CHAP. I.

Mr. Cowley, father of Miss Cowley, was, at an early age, left an orphan, with an ample inheritance in Jamaica, the place of his birth. He was consigned by the will of his father, who had survived his mother, to the guardianship of a gentleman who resided in London, and who, in his commercial concerns, had for a course of years evinced an integrity, founded on the liberal principles of an enlightened mind and a cultivated understanding. The care of his estate was left in the hands of a friend, not less 2qualified for this more subordinate office. He lived on the spot; and was enriched by the vigilance and honesty with which he discharged his duty. His first care after his benefactor’s decease, was to send the young heir to England, for the purpose of his improvement; and his London guardian, not only placed him within the reach of the attainments requisite for his future happiness, but by his truly parental care and tenderness, gave him the fairest example of the influence and benefits resulting from a conduct governed by virtue and solid wisdom. Thus secured on all sides by a gracious Providence, Henry Cowley lived to reach his twenty-first year; when, by the sudden death of his benevolent friend, he found himself master of his time, his fortune, and his amusements. But love had provided an armour of defence against the seductions of the world; and the difficulties he had to surmount in 3attaining the object of his affections, gave to his youthful ardour pursuits far remote from the dangers of dissipation. To conquer the reluctance of Mrs. Dawson, the young lady’s mother, to her daughter’s marrying him, or any other pretender to her favour, was a trial, not only of his patience and perseverance, but also of her daughter’s health and spirits; for she had long since given her heart to young Cowley, and well knew that the only impediment in the way to her union with the man she loved, was the excessive and fond attachment of her mother to her society, and the wish of having no competitor for a heart which she conceived to be made only for herself. The young lady’s declining spirits, and the arguments urged by her lover, at length gained a cold consent, to which were annexed conditions that Cowley cheerfully agreed to. These were principally confined to the young couple’s residence under her 4roof, and a promise, never to hazard a voyage to Jamaica without her concurrence. Satisfied on these essential points, she hastened the nuptials, in order to expedite her removal with her daughter to Bristol Hot-Wells, whither she was ordered by her physician; and entirely regardless of procuring settlements, her daughter being an only child, the party proceeded from the altar to their destined abode at Clifton; where health, peace, and gaiety met the happy pair. Mrs. Dawson’s apprehensions for the life of her beloved daughter had not long subsided before she became alarmed for herself: the honey-moon continued longer than her forbearance; she imagined herself neglected. Fears and explanations were succeeded by altercations, and fits of sullenness and even rudeness to poor Cowley; who, in consideration of his wife’s tranquillity, redoubled his attentions to her mother. This tribute of true affection 5gained him nothing with Mrs. Dawson, for it unfortunately gave her daughter an opportunity of observing, more than once, that “Mr. Cowley’s behaviour to her mother was of itself sufficient to engage her love, her esteem and gratitude.”

During the space of three years the amiable wife bore with patience these jealous caprices of her mother; not so acquiescent was the husband: he was weary of the contest, and the tender Marian trembled for her husband’s peace and her own future happiness. The death of Mr. Cowley’s faithful agent in Jamaica, which happened at this period, rendered a voyage thither indispensible to Mr. Cowley. He explicitly placed before his wife and her mother his intentions to visit his patrimony; and left them to decide whether he was to go unaccompanied by the only person who could solace him in his absence from England. 6Mrs. Cowley firmly declared her purpose of going with him, and to every argument and entreaty used by her mother, applied the same answer:—“My duty, my affection, my very life, urge me to undertake a voyage which my husband hazards; and were it round the world I would cheerfully share the dangers with my Cowley.” Let it suffice that Mrs. Cowley persevered, and from the hour of her daughter’s departure, her mother nourished an irreconcilable hatred to Mr. Cowley; attributing to his cruelty and undue authority the absence of his wife, “who was not permitted to love even her mother, nor that mother to shelter her from his tyrannical temper.”

