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PREFACE.

THIS Novel is one of the newest and most modern now extant, and is out of the common track of Novel writing: it is an attempt to unite the various merits and graces of the an cient romance and moden novel; and, like his tory, represents human nature as real life. To attain this end, there is required a degree of the marvellous to excite the attention, and real manners of life to give an air of proba bility to the work, and to engage the heart in its behalf. The characters are admirably drawn and supported ; the diction polished and elegant; and the whole so closely con nected, as to keep the imagination of the reader continually alive to the subject before him.

Thus mankind are naturally pleased with what gratifies their vanity ; and vanity, like all other passions of the human heart, may be ren dered subservient to good and useful purposes.

The reader is not, therefore, confused with

the association of truth with fiction, although

fiction is the basis of the story. The passion

1

IV PREFACE.

that awakens and gives energy to life, is alone painted in those colours which AURORA gives to the morning, when all animated nature wakes to feast on the luxuriant fruits of Summer, when all is ecstacy, harmony., and Joy.

Venal orators, who are dissatisfied with their own situation, ever discover either vice or error in the most meritorious performances. This production is submitted to the candour of a generous public, who ever censure with lenity, and reward with liberality.

It seemed to me that it was possible to com pose a work upon the same plan, wherein these defects might be avoided ; and the keeping, as in painting, might be preserved. But then I began to fear it might happen to me as to cer tain translators and imitators of Shakspeare, the unities may be preserved while the spirit is evaporated ; however, I ventured the attempt, and read it to a circle of friends of approved judgment.

Fatherless Fanny, Sfc.

CHAPTER I.

The Seminary.

IN one of those polite seminaries devoted to fe male instruction, with which the environs of London abound, lived Miss Bridewell, whose despotic sway within the limits of her own juris diction, was certainly equal to that of the most potent monarch in the civilized world, not except ing the great Napoleon himself. Her word was law — her nod vfasfate— and her approbation or displeasure settled the degree of consequence en joyed by every individual that approached her. Miss Bridewell had been many years a precept ress of youth ; so many years, that she began to entertain thoughts of changing her appellation of courtesy from Miss to Mrs. ; still, however, this arrangement was delayed, and the juvenile title was now the only remains of youthful pretensions. With increase of years, however, Miss Bridewell had the consolation of enjoying a proportionate increase of fortune. When she made her first debut as a governess, it was in a small house at Brompton, where a large board disclosed hers to be a boarding school for young ladies. Her talents as a school mistress, however, soon raised her

2 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

from this honourable station, and she opened Cannondale House with all the eclat of modern splendour. Still, however, amongst the nume rous scholars that crowded her highly esteemed Seminary, some plebeian souls would creep in — scarcely could the immense sums their parents paid for their education, reconcile the stately Miss Bridewell to the degradation of admitting them into her circle. The happy time at length arrived, in which the nourishing state of Miss Bridewell's finances enabled her to form an estab lishment upon more exalted principles. Can nondale House was let at an enormous premium, besides an exorbitant rent, to a governess of a subordinate degree, who was glad of an oppor tunity of treading in the successful steps of her predecessor, and whose soul had not yet risen above the profitable task of teaching the children of ambitious tradesmen. The soaring mind of Miss Bridewell was not, however, so easily con tented. Ladies of title, or at least of high family, were alone the object of her attention, and the name of establishment was given to her seminary, as having a grander sound, and better suited to her exalted ideas. Indeed, ever since the estab lishment of the P of Wales, every petty

family's arrangement has assumed that dignified appellation amongst the sons and daughters of ton. We all know, however, that there are many people of high rank, who are straitened in their circumstances, and whose names., although they may bestow eclat, will not support expence. Miss Bridewell soon found this, and it induced her to admit a few rich heiresses, as a great favour into the happy group that formed her establishment, and as she was a true disciple of the world, she bestowed her favours, which cost her nothing, in proportion as she received those from her pupils, that cost a great deal. The house Miss Bridewell

Till: UTTLI. M KM) It' A NT. .'i

inhabited was spacious and elegant, and possessed all the requisites of modern refinement. A bou doir, that indispensible apartment for a real fine lady ; a drawing room, dining parlour, with break fast parlour and study, were the apartments de voted to the use of the governess ; whilst a very spacious room, to which she had given the ap propriate title of " la salle des sciences"vias occu pied by the young ladies during their hours of improvement. The house itself stood in a shrub bery, with a velvet lawn before the door : The windows were on the French construction, and adorned by virandas, whilst the most costly dis play of orange trees, and other exotics of the rarest kind, gave the coup d'ceil, to the entrance of " Myrtle Grove" as mis retreat of the Muses was poetically denominated. The decorations of the house in the inside, were in a style of ele gance that corresponded with its outward appear ance, and every article of furniture which has been invented to indulge the luxury, or gratify the pride of this age of refinement, were there assem bled, to prove at once the taste and opulence of the proprietor. — Could it be possible for pride to be happy, Miss Bridewell must have been so, but it is well known by every common observer, that the gratification of our passions never yet gave the happiness it promised, and pride above all other feelings is the hardest to be satisfied. Miss Bridewell was far from happy, for her haughty temper was insatiable of homage, and notwith standing she supported imperial dignity amongst her immediate dependants, she always felt that uneasiness inseparable from conscious unworthi- ness, whenever she went into public. She fancied if she was independent, she should be more res pected, and deplored the necessity there was for her continuing the occupation of governess so long after the aggrandizement of her wishes had ren-

I F A T n I . li L I : S » 1 A \ N Y ; OK,

dered every thing short of haul-ton degrading to her inflated pride. Her domestic establishment was on a very large scale ^ she had two men, a coachman, and a porter at the gate, besides a proportionate number of female servants ; and this stately parade was become so necessary to her existence, that it obliged her to pursue that occupation which alone could preserve it for her. Her avarice, therefore, increased with her in creasing fortune, and rendered her the ready tool of every person whose power or riches seemed to promise to assist in supporting the consequence she prized so highly. Miss Bridewell, like other ladies who have establishments for education, had a limited number of pupils, and as her price was exorbitant, the number was generally on the deficit side of the question; and, notwithstanding her constant boast of the many applications she was obliged to refuse, she felt herself more fre quently anxious because of their poverty than their multitude.

During the Christmas vacation in 1798, Miss Bridewell being from home on a visit at the house of one of her right honourable pupils, the care of her family was left to the inspection of the lady who was styled sub-governess in the teaching de partment. This lady, whose name was Dawson, had long been a great favourite with her em ployer, because her disposition was of that sup ple kind, that is exactly suited to an intercourse with such imperious people as Miss Bridewell, whom she took care to flatter on the weak side of her understanding, and by that means led her which ever way she pleased.

Two young ladies, who were West Indians, of large fortune, always passed the holidays at Myrtle Grove ; and Mrs. Dawson was sitting- one dismal evening with them in the drawing room, vainly endeavouring to dispel the ennui

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. &

that had crept into the company, by relating a long string of adventures that had befallen ner during the reign of Robespierre, which term of terror had been passed by Mrs. Dawson at Paris, subject to the vicissitudes of that dread ful era. Miss Barlowe declared there was not such a bore, in her opinion, as long dismal stories ; and Miss Emily, her sister, observed with a yawn, that she wished there existed a proba bility of an interruption to the Te Deum of their solitude, from the arrival of company. Just as she spoke, a violent ring at the carriage gate made them all jump. " Company," ex claimed Miss Emily Barlowe, dancing about in an ecstasy of joy, " company, company, and we shall have something to amuse us at last." A servant came into the room at this moment, lead ing a little girl by the hand of the most prepos sessing appearance, and announced to Mrs. Dawson, that a lady in a very dashing equipage desired to speak with her at the gate. Mrs. Dawson was very much disturbed at this request, as she was particularly afraid of catching cold ; and one servant was sent for her shawl, another for clogs, and another for her swansdown tippet, whilst she stood lamenting the untoward circum stance that exposed her to the dreaded danger. At length she was equipped to her mind, and ordering the servant to hold an umbrella over her head, she proceeded to greet the unseasonable vi- siter. A thousand questions succeeded one another in swift succession to the servant that attended her, ending with a wonder of who it could possibly be, that had taken such a strange hour to come out of town. The man professed his ignorance, and poor Mrs. Dawson reached the carnage gate as wise as she set out. But, heavens ! what was her surprise and consternation when the porter her that the carriage was that instant gout- ;

6 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

" the lady waited," said he, " as long as she could ma'am, but finding you did not come, she said she must go, as her time was precious, and that she would call again ; but she said, ma'ani," added the man, " there was a letter in the young lady's trunk that will explain every thing. Mrs. Dawson turned herself round in high dudgeon, and walked back to the house in silence ; a secret fear pervaded her mind that she should incur Miss Bridewell's displeasure, although excepting in the time she had wasted in equipping herself, she could not be implicated in the blame of re ceiving the child, without seeing the person who brought it. When Mrs. Dawson returned to the drawing room, she found the two Miss Barlowe's amusing themselves with their new companion, who was a beautiful little girl, about five years' old, and who appeared as much delighted with her playfellows as they were with her. " This is the sweetest little angel that ever was seen," said Miss Emily, " pray dear Mrs. Dawson, tell me who she is ! the little creature herself says she has no name beside Fanny" " Indeed I know nothing about her," says Mrs. Dawson, throwing herself down on the sofa, " I have a great mind to send her to the workhouse, for I suspect it is a mere swindling trick to impose the child upon Miss Bridewell." " The workhouse ! dear Mrs. Dawson, how can you talk so shocking ?" said Miss Barlowe, " I vow you are a worse tyrant than the horrid Robespierre you have been talking so much about." Miss Barlowe was very gene rous where she liked, and Mrs. Dawson had often felt the pleasing effects of her bounty ; she was not willing therefore, to incur the censure of so convenient a friend, and as she was well versed in the art of tacking abotit,$he changed her note in a minute, and taking the child upon her knee, she said, " It is a pretty little creature, indeed,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 7

my dear ; I believe I should be as unlikely as your self to act unkindly towards her. What is your name, poppet?" continued Mrs. Da vvson, address ing the child. " Fanny " answered the little in nocent. " And your other name?" asked her interrogator. " I have no other name," said the child. " Who is your Father, my dear ?" " I have none]* answered the prattler ; they used to call me Fatherless Fanny" " Who were those that called you so ?" " I don't know," replied the child, " Mrs. Sydney was my mamma, and that's all I can tell you.'" " Oh dear !" inter rupted Mrs. Dawson, giving little Fanny to Miss Barlowe, " I had forgotten to ask for the child's trunk ; the porter says there is a letter in it that will explain every thing." So saying, she pulled the bell, and ordered the servant to bring up the young lady's trunk, that was just come : the servant obeyed ; and the girls pressed round Mrs. Dawson, whilst she opened it, with an eagerness of curiosity that put the innocent proprietor entirely out of their heads. On the top of the package lay a letter directed for Miss Bridewell ; and as Mrs. Dawson con sidered herself that lady's representative, she did not scruple to satisfy her curiosity, by opening it. The first object that presented itself to her eyes on so doing, was a bank post bill for two hundred pounds. " This ticket is not a blank at least," exclaimed she, holding open the note, to the young ladies ; she then proceeded to peruse the letter, and found the following words : —

" The young lady who will be the companion of this letter, is nobly born, and entitled to a large fortune. Reasons, which cannot with prudence be revealed, oblige her friends to con ceal her in some safe retreat for a few years. Miss Bridewell is selected as the most eligible

8 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

preceptress for little Fanny, to whose care, therefore, she is consigned, with a strict charge not to spare expense or labour in the education of the child. The sum enclosed will be paid yearly into Miss Bridewell's hands for the sup port of her ward, who is to be distinguished by the appellation of Fanny only."

" There," said Mrs. Dawson, exultingly," I am glad this affair has turned out so well, for I was sadly afraid we should have a hurricane at Miss Bridewell's return; but come, let us ex amine the little brat's wardrobe ; we shall guess by that whether the account of her be true or not." The clothes were produced, and the profusion of fine muslins and ex pensive lace, of which they were composed, convinced the committee that Fanny was, indeed, the personage the letter described her to be. Yet no trinket or picture appeared which might serve as a guide to ascertain her identity, when she should be re-demanded by her friends, after a lapse of years had altered her person. When the examination was finished, the ladies re-seated themselves on the sofa, where they found poor Fanny extended at her full length, and fast asleep. The bell was now rung, and a maid-servant ordered to attend the new coiner to bed. Emily Barlowe entreated she might share her's, " and do let her be my child, Mrs. Dawson, indeed I will teach her, and take care of her, and become quite a mother to her. Now say you will my dear — dear Dawson." " Ah you cunning puss," replied Mrs. Dawson, " thus it is that you always nave your way with m#." "Oh then I may have her!" interrupted Miss Emily, snatching the child up in her arms. " Sweet little innocent, how I shall doat upon her." " You will spoil your shape Emily, said her sister, " if you carry that heavy child about, and what do you think mamma will

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. S)

say when she sees you ?" " Papa desired me not to spoil my heart" answered Emily, and there fore I am sure he will approve of me doing any thing that keeps the amiable feelings of humanity in exercise." The sweet girl with her little charge in her arms, now left the room, attended by the maid ; Miss Barlowe was left alone with Mrs. Dawson. "That girl," said the former, speaking of her sister, " has such plebeian notions, she will never make a fine lady" " Emily is very good- natured," rejoined Mrs. Dawson, " but she cer tainly wants dignity ; that, however, will not be missed with her petite figure." When Emily re turned to the drawing room from putting the sleeping Fanny to bed, she said, " my little girl has got the prettiest necklace and bracelets made of hair, and locked with bullion, that ever were made. T dare say they are . composed of her father and mother's hair, for I can perceive there are two sorts, but I would not unclasp them, for fear of waking the little stranger."

~ ~

" I dare say," said Miss Barlowe, with a sar castic smile, " Emily will compose twenty ro mances upon the subject of this enfant trouvee." " Then they shall all have happy terminations," answered Emily, " for I am determined my dear little Fanny shall be a fortunate heroine."

The next day when the blooming Fanny, with her ' crisped locks' of golden brown, her large blue eyes, and lips like the parted rose bud, made her appearance at breakfast, every beholder was charmed, and * sweet little creature,' echoed from every tongue. Even Mrs. Dawson, who was generally apathy itself, where interest did not excite emotion, felt her heart moved in favour of the little stranger. Innumerable questions were addressed to the sweet prattler, but her lisping accents gave but little satisfaction to the curiosity of her interrogators. They could only learn by

10 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OU,

their questionsthat shehadnoj9opa,that she had been used to live in very fine rooms, and that Mrs. Sydney was her mamma, and that she was a very old lady, and wore a black hood over her cap like & picture, and that a pretty lady used to kiss her at night after she was in bed, and cry over her, and call her poor Fatherless Fanny, and that she never saw that lady excepting at night. This was the sum total of what they could collect, and they were obliged accordingly to give over questioning her. Of the bracelets and necklace which she wore, and which had ' Fanny ' engraved, at full length, in the inside of the clasps, she could give no other account than that sheybwae/theinon her neck and arms one morning when she waked, and that Mamma Sydney had said the fairies brought them because she was a good girl.

After little Fanny's arrival at Myrtle Grove, no complaint was made by the young ladies of the ennui that had hitherto consumed them; her frolicsome gambols could even induce Miss Barlowe to dispense with her dignity, and join the little fairy on the lawn before the house; but Emily doated upon her adopted child, and could scarcely be prevailed upon by Mrs. Daw- son to practise the hours which her progress in musicdemanded. At length Miss Bridewell came home from her visit in a very ill-humour ; her vanity was considerably inflated by the attentions she had received during her stay at the Mar quis of Petersfield's ; but alas ! her purse had not been proportionably increased ; for, although her account for Lady Maria and Lady Isa bella Trentham's education was of three years' standing, no notice was taken of discharging it. The fear of losing such honours as she co\ild not enjoy elsewhere, deterred Miss Bridewell from pressing her demand, and an additional share of the Marquis and Marchioness's good graces was

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 11

the consequence of such complaisance ; but, as I have before observed, neither honours nor good graces will support a household, and Miss Bride well, much as she loved great people's sufferance, felt most sensibly that it might be purchased too dearly. She had her extravagancies as well as the lords and ladies with whom she was so fond of associating, and it was abominably provoking to think that she could not purchase their soci ety, without giving up the hopes of receiving what could alone enable her to support the addi tional expence incurred by its indulgence.

Full of these reflections, Miss Bridewell entered her own mansion. It was evening when she arrived, and little Fanny was already retired to bed. Mrs. Dawson was summoned to attend Miss Bridewell in her boudoir, as soon as she had a little recovered the fatigue of her journey ; and requested her to give an account of the occurrences since her absence. This wily favourite perceiving that her superior was disconcerted at something which had crossed her wishes, endeavoured to find out what the grievance was before she began her narrative, that she might suit her story to the humour of the moment; with a look of anxiety therefore, and an affectionate pressure of the hand, she said, " excuse me, dear madam, but I cannot speak on any subject foreign to the one that now engrosses my mind, until you have quieted my apprehen sions respecting yourself ; your looks betray un easiness; deign to confide your sorrow to the most faithful of your friends? You are a good creature Dawson," replied Miss Bridewell, " and deserve to be trusted : your anxiety, how ever, has overrated my present grievances, as I assure you they are nothing more than what spring from pecuniary disappointment. The Marquis has not settled that long account, nor even offered to accommodate me with a part, and

12 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR

I have some payments to make, that would ren der a couple of hundreds very acceptable to me just now ; as all the money I am sure of receiving is appropriated before it comes, for the expences of the last year. It is very hard to be obliged to abridge myself of all those enjoyments which are suited to my taste, and to which my pretensions are certainly well founded ; Two hundred pounds would be absolutely worth four to me at this moment." Mrs. Dawson smiled, and turning out of the room without speaking, went in search of her pocket book, which contained the bank bill that had been received with little Fanny. So fortunate an opening to her cause was, indeed, as far above her hopes as her expectations; and like a skilful lawyer, Mrs. Dawson knew well how to take advantage of it. When she re-entered the room, she presented the pocket book to Miss Bridewell. " Would to heaven," said she, " it were always in my power to administer thus for tunately to your exigencies, what wish of my dear friend's would then remain ungratified ? Miss Bridewell looked surprised, but mecha nically opening the book, she cast her eye upon the bank bill. " My dear Dawson," said she, as she took it in her hand, " what can this mean ?" " It means, my dear madam, that the two hun dred pounds you were just wishing for is there, at your command." Mrs. Dawson then related the story of Fanny's arrival — produced the letter, and described the child as a perfect cherub in beauty, and a prodigy in sense. Her narrative was worded in a mariner so well suited to Miss Bridewell's particularities, that it had the effect upon her mind her narrator intended it should. The seasonable supply of two hundred pounds, at a moment when it was so much wanted, had put her into a good humour, and the artful man ner in which the tale had been unfolded, com-

THE LITTLi: MKMMCANT. l.'i

pleted the favourable impression. Fanny Mas received at her levee the next morning, in the most gracious manner ; Emily Barlowe was highly commended for having noticed " the sweet little creature" as Miss Bridewell styled her new pupil, and of course it became the order of the day at Myrtle Grove to make " Fatherless Fanny," (as she sometimes pathetically called herself) the favourite of all those who aspired to its lofty mistress's good graces. Every visitor was shewn the " lovely girl" and were told, with a significant nod, that time would prove the child to be somebody. Never was there a happier being than little Fanny ; endowed by nature vdth a sweet temper, and the most buoyant spirits, en joying the favour of every creature that ap proached her, her little heart beat responsive to the blissful feelings of affection and gratitude. Emily Barlowe was, however, the dearest object of her infantine love, and on her gentle bosom the sweet prattler generally composed herself to sleep when the hour of retirement arrived. To Emily, Fanny was now become the summuni bonum of happiness, who filled up every moment of leisure with the delightful task of instructing her darling, to whom every accomplishment was imparted, hertenderage was capableof receiving. Lady Maria Trentham was very fond of Fanny too, and vied with Emily Barlowe in the task of instructing her, and such was the zeal of the teachers, and such the capacity of the scholar, that the little favourite soon became a miracle of cleverness, and was cited as an example to girls twice her age, not only for application but ac quirements.

