The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend, Mr. Abraham Abrams/Book II, Chapter IV

CHAPTER IV.

_The history of Leonora, or the unfortunate jilt._

Leonora was the daughter of a gentleman of fortune; she was tall and

well-shaped, with a sprightliness in her countenance which often

attracts beyond more regular features joined with an insipid air: nor is

this kind of beauty less apt to deceive than allure; the good humour

which it indicates being often mistaken for good nature, and the

vivacity for true understanding.

Leonora, who was now at the age of eighteen, lived with an aunt of hers

in a town in the north of England. She was an extreme lover of gaiety,

and very rarely missed a ball or any other public assembly; where she

had frequent opportunities of satisfying a greedy appetite of vanity,

with the preference which was given her by the men to almost every other

woman present.

Among many young fellows who were particular in their gallantries

towards her, Horatio soon distinguished himself in her eyes beyond all

his competitors; she danced with more than ordinary gaiety when he

happened to be her partner; neither the fairness of the evening, nor the

musick of the nightingale, could lengthen her walk like his company. She

affected no longer to understand the civilities of others; whilst she

inclined so attentive an ear to every compliment of Horatio, that she

often smiled even when it was too delicate for her comprehension.

"Pray, madam," says Adams, "who was this squire Horatio?"

Horatio, says the lady, was a young gentleman of a good family, bred to

the law, and had been some few years called to the degree of a

barrister. His face and person were such as the generality allowed

handsome; but he had a dignity in his air very rarely to be seen. His

temper was of the saturnine complexion, and without the least taint of

moroseness. He had wit and humour, with an inclination to satire, which

he indulged rather too much.

This gentleman, who had contracted the most violent passion for Leonora,

was the last person who perceived the probability of its success. The

whole town had made the match for him before he himself had drawn a

confidence from her actions sufficient to mention his passion to her;

for it was his opinion (and perhaps he was there in the right) that it

is highly impolitick to talk seriously of love to a woman before you

have made such a progress in her affections, that she herself expects

and desires to hear it.

But whatever diffidence the fears of a lover may create, which are apt

to magnify every favour conferred on a rival, and to see the little

advances towards themselves through the other end of the perspective, it

was impossible that Horatio's passion should so blind his discernment as

to prevent his conceiving hopes from the behaviour of Leonora, whose

fondness for him was now as visible to an indifferent person in their

company as his for her.

"I never knew any of these forward sluts come to good" (says the lady

who refused Joseph's entrance into the coach), "nor shall I wonder at

anything she doth in the sequel."

The lady proceeded in her story thus: It was in the midst of a gay

conversation in the walks one evening, when Horatio whispered Leonora,

that he was desirous to take a turn or two with her in private, for that

he had something to communicate to her of great consequence. "Are you

sure it is of consequence?" said she, smiling. "I hope," answered he,

"you will think so too, since the whole future happiness of my life must

depend on the event."

Leonora, who very much suspected what was coming, would have deferred it

till another time; but Horatio, who had more than half conquered the

difficulty of speaking by the first motion, was so very importunate,

that she at last yielded, and, leaving the rest of the company, they

turned aside into an unfrequented walk.

They had retired far out of the sight of the company, both maintaining a

strict silence. At last Horatio made a full stop, and taking Leonora,

who stood pale and trembling, gently by the hand, he fetched a deep

sigh, and then, looking on her eyes with all the tenderness imaginable,

he cried out in a faltering accent, "O Leonora! is it necessary for me

to declare to you on what the future happiness of my life must be

founded? Must I say there is something belonging to you which is a bar

to my happiness, and which unless you will part with, I must be

miserable!"--"What can that be?" replied Leonora. "No wonder," said he,

"you are surprized that I should make an objection to anything which is

yours: yet sure you may guess, since it is the only one which the riches

of the world, if they were mine, should purchase for me. Oh, it is that

which you must part with to bestow all the rest! Can Leonora, or rather

will she, doubt longer? Let me then whisper it in her ears--It is your

name, madam. It is by parting with that, by your condescension to be for

ever mine, which must at once prevent me from being the most miserable,

and will render me the happiest of mankind."