Candour, as well as the proofs before me, exact from my pen, however, some qualifications, which will soften down to the weakness of human nature these severe traits in Mrs. Dawson’s character; for it would be unjust not to give it more 7favourable lineaments, and amongst several, it is proper to distinguish one, namely, her generous cares in sheltering under her roof a young lady, who was left an orphan for more than three years, at the end of which period she married happily. As this act of friendship and benevolence on Mrs. Dawson’s part produced a course of active and important duties on the young lady’s, and as these are materially connected with my narrative, it must be allowed me to mention more particularly the advantages which had, at this period of my history, accrued to Mrs. Dawson from her kind protection of Miss Otway. Her age, her various talents, and her attractive virtues, had contributed to form Marian Dawson’s mind, and to obviate the evils of her mother’s unlimited indulgence. Till her marriage with Mr. Hardcastle, to whom she had been engaged before she lost her father, and whom from prudential motives she refused 8to marry when deprived of this support, her whole attention had been given to Miss Dawson’s education; and although the instructress and the pupil differed not in age more than two or three years, nothing less than the blindest folly could have overlooked the rich recompence which Mrs. Dawson derived from her kindness to Miss Otway: the most perfect friendship and confidence subsisted between the young women. Cowley was the intimate friend of Mr. Hardcastle, though several years younger than himself, and few of Mrs. Dawson’s connections doubted of the share which the Hardcastles had taken in the unhappy dissentions caused by Mrs. Dawson’s ill-regulated fondness to her child. It is certain, that both Mr. and Mrs. Cowley had the concurrence of these friends in regard to the measures they pursued; and with the most sanguine hopes of succeeding, they both engaged to spare 9no pains in reconciling Mrs. Dawson to the temporary absence of her son and daughter, nor in preparing her to expect Mr. Cowley to have an establishment of his own at his return. Faithful to their engagements, they in part effected their purpose. Their attentions soothed the afflicted mother. She found that she was not wholly abandoned; she talked of her poor unhappy child till compassion had subdued resentment, and time had banished tears and bewailings; and Mrs. Dawson again tasted the comforts of health, affluence, and friendship, although still dead to the pleasure of forgiveness, probably, because it was less painful to hate Cowley than to reproach herself.

Mr. Hardcastle’s succession to his uncle’s estate of about five or six hundred pounds per annum, induced a change in his plans of life. He gave up his profession in the law, and retired to his inheritance 10with his lady and child, then an infant, Mrs. Dawson suffered little from this change, for she passed months at a time with them in the country, and enjoyed the variety of the seasons with health, and few regrets beyond her usual topic for discontent. “Seven years a wife without the chance of being a mother,” had not been unfrequently adverted to by Mrs. Dawson, as a proof of Mr. Cowley’s demerits in the sight of Heaven. “He, that so fervently wished for children! But his wretched temper would have its punishments.” Alas! his fond and too eager wishes had most unquestionably their disappointment in the hour of their fruition; for, in consequence of a fever which no skill could overcome, he lost his wife six weeks after she had given him a daughter. Mrs. Dawson sunk under this heavy stroke. Nothing remained but her enmity to Cowley; and in order to gratify this, she made her will. 11To Rachel Marian Cowley, her grand-daughter, she bequeathed all her property; but subjected it to conditions, which sufficiently marked her hatred to the infant’s father. In case Mr. Cowley submitted to relinquish the rights of a parent, and to place his daughter under Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle’s care, the child was immediately after her decease to be conveyed to England, and given into their protection. On this condition, she was entitled to the annual interest resulting from the sum which constituted her fortune, and which was vested in the public funds, to the amount of a capital which produced more than six hundred pounds per annum. The father’s refusal to concede to these terms, restricted her from the fortune till she was twenty-one, or till she married with the consent of Mr. Hardcastle and the other trustee appointed to this duty. In case of her death before she could claim her fortune, the 12whole sum, with its accumulations, was left to Mr. Hardcastle and his family. Satisfied with this disposition of her worldly possessions, she appeared to have recovered her usual health and composure, except when speaking of her grand-child. On these affecting occasions, her only consolation appeared to rise from Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle’s reiterated promises to receive the child, whenever Mr. Cowley should think it proper to claim their kind offices. They repeated this assurance in the most solemn terms, and Mrs. Hardcastle, with ceaseless labour, endeavoured to fix on her mind the persuasion, that Mr. Cowley would think of no one but himself for so precious a charge. Mrs. Dawson was suddenly removed by an apoplectic fit the following winter; and Counsellor Steadman, her executor and trustee, in communicating to Mr. Hardcastle the contents of Mrs. Dawson’s last will and testament, was neither surprised 13nor offended at the sentiments his old friend so warmly expressed, though they were so opposite to the gratitude usually bestowed even on contingent donations; and having informed Mr. Cowley of this event, and its consequences, he left him to determine at his leisure, on the fitness of Mrs. Dawson’s arrangements for his daughter’s benefit and security.