At the end of the first year, Miss Bridewell who had depended upon the annual two hundred, promised in Fanny's recommendatory letter, felt herself extremely inconvenienced at its not ap-

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11 FATHKRLLSS FANNY ; OK,

pearing ; but when a second year elapsed, and no notice was taken either of the promise or the child, her patience was entirely exhausted. Poor Fanny was no longer a favourite; butalittle troublesome brat, that had been imposed upon her credulity by some designing person, who, depending upon the benevolence of her heart, imagined she would keep the child for nothing, when once it had got such hold of her affection as to make it painful to her to part with it : however, they would find themselves mistaken, for she was not a person to be imposed upon in that manner. Emily Barlowe, who was present when Miss Bridewell. was vent- in £ her spleen upon this irritating subject, thought to herself, " those who depend upon the benevo lence of your heart must find themselves wits- taken." " I will get rid of the little troublesome impostor," continued the incensed Miss Bridewell, " I am determined I will do so immediately. Nobody shall dare to treat me in this manner with impunity : I will advertise the girl in the most popular newspapers, and if that expedient does not make her friends come forward, I will send the chit to the workhouse, where she ought to have been sent at first, if Dawson had riot been a fool" " My dear Miss Bridewell," said the amiable Emily, as soon as she could get in a word, " my dear Miss Bridewell, let me plead for this poor little innocent, try one year more before you have recourse to such severe measures ; per haps the most fatal consequences may accrue to her unfortunate mother, if you should advertise the particulars of this mysterious story, and may prove the ultimate ruin of the dear child. If nobody comes forward in that time, I will pay you the expences of this year of grace out of my own al lowance ; and if you are determined to part with the lovely orphan, I will write to papa for permis sion to adopt her, and take her with me to Ja-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 15

maica when Heave school." Miss Bridewell knew her own interest too well to refuse such a request as the foregoing. She arrogated considerable merit, however, in the concession, and Fatherless Fanny, as she was now generally denominated by her governess, was permitted to remain at Myrtle Grove, the cherished object of the benevolent Emily's affection for the space of another year.

That year elapsed like the former two, and yet Fanny was not claimed by any friend, neither was any money remitted for her support, and the gentle Emily was obliged to pay, out of her allowance, the charge made by Miss Bridewell for the last year. This sacrifice of all the good girl's other extra expences, was made with the most perfect goodwill, in favour of her little darling, yet it was not rewarded with the satisfaction so benevolent an action was entitled to; for alas! in answer to the pathetic letter she had sent to her father, plead ing the cause of the unfortunate orphan, she re ceived one from her mother, couched in terms of high displeasure: — " I have intercepted the ridi culous letter you addressed to your father," said Mrs. Barlowe, "and I consider it a lucky circum stance that it fell into my hands, as I know his silly good nature would most likely have led him to comply with your romantic request. I desire I may never hear of such a thing again. Adopt a child indeed ! I fancy you will find uses enough for your fortune, when you get it into your hands, without encumbering yourself with brats that are nothing to you. Caroline would never have thought of such a thin^ ; I am sure she has too much prudence and good sense to encourage such ridiculous propensities. Remember, girl, t charity begins at home? '

This severe injunction was a cruel blow upon the tender-hearted Emily, who thus lost the power of snatching her dear Fanny from the

16 KATHKKLKSS FANNY; OR,

evils that threatened her. The good girl well

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knew that if she could obtain her father's ear, her request would be granted ; but after this prohibi tion from her mother, she did not dare to risk Another letter on the same subject. Only one year was now wanting for the completion of the Miss Barlowes' education ; they were then to re turn to Jamaica, and Emily consoled herself with the reflection, that at least when she saw her father, she should be able to accomplish her wishes respecting Fanny, if that dear girl should then stand in need of her assistance. Lady Maria Trentham, who was Emily's particular friend, would gladly have assisted her in main taining Fanny ; but, alas, a profusion of line clothes, and an unnecessary display of trinkets, besides a truly benevolent heart, was all the poor girl possessed. Any thing would have been granted her, indeed, by her indulgent mother, that did not require ready money, for of that pleasing article there could not be less in any house than in that of the noble Marquis of Pe- tersfield; but poor Lady Maria knew it was of no use to offer any thing short of the ready to Miss Bridewell, who was already in Hamlet's case, namely — * promise crammed?

The expedient of advertising the helpless Fanny was therefore adverted to by Miss Bridewell, with out farther delay, to the no small concern of that lovely girl's juvenile patronesses, who daily mixed their tears together at the idea of their fav,ourite being removed from their society. The following is the advertisement which appeared in the most popular papers of the day, relative to the forsaken .Fanny, and which Miss Bridewell dictated herself :

CHILD FOUND.

Whereas .some ill-minded Person or Persons

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 17

left a little Girl at the house of Miss Bridewell, Myrtle Grove, three years ago, with an intention, no doubt, of defrauding that lady of the mainte nance of the said child. This is to give notice, that unless the before-mentioned little Girl be taken away from Myrtle Grove, within one month from the date hereof, she will be sent to the Workhouse. The child answers to the name of Fanny.

CHAPTER II.

A Misunderstanding.

LORD ELLINCOURT was a young nobleman of that thoughtless kind, which is but too often met with in this dissipated age. He was addicted to every species of gaming, not from natural inclination, but an acquired habit of idleness. His lordship possessed abilities calculated to shine in the senate, had their latent powers been drawn forth by that best finisher of a good education — I mean the society of the wise and virtuous. Instead of that, however, this young sprig of nobility had been precipitated into the vortex of extravagance and folly, by his connexions at college, where so many of his Right Honourable cousins assailed him with the temptations, into which they had long been initiated themselves, that between pre cept and example, his mind became perverted, and he forsook the paths of learning for those of dissipation, and soon preferred killing time, by a thousand extravagant follies, to the sober enjoy ment of spending it in rational amusements, or valuable acquirements. At his debut in the great world, Lord Ellincourt kept a stud of race horses

18 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

for the sake of employment: two packs of hounds for the same reason ; and for the same good mo tive, when the pleasures of London confined him to the metropolis for the season, (winter is no longer in fashion) he drove, with the fury of a Jehu, a tandem, dog-cart, a mail, and an inex plicable, to the astonishment of the natives, and the imminent danger of the sober foot passengers who came in his way, whilst taking his dasliing round through Bond-street, Pall Mall, St. James's Street, and Piccadilly. Lord Ellincourt, like most men of fashion, had many favourites amongst thejfatr sex, but few upon whose fidelity he could place much reliance. One exception however, he had long been in possession of, who although a fe male, had never for once broken her faith. Some of his favourites received his lordship accord ing to the state of his finances, and smiled or frowned in proportion to the golden shower that fell into their laps from his bounty ; but his little Fan was invariable in the display of her affection, and la vished her caresses upon her beloved lord without considering whether he had had a run of good or ill luck. His lordship was not ungrateful, and his regard for Fan was quite equal to the one she felt for him, nor did he ever think himself happy when she was not by his side. Whithersoever he went, his faithful friend went with him, and even partook of his bed-room ; but lest I should be supposed to be a retailer of scandalous anec dotes, I must beg leave, in this place, to inform my readers that poor Fan was & four- fooled lady; and therefore the. intimacy that subsisted between her and Lord Ellincourt could reflect no disgrace on either party. A misfortune, however hap pened, that disturbed the happiness of this loving pair. Poor Fan was stolen away, and every effort to find her proved ineffectual, although ad vertisements, offering large rewards, were inserted

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 19

in all the papers. The loss of his dear little fa vourite had been the theme of Lord Ellincourt's conversation for many weeks, and his gay compa nions began to grow weary of the subject. " What nonsense it is," said Colonel Ross to Sir Henry Ambersley, to be obliged to listen to Ellincourt's lamentations for the loss of his little mongrel, every time one meets him."

" Let's hoax him," replied Sir Henry, " and cure him of such nonsensical prosing." " In what manner asked his friend." " I'll shew you," replied Sir Henry, taking a newspaper that lay before them on the table, and pointing out Miss Bridewell's advertisement. " But what will that do ?" again asked Colonel Ross ; " what hoax can you make of that stupid paragraph ?" " You shall see," answered Sir Henry, " here comes El lincourt, and I will put my scheme intoexecution immediately." Lord Ellincourt entered the coffee room at the same instant, and coming up to the two friends, he asked with his usual nonchalance, " what news." " The best in the world," replied Sir Henry, " your little Fan is found." " The deuce she is ? but tell me, my dear fellow, the wheres, and the hows, and all that? " I'll read you the advertisement," answered Sir Henry, tak ing the paper in his hand, and reading Miss Bridewell's advertisement aloud, only substituting the word dog in the place of child and girl, when ever they occurred, suppressing the date, and concluding line, respecting the workhouse, and adding a threat tohaii£ the poor animal, if not re claimed within a month. " What a barbarian !" exclaimed Lord Ellincourt, " to talk of hanging poor little Fan. If she was to do it I wouldburn the old faggot. I will drive down there directly. I know Myrtle Grove immensely well, I have been there to see the Trentham's, with my mother. A queer old figure that said governess is; I remem-

20 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

her her well. I did not like her phis. May I be bamboozled the next Newmarket meeting;, if I don't scalp the old savage with my own hands, should I find she has used Fan ill, mind that." Sir Henry and Colonel Ross laughed, "take care you don't get into the stocks my boy," said he, " remember you will be on classic ground, and don't sin against the Muses." " Confusion seize the Muses, and the classic ground too," rejoined my lord, " little Fan is worth all Parnassus put together. — Adieu. — I am off, I will bring little Fan back, or the old Gorgon's head, I am deter mined upon that." " Had not your Lordship better read the advertisement yourself, before you set out," said Col. Ross, offering the paper. " Oh no, no," replied Lord Ellincourt, " there can be no mistake, the description answers exactly, and the poor little animal being shut up in that bore of a place is the reason I have not been able to find her before." As he spoke, his impatient Lordship hastened out of the room, and left his two friends laughing at the credulity with which he had taken the hoax. " I little imagined," said Col. Ross, " that he would have swallowed the bait so easily." " You are a pretty fellow, too, arrt you ?" replied Sir Henry, " I thought you would have spoiled the joke. Quiz me if I would not give a cool hundred to be present when he and the old governess get at it tooth and nail." " What, do you think they will fight ?" " I am sure of it," answered Sir Henry : "Ellincourt will insist upon having his dog, the old girl will say she has not got it, and then there will be a quarrel. She is a very dragon, my sister tells me; and Ellincourt is Cayenne itself: so if there be not a row, I shall be surprised." This was by much too good a joke to be confined to two people ; after a hearty- laugh, therefore, the fashionable pair strolled out on purpose " to set it a-going" and to prepare a

THE LITTLE MENDICANT.

merry meeting for their friend Ellincourt, at liis return from Myrtle Grove.

In the meantime Lord Ellincourt proceeded to the livery stables, where his horses stood, and or dering his grooms to prepare his tandem immedi ately, and to follow him to Hyde Park, he walk ed thither, anticipating the joy he should experi ence, when little Fan was restored to him. The drive to Myrtle Grove appeared of an immode rate length, so impatient was his lordship to reach the place that contained his long-lost fa vourite. At length the white gate, leading to the sweep before the mansion, struck his eye, and giving a renovating crack of his whip to increase the speed of his barbs, the dashing equipage pre sently stopped before it. The porter answering in the affirmative to the question whether Miss Bridewell was at home, Lord Ellincourt alighted, and was ushered into the elegant boudoir of the vhodish governess. His lordship's patience expe rienced a severe trial, whilst waiting the arrival of the antiquated virgin ; for having sent in his name, the lady was too anxious to appear in style to think of coming before his lordship until she had consulted her mirror, to ascertain the^exact state of herdress ; in performingthis necessary sacrifice to the graces, Miss Bridewell perceived that her cap dicfnot become her, and she changed it for another ; then her gown did not please her, and she ordered her maid to bring her last new dress, which was substituted for the one she had on : when completely equipped, she descended to her expecting visiter; who, having examined every picture, and turned over every newspaper that lay upon the table, was standing whistling in one of the windows when Miss Bridewell entered the room. She began a long apology, which, how ever, Lord Ellincourt interrupted in the middle, by saying, " dear madam, excuse my impatience ; No. 2. : D

22 PATH Kit LESS FANNY ; OU,

your advertisement informs me that you have got my little Fan, and I am in a great hurry to see the dear creature." " And does little Fanny be long to your lordship," exclaimed Miss Bridewell, in a tone of surprise, whilst a smile of complai sance expressed the pleasure she felt at the intel ligence. " How happy 1 feel that the dear little creature fell into my hands. I am sure your lordship will be satisfied with the care [ have taken of her." " You are very good^ ma'am," answered his lordship, with an impatient inclina tion of the head, " 1 have no doubt of your kind ness to the little thing, but I really wish to see her ; she is a great favourite of mine, and so was her mother." " Your lordship was acquainted with Fanny's mother then," said Miss Bridewell, drawing up her mouth in a formal manner. " Oh yes," answered his lordship, laughing, — " her mother and I were old acquaintances." Miss Bridewell's formality increased at this speech of his lordship's, but her features were rather re laxed at the conclusion of it ; for he added, " and so, indeed, was her father, I was very fond of him too." "And pray, my lord," asked the prim lady, u what is become of poor Fanny's father, I understood he was dead ?" " 1 wonder by what means you ever heard any think about him," re plied Lord Ellincourt, " however, if it will be any satisfaction to you to know it, I must inform you he was hanged about two years' ago." " Hanged f Did your lordship say hanged ?" exclaimed Miss Bridewell, with horror and astonishment painted on her features. " Yres, my good ma'am," an swered his lordship, with a smile, " the poor fel low was really hanged for sheep-stealing ; I did what I could to save him, but my interest failed, he was caught in the fact, and the farmer would not hear oi -pardon. But what's the matter, Miss Bridewell, you look frightened ?" "And enough

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 23

to make me so, I think, my lord," answered she, "to reflect that I have been harbouring the daugh ter of a sheep-stealer in my house all this time." "Oh! is that all?" answered Lord Ellincourt, laughing, " don't let that frighten you ; my life upon it little Fan will never meddle with your lambs. I don't intend to allow her to stay any longer among them." " I assure your lordship," said Miss Bridewell, with a haughty toss of her head, " the contamination has already been too great. But pray, my lord, what is become of the mother of this unfortunate female, is she still alive ?" " No, she is dead too" answered his lord ship, " I kept her as long as she lived, and so I mean to do by Fan, if you willbut have the good ness to put an end to this long cathechism, and let me have the dear little creature." " 1 have no intention of detaining her, I assure your lordship, but I beg leave to observe, that I shall expect to be reimbursed for the expences I have been at in her maintenance and education." " The main tenance of such a little animal," replied his lord ship, " cannot be much to be sure, but as to her education, I am certainly no judge of what that may be, for I cannot imagine what the deuce you can have taught her- she knew how to fetch and carry before I lost her." " Your lordship talks in a very odd strain," answered Miss Bridewell, " but I can produce the master's bills who have been empjoyed to teach her music, dancing, and drawing" Lord Ellincourt burst into an im moderate fit of laughter. " Excuse me Miss Bridewell, but really 1 cannot help it. You edu cating ladies are for instructing every thing that comes near you, or you never would have thought of teaching rcy poor Fan such a long list of accomplishments; however, to make all straight, I will agree thus far to your demand, if you will prove to me that your scholar has learned any

24 FATiiiiKLiiSs FANNY; cm,

thing of what you pretend to have taught her, I will pay for it whatever you think proper to charge, for, upon my soul, I think 1 shall make my for tune by shewing the little creature ahout the streets. Dancing she may have acquired, hut as to any thing else, excuse me if 1 don't believe a word of it." "Your lordship is at liberty to think what you please," answered Miss Bride well, haughtily, tk but 1 shall insist upon being paid before I give up the child. I will fetch her to convince your lordship that she has capacity, and that she has received instruction." So say ing, Miss Bridewell flounced out of the room, and left Lord Ellincourt mute with astonishment. — " That old maid," at length said he, " is so used to have children under her care, that when she gets a dog into her clutches> she fancies she must educate that, and talks about it till she believes a spaniel is a child." Miss Bridewell was absent only a few minutes, and she returned leading Fanny by the hand, whose terrified countenance and streaming eyes, plainly evinced the severity with which her governess had just been treating her. Fanny was now turned of eight years' old, a tall elegantly-formed child, whose dazzling complexion and beautiful features were calculated to strike every beholder with admiration. Lord Ellincourt gazed at her with surprise, mingled with delight. " What a sweet creature !" ex claimed his lordship, " but why is she weeping?" " There, my Lord, is little .Fanny," said Miss Bridewell, not noticing his question, " and if your lordship was really as fond of her worthless pa rents as you pretend to have been, you will not think much at paying the debts their offspring has contracted." " Upon my honour madam," replied Lord Ellincourt, " I am wholly at a loss to guess what you are aiming at ; I never had the honour of seeing the parents of that sweet

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 25

girl, at least to the best of my knowledge." " Why, good heavens ! exclaimed Miss Bride well, " did not your lordship say, rmt a quarter of an hour ago, that her father was hanged for sheep-stealing, and that her mother was a naugh ty kept-womanl" "Who, I?" rejoined Lord Ellincourt, starting, " I never even imagined such a thing." w I am astonished at your Lord ship; indeed I am," said Miss Bridewell, her eyes flashing resentment, " did not 5OUF lord ship say you were come to fetch Fanny away, and that you intended keeping her as long as she lived, as you had done her mother, and all that we hesitated about was respecting the payment of my demand for her education ?" " Here has been a great mistake," replied Lord Ellincourt, " and 1 feel very much ashamed of having oc casioned you so much trouble. I came here, ma dam, at the instigation of a friend of mine, who told me you had found a little dog, belonging to me, which I lost some time ago. The little ani mal's name was Fanny, and hence originated the mistake. My friend, Sir Henry Ambersley, read an advertisement to me this morning, stating the creature was found, and might be heard of here. I am persuaded he did it for a hoax, of which he is too fond, a circumstance I ought to have recollected when he was play ing off this morning; but the joy of finding Fan was predominant, and swallowed up every other consideration." " It is indeed, a strange circumstance," replied Miss Bridewell, " and has been productive of much trouble to me." " I am very sorry — very sorry, upon my soul," answered Lord Ellincourt, " and what concerns me more than any thing else is, that I fear I have occasioned sorrow to this beau tiful little angel," taking Fanny's hand, who had dried up her tears when she heard his lordship declare that she was not the daughter of a sheep-

26 FATHERLESS FAMiNY ; OR,

stealer. Miss Bridewell reached a newspaper which contained her advertisement, and begged Lord Ellincourt to read it. As soon as he had complied with her request, he said, (f and is it possible you intend to Send this child to the workhouse?" " Yes, my lord, unless she be reclaimed by the time I have specified." " By heavens, you shall not !" said his lordship, " I will pay for her myself, if no one comes forward to claim her. I will keep a horse or two less at Newmarket, to enable me to do it. Do you agree to that, Miss Bridewell ?" " Miss Bridewell smiled, and was vastly pleased with such an arrangement. " Your lordship understands there are arrears /" ". Undoubtedly ; and as I have just had a run of good luck, let us strike a balance now, let me have your bill." Miss Bridewell complied with his re quest ; and presenting her exorbitant demand, which she had got ready drawn out in case of any application from the child's friends, Lord Ellin- court only looked at the sum total and immediately drew upon his banker for the amount. u There," said he, " remember now Fanny is my child hence forward, and mind you use the little angel kind ly,' or blame me if I don't blow your house up with gunpowder. I may come to see her some times, mayn't I," added his lordship. " Certain!}', my lord," answered Miss Bridewell, courtesying low, " we shall always esteem your lordship's visits an honour, and Fanny I am sure ought to love Lord Ellincourt." " And so I do most dearly, dearly," answered the sweet girl, holding up her lovely face to kiss her benefactor. " T shall pray for Lord Ellincourt every night and morn ing, and so will Emily Barlowe and Lady Maria Trentham, for they have been so unhappy about me." Lord Ellincourt embraced his adopted child, and said, that he never felt so happy in his life; " No, by heavens," said he, " not even

Till: LITTLE MENDICANT. 27

when my Miss Tiffany beat Sir Jeffery Dollman's Ganderface, and the bets won two thousand gui neas.5' " Apropos,5' said his lordship,' turning back as he was leaving the room, after having embraced Fanny half a dozen times for farewell, " I forgot I ought to see the Lady Trentham's, they are my cousins." Miss Bridewell entreated his lordship to defer that intention until his next visit, and after some hesitation he complied, and hastening to his carriage, dashed off in an in stant. Fanny, who accompanied her governess to the door, to witness his departure, followed the carriage with her eyes full of tears — " what a dear sweet gentleman that is,5' said the innocent girl, " Oh how 1 love him." ** He is a very ge nerous man indeed," said Miss Bridewell, and well she might say so, for he paid her the' enormous charge for the whole time Fanny had been with her. The two hundred pounds that came with her, and Miss Barlowe's generous contribution, were therefore a clear profit, and Fatherless Fanny thus became one of the most advantageous scholars she had ever had.

