 CHAPTER 1 GIVES THE READER ROOM TO GAS AT WHAT IS TO INSUE. It was always my opinion that fewer women were undone by love than vanity, and that those mistakes the sex are sometimes guilty of proceed for the most part rather from inadvertency than a vicious inclination. The ladies, however, I am sorry to observe, are apt to make too little allowances to each other on this force, and seem better pleased with occasion to condemn than to excuse. And it is not above one, in a greater number than I, will presume to mention who, while he passes the severest censure on the conduct of her friend, will be at the trouble of taking a retrospect on her own. There are some who are behold, with indignation and contempt, those errors in others, which unhappily they are every day falling into themselves. And as the want of due consideration occasions the guilt, so the want of due consideration also occasions the scandal. And there would be much less room, either for the one or the other, were some part of that time which is wasted at the toilet in consulting what dresses most be coming to the face, employed in examining the heart, and what actions are most becoming of the character. Betsy Thoughtless was the only daughter of a gentleman of good family and fortune. In L we shall leave the name out. Where he constantly resided, scarce ever going to London, and contended himself with such diversions as the country afforded. On the death of his wife he sent his little favorite, then about ten years old, to a boarding school, the governess of which had the reputation of a woman of great good sense, fine breeding, and every way qualified for the well-forming of the minds of those young persons who were entrusted to her care. The old gentleman was so well pleased with having placed his daughter, where she was so likely to improve in all the accomplishments befitting her sex, that he never suffered her to come home, even at breaking up times, when most of the other young ladies did so. But as the school was not above seven or eight miles from his seat, he seldom failed calling to see her once or twice a week. Miss Betsy, who had a great deal of good nature, and somewhat extremely engaging in her manner of behavior, soon gained the affection not only of the governess but of all the young ladies. But as girls as well as women had their particular favorites to whom they may communicate their little secrets, there was one who, above all the others, was distinguished by her. Miss Foward, for so she was called, was also very fond of Miss Betsy. This intimacy, beginning but in trivial things, and such a suit of their age, continued as they advanced nearer to maturity. Miss Foward, however, had two years the advantage of her friend, yet did not disdain to make her the confidant of a kind of amorous intrigue she had entered into with a young lad, called Master Sparkish, the son of a neighboring gentleman. He had fallen in love with her at church, and had taken all opportunities to convince her of his passion. She, proud of being looked upon as a woman, encouraged it. Frequent letters passed between them, for she never failed to answer those she received from him, both which were shown to Miss Betsy, and this gave her an early light into the art and mystery of courtship, and consequently a relish for admiration. The young lover, calling his mistress Angel and Goddess, made her long to be in her teens that she might have the same things said to her. This correspondence, being by some accident discovered, the governess found it behooped her to keep a strict eye upon Miss Foward. All the servants were examined concerning the conveying of any letters, either to or from her, but none of them knew anything of the matter. It was a secret to all but Miss Betsy who kept it inviolably. It is fit, however, the reader should not remain in ignorance. Master Sparkish had read the story of Pyramus and Thispy. He told his mistress of it, and in imitation of those lovers of antiquity, stuck his letters into a little crevice he found in the garden wall. Wents she pulled them out every day, and returned her answers by the same friendly breach, which he very gallantly told her in one of his epistles, had been made by the God of love himself in order to favour his suit. So that all the governess's circumspection could not hinder this amour from going on without interruption, and could they have contended themselves with barely writing to each other, they might probably have done so till they both had been weary. And although I will not pretend to say that either of them had anything in their inclinations that was not perfectly consistent with innocence, yet it is certain that both languished for a nearer conversation, which the fertile brain of Miss Foward at last brought about. She pretended, one Sunday in the afternoon, to have so violent a pain in her head that she could not go to church. Miss Betsy begged leave to stay and keep her company, and told the governess she would read a sermon, or some other good work to her. The good old woman, little suspecting the plot, consorted between them, readily consented. Nobody being left in the house but themselves, and one maid servant, young sparkish who had previous notice at what hour to come, was led in at the garden door, the key being always in it. Miss Betsy left the lovers in an arbor and went into the kitchen, telling the maid she had read Miss Foward to sleep, and hoped she would be better when she waked. She amused the wretch with one little chat or another till she thought divine service was near over. Then returned into the garden to give her friends warning it was time to separate. They had, after this, many private interviews, through the contrivance and assistance of Miss Betsy, who, quite charmed at being made the confidant of a person older than herself, set all her wits to work to render herself worthy of the trust reposed in her. Sometimes she made pretenses of going to the millner, the manchurer-maker, or to buy something in town, and begged to leave that Miss Foward should accompany her, saying she wanted her choice in what she was to purchase. Sparkish was always made acquainted when they were to go out and never failed to give them a meeting. Miss Foward had a great deal of the co-cat in her nature. She knew how to play at fast and loose with her lover, and young as she was took a pride in mingling pain with the pleasure she bestowed. Miss Betsy was a witness of all the heirs the other gave herself on this occasion, and the artifices she made use of in order to secure the continence of his addresses. So that thus early initiated into the mystery of courtship it is not to be wondered at that when she came to the practice she was so little at a loss. This intercourse, however, lasted but a small time. Their meetings were too frequent and too little circumspection used in them not to be liable to discovery. The governess was informed that in spite of all her care the young folks had been too cunning for her, on which she went to the father of Sparkish acquainted him with what she knew of the affair and in treated he would lay his commands on his son to refrain all conversation with any of the ladies under their tuition. The old gentleman flew into a violent passion on hearing his son had already begun to think of love. He called for him and after having raided his youthful folly in the severest manner charged him to relate the whole truth of what had passed between him and the young lady mentioned by the governess. The poor lad was terrified beyond measure at his father's anger and confessed every particular of his meetings with Miss Forward and her companion. And thus Miss Betsy's share of the contrivance was brought to light and drew on her a reprimand equally severe with that Miss Forward had received. The careful governess would not entirely depend on the assurance the father of Sparkish had given her and resolved to trust neither of the ladies out of her sight while that young gentleman remained so near them, which she knew would be but a short time he having finished his school-learning and was soon to go to the university. To prevent also any future stratagems being laid between Miss Betsy and Miss Forward she took care to keep them from ever being alone together, which was a very great mortification to them, but a sudden turn soon after happened in the affairs of Miss Betsy, which put all I have been relating entirely out of her head. CHAPTER II Miss Betsy was Miss Betsy in a new scene of life and the frequent opportunity she had of putting in practice those lessons she was beginning to receive from her young instructors at the boarding school. Though it is certainly necessary to inculcate into young girls all imaginable precaution in regard to their behavior toward those of another sex, yet I know not if it is not an error to dwell too much upon that topic. Miss Betsy might possibly have sooner forgot the little artifices she had seen practiced by Miss Forward if her governess, by too strenuously endeavoring to convince her how unbecoming they were, had not reminded her of them. Besides the good old gentlewoman was far stricken in years. Time had set his iron fingers on her cheek, had left his cruel marks on every feature of the face, and she had little remains of having ever been capable of exciting those inclinations she so much condemned, so that what she said seemed to Miss Betsy as spoke out of envy, or to show her authority rather than the real dictates of truth. I have often remarked that reproofs from the old and ugly have much less officiacy than those given by persons less advanced in years, and who may be supposed, not altogether, past sensibility themselves of the gatties they advise others to avoid. Though all the old gentlewoman said could not persuade Miss Betsy there was any harm in Miss Forward's behavior toward young sparkish, yet she had the compliance to listen to her with all the attention the other could expect or desire from her. She was indeed, as yet too young to consider of the justice of the other's reasoning, and her future conduct showed, also that she was not of a humor to give herself much pains in examining or weighing in the balance of judgment the merit of the arguments she heard urged, whether for or against any point whatsoever. She had a great deal of wit, but was too volatile for reflection, and as a ship without sufficient ballast is tossed about at the pleasure of every wind that blows, so was she hurried through the ocean of life just as each predominant passion directed. But I will not anticipate that gratification which ought to be the reward of a long curiosity. The reader, if he has patience to go through the following pages, will see into the secret springs which set this fair machine in motion and produced many actions which were ascribed by the ill-judging and malicious world to causes very different from the real ones. All this, I say, will be revealed in time, but it would be absurd in a writer to rush all at once into the catastrophe of the adventures he would relate, as it would be impracticable in a traveler to reach the end of a long journey without sometimes stopping at the ends in his way to it, to proceed, therefore, gradually with my history. The father of Miss Betsy was a very worthy, honest, and good-natured man, but somewhat too indolent, and by depending too much on the fidelity of those he entrusted with the management of his affairs, he had been for several years involved in a lawsuit, and to his misfortune the aversion he had to business rendered him also incapable of extricating himself from it. And the decision was spun out to a much greater length than it need to have been, could he have been prevailed upon to have attended in person the several courts of justice the cause had been carried through by his more industrious adversary. The exorbitant bills, however, which his lawyers were continually drawing upon him, joined with the pressing remonstrances of his friends at last roused him from his inactivity of mind which had already cost him so dear, and determined him not only to take a journey to London, but likewise not to return home till he had seen a final end put to this perplexing affair. Before his departure he went to the boarding school to take his leave of his beloved Betsy, and renew the charge he had frequently given the governess concerning her education, adding in a mournful accent that it would be a long time before he saw her again. His words, as it proved, had somewhat a prophecy in them. On his arrival in London he found his cause in so perplexed and entangled a situation as gave him little