THE

PARISIAN;

OR,

GENUINE ANECDOTES

OF

DISTINGUISHED AND NOBLE

CHARACTERS.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

Fictis meminerit nos non jocari fabulis.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM LANE,

AT THE

MINERVA PRESS,

LEADENHALL-STREET.

MDCCXCIV.

DEDICATION.

TO MY READERS.

MY DEAR FRIENDS,

I DO not introduce myself to you van-guarded by the illustrious name of a great man, or a great woman, furbelowed and decorated with a long train of the most dignified virtues. What amusement would this afford you? And where would be the satisfaction of reading the most animated panegyrick if you had not a share in it?

I dedicate then to you, and you only, the following pages: and I dare aver, that in imputing to you a few virtues, a few graces, and a few beauties, I shall not be accused of flattery.

Had I been impolitic enough to offer to an individual in the guise of a Dedication, that luscious food which, enigmatic quality, sickens all who do not swallow it, I might perhaps have begun thus:

To Her Grace the Duchess of —.

MADAM,

The eminent and conspicuous virtues which enrich your mind, and distinguish your Grace equally with the exquisite and acknowledged beauty of your lovely person,——

Or thus:

To his Royal Highness, or to My

Lord, or to any body.

How shall my feeble pen presume to trace those steady and heroic principles of rectitude and unalterable honor, which have ever marked your resplendent career of public life? Or how delineate those more private yet amiable virtues, for which you are so justly esteemed, so admired, so caressed, so adored, &c. &c.

Had I fallen into this strain, Lady Charlotte and her dear friend, unhappily reduced to the necessity of trying to fill an hour with looking over my petite piece, would have exclaimed—Oh heavens! pass over that nonsense and let us get at the story.

In the perusal of which think well of me, my dear readers, and believe me,

With the most profound respect,

Your obedient and ever

Devoted humble Servant,

The Author.

THE

PARISIAN.

CHAP. I.

IN 179-, Mademoiselle D’Ogimond, entering her eighteenth year, was brought to England, where she had once before been in the course of her education, by Madame la Marquise de Germeil, to whose care she had been entrusted from her infancy, and who possessed over her pupil an uncontrolled power; the influence of a mother, and that authority and free agency which a father only could delegate.

Madame de Germeil had carefully improved the infantine fondness of Mademoiselle D’Ogimond, whom she always distinguished by the appellation of her child, to an affection as ardent and firm as that which this self intitled mother avowed for her: She had indeed devoted fifteen years, without intermission, to the education of Adeline D’Ogimond; she had been the companion of her sports, the directress of her studies, had modelled her manners and understanding, nurtured with the utmost care every virtue, and checked every propensity to vice; while the most judicious attention, aided by experience, had formed a good constitution, on a frame naturally weak and sickly; and this appearance of confirmed health, with the most gentle and pleasing elegance of manners, had given her pretensions to personal beauty, which nature without high cultivation, would perhaps have denied her.

Mademoiselle D’Ogimond had not been brought up alone: In the company of Laure, who was six months younger than herself, she felt most happy. When Laure was first received into the family of the Count D’Ogimond, her origin and former residence were enveloped in a mystery no one could unravel, for the child herself was too young to satisfy the wonder her sudden appearance excited, and Madame de Germeil, who seemed alone able to gratify it, was the person in the world the best calculated to repress the impertinence of idle curiosity. —Laure was then generally supposed to be a poor orphan, procured by this lady to enliven the recreations and animate the studies of her pupil: She had brought the child home one morning, when she had been an unusual long walk; having ordered the carriage to meet her at Couci, a village three miles distant from the Chateau de Verni, the usual residence of Madame de Germeil and the Comte’s children.

The surrounding dependants were taught by example, to behave to Laure with consideration; and they observed with astonishment that she was in most respects treated like their young lady; the principal difference consisted in not accompanying Madame de Germeil to Paris, when she carried Adeline to visit the Comtesse her mother, who had procured a separation from the Comte.

Monsieur D’Ogimond appeared much pleased, when he visited the Chateau, with the attention Madame de Germeil had evidently bestowed on the education of the little stranger: Laure had indeed well repaid her trouble; her mind was quick and intelligent, her understanding solid, and her judgment well directed.

The sweetness of Mademoiselle D’Ogimond’s temper, when it was not obscured by too great a timidity, prevented any one from repining at the deference her rank demanded of them; but when Laure appeared, all consideration of rank, fortune, name and title were forgotten, and an involuntary homage, evidently due to a thousand amiable qualities that displayed themselves in her beautiful countenance, was paid without exaction. The elegance of her mind was visible in every look and every motion, the softest diffidence repressed the vivacity of her wit, and tempered that superior excellence, which would otherwise have been too visible to those whom pride or envy forbade to acknowledge it.

For Mademoiselle D’Ogimond Laure felt the sincerest affection, and would almost from infancy, have forborne any gratification to herself, to secure it for her little friend: She loved too Madame de Germeil, but she often reproached herself for not loving her still more. When this lady spoke of her impartiality to the two girls, which often happened, Laure wondered how she could suffer her fondness for Adeline, so much to warp her judgment; for of Madame de Germeil’s sincerity she would then almost have thought it sacrilege to doubt; but while she made this observation, she did not repine at it, and indeed it was founded on such minute, though frequent occasions, that while her penetration discovered, and her sensibility made her feel them, had they been strictly related, the hearer would have thought the mind highly irascible, that could be offended at such trifles.

