WHEN the sick languor of the faintings gave place to reflection, I found myself in my own bed; whither I un­derstood I had been conveyed by the or­ders of Lord Arlington, as soon as the wound was staunched:—his proved so slight, that it left him no pretence for apprehension. Eagerly I enquired for Lady Pembroke, when to my inexpressi­ble rage and astonishment I was informed, she had been turned, from my door, whi­ther friendship led her to venture a re­pulse. [Page 2] The immaculate character of that admirable woman I thought even Lord Arlington would have respected; but with­out deigning to inform himself of the real circumstances of the unforeseen interview he had so dreadfully interrupted, by this rude implication he treated two of the most estimable and distinguished persons in the kingdom as abettors, if not con­trivers, of his dishonor.—The little blood left in my veins turned to gall at the idea. I watched an opportunity to tear away the bandages; and disdainfully resigning myself to a premature fate, endeavoured to forget the generous hearts this rash action would pierce.—The awful God whose justice I thus questioned, still ex­tended to me his mercy—my dangerous situation was discovered in time by my careful attendants, who infinitely more attached to me than their Lord, used every means to prolong the life he, perhaps, wished at its period.

In the cruel state of mind which dic­tated this desperate resolution, it proved [Page 3] a melancholy advantage; as the injury now fell on my constitution only, and my intellects escaped. It was many months ere I had strength to cross a room, or spirts to venture a question—during this memorable interval I called together every enfeebled power, and placing my consci­ence as umpire between myself and Lord Arlington, fixed and ascertained the rights of either. Convicted even by my own heart of imprudence, I wondered not he construed error into guilt; and while thus cool offered him every vindication of my innocence he could reasonably de­sire: but Lord Arlington was the slave of passion and caprice, and not having firmness of soul to form, or fix, a judg­ment, followed through years with in­vincible obstinacy the impression of the first moment.—From this period he ever treated me as an artful woman, whos e licentious conduct had obliged him to risque his life in vain defence of that honor already sullied, and lost in my [Page 4] person; nor did he affect to assert his legal rights from any other reason than to separate me from Lord Essex. This con­duct, and the misrepresentations of Lady Essex, blazed the fatal incident throughout the Court, and fixed a stain on my charac­ter, time could never erase—happily that stain reached not my person or my heart, and an injustice so aggravating on the part of Lord Arlington, entitled me to forgive the little error in myself which oc­casioned it.

In this conjuncture I once more turned my tearful eyes every way around in search of a protector to interfere between me, and a fate alike unmerited and se­vere.—Alas! there was not a human be­ing virtue allowed me to call to my aid; and I exercised the faculties Heaven had so unexpectedly blessed me with, by re­solving to suffer with patience.

Elizabeth Vernon (our old companion) the fair and gentle cousin of Lord Essex, resolved if possible to see me—she ad­dressed [Page 5] Lord Arlington, and demanded that privilege; the favor she held with the Queen hindered him from denying a request he granted with the utmost re­luctance. That sweet girl bathed me in the tears of innocence and affection—she told me the fear lest his presence should incense Lord Arlington to further brutality, had induced Essex, when I lost my senses, to withdraw from a scene which rent his very heart—the same reason still obliged him to remain at a distance.—That dur­ing the long and dire uncertainty attend­ing my illness, he had scarcely breathed—his own soul continually told him how pure mine was. Fancy presented me to him forever, pale, speechless, expiring, my sad eyes rivetted on his with a tender­ness death itself could not extinguish: however guiltless of my blood, every drop which oozed from my veins seemed to congeal on his heart; in fine, that al­most deified by my sufferings, and his sense of them, I reigned alone in his af­fections, which were from this moment [Page 6] consecrated to me by a most convincing proof. Having used the utmost art and diligence to discover how Lord Arlington so soon became apprized of his secret re­turn to England, and a meeting so un­planned, and sudden, as to interrupt it almost immediately, though supposed to be as far off as Greenwich; Lord Essex learnt that his Master of the Horse being among the domestics he brought with him to Pembroke House, had quitted it as soon as he alighted, and hastened to Greenwich in search of a girl attending on Lady Essex, of whom he was enamor­ed; through her means her Lady became likewise acquainted with his secret ar­rival without knowing its motive. That suspicious woman had already remarked Lord Arlington was among the bridal train, and in his hearing published the return of her Lord, with all her own in­jurious surmises—ill fortune for once had given them the colour of truth, and Lord Arlington needed no more than the hint to make him mount the swiftest horse and [Page 7] fly to satisfy himself.—Lady Essex was quickly informed of an incident she ought to have foreseen, and giving way to another extravagance, passionately conjured every friend she met to follow, and prevent the conflict to which her Lord now stood ex­posed—but when could friendship keep pace with love and vengeance? The straggling mediators arrived only time enough to witness the event no human power could guard against. Incensed be­yond all bounds at the conduct of his Lady, the rash Essex took the only step wanting to my ruin. Determined to make her share the misery she had occasioned, he parted with her at once and forever—in vain were all her subsequent vows of sor­row and repentance—in vain had she from that moment indulged hopes of his cooling and conciliating—his temper till this fatal period, no less yielding than fiery, now assumed a cold and philoso­phic sternness; in fine, that the grief and disappointment to which Lady Essex re­signed herself would severely punish her [Page 8] unjust suspicions, and ere long release her Lord from the ill-judged bondage he had hitherto groaned so impatiently under."

The fair Elizabeth thus ended her re­cital, which was so clear, concise, and affecting, that I could not avoid taxing her with being the emissary of her cousin; her blushes acquitted her, and bespoke a secret, time soon explained. She was secretly beloved by the gallant South­ampton, that heroic friend who was only less attached to Essex than myself, and from him had learnt the various parti­culars public report could not apprise her of.—I held myself infinitely indebted to her friendship, and through her means sent that farewell to Lady Pembroke I was not allowed to pronounce.

It had been but too obvious through her whole recital, that I was totally the victim of calumny, nor could any human power now justify me.—I had been found in the arms of Essex—the fact was indu­bitable, the true cause of that fatal impulse not likely to be credited, even when re­peated. [Page 9] My youth, my wound, and my past conduct, blended the rash judg­ment of the many with compassion, but the most liberal-minded ventured not to acquit me. Those impassioned vindica­tions the conscious soul of Essex offered, were always considered as a mere point of honor in him, and no less necessary to his own justification than mine, and thus only served to stamp guilt on both.—Oh, misjudging world, how severely on the most superficial observation dost thou venture to decide!—let the barbed ar­row of misfortune rest in the bosom it has wounded, nor by inhumanly tearing it out to discover whence it came, rack the heart already broken.

Defamed, dejected, and forgotten by all but the generous sisters of the Sydney family, I followed, once more, my fate in Lord Arlington; and reached again that Abbey destined alike to entomb me in playful childhood, and in blasted youth—the same imperious will which had de­stroyed me, had deprived that venerable mansion of its sweet, its solitary charms—the [Page 10] hallowed spot where once the ivied trophies of time bound up the defaced ones of religion, presented nothing now but a bare and barren level; and the lofty woods which so long protected alike the living and the dead, had wholly given place to infant plantations, through the thinness of which the weary eye every where pierced: I turned with disgust from the desolated scene, and locking myself up in the remotest, and most gloomy chamber of the Abbey, spent my life in meditating on my every loss.

Lord Arlington now valuing me only as the appendage of his pride, consoled himself for my undissembled aversion, and cared not what employed me, pro­vided I was yet his legal prisoner.—Alas, I had no longer resolution to rest my hopes on any object—to form any subordinate design, or to reap any sub­ordinate pleasure. The poor children still supported by my bounty, no more touched the Jute in my presence—that over which my own fingers once wandered with the wild elegance of untried youth, [Page 11] now useless and unstrung, hung up, an emblem of the discordant soul of its owner. Taste, genius, and science, those rich columes with which enthusiastic fancy erects in peaceful minds a thousand light aerial structures, deep sunk, and broken in my heart, presented to the mental eye a ruin more terrible than the noblest speculation ever paused over.—Misan­thropy, black-visaged misanthropy, reign­ed there like a solitary savage, uncon­scious of the value of those treasures his rude hand every day more and more de­faced.

I was roused one night with the infor­mation that a favorite servant of Lord Ar­lington's, who had long languished in a consumption, now found himself at the point of death, and importunately de­manded to speak with me—but ill-dis­posed at this season even to the gentle offices of humanity, and convinced he could have nothing to impart I should think of consequence, I rejected the re­quest; but finding his Lord was inebri­ated beyond the power of comprehend­ing [Page 12] him, on being again sollicited, I rose, and accompanied by a maid who loved me, entered the sick man's chamber.—I cast a harsh and cold glance round, and hardly heard the thanks he gave me—having dismissed all the servants except the maid I mentioned, I prepared to listen to him, imagining some matter relative to his office of chief bailiff and surveyor, alone, could thus disturb his last hours.—"Lady, said he, in the hollow broken voice of approaching dissolution, I could not have departed in peace had you not bestowed this indulgence—pardon me, I beseech you, for proposing to my Lord the destruction of those ruins I have since seen too plainly your heart was ever wrapt in—alas, that proposal costs me my life.—Condescend too to listen to a secret which continually drags back my soul when striving to quit her dungeon—my crime perhaps brings with it a sufficient punishment.—In removing the rubbish of the artificial hermit's cell, in compli­ance with the directions of my Lord, I one day saw a common laborer turn up [Page 13] something which tried his whole strength, when casting a quick and fearful glance around, he covered it with earth. I dispatched the men in hearing to another part, and seizing the arm of him I had watched, I insisted on seeing what he had endeavoured to conceal—it proved to be a small iron chest strongly fastened—I agreed with him to convey it away till the evening, when he might rejoin me, and we would open it and divide the contents together. He yielded rather to necessity than choice, and I took the casket with a purpose, God has severely punished—the many keys intrusted to my care sup­plied one which immediately opened it; under a number of papers and trifles of no value, I found a large sum in gold, and a few jewels—as I knew my part­ner in the discovery had remarked that the chest was heavy; in the room of the gold and jewels, I substituted an iron crucifix, and many rusty keys; then lock­ing the casket, waited anxiously for the evening. The poor laborer seeing me return, wistfully examined my features, [Page 14] but not daring to express the doubt vi­sible in his own, expected in silence the deciding hour. I suffered him to take infinite pains to break open a chest I was conscious would not repay the labor—great was the poor wretch's disappoint­ment when he emptied it—I affected the same chagrin; but turning over the pa­pers, I offered to give him twenty nobles; a sure proof, had he reflected a single moment, that I must have wronged him: he readily accepted this proposal, and at my desire, promised never to mention the incident; then with much apparent gratitude departed. Eagerly I replaced my guilty gains, and secretly resolved to take an early opportunity of quitting my Lord to commence builder in London; but fear did not suffer me for a time to venture this measure; alas, I have wanted health since to do any thing—from this moment, peace, appetite, and rest, have fled me—if worn out with watching, I dropt into a slumber, the idea that my treasure was stolen, has made me often start up, and regardless of the cold sweat [Page 15] the mere apprehension has produced, I have flown in the dead of night to convince myself it was safe—imaginary whispers have ever been near my bed, and uncertain forms have glided through my chamber—the dawn of day never gave me relief, every eye seemed to dive into my secret, and every hand to be intent on impo­verishing me—in a word, Lady, to this sad moment it has prematurely brought me; for many months doubtful whether I should survive, I have been considering how to bestow that wealth I could no longer hope to enjoy—the poor man I so basely defrauded, of it, perished a short time after by the fall of a pillar, and restitution to him can never be made. It came into my head this evening, that you were said to have been brought up in these ruins; certainly I had often seen you walk and weep on the very spot where this chest was found; perhaps in giving it to you I only restore it to the right owner; accept it, Madam, and swear you will never discover the gift to my Lord."—This request appeared a [Page 16] needless injunction, if the treasure had not been obtained by defrauding Lord Arlington; and though perhaps I should have been silent through choice, I thought it beneath me to engage to be so—find­ing me pause, he continued, "fear not any ill design in this request, Madam, you will one day be glad you complied with it, and for your own sake alone is it proposed; the hand of my Lord is grudg­ing—yours bounteous as that of heaven.—Do not rob yourself of the means to be liberal which now are offered to you—yet on no other condition than the vow of silence will I give it up." A strange de­sire to examine the papers, more than any I felt for the money, made me at last ac­quiesce. My maid by his direction, drew the iron chest from an obscure corner, and emptied it of both gold, jewels, and papers, which she and I divided, and with some difficulty concealed till we reached my apartment—he seemed only to have lived to make this discovery, and a few hours after expiated his sin with his life.

[Page 17] While he strove to impress my mind with the necessity of concealing the ad­venture, I pondered deeply over it; not easily discerning how I should interpret this strange ordination of providence; it at last occurred to me the treasure might be put into my hands for the as­sistance and comfort of my sister—how did I know whether she was not even then hastening towards me, perhaps impo­verished, certainly distressed?—Oh, how consolatory should I find it to minister to her external wants, though those of her heart should be beyond my power of com­forting! The contempt I felt for Lord Arlington was rooted too deep to admit of my thus applying his fortune, had I been the unlimited mistress of it; I therefore saw a degree of wisdom and propriety in receiving and secreting a gift heaven seemed so strangely to put into my hands, as if it were to forerun some yet unknown incident.

The papers consisted chiefly of the correspondence between Mrs. Marlow and [Page 18] Father Anthony, while yet they were lo­vers, and after the cruel discovery which annulled the nominal union—I perused these invaluable epistles with pulsations of tenderness I lately thought myself in­capable of; they recalled me to life and sensibility, and I gathered fortitude from those who now were dust; I raised my eyes to heaven in search of their pure translated souls, and wandering from pla­net to planet, fancied there must be one peculiarly allotted to lovers now no lon­ger unhappy—A thousand trifles whose value must ever be ideal and local, were preserved with these letters: cyphers, hair, sonnets, dear perpetuators of those bright hours of youth we look back on with pleasure to the latest moment of decaying life. I kissed the innocent re­liques of such an unhappy attachment with devout regard, and held them not the least part of my legacy.

Time dissipated the flattering illusion which led me to expect my sister—my mind sunk into its usual inertitude, [Page 19] and the acquisition remained, if not for­gotten, at least neglected.

From this profound stupor I was at last roused as by an earthquake—Lord Arlington in hunting fell from his horse, and breaking some blood-vessel, was brought home to appearance lifeless—conscience and humanity called on me to forget my injuries; I made every effort to save him, and for a time he appeared to mend; but the incurable habit of inebriety he even at this period indulged, defeated both care and medicine; and after enduring a series of sufferings which annihilated my sense of wrong, he expired in the prime of his days.

Good heaven, what a transition did this event make in my life!—habituated to slavery—accustomed to suppose Lord Arlington destined to survive me, I be­held this incredible revolution with mute surprise—the horror of his sufferings gave way, when they ceased, to the sweet idea of liberty—liberty, sighed out my weary heart, ah! to what purpose is mine now [Page 20] restored? I beheld myself in the situation of a criminal, whose shackles are struck off only to launch him into the immense ocean in a little boat, without rudder, oars, or sustenance—where could I find a hope to rest on? alone in the vast uni­verse, I turned around in vain in search of one generous hand, whose aid I might receive without fear or shame.

The relation of Lord Arlington who succeeded to his title and estate was an illiterate rude sea officer, whom his ill­ness alone had detained in England. He came on the news of his decease; escort­ing the late Lord's two sisters, to whom the personals were all devised. I waited only the reading of the will to quit the melancholy mansion I meant to abjure for the future.—Gracious heaven! how deep was my indignation and rage to find myself mentioned in it as an insane wretch to whom he bequeathed a mere maintenance, and left to be confined un­der the charge of his sisters in St. Vincent's Abbey, which as a purchase of his own, [Page 21] descended to them! Never, in all the trials I had hitherto experienced, had I felt a transport like that this usage exci­ted—to extend his tyranny beyond the grave!—Mean, execrable wretch! even at the moment I was exhausting the little constitution his cruelty had left me in un­wearied attendance, deliberately to con­demn me to an imprisonment so shock­ing, and render it perpetual!—human nature could not resist so pungent a pang—it made the misery it punished; and I sunk into the dreary gulph once more from which I was lately emerging—my brain still fires but to remember it.—Oh, my sister! whatever the inflictions of your mysterious fate, those of mine may surely dispute the woeful pre-emi­nence.

The overjoyed Essex dispatched an ex­press, as soon as the news of Lord Ar­lingtons death reached the Court, con­juring me to quit the melancholy prison I had so long inhabited, and retire to a [Page 22] seat of Lord Southampton, in Here­fordshire; whither that nobleman's bride would immediately repair to meet and com­fort me. Lady Southampton was the fair cousin of Lord Essex, I formerly mentioned, who by marrying privately had wholly lost the favor of the Queen. The declining state of Lady Essex's health, he added, daily promised him that freedom, made doubly desirable now I had recovered mine. It had always been the intention of Lady Southampton to follow her Lord to Ireland; and he besought me to give him the sweet satisfaction of know­ing I was safe in the company and protec­tion of his cousin, solemnly promising not to obtrude himself on me ere the laws of society authorized the avowal of those sentiments which had so long lived in his heart.

The relations of Lord Arlington, pos­sessing by his will an absolute power, inter­cepted, and opened this Letter—far from pouring the balm it contained into my bleeding heart, they kept the dear testi­mony [Page 23] of an unequalled attachment; and sent back the messenger with the melan­choly news of my insanity and confine­ment: but Lord Essex had been already duped, and could not easily credit this in­formation. He deputed Henry Tracey, a young officer, much in his confidence, to ascertain my real situation; command­ing him not to be dismissed by any other mode of conviction than being admitted into my presence.—Alas! ere this was resolved on, resentment had again fired my bewildered brain, and Lord Arling­ton had little to apprehend in allowing Tracey to enter my apartment. Buried in a profound stupor, I replied not to his questi­ons, but drawing my mourning veil over my eyes, sat like a self-devoted Persian, the voluntary victim of despair. The faithful Tracey, still fearful of being im­posed on, insisted on having my picture, and a lock of my hair, to prove to his Lord it was indeed myself he had beheld in this deplorable state: he obtained this request and departed.

[Page 24] But what became of Essex when Tra­cey returned with this melancholy con­firmation?—the testimonials his confi­dante had brought, added force to the eternal passion of his soul: a thousand times he made Tracey describe the apart­ment—my dress—my looks—and some­times fancying even that cautious friend had been deceived; at others, that the wretches in whose power I was left, had, for the short period Tracey was permitted to behold me, stupified my senses; he created a thousand delusions to coun­teract the fearful impression of the truth.

Distracted with these ideas, Lord Essex fet out for Ireland, invested with absolute powers, and heading an army attached to him alike by gratitude and expectation—he had not marched far ere he formed the bold resolution of committing the con­duct of the troops to Lord Southampton, and turning off, he posted to St. Vincent's Abbey, determined to judge from his own senses of the state of mine: he ar­rived there at midnight, and requiring [Page 25] the unwilling owners to produce me, in a tone which admitted neither denial or delay, they conducted him to my chamber—a dim lamp alone glim­mered in it, and closing my eyes as the stronger lights approached, I waved my hand in stupid silence to have them removed. The transports of grief and surprise which overcame the generous Essex at this terrible convicton, threat­ened his own intellects—by some wonder­ful ordination of providence my cold and apparently uninformed heart waked at that well known voice—day broke once more upon my soul, and my eyes once more opened to behold their darling ob­ject. This surprizing effect of his pre­sence would have persuaded him that rea­son had never deserted me, had not my poor maids expressed a joy at this unex­pected revolution too unfeigned to be mis­construed; they intreated him to leave me time to strengthen my faculties ere he again absorbed them, and he confined to [Page 26] stifled exclamations, and silent homage, all the passion and the projects with which his bosom swelled.

Alithea, who had for years been my favorite attendant, informed him (as soon as he could be persuaded to withdraw, and leave me to repose) of the cruel and unjust will, which, by rendering me a prisoner for life, had occasioned this dreadful relapse. His haughty soul, neg­ligent at all times of prudence, and now perhaps of propriety, induced him to tell the Arlington family, that he would pe­rish ere I should again be left in their power: having planted some of his most faithful domestics to guard my chamber door from every one but my own maids, he retired to the apartment allotted him, to meditate on the mode of proceeding least likely to endanger my newly reco­vered intellects.

Alithea very prudently had me bled, and I sunk into a sweet and sound sleep, the comfort I had long most wanted. I waked late the next morning with in­tellects [Page 27] entirely clear, though weak; I remembered I had seen, or fancied I had seen Essex; Alithea imparted to me the truth, and shed tears of joy to find I an­swered her rationally—I yielded to her intreaties in delaying till the afternoon a meeting so dear and affecting, and took the medicinal cordials and other nourish­ment she offered me; a few hours strength­ened me surprizingly, and I was at last allowed to receive the generous lover my soul so much desired. While he poured forth the most ardent vows of unremitting affection, and surveyed in tender sorrow, the ravages grief and disappointment had thus early made in my wan countenance, and emaciated form, I beheld with sur­prize the advantages he had acquired in both instances; his graceful flower of youth was settled into firmer manhood; his fair and florid complexion, sunned over by his military exploits, had gained strength without losing delicacy, and his eye, now no less accustomed to command than charm, seemed to employ its first power on all the rest of the world, while [Page 28] its last was solely reserved for me. Ah man, happy man! how superior are you in the indulgence of nature! blest with sci­entific resources, with boldness, and an ac­tivity unknown to more persecuted woman; from your various disappointments in life ever spring forth some vigorous and blooming hope, insensibly staunching those wounds in the heart through which the vital powers of the feebler sex bleed helplessly away; and when relenting fortune grants your wishes, with un­blighted powers of enjoyment you em­brace the dear bought happiness; scarce conscious of the cold dew-drops your cheeks imbibe from those of her, permitted too late to participate your fate.