Leonora, covered with blushes, and with as angry a look as she could

possibly put on, told him, "That had she suspected what his declaration

would have been, he should not have decoyed her from her company, that

he had so surprized and frighted her, that she begged him to convey her

back as quick as possible;" which he, trembling very near as much as

herself, did.

"More fool he," cried Slipslop; "it is a sign he knew very little of our

sect."--"Truly, madam," said Adams, "I think you are in the right: I

should have insisted to know a piece of her mind, when I had carried

matters so far." But Mrs Grave-airs desired the lady to omit all such

fulsome stuff in her story, for that it made her sick.

Well then, madam, to be as concise as possible, said the lady, many

weeks had not passed after this interview before Horatio and Leonora

were what they call on a good footing together. All ceremonies except

the last were now over; the writings were now drawn, and everything was

in the utmost forwardness preparative to the putting Horatio in

possession of all his wishes. I will, if you please, repeat you a letter

from each of them, which I have got by heart, and which will give you no

small idea of their passion on both sides.

Mrs Grave-airs objected to hearing these letters; but being put to the

vote, it was carried against her by all the rest in the coach; parson

Adams contending for it with the utmost vehemence.

HORATIO TO LEONORA.

"How vain, most adorable creature, is the pursuit of pleasure in the

absence of an object to which the mind is entirely devoted, unless it

have some relation to that object! I was last night condemned to the

society of men of wit and learning, which, however agreeable it might

have formerly been to me, now only gave me a suspicion that they imputed

my absence in conversation to the true cause. For which reason, when

your engagements forbid me the ecstatic happiness of seeing you, I am

always desirous to be alone; since my sentiments for Leonora are so

delicate, that I cannot bear the apprehension of another's prying into

those delightful endearments with which the warm imagination of a lover

will sometimes indulge him, and which I suspect my eyes then betray. To

fear this discovery of our thoughts may perhaps appear too ridiculous a

nicety to minds not susceptible of all the tendernesses of this delicate

passion. And surely we shall suspect there are few such, when we

consider that it requires every human virtue to exert itself in its full

extent; since the beloved, whose happiness it ultimately respects, may

give us charming opportunities of being brave in her defence, generous

to her wants, compassionate to her afflictions, grateful to her

kindness; and in the same manner, of exercising every other virtue,

which he who would not do to any degree, and that with the utmost

rapture, can never deserve the name of a lover. It is, therefore, with a

view to the delicate modesty of your mind that I cultivate it so purely

in my own; and it is that which will sufficiently suggest to you the

uneasiness I bear from those liberties, which men to whom the world

allow politeness will sometimes give themselves on these occasions.

"Can I tell you with what eagerness I expect the arrival of that blest

day, when I shall experience the falsehood of a common assertion, that

the greatest human happiness consists in hope? A doctrine which no

person had ever stronger reason to believe than myself at present, since

none ever tasted such bliss as fires my bosom with the thoughts of

spending my future days with such a companion, and that every action of

my life will have the glorious satisfaction of conducing to your

happiness."

LEONORA TO HORATIO.[A]

[A] This letter was written by a young lady on reading the former.

"The refinement of your mind has been so evidently proved by every word

and action ever since I had the first pleasure of knowing you, that I

thought it impossible my good opinion of Horatio could have been

heightened to any additional proof of merit. This very thought was my

amusement when I received your last letter, which, when I opened, I

confess I was surprized to find the delicate sentiments expressed there

so far exceeding what I thought could come even from you (although I

know all the generous principles human nature is capable of are centred

in your breast), that words cannot paint what I feel on the reflection

that my happiness shall be the ultimate end of all your actions.

"Oh, Horatio! what a life must that be, where the meanest domestic cares

are sweetened by the pleasing consideration that the man on earth who

best deserves, and to whom you are most inclined to give your

affections, is to reap either profit or pleasure from all you do! In

such a case toils must be turned into diversions, and nothing but the

unavoidable inconveniences of life can make us remember that we

are mortal.

