an examination. The lad, upon being interrogated,…

He had not waked till the room under that where he lay was in a blaze, and, on attempting to rise, was stifled with the smoke that poured

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in at every cranny of the floor, and fell sense* less at his bed-side, where Bolton found him upon entering the room.

On endeavouring to carry him down stairs, he found it had now become impracticable, several of the steps having been quite burnt away, and fallen down in flaming brands, since the moment before, when he had ascended. .

He had presence of mind enough left to observe, that the back-part of the house was not so immediately affected by the flames; he carried Mr Rawlinson therefore into a room on that side, and, having beat out the sash, admitted air enough to revive him. The latter presently recollected his situation, and asking Harry, if it was possible to get down stairs, hedrd him answer in the negative with remarkable composure. * As for me,' said he, ' I shall lose but few of my days -x but I fear, Sir, your generous concern for a stranger, has endangered a life much more valuable than mine: let me beg of you to endeavour to save yourself, which your strength and agility may

enable you to do, without regarding a poor, worn-out, old man, who would only encumber you in the attempt/ Bolton, with a solemn earnestness, declared, that no consideration should tempt him to such a desertion.

He had, before this, vainly endeavoured to procure a ladder, or some other assistance, from the people below ; the confusion of the scene prevented their affording it: he considered, therefore, if he could not furnish some expe

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dient from within, and having united the cordage of a bed, which stood in the room, he found it would make a sufficient length of rope to reach within a few feet of the ground. This he fastened round Mr Rawlinson's waist, in such a way that his arms should support part of the weight of his body, and sliding it over the edge of the window, so as to cause somewhat more resistance in the descent, he let him down, in that manner, till he was within reach of some assistance below, who caught him in their arms; then fastening the end of the rope round the post of the bed, he slid so far down ujton it himself, that he could safely leap to the ground.

He conveyed Mr Rawlinson to other lodgings hard by, which then happened to be vacant; and having got him accommodated with some clothes belonging to the landlord, he returned to see what progress the fire had been making, when he found, that, happily, from a piece of waste ground's lying between the house where it broke out, and the other to the leeward, it was got so much under, as to be in no danger of spreading any farther.

Upon going back to Mr Rawlinson, he found him sitting in the midst of the family with whom he had lodged, ministering comfort to their distresses ; the unfortunate Betty, whom, as she stood self-condemned for her neglect, he considered as the greatest sufferer, he had placed next him. « You shall not,' said he, addressing himself to the old folks, • interrupt the happiness of my friend Nancy or her lover here, T2

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220 THE MAN OF THE WORLD.

with wailing your *misfortune, or chiding, of Betty. I will become bound to make up all your losses, provided your good humour is not of the number.'

' But who,' continued the old gentleman, ' shall reward Mr Boltcfti for the service he has done us all ?' * May Heaven reward him!' cried Mrs Terwitt, and all her audience answered, Amen!' 'You pray well/

said Mr Rawlinson, 'and your petition is heard; on him, to whom the disposition of benevolence is given, its recompence is already bestowed.'

CHAR X.

EFFECTS OF HIS ACQUAINTANCE WITH MR RAWLINSON.

ouch was Bolton's introduction to Mr Rawlirison's acquaintance ; and from the circumstance of its commencement, my readers will easily believe, that neither party could be indifferent to its continuation.

Rawlinson saw his own virtues warm and active in the bosom of his young friend; while Harry contemplated with equal delight, that serenity which their recollection bestowed on the declining age of Raw* linson.

In one of his visits to the old gentleman, some time after the accident related in the foregoing chapter, he found with him that very y Google

THE MAN OJP THE WORLD. 221

youth, whose sorrow, over the grave of his father, he had so lately been the means of alleviating. The young man was, indeed, in the midst of their recital as Bolton entered the room, and had just mentioned with regret his ignorance of his benefactor, when the door

opened and discovered him. Bolton could not help blushing at the discovery; the other, starting from his seat, exclaimed, * It is he, it is himself,' threw himself on his knees before Harry, with tears in his eyes, and poured out some broken expressions of the warmest gratitude. ' It was you then,' said Mr Rawlinson, * who were the comforter of my poor boy, who covered the grave of his unfortunate father! I will not thank you, for Jack is doing it better with his tears; but I will thank Heaven, that there are, some such men to preserve my veneration for the species.' «I trust, my dear Sir/ said Bolton, '

there are many to whom such actions are habitual.'—* You are a young man,' interrupted the other, * and it is fit you should believe so; I will believe so too, for I have sometimes known what it is to enjoy them.—Go, my boy/ turning to the lad, * and wish for the luxury of doing good; remember Mr Bolton, and be not forgetful of Providence.'

