[* This article is extracted from the London Monthly Magazine.]
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+The HISTORY of Mrs. MORDAUNT.+
[Written by Herself.]
(Continued from our last.)
In a ramble one evening with her and her parents through a beautiful
valley, our admiration was excited by a cottage extremely small, but
exquisitely neat, which lay on the sloping bank of a meandering river,
shaded by old luxuriant trees---a bridge composed of planks formed a
passage from the vale to the cottage, we crost it in order to have a
better opportunity of gratifying our curiosity. We now saw a venerable
looking man who had before escaped our notice, sitting in a little sunny
glade, we stopt for fear of intruding on his solitude, but perceiving us
he instantly approached, and with a pleasing politeness requested we
would enter his humble abode. Harley with emotion exclaimed---“Good God!
surely that voice is not unknown to me.” “I am certain,” said the
stranger, “I have seen you before, though where I cannot immediately
recollect.” “If I am not mistaken,” cried Harley, “You are the worthy
Hume who was chaplain to the regiment in which I served.” “The same, the
same indeed,” replied he, returning his embrace---“the same unfortunate
man, whose setting life has been attended with a train of the severest
calamities.” The big tear stood trembling on Harley’s cheek---“Friend of
my youth,” said he---his voice faultered, but betrayed the sensibility
of his feelings. We accompanied Mr. Hume into his cottage, Harley and he
appeared delighted with this unexpected interview, both appeared anxious
to learn the occurrences which had past, during the long interval of a
separation. Harley’s delicacy prevented his enquiring too minutely into
those misfortunes Hume hinted at, which he, perceiving with a candour
that seemed genuine to his nature, declared he would inform us of those
events he had experienced, “a tale,” said he, “adapted for youth---they
will find the consequences of illicit passions, and how easily credulity
can be imposed on.
“The events of my life are uncommonly calamitous, misfortune has persued
me with unremitting vigour, I have lost the sweetest ties of life,
I have seen the form of loveliness mouldering away, the shroud of
darkness encompassing a mind replete with gentleness and pity, I have
beheld the inexorable ruffian rob innocence of its boast and the blossom
of beauty withering beneath the blast of affliction. Oh Harley, I have
endured all this, and yet I live---live to draw the tear of sympathy by
the recital of my fate.”