In general the behaviour of Madame de Germeil was in the highest degree guarded; she well knew, that very little attention will be paid to the instruction of those, whose conduct is a perpetual contradiction to their precepts. Madame de Germeil had however a very obvious failing; she was too desirous of being beloved; consequently those who were interested in appearing attached to her, soon learnt to sooth this foible by flattery, and no expressions of fondness and admiration, however unbounded, appeared exaggerated, when they were directed to herself. This was an unfortunate circumstance for Laure; she was capable of feeling all the ardour of gratitude, and her heart was formed for the noblest friendship; but her ingenuousness and delicacy equally prevented the frequent exclamations, and strong asseverations of fondness, which as Mademoiselle D’Ogimond had in childhood found capable of soothing displeasure, and almost atoning for trivial offences, she began to use perhaps from artifice; but in proportion as she grew sensible of the more than maternal attentions of Madame de Germeil, they became, though still habitual, quite sincere: and while the one continued to make demands of praise, the tenderness of the other disposed her amply to pay what the long and extraordinary attachment of Madame de Germeil seemed so well to merit. This circumstance combined with others, to make Mademoiselle D’Ogimond by far the greater favorite; and long before the journey to England, the modest opinion Laure entertained of her own merit, and the high sense she had of the attractions of her friend Adeline, induced her to think the partiality was merely justice.

CHAP. II.

IMMEDIATELY on their arrival in London, they were fixed in a house prepared for them in Park-Lane, where in the beginning of April, the variety, life and beauty of the scene, soon dissipated the idea the young ladies had entertained from their first residence in London, which had been in a less frequented part of the Metropolis, that it partook of the gloom imputed to the inhabitants of this country.

The house was soon frequented by visitors of the first rank. Madame de Germeil was personally known to many, and curiosity led others to visit a lady, who was celebrated even in England as an authoress; but an object still more attractive was the beautiful Laure: In a country where almost every woman is pretty, and many are exquisitely handsome, the young Françoise was generally regarded with the highest admiration.

In the number of Madame de Germeil’s friends, Mrs. Grenby was the most distinguished: This lady, now no longer in the bloom of that beauty for which she had once been courted and caressed, had still secured pre-eminence by a cultivated understanding, a refined and happy manner, and the reputation of lively wit. To be admitted to her circle, was considered at once as a criterion and proof of intellectual merit, and gave great pretensions to the title of bel esprit. She was infinitely pleased with the élèves of her friend, and reflected with satisfaction, how much they would ornament and enliven her select parties.

The Count D’Ogimond had resided much in England, and quitted it the first year of Lady Carbreon’s entrée in the gay world, whose idol she soon became; no one could more admire her than the Comte, from whom she readily admitted a written request that she would some times permit Adeline and Laure to have the advantage as well as the pleasure of seeing her.

Lady Carbreon had now been three years the grand directress and controller of fashion, nor was it to be wondered that her reign had lasted thus long: — Her person was remarkably fine and well proportioned; and giving the reins to a vanity and caprice naturally unbounded, in displaying it to the best advantage, she was careless of violating not only decorum, but even decency; it is true that in her personal decoration she constantly kept nature in view; but she presented her rather too fully to the view of others.

To this lady, in compliance with the wishes of the Comte, Madame de Germeil, with some reluctance, introduced her pupils. She was flatteringly attentive to Mademoiselle D’Ogimond, but the charms of Laure gave her a sensation of envy, her excessive vanity had scarcely ever before permitted her to feel: she had hitherto triumphed in the imagination of unrivalled beauty, but now she evidently perceived that she would be compelled to yield the palm to this intrusive foreigner, a girl who knew not her parents, who had not the advantage of being owned even as the illegitimate child of a man of fashion: a wretched foundling, who had been cast by the most vexatious of chances into the sphere in which she shone, on purpose surely to obscure the lustre of her brightness.

With these ideas it is not wonderful that the vain haughty woman of rank should not treat her with complacency. Fortunately Laure, who did not find any attraction in the general manners of Lady Carbreon, was therefore the less affected by her particular reserve to her, and was more than sufficiently consoled by the open partiality of Mrs. Grenby: Indeed, when an interested motive or general envy did not interfere, Laure was one of those beings who have the happy power of stealing on the affections, of disposing every heart to fondness and friendship, and exciting universal benevolence. How few has nature thus favored! and of the number some are again disqualified, by absurdly cherishing a ridiculous failing, or habituating themselves to some pernicious vice.

Madame de Germeil was careful to contract as much as possible her society; and though she could not from various motives render it as select as she wished, she found very little inconvenience from its extension, as she had peculiarly the art of being distantly polite, and by no means possessed that weak credulity, with which some people open their arms to all human kind, and make every one a sharer in their breast.

Lady Carbreon, the second sunday of their residence in London, called in her vis-a-vis, for the purpose of taking Adeline to the gardens. Madame de Germeil, though piqued that Mademoiselle D’Ogimond had alone been invited, did not think proper to refuse the request; she had already seen enough of Lady Carbreon to dislike her as a chaperon for the timid Adeline; but acceding with a tolerable grace to the proposal, she added, that as she intended herself to be there, she would spare her Ladyship the trouble of conducting Mademoiselle D’Ogimond home. Lady Carbreon was not much delighted with the intimation, for by excluding Laure from the invitation, she meant to have prevented herself, that morning at least, the mortification of being a secondary object. Her arrangement unluckily occasioned the very circumstance she wished to avoid; for Madame de Germeil was ever unwilling that Adeline should be long from her sight, and concluded, Lady Carbreon could not forbear joining her when they met.

This was precisely the case; and, mortifying sight! as her Ladyship was chatting with the horsemen, from the ha-ha, she observed a wandering in their admiration, as new to her as it was provoking, and turning, beheld in Laure the unconscious author of her vexation: She had for some minutes been gladly discovered by Adeline, whose gay companion having been too much occupied to attend to her, had found herself rather solitary. Lady Carbreon had before seemed rooted to the spot, but now complained of the sun, and proposed turning to the shade.