During this period of time, the unhappy Mr. Cowley was giving the most unequivocal and melancholy proofs to those about him, of the affection he cherished for his amiable and lost Marian. A long and dangerous illness had succeeded to her death, the consequence of his attendance, fatigue, and grief; and when rescued from the grave by the vigour of his constitution, his friends found his mind sunk into the deepest gloom. From this deplorable condition, he was gradually roused by the sight of his infant daughter. 14Happily the child was healthy, and had for its preservation an attendant well qualified to supply a mother’s cares. Mrs. Cowley, on quitting England, had fortunately secured in the female attendant who accompanied her, more than the talents and fidelity of a domestic. Mrs. Allen was a widow; she had been well instructed in her youth, and matured in wisdom and knowledge by a natural good sense, and the discipline of adversity. The femme de chambre was forgotten in the usual friend and companion of the voyage, and Mrs. Cowley introduced Mrs. Allen to her new circle in a manner suitable to her merits. To this excellent woman she in some sort bequeathed her infant, engaging her, in the most affecting terms, to watch over the child till it was safe with Mrs. Hardcastle, who had promised her to be its parent when in England. This request was enforced by Mr. Cowley also; and Mrs. Allen forgot 15not her obligations in the performance of her duty. From the time of her lady’s death, as she always called Mrs. Cowley, she regularly corresponded with Mrs. Hardcastle; and from her letters to this lady, I have learned to judge both of Mr. Cowley’s attachment to his wife and child, and of Mrs. Allen’s good sense. I shall transcribe a part of one of the letters she wrote to Mrs. Hardcastle, when the child was something more than three years old: it delineates the condition of a father seeking refuge from sorrow in the indulgence of fondness, the fruits of which are too often found in bitter repentance. After an account of Mr. Cowley’s improved health, and incessant demands on her little charge for the cheerfulness he still needed, she thus proceeds: “Judge, my dear Madam, what must be the result of this excessive fondness! what must be the condition of a being, liable to contradiction and disappointment from 16the very tenure on which she holds her being, who must never be controuled in her will, whose tears put Mr. Cowley into a fever, and whose infant caprices are laws which no one dare to disobey. Nature, my dear Madam, has formed her for a better purpose, than subduing her father’s judgment by her attractive person and irresistible vivacity. But with all the sportive charms of infancy, with, I may say, redundant health and activity, with beauty to dazzle all sober judgment that views her in her happy moments, she cannot impose on me, nor quiet my apprehensions for her future life; for she has passions which need the curb, and those are hourly strengthening. Already she is more despotic with her father than he is with his slaves; and my influence with her depends only on her generous nature. She cannot bear to see me ‘grieve,’ to use her language: she has been just making her dear Allen ‘well.’ 17This was the occasion: a young and sweet-tempered negro girl in the house, has been with my concurrence promoted to her nursery; she plays with her, and is docile to my instructions. This, with the singular beauty she possesses, have gained her an interest with me, and I have taught her to read, and the habits of order. Marian was busy in making a cap for her doll this morning, when summoned to romp with her little tyrant. She begged for a moment—it was granted; but Marian still plied her needle: a blow on her face was the rebuke her tardiness met with, and the poor girl’s tears followed it. No ways softened, ‘her dear Missee’ cuffed and kicked her, till I interposed, and, with a sorrowful tone, said, ‘I must leave you, my child, you will make me sick and sorrowful, for I cannot love you.’ The storm was allayed; and taking Marian by the hand, she left me without speaking a single 18word. In a short time she returned, leading the poor girl laden with toys and her finery. ‘Marian loves me now,’ said she, creeping to my knees, ‘she has kissed me—will not you? I am sorry. I will be good, if it will make you well;—do smile, only smile once.’ Such is the child that claims your forming hand: have pity on her, Madam; use your influence over her father, urge him to perform his duty; every day she remains with him will render your task of love and friendship more difficult.”