"If the solitary turn of your thoughts, and the desire of keeping them

undiscovered, makes even the conversation of men of wit and learning

tedious to you, what anxious hours must I spend, who am condemned by

custom to the conversation of women, whose natural curiosity leads them

to pry into all my thoughts, and whose envy can never suffer Horatio's

heart to be possessed by any one, without forcing them into malicious

designs against the person who is so happy as to possess it! But,

indeed, if ever envy can possibly have any excuse, or even alleviation,

it is in this case, where the good is so great, and it must be equally

natural to all to wish it for themselves; nor am I ashamed to own it:

and to your merit, Horatio, I am obliged, that prevents my being in that

most uneasy of all the situations I can figure in my imagination, of

being led by inclination to love the person whom my own judgment forces

me to condemn."

Matters were in so great forwardness between this fond couple, that the

day was fixed for their marriage, and was now within a fortnight, when

the sessions chanced to be held for that county in a town about twenty

miles' distance from that which is the scene of our story. It seems, it

is usual for the young gentlemen of the bar to repair to these sessions,

not so much for the sake of profit as to show their parts and learn the

law of the justices of peace; for which purpose one of the wisest and

gravest of all the justices is appointed speaker, or chairman, as they

modestly call it, and he reads them a lecture, and instructs them in the

true knowledge of the law.

"You are here guilty of a little mistake," says Adams, "which, if you

please, I will correct: I have attended at one of these

quarter-sessions, where I observed the counsel taught the justices,

instead of learning anything of them."

It is not very material, said the lady. Hither repaired Horatio, who, as

he hoped by his profession to advance his fortune, which was not at

present very large, for the sake of his dear Leonora, he resolved to

spare no pains, nor lose any opportunity of improving or advancing

himself in it.

The same afternoon in which he left the town, as Leonora stood at her

window, a coach and six passed by, which she declared to be the

completest, genteelest, prettiest equipage she ever saw; adding these

remarkable words, "Oh, I am in love with that equipage!" which, though

her friend Florella at that time did not greatly regard, she hath since

remembered.

In the evening an assembly was held, which Leonora honoured with her

company; but intended to pay her dear Horatio the compliment of refusing

to dance in his absence.

Oh, why have not women as good resolution to maintain their vows as they

have often good inclinations in making them!

The gentleman who owned the coach and six came to the assembly. His

clothes were as remarkably fine as his equipage could be. He soon

attracted the eyes of the company; all the smarts, all the silk

waistcoats with silver and gold edgings, were eclipsed in an instant.

"Madam," said Adams, "if it be not impertinent, I should be glad to know

how this gentleman was drest."

Sir, answered the lady, I have been told he had on a cut velvet coat of

a cinnamon colour, lined with a pink satten, embroidered all over with

gold; his waistcoat, which was cloth of silver, was embroidered with

gold likewise. I cannot be particular as to the rest of his dress; but

it was all in the French fashion, for Bellarmine (that was his name) was

just arrived from Paris.

This fine figure did not more entirely engage the eyes of every lady in

the assembly than Leonora did his. He had scarce beheld her, but he

stood motionless and fixed as a statue, or at least would have done so

if good breeding had permitted him. However, he carried it so far before

he had power to correct himself, that every person in the room easily

discovered where his admiration was settled. The other ladies began to

single out their former partners, all perceiving who would be

Bellarmine's choice; which they however endeavoured, by all possible

means, to prevent: many of them saying to Leonora, "O madam! I suppose

we shan't have the pleasure of seeing you dance to-night;" and then

crying out, in Bellarmine's hearing, "Oh! Leonora will not dance, I

assure you: her partner is not here." One maliciously attempted to

prevent her, by sending a disagreeable fellow to ask her, that so she

might be obliged either to dance with him, or sit down; but this scheme

proved abortive.