It was some days ere I dared trust my­self to converse long with Essex, who em­ployed that sweet interval in amusing my mind with lighter topics, while he ar­ranged his future plans; but finding I still appeared calm, he ventured at last to unfold to me the mighty designs which floated in his imagination. "Inexorably opposing choice to fate, my dearest Elli­nor, [Page 29] said he, never from the moment I first beheld you, have I formed a project in which you were not a sharer; this I am about to unfold has been for years the child of my dotage—collect yourself, listen without wonder, and, if possible, ap­prove it: from the moment I knew the base arts that must have been made use of to separate us, I clearly comprehended we should never unite with the consent of Elizabeth; but, however indebted to her partial distinction, it was a point in which even she could not controul me; it is not the posts or advantages I derive from her favor, on which my soul values itself; elevated on a more solid foundation, it has taken every road to glory, and I may proudly say, given a grace to dotage; yet as that dotage, however unbecoming her years and her rank, has been uniform and generous, I have sworn to yield Eli­zabeth, to the latest moment of her life, every homage but that of the heart; and sacrifice to my fealty all but my happiness.—It is hard to reconcile duties [Page 30] and inclinations so entirely opposite, yet I think you will own I have done so.

To a blind partiality for me, and her own egregious self-love, the Queen igno­bly sacrificed your youth, your hopes, your happiness; but alas, she forgot in so doing, that she would only make them more perfectly mine—without any con­sideration for the husband she had given you, a wretch I could at any time look into insignificance, I studied solely how to extricate you from a bondage not more insupportable to you than myself.—Among a thousand other projects, I re­solved to apprize the King of Scots of your existence and situation, soliciting from his fraternal regard a safe asylum, and that peace and protection my youth and circumstances would not allow me to offer you. I found means to convey to his knowledge your whole melan­choly story—but how shall I declare to you his ungenerous conduct? Fool that I was to think the man who could tamely submit to the murder of his mother, would be interested by any other tye! Far from [Page 31] exerting himself to rescue the dear un­happy sister I conjured him to compas­sionate, he affected to disbelieve the story of his mother's marriage with the Duke of Norfolk; though the Countess of Shrewsbury solemnly assured me he had, through her hands, received from the Royal Mary the most authentic proofs of it, as soon as he escaped from the power of the Regent, and was allowed to act as an independent Sovereign. Anxious with­out doubt to center in himself every right of his mother, he voluntarily re­nounced all regard for either her ashes or her offspring, ignominiously submit­ting to kiss the hand which had shortened her days.—What after this is to be hoped from the King of Scots? and why should you sacrifice to a brother who dis­owns you, those bright prospects which now dawn before you? Born of the first English Peer, and the Princess immedi­ate in succession to the Throne—a native of this kingdom; there is only one thing wanting to establish rights from whence you may justly form the highest hopes—authentic [Page 32] testimonials of these facts: and that such still exist, I have certain in­formation—it is true they are dispersed among the Catholick relations and friends of Mary, yet do I not despair of obtain­ing them.—The English ever disposed to be jealous of their national rights, dread the remotest chance of their anni­hilation, and already turn their eyes to­ward the family of Suffolk in preference to receiving a foreign Monarch.—That unhappy branch of the royal line, by turns the martyrs of fear and policy, have bled through succeeding generations, till re­duced wholly to females; among whom there is not one endued with courage or talents to venture a contest, had they even the priority of birth which rests with you. Let us then adopt the views of Lord Lei­cester, who certainly meant by the most watchful policy, to pave the way for your sister's succession, whenever Eliza­beth should expire. Your fate is bound up with that of a man much more capable of effecting whatever views he shall adopt. [Page 33] Elizabeth daily totters on the verge of the grave—disposed to hate the Prince she has irretrievably injured in the person of his mother, she still refuses to acknow­ledge the King of Scots for her heir; and has fully invested me with every power that may enable me to profit by the po­pularity I have honorably acquired. My own birth, though it does not give me a lineal claim to the Crown of England, is yet noble in many generations, and princely in some. Circumstances and merit thus entitle me to match with you—doubt not the success of this project.—Born as you are for empire, endued with beauty to adorn, and majesty to dig­nify it—with incontestable evidence of your birth (which I will employ every art to procure) I will boldly present to the people of England another blooming Queen—they will with joy adopt you; nor can the feeble attempts of the boyish Scotch pedant against an army won by my munificence, endeared to my com­mand, and relying on my valor, affect a [Page 34] claim so strongly supported. How many instances does our own history supply where courage and popularity have de­throned monarchs in full possession of every other advantage? —You now are in­formed of what has long been the ul­timate object of my life; every action and view has had a secret reference to it, and far from idling away my youth in the various pleasures the gay Court of Eli­zabeth offered to her favorite, I have con­tinually ranged the seas, watched in camps, disciplined armies, and by every possible means studied to increase my mili­tary fame, knowledge, and popularity, as what must one day decide more than my own fate. It is this that has made me eager to conduct the Irish war—In that country I shall be at the head of an army, which will easily enable me to profit by the loss of the Queen, without alarming her declining years with the appearance of cabal, mystery, or rebellion.—Boldly resolve then, my love, to accompany me thither, as the only place on earth where [Page 35] you can be entirely safe; I will lodge you in some impregnable fortress with Lady Southampton; I will remain in the camp, and never approach it but by your permission—I demand this instance of your confidence, of your love; and swear in return inviolable honor and obe­dience—Oh! answer me not rashly sweet Ellinor—rather recall the fatal moment of obstinate prudence which once before brought on both so tedious a period of suffering, and remember you again have the power of deciding my fate and your own.

Essex rose from my feet, and left me ab­sorbed in the deepest reflection; my mind however instantaneously adopted the aspir­ing project he had presented to it. Through the dark and heavy cloud which had long hung over my soul, the sun of love now pierced at once, and turned it all to am­bient gold.—To mount a throne; to share it with the choice of my heart; to give to him that sovereignty I owed to his valor—I was astonished the idea had [Page 36] so long escaped me: yet such a train of misfortunes had succeeded my birth, as might well obliterate my sense of its rights. "Base and unworthy son! sighed I, ungenerous, cruel brother! why should I sacrifice to thee my only chance on this side the grave?" The mean acquiescence of James, under a blow which almost nerved my arm against the royal mur­derer, had already sufficiently shocked my feelings, and shut him out of all my plans; alas, I could only excuse his mis­conduct by supposing he was yet subjected to his mother's enemies; though even then, a generous soul would resolutely have protested against the evil it could not prevent; but to learn he sacrificed an inviolable duty, and every social feeling, at the shrine of that bloated idol, self, robbed him of all claim to the feelings, the duties, he renounced. The deter­mined plan of the generous Essex had every thing in its favor, nor was my concurrence so necessary to his success as happiness—but wherefore should I he­sitate, [Page 37] when not to unite in it was to deliver myself up to an implacable ene­my? yet as avowedly to depart with Essex, or even after him, would awaken dan­gerous suspicions in the mind of Elizabeth, and confirm all the slanders of the world; I pondered much on a singular idea that arose in my mind, by which both might be obviated; indeed the situation of my health would have sufficently opposed my going with him, had no other objection oc­curred.—I perceived an air of stifled an­ger in Essex when he returned, which I con­jured him to expound:—"It is a matter of no consequence, said he, with his usual frankness; fortunately the few friends I have brought with me are tried and valiant, and we have the power in our own hands: the wretches, my love, who surround you, pretend an authority from the Queen, as well as from the late Lord Arlington, for your detention; this will oblige us to use a violence I had rather have avoided, but that is a trifle." Oh! call not any thing a trifle which affects your safety, [Page 38] however remotely cried I; in yielding to the bold project you have ventured to form, beware I do not become its ruin—yes, look not on me with so marked a wonder; my soul accords to, adopts at once all your views. I will at last indulge my heart, and thus affiance it to yours—born to pursue your fortune, I will joyfully con­sent to partake it, so you, in return, swear the confidence will render you but more guarded; in considering my own honor, I am only watching over yours; pledge then your word that you will not inter­fere with my plan, and I in return will vow, that all I henceforward form, shall have the same tendency with your own."

The generous Essex scarce credited his senses, and gave with readiness the assur­ance I desired.—Resolved to guard my sister's prior rights, and unable to judge of the motives which might bury her for a time in oblivion, I insisted on his supporting her claim in preference to mine, if ever she should appear; and he perhaps the more readily acquiesced in this request, from a conviction she no [Page 39] longer existed, as all my opinions on that head appeared to him entirely visionary.

Refusing to confide in this dear rash lover the means by which I meant to re­join him, I obliged him to assume an air of grief and despair, Which persuaded the Arlington family I had relapsed into insanity. In the interim a maid of mine had been seized with an epidemic fever of the most dangerous kind; I impati­ently hastened the departure of Essex, lest the cruel malady should infect him, and conjured him to wait with Lady South­ampton at the Port, from whence the troops had already embarked, till I should rejoin him. The air of satisfac­tion he perceived in me, made him com­ply against his better judgment, and the Arlington race no less overjoyed at his departure than my supposed relapse, and fearful of the epidemic fever, shut up those who immediately attended on me, in the quarter of the Abbey I inhabited, avoiding it themselves as though the plague were enclosed there.

[Page 40] In this solitude I executed a surprizing project I had long meditated: from the moment I was informed of the mock interment of Lord Leicester, my mind had dwelt on the idea; I saw it was only to methodize the most wild and romantic plan, and however unfeasible it at first appeared, time might form and bring it to effect.—The treasure of the surveyor now became a treasure indeed; reflection convinced me the bequest originated in that wretch's having been the confidante as well as witness of his Lord's ungenerous will, and by thus disposing of it, he enabled me to escape from the despicable bondage it entailed upon me, without betraying his trust.—The maid, who alone witnessed the mysterious legacy, had, by her inviolable silence on so singular an event, sufficiently proved that she could merit my whole confidence; fortunately, she was no less favored by those in whose power I was left, and became of course the properest, and only assistant I could fix on:—by thus turning the artifice of the Queen upon herself, I might at once escape from [Page 41] her power, and that of the guardians un­der whose care she had placed me; and gratify the first wish of Essex without endangering his safety.

Alithea embraced the plan with joy, and engaged her parents, who were la­borers in the neighbourhood, to aid the delusion.—I affected to be seized with the same fatal fever as soon as the maid's symptoms became mortal, and when she soon after died, resigned my bed to her corpse: her hair, height, complexion, and age, so far agreed with mine as to secure me from common observation, and dread of the contagion saved us from a very strict scrutiny; as it was believed the maid expired at the same time with my­self, by Alithea's judicious management her supposed body was to be delivered to the parents of that faithful domestic; when placing myself and treasure in the homely coffin, I was boldly conveyed like the Empress Maud through the midst of my enemies, and lodged in their humble cot till enough recovered to pursue the route of Essex.

[Page 42] Alithea now published the news of my death through the family, who heard of it with joy; the unguarded conduct of the generous Essex had suggested to them, that to have acted under the authority of the Queen, might one day be a very insufficient vindication:—this idea added fear to that hatred they always enter­tained for me, and with pleasure they bu­ried both those passions in my grave.— Having surveyed my wardrobe, jewels, and papers, without finding the least defi­ciency, they prepared for my interment, and discharged my immediate attendants; among them the favored one who had aided my scheme, and her return to her parents restored peace to my bosom.

From the humble cot of that honest creature's parents do I close this period of my memoirs—here, as from an invi­sible world, have I surveyed the gloomy pageant, with which the erroneous judg­ments of those from whom I escaped have dignified a low-born female, and by plac­ing her pompously at the side of Lord Arlington, they perhaps have blundered [Page 43] unconsciously on propriety.—As the sable train wound by my window, my soul paused on the solemn vanity—Oh! that in thy tomb, thou quiet sleeper, sighed I, may be interred with my name all the painful part of my existence! that renovated to a new and happier being, I may emerge again into that world which still opens a flowery path before me, with corrected spirits, unfaltering reason, and a temper superior to the shocks of misfortune! —

The soul, ever capricious and uncer­tain, fully enjoys only the pleasures it makes for itself.—Often do I seem even in this rustic asylum, concealed in the coarse garments of the other sex, and looking to­wards a distant kingdom as my home, to have hoards of hope and happiness to build on, my youthful, healthful days were ne­ver blest with.—

[Page 44] My own fate has once more recalled to my mind that of Matilda—I have medi­tated much on a sister so dear—alas, too certainly Essex is in the right, and there exists not a being I can call by that name.—Long years have succeeded each other, and still that incomprehensible mystery, that dreadful silence continues; there is no circumstance but death that could occasion it.—Farewell then, oh name ever so pleasant to my lips, sink deep into my heart, and remain eternally en­graved there—farewell, thou pure spirit! too etherial for a world so gross, I will no more look for thee on its surface, I will no more imagine thee beneath it— no, I will now raise my stedfast eye to that heaven "where the wicked cease from troubling," and in some yet undiscovered star fancy I behold thee! Ah deign, if so, to guide the uncertain steps of a wan­derer, and if my cruel fate conduct them still toward precipices, irradiate the scene, and deliver me from the danger!—My spirits are high wrought, and a solemnity too exquisite for description possesses [Page 45] every faculty—I must steep them all in a lethargy ere I recover my equanimi­ty.—

Happiness! undefinable good, in what shall I comprize you? no, I will not suppose it can be done in gold, and yet how pure was the transport a little of that vile metal called into the care-furrowed countenances of Alithea's venerable pa­rents! To the earth which gave, I have restored the remainder; it is buried east­ward under the spreading chesnut planted by Edward IV.—that popular tree, pro­tected alike from the caprice of its owner, and the spade of the laborer, will hide it safely: but, oh! if ever one noble heart sighs under its shade, oppressed with the sting of penury, may some good angel whisper, "you rest on that which can fully relieve you."

All is now prepared for my flight; I have refused the attendance of Alithea; it will be well supplied in the remem­brance [Page 46] that she is happy—indulgent hea­ven has given to her, parents who grow old in peace and virtue, a lover who knows not falsehood or ambition, and a soul justly grateful for blessings beyond all valuation—the faithful creature delays the happiness of him she loves till he shall have conveyed this broken narrative into the hands of Lady Pembroke; nor do I fear to trust him with it.—Dear, noble friend, once more my soul fondly salutes you; bestow on my flight those pious prayers with which virtue consecrates our purposes, and believe mine rise ever for you. If we meet again, remember it must be with pleasure.

THE RECESS, &c.
PART V.

A Silence so tedious will make you number me among the dead; recover yourself, my beloved friend—born to a perpetual contest with ill fortune, I sink not even yet under, the oppression.—I have been collecting all my thoughts to pursue my strange recital, more strange indeed every day.

[Page 59] In our way toward Ulster, we were in­tercepted by a body of the rebellious Irish, and a desperate skirmish ensued—how shall I own it, and call myself the the love of Essex; yet so it was—I, who had been so valiant in imagination, and remote from the field of action—I, who had in fancy lifted a sword with the strength of Goliah, and interposed a shield before Essex, heavier perhaps than myself, shrunk into annihilation at the bare sight of the conflict; and the faintings which laid me among the slain, perhaps alone saved me from being added to their number. I revived in the hands of some ferocious women, who in stripping the dead, had discovered at one moment that I yet lived, and was of their own sex. Induced either by a sentiment of huma­nity, or the hope of a reward, they listened to my eager supplications for life, and conveyed me to a neighbouring cabin; whither they soon summoned a priest, who opened a vein in my arm. On feebly [Page 60] reviving once more, I cast my eyes round in speechless astonishment, scarce know­ing whether I should think my escape a blessing. I was environed by a set of beings who in complexion alone bore any resemblance to myself, their language, manners, and lives, seeming no more ana­logous, than those of the inhabitants of the Torrid Zone. I laboured in vain to com­prehend them, or to make myself under­stood, and was, in despair giving up the attempt, when the priest already menti­oned came to my relief. Through his means I informed them that the Lord De­puty would redeem me at any ransom, provided they secured me from danger and insult. I should, I believe, have en­sured my own safety, had not the victo­rious party learnt, by some straggler, that an English woman of distinguished rank had been discovered among the slain. They eagerly turned back to demand me, and the hope of reward alike influencing my preservers to keep me in their hands, a dispute no less fierce, though not so [Page 61] bloody, as that I had before witnessed, followed; it was too violent to be com­promised, and at length, as the only way to prevent murder, both parties agreed I should be put into the hands of their General Tiroen; or, as some called him, O'Neal. Intreaties or resistance would have been equally vain, and I was obliged to rejoice they thought me of consequence enough to act so honorably by me.

During this interval, one of the ser­vants deputed by Lady Southampton im­mediately to attend on me, having lin­gered a few minutes behind the English troop, followed to rejoin them at the mo­ment of the onset; the sound of the firing reached him ere he fell in with the scouts, and clapping spurs to his horse, he flew back to the village we all had lately quitted, there to wait in safety the event of the contest: at this place he was informed, a band of rebels had issued out from an ambuscade formed in the neighbouring mountain; and while he was wavering what step to take, the [Page 62] news of my sex and capture suddenly reached him; struck with the idea of some important mystery, as well from my disguise as the cautions of his Lady, he hastened back to her with the strange in­telligence. The generous but timid Lady Southampton, impressed solely with the idea of my danger, wrote instantaneously to Essex, briefly reciting all he did not know of my story, and strongly conjuring him to exert his utmost influence to pre­serve me from insult.

But who shall paint the feelings of Essex, when the surprizing intelligence first reached him! intelligence which, in one moment, opened all those sources of tenderness in his soul, grief and des­pair had well nigh congealed. To think I still lived would have been consummate happiness, had I not been thus unaccount­ably snatched away, even at the very mo­ment of my miraculous renovation: so singular a complication of events almost deprived him of his senses, and wrought impulse up to agony. Perhaps the last [Page 63] untoward incident of my life was neces­sary to save his brain from partaking the distractions of his mind—sick at the heart of an incurable sorrow—fatigued with the cares of government, and the slavery of command, the news of my existence and capture made him find in distinctions hitherto so oppressive, the sole prospect of recovering a treasure, which, alone could give value to his future life.

From the knowledge acquired in his mili­tary command, Essex was enabled to decide on the character of Tiroen—he justly be­lieved it unprincipled and ungovernable; how must he tremble then to recollect my fate was in his hands! In a conjuncture so dangerous, he resigned himself entirely up to the guidance of an impassioned heart, and dispatched an officer of rank, charging the arch-rebel by the blood of thousands yet unspilt, not to exasperate the English, and himself in particular, by maltreating the lady fortune had thrown into his power; for whose ransom any [Page 64] sum was tendered her captors should de­mand.

This rash and impetuous address had consequences only less dangerous than those it guarded against. Tiroen unfor­tunately discovered at once that he had the happiness of the Lord Deputy in his keeping, and though he flattered him from time to time with promises of noble treatment, he secretly determined no doubt, that if he ever parted with me, it should be upon his own terms.

It was not till several of these messages had passed, that Tiroen's curiosity led him to visit me: the attention excited by my masculine habit had led me imme­diately to request one more suited to my sex; and the delicate situation I stood in, obliging me to conduct myself with the utmost caution, I had thought it pe­culiarly fortunate to escape the notice of the General.

The continual repetition of his tedious visits, when once he had seen me; the lavish supply of such accommodations as [Page 65] that ravaged country then afforded—an obstinate silence on the state of my affairs, and the most wearisome discussions of his own, all too soon convinced me, that neither his pride, his ambition, or his fe­rocity, had been able to guard the heart of Tiroen from that powerful passion which invigorated the being of his dis­tinguished rival—I trembled at the recol­lection that I was wholly in his power—already misjudged as the voluntary mis­tress of Essex, unwilling to announce myself, and unable, had I done so, to prove my right to any name or distinction, mine was indeed a fearful situation. I was not allowed to hold any correspondence with the English, and only knew by the watch kept over me, that a human being was anxious for my release.

Whatever consequences might follow my appearing pleased with the distincti­ons lavished on me by Tiroen, I felt every day more sensibly that I had no other means of avoiding the licentious insolence of his officers; who fancied their services so im­portant [Page 66] to the cause they had espoused, as to secure their conduct from too strict a scrutiny.

Tiroen sought occasions to break off, renew, and prolong, the secret intercourse in which he had now engaged with Essex; but a lingering treaty agreed not with the fiery impatience of that unfortunate hero. His divided soul no longer could attend to the duties of his command—the busi­ness of the war was at an end—Essex was no longer a cool and prudent General, watchful to seize every advantage, and harrass the enemy—alas, he was now only a mad and extravagant lover, ready to sacrifice every thing to the recovery of one adored individual.—Delivered up to passion, to terror, to agony, to every tor­turing excess of overstrained sensibility, at this fatal period the generous Essex was gradually sacrificing the whole renown of a life hitherto so glorious. The news of Tiroen's love crowned his misfortunes; and that execrable traitor, determined to bring the Lord Deputy to his terms, by various [Page 67] emissaries had him informed of plots he never laid against me, and repulses he never sustained; speciously disowning such designs in terms calculated only to redouble the suspicions of his rival.

By artifices like these the warlike talents and dignified mind of Essex were kept in absolute subjection; he no longer dared to exert the valour which burned proudly at his heart, but stifling every emotion love did not excite, he eagerly engaged in a secret and dangerous treaty.—The rash proposal of Essex to confer with Tiroen from the opposite banks of a rivu­let, I imputed to the passionate desire a lover ever has to judge of the person and talents of the man who dares to rival him—this interview could not be kept a secret—alas, perhaps it decided the fortune of the Lord Deputy.—Misjudged from that moment by a busy world which sees only the surface of things, to timidity, to ava­rice, to indolence, to ambition, by turns, has been ascribed an incident, of which love had all the merit or the shame.—Ah! had the erroneous multitude considered [Page 68] but a moment, surely they had discerned a mystery in his conduct.—What could ambition, glory, pride, require, he did not possess already? If to hold the most absolute sway over the most absolute of Sovereigns conld gratify those wishes, they were gratified.—Rather, ye busy Many, learn to pity than condemn the generous frenzy of a bleeding heart which boldly sacrificed every thing to an over­ruling, an irresistible passion—a passion mine must break to answer—and it will break.—Oh! my shook brain, how wild it wanders!—

THE RECESS, &c.
PART VI.