They were followed by several gentlemen, who had dismounted to take a nearer survey of what had much charmed them at a distance; but by far the greater part, before they would venture to commit themselves by such a step, stayed to hear the opinion old General Williams entertained of the French girls.

The General was a man of low origin: In the East Indies he had amassed a splendid fortune, which had enabled him to procure admittance in the first gaming circles, and establish an intimacy with characters of the first rank. No one was more profuse in acts of extravagance, and, to do him justice, sometimes in acts of liberality; but his extraordinary vanity soon grew so luxuriant, as to be a perpetual fund of entertainment, and the General became a sort of privileged person. — Scarcely any one, on the first view of him, could be persuaded that he was not carricaturing the folly of self-created importance, and from being suffered to utter his unrestrained opinions without check or controul, because some were amused with him, and others were silenced by the recollection of a gaming debt, he was at length attended to from habit, and, at last, people accustomed themselves to think that he possessed judgment enough to decide on the appearance and conduct of others, notwithstanding the extravagant absurdity he exhibited in his own.

‘The Comte’s daughter,’ said he, with a contraction of the brows, and a dangle of the jaw, ‘is very well.’

This sentence past, his audience unanimously agreed that Mademoiselle D’Ogimond was ‘nothing,’ — ‘nothing’ — ‘quite’ — ‘nothing.’

They now awaited with some anxiety his decision upon Laure; they wished it to be according to their feelings, but if not, they were not at all disposed to throw the gauntlet for her.

‘That Laure, resumed the General, ‘that Laure, what is her name?’ —— ‘They call her D’Aubigny.’ —— ‘Ay, she will do!’

A confused murmur now arose of lovely! charming! eyes! teeth! dress and tournure! After which they all filed off, to follow the steps of the enchanting Laure D’Aubigny. And the little General reflecting with complacency on the singular good nature and mercy of his decree, stooping his nose almost to the saddle bow, took an immoderate pinch of snuff and rode away.

The gardens were crowded, and as it was soon understood that Lady Carberon’s party were French women of distinction, every body followed to gaze, and were not soon desirous of relinquishing a sight, that engaged their admiration equally with their curiosity. Lady Carberon could not but suspect, notwithstanding the excellent opinion she entertained of her own powers of fascination, that above half this homage was not paid to her, and began to feel a violent head-ach, which on observing Lord William Dalvening by the side of Laure, and recollecting he had not uttered a syllable to any one else in the last half hour, threatened to end in a fit of spasms.

These symptoms being communicated to Madame de Germeil, they attempted to quit the gardens, but the crowd without, wishing to get in, and the crowd within, endeavouring to get out, made it utterly impracticable. — They had advanced however so far that they could not recede, and found themselves very unpleasantly situated, from the excessive thronging of those who joined the multitude, merely to see what was the matter.

Laure was accidentally nearer the door than her companions, and, notwithstanding the protection of Lord William, she was greatly incommoded by the pressure of the mob; ashamed of fears she could not entirely disguise, she observed, as an apology for them, that she had never before been in a crowd.

‘I hope you will not suffer much,’ returned Lord William, ‘and then you ought not to complain, since I believe you to be the principal cause of the evil, by exciting universal admiration, which these good people, in testifying, have not so much consulted politeness as they ought to have done; yet it is a very common, though an unpleasant mode of expressing approbation in this country, and an English lady is too much flattered by the cause to feel inconvenience from the effect.’

‘Your Lordship,’ said Laure, laughing, ‘has very adroitly endeavoured to make me insensible of heat and fatigue, by this extraordinary application to my vanity; but I confess I should be very well satisfied never to be the object of curiosity, were it always to be gratified at the same expence.’

‘Curiosity and consequent admiration,’ replied he, ‘are not the only emotions the charming Mademoiselle D’Aubigny excites, she must be equally accustomed to find herself the object of a more particular and interesting sensation.’

The turn of this speech induced Laure to look round for her party, and with some exertion she soon gained the same situation.

Lady Carbreon insisted that she was too ill to remain where she was, and with great difficulty and trouble was put into her carriage. Madame de Germeil very prudently chose to wait until she could retire in a quieter way, which was not effected before five o’clock.

Madame de Germeil dissatisfied with this début, and not inclined to hazard the repetition of such a scene, resisted for some time any solicitation to another appearance in public; and a fortnight was passed in the same tranquillity that marked their days at the Chateau de Verni: In this time Adeline and Laure applied with much assiduity to remove a slight french accent, which was almost the only thing that could distinguish them as foreigners when they conversed in this language.

But the calm was disturbed by news of the most alarming nature from Paris. The Comte wrote to them, that his situation was no longer a secure one; he had been, he said, maliciously misrepresented to the national assembly, and had been advised to fly; but as this measure would in all probability deprive him of his fortune, he could not think of pursuing it: He added that the young Marquis de Saint Ouïn was unhappily involved in his misfortune, and he greatly feared, the impetuosity of this gallant young man would betray him into some fatal mischance: He concluded with desiring Madame de Germeil to remain in England, and repeated his particular wishes that she would cultivate an intimacy with those whom he had already pointed out to her.

She read the first part of the letter with a terror and astonishment she endeavoured in vain to suppress: Mademoiselle D’Ogimond wept, while Laure felt a pain too acute to allow of such relief. The long experienced kindness of the Comte impressed her mind with more than usual force, now that she believed him surrounded with danger, and the secret suspicion she sometimes experienced that he was her father, by increasing her affection, redoubled her anxiety: But this was not all her grief: The Marquis de Saint Ouïn claimed a share in it. He had been the friend of Adeline and herself from early childhood: How benevolent how generous was de Saint Ouïn! —— With what sorrow did he quit the neighbourhood of Verni, when he was obliged to join his regiment; and how often had he relinquished the gaieties of Paris for several days merely to pass a few hours with them: How amiable! how gentle! And was it possible to suspect or injure him?