hopes of ever bringing it to a favourable issue. The vexation and fatigue he underwent on this account, joined with the closeness of the town air which had never agreed with his constitution even in his younger years, soon threw him into that sort of consumption which goes by the name of a galloping one, and, they say, is the most difficult of any to be removed. He died in about three months without being able to do any great matters concerning the affair which had drawn him from his peaceful home, and according to all possibility hastened his fate. Being perfectly sensible and convinced of his approaching dissolution, he made his will, bequeathing the bulk of his estate to whom whose right it was, his eldest son, then upon his travels through the greatest part of Europe, all his personals which were very considerable to the bank, and other public funds he ordered should be equally divided between Francis, his second son, at that time a student at Oxford, and Miss Betsy, constituting at the same time as trustees to the said testament, Sir Ralph Trustey, his near-neighbor in the country, and Mr. Goodman, a wealthy merchant in the city of London, both of them gentlemen of unquestionable integrity, and with whom he had pursued a long and uninterrupted friendship. On the arrival of this melancholy news, Miss Betsy felt as much grief as it was possible for a heart so young and gay as hers to be capable of, but a little time for the most part serves to obliterate the memory of misfortunes of this nature even in persons of a riper age, and had Miss Betsy been more afflicted than she was, something happened soon after which would have very much contributed to her consolation. Mr. Goodman having lived without marrying till he had reached an age which one should have imagined would have prevented him from thinking of it at all, at last took it into his head to become husband. The person he made choice of was called Lady Mellison, relic of a baronet who, having little or no estate, had accepted of a small employment about the court, in which post he died leaving her ladyship one daughter named Flora in a very destitute condition. Goodman, however, had wealth enough for both, and consulted no other interest than that of his heart. As for the Lady, the motive on which she had consented to be his wife may easily be guessed, and when once made so, gained such an absolute ascendancy over him that whatever she declared as her will with him had the force of a law. She had aversion to the city, he immediately took a house of her choosing at St. James, inconvenient as it was for his business. Whatever servants she disapproved, though of never so longstanding, and of the most approved fidelity, were discharged and others more agreeable to her put in their places. In fine nothing she desired was denied. He consuded her as an oracle of wit and wisdom and thought it would be unpardonable arrogance to attempt to set his reason against hers. This Lady was no sooner informed of the trust reposed on him than she told him she thought it would be highly proper for Miss Betsy to be sent for from the school and boarded with them, not only as her daughter would be a fine companion for that young orphan, they being much the same age, and she herself was more capable of proving her mind than any governess of a school could be supposed to be. But that also, having her under her own eye, he would be more able to discharge his duty toward her as a guardian than if she were at the distance of near and hundred miles. There was something in this proposal which had indeed the face of a great deal of good nature and consideration for Miss Betsy, at least it seemed highly so to Mr. Goodman. As Sir Ralph Trusty was joined with him in the guardianship of that young beauty and was at that time in London, he thought it proper to consult him on the occasion, which, having done and finding no objection on the part of the other, Lady Mellison, to show her great compliance to the daughter of her husband's deceased friend, set her own woman to bring her from the boarding school and attend her up to London. Miss Betsy had never seen this great metropolis, but had heard so much of the gay manner in which the gentile part of the world passed their time in it that she was quite transported at being told she was to be removed with her. Mrs. Prinks, for so, Lady Mellison's woman was called, did not fail to heighten her ideas of the pleasures of the place to which she was going, nor to magnify the goodness of her lady in taking her under her care with the most extravagant ecomiums. It is not therefore to be wondered at that neither the tears of a good governess who truly loved her, nor those of her dear Miss Forward, nor any of those she left behind, could give her any more than a momentary regret to a heart so possessed with the expectations of going to receive everything with which youth is liable to be enchanted. She promised, however, to keep up a correspondence by letters, but she did, till things that seemed to her of much more importance put her school acquaintances entirely out of her head. She was meant at the end where the stage put up by Mr. Goodman in his own coach, accompanied by Miss Flora. The good old gentleman embraced her with the utmost tenderness, and assured her that nothing in his power nor in that of his family would be wanting to compensate as much as possible the loss she had sustained by the death of her parents. The young lady also said many a bludging things to her and they seemed highly taken with each other at this first interview, which gave the honest heart of Goodman an infinite satisfaction. The reception given her by Lady Mellison, when brought home and presented to her by her husband, was conformable to what Mrs. Pranks had made her expect. That lady omitting nothing to make her certain of being always treated by her with the same affection as her own daughter. Sir Ralph Trusty, on being informed his young charge was come to town, came the next day to Mr. Goodman's to visit her. His lady accompanied him. There had been a great intimacy and friendship between her and the mother of Miss Betsy, and she could not hold in her arms the child of a person so dear to her, without letting fall some tears which were looked upon by the company as the tribute due to the memory of the dead. The conjecture, in part, might be true, but the flow proceeded from the mixture of another motive not suspected, that of compassion for the living. This lady was a woman of great prudence, piety, and virtue. She had heard many things relating to the conduct of Lady Mellison, which made her think her a very unfit person to have the care of youth, especially those of her own sex. She had been extremely troubled when Sir Ralph told her that Miss Betsy was sent for from the country to live under such tuition, and would feign have opposed it, could she have done so without danger of creating a misunderstanding between him and Mr. Goodman. Well knowing the bigoted respect the latter had for his wife, and how unwilling he would be to do anything that had the least tendency to thwart her inclinations. She communicated her sentiments, however, on this occasion, to no person in the world, not even her own husband, but resolved within herself to take all the opportunities that fell in her way of giving Miss Betsy such instructions as she thought necessary for her behavior in general, and especially toward the family in which it was her lot to be placed. Miss Betsy was now just entering into her fourteenth year, a nice and delicate time in persons of her sex, since it is then they are most apt to take the bent of impression, which according as it is well or ill-directed, makes or marrs the future prospect of their lives. She was tall, well-shaped, and perfectly amiable, without being what is called a complete beauty, and as she wanted nothing to render her libel to the greatest temptations, so she stood in need of the surest arms for her defense against them. But while this worthy lady was full of cares for the well-doing of a young creature who appeared so deserving of regard, Miss Betsy thought she had the highest reason to be satisfied with her situation, and how, indeed, could it be otherwise. Lady Mellison kept a great deal of company. She received visits every morning from ten to one o'clock from the most gay and polite of both sexes. All the news of the town was talked on at her levy, and a seldom happened that some party of pleasure was not formed for the ensuing evening, in all which Miss Betsy and Miss Flora had their share. Never did the mistress of a private family indulge herself, and those about her, was such a continual round of public diversions. The court, the play, the ball, the opera, with giving and receiving visits engrossed all the time that could be spared from the toilet. It cannot, therefore, seem strange that Miss Betsy, to whom all these things were entirely new, should have her head turned without the promiscuous enjoyment and the very power of reflection lost amidst the giddy world, nor that it should be so long before she could recover it enough to see the little true felicity of such a course of life. Among the many topics with which this brilliant society entertained each other it may be easily supposed that love and gallantry were not excluded. Lady Mellison, though turned to forty, had her fine things said to her, but both heaven and earth were ransacked for comparisons in favour of the beauties of Miss Flora and Miss Betsy. But as there was nothing particular in these kinds of addresses, and attended only to show the wit of those that made them, these young ladies answered them only with railery, in which art Miss Betsy soon learned to excel. She had the glory, however, of being the first who excited a real passion in the heart of any of those who visited Lady Mellison, though being accustomed to her declarations which had the appearance of love, yet were really no more than words of course, and made indiscriminately to every fine woman she would not presently persuade herself that this was more serious. The first victim of her charms was the only son of a very rich alderman, and having a fortune left him by a relation independent of his father, who was the greatest miser in the world, was furnished with the means of mingling with the Beaumond and of making one at every diversion that was proposed. He had fancied Miss Flora a mighty fine creature before he saw Miss Betsy, but the imaginary flame he had for her was soon converted into a sincere one for the other. He truly loved her, and was almost distracted by the little credit she gave to his professions. His perseverance, his tremblings, whenever he approached her, his transports on seeing her, his anxieties at taking leave so different from what she had observed in any other of those who had pretended to list themselves under the banner of her charms, at length convincing her of the conquest she had made, and in her breast that vanity so natural to a youthful mind. She exalted, she plumed herself. She used him ill and well by turns, taking an equal pleasure in raising or depressing his hopes, and, in spite of her good nature, felt no satisfaction superior to that of the consciousness of a power of giving pain to the man who loved her. But with how great a mortification this short-lived triumph was succeeded, the reader shall presently be made sensible. CHAPTER III. OF THE HISTORY OF MISS BETSY THOUGHTLESS VOLUME I. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Joyce Martin. THE HISTORY OF MISS BETSY THOUGHTLESS VOLUME I BY ELISA HAYWOOD CHAPTER III. OF FORT'S MATTER OF CONDULANCE OR RAILORY ACCORDING TO THE HUMOR THE READER HAPPENS TO BE IN FOR EITHER. We often see that the less encouragement is given to the lover's suit, with the more warmth and eagerness he prosecutes it, and many people are apt to ascribe this hopeless perseverance to an odd perverseness in the very nature of love. But, for my part, I rather take it to proceed from an ambition of surmounting difficulties. It is not, however, my province, to enter into any discussion of so nice a point. I deal only in matters of fact, and shall not meddle with definition. It was not till after Miss Betsy had reason to believe she had engaged the heart of her lover too far for him to recall it, that she began to take a pride in tormenting him. While she looked on his addresses, as of a peace with those who called themselves her admirers, she had treated him in that manner which she thought would most conduce him to make him really so. But no sooner did she perceive, by the tokens before mentioned and many others, that his passion was of the most serious nature, then she behaved to him in a fashion quite the reverse, especially before company. For as she had not the least affection or even a liking toward him, his submissive deportment under the most cold, sometimes contemptuous carriage, could afford her no other satisfaction than, as she fancied, it showed the power of her beauty, and piqued those ladies of her acquaintance who could not boast of such an implicit resignation and patience suffering from their lovers. In particular, Miss Flora, who she could not for bear imagining, looked very grave on the occasion. What foundation there was for a conjecture of this nature was nevertheless undiscoverable till a long time after. As this courtship was no secret to any of the family, Mr. Goodman thought himself obliged, both as the guardian of Miss Betsy and the friend of Alderman's saving, for so the father of this young Annamarada was called, to inquire upon what footing it stood. He thought that if the old man knew and approved of his son's inclinations he would have mentioned the affair to him, as they frequently saw each other, and it seemed to him, neither for the interest nor reputation of his fair charge, to receive the clandestine addresses of any man whatsoever. She had a handsome fortune of her own, and he thought that, and her personal accomplishments, sufficiently to entitle her to as good a match as Mr. Saving, but then he knew the sordid nature of the Alderman, and that all the merits of Miss Betsy would add nothing in the balance if her money was found too light to pose against the sums his son would be possessed of. This being the case, he doubted not but that he was kept in ignorance of the young man's intentions, and fearing the matter might be carried too far, resolved either to put a stop to it at once, or permit it to go on on such terms as should free him from all censor from the one or the other party. On talking seriously to the lover, he soon found the suggestions he had entertained had not deceived him. Young Saving frankly confessed that his father had other views for him, but added that if he could prevail on the young lady to marry him, he did not despair but that when the thing was once done and passed recall, the Alderman would by degrees receive them into favor. You know, sir, said he that he has no child but me, nor any kindred for whom he has the least regard, and it cannot be supposed that he would utterly discard me for following my inclinations in this point, especially as they are in favor of the most amiable and deserving of her sex. He said much more on this hand, but had no weight with the merchant. He answered that if the Alderman was of his way of thinking that all the flattering hopes his passion suggested to him on that score might be realized, but that according to the disposition he knew him to be of, he saw but little room to think he would forgive a step of this kind. I cannot allow this love affair to be prosecuted any further and must desire you will desist visiting at my house till you have either conquered this inclination or Miss Betsy is otherwise disposed of. This was a cruel sentence for the truly affectionate saving, but he found it in vain to solicit a repeal of it, and all he could obtain from him was a promise to say nothing of what had passed to the Alderman. Mr. Goodman would have thought he had but half completed his duty, had he neglected to sound the inclination of Miss Betsy on this account, and in order to come more easily at the truth he began with talking to her in a manner which might make her look on him rather as a favorer of Mr. Savings' pretensions than the contrary, and was extremely glad to find by her replies how indifferent that young lover was to her. He then acquainted her with the resolution he had taken and the discourse he had just had with him and to keep her from ever after encouraging the addresses of any man without being authorized by the consent of friends on both sides represented in the most pathetic terms he was able, the danger to which a private correspondence renders a young woman libel. She seemed convinced of the truth of what he said and promised to follow in the strictest manner his advice. Whether she thought herself in reality so much obliged to the conduct of her guardian in this I will not take upon me to say, for though she was not charmed with the person of Mr. Savings it is certain she took an infinite pleasure in the acidities of his passion. It is therefore highly probable that she might imagine he meddled in this affair more than he had any occasion to have done. She had, however, but little time for reflection on her guardian's behavior. An accident happening which showed her own to her in a light very different from what she had ever seen it. Lady Melison had a ball at her house. There was a great deal of company among whom was a gentleman named Gayland. He was a man of family, had a large estate, sung, danced, spoke French, dressed well. Frequent successes among the women had rendered him extremely vain, and as he had too great an admiration for his own person to be possessed of any great share of it for that of any other, he enjoyed the pleasures of love without being sensible of the pains. This darling of the fair it was that Miss Betsy picked out to treat with the most peculiar marks of esteem whenever she had a mind to give umbrage to poor saving. Much had that faithful lover suffered on the account of this phop, but the fair inflictor of his torments was punished for her insensibility and ingratitude by away her inexperience of the world and the temper of mankind in general had made her far from apprehending. While the company were employed some in dancing and others in particular conversation, the beau found an opportunity to slip into Miss Betsy's hand a little billet, saying to her at the same time, You have got my heart, and this little bit of paper will convey to you the sentiments it is inspired with in your favor. She imagining it was either a sonnet or a pistol in praise of her beauty, received it with a smile and put it into her pocket. After everybody had taken leave and she was retired to her chamber, she examined it and found to her great astonishment the contents as follow. Dear Miss, I must certainly be either the most ungrateful or most consumidally dull fellow upon earth not to have returned the advances you have been so kind to make me, had the least opportunity offered for my doing so. But Lady Mellison, her daughter, the fool saving or soman pertinent creature or other, has always been in the way, so that there was not a possibility of giving you even the least earnest of love. But my dear, I have found out a way to pay you the whole sum with interest, which is this. You must invent some excuse for going out alone, and let me know by a billet directed for me, at White's, the exact hour. And I will wait for you at the corner of the street in a hackney coat, the window drawn up, and whirl you to a pretty snug place, I know of, where we may pass a delicious hour or two, without a soul to interrupt our pleasures. Let me find a line from you to-morrow, if you can any way contrive it, being impatient to convince you how much I am your dear creature, yours, et cetera, et cetera, Jay Galand. Impossible is it to express the mingled emotions of shame, surprise, and indignation which filled the breast of Miss Betsy on reading this bold invitation. She threw the letter to the ground. She stamped upon it. She spurned it, and would have treated the author in the same manner had he been present. But the first transports of so just a resentment, being over, a consciousness of having, by a two-free behavior toward him, emboldened him to take this liberty, involved her in the utmost confusion, and she was little less enraged with herself than she had reason to be with him. She could have tore out her very eyes for having affected, to look kindly on a wretch, who durst presumed so far on her supposed affection, and though she spared those pretty twinklers that violence, she halved round their luster in a deluge of tears. Never was a night passed in more cruel anxieties than what she sustained, both from the affront she had received, and reflection that it was chiefly the folly of her own conduct which had brought it on her, and what greatly added to her vexation was the uncertainty how it would best become her to act on an occasion which appeared so extraordinary to her. She had no friend whom she thought it proper to consult. She was ashamed to relate the story to any of the discreet and serious part of her acquaintance. She feared their reproofs for having counterfeited a tenderness, for a man which she was now sensible she ought, if it had been real, rather to have concealed with the utmost care, both from him and all the world. And as for Lady Melison and Miss Flora, though their conduct inspired her not with any manner of all, yet she thought she saw something in those ladies which did not promise much sincerity, and showed as if they would rather turn her complaints into ridicule than afford her that cordial and friendly advice that she stood in need of. These were the reasons which determined her to keep the whole thing a secret from everyone. At first she was tempted to write to Galen and testify her disdain of his presumption in terms which should convince him how grossly his vanity had imposed upon him, but she afterward considered that a letter from her was doing him too much honour, and though never so reproachful might draw another from him, either to excuse and beg pardon for the temerity of the former or possibly to affront her a second time by defending it and repeating his request. She despised and hated him too much to engage in a correspondence with him of any kind, and therefore resolved, as it was certainly most prudent, not to let him have anything under her hand, but when next she saw him, to show her resentment by such ways as occasion should permit. He came not to Mr. Goodman's, however, for three days, possibly waiting that time for a letter from Miss Betsy. But on the fourth he appeared at Lady Mellison's tea-table. There were, besides the family, several others present, so that he had not an opportunity of speaking in private to Miss Betsy, but the looks she gave him, so different from all he had ever seen her assume toward him, might have shown any man not blinded with his vanity how much she was offended. But he imagined her ill-humour proceeded only from the want of means to send to him, came again the next day, and happening to find her alone in the parlour. What, my dear, said he, taking her in a free manner by the hand, have you been so closely watched by your guardian and gardenesses here that no kind moment offered for you to answer the desires of your humble servant? The surest guardians of my fame and peace, replied she, snatching her hand away, is the little share of understanding I am mistress of, which I hope will always be sufficient to defend my honour in more dangerous attacks than the rude impertenencies of an idle cox-comb. These words, and the air with which they were spoke one would think, should have struck with confusion the person to whom they were directed. But Galend was not so easily put out of continence, and looking her full in the face. Ah, child, cried he, sure you are not in your right senses today. Understanding? Impertenencies? Idle cox-comb? Very pleasant, I faith. But upon my soul, if you think these airs become you, you are the most mistaken woman in the world. It may be so, cried she, ready to burst within words, spite at his insolence, but I should be yet more mistaken if I were capable of thinking a wretch like you worthy of anything but contempt. With these words she flung out of the room, and he pursued her with a hoarse laugh, till she was out of hearing, and then went into the dining-room where he found Lady Mellison and several who had come to visit her. Miss Betsy, who had gone directly to her own chamber, sent to excuse coming down to tea, pretending a violent headache, nor would be prevailed upon to join the company till she heard Galand had taken his leave, which he did much sooner than usual, being probably a good deal disconcerted at the shock his vanity had received. End of Chapter 3 Reading by Joyce Martin Chapter 4 Verifies the old proverb that one affliction treads upon the heels of another. As Miss Betsy was prevented from discovering to any one the impudent attempt Galand had made on her virtue by the shame of having emboldened him to it, by too unreserved a behavior, so also the shame of the disappointment and rebuff