THE next day the President wrote most kindly to Madeleine, but Constantia wrote not to Eugene; and another and another [NO. 18. breaking the seal, he read as fole lows: "Your letter, sir, has made me some amends for your unexpected and unwelcome declaration to me the last time we met, as it has enabled me to make the only reparation in my power to your fa excited in you an attachment at day found him anxious, disap-ther, and your friends, for having pointed, and miserable; and his father surprised and suspicious. At length, however, a packet was given to Eugene while the President was with him, and, on opening it, he found that it contained his own letter opened, and a sealed letter directed to himself. This is from Constantia, sir, said Eugene, turning very pale-open and read it. No, my son, I require no such sacrifice.-It is not a sacrifice, said Eugene. I request this, to show you the confidence I have in Constantia's principles, and to convince you that I am sure she can write nothing but what you must approve. The President smiled, half incredulously, and instantly "But before I address you on the reparation mentioned above, sir, let me explain to you the cause of the horror which I expressed when the state of your affections was so rashly revealed to me by our misguided friend and yourself. When I found myself a friendless, unprotected orphan-the child of disgrace as well as poverty-and feared that every mind would be prejudiced against me, as well as every heart be shut, I resolved so to conduct myself as to live down the prejudices existing againt me, and also endeavour to rescue, in a degree, the name of my injured parents from reproach, by proving, by my conduct, that they had given their child the best and most salutary prineiples of action; and the conclusion from this, I fondly flattered myself, would be-" Surely it is more probable that the d'Anglades were unjustly condemned, than that persons, criminal they were, should have taught their daughter to love the dictates of virtue and piety so dearly, as to make her walk through the dangers of the world with a reputation unclouded, and a virtue apparently free from stain." These blessed hopes supported me thro' all my sufferings, and often, very often, have I wetted my pillow with tears of joyful hope, while fancying that my rigid attention to my duties had at length obtained for me this desired reward. as "Judge, then, of my agony, when I found that you, the sole heir and representative of an an cient and honorable family had conceived for me a passion, fatal to your own peace, and had exposed me to the certain danger of being looked upon as an artful, unprincipled girl, endeavouring to persuade a young and inexperienced man of fortune to commit the rash and disgraceful action of uniting his fate to hers! t "Instantly I saw the just frowns of your irritated fatherI heard my fame forever destroyed by the indignant suspicions, and busy whispers of your relations; and all the fond hopes which had supported me with cheerfulness through my sorrows, cruelly, and forever annihilated! You know what followed-you know that I did see the frowns of your angry father; you also know, perhaps, that my fame has been traduced by him and your relations; but, fortunately, you have put it in my power to defend myself, in a degree, from these attacks, and repair the involuntary fault which I have committed, and I hasten to avail myself of the power which you have given me. You earnestly conjure me to accept your promise of never belonging to another, as you cannot be mine, and thus I answer you :-If my miserable and undeserved calamities excité your compassion-if my peace be dear, and my reputation sacred to To make this task easier to you, I solemnly assure you that, till I am informed of your marriage, you shall not only never see me, but never hear of me again. When you receive this letter, I shall be removed far from you, and the place of my abode will be a secret even to Madeleine. But when you have obeyed my wishes, and, happy, envied Eu gene! when you have been pres sed to the bosom of an affectionate father, and been told by him that you have fulfilled his fondest wishes, and are once more the pride and comfort of his lifewhy, then, perhaps, he and your family may speak kindly of her who used her influence over you for virtuous purposes; and I may contrive means, consistent with propriety, to send you my blessings and my thanks. "And now, what remains but that I should bid you a last adieu? But think not that I find this an easy task.-No, generous Eugene! I owe you an obligation which I can forget only in the grave. You have given me the proud consciousness that, though crushed beneath a load of unmerited obloquy, though friendiess, unprotected, and denied all hope of forming a virtuous connexion, and consequently liable to the object only of vicious love, there was yet one being, noble and just enough to feel for me a passion as honorable as it was ardent, to re spect my misfortunes, and to endeavor to alleviate them by attentions at once gratifying to my pride and my virtue ; and, above ail, who had a generous pleasure in soothing the wounded feelings of an affectionate child, by pronouncing his conviction of the innocence of her parents, and of the injustice of that sentence which had doomed them to misery and disgrace! "Evenings of happiness (never to return again!) farewell, farewell for ever! but never shall I forget you. "Generous Eugene! my pen still hesitates to bid you a final adieu-but I must write itFarewell! And I conjure you, if your dearest pleasure be com municating pleasure to me, make the sacrifice which I require of you!-Let me carry with m wherever I go, the consoling consciousness, that my esteem was of such consequence to you, that you were capable of any effort to deserve it; and that, being as jealous of my reputation as of your own, you were eager to remove the stain your love had fixed on it, by proving to your father, that my influence was a virtuous influence; and that, instead of loosening the bonds of filial piety and duty, it was my pride and my passion to strengthen and unite them still closer. "And now, farewell, Constantia D'Anglade.”. It is not to be supposed that the President could read, or that Eugene could hear, this letter without many hesitations and interruptions. On the contrary, the President sometimes paused, from his own emotion, but more frequently from the overpowering and phrensied emotion of his son; who, when he found that Constantia was probably gone where he should never see her more, and that her letter was indeed a final farewell, gave way to such extravagant bursts of grief, that his father was alarmed both for his life and reason; but, suddenly recollecting himself he sought the well earned gratification of hearing his father own that he had donc Constantia in justice, and that she was all that his fondness had described her to be. But the President was ย man of the world, and a man of experience; and, though a good man, a man of prejudices. He was convinced that d'Anglade was a villain, and he felt it difficult to believe in the disinterested virtue of his daughter; therefore, struggling with his better feelings, he succeeded in convincing himself, that Constantia's letter might possibly be written on purpose for his perusal, and in order to render Eugene's affections more violent, by making it appear difficult, if not impossible, for him to obtain her : and no sooner had this idea entered his head, than, proud of his own sagacity, he cherished and delighted in it; and while following the train of ideas to which it led, he forgot that Eugene was anxiously awaiting his reply. You do not speak-you do not answer me! cried Eugene, is it possible that letter can have failed of effect? There is no doubt of its being written for effect, réplied the President. Sir! exclaimed Eugene. I mean, replied the President, that it is very well written, if it be as well felt. If it be as well felt! cried Eugene. Yes, if mademoiselle d'Anglade be in earnest, if she is really gone, and has made it absolutely im |