nury;
while he, having triumphed over the virtue of the artless cottager,
rioted in all the intemperance of luxury and lawless pleasure.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

A TRIFLING RETROSPECT.

"BLESS my heart," cries my young, volatile reader, "I shall never have
patience to get through these volumes, there are so many ahs! and
ohs! so much fainting, tears, and distress, I am sick to death of the
subject." My dear, cheerful, innocent girl, for innocent I will
suppose you to be, or you would acutely feel the woes of Charlotte,
did conscience say, thus might it have been with me, had not Providence
interposed to snatch me from destruction: therefore, my lively, innocent
girl, I must request your patience: I am writing a tale of truth: I
mean to write it to the heart: but if perchance the heart is rendered
impenetrable by unbounded prosperity, or a continuance in vice, I expect
not my tale to please, nay, I even expect it will be thrown by with
disgust. But softly, gentle fair one; I pray you throw it not aside till
you have perused the whole; mayhap you may find something therein to
repay you for the trouble. Methinks I see a sarcastic smile sit on your
countenance.--"And what," cry you, "does the conceited author suppose
we can glean from these pages, if Charlotte is held up as an object of
terror, to prevent us from falling into guilty errors? does not La Rue
triumph in her shame, and by adding art to guilt, obtain the affection
of a worthy man, and rise to a station where she is beheld with respect,
and cheerfully received into all companies. What then is the moral
you would inculcate? Would you wish us to think that a deviation
from virtue, if covered by art and hypocrisy, is not an object of
detestation, but on the contrary shall raise us to fame and honour?
while the hapless girl who falls a victim to her too great sensibility,
shall be loaded with ignominy and shame?" No, my fair querist, I mean no
such thing. Remember the endeavours of the wicked are often suffered to
prosper, that in the end their fall may be attended with more bitterness
of heart; while the cup of affliction is poured out for wise and
salutary ends, and they who are compelled to drain it even to the bitter
dregs, often find comfort at the bottom; the tear of penitence blots
their offences from the book of fate, and they rise from the heavy,
painful trial, purified and fit for a mansion in the kingdom of
eternity.

Yes, my young friends, the tear of