TIME, which inures us to every kind of suffering, at length strengthened my mind against the heavy sadness impressed on it by the fate of this dear unconsci­ous sufferer. Slowly I ventured to pon­der on the past; to meditate the future. It was with true gratitude and concern I learnt Heaven had called to itself the amiable and accomplished sister of Lady Arundell, who caught a cold during [Page 194] her attendanee on the sick Queen, which ended in a consumption, and carried her off a few months after Elizabeth. Actu­ated to the last by the sublimest sym­pathy and friendship, Lady Pembroke had added, to the moiety of the survey­or's treasure (which she had caused to be dug for in the spot specified) a sufficient sum to secure the dear unfortunate every comfort her forlorn state admitted; plac­ing with her Alithea, the favorite maid she had so tenderly commemorated, and committed both to the charge of Lady Arundel; who with equal generosity re­ceived so anxious a trust. A virtue thus consummate sanctifies itself, and can re­ceive neither glory or grace from the gra­titude of humanity; yet surely the in­cense of the heart arises even to Heaven! accept it then, oh, gentlest of the Syd­neys, although insphered there!

The strange and unaccountable differ­ence in my sister's opinion and my own, respecting Lord Leicester, supplied me a source of endless meditation: yet as this difference became obvious only from [Page 195] the time we arrived in London, I could not help imputing her blindness to the same cause she assigned for mine.—Certainly she imbibed the unreasonable prejudices of Lord Essex; whose ambition (however fatally expiated) always inclined him to dislike a Nobleman born to super­sede him. I saw but too plainly from the irritation and vehemence to which her temper from that period became sub­ject, how much a woman insensibly adopts of the disposition of him to whom she gives her heart. I had not however look­ed on her choice with the contemptuous asperity with which she regarded mine.—Lord Essex, I will frankly own, ere yet he rose into favor, was gifted like her­self with every captivating advantage of nature.—The fire and ingenuousness which afterwards marked his character, then lived only in his eyes; and the cul­tivated understanding he possessed, point­ed every glance with elegance and ex­pression. One must have loved Lord Leicester to see Essex with indifference—one must have loved him to the excess [Page 196] I did perhaps, not to remark the attach­ment my sister avowed.—Innumerable instances of it now flashed on my memo­ry, I was astonished could at the moment escape me. If she was indeed more clear sighted than myself—But why do I en­ter on so vain a discussion?—Alas, dear Ellinor! beloved Leicester! I have no right but to lament ye.

I had likewise gathered another pain­ful doubt from the story of my sister. England had gained a King in the son of Mary Stuart, but her unfortunate daugh­ters must not hope to acquire a brother. From the moment I had been informed mine had acceded to the throne, the tender mother's heart had fluttered with the idea of presenting to him that lovely girl so nearly allied to his blood. Al­though regardless of distinction in my own person, I could not turn my eyes on the fair daughter of Lord Leicester with­out coveting for her every human advan­tage.—Unwilling to be swayed by pre­judice, I separately consulted with the [Page 197] few friends fortune had left me; who all concurred in giving me an impression of the King, degrading, if not contempti­ble. They represented him as national, vain, pedantick, credulous, and partial: wanting generosity to bestow a royal fu­neral on the body of the martyred saint, his unhappy mother; yet daily impo­verished to meanness by favorites and pa­rasites. Enslaved by the imperious spirit of a Queen he neither loved nor valued, and only endeared to the people he go­verned through the fickleness of their natures, which are always gratified by change. As those who spoke thus, could have no possible interest in villifying or depreciating him, I could not but give some credit to their account; and made it my first concern to see the King; anxious to read in his countenance a confutation of every charge. How unaccountably was I disappointed when my senses took part with his enemies!—I beheld with astonishment in the person of James, youth without freshness, royalty without [Page 198] grandeur, height without majesty—an air of slyness and a secret servility, cha­racterized features, which, though devoid of the graces of either distinguished pa­rent, wanted not regularity; and a stoop­ing slouch gait gave an invincible awk­wardness to a figure nature had endued with symmetry. Offended and repelled, my heart sunk again into its own little mansion, nor claimed the least alliance with his.—I determined to watch at lei­sure his real character and conduct, nor ventured to confide to his care the sin­gle treasure Heaven had permitted me to retain, of all it once bestowed. Resolved to educate my daughter suitably to the fortune she was born to, I thought it wise to bury in my own bosom, at least for a time, the secret of her right to it; and the eccentric turn of mind every succeed­ing day rendered more obvious in the King, made me continually applaud the moderation and foresight which guarded me on this interesting occasion.

[Page 199] I, however, judged it necessary to as­sume a title no human being envied, or offered to dispute with me; and to support it properly without encroaching on my daughter's valuable acquisition, I found I must resolve to re-visit Kenil­worth Castle, now the property of ano­ther family.—In the building were con­tained cabinets so secure and unknown, that Lord Leicester always deposited there, ere he journeyed to London, such pa­pers, jewels, and other valuables, as he thought it unsafe to take with him. On the memorable night when last we quitted that pleasant dwelling, I had assisted him to place in the most curious of these reservoirs several caskets, for which he seemed more than commonly anxious; and I added to their number, that containing Mrs. Mar­low's papers, and the testimonials of my birth. As if actuated by some sad pre-senti­ment that he should never more re-visit this spot, my Lord took great pains to familia­rize me to the management of the springs, and gave into my hands duplicates of the [Page 200] keys. By a singular chance amidst all the transitions of my fate, these keys re­mained, and seemed continually to re­mind me, how important to my daugh­ter's welfare it might one day be to re­cover the caskets.—A motive strong as this alone could conquer the reluctance I felt again to behold a spot sacred to the memory of a husband so beloved. You will call this, perhaps, a childish weak­ness, after all I had borne; but alas, the mind feebler and feebler from every conflict, sometimes sinks under a trifle, after repelling the more powerful attacks of ill-fortune with magnanimity.

Lady Arundel, with her usual kindness, proposed accompanying me; and we sor­rowfully measured once more those miles which so strongly revived in my mind the most interesting remembrances. At Coven­try we rested to enquire into the character of the present owner of Kenilworth Castle. We were told that this magnificent man­sion I had left fit for the reception of a Sovereign, had long been in the hands [Page 201] of a miser, whose avarice had induced him to strip it of its princely ornaments: not less from the desire of converting those into money, than to deprive it of every charm that might tempt the en­quiring traveller to knock at the inhos­pitable gate. Yet even when this ruin was effected, the structure itself was so complete a piece of architecture, as to attract a number of unwelcome visitors; to exclude whom, he had now let it to some manufacturers, and resided himself in a remote apartment. The chagrin this extraordinary revolution could not but occasion in my mind, was increased when I recollected how hard it would be, perhaps, to gain admission; and even when that was obtained, we knew not whether the only room I wished to lodge in was now habitable. Lady Arundell, with her usual foresight, advised me to seem to have no other motive for this visit, than a desire to re-purchase the Castle; and when shewn through it, to appear to be struck with so severe an in­disposition, as soon as I reached the [Page 202] chamber which contained the cabinets, as should render it impossible to remove me; leaving it to her to reconcile the owner to so troublesome an intruder, by the most lavish generosity. A finesse of this kind alone could ascertain me any success, and the sickliness of my aspect, I was sure, would sufficiently corroborate such an assertion.

We set out immediately, that by ar­riving in the evening we might have a pretence for passing the night there.— My soul turned from the well-known scene, and sickened alike at sight of the reviving verdure, and the splendid man­sion, to me alas, only a gay mausoleum. Humbly I sollicited entrance at a gate which once flew open whenever I appear­ed; but, ah, though the exterior was the same, how strange seemed the alter­ation within!—No more did the liveried train of assiduous domestics assemble to the distant winding of the huntsman's horn.—No longer did I rest in gilded galleries, whose pictured sides delighted one sense, while their coolness refreshed [Page 203] another. No longer could I, even in idea, behold the beloved, the noble own­er, whose gracious mien endeared the welcome it conveyed—A change which jarred every feeling had taken place. A numerous body of diligent mechanics were plodding in those halls were Eliza­beth had feasted, and their battered sides hardly now informed us where the rich tapestry used to hang. My ears were sud­denly stunned with the noise of a hundred looms; and the distant lake once covered with gay pageants, and resounding only to the voice of pleasure, presented us ano­ther scene of industry not less busy, strange, and surprizing. By incidents of this kind, one becomes painfully and instantaneously sensible of advancing into life. When first we find ourselves sailing with the imperceptible current of time, engrossed either by the danger of our situ­ation, or enchanted with its prospects, we glide swiftly on, scarce sensible of our progress, till the stream revisits some fa­vorite spot: alas, so visible is the deso­lation of the shortest interval, that we [Page 204] grow old in a moment, and submit once more to the tide, willing rather to share the ruin than review it.

Among the few servants retained by the meagre master of this desolated man­sion, one appeared who immediately re­called himself to my mind by the name of Gabriel. I recollected his having been warden of the outer lodges. The title by which I was announced—the weed I still continued to wear, overcame one already bowed to the earth by age, infir­mity, and penury: and when to these circumstances was superadded the re­membrance of the plentiful and peaceful days he had known under a Lord ever munificent to his domestics, gratitude became agony, and the poor old man sunk in a fit at my feet. An incident like this might well have affected an indif­ferent spectator.—I was scarce more sen­sible than himself: and the alarm soon spread through the laborious mechanics, till it was conveyed to Sir Humphry Moreton.—Timorously he emerged from [Page 205] his apartment, and as the humble croud made way for him, he measured me afar off with his eye, and seemed lost in conjecture on the subject of my visit.—My purse was yet in my hand, and part of its contents in those of some persons who had lent a ready assistance. Whether this, or the wan delicacy of my looks interested him, I know not; but every care-fur­rowed feature gradually relaxed as he ap­proached me, striving in vain to soften into the smile of benevolence. I rose to return his courteous salutation, and in­formed him, that when last I past the walls of this Castle, I was its mistress, the dear and happy wife of Lord Leicester; but perceiving uncertain apprehensions of some remote claim began again to con­tract his brow, I added, that sensible I had lost every right in a spot yet dear to me, I came to enquire whether he was disposed to part with it, and to rescue from po­verty such worthy servants of its late noble owner as had alike outlived their labour, and him who should have recompensed it. [Page 206] What heart is insensible to that virtue in which we alone can resemble our Maker?—Benevolence, like religion, awes even those it cannot win. The miser loudly applauded my liberality; and by a greater effort on his part, al­lowing for the difference of our charac­ters, invited me to spend the night in the Castle. The chamber I had been accustomed to inhabit, he called his best, and thither was I conducted. I was not unprovided with the means of ensuring my own welcome, and my servants hav­ing spread the cold viands we brought, Sir Humphry's spirits grew light over luxuries he was not to pay for. A temp­tation so agreeable prolonged his stay, and I at length discovered the only way to shorten his visit, would be to compli­ment him with all that remained: see­ing my servants in compliance with the hint, were about to convey it out of the room, fear lest any should be lost by the way, prevailed over the hilarity [Page 207] of the moment, and he departed with the wine.

With an impatient beating heart I raised the tapestry, which providentially had been preserved in this room, less from its beauty than antiquity; as it was so worn that it had long been pannelled in many places.—Behind the bed we discovered the secret spring of the cabinet, which I opened without any difficulty; and with the assistance of Lady Arundell took down the well-remembered caskets, paus­ing at intervals, to weep over all the tender ideas the sight of them recalled so forcibly to my memory; then raising my eye toward Heaven, while devoutly thanking the God who thus prospered my remaining wishes, I almost fancied I beheld the bea­tified spirit of him who concealed these treasures.

Lady Arundell would not rest without inspecting their contents. The largest was filled with family papers, bonds, contracts, mortgages, many of which were to me unintelligible, and all useless. [Page 208] The next contained letters and little or­naments, less precious from their intrin­sic value, than their analogy to particu­lar events.—Under these was a gilt casket filled with jewels of great value, and what was of infinitely more, the authenti­cated bonds and acknowledgments of all the sums Lord Leicester had informed me he had providentially deposited in other countries; and of which I knew not any memorandum remained. This was so noble an addition to the bequest which already enriched my sweet Mary, that it seemed to me, her father even from the grave delighted to endow her: while the Almighty, gracious even when we think him most severe, had thu [...] se­creted for her advantage, treasure it would have been impossible for me to have preserved through so many desperate vicissitudes.

The next casket was a gift from the fond mother to the darling of her heart: it contained all the testimonials of the Queen of Scots, and other parties con­cerned, [Page 209] on the subject of my birth, with the contract of marriage between Lord Leicester and myself. I felt rich in these recovered rights; and though prudence might never permit me to claim alliance with King James, yet to bequeath to my daughter the power of doing so, at whatever period it should appear ad­vantageous, was a great consolation to me.

Lady Arundell and I past part of the night in packing these valuables in empty trunks brought for that purpose; then closing the secret cabinet, and leaving no traces of our search for it, we retired to rest. We departed early the next morning, carrying with us that ancient domestic of Lord Leicester, on whom me­mory had so powerfully operated, and two others, who long since expelled from the Castle, sought a miserable subsistence in the hamlets around it. It joyed my very heart to supply to these poor wretches a loss irremediable with respect to myself, and the profound attachment of their [Page 210] few remaining days amply rewarded me.

Through the intervention of the friends I yet possessed, some eminent merchants in London undertook to get the bonds, notes, &c. duly acknowledged: and in process of time, such considerable sums were of consequence recovered, as ascer­tained to myself and child our accustomed affluence. Years and misfortune had only cemented the ancient friendship be­tween me and Lady Arundell.—I added my income and family to hers.—Her house was fortunately so near London, as to allow me the advantage of procur­ing the first instructors for my daughter, and the infirm state of Lady Arundell's health, rendering her as much a prisoner from necessity, as I was from choice, both insensibly found in the improve­ment of my daughter, a mild and grow­ing satisfaction, which more than made amends for the world we shut out.

Ah! could I desire a greater pleasure? Pardon, madam, the fond extravagance [Page 211] of maternal love, and allow me to pre­sent to you the darling of my heart in her sixteenth year. Already something taller than myself, to a form that united the strictest symmetry with the wild and vari­able graces of glowing youth, my Mary added the perfect features of her father; exquisitely feminized by a complexion transparently fair, and a bloom alike de­licate and vivid; her hair, of the golden brown I have described as peculiar to his, fell below her waist in a profusion of artless ringlets, heightening her beauty even to luxuriance.—If she had borrowed any thing from me, it was the collected modesty of her mien; and from my sister she had stolen that penetrating, fas­cinating smile, those two alone of all I ever saw were gifted with:—alas, it was now wholly her own.—Although light­ness and elasticity characterized her figure, every limb was rounded even to polish­ing, and never did I contemplate the soft turn of her white arms when raised to touch the lute, without thinking those [Page 212] more perfect than even her face.—Her voice was no less sweet in speaking than singing; with this difference—in the first she softened the soul to pleasure, in the last, elevated it to rapture.—Her understanding was strong and penetrating, yet elevated and refined.—Her sensibility (the first formed of all her feelings) was Father deep than ardent. Maternal ex­perience had moderated the enthusiasm incident to youth, nor was it obvious in any instance but the love of knowledge. Incessant, unremitting, in her studies, books were her only extravagance, and musick her only relaxation. To com­pensate for the worldly pleasures I judged it prudence to deprive her of, I was lavish in indulgences to which her taste natu­rally led: I kept musicians on purpose to accompany her, and found in the years filled up by herself and her employ­ments, that sweet though saddened plea­sure parents only know, and which, perhaps, more than makes us amends for all the more lively ones it recalls to [Page 213] our memory. In effect, the more lovely she grew, the more necessary I found it to hide her; and offering her daily up to God, I left her wholly to his disposal, determined neither my pride, vanity, or ambition, should interfere with the happi­ness I supplicated for her.

On perusing this description, I per­ceive at once the impossibility of your crediting it; yet far from accusing my­self of partiality, I could call on all who ever beheld my daughter to attest my candor.—How readily would Lady Arun­dell have done so—entendered to her by a love only inferior to my own, that faith­ful friend found in declining life a new tye wound round her heart, for which she daily thanked me.

As nothing robs us of the confidence of youth like the appearance of mystery, when time called reflection to being in her tender mind, I slowly, and by de­grees, confided to my daughter the pain­ful events you have thus obliged me to commemorate. This indulgence secured [Page 214] to me her whole heart, and I trembled only lest her deep sense of past misfor­tunes should affect her health; for sensi­bility was the leading feature in her cha­racter. Far from seeking to expound the future in her own favor, the flattering prospects her distinguished birth, and yet more distinguished endowments, might well spread before her, passed away like a shadow, and she saw only her mo­ther. A thousand times has she bedewed my hand with a reverence the most en­dearing; and the tears with which she often embalmed the memory of her fa­ther, almost recompensed me for his loss. From that period her expressive eyes were fixed ever on mine with such blended sadness and admiration, as proved she thought me almost sainted by mis­fortune. More studious henceforward of my pleasure, more submissive to my will, more solicitous for my repose, it seemed as if in learning she was my only re­maining tye on earth, she conceived the various affections and duties of all I had [Page 215] lost devolved to, and centered in, her­self. But sympathy was the genuine im­pulse of her nature; for with equal care she watched over her unhappy aunt.— Whenever that dear creature's incurable malady assumed the appearance of me­lancholy, she was extravagantly fond of musick.—At those intervals my lovely Mary would lean over her lute with the meek benignity of a descending angel, and extract from it such solemn sounds as breathed at once of peace and sorrow: insensibly soothing the perturbed spirit, and melting only those yet undisturbed. That subtle essence of our natures, sen­sibility, which madness can only unfix, not annihilate, often paused unconsciously upon the pleasure, and softly sunk into repose.

A child thus eminently amiable at once concentered my affections—commanded my esteem—possessed my whole confi­dence —actuated, in short, my very being.—Ah, how noble, how affecting is the friendship grounded on the maternal and [Page 216] filial tye; when unconscious of any weak­ness in her own heart, the mother dares present it as a pure and unflattering mir­ror to her child, and with that self-ap­plause which even Heaven approves, con­templates the upright, the innocent soul it reflects!—Sacred and indelible becomes that precept which is expressed but by example.—Happy are those enabled to form such an attachment as inexperience strengthens on one hand, and knowledge on the other:—Neither the gusts of youthful passion, nor the nipping frosts of age, can destroy a plant rooted thus by mutual virtue;—it only gains vigor from time, and by the peculiar indul­gence of the Almighty, our sublimest merit ripens into our most perfect plea­sure.

Satisfied I had already acquired such an influence in my daughter's mind as should enable me to regulate her princi­ples, I left it to time and circumstances to call them into action.—The great business of my life now seemed over; [Page 217] and delivering my heart up to the flatter­ing presages of maternal love, a thou­sand visions of almost forgotten gran­deur and happiness floated before my eyes, and sometimes half-deluded them.

The fluctuating complaints of Lady Arundell at length settled into a con­sumption:—It was an hereditary disorder of the Sydneys; nor perhaps could all the solicitude of myself and my sweet Mary have availed toward her restora­tion, even if a cruel shock in which we were all equal sufferers, had not precipi­tated her fate.

Among the unconscious caprices which by turns actuated my unfortunate sister, was a passion for sitting in the open air.—Neither times, or seasons, had any influ­ence over her; and she would insist on it alike in the snow of December, and the scorching sun of July.—To this self-will I had no doubt greatly contributed. From the moment of my return to Eng­land, I had vehemently opposed the se­vere controul to which she had hereto­fore [Page 218] been subject, and habituated her at­tendants to yield to her in every instance which did not absolutely endanger her safety: fully determined not to render an existence wholly wretched no human being could now make happy. But as uninformed minds never know a medi­um, the people appointed to watch her, gradually suffered her to become sensible of her power, which soon grew into an unbounded indulgence. It was now the depth of winter, and she had sat in the keen air for hours, watching the snow, which fell in abundance.—The most violent shiverings ensued, followed by a fever which settled at last on the nerves, and brought her to the very verge of the grave.—Nevertheless, it appeared to have salutary effects—her spirits were sunk indeed to extreme lowness, but they became more equal; and traces of reason were often discernable in her acti­ons. If she did not remember, she yet strove to know me; and sometimes stu­died my features in a manner the most [Page 219] touching.—I considered this as the very crisis of her fate—her only chance on this side Heaven, and scarce dared leave her for a single moment. I entrusted the care of Lady Arundell (whose situation, though more dangerous, was not so me­lancholy) to my daughter; fearful lest her youthful spirits should be injured by constantly beholding an object so affect­ing. But I had forgot that my own shat­tered constitution was not equal to the fa­tigue and anxiety of watching over my sis­ter. I fell one evening into a succession of fainting fits; the servants conveyed me to bed; and the fear of alarming Lady Arundell hindered them from informing my daughter of my situation. My faint­ings at length gave place to a drowsiness so intense, I might call it a stupor.—I remained thus for some hours, when I started with an indistinct idea of a heavy fall, and a deep groan. Terror roused, and collected in a moment, every dor­mant faculty.—I rushed through the chamber which divided mine from my sister's; but I blamed myself for impe­tuosity [Page 220] when I perceived all was pro­foundly silent in hers. The two nurses were in a deep sleep, and the expiring watchlights heavily winked, and revived, before the cold dawn of the morning. I gently opened the curtains of her bed—Ah, gracious Heaven, what did I feel when I beheld it empty!—The agonized shriek I gave, rouzed both her careless attendants, who impressed with but one idea, flew towards a door I now first perceived to be open: it led to a gal­lery ornamented with such portraits of our family as had survived the wreck of their fortunes; among them was incau­tiously placed that (already fatally com­memorated) of the Earl of Essex at the storming of Cadiz; an unfortunate le­gacy bequeathed to Ellinor by Lady Pembroke.—My soul took in at a thought all the fearful consequences.—I tottered into the gallery—alas, only to behold my worst apprehension verified.—The fair spectre, which once was Ellinor, lay prostrate before the picture—one hand had convulsively gathered her disordered [Page 221] garments over her thin chest; the other was still expressively extended towards the inanimate image of him so belov­ed.—Impatiently I laid my hand upon her heart—it answered not the trembling enquirer—its wandering essence was ex­haled, and she had ceased forever to suf­fer. Thy parting prayer, oh Essex! was surely prophetic, for her soul in re­covering memory, had burst its mortal bound, and soared to Heaven.