Roused at length from this reverie by the distress of Adeline, she thought for some minutes only of soothing her grief. Madame de Germeil could not assist in this office; she was thoughtful and more dejected than they had ever seen her before: This, in a woman of her firm mind, argued a strong sense of danger, and added new force to their terrors.

After a week passed in the most torturing suspence, they received another letter from the Comte, who informed them he had thought of an expedient that insured his safety, and much extolled the generous friendship of de Saint Ouïn, who was then, he said, executing an important commission for him in the département Du Nord.

This intelligence greatly quieted their alarms, and Mrs. Grenby calling in at that moment, endeavoured to dissipate the impression they had left by her enlivening conversation: She quitted them after receiving a glad acquiescence to an invitation to spend the following day with her.

Here they met with Lord William Dalvening, who was rather a favorite with Mrs. Grenby, and her brother Mr. Cosbyne, who arrived from Ireland but the day before—in person he much resembled his sister, in mind and manners still more; this was perhaps the result of the infinite pains she had taken to render him all her fond partiality wished him to be; and she had so far succeeded that few could converse with him and not be pleased.

He appeared much struck with Laure the moment she entered, a circumstance that did not escape Lord William, who redoubled his assiduities, and seemed to wish Mr. Cosbyne to believe that Laure understood the motive of them. Madame de Germeil had perceived this young nobleman’s penchant, and tho’ she did not appear to encourage, she was not solicitous to deprive him of any opportunity of expressing it. She acted thus, in conformity to a hint the Comte had given her, in a letter addressed singly to herself.

After dinner Mrs. Grenby observed, that her box happened to be wholly unoccupied that evening, and asked if they had any inclination to call in at the opera: Madame de Germeil readily assented, for she had deferred securing one for herself until she could be assured of remaining in England, and had not visited the Hay-Market since her former residence in London.

Lord William looked very serious whenever Mr. Cosbyne addressed Laure, and contrived to place himself in the box immediately behind her chair, a situation for which he was universally envied. Madame de Germeil was surprised to find the performance fall so infinitely below that she had so much admired a few years before; and the difference was striking enough to be observed by the young ladies, children as they were at that time: At present they found not either singers or dancers capable of exciting the admiration, Pachierotti, le Pique and Rossi had inspired; so far from it, the performance was more calculated to lull the audience to sleep than wake them to delight. Madame de Germeil cautiously expressed her sentiments on the subject.

‘Why yes,’ returned Mrs. Grenby, ‘I must confess I agree with you, for I can scarcely imagine a degree of dullness beyond what these people have arrived at: But I really ought to beg your pardon for not giving you this information before you came here: I heard that we should be presented with something new to night.’

‘I understood too,’ said Lord William, ‘that the new ballet was to come out this evening; I suppose as they are not very fond of trouble, they are trying to make the old one do a little longer.’

‘I cannot forbear admiring the excessive patience of the subscribers,’ observed Mr. Cosbyne, ‘who, charitable creatures, will allow a trumpery burletta to be hurried over, almost every night through the season, that Signora——after strutting her hour here, may run to the other theatre, and in the same shoes that have borne her through the kennels, scramble upon the stage, and perform her part in the farce.’

‘It is impossible,’ cried Madame de Germeil laughing, ‘not to praise the industry that prompts this violent exertion.’

‘Certainly,’ returned Mrs. Grenby, ‘had she any other motive than extreme avarice; but the woman who does this is very rich and has not any children.’

Adeline and Laure compared Signora —— with the Parisian Actresses, many of whom could have vied in magnificence with the eastern Princesses they sometimes personated, and while they readily acknowledged an ostentatious profusion of expence to be at best very ill judged, they thought it more justifiable in the one to appear on the stage adorned with jewels really suitable to an assumed character, than in the other to present herself before her audience in a careless and dirty dishabille.

Lord William zealously assented, and addressing himself to Laure. ‘Signora ——’ said he, ‘presumes too much upon the favor her merit as a singer and an actress gives her with the public. She has yet to learn,’ he added in a lower tone, ‘the effect of superior excellence, joined to the inexpressible charm of unconscious modesty.’

So true was what his Lordship meant to infer, that without the least idea of the complimental allusion contained in his speech, Laure answered gaily; ‘It would be kind then in any one, to hint to this superior excellence, to “bear her faculties,” as your Shakespear says, “a little more meekly.”

‘No, no,’ replied Mrs. Grenby, ‘it is all much better as it is now, you hear she would then be totally overcoming.’

When Lord William conducted Laure to the carriage, he eagerly profited by a momentary opportunity to assail her with a passionate profession of admiration: ‘Do not,’ added he, ‘too lovely Laure, be offended at the apparent temerity of this precipitation, which I would not have hazarded had I not discovered a rival in every man who sees you.’

Laure was much rejoiced to find herself, at the conclusion of this speech, at the side of the carriage, into which she jumped with as little ceremony and as much pleasure as if she had escaped some terrible danger, leaving Lord William so much piqued and chagrined at her alacrity to quit him, that he hardly recollected himself sufficiently to assist Madame de Germeil in after her.