4 The father of that young man/ said Mr Rawlinson, when he was gone, ' was a schoolfellow of mine here in town, and one of the worthiest creatures in the world; but, from a milkiness of disposition, without the direction of prudence> or the guard of suspicion, he suf-.

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fered himself to become a dupe to the artifices of some designing men ; and when, some time ago, I discovered his place of abode in an obscure village in the country, 1 found him stripped of his patrimony, and burthened with the charge of that boy, who has just now left us, whose mother, it seems, had died when he was a child.

Yet, amidst the distresses of his poverty, I found that easiness of temper, which had contributed to bring them on, had not forsaken him ; he met me with a smile of satisfaction, and talked of the cruel indifference of some wealthy relations, without the emotions of anger, or the acrimony of disappointment. He seemed, indeed, to feel for his child; but comforted himself at the same time with the reflection that he had bred him to expect adversity with composure,

and to suffer poverty with contentment. He died, poor man, when I had put him in a way of living with some comfort; nor had I even an opportunity of doing the common offices of friendship to his last moments, my health having obliged me to go down to Bath, whence I had removed to Bristol, and did not receive jmy account of his illness till my return to London. I am in your debt, Mr Bolton, for some supplies to his son; let me know what those were, that we may clear the account.' Bolton replied, that he hoped Mr Bawlinson could not wish to deprive him of the pleasure he felt from the reflection of having assisted so much filial piety in distress, f It shall be in your own way/ said the old gentleman; * I am

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THE MAN 07 THE WORLD. 22S

not such a niggard as to grudge you the opportunity ; yet I cannot but regret my absence, when I should have closed the eyes of poor Jennings. He was the last of those companions of my childhood, whose history in life I had occasion to be acquainted with ; the rest, Mr Bolton, had already fallen around me, and I am now left within a little of the grave, without a friend (except one, whom accident has acquired me in you) to smooth the path that leads to it; but that is short, and therefore it matters not much. At my age, nature herself may be expected to decline; but a lingering illness is shortening her date. I would do, therefore, what good I can, in the space that is left me, and look forward, if I may be allowed, to make some provision for the service of futurity. Here are two papers, Sir, which, on mature deliberation, I have judged it proper to commit to your custody ; that in the parchment-cover, which is not labelled, my death alone will authorize you to open; the other marked, ' Trust deed by Mr Annesly,'

I can explain to you now. That man, Mr Bolton, who is now a saint in heaven, was prepared for it by the severest calamities on earth : the guilt and misfortune of two darling children, cut short the remnant of a life, whose business it was to guide, and whose pleasure to behold them in the paths of virtue and of happiness. At the time of his death

they were both alive ; one, alas! did not long survive her father; what has become of her brother, I have never been y Google

able to learn; but this trust put into my hands in their behalf, may still be of importance to him or his, and to you, therefore, I make it over for that purpose; for though by Mr Annesly's settlement, the subject of trust accrues to me on the failure of his own issue,^et would I never consider it as mine, while the smallest chance remained of his son, or the descendants of his son, surviving; and even were the negative certain, I should then only look on myself as the steward of my friend, for purposes which his goodness would have dictated, and it becomes his trustee to fulfil. In such a charge I will not instruct my executor; I have been fortunate enough to find one whose heart will instruct him.'

Bolton, while he promised an execution of this trust worthy of the confidence reposed in him, could not help expressing his surprise at Mr Rawlinson'8 choice of him for that purpose. * I do not wonder/

replied the other, ' that you should think thus, for thus has custom taught us to think; I have told you how friend* less and unconnected I am; but while we trace the relatives of birth and kindred, shall we allow nothing to the ties of the heart, or the sym* pathy of virtue ?'

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CHAR XL

A REMARKABLE EVENT IN THE HISTORY OF BOLTON—HIS

BEHAVIOUR IN CONSEQUENCE OF IT.

X he provisions which Mr Rawlinson had made, for an event of which he had accustomed himself to think with composure, were but too predictive of its arrival. That worthy man lived not many weeks after the conversation with Bolton which I have just recorded.

Bolton was affected with the most lively sorrow for his death. This friendship, though but lately acquired, had something uncommonly ardent in its attachment, and liberal in its confidence. Harry, who had returned it in the most unreserved manner, felt the want both of that kindness which soothed, and that wisdom which instructed him.

