ! thy 
 power is limited, thy days are numbered — beware 
 then how thou threatenest another! an eye ob- 
 serves thee that thou dreamest not of." 
 
 A cold shiver ran through Lord Somertown's 
 frame, as he listened to accents too well remem- 
 bered ; scarcely did he dare ro turn his head, lest 
 he should behold a face the voice had too fatally 
 recalled. But curiosity is an impulse more pow- 
 erful than fear itself. Agitated, as he was, with 
 horror and dismay, he could not resist the eager 
 
160 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 dictates of ihat arbitrary power, and his eye in-^ 
 voluntarily sought the person who had uttered the 
 terrific words : it caught a glimpse of his retiring 
 form, and, as if blasted by the view, instantly clo- 
 sed, his limbs stiffened, and he fell on the ground ; 
 the surrounding company were terrified at this ca- 
 tastrophe, though unconscious of its cause. Lord 
 Somertown was raised from the ground and con- 
 veyed into an adjoining apartment, medical assist- 
 ance sent for, and an apoplectic fit was the name 
 given to the visitation of remorse. 
 
 The confusion this accident occasioned put an 
 end to the concert. The company hastily called 
 for their carriages and retired ; all except those 
 immediately connected with his Lordship. They 
 staid and witnessed his recovery from the stupor 
 into which an accusing conscience had plunged 
 liim ; they saw his wildly staring eyes, as he cast 
 them around the room in search of the spectre 
 that had alarmed him ; and listened with horror 
 to his incoherent allusions to scenes of former 
 guilt and cruelty. 
 
 The Duke of Albemarle, however, finding that 
 his uncle uttered expressions that too plainly told 
 that all was not right within, proposed his being 
 removed to his own house, and, as the physician 
 pronounced that it might be done with safety, his 
 Lordship was supported to his carriage in the 
 arms of his servants ; and by that conveyed to 
 where he was put to bed. His pillow, swelling 
 with down, received his aching head ; the rich 
 drapery that hung round his bed shaded his dim 
 eyes from the tapers that burnt on bis table, and 
 busy attendants crowded around him to prevent 
 Jiis wishes. 
 
 But, alas ! repose was not to be found within 
 ihe sumptuous apartmen*— no down coidd admi- 
 jiister the sheets of rest to a disturbed consci- 
 ence ; aud aiJhongh the silken hangiugs migl.t 
 

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 151 
 
 I 
 
 exclude the blaze of waxen tapers, they could not 
 shelter the mind's eye from the bright flame of 
 conviction tiiat awakened busy memory, and bid 
 her inflict tortures which could neither be borne 
 nor eluded. The ready domestic, however, wil- 
 ling to anticipate his Lord's wishes, could not 
 present him with the only cordial his fevered 
 lip pouted for — the water of oblivion, whose 
 friendly powers might teach him to forget his 
 guilt, and thereby escape the remorse that har- 
 rowed upon his soul, and filled him with unutter- 
 able anguish. 
 
 Ci-IAPTER XV. 
 
 A Morning Visit. 
 
 Alas ! why does not remorse induce repentance!' 
 Too often we find it has a contrary eflecf, stirring 
 up in the soul, poisoned by guilt, sentiments of fury 
 and revenge instead of contrition and amendment. 
 Lord Somertown was torn by the recollection of 
 the deeds of cruelty and injustice he had been 
 guilty of; yet, instead of wishing to atone for his 
 guilt, or making restitution to the injured parties 
 as far as circumstances would admit of, his mali- 
 cious spirit panted to commit more outrages, and 
 although struggling as it were in the grasp of 
 death, beseemed to wish a prolongation of his life 
 merely lo use it fo" the destruction of others. 
 
152 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 His ear had convinced him that a being gtiil 
 existed of whose death he had long thought him- 
 self certain ; and the tempest of passions that 
 conviction awaked in his soul, gave energy to 
 his debilitated frame, and roused him from the 
 lethargy into which terror had plunged him, when 
 first the surprise assailed him. 
 
 " I will live," said the furious Earl, raising him- 
 self in his bed, with an energy that astonished his 
 attendants, " I will live, for I have much to ac- 
 complish before I die.*' 
 
 Supported by the fervour which had seized his 
 mind, Lord Somertown was able to keep his ap- 
 pointment the ensuing morning, with Col. Ross, 
 who felt a surprise bordering on incredulity, when 
 the man he had thought dying the preceding 
 evening, was introduced into his library, and he 
 beheld his erect carriage and ardent eye, in nei- 
 ther of which remained a single vestige of indis- 
 position, 
 
 " I feel both rejoiced and astonished,'* exclaim- 
 ed the Colonel, as he placed his noble visitor in 
 an arm diair, *' to see your Lordship so wonder- 
 fully recovered from the illness that alarmed us 
 all so greatly last night." 
 
 " Weak minds,'* replied his Lordship, *' are apt 
 to yield to the slightest stroke of sickness, but 
 mine is not cast in that mould. Colonel. The bu- 
 siness which has brought me hither is important to 
 the dignitfj o{ my family, and forcible indeed must 
 have been that power which could have tempted 
 me to defer it. Your high character for polite- 
 ness. Colonel, induces me to hope that you will 
 give me the information I require, and, perhaps, 
 subsequent circumstances may induce you to lend 
 your assistance to the forwarding of my views in 
 an aflair of much moment," 
 
 The Colonel bowed, and Lord Somertown pro- 
 ceeded : " You have a girl under your care who 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 153 
 
 is a pcifect enigma ; would you, Sir, inforna me 
 wjio she really is ?" 
 
 "That is not in my power, my Lord," replied 
 Col. Ross, *' my ignorance on that subject is as 
 profound as your Lordship's." 
 
 "Astonishing!" rejoined Lord Somertown; "Ia 
 not Lady Maria better informed r" 
 
 " I assure your Lordship, with truth," said the 
 Colonel, *' that neither Maria nor myself know 
 the least tittle concerning the person you allude to, 
 excepting that she is a foundling, and is called 
 Fanny. She has no surname, nor do 1 believe the 
 poor girl is any wiser on this subject than our- 
 selves.'' 
 
 *• If it be not impertinent," said Lord Somer- 
 town, '* may I ask what motive could induce peo- 
 ple of rank, like Col. Ross and Lady Maria, to 
 make a person so obscure the inmateof their house, 
 and to introduce herin parties where her doubtful 
 origin must be a source of pain to herself, and re- 
 sentment to those who feel their dignity insulted 
 by having such a person obtruding upon them. 
 But, perhaps, the romantic spirit of these novel- 
 reading tiines suggested the probability that the 
 girl might be some Princess m disguise, fled from 
 her persecutors to take refuge in this land of bene- 
 volence and philanthropy." 
 
 " Indeed i" replied Colonel Ross, " we never 
 gave ourselves the trouble of conjecturing who the 
 girl might be, but merely took her under our care 
 at the request of Lady Dowager EUincourt, who 
 is a relation.and very intimate friend of my wife's." 
 
 "Lady Dowager EUincourt!" repeated Lord 
 Somertown, and his lip quivered with stifled rage. 
 " If she be an eleve of Lady Ellincourl's, there is 
 every thing to be expected from her which intrigue 
 and artifice can accomplish. I mortally hate that 
 woman!' continued his Lordship, knitting hi? 
 brow, " and the babbiins: fool her son is even more 
 
154 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 intolerable than herself; but this has nothing to 
 do with the business before us. Are you aware 
 Colonel, of the mischief your mistaken condescen- 
 sion to this beggar's brat has occasioned ?*' 
 
 "No, my Lord," replied Colonel Ross, "i" 
 never yet supposed her of consequence enough to 
 become the source of mischief to any one ; unless, 
 indeed," added he, smiling, "the witchery of her 
 beauty has enslaved your lordship, the girl is cer- 
 tainly a lovely creature!" 
 
 Lord Somertown*s eyes struck fire, — '* You do 
 not mean to insult me, Colonel, I hope?" said he. 
 
 "Simple badinage^ I assure your Lordship," re- 
 plied the Colonel, laying his hand upon his heart; 
 " but I beseech your Lordship to inform me what 
 crime poor Fanny has committed ?** 
 
 ** In the first place she has formed an infimacj 
 with Miss Stanhope," replied Lord Somertown, 
 *' which I deem an intolerable degradation to that 
 young lady ; and, in the next, acting with the con- 
 summate art which those low people generally pos- 
 sess, she has insinuated herself into the favour of 
 my half-witted nephew, who, dazzled with the 
 beauty you extolled so highly, and bewitched by 
 the artful blandishments of the sorceress, fancies 
 himself desperately in love with her; so much so, 
 that forgetful of his engagements to Mi*s Stanhope, 
 and the dignity of his own rank, he is at this mo- 
 ment planning a scheme to runaway with and 
 marry this young adventuress. I have this infor- 
 mation from the most unquestionable authority, 
 confirmed by my own observation." 
 
 ColonelRoss was thunder-struck whenheheard 
 Lord Somertown declare that the Duke of Albe- 
 marle intended to marry Fanny. Meh^A. observed 
 the Duke's attentions to the object of his own de- 
 signs, but an idea of marriage had never entered 
 his imagination ; the cold disdain which the coun- 
 tenance of Fanny uniformly displayed whenever 
 
THE LITTLB MENDICANT. 155 
 
 the Duke addressed her, in company, had thrown 
 Colonel Ross off his guard, and lulled his fears t^ 
 sleep. He seemed now to awaken to a sudden 
 sense of his danger, and his rage was little inferior 
 to Lord Somertown's, as the conviction darted 
 through his mind. 
 
 " Consummate hypocrite !'* exclaimed he, "so 
 young and so artful ! the coolness with which she 
 always appeared to treat the Duke, made me be- 
 lieve his Grace's overtures were of a different na- 
 ture." 
 
 "I rejoice/' said Lord Somertown, *' that Col. 
 Ross appears to see this affair in the same atroci- 
 ous light that I do. Nothing surely is so unpar- 
 donable as when a low person, like that girl, 
 takes advantage of the kindness shewn her by 
 persons of a superior rank, to steal into a noble 
 family, and for ever tarnish the honour of it by so 
 unequal an union. Good heavens ! the Duke of 
 Albemarle to marry a foundling! a girl without a 
 name !" 
 
 " Horrid indeed !'* exclaimed Col. Ross, whose 
 objections to the union sprung from a Very differ- 
 ent cause to what Lord Somertown imagined. 
 
 " Your feelings Col. are so consonant to mine, 
 upon this subject," said his Lordship, *' that 1 
 flatter myself you will not refuse your aid in pre- 
 venting so fatal a termination of my hopes as this 
 ill-assorted marriage." 
 
 " Your Lordship may command me,*' replied 
 Col. Ross, " there is nothing that I would not do 
 to prevent it." 
 
 Lord Somertown shook the Colonel by the 
 hand — " My good friend," said his Lordship, 
 *• this ready compliance exceeds my hopes. I 
 will now lay aside all reserve, and you and I 
 will presently understand each other I am sure." 
 
 Lord Somertown was right : Co). Ross was not 
 one of the scrupulous sort, when ha had any self 
 
156 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 gratihcation in view, and as Lord Somertown's 
 proposals all appeared calculated to furtiier liis 
 own wishes, he started no objection to the diabo- 
 lical scheme his lordship laid before him. What 
 that scheme was will appear hereafter, for the 
 consultation was interrupted by the appearance of 
 a servant, who announced the arrival of a visitor, 
 
 " Mr. Hamilton," said he, " requests the fa- 
 vour of a few minutes' conference. Sir," said the 
 servant bowing, " he is waiting in the breakfast 
 room." 
 
 *' Hamilton! Hamilton!'* repeated the Colonel, 
 ** 1 don't know him ; why didn't you say I was 
 engaged ?*' 
 
 •* I did, Sir, but he would not be denied. He 
 said he knew you were at home, because Lord 
 Somertown's carriage was waiting at the door, and 
 he heard his Lordship make an appointment with 
 you at the concert last night." 
 
 *' Oh,'' said the Colonel, *' then it must be the 
 rich Hamilton, for he was there last night, I was 
 told ; but I don't know him when I see him ; so 
 what he can want of me I cannot conceive." 
 
 *' Mr. Hamilton asked if Miss Fanny was at 
 home, first," said the servant, " and when I told 
 him she was on a visit to the Marquis of Peters- 
 field's, he gave his name, and desired to see you. 
 Sir." 
 
 " Very well," replied the Colonel ; " tell Mr. 
 Hamiltone I will wait upon him immediately '* 
 
 The servant withdrew. 
 
 '' 1 think we may make some use of this cir- 
 cumstance," said Lord Somertown. " This is 
 some lover of that artful girl's." 
 
 "Perhaps so, indeed," answered Colonel Ross, 
 reddening, for he hated to hear of any lover for 
 Fanny; "does your Lordship know Mr. Hamil- 
 ton? he seems to know you." 
 
 " That may be very possible," rej>liod Lord 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 157 
 
 Somertown, answering the Colonel's last observa- 
 tion, ** many people know me, of whom I have not 
 the most distant knowledge ; this Hamilton is one 
 of them. He may be a rich man, but he is cer- 
 tainly not a man oi consequence, for Inever heard 
 of him before." 
 
 Lord Somertown now ordered his chariot, and 
 taking leave of the Colonel, he said, '* Remember 
 your promise, and command me in what way you 
 choose." 
 
 " Your Lordship need not fear,'* answered his 
 base associate, " 1 am too much interested in the 
 event, to be lukewarm in the cause." 
 
 Lord Somertown nodded assent, and proceeded 
 to his carriage. He readily believed the Colonel's 
 assertion that he was interested in the event, be- 
 cause he had promised him a borough for which 
 honour he had long been sighing. 
 
 Colonel Ross was a deep politician, and a strong 
 party man, there was enough, therefore, in the pro- 
 mise to awaken his energy. But his Lordship 
 knew not the most powerful stimulus to the base 
 action he had undertaken ; he knew not that, urged 
 by a brutal passion, which, according to the jar- 
 gon of modern depravity, he dignified with the 
 name of love, this pretended patriot was secretly 
 rejoicing that an opportunity offered of uniting in 
 the same cause his ambition and his inclination. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 A Proposal, 
 
 When Colonel Ross entered the breakfast room, 
 he was struck with the noble appearance of the 
 gentleman who was there waiting for bira, and a 
 
 X 
 
156 PATHRBLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 faint recollection of having once seen him before 
 stole across his mind as he paid his compliments to 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton appeared to be about forty years 
 of age, or hardly so much, for there were traces of 
 suffering on his countenance that seemed to tell a 
 tale of sorrow rather than of years. His features 
 were beautiful, and the expression of high spirit 
 that sparkled in his dark eye, was softened by the 
 benevolence that mingled with its vivid rays ; his 
 brow was arched, and his nose a perfect acquiline. 
 His mouth, too, was calculated to inspire his be- 
 holders with confidence ; candour seemed to play 
 upon his lips, and truth herself gave sanction to 
 the sweet smile that adorned them. I have always 
 thought that feature the most unerring index of the 
 mind. Heaven has made it the organ by which 
 "we are intended to make our thoughts known to 
 each other: and although the exalted gift is fre- 
 quently perverted, the portals through which the 
 speech must pass, remain faithful to the purpose of 
 the heart that suggests it. Never did the smile of 
 artful blandishment or constrained politeness wear 
 the guise of truth. The words that sound from 
 the mouth may be false, but the curve that marks 
 the lip at their departure is true to the feeling that 
 is either expressed or disguised by their utter- 
 ance. 
 
 It was impossible to find a face formed with 
 more faultless grace than Mr. Hamilton's, it dis- 
 played the perfection of manly beauty, yet did ihe 
 shades of deep melancholy sit on his pensive brow 
 and cloud his eye with sadness ; but it was a 
 melancholy that spoke of resignation and fortitude, 
 awakening sympathy allied to respect, in the 
 hearts of his beholders. 
 
 The dignity with which i)e returned Colonel 
 Ross's compliments, seemed to be natural to him; 
 nd the arb an ily of his manners convinced his host 
 
THE LITTLK MENDICANT. 159 
 
 that he must be noble as well as rich, although 
 Lord Somertown had pronounced liim to be no- 
 body, because not upon the list of his right ho- 
 nourable acquaintances. 
 
 It might, perhaps, be the nobility of nature, 
 which is, it must be confessed, of more intrinsic 
 value than that conferred by hereditary vdnk. Be 
 that as it may, the Colonel felt so little doubt of 
 his guest's claim to respect, that he began an ela- 
 borate apology for having kept him waiting so 
 long. 
 
 " It is / who ought to apologize for my intru- 
 sion, Sir," replied Mr. Hamilton, with a benign 
 nant smile; "but I trust, when you know the mo- 
 tive that induced me to take such a liberty, that 
 you will be inclined to forgive me fcjr it." 
 
 The Colonel bowed, and Mr. Hamilton pro- 
 ceeded : — 
 
 •' You have a young lady under your protec- 
 tion. Sir, for whom 1 feel an interest, it will be as 
 difficult for me to describe, as 1 already find it to 
 comprehend the cause of, unless, indeed, it be the 
 resemblance she bears to a dear friend of mine, 
 long since numbered with the dead." 
 
 "Fanny has powerful attractions, said Col. 
 Ross, rather sarcastically, " and, I think, I can 
 understand the sort of interest .she has excited in 
 your heart, Sir, without any far-fetched illustra- 
 tion of so common an event." 
 
 The blush of resentment mantled on Mr. Ha- 
 milton's cheek as he listened to the Colonel's 
 illiberal remark. 
 
 " Of Miss Fanny's attractions, excepting that 
 powerful one of innocent sweetness, that so pecu- 
 liarly characterises her countenance, /can have a 
 very superficial knowledge," said Mr Hamilton,^ 
 indignantly — " Your suspicions. Sir, are prema- 
 ture. I am not come here in the character of a 
 lover^ it is a title 1 disclaim. My heart is for 
 
160 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 ever shut against the power of beauty; my pas- 
 sions are dead ; and philanthropy is the last sur- 
 viving feeling of my soul. Miss Fanny's features 
 awakened there membrance of a long lost friend, 
 and she became immediately an object of inex- 
 pressible interest to me. 1 enquired who she was 
 and was informed that she is an orphan, and de- 
 pendant on fhe bounty of strangers. Whether this 
 tale be true or not, I cannot tell, and therefore 
 came to solicit the favour from you, Sir, of further 
 particulars concerning the young lady. If you 
 will inform me what her name is, and to what fa- 
 mily she is related, I shall consider myself greatly 
 your debtor, and will endeavour to forget the too 
 hastyjudgment you formed of my intentions, which 
 I now declare to be pure as parental kindness can 
 dictate. This young lady pleases me ; she is poor, 
 and I am rich; I am alone in the world, without a 
 single claim upon me for the inheritance of the im- 
 mense fortune I enjoy ; what, therefore, can I do 
 more likely to conduce to my own happiness, than 
 to insure that of this child of misfortune, by ... " 
 
 *' Marrying her, I suppose, Sir,'* interrupted 
 Colonel Ross, whose predilection in favour of Mr. 
 Hamilton at jjis first entrance, was now converted 
 into jealous hatred. 
 
 *' 1 am astonished," exclaimed Mr. Hamilton, 
 *' at your persisting in perverting my meaning, 
 Sir. I tell you 1 am not a lover : and I beg you 
 will attend to what 1 say, and endeavour to believe 
 it." 
 
 *^ That would be an effort above me," replied the 
 Colonel; " J must confess lam not so romantically 
 given as very easily to believe, that a sober, middle- 
 aged gentleman, like} ourself,Mr.kHamilton, what- 
 ever he may profess, would interest himself about 
 a pretty girl, like the one under ray protection, for 
 the mere, philanthropic ^Y•^ii\fiC2i\\on of disinteres- 
 tedly providing for her. Under this impression, I 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 161 
 
 am constrained to tell you, Sir, that your visits 
 will be dispensed with at this house. 
 
 *' You confess that you have no intention of 
 marrying ¥ai\my : and as no other overtures caw be 
 received by her guardians, all questions respecting 
 her, from you. Sir, will be deemed impertinent." 
 
 As Colonel Ross spoke, he rose from his chair, 
 and pulled the bell ; a servant appeared. 
 
 •' Mr. Hamilton's carriage," said he. 
 
 ** Mr. Hamilton rose indignantly, and darting 
 a look of contempt at the Colonel, " I have stoop- 
 ed," said he, " to ask as a favour, what, perhaps, 
 I ought rather to have demanded, as the champion 
 of oppressed innocence. I have marked you, Colo- 
 nel Ross, and I warn you to beware what you do. 
 We seldom suspect sinister designs in others, un- 
 less we have cherished them ourselves." 
 
 ** The application is good in your own case, Sir/' 
 said the Colonel, and turned on his heel ; for there 
 was a scrutiny in Mr. Hamilton's eye that discon- 
 certed him. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton now withdrew; and as he step. 
 ped into his chariot, he vowed to devote himself to 
 the protection of the defenceless Fanny. Some 
 hints that had reached his ear in the course of 
 his inquiries respecting her which were now con- 
 firmed by the Colonel's behaviour. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Hamilton was gone, Colonel 
 Ross returned to his study, in order to think over 
 without the probability of an interruption, the best 
 means that could be devised to prevent Fanny 
 from being informed of Mr. Hamilton's designs in 
 her favour. 
 
 The Colonel did not entertain a doubt that a 
 marriage was her new friend's ultimate view, al- 
 though, in the beginning of the affair, he chose to 
 assume a more disinterested character. Of that 
 benevolence that delights in making others happy, 
 without one selfish view in the action, Colonel 
 
162 PATHERLBSS FANNY : OR, 
 
 Ross knew nothing ; the feelings of his heart, if 
 he had any, had been either stifled in their in- 
 fancy or called forth only for selfish, sensual en- 
 joyments. 
 
 He was the younger brother of an Earl, and 
 provided for by his father, as younger brothers 
 generally are in noble families. The meanness 
 allied to cunning, natural to his disposition, had 
 easily taught him to win upon his elder brother's 
 lieart, by the blandishment of adulation, and ser- 
 vile submission to his will. The artifice had suc- 
 ceeded, and Lord Ballafyn had rewarded his com- 
 plaisant brother with a commission and a pretty 
 estate, to support the dignity of the family, in ad- 
 dition to what his father had left him. His mar- 
 riage with Lady Maria Trentham, had increased 
 his fortune, as she had thirty thousand pounds 
 more than her sisters, which had been bequeathed 
 her by her maternal grandfather. But tell me^ 
 when was the sordid mind satisfied ? 
 
 Colonel Ross was avaricious and extremely 
 proud: it was difficult to reconcile the opposite 
 propensities of these feelings; as the demands of 
 his pride were severe taxes upon his meanness. 
 An opportunity now offered of gratifying all his 
 evil tendencies, and he felt the impulse irresis- 
 tible. 
 
 Should Mr. Hamilton's generous intentions be 
 made known respecting Fanny, it might prevent 
 the execution of his scheme, and disappoint his 
 hopes of realizing both riches and power, by the 
 very act that would give him the uninterrupted 
 possession of the girl he had long secretly sighed 
 for. 
 
 Colonel Ross had a head formed for intrigue ; 
 he was not, therefore, long in his deliberations ; but 
 decided with a promptitude for which he had of- 
 ten been praised by his partners in iniquity. 
 
 As soon as he saw his amiable lady, he inform* 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 163 
 
 ed her of Mr. Hamilton's visit, but disguised the 
 motives of it under the most daring falsehood. 
 Conscious that it would be impossible to consum- 
 mate his schen)es for the destruction of the inno- 
 cent and unsuspecting girl without great sacrifices, 
 he determined not to be withheld by any apparent 
 difficulty; he, therefore, hesitated not at the most 
 gross misrepresentations respecting that gentle- 
 man's application to him. 
 
 I have not the smallest doubt, my dear Maria," 
 said this unprincipled man, " that this Mr. Hamil- 
 ton, under the guise of a Platonic benevolence, 
 and the plausible pretext of having discovered a 
 resemblance in Fanny's features to some deceased 
 friend, conceals his nefarious intention of seducing 
 this innocent, inexperienced girl, who he naturally 
 expected would be ensnared by his apparently 
 disinterested show of friendship. He did not 
 certainly dare openly to avow his diabolical de- 
 signs ; because, 1 dare say, he saw pretty plainly 
 that I should not only kick him out of my house, 
 but have exposed his assumed puritanical charac- 
 ter, vt'hich, J believe, he sets a great value on ; but 
 after having offered to take my charge out of my 
 hands, and make a sufficient provision for her out 
 of the ample fortune he possesses, he actually had 
 the consummate effrontery to ackno'vvledge, when 
 pressed upon by my questions, that he had no 
 thoughts of marrying her." 
 
 Lady Maria was completely the dupe of this 
 artful misrepresentation, and she felt the most vio- 
 lent indignation against the man whom she be- 
 lieved was not only harbouring such villainous de- 
 signs towards her prolege, but dared to entertaia 
 the idea of making the Col. subservient to his views. 
 
 " Good heavens !"' she exclaimed, " can it be 
 possible that there exists a being so depraved, and 
 above all, so vile an hypocrite as to cloak his abo- 
 minable intentions under so specious a mask ?is 
 
164 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 benevolence. Well, I declare, I shall begin to 
 mistrust every one's intentions. — Disinterested 
 indeed, — yes, he is very disinterested no doubt, 
 and so poor Fanny would find, if (which is likely 
 enough from her youth and inexperience,) she 
 were to embrace his benevolent offers. And then, 
 only think how dreadful, he is old enough, 1 dare 
 say, to be her father; for I remember hearing 
 Lady Deerham say the other evening, that her 
 friend Mr. Hamilton had been many, many years 
 absent from his native country, so that he cannot 
 have youth to plead in excuse for the indulgence 
 of such horrid propensities." 
 
 Colonel Ross could scarcely conceal a smile of 
 contempt at what his laxity of principle termed 
 folly in his lady; he knew, however, that it was his 
 interest, the better to forward his own intentions 
 towards the hapless Fanny, to encrease if possible 
 Lady Maria's abhorrence of Mr. Hamilton ; he 
 therefore replied, with great gravity, — 
 
 " Oh yes, he is old enough to know l)etter, and 
 he knows how to make even that an advantage to 
 him in the furtherance of his black design. It 
 will give you some idea what a complete adept this 
 fellow is in the science of hypocrisy, when 1 tell 
 you, that on my putting the plain question to him^ 
 whether he wished to marry my ward, he replied 
 with pretended astonishment, — ' Can you be seri- 
 ous. Col. Ross ? Is it possible at my age to sup- 
 pose that I have such intentions as to unite myself 
 with comparatively a mere child ? No, my views 
 towards your fatherless foundling are very remote 
 from such feelings,—! wish to adopt and provide 
 for her, but not marry her.'" 
 
 '' What a vile wretch !" said Lady Maria, *' but 
 how did you reply to such a breach of all decency?" 
 
 " 1 was greatly incensed, and forbidding him ever 
 to enter my house again, I rang the bell, and ordered 
 his carriage." 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 165 
 
 *' Charming," said Lady Maria; "and what 
 did he say to that ?" 
 
 *' Oh, he sneaked off without resenting the af- 
 front I had offered him. But, my dear Maria, we 
 must take double care of poor Fanny. I really 
 think it would be wise to take her into the country 
 for a little while. Should yoa have any objection 
 to visiting Pemberton Abbey, for a few weeks ?" 
 
 " Oh, no; I should like it of all things, if you 
 think it necessary," said Lady Maria. 
 
 " It is necessary, you may be sure," replied the 
 Colonel. "But you must not let Fanny suppose 
 we leave town on her account, or it is an hundred 
 to one but it will make her unwilling to go." 
 
 " Indeed," said Lady Maria, *' you are mis- 
 taken ; I am sure that reason would make her go 
 more readily." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A Tete-a-tete. 
 
 When Lady Maria met Fanny in the course of 
 that day, she mentioned Mr. Hamilton's visit, 
 and her own and Colonel Ross's alarm ; adding, 
 that it was their opinion that her safety depended 
 upon her immediate removal into the country. 
 
 " I have not the least objection to leaving town," 
 said Fanny laughing, " but I am sure were I to 
 consult my own inclination, Mr. Hamilton is one 
 of the last people I should wish to fly from : 
 there is something so fascinating in his manner, 
 that I feel to love without knowing him." 
 
 *' Upon my honour, you astonish and /righteii 
 me," said Lady Maria. " Why, my dear Fanny, 
 you have seen this man only once, and he has 
 absolutely turned your head." 
 
 y 
 
166 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 " I have seen Mr. Hamilton twice," said Fanny, 
 " for he is the very gentleman who rescued me 
 from the impertinence of the man in Hyde Park." 
 
 " It could not be the same person, my dear," 
 answered Lady Maria, " or Colonel Ross would 
 have remembered him, for you know he saw him." 
 
 *' I know he did," rejoined Fanny, " but perhaps 
 he did not make such a strong impression upon 
 the Colonel's memory as he did upon mine." 
 
 " Well, upon my honour, Fanny, I cannot tell 
 what to make of you ; to fall in love with a 
 stranger, and then speak about it as unconcerned 
 as if there were nothing in it." 
 
 " I know very little about Zore," replied Fanny, 
 naively, " but I do not think what I feel for Mr. 
 Hamilton is what is generally understood by the 
 term falling in love. I am unacquainted with a 
 single virtue that may adorn Mr. Hamilton ; I am 
 equally ignorant whether his character is not 
 tarnished by some vice that would disgust me; 
 yet I am interested for this gentleman beyond 
 what I ever before experienced for any mortal." 
 
 " I have heard," said Lady Maria, " there are 
 charms that will take such effect as to render it 
 impossible to escape their witchcraft." 
 
 *' Surely, my dear Lady," said Fanny, " you 
 cannot be weak enough to believe in witchcraft?" 
 
 " You may lauj2;h," answered Lady Maria, " but 
 I shall lose no time in taking you out of town." 
 
 " Nay, my dear friend," replied Fanny, " if such 
 be indeed your creed, a removal into the country 
 will avail me but little; J am, nevertheless, ready to 
 accompany your Ladyship at the sliortest notice." 
 
 When Miss Stanhope was iiifornied of Lady 
 Maria's sudden determination to quit London, and 
 take Fanny with her, she expressed the uiost vio- 
 lent discontent; it was impossible any longer to 
 carry on the cheat that had hitherto puzzled the 
 Duke. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 167 
 
 " What can be the meaning of this unaccounta- 
 ble whim," said that young lady to Fanny, *' is La- 
 dy IVIaria light-headed, or has the Colonel some 
 intrigue upon his hands, that he cannot carry on 
 so well while his wife is in town, for I imagine he 
 is not to make one in this Quixotic expedition ?" 
 
 " I really do not know,'* answered Fanny, " for 
 nothing has been explained to me, excepting what 
 I have told you, that Colonel Ross has taken it in 
 his head that Mr. Hamilton is a conjurer, and that 
 I shall be conveyed to some enchanted castle by a 
 touch of his wand, unless I am immediately re- 
 moved into the country ; Lady Maria is a convert 
 of the same opinion, and the result is, I must go 
 into the country." 
 
 " Well, my dear," answered Miss Stanhope, ** if 
 I wereyoul would please these two fools; Iwould 
 go into the country, but it should not be where 
 they please, but where I liked myself; 1 will ex- 
 plain myself more fully this evening, if you will 
 come into my dressino; room as soon as we leave 
 the dining parlour. It will be your own fault if 
 you do not shew them that you understand conju- 
 ration as well as they, and know how to get into an 
 enchanted castle without the assistance of Mr. Ha- 
 milton." 
 
 Fanny looked surprised. — "What do you mean, 
 Amelia?" said she. 
 
 "A riddle you cannot comprehend yet," replied 
 Miss Stanhope, but I tell you it shall be ex- 
 plained to you in the evening ; one thing, how- 
 ever, I will tell you. On the accomplishment of 
 the scheme comprised in that riddle depends my 
 future happiness. 
 
 Fanny in vain entreated Miss Stanhope to ex- 
 plain herself more fully : she would not do it. 
 
 " Where is it they are going to take you to, Fan- 
 ny ?" said she, not noticing the questions which 
 had just been asked her. 
 
 "Into Yorkshire," replied ber friend, " Lady 
 
IG8 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 Eliinconrt gave Colonel Rossand Lady Maria per- 
 mission to make use of her seat there whenever they 
 found it agreeable; and I assure you 1 shall feel 
 great pleasure in revisiting a place where I have 
 spent so manny happy days." 
 
 "Why, Pemberton Abbey is an odd place to 
 take you to, if they are afraid of Mr. Hamilton. 
 He has a large estate that joins Lady Ellincourt's 
 which, you know, together with the mansion, was 
 purchased of the gentleman who left the fortune to 
 the Conjuror, as your tfjise ones call Mr. Hamilton. 
 Apropos, you say he was your champion in Hyde 
 Park, when you were attacked by the Dragon of 
 Wantly. Do you think him handsome?" 
 
 *' The handsomest man 1 ever saw,'* answered 
 Fanny. 
 
 " Hush, my dear ; you forgot you have seen the 
 Duke of Albemarle. You surely do not think Mr. 
 Hamilton to be compared with the Duke." 
 
 *' I don't expect 2/OM should think so," replied 
 Fanny ; *' but you may allow me to prefer Mr. Ha- 
 milton to the Duke." 
 
 "Prefer him! Why, certainly you do not like 
 Mr. Hamilton best. I shall believe in the conju- 
 ration scheme if you say yes," interrupted Miss 
 Stanhope. 
 
 " Nay, as iolikmg either," answered Fanny," I 
 am not well enough acquainted with them to war- 
 rant such an expression; but 1 certainly know 
 which interests me most." 
 
 "And pray let us hear who that happy creature 
 is," said Amelia. 
 
 " Mr. Hamilton, beyond all comparison," re- 
 joined Fanny; "and yet 1 know not why it is so." 
 
 "Sorcery, and witchcrafl!" exclaimed Amelia. 
 " Lady Maria is right! Why, my dear, he is an 
 old man compared to you. For heaven's sake 
 don't fall in love with an old man." 
 
 " I am not in love/' answered Fanny, pettishly, 
 
THJE LITTLE MENDICANT. 169 
 
 " I hate that word. I tell you Amelia, i would 
 not marry Mr. Hamilton, if he were the Emperor 
 of the world.'* 
 
 ** Marry him, indeed ! No, I hope you would 
 not think of marrying a man who Isold enough to 
 be your father." 
 
 ** My father!" ejaculated Fanny; "sweetwords! 
 How does my orphan heart pant to hail that ho- 
 noured name ! Oh, that I had a father! That Mr. 
 Hamilton were my father !" 
 
 " Now that's a good girl," said Miss Stanhope, 
 " that's an excellent thought. I dare say Mr. 
 Hamilton is your father'; and that accounts for the 
 wonderful sympathy between you. l^ou are a 
 foundling, you know." 
 
 *' But Mr. Hamilton is a Creole, is he not ?" said 
 Fanny, who caught early at the suggestion so 
 lightly made on her giddy friend. "Mr. Hamil- 
 ton is a Creole, and never was in England till now." 
 
 *' Oh, never mind that,'' rejoined Amelia, " in- 
 consistencies are nothing in a novel. You were 
 sent over in a hamper to be educated in England ; 
 and then he forgot to inquire where they had pla- 
 ced you, and so you came to be lost." 
 
 Fanny's countenance fell when she perceived, by 
 this speech, that Miss Stanhope had no serious idea 
 of the probability she had suggested. " Alas !" 
 thought she, " Amelia is surrounded by affluence, 
 and feels not, as 1 do, the mortifying circumstances 
 ofdependance. She is an orphan, but not an indi- 
 gent one. It is not, however, Mr. Hamilton's riches 
 I sigh for; thesacred title of father would be equal- 
 ly dear to my heart, were it accompanied by pover- 
 ty. To be hailed by the endearing name of child; 
 to be pressed to the paternal bosom of a virtuous 
 parent, and find within the circle of a father's arms, 
 a safe asylum from the persecutions of a cruel 
 world. This is what I wish for; and gladly vvonid 
 1 embrace obscurity and indigencCj were those the 
 
170 FATHERLESS FANNY ! OR, 
 
 terms on which alone I could obtain that fondly 
 wished for blessing !" 
 
 " I dare say it would he imghty paiheiic," said 
 Amelia, "if one could read all that is passini:;- in 
 that serious /j^ad^, just now. But cheer up, child ; 
 the naughty conjurors shall not have you, nor the 
 anti-conjurors either, for 1 mean to dispose of you 
 myself, in the prettiest way imaginable. Your ro- 
 mantic story shall have such a charn)ing termina- 
 tion, that all the booksellers shall be giving it to 
 the novel-writers for a su|>ject. i inteud writing 
 a poem upon it myself. I shall choose Scott's style; 
 that irregular metre will suit my whimsical fancy 
 exactly." 
 
 " It is a happy thing," said Fanny, with a sigb, 
 "^ that you have got me for butt." 
 
 " Nay, my dear," said Miss Stanhope, " it will l)e 
 your turn soon ; and then if you don't make a butt 
 of me it w ill be your own fault. But there is the 
 first bell; make haste to your toilet; and if you are 
 wot of Thompson's opinion on the subject of una- 
 dorned beauty, make yourself as killing as possi- 
 ble. Your good looks will not be wasted." 
 
 " Who is coming to dine here ?" asked Fanny. 
 
 ** Several gentlemen, and perhaps Mr. Hamil- 
 ton." 
 
 ^' Fho !" cried Fanny, " you only say that to 
 teize me'* 
 
 " Upon my honour I should not be surprised if 
 he were," replied Miss Stanhope ; " for I heard 
 Lord Chevotdale praising Mr. liamillon to the 
 Marquis; and thelattersaidhe wouldgetaccjuaiut- 
 ed with him ; and should that be the case, I will 
 ask him to give you away when you are married, 
 and then he willhe your father." 
 
 "^Giddy girl !" exclaimed Fanny as she left the 
 room. " Will there evercowie a time that you wi!l 
 be serious?" 
 
 " Oh, yes, my dear; when I am married.' 
 
"I'HE LITTLE MENDICANT. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A Dilemma, 
 
 When Fanny entered the dining parlour, the 
 company were just seating themselves ; for her 
 long conversation with Amelia had made her too 
 late at her toilet. 
 
 The Duke of Albemarle took herhand as she ap- 
 proached the table, and led her to the chair next 
 Miss Stanhope's, and immediately seated hifnself 
 beside her. 
 
 " Your lovely friend," said his Grace, addressing 
 Fanny in a low voice, *' has given me permission to 
 assume the character of your Cicesbeo. Teil me, 
 Madam, has that grant your sanction ?" 
 
 *• Jt is an honour to which I am by no means 
 entitled," replied Fanny, blushing excessively. 
 
 " It will confer an honour upon me," rejoined the 
 Duke, " more highly valued than any other can be. 
 Say then, lovely Miss Stanhope that you do not 
 forbid the presumpfion." 
 
 *' Your Grace mistakes the person you are speak- 
 ing to," replied Fanny, " and you render my situa- 
 tion distressing beyond expression.'* 
 
 " Heaven forbid," exclaimed the Duke, " I will 
 be silent now ; but the moment approaches which 
 must dissipate this cloud of error." 
 
 The whole of this conversation had passed in a 
 whisper, and unheard by the surrounding guests; 
 but the Duke's marked attention to Fanny, had not 
 
17i: FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 passed unnoticed by several ladies who sat near the 
 Marchioness, and who observed, '* that it really was 
 too bad to hegmjiirting before marria^^e, close to his 
 bride's elbow too. But, no doubt, ihe. forwardness 
 of the«5rir/ was the cause of such strange behaviour." 
 Poor Fanny, in the mean time, sat the very picture 
 of confusion and embarrassment, totally at a loss to 
 understand the Duke's enigmatical address to her. 
 
 She waited the moment of withdrawing from ta- 
 ble, with an impatience so painfully exquisite, that 
 she could not command presence of mind enough 
 to reply collectively to the little nothings which 
 were said to her by the ephemera about her. 
 
 Miss Stanhope, with her usual giddiness, enjoyed 
 her confusion, and added considerably to it by re- 
 marking to the Duke, " that she really believed 
 he was an arrant thief.'* 
 
 *' A thief!" re-echoed his Grace ; " pray ma'am 
 explain yourself." 
 
 " Nay, appearances are strong against'your Grace, 
 I assure you. Fanny was in full possession of all 
 her faculties about ten minutes before she entered 
 this room, and it is plain she has lost her recollec- 
 tion, and the use of her tongue, since she sat by 
 you; what, therefore, can be inferred, but that 
 you have stole them?" 
 
 Before the Duke could reply to this mad speech, 
 the Marchioness rose to L,uit the table, and Fanny 
 was released from her ' ♦able situation. 
 
 On retiring: to the u.. -< Miss Stan- 
 
 hope reminded Fanny o'f her ei-j^ .,ci.. *. 
 
 " Come,'' said she, offering her arm, '* you know 
 we have an explanation. I thought you would be 
 dying for it. I did not expect to be obliged to 
 remind you of it." 
 
 "Indeed," replied Fanny, " you talk tome in 
 such a wild strain, that J place no confidence iti 
 any thing you say." 
 . ' Thank you, my dear, you are vastly polite, I 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 173 
 
 must confess, nevertheless I excuse you, because I 
 can feel for you just now ; there does appear a 
 mystery, certainly." '^ 
 
 By this time they had reached Miss Stanhope's 
 dressing room, which had been fitted up for the re- 
 ception of her morning visitors, and was an elegant 
 apartment on the first floor, with folding doors that 
 opened upon a terrace in the gardens of Petersfield 
 House. The weather being warm, these doors were 
 thrown open, and Amelia seated herself upon a 
 sofa that stood on the outside, and placing Fanny 
 beside her, began her promised explanation in the 
 following words : — 
 
 " I know," said she, *' what you will say to me 
 for theprank 1 have played you: but asllosealover, 
 and you gain a coronet by it, I think you have not 
 aiuch cause to be angry. Jn the first place, then, J 
 must tell you, that 1 never could endure the idea of 
 marryinglhe Duke of Albemarle from the first time 
 lever heard the alliance talked of, and that is as long 
 ago as I can remember any thing. An antipathy so 
 deeply rooted, and of such longstanding, is not easily 
 conquered, and I have always been beating my 
 brains to imagine some quaint device to get rid of the 
 match, and yet preserve my fortune, which 1 had al- 
 ways been told must be the forfeit of my refusal of 
 the Duke's hand. My imagination was not, how- 
 ever, sufficiently fertile p supply any scheme that 
 appeared practicable.! ^ ^ Hfhe lucky hour in which 
 your accident introQfli > yi^ou to my intended hus- 
 band ; he saw and admire^i you, and liwassufficient- 
 iyclear-sighted to penetrate the secret in an instant, 
 and with the ability of a skilful general, I lost no 
 time in arranging my plan of attack, and so scienti- 
 fically did I manoeuvre, that 1 made both prison- 
 ers without your even suspecting an ambush ; f 
 should feel more vain of my skill in tactics if it were 
 not for this one recollection, I believe my wits had 
 been sharpened a little while before, by a discovery 
 
 z 
 
174 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR 
 
 that made prompt measures, indispensible. I had 
 found out that I not only detested the idea of mar- 
 rying the Duke, but that there was a being in exis- 
 tence, for whom I felt no such antipathy, and whose 
 "wifel had rather be, than the empress of the modern 
 Alexander himself; my fortune was now become of 
 greater value in my eyes, because I thought it would 
 be acceptable to the man of my choice, and I deter- 
 mined, if possible, to make the Duke the trans- 
 gressor, and thus insure the possession of it to him. 
 The scheme succeeded beyond my expectationsj 
 more, I believe, owing to the love-sick blindness of 
 theDukethanany great ingenuity of mine. I know 
 the world well enough, inexperienced as I am, to feel 
 sure that my fortune and the engagement that seem- 
 ed to exist between the Duke of Albemarle and my- 
 self, would act as powerful checks to the encourage- 
 ment of a mere romantic passion conceived in the 
 warmth of youthful effervescence; that the Duke 
 should admire you, nay, absolutely love you, I knew 
 to be both possible and even likely to happen, but 
 that he should fly in the face of prudence, and deter- 
 mine to fight the Son of Grumbo his uncle, to obtain 
 you, I thought rather to be wished than attained ; I 
 therefore laid a trap for his prudence, and baited it 
 with a savory scrap of plausibility, and had soon the 
 unspeakable satisfaction of seeing my silly mouse 
 caught, beyond the possibility of an escape. I made 
 up a serious face, the first time we met after the ac- 
 cident, and assuredlhim with great shewof truth that 
 you were Miss Stanhope, and thatyou had prevailed 
 upon me to assume your name and character under 
 the romantic hopeof obtaining his Grace's affections 
 for the sake of pure merit aild disinterested love; I 
 added, that Lord,Somertown was aparty in the trick, 
 and that nothing would please his uncle so well as to 
 see him takenoticeofthereal heiress, in herdisguise, 
 although his outward carriage would imply resent- 
 ment. Perhaps had the Duke been less enamoured 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 175 
 
 he would have been moreclear-siohted; belliatas it 
 may, he was caught by the artifice, and believed 
 every thing 1 said ; your being here, on a visit, fa- 
 voured the deceit, and the consequence is, that the 
 poor swain is too far gone in the tender passion to 
 recede, although he is informed that he has an ex- 
 planation to expect, that will place the disinterest- 
 edness of his passion at issue. We shall see how 
 he will behave, when 1 confess the whole trick. If 
 he continues faithful, I shall esteem him; if other- 
 wise I shall despise and will take care to be even 
 with him/* 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 Astonishment. 
 
 " You have elucidated a mystery," said Fanny, 
 ** that has tormented nie a long time; but I cannot 
 say you have done it in a satisfactory manner. 
 Your artifice can answer no purpose whatever but 
 to exasperate your guardians, disgust the Duke, 
 and render me ridiculous, or even more than ridicu- 
 lous ; for it will be supposed that /had some part 
 in the plot ; and, rest assured if Jhat betbe case, it 
 will make me more wretched than any other cir- 
 cumstance possibly could.'* 
 
 " Never fear, my dear Fanny," replied Miss 
 Stanhope, " the Duke is too far gone to think 
 about prudence now ; I have watched him, and 1 
 am sure he would as soon part with his life as with 
 
170 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 tlie hope of marrying you. As I said before, had 
 he known who you were at first, lie might have 
 consulted prudence, and avoided the society of a 
 person so dangerous to his peace ; but now it is too 
 Jate : he has had frequent opportunities of observ- 
 ing that your beauty is the least part of your pow- 
 ers of pleasing; and he has expressed himself to me 
 in ra})turous terms of those mental charms that are 
 to form the happiness of his future life, when he is 
 united to ' the most lovely of women.' Those are 
 his own words. When people have imagined the 
 Duke was making love to me, he was entertaining 
 me w'lih your praises, little Madam. Am 1 not a 
 good girl to listen to them without envy ? and from 
 the mouth of a lover too?'* 
 
 " Yon have done mean irreparable injury," re- 
 plied Fanny, *' by making me act a part in this 
 drama, although without my concurrence.'' 
 
 *' How so," asked Miss Stanhope: *' surely it is 
 no injury to lay a plan for making you a Dutchess?" 
 
 " You do not think becoming the Dutchess of 
 Albemarle comprises much happiness" said Fanny, 
 " or you would not reject the oflfer yourself." 
 
 ** You are pleased to be sharp upon me;" an- 
 swered her friend, " but you ought to recollect, my 
 dear, that 1 don't like the Duke." 
 
 " Neither do I," rejoined Fanny. " By your 
 own confession, you acknowledge that had his 
 Grace supposed me to be the portionless creature I 
 am, his prudence would have taught him to avoid 
 me: and yet you suppose me mean enough to take 
 advantages of the infatuation of his senses, which 
 by the bye, I do not believe in, and become a 
 Dutchess at the expense of my delicacy." 
 
 '* Your silly scruples about delicacy and non- 
 sense will ruin every thing," said Miss Stanhope, in 
 an angry tone, " these high-flown romantic notions 
 do very well in the heroine of a novel, but |>osi- 
 tively they have not common sense in the straight 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 177 
 
 forward every-day occurrences of life ; surely to a 
 girl who has no dependance but on the bounty of 
 her friends, Ihe opportunity of marrying so advan- 
 tageously ought not to be slighted/* 
 
 '* Your ideas and mine are very different upon 
 this subject," replied Fanny, indignantly, "nothing 
 ought to be considered advantageous to a woman 
 that militates against her delicacy, and poor and 
 dependant as I am, I will not abate one single 
 grain of that nice feeling, to become an empress ; 
 these are my sentiments, and I trust now you know 
 them, you will at least respect me so far as io for- 
 bear mentioning the subject to me any more." 
 
 " I have done," replied Miss Stanhope, laugh- 
 ing, "but here comes one to whom the interdiction 
 does not extend, I hope." 
 
 As she spoke, the Duke of Albemarle entered 
 from the garden. 
 
 " I am punctual," said he, looking at his watch, 
 and addressing Miss Stanhope, " tell me, my 
 charming friend, that I am welcome f" 
 
 '* To me most welcome," replied she: " but for 
 that young lady, (pointing to Fanny), I cannot 
 answer so well as I flattered myself I could." 
 
 "The visit of the Duke of Albemarle to Miss 
 Stanhope, can want no concurrence of mine,'* said 
 Fanny, " I will therefore retire." 
 
 The Duke seized both Fanny's hands, as she 
 rose from her chair and made a motion to go. 
 
 *' No, by heavens !" said he, •• I have suffered 
 suspense too long ; you shall not now leave me, 
 lovely incomprehensible, until an explanation has 
 taken place betvt'een us." 
 
 " That is right," said Miss Stanhope, " she haf 
 forbidden me to speak to her again upon the sub- 
 ject, hut your Grace is a privileged person." 
 
 " Would to heaven 1 were so," rejoined the 
 Duke. 
 
 " Your Grace renuires an exDlauatioii of me," 
 
178 " FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 said Fanny, blushinpj, " whilst 1 am unconsci- 
 oushow it is possible that I should have one to give 
 you ; there has been nothing mysterious in any 
 jpart of my conduct since I have had the honour 
 of being known to your Grace.*' 
 
 " Good heavens!'* exclaimed the Duke, turning 
 to Miss Stanhope, " what can this mean ?'* 
 
 " In pity to you both," replied that giddy girl, 
 *' I will do more than the laws of the land require 
 of any body, i. e. I will accuse myself.'* She then 
 recapitulated the particulars relating to her plot 
 already known, adding with a laugh, " like all 
 other busy bodies, I have got myself into the 
 worst scrape after all, and am likely to be thanked 
 by nobody at fast ; for if your Grace be but as an- 
 gry with me as my friend Fanny, I have made a 
 blessed piece of work of it indeed '/' 
 
 " I must express my concern," said the Duke, 
 *' that Miss Stanhope should have so far mistaken 
 my character, as to suppose any deceit necessary to 
 induce me to act towards her with the liberality she 
 is so justly entitled to. Had 1 been aware of your 
 plot it would have saved me much pain, as I should 
 not have told my uncle that Miss Stanhope was the 
 choice of ray heart, and the arbitress of my happi- 
 ness ; this lady,'* turning to Fanny, *' has made it 
 impossible forme to offer to any other woman the 
 heart which is her's alone, and which henceforward 
 depends for happiness upon her acceptance or re- 
 fusal of its devotion ; but you, Miss Stanhope, who 
 know Lord Somertown so well, must be aware how 
 difficult you have rendered the task of breaking to 
 him a circumstance so opposite to his views and 
 wishes, and of which he has not the most distanJ 
 suspicion.'* 
 
 " On my account, my Lord," said Fanny, "1 trust 
 you will not incur any displeasure from your uncle, 
 since, however highly honoured by your Grace*s 
 notice, 1 am so circumstanced that it is utterly im- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 
 
 179 
 
 possible for me to listen to your addresses ; my pre- 
 sence here is no longer necessary, as the mystery 
 of which you complained has been unravelled ; and 
 if you entertained any doubt of my sentiments, I 
 trust they are for ever removed." So saying, with- 
 out giving the Duke time to answer her, and before 
 Miss Stanhope was aware of her intentions, Fanny 
 darted out of the room, and left her two auditors 
 in a frame of mind not very agreeable to them- 
 selves. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Reparation. 
 
 What an unaccountable creature that girl is, 
 fxcraimed Miss Stanhope, as Fanny left the room, 
 ' who would have supposed a dependant creature 
 like her possessed such a lofty spirit." 
 
 " I should,'* replied the Duke, " and if you had 
 thought me worthy of your confidence, Miss Stan- 
 hope, I would have shewn you the fallacy of such 
 an experiment with a girl like Fanny. Good hea- 
 vens ! that I should only be made acquainted with 
 her worth, to lament the impossibility of possessing 
 her. You have ruined me Amelia ; for ever des- 
 troyed my peace of mind, and exposed me to the 
 vindictive spirit of Lord Somertown, without ob- 
 taining one advantage yourself; had you candidly 
 told me at our first meeting, that you were averse 
 to the alliance, I should not have led my uncle into 
 
180 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 the error that will render his wrath a thousand 
 times more fierce when he finds that he has been 
 deceived. And, who knows, perhaps the lovely 
 and innocent object of my affection may be the sa- 
 crifice first immolated upon the altar of reven;^e. 
 Alas ! I know my uncle too well to trust him with 
 the fatal secret unless X were willing to devote the 
 lovely Fanny to the dire consequences of his re- 
 sentment." 
 
 " Upon ray honour, you frighten me," said Miss 
 Stanhope, tjirning pale, " what a marlpot 1 am, I 
 will never attempt scheming again ; well, I will do 
 all I can to repair the injury ; the secret must be 
 faithfully kept, and trust to me for the denouement, 
 it shall be a happy one; that is, unless Fanny be 
 perverse.** 
 
 " Forgive me," said the Duke, "but you have 
 sliewn yourself so unskilful at plotting, that I do 
 not like to trust you without knowing what your 
 intentions are, for if the secret be kept, and every 
 thing go on as usual, T see no possibility of avoid- 
 ing the worst of all denouements — our ill-starred 
 nuptials.** 
 
 " Well to be sure, you are the politest creature 
 that ever lived, to tell a lady to her face that the 
 worst thing that could be.fal you, would be to mar^ 
 ry her ; but 1 must take it for my pains, for I have 
 deserved it, so now I will retaliate, that is the only 
 satisfaction left me. There cannot exist a greater 
 antipathy on your side to the alliance than that che- 
 rished in my heart, an antipathy which is strength- 
 ened and increased by an attachment to another per- 
 son ; it was the hope of making you the aggressor, 
 in breaking off the treaty of marriage, that led me 
 to the stratagem which has so completely failed ; 
 as thereby I hoped to escape the penalty attached to 
 ihe delinquency, not that I intended to take the for- 
 feit money from you, but merely to save my own ; 
 this mercenary view induced me to quit the path of 
 
THE LITTLB MENDICANT. * 181 
 
 truth, and wanderinthe trackless maze of cunning 
 but now I renounce the paltry scheme, and regard- 
 less of fortune, or any other consideration, have re- 
 solved to make reparation for the error I have 
 committed; leave it therefore to me, and fearlessly 
 pursue your accustomed attention, and proceed 
 with the preparations fop our expected nuptials, I 
 will take care to render them impossible, and to 
 free you from the shadow of blame, I will not tell 
 you my plan, because I have set my heart upon a 
 surprise; but I repeat, you may safely trust me : 
 I am now treading in ihe plain open path of gene- 
 rosity and honour, and can say with truth, that I am 
 now en pays de connoissance, it was only in the 
 region of cunning that I lost myself, for there I 
 was a stranger." 
 
 " I «£?i7/ trust you," said the Duke, "although you 
 have so cruelly misled me, for it is impossible to 
 doubt the candid tale you tell; but remember, I will 
 not dishonour my name or be stigmatised with the 
 imputation of dishonourable dealing, therefore if 
 I follow your directions, and go on with the appear- 
 ance of a courtship, our marriage is inevitable, un- 
 less ^/ow prevent it, for /will not act like a scoun- 
 drel though death were the alternative." 
 
 *' Fear me not," answered Amelia, *' here is my 
 hand as a pledge of my fidelity; 1 will not foil 
 you, but lest the slightest idea of collusion should 
 attach to you, from this minute we drop the sub- 
 ject, until it be finally decided ; so now go about 
 your business, and I will seek Fanny and try to 
 sooth her ruffled spirit. She is a haughty little 
 puss : 1 believe her heart is lined with buckram." 
 
 " Do not irritate her feelings, 1 entreat you," said 
 the Duke, " she is exquisitely sensitive; and should 
 she imbibe an idea thati presumed upon the know- 
 ledge of her dependant situation, she will be lost 
 for ever to me. You owe me this complaisance, my 
 
 2 A 
 
i82 FATIIP.m-ESS FA"4N\ : OR, 
 
 dear Miss Stannope, for you have placet! my hap- 
 piness npon a balance." 
 
 ** I will attend to what yon say/* answered Ame- 
 lia, ** therefore make yourself easy." 
 
 The Duke now retired, and Amelia went to look 
 for Fanny. She found her in her own apartment, 
 whither she had fled when she quitted ]\iiss Stan- 
 hope's dressing-room. A torrent of tears had re- 
 lieved the oppressed feelings of her heart, and she 
 was now more composed. 
 
 Fanny's spirit was naturally noble, and rose su- 
 perior to the dependance of her situation. Whilst 
 under the protection of Lady EUincourt she had 
 not felt the mortifications to which her Ladyship's 
 absence had now so painfully exposed her. Instead, 
 however, of becoming servile, or endeavouring to 
 conciliate the regards of her haughty companions, 
 by that nnvaryinj^ complaisance which generally 
 distinguishes the humble companion. Fanny had 
 become more reserved, and assumed an air of dig- 
 nity, which consciousness of innate worth could 
 alone have supported. The Duke of Albemarle 
 had appeared in her eyes exactly the sort of man 
 she would have chosen, had she been entitled by 
 rank or fortune to encouiage his addresses; yetnot- 
 withstandingthis predilection in his favour she had 
 persevered in receiving his attentions with a degree 
 of coldness that would have convinced him she was 
 entirely averse to him, had he not been encouraged 
 to persist by Miss Stanhope's assu ranees thatit was 
 merely the effect of a romantic determination to 
 prove the sincerity of his passion to the utmost; 
 tiie discovery of the deceit that had been practised 
 under the sanction of her name, gave Fanny the 
 most poignant regret, as the same delicate spirit 
 iJjat had made her veil her real sentiments, under 
 the appearance of indifference, whilst uncertain of 
 his intentions, now sternly forbail elhe humiliation 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 183 
 
 of marrying, clandestinely, the manwhonad been 
 led to suppose she had laid a trap to ensnare his 
 affections, and whose superiority of rank and foi 
 tune might fully justify a suspicion that ambition 
 was the chief inducement. 
 
 "Never!" said the noble-minded girl, as she 
 quitted Miss Stanhope's apartment, "Never could 
 1 receive the addresses of a man whose confidence 
 in my integrity had been destroyed by the impli,- 
 cation of artifice upon my character; no, generous 
 Albemarle, 1 can now never listen to your vows, 
 and although my heart overflows with grateful ten- 
 derness for the partiality you have honoured me 
 witlj, the die is cast, and I can never be yours; 
 doomed to conceal within the aching boundry of 
 my own bosom the sorrow that consumes me, I 
 shall gladly retire into the country, whereat least 
 the restraint that now holds every feature in bon- 
 dage may be dispensed with, and 1 may weep un- 
 questioned and alone !" 
 
 Such was the soliloquy that had employed the 
 inind of Fanny, before Amelia came to disturb her 
 The lively girl began to i*ally her pensive friend 
 with her usual vivacity, and made use of every ar- 
 gument her ingenuity could supply her with, to 
 prove that she ought to receive the Duke's address- 
 es with complacency, although she could not deny 
 that for the present at least those addresses must 
 be clandestine. 
 
 " Enough, my dear Amelia," interrupted Fanny, 
 " that single proposition overturns yourargument; 
 nothing clandestine can be right, this excellent 
 maxim lowe to my beloved, my lamented Lady EI- 
 lincourt — I say lamented, because some secret in- 
 telligence seems to assure me that I shall see her no 
 more, if the Duke is ashamed to acknowledge me 
 as the object of his choice, 1 should be equally 
 ashamed to be a party in so mean a connexion ; 
 nothing surely can degrade a woman more than re- 
 
184 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 ceivmg the clandestine addresses of a lover; and if 
 he be greatly her superior, she incurs the odium of 
 imposing upon his weakness. I entreat you will 
 never name the subject to me again, for I would 
 not wed with royalty upon such mortifying terms ; 
 to-morrow I shall return to Col. Ross's to propose 
 for my journey : when you wish to see me, you 
 will favour me with your company there: I shall 
 not, therefore, be obliged to meet the Duke, who I 
 trust will soon forget me, and depend upon it I will 
 make every effort in my power to efface his image 
 from my mind." 
 
 " Jtwill require some effort, then,** said Amelia^ 
 archly, ''lam glad however to hear that, and 1 will 
 take care to report it to my client by way of a cor- 
 dial." 
 
 *' If you value my peace of mind, you will never 
 name me to your client again,*' said Fanny, " but 
 whether you do or not, my resolution will remain 
 unshaken. But come let us return to the company, 
 where, no doubt, our absence has been noticed.*' 
 
 " Oh nodoubt," replied Amelia, '* such charming 
 creatures as we are, must be missed," so allons, and 
 she took Fannys arm, and led the way to the draw- 
 ing room. As soon as they entered, the Marchion- 
 ess of Petersfield called Miss Stanhope to her, 
 *' Amelia,** said she, " we are going to the opera, 
 will you go ?'* 
 
 *' I never thought about it,*' said Miss Stanhope, 
 *' what occasions this sudden resolution, you did 
 not intend before dinner." 
 
 "Oh no,"replied the Marchioness, ** but the Mar- 
 quis of Cheviotdale has been teazing me into the 
 scheme; 1 had lent my box to Lady Mary Bouverie, 
 6utshe has just sent word that she cannot use it, as 
 her eldest son is very ill ; Lord Cheviotdale and all 
 heard me read the note to Maria, and he has been 
 almost upon his knees to me, to persuade me to go. 
 He says this new opera is the most divine thing ; 
 and as a further induAgment, he has promised to in- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. . 185 
 
 tro(]uce the interesting rreole to us, and everybody 
 is making such a fuss about him, that positively it 
 is quite a bore not to know him.'* 
 
 " And who in the name of wonder i^ the interesi* 
 ing Creole?' said Miss Stanhope, " I am an enthiu- 
 siast about interesting people, do tell me his name 
 Is he young ?" 
 
 " His name is Hamilton ; he is not young, but h» 
 is the most beautiful creature that ever was seen*, 
 Lord Cheviotdale says, the ladies are positively 
 dying for him by hundreds." 
 
 *' Then I pity them," rejoined Amelia, ^* for it is 
 labour in vain for them to fall in love with him, if 
 he be the rich Mr. Hamilton." 
 
 " He is indeed the rich Mr. Hawiilton in the voca 
 bulary of the votaries of P/«f^M«; but heis the/iancf- 
 some Mr. Hamilton, and the interesting creo\e^ with 
 the ladies," answered the Marchioness, " so you 
 must go ; but apropos, you spoke as if you were 
 acquainted with him just now, do you know any 
 of his history, they say it is a most extraordinary 
 one ?" 
 
 *' What I know about him," answered Amelia, 
 " has nothing extraordinary in it, it is the most na- 
 tural thing in the world, he has fallen in love with 
 a young girl, and old bachelors are very apt to 
 do that." 
 
 ** Who is she*? what young girl do you mean ?'* 
 was vociferated from two or three voices at once. 
 
 " I will not tell you," answered Amelia, laughing, 
 ** if we all go to the opera you will soon see." 
 
 " You must persuade Maria, then," said the 
 Marchioness, " for she seems averse to the propo- 
 sal." 
 
 Lady Maria was on the other side of the room, 
 whilst they had been talking of Mr. Hamilton, and 
 had heard nothing of the conversation. Miss Stan- 
 hope went to her, and endeavoured to persuade 
 her to go to the opera. 
 
186 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 " Come now, there's a dear good creature, I 
 know you are going to say, yes," exclaimed the 
 giddy girl, without giving her Ladyship time to 
 answer. " I always thought you were a love," 
 she continued, assuming the most wheedling tone 
 and look she could put on. 
 
 Lady Maria laughed heartily. " I am grieved," 
 said she, "to refuse any thing to such a suppliant, 
 but really I am going home, and Fanny lias just 
 been so kind as to promise to go with me. 1 aui sure 
 you cannot deny that her visit here has been already 
 extended to an nnconscionable length, therefore 
 you must excuse me if I run away with her now," 
 
 " But I certainly shall not excuse your Ladyship 
 though," replied. Amelia, " for you are going to 
 run away with her into the country upon some vvild- 
 goose chase or another, though you know I can 
 scarcely exist without her, and I think that is quite 
 bad enough, without depriving us of her company 
 to-night; but she positively shall not go home now, 
 for 1 will not go to the opera if she does not accom- 
 pany me. Now only look at her, poor thing, she 
 is ready to cry at your hard-hearted ness, — Are you 
 not, Fanny ? Do you not doat on the opera ?" 
 
 " I am really very fond of the opera," replied 
 Fanny, smiling, " and 1 should like to go with you, 
 if I could, but 1 have promised to return with 
 Lady Maria." 
 
 To which the lively Amelia replied, — " Well but, 
 
 ' Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is: 
 ' It" broken then, it is no fault ol' thi'je; 
 ' What fool is not so wise, 
 * To lose an oath to gain a paradise V 
 
 There you see, I can quote great authority to ab- 
 solve you from your promise, and so go you shall. 
 Here's a fuss indeed, about a foolish promise; — 
 why I will make you half a score such, and break 
 them in a breath; — a silly vow is always better 
 broken than kept." 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 187 
 
 '' I will not break my promise though," answered 
 Fanny, " for all your ingenuity; but if Lady 
 Maria is willing to release me, that is a different 
 thing."' 
 
 " If Lady Maria will release you!" said Miss 
 Stanhope, " she must and shall, for I will have 
 my own way, 1 am determined, as long as ever I 
 can, for I atn going to, be married, you know, (as- 
 suming a very grave look, and fetching a deep 
 sigh,) and then I shall never iiever have it." 
 
 "Wellcome," rejoined Lady Maria, laughing, 
 " I suppose 1 must indulge you, as you have sucli 
 a dismal prospect before you. You are a complete 
 madcap, but you do just what you please with 
 every body, and, therefore, as I cannot have the 
 heart to take Fanny away, 1 believe I must e'ea 
 go to the opera myself to accommodate you." 
 
 " Tliat's a dear creature! — now did not I say 
 you were a lover" replied the sprightly Amelia. 
 " Come, Fanny, (turning to her pensive friend,) let 
 us go and put a little more brilliancy on our heads, 
 as the simple costume in which they are now 
 dressed will never do for the opera; for though the 
 often quoted lines of your favorite bard, — 
 
 * Picanty needs not the foreign aid of ornament, 
 ' But is wlien ur.adorned adorned tiie most,' 
 
 may apply well enough to you, J am not so vain, 
 and, therefore, as I am determined to be as killing 
 as possible, and to be 
 
 ' Arni'd at ali points, from top to toe,' 
 
 I shall require some little time to make my pre- 
 parations." 
 
 "Why, I declare, Miss Stanhope, you grow 
 quite poetical," said Lady Maria ; " J cannot think 
 how you can remember so many quotations." 
 
 " 'Poetical, — what is poetical?'" said Amelia, 
 assuming the look and tone of Audrey ; " ' Is it 
 honest? — I thank the gods I am honest.'" 
 
188 FATHERLESS fanny; OR, 
 
 The ladies all laughed at this sally ; and Amelia, 
 springing up, said, — 
 
 " Come, Fanny, Fanny, we must waste no more 
 time on trifles such as these. — Allans. By the 
 bye," she continued, again seating herself " let 
 me have the benefit of your advice, ladies, before 
 I proceed to this task : — What style of beauty 
 becomes me most ? — Shall 1 look imposanle^ 
 piquante or naive; that is, shall I wear a Turkisli 
 or French head-dress, or shall I remain the simple 
 JEnglish beauty that nature has made me?" 
 
 *' Oh French certainly !" exclaimed several of 
 the ladies, " your style of countenance is decidedly 
 piqiiantey 
 
 " Aye, you are induced to say so," replied 
 Amelia, " because 1 have happened to be in a 
 saucy humour to day ; but you are mistaken, — 
 dignity is my forte," and she strutted in the most 
 ludicrous manner to a large pier glass. 
 
 *' What a wild creature you are," said the Mar- 
 chioness; " I really think, Amelia, you ought to 
 get married, if it be only to tame you ; and you 
 have got an admirable contrast too in your in- 
 tended; for most assuredly the Duke of Albe- 
 marle is the gravest young man 1 ever saw. — 
 Apropos, — What a dashing pair you and Sir 
 Everard Mornington would have made, if you had 
 been disengaged. He is just such another harum- 
 scarum as yourself." 
 
 Amelia blushed ; and Fanny smilingly observed, 
 
 "Come, Amelia, 1 will take up your cliaracter, 
 and reply for you, in the same strain of quotation 
 you have so happily pursued this evening: — * Oh, 
 Lord, Lord, if they were but a week married they 
 would talk themselves mad.' " 
 
 " But come, my dear girl, we are chatting away 
 the time we should be preparing for conquest," 
 said Amelia, " and I will not stop another minute.' 
 
 " Don't be long at your toilet," said the Mar- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 189 
 
 chioness, as Amelia and Fanny left the room, 
 " we are going to have tea directly." 
 
 As soon as they were gone, " What a ridiculous 
 fuss is made about that girl, 1 am positively sick 
 of it," said the Marchioness. ** Miss Stanhope's 
 regard for her is quite infatuation." 
 
 " Fanny is a very good girl," said Lady Maria, 
 "but I really do wonder sometimes, myself, what 
 people see in her to be so violently enchanted." 
 
 " Where is your Ladyship going into the coun- 
 try?" said a lady, addressing Lady Maria." 
 
 " We are going to Pemberton Al)bey ; the 
 Colonel seems to wish me to stay there the few 
 months he intends being in Ireland." 
 
 "Is Pemberton Abbey a pretty place?" 
 
 " I really don't know, for I was never there," 
 said Lady Maria. 
 
 " It was part of the rich Hamilton's estate," said 
 the talkative lady ; " I don't mean the Mr. 
 Hamilton we were talking of just now, because 
 you know he is alive, but he only inherited as 
 legatee : did your Ladyship ever hear why old 
 Mr. Hamilton went abroad ?" 
 
 " Never," answered Lady Maria, " I did hear 
 Lady Ellincourt say there was some melancholy 
 cause, — was it any thing very shocking?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! he had only one child, and that was 
 a son ; but he was lost when he was just come of 
 age, and never heard of since." 
 
 " Surely," exclaimed Lady Maria, " that must 
 be impossible ; how could a young man of that 
 age be lost, unless indeed it was at sea." 
 
 " Oh no, it was not at sea ; he was one of the 
 finest young men that ever was seen, poor Mr. 
 Hamilton perfectly idolized him ; it is a great 
 many years ago. Oh dear there was nothing else 
 talked of at the time, but nothing ever came out, and 
 it hurt old Hamilton so much, that he went abroad, 
 and died in the West Indies, I believe." 
 
 2b 
 
190 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 , *' What a very extraordinary story," said Lady 
 Maria; "but how came the old gentleman to give 
 his money to this Mr. Hamilton." 
 
 " Indeed I don't know, but I suppose he 
 played his cards well, and got on the weak side 
 of the old man ; I hear this Hamilton is very 
 clever." 
 
 The entrance of Miss Stanhope and Fanny put 
 an end to the conversation, and as soon as tea 
 was over, the whole party adjourned to the 
 opera. 
 
 CHAPTER XXT. 
 
 The Concert. 
 
 The first act was nearly over when the party 
 entered the house, and the first object that struck 
 Fanny on her entrance, was Mr. Hamilton sitting 
 in the pit with his arms folded across his breast, 
 and his eyes pensively fixed upon the part of the 
 house where their box was situated. He instantly 
 recognised Fanny, and rising from his seat, made 
 her a low bow ; and she returned the compliment 
 by a slight inclination of the head. 
 
 This did not pass unobserved by Col. Ross, who 
 was in the back part of the box, talking to Lord 
 Cheviotdale, and exclaiming inthefirstebullition of 
 fury, " Curse the fellow," Lord Cheviotdale, whose 
 eyes had followed the Colonel's asked him with 
 surprise, if he meant Mr. Hamilton, " but," added 
 his Lordship, recollecting himself, " that is impos- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT, 11)1 
 
 sihle, for every body that knows Mr. llamiiton, 
 likes him." 
 
 " 1 know very little of that gentleman," said the 
 Colonel, '* nor do I wish to increase the acquaint- 
 ance, for he resembles a person I detest, and it was 
 that likeness which forced from my lips the apos- 
 trophe that surprised you/ 
 
 *' By heaven !" rejoined Lord Cheviotdale, " if 
 Hamilton be like any body whoisunamiable, hcau 
 be only an exterior resemblance ; therefore, to do 
 away such unjust prejudice, I shall immediately 
 fetchhimhither, and I will bet ten thousand pounds 
 you recant your unfavourable opinion in half an 
 hour afterwards." 
 
 The Marquis did not wait for Colonel Ross to 
 answer; but, quitting the box, made his way into 
 the pit, and returned in a very few minutes, ac- 
 companied by Mr. Hamilton. 
 
 *' 1 have fulfilled my promise,*' said his Lord- 
 ship, addressing the Marchioness of Petersfield, 
 ** here is Mr. Hamilton, drawn hither by the ardent 
 desire he feels to be introduced to your ladyship." 
 
 The Marchioness put on one of her most graci-' 
 ous looks, and replied, " that she should esteem 
 herself happy in the honour of Mr. Hamilton's 
 acquaintance." 
 
 Col. Ross bit his lip, and received his share of 
 the introductory ceremony with stiff politeness. 
 
 Miss Stanhope looked at Lord Cheviotdale with 
 an air of reproach, who instantly understood the 
 hint, and whispering to Mr. Hamilton, led him into 
 the adjoining box, where he renewed the ceremony 
 of introduction, both tX) Miss Stanhope and her 
 friend. 
 
 The ladies who were in the same box were ac- 
 quainted with Mr. Hamilton, and gave him so cor- 
 dial a reception that he accepted their invitation to 
 take a seat in their box, and placing himself behind 
 Fanny, he addressed the chief part of his convertsa- 
 
192 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 tion to her and Miss Stanliope, whose lively sallies 
 seemed to please him much, and often awakened 
 a sweel smile upon his pensive countenance. 
 
 There \Yas a solid sense in every thinpj Mr. Hamil- 
 ton said, and he expressed himself in such elegant 
 language that Fanny listened to him with delight, 
 whilst her soft eyes beamed upon him a look of 
 the sweetest complacency. 
 
 The Duke of Albemarle who was in the box 
 adjoining, had watched Fanny with all the tortures 
 of jealousy, from the first moment of Mr. Hamil- 
 ton's introduction ; and when he read upon her in- 
 telligent countenance such unequivocal proof of 
 Jier admiration of the man he deemed his rival, he 
 could scarcely rein-in his rage and indignation. 
 
 Alarmed lest his emotions should betray him, he 
 left the box, and endeavoured to recover iiis self- 
 command by a walk in the adjoining corridor. 
 
 Sir Everard Mornington was at the opera that 
 evening, and as soon as he espied Miss Stanhope, 
 he hastened lo join her party. 
 
 Sir Everard was one of those lively people who 
 are at home every where, and acquainted with 
 every body ; he entered the box, therefore, without 
 ceremony, and after a slight nod and *' How doy" 
 to Amelia, he began a long story to one of the old 
 ladies, about a narrow escape he had experienced in 
 the morning, having been thrown out of a dog-cart 
 tandem, which he.was driving, to the imminent risk 
 of his own neck, and the total demolition of the 
 poor woman's wheelbarrow that had caused the 
 accident, by crossing the street just at the moment 
 young Jehu was driving down Bond-street, in the 
 true style o^ prime and bang up j 
 
 "Good heavens!" said Miss Stanhope, "you talk 
 so shockingly, tliat positively I shall be nervous 
 whenever 1 see any body driving tandem or four- 
 in hand again. 
 
 *' Don't alarm yourself," replied her lover, 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 193 
 
 " there is nothing so delightful to a man of spirit as 
 a hair-breadth esca}De now and then ; it gives them 
 eclat. Now this accident will be in all the papers, 
 and I shall be the topic of conversation for these 
 three days. I wish I had broken my collar-bone, 
 or dislocated my arm, or some snug little accident ; 
 that would have been prime, for there must have 
 been a bulletin, and, all my friends, or at least my 
 soi-c?isan^friends, must\\^veheenvery sorry , whe- 
 ther they would or not.*' 
 
 Miss Stanhope laughed : " you are the first per- 
 son," said she, " I ever heard wish to break their 
 bones, or dislocate their joints for the sake of no- 
 toriety, and I think as you are so ambitious of fame, 
 you had betterjoin thearmyin Portugal, and there 
 you may stand a fair chance of having your head 
 taken off in a celebrated manner by a cannon ball^ 
 or of losing some of your limbs at least.*' 
 
 " Losing a limb or so might be very well, if it 
 happened in England, but as to ihibhead," replied 
 Sir Everard, '* the loss of that would spoil all, for 
 there would be no occasion for a bulletin ; and as 
 services abroad are equally preclusive of that de- 
 lightful oblation to vanity, I will serve my country 
 at home, by encouraging its breed of horses, em- 
 ploying its mechanics in building carriages, and 
 gratifying the most beautiful part of its population 
 by sporting my elegant figure in all the parapher- 
 nalia of a modern son of the whip. AVhen encou- 
 raged by their approving glances, I become invin- 
 cible to the dangers of my elevated station, and 
 squaring my elbows, I handle the ribbons, and tip 
 my tits in their traces, such a dasher that we are 
 prime and bang up beyond all competition." 
 
 Miss Stanhope was not deficient i4i sense, and yet 
 she was charmed with a jargon that had not a par- 
 ticle of that quality to boast of. 
 
 There is no accounting for partialities between 
 the sexes, as it may very frequently be observed 
 
194 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 that persons of the most opposite tastes and pro 
 pensities will select each otherand consider it indisr 
 pensable to their mutual happiness to be united. 
 
 The brilliant alliance which fortune seemed to 
 oflfer her in her union with the Duke, had no at- 
 traction in her eyes ; nor could his Grace's elegant 
 person, his fine understanding, nor the fascination 
 of his manners, tempt her for a moment to forego 
 her choice. 
 
 Sir Everard Mornington was a fine healtny- 
 looking young man, and might perhaps have dis- 
 played something like a mind, had studying been 
 the fashion instead of driving; but the company he 
 had been obliged to keep, in order to attain any de- 
 gree of perfection in the science he was ambitious 
 to shine in, had as completely vulgarised his ideas, 
 as the quaint dress of the natty coachman had dis- 
 figered his naturally fine person. 
 
 Yet stili in Miss Stanhope's eyes he was all per- 
 fection ; and as she was no less agreeable to him, 
 there had been an explanation between them that 
 had developed their views to each other. 
 
 A clandestine marriage had been decided on, and 
 the giddy couple anticipated with delight the noise 
 their elopement would make in the great world. 
 
 Sir Everard was rich, and therefore Miss Stan- 
 hope'sfortune was not hisobject in addressing her; 
 and when she explained to him the clause in her 
 father's will, which made her fortune the penalty 
 of her refusing to marry the Duke of Albemarle, 
 he laughed, and told her, " he thought it would 
 be prime to tip the knowing ones the goby, and 
 shew them they had more spirit than to mind what 
 old musty parchments said, that helped to do the 
 mischief the old quiz's that made them could not 
 live to finish.*' 
 
 But to return to the Opera House, Mr. Hamil- 
 ton in the course of the conversation, learnt that 
 Fanny was going out of town, and when 5Iiss 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 195 
 
 Stanhope named Lady Ellincourt'sseat in York- 
 shire, lie clapped his hand to his forehead, and ex- 
 claimed, ** Heaven's ! what a circumstance !'* 
 
 " Do you know that part of the world," said 
 Miss Stanhope, whose curiosity had been raised 
 by the exclamation. 
 
 "Know it!" rejoined Mr. Haaiilton, "Oh, 
 would to God I had never known it !" 
 
 Miss Stanhope was alarmed, for she thought 
 Mr. Hamilton was insane, as his eyes rolled for 
 i?everal minutes with a wildness truly terrific, " I 
 thought," said she, endeavouring to turn the con- 
 versation, " that you were a stranger in this coun- 
 try, Sir, and had been in England only a few 
 months." 
 
 ** Most true,'' replied Mr. Hamilton, seeming to 
 recover himself a little, "I am a stranger in this 
 country : 1 have no existence here, but 1 am tres- 
 passing on your attention, ladies," continued he, 
 turning to Miss Stanhope and Fanny, " whilst more 
 pleasing objects demand it ; the name of the estate 
 that formerly belonged to my deceased friend, 
 awakened ideas most painfiiLto recall; but it is 
 over and I entreat your pardon," 
 
 It was in vain that Mr. Hamilton recommended 
 to Miss Stanhope and Fanny to give their attention 
 to the opera, lie had fixed it for the night, and they 
 could neither of them hear or see any other person. 
 As to Fanny, she was a^ected beyond measure by 
 the anguish expressed on the countenance of her 
 new friend, she found it difficult to restrain the 
 tears that were ready to drop from her eyes. Mr. 
 Hamilton perceived her emotion, and fearful lest it 
 should attract the notice of the ladies around her, 
 he rose from his seat, and quitted the box. The 
 Duke of Albemarle entered as he did so, and plac- 
 ing himself behind Fanny, he remained stationary 
 until the party quitted the theatre. 
 