CHAPTER III.

Mutual Explanation^

WHEN Fanny returned to the apartment where the other young ladies were, she entered it with a lively bound, and running up to Miss Emily Barlowe, clasped her arms about her neck ; the good-natured Emily's tears flowed so fast that she could not speak; but Miss Barlowe, the haughty Caroline, came and disengaged Fanny

28 FATHKllLKSS FANNY ; OU,

from her sister's embrace, saying in an ill-natured tone of voice, " This disgraceful intimacy has en dured long enough, I insist now on its termi nation." Fanny looked aghast, and turning her eyes upon the other ladies, observed contempt and abhorrence painted on every countenance ex cepting those of Emily, and the compassionate Lady Maria Trentham, who, rising from her seat, took the terrified girl by the hand, and said, "don't be frightened Fanny, I will always be your friend." " Indeed, but I say nay to that," interrupted Lady Isabella, "a very pretty story, truly, for the Mar quis of Petersfield's daughter to be the companion ofasheep-stealer'schild! Here all the girls burst into a fit of laughter, and poor Fanny was so overcome, that, covering her face with her hands, she sobbed aloud. Emily Barlowe could not sup port the sight of her favourite's sorrow, but taking her in her arms, she pressed her to her bosom. " Nothing short of a parent's commands shall in duce me to forsake this dear child," said she, " let her be the daughter of what she will." Soothed by this kindness, poor Fanny recovered her speech — " I am not a sheep-stealer's daughter ; indeed Miss Emily it was all a mistake, for Lord Ellin- court said so." " Lord Ellincourt," exclaimed Lady Maria Trentham, " was it Lord Ellincourt who had just been here? he is my cousin !" " I know it," replied Fanny, "and his Lordship asked Miss Bridewell to let him see you and Lady Isa bella ; but she begged him to wait until he called next-time." u Is he coming again soon ?" asked Lady Maria. " Yes," replied Fanny, l( very soon. Oh how I love Lord Ellincourt." " And so do I," said Lady Maria," he is so good-natured. I wonder why Miss Bridewell would not let us see him." " I don't know," answered Fanny. Miss Bridewell generally had a motive for what she did, that concerned herself nearer than any body else,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 29

and such was the case in the present instance ; for her only reason for refusing Lord Ellincourt's re quest was, that she wished to conceal, from a person who had evinced such natural benevolence as his lordship had done, the cruelty of her own heart, which had led her to treat poor Fanny with such unmerited severity, upon the strength of a mere surmise. When Miss^Bridewell had quitted the room to fetch Fanny to Lord Ellincourt, her mind was impressed with the idea of the imputed worthlessness of the child's parents, and proud of an opportunity of revenging the anxiety she had suffered on her account, she immediately spread the report of poor Fanny being the daughter of a sheep-stealer, by exclaiming, when she entered la salle des sciences., " where is the worthless girl 1 have been wasting so much care upon?" Then seizing Fanny's hand with an ill-natured jerk, she added, " a pretty creature you are, to be sure, Miss, to be brought into the society of young la dies of rank, a shieep-stealer's daughter ! ! !" The young ladies looked astonished ; " Yes, indeed, ladies," said Miss Bridewell, " this girl is the off spring of a kept mistress, and a man that was hanged for sheep- stealing" The consequence of such a speech to a group of young girls, proud of their births, and tenacious of their consequence, may readily be imagined ; every one was unani mous in execrating the innocent object of their hatred, with the exception of Lady Maria Trent- ham and Emily Barlowe, who could only weep over a misfortune they could not remedy. The joy these benevolent girls experienced when they heard Fanny say the whole was a mistake, may be readily imagined, and when it was confirmed by Miss Bridewell herself, who related the -story of the dog, as an elucidation of the mistake, a hearty laugh removed every vestige of sorrow and dis pleasure; and the sweet Fanny was restored to '2 E

30 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

the same portion of favour she before enjoyed with every one of her school mates.

When Mrs. Dawson was informed that the hurricane had subsided, she made her appear ance in the circle she had quitted at the first in timation of Miss Bridewell's displeasure ; for, as she had been the ostensible person in receiving Fanny, she well knew*, if the disagreeable report proved true, she should be a material sufferer, both from her stately superior and the young ladies. Lord Ellincourt's generosity however, had put Miss Bridewell into such a perfect good humour, that Fanny was once more her" little poppet ;" and Mrs. Dawson, from a " great fool" was become her " dear Dawson" and received the pleasing intelligence of the debt contracted by Fanny, having been so nobly discharged, as well as the promise made by Lord Ellincourt of supporting the little orphan in future. " The turn off about the dog, my dear Dawson," said Miss Bridewell, " was extremely well done, but I assure you it did not impose upon me, for I firmly believe it at this moment, that Fanny is Lord Ellincourt's daughter : but as much good may be drawn from keeping the girl, you may be sure I shall not breathe my suspicions, and I de sire you to be equally circumspect." Oh, you know, my dear ma'am, that you can rely upon my prudence. I am as secret as the grave ; but do you really think Fanny can be Lord Ellin- court's daughter ? I understood his lordship was only just two and-twenty, and Fanny, you know, is turned of eight." Miss Bridewell paused — then answered, in an impatient tone, " I don't care how old either of them are, I have adopted my opinion, and lam not apt to relinquish my opinions when once formed.'1 Mrs. Dawson knew this as well as Miss Bridewell ; she there fore acquiesced without farther disputation, and

THE LiriLK MENDICANT. 31

Miss Bridewell proceeded to give directions res pecting Fanny's future acquirements : notwith standing her boast to Lord Ellincourt, no mas ters had attended the poor girl since the defalca tion of the payment. Miss Emily Barlowe had supplied their place to the utmost of her abilities, that her favourite might not entirely lose the ac complishments in which she was making such rapid progress. " That girl must be attended to now," said Miss Bridewell, " for I dare say she will go somewhere in the holidays, where her advancement will be ascertained." " I will ob serve what you say, my dear ma'am," said 'the supple Mrs. Dawson, " you know the neglect she has experienced was at your own suggestion." " Yes, yes," replied Miss Bridewell, " I am aware of that, but no doubt, you remember the old French adage — < Point d "argent, point de suisse,' and so it ought to be at Myrtle Grove." u Undoubtedly," rejoined Mrs. Dawson, " we must not throw our attention upon beggars."

Whilst matters were settling according to this prudent plan, at Myrtle Grove, Lord Ellincourt pursued his way to London, singing to himself, with a gaiete de cceur, of which, till that moment, he had been insensible : this may appear a para doxical assertion, after what has been said res pecting the thoughtless life his lordship had hitherto led, but to any of my readers, who may have trod the flowery paths of dissipated pleasure, it will not be deemed impossible that a disciple of Circe, should be a stranger to genuine heart-felt satisfaction — that sweet sensation of the soul, is the result of conscious virtue, and the first time Lord Ellincourt experienced its happy influence was when he first reflected on a benevolent ac tion ; it was not that his lordship was destitute of humanity, or insensible to feeling, but from a na-

32 FATHERLESS FANNY;. Oil,

tural thoughtlessness of disposition, and an habi tual propensity to dissipation, that he had never before adopted the plan of extending the hand of charity to the sons and daughters of misfortune, as an expedient against the ennui of which he was always complaining. Chance had now thrown an opportunity in his way, trying a new kind of delassement, and the result of the experiment was, a determination on the part of his lordship to pursue the path that had been struck out for him. The motion of the light vehicle he was driving was not more rapid than the progress of the ideas that succeeded each other in Lord Ellin- court's mind, as he returned towards the metro polis. Fanny, the lovely artless Fanny, was the subject of all these cogitations, and the fascination that had seized his mind, increased with every re collection. Her interesting countenance, at the moment he first beheld her, still seemed to rise before him ; her blooming cheeks suffused with pearly drops ; her eyes of ' softest blue] turned with a supplicating look towards him, that might have softened the most obdurate heart. — te Sweet creature!" said his lordship, as he drove along, " I never spent money with such delight as that I paid for her to-day. She shall be my child ! by heaven's she shall, and I will maintain her like a little princess !" This resolution filled Lord Ellin- court's heart with pleasure, and when he drove through the turnpike at Hyde Park Corner, he was so absorbed in the agreeable reverie he had indulged in, that he did not perceive Colonel Ross and Sir Henry Ambersley, who were stroll ing arm in arm along the pave, expressly for the purpose of way-laying his lordship on his return. " Ellincourt," exclaimed Sir Henry, exalting his voice into the tones of Stentor, " where's little Fan?" Lord Eliincourt drew up to the side of the pavement, and extended nis hand to Sir

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 33

Henry, " a thousand thanks my dear fellow," said he. " for procuring me the greatest pleasure I ever experienced in my life. The little Fan you sent me in search of, instead of a dog is an angel.''1 66 What have you been peeping at Winmfred Bridewell's pretty heiresses ; Eh, Ellincourt ?" said Sir Henry. Lord Ellincourt gave the reins to his groom, and descending from his carriage, joined his friends. " Old Bridewell is a down right divinity, and Myrtle Grove superior to Ida itself," said his Lordship, putting an arm through that of the friend on each side of him. " He's caught, hy all that striking," said Col. Ross, " old Bridewell knows what she's about, I war rant her ; she has been showing off some title- hunting Miss, and 'the trap has taken a lord. A true bill, is it not, Ellincourt ?" " That my heart is touched, I allow," replied his lordship, "and by a pretty girl too ; but it is an artless amour, I assure you, on both sides, and owing entirely to your hoax about the dog Ambersley. It is an attachment that will last for life, however, I am persuaded, and when I shew the. abject of my af fection, if you do not say she is the most fascina ting creature you ever saw, I will never cite you for men of taste again as long as I live." u But when shall we see her ?" asked Sir Henry, " for you have set me longing ; is the show open to every body ?" " Oh no," said Col. Ross, " I sup pose Ellincourt has ordered her to be shut up until he puts his coronet on her brow. Is it not so ?" " Time will shew," answered his lordship, " but this I will promise you, next time I go to Myrtle Grove, 1 will t^ke one of you, for I sup pose they will not grant admission to three such sad dogs, and then you will be better able to form your judgment of my charmer." " Hoax for hoax, my word for it," said Colonel Ross, " Ellin- court is only playing at reprisals. He has been

34 FATHEKLliSS FA.NXY ; OR,

put into the stocks at Myrtle Grove, for his ill- behaviour, and he wants to get us into the same scrape." " You may do as you like about going," rejoined his lordship, " but I give you my word 1 am in earnest, I never was more serious in my life, and to prove it, 1 intend persuading my mo ther to accompany me in my next visit. 1 shall drive her in my mail, and you can sit with me upon the dickey" I will go with you," said Col. Ross, " if you are not afraid of a militaire. If I should rival you, it would not be so well." 66 True," rejoined Lord Ellincourt, '• but I am fearless on that subject. My Fanny will love me best, see who she will." " 1 do not feel so sure of that," said Sir Henry Ambers ley, " and as 1 have no inclination to measure swords with you. I will abstain from going." " Comme il vous jplaira" answered Lord Ellincourt, and the sub ject was immediately changed.

The whim of adopting Fanny, did not turn out like most of Lord Ellincourt's former whims, it survived the lapse of several days, and seemed to acquire strength from reflection. The Dowager Lady Ellincourt, his lordship's mother, was one of those indulgent parents that feel every other sentiment absorbed in their maternal tenderness. Her ladyship had been left a young widow, and although several very advantageous offers had been made her, she had remained in the solitary state of widowhood out of pure affection to her children.

Lady. Ellincourt had only two children living; the son, of whom we have been speaking, and one daughter, who was some years older than her brother. Lady Caroline Mason bad been married at the early a^e of seventeen, to the Earl of Castlebrazil, an Irish nobleman, and resided chiefly in that country. Lord Ellincourt was therefore his mother's only solace, and there was

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 3.5

no request that he could make her, with which she did not feel eager to comply. Her ladyship was at her Villa at Richmond, when Lord Ellincourt paid his visit to Myrtle Grove : she knew nothing therefore of her son's new attachment, until her return to Lo.ndon, about a week afterwards, when Lord Ellincourt called at her ladyship's house in Hill-Street, and broke the ice in the following manner : —

" 1 have something to ask you, my dear mother, that T hardly know how to begin about, for fear you should disapprove of it." " What is it, Ed mund ?" said Lady Ellincourt, with a smile that might have encouraged even a more timid peti tioner, " you know £ am not very inaccessible."

" I know it well," replied his lordship, " and therefore I don't like to intrude upon your good ness, but my heart is set upon your compliance." " Is it money, Edmund ?" " No, upon my ho nour, but I will not give you the trouble of guess ing, my dear mother. 1 have taken a fancy to a sweet girl, and I want your countenance for her." " Edmund," said Lady Ellincourt, looking very grave, " I hope you are not forming an attach ment I am likely to disapprove of ; marriages against the consent of parents are seldom produc tive of happiness, and I have the most decided objection to them from a knowledge of their fatal tendency. My own family will furnish you with an instance of the most melancholy kind, that could not fail of impressing your mind with a sa lutary fear of falling into the same error, were 1 to take the trouble of relating; the sad tale ; but I know you have a great dislike to long stories, so 1 shall not trouble you with it unless you render it necessary by your imprudence," " You give excellent advice, my dear mother," replied Lord Ellincourt, " but my attachment is not of the kind you suppose it to be. The girl I have taken

•36 FATHLHLKS* FANNY ; OK,

a fancy to is quite a child ; she is destitute of friends, and I am determined to defray the ex- pences of her education ; the favour I want you to grant me is your countenance for the sweet little creature, which, when you have seen, you will ad mire as much as I do." Lord Ellincourt then re lated the trick Sir .Henry Anibersley had played him, about the advertisement, and the visit in consequence of it to Miss Bridewell's Temple of Instruction. Lady Ellincourt laughed ; " Are you sure, Edmund," said she, " that this is the truth, and nothing but the truth ?'' " Upon honour ^ replied his lordship, " when you have seen her you will not doubt it : let me drive you there to day, my dear mother." '* Not to day, Edmund," replied her ladyship, " but I will accompany you to-morrow."

The next day Lady Ellincourt kept her ap pointment, and her son, accompanied by Colonel Ross, drove her down to Myrtle G rove. Lady El lincourt had been in the habit of visiting the ladies Trentham, and was therefore personally known to. Miss Bridewell, who being a devout worshipper of high rank, was delighted when her noble visiter was announced. Lady Isabella and Lady Maria were called to see their aunt, and at their entrance Lord Ellincourt demanded his dear little Eanny. *Miss Bridewell, with a significant nod, said " I waited for your lordship's com mand : and rinp-ino- the bell, ordered the servant

^r CT v

to fetch Miss Fanny. The sweet child soon obeyed the summons, and regardless of the presence of Lady Ellincourt and Col. Ross, ran .with open arms to embrace her benefactor, whose delight at this testimony of her gratitude and affection made him ready to devour her with kisses. As soon as the loving pair could separate from each other, Lady Ellincourt took Fanny by the hand, and examining her countenance, exclaimed,

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 37

"What a sweet creature! What is her name, Edmund ?" " Fatherless Fanny!" replied Lord Ellincourt, "she has no other." " 1 am not to be called Fatherless Fanny any more," said the child, "for Lord Ellincourt will be my papa." Col. Ross smiled and looked significant, and Lady Ellincourt pressed the sweet girl to her bosom. A suspicion she could not repress, made her lady ship incline towards the Colonel's and Miss Bride well's opinion, although a moderate calculation of their respective ages would have proved beyond a doubt the fallacy of such an idea, as that Fanny could be lord Ellincourt's daughter. The playful innocence of the engaging Fanny won completely upon the heart of Lady Ellincourt, who became as warm an advocate for the scheme of adoption as her son, and added her charges to his, in desiring Miss Bridewell to attend to the education of the lovely orphan, who rose proportionably in the good graces of her governess, as she appeared to be es teemed by the great people that lady so constantly bowed to. Lady Maria Trentham, who rejoiced in Fanny's good fortune, received her cousin with more than usual cordiality, and Lord Ellincourt, who had been informed by Fanny of her ladyship's kindness to his favourite, thought he had never seen the amiable Maria look so bewitching.

When lady Ellincourt found by her watch, that she had staid to the utmost limits of her time, she gave the signal for departure ; and lord Ellincourt putting a little parcel into Fanny's hand, which he told her contained a keep-sake, kissed her for farewell, and the whole party separated.

During the drive home, Col. Ross repeated his conjectures, respecting Fanny's affinity to her be nefactor, adding, with a laugh, " that he could not have supposed his lordship capable of so much art as he had that day displayed ; why you

2 F

oH FATHKRLKSN FANNY ; Oil,

have done the old lady completely," said he. "If you mean that I have imposed upon my mother," said Lord Ellincourt, "you are mistaken, for I am sure I did not know there was such a being in ex istence as jny little Fanny, until Ambersley sent me on a fool's errand in search of her namesake." " If that be really the case," said Col. Ross, "I can guess what are your views with this girl. She is a pretty ..creature, and will make an agreeable va riation in your amours passageses bye and bye." " 1 may have been dissipated and unthinking," re plied Lord'Ellincourt, reddening with resentment at the vile suggestion, " but I hope I am incapable of deliberate villainy, such as you insinuate. The precaution I have taken of giving my mother's sanction to my whim ought to teach you better."

" You astonish me !" interrupted Col. Ross, " is it possible that you have no other view but bene volence in this munificent action ?" " None, upon my honour, except, indeed, the pleasure of con tributing to the happiness of a being I love, in a manner, wholly unaccountable, even to myself," said Lord Ellincourt.

" Then I must compliment your lordship'sjpfo'- lanthropy" rejoined the Colonel, sarcastically, " and I hope you will let me participate in the happiness resulting from such heroism, by permit ting me sometimes to visit your beautiful pro tegee in your company !"

" No, by heavens," replied Lord Ellincourt, 66 the man who could suspect another of such baseness, as the deliberate perversion of inno cence, is unfit to be trusted where he could prove himself capable of the same turpitude, to the de triment of a defenceless female." " Moralizing too," said Col. Ross, " by all that's pretty ! Upon my honour I rejoice in your lordship's conversion,

THE LITTLE MKKDICANT. 39

and cannot enough admire the superlatively charming; cause of such a wonderful reformation." Here the conversation ended, and the remain der of the drive passed in silence on both sides. Lord Ellincourt was piqued, and Col. Ross was digesting a scheme which had presented itself to his fancy, whilst conversing on the subject of the gentle Fanny ; the accomplishment of which pro mised to gratify two of his predominant passions; namely — sensuality and revenge. Lord Ellin- court had offended his pride, by censuring his sen timents, and he wished for an opportunity of be ing even with him : to deprive his lordship at some future period, of the object of his generous affection, offered a fair prospect to the diabolical Colonel, of revenging the supposed injury, and at the same time obtaining a beautiful creature to administer to his unlawful pleasures, and finally become the victim of them.

It was certainly a long while to look forward to, but Col. Ross was one of those epicures in sensuality, who could deliberately plan, and un relentingly execute, the most atrocious acts of cruelty, if they promised the slightest gratifica tion to his depraved appetite. His wickedness was systematic, and he had as much pleasure in planning as in executing the designs he con ceived.