Leonora saw herself admired by the fine stranger, and envied by every

woman present. Her little heart began to flutter within her, and her

head was agitated with a convulsive motion: she seemed as if she would

speak to several of her acquaintance, but had nothing to say; for, as

she would not mention her present triumph, so she could not disengage

her thoughts one moment from the contemplation of it. She had never

tasted anything like this happiness. She had before known what it was to

torment a single woman; but to be hated and secretly cursed by a whole

assembly was a joy reserved for this blessed moment. As this vast

profusion of ecstasy had confounded her understanding, so there was

nothing so foolish as her behaviour: she played a thousand childish

tricks, distorted her person into several shapes, and her face into

several laughs, without any reason. In a word, her carriage was as

absurd as her desires, which were to affect an insensibility of the

stranger's admiration, and at the same time a triumph, from that

admiration, over every woman in the room.

In this temper of mind, Bellarmine, having inquired who she was,

advanced to her, and with a low bow begged the honour of dancing with

her, which she, with as low a curtesy, immediately granted. She danced

with him all night, and enjoyed, perhaps, the highest pleasure that she

was capable of feeling.

At these words, Adams fetched a deep groan, which frighted the ladies,

who told him, "They hoped he was not ill." He answered, "He groaned only

for the folly of Leonora."

Leonora retired (continued the lady) about six in the morning, but not

to rest. She tumbled and tossed in her bed, with very short intervals of

sleep, and those entirely filled with dreams of the equipage and fine

clothes she had seen, and the balls, operas, and ridottos, which had

been the subject of their conversation.

In the afternoon, Bellarmine, in the dear coach and six, came to wait on

her. He was indeed charmed with her person, and was, on inquiry, so well

pleased with the circumstances of her father (for he himself,

notwithstanding all his finery, was not quite so rich as a Croesus or

an Attalus).--"Attalus," says Mr. Adams: "but pray how came you

acquainted with these names?" The lady smiled at the question, and

proceeded. He was so pleased, I say, that he resolved to make his

addresses to her directly. He did so accordingly, and that with so much

warmth and briskness, that he quickly baffled her weak repulses, and

obliged the lady to refer him to her father, who, she knew, would

quickly declare in favour of a coach and six.

Thus what Horatio had by sighs and tears, love and tenderness, been so

long obtaining, the French-English Bellarmine with gaiety and gallantry

possessed himself of in an instant. In other words, what modesty had

employed a full year in raising, impudence demolished in

twenty-four hours.

Here Adams groaned a second time; but the ladies, who began to smoke

him, took no notice.

From the opening of the assembly till the end of Bellarmine's visit,

Leonora had scarce once thought of Horatio; but he now began, though an

unwelcome guest, to enter into her mind. She wished she had seen the

charming Bellarmine and his charming equipage before matters had gone so

far. "Yet why," says she, "should I wish to have seen him before; or

what signifies it that I have seen him now? Is not Horatio my lover,

almost my husband? Is he not as handsome, nay handsomer than Bellarmine?

Aye, but Bellarmine is the genteeler, and the finer man; yes, that he

must be allowed. Yes, yes, he is that certainly. But did not I, no

longer ago than yesterday, love Horatio more than all the world? Aye,

but yesterday I had not seen Bellarmine. But doth not Horatio doat on

me, and may he not in despair break his heart if I abandon him? Well,

and hath not Bellarmine a heart to break too? Yes, but I promised

Horatio first; but that was poor Bellarmine's misfortune; if I had seen

him first, I should certainly have preferred him. Did not the dear

creature prefer me to every woman in the assembly, when every she was

laying out for him? When was it in Horatio's power to give me such an

instance of affection? Can he give me an equipage, or any of those

things which Bellarmine will make me mistress of? How vast is the

difference between being the wife of a poor counsellor and the wife of

one of Bellarmine's fortune! If I marry Horatio, I shall triumph over no

more than one rival; but by marrying Bellarmine, I shall be the envy of

all my acquaintance. What happiness! But can I suffer Horatio to die?

for he hath sworn he cannot survive my loss: but perhaps he may not die:

if he should, can I prevent it? Must I sacrifice myself to him? besides,

Bellarmine may be as miserable for me too." She was thus arguing with

herself, when some young ladies called her to the walks, and a little

relieved her anxiety for the present.