Upon opening the sealed paper which had been formerly put into his hands by Mr Rawlinson, it was found to be that gentleman's will, devising his whole estate, real and personal, to Mr Bolton. The reason given for this, in the body of the paper itself, was expressed in the following words: ' Because I know no man who has deserved more of myself; none who will deserve more of mankind, in the disposal of what I have thus bequeathed, him.'

Bolton was fully sensible of the force of this recommendation to the exercise of a virtue

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which he had always possessed, and had only wanted power to practise. He acted as the almoner of Mr Rawlinson, and justified his friend's method of benefaction, (for so this disposal of his affairs might be called), by joining with the inclination to do good, that choice of object, and that attention to propriety, which dignifies the purpose, and doubles the use of beneficence. Having settled accounts of this kind in towa (amongst which those of young Jennings and the Terwitt family were not forgotten), he set out for that estate which had now devolved to him by the will of Mr Rawlinson. With what ideas he made this visit, and in what manner'

he expressed them on his arrival, I shall allow his own words to describe, in the following letter to Miss Sindall: Witbrooh: 1 My Lucy will not blame me for want of attention, because she has heard of what the world will call my good fortune, only from the relation of others. To her I could not address those short letters of recital, which I was obliged to write to Sir Thomas. She will not doubt her Henry's remembrance at all times ; it is only with relation to those we love that prosperity can produce happiness, and our virtues

themselves are nourished from the consciousness of some favourite suffrage. The length of tnis letter shall make up for a silence occasioned by various interruptions. I have had a good deal of business for the present; I have

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THE MAN OF THE WORLD* 227

been forming some projects for the future; the idea of my Lucy was absent from neither.

' After the death of Mr Rawlinson, the friend of mankind, as well as of your Harry, there were some offices of duty which the successor of such a man was peculiarly bound to perform. Though I could discover no relation of his but one, (whose fortune, as it had formerly taught him to overlook his kinsman, stood not now in need of that kinsman's acknowledgment), yet there were numbers whom humanity had ailied to him. Their claim of affinity was now upon me, and their provision a debt which I was called upon to discharge; this kept me some time in London. I have another family here whom it was also necessary to remember; I have been among them a week, and we have not been unhappy.

4 When I looked into the conveyances of this estate, I found it had been once before transferred, in a manner not very common in the disposal of modern property. Its owner immediately preceding Mr Rawlinson, was a friend and companion of his, who had gone out to India some years later than he, and, by his assistance, had been put in the way of acquiring a very large fortune. The greatest part of this he remitted to his former benefactor in England, to be laid out in some purchase near the place of his nativity, which it seems was a village buP a. few miles distant from Wilbrook. This estate was then in the possession of a gentleman, whose London expences had squan

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228 THE MAN 07 THE WORLD.

dered the savings of four or five generations; and, after having exhausted every other resource, he was obliged to sell this inheritance of his family. Mr Rawlinson gave him the price he asked, and made a present of a considerable sum besides, to a very deserving woman, who had the misfortune to be the wife of this spendthrift. His friend ratified the bargain with thanks; but he lived not to enjoy his purchase. A fever carried him off in his passage to England, and he bequeathed his estate to him, by whose former good offices he had been enabled to acquire it. '

' The new proprietor took a singular method of improving its value.

He lowered the rents, which had been raised to an extravagant height, and recalled the ancient tenants of the manor, most of whom had been driven from the unfriendly soil, to make room for desperate adventurers, who undertook for rents they could never be able to pay. To such a man was I to succeed, and I was conscious how much was required of his successor.

* The third day after my arrival, I gave a general invitation to my tenants and their families to dine with me. The hall was trimmed for their reception, and some large antique pieces of plate, with which Mr Rawlinson had furnished his cupboard, were ranged on the large table at the end of it. Without doors stood a cask of excellent strong bedr for any one of inferior quality who chose to drink of it, y Google

dispensed by an old, but jolly-looking servant, whose face was the signal of welcome.

* I received my guests as friends and acquaintance ; asked the names of their children, and praised the bluffness of the boys, and the beauty of the girls. I placed one of the most matronly wives in the1 wicker chair at the head of the table; and, occupying the lowest place myself, stationed the rest of the company, according to their age, on either side.

* The dinner had all the appearance of plain* ness and of plenty; amongst other dishes, four large pieces of roast beef were placed at uniform distances, and a plum-pudding, of a very uncommon circumference, was raised conspicuous in the middle. I pressed the bashful among the girls, commended the frankness of their fathers, and pledged the jolliest of the set in repeated draughts of strong beer.