The next morning tickets of invitation were presented to them from Lady Carbreon, who meant to give a breakfast and fête champêtre at a villa, a few miles from town. Lady Carbreon would have much wished the absence of Laure on this occasion, but it could not be effected without displaying a motive her Ladyship’s pride prevented her from acknowledging, though the same pride did not prevent her from feeling it. She sent to inform them, she wished the ladies of her party to adopt at the fête a uniform, which she thought would have a good effect, and if they were disengaged, she would the next morning shew them one she had contrived for the purpose. They went with great expectations of seeing something extraordinary, nor were they disappointed. Lady Carberon had resolved to brave the public eye in a cambrick petticoat under a loose floating drapery of sarsenet, which, with the addition of a chemise, was literally every garment that adorned the form they were not calculated or intended to conceal.

When Madame de Germeil and the young ladies were introduced into the dressing-room, Lady Carbreon, with all the conscious complacency of newly inflated vanity, awaited their expected approbation, which they innocently delayed to express, because they imagined the important toilette was not quite finished. The scene soon became rather embarrassing; Lady Carbreon looked, walked, and threw herself into a variety of attitudes; but still not a syllable was advanced in commendation of the dress.

Mademoiselle D’Ogimond had discovered some resemblance between the figure that paraded before her and a very fine statue belonging to her father; an idea to which the disposition of the drapery gave rise. A strict comparison would not perhaps have been advantageous to the lady, as the statue was the unblemished production of a most capital artist, and few indeed were the women whose persons would have stood such a test.

Laure, to whom the same comparison had occurred, was insensibly carried by it to recollections of a far extended nature, and while her imagination wandered over every apartment of the chateau, and every well-known path of the wood of Verni, Madame de Germeil discovered that the momentous object they had all come expressly to see and admire, had been exposed to their view for ten minutes, without exciting a single comment; but in what manner to communicate this to Adeline and Laure, and repair the involuntary omission without giving further mortification, by acknowledging the cause, was rather perplexing; at length she exclaimed with quickness, and assuming a look of admiration, apropos of this charming dress, it is singularly elegant! and the stile of it explains that it is entirely your Ladyship’s invention.’

‘Oh quite,’ returned Lady Carbreon, her features almost regaining the expression from which they had relaxed, ‘but you see it merely pinned up, I will get it run together and send it you for a model.’

‘We shall be very much indebted to you,” replied Madame de Germeil, ‘but I hope you do not expect chaperons to wear it.’

‘Oh je ne vous gênerez, pas,’ cried Lady Carbreon, ‘you shall be at liberty to reject it if you please.’

‘For myself then certainly, but these young ladies,’ added she, not wishing to offend entirely, ‘will be happy to profit by your Ladyship’s taste.’

When they were seated in the carriage, ‘Pray Madam,’ cried Laure, laughing, ‘are we really to undress to Lady Carberon’s standard?’

Madame de Germeil gravely replied ‘you must both certainly wear something like this apology for a covering; but I shall take the liberty of making your appearance more conformable to decency, by which I believe we shall equally ensure general approbation.’

CHAP. III.

THE expected day was ushered in by a most beautiful morning, the sun shone with a genial warmth, and not a cloud appeared in the horizon, to disturb the great expectations every one cherished of the approaching entertainment. There was scarcely one in the number of the guests who was possessed of sufficient malignity to receive pleasure from the vexation Lady Carbreon would experience at a heavy shower, because they would themselves have been sufferers, either from catching cold, spoiling their cloaths, or being obliged to crowd into two or three rooms, and sit until their carriages could take them away, looking at each other in disappointed dulness; consoled only by reflecting that their neighbours were as miserable as themselves; and perhaps the certainty of the deprivation could be the only circumstance in the world to induce many of this assembly to regard the projected fête as an amusement, or regret that it was not to be.

Lady Carbreon having overcome her own sense of propriety without much difficulty, was irritated to find she could not conquer that of other people, for many absolutely refused to appear in the uniform; some indeed were absurd enough to exhibit their unweildiness in the attire their hostess had chosen for them, and others were not unaptly compared to those monumental figures where the sculptor has designed death and mortality by a half covered skeleton.

The plan certainly did honor to the refinement of Lady Carbreon’s coquetry: She had, not unartfully, suited colours and textures to her own particular figure, and then imposed the same habiliments equally upon the tall, the short, the fat, the lean, the swarthy and the fair. But if, on this occasion, she generally excelled others in her appearance, she was, in return, as much surpassed by Adeline and Laure, who were habited with a goût decent. Adeline looked a pretty wood-nymph and was not an unpleasant contrast to the vivacious boldness of Lady Carbreon, who beheld Laure with half supprest envy and vexation: — She had no ornament but a few flowers in her bosom, placed there by the hand of modesty: part of her hair, which hung in curls round her temples, was confined by a few tresses braided over it, and the rest fell in great profusion down her back; she was adorned with every grace the partial hand of nature could bestow, and all the innocent complacency of youth, not yet blighted by misfortune, and untainted with vice.

The tables and ornaments were disposed with much judgment, the music was heard but not seen, and rustic groups were observed here and there ‘dancing in the chequered shade.’ But the principal novelty of the day was a magnificent altar erected to St. Swithin, on which a sacrifice appeared to have been newly offered; in the front was placed an inscription, and it was whispered that Mr. Cosbyne had written it.

As Adeline and Laure were approaching to examine the writing, they were met by Madame de Germeil, who presented to them the Duke of Harmington, whose friendship, she observed, the Count D’Ogimond had the advantage of possessing, a benefit he highly prized. Laure would have been very much inclined to laugh at the figure that offered itself to her eye, had it not been introduced with the support of the Comte’s esteem; but now, while she received his compliment, she endeavoured to forget the absurd foppery of his appearance, and think of him with respect.

