of faith, probity, or gratitude, and will disseminate this opinion wherever they go. I shall be dishonoured and defamed throughout the kingdom; I shall not dare to appear in society; and shall, in the end, die in despair, because an ob stinate woman will not consent to receive from me five thousand a year." The following day was spent in similar reflections. Sir Edward waited for the evening to pay his visit, hoping that the longer time he gave Mrs. Jones, the more likely she would be to comply with his request. As soon as the sun had set, he ascended his carriage; but before he reached his destination, the fineness of the evening induced him to proceed on foot to the Priory. Rather agitated, he entered the grounds; when, as he passed beside a summer-house at some distance from the mansion, he heard a female voice, whose tones were so sweetly plaintive, that he could not withstand the temptation of listening to the whole of the following well known ballad: AULD ROBIN GRAY. When the sheep are in the fauld and the kye at hame, And all the weary warld asleep is gane, to sea, And the crown and the pound were baith for me. He had nae been gone a year and a day, was stole away; My mither she fell sick, and Jamie at the sea, And auld Robin Gray came a courting to me. My faither cou'd nae wark, and my mither cou'd nae spin, I toil'd the day and night, but their bread I cou'd nae win; Auld Robin fed 'em beith, and wi' tears in his eye, His ship was a wrack; why did not Jeany die? But she look'd in my face, till my heart was like to break ; Sae they gied him my hand, tho' my heart was in the sea, And auld Robin Gray was gude man to me. I had nae been a wife but weeks only four, Sair, sair, did we greet, and mickle did we say, I gang like a ghaist, and I canna like to spin; But I'll do my best a gude wife for to be, During this time, Sir Edward had remained stationary at the side of the summer-house; but as soon as the voice ceased he advanced towards the entrance, and found himself before a female figure, whom he conjectured to be Frances, as the darkness would not allow him to recognize her features. She was alone, and held her handkerchief in her hand, as if she had been weeping. On perceiving Sir Edward, she arose and came to meet him, saying, in mournful accents, "Is it thus, Henry, you obey my commands? I wrote to you twice this morning, to entreat you not to venture here; I related to you the violent scenes which I daily endure with my aunt, and the resolution which she still persists in, of marrying me to Mr. Clements' odious cousin, whom I believe to be at this very moment in the house. I once more repeat to you, Henry, that I will rather die than be faithless to my promise; but on my side entreat you to return instantly to Oxford, and not on any account appear here again until this fatal marriage is broken off, and that Sir Edward, whom I hope soon to disgust by my hatred and contempt, has left this place." In speaking this, Frances had slowly approached our hero, whose face had been totally obscured by the overhanging of a willow; and as this was the spot where she usually met her lover, and that his figure greatly resembled Sir Edward's, her mistake was perfectly n turai. But now discovering his features, she screamed aloud, and precipitately fled. Our hero had no great desire of following her. More astonished than vexed at this adventure, he balanced whether he should now solicit an interview with Mrs. Jones. The fear of embarrassing the afflicted Frances by his presence, and of causing a new quarrel between the aunt and niece, added to the extreme repugnance he felt at having any point to discuss with the former, determined him to return immediately to Oxford. On his arrival there, he addressed a second letter to the Priory, apologizing for not having Сс kept his appointment, alledging that some urgent business had unexpectedly required his immediate presence in Londen; and that as she was already well acquainted with his wishes and sentiments, the proposed interview would have been useless, as he was irrevocably fixed in his determination, and no power on earth could make him alter it. He concluded by saying, that he should expect her answer in a few days. Impatient to rejoin Mrs. Harley, and his nind greatly tranquillized by the late transaction, he immediately set out for London. He was very desirous of returning to her, as independent of the pain he experienced at being separated from the object of his love, he had been severely vexed, and wished to enjoy her soothing advice. Those who possess an affectionate heart, added to a mild disposition, can appreciate better than any other the happiness of being beloved. The amiable widow approved our hero's conduct, and advised him to wait patiently for Mrs. Jones's answer. The praises she bestowed on him, and the kindness of his reception, calmed his uneasiness, and afforded him more real consolation than any other thing in the world could have done. He spent the whole of the day in Grosvenor.street, and at night departed to visit his old friend Mr. Harley. His design was to inform him of the result of his journey, and of the affair of the summer-house; and also to ask him, whether he was still of opinion that he ought to marry a young woman who was so tenderly attached to another. The old gentleman was not at home, and our hero resolved to await his return at a neighbouring coffee-house. He called for a glass of punch, and seated himself at a table where there were two young men, one of whom was entertaining the other with a newspaper, which he read sufficiently loud for Sir Edward to distinctly hear every word. At the sound of his name, all those who had read the above-mentioned paragraph, fixed their eyes on our hero, who, ready to expire with vexation, at being thus the object of impertinent curiosity, could alinost have wished to disown his name; but this being impracticable, he answered in the affirmative. "" By G-d I am glad I have met you at last," replied the stranger, "" for I have followed you with great impatience all the way from Oxford "" You are not known to me, Sir; pray what are your commands?" "You will soon be made acquainted with them. I—" "If we were to go out we should be more conveniently situated."