he had received from her, kept him from saying anything of what had passed between them, and this resolution on both sides rendered it very difficult for either of them to behave to the other so as not to give some suspicion. Betsy could not always avoid seeing him when he came to Lady Mellison's, for he would not all at once desist his visits for two reasons. First, because it might give occasion for an inquiry into the cause, and secondly because Miss Betsy would plume herself on the occasion as having by her scorn triumphed over his audacity and drove him from the field of battle. He therefore resolved to continue his visits for some time and to peak her as he imagined directed all the fine things his commonplace book was well stored with to Miss Flora, leaving the other wholly neglected. But here he was little less deceived than he had been before in the sentiments of that young lady. The hatred his late behavior had given her, and the utter detestation it had excited in her toward him had, for a time, extinguished that vanity, so almost inseparable from youth, especially when accompanied with beauty, and she rather rejoiced than the contrary to see him effect to be so much taken up with Miss Flora, that he could scarce say the least compliant thing to her, as it freed her from the necessity of returning it in some measure. Her good sense had now scoped to operate. She saw, as in a mirror, her own late follies in those of Miss Flora, who swelled with all the pride of flattered vanity on this new imaginary conquest over the heart of the accomplished gayland, as he was generally esteemed, and perceived the errors of such a way of thinking and acting in so clear a light as had it continued would, doubtless, have spared her those anxieties, her relapse from an afterward occasion. In these serious reflections let us leave her, for a time, to see in what situation Mr. Saving was, after being denied access to his mistress. As it was impossible for a heart to be more truly sincere and affectionate, he was far from being able to make any efforts for the banishing of Miss Betsy's image thence. On the contrary, he thought of nothing but how to continue a correspondence with her, and endeavor by all means in his power to engage her in a private interview. As his flame was pure and respectful, he was some days debating with himself how to proceed, so as not to let her think he had desisted from his pretensions, or to continue them in a manner at which she should not be offended. Love when real, seldom fails of inspiring the breasts that harbors it with an equal share of timidity. He trembled whenever he thought of soliciting a meeting, yet without it how could he hope to retain any place in her memory, much less make any progress in gaining her affection? At length, however, he assumed courage enough to write to her, and by a bribe to one of the servants got his letter delivered to her, fearing if he had sent it by the post or any public way to the house it would be intercepted, by the caution he found Mr. Goodman had resolved to observe in this point. Miss Betsy, knowing his hand by the superscription, was a little surprised, as perhaps having never thought of him since they parted, but opened it without the least emotion, either of pain or pleasure. She knew him too well to be under any apprehensions of being treated by him, as she had been of Galand, and was too little sensible of his merit to feel the least impatience for examining the dictates of his affection, yet indifferent as she was she could not forbear being touched on reading these lines. Just adored of your sex. I doubt not, but you are acquainted with Mr. Goodman's behavior to me. But oh, I fear you are too insensible of the agonies in which my soul labors through this cruel caution. Dreadful is the loss of sight. Yet what is sight to me when it presents not you? Though I saw you regardless of my ardent passion, yet still I saw you, and while I did so could not be wholly wretched. What have I not endured since deprived of that only joy for which I wished to live? Had it not been improper for me to have been seen near Mr. Goodman's house after having been forbid entrance to it, I should have dwelt for ever in your street in hope of sometimes giving a glimpse of you from one or other of the windows. This I thought would be taken notice of and might offend you. But darkness freed me from these apprehensions and gave me the consolation of breathing in the same air with you. Soon as I thought all watchful eyes were closed I flew to the place which, wherever my body is, contains my heart and all its faculties. I pleased myself with looking on the roof that covers you and invoked every star to present me to you in your sleep in a far more agreeable than I can hope I ever appeared to you in your waking fancy. Thus I have passed each night and when the morning dawned unwillingly retired to take that rest which nature more especially demands when heavy melancholy oppresses the heart. I slept. But how? Distracting images swam in my tormented brain and waked me with horrors inconceivable. Equally lost to business as to all social commerce I fly mankind and like some discontented ghost seek out the most solitary walks and lonely shades to pour forth my complaints. Oh, Miss Betsy, I cannot live if longer deny the sight of you. In pity to my sufferings, permit me yet once more to speak to you even though it be to take a last farewell. I have made a little kind of interest with a woman at the habit-shop in Covent Garden, where I know you sometimes go. I dread to entreat you would call there to-morrow. Yet if you are so divinely good, be assured I shall entertain no presuming hopes on the condensation you shall be pleased to make me. But acknowledge it as the mere effect of that compassion which is inherent to your generous mind. Alas! I must be much more worthy than I can yet pretend to be before I dare flatter myself with owing anything to a more soft emotion than those I have mentioned. Accused me not, therefore, of too much boldness in this petition, but grant to my despair what you would deny to the love of your most faithful and everlasting slave. H. Saving. P.S. The favor of one line, to let me know whether I may expect the blessing I implore, will add to the bounty of it. The same hand that brings you this will also deliver your commands to yours as above. Miss Spetsy read this letter several times, and the oftener she did so the more she saw into the soul of him that sent it. How wide the difference between this and that she received from Galen! To his true, they both desired a meeting. Each made the same request. But the matter in which the former was asked, and the end proposed by the grant of it, she easily perceived were as distant as heaven and hell. She called to mind the great respect he had always treated her with. She was convinced, both of his honor and sincerity, and thought something was due from her on that account. And fine, after deliberating a little within herself, she resolved to write to him in these terms. Sir. Though it is my fixed determination to encourage the addresses of no man whatever without the approbation of my guardians, yet I think myself too much obliged to the affection you have expressed for me to refuse you a favor of so tripling in nature as that you have taken the pains to ask. I will be at the place you mentioned to-morrow, some time in the forenoon, but desire you will expect nothing from it but a last farewell which you have promised to be contented with. Till then I do. After finishing this little billet she called the maid whom saving had made his confidant into the chamber and asked her when she expected he would come for an answer. To which the other replied that he had appointed her to meet him at the corner of the street very early in the morning before any of the windows were open. Well, then, said Miss Betsy, smiling and putting the letter into her hands, give him this. I do it for your sake, nanny, for I suppose you will have a double fee on the delivery. The gentleman is too much in love, answered she not to be grateful. Miss Betsy passed the remainder of that day and the ensuing night with that tranquility which is inseparable from a mind unencumbered with passion, but the next morning remembering her promise while Lady Mellison and Miss Flora were engaged with the bow and bells at their levy, she slipped out, and taking a chair at the end of the street went to the millner's according to appointment. She doubted not, but the impatience of her lover would have brought him there long before her and was very much amazed to find herself the first-comer. She knew not, however, but some extraordinary accident unforeseen by him might have happened to detain him longer than he expected and from the whole course of his past behavior could find no shadow of reason to suspect him of a willful remissness. She sat down in the shop and amused herself with talking to the woman on the new modes of dress and such like ordinary matters. What made not the least mention of the motive which had brought her there that morning, and the other, not knowing whether it would be proper to take any notice, was also silent on that occasion. But Miss Betsy observed she often turned her head toward the window and ran to the door, looking up and down the street, as if she expected somebody who was not yet come. Miss Betsy could not forebear being shocked at a disappointment which was the last thing in the world she could have apprehended. She had, notwithstanding the patience to wait for a little past eleven till near two o'clock, expecting during every moment of that time that he would either come or send some excuse for not doing so. But finding he did neither, and that it was near the hour in which Mr. Goodman usually dined, she took her leave of the woman and went home, full of agitations. The maid who was in on the secret happening to open the door and Miss Betsy looking round and perceiving there is nobody in hearing said to her, Nanny, are you sure you delivered my letter safe in the Mr. Savings hand? Sure, Miss, cried the wench, yes, as sure as I am alive, and he gave me a good queen and skinny for my trouble. I have not had time since to put it up. Continued she, taking it out of her bosom? Here it is. Well, then, what did he say on receiving it, said Miss Betsy? I never saw a man so transported, replied she. He put it to his mouth and kissed it. With such an eagerness I thought he would have devoured it. Miss Betsy asked no further questions, but went up to her chamber to pull off her hood, not being able to know how she ought to judge of this adventure. She was soon called down to dinner, but her mind was too much perplexed to suffer her to eat much. She was extremely uneasy the whole day, for an explanation of what, at present, seemed so mysterious, and this gave her little less pain than perhaps she would have felt had she been possessed with an equal share of love. But in the evening her natural vivacity got the better, and not doubting but the next morning she should receive a letter with a full and clear cement of this affair. She enjoyed the same sweet repose as if nothing had happened to ruffle her temper. The morning came, but brought no billet from that once obsequious lover. The next and three or four succeeding ones were barren of the fruit she so much expected. What judgment could she form of an event so odd? She could not bring herself to think savings had taken pains to procure a rendezvous with her on purpose to disappoint in affront her, and was not able to conceive any probable means by which she could be prevented from writing to her. Death only, she thought, could be an excuse for him, and had that happen she should have heard of it. Sometimes she fancied that the maid had been treacherous, but when she considered she could get nothing by being so, and that it was, on the contrary, rather her interest to be sincere, she rejected that supposition. The various conjectures which by turns came into her head rendered her, however, excessively disturbed, and in a situation which deserved some share of pity had not her pride kept her from revealing either the discontent or the motives of it to any one person in the world. CHAPTER IV. CONTAINS NOTHING, very extraordinary, yet such things as are highly proper to be known. I think it is generally allowed that there are few emotions of the mind more uneasy than suspense. Not the extreme youth of Miss Betsy, nor all her natural cheerfulness, nor her perfect indifference for the son of Alderman's saving, could enable her to throw off the vexation in which his