Scarce were the dear remains quietly interred, ere those of the amiable Lady Arundell followed them. I bore these losses with devout resignation.—The tears which fall when Heaven recalls the unfortunate, still the wild passions of the sad survivor, and deeply wound only the soul yet new to suffering. It was with a quickened apprehension I per­ceived the effect of these first afflictions on the tender spirits of my daughter: not that I sought totally to stifle the lively impressions of natural affection;—the tears of youth, like the genial showers of [Page 222] May, serve only to save the planter's toil, and simply ripen the rich fruits of the mind; but when either fall too often, they impoverish the soil, and wash away the buds yet blowing.

My own soul afforded no variety of chearful images with which I could hope to invigorate the gentle spirits of my Mary; unwilling to form new connec­tions, I rather thought it prudent to change my abode, and by a variety of scenes insensibly amuse her; and my steward was sent accordingly to seek ano­ther mansion. I called back the moment when the gloomy aisles of a ruined con­vent, by possessing the simple advantage of novelty, diverted my mind even at the sorrowful crisis which robbed me of a foster mother. Alas, in yet untried youth, the prospect that is unknown, ever adds to its own charms those of imagination; while in maturer life, the heart lingers on all which once delighted it, hopeless of finding in the future, a pleasure fancy can ever compare with those it reviews [Page 223] in the past. To my daughter, however, the whole world was yet new, and in fixing on a scene habitual to my feelings, I could not fail to delight hers. I hired a man­sion near the Thames side, in Richmond, to which we removed early in the spring.

Perhaps, in this choice, I was influ­enced almost without knowing it, by a latent motive: distinct as I had lived from the world since my return to Eng­land, the fame of the Prince of Wales had yet reached me.—This accomplished youth had at once rose above the weak­nesses of his father, and the prejudices of his rank; devoting his heart to the virtues, his mind to the sciences, and his person to those manly and becoming exercises, which invigorating every hu­man power, prepared him alike for the enjoyment of peace, or the pursuit of war. Delighted to understand a Stuart was rising to redeem the glory of his declining race, I passionately longed to see, know, and be valued by the royal [Page 224] Henry. The King, unworthy a son so distinguished, took no pleasure in his company; but even in tender youth, resigned him to a court of his own, from the adulation of which, merit su­perior to praise alone could have guarded him. Henry had, like myself, a par­tiality for the beautiful village of Rich­mond; he always passed part of the summer in a palace near the Thames, and I took pleasure in thinking a par­tition of wood alone separated his gar­dens from mine. With a judgment unequalled at his years, the Prince knew how to be affable without abating aught of his dignity; and, while in the circle of his own court he preserved the authority of a Sovereign, to the unfor­tunate who addressed him, he had the benignity of a brother: such was his character in Richmond, where the peo­ple almost adored him, and took plea­sure in amplifying on the superior qua­lities he so eminently possessed. The sweet hopes his merit sometimes infused [Page 225] into my bosom, came accompanied with an equal number of fears, yet could not my heart forbear to cherish them.

The revolving season tinged this sweet retreat with every variety of verdure; the waves of the Thames were more translucent than ever; all nature awak­ened once more to perfection, when the Prince of Wales took up his abode in the adjacent palace.—This news height­ened the soft red of my daughter's cheek, and even faintly colored my wan one.—Not daring to express to her the eager desire I felt to see the Prince, and not ac­customed to venture out without her, day after day elapsed in anxious expecta­tion. My gentle Mary, with a delicacy from which I drew the most happy pre­sages, now always chose to go abroad either so early or so late that it was almost impossible we should ever meet the Prince, and the veil she usually wore was closed with so much care as to ensure her the happiness of being overlooked, even if fortune threw him in our way.

[Page 226] Nevertheless, I took notice the arrival of the royal Henry strangely filled up the void in our lives.—What he would do, or what he would not do, constantly regulated our motions, and employed my daughter's thoughts even more than my own. His taste afforded us a variety of indulgencies of which he knew not we were partakers.—Sometimes moon-light concerts, or magnificent fireworks; at others, parties on the Thames; where the Prince still took pleasure in beholding a variety of little vessels, built and orna­mented for the amusement of his early years, and which were manned by chil­dren.—They were often so near, we fan­cied we heard the voice of Henry, when both mother and daughter would give way to the same impulse, and hastily re­tire. The summer might have elapsed in this manner had not chance been more favorable to our wishes than we could re­solve to be.

We were returning home one morning in an ill-contrived carriage, newly in­vented [Page 227] for airings, the inconvenience of which I bore patiently from not being able to walk or ride on horseback for any length of time since my memorable fever.—The servant who drove, stopt as usual at the brow of the enchanting hill, that we might enjoy for a few minutes its beau­ties, when the sound of horns approach­ing near, informed us the Prince of Wales was returning from hunting, which at once startled the horses and ourselves. My Mary actuated only by the impression of the moment, made an eager sign to the man to drive on; and the horses, already frightened, yielded impetuously to the slightest touch of the rein, fly­ing forward with the most dangerous ra­pidity. The clumsiness of the carriage, and the badness of the road, threatened us every moment with being overturned—for me there was no escape, but could my daughter be prevailed on to leap out, I was sensible she would be safe. Far from obeying my intreaties, or even commands, she threw her arms around [Page 228] me, and protested it was for me alone she feared. The carriage sunk into a deep rut at last, and we were thrown out at a small distance, with a violence that al­most deprived me of my senses:—my darling Mary had wholly lost hers. I perceived the train of Henry approach­ing, but the favorite wish of seeing him was forgotten in that of recovering her.—I was presently environed by the hunters without regarding them, till their extreme sollicitude obliged me to raise my eyes from the lifeless face of my daughter in acknowledgment. I per­ceived with a surprize even that mo­ment could not conquer, that on either hand stood a young man, adorned with the order of the garter, and so distin­guishingly handsome, that I knew not which was the Prince of Wales, but turned from the one to the other with an air of wildness and stupor.—My looks, however, made little impression on the strangers, their whole attention being fixed on the inanimate form of my daugh­ter. [Page 229] —In truth, fortune had contrived to shew her to the utmost advantage. I had thrown up her veil to give her air, and bared her beautiful hands and arms, polished and white as Parian marble; the wild rings of her auburn hair played on her youthful face as the yellow leaves of Autumn curl over a later peach; whilst every feature formed with a truth which might bear the nicest examination, perhaps only appeared more exquisitely regular from the absence of expression; and even her figure and attitude (leaning on her mother's knees) presented a perfect mo­del for a sculptor. The assiduities of the strangers, together with my own, at length recalled her scattered senses.—She opened those eyes so dear to me, and fixing them on the two stran­gers, a rosy suffusion alone proved she saw them, with such quickness did she turn toward her mother; when be­holding me to appearance unhurt, she listed her soul to Heaven in a look of gratitude, and throwing her arms round [Page 230] my neck, relieved her overcharged heart by weeping on my bosom. "An an­gel in soul as well as form! exclaimed one of the strangers; assure me, madam, continued he, that this terror is the only ill consequence of my sudden approach, or I know not how I shall forgive it to my­self." This address ascertaining the Prince of Wales, he became the sole object of my attention.—Ah, where shall I find words to endear to you, Ma­dam, the royal youth my heart at once opened to adopt? Henry was yet but in the dawn of manhood, nevertheless his height was majestic, and his figure finished. The beauty of his features was their least charm—virtue herself seemed to sublime every happy lineament, and spare beholders the trouble of developing his character by conveying it in a glance. His manly voice united the firmness of his own sex, with the sensibility of ours. A confusion of sad remembrances were at once presented with him to my mind; and the admiration he excited [Page 231] was strangely blended with regret.—I forgot that he had addressed me, and con­tinued to contemplate him in silence; ever and anon turning my streaming eyes wildly from him to Heaven, even then, my dilating heart bids me add, scarce changing the object. The amiable Hen­ry, in whose nature sympathy was the prevailing sentiment, touched with a conduct so mysterious, almost forgot my daughter in turn, so wholly was he en­grossed by me.—Informed of my un­fortunate lameness by my attempting to rise, he immediately concluded it to be the consequence of the recent accident, and scarce was satisfied by my assuran­ces of the contrary. Oh! as my eyes surveyed the superior soul, living irradi­ated in the bright orbs of his, how did they stream at remembering that had his father been born to half his virtues, I might now have been cherished by af­fection—dignified by rank—unwidow­ed—unbroken—a stranger yet to sorrow!—My mother too.—Most unhappy of parents as well as sovereigns! I had a [Page 232] tear for thee at this interesting mo­ment.

The respect due to strangers induced the Prince to conceal the curiosity my conduct could not fail to excite, but hav­ing informed himself from the attendants of my title, he addressed me by it, and insisted on conducting me home. I now understood the nobleman who had divid­ed my first looks with the Prince, to be the Viscount Rochester: that contemp­tible favorite of the King, celebrated only for his beauty.—The visible coldness of my air checked a forward insolence I observed in him, and obliged him to quit us on our arriving at home.

With what secret transport did my soul welcome a Stuart worthy that name, glo­rious for so many ages!—The Prince seemed delighted with his new acquaint­ances.—The soft reserve of my daugh­ter's air—the deepening roses of her cheek, and the low accent of her har­monious voice, when politeness obliged her to answer the Prince, whose ani­mated eyes reduced hers often to seek the [Page 233] ground, presented to my elated heart every symptom of that passion which alone endears the sufferings it occasions. A flow of happy spirits new to my daughter, almost forgotten by myself, gave chear­fulness to the hour which Henry saw elapse with regret.

On this chance introduction was grounded an acquaintance a few days ripened into intimacy.—Led to distin­guish the Prince alike by his own merit, and the ties of blood, which secretly allied me to him, it was with the ten­derest satisfaction I beheld him cherish the inclination he had already conceived for my daughter: yet the dignity of his mind forbidding him to form, an en­gagement he knew not how to fulfill, it was through me alone he addressed himself to her. Convinced it was in my power to prove her entitled even to such a lover, I suffered fate to take its course, attending only to prudences.

Conscious that Henry had hitherto moved in a very confined circle, I was aware to extend it must draw much obser­vation [Page 234] on those he favored. To guard therefore against the malice of surmise, I fixed on the hour of the Prince's visit for my daughter to ride out; and always received him alone. His attendants, who saw her regularly depart, were at a loss to imagine what could attach their royal master to the infirm widow of Lord Lei­cester. The charm was in truth simply affection.—The amiable Henry had early been accustomed to every kind of homage but that of the heart, and had too much sensibility not to feel the want he knew not how to supply. Deeply susceptible of the true regard I had conceived for him, impressed at once by my mind, my manners, and my mien, with the idea of mystery, and the desire of obtaining my confidence, it was only by his own candor he sought to gain upon mine. Slowly and by degrees he deigned to re­pose with me those regrets and anxieties from which the utmost indulgence of na­ture and fortune cannot exempt a single individual. He often lamented the dangerous distinction of being the first­born [Page 235] born of his father's children, since it cost him every other.—Separated almost in infancy from his parents—surrounded with mercenary, sycophants, who sought to make their court to the reigning King by a partial representation or misconstruc­tion of his actions, he had shot up un­loved, uncherished, and seen those ten­der affections he was born to share, gra­dually center in that son from whom his parents had nothing to fear.—Nor were wanting insidious flatterers equally ready to undermine his filial duty, by pointing out the weaknesses of his father, even where they were most likely to wound him. He had punished himself, he added, for yielding to these impressi­ons by an absolute, obedience to his au­thority, but it was with grief he remem­bered that was now the only tye between them.—Nor would I wonder, he conti­nued, it should be so, if I considered that, born as he was to imperial power, with an ardent passion for glory, he had hi­therto been shut up in the narrow sphere of his own court, languishing away the [Page 236] flower of his youth without a choice, a friend, or a pursuit:—Till the infamous Carr should deign to decide what foreign Prince's bribe he would condescend to accept, and to what bigoted Papist he should sacrifice the son of his master.

While the admired Prince of Wales, the idol of the People, the heir of Em­pire, the endued of Heaven, thus con­fided to me the simple and rational griefs which clouded a fortune so brilliant, could I fail to meditate on the equality of providence?—Which graciously allots even to the lowest situation, some portion of happiness, and depresses the highest with the sad sense of misfortune.

It is the fatal peculiarity of youth to throw the strongest light on every secret grief, and waste away under an oppression imagination often doubles. To cure this propensity is therefore the province of experience. I sought to imbue the Prince's mind with the only principle mine had derived from all my sufferings.—That the noblest use we can make of [Page 237] understanding, is to convert it into hap­piness; and every talent which does not conduce to that great end, ought rather to be considered as a burthen than a blessing to the possessor.—That the mind, like the eye, ever magnifies the object of fear or aversion, which often on a strict examination, excites no other sentiment than contempt.—Infine, that he was not at liberty to shew any other sense of his father's errors, than by presenting a faultless example in his own life; and that if he would have it without blemish, he must divert his taste from channels where it would meet with opposition, and turn it into those through which it might flow freely.—That the culti­vation of the sciences would at once fill up that void in his life ever so painful at his years, and attach to his welfare all who loved them: a body whose in­fluence was never known unless oppo­sition called forth the powers of elo­quence.

[Page 238] The Prince had too much judgment not to see the utility of this council, and too much generosity not to value its can­dour: nevertheless, it was a language yet new to his ears.—Ingenuity had been exhausted to teach him to govern others, but to subdue himself was a lesson none had ventured to inculcate. How did I lament a soul so ductile had, in childhood been injudiciously delivered up to its own guidance, and suffered every day to imbibe some new prejudice, des­tined perhaps to mark the character through life; and which an upright and skilful monitor might so easily have era­dicated!

The Prince could not be insensible to the maternal caution which induced me to send my daughter abroad whenever he honored me with a visit, yet the observa­tion did not for some time appear to influ­ence his conduct.—Satisfied with merely beholding her as he entered or departed, the desire of opening his heart to me seemed to supercede every other impres­sion. [Page 239] Nevertheless, long reveries would follow the most accidental meeting, and long pauses intervene in the most inter­esting conversation; rendering it suffi­ciently obvious that his mind labored with some project, hitherto suppressed either by pride or prudence.

Perhaps I should ever have wanted courage to open my lips on so delicate an occasion, had not my daughter com­plained to me that she was now become the universal object of attention; and that the suite who attended her were often rudely surrounded, and sometimes inter­rogated by such of the Prince's court as had not benefited by his example.—By going abroad unexpectedly with her, I found she was not offended without reason, and sensible of my imprudence in thus risquing her safety, I came to the resolution rather to abridge myself of the pleasure of the Prince's society, than purchase it by endangering my daughter.—I desired her to retire for awhile when Henry should visit [Page 240] me next, and ere he could account for the singularity of finding her at home, entered into the delicate explanation. With an acknowledged attachment to him, that I bore my child, alone could have over-ruled, I submitted it to him­self, whether I could too cautiously guard against a censure or insult she had no na­tural protector to resent.—The generous Henry paused for a few moments with ir­resolution, when suddenly collecting cou­rage, he broke silence.—"Will Lady Leicester pardon, said he, those ob­trusive visits she has submitted to with so much complacency? —Will she deign to become the confidant of the only in­cident in my life I have hid from her—will she listen with indulgence?"—He paused a moment, but ere I could resolve how to answer, pursued the dis­course.—"Accustomed even from childhood to the ensnaring glances of the light and the lovely—led to imagine myself older than my years by the con­tinual proposals for marrying me that [Page 241] have constantly succeeded each other, it is not wonderful that a heart naturally susceptible, should mature before its time. Among the many beautiful girls, who have already sought to attract me, I soon distinguished one by whom my peace, my honour, my innocence became en­dangered: perhaps they had been lost, had I not found her selfish and ambitious. I need hardly inform you that this seducing fair one is the Countess of Essex!—Vain of her influence over me, she took plea­sure in publishing it, and taught me early to blush for my choice; but I could not resolve to do so continually. I formed the bold resolution of contending with my own heart, and retired hither to reco­ver it, or die. Lady Essex, enraged and humbled at this conduct, confirmed me in it, by attaching herself to Viscount Ro­chester: thus rendering it sufficiently ob­vious she had never loved me.—Besotted with her beauty, that weak favourite is go­verned by her caprices, and him I was born to obey yields to those of Rochester. Al­though [Page 242] I do not immediately perceive how Lady Essex means to effect her revenge, I am convinced it is only maturing; and daily expect a blow from which I know not how to guard myself. Under these circumstances how can I venture to in­volve your fate with mine? —How can I ask you, to permit me to offer to your lovely daughter the heart which ever ho­vers near her? —Speak, Madam—my hap­piness is in your hands—dare you risque your own to promote it?" While I li­stened to this sensible, this frank declara­tion of the Prince's error, and his at­tachment, my fond heart found its first with accomplished, and adopted at once the royal youth; solemnly vowing to share, without repining, every evil that might follow an alliance so dear: nor did I fail secretly to exult in my Mary's hereditary right even to this distinction.

To cement the confidence between us, and convince the Prince his present choice was judicious, I resolved to confide to him the secret so long, so painfully preserved; [Page 243] and related my whole history. As I re­traced its affecting incidents, I knew them to be so only by his eager, his generous sympathy; so wholly was my own soul engrossed by the happy prospect he had opened before it.

The Prince of Wales acknowledged with joy the relationship I claimed; to confirm all I had advanced, I presented to him the long-saved testimonials, which he perused with silent reverence: then fix­ing his eyes, still impressed with that ele­vated sentiment, on mine, he gave ut­terance to the dictates of his heart.— "Who could suppose, exclaimed he, a fortitude so unexampled could possibly be combined with a frame delicate even to fragility!—May the misfortunes you have indelibly impressed on my memory, my more than, mother, be the last of your life.—May that being who directed my soul to cherish the admiration and esteem inspired by your lovely daughter, and matchless self, suffer the youth before you to supply to your heart, all it ought to have inherited—all it unhappily has [Page 244] lost. Dear will be the moment when to the form of your angel mother my autho­rity shall add the name, and that moment will hereafter, oh! most honoured of wo­men, infallibly be mine."

While I listened to predictions so flat­tering, I almost believed them accom­plished. In thy unblown youth, [...]h, [...]oyal Henry, was comprized every pro­mise that could dilate or fill the heart: mine centred at once in thee, and my daughter: finding in the mere hope of so glorious a union, a total suspension from suffering and sorrow.

I had now no reserves with the Prince, and leading in my blushing Mary pre­sented her to her royal Cousin; who gracefully offered up his unblemished soul on the hand he bowed over. So pure a transport took possession of mine, as obliterated every other impression. I snatched the united hands so dear, so be­loved, and pressing them to my bosom, sickened with very extasy, and withdrew to recover myself.—Wandering alone by [Page 245] the side of the Thames, I raised my full eyes to heaven; and called the happy spirits of my mother, sister, and Lord Leicester, to sympathize with me in an event which promised to end the persecu­tions of my family, by thus blessedly uniting the last sprung branches of it. A serenity of the sublimest nature succeeded the sweet trouble of my spirits, and ena­bled me to rejoin the youthful lovers with the dignity due to my own character.

The situation in which we stood en­deared us still more to the Prince, by per­petually reminding him how intimately our welfare was connected with his own. Every hour seemed to unite us more and more to each other. Henry spoke to me with the freedom of a son; conjuring me not to take any step that might create the least suspicion of my birth, or the secret tye formed between us, till he had well weighed every consequence that might ensue: and to elude the watchful spies, with whom we were alike surrounded, he proposed passing in the evening through his garden to ours, if I would deign for [Page 246] awhile to allow him thus to reach the saloon. Our situation was too delicate not to require the strictest caution, yet as I could discover no mode of receiving the Prince which was not equally que­stionable, and more dangerous, I con­sented to that he proposed: as well as that he should render one of his gentle­men (Sir David Murray) a confidante of this intimacy, though not of its nature, or extent.

An incident so important engrossing my every thought, my heart returned once more eagerly into the world. It had now an interest in fully understanding the real characters of the King, the Queen, Viscount Rochester, and every indivi­dual likely or intitled to interfere at this interesting crisis.—I examined, consi­dered, weighed every thing. I soon dis­covered the whole Royal Family were at variance! That the imperious Queen, unable to wrest her husband from his fa­vourites, or her son from his duties, scorned the first, and neglected the latter: confining herself wholly to a [Page 247] court formed of her own creatures, who assisted her to spoil her younger son; whom she had almost estranged from his brother. Her beautiful daughter who united in her own person the graces of Mary, with the spirit of Elizabeth, alone allured to the court of the Queen the few persons of merit it afforded. Henry was often lavish in the praises of his sister, and as she was the only relation he ever voluntarily spoke of, I naturally conclud­ed she was the only one entitled by su­perior qualities to that distinction. King James, who had mounted the throne under happier auspices than almost any preceding sovereign of England, had al­ready lived long enough to lose the affec­tions of his people. By turns a pedant and a buffoon, his solemnity was even more disgusting than his levity. Go­verned by a predilection of the most ab­surd and singular nature, to a beautiful favourite he always delivered up the reins of empire; readily submitting to a shame­ful subjection in all important points, provided he might enjoy a ridiculous su­permacy [Page 248] in his hours of indulgence and retirement. From such a weak and in­consistent King, and his profligate Mi­nisters, the wise, the scientific, and the good, had gradually retreated; and in neglect and silence contemplated from far the growth of that exemplary Prince, who promised to retrieve the fame of his ancestors, and the glory of the kingdom he was born to reign over. A youth of eighteen capable of uniting the unble­mished virtues of that age, with the dis­cernment of a maturer one, was a phae­nomenon, and of course either adored or detested—While the body of the king­dom regarded him only with the first sentiment, the worthless favorites of his father were actuated solely by the latter.