But we will leave him to his cogitations, and proceed with our narrative. The happy Fanny, as soon as her new friends had departed, opened the parcel Lord Ellincourt left with her, and found, to her great delight, an elegant gold chain for her neck, with a small watch suspended, and a pair of bracelets to correspond. It will be ea sily conceived how such a present must win upon the heart of a girl like Fanny. She jumped about in raptures, and displayed her " Papa's present," as she styled Lord Ellincourt, to every

40 FATHERLESS FANNV"; OR,

creature that came near her, and the novelty of possessing such a treasure, kept her awake a good part of the night.

However she soon became accustomed to the possession of trinkets, for Lord Ellincourt never was so happy as when bestowing marks of his ge nerosity upon his favourite. Anxious to purchase good treatment for her, his lordship took care to remember Miss Bridewell with a munificence that completely won that lady's heart. The improve ment of Fatherless Fanny seemed now of more real consequence than that of any lady in the house, and Mrs. Dawson and the subordinate teachers were continually reminded of Miss Bride well's anxiety on the subject. It has already been said that Fanny possessed great natural abilities, her rapid progress may therefore be sup posed, under such advantageous circumstances, and she soon became a brilliant proof of the skill so justly ascribed to the preceptress of Myrtle Grove establishment, in bestowing polite accom plishments upon the pupils under her care. But barren is that mind, whose improvement has been confined to the study of mere ornamental acquire ments ; the musician, the dancer, or the paintress, however skilful in the various branches, will make but a poor wife, if she be deficient in the more solid and valuable qualities of good sense, good temper, and, above all, religion and virtue.

The softest melody cannot soothe the ear of pain, nor can the anxious eye of sorrow dwell with delight upon the graceful attitude, or highly finished picture. The knowledge of languages, though carried to the highest pitch of perfection, can suggest no comfort for affliction, nor strength en the suffering mind to bear the reverse of for tune with fortitude and resignation. Such know ledge, therefore, may be pronounced in the words of Solomon — "Vanity of Vanities," unless she who

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 41

possesses it has first sought religion in the page of truth, and having found the divine precept, made that the basis on which the superstruc ture of the refinement was reared. The accom plishments and graces which adorn virtue, may be entitled to admiration. The skill of the lapi dary may call forth the brilliancy of the diamond, but cannot give the same lustre to the pebble.

All the pains bestowed upon Fanny's education by Miss Bridewell and her assistants, would have availed little, had not the good precepts instilled into her heart by the amiable Emily Barlowe, given solid it y to her principles. Piety is a natu ral feeling of the youthful heart, and only re quires some skilful hand to call forth its latent energies, and give them their proper bias. Emily Barlowe had been instructed by her father in the principles of religion ; and her youthful heart glowed with the fervour of genuine piety. With what rapture did the amiable instructress awaken, in the docile mind of her beloved Fanny, the first conceptions of the Deity, and teach her guileless lips to pronounce the first word of praise and gratitude. Then- judiciously turning the mind of her pupil from the adoration of the Cre ator to the contemplation of the creature. Pity for the various ills inseparable from human nature, soon gave birth to charity, and the mercy she ask ed of God for herself, she felt ready to bestow on her fellow mortals ; not only in gifts of benevo lence, but in acts of forbearance and good will. Thus Fanny, in imitation of the example Emily set before her eyes, became good-natured, patient and forgiving from principle, and benevolent from the irresistible feelings of her heart —

" Just as the twigisbeut, the tree's iuclin'd. The superiority in virtue over the generality

42 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OH,

of her sex to which Fanny afterwards attained, might justly be said to owe its perfection to the early instructions of the amiable Emily, who, like a guardian angel watched the infancy of her fa vourite, and took the advantage of that critical season when the human mind is fittest to receive the impression of piety, and which like the seed time in agriculture, if once neglected cannot be retrieved. And whilst she was anxiously incul cating the principles of religion and virtue, she took especial care to eradicate every tendency to vanity or arrogance, from which even the best dispositions are not wholly exempt.

Lord Ellincourt's presents were but too well calculated to engender pride, and the praises he always lavished upon Fanny's person every time he saw her, would inevitably have rendered her vain, had not the watchful Emily repressed the rising emotions, and by expatiating upon the pre carious tenure of personal charms, exposed as they are to the ravages of sickness, and certain decay of old age ; and explaining the still more uncertain duration of human attachments, she awakened in the mind of her youthful auditor re flections that would have done honour* to a girl double her number of years.

The effect Lord Ellincourt's attachment to Fan ny had upon his mind, was of the most salutary kind. With the genuine spirit of paternal affec tion he was frequently calculating his expences, and projecting curtailments of their extent, in order to purchase some advantage or pleasure for his darling, arid to the astonishment of all the gentlemen of the turf, his lordship's stud at New market was sold off, arid the destructive amuse ment of horse- racing abandoned within a year after he took the whim of adopting Fanny, be cause he had made a determination to retrench, in order to have it in his power to make a settle-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 43

nieut upon his favourite, which resolution it was impossible to put in practice whilst he'kept up such an expensive establishment, and incurred such heavy losses as generally attended his gam bling ventures.

Lady Ellincourt, who felt greatly pleased with the appearance of her son's reformation, gave every encouragement to his patronage of the little orphan, and even indulged him so far as to invite Fanny to spend a month with her during the summer's vacation, at her country seat, which lay in Yorkshire, on an estate that had been lately purchased for her by her agent, and was celebrated for the antique grandeur of the house, and the beauty of the surrounding parks and grounds.

To this delightful retreat the happy Fanny was conveyed in Lady Ellincourt's coach, and no sooner had she entered the great hall, than she exclaimed in ecstacy, " Oh ! this is mamma Sydney's house, do let me see her ?" and run ning forward, she made to a door opposite to her, and attempted to open it. The lock resisted her efforts. " Pray open it for me ?" said the child, turning to a servant, " Mamma Sydney is in there! and I want to see her !" Lord Ellincourt, who had arrived a few hours before his mother, now came into the hall. " What is the matter with my Fanny ?" said his lordship, " what is the little girl doing there ?" " I want to see mamma Syd ney/' replied Fanny, " and I know she is in that room : she always used to sit there."

" Were you ever in this house before, my love ?" asked his lordship, astonishment painted on his countenance. " Oh yes, papa, I used to live here, and this door you will not open for me is mamma Sydney's parlour."

Lord Ellincourt ordered a servant to inquire for the key of the room, and turning to Fanny, he

11 FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

said, " Your mamma Sydney cannot be in that room, for you see it is locked." Fanny stood in the utmost agitation whilst the key was fetched, but appeared too much struck to speak a word. In the mean time Lady Ellincourt, who had been speaking to her steward relative to some altera tion that had been lately made, came up to see what had arrested the attention of her son and Fanny. When she was informed of the child's assertion respecting the house ; " Some resem blance, I suppose," said her Ladyship, " between this and the house where she formerly resided, but this could net be her mamma Sydney's house, because the estate belonged to a Mr. Hamilton, who had resided abroad some years before his death, and 1 purchased it of his heir. The place had not been inhabited from the time Mr. Hamil ton went abroad, as its dilapidated condition plainly proved, at the time I took possession of it, about two years ago." At this moment the ser vant brought the key, and the door was opened ; Fanny ran into the room, but presently returned with a sorrowful countenance. " Mamma Syd ney is not there," said she, her eyes full of tears, UI wonder where she is gone." u Are you sure this is the room where your Mamma Sydney used to sit ?" asked Lady Ellincourt. " Oh yes, ma'am," replied Fanny, " see here is her work table !" and the child going up to the fire-place, raised a bracelet that seemed made for the con venience of holding a candlestick or book, for any body who chose to sit close to the fire. " Mamma Sydney used to put her work bag upon this, when she was working, and when she was doing nothing, her snuff-box used to stand upon it," said Fanny, " and sometimes a book ; and when she had done reading, she would put her spectacles into the middle of the book, and lay- it down, and say to me, come puss, you must divert me now."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 4.5

Both Lord and Lady Ellincourt were very touch struck with an account so distinctly given of an event so remote, and her ladyship said she would inquire the particulars relative to the for mer inhabitants of her mansion, and endeavour, if possible, to elucidate the mystery.

Fanny was now led about the spacious rooms, and long galleries that distinguished the noble dwelling, by her beloved " Papa? and every now and then expressed her delight at the disco very of some old acquaintance, either in the rooms or their furniture, and her recollection of trivial circumstances was so clear, that, notwithstanding the evidence that appeared to contradict the probability of Fanny's having been formerly an inmate of Pemberton Abbey, neither Lord Ellincourt nor his mother could divert their minds from the belief that her account was correct.

Every enquiry was made amongst the tenantry, likely to elucidate the mystery, but to little pur pose j their answers corresponded uniformly when composed together ; — no lady of the name of Sydney had resided in that house, or its vicinity, nor did they believe that Pemberton Abbey had' been inhabited by any body besides the servants, who were left in care of it, since the departure of Mr. Hamilton, until it was purchased by Lady Ellincourt, a period of several years.

This was told Fanny ; but she still persisted in her assertion, nor could any argument, for a mo ment shake her opinion, or make her waver in her story. Of her removal from Pemberton Abbey she could give but a very imperfect account, she remembered having been in a carriage a long time, but whether she was carried, or by whom, she could not tell ; all she knew perfectly was, that her Mamma Sydney did not go with her, and that the lady with whom she staid for some (fays

No. 3. G

46 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

before she was left at Miss Bridewell's, was very cross with her.

A wide field was here opened for conjecture, and Lord and Lady Ellincourt were left to wan der in it, as all their efforts to obtain any light upon the subject failed of effect. A circumstance which occurred just before Fanny's return to school, served to increase the perplexity of their minds, and to raise their .curiosity to a pitch of impatience, very ill-suited to the suspense they were obliged to endure.

The apartment little Fanny slept in, was in the same gallery as Lady Ellincourt's, and divided from that room by a small chamber, which was occupied by her ladyship's woman ; the screams of poor Fanny, one night, awakened Lady Ellin- court from a sound sleep, and starting from her bed, the amiable Lady threw on her dressing gown, and run to the assistance of her favourite. Mrs. Parsons, her maid, was there before her, and was supporting the terrified child in her arms.

" What is the matter ?" exclaimed Lady Ellin- court, (f My dear Fanny, what is the matter ?" " Mamma Sydney has been here ; she came and looked at me, and when I spoke to her, she run away and would not answer." " You have been dreaming, my love, said Lady Ellincourt. — " No, indeed, Ma'am, I was wide awake," replied the child, " I heard her open my door, and saw her come up to the bed with a candle in her hand, and she looked so angry when I spoke to her, that she frightened me out of my wits. Pray dear Lady Ellincourt, call her back, and beg her not to be angry with me." " My dear child," answered her ladyship, "this is mere fancy, I assure you. Nobody could come into your room without being heard by Parsons." " I heard no thing, I assure your ladyship," said Mrs. Par sons, " until Miss Fanny screamed out, and I was

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 4T

not asleep, for I had been indulging myself with a hook."

It was with great difficulty that "Lady ElliiiT court succeeded in pacifying the terrified Fanny., who lay trembling, and in the greatest agitation. " The poor child has been frightened through a dream," said the compassionate Lady, "so take her into my bed, Parsons, she shall not be left alone again to night, or her nerves may suffer se verely." Mrs. Parsons obeyed her lady's com mands, and Fanny was so delighted at being per mitted to sleep with her dear benefactress, that she forgot her terror, and her tears gave way to such emotions of joy, that Lady Ellincourt was sensibly affected, by a proof of attachment so un questionably exquisite.

The next day, however, Fanny persisted in her assertion, that she bad really seen her Mamma Sydney ; nor could all Lady Ellincourt's disser tations on the strength of the imagination, during the influence of dreams avail any thing ; the child still insisted that she was wide awake when the figure of Mamma Sydney appeared before her, and that the noise of some door opening had awakened her. " It seemed said she, " as if a door had been forced open that had been long shut, for it made a bursting noise." " There is only the door that leads from Parsons' door' to your's," replied Lady Ellincourt, " and that you know stood open ; you must therefore have been mistaken, my dear Fanny." Fanny shook her wise head : I cannot tell how it could be," said she, " but I am sure it was as I say."

The room in which Fanny slept was pannelled with cedar wood, which was carved in the most curious manner, and had no doubt been esteemed a chef-d1 ouvre of workmanship, at the time the house was built. The child's obstinacy respect ing the person she had seen, impressed Lady El

48 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

lincourt's mind so strongly, that she sent for a carpenter to examine the wainscot, with the most scrupulous exactness, in order to ascertain whe ther there was any secret entrance to the apart ment.

The scrutiny, however, produced nothing; to elucidate the mystery ; the man declared the partitions perfectly sound, and asserted that it was an utter impossibility that they should con- ce^l any way of entering the room impervious to his mi't^te investigation. This satisfied Lady El- lincourt ' an(^ sne returned to her first opinion — i. e. That V£nny had been misled by a dream ; and the circum^tance was so°n forgotte'n by the child, as no recurred ce °f tjle same terror could happen, as her joy at seeping with Lady Ellin- court, had endeared her ^ much to that lady, that she was permitted to rei^n the partner of her bed during her stay at Pe^berton Abbey, from whence she was conveyed to sch°°l? at the expiration of the vacation.

The Christmas following the Miss B*crlowe>s left Miss Bridewell's, and poor Fanny lost her best friend in her beloved Emily ; her sorrow was somewhat assuaged, however, by an unexpected event. Mr. and Mrs. Barlowe had come to Eng land to fetch their daughters, and the health of the latter was so delicate, that it was judged ne cessary to her recovery to breathe her native air for some time ; she determined therefore to stay a year in England, and thus Emily Barlowe had frequent opportunities of visiting her dear Fanny, as Mr. Barlowe entered into his daughter's feel ings respecting the child, with all the warmth of benevolence natural to his disposition. The high patronage the little orphan now enjoyed, ren dered all pecuniary aid unnecessary : but Mr. Barlowe knew enough of the world to believe that, notwithstanding present appearances, there

THE LITTLE MBNDICANT. 49

might come a day when poor Fanny would find that friendship is no inheritance.

u If Lord Ellincourt should neglect to make any settlement upon his adopted child," said the good gentleman, " life is a precarious tenure, and how soon may the sweet girl be exposed to the frowns of a cruel world, or indeed, what is still worse, to the various snares which are con stantly spread for indigent beauty, by the remorse less panders of opulent depravity."

" Surely," replied Emily, to whom this speech was addressed, " surely papa, Lord Ellincourt will not be so cruel as to leave the dear child unprovided for ; his lordship seems so very fond of her, that 1 should think such a thing im possible."

" Lord Ellincourt is a very young man," an swered Mr. Barlowe, "and besides ^hat, a very thoughtless one. I don't believe, by what I hear of him, that he ever did a good thing in his life, before he patronised Fanny. Such men as he think little about death, although there is certainly no situation which is more exposed to mortality, than that, of a true votary of fashion, since, should their necks escape the perils of charioteering — their health, the intemperate excesses of midnight revels — their lives lie at the mercy of every reprobate with whom they associate ; for should he choose to call them out for any frivolous offence, whether fancied or real, the imperious laws of honour forbid them to decline the combat : yes, such is the inverted order of things, that he who has dared to blas pheme his God in his common conversation, who tas infringed the sacred rights of humanity, upon the slightest temptation, and who has trampled, in their turn, every law, human and divine, as they opposed the gratification of his inordinate passions ; such a man, I say, will tremble to act jn opposition to the self-created law of the Mo-

50 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

loch of these days, at whose shrine modern idola ters still sacrifice their children without remorse or contrition."

If Mr. Barlowe had merely reasoned upon the subject of Fanny's precarious situation, little merit could have been arrogated for such a nega tive proof of his regard for her, but that worthy gentleman had not so much of the Pharisee in his composition ; he never discussed any subject either moral or divine, without acting up to the principles he professed, and in this instance he went even farther than common bounds of bene volence, for he provided for a contingency which appeared perfectly imaginary to every eye but his own.

Before Mr. Barlowe left England, he vested five hundred pounds in the funds, in the name of Fanny, and appointed a trustee to apply it to her use, in case any thing should happe^n to render such an assistance necessary. As Fanny had no surname, Mr. Barlowe had described her actual residence at the time of the donation, and other circumstances propex to identify her, with a pre cision that proved his anxiety for her welfare, and his own kind heart, beyond the possibility of a doubt. The friend to whom the trust was con fided, was charged too, to give immediate notice, by letter, to Mr. Barlowe, should any accident happen to place Fanny in circumstances of neces sity, as the generous gift was intended merely as a prelude to his further bounty, in case of such an event, as it had always been Mr. Barlowe's intention to indulge his daughter's wish of adopt ing the pretty orphan, if it could be done with out prejudice to her favourite; and although Lord Ellincourt's bounty superseded that inten tion for the present, Mr. Barlowe still cherished the idea that the scheme might yet become both practicable and agreeable to all parties.

The amiable heart of the gentle Emily felt the

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 51

most grateful impression of her father's ^kind ness ; yet, still she found it impossible to be lieve any thing that militated against the exalted opinion she had formed of Lord Ellincourt's good ness. The benevolence his^lordship had evinced for her favourite, in that trying moment, when her own heart was nearly broken at finding her self powerless in her cause, had first recommended him to her favour ; the agremens of a handsome person and highly-finished manners had com pleted the conquest, and the gentle Emily had bestowed her affections beyond the power of re calling them, upon the unconscious Ellincourt, before she even suspected such a thing was pos sible.

A father's anxious eyes had penetrated the guarded secret of her bosom, by them he had seen nis daughter twice in Lord Ellincourt's company, he had observed too with equal precision, that his lordship's ideas had never wandered towards the love-sick Emily, and his prudence suggested an immediate separation. It was this conviction, too, that had induced him to dwell withsuch force upon the general depravity of fashionable men, in his conversation with his daughter,which had j ust been related, hoping that his just strictures upon the manners of the great, would tend to weaken her par tiality for Lord Ellincourt. But, alas ! when the po ets described love as a blind deity, they ought to have added that he was deaf also, and that his vota ries were generally subject to the same infirmities.

Emily Barlowe had been accustomed to be lieve her father's opinions infallible, but on this occasion she either did not hear them, from the reason above mentioned, or they failed in their usual effect.

The year allotted for Emily Barlowe's stay in

England son glided away, and the mournful

hour arrived that was to tear her from dear Eng-

• land — her tenderly-beloved Fanny — and from the

52 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OH,

contemplation of that admired countenance, whose smile never failed of imparting delight, and whose frown gave the thrill of anguish to her heart.

Fanny was at Lady Ellincourt's house, on a visit, at the time of the Barlowe's departure, and as Emily was a particular favourite with her lady ship, she was invited to spend the last week of her stay in London, under the same roof with her favourite. This was a dangerous indulgence to the tender girl, who had now an opportunity of more frequently meeting with another favourite, not so congenial to her happiness as the blooming- Fanny. Lord Ellincourt had always thought Emily Barlowe a sweet girl, and felt grateful to her for her kindness to Fanny, but he was too much accustomed to the boldness of modern la dies, whose beauty demand rather than wins ad miration, to be easily charmed by unobtrusive merit, and soft feminine loveliness, veiled by the shade of genuine modesty.