late behavior had involved her. Had the motive been the most mortifying of any that could be imagined to her vanity, pride and resentment would then have come to her assistance. She would have despised the author of the insult. And in time have forgot the insult itself, but the uncertainty in what manner she ought to think of the man and this last action of his made both dwell much longer on her mind than otherwise they would have done. As the poet truly says, when puzzling doubts the anxious bosom seas, to know the worst is some degree of ease. This is a maxim which will hold good even when the strongest and most violent passions operate, but Miss Betsy was possessed of no more than a bare curiosity, which, as she had yet no other sensation that demanded gratification, was sufficiently painful to her. It was about ten or twelve days that she continued to labor under this dilemma, but at the expiration of that time was partly relieved from it by the following means. Mr. Goodman, happening to meet Alderman's saving, which whom he had great business, upon change, desired he would accompany him to an adjacent tavern, to which the other complied but with an air much more grave and reserved than he was accustomed to put on with the person whom he had known for a great number of years and was concerned with in some affairs of traffic. They went together to the ship tavern. After having ended what they had to say to each other upon business, Mr. Goodman said the Alderman, We have long been friends. I always thought you an honest, fair-dealing man and am therefore very much surprised you should go about to put upon me in the manner you have lately done. Put upon you, sir, cried the merchant. I know not what you mean, and am very certain I never did anything that might call in question my integrity, either to you or anyone else. It was great integrity indeed, resumed the Alderman with a sneer, to endeavor to draw my only son into a clandestine marriage with the girl you have at your house. Mr. Goodman was astonished as well he might at this accusation, and perceiving by some other words that the Alderman let fall, that he was well acquainted with the love young saving had professed for Miss Betsy, frankly related to him all that he knew of the court ship, and the method he had taken to put a stop to it. That was enough, sir, cried the Alderman hastily. You should have told me of it. Do you think young folks like them would have regarded your forbidding? No, no, I warn't you they would have found some way or other to come together before now, and the boy might have been ruined if I had not been informed by other hands on how things were carried on, and put it out of the power of any of you to impose upon me. The girl may spread her nets to catch some other woodcock if she can thanks to heaven, and by my own prudence my son is far enough out of her reach. Mr. Goodman, though one of the best-natured men in the world, could not keep himself, from being a little ruffled at the Alderman's discourse, and told him that though he had been far from encouraging Mr. Savings' inclinations, and should always think at the duty of a son to consult his father in everything he did, especially in so material a point as that of marriage, yet he saw no reason for treating Miss Betsy with contempt, as she was of a good family, had a very pretty fortune of her own and suitable accomplishments. You take a great deal of pains to set her off, said the Alderman, and since you married a courtlady not worth a grout, have got all the romantic idle notions of the other end of the town as finally as if you had been bred there, a good family, very pleasant, I faith. Will a good family go to market? Will it buy a joint mutton at the butchers, or a pretty gown at the mercers? Then a pretty fortune, you say, enough it may be to squander away at cards or masquerades for a month or two. She has suitable accomplishments, too? Ah, yes, indeed, they're suitable ones, I believe. I suppose she can sing, dance, and job her a little French, but I'll be hanged if she knows how to make a pie or a pudding or to teach her maid to do it. The reflection on Lady MacGellison in the beginning of this speech so much incensed Mr. Goodman that he could scarce attend to the latter part of it. He forebore interrupting him, however, but as soon as he had done speaking replied in terms which showed his resentment. In fine such hot words passed between them, as had they been younger men might have produced worse consequence. But the spirit of both being equally evaporated in mutual reproaches, they grew more calm, and at last talked themselves into as good harmony as ever. Mr. Goodman said he was sorry that he had been prevailed upon by the young man's entreaties to keep his courtship to Miss Betsy a secret, and the alderman begged pardon in his turn for having said anything disrespectful of Lady Mellison. On this they shook hands. Another half pint of sherry was called for, and before they parted the alderman acquainted Mr. Goodman that to prevent entirely all future correspondence between his son and Miss Betsy he had sent him to Holland some days ago without letting him know anything of his intentions till everything was ready for his embarkation. I sent, said he, the night before he was to go, his portman too, and what other luggage I thought he would have occasion to the inn where the Harrowidge stage puts up, and making him be called up very early in the morning told him he must go a little way out of town with me upon extraordinary business. He seemed very unwilling. Said he had appointed that morning to meet a gentleman and begged I would delay the journey to the next day or even till the afternoon. That caused this backwardness I cannot imagine, for I think it was impossible he could know my designs on this score, but whatever was in his head I took care to disappoint it. I listened to none of his excuses nor trusted him out of my sight, but forced him to go with me to the coach, in which I had secured a couple of places. He was horribly shocked when he found where he was going and would feign and persuaded me to repeal his banishment as he called it. I laughed in my sleeve, but took no notice of the real motive I had for sending him away, and told him there was an absolute necessity for his departure, that I had a business of the greatest importance at Rotterdam, in which I could trust nobody but himself to negotiate, and that he would find in his trunk letters and other papers which would instruct him how to act. In fine, continued the alderman, I went with him aboard, stayed with him till they were ready to weigh anchor, and then returned and stood on the beach till the ship sailed quite out of sight, so that if my gentleman had a thought of writing to his mistress he had not the least opportunity for it. He added that he did not altogether deceive his son, having indeed some affairs to transact in Rotterdam, though they were not of the mighty consequence he had pretended, but which he had by a private letter to his agent there ordered should be made to appear as intricate and perplexing as possible that the young gentleman's return might be delayed as long as there was any plausible excuse for detaining him without his seeing through the reason of it. Mr. Goodman praised the alderman's discretion in the whole conduct of this business, and to atone for having been prevailed upon to keep young saving secret from him, offered to make interest with a friend he had at the post office to stop any letter that should be directed for Miss Betsy Thoughtless by the way of Holland, by which means that he all communication between the young people will soon be put an end to. He will grow weary of writing when he receives no answers, and she of thinking of him as a lover when she finds he ceases to tell her he is so. The alderman was ready to hug his old friend for this proposal which, it is certain, he made in the sincerity of his heart, for they no sooner parted than he went to the office and fulfilled his promise. When he came home, in order to hinder Miss Betsy from expecting to hear anything more of her saving, he told her he had been treated by the alderman pretty roughly on account of the encouragement that had been given in his house to the amorous addresses that had been made to her by his son, and added he, the old man is so incensed against him for having a thought of that kind in your favour, that he has sent him beyond sea, I know not to what part, but it seems he is never to come back, till he has given full assurance the liking he has for you is utterly worn off. He might have spared himself the pains, said Miss Betsy, blushing with disdain his son could have informed him how little I was inclinable to listen to anything he said on the score of love, and I myself, if he had asked me the question, would have given him the strongest assurances that words could form, that if ever I changed my condition which heaven knows I am far from thinking on it yet, I should never be prevailed upon to do it, by any merits his son was possessed of. Mr. Goodman congratulated her on the indifference she expressed and told her he hoped she would always continue in the same humor, till an offer which promised more satisfaction in marriage should happen to be made. Nothing more was said on this hand. But Miss Betsy, upon ruminating on what Mr. Goodman had related, easily imagined that the day in which he had been sent away was the same on which he had appointed to meet her, and therefore excused his not coming as a thing unavoidable. Yet as she knew not the precaution his father had taken, was not so ready to forgive him for not sending a line to prevent her waiting so long for him at the habit shop. She could not, however, when she reflected on the whole tenor of his deportment to her, think it possible he should, at all, once become guilty of willfully omitting what even common good manners and decency required. She soon grew weary, however, of troubling herself about the matter, and a very few days served to make her lose even the memory of it. End of CHAPTER VI OF THE HISTORY OF Miss Betsy THOUGHTLESS VOLUME I MAY BE OF SOME SERVICE TO THE LADYS, ESPECIALLY THE YOUNGER SORT, IF WELL ATTENDED TO. Miss Betsy had now no person that professed a serious passion for her, but as she had yet never seen the man capable of inspiring her with the least emotions of tenderness, she was quite easy as to that point, and wished nothing beyond what she enjoyed, the pleasure of being told she was very handsome, and gallanted about by a great number of those who go by the name of very pretty fellows. Pleased with the praise, she regarded not the condition or merits of the praise, and suffered herself to be treated, presented, and squirred about in all public places, either by the rake, the man of honor, the wit, or the fool, the married as well as the unmarried, without distinction and just as either fell in her way. Such a conduct as this could not fail of laying her open to the censure of malicious tongues, the agreeableness of her person, her wit, and the many accomplishments she was mistress of, made her envied and hated even by those who professed the greatest friendship for her. Several there were who though they could scare support the vexation it gave them to see her so much prefer to themselves, yet chose to be as much with her as possible, in the cruel hope of finding some fresh manner wherewith to blast her reputation. Certain it is that though she was as far removed as innocence itself from all intent or wish of committing a real ill, yet she paid too little regard to the appearances of it, and said and did many things which the actually criminal would be more cautious to avoid. Applied by an excess of vanity and that love of pleasure so natural to youth, she indulged herself in liberties of which she foresaw not the consequences. Lady Trustey, who sincerely loved her, both for her own sake and that of her deceased mother, came more often to Mr. Goodman's than otherwise she would have done, on purpose, to observe the behavior of Miss Betsy. She had heard some accounts which gave her great dissatisfaction, but as she was a woman of penetration she easily perceived that plain reproof was not the way to prevail on her to reclaim the errors of her conduct. That she must be insensibly weaned from what, at present, she took so much delight in and brought into a different manner of living by ways which should rather seem to flatter than check her vanity. She therefore earnestly wished to get her down with her into Livermore, where she was soon going herself, but knew not how to ask