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Sir Timothy was an early riser, and came to breakfast by nine o'clock. Colonel Mortimer was soon convinced by his conversation that he merited the strong encomiums which his wife had bestowed on him, and they separated with great regret, as the conciliatory manners of the Baronet created an ardent desire in the Colonel to cement a friendship with a person every way so calculated to excite esteem. Sir Timothy appeared equally desirous of improving an acquaintance which accident had commenced, and he promised to visit Kent the ensuing sum

mer.

CHAP. II.

Avails it aught that nature's liberal hand,
With every blessing grateful man can know,
Cloaths the rich bosom of yon smiling land,
The mountain's sloping side, or pendant brow,

If meagre famine paint your pallid cheek,

If breaks the midnight bell your hours of rest, If, midst heart-chilling damps, and winter bleak, You shun the cheerful bowl, and moderate feast?

Temp'rance, not abstinence, is every bliss,
Is man's true joy, and therefore heaven's command,
The wretch who riots, thanks his God amiss,
Who starves, rejects the bounty of his hand.
W. WHITEHEAD.

As Mrs. Mortimer will prove a conspicuous person in these anecdotes, it may be agreeable to the reader to be informed of her parentage and education.

Her father, Major Godefroï, of the Inniskilling Dragoons, served under the

great Duke of Cumberland in Flanders. He was a gentleman of such strict honour and gentlemanly manners, that he was an universal favourite. When he was first quartered at Brussels, he had just entered his twenty-second year; his father was recently dead, and had bequeathed to him a handsome fortune. He had two sisters, both of whom were considerably older than himself, and had been married some years, one to an admiral in the British navy, the other to a doctor of divinity. The Major was of an ancient family, as he traced his ancestors having landed in England with William the Conqueror. Colonel Honeywood, who served in the same brigade, had been educated at the same school with the Major; they were both extremely accomplished, inseparable friends, and their society was courted by every one.

Colonel Honeywood had been, previously to this period, sometime in Brussels, and had formed a friendship with

the chancellor of the Low Countries. The Baron d'Arrambert was a sensible man, of retired habits. He had married a beautiful woman, much younger than himself, by whom he had one son and two daughters. The Baron never entered into public amusements or large parties, but he did not deprive his wife of those pleasures which suited her time of life and disposition. The situation he held under government took up much of his time, and consequently prevented his being much at home. The baroness was of a lively character, had been educated in France, and was fond of company. Her house was open twice in every week, when she gave petit soupeés, which were delightful. She possessed great wit, was visited by persons of the highest rank, and, in short, was quite the fashion. Her conduct as a wife was irreproachable, as she blended good sense and religion with her accomplishments; and the Baron was certain, that in trusting his honour to her

keeping, he had placed it under a guardianship which would never betray the sacred trust. The Mademoiselles d'Arrambert had been sent to a convent as soon as they came from nurse, and the son was with a priest.

Madame d'Arrambert saw her children frequently, and she anticipated each interview with the fondest expectation; but in the round of pleasure in which she was engaged, according to foreign customs, and with her ideas of propriety, to have had her daughters with her would have been highly indecorous. The eldest was engaged at the time she had completed her fourteenth year to marry her cousin the Count de Belgrade; the union was to take place in a few months, and she was not to make her appearance in public till the ceremony was over. Hubertine d'Arrambert had only once seen her intended husband; he had a large fortune, and the alliance was approved of by both families. Josephine, the

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