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ter's call, to give her the desired introduc- || hypocrisy," continued she," here found tion. its merited punishment. My lover had fled almost in the same moment in which I arrived. I hesitated not to take the resolution of following him, and having procured the disguise of a page, have thus executed my purpose, Chance has led me to your castle and protection:"

The lady of the mansion received her as a stranger in need of asylum, with attention and humanity. This lady, the wife of the Lord Colonna, was now rather advanced in years; her countenance had an expression of melancholy, which could only be attributed to some distant calamity, the sense of which time had mellowed, without having the power to extinguish. This kindness of her hostess softened the heart and inspired the confidence of Angelica. "You are unfortunate, Signor," said she, addressing him according to his appearance as a page, or cadet; "I know that our civil wars has produced much calamity. You say, that yourself and family have followed the interests of my husband and brothers; I have received you in consequence of this declaration. But what calamity of your life is the origin of this secret grief? You weep, my son," said she, taking her passive hand; " I address you as a mother. Give me your confidence, Signor, you shall have no cause to repent the trust.-Speak, are you not unhappy?"-"Ah, madam, I am indeed unhappy;" said Angelica, throwing herself into the arms of the lady "Signor!" exclaimed she, in astonishment. "Ah! no," madam; replied Angelica, but with a voice scarcely intelligible, through interrupting tears." You are deceived! I am not what I appear-I am not a cavalier, but an unhappy woman, and whose wretchedness is increased by the reflection that she is herself the authoress of her ⚫wn misery! Yes, madam, a vain pride, a useless hypocrisy, has been the origin of what I weep for! But I weep, alas! too late, my error will now admit no remedy!"

It is unnecessary to add, that this confession of Angelica introduced the narrative of her history, and that she concealed nothing of her adventure from the Lady Colonna. She acknowldged, with tears of repentance, that she put a force upon her inclinations in her first departure from the house of her father, and that during this separation she had suffered equally with her lover. She confessed that she had returned with the purpose of rewarding the fidelity of her lover." But my

"And to both,” replied the Lady Colonna, "are you equally welcome. Your father, as you have justly said, has been the constant associate and supporter of the interests of the house of Colonna. I congra tulate myself that it is now in our power to repay his friendship by protecting you. Your misfortune is not, perhaps, so irremediable as your despair presents it. Your lover may be again found, your father reconciled, and your union thus effected. The Lord Colonna has been absent from his Castle some days, he returns however this morning. I will engage him in your service, and by our united efforts, you may at last recover your lover, your father, and your happiness."

At this moment the horn again sounded, and Colonna and his suite were at the gate of the Castle. The lady, who saw their arrival from the window of the apartment, hastened to receive her Lord, leaving Angelica with an attendant female.

"How kind is this lady," said Angelica. "Yes, Signor," replied the attendant, "and my Lord is equally so. They have had their misfortunes, however."

"What misfortune," said Angelica ?

"A very melancholy one," replied the female. "My Lord and Lady had long been desirous of an heir; about twenty years ago they had one, and the whole province was a scene of joy upon the occasion. But in the midst of the rejoicing the child disappeared."

"Disappeared?" repeated Angelica; "how so?"

"I know not, Signor; nor does any one know more of this matter than myself. All we know is this: the child and its nurse slept in the same chamber. But one morning when my Lady sent me up for the child, both nurse and child were gone; and as the floor was strewed with clothes, and nothing missing but an upper garment of each, we concluded them to have been stolen from their beds. The families of

Borgia and Colonna were at that time in civil war with each other, and though we have never been able to obtain any proofs, we do not hesitate to believe them the instruments of this calamity. They knew no revenge could be so complete as that of stealing away the heir."

"And have you never traced any thing of the stolen child ?"

commanded them to be admitted; they accordingly entered the apartment. But the countenance of the peasant no sooner met the eyes of Colonna, than he hastened forwards and embraced him. It is unnecessary to say, that this peasant was no other than the Lord Prospero himself. The Lady, upon their first entrance, was about to retire from the room, but no sooner perceived the face of Alberto, than she found herself retained by a sentiment she did not yet understand. After some ceremonies, the Lord Colonna resumed his seat, and commanded the soldiers to enter upon their business. He was obeyed, and

before him was no other than the Alberto whose history he had just heard in that of Angelica. He did not, however, in