His lordship felt surprised, therefore, to find what a charming girl he nad so long regarded with indifference, when a more social intercourse dis played those attractions to his notice, which had been hitherto concealed by the amiable diffidence of the lovely possessor. " Upon my honour," said his lordship, the morning after Emily's de parture, " upon my honour, I should have been desperately in love with Emily Barlowe, if she had staid a little longer. Where did she hide all her powers of charming so long ? Most young la- . dies are to be known now a-days, by conversing with them two or three times ; at least all that is agreeable in them ; but this lovely creature seems to rise in one's estimation every time one con verses with her, and I have never examined her blushing countenance of late, without discovering some beauty unobserved before, yet which ap peared too striking to be overlooked by any, but

THR L ITT Li: MENDICANT; 63

an insensible. Can you tell me, my dear mother, the reason of this late discovery ?r

Lady Ellincourt smiled. " The reason, my dear Edmund, lies in your own breast, .where a growing partiality has beautified its object, and discovered charms impervious to any other vi sion." " What do not you admire Emily then ?" asked Lord Ellincourt. " 1 do, most sincerely," answered her ladyship, " but so I always did ; I find no new beauties, she always appeared to me a lovely girl, both in mind and person*"." I wish you had said before, that you thought her so," replied Lord Ellincourt, with a thoughtful look. Lady Ellincourt smiled. " 1 never wished to direct your choice, Edmund," said she, "but if it had fallen on Miss Emily Barlowe, I certainly should have started no objection ; her fortune is, Ic^rge, and her family unexceptionable ; but she is gone, and you must endeavour to forget her." *' That is impossible," replied his lordship, whose imagination had grown warm, in discuss ing the subject, u I can never forget the charm ing Emily, and I have a great mind to follow her to Jamaica." " Take a little time for considera tion," said Lady Ellincourt, " the fit may go off, a lover's eternity is not of long duration — some times*" " You treat the matter lightly, my dear mother," said Lord Ellincourt, but depend upon it you will find 1 am serious ; in the meantime, 1 am glad to find this alliance does not come within the censure of ill assorted matches, which I re member you once seriously warned me against — apropos, you said there was a melancholy instance in our family, of the folly of such marriages ; I wish you would tell me the long story, as you styled it, I feel an inclination for such an indul gence ; will you grant it me ?" " With pleasure, my dear Edmund," replied Lady Ellincourt, " when we have time to get to the end of it, which .3 H

54 FATHEULESS FANNY ; OR,

is not the case now. This evening, however, t shall be at your service. Fanny is to return to Myrtle Grove this morning;, her young companions will console her better than I can, for the loss she h&s sustained, or at least make her forget her sor row, for that is the only remedy, at her age.'' Lord Ellincourt said " he would accompany his mother inner morning drive, and assist in taking their mutual favourite to school."

Fanny was now in her eleventh year, and beau tiful as an angel. There was such an expression of innocence and sweetness in her countenance, that it was impossible not to love her ; and although the tints of the rose, the lily, the violet, and the carnation, combined to render her complexion lovely, it was the emanation of her heavenly mind that gave that brilliancy to her counte nance, which rendered it truly dazzling. Lord Ellincourt contemplated his lovely ward, as he sat opposite to her in his mother's barouche, and he was more than ever struck with her exquisite beauty. That sweet girl, thought he, must be protected with unceasing vigilance, or she will fall a sacrifice to some of the wretches, her un common loveliness will not fail to attract around her. But, although Lord Ellincourt felt the ne cessity of protecting Fanny, he neglected the surest method of doing so, and thereby verified Mr. Barlowe's opinion of him, that he was a thoughtless, as well as a young man.

We will now, however, set down Fanny at Miss Bridewell's, and jumping over a few hours, or killing them by "Any. fashionable device, bring our readers to Lady Ellincourt's fire-side ; where her lady ship on one side, and her son on the other, they may listen to our next chapter, which con tains a long story.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. £6

CHAPTER IV.

i

A Long Story*

" MY father," said Lady Ellincourt, " was, you know, the Marquis of Petersfield, but at the time of his coming of age, there was very little pro bability of his ever attaining to that dignity, as he was only a very distant branch of the Trentham family, and no less than thirteen living claimants, besides the chance of there having children, stood between him and the title ; yet such is the muta bility of all human tenures, that notwithstanding these opposing obstacles, my father became Mar quis of Petersfield by the time he was eight-ami - thirty. He was then a widower, with two chil dren — my dear lamented brother and myself; happy would it have been for us had he never been induced to re-enter the pale of wedlock! My father had doated on my mother, and he transferred his affections to her children, when she was borne from him by a premature death. Never was a fonder parent, a more indulgent friend, than he always approved himself to us, whilst we were so happy as to share his love be tween us.

" My brother was nearly three years older than 1 was, and the most perfect friendship existed between us from the first dawn of reason. My beloved Seymour was of so sweet a disposition that he made it his study to render me happy, and the little superiority he had over me, in point of age, rendered him at once my instructor and playmate. At the time of my father's second marriage, I had just attained my fourteenth year, and Seymour was seventeen.

£6 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OU,

" The lady selected for our mother-in-law, was every way my father's inferior, both as to rank and fortune ; being merely the daughter of a subaltern officer, who had been educated as half- boarder to a school of repute, and from thence attained to the employment of governess to two overgrown girls of fashion, whose ill-judging mother had engaged Miss Henderson to relieve her from the irksome task of entertaining her daughters, for instruction had been long out of the question with the pupils committed to her care. The eldest Miss Howard, was seventeen at the time Miss Henderson entered Lady How ard's family, and the youngest considerably turned of fifteen.

" The girls were co-heiresses, and perfectly aware of their approaching independence — their fortunes were to be at their own disposal the very day of their coming of age.

" Miss Henderson was artful enough to consult her own interest, rather than the improvement of her pupils ; she accordingly indulged there most capricious fancies, and entered into their most un reasonable projects with a degree of patient per severance, that succeeded in rendering her indis- pensible to their happiness. This was just what Miss Henderson had intended, and she exulted in the success of her schemes. Instead of being dismissed when her pupils were presented, as is usual with governesses in general, Miss Hender son was retained as their companion, with an in creased salary, that she might be enabled to visit with them, in a style of elegance suitable to the appearance of the ladies she accompanied. This much wished -for intercourse with the fashionable world, introduced Miss Henderson to my father, and her ambition was fired with the hopes of ob taining his notice as a lover, which hopes were Afterwards but too fatally realized, for the welfare

i -LITTLP MttNDICAXT. ,57

of my unfortunate brother and myself. Miss Henderson was the epitome of every thing that is hateful in woman ; artful, designing, and insatia^ bly ambitious.

" In the subordinate station she had hither to filled, %it had been necessary for her to dis play the most unvarying complaisance. She had appeared, therefore, to my father's infatuated fancy, a gentle timid creature, wrhose diffidence and unassuming mode&ty veiled half the perfec tions of her mind ; and he exulted in the thought of bestowing upon his children a mother-in-law, who would be as solicitous for ther welfare as" he was himself. Unhappy delusion ; which cost him but too dear! No sooner was Miss Henderson raised to the rank of Marchioness of Petersfield, than all her complaisance, her humility, and her gentleness vanished like the fading meteor.

" The most haughty airs, the most intolerable caprice, were instantly displayed by the new- made peeress, and felt by every unfortunate creature who came within the circle of her power. To my brother she took the most inve terate dislike, from the first week of her mar riage ; and Lord Durham's extravagance, arid Lord Durham's idleness, the unformed rude ness of his manners, soon became the unfailing theme of her invective, \\hilst he was at home the poor youth never enjoyed a moment's respite from her malice; and when he returned to col lege, his bills were censured, his allowance cur tailed, and every vexatious torture inflicted upon him, which cruelty could invent, or ingenuity devise. Tome she was more indulgent, for she felt not the same jealousy of my existence, which disturbed her with regard to my brother.

" She was ambitious of becoming the MOTH.CK, as well as the wife, of a Marquis ; and the birth of a son a year after her marriage, rendered her more formidably malicious to Lord Durham, than

58 FATHKRLIiSS FANNY ; OK,

she had ever been before. At the age of nineteen my dear brother \vas sent abroad, to give that necessary finish to polite education., which used to be acquired by visiting the different Courts of Europe, but which has been impracticable ever since French anarchy has convulsed every Eu ropean state with war and faction. The evening before his departure, the amiable youth was in my dressing room, passing the last few hours of his stay in the parental mansion, with the only person who appeared to lament his departure. My father's affection had long been weaned from him by the artifices of his cruel mother-in-law.

" * My dear Caroline,' said Lord Durham, pressing my hand as he spoke, ( I am, at this mo ment, labouring under an affliction of which your gentle breast nas no idea. The pangs I feel at parting from my sweet sister are severe indeed ; but what will she say when I assure her that there exists another dear one, from whom I cannot tear myself without feelings of agony, nothing inferior to those which part the soul and body.' t Good heavens !' exclaimed I, ' what means my dearest Seymour T ' I mean,' replied the sweet youth, * that I have undone myself by my imprudence, and that I have involved the most amiable of her sex in my ruin — I am married t' £ Married !' re peated 1, 'and to whom?' ' To an angel,' rejoin^ ed he, wringing his hands in agony, ' Oh ! Caro line, your heart will bleed for her, when you know her.' * Have you never hinted your situation to my father?' enquired I, trembling as I spoke, for I perceived such a wildness in my brother's looks, that it alarmed me beyond expression. ' I never touched upon the subject but once,' answered he, t and then I was silenced in a manner too de cisive to admit of my again renewing it.'

" £ But who is the lady ?' said 1, ( you forget my anxiety, for I am sure you would not trifle

THE LITTLE M12NDICAXT. 59

xvith it ! ( You know Lady Emily Hinchinbroke ?" * I do,' replied I, ' but surely it is not her, the daughter of my father's deadly foe, the man who would have deprived him of life?' * It is, it is,1 exclaimed Seymour, in an agony of grief, i ah! why did 1 ever behold her face ? Why was I ever taught the inestimable value of an affection that has undone me ? But I will no longer keep you in suspense ; the mornftil story is a short one : —

*f ( I became acquainted with the fascinating Emily whilst on a visit to Lord Riversdale, her maternal uncle, whose son has always been my most intimate friend at college ; the attachment was mutual, and I really believe its violence was increased by the certainty that it never could be approved by our parents, A secret correspon dence has been carried on these two years be tween us, and at length, in a fit of desperation, it was determined that- we should be asked in church, and married, as we were both under age, and could not be united by any other means. This plan was the suggestion of Sir Henry Pou- let, Lord Rivcrsdale's son, who has been our con fidant from the beginning of our attachment. In a fatal hour we both acceded to it. Emily was on a visit at Lord Riversdale's in Berkeley Square, and as J visited there every day, with the freedom of a son, the unfortunate scheme was but too easily accomplished.

" ' It is now about five months since Ave were united, amFalready have we deeply repented our imprudent rashness, and yet our repentance does not originate in decay of affection, far from it, our love is more tender, more ardent than ever ; but alas ! we see too plainly the fatal consequences of our impatience. My own sufferings would be nothing in my eyes, were it not for those entailed upon my Emily. Oh ! that any selfish gratifica tion should have induced me to fill that heart

GO FA Till: KL ESS FANNY; Oil,

with sorrow, that beats only for me ! The secret has hitherto been kept inviolable, and I believe unsuspected, but that security is at an end, for Lord Somertown has fixed upon a husband for his daughter, and she has received notice to prepare herself for the event. The rich Marquis of Alderney is his intended son-in-law. Emily entreats me to leave her to the development of our unhappy secret,, and assures me that she con siders it a fortunate circumstance that I am about to leave England, as she thinks her father's anger will cool sooner when he feels the impossibility of wreaking it upon me ; but these arguments have little weight with a heart so anxious as mine, and I would rather brave his utmost fury than leave my angel Emily, to encounter the slightest share of his resentment. I have done every thing in my power to delay my journey, but nothing can avail me to protract my departure any longer, unless I make a premature discovery, which must inevitably prove fatal to us both. I am constrain ed, therefore, to abandon her my soul holds dear est upon earth, at the moment she stands most in need of my support.

" ( All our hopes rest upon some accidental rupture of the marriage treaty, between Lord Somcrtown and the Marquis of Alderney. If Emily could but remain unmolested until I am of age, every thing would be well. Henry Poulet has promised to give me notice, should any violent step be taken with my Emily, that I may fly to her succour; for what barriers could pre vent me from returning, if her danger called for

C? ' ^j

my protection ? No impediment that -seas, rocks, or mountains can present, could for an instant in timidate a mind absorbed as mine is, by one ob ject, dearer than life itself.

" i I listened to this recital of my brother's un- fortunate story with an aching heart, too well ac-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 61

quainted with the animosity that existed between Lady Emily's father and my own, to form the slightest hope of their ever being reconciled ; my phrophetic eye beheld in an instant the phial of vengeance poured upon their devoted heads. Lady Petersfield I knew would aggravate every thing likely to render my brother obnoxious to my father's anger, and I too plainly foresaw that the unpropitious union would not be long a secret. Yet still I thought it better that my brother should not be within reach of Lord Somevtown's vengeance, during the first emotions of fury that would follow the fatal discovery ; 1 therefore urged his immediate departure : and, endeavour ing to veil my own agonized feelings, I spoke the words of hope, whilst my heart trembled with terror ; my faultering accents, however, but ill-accorded with the cheerfulness I wished to inspire. Seymour wrung my hand, whilst agony was painted on his countenance. i It is in vain, my sister, that you attempt to console me — that pale cheek — that quivering lip — and tear- fraught eye, but too plainly tell me what you think of our situation. The die is cast, and our fate is ir revocable. To heaven I commend my Emily. Ah, surely innocence, such as her's, will not be forsaken ! And yet why should I abandon her ? No ! I will stay, and brave the worst ; I will this nio-ht confess my marriage to my father, and implore his protection for my adored wife ; he will not, I am sure, be able to resist the elo quence of a love like mine.'

" ' For heaven's said,' interrupted I, ' think no moie of such a mad scheme, replete with in stant ruin. You talk of softening my father by your eloquence ; but oh ! tell me who shall oe found sufficiently skilled in persuasion, to soothe the anger of Lord Somertown ! You are both under age, the marriage can therefore be set

3. i

62 FATHERLESS FANNY ; Ott,

aside, and you may depend upon it that will be the first step her vindictive father would take, should you by a premature disco very, put it into his power to do so. You are going; abroad, when vou return

, ~ ~ 7 •'

you will be of age. It will be easy to find oppor tunity of rendering your marriage indissoluble by repeating the ceremony, and who knows what accidents may intervene during the period of your absence, that may render its renewal more propitious. Lord Somertown is not immortal, and should he die, I am sure my father's animo sity would die with him. He is too good a man to visit the sins of the father upon the innocent offspring,'

" ' True, my dear sister,' replied Lord Dur ham, * but instead of the fair prospect, you en deavour to place before my eyes, suppose my Emily's stern parent should insist upon her giv ing her hand to another ; what will become of the timid girl, unsupported as she will then be by the husband, for whose sake she must brave the brutal fury of that most vindictive man ?' c Should any treaty of marriage be likely to be brought to a conclusion,' said I, ( it will then be time enough for you to return and acknow- lege your marriage. I promise to take the first opportunity of getting an interview with Lady Emily ; I visit a lady who is intimate with her, we will then lay a plan for carrying on a corres pondence, and I promise to inform you of every movement which seems likely to threaten your beloved Emily with danger.' * Kind beloved sis-r ter !' exclaimed my brother, pressing my hand, ( I will rely on your friendship, and be guided by your advice, and believe me, it is no small conso lation to me, in this hour of trial, to possess a con fidant so ready to sympathize in my sufferings.'

" Soon after this conversation, my brother took his leave, and I passed the remainder of the night

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 63

in tears and lamentations, without attempting to undress myself or go to bed. At the peep of day, I heard the carriage that was to convey him away come to the door. I crept to my window, and saw him step into it, attended by his tutor, the door closed upon him, and the rattling of the wheels was soon lost in distance. 1 listened to the last faint sound, and throwing myself upon my bed, I exclaimed, < he is gone ! I shall see that beloved face no more !' My tears nearly suf focated me, and I sank upon my pillow in an ago ny of woe. Alas ! my words were prophetic — 1 saw the noble youth no more ! He was doomed to fall beneath the murderous steel of an assas sin ! But I must not anticipate the catastrophe.

" Lord Durham was no sooner gone, than our cruel mother-in-law set every engine to work to ruin him with his father. Through the medium of a discarded servant from Lord Somertown's, she learned the secret of my brother's attach ment to Lady Emily — of the marriage, however, she knew nothing, nor do I believe a suspicion of such a circumstance ever crossed her imagina tion. This was, however, sufficient to exasper ate my father, the bare idea of a connexion be tween his son and the daughter of his implaca ble enemy, filled him with fury, and so artfully did his unprincipled wife work upon his irritated feelings, that he took a solemn oath never to see his son again if he persisted in his choice^of Lady Emily for a wife.

" This resolution was communicated to my un fortunate brother, in a letter from his incensed father, who imprecated the most dreadful male dictions upon his son's head, should he dare to act in disobedience to his commands.

" My Brother was at Nice when he received the fatal mandate, and he pursued his way to Italy, with a heart nearly broken with anguish and remorse. In the mean time I had fulfilled

64 "* ATHEKLr.RX FANNY ; Oft,

my promise of cultivating Lady Emily's friend ship, and I often had the satisfaction of observ ing that the sweet girl seemed to receive the most salutary consolation from our mutual con fidence. We could not meet openly, but we en joyed our friendly intercourses unsuspected, at the house of a third person. Poor Lady Emily's health began to decline rapidly : she became pale and thin, and the depression of her spirits seemed to increase daily ; she was so urgent for me to pass as much time as possible with her, that I often went imprudent lengths to gratify her, and the consequence was, that the implacable Lady Petersfield discovered our intimacy by means of some of her spies ; this was fresh food for her malice, and she did not fail to make use of it, to the destruction of the unhappy lovers.

" Lady Emily had shewn so much firmness in the refusal of the Marquis of Alderney's addres ses, that her father, who did not in the least de gree suspect the cause of it, yielded to her ob stinacy, and dismissed the lover. What then was his fury when he was informed by a letter from Lap!y Petersfield, that there was a secret corres pondence carried on between his daughter and Lord. Durham. The letter was couched in terms of haughty defiance, and implied to have been written by my father's order; it contained a pe remptory injunction to put a stop to the con nexion, or to tremble for the consequences.

" No language could do justice to the rage that agitated the furious Earl, when he had read the fatal letter ; he sent for Lady Emily into his presence, arid so violent was the paroxysm of his anger, that he would certainly have made her its victim, by destroying her the instant she came before him, but for the timely interference of a servant, who came to her assistance, and forcibly dragged her from-her enraged father, at the peril

THE L1TTLF. MENDICANT. 65

of his own life, and conveyed her out of her pa ternal mansion before Lord Somertovvn was aware of his intention. The sweet girl lay concealed in an obscure lodging for several days, and the ser vant having disappeared also, the voice of scandal soon spread the report that Lord Somertown's daughter had ran off with her father's footman.

" Lady Petersfield took care to have several paragraphs respecting this pretended elopement inserted in different papers, and collecting the various reports together, she made a packet of them aikd sent them with Lord Durham's letters to Florence. A. letter from me, however, went by the same mail, which informed my brother of Lord Somertown's ill-treatment of Lady Emily, and her fortunate escape from his tyranny. I assured him his beloved Emily was in safe hands, and had determined to return no more to her fa ther, as she found herself in a fair way of becom ing a mother, and therefore knew too well the fatal consequences of such a circumstance being known to her father, to risk so dangerous a step. I endeavoured to inspire my brother with a de gree of confidence I did not feel myself, but my letter produced the contrary effect, for it made him take the rash resolution of returning imme diately to England.

" His tortured mind beheld his beloved wife exposed to every danger, both from relations and strangers. Oppressed by her father, traduced by the world, and defenceless amidst a host of ene mies. The picture was too horrible to dwell upon, and without giving me any notice of his intention, the unfortunate youth set out on his retrogade journey. In the mean time every effort was made by Lord Somertown to discover the re treat of his daughter, but without success ; she still eluded his vigilance, and was so fortunate as to reach the house of a generous friend, who had

66 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

determined to run all risks for her sake, without any suspicion being awakened among the nume rous spies who were upon the watch to detect her movements; as soon as I was informed of this lucky circumstance, I wrote the pleasing news to my brother, little imagining that he was on his way to England, regardless of danger, and impa tient of delay.

" At this time my father removed his family to the country for the summer, and I was under the necessity of accompanying him ; this was a cruel trial to me, as I found it very difficult to obtain any intelligence of Emily, as it was impossible to write to her by direct means, and the tedious me thods I was forced to adopt, rendered my sus pense and anxiety intolerable. At length the agreeable news reached me that she had given birth to a daughter, and was in a fair way to do well.