The Duke however soon contrived to render the task more difficult, by a ridiculous affectation of gallantry. While the politesse of this young old man induced him to address to Mademoiselle D’Ogimond, one of the many douceurs, his inclination had prompted him to offer to the beauty of Laure, the latter was discovered by Lord William Dalvening: She blushed, nor did he appear unembarrassed; his mien was less haughty than usual, his voice less elevated: He instantly asked Laure how long she had been arrived. ‘About twenty minutes, my Lord.’ ‘I was accidentally detained,’ continued he, ‘at the moment I was setting out, for above half an hour, and I figured to myself the whole time, some happier fellow occupying the situation I was so anxious to possess: Have you seen Cosbyne this morning?’ ‘No my Lord.’ ‘You must have been among the first of those who are yet arrived, for I am told they began to drop in only a quarter of an hour since; but I shall bless the indolence of the multitude, if it occasions me to be the earliest candidate for the honor for your hand, should any of the party be inclined to follow the example of those rustics.’

As Laure was disengaged, she could not avoid acquiescing in the request; she recollected his peculiar behaviour the evening she was at the opera, and though she considered his speech as an impromptu sally of gallantry, yet she felt an invincible repugnance to the idea of his renewing it.

The Duke had been listening to Lord William with some impatience and now attacked Laure with such a profusion of looks, sighs, and notes of admiration, that Lord William bit his lips almost through, and began to be excessively out of humour.

They proceeded at the request of Mademoiselle D’Ogimond, to examine the newly acquired honors of Saint Swithin: Lord William maliciously entreated the Duke to read the inscription, but the petition was abruptly refused; he then mounted the base of the altar himself, and read the following jeu d’esprit.

This day, oh damp and wat’ry saint! forbear

To rattle in our ears a fearful show’r,

Nor make our pensive, uncurl’d heads declare,

With drooping unresisting locks thy pow’r:

Prithee, dread Saint, hurl not thy vengeance down,

Upon our hats and caps so very pretty,

Nor on our déjeuné indignant frown,

To give the absent sport, and make them witty:

When of disaster we so little dream,

Let them not say, as was their mock o’ late,

Thou turn’st to milk and water all our cream,

And Cocoa mak’st of all our Chocolate.

As he finished the last line, Mrs. Grenby advanced, and after the usual compliments, ‘Well ma bonne amie,’ cried she to Madame de Germeil, ‘what is your opinion of the fair lady of these bowers? I am quite charmed with the extraordinary effects of her genius: Your pretty nymphs wear her livery with a few improvements, I see; but I do not quite think it was intended they should be so lovely in it.’

Madame de Germeil smiled expressively, and made no reply.

‘Is Cosbyne here?’ asked Lord William. ‘He is,’ returned Mrs. Grenby, ‘but as I have not seen him, I suppose he is seized and confined by Lord Carbreon, and is not to regain his liberty until he has produced some extatic lines on her Ladyship’s beauty, and if this is really the case,’ continued she, ‘it is very fortunate that he was not allowed time enough to cast a pair of glances this way, or he might have been tempted to pop into the panegyrick, the names of Adeline and Laure, instead of the Divinity he was bound to celebrate.’

The Duke of Harmington asserted with some energy, that he would have then had a much happier subject for his muse.

CHAP. IV.

AFTER breakfast the company broke into parties, and General Williams, who had not been there above ten minutes, seized the opportunity of being conspicuously placed; to stretch his hudibrastic figure, and exclaim, with a lengthened yawn, ‘What devilish bores these breakfasts are!—I was obliged to rise at twelve o’clock,’ continued he, addressing his next neighbour, who happened to be Lady Carbreon ‘that I might get here in decent time.’

‘I am sorry,’ retorted, she with some anger, ‘that you took so much trouble without accomplishing your purpose.’

The General, lifting up his eyes, pretended to discover the misapplication of his speech, when in reality, such was the absurdity of this strange being, he had uttered it merely to refresh his memory with a hint of his own importance.

‘I thought, General,’ said Mrs. Grenby carelessly, ‘that you had been amongst the first who arrived.’

The General made no answer, and began grinding his teeth; for he had in his antipathies a wonderful dislike to being classed amongst any body.

The Duke of Harmington attached himself so assiduously to Laure, that Lord William, who would willingly have been the sole object of her attention, felt greatly relieved when a set of dancers was formed, to which he immediately led her. Mr. Cosbyne walked up to her, and glancing his eye on Lord William, said with a smile, ‘I observe that I must not hope to dance the first set with you; but will you allow me to succeed your present partner when he is obliged to relinquish you?’ Laure very readily assented and he went in search of Mademoiselle D’Ogimond, whom he engaged, and conducted to the side of her friend.

The wonderful legereté and grace of the belles françoises, attracted general admiration; the Duke gazed until he was almost tempted to dance himself; but a little reflection soon convinced him of the danger of discomposing his crazy figure, by the shock of a rapid motion.

When Laure danced with Mr. Cosbyne, she was evidently more enlivened than with her former partner: She liked his manners and conversation; they indicated that he wished more to be approved than to be admired, and the good humoured politeness which always induced him to appear pleased with others, had the usual effect of making others pleased with him.

It now became Lord William’s occupation to watch Laure; he did not dance, but placing himself near her, followed her with an anxious eye. He was teazed by the Duke’s professions of admiration, and the attention of Mr. Cosbyne seriously alarmed him; he dreaded the impression his personal qualifications might make on the heart of Laure, and equally feared the influence of his sister with Madame de Germeil, yet he was re-assured, when he reflected, that Mr. Cosbyne’s fortune was much inferior to his own, and that he was himself not without some prospect of a first title, and a splendid fortune, as his elder brother had very declining health; while Mr. Cosbyne, though of a more ancient family, was only the younger son of a younger brother. It had been given out, that Laure would not be portionless, and Lord William imagined the Comte would not permit her to ally herself imprudently.

