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recital as Bolton entered the room, and had just mentioned, with regret, his ignorance of his benefactor, when the door opened and discovered him. Bolton could not help blushing at the discovery; the other, starting from his seat, exclaimed," It is he ! it is himself!" threw himself on his knees before Harry, with tears in his eyes, and poured out some broken expressions of the warmest gratitude. "It was you then," said Mr Rawlinson, "who were the comforter of my poor boy, who covered the grave of his unfortunate father! I will not thank you, for Jack is doing it better with his tears; but I will thank Heaven, that there are some such men to preserve my veneration for the species.”— "I trust, my dear sir," said Bolton, " that there are many to whom such actions are habitual."" You are a young man," interrupted the other, " and it is fit you should believe so; I will believe so too, for I have sometimes known what it is to enjoy them.-Go, my boy," turning to the lad, "and wish for the luxury of doing good; remember Mr Bolton, and be not forgetful of Providence."

"The father of that young man," said Mr Rawlinson, when he was gone, 66 was a school-fellow of mine here in town, and one of the worthiest creatures in the world; but, from a milkiness of disposition, without the direction of prudence, or the guard of suspicion, he suffered himself to become a dupe to the artifices of some designing men ; and when, some time ago, I discovered his place of abode in an obscure village in the country, I found him stripped of his patrimony, and burthened with the charge of that boy, who has just now left us, whose mother, it seems, had died when he was a child. Yet, amidst the distresses of his poverty, I found that easiness of temper, which had contributed to bring them on, had not forsaken him; he met me with a smile of satisfaction, and talked of the cruel indifference of some wealthy relations, without the emotions of anger, or the acrimony of disappointment. He seemed, indeed, to feel for his child; but comforted himself at the same time with the reflection, that he had bred him to expect adversity with composure, and to suffer poverty with contentment. He died, poor man, when I had put him in a way of living with some comfort; nor had I even an opportunity of doing the common offices of friendship to his last moments, my health having obliged me to go down to Bath, whence I had removed to Bristol, and did not receive any accounts of his illness till my return to London. I am in your debt, Mr Bolton, for some supplies to his son; let me know what those were, that we may clear the account." Bolton replied, that he hoped Mr Rawlinson could not wish to deprive him of the pleasure he felt from the reflection of having assisted so much filial piety in distress." It

shall be in your own way," said the old gentleman; "I am not such a niggard as to grudge you the opportunity; yet I cannot but regret my absence, when I should have closed the eyes of poor Jennings. He was the last of those companions of my childhood, whose history in life I had occasion to be acquainted with; the rest, Mr Bolton, had already fallen around me, and I am now left within a little of the grave, without a friend (except one, whom accident has acquired me in you) to smooth the path that leads to it; but that is short, and therefore it matters not much. At my age, nature herself may be expected to decline; but a lingering illness is shortening her date. I would do therefore what good I can, in the space that is left me, and look forward, if I may be allowed, to make some provision for the service of futurity. Here are two papers, sir, which, on mature deliberation, I have judged it proper to commit to your custody. That in the parchment-cover, which is not labelled, my death alone will authorise you to open; the other, marked Trust-deed by Mr Annesly,' I can explain to you now. That man, Mr Bolton, who is now a saint in Heaven, was prepared for it by the severest calamities on earth: the guilt and misfortunes of two darling children cut short the remnant of a life, whose business it was to guide, and whose pleasure to behold, them in the paths of virtue and of happiness. At the time of his death they were both alive; one, aļas! did not long survive her father; what has become of her brother, I have never been able to learn; but this trust, put into my hands in their behalf, may still be of importance to him or his, and to you therefore I make it over for that purpose; for though, by Mr Annesly's settlement, the subject of the trust accrues to me on the failure of his own issue, yet would I never consider it as mine, while the smallest chance remained of his son, or the descendants of his son, surviving; and. even were the negative certain, I should then only look on myself as the steward of my friend, for purposes which his goodness would have dictated, and it becomes his trustee to fulfil. In such a charge Lwill not instruct my executor ; I have been fortunate enough to find one whose heart will instruct him."

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Bolton, while he promised an execution of this trust worthy of the confidence reposed in him, could not help expressing his surprise at Mr Rawlinson's choice of him for that purpose. "I do not wonder," replied the other, "that you should think thus, for thus has custom taught us to think. I have told you how friendless and unconnected I am; but while we trace the relatives of birth and kindred, shall we allow nothing to the ties of the heart, or the sympathy of virtue ?"