The next morning Bellarmine breakfasted with her in presence of her

aunt, whom he sufficiently informed of his passion for Leonora. He was

no sooner withdrawn than the old lady began to advise her niece on this

occasion. "You see, child," says she, "what fortune hath thrown in your

way; and I hope you will not withstand your own preferment." Leonora,

sighing, begged her not to mention any such thing, when she knew her

engagements to Horatio. "Engagements to a fig!" cried the aunt; "you

should thank Heaven on your knees that you have it yet in your power to

break them. Will any woman hesitate a moment whether she shall ride in a

coach or walk on foot all the days of her life? But Bellarmine drives

six, and Horatio not even a pair."--"Yes, but, madam, what will the

world say?" answered Leonora: "will not they condemn me?"--"The world is

always on the side of prudence," cries the aunt, "and would surely

condemn you if you sacrificed your interest to any motive whatever. Oh!

I know the world very well; and you shew your ignorance, my dear, by

your objection. O' my conscience! the world is wiser. I have lived

longer in it than you; and I assure you there is not anything worth our

regard besides money; nor did I ever know one person who married from

other considerations, who did not afterwards heartily repent it.

Besides, if we examine the two men, can you prefer a sneaking fellow,

who hath been bred at the university, to a fine gentleman just come from

his travels. All the world must allow Bellarmine to be a fine gentleman,

positively a fine gentleman, and a handsome man."--"Perhaps, madam, I

should not doubt, if I knew how to be handsomely off with the

other."--"Oh! leave that to me," says the aunt. "You know your father

hath not been acquainted with the affair. Indeed, for my part I thought

it might do well enough, not dreaming of such an offer; but I'll

disengage you: leave me to give the fellow an answer. I warrant you

shall have no farther trouble."

Leonora was at length satisfied with her aunt's reasoning; and

Bellarmine supping with her that evening, it was agreed he should the

next morning go to her father and propose the match, which she consented

should be consummated at his return.

The aunt retired soon after supper; and, the lovers being left together,

Bellarmine began in the following manner: "Yes, madam; this coat, I

assure you, was made at Paris, and I defy the best English taylor even

to imitate it. There is not one of them can cut, madam; they can't cut.

If you observe how this skirt is turned, and this sleeve: a clumsy

English rascal can do nothing like it. Pray, how do you like my

liveries?" Leonora answered, "She thought them very pretty."--"All

French," says he, "I assure you, except the greatcoats; I never trust

anything more than a greatcoat to an Englishman. You know one must

encourage our own people what one can, especially as, before I had a

place, I was in the country interest, he, he, he! But for myself, I

would see the dirty island at the bottom of the sea, rather than wear a

single rag of English work about me: and I am sure, after you have made

one tour to Paris, you will be of the same opinion with regard to your

own clothes. You can't conceive what an addition a French dress would be

to your beauty; I positively assure you, at the first opera I saw since

I came over, I mistook the English ladies for chambermaids, he, he, he!"

With such sort of polite discourse did the gay Bellarmine entertain his

beloved Leonora, when the door opened on a sudden, and Horatio entered

the room. Here 'tis impossible to express the surprize of Leonora.

"Poor woman!" says Mrs Slipslop, "what a terrible quandary she must be

in!"--"Not at all," says Mrs Grave-airs; "such sluts can never be

confounded."--"She must have then more than Corinthian assurance," said

Adams; "aye, more than Lais herself."

A long silence, continued the lady, prevailed in the whole company. If

the familiar entrance of Horatio struck the greatest astonishment into

Bellarmine, the unexpected presence of Bellarmine no less surprized

Horatio. At length Leonora, collecting all the spirit she was mistress

of, addressed herself to the latter, and pretended to wonder at the

reason of so late a visit. "I should indeed," answered he, "have made

some apology for disturbing you at this hour, had not my finding you in

company assured me I do not break in upon your repose." Bellarmine rose

from his chair, traversed the room in a minuet step, and hummed an

opera tune, while Horatio, advancing to Leonora, asked her in a whisper

if that gentleman was not a relation of hers; to which she answered with

a smile, or rather sneer, "No, he is no relation of mine yet;" adding,

"she could not guess the meaning of his question." Horatio told her

softly, "It did not arise from jealousy."--"Jealousy! I assure you, it

would be very strange in a common acquaintance to give himself any of

those airs." These words a little surprized Horatio; but, before he had

time to answer, Bellarmine danced up to the lady and told her, "He

feared he interrupted some business between her and the gentleman."--"I

can have no business," said she, "with the gentleman, nor any other,

which need be any secret to you."