 It was in vain, however, that he addressed his 
 
196 FATHERLESS fanny: OR, 
 
 conversation to Fanny, or indeed to Miss Stanhope, 
 so lost were they in conjectures as to the possible 
 cause of Mr. Hamilton's sorrow, thatanionosylla- 
 ble was the utmost the Duke could obtain in an- 
 swer to any thing that he said ! inflamed with jea- 
 lousy, and exasperated beyond the bounds of pru- 
 dence, he seized Fanny's arm as she was entering 
 the cofl'ee-room, and darting at her a look of anger, 
 he said ina tone of voice that spokehis inward emo- 
 tion, " inexorable girl, forbear to trifle thus with 
 my happiness — remember my life is in your hands: 
 never will I marry any other woman!" 
 
 " Then you will die single,*' said a harsh voice 
 behind him, and the same moment he felt a hand 
 grasp his arm with violence. He turned round 
 and beheld Lord Somertown, who immediately 
 obli<jed him to quit Fanny, and go with him. 
 
 "J came hither,'' said his Lordship, *' in search 
 of my nephew, little imagining what ^fool I was 
 looking for." 
 
 Ashamed and confused, beyond expression, the 
 Duke suffered himself to be led away by Lord So- 
 mertown, (who had taken hold of his arm) to his 
 carriage, without proffering a single word. His 
 uncle was silent also for some time after they were 
 seated in the chariot, at length, however, he spoke : 
 — " I had formed a better opinion of your under- 
 standing,'* said his Lordship. "A man may trifle 
 with as many women as he pleases, but when he 
 so far forgets himself as to talk of marriage, he de- 
 serves to be posted for a blockhead, hxi intrigue 
 with the companion of your intended wife is most 
 ridiculously indiscreet, and particularly so before 
 you are secure of her. It is not morality T am 
 })rea(hii)g to you, for you already know my opi- 
 nion on that subject; all I wish to inculcate is a 
 prudent ref,aid to my wishes and your own inter- 
 est ; 1 have set my mind upon this union, and if it 
 fails through your delinquency, woe unto the frail 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT 197 
 
 cause of it! You know me, Jh.TJry, tuke car^ 
 then liow you offend me; if you value the painted 
 puppetyou were pretending to worship in that ful- 
 some strain of idolatry, beware of drawing down 
 my displeasure upon her. If 1 thought she stood 
 in the way of your marriage with Miss Stanhope, 
 by heavens 1 would annihilate her! She should 
 vanish from your fascinated eyes, nor leave a trace 
 of her insignificant existence behind her." 
 
 The Duke shuddered as he listened to Lord So- 
 meitown's threatening language, for well did he 
 know that if the power were lent him, he did not 
 want the will to execute the direst vengeance on 
 those he deemed his enemies. The bare idea of 
 exposing the lovely Fanny to his uncle's fury, was 
 dreadful to him, and he resolved to dissemble his 
 real sentiments under a shew of obedience. *' lam 
 concerned," said he, hesitating from the conscious- 
 ness of a duplicity to which his soul was a stran- 
 ger; " I am concerned that your Lordship should 
 mistake a little unmeaning gallantry, shewn to a 
 young beautiful woman, for a serious attachment; 
 I have told your Lordship that it was my wish to 
 marry Miss Stanhope, and 1 now assure you that I 
 still admire the same lady that then occupied my 
 lieart, in preference to all others, and if I don't 
 marry Amelia Stanhope, tlie impediment to our 
 union will not originate in »?j^." 
 , "Bravo 1" exclaimed Lord Somertown, " if you 
 are sincere it is well, but think not that I am to be 
 deceived by a stripling like you. That girl is an 
 artful creature, who has her viewsin her pretended 
 coyness; but I repeat beware how you let me sus- 
 pect any thing serious in that quarter. Remember 
 it will be at the peril of your minion T^ 
 
 The Duke again afhrmed that he was ready to 
 iiihil the contract with Miss Stanhope, and Lord 
 Son.ertown was, or at least appeared to be, satis" 
 fied. 
 
 2 c 
 
198 FATHERLESS FANNY : OH, 
 
 When, however, he retired to his apartment, the 
 agitation of the Dnke's mind was intolerable; he 
 imd pledged his word to his uncle to marry Miss 
 Staniiope, provided she was willing to accept him 
 as a husband ; and although the promise' was ex- 
 torted by his fears for Fanny's safety, he could not 
 for an instant conceive the possibility of forfeiting 
 his word, sliould she, contrary to her solemn assu- 
 rances, place no barrier in the way of their nup- 
 tials. *' Good heavens 1" said he, *' what would 
 become of me should I find myself entangled in a 
 net of my own weaving. Amelia has promised to 
 render our marriage impossible ; is she then be- 
 trothed to another? and does she mean to evade 
 her union with me, by running away with her fa- 
 voured lover? Alas! her schemes may be rendered 
 abortive by the vigilance of her guardians, and be- 
 tween threats and persuasion, she may be brought 
 to consent to the annihilation of my happiness. 
 Well, should that be the case, I must console my- 
 self by receding that my fears for the adored ob- 
 ject of my affection, led me to the fatal sacrifice. 
 Had I appeared irresolute, or hesitated in answer- 
 ing my uiicle, his vengeance would have fallen on 
 the defenceless Fanny, and then the agony of my 
 soul would have been too much for me to support. 
 No, i have acted in the only way that was left me 
 to insure her safety, and if that were purchased 
 with my life, it were cheaply bought. But I will 
 cherish better hopes, Amelia Stanhope is generous, 
 she will befaithful,andf shall yet possess the power 
 of addressing the only woman i can ever love." 
 
 With these reflections, fluctuating between hcf^rf 
 and fear, the Duke passed a sleepless night, and 
 arose the next morning dispirited and pale from 
 the anxiety that still preyed upon his spirits. 
 
 In the mean time, Fanny had not been much 
 more calm, but her agitation had not originated iu 
 the same cause, for love had nothing to do with th- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 19i) 
 
 emotions that harassed her mind ; an interest that 
 she could not de'ine was excited in her heart for 
 Mr. Hamilton, and it was with a mixture of terror 
 and joy that she received the following note from 
 him, as he was assisting her to get into the Mar- 
 chioness of Petersfield's carriage. She counted 
 the minutes until she was alone, and free to peruse 
 it, for she would not trust even Miss Stanhope with 
 the knowledge of her having received it. The in- 
 stant her lively friend had bid her good night, she 
 tore open the seal with a trembling hand, and 
 read the following mysterious words: — 
 
 " You are going to Pemberton Abbey, so am I ; 
 and I trust we shall there find an opportunity of 
 meeting withoutspiesorintruders ; i want to tell you 
 the history of my eventful life ; something whispers 
 methatyou are interested in it, beyond what you at 
 present suspect; oh, should it prove so — what bliss 
 for both of us! 1 dare not trust the thought. 
 Farewell, until we meet again." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Tete-a-Tete. 
 
 TwE agitation excited in the bosom of Fanny, by 
 the reading of Mr. Hamilton's note, did not easily 
 subside. The words contained in it, implied a 
 mystery that awakened every feeling of her heart, 
 should she indeed find a parent ! The idea was in- 
 supportable, for although inspired by hope, it wis 
 unsanctioned by reason ; and she felt that to par*^^ 
 
200 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 with the sweet expectation, however vague oi* un- 
 founded, would now cost her very dear. The whole 
 of the night wore away in unavailing conjecture, 
 and the morning found her agitation as much be- 
 wildered in the labyrinth of uncertainty, as when 
 she laid her aching head upon the pillow. She was 
 obliged, however, to conceal her emotions, lest any 
 step should betaken to prevent the promised inter- 
 view. The few succeeding days that intervened be- 
 tween the opera and her departure for Pemberton 
 Abbey, were engrossed by preparation for the 
 journey, and although Amelia tried every stratagem 
 to get Fanny to come to her at the Marquis of Pe- 
 tersiield's, she could not succeed, and she quitted 
 London without seeing the Duke of Albemarle, 
 who did not dare to make any attempt to obtain that 
 pleasure, except by visiting Amelia frequently, in 
 the hope of meeting her there. Disappointment was 
 constantly his |)ortion, however ; and Lord Somer- 
 town, whose vigilance had never slept since his 
 suspicions were first awakened, was convinced that 
 Fanny left town without any communication having 
 passed between them. The vindictive nobleman 
 had long been conversant in the best method of 
 employing spies, and when he wished to ascertain 
 any fact relative to those who had incurred his 
 displeasure, he spared neither pains nor expense to 
 obtain the information he wanted. Poor Fanny 
 was now the object of his vengeance, and his in- 
 tended victim ; and he took care to surround the 
 steps of the hapless girl with creatures devoted to 
 his service, and willing to assist iiis most diabolical 
 plans for the sake of obtaining a continuation of 
 the biibcs that had perverted their principles. There 
 is a God, however, whose all-seeing wisdom can 
 penetrate the darkest machination of cunning, and 
 who!«e power can protect the Aveakest of iiis crea- 
 tures against a host of enemies. That merciful 
 Being was now watching over the seemingly un- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 201 
 
 protected Fanny, and viewing" with an eye of stern 
 displeasure liie dark plots of iier insidious foes. 
 
 Lady Maria Ross was but an indifferent travel- 
 er, and as the weather was warm, and the journey 
 of more than!two hundred and fifty miles in length, 
 it was determined that the family should sleep two 
 nights on the road. The first day's journey ended 
 at a lone inn, nearly an hundred miles from town, 
 in a spot so romantically beautiful, that Fanny was 
 enchanted with the rich scenery around it, dis- 
 played by a clear moon, now nearly at the full, in 
 a more interesting landscape than when gilt by the 
 sun-beams of the garish eye of day' Instead, 
 therefore, of retiring to bed when she entered her 
 room for the night, she continued at one of the win- 
 dows, contemplating with delight the beautiful 
 piospect, until a clock, from a distant church, 
 struck one, she was then thinking of seeking her 
 pillow, but as she was receding from the window, 
 her eye rested on the tall figure of a man, who aj)- 
 peared to be gazing at the spot where she stood ; 
 ids attitude was so fixed, that she imagined he had 
 been there some time, although she had not before 
 observed him ; but whether he could distinguish her 
 or not, she could not ascertain, as no sign on his 
 part implied any consciousness of her existence. 
 The sight, however, of a human being at that dreary 
 hour, and in that lone situation, for the stillness of 
 the house had long since proclaimed that its inha- 
 bitants were wrapt in the arms of sleep, gave her a 
 sensation of alarm, that made her close her window 
 with precipitation, and drawing the curtain that 
 shaded it, she hastily prepared for bed. 
 
 Before she entered that mansion of repose, how- 
 ever, she stole another glance from the window, to 
 satisfy herself whether the figure was still there. It 
 had vanished from the spot where she had first seen 
 it but although the declining beams of the moon cast 
 a broad shadow over one part of the scene, she was 
 
202 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 soon able to distinguish it standing close under her 
 window and with looks east upwards, as if observing 
 her chamber. A handkerchief applied to the face, 
 completely shrouded the features from her ken, had 
 hestood in the light, but the dark spot he had chosen, 
 rendered that caution unnecessary. As Fanny per- 
 ceived the figure, she uttered a faint scream, and 
 put her hand before her eyes. When she again 
 ^vithdrew it, the apparition had vanished, and 
 although she watched until another hour resounded 
 'from the village turret, she beheld it no more. 
 
 It would be a vain task to attempt to describe the 
 variety of conjectures, which occupied the mind of 
 Fanny, through the wakeful hours that succeeded 
 this mysterious vision; sometimes she was inclined 
 to believe, that she was not concerned in its appear- 
 ance ; but the next moment she rejected tfiat idea, 
 and felt an instinctive conviction, that it portended 
 the vigilantobservationof some friend or foe. — And 
 yet she did not stand in need of an actof friendshi|>, 
 attended with such apparent inconvenience to the 
 person who performed it. And as to a foe, she was 
 unconscious thatshe had one. At length overcome 
 with fatigue and watching, shedropped into a deep 
 slumber, from which she did not awake until a 
 hasty summons to breakfast informed her how 
 much she had trespassed beyond the usual hour of 
 rising. Thebustle occasioned by over-sleeping her- 
 self broke the train of her thoughts, and rendered 
 her fitter to meet the family at the breakfast table. 
 The journey of that day was unmolested by any in- 
 cident, and again the travellers rested at a lone 
 house. It was always Col. Ross's custom when 
 he slept on the road to avoid towns, and the inns 
 be had selected to repose at on this journey, were 
 every way calculated to make his choice approved ; 
 they were replete with every convenience for the 
 accommodation of a large family, and the spots 
 where they stood, the most picturesque that can 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 203 
 
 be imagined. Fanny bad been struck with the 
 beauty of the scenery surrounding that where she 
 passed the first night ; but when she viewed the 
 situation of the second inn, she was still more en- 
 chanted, and she could not forl)ear exclaiming, as 
 she alit from the carriage, that she never saw such 
 a paradise before. Lady Maria was no enthusiast 
 either in poetry or painting, and therefore she view- 
 ed the wild beauties of the majestic hills, the rich 
 luxuriance of the scattered woods, and all the ma- 
 gic beauty of the fairy landscape, with a sang- 
 froid that astonished Fanny, whose every fiiculty 
 appeared strained to catch the prospect that de- 
 lighted her. The moon was risen in its full splen- 
 dour, by the time tea was over. 
 
 '* Oh how I should like a walk this delightful 
 evening,^' said Fanny, tiioughtlessly, "if it were 
 
 not for the fear of " she stopped short, and 
 
 blushing exceedingly, recollected that she had 
 determined not to mention the nocturnal appari- 
 tion that had alarmed her. 
 
 "The fear of what?" repeated Colonel Ross, 
 " what fear can you have, Fanny, that need pre- 
 vent your taking a walk such an evening as this, 
 provided I escort you ?" 
 
 "O none, to be sure," replied she, "I only 
 meant, that I should be afraid to walk alone." ;^ 
 
 "Alone, certainly, would not be proper," said 
 the Colonel, but there can be no objection to your 
 going well attended. — Maria will you accompany 
 us?" 
 
 " Oh no," answered her ladyship, " the fatigue 
 of the journey is quite enough for me, I am not 
 such an admirer of nature, nor have I such a ro- 
 mantic turn for moon-light contemplations as Fan- 
 ny." This was spoken inr a tone of splenetic fret- 
 fulness, that betrayed Lady Maria's displeasure at 
 the Colonel's proposal, and Fanny immediately 
 declared that she would not so, nor could the ela- 
 
204 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 quence exerted by the Colonel induce her to ac- 
 cept his offer of attending her. He appeared 
 piqued at her refusal, and muttered something 
 between liis teeth of self-willed girls. 
 
 Poor Fanny was glad to escape from her com- 
 panions, who were neitherof them in good humour, 
 and therefore she retired early to her chamber. 
 
 " At least," said she, as she seated herself at her 
 window, "■here I need not fear that I shall be dis 
 turbed by the apparition; he has scarcely ridden 
 hither on the wings of the wind, to disturb my 
 nocturnal con tern j)]ations !" 
 
 The room that Fanny inhabited looked into a 
 small garden, from whence a flight of steps reached 
 to a balcony, close under her window ; the bustle 
 of the inn had not yet subsided, but the sounds 
 were distant, for the apartment she occupied was 
 at the end of the corridor, and quite remote from 
 the interior of the house. 
 
 A beautiful champaign country 0|>ened to the 
 view at the exireuiity of the garden. On the left 
 were seen scattered Avoods, bounded by lofty hills 
 so varied in size, that they appeared, as the mooti 
 silvered their majestic points, as if they were ri- 
 sing emulous of reflecting her lustrous beams. 
 
 To the right, on a bold eminence, and unadorned 
 by even a single tree, to soften the stern aspect of 
 the picture, rose the majestic ruins of an ancient 
 castle, which seemed in sullen pride to frown 
 upon the sons of little men, who now dared to 
 tread the sacred spot, where once flourished heroes 
 unbending and invincible. 
 
 At the proud battlements that entrenched them, 
 Fanny gazed with delight, as the clear moon dart- 
 ed her silver radiance through the dismantled 
 windows, and ivy clad loop-holes of the gloomy 
 tower, 'i'he scene was solemn and sublime, and 
 caiculaJed to raise the enthusiastic imagination of 
 youth to the highest pitch of mental enjoyment; by 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICAN'!'. 205 
 
 degrees tlie noises in the house died away, and the 
 cahn stilhiess was unbroken, save that at intervals 
 the distant watch-dog barked at some casual strag- 
 gler within the precincts of his nightly care. 
 
 Fanny was in raptures ; she had extinguished her 
 candle, that its light might not expose her to the ob- 
 servation of any distant wanderer. Her eye dwelt 
 alternately upon the rich forest, the hills bright with 
 the rays of luna, and the frowning castle proud, 
 and in majestic loneliness. 
 
 And that smw^ might not be the only sense, 
 a woodbine, whose luxuriant branches cover- 
 ed the walls of the houee, and breathed fra- 
 grance around, now intruded some of its spicy 
 flowers within the open casement ; Fanny in- 
 haled the balmy gale as the night breeze shook 
 its dewy wings around her, and entranced in an 
 ecstac yof enjoyment, she sat unmindful of the wan- 
 ing night, until a clock striking one, roused her from 
 her pleasing reverie; the hour reminded her of the 
 figure she had seen the preceding night, and so 
 strong was the power of f.^ncy upon her mind, that 
 her eye mechanically sought it in the scene before 
 her. She looked however in vain ; the most pro- 
 found stillness reigned, and the clear rays of the 
 moon displayed nothing but inanimate objects to 
 her view. — " No," said she, speaking aloud, un- 
 conscious that she did so, " No, he has not follon' 
 ed me here, alas! I fear my imagination misleads 
 me, and the fairy vision it has conjured up to de- 
 light, will melt into y®<^c?r." As she spoke she cast 
 her eyes towards the castle, and fancied that she 
 saw something emerge from one of its dilapidated 
 portals, she was soon convinced that she was right, 
 for she beheld the same tall figure she had seen the 
 preceding night, moving towards the garden, that 
 skirted the inn. Although she had almost wished 
 toseeit, an indistinct horrorseized herasshegazed 
 upon its approaching footsteps, and she was going 
 "2d 
 
'■ii^O FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 to retire from the window, when she thought she 
 lieard her name pronounced distinctly; though in a 
 low voice, under her window ; startled at the sound, 
 she lent forward to ascertain whence it proceeded, 
 and to her astonishment beheld Colojiel Ross 
 standing in the balcony beneath. " What can be 
 the cause of this nocturnal watching ?" said he, ra- 
 ther sternly, " this is the second time 1 have been 
 witness to your sitting up half the night at your 
 window.*' 
 
 *' The extreme beauty of the surrounding sce- 
 ne ry attracted me to my window to view it," re- 
 plied Fanny, "and when 1 had once indulged in the 
 contemplation, I found it impossible to leave it; 
 there is nothing extraordinary sure in that, when 
 you recollect what an enthusiastic admirer I am 
 of the beauties of nature." 
 
 " Nature has a variety of beauties, most un- 
 doubtedly," replied the Colonel, " and I suppose 
 the fortunate being you apostrophised just now is 
 one of them, is he not?" 
 
 " 1 am astonished," replied Fanny, " that you 
 should think it worth while to watch me, and listen 
 under my window, Sir, at an hour when it appears 
 so strange to you that 1 should be watching ?" 
 
 *• Your astonishment would cease," rejoined he, 
 " could you know the real state of my heart ; could 
 you know that the most trivial of your actions is 
 important in my eyes, but when 1 think you are 
 about to bestow upon a favoured lover that heaven 
 of love, Avhich 1 am determined no man but my- 
 self shall possess, and lice f it is then that every 
 feeling of my soul is harrowed up, every energy 
 awakened, and the hurricane of passion transports 
 me beyond the boundary of reason and prudence.'* 
 
 " This language is certainly unfit for me to listeit 
 to," interrupted Fanny, with dignity, "and strange 
 and incomprehensible as your allusions are, Sir, I 
 forbear to question you.' So saying, she shut 
 down the window, and left the Colonel to the en- 
 joyment of his own rtiltcliuut-. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. *2i)7 
 
 It may readily be supposed that lliey were 
 none of thepleasantest; liunied away by theeino- 
 tion of the moment, he had made a premature dis- 
 covery of a passion he had hitherto concealed with 
 such caution, and he knew enough of Fanny to be 
 certain that he had incurred her indignation, if not 
 her abhorrence, by so infamous an avowal. 
 
 -In the mean time she retired from the window, 
 overwhelmed by feelings of resentment and distress 
 impossible to describe ; she liad always felt a se- 
 cret antipathy to Colonel Ross, which was now 
 justified by his atrocious conduct; her heart had 
 often reproached her for the ungrateful return she 
 made to the continual acts of kindness she expe- 
 rienced from him, and she had often endeavoured 
 to conquer a dislike she thought founded in ca- 
 price. It was now proved, however, that her re- 
 pugnance to his friendship was the instinctof a mind 
 too pure and delicate to assimilate with his; which, 
 though veiled beneath the specious mask of hypo- 
 crisy, was the seat of every vice that deforms hu- 
 man nature. 
 
 "Oh Lady EllincourtI my beloved benefac- 
 tress," exclaimed Fanny, clasping her hands toge- 
 ther in an agony of distress, *' to what a care you 
 have confided your unhappy girl ! Ah! little does 
 Lord Eilincourt think what a villain is honoured 
 with the name of his J'riend ! Return, dear pro- 
 tectors of my infancy, return and restore me once 
 more ! to happiness and security V 
 
 Full of these thoughts, the disconsolate Fanny 
 threw herself upon her bed, and vented her op- 
 pressed feelings in a flood of tears. When her 
 emotions had, in some measure, subsided, she re- 
 collected thefigureshehad seen emerging from the 
 castle, and she longed to ascertain whether it were 
 indeed the same that she had seen the preceding 
 night. Hhe feared, however, to go to the window, 
 le§t Colonel Ross should be still beneath it, and 
 
208 ATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 mistake her motive by imagining she came thither 
 to look for him. This consideration restrained her 
 curiosity, and she went to bed without stealing one 
 glance from the window. The next morning when 
 she was ready to descend to breakfast, she felt the 
 greatest awkwardness at the iciea of meeting Co- 
 lonel Ross, nor did she entertain a donbt that/tt5 
 confusion would at least equal hers, if not exceed 
 it. Wliat was her astonishment then, when on en- 
 tering the room where Lady Maria and he were 
 already at breakfast, she beheld him, his brow 
 armed with frowns, and heard him in a tone of re- 
 proachful authority, reprimand her for lier late at- 
 tendance at the breakfast table ; " this tardiness," 
 added he, "is owing no donbt to your uochinial 
 watc'hings, but I warn you Miss Fanny, that I 
 will have no such doings wliilst you are under 
 or.r protection." 
 
 Struck dumb by the astonishment that had 
 seized her, Fanny seated herself at the table, with- 
 out uttering a \vord ; but she felt equally unable 
 to eat as to speak. 
 
 Lady Maria observed her distress, and good 
 naturedly wished to relieve it. '* My dear Fanny," 
 said she, " do not let ihe Colonel's reprimand dis- 
 tress you so ; he only speaks for your good. His 
 anxiety for your welfare makes him, perhaps, too 
 scrupulous about trifles. You had been expres- 
 sing your admiration of moonlightscenery; itwas 
 therefore natural you should indulge yourself with 
 a look, as you could not take a walk" 
 
 " The admiring a moon-light scene from her 
 chamber window, is certainly no crime," said the 
 Colonel, *' i( to admire thai were the motive that 
 carried her there ; but when it is to converse with 
 a stranger, an adventurer, a person that nobody 
 knows, and one of whose doubtful character she 
 has received ample warning; that a young lady 
 leaves her quiet pillow, and exposes herself at the 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. «j09 
 
 (lead hour of the night to the clangers of such an 
 assignation, then, indeed, the case is altered, and 
 the seemingly simple action deserves the severest 
 reprehension." 
 
 Fanny's surprise gave way to her indignation, 
 when she found herself thus daringly accused of a 
 thing she had not even dreamt of. But she was 
 prevented at the moment from making the reply 
 her feelings prompted, which would inevitably 
 have exposed the villainy of her insolent accuser, 
 by his being, at the instant she was beginning to 
 speak, called out of the room, in consequence of 
 its having- been discovered that an accident had 
 lamed one of the horses, which was therefore 
 unable to proceed. 
 
 " Curse the horse!" he exclaimed, hi a brutal 
 tone, which showed how deeply his feelings were 
 irritated ; " if it cannot go on, shoot it and get 
 another, that is all." 
 
 " But he will be well again, your honor, in a few 
 days," said the coachman, in a hesitating tone, " he 
 only wants rest, and it would be a pity to kill him, 
 for he is as good a beast as ever I sat behind." 
 
 " Yes, and 1 suppose you want rest too," said 
 the Colonel, in a furious tone, " and have lamed 
 the horse purposely that you may not go on to 
 day; but you are mistaken, for horse or no horse 
 I will not sleep another night in this infernal place." 
 
 The coachman's rosy face became a tint deeper 
 at this accusation ; but he knew the Colonel's tem- 
 per too well to hazard a reply, and he stood 
 smoothing his hat with the sleeve of his coat io 
 evident perplexity. 
 
 " Lead t!ie way to the stable do you, scoundrel," 
 said the Colonel, snatching up his hat, and darting 
 a look at Fanny which made her shudder, he left 
 the room. 
 
 A silence of some moments ensued. Fanny's 
 sensations were indefinable, almost even to herself. 
 
210 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 Her surprise, grief and indignation were almost 
 absorbed in the terror which the look the Colonel 
 had cast on her inspired. Yet why should 1 fear 
 liim, she exclaimed to herself, — it is he who ought 
 to tremble in my presence, not me at him ; — 
 
 " Virtue is bold, and goodness never fearful." 
 
 Unwilling still farther to wound her feelings, the 
 good-natured Lady Maria suffered Fanny to con- 
 tinue in her reverie undisturbed, for some time 
 after the Colonel had left the room ; but finding 
 that the former made no advances towards clearing 
 up the mystery, her curiosity at length broke 
 through all restraint, and she exclaimed, — 
 
 " In the name of wonder, Fanny, what is the 
 meaning of all this? — Can it be possible, that as 
 the Colonel insinuated, that vile man has traced 
 you to this remote spot, and can you have been so 
 imprudent, so infatuated as to listen to him even 
 for a moment, much less converse with him?" 
 
 *' I assure you most solemnly, that I have neither 
 spoken nor listened to any person," replied Fanny, 
 *' and as to the idea of any one's following our steps 
 who has any designs against me, it is too impro- 
 bable and ridiculous to deserve a serious observa- 
 tion ; this, however, 1 will affirm, (bursting at the 
 same time into tears,) that 1 have never been guilty 
 of an action, or indnlged a thought or intention 
 towards any human being that would not bear the 
 scrutiny of the whole world ; what, therefore, can 
 have induced Colonel Ross to think it necessary 
 to keep so strict a watch over me, as even to desert 
 his bed to walk under my window, is a mystery 
 which none but himself can unravel." 
 
 " It is strange, passing strange,"' said Lady 
 Maria; " J casuiot conceive what unaccountable 
 whim has seized him, yet that he is in earnest is 
 very evident, for I never saw him so completely 
 discomposed. He absolutely frightened me. Well 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 211 
 
 I certainly shall return to my old idea, however 
 you may laugh, that there are such things as spells 
 and enchantments. I wish we were safe within 
 the walls of Pemberton Abbey, for I shall be in 
 continual alarm while we are in these strange 
 places." 
 
 " And does your Ladyship think then," returned 
 Fanny, suppressing the smile of contempt which 
 involuntarily rose to her lips at Lady Maria's ex- 
 treme childishness, *' does your Ladyship really 
 think, that the walls of Pemberton Abbey can 
 exclude this magician, or enchanter, or whatever 
 else you are pleased to call him, whose influence 
 is so potent as already to have deceived the vigi- 
 lance even of Colonel Ross ?" 
 
 " Oh no," replied Lady Maria, very seriously, 
 and mistaking Fanny's ironical gravity for an 
 avowal that she was inclined to give credit to her 
 superstitious folly, " oh no, I do not think that, 
 but somehow one feels oneself more at ease in one's 
 own house, than one does in these strange places. 
 I never do feel myself safe in an inn." 
 
 " 1 acknowledge I am not very comfortable 
 myself," answered Fanny, " but if it were possible 
 for me to believe in witchcraft and enchantments, 
 as your Ladyship seems inclined to do, 1 should 
 not feel myself safe or comfortable any where." 
 
 " Well now, Fanny, what explanation can you 
 possibly give otherwise of this extraordinary pro- 
 ceeding. You aver that you have given no en- 
 couragement or even conversed with any man, and 
 the Colonel positively declares that you have done 
 so, and I am sure he would not assert what he 
 does not believe to be true ; besides, I think his ill- 
 humour is too evident to leave any doubts of his 
 truth." 
 
 " That Col. Ross is greatly irritated by some 
 circumstance there cannot be a doubt, but that it is 
 caused by any imprudent action of mine 1 do ab- 
 
212 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 solutely deny ; and equally positively do I affirm, 
 that there is no person following me who is actu- 
 ated by reprehensible motives. If it were the 
 person Col. Ross hints at, he is incapable of the 
 designs the Colonel imputes to him." 
 
 *' Good heavens ! what strange infatuation can 
 induce you to espouse this man's cause?" 
 
 Colonel Ross now returned, and Lady Maria 
 was silent, but he immediately resumed the 
 subject. 
 
 *' I have made arrangements," said he, *' for our 
 proceeding immediately. I will take care there 
 shall be no more appointments made here at any 
 rate; and when we arrive at the Abbey I shall 
 secure you such apartments as will prevent the 
 possibility of midnight assignations." 
 
 Fanny's indignation again rose at this insult: — 
 
 " I cannot express," said she, " the astonish- 
 ment that has seized me, to find such a palpable 
 falsehood imputed to me. I solemnly declare 
 that I conversed with no man from my window ; 
 had made appointment with no man ; and there- 
 fore cannot possibly deserve your allegations 
 against me." 
 
 " Good heavens," exclaimed the Colonel, strik- 
 ing his hands together with well-feigned astonish- 
 ment, " 1 did not think you were capable of such 
 duplicity. Surely, Miss Fanny, you will not tell 
 me that I did not hear you speaking to a man from 
 your window ? That I did not hear the man de- 
 clare the most ardent passion for you, and swear 
 that no other should ever possess you and live? 
 You will not have the effrontery to deny that.'' 
 . Fanny was thunderstruck to hear the very words 
 repeated by the Colonel, which he had himself 
 made use of to her, and which she supposed he 
 would have trembled to find remembered, turned 
 as an accusation against Iierself. 
 
 " Vi was an audacity iu villainy too mighty for 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 213 
 
 her to cope with ; she could only lift her hands 
 and eyes in silent w^onder. 
 
 " 1 know," continued the Colonel, " the fellow 
 that is taking such pains to follow you ; it is the man 
 who made acquaintance with you in Hyde Park." 
 
 "That gentleman," said Fanny, " is Mr. Hamil- 
 ton, and as much distinguished for his politeness 
 as his riches." 
 
 *' The person who imposes himself upon you for 
 Mr. Hamilton, is not that gentleman," said the 
 Colonel, " he only resembles him in person." 
 
 *' As I am acquainted with only one Mr. Hamil- 
 ton," replied Fanny, " his resemblance to another 
 whom I never saw, could avail him nothing with 
 me." 
 
 " You seem inclined to vindicate your conduct, 
 rather than confess your error," said the Colonel, 
 sternly; " but I give you notice that your nocturnal 
 lover will be treated with the severity he deserves, 
 if he is found lurking about Pemberton Abbey." 
 
 " If the man who was so daring as to declare a 
 passion for me last night, in defiance to decency 
 and morality," said Fanny, " if he can be found, I 
 think he cannot be treated with more severity than 
 he deserves; or more contempt than I feel for him." 
 
 " 'Tis well," said the Colonel, his eyes flashing- 
 fury, " I am glad 1 know your sentiments, madam ; 
 you may depend upon it, I will act accordingly." 
 
 CHAPTER XXni. 
 
 Pe^nherion Abbey. 
 
 During the silent ride that ensued, Fanny's ideas 
 were occupied by the most painful reflections, the 
 most anxious uncertainty. 
 
 Col. Ross had spoken as if he were certain that 
 
 2 E 
 
214 FATHERLESS FANNY; OE, 
 
 he knew the person whose appearance for two 
 niglits had excited her curiosity; the figure had 
 seemed to her eye to resemble that of Mr. Hamil- 
 ton. He had promised to see her at the Abbey, 
 in the letter she had received from him before she 
 left London; but there appeared no probability that 
 he could have followed her steps with such exacti- 
 tude upon the road, as to rest every night at the 
 same spot, without being observed during the 
 day. 
 
 The field of conjecture is boundless ; and 
 Fanny's imagination wandered in it until it was 
 weary ; nor could it draw a single conclusion from 
 its researches, to rest upon after the fatiguing 
 exertion. 
 
 Towards the close of the day the turrets of Pem- 
 berton Abbey struck the eyes of the travellers as 
 they ascended a steep hill. 
 
 And an exclamation of pleasure burst involun- 
 tarily from the lips of Fanny, as she recognised 
 the spot where she had passed so many happy 
 days with her beloved Lady Ellincourt. 
 
 " You are a happy girl, Fanny," said Lady 
 Maria, smiling ; " your romantic admiration of 
 beautiful scenery seems to give you real delight." 
 
 " The sight of Pemberton Abbey," replied 
 Fanny, " brings the happiest moments of my life 
 to my remembrance; oh, if the dear lady I long- 
 to embrace, were there to receive me, what happi- 
 ness would be mine !" 
 
 " The scheme of happiness wouhl be incom- 
 plete,' said Col. Ross, with a sneer, " unless the 
 Dear Lord weve there as well as the Dear Lady !" 
 
 " Most true," answered Fanny ; " Lord Ellin- 
 court is almost as dear to my heart as iiis amiable 
 mother. But for his goodness, I should never 
 have known that revered lady." 
 
 " You must take care now,'' said Colonel Ross, 
 "how you siifike such unequivocal confessions of 
 
T'HE LITTLE MENDICANT. 215. 
 
 loving his Lordship. Young Lady Ellincourt 
 may not like it." 
 
 " The love I bear Lord Ellincourt," replied 
 Fanny, blushing, "can never give otTence to any 
 body, and I am sure, least of all, to the sweet 
 lady yon allude to." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it is of such a nature," 
 replied Colonel Ross, sarcastically." 
 
 " Did every one consider the marriage vow as sa- 
 cred as Zdo," replied Fanny, " there would need 
 no caution against an infringement of its rights." 
 
 As she spoke her cheeks glowed with indigna- 
 tion, and she cast a look of disdain at Colonel 
 Ross that cnt him to the soul. 
 
 Lady Maria seemed lost in astonishment as she 
 listened in silence, to the dispute between her 
 husband and Fanny ; some secret motives must 
 actuate both ; but what it could be, remained 
 impervious to the good-natured Lady Maria. 
 
 And at length the arrival of the carriage at 
 Pemberton Abbey, *put a stop to conjecture and 
 resentment. 
 
 Fanny's mind could now admit but one subject, 
 and her greatest pleasure consisted in wandering 
 through the forsaken chambers, gazing alternately 
 on a picture of Lord Ellincourt, that was over 
 the chimney in the dressing-room, and another of 
 his mother, which hung in the adjoining bed-room. 
 
 " Dear shades of my distant protectors !" ex- 
 claimed she, apostrophising the portraits, " why 
 can ye not now assist the forlorn object of your 
 solicitude? but why do I call myself forlorn? 
 Am I not under the protection of heaven? Can 
 any power, however mighty, prevail against the 
 arm of Omnipotence? And He whose watchful 
 eye marks even a sparrow fall, will not suffer 
 innocence to trust in vain !" 
 
 With thoughts such as these did the artless Fanny 
 endeavour lo soothe her perturbed mind, and 
 
2i<5 FATKERLESS FANNY t OR, 
 
 by jDlucing a confidence in heaven, she soon found 
 her terrors subside, and that peace which the 
 world can neither give nor takeaway, became the 
 innate of her heart. 
 
 **»»*t»»»rr*Hf*r*t^r*r*****t^»****»*»r*r**»r**»r***»r» 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Painful Suspense. 
 
 It is time nov/ to return to Miss Stanhope and 
 the Duke of Albemarle, for whose nuptials every 
 preparation went on with the«utmost celerity. 
 
 To have seen Amelia in the midst of the crowd 
 of milliners, dress-makers, jewellers, &c. &c. that 
 daily surrounded her, giving orders for the vari- 
 ous articles of finery necessary to render her bridal 
 pomp complete, nobody would have imagined that 
 she was determined never to fulfil the contract for 
 which she was preparing ; indeed, that she had al- 
 ready put it out of her power to do so. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the anxiety of mind 
 which the Duke of Albemarle suffered during the 
 continuance of this suspense; for, notwithstanding 
 Miss Stanhope's promises to render the scheme of 
 the marriage abortive, and her injunction to him to 
 rely implicitly upon her faith, he could not divesl 
 liimself wholly of doubt and distrust; and he would 
 most assuredly have disclosed the truth to his un- 
 cle, had his own safety alone been endangered by 
 so doing. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 217 
 
 The Unke of Albemarle was naturally open and 
 candid, and the part so full of duplicity whicii he 
 had undertaken, pained him exceedingly. 
 
 Conversing one day with Lord Somertown, on 
 the subject of his approaching marriage, with 
 Miss Stanhope, he became suddeidy perplexed; 
 his colour heightened, and his hesitating accents 
 betrayed the perturbation of his breast. His uncle 
 perceiving his confusion, and attributing it to his 
 reluctance to marry Miss Stanhope, although he 
 did not suspect his nephew of an intention to de- 
 ceive him, he regarded him with a stern look, and 
 speaking in that under tone which is so expressive 
 of deliberate malice, he said, "Whatever may be 
 your thoughts, Henry, on the union I have deci- 
 ded upon, tell them not to me ^ and beware how 
 your actions betray a design to oppose my wishes. 
 You are in the toil of the fowler, and cannot es- 
 cape the mashes that enclose you. You will per- 
 haps tell me, you despise poverty, and are fearless 
 of my displeasiire. Bjit answer me, boy, can you 
 brave death.' Not your own death, but the ex- 
 tinction of that painted butterfly you doat upon?" 
 The Duke involuntarily shuddered. "Yes," 
 continued Lord Somertown, " that insect is 
 in my power, and 1 tell you she dies, in- 
 stantly dies, should any act of disobedience on 
 your part call down ray vengeance upon her. I 
 now leave you to your own decision. One step, 
 one single step of your's will hurl your minion to 
 destruction !'* 
 
 Lord Somertown did not wait for the Duke's 
 answer, but instantly quitting the room, left hitn 
 to the Qieditations his horrible speech had ex- 
 cited. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the Duke's feelings 
 scarcely, indeed, could he analize them himself, 
 such a mixture were they of anger and appre- 
 hensioii, indignation and angui&h ; like a lion 
 
218 FATHERLESS fanny: OR, 
 
 Struggling in the toils of the hunter, his rage could 
 only be equalled by his grief at the total subver- 
 sion of his power. 
 
 In reejard to Lord Somertown's assertion, that he 
 held Fanny in his power, the Duke, however, 
 flattered himself that it was made only with a view 
 to alarm him. The protection of Lady Maria 
 Ross, he judged, was too respectable to admit any 
 doubt of her actual safety, at least, for the present, 
 but he knew the cruel vindictive temper of his 
 uncle too well to doubt that he would tind some 
 mode of revenging himself upon that hapless girl 
 at some future opportunity, should any action of 
 his nephew's seem to authorise the proceeding. 
 Thus circumstanced, the Duke was under the ne- 
 cessity of committing himself to the guidance of 
 Amelia, and to await in trembling expectation the 
 result of her scheme for dissolving the union, ft 
 was equally necessary that he should assume such 
 an appearance of tranquillity as was very foreign to 
 the feelings of his heart, but which was indispensi- 
 ble if he hoped to impose upon his uncle. 
 
 Thetime,however,approached with rapid strides, 
 and no action of Miss Stanhope's seemed to au- 
 thorise the hopes she had given. 
 
 A thousand doubts disturbed the mind of her 
 appointed bridegroom, who suffered without dar- 
 ing to complain. Shesav/, but took no notice of his 
 sufferings, without it was to add to them by some 
 little flippancy, some question relative to a future 
 arrangement that was made with such an air of 
 seriousness as never failed to give added poignancy 
 to his already irritated feelings. She would then 
 laugh at his * doleful looks, ^ as she called the 
 appearance of anguish, that in spite of his best ef- 
 forts would steal over his features whilst suffering 
 under the tortures ot prolonged suspense. 
 
 '* Your Grace gives me but a melancholy pros- 
 pect," said she one day, " when I try to peep over 
 
THTs LITTLE MENDICANT. 219 
 
 llie matrimonial pale, by picturing to myself the fe« 
 licity of our itViture conjugal tete-ate-tes. That long 
 face of yours would make an excellent model for a 
 bust of Trophonias. I dare say a week of your 
 company will have as good an effect upon my viva- 
 city, as a visit of the same length to the cave of 
 that laughter-quelling gentleman. Depend upon 
 it, I shall never even smile again after the holy 
 noose is tied ; so excuse me for making the best 
 of my time now." And away ran the giddy girl, 
 laughing at the poor Duke's distress in the most 
 unmerciful manner. 
 
 At the signing of the marriage articles the 
 Duke of Albemarle expected that Amelia would 
 make the promised declaration of her aversion to the 
 proposed marriage ; but to his unspeakable disap- 
 pointment and surprise. Miss Stanhopeappeared in 
 more than usual spirits on the occasion, and in- 
 troduced a gentleman to witness the deed by his 
 signature, to whom she said, she had promised 
 that honour in a frolic, one day, and who 
 now claimed the fulfilment of her promise with an 
 earnestness she could not repress. Her guardian 
 and Lord Somertown yielded to what they sup- 
 posed a giddy whim, and Sir Everard Mornington, 
 (for he was the gentleman,) wrote his name where 
 the lawyers directed him; nor did the Duke of 
 Albemarle perceive any irregularity in the placing 
 of the other names, although his Grace appeared 
 to be poring over the fatal instrument longer than 
 any other person present. 
 
 I will not pretend to describe what were his 
 feelings when twelve o'clock the next day was 
 fixed upon for his nuptials; nor attempt to deli- 
 neate the agonised expression of his features when 
 as he was leading Miss Stanhope into the draw- 
 ing room, after the signature of the articles, she 
 said in a half whisper, " I have succeeded even 
 beyond my hopes ; my happiness is now insured; 
 
220 FATHEB LESS fanny: OR, 
 
 rikI I hope to-morrow will. appear to your Grace 
 as it does to me, the harbinger of love and joy." 
 
 The Duke endeavoured to make aii answer, 
 but the words died upon his lips, for as he looked 
 up, he perceived his uncle observing him with fury 
 sparkling in his eyes, and as he passed him, ut- 
 tered these words in an under voice, " I see your 
 reluctance, your uns^rateful deliiiquency ; but be- 
 ware, remember you are passing sentence upon 
 your minion." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The Nuptials. 
 
 After a sleepless night, the morning broke upon 
 the Duke of Albemarle ; no hint had been giveii 
 him, by the merciless Amelia, (o cheer his flag- 
 ging spirits, and he now began to think himself 
 the dupe of a mean artifice. " Siie saw my re- 
 luctance to marry her," said he, mentally, "and 
 fearful least my repugnance should surmount 
 every other consideration, and induce me to de- 
 clare my sentiments to Lord Somertown ; she lias 
 stooped to the meanest of disguise to entrap me 
 securely. The ducal coronet has greater charms 
 in her eyes than honour or integrity. And shall 
 1 marry such a woman? no! every feeling of my 
 soul recoils from the bare idea. How can J listen 
 to the awful exhortation at the communion of the 
 
'''^'^Ki^i. r;^«^ iiu't'^'' 
 
 CKE OF Al.Bi'',3IAHi;i': 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 221 
 
 sacred ceremony ? As he shall answer at the great 
 Day of Judgment ! Can I listen, 1 say, and then 
 consent to rush on wilhil perjury ? Impossible ! If, 
 indeed, I am driven to that extremity, I will throw 
 off the disguise that so ill conceals n)y feelings, even 
 at the foot of the altar. But, alas ! wljat do I rave 
 at? Lord Somertown will then wreak his ven- 
 geance upon the lovely object of my affection, and 
 transfix my heart with a far keener shaft than any 
 suffering inflicted on me alone. Yet surely I shall 
 have time enough to warn her of danger ere it 
 can reach her." 
 
 With thoughts like these was the mind of the 
 unhappy lover perplexed ; and so absent was he to 
 every thing relating to the business of the morning, 
 that he made the. whole party wait above half an 
 hour, by neglecting to dress himself in time. 
 When he arrived at Lord Petersfield's where the 
 ceremony was to be performed, he found all the 
 company assembled, and received a severe rebuke 
 from Lord Somertown for his remissness.'' 
 
 ** Make the best apology you can to your bride," 
 said his Lordship, '^'shec'eserves it of you, for she 
 has borne your neglect with unparallelled good 
 humour." 
 
 The Duke advanced to take Miss Stanhope's 
 hand, who stooping forward, said in a low voice 
 whilst an arch smile played on her lips : — 
 
 " For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 
 '* Was to wed the fair Ellen of young Lochinvar." 
 
 The Duke paid but little attention toher words, 
 however, for his whole frame shook with agony, 
 when he saw the Bishop of P , who was wait- 
 ing to perform the ceremony, open his b(3ok, and 
 heard his voice, reading the awful exhortation just 
 now alluded to. A inist seemed to cover his eyes, 
 ^nd a sickness seized his heart ; for Amelia stood 
 
 2 i' 
 
2f2 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 passively, and seemingly assenting to the compli- 
 ance of the sacrifice. When, however, the Bishop 
 made a little pause, at the end of the solemn ex- 
 ordium, Amelia stepped forward. 
 
 ** Stop/' said she, " that awful appeal to my since- 
 ritydemands a seriousanswer — you exhort me not 
 to conceal any impediment that may forbid my 
 union'with Henry Fierrepoint, Duke of Albemarle, 
 and I know one that is insurmountable." 
 
 Tlie whole company were struck with astonish- 
 ment, the Duke's countenance brightened, but 
 Lord Somertown clapping his hands together, ex- 
 claimed, " Some infernal plot has been hatching, 
 but beware, boy, how you trifle with me/" 
 
 The Bishop commanded silence by waving his 
 hand, and then addressed Miss Stanhope. 
 
 *' This is a strange time, Madam," said he, in 
 an impressive tone, "to start objections to an union 
 to which you have hitherto appeared to assent ; and 
 let me tell you, with the candour that becomes my 
 holy function, that you have been guilty of great 
 levity, in suffering matters to go so far before you 
 make known your objections to the marriage, we 
 are all met here to see solemnized. It is, never- 
 theless, necessary those objections should be 
 known ; I request therefore to hear them/' 
 
 *' I entreat your lordship not to censure my con- 
 duct," said Amelia, "under the impression, that 
 levity induced me to act as I have done, since I can 
 solemnly assure you, that I acted from a far better 
 motive ; the marriage which was to be cemented be- 
 tween the Duke.of Albemarle and me,, was an union 
 of interest, projected by our friends, without con- 
 sulting our inclinations, and from the first moment 
 I wasinfqrmed of the circumstance, i determined 
 that it should never take place. Un-til very lately, 
 I iraa<;ined that my fortune would be the forfeit of 
 my disobedience : but I have lately been better in- 
 formed, and I determined to be revengetl of Lord 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 223 
 
 Somertown for the artifice he had used to deceive 
 me, by deceiving him in my turn, and making h\in 
 come to my wedding without marrying his nejjhew : 
 I ielt perfectly satisfied that the Dnke would feel 
 no disappointment in losing me, and, therefore, I 
 have kept him in ignorance until this moment, for 
 he believed, when he took my hand just now, that 
 it was my intention to marry him. That, however, 
 is no longer in my powder, as I was married this 
 morning to Sir Everard Mornington, the banns 
 were regularly published, and we have been le- 
 gally married at our parish church, as that certi- 
 ficate will shew," producing one as she spoke. 
 
 ** One thing, how^ever,'' said Lord Somertown^ 
 interrupting Amelia, "one thing, however, your sa- 
 gacity has overlooked, the signature of the mar- 
 riage articles, will at least entitle Henry to half 
 your fortune, madam.^' 
 
 "No, my Lord,'' replied Amelia, "it is your 
 Lordship's sagacity that was faulty there, the mar- 
 riage articles that were signed yesterday, were 
 made in Sir Everard Mornington's name, the sig- 
 natures were duly placed, and the deeds sealed 
 and executed in your Lordship's presence, and ra- 
 tified by your Lordship's sign manual, secure tohim 
 and his heirs for ever, the same proportion of my 
 fortune as would have belonged to the Duke of 
 Albemarle, had the v^ritings been drawn up in his 
 Grace's name.'' 
 
 Lord Somertown stamped his foot in a paroxism 
 cf rage. The Bishop again waved his hand to stop 
 the torrent of passion, which he saw ready to burst 
 from the lips of the angry nobleman. 
 
 "I repeal," said the reverend Prelate, " that it 
 was extremely reprehensible, to defer this explana- 
 tion until now, nor have you yet adducetl anything 
 in your argument to acquit you of the levity I cen- 
 sure; surely, Madam, this'declaration might as 
 well have been made at the signature of the arti- 
 cles, as at this moment.'* 
 
224 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 " No, my Lord," replied Amelia, ** I was then a 
 minor ^ and some effectual step would have been 
 taken to prevent what I have now accomplished ; 
 I am oiage to-day, and the first act of my majority 
 was to bestow ray hand where my heart was alrea- 
 dy: I could not vi'\i\\ prudence venture on an expls^ 
 nation sooner, nor could I consistent with truth de- 
 fer it any longer ; I shall now take my leave of this 
 kind assembly, avIio having met expressly to cele- 
 brate my nuptials, cannot surely refuse their con- 
 gratulation on their happy com4)letion, so much to 
 my own satisfaction; myhushand'\B waiting for me 
 in a carriage at the door, I particularly requested 
 him not to enter the house, as I feared some alter- 
 cation might take place in the first heat of resent- 
 ment, which on cooler reflection, will, I am sure, 
 be deemed useless and ridiculous, even by Lord 
 Somertown himself." 
 
 *• Lord Somertown," replied that angry noble- 
 man, ** will not be so easily appeased as you may 
 imagine, Madam, he will find an opportunity of 
 calling to an account the dastardy incendiary, 
 whose cowardice is now sheltered by the audacity 
 of his wife" 
 
 ** Nay, never threaten, my good Lord,*' replied 
 Amelia, smiling contemptuously, " if you meddle 
 with S\x Everard, you will find him no coward, the 
 disparity of your ages will insure your own safety, 
 for he would not lift his hand against an old man ; 
 but take care how you attempt any 6rai?o expedition 
 against him, you may not be so fortunate as your fa- 
 ther was, in the Kensington Gardens off-air, Lord 
 Durham fell without investigation of the cause of 
 his death, by those who had a right to make it; 
 but suspicion with her thousand tongues has whis- 
 pered dreadful things;** come, continued she, turn- 
 ing to the Duke, and offering her hand to him with 
 a smile, *' you may safely receive this now, so lead 
 me gallantly down stairs; then turning to the com- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 225 
 
 pan y, she repeated the last lines of Lady Heron'a 
 song ;— 
 
 " She is won, we are gone over, 
 
 *' Tkeij have fleet steeds that follow, cried young Lochinvar." 
 
 '; The Dukemechanically took the proffered hand, 
 and led the intrepid Amelia to the carriage that 
 waited for her, whilst the group she had left be- 
 hind her stood looking upon each other in speech- 
 less astonishment, 
 
 " Athousand blessings attend you, lovely Ame- 
 lia," said the Dnke, as he assisted Lady Morning- 
 ton to ascend the dashing vehicle, " a thousand 
 blessings attend you, and may you be as happy as 
 you have made me." 
 
 ** Thank you, thank you," replied she, smiling, 
 *• I am glad you are in a good humour with me 
 again ; for you have looked so husband-like for this 
 fortnight past, that you made me hesitate whether 
 I should become a wife or not." 
 
 Sir Everard Mornington received his lovely 
 bride with rapture, and bowing to the Duke, the 
 gay barouche, with four beautiful grey horses, 
 dashed off in the true style of prime driving, and 
 the Duke returned to the party above stairs. 
 
 " You are xevy humble to your jilt of a mistress, 
 Henry," said Lord Somertown to his nephew, "for 
 my part I would sooner have kicked than handed 
 her down stairs, she carries things with a high 
 hand just now, but I will see whether there is not 
 some redress to be obtained for the insults she has 
 offered me. There is a great deal of connivance 
 in the whole affair," added he, glancing a look of 
 displeasure at the Marquis of Petersfield, " but I 
 hadnorightto expect any thing else from a Trent- 
 ham ; the Marquis was ti weak man, and had al- 
 ways felt afraid of Lord Somertown, he therefore 
 
226 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 attempted an explanation, but Lord Somertown re- 
 fused to listen to it, a!id ringing for his carriage, 
 he made a stiff bow to the company, and left the 
 house. As'he was quitting the room, he turned to 
 his nephew, and said, in a sarcastic tone, yon may 
 accompany me if yon please, but not unless you 
 feel inclined to do so ; perhaps it might be more 
 agreeable to you to stay here, and celebrate the 
 nuptials of the Amazonian fury, wlio has just 
 jilted you." 
 
 The Duke made no answer to this angry speech, 
 except by following his uncle down stairs. Dur- 
 ing the whole of their drive home, neither party 
 littered a syllable, and when they arrived in Han- 
 over Square, they retired to their respective apart- 
 ments. At dinner time, the Duke was astonished 
 to find his nncle in the most j)erfect good humour 
 possible, with not a cloud remaining upon his 
 countenance. As soon as tlie cloth was removed, 
 and the servants withdrawn. Lord Somertown told 
 his nephew, that he had been weighing matters in 
 his own mind, and upon mature consideration, he 
 did not see that cause for regret, in the loss of 
 Miss Stanhope, which he was at first inclined to 
 indulge in: " Her fortune, ample as it is, would 
 not be an equivalent," said he, " for the torment 
 of being married to such a virago : by heavens, [ 
 am glad yon have escaped her, tlenry ; 1 never 
 was so disgusted with any woman before: I like 
 none of her worthless sex, but 1 hate her. Now 
 tell me, honestly, are you not glad she has served 
 you this trick ?" 
 
 " I am certainly not sorrt^," answered the Duke, 
 *' because my heart being engaged to another, 
 Miss Stanhope's merits are lost upon me!' 
 
 ** It is, indeed, a pity any one should be blind to 
 her superlative merits,"answered Lord Somertown. 
 '* 1 hope the coachman baronet she has married, 
 ^\\\\ be sensible of her worth, and make her seii'^ 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 227 
 
 sihlc of his, — He will not do her justice, if he 
 spares his horsewhip, hut she is beneatl. my notice j 
 1 intend her out? mortiticalion,and then I shall have 
 done with her; I know nothing will vex her equal 
 to your marrying directly, her vanity would be gra- 
 tified, by having- it supposed, that you were dying 
 of pique at her cruelty ; I will therefore give my 
 consent to your marrying that pretty girl whose 
 charms made such an impression upon you whilst 
 she was in town, 1 mean Fanny, tiie name- 
 less beauty. You seem thunderstruck ; what, 
 don't you understand me?'* 
 
 " I am indeed astonished," answered the Duke, 
 " at such a sudden revolution, in your Lordship's 
 opinion." 
 
 ** Well then, you may suspend your astonish- 
 ment, and prepare to set out for Pemberton Abbey 
 next week, do not defer it any longer, lest Hamilton 
 should forestall you there, as Sir Everard JVIor- 
 nington has done here. I understand he has gone 
 down after her ; but you know, I suppose, whether 
 the girl is inclined to favour your suit in preference 
 to his; if she is, you have »wy leave to address her; 
 does the booby understand me ? you look as if you 
 had lost your powers of comprehension." 
 
 *' I am indeed so wonderstruck," replied the 
 "Duke, " that 1 cau hardly trust the evidence of 
 my senses." 
 
 " Are you willing that it should be as I say ?" 
 asked Lord Somertown. 
 
 ** Most assuredly I am,'* answered the Duke, 
 "but feel afraid to indulge in the hopes your 
 Lordship has awakened, lest they should lead to 
 disappointment," 
 
 " Nay, then, if that be all, fear nothing," rejoin- 
 ed Lord Somertown, "you ought to know me by 
 this time, that what 1 promise I generally perform. 
 Set out, therefore, to-morrow, for Pemberton Ab- 
 bey, and if Hamilton has not yet married the girl, 
 
228 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 take her for your wife; you have my consent, I tell 
 you, but let me hear nothing further now upon the 
 silly subject." 
 
 The Duke was going to reply, but Lord So- 
 mertown's eye reproved him, and he merely 
 bowed, and left the room. He retired to his 
 own apartment, and rang for his servant to give 
 orders respecting his intended journey, which he 
 determined to commence the first day of the en- 
 suing week. Yet still amidst preparations that 
 seemed calculated to fill his heart with joy, a 
 strange presentiment of evil intruded itself upon 
 his mind. This newly-adopted scheme of his 
 uncle's was .so sudden, that he could not help 
 fearing some deep design was concealed beneatli 
 the^,specious covering of pretended indulgence. 
 Full well did he know, that a wish to give plea- 
 sure had never yet pervaded his uncle's heart. 
 He was sure, therefore, that he must have some 
 malicious end in view, in consenting to his ad- 
 dressing Fanny; and he feared, that of mortifying 
 Amelia was not a motive sufficiently strong to in- 
 duce him to take the step he had done. But al- 
 though the Duke's mind was thus harrassed by 
 conjectures the most painful, he was obliged to 
 act asif satisfied that Lord Somertown's intentions 
 towards him, were actuated by the purest bene- 
 volence. 
 
 To these conjectures we will now leave him, 
 and return to Pemberton Abbey, where we left 
 poor Fanny apostrophising the senseless shades of 
 her distant friends, and vainly calling upon them 
 (or that assistance she wanted. 
 
THE LITTLK MENDICANT. 229 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A Father. 
 
 One night, when Fanny was retiring to rest, she 
 found a sealed note upon her toilet, superscribed 
 to herself; surprise, and something like fear, 
 seized her mind as with trembling hand she broke 
 the seal of this mysterious address; for, mysteri- 
 ous it must appear, that a note should be left upon 
 her dressing table, in a place where she knew 
 nobody beyond the walls of the house she inha 
 bited. 
 
 On opening the paper she found it was from Mr. 
 Hamilton ; it contained the following words: — 
 
 " I have kept my word, and am now an inhabi- 
 tant of the house that contains you ; this assertion 
 startles yon, no doubt; but when we meet I will 
 explain the mystery to your satisfaction. I have 
 now no doubts remaining respecting who you are, 
 neither will you, when you hear the wonders 1 
 have to relate to you. 
 
 "Be not alarmed at my entering your chamber 
 to-morrow night, at twelve o*ch)ck, I shall then 
 conduct you to an old friend who will convince you 
 that you are indeed my daughter ; yes, beloved 
 Fanny, you have found a father in the man who 
 now uses the name of Hamilton /" 
 
 ** Merciful heaven !" exclaimed Fanny, lifting 
 
 2g 
 
230 FATHERLESS FANNY I OR, 
 
 up her hands, and dropping the note which had 
 excited such emotion in her heart. " Can it then 
 be that I have found a parent? All powerful na- 
 ture ! it was thy voice thai spoke within me, when 
 first I beheld the author of my being; it was thy 
 power that called forth my affliction witii such 
 irresistible force, and bid me love, before 1 knew 
 my father! 'Alas ! how shall J bear the agitation 
 that now harrows up my feelings for so many 
 hours as those that must intervene before the 
 time appointed for our meeting?" 
 
 Full of emotions such as these, poor Fanny 
 paced up and down her chamber, forgetful of the 
 warning night, and incapable of calming her per- 
 turbed imagination. Sometimes she felt such an 
 ecstacy of joy, that she could scarcely flatter herself 
 the picture her fancy drew of the happiness 
 awaiting her, could really be a true one. A doubt 
 would then obtrude itself, that perhaps this was 
 some artifice to ensnare her, and she recollected 
 with dismay, that Mr. Hamilton was a total stran- 
 ger to her, and that whatever might be the in- 
 stinctive affection she had felt for him, she had 
 yet no certain proof that he was worthy of the 
 confidence she must repose in him when she was 
 called upon to commit herself to his guidance at 
 Ihe dead hour of the night, and suffer him to lead 
 ner to some sequestered spot, impervious to the 
 (knowledge even of those who inhabited the same 
 house. 
 
 These were appalling reflections, yet could they 
 not subdue the impulse she felt to obey the sum- 
 mons, and learn her origin from the ]i[)s of a sol- 
 disant parent. 
 
 After several hours spent in the most painful 
 agitation, her wearied frame seemed ready to sink 
 under the combined powers of emotion and fa- 
 tigue, and unable any longer to bear up against 
 ib,t\v foicj^, Fj.uiiy threw herself dressed as sh<'^ 
 
THB LITTLE MENDICANT. 231 
 
 was upon her bed. A deep slumber soon sealed 
 her senses, and she awoke not until the sun had 
 been some titne risen. Her first thought, on start- 
 ing from her bed, was, to look for Mr. Hamilton's 
 note, which she recollected she had dropped from 
 her hand in the first moments of her astonishment, 
 at reading its mysterious contents. She wished to 
 re-peruse it, as she remci^bered the peculiar man- 
 ner in which the note concluded, where her father 
 said he now used the name of Hamilton ; imply- 
 ing that it was not the one that properly belonged 
 to him. 
 
 What Colonel Ross had said of his pretending 
 to be a gentleman, and his former assertion, that 
 he remembered his being tried for swindling, re- 
 curred to her remembrance, and helped to increase 
 her perplexity. As she sought for the note, her 
 eagerness to re-peruse it increased. What then 
 was her consternation and dismay, when having 
 spent about half an hour in the search, she M'as 
 obliged to yield to the conviction that the paper 
 was no where to be found. At first her terror was 
 excessive, as the loss was as unaccountable as it 
 was unfortunate. That the note had been con- 
 veyed out of her room during her sleep, was evi- 
 dent, but by whom, was a point it was impossible 
 to determine, and whoever was in possession of 
 that paper was master of the secret it contained. 
 When, however, Fanny reflected that the note 
 had been placed upon her table by an invisible 
 hand, she concluded that the same person had re- 
 sumed it whilst her sleep had enabled them to do 
 so unperceived. It was, however, an unplea- 
 sant circumstance to feel at the mercy of a being 
 who could enter her chamber at any hour they 
 pleased, and even without her knowledge. She 
 now recalled to mind the circumstance that oc- 
 curred the first time she spent the holidays at Pem- 
 berlon Abbey, when she had been awakened in 
 
232 FATHERLESS FANNY ! OR, 
 
 the night by the appearance of her Mamma Syd- 
 ney, at her bed-side. 
 
 The pains that had been taken to convince her 
 that the apparition was the creature of her own 
 imagination, or the effect of a dreaai, had never 
 been able to eradicate the impression it had made 
 upon her mind, and siie still retained the most per- 
 fect remembrance of the circumstance. She re- 
 collected, too, the mysterious way in which the 
 visiter disappeared, and the pains Lady Ellincourt 
 had been at to ascertain whether or no there was 
 any private entrance to the apartment Fanny slept 
 in; the result of the investigation had been a con- 
 viction that there was no such thing, and that 
 there was no communication from that room but 
 through the door that led to Lord Ellincourt's 
 apartment. The recent occurrence of the note 
 having been placed upon her table, and afterwards 
 removed by the same invisible hand, proved the 
 fallacy of Lady ElIincourt*s researches, and she 
 now felt convinced that her infantine ideas, re- 
 specting Pemberton Abbey being the place of her 
 earliest residence, were perfectly correct. These 
 reflections strengthened her reliance upon her 
 newly found parent ; and she longed for the ar- 
 rival of the important moment, which was to 
 reveal the secret of her birth, hitherto so darkly 
 enveloped in mystery. 
 
 The hour of breakfast now approached, and 
 Fanny repaired to her toilet to arrange her dress, 
 and to remove, as much as possible, the traces of 
 emotion and trouble which had been impressed 
 upon her countenance. She succeeded tolerably 
 well, and descended to the breakfast parlour with 
 a face dressed in smiles. 
 
 Lady Maria was already there, and as soon as 
 Fanny entered, she called out with a good hu- 
 moured laugh, " Great news ! important news in 
 the London Gazette !" 
 
THB LITTLE MENDICANT. 233 
 
 *♦ What news, dear Lady Maria ?'* asked Fanny, 
 eagerly. 
 
 *' Mis« Stanhope is married, and the town talks 
 of nothing else!" 
 
 Fanny's countenance fell instantly, as Lady 
 Maria tinished the sentence. " She is no longer 
 Miss Stanhope then," said she, " but the Dutchess 
 of Albemarle." 
 
 *'Oh, no," answered Lady Maria, " yon are not 
 at all in the secret; Amelia is married, but not to 
 the Duke, and there is the mighty wonder of the 
 story." Lady Maria then read from the newspaper 
 she held in her hand, the chief of those circum- 
 stances thai have already been related respecting 
 Amelia's coupde-main, the artifice of substituting 
 deeds drawn in Sir Everard Mornington's name for 
 the marriage articles, instead of those that had been 
 drawn up for the Duke, was particularly dwelt 
 upon by the newspaper wits, who styled Lady 
 Mornington Napoleon in petticoats ? 
 
 Fanny felt comparatively indifferent to any of 
 the particulars, but that which spoke of the rup- 
 ture of the contract between Amelia and theDuke; 
 that news was doubly welcome now, as her imagi- 
 nation had already been expatiating in the field of 
 probability, and fondly fancying that when her 
 birth was ascertained, it might be found such as 
 did not preclude the possibility of the union her 
 heart was most inclined to wish for. 
 
 Of Amelia's partiality for Sir Everard Morning- 
 ton, Fanny had been long convinced, and she re- 
 joiced that her friend's ingenuity had supplied her 
 with the means of so dexterously substituting the 
 man she did like, for the one for whom she had al- 
 ways expressed the most decided aversion. The 
 means had, indeed, been such as Fanny could not 
 haveadverted to; butthe contrast in the dispositions 
 of herself and her friend was striking in almost 
 every other particular, and therefore it way not 
 surprising that they differed in this. 
 
234 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 When Col. Ross came in to breakfast, he said, 
 " are there any letters this morning?" 
 ., " Oh dear," replied Lady Maria, " I declare I 
 was so taken up with the newspaper that I forgot 
 the letters ; here are several," added she " and 
 amongst them two for you, Fanny/* 
 
 When Fanny took the letters into her hand, she 
 recognized the writing of her beloved Lady Ellin- 
 court on the superscription of the first she looked 
 at. An exclamation of joy burst from her lips at 
 the welcome sight, and she retired to one of the 
 windows to peruse her treasure. What was her 
 rapture then on reading the following words: — 
 
 "I know you will rejoice, my beloved Fanny, to 
 hear that we shall soon embrace you. We have 
 taken our passage on board a ship of war, and are 
 waiting for a convoy. We shall, therefore, in all 
 probability, soon follow this letter; the distracted 
 state of this country renders a longer residence 
 here extremely dangerous. You may therefore 
 depend upon soon seeing us." 
 
 Fanny could read no farther, but running up to 
 Lady Maria, she put the letter into her hands, then 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " What is the matter, my dear,*' said Lady 
 Maria, in a tone of alarm. 
 
 *' Nothing but joy," replied Fanny, smiling 
 through her tears. " My best friends are return- 
 ing, 1 shall embrace them once more; 1 think all 
 happiness comes together." 
 
 As Fanny pronounced the last words. Colonel 
 Ross cast a penetrating glance towards her, 
 that confused her. 
 
 " Have you any other great cause for rejoic- 
 ing?" said he, *' 1 hope you rest your dependance 
 upon sure grounds." 
 
 Fanny made no reply, but opening her other let- 
 ter, she pretended to be deeply engaged with that. 
 It was from Lady Mornington, and written in her 
 
TJIB LITTLE MENDICANT. 235 
 
 accustomed style of giddiness. After recountinp; 
 the particulars of her manoeuvres, which are alrea- 
 dy known, she wrote as follows : — 
 
 " What does my dear Fanny think of my skill, 
 as a General ? Should you not suppose that I had 
 studied under the auspices of the little Corsican? 
 Indeed I am inclined to think I surpass h'lm in fi- 
 nesse ; and in stage effect my drama is unrivalled. 
 I always told you 1 meant to dramatize Lady 
 Heron*s song, and so I have you see; Sir Everard 
 made an excellent young Lochinvar, and he car- 
 ried me off in the true style of romance. A ba- 
 rouche was substituted for the steed, and that was 
 rather an improvement, as 1 should not have very 
 Well relished the being jumbled upon the crup- 
 per of a horse, like fair Ellen of Netherby, al- 
 tiiough 1 felt quite as much inclined to play the 
 heroine as she could ; and 1 must tell you who 
 played their part to the life, too, your friend, the 
 Duke of Albemarle, was quite at home in the 
 character of the ' Poor craven Bridegroom^ 
 for he literally said ' never a word.' And 
 although he could not stand ' dangling his bonnet 
 and pkune,' because he had not got one, he found 
 an excellent substitute in his watch, which he 
 took out about ten times in a minute, and consulted 
 with as much gravity as if he was feeling the pul- 
 ses of all the company. 1 believe if any body 
 could have done that kind office slily,they would 
 have found some symptoms oi fever mi'^o ov three 
 of the Bridal throng, poor Lord Somertown 
 in particular; I really thought the old fellow would 
 have beaten me. You never saw such a turkey- 
 cock in your life as he looked, when 1 made my 
 daring declaration ; andthegood Bishop, too, he 
 was preciously angry, and read me such a lecture 
 upon levity as would have done me good at 
 any other time; but you know the preaching pru- 
 dence to a person who was just married against 
 
236 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 her friends' consent, is like a physician prescribing 
 for a dead patient, i dare say poor Albemarle had 
 a sound drubbing when his old uncle got ihe child 
 home. By the bye, 1 think the Duke carries 
 his ideas of subordination a little too far, for he is 
 as much afraid of offending Lord SomertOMu, 
 as any school-boy of his pedagogue. I hope, 
 when you have him. you will teach him to be a 
 little more independt^nt; hut tameness is unfortu- 
 nately your failing as well as your lover's, and so I 
 am afraid you will make but a spiritless couple. 
 1 believe we must take compassion upon you, and 
 give you a few lessons in the science of indepen- 
 dence; Sir Everard and I are going to write a 
 book, in concert, and the title is to be * Nature 
 reversed : or, the Spirit of England.' 13y this 
 treatise we intend to emancipate the minds of our 
 readers from the silly trammels of prejudice and 
 custom ; and shew that children ought to com- 
 mand their parents, tutors, guardians, &c.; ser- 
 vants their masters, and wives their husbands; 
 nay, even the brute tribe will find their advantage 
 in this benevolent publication, as it will teach a 
 valuable method of training rats (a certain young 
 nobleman, i7 is said, has made this valuable disco- 
 very, that ratsfedupon live kittens andmWk area 
 match at close fighting/br the stoutest cat that 
 can hefound!!!j iok\\\ cats and thereby deliver 
 that injured part of the creation from the persecu- 
 tion they have hitherto groaned under. Don't you 
 long to read our learned labour? But, my dear, it 
 will take so long composing, revising, and cor- 
 recting, that you must wait longer than I fear you 
 will like. But, however, you shall not remain 
 uninstructed all that tedious period. We intend 
 passing the honey moon at tlws place, namely, 
 Mornington Park, in Lancashire, and in our way 
 from hence to London, we design ioJ'av)Our you 
 with a visit en passant, and then we shall see what 
 
THE LITTLE MBNDICA^NT. 237 
 
 we can make of you. I make no doubt you will 
 receive a visit from the Duke of Albemarle, long 
 before that time ; if you should, pray don't forget 
 to tell him, with my compliments, that I never saw 
 him look so animated, as when he blessed me and 
 thanked me at psLVting for running awa^yrom him. 
 Adieu." 
 
 Thus concluded this* giddy epistle, and Fanny 
 could not forbear laughing at her lively friend, 
 although her heart did not entirely acquit her of 
 the levity attributed to her conduct by the worthy 
 Prelate who had lectured her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 An Affecting Interview. ' 
 
 Fanny's anxiety to have the mystery of her birth 
 elucidated, made the day appear particularly tedi- 
 ous that intervened between her impatience and the 
 hourappointedby Mr. Hamiltonfor their nocturnal 
 meeting; yet, as the moment approached, she felt 
 dismayed, and almost unequal to the undertaking. 
 A thousand times was she on the point of making 
 Lady Maria her confidant, yet something withheld 
 her from doing so, although the secret trembled on 
 her lips. The idea of meeting a stranger alone, 
 at the dead hour of the night, and confiding her- 
 self to his guidance, to be led she knew not whi- 
 ther, had something truly terrific in it ; yet such was 
 No. 11. 2 H 
 
238 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 her eagerness to penetrate the mystery that invol- 
 ved her, and such her instinctive reliance upon 
 Mr. Hamilton's integrity, that she kept her reso- 
 lution of meeting him, notwithstanding the well- 
 grounded fears that assailed her. Her stifled emo- 
 tions, however, made her extremely absent, and 
 Colonel Ross remarked it several times in the 
 course of the day with some asperity. Once, in- 
 deed, he observed in a sarcastic tone, that Fanny 
 appeared as full of abstraction as if she were on 
 the eve of some important event. 
 
 " One would imagine," said he, " that yon were 
 going to be married ; pray is the Duke of Albe- 
 marle, or Mr. Hamilton, the happy object of your 
 contemplations ? Or is it your old friend, Lord 
 Ellincourt?" 
 
 " I have been thinking of them all in their 
 turn," replied Fanny, with a spirit that surprised 
 herself. 
 
 "A confession,*' exclaimed the Colonel, "and 
 pray," added he, drily, " if I may ask, who is your 
 nocturnal visiter? Is it either of the gentlemen 
 just alluded to?" 
 
 Fanny's confusion at this abrupt question was 
 extreme, and she was wholly at a loss for an an- 
 swer: at length, recovering herself in some de- 
 gree, she said, *' As I don't know what visiter you 
 allude to, I cannot satisfy your curiosity, Sir, as 
 to their identity." 
 
 "I perceive," replied the Colonel, " that yon 
 understand the art oi evasion ; but that is natural 
 to your sex. However, take my advice, if'you 
 will not answer my questions: beware how you 
 trust yourself to the mercy of a man of whom you 
 know nothing but the specious exterior; and re» 
 member that repentance treads close upon the heels 
 of imprudence." So saying, Col. Ross went out of 
 the room, and left Fanny to form what conjecture 
 she pleased, as to the extent of his information. 
 
TME LITTLE MENDICANT. 239 
 
 Somelimes she was ready to imagine that he 
 laiewof Mr. Hamilton's mysterious note ; butshe 
 instantly rejected the idea, because that note had 
 been but a short time in her own possession, and 
 must have been conveyed away by the same means 
 it had been brought thither. Some secret way of 
 entering her chamber was evidently possessed by 
 Mr. Hamilton, and with that it was impossible 
 Col. Koss could be acquainted. 
 
 At length the important hour arrived, and Fan- 
 ny retired to her apartment, and sat with a palpi- 
 tating heart, expecting her mysterious visitor. 
 The large clock over the stables had struck twelve 
 some time, and yet he did not appear. 
 
 As the moment seemed to approach, Fanny's 
 courage expired ; and to such a pitch of terror had 
 her perturbed imagination wrought itself, that she 
 was just on the point of flying to Lady Maria's 
 apartment for refuge from the appearance she now 
 dreaded, when a crackling noise behind her made 
 her start and turn round. A large looking glass 
 was fixed in the jam, between the window and the 
 chimney, its old fashioned frame curiously wrought, 
 forming the cornice of the compartment, appearing 
 to have been stationary in that spot ever since the 
 building of the house, as many of its rude orna- 
 ments corresponded exactly with the antique cor- 
 nice that bordered the ceiling. The part of the 
 wall where the glass was fixed, appeared perfectly 
 solid, not being covered like the other parts with 
 wainscoting. How great, then, was Fanny's as- 
 tonishment, when she saw the frame open like a 
 door, and Mr. Hamilton entering from the aper- 
 ture. He advanced towards her, and took her 
 trembling hand : 
 
 ' " Be not dismayed, my precious child,'* said he, 
 tenderly; "you are in the guardianship of your 
 best friend. I can allow for this terror, however, 
 it is very natural that your gentle nature should be 
 
FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 alaiinecl attheappearanceof amystery that involves 
 the approaches of your parent. But there is rea- 
 son for the caution, as you will readily allow 
 when you have heard my eventful story. Fear not 
 to trust yourself to my guidance. I will lead yon 
 to the friend of your infancy, and I doubt not that 
 her testimony will do away every remaining 
 doubt. 
 
 Fanny passed through the secret door in silence, 
 and her guide replaced and shut it with a spring; 
 then resuming the hand of the trembling girl, he 
 led her, without speaking, down a long flight of 
 narrow stairs, which terminated in a long passage, 
 so excessively low and narrow, that it was difficult, 
 in many parts, for Mr. Hamilton to pass ; but 
 Fanny's sylph-like form glided through its most 
 acute turnings with ease, whilst her agitated feel- 
 ings made her movement rapid as the wind. 
 
 At length a door opposed their progress; Mr. 
 Hamilton rapped threedistinct times, and presently 
 it was opened, and they entered a small apartment 
 through which they passed into one of larger di- 
 mensions, where there were two candles upon a 
 table. 
 
 Fanny now distinguished the face of the person 
 who had let them in, and to her unspeakable aston- 
 ishment beheld the long forgotten features of her 
 * Mamma Sydney.* 
 
 The old lady pressed the trembling Fanny to 
 her bosom and sobbed aloud. 
 
 *' And does my dear child recollect me at last?" 
 said she. " Yes, 1 perceive you do; those intelli- 
 gent eyes beam upon me with all your mother's 
 sweetness." 
 
 " But you look terrified, my love," added the 
 old lady in a tone of tender concern. " This agi- 
 tation is too much for the dear child, Orlando," 
 turning to Mr. Hamilton ; '* let her rest herself a 
 little, before we ask her any questions." 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 241 
 
 Fanny now seated herself on a chair, between 
 Mr. Hamilton and her Mamma Sydney, and yield- 
 ing to the emotions that oppressed her almost to 
 suffocation, she burst into tears. Her two friends 
 suffered her to weep, without interruption, until 
 the violence of her feelings gradually subsided. 
 
 The old lady then began to interrogate Fanny as 
 to her recollection of herself, and those who sur- 
 rounded her, prior to her being placed at Miss 
 Bridewell's. 
 
 Fanny related what she had before said to 
 Lady Ellincourt, the first moment of her visiting 
 Pemberton Abbey, about her Mamma Sydney, 
 whose image was so forcibly recalled to her re- 
 membrance by the apartments she had been wont 
 to inhabit with her. She mentioned, too, her ter- 
 ror at seeing her Mamma Sydney in the middle of 
 the night, whilst sleeping near Lady Ellincourt, in 
 the very sameapartment she now inhabited, and de- 
 scribed the pains Lady Ellincourt took to ascer- 
 tain whether there was any secret entrance to the 
 room, concealed in the wainscoting, and the result 
 of that investigation. " 1 have often tried, since 
 that period," said Fanny, "to persuade myself 
 that my terror had proceeded from a dream, but al- 
 ways found it impossible to divest my mind of the 
 certainty that impressed it, of my having seen you, 
 madam. Lady Ellincourt was so thoroughly con- 
 vinced, from the examination of the apartment, that 
 nobody cowWenter it, excepting through her room, 
 that she always treats my account of your appear- 
 ance as the efFectof fancy, aided by a dream. How 
 often have the conjectures arising from ray reflec- 
 tions upon that puzzling subject, beguiled me of 
 my rest ; and I have been at times, almost tempted 
 to believe, that what I had beheld was a superna- 
 tural being/' 
 
 " The mystery is now cleared up," replied the 
 old lady, '•' as far as relates to the apparition ; for 
 
242 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 I indeed appeared to you, and pressed your rosy 
 cheek with my lips, before you was conscious of my 
 approach ; — that imprudent action awakened you; 
 and the shrieks you uttered imparted the terror 1 
 had occasioned you to my own heart." 
 ^ ** But, tell me, dear and honoured Madam," in- 
 terrupted Fanny, with a look of earnest supplica- 
 tion, "Oh, tell me who you are, and give ease to 
 my agitated heart, by informing me who I belong 
 to:" and as she spoke, she turned her expressive 
 eyes, swimming in tears, upon Mr. Hamilton. 
 