When the Duke found that his tottering limbs would no longer support him, he seated himself by Madame de Germeil, to descant on the perfections of Laure, and then Mr. Cosbyne laughingly congratulated her on the acquisition of such an adorateur as the Duke. ‘He seems to be now enamoured,’ added he, ‘of an object perfect enough to fix any heart, however inclined to rove, and we shall see whether his former wavering was occasioned by natural inconstancy of disposition, or delicacy of taste.’ ‘I should suppose,’ returned Laure smiling, ‘that as he has for so long a time sported with the arrows that wounded him, he can at present be affected only by that potent dart no human being can escape.’

‘Oh, what an affront do you offer to his gallantry,” cried Mr. Cosbyne, ‘such a sentence, were he to hear it from your lips, would prove to him the fatal dart you allude to.’

The sun piercing through the foilage that had hitherto sheltered the dancers from its rays, soon dispersed them. Mrs. Grenby took a place in Mademoiselle D’Ogimond’s carriage, and in the ride to town told Madame de Germeil, that she intended to retire to a cottage she possessed near London, and only visit the metropolis occasionally, as she found the perpetual dissipation she was unavoidably engaged in, too much for her health and spirits.

‘Retirement is in your power,’ returned Madame de Germeil, ‘but not solitude; for you will certainly attract to your dwelling, where ever it may be, all those you have once made happy in your society.’

‘To prove what you flatter me with,’ cried Mrs. Grenby, ‘you must all promise me that I shall sometimes have yours.’

The proposal was made and accepted with equal readiness and good humour, and Mrs. Grenby did not leave them until late in the evening, when Madame de Germeil and the young ladies were engaged to Lady Lillingford’s assembly, who having taken infinite pains to insure their presence, would never have forgiven them for neglecting her, and to incur her resentment was not a trifling event.

This Lady was a widow, with a jointure considerably smaller than her situation and mode of life would have allowed any one to suppose it: She would willingly have parted with virtue, nay even reputation, to procure the luxuries she had been accustomed to, and knew not how to live without; but, alas! her youth was fled, and her beauty in its last stage: — A faro bank became her resource, and the plan succeeded: every fashionable wight resorted to her lure, swayed either by interest, intrigue, vanity, or folly; and this ruinous stream of complicated absurdity and villany bore down and overwhelmed many a mind, calculated for far better pursuits. Hither the cautious, the reserved Madame de Germeil was obliged to conduct her pupils.

As the room in which the bank was held, was much too crowded to admit them, they placed themselves in an adjoining one, and were much amused by the strictures they heard on Lady Carbreon and her fête, which were in general very severe; those who had found the most difficulty in procuring a ticket to get there, were the most possitive in asserting the horrid fatigue it had been to them.

But the attention of every individual was soon called to a violent clamour which arose in the faro-room; it began with a loud murmur, which insensibly broke into scolding, shrieking, and the most terrible oaths, uttered with furious vociferation. The alarm easily spread, but the cause was not so soon discovered: At length the crowd near the door was forcibly broken through, and a very handsome young woman carried away in fits.

Madame de Germeil would have retreated, if she had had it in her power, for the heat became almost intolerable, and Mademoiselle D’Ogimond was much incommoded by it. Some ladies who stood near her imagined that the house was on fire, and communicating their fears without reserve or caution, the most horrible confusion ensued.

Laure observing a very old lady almost fainting, to whom no attention was paid, pushed towards her to offer her smelling bottle, but after effecting her intention, she found it impossible to return to Madame de Germeil and Adeline, and was driven the contrary way: To add to her terror, she perceived a violent scuffle very near her, from which she had not power to retire; she could just discern that a gentleman was grasping the collar of another, and kicking him through the room; several others interposed, but as she knew not their intention, it only made the affray appear more terrible. She stood motionless, pale and trembling, ’till Mr. Cosbyne, who had followed the combatants to assist in parting them, flew to her assistance. He begged her not to be alarmed, and assured her the affair would end very peaceably.

When she had a little recovered, he explained, in a low voice, the cause of the uproar. Lady Mary Valner, he said, who had been carried out, was playing at faro, and had received several hints from the marker that she was not so accurate as she ought to be, she had in return haughtily desired he would not be impertinent, and in three minutes he openly accused her of doubling down her card unfairly; her brother, who was present, resented the charge, and threatened to cut off the man’s ears unless he retracted. The other replying that he would not retract, Lord Valner immediately knocked him down; and before he could be prevented struck him again several times.

The man irritated by this violent treatment, declared he would bring an action against his noble opponent, whose rage was then increased almost to madness; and Lady Mary shocked and terrified at the scene, had fainted. But the fracas is now nearly over, continued Mr. Cosbyne, ‘and I hope to see you restored to your usual serenity.’

After acknowledging herself indebted to his politeness, Laure expressed a fear that Madame de Germeil and Adeline would be alarmed at missing her.

‘When you no longer think yourself in danger, and I can procure you a seat,’ returned he, ‘I will find them out; at present there is no prospect of your being able to get near them, for many people are yet trying to crowd in, while few are endeavouring to get out. But I am sure,’ added he, observing she changed colour, ‘the heat is too much for you; we will try to reach the anti-room.’

Laure objected to it, as she would then have less chance of returning to the place where she had left Madame de Germeil. Mr. Cosbyne however earnestly insisted that she should try to get a little air, for she became every minute more pale and faint; he drew her through the crowd to a better situation, and then went to procure her some water: Before he returned Lord William Dalvening made his appearance; he had learnt from Laure where she was to be in the evening, and had broken from a dinner party to meet her. He was surprised to see her alone and evidently indisposed; she would have explained the reason, but agitated as she had been, and expressing herself in a language not her own, she could not immediately find words: Before she had uttered many Mr. Cosbyne returned, and offered to seek out Madame de Germeil. ‘No,’ cried Lord William, ‘you are attending Mademoiselle D’Aubigny, and you had better continue in an office that seems to afford you so much happiness; I suppose I can perform the commission almost as well.’