"You'll pardon me," said Horatio, "if I desire to know who this

gentleman is who is to be entrusted with all our secrets."--"You'll know

soon enough," cries Leonora; "but I can't guess what secrets can ever

pass between us of such mighty consequence."--"No, madam!" cries

Horatio; "I am sure you would not have me understand you in

earnest."--"'Tis indifferent to me," says she, "how you understand me;

but I think so unseasonable a visit is difficult to be understood at

all, at least when people find one engaged: though one's servants do not

deny one, one may expect a well-bred person should soon take the hint."

"Madam," said Horatio, "I did not imagine any engagement with a

stranger, as it seems this gentleman is, would have made my visit

impertinent, or that any such ceremonies were to be preserved between

persons in our situation." "Sure you are in a dream," says she, "or

would persuade me that I am in one. I know no pretensions a common

acquaintance can have to lay aside the ceremonies of good breeding."

"Sure," said he, "I am in a dream; for it is impossible I should be

really esteemed a common acquaintance by Leonora, after what has passed

between us?" "Passed between us! Do you intend to affront me before this

gentleman?" "D--n me, affront the lady," says Bellarmine, cocking his

hat, and strutting up to Horatio: "does any man dare affront this lady

before me, d--n me?" "Hark'ee, sir," says Horatio, "I would advise you

to lay aside that fierce air; for I am mightily deceived if this lady

has not a violent desire to get your worship a good drubbing." "Sir,"

said Bellarmine, "I have the honour to be her protector; and, d--n me,

if I understand your meaning." "Sir," answered Horatio, "she is rather

your protectress; but give yourself no more airs, for you see I am

prepared for you" (shaking his whip at him). "Oh! _serviteur tres

humble_," says Bellarmine: "_Je vous entend parfaitment bien_." At which

time the aunt, who had heard of Horatio's visit, entered the room, and

soon satisfied all his doubts. She convinced him that he was never more

awake in his life, and that nothing more extraordinary had happened in

his three days' absence than a small alteration in the affections of

Leonora; who now burst into tears, and wondered what reason she had

given him to use her in so barbarous a manner. Horatio desired

Bellarmine to withdraw with him; but the ladies prevented it by laying

violent hands on the latter; upon which the former took his leave

without any great ceremony, and departed, leaving the lady with his

rival to consult for his safety, which Leonora feared her indiscretion

might have endangered; but the aunt comforted her with assurances that

Horatio would not venture his person against so accomplished a cavalier

as Bellarmine, and that, being a lawyer, he would seek revenge in his

own way, and the most they had to apprehend from him was an action.

They at length therefore agreed to permit Bellarmine to retire to his

lodgings, having first settled all matters relating to the journey which

he was to undertake in the morning, and their preparations for the

nuptials at his return.

But, alas! as wise men have observed, the seat of valour is not the

countenance; and many a grave and plain man will, on a just provocation,

betake himself to that mischievous metal, cold iron; while men of a

fiercer brow, and sometimes with that emblem of courage, a cockade, will

more prudently decline it.

Leonora was waked in the morning, from a visionary coach and six, with

the dismal account that Bellarmine was run through the body by Horatio;

that he lay languishing at an inn, and the surgeons had declared the

wound mortal. She immediately leaped out of the bed, danced about the

room in a frantic manner, tore her hair and beat her breast in all the

agonies of despair; in which sad condition her aunt, who likewise arose

at the news, found her. The good old lady applied her utmost art to

comfort her niece. She told her, "While there was life there was hope;