CHAP. XI.

A remarkable Event in the History of Bolton.
His behaviour in consequence of it.

THE provisions which Mr Rawlinson had made, for an event of which he had accustomed himself to think with composure, were but too predictive of its arrival. That worthy man lived not many weeks after the conversation with Bolton, which I have just recorded.

Bolton was affected with the most lively sorrow for his death. His friendship, though but lately acquired, had something uncommonly ardent in its attachment, and liberal in its confidence. Harry, who had returned it in the most unreserved manner, felt the want both of that kindness which soothed, and that wisdom which instructed him.

Upon opening the sealed paper which had been formerly put into his hands by Mr Rawlinson, it was found to be that gentleman's will, devising his whole estate, real and personal, to Mr Bolton. The reason given for this, in the body of the paper itself, was expressed in the following words: "Because I know no man who has deserved more of myself; none who will deserve more of mankind, in the disposal of what I have thus bequeathed him."

Bolton was fully sensible of the force of this recommendation to the exercise of a virtue which he had always possessed, and had only wanted power to practise. He acted as the almoner of Mr Rawlinson, and justified his friend's method of benefaction, (for so this disposal of his affairs might be called,) by joining with the inclination to do good, that choice of object and that attention to propriety, which dignifies the purpose, and doubles the use of beneficence.

Having settled accounts of this kind in town, (amongst which those of young Jennings and the Terwitt family were not forgotten,) he set out for that estate which had now devolved to him by the will of Mr Rawlinson. With what ideas he made this visit, and in what manner he expressed them on his arrival, I shall allow his own words to describe, in the following letter to Miss Sindall.

"Wilbrook.

"My Lucy will not blame me for want of attention, because she has heard of, what the world will call, my good fortune, only from the relation of others. To her I could not address those short letters of recital, which I was obliged to write to Sir Thomas. She will not doubt her

Henry's remembrance at all times; it is only with relation to those we love that prosperity can produce happiness, and our virtues themselves are nourished from the consciousness of some favourite suffrage. The length of this letter

shall make up for a silence occasioned by various interruptions. I have had a good deal of busi ness for the present; I have been forming some projects for the future: the idea of my Lucy was absent from neither.

"After the death of Mr Rawlinson, the friend of mankind as well as of your Harry, there were some offices of duty which the successor of such a man was peculiarly bound to perform. Though I could discover no relation of his but one, (whose fortune, as it had formerly taught him to overlook his kinsman, stood not now in need of that kinsman's acknowledgment,) yet there were numbers whom humanity had allied to him. Their claim of affinity was now upon me, and their provision a debt which I was called upon to discharge: this kept me some time in London. I have another family here whom it was also ne cessary to remember; I have been among them a week, and we have not been unhappy.

"When I looked into the conveyances of this estate, I found it had been once before transferred, in a manner not very common in the disposal of modern property. Its owner, immedi ately preceding Mr Rawlinson, was a friend and companion of his, who had gone out to India some years later than he, and, by his assistance, had been put in the way of acquiring a very large fortune. The greatest part of this he remitted to his former benefactor in England, to be laid out on some purchase near the place of his nativity, which it seems was a village but a few miles distant from Wilbrook. This estate was then in the possession of a gentleman, whose London expences had squandered the savings of four or five generations, and, after having exhausted every other resource, he was obliged to sell this inheritance of his family. Mr Rawlin son gave him the price he asked, and made a present of a considerable sum besides to a very deserving woman, who had the misfortune to be the wife of this spendthrift. His friend ratified the bargain with thanks; but he lived not to en joy his purchase. A fever carried him off in his passage to England, and he bequeathed his estate to him, by whose former good offices he had been enabled to acquire it.

"The new proprietor took a singular method of improving its value. He lowered the rents, which had been raised to an extravagant height, and recalled the ancient tenants of the manor, most of whom had been driven from the unfriendly soil, to make room for desperate adven turers, who undertook for rents they could never be able to pay. To such a man was I to succeed, and I was conscious how much was required of his successor.

"The third day after my arrival, I gave a ge neral invitation to my tenants and their families to dine with me. The hall was trimmed for their reception, and some large antique pieces of plate, with which Mr Rawlinson had furnished his cupboard, were ranged on the large table

at the end of it. Without doors stood a cask of excellent strong beer for any one of inferior quality who chose to drink of it, dispensed by an old, but jolly-looking servant, whose face was the signal of welcome.