her without making the same invitation to Miss Flora, whose company she no way desired, and whose example she was sensible had very much contributed to give Miss Betsy that air of elevity which rendered her good sense almost useless to her. This worthy lady, happening to find her alone one day, a thing not very usual, she asked by way of sounding her inclination if she would not be glad to see Livermore again, to which she replied that there were many people for whom she had a very great respect, but the journey was too long to be taken merely on the score of making a short visit, for she owned she did not like the country well enough to continue in it for any length of time. Miss Betsy trusty would faint have persuaded her into a better opinion of the place she was born in, on which most of her family had passed the greatest part of their lives in. But Miss Betsy was not to be argued into any tolerable ideas of it, and plainly told her ladyship that what she called a happy tranquil manner of spending one's day seemed her little better than being buried alive. From declaring her aversion to a country life she ran into such extravagant ecomiums on those various amusements which London every day presented, that Lady trusty perceived it would not be without great difficulty she would be brought to a more just way of thinking. She concealed, however, as much as possible the concern it gave her to hear her express herself in this manner, contenting herself with saying, calmly, that London was indeed a very agreeable place to live in, especially for young people, and the pleasures it afforded were very elegant. But then, said she, the two frequent repetition of them may so much engross the mind as to take it off from other objects which ought to have their share in it. Besides, continued she, there are but two frequent proofs that an innate principle of virtue is not always a sufficient guard against the many snares laid for it under the show of innocent pleasures by wicked and disingenious persons of both sexes. Nor can be esteemed prudence to run oneself into dangers merely to show our strength in overcoming them. Nor, perhaps, would even the victory turn always to our glory. The world is sensorious and seldom ready to put the best construction on things, so that reputation may suffer, though virtue triumphs. This Betsy listened to all this with a good deal of attention. The impudent attempt Gailand had made on her came fresh into her mind and made this lady's remonstrances sink the deeper into it. The power of reflection being a little awakened in her, some freedoms also, not altogether consistent with strict modesty which others had offered to her, convinced of the error of maintaining too little reserve, she thanked her kind advisor and promised to observe the precepts she had been given. Lady Trusty finding this good effect of what she had said ventured to proceed so far as to give some hints that the conduct of Miss Flora had been far from blameless, and therefore pursued she, I should be glad, me thinks, to see you separated from that young lady, though it were but for a small time, and then gave her to understand how great a pleasure it would be to her to get her down with her to live a more, if it could be any way contrived that she should go without Miss Flora. As I have been so long from home, said she, I know I shall have all the gentry round the country to welcome me at the return, and if you should find the company less polite than those you leave behind it will, at least, diversify the scene and render the entertainments of London new to you a second time when you come back. Miss Betsy found in herself a strong inclination to comply with this proposal, and told Lady Trusty she should think herself happy in passing the whole summer with her, and as to Miss Flora the same offer might be made to her without any danger of her accepting it. I am not of your opinion, said the other, the girl has no fortune but what Mr. Goodman shall be pleased to give her, which cannot be very considerable, and he has a nephew in the East Indies whom he is extremely fond of and will make his heir. Lady Mellison would therefore catch at the opportunity of sending her daughter to a place where there are so many gentlemen of estates, among whom she might have a better chance of getting a husband than she can have in London where her character would scarce entitle her to such a hope. I will, however, persuaded she, run the risk, and chose rather to have a guest whose company I do not so well approve of than be deprived of one I so much value. Miss Betsy testified the sense she had of her ladyship's goodness, in the most grateful and obliging terms, and Lady Mellison and Miss Flora coming home soon after Lady Trusty said she was come on purpose to ask permission for Miss Flora and Miss Betsy to pass two or three months with her down in Livermore. Lady Mellison, as the other had imagined, seemed extremely pleased with the invitation and told her she did her daughter a great deal of honour, and she would take care of things should be prepared for both the young ladies to attend her on her setting out. Lady Trusty then told her she had fixed the day for it, which was about a fortnight after this conversation. And some other matters relating to the journey being regulated took her leave, highly pleased with the thoughts of getting Miss Betsy a place where she should have an opportunity of using her utmost endeavours to improve the good she found in her disposition, and of weaning her by degrees, from any ill habits she might have contracted in that babble of mixed company she was accustomed to at Lady Mellison's, and of Chapter 6, reading by Joyce Martin. Volume 1 by Eliza Haywood, Chapter 7 is a medley of various particulars which paved the way for matters of more consequence. Miss Flora had now nothing in her head but the many hearts she expected to captivate when she should arrive in El, and Lady Mellison, who soothed her in all her vanities, resolved to spare nothing which she imagined would contribute to that purpose. Miss Betsy, who had the same ambition, though for different end-ends, made it also pretty much her study to set off, to the best advantage, the charm she had received from nature. The important article of dress now engrossed the whole conversation of these ladies. The day after that in which Lady Trustee had made the invitation to the two young ones, Lady Mellison went with them to the mercers to buy some silks. She pitched on a very genteel new-fashioned pattern for her daughter, but chose one for Miss Betsy which, though rich, seemed to her not well fancied. She testified her disapprobation, but Lady Mellison said so much in the praise of it and the Mercer either to please her, or because he was desirous of getting it sold, assured Miss Betsy that it was admired by everybody, that it was the newest thing that he had in his shop and had already sold several pieces to ladies of the first quality. All this did not argue Miss Betsy into a liking of it, yet between them she was over-persuaded to have it. When these purchases were made, they went home, only stopped at the Mantua-makers on their way, to order her to come that afternoon. Lady Mellison did no more than set them down and then went on in the coach to make a visit. The young ladies fell to reviewing their silks, but Miss Betsy was no way satisfied with hers. The more she looked upon it the worse it appeared to her. I shall never wear it with any pleasure, said she. I wish the man had it in his shop again, for I think it quite ugly. Miss Flora told her that she wondered at her that the thing was perfectly handsome, and that my ladies' judgment was never before called in question. That may be, replied Miss Betsy, but certainly everyone ought to please their own fancy in the choice of their clothes. For my part I shall never endure to see myself in it, not when their fancy happens to differ from that of those who know better than themselves what is fit for them, cried Miss Flora, and besides have the power over them. She spoke this with so much pertinence that Miss Betsy, who had a violent spirit, was highly provoked. Power over them, cried she, I do not know what you mean, Miss Flora. Mr. Goodman is one of my guardians indeed, but I don't know why that should entitle his lady to direct me in what I shall wear. Mr. Goodman, who happened to be looking over some papers and a little closet he had within his parlor, hearing part of this dispute, and finding it was like to grow pretty warm, came out in hopes of moderating it. On hearing Miss Betsy's complaint, he desired to see the silk which being shown to him. I do not pretend, said he, to much understanding in these things, but me thinks it is very handsome. It would do well enough for winter, sir, replied Miss Betsy, but it is too hot and heavy for summer. Besides it is so thick and clumsy it would make me look as big again as I am. I'll not wear it, I'm resolved, in the country, whatever I do when I come to town in the dark weather. Well, said Mr. Goodman, I will speak to my lady to get it changed for something else. Indeed, sir, cried Miss Flora, I am sure my mama will do no such thing and take it very ill to hear it proposed. You need not put yourself in any heat, replied Miss Betsy. I don't desire she should be troubled any farther about it, but sir, continued she, turning to Mr. Goodman, I think I am now at an age capable of choosing for myself in the article of dress, and as it has been settled between you and Sir Ralph Trusty, that out of the income of my fortune thirty pounds a year should be allowed for my board, twenty pounds for my pocket expenses, and fifty for my clothes, I think I ought to have the two latter entirely at my own disposal, and to lay it out as I think fit and not be obliged like a charity-child, to wear whatever livery my benefactor shall be pleased to order. She spoke this with so much spleen that Mr. Goodman was a little nettle at it, and told her that what his wife had done was out of kindness and goodwill, which since she did not take it as it was meant, she should have her money to do with as she would. That is all I desire, answered she. Therefore be pleased to let me have twenty guineas now, or if there does not remain so much in your hands I will ask Sir Ralph to advance it, and you may return it to him when you settle accounts. No, no, cried the merchant hastily, I see no reason to trouble my good friend Sir Ralph on such a frivolous matter. You shall have the sum you mentioned, Miss Betsy, whether so much remains out of the hundred pounds a year set apart for your subsistence or not, as I can but deduct it out of the next payment. But I would have you manage with discretion, for you may depend that the surplus of what was at first agreed upon shall not be broken into but laid up to increase your fortune, which by the time you come of age I hope will be pretty handsomely improved. Miss Betsy then assured him that she doubted not of his zeal for her interest, and hoped she had not offended him in anything she had said. No, no, replied he. I always make allowances for the little impatiencies of persons of your sex and age, especially when dress is concerned. In speaking these words he opened his bureau and took out twenty guineas which he immediately gave her, making her first sign a memorandum of it. Miss Flora was all on fire to have offered something in opposition to this, but durst not do it, and the man to a maker that instant coming, she went upstairs with her into her chamber, leaving Miss Betsy and Mr. Goodman together. The former of whom, being eager to go about what she intended, ordered a hackney-coach to be called, and taking the silk with her went directly to the shop where it was bought. The Mercer at first seemed unwilling to take it again, but on her telling him she would always make use of him for everything she wanted in his way, and would then buy two suits of him, he had last consented. As she was extremely curious in everything relating to her shape, she made choice of a pink-colored French lustring to the end that the plates lying flat would show the beauty of her waist to more advantage, and to a tone for the slightness of the silk purchased as much of it as would flounceless leaves and the petticoat from top to bottom. She made the Mercer also cut off a sufficient quantity of a rich green Venetian satin to make her a riding-habit, and as she came home bought a silver trimming for it of Puan de España, all which, with the silk she disliked in exchange, did not amount to the money she had received from Mr. Goodman. On her return she asked the