" How did I exult at that moment in the pleasing reflection that the sweet infant had escaped the fury of Lord Somertown, from whose vindictive rage 1 felt the most dreadfulapprehensions. Alas! I had but little time for exultation, as a very few days only elapsed before the deepest sorrow over whelmed me in the premature death of the most amiable of brothers. Lord Durham had pursued his journey to England with such unremitting di ligence, that he arrived in London before I thought it probable he had received my letter.

" Disappointed at not finding me in town, he wrote to me in haste to enquire the retreat of his beloved Emily. This letter, by one of those un lucky chances that too frequently occur, in clan destine proceedings, fell into the hands of our im placable mother-in-law.

" Lord Durham's hand-writing was well known to her, and as the London post-mark struck her eye, her fertile imagination presented the possibility of

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 67

my brother's return to England, on Lady Emily's account. Lady Petensfield had no idea that the unhappy pair were already united, but supposed that Lord Durham had been brought back by Emily's entreaties, that the union might be ce mented. There was nothing Lady Pctersfield dreaded more than my brother's marrying, and she naturally concluded, as he was so much at tached to Lady Emily, if she could but prevent the hiarriage, there would be little danger of his making another choice. Full of these ideas, therefore, the cruel woman carried my brother's letter to my father without breaking the seal, and imparting her sentiments to him, upon the subject, left it to his own option whether he would read it or not. My father did not hesitate a moment, but tearing open the fatal letter, he soon became master of the carefully-concealed secret,

" Good Heavens ! what a scene followed ! I was sent for by my enraged parent, and loaded with every epithet anger could dictate or passion utter ! In accents scarcely articulate from fury, he demanded the place of Lady Emily's retire ment, and said he would not only disinherit, but instantly renounce me, if I refused to satisfy him on that head. His threats, had, however, no other effect than that of determining me to keep the secret inviolable. ' Oh! my father,' said I, throw ing myself on my knees before him, c oh! my fa ther, spare ^our unhappy daughter, and tempt her not to betray confiding friendship. I have solemnly swore not to reveal to any one the re treat of my unhappy sister, and I cannot break the sacred vow, though you were even cruel enough to fulfil your dreadful threats, and crush me beneath the weight of your vengeance,'

" * Begone from my presence, serpent,' said my father, * begone, or I shall curse thee! Hovr soon does a girl, when she is made the confidant of a

68

FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

romantic love story, lose all sense of duty, all shame of acting rebellious to her parents. You talk of friendship with your father's bitter enemy, and would prefer wounding his heart, to the un pardonable crime of betraying his highly-prized friend. But call her not your sister, at your peril, give her not that name. She is not — she cannot be that — no marriage can be good which is con tracted by a minor, and I will take care your bro ther shall have no opportunity of renewing the contract. Begone to your apartment, girl, and in that retirement endeavour to recall to your perverted mind some sense of filial duty. I forbid you to leave your room until I withdraw the pro hibition, and if you value your brother's happi ness, attempt not to write to him.'

" 1 obeyed my father's harsh mandate in silence, and retired slowly to my room, where I had the mortification of finding myself constantly attend ed and closely watched by Lady Petersfield's confidential friend — a creature who seemed to bear an instructive hatred both to my brother and myself.

" In the mean time my father wrote to Lord Durham, and informed him that having come to a knowledge of his most unpardonable miscon duct, in attaching himself to Lady Emily, he of fered him his pardon, on one condition only, namely, to return immediately to the Continent, without attempting to see the object of his impru dent choice. ' All efforts to obtain an interview/ added my father, ' will prove ineffectual, and only serve to expose you to my just resentment, as Lady Emily is now in her father's house, where I hope she will recover a proper sense of her duty, and no longer endeavour to seduce you from your's.'

" The receipt of this letter, instead of intimidat ing my brother, as it was intended to do, had a contrary effect, and determined him instantly to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT, 69

declare his marriage to both families, and demand his wife. Full of this resolution, he wrote a letter to his father, acknowledging his fault in having taken a step of such importance, without his sanc tion, but at the same time declaring that it was his fixed resolve to abide by the consequences, be they what they might, and live only for his Emily. ' I am going,' added he, * to demand her of her cruel father, for she shall no longer remain under his tyranny.'

" The letter concluded with the most affecting entreaty lor pardon, and an appeal to Lord Pe- tersfield's parental feelings in behalf of his unfor tunate son. As soon as my brother had despatch ed this letter, he Hew to Lord Somertown s, and requested an interview with his lordship. To his surprise he was immediately admitted. Lord Somertown received him with haughty coldness, but without any appearance of the violence he had expected. Encouraged by this, Lord Durham, entered upon an immediate explanation of his marriage with Lady Emily, and in a mild but de termined manner desired to be allowed to see her.

" ' Who told you she was in my house ?' asked Lord Somertown. ' My father,' replied Lord Durham. * The information is worthy the infor mer,' rejoined the exasperated Earl, whose coun tenance now bore testimony to the rage that boiled within his bosom. * I will tell you what, young man,' added he, in a voice scarcely articulate through stifled fury, ' I will tell you what, you have injured me beyond the reach of remedy, and 1 will have vengeance. Remember ! I tell you so. As to my daughter, she is not nor ever shall be, your wife : much sooner would I see her expire beneath the tortures of the rack, than acknow ledge such an union. Your boasted marriage is null and void, for you are both under age ; name it not again, for I will annul it.

No. 4. K

70 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

" ' My marriage is valid, and no power can an nul it,' replied Lord Durham, * we were married at our parish church, after having the banns pub lished three times, in the same place, according *o the form prescribed ; and had you, my lord, attended public worship, as you ought to do, you would have had an opportunity of forbidding the banns, if the marriage did not meet with your ap probation,'

" ' Vile traitor !' exclaimed Lord Somertown, 4 begone from my presence : and he rang the bell for the servants to turn my brother out, which they did by force, with the most insolent brutality. " ' Remember,' cried Lord Somertown, as the men were dragging my brother out, ' remember I will annul the marriage, there are more ways than one of doing it. No Trentham shall unite with my family, and live.' When my brother returned home, he wrote a letter to me relating all that had passed at Lord Somertown's, and entreating me to inform him whether his Emily was, indeed, un der her father's roof.

" My brother desired me to endeavour to soften his father in his favour, and to lend him what as sistance I could, in finding his beloved wife. The writing of this letter, was the last action that was known of the unfortunate youth's life. A note had been given him, whilst he was employed in it, and as soon as he had finished it he took his hat and went out. His servant waited up for him, until the dawn of day, and felt great alarm at his staying out, as it was very unusual with my bro ther to do so. When the porter got up, Lord Durham's valet went to bed, and having slept till nine o'clock, found his anxiety greatly encreased, when he learned that his Lord had not yet re turned.

" My father, on the receipt of my brother's letter, had set off immediately for London, and arrived there late the same night.

TK-E LITTLE KfiNBICANT. 71

" The house was in the utmost confusion when he alighted from his carriage, as the bleeding body of my brother had just been found in Ken sington Gardens, and recently owned by his affec tionate valet, whose anxiety for his master's safety had led him all over the town in search of him. The report of a wounded gentleman being found in Kensington Gardens, soon reached his ears, and he flew to the spot whither Lord Durham had. been conveyed by the person who found him, and where surgical aid had been administered in vain ; for although my dear brother shewed signs of life for several hours after he was found, he never spoke, nor gave the least token of sensibi lity, and every glimmering of hope was fled, and the last faint struggle over, before poor Graham arrived, who instantly recognised his beloved master, when he looked upon his lifeless corpse, disfigured as it was by wounds and blood ; and on searching his pockets narrowly, a note, which had escaped the notice of the first examiners, was found, which Lord Durham had received only a few minutes before he left his father's house, and which no doubt, led him to the spot where he was murdered.

*'The hand writing was an imitation of Lady Emily's, and the words were merely these: — * Precisely at five o'clock this afternoon, you will find a person at Kensington Garden gate, who will lead you to your faithful wife. — Emily.'

" A latent hope of reviving his dear Lord, not withstanding his lifeless appearance, and the opinion of the surgeon, had induced poor Gra ham to have my brother conveyed home, where every aid was immediately summoned, that anxiety and affection could suggest ; but human help was of no avail, the vital spark had fled, and the inanimate body was incapable of receiv ing succour.

" The fatal sentence had just been pronounced

72 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

by the surgeons Graham's care had assembled, at the moment of my father's arrival. It is im possible to describe the agony of that distracted parent when the fatal news was revealed to him. He had set out on his journey with sentiments of the most violent anger towards his son, and de termined at all events to annul the marriage, which was the cause of his displeasure, little ex pecting to find it for ever set aside, by a catas trophe so fatal. The circumstances of my poor bro ther's being discovered were extraordinary. Two men employed in the gardens had heard the re port of two pistols whilst they were at the oppo site side of the gardens, they both agreed that it was a duel, and made the best of their way to wards the spot the sound appeared to come from. " They were some time, however, before they found any thing to confirm their suspicions. As it was a rainy day no person was walking, and when they had looked, in vain, for some traces of the supposed duellists, they were about to aban don their opinion, and return to their work, when one of them stumbled over something lying on the grass, and on stooping to examine what it was, found a pistol. This circumstance reviving their former suspicion, they made a diligent search, and soon afterwards discovered my unfortunate brother lying extended at the foot of a large tree, whose spreading branches had so darkened the spot, that the long grass concealed him, until the men were close to him. His hat was off, and lay at some distance from him, and a pistol, un loaded, lay close beside him. Some faint signs of life, that appeared on a close examination, in duced the men to lift him from his cold bed, and convey him to the nearest public house, though a fear for their own safety had well-nigh deterred them from the charitable act, as the mys-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 73

terious circumstances of his death rendered it but too probable that they might be suspected of murdering him. Their humanity triumphed over their fears, and they acted the part of the good Samaritan. On their entrance in the public house, the men desired the landlord to examine the dear youth's pockets, when his purse was found, con taining a considerable sum of money, and his watch, which was a gold repeater of great value ; which proved beyond a doubt that he had not been robbed.

" From a fear of getting into trouble, the land lord of the public house where my brother lay, had summoned the coroner, with the utmost des patch, and an inquest was held upon the body before it was cold. At this investigation it had been decided that the gentleman had been killed in a duel with some person unknown, as the two pistols being found at a distance from each other, proved he Lad not put an end to his own exist ence, and his property being untouched^ was a presumptive evidence that he had not fallen by the hand of a robber. The mournful ceremony was over before the arrival of Graham, who re probated their precipitation in the strongest terms, exclaiming, * Tnat he was sure his dear master was not dead, but had only fainted through loss of blood.'

" He had his Lord removed, therefore, as soon as a litter could be provided, with the tenderest caution ; but, as I nave already related, disap pointment was the sad result of all the faithful crea&ure's endeavours.

" The consequence of this mournful event, was a serious fit of illness to my father, whose agonised feelings were too much for his constitution ; he re proached himself incessantly with his son's death, believing that his own severity had driven him on his ruin ; notwithstanding the circumstance of two

•

74 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

pistols being found at a distance from each other, my father always thought Lord Durham had kil led himself, although the note found in his pocket by Graham, but too plainly pointed out the mournful truth, and left not a shadow of doubt upon my mind that my brother had been trepan ned by the vile forgery, into the power of an as sassin; who that assassin was, has never been dis covered, though I must own my suspicions rested on one person only, either as the principal, or at least the employer. My father sent for me the day after he took to his bed, and endeavoured by his tenderness to atone for the harsh manner in which he had treated me.

" He mentioned his intention of acknowledg ing Lady Durham and her infant, and sent me to the place of her concealment, with a kind mes sage to that purport.

"But alas ! a new sorrow was prepared for me: the retreat of the unfortunate Emily had been discovered by her implacable father, who forcibly conveyed her to one of his own mansions in a dis tant country. The lovely creature had refused to part with her child, who was accordingly per mitted to accompany her in her banishment.

" Mjr father received the news of this fresh act of cruelty with real concern. He had rested his hopes of conciliating his uneasy conscience by shewing to the beloved wife of his lamented son, the deep penitence he felt for his former cruelty, and endeavouring to atone for it by every act of tenderness her forlorn situation required. This mournful satisfaction was, however, denied him, and he took on so heavily, that his grief produced a train of disorders, which soon became fatal. He survived his son only thirteen months ; dur ing the whole of that melancholy period, I lived totally secluded from society. Lady Petersfield endeavoured in vain to displace me from my fa ther's, sick-room ; I was tenacious of my post as

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 15

head nurse, and as my services appeared more agreeable to my unhappy parent than any other person's, all her manoeuvres were fallacious.

" When her ladyship found I was stationary, she came less frequently into the apartment, and soon returned to her gay habits,, without concern ing herself about the invalid, whom she repre sented as an hypochondriac, to all her acquain tance. Indeed her ladyship's spirits appeared better than ever, after my dear brother's death. Her favourite point was obtained, her son was now Lord Durham. She heard of my brother's mar riage, and that there was a child, but her indefa tigable genius soon discovered that it was a daugh ter, and therefore not to be feared. During the whole time my father lived, I received no letter from Lady Durham, nor could I gain any access to her by all the stratagems I could devise; va rious and tormenting were the reports spread abroad of that interesting creature.

" Sometimes 1 heard she was in a deep decline; at others, that she had quite recovered her health and spirits, and was about to emerge from her re tirement, and become the ornament of ton. I dared not to mention these vague rumours to my father, whose spirits became weaker every day, and whose remorse was frequently beyond the control of reason. At length the awful moment arrived — the agonised frame could no longer sup port the painful struggle — my poor father died of a broken heart, in his forty-ninth year, and left me an isolated being, without one friend to con sole me. I could not remain with Lady Peters- field, the sight of her was insupportable; I there fore removed as soon as 1 decently could to my Aunt Morrison's, where I remained till I mar ried Lord Ellincourt, which event took place the ensuing year.

" The bustle of my marriage obliged me to mix

76 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

more with the world, and by degrees I recovered a portion of my former spirits, yet still I heard nothing of my poor Emily that was satisfactory; she never appeared in public, and I had every reason to suppose she was a close prisoner in her father's gloomy mansion in Westmoreland. Se ven years had elapsed without my obtaining any light upon the subject, when, one day, taking up the newspaper, 1 was struck by reading the fol lowing paragraph: — * On Thursday, died, at her father's seat, in Westmoreland, Lady Emily Hinchinbroke, only daughter of the Earl of So- mertown; her ladyship has been long in a de clining state.' I was inexpressibly shocked. * Poor victim of implacable revenge,' said I, * thou hast then escaped from thy dreary prison! But what alas! is become of thy offspring?' The air of disclaiming her husband's title, in announcing Lady Durham's death, seemed to indicate that her child was no more.

" Eight years more elapsed before I was con vinced this idea was erroneous; I then received the following words, written in a beautiful small- hand : —

" Dear Aunt,

" 1 have been taught to love you by the best of mothers, and I do love you with all my heart, though I have never been so happy as to see you. My grandfather is gone to Ireland on some busi ness, and my kind governess has promised to take me to your house, if you will condescend to re ceive your dutiful and affectionate niece,

EMILY TRENTHAM/'

" I could not doubt that this letter came from my brother's child, and I was delighted beyond measure with the sweet idea of folding her to my bosom. My answer may be guessed, and the

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 77

next day the sweet angel was introduced to me. I will not pretend to describe what I felt when I beheld the most striking likeness of my injured Seymour, in the soft features of his lovely daugh ter. A more perfect beauty I never saw, nor a female so devoid of vanity. She seemed the very soul of affection, and capable of interesting the sternest heart in her favour. This opinion was confirmed by her governess, who assured me that Lady Emily had so won upon her grandfather, that she believed his lordship loved no other be ing upon earth but herself. The sweet girl could stay but a short time with me, but we often re newed the pleasure we experienced in meeting during Lord Somertown's absence.

" These visits were, however, suspended at his return, and a letter now and then, clandestinely exchanged, was all our consolation, under the privation. I did not see the dear Emily again for two years, and then I found her every thing the fondest heart could wish, in mind and person ; but there was an air of melancholy about ner that greatly distressed me, as it appeared unnatural to her ; she blushed when I questioned her, and replied that she would some day lay open every thought of her heart to me ; but at present she must be excused. Alas ! 1 saw her no more from that period, for about this time, her cruel grand father died, and I at first hoped, when I heard the news, that the lovely girl's emancipation would follow. In this hope I was fatally mis taken, his son and successor, the present Lord, ,vas the counterpart of his father, and seemed to consider his cruelty as much an inheritance as his estate.

" In his, hands the hapless Emily found another tyrant, and she was soon afterwards married, against her inclination, it is generally thought, to a nobleman, whose name I shall not now mention,

4. i,

78 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK,

and went over with him to Ireland immediately. I am astonished she has never written to me since, although 1 have addressed several letters to her, supposing that the restraint she formerly suffered, had now been agreeably changed to liberty. A murmur which has lately reached me, respecting her present situation, makes me very unhappy, but as it has not yet been confirmed, I will pass it over in silence.

u \ hope, however, that my melancholy story has sufficiently impressed your mind with the truth of what I first advanced — That marriages contrary to the express prohibition of parents, are generally unhappy, and often fatal."

CHAPTER V.

A Modern Bluebeard.

" WOULD you imagine my stupidity, my dear mother," said Lord Ellincourt, " I have been lis tening to your story with the most profound in terest, because I took it into my wise head, that the denouement would prove my Fanny to be the daughter of your hero and heroine. A curious anachronism, certainly."

" Yes, replied Lady Ellincourt, " the daugh ter of my unfortunate brother is at least six years older than you are, and has been married several years."

" My sapience will be found a little more profound," said Lord Ellincourt, " in regard to the name of the nobleman who married that child of misfortune — I know him well."

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 79

"How is that possible?" asked Lady Ellin- court, " I am sure I never mentioned one of the personages in this mournful drama to you be fore. As Lord Somertown never acknowledged my brother's marriage with his daughter, nor would ever permit her unfortunate offspring to be called by his name, 1 have strenuously avoided adverting to the melancholy story, even in my own family."

" Your own family have learned some of the particulars nevertheless," answered Lord Ellin- court, " as I will shew you. About two months ago, I received a letter from my sister, which con tains a long history of the lady you allude to, and who, by the bye, is wife to the Earl of Ballafyn, the Bluebeard of Ireland. You shall read Caro line's letter."

" Pray let me look at it directly," said Lady El- lincourt, " for the account 1 had was a very im perfect one, and I did not dare to enquire more particularly, lest I should revive a tale, which I wish to be forgotten."

"I never liked Lord Ballafyn," said Lord El- lincourt, " I have been often in his company, during his visits to England, though 1 little thought he was related to me. By Caroline's ac count, he is a monster in the form of a man, who not content with rendering an innocent woman wretched, has now taken the diabolical measure of blackening her character. I will bring the letter when I come to-morrow, but I am engaged this evening, and cannot possibly call again."

" Y7ou are a provoking creature," replied La dy Ellincourt, " for I shall be upon thorns until I read Caroline's letter. I wonder she never mentioned the subject to me."

" She knew that it would revive some disa greeable remembrances," said Lord Ellincourt, u and therefore she forbore to touch upon it. You

80 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OK)

will see her reasons, when you read her letter ; for my part 1 did not understand to what event she alluded, until your melancholy recital ex plained the enigma. To curtail the endurance of your suspense, I will enclose my sister's letter to you, in a cover, as soon as I return home, and then my dear mother can indulge her curiosity immediately."

Lord Ellincourt kept his promise, and in a few hours his mother was in possession of the letter.

It was as follows : —

*>

" My dear Edmund,

" I am truly sorry to hear you do not intend visiting Ireland this year, as I had made up my mind to expect you, and my good Lord has posi tively assured me that he cannot afford to take me with him, when he goes to England — we shall not meet, therefore, for many months. I had a story, so much in the marvellous to entertain you with, had you kept your word of spending the Christmas with us, and I had intended to reserve the surprise for a winter evening's delassement, but now you must have it in a letter.

" You have frequently mentioned Lord Balla- fyn's brother, Col. Ross, as one of your inti mates, and therefore, I dare say you are no stran ger to his lordship. Whether his beautiful exterior has the power of prejudicing his own sex in his favour, I cannot tell, but it has had but too much success with ours. Some years ago, this fascinating nobleman married one of the loveliest women England ever produced, and brought his bride with him to Ballafyn Castle, where she was looked up to as a divinity by all the guests who were admitted to the Castle.