To marry and escape the plans of Ro­chester was the interest of Henry; and to marry without his father's knowledge his unwilling choice.—Yet highly sensible of the slavery imposed by his rank, he had resisted every temptation from beau­ties of an inferior one:—but when ap­prized of my story, he saw, or fancied he [Page 249] saw in my daughter, a wife alloted him by heaven—one to whom no just objection could possibly be made, one born to give happiness to his heart, and honor to his name. Nor could he doubt, even if his father shut his eyes against the truth, but that he should be able to convince the people of my birth, when the publica­tion of the marriage should give my story the whole weight of his credence.

Success in his judgment depended sole­ly on the concealment of the purposed union till it could be accomplished; for if the intention transpired ere the event, he was satisfied the most desperate efforts would be made to wrest us from him. Yet as at this very period a publick treaty was negociating with a foreign Prince, he could not form a tye of such import­ance without giving his father just cause of offence, the nation at large a contempt for his character, and the distant Sove­reign thus insulted, a mortal disgust. We therefore agreed to wait till this Ministe­rial project like many others should disap­point itself, and seize that moment to [Page 250] celebrate and publish a marriage, which was to end all our fears, and complete all our hopes.

During this interval I observed with pain that the extreme timidity of my daughter's character prevailed over the enthusiasm incident to her years; and damped with vague apprehensions those moments love and hope might have made so happy. I saw this little feminine weak­ness with extreme uneasiness. The Prince of Wales was distinguished by a manly firmness, which ever wisely weighed the approaching trial, then calmly dared it. For a soul so noble, I desired to find a faultless bride; and looking fearfully into the future, I sometimes thought my Ma­ry's timid heart would one day throb without cause against that of a sovereign oppressed with innumerable cares, he perhaps sought to lose the remembrance of, in her society. Nevertheless I did not perceive my tender admonitions on this subject, had any other consequence than that of inducing my daughter to bury in her bosom those sentiments and emo­tions, [Page 251] I had so many years delighted to participate.

It was now autumn!—The time of the King's periodical progresses.—The Prince could not avoid following his father, but he lingered in his duty; and having staid a day too long with us, ha­stened to overtake the King, whom he was to feast at Woodstock. He wrote to me from thence, complaining of fatigue and lassitude; but with his usual atten­tion, informed me he was in treaty for Kenilworth Castle, where he flattered himself I should again see golden days like those I still remembered with so much pleasure.

Alas, those he had irradiated, were quickly hastening to a period! At the first visit he paid me on his return, my soul was struck with a very apparent alteration in his person; which was grown thin and wan beyond conception, considering the shortness of the time. Not all the joy he expressed a our meeting could satisfy me, he was ei­ther well or happy, but observing he evaded my question; and fearful of alarm­ing [Page 252] him without reason, I strove to sup­press that maternal anxiety all his assu­rances of health and chearfulness could not dispel. I perceived my daughter was impressed with the same idea, for though she spoke not, it was visible to me she wept greatly when alone.

The evenings were now too short and damp for me to allow the evening visits of the Prince; and I rather chose to risque every danger by receiving him openly, than subject him to any by an ill-judged caution.—Alas, these cares were vain.—The rapid decay of the Royal Henry's health, became visible even to indifferent spectators. An affecting languor was the only expression of those fine eyes once so full of fire, and the youthful cheeks every following day should have tinged with a deeper bloom, grew more and more wan and hollow—He could no longer conceal his illness. Alas! it pierced me to the soul! I was miserable at remembering a charge so precious, as his welfare should be com­mitted to servants of whatever denomi­nation. [Page 253] —No mother—no sister—duties indispensable in every other rank of life, were it seems incompatible with royalty. Oh, Henry!—dear amiable youth! even yet am I tempted to accuse myself for not having better deserved the tender ap­pellation thy filial reverence so often be­stowed on me, by daring every thing for thy sake! Slaves to imperious custom, our actions are too often regulated by that idle multitude, whose most lavish ap­plauses would but ill console us for one single reproach, from that unerring mo­nitor, our own conscience.

Either not convinced this secret malady was undermining his constitution, or in­different to the event, the Prince still con­tinued in the pursuit of his usual athletic exercises and habits, till his strength was wholly unequal to them. I once more persuaded him to call in medical assistance, and he promised to attend to himself as soon as his sister and the elector should depart.—Obliged to appear at the celebration of their marriage in London, he came to pay us a parting vi­sit. [Page 254] Impressed, perhaps, with the idea it would be the last, he threw himself into my arms, and shed there the first tears I had ever seen fall from his eyes.—Mine readily overflowed—a grief too deep for utterance pressed upon my soul, and Henry recovered ere I could. His heart missed my daughter, who was gone abroad.—He sighed, sunk into a little reverie, and breaking it, with a faint smile, said, "he ought rather to congra­tulate himself on her absence." He sighed again, and after another pause, resumed his discourse in a low and broken voice.— "Mourn not thus, my mother (for I will still give you a title you may justly claim from her who bore me; since who ever loved me as you have done?) I have youth in my favor, and this oppressive malady may not be mortal: for your sake alone do I wish it to be otherwise, believe me.—Already weary, disgusted with this world, I could retreat from it almost without a pang, did I not know my loss would be to you an irremediable calamity. Yet, who shall judge of the dispensations [Page 255] of the Almighty?—I might fulfil all your wishes without seeing you happy—I might obtain all my own without ceasing to be wretched. Recall this often to your memory, whatever follows our part­ing; and remember your name will be ever on these lips while they have power to utter a sound.—For the adored of my soul—but she is surely become a part of it; and if not permitted to possess her in this world, I will expect her in a bet­ter."—Perceiving his dim eye was fixed on a picture of my daughter which hung at my bosom, I presented it to him.—"And do you too, beloved Henry, re­turned I, in a broken voice, remember the mother who gives you this, would have comprized in the original every grace, every virtue, to be found through human nature; and having done so, would still have thought her honored in your choice.—Ah! royal youth! resign not a heart so noble to vapourish depres­sion!—Your life, your happiness, are not your own merely—a nation are born to pray for the former, to crown you with [Page 256] the latter.—For myself—upon the sweet hope of matching my daughter with you, of sharing the soft transports of mutual virtue and affection, I have learnt to live, but surely I could never survive its ex­tinction."—My full soul allowed not of another syllable. The Prince fixed his suffused eyes on mine, with a mysterious melancholy, almost amounting to despair; and touching with his lips those hands his trembling ones still grasped, rushed pre­cipitately into the court yard. The sound of his voice drew me towards the window—the graceful youth made me a last obeisance, and galloped away; while my partial eye pursued him till beyond its reach, and even then my ear seemed to distinguish the feet of his horse.

With his usual kind consideration, Henry wrote to me the next day, that he found himself better; and in the pleasure of seeing his sister happy, felt reconciled to the impolitick match made for her.—He even assisted at the various festivals with which the nuptials of the royal Eli­ [...]abeth were honored; but scarce were [Page 257] they over, when his health and spirits failed at once, and the faculty were called in to his aid. A malady which had been so long engrafting itself on his constitu­tion, left but little hope of his life;—I had ceased to entertain any: yet, far from supporting the idea of losing him with fortitude, my soul mourned as if it then had first known sorrow. Not daring to give free vent to my appre­hensions in the presence of my daughter, I strove with cold and watery smiles to flatter those hopes in her heart my own had long rejected, and saw with vain regret, the deep excesses of a sensibility I had laboured to excite and strengthen.

What days, what nights of sadness and suspense were ours, while the unfortunate Henry was languishing away every vital power ere yet they had reached maturity!—Frequently delirious, our names es­caped unconsciously from those lips, which at his lucid intervals, uttered only sighs and groans. Murray, his beloved at­tendant, gave us constant information of the progress of his fever; nor did the [Page 258] amiable Henry fail at intervals to charge him with tender remembrances. Sir Da­vid at length acquainted me that the im­passioned delirium of the Prince, pointing ever towards us, the King had been ap­prized of it;—that he had minutely questioned his son's most favored at­tendants, and among them himself, on the origin, progress, and strength, of an attachment thus suddenly and strangely brought to light, deeply ruminating on all he heard. "I could not feel ac­quitted to myself, madam, concluded the faithful Murray, were I to conceal this, nor dare I add a surmise on so delicate an occasion."

Ah; of what importance to us are all the late enquiries, the vague conjectures of James! cried I, folding my daughter to my bosom, if heaven deprives us of his inestimable son, neither his love or his hatred can greatly affect us.—Beloved Mary—dear inheritor of misfortune!—widowed ere yet thou art a wife, a long obscurity, a solitary youth is all thy por­tion—a sorrow which can never end thy [Page 259] Mother's.—But why should I hesitate to avow myself? —Wherefore should I not publish claims which even tyranny can not cancel; but perhaps it will not dis­pute? The timid, abject spirit of James knows not how to contend with one firm in virtue—immutable in truth.—Ah, had I done so long since, I might at this moment, dear Henry, have hovered near thy couch, and softened the anguish no mortal can prevent!—Perhaps the King already surmises the fact—let him de­mand it.

Sir David Murray's next letter breathed the very spirit of despair.—"Prepare yourself, madam, said he, for the worst; perhaps, ere this reaches you, England will have lost its dearest hope, the royal Henry's friends their only one. The most desperate efforts of art have failed, and exhausted reason often now revisits with a languid ray the noble heart she is so soon to quit forever. The Prince has just ordered me to commit to the flames every letter and paper in which [Page 260] your name is mentioned:—a sure proof that he has given himself up.—Alas, he knows not how often names so dear have escaped him; he has called for you, madam, and your angelic daughter, almost the whole night, but frequently recollect­ing himself, has waved his feeble hand, and sighed out no—no—no."—

Three hours after, another express ar­rived.—"Pardon, madam, the haste and incoherency of scrawls penned at so trying a moment.—Alas, the most san­guine of us has now ceased to hope.—Our royal master's speech entirely fails him—his last effort was hastily and re­peatedly to call me—I flew to his bedside, but though my every sense seemed to re­solve into ear, I found it impossible to understand him—either I widely erred or he named France; perhaps I commit a second error in supposing he referred to you, madam, but I voluntarily risque every thing to fulfil the parting wish of a master so adored. The King, the phy­sicians, all have taken a long leave of [Page 261] the almost beatified Prince; and there is nothing left for those who love him best to wish, but that his pure spirit may pass away in peace."

The agony and stupor this affecting billet occasioned, were hardly abated when another arrived.—"It is all over, ma­dam, concluded the worthy Murray, raise your streaming eyes to heaven; it is there alone you can now look for the incomparable Prince of Wales.—Fatigue and anguish disable me from say­ing more."

It was not till the awful moment which restored the unsullied soul of Henry to its omniscient Creator, that I had dared to breathe a wish of which he was not the object, or allowed my thoughts to pass beyond himself.—That exquisite sensibi­lity which lives through all dear to us, had made me severely suffer with him, and consequently pray for that release which alone seemed likely to give him ease, nor did I recollect till he was gone forever, the void his loss would leave in [Page 262] my hopes.—The tremendous calm by which death is ever followed, now took its turn.—Bereft of a support on which I had long unconsciously rested, I sunk into a desolation which made me almost wish to follow the lamented Prince.—It is at these intervals, madam, we be­come most truly sensible of all the im­perfections of our nature.—How often had I flattered my own erring heart with the vain belief it had acquired strength, purity, and virtue, from its various tri­als! alas, what but pride, vanity, and ambition, still throbbed unalterably there! time had only altered the object, not the passion, and centred them all in my daughter.

We shut ourselves entirely up, and deep­ly joined in the general mourning. The sad pleasure of knowing him we bewail­ed, universally lamented, was yet ours. I perused, I appropriated, with a mother's fondness, the lavish eulogies, all sects, all parties, all poets, graced the memo­ry of the Prince with:—it was the only [Page 263] mitigation my grief could know.—A considerable time had elapsed without our hearing any thing from Murray, in con­firmation of his conjecture concerning Henry's last wish, and the imperfect ac­cents which lingered on his dying lips.—But though I could not resolve to be­come a guiltless fugitive even in com­pliance with Prince Henry's will, I had had no other motive for remaining in England than to shew I was not driven out of it. I now determined to quit a country which had been the grave of a hope so dear, and found my daughter en­tirely of my mind. In gratitude for the unwearied attention of Sir David Murray, I informed him "of my intention to re­tire into Flanders, not doubting but that the Hollanders would afford, an honor­able asylum to the widow and orphan of Lord Leicester.—I besought him to ac­cept a ring of considerable value in token of my deep sense of the generous attach­ment he had shewn alike to myself, and that incomparable Prince whose loss was ever present to my mind; and requested [Page 264] as a last proof of his regard, the restoration of that picture of my daughter I had given the royal Henry at our memorable parting."

The answer of Murray strangely startled and alarmed me.—"Your intention of quitting England, madam, said he, re­lieves my mind from extreme anxiety;—time and circumstances have united to convince me I did not misunderstand the last imperfect accents of my much-loved master.—Lose not a moment in hasten­ing to the asylum you have fixed on.—The picture, madam, is, I fear, irre­trievably gone—I cannot by either bribes or intreaties procure any tidings of it— power, alas, I now have not!—If ever it comes to my hands, rely on its being re­stored by him, who will ever devoutly pray for your happiness."

This inexplicable letter roused every dormant faculty.—Wherefore should my retiring abroad relieve the mind of a person unconnected with me from ex­treme anxiety?—Why should he urge thus my departure? As it was rather [Page 265] pride than prudence which induced me to seek a country where I might fearlessly assert my every right, that project was now rejected from the very motive which first dictated it.—A mystery my nature ever disdained. Resolved to comprehend all the motives on which Murray wished me to act, I ordered every thing to be re­placed, and sat down once more quietly at home; resolved to brave the storm, if indeed there was any gathering, rather than ascertain my safety by a disgraceful flight. I once more wrote to Sir David, acquainting him with my present con­duct, and its reasons, insisting on being fully informed of those which actuated him to offer me advice so singular and mysterious.—How insinitely was my im­patience, curiosity, and disdain, heighten­ed by his answer!—"I hear with ad­miration, madam, a determination which from a perfect knowledge of your cha­racter, I ought, perhaps, to have fore­seen; nevertheless, my sentiments are not altered, nor less urged durst I divulge the [Page 266] reasons on which they are grounded: but decorum and delicacy give way to your commands, and the occasion. Never­theless, I find it impossible to commit them to paper.—Dare you give me ad­mission at midnight?—I shall be near your gate upon the chance, but be wary in the choice of my conductor, as per­haps my life, nay, even your own, de­pends upon its being supposed you never had any private correspondence or com­munication with me."

How did my nature take fire at this incomprehensible letter!—Me to stoop to secresy!—to be exposed to shame!—The unknown danger with which he represented me to be environed, appeared wholly indifferent; so exquisitely sensible was my soul of the imputation of dishonor.—At times I resolved to shut out Murray, and leave the brooding mis­chief to disclose itself by its effects; but love for my daughter controling the strong spirit of indignation inseparable from innocence, I yielded to the sugges| [Page 267] tions of prudence, and prepared to admit him.—Inured to every other species of suffering, I knew not how to blush before any human being.

My perplexed and agitated mind passed through the infinitude of possibilities without fixing upon one.—At times, I imagined all the caution of the royal Henry had been insufficient, and that the King, by means of some lost or se­creted letter, had been fully apprized of his son's attachment to us, and the hopes that were grounded upon it; though even then, I knew not why my life should be in the question; still less could I ima­gine it endangered, had his discoveries reached farther, and traced out the long buried secret of my birth. Involved in busy, vague, and alarming conjectures, I hardly knew how to wait with any patience for the singular hour appointed to ascertain them.

Sensible, by the deep effect this took on my own mind, that it must dreadfully shock my daughter's, and still flattering [Page 268] myself that this indistinct danger might be the creation of a desponding temper in Henry's favorite, I resolved to wait the event of my midnight interview with him, ere I confided more to my Mary than she must already have learnt from the change in my resolution respecting quitting Eng­land.—But as to see her was to explain all, (for how could I hope to veil emo­tions which burnt indignantly on my cheek?) I sent her word I was seized with a violent headach, which I would endea­vour to remedy by sleep; and accompa­nied this message with a new book she had an eager desire to see, and which I sincerely prayed might wholly occupy her attention at this interesting crisis.

Oh, world! how false, how erroneous are the feelings we imbibe from thee!—Nature ordained shame the companion of guilt, but overbearing custom has broke that tye, and oftener bids her follow virtue. Scarce could I resolve to know my imputed crime, or look with complacency on the amiable man who [Page 269] had ventured to suggest the unsoreseen dangers.—It was the utmost effort of my reason to govern this unworthy im­pulse.

The estimable Murray was sensible of an equal constraint, and by the generous confusion with which he appeared before me, restored my mind to its dignity and composure. His mourning, and the tears which followed the name of his lost royal master, drew forth mine, and at once blended our feelings. Sir David, with infinite delicacy and address, entered into the Prince of Wales's singular illness, as well as the various opinions his death had given rise to:—but how did my soul freeze with horror to learn that there were many (and among them some of his Physicians) who believed him poi­soned! The killing grief such a suspi­cion must at a more tranquil moment have caused, vanished, however, at once before the confused and rapid sensations his following discourse occasioned.—Oh, let me pause here a moment to adore the [Page 270] indulgence of the Almighty, which alone could have enabled my intellects to support so terrible a shock as the report that it was from my hands he received the deadly present!—I looked at Murray awhile in speechless astonishment!—Grief, anger, shame, and horror, divided and tore me in pieces.—I scarce heard his prayers and adjurations, but pushing him from my feet, shut up every indignant sense in my swelling heart, and only hoped it might burst with the deep convulsion.

A considerable time elapsed ere I was enough recovered to enquire into the origin of so black and malicious a ca­lumny. I then conjured him to inform me who was supposed to be its diaboli­cal author.—To this he answered, that when the equivocal decision of the fa­culty respecting the cause of the Prince's death first reached the Queen, the vehe­mence of her grief, as well as that of her temper, made her instantly join with those who pronounced him poisoned.—The doubt was no sooner published than [Page 271] it became general; every domestic of the Prince's houshold had been by turns the object of suspicion to his fellows, and some of them had been weak enough to ascertain their safety by quitting the king­dom. The rumour was by this means corroborated and strengthened; but as nothing transpired that could authorize a judicial enquiry, the King became sa­tisfied the melancholy catastrophe of his youthful heir had been in the common course of nature; when all at once, by some incomprehensible means, the vague suspicions of the multitude, which were far from extinguished, though wholly unfixed, revived with added force, and centred in me. That it was now ge­nerally believed, the Prince of Wales, in the last visit he paid me, had tasted some dry preserves (a little refreshment of which he was extremely fond, though fortunately the distraction of my mind at that period had prevented me from offer­ing him any) which most likely were poisoned, as his last illness rapidly in­creased immediately after.—It was soon [Page 272] published that I had been the constant object of his delirious reveries; and every vague or mysterious expression which had escaped him at those intervals, had been remembered, traced, and applied, with diabolical ingenuity. The singu­lar precaution of his seeing his own pa­pers burnt, served only to persuade, the prejudiced multitude that the unfortu­nate Prince was unwilling to stigmatize her who had destroyed him. By such plausible and base suggestions the eyes of an inflamed and affected nation had been led towards the solitary dwelling, where, unconscious of danger, I remained buried in a grief the most charitable imputed only to remorse. There wanted but little to incite the people to anticipate the stroke of justice, by tearing me to pieces, when the King confirmed the general suspicion by a renewed and more minute enquiry into the nature of his son's visits to me, their continuance, and design: and no person being able to satisfy his curiosity, he dropt harsh and ambiguous expressi­ons; that several of his favorites had since [Page 273] urged the propriety of bringing me to a public trial; a measure which had the whole weight of the Queen's interest. Alarmed and uncertain how to proceed, Sir David had learned at this very junc­ture my intention of retiring into Hol­land; and by supposing me pre-ac­quainted with the slanders of the pub­lick, had unwarily reduced himself to the painful necessity of repeating them.— He concluded with hinting the prudence of abiding by my former design of im­mediately quitting England, as in in­stances where the prejudices of a nati­on infected even those individuals en­trusted with the execution of its laws, innocence itself was scarce a protection: byased judges might easily mistake pre­sumptions for proofs, nor have candour enough to vindicate the honor which had thus been questioned.