but that if he should die her affliction would be of no service to

Bellarmine, and would only expose herself, which might, probably, keep

her some time without any future offer; that, as matters had happened,

her wisest way would be to think no more of Bellarmine, but to endeavour

to regain the affections of Horatio." "Speak not to me," cried the

disconsolate Leonora; "is it not owing to me that poor Bellarmine has

lost his life? Have not these cursed charms (at which words she looked

steadfastly in the glass) been the ruin of the most charming man of this

age? Can I ever bear to contemplate my own face again (with her eyes

still fixed on the glass)? Am I not the murderess of the finest

gentleman? No other woman in the town could have made any impression on

him." "Never think of things past," cries the aunt: "think of regaining

the affections of Horatio." "What reason," said the niece, "have I to

hope he would forgive me? No, I have lost him as well as the other, and

it was your wicked advice which was the occasion of all; you seduced me,

contrary to my inclinations, to abandon poor Horatio (at which words she

burst into tears); you prevailed upon me, whether I would or no, to give

up my affections for him; had it not been for you, Bellarmine never

would have entered into my thoughts; had not his addresses been backed

by your persuasions, they never would have made any impression on me; I

should have defied all the fortune and equipage in the world; but it was

you, it was you, who got the better of my youth and simplicity, and

forced me to lose my dear Horatio for ever."

The aunt was almost borne down with this torrent of words; she, however,

rallied all the strength she could, and, drawing her mouth up in a

purse, began: "I am not surprized, niece, at this ingratitude. Those who

advise young women for their interest, must always expect such a return:

I am convinced my brother will thank me for breaking off your match with

Horatio, at any rate."--"That may not be in your power yet," answered

Leonora, "though it is very ungrateful in you to desire or attempt it,

after the presents you have received from him." (For indeed true it is,

that many presents, and some pretty valuable ones, had passed from

Horatio to the old lady; but as true it is, that Bellarmine, when he

breakfasted with her and her niece, had complimented her with a

brilliant from his finger, of much greater value than all she had

touched of the other.)

The aunt's gall was on float to reply, when a servant brought a letter

into the room, which Leonora, hearing it came from Bellarmine, with

great eagerness opened, and read as follows:--

"MOST DIVINE CREATURE,--The wound which I fear you have heard I

received from my rival is not like to be so fatal as those shot into my

heart which have been fired from your eyes, _tout brilliant_. Those are

the only cannons by which I am to fall; for my surgeon gives me hopes of

being soon able to attend your _ruelle_; till when, unless you would do

me an honour which I have scarce the _hardiesse_ to think of, your

absence will be the greatest anguish which can be felt by,

"Madam,

"_Avec toute le respecte_ in the world,

"Your most obedient, most absolute _Devote_,

"BELLARMINE."

As soon as Leonora perceived such hopes of Bellarmine's recovery, and

that the gossip Fame had, according to custom, so enlarged his danger,

she presently abandoned all further thoughts of Horatio, and was soon

reconciled to her aunt, who received her again into favour, with a more

Christian forgiveness than we generally meet with. Indeed, it is

possible she might be a little alarmed at the hints which her niece had

given her concerning the presents. She might apprehend such rumours,

should they get abroad, might injure a reputation which, by frequenting

church twice a day, and preserving the utmost rigour and strictness in

her countenance and behaviour for many years, she had established.

Leonora's passion returned now for Bellarmine with greater force, after

its small relaxation, than ever. She proposed to her aunt to make him a

visit in his confinement, which the old lady, with great and commendable

prudence, advised her to decline: "For," says she, "should any accident

intervene to prevent your intended match, too forward a behaviour with

this lover may injure you in the eyes of others. Every woman, till she

is married, ought to consider of, and provide against, the possibility

of the affair's breaking off." Leonora said, "She should be indifferent

to whatever might happen in such a case; for she had now so absolutely

placed her affections on this dear man (so she called him), that, if it

was her misfortune to lose him, she should for ever abandon all thoughts

of mankind." She, therefore, resolved to visit him, notwithstanding all

the prudent advice of her aunt to the contrary, and that very afternoon

executed her resolution.

The lady was proceeding in her story, when the coach drove into the inn

where the company were to dine, sorely to the dissatisfaction of Mr

Adams, whose ears were the most hungry part about him; he being, as the

reader may perhaps guess, of an insatiable curiosity, and heartily

desirous of hearing the end of this amour, though he professed he could

scarce wish success to a lady of so inconstant a disposition.