"Never, Signor, from the first moment of our loss to the present day. The Lord Prospero Colonna, the brother of my Lord, undertook the business of the search; and though the disappearance of the child makes him the heir to my Lord his brother, he did not on that account ap-he immediately discovered that the person pear less eager to recover the stolen infant. But his search was fruitless. Nor is this the only misfortune of the family. The only heir, as I have said, after the dis-terrupt the narrative of the soldiers. The appearance of the child, was my Lord Prospero himself. But within this last year, from some cause or other, he has deserted the Castle. It is said he is seized with a melancholy madness. It is certain that he has taken the habit of a peasant, and lives in a cottage in the wood of Bosca, not two leagues from hence. 'And no efforts of my Lord or his friends have hitherto succeeded to draw him from his retreat. The neighbourhood suspect him to have committed some crime in his earlier days, and that his present retreat is the penance affixed either by himself or his confessor. For my own part, I know nothing, though I am not without my suspicions:-But here come my Lord and Lady."

The Lord and Lady Colonna now entered the apartment; the Lady requested Angelica to retire to that repose which her fatigue of the preceding night rendered necessaary. "In the mean time, Signor, I will plead your cause, and endea vour to engage my Lord here in your

interest."

Angelica upon this, followed the attendant female, and retired from the apartment.

It is needless to say that the Lady Colonna performed her promise, and related to her Lord the adventures of Angelica. She had scarcely concluded the narrative when a servant entered. The soldiers with Alberto, attended by the old peasant, were now at the gate. The Lord Colonna

old peasant, or to call him by his proper name, the Lord Prospero, gave a more full relation, narrating every thing as he had received it from Alberto. The Lord and Lady Colonna had hitherto listened to every thing in silence, but each of them felt an unusual interest in Alberto. They cach of them regarded him with peculiar earnestness.-Oh, nature, how powerful art thou!-By what secret magic dost thou influence hearts the most insensible !-After these earnest regards towards Alberto, as if both impelled by the same sentiment, they turned their eyes upon each other. They perceived with increased astonishment, that they each felt alike; and what was still more incredible, that neither understood his own sentiment. The whole company seemed to be possessed with the same wonder. For some moments every one was silent; the soldiers were suspended in expectation, though they knew not of what. The Lord Colonna at length turning to Alberto, demanded of him why he had not sought the hand of Angelica from her father?

"My fortune," replied Alberto, “was too inferior, and my birth too doubtful." "Your birth doubtful!" resumed Colonna ; "how so, Signor?"

"Alas!" replied Alberto, "I am an exile from all natural protection! I know not to whom I owe my existence!-The offspring of shame, perhaps !-I have been deserted from the moment of my birth !—My pas

The company were now hushed into attention, and every one appeared to take an interest in the misfortunes of Alberto. Colonna continued his interrogation.

rents have refused to acknowledge their || purpose. To the equal astonishment of own; and to avoid the disgrace of that Alberto and the company, the Lord Prosacknowledgment, exposed me even in my pero now rushed forward, and seizing the infancy, to probable death!" garb of Alberto, tore it from his arm, and examined the mark-It no sooner met his eye, than throwing himself upon his knees, and clasping his hands in the posture of prayer, he burst forth into a rap. turous exclamation." I thank thee, Heaven that my prayers and penitence are at last accepted! and that it is thus given to me to expiate my former guilt!"

"By what means did you come into the family of the banker, Angelica's father?" "I was exposed," replied Alberto, "whilst yet an infant, at his door. His charity admitted me into his house, and he has sheltered me until my late departure. I have nothing with which to accuse him; I owe every thing to his friendship and bumanity. He might indeed have done more, but I must have owed it to his charity, and have no claim of right.-But, thus unknown, could I have presumed to bave solicited his daughter?-Could a stranger like myself, demand the heiress whose beauty and wealth had already become the theme of the province, and the object of the wishes and pursuit of whoever was most rich and noble?" _

The attention of the company was now attracted to the old peasant, the Lord Prospero Colonna. Whilst Alberto was speaking, he had regarded him with singu lar earnestness, and his manner had something of confusion. When Alberto related his doubtful birth, he startled; and when he added the circumstance of his exposure at the door of the father of Angelica, his countenance changed, and his mind appeared to be much agitated. He now demanded hastily, if those who had thus exposed him at the door of the merchant, had accompanied their deposit with no token by which they might afterwards recognize and claim him. Alberto here acknowledged that he had a mark upon his right arm, which appeared to have been made by the point of a sword, and which he supposed to have been given for that

The soldiers and servants of Colonna hastened to the assistance of the Lord Prospero, believing this exclamation to be the effect of madness, the disease with which they imagined him to be afflicted. Rising from his posture, he shook off the officious attendants.-"I am not mad, my Lord," said he, with unusual dignity; "the event of this day has restored me!It is now, my Lord, many years since you lost the heir of Colonna. You attributed the guilt of that disappearance to your enemies, the Borgias. My Lord, the Borgias were innocent, the guilt wasmine!"