" Lady Ballafyn's carriage was such as the strictest prudence, joined to the most unaffected modesty would dictate ; but the melancholy that

Tlili LITTLE MENDICANT. 81

seemed to prey upon her spirits excited the sym pathy of many, and the curiosity of all. This was naturally supposed to originate in the treat ment she received from her husband, who, although the greatest libertine that ever entered

^5 f^

the pale of matrimony, took it into his wise head to be jealous of her, and led her a life suitable to his liberal ideas of female chastity.

" All this, Lady Ballafyn bore with unrepining patience, and finding that her unreasonable Lord appeared displeased with the admiration she ex cited, the charming Emily declined going into public as much as she possibly could.

" Lord Ballafyn permitted his wife to return to England for her lying-in, and she passed several months in her native country after that event ; during which period the child died, and the poor lady returned to Ireland, in a state of mind bor dering on melancholy, and never afterwards mixed with any company whatever. - Lord Bal- lafyn's visiters now consisted of gentlemen only ; and Lady Ballafyn, either by her own choice, or his cruelty, inhabited an obscure corner of the Castle, where her very existence was nearly for gotten.

" It is said that she has visited England once, during one of her Lord's absences, unknown to him, and that a discovery which he lately made of that transaction, has been the cause of the cruelty _with which she has been treated within these few months. Such unheard of barbarities, were, I believe, never before practised, unless by his namesake, 13luebeard, which title has been bestowed upon his lordship for his savage con duct, by all the ladies in the neighbourhood.

" My maid assures me that the poor lady has been shut up for days together without provisions, and that the monster has more than once lifted his ugly paw against her, and even dragged her

82 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

by the hair of her head from one apartment to another. No person is suffered to have access to her, nor can any letter reach her hand, as she is surrounded by his creatures, and never left one moment to herself.

" A few months ago a young man of noble mien, and with the most beautiful countenance in the world, was seen creeping about the purlieus of the Castle, and endeavouring to penetrate within its ponderous walls ; his attempts were however, fruitless, and at last he applied himself to one of the servants, whom he endeavoured to interest in his cause, by a bribe, that showed however mean his apparel might be, that he was not in indigent circumstances.

" The servant pocketed the bribe, and like many of his betters, who do the same without the least intention of earning what he had accepted, listened to all the stranger had to say, and pro mised to obtain for him what he wished, namely — an interview with Lady Ballafyn. The hour of midnight was appointed for the meeting, and the unwary youth, trusting to his deceitful betrayer, was led into the presence of the exasperated Lord ; who, after loading him with every epithet of abuse, assured him that the only means of saving his life, was by making a full confession of his own and Lady Ballafyn's guilt. The youth lis tened to the base proposal with silent contempt, and when forced by his persecutors to answer the charge, he persisted in asserting the innocence of the traduced lady, and declared that she knew not of his coming, and therefore could not be culpable, if he was.

" He refused to answer any farther questions; treating the threats of his persecutors with ineff able disdain. * To dicj said the gallant youth, 6 is no such mighty hardship, but to betray a trust is impossible to a man who thinks as / do.v He

THE LITTLE MENDIIMNT. 83

was kept several days prisoner at the Castle, in order to extort some confession from him, but when Lord Ballafyn found him impervious to all his stratagems, he employed some of his myrmi dons to get rid of him in a way that has not yet been properly ascertained. Some reports say that

the stranger has been sent to T Gaol to take

his trial the next assizes, as a housebreaker. Others, that he has been smuggled on board a

transport lying at Y at the time, that

was bound for the West Indies, whither he was sent as a recruit in a regiment going in that ship thither ; the captain of which is a creature of Lord Ballafyn's. But my maid, who always deals in the marvellous as well as the horrific, assures me that he was thrown down the black rock that hangs over the sea, a little distance from Ballafyn Cas tle, and that his ghost has been seen every moon light night since, standing on the crag of the rock, and pointing to the restless surges beneath.

" The people pretend that this interesting stranger resembled Lady Ballafyn so strikingly, that he might have been supposed to be herself in man's attire.

" It is impossible to hear stories like these with indifference ; I confess, therefore, that 1 have been deeply interested by this tale, particularly so, as I understand the unfortunate lady is a near relation of ours. I don't know whether you ever heard of an ill-fated, marriage in our family, that caused my poor grandfather's death. My mother could tell you the sad history more perfectly than I can, but I would not have you ask it, unless she leads to it herself, for I have heard that the sad consequences of that fatal union nearly overset her reason during the first shock she sustained.

" Lady Ballafyn is the offspring of that marriage, and seems to inherit the misfortunes of her parents. But to return to my own ideas on the subject

FATHERLESS FANNY; OK,

My imagination, which you know, my dear bro ther, is tolerably fertile, has formed half a score of romances out of the materials I have been able to collect, the most probable of which appears to me to resemble the pathetic tale of 'Owen of Car- ron ; or, the tragedy of Douglas,' The stranger must be a son of Lady Ballafyn's, by a former marriage, and having just found out who is his parent, he has experienced the fate of the artless Owen, or the more magnanimous Douglas. And my maid says that the stranger appeared too old to be the son of Lady B. and if that be true, he must be her lover, and her Lord is not quite so cul pable as we think him. And yet the said Lady Ballafyn did not expect him, nor know any thing of his coming. He might therefore be a lover, though not a favoured one; and yet why did he not come before, if he meant to come at all ; and if Lady B. did not know of his- coming, how could he expect she would receive him, or, what end could he hope to have answered by so dangerous a step? In short, I am lost in a labyrinth of con jecture, and I heartily wish you were here, Ed mund, to aid my search for the clue that must lead me out of it.

" I think it would have been a delightful feat of knight errantry, for you to have delivered the fair lady from the claws of her persecutor, which you might have done in the character of her nearest relation. Your intimacy with Gol. Ross would have gained access to the Castle for you, and your own ingenuity must have accomplished all the rest. You see what a charming plan I had laid out for your winter's campaign, but your obstinate attachment to your own country spoils every thing. One thing I forgot, which is a ma terial part of my story — Lord Ballafyn has pub licly reported that his lady has been guilty of infidelity, and that, for that reason, he chooses to

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 85

immure her in solitary confinement ; he pretends that he has detected the crime he alleges against her, asserting that he has several letters m his possession that are irrefragable proofs of her de linquency.

" One of his lordship's friends ventured to ask him why he did not sue for a divorce, from a woman, who reflected such dishonour upon his name. But he replied, that he knew tnat was what Lady Ballafyn wished, and therefore he was determined to disappoint her. This is his osten sible reason, but depend upon it the real one ori ginates in his own evil conscience. How could a man demand justice upon his wife for a breach of faith who has a mistress in every place he inha bits? He keeps a very expensive lady in Dublin; another in England; and there is one who was his favourite before he married, who resides within the precincts of his own demesne, and this wo man, it is, they say, who instigates his cruelty to his suffering Lady. What think you of our mo dern Bluebeard?"

When Lady Ellincourt had perused her daugh ter's letter, she felt the most poignant affliction.

Some faint rumours had reached her that Lord Ballafyn had suspected his Lady's fidelity, but as no steps were taken to obtain a divorce, Lady El lincourt gave no credit to them. The miserable truth was now but too evident ; her niece was in the hands of a cruel and abandoned libertine, and her character, and perhaps her life, would be sa crificed to gratify the malice and revenge of his depraved mistress. The sweet creature appeared destitute of friends to espouse her cause, and therefore wholly at the villain's mercy !

" Oh ! my brother," exclaimed Lady Ellin- court, clasping her hands in agony, " my beloved brother, the sufferings of thy innocent offspring

4. M

86 F.ATHEULBSS FAN^Y ; OR,

awaken in fny mind the sad remembrance of thy cruel death. The wounds of my heart are torn open, and bleed afresh, and I am still the same powerless creature, as when weeping thy misfor tunes, I can only lament ; to remedy is not with in the compass of my power !"

CHAPTER VI.

Correspondence.

WHEN the first emotions of Lady Ellincourt's sorrow had subsided, she sat down to write to her daughter. Her letter contained a gentle re primand for not immediately informing her of the mournful situation of her beloved niece, and requested her never to spare her feelings, in fu ture, at the expence of her humanity. " I know," added she, " that I am a poor powerless creature, as to any thing I can do, but my mind suggests a measure which may, perhaps, be adverted to with success.

" Cannot you, my dear Caroline, find some ge nerously disinterested person who could be per suaded to write to lord Somertown, and state the actual situation of his niece. I have been told he is very fond of her, and I think if he knew how she is treated, he would find some means to redress her wrongs.

" The notice must not come from our family, or how readily would I fly to acquaint him with her peril ; for my anxiety for my poor Emily, would supersede every feeling of resentment in my bo som, and force me to act in concert with my bitter-

THi: LIT T Li: MKNDlfANT. 87

yst eiiemy. so that her welfare appeared likely to result from such a coalition. 1 understand that Lord Somertown resides constantly now at his seat in Yorkshire, a prey to the most profound melancholy. I fear there is but too much cause for such a disposition. Reflection to a mind like his, must be exquisite torture. Surely he will be glad of something to rouse him from the torpor of despair, and force him to exert all the energy he possesses in behalf of his suffering niece." In answer to this letter, Lady Ellincourt re ceived the following from her daughter: —

•

" The object of your solicitude, my dearest mother, is no longer an inhabitant of this cruel world ; Lady Ballafyn had been dead a fortnight when your letter reached me. I wonder you have not seen it announced in the English papers.

" Innumerable reports are spread about here, concerning this event. Many people assert that her ladyship met an untimely death by poison, administered to her by her cruel Lord. Of this number, Mrs. Flyn, my maid, is the most devout believer, for she has seen people there who have seen Lady Ballafyn's ghost all in white upon the crag of the rock, where her lover appeared some time ago. * And what, my Lady could take her ladyship's ghost there, you know, if she had come fairly by her death ?' This is Flyn's creed, and the whole bench of bishops could not turn her from it, were they to try.

" Other people assert that Lady B. has made her escape to England, and that it was only a log of wood that was so pompously interred a few days ago, and that my Lord's reason for choosing to believe her dead, is because he intends marry ing the woman he has kept so long, and make her as good as a great many more ladies who wear coronets, and came by them in the same manner But for my part I must confess that I am a

88 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

vert to neither opinion ; for I think it extremely natural, that a person of a delicate frame, like Lady Ballafyn, should sink under the pressure of ill-treatment and confinement, particularly as she had not one sympathizing bosom to whom she could impart her sorrows — I only wonder she has lived so long.

" I hope my dear mother's excellent sense will suggest the best consolation to her The death of Lady Ballafyn is the emancipation of a wretch ed slave, and ought-to be hailed with joy instead of lamentation.

" That she was innocent I don't entertain a doubt, and in that case, what an exchange is hers! Sinking as she was beneath accumulated sorrow and distress, both of body and mind. She is now translated to the fulness of glory and happiness for evermore."

" Lady Ellincourt's mind was relieved from the tortures of suspense and anxiety, by the mournful news conveyed to her in her daughter's letter, and her agitated feelings gradually sunk into the calm of settled melancholy. The last vestige of her beloved brother was now extinct, and his name for ever blotted out. The sweet offspring of that unhappy marriage had termina ted her youthful career in a manner no less wretch ed than her parents had done before her; but she could now suffer no more, and fear subsided with hope, in the heart of Lady Ellincourt.

Lord Ellincourt beheld, with real concern, the havoc grief was making on the delicate frame of his indulgent mother, and he used his utmost en deavour to divert her melancholy. The society of the engaging Fanny seemed to promise the best antidote to the gloom that was creeping over her. Lord Ellincourt entreated his mother therefore to take the child from school, and by making her the constant inmate of the house, insure to herself the comfort of a conipa-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 89

iwon, whose intrusions on her privacy would be optional.

Lady Ellincourt approved of the scheme, and Fanny was installed in her new abode before an other week had elapsed, to the almost uncontrol- able joy of the lively girl, who thought she could never sufficiently express her gratitude to her dear — dear mamma) as she now styled Lady Ellin- court, for a favour as delightful as unlocked for. That Fanny might be no loser by the removal, Lady Ellincourt determined to engage an accom plished governess to complete the education of her darling under her roof.

Miss Bridewell who just at that period was wishing to get rid of her dear Dawson, recom mended that Lady as the fittest^ person she knew to fill up the important station.

Lady Ellincourt approved the measure, and Mrs. Dawson became the governante of Father less Fanny, assuming as much importance upon the occasion, as if she had been appointed to the tuition of the first princess in the known world.

It is necessary in this place, to mention, that soon after the Lady Trentham's left school, the amiable Lady Maria became the wife of the far from ami able Col. Ross, whose pleasing exterior had be guiled her of her heart, before she was aware that she had one; and whose large fortune and high family rendered him agreeable to the Marquis of Petersfield as a son-in-law, particularly as there appeared to be a fair chance of the family title and estate of Ballafyn centering in that gentleman, as his brother had been married many years without having an heir, and the rumours that had reached the Marquis respecting Lady Ballafyn's supposed infidelity, rendered it probable his lordship would never marry again.

During the ensuing five years of Fanny's life, little occurred to vary the scene. She was the

yO FATHERLESS FANNY; Ott,

cherished companion of her kind benefactress, and the still undiminished favourite of Lord Ellin- court, who though he continued his giddy career' through the mazes of fashion, never abated aught of his kindness towards his adopted child.

Mrs. Dawson had now completed the educa tion of her pupil, and the recommendation of Lady Ellincourt, obtained for that lady a similar situation in the family of a lady who resided a part of the year in Ireland.

Mrs. Dawson, it has before been observed, was of a disposition exactly calculated to make her way in the world. She well knew how to catch the whim of the moment, and to humour it with the most consummate skill.

She was always, therefore, a great favourite with her employers. Lady Ellincourt, who was one of the best women in the world, thought Mrs. Dawson the epitome of perfection, for to her ob servation she had appeared as pious as she was accomplished, and in the latter point there was no deception ; Mrs. Dawson was certainly fully ca pable of the task she had undertaken, as far as elegant attainments extended, but poor Fanny would have imbibed but little of the true spirit of piety from her governess, had it not been for the genuine lessons bestowed upon her by her affectionate friend, Lady Ellincourt ; and the firm foundation that had been laid by the amiable Emily Barlowe, during the infant years of the interesting orphan.

Mrs. Dawson had found the secret, however, of winning Fanny's affection, whose artless bosom as incapable of suspicion as of deceit, judged every body of the pure model of her own heart. Every secret of her soul had been reposed in Mrs. Dawson's keeping, and she had not a thought she wished to conceal from the person she had so long considered in the light of a se-

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 91

cond self. To part with this tenderly beloved friend, was therefore a most painful trial for the affectionate girl, and Mrs. Dawson took care the impression should not be softened by any of the attentions Lady Ellincourt bestowed upon her favourite by way of amusing her thoughts, and diverting them from the object of her regret.

Fanny's grief, which had been continually in creased by the artful suggestions of Mrs. Daw- son, appeared beyond the control of reason, when the final separation took place, and to mitigate its violence, Lady Ellincourt consented to an ar rangement which had not her entire approbation, namely, the establishing of a regular correspon dence between the pupil and her ci-devant go verness, when at a distance from each other.

" This was exactly the object Mrs. Dawson had in view all the time, and the attainment of her wishes promised to gratify the two ruling pas sions of her mind, curiosity, and selfish policy. She well knew that by Fanny's letters she could obtain the knowledge of every material occur rence in Lady Ellincourt 's family, and, over and above the satisfaction of acquiring that know ledge to her naturally curious mind, she might be able through her skill in marioeuvering, to turn some of them to her own advantage. Things being thus arranged in her own mind, Mrs. Daw- son took her leave, with every exterior appear ance of the deepest regret, although her neart secretly rejoiced at the change, as her salary was considerably augmented by the event, and she went away laderf with marks of Lady Ellhcourt's munificence, besides all the valuable trinkets she had obtained from the simple Fanny, by " loving' them for the sake of the " dear — dear wearer"

FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

CHAPTER VII.

The Separation.

LORD ELLINCOURT'S attachment to Emily Bar- lowe, although it had never yielded to any new attraction, had not been sufficiently strong to in duce his lordship to follow the amiable girl to Jamaica, as he had once talked of doing.

At length, however, an incident occurred that re-united them in the most unexpected manner possible.

Lady Ellincourt's health had been visibly de clining for some time, and her physicians, after trying every remedy this country afforded, re commended the mild climate of Lisbon as the dernier resort. Lady Ellincourt received the fiat with real regret, as she was an enthusiastic lover of Old England, but the united entreaties of her son, and the affectionate Fanny, at length overcame her objection, and she promised to ac quiesce with the doctor's injunctions, provided her dear Edmund would accompany her.

This was precisely what her dear Edmund had always intended to do, and he assured his mother, that nothing would give him greater pain than to be denied the pleasure of administering to her comfort and her safety during her exportation. And so said her tenderly attached Fanny, when Lady Ellincourt asked her whether she would prefer being left at Miss Bridewell's, or Lady Maria Ross's, during the forced absence of her maternal friend. "Surely my dear — dear mamma \vould not be so cruel as to talk of leaving me in

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 93

England, when ill-health obliges her to seek a distant home. In pity to my agonized feelings, do not pronounce so hard a sentence upon a heart which acknowledges no mother but you — which forms no wish so ardent as that of being able to shew the gratitude and affection, that glows in it for you, my kind, my beloved benefactress."

As Fanny pronounced these words she clasped her arms round Lady Ellincourt's neck, and en deavoured, with one of her fascinating smiles, to shake the good lady's resolution. But although deeply affected by the sweet girl's earnestness in the cause she was pleading, and fully convinced of the sincerity of her attachment, Lady Ellin- court was not to be persuaded by all the rheto ric poor Fanny was mistress of.

"I have well considered the subject we are upon, my sweet girl," replied her ladyship, " and 1 feel so thoroughly convinced of the impropriety of complying with your request, that I cannot suffer any persuasion to shake my resolution. You know me, my dear Fanny, and that selfish considerations have no weight with me; You will believe me, therefore, when I assure you that I practise great self-denial in withstanding your affectionate solicitations, for I can affirm, with truth, that there is nothing I leave behind I shall so truly regret as my tender and affectionate little nurse, Fanny.

" But, my dear girl, life is uncertain, even to the healthy ; with invalids it seems still more pre carious; and greatly would it embitter the pangs of death, could the painful reflection present it self to my mind that my Fanny was exposed, by my imprudence, to the trying situation of being left in a strange country, wimout a proper pro tector of her own sex to re-conduct her to her native country."

" But my dear mamma," interrupted Fanny,

No. 5. N

94 I ATHKKLKSS FANNY ; OU,

" will not Lord Ellincourt go with you, and whose protection could be better than his, should I, indeed, be deprived of my best friend."

" Edmund would prove a kind friend and a powerful protector to my girl, I am sure," an swered Lady Ellincourt; "but so young a man is not a proper chaperon for her, and that must be studied my sweet girl. Maternal anxiety such as mine foresees and provides for every contin gency. Be reconciled, therefore, my Fanny, to a determination which cannot be repelled, and which has been made after mature consideration, and from the very best motives."

It was in vain that Lady Ellincourt preached patience and submission to Fanny ; no argument could convince her that it was right to separate her from her beloved mamma, and she wept in cessantly at the fiat she could not alter. When urged by Lady Ellincourt to decide upon her choice of residence, during her absence, she would reply, " It matters not where I go, all places will be alike to me, when my dear mamma is taken from me."

At length, however, she was induced, by Lady Ellincourt's insisting upon an answer, to choose Lady Maria Ross for her protectress, in prefer ence to Miss Bridewell. Col. Ross's intimacy with Lord Ellincourt, and Lady Maria's near re lationship to the Ellincourt family, had conspired to render them the most frequent visiters Lady Ellincourt had; and as Fanny loved Lady Maria with the truest affection, from the time she first became acquainted with that lady, at Miss Bride well's, it was natural she should prefer her pro tection to the formal jurisd iction of her quondam. governess. Col. Ross had never been a favourite of Fanny's, although the uniform kindness and attention with which he treated her seemed to demand her gratitude.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 95

Since his marriage, the Colonel had affected to consider Fanny in the light of a child ; a mode of behaviour which seemed to increase rather than diminish with her increasing years and stature.