This letter produced its desired effect; for, some months after its date, the following one appears to have been addressed to Mr. Hardcastle, from Mr. Cowley. As it will serve to ascertain his character, I shall transcribe its contents.—“Your wife has conquered, my dear friend. I have at length summoned up resolution to be a parent and a man. Good God! thou 19only knowest the price of the sacrifice to my duty! and thou only canst render it propitious to thy creature! But I will still hope in thy mercies. My child, Hardcastle, has been spared hitherto; she has happily encountered, not only the diseases peculiar to her tender age, but also the small-pox, which she has had, since our last dispatches, in the mildest form, and is now in perfect health. To what purpose has she been thus preserved? Not to be the victim of my doating fondness. My promise to her dear mother shall be fulfilled, and whilst it is yet time to save her from a father’s weakness. Captain Vernon, who loved her mother, and whose attachment to this child is little less than my own, shall be entrusted with her; and Mrs. Allen will attend her. You may expect to see her with the next Jamaica fleet.”

“I have only to observe to you, as I 20have done to Counsellor Steadman, that I consider Mrs. Dawson’s legacy to my daughter, as totally remote from any calculations of her expences as my child; I shall never interfere with him as to the disposal of the money. I have long since forgotten Mrs. Dawson’s weaknesses and prejudices, nor did I need any inducement for my conduct of the nature she supposed. My wife’s dying request in regard to her infant, shall be religiously observed; and it is an unspeakable consolation to me to know, that the friend whom she appointed as her substitute, is as willing to engage in the duty as she expected. I shall remit you annually eight hundred per annum for her and Mrs. Allen’s maintenance under your roof. You know that this excellent woman is bound by her engagement to her mother to serve her. You know the station she has filled in my house since the death of my wife. Mrs. Hardcastle is prepared to 21meet in her a valuable addition to her family: she will not be disappointed; for her modest worth will ensure her a welcome in any abode where virtue dwells.

“I entreat you, my dear Hardcastle, to curb your disinterested spirit, whilst I indulge my provident one, as it relates to my child’s accommodations. She must have a nursing maid, she will need a carriage; and I have explained myself fully to the counsellor on these points. In regard to my expectations as these relate to my child’s advantage, they are incalculable! I fondly hope when we meet again to behold her adorned in the attractive graces of modesty and gentleness, rich in piety, and principled in duty: such was her mother, and to Mrs. Hardcastle was she indebted for the example she rivalled. Forget not to prepare her for wealth, she will be probably amongst the number of those whom the world envies. Teach her, 22Hardcastle, the duties annexed to wealth, and give her those treasures that will amply supply the want of gold.”

The remaining part of the letter is suppressed as useless to the subject before us, although it marks the utmost anxiety and tenderness for the object of Mr. Cowley’s cares.