The whole company started at this avowal. The Lord Prospero continued."I need not add, that my only motive was to usurp the inheritance!-Let my long repentance and self-inflicted penance, be my plea for pardon !-Should that be insufficient, let this amends be acceptedmy Lord Colonua, behold in this youth your son!"

It is needless to relate with minuteness the remainder of this history. It is sufficient to say, that Alberto had been thus stolen and exposed by the contriv ance of Prospero Colonna. He was now restored to his family and honours. The father of Angelica was summoned to the Castle, and the union of the lovers fol lowed without any other obstacle.

OAKWOOD HOUSE. AN ORIGINAL NOVEL.
(Continued from Page 77.)

LETTER V.

TO MRS. BRUDENELL.

Oakwood, March 31, 1907.

GOING into the housekeeper's room the other day, I was struck with a small landscape,

framed and glazed, which was cut in writing paper so exquisitely fine, that I could scarcely believe it in the power of scissars to execute it, or hands to guide them.

"Pray, Mrs. Simpson," said 1, "who did this?"

“O, Ma'am,” replied she, "it was Peggy || shovel, chaffing-dish, and bellows mounted Freeman." with the same metal.

"Does she visit you sometimes?" I asked. "Why, yes, ma'am, she does come now and then, with her mother and her aunt; but not very oftens. To be sure she's a very pretty sort of a girl, and very good-natured; but she's too high-flown for me. She's too fond of reading to be good for any thing. She has read all the books at the Parsonage over and over; and I believe, in my heart, that sooner than be without books, she'd make 'em herself, But it's her mother's fault, and so I told her. Here, Mrs. Freeman, says I, you keep slave, slave, and let your daughter sit reading the Pope, and the Four Seasons, and the Young Night Thoughts, when she ought to be making a pudding, or sweeping up the house!Why,' says she, Mrs. Simpson,' says she, if my daughter likes to read, and I like to make a pudding and sweep the house, I should think nobody can blame us.' Well, says I, every one in his way; but I know, if I'd a daughter, I'd make her good for something. Your hundred a-year won't buy Peggy a gentleman, and all her learning won't cook her husband's dinner nor her ingenousness mend his stockings."

This account of the housekeeper roused my curiosity to see Peggy Freeman, and I took || my evening walk to the house. Jessamine and woodbine were climbing on each side the door, and a small flower-garden lay before it. I found the good mother knitting, the aunt at her wheel, and Peggy finishing a beautiful drawing of The Choice of Hercules. The firmness of her figure of Virtue, the fasciuation of Pleasure, and the beauty of both astonished me; nor was the indecision of Hercules, or his muscular strength, less striking. She received me with native ease and sweetness. Indeed, my unexpected entrance caused no more confusion in the whole groupe, than that of my favourite spaniel.

The house was perfect neatness. Its casements were adorned with white curtains, and

I remarked to Mrs. Freeman the ancient furniture of her house, and the care with which I should preserve it. She said her husband valued it so highly, that he not only would not part with any of it, but he would not suffer it to change its place; and she had great difficulty to prevail on him to let her take the wooden cradle up stairs, in which his ancestors, himself, and his daughter bad been nursed; but at last she gained her point, and it was now keeping company with the cane chairs above.

During this latter part of the conversation, John entered, and bade his wife take me up. stairs to see the cradle, which, he assured me, was a great curiosity. She knew this champion of freedom too well to dispute the smallest of his commands, and led the way, while ber daughter followed. The cradle was indeed curious; of pannelled oak, grown black with. age, ornamented with carving, and had a cross at top, probably to secure its infant from the influence of witchcraft or evil spirits, when they were in fashion. But the whole room was a curiosity. It was Peggy's. The blue and white striped linen curtains of the bed and windows were the joint manufacture of the mother and aunt; every thing else shewed some touches of her own hands. The walls she had herself painted light blue; but no more of them was seen above the chairs, than served for ground-work to the innumer able drawings and landscapes of cut paper with which they were covered. The drawings were various. Landscapes, flowers, birds, and butterflies, in their native colours; and portraits in Indian ink, in which the fine touches of the pencil were such an exact copy of the strokes of the linen, that it required the nicest eye to distinguish the drawing from an engraving. The counterpane and cushions of the cane chairs were of white linen, with knots of flowers of her own quilting; the carpet of canvas, covered with flowers of her own work

ornamented the chimney-piece. Even the boxes were covered with writing paper, with small points pasted on, and varnished over.