' But, though this had the desired effect with some, I could observe in the countenances of others evident marks of distrust and apprehension. The cloth, therefore, was no sooner removed, and the grace-cup drunk, than I rose up in my place, and addressed my guests to the following purpose:

* The satisfaction, my worthy friends, with which I now meet you, is damped by the recollection of that loss we have sustained in the death of your late excellent master. He was to me, as to you, a friend and a father; so may Heaven supply the want to me, as I will en Vol.IL U

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deavour to fill his place to you. I call you to witness, that I hold his estate by no other title.

* I have given orders to my steward to renew such of your leases as are near expiring, at the rent which you have heretofore paid. If there is an article of encouragement or convenience wanting to any of you, let him apply to myself, and I will immediately inquire into it. No man is above the business of doing good.

' It is customary, I believe, on such occasions, for the tenant to pay a certain fine or premium to the landlord. I too, my friends, will expect one; you and your families shall pay it me—be industrious, be virtuous, be happy.*

* An exclamation of joy and applause, which the last part of my speech had scarcely been able to stifle, now burst forth around me. I need not teU my Lucy what I felt; her heart can judge of my feelings; she will believe me when 1 say, that I would not have exchanged them for the revenue of a monarch.

' The rest of the day was spent in all the genuine festivity of happy spirits. I had enlarged a room adjoining to the hall, by striking down a partition at one end; and closed the entertainment with a dance, which I led up myself with the rosy-cheeked daughter of one of my principal tenants.

' This visit I have already returned to several of those honest folks. I found their little dwellings clean and comfortable, and happiness and good-humour seemed the guests of them all. I have commonly observed cleanliness and

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THE MAN OF THE WORtD. 231

contentment to be companions amongst the lower ranks of the country-people; nor is it difficult to account for this; there is a self satisfaction in contented minds which disposes to activity and neatness; whereas, the reckless lassitude that weighs down the unhappy, seldom fails to make drunkards of the men, and slatterns of the women, I commended highly the neatness which I found in the farm-houses on my estate; and made their owners presents of various household ornaments by way of encouragement.

' I know the usual mode of improving estates; I was told by some sagacious advisers in London, that mine was improveable ; but I am too selfish to be contented with money; I would increase the love of my people.

* Yesterday, and to-day, I have been employed in surveying the grounds adjoining to the house. Nature here reigns without control ; for Mr Rawlinson did not attend very much to her improvement; and I

have heard him say, that he conceived a certain esteem for an old tree, or even an old wall, that would hardly-allow him to think of cutting the one, or pulling down the other. Nature, however, has been liberal of her beauties; but these beauties I view not with so partial an eye as the scenes I left at Sindall-park. Were my Lucy here to adorn the landscape!—-but the language of affection like mine is not in words. She will not need them to believe how much I am her

« Henry Bolton.* U2

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232 THE MAN OF THE WORli>*

chap. xil

A CHANGE IN THE FAMILY OP SIR THOMAS

SINDALL SOME ACCOUNT OF A PERSON

WHOM THAT EVENT INTRODUCES TO MISS LUCY'S

ACQUAINTANCE.

J he answer which Bolton received to the fore-, going letter, contained a piece of intelligence material to the situation of Miss Sindall; it conveyed to him an account of the death of Mrs Selwyn.

Though that lady was not possessed of many amiable or engaging qualities, yet Lucy, to whom she had.always shown as much kindness as her nature allowed her to bestow on any one, felt a very lively sorrow for her death, even exclusive of the immediate consequences which herself was to expect from that event.

These, indeed, were apparently momentous. Mrs Selwyn had been her guardian and protectress from her infancy; and, though Sir Thomas Sindall had ever behaved to her like a father, yet there was a feeling in the bosom of Lucy that revolted against the idea of continuing in his house after his aunt's decease. By that lady's will,

she was entitled to a legacy of six hundred pounds ; by means of this sum she had formed a scheme, which, though it would reduce her to a state very different from the ease and affluence of her former circumstances, might yet secure her from the irksomeness of y Google

dependence, or the accusation of impropriety; this was, to appropriate two-thirds of the inter* est of her capital to the payment of an annual sum for her board with Mrs Wistanly.

It was now that Bolton felt the advantage of independence from the hopes of being useful to Lucy; but he had her delicacy to overcome.

She would not throw herself, at this moment of necessity, into the hands of a man whom fortune had now placed above her. She adhered to her first resolution.