 He arose, and taking her in his arms — "My 
 Emily ! my murdered Emily !" exclaimed he, press- 
 ing the weeping girl to his bosom ; '* yes, thou art, 
 indeed, my daughter ! every feature in that lovely 
 face recalls thy sainted mother.*' 
 
 " I have then no mother /" faintly articulated 
 Fanny, then drooping on her knees at the feet of 
 her newly found father, she clasped her hands 
 together, and raising her streaming eyes to his face, 
 she exclaimed, " receive, then, most honoured of 
 human beings, the homage of an affectionate heart, 
 that has long panted to embrace its parents. I have 
 only one ! Oh, let me then bestow on that one, the 
 duty and affection due to both." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton raised the lovely girl and embraced 
 her. *' What a moment is this !" said he. " Me- 
 thinks I hold my Emily once more to my bleeding 
 heart! And so I do : for although you, my child, 
 are not named after your unfortunate mother, it is 
 impossible to behold you, and not be struck with 
 your resemblance to her. The name of Fanny was 
 given you in preference to Emily, the better to 
 conceal you from your cruel persecutors. Jt has 
 had the desired effect; and my child is preserved 
 to bless her doating father; and I shall yet see her 
 assert a right to the rank of her ancestors, and rise 
 superior to the malice of her enemies. But time 
 Avears, and I forget that my child is anxious to 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 243 
 
 know theelucidation of the mystery that now veils 
 her birth: — the story is mournful; but slie for 
 whose sake your tender heart will weep at the re- 
 cital, has long ceased to suffer, and we must look 
 for her in the realms of bliss, not in this dreary vale 
 of sorrow and disappointment. Keep this in mind, 
 my love, and let it soften the anguish your filial 
 tenderness must inflict upon you, during the recital 
 of the tale of woe : — 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A Mournful Story. 
 
 " My mother was the sole heiress to an immense 
 fortune, with the title and estatesof a Dukedom en- 
 tailed upon her eldest son. Her mother was sister 
 to Lord Somertown; audit was always the design 
 of thatavaraciousand vindictive nobleman to unite 
 his son to my mother. She was accordingly kept 
 very much secluded in the early part of her life, 
 to prevent her forming any attachment before Lord 
 Sheldon returned from his travels. This very pre- 
 caution, however, was the occasion of her doing so • 
 for in the retirement she lived in with her gover- 
 ness, she became acquainted with my father, who 
 
 was then just inducted into the living of D , 
 
 the village adjacent to Canington Park, the seat 
 where my mother resided. 
 
244 FATHERLESS fanny; OR, 
 
 " Whether the governess countenanced the at- 
 tachment, I cannot tell; but be that as it may, the 
 consequence was a clandestine marriage, and when 
 Lord Sheldon came home to claim his bride, she 
 confessed herself already the wife of another. 
 
 " It is impossible to describe the rage and fury 
 of Lord Somertown, when informed of his niece's 
 delinquency. He vowed ihe most unrelenting ven- 
 geance, and immediately took every step to punish 
 Mr. Evelyn, her unfortunate husband, and distress 
 Lady Lucy, that was my mother's name. A pro- 
 cess was commenced against him in the Court of 
 Chancery, for stealing an heiress ; and although, by 
 the testimony of my mother, it was proved beyond 
 a doubt that the act was entirely her own, and his 
 life thereby preserved ; yet the expences incurred 
 by the law-suit ill agreeing with his narrow cir- 
 cumstances, he was thrown into prison, where he 
 languished the remaining years of my mother's mi- 
 nority. Nor was her confinement less rigid than 
 her husband's, as she was kept a close prisoner by 
 her inexorable guardian, and every motion strictly 
 watched, lest she should convey any assistance to 
 my father. 
 
 *' My birth, which happened a few months after 
 the discovery of the fatal secret, increased my 
 mother's distress; and the terror lest I should fall 
 into the merciless hands of her uncle, nearly proved 
 fatal to her during her lying-in. I escaped the jaws 
 of the lion, and was conveyed by a faithful servant 
 of my mother's to a safe asylum. 
 
 " My father had a sister who was married to a 
 Mr. Hamilton, but who, together with her husband 
 was abroad at this trying moment. To her my fa- 
 ther had written an account of every thing relating 
 to his unhappy marriage, excepting his pecuniary 
 embarrassments ; a gaol being preferable in his 
 eyes to the idea of dependance. His pathetic des- 
 cription of Lady Lucy's situation, and his account 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 245 
 
 of Lord Somertown*s cruelty, alarmed his sister, 
 and she wrote immediately to a friend she could re- 
 ly upon, and desired her to find means to inform 
 my mother that there was a friend, she might safe- 
 ly trust, ready to receive her child, should she wish 
 to place it out of the reach of her cruel uncle. 
 
 " My mother most thankfully embraced the of- 
 fer; and I was accordmgly torn from my weeping 
 parent's bosom, and conveyed to the asylum that 
 had been prepared for me. 
 
 " Lord Somerto wn was outrageous when he found 
 his victim had escaped him ; and he spared no pains 
 nor expense to find out my retreat. In this, how- 
 ever, he was disappointed, for my watchful friend 
 had me conveyed to my aunt, at Jamaica, as soon 
 as my tender age admitted of ray undertaking such 
 a journey. There I remained until my mother came 
 of age, at which period she effected her escape from 
 the confinement in which she had been kept up- 
 wards of four years. 
 
 " The first use she made of her liberty, was, to 
 restore that of my father ; and they were re-married 
 at St. George's, Hanover-square, in the most public 
 manner possible. The immense fortune to which 
 they now acceded promised them every enjoyment 
 this life can afford ; but all their pleasures seemed 
 imperfect, whilstseparated from their beloved child. 
 
 ** My aunt, at this time, returned to England, 
 and came to reside at this very house. 
 
 " In this place 1 was first conscious of the em- 
 braces of my parents, and had 1 no other reason, 
 that single recollection would endear Pemberton 
 Abbey to my heart. I was soon, however, removed 
 to thesplendidseatofmy ancestors, and became the 
 prime object of solicitude to all those that surround- 
 ed me, and I must here candidly confess, that had 
 thesunshineof prosperity continued unclouded, the 
 very essence of my being would have been lost in 
 slothful insanity of mind, and the best feelings of 
 II. 2i 
 
24G FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 my heart stifled by a selfish regard to my own con* 
 venience. But I was intended for a life of trial, 
 and my sufferings commenced at an early period. 
 My mother, who had always been extremely deli- 
 cate, died when I was no more than twelve years 
 old, and my father was immediately involved in a 
 Chancery suit, by a claimant to the estate and title 
 to which I was lawful heir. Lord Somertown's 
 malice to my mother, which survived her, induced 
 him to support the claim of this pretender, and as 
 his Lordship hadtaken care to destroy the evidences 
 of Lady Lucy Darnley's first marriage with Mr. 
 Evelyn, which had been celebrated with all its pro- 
 per forms, and the banns resfularly published, by 
 suborning the clerk to tear the leaf containing the 
 register out of the church books, the marriage could 
 not be proved, and I was bastardised by my own 
 mother's uncle, and our cause fell to the ground. 
 My father's grief and distress may be imagined. 
 It took such an effect upon his health that he sur- 
 vived my mother only two years. Destitute as [ 
 now was of fortune and rank, I yet never wanted a 
 friend ; my uncle, Mr. Hamilton, received me into 
 his house, and Ireated me like his son, and from 
 that time I assumed his name. A secret hope al- 
 ways pervaded my mind that Lord Somertown's 
 heart would be touched with remorse for his injus- 
 tice to me, and that he would restore me to my just 
 rights, by permitting the man to return who had 
 been sent abroad by his means, and whose testi- 
 mony as a witness to the marriage would have been 
 sufficient to reinstate me in the privileges he had 
 deprived me of. 
 
 *' In this expectation, however, 1 was deceived; 
 his malice still pursued me, and although he did 
 not know that 1 had assumed the name of Hamil- 
 ton, nor been able to ascertain what asylum shel- 
 tered me, his endeavours to penetrate the mystery 
 never relaxed, until a report of my death being in- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 247 
 
 cjiistnous^y spread by my friends, his lordship re- 
 joicing in the extinction of his enemy, deemed him- 
 self happy in the consummation of his wishes ; the 
 present Duke of Albemarle's father was then the 
 possessor of my just rights, and Lord Somertown, 
 who stood in the same relationship to him as to my 
 mother, was afterwards appointed guardian to his 
 son, the present Duke, by his will made on his 
 death-bed. Of my relationship, or connexion with 
 Mr. Hamilton, Lord Somertown heard nothing, as 
 he had always been too proud to investigate my fa- 
 ther's family ; and the report of my death preclud- 
 ed suspicion. I grew up, therefore, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of his family seat without his ever enter- 
 taining an idea of my existence. When I was 
 about nineteen 1 came home for the summer vaca- 
 tion from Oxford, and Mr. Hamilton received me 
 with more than usual satisfaction in his counten- 
 ance. 
 
 *' ' I am far from despairing,' said he, ' of seeing 
 you restored to your just rights, if your inclina- 
 tions should lead you to second my wishes ; but, 
 remember, before I communicate what those wishes 
 are, I disclaim all intention of putting the least 
 force upon your affections." 
 
 " I was at a loss to guess what this prelude was 
 to lead to ; but my good uncle soon put the matter 
 past a doubt, by telling me that Lord Somertown 
 had a grand-daughter that resided with him, who 
 was the most beautiful creature he ever beheld, 
 but whose birth was attended with such circum- 
 stances of misfortune, that it is but too probable 
 his Lordship may find it difficult to marry her to 
 his satisfaction. 'You,' added my uncle, 'are 
 supposed to be my son; your fortune in that case 
 must be immense. Lord S. does not suspect who 
 you really are, and as no reasonable objection can 
 be made, either to your family or fortune, in your 
 present character, 1 intend to propose the alliance. 
 
248 FATHERLESS FANNY I OR, 
 
 provided you should be as much enchanted willi 
 the lovely Emily as 1 am ; if you are accepted, it 
 
 will be an agreeable surprise to Lord S to find, 
 
 when you have married his grand-daughter, that 
 you are the lawful heir of such rank and fortune as 
 that which certainly belongs to you, nor do I en- 
 tertain a doubt that he will immediately ])roduce 
 such proofs as will re instate you in your rights/ 
 "* This scheme appeared so romantic, and my 
 dislike to Lord Somertown was so deeply rooted in 
 my heart, that 1 could scarcely have patience to 
 liear my uncle to the end of his speech ; when he 
 paused, I said — You leave me free to do as 1 like, 
 my dear Sir, said I, and therefore I decline having 
 
 any thing to do with such a wretch as Lord S ; 
 
 let him keep his malice, and leave me my resent- 
 ment, J could not love a grand-daughter of his, I 
 am sure, Mere she as beautiful as Hebe. Vain 
 boast ! of the fallacy of which 1 was soon after 
 made sensible. The lovely Emily was kept in such 
 seclusion, that it might almost be styled captivity ; 
 all the privilege she enjoyed, beyond the state of a 
 prisoner, being the liberty of walking sometimes in 
 her grandfather's park, and even that indulgence 
 was restricted to an early hour in the morning, 
 During these rambles she was attended by the go- 
 verness who had brought her up, and who doated 
 upon her. It chanced one morning in the shooting 
 season, that I strolled near the precincts of Shel- 
 don Park ; my dogs sprung a covey of partridges, 
 who, in their flight, made towards a small inclo- 
 sure adjoining to the park gate, theinterior of which 
 was screened from my view by a plantation of young 
 trees. With the eagerness of a young sportsman 
 1 discharged my gun, and was preparing to climb 
 the fence in search of my game, when loud shrieks 
 from within, filled me with consternation and dis- 
 may. I scarcely knew how I got to the spot from 
 whence they proceeded; but when I reached it, my 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 249 
 
 terror was increased, rather than diminished, for I 
 beheld a female figure stretched on the ground, 
 covered with blood, and apparently lifeless, whilst 
 another was bending over her in an agony of terror, 
 not to be described. 1 too plainly perceived that / 
 was the unfortunate cause of the accident, and I 
 hastened to offer my assistance to the distressed 
 lady. She raised her head to thank me, and dis- 
 covered a countenance in which was drawn the 
 strongest picture of grief I ever beheld. 
 
 ** ' My beloved child,' exclaimed she, ' is wound- 
 ed, 1 fear mortally, let meintreatyou,Sir, to assist 
 me in conveying her to the Porter's Lodge, which 
 is not far from hence.' I stooped to lift the young 
 lady from the ground ; her hat had fallen off, and 
 her face was shaded by her redundant locks; but 
 when, with the assistance of the elderly lady, I 
 raised her from her lowly-bed, heavens ! what a 
 beauty struck my senses. Pale as she was, with 
 disshevelled locks, and her garments stained with 
 the crimson stream of her blood ; yet was she the 
 most lovely object I had ever beheld. My heart 
 died within me, as I bore the lifeless burden to the 
 place her governess had pointed out to me, for I 
 firmly believed she had breathed her last. When 
 we reached the Porter's Lodge, the lovely Emily, 
 (for it was herself,) was laid upon a bed, and a 
 man dispatched on horse-back to fetch the nearest 
 surgeon, a distance of three miles. I will not pre- 
 tend to describe the agony I suffered during the 
 time the sweet girl remained in a lifeless state. I 
 stood, the very image of despair, close to the door 
 of the chamber in which she was laid, waiting the 
 sentence of my future happiness or misery. At 
 length I had the unspeakable joy of hearing the 
 delightful exclamation from her attendants, that 
 she revived ; and shortly afterwards my rapture 
 was increased by the silver tones of her own sweet 
 voice, inquiring where she was. Her governess 
 
250 FATHERLESS PANNV : OR, 
 
 then came to me, and assured me that Miss Hin- 
 chelifTe (that was the name my Emily bore,) was 
 much better, and that she could venture to pro- 
 nounce, without seeing the surgeon, that the 
 wounds she had received, were of no material con- 
 sequence. 
 
 "My joy was now as extravagant as my grief 
 liad been acute, and I was abnost in a debrium, 
 from the excess of the emotion I had suffered. 
 When the surgeon arrived, his testimony con- 
 firmed Mrs. Bolton's favourable opinion, for he 
 pronounced the wounds which were in the fieshy 
 part of the arm not at all dangerous, and assured 
 us, that the fainting tit, in which the lovely Emily 
 had lain so long, was occasioned by terror more 
 than by loss of blood. 
 
 " Time will not permit me to dwell on the events 
 that followed this accident, by which I was intro- 
 duced to the arbitress of my fate, and became ena- 
 moured of the very woman I had declared to my 
 uncle I could never love. 
 
 *' The distress I had shewn on this occasion, ex- 
 cited an interest for me in the heart of the beau- 
 teous Emily; at first, the excuse of inquiring after 
 her health, and entreating her to forgive the injury 
 I had so unwillingly done her, served to apologize 
 for the liberty I took in way-laying her morning 
 rambles ; by degrees she appeared to expect my 
 visits, and soon ventured gently to reproach my 
 negligence, if by any accident I was later than 
 usual in making my appearance. Mrs. Bolton, 
 who longed for theemancipation of her pupil from 
 the tyranny she groaned under, gave every encou- 
 ragement to my addresses, and by this imprudent 
 act, laid the foundation for the future misery of 
 the person she loved best in the world. To be 
 brief, our attachment was mutual, and we ex- 
 changed vows of unalterable fidelity to each other: 
 I now entreated my uncle to make the proposal to 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. * 251 
 
 Lord Somertovvn,liehatl before suggested, explain- 
 ing to him at the same time, the cause of this sud- 
 den change in my opinions. My uncle shrugged 
 up his shouhlers and sighed. 
 "'How perverse is human nature,* said lie, 
 
 * what is attainable, we always despise, whilst those 
 things that are beyond our reach, are generally the 
 objects of your wishes.' At the time J proposed the 
 alliance to you, there appeared no impediment to 
 the union ; you then was averse to the proposal, and 
 I let the subject drop, little supposing you would 
 happen to wish to renew it at a moment when I ani 
 convinced it is impossible ; Lord Somertown's in- 
 flexibility to all endeavours at thwarting his will, 
 is almost proverbial ; whatever he has said shall 
 be, is like the laws of the Medes and Persians, 
 
 * which altereth not.' An attempt, therefore, to 
 turn him from his designs is really akin to madness. 
 I have just learnt, from undoubted authority, that 
 there is an alliance for his grand-daughter now on 
 the tapis ; the lover is Lord Ballafyn, of Ballafyn 
 Castle, in Ireland, and as he has never seen the 
 lady, it must be the fortune the grand-father has 
 promised her, that is the object of his affections. 
 i was struck dumb by this intelligence, and almost 
 ready to sink into the ground. As soon as I had 
 recovered myself a little, however, I entreated my 
 uncle not to let a vague report, which might ori- 
 ginate in the fertile brain of some gossiping match- 
 maker, defer him from making the proposal I was 
 now so eager about; adding, with all the san- 
 guine confidence of a youlhlul lover, that as my 
 fortune exceeded that of Lord B. it was more 
 than probable, if money was Lord Somertown's 
 object, he might be inclined to favour my suit 
 in preference to his Lordship's. My uncle shook 
 his head ; but, nevertheless, promised to make 
 the application. He did so, and was rejected 
 in the most positive terms by Lord Somertown, who 
 
252 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 assured him that Miss Hincheliffe was disposed of 
 already; * she knows nothing of my intentions as 
 yet,* added his Lordship, sternly, * but it is time 
 enough ; when she knows my will, she must obey 
 it. I am therefore in no doubt about what she may- 
 think of the proposal. Herbusiness is to obey, not 
 to question/ When my uncle conveyed this fatal 
 news to me, my agony was beyond expression, and 
 it was a long time before I could give utterance to 
 my feelings; ^^hen I did speak, it was only to re- 
 new my vows of never marrying any body but Emily. 
 My uncle intreated me to abandon all ideas of so 
 mad an intention, and recalled to my remembrance 
 the sorrows of my unfortunate parents, as well as 
 those of the hapless Emily. This argument had 
 no effect, however, with me ; misery appeared in 
 no way so certain as in a separation from her I 
 loved ; and could 1 but obtain the object of my af- 
 fection, the world appeared a cheap price to pay 
 for such an inestimable treasure. When I had an 
 opportunity of conversing with Emily, and im- 
 parting my sentiments to her upon our cruel situa- 
 tion, it was some consolation to me to find her as 
 "willing as myself to brave the frowns of the world, 
 and the dangers of poverty, rather than relinquish 
 the sweet hope of being united. The same roman- 
 tic affection inspired us both, and under its dan- 
 gerous influence we acted so as to entail irremedi- 
 able evil on ourselves and our offspring. Lord So- 
 mertown had not the least suspicion of our attach- 
 ment, and imagined that my uncle's proposal, whose 
 son he supposed me to be, had been made for the 
 alliance with a view of aggrandising his family. 
 This unfortunate blindness on Lord Somertown's 
 part was but too favourable to our secret corre- 
 spondence, and we continued to meet without hin- 
 drance or suspicion. At length the dreaded pro- 
 posal was made in person, by Lord Ballafyn, and 
 his Lordship introduced to Emily, who was inform- 
 
THE LITTLJS MENDICANT. 253 
 
 ed by her grandfather, that she must look upon his 
 Lordship as her future husband, without a single 
 question being asked her, whether he was agree- 
 able to her or not. 
 
 ** The day after this dreadful meeting, my be- 
 loved Emily appeared in such distress and terror 
 of mind, that it drove me almost to madness, and 
 in the insanity of the moment, I proposed a clan- 
 destine marriage to her. There is not, said I, any 
 danger of our union being set aside, if we can once 
 accomplish it, as I am of age ; and it will be easy 
 to get the banns published without Lord Somer- 
 town's knowledge, who never goes to church. 
 Emily listened to me with complacency, and 1 soon 
 prevailed with her to consent to the measure, which 
 was immediately adopted ; I gave a very large sum 
 of money to the clergyman and also to the clerk, 
 and by that means obtained the secrecy I wished 
 for; the former had a great impediment in his 
 speech, which defect he managed so dexterously 
 as to render our names totally unintelligible to the 
 congregation. Our being asked in church was un- 
 noticed, a circumstance that was considerably as- 
 sisted by several other couples being asked at the 
 same time. Not long afterwards, during a short 
 absence of Lord Somertown from Sheldon Park, 
 we were married, and fondly flattered ourselves that 
 we were now safe from the tyranny we dreaded : 
 alas ! we had for ever riveted the chains that bound 
 us, and given our enemies a power to hurt us they 
 could not otherwise have possessed. About three 
 months after our marriage, Emily received orders 
 to prepare herself to become a bride, and she was 
 directed to make the necessary purchases for her 
 nuptials. It was in vain, that the poor girl implor- 
 ed her inexorable parent to listen to her for a few 
 minutes, he spurned her from him, telling her that 
 no reply was necessary on her part, as she had no- 
 thing to do now she knew his will, but to obey it. 
 
 n 2 k 
 
254 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 * Lord Sheldon,' said he, * is coming from Saxony, 
 whither he had been sent ©n a diplomantic mission; 
 and when he returns, your marriage will take place 
 immediately. Lord Ballafyn intends being here 
 the latter end of this month, and I desire, as you 
 value your future happiness, to clear up that dis- 
 mal countenance, and receive him in a manner suit- 
 able to my wishes.' 
 
 " Poor Emily could make no reply to this pe- 
 remptory command, but quitting the room as fast 
 as her trembling limbs would permit her, shesought 
 the refuge of her own chamber, and there, on the 
 bosom of her faithful friend, Mrs. Bolton, she pour- 
 ed forth the anguish of her heart; the terror and 
 agitation the sweet girl suffered on this trying oc- 
 casion, brought on a most alarming illness, and for 
 many days her life was despaired of. Think what 
 must have been my sufferings when 1 knew that 
 the beloved object of all my hopes, in this world, 
 lay at the point of death, and I did not dare to ap- 
 proach her pillow, to whisper one word of tender 
 consolation in her ear. The kind-hearted Mrs. 
 Bolton did all she could to mitigate ray anxiety, 
 and gave me regular information three or four times 
 a day; and every night, during my Emily's ex- 
 treme danger, I watched beneath her window, dis- 
 guised in the coarse frock and slouched ha,t of a 
 ploughman ; who being frequently employed to 
 watch the poachers, excited no suspicion by being 
 seen lurking about in the dead of the night. 
 
 " At length the sweet creature was restored to 
 my prayers, and I received the heart-soothing tid- 
 ings of her safety and amended health. This joy- 
 ful event was followed by another, which appeared 
 to promise "us the confirmation of our happiness; 
 I mean the death of Lord SomeMown, which hap- 
 pened suddenly, just before Lord Ballafyn's ex- 
 pected arrival. I will not repeat the gay visions 
 of happiness that floated'on my brain, when 1 heard 
 
THE LITTLB MENDICANT. 255 
 
 of an event so propitious to our hopes of liberty, as 
 1 never entertained a fear that Lord Sheldon could 
 resemble iiis father so closely as I have since found, 
 to my sorrow, that he did. 
 
 " The death of Lord Somertown put a stop to 
 
 all ideas of the proposed alliance with Lord B 
 
 for some time; and as the new Lord was still de- 
 tained abroad by his diplomatic functions, Emily 
 was left for several months to follow the bent of 
 her own inclination. It may easily be supposed 
 that it was the society of her husband she would 
 seek, under such circumstances; and many a half 
 gone hour have we spent together, in these very 
 apartments, whose private communications with 
 Pemberton Abbey had been but lately discovered 
 by a servant of mine, who informed me of it, and 
 shewed me the secret spring that closed the mys- 
 terious pannel. As a reward for so valuable a dis- 
 covery, I settled fifty pounds a year upon the man, 
 and gave him that small house to live in : and, with 
 the assistance of his wife, and the worthy Mrs. 
 Bolton, whom you have hitherto known by the 
 name of your Mamma Sydney, your beloved mo- 
 ther, in this secluded asylum, gave birth to a love- 
 ly infant, who was immediately baptized by the 
 name of Fanny. And such were the precautions 
 adverted to, on this occasion, that not the slightest 
 suspicions were awakened an.ongst the domestics, 
 at Sheldon Park, who were all, excepting one con- 
 fidential servant, wholly ignorant of my Emily's ab- 
 sence. As soon as her weakness would permit, she 
 returned to her home, but you was left here with 
 your nurf<e, the wife of my servant. 
 
 *' We now awaited Lord Sheldon's return, with 
 the utmost impatience, as we had come to the re- 
 solution of declaring our marriage to him at the 
 first interview. Alas! had we known the horrors 
 that would be the consequence of his return, we 
 should have fled to some distant climate, whilst the 
 
256 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 possibility of flight remained within onr power. 
 Such, however, was our infatuation, that we dreamt 
 not of our danger until the dark cloud of irremedi- 
 able misfortune burst over our devoted heads, and 
 crushed us for ever. But I will not dwell upon 
 this dreadful part of my narrative. 
 
 " As soon as Lord Somertown arrived in Lon- 
 don, he wrote to his niece, to inform her that the 
 nuptials, which he was sorrow had been so long 
 delayed on his account, should be solemnised im- 
 mediately; and that it was his intention to be at 
 Sheldon Parkin ten days, from the date of his 
 letter. 
 
 *' When Emily communicated this unwelcome 
 news tome, my mind suggested the propriety of im- 
 mediately informing Lord Somertown of our mar- 
 riage, and intreating his sanction to it, as I judged 
 it would only exasperate him the more, to suffer 
 him to come down in the country under such erro- 
 neous ideas. 
 
 *' I accordingly wrote to him upon the subject, 
 ■with an eloquence that would have moved any 
 heart but his own ; his answer was couched in 
 terms the most friendly, and contained only a very 
 slight stricture upon secret marriages, which he 
 said, were but too often the cause of much unhap- 
 piness in families, adding, that he hoped our's 
 would not prove of that description. His Lord- 
 ship requested my immediate presence in Lon- 
 don, as he said, it was necessary we should have 
 some conversation together, previous to him visit- 
 ing the country, and he concluded his letter with 
 every assurance of the most cordial friendship. 
 
 " This was so much above my hopes, that I 
 was in extacies, and my Emily was several times 
 obliged to check my transports. Indeed, her ap- 
 parent apathy soon moderated my joy, for I saw 
 she did not seem to exhilarate as I did; and if any 
 thing co«/c? have made me angry with that angel, I 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 257 
 
 should have been so on that occasion ; for I was 
 disappointed at her coldness. 
 
 *' Alas! her's was a presentiment of evil, which 
 the subsequent events too soon justified. 
 
 "To be brief, I tore myself away from the 
 dearer part of my soul, and commenced my ill-fated 
 journey full of the most pleasing expectations, little 
 imagining I had seen my Emily for the last time. 
 When I arrived in London, 1 waited upon Lord 
 Somertown immediately, and was received with the 
 utmost cordiality. As soon as the first compli- 
 ments were over, I began speaking upon the sub- 
 ject of the settlements, and as my uncle had autho- 
 rised me to do, I made the most liberal oflfers. 
 Lord Somertown seemed rather to evade than press 
 the subject, and he once said, with rather'a mys- 
 terious air, * there are some circumstances with 
 which 1 am acquainted, that, perhaps, you do not 
 suspect are known to me; on some future day we 
 will talk upon those matters, as I should wish the 
 real rank of the man my niece marries should be 
 known to the world. I caught at this insinuation; 
 and assured his lordship, that from that moment I 
 could have no secrets with a friend so nearly allied 
 to me. *Not now,' said he, nodding significantly, 
 * but the time is not far distant, when the confi- 
 dence will be mutual.' 
 
 *' There was something in Lord Somertown's 
 manner of pronouncing these words that did not 
 please me; yet, as I could not make any objection 
 to what he said. I was obliged to be silent. 
 
 "I wrote an account of this interview to my 
 adored Emily, and also to my uncle. A few days 
 after this 1 received a note from Lord Somertown, 
 requesting me to dine with him at his villa, on the 
 banks of the Thames, near Richmond, as he had 
 some business to transact with me of the utmost 
 importance. I obeyed the fatal summons with 
 alacrity, and reached the appointed place just as 
 dinner was ready. 
 
258 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 " Lord Somertown welcomed me by a cordial 
 shake of the hand, assuring me that 1 had made 
 liim happy by this ready compliance with his re- 
 quest; 'and I trust,' added he, with a smile, 'that 
 you will confess before we part that I am not your 
 debtor. Every thing is arranged for your future 
 welfare in a manner that cannot fail of success.' I 
 understood by tliis speech, that Lord Somertown 
 alluded to my claims on the title and estates of 
 Albemarle, and I expressed my warm sense of his 
 kind attention to my interest. 
 
 "'Say not a word about it,' answered he, 'you 
 cannot judge how mnch you are obliged to me, 
 until you know what 1 have done for you. — The 
 dinner waits, let us defer business till that is over.* 
 I followed the Jiend into the dining parlour, we 
 dined tete-a tete, but as the servants waited, not a 
 word passed during dinner. After the cloth was 
 removed I adverted to the subject of our former 
 correspondence, but Lord Somertown pressed meto 
 lake some wine with such eagerness, that I could not 
 refuse: glass after glass was forced upon me, which 
 1 swallowed much against my inclination, merely 
 to get rid of his importunity. 
 
 " I did not at first perceive that Lord Somertown 
 was not drinking himself, for my mind was so occu- 
 pied with the ideas that crowded upon it, that 1 had 
 scarcely any perception of what was passsing before 
 me. When, however, I did observe it, I declined 
 drinking any more. 
 
 *' Your Lordship," said I, laughing, " has a de- 
 sign upon me, for you are making me drink, whilst 
 you are abstaining from wine yourself. * There 
 may be reasons,* answered he ' that may render 
 it more necessary for you to take wine, than would 
 stand good for me; however, I believe you have 
 taken enough,' added he, emphatically, * and there- 
 fore you may do as you like about having any 
 more.* 
 
THB LITTLE MENDICANT. 239 
 
 *' There was something very mysterious in Lord 
 Somertown's manner, but as I had no suspicion of 
 his malice to me, it excited my curiosity without 
 alarming me. 
 
 *' After conversing for some time longer upon in 
 different subjects, and studiously avoiding the one 
 I wished to lead to, Lord Somertown, after looking 
 earnestly at his watch for some minutes, suddenly 
 started up — *It is time,*said he, ' to drop the mask 
 of dissimulation ; the drug I have administered 
 must have taken effect, and J should lose half my 
 vengeance if my victim remained in ignorance of 
 the hand that inflicted the blow.' 
 
 " As Lord Somertown spoke, I involuntarily 
 rose from my chair, and a vague presentiment of 
 the truth came over ray mind, at least of Lord 
 Somertown's malice to me; for Lthought he had 
 administered poison in my wine. I was mistaken 
 — death was too merciful a doom to be awarded 
 by the monster, to the man he hated ; the drug 
 was intended to render me inanimate, and, by sus- 
 pending my powers, to make me the easy victim 
 of his deep-laid scheme. Too certain in its ef- 
 fects, I already felt the all-subduing influence 
 creeping over my frame; and whilst horror and 
 resentment struggled at my breast, my unnerved 
 limbs trembled beneath my weight, and almost 
 refused to sustain me, whilst I listened to the 
 sentence pronounced by my arch enemy. 
 
 " ' Know,* said he, in a voice trembling with 
 rage and guilt, 'know, unhappy wretch, that 1 am 
 acquainted with your origin; yes, I am informed 
 that you are the offspring of that proud beauty 
 who scorned my proffered love, and of my de- 
 tested rival, whose insidious arts made her forget 
 her duty, and rendered her blind to the superior 
 merit that sued for her affection. My father hated 
 your parents, and I inherit his hatred with his 
 title; your mother eluded my vengeance by deata 
 
260 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 — your father also escaped me, but their offspring 
 is mine, and I shall have glorious revenge; 1 see 
 your senses are becoming torpid, through the in- 
 fluence of the drug you have swallowed, I will there- 
 fore hasten to inform you that you are doomed to 
 live, but to exist in such a state of wretchedness that 
 death would be a mercy. Remember, your mi- 
 sery flows from me: Oh ! forget not that circum- 
 stance, or I have but half my vengeance ; your 
 wife, too, my degenerate niece, who has dared to 
 unite her fate to that of the enemy of her family, 
 shall have an equal portion of suffering — let that 
 reflection gall you, and add to the anguish of per- 
 petual slavery; the manner of her punishment 1 
 will not tell you, for suspense and doubt aggra- 
 vate affliction of every kind ; know this only, she 
 shall wed another /' 
 
 " The drug had begun its operation indeed, and 
 a torpor not to be resisted was creeping over my 
 whole frame, yet when Lord Somertown pro- 
 nounced the last fatal words — ' she shall wed 
 another,* my expiring senses were awakened, and 
 the fury that transported my soul inspired one 
 last effort of strength ; I flew, and seized the col- 
 lar of my insulting foe, but whilst I held him 
 struggling in my grasp, he contrived to stamp 
 with his foot, and several of his creatures came to 
 his assiKtance. I was easily secured, for the short- 
 liverl energy had already subsided, and my stif- 
 fening limbs, and stupiiied senses overpowered me 
 more than the united strength of the bravos. 
 
 " From this moment 1 remembered nothing 
 more, until I found niyself confined in a narrow 
 inconvenient recess, which appeared intended for 
 a bed ; but the crriel way in which my hands and 
 feet were manacled, prevented me from stretching 
 myself upon it, so as to obtain any rest. Impene- 
 trable darkness enveloped me, but the constant 
 splashing of water close to my head, convinced 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 261 
 
 n:e that 1 was upon the sea, in some vessel, des- 
 tined by my persecutor to convey me far from that 
 happy land, where unjust imprisonment is forbid- 
 den by the laws, 
 
 " At first 1 was at a loss to account for my 
 wretched situation, but by degrees my recollection 
 returned, and the dreadful truth flashed on ray 
 awakening senses. It is surprising to me at this 
 moment that phrensy did not seal my wretched- 
 ness, for I remembered the dreadful words, * she 
 shsll wed another ;' and in the agony they excit- 
 ed, I attempted to tear off the manacles that con- 
 fined me; the effort I made was attended with so 
 much noise, that it brought one of the ship's crew 
 to my little cabin. 
 
 " 'What's in the wind now?' exclaimed he in a 
 rough tone, * you had better be quiet ray hearty ; 
 you will be vporse off if you don't mind what you 
 are about: and considering the crimes you have 
 been guilty of, it is no great matter,' 
 
 *' ' Crimes,' reiterated I, * what crimes can pos- 
 sibly be laid to my charge, who never injured any 
 one ?' 
 
 " * You did not do what you wished to do,' re- 
 plied the tar, * but that was no thanks to you.' 
 
 " * Tell me, 1 entreat you,' said 1, * of what am 
 I accused ?' 
 
 ** * Oh, you have forgot it, have you ?* answer- 
 ed he, ' that's comical too, by jingo. Well then, 
 I'll rub up your memory a bit. Don't you re- 
 member when you attempted to kill your uncle, 
 Lord Somertown ?*^ 
 
 " * I attempt to kill Lord Somertown,* inter- 
 rupted I , * Heavens ! what a falsehood ; I never 
 even dreamt of such a thing .' 
 
 " ' Why, as for that, you know best,* replied the 
 tar, * but it argufies very little now to deny it. I 
 should think itrather unlikely such a thing should 
 be invented of an innocent man ; but the short 
 
 No. 12. 2 L 
 
282 FATHERLESS fanny: OR, 
 
 and the long ot it is, that your uncle says yon did 
 so and out of compassion to you, and. to save the 
 disgrace of'having you hanged, he had you con- 
 veyed on board our vessel, whilst yon were dead 
 drunk; for when you found your wicked intention 
 was frustrated, yon took a quantity of laudanum, 
 in hopes to escape your deserts, but it was not 
 enough to kill you, and as the a/Tair was blowed, 
 you must have been prosecuted if your good uncle 
 had not sent you beyond seas. We shall land 
 you as soon as we find a convenient place, fomve 
 don't want the company of murderers in the Blithe 
 Betsey, I can assure you ; but we will take care it 
 shall be where you are not likely to get away from 
 again.' 
 
 " The agony of my mind at this intelligence may 
 easily be imagined. At first I gave Avay to des- 
 pair, and vented my anguish in exclamations of 
 sorrow; l)ut recollecting how fruitless was such 
 weakness, I determined to subdue it. Whilst life 
 was spared me, escape was not impossible, and 
 when I thought upon the cruel situation of my be- 
 loved Emily, it awakened such an ardent desire 
 to rescue her, that it gave a supernatural strength 
 to my mind, and supported me through the seve- 
 rest of trials. 
 
 "As soon as n)y informer could be prevailed 
 upon to listen to me, I told my plain unvarnished 
 tale, and laid open, to the honest seaman, a train 
 of iniquity, that shocked his simple nalure. He, 
 who had been taught to hate me as a murderer, 
 now pitied me as an oppressed victim of the 
 blackest treachery. 
 
 *• He determined upon my deliverance, with all 
 the ardour of increased benevolence, and unloos- 
 ing the manacles that confined me, as a pledge of 
 his future services, he bade me be of good cheer, 
 for that he was certain his captain, who, though 
 rough as the element he ploughed, was generous 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT, '^3 
 
 and humane, would scorn to be the implenaent of 
 oppression in the hands of a tyrant like Lord So- 
 njertown. He had been prevailed upon to take 
 charge of me for a large reward, unde^r the sup- 
 position that he was doing- an act of mercy to a 
 culprit, who merited death, by giving him a chance 
 of living to repent his crimes, at the same time he 
 was saving a noble family from the stigma of being 
 allied to a felon. 
 
 " As soon therefore as my new friend Jack Thom- 
 son had repeated my iivelancholy story to him, and 
 removed the prejudice that had hitherto kept him 
 from speaking to me, I was ordered into his cabin, 
 and received from Captain Armstrong the credit 
 my narrative deserved. From that moment 1 was 
 free, and treated with th,esame kindness as his chief 
 mate, who was also his nephew. The generous 
 Armstrong was, however, bound to tiie coast of 
 Africa, and as 1 was eager, beyond expression, to 
 return to England, that 1 might ascertain the fate 
 of her vt'ho was dearer to me than my life, he kind- 
 ly promised to put me on board the first vessel we 
 should meet with, bound to my native shore. ' And 
 when you get there my friend/ said he, * keep 
 close under hatches, or hoist false colours to de- 
 ceive the enemy, until Roger Armstrong returns to 
 his moorings, then never fear but we will work him 
 pretty tightly. Your testimony will argufy nothing 
 without a witness ; you had better therefore be 
 muiu until you can Jaw him to some purpose. 
 
2&4 FATHERLgSS ^ANNY ; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 An affecting Story continued. 
 
 " Two days had only elapsed, after this promise, 
 before a vessel spoke to us, consigned to London. 
 The terms of my passage homeward were soon 
 agreed upon, and paid for by the generous Arm- 
 strong, who also supplied me with a small sum for 
 my present emergency, and took leaveof me with the 
 kindness of a brother, recommending the greatest 
 caution in concealing myself from Lord Somertown 
 whose determination to destroy me could not be 
 doubted, and who would now have double reason to 
 wish my extermination. 1 thanked him, and pro- 
 mised to attend to his advice : I therefore purchas- 
 ed a complete sailor's habit, and thus disguised 
 might have passed ray nearest friend without sus- 
 picion. 
 
 " These precautions were, however, of little 
 avail, for as we were sailing with a fair wind, and 
 within a few leagues of our native land, we were 
 attacked and captured by a French vessel, of such 
 superior force as made all resistance on our side 
 vain. 
 
 " My story, in this, presents but little variety. 
 A prisoner, unaided by money, undistinguished by 
 apparent rank, 1 suffered the severest hardships; 
 nor could i procure my exchange, althoughl wrote 
 several letters to my uncle, Mr. Hamilton, describ- 
 ing my situation, and entreating his assistance : to 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT 265 
 
 these letters I received no answer, and four teaious 
 years rolled away in hopeless captivity. At length 
 two of my fellow prisoners, whose fortunes appear- 
 ed as desperate as mime, proposed to me to attempt 
 an escape. We did so, and succeeded, and after 
 encountering perils that would have disheartened 
 minds less determined upon emancipation, we land- 
 ed upon a lonely part of the coast of Sussex, hav- 
 ing been several days buffeting the waves in an 
 open boat, without provision, without a compass, 
 and in momentary dangerof perishing from hunger 
 and fatigue, if we even escaped the stormy ocean. 
 
 *'Thejoy so naturally theconsequence of such an 
 escape, was considerably diminished in my breast, 
 by the dread that seized me, as I reflected upon 
 the forlorn state in which I left my beloved Emily, 
 when 1 was torn from my native land by her bar- 
 barous uncle. My heart died within me as I 
 thought upon what she might have suffered, and 
 tears and sighs succeeded to the effusions of joy 
 that broke forth at my first landing. 
 
 '* My fellow sufferers and I were relieved from 
 the pressure of our hunger and nakedness, by a be- 
 nevolent gentleman, whose hospitable mansion re- 
 ceived us for one night. This amiable man, whose 
 vicinity to the seaside exposed him to frequent ap- 
 plications from shipwrecked mariners, was the 
 greatest philanthropist on earth; he dedicated the 
 chief of his fortune to the relief of his fellow crea- 
 tures; and always kept warm coarse clothing in his 
 house to bestow upon the half-perished creatures 
 that were so often thrown upon his mercy by the 
 storm and tempest. Clad in a complete suit of 
 this comfortable apparel, and supplied with a small 
 sum for ray present necessities, I took leave the 
 next morning of my benevolent host, and pursued 
 my journey towards the metropolis, so much dis- 
 guised in my appearance, that, had not hardship 
 and long suffering already altered my countenance, 
 
286 pathekless fanny: or 
 
 it would have been impossible tor any one to re- 
 cognize me. 
 
 ** When I arrived in London I made several en- 
 quiries concerning the family of Lord Somertown, 
 but could learn nothing more, tlian that he was 
 in good health, for little was known at those places 
 where 1 could venture to enquire, concerning the 
 interior management of his family. I did not there- 
 fore make any stay in town, but hastened to reach 
 my native home, not doubting that I shoidd find 
 all the relief I stood in need of as soon as I reached 
 my reputed father's house. Alas! how miserably 
 was I disappointed, when I arrived there, weary 
 and almost sinking with f\\tigue and sorrow, to 
 find it shut up, and to hear the heart-breaking in- 
 telligence from the only domestic that iidiabited 
 the forlorn pile, that grief for the loss of his only 
 son had afi^ected Mr. Hamilton's health and spirits 
 so severely, that he had quitted England, and was 
 gone to reside abroad entirely. 
 
 ** 1 had nearly sunk on the ground when 1 heard 
 the cruel tidings, but fearful of making a discove- 
 ry of myself, at a moment when concealment was 
 becouie more important than ever, 1 commanded 
 my emotions therefore, and enquired whether this 
 little mansion was still inhabited by the same per- 
 son that occupied it five years before; the servant 
 answered in the affirmative, and I bent my footsteps 
 hither. Without discovering myself, 1 enquired 
 of my faithful servants if they knew what was be- 
 come of Mrs. Bolton: at first they hesitated, but 
 Frankly n happening to look earnestly in my face, 
 uttered a scream and exclaimed, ' Good Heavens ! 
 can it indeed be my beloved master;' disguise 
 was now useless, and I acknowledged myself to 
 him, intreating him to be prudent, and not let my 
 arrival be suspected ; he promised to obey my com- 
 mands, and after having forced me to take some 
 refreshment, he satisfied my cariosity without eas- 
 ing my heart. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 2G7 
 
 *'I then found thai Mrs. Boiton was the secret 
 inhabitant of Pemberton Abbey, wiiere she acted 
 the part of a mother to my beloved child. * Oh 
 shew me to her/ said I, * she can tell me some- 
 thing of my adored Emily, whose beauteous image 
 ] am dying to embrace.' 
 
 " 'Alas! alas!' said the faithful Franklyn, 'the 
 news Mrs. Bolton can tell you of Lady Emily will 
 not give you pleasure, would to God you were 
 never to hear it.' This speech only rendered me 
 more impatient to liear my doom: — 'What is 
 there,' exclaimed I, 'that can surpass what my 
 own terrified imagination now suggests. To be 
 brief, I was introduced through the subterraneous 
 passage into the Abbey, and left in one of its deso- 
 late apartments, whilst Franklyn went to prepare 
 Mrs. Bolton for my reception. 
 
 "The good woman came to me with streaming 
 eyes, and spreading out her arms, embraced me 
 with the affection of a parent. For sotne minutes 
 her sobs choaked her utterance, but as soon as she 
 could speak, she exclaimed, 'Oh! my friend, you 
 have come too late to save our Emily!' * She is 
 dead then !' said f, sinking into the seat that stood 
 nearest me. ' Oh no, she is not dead, death 
 would have been a mercy compared to the anguish 
 she has suffered.' ' Tell me, oh tell me the 
 worst,' said I, ' my mind is prepared for horror.' 
 
 *' * Your Emily is married then,' answered she, 
 whilst a torrent of tears burst from her eyes. 
 
 * She is married, or rather tied, to a tyrant whose 
 cruelty no sweetness can soften, no gentleness 
 subdue.' 
 
 "My agony was now without bounds, and for 
 several minutes 1 was in a paroxysm of rage and 
 distraction. At first view of my unfortunate situa- 
 tion, I was inclined to throw some blame on Emily. 
 
 * Ah where,' exclaimed I, * was that faith so often 
 pledged to me, that love which she so solemnly 
 
26S FATHERLHSS FANNY ! OR, 
 
 ♦, 
 
 bad vowed should never changer' Surely nad 
 they existed with their wonted firmness, no threats, 
 no persuasions could have induced her to renounce 
 me ! she would have preferred death to such an 
 infidelity !' 
 
 *'*Blanne not that faultless creature,' replied 
 Mrs. Bolton, * for she is a martyr to the most ex- 
 alted virtue, and her affection for you, her undying 
 tenderness for your memory, could not be more 
 strongly proved than by the action that made her 
 the wife of Lord Ballafyn. She had been imposed 
 upon by an account of your death, and when sunk 
 in the affliction that belief entailed upon her, the 
 preservation of the dear pledge of your love alone 
 could rouse her to any regard for what was passing 
 in a world she no longer wished to remain in; but 
 for the sake of that sweet innocent: what then 
 must have been her agony, when she was informed 
 by her cruel uncle, that he held her darling in his 
 power, and that a compliance with his proposals, 
 and implicit obedience to his commands, could 
 alone insure its safety. The wretched mother lis- 
 tened with horror to the dreadful alternative — 
 the dissolution of soul and body could not have in- 
 flicted a severer pang than that which wrung her 
 heart, when obliged to choose between the sen- 
 tence of death for her infant, or misery for herself.' 
 Maternal tenderness triumphed, and the lovely 
 victim was led to the altar in mute agony to seal 
 her wretched doom, and complete the triumph of 
 diabolical revenge. 
 
 " 'Beforetheinaii,«piciousnuptials, however, she 
 insisted upon the possession of her child, which 
 ■was accordingly delivered to her, and by her confid- 
 ed to my care, with the most solemn injunction to 
 conceal it in some place of security from the know- 
 ledge of Lord Somertown, whose vengeance she 
 still dreaded, and on whose promises she could 
 place no reliance. My knowledge of the secret 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 269 
 
 'nlet to Pemberton Abbey, made me choose that 
 for my asylum, and Mr. Hamilton's consent being 
 obtained, I retired hither, unsuspected and un- 
 known; nor has it ever been supposed, since Mr. 
 Hamilton's absence, that any one inhabited that 
 mansion, excepting the servant left to take care of 
 it, whose superstitious fear of the wing I inhabit, 
 which is reported to be haunted by a man dressed 
 in complete armour, effectually secures me from any 
 interruption from her. 
 
 " * Where then is my Emily,* cried I, in a tone of 
 agony, ' oh tell me where she is, that I may fly and 
 snatch her from the tyranny she groans under, I 
 will assert my right to her, although legions of in- 
 fernal beings guarded the access to her prison !' 
 
 *' ' Immediately after her nuptials,' replied Mrs. 
 Bolton, * the angelic sufferer was dragged to Ire- 
 land by the unfeeling man who had married her — 
 there she has been immured ever since in an old 
 castle belonging to her tyrant, without even the 
 consolation of a single friend's conversation to re- 
 lieve the tediura of captivity ; and during the space 
 of three long years, 1 have received but two letters 
 from her; the last contains only a few lines, and ar- 
 rived a few days ago; it came through the medium 
 of Frahklyn.* Mrs. Bolton took the letter from 
 her pocket book, and I eagerly snatching it, read 
 these words : — 
 
 '' ' My kind friend, 
 
 " * Accept the best thanks a broken heart can of- 
 fer for the care you take of my treasure; I am 
 obliged to withdraw it from you for reasons that I 
 dare not name; fear not to trust it to the care of 
 the person I shall send for it, who will tell you a 
 secret known only to us three, and thereby prove 
 her identity. E. H. 
 
 12. 2 M 
 
270 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 / 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 The Affecting Story concluded. 
 
 " And is my precious child gone then?" said I, 
 "shall I not even embrace her." 
 
 ** She is still with me," answered Mrs. Bolton, 
 ** and I am happy you came before her removal, it 
 will be a great satisfaction to me." — So saying, the 
 worthy woman led me to the apartment that con- 
 tained my blooming treasure. 
 
 ** I will not dwell upon that scene, the emotions 
 excited by rapture, mingled with extreme anguish, 
 were too much for my agitated frame, and delirium 
 was the consequence; for several days, Mrs. Bol- 
 ton attended me, with scarcely a hope of my re- 
 covery ; at length, however, my youth triumphed 
 over disease, and J was restored to health of body, 
 but not to sanity of mind ; and the wild project of 
 visiting Ireland, to emancipate my injured Emily, 
 became the darling object of my every wish, and 
 the fixed determination of my soul. 
 
 •' There was so much method in the madness 
 that affected me, that Mrs. Bolton was not aware 
 of the danger of my situation, and she suffered me 
 to depart on my wild expedition, without opposi- 
 tion. How 1 found my way to Ballafyn Castle, 
 1 cannot now tell, but certain it is I reached it, 
 notwithstanding the thousand difficulties that 
 seemed to oppose so perilous an undertaking. 
 
THE LITTLE MENXHCANT. 271 
 
 ** The result of the attempt, however, was an in- 
 crease of wretchedness. Lord Ballafyn, had been 
 apprised I believe of my existence, by some strange 
 chance ; and I was suspected, as soon as observed 
 to loiter near the castle ; by a stratagem, 1 was 
 induced to enter its walls, and by its base owner, 
 betrayed into thehandsof ruffians, whoconveyed me 
 on board a ship that was lying at a neighbouring 
 port, waiting to receive recruits for the West 
 India Service. In this receptacle of misery, I was 
 stowed down in the hold with a set of unfortunate 
 beings, who had been inveigled, or rather kidnap- 
 ped by the wretches employed to procure them for 
 a service, no man could enter voluntarily. 
 
 .*'I will pass over all the sufferings of the voy- 
 age. Alas I I was not sensible to all their poig- 
 nancy, for mental imbecility threw its friendly 
 cloud over half my sorrows, and for many weeks, 
 I was almost unconscious of my existence. 
 
 *' In our way to the island we were bound to, our 
 vessel touched at Jamaica, and there the yellow 
 fever breaking out amongst our ship's crew, we 
 were landed for the recovery of our health; I en- 
 tered the hospital amongst the rest, and stretched 
 upon my wretched pallet, was expected hourly to 
 expire. 
 
 "An English gentleman, of large fortune, who 
 resided on the island, had long made jt his custom 
 in imitation of the benevolent Howard, to dedicate 
 not only his fortune but his time, to the divine task 
 of mitigating the sufferings of his fellow creatures. 
 He visited the prisons, the hospitals, in short, every 
 species of wretched ness,and no fear of infection, no 
 considerations of personal safety, could, for an in 
 stant, impede his iDeneticient exertions. 
 
 "This philanthropist, this friend of the human 
 race, visited my forlorn pallet, little imagining the 
 reward prepared for his benevolence. Yes, my 
 sweet girl, his angelic goodness was rewarded, for 
 
272 FATHBRLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 in the person of the forsaken sufferer, he had visited 
 from motives of pure liumanity, he found a long- 
 lamented and still tenderly-beloved nephew. 
 
 It was my worthy uncle, Mr. Hamilton, whose 
 godlike charity led him to my succour, when the 
 lamp of life was just expiring, and my sufferings 
 and my wrongs were just sinking into the vale of 
 oblivion ! ! 
 
 " The tenderest care, the most unremitting so- 
 licitude, joined to a skill in the treatment of the 
 disorder, rendered superior io all others from the 
 wisdom of experience, soon conquered my bodily 
 indisposition; but, alas! the distemper of my 
 mind lay deeper rooted, and long, very long did 
 it baffle every tender effort made by my more than 
 father, for my restoration. 
 
 " At length, when he had nearly relinquished 
 all hopes of my recovery, my reason was restored 
 to me, and I had the inexpressible delight of once 
 more embracing my truly paternal friend. 
 
 " Heavens, what a scene followed ! It is impos- 
 sible to paint the indignation felt by Mr. Hamilton 
 whilst he listened to the recital of my wrongs. 
 Not all the humanity that filled his worthy heart, 
 could prevent him from wishing to bring to con- 
 dign punishment the abandoned author of my 
 woes. 
 
 ** He made immediate preparations for returning 
 to England, determined to lose no time and spare 
 no expence in order to expose the villany of so 
 daring an outrage upon the safety of civilized so- 
 ciety. But, alas ! a premature death put an end 
 to all these projects. 
 
 "My dear uncle was seized with a fever, caught 
 by his too close attendance upon one of the unfor- 
 tunate objects of his bounty, and a few days ter- 
 minated his valuable existence. 
 
 *' Before he expired, however, he secured all 
 his possessions to me, and left me as rich and as 
 
THE MTTLE MENDICANT. 273 
 
 wretched as he had been himself, before the exer- 
 cise of philanthropy had raised him above the 
 world he inhabited, and fitted him for a better. 
 
 " A relapse into my former malady was the con- 
 sequence of the grief 1 felt at my ancle's death. 
 That kind friend had foreseen the probability of 
 such a misfortune, and provided accordingly for my 
 safety, and the security of my fortune in case of such 
 an event, by appointing two gentlemen my trustees 
 whose integrity he could rely upon. They fulfilled 
 his expectation; and by their humane attention I 
 was preserved during three melancholy years, 
 from the miserable corisequences of occasional in- 
 sanity, and, at length, restored to the full posses- 
 sion of my senses, and all the enjoyment of my 
 fortune I could now hope to experience. 
 
 " My most earnest wish was now to return to 
 England, for my lacerated heart panted to inquire 
 after my Emily and her offspring. Mr. Barlowe 
 one of my trustees, opposed me, however, and en- 
 treated me to wait until the inquiries, he had set on 
 foot relative to the objects of my anxiety, should 
 be replied to. Alas! the result of those inquiries 
 gave the death blow to ray hopes. My Emily, 1 
 found, was no more ; her beatified spirit was now 
 become an inmate of the Heaven for which her 
 sorrows had so perfectly prepared her; and my 
 lovely infant, Mrs. Bolton wrote me word, had 
 been conreyed to France, by the lady to whom my 
 Emily had confided her, and that, notwithstand- 
 ing all the inquiries she had since made after the 
 sweet innocent, she had never been able to obtain 
 the slightest information, although she had strictly 
 followed the directions given her by the lady who 
 took her lovely charge from her, and who styled 
 herself Lady Betty Molineux. SAs no reason 
 was ever assigned for taking the dear child from 
 my care,' said Mrs. Bolton, in her letter, * 1 
 think^the action never could be the free will of my 
 
274 FATHERLESS FANKY : OR, . 
 
 sweet Emily; she would not have wounded a 
 heart so truly, so long devoted to her service, with- 
 out explaining the motives of such a proceeding; 
 1 have looked at both her letters on the subject of 
 the child's removal, and compared them with 
 others in my possession, and every time I examine 
 them I feel more and more convinced they are 
 forgeries. 
 
 " ' From this belief I am inclined to fear the 
 dear child is fallen into the hands of the inexorable 
 enemy of her family. Bui you can travel, my 
 good friend ; seek her, therefore, in France, you 
 cannot fail of knowing your child by her likeness 
 to her mother. 
 
 " ' You are supposed dead by every one. Your 
 inquiries cannot alarm the most vigilant suspicions. 
 Go and prosper.' 
 
 '* I followed my friend's advice; but without 
 success. I resided several years in France ; tra- 
 velling from place to place, still cherishing the 
 hopes of finding my darling, but still meeting dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 " About a year ago I returned to Jamaica, on 
 some business of importance, and there met my 
 kind friend, Mr. Barlowe. 
 
 "In speaking to him, one day, on the subject 
 next my heart, I dwelt upon the fruitless search I 
 had been making after my lost daughter. He 
 then related to me a story of a friendless girl, who 
 had been placed, in a mysterious manner, at the 
 school where his daughter had been educated ; and 
 the description he gave of your person, age, and 
 the time of your being placed at school, corres- 
 ponded so exactly with my own narrative, that 1 
 felt assured I had found the long-lost jewel. 
 
 " I hastened to England, and found my hopes 
 confirmed, by Mrs. Bolton, who related the cir- 
 cumstance of her nocturnal visit to your chamber! 
 soon after you became the protege of your near 
 relation, Lady EUincourt. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 275 
 
 *' She told me she had written to me on the sub- 
 ject during tny stay in France; by some chance, 
 however, the letter had never reached me, and 
 thus my sorrows had been protracted. I had the 
 mortification to find that Lady Ellincourt and her 
 son had left England, and Mrs. Bolton at first 
 imagined you had accompanied them. Tiiis opi- 
 nion proved erroneous, for I soon afterwards found 
 you in London. 
 
 " You must remember our first meeting." 
 
 *' I do, indeed," replied Fanny, '* and the 
 strange unaccountable emotions of my heart, when 
 first the sound of your voice struck upon my ear. 
 My dear, dear father," continued the lovely girl, 
 dropping on her knees before her parent, '^ receive 
 your daughter's fond assurance that every moment 
 of her future life shall be devoted to you. Oh! 
 may Heaven, in its infinite mercy, grant that my 
 tender assiduities may succeed in soothing your 
 deep-felt sorrows, and awaken a gleam of joy, to 
 gild the evening of your day !" 
 
 *' Sweet recompense for ail my sufferings," said 
 Mr. Hamilton, " a treasure richer than expression 
 can impart ! Ah ! where is sorrow if thou art mine? 
 or, shall 1 murmur at aught that is withheld whilst 
 thou art restored to me? 1 have but little more to 
 relate of my story. 
 
 " As soon as 1 had convinced myself that you 
 were indeed my daughter, I wrote to Lady El- 
 lincourt upon the subject, and received the kindest 
 answer possible. Her ladyship entreated me, how- 
 ever, to keep the matter secret, until her return, 
 and to act with caution respecting Lord Somer- 
 town, who, though advanced in age, has not 
 grown in goodness. I have followed her ladyship's 
 advice, without ever loosing sight of my darling, 
 whose footsteps have been closely watched by an 
 anxious father, ever since he was so happy to find 
 her. 
 
27b FATHERLESS FANNY: OK, 
 
 *' Lord Somertown does not suspect my exist- 
 ence; for my face is so much altered it is impos- 
 sible he should recollect me, particularly as he 
 supposes me dead so many years ago, for the re- 
 port of my having died of the yellow fever had 
 been carried to Lord Ballafyn, by the captain to 
 whose care he consigned me. 
 
 ** I had one evening, the pleasure of terrifying 
 my cruel enemy, by speaking, in my own voice, 
 close at his ear some words that struck with deep 
 remorse his guilty soul, and made him shrink, ap- 
 palled at the dreadful warning, whilst terror pal- 
 sided his tottering frame, he fell on the ground, in- 
 capable of ascertaining from whence the voice 
 came. 
 
 " J had, therefore, plenty of time to escape ; and 
 to this moment he supposes the words were utter- 
 ed by some supernatural being. 
 
 *' When, therefore, 1 found my precious child 
 under the protection of so near a connexion of her 
 bitterest enemy, i determined to act with the most 
 scrupulous circumspection, and to forbear making 
 known my claim until the return of Lord Ellin- 
 court and his amiable mother should render my 
 darling's situation secure, during the time neces- 
 sary for the investigation that is to restore her to 
 her rights in society; that happy moment ap- 
 proaches, for Lady Ellincourt is expected every 
 day." 
 
 " I know it," said Fanny, " interrupting her 
 father, 1 have received a letter from her own dear 
 hand, announcing that blessed news." 
 
 " Lord Ellincourt," replied Mr. Hamilton, "has 
 married a daughter of Mr. Barlowe. my old friend 
 and trustee; and in her person, my sweet girl 
 owns another sincere friend/' 
 
 " 1 owe to Emily Barlowe's kindness," said 
 Fanny, " all the happiness I now enjoy, for her 
 bounty saved me from the cruel fate, Miss Bride- 
 well had destined me to, J should certainly have 
 
J'HE LITTLE MENDICANT. 2/7 
 
 been sent to the workhouse, but for her kind in- 
 terference/' 
 
 *' My child has been the peculiar care of Provi- 
 dence/* answered Mr. Hamilton, '* through every 
 eventful period of her life, and to that divine and 
 unerring protection do 1 still commend her. 
 
 '* May the seraph that watches over innocence, 
 still hover near to keep my darling, until her fond 
 father can acknowledge her to the world. 
 
 '• 1 must now re-conduct my Fanny to her cham- 
 ber, for the night wears apace; and although the 
 interest of my story has kept you waking, I can 
 plainly see the traces of fatigue upon your counte- 
 nance. Return to your rest my child, and may the 
 blessing of a father seal your slumbers; I shall not 
 see my dear girl again, until 1 come to claim her, 
 for I am going to set off for London by the dawn 
 ofday, to meet the Eilincourt's on their arrival, and 
 to arrange matters for the important changes that 
 must take place; Mrs. Bolton will accompany me. 
 8o saying, Mr. Hamilton embraced his daughter, 
 who then clasped her arms round Mrs. Bolton's 
 neck, and sobbed her adieu." 
 
 '^ What shall I do, said the sweet girl, with the 
 newly awakened feelings of my agitated heart? 
 How conceal them from the penetrating eyes of Co- 
 ]onel Ross?'\ "You must keep in mind," replied 
 Mr. Hamilton, "that he is the brother of Lord Bal- 
 lafyn, and the friend of the cvue\ persecutor of your 
 sainted mother, as well as your fond father's bit- 
 terest enemy. Surely these reflections cannot fail 
 of producing the necessary caution." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton now led Fanny back by the same 
 way she had come, and havingseen her safe through 
 the mysterious pannel, bid her a final adieu. 
 
 It was in vain that the agitated girl threw herself 
 upon her bed, sleep under the impressions that now 
 tilled her mind, was impossible; and morning sur- 
 prised her, before she had closed her eyes for a 
 
 12 '> N 
 
^78 FATHERLESS FANNY t OR, 
 
 single instant. She arose therefore from her pillow 
 and employed the intermediate time between that 
 and breakfast, in removing as much as possible, the 
 traces of fatigue and weeping from her countenance. 
 She succeeded better than she expected, and de- 
 scended to the breakfast parlour, with tolerable 
 composure; the day past without any material oc- 
 currence, and Fanny retired at an early hourto her 
 chamber, under the plea of a bad head-ache, that 
 she might renovate her exhausted spirits, by a good 
 night's rest. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Consternation. 
 
 It has already been observed, that Fanny inhabit 
 ed one of the suite of apartments belonging to 
 Lady Ellincourt, and that consequently she was 
 a considerable distance from any room that was 
 occupied ; this recollection had been a consola- 
 tion to her whilst engaged in her nocturnal visit, 
 as her absence from her chamber was less likely to 
 be discovered. 
 
 On the morning following Fanny's early retreat 
 to her pillow. Lady Maria Ross was surprised at 
 her not appearing at breakfast, although the usual 
 hour was long past. *' I cannot think what is be- 
 come of Fanny,*' said her ladyship to the Colonel, 
 *' she is never so late as this, do ring and desire 
 the servant to enquire for her." The Col. rang the 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 279 
 
 bell; "I dare say," said he, carelessly, "she is 
 gone to take a romantic stroll this fine morning. 
 The girl's head is half-turned I believe with some 
 lover;" when the servant appeared, " desire my wo- 
 man to inquire for Miss Fanny," said Lady Maria, 
 *' and tell her that breakfast waits." The servant 
 presently returned, * Miss Fanny's door is fastened 
 said he, 'and Mrs. Brown cannot make her hear.* 
 Lady Maria started up from the table, " the dear, 
 girl is ill," exclaimed she, " and I am to blame for 
 suffering her to sleep in that desolate part of the 
 house." So saying, Lady Maria made immediately 
 to Fanny's apartments, followed by Colonel Ross, 
 and the servants, on whose countenances were im- 
 pressed, the most lively symptoms of terror. 
 
 Lady Maria called aloud upon the name of 
 her young friend, but without receiving any answer. 
 "Let the door be immediately forced," exclaimed 
 her ladyship, "some fatal accident has befallen my 
 beloved Fanny." Colonel Ross smiled; " she is 
 gone to take a walk, I dare say," said he, sarcasti- 
 cally, "such sentimental ladies love rambling of a 
 morning." " But why then should herdoor be fast?" 
 inquired her ladyship; " oh! she has locked it to 
 conceal some half finished love ditty," answered 
 the Colonel, " depend upon it all this fright is for 
 nothing.'* 
 
 Lady Maria paid but little attention to what her 
 husband said, and the proper implements being 
 brought, the door was broken open: but what was 
 the consternation of all present, when, upon enter- 
 ing the chamber, it was found empty, and from the 
 state of the bed it was evident that Fanny had ne- 
 ver been into it. Several things lay scattered about 
 the apartment in confusion, and on the ground lay 
 one of the bracelets she had worn the preceding 
 evening: Lady Maria picked it up, the clasp was 
 bent as if a heavy foot had trodden upon it, and 
 crushed it. " The dear girl has been forcibly 
 
280 FATHERLESS FANNY t OR, 
 
 dragged away/' said her terrified friend, as she 
 examined the bracelet. "Alas! my dear Fanny, 
 Avhat may have been your sufferings when you 
 dropped this!" 
 
 " What romance has your ladyship been reading 
 lately ?" said the Colonel, affecting to laugh, 
 thou2:h it was evident he was much agitated. " If 
 the girl is gone, depend upon it she went willingly. 
 For Heaven's sake who do you think would take 
 the trouble of dragging her away against her 
 will? 
 
 ** But, for my part, I cannot imagine how she 
 got away, unless, indeed, it be by the window ; for 
 you see the other door is fastened on the inside." 
 
 *• The window would then have been open/* 
 said Lady Maria, " so that conjecture must be er- 
 roneous." On examining Fanny's drawers, it appear- 
 ed plain that several articles of her apparel had 
 been taken out of them with apparent hurry, for 
 those left within were rumpled and displaced. A 
 small black trunk too, that used to stand in the room 
 was missing, and from all these circumstances, it 
 "was evident that Fanny was gone, and had taken 
 some clothes with her, and by that it appeared that 
 she was not unwilling to go, or she would not have 
 made provision for her flight. But whither or how 
 she was gone, it was impossible to conjecture, al- 
 though every one's mind suggested something, ei- 
 ther probable or improbable, to account for her 
 strange disappearance. Amongst the servants, it 
 was confidently believed, that she had been spirit- 
 ed away by some supernatural power; and n thou- 
 sand stories were reported of ghosts and goblins 
 that had formerly been said to haunt Pem- 
 berton-Abbey. Nor was the circumstance of Fan- 
 ny's terror, on the night she was visited by Mrs. 
 Bolton, forgotten amongst the relation of wonders. 
 The servants all agreed that the ghost had then 
 visited the child as a token that it meant to fetch 
 
THE LITTLE MBNDICATS r. 281 
 
 her away as soon as she should be grown to wo- 
 man's estate; and before the shades of evening 
 had gathered round them, the impression of self- 
 created terror was so strong upon their minds, that 
 none of them would venture to go singly into any 
 part of the house/* 
 
 Lady Maria's terror was not inferior to that 
 which dismayed her servants, although she felt 
 no belief that Fanny had been torn from her by 
 any supernatural agency. The fate of one she 
 loved so tenderly, thus strongly involved in mys- 
 tery, filled her amiable heart with anguish, and 
 she wept incessantly, without being able to con- 
 jecture what could become of her, or to suggest 
 any probable means of recovering her. 
 
 " There appeared no probable, nor, indeed, 
 possible means of her having left her room, as 
 both the doors were fastened on the inside, unless, 
 indeed, there was some secret entrance to the 
 chamber; an idea which the lately revived story 
 of the nocturnal visit Fanny had received, in that 
 same apartment, when a child, seemed certainly 
 to warrant. 
 
 *' The examination of the wainscot, however, 
 by the best carpenter they could procure, turned 
 out just the same as a former one had done, when 
 resorted to by Lady Ellincourt, to elucidate the 
 mystery that at that time filled Pemberton-Abbey 
 wilh dismay. 
 
 The Colonel, during the whole of the bustle, 
 affected the utmost unconcern. " The girl is so 
 artful," said he, " that 1 am not surprised at any 
 contrivance of hers to throw an air of mystery 
 over her departure. She has run away with 
 some of her gallants ; and, no doubt, imagines 
 her story will make a fine novel, bye and bye, 
 when the miracle of her having been conveyed 
 away through the key-hole, conses to be added to 
 it. That adventurer, who calls himself Hamilton, 
 
282 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR, 
 
 has been seen in this neighbourhood within these 
 few days ; and, you may depend upon it, she is 
 gone with him, for she was stark mad about him 
 before we left London." 
 
 "And will you not send to trace the fugitives?" 
 asked Lady Maria, "or, at least, to ascertain 
 whether Fanny is, indeed, gone willingly ?" 
 
 '^ Not I, indeed," answered the Colonel. 
 " Girls, such as Fanny, are not so scarce, that 
 men need risk their lives to obtain them. She went 
 willingJij, or she would not have gone at all, and 
 therefore I deem her not worth seeking after.'' 
 
 Lady Maria was deeply hurt at her husband's 
 apparent apathy, and although she could not 
 make'him do vi'hat he ought to have done, for 
 the recovery of her favourite friend ; she secretly 
 employed several of her neighbouring farmers, to 
 make diligent search for her beloved Fanny. 
 These inquiries, though made with the sincerest 
 wish to succeed, were however fruitless, not the 
 smallest light could be thrown upon the subject, 
 and a whole week elapsed, without Lady Maria 
 being able to obtain the smallest atom of intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 In the mean time. Colonel Ross was making 
 preparations for his departure for Ireland, to 
 which place he now expressed himself very im- 
 patient to set out, and although he received a 
 letter from Lord Ellincourt, announcing his arri- 
 val in London, and his intention of visiting Pem- 
 berton Abbey, in the course of two days; the 
 Colonel refused to stay to receive his lordship, 
 ])ut set off on his journey, the very day Lord El- 
 lincourt was expected, leaving an apology with 
 Lady Maria, for his friend ; alledging as an ex- 
 cuse, that he had received a very urgent letter 
 from Lord Ballafyn, to request his immediate 
 presence in Ireland. 
 
 Jn a few hours after Colonel Ross's departure. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 283 
 
 Lord Ellincourt arrived at Pemberton Abbey. 
 Feeble, indeed, would be any attempt of mine, to 
 describe the rage and distraction that seized his 
 lordship, when he heard the fatal tale of Fanny's 
 disappearance ; Lady Maria was perfectly terri- 
 fied at his violence. 
 
 As soon as he would permit her to speak, she 
 mentioned Colonel Ross's supposition, that Fanny 
 had been taken away by Mr. Hamilton. " It is 
 false,*' exclaimed Lord Ellincourt, *' it is basely 
 false, and Ross knows it so. I saw Mr. Hamil- 
 ton yesterday, in London, and I am the bearer of 
 a letter from him, to his daughter ; for such is the 
 unfortunate Fanny, to that amiable man.'* 
 
 *' No, no," continued his lordship, " not heeding 
 the astonishment he saw pourtrayed upon Lady 
 Maria's features, no, no, if she be spirited away, 
 it is by the vile Somertown, or some of his mis- 
 creants, and by Colonel Ross's sang-froid in this 
 dreadful affair, I suspect he knows something of 
 the plot, but by heaven's they shall soon know that 
 they have roused a /lo/t, when they angered me, 
 and I will make them produce my Fanny, or by 
 heaven's I will shoot every mother's son of them. 
 I will immediately return to London, and seton foot 
 a search, which shall find the lost jewel, if they 
 have hid her at the antipodes^" 
 
 It was in vain that Lady Maria endeavoured to 
 persuade Lord Ellincourt to take any refreshment, 
 he would not hear of it. He just took a survey of 
 poor Fanny's forsaken apartment, made a cursory 
 examination of the servants, and jumping into his 
 carriage, he returned full speed to London, leaving 
 poor Lady Maria overwhelmed with grief, terror, 
 and astonishment. 
 
284 FATHERLESS FANNY : OR 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 Elucidation. 
 
 It is now time to return to Fanny, whose disap- 
 pearance from Pembertoa Abbey, must have ex- 
 cited the reader's curiosity, and perhaps some de- 
 gree of sympathy. 
 
 On tlie night this mysterious circumstance oc- 
 curred, it has already been said that Fanny, 
 fatigued by the preceding night's watching, had 
 retired early to her chamber, to seek the repose she 
 stood so much iu need of. It was Fanny's invari- 
 able custom on entering her apartment for the 
 niglit, to offer up her prayers and thanksgivings to 
 her Maker. Whilst employed in this sacred duty, 
 she was startled by the creaking of the mysterious 
 pannel, and rising from her kneeling posture, was 
 surprised to see it partly open. Yet, notwithstand- 
 ing her surprise, she was not alarmed, as she con- 
 cluded that her father had forgotten something 
 he wished to mention to her, and had commis- 
 sioned Mrs. Bolton to acquaint her with it. She 
 drew near the opening, therefore, without appre- 
 hension, for she imagined that Mrs. Bolton, not 
 beins: so strong as her father, found some difficul- 
 ty in removing the barrier that opposed her en- 
 trance, and Fanny put out her hand to assist her. 
 What then was her terror and dismay, when she 
 saw two horrid looking men, enter at the aperture, 
 

 c^^^ <>/ u^. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 285 
 
 and immediately felt herself seized by them, and 
 a handkerchief tied over her mouth, to prevent 
 her from giving utterance to her fears. 
 
 *' Come, Miss," said one of the wretches, " as you 
 are so fond of midnight vagaries,ye«"5, you shall have 
 enough of them. 1 suppose you thought yourself 
 mighty cunning, but you see there are some folks 
 as cunning as you." Struggling and almost dying 
 in the rude grasp that held her, Fanny had still 
 resolution enough to keep herself from fainting, 
 and by a strenuous effort, succeeded at length in 
 removing the handkerchief from her mouth, suf- 
 ficiently to ask what they intended to do with her. 
 " Oh, you are only going a little journey with 
 your old beau," replied one of the men, laughing, 
 *' where's the trunk?" continued he, turning to his 
 comrade, *' did not Mabel say she had packed it 
 up?'' " Yes, yes," replied the other ruffian, " it 
 stands in yonder corner : if you will take the 
 young gentlewoman down, 1 will bring the trunk." 
 
 At these words the other man seized Fanny in 
 his arms, and was taking her through the pannel, 
 when by a dexterous struggle she got from him, 
 and running towards the window, began screaming 
 aloud. This lasted only for an instant, for she 
 was immediately seized, and the handkerchief 
 placed in such a manner over her mouth, that she 
 found it impossible to remove it. *' You oblige 
 us to be rough with you. Miss," said one of the 
 men, " so if you don't like it, you may thank 
 yourself for it." 
 
 She was now wholly overcome by terror, and. 
 was carried along the narrow passage through 
 which she had passed the night before into the 
 house, where she had been acknowledged by her 
 father, without making an attempt to escape from 
 her persecutors, or even uttering a groan. When 
 she arrived at the apartment where she had listened 
 to Mr. Hamilton's interesting narrative, she was 
 
 No. 13. 2 o 
 
286 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 met by an elderly woman, who reprimanded the 
 men for the violence they seemed to have used to- 
 wards their charge. '* Well then, why did she 
 not come along quietly," said one of the men, 
 " she might have seen it was of no use to ^try her 
 strength with us, but you may do as you please 
 "with her now, for nobody can hear in this place, 
 let her bawl ever so." 
 
 The woman now removed the handkerchief, and 
 seating Fanny on a chair, endeavoured to soothe 
 lier, whilst the men returned to her forsaken apart- 
 ment to fetch the little trunk, which had been pre- 
 pared by the woman for her departure, and which 
 contained a sufficient change of linen, &c. for the 
 •journey she was about to take ; these things had 
 been taken from Fanny's drawers, by the woman 
 these men called Mabel, and whom Fanny rightly 
 supposed to be the person Mr. Hamilton had said, 
 "was formerly a servant of his, and who had been 
 placed there at the commencement of his unfor- 
 tunate marriage, in order to facilitate the meetings 
 between himself and the ill-fated Emily. 
 
 Fanny vainly endeavoured to persuade the 
 "woman to suffer her to escape. She was inexor- 
 able to all her entreaties ; when the poor girl 
 found her eloquence unavailing to prevail with 
 her gaoler, to restoie her to freedom ; she then 
 strove to penetrate the cause of her detention. 
 " For what reason," said the weeping girl, " am 1 
 deprived of my liberty? who is it that thus cruelly 
 tears me from the asylum that protected me, 
 surely Mr. Hamilton cannot be an imposter." 
 
 " Whether he is or no, it is mcstlike you wil 1 never 
 see him again," replied the woman, "so don't let 
 that trouble you; the person who removes you, 
 does it out of pure kindness, to save you from a 
 worse fate. You are going a little journey, and 
 it will be your own fault if you don't make your 
 fortune. But here comes Robin and Franklyn, so 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 287 
 
 hold your tongue, or it will be worse for you ;" 
 the men now entered the room, and one of them 
 declared that the carriage was come. Poor 
 Fanny was obliged to submit to have the bandage 
 re-placed over her mouth, and being wrapt in a 
 large cloak, she was conveyed to a post chaise 
 that was in waiting at the door of the house. 
 More dead than alive, the poor victim was lifted 
 into it by the men, but unable to keep her seat, 
 she dropped apparently senseless on the bottom 
 of the carriage. " Gome, Mabel," cried one of 
 the men, " you had better get into the chaise, 
 and support the poor girl in your arms, she will 
 die else before she reaches the water, and then 
 you know the Colonel will blow us to the old one. 
 
 The woman obeyed the injunction, charging the 
 husband to take care of the house. " Aye, aye," 
 replied he, " never you fear, the house is well able 
 to take care of itself." 
 
 Although Fanny w^as incapable of speaking or 
 moving, she heard every word that was spoken ; 
 and when the Colonel's name struck her ear, her 
 heart died within her, for she did not doubt but 
 that the violence she was suffering, originated in 
 Lord Somertown's malice; and the recollection 
 of the note she had lost so unaccountably, and 
 which she had forgotten to mention to Mr. Ham- 
 ilton, made her imagine that the secret of that 
 gentleman's existence was discovered by his in- 
 veterate foe. 
 
 The agonizing fear this idea created, was too 
 much for poor Fanny to support, and dropping her 
 head upon Mabel's shoulder, she fainted away. 
 
 The woman, whose heart was not quite obdu- 
 rate, although she had been seduced for the sake 
 of a large sum of money, which had been promised 
 her, to lend her aid to this cruel violence, felt her- 
 self seriously alarmed, and called to the drivers of 
 the carriage to stop, that she might make some 
 effort to revive her unfortunate companion ; but no 
 
288 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK, 
 
 attention was paid to her entreaties, and wlien she 
 exalted her voice in order to make lierself better 
 heard, her husband, who was on horse back, rode 
 up to the carriage, and tlireatened her with his 
 horsewhip, if she did not hold her tongue. 
 
 By this time Fanny had revived, and finding 
 by Mabel's lamentations, that she had awakened 
 some sympathy in her bosom, she began imploring 
 her to inform her whither her persecutors were 
 conveying her. 
 
 •* Did not I hear something about accompany- 
 ing me to the water?" said the trembling girl. 
 *' Surely they are not going to send me out of 
 England." And as she spoke she thought upon 
 Mr. Hamilton's narrative, where he described 
 what he had suffered on a similar occasion, when 
 sent on board a vessel by Lord Somertown. 
 
 " Lord bless your poor heart," replied Mabel, 
 '* you must not frighten yourself so, that's what 
 you must not, else I am certain sure you will not 
 live to go any where. And if so be you are to be 
 taken over sea, you may depend upon it, great 
 care will be taken of you, and you will be a great 
 Lady, and very happy, or it must be your own 
 fault; for the Col. said, as how, that if a hair of 
 your head was hurt, he would be the death of 
 the person that injured you; and, indeed. Miss, 
 1 would not have had any thing to do with the 
 conspiration, if I bad not knoiced that you was not 
 to be hurtedr 
 
 " You seem to pity me," said Fanny, " I hope, 
 therefore, wherever I am going, that you will ac- 
 company me." 
 
