fickleness of men's dispositions. 'Yet why should I upbraid him,' thought she; 'he has a family, a name to support, and ought to marry: Mrs Courtney is amiable, has a large independent fortune, respectable friends, and a noble origin to boast of; -what am I in a comparative view with her? Ah!' cried she, bursting into tears, 'the retrospection humbles and subdues both my pride and regret: what have I to do but to submit to the lowly state I am placed in, and bless at a distance those generous spirits that have enabled me to procure such an asylum as this.'
Mother Magdalene entered as she was wiping the tears from her cheeks; taking her hand affectionately between hers, 'My dear young lady, why those tears? spare me the pain of seeing you unhappy; remember this is but a short and transitory life; our pilgrimage through it is painful, no doubt thorns are strewed in our paths, sorrows planted in our bosoms; but if planted and strewed by others, where is the sting to afflict our own hearts? Believe me, dear lady, reason can subdue every affliction but what arises from a condemnation within; with a self-approving conscience we can look forward with hope; and if turbulent and ungracious spirits are too powerful for us to contend with here, we can trust to our Heavenly Father, that our sufferings and patience will meet with a recompence hereafter, far superior to the brightest expectations that can be formed in this life.' 'My dear friend and comforter, said Matilda, kissing her hand, 'be you my monitress if I grieve for temporal evils; yet, alas! my misfortunes are not common ones.' 'You think so,' answered Mother Magdalene; 'we are all apt to magnify our own troubles, and think them superior to what others feel; but, my dear child, you are yet a novice in affliction; when you know more of the world you will know also that there are varieties of misery which assail the human frame, -and 'tis our own feelings that constitute great part of our distress.'
Matilda sighed, and after a little pause, 'That I may not appear impatient, nor grieved at trifles, I will unbosom myself to you, and perhaps from you obtain that consolation I have hitherto sought in vain.'
She then related every part of her story, except the name of the Countess and situation of the castle.
Her gentle friend sympathized with her, and confessed, for so young a woman, her trials were very great. 'But still, my dear lady,' said she, 'I bid you hope; you have a Father and Protector, trust in him, and you will one day assuredly be happy. Another time you shall know my sad story, and will then confess, of the two, I have been most wretched; and, though I cannot entirely exclude a painful remembrance sometimes, yet I am now comparatively happy - my troubles no longer exist, and religion has restored peace to my mind. Adieu, my dear child, -take hope to your bosom and compose your spirit.' 'Yes,' cried Matilda, 'I will at least try to conquer one cause of my distress, and in destroying this fatal letter of Mrs Courtney's, lose all remembrance of the Count: surely after having so solemnly renounced him, I have no right either to complain of him or grieve for myself, -tis an unpardonable folly, for every way he is dead to me.' She threw the letter into the fire and walked into the garden.
In the evening she received another visit from her good mother, who was much pleased to see her so tranquil. Matilda reminded her of her promise to relate her history.
'My story, my dear child, is not a long one, but replete with many melancholy circumstances. My father was a merchant at Dunkirk; he married a very amiable woman, and had a numerous family - five girls and four boys; few people lived more respectable than they did, but they were not rich; a large family, liberal minds, and hearts always disposed to relieve the wants of others, precluded affluence, though they had a decent competence. The failure of a very capital house in England, with whom my father was materially connected, obliged him to go over, without loss of time; he embarked from Dunkirk. Alas! My dear child, we saw him no more! A storm overtook them, as 'tis supposed, and all on board perished, for the packet was never but once seen or heard of after. When this dreadful news arrived, my mother was weeping over a letter just received from a friend in London, with the intelligence, that the house which had failed could not pay a shilling in the pound, and from some particular connexions between them and my father, all his effects would be seized, and he was likewise declared, or included in the bankruptcy. One of those unhappy gossiping persons, fond of telling every thing, without considering the consequences, called upon my mother, as she was in an agony over the contents of this letter; 'Ah ! My dear madam," cried she, "I see you have received the fatal news?" "Yes," answered my mother, wringing her hands, "we are all undone for ever!" "But who," said she again, "could write you about it, for only the boat that is just come in saw the packet go down." "What packet?" cried my mother, starting. "Why the packet your good husband was in."
'She heard no more, but fell senseless on the floor. I had been out upon business, and entered the room just as this officious newsmonger and the servants were trying to raise and recover my wretched parent. A stranger to all the circumstances I was frightened to death almost, and teased every one to know what had happened; no one answered. It was some time before she was brought to life. With a look of horror I shall never forget, she cried, "Hermine, you have no longer a father, a friend, nor a home!" "Great God!" I exclaimed, "what is all this?" " 'Tis misery in extreme," said she, still with a fixed look and a dry eye; "your father is drowned, and I hourly expect every thing to be seized." "Well," cried she, rather wildly, "let it be complete! Ruin should not come by degrees." Two or three of the younger children came into the room; the moment she saw them she gave a violent shriek and fell into convulsions. Scarce in my senses, I flew about the house, and by my screams drew several persons to me. We got my mother up to her apartment, a physician was sent for, but it was many hours before she was restored; she lay three days at the point of death, the fourth the fever abated, and hopes were entertained of her life. This day a person came and took possession of the house and all our effects. By the interposition of a friend we were allowed to remain in it ten days. Judge, my dear young friend, what must have been my situation; a father dead, a mother scarcely alive, our whole property seized, -eight children younger than myself, I only fifteen, and all unprovided for -obliged to be the comforter, the supporter of all.
'Out of the numerous set of acquaintances we had, two only appeared as friends in our distress; one an old gentleman of small fortune, the other a young merchant, who had for some months paid particular attention to me, young as I was. These two persons interested themselves a good deal for us. My mother grew better, but her nerves were so shattered, that a kind of partial palsy took effect upon her speech, she spoke thick and scarcely intelligible; a sort of convulsive cry succeeded every attempt to talk; in short, her situation was most truly deplorable. Within a few days we were removed to the house of the old gentleman, without any one thing we could call our own, but clothes. This good and worthy man placed out my sisters in a convent, put my brothers to school, raised a subscription for their support, his own fortune being insufficient to maintain us all, and in fine, did every thing a father and friend could do, for the whole family. Not one of my mother's former gay acquaintance ever concerned themselves about her; she was poor and afflicted with sickness, "they could not bear to see a woman they esteemed in so miserable a situation, and therefore were obliged to give her up". Oh! My dear lady, of all the worldly evils that can befall us, surely there is nothing so painful to support as the ingratitude and contumely of those who once thought themselves honoured in your acquaintance: mere butterflies of the day ! They bask in the sunshine of your prosperity, but when night shuts in and sorrows assail you, they fly elsewhere, in search of those sweets you can no longer afford them, and despise what they once coveted and admired. Young, at that time, almost a stranger to mankind, I felt indignation and astonishment when I met any of our former friends -friends! Let me not profane the name of friendship! I mean intimates and companions; my civilities were repressed with scorn; my appearance glanced over with a look of contempt, and "poor souls, they are supported by charity, I pity them to my heart", said aloud in my hearing, with features expressive of every thing but pity.
'I will not dwell on things so common as ingratitude and hardness of heart; stings which you, my young friend, have never yet experienced, -heaven grant you never may, for 'tis a bitter cup to taste of. We lived in the manner I have described for near eight months, my poor mother so ill and helpless I could not leave her. The young gentleman I have mentioned payed me the same attention, and scrupled not to acquaint our good friend, it was his design, in a short time, to make me his wife. "If you do," said he, one day, "you shall have a father's blessing with her when I die; whilst I live I will support the children: but Hermine is a good girl -she who can, at