But the kindness of Sir Thomas Sindall rendered it unnecessary; for a short time after Mrs Selwyn's death, when Miss Sindall communicated to him her intention of leaving his house, he addressed her in the following terms: ' I have always looked upon you, Miss Lucy, as a daughter; and, I hope, there has been no want of tenderness or attention, on the side of my aunt or myself, to have prevented your regarding us as parents. At the same time, I know the opinions of the world; mistaken and illiberal as they often are, there is a deference which we are obliged to pay them. In your sex the sense of decorum should be ever awake; even in this case, I would not attempt to plead against its voice ; but I hope I have hit on a method which will perfectly reconcile propriety and convenience.

There is a lady, a distant relation of our family, whom a marriage, such as the world terms imprudent, banished in early life from the notice or protection of it; but, though they could refuse their suffrage to US

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the match, they could not control its happiness; and, during the life of Mr Boothby (for that was her husband's name), she experienced all

the felicity of which wedlock is susceptible. Yet on her husband's death, which happened about five years after their marriage, the state of his affairs was found to be such, that she stood but too much in need of that assistance which her relations denied her. At the. time of her giving the family this offence, I was a boy; and I scarce ever heard of her name till I was apprised of her misfortunes. Whatever services 1 have been able to do her, I have found repaid by the sincerest gratitude, and improved to the worthiest purposes. Upon the late event of my aunt's death, I was naturally led to wish her place supplied by Mrs Boothby; she has done me the favour to accept of my invitation, and I expect her here this evening. Of any thing like authority in this house, Miss Lucy, you shall be always independent; but I flatter myself she has qualities sufficient to merit your friendship.' Lucy returned such an answer as the kindness and delicacy of this speech deserved; and, it was agreed, that, for the present, her purpose of leaving Bilswood should be laid aside..

In the evening the expected lady arrived; she seemed to be about the age of fifty, with an impression of melancholy on her countenance, that appeared to have worn away her beauty before the usual period. Some traces, however, still remained, and her eyes, when

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they met the view of the world, which was but seldom, discovered a brilliancy not extinguished by her sorrow.

•Her appearance, joined to the knowledge of her story, did not fail to attract Miss Sindall's regard; she received Mrs Boothby with an air, not of civility, but friendship; and the other shewed a sense of the obligation conferred on her, by a look of that modest, tender sort, which equally acknowledges and solicits our kindness.

With misfortune a good heart easily makes an acquaintance. Miss Sindall endeavoured, by a thousand little assiduities, to show this lady the interest she took in her welfare. That reserve, which the humility of affliction, not an unsocial spirit, seemed to have taught

Mrs Boothby, wore off by degrees; their mutual esteem increased as their characters opened to each other; and, in a short time, their confidence was unreserved, and their friendship appeared to be inviolable.

Mrs Boothby had now the satisfaction of pouring the tale of her distresses into the ear of sympathy and friendship. Her story was melancholy but not uncommon; the wreck of her husband's affairs, by a mind too enlarged for his fortune, and an indulgence of inclinations, laudable in their kind, but faulty in relation to the circumstances of their owner.

In the history of her young friends life there were but few incidents to communicate in return. She could only say, that she remember y Google

236 THE MAN OP THE WORLD.

ed herself, from her infancy, an orphan, under the care of Sir Thomas Sindall and his aunt; that she had lived wfch them in a state of quiet and simplicity, without having seen much *>f the world, or wishing to see it. She had but one secret to disclose in earnest of her friendship; it faultered for some time on her lips; at last she ventured to let Mrs Boothby know it—her attachment to Bolton*

From this intelligence the other was led to an inquiry into the situation of that young gentleman. She heard the particulars I have formerly related, with an emotion not suited to the feelings of Miss Sindall: and the sincerity of her friendship declared the fears which her prudence suggested.

She reminded Lucy of the dangers to which youth and inexperience are exposed, by the sudden acquisition of riches; she set forth the many disadvantages of early independence, and hinted the inconstancy of attachments, formed in the period of romantic enthusiasm, in the scenes of rural simplicity, which are afterwards to be tried by the maxims of the world, amidst the society of the gay,

the thoughtless, and the dissipated. From all this followed conclusions, which it was as difficult as disagreeable for the heart of Lucy to form; it could not untwist those tender ties which linked it to Bolton; but it began to tremble for itself and him.

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THE MAN OF THE WORLD. « 2S7

CHAP. XIIL

CERTAIN OPINIONS OF MRS BOOTHBY.—AN ATTEMPT TO

ACCOUNT FOR THEM.

_F rom the particulars of her own story, and of Bolton's, Mrs Boothby drew one conclusion common to both; to wit, the goodness of Sir Thomas Sindall. This, indeed, a laudable gratitude had so much impressed on her mind that the praises she frequently > bestowed on him, even in his own presence, would have savoured of adulation to one, who had not known the debt which this lady owed to his beneficence.