 *' I shall go with you to the water-side, I dare 
 say, Miss, but no farther." 
 
 *' And where am I going to then?" said Fanny. 
 
 " Oh lauke, Miss, I must not tell you, if 1 knotvedj 
 for Franklyn would kill me ; but I do not knoiv^ 1 
 only guesses—^' 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 289 
 
 *'Then," interrupted Fanny, "there can sure be 
 no harm in guessing;." 
 
 " Well, if you won't tell what you know, Miss, 
 I will just whisper what I suspect. I fancy you 
 he going- to Ireland." 
 
 " To Ireland!" ejaculated Fanny. 
 
 " There now, Miss, you talk so loud, Franklyn 
 will hear you, and then he will kill me as sure as 
 a gun." 
 
 " 1 will be more cautious," said Fanny, lower- 
 ing her voice; " but what can they be taking me 
 to Ireland for?" 
 
 " Oh dear, I am sure that is more than 1 can 
 tell," answered Mabel ; " I wish they had let you 
 stay where you was ; but they know their own 
 business, I suppose ; though, 1 am sure, 1 be 
 frightened out of ray wits, between one thing and 
 t'other." 
 
 " Pray do ask your husband to let you go with 
 me," said Fanny; " I shall think myself safe if 
 they do not take you from me." 
 
 *' Dear heart. Miss, 1 dare not ask no such 
 thing," answered the woman, "for my husband is 
 the most snappishest man you ever seed in your 
 life, and would not mind more than nothing at all 
 giving me a black eye, or any other bruise, if I 
 was to go about to circumvent him." 
 
 " I must submit to my fate, then," said Fann)'', 
 sighing, " for I am sure, I would not be the oc- 
 casion of suffering to any one, if I could avoid it, 
 for all the world." 
 
 Fanny now threw herself back in the carriage, 
 and sunk into a silent reverie. Fatigue, and ex- 
 cessive weeping, soon converted that reverie into 
 a slumber, and she awoke not mitil the chaise 
 stopped for refreshment and change of horses, at 
 a lone house upon a dreary common. Day was 
 just peeping through the eastern sky and gave 
 
290 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 ligiit enough to show to the unhappy Fanny the 
 hopelessness of her situation. 
 
 The two men who had torn her from her cham- 
 ber, kept close watch by the carriage, whilst the 
 horses were changed, and took especial care that 
 the few persons who were up at the little inn 
 where they had halted, should not approach near 
 enough the chaise to converse with Fanny, had 
 she been inclined to call them for succour. 
 
 One of the men pulled a little basket from the 
 boot and took from it a bottle of wine, and a par- 
 cel of cake, part of which he offered respectfully to 
 Fanny. At first she refused to touch it; but on 
 Mabel's declaring that she would immediately 
 quit her, unless she consented to take some re- 
 freshment, poor Fanny submitted, and swallowed 
 half a glass of wine, and eat a small biscuit. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXJII. 
 
 The Hibernian, 
 
 Poor Fanny's dreary journey continued through 
 the whole of the ensuing day, only stopping for 
 change of horses, which were found at some lone 
 place waiting for the approach of the chaise, which 
 kept its way through bye lanes, and trackless 
 Avastes, avoiding cautiously every habitation. 
 Fanny, who now gave herself up for lost, sunk 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 291 
 
 into a state of apathy, which almost rendered her 
 cailous to the misery of her situation, and she re- 
 mained perfectly passive by the side of Mabel, 
 who, overcome by fatigue, had fallen into a pro- 
 found slumber. 
 
 They continued travelling »ong after night had 
 set in; and the darkness that now enveloped every 
 object, prevented Fanny from distinguishing the 
 country she was passing through. At length the 
 carriage stopped, and the hollow-sounding wind 
 that then struck her ear, accompanied by the loud 
 dashing of water, convinced the unhappy sufferer 
 that she was near the sea. 
 
 A new agony of terror now pervaded her soid, 
 and roused her from the torpor which had seized 
 her; and when the man whom Mabel called Frank- 
 ]yn, approached the chaise and opened the door 
 of it, Fanny screamed aloud, and clasping her arms 
 round Mabel's neck, implored her not to leave her. 
 
 The woman, who was just awakened from her 
 nap, was terrified at Fanny's violence, and began 
 weeping excessively, and promising that she would 
 not leave her. 
 
 *' Here's a fine to do," exclaimed the ruffian, 
 taking Fanny in his arms, and lifting her, in spite 
 of her struggles, from the chaise. He was spon, 
 however, obliged to alter his behaviour; for the 
 terror occasioned by his violence, so completely 
 overpowered Fanny, that she sunk lifeless on the 
 ground, and he and every other person present, 
 believed that she had, indeed, breathed her last. 
 
 " Let us make haste and get her on board," said 
 Franklyn, " and then we can svi'ear she died ot 
 sea-sickness." 
 
 '' No, that you shan't," exclaimed Mabel ; " for 
 I vow I will betray you if you do not directly get 
 some help for this poor dear lamb. I'll tell the 
 Colonel it was your ill usage killed her." 
 
 " Don't you know, Mrs. Chatterbox," answered 
 
292 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR> 
 
 her husband, "that you may be silenced before 
 you expect it; so don't let me have any of your 
 threats." 
 
 " But although he carried such an air of bravado 
 with his wife, he was dreadfully alarmed lest she, 
 poor victim, had sunk under her suffering-, and cal- 
 ling the other men to assist him, they conveyed 
 Fanny into a little cottage belonging to the fisher- 
 man in whose skiff they were going to embark 
 their helpless charge. 
 
 Several hours elapsed before Fanny shewed 
 the least symptom of recovery : at length, by the 
 tender assiduities of Mabel and the fisherman's 
 wife, she slowly revived ; and having been per- 
 suaded to swallow a little wine and water, she 
 was able to speak. 
 
 The first question she asked, was, whether 
 Mabel would stay with her ? The woman assured 
 her, with tears, that she would, and intreated 
 her to try to take a litttle rest, pledging at the 
 same time, her word, in the most solemn manner, 
 that she would not quit her bed- side whilst she 
 slept. 
 
 Fatigue and excessive suffering, both of body 
 and mind, had entirely exhausted Fanny's strength, 
 and she willingly yielded to the drowsiness that 
 overpowered her, now she had received such 
 assurances of security whilst she indulged it. 
 
 She awoke not until the day was far spent, and 
 found Mabel seated on one side her bed, and the 
 fissherman's wife on the other, with the strongest 
 anxiety painted on their countenances. At first 
 her ideas were too much confused, to allow her 
 to recollect where she was, but as they became 
 more clear, the dreadful truth flashed upon her 
 mind, and she burst into tears. 
 
 " Don't cry, there's a dear young lady," ex- 
 claimed Mabel, 1 have got leave from my hus- 
 band to cross the water with you, and 1 warrant 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 293 
 
 me, nobody shall hurt you whilst I be with you, 
 liaiike a me, if I had knowed what a deal of un- 
 happiness I should have had on your account, I 
 would no more have undertaken tlie business 
 than Yd ajfi/ed, that's what I would not ; no not 
 for twice the money the Colonel has promised us." 
 
 " Oh ! contrive some means for my escape," 
 exclaimed Fanny, *' and if gold is the object 
 which has induced your husband and you to be- 
 tray me, I will promise you twice the sum he is to 
 give you, and fear not that I can pay you, for I 
 am sure, Lady ElUncourt will not hesitate to 
 ransom me, as soon as she knows the service 
 you have done me." 
 
 " Lauke, Miss, you talk just as if I could do 
 what I likes, and you forgets I have a husband, 
 and a queer jockey he is too, as ever a poor 
 woman was troubled with ; but, hcnvsomclever, if 
 you will but go quietly along with the folks as be 
 conveyiug you to Ireland, why it shall go hard 
 hut 1 will send somebody after you as shall ^et 
 you back again in a crack ; but if you goes about 
 to be rumbuslical, and the like of that, why then 
 my husband will kill me, and then you know 1 
 cannot tell your friends, and I defy Satan himself 
 to find you unless I blab the secret : so you see 
 what you have to trust to." 
 
 Fanny uttered a deep sigh as she listened to 
 Mabel's strange exhortation, for she felt too truly 
 how much her chance of escaping depended upon 
 the exertions of that woman, to dare to contradict 
 a tittle of what she advanced. She wondered 
 much that Mabel should speak so openly before 
 the fisherman's wife, of afiairs that certainly en- 
 dangered her ov.n safety, siiould they be made 
 public; this surprise subsided, however, when she 
 found soon afterwards, that the poor woman* was 
 quite deaf; a circumstance that gave her real con- 
 cern, as she had hoped, from the hmiianitv ex- 
 
 13. 2 P / ^^ 
 
294 FATHERLESS FANNY ] OR, 
 
 pressed in lier countenance, that she should have 
 been able to interest her in her behalf; this'was 
 impossible it plainly appeared, for she must have 
 spoken so loud that, in siich a small house, every 
 thing she said would have been in danger of being 
 overheard by Franklyn, and the other men. 
 
 Poor Fanny was obliged, therefore, to be silent, 
 and commit herself to the care of that God, who 
 was alone able to deliver her. As soon as Frank- 
 lyn understood that Fanny was awake, he insisted 
 upon her being put immediately on board the 
 little vessel that lay waiting for her in a creek 
 near the fisherman's habitation. Resistance was 
 in vain : Fanny therefore submitted without mak- 
 ing any, and was presently conveyed into the 
 miserable little cabin of the fishing smack. But 
 here afresh trial awaited her, and her fortitude had 
 nearly forsaken her when she found thait, notwith- 
 standing his promise to let Mabel cross the water 
 with her, the barbarous Franklyn insisted upon 
 leaving his wife behind. Fanny's tears and en- 
 treaties availed her nothing; tlie vessel was soon 
 under weigh, and the hapless girl launched on the 
 boundless ocean, accompanied only by the most 
 unprincipled of ruflians. 
 
 The fear of fainting surrounded liy such a 
 liOrrid crew, made .Fanny exert an energy she 
 was before unconscious of possessing, and lifting 
 up her heart in prayer to the God in whom she 
 trusted, her countenance assumed a look of patient 
 fortitude, that astonished her persecutors. 
 
 " Miss looks terrible well now," exclaimed 
 Franklyn to one of the other men, " it is only 
 my whimpering wife made her bad before; I wish 
 I had sent her back sooner, we should have beeii 
 across the herring-pond by this time." 
 
 The wind beiiig exactly fair, with a light breeze, 
 a feu hours wafted tiiem over, and the shores of 
 Ireland presented themselves to their view. The 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 295 
 
 vessel ran into a narrow creek, under a chain of 
 bills that seemed the counterpart of the one they 
 had just left on the other side. Here they dis- 
 embarked, and Fanny was couveyed to a miser- 
 able mud cabin, v/here she was obliged to wait 
 whilst the owner of it, at the request of Franklyn, 
 went iji search of a car, to carry her to tiie place 
 of her destination, which she understood, from the 
 conversation of those around her, was at the dis- 
 tance of three miles. 
 
 To those who have never seen the interior of a 
 cabin in Ireland, it would be in vain to attenjj)t to 
 give an idea of the scene that presented itself to 
 Fanny, on her entering- that abode of poverty and 
 wretchedness. Those who hai-e seen one, will 
 readily admit the picture to be true, when 1 de- 
 scribe it. Around a fire, made upon the hearth, 
 and composed of damp turf, whose suffocating 
 smoke rendered them abiiost invisible, stood six 
 squalid looking ciii.'dren, of different sizes: all, 
 except the youngest, clothed in tattered garments, 
 of a thousand different hues. That poor little 
 thing had no other covering but what heaven had 
 given it, and seemed to creep close to its brothers 
 and sisters, in order to shelter itself from the chill 
 blast that entered at the open door as well as at 
 the hole in the wall, which supplied the place of 
 a window: a crock was on the fire, full of potatoes, 
 which with a little butter-milk, was the only food 
 ever tasted by the wretched family. Fanny shrunk 
 back, horror struck by the scene before her, but 
 instantly recollecting her forlorn situation, she 
 advanced at the entreaty of the mistress of the 
 ^vretched hovel, and took possession of a seat that 
 Mas placed for her near the fire, from whence the 
 children were immediately driven by their mother, 
 to make room for the stranger, a character always 
 sacred in the eyes of the Irish. Fanny entreated 
 hat the poor little creatures might be permitted to 
 
296 FATHERLESS FANNY: OK, 
 
 remain ; no sense of sufTering, no fear of personal 
 inconvenience con]d, for an instant, indnce her 
 to forget the feelings of others, and the natural 
 benevolence of her heart, could only be extin- 
 guished by the suspension of life itself. The men 
 who were at once the persecutors of Fanny, and 
 her guard, now entered the cottage, bearing a 
 basket containing provisions; some refreshment 
 was offered to Fanny but she refused it, and en- 
 treated that what was intended for her use, might 
 be distributed amongst the poor objects around 
 her. This request was complied with, and Fanny 
 felt her sorrows for a while suspended Hby the 
 heartfelt satisfaction, of beholding a group of 
 starving children, made happy by her bounty. It 
 is impossible to describe the joy of the poor little 
 creatures, at the partition of the food, or to do 
 justice to the surj)rise and delight, painted on their 
 meagre countenances, whilst partaking of such 
 imcommon fare, Tiie mother stood by, contem- 
 plating her offspring with silent pleasure, and 
 when pressed to take a part of the dainties, she 
 declined the invitation. 
 
 " Let the children eat it all," said she, " it does 
 me more good to look at them, than to eat any 
 myself." Fanny's eyes tilled with tears, as she 
 listened to this tender expression of unsophisticated 
 nature, and mechanically putting her hand into 
 lier pocket, she drew forth a purse, and took from 
 it a small piece of gold, which she destined for 
 the affectionate mother. 
 
 The action was unperceived by either of the 
 men, or perhaps it might have been productive of 
 bad consequences to t!ie benevolent Fanny; who, 
 at the moment of doing it, had so totally forgotten 
 all her own sufferings, that no idea of bribery as- 
 sociated itself w ith the destined gift. 
 
 The return of the man with the car he had been 
 sent for, now obliged Fanny to quit the wretched 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 297 
 
 hovel, and had it been any thing less miserable 
 than it was, slie would have done so with relnct- 
 ance; because she found it contained a human 
 heart, capable of feeling. Whilst the men were 
 busy placing Fanny's little trunk upon the vehicle 
 that awaited her, and arranging some clean st,raw 
 for her accommodation ; she found an opportu- 
 nity of slipping a little piece of money into the 
 poor woman's hand. Scarcely could the wretched 
 creature believe her senses, when she looked upon 
 the welcome gift, but no sooner vs^as she con- 
 vinced that she held the value of seven thirteens 
 in her hand, than dropping on her knees she called 
 down blessings on the donor's head, with all the 
 enthusiastic gratitude, which is characteristic of 
 her country. Fanny implored her to rise, for she 
 felt the danger of the men's return, and putting 
 her hand over her mouth, besought her to be si- 
 lent. "And so I will, my lady," cried the poor 
 woman, " because you desire it, but oh ! it is fit 
 you should know that you have saved me and 
 mine from starving, for now we can pay our cruel 
 landlord and then he will not drive our pig, be- 
 fore it is half big enough, and so ruin us for ever. 
 Oh! and it is Dermot who is grateful, he will 
 never forget your goodness, and if it should ever 
 fall out that he can do you service, he will go 
 through fire and Mater to do it. We ^ve poor, my 
 lady, but our hearts can feel a kindness with the 
 richest lord in Christendom. " I am no lady," cried 
 Fanny, " but an unhappy girl, even more destitute 
 than you are." 
 
 "Then you shall not rob yourself to help us," 
 replied the woman, attempting to return the seven 
 shilling piece; " you mistake me," said Fanny, "1 
 do not want money, it is friends I stand in need of, 
 so keep it, good woman, and let me have your 
 prayers." " Yes, and you will have them, my sweet 
 jewel," replied the womai>, "and if it \s friends you 
 
298 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, > 
 
 want, it is Dermot that will be one to you, for he 
 will watch you by night and by day; just at this 
 moment, Frankiyn entered to say the car was 
 ready, and Fanny made a sign to her new friend to 
 be silent, the woman took tlie hint, and immedi- 
 ately obeyed it; but she followed Fanny to the door, 
 and assisted in jjlacing heron the car." The men 
 walked, on each side of the vehicle; and Dermot, 
 her promised friend, v/as the driver of the sorry 
 horse that drew her along. Fanny could scarcely 
 refrain from a smile, when she contemplated the 
 ragged figure of the protector, so boastingly pro- 
 mised her by his grateful wife. Alas ! thought 
 she, I am persecuted by the powerful and rich, 
 how then can such a poor creature as that, assist 
 me to escape from the grasp of oppression? and/ 
 yet my help must come from Heaven, and there is 
 no means too insignificant to become the instru- 
 ments of deliverance, in the hands of almighty 
 power. With thoughts like these, did the innocent 
 Fanny amuse her pensive mind, during her tedious 
 journey ; for although the distance was no more 
 than three Irish miles, the road was so extremely 
 bad, that she was above two hours and a half con- 
 fined to the uneasy vehicle that conveyed her, 
 whose creaking wheels, as they turned slowly 
 round, added, by their mournful sound, to the nje- 
 lancholy that oppressed her. The day was clos- 
 ing in, when Fanny left the cabin, and the shades 
 of evening enveloped the landscape, as she ap- 
 proached the end of her journey. 
 
 Yet still the lofty battlements of a large castle 
 that rose on an eminence before her, could not be 
 liidden by tlie dusky veil. Fanny shuddered as 
 she gazed on the immense prison, for such she 
 feared it would prove to hei", and onCe or twice a 
 thought of her imfortunate mother crossed her 
 imagination, and she could not help fancying that 
 this might have been the scene of her sufferings. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 299 
 
 Tlie j^ate of the castle was opened, on Frank] yn's 
 knocking, by an old man who appeared as if his 
 birth had been coeval with the bnilding of the castle. 
 He seemed to have expected the arrival of Fanny 
 and her escort, for he immediately led tliv way 
 through two court yards, to an inner range of build- 
 ings, where an elderly woman, of no very prepos- 
 sessing appearance, came out to meet them. She 
 welcomed Fanny to Ballafyn Castle, and confirmed 
 the suspicions which had before arisen m her mind. 
 Scarcely now could her trembling legs support 
 her exhausted frame ; and she was obliged to lean 
 upon the woman's arm, as she walked through the 
 long passage that led to the apartment that was 
 prepared for her. When she entered the room, 
 she sunk upon the first chair she came to, without 
 ever casting a single glance at the magnificence 
 that surrounded her. 
 
 " You seem very ill, Miss," said the w^oman, iu 
 a sharp tone, "perhaps you are tired, and had ra- 
 ther go to bed, than sit up to supper. I can assure 
 you there is a very nice one got for you. My 
 Lord gave orders that you should have the best 
 of every thing.' 
 
 " 1 would, indeed, wish to retire to bed," an- 
 swered Fanny, " the fatigue I have suffered has 
 quite overcome me." 
 
 " Well, Miss, 1 will order Rose to warm your bed 
 directly, and return to show you the way to it." 
 
 " 1 thank you," answered Fanny, " the sooner 
 the better," and as she spoke every limb shook 
 with agitation and terror. 
 
 The woman left the room without observing h'er 
 emotion : and Fanny had now leisure to observe 
 the room she was in, which appeared to be one of 
 the best in tlie Castle, for it was furnished in a 
 style of grandeur that, accustomed as Fanny was 
 to the mansions of the great, struck her with sur- 
 prise. But alas ! the trappings of magnificence, 
 
300 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 can boast but few charms for the truly wretched, 
 and Fanny turned with horror from the contem- 
 plation. 
 
 These very walls had once contained her mo- 
 ther, and, perhaps, could they speak, might have 
 told a taleof murder ! The woman had said, " My 
 Lord has ordered that you shall have every thing 
 of the best." Did she then mean Lord Ballafyn? 
 Surely not; for how could he be interested about 
 a person he had never seen. No, no, the infernal 
 agent in this dark business could be no other than 
 Colonel Ross ; and her soul shuddered as she 
 thought upon the motive that had induced him to 
 take such a step as that of inniuuing her in a pri- 
 son, from which it appeared to her finite ideas 
 impossible to escape. 
 
 Whilst she was engaged in this unpleasant re- 
 verie, the woman returned, and told lier the bed 
 was ready. Fanny rose immediately, and fol- 
 lowed her guide into a large hall, in which was 
 the great staircase, they ascended its marble steps, 
 and entered a long gallery with doors^on each side, 
 one of them was partly open, and the light within 
 shewed that it was prepared for a guest. Fanny's 
 guide stopped at this door, and told herthat was 
 her apartment. On entering tlie room, Fanny 
 found it was an elegant bed-room, with every re- 
 quisite for her accommodation. A young woman, 
 of a pleasing open countenance, w^as warming the 
 bed ; and Fanny observed that she seemed to look 
 at her with peculiar complacency as she dropped 
 her curtesy, and bid her welcome at her entrance. 
 Here Fanny found also her trunk, the key of which 
 was given her by the old wonaan, who said at the 
 same time, " I hope you will fhid every thing you 
 want. Miss, in this room ; but if you should not, 
 you have nothing to do but to ling, and either 
 Rose, or I, will immediately wait upon you. 
 Fannv thanked her: but said she was in want 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. .'JOl 
 
 of nothing. " Excepting, indeed," added she, with 
 a sigli, "that I want my liberty^ 
 
 " Oh, as to that,'' answered the old woman, " 1 
 warrant me, you will have liberty enough when my 
 Lord comes, for he is very good to pretty young 
 girls ; and if he had not liked you, he would not 
 have given such orders about you, nor been at all 
 this expence and trouble to get you here." 
 
 "Pray," asked Fanny, " who is your lord, iff 
 may take the liberty to enquire?" 
 
 " Lord Ballafyn is my lord," answered the old. 
 woman, " and as noble a gentleman as any in the 
 north of Ireland ; but I dare say you know that 
 as well as I do." 
 
 " I never saw Lord Ballafyn in my life," an- 
 swered Fanny, " and therefore cannot imagine 
 why he should take so much trouble about me." 
 
 " Oh, who knows," answered the beldame, 
 " perhaps he is going to make a lady of you : 
 there is such a likeness between you and my late 
 lady, that you might pass for her, only you are 
 rather too young." 
 
 " How long has your lady been dead?" asked 
 Fanny. " Above fifteen years," answered the old 
 woman, " but come, this is only keeping you out 
 of your bed, when you must Vv'ant to be in it by 
 your pale looks." 
 
 " Oh no, I do not want to go to bed," said 
 Fanny, " for I am sure in this strange place it 
 will be impossible for me to sleep ; is there any 
 body that sleeps near me?" 
 
 " Oh yes, my husband and 1 sleep next room 
 but one ; and Rose in the adjoining apartment. We 
 are airing the house against my Lord and his visit- 
 ors come, so we sleep in all the beds in their turn.'* 
 
 " If you should want any thing. Miss," said Rose 
 good-naturedly, " you need only tap against the 
 wall ; there is a door opens into this room out of 
 the one where I sleep." 
 
 13. 2 Q 
 
302 FATHERLESS fanny; OR, 
 
 Fanny's mind was a little calmed by this intelli- 
 gence, and she wished the two women good night, 
 and as soon as they were gone she threw herself 
 upon her knees, and imploring the Divine Protec- 
 tion, succeeded so far in subduing her terrors, that 
 she arose from her kneeling posture and began to 
 prepare for bed. The fatigue she had suffered of 
 late, joined to her anxiety of mind, had entirely 
 exhausted her strength, and miserable as she felt 
 herself her grief yielded to the weariness that 
 came over her, and she dropped asleep in a few 
 minutes after she was in bed ; nor once awoke 
 until the broad beam of morning had illuminated 
 her chamber. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Hetrospcction. 
 
 When Lord Ellincourt returned to London, his 
 first care was to find Mr. Hamilton, amd apprise 
 him of Fanny's disappearance. It is impossible to 
 describe the consternation this information excited 
 in the breast of that afflicted father — " Depend 
 upon it, the detestable Lord Somertown," said he, 
 " is at the bottom of this infernal plot ; I heard him 
 once threaten the sweet creature when he was un- 
 conscious that he was speaking aloud— the provo- 
 cation that induced this brutality was some atten- 
 tion shewn to Fanny by his nephew the Duke of 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 303 
 
 Albemarle; bis lordsbip seemed to tbink he de- 
 s^raded bimself by bis partiality for tbe lovely girl, 
 little imagining tbat she was the lawful heiress 
 to tbe bonoiiis and estates which constituted tbe 
 supposed superiority ; I reprimanded Lord Somer- 
 town in a voice that made him tremble, for he 
 thought it came from the grave, and tbe conscience 
 stricken wretch fell down in a fit." 
 
 " What a pity bis conscience did not choak him," 
 said Lord Ellincourt, " but good Heavens ! what 
 shall we do to find the dear girl ? It matters littte 
 who is the instigator of this violence, unless we can 
 trace the instruments employed to execute it ; I 
 liave strong suspicions tbat Ross is concerned in 
 it, or at least bribed to pass it over without inves- 
 tigation. It is very odd he should set off for Ire- 
 land when he knew I was expected, and that be- 
 fore any decisive step had been taken to trace tbe 
 lovely girl : By Heavens, if I could ascertain that 
 it is so, I would follow the villain to Ireland, and 
 shoot him as I would a crow." 
 
 " We bad better take every possible precaution 
 here," said Mr. Hamilton, " before we talk of going 
 to Ireland.'' 
 
 " I will go to Bow Street," said Lord Ellin- 
 court, " and set all the thief-hunting hounds in 
 full cry after tbe culprits who have stolen my 
 Fanny. If they are above ground we will find, 
 them — I will advertise her in all the papers, ; you 
 know I told you I found tbe sweet girl through an 
 advertisement at first, so perhaps we may be as 
 lucky now." 
 
 " I have been thinking," said Mr. Hamilton, in- 
 terrupting Lord Ellincourt, " that if I were to at- 
 tempt to obtain an interview^ with Lord Somer- 
 town, and suddenly discover myself, and demand 
 my daughter ; the terrors of his conscience might 
 lead him to betray something of the plot, if hQ is 
 indeed concerned in it." 
 
304 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 •' A very good scheme," said Lord Ellincourt, 
 " and I will accompany you as soon as 1 have been 
 to Bow Street, for I should like to shoot him too, 
 just by way of bringing' my hand in, before I at- 
 tempt winging Ross ; for 1 think it will turn out 
 he is entitled to a share. But in the meantime 
 where is my darling girl, my innocent, charming, 
 Fanny! — Upon my soul I believe I shall run stark 
 mad if 1 do not soon find her." 
 
 "What then must be my feelings!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Hamilton. 
 
 " Why not half so bad as mine !" answered his 
 lively lordship — 1 have brought the dear creature 
 up, watched the progress of her angelic mind, and 
 seen her goodness bud and blossom with her beau- 
 ty ; I am sure if I were indeed her father, I could 
 not love her better. As yet my poor mother 
 knows nothing of this calamity, and Emily too, 
 there will be fine weeping and wailing when the 
 sad tale is told." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton accompanied Lord Ellincourt to 
 Bow Street, where proper information was lodged, 
 and a description of Fanny's person given. The 
 large reward offered by both Mr. Hamilton and 
 Lord Ellincourt, insured the attention and exer- 
 tions of the men employed in the search, and they 
 did not hesitate in promising a speedy eclaircisse- 
 ment of the mystery. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt now reluctantly returned to- 
 wards home, in order to inform his mother, and 
 wife, of the disaster that distressed him, and to 
 prepare advertisements for the papers of the ensu- 
 ing day. Mr. Hamilton, at his particular request 
 accompanied him, for he had already been intro- 
 duced to both the Ladies Ellincourt, and received 
 as the father of tlie amiable girl that had been so 
 long dear to them. 
 
 1 will not pretend to describe the distress felt 
 by thovse amiable ladies when they heard the 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 305 
 
 mournful news. The Dowager Lady EUincourt, 
 who loved the unfortunate Fanny for her own 
 sake before she knew who she was, now held her 
 doubly dear, as the sole surviving oflspring of her 
 lamented brother. What then were her agonizing- 
 feelings, when tlie melancholy fate of that beloved 
 brother was so forcibly recalled to her memory by 
 the mysterious disappearance of his hapless grand- 
 child ; in vain did young Lady EUincourt smother 
 her own grief, under the appearance of confidence 
 in the speedy recovery of the lost jewel, and en- 
 deavour to impart the consolation of hope to her 
 desponding mother. Lady Dowager EUincourt 
 would not listen to the voice of comfort. 
 
 " It is oni/ fault," said she, weeping, " 1 ought 
 not to have parted with the lovely girl — alas ! into 
 what hands have J confided her. Oh ! my brother, 
 how would your injured shade reproach your care- 
 less sister, could you be conscious that to her 
 imprudence is owing this insupportable calamity, 
 the extinction of thy last surviving heir !" 
 
 Lord EUincourt used every argument his ima- 
 gination could suggest to calm his mother's sor- 
 row, but finding her inconsolable, he gave up the 
 hopeless task. 
 
 " Do let us go directly to Lord Somertown's," 
 said his Lordship to Mr. Hamilton, " 1 want to be 
 doing something just to keep me from hanging 
 myself — I knew I should be ten times worse when 
 I had the women's grief added to my own." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton, who was not a bit less at a loss 
 what to do with himself, readily consented to the 
 proposal ; and they immediately proceeded to 
 Hanover-square. On ascending the steps of the 
 Lordship's house, they found the knocker muffled ; 
 and the servant who opened the door, informed 
 them that Lord Soraertown was extremely ill, and 
 not expected to live. 
 
306 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 " What is liis complaint?" said Lord EUiii- 
 court. 
 
 " A violent fever and delirium," answered the 
 servant. 
 
 " Is the Duke of Albemarle here !" said Mr. 
 Hamilton. 
 
 " No, Sir,", replied the man, " we don't know 
 where to send to the Duke, and that distresses us 
 very much. I believe it was a letter from his 
 Grace tliat first made my Lord ill, for he was in 
 such a fury after he had read it, that he stamped 
 about the room like a madman, and he was seized 
 just afterwards with the fever, that has held him 
 ever since. His Lordship burnt the Duke's letter 
 in his passion, or else his man could have found 
 out by that, where to direct to his Grace." 
 
 " How long has his Lordship been ill," asked 
 Lord EUincourt. 
 
 '^ Only since the day before yesterday, Sir, and 
 he has raved incessantly ever since," said the man. 
 " He talks of the Duke, and says he is married 
 to an impostor : and then he wants to get out of 
 bed to go in pursuit of his nepliew, crying out, 
 that he will be drowned, for that he is gone to 
 Ireland after a nameless girl." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton and Lord EUincourt looked at 
 one another. 
 
 " Could I speak a few words to Lord Somer- 
 town's confidential servant," said the former, " 1 
 have something of great importance to conmnmi- 
 cate to his Lordship: and perhaps it would be 
 prudent to inform his Lordship's valet of it." 
 
 The porter immediately sent to desire I^ord 
 Somertown's gentleman to come down stairs; 
 and Mr. Hamilton and Lord EUincourt were 
 shown into the library until he came to them. 
 
 Whilst they were waiting there, an elderly 
 man, between fifty and sixty years of age, with a 
 fat red face, and little sharp looking eyes, came into 
 
THE LITTTK MENDICANT. 307 
 
 the room ; his person was sliort and thick set ; 
 and lie wore a flaxen wig curled tight to his head ; 
 his clothes were plain, but of the best quality; 
 and his manner ignorantly consequential. 
 
 " Servant, gentlemen, your servant," bowing to 
 each as he entered, " hope no offence ;" and then, 
 with a significant nod, he seated himself. '* Nice 
 easy chair this," continued he, looking archly, 
 first at Lord EUincourt and then at Mr. Hamilton, 
 " stuffed with eiderdown, I fancy. Wonder whe- 
 ther the old Lord ever found h'lmseU easi/ when lie 
 sat in it," winking with one eye as he spoke, 
 *' fancy not much of that. A rum old chap, 1 be- 
 lieve ; but suppose you know that as well as me." 
 
 "We are not acquainted with Lord Somertown," 
 answered Mr. Hamilton. 
 
 " So much the better, no loss, can assure you ; 
 they say he is ill. fancy 1 gave a doser myself last 
 time I saw him. A rum old jockey. Could not 
 swallow what was said ; and yet would not part 
 with his mopasses to make a body hold their 
 tongue. Now you know, gentlemen, a man 
 ought to be paid for holding his tongue. You 
 take me, don't you ?" 
 
 " Not quite clearly, answered Mr. Hamilton, 
 who now hoped to draw something from the talk- 
 ative stranger. 
 
 " Oh, don't you ? well then I'll explain it Now 
 you must know, gentlemen, that I have got a secret 
 that concerns Lord Somertown, and I have kept it 
 a great many years ; because why ? / could not tell 
 it, for he sent me to India, to have me out of the 
 way. Well, what's the upshot? Why I was lucky; 
 scraped a little matter together, made the most of 
 it, and at last made up my mind to set off for 
 England. Well, coming home our ship was taken, 
 and I lost a sight of things. Had secured my mo- 
 ney though, by sending it before me to England. 
 Well, what's the upshot } Why when I gets 
 
308 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 liome, which 1 did at last, by being retaken by an 
 English privateer, the first thing 1 did was to en- 
 quire for Lord Somertown; for thinks I 'tis fit he 
 should pay my loss. Well, what's the upshot? 
 Why, when I went to explain matters in the civil- 
 est manner possible, why he falls into a great pas- 
 sion, called me a scoundrel, and 1 cannot tell you 
 what; well then, says I, my Lord, says I, tkatfov 
 you, and then I snapped my fingers, your secret 
 shall be known, and more than you thinks I know, 
 and it shall go into the newspapers, and into the 
 Parliament House, and into — "Just at this mo- 
 ment the door of the apartment opened, and 
 Lord Somertown's valet came in. 
 
 He bowed respectfully to Lord Ellincourt and 
 Mr. Hamilton, and begged to know their com- 
 mands. 
 
 Before they could answer, however, the flaxen 
 wigged gentleman stepped between them, and said 
 in a tone of importance, *' Hope no offence, gentle- 
 men, hope no offence, but really must speak." 
 
 " Has my Lord sent me any message ? Does he 
 come to terms ? Will he down with the mopassesT 
 " I have already told you, Mr. Fortescue, that 
 my Lord is too ill to be spoken to," said the ser- 
 vant, " I beg you will wait a little longer for an 
 answer." 
 
 " No, shan't wait another day, have great reason 
 to think the right heir's alive; if so, will be sure 
 to find him. Warrant he will be glad enough to 
 pay me." 
 
 Pray, Mr. Fortescue, do not talk so strangely," 
 interrupted the servant, " what must these gentle- 
 men think ? if my Lord was well, you would not 
 dare to do it !" 
 
 " What," said the stranger, *' would he put me 
 in a hag, and send me on board a ship, ah ! know 
 his tricks pretty well all over now. Can't do no 
 more mischief. Old one fetch him in a bag now, 
 I suppose." 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 30^ 
 
 '• I wisli you would let these gentlemen speak, 
 Mr. Fortescue," said the valet, " it is really a 
 great shame you should affront them so." 
 
 " Ask pardon ; hope no offence ; pray speak, 
 gentlemen ; perhaps you have got a secret to tell." 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Hamilton, " we have no se- 
 cret to tell ; we want to find out one ; and we will 
 give a handsome reward to whoever can give us 
 the least information upon the subject. I have 
 lost a daughter, and I have reason to suspect she 
 is secreted by Lord Somertown : the truth must 
 soon come out, and then woe unto the delinquent. 
 In the mean time, however, 1 offer pardon and a 
 reward to any of the accomplices in this dark 
 plot, that will discover it to me, so that I may re- 
 cover my lost child. Five hundred pounds shall 
 be given to whoever will discover where she is." 
 
 *' Five hundred pounds !" repeated the talkative 
 Mr. Fortescue ; " why five hundred pounds is 
 very well for telling a secret. I ask a thousand 
 pounds for keeping a secret ; but then every body 
 knows that to keejj a secret is worth double what 
 it is to tell one. 80, Sir, if you please to give me 
 your direction, will try what I can do for ye." 
 
 Mr. Hamilton put a card into his hand. The 
 moment he glanced his eyes over it, "What Hamil- 
 ton of Pemberton Abbey?" exclaimed he. 
 
 " The same,''' answered Mr. Hamilton. 
 
 *' Well, then, will call on you in an hour, and 
 tell you something make your hair stand an 
 end." 
 
 " What about my daughter ?" said Mr. H. 
 
 " No, no : about somebody nearer a kin to 
 you." 
 
 "Who can ihd^i her 
 
 "Why yourself to be sure," replied the oddity, 
 laughing at what he thought his own wit. 
 
 Lord Somertown's valet appeared much agitated 
 and distressed during the whole of this scene ; but 
 
 No. 14. 2 R 
 
310 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 he persisted iti saying that he knew nothing- of 
 the young lady; and adding tliat he believed his 
 attendance would be wanted with his Lord. 
 
 The gentlemen were obliged to go, without ob- 
 taining any satisfaction. 
 
 The loquacious Mr. Fortescue retired at the 
 same time. As he turned from the door, he nod- 
 ded his head, and said with a grin ; " Be with 
 you at the time; bring some intelligence of young 
 Miss, by then perhaps. — Well, what's the upshot? 
 why, get five hundred pounds : half as good as 
 heeping a secret T 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 jyev elopement. 
 
 Before the gentlemen returned home, they called 
 at the Duke of Albemarle's, and learnt with con- 
 cern, that his Grace was out of town, and not 
 expected to return for some time ; and that his ser- 
 vant who had been left in London, had orders to 
 follow him to Ireland, whither his Grace was un- 
 expectedly gone. 
 
 " To what part of Ireland is the Duke gone?" 
 asked Lord Ellincourt. 
 
 •' We are not certain, Sir," answered the ser- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 311 
 
 vant : " his valet is to meet his Grace in Dublin. 
 His Grace did not think of going to Ireland, when 
 he left London for Peniberton Abbey," 
 
 " For Pemberton Abbey !" exclaimed Lord 
 Ellincourt. " When did his Grace visit that 
 place?" 
 
 " It is nearly a week ago, Sir," replied the man ; 
 *' at least as near as I can recollect. But his Grace 
 did not stop tliere at all ; for on the road he met 
 with some intelligence that obliged him to go to 
 Ireland ; and then the Duke wrote home fpr his 
 valet to go to Dublin, and take the things the Duke 
 wanted with him ; and his Grace said he should 
 meet him there shortly." 
 
 '• And does Lord Somertown know where the 
 Duke is gone?" asked Mr. Hamilton. 
 
 " Oh no, Sir," replied the man ; "and the news 
 has almost killed Lord Somertown ; for I believe 
 his Lordship thinks his Grace is gone to fight a 
 duel." 
 
 The gentlemen thanked the servant for his in- 
 telligence, and departed towards Mr. Hamilton's 
 house that they might be in time for the loqua- 
 cious visiter they expected. 
 
 " This is a dark business," observed Mr. Ham- 
 ilton, as they walked along. " I do not believe 
 that Lord Somertown does not kuoiv where the 
 Duke is gone. What appears the strangest to me, 
 is, that it should be oivned that his Grace set out 
 for Pemberton-Abbey, since his attachment to 
 Fanny is so well known, that it would be sup- 
 posed by every body, that his visit could be in- 
 tended foi' her alone." 
 
 " I dare say he is the very man who has ran 
 away with poor Fanny," said Lord Ellincourt; 
 " but I will soon know the truth : for by Heavens 
 I Avill set off for Ireland directly. 1 will just go 
 with you, and hear what old Square-toes has got 
 to say, and then I am off in a tangent." 
 
312 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 " But will it be prudent," said Mr. Hamilton, 
 " to set off for Ireland, without knowing to what 
 part of it you must direct your footsteps?" 
 
 *' Oh, I shall gain some intelligence on the 
 road," answered his Lordship. " For 1 mean to 
 go down to Pemberton Abbey again, and endea- 
 vour to trace the fugitives from thence. Ross is 
 gone to Ireland too, and I still think he is in the 
 secret. Lord Ballafyn's castle is in the north of 
 Ireland, you know; 1 shall therefore cross at 
 Port-Patrick, and make immediately forBallafyn 
 Castle, and make that rascal Ross give me an 
 account of the sweet girl I entrusted to his care ; 
 and, if it is^iot a satisfactory one, I will shoot the 
 scoundrel." 
 
 " Let me accompany your Lordship," said Mr. 
 Hamilton. " Who can be so proper to go in search 
 of the dear creature, as her father? Besides I 
 know the danger of going alo7ie to Ballafyn Castle 
 too well to let you risk it." 
 
 " Oh, never fear me," ansv/ered Lord Ellincourt ; 
 ** I will take servants enough with me, to defend 
 nie against an ambush ; and, I really think, it will 
 not be prudent for us both to leave town ; as, how- 
 ever appearances may lead us to suppose Fanny 
 has l^een carried to Ireland, it is still possible she 
 may be in London and need a protector." 
 
 " Then Mr. Barlowe will be that protector," 
 said Mr. Hamilton ; *' for I cannot remain inactive 
 while in this state of suspense." 
 
 By this time the gentlemen had arrived at Mr. 
 Hamilton's : they had not been long there before 
 Mr. Fortescue was announced. 
 
 He entered with his familiar nod : " Exact to 
 my time, you see," said he, smiling. " Pretty 
 used to that, when I was in India. Got into a 
 different sort of place now. This is the land of 
 freedom ; Lord Somertown knows that pretty 
 well. But what's the upshot.^ Why, when he 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT 313 
 
 wants to get rid of a man, pops him off abroad : 
 has done it more than once." 
 
 " Now, Sir, I must ask one question, before I 
 say anything- more: — Are you old Mr. Hamilton's 
 son, of Pemberton-Abbey ?" 
 - " I am not, Sir," answered Mr. Hamilton em- 
 phatically, *' but I am his heir, have you any thing 
 to communicate respecting- my deceased friend." 
 
 " Why Sir, as to that, the person I want to find 
 was called Mr. Hamilton's son, but was not his 
 son; and if I could find him, I fancy I could tell 
 him something to please him a little, but have 
 heard he is dead, so hope no offence, there's no 
 harm done, if you aynt he, the story's nothing to 
 you." • 
 
 ** I am he," interrupted Mr. Hamilton, " be 
 explicit, therefore, and do not keep me in sus- 
 pense." 
 
 "Thought as much, as soon as I glimpsed you, 
 same turn of face, little older to be sure, but what's 
 the upshot? If people live long, must grow old — ■ 
 a little older myself." 
 
 " Well," again interrupted Mr. Hamilton, 
 *' whither does this teijd, Sir ? I am not in a mood 
 to be trifled with." 
 
 " Why then you shall not be trifled with," an- 
 swered the oddity, (winking aside at Lord Ellin- 
 court,) " a little rumbustical or so, something- like 
 curry powder ; but 1 see you are going to fly out 
 again, well, then, must make haste to tell you 
 that I have got documents in my possession, that 
 will prove your right to the Albemarle title and 
 estate, and if you are willing to come down with 
 the mopasscs, we'll set the lawyers to work directly, 
 and make old Somertown hang himself ; but there 
 must be some mopasses, you understand me, can't 
 tell a secret without mopasses''' 
 
 " How came you by these documents, Sir?" 
 asked Mr. Hamilton. ** Very honestly I can as- 
 
314 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 sure you, come to me like a legacy. My father 
 was clerk of the parish, where your father and 
 mother were married, and to please the late Lord 
 Somertown, and for a few mopasses (winking) he 
 tore the leaf out of the register, and got out of the 
 way when the marriage was tried to be proved. 
 A very keen old man — understood trap as well as 
 any body — lived to be ninety-five— died only a few 
 weeks ago — sent for me into Scotland, as soon as 
 he heard I had returned to England — said, he had 
 got something to leave me ; so off 1 set, thought 
 there were some mopasses, very few of them, 
 though for this, Lord Somertown had behaved 
 shabby to him, and neglected to pay him his an- 
 nuity, when he thought there was no danger of a 
 claim to the estate." 
 
 " Well, father was resolved to be upside with 
 him, so sent for me. *Tom,' says he, ' he giving 
 me a tin box, there's something to make your for- 
 tune in that box, and then he told me that it con- 
 tained the register he had torn out of the book. 
 
 " ' Lord Somertown sent to me a few days ago,' 
 said he, ' to smooth me up a bit, and bid me 
 keep close, for he heard that the man who could 
 claim the estate, and was supposed dead, was alive; 
 and therefore it was necessary to caution me not 
 to answer any questions, if I should be found. I 
 promised I would not, but I have not forgot his 
 ill-treatment of me, when he thought I was not 
 wanted, and so, Tom, 1 was glad to find you were 
 come back, for now you can sell the secret well to 
 one side or t'other. The leaf of the book will be 
 known to be the real one, when it comes to be 
 compared with those that follow it; for the hand 
 writing, and the dates will agree, and to make it 
 firmer, I will make affidavit to the hand-writing 
 of the vicar of the parish, at the time the marriage 
 was solemnized." 
 
 " And so he did before a magistrate, and have 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 315 
 
 got it snug', and you shall have it for a few mo- 
 passes" " If I should be so happj' as to find my 
 daughter again," said Mr. Hamilton, " I might 
 be tempted to assert my right to that estate, but 
 honors and riches are mere drugs to the unhappy. 
 Besides, whilst my own marriage cannot be proved 
 with Lady Emily, my child cannot inherit, and 
 Lord Somertown has taken care to prevent that, by 
 sending the only surviving witness out of England." 
 " Know it very well, nobody better, lam the man, 
 sent me to India, gave me a good birth, plenty of 
 mopasses, kept me there these eighteen years, 
 placed me where I could not get off; the only one 
 in the secret died at last, and then off come I, but 
 lost my jHopasses coming home, well wliat's the up- 
 shot? why went to Lord Somertown for more. 
 Flew in a great passion, called me a scoundrel : 
 told him he had better be quiet; so he ordered the 
 servants to kick me out, but they knew better. He 
 did not know I was son to the man he was keep- 
 ing in Scotland, because he never heard my right 
 name but 1 wrote it in the book at church." 
 
 " I remember," said Mr. Hamilton, " that the 
 witness to my marriage, who was one of the gar- 
 deners at my reputed father's, and who acted as 
 parish clerk, Avas named Thomas Halford, and I 
 have sought him without ever being able to trace 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, that's my name," answered the man, 
 " that's my name, but I was always called Fortes- 
 cue to Lord Somertown, because 1 did not want 
 him to know I was the son of the man his father 
 had pensioned. AVell, what do you think of me 
 now ?" 
 
 " Why I think," answered Mr. Hamilton, 
 " that you have acted a rogue's part, in becoming 
 the tool of such a villain as Lord Somertown, and 
 that whilst I pay you to do me the tardy justice you 
 offer, I shall despise you for your baseness. Yet 
 
316 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 should niy daughter be restored to me, I will ac- 
 cept your ofter, and pay you your demand ; but if 
 on the contrary she has fallen a victim to that worst 
 of wretches, I renounce the world, 
 
 " Its pomps, its pleasures, and 
 " Its nonsense all !" 
 
 " JNever fear about your daughter," answered 
 Mr. Fortescue, '* she is run off with the Duke of 
 Albemarle; heard it myself; heard old Somer- 
 town cursing and swearing about it. The Duke 
 sent him a letter, and I was in the next room wait- 
 ing to speak to him, so put my ear to the door, 
 when the old man began to splutter, and heard him 
 say his hopes were for ever blasted, and that his 
 nephew would marry that beggar; that girl, 
 who was born to be his torment ; and now, too, 
 lie had found out she was the offspring of the de- 
 tested Hamilton. So you see I am the man for 
 discoveries." 
 
 " I think so," said Mr. Hamilton, *' and now, 
 indeed, your discovery is worth something. Ellin- 
 court, let us not lose a moment. I will ring and 
 order horses." 
 
 *' So do," replied his Lordship, " but remem- 
 ber I have a wife and mother to take care of, so 
 I will return home, and you can call for me." 
 
 " So I will," said Mr. Hamilton, " and within 
 an hour too." 
 
 Lord Ellincourt now departed : and Mr. Ham- 
 ilton ordered his servant to get post horses im- 
 mediately. Then turning to Mr. Fortescue, " If 
 you will leave your address with me, Sir," said he, 
 " I will write to you as soon as I return, and in- 
 form you of my determination. In the meantime 
 I hope you don't intend to tamper with Lord 
 Somertown?" 
 
 " No, no," answered the old man, *' know 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 317 
 
 better how to make bargains ; understand trap ; 
 but shall look about me, and try to pick up what 
 news I can." Then taking a card from his pocket, 
 he gave it to Mr. Hamilton and departed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVf. 
 
 The Hnunted Rock. 
 
 We must now return to poor Fanny, whom we 
 left at Ballafyn Castle, just awaking to the renewal 
 of all her terrors. 
 
 Rose, the young girl who had warmed Fanny's 
 bed on the preceding night, came into the room 
 the next morning, the instant she heard her mov- 
 ing about, and asked if she wanted any thing. 
 Fanny thanked her, but replied in the negative." 
 
 " 1 hope, ma'am," said the girl, curtseying, 
 " that you will let me stay and help to dress you, 
 for I am afraid you feel very lonely in this strange 
 place." 
 
 "Indeed I do," said Fanny, bursting into tears, 
 " but I fear my sorrow is hopeless." 
 
 " Oh no, Miss, you need not be uneasy, for my 
 Lord will be down to-night or to-morrow, and 
 
 14. 2 s 
 
318 FATHERLESS FANNY: OR, 
 
 tlien I am sure he will do every thing to make you 
 comfortable." 
 
 "Why should you imagine so?" said Fanny, 
 '' Lord Ballafyn does not know me." 
 
 " Indeed, Miss, 1 have heard," said the girl, 
 *' that my Lord is going to mari-y you ; that is 
 what the servants ail say ; and to be sure, if he 
 did not know you he would not think of that." 
 
 " It must be a mistake," said Fanny, " alto- 
 gether: for, I assure you 1 never saw Lord Bal- 
 lafyn in my lifetime." 
 
 " Well, Miss, to be sure, you must know best ; 
 but that's what is said." She then asked Fanny 
 whether she would choose to breakfast below, or 
 in her own apartment. 
 
 " Here if you please," said Fanny, " for my 
 spirits are too weak to bear the thoughts of moving 
 from this spot." 
 
 As soon as Fanny was dressed. Rose feft her to 
 fetch the breakfast, and when she was gone, Fan- 
 ny had leisure to examine her apartment. It 
 was a spacious room, with the bed standing in an 
 alcove, and on each side of it were two modern 
 sash windows that looked into a beautiful park, 
 where great quantities of deer were seen grazing ; 
 and the beautiful prospect it afforded would, in 
 any other circumstances, have delighted Fanny, 
 but now her desponding heart made her eye rest 
 upon it with melancholy indifference. At the 
 other end of the apartment was a large closet, 
 which was formed in one of the turrets of the 
 castle, and still retained its antique form. A long 
 Harrow window, in the shape of a loop-hole, with 
 casement of glass, gave light to the apartment, 
 and from it Fanny discovered the top of a lower 
 tower, that appeared almost within reach of the 
 window. Her eye measured the distance with 
 anxiety, whilst a thought of escape more to be 
 wished than hoped for, vaguely crossed her imagi- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 319 
 
 nation; yet siipj30sing she were able to elude the 
 vigileijce of lier guards, and quit the castle, whi- 
 ther could she turn her fugitive steps? or from 
 whom hope to receive that protection she stood 
 so much in need of? 
 
 When breakfast was over, Fanny said she would 
 take a walk in the park into which her windows 
 looked ; but Rose told her, with a respectful 
 curtsey, that she hoped she would not be offended 
 at what she was going to say, but she had received 
 orders from the old woman, who was her aunt, not 
 to lose sight of her; and therefore, if she chose 
 a walk she must suffer her to accompany her." 
 
 " 1 am a prisotier then r" said Fanny, tears start- 
 ing into her eyes. 
 
 " No, Miss, not a prisoner," said Rose, " only 
 my Lord has given such a strict charge about tak- 
 ing* care of you, that my aunt is afraid of letting 
 you wander about alone, in this wild place, where 
 you are qnite a stranger, for fear yon should lose 
 yourself." 
 
 " Your aunt is very considerate," said Fanny, 
 " but the restraint is of no consequence to me, for 
 I have no means of escaping, were I at liberty to 
 wander wherever I pleased ; I will therefore take 
 the walk in your company, or remain within doors, 
 which you like best." 
 
 " Dear heart, Miss," said Rose, " you are very 
 condescending and good ; but 1 am sure my aunt 
 would not wisli you to be deprived of a walk, and 
 so 1 will go and mention your wishes to her." — 
 And away she ran, and presently returned with 
 her bonnet on, and her aunt's respects, and begged 
 Miss would w^alk where she liked, provided Rose 
 accompanied her. 
 
 They now strolled into the park, and Fanny 
 had a full view of the immense edifice, called 
 Ballafyn Castle. There was something grand and 
 striking in its appearance, at least, where it li^d 
 
320 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 not been modernized ; but wherever such windows 
 had been introduced, although they gave cheer- 
 fulness to the apartments, they destroyed the 
 solemn grandeur of antiquity, and spoiled the 
 effect upon the imagination. 
 
 *' This seems to be a very old place," said 
 Fanny, addressinsj Rose, "do you know how long 
 it has been built?'' 
 
 *' Oh lauke, no, Miss, but J dare say, these many 
 hundred years. I wonder my Lord don't pull it 
 down, and build a pretty new-fashioned house in 
 the place of it, for this is good for nothing, but to 
 harbour a pack of ghosts and the like of that." 
 
 *• Of ghosts !" interrupted Fanny, " do they say 
 that ghosts haunt the castle ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, Miss," answered Rose, " that they 
 certainly do, and not only tlit castle, but that great 
 rock that you see straight on before you there, 
 towards the sea. The late Lady Ballafyn walks 
 there all in white every mooidight night, as I have 
 been told : but I can't say I ever saw her, for 1 
 have always taken good care not to look, for it 
 would frighten me to death, I am sure, if 1 was to 
 see a ghost ; but the gardener says he has seen her 
 many a time ; and old Matthew says he has seen 
 her ; and there was a beautiful young man that 
 came here to court my Lady, I believe, and some 
 people say my Lord killed him in a fit of jealousy, 
 and his ghost was seen upon the rock ; and they 
 say he walks the castle now, with a taper in his 
 hand, and a long sabre." 
 
 " You deal in shocking stories," said Fanny. 
 " Do you remember the late Lady Ballafyn?" 
 
 *' Oh dear, no, Miss ; she was dead before 1 
 came to Ireland." 
 
 " You are not a native of Ireland then?" said 
 Fanny. 
 
 " No, Miss," answered the girl, " my aunt and 
 I came from England soon after Lady Ballafyn's 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 321 
 
 death. Lord Ballafyn turned away all his ser- 
 vants that lived with him before that time, and 
 had new ones from England, I was very yomig 
 then, but as I had no friends but my aunt, she 
 would not come here, without she had the privi- 
 lege of bringing me with her, and so I have lived 
 here ever since." 
 
 " But your aunt said I resembled Lady Balla- 
 fyn," said Fanny, " how could she know that, if 
 she never saw her Ladyship ?" 
 
 " Oh! my aunt lived at Lord Somertown's," an- 
 swered Rose, " before Lady Ballafyn was married, 
 and so she knew her very well. Fanny listened 
 to this information with dismay, for it too plainly 
 told her, that she was in the hands of Lord 
 Somertovvn's creatures, and feared, but too justly, 
 that some suspicion of her birth had given cause 
 to her present imprisonment. 
 
 They walked on towards the haunted rock, and 
 Rose was so taken up by the discourse she was 
 holding, that she was unconscious whither she was 
 going, until she found herself close to the tremen- 
 dous spot. 
 
 "Oh lauke! Miss," screamed she, turning has- 
 tily back, " I declare we are close to that frightful 
 haunted place, let us make haste away, for fear we 
 should see any thing." 
 
 " But ghosts only appear at night," said Fanny, 
 smiling, " what cause, therefore, can there be for 
 your alarm at this hour of the day?" 
 
 " O lauke. Miss," they say Irish ghosts walk in 
 the day-time, and then they are called Fetches; 
 and if this should be one, what will become of us, 
 if it should jump out upon us ?" 
 
 " Never fear," said Fanny, " I will not require 
 you to go any farther, sit still upon this stone, and 
 let me climb the rock alone, I am sure the pros- 
 pect from the top must be very beautiful, and! 
 long to try whether my conjecture is right." 
 
332 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 Rose expostulated with Fanny on lier impru- 
 dence, and endeavoured to dissuade her from ex- 
 ploring the dangerous rock, but finding her persua- 
 sions vain, she yielded at length to her entreaties, 
 and seating herself upon the stone Fanny had 
 pointed out, consented to wait for her return from 
 what she termed her dangerous excursion. 
 
 The rock was of considerable magnitude, and 
 lofty craigs rose majestically from the solid mass 
 that composed the base, and seemed to emulate the 
 sky, for the clouds often rested on their summits, 
 long after the god of day had driven them from 
 the lower world. The ascent to this romantic 
 promontory was made easy by a sort of natural 
 staircase, which wound round the basement of the 
 rock, and Fanny had soon the satisfaction of find- 
 ing herself on a point so elevated, that she could 
 see the winding coast for a considerable length of 
 way : and on the distant waves, where the arm of 
 the sea, that watered the shoi-es, joined the parent 
 ocean, she could distinguish vessels passing, their 
 white sails glistening in the sun-beam. On the 
 other hand, a wild country, with a few scattered 
 cabins, presented a striking contrast to the richly 
 wooded and well cultivated demesne, that skirted 
 Ballafyn Castle, and bespoke the riches of its 
 owner. As Fanny gazed at the dark battlements 
 of that proud edifice, she heaved a sigh to the 
 memory of her mother. 
 
 " Strange and unsearchable," said she aloud, 
 " are the decrees of heaven, and frail mortals can 
 only bow the head, and sufler beneath the cor- 
 recting hand of unerring wisdom. In that castle 
 did my sainted mother breathe her last sigh, and 
 sink the victim of tyranny and oppression ; and 
 although bred an alien to every tender tie, and 
 equally a stranger to those who would have loved, 
 and those who would have persecuted her, the 
 hajjless offspring of that martyred saint is now 
 
THE LITTFE MENDICANT. 3*23 
 
 ])roiig']it by force to the same spot where her 
 mother suffered, to fall, perhaps, by the same 
 cruelty !" 
 
 As Fanny spoke, she clasped her hands together, 
 whilst tears of anguish chased each other down 
 her cheek. — " On this rock," continued she, look- 
 ing around her, " the spirit of my mother is said 
 to walk ; Oh, would to Heaven that I might be 
 permitted to behold it! Dear murdered saint! 
 in pity listen to thy daughter's sighs; and if thou 
 art still conscious of what is passing in this mortal 
 vale, oh deign to shew thyself to her!" 
 
 The enthusiasm that had seized Fanny's mind, 
 as fancy suggested the possibility of beholding 
 the spirit of her mother, seemed to change her 
 timid nature, and fortify her soul to meet the 
 awful visitation she was wishing for. She cast 
 her eyes around with an intrepid look, and seemed 
 almost to believe that the being she apostrophised 
 would really appear before her. No object of 
 that description, however, met her view, and the 
 liollow echoes of the caverns beneath her, alone 
 answered to her voice. 
 
 The expanse of ocean — the blue etherial vault 
 of Heaven — the grandeur of the surrounding 
 scenery — her lonely unprotected and perilous situa- 
 tion, all combined to raise her soul to devotion's 
 highest ecstacy. " That hand," said she, " which 
 shielded me through the difficulties attending my 
 helpless and unprotected infancy ; was my stay 
 and support as 1 advanced towards womanhood, 
 will still aid — will still protect me." Oh dis- 
 believing infidel, you, who boast of high intellec- 
 tual powers, whose days are spent in contemning 
 and ridiculing the laws of your Maker, how despi- 
 cable do you appear when compared with the 
 Christian in the hour of adversity. Few minds 
 were more free from the influence of superstition 
 than that of Fanny's, and, at any other time or 
 
324 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 place, her better judgment would reject the idea 
 of the appearance of supernatural beings. But 
 the discourses of Rose, the love which she bore 
 to the memory of her persecuted mother, and her 
 own wishes, made her in despite of reason more 
 than cherish the idea. She now, heedless of the 
 vicinity of Rose, began to apostrophise her mother 
 in a louder strain, but was awakened from her de- 
 lightful reverie, at last by the loud vociferation of 
 Rose, who, terrified at Fanny's long stay, had ad- 
 vanced nearer the rock, and catching the sound 
 of the words uttered by Fanny, concluded she 
 was conversing with some of the dreadful inhabi- 
 tants of that awe inspiring spot. 
 
 " Oh, Miss, for Heaven's sake, come to me," 
 cried the girl, "or 1 shall certainly die with ter- 
 ror!" — Fanny suddenly starting from her day- 
 dream, which encouraged erroneous but fondly 
 cherished thoughts — thoughts that her reason, now 
 resuming the empiie over her mind, struggled 
 hard to expel, and which her gentle bosom was 
 but too well disposed again to adopt; however, she 
 immediately descended the rock, and hastened to 
 relieve the ill-founded fears of the frightened do- 
 mestic. Rose was trembling like an aspin leaf 
 when Fanny reached her; and it was with diffi- 
 culty she persuaded her, that she had not seen 
 nor conversed with any thing supernatural during 
 her stay upon the haunted rock. By degrees, 
 however, she was reconciled to the idea that had at 
 first alarmed her, and was even brought at last, 
 by Fanny's earnest entreaties, to promise that, if 
 the next day was fine, she should again visit the 
 scene that appeared to interest her so much. Their 
 excursion was extended no farther, and Fanny ab- 
 sorbed in thought, left her companion the delight- 
 ful pleasure of speaking as much and upon what- 
 ever subject she pleased without contradiction, or 
 breaking the thread of her narratives so as tc^ give 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 325 
 
 Rose a high idea of her condescension, and good 
 nativre. When they returned to the Castle, Fanny 
 was shewn into the stately apartment she had 
 occupied on her arrival the night before ; but she 
 entreated that she might be allowed to remain in 
 her chamber, for she dreaded the idea of Lord. 
 Ballafyn's expected arrival, and thought, if she did. 
 not quit the precincts of her bed-room, she should 
 at least have notice when he came, and not be 
 liable to meet him unexpectedly. 
 
 The old woman indulged her in her request, 
 and her meals were served to her in her chamber. 
 Tlie window of her closet was the favourite scene 
 of her contemplation, for from thence she coidd 
 see the distant rock, and she watched there after 
 night fall, ifi spite of the remonstrances of Rose, 
 . in hopes of seeing the apparition. 
 
 The moon rose in full splendour about midnight, 
 and reflected her brightness on the craggy summit 
 of the rock, as well as on the undulating bosom of 
 the restless ocean, whose waves dashed the adja- 
 cent shore. Fanny gazed for a length of time 
 without seeing any object like the one she sought 
 for, and she was retiring from the window to seek 
 her pillow, when her attention was arrested by a 
 sio-ht that filled her bosom with an awe unfelt 
 before that momeutous period. 
 
 A tall slender figure seemed to rise suddenly 
 from one of the projections of the mysterious rock, 
 and standing on its summit, spread out its arms 
 towards the sea. The moon shone full upon the 
 figure, and rendered it so distinctly visible, that 
 Fanny could perceive the dark folds of the loose 
 robe that enveloped it, waving occasionally to the 
 breeze. 
 
 For a while it seemed absorbed in contemplating 
 the mighty waters. Then starting suddenly, as 
 if called by some superior power, it dropped upon 
 its knees, and raising its clasped hands to Heaven 
 
 14. 2 T 
 
326 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK, 
 
 it appeared preferring some earnest petition to the 
 throne of mercy. Fanny's feelings were worked 
 up to such a pitch of enthusiastic awe, whilst 
 gazing at this strange phenomenon, that she could 
 not have uttered a syllable, or moved from the spot, 
 to purchase even liberty itself. Whilst she was 
 thus lost in silent wonder, the cause of it suddenly 
 disappeared ; and althougli Fanny's eyes were 
 fixed upon the figure at the moment it vanished, 
 she was unable even to conjecture how, or whither 
 it had departed. She stood for nearly half an hour 
 afterwards rivetted to the spot, but the vision came 
 no more, and Rose having several times entreated 
 her to retire to her rest, Fanny was obliged to 
 comply. 
 
 Not a syllable did she utter to Rose of the appa- 
 rition she had seen, for she well knew it would for 
 ever interdict her for walking to the Rock ; which 
 place she now felt more than ever interested in 
 exploring; for so entirely was her mind engrossed 
 by the desire of seeing her mother, that fear was 
 entirely forgotten, and she felt as if she could meet 
 the whole world of spirits, provided that beatified 
 being were amongst them. 
 
 The next day, directly after breakfast, Fanny 
 renewed her walk to the Rock, and Rose accom- 
 panied her; the latter was now provided with a 
 book to amuse her, whilst Fanny went upon her 
 adventurous expedition. As soon as she had left 
 Rose seated on the stone, and engaged with her 
 book, Fanny mounted the rock, and bent her foot- 
 steps to the very spot, as nearly as she could judge, 
 where she had seen the figure the preceding night. 
 All was silence and desolation however, and she 
 was just about to return to Rose, wiiose patience 
 she was afraid of trying too severely, when she 
 thought she heard a slight noise behind her, and 
 turning round her head, she beheld through a 
 fissure in the Rock, the very figure that had so 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 327 
 
 powerfully affected her mind the preceding 
 night. 
 
 The form was that of a woman, and althongh 
 clad in a loose robe, that seemed calculated rather 
 to hide than display its symmetry, it was impossible 
 not to perceive the grace that adorned its every 
 movement. The veil that covered her head was 
 thrown back, and displayed a face, in which the 
 traces of sorrow had anticipated theravagesoftime, 
 and robbed it of its beauty before age authorised the 
 theft; yet still a sweetness of expression remained, 
 more interesting than beauty itself, and although 
 the fire of her eyes had been quenched with weep- 
 ing, their languid beams were capable of penetrat- 
 ing the heart, and exciting it to affection. 
 
 Fanny stood entranced as slie gazed uj)on (he 
 awful vision, and scarcely daring to breathe, she 
 waited in silent expectation of its speaking to her. 
 She was however disappointed, for after looking 
 sometime with mournful earnestness in her face, 
 the figure uttered a deep sigh, and waving her 
 hand, as if forbidding Fanny to follow her, instant- 
 ly disappeared. 
 
 After a considerable time had elapsed, and no 
 sign of its returning, Fanny was obliged to leave 
 the Rock, and to return with Rose to the Castle. 
 The impression her mind had received by the won- 
 derful sight she had seen, kept Fanny silent as she 
 walked with Rose iii her return ; but wdien she 
 had reached the Castle, all her thoughts were put 
 to flight by tlie news that awaited her there. Lord 
 Ballafyn v.as arrived, and had been enquiring for 
 her, and Mrs. Owen, the old house-keeper, was 
 waiting to conduct her to his lordship, as soon as 
 she came in. 
 
 At first Fanny refused to go with her, but on 
 Mrs. Owen's saying that she was sure Lord Balla- 
 fyn would visit her in her bed-room, if she did not 
 obey his summons, she was obliged to submit, and 
 
328 FATHERLESS FANNY*. OK, 
 
 was accordingly conducted to the drawing- room. 
 She entered with evident reluctance, which Lord 
 Ballafyn perceiving, arose to meet her, and taking 
 her hand, said,-- " Yen are welcome to Ireland, my 
 pretty lass — upon my honour you are a devilish 
 handsome wench ; pray how long have you been 
 in keeping with my brother? Terror had hitherto 
 tyed Fanny's tongue, but indignation now burst 
 the bonds of silence. 
 
 " Unhand me, my lord," said she, making a vio- 
 lent effort to free herself from his grasp ; " nor 
 you, nor your base brother, have any right to de- 
 tain me a prisoner here, and friendless as you may 
 think me, you may find to your cost that 1 shall 
 be claimed, and powerfully too, by those who will 
 neither want the inclination nor the means to pu- 
 nish the violence that has been done to me," 
 
 " Well said, my pretty little actress," said Lord 
 Ballafyn, placing his back against the door to pre- 
 vent Fanny from escaping at it, as he saw she was 
 meditating to do; *' Upon my honour I admire my 
 brothers taste so much that I have half a mind to 
 steal you from him ; but perhaps you would not 
 like the exchange, for Ross is some years younger 
 than I am — what, I suppose he sent you away for 
 fear jealous Elecmor should find out fair Rosa- 
 7}ioncVs bower. Come, now, don't pout so, my 
 pretty prisoner, for I will not let you pass until 
 you have paid toll." 
 
 Fanny was almost ready to die with terror, and 
 sinking into a chair, she sat fanning herself with 
 her handkerchief, to keep herself from fainting. 
 
 *' I cannot think," said Lord B. " where I have 
 seen your face before: your features are quite fa- 
 miliar to me." 
 
 As he was speaking, Fanny lifted up her eyes to 
 his face, and instantly recollected his countenance; 
 it was that of the man who had insulted her in 
 Hyde Park, when Mr. Hamilton released her from 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 329 
 
 Ills persecution; and the remembrance of his for- 
 mer brutality added terror to the thought of being 
 so entirely in his power. 
 
 " Upon my soul," said his lordship, staring 
 rudely in Fanny's face, " 1 like that little vixen 
 look of yours so well, and the air of modesty you 
 counterfeit, becomes you so much, that if you will 
 leave Ross and consent to live with me, I will 
 settle a vast deal more upon you than it is in his 
 power to do : and then if you behave well, and 
 wheedle me prettily, who know s but you may per- 
 suade me to marry you ; and that you know is 
 what you can have no chance of with Ross. Come, 
 I see the storm that is gathering, and 1 hate female 
 hurricanes, so I will let you go to your own 
 chamber, and you shall have four-and -twenty 
 hours to consider of the proposal. Ross will be 
 here in two days, so if you agree to my offer, it 
 must be settled before he comes, and you and I 
 must slip off until the breeze is blown over. Come, 
 I will have a kiss, and then you shall go." 
 
 So saying, he clasped the terrified Fanny in his 
 arms, and almost smothered her with kisses. 
 
 Bursting from his grasp, by an effort of super- 
 natural strength which terror supplied her with, 
 she escaped from further persecution, and flying 
 to her chamber, locked herscif in ; then sinking 
 on a chair, a flood of tears came to her relief, and 
 saved her from fainting. Here she commended 
 herself to Him, who was alone able to defeat the 
 intentions of the wicked men into whose power 
 she had unhappily fallen ; her determination 
 neither to be intimidated by threats, nor moved by 
 entreaties to unlock the door, became fixed, and 
 Avas the only preventative which she could provide 
 for the preservation of her honor. It was in vain 
 that Rose, and Mrs. Owen, alternately applied for 
 admittance at her door, she resolutely refused to 
 admit them, nor would she take any of the food 
 
330 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 they brought her, because she must have opened 
 tlie door to receive it. 
 
 The state of mind in which the poor girl passed 
 that day,- would be difficult to describe. Let the 
 fair reader for a moment contemplate this interest- 
 ing female, removed from that circle in which she 
 was cherished, and beloved, torn by ruffian hands 
 from those she held dear, and that at a time when 
 fortune seemed to smile propitiously upon her — at 
 a time when her little bark, which so long buffet- 
 ed the tempestuous seas of life, was to all appear- 
 ance entering the haven of happiness — see her at 
 such a period, placed in the hands of an unprin- 
 cipled and powerful man, and surely the tear of 
 sensibility will uot be withheld ; and when the dark- 
 ness of night surrounded her, and she found her- 
 self without light, she could almost have com- 
 promised her other fears to have obtained a candle, 
 but she was now left to herself, for nobody came 
 near her; and as she was afraid to go to bed, she 
 opened her closet window, and stood watching the 
 distant Rock as the moon rose over the romantic 
 landscape. 'ii.: 
 
 The Autumn was far advanced, and the breeze 
 of night so chilling, that Fanny was obliged to 
 retire from the open window, as she was shivering 
 with cold. 
 
 As she turned to go out of the closet into her 
 own room, a slight rap on the window made her 
 start. It was again repeated, and her eye plainly 
 perceived something white, in the form of a letter, 
 close to the casement. 
 
 Poor Fanny's heart beat quick, as she watched 
 the strange appearance, but she summoned courage 
 enough to go to the window and open it. A piece 
 of paper, fastened to the end of a stick, presented 
 itself before her, which she took with a trembling 
 hand; but, alas! the moon-light was not suffi- 
 ciently bright, at that moment, to enable her to 
 
THE LITTTE MENDICANT. 331 
 
 tlecypher its contents ; and the curiosity this oc- 
 cmience had awakened, made her hardy enough to 
 look out of the casement, to try whether she could 
 discover the person who had presented it to her. 
 
 On the top of tlie turret, beneath her window, 
 she could plainly perceive a man standing, with 
 his eyes raised to her apartment. His appearance 
 was so rough and forbidding, and the tattered 
 garments that clothed his athletic form, bespoke 
 him of the lowest order of people. 
 
 " What are the contents of this note, friend," 
 ssid Fanny, in a low voice, leaning as far out of 
 the window as she could reach ; " do you know 
 what it contains." 
 
 *' Take it to the candle, honey," said the man, 
 " you will see, in a jiffy, that it is from your own 
 sweet-heart, that is comed all the way from Eng- 
 land to fetch yon." 
 
 " 1 have not a candle," said Fanny, distressed 
 beyond measure that she had none. 
 
 '* Well, never mind, honey," replied the man, 
 " you can go ivid me first, and read the note af- 
 terwards." 
 
 *' Go with you !" exclaimed Fanny. " How can 
 I go with you F 
 
 " Oh, the asyest thing in the world, jewel. Just 
 lend me your hand a wee bit, and then I'll lift you 
 down on this here place in a jiffy, and then leave 
 the rest to me. I have got a ladder below, that 
 will set you down on the ground as asy as a bird 
 flies." 
 
 " But I don't know you," said Fanny. 
 
 " Och, and that don't signify at all at all: for if 
 you don't know me, there's plenty that do, and 
 they'll tell you there's not an honester fellow in the 
 province of Ulster, than Dermot Macfarline ; so 
 never mind about not knowing me." 
 
 " What, are you the man that brought me from 
 
332 FATHERLESS FANXY ; OR, 
 
 the sea-side here," asked Fanny, " on that wretched 
 carriage." 
 
 " Sure and I am," replied the honest Hibernian, 
 " and I have been watching about the place, to 
 and fro, ever since ; for my wife said she should 
 never sleep again, if any bad luck happened to 
 you." And so I met the young man that's a look- 
 ing for you, and a tight young fellow he is, as ever 
 walked on shoe leather, and dearly, dearly, he 
 loves you, that's most sure. But come along, 
 honey, he is a waiting yonder for you, and he'll be 
 , hothering me for staying so long." 
 
 " But who is he?" said Fanny, " for you know 
 1 cannot read the note." 
 
 " Och, and I never heard the like before; not 
 to know your own sweetheart, without asking his 
 name. Well, to be sure, and its myself that never 
 put the question to him : for 1 thought you must 
 know your own sweetheart: so you would, if you 
 could but read the bit of a letter he has sent you." 
 
 " I will read it to-morrow morning," said Fanny, 
 "■ as soon as it is light." 
 
 " Indeed, and that will be too late," said Der- 
 mot. " So, if you don't choose to read it till to- 
 morrow morning, p/«5e to give it back to me, and 
 I'll take it to the poor youth that sent it; for there's 
 nothing so foolish as reading a letter when it is 
 too late to do what it bids you." 
 
 Fanny stood at the window, in the utmost dis- 
 tress, with the letter in her hand. Her fears of 
 Lord Ballafyn, would have induced her to fly with 
 any protector that seemed to promise anJionourable 
 asylum. But this appeared so strange an applica- 
 tion, and the person employed, so uncouth a being, 
 that she could not help fearing that she might fall 
 into some dreadful snare, by listening to tlie invi- 
 tation. At length, however, to her unspeakable 
 joy, the moon immerged from the clouds that had 
 shaded her brightness for the last half hour, and 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 333 
 
 she was enabled to read the following words, on 
 the note she held in her hand : — 
 
 *' Condescend, most lovely of women, to accept 
 the protection of one who would die to shelter you 
 from danger. The most imminent now threatens 
 your life. Your honour is not safe a single mo- 
 ment, whilst you remain beneath the roof of the most 
 abandoned of men. I have followed you from 
 England, with a determination to rescue your inno- 
 cence from the grasp of an oppressor, and have 
 been guided, by the hand of Heaven, to the man- 
 sion that contains you. I cannot tell you the parti- 
 culars now, for time presses; and if you escape not 
 to-night, to-morrow will be too late. Fear not to 
 trust the honest creature that is the bearer of this : 
 he would lay down his life to serve you ; you be- 
 friended his family ; and gratitude once awakened 
 in the bosom of an Irishman, is never after extin 
 guished. Oh, hesitate not an instant, but hasten 
 to the asylum prepared for you by your faithful 
 
 *' Albemarle." 
 
 Fanny put the note into her bosom, and, leaning 
 forward, asked Dermot " how she should get out 
 of the window ?" 
 
 " Och, if you are coming, honey," said he, clap- 
 ping his hands together for joy, " I'll fetch you the 
 little ladder in a jiffy ;" and as he spoke he disap- 
 peared, and returned in a few minutes, with a 
 little hand ladder, which lie placed against the 
 window ; and Fanny, having pushed her slender 
 form through its narrow opening, was able to de- 
 scend to her rough protector, with all the ease 
 imaginable. He begged her to close the case- 
 ment ; " and then, honey," said he, " they will 
 think that you have fled away up the chimney, or 
 that the banshee has taken you away through the 
 key-hole." 
 
 Fanny trembled so, as she descended from the 
 lower tower, that she had nearly slipped from Der- 
 
 No. 15. 2 u 
 
334 FATHRRLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 mot's hold. — "By the Powers," said he, "but you 
 frightened me so, that I sha'nt be myself again for 
 these two hours. A pretty story 1 should have had 
 to tell now, if you had broke your neck down that 
 bit of a pent-house there ; and a fine botheration 
 the young spark would have made at me for cheat- 
 ing him of his sweetheart. 
 
 " Pray do not talk in that style," said Fanny, 
 trembling, " I have no sweetheart, as you call it." 
 
 " Indeed and indeed but you have," answered 
 Dermot, " and so you'd say yourself, if you had 
 but heard all the poor young man had said about 
 you. I am sure he sot down in our cabin, and 
 talked about you a whole hour, till lie made Judy, 
 and the children and myself cry." 
 
 " What could he be saying of me all that time ?" 
 said Fanny, astonished that the Duke should have 
 been so imprudent. 
 
 " Och ! and he did not say much, honey, for / 
 was the chief talker, for when I described your 
 journey to Ballafyn Castle, and the piteous look 
 you cast at your persecutors, he was just like one 
 beside himself, and he wiped his eyes, and made 
 me tell the story over and over again. 
 
 " Then he wanted me to direct him where and 
 how he could get to speak to you; but I told him 
 it was as much as his life was wortii, and your's too, 
 if he should attempt to get into the house, and then 
 I told him the story about poor Lady Ballafyn, and 
 the gentleman that came and tried to see her, and 
 how I knew he was sent off, nobody could tell 
 where. 
 
 " And when I let him into the secret about the 
 poor Lady's escaping from that spalpeen of a 
 Lord of hers, and told him who got her off — Och ! 
 it was /was the clever fellow ivid him directly: 
 but come. Miss, let us make haste, for we are 
 not safe whilst we are in reach of the devils that 
 live in that Castle." 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 335 
 
 Fanny now laid hold of Dermot's arm, without 
 hesitation, and almost flew along, to keep pace 
 with his rapid strides. She soon found that they 
 were making towards the haunted rock. 
 
 " Whither are we going?" said she, for she felt 
 alarmed, as she recollected, that she had looked 
 from the summit, without observing one decent 
 habitation. 
 
 " Be easy, Miss," rq^lied Dermot, " you are 
 going to such a safe place, that the Devil himself 
 will not be able to find yon," and he almost dragged 
 her towards the rock. 
 
 "Oh Heavens!" exclaimed Fanny, almost faint- 
 ing with terror, *' for what am I reserved?" and 
 she dropped from Dermot's arm upon the stone 
 where Rose had sat when she accompanied her in 
 her morning rambles. 
 
 *' Miss," said Dermot, stopping at the same 
 moment, " it is a very hard case you cannot be- 
 lieve a man is honest, hecase you see he is poor. 
 Och ! and 'tis that same reason makes the English 
 and the Irish that they can never agree, they are 
 always bodering one another with their suspi- 
 cions; look ye here. Miss, you did a kindness to 
 my poor family, without asking, and sure I have a 
 right to return the favour, without asking too. 
 
 " Fifteen years ago I saved a beautiful lady from 
 being murdered ; I vyas but a youngster then, but I 
 had a stout heart, and neither minded man nor 
 devil in a good cause. You will see that lady 
 presently, and she will tell you that Dermot Mac- 
 farlane is worthy to be trusted. 
 