footman, who opened the door, if the man to a maker was gone. But he, not being able to inform her, she ran hastily upstairs to Miss Flora's chamber, which indeed was also her own, for they lay together. She was about to bounce in but found the door was locked and the key taken out on the inside. This very much surprised her, especially as she had thought she had heard Miss Flora's voice as she was at the top of the staircase. Wanting therefore to be satisfied who was with her, she went as softly as she could into Lady Mellison's dressing-room, which was parted from the chamber but by a slight wainscot. She put her ear close to the panel in order to discover the voices of them that spoke, and finding, by some light that came through a crack or flaw in the boards, her eyes as well as ears contributed to a discovery she little expected. In fine she plainly perceived Miss Flora and a man rise off the bed. She could not at first discern who he was, but on his returning to go out of the room knew him to be no other than Gayland. They went out of the chamber together as gently as they could, and though Miss Betsy might by taking three steps have met them in the passage, and have had an opportunity of revenging herself on Miss Flora for the late aird she had given herself, by showing how near she was to the scene of infamy she had been acting, yet the shock she felt herself on being witness of it kept her immovable for some time, and she suffered them to depart without the mortification of thinking anyone knew of their being together in the manner they were. This young lady, who though as I have already taken notice, was of too volatile and Gay a disposition, hated anything that had the least tincture of indecency, was so much disconcerted at the discovery she had made that she had not powered a stir from the place she was in, much less to resolve how to behave in this affair. That is, whether it would be best or not to let Miss Flora know she was in the secret of her shame, or to suffer her to think herself secure. She was however beginning to meditate on this point when she heard Miss Flora come up the stairs, calling at every step, Miss Betsy, Miss Betsy, where are you? Galen was gone, and his young mistress, being told Miss Betsy was coming home, guessed it was she who had given an interruption to their pleasures by coming to the door. She therefore, as she could not imagine her so perfectly convinced, strive to disguise the whole, and worst of the truth, by revealing a part of it, and as soon as she had found her. Lord Miss Betsy cried she, with an unparalleled assurance, where have you been? How do you think I have been served by that cursed toad Galen? He came up into our chamber where the man to a maker and I were, and as soon as she was gone, locked the door, and began to kiss and tease me so that I protest I was affrighted almost out of my wits. The devil meant no harm though, I believe, for I got rid of him easy enough, but I wish she had wrapped hardly at the door and obliged him to open it, that we both might have rated him for his impudence. Some people have a great deal of impudence, indeed, replied Miss Betsy, astonished at her manner of bearing it off. I, so they have, my dear, rejoined the other with a careless air. But prithee, where have you been rambling by yourself? No farther than Bedford Street, answered Miss Betsy, you may see on what errand, continued she, pointing to the silks which she had laid down on a chair. Miss Flora presently ran to the bundle, examined what it contained, and either being in a better humour or affecting to be so than when they talked on this head in the parlor, testified no disapprobation of what she had done, but on the contrary talked to her in such soft obliging terms that Miss Betsy, who had a great deal of good nature, when not provoked by anything that seemed an affront to herself, could not find in her heart to say anything to give her confusion. When Lady Melisyn came home and was informed how Miss Betsy had behaved in relation to the silk, she had first put on an air full of resentment, but finding the other wanted neither wit nor spirit to defend her own cause and not caring to break with her, especially as her daughter was going with her to L, soon grew more moderate and at length affected to think no more of it. Certain it is, however, that this affair, silly as it was, and as one would think, insignificant in itself, lay broiling in the minds of both mother and daughter, and they waited only for an opportunity of venting their spite in such a manner as should not make them appear to have the least tincture of so foul and mean a passion. But as neither of them were capable of a sincere friendship and had no real regard for anyone besides themselves, their displeasure was of little consequence. Preparations for the journey of the young ladies seemed for the present to employ all their thoughts, and diligence enough was used to get everything ready against the time prefixed, which wanted but three days of being expired when an unforeseen accident put an entire stop to it. She received a letter from her brother, Mr. Francis Thoughtless, accompanied with another to Mr. Goodman, acquainting them that he had obtained leave from the head of the college to pass a month in London, that he should set out from Oxford in two days and hoped to enjoy the satisfaction of being with them in twelve hours after this letter. What could she now do? It would have been a sin not only against natural affection, but against the rules of common good manners, to have left the town either on the news of his arrival or immediately after it, nor could Lady trusty expect or desire she should entertain a thought of doing so. She was too wise and too good not to consider the interest of families very much dependent on the strict union among the branches of it, and that the natural affection between brothers and sisters could not be too much cultivated. Far therefore, from insisting on the promise Miss Betsy had made of going with her into the country, she congratulated her on the happy disappointment, and told her that she should receive her with a double satisfaction if, after Mr. Francis returned to Oxford, she would come and pass what then remained of the summer season with her. This Miss Betsy assured her ladyship she would do, so that according to all appearance the benefits she might have received, by being under the eye of so excellent an instructress, were but delayed, not lost. CHAPTER VIII. Relates how by a concurrence of odd circumstances Miss Betsy was brought pretty near the crisis of her fate, and the means by which she escaped. Mr. Francis Thoughtless arrived in town the very evening before the day in which Sir Ralph Trusty and his lady were to set out for El. They had not seen this young gentleman since the melancholy occasion of his father's funeral, and would have been glad to have spent some time with him, but could no way put up their journey, as word was sent of the day in which they were expected to be at home. Sir Ralph knew very well that a great number of his tenants and friends would meet him on the road, and a letter would not reach them soon enough to prevent them from being disappointed. They sucked with him, however, at Mr. Goodmans, who would not permit him to have any other home than his house during his stay in town. Lady Trusty, on taking leave of Miss Betsy, said to her she hoped she would remember her promise when her brother was returned to Oxford, on which she replied that she could not be so much an enemy to her own happiness as to fail. Miss Betsy and this brother had been always extremely afund of each other, and the length of time they had been asunder, and the improvement which at that time had made in both heightened their mutual satisfaction in meeting. All that troubled Miss Betsy now was that her brother happened to come to London at a season of the year in which he could not receive the least satisfaction. The king was gone to Hanover, the foreign ministers, and great part of the nobility attended him, and the rest were retired to their country's seats, so that an entire stock was put to all public diversions worth seeing. There were no plays, no operas, no masquerades, no balls, no public shows, except at the little theatre in the Haymarket, then known by the name of F. Scandalshop, because he frequently exhibited their certain drolls, or more properly invectives, against the ministry, in doing which it appears extremely probable that he had two views, the one to get money, which he very much wanted, from such as delighted in low humour, and could not distinguish true satire from scurrility, and the other in the hope of having some post given him by those whom he abused in order to silence his dramatic talent. But it is not my business to point out either the merit of that gentleman's performances, or the motives he had for writing them, as the town is perfectly acquainted both with his abilities and success, and has since seen him with astonishment wriggle himself into favour by pretending to cajole those he had not the power to intimidate. But though there were none of the diversions I have mentioned, nor Ranala at that time thought up, nor Vohal, Marlambon, nor Cooper's Garden, in the repute they sense have been, the young gentleman found sufficient to entertain him, empty as the town was. Lady Mellison was not without company, who made frequent parties of pleasure, and when nothing else was to be found for recreation, cards filled up the void. Nothing material enough to be inserted in this history happened to Miss Betsy during the time her brother stayed, till one evening, as the family were fitting together, some discourse concerning Oxford coming on the tapas, Mr. Francis spoke so largely in the praise of the wholesomeness of the air, the many fine walks and gardens with which the place abounded, and the good company which were continually resorting to it, that Miss Betsy cried out she longed to see it, Miss Flora said the same. On this the young gentleman gave them an invitation to go down with him when he went, saying they could never go at a better time, as both the acises and races were to be in about a month. Miss Betsy said such a jaunt would vastly delight her, Miss Flora echoed her approbation, and added she wished my lady would consent. I have no objection to make to it, replied Lady Mellison, as you will have a conductor, who I know will be very careful of you. Mr. Goodman's consent was also asked for the sake of form, though everyone knew, the opinion of his wife was, of itself, a sufficient sanction. Though it is highly probable that Miss Betsy was much better pleased with this journey, than she would have been with that to L. Yet she thought herself obliged, both in gratitude and good manners, to write to Lady Trusty and make the best excuse she could for her breach of promise, which she did in these terms. To Lady Trusty, most dear and honoured madam. My brother Frank, being extremely desirous of showing Miss Flora and myself the curiosities of Oxford, has obtained leave from Mr. Goodman and Lady Mellison for us to accompany him to that place. I am afraid the season will be too far advanced for us to take a journey to L. at our return. Therefore flatter myself your ladyship will pardon the indispensable necessity I am under of deferring till next spring the happiness I proposed in waiting on you. All here present my worthy guardian and your ladyship with their best respects. I beg mine may be equally acceptable, and that you will always continue to favour with your good wishes her who is, with the most perfect esteem, madam, your ladyship's most obliged and most obedient servant, E. Thoughtless. The time for the young gentleman's departure being arrived, they went together in the stage attended by a footmen of Mr. Goodman's, whom Lady Mellison would need send with them in order to give the young ladies an air of dignity. They found on their arrival, at that justly celebrated seat of learning, that Mr. Francis had given no greater eulogiums on it than it merited. They were charmed with the fine library, the museum, the magnificence of the halls belonging to the several colleges, the physic garden, and other curious walks, but that which above all the rest gave the most satisfaction to Miss Betsy as well as to her companion, was that respectful gallantry with which they found themselves treated by the gentlemen of the university. Mr. Francis was extremely beloved amongst them, on account of his affability, politeness, and good humour, and they seemed glad of an opportunity of showing the regard they had for