While Sir David yet spoke, a new world displayed itself before me.—Ah! how unlike the paradise pictured by my guiltless mind!—Those countenances in [Page 274] which I yesterday saw only the living image of their Creator, now glared upon me like so many fiends.—A horrible gulph seemed to open beneath my feet, into which a thousand hands sought at once to precipitate me, and my timid soul retreated in vain from the danger.—To live undistinguished—to die unknown, were mortifications sufficiently grievous.— But the bare idea of being arraigned— dragged as a pre-judged criminal before a partial judge, had something in it so tremendous, as made every other evil appear ease. My blood flowed impetu­ously through my frame, and my be­wildered judgment wanted strength to govern the torrent.—A malice so bold, profound, and diabolical, could have only one author, but where to look for that one I knew not; nor could I re­collect a human being I had injured, or a villain I had provoked.—Like a wretch awakened by assassins in the darkness of midnight, I knew not but the hand raised to ward the blow, might bleed on the [Page 275] presented dagger. In this terrible con­juncture I had only virtue to befriend me: though, alas, virtue herself half­withers before the blighting breath of ca­lumny! While Sir David enforced the arguments he had already urged to in­duce me to quit the kingdom, my soul, by one of those violent exertions great occasions will sometimes produce, reco­vered all her powers.—Indignation sub­sided at once into fortitude, and anger into heroism.—"You have hitherto only seen me, Sir David, said I, —it is now alone you can know me;—shuddering with horror at the imputations you have ex­plained, I yet dare not retreat unless I can confute them—no, not even con­demnation could induce me to fly, and leave my honor behind me.—What! shall I blight the opening virtues of my child by exposing her with myself to un­merited censure? The pride, the plea­sure, of unsullied virtue, was all for­tune permitted me to retain of the wealth and honors which once glittered before [Page 276] my youthful eyes—nor did I undervalue the most dear and facred of all possessions —alas, even that is now ravished from me, and one way alone can it be re­trieved.—Desperate as the effort seems, it must be ventured—yes—I will see the King whatever it costs me: surely, the sainted spirit of the Royal Henry would appear to vindicate my innocence (hea­vens! that I should live to know it ques­tioned!) were every other means to prove insuffcient.—I will trouble you no farther, respected Murray, unless you will deign to convey a letter to Lord Rochester, requesting a private au­dience, of the King."

An idea so singular had transferred the astonishment Murray had at first excited in me to his own mind; that my intel­lects were touched then seemed to him very probable, but perceiving that I was mistress both of my senses and temper, he presumed not to contend with a spi­rit injury had nerved; and struck with the silent dignity I assumed, began to believe [Page 277] I had indeed something important to dis­close, though quite at a loss respecting its nature. I wrote to Lord Rochester (now newly created Earl of Somerset) according to the idea I had formed; and Murray having engaged that the letter should be delivered early in the morn­ing, departed with the same caution with which he had entered, leaving me alone.—Alone did I say?—Ah, gracious hea­ven, never was I less so!—The shades of all I had ever loved seemed to ga­ther round me on this interesting occa­sion, and volumes of obscure ideas rush­ed impetuously through my brain.—I had unexpectedly reached the very point of my sate.—That important moment so often delayed, so eternally dreaded, was at length arrived, and the long trea­sured secret on the verge of being pub­lished.—For myself I had long ceased to fear.—The fraternal acknowledgment of the King could now add nothing to my happiness; since, alas, that incom­parable youth was gone for whose sake [Page 278] alone I desired it: nor could his re­jection greatly embitter a fate which had left me so little to hope.—But, oh, when I remembered his single breath might blight the tender blossom I had exhausted my very being to rear—precipitate my youth­ful Mary, ere yet her virtues were known, into an obscure and dishonorable grave, where, where, could I gather strength to cope with this idea?

I employed the remainder of the night in collecting and arranging such plausible reasons as should amuse my daughter's mind till the event was known; thus sparing her all the pangs of suspense.— I gathered together likewise every paper, and proof, which could authenticate the rights I was compelled to avow, and on perusing them once more, found such reason to be assured, not only of safety, but distinction, that a sacred calm suc­ceeded to all the transports of grief and indignation with which I had of late been agitated.

[Page 279] By a feigned invitation from a neigh­bouring lady who permitted me to ren­der her house my convenience, I sent my daughter abroad for the day; and scarce had done so ere an express arrived, to acquaint me the Earl of Somerset would wait on me in the afternoon.

What were my proud emotions when the upstart Somerset littered my court with a princely retinue!—Alas, the only Prince who had ever entered it, with a noble consciousness, despised such idle parade. By oppressive offers of service, the Earl made me sensible of his impor­tance, and sought by unbounded adula­tion to gain upon my heart, and dive into its intentions: but it was not by such a me­dium I sought distinction. I politely avoid­ed referring either to the slander, or the purport of the requested audience, and only thanked him for having obtained me the ear of the King; half, blushing to have gained it by so contemptible an intercessor. I perceived chagrin, curi­osity, and disappointment, strongly ex­pressed in his really fine features, but I [Page 280] could not prevail on myself to confide aught to the man Prince Henry had despised. The Earl took his leave with the same profound deference, and assuran­ces of service, with which he entered; having appointed the next morning for presenting me to the King.

As the privacy of the promised au­dience enabled me to dispense with form, I made no addition to my servants, nor any other alteration in the weeds I usu­ally wore, than that of forming them to the model of my mother's dress; which ever rendered the likeness I bore her from my very birth striking and obvious. A thousand half-forgotten occurrences pressed upon my agitated soul as I past through each well-known apartment, till all were lost in the present, by my reach­ing the closet of the King. The assiduous Somerset, drest as elegantly as though he had meant to charm me, advanced on my being announced, and politely offer­ed me his hand—a sudden chill came over me;—I trembled, —lingered—drooped, —but [Page 281] resolved to conquer my­self or perish, I sook off the scalding tear which hung upon my cheek, and accepted the favorite's introduction.—The superior air with which I affected to enter was not necessary towards confusing the King, who always awkward and per­plexed, seemed more than usually so; and doubtful, whether he should not fly the moment he saw me, or at least call back Somerset who had instantly retired.—Bending my knee in compliance with custom, I instantly rose, and retaining the hand he had presented to me, fixed my eyes, strongly animated by the occa­sion, on his ever-varying countenance. "Your Majesty, said I, doubtless, ex­pects to find in me a weak suppliant, soliciting protection, or suing for your pity; but on terms like these I had never bent before you—I come to claim a dear and sacred title hitherto unknown, but never annihilated. Does your heart, oh, Royal James! added I, melting into tears, recognize nothing congenial to it in these features? this voice? the ti­morous [Page 282] hand which grasps yours for the first time, in fraternal alliance?—Oh, sainted Mary! dear author of my be­ing, look down from heaven, and touch the heart of your son, in favor of the de­solate sister who now stands before him." The King started, receded, gave ma­nifest tokens of doubt and displeasure, and sought to draw away the hand I ob­stinately retained.—I kissed, I bathed it with impassioned tears. "Shake me not off, reject me not unknown, re­sumed I in the deep tone of stifled an­guish.—It is neither pride, vanity, or ambition, which induces me now to publish a secret so long buried in my bo­som. By the ashes of our anointed mo­ther, I conjure you to hear—nay even to believe me.—Born in obscurity—reared in solitude, the early victim of misfor­tune, long suffering had reconciled my weary soul to every evil but disgrace: against that she still proudly revolts.— The same blood which flows through your veins, burns in tumults along [Page 283] mine, at the very thought of aught unworthy—it urges me to assert my in­nocence by indubitable proofs—it will be acquitted, before men as well as an­gels;—nor does the claim thus avowed rest on my declaration alone, your Ma­jesty will see in these papers the solemn attestations, the unquestioned hand­writing of your royal mother; in these you will find the corroborating testimo­nies of many noble and unblemished persons.—Peruse them cautiously, and oh, beware how you pre-judge me!" Un­able to utter another word, I almost sunk at the feet of James, and gave way to the oppressive, the agonizing sensa­tions such an aera in my life could not fail to awaken. The King still regarded me with an irresolute, uneasy air, coldly advising me to compose myself by retiring into the antichamber, while he perused the papers on which he had hitherto only glanced his eye; though even that cur­sory view had deeply tinged his cheek with silent conviction. I was met there [Page 284] by the Earl of Somerset, who, per­ceiving me near fainting, ordered water, and such essences as are customary, remaining himself by my side, as if os­tentatiously to convince me he did not influence in the least the determination of his royal master.—The bitterness of the conflict was, however, over the mo­ment the secret was avowed, and my spirits soon began to recover their wonted equanimity.

The obliging efforts of Somerset to revive me did not pass unnoticed, though my watchful ear followed the footsteps of the King, who still continued to walk about with an unequal pace, stopping at intervals. He opened the closet door at length, and Somerset retiring out of his sight, made signs to me to re-enter it.—The King came forward to meet me with affability, and seizing my hand slightly saluted my cheek.—"Take courage, madam, said he, for however you may have surprized us with this sudden declaration, and wonderful dif­covery, [Page 285] reverence for our deceased mo­ther's rights, and justice to those you de­rive from her, oblige us to acknowledge you as her daughter."

And now I was indeed near fainting, I might rather say dying.—To be at once acknowledged as his sister, as the daughter of Mary! Scarce in my hap­piest hours had I dared to flatter myself with the promise of what was now so incre­dibly realized. My susceptible soul in­dulged the exquisite transport, and one short moment compensated for ages, of anguish.—A thousand impassioned, inco­herent exclamations, burst from my lips; and giving way to the genuine impulse of gratitude and affection, I threw my­self for the first time into the arms of a brother, nor remembered they were those of a King. Never did the most consummate hypocrite counterfeit a joy so pure, so perfect; and though I could have brought no other proof of my birth, the sacred throbs of nature might well have ascertained it.

[Page 286] The King sat down by me, and turn­ing over the papers he still held, questi­oned me at intervals respecting those that appeared mysterious or deficient. I entreated his patience while I briefly ran through the wonderful events of my life, and thus very naturally led his attention toward the sole object of my cares, my hopes, my existence.— "I have already heard much of your daugh­ter, said James; they tell me she is beauty itself—why have you thus strangely concealed her?" As I could not declare my real reason, which was simply want of esteem for his character, I pleaded various trifling ones, that indeed had never in­fluenced me. "Say no more, said the King, interrupting me, I easily perceive, Ma­dam, you was not so reserved to every one—I plainly discern who was your con­fidant; had I earlier been entrusted with your secret, it would have been happier for all, and I should then have been able to account for"—He paused ere he came to the dear name of his son, and [Page 287] sighing, dropt the unfinished sentence. As to me, entranced alike with his unexpected candor, graciousness, and generosity, I severely censured myself for relying on report, and not proving the character I ventured to decide upon. I had a long conversation with the King afterwards, every word of which heightened my con­fidence, esteem, and affection. I gather­ed from many expressions, that he feared opposition on the part of the Queen, and his favorite; and was fearful this late declaration of his mother's marriage with the Duke of Norfolk would not fully satisfy the minds of the people, or establish my rank sufficiently. He paused upon the whole, with the air of one who is a party in what he meditates; and I thought the least I could do, was to leave the regulation of the important acknow­ledgment in his choice.—To be vindi­cated in his opinion, I truly assured him, was the first object of my life, and I sub­mitted my general vindication, in the public acknowledgment of my birth, en­tirely [Page 288] to his better judgment. That I had been so many years a solitary being in the midst of society as not to have one friend to whose inclination I need yield my own. In fine, that time had gradu­ally robbed me of all interested in the important secret I had just confided to him, which, now rested solely with him, my daughter, and myself. He replied that, "this instance of my prudence as well as regard, infinitely heightened the partiality he had already conceived for me; nor need I fear his delaying the acknowledgment longer than was abso­lutely necessary, since he could not but look on such relations as inestimable ac­quisitions: nevertheless, as he had many points to consider, and many persons to reconcile, he recommended to me to continue the same circumspection I had hitherto shewn; but that he could not restrain his impatience to behold the fair maid of whom he had heard so much, and would come to-morrow evening to a seat of my Lord Somerset's, whither [Page 289] he would send for myself and my daugh­ter, and hoped by that time he should be able to ascertain the day for publishing my birth, with a due regard for his mo­ther's honor; after which he could gra­tify himself by establishing me in a situ­ation that should make me forget all my misfortunes."—Those misfortunes were already forgotten in the unhoped-for tran­sition in my fate. I took my leave with the profoundest gratitude, burning with impatience to impart this blessed news to my Mary; and as the King did not offer to return the papers, I thought it better to leave them in his hands, than confirm the doubt my long silence could not but give rise to in his mind, viz. that I wanted confidence in his ho­nor.

I hastened to Richmond, and commu­nicated this surprizing, this happy event, to my darling girl.—A thousand times I ensolded her to my delighted heart, and found every transport doubled in her participation. She tenderly entered into [Page 290] all my feelings, and sweetly smiled at the eagerness with which I sought to adorn her for the next day's introduc­tion. Yet considering the King as the slave of exterior, it was a material point to heighten her beauty by every adven­titious advantage. To present her in absolute black, was to recall the most melancholy impressions to the mind of James; I therefore resolved to lighten her mourning with a fanciful elegance. I drest her in a vest of black velvet thrown back at the bosom in the French sashion, with a semicircle of rich lace points, which shewed at once her grace­ful waist and chest to the greatest ad­vantage. Her petticoat was of white fattin, wrought in deep points round the bottom with black velvet, and richly sringed with silver. A fuller coat and train of silver muslin wrought with black, sell over the sattin one, and was looped up to the waist at regular distances by strings of pearl, and dragged toward the bottom into points by the weight of [Page 291] rich black bugle tassels and roses of di­amonds. Full sleeves of the same silver muslin were braced round her arms to the elbow by strings of jet, and roses of diamonds; and from thence they were bare, except for similar bracelets circling each wrist. The rich profusion of her auburn hair, which fell in natural curls below her waist, required no ornament, but to avoid the affectation of shewing it, she wore a hat of white sattin with a narrow fringe of black bugles, and a waving plume of feathers. This splendid dress, on which the legacies of both her father and Anana were displayed, by some peculiar happiness, either in its make or mixture, became my Mary be­yond any I had ever seen her wear. The fond mother's heart anticipated the impression she would infallibly make on her uncle, and drew from her heightened beauty the happiest presages.

Ah, who could have conjectured that this brilliance and parade were only des­tined to forerun one of the most dismal [Page 292] moments of my life!—That an inhuman tyrant had delighted to employ the trembling hand of misfortune in decking a gaudy pageant, for herself eternally to mourn over!

At the appointed hour, a close carriage came for us with due attendants, and as the King had desired me not to bring any of my own, I rigidly obeyed, nor even hinted whither I was going. They drove us a long way, while engrossed by medita­tions on the approaching interview, as well as concerning the dear creature by me, I hardly knew how the time passed. My daughter at length observed it was farther than she expected.—I looked out, but it was too dark for me to distinguish any object, and all I could discern was an increase of attendants. I called out aloud, and one drew near, who to my enquiries respectfully replied, that the King had been detained in London, whi­ther they were hastening by his orders. This information quieted us again; and I strove to recall my fluttered spirits [Page 293] into their usual channel, by turning the conversation on our future prospects. Nevertheless, we went at so great a rate, that I thought it impossible we should not be near London, when all at once I found we were driving through an un­known village. The surprize this oc­easioned, was doubled by my daugh­ter's throwing herself into my arms.—It was not immediately I could compre­hend her, when she told me that a light which gleamed from the window of a cottage, had shewn her that we were en­vironed with armed soldiers. From this alarm we were not yet recovered, when by a sudden rise, and hollow sound, we perceived we had passed over a draw­bridge; immediately after which we stopped. As we alighted, I cast my eyes round a large and dreary court-yard, where a few straggling centinels were planted, but neither lights, splendor, or attendants, indicated a royal guest, or a favorite's residence. The gloomy pas­sages through which we were ushered, [Page 294] seemed rather to lead to a prison than a palace.—Arrived at an empty apartment, I gave way at once to the dire, the ob­vious truth; and arraigning in silence my own egregious credulity, felt, severely felt, its every consequence.

An officer, who had preceded us, now offered me a packet, which I received as the sentence of my fate, but made no effort to open it.—Hope, fear, curio­sity, every dear and powerful emotion were annihilated by instantaneous con­viction, and a stupor succeeded more dangerous and dreadful than the most violent operations of the passions.—My daughter, more terrified by this still agony than even the cruel and unexpected event of the evening, threw herself at my feet.—"Oh, speak to me, my mother! exclaimed the dear one; do not indulge the desperation your countenance ex­presses! do not consummate to your poor Mary the horrors of the moment!" I gazed at her with a vacant air, but na­ture resumed her rights, and fondly plucking at my heart, the tears I re­fused [Page 295] to my own fate, flowed lavishly for hers.—So young, so fair, so innocent, so noble, —how could I but bewail her? Surely those maternal tears alone pre­served my senses at a juncture when every thing conspired to unsettle them. My Mary, by an expressive glance, requested leave to open the packet, and starting at sight of the paper it contained, put it eagerly into my hand; a glance inform­ed me it was that defamatory declaration the crafty Burleigh had deceived my sis­ter into signing while a prisoner in St. Vincent's Abbey. The King, in sending this, only added insult to injury, since the testimonials I had delivered to him might have invalidated a thousand such vague and artificial falshoods; yet had it a fortunate effect, for nothing less could have roused my spirits from the cold and sullen torpor which every pass­ing moment seemed to increase—"Inso­lent Barbarian! exclaimed I, not con­tent to imprison the unhappy offspring of the Queen who had the misfortune of giving thee being, dost thou delight in [Page 296] villifying and debasing even her ashes!—Oh, paper! dictated and preserved surely for my ruin; by what singular chance hast thou survived the very views thou wert invented to serve?—Treasured, as it ap­pears, only to effect a ruin your execrable contriver could not foresee.—Yet of what consequence is this single attestation to­wards annihilating claims all those I deli­vered had not power to establish in the judgment of a cruel, insidious tyranty who voluntarily shut his heart alike to reason, virtue, and nature?—Devoted to self-interest, vain of a petty talent at deceiving, contemptible in every rank, but infamous in the highest, he meanly watched the generous impulses of my heart, and wrought out of them my ruin.—Yet why do I name myself?—Alas, of what importance is it to her who no longer wishes to live where hea­ven or its arbitrary delegate shall have ap­pointed her to die?—It is for thee, my daughter! for thee alone my soul thus overflows with inexpressible anguish.—Rescued, in yet unconscious childhood, [Page 297] from slavery, neglect, and obscurity, for­tune at one moment seemed willing to restore all the rights of your birth, when a weak, credulous, unfortunate, mother assisted the cruel wretch who Was pre-de­termined to entomb you, and annihilate every trace, every memorial, of our dear and honored progenitors.—Nameless—dishonored—your blooming youth must wither in an unknown prison—blighted by the tears of a parent who can never pardon herself the extravagant error produced by over-fondness.—I knew the King to be mean, base, subtle, yet I madly deli­vered into his treacherous hands every thing on which our hopes, nay, even our vindication, must be grounded."— "Hear me, in turn, my dear, my ho­nored mother, cried my sweet girl, bath­ing my hands with tears of veneration and fondness. Alas, the order of nature is inverted, and I am obliged to become the monitor.—Recollect the maxim you have so deeply impressed upon my mind—that the malice of man would in vain strive to make us wretched, did not our [Page 298] own ungovernable passions aid his artful machinations. Oh, let us respect even error when it has its source in virtue.—To have distrusted the King were to de­serve to be rejected—leave him then to the contemptible satisfaction of having wrested from the widow and the orphan the last treasure of their lives, and let us examine what he has been compelled to leave us. Have we not yet the power of looking down on his throne, and all its specious advantages, even from that obscure prison where his authority con­fines us?—Have we not the pride of reviewing our own hearts without find­ing aught in either unworthy of our Crea­tor or ourselves?—For the vain gran­deur of that name of which he has un­fairly deprived us, can it be worth re­gretting while he lives to dishonor it?—Fortunately no favorite view depended on its attainment, consequently no hope is blighted by the deprivation. Have I not often heard you say, a noble mind can become every thing to itself?—Let us then rise superior to our fortune; time [Page 299] will soon calm our spirits—reason will reconcile us to the inconveniencies of our fate, and religion elevate us above them.—Mourn not then for me, my much-loved mother," concluded the dear one, sweetly smiling through her tears, "since I shall never think that place a prison which contains you, nor that fate a mis­fortune I owe to your fondness."

Oh, virtue, how awful dost thou ap­pear, sublimed thus by generosity! When I saw this half-blown human blossom support the storm without shrinking, I blushed to have bowed my head before it.—When I heard her with Spartan cou­rage apply to her own situation the no­ble tenets I had sought, not vainly, to imbue her mind with, could I fail to profit by the principles I had taught?—From the admiration she excited in my soul, sprung that pure and elevated heroism which calms in one moment every human weakness, and turbulent passion; disposing us to turn upon that fate it enables us to judge of.

[Page 300] I now recollected that by a fond va­nity in decking my daughter in all her valuable diamonds, I had inadvertently provided ample means to buy the fide­lity of our keepers; nor were they aware of our treasure, as the severity of the weather had made me wrap her in a long cloak lined with fur. I hastily stripped her costly dress of its richest embellish­ments, and secreted them. Ah, with what difficulty did I stifle the tears and anguish which struggled at my heart when I remembered the different views with which I adorned her!

Scarce had we executed this prudent resolve, ere the man I have mentioned presented himself once more;—he was young—not unpleasing—had an air of integrity, and profound respect, that a little prepossessed me in his favour, even under all the disadvantages attending our meeting. Our countenances were now calmed, and our resolutions taken.—He appeared surprized alike with this transi­tion, and the beauty of my daughter, [Page 301] whose magnificent but disordered dress had a share of his attention.—He was flattered with our civility, and assured us "every accommodation consistent with the strict orders of the King, he should take pleasure in supplying us with; and would, with our permission, make us acquainted with our new home." He then produced some keys which opened double doors at the farther end of the large room we were in, and conducted us into a chamber neat and commo­dious enough.—The keys, he informed us, were committed solely to his charge; and that whenever, inclination or con­venience induced us to change our apartment, we had only to touch a spring he pointed out, when he would attend, and unlock the intermediate doors.—The purport of this extreme caution was very obvious; it excluded every possibility of winning over a female servant, as all the domestic offices would now of course be performed in either room while we occu­pied the other; nor was he suffered to [Page 302] supply us pen, ink, or paper. As the conveniences of these apartments, and the air of respect in our guard, shewed some attention had been paid to our wel­fare, as well as the most judicious pre­cautions taken to prevent our enlarge­ment, I neither imputed the one or the other to the King, but rather both to his cunning favorite. Our enquiries were in­terrupted by the entrance of two servants, who set out an elegant supper, of which neither my daughter or myself had spi­rits to partake. Resolved however to gather all I could from my attendant, ere another should be put in his place, or suspicion make him dumb, I asked the name of the Castle, and its owner; but to these questions he declared him­self enjoined to refuse replying; never­theless, I conjectured from his looks that I did not err in supposing Somerset di­rected him. The refined artifice of of­fering to introduce me to the King, and even remaining by my side, while per­haps my ruin was effecting by his will, [Page 303] seemed entirely consistent with the cha­racter Prince Henry had given me of that worthless favorite; though I could find no crime in my own conduct could pos­sibly irritate him to bury us thus alive, unless indeed our attachment to that la­mented royal youth appeared a sufficient one.