Without waiting for an answer he left them; but the jealous pique that dictated this speech, could not enable him to suffer Mr. Cosbyne to remain long in quiet possession of his post, and before he had advanced a dozen steps he turned back, and said he had found it impossible to proceed.

Laure waited with as much composure as she could assume, ’till a number of people finding that nothing farther was to happen, retired to report in other circles, as much of the event as they could contrive, with the help of a little conjecture, to make out.

An antiquated Dowager, with a chin like the point of a chinese slipper, observed that she was not at all surprised at the indignation of Lord Valner, at a discovery so disgraceful to his sister.

‘Neither am I,’ replied another, whose little grey eyes shot a gleam of triumphant malice as she uttered the remark, ‘for I believe it is pretty certain that he went snacks with her.’

Madame de Germeil was rejoiced to discover Laure, as it enabled her to return immediately home. ‘I am sorry,” said Mr. Cosbyne, as he attended them to their carriage, ‘that you should have witnessed this scene; I can assure you, that to me it has been a very singular one: Do not let it impress your minds much to our discredit.’ ‘O ciel’ cried the innocent Adeline, with an involuntary emotion, ‘quelles mœurs!’ Laure thought of them as they merited, in silence.

Madame de Germeil found herself the next day much indisposed with a nervous head-ach, a disorder to which she was some times subjected. Since the Count’s last letter, she had cultivated the society of many she had before avoided; to Laure her manner was more affectionate, and she advised Mademoiselle D’Ogimond to endeavour to conquer that extreme timidity, which sometimes giving an appearance of reserve, would often be mistaken for pride.

Madame de Germeil’s indisposition increasing, she was for several days confined to her chamber, where Mrs. Grenby still sought her society. She had awaited the recovery of her friend, to quit London as she had proposed, and when Madame de Germeil was convalescent, she urged her to bring the nymphs, as she usually called them, and stay two or three weeks, at her cottage. Madame de Germeil’s inclination led her to accept the proposal; but the intelligence she daily expected from the Comte was of such importance, that she did not chuse to delay the receipt of it even for an hour; and another reason, though of less consideration, yet not trivial, was that the Physician who attended her could not follow her out of town, though the distance was only six or seven miles.

Making the last reason the ostensible one for refusing the friendly proposition, Mrs. Grenby was obliged to submit; but it was at last settled that Laure should accompany her to Wincale, the name of her place, and Mrs. Grenby appeared satisfied with her friend for departing from a plan she had hitherto adhered to, never to suffer her pupils to quit her for more than a day; ‘Well then,’ cried Mrs. Grenby, rising to go, ‘I shall rusticate on Thursday, so I give Laure two days to prepare for this terrible separation.’

When Laure bade adieu to her friends, she endeavoured in consideration to Mrs. Grenby, to suppress the regret she felt at her first absence from Adeline: She was uneasy too at leaving Madame de Germeil in the state of weakness and languor to which she was reduced. The affection this lady had lately shewn her, had strongly revived in her heart the fond gratitude her former coldness had rather chilled.

Mrs. Grenby looked on these naïve sensations of an unhacknied and uncorrupted mind, with complacency and approbation: She had formerly felt them herself; but such sentiments had been checked, in proportion as experience had taught her, not to expect to find them in those, with whom her situation in life led her to mingle. Her motives for wishing the company of Laure were not entirely derived from the partiality she felt for her: Mrs. Grenby in her retirement was not desirous of leaving the world behind her; she was delighted with the conversation of intelligent people, and was not insensible to the pleasure of knowing, that it was repeated in the circles she left with such seeming indifference, how many distinguished characters the charms of Mrs. Grenby’s wit had attracted to Wincale: She had however too much policy to trust entirely to her own power of pleasing, and was careful to add as many agrémens as she could assemble, for the gratification of her guests, in the number, neither the attractions of good wines or good dinners were omitted. The admired beauty of Laure she made use of to assist her purpose; yet she would not have thwarted her own inclination to accomplish it; and had not Laure possessed qualifications to create friendship and esteem equally with admiration, she had never been sought by Mrs. Grenby as an intimate.

CHAP. V.

LAURE met at Wincale Mr. Cosbyne and the sister of Mrs. Grenby’s husband; this party was strongly reinforced every day at dinner by visitors from London, who had been either selected for some happy talent, or shone by the collateral aid of distinguished birth or fashion. Miss Grenby had formerly felt a strong prepossession in favor of Mr. Cosbyne; but as the penchant had not been perceived, or returned with too moderate a portion of gratitude, she had wisely endeavoured to conquer it, and had happily succeeded.

Laure, accustomed to a life of the greatest activity, spent several hours every morning in the grounds, and Mr. Cosbyne very often hastened or deferred his ride to accompany her.

Pleased with his conversation, which was always cheerful, Laure sometimes pointed out to him with enthusiastic delight, every spot that had the least resemblance to the woods of Verni. ‘Tell me,’ said Mr. Cosbyne, fixing his eyes with attention on her countenance, ‘whom you have left at Verni to lament your absence?’

‘Only old Madame Delverue,’ returned Laure with much simplicity, ‘who has the Comte’s permission to reside there.’

‘Are there any seats in the neighbourhood?’ demanded he with unusual curiosity.

‘Oh yes, that of Monsieur de Saint Ouïn’s father.’

‘Has the father then no other appellation?’ said Mr. Cosbyne, with a smile.

‘No,’ replied she, ‘he is likewise called the Marquis de St. Ouïn.’

‘Are you much