Rachel Cowley had nearly attained her fifth year, when she was joyfully received in London by Mrs. Hardcastle. Mrs. Allen had prudently refused to have any attendant with her on the voyage, and had not Captain Vernon’s fondness for her pupil frustrated her designs, it is probable the little rebel to authority might have appeared to greater advantage in the eyes of wisdom than she did. But the extreme loveliness of her person, her near affinity to a friend still tenderly regretted, and the circumstances under 23which she beheld her, soon rendered Mrs. Hardcastle favourably disposed towards a child whose misfortune it had been, to be from her birth the idol of slaves, and the ruler of their master. A few days were given to Mrs. Allen’s business and the child’s repose in town, when they were conducted to the home which Heaven had graciously destined for them.

Mr. Hardcastle’s house was a fit abode for its inmates, and from the hour it became the family residence, Mr. Hardcastle had given up a profession he never loved, and relinquished the pursuits of the barrister for those of the farmer, and the indulgence of a taste which had rendered his habitation an ornament to the adjacent country. The little stranger was met at Worcester by Mr. Hardcastle and his two children. This excursion was short for them, but its delights were of importance, for it prepared the new 24comer for the pleasures of Heathcot-Farm; and by the time the little group had reached the room appointed for their recreation, the epithets of brother and sister were become favourites. It may appear useless minutia to delineate the characters of the children thus become our heroine’s playmates; but no author is without opinions of his own: and in consequence of the privileges which my own pen at this period of my history gives me, I think it necessary to describe Mrs. Hardcastle’s pupils.

Lucy Hardcastle had nearly attained her eighth year, when her mother’s duties were called upon in favour of Miss Cowley. Horace, her brother, was not yet seven, and of a disposition so similar to that of the little stranger, that he soon engrossed her favour and preference. Of Lucy it might be said, that nature had cast her in a mould so perfect, that for 25every proof of punctual care and tenderness, she paid “love—fair looks—and true obedience.”

“Still thinking all too little payment for so great a debt,” the judicious mother of these children had, from the first indications of the difference which nature had marked in their characters, applied to each the peculiar culture which each demanded; and though the bold and vigorous shoots of her son’s ardent spirit were still unsubdued, yet she had trained him to obedience and docility by the firmness and gentleness of her guiding hand; and force could meet contradiction without petulance. His activity, his gay and volatile spirits, endeared him to a companion as fearless of danger and fatigue as himself, and whose ingenuity rivalled his own in expedients to direct and enjoy every interval of time allotted to play. In the first 26instance of Mrs. Hardcastle’s exercise of her jurisdiction, she had found Horace a very useful agent in her purposes of wisdom. Her new pupil, with infantile fondness, was ambitious of learning all that Horace learnt, and she became stationary at his elbow with her lesson whilst he studied his, in order that she might run and frolic with him when his task was accomplished. Without tracing the probable effects of these early impressions on minds constituted to love and harmonize with each other, it shall suffice, that it was frequently observed in the family, that the habit of yielding up her will to Horace, was become so easy a lesson to Rachel Cowley, that she practised compliance even with her maid-servant. As she advanced in age, this preference became more useful to her, and more noticed by those around her; and the obvious stimulus to every exertion of her talents, was the wish to please her 27“brother Horace.” Mrs. Hardcastle was gratified by the effects which had resulted from the uniform principles of her pupil’s mind, and from which had sprung the most promising of her hopes, as these fondly contemplated the future excellencies and happiness of a young creature endeared to her heart by time, and ties not less strong than those of the mother to a favoured child. The good Mrs. Allen, engaged in her subordinate duties of watching over the personal comforts of the children, saw with delight the impetuosity of her darling’s temper gradually yielding to the mild controul of the timid Lucy, and every angry passion bowing down to the check of Horace’s eye. But Mr. Hardcastle, alive to every suggestion of a mind scrupulously just, and whose acquaintance with the human heart was founded on experience more than on the speculations of theorists and philosophers, could without 28difficulty recal the period, at which, in the elegant language of our poetress, he might himself have addressed his wife when a girl of eleven or twelve years old with these harmonious lines:

“When first upon your tender cheek

I saw the morn of beauty break

With mild and cheering beam,

I bow’d before your infant shrine,

The earliest sighs you had were mine,

And you my darling theme.