"I received my guests as friends and acquaintance; asked the names of their children, and praised the bluffness of the boys, and the beauty of the girls. I placed one of the most matronly wives in the wicker-chair at the head of the table; and, occupying the lowest place myself, stationed the rest of the company according to their age on either side.

"The dinner had all the appearance of plainness and of plenty : amongst other dishes, four large pieces of roast-beef were placed at uniform distances, and a plumb-pudding of a very uncommon circumference was raised conspicuous in the middle. I pressed the bashful among the girls, commended the frankness of their fathers, and pledged the jolliest of the set in repeated draughts of strong beer.

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But, though this had the desired effect with some, I could observe in the countenances of others evident marks of distrust and apprehension. The cloth, therefore, was no sooner removed, and the grace-cup drunk, than rose up in my place, and addressed my guests to the following purpose:

"The satisfaction, my worthy friends, with which I now meet you, is damped by the recollection of that loss we have sustained in the death of your late excellent master. He was to me, as to you, a friend and a father; so may heaven supply the want to me, as I will endeavour to fill his place to you! I call you to witness, that I hold his estate by no other title.

"I have given orders to my steward to renew such of your leases as are near expiring, at the rent which you have heretofore paid. If there is an article of encouragement or convenience wanting to any of you, let him apply to myself, and I will immediately inquire into it. No man is above the business of doing good.

"It is customary, I believe, on such occasions, for the tenant to pay a certain fine or premium to the landlord: I too, my friends, will expect one; you and your families shall pay it me-be industrious, be virtuous, be happy.'

"An exclamation of joy and applause, which the last part of my speech had scarcely been able to stifle, now burst around me. I need not tell my Lucy what I felt; her heart can judge of my feelings; she will believe me when I say, that I would not have exchanged them for the revenue of a monarch.

"The rest of the day was spent in all the genuine festivity of happy spirits. I had enlarged a room adjoining to the hall, by striking down a partition at one end; and closed the entertainment with a dance, which I led up myself with the rosy-cheeked daughter of one of my principal tenants.

"This visit I have already returned to several of those honest folks. I found their little dwellings clean and comfortable, and happiness and good-humour seemed the guests of them all. I have commonly observed cleanliness and contentment to be companions amongst the lower ranks of the country people; nor is it difficult to account for this; there is a self-satisfaction in contented minds, which disposes to activity and neatness; whereas the reckless lassitude that weighs down the unhappy, seldom fails to make drunkards of the men, and slatterns of the women. I commended highly the neatness which I found in the farm-houses on my estate; and made their owners presents of various household ornaments, by way of encouragement.

"I know the usual mode of improving estates; I was told by some sagacious advisers in London, that mine was improveable: but I am too selfish to be contented with money; I would increase the love of my people.

"Yesterday, and to-day, I have been employed in surveying the grounds adjoining to the house. Nature here reigns without controul; for Mr Rawlinson did not attend very much to her improvement; and I have heard him say, that he conceived a certain esteem for an old tree, or even an old wall, that would hardly allow him to think of cutting the one, or pulling down the other. Nature, however, has been liberal of her beauties; but these beauties I view not with so partial an eye as the scenes I left at Sindall-park. Were my Lucy here to adorn the landscape!-but the language of affection like mine is not in words. She will not need them to believe how much I am her

HENRY BOLTON."

CHAP. XII.

A change in the Family of Sir Thomas Sindall. -Some account of a Person whom that Event introduces to Miss Lucy's acquaintance.

THE answer which Bolton received to the foregoing letter, contained a piece of intelligence material to the situation of Miss Sindall; it conveyed to him an account of the death of Mrs Selwyn.

Though that lady was not possessed of many amiable or engaging qualities, yet Lucy, to whom she had always shewn as much kindness as her nature allowed her to bestow on any one, felt a very lively sorrow for her death, even exclusive of the immediate consequences which herself was to expect from that event.

These indeed were apparently momentous. Mrs Selwyn had been her guardian and protectress from her infancy; and though Sir Thomas Sindall had ever behaved to her like a father, yet there was a feeling in the bosom of Lucy, that revolted against the idea of continuing in

his house after his aunt's decease. By that lady's will, she was entitled to a legacy of six hundred pounds; by means of this sum she had formed a scheme, which, though it would reduce her to a state very different from the ease and affluence of her former circumstances, might yet secure her from the irksomeness of dependence, or the accusation of impropriety: this was, to appropriate two-thirds of the interest of her capital to the payment of an annual sum for her board with Mrs Wistanly.