 " That rock, which now goes by thq name of 
 the haunted rock, is the private entrance to a house 
 at nearly half a mile distance; that house is in- 
 habited by a few nuns, who, afraid of having their 
 retreat discovered, generally receive what neces- 
 saries they stand in need of by this road. I am 
 the person who waits upon them, and it was 1 who 
 persuaded them to receive Lady Ballafyn amongst 
 
336 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 them, when the poor soul did not know where 
 to fly. 
 
 ** At that time I was a servant at the Castle, 
 and I discovered what was going on, and deter- 
 mined to save the Lady : so her maid and 1 laid 
 our heads together, and contrived to get her off one 
 night; and it was reported she died, and glad 
 enough my Lord was, for he mortaliy hated her; 
 and there was a line funeral : but she's not dead, 
 poor soul, she's as live as you are, only she's a lit- 
 tle wild at times, rather cracked or so ; for though 
 she could not abide Lord Ballafyn when she lived 
 with him, yet the nuns say, she has done nothing 
 but talk of her poor dear husbancl ever since she 
 has been there, and always insists upon it, that 
 he was murdered. 
 
 " Her maid set off for England, poor soul, soon 
 after her lady went into the nunnery, on purpose 
 to tell her Ladyship's friends where she was, but 
 the poor soul was drowned in her passage, so I 
 suppose 1 am the only person that knows a word 
 of the matter. 
 
 "As to the poor Lady^ she is quite melancholy 
 like, and would not leave the nuns if it was ever 
 so ; and she walks sometimes upon the rock, but 
 she is safe enough of being discovered, for nobody 
 would go near her for all the world. She is 
 called the Banshee, and avoided by every creature 
 like the Devil's own-self." 
 
 It is impossible to describe Fanny's emotions 
 whilst listening to this tale of wonder. She had 
 there seen her mother! and the person whose 
 honesty she had doubted, and whose protection 
 she had feared, was the champion of that distressed 
 parent ! She arose immediately from the stone she 
 was seated on, and seizing Dermot's arm — 
 
 *' Let us hasten, my good friend," said she, 
 " to the asylum you have promised me; all my 
 doubts are at an end, and I will soon convince 
 you that I am not your inferior in gratitude." 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 337 
 
 They soon reached the rock, and ascended its 
 craggy sides; then winding amidst its mazes, they 
 came to the identical spot where the figure had 
 disappeared from Fanny the morning before. 
 
 Near this spot Dermot lifted a loose stone that 
 lay at his feet, and shewed his astonished com- 
 panion the entrance to a spacious cavern. The 
 light of a torch, held by a man muffled up in a 
 large great coat, illumined the gloomy chamber, 
 and Fanny was presently convinced by his voice 
 that this was the Duke of Albemarle. *' I have 
 waited here with a degree of suspense and anxiety 
 almost insupportable. I feared that Dermot would 
 not succeed in persuading you to come, lovely 
 ipanny, if he was even so happy as to obtain the 
 power of speaking to you; but thank God you 
 are come, and I hope now out of the reach of 
 danger." ^, 
 
 '' I was not a bit afraid of being able to speak 
 to Miss," said Dermot, '* becase 1 knoived she 
 watched at her window every night almost, and I 
 saw her a good bit before I spoke to her, because 
 1 was afraid oi flustering her; but, oh by the 
 powers, 1 have had a tight job to persuade her 
 to come, for she was afraid of trusting me, poor 
 jewel, — she little thought it was impossible for her 
 to fall into worse hands than she was in already." 
 
 " I beg your pardon for my doubts," said Fanny, 
 " and I hope you will never have cause to com- 
 plain of such ingratitude again. As to you. Sir," 
 continued she, turning towards the Duke, *' lan- 
 guage is inadequate to express what I feel for 
 your goodness to a poor forlorn creature like me. 
 Oh if you knew what a wretch your timely inter- 
 ference has delivered me from, your generous 
 heart would feel gratified in the consciousness of 
 bestowing happiness." 
 
 The Duke took Fanny by the hand, but was 
 unable to reply, and giving the torch to Dermot, 
 
338 FATHERLESS FANNY; OI?, 
 
 he led the lovely object of his affections through 
 the long dark passage that led through the caverns 
 of the rock to the house where the friendly nuns 
 resided. 
 
 Fanny was received by the sisterhood with the 
 greatest kindness ; they had been waiting up for 
 her, and observing her pale looks and faint voice, 
 they insisted upon her taking some refreshment, 
 which was prepared for her. 
 
 The Duke and Dermot were now obliged to 
 retire, after commending the precious charge a 
 thousand times to their care; the former, however, 
 promised to return on the morrow, and inform 
 Fanny of the means by which he had been so for- 
 tunate as to trace her footsteps, and ultimately re- 
 lease her from her bondage. 
 
 As soon as they were gone, Fanny enquired 
 aft / the object of her constant thoughts; the lady, 
 she had been informed, was an inmate of their hos- 
 pitable mansion: at first they seemed unwilling 
 to admit that Lady Ballafyn was really amongst 
 them ; but when they found that she was in full 
 possession of the particulars, they admitted the 
 fact. 
 
 *' Oh, where is the lovely sufferer now," said 
 Fanny ; " is she reposing ? Oh that I might be- 
 hold her to-night, my heart cannot rest until I 
 have embraced her." 
 
 " Why does Lady Ballafyn interest you so 
 much, my dear?" asked the superior. " It is im- 
 possible you can ever have seen her." 
 
 " Yes I have, I am sure I have, I saw her on the 
 rock yesterday ; 1 took her for an inhabitant of 
 another world. Ah, if she knew it is a daughter 
 that languishes to embrace her, she would fly with 
 open arms to receive me." 
 
 *' A daughter!" reiterated the superior; " good 
 Heavens, what do you mean?" But before Fanny 
 had time to reply, the figure that she had seen 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. ' 339 
 
 upon the rock the preceding day, rushed into the 
 room, and folding Fanny in her arms, strained her 
 to her bosom in a fond embrace, and then sunk 
 lifeless on the floor. 
 
 It was some time before the efforts of the nuns 
 could restore the poor sufferer to life, and during 
 the time the swoon lasted, the distraction of Fanny 
 was beyond all bounds. She thought she had 
 killed her mother, and had not her parent revived, 
 it is but too probable her daughter would have 
 expired also. 
 
 At length, however, she opened her eyes, and 
 the first object they sought was the dear child, 
 whose sudden appearance had so nearly closed 
 them for ever. A thousand incoherent questions, 
 a thousand tender endearments were mutually ex- 
 changed ; but as neither was capable of bearing 
 an explanation at that moment, the superior in- 
 sisted upon tlieir retiring to bed, and deferring the 
 elucidation of the wonderful mystery until the 
 morrow. 
 
 " Then my child shall not quit me," said Lady 
 Ballafyn, holding Fanny's hand tight between both 
 her's, as if she feared somebody would run away 
 with her. *' She shall occupy my pallet, and I 
 will watch beside her pillow : sleep has been long 
 a stranger to these eyes ; but, oh, when have they 
 awaked to joy like this !" 
 
 " Your daughter and you shall occupy my bed," 
 said the superior, " which you know is big enough 
 to hold you both ; and then I trust that when the 
 first ebullitions of joy have subsided, nature will 
 assert her rights, and sleep restore your exhausted 
 faculties." 
 
 We will now leave the enraptured mother, and 
 the not less delighted child, to the enjoyment of a 
 bliss too mighty for utterance, and introduce the 
 reader to Lady Caroline's husband. 
 
340 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIL 
 
 Sir Christopher Desmond. 
 
 Sir Christopher-Desmond was descended from 
 one of the most honourable famiiies in the sister 
 kingdom, but being the son of a younger brother, 
 was early in life obliged, with little more than a 
 good education, to enter the world, and depend 
 for his future success on those resources which a 
 mind naturally strong and highly cultivated might 
 supply. Although the many restrictions which 
 political foresight once thought necessary to enact 
 for the preservation of Protestant ascendancy in 
 Ireland, could not militate against Desmond, his 
 family having, soon after the accession of Eliza- 
 beth, embraced the doctrines of the Established 
 Church; yet, his maternal uncle enjoying a chief 
 command in the armies of the Austrian monarch, 
 he determined on seeking his fortune in that 
 clime. Few vi^ere his regrets when the last point 
 of his native land faded from the anxious sight, 
 and seemed to blend imperceptibly with the ho- 
 rizon. " I will never dishonour thee, * Land of 
 my sires,' " exclaimed Desmond, while the tear 
 and blush, engendered by national enthusiasm, 
 met and were absorbed in each other. He left 
 the deck to hide those feelings which are too often 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 341 
 
 the scorn and ridicule of the sordid and the heart- 
 less. On the voyage he became acquainted with 
 a young Englishman, whose mind and disposition 
 would, in the days of chivalry, be held up as an 
 example worthy of imitation. To a boldness of 
 idea and quickness of decision, was added that 
 solidity of judgment which foreigners sO justly 
 attribute to the British nation. An enthusiastic 
 warmth ran through his speeches, yet neither that 
 nor the eccentricity of his manners removed the 
 favorable impression he made even at first sight. 
 The convulsions which disfigured the face of Con- 
 tinental Europe about this period had engaged, in 
 a very great degree, his most anxious thoughts; 
 and his ardent disposition w^as continually urging 
 him to take an active part in the passing events. 
 The voyage to Hamburgh, though short, yet so 
 much in unison were the souls of these youths, it 
 proved of sufficient duration for them to form a 
 friendship as firmly ceiiiented, as the materials of 
 which humanity is composed had the capability 
 of effecting. 
 
 The word farewell was equally dreaded by each 
 of these amiable and manly youths as the mandate 
 of eternal separation. Digby, with a generosity 
 that did honor to his noble disposition, oflTered to 
 share his fortune with his friend, that they might 
 mix in the same scenes, enjoy the same pleasures, 
 bear the same hardships, and receive the same 
 rewards, or bear alike with hero-nerve the frowns 
 of the fickle goddess. Desmond, though deeply 
 affected by this mark of friendship, refused the 
 princely proffer; his love of independeiice was 
 too great and exalted to allow him to become the 
 satellite of any human being. Upon his refusal, 
 the friends, with mutual regret, and minds deeply 
 impressed with ideas of respect t owards eadh 
 other, parted ; Digby in quest of adventures, and 
 our hero to commence his career as a soldier. 
 
 15. 2 X 
 
342 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 Desmond pursued liis route towards Vienna, 
 and arrived there as the army, which the Emperor 
 was organizing to act in conjunction with the Rus- 
 sian and Prussian forces, liad commenced their 
 march for ill-fated Poland. Having presented liis 
 letters of recommendation, and waited upon his 
 uncle, who inunediately adopted him as his son, 
 and declared him heir to all his property, his first 
 leisure moments were devoted to friendship and 
 affection : to his mother, whom he tenderly loved, 
 he sent a particular account of whatever he thought 
 worthy of her notice, which occurred since his de- 
 parture from home ; to Digby he directed a packet, 
 under cover to that gentleman's banker at Ham- 
 burgh, in which his hopes and his views were more 
 particularly explained. He had not been long in 
 Vienna before he was appointed to a lieutenancy 
 in Baron Humbolt's regiment of hussars, and, as 
 they were ordered into actual service, he joined 
 them immediately. 
 
 Scarce had the troops entered the Polish terri- 
 tories, than the left wing of the army was attacked 
 by a considerable l>o<ly of lan<:ers, aided by an 
 undisciplined and badly armed peasantry. Their 
 onset was as the rushing of the mountain-torrent, 
 but the coolness displayed by the Austrians in re- 
 pelling this impetuous charge, made the Poles, 
 from being the assailants, become the assailed — 
 their lines were broken — to rally was impossible; 
 PI uiii bolt's regiment sustahied the post of honor, 
 and Desmond received particularly the thanks of 
 the commander-in-chief; this flattering mark of 
 commendation, thus publicly bestowed, served as 
 an incitement to future acts of glory. As they ad- 
 vanced into the interior of the country, and actions 
 became more frequent, his mind, naturally humane 
 a,nd benevolent, made him regret that he was forced 
 by his circumstances to continue m a profession 
 so repleta with evil to mankind ; those ideas often 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 343 
 
 employed his mind, while he viewed the rough 
 and unprincipled soldiery, inflated with victory, 
 plundering the houses of that God whom they 
 tliemselves worshipped, and burning the humble 
 dwellings of the miserable inhabitants. One even- 
 ing Desmond, now advanced to a captaincy, was 
 ordered to proceed with a detachment and attack 
 a position held by the enemy a few miles in ad- 
 vance of Warsaw ; this service he performed with 
 his usual ability, and took possession of the re- 
 doubt, but the miscreant band, few of whom ha<i 
 any of the qualifications necessary to form a true 
 soldier, save courage and a mechanical obedience 
 to their officers, had set fire to a neighbouring vil- 
 lage: actuated by motives of humanity, he inmie- 
 diately proceeded to the spot, in order to restrain, 
 if possible, their brutal violence. At the farther end 
 of the village he observed two hussars dragging a 
 female from a house, while others of their com- 
 panions applied firebrands to the dwelling; the 
 intention of the hussars being easily perceived, no 
 time was to be lost. " Wretches," exclaimed he, 
 " desist." — 'Twas the voice of their commander; 
 and, growling like the disappointed hyaena, they 
 reluctantlv resi2:ned their devoted victim. The 
 fire, which had now spread from habitation to habi- 
 tation, and like a beacon marked to the philan- 
 thropist " the unkindness of man to man," gave 
 him a full view of the female he had saved from 
 pollution. He saw her, and cold and phlegmatic 
 must he be who would not admire; her form was 
 symmetry itself, and the soul of sensibility diffusing 
 its rays over one of the most beautiful countenances 
 nature ever formed, rendered the timid fair one 
 almost irresistible. She raised her hurried eyes, 
 and, encountering his, seemed to say, " am J safe !" 
 The language of nature is understood by all — 'tis 
 the converse of soul with soul ; — and Desmond 
 broke this expressive silence by assuring her, in 
 
344 . FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 that language xvith which he had from his earliest 
 infancy been used to clothe his thoughts, " that she 
 was safe." The lady started at the sound — ^joy 
 enlivened her countenance — she grasped his hand, 
 and, pressing it to her lips, cried out in an ecstacy, 
 " 1 am safe ! you are an JLlnglishman !"' and fainted. 
 After procuring for her all the assistance the place 
 could supply, he had her conveyed to a hut, whose 
 sequestered situation had saved it from destruc- 
 tion, and then proceeded to inspect the posts, and 
 put the redoubt in the best possible state of de- 
 fence, fearful, from its vicinity to Warsaw, that 
 some sudden attack might be made before more 
 troops could arrive. 
 
 Returning to the hut, Desmond found the fair 
 object of his solicitude recovered from her agita- 
 tion ; and, as she thanked him for his protection, 
 the gratitude which enlivened her countenance 
 gave fresh charms to her beauty. Eager as he 
 was to learn something of the history of this in- 
 teresting female, his sense of delicacy was such 
 that he refrained from those intrusive questions by 
 which impertinent curiosity generally defeats its 
 own intentions. 
 
 However, the lady informed him that she was 
 betrothed to a young Englishman, who served as 
 a volunteer in the Polish army, and that h^^r father 
 had approved of the attachment, not only from a 
 desire of conducing to her happiness, but also from 
 the wish he had long cherished of enngratina," to 
 England; this wish he was now realizing, and the 
 last letter she received from her dear parent, the 
 Count Ponituski, was dated from Dantzic, on 
 board the United States' ship Amelia, bound to 
 tlull. It was her intention to proceed immediately 
 to the same port, in company with a faithful do- 
 mestic, to whose care her father -had entrusted her. 
 Her lover, she continued, would shortly follow, 
 being to be united to him on their meeting in that 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 345 
 
 kina:(lonL The lady was now beginning to launch 
 forth, in describing the fairy scenes of felicity which 
 her youthful imagination had been ponrtraying to 
 ]ier mind, when the delightful theme was inter- 
 rupted by the sudden intrusion of a hussar, who 
 informed Desmond that a numerous body of troops, 
 whether friends or enemies he could not say, were 
 observed marching towards the post. Desmond, 
 impelled by his sense of duty, apologized to the 
 fair narrator, and withdrew, in order to examine 
 into the truth of the soldier's report. He found it 
 correct, and knowing them to be Poles he put him- 
 self on the defence, conceiving that his post was 
 tUd object which they intended to attack. The 
 situation of the lady became next his most mo- 
 mentous concern. 
 
 She had given him to iniderstand that her in- 
 tention was, as soon as possible, to proceed to 
 England, and join her father, where, upon the ar- 
 rival of her lover, she conceived her earthly happi- 
 ness would commence. Desmond's cousin, the 
 Lady Augusta Dunboyne, of Fitzroy Square, 
 London, had a heart that sym])athized in the dis- 
 tresses of the sons and daughters of affliction, and 
 in her hospitable mansion the expatriated child of 
 misfortune w as siu'e of a safe asylum. To this lady's 
 notice he intended to introduce the beautiful and 
 interesting Polish damsel. Seating himself upon a 
 bank, he hastily w^'ote the following note: — 
 
 Dear Lady Augusta, 
 
 The best excuse I can offer for 
 being^so laconic in my epistle, is the exposed situa- 
 tion 1 am in; for, before old time bas swallowed 
 another hour, the noise and tumult of war, and all 
 its attending evils, will surround your cousin. You 
 may smile when the fair messenger delivers this to 
 you, and say, that Mars had, at last, surrendered 
 his liberty to Venus; but in this conjecture, my dear 
 Augusta, yon are w:rong. I am still invuhierable 
 
346 FATHERLESS FANNY; OF, 
 
 to" tlie shafts of his little godship ; indeed, if tlie 
 balls of the Poles make no more impression upon 
 me than the arrows of Cupid, you may expect to 
 see ine before long. The lady, to whotn this is to 
 be an introductory letter to your ladyship's favor, 
 is the daughter of a Polish grandee; and as there 
 is nothing so erroneous, in my opinion, as to stop 
 the loquacity of a fair femaie by forestalling her 
 storj^ i leave the explanation to herself, i'his 
 may be the last favor 1 can recpiest of you. The 
 out- posts are already engaged. My respects to 
 Dujiboyne. Adieu. 
 
 Yours, &c. 
 
 Christopher Desmond. 
 
 He sent the above to the lady by his servant, 
 giving him his purse, and an order to accompany 
 the fair fugitive to Dantzic. 
 
 I'he servant and his beautiful charge had but 
 just cleared the precincts of the post, wlien the 
 attack began; the Poles, headed by a youth that 
 seemed to place danger at defiauce, displayed in 
 this re-encounter more than their wonted courage 
 — they became irresistible — the Austrians gave 
 ^vay; in short, they were obliged to abandon the 
 redoubt. Desmond and the few that escaped the 
 slaughter, retreated upon their main body; in the 
 action, his lieutenant, for whom he had a high es- 
 teenj, was severely wounded by the youthful leader 
 of the assailants ; his wounds beconung painful, 
 and the enemy not demonstrating any desire of 
 pursuit, Desmond ordered his little band to halt. 
 I'hen, upon nature's bed, under the green canopy of 
 heaven, the tired warrior stretched his weary limbs. 
 It was a glen, fertile, yet wildly beautiful; on either 
 side were hitls covered with trees, whose luxuriance 
 charmed and invited the weary traveller to take 
 shelter in their umbrage, while the meridian sua 
 held its mid day reign — a rivulet gently meander- 
 ing through the meadows and corn-fields of this 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 347 
 
 delightful valley, with tlie songs of the feathered 
 tribe, sweetly broke tlie silence which nature 
 seemed to have imposed upon this retired sjx)t. 
 Here Desmond's contemplative mind according 
 with the scene, began to dwell upon the evils 
 with which war is fraught. Around me are scat- 
 tered cottages uninhabited — there the luxuriant 
 meadows are without the stately horse, or more 
 useful ox — the fields untilled, and this terrestrial 
 paradise wasting its capabilities — all through the 
 detestable ambition of nsen. God of nature, has! 
 thou created man to annoy his fellow man, hast 
 thou endowed him with reason, and bestowed 
 superior intellect upon him that he might the 
 better decoy, deceive, and destroy? No, 'tv/ould 
 be blasphemy to harbour the idea for a moment. 
 Thou art a Uod of peace, and thy peace, conti- 
 nued Desmond, [)asseth all understanding. 
 
 He was aroused from this reveiie, by the noise 
 of approaching troops; they were Austrians, and 
 having been detached for the sole purpose of 
 aiding him, they began to lay plans for the re- 
 taking of the post, which the commander-in-chief 
 considered of the first importance, as it conmiand- 
 ed one of the principal entrances into the city. 
 The Poles, weakened by disasters, could not place 
 their out-posts in such numbers as to giv@^ the 
 slightest probability of their defending them with 
 any hopes of success. The Imperialists moved 
 forward, and no sooner did they appear before 
 the redoubt than it was abandoned by the Poles. 
 Desmond once more renewed his applications to 
 the Austrian court for leave to return to his native 
 land, but like the former ones he had made, it re- 
 mained imansvvered. However, although his aver- 
 sion to trhe military life daily encreased, his known 
 courage, skill and perseverance pointed him out 
 to those in command, as a person fit to be entrusted 
 with enterprizes of the greatest moment, and on 
 
318 FATtelERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 this account, scarce a day passed without his being 
 actively engaged. 
 
 One day, being on a reconnoitering party, he 
 was surprised by the besieged, >vounded, and 
 taken prisoner. As soon as he was recovered 
 from his wounds, he obtained permission to pro- 
 manade particular parts of the city, and as he 
 was enjoying this liberty, the veteran warrior and 
 patriot Kossiusko crossed his way ; all eyes were . 
 directed towards him, and among the rest Des- 
 mond's ; — but what was his astonishment, when 
 among the officers which attended the General, he 
 recognized Digby, the enthusiastic, the generous 
 Digby ; — their glances met ; quick almost as their 
 thoughts the friewds flew towards each other, — 
 their surprise was mutual — their pleasure equal--— 
 their embrace cordial and sincere. 
 
 Digby, after having obtained for his friend an 
 extension of his liberty, took him to his quarters. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 349 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 The Fair Marian. 
 
 No sooner were they seated than Digby began 
 to relate to his impatient and attentive friend the 
 "various adventures into which he had fallen since 
 their separation at Hamburgh. Desmond soon 
 found out by his narrative, that although Digby 
 had been fighting for the liberty of the people 
 among whom he resided, yet he had surrendered 
 himself a willing captive to a female, whom he 
 described as concentrating within herself all that 
 was attractive and charming- in woinan. Desmond 
 expressing a wish to be introduced to this incom- 
 parable lady, his friend's face became suddenly 
 oercast with the deepest marks of sorrow^ " My 
 friend," answered Digby, " there is, at present, 
 too much mystery, for my peace of mind, over the 
 fate of my dear Marian. When first I entered 
 into the service of this ill-fated country, 1 became 
 acquainted with a nobleman, whose high patriotic 
 notions were so congenial to my own, that an in- 
 timacy commenced, which in time ripened into 
 friendship. The consciousness that his country 
 would be degraded from her rank as a nation, 
 
 15. 2y : 
 
350 FATHERLESS FANNY", OU, 
 
 and her laws and her liberties expire under the 
 overwhelming force of the invaders, he agreed to 
 proceed, the first opportunity, to England, and 
 there secure a retreat for himself and daughter, 
 the lady to whom I have promised eternal con- 
 stancy. A few weeks back, the father, in hopes 
 of realizing his plans, commenced his journey to- 
 wards England, and the lovely Marian followed, 
 in company with a trusty domestic ; but having 
 an uncle to whom she was much attached, and 
 who commanded a detachment stationed about 
 four miles in advance of this city, she visited him 
 for the purpose of taking her last farewell : she 
 had been but a short time in his company when 
 the place was attacked by a party of Austrians, 
 and her uncle was obliged precipitately to retreat. 
 Arriving in Warsaw that night, and waiting on me, 
 he told the dreadful tale. Immediately 1 flew to 
 all that I had the least influence with, and full of 
 that ardour which love gives to the human soul, I 
 succeeded in obtaining a numerous body of friends, 
 determined to retake the redoubt, and rescue my 
 loved Marian from the power of those whom 1 
 had every reason to expect were base and un- 
 principled. We succeeded in dislodging the ene- 
 my, and I instantly began to search for her who 
 was dearer to me than my own existence — but 
 the search was in vain. 
 
 " On entering a hut, which seemed to be the 
 only one that escaped the demoniacal fury of the 
 Austrians, my anxiety was relieved, in a great 
 measure, by a letter which I found there directed 
 to me. One circumstance which it ccntained, 
 however, gave me, and does, nay my friend, it will 
 ever embitter my life ; the letter mentioned, that 
 her honor and her existence had been saved by 
 the interposition of the ofiicer who commanded, 
 and that that officer was an Englishman : adding, 
 that he had sent his servant to escort her to 
 
THE LITTTE MENDICANT. ' 3-3 1 "- 
 
 Dantzic. Wlien we attacked the place, (conti^ 
 lined Digby,) mad with the thought of my Marian 
 being exposed to the brutal ferocity of the sol- 
 diery, J, with au avidity ahiiost inconceivable even 
 to myself, fell upon my foes indiscriminately; my 
 exauiple was followed by those under my com- 
 mand; I wounded, and 1 think severely, tlieyonnir 
 man who acted so honourably by my Marian. 
 Shocked at the ungrateful return tisat war makes, 
 I am determined to relinrpiish the sword ; and if 
 ever again I should draw it in anger, it must be in 
 defence of Old England." 
 
 Desmond had now the elucidation of the young- 
 lady's history, and relieved Digby from his un- 
 easiness by relating what he knew of her. The 
 gratitude of I3igby was excessive when he learned 
 that it was his friend 'who saved his Marian. 
 Desmond iuforming him of the determination he 
 had formed of returning to his native land, Digby 
 agreed to accompany him, nor was it long before 
 a circumstance occurred which enabled them to 
 proceed on their journey. By the arrival of 
 an Austrian flag of truce, several letters were 
 brought to the prisoners ; among which there 
 were two for Desmond, one from home, directed 
 to him as Sir Christopher Desmond, the contents 
 of which were, that Sir Hugh Desmond had 
 died without children, and he being the next heir, 
 the family title and estate devolved, of course, on 
 him. The other was from the Austrian cabinet, 
 with liberty for him to retire, and, that they might 
 mark the high sense they entertained of his ser- 
 vices, it was accompanied by the Cross of Maria 
 Theresa. 
 
 Desmond, liow as independent as pecuniary 
 concerns could make him, set off' in company with 
 Digby, and embarking at Dantzic proceeded with 
 a fair wind on their voyage. They had not been 
 many days on the ocean, when a lady of the name 
 
352 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 of Watkius, whose husband was American Con- 
 sul for some time at Dantzic, and who, for com- 
 mercial reasons, had removed to England, was 
 playing with her sweet smiling little cherub on the 
 deck, the vessel suddenly heaved, and the dear 
 innocent was precipitated into the ocean. Digby, 
 who was near the spot apparently lost in thought, 
 perceived the perilous situation of the child, cast- 
 ing a glance at the distracted mother, plunged 
 into the deep, and, as if fortune favored his under- 
 taking, he seized the little innocent with one hand, 
 and keeping himself buoyant with the other, he 
 held the poor baby up to the view of the agonized 
 mother : a boat, which a vessel at no great dis~ 
 tance was sending to the brig on board of which 
 Digby had taken his passage, took him and the 
 child, and was proceeding with them to the vessel, 
 w^hen the convoy made the signal of an enemy in 
 sight; this induced the men in the boat to return 
 to their own ship, in spite of all the remonstrances 
 of Digby. 
 
 The perturbation of the distressed parent had 
 just subsided, and though she longed to embrace 
 her little one, yet the consolation of knowing it 
 was safe gave her relief; her frequent swoons had 
 subsided, and that noble eloquence which nature 
 teaches us in the hour of distress was poured forth 
 in prayers to the God of mercy, calling upon him 
 to bless the kind preserver of her boy. But, how 
 are our prospects blighted, our hopes dissolved, 
 and our anticipations worse than folly! Unlooked 
 for circumstances— events trivial in themselves, 
 give a bias, perhaps to our lives, as unexpected as 
 momentous. The mother, fondly looking towards 
 the vessel where maternal love and gratitude now 
 centered her ideas, offered any sum to the captain 
 if he would put her on board the other vessel, or 
 have the child and his preserver conveyed on board 
 his own. The honest tar, with tears in his eves. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 3»53 
 
 refused the request. He had valuables to a cou- 
 siderable amount entrusted to his care, and as they 
 were safe, he advised her to rest contented, and 
 that as soon as they were clear of the enemy, he 
 would immediately have them conveyed on board. 
 The French vessels now hove in sight, and the 
 vessel to which Digby was taken, being a heavy 
 sailer, was captured. The mother again became 
 disconsolate; and Desmond, knowing the sanguine 
 disposition of his friend, felt a deep regret at his 
 fate. The French vessels soon gave up the chase, 
 and, tacking about, made the best of their way to 
 France, but not before the captain of the privateer 
 put the child on board an American merchantman, 
 that was proceeding with the English traders. 
 Digby seized this opportunity to convey a letter to 
 his friend Desmond, in which he expressed his hap- 
 piness at being instrumental in the preservation of 
 the dear little boy, and that the pleasure he ex- 
 perienced from the transaction more than compen- 
 sated for the attending evils. He conjured him, by 
 every tie of friendship, to seek out his Marian and 
 her father, and be a protector to them until he 
 could relieve him from the office. Mrs. Watkins's 
 happiness was at its height, when she clasped her 
 infant to her bosom ; yet sorrow might be seen 
 sweetly blending itself on the expressive counte- 
 ^iiance of the enraptured mother: he that saved her 
 child had lost his liberty — perhaps a domestic cir- 
 cle anxiously awaited his arrival, or a dear partner, 
 from whose embrace he had been long severed, 
 daily looked for his return ; thoughts such as 
 these made the rapturous pleasure, which Mrs. 
 Watkins just experienced, subside into a melan- 
 choly feeling. 
 
 We must now leave Digby for a time to his fate, 
 while we follow Sir Christopher to England. Mrs. 
 Watkins, on their landing, was met by her husband, 
 and after informing him of the transactions of the 
 
354 FATHERLESS lANNY; OK, 
 
 voyage, he pressed Desmond, with an eagerness 
 that would not admit of a refusal, to make his house 
 his home while he remained in London; this offer 
 was accepted and he accompanied the happy cou- 
 ple to their d welling. The fate of poor Digby cast a 
 gloom over Desmond's countenance, particularly as 
 his cousin Lady Augusta Dunboyne had but a few 
 days before his arrival left town for her country seat 
 in Ireland. He had written to his relative for informa- 
 tion on this subject, but it would be some time be- 
 fore an answer could arrive from that kingdom ; that 
 Marian had arrived in England he was well assured, 
 as his servant, after seeing her safe on board, had 
 brought him a letter from her, couched in words of 
 the warmest gratitude, wherein he was informed by 
 • her of the name of the vessel, &c. This letter, from 
 the length of time he was prisoner, and his servant 
 not seeing him until he was nigh upon quitting Po- 
 land, he read and gave to Digby; that the vessel in 
 which she took her passage had arrived safe, Mr. 
 Watkins being a merchant, soon obtained informa- 
 tion that set all doubts on that head perfectly at lest. 
 To try to divert his thoughts from this melancholy 
 channel in which they began to glide, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Watkins strove to draw him towards the places of 
 public amusement. A new performer having to 
 make his appearance at Covent Garden, they 
 agreed to go and see him pass the public ordeal. 
 He had but just appeared on the stage when Des- 
 mond glancing at the countenances of those who 
 surrounded him in hopes of reading the performer's 
 sentence, his eyes encountered those of Marian, 
 which seemed doubtingly, though eagerly, to ex- 
 amine his features : he bowed, and with a smile of 
 recognition acknowledged she was right. Without 
 heeding the curious gaze of the audience she flew to 
 Desmond, and embraced him as her tutelary angel. 
 Pleased as he was with the rencontre, yet there 
 was with her iu the box a young lady of incom- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 355 
 
 parable ])eauty that made the first impression which 
 love ever engraved on hi« heart. Marian quitted 
 liini for a moment, and returning, informed him 
 tiiat he would oblige her if he would accompany 
 her after the performance to the house of her bene- 
 factress; this Desmond promised, and proceeding 
 at the conclusion of the piece to fulfil his engage- 
 ment, a man of foppish appearance detained him, 
 conceiving that Desmond, by too abruptly passing 
 him, deserved a reprimand ; the altercation cause(l 
 considerable delay, and when he arrived in the 
 lobby, neither the fair Pole nor her agreeable 
 companion could be found. Chagrined and dis- 
 appointed, he sought his host and hostess, and 
 informing them of the untoward adventure, they 
 advised him to attend the threatre for a few suc- 
 cessive nights, in hopes of again meeting her, this 
 advice he adopted, but to no manner of purpose. 
 One morning before he arose, he heard an un- 
 common bustle in the house, this appeared the more 
 remarkable to him, as the regularity of Mr. Wat- 
 kins's establishment was proverbial; on his entering 
 the breakfast parlour, he was agreeably surprised 
 by meeting an assemblage of those mercantile gen- 
 tlemen, for whom Mr. W. always expressed the 
 highest respect. " This day," said the host, " is the 
 birth-day of my little boy, and I hope. Sir Chris- 
 topher, you will be happy, not only with us, but 
 with the friend of your bosom;" at this moment, a 
 door which led from the parlour to an adjoining 
 room was opened, and Digby, with all the warmth 
 of manly friendship, grasped the offered hand of 
 Desmond. Immediately after, the Count Ponituski 
 was presented to the company, and upon being in- 
 troduced to Desmond, he thanked him for the kind- 
 ness he had done his daughter, and hoped in the 
 day of disasters, none of his relatives might want 
 a defender. Mr. Watkins, striving to thank Digby 
 for his noble conduct towards his son, was over- 
 
356 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 come by his feelings— the generous youth felt for 
 the parent, and assured him that their ties to each 
 other were reciprocal; in the preserving of your son 
 I had a pleasure, but you have bestowed upon me 
 what is dearer than life, my liberty. After break- 
 fast, Digby, when Mr. W. retired, briefly related 
 the circumstances of the voyage, and informed 
 them, " That from the military air which he had 
 acquired among the Poles, the captain of the pri- 
 vateer conceived him to be an officer in the British 
 service, and but for that, he should have been put 
 on board the American ship. That after being a 
 few days in prison, an order arrived from the French 
 Government for his release, and passports given him 
 for Hamburgh, together with a letter to be pre- 
 sented to the American Consul there. What was 
 his astonishment when arriving in that city, to find 
 that it was through the influence of a Mr. Watkins 
 that his liberty was granted, and the letter con- 
 tained a bill of credit on one of the first bankers 
 of the place, together with a request that he would 
 as soon as he landed in England call on him, and 
 make his house his home ? To this request he had 
 acceded, and found that Mr. VV. was the father 
 of the child he saved from a watery grave. The 
 vessel in which 1 had taken my passage not being- 
 ready to sail," continued Digby, " I strolled about 
 to kill time, for my mind was too much engaged by 
 a particular object to think of any thing else. 1 
 accidentally fell in with my respected friend the 
 Count Ponituski. The vessel in which he had 
 embarked for England had been wrecked on the 
 coast of Holland, and he was at that period striv- 
 ing to procure a passage over, but for want of 
 money he was fearful of accomplishing his purpose. 
 I relieved his mind on this head, the Count em- 
 barked with Hie, and we arrived at this hospitable 
 mansion late last night, and had the inexpressible 
 happiness of learning from our kind host that Ma- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 3o7 
 
 rian is in tlie metropolis, and inider the protection 
 of a lady, who, from tiie appearance she made, 
 was of exalted rank." Digby, with all the eager- 
 ness of a lover, wished immediately to set forward 
 on the enquiry for his clear Marian, nor was the 
 fatherless anxioiis to liehold his daughter; but 
 this was over-i'uled by Desmond, and the con- 
 vivial party continued together, encreasing in the 
 esteem of each other, until a late hour. 
 
 The next morning, as they were preparing to 
 proceed on their enquiries, a letter arrived, di- 
 rected to Sir Christopher Desmond ; it was from 
 Lady Augusta Dunboyne, in which she informed 
 him, that the lady he had recommended to her 
 protection was fully entitled to it. Amiable in 
 disposition, and polished in manners, she was the 
 delight of the circle into which she had been in- 
 troduced : she is at present, continued Lady 
 Augusta, under the protection of the Lady Ellin- 
 court, of whose fair daughter she cautioned lier 
 cousin. Few had a sounder judgment than 
 Di"by, and on the proposition that they should 
 wait on Marian at Lady Ellincourt's, he objected* 
 although he ardently wished to see her, saying, 
 that as Desmond had already conversed with her, 
 and as it was through him that she was placed in 
 her present situation, it would be best for him to 
 wait on her, and explain all the circumstances 
 relative to himself and her father, and when she 
 was prepared for the interview, they would wait 
 upon her. This plan of acting was adopted, and 
 Sir Christopher proceeded to Lady Ellincourt's 
 residence, where, presenting his card, he was in- 
 stantly ushered into the presence of Lady E. who 
 received him with that sweet condescension of 
 manners which characterizes the lady of high rank 
 and mental endowments. 
 
 After complimenting him on the conduct he 
 pursued in respect to Marian, she introduced hini 
 
 No. 16. 2 z 
 
358 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 to that lady, aiul to her own lovely danghteP 
 Caroline, in whom he recognized -the female whos^e 
 beauty made such an impression upon him at the 
 theatre. Desmond, when the first ebullition oi' 
 Marian's gratitude subsided, informed the atten- 
 tive fair one of the intimacy which subsisted be- 
 tween him and Digby, of their meeting at Warsaw, 
 their departure from thence to England, the occur- 
 rences on the voyage, and lastly, his being at pre- 
 sent in London. The various passions which al- 
 ternately illumined and depressed the expressive 
 countenance of Marian, shewed to the observer 
 what passed in the mind during this recital. When 
 Desmond said that Digby was in the metropolis, 
 her eyes sparkled with pleasure, but regret, like a 
 passing cloud, dimmed their lustre. " Oti heavens!" 
 she exclaimed, " was but my dear father here, my 
 happiness would be complete." " Your happiness 
 is complete — he is in London, and with Digby." 
 " O harbinger of good — messenger of glad tidings, 
 thou hast realized my fondest hope — let me fly to 
 the dear^ fond, the wished-for, kind, paternal em- 
 brace." Lady Ellincourt participated in her 
 feelings, and, ordering her coach, proceeded with 
 Desmond and Marian to Mr. Watkins's. To de- 
 scribe the interview between the father and the 
 daughter — the lover and beloved, would be im- 
 possible. A performer may interest, by personi- 
 fying the passions, but it is only for the moment; 
 for the knowledge of a want of reality dispels the 
 fiction: this scene was nature, it spoke in a lan- 
 guage which reached the heart, and impressed 
 itself upon the feelings so firmly, that the powers 
 of time were not adequate to its removal. The 
 party rose high in Lady Ellincourt's estimation, 
 for among the greatest blessings bestowed by na- 
 ture on mankind, she reckoned that of a heart full 
 of the milk of human kindness the first. The ex- 
 pression of their feelings having assumed a calmer 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. t559 
 
 Inspect, Lady Ellincoiirt requested the party to 
 'accompany lier home, and spend the remainder of 
 tlie joyous day at lier mansion: this ])roposition 
 •Desmond seconded tlie more earnestly, that he 
 might enjoy the company of Lady Caroline, whose 
 beauty, and the slight conversation he had v/itli 
 her, made such an inroad on his affections as left 
 all chance of escape (if her mind appeared dis- 
 posed to hold him captive) impossible. The con- 
 tinual expressions of gratitude with which Marian 
 noticed the name of Desmond, and the amiable 
 character which Lady Dunboyne bestowed upon 
 him, added to his interesting appearance, made 
 the susceptible Caroline long for the return of her 
 mother, that she might again have the pleasure of 
 Desmond's company. In this wish she was grati- 
 fied, for the whole party arrived, and Desmond, 
 .without perceiving it, found himself seated beside 
 the fair object of his tenderest regards. This day, 
 passing amidst the most pleasurable sensations, 
 almost banished from the mind of Ponituski the 
 fate of his country, and nearly obliterated from 
 his memory the time ' 
 
 When leagued Oppression pour'd to Northern wars 
 ]^cr whisker'd ])anJoor$ and her fierce hussars — 
 Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
 Peal'd her loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn; 
 Tunmltuous horror brooded round her van, 
 Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 
 
 Not long aftei' the introduction of the friends 
 to Lady Ellincourt, Digby received the hand of 
 the fair Marian, and proceeded with his beloved 
 bride, accompanied by her father, to Digby Hall, 
 in Northamptonshire. 
 
 Desmond continued a welcome visitor at Lady 
 Ellincourt's; and, as the Watkins's had returned 
 to America, he had the more leisure to study the 
 character of Caroline, which he found to be all he 
 wished foi-. Making his proposals to the motherj 
 
360 FATHERLESS FANNY; ORj 
 
 they were accepted, and Sir Christoplier was in- 
 troduced to Lady Caroline as a lover, coiinle- 
 nanced by lier respected and revered mother. 
 Well would it be if the selections made by parents 
 and the affections of children would accord, as 
 this did. Caroline loved him, and the passion was 
 equally ardent in the breast of Desmond. Sir 
 Christopher's mother arriving in company with 
 Lord and Lord Dunboyne, they urged the beau- 
 teous Caroline to name an early day for the cele- 
 bration of their nuptials. This Desmond himself 
 strove to accelerate by every device which love 
 could dictate. One day entering the library where 
 Lady Caroline was readiiig, he requested to see 
 the work which seemed so intensely to absorb her 
 thoughts; t!)is she complied with — it was Camp- 
 bell's delightful poem, " The Pleasures of Hope." 
 Desmond immediately pointed out the following 
 ibeautiful 23assage for her perusal: — 
 
 Willioiit the smile from partial beauty won. 
 Oh 1 what were man ? — a world without a sun. 
 Till Ilyinfii brouglit his love-delighted hour. 
 There dwelt no joy in Kden's lovely bower ! 
 In vain the viewless seraph lingerinj; there, 
 At starry niiduij^lit charm'd the silent air; 
 In vain the wild bird caroll'd on the sleep, 
 To hail the sun, slow wheeling from tiic deep ; 
 In vain, to sooth the solitary shade. 
 Aerial notes in niingling measuje play'd ; 
 The sniaujcr wind tiiat shook (lie spangled tree. 
 The whis|)ering wave, the niurmiir of the bee ; — 
 Still slowly [)ahs'd (lie melancholy day, 
 And still the stranger wist riot where to stray : — 
 The world was sad !— the garden was a wild ! 
 And man, tise herniitj sigh'd — till woman srail'd ! 
 
 Desmond was ha})py, his Caroline smiled ; and 
 ere maiden modesty could re-call the sweet tell- 
 tale which played round her cherry li|)S, Sir Chris- 
 topher clasped the sweet maid to his bosom ; — 
 *' To-morrow — to-morrow — ^^my dear Caroline, let 
 the world resume its every charm — be mine, my 
 adored." " Well then, to-morrow," answered the 
 blushing dame, and, breaking from his fond 
 
THE LITTLE MENUICANT. 361 
 
 «uil)race, flew and hid lier crimsoned face in the 
 bosom of Lady Ellincourt. 
 
 Desmond was the more eager to have his nup- 
 tials solemnized, as his presence was become ne- 
 cessary in Ireland; and his friend Digby being in 
 town, together with Count Ponituski and the 
 arniable Mrs. Digby, he wished to have them 
 present at the ceremony. 
 
 And now that day, to which so many look 
 for^\'^rd as the gate of happiness — which so many 
 thoughtlessly enter — which so many, for merce- 
 aiary motives, eagerly look towards — arrived. 
 Desmond, on this his wedding-day, solemidy 
 prostrated himself before liis Maker, praying for 
 his guidance and direction in the new sphere of 
 life in which he was just going to move. Nor did 
 his Caroline neglect to offer up her devotions at 
 the throne of mercy, for grace to guide her in the 
 new situation she was entering upon. She was 
 that day to be united to the man she adored, but 
 she was to part from a mother she loved ; a new 
 circle of acquaintances awaited her, and her chief 
 residence was to be in a distant country. The 
 ceremony over, they immediately, proceeded for 
 Ireland; and at intervals Sir Christopher and 
 Lady Desmond visited their friends in England. 
 That honor which marked his early youth en- 
 creased with his manhood ; as a husband — a 
 father — a friend — a master, — he was what those 
 who were so placed as to be acquainted with him, 
 in any of these relative situations, would wish. 
 To the mansion of this gentleman Mr. Hamilton 
 and Lord Ellincourt directed their course, par- 
 ticularly as it was in the immediate neighbour- 
 hood of Ballafvn Castle. 
 
3(32 FATHERLESS FANNY : OK, 
 
 CIJAFIER XXXIX. 
 
 The Bud. 
 
 We wili now return to Ballafyn Castle, where 
 all was confusion, noise, and uproar, as soon as 
 Fanny Avas missed ; which was not until a late 
 bour on the ensuing morning, for as she had re^ 
 fused to admit either Rose or Mrs. Owen, the 
 whole of the preceding day, they concluded 
 she was either sulky or asleep, and after finding 
 entreaties and threats equally unavailing, they 
 broke into her apartment, and to their astonish- 
 ment, found it empty, without the smallest trace 
 being visible how Fanny had escaped ; the con- 
 sternation was general, and mutual accusations 
 passed between JNIrs. Owen and her niece Rose, 
 each believing, or affecting to believe, that the 
 other was privy to her disappearance. Rose, who 
 had a very feeling heart, and who had found her- 
 self strongly inclined to love Fanny, was greatly 
 concerned on the occasion, and a thousand fears 
 least some private disposal had been made of the 
 poor young lady by her aunt in concert with 
 Lord Ballafyn, alarmed her compassionate breast. 
 8he was soon convinced, however, by the genuine 
 
THE LITTLE MEXDIf ANT. .'}^>3 
 
 raj^e that hurst forth from his lordsliip, on being 
 informed of Fanny's disappearance, that he was 
 liot a party concerned in it. Jt was quite impos- 
 sible to conjecture what could have become of 
 her, because her escape from the window was 
 totally impossible, vmless aided by some abettor 
 without; and that she could not have made any 
 friend in that part of the world, was equally evi- 
 dent, since she had never been permitted to quit 
 the house, even for a stroll in the park, unattended. 
 
 The most prevailing opinion now amongst the 
 servants was, that she had been carried away by 
 the supernatural agency of the bansljee. The ex- 
 istence of this ideal being is so firmly believed in 
 by the lower classes of the Irish peasantry, that to 
 doubt its reality would be considered a species of 
 scepticism deserving of punishment here, and sure 
 of it hereafter; and they began to look upon one 
 another with stifled horror, and w^onder whose 
 turn would be the next. 
 
 Not so Lord Ballafyn, superstition made no 
 part of his creed, he attributed the event to the 
 villainy of some of his servants, who had been 
 induced to connive at her escape, by the facina- 
 tion in her manner, which had so completely 
 captivated his lordship. 
 
 He therefore breathed nothing but vengeance^ 
 and walked about the Castle, swearing that if 
 Fanny was not found within twelve hours, he 
 would shoot every person he suspected as her 
 accomplice. 
 
 In the midst of all this bustle. Col. Iloss arrived ; 
 he was surprised to find his brother at the Castle 
 before him, as he had understood by his last let- 
 ter that his lordship would be detained in Dublin 
 above a fortnight beyond the present period ; and 
 during that interval, he had hoped so to dispose 
 of Fanny as to have secured her possession entirely 
 to himself; jealousy was roused, therefore, when 
 
3(j4 FATHERLESS. FANNY; OJJ, 
 
 lie found his brother ah'eady at the Castle, and 
 rage was added to that feeiiiii;-, wlien lie heard that 
 she was no where to be found. In the first pa- 
 roxysm of passion, the two brothers began abnsin*;' 
 each other in the most violent manner. Col. Ross 
 did not hesitate to accuse Lord Ballafyn with hav- 
 ing secreted Fanny on purpose to deprive him of 
 her, adding, that the well-known infi\my of his 
 brother's character, might have warned him not to 
 trust so practised a villain with a treasure of such 
 inestimable value. And thus, reader, it is ever 
 with the sons of vice, however fninly their friend- 
 ship may seem united — however near they may 
 be allied — however their pursuits may appear to 
 cement them — yet to such a height do they carry 
 their selfishness that every circumstance which 
 should be a bond of union among them, vanishes 
 whenever one profligate companion counteracts 
 the design of his fellow, thus was it between those 
 brothers. Equally guilty, they began to recri- 
 minate each other, and the most vile language 
 seemed inadequate to express the feelings of their 
 diabolical minds. 
 
 Lord Ballafyn was an Irishman in every thing 
 but honor, but there he belied his country. His 
 spirit was too turbulent and baughty to brook the 
 aggravating expressions made use of by his bro- 
 ther, and bidding him detiance, he seized his pis- 
 tols, and ordered him to follow him to the planta- 
 tion at a little distance from the house. Col. Ross, 
 whose whole frame shook with a fury no wise infe- 
 rior to that which transported his brother, obeyed 
 tlie mandate, and in a few minutes the wretched 
 culprits had sealed their condemnation in each 
 other's blood, and the crime of Cain w as renewed 
 by the mutual fratricides. Both fired, and both 
 fell, whilst the sanguine stream dyed the conscious 
 earth, and smoking up to Heaven, called down 
 tenfold vengeance on the murdereiv 
 
THE LlTTLIi HIKNDirANT. ,105 
 
 But lut IIS turn from the horrid scene, and visit 
 Fanny in lier cahn retreat; let us behold her 
 seated at her mother's i'eet, whose emaciated hand, 
 was fast locked between the soft pressure of her 
 daughter's, and as with filial love, amounting to 
 veneration, slie gazes on the care-worn features of 
 tile angelic sufferer, we may see the large pearly 
 drops of tenderest sympathy roll down her lovely 
 cheek. 
 
 Her mother was told the sad tale of her suffer-, 
 ings already related to the reader, with this only 
 addition, that when, after Mr. Hamilton's visit to 
 Ballafyn Castle had excited the jealous rage of its 
 imperious owner, the treatment of the wretched 
 Lady Ballafyn had been beyond measure intoler- 
 able, and she had the most urgent reasons to be- 
 lieve that her death was intended by her remorse- 
 less Lord. 
 
 The intervention of honest Dermot had pre- 
 vented the catastrophe, and the unhappy lady had 
 found a safe and comfortable asylum with the 
 benevolent nuns; who, though ditiering from her 
 in some points of religion, had never varied in 
 their attentions to her comforts, nor denied their 
 sympathy to her sufferings. 
 
 In her turn, Fanny had related the eventful 
 narrative of her life, and the wonderful discovery 
 of her parents, which had been made to her by 
 Mv. Hamilton. But, Heavens! what were Lady 
 Ballafyn's emotions, when she heard that he^ for 
 wliose sake she had suffered so severely, still ex- 
 isted ! A wildness took possession of the unfor- 
 tunate lady, that greatly alarmed Fanny; but the 
 tender attentions of her daughter gradually 
 restored her to peace, and she made her repeat, 
 over and over again, those parts of the story most 
 interesting to her heart. To find that Fanny had 
 been introduced to her cousin, Lord Ellincourt, 
 in so wonderful a manner, and afterwards so kindly 
 
 16. 3 A 
 
30^ FATHERLESS FAN^Y ; OS?, 
 
 adopted botfi by his lordship and his mother^ 
 called forth the tear of gratitude and joy npoii 
 the cheek of the interesting mother. 
 
 Whilst the mother and daughter were engaged 
 in this tender discourse, they were interrupted by 
 Ibe arrival of the Duke of Albemarle. He was 
 admitted to their presence, and began apologizing^ 
 for his late visit ; but so sweetly had their time 
 stole away, in the interesting communications they 
 had been mutually making, that they had not 
 perceived the lapse of time. Fan»y immediately 
 begged leave to introduce her mother to the Duke, 
 who received the information with a look of sur- 
 prise amounting almost to incredulity. 
 
 ** I bring you news,'* said he, " that will sur- 
 prise you almost as much as you have done me: 
 some of your best friends are arrived in search of 
 you ; I have this moment spoken to Lord Ellin- 
 court, who tells me he was accompanied by Mr. 
 Hamilton." 
 
 *' Oh, Heavens, my father!" exclaimed Fanny, 
 ** let me fly and embrace him." But, as she spoke, 
 she turned, and saw her mother pale and faint. 
 Every other feeling now gave way to terror for 
 that dear parent's safety ; nor would she say ano- 
 ther word to the Duke until she had seen her 
 perfectly restored, and persuaded her to retire to 
 iier bed to compose her shattered nerves, where 
 she left her in the care of one of the benevolent 
 nuns, whilst she went to learn the particulars of 
 the joyful news just announced to her. 
 
 " May I not fly to my dear father?" said the 
 affectionate Fanny, when she returned to the 
 Duke. 
 
 " No, lovely girl," replied his Grace, " your 
 father will be here very shortly, Sir Christopher 
 Desmond, Lord Ellincou/t, and several gentle- 
 men of the neighbourhood with him ; they are 
 at present engaged in a very melancholy ofiice. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT, 367 
 
 that of giving orders for the pro|»er attendance on 
 two unfortunate men, who, forgetful of their duty 
 to God and themselves, have been engaged in a 
 duel." 
 
 Tiie Duk.e th«n briefly related the particulai'S 
 of Lord Ballufyn's and Colonel Ko^s's quarrel, 
 and its fata J termination.. 
 
 ** They are both wouiided despes^tely,^ said 
 he, ** but not dead. Mr, Hamilton and Lord 
 JEUincourt arriveti at the Castle at the precise mo- 
 ment when tlie wretclied men were being carried 
 into it I had been attracted to the fetal spot by 
 the report of fire-arms, and came up to tine com- 
 batants just as they both fell, 
 
 *^ I hastily summoned assistance from the Cas- 
 tle, and the wounded brotiiers were conveyed 
 thither by the terrified servants, who at fiT«t eyed 
 me with a susfsi^ous look, imagining that I had 
 iiad a hand iu the fatal catastrophe. The inco- 
 herent sentences uttered by Lord Baliafyii soon 
 convinced them of their mistake ; for altlsough 
 he spoke with difficulty, he said enough to ex- 
 culpate Die. 
 
 *' The arrival of Lord EUincourt and Mr. Ha- 
 milton, at s«ch a moment, increased the confusion; 
 for the former, with the impetuosity natural to his 
 character, began a string of questions relating to 
 you, my sweet friend, which it was impossible the 
 servants couid answer satisfactorily; and learning 
 that you had been at the Castle, and were now 
 missing, made iiim outrageous, 
 
 ** To cairn his rising passion 1 advanced towards 
 him, for I had entered the hall with the throng of 
 domestics, and as I knew more about you than 
 any one there, I thought it my duty to relieve his 
 anxiety ; but I had nearly got into a scrape with 
 the choleric Lord, for he immediately suspected 
 me of being concerned iu the barbarous violence 
 4}i takiisg y-oii from England. 
 
368 rATUERLESS fanny; ok, 
 
 " Mr. Hamilton's calmness was here of great 
 service to us ; and the explanation was at length 
 made in a satisfactory manner, and his Lordship's 
 resentment changed into the most enthusiastic 
 gratitude. 
 
 " r explained to hiin the manner in which I had 
 been deceived by Lord Somertovvn's pretended 
 permission to pay my addresses to you, whic:li was 
 only given me to add mortification to disap])oint- 
 ment, for he well knew you were to be removed 
 from Pemberton Abbey before 1 could arrive 
 there. 
 
 " By the fortunate circumstance of my meeting 
 with the woman whose husband acted as chief 
 manager of tiie infernal plot, I became master of 
 the important secret that so nearly concerned ujy 
 happiness. She mistook me for Lord Ellinconrt, 
 "whose arrival was hourly expected, and enjoining 
 me secrecy as to the source from whence 1 drew 
 my information, she entreated me to lose no time 
 in flying to your assistance. She directed me the 
 exact route you had taken, and she described 
 your terror and distress during tlie part of your 
 journey she had accompanied you in, with a de- 
 gree of sympatliy that will ever make me remem- 
 ber Mrs. Franklyn with pleasure. 1 crossed by 
 the same vessel that had taken you over, and 
 learned at the cabin of poor Dernjot the rest of 
 the particulars necessary for your deliverance. 
 
 " I determined to effect that tirst, with the as- 
 sistance of that honest fellow, and then call the 
 infamous author of your imprisonment to tiie ac- 
 count his crimes merited ; but another hand has 
 chastised him, and I am satisfied. 
 
 " A surgeon had arrived at the Castle before I 
 came away, and he pronounces the wounds of 
 both the imprincipled brothers very dangerous, 
 but Lord Ballafyn's the most so. His Lordship 
 has been made acquainted with his danger, and 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 3(39 
 
 remorse has visited his heart ; he has de^jired to 
 see Lord Ellincourt, but, as tlie surgeon said any 
 violent emotion might be instantly fatal, the int(,'r- 
 view has not yet taken place. His Lordship does 
 not know that Mr. Hamilton is in existence, at 
 least he dreams not that his house now holds the 
 man whom he has so irreparably injured. 
 
 *' Concealment is now no longer necessary," 
 added the Duke, " your enemies are incapable of 
 further injuring you, and indeed if they were not 
 so, you are surrounded with a posse of friends 
 able to defend you from their malice : it is there- 
 fore proposed, that you should be removed to 
 Lord Ellincourt's sister, Lady Caroline, who has 
 been prepared to expect you ; she lives at no great 
 distance from hence, and Lord Ellincor.rt, Mr. 
 Hamilton, and Sir Christopher mean to come pre- 
 pared to escort you there." 
 
 " But 1 have found a parent here," said Fanny, 
 *' a parent that they have no idea is in existence, 
 and I cannot so soon consent to tear myself away 
 from her; and I am persuaded she will never quit 
 these walls whilst Lord Ballafyn lives." 
 
 " That may not be long," replied the Duke, 
 ** for the surgeon gives but very poor hopes of his 
 recovery. But I mean not to dictate to you, madam : 
 Mr. Hamilton and his friends are coming, and then 
 my mission ends. O may that gentle bosom deign 
 to bestow some compassion on the man who exists 
 but in the hope of being one day dear to you !" 
 
 " I entreat your Grace never to mention that 
 subject to me again," said Fanny; " your addresses 
 are unsanctioned by your uncle, nay, against his 
 consent, and cannot therefore be received by me." 
 
 " Of my uncle I beseech you never to think 
 again," said the Duke; " he lias for ever broken 
 the link that held me to him ; the insult he has 
 offered me, by pretendiiig to give his consent to a 
 marriage which he believed at the moment could 
 
370 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 never take place, lias determined me to renounce 
 him, and i have written to him expressive of my 
 resolution. I told him in that letter that I would 
 never rest until I found you, and wherever I did 
 find you, and in whatsoever circumstances you 
 might be placed, I would lay my fortune at your 
 feet, and consider your acceptance of it as the 
 only thing whicii could give it value in my eyes. 
 That njoment is now arrived, and 1 throw myself 
 on your mercy, and expect the sentence of life or 
 death from your hands." 
 
 Before Fanny had time to reply, Mr. Hamilton 
 and Lord Ellincourt arrived, and the scene that 
 followed put all ideas of lovers out of Fanny's 
 head. 
 
 The discovery of Lady Ballafyn's existence was 
 a surprise so sudden and unexpected, that it nearly 
 overturned Mr. Hamilton's faculties, and he was 
 some hours before he had sufficiently recovered 
 the shock to converse with any degree of self- 
 collected ness upon the subject. The manner of 
 introducing himself to her presence became the 
 next consideration, and it was agreed that the 
 interview should be deferred for a few days, as 
 during that period perhaps Lord Ballafyn might 
 pay the forfeit of his crimes. The event justi- 
 fied the supposition, for the unhappy nobleman 
 breathed his last just eight and forty hours after 
 the duel, in the most excruciating tortures both 
 of mind and body. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton visited him, to pronounce for- 
 giveness for the injuries he had sustained from 
 the dying sinner, but alas, the sight of him threw 
 Lord Ballafyn into a delirium that ended m his 
 dissolution ; and thus the wretched sufferer was 
 deprived of the consolation the Christian charity 
 of the godlike Hamilton had intended to bestow 
 upon him. 
 
 Oil, sons of vice, childiL^n of fully — you who 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 371 
 
 seek pleasure in the gratification of every sensual 
 desire — who despise the honest and the honorable 
 — in whose eyes the religious are hypocrites, the 
 generous vain, the benevolent ostentatious ; pur- 
 sue your evil courses — rise from one degree of vice 
 to another — attain its very climax — yet, let but 
 death lay his cold hand upon you, and all your 
 boasted hardihood vanishes. The soul, horror 
 struck, dreads to leave its tenement of clay, and 
 hell commences here, 'ere spirit and body part. 
 
 I will not pretend to describe the meeting be- 
 tween Mr. Hamilton and his long-lost Emily, for 
 it is impossible for any pen to do justice to such 
 high- wrought feelings as filled the breasts of the 
 long-severed lovers. The presence of their child 
 encreased their joy, and the excess of their hap- 
 piness seemed to threaten to be more fatal to their 
 health than even their long sufferings had been, for 
 both of them fell ill in consequence of the violent 
 effect, so wonderful a revolution had taken upon 
 their frail constitutions. 
 
 At length, however, they recovered, and the 
 happy party removed to Sir Christopher Des- 
 mond's, where they spent a few weeks of uninter- 
 rupted felicity, after which the whole party, with 
 the exception of the injured Emily, returned to 
 England, in order to make the proper investigation 
 of Lord Somertown's conduct, and to prove the 
 marriage his infamous plots had annulled, and on 
 which proof depended the legitimacy of Fanny's 
 birth-right. Emily, who had now dropped the 
 title of Lady Ballafyn, insisted upon remaining at 
 the hospitable convent until every thing should 
 be settled respecting the validity of her marriage, 
 and refused, with determined steadiness, the en- 
 ti'eaties of her daughter to permit her to remain 
 with her. 
 
 " No, my child," said she, ** return to the 
 amiable Lady, your near and dear relative, who 
 
372 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR/ 
 
 SO kindly fostered yon when she thonght you a 
 strnnn-er and an onlcast ; go to her, and bear the 
 rich oblations of gratitude and affection from a 
 heart that has been long dead to this world, hut 
 which now once more palpitates with the besl 
 feelings of humanity, and tell her 1 yet cherish 
 the fond hope of being folded to her maternal 
 bosom. 1 have no doubt of the success of your 
 noble-minded father's exertions in our behalf; they 
 will be crowned with success, and my darling girl 
 will be presented to the world with the splendour 
 that so justly belongs to her. But never lose sight 
 of this maxim, my child, when pleasure courts 
 you, and adulation whispers in your ear those 
 praises that are ever bestowed upon the rich and 
 noble: — Virtue is the only true distinction, and he 
 that acts up to her dictates can never be base, how 
 mean soever his situation in life; nor can the 
 slave of vice be noble, though invested with the 
 trappings of royalty itself. 
 
 Before the party set off for England, especial 
 care was taken by Fanny that the family of honest 
 Dermot should be rewarded for their exertions in 
 her behalf. She found herself forestalled, however, 
 in her kind intention, by the generous Albemarle, 
 who, impatient to reward the humble benefactors 
 of the woman he adored, had purchased a piece 
 of land for them, adjoining their cottage, which 
 was sutlicient, with a little industry, to maintain 
 them all comfortably; to this gift Fanny added a 
 sum of money bestowed upon her by her father, 
 to enable them to build a comfortable riabin in 
 lieu of the wretched one they now inhabited. 
 
 There was nothing could equal the happiness of 
 this honest family, excepting their gratitude; both 
 these feelings were without bounds, and they fol- 
 lowed their benefactors with blessings, imtil they 
 reached the port where they were to embark, and 
 knelt down upon the beach, with all the enthusi- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 373 
 
 asm that marks their countrymen, to pray for a 
 good voyage for the travellers. The humble peti- 
 tion was heard at the throne of grace, and Fanny, 
 accompanied by her father, Lord Ellincourt, and 
 the Duke of Albemarle, arrived in safety at Pem- 
 berton Abbey, in three days from their departure 
 from Donaghadee. Lady Dowager Ellincourt 
 and her daughter-in-law, the amiable Emily, were 
 waiting to receive them, and Fanny was pressed 
 alternately in their arms with all the fervour of 
 affectionate joy. 
 
 The happy termination of all their sorrows had 
 been announced to them by letter, and Pemberton 
 Abbey was appointed the place of rendezvous. 
 Poor Lady Maria Ross was still an inhabitant of 
 that mansion, but grief and anxiety had preyed 
 so severely upon her gentle mind, that she was 
 confined by severe illness to her bed, and thereby 
 rendered incapable of tlying to the pillow of her 
 suffering and now deeply penitent husband. Col. 
 Ross, who still lay with very slender hopes of 
 recovery at the dreary Castle of Ballafyn, and 
 who expressed the most earnest wish to see his 
 injured wife. 
 
 Amongst the happy groupe assembled at Pem- 
 berton Abbey, we must not forget Mrs. Bolton, 
 who had never quitted Lady Ellincourt during the 
 dreadfid suspense she had been suffering whilst 
 Fanny was missing. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton took every step to trace the 
 wicked and treacherous Franklyn, who had so 
 basel}'^ betrayed his helpless daughter into the 
 hands of her enemies for the consideration of five 
 hundred pounds, which was paid him by the de- 
 testable Lord Somertown. The wretch, however, 
 eluded their vigilance for the present; for, as soon 
 as he found his wife had betrayed him, he made 
 off to Portsmouth, and entering on board a ship 
 
 16. 3 B 
 
374 FATHERLESS BANNY: OR, 
 
 just sailing for the West Indies, he escaped the 
 pursuit 
 
 In consideration of Mrs, Franklyn's tenderness 
 to Fanny, and her subsequent discovery of (he 
 plot to the Duke, she was pardoned, and received 
 a small annuity from the bounty of the Duke. 
 
 In short, that young nobleman behaved with 
 such generosity, and displayed so noble a spirit 
 throughout the whole of this business, that Mr. 
 Hamilton and Lord Ellincourt j^oined their elo- 
 quence to that of the two ladies Ellincourt, to 
 j)ersuade Fanny to accept his offered hand. 
 
 It was difficult to resist such special pleaders, 
 particularly as she felt a still more powerful advo- 
 cate for his cause within her own bosom. 
 
 Fanny therefore yielded to the persuasions of 
 her friends, and gave a conditional promise to 
 marry the Duke, provided her mother approved 
 of the match. 
 
 The Duke was all love, gratitude, and rapture; 
 and, in consideration of this arrangement, it was 
 agreed that Mr. Haiijilton should drop his claim 
 to the Albemarle title, and suffer the two claims 
 to be united in the persons of the two lovers. 
 
 It was now absolutely necessary to break up 
 the happy party, and that the gentlemen shouki 
 go to London ; but the ladies remained with Lady 
 Maria, who now began to recover her strength, 
 and promised herself the consolation of visiting 
 her poor husband, now Lord Ballafyn, in his 
 mournful confinement. 
 
 It had been proved, on the inquest that had 
 been taken at the time of Lord Ballafyn's death, 
 that he was the aggressor; Colonel Ross's life was 
 not therefore endangered by any thing but by his 
 wounds, which still continued very unfavourable 
 m their appearance, owing to the harassed state 
 of his mind, which was now a chaos of remor^se, 
 terror, and contrition. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. - 375 
 
 The presence of his lady, Tvho flew to his as- 
 sistance as soon as her health permitted her, re- 
 stored him to some degree of composure ; for her 
 gentle nature induced her to pronounce the most 
 unequivocal pardon on the penitent sinner, as far 
 as she was concerned. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton soon settled his business in town ; 
 the validity of his marriage was proved, beyond a 
 doubt, by the assistance of Mr. Fortescue, who 
 had the satisfaction of receiving his favorite mo- 
 jmsseSi as the meed of his testimony. 
 
 In regard to Lord Somertovvn, all proceedings 
 against him were become unnecessary ; Heaven 
 had anticipated the punishment designed him, and 
 visited him with a total deprivation of his mental 
 faculties. He lived but a short time after Mr. 
 Hamilton's return, and died at last despised and 
 detested, leaving his name covered with the infamy 
 of his long-concealed actions, which now became 
 known to the world, filling it at once with horror 
 and detestation for the monster which had so long 
 encumbered the earth. 
 
 Lord Ellincourt and Mr. Hamilton set off for 
 Ireland, as soon as the business was settled, to 
 fetch the amiable and long-suffering Emily ; and 
 soon after her return the nuptials of her beloved 
 daughter were to be solemnized with the Duke of 
 Albemarle. 
 
 Lady Mornington wrote her congratulations to 
 Fanny, on the joyful occasion, in her usual gay 
 strain ; part of the letter ran thus : — 
 
 " It mortifies me that I cannot fly to you, and 
 present my congratulations in person ; but I will 
 take my revenge as soon as I can, and then you 
 will have a hard matter to get rid of me. I hope 
 the Duke did not make such a long face at your 
 wedding as he did at mine. I long to see him in 
 the character of a benedict. 
 
 " Apropos, I aiB very angry that your ballad 
 
376 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 SO far surpasses mine in romantic incident ; I was 
 thinking of turning my story into a romance, but 
 it will not do now. Your's has, besides an enleve- 
 ment., castles, enchanted rocks, disguised knights- 
 errant, and subterraneous caveriis, and heaven 
 knows what. 
 
 " But I think the best of your story is the death 
 oi Blueheard; you know who I mean. The old 
 Giant of Grumbo is dead too, so farewell to ad- 
 ventures. I am afraid you will be obliged to go 
 soberly on all the days of your life, without the 
 smallest chance of your being run away with any 
 more. 
 
 '* How I long to embrace all the dear circle ! 
 Yes, you may look, but 1 assure you I intend to 
 salute the Duke for his pretty chivalric expedition 
 in search of an oppressed damsel. 
 
 " I think he had been reading Ariosto before 
 he set out, he went about giant-killing so handily. 
 Farewell : your happiness must be incomplete 
 ■whilst you want the society of your mad friend, 
 
 "Amelia Mornington." 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 377 
 
 CHAPTER XL, 
 
 The 3Iarriage, 
 
 It now only remains for me to add, the 
 happy party soon after arrived in England, and 
 Fanny had once more to experience the delightful 
 sensations of pressing to her bosom her earliest 
 friend, and of receiving" the affectionate and joyful 
 embrace of her revered benefactress, Lady Ellin- 
 court, who, as she gazed ou the finely expressive 
 countenance of her beloved niece, could not help 
 exclaiming, " It is, indeed, the child of my ill- 
 fated, my noble brother! and I never shall suffi- 
 ciently excuse myself of stupid insensibility for 
 not immediately discovering in that face his 'every 
 feature more elegantly touched.' " 
 
 The Duke now^ waited impatiently the arrival 
 of Sir Everard and Lady Mornington, who had 
 altered her determination, and had written to 
 Fanny to say, she should expire if she was not 
 present at her marriage, as she understood it had 
 not yet taken place. 
 
 Jn the morning the lively Amelia arrived, and 
 Fanny had now under the same roof every friend 
 
376 FATHERLESS FANN.Y; OK, 
 
 she loved, aud the marriage shortly after took 
 place between the Duke and the amiable girK 
 The grand saloon of Lady Ellincourt's house was 
 fitted up for the performance of the ceremony, and 
 as bis Grace approached the blushing girl. Lady 
 Mornington congratulated him with her usual 
 sprightliness on the improvement of his appear- 
 ance, which, she declared, had lately undergone a 
 most u'onderjnl change for the better ; for at her 
 marriage he performed the " knight of the rueful 
 countenance" with such considerable eclal, that 
 she really imagined his future intentions were to 
 light giants, and rescue ])ersecuted damsels from 
 enchanted castles : "■ birt," continued her ladyship, 
 laughing, *' 1 am highly delighted at your sagacious 
 selecliou of the damsel you were to emerge from 
 dreary confinement ; and here, I am led to believe, 
 ends your Grace's exploits in chivalry." 
 
 The Duke acknowledged her ladyship's opinion 
 ivas perfectly correct; and, bowing with an air of 
 gallantry, assured her, her lively sallies now de- 
 lighted hini. 
 
 " Did you ever hear the like}" exclaimed the 
 lively Amelia, turning to Fanny ; " what a mortify- 
 ing confession, it is a tacit intimation, that I did 
 not ahvays delight ; but, however, 1 really possess 
 so sweet a disposition that it induces me to forgive 
 you ; for I know, on a day like this, happiness 
 intoxicates, and may make you find impurity in 
 the drifted snow, spots in the sun, or faults in the 
 amiable Lady Mornington." 
 
 Fanny could not forbear a smile at the agree- 
 able gaiety of her friend, although she never felt 
 more disposed to be serious. 
 
 Mr. Hamilton now approached, and taking the 
 hand of his daughter, moved towards the apart- 
 ment destined for the performance of the sacred 
 ceremony ; the Duke received her from the hands 
 of her father as heaven's best gift, and led her to 
 
THE LITTtE MENDICANT. 379 
 
 the altar, where the ll)ishop of L stood ready 
 
 to unite them for ever. 
 
 Fanny supported hei-seif with a placid dignity, 
 and firmly answered the solemn impressive ques- 
 tions addressed to her by the bisliop; the cere- 
 mony now concluded, and she gracefully received 
 the congratidatioBs of the party, and kissing her 
 hand, as farewell, was led to the carriage in wait- 
 ing, by the enraptured Duke, and they immedi- 
 ately set off to Albemarle Park. Lord and Lady 
 Elliucourt, Lady Mornington, &c. were to follow 
 ill two days. 
 
 A month soon elapsed, and the happy party re- 
 turned to town in order to be introduced at court; 
 it was agreed that the three brides, Lady Ellin- 
 court, Lady Mornington, and our heroine, should 
 be presented the same day; and now all was bustle 
 and confusion ; nothing but milliners, dressmakers, 
 &c. crowding the hall: at length the important 
 day arrived, and never was a more brilliant and 
 crowded drawing-room than that which graced 
 the introduction of the youthful, elegant, and 
 blooming Duchess of Albemarle to the first court 
 in Europe ; the three ladies were attired alike in 
 Brussels lace falling over white satin, with a profu- 
 sion of diamonds ; feathers and diamonds adorned 
 their heads ; the only difference was, that a ducal 
 coronet ofdiamonds encircled the fair open for(5head 
 of Fanny; a buz of astonishment followed their 
 entrance into the anti-chambber, and though the 
 gentlemen allowed i\\e Ladies Elliucourt and 
 Mornington to be fine women, but that the Duchess 
 was the superlative degree, was voted nem, con. 
 
 Her Majesty received her with infinite conde- 
 scension, and honored her with particular atten- 
 tion, intimating her hopes of frequently seeing her 
 Grace of Albemarle adorn, by her presence, the 
 circle of the drawing-room ; bending with a grace- 
 ful dignity peculiar to herself, she acknowledged 
 
38Q FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 with gratitude how much she felt the honor con- 
 ferred by the condescension of her sovereign, and 
 after a few minutes conversation she prepared to 
 quit the presence; a murmur of admiration fol- 
 lowed the departure of the fascinating^ Duchess, 
 who tlie gentlemen again declared would be the 
 prevailing toast for at least three rvinters. 
 
 " How d'ye do." *' Charmingly warm," " De- 
 lightful squeeze," were addressed to her by so 
 many strangers, who evidently wished to be 
 strangers no longer, that it was with difficulty a 
 passage was opened for the party to pass, so eager 
 were the fashionable world now^ to attr?»ct the 
 notice and obtain an introduction to the lately 
 slighted, /or^m -FATHERLESS FANNY ! f ! 
 Who now no longer an orphan, and the object of 
 impertinent curiosity, in the gay world that she 
 frequented, but the beloved daughter of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Hamilton ; the wife of one of the first nobles 
 in tiie kingdom ; and the radiant star wherever 
 she appeared. Yet amongst the praises that were 
 deservedly lavished upon her from every quarter, 
 and the homage that was almost bestowed upon 
 her beauty, by some gentlemen who perhaps held 
 her personal charms in higher estimation than the 
 brilliancy of her understanding, and the intrinsic 
 qualities of her heart; she still maintained the 
 «ame unassuming deportment, the same mild, 
 gentle demeanour. 
 
 Though compelled, by the station to wliich she 
 was raised, to mingle amongst the fashionable 
 throng, she despised the glittering vanities she be- 
 Iield, and never felt so truly blest as when enjoying 
 the society of her husband, and a j^arty of select 
 friends at their beloved retirenient in Hampshire. 
 Thither they had spent the honey-moon, and at 
 those seasons when Parliamentary business did not 
 require the presence of the Duke in London, they 
 delighted to sojourn. Pemberton Abbey has also 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 381 
 
 a favorite residence. Memory bad first endeared 
 it to our heroine : she was enraptured with its 
 venerable shades, ere time acquainted her that it 
 was there she drew her first breath. Within tlie 
 walls of the chosen structure her suffering mother 
 gave her existence ; and nature, pure but power- 
 ful nature, dictated a preference for the sublime 
 retreat. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton took up their 
 abode there; it was sufficiently large both for the 
 family of the Ellincourts and them to hold pos- 
 session. The Dowager Lady Ellincourt, as also 
 her daughter, became tenderly attached to the 
 mother of their sweet Fanny, and it was the mu- 
 tual wish of all parties that one roof should con- 
 tain them. Lord Ellincourt was the best of hus- 
 bands: he loved the amiable Emily with an affec- 
 tion that virtues bright as her's could not fail to 
 excite in a breast replete with such transcendant 
 goodness; and the afiiictions which the mother of 
 her he had been wont to call his Little Fan had 
 undergone, whilst bearing the hated title of Lady 
 Ballafyn, raised the tear of sympathy in his sus- 
 ceptible bosom : his character is already known ; 
 it would be needkt^s here to expatiate on his 
 merits, but we shall have many opportunities of 
 displaying his generosity as we go on. The Duke 
 of Albemarle was a model for his sex to follow ; 
 he was a stranger to the ways of dissipation. Till 
 he was so inexpressibly happy as to become the 
 accidental means of saving his adored from the 
 fall she would have otherwise sustained, the pas- 
 sion of love was a guest with wliom he was un- 
 acquainted. The fascinations of the fair had never 
 possessed power to alter the happy system of his 
 disposition; t!»e name of seduction was odious 
 to his ear, and when he heard of plans laid to 
 betray defenceless innocence, he invariably ex- 
 pressed himself with detestation towards their 
 perpetrators. , . 
 
 No. ] 7. 3 c 
 
382 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 This feeling was doubly riveted in his soul after 
 he had seen the peerless maid on whom he fixed 
 his heart ; he resolved to unite his hand honor- 
 ably with hers, and by so doing prove the extent 
 of the adoration she had inspired. There could 
 not be a stronger evidence of the sincerity of his 
 regard than the fervency with which he paid his 
 ,addresses before he was informed with the secret 
 of her birth ; it was her mind and her angelic per- 
 son that he courted, not her fortune or her rank. 
 
 His Grace had early learnt to penetrate the 
 thick veil of dissimulation worn by his dissolute 
 companions; and his native good sense instructed 
 him to despise the arts they adopted to accomplish 
 their designs. His friend, Lord Ellincourt, was 
 not quite so deep a philosopher; before his mar- 
 riage with the enchanting Emily liis principles 
 were not so strict as they should have been ; yet 
 never did he devise projects for the destruction of 
 virtue. After the union of Lord Ellincourt with 
 the attractive Miss Barlowe, his thoughts never 
 centered for a moment in any other woman ; he 
 consfdered her the mirror of female excellence, and 
 began to view with utter contempt the life he had 
 led till introduced by Providence to her society. 
 One day, when holding a conversation with the 
 Duke of Albemarle on this subject, he thus ex- 
 pressed himself: " Oh, hov*^ blest is the condition 
 of matrimony ; I need not describe to your Grace 
 the delights that it produces, as you are yourself 
 so well acquainted with them ; but had mortals 
 an insight into half the joys that heavenly state 
 unfolds, how few would pass their days in a routine 
 of nothingness, enter into criminal engagements 
 with the most worthless of the sex, and disdain 
 the possession of one deserving fair, whose per- 
 fections reach beyond a captivating exterior, and 
 whose beauties are of such a nature as will last to 
 the end of time." " Would that your observation 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 383 
 
 was just, my dear fellow," replied the Duke, " but 
 I am' very much afraid, from the manners of the 
 beau inonde, that sentiments such as yours, and 
 such as I trust are mine, are nearly obsolete; no- 
 thing seems to afford pleasure in this luxurious 
 age but extravagance and intrigue: morality is 
 discarded from the assemblies of the great, and 
 voluptuousness takes the lead in place of sober 
 reflection. As to love, it appears to be banished 
 from the breasts of the masculine gender: in women 
 that sensation is more predominant than ever; but 
 we only affect to love, whereas in them there is no 
 deceit; they yield to us all that can make them 
 valuable, and we in return hate them for consentir.g 
 to our desires. Marriage, that presents to us a 
 prospect so agreeable, is treated with derision by 
 the rakes of London ; oft am 1 compelled to listen 
 to the abominable discourses of these modern hell- 
 hounds, and numberless are the disputes into which 
 I have been drawn for persisting in maintaining 
 my own opinions, which 1 glory in, acknowledging 
 they are widely opposite from those asserted by 
 the profane wretches in question." 
 