Lucy, to whom she would often repeat her eulogium of the baronet, was ready enough to own the obligations herself had received, and to join her acknowledgments to those of her friend. Yet there was a want of warmth in her panegyric, for which Mrs Boothby would sometimes gently blape her; and one day, when they were on that subject, she remarked, with a sort of jocular air, the difference of that attachment which Miss Sindall felt, in return for so much unwearied kindness as Sir Thomas had shewn her, and that which a few soft, glances had procured to the more fortunate Mr Bolton.

Miss Sindall seemed to feel the observation with some degree of displeasure; and answered, blushing, that she considered Sir Thomas as a

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parent whom she was to esteem and revere, not as one for whom she was to entertain any sentiments of a softer kind.

* But suppose,' replied the other, * that he should entertain sentiments of a softer kind for you.'—' I cannot suppose it/—* There you are in the wrong; men of sense and knowledge of the world, like Sir Thomas, are not so prodigal of unmeaning compliment as giddy young people, who mean not half of what they say; but they feel more deeply the force of our attractions, and will retain the impression so much the longer as it is grafted on maturity of judgment. I am very much mistaken, Miss Lucy, if the worthiest of men is not your lover. —-* Lover I Sir Thomas Sindall my lover!'— 91

profess, my dear, I cannot see the reason of that passionate exclamation; nor why that man should not be entitled to love you, who has himself the best title to be beloved/—* I may reverence Sir Thomas Sindall, I may admire his goodness; I will do any thing to shew my gratitude to him; but to love him—good heavens f

' There is, I know,' rejoined Mrs Boothby, * a certain romantic affection* which young people suppose to be the only thing that comes under (hat denomination. From being accustomed to admire a set of opinions, which they term sentimental, opposed to others which they look upon as vulgar and unfeeling, they form to themselves an ideal system in those matters, which, from the nature of things, must always

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THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 259

be disappointed. You will find, Mies Sindall, when you have lived to see a little more of the world, the insufficiency of those visionary articles of happiness, that are set forth with such parade of language in novels and romances, as consisting in sympathy of soul, and the mutual attraction of hearts, destined for each other.'

* You will pardon me/ said Lucy, * for making one observation, that you yourself are an instance against the universal truth of your

argument ; you married for love, Mrs Boothby/ —* I did so,'

interrupted she, ' and therefore I am the better able to inform you of the short duration of that paradise such a state is supposed to imply.

We were looked upon, Miss Lucy, as patterns of conjugal felicity; but folks did little know,, how soon the raptures with which we went together were changed into feelings of a much colder kind. At the same time, Mr Boothby was a good-natured man; and, I believe, we were on a better footing than most of your couples who marry for love are at the end of a twelvemonth. I am now but too well convinced that those are the happiest matches which are founded on the soberer sentiments of gratitude and esteem.'

To this concluding maxim Lucy made no reply. It was one of those which she could not easily bear to believe; it even tinctured the character of the person who made it, and she found herself not so much disposed to love Mr» Boothby as she once had been.

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240 THE MAN OF THE WORLD.

For this sort of reasoning, however, that lady had reasons which it may not be improper to explain to the reader, if indeed the reader has not already discovered them without the assistance of explanation.

Sir Thomas Sindall, though he was now verging towards that time of life when

* the heyday of the blood is tame,'

was still as susceptible as ever of the influence of beauty. Miss Lucy I have already mentioned as possessing an uncommon share of it; and chance had placed her so immediately under his observation and guardianship, that it was scarce possibly not for him to remark, and having remarked, not to desire it. In some minds, indeed, there

might have arisen suggestions of honour and conscience unfavourable to the use of that opportunity which fortune had put in his power; but these were restraints which Sir Thomas had so frequently broken, as in a great measure to annihilate their force*

During the life of his aunt, there were other motives to restrain him; those were now removed ; and being solicitous to preserve the advantage which he drew from Miss Sindall's residence in his house, he pitched on Mrs Boothby to fill Mrs Selwyn's place, from whom his former good offices gave him an additional title to expect assistance, by means of the influence she would naturally gain over the mind of one who was in some sort to become her ward. As I am willing at present to believe that lady's

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THE MAN OF THE WORLD, 241

character a fair one, I shall suppose, that he concealed from her the kind of addresses with which he meant to approach her young friend.

It is certain there was but one kind, which the principles of Sir Thomas allowed him to make.