the brother by paying all manner of civilities to the sister. He gave the ladies an elegant entertainment at his own rooms, to which also some of those with whom he was the most intimate were invited. All these thought themselves bound to return the famed compliment. The company of every one present were desired at their respective apartments, and as each of these gentlemen had besides other particular friends of their own whom they wished to oblige, the number of guests were still increased at every feast. By this means Miss Betsy and Miss Flora soon acquired a very large acquaintance, and as to the care of Mr. Francis they were lodged in one of the best and most reputable houses in town. Their families known and themselves were young ladies who knew how to behave as well as dress, and received company in the most elegant and polite manner. Everyone was proud of a pretense for visiting them. The respect paid to them with doubtless of every day increase during the whole time they should have thought of proper to continue in Oxford, and on quitting it have left behind them the highest idea of their merit, if by one inconsiderate action they had not at once forfeited the esteem they had gained and rendered themselves the subjects of ridicule even to those who before had regarded them with veneration. They were walking out one day about an hour or two before the time in which they usually dined, into the park where they were met by a gentleman commoner and a young student, both of whom they had been in company with at most of the entertainments before mentioned. The sparks begged leave to attend them, which was readily granted. They walked altogether for some time, but the weather, being very warm, the gentleman commoner took an occasion to remind the ladies how much their beauties would be in danger of suffering from the immoderate rays of Phoebus, and proposed going to some gardens full of the most beautiful alcoves and arbours, so shaded over that the sun, even in his meridian force, could at the most but glimmer through the delightful gloom. He painted the pleasures of the place to which he was desirous of leading them with so romantic an energy that they immediately and without the least scruple or hesitation consented to be conducted thither. This was a condescension which he who asked it scarce expected would be granted, and on finding it so easily obtained began to form some conjectures no way to the advantage of those ladies' reputations. It is certain indeed that as he professed a friendship for the brother, he ought not in strict honour to have proposed anything to the sister, which would be unbecoming her to agree to, but he was young, gay to an excess, and in what he said or did took not always consideration for his guide. They went on laughing till they came to the place he mentioned, for the gentleman, having showed their fair companions into the gardens in which were indeed several recesses no less dark than had been described, on entering one of them Miss Betsy cried, Bless me! This is fit for nothing but for people to do what they are shamed of in the light! The fitter then, madam, replied the gentleman commoner, to encourage a lover who perhaps has suffered more through his own timidity than the cruelty of the object he adores. He accompanied these words with a seizure of both her hands and two or three kisses on her lips. The young student was no less free with Miss Flora, but neither of these ladies gave themselves the trouble to reflect what consequences might possibly attend a prelude of this nature, and repulsed the liberties they took in such a manner as made the offenders imagine they had not sinned beyond a pardon. They would not, however, be prevailed on to stay or even to sit down in that darksome recess, but went into a house where they were shown into a very pleasant room, which commanded the whole prospect of the garden, and was sufficiently shaded from the sun by jessamine and honeysuckles, which grew against the walls. Here, wine, cakes, jellies, and such like things being brought, the conversation was extremely lively, and full of gallantry, without the least mixture of indecency. The gentleman exerted all their wit and eloquence to persuade the ladies not to go home in the heat of the day, but take up such entertainment as the place they were in was able to present them with. None of them made any objection, except that having said they should dine at home the family would wait an expectation of their coming. But this difficulty was easily got over. The footmen, who had attended Miss Betsy and Miss Flora in their morning's walk, was in the house and might be sent to acquaint the people that they were not to expect them. As they were neither displeased with the company nor placed they were in, they needed not abundance of persuasions, and the servant was immediately dispatched. The gentleman went out of the room to give orders for having something prepared, but stayed not two minutes, and on their return omitted nothing that might keep the good humor and sprightliness of their fair companions. Persons of so gay and volatile a disposition as these four could not content themselves with sitting still, and barely talking, every limb must be in motion, every faculty employed. The gentleman commoner took Miss Betsy's hand and led her some steps of a minuet, then fell into a rigid dune, then into the louvre, and so ran through all the school dances without regularly beginning or ending any one of them, or of the tunes he sung. The young student was not less alert with Miss Flora, so that between singing, dancing, and laughing they all grew extremely warm. Miss Betsy ran to a window to take breath and get a little air. Her partner followed, and taking up her fan which lay on a table, employed it with a great deal of dexterity, to assist the wind that came in at the casement for her refreshment. Heaven, cried he, how divinely lovely do you now appear, the goddess of the spring, nor Venus' self was ever painted half so beautiful. What eyes, what a mouth, and what a shape, continued he, surveying her as it were from head to foot. How exquisitely turned, how taper, how slender, I don't believe you measure half a yard round the waist. In speaking these words he put his handkerchief around her waist, after which he tied it round his head, repeating these lines of Mr. Wallars. That which her slender waist confined shall now my joyful temples bind. No monarch but would give his crown, his arms might do what this has done. Oh, fire upon it, said Miss Betsy, laughing and snatching it from his head. This poetry is stale. I should rather have expected from an oxonian some fine thing of his own extempore, on this occasion which perhaps I might have been vain enough to have got printed in the monthly magazines. Ah! Madame replied he, looking on her with dying languishments, where the heart is deeply affected, the brain seldom produces anything but incongruous ideas. Had saccharus had been mistress of the charms you are, or had Wallar loved like me, he had been less capable of writing in the manner he did. The student, perceiving his friend was entering into a particular conversation with Miss Betsy, found means to draw Miss Flora out of the room, and left them together. Though this young lady afterwards protested, she called to Miss Betsy to follow, but if she did it was in such a low voice that the others did not hear her. And continued her pleasantry, rallying the gentleman commoner on everything he said, till he, finding the opportunity he had of being revenged, soon turned his humble adoration into an air more free and natural to him. As she was opening her mouth to utter some sarcasm or other, he catched her in his arms and began to kiss her with so much warm and eagerness that surprised her. She struggled to get loose and called Miss Flora, not knowing she was gone, to come to her assistance. The efforts she made at first to oblige him to desist were not, however, quite so strenuous as they ought to have been on such an occasion, but finding he was about to proceed to greater liberties than any man before had ever taken with her, she collected all her strength and broke from him, when looking around the room and seeing nobody there. "'Bless me,' cried she, what is the meaning of all this? Where are our friends?' "'They are gone,' said he, to pay the debt which love and youth and beauty challenge. Let us not be remiss, nor waste the precious moments in idle scruples. Come, my angel,' pursued he, endeavouring to get her once more into his arms, make me the happiest of mankind, and be as divinely good as you are fair.' "'I do not understand,' you sir,' replied she, but neither desire nor will stay to hear an exclamation. She spoke this with somewhat of an haughty air, and was making towards the door, but he was far from being intimidated and instead of suffering her to pass he seized her a little roughly with one hand, and with the other made fast the door. "'Come, come,' my dear creature,' cried he, no more resistance, you see you are in my power, and the very name of being so is sufficient to absolve you to yourself. For any act of kindness you may bestow upon me. Be generous then, and be sure it shall be an inviolable secret.' She was about to say something, but he stopped her mouth with kisses and forced her to sit down in a chair, where holding her fast her ruin had certainly been completed if a loud knocking at the door had not prevented him from prosecuting his design. This was the brother of Miss Betsy, who, having been at her lodgings, on his coming from thence met the footman who had been sent to acquaint the family the ladies would not dine at home. He asked where his sister was, and the fellow having told him came directly to the place. A waiter of the house showed him to the room, on finding it locked he was strangely amazed, and both knocked and called to have it opened, with a good deal of vehemence. The gentleman commoner, knowing his voice, was shocked to the last degree, but quitted that instant his intended pray and let him enter. Mr. Francis, on coming in, knew not what to think. He saw the gentleman in great disorder, and his sister in much more. What is the meaning of this, said he? Sister, how came you here? Ask me no questions at present, replied she, scarce able to speak, so strangely had her late fright seized on her spirits. Let's see me safe from this cursed house and that worst of men. Her speaking in this manner made Mr. Francis apprehend the whole and perhaps more than the truth. How, sir, said he, darting a furious look at the gentleman commoner, what is it I hear? Have you dared to— Whatever I have dared to interrupted the other I am capable of defending. Tis well rejoined the brother of Miss Betsy. Perhaps I may put you to the trial, but this is not a time or place. He then took hold of his sister's hand and led her downstairs. As they were going out, Miss Betsy stopping a little to adjust her dress, which was strangely disordered. She betthought herself of Miss Flora, who, though she was very angry with, she did not choose to leave behind at the mercy of such rakes, as she had reason to think those were whom she had been in company with. Just as she was desiring her brother to send a waiter in search of that young lady, they saw her coming out of the garden, led by the young student, who, as soon as he beheld Mr. Francis cried, Ha! Frank! how came you here? you look out of humor! How I came here it matters not, replied he, cellonly, and asked my being out of humor. Perhaps you may know better than I yet do what cause I have for being so. He waited for no answer to these words, but conducted his sister out of the house as hastily as he could. Miss Flora followed, after having taken leave of her companion, in what manner she thought proper. On their coming home, Miss Betsy related to her brother as far as her modesty would permit all the particulars of the adventure and ended with saying that Shored was having a loan that gave her strength to prevent the perpetration of the villain's intentions. Mr. Francis, all the time she was speaking, bit his lips and showed great tokens of an extraordinary disturbance in his mind, but offered not the least interruption. When he perceived she had done, well, sister, said he, I shall hear what he has to say and will endeavour to oblige him to ask your pardon, and soon after took his leave. Miss Betsy did not very well comprehend his meaning in these words, and was indeed still in too much confusion to consider on anything, but what the consequences were of this transaction the reader will presently be informed of.