"I then told Rosella the cause of my illness, and "advised her against a marriage, the apprehensions "of which had, in all probability, cost me my life. "She fell on her knees by my bed-side, and, bath"ing my hands with her tears, begged I would en"deavour to recover; for if some body was to be "the victim of her unhappy passion, she was re❝solved it should be herself, since death would be "less terrible to her than offending me. I rejoiced,

and was surprised at her compliance, and hoped "her affections had not been so firmly rooted as I "since found. When I began to recover, she beg"ged leave to write to Alphonso, (for that was the 66 name of her lover) and give him an account of "the promise she had made, and the reasons "which forced her to it. He received the news "with inexpressible grief, and the next day left

his father's house; to which he has never yet

yet returned, nor has any body heard of him. I "have been so much touched with my daughter's "sufferings, and the patience with which she en"dured them, without ever upbraiding me as the "cause of them, that I now wish as ardently as she "does to see him return; that I may have the plea

sure of rewarding her filial piety, by giving her "hand where she long ago placed her heart." She could not end this relation without tears, in which her daughters accompanied her.

I own I was moved with compassion at the sto

ry of Rosella, and cannot take my thoughts from this charming retirement, or forget the beauty of Melissa, which was the name of the younger daugh

ter.

I staid till it was dark, and then took my leave, extremely delighted with so uncommon an adventure. Adieu.

BELLAMOUR.

1

1

LETTERS

MORAL AND ENTERTAINING.`

PART II.

LETTER I.

To Lady SOPHIA, from a young woman of quality, re-lating the occasion of her leaving her father's house. Madam,

W

HEREVER I am, it will be a pleasure to you, I am persuaded, to know I have found a retreat entirely to my own satisfaction. The occasion of my flight and concealment you are partly acquainted with. I found my father inflexi-ble in his resolution of marrying me to a foreigner of great distinction, one of his own princi-ples, a bigotted Papist. My mother, you know, was a strict Protestant, and, by her marriage ar-ticles, had secured her own liberty, and that of e-ducating her daughters in the same profession. I was their only child, carefully instructed in those sacred truths which, by the assistance of heaven, I never will renounce; but rather give up my title to all the dazzling advantages the world can tempt me with. It is for this I am a voluntary exile from

ry of Rosella, and cannot take my thoughts from this charming retirement, or forget the beauty of Melissa, which was the name of the younger daugh

ter.

I staid till it was dark, and then took my leave, extremely delighted with so uncommon an adventure. Adieu.

BELLAMOUR.

with lifted hands and grateful hearts, implored Heaven to reward her in a thousand blessings. A very pretty boy and girl, with sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, stood hanging on her apron; who, to mimic their mother, gave away all the little treasure they had in their pockets to the beggars' children; and then fell a crying, because she would not suffer them to pull off their own shoes and stockings to give to some that were bare-footed.

As soon as she had dismissed her dependants I offered my service, and told her the distresses to which I must be exposed if she refused me. She perceived my concern was unaffected; and seeing me young, with the bloom of health in my looks, (without any of that impertinent caution I expected) she agreed to receive me into her service. She then happened to want a servant, rather to share with her in the management of a large family than to be employed in any domestic drudgery. I know not why, but she seemed pleased with me; and I with equal content entered my new station without any melancholy reviews of my past grandeur,. the dignity of my birth, or the delicacy of my education. The glorious motive for which I had resigned the splendid vanities of life gave an unspeakable alacrity to my mind, and filled it with that ineffable peace that springs from conscious.

virtue :

Be these celestial consolations mine,