 " It is indeed a cause of concern," answered 
 Lord Ellincourt, " that vice should dwell so wholly 
 in our depraved race as to render us insensible to 
 the solid charms of viitue. 1 was once indifferent 
 to her pursuit, though I never viewed her with an 
 eye of ridicule, or spoke of her in language of con- 
 tempt: but since the wise goodness of the Eternal 
 has thought fit to bestow upon me the divinest of 
 treasures, in granting me the hand of my ever dear 
 Emily, I am aw^akened to a perfect consciousness 
 of the guilt of searching for happiness in licentious 
 and forbidden joys. You have frequently heard 
 me observe, and I again repeat it, that the first 
 memorable action of my life was done without any 
 previous design to perform one. 1 was anxious 
 for the restoration of a faithful little animal, and 
 
384 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 in my efforts to recover that, I was the means of 
 rendering a service to the charming creature who 
 is now your wife. This event gave a turn to my 
 imagination, and from that moment theilluminating 
 beams of knowledge seemed to irradiate my intel- 
 lects, and inspire me with higher perceptions than 
 I had before been endued with : my conscience 
 approved of the deed, and your Grace will allow 
 that conscience is a never-failing director, if we 
 would attend to her dictates." " 1 have ever found 
 it such," replied the Duke, " and my ideas on 
 marriage coincide exactly with your own. Fanny 
 is all the fondest husband coukl desire, and more 
 than any man expects to find in woman." " I 
 prophesied what an angel she would be," said 
 Lord Ellincourt, " when I saw her a little cherub 
 of five years old at that gy psied hag's, Miss Bride- 
 well's ; her countenance denoted something more 
 than ordinary at that early age." 
 
 " I suppose that lady will be Miss to all eter- 
 nity," replied the Duke. 
 
 " I am sure she would beyond eternity for me," 
 cried the sarcastic Lord ; " if there was not another 
 female between here and the coast of IMegroland, 
 I would not deprive her of that appellation. She 
 would stand as secure from an invasion as the in- 
 fernal furies styled Alecto, Tisiphone, and Ma- 
 gaeror. Who'd marry a woman that is old, ugly, 
 proud, bad-tempered, puffed up with self-conceit, 
 vain without the shadow of a pretence for being 
 so? Bless me, my Lord, were I to write down a 
 sum total of all the odious qualities that belong to 
 the blooming virgin of fifty-five, it would certainly 
 occupy two months to peruse them, and that 
 merely an abridgment; if I were to revise them 
 systematically, in the manner of the Cyclopaedia, 
 it would be nearer t\^o years." The Duke could 
 not help smiling at this lengthened harangue on 
 the demerits of the unaniiable Miss Bridewell, 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 385 
 
 ^vllonl he knew had never been a favorite with his 
 Iriend. " On my word," said he, " you seem to 
 have summed her up in a very few minutes ; 1 know 
 not whether your calculation is just." " Why, 
 coukl you love such a piece of stiff formality?" 
 humorously askeji his Lordship. " Love," an- 
 swered he in the same jocular strain, "no, I could 
 as soon love an inanimate statue: 1 should expect 
 no warmth there, and if i expected it in her I 
 should doubtless be disappointed." " 1 acknow- 
 ledge," said Lord Ellincourt, " that I ought not 
 to be so inveterate, considering that my going to 
 the beldam's first introduced me to the sweet 
 Fanny — that should soften my rugged heart in her 
 favor; but then, when I think of her behaviour to- 
 wards that innocent I am doubly enraged, since she 
 proved her views of interest in every particular." 
 The conversation here turned, — Lord Ellincourt 
 inquired if his Grace had seen Sir Everard Morn- 
 ington recently. " Not very," he answered ; *' we 
 expect him and his lively lady shortly, to pass a 
 few weeks at our seat in Hampshire." *' They 
 promise to be a happy couple," said his Lordship. 
 " I have no doubt but they will," replied the Duke; 
 *' they are equally matched, and' both full of rattle, 
 as it is called : he is a keen sportsman, and I un- 
 derstand she attends him in his hunting and shoot- 
 ing expeditions." " Ah, they will be tired of that 
 way of life, by and by," rejoined Lord Ellincourt, 
 " and glad to act more like rational creatures." 
 *' Very possible," returned the Duke, " but J think 
 that period will not arrive till they have seen every 
 thing that is to be seen in London, and then mav- 
 hap, completely fatigued with such an endless 
 round of diversions, they will seek for felicity in 
 sequestered glades and rural bowers." 
 
 This discourse was held at Pemberton Abbey, 
 where the Duke and Duchess were on a visit ; 
 they had been married two months, but were still 
 
386 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 overwhelmed with compliments on the blissful 
 occasion. The lovely Fanny, though tenderly at- 
 tached to the Ellincourts, had yet another reason 
 for Avishing to spend much of her time there; it 
 was the residence of her parents — those parents 
 whom till lately she had never seen, whose sorrows 
 she had been unacquainted with, of whose exist- 
 ence she had even entertained a donbt; now that 
 their identity was ascertained, and they were re- 
 stored to happiness and each other, it was natural 
 she should desire to participate in the delightful 
 emotions they mutually experienced ; and her 
 affection for them doubly endeared her to the 
 Duke, as he read her future conduct as a wife, in 
 her present as a daughter. A child that is wanting 
 in love and duty to her parents, will never be 
 "worth the acceptance of any man ; she has broke 
 the first law of nature, and there is little reason to 
 suppose that she will act her part better in the sa- 
 cred state of matrimony : duty may here however 
 be termed an improper expression, as our heroine 
 had been estranged from these revered relatives 
 till at an age when their guidance was unnecessary; 
 but she had still consulted their will, and received 
 their permission to yield herself in marriage, or 
 even the Duke of Albemarle would have been re- 
 jected ; and the exquisite feelings of gratitude and 
 joy which she manifested at their deliverance from 
 affliction and entrance into bliss, plainly shewed 
 her respect and reverence for them. She found a 
 melancholy satisfaction in conversing v.'ith her 
 mother on the calamities that had befallen the 
 latter, and rejoicing at their termination : the death 
 of Lord Ballafyn was a source of ecstasy, as had 
 he survived he might still have laboured to de- 
 stroy the peace of the amiable Mrs. Hamilton. 
 Nor could she lament that of Lord Somertown, 
 his character was so despicable, and his hatred of 
 her so obvious, that it would have been affectation 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. ,387 
 
 to pretend it; she nevertheless returned thanks 
 to Heaven that they had died penitent for their 
 crimes, as that was the only atonement they could 
 make for their offences. Colonel Ross, now Lord 
 Ballafyn, had entirely recovered from the effects 
 of his wounds, and 1 wish I could add that they 
 had produced that reformation in his principles, 
 which had been hoped and expected from his 
 sufferings and the contrition that was then evident 
 in his heart; but as soon as he was declared out 
 of all danger he again rushed into dissipation, and 
 neglected the gentle Lady Maria, who loved him, 
 notwithstanding his baseness, with an unceasing 
 affection ; though his hand had sent his wretched 
 guilty brother to the tomb, the remembrance of 
 that was not sufficiently painful to deter him from 
 the commission of those vices which had already 
 proved but too fatal to him ; he however acquired 
 additional dissimulation with an additional share 
 of wickedness. He still wore the mask of sorrow, 
 and when his increased coolness w as observed by 
 his unhappy wife, he attributed it to the despond- 
 ent grief of his mind, and entreated her to believe 
 that she w^as dearer to him than ever. " But this 
 despondency is wrong, iiTy beloved husband," 
 cried the amiable Maria, " we can but repent of 
 having erred. Your repentance is sincere, and 
 why will you not place confidence in the mercies 
 of the Redeemer. He knows the inmost secrets 
 of the soul, and he pities our transgressions." Ah I 
 mistaken fair, this language was lost upon him to 
 whom it was uttered ; he thought not of a Re- 
 deemer, or his mercies : at these periods he gene- 
 rally put his handkerchief to his face, as if to 
 wipe a starting tear, but in reality to smile at the 
 credulity of his Lady. 
 
 To return to our heroine and her now truly 
 happy parents. During the time of her continuance 
 at Pemberton Abbey, many and melting were the 
 
388 FATHERLHSS FANNY; OR» 
 
 scenes between Mrs. Hamilton and the Dowager 
 Lady Ellincourt ; whilst she contemplated her 
 beautiful face, she beheld the every feature of the 
 murdered Durham. " O my sainted brother!" 
 she exclaimed, " do I indeed press to my bosom 
 the child of thy departed Emily ; her, whose spirit 
 lias mingled with thine, whose habitation is with 
 the just — dear image of thy sweet mother and la- 
 mented father, how lately did 1 believe thee num- 
 bered with the dead, deprived perhaps by the 
 cruelty of Lord Ballafyn of life, and sent to join 
 thy parents up on high — but thou art spared, and 
 that fit?nd has paid the forfeit of his crimes." 
 With streaming eyes Mrs. Hamilton embraced her 
 aunt, and eagerly participated in the blissful emo- 
 tions she experienced. The mention of the suffer- 
 ings which the authors of her being had sustained 
 were distracting to her imagination ; but when 
 she reflected on the state of supreme felicity to 
 which there could be no doubt they had at length 
 attained, she felt the vivifying rays of consolation 
 inspire her with its ardent fiaine; restored to her 
 adored husband and beloved daughter, her joy 
 was greater than it can be possible for any mortal 
 to conceive. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 T^eta-a-tete, and Epistolary Correspondence. 
 
 " What is the leading subject of your 
 thoughts, my dear Emily?" said the Duchess of 
 Albemarle to Lady Ellincourt, who sat in a mu- 
 sing posture, viewing the countenance of our lie- 
 
THE LITTLE MEN»ICANT. 389 
 
 roine with attention. " Is it your wish that I 
 should tell you?" answered Emily, her features 
 assuming her accustomed playful smile. " It 
 would oblige me," returned her Grace. " Why 
 then," said her Ladyship, " 1 was thinking of the 
 horror and astonishment that was depicted in every 
 face, this day ten years, when we were at Myrtle 
 Grove, and our very honorable governess, after 
 her interview with Lord EUincourt, entered the 
 room, exclaiming, with rueful looks, that she had 
 been harbouring the daughter of a sheep-stealer in 
 her house ; and then I shall never forget how you 
 burst into tears, and tlying to me folded your 
 little arms about my neck, and sobbed upon my 
 bosom. With cruel vehemence Miss Bridewell 
 snatched your hand, and led you from the apart- 
 ment ; but what stir, what consternation did this 
 circumstance create! 'Well,' says one young 
 lady, ' even our wise discerning governess. Miss 
 Bridewell, may be imposed upon ; her penetration 
 is not always exempt from deceptions, so artfully 
 managed as this.' ' No indeed, ' said another, 
 ' she has been finely tricked, for three years to- 
 gether, to spend money on the education of a girl 
 whose father came to an isfnominious end ; srood 
 heavens, how disgraceful a catastrophe ! 1 am 
 sure if I was Miss Bridewell, I should never be 
 happy again, after having introduced such con- 
 tamination into an establishment for young ladies 
 of fashion.' ' Dear,' cried Lady Maria Trenthani 
 and myself, in one breath, ' how can you give 
 credence to such vague suppositions? tKfere must 
 be some mistake.' ' Oh, I dare say it is too true,' 
 answered Lady Isabella, in which remark she 
 was joined by my haughty sister. * What a nice 
 sense of feeling the poor thing must have,' ob- 
 served the tender-hearted Lady Maria; * how 
 deeply she was affected when she heard such a 
 dreadful report surmised.' ' Pshaw ! nonsense,'. 
 17. 3 D 
 
390 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 replied Caroline, ' to regard the jDetulance of a 
 child as a proof of fine feelin2:s — she was fright- 
 ened at the rough manner of Miss Bridewell, but 
 as to understanding what she said, it is no such 
 thing.' However, the event soon proved that this 
 opinion was wrong, for the moment you returned 
 to the school you contradicted the rumoar that 
 had been raised, your eyes sparkling with delight, 
 and every feature animated with joy. At that 
 error even the proud heart of Caroline was soft- 
 ened, and those who had been most violent in con- 
 demning were become most zealous in applauding 
 little Fanny, who was once more looked upon as 
 a human being. But, my dear creature, what 
 threw me into this contemplative train, was the 
 pleasing consideration of the wonder that doubt- 
 less prevails in the bosom of that lady whom you 
 know my Lord admires so excessively, now that 
 you are Duchess of Albemarle; if we could be- 
 hold her at this present time what a surprising al- 
 teration w^e should see in her deportment ; instead 
 of the frigid stiff Miss Bridewell, she would be 
 all complaisance, and ' Your Grace, and your 
 Grace,' at every word." Lady Ellincourt paused. 
 *' What an explanation !" said the Duchess — " 1 
 did not expect, when I asked the nature of your 
 thoughts, to be entertained with so long a disser- 
 tation ; but I am obliged to you, my love, for the 
 recollection of events that perhaps might have 
 slipped my memory, had not you kindly reminded 
 me of thenj." " No," answered Lady Ellincourt, 
 *' that wbuld be impossible — to forget any thing 
 appertaining to Miss Bridewell would be impos- 
 sible ; a woman possessed of such geutilizing 
 powers, such remarkable attractions both of mind 
 and person. Bless me, Fanny, can you talk of 
 forgetting such super-excellence?" The Duchess 
 smiled ; " you have imbibed some of your hus- 
 band's prejudices," said she. " If 1 have," she 
 
THE LITTLE MENDIGANT. 391 
 
 replied, " they are not in favor of the antiquated 
 maid." " No," said her Grace, " I am well ac- 
 quainted with Lord Ellincourt's opinion of our 
 amiable governante, and the Duke's coincides with 
 his. 1 must own that, from what I can remember, 
 there was nothing in her appearance or conduct 
 to excite love or her sister esteem." " There was 
 a good deal to excite hatred though," exclaimed 
 Lord Ellincourt, who at this moment entered the 
 room ; " burn the witch, what do you couple the 
 words love and esteem in the same breath with 
 her for? an animal that never felt or created either. 
 A piece of still life, because no person ever thought 
 it worth their while to render her otherwise; a 
 being whose name is aversion, whose parents were 
 contempt and indifference — her sister is scorn, 
 and her brother disgust — a nice motley crew. I 
 should like to see them altogether, such a pro- 
 mising family must improve the rising generation." 
 " As you have painted them they undoubtedly 
 must," cried Emily; " 1 think 1 see them now." 
 " What mischievous creatures/' said our heroine, 
 *' how you delight in railing against the poor 
 lady !" " Ah, Madam, you would say no more," 
 answered his Lordship, " if you knew the schemes 
 we have in contemplation," Emily put her finger 
 to her lips ; she was fearful he would betray his 
 secret, but he knew better than to spoil the jest 
 by such indiscreet measures. " Oh, I know you 
 are upon something," said the Duchess. " That 
 we are," returned his Lordship, " upon as solid 
 ground as ever was trod." I'he ladies laughed, 
 but the author of their mirth looked as grave as 
 if he had been the bearer of the most dismal in- 
 telligence: instead of which his jocose imagina- 
 tion was devising a most curiously concerted plot, 
 to which no one but his lady was privy, for the 
 purpose of vexing and astounding the imperious 
 Miss Bridewell : it was to be put in execution 
 
392 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 that very day. After some farther discourse the 
 sprightly nobleman withdrew, to consider perhaps 
 of the project that was already ripening to his 
 wishes : and Lady Ellincourt gloried in the suc- 
 cess which she felt assured would attend their 
 enterprise. The Duchess did not in reality sus- 
 pect that any private designs were meditated by 
 them, or she would probably have opposed them. 
 She attributed their uncommon levity to their 
 mutual dislike of Miss Bridewell ; but willing to 
 change the topic, she enquired if her sister Mrs. 
 Camel was expected in England ? " Oh no," re- 
 plied Lady Emily; " Caroline resides constantly 
 at Lisbon. We had a letter from her about a 
 month ago, and she expressed no desire to revisit 
 her native clime." " That is singular," answered 
 Fanny, " that she should not wish to see her 
 family, after such a lapse of years." " Not at all, 
 my dear, she has not the ideas that you and I 
 have ; she is my sister, and 1 onght not to speak 
 against her, but she has too much pride ever to 
 be happy herself, or make any one else so." *' I 
 hope she is happy in her marriage," resumed 
 Fauny. " Tolerably so I believe, she makes no 
 complaints of her consort ; but the reason is ob- 
 vious, he has plenty of money to support her ex- 
 travagant propensity to dress, and provided she 
 can flaunt about in her coach and six, and appear 
 like the queen of every assembly, she considers 
 her felicity as supreme. She sets no estimate on 
 the social affections that characterize her sex. 
 She never displayed much fondness for her pa- 
 rents, and less for me; as to her husband, they 
 may agree well enough as the world goes, they 
 have had no children hitherto, but are in expecta- 
 tion of an heir." " When she is a mother," said 
 Fanny, " she will probably grow more domesti- 
 cated." " I question it," returned Emily : " I am 
 not a mother, and I flatter myself my ideas are as 
 
THE LITTLE MKNICANT. 393 
 
 tlomestic as if my genial hea:h was surrounded 
 by a company of innocent hbes." ** May that 
 satisfaction at length be yoir's, lovely Emily 1" 
 energetically cried the Duches. Lady Ellincourt 
 sighed ; they had been unit<d three years, and 
 their loves had not yet been best with a son ; this 
 circumstance at times cas: a iamp over the spirits 
 of her Ladyship. She \^as brmed for domestic 
 felicity, and had alvyays been particularly attached 
 to children ; but though she Avould at times la- 
 ment the circumstince, siie was too sensible and 
 too amiable not to be convinced, that if it was 
 the Divine will, she woild have an offspring to 
 share the affections of their parents. Fanny per- 
 ceived that she vas affected, and tenderly putting 
 her arm round her waist, partook of the moment- 
 ary anguish she seemed to experience, — " My 
 dear Emily," sad she, " wise and inscrutable are 
 the decrees of Providence. We must submit to 
 its ordination." " J submit, and with resignation," 
 replied Lady Illincourt: " yet at intervals a tear 
 of sorrow will force its way in spite of my efforts 
 to oppose it." Fanny mingled the kind drop of 
 sympathy with her's, and sought to soothe her by 
 the most consoling expressions. They at length 
 succeeded, and she regained her usual composure. 
 Lady Ellincourt retired to perform some of her 
 necessary avocations, and our heroine hastened 
 to rejoin the family below. She found her mother 
 and the Dowager Lady Ellincourt recounting 
 past transactions. The former had been weep- 
 ing, but was now more tranquil. Fanny flew to 
 her, and embraced her with an ardency yet 
 stronger, if possible, than she had before done. 
 Mrs. Hamilton returned her caresses with equal 
 warmth ; each felt the true force of their relation- 
 ship, and the recollection of former sufferings ren- 
 dered their present happiness the greater. This 
 day passed on without any thing further of con- 
 
394i FATHRLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 sequence traiispirig. In the evening the Duchess 
 of Albemarle receved the following letter, from 
 her friend Lady J\ornington: — 
 
 My dear Fanny, 
 
 1 find you are^tilla resident at that dreary 
 Abbey, and prefering the moping life of its in- 
 habitants to the ga} splendor of London. JBless 
 me, my deai", you Lstoiish ree — you that are the 
 universal ton wherever jou display that angel face, 
 to endure the very thought of spending half your 
 time in solitary confinenent, tie bare reflection is 
 shocking. You were born to be admired, and 
 yet you would veil your beauties from every eye. 
 Perhaps, to this observation you may answer — 
 Why, 1 have gained the man of my heart, and have 
 DO more victories to seek. All very true, but shall 
 the Duchess of Albemarle lie luried beneath a 
 cloud, whilst Lady Mornington trips it about on 
 * the light fantastic toe?' I can assure your Grace 
 th&t 1 have no inclination to conceal my astonish- 
 ing perfections within a moss-gro^n glen, though 
 I have not the smallest design of meeting with a 
 conqueror that shall rival poor Sir Everard ; nor, 
 if I had, do 1 believe I could accomplish such a 
 scheme, for he is really a very good sort of man, 
 aad 1 love him in as high a degree as my nature is 
 capable of admitting the tender passion: he loves 
 me with the most ardent affection ; but the attach- 
 ment is not sufficiently strong on either side to 
 induce us to seclude ourselves from the world for 
 the sake of each other. We live in the true style 
 of prime and hang-up, and are no sooner seen in 
 one place than we are present in another. Last 
 night we saw the comedy of the Provoked Hus- 
 band performed at Co vent Garden Theatre. I 
 could not forbear smiling at the aptitude of the 
 lady's character to mine, and once 1 whispered to 
 Sir Everard, * recollect I am LadyTownly — ^now 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 395 
 
 imagine yourself my Lord, ami turn tyrant all in 
 a minute.' * I am not such a sentimentalist as Lord 
 Towuly, my dear/ he answered rather archly. I 
 believe this reply was made without premeditation, 
 but conscience perhaps made me receive it as a 
 reproof. 1 blushed hke crimson, and, to my in- 
 expressible mortiiication, 1 beheld his large full 
 eye fixed upon my countenance, as it underwent 
 this change, which of course increased my con- 
 fusion. During this discourse I lost the best part 
 of the play, for I never hardly felt so chagrined. 
 The circumstance however passed over, and I 
 had too much prudence ever to renew it. But 
 sometimes I am in doubt whether I shall not carry 
 my volatility to too great lengths. Sir Everard 
 praises my versatile powers, and says, that no 
 woman was ever a greater adept in the art of 
 pleasing than his Amelia. A very fine compliment 
 certainly, yet I will not dare to say that it is de- 
 served. I know my defects, and likewise that 
 many of them are unconquerable. As to spright- 
 liness, so far from considering that a defect, I 
 think it the only merit I possess; without a small 
 portion of life and spirit a woman may as well be 
 inanimate — but that spirit may be pursued to too 
 high a pitch. I will allow, there is not a virtue 
 to be mentioned that may not be set too much 
 store by. The virtues which adorn us most, 
 though they cannot be too highly prized, will, if 
 they lead to censoriousness, lose their brilliancy ; 
 even female chastity itself becomes like the win- 
 ter's sun, which devoid of its accustomed warmth 
 but dimly shines, when the possessor makes it 
 her chief study to emblazon the errors of those 
 whose errant feet have strayed into the enticing 
 but peace-destroying paths of folly : let us act as 
 conformable to the rules of strict propriety as we 
 cai, but let us not too severely censure those who 
 hd\e swerved. 1 am now getting into a train of 
 
396 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 reflections that but ill accord with my accustomed 
 gaiety. I must alter my tone, or you will not be 
 prevailed upon to credit the evidence of your 
 eyes. Let me hear from you upon receipt of this. 
 As soon as you are returned to Hampshire, we 
 shall pay you a visit, though 1 know not how we 
 shall support being absent from London so long 
 as the period we appointed ; I w ould rather see 
 you in the latter place : you shone there whilst 
 in the character of the lovely Fatherless Fanny — 
 now that a coroiiet adorns your brow, with double 
 satisfaction should I behold you surrounded by 
 the applauses of an admiring multitude. 1 hope 
 the Duke is well ; my unsentimentalist desires to 
 be remembered to his Grace. I am, my dearest 
 Fanny, 
 
 Your aflectionate friend, 
 
 Amelia Mornington. 
 
 The Duchess read this letter with emotions of 
 sincere pleasure. She was always glad to hear 
 from Lady Mornington, but her joy was now ten- 
 fold, as she felt a conviction that the uncommon 
 gaiety of her friend was partly giving way to 
 nobler sentiments. She instantly took up her 
 pen and wrote as follows : — 
 
 My dear Amelia, 
 I no longer address the giddy Miss Stanhope, 
 but the discerning and amiable Lady Mornington. 
 I flatter myself, from the style of your letter, that 
 you are preparing yourself to renounce the plea- 
 sures you would persuade me to indulge in ; you 
 seem to be getting gradually tired of superfluous 
 vanities, and as if you could bear to stay at home 
 one day without actually dying — this is a good 
 omen of the future. I suppose Sir Everard begins 
 to dislike show and noise, and as his inclinations 
 change so will yours — a proof that your affection 
 is sincere. I can assure you that I lead by lo 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 397 
 
 means a moping- life at Pemberton Ai)bey : if we 
 have not public places to frequent we have plenty 
 of company, and are in no want of any reasonable 
 entertainment; for my part I cannot call that life 
 moping, that is spent nnder the roof with my be- 
 loved parents, those revered relatives that have 
 suffered such an accumulation of sorrow, and 
 are at length reinstated in their rights — long were 
 they the victims of tyrannic oppression, but God 
 in his wise justice has punished their tormentors, 
 and rewarded tiiem for their patience in calamity ; 
 they are the worthiest and the happiest of peb]>le, 
 and the felicity of your Fanny is complete. The 
 Duke is the tenderest of husbands, and the best 
 of men. I have not one wish in the world — he 
 gives me not an opportunity of wishing, for he ge- 
 nerously anticipates the very shadow of a desire, 
 and gratifies it ere it can be termed a wish. I 
 hope this conduct in him will not have the ef- 
 fect of making me forget myself; there are such 
 things as spoilt children, and spoilt wives, but I 
 have no mind to be spoilt. I love to be treat- 
 ed with affection, and in return to be affectionate ; 
 the character of the Duke is such, that he must 
 either be loved or hated, it is impossible to 
 speak of him as we may of many persons, with 
 indifference, as — he is very well, I never heard any 
 harm of him. So striking are his merits, that those 
 who are advocates for virtue must immediately 
 launch into his praise, and those who are enemies 
 to it will probably be as violent in declaiming 
 against him: he is liberal and humane to the af- 
 flicted ; he does not merely relieve distress, but 
 he dives into the extent of that distress, and 
 warmly participates in the woes of the traveller; 
 his heart and his purse are together open — the 
 latter is often a token of ostentation, but where the 
 former dictates it to assist in alleviating mendi- 
 city, then is gold a blessing to its owner. Oh my 
 17. ' 3 e' 
 
.398 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 Amelia, f am sure you will join with me in as- 
 serting that my happiness is greater than the ge- 
 nerality of my sex, and much greater than I 
 could e»'er have dared to hope for ; if it is not per- 
 manent, it mast be my own fault. We shall take 
 leave of my dear parents, and our beloved friends 
 the Ellincourts, next week, and shall expect you 
 and SirEverard without fail the following in Hamp- 
 shire; though it is the country, I do not think 
 you will have to complain of dulness, at least 
 thus much will I say, whilst you enliven it with 
 your presence, you can neither be dull yourself, 
 or suf.ier us to be so ; do not disappoint by a refusal, 
 her, who in an ecstacy of delight styles herself, 
 Your ever aflectionate 
 
 Frances Albemarle. 
 
 Having finished this epistle and folded it up, 
 Fanny laid it in her cabinet till the morning should 
 present her with an opportunity of dispatching it 
 by the post. She then repaired to the supper 
 room, after which tlie parties retired to their re- 
 spective apartments, Lord Ellincourt and his lady 
 to dream of the plot they had been planning to 
 teize their favorite Miss Bridewell. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 TV/e Hoax. 
 
 In the morning, the family having assembled at 
 breakfast, the newspaper was brought in ; Lord 
 Ellincourt skimmed the cream of the week's trans- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 399 
 
 actions, and then turning to the side of the adver- 
 tisements, his eye quickly rested uoon one that 
 seemed to engage his aiicntion — whether acci- 
 dentally or by design may be easily guessed, 
 " What has your Lordship met with to divert 
 your fancy r" asked the artful Emily. " You shall 
 hear," answered his Lordshio, ana with as grave 
 an aspect as he could assume, he read aloud the 
 following curious advertisement: — "Wanted to 
 place a young lady in a genteel establishment, a 
 few miles from town, for the completion of her 
 education. The friends of the said young lady are 
 anxious to lodge her under the roof of a person 
 whose character is tender and benevolent, and 
 from whom she will receive maternal kindness, 
 as she is in a very delicate state of health — she is 
 seventeen. They have heard in such a favorable 
 manner of the sensibility and kindness of Miss 
 Bridewell, of Myrtle Grove, that they would feel 
 themselves happy to intrust their precious charge 
 to her care. Should this public information meet 
 her eye, it is requested that she will be at Rich- 
 mond to-morrow^ orWednesday, between the hours 
 of twelve and three; then, if the terms should 
 suit, there will be no hesitation on the part of her 
 family. To avoid unnecessary trouble to either 
 party, a premium of one hundred and fifty guineas 
 per annum will be given with the young lady, as 
 she will require particular care and attendance. 
 A written address will not do — an interview must 
 be obtained with whoever wishes to accept this 
 offer. Apply as above at the house of Sir Thomas 
 Hartland, Bart. M. P." "A singular advertise- 
 ment," said Emily, as Lord Ellincourt finished. 
 " Who, in the name of wonder, can have heard 
 of her kindness and sensibility — where can she 
 have had the ingenuity to conceal such desirable 
 qualities?" cried his Lordship; " I should almost 
 imagine this was some trick to give the old lady 
 
400 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 a journey, did I not consider that she was beneath 
 any body's putting- themselves to the inconvenience 
 of hoaxing her." Emily smiled, but did not reply. 
 The Duke of Albemarle alone suspected the truth 
 of the affair ; he watched the countenance of El- 
 lincourt, and thought it betokened him concerned 
 in it, though he affected surprise. The Duchess, 
 ever willing to allow merit, said, that " perhaps 
 Miss Bridewell might have some good traits, 
 thougli they had escaped their observation ;" they 
 all protested they did not believe she had one, 
 and this whimsical circumstance presently created 
 the general mirth of the whole company — it was 
 impossible to start any other topic during break- 
 fast, and when the things were removed each in- 
 dividual retired to perform their separate duties, 
 musing on what had afforded them such a fund of 
 entertainment : here we leave them for a while, 
 and transport the reader to la saile des sciences at 
 Myrtle Grove. After this advertisement bad ap- 
 peared in the papers of daily intelligence, it was 
 pointed out to that lady by Mrs. Dawson, who had 
 ^ now returned from abroad, and was again living 
 with Miss Bridewell. She had amassed a great 
 deal of money in the lucrative situation she had 
 embraced in Ireland, but Mrs. Odell dying sud- 
 denly, she experienced another change. She 
 wrote to Miss Bridewell expressing her desire to 
 be with her as formerly, and renewing her profes- 
 sions of friendship; they were received with zeal, 
 and in the answer, the dear Dawson was requested 
 to hasten instantly to her home, for such she was 
 henceforth to consider it. She was reinstated in 
 all her privileges, and her government was paid 
 nearly as much deference to as that of the prin- 
 cipal. When Miss Bridewell had glanced her 
 eyes over the paragraph so highly liattering to 
 her vanity, they sparkled with pleasure. She gave 
 the paper into the hands of Mrs. Dawson, saying, 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 401 
 
 *' Read it again, Dawson, I am sure you will think it 
 an eligible offer." She read it, and then replied, 
 in her usual style of duplicity, " that it was likely 
 to prove a very advantageous thing, but she did 
 not think the money was more than ought to be 
 given under such circumstances." Miss Bridewell 
 declared herself satisfied with it, and resolved to 
 set off for Richmond the next morning, and secure 
 her pupil if possible; thus determined, she felt her 
 heart lighter than she had known it for some time, 
 yet its oppression was never violent, but now and 
 then she of course met with losses and disappoint- 
 ments in her school, from which no person in 
 whatever condition is exempt. She had received 
 only that day the remainder of the expences owing 
 to her from the Marquis of Petersfield, that had 
 exhilarated her spirits; she had been apprehen- 
 sive that she should never regain it, as the yonng 
 ladies had left school upwards of two years; its 
 coming unexpectedly made it the more agreeable, 
 and the thouahts of an additional hundred and 
 fifty guineas increased her good humour to such 
 a pitch that she scarcely resembled herself — her 
 countenance brightened up, and a smile of placi- 
 dity overspread her features. She conunended 
 the diligence of her scholars with more than ordi- 
 nary warmth, in short, quite threw off the austerity 
 inherent in her nature. The following day a post 
 chaise was ordered to be in readiness at an early 
 hour, as the distance from Myrtle Grove to Rich- 
 mond was nine miles. She drest herself in her 
 most splendid robes, with a view no doubt of 
 adding to her beauty, and the moment she heard 
 the chaise drive into the great court yard she was 
 down the steps and in the vehi<?Ie. She knew, or 
 thought she knew, that she could confide in her 
 beloved Dawson, and she was under no uneasi- 
 ness at leaving the management of her seminary 
 to her. She directed the postillion to drive with 
 speed to the appointed place ; he obeyed her com- 
 
402 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 mands, but every mile was a league in her opinion. 
 When they arrived at Richmond he was told to 
 enquire for the house of SirThomas HartJand, for 
 she was perfectly unacquahited with the name. 
 The man, after asking several labouring- people 
 which was the residence of the honorable knight, 
 at length informed Miss Bridewell that no such 
 person lived in the neigh bonrhood. " No snoh 
 person lives in the neighbourhood !" exclaimed 
 she; drawing herself up with astonishment; " im- 
 possible, it is but yesterday I saw his name and 
 address in the public paper; I am snre that it 
 must be on the spot, I will wait in the chaise 
 while yon go and seek further — my business is of 
 importance, and cannot be delayed." He accord- 
 ingly went and demanded of every one that seemed 
 likely to give such intelligence, whether the said 
 Sir Thomas Hartland was dwelling in those en- 
 virons or not; nobody seemed able or wiUing to 
 grant him any information on the subject, a few 
 had never heard of the Baronet ; at last a man, 
 habited in the garb of a peasant, said, that about 
 six months before, a gentleman, if he deserved 
 that appellation, who bore the title of SirThomas 
 Hartland, had resided in those quarters, but he 
 had for ever disgraced the honor of his sex by 
 running away with the wife of Sir Charles Atter- 
 bury, they were now fled to America; it was a 
 case that had called for heavy damages. Sir 
 Thomas had forfeited twenty thousand pounds, 
 but could that be any recompense to Sir Charles 
 for the irreparable injury he had sustained? he was 
 gone to France and had engaged with the Welling- 
 ton troops, hoping to forget in the rough din of 
 war the tenderness of slighted affection ; they had 
 no heirs, nor was the name of Hartland known to 
 belong to any other person. When John returned 
 to the chaise with this truly distressing news, the 
 grief and amazement of Miss Bridewell may be 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 403 
 
 easier conceived than described. She looked 
 pea-ified, and i<i hurried accents expressed her in- 
 dignation at the trick that had been evidently put 
 upon her — " to come thus far," said she, " and 
 meet with such an imposition as this — insufferable 
 insolence. I will find out who has dared to deceive 
 me in such a manner, that I will," she continued, 
 her countenance growing more infuriated. The 
 postillion stared at her vehemence, but made no 
 answer. At length he was ordered to drive back 
 to Myrtle Grove, as no expectations remained of 
 discovering any thing further. As the chaise drew 
 on she had time to meditate on the serious mis- 
 fortune she had encountered, for such she called 
 every event that happened to oppose her wishes, 
 instead of favorihg them. She was doubly morti- 
 fied at rej^ecting on the depravity of the character 
 she was enquiring after; she felt an inward con- 
 viction that there must be some one who was her 
 secret enemy, and wished to injure her pure fame; 
 the thought was bitter — she reached her home in a 
 state of mind agonizing beyond imagination. Mrs. 
 Dawson came out to meet her ; the moment she 
 saw her face she was sure something unpleasant 
 had transpired. The postillion being discharged, 
 Miss Bridewell entered the house, loudly exclaim- 
 ing against the fraud that had been practised. 
 •' Dear Madam, what has happened?" asked the 
 impatient Dawson, " thus to disconcert you; you 
 look as pale as death, and as if misery had planted 
 his image in your heart." " Oh, you know not 
 how I have been served," cried Miss B. in a voice 
 trembling with rage; " I at present want words to 
 tell you." *' Stay till you are more composed," 
 said Mrs. D. She sat down panting for breath, 
 and unable even to soften the weight of her cares 
 by unburthening them to her friend. As soon as 
 her spirits were in a degree tranquillized, she re- 
 lated the important affair that had so much dis- 
 
404 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 tressed her. Mrs. D. listened in silent dismay, and 
 aflected the sincerest concern at so melancholy an 
 incident; though she had protested to think lightly 
 of a hundred and fifty guineas a year, she in reality 
 thou2:ht it an estimable increase. As her attach- 
 ment to Miss. B. was not quite so strong as she 
 wished her to helieve, her disappointment was not 
 so great as she expressed. She attempted to con- 
 sole her in language such as she thought calcu- 
 lated to produce the effect she desired, at least if 
 her condolances were inefficacious, her seeming 
 endeavours were regarded by Miss B. as sufficient 
 tokens of her ardent friendship; she embraced her 
 dear Dawson, and said, if her troubles would ad- 
 mit of consolation, the method she took to mitigate 
 them must succeed ; but that, alas, they were of 
 too poignant a nature to be alleviated — her pride 
 was wounded — to think any one should dare to 
 sport with her in so ludicrous a way was a matter 
 of amaze, and who it could be that so far pre- 
 sumed she was totally at a loss to conjecture. She 
 continued raving against the deceit that had been 
 exercised, and did not make her appearance in the 
 school that day, as her frame was too agitated to 
 bear the smallest fatigue ; she retired early to her 
 chamber, and Mrs. Dawson felt herself liighly ho- 
 nored in having such implicit confidence placed in 
 her by Miss B. though her conduct did not prove her 
 deserving of it, for she took advantage of the nu- 
 merous opportunities which she had to deduct many 
 little profits to herself, that she had no reasonable 
 right to do. Her salary was two hundred a year; 
 with that she might have been happy, but she was 
 gifted with the powers of dissimulation, and knew 
 well how to avail herself of the influence which 
 her artful address made her gain over tiie generality 
 of the world. To return to Pemberton Abbe3\ 
 It was long before its inhabitants could recover 
 from the surprise into which this event had thrown 
 
THE LITTLER MENDICANT. 405 
 
 tliem. "Strange," observed tlie Duchess, " that 
 any one should advertise for Miss Bridewell, when 
 tiiey could as well go to Myrtle Grove, and obtain 
 an interview with her." " It is mysterious," an- 
 swered Lady Ellincourt ; " I suppose they have 
 particular reasons for so doing," and changed the 
 discourse. *' We shall have a party to-day," she 
 continued, " as you, my love, leaving us next week ; 
 we expect Lord and Lady Mountmorris, Lord and 
 Lady Newcomb, Sir Richard and Lady Palmer, 
 and half a hundred fashionables besides. Your 
 poor dear mother has been so shut up in that odious 
 castle in Ireland, that the world is quite new to 
 her ; she seldom saw the face of a living creature, 
 while she was distinguished as Lady Ballafyn ; 
 she never saw his Lordship except at those pe^ 
 riods when he was pleased to lay additional re- 
 strictions on his unhappy victim : even the ser- 
 vants were denied access to her apartments, ex- 
 clusive of those who were under his appointment." 
 A tear started into the eye of Fanny ; the repe- 
 tition of the cruelties her mother had suffered, 
 caused her heart to throb with anguish. Emily, 
 perceiving her emotion, said, " but her sorrows 
 are past, and her joys are yet to come." " Ah!" 
 sighed our heroine, "but how many of those years 
 that ought to have been devoted to love and feli- 
 city have been sacrificed to the villainy of that 
 monster." " Too true," replied Lady Ellincourt, 
 " yet as time cannot be recalled, we must strive 
 to banish these melancholy reflections, and only 
 contemplate on future prospects of prosperity." 
 To this remark her Grace assented ; and now 
 hastened to hold some private conversation with 
 Mrs. Hamilton. When she announced that visi- 
 tors were coming, that lady turned pale. " Alas !" 
 said she, " 1 know not how I shall support the 
 presence of company. I have lived so long in a 
 state of seclusion, that I am scarcely fit to appear 
 No. 18. 3 F 
 
40G FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 before a fashionable assemblage; yon, my daugh- 
 ter, will grace tlie table." ** But do not weep, my 
 dearest mother," cried Fanny, folding her arms 
 about her in a tender embrace, *' grief is fied, and 
 bliss shall henceforth reign within these walls; 
 you would grace any society; the friends of Lady 
 Eilincourt are acquainted with the trials you have 
 undergone; they will not therefore expect to see a 
 gay and giddy woman, delighting in vain nobility, 
 and a stranger to rational amusements: your sor- 
 rows must have already engaged their esteem, and 
 when they have seen you, they will doubtless be- 
 come prejudiced in your favor." " You are very 
 compassionate to my feelings, my child," replied 
 Mrs. Hamilton ; " but I fear, that instead of hav- 
 ing engaged the esteem of the friends of my wor- 
 thy aunt, they have imbibed an unfavourable opi- 
 nion of me, as Lord Ballafyn took care to spread 
 every where the report of my infidelity, and to 
 represent my character to the world as tainted 
 with every vice." " Oh, let not that considera- 
 tion distress you," answered Fanny — " Lord Bal- 
 lafyn was known to be a wretch, and regarded as 
 such by every class of beings ; his conduct ob- 
 tained him the universal detestation of mankind ; 
 therefore his calumnies were listened to with ab- 
 horrence, and disbelieved as often as they were 
 uttered." This suggestion seemed to infuse com- 
 fort into the breast of Mrs. Hamilton. She ad- 
 mitted its possibility, but doubted its probability. 
 *' Lord Ballafyn," said she, " had money, and that 
 will pervert the consciences of mortals, and make 
 them lean not on the side of justice, but of tyranny 
 and oppression. Bribery is not to be withstood 
 by this mercenary age. Concerned am I to say, 
 that ready instrument of guilt destroys the morals 
 of individuals more than any thing that can be 
 mentioned. I have been unjustly slandered, but it 
 will be diliicult to convince the world that this is 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 407 
 
 the case." " 1 hope you will tiiid it easier than 
 you imagine," returned the Duchess, " your suffer- 
 ings, my beloved mother, have demanded commis- 
 seration, and the exemplary manner in vvliich you 
 endured them must eternally exalt you." Mrs. 
 Hamilton kissed the cheek of her daughter — "thou 
 art a powerful consoler," said she, " thy words 
 would almost persuade me that matters are as thou 
 hast taught thyself to wish; however, I will trust 
 in that God before whom I liave asserted my inno- 
 cence, and who is acquainted with the purity of 
 my soul ; to hisn I have confided my every care, 
 and in him I will rely for future succour; the 
 triumph of my enemies has ceased, as they can no 
 longer exult over my misfortunes ; they are, I 
 trust, forgiven and at rest." Mrs. Hamilton here 
 wept, and Fanny mingled her tears with her's. 
 By degrees she regained a ^mall portion of com- 
 posure. — " i will," said she, "join the company, 
 and assume as cheerful an aspect as I am capable 
 of; if I show an unwillingness to appear they will 
 interpret my behaviour into something very differ- 
 ent from the truth ; and virtue never endeavours 
 to wear the face of vice, though vice frequently 
 adopts that of virtue." With this observation the 
 Duchess quitted the apartment, and went herself 
 to prepare for the coming of the visitors. 
 
 CHAPTER XLH. 
 
 A Sketch of Characters and Fashionable 
 Conversation. 
 
 At length the gay party arrived. The court 
 yard was thronged with carriages, and Pembertoii 
 
408 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 Abbey became a scene of noise and bustle — a pic- 
 ture totally the reverse of what it usually was ; for 
 the Dowager Lady Ellincourt was a woman that 
 had ever loved retirement, though her situation 
 had obliged her to join the great world, and parti- 
 cipate in what were termed the pleasures of the 
 day. She had always been an admirer of nature 
 and its beauties ; consequentlj^ when she could 
 gain an hour's relaxation, she embraced it with 
 transport, and before she w^as an occupant of Pem- 
 berton Abbey, she possessed a country seat in Nor- 
 thumberland, where she frequently resided. After 
 she camo to the latter place she seldom visited 
 London ; she was then at an age when women ge- 
 nerally begin to be tired of routs and bustle, and 
 prefer a life of sentimental rationality. Upon 
 the union of her son, however, she was far from 
 desirous of immuring them in solitude, she there- 
 fore kept a good deal of company, and by chance 
 took a retrospect of town, as it is called. liady 
 Ellincourt, though less volatile than most of her 
 sex, was naturally pleased witli the amusements 
 that appeared to be suited to the present times ; 
 and it is not to be supposed that her sprightly 
 Lord would endure restraint; he had been spoilt 
 when a child, therefore could not bear the smal- 
 lest controul as a man. To proceed, it is neces- 
 sary we should give a faint insight into the cha- 
 racters of the persons invited on this occasion. 
 Lord Mountmorris was about fifty, he still re- 
 tained a commanding air and expressive counte- 
 nance, his mind was truly noble, as the succeed- 
 ing pages will prove, and his disposition, such as 
 few can boast. He was married, unfortunately 
 married, to one of the vilest termagants that ever 
 existed ; she was scarcely eighteen, and beautiful 
 as an angel ; under every exterior attraction that 
 nature co\ild bestow, she concealed a heart more 
 treacherous than a serpent's. She had imposed on 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 409 
 
 the best of men, by an outward appearance of 
 goodness, and too effectually secured liim for her 
 prey. They had been united but six months, and 
 reason already had he to curse the day that made 
 him a slave to her fascinations. He had known 
 Lady Ellincourt many years, and had been the 
 sincere friend of her husband : she was the only 
 person that he could venture to advise with, or 
 to unbosom his grief to. 
 
 When, in the fulness of his joy, he informed 
 her that he was going to lead to the altar his 
 amiable and adored Miss Rivers, she said, 
 " Mountmorris, 1 wish you truly happy, but I 
 am afraid you will be miserable." She had heard 
 of the gaiety and dissipation of Miss Rivers, and 
 she was too disinterested to flatter v'sith hopes of 
 bliss, where she thought the cloud of wretched- 
 Dess was impending; she was concerned for his 
 Lordship, and he was almost angry with Lady 
 Ellincourt for suggesting an idea, however remote, 
 that might in the least prejudice him against 
 his intended bride. Too soon however he found 
 she 'was right; he had been deceived, most cruelly 
 deceived ; dearly did he pay for beauty and ac- 
 complishments — she embittered every moment of 
 his life, nor did he know the extent of his inju- 
 ries, as he was not of a jealous temper. She had 
 an intriguing spirit; in short, to number her vices 
 w^ould occupy a larger space than the limits of 
 this chapter will allow. When he imparted 
 his sorrows to the benevolent Lady Ellincourt, 
 she commisserated them with feelings of anguish, 
 such as greatness dignified as hers could not 
 fail to have for the friend she esteemed ; she 
 felt for his affliction, but wishing to preserve his 
 acquaintance, she was obliged to be on terms of 
 civility with his lady, though in her heart she 
 despised her. They were often invited to Pem- 
 bertoii Abbey, and as often, the conduct of 
 
410 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 Lady M. created increased disgust in the breast 
 of Lady Ellincourt. We hastily pass on to tlie 
 other guests. Lord Newcomb was what is called 
 a man of the world, he was a first-rate jockey 
 and a famous hunter ; he had married on the 
 common fashionable views of interest, and as he 
 neither cared for his lady, nor she for him, they 
 were very well matched — little therefore can be 
 said of them. Sir Richard Palmer, was an avow- 
 ed libertine, and a hard drinker, consequently a 
 tyrant of a husband ; Lady Palmer was the most 
 amiable of women. Thus unequally are the 
 sexes united. JNo wonder that such ill-assorted 
 nuptials produce discordant strife. When hearts 
 are paired at Hymen's temple, then may happi- 
 ness reign, but where hands alone do meet, fare- 
 well to happiness for ever. Sir Richard was, 
 likewise, what is termed a free thinker, in plain 
 words an Atheist, he did not hesitate to profane 
 Ihe most sacred writings ; whenever the subject 
 of religion was started, he suffered his wit to 
 flow at the expence of hazarding an eternal for- 
 feiture of God's favor. It may appear singular, 
 that such a character should have been encou- 
 raged as a visiter at the table of Lady Ellincourt, 
 but it was the love she bore to Lady Palmer, while 
 bearing the name of Miss Hargrave, that induced 
 her to keep up an intercourse with a wretch so 
 abandoned as Sir Richard ; she had repeatedly at- 
 tempted to argue with him on his want of tender- 
 ness for his deserving partner, and prevail upon 
 him to abstain from the unlawful pleasures in 
 which he was wont to indulge; but her rhetoric 
 was thrown away, he acknowledged the worth 
 and excellence of Lady P. but declared that 
 the passion of variety was so strong, that he 
 found it impossible to resist the warmth of his 
 inclinations ; he had been accustomed to set no 
 limits to his inordinate desires; and as to virtue, 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 411 
 
 he had been taught to consider it as r.n object of 
 ridicule. In this manner he answered the kind 
 remonstrances of Lady Ellincourt, and his indif- 
 ference and hatred of his wife, became every day 
 more obvious ; she was doomed to suffer, but she 
 suffered innocently. Of the remainder of the 
 visiters few observations can be made. Sir An- 
 thony Dale, a gentleman of philosophic genius 
 and deep reflection ; he was a bachelor, not be- 
 cause his person was disagreeable, or his manners 
 forbidding, for neither w^ere the case; he had every 
 requisite that could please the other sex, but he 
 had no heart to bestow; he was so much attached 
 to his schemes of speculation, that he had always 
 fancied a wife would be an incumbrance, and 
 therefore determined to live free ; he possessed 
 such traits of goodness as ever recommended 
 him to the society of the wise; there was an aus- 
 terity in his deportment, which had the effect of 
 creating him many enemies, but it was those 
 whose acquaintance- vs^ith him was slight, and 
 who were, perhaps, too much prejudiced against 
 him to seek to discover the inestimable qualities 
 with which his nature was replete. Where he 
 was known, he was esteemed and beloved — as a 
 son, he followed the example of that great and 
 inestimable poet Pope — as a friend, he was 
 constant — as a companion, lively and spirited : 
 in conversation, a wit, yet cautious how and 
 where he directed his satire: refined from the 
 company he kept, and the studies he was engaged 
 in: to women he was always polite, never gallant: 
 he was generous without ostentation, and brave 
 without being a warrior. The next in our list 
 was Captain Townsend, he had distinguished 
 himself in his military career, and was certainly 
 a brave officer, and he was always extolling th« 
 courage of the General under whom he served. 
 The last we shall speak of in this place, is Dr. 
 
412 FATHERLESS FANNV; OR, 
 
 Woodward, the minister of the parish, who, I 
 must not omit stating, conferred honor on his 
 cloth. He was religions, without being a bigot; 
 his ideas were not confined as are those of many 
 of the clergy; true religion never has the effect of 
 making }3eople dull, it, on the contrary, infuses 
 cheerfulness in every breast. It is only false pro- 
 fessors that are rendered phlegmatic and miser- 
 able by what they misinterpret into piety, but 
 what is in reality hypocrisy; there can be no reli- 
 gion without morality, and moral reflections in- 
 spire adoration for the Great Creator; if we adore 
 him and all his works, why should our contem- 
 plations be melancholy; if we view him as a stern 
 and remorseless judge, that is deaf to the voice of 
 our complaints, who has barred our progress to 
 Heaven and has consigned us to perdition, then 
 may we repine at Providence, and murmur at our 
 fate; but if we esteem him as a beneficent God, 
 fraught with holiness, and rich in mercy, our 
 meditations will abound in sublimity, we shall no 
 longer indulge in gloom, but elevate our thoughts 
 to praise his name Divine. Of this description, 
 was the Rev. Dr. Woodward. He was universally 
 respected, by his poor parishioners — v/ould that I 
 could add, by his .rich ones; but as he devoted 
 half his income to acts of charity, the very means 
 that raised him in the opinion of the former, 
 lowered him in that of the latter; at least, though 
 they were obliged to acknowledge his claim to 
 esteem, they hated him with an inveterate rancour; 
 vice is generally averse to virtue: they had thou- 
 sands, and refused to spare a small portion to al- 
 leviate the distresses of their fellow-creatures; 
 they could therefore not bear the reflection that 
 Dr. Woodward, with a third part of their for- 
 tunes, should spend it in such nobler pursuits. 
 Conscience reproached them, as it will do at every 
 error we commit, however we may strive to banish 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 413 
 
 that unwelcome giiesf, it sticks close and never 
 quits us. We must now drop these subjects, and 
 convey the reader to the table of Lady Ellincourt, 
 were the visiters were now assembled. When 
 the Duchess of Albermarle entered the room, she 
 was of course greeted with unanimous applause, 
 every tongue congratulated her on her auspicious 
 nuptials, she returned their salutations with be- 
 cominsr dig-nitv and ease. *' Give me leave," said 
 Lady Mountmorris, in her usual affected style, *' to 
 wish your Grace many years of uninterrupted 
 happiness." *' I am obliged to your Ladyship," 
 answered the Duchess, " nor do I despair of the 
 felicity you so kindly invoke." Fanny was struck 
 with the surprising beauty of this lady, yet there 
 was something in her aspect so expressive of the 
 vixen, that it was impossible for her charms to 
 make that impression as if they had been tempered 
 with a look of modesty and innocence. Her eyes 
 were of a dark hazel, remarkably handsome, but 
 full of wildness and savage fire; her complexion 
 outvied the lily and the rose, he^ form was irre- 
 sistibly attracting ; yet amidst all these personal 
 requisites, neither her air nor address were desir- 
 able. She seemed ])roud, conceited, and self-suffi- 
 cient. When Mrs. Hamilton appeared, she was 
 received by some of the guests with respect and 
 courtesy, by others with civility and distant hau- 
 teur; a few perhaps maintained the former be- 
 haviour from her being the mother of the Duchess, 
 and a few from very different motives. Lord 
 Mountmorris, Sir Anthony Dale, and the excel- 
 lent J)r. Woodward, knew her worth, and could 
 feel for injured virtue. Lady M. preserved a 
 coolness in her deportment, and conversed with 
 Mrs. Hamilton as little as possible; but Lady 
 Palmer paid her particular attention — she had 
 herself experienced unhappiness, which made her 
 more inclined to compassionate others. During 
 18. 3 G 
 
414 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 dinner, the conversation turned on the usual fa- 
 shionable topics. Lord Newconib began a dis- 
 sertation on his favorite theme, horse-racing. " I 
 vow and protest," said he, " that only last week 
 I won a thousand guineas by the dexterity of Sir 
 Nicholas Blanchard, as fine and as fleet an ani- 
 mal as ever trod the turf — am 1 not a lucky dog.'* 
 " I think you are," returned Sir Richard. *' If 
 it is not an impertinent question," said Dr. Wood- 
 ward, " may I ask, whetlier your Lordship ap- 
 propriated part of that sum to the benefit of the 
 poor?" His lordship started at this query, as if 
 he had been struck wiih a flash of lightning, 
 *' Why, no," at lengtli he replied, " I can al- 
 ways tind uses for my money." " I do not doubt 
 it, my Lord, but you cannot find a more elligible 
 use, than in contributing to the comforts of the ne- 
 cessitous; the approbation of your own heart, 
 and the blessings of the poor, will always attend 
 you for acting so agreeably to its dictates." 
 *' Pshaw !" answered Lord Newcomb, " I don't 
 like moralizing." The worthy minister would of 
 course have said no more, but Sir Richard Palmer 
 proceeded — *' Self approbation. Sir, I scarcely 
 know what it means." '' Consult your conscience, 
 Sir Richard, when you have done a worthy or be- 
 nevolent action, and that will best inform you/' 
 A sarcastic smile, was his reply. " There are 
 some people, I believe," cried the blunt Sir An- 
 thony Dale, " that never partake of the enjoy- 
 ment self-approbation affords, they scorn to do a 
 deed of justice, much less of charity ; therefore 
 it is not to be wondered at, that they are ignorant 
 of the terms." Sir Richard looked haughtily at 
 Sir Anthony, as he concluded this remark, but 
 the latter was too much the philosopher to notice 
 or to care for his disesteem. " J think we should 
 vary this subject," said Lady Mountmorris, " it 
 grows tedious;" the expressive glance of her 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 415 
 
 eyes:, as she spoke did not escape the notice of 
 Sir Richard, and as those of the company were 
 directed another way, he had an opportunity of 
 returning the sense they conveyed ; they both 
 pretty well understood each other. Captain Town- 
 send now entered upon the state of the country, 
 and the happy result of the late glorious war. 
 Sir Anthony begged leave to differ from him in 
 opinion. *' 1 do not think," said he, " that the 
 result of the war, or the peace, has been produc- 
 tive of the effects we had so fondly anticipated." 
 *' How," exclaimed the Captain, " pray explain 
 yourself." " Why, replied Sir Anthony, " was 
 there ever greater wickedness practised than at 
 this present day; does not the world seem ar- 
 rived at a pitch of vice too great for human en- 
 durance?" " It does, but can your philosophy, 
 Sir Anthony, prove to me, that the encrease of 
 crime is owing to the national peace." *' Not 
 exactly," replied Sir Anthony, " for peace is the 
 only situation in which a nation can exist happy 
 and virtuous, but it is evident to the most super- 
 ficial observer, that the transition from war to 
 peace has suddenly encreased crime. Nay, Cap- 
 tain, reserve your smile till 1 conclude. I am 
 no advocate for war, and althougii I have said 
 that the transition from one state to another was 
 the producing cause of the overflowing of vice, 
 yet, as 1 have often asserted before, I consider war 
 in the first instance its generating principle. In 
 every populous nation, and particularly a manu- 
 facturing one, when the inhabitants, for the better 
 managing of their concerns, are obliged to form, 
 towns on an extended scale, there will, until Chris- 
 tianity more vitally plants itself, be found men of 
 dissolute habits, and on the breaking out of war, 
 the well-disposed will do all in their power to 
 send those characters to the army. You cannot, 
 Captain, from the time you have spent in the 
 
410 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 service, but have observed this; you also well 
 know, that those vile characters soon contaminate 
 the simple country lad, and lead him on in the 
 Avays of vice, till he becomes more an adept in 
 licentiousness than his instructor; and those men, 
 freed from the restraints of military discipline, 
 rush upon the community, and spread, by their 
 evil example, immorality and irreligion to our 
 most remote and sequestered villages. It is a 
 point argued by some, that war is not to be avoid- 
 ed ; this I deny generally, though, except in case of 
 actual invasion, I cannot see why a nation ought 
 to engage in the murderous employment. War is 
 cond^aoined by Christianity, and, therefore, incom- 
 patible with its profession. Peace, though now 
 the apparent cause, will, f am certain, in time re- 
 medy those evils which war, and its concomitant, 
 taxation, has brought upon us." 
 
 The Captain was far from convinced by his 
 arguments ; he was one of those opiniated mor- 
 tals that if he formed a judgment he could never 
 be prevailed on to alter it ; he did not, even for 
 the sake of good manners, affect to acquiesce in 
 the sentiments of others. So fond was he of op- 
 position, that he seldom coincided, though they 
 chanced to agree with his own. Sir Anthony 
 did not pursue the discourse, and it soon changed, 
 his conversation was chiefly directed to Lord 
 Mountmorris and Dr. Woodward ; those three 
 gentlemen seemed mutually pleased with each 
 other. Sir Richard Palmer, at intervals, surveyed 
 tbe Dr. with looks of mingled contempt and dis- 
 like; his being a clergyman was enough to make 
 him hated by a man of his dissolute principles; 
 had he been at any other table than Lady Ellin- 
 court's, he would probably have shook off the 
 mask of outward decorum, and vowed openly, to 
 insult the worthy divine; but in her presence, and 
 before such distinguished characters as she enter- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 417 
 
 tainecl, he was obliged to preserve an air of re- 
 spect. Earl Vincent was a nobleman remarkable 
 for boasting of his genealogy. At every assembly 
 he regularly presented the company with an ac- 
 count of his pedigree. He was descended from 
 a branch of the Northumberlands, and could 
 trace back his family to several generations. He 
 was upwards of eighty; but as vain of his nobility 
 as a youth just acquainted with his pedigree. 
 Thus do we continue in a labyrinth of folly, till 
 death surprises us with his iron dart, and ere we 
 are apprised of his near approach, wings our 
 course to the regions of eternity. This gentle- 
 man conversed with much freedom ; and if he 
 had said less of himself, his society would have 
 been more agreeable. 
 
 Lady Mountmorris looked and behaved as if 
 she believed herself the superior of every body, 
 and whatever subject was started by her Lord, 
 she pointedly expressed herself averse to, and in- 
 troduced something else. But when Sir Richard 
 Palmer spoke, she listened with evident avidity, 
 and joined in his opinion. Had he been less a liber- 
 tine, he could scarcely have resisted such conduct 
 as she displayed : as it was, he marked her for an 
 easy bait. Oh, woman, woman ! beware how you 
 treat with contempt the husband of your choice. 
 If you would escape the snares of a seducer, be- 
 have to him with respect and attention. A man 
 will seldom dare to insult a female, by a Uicntion of 
 his unlawful passion, who shows affection and re- 
 verence for her husband. He will be too certain of 
 meeting with a refusal to hazard such a pique to 
 his vanity, and the dread of having his charac- 
 ter exposed may likewise, in a measure, prevent 
 him. A single view of Lady Mountmorris would 
 have informed any person of the smallest penetra- 
 tion, that little persuasion was necessary to ac- 
 complish her ruin. There was no danger, how- 
 
418 FATHERI,ESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 ever, of Sir Richard depriving her of her reputa- 
 tion, as it had long- been sacriticed. She was also 
 so imprudent as to speak with scorn of people in 
 years, though Lord Mouutmorris was past the 
 prime of life, and several others were present who 
 were considerably advanced. This was not 
 merely an essential breach of politeness, but it 
 clearly evinced that her Ladyship was divested of 
 those natural feelings of humanity and decency 
 which every age and sex should cherish. Yet need 
 we wonder, if a woman can so far forget herself 
 and dignity to accompany a man to the sacred 
 altar who adores her to distraction, who relies 
 upon her faith and tenderness, and rests his future 
 hopes of happiness on her love, with the base de- 
 sign of rendering him miserable; and, not content 
 with injuring him in the nicest point, insults him 
 in public, instead of endeavouring to conceal her 
 aversion ; can we, I repeat, be surprised at any 
 thing we hear of her? She has disgraced herself 
 as a wife, and for ever bid adieu to fame. 
 
 The dinner being ended, the ladies retired, and 
 the gentlemen were left more at liberty to indulge 
 themselves. But w^omen, lovely w omen, being ab- 
 sent, their party soon became dull ; and upon the 
 suggestion of Lord Ellincourt, they joined the 
 ladies, who were admiring the delightful view 
 which presented itself to their enraptured sight, 
 from the noble Venetian window of the spacious 
 saloon, to which they had retired. After admiring 
 it for some time, they adjourned to the drawing • 
 room, and music, both vocal and instrumental, 
 began to engage the attention of the party. 
 
 Lady Mountmorris was requested to play a 
 tune, and accompany it with her voice. She im- 
 mediately declined it, stating, as an excuse, that 
 her nerves were affected. " Do, my dear Char- 
 lotte," said Lord Mountmorris, "oblige the com- 
 pany with one tune; I am sure your compliance 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 419 
 
 will give them inexpressible satisfaction." " In- 
 deed, my Lord, I am not well, and singing is a 
 great fatigue." He looked displeased and disap- 
 pointed, though, alas! this circumstance was not 
 new, as she invariably thwarted his wishes. At 
 this moment Sir Richard Palmer rose up and said, 
 *' You cannot conceive, Madam, the distress into 
 which your refusal has thrown us all. My 
 Lord," turning to her husband, " you must per- 
 suade her to yield to our entreaties." " Lady 
 Mountmorris must pursue her inclinations," said 
 his Lordship, gravely. Sir Richard, however, 
 would not let the subject drop, and at his repeated 
 solicitations the Lady consented to what she had 
 disdained when requested by others of the party. 
 This event was naturally calculated to inspire 
 Lord Mountmorris and the innocent Lady Pal- 
 mer with jealousy, though that was a passion they 
 never encouraged, but when errors so palpable are 
 committed in the presence of the injured, it is im- 
 possible for them to be blind. The preference of 
 Lady Mountmorris to Sir Richard was already 
 obvious, though they had never met till this occa- 
 sion, and the guilty pair were preparing to inflict 
 fresh daggers in the hearts of the most deserving 
 of their sex. Their behaviour was remarked by 
 every one, and all, whose breasts were not steeled 
 to compassion, commisserated the amiable victims 
 of depraved libertinism. The day was spent in the 
 manner that has been described, and in the even- 
 ing cards were introduced. Our wise philosopher 
 and the pious Dv. Woodward chose to converse 
 instead of joining in tiie games. Lord Ellincourt 
 played very deep, he had not yet conquered his 
 love of gambling. The Duke of Albemarle took 
 one turn at chess, and then joined Sir Anthony. 
 He was no friend to play. Lady Mountmorris 
 asked Lady Palmer if she would play with her at 
 cribbage; that Lady refused. She was labouring 
 
420 FATHERLESS FANNY I OK, 
 
 under great mental uneasiness, and her attachment 
 to cards was not strong enough to afford any so- 
 lace to her cares. Neither did the fanciful smile 
 of Lady Mountmorris, when putting the question, 
 weaken the indifferent opinion she had formed of 
 her goodness. "J have a rival," inwardly sighed 
 she : ** this fascinating female has alienated the 
 slight remains of affection which my husband en- 
 tertained for me. Oh, that he had not been in- 
 vited to this mansion." Lady Mountmorris pre- 
 tended to be chagrined, but in reality was rejoiced, 
 as it gave her an excuse for joining in a game with 
 Sir Richard, who gallantly made her the offer. 
 The brow of Lord Mountmorris was clouded ; he 
 walked to the window to conceal his disorder. 
 At length, finding an opportunity of speaking pri- 
 vately to the Dowager Lady EUincourt, he un- 
 burthened his griefs to her in a few words — " Oh, 
 Madam," said he, " 1 am distracted; I must sue 
 for a separation from Lady Mountmorris ; 1 can- 
 not exist in the manner I do," and his eyes swam 
 with tears. " 1 pity you,' said the Dowager 
 Lady EUincourt, " truly pity you ; but how is it 
 possible for me to advise you. I plainly see how 
 you are circumstanced, and I must not express my 
 sentiments. I would comfort you if 1 could." 
 He grasped her hand, thanked her for her kind- 
 ness, but still begged her to explain what she 
 would do if she was situated as he was. " I can- 
 not tell," replied her Ladyship ; " it is difficult to 
 decide upon the question, but let me see you again 
 shortly, when 1 am free from intruders, and we will 
 talk upon the subject, though it is a painful one, 
 that 1 could wish might be for ever banished. Oh, 
 Mountmorris, would that thou hadst never mar- 
 ried." " Would so indeed," he cried, " I had escaped 
 the worst of evils ; if I had not been ensnared by 
 beauty and a vain shew of accomplishments, I had 
 not been the miserable wretch you now behold me. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 421 
 
 But the deed is past, irrevocably past : the priest 
 liatli joined our bauds, and happiness and we are 
 for ever divided." Lady EUhicourt was much 
 affected at the solemnity of his countenance, and 
 the grief that was pourtrayed in every lineament 
 of his still handsome face; the majesty of his air, 
 and dignity of his deportment, added to the im- 
 pression his sufferings made in the breast of 
 Lady Elhncourt, She could only syuipaihize in 
 his aiiiiction — only did 1 say, is it not the great- 
 est consolation to a wounded heart that a fellow- 
 mortal participates in its sorrows? If we cannot 
 dispel the load of anxiety, we may at least soften its 
 heavy weight, and render it more supportable. 
 They now returned to the company, Lord Mount- 
 morris having promised to wait upon lier Lady- 
 ship the next morning. Some of the gentlemen 
 had retired to the billiard-room, but Sir Richard 
 was still playing at cribbage with Lady Mount- 
 morris. " We must prepare to depart. Madam," 
 said he, " the night is far advanced," casting a 
 stern glance at Sir Richard. " You are a hurry- 
 ing creature," said her Ladyship. Perceiving Lady 
 Palmer, however, as if wishing to speak to her 
 husband, she arose and moved towards her Lord; 
 " it is distressing," she resumed, " to leave these 
 worthy friends. I have been so happy here, that I 
 should like to become a resident at Pemberton 
 . Abbey." Lord Ellincourt, v/ho was at the far- 
 ther end of the room, talking to the Duke of 
 Albemarle, overheard these words. '* God for- 
 bid she should be a resident here," whispered he, 
 " it would be hell instead of heaven to be com- 
 pelled to live with her." Sir Richard answered, 
 " Your departure, Madam, will be sensibly re- 
 gretted by us all." Lord Mountmorris was 
 pressed to lengthen his stay, but he refused, and 
 he and his Lady departed : the former with the 
 esteem and commisseration of the whole party; the 
 18. 3h. 
 
422 FATHERLESS FA'NNY ; OR, 
 
 latter vvilli united detestation. Sir Richard next 
 ordered his carriage to the door. Lady Palmer 
 and Mrs. Hamilton took a very pathetic leave ; 
 though upon so slender an acquaintance, they 
 seemed to own each other as kindred souls, and to 
 have contracted an indissoluble friendship. The 
 .Duchess of Albemarle likewise felt the sincerest 
 compassion for this unfortunate lady, Vvhom she 
 was fully convinced was miserable with Sir Rich- 
 ard. The rest of the visiters soon dispersed, 
 and the peaceful inhabitants of Pemberton Abbey 
 ^vere once more left to the quiet possession of their 
 beloved domain. 
 
 CHAPTER XLHI. 
 
 Affecting Intervieiv, and Explanation of the Hoax. 
 
 The fatigue which Lady Ellincourt had sustained 
 throughout the day, made her im])atient to retire 
 to rest ; indeed, none of the family were accus- 
 tomed to such late hours, it being past midnight 
 Avhen Pemberton Abbey was restored to tranquil- 
 lity. The next morning the conversation turned, 
 as may be imagined, on the various characters of 
 the late guests. They all joined in execrating that 
 of Sir Richard Palmer, and the worthless Lady 
 Mountmorris. The Duchess of Albemarle loudly 
 exclaimed against the conduct of the latter, giving 
 it as her opinion that women who acted so, were 
 the seducers instead of the seduced. The Duke 
 acquiesced in the observation. Mr. Hamilton re- 
 marked that the lady's face was not unknown to 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 423 
 
 him, he had seen her at public places while Miss 
 Rivers, and was sure she was reckoned a woman 
 of intrigue. " So young,'' exclaimed Lady Emily, 
 " and yet so artful." " Her youth and beauty," 
 said Lord EUincourt, " rendered her schemes 
 doubly certain of success. She wished not to re^ 
 trieve her character, for that she knew was unat- 
 tainably; but she had too great a knowledge of 
 the world, not to foresee, that as Lady Mount- 
 morris, if she disgraced her husband and herself 
 twenty times a day, she would be caressed as the 
 most perfect of her sex. But as Miss Rivers, if 
 she made one deviation, her reputatioH was blasted 
 for ever." " True, too true," answered the Duke, 
 *' if a young female derogates in the least from 
 the paths of viitue, tliough ten thousand reasons 
 may be brought forward to extenuate her fault, 
 who is single, and perhaps unprotected, she is con- 
 demned at once, declared an abandoned creature, 
 and excluded from the society of the fashionable 
 — virtuous they terra themselves ; but let her be a 
 married woman, and of any consequence, her frail- 
 ties will be unheeded, and herself regarded as the 
 mirror of excellence. I know this to be a fact, as 
 I have lived a sufficient period to comment on the 
 manners of the great, and in my researches, 1 have 
 found daily occasion to confirm instead of altering 
 my opinion. Lady Mountmorris, I dare say, is re- 
 ceived every where with applause, and her errors 
 are effaced, in the bright attractions of a lovely 
 exterior : this proves that persons are valued ac- 
 cording to their rank, not merit." " It does in- 
 deed," replied the Dowager Lady E. " and I 
 will appeal to the truth of your assertions, as 
 circumstances, very similar in their nature to those 
 attendant on the case of Lady M. have come 
 under my own ocular demonstration." She then, 
 acquainted them with his Lordship's private con- 
 versation with her, and the affliction that was pic- 
 
[l i FATHERLESS FANNY; OP., 
 
 tured in his expressive comitenance. ¥/hen she- 
 mentioned his determination to p,ain a divorce — ■ 
 " 1 hope," said the Duke, " he wiii embrace 
 that measure speedily, if he delays, she will pro- 
 bably have obtained a separation by a more dis- 
 honorable method, and his grief v/ill then be 
 stronger — but if they part by consent, before she 
 inflicts further disgrace on herself and him, 
 though her dishonor will be equal, the shame 
 will rest less on his name, tlian if she eloped 
 while still with her husband." " I expect a 
 visit from Lord M. this mornin<2\" resumed her 
 -Ladyship, "■ he has requested my advice, though 
 alas ! 1 am incapable of offering any — but I have 
 long known him, and he seems to derive a melan- 
 choly satisfaction from being condoled with in 
 his misfortunes." Mrs. Hamilton spoke in high 
 terms of admiration of the amiable Lady Pal- 
 mei', lamenting that she was not imited to an ob- 
 ject who would prize her w^crth as it deserved. 
 " I thought," observed the Duchess, " the mo- 
 ment I beheld Sir Richard that he was a wretch, 
 his looks betokened the villain; he is handsome, 
 and may be reckoned agreeable, but thei'e is an 
 appearance of depravity in his air that rendered 
 him forbidding in my eyes at a single glance, 
 and when I perceived him inattentive and neg- 
 ligent to his licautiful wife, I was then convinced 
 of what 1 had before suspected." " Her charms," 
 said the Duke, " are of a very different nature 
 from Lady M's. the latter is, I dare say, called 
 the i;iost attracting, because simplicity and inno- 
 cence, are no longer fashionable, but I think Lady 
 Palmer far the most desirable." A servant now 
 entered, to acquaint Lady Ellincourt that Lord 
 Mountmorris was arrived ; she immediately rose, 
 and descended to a small parlour, where his Lord- 
 ship was waiting. When she entered, she was 
 struck with the deep dejection of his counte- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 4.25 
 
 nance, and the almost fearful wildness of his 
 eyes; he advanced to meet her, but seemed un- 
 able to utter a word. She entreated him to sit 
 down and endeavour to compose himself. — 
 " Compose," said he, at length ; " yes, I hope I 
 shall soon be composed — tliey say that peace is 
 in the grave, and I am fast hastening thither." 
 *' Perhaps peace may yet be reserved for you on 
 earth," replied Lady EUincourt. He shook his 
 head. ^' IS ever,'" answered he, " tranquillity and 
 X have taken farewell." After a lapse of some 
 minutes he proceeded — '* 1 come, Madam, to ask 
 your advice, yet fear that I may be unable to 
 take it. J have expostulated warmly with Lady 
 M. on the impropriety of her conduct, and have 
 insisted upon liaving an explanation of her beha- 
 viour ; she refuses to assign any reason for her 
 indifference, but hiiits at the disparity of our 
 years. ' You had eyes, and chose me, Madam,' 
 I returned. * No, my Lord,' said she, ' I was 
 ^our choice ; but you are the last object 1 should 
 have selected, had I been left to my own free 
 will.' I started at this remark : ' Your own free 
 will!' 1 cried; 'I do not understand you — you 
 was under no control that ever I heard. Your 
 parents had long been consigned to the silent 
 tomb, and your fortune was independent of every 
 one, how therefore could you be constrained to 
 marry me?^ She looked confused, and was silent. 
 J requested an answer. * What means this lec- 
 ture, my Lord?' imperiously she exclaimed; 'I 
 am sure if you repent your bargain, I do as 
 heartily.' " 1 do indeed repent it,' said I ; 'for 
 your sake and my own, sincerely I repent it.' 
 ' For my sake !' she contemptuously answered. 
 ' Yes, madam, for your sake; our unhappy union 
 has been productive of wretchedness to us both.' 
 * Have I not been the best of waives?' she con- 
 tinued : ' is there any thing that your Lordship 
 
42G FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 can lay to my charge?' As I did not instantly 
 reply, she went on. ' As you, my Lord, have in- 
 sisted upon an explanation of my conduct, I in 
 return must insist upon knowing of what 1 am 
 accused ; 1 will never seek to justify myself till 
 acquainted with my fault.' ' This candor,' said 
 1, ' pleases me ; if you would hold an argument 
 upon subjects, we should have fewer disputes; 
 I will be equally generous with you. I do not 
 accuse you of faults, but follies : I allow for the 
 little gaities of youth — it is not to be supposed 
 that eighteen will conform to the caprices of tifty — 
 yet, where a man has -loved with the passionate 
 ardour that I have — have, did J say? O Char- 
 lotte! I would love you still — where he has re- 
 signed himself to your charms, and disdained 
 your sex for you alone, surely such an affection 
 demanded a return. Yon must acknowledge 
 that your behaviour yesterday was imprudent to 
 a degree — you discovered no deference to my 
 opinions, you despised my attentions, and forgive 
 me if I declare, that your too visible partiality 
 for Sir Richard Palmer excited jealousy in my 
 breast ; my a])prehensions I hope were ground- 
 less, but yourself gave rise to them.' I paused. 
 * Sir Richard Palmer !' said she, * a married 
 man — is it possible, my Lord, you can harbour 
 suspicions so injurious to his honor and my re- 
 putation?' ' His honor, Madam, has long been 
 forfeited — your's I trust will ever remain unsul- 
 lied.' ' And yet you are trying to asperse it,' 
 she uttered in a sarcastic tone. ' No,' said I, ' I 
 am wishing to clear it from aspersion ; but the 
 world will make their comments, and I fear your 
 absurdity, to give it no harsher term, has exposed 
 you to its severest censure.' ' I do not care, I 
 defy the tongue of slander; I am justified in my 
 own eyes, and it is of little consequence wliat the 
 Avorld dares to think or say of me.' This arro- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 427 
 
 gance increased my ire to an amazing height: 
 I confess I never was so enraged before — but con- 
 sider, dear Madam, the provocation I received, 
 and whether it was in the nature of man to pre- 
 serve his temper amidst such degrading treat- 
 ment." *' I am only surprised," said Lady Ellin- 
 court, *' that you preserved it so long." He re- 
 sumed — " I started up, inflamed with anger, and 
 exclaiming, ' It is well, Madam, I shall now take 
 the necessary measures;' and was about to leave 
 the room, but she prevented me. ' Stay, my Lord,* 
 she said, * you are too hasty.' * Of what avail 
 is it,' answ-ered I, ' for me to stay ; you are in- 
 different as to my estimation, and regardless of 
 your fame, therefore it is requisite, for the hap- 
 piness of both parties, that a separation should 
 immediately take place.' She looked amazed. 
 * Why this perplexity,' said I, ' you neither 
 love or esteem me: I would not desire the former 
 sentiment miaccompanied by the latter; for 
 which reason, as you have rendered yourself un- 
 worthy of my esteem, I must for eVer cease to 
 love you; I shall always pray for your felicity, 
 but from this day we are disimited.' She seemed 
 a little affected — I had. never seen her evince any 
 appearance of feeling till this moment — it almost 
 immanned my resolution ; but recovering my- 
 self I was again retiring from the apartment, 
 when turning my head 1 perceived she was as 
 pale as death, and as if fainting ; so moving a 
 sight quickly disarmed my resentment — I flew to 
 her, took her hand, and, placing her in a chair, 
 held votatile liniments to her nose — she was ap- 
 parently insensible of my solicitude. I called her 
 by the most endearing appellations: at length she 
 pretended to revive — I say pf-etended, Madam, as 
 you will presently be informed of the deception 
 she had practised. She cast her languid eyes 
 upon me. ' 1 thought you had forsaken me/ 
 
428 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 saicr she. 'And would it give you concern?' 1 
 cried. She ansv.ei'ed in the aiSrniative. I cannot 
 describe the contending passions that assailed my 
 breast at this declaration; I pressed her hand to 
 my lips, and vowed tliat she was still most dear 
 to 4iiy soul. 'Oh, Mountmorris,' she sighed, 'I 
 own that 1 have done wrong, that I am very, very 
 reprehensible.' I caught tlie delightful sounds, 
 and enraptured, clasped her to my bosom, pro- 
 nouncing her the joy and solace of my future 
 life. This moment was to me one of the happiest 
 1 had ever experienced: I felt a renewal of the 
 sweet sensations that had occupied my heart on 
 the day that yielded her to my arms; but tran- 
 sitory was the bliss — her perfidy was discovered 
 by a most singular circumstance. A little box, 
 Avhich in her alarm she had neglected properly 
 to secure, dropped from her person, and revealed 
 to me her base dissimulation ; its contents were 
 white paint, a small portion of which she had 
 dexterously spread upon her cheeks, which en- 
 tirely faded her complexion, and gave her a most 
 death-like aspect; she had easily contrived to 
 adopt this expedient to excite my commisseration, 
 when I had arisen intending to quit tiie room, and 
 she then affected to swoon away, as already stated. 
 At this proof of her deceptions I could not con- 
 tain my fury within any bounds, save those of 
 personal vengeance. I did not attempt any in- 
 jury to her, but, withdrav»'ing her from my fond 
 embrace, 1 vehemently protested that she was the 
 vilest of her sex, and that 1 must have been a 
 madman to have been duped by her insidious 
 wiles — and, without waiting for a reply, I darted 
 from the apartment and the house, when 1 in- 
 stantly hastened hither to communicate my sor- 
 rows to your Ladyship, and consult with you how 
 1 ought to proceed." 
 