It was now that Bolton felt the advantage of independence, from the hopes of being useful to Lucy; but he had her delicacy to overcome: she would not throw herself, at this moment of necessity, into the arms of a man whom fortune had now placed above her. She adhered to her first resolution.

But the kindness of Sir Thomas Sindall rendered it unnecessary; for, a short time after Mrs Selwyn's death, when Miss Sindall communicated to him her intention of leaving his house, he addressed her in the following terms: "I have always looked upon you, Miss Lucy, as a daughter, and, I hope, there has been no want of tenderness or attention, on the side of my aunt or myself, to have prevented you regard ing us as parents. At the same time, I know the opinions of the world; mistaken and illiberal as they often are, there is a deference which we are obliged to pay them; in your sex the sense of decorum should be ever awake; even in this case, I would not attempt to plead against its voice; but I hope I have hit on a method which will perfectly reconcile propriety and convenience. There is a lady, a distant relation of our family, whom a marriage, such as the world terms imprudent, banished in early life from the notice or protection of it; but, though they could refuse their suffrage to the match, they could not controul its happiness; and, during the life of Mr Boothby, (for that was her husband's name,) she experienced all the felicity of which wedlock is susceptible. Yet on her husband's death, which happened about five years after their marriage, the state of his affairs was found to be such, that she stood but too much in need of that assistance which her relations denied her. At the time of her giving the family this offence, I was a boy; and I scarce ever heard of her name till I was apprised of her misfortunes. Whatever services I have been able to do her, I have found repaid by the sincerest gratitude, and improved to the worthiest purposes. Upon the late event of my aunt's death, I was naturally led to wish her place supplied by Mrs Boothby; she has done me the favour to accept of my invitation, and I expect her here this evening. Of any thing like authority in this house, Miss Lucy, you shall be always independent; but I flatter myself, she has qualities sufficient to merit your friendship." Lucy returned such

an answer as the kindness and delicacy of this speech deserved; and it was agreed, that, for the present, her purpose of leaving Bilswood should be laid aside.

In the evening the expected lady arrived; she seemed to be about the age of fifty, with an impression of melancholy on her countenance, that appeared to have worn away her beauty before the usual period: some traces, however, still remained, and her eyes, when they met the view of the world, which was but seldom, discovered a brilliancy not extinguished by her sorrow.

Her appearance, joined to the knowledge of her story, did not fail to attract Miss Sindall's regard: she received Mrs Boothby with an air, not of civility, but friendship; and the other shewed a sense of the obligation conferred on her, by a look of that modest, tender sort, which equally acknowledges and solicits our kindness.

With misfortune a good heart easily makes an acquaintance. Miss Sindall endeavoured, by a thousand little assiduities, to shew this lady the interest she took in her welfare. That reserve, which the humility of affliction, not an unsocial spirit, seemed to have taught Mrs Boothby, wore off by degrees; their mutual esteem increased as their characters opened to each other; and, in a short time, their confidence was unreserved, and their friendship appeared to be inviolable.

Mrs Boothby had now the satisfaction of pouring the tale of her distresses into the ear of sympathy and friendship. Her story was melan choly, but not uncommon; the wreck of her hus band's affairs by a mind too enlarged for his fortune, and an indulgence of inclinations laudable in their kind, but faulty in relation to the circumstances of their owner.

In the history of her young friend's life, there were but few incidents to communicate in re turn. She could only say, that she remember. ed herself, from her infancy, an orphan, under the care of Sir Thomas Sindall and his aunt; that she had lived with them in a state of quiet and simplicity, without having seen much of the world, or wishing to see it. She had but one secret to disclose in earnest of her friendship; it faltered for some time on her lips; at last she ventured to let Mrs Boothby know it-her at tachment to Bolton.

From this intelligence, the other was led to an inquiry into the situation of that young gen tleman. She heard the particulars I have for merly related, with an emotion not suited to the feelings of Miss Sindall; and the sincerity of her friendship declared the fears which her prudence suggested.

