less frequent; he forgot the solemn charge given him by Montraville; he
even forgot the money entrusted to his care; and, the burning blush of
indignation and shame tinges my cheek while I write it, this disgrace to
humanity and manhood at length forgot even the injured Charlotte; and,
attracted by the blooming health of a farmer's daughter, whom he had
seen in his frequent excursions to the country, he left the unhappy girl
to sink unnoticed to the grave, a prey to sickness, grief, and penury;
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