 Lord Mountmorris here stopped, and a Hood of 
 
THE LHTLE MENDICANT. 42© 
 
 iears came to his relief. Lady Ellincoiirt did not 
 interrupt them, she was sensible that their influ- 
 ence was most salutary to a mind opprest as his. 
 He wept a considerable time, and then raising his 
 despondent eyes to tliose of her ladyship, im- 
 plored her to direct him how to act. " My dear 
 friend, "mournfully replied she, ** to abide by my 
 directions Avere, perhaps, to be farther rendered 
 miserable. I, a weak woman, am inadequate to 
 the task of ofTering advice; yet as you so earnestly 
 request my opinion, I will give that, without pre- 
 suming to advise. I hope, for your sake, that the 
 honour of Lady M. has not yet been sacrificed, but 
 1 fear that she is determined on destruction, 
 and will shortly become the victim of dissipation. 
 Would you be separated from her in a legal way, 
 you will immediately pursue the necessary me- 
 thods for that purpose ; yet be not swayed by 
 any thing I say. I have esteemed you, Mount- 
 morris, when in prosperity, I doubly respect you 
 in adversity, and grieved am 1 that ycu should 
 have made so unworthy a choice ; but alas, it is 
 difficult to divscern the merits of one, whom we 
 design as a partner through life. During the pe- 
 riod of courtship, both men and women conceal 
 their evil propensities, and if they have any vir- 
 tuous ones display them, if not, they falsely as- 
 sume the appearance of some, and if they have any 
 skill at all, they find it but too easy to deceive their 
 vassalled slaves, till at last the noose is drawn, the 
 veil is thrown aside, and too often repentance 
 treads close upon the heels of matrimony." "You 
 have read the book of the world, Madam," said 
 his lordship, " your sentiments are too just. I 
 have proved it in myself. I had not been united 
 two days before I had reason to repent, though I 
 was a victim to such beauty, that it was long be- 
 fore I could persuade myself I could be other- 
 wise than happy with a creature so divinely fair. 
 l«Jo.l9, " 3 I ■ 
 
430 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 But oh ! mistaken wretch that I was, to imatjine 
 that external qualificatioiis could constitute the 
 felicity of mortals when unallied to goodness, 
 Her charms, blooming as they were, soon lost 
 their power of pleasing. She sought not to please. 
 Wrapt up in fatal security, she blindly fancied 
 that the heart which had once been her's? must 
 ever remain in her possession, let her conduct be 
 what it would. She was not deceived in thinking I 
 loved her. Madam ; I did, with an ardour almost 
 unequalled ; I believed her the peerless daughter 
 of the graces ; and when I pressed my suit, so 
 far from stating an objection to my years, she 
 seemed not to consider it as one, but to surrender 
 me her affections entire ; it is the more cruel 
 therefore to allude to that circumstance now. She 
 has nearly alienated every particle of that tender- 
 ness which once reigned in this constant heart — 
 I will not say utterly, as the recent proof I have 
 given, of a remains of attachment, evinces that 
 I have not wholly conquered my former love, but 
 I wijl endeavour to banish past impressions, and, 
 with them, the object who occasioned them. 1 
 will returu to Lady M. and strive to gain her 
 consent to a lawful divorce. I do not wish to 
 dispute with her, nor to cause her any uneasiness ; 
 her fortune is ample, it is hers, and I shall settle 
 an additional annuity upon her. I value not 
 money, it is empty and imaginary good, its 
 attainments are superficial, as are also those of 
 beauty; and when the mind is lost, all other acqui- 
 sitions might as well be forfeited." After some 
 farther conversation, Lord Mountmorris departed, 
 having determined with Lady Ellincourt, fo com- 
 mence a judicial process, respecting the affair in 
 question, ** If Lady M, refuses her compliance, 
 I must proceed without obtaining it," said he, 
 ** but 1 would rather she would give her sanction 
 to the measure." ^he begged to hear from him 
 
' THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 431 
 
 shortly, and with a melancholy mien he took his 
 leave^ 
 
 When Lady Ellincouii returned to the apart- 
 ment where she had left the family, she found 
 her son laughing immoderately. '* My risibility. 
 Madam," said he, " arises, not from the suffer- 
 ings of your friend, whose case we all deplore^ 
 but from an explication of a very curious riddlCj 
 that has proved such a puzzle to your ladyship, 
 in fact, to all but the worthy authors of it." 
 Lady EUincourt looked at his lordship, and at 
 the rest in amazement. ^' Here is the cause of 
 our unwonted mirth," said he, presenting her with 
 the newspaper. The reader will, perhaps, guess 
 at the meaning of all this. It will be recollected 
 that Miss Bridewell expressed her resolution to 
 discover who had made her the object of their 
 sport, and she communicated her design to several 
 of her friends. Some of them dissuaded her from 
 her purpose, saying they thought it would be use- 
 Jess to attempt any thing of the kind ; others> ad- 
 vised her to pursue it ; the latter plan was most 
 consonant to her inclinations. She accordingly 
 addressed a letter to the editor of the paper in 
 which the advertisement appeared, stating the cir- 
 cumstances, enclosing the advertisement that had 
 occasioned her so much consternation, which she 
 had copied and printed, and likewise another of 
 her own composing, requesting to be acquainted 
 with the author of the former, and offering fifty 
 guineas reward to whoever could give the infor- 
 ination she required. Here was a development 
 at once of the mischievous frolic that had been 
 played by Lord EUincourt. " 1 suspected you," 
 ssaid the Duke, " from the firsts I knew you was 
 an arch rogue, and that you had an unconquer- 
 able aversion to the old gipsey, however, she has 
 thrown away time and expense by this advertise- 
 ment, as she will not be a wit the wiser for it." 
 
432 FATIIEKLE»« FANNY ; OU, 
 
 " No," said Lord Ellincourt, " I am sure nobody 
 can claim the fifty guineas, as the matter is a 
 secret to all but ourselves," and here ended the 
 joke. 
 
 The Dowager Lady Ellincourt now entered 
 upon the sujbject of her discourse with Lord 
 Mountmorris, and brought tears into the eyes of 
 all present, by her description of his sorrows, and 
 the remorseless conduct of his tyrannical lady. 
 " It is well she is not my wife," cried Lord Ellin- 
 court ; by heavens she would soon repent of her 
 tyranny if she displayed it to me." " Take 
 care how you behave. Lady Ellincourt," said the 
 Duke of Albemarle, " you see you have not the 
 tamest of mortals to deal with." "When I act 
 like Lady M." said Emily, smiling, " I shall not 
 expect to meet tameness. I think it is astonish- 
 ing that he can have borne with her for six months, 
 though that to speak of is a short period, it is a 
 great while to be made miserable." " It is indeed," 
 replied the Dowager Lady Ellincourt, ** but I be- 
 lieve he is determined to endure it no longer, he 
 seems fixed in his resolution of obtaining a sepa- 
 ration, and that speedily." This resolve receiving 
 the universal applause of every individual, the 
 parties shortly retired from the breakfast room to 
 perform their usual avocations. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 Acts of Charity — Return to Darby House — 
 Arrival of Company, and lively discourse. 
 
 The remainder of the week passed on without any 
 thing of importance occurring, and early in the 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 433 
 
 following: one, the Duke and Duchess took leave 
 of dear Pemberton Abbey and its beloved inha- 
 bitants. The parting between our heroine and 
 her amiable mother was very affecting. The Ellin- 
 courts would have persuaded them to continue 
 longer in their society, but they were desirous of 
 returning to Darby House, Hampshire, where their 
 presence was anxiously expected by the surround- 
 ing gentry. They did not, however, depart without 
 receiving the blessings of the neighbouring poor, 
 to whom they displayed many acts of generosity. 
 The Duchess made it the greater part of her morn- 
 ing's employ to seek into the distresses of the hap- 
 less indigent, and the affability with which she lis- 
 tened to the sad story of their woes, and immedi- 
 ately presented them like a beneficent angel, with 
 the assistance they required, derived her the love 
 and esteem of every virtuous heart. The Duke 
 turned his head to the establishment of Public In- 
 stitutions, but not like some other persons in a yet 
 higher sphere than the Duke of Albemarle, who 
 grant their patronage to the support of national 
 charities for the sake of a name, when a private 
 petition would be rejected with scorn; he promoted 
 the welfare of every individual, and never turned a 
 deaf ear to the voice of complaint. As soon as he 
 got back to his country seat, he erected an asylum 
 for the aged, and those who were infirm ; when one 
 of this description applied for relief to him, they 
 were dismissed with a guinea, and informed, that 
 there they would find a refuge if they were willing 
 to go in; how readily and how gratefully they 
 embraced this offer may be imagined. It is here 
 also necessary to observe, that Lord Ellincourt did 
 many benevolent actions ; he was the founder of a 
 building for orphan children, and likewise for de- 
 cayed tradesmen, who had been reduced by mis- 
 fortunes to a state of penury ; he was universally 
 
434 FATHERLESS. FANNY ; OR, 
 
 respected and adored, and he was rewarded fot 
 the numerous estimable qualities he possessed by 
 every signal favor that Heaven could bestow. To 
 add to his felicity, his lady's appearance was such 
 as to betoken the day not far distant, when to the 
 duties of wife that of a mother would be added, an 
 event that contributed to the happiness of both 
 parties. Our lovely Fanny was in the same hope- 
 ful situation ; both looked forward to the prospect 
 of future heirs with inexpressible delitrht. The 
 Duke and Duchess had been settled about two 
 days in their favourite retreat, when their lively 
 friend Lady Mornington and her husband arrived, 
 to pay their promised visit ; the meeting between 
 the amiable Amelia and her Grace was tender and 
 affectionate — they warmly embraced each other^ 
 and a series of congratulations took place. Sir 
 Everard complimented the Duke on his nuptials, 
 and his Grace in return wished him joy with the fair 
 creature he had selected for his bride. "I thank 
 you heartily," said Sir Everard, " and glad am I to 
 my soul that you rejected one another, as 1 should 
 have lost an incomparable prize." " I always ad- 
 mired Miss Stanhope," answered the Duke, " and 
 doubtless had not my affections been engaged to 
 Fanny, she would have secured the victory, but 
 for a great while, as you know, I was induced to 
 believe that my beloved Avas actually Miss Stan- 
 hope." " Yes," replied Sir Everard, smiling, *'my 
 Amelia acted her part bravely, she is versed in 
 dissimulation ; I shall always glory in her art 
 however, as to it I am indebted for the possession 
 of the most invaluable of treasures. Lady Morn- 
 ington meanwhile gave the Duchess an account of 
 what she had seen in London, and how much she 
 had lamented that she was not present to behold 
 them. *' I have witnessed enough of them, my 
 dear," answered Fanny, " and do not in the least 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 435 
 
 ferret my absence from riot and noise." ** You 
 pre of a happy disposition," said Amelia, ** and I 
 have at periods thought that I was, but 1 fear I 
 should soon grow melancholy if I was to live en- 
 tirely out of the world, having been always accus- 
 tomed to gay assemblages. When 1 pass an antir 
 quated abbey or churcli, rendered desolate by 
 the impairing hand of time, a sensation of awe 
 seems to thrill through my bosom. Were I to in- 
 dulge my feelings on such occasions, I should be as 
 spiritless as one of the marble statues they con- 
 tain. I fly with avidity from such places, and has- 
 ten to scenes more congenial to my nature ; but 
 your gravity, I warrant, could endure the idea of 
 spending two or three hours in such solitary spots, 
 and yet be free from the vapours." " It could en- 
 dure not merely the idea, but the act," replied 
 Fanny." ^* I prefer surveying the monuments in 
 Westminster Abbey, to seeing ajl the plays in 
 England." " What a barbarous taste," cried her 
 friend, " I protest I never heard one of your sex 
 and age make such a declaration before." *' Pos- 
 sibly not my dear, yet I can assure you it is tLe 
 simple truth." '' Well," said Lady Mornington, 
 */ when 1 propose to write a tragedy, I will take 
 example by our wise Shakspearian bard, who 
 made a point of walking in the dreary cloisters, 
 that his mind might be turned to horrors rare. At 
 present I have no such intention. We have nearly 
 completed the work I informed you we were em- 
 ployed in, and before we send it to the press, you 
 shall enjoy the gratification of perusing it. I long 
 for your opinion on its merits." Amelia was only in 
 jest, as she had never designed to write such a book 
 as she had described, though her imagination was 
 iiufficiently exuberant to have furnished her with 
 ample powers for the accomplishment of her un- 
 dertaking ; but her sportive fancy, and copious 
 flow of wit, enabled her to play off upon some of 
 
436 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK, 
 
 her acquaintances without being detected. Not 
 so with the Duchess of Albemarle ; she quickly 
 penetrated the veil the little hypocrite wore, and 
 affected not to be deceived. " I really thought," 
 said she, " from your last letter, that you was be- 
 coming a rational creature." " Lord bless you !'* 
 exclaimed Amelia, '• did you suppose I could be 
 completely rational all in aminute? no, no, 1 shall 
 grow so by degrees to be sure. Such sudden tran- 
 sitions would inevitably destroy my health." Our 
 heroine smiled. She was irresistibly charmed 
 with the conversation of this sprightly female, 
 though sometimes her Mightiness seemed carried, 
 in her opinion, too far ; yet there was such an in- 
 nate goodness blended with her youthful eccen- 
 tricities, that it was impossible to help loving and 
 €^steeniiiig her. " Oh, I know we shall not be 
 dull here," continued her ladyship, " this man- 
 sion, though it is situated in the country, is exqui- 
 sitely beautiful, and the gardens are delightfully 
 pleasant. I expect great satisfaction from prome- 
 nading them." The Duchess now led her friend 
 into the different apartments, and strove to divert 
 her by introducing all her curiosities to her notice. 
 She was in raptures with every thing she saw, and 
 complimented the taste of the inhabitants of Darby 
 House in terms of the highest warmth. The library 
 in particular engaged her attention ; the order in 
 which the books were arranged set them off to 
 inimitable advantage ; they were placed metho- 
 dically in rows. The works of sublime and sen- 
 timental authors composed the greatest part. His- 
 tory, ancient, modern and natural, were widely 
 diffused through the whole. A few select novels, 
 and some of the best plays, made up the collec- 
 tion. Lady Mornington was extremely fond of 
 reading, though her immoderate desire of rambling 
 had prevented her from resigning herself to so 
 svveet an enjoyment long enough to enter fully into 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 41^7 
 
 the spirit of the writers she perused. She had 
 hitherto only skimmed first into one volume, and 
 then into another ; but she intended, when tired of 
 seeing the same thing over again, which she ac- 
 knowledged might one day be the case, to give 
 her mind to nobler attainments. " 1 shall be^in 
 the laborious task while I am with you," said she, 
 ^' and then I shall be able to judge whether 1 
 could pursue it." " You will not find it so diffi- 
 cult as you imagine, 1 trust," returned Fanny, "you 
 have a natural love for learning, and you will 
 find here a choice variety that will both amuse and 
 improve." Amelia took hold of one, on the back 
 of which was beautifully lettered, " Tasso's Jeru- 
 salem." " It would tempt one to read your 
 books, Fanny, to look at these elegant bindings.'* 
 "The inside of that valuable work is more precious 
 than its binding," said the Duchess, with unwonted 
 energy of expression. "I have only scanned a page 
 here and there," answered Amelia, " and I think 
 thelanguage very fine ; but what have women to do 
 with war? Peace is the female province." "True,'* 
 said Lady Albemarle, " yet women may like to 
 hear of what they have no concern in. For my 
 part, I could pore over the beauties of this divine 
 author, till the gates of my eyes closed with lan- 
 gour Or fatigue, its fiction is so gloriously ener- 
 getic, and every line breathes harmony* I have 
 seldom participated in the pleasures of metrical 
 composition to so high a degree as when medi- 
 tating on the perfections of this god-like book." 
 " Your praises," said Lady Mornington, " have 
 inspired me with a curiosity to go through the 
 whole. I think I shall indulge it. Recollect I 
 am at home here — 1 shall not consider myself a 
 visitor under the roof with my Fanny." " I should 
 be Very sorry if you did," interrupted the Duchess, 
 " I detest formality, and from Lady Mornington it 
 would be insufferable." " Sir Everard is no formalist 
 19. 3 k 
 
438 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 I can assure you," cried Amelia, "he holds with the 
 observation of the celebrated Lord Chesterfield, 
 who affirms, ' that true and dignified politeness is 
 ease and freedom." What is generally called by 
 that name, is merely an affectation of the term. 
 He was an advocate for the graces, and no man 
 ever practised them more strenuously ; but as to 
 a parcel of constrained airs, such as were and are 
 adopted by most of those who are denominated 
 the fashionable world, he was a professed enemy 
 to them, and Sir Everard admires all he says. 
 Now I do not tell you," she continued, with an 
 arch smile, " that the poor man is capable of 
 copj-^ing the manners of Lord Chesterfield ; but I 
 think if he could acquire the task, it would be the 
 utmost height of his ambition. He reveres his cha- 
 racter, and respects his principles ; but his under- 
 standing " " Hush, my dear Amelia," hastily 
 
 exclaimed the Duchess, " I will not hear you ridi- 
 cule your husband." " Pshaw," said Amelia, "you 
 know I am only in fun 5 I would die to promote 
 the happiness of Sir Everard; but I must have my 
 joke, like Mr. Pope, though 1 lose my friend." 
 " You have mentioned a very comfortable way to 
 promote his happiness," answered Fanny, " you 
 had better have reversed it, and said, you would 
 live for ever with that intent." " Oh, I hope I shall 
 not survive Sir Everard ; I could not bear to be a 
 widow." " We must all bear what the Almighty 
 pleases to inflict," said Fanny, "and that with 
 resignation. However, I trust you will both long 
 be spared, to make each other happy." The fer- 
 vour with which these words were uttered, brought 
 tears into the eyes of the susceptible Amelia. Her 
 feelings were strong ; and persons who are natu- 
 rally of a lively, spirited disposition, are generally 
 endued with finer, quicker feelings than those of 
 a calm, uniform temper. The former are soon 
 elated^ and as soon discouraged; but they never 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 4»19 
 
 yield to despair. They act according to the in- 
 fluence of the moment, and experience either the 
 extremes of bliss or wretchedness. When reflec- 
 tion comes to their aid, their native sense directs 
 them to moderate these extravagant sallies, and 
 they commonly succeed : but the latter, who are 
 perfectly luke-warm, live and die without partak- 
 ing of the pleasures that attend either love or 
 friendship ; they are seldom overjoyed with the 
 gifts of Fortune, but too often suffer their spirits 
 to be totally depressed. When the flekle goddess 
 disdains to smile upon them, the former may 
 be violent, but soon the storm of grief blows over, 
 and hope begins to dawn : the latter encourage 
 not the bright sensation, but give themselves up 
 to a fatal despondency, and are very frequently 
 the people who are urged by their melancholy 
 habit, to a deed of desperation. The reason is 
 obvious. They ruminate on nothing but the 
 dark side of the picture, and refuse the consola- 
 tions that religion would afford. Rarely do we 
 hear of a person committing suicide whose pas- 
 sions were strong and ardent. It is those who 
 ponder on their misfortunes, and forget there is a 
 merciful God that can deliver them from affliction, 
 who resolve to abandon themselves to the power 
 of Satanic darkness. 
 
 To return to our subject. Amelia, the gay 
 Amelia, kissed and wept upon the bosom of her 
 friend. "Ihave feeling," she said, "and thou 
 hast awakened it.'* At this moment the door 
 opened, and the Duke and Sir Everard entered ; 
 the latter, seeing his wife in tears, rushed to her, 
 and tenderly inquired the cause. She ingenuously 
 explained the conversation that had passed, pre- 
 paratory to the words of the Duchess, that nad 
 caused the emotion he beheld. " Amen to her 
 sweet prayer," cried he, in raptures ; " and do you 
 weep, Amelia, because her Grace implored the 
 
440 FATHEKLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 Divine goodness to bestow long life and happiness 
 upon us ?" " No," answered Lady Mornington, 
 affectionately embracing Sir Everard, " my tears 
 are those of joy." '•' Nought else shall here be 
 shed," exclaimed the Duke, " for peace doth 
 reign within these walls." He then saluted his 
 lovely Fanny. " I have been shewing Sir Everard, 
 my dear, all the grounds, and he is wonderfully 
 pleased with the picturesque prospect." " And 
 I have been diverting Amelia, by taking her all 
 over the house I believe. The library, however, 
 seems to have fixed her attention. I have done 
 wrong to bring her here, for now we shall have 
 less of her company." " Oh no, indeed you are 
 piistaken," said tiie sprightly dame, " I shall only 
 take the liberty of reading at those times when 
 you are employed in the affairs of your family ; as 
 to Sir Everard, he regularly shoots for a couple 
 of hours every morning, and when I'am not dis- 
 posed to attend him, you will permit me to amuse 
 myself here." " Is your Grace fond of shooting ?" 
 asked Sir Everard. " No," he replied, " it is a 
 sport I have always thought cruel, and therefore 
 liever participated in." Sir Everard looked dis- 
 appointed. " I would do any thing to oblige you, 
 my dear friend," continued the Duke, save re- 
 belling against my conscience — I can never be 
 reconciled to the destruction of what is the work 
 of an Almighty hand ; his righteous fiat created 
 every thing that is created, and he alone is em- 
 powered to destroy." Sir Everard did not, with 
 many others, spurn at religion, and despise its 
 professors ; though he adhered to the pleasures 
 of the age, his character was not tainted by any 
 odious vice. He listened to the argument held by 
 the Duke, and acknowledged the justice of it, but 
 could not consent to lay aside his favourite pas- 
 time. " What is a crime in one man," said he, "is 
 not ill another ; with your present sentiments 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 441 
 
 upon it you would be very reprehensible were 
 you to be prevailed on to engage in it. I may 
 upon reflection become a convert to your opinion, 
 but hitherto I have considered Shooting as an inno- 
 cent entertainment. The fault lies in persisting 
 in what our own heart dictates to us is wrong." 
 " Your observation is good," answered the Duke, 
 " and proves you not a stranger to theory." The 
 conversation here closed. Sir Everard went out 
 on his usual excursion, and his Lady sat down 
 to peruse some of the works that were so highly 
 recommended to her notice. The Duke had a 
 little business abroad, and the Duchess, as her 
 friend was so well employed, took her customary 
 round to visit her sick and distressed neighbours. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 An Adventure — Trne Benevolence evinced in the 
 issue of it y and Rejtectiotis on Goodness, proving 
 on experience. Charity to be its own JKeward. 
 
 As she was returning from her charitable ramble, 
 her steps were arrested by sounds of distress. 
 She listened, they seemed to proceed from a child; 
 she turned towards the spot, and presently per- 
 ceived a little girl about ten years of age, sitting 
 on a step, weeping in the bitterness of mental an- 
 guish; she humanely advanced, and regarding the 
 napless innocent with an expression of kind com- 
 miseration^, requested to be informed the nature 
 of her grief. " Oh Madam," said the poor girl, 
 
442 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 looking in the face of the Duchess, "deepindeeil 
 is the measure of my woe." " Speak, oh speak," 
 cried our heroine, impatiently, " reveal to me 
 your sorrows, and if human assistance can avail, 
 they shall be relieved.'^ She then delivered the 
 following artless tale. " My mother, Madam^ 
 resides in yonder cottage," pointing to a small 
 thatched hut at a little distance; "my father was 
 a shoemaker, but unhappily meeting with losses 
 in his business, he became a bankrupt. He was 
 an honest man," continued she, " and would have 
 paid if he could, but he was inevitably ruined, 
 every thing went to wreck, and all his dependance 
 was upon a gentleman who had known him in 
 better days,^ and felt for his misfortunes. With 
 a yearly allowance from this generous man, he 
 retired with my dear mother and myself, who was 
 their only surviving child, to the cottage you now 
 behold. We could exisrt;, though scantily, and fop 
 a great while my father, who had been respected 
 for his integrity of principle, obtained a little em* 
 ployment now and then, which helped us; but at 
 last he fell sick — this was an additional calamity. 
 To add to our distress, our quarter's payment was 
 due, and it came not at the usual time ; we were 
 fearful of offending our benefactor by noticing 
 the delay, yet, under such circumstances, what 
 could we do? My mother in our agony of mind, 
 wrote a few lines, briefly explaining my father's 
 illness, and the affliction we were all in, humbly 
 entreating his pardon for the liberty she took, and 
 begged to hear from him speedily. Soon, too 
 soon she received an answer, but not from him- 
 self, our amiable protector and friend was no more. 
 His brother, oh! how different a character, wrote 
 in the most inhuman manner, acquainting us that 
 the folly and extravagance of his relation had 
 long been gradually reducing him to a state of 
 beggary, and that in a fit of despair he had shot 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 443 
 
 himself. * Think not,' continued the unfeeling^ 
 wretch, ^ that I will add another fool to the num- 
 ber of my unfortunate family. My brother owed 
 his ruin to his ridiculous liberality, I owe my pros- 
 perity to my love of parsimony; I can, there- 
 fore, do nothing in your case, and I insist upon 
 never being teized by the objects of my deceased 
 relative's bounty.' I cannot describe, Madam, the 
 agonizing ^rief that pierced our souls at this 
 dreadful inmrmation ; my father in a dying state, 
 and destitute of every necessary, his end was ac- 
 celerated by the awful tidings ; he expired in two 
 days after it arrived, imploring heaven to preserve 
 his wife and child. Alas! what is farther to befal 
 us, T know not. We expect a jail to be our fate. 
 We have been punctual in our payments to the 
 landlord till the last quarter, when we had it not 
 to pay ; he is inexorable, and declares that he 
 shall seize immediately ; my father must be 
 buried by the parish, and that is hard, but God 
 rest his soul, he is as happy as if interred with 
 funeral pomp — it is my mother 1 am grieved for 
 now, his trials are I hope at an end, but she has yet 
 to suffer." Agathor, that was the little girl's name, 
 paused. The Duchess was charmed with the sim- 
 
 Elicity of her language, and moved to tears by 
 er pathetic story. " Conduct me to your mother, 
 my dear," said she, " I will alleviate her sorrows 
 if it is possible." She instantly led the way, and 
 her countenance brightened ud with a ray of hope. 
 When they entered the miserable hovel, the poor 
 woman was sitting by a rough oak table, her face 
 bathed in tears, and looking the melancholy image 
 of despondency. On perceiving her daughter ac- 
 companied by a lady of such extraordinary beauty 
 and elegant appearance, she started in astonish- 
 ment from her seat. " Do not be alarmed, my 
 good woman," said the Duchess, in a tone of 
 gentleness, peculiar to hejrself, " I have heard from* 
 
444 FAtHETlLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 this innocent the calamities you endure, and it is> 
 I trust, in my power to soften their heavy weight ; 
 here is a trifle for the present," jfVesenting her with 
 ten guineas, " in the course of the day, I will 
 do more for you." The grateful creature over- 
 powered with her feelings, was going to throw 
 herself at the feet of her benefactress, but she 
 prevented her. " View me," said she, " 1 am a 
 woman, created in the same mould with yourself; 
 because Providence has made me rich, shall I ex- 
 act submissions such as these. No, it is a duty 
 incumbent upon mortals to assist each other, and 
 I rejoice that the goodness of the Eternal has di- 
 rected me to this abode of wretchedness : chees 
 up, my friend, confide in the Divine mercy, and 
 your reward will be everlasting." " Oh may God 
 of heaven bless you," sobbed Mrs. Pierce, courtesy- 
 ing respectfully, "the prayers of the poor will 
 ever be offered up for your eternal welfare ; but, 
 dear and noble lady, let me know to whom 1 am 
 indebted for this support." " I am the Duchess 
 of Albemarle," modestly replied her Grace. This 
 intelligence created no amazement, as her air 
 and dignified deportment were sufficient indica- 
 tions of her quality. "■ You have saved my poor 
 child and myself from perishing by famine," cried 
 she, " and I would thank you if I could, but I 
 have no words to express my sentiments of gra- 
 titude." " You have already sufficiently express- 
 ed them," she returned, " I have only done what 
 we all should do, and 1 desire you will consider 
 me, not as the Duchess of Albemarle, but as a 
 friend, who sincerely compassionates your woes." 
 Mrs. Pierce could only say, " Heaven bless 
 your Grace." And the Duchess, as she depart- 
 ed, kissed her hand to the object of her mild 
 beneficence ; thus did the manner of her confer- 
 ing an obligation enhance its value. She re- 
 turned to Darby House, contemplating on the 
 
fHK LiTILE MENDICANT. 415 
 
 sceue of affliction she had witnessed, and medi- 
 tating on the ^raciousness of that God who had 
 endued her with a heart to pity, and the power to 
 relieve distress. Sir Everard and the Duke were 
 examining some admirable portraits, in an apart- 
 ment set aside for paintings, and particular curi- 
 osities. Lady Mornington was still in the library; 
 as soon as she heard the voice of her friend, she 
 hastened to meet her. " My dear Fanny," said 
 she, " I am quite in raptures with your favourite 
 Tasso. I never perused him with attention before, 
 or I could not fail to have been charmed ; he has 
 inspired me with the true spirit of poetry. But 
 you have been crying, what is the matter, my love?" 
 The Duchess recounted to her the adventures she 
 had met with, and Amelia, the tender hearted 
 Amelia, ever ready to administer to the wants of 
 the sufferer, instantly pulled out her purse, from 
 which she took forty guineas, saying, " she was 
 sure Sir Everard would contribute farther to the 
 assistance of the poor woman." As the gentle- 
 men were engaged, they walked into the gardens, 
 and there admired the beauteous face of nature. 
 Amelia was delighted with the choice assortment 
 of tlowers that ornamented the beautiful paths, 
 and as she surveyed the long majestic groves of 
 tree>i, which formed a lovely avenue to the house, 
 she acknowledged that felicity might be found in 
 verdant plains and rural bowers. " This retreat," 
 said she, entering an arbour, whose closing shade 
 was an invitation to repose within, " is surely the 
 habitation of the muses ; it cannot be the work 
 of terrestial beings. The voice of nature speaks 
 throughout the whole, and says, I created thee." 
 Fanny, in astonishment, exclaimed, "and is it 
 possible that the charms of this sweet delusion 
 can at once have made so deep an impression on 
 your mind. "It is both possible and probable," 
 returned Lady Mornington; "I can assure yoUj 
 19 3 L 
 
446 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 that in my present frame, and T do not think it 
 will materially alter, I could be content to live for 
 ever in glorious solitude, and ne'er behold the 
 face of London more." " Scarcely can I credit 
 what I here you yourself declare," answered the 
 Duchess, "as three hours have not yet performed 
 their revolution since you avowed your dislike to 
 the country, and professed your admiration of the 
 town." "True," replied the fair one, "but hasty 
 impressions prove oftener more indelible than those 
 contracted on reflection and by experience ; this 
 may appear a syllogism to you, yet it is just. 1 
 am not merely alluding to the present topic of 
 our discourse, though there it will hold good ; 
 but in afi*airs where the heart is concerned, as 
 love or friendship, I could convince you that the 
 first influence of those passions on our souls will 
 ever in a degree, reign predominant. We may, 
 for prudent reasons endeavour to restrain its as- 
 cendancy, but it will be difficult to efface its over- 
 powering heat. When I first saw Sir Everard 
 Mornington, I felt sensations I canrtot describe ; 
 I did not then know that they were the origin of 
 a tender, passion, but they increased, even with 
 thinking of him, and when he revealed the nature 
 of his sentiments in my favor, the pleasure with 
 which I listened to the soft tale was a sufficient 
 evidence that 1 loved. Yes, my Fanny, I loved 
 Sir Everard, and perhaps I was not so backward 
 in declaring it as some prudish things of my sex. 
 I have no notion of women concealing their pre- 
 deliction till the last moment, but indeed they 
 could not if their feelings were as strong as mine; 
 if they really dislike their suitor, let them dismiss 
 him at once ; if not, why such affectation and 
 nonsensical caprice." " I must allow the force of 
 your arguments," said the Duchess, " and per- 
 haps strengthen them by what I am going to 
 advance. At my first introduction to the Duke 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 447 
 
 of Albemarle, if I had not imagined him the in- 
 tended husband of my friend, I should probably 
 have been smitten with the fascinations of his per- 
 son and address; but that consideration, together 
 with the supposition that I was his inferior in 
 rank, made me on my guard against admitting 
 sentiments that would be injurious to my honor 
 and happiness. I saw his merit, and was sur- 
 prised that you should be indifferent to such per- 
 fections. Had I known your heart had been en- 
 gaged, I should no longer have wondered at your 
 obstinacy." 
 
 " The Duke certainly possessed every claim to 
 my esteem," answered Lady Mornington, " but 
 love I was a stranger to till Sir Everard secured 
 the victory. He was the great, the mighty con- 
 queror, that was to reign triumphant o'er this 
 heart." '* And there may he ever reign," cried 
 Fanny, " as firmly as the Duke does here." " I 
 hope he will," replied Amelia : '* they are both 
 deserving of our tenderest affections ; and happy, 
 happy are the unions founded on motives such as 
 ours." Having here concluded their observations, 
 and walked once more round the gardens, they 
 entered the house. The Duke and Sir Everard 
 were in the parlour, waiting their approach. 
 " You will be sorry. Sir Everard," said Amelia, 
 " that you have brought me here, for I shall now 
 be as solicitous to go down to your country seat, 
 as I have hitherto been desirous of remaining in 
 London. I am in absolute ecstacies with this 
 mansion, and yet more so with the gardens that 
 surround it." " You are altered, indeed, my dear," 
 smilingly answered Sir Everard, " but what will 
 you say when I affirm that I am as much so. I 
 have acquired as strong a distaste for busy life as 
 1 before was prejudiced in favor of it: and what 
 is still more astonishing, I have resolved to relin- 
 quish the pleasures of .shooting and the chase. I 
 
418 FATHEKLEtMd FANNY; Oft, 
 
 have taken my leave of them to day. You may 
 well look surprised, but I assure you it is the 
 truth. I have killed one brace of pheasants this 
 mornin^i:, though I must own, not without reluc- 
 tance ; and 1 have since pondered on ihe words 
 of the Duke, till I am nea^rly of his opinion. Do 
 not, therefore, my beloved, regret our cooing here, 
 as it has wrought so happy a change in us both.'' 
 _**I do not regret it, indeed," answered Amelia, 
 ** 1 was only fearful that you would." She then 
 mentioned the event of the morning, and the sum 
 she designed to contribute to the relref of the 
 opprest female. He warmly applauded her inten- 
 tion, and he and the Duke added another fifty 
 pounds, making, in all, a hundred. This they in- 
 stantly dispatched by a servant, the Duchess 
 sending a message, that she would visit her cot- 
 tage the next day. When he came back, he gave 
 such an account of the grateful joy with which 
 the poor soul was overwhelmed, as quite pene- 
 trated the bosoms of her amiable benefactors. 
 During dinner, the conversation was principally 
 on the subject. They all concurred in declaring 
 and believing, that charity was its own reward. 
 " There cannot be a clearer proof of this last as- 
 sertion," argued the Duke, ''than the blissful sen- 
 sations which the performance of a benevolent 
 action causes to arise in the human breast. Every 
 heart that is really invested with the feelings of 
 humanity, must have tasted these pleasurable 
 emotions. It is not the ostentatious satisfaction 
 of being loaded with thanks, that I mean. No, it 
 is the internal approbation of the soul, that is 
 higher, and far more exquisitely gratifying than 
 all the encomiums that can be heaped upon us; 
 and those alone can experience it, who do good, 
 not because they have the pattern of it in another, 
 but, taking example by our sacred Redeemer, act 
 aiujreeably to the dictates of a pure and unconta- 
 
Tllli LlTTLli MENDlCAxNT. 449 
 
 mhiated conscience. When this is the case, that 
 ever powerful monitor fails not to inform us ; and 
 it is likewise pleasing- to behold the heart-felt joy 
 of the individuals we snatch from ruin's speedy 
 brink. To have the blessings of the virtuous 
 poor is far more to be coveted than the false ca- 
 resses of the rich, who only praise us for too nearly 
 resenibling themselves." " True, indeed," an- 
 swered Sir Everard, " and never did I listen to 
 a moral discourse with such deep interest as I do 
 to your's. Your language is consistent with the 
 rules of reason ; and reason is a being that seems 
 discarded from the minds of the generality of the 
 world." " Reason is not required at the card- 
 table," said Lady Mornington, " and that is the 
 fashionable resort now for both sexes." " I am 
 amazed," replied the Duchess, "that people can 
 be so infatuated with a love of play. For my 
 part, I think it a dull, unmeaning amusement; and 
 instead of beguiling an hour, serves to render it 
 more tedious." "' I like a game very well, by 
 chance," answered Amelia^ " but I should be sorry 
 to devote half my time to it, as many do, who des- 
 pise nobler employments. The folly consists, in 
 my opinion, in the abuse of them, more than in 
 the cards themselves." " Your ideas correspond 
 with mine. Madam," said the Duke. " There are 
 many things that are harmless in themselves, 
 which are rendered criminal by being subverted 
 to evil purposes. Novels, for instance, are a kind 
 of reading universally in vogue, and Ihavenothing 
 to oiler against them. Numbers of them abound 
 in morality, and contain sentiments worthy to be 
 imbibed ; yet I believe, I may safely assert, that 
 they have corrupted the morals of more than they 
 have improved. The reason may be easily con- 
 jectured. The fault is not in the author, but in 
 the peruser. If people are determined to reject 
 every thing ehe, and spend whole days and years, 
 
450 FAtiiyiiLEKsi fanny; ok, 
 
 in the studying of what a few hours would suffice 
 to make them acquainted with, it is not to be 
 wondered at, that they produce in such the most 
 pernicious effects. Where they read them as a 
 *ort of pastime, and by way of choosing variety, 
 without their natures are depraved, these produc- 
 tions will never injure them. So it is with cards.. 
 Not that I design to place them upon a level with 
 any kind of books; for I think them far less ra- 
 tional than the most frivolous and unimportant. 
 At the same time, were they only made use of as 
 the diversion of an hour, and not with views of 
 gaming, they might be perfectly inoffensive. As 
 it is, thc}'^ are the root of every vice ; and farewell 
 to the happiness of those who indulge in them to 
 excess." " I never played for any large sum," 
 said Sir Everard, ''and always made up my mind 
 to lose, as I knew the chance on which it de- 
 pended. But I must acknowledge, I have felt 
 greater satisfaction in bestowing a trifle on this 
 distrest unhappy woman, than ever 1 did in win- 
 ning a prize. The latter success 1 was indebted 
 to fortune for obtaining ; but the former, goodness 
 inspired me with a desire to promote the welfare 
 of a fellow-creature ; and the action has rewarded 
 itself, which verifies the truth of your Grace's ob- 
 servation." " It certainly does," replied the Duke, 
 '" and every heart that is guided by motives pure 
 and systematical, must feel the inward estimation 
 I have described." 
 
 Dinner was now concluded, and the remainder 
 of the day was spent in talking over family topics. 
 Thus had a few hours made entire converts of the 
 blooming Lady Mornington, and the once gay 
 husband. They had been gradually yielding to 
 the power of reason and reflection, and may at 
 length be denominated, beings not unacquainted 
 with the charms of sentimentality. 
 
THE fclT/KLE MliNDICAN T. 45l 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 Visit to the Cottage, and Dreadful Catastrophe. 
 
 Early the following morning;, the Duchess went, 
 as she had promised, to visit the cottage of Mrs. 
 Pierce. Agathor beheld her approach, and ran, 
 with streaming eyes, to meet and bless the saviour 
 of herself and parent. The Duchess kindly took 
 her hand, and begging her not to weep, led her 
 into the hut. To describe the scene that ensued 
 between her grateful parent and our amiable 
 heroine, would be a task inadequate to perform. 
 Upon the latter desiring her to restrain her thanks, 
 she said, " would you, Madam, deprive me of 
 the only means by which I can support my weight 
 of obligation. Were not my overcharged heart 
 to pour forth the weak effusions of my humble 
 gratitude, it must burst asunder. Your Grace's 
 benevolence has preserved my poor dear husband 
 from being interred by the parish. 1 shall now 
 be able to lay him comfortable in the ground, 
 and that is a greater consolation to my soul, than 
 the thought of any personal benefit. We once. 
 Madam, lived in credit ; but misfortunes over- 
 took us. Such misfortunes as we are all liable 
 to meet with. With pleasure, however, 1 can, 
 state, that they did not originate in our own im- 
 prudence. This reflection brought a gleam of 
 satisfaction to the mijjd of my deceased husband, 
 even in his departing moments. His conscience 
 had nothing to reproach him with ; therefore, he 
 died happier than many a prince, who has closed 
 his existence beneath a gilded canopy of state, and 
 
4.5'2 FATHERLESS FAN.NT; OR, 
 
 with ills bed surrounded by nurses and physicians. 
 Hehad uothingto tranquillize his exhausted frame, 
 but that inward serenity which none can feel save 
 those who act uprightly. He injured no one — he 
 opprest no one — and he is gone, i hope, to the re- 
 gions of the blest." Mrs. Pierce here wept a tor- 
 rent of tears to the memory of him, who was be- 
 yond the, reach of hearing them. The Duchess 
 tenderly sj^mpathised in her affliction. Seeing 
 Agathor weeping in melancholy silence, she said, 
 " You have a good little girl : she, 1 hope, w ill 
 be a comfort to you." "^ She is, indeed, my only 
 remaining comfort," sighed Mrs. Pierce. "She is 
 a dutiful child, and possesses sensibility above 
 her years. Kiss me, my Agathor." She run to 
 her mother, and folding her arms about her neck, 
 embraced her with true affection. Her endear- 
 ments were returned by her sorrowing parent with 
 maternal warmth. The heart of the Duchess 
 bounded with mournful transport at this affecting 
 scene. It rejoiced her to perceive the love that 
 reigned in the bosoms of this poor but worthy 
 woman, and her innocent child. Internally she 
 observed, there are stronger feelings in a cottage 
 than in a palace. The latter banish every sensa- 
 tion that could give them pain. The former en- 
 courage the exquisite acuteness of their anguish, 
 at least, in so high a degree, as to render them 
 deserving of being ranked amongst reasonable 
 mortals. Who, oh ! who, would aspire to riches 
 and a title, to be divested of every natural, every 
 refined sentiment ! Amiable Fanny ! how few 
 can boast of a mind elevated as thine. Had all, 
 with an equal share of power, the same exalted 
 inclinations, what a benevoLnt globe should we 
 reside on, instead of the excessive penury we 
 daily b(diold. Indigence would be generally re- 
 lieved ; and the great people would leave a name 
 Mot of infamv but of honour. Their characters 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 
 
 453 
 
 would be held up to posterity, as worthy of ever- 
 lasting perpetuation ; and their bright example 
 would be followed by succeeding generations. 
 But, what do I say ? The world is for itself — God 
 is for us all. He preserves us, but we protect not 
 one another. To proceed. The Duchess staid 
 some little time conversing with the objects of her 
 bounty ; and at length left them overpowered 
 with her goodness. Having visited her other de- 
 pendants with her usual benificence, she returned 
 to Darby House. There, alas! her spirits were 
 doomed to receive a considerable shock. A letter 
 awaited her arrival, from her unfortunate and most 
 unhappy friend, Lady Maria Ballafyn, late Ross. 
 It was sealed with black wax. Trembling with 
 impatience and alarm, she opened it. Its terrible 
 contents were as follows : — 
 
 " My beloved Fanny, 
 
 ^< I am distracted — Lord Ballafyn has commit- 
 ted the rash act of suicide ; he has for a length of 
 time been relapsing into all his former vices. I 
 was deceived, in imagining him reformed ; but, 
 oh Fanny, little did I think he meditated self- < , 
 destruction. On Tuesday afternoon, he had been 
 treating me with more cruelty and indifference 
 than he was accustomed to do, and at last, upon 
 my venturing mildly to expostulate with him, he 
 rushed franticly up stairs, and presently I heard 
 the report of a pistol. I flew towards the fatal 
 spot, but it was too late to prevent the awe-inspir- 
 ing deed, or save the guilty perpetrator from its 
 dreadful consequences ; he was stretched on the 
 ground, in the agonies of death. The noise of 
 the pistol had alarmed the house, and the servants 
 were in a moment in the apartment. I assisted 
 them in endeavouring to raise him — he was 
 sensible, * Leave me, Maria,' said he,/ I desire 
 not your presence ; you can only be come to load 
 
 No. 20. 3 M 
 
4e54 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OU, 
 
 lue with upbraidings, and in this moment of ex- 
 tremity they may be spared.' ' Oh, how wrong 
 a judgment have you formed of your unhappy 
 wife,' cried I, in an agony too great to be descri- 
 bed — 'Indeed, indeed, my Lord, you are mis- 
 taken. I hoped to save a life that ever was and 
 ever will be dear to me.' He looked at me wildly, 
 and then said — * and does my Maria speak to me in 
 accents such as these? Dear inspired excellence, 
 how deeply I have wronged thee. Oh, mercy, 
 heaven ! Mercy, did I say? Mercy, on a wretch 
 like me ? The murderer of a brother ! and lastly, 
 the murderer of myself!' He was by this time 
 put to bed, and medical aid had arrived. Three 
 gentlemen of the faculty were called in, and they 
 all gave it as their opinion, that twenty-four hours 
 would decide the patient's fate ; they faintly inti- 
 mated that it might be favourable, but forbade us 
 to expect that it would. They recommended, that 
 he should be kept perfectly quiet, as the least 
 agitation would increase his danger. Several shots 
 had lodged in his left side ; these it was im- 
 possible at present to extract, as he was in a rag- 
 ing fever. I watched by his bed-side, with un- 
 ceasing attention — he called me his guardian angel, 
 and implored me to supplicate the Most High 
 in his behalf. He showed no symptoms of de- 
 lirium, but maintained his senses to the very last. 
 * Do you really forgive me ?' said he, pressing my 
 hand to his burning lips. ' Yes,' I returned, ' as 
 God is my eternal witness, I forgive thee.' * 1 con- 
 fess,' he continued, 'that I have been the de-* 
 stroyer of thy felicity ; that I am the most wicked 
 of creatures.' ' No,' I replied, * not so ; you are 
 at least wakened to a conviction of your errors ; 
 and the Saviour, who shed the grand atoning work 
 of grace, will I trust, have mercy on your trans- 
 gressions, and receive you to his Courts above,' 
 ^ Oh ! cease Maria,' said my dying Lord, ' to 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT* 455 
 
 encourage me with hopes it would be presump- 
 tuous to entertain. 1 have sinned too far to be 
 an object of interest with the Lord* 1 have infa- 
 mously defied his power, and I dare not e^*en pray 
 for pardon.' At this moment, a clergyman came 
 to converse with him, who had been sent for by 
 his own desire. I offered to retire, but my Lord 
 requested me to stay and join in prayer with the 
 worthy divine; this I did most fervently. He 
 prayed for upwards of two hours with true devo- 
 tion, and he seemed at length to have derived 
 comfort from the consolations that were offered by 
 the excellent Dr. Woodward, for that was the 
 name of the reverend gentleman; after he had left 
 him he grew gradually more composed, and talked 
 very rationally on the subject of death — a state to 
 which he was so near hastening. ' I would live 
 a little longer to repent,' he cried, ^ but it cannotbe. 
 I feel that my end draws nigh ; I have limited 
 the period of my days, and taken the almighty 
 power into my hands.' He then fell into a slum- 
 ber, but it was far from refreshing, his dreams 
 were disturbed and uneasy. As soon as he awoke, 
 he called for me ; I had not quitted the room, but 
 was withdrawn to a farther part — I was instantly 
 at his side. ' My dear Maria,' said he, ' can you 
 support this scene of melancholy ; you that have 
 been so unaccustomed to such mournful images 
 of horror V * Oh, are you better ?' I exclaimed, in 
 a voice of agony. ' Better,' answered he, * no, I 
 am much worse, I can hardly endure the pain I 
 suffer ; but it will not be of much longer duration ; 
 that is to say, my present tortures — the future I am 
 unacquainted with.' ' I hope the present will be 
 all,' I replied. 'I would fain hope so too,' he 
 ejaculated, 'but I dare not expect it, for I am 
 very wicked. My brother's blood calls aloud for 
 vengeance, and it must be satisfied.' 1 strove to 
 console him, by representing, ' that his brother's 
 
456 FATHSRLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 guilt was equal to his, that he had not wantonly 
 planned the method of his dissolution, but had 
 placed his own life in danger, in engaging in a 
 duel.' * This is true,' he returned, ' and I felt ex- 
 asperated against him, but I should have con- 
 sidered the ties of consanguinity, and not have 
 imbrued my hands in a brother's blood. I sent 
 him out of the world unprepared to meet the 
 Sovereign Judge. His crimes were black as mine, 
 save in this last sad instance. He had time al- 
 lowed him for repentance, and oh, may that re- 
 pentance have availed him in the sight of his 
 Maker; may his sins be obliterated before him, 
 and his soul have received admission into his sa- 
 cred kingdom.' He was now so faint he could 
 not proceed ; after this period, he held no regular 
 discourse, but spoke a few words at intervals. 
 He expired in less than twenty-four hours from 
 the time of the direful disaster, his hand clenched 
 in mine, and calling on the name of Jesus. Here 
 was indeed an awful scene. Lord Ballafyn, in the 
 prime of life, cut off in a moment, by violent 
 measures ; dreadful to state — his own executioner. 
 Pity me, dearest Fanny. But what do I ask ? 
 Need I doubt your commiseration ? 1 know your 
 tenderness of heart. I loved Lord Ballafyn, cruel 
 as he has behaved to me, 1 loved him; but I could 
 have supported his loss with resignation — had it 
 happened under any other auspices — as it is, 1 can 
 scarcely endure my weight of grief. Unite your 
 prayers with mine, for his eternal repose ; his con- 
 trition was great, and God's justice surpasseth all 
 understanding. In a state bordering on mental 
 detraction, I style myself, 
 
 Your truly affectionate. 
 
 But most afflicted Friend, 
 
 Maria Ballafyn." 
 
 The Duchess had nearly swooned, as she peru- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 457 
 
 sed this dreadful letter. " Good God!" exclaimed 
 she, ' pity thee, yes, dear Maria, companion of 
 my early infancy, I do indeed pity thy calamity ! 
 Unfortunate fair, to have fixed thy affections on 
 such a wretch." When she communicated the 
 sad catastrophe to the Duke, and to the humane 
 Sir Everard and his lady, they were inexpressibly 
 shocked. Every heart compassionated the gentle 
 Maria, whose amiable virtues shone conspicuous 
 on every occasion. And despicable as was the 
 character of Lord Ballafyn, now that his career 
 was over, his sufferings called forth the tear of 
 anguish ; he had repented his enormities, though 
 when too late to amend ; and even the last action 
 of his guilty life, he had been spared long enough 
 after its commission, to evince the sincerity of his 
 penitence ; for which reason we hope he is for- 
 Sjiven by the Creator he so highly offended. The 
 Duchess, after the first violent emotions of h«r 
 mind had subsided, took up her pen to write an 
 answer to her friend. She condoled with her in 
 the most soothing language she could devise, as- 
 sured her of her continued love and esteem, and 
 implored her to direct al] her thoughts to the 
 grand Disposer of events ; Him, who could alone 
 console her in her afflictions. She mentioned her 
 knowledge of Dr. Woodward, and described him 
 as the most amiable of men ; concluding; by once 
 more entreating her to confide in the goodness of 
 infinite wisdom. Her letter was a cordial to the 
 drooping soul of the opprest Lady Ballafyn. She 
 kissed, and wept over this testimony of ardent 
 affection. *^ Oh," said she, " that I had never 
 exchanged the name of Trentham for that of Ross; 
 I had now been in the enjoyment of felicity, and 
 perhaps my husband living ; for if he had never 
 married me, he might have escaped the rock of 
 dissipation into which he plunged. His heart was 
 never mine, though his hand was proffered at 
 
458 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 the altar ; but I was weak enough to believe hi 
 the sincerity of his protestations of attachment, 
 Happy in the imagined possession of his love, too 
 readily I consented to become his wife. 1 should 
 not so hastily have disposed of myself. 
 
 Such were the melancholy reflections of the de- 
 jected Lady Ballafyn. Her mother, the Marchi- 
 oness of Petersfield, as soon as she heard the dis- 
 mal tidings, hastened to her sorrowing daughter. 
 The presence of her parent had been ever gratify- 
 ing — it was peculiarly so at this moment. From 
 whom could she hope for consolation so effectu- 
 ally, as from the force of maternal affection. The 
 Marchioness was a woman of exquisite sensibility, 
 and possessed most acute sensations. It was long 
 'ere either of them could utter a word ; but con- 
 tinued to weep upon the bosoms of each other. 
 At length Lady Maria strove to express the satis- 
 faction at beholding her mother. The Marchio- 
 ness spoke the language of comfort to her tortured 
 breast, and she succeeded in restoring her to a 
 degree of composure. 
 
 We leave tnem, and return to Darby House. 
 This unhappy event threw a damp even over the 
 spirits of the sprightly Amelia. Though unac- 
 quainted with Lady Ballafyn, she largely partici- 
 pated in her woes. She had heard the Duchess 
 speak of her in such terms as had created the 
 warmest esteem in her favour ; but, exclusive of 
 this, she would have pitied her as a woman, had 
 she been a stranger to her character. A female 
 that does not sympathize in the afflictions of her 
 sex, is hardly worthy to be called a woman. Lady 
 Mornington was not of this description. She was 
 sorry for every distress, and particularly for this 
 deserving Lady, who had been rendered miserable 
 by the late vile dissimulator. " Every thing 1 
 observe," remarked she, to the Duchess of Albe- 
 marle, " confirms my reverence to heaven for the 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 459 
 
 blessings I enjoy. When I look around the wide 
 universe, and see the numberless varieties of 
 wretchedness that its inhabitants are compelled 
 to endure, and then view my own situation, I think 
 that I am an object of peculiar bounty. The idea 
 may be presumptuous, yet it is powerful; and I 
 should be the very essence of ingratitude, were I 
 not constantly to return thanks for the manifold 
 graciousness of the Eternal." Her Grace express- 
 ed herself of the same opinion ; as, indeed, every 
 person must who thinks of religion in a propei* 
 light. The obligations we are severally under, to 
 the beneficent Author of our being, and of every 
 felicity we enjoy, demand our signal veneration ; 
 and it is not satisfaction at an Dther's misery that 
 should increase our happiness. That would be 
 a selfish and inhuman joy ; but, surely, when we 
 behold the sufl'erings of our fellow-creatures, and 
 consider that we are exempt from such and such 
 calamities, we should be grateful for the mercies 
 showered on our heads, and not impiously imagine 
 them our due. The Duchess now prepared to 
 write an account of the dreadful transaction to 
 the EUincourts, who she knew would sincerely 
 lament the sorrows of their amiable relation. The 
 lovely Maria was an universal favourite, from the 
 numerous mild and dignified virtues which cha- 
 racterised her nature. Her praiseworthy conduct 
 as a wife deserves to be particularly noticed, 
 though her tenderness had never been repaid by 
 Lord Ballafyn, but with cruel and unworthy treat- 
 ment. She had from the day that united her to 
 him till the hour of his dissolution, maintained the 
 niostaff*ectionate behaviour. She was convinced, 
 that adopting contrary methods could be of no 
 service, except degrading her. But she always 
 entertained a hope, that her continued love and at- 
 tention might effect a reformation in his heart ; 
 .and notwitnstanding it failed in this case, let not 
 
460 -^ FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 my fair readers be dissuaded from practising the 
 same ; for never was their an instance of a man 
 being conquered, by a woman assuming the curb 
 of authority ; but many, many have been con- 
 vinced of their errors, and brought to a know- 
 ledge of their duties, by subduing gentleness and 
 mild en-treaty. They may be won by affection, 
 but never will be awed by tyranny. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 Indisposition of JLady Ellincourt—Crini. Con. 
 ill high life. 
 
 When the Ellincourts received the afflicting in- 
 telligence, they were, as may be imagined, truly 
 frieved for the sufferings of Lady Ballafyn. The 
 ealth of the Dowager Lady Ellincourt had been 
 for some weeks visibly on the decline. The shock 
 she now sustained affected her spirits to a violent 
 degree, and increased the indisposition under 
 which she laboured. Lord Ellincourt declared 
 that his fair cousin ought to rejoice, and not to 
 lament the death of such a wretch." "He murdered 
 the happiness of the sweetest of women," cried 
 he, " and, if 1 was her, instead of mourning at 
 his decease, 1 would leave the willow for a 
 worthier object, and assume the garb of joyous 
 exultation." "Oh, fie! Edmund," said his mo- 
 ther, " thus to express yourself on an event that 
 plunges every other individual into the deepest 
 affliction." '' 1 am afflicted o» her account," 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 461 
 
 warmly replied he, " I have the sincerest affec- 
 tion for my amiable cousin, but I cannot endure 
 the thought that she should shod a tear to the 
 memory of a man who has proved himself so 
 utterly undeserving of her. His life was as aban- 
 doned as his end was unbecoming." " It is the 
 knowledge of his wickedness that creates these 
 emotions in our breasts," said Lady Emily. " It is 
 awful to reflect on the future state of a character 
 so depraved. His vices were rendered more 
 heinous by the artifice with which he sought to 
 
 floss them over; and the warning that was offered 
 im in the fate of his guilty brother, had he ac- 
 cepted, he might have become a worthy member 
 of society for the remainder of his days. But his 
 apparent reform, and the relapse, proved that the 
 seeds of corruption were sown into his nature, 
 and that his heart was hardened to conviction ; it 
 is not the loss of such a husband that can be a 
 source of calamity to the gentle Maria, but it is 
 the consideration of — oh! dreadful idea — of what 
 may be his everlasting doom." 
 
 This latter suggestion checked the vivacity of 
 Lord Ellincourt. He acknowledged the impro- 
 priety of jesting on a subject so replete with so- 
 lemnity ; but repeated his detestation of the prin- 
 ciples of Lord Ballafyn. " I always despised him," 
 continued he, " since he uttered a vile insinuation 
 respecting her who now is Duchess of Albemarle 
 — his daring to suspect me of designing the deli- 
 berate perversion of an innocent and lovely girl, 
 rendered him, from that moment, odious in my 
 e3'es. I had never thought highly of his moral 
 character ; but the greatest libertine in the world, 
 I should have imagined, could not have been so 
 base as to have devised plans for the seduction of 
 a child. He was sufficiently a villain, however, 
 for the basest of all purposes ; and because I had 
 unthinkingly participated in too many of his pur- 
 20. 3 N 
 
462 FATHERLESS FANNV; OK, 
 
 suits, be believed that I was capable of practising 
 vice ill any shape. I always felt the stigma cast 
 upon my fame, by such a suspicion ; and I ab- 
 horred the fiend that had grossly intimated it." 
 *' Your w.armth on this point is natural," answered 
 his mother, " many men would have resented it 
 in a way that [ have ever rejoiced you did not ; 
 but, 1 am sorry to say, there are a class of beings, 
 without being as diabolically inclined as the object 
 we are speaking of, who are loath to ascribe merit 
 to the actions of their fellow creatures. They im- 
 pute the most benevolent deeds to motives vastly 
 foreign from the truth, and interpret virtueintothe 
 extremes of vice. So cruel is the world, that 
 those people who have no goodness or humanity 
 in themselves, cannot bear to find others possest 
 of any. They would, in fact, banish such senti- 
 ments from the human breast ; but they will never 
 succeed where they are radically engrafted in the 
 heart." ''No," replied Emily, "it is not every 
 one whose bosom will admit corruption, though 
 there are numbers not proof against the tempter." 
 ** I never presumed to boast of extraordinary 
 goodness," said Lord Ellincourt, " but 1 think 
 and hope I should have shuddered, even in my 
 most dissipated hours^^t an act of premeditated 
 baseness." 
 
 Lord Ellincourt did not, like many of his sex, 
 attempt to conceal the imprudences of his youth 
 from his amiable lady. He was too ingenuous in 
 his temper to attempt dissimulation. The sin- 
 cerity of his affection for Emily was evident ; and 
 his conduct, since his marriage, had secured her 
 from jealousy. It showed him the more noble 
 therefore to confess the failings he had been guilty 
 of; and instead of weakening her attachment, it 
 strengthened it on more durable grounds. 
 
 To add to the already too heavy burden of woe, 
 news was received from Ireland of the death, after 
 
THK LITTLE MENDICAXT. 463 
 
 a short illness, of Lady Caroljiio. The Dowager 
 Ladj'^ Ellincourt bore it with that calm resigna- 
 tion which ever accompanies those who believe 
 that the decrees of Him who rules the universe 
 must be wise and just : yet it Avill not excite sur- 
 prise, that such reiterated trials should have pro- 
 duced the most dangerous consequences on a con- 
 stitution very far from robust. She had a mind 
 that never permitted itself to be depressed at 
 trifles ; but no one suffered more severely under 
 the force of real calamity. The strongest minds 
 feel more intense anguish than those which are 
 termed weak ones. The latter are opprest at 
 things that are of no moment as much as if they 
 were of the utmost importance ; but the former 
 spare their sorrow for the hour when efficient rea- 
 sons shall demand the tear of agony or sympath^^ 
 Thus did Lady Ellincourt. She was ever ready 
 to weep at affliction, whether she or her friend 
 experienced it. Nor was it for herself alone 
 she now endured the bitterness of grief, though 
 ber own troubles preponderated over every 
 other. 
 
 We shall leave her for a while, and give our 
 readers a brief account of the farther misfortunes 
 of that worthy nobleman, Lord Mountmorris, 
 whose case must have raised commiseration in 
 every feeling bosom. His woes were now com- 
 plete. His guilty abandoned wife had eloped 
 with the yet more abandoned Sir Richard Palmer. 
 When Lord M. returned from the affecting inter- 
 view that has been detailed, between him and 
 Lady Ellincourt, he went immediately to the 
 apartment of his Lady. She was sitting by the 
 window, her arm resting carelessly on its frame, 
 and reading a letter. On perceiving the entrance 
 of her Lord, she colored ^ and put it hastily into 
 her bosom. " You need not. Madam," said he, 
 advancing towards her, *'have feared that Ishould 
 
464 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR^ 
 
 inquire into the contents of the paper you were pe^ 
 rusing, as I have not so much curiosity about mat- 
 ters that concern you. Your insufferable beha- 
 viour when last we parted, has rendered you an 
 object too contemptible in my eyes for your pre- 
 sent or future conduct to occasion me the least un- 
 easiness. I never thought 1 could have despised 
 Lady Mountmorris ; but the weak artifice she has 
 practised upon my too easy credulity, is not to be 
 forgot, though forgiven. I forgive you. Madam, 
 from my soul ; but the purport 6t' my visit is, to 
 insist upon an immediate separation. I do not 
 wish it to take place in animosity. I repeat, that 
 I bear none to you. 1 would, at this moment, re- 
 sign my existence to promote your welfare ; yet 
 hear me, Madam, and do not interrupt what T am 
 going to say. I will no longer be the dupe of 
 vanity and base dissimulation. I have suffered 
 the dictates of an extravagant affection to lead me 
 beyond the bounds of reason ; but there is a pe- 
 riod when all shall be convinced of their errors. A 
 day is not far off, when, perhaps, your Ladyship 
 will repent of the part you have acted. However, 
 to bring matters to a speedy conclusion, will you 
 give your consent to a divorce ? Iwill state to you 
 the terms by which we part ; and I hope you will 
 not think me ungenerous. Your fortune is suffi- 
 cient to maintain you in splendour. I shall allow 
 you an additional annuity of five thousand pounds, 
 which shall be regularly paid, while your character 
 is untainted. Should 1 find that degraded, you 
 •cannot blame me if I withdraw it. Do you, or do 
 you not accede to these measures ?" Had her 
 Ladyship entertained the smallest particle of love 
 for Lord M. this cool deliberate way of arguing 
 "would have affected her twenty times more than 
 if he had been to a passion ; but her heart was 
 insensible to a manner refined as his. She seemed 
 totally at a loss how to answer him ; but kept 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 465 
 
 twirling lier fan, and swelling with pride and in- 
 dignation. He grew impatient for a reply. " My 
 conduct to you, Madam, has been honourable — I 
 expect to be treated with the same." " Really 
 my Lord," exclaimed she, at length, "you are so 
 impetuous, there is no knowing how to deal with 
 you." " Oh, no, Madam, you are mistaken ; I am 
 not impetuous, but calm and determined. It is of 
 no use to evade my question, for I will be an- 
 swered." After some farther hesitation, she said, 
 " Well, my Lord, as we cannot agree, I think it 
 reasonable that we should separate, and your eon- 
 ditions are certainly honourable; but you must 
 allow me to-day to consider of the affair — to- 
 morrow morning it shall be settled to your satis- 
 faction." This reply, though it abounded in indif- 
 ference, contained a larger share of condescension 
 than he had ventured to hope for from Lady M. 
 He granted Jier request ; and bowing politely, 
 left her to her meditations. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that he could wish to 
 pass another hour in the presence of the woman 
 who had ruined his tranquillity for ever. For, 
 let it not be imagined, that he could forget the 
 love he once had borne her. No, affection is not 
 so easily eradicated. Though he despised her 
 principles, he could not hate tlie woman. Her be- 
 haviour at his entrance, and the haste with which 
 she folded up what he feared, and not unjustly, 
 was a guilty evidence of shame, excited suspicions 
 in his breast, very injurious to the honour of his 
 Lady; and, notwithstanding his apparent uncon- 
 cern before her, his soul was a conflict of agitating 
 passions. " Yet, wherefore," cried he, " am I thus 
 tortured and unhappy. She is lost to me — she 
 shall be lost to me. Ah! but shall another tram- 
 ple on my rights, and dare to bask in beauty's 
 arms, while I, condemning, and condemned, wan- 
 der through the earth alone ? Shall this wretch — 
 
466 FATHERLESS FANNY; OH, 
 
 this Sir Richard Pahiier, who is himself the hus- 
 band of the most amiable of women, be the man 
 to destroy my everlasting peace ? Oh, Charlotte ! 
 Charlotte ! little did 1 think, when leading thee to 
 the hymeneal altar, how soon I should repent my 
 vows. Unworthy woman, lost to virtue, and thy- 
 self. Was that charming person bestowed upon 
 thee that thou mightest have the power of sub- 
 duing all mankind, without ever forming a ra- 
 tional attachment for any one individual? Great 
 Heaven, how wide a contrast between thy exter- 
 nal and internal perfections ! Was thy mind as 
 noble as thy exterior is lovely, happy would have 
 been the lot of thy husband. As it is, 1 am the 
 most miserable of my sex." In this strain Lord 
 M. bent his steps to a coffee-house he was accus- 
 tomed to frequent. His chagrin was noticed by 
 his companions, and some of them rallied him 
 upon the cause of it. His Lady had made her 
 character too conspicuous not to be known to 
 every one ; and by all his friends it was held in 
 the contempt it deserved. '' Well, Charles," said 
 Lord Belgrove, "still does your countenance wear 
 that melancholy aspect, and all concerning that 
 painted darling of yours. 1 would sacrifice the 
 whole sex before I would submit to be made 
 eternally miserable by the arts of a perfidious fair. 
 Mountmorris," he continued, "I am astonished at 
 your want of resolution. Your present life is a 
 state of wretchedness; and, till you are deter- 
 mined to be free, as once you were, never expect 
 felicity, for it is a gift that cannot be possessed with 
 Lady M." His Lordship answered, that he had 
 formed a resolution, and explained the terms by 
 M'hich he intended to gain a separation. " You 
 are too generous," exclaimed his friends, "she has 
 enough to support her in elegance, and why should 
 you contribute to the maintenance of a woman 
 who is totally beneath your notice, and that can 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 467 
 
 already be indulged in every superfluity." " 1 
 would not go from my word," replied Lord Mount- 
 morris. "" 1 have agreed to this settlement, under 
 the conditions named, and cannot swerve from 
 them. T would wish to act honourably by her, 
 though she has behaved with such injustice to me." 
 Arguments were then produced for and against 
 this undue liberality. But he still maintained his 
 determination ; and, after some hours' conversation, 
 in which they sought to console him different ways, 
 he quitted the party, and prepared to return home 
 — a home that was now, alas! become hateful to 
 him. He supped, however, at the house of a 
 friend, and then repaired to Favel Lodge. When 
 he arrived there, he was informed, by his servants, 
 that Lady M. had retired to her chamber for the 
 night. As he was no longer the slave of her 
 charms, he retired to a room where he could, m 
 secret meditate on his sorrows. His rest was far 
 from tranquil. His imagination was haunted 
 with visions of wild affright — visions that were, 
 alas! too fatally realized. In the morning: he 
 ordered his breakfast to be brought up stairs, as 
 he was resolved not to see his Lady, till he went 
 to receive his final answer. His commands were 
 obeyed. On inquiring after Lady M. he was 
 told she had not yet risen ; a circumstance that 
 rather surprised him, as she was by no means a 
 late riser. A horrid foreboding of evil flashed 
 across his mind. He was upon the point of di- 
 recting the domestics to ask if she was within her 
 chamber, but fearing to betray his emotion, he 
 left the breakfast parlour and descended to his 
 study. The first object that met his eye, was a 
 bit of paper, folded up, and directed to himself. 
 Instinctively he took hold of it. It was the hand- 
 writing of his guilty wife. The contents were as 
 follows : — 
 
468 FATHILKLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 " My Lord, 
 
 **By the time you have read this, I shall be be- 
 yond the reach of your pursuit. I have adopted 
 the only method to free myself from restraint. I 
 acquit you of every imputation ; but the cares of 
 a wife are very far from suiting my disposition. T 
 have money enough, therefore want no addition 
 from your Lordship. You may perhaps guess the 
 partner of my flight, but attempt not to follow us, 
 for it will be of no avail. I never loved you, my 
 Lord, as I have repeatedly declared, and as it 
 was not In my power to make you happy, do not 
 blame me for making another so, who can fully 
 return the obligation that is conferred. 
 
 " 1 am, my Lord, wishing you every felicity, 
 
 " Your's, 
 
 *' Charlotte." 
 
 '* Dreadful," exclaimed Lord Mountmorris, 
 • throwing down the letter and stamping upon it. 
 *' Infamous woman — disgrace to thy sex ; follow 
 thee, no — I despise thee and thy accursed para- 
 mour too much to risk my life about thee. I 
 would once have fought for thee — died for thee; 
 but now it is all over; contempt and bitter indig- 
 nation have conquered love," furiously he con- 
 tinued, as if shocked at the remotest sugges- 
 tion of a faint remains of affection. For some 
 minutes he walked about the room in a state of 
 frantic distraction. His servants having heard 
 some exclamations of alarm, hastened to their 
 master, who they feared was ill. Observing their 
 terrified looks, he said, " My friends, your mis- 
 tress has yielded herself to the arms of a sedu- 
 cer." They started with horror. " Nay, start 
 not, nor be distressed at the information, for she 
 was as unworthy of your services, as of my re- 
 gard." He now inquired whether they were cer- 
 
T«E LITTLE MENDICANT. 469 
 
 tain if their lady had slept at home? They answered 
 in the affirintitive. U pon entering her chamber, 
 however, that did not confirm their assertions;, as 
 , it was evident from the situation of the bed, that 
 no person had been in it. Her own female atten- 
 dant was not to be found, so that she had doubt- 
 less accompanied her mistress ; the rest were ig- 
 norant of tne matter. These circumstances were 
 a convincing proof that she had eloped the night 
 before, and on a farther investigation, it was yet 
 more fully ascertained ; all her jewels and apparel 
 were gone, her flight, therefore, must have been 
 premeditated. After the first emotions had sub- 
 sided, he wrote to Lady Ellincourt, acquainting 
 her with his misfortunes, she being the only friend 
 that truly condoled with him in his calamity. This 
 was a third dreadful stroke to that amiable lady; 
 she never felt her family afltlictions so acutely, as 
 to prevent her sharing in the sorrows of others. 
 She particularly commiserated those of the ex- 
 cellent Lord M. who deserved to have possessed 
 the best, instead of the worst of women — but thus 
 unequally are mortals joined — virtue and infamy 
 are too often united. We shall proceed in our 
 next, to give a short account of the elopement. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIIL 
 
 The Elopement J and Friendly Condolence. 
 
 From the period of Sir Richard Palmer's first 
 meeting with Lady Mountmorris, at Pemberton 
 Abbey, he had determined on completing her 
 20, 3 o 
 
*470 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 ruin. They mutually read the language of each 
 other's eyes ; and those ready instruments of de- 
 struction contain a much larger share of expression, 
 than any words that can be uttered by the tongue. 
 If a countenance would betoken anger, love, friend- 
 ship, or soft-beaming pity, all those sensations may 
 be discovered in an eye. There is not a passion 
 that can be named tliat may not be traced in legi- 
 ble characters, on viewing those organs of refined 
 sentiment, or its reverse. This guilty pair were re- 
 ciprocally inspired with what they termed an ar- 
 dent flame. I will not presume to call it love, as 
 it was only the effect of unlawful desires. Sir 
 Richard soon found an opportunity of declaring 
 himself to the object of his depraved affections. 
 He had not much difficulty in conveying a letter to 
 her hands ; and it was answered as warmly as he 
 could expect. Several epistles passed between 
 them. Meanwhile the amiable Lady Palmer suf- 
 fered additional tyranny from her cruel husband. 
 She was just in her suspicions. She had, indeed, 
 a dangerous rival in Lady M. She had always 
 been slighted by Sir Richard, but since his intro- 
 duction to that beautiful woman she was treated 
 with more and more indifference. More than once 
 he had the effrontery to discourse with eloquence 
 on the charms of his favourite in the presence of 
 his wife ; and to speak with admiration of the 
 lustre of black eyes, though hers were the softest 
 blue. These were insults that many women would 
 have deeply resented ; but Lady Palmer bore 
 them without repining; at least, she concealed the 
 pain they gave her from his observation. Her 
 heart was the secret abode of agony. Jealousy 
 reeked her soul to madness. Not that her gentle 
 disposition would have sought to injure her enemy, 
 had the power presented itself. But she could 
 not be blind to what was, alas! too palpable atruth. 
 She had married Sir Richard from a pure affec- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 471 
 
 tion, and he had professed an equal attachment 
 for her. But of what signification are the vows 
 of an Atheist, they are no sooner made than 
 broke ; a wretch who beUeves the vast creation to 
 be the work of chance, is not likely to pay homage 
 to any sacred institution ; he placed no confi- 
 dence in a future state, but thought when this 
 present life was spent, he should sink into the 
 chaotic mass from whence he sprung ; that we 
 were born for pleasure, and that, as the only en- 
 joyment we could ever derive, must be from the 
 indulgence of sensual gratifications, those mortals 
 were infinitely to blame, who extolled the glories 
 of virtue, and lived and died in the practice of it. 
 Such were the sentiments of this vile infidel, and 
 such ascendancy did they gain over him, that his 
 whole time was divided between gaming, wine, 
 and the worst characters of the female sex. He 
 had cautiously concealed his opinions on religion 
 from his lady, till they were united, or she never 
 would have consented to wed a man of such prin- 
 ciples. He did not long, however, preserve the 
 veil of sanciaty; after the sacred knot was indis- 
 solubly tied, he threw off" the subtle mask he 
 had assumed, and showed himself in his native 
 colours. Lady Palmer was surprised and shocked 
 at the shameless artifice of the abominable dis- 
 simulator, but it was too late to betray the ex- 
 treme horror that she felt ; she was the wife of 
 Sir Kichard Palmer, and she was sensible of the 
 duties that appertained to her in that situation. 
 They had been married about two years, when her 
 happiness was for ever blasted by the machina- 
 tions of the infamous Lady Mountmorris. To pro- 
 ceed with our story, Sir Richard, at length, ven- 
 tured to propose an immediate elopement. It was 
 at first gently refused by the lady, as she knew 
 that a little opposition would but serve to increase 
 
472 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 the ardor of his wishes ; he implored her to have 
 pity on his sufferings, and relieve ^he torments 
 under which he lingered. She at last agreed to 
 fly with him to Holland, representing Lord M. as 
 a rigid and austere tyrant, with whom she could 
 never hope for felicity ; and stated his resolution 
 to obtain a divorce, adding, that she was con- 
 scious she had done nothing to give him the least 
 offence, but he was an implacable judge — in short, 
 she had never loved him, but had been compelled 
 by force to marry him. He, in retum, assured 
 her, that he had never even pretended to like 
 Lady P. but she was a forward woman that had 
 wantonly aspired to his hand without seeking to 
 possess his heart ; and he was now far more 
 anxious to free himself from the clogging reins of 
 matrimony than ever he had been to wear them. 
 This was the letter her Ladyship was perusing 
 when Lord Mountmorris entered the room ; it 
 concluded with thanking her for her compliance 
 with his desires, and promising that she should 
 never have cause to repent of her preference to 
 him. That very night was fixed for her depar- 
 ture. She was strengthened in her resolution, 
 when she found her Lord so impatient for a se- 
 paration, and appointed the next morning for her 
 final answer, well knowing that by that time she 
 would be beyond the reach of giving one. In 
 the evening she affected to retire to rest earlier 
 than usual, informing '^ the domestics that their 
 attendance was unnecessary. Her own maid, 
 Honoria, however, ^as in the secret of all her 
 amours. She had lived with her before her mar- 
 riage, and been a witness to her scandalous licen- 
 tiousness ; it was therefore the interest of Lady 
 M. to retain this faithful servant ; had she dis- 
 charged her, she would have hazarded the risk of 
 her character being ex])osed ; besides, she could 
 
THE LITTLE MENDt'CANT. " 473 
 
 iiot easily have got another who would have an- , 
 swered her purpose so well. This girl had pack- 
 ed up her wardrobe and every thing that be- 
 longed to her mistress, ready for setting out, and 
 offered to accompany her with the most hearty 
 good will, declaring it was her wish to live and 
 die in her service. Lady M. said she was a kind 
 creature, and requested she would attend her. 
 The servants being engaged at supper, they es- 
 teemed it a proper opportunity to go off. They 
 left Favel Lodge without exciting notice, and 
 hastened to a carriage that was waiting for them 
 at a little distance, in which was Sir Richard 
 Palmer. He instantly alighted, and hurried them 
 into the vehicle, exulting with fiery transport at 
 the effect of his enterprize. They drove with ra- 
 pidity for some miles, till arriving at a sea-port, 
 they embarked for Holland, her Ladyship re- 
 joicing at the success of her plans, and the emo- 
 tions that would rend the heart of her Lord on 
 reading the letter that would impart to him her 
 disgrace. We leave the guilty pair to pursue 
 their journey, and return to Lady Palmer. On 
 learning the above dreadful intelligence, that 
 amiable woman was in a state of distraction. 
 Her sister, Lady Campbell, happened to be on a 
 visit to her at the time. She had been about 
 three months a widow — she soothed her as ten- 
 derly as she could, and endeavoured to reconcile 
 her to the loss of a man so unworthy of her. 
 " And yet," sighed she, " I loved him. Oh, 
 Lady Ellincourt would that we had not accept- 
 ed your invitation to the Abbey, I might still 
 have been happy with Sir Richard." Happiness 
 indeed she had never tasted since she became 
 Lady P. She had been acquainted with too 
 many of his acts of gallantry for her peace not 
 to have been materially destroyed, though she 
 had forbore to load with reproaches the man 
 
474 
 
 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK, 
 
 whom she had sworn to love, honor, and obey ; 
 but now, the small remains of tranquillity she 
 possessed were forfeited. " Cruel Lady M." she 
 exclaimed, ^* to forsake so good a husband, and 
 plant daggers in the bosom of a woman that never 
 injured you." How few would have expressed 
 themselves so leniently — but revenge was a sen- 
 sation never encouraged in the breast of this ex- 
 cellent female ; it is a passion too despicable to be 
 harboured in a virtuous mind. * She felt her 
 wrongs, and despised the perfidy of her who was 
 their vile occasioner. Yet she pitied the suffer- 
 ings she Avas convinced she would endure when 
 the stings of conscience should overtake her, for 
 that they would, was a truth she could not doubt. 
 Conscience is the concomitant of guilt, and soonei? 
 or later those that err against the Divine com- 
 mandments will labour under its oppressing in- 
 fluence. She sought for consolation in prayer to 
 the God of all graciousness — Him, from whom 
 alone she could hope to find a solace from her 
 cares. She had received a pious education from 
 the best of parents ; but they were now commit- 
 ted to the tomb. Notwithstanding the impious 
 profanity that marked the character of Sir Rich. 
 Palmer, and the tender attachment her heart had 
 ever entertained for him, her principles were un- 
 corrupt. She had allowed not the force of her 
 affection to subdue the religious sentiments that 
 nad been inculcated into her nature from earliest 
 infancy ; and many disputes had arisen on this 
 account betweei> her and Sir Richard. She had 
 mildly endeavoured to convince him of the doc- 
 trines of Christianity, and to converse upon the 
 goodness of the Eternal. When this was the 
 case, he always protested his unbelief of every 
 thing of the kind, and repeated over and over 
 again, his firm conviction that no Supreme Being 
 existed, and that it was only indulging ourselves 
 
THE- LITTLE MENDICANT. 475 
 
 in false expectations, to place credence in ridicu- 
 lous stories about Heaven, and such sort of stuff. 
 At these periods tears were o;ene rally the reply of 
 Lady Palmer. It was in vain to offer to reason 
 with him, for he detested all attempts at aroument. 
 But oft did she importune the Deity to inspire 
 him with a love of those sacred precepts, he so 
 wickedly disavowed. And even now that her 
 misery was at its hei2;ht, she still prayed for his 
 reform with fervent devotion. 
 