In the gallery leàding to our apart­ment, I observed a centinel planted, from whom we were shut by double doors safely locked: perceiving we were thus effectually excluded from every hope, and chance of freedom, I desired to pass at once into a chamber, where I did not flatter myself I should find rest.

My first employment on rising was to examine the windows, as well as the view from them; they were so closely grated as to convince me however comfortable our residence, it was still a prison. The apartments we occupied, formed one side of a quadrangle of old buildings, most probably barracks, but now en­tirely deserted. On making the signal, [Page 304] Dunlop (for so was our guard called) rea­dily attended, and we passed into the other room where we found breakfast ready. Trunks containing all kinds of apparel had been placed there, and Dun­lop recommended to us to form our minds to passing the remainder of our days in confinement. I did not submit to bear this without demanding the autho­rity by which he acted? He produced an order, signed by the King, strictly en­joining him to keep us in safety, and be­ware we neither wrote or received a let­ler, or indeed held any kind of commu­nication with the world.—While he spoke I examined every lineament of his coun­tenance, but fidelity was written there in such legible characters, that I dared not make any effort to bribe him, lest if it failed he should publish that I had the means, which might in a moment utterly impoverish me.

A few wearisome uniform days only had elapsed when every hope decayed, and my spirits flagged at once.—Alas, [Page 305] my mind had no longer the vivifying ar­dor, the inexhaustible resources of un­broken youth—its bloom had passed away like a shadow, and all its fire eva­porated.—The woful realities of life had dissipated the bright illusions of imagina­tion.—Every human good was in my es­timation shrunk into so small a compass, that freedom constituted a very essential part of my little Possessions.—I was no longer able to rely upon contingencies, and sunk at once under all the sdness of know­ledge.—Not denied the relief of books, I pored over them in vain; every idea was still pursuing an absent good, and my senses would reject the sublimest au­thor; to follow the careless steps of a weary centinel, or listen to his whistling.

Whether my daughter had really more resolution than myself, or only assumed the appearance of it to save me from despair, was a point I could not ascer­tain; but the complacency of her mind and manners was invariable. By a thou­sand little affectionate artifices she en­gaged me to work while she read, or [Page 306] read while she worked, nor would per­ceive those melancholy reveries it was impossible to overlook. I was not, how­ever, thankless for the blessing left me. That my eyes opened on her every morn­ing, still made me bless it; and in com­posing myself to sleep, I nightly praised the God who yet suffered her to rest by me.

Two tedious months elapsed in unde­cisive projects.—Dunlop ever present, vi­gilant, and respectful, precluded alike complaint and temptation; but as if to guard himself against the latter, I took notice he now never remained one moment alone with us.

The impossibility of forming any judg­ment of our centinels while divided from them by double doors, and the danger of a fruitless effort to seduce one, had at intervals engrossed my attention; but the mind cannot dwell forever on a single idea, or a remote and uncertain project. Wearied out with this, another suddenly came to my relief. Though yet early in the spring, the weather was uncom­monly [Page 307] beautiful, and the lenity with which we were treated, left me not with­out hopes of being allowed, under rigid limitations, the liberty of walking in whatever gardens the castle-walls en­closed. By this means I could examine the countenances of our centinels, and if I saw one in whom humanity was not quite extinct, I thought I might find some means to shew him a jewel; thus proving I could largely recompense him should he have the courage to assist us. Nor did my lameness wholly deprive me of the power of walking, though it pre­vented my enjoying the liberty.—After considering this plan in every possible light, I saw nothing to forbid the at­tempt, and ventured the request.—A few anxious days elapsed ere I had the satisfaction of finding it was granted, on as good terms as I could hope. Dunlop acquainted me we must walk separately, that the person confined might be a check upon her that was liberated; who should not remain in the garden more than an [Page 308] hour, nor quit his sight one moment. These restrictions were as moderate as I could expect, and I eagerly prepared to profit by the granted permission, ere I ventured my daughter: certain I should at least discover the strength, heighth, and situation, of the Castle.—Dunlop, followed by two other men, attended upon me. I cast an eager eye on the centinel on the gallery, but saw in him no trace of sense, feeling, or curio­sity. I found the little garden in so an­tique a stile, and ruinous a condition, as plainly proved this dismantled build­ing was now only a prison, whatever its former distinction. The wall around it appeared decayed, and not very high—it looked down on a moat, apparently dry.—From one part of the terrace I caught the corner of a tower I fancied belonged to Windsor Castle, but dared not venture a word which might imply design, and returned without asking a single question. My daughter now took her turn, and as we continued to claim [Page 309] this relief whenever the weather favored, I fancied it improved her health as well as my own.

It chanced, at length, I one day found a centinel on guard whose eye expressed both pity and curiosity.—Mine addressed itself to him in a most pointed manner. Without altering the position of my hand (in which I always carried a dia­mond for that purpose) I opened it, and the soldier, as I wished, surveyed the jewel.—I turned my head at the instant Dunlop was unlocking the door, and the centinel shook his emphatically. Yet only to have been understood revived at once my spirits, and my hopes; for to escape did not appear so impracticable to me, as to gain an assistant. I saw him no more for a week, but soon found that day was the periodical one for his at­tendance.—Involved in a thousand plots, the want of pen and ink seemed to con­demn them all to inhabit only my brain, when at once I discovered a substitute for those useful articles. From the middle [Page 310] of a large book, which we had unmo­lested possession of, I took some of the printed leaves, and from the conclusion a blank one; out of the first I cut such words as simply conveyed my meaning, and sewed them on the last.—"Assist us to escape, and we will make your fortune," was the substance of this sin­gular but important billet. To ascer­tain my ability to realize this promise, I wrapt in it a diamond of some value, and carried both ever in my hand, still hoping fortune would enable me for one moment to mislead the attention of my guards: but, alas, Dunlop, far from re­laxing his vigilance, continually increas­ed it. The two men who followed him in the garden, now attended to my door; remaining as spies on me while Dunlop opened it.—Thus circumstanced; I could not make the slightest overture without being liable to detection, and I dreaded awakening the most distant doubt, lest it should condemn us to a more rigorous confinement.—One favorable omen alone [Page 311] occurred.—The soldier I had selected clearly understood me.—I saw his eye ever anxiously fixed on my hand, as if eager to transfer its contents to his own; nor had I ceased to flatter myself I should yet do so, when an unforeseen incident at once annihilated every hope and pro­ject, and plunged me in the deepest sor­row.

I had always counted the moments of my daughter's absence, and nothing but the conviction that the air and exercise were necessary towards her health, could have enabled me to support it. What then became of me when one day I found her walk unusually lengthened!—I endeavoured to persuade myself that my fears foreran the danger.—But more than twice the usual time had certainly elapsed; nor dared I venture an en­quiry, lest I should suggest a hint to my persecutors which hitherto had escaped them. The hours thus passed on, but Mary returned not.—Ah, me! while my weak hand repeats this, I almost expire [Page 312] under the recollection.—Every evil my untoward fate had yet teemed with, be­came peace, nay pleasure, on a compa­rison with this.—Though the turbulence of each succeeding storm had swept away invaluable treasures, something yet re­mained my weary soul might cling to.—This single gem, this solitary relique of all my fortunes, more dear, more precious from becoming so, a dreadful, a deceitful calm had at length swallowed up even while I was fearless of the dan­ger.—Heartstruck—incapable at once either of distinguishing, or complaining, my respiration became perturbed, and deep.—A still agony, more dreadful than the wildest tumults of the passions, numbed my very soul; every hair seemed to start from, and pierce my too-sensible brain; while drops cold as those of death chased one another down my scarcely throbbing temples.—When Dunlop presented him­self, I rose not from the earth, I uttered not a syllable; but lifting an eye to him which would have melted a savage, he [Page 313] turned away, unable to support the shock, and offered me some order from the King bewailing at the same moment the pain­ful duty imposed on him. This roused my torpid spirits—I tore it indignantly into a thousand atoms;—resentment re­stored my speech.—I called for my Mary in the most piercing accents—nothing could suspend, or mitigate my anguish. I bitterly reproached Dunlop with tearing the beauteous innocent from her mother's bosom, only to deliver her up to assas­sins.—In vain he declared himself inca­pable of such villainy, and acting under the orders, of the King—in vain he as­sured me she was only removed to ano­ther apartment, safe, and unhurt.—My soul rejected all his assertions.—Mary— Mary—Mary!—was all my convulsed lips could utter, or my disconsolate soul dictate.

Ah, God! the solitude that succeeded. Food, light, air, nay even life itself, be­came nauseous and insupportable.—Stretched on the cold ground—drenched in my own tears, I gave way to the deep [Page 314] misery, the tremendous void this barba­rous separation could not but plunge me in.—How long was it since she had been the very essence of my existence! From the sorrowful moment which gave her into my arms, to that which tore her from them, she, she alone, had occupied my every sense, and enabled me to sup­port every affliction.—Never, though I had led her myself through an admiring nation to the altar, and joined her hand with that of the incomparable Henry, never could even that advantage have compensated to my yearning heart for the loss of her society. What then must it suffer to recollect a savage had wrested her, for unknown purposes, from my arms!—Nor could I, amid all the hor­rors this idea teemed with, fix on any distinct one.

Oh, that melodious voice!—Still it seemed to vibrate on my ear, but no longer could I hear it.—That unmatched form glistered through every tear, but evaporated with it. The most deadly glooms came over me—a thousand times [Page 315] I raised my rash hand to precipitate—the unfortunate Rose Cecil alone withheld me.—I often thought I heard her aerial voice, and despair slowly subsided into re­signation.

I now exerted every effort to gain upon Dunlop; but, too faithful to his execra­ble employers, I never won more from him than that my daughter was still in the Castle, not only unhurt, but treated with distinction and indulgence.—Yet, how could I credit such improbable as­surances? or even if they were true; ought not an indulgence so partial to alarm more strongly a mother's feelings? To every solicitation once more to be­hold her, I received a positive denial; nor was even the liberty of walking now allowed me. I often enquired why I was thus restrained, if no injury was meditated to my unfortunate child? To questions of this kind he never answered, but left me to my own fluctuating conjectures: They were so numerous and frightful that conviction could hardly aggravate the evil. Nevertheless, as Dunlop seemed [Page 316] ever anxious to compose my mind by re­iterated assurances of my poor girl's safety, and as there was an air of candor in all he uttered, I began at length to conclude that the contemptible Somerset had aspired to the niece of his master, but from being already married to the divorced Countess of Essex, had not dared to avow his passion. I recollected too late the singularity of his being with Prince Henry when first we beheld that amiable youth;—the assiduous respect he had shewn in waiting on me at Richmond;—the affected offer of his interest with a tyrant whose will he so well knew how to make subservient to his own;—the com­bination of refined arts by which we had been led to throw ourselves into the pri­son selected for us;—and, finally, that the prison was probably a house of his own.—Through the whole of this, as well as the manner we were guarded, there was a policy too minute for a King to plan, and too watchful to be the work of an indifferent person.—When by a just turn of thought we insensibly [Page 317] unravel any hitherto inexplicable event, how does the mind disdain its former blindness? I now considered with won­der my long want of perspicacity, and found something every moment to cor­roborate, and strengthen the idea I had adopted.

To fix on any thing certain appears to the exhausted soul a degree of relief; and though at some moments I dreaded art and violence might be employed, if gentle methods failed to undermine the virtue of my sweet girl, yet I much of­tener flattered myself she could not in­spire a passion so gross and unworthy; and knew her soul superior to every other seduction. From the instant I ventured once more to hope, all my plans for escap­ing revived; I had no longer, it is true, the privilege of passing beyond my apart­ment, but misery is ever ingenious, and I was pre-informed of the days when the compassionate centinel guarded the door; nay, I fancied I often heard him draw near, attracted by my sighs and groans.—The note I had formerly prepared was [Page 318] yet in being; I sewed it to a long thin slip of whalebone, and on the day when he used to be attending, worked it gently under both doors, at a time when I judg­ed no other person near, and softly rapped at the inner one. A sweet hope rekindled in my heart as I felt it drawn out of my hand. I watched in vain the whole te­dious day for a reply, and often fancied my effort had been betrayed to Dunlop; but as I did not perceive any alteration in his countenance, I became reassured; and concluded that the soldier could not write, nor perhaps even read; and if so, a whole week must necessarily elapse ere I could learn his resolutions. The ex­piration of that time verified my last con­jecture. With unspeakable satisfaction I at last saw a billet introduced into my so­litude, by the same means I had suc­cessfully ventured. I was a long time decy­phering the almost unintelligible scrawl: "I pity you, lady, from my heart, but I know not how to help you; it is true, you are rich, and I am very poor, but then it is impossible to get at you; if [Page 319] you can think of any way, I am ready to assist." Ah, God! how did I lift up my eyes to thee, who hadst thus strangely opened once more to me a communica­tion with that society from which I had been so unfairly wrested! In moments like this every thing appears possible; al­ready I seemed to see my prison gates open, my daughter in my arms, and our honest assistant rich at once in our wealth and our blessings. Having had the fore­sight to prepare another billet, I convey­ed it in the same manner. "Worthy soldier, is my daughter safe, and yet in this Castle? if so, tear away all but the word, yes, and my soul shall for ever bless you." How pure was the joy with which I received the precious monosyl­lable!

To prepare another billet, comprehend­ing my plan, was a work of time;—with what perturbation did I undertake it! To condense my meaning to a few words, and yet leave it obvious to a common capacity, was not an easy task.—I thus [Page 320] at last effected it: "generous friend, win over him who guards my daughter's door, while you are at mine, and I will share with both of you the rich jewels I possess, of which you saw only the smallest. Ob­serve the form of the keys Dunlop brings—buy many as near them as possible, and so various that some may certainly fit.—Procure likewise two regimental suits, that we may pass the gate un­questioned; if you can raise the little money necessary for this, fear not to spend it; I will make your fortune in the mo­ment our doors are opened.—Restore me to my daughter—conduct us to the gate, and we will both beseech the Almighty to bless the riches we will joyfully leave in your hands."

Having dispatched this, I waited the deciding hour with the most anxious im­patience; and scarce dared to raise my eyes from the ground, lest Dunlop should read in them aught that might alarm his suspicions.

[Page 321] How to dispose of myself, and daugh­ter, when out of the Castle, was a ques­tion I could not decide upon; but I flat­tered myself that as we should have some hours start of our persecutors, we might reach London; where it would not be easy to apprehend persons who had been imprisoned without any judicial enquiry or sentence:—A greater fear however than that occurred.—How if these sol­diers should not be honest—the reward we must bestow would prove what we pos­sessed, and our lives might be the forfeit. Yet such was my desperate state, that even this reasonable apprehension did not in­duce me one moment to hesitate.

The appointed time revolved, and I re­ceived another billet. "Be ready when all is quiet—every thing is prepared if any of the keys fit. My comrade and self must go with you to secure our own safety, but it will likewise secure yours." Oh, how did my heart bound at this happy intelli­gence;—my languor, my lameness, all was forgotten. Maternal love, and ha­bitual [Page 322] fear, seemed to wing me with su­pernatural powers.

As the important moment approached, I knelt and devoutly invoked the assist­ance of heaven. Ah! not in vain; for the first effort of the soldiers was successful. I reached out a rich and ready hand to each.—They received the contents with extreme satisfaction, and conjuring me to preserve the most, profound silence, lock­ed the doors, and led me to the further side of the Castle. At the threshold of my daughter's apartment they gave into my hand the disguises I had desired, and a­greed to wait till we were ready. The tender meltings Mothers only know thrill­ed thro' my heart, and sweetened every ap­prehension, as I gently made my way thro' a dark room towards one where I saw lights still burning: but fearful of alarming my sweet girl, I hesitated at the door. What was my astonishment to per­ceive that the apartment was gay, magni­ficient, and illuminated!—I thought at first that anxiety had bewildered my faculties, [Page 323] but their truth became evident when they centred at once on my daughter; who, elegantly habited, had sunk on a couch asleep. A writing table covered with due implements stood before her, on which lay a letter, it appeared to me she had been answering. The deadly cold­ness, the nameless sensations this extraor­dinary scene could not but occasion, at once suspended even the most powerful emotions of nature. A repulsion so terri­ble obliged me to rest my head against the pillar of the door, and struggle some time with the sickness and confusion of my soul, ere I could gather strength to penetrate into the fact. She still continu­ed to enjoy a repose, it seemed to me I never should know again, and I had now lost the wish of awakening her; of escap­ing—alas, even of existing! Slowly at length I tottered toward the table, and catching at the two letters I mentioned, appeared to grasp in them my very fate. The signature of the first made its contents [Page 324] almost needless. "A few days, a very few days more, most charming of women, and I shall be able to indulge your every wish—every thing is now in train:—pain me not therefore in thus pressing an impossi­bility. The heart of your Mother is inexor­able to me—it has ever been so, and I nei­ther dare trust her with the truth, or you with one so prejudiced, till the law shall have annulled my detested marriage, and the King agree to my union with yourself—I live but in that hope; it supports me under all these long and tedious absences. Why will you call the safe home in which you are enclosed, a prison?—The whole world appears so to him who beholds with pleasure only that spot where you dwell. To-morrow I shall steal an hour to pass with you—smile for that hour, my belov­ed, and bless wiih a welcome, your de­voted Somerset."

Of what various, what manifold mise­ries is the human heart susceptible? none of all the exquisite variety I had hitherto known, ever surpassed this new [Page 325] one. My disdainful soul recoiled from even the dear object of its affections—hypocrisy, that essence of all vices, had stolen into her heart under the name of love, and blighted the virtues yet blossom­ing—fearfully I perused her letter, to end every doubt.

"What ages of solitude, of suffering does your love, my lord, impose on me! In vain you would fill up that place in my heart, a parent so justly revered must ever hold. But you still talk of to-mor­row, and to-morrow—alas, it is a day that may perhaps never come—you think me vapourish, but you know not how strangely my illness increases—it is acute and violent—Oh that I could lay my burning head one moment on my mother's bosom!—Catherine gave me some whey yesterday; I don't know, —perhaps I wrong her, but I have not been myself since. A thousand gloomy images have taken possession of my mind; my eager ear is filled with imaginary knells; I could fan­cy myself dying: you will laugh perhaps [Page 326] at this weakness, but I cannot conquer it—if I should indeed judge right, re­lease my mother, I conjure you, and con­ceal forever from her—"

Ah, what? exclaimed I in the most terrible agony, for at this unfinished sentence the letter broke off.—Disdain, suspense, anguish, contended within me, and shook my frame like the last struggle of nature.—Of all the horrors that be­wildered my mind, one, one alone, could my senses ascertain.—My hapless girl was indeed dying—wan and sunken were those cheeks late so florid—the icy fin­gers of death were impressed upon her temples, and the eyes she heavily open­ed, as her woe-struck mother dropt upon earth, had no longer either life, beauty, or lustre.—Oh, that my soul had escaped in the groan which followed this horrible conviction!—She faintly shrieked, and re­mained in a kind of stupor; tenderness, however, soon predominated over every other sensation.—I threw my arms round her in silence, and the tears which de­luged her cheeks, alone declared what [Page 327] passed in my soul.—Still she uttered not a word, but griped my hands as though the pangs of death were indeed upon her. I in vain conjured, intreated her to speak; it was long ere she had courage to enter into a detail which she had neither breath or voice to go through. "Condemn me not wholly, my mother, at length cried the dear one, however appearances may incense you. I ask for only life enough to acquit myself, and will to my last moment thank the God who restores me to your arms, though only to blush away my being in them. Yet have I no other crime to avow than that re­serve unconquerably interwoven in my nature.—Alas, yesterday I thought it a virtue.—Heaven will, perhaps, give me strength to go through the story, at least, I ought to make the effort.—Oh, deign to pardon my compelled abruptness, and hear me with patience!