“I saw you in that opening morn,

For beauty’s boundless empire born,

And first confess’d your sway;

And e’er your thoughts, devoid of art,

Could learn the value of a heart,

I gave my heart away.”

The peculiar circumstances of fortune in which Miss Cowley had been left by Mrs. Dawson’s will, her prospects in life, and above all, the confidence which her father had placed in her principles, 29strengthened his apprehensions for his son’s future conduct, and the consequences to be expected from so apparent an attachment and sympathy in character, as his vigilant eye detected in the mutual, though childish conversation of a boy and a girl. He communicated his fears to his wife; and the separation which followed, was the tribute which virtue and rectitude exacted from the tender parents. Horace was sent to his maternal uncle’s, to complete his education; and the same year Mrs. Hardcastle commenced her annual visit to London, for three months, in order to give her young charge, then in her twelfth year, the advantages of the first-rate masters in those accomplishments which her fortune rendered necessary. A circle of friends, who, like herself, conceived that no girl beyond the age of infancy could be better placed than in the drawing-room, in a society composed of both 30sexes, qualified and disposed to be useful to their innocence and improvement, bounded Mrs. Hardcastle’s town amusements, and spared her the lessons necessary to the young candidate for notice, who at a certain age is emancipated from the routine of a school, or a nursery in the attic; or in other words, “brought out” for the gaze of idle curiosity, and to be disposed of to the highest bidder.

Rachel Cowley’s introduction to the world was unmarked by any eclat of this kind; and whilst probably she and her friend Lucy were daily acquiring good manners and knowledge, they neither suspected nor thought of the extent of the obligations they were under to those who were forming their minds, and determining their future taste for the enjoyments of rational and responsible beings.

31During this period of Miss Cowley’s life, her father had gradually recovered his health and spirits; urged by the remonstrances and arguments of his friends, he had, on parting with his daughter, employed his leisure, and diverted his mind by building a house on a newly purchased plantation nearer to Kingston, and within the reach of a friend to whom he was peculiarly attached. Amused by this object of pursuit, he was led to other improvements of the spot; and in his new abode he saw another Eden bloom, without the sad recollection which had haunted his footsteps in the favourite retreat of his still regretted wife and his beloved child. Mr. Cowley, in consequence of his multiplied avocations, and the renewal of his social feelings, became satisfied with mentioning from time to time his intention of visiting England.