She reminded Lucy of the dangers to which youth and inexperience are exposed, by the sud den acquisition of riches; she set forth the many disadvantages of early independence; and hinted the inconstancy of attachments, formed in the period of romantic enthusiasm, in the

scenes of rural simplicity, which are afterwards to be tried by the maxims of the world, amidst the society of the gay, the thoughtless, and the dissipated. From all this followed conclusions, which it was as difficult as disagreeable for the heart of Lucy to form it could not untwist those tender ties which linked it to Bolton; but it began to tremble for itself and him.

CHAP. XIII.

will do any thing to shew my gratitude to him; but to love him-good heavens!"

"There is, I know," rejoined Mrs Boothby, "a certain romantic affection, which young people suppose to be the only thing that comes under that denomination. From being accustomed to admire a set of opinions, which they term sentimental, opposed to others, which they look upon as vulgar and unfeeling, they form to themselves an ideal system in those matters, which, from the nature of things, must always be disappointed. You will find, Miss Sindall, when you have lived to see a little more of the world, the

Certain opinions of Mrs Boothby.-An attempt insufficiency of those visionary articles of hap

to account for them.

FROM the particulars of her own story, and of Bolton's, Mrs Boothby drew one conclusion common to both; to wit, the goodness of Sir Thomas Sindall. This, indeed, a laudable gratitude had so much impressed on her mind, that the praises she frequently bestowed on him, even in his own presence, would have savoured of adulation to one, who had not known the debt which this lady owed to his beneficence.

Lucy, to whom she would often repeat her eulogium of the Baronet, was ready enough to own the obligations herself had received, and to join her acknowledgments to those of her friend. Yet there was a want of warmth in her panegyric, for which Mrs Boothby would sometimes gently blame her; and one day, when they were on that subject, she remarked, with a sort of jocular air, the difference of that attachment which Miss Sindall felt, in return for so much unwearied kindness as Sir Thomas had shewn her, and that which a few soft glances had procured to the more fortunate Mr Bolton.

Miss Sindall seemed to feel the observation with some degree of displeasure; and answered, blushing, that she considered Sir Thomas as a parent, whom she was to esteem and revere, not as one for whom she was to entertain any sentiments of a softer kind.

"But suppose," replied the other, "that he should entertain sentiments of a softer kind for you."-"I cannot suppose it."-"There you are in the wrong; men of sense and knowledge of the world, like Sir Thomas, are not so prodigal of unmeaning compliment as giddy young people, who mean not half of what they say; but they feel more deeply the force of our attractions, and will retain the impression so much the longer, as it is grafted on maturity of judgment. I am very much mistaken, Miss Lucy, if the worthiest of men is not your lover."- -"Lover! Sir Thomas Sindall my lover!"-"I profess, my dear, I cannot see the reason of that passionate exclamation; nor why that man should not be entitled to love you, who has himself the best title to be beloved."-" I may reverence Sir Thomas Sindall; I may admire his goodness; I

VOL. V.

piness, that are set forth with such parade of language in novels and romances, as consisting in sympathy of soul, and the mutual attraction of hearts, destined for each other."

"You will pardon me,” said Lucy," for making one observation, that you yourself are an instance against the universal truth of your argument; you married for love, Mrs Boothby."

"I did so," interrupted she, "and therefore I am the better able to inform you of the short duration of that paradise such a state is supposed to imply. We were looked upon, Miss Lucy, as patterns of conjugal felicity; but folks did little know how soon the raptures with which we went together were changed into feelings of a much colder kind. At the same time, Mr Boothby was a good-natured man; and, I believe, we were on a better footing than most of your couples who marry for love are at the end of a twelvemonth. I am now but too well convinced, that those are the happiest matches which are founded on the soberer sentiments of gratitude and esteem.”

To this concluding maxim Lucy made no reply. It was one of those which she could not easily bear to believe; it even tinctured the character of the person who made it, and she found herself not so much disposed to love Mrs Boothby as she once had been.

For this sort of reasoning, however, that lady had reasons which it may not be improper to explain to the reader, if indeed the reader has not already discovered them without the assistance of explanation.

Sir Thomas Sindall, though he was now verging towards that time of life, when

"The heyday of the blood is tame,"

was still as susceptible as ever of the influence of beauty. Miss Lucy I have already mentioned as possessing an uncommon share of it; and chance had placed her so immediately under his observation and guardianship, that it was scarce possible for him not to remark, and, having remarked, not to desire it. In some minds, indeed, there might have arisen suggestions of honour and conscience unfavourable to the use of that

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