One obstacle, however, he foresaw in the attachment which he had early discovered her to have towards Bolton. This on the most favour* able supposition of the case, he might easily represent to Mrs Boothby, equally hurtful to Lucy's interest, and destructive of his own wishes; and if she was prevailed on to espouse his cause, it may account for those lessons of prudence which she bestowed upon Miss SindalU

Besides this, the baronet did not scruple to use some other methods, still more dishonourable, of shaking her confidence in his com in. He fell upon means of secretly intercepting that young gentleman's letters to Lucy; from this he drew a double advantage ; both of fastening a suspicion on Harry's fidelity, and acquiring such intelligence as might point his own machinations to defeat the purposes which that correspondence contained.

CHAP. XIV.

A DISCOVERY INTERESTING TO MISS SINDALL.

Under those circumstances of advantage in which Sir Thomas Sindall stood, it did not Vol. II. X

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# 842 THE MAK OF THE WORLD.

seem a matter of extreme difficulty to accomplish that designs which I have hinted to my readers in the preceding chapter. Let him, whose indignation is roused at the mention of it, carry his feelings abroad into life, he will find other Sindalls whom the world has not marked with its displeasure. In the simplicity of my narrative, what is there that should set up this one to his hatred or his scorn ? Let but the heart pronounce its judgmeut, and the decision will be the same.

Hitherto Sir Thomas had appeared as the parent and guardian of Lucy: and though, at times, certain expressions escaped him, which the quickness of more experienced, that is, less innocent minds, would have discovered to belong to another character; yet she to whom they were addressed, had heard them without suspicion. But she was now alarmed by the suggestions of Mrs Boothby ; these suggestions it is possibly the baronet himself had prompted. He knew the force of that poison which is conveyed in those indirect approaches, when a woman's vanity is set on the watch by the assistance of a third person. She who imagines she hears them with indifference, is in danger; but she who listens to them with pleasure, is undone.

With Lucy, however, they failed of that effect which the baronet's experience had promised him. She heard them with a sort of disgust at Mrs Boothby, and something like fear of Sir Thomas.

Her uneasiness increased as his declarations

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THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 243

began to be more pointed, though they were then only such as some women, who hac^ meant to give them no favourable ear, might perhaps have been rather flattered than displeased wiCh ; but Miss Sindall was equally void of the art by which we disguise our own sentiments, and the pride we assume from the sentiments of others.

To her virtues Sir Thomas was no stranger ; they were difficulties which served but as spurs in his pursuit. That he continued it with increasing ardour, may be gathered from two letters, which I subjoin for the information of the reader. The first is addressed To Mrs Wi&tanly*

( My Dear Madam,

* I fear you begin to accuse me of neglect: but there are reasons why I cannot so easily write to you as formerly. Even without this apology, you would scarce believe me capable of forgetting you, who are almost the only friend I am possessed of. Alas! I have need of a friend! pity and direct me..

•Sir Thomas Sindall—how shall I tell it? —he has ceased to be that guardian, that protector, I esteemed him; he. says he loves, he, adores me;—-.—I know not why it is, but I shudder when I hear these words from Sir Thomas Sindall.

' But I have better reason for my fears ; hQ bas used such expressions of late, that, though X 2

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244 TfcE MAN OF THE WORLD.

I am not skilled enough in the language of his sex to understand their meaning fully, yet they convey too much for his honour and for my

peace.

' Nor is this all.—Last night I was sitttng in the parlour with him and Mrs Bopthby, (of whom I have much to tell you), I got up, and stood in the bow-window, looking at the rays of the moon, which glittered on the pond in the garden. There was something of enviable tranquility in the scene; I sighed as I looked.— ' That's a deep one,'

said Sir Thomas, patting me on the shoulder behind; I turned round somewhat in a flurry, when I perceived that Mrs Boothby had left the room. I made a motion towards the door; Sir Thomas placed himself with his back to it. ' Where is Mrs Boothby ?' said I, though I trembled so, that I could scarcely articulate the words. * What is ray sweet girl frightened at ?' said he; ' here are none but love and Sindall.' He fell on his knees, and repeated a great deal of jargon, (I was so confused I know not what), holding my hands all the while fast in his.

I pulled them away at last; he rose, and clasping me round the waist, would have forced a kiss; I screamed out, and he turned from me. '

What's the matter ?' said Mrs Boothby, who then entered the room. '

A mouse running across the carpet, frightened Miss Lucy,' answered Sir Thomas. I could not speak, but I sat down on the sofa, and had almost fainted. Sir Thomas brought me some wine and water, and, pressing

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TOE MAN OF THE WORLD, 243

tny band, whispered, that he hoped I would for* give an offence which was already too much punished by its effects; but he looked so, while he spoke this!