 We now go back to our unhappy friend, Lord 
 Mountmorris. We have stated, that he informed 
 Lady Ellincourt, by letter, of ^he flight of his 
 Lady. A few days having passed, his grief being 
 sufficiently abated to admit of his leaving the so- 
 litude of his apartment, he ordered his carriage, 
 and proceeded to Pemberton Abbey, as he wished 
 to hold one more mournful conversation on the 
 subject of his woes. On arriving there, he was 
 told that Lady Ellincourt was seriously- indisposed, 
 and could not see company ; but, upon sending in 
 his name, he was instantly admitted. Her Lady- 
 ship was sitting on a sofa, supported by a pilloAv, 
 and looking, indeed, very ill. She desired Lord 
 M. to advance, with a countenance expressive of 
 the deepest melancholy. " I am concerned, Ma- 
 dam," said he, " to behold you thus, and fear that 
 my present visit is an intrusion." '' Oh, no," an- 
 swered Lady Ellincourt, pressing his hand, and re- 
 questing him to be seated, " your visits were never 
 intrusive. They are now, more than ever, accepti- 
 ble. Since we last met, 1 have drank of the cup of 
 affliction ; therefore, can more fully participate in 
 yours." •' We are then mutual sympathizers," said 
 his Lordship, '' but 1 hope your afllictions. Madam, 
 are not irremediable — mine can never be removed." 
 Lady Emily, who was present, would have retired, 
 but her mother said, " no, my dear, Lord Mount- 
 morris knows I have no secrets from my family. 
 
476 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 You are acquainted with the stay of his sorrows, 
 and, 1 am sure, compassionate them as strongly 
 as myself.'^ " Indeed 1 do/' replied the lovely 
 Emily — a tear glistening in her eye. 
 
 Lady EUincourt then said, that her calamity was 
 of a nature that would admit of no removal, save 
 by death ; and proceeded to relate to him, as well 
 as her agonized feelings would allow, the loss she 
 had sustained. " After an estrangement of so 
 jiiany years," cried she, weeping, " conceive, my 
 Lord, the distress of mind I endured, on hearing 
 that my daughter was no more." " 1 do conceive 
 it," answered he, "it must have been poignant in 
 the extreme. Yet time, I trust, will alleviate the 
 pungent smart." " It will," said she, I know 
 it will. 1 feel that my sufferings draw near a close. 
 I think, and hope, that I am fast hastening to that 
 bourne from whence no traveller returns." As she 
 uttered these words a ray of celestial animation 
 lightened up her countenance, and seemed to dif- 
 fuse comfort through her heart. Nothing is so 
 pleasing to an opprest mind, as the consideration 
 that a time is near, when that oppression must 
 cease. Particularly if it is to Heaven we are 
 looking for succour and relief. Earthly prospects 
 of redress are uncertain ; but God's power and 
 wisdom never fails. When man rejects our cause. 
 He takes it up, and preserves us with almighty 
 care. Lady Ellincourt, likewise, mentioned the 
 fate of Lord Ballafyn, representing that as an ad- 
 ditional source of disturbance and uneasiness. 
 She now adverted to his own sorrowful case, and 
 inquired " how he intended to proceed ?" " I shall 
 hasten," answered he, " to the Supreme Court of 
 Judicature ; and, stating circumstances, sue for a 
 lawful divorce. It is the only method I can have 
 recourse to ; for, did 1 know the retreat of my 
 abandoned wife, I would now disdain to ask her 
 consent to a measure which the laws of my coun- 
 
TH-E LITTTE MEISTDICANT. 477 
 
 try |2;ive me a right to claim. She is unworthy of the 
 sliadow of respect from me; and as to damages 
 I should never think of, for money could not 
 afford the least compensation for the injury that 
 has been done me; therefore, 1 shall decline a 
 prosecution of the kind. The sole object of my 
 wishes is, to be declared free." Lady Ellincourt 
 strongly commended that determination, and ad- 
 vised him to pursue it without delay. " O that I 
 had abided by your instructions," exclaimed he, 
 " a few months ago, and viewed Miss Rivers, not 
 as the most angelic of her sex, but as a dangerous 
 enchantress, who would prove an everlasting foe 
 to my happiness. Had 1 so acted, I should not 
 rashly have plunged into so wretched a thraldom. 
 Yet wherefore do I talk thus, since what is past 
 cannot be recalled. As soon shall the world be 
 uncreated, as one hour of our existence be revoked. 
 She was beautiful — I thought her virtuous. Per- 
 haps I was not the first that has been deceived by 
 a false show of external allurements." " Few 
 men, I acknowledge," answered Lady Ellincourt, 
 " could have been impenetrable to the charms of 
 this most deceitful fair ; and, while you believed 
 her perfection, it is not to be wondered at, that 
 you was rather directed by the dictates of affec- 
 tion, and your own experimental observation, Jthan 
 guided by the advice of others. However, do not, 
 1 implore you, give way to grief. You have, in 
 reality, lost nothing; as a woman that can desert 
 her husband, especially such a husband as you 
 have been, is unworthy his possession. As to your 
 character, it is too well known for the smallest slur 
 to be cast upon your fame. AH must respect you, 
 and all have long despised her." 
 
 Lord Mountmorris assured her, tliat he would 
 not indulge grief upon the occasion; that he was 
 sensible of the truth of all she had advanced, and 
 should endeavour to derive consolation from the 
 
 No. 2L 3p 
 
478 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 joys of a sentimental life. "A life," exclaimed 
 he, with a sigh, " u hich 1 have always admired, 
 but never tasted since my inauspicious marriage. 
 I have not been used to gaiety and dissipation, but 
 Lady M. could not endure the name of domestic 
 amusements. Nothing but plays and public enter- 
 tainments suited her taste, therefore 1 was obliged 
 to renounce my speculative schemes, and rush into 
 a vortex of folly and extravagance that my heart 
 inwardly abhorred. She was very young, and I 
 thought would become more rational in the course 
 of time ; but how far this was from the case your 
 Ladyship knows." He could not here help burst- 
 ing into a violent flood of tears, in M'hich Lady 
 Ellincourt and Emily joined. Regaining more 
 composure, he resumed, " I the readier made ex- 
 cuses for her volatility, as 1 imagined that whilst 
 single she had led a retired life, conceiving it im- 
 prudent as an orphan, and without a protector, to 
 launch into the busy world ; consequently, when 
 married, she was doubly impatient to see every 
 thing that was to be seen; but I find now, that so 
 far from living in retirement, she partook of the 
 pleasures of the town as much as when under the 
 sanction of a husband's authority, and unaccus- 
 tomed to restraint, she had regarded not the laws 
 of propriety or prudence." Lady Ellincourt was 
 no stranger on this point, but she did not increase 
 the distress of Lord M. by continuing the dis- 
 course. Further condolences having passed be- 
 tween them, he took his leave. 
 
 Lady Ellincourt was somewhat soothed by his 
 friendly sympathy ; but her health she felt was 
 getting gradually worse; she was prepared for the 
 solemn moment of her departure, and resigned to 
 meet the presence of her grand Eternal Judge. 
 Oh, happy resignation ! may all, as the blissful 
 period draws nigh, be inspired with thy potential 
 influence. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 479 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 Moralizing, and speedy Intelligence. 
 
 During this period, the amiable inhabitants of 
 Darby House were not unacquainted with the 
 sorrows of the worthy Lord Mountniorris. The 
 elopement that had taken place soon found its 
 way into the papers of daily intelligence. Affairs 
 of that nature are never long a secret. The world 
 is too ready to rumour calumnious reports, to the 
 disadvantage of innocent individuals, to omit the 
 publication of real facts. The accounts spoke 
 very plain of the lady's real character, and hinted 
 that it was believed the parties were gone to Hol- 
 land, but on that point they were not certain. " 1 
 vow and protest," said the mischievous Amelia, 
 when the Duke of Albemarle had finished read- 
 ing this fashionable crim. con. case, " that were 
 it not for the sufferings of the wife and husband 
 of these wretches, I should rejoice at their tor- 
 menting one another ; he is too great a libertine 
 not to forsake her soon, and then she will have 
 powerful scope for repentance, and perhaps it may 
 be the means of her reformation ; but 1 am very 
 sorry for their misfortunes, though I think if they 
 are wise, they will hardly consider them as such." 
 " Oh, Madam," said the Duke, " we may think 
 so upon taking a casual survey of circumstances, 
 but on reflection it will appear in a different light. 
 This unhappy nobleman believed his wife was 
 
480 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 virtuoos, till he proved her otherwise, therefore 
 great is his cahimity — and Lady Pahner loved the 
 villain, notwithstandinij; his unworthiness; conse- 
 quently her grief must be excessive. As to a re- 
 formation being worked in her Ladyship, I fear it 
 will be a long time ere that happens. She is too 
 beautiful not to have plenty of admirers; and 
 whilst she can lead a life of pleasure and infamy, 
 she will be in no haste to repent." " 1 have met 
 Sir Richard Palmer at the gaming-table," re- 
 marked Sir Everard, " he is a handson^e and a 
 polite man, but i never was much prepossessed in 
 his favor. We once entered into a little conversa- 
 tion, and I found his sentiments so opposite to 
 mine, that I was far froiiQ pleased with his society. 
 Soon after I heard the character he bore, and then 
 I cautiously avoided his company." " My heart 
 bleeds for Lady Palmer," said the Duchess of 
 Albemarle, " her mild dignified graces, and me- 
 lancholy, though lovely countenance, won my 
 esteem at a first glance — too quickly 1 perceived 
 the cause of her misery ; the negligence and inat- 
 tention of her husband convinced me that she had 
 either lost or never possessed his affections. But 
 when I saw all his attention directed to the worth- 
 less Lady Mountmorris, 1 felt as if the barbed 
 arrow was pointed to destroy my own peace; the 
 manner in which she received his compliments, 
 showed that she was not displeased with them ; 
 and there cannot be a greater incentive for a man 
 to proceed in his base designs, than a woman 
 seeming flattered and obliged with what she ought 
 to repulse with the utmost indignation ; few men 
 are so depraved to persist when they know they 
 are despised." " That observation I am sure is 
 just, my dear," replied the Duke, ** half the 
 women owe their ruin to their imprudent beha- 
 viour; when first a man offers to notice them, 
 particularly married men, a female that has any 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 481 
 
 pretensions to goodness or sensibility, must be 
 aware that the assiduities of a married man can 
 be only with a view to deprive her of her honor. 
 He has a wife, to whom his love and tenderness is 
 due, and did she at once disdain his profligate ad- 
 dresses, he would probably return to a sense of 
 virtue, and the duties incumbent on his situation; 
 but while he is caressed and treated as the most 
 amiable of his sex, instead of being spurned at as 
 a monster of corruption, he will continue to prac- 
 tise his artillery of seductive arts, and betray more 
 victims to destruction ; if the lady is likewise mar- 
 ried her guilt is doubly aggravated, as she breaks 
 the most solemn of all vows. If single, her crime 
 is still of the blackest die. She injures not her- 
 self alone, but an innocent unoffending woman. 
 Where either have entered into the.sacred bond of 
 matrimony no excuse can be alleged." " Cer- 
 tainly not," answered the Duchess, " and that 
 woman who can take a delight in triumphing over 
 the felicity af another, deserves to fall a sacrifice 
 to her inhuman cruelty. For my part I love my 
 sex too well to bear the idea of occasioning them 
 a moment's pain ; but 1 have seen many, and even 
 heard them declare, that nothing gave them so 
 much satisfaction, as raising a spark of jealousy 
 in the breast of a rival, though they have vowed 
 at the same time that they had not the smallest 
 intention of injuring the object, but their pride 
 was flattered by the supposition that they were of 
 consequence enough to create a passion of such a 
 tendency." 
 
 " That is, indeed, a malicious gratification," 
 cried Lady Mornington, " and cannot be too 
 much reprehended ; the bare supposition of such 
 treachery would fdl a mind endued with rectified 
 principles with horror, and instead of flattering 
 their pride, humble it to the very dust." " Nothing 
 is so diabolical in my opinion," said the Duke, 
 
482 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 *' as a character that wantonly labours to destroy 
 the happiness of a fellow-creature. There are 
 numbers, who would not adopt the effectual mea- 
 sures for that purpose, that yet would not hesitate 
 to act as if glorying in its commission. 1 think 
 this is a vice equal to, if not exceeding, liber- 
 tinism; it evinces such an utter want of principle 
 and feeling, that those who can be guilty of it 
 must be dispossessed of every moral sentiment. 
 I have known both men and women that have 
 studied to engage the affections of the other sex, 
 merely with a design to render them miserable, by 
 proving at last, what they should have done at first, 
 that no regard existed towards them ; however, 
 this is a digression from the subject of our dis- 
 course. To return to what you were observing, 
 my dear Fanny, on the negligence of Sir Richard 
 to his Lady when we were at the Abbey, 1 believe 
 it was visibly remarked by all present, and the 
 conduct of Lady Mountmorris to her husband 
 was as obvious — few men could have resisted 
 such behaviour as she displayed ; and, indeed, I 
 must affirm, that in cases of this kind, more un- 
 happiness arises to individuals from a neglect of 
 public attention to each other than from any source 
 that can be mentioned. A man, for instance, with- 
 out being a professed libertine, who sees a beauti- 
 ful woman, like Lady Palmer, slighted by a 
 wretch similar to Sir Richard, watches the ac- 
 tions of both. She is respectful and affectionate, 
 he austere and reserved ; if he is not as great a 
 villain in himself, he is touched with commisera- 
 tion for her misfortunes, and he surveys her with 
 an eye of pity. After viewing her a considerable 
 time, an opportunity presenting itself, he ventures 
 to address her; he expresses his surprise that a 
 husband can be possest of so lovely a woman, and 
 not be more sensible of the merits of the treasure 
 heaven has bestowed upon him. This speech is 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 403 
 
 perhaps made when she is least prepared to an- 
 swer it ; it is not uttered in a way to create offence, 
 and her heart is the abode of innocence. She is af- 
 fected by his kindness, a tear trickles down her 
 cheek, and she heaves a heavy sigh ; these tokens 
 of distress add to her charn;s, and heighten the 
 compassion of him who is, by gradual degrees, be- 
 coming her admirer. He then exclaims, ' Heavens, 
 what a villain! to requite such tenderness as thine 
 with such barbarous treatment. Oh ! that I could 
 boast of such a wife, how different would I behave.' 
 Awakened to a conviction of her danger, she now 
 attempts to ffy, requesting that he will not again 
 presume to force a conversation so improper for 
 her to hear. The indignant warmth with which 
 she repulses his improvident declaration, increases 
 his passion ; hurried away by its dictates he madly 
 seizes her hand, and, imprinting on it a fervent 
 kiss, implores her not to be offended with the 
 liberty he takes — that he reveres her virtues, but 
 is distracted to think it should be rewarded with 
 cruelty and indifference. 
 
 " She replies not, but, snatching her hand from 
 him, hastens away with precipitation. He is not 
 deterred by this discouragement from renewing his 
 protestations of esteem at the next interview he 
 can find an opportunity of having. If she has in- 
 deed the virtue and the presence of mind of the 
 amiable Lady Palmer, she will repel every attack 
 upon her honor, and maintain it to the very extinc- 
 tion of her existence. But it is not every one who 
 can preserve their reputation amidst such degrad- 
 ing usage as she was constantly in the habit of re- 
 ceiving — we will suppose her but too susceptibly 
 inclined. Her lover is young, handsome, and in- 
 sinuating. At first she represents the duty that is 
 owing to her consort, and intimates that his hav- 
 ing failed in his, is no extenuation for her dere- 
 liction from the paths of rectitude. He quickly 
 
484 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 obviates these objections to his wishes, and, to 
 come to a point, asks her, ' if she could love him 
 were she under no restraint to the contrary ?' She 
 blushingly acknowledges that she could then 
 prefer him to the rest of his sex. In a transport of 
 delight he kneels at her feet, to thank her for so 
 generous a declaration ; vowing that he never felt 
 so truly blest as in this moment of rapturous 
 ecstacy. She desires him to rise, and gently be- 
 seeches him to forget that there is such a creature 
 as herself in being. He then can no longer restrain 
 himself within bounds. ' Shall I,' cries he, ' for- 
 get that the sun shines, whilst I feel the warmth 
 of his powers — as soon shall that be the case as 
 your dear image be banished from my remem- 
 brance. Oh, cruel fair ! to advise me to forget 
 thee ! ' * Your impetuosity is alarming,' she an- 
 swers, ' I never can be yours, and why will you 
 torture yourself and me by pursuing a discourse so 
 destructive to our peace.' Every reply she makes 
 augments his ardor. I need not dwell upon the 
 success of his endeavours. She has listened to the 
 tender tale, that is the first step towards guilt. She 
 has owned a return of love, that is the second ; and 
 what the third will be, may be too easily guessed. 
 Thus may the noblest sentiments be corrupted by 
 circumstances. Pity was the origin of this un- 
 happy event on his side — gratitude on hers." 
 
 Sir Everard perfectly concurred in what the 
 Duke had advanced, adding, "that he did not be- 
 lieve one man out of twenty would attempt to mo- 
 lest the happiness of a couple who were living in 
 mutual felicity, and who seemed to make it their 
 study to be obliging to each other." " Your descrip- 
 tion," said Fanny, addressing the Duke, " is I dare 
 say, far from exaggerated — these things are but 
 too common ; would v*'oraen who have the misfor- 
 tune to be united to objects so unworthy of them 
 preserve their native honor, they must be blest with 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 485 
 
 an miwouted share of prudence and discretion ; 
 they must resolve to combat against passions that 
 are likely to prove hostile to their repose. It is 
 difficult, when a woman receives repeated slights 
 from him who ought to be her sovereign protector, 
 instead of meeting with tenderness and affection, 
 to assume a cheerful countenance, even for a mo- 
 ment ; -^et in some cases it is indispensably neces- 
 sary ; her closet is the pla<:e for lamentation; let 
 her not expose her unhappiness and her husband's 
 character abroad — it will be of no other avail tiian 
 laying her open to the insults of the other sex, and 
 seldom obtaining for her the compassion of her 
 own. Jf she is necessitated to appear in public, 
 great will be the merit if her face can wear a smile 
 when her heart is breaking. 
 
 " Lady Palmer, it was evident, endeavoured to 
 conceial the agonizing state of her mind, though 
 through the thin veil might be traced her inward 
 sorrow; her deportment to the author of her woes 
 was assiduously attentive, and her features were 
 rendered more interesting for not being adorned 
 with that look of extreme gaiety, which, I think, 
 diminishes, instead of improving, female charnis,^ 
 " I may be very culpable," said Lady Mornington, 
 archly, "but, I declare, 1 should hardly condemn 
 a w^oman for resenting siioh indignant conduct, 
 could she do it v/ithout the shame recoilina: on 
 lierself; but the consequences must be more des- 
 tructive to her honor and tranquillity than to that 
 of the wretch on whom she would be revenged. 
 Yirtue is transparent as crystal, and w^hen once 
 forfeited an internal peace is. for ever sacriiiced." 
 
 " Most true," answered the Duchess, " yet I can, 
 w^ith your Ladyship, plead excuses for women that 
 deviate under such aggravating circumstances." 
 This conversation passed whilst the family were 
 at breakfast, the newspaper having given rise to 
 it; the meal being ended, the discussion closed. 
 
 21. 3 Q 
 
466 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 The Duke and Sir Everard went out for a morn- 
 ing's ramble, and our heroine and her friend re- 
 paired to their beloved study. Here they read 
 and commented by turns for about a couple of 
 hours. The Duchess then played a tune upon the 
 harp, and accompanied it with her melodious 
 voice. Amelia joined in the singing, her voice 
 without being powerful was peculiarly .«weet — it 
 was agreeably modulated and full of the most 
 pleasing variation; the Duchess was more scien- 
 tific, but both were admirable. " J never heard 
 any person play so much to my liking as your 
 Grace," cried Amelia, *' though I have always 
 been amongst musical folks. I am not accus- 
 tomed to flatter, and particularly my Fanny, but 
 I must tell the truth. There is as much difference 
 in the manner in which practitioners perform mu- 
 sic, as in any science on the face of the universe.'' 
 " I have been told that I am skilful," replied the 
 Duchess, " but I do not pretend to vouch for the 
 justice of that assertion. I am fond of music, 
 and that may be one great reason why 1 excel." 
 ** Music," exclaimed Amelia, " in the language of 
 the Mourning Bride, * has charms to sooth a 
 savage breast, to soften rocks and bend the knot- 
 ted oak.' I am surprised," continued she, " how 
 any one can be averse to such divine harmony as 
 these sweet instruments afford. There seems to 
 be a magic inspiration attached to them that con* 
 veys a power to the soul, indescribable, and almost 
 inconceivable, save to those who feel its heavenly 
 influence in themselves. If a temper is ruffled by 
 a temporary disappointment, or perplexed by any 
 imforeseen accident, comfort may be derived in 
 music ; this I know, not from experience, but by 
 inward selection and outward observation. It is 
 reckoned the universal composer of affliction." "I 
 believe," replied Fanny, " that where one dislikes 
 it, fifty are enamoured of it. I never heard but 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 487 
 
 two people express a decided aversion to it, one 
 was a rough sailor, and the other a nobleman, 
 whose taste was little worthy of imitation; in ge- 
 neral, men are as partial to it as women." They 
 were here interrupted by the entrance of a servant 
 with a letter for the Duchess ; it was from the 
 young Lady Ellincourt, and contained the follow- 
 ing distressing intelligence. 
 
 " My dearest Fanny, 
 " Do not upon receipt of this, be too much 
 alarmed. Lady Ellincourt, the mother of my 
 Edmund, our thrice dear and valuable friend, is 
 dying! She has been indisposed for some days, 
 but is now considerably worse. She requests to 
 see you immediately ; we are all distracted ! The 
 thoughts of losing such a woman, such a mother, 
 such an ornament to her sex, is afflicting in the 
 extreme. Yet the loss will be only ours, she will 
 exchange an earthly tabernacle for a heavenly one, 
 this barren spot of land for an eternal kingdom, 
 where the wicked cease from troubling; where 
 immortal pleasure reigns, and sorrow there no 
 entrance finds. This blissful consideration is all 
 that consoles us at her departure — all did I say, 
 will it not be the greatest of consolations, that 
 which God himself dictates. Oh ! Fanny, were 
 we all as secure of happiness in the celestial courts, 
 as the amiable Lady Ellincourt, how few would 
 dread to die. 1 cannot proceed any further; if 
 you can reach Pemberton Abbey soon, you may 
 enjoy the mournful satisfaction of a parting inter- 
 view with her whom J know you so greatly respect. 
 I am, dearest Fanny, 
 
 Your unhappy friend, 
 
 Emily Ellincourt." 
 
 Tears flowed fast down the cheeks of the 
 Duchess as she perused this epistle. She gave it 
 
488 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 into the hands of Lady Mornington, for she could 
 not communicate its contejits. She warmly sym- 
 pathized in her sorrow. Presently the Duke re- 
 turned with Sir Everard. On hearing- what had 
 ha})pened, he proposed to set out as speedily as 
 possible for the Abbey. " If we delay," said he, 
 " we may be too late to behold our worthy friend 
 Once moi'e. Sir Everard and Lady Mornington, 
 will I am sure, in such an emergency as this, ex- 
 cuse our absence ; we shall probably return in the 
 course of a few days." " Most certainly," replied 
 they, " we should be very sorry if we were to be 
 an obstruction." " 1 hope," said x4me!ia, " Lady 
 EUiocourt is not quite so bad as is represented, at 
 least that she may recover." *' I am afraid," an- 
 swered Fanny, " that that hope is vain, yet cannot 
 help myself indulging it." 
 
 The carriage being now at the door, (he Duke 
 and Duchess took leave of their guests, and set off 
 with woe-fraught hearts for Pemberton Abbey. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 Death of the Dowager IaicIj/ I^lUucourt, ajid 
 mutual Condolences. 
 
 When they arrived at the Abbey, a melancholy 
 scene, indeed, awaited them, liady Ellincourt, 
 they were informed, still lived, but a few hours 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 489 
 
 were expected to terminate her existence. Emily 
 came, in tears, from her apartment to meet them ; 
 she seized Fanny's hand, and prest it to her lips, 
 exclaiming', " The last time we met, onr hearts 
 were the mansions of joy; now, alas! they are the 
 inmates of afflicting grief." The Duchess could 
 hardiy articulate a reply, so overcome was she 
 with the poignant weight of her feelings. " I will 
 go and apprize her that you are come," said Emily, 
 " it wiil be a source of pleasure to her to behold 
 her loved Fanny once again." " She is then per- 
 fectly sensible? asked our heroine. " Oh yes," 
 replied Lady Ellincourt, " her mind has never 
 been alienated for a moment ; she anticipates her 
 departure with feelings of ecstatic rapture, such 
 as can only be tasted by those whose consciences 
 are purilied by the iiifiuence of the Holy Spirit." 
 *' 1 am rejoiced to hear she is so resigned," said 
 Fanny, " goodness like hers, emanating from reli- 
 gious sentiments, has nought to fear on that day — 
 which to the sinful sin-loving children of vice and 
 folly, is a day of terror. Wo, to those who look 
 towards the joys of heaven through the merits of 
 the Redeemer, the approach of the grim tyrant car- 
 ries no terror, he is rather hailed as a friend that 
 relieves them of the load of mortality ; takes them 
 out of this state of trial and temptation, places 
 them where they are secure from both, and be- 
 stows immortality as glorious as it is lasting." 
 
 Emily hastened to her chamber, and presently 
 returned, desiring she would walk up. The Duke 
 meanwhile was asked into a parlour, where sat 
 Lord Ellincourt and Mr. Hamilton. Woe was 
 painted on the countenances of both ; they rose, 
 and mournfully saluted him ; he endeavoured to 
 express his emotion, but his looks were a more 
 faithful prognosticator. I(Ord Ellincourt, no longer 
 gay and sprightly, burst into tears, as he exclaimed, 
 
490 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 *' There are no hopes." " No hopes from mortal 
 aid, perhaps," replied the Duke, " but God can yet 
 restore her." " If it is His gracious will," ejacula- 
 ted Lord Ellincourt. "And if not," returned the 
 Duke, " he will receive her to His imperial courts 
 — wafted by cherubic legions to the heavenly 
 coast, a ministering angel she will shine, and there 
 irradiate the starry globe." " Oh, she has ever 
 been the best of women and of mothers," cried 
 Lord Ellincourt, " her portion must be endless 
 bliss." " Then let that sweet reflection prove a 
 consolation at once," answered the Duke and Mr. 
 Hamilton, " we lose her, but she will gain the 
 bright reward of all her actions." 
 
 Whilst these friends were mutually condoling 
 with each other, the Duchess accompanied Emily 
 to the chamber of Lady Ellincourt. As she en- 
 tered, a cold tremor seized her frame ; the thought 
 of how recently its occupant had been in the 
 enjoyment of good health, and was now expir- 
 ing, chilled her blood. Recovering her resolu- 
 tion, however, she approached the bed. As soon 
 as Lady Ellincourt perceived her, she extended 
 her hand, saying, " Oh, my beloved Fanny, I 
 am glad you are come. Why do you weep?' 
 continued she, observing the tears roll down her 
 cheeks, " is it because I am hastening to the 
 palace of the Eternal, the seat of righteousness? 
 If you knew the inward tranquillity that lodges 
 here (pointing to her heart,) instead of tears, smiles 
 would illume that lovely countenance." " 1 would 
 hope, oh thou friend and guardian of my early 
 infancy," returned Fanny, " that many years are 
 yet reserved for you on earth." " Dear girl, 'tis 
 almost cruel," answered the dying Lady Ellin- 
 court, " to desire such a procrastination of my 
 happiness; it was intended by our wise Creator 
 when he formed us out of kindred dust, that to 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 491 
 
 that dust our mortal bodies should return — but 
 our souls will, we are instructed to believe, ascend 
 to the presence of their Heavenly Judge, or des- 
 cend into a place prepared for the devil and his 
 angels ! as soon as breath shall have left this 
 frail tenement of clay. I have long anticipated 
 the moment of departure, and I am convinced it 
 is nigh at hand. I had but one wish — it was to 
 see you ; that wish is gratified, and 1 die content. 
 You have always been the object of my tender 
 affections. Wlien first I saw you, a sweet, and, as 
 I imagined, an orphan girl, I felt an interest in 
 your welfare that was indescribable, and an in- 
 ward conviction that your extraction would one 
 day be proved to be noble; it was not a false 
 conjecture, the transports I experienced on the 
 discovery of your parents are not to be expressed ; 
 they resulted from the ardent sincerity of my re- 
 gard, and when I beheld your vows given at the 
 altar to the Duke of Albemarle, 1 rejoiced with 
 joy unfeigned. You are worthy to possess such a 
 husband, and he is deserving even of your inesti- 
 mable self; but is he at the Abbey, or have you 
 taken this journey alone?" " He is with my father 
 and Lord EUincourt," said Fanny. Emily, who 
 was sitting by the bed-side, asked if she would 
 wish to see the Duke? '" I am afraid," replied 
 Fanny, " that Lady EUincourt will be fatigued by 
 conversing so much." " Oh, no," answered she, 
 " I like to converse, 1 am better whilst discoursing 
 with my friends; let me, 1 entreat thee, seethe 
 husband of this angel fair, and bless them together 
 ere I depart to the kingdom that is prepared for 
 me on high." Emily then retired to acquaint the 
 Duke with Lady Ellincourt's desire. He instantly 
 hurried to her chamber. She took his hand, and 
 putting it in Fanny's, said, " May the Almighty 
 bless and preserve you both, may you long be 
 spared to make each other happy, and when at 
 
4^2 FATHERLESS FANNY; ORj 
 
 last death shall receive yon in her cold embrace, 
 may the knot that binds yon still be nndissolved ; 
 it is ratified above, and angels will confirm yonr 
 ■vows." The Duke was sensibly affected by the 
 fervency of this address. "Amen to that prayer, 
 dearest Lady Ellincourt," said he, " and may it 
 be answered." Fanny regarded him with a look 
 of bewitching tenderness. " Amiable pair," said 
 Lady Ellincourt, observing them attentively, " it 
 is heaven on earth to love and be beloved. Kind 
 souls, how you weep, and yet it is not kindness, 
 s'nce it would induce you to wish my bliss de- 
 layed. Emily, my child, comfort them if you can. 
 Alas ! you are as distressed as they are." Here 
 Lord Ellincourt entered. He inquired with anxious 
 solicitude, if she felt any change. " The best of 
 changes," replied the, " 1 am every moment 
 nearer to my God ; His judgment-seat is already 
 in my view, already have 1 obtained a glance of 
 his incorruptible glories. Edmund," she conti- 
 nued, taking bis hand and joining it to Emily's, 
 "promise me that you will always love this dear, 
 this excellent creature; 1 could notvt'ith pleasure 
 have seen you united to another, but she is worthy 
 of you." " Oh, if 1 love her not with the affec- 
 tion her merits so richly deserve," answered 
 Lord Ellincourt, " if 1 regard her not as a trea- 
 sure sent to create my fQlicity, and while life re- 
 mains, reward her with an attachment the most 
 ardent; may 1 never approach the throne to which 
 thou, my revered, respected parent, art hastening." 
 On which he warmly embraced the charming 
 Emily, who returned his caresses with kindred 
 feelings. The agony which Fanny's mind endured 
 for Lady Ellincourt, had hitherto prevented her 
 from asking after her mother ; that worthy woman 
 had never left the bed-side of her aunt for two 
 days before, bat had at length been prevailed on 
 to retire for an hour to her cham.ber, on condi- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 493 
 
 tioii that she should be disturbed in case of the 
 smallest alteration taking place. She now ap- 
 peared. The sight of her weeping Fanny illu- 
 mined her countenance with a momentary joy. 
 She ran to her embrace; but her transports sub- 
 sided, on perceiving the countenance of Lady 
 Ellincourt turn suddenly to an ashy paleness; they 
 flew to her. She had swooned ; it was not, how- 
 ever, the swoon of death. She presently revived. 
 
 " Where is my nephew," she demanded. " He 
 is not here." Mr. Hamilton was sent for — they 
 all surrounded her bed. " What a happiness," 
 cried she, as an angelic smile played upon her 
 features, " to die in the midst of relations such as 
 these. Oh! when your last moments approach, 
 may every one of you be as composed and as 
 resigned as I am ; a greater blessing the divine 
 favor cannot bestow upon you. Death! my chil- 
 dren, is only an evil to the wicked; we are all 
 guilty creatures, and, at best, but unprofitable 
 servants ; ' but then, the Lord is too merciful not to 
 pardon, his graciousness is beyond our compre- 
 hension, and happy is it for us, when we know 
 that he is gracious. My beloved niece," said she, 
 addressing Mrs. Hamilton, '* you have experi- 
 enced atfliction's smart, you have been separated 
 for above twenty years from the husband of your 
 early choice, and made to deplore the imaginary 
 loss of an only child ; you are now restored to the 
 arms of the best of men, and of daughters ; may 
 it be long, my Emily, ere you are deprived of 
 either of these dear relations ; doubly dear, from 
 having been torn from you under such inauspicious 
 circumstances ; may the remainder of your days 
 be spent in the enjoyment of tranquillity, and 
 when the ransoming debt of nature is paid, may 
 we meet in realms of joy." " We shall all meet, I 
 trust," answered Mrs. Hamilton, " and, oh, how 
 glorious a meeting will it be; not as mortals shall 
 
 2L 3 R 
 
494 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 we congratulate each other, but as heavenly spirits 
 released frons slavery and bondage." " This 
 world," said Mr. Hamilton, " can produce only 
 one solid gratification, that is, the love and the 
 esteem of those attached to us by the ties of blood ; 
 or what is nearly as binding, friendship ; wealth, 
 titles, honorss are not to be ranked in competition 
 w^ith a reciprocation of tender offices from those 
 about us; all that can call forth a sigh at leaving 
 this earthly abode, is the parting with our rela- 
 tives and friends ; yet it is but parting for a mo- 
 ment, and ere long we shall meet to part no more. 
 There, surrounded by the beatified spirits of those, 
 vi^ho, through a merciful and gracious Saviour, 
 have entered into the regions of eternal bliss, our 
 kindred souls, released from their clay tenements, 
 will meet — recognize — and refined from the gross- 
 ness of earthly feelings, rise to the highest altitude 
 of friendship, love and joy. Oh ! how these 
 thoughts exalt the soul ; how, even on tliis earth, 
 do I taste by anticipation, the joys of heaven ; 
 your loss will be my gain — my eternal gain. This 
 dispensation must be right, 'tis from God ; be 
 reconciled to His will, remembering tliat life is 
 His gift, and death His messenger." 
 
 " Your sentiments accord with the worthy Dr. 
 Woodward's," replied Lady Ellincourt, " he 
 maintains the same opinion, and it has ever been 
 mine. Human nature will be human nature. I 
 acknowledge, that I cannot restrain a pang, when 
 I think of leaving thee; but it is wrong, since I 
 die assured of rejoining tliee in tlie paradise of the 
 saints." 
 
 Thus spoke this excellent woman, this pattern 
 for her sex to follow. She would have proceeded 
 to say more, bnt they begged she v»'oukl, for the 
 present, endeavour to gain son^e repose, ;>nd not 
 weary herself by farther conveisation. She was 
 at last persuaded, and laying down, fell into a 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 495 
 
 slumber that continued two hours; this, it was 
 hoped, would cause a favorable change wlien she 
 awoke, but in that hope they \\ere disappointed ; 
 it was only the prelude to her dissolution. Dr. 
 Woodward had now joined the family. He had 
 long known Lady EUincourt, and to know, was 
 to esteem her. Since her illness, he was frequent 
 in his visits; the conversations of a really pious 
 and good man are ever acceptable, and they were 
 peculiarly so at this period; his presence seemed 
 to increase her satisfaction. She looked around 
 her, and smiled serenity ; her speech never forsook 
 her. " God bless you, ray children," said she, 
 " recollect, I bid you but a short adieu." A few 
 moments having passed, growing rather paler, she 
 said, *' I come, I obey thy sacred mandate, my 
 Saviour and my Lord 1" aud,reclioing her headon 
 the shoulder of Mr. liarailton, she heaved a gentle 
 sigh and expired ; one hand clasped in that of 
 her niece, the other in Lady Ellincourt's. Happy, 
 enviable exit; who would not wisii to die in such 
 a frame as hers ; and to die surrounded by such 
 affectionate relations was a tenfold source of 
 ecstacy. She was not afflicted with any parti- 
 cular complaint. The primary cause of her indis- 
 position, was the grief she sustained at the loss of 
 her daughter; that, together with the other accu- 
 mulation of shocks she received, brought on a 
 decline, which occasioned her demise. To des- 
 cribe the sorrow of these amiable individuals 
 would be impossible; severe was their loss ; long 
 they wept over the departed. Pvlrs. Hamilton closed 
 her eyes and embraced her for the last time ; the 
 Duchess of Albemarle likewise prest her lips to 
 those of the deceased, as did also Emily. The 
 mournful scene being past, they withdrew from 
 the awfisl' chamber of death to a farther apart- 
 ment; and it was long ere any of them could 
 find words to address "each other. At length 
 
496 FATHERLES8 FANNY; OR, 
 
 they offered a mutual condolement. Dr. Wood- 
 ward opened the discourse, by expatiating on the 
 goodness of her who from a woman, was trans- 
 formed into an etherial spirit. " Conceive, my 
 children," said he, " if mortals dare conceive, the 
 state of bliss to which she is raised. Mortality 
 shaken off, and she is arrayed in robes of righte- 
 ousness — let her piety, her exalted worth console 
 you." " It will, it must," said Mr. Hamilton, 
 *' the violence of our emotion over, and reflection 
 Avill bring comfort to our aid." " We had vainly 
 flattered ourselves with a hope," cried Mrs. Hamil- 
 ton, " that so valuable a life would have been 
 longer continued to us, as she had but just com- 
 pleted her sixtieth year ; but God's will be done, 
 he has seen fit to remove her from a troublesome 
 world, and translate her to his celestial kingdom, 
 and we must not repine." 
 
 Thus passed this day of grief, a day that would 
 ever be held sacred by the family of this deserving 
 woman. When we think of the immense sums 
 which the affluent so wantonly lavish in the pomp 
 of retinue, equipage, and dress; when we see the 
 quantity of viands which form the dinner of one 
 epicure in high life: and consider how many poor 
 families the price of this expensive entertainment 
 might, if properly applied, redeem from the hor- 
 rors of famine ; can we, for an instant, wonder 
 that the poor should with indignation look on 
 them while living, and follow them with apathy 
 and more than silent curses to the tomb. The 
 rich wonder that they are unhappy, yet are igno- 
 rant of the cause ; they become more extravagant, 
 and then expect felicity — fatal mistake ! When 
 en the bed of sickness, when their pale faces are 
 turned towards the wall, and death, that grim 
 monster, approaches in all his terrors, neither 
 the prayers of the fatherless or the widow 
 are offered to a throne of grace in their behalf. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 497 
 
 When they die they are unlamented ; the sigh of 
 heartfelt sorrow — the tear of gratitude — the warm, 
 yet melancholy glow of admiration, all — all, are 
 absent. 
 
 But those who to riches unite benevolence, to 
 rank condescension, and in exalted stations be- 
 come accessible to the calls of humanity, are 
 loved and revered during life; when dead they 
 are deplored with the tenderness of friendship ; 
 and their memory cherished with delight. Thus 
 was it with Lady Ellincourt ; from the lowest 
 domestic of her establishment to the highest 
 nobles of her acquaintance. It might well be said 
 of her, that she was a Christian indeed. 
 
 The next morning the Duke of Albemarle 
 quitted Pemberton Abbey. The Duchess could 
 not think of leaving her parents and the Ellin- 
 courts till their sorrow was a little abated. She 
 wrote a note to Lady Mornington, apologizing for 
 continuing absent from her, but representing it was 
 a duty owing to the memory of the deceased, 
 and to the feelings of the survivors, to remain 
 with them till after the funeral. She concluded, 
 by desiring that she would consider Darby House 
 as hers, and act as the mistress of it. The Duke 
 conveyed this epistle ; it was received by Lady 
 Mornington with much concern. She knew how 
 deeply her friend was affected, and she partici- 
 pated in her woe. The amiable Lady Ellincourt 
 would have excused the attendance of Fanny, on 
 consideration of her personal feelings; but the 
 Duchess of Albemarle never studied her own 
 feelings when there was a probability of contri- 
 buting to the ease of another. Death was a me- 
 lancholy scene, yet she forgot the pain it occa- 
 sioned to herself in the pleasure it afforded to 
 the soul of the departed ; had Lady Ellincourt 
 died without seeing; her, she could never have 
 been happy. Those who regard the sufferings of 
 
498 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK, 
 
 the living, and Jet tbem operate so as to prevent 
 their granting consolation to the last iiioments of 
 the dying, prove themselves divested of the very 
 feelings they would boast of possessing; as the 
 sensations they would experience would be only 
 a horror at thinking of the grave, and that they 
 must shortly be as the object then before them ; 
 not the dictates of nature acting within them, or 
 they would prefer the tranquillity of those who 
 had but a few hours to survive, to their own. 
 About three days had elapsed from the death of 
 Lady Ellincourt, when Mrs. Barlowe, the mother 
 of Emily, paid a visit of condolence to the afflicted 
 inhabitants of Pemberton Abbey ; this lady came 
 not so much to partake of the general grief, and 
 pour the balm of comfort into the heart of her 
 daughter, as from a curiosity to see the Duchess 
 of Albemarle, of whose beauty she had heard 
 much talk. She had been extremely mortified 
 upon the marriage of the lovely Fanny, whom her 
 proud spirit had hoped to find indeed an orphan, 
 and of no consequence; the discovery of her 
 birth, and the eclat she afterwards made in the 
 fashionable world, instead of creating pleasure 
 in the bosom of this haughty woman, raised her 
 spleen to a powerful degree. " A nobody," said 
 she, " a creature but yesterday dependant upon 
 the charity of the public, all of a sudden to be 
 noticed by a man in such a higii sphere, and 
 caressed like one of the first ladies in the land. I 
 dare say it is al! a fudge about her mother being* 
 a descendant of the Somertowns, hatched up by 
 the artful wench herself, and some of the syco- 
 phants whom she has persuatled to believe the 
 idle tale, and then report it abroad; I am not so 
 easily duped. My daughter Emily, silly girl, was 
 always prejudiced in favor of the chit, but she 
 takes after her father. Poor man, he will not 
 come to an igcorainious end for setting the Thames 
 
THE LITTTE MENDICANT. 499 
 
 on fire." This ridiculous discourse was held with 
 one of her female associates, whose ignoble ideas 
 corresponded with her own. " Yet methinks," 
 said she, " I should like to obtain a peep at the 
 doll they make such a parade with. I reckon 
 myself a judge of beauty, and none can render 
 it more justice," pursued the arrogant Mrs. Bar- 
 lowe. *' Ah, but," replied Mrs. Godolphin, with 
 a satyrical smile, " if report tells truth, you would 
 have no room to criticise there, for she is the per- 
 fect paragon of feminine charms." " Then she is 
 more than ever woman was before her," resumed 
 Mrs. Barlowe, trying to screw up her mouth, that 
 was naturally of a prodigious length, and grinning 
 with malicious spite. The passion of curiosity, 
 however, dwells more or less in woman; she 
 grew more and more inquisitive to behold our 
 heroine, but it was not a laudable inquisitiveness; 
 had she been in the habit of going into public, 
 she might have seen her frequently; but Mr. 
 Barlowe, being of a very different turn from her- 
 self, he was fond of a retired life, and she was 
 constrained to affect an accordance with his 
 principles, though she inwardly despised them. 
 When Lady Ellincourt died, and the Duchess 
 was at the Abbey, she thought she had a fair 
 opportunity of having a sight of her. Accord- 
 ingly she came, and was introduced to Fanny. 
 She addressed her with an air of complaisance, 
 and after pretending to sympathise with her in the 
 loss she had sustained, she said, '* Your Grace 
 was, if I recollect, the companion of my daughter 
 at school." The Duchess answered in the affir- 
 mative, adding, *' that she had been so happy to 
 engage the early affections of her dear Emily, 
 and that she now possest her warmest friendship." 
 PVlrs. Barlowe surveyed her from top to toe, and 
 felt the bitterest envy rankling in her soul, as she 
 could not help acknowledging that she was the 
 
500 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 most beautiful of women, though she in the same 
 instant was angry with herself for making the 
 declaration. The Duchess was far from prepos- 
 sessed in her favor ; there was nothing to attract 
 in her deportment; but, as the mother of her be- 
 loved Emily, she wished to treat her with respect, 
 and, if possible, to try to esteem her; the latter 
 point it was not so easy to succeed in, the former 
 could be no difficulty to the refined manners of 
 the polished Duchess of Albemarle. To Mrs. 
 Hamilton she was civil, but no more ; they were 
 both too handsome to share an interest in the 
 heart of a woman resembling Mrs. Barlowe. 
 She did not make a very long stay. She had ac- 
 complished her desire, and maternal tenderness 
 was not strong enough to induce her to prolong 
 her visit. So singularly depraved was this un- 
 happy being, that because her husband had ex- 
 tolled the charms of Lady Albemarle, and she 
 knew sometimes called at Darby House, she had 
 Dot hesitated to suspect, and even accuse him of 
 harbouring an improper attachment for her. It 
 is needless to state that he despised so gross an 
 insinuation. To say that he loved his wife, would 
 be to assert almost an impossibility, as her dis- 
 position was too unaraiable to either love, or admit 
 of being loved ; but to say that he was a good 
 husband, is no more than strictly the truth ; he 
 indulged his lady in every thing that her caprice 
 demanded as to dress and keeping that company 
 she pleased ; the only restraint was her abstaining 
 from public places. She had plenty of money, 
 and no man was ever more constant. His charac- 
 ter has been admired, respecting the lovely, once 
 Fatherless Fanny. His conduct concerning her 
 was noble, and now that her history was revealed, 
 he participated in the universal joy that was mani- 
 fested on the occasion. He was himself a father, 
 therefore could conceive a father's feelings on 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 501 
 
 discovering a beloved child. Bnt Mrs. Barlowe, 
 bough a mother, was unsusceptible to every soft 
 emotion ; avarice, pride and ambition were the 
 ruling passions in her breast. After her interview 
 with the Duchess, the latter retired to her apart- 
 ment, and the rest of the melancholy inhabitants 
 of Pemberton Abbey, having performed their 
 evening's orisons, separated for the night. 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 The Funeral — Goodness of Lord Ellincourtf and 
 most curious Surprise. 
 
 Nothing of any importance occurred from this 
 period till the day on which the fimeral of the 
 departed Lady Ellincourt was to be solemnized. 
 On that day the robes of grief were wide dis- 
 played ; they added to the sombre appearance of 
 the Abbey, and its now forlorn possessors — every 
 eye streamed with tears — every heart was the habi- 
 tation of woe. The long avenues to the house 
 were crowded by a concourse of attendants, who 
 were to follow the weeping procession. The bell 
 began its deep funeral knell. Twelve carriages 
 were occupied with the relations and particular 
 friends of the deceased. In the first were Lord 
 Ellincourt, Mr. Hamilton, the Duke of Albemarle 
 and Mr. Barlowe. Lord Mountmorris went alone; 
 in no face were the tokens of sorrow expressed 
 stronger than in his. She was the only friend to 
 No. 22. 3 s 
 
^% FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 whom he could pour forth his complaints and 
 find a soothing balm; in her he lost his every 
 consolation. Fifty carriages belonging to the 
 nobility and gentry followed the mourners. The 
 servants of the lamented Lady Ellincourt, and 
 the poor who had oft experienced the effects of 
 her bounty, formed a cavalcade on each side; 
 crowds of attendants closed the melancholy train. 
 The whole was conducted with elegant magnifi- 
 cence, but suitable decorum. It was a mile and 
 a half to the Abbey Church, whither they slowly 
 proceeded. She was interred in the family vault, 
 and a splendid mausoleum was erected to her 
 memory, on which was engraved the following 
 inscription : — 
 
 Here lie(h, the last mortal relics 
 of Louisa Frances, Lady Dowager Ellincourt, 
 wlio departed this life, in the 60th year of her age, 
 ou Monday, September the 9th, in the year of our Lord 1780. 
 She was adored by her numerous relations for the many emi- 
 nent virtues by which her character was distinguished, 
 and esteemed by a large circle of acquaintance. 
 To the poor a universal friend; the defender 
 of the fatherless, and comforter of the 
 widow. Peace eternal be to her 
 sacred Manes. 
 
 O, 'scap'd from life ! O, safe on that calm shore. 
 Where sin, and pain, and passion, are no more ! 
 What never wealth could buy, nor power decree, 
 Regard and Pity wait sincere on thee : 
 So soft remembrance drops a pious tear, 
 And hcly friendship stands a mourner here. 
 
 The last mournful obsequies were performed 
 by the Rev. Dr. Woodward, who gave out, that 
 on the next Sabbath he would preach her funeral 
 sermon, when her relatives would then be able to 
 attend. The ceremony was truly grand and im- 
 pressive ; it seemed to inspire those assembled on 
 the occasion with sentiments of awe and reverence 
 they were unaccustomed to feel ; being at an end, 
 they returned in the same order they had set out. 
 The ladies of the family awaited their arrival in 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 503 
 
 an apartnipnt where they had met together to 
 condole, and the day was spent in tears and 
 lamentations. Mrs. Barlowe had been invited ; 
 she would gladly have declined the invitation, but 
 as her husband was one of the mourners, and she 
 stood in a degree of relationship to the Ellincourts, 
 she could not very well refuse; there was no dan- 
 ger of her spirits being affected, for they were 
 impregnable to the finer feelings. 
 
 Thus passed a week, and on Sunday the whole 
 party repaired to church, to hear the funeral ser- 
 mon of the beloved Lady Ellincourt. Dr. Wood- 
 ward eulogized with much feeling, warmth and 
 pathos, on the merits of her who had so recently 
 been committed to the cold silent tomb: he des- 
 cribed her as the pattern of female excellence; 
 and proposed her as an example for the fair sex. 
 Not a dry eye was to be seen, during this com- 
 mentary on the virtues of a woman so much res- 
 pected by those who knew her. Her sweet affable 
 deportment had secured her the afl'ections of 
 every class ; and to prove whether a person is 
 really worthy of estimation, is to enquire into the 
 character they bear amongst the poor; if they 
 speak with energy of their past amiable qualities, 
 and drop a tear o'er their graves, we cannot doubt 
 that they were deserving of the applause bestowed. 
 But if the rich alone bewail their loss; if the 
 countenances of the poor are unmoved, and their 
 tongues are only exerted to declaim against the 
 deceased, rest assured, their goodness was only 
 in the name; had it existed in the heart, gratitude 
 would have drawn a sigh from these dependants 
 on public bounty. 
 
 The service being over, the family returned to 
 the Abbey, and the next morning, the Duke and 
 Duchess took leave of its beloved, at present un- 
 happy residents. They felt themselves necessi- 
 
504 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 tated to hasten back to Darby House; but they 
 promised in the course of a few weeks to pay 
 thern another visit. The Duchess at parting, 
 embraced her mother and her dear Emily, and 
 implored them to be as reconciled as they could 
 to the Divine will. Lord Ellincourt seemed, if 
 possible, to receive a larger share of affliction, 
 than even Mrs. Hamilton or Emily; he had loved 
 his mother with an affection almost unequalled, 
 and his passions were of that ardent nature, 
 that they were not easily appeased — his native 
 good sense, however, was its own operator, as is 
 often the case. Arguments held with ourselves 
 frequently prove more efficacious than those dic- 
 tated by another. He evinced every public as 
 well as private respect to the memory of his re- 
 Yered relative ; he retained all the old domestics 
 who had served in the family for a number of 
 years, except one ; that was the butler, Mr. 
 Norris, who had been in that capacity upwards of 
 forty years, and was now turned of four-score ; 
 by reason of his infirmities, he was incapable of 
 holding it any longer, and he begged permission to 
 retire. Lord Ellincourt told him, that he was 
 sensible, at his age, it was vei-y unfit he should 
 have any office to think of, but that he had acted 
 with so much prudence and propriety, ever 
 since he had been in the service of Lady Ellin- 
 court, that if he liked his situation, he was 
 welcome to remain in it, without undergoing 
 any farther fatigue. " I\o, my Lord," said the 
 poor man, overjoyed at such a mark of favor, 
 " you are the best of gentlemen, and I shall 
 always in gratitude be bound to pray for you: 
 but i cannot endure the idea of becoming a bur- 
 then to so good a master — if I am past doing 
 service, I will not be an enciunbrance. I have, 
 by my industry, amassed wages enough to sup 
 port me decently for the little while 1 have to liv 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 505 
 
 but I will endeavour to stay and make myself as 
 useful as J can, till your Lordship has secured 
 another servant." " Honest creature," said Lord, 
 Ellincourt, " well may they say, honesty is its 
 own reward, since no jewel is equal to it." He 
 did not apprize him with his intentions concerning 
 him, as he feared, his upright principles would 
 defeat his purpose, but consenting to his wishes, 
 he dismissed him. As soon as he had quitted his 
 presence, this worthy nobleman ordered his car- 
 riage, and taking a ride round the country, he 
 fixed his eye upon a cottage, pleasantly situated; 
 it was to let ; he alighted, and surveyed it; it con- 
 sisted of two apartments on the ground floor, a 
 comfortable bed-room up stairs, a good kitchen, 
 a pantry, a cow-house, and a large garden, well 
 stocked with vegetables. He instantly hired it on 
 reasonable terms, and returned home, his heart 
 considerably lightened of its weight of sorrow, 
 by reflecting that he had contributed to the 
 welfare of a fellow-creature. He then wrote to 
 London to his banker, ordering him to make over 
 the sum of fifty pounds per annum to the said 
 Thomas Norris. Having so acted, he acquainted 
 this valuable servant v>'ith what he had done for 
 him. " You tell me, my friend," said he, " that 
 you have saved money. I am glad to hear it, 
 but although you have no wife surviving, you may 
 have some dear relative, that you could wish to be 
 kind to, or to leave a tritie of money at your de- 
 cease. If so, preserve the fruits of your virtuous 
 industry. The pittance 1 have mentioned will- 
 enable you to live ; you shall be rent free, and 
 you will find plenty of pigs, poultry, and kine 
 on the grounds of the cottage J design for you." 
 To describe the surprise, the grateful joy of 
 the faithful Norris, as he listened to this detail, 
 would be beyond the power of mortals ; it pro- 
 duced such an effect, that he fell prostrate at the 
 
fi06 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 feet of Ilis master, and sobbed, unable to utter 
 a word. Lord EUincourt raised him from the 
 ground. " O, my master," he cried, " Oh, my 
 master." " Why are you thus affected," said his 
 Lordship, " have I done any thing more than 
 your long continued services and strict fidelity 
 give you a title to expect? It is meet that years 
 siiould be rewarded for the labours of youth ; 
 you deserve to enjoy the comforts of life in your 
 latter days, and you shall enjoy them." So 
 saying, he warndy shook him by the hand, wish- 
 ing j^e might be spared for some years, to inhabit 
 his rural abode. *' You are indeed a man," re- 
 plied Mr. Norris; " true, is the learned Mr. Pope's 
 observation, 'that worth makes the man, and want 
 of it the fellow.' You have proved your intrinsic 
 ■worth, by your benevolence to an aged man, and 
 God Almiglity will I hope bless your Lordship." 
 
 Lord Lllincourt quitted hira, overwhelmed 
 with his prayers and thanks. Would you be loved 
 like him, study to behave like him ; not, that 
 study will form a heart, for if God has not been 
 pleased to give one, no mortal endeavours will 
 ever acquire it. The heart is the seat of either 
 virtue or vice. Knowledge lies in the brain — 
 but goodness, or its reverse, is in the breast of 
 man. The most sensible people are often the 
 most wicked; for this reason, if they are disposed 
 to evil, being endued with a fine understanding, 
 they have double opportunities to do mischief; an 
 ignorant creature has not the power of concerting 
 schemes for the accomplishment of desperate 
 undertakings. But one possest of wisdom, if he 
 has devoted it to bad purposes, is crafty, full of 
 contrivance, and ready to aid in any plot for the 
 completion of his vile machinations. A very sen- 
 sible person, of either sex, is generally extremely 
 amiable, or famed for avowed dishonor — seldom 
 do we? observe them between the two extremes. 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 507 
 
 Those who move in a middling direction, neither 
 rushing into guilt and idle dissipation, or living in 
 the practise of every virtue, are gifted, it is said, 
 with a moderate capacity, and not without honor- 
 able principles. But it must be borne in memory, 
 that however some may strive to exalt such cha- 
 racters, the half hearted in virtue's cause, are more 
 to be dreaded, than those who plunge deepest 
 into every sink of vice and dissipation. Their 
 half formed and palliating principles continu- 
 ally lay them open to temptation; making them 
 more ready to listen to the suggestions of their 
 passions, than the voice of reason. He who is en- 
 dowed with strong intellect, but perverts the gift 
 of the Creator to vile purposes, becomes known 
 to the world as a vicious character, and may be 
 avoided. The half virtuous — he who regulates 
 his vices by cold calculation, is as the snake in 
 the grass, and stings when all seems secure. The 
 moderately virtuous is in society what the luke 
 warm is in religion — where there are great parts, 
 there is a greater elevation of ideas; and they 
 must be either displayed in a good or a bad 
 cause. 
 
 The next action of Lord Ellincourt was to pro- 
 vide for the poor parishioners, whom his mother 
 had rendered assistance to in their distress. For 
 several of them, he built some alms houses, put- 
 ting each family into possession of one; thus 
 making them perfectly comfortable for the re- 
 mainder of their existences. In short, he was the 
 universal reliever of indigence, and the conde- 
 scension with which he inquired into cases of ca- 
 lamity, enhanced the value of his gifts tenfold. 
 About this time, a friend arrived from Paris, whom 
 he had not seen for ten years, having been hur- 
 ried to that country, on business of the highest 
 importance. This was Sir Henry Ambersley. He 
 had negotiated the affair he went upon, and now 
 
508 FATHERLESS. FANNY; OR, 
 
 returned elated with his success. He hastened im- 
 mediately to the Abbey, as he was impatient to see 
 Lord Ellincourt, for whom he had a warm regard. 
 His joy was, however, a little damped, on learning 
 the loss he had sustained ; he condoled with him in 
 language most affecting. But on being acquainted 
 with his nuptials, and introduced to the lovely fair 
 whom he had chosen for his bride, he congratu- 
 lated him on the blissful event, and wished him 
 many years of uninterrupted happiness. Sir Henry 
 Ambersley was, J must inform my readers, not the 
 only person who had come from abroad, and was 
 desirous of an interview with Lord Ellincourt. 
 He was accompanied by a lady, who, though past 
 the prime of life, was still handsome. She had 
 long been tenderly attached to Lord Ellincourt, 
 and he had once loved her with an affection the 
 most fervent. Once, did I say ? it had never 
 been eradicated from his breast; its strengtli had 
 rather been confirmed by their separation. 
 
 Methinks I see the reader start, look puzzled, 
 and perhaps heave a sigh for poor Emily. Go on, 
 my friends, be assured poor Emily is in no danger 
 of being made jealous by the allurements of this 
 innocent female. Since she was neither more or 
 less than the identical little Fanny whom his Lord- 
 ship lost so many years before. She actually 
 came from France under the escort of Sir Henry. 
 By what means she was carried out of her native 
 land is bye-and-bye to be told. Sir Henry had in- 
 tended to have a bit of fun about the dog before he 
 introduced her to his Lordship; but finding this 
 to be an unseasonable period for jokes, he, after the 
 most important conversation was over, asked him 
 if he had forgot the little animal they had once 
 had such sport about. " No," answered he, " I 
 have not forgot her, 1 have often wished I could 
 find her; but 1 despair of it after such a length of 
 time." " Do not despair," said Sir Henry, *' for I 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 509 
 
 liave found her, and can restore her to yon." " Are 
 you hoaxing me?" returned Lord Ellincourt, 
 viewing him attentively. " No, indeed," replied 
 Sir Henry, " this is not a time for hoaxing. 1 
 have really got the dog, and he rang the bell for a 
 servant. On one appearing, he ordered him to 
 go to his carriage, and bring the spaniel that was 
 in it. He obeyed. As soon as he entered with 
 her, the animal, who knew her master, sprang out 
 of his arms, and fell down at the feet of Lord 
 Ellincourt in a fit. She was instantly picked up, 
 and presently restored to animation ; on which she 
 was caressed by her master in the kindest manner. 
 She wagged her tail, and began to exhibit every 
 sign of exultation. There is no quadruped so sa- 
 gacious as dogs; — they never forget good treat- 
 ment, and as seldom remember bad. They are 
 noble and loving in their dispositions, fraught with 
 the most acute sensibility, and ready on every oc- 
 casion to testify their zeal in our cause. Lord 
 Ellincourt became eager to know the story of the 
 little Fanny, and how she had been conveyed 
 abroad. " Do you remember," said Sir Henry, 
 "Jack Robertson, the servant whom you dismissed 
 a few months before I embarked for France, on 
 suspicion of purloining plate; but the fact was 
 never clearly proved." " Very well," answered 
 Lord Ellincourt. " He then stole your dog," re- 
 sumed Sir Henry. " I cannot say whether he was 
 a plunderer in any thing else or not; but knowing 
 your attachment to it, a brutal desire of revenge 
 for the impeachment of his character, as he termed 
 it, prompted him to deprive a defenceless animal 
 of her protector. He took her to France, and had 
 been there four months when I reached that place, 
 1 was no stranger, either to the persons of the ser- 
 vant or the dog, therefore immediately identified 
 them both. He strove to evade my questions, but 
 could not dispute my authority as to Fan. When 
 22. 3 T 
 
510 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 I called her by her name; she showed by her va- 
 rious gesticulations that she understood me. In 
 short, I insisted upon his giving her up, or i would 
 expose hiin to the vindictive sentence of the law 
 for the robbery he had been accused of when in 
 Esigland. He did not offer to justify his past con- 
 duct, but quietly resigned the dog. I would wil- 
 lingly have returned to England without delay, 
 but it was impossible; the nature of my affairs re- 
 quired that I should continue abroad. I have 
 taken great care of Fanny hov/ever, and am glad 
 to find she knows your Lordship," Lord Ellin- 
 court thanked him for his considerate attention, 
 and again renewed his endearments to his favorite, 
 whose eyes sparkled with delight. The conversa- 
 tion changed. Sir Henry asked if Colonel Ross 
 was in London, " He is in heaven, or the other 
 place," answered Lord Ellincourt. Sir Henry 
 started. " It is very true," he pursued, and in- 
 stantly related the manner of his death, with some 
 coincident circumstances attending it. Sir Henry 
 was much shocked on hearing so sad an account. 
 " I always thought him a wicked fellow," said he, 
 " but 1 hoped that by this time he was reformed." 
 " I believe," replied Lord l^lUincourt, " that his 
 repentance was at last sincere, but he seemed to 
 have devoted himself to destruction, and his beha- 
 viour to my amiable cousin was barbarous to a de- 
 gree." Surprised as was Sir Henry at this rela- 
 tion, there was an event that remained to be un- 
 folded to him of a far more astonishing nature ; 
 this was the history of tlie lovely Fanny who had 
 been the occasion of so much merriment. Lord 
 Ellincourt revealed the story of her birth, and her 
 union with the Dukeof Albenmrle, concluding by 
 affirming her to be the most deserving of women. 
 "I am amazed, indeed," returned Sir Henry, "yet 
 I must confess there was an air of dignity in her, 
 even then, that denoted sometliing more than ordi- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 511 
 
 nary ; is she as beautiful as when a child ?" " Fifty 
 times more so, if tliat can be imagined," cried Lord 
 Eliiucourt with energy. " She is divinely hand- 
 some, but it is her mind, Ambersley, that has 
 raised her to her present station. My fritcid, the 
 Duke of Albemarle, would never have married a 
 woman, let her beauty have been ever so transcen- 
 dant, had she not been endowed with those rarer 
 accomplishments that the mind produce. Personal 
 charms soon fade, but internal perfections are more 
 durable." "In troth they are," replied Sir 
 Kenry, " but justly do you call them rare, for I 
 have proved them such. 1 was nearly being 
 caught myself whilst in Paris ; but, thank heaven, 
 I escaped the noose." " Are you then heart- 
 whole as well as liand-whole?" said Lord Ellin- 
 court. "I am," Sir ili?nry resumed. "In my 
 travels I met with a young French woman, whose 
 bright attractions quickly won upon my soul. I 
 paid my addresses to her; she returned my de- 
 clarations of love, and we were on the eve of mar- 
 riage. A few days, however, before the wedding 
 was appointed to take place, I had the good for- 
 tune to hear that she was a noted woman of in- 
 trigue, and wanted to get married to the Urst man 
 of rank that would make her the offer. I should, 
 therefore, have been the tool of her pleasures, iii- 
 stead of the husband of her choice. I'call it good 
 fortune, because it preserved me from ruin. 1 in- 
 stantly waited upon the lady, and told her I thought 
 she had great merit for her contrivances, but that 
 for once the biter had been bit. i had the honor 
 to be her most humble servant. She answered 
 me only with a contemptuous sneer, and I never 
 saw her after. 1 was very mortified, as you may 
 suppose, at being so near made the dupe of an art- 
 ful and designing female; but I can assure you, 
 that was the only sensation of concern 1 expe- 
 rienced. I was not sufficiently in love to break 
 
512 FATMERLKfiS FANNY ; OR, 
 
 my heart about the perfidy of my mistress." " I 
 cannot think," cried LordEllincourt, "what could 
 prepossess you for a moment to have an idea of 
 marrying a foreigner, such plenty of English beau- 
 ties as you may daily see." " Ah, but," said Sir 
 Henry, *' 1 knew I was doomed to dwell on fo- 
 reign shores for such a lapse of time that I almost 
 feared I might die a bachelor ; and the bare 
 thought of that is insupportable. Whenever I 
 hear of a man dying single, unless he is quite a 
 youth, it occurs to me that there was something 
 so disagreeable in him no woman would venture 
 to accept him; and now how shockingly one's va- 
 nity would be humbled to have that said of one 
 after one's decease." Lord Ellincourt could hardly 
 forbear smiling at this discussion ; he, however, 
 congratulated his friend on his return to England, 
 and wished he might soon find a lady with whom 
 there might be a prospect of happiness in the ma- 
 trimonial state. With this concluding observation 
 they for the present took leave. 
 
 CHAPTER LH. 
 
 Coticlusion. 
 
 AVhen the Duchess returned to Darby House, 
 8ir Everard and Lady Mornington were taking a 
 walk in the beautiful gardens that surrounded this 
 elegant mansion. Thither the Duke and his bride 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 513 
 
 hastened to meet them. Their first salutations 
 were mournful. Amelia's countenance wore not 
 the playful smile it was wont to do. Her friend 
 was unhappy, and she participated in her emotions 
 of grief. By degrees, however, affliction wears 
 away ; the sharpest sorrows grow less and less 
 acute, particularly those inflicted by death. God 
 has ordained that we should die, and if he pleases 
 to remove those we love best on earth, we hope it 
 is to inherit a crown of unfading righteousness, 
 and that should resign us to their departure. 
 There are a variety of evils which our own miscon- 
 duct may have occasioned us to smart under. It 
 is not so easy to derive consolation under them, be- 
 cause they have been our own seeking. But 
 death, even supposing it an evil we are not ac- 
 countable for, to presume, however, to give it that 
 appellation, is to call the goodness of the Eternal 
 in question. On the contrary, it is the most signal 
 of the divine blessings. When the heart is op- 
 prest by a series of calamity ; when sickness, in- 
 digence, and other accumulating trials nearly 
 "weigh us to the ground, if we address the omnis- 
 cient source of mightiness, if we consider him as a 
 being ready to redress our woes, and reflect that 
 there is a heaven above to which we shortly shall 
 repair, our troubles will quickly be alleviated. 
 The only real comfort we can derive, is that a pe- 
 riod must come when we shall be delivered from 
 misfortune, and received into the presence of our 
 Lord. Our souls must surely thrill with trans- 
 port at an idea so replete with ecstacy. The 
 more miserable our situation, the brighter our con- 
 templation on the Deity, and his unspeakable glo- 
 ries; and the stronger our feelings of joy on anti- 
 cipating a release from suffering. 
 
 To return to our subject. The amiable Lady 
 Mornington and her husband having staid a cou- 
 ple of months at Darby House, took leave of their 
 
614 FATHERLESS FANNY; Oil, 
 
 beloved friends, and repaired to London, though 
 not without evident regret, as they were made en- 
 tire converts to their opinions, and fonder of the 
 country tlian ever they had been of the town. 
 The Duchess was now in a situation which pro- 
 mised the house of Albemarle an heir, and all ne- 
 cessary preparations were making for the birth of 
 the expected chihl, and all things wore the face of 
 joy. Grief for Lady EUincourt gradually ab- 
 sorbed into a reverential respect for her memory. 
 
 Pemberton Abbey became once more the seat 
 of festive mirth ; tears were banished, and smiles 
 usurped their place. Some months having elapsed, 
 Lady EUincourt presented his Lordship an heir. 
 This event increased the happiness of all parties, 
 as it had long been fervently wished for. The 
 child was christened Edmund after his father. 
 The lovely Fanny presented the j>uke about the 
 same time with a daughter, the image of herself in 
 beauty; that was called Emily, as it was her mo- 
 ther's name, and her dear Lady Ellincourt's. They 
 received the congratulating compliments of all the 
 nobility on these truly blissful occasions. 
 
 Lady Palmer, whose calamity must have drawn 
 forth the tear of universal compassion, became the 
 steady friend of Mrs. Hamilton, and of the Ellin- 
 courts. Time obliterated her sorrow for the loss 
 of her abandoned husband, though she never en- 
 tirely forgot the sincerity with which she once had 
 loved him. Her tranquillity was in a measure re- 
 stored, and her virtuous and praiseworthy character 
 secured the esteem of all who knew her. Lord 
 Mountmorris embraced the advice of his departed 
 friend, and procured an immediate divorce from 
 his lady, after which he retired into Wales, and 
 resided at a beautiful seat he held in that principa- 
 lity. Here he strove to forget the charms of her 
 who had seduced him to his ruin : but it was long 
 ere he could tear her imasre from his remem- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 515 
 
 brance. Her bewitching smile, her artful blan- 
 dishinents, wjjen striving to captivate his heart, all 
 returned with resistless force upon his fond imagi- 
 nation. He endeavoured, notwithstanding, to ef- 
 face these impressions so destructive to his peace. 
 He dwelt npon her cruel indifference after they 
 were married, and the scandalous conduct she at 
 last displayed. On which he taught himself by 
 slow degrees to despise her ; not to hate, for his 
 generous nature was incapable of that passion ; 
 but he abhorred her treachery, and detested her 
 principles. He was never perfectly happy, but the 
 rural joys of a country life contributed far more to 
 render him so, than the empty noise of the tumul- 
 tuous town. There every thing conspired to re- 
 mind him of the perfidious Charlotte. In the 
 former, his passions were calmed, and his reason 
 had more scope for exertion. 
 
 We shall now say a few words concerning the 
 wricked authoi's of his wretchedness, and the fate 
 that attended their proceedings. On arriving in 
 Holland, this guilty pair ascribed no bounds to 
 their extravagant licentiousness ; their flame was 
 at its height, and they failed not to indulge it. 
 They loved, or thought they loved, and they ima- 
 gined themselves in tlie possession of happiness ; 
 but soon they grew tireci of each other. Sir Ri- 
 chard was too versatile to be long attached to the 
 same woman. There is as much variety in beauty 
 as in the perfections of the mind : he was some- 
 times charmed with the lustre of a black eye — at 
 others, with the delicate softness of a blue one. 
 He began to manifest signs of indifference, that 
 her proud spirit could not brook. She accused 
 him of treating her with negligence. '" Had you 
 the vanity to suppose, Madam," said he, " that 
 your captive once would be your captive always? 
 No, Lady Mountmorris, you may think yourself 
 lucky to have held me in chains till now ; a month 
 
§16 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 is a much longer period than fashionables of our 
 stamp generally live together." 
 
 " 1 have captives enough in my train, I assure 
 you," scornfully uttered Lady M. " I do not 
 doubt it, Madam," answered Sir Richard with a 
 look of satig Jroid. " 1 well know, I was not the 
 
 first, your character " " Is better than your's, 
 
 Sir Richard, so prithee no more of that," inter- 
 rupted the lady, " was it for such an ungrate- 
 ful monster, 1 deserted my husband and my 
 home?" " Do not talk of ingratitude. Madam," 
 vehemently replied Sir Richard, " your own 
 breast is its abode, or you would never have been 
 what you are." *' I understand you. Sir," pur- 
 sued Lady M. " you wish already to get rid of 
 me; no matter, I have as little regard for you as 
 you can have for me. I had a very handsome 
 offer yesterday from the Duke of Carlisle, and I 
 shall embrace it instantly. Good morning. Sir," 
 and courtseyiug gracefully, she tripped out of the 
 room. Sir Richard bowed his head, and thus our 
 lovers parted. 
 
 Her Ladyship ordered her carriage, and drove 
 to the house of the Duke of Carlisle. He was 
 an English noble, but in Holland on business. 
 By him she was received with raptures. Angel, 
 goddess, common place words, were by turns be- 
 stowed upon her. He had a wife and family in 
 England, and bore the name of living very happy 
 with them; but this female fiend had seduced his 
 senses, and driven them away like a whirlwind. 
 She was soon, however, off his hands. Her next 
 gallant was Colonel Candeker, of the Light Corps. 
 From the time of her elopement from Lord 
 Mountmorris, she led for a twelvemonth, a life of 
 depravity and vice; at the end of that period, torn 
 by contending' passions — the mind, as if wearied 
 of the storm, often relapsed into a calm. In those 
 moments, the gentle disposition of Mountmorris 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 517 
 
 would be placed in competition with those of her 
 present lovers — if they were for a time profuse, 
 parsimony succeeded — but his generosity was 
 always the same — his love, if not ardent, was 
 steady — their's, as the meteor's light illumined 
 bnt for a moment — deceived, and left the wretch 
 who expected felicity in their smiles, a poor 
 forlorn outcast. Did she desire to mix in that 
 society, which from her earliest infancy she had 
 been used to frequent—the vice which she had 
 plunged into, barred the doors of virtue, discre- 
 tion, and good fame against her. Was it so in 
 those days, when Mountmorris by her side, was as a 
 passport to the most elevated families? Oh no, 
 distracting thought — I have abused his confi- 
 dence. I have wounded his peace. 1 have lost 
 my own reputation, and involved him in iny shame. 
 O, God ! Hush ! There is no Superior Being — 
 Sir Richard told me so — curses light upon thy 
 head, Palmer — Oh, thou hast robbed me of hope — 
 thou hast made me a wretch indeed. The last 
 resource of the troubled spirit, is religion — thou 
 hast made me doubt its reality. Jf thy argu- 
 ments are fallacious, I am undone, soul and body 
 are doomed to eternal torment — Oh how I dread 
 to prove— is there a hell. A cold shivering 
 seized her, the thought was fraught with horror, 
 and she sank lifeless on the floor. The noise of her 
 fall called in the owners of the house in which 
 she had apartments ; for a time, they thought the 
 vital spark iiad tied, and after applying the usual re- 
 medies, however, animation returned. Her eyes 
 wildly gazing, seemed to enquire if she had 
 thrown off the mortal coil. "Where am J?" 
 said she, in a fearful faultering voice. " Safe," 
 answered her host. " Safe," cried she, in ec- 
 stacy, and bounding from the sofa, exclaimed, 
 " then I am in hell — Oh uo ! Thank you, my 
 friends, I have been ill, 1 am better now — send my 
 22. 3 u 
 
518 PATHERLESS FANNY; OR, 
 
 woman to me." *' Your woman," said the hostess, 
 " she has set off in the diligence this morning, 
 and 1 thought your Ladyship knew of it; 1 helped 
 her myself to pack up the boxes." "The boxes," 
 said Lady Mountmorris, " the boxes ! now I am 
 miserable indeed. Leave me," continued she, " I 
 have something of importance to do before I fol- 
 low her." They retired. And now the phrenzy 
 of passion seized her: — the lovely countenance, 
 which once pleased and astonished, was now filled 
 with horror; and that eye which was once the 
 seat of a tiiousand loves, became the habitation of 
 despair. She was now robbed of every resource — 
 her money, her valuables, her trinkets gone, stolen 
 by her whom she thought loved her, whom she 
 expected was bound by every tie of gratitude and 
 honour. "Honour! ha! honour, when I had 
 none myself, how could I expect it in her. Mount- 
 morris, no — Palmer, to you — we shall meet again," 
 said she, while all the haggard furies appeared 
 disputing for the ascendancy in her once fair face; 
 then seizing a phial, she emptied it to the very 
 dregs :■ — 'twas poison. " Ha, ha !" with a hectic 
 laugh, " 'tis done." And now the subtle poison 
 works, and nature, unable to resist, sinks beneath 
 its powers. Poor lost child of passion ! thou 
 soughtest pleasure, and in its eager pursuit, passed 
 the object. She is gone with all her catalogue 
 of crimes unrepented of to face the awful pre- 
 sence of her Maker. Such was the end of the 
 young, handsome, gay, attracting Lady Mount- 
 morris. That of Sir Richard was scarcely less 
 shocking. Whilst his vile paramour was revelling 
 in guilty pleasures, he was forming additional plans 
 for the destruction of more victims. He had made 
 a resolution never to return to his wife ; and for 
 several months he continued in the })aths of liber- 
 tinism. At last Almighty vengeance overtook 
 him. He had concerted a project for the seduc- 
 
THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 519 
 
 tion of a lovely girl, and had nearly accomplished 
 it, by professing to address her with views of mar- 
 riage : his real designs were discovered by the 
 brother of the maiden ; — he challenged him, and 
 they fought. Sir Richard was mortally wounded, 
 but no fault could be imputed to his antagonist. 
 We shall, however, leave this subject, and proceed 
 to the other characters, as it is necessary we should 
 be brief. 
 
 Lady Ballafyn did not long survive the loss 
 of her Lord; his injurious treatment and disgrace- 
 ful exit nearly broke her heart; — she expired in 
 the arras of the best of mothers. The Marquis 
 and Marchioness of Petersfield soon followed; 
 they were rather advanced in years, and the mis- 
 fortunes of their beloved Maria overpowered them. 
 Their remaining daughter. Lady Isabella, mar- 
 ried the Earl of Somerset. She has been repre- 
 sented as proud and haughty; but the afflictions 
 her family had met with subdued her spirit. She 
 made an excellent wife, and her manners became 
 softened and refined. 
 
 Mrs. Barlowe, the imperious Mrs. Barlowe, 
 after tyrannizing over all vvith whom she had any 
 power for a number of years, died suddenly in an 
 apoplectic fit. The worthy Mr. Barlowe lived to 
 a great age, and continued to be universally es- 
 teemed. Their eldest daughter, Mrs. Cornel, lived 
 and died abroad. She was a woman without any 
 natural feelings ; therefore, had not the smallest in- 
 clination to re-visit her native clime, or to behold 
 the relations and friends of her early infancy. 
 She had one child, which was still-born. She was 
 as happy with her husband as such women ge- 
 nerally are; he grudged her nothing, and as there 
 was no want of money, there was no discord with 
 them. Her sister, the amiable Emily, fully se- 
 cured the affections of Lord Ellincourt by her 
 tender obliging assiduities, and the uniform tenor 
 of her conduct. They had several children, and 
 
520 FATHERLESS FANNY; &C. 
 
 they educated them in tlie best manner. Our he- 
 roine, the charming Fanny, likewise, blessed by 
 Providence with numerous pledges of their mu- 
 tual love. She was an affectionate mother, and 
 her offspring- inherited the virtues of their excel- 
 lent parents. Would wives be happy, like Fanny, 
 let them study to l)ehave as she did. Every man, 
 is not a similar character to the Duke of Albe- 
 marle, but almost every man might be made to re- 
 semble him in a degree, would women conform 
 to their tempers, and respect, as it deserves, the 
 matrimonial vow. Mr. and Mrs. Flamilton lived 
 many years to enjoy felicity, and thought them- 
 selves amply recompensed for former trials, in pre- 
 sent happiness and the hope of future bliss. Sir 
 Henry Ambersley shortly n>arried Lady Margaret 
 Noland, a female of distinguished beauty and 
 seiise, with whom he was very happy. Lady 
 Mornington, in about a year and a half after their 
 nuptials, presented Sir Everard with twins, a lovely 
 boy and a girl. This couple grew more and more 
 domesticated ; their time was divided between 
 tow^n and country, and their dispositions were 
 such that they derived enjoyment from both. 
 Amelia still preserved the sprightliness that was 
 natural to her character, but was entirely divested 
 of its volubility. Sir Everard totally forsook the 
 pleasures of shooting and the chase, and com- 
 menced a rational life. As to the arrogant Miss 
 Bridewell, she continued to reign at Myrtle Grove, 
 and was wisely denominated the female hector of 
 the place. The pious Dr. Woodward died in a 
 few years, and was interred with all possible res- 
 pect. The honest Mr. Norris retired to the cot- 
 tage appropriated for his use, blessing the name of 
 the benevolent donor. He lived in it twenty years, 
 thus reaching the astonishing period of a hundred. 
 Here concludes the story of the lovely Fanny. 
 
 THE END.