Mr. Hardcastle was no stranger to 32the real cause of his friend’s delay, but his prudence concealed from his ward a subject of regret to himself, and of concern to his wife and Mrs. Allen. The negro girl who had been selected, for the sweetness of her temper and the graces of nature, as the playmate in Miss Cowley’s nursery, had gained the notice of her father, and had enjoyed Mrs. Allen’s attentions to her improvement in useful learning. It had been debated whether Marian might not have been serviceable to her young lady during the voyage: the proposal had been rejected; for Mrs. Allen perfectly understood that the compliances of a slave were not of that sort which her pupil needed. She therefore left the girl to the care of the housekeeper, and in a condition of ease and comfort under Mrs. Cowley’s roof. Poor Cowley was soothed in his first depression of spirits on losing sight of his idol, by finding he had a sharer in his sorrow; 33and he gratified his benevolence by being Marian’s consoler. She in her turn solaced his lonely hours by talking of her “dear missee,” and accompanying him in his walks. Habits of affection and kindness were thus mutually formed, and gave rise to an attachment incompatible with innocence and honour. At an early age Marian was formally emancipated from her chains as a negro slave, in order to bear the shackles of a mistress. But in this deviation from his hitherto regular and moral conduct, Mr. Cowley forgot not decorum; his favourite resided with privacy at the more remote plantation, which was called the Creek Savannah, and he lived in the new house already mentioned. His friends, who loved him, overlooked a frailty which unfortunately was not particularly Mr. Cowley’s weakness: but they did more; for they attributed his conduct to the steady purpose of remaining unmarried for his daughter’s sake. 34Mr. Hardcastle’s opinions were not of this pliant sort; but he well knew that his arguments would be lost on a man who had silenced his own principles of religious observances: certain that Miss Cowley had experienced no failure of her father’s affection or generosity, he contented himself with performing his duty, and providing against the consequences so unavoidably connected with Mr. Cowley’s absence from his child. He well knew, that without the reciprocal acts of love and duty, the ties of consanguinity would be feeble. He had daily proofs that Miss Cowley was little affected by the protracted promises contained in her father’s letters; that her happiness was centered in the bosom of his family, and that the thought of being separated from it, never occurred as within the line of probability. Every means of prudence had been applied to obviate this evil. Conversations had been purposely 35appointed, to keep up in her memory “her dear father,” his affection for her, “his sacrifice of his comforts for her benefit.” “His generosity and amiable temper” were traced with minuteness; and her petitions to Heaven included mercies for a parent, so justly entitled to her duty and love. These lessons of wisdom had not been lost on the docile heart of the child. She listened with pleasure to these tales of her “good papa,” and forgot him when clinging to her “mamma Hardcastle.” As she advanced in age, Mr. and Mrs. Hardcastle more assiduously attended to the views before them; and with the entire persuasion of their own minds, that the time was rapidly approaching, when Mr. Cowley would recal his daughter, they endeavoured to prepare her for the summons. To this intent, Mrs. Hardcastle sometimes read to her extracts from her mother’s letters, in which she described 36the natural beauties of Jamaica; the society she had met with; the estimation in which her husband was held; her own amusements and happy life; and the activity and benevolent cares which supplied to her husband an indemnification for the absence of his London friends. Unacquainted with disguise, Miss Cowley left no doubt on Mrs. Hardcastle’s mind as to the impressions which these letters and her conversations produced. Anxious wishes for her father’s settling in London, and a declared repugnance to living in Jamaica, were the constant result of these attempts; and it was now become necessary to call upon a reason sufficiently cultivated to yield an assent to every argument of duty. Alarmed by an earnestness which she considered as immediately springing from Mr. Hardcastle’s knowing her father’s intention of recalling her home, she wrote to him a letter expressive of 37her fears, and to implore him to leave a country in which she should be miserable. The reply to this letter is before me. Mr. Cowley assures his daughter, that he has no intention of endangering her health and safety in a voyage to him, nor any plans before him which will remove her from the protecting arms of “her dear Mrs. Hardcastle.” He thus proceeds: “The habits of many years have made my avocations pleasurable: indecision and indolence stand in the way of your wishes and my own views; yet I hope to be with you next year in your dear foggy island. Be satisfied, my dear Rachel, with this assurance, and believe that my procrastination proceeds from my regard for your happiness, not from any abatement of my tenderness. You are, my child, under the eye of a mother, qualified to render you worthy of the one who bore you. I am not jealous of her ascendancy 38over you; tell her so; and that you have my permission to love her as tenderly as you can. She will be too just and too generous to monopolize your whole heart; but she will not forget to decorate that corner of it which your father occupies, and which a husband may share, with the ornament which passeth shew. Continue, as you have done, to deserve her maternal cares, and remain the hope of your truly affectionate father,

“Henry Cowley.”

“P. S. I write to Hardcastle, and Captain Vernon will inform you of my good looks, tho’ not in the rapturous style in which he speaks of my lovely girl, and his Heathcot holidays.”

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