Lady Ellincourt's allowance for her favourite's maintenance, was extremely liberal ; and both the Colonel and Lady Maria appeared pleased with the arrangement, when they learnt that Fanny was to become their guest. Not so the affection ate girl ; no projected plan of pleasure could rouse her from the sorrow into which Lady Ellin- court's determination of leaving her behind, had plunged her, and she was deaf to every thing Lady Maria could say, by way of consolatory ad vice upon the subject.

At length the dreaded moment arrived, and Fanny was torn, more dead than alive from the arms of her dear Lady Ellincourt, whose heroism never forsook her, and conveyed in Lady Maria's coach to that lady's house. Lady Ellincourt had wisely insisted that the parting should take place the day before her departure, as she judged her self unequal to the task of bidding her darling farewell, when about to encounter the fatigues and bustle of a journey, which in her weak state appeared already but too formidable.

Lord Ellincourt, notwithstanding the levity natural to him, possessed an excellent heart, and the tender attachment of the artless Fanny deeply afflicted it. When he pressed her in his arms, and kissed off the tears that rolled down her blooming cheeks, he thought it was impossi ble he should ever love any human being as he at that moment loved Fanny. . " Dear girl," said his lordship, how shall T bear to live apart from you. The sight of you is become necessary to my happiness, nay, almost to my ex istence, and I verily believe I shall soon find that T cannot do without you."

96 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

Col. Boss was present when Lord Ellincourt thus expressed himself, and the heightened co lour of his cheek, and the stern expression of his eye, too plainly told to the observing Lady Maria, that her husband was not pleased. Of the cause from whence his displeasure sprung, she was ig norant, but she had already learnt to watch the variation of his countenance, with the trembling anxiety of a dependant vassal.

Lord Ellincourt was too deeply absorbed in his own feelings to observe his friend, or he might have been tempted to join his solicitations to Fan ny's, to persuade Lady Ellincourt to revoke her decree, and even at that late moment to suffer her disconsolate favourite to accompany her.

" Oh ! that I were so dear to you as you say," exclaimed the artless Fanny. " Oh ! that it were true, indeed, that you could not exist without seeing me. Lady Ellincourt would not then re fuse to take me with her, she would compassion ate the feelings of her son, although she has no pity for mine." Unconscious of the full force of what she said, Fanny clasped her hands together with an expression of tender anguish, whilst tears poured in abundance from her eyes, which were raised as in supplication, to watch the countenance of her dear mamma, still cherishing the hope that she might relent.

Such a thing was, however, farther than ever from Lady Ellincourt's thoughts, as a suspicion that moment crossed her imagination, that ren dered her dreaded journey a most fortunate cir cumstance in her estimation. Fanny's beauty had been an object so familiar to her eye, that its pro gressive improvement had not awakened any fears on Lord Ellincourt's account, until that mo ment, but her eyes appeared to be suddenly opened, and the energy with which he had just expressed himself, joined to Fanny's artless wish

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 97

of the realization of his love for her, seemed to strike conviction on her mind. " They love each other," said she, mentally, " and my imprudence has undone them both, unless this fortunate sepa ration should wean them from each other."

Dear as Lady Ellincourt loved Fanny, and ten derly alive as she was to the happiness of her son, yet such was the effect of hereditary pride upon her mind, that the idea of uniting her son to a person of obscure birth, was worse to her imagi nation, than even the prospect of his being' mi serable for life.

CHAPTER VIII.

A Wedding. f

UNDER such impressions, the result may be an ticipated. Lady Ellincourt remained firm, and Fanny inconsolable. The latter was conveyed, in a state of mind, bordering on despair, to the house of Col. Ross, where the tenderest attentions were lavished upon her by the amiable Lady Ma ria, and every scheme of pleasure devised likely to dissipate her melancholy. In the mean time, Lady Ellincourt pursued her journey, accom panied by her son, on every turn of whose coun tenance she dwelt with unceasing anxiety, and endeavoured to trace in his mfautest actions, and most unguarded expressions, the fatal effects of the passion she imagined he had imbibed from the too lovely object of both their affections.

What pleasure did it give this anxious mother then, when the amount of all her scrutiny, proved the supposition an error, and convinced her be-

98 FATHEULK&S FANNY; OK,

yond the possibility of a doubt, that slie was mis taken in her conjecture, at least as far as related to her son. In regard to poor Fanny, she did not feel the same assurance ; the excess of her grief —the artless manner in which she had expressed it — and her wish, so fervently uttered, that she were, indeed, necessary to Lord Ellincourt's hap piness, continually recurred to Lady Ellincourt's mind, and filled it with sadness ; for so dear was Fanny to her maternal heart, that the idea of her being doomed to suffer under the influence of a hopeless passion, gave the most poignant feelings of anguish to her bosom.

^

Arrived at Lisbon, Lady Ellincourt soon found benefit from its salubrious atmosphere, and her son had the satisfaction of seeing his mother's health improving hourly.

A few weeks after their arrival, they were agreeably surprised, one morning, by a visit from Mr. Barlowe, who informed Lord and Lady El lincourt that he and his whole family were come to reside some months, perhaps years, at Lisbon ; as their stay depended upon the life of an infirm relation, who was immensely rich, and who in tended to make Mr. Barlowe her heir, had en treated him to come and reside near her, during the little time that she had to stay in this world ; and that in order to comply with that request, he had brought his whole family with him, intending to go to England, after the death of his relation, and fix his abode there, as his estate in Jamaica bad been disposed of, previous to his quitting that Island. The evident pleasure with which Lord Ellincourt listened to this recital, delighted his mother, as she saw plainly in his eager, but confused enquiries after Emily Barlowe, that the interest that sweet girl had excited in her son's bosom, was still undiminished in fervour.

It gave her still greater satisfaction, when she

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 99

learned, by a seemingly careless enquiry, that Emily was "disengaged, or at least that no positive plan of a matrimonial nature had yet occupied her father in that respect to her.

The eldest daughter was on the point of mar riage, with a young West Indian, of immense fortune, whose attachment to her was sufficiently potent to induce him to follow her to Lisbon ; whither curiosity, or, perhaps coquetry had led her, in spite of her lover's entreaties, and her fa ther's remonstrances, who had intended to wit ness her nuptials before he left Jamaica.

The haughty Caroline, however, chose to enjoy the triumph of leading her captive from one quar ter of the globe to the other, and her vanity was not a little inflated, when she found her influence strong enough to accomplish her wishes. The gallantry of this ardent lover devised a thousand fetes, for the gratification of his beloved mistress, and on these occasions Lord Ellincourt was sure to make one of the party, and by his attentions to Emily, to prove that she too had a lover no less ardent than her sister's.

To talk about Fanny, their mutual favourite, was, at first, their excuse for being so often seated near each other, but by degrees another topic, more agreeable to both, was substituted in the place of Fanny, and the result was an application to Mr. Barlowe, for his permission to address his daughter, and as no reasonable objection could be started to the alliance, it was soon agreed to on both sides.

Lady Ellincourt had now the happiness of seeing her son united to the lady she most ap proved of, and safe from the witchery of the fas cinating Fanny. Yet still the good lady heaved a sigh now and then for the poor girl, lest her youthful heart should have been touched by the influence she had dreaded for her son. The let-

100 FATHERLESS FANNY; OR,

ters which her ladyship received from her favour ite, did^ not, however, give any reason to suppose her so affected., for when she replied to the one in which Lady Ellincourt had spoken of her son's intended union with Emily Barlowe, Fanny thus expressed herself —

"Thank you, dearest, dear mamma, for your charming news. Oh! what a happy girl will your Fanny be, when she sees her dear papa and her dear Emily together, and thinks that they will never more be parted, and that she shall al- Avays live with them, and love them, and see them every day !"

These expressions certainly had not the appear ance of a hopeless attachment ; yet still Lady Ellincourt had taken the idea so strongly in her head, that like most old ladies when they form an opinion, she did not like to give it up, and ac knowledge herself in an error, even to herself.

CHAPTER IX.

A Female Rattle !

IN the mean time, Fanny, "who never dreamt of love," was passing her time in the full enjoy ment of innocent delight. The spirits at sixteen are very elastic, and her sorrow at the loss of her dear Lady Ell incourt's society, soon gave way to the kind attentions of the affectionate Lady Ma ria, who spared no pains in the friendly task of amusing her dear Fanny.

Col. Ross was no less attentive, no less kind to the happy girl, but far less successful in his

THE LITTLE MENDICANT, lOl

efforts to please. It was not that Fanny felt un grateful for his kindness,but thatshe experienced sensations of repugnance, she could not account for, whenever he addressed himself to her, par ticularly when they happened to be alone ; for then there was a fervour in his manner, a look in his eyes, as disagreeable as it was new to her ; and which, though it roused her resentment, she dar ed not to complain of, as she knew not why she felt offended, although the emotions of anger was irresistible.

Col. Ross had penetration enough to see that he was no favourite with Fanny, and this he at tributed to a prepossession in favour of Lord Ellin- court, rather than any deficiency in bis own powers of pleasing : and the same vanity suggested the probability of gaining upon the unsuspecting heart of his intended victim, and supplanting the image of Lord Ellincourt, which he supposed was cherished there, with all the fervour of a first love. Amongst the friends to whom Fanny was now in troduced by her new protectors, was a young lady of immense fortune, of the name of Stanhope, who was like most other heiresses, a spoiled girl in the fullest sense of the word.

Accustomed from her infancy to have her will, the law of all about her, she had reached the age of eighteen, without having been once contra dicted. Miss Stanhope was therefore the epitome of caprice and fashionable folly. Yet was she na turally of a generous disposition, and perfectly good tempered. This young lady had hitherto re sided with her grandmother, whose doating affec tion had been the cause of her follies.

This lady was lately dead, and the care of Miss Stanhope's person and fortune had devolved upon the Marquis of Petersfield, whose ward she was, and at whose house she was to reside, until her

5. o

102 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

marriage, which was expected to take place in a few months.

This alliance had been projected by the parents of the young people, during their infancy, and was considered as a most advantageous union of pro perty for both parties. The young nobleman in tended for Miss Stanhope's husband wastheDuke of Albemarle, who was about four years older than herself, and also an orphan, and only child.

The young Duke had been abroad some years, on account of the delicate state of his health, for which the climate of Sicily had been recommended by his physicians. He was now on the point of returning to his native country, in order to fulfil his father's will, by marrying Miss Stanhope.

Lady Ellincourt had been absent several months at the time of Fanny's introduction to Miss Stan hope, and it was declared absolutely necessary for the perfect re-establishment of her health, that her ladyship should remain in Portugal some months longer, a circumstance which gave the ut most alarm to poor Fanny, whose terrified imagi nation was continually presenting to her the dan gers of her benefactress's protracted stay, in a country so formidably threatened by the rapaci- > ous invader. Miss Stanhope laughed at her fears. " My dear girl," said that wild young lady, "I per ceive you are as fond of Lady Ellincourt, as I was of my poor grand-mamma ; and if you live with her much longer you will be just such a fool as / am; so I think it will be an excellent thing if the French should run away with her, and not let her come home any more."

" Lady Ellincourt is certainly very indulgent to 'me," replied Fanny, "but she never spoiled me."

" There's a conceited puss," interrupted Miss Stanhope, " she wishes people to think that she can bear indulgence better than I can, and that

THE LITTLE .MENDICANT. 103

all the old women in the world cannot spoil her. Well child," added she, laughing, " since you are indulgence proof, by your own confession, you must promise to spend the honey moon with the poor Duke and me, when we are married, for we shall be vapoured to death, depend upon it, until we get used to each other's ways."

" You seem to have formed a strange idea of conjugal felicity, Miss Stanhope," replied Fanny, " to talk of being vapoured to death in the soci ety of your husband, so soon after your marriage."

"Formal creature!" rejoined the mad-cap, "I'll venture to lay a wager, when thou art mar- .ried,thou wilt trot about, arm-in-arm, with thy lord and master, like Darby and Joan, and talk about the supreme felicity of unlimited confi dence and congenial, spirits"

" I hope," said Fanny, smiling, " if ever I do marry, 1 shall be able to realize your charming picture, or else I would rather live single."

" Live single, my dear !" interrupted Miss Stanhope, " why that is the extent of human felicity in my ideas of happiness. I would give half my fortune this minute to be allowed to live single ; at least until I could find somebody ami able enough to make me change my mind."

"Is not the Duke amiable ?" asked Fanny.

" I really cannot tell," replied Miss Stanhope, " I have never seen him since he was an Eaton boy, and then the animal was well enough to look at, but I always hated him because I knew I should be obliged to marry him."

" But who can oblige you to marry his Grace," said Fanny, " against your inclination ? You have no parents alive, and surely your guardian's power cannot extend to such violence."

" You are a little simpleton," answered Miss Stanhope, " and know nothing about the world, or its ways, I can see that, so I must teach you. It

104 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

is but too often seen that frail mortals are apt to repine at the unequal distribution of the good things of this life. This is a most silly calcula tion, the possessions of the wealthy have always their concomitant miseries, supplied either by the pride, avarice, or ambition of their relatives. The wise junto of fathers, mothers, uncles, and aunts, that made up this wise match for the poor Duke of Albemarle and me, took infinite pains to strike the balance between those that envied his title and my riches, and the then unconscious posses sors of the baubles, by dooming us both to be tied together, whether we liked it or not. Which soever refuses to fulfil the compact, forfeits the bulk of their fortune to the other, and is to suffer the punishment of poverty and repentance all the remainder of their life, for the delinquency. Now, though I would give half my fortune to be off the wedding, I should not like to lose the whole, and therefore I must submit to be noosed. The Duke I dare say is of the same mind, but I suppose, though he might prefer my fortune without myself, to the taking it with all the in- cumbrances ; yet he would not like to give me his largest estate, to be off the bargain. Thus you see are two people going to be tied together to please their dead papas and mammas, who wish them at the Antipodes."

Whilst Fanny listened to Miss Stanhope's wild description of her embarrassing situation, thesmile of gaiety forsook her lip, and tears trembled in her eyes. " Merciful heavens !" thought she, how inscrutable are thy ways ! The rich heiress of in calculable wealth is an object of pity, to the pen- nyless orphan, whose daily maintenance depends upon the bounty of a stranger!"

" Moralizing, I wager, said Miss Stanhope, looking earnestly in Fanny's face, " yes, yes, I see it in that twinkling eye, and care fraught brow.

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 105

I dare say, my little nun would renounce the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, and run into a cloister, or any where, rather than marry a man she did not like. Oh ! I can see a very eloquent exordium ready to escape the ruby boun daries of that pretty little mouth, which, I dare say, would be very edifying to any little miss or master, that would twirl their thumbs, and listen to it ; but keep it in, my dear, for it will be lost upon me. I can neither moralize nor sermonize, nor listen to those who do ! I am a predestinarian ; what must be, will be ; so if I am to have the Duke, I shall have him, and if I am not to have him, some Giant, or Genii, or young Lochinvar, will come just in time to carry me off at the last moment, and then you shall write me word whe ther the bridegroom behaved like the poor fool in Marmion, or whether he took another wife, as he ought to do."

" Oh J will have nothing to do with your wed ding," replied Fanny, " nor your bride-groom either, for you talk so shockingly upon the sub ject, that you frighten me, I assure you."

" Did you never hear, my dear, said Miss Stan hope, " of boys making a great noise to drown their own fears, when obliged to go through a church-yard, at night. Such is my case at this moment ; I rove and talk nonsense to banish un pleasant thoughts that crowd upon me ; were I to suffer my spirits to flag, I should find it im possible to raise them again, so

" Away with melancholy !"

and the lively girl left the room singing that po pular air, with no small portion of Catalani's sweetness and vivacity.

Fanny's artless sweetness, and the gaiety result ing from innocence, that so particularly character ised her, rendered her a great favourite with Miss

• c?

106 FATHERLESS FANNY ; OR,

Stanhope. Her vivacity was congenial to her own, but far more equal in its tenor. Unac customed to control, the slightest contradiction, the most trifling disappointment, had the power to discompose Amelia Stanhope, and put her into the " jpoti/s," as she herself styled her fits of ill- humour ; and whenever the demon of ill-temper spread his malign influence, Fanny was the only person who could effectually dispel the cloud that obscured her countenance, and restore the capricious girl to her smiles again. Miss Stan hope became therefore the inseparable companion of Fanny, and as Lady Maria Ross positively re fused to let her charge become a guest at the Marquis of Petersfield's, as Miss Stanhope was continually teazing her to be, that young lady passed nearly the whole of her time with her new friend, at Lady Maria's house in Grosvenor Street.

Miss Stanhope was very fond of riding on horseback, and so eager was she for her favour ite to partake of the amusement, that she pre sented her with one of the most beautiful horses that she could purchase, at which Fanny was not a little delighted, as she was as partial to the exercise, as her lively friend, and had learned to be a tolerably expert horse-woman, during her summer visits to Ellincourt's country seat.

Miss Stanhope had a carriage appropriated for her own use, and this conveyed the young friends out of town, where the horses, attended by two grooms, in Miss Stanhope's livery, waited their pleasure.

These rides formed the most delightful part of Fanny's life, for she was far from having any pre- deliction in favour of nocturnal amusements ; and although Miss Stanhope insisted upon her ac companying her wherever she could go, yet she would often have preferred the quiet retirement

THE LITTLE MENDICANT. 107

of her own chamber to the brilliant ball-room, thronged opera, or motley masquerade.

Some of Lady Maria Ross's friends made a point of inviting Fanny to their entertainments, parti cularly when they perceived what a great favour ite she was with the rich and celebrated Miss Stanhope, but a great number declined showing her that favour, from the aristocratical fear of making acquaintance with some obscure person whom nobody knew.

Fanny's story, as far as Lady Ellincourt was acquainted with it, was generally known, as the hope of tracing Fanny's family, by detailing her adventures, had induced that good lady to talk more of them than she would otherwise have done. Her ladyship had strictly adhered to the request made in the letter addressed to Miss Bridewell by the person who put Fanny under that lady's care, namely — not to add any name to the simple appellation of Fanny, by which only she had hi therto been distinguished.

These precautions, without having the desired effect, had exposed the sweet girl to the male volent remarks of the envious and the unfeeling, and often had she experienced the mortification of hearing the enquiry of a stranger, respecting her name answered by some ill-natured insinua tion, from. those whose envy had been excited by the eulogium that preceded the question.

One evening, in particular, a gentleman, whose attention had been long fixed upon Fanny, asked a lady who was sitting next him, if she could in form him who that beautiful girl was, " I never beheld such a lovely creature," added he, in a tone of rapturous admiration.

" The girl is a perfect mystery," replied the ill-natured fair one, " I don't believe any body knows who she is, unless, indeed, it is the Ellin- court's. Some people suppose she is Lord El-

108 FATHERLESS FANN-Y ; OR,

lincourt's daughter, but for my part I think it much more likely she is his mistress, and I am astonished that any body will admit such an un accountable person to their parties. She has no name but that of Fanny, and she is generally called by way of distinction, Fanny nameless! But I think it is past a joke to be obliged to sit in the same room with a person of such doubtful origin, and indeed, for what we can tell, of such doubtful character"

" I do not wonder," answered the gentleman, drily, " that any lady should object to sitting in the same room with that lovely creature, who is not proof against the envy natural to her sex; for, however dubious her origin may be, her claims to admiration are undoubted, and that is what few women will excuse in her."

Fanny had heard all that passed, for she was placed so near, it was impossible to avoid it; and her confusion may be imagined. When she was talking to Miss Stanhope, the next day, she men tioned the distress she had suffered, adding, "that she preferred staying at home to the being ex posed to such cruel remarks."

" My dear creature," replied Miss Stanhope, " all this arises from that fiddle faddle Lady El- lincourt permitting your story to be exposed, and persisting in calling you by the name of Fanny only. Tell me candidly is not such a proceeding calculated to raise the curiosity of the quietest creatures in the world, and to set the giant obser vation staring at you, wherever you go? Now, if