"At the moment which, first presented Prince Henry to our knowledge, he was accompanied by the Earl of Somerset.—How my eyes conceived the partiality my [Page 328] reason could never erase I know not, but they decided at once in his favor.—Whether the Earl perceived the involun­tary distinction, or was led by an equal one on his own part, is alike unknown to me; but I understood the reluctance with which he gave way to the Prince, whom he left with us—the contempt with which you mentioned Lord Somer­set, strangely shocked and alarmed me; yet (may I own it) I secretly accused the most upright heart existing of pride and prejudice; and found a thousand reasons for suddenly disputing a judgment which had hitherto been the rule of my own.— During the frequent visits Prince Henry paid you, when prudence induced you to send me abroad; alas, to what a temptation did you unconsciously expose me! Somerset availed himself of those opportunities, and by distant homage confirmed the prepossession I had already conceived.—What shame, what sorrow, what humiliation, has it cost me!—Can you ever know a more exquisite misery than to bestow your heart unworthily? [Page 329] to be humbled without guilt—com­pelled to blush hourly for errors not your own—and reduced to a perpetual con­flict with those powerful and natural emotions which form under more for­tunate circumstances the felicity of youth! Sensible by the curious attention of others, how injurious that of the Earl might in time become, I requested leave to remain at home; and awed, in spite of myself, by your sentiments, boldly resolved to sacrifice the erroneous incli­nation of my heart, and received the vows of Prince Henry. To see you happy, to flatter him with the hope of being so, for a time elevated and amused my mind; but solitude soon restored it to its favorite object: Somerset still presented himself, and I took pleasure in the tears in which I drowned his admired image. By some means or other I found letters from him frequently in my chamber.—I dared not enquire how, lest I should awaken your suspicions; alas, perhaps that was one of the fine-spun webs with which love [Page 330] ever veils its errors! I found him regu­larly informed of all our designs;—I knew it was in his power to cross them by a word; and I began to esteem him for daring to be silent. During the last progress of the King, Somerset resolved to profit by the absence of Henry, and, apprized of the interviews we granted the Prince in the pavilion in the garden, as well as of my habit of sitting there, determined to take the chance of plead­ing his cause. My stay was by the rising of the moon unusually prolonged on the evening he had selected to present himself before me. The pale light served only to shadow out his form—any human one must at such a moment have appalled me.—I shrieked, and was half-fainting when the found of his voice dissipated my terror. Surprize, perhaps joy, that instantaneous confidence we ever repose in the object beloved, doubtless reassured him. I was scarce conscious I had granted the au­dience he demanded, till he fell at my feet to thank me. The manner in which [Page 331] he avowed his passion, made me sen­sible too late that I had ill-disguised my own; I know not whether I should have had resolution to attempt doing so much longer, had not our conversation been suddenly interrupted by Henry. The Prince, to my inexpressible dismay, en­tered the pavillion.—My voice had drawn him thither, but the sound of Somerset's made him retreat in contemptuous silence. The Earl would have followed, but I caught his arm and obstinately withheld him:—then conjuring him to hasten to his boat, I flew after the Prince. Henry had thrown himself on the seat near the terrace; but sensible of the necessity of separating him and the Earl at such a crisis, I intreated the Prince to accom­pany me to the house. The light of the moon enabled me judge from his bewil­dered air of the distraction of his mind. I had not courage to break a silence he voluntarily maintained: yet to part un­der appearances so equivocal was impossi­ble. I hesitated at length a faint expla­nation, [Page 332] nation. "Could you contradict the evi­dence of my senses, madam, sighed the Prince in a low and tender tone, I might wish to hear you: as it is, spare me, I conjure you, on a subject so hateful. I have nothing to reproach you with but a reserve which led me to deceive my­self.—Adieu, I promise you inviolable silence.—He who once hoped to consti­tute your felicity, disdains to interfere with it. Yet one truth I ought perhaps to apprize you of: your happy, your fa­vored lover, is married; think not I wish to reap any advantage from this in­formation—never more shall I breathe a vow at your feet.—Oh, Mary! you have undone me!" He wrung my hands in an agony of passion, and rushed through the garden to conceal the sobs which continued to pierce my heart through my ear. What a night did I pass!—sad pre­lude to so many miserable ones. I readily absented myself the next day at the Prince's usual hour of visiting us. I never saw him afterwards without pain, humiliation, [Page 333] and constraint; though he omitted no­thing likely to reconcile me to himself. During the fatal illness into which he fell, how continually did my heart reproach me with increasing, if not causing it? and how deeply was my injustice to his merit punished, in the mortifying con­viction that Somerset had dared to de­ceive me? —What prayers did I offer up for Henry's recovery —What vows to atone for my error, by a life devoted to him! Alas, I was not worthy a lover so noble; and heaven recalled his purer essence, while yet unsullied. The sense of a hopeless and unworthy passion ming­led with the deep grief I could not but feel for his loss. A sickliness and disgust succeeded—rank, royalty, distinction, every worldly advantage combined, could not have dissipated the gloom of my mind, or reconciled me for a moment to society. I took no pleasure in the hopes, you, my dear, my generous mo­ther, cherished for me; but I would not be ungrateful, and therefore concealed [Page 334] my ideas. Thus impressed, what merit was there in that philosophy which en­abled me to become your comforter under a reverse I scarcely felt? —Oh, that my errors, my misfortunes, had ended here—that I had breathed my last on your revered bosom while yet un­conscious of wounding it! When the vain hope of freedom made you solicit for a limited portion of air and exercise, how could you foresee the fatal conse­quences of that periodical indulgence! In the first of these solitary walks, So­merset presented himself before me; not the crested, aspiring favorite; but the self-accusing, the pale, the humble lo­ver.—My eyes resisted the impulse of my heart, and turned haughtily from him; but he hung on my robe, he intreated he conjured, —he would be heard.—I feel I shall not have time to enter into the long explanation of his conduct which won from me an unwilling pardon: suffice it to say, that he knew every, the most secret, transaction in our house, nor ventured to marry till convinced I was [Page 335] betrothed to Prince Henry. But, oh! the wretch he espoused!—Never may you know the crimes of which she has too probably been guilty! It was to Somerset's interposition we owed the pro­longation of those lives, the pride and rage of the King had devoted from the moment he read the papers he took a malicious pleasure in destroying.—Still anxious for me, the Earl owned he had persuaded James to imprison us in this Castle, as well to secure our safety, as to provide us those comforts and conveni­encies our royal relation would have de­prived us of.

I could not be insensible to services like these; and finding my wrath began to abate, he awakened my pity, by de­scribing the domestic miseries an un­happy marriage had imposed on him. The tears with which my wounded soul blotted this picture, induced him still farther to explain himself. His hopes of a divorce seemed rationally grounded, and I could not but enter into his views [Page 336] on that head.—I was not however able to persuade him you would ever think as I did, and weakly promised a secresy I ought to have seen the danger of.—Yet, the pre­judice which induced you to impute even our imprisonment to him, seemed so fixed, so unalterable, that though a thousand times the integrity of my nature tempted me to unfold to you the only secret my bosom ever teemed with, I shrunk be­fore a mind so disgusted, nor dared to utter one syllable might pain you. The delays of Somerset, however necessary, alarmed and distressed me.—I became cold and melancholy; and too delicate to confide to him the true causes of this alteration, he soon assigned a false one. Peevishness and altercation now robbed our interviews of all their sweetness.—He often reproached me with having opened my heart to you, who alone could thus shut it against him.—Disdain urged me one day to assure him I would do so, the first moment I again beheld you.—He left me in a transport of rage. Alas, my heart [Page 337] became sensible of one every way equal to it, when I found I was not permitted to return to your prison.—I refused to admit him to that allotted for me, and gave vent to every extravagance so un­foreseen an injury must excite.—His an­swer convinced me that this step had long been meditated. He assured me "he would sooner die than restore me to a mother who had ever hated, detested, and despised him without any reason, till his claim took place of hers, and he could call me his wife." The cruel remembrance of what you must suffer, soon reduced me to intreaties, and solemn promises of continued secresy. "They were now, he replied, too late;—that he could not suppose it possible I should be able to conceal from you the cause of my absence; and this, justly strengthening the unreasonable disgust and hatred you al­ready felt towards him, would make you go any lengths to prevent a union you must naturally abhor."—To this he added all he thought likely to soothe my [Page 338] embittered spirit, and solemnly assured me your mind was relieved, by a conviction that this separation was only in conse­quence of a new order from court.— Although I saw in this mode of conduct a chicanery and little art, my nature dis­dained, I was yet glad to imagine it lightened to you the heavy affliction our separation could not but cause. I felt too late the error of mental reservation, and had sufficient reason to think every evil might branch out from that little root. Having in vain contended with the man, no less master of my life than fate, I at length was wearied into for­giving him. The divorce was now in great forwardness, and the manifold iniquities of the fiend in human shape he had marri­ed, such as could not but shock, and in­terest, a heart disposed to love him. A thousand busy projects passed daily from his brain to mine, and often intervened between myself and a mother so revered. Every hour that went over my head made it more impossible for me to appear before [Page 339] you but as his wife, and I became as eager as himself for a day which heaven had pre-ordained I should never see. One who pursued her point more effectually, has severely punished all my youthful er­rors—Oh may my premature death be re­ceived by him who made me, as an ex­piation!—How shall I tell you—and yet I must—I have often thought my food tinctured with poison—yesterday—Alas, my mother, where is now your fortitude? —where is that sublime resignation I have seen you exert?—forget the vain hopes you once formed for me—forget that I am your daughter; oh think the erring wretch this awful moment recalls, was born to embitter the days that yet remain to you, and adore, even in this painful moment, the mercy of the Al­mighty.—If have not sinned beyond for­giveness, graciously extend yours to me while yet I am sensible of the blessing."

As she threw herself into my arms, every feature seemed shrunk, and moulded by the fingers of death—Alas! what became [Page 340] of me at this crisis! her paroxysms were scarce more dreadful than those that seized upon my soul—every emotion of love, friendship, and kindred, appeared tranquillity, when compared with the wild, uncontroulable anguish of the robbed, the ruined mother. Perpetually ready to give vent to the tumultuous execrations my heart pronounced against the artful, insidious traitor, who had alienated her af­fections, and warped the rectitude of her mind, an intuitive conviction that such a transport would vainly embitter the little time remaining to her, obliged me to confine to sighs and groans all the miseries of the moment. I drew her fondly to my bosom, and poured over her pale con­vulsed cheeks, a heart-broken, mother's solemn absolution.

One horror only could be added to a scene like this, nor was it wanting. The centinels, weary of waiting, and startled by our groans, now abruptly entered the chamber.—Scared at the sight of my daughter expiring in my arms, the sense [Page 341] of their own danger soon over-ruled every other; they urged, they conjured me to leave my Mary, now apparently lifeless; but they urged, they conjured in vain.—On her, I was so soon to resign to her Creator, my whole soul was now fixed.—The dear one faintly revived, but struck with inconceivable horror at sight of the soldiers, she relapsed into con­vulsions, griping me still closer. Ah, God, the cold chill that followed! when I found her hold relax at once—the world vanished from before my eyes—they beheld only the fair form, which sought a grave on the bosom where it first found a being.—Inspired with the fierceness of a savage, I grasped her yet closer, shrieking tremendously, and with a strength surely supernatural. The con­fused and incensed soldiers having used every persuasion in vain, made the most violent efforts to sever me from the last, the dearest, the only object of my love. Threats, intreaties, art, and force, how­ever, were alike vain—nothing could [Page 342] could tear her from me. They presented at length their bayonets to my bosom, and beheld me with surprize dare the blow.—Perhaps they had really pierced it, but that some women, attendant on my daughter, now rushed into the room. Fears for their own safety obliged the soldiers to forbear urging or enforcing me further. They seized the intruders, lest any of them should escape, and hav­ing bound them, sought safety in flight. A terrible calm succeeded my intense desperation—the blood which had tu­multuously burnt along every vein, now returned in torrents, to choak up, and drown my heart.—The black fumes mounted thence to my brain.—With a grief-glazed eye, I contemplated the pale and precious cheek from whose rich color­ing I of late drew life, till ignorant that I either suffered, or existed.

[Page 343] Seldom enough myself to distinguish the shadowy forms that flitted round my bed, and always too indifferent to utter a single question, I opened not the cur­tain, nor cared who was beyond it.— Vague and stifled exclamations alone in­formed me of the danger of that fatal fire which raged within my veins:—danger did I say?—I ought rather to have called it relief. During the short inter­vals of my delirium, I voluntarily sunk in silence under the gloom and debi­lity it left. Suddenly I was seized with such flutters, and gaspings, as seemed to indicate an immediate termination of every human infliction.—My weary soul hovered at the gate of its prison, and I felt as if a single word would release it, but I had neither ability or inclination to pronounce that word; and though I per­ceived every curtain was undrawn to give me air, I raised not my quivering eye­lids to distinguish the two persons who anxiously held each hand, as watching for [Page 344] the last beat of the faint and hurried pulse.

While thus in the very struggle and fluctuation incident to parting nature, a voice suddenly reached my receding senses—a voice so mellow, calm, and holy, that life yet lingered on it. I dis­tinguished these words: "oh, Almighty God! with whom do live the spirits of the just made perfect, when they are de­livered from their earthly prisons; we humbly commend the soul of this thy servant, our dear sister, into thy hands, as into those of a faithful Creator, and most merciful Saviour!" A faint effort I made to release my hands, with the design of raising them towards heaven, caused the prayer to cease. An emotion I could not resist, made me lift my dim eyes to behold, if not absolutely an angel, the human being that most resembled one. At a table near my bed knelt a Clergyman, whose reverend locks time had entirely bleached, but it had taken nothing from his fine eyes, which seemed [Page 345] to reflect the divinity he served—care and experience had worn traces in every perfect feature; and the pale purity of virtue, chastened alike by sorrow and resignation, had succeeded to the vivid hues of youth, hope, and health. I ut­tered a sigh, and faint exclamation.—A sweet, yet sad, pleasure, wandered through my exhausted frame, thus to be assured I had reached the very point of my being. Some women decently ar­rayed in black having assisted my infirm and venerable comforter to rise, con­ducted him to the side of my bed, and retired. With a graciousness peculiar to himself, he adjured me, since the mercy of the Almighty had unexpectedly re­stored my intellects, to prosit by the indulgence in preparing my soul to ap­pear before him. An impulse of grati­tude made me raise my hand to take his, that sympathetically trembled over me, but even this trifling motion made me sensible I had on many blisters, which wrung my feeble sense even to fainting. [Page 346] The women, as is usual in desperate ca­ses, gave me some vivifying cordials, and again retired. The reverend stranger once more addressed me, praising the Al­mighty for the restoration of my intel­lects—they were indeed restored, for, oh! the recollection of that dismal event which rendered their loss a blessing, return­ed upon my mind, and made me loath the succors I could owe only to the de­tested hand that had consummated my woes! "Oh, you, cried I, in a broken voice, who thus seek to comfort the mi­serable, inform me first to whom I owe the benefit?" He paused a moment—his gracious eyes glanced upward, and having thus consulted with his Creator, he answered me with firmness; "that his name was De Vere; the houshold Chaplain of the Earl of Somerset."—At that abhorred title I shut my eyes as though I could have shut out retrospecti­on, and waved to him to leave me.—"Rash, unfortunate woman, returned he in a solemn and yet tender tone, religion [Page 347] does not permit me to obey you—would you bear into a better world, the pride, the passions, the prejudices, which have certainly embittered, perhaps, shortened your days, in this?—Dare you present to the pure source of good, your great, your glorious Creator, a soul yet sullied with voluntary frailties and human imperfecti­on? —Are you not on the point of ceasing to fuffer, wherefore then should you not cease to resent? Religion enjoins you to forget the faults of others, and contem­plate only your own.—Attend to truth, and I will impart it to you—resolve to be patient, and I will pour balm into the deep wounds of human calamity—con­troul your passions, and I will elevate them, even under the struggles of part­ing nature, by hopes which shall surely be realized, because they centre in im­mortality."—The author of universal be­ing seemed to speak to me through his Minister—the gathering tumult stood sus­pended. "You address not an ingrate, returned I feebly; I have walked in peace [Page 348] life with my God, and fain would I die so: though surely to remember the wretch, who precipitates me into eternity by a grief too pungent for endurance, with charity, or composure, exceeds my abi­lity. If you have aught to reveal that may allay this irritation, be truly gene­rous in unfolding it—if otherwise, pre­sent such images only to my mind as may drive from it that of a villain, whose offences you cannot extenuate; nor dou­ble the agonies even you cannot relieve." "It is my only intention, madam, re­plied he.—Alas, I would not probe your wounds even to heal them!—If it is ne­cessary to suffer ere we can feel, believe me, I want not even that power of sym­pathizing with you; yet, must I recon­cile my divine and human character, by vindicating the innocent, while I soothe the unfortunate; though even the wealth of nations could not tempt me for one moment to palliate guilt. Have you courage to hear a letter, given me in hopes of the present opportunity?" I [Page 349] controuled myself, and signed to him to read.

"In what words, most injured, most unfortunate of women, shall the wretch who has unconsciously destroyed your peace, and his own, deprecate the wrath his very idea must occasion?—Alas, overwhelmed with grief, horror, despair, every killing sensation, (guilt alone ex­cepted) his punishmeent is as acute as even malice could wish it.

"To fill up the measure of my afflicti­ons, I am informed that the blow which has robbed my soul of its dearest hope, struck at your life—that even in the wildness of delirium your curses pursue me, and you are ready to sink into the grave with unabated hatred.—If return­ing recollection should ever enable you to read, or hear, these genuine dictates of a breaking heart, do it, madam, I con­jure you, the late justice of an acquittal. By the spotless spirit of the dear lost an­gel my fatal love deprived you of, hear, pity—if possible, forgive me.—Can you [Page 350] for a moment believe I would have touch­ed a life, dear, precious, to me, even as to yourself?

The abandoned woman, to whom hea­ven as a punishment for all my sins united me, discovered by some unknown means those views I thought impenetrable; and foreseeing in their completion her own disgrace, and ruin, she took a deadly means to save herself from both.—Alrea­dy but too familiar with poison, and with death, she found among the maids at­tending on my dear lost love, one base enough to aid her in translating an angel too early to the skies. To say, that I hate, detest, and shun the execrable mon­ster, is surely needless—I even resign her to your justice, nor do I wish to shelter myself from it, if you still think me guilty.

"The last words of an expiring saint are not more ardent, more sincere than those I now utter.—Oh, strive then to live, madam, nor let my agonized soul have the additional misfortune of short­ening [Page 351] ening your days, and lingering under your curse!"

Alas, of what importance are these late convictions?—When a ball has gone through the heart, we are incapable of heeding the quarter it comes from.—

I could not however refuse credence to this letter, and accusing myself of having hitherto perhaps wanted candor towards the author, I acquitted myself to him, by affording him my forgiveness.

Nature, ever shrinking from dissoluti­on, is easily recalled to a lingering suf­ferance; but the exhausted soul no more can recover its powers. The activity which once supported me was gone for­ever.—

The venerable divine I have mentioned still watched over me, and by the holiest consolations contended with the apathy into which I was sinking.—But who could heal a heart broken by so many sorrows? —That it was broken alone could console me. Destined to turn my dim eyes around this vast, globe without [Page 352] findidg one object on which they could rest, De Vere led them towards heaven; he bade me remember that my treasure was only removed, not taken wholly from me; and that every passing day brought me nearer to recovering it.

For the execrable woman who had, to the ruin of her own soul, murdered the only hope of mine, I ventured not to imagine a punishment.—I dared not trust myself with so dangerous a wish.— No, I consigned her to the God she had offended, and he has, even in this world, fearfully avenged me.

The pious De Vere shewed, by pre­serving and restoring my jewels, the equi­ty of his nature, and I made him such acknowledgments as must flatter his heart, and establish his fortune. As soon as I thought myself equal to the journey, I resolved to retire, to France, that I might at least expire in peace, and be­sought him to accompany me.—Not able without ingratitude immediately to quit his patron, he comforted me with the [Page 353] hopes of soon partaking my voluntary exile.

How unworthy the man who won the innocent heart of my translated angel ever was of it, I had soon another con­vincing proof.—Because I resisted the impulses of despair—because I, listened to the dictates of virtue and religion, and deigned to live out the days ap­pointed by the Almighty, his narrow soul began to believe mine susceptible of human consolation: he dared to intrude upon me in the name of the King, late offers of acknowledgment, distinction, fortune.—Heavens! how could either imagine I would owe aught to those I must alike look down upon?—The very idea had well nigh disarranged my feeble faculties, and destroyed the religious com­posure of my grief. It however con­vinced me that no opposition would be made to my quitting that prison in which I left, alas, all worth enclosing.—I launched once more into the immense world, unknown—unindeared, and wil­ling to be so.

[Page 354] My fever returned on my landing in France with the most mortal symptoms.—Ah! can I fail here to commemorate the second angel heaven sent to my as­sistance? The arrival of the Embassa­dor in his way toward England, though at first an inconvenience, in so narrow an asylum as an inn, eventually prolonged my days. His dear and lovely daugh­ter was informed of my state—she in­dulged the sublime impulse of humanity, which led her towards the bed, where lay a forlorn wretch who appeared ready to draw her last breath in silent affliction. She summoned her noble father's physi­cian, whose skill relieved one it could not save.—She even deigned to outstay the Embassador; and, by a glorious principle known only to superior natures, began to love the wretch she succored. A virtue so exemplary almost reconciled me to the world I am shortly to quit.— Sweet Adelaide, when in this faint por­trait you survey yourself, sigh for those decaying powers which cannot render it more striking.

[Page 355] That my decline has been prolonged till this narrative is concluded, I do not regret; and by compliance, I have evinc­ed my sense of your friendship:—I have now only to die.—Yet, alas, it is with regret I present to your youthful eyes so melancholy a chart of my yoyage through life.—Suffer it not to damp your hopes, but rather let it blunt your sense of misfortune: for have I not said al­ready, that consummate misery has a moral use, in teaching the repiner at little evils to be juster to his God and himself?—Glorious though inscrutable are all his ways, and short as my time now is, he has suffered me to see his righteous retribution. Condemnation, infamy, and solitude, are henceforth the portion of Somerset, and his execrable Countess.—A similar crime, long buried in oblivion, has been proved upon them, without my having once disturbed the sa­cred ashes of my Mary. An act so atrocious has broke the tye which bound De Vere to the Earl, and I every day expect him. I struggle to retain my last breath till I can give it up in his presence, assured [Page 356] that his superior soul will prepare my frail one for along hereafter, and decently dispose of the mortal frame I soon must leave behind me.

Dear and lovely friend, you are now in England.—Already perhaps your feet have trod lightly over those spots where my happiness withered.—Ah! if sensi­bility should lead you more thought­fully to retrace them, check every pain­ful emotion, by recollecting I shall then be past the power of suffering.—Yet, when your noble father reconducts you to the home you was born to embellish, grant a little to the weakness of mortality, and linger once more on the spot where we met: the pious De Vere will there attend your coming.—Accept from his hand the casket I bequeath, and suffer him to lead you to the nameless grave where he shall have interred my ashes: drop on it a few of those holy tears with which virtue consecrates mis­fortune; then raise your eyes with those of your venerable conductor, and in a better world look for MATILDA.