* Oh ! Mrs Wistanly, with what regret do I now recollect the days of peaceful happiness I have passed in your little dwelling, when we were at Sindall-park. I remember 1 often wished, like other foolish girls, to be a woman ; jnethinks 1 would now gladly return to the state of harmless infancy I then neglected to value, I am but ill made for encountering difficulty or danger; yet I fear my path is surrounded with both. Could you receive me again under your roof? there is

something hallowed resides beneath it.—Yet this may not now be so convenient—I know not what to say—here I am miserable. Write to me, I entreat you, as speedily as may be. You never yet denied 'me your advice or assistance; and never before were they so necessary to your faithful

< L. Sindall.'

To this letter Miss Sindall received no answer ; in truth it never reached Mrs Wistanly, the servant, to whom she entrusted its conveyance, having, according to instructions he had received, delivered it into the hands of his master Sir Thomas Sindall. She concluded, therefore, either that Mrs Wistanly/ound herself unable to assist her in her present distress, or, what she imagined more probable, that age ha4 dow weakened her faculties so much/ as to ren,« X3

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der her callous even to that feeling which should have pitied it. She next turned her thoughts upon Miss Walton, the manner of her getting acquainted with whom I have related in the fifth chapter of this part; but she learned that Mr Walton had,-a few days before, set out with his daughter on a journey to the Continent, to which he had been advised by her physicians, as she had, for some time past, been threatened with symptoms of a consumptive disorder. These circumstances, and Sir Thomas's farther conduct in the interval, induced her to address the following letter to Bolton, though she began to suspect, from the supposed failure of his correspondence, that the suggestions she had heard of his change of circumstances having taught him to forget her, had but too much foundation in reality.

To Henry Bolton, Esq.

' Is it true, that amidst the business, or the pleasures of his new situation, Harry Bolton has forgotten Lucy Sindall ? Forlorn as I now

am—but I will not complain—I would now less than ever complain to you—Yet it is not pride, it is not-—I weep while I write this !

• But, peraaps, though I do not hear from you, you may yet remember her to whom you had once somj? foolish attachment. It is fit you think of her no more; she was then indeed a dependant orphan, but there was a small challenge of protection from friends, to whom it wd&

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THE MAN OF THE WORLD. 247

imagined her infancy had been entrusted. Know, that this was a fabricated tale; she is, in truth, a wretched foundling, exposed in her infant-state, by the cruelty or necessity of her parents, to the inclemency of a winter-storm, from which miserable situation Sir Thomas Sindall delivered her. This he has but a little since told me, in the most ungenerous manner, and from motives which I tremble to think on. —Inhuman that he is! why did he save me then ?

' This Mrs Boothby too! encompassed as I was with evils, was I not wretched enough before ? yet this new discovery has been able to make me more so. My head grows dizzy when I think on it!—to be blotted out from the records of society !—What misery or what vice have my parents known! yet now to be the child of a beggar, in poverty and rags, is a si* tuation I am forced to envy.

* I had one friend from whom I looked for some assistance.—Mrs Wistanly, from infirmity, I fear, has forgotten me; I have ventured to think on you. Be but my friend, ana no more; talk not of love, that you may not force me to refuse your friendship. If you are not changed, indeed, you will be rewarded enough when I tell you, that, to remove me from the dangers of this dreadful place, will call forth more blessings from my heart, than any other can give, that is not wrung with anguish like that of the unfortunate

' L. SlNDALL.'

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248 THE MAN 07 THE WORLD.

CHAP. XV.

SHE RECEIVES A LETTER FROM BOLTON.-, A NEW ALARM

FROM SIR THOMAS SIN, DALL;

It happened that the messenger to whom the charge of the foregoing billet was committed, was a person, not in that line of association which the baronet had drawn around her; consequently it escaped interception.

When Bolton received it, he was not only alarmed with the intelligence it contained, but his fears were doubly roused from the discovery it made to him, of his letters not being suffered to reach Miss SindaM. He dispatched his answer, therefore, by a special messenger, who was ordered to watch an opportunity of delivering it privately into the hands of the lady to whom it was addressed. This he found no easy matter to accomplish ; nor would he, perhaps, have, been able to effect it at all, but for an artifice to which he had recourse, of hiring himself on a job in Sir Thomas's garden, for which his knowledge in the business happened to qualify him. He had, indeed, been formerly employed in that capacity at Sindall-park, and had there been well enough known to Miss Lucy, who was herself a gardener for amusement ; and, after leaving that place, having gone to the neighbourhood of London for im* provement, he was met, and hired by his former acquaintance, Mr Bolton.