"Peggy," said I, astonished at what I saw, "is it possible all these are your handy

works?"

its cherry-coloured floor partly covered withing; and artificial flowers of her own making a carpet; the rest of the furniture had descended from father to son, with the house that held it. The polished tables, chairs, and dresser were of massive oak; and over the Jatter were ranks of shining pewter, from the dish which held the Christmas beef to the plate off which it was eaten. On one side of the fire-place stood a couch, called a squab ; on the other a heavy immoveable oaken chair, capable of holding three persons, called a long-settle, that is, long seat. The chimney The mother showed me her embroidery on corners were adorned with brazen tongs, fire-muslin, and even her darning of the family

She replied with great modesty-" I have a taste for these fanciful employments, ma'am ; and my father and mother are so kind as to give me leisure to indulge it."

hnen. "There is some charm in your fingers, certainly," said 1; "I never saw any thing so exquisitely ueat. The pencil, the scissars, and the needle, acquire powers in your hands of which I did not think them capable. The pencil and scissars I willing cede to you; but you beat me on my own ground! I, who Dever saw any sort of needle-work I did not learn, or practice any in which I did not excel!"

To complete your idea of Peggy Freeman, I must tell you her person is tall and slender; ber features extremely pleasing, and though, || perhaps, not regularly beautiful, inseparably connected with my ideas of beauty; and her complexion the purest red and white, by

"Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid

on."

Her manners shew a consciousness that her own talents are an equivalent to the rank of those the world would call her superiors; but her self confidence has no presumption. Her manners, indeed, bespeak a knowledge of the world which neither intuition or books could give. This she has acquired at the house of Mr. Caradine, a gentleman about twenty miles distant, whose daughter is her intimate friend.

Such is my neighbour. But she is something more than this, which I do not well know how to describe. Something which speaks to the heart, and which my heart tell me I could love. I promise myself great pleasure in ber Bociety.

LETTER VI.

TO MRS. BRUDENELL.

Oakwood, April 5, 1807. My mornings are inviolably my own. This is one of my singularities. In the afternoon Margaret (Peggy now no more, for I like no Peggy but Allen Ramsay's) works or walks with me; and I have introduced her to our evening society, where my brother and her father, having read the news of the day, generally make some comments not much in its favour. On politics we are both silent. On other subjects we join as we please, and any brother acknowledges the pleasure he derives from female conversation.

||

the Squire does him. Hence, when they
differ in opinion, a
stranger would be-
lieve a quarrel must ensue, and they would
part in anger, if not for ever. But, besides
the regard which every body feels for my
brother, who knows him thoroughly, they are
held together by two of the strongest ties in
the world, habit and self-interest. They have
conversed so long, that each becomes neces-
sary to the other. Neither could find a sub-

stitute.

"Brother," said I, last night, "have you methodists in the village? I heard psalmsinging just now, as I passed Webster's barn."

"I believe," replied he, "there is not a village in the kingdom without them. They swarm like gnats on a summer evening. They wanted one of my coach-houses to preach in, but I would fire it first. I expect I shall not keep a servant in the house for them soou; for if ever they convert one, I discharge him directly,"

"Why does their religion disqualify them for service?" demanded I.

"Because they are all rogues," he answered." There is not one that would not pick your pocket. And though I cannot keep canting, lying, and cheating out of the village, I will not let them reside in my house, if I know it."

"You are very right," said I.-"I know little of the methodists; and I did not know that dishonesty was one of the doctrines they teach."

"I suppose they do not teach it," replied my brother; "they only practise it."

"In that predicament, I imagine," said I, "stand all religions. All inculcate good; and so far as the professors of any commit evil, they depart from their own faith. That the methodists, pretending to more sanctity than their fellow Christians, and possessing no more virtue, are wider from their professions than others, I can easily believe; but surely that is all."

"No;" said my brother, "it is not all. They were originally, as themselves confess, the vilest of sinners, and so they are still. Can the impression made by the rant of an enthusiast be lasting? Can it change the nature of an ignorant blockhead? If it restrain the tongue of a profane swearer, will not the evil principle come out in the shape of a lye?"

"If I grant you that methodists before their conversion, were the vilest of sinners," said 1, "the result will be much in their favour. They are now decent, orderly members of society. If they have banished swear

My brother's temper is naturally violent. He loves and hates, and speaks by extremes; and, speaking only to inferiors, he has contracted some strong modes of expression, that would not pass current in the world. John Freeman is as positive as my brother is warm, and fears the Squire no more thaning, drinking, and debauchery, we may fyis No. XVII. Vol. III—N. S.

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