-"Not in the least, for it rains. Besides, as you may have perceived, I have no secrets to impart; you shall learn my business in a moment. 1 for a long time have been attached to a young and lovely lady in the neighbourhood of Oxford, but her aunt wishes to bestow her on a friend of your's, whom, not a very honourable chance has made heir to a large fortune, to which he had not the smallest right. I am not fond of heirs, Sir; I have an antipathy towards them which I have never been able to conquer; and I would wish to tell the person in question the cause of my dislike.Could not you procure me an interview with him?"-" Nothing easier, the heir you speak of is very partial to interviews; and if you will follow me, you shall have satisfaction this instant." "No, not at present, it is dark, and I like to transact business by day-light. To-morrow morn 64 you please, Sir."—" Give me your hand upon it, Sir Edward; I am better pleased with you than I expected to be. You will then, I trust, be punctual."" You may depend on my word." "Will you allow me to taste your punch, for I am very thirsty ?" Willingly." "Your health, Sir!"-The stranger, or rather, as our readers have probably ere this discovered, Miss Jones's Henry, finished our hero's punch, agreed in a whisper to meet in Hyde-Park at five, and in stantly departed. What did our poor hero feel at listening to a circumstantial account of his own recent adventures? The occurrence was related in a verying, if it suits you."-" Perfectly so, whenever facetious style: it mentioned the embarrassing situation Sir Edward Seymour found himself in since he had had the severe affliction of inheriting a large fortune, of the many consultations he had solicited in London to discover some means of escaping so severe a misfortune. It also added, that he had undertaken a journey to Oxford for the sole purpose of asking the advice of Dr. —, and several others, to whose wisdom he paid great deference All this was accompanied with the writer's reflections, and many ill-natured personalities, the only weapons of fools and rascals, which this kind of satire is composed of, and is as easy as it is despicable. Sir Edward soon followed his example. I first care was to procure a friend to act as his second; he afterwards returned home, less occu Words are inadequate to express the feelings pied with the duel than with what the world would say of him. The quarrel has taken place of affection, which even savages would hold in public, thought he, and every body will learn that I am going to fight for a young lady in Oxford-hire. It will be reported that I am faithless to my Eliza, and every honest heart will de spise me. What will Eliza herself think? If I should fall, she will believe me unworthy of being regretted. If I kill my adversary, I must fly, and never see her more, and renounce a heart justly irritated against me. It is very extraordinary that, not having committed the smallest fault, which the most rigid morality, or the most refined affection could reproach me with, I see myself on the point of losing my Eliza, my own life, and the esteem of the whole universe! But I will write to Mrs. Harley-if I fall, my letter will unveil my conduct; if I conquer, she may perhaps pardon me. An Sir Edward began immediately his epistle; but scarcely had he sat down when he heard a noise on the staircase, and recognized the voice of Mr. Harley. Our hero opened the door to meet him; but scarcely had the old gentleman perceived him, than, terrified and breathless, he rushed into his arms, exclaiming, "Save me, my friend! 'tis in your power to restore me to life. I have just learned that to-morrow-" "Do not speak so loud," interrupted Sir Edward, shutting the door. "What has happened that can have agitated you in this manner?""What has happened?" rejoined Mr. Harley, "Why I am the most miserable of men. swer me quickly: is it true, that to-night in a coffee house —.” "Yes, it is but too true. A mad-brained fool, whom I never before saw, has followed me from Oxford, for the express purpose of picking a quarrel with me. He says, he is the lover of Frances, Mrs. Jones's daughter, whom you were so desirous that I should marry. I have most assuredly no wish of disputing with him on her account, and even I have had proofs that she loves him. The insult was public, and cannot be remedied; but to-morrow I hope to correct this young madman."-"To correct him! that is to say, to kill him! And do you know who this young man is ?"-"I have just told you that he is Miss Jones's lover." "It is my son! my dear son! the only child of your best friend! whom you hope to dispatch to-morrow! Sir Edward, I esteem you too much to believe it necessary to tell you, that in this affair that mistaken notion of honour, which we have inherited of our ferocious forefathers, is no longer in question. Your valour is well known, and can never be suspected; and you would be the worst of men, were you capable of sacrificing, to a detestable and horrid prejudice, love, friendship, religion, the respect due to my age, to the name of father, and to every tie || sacred." Sir Edward remained motionless; struck with surprise, terror, and dismay. "You do not answer me," continued the old man, with the animation of grief; "you hesitate in giving me your word that you will not dye your hand with the blood of my child, that you will not rob me of my only remaining support! What! a father, an aged man, your friend, the brother of your betrothed wife, supplicates you, with tears, not to commit a crime which would rob him of life; and you hesitate, O Seymour! Great God! this then is virtue! The man who would not, to save his life, his mistress, his honour, consent to injure any mortal, to deprive them of the smallest advantage, that man, for an erroneous point of honour, for an execrable prejudice, atrocious, ridiculous, which he even abhors, does not scruple to deprive his friend, an old man, a father, of his son, his only son, of all he values in the world, of all he holds precious, of the only gift which, coming from the Almighty, ought 10. be deemed sacred by his creatures; and this man, this murderer, wishes to be respected!In the name of Heaven, Sir Edward, listen to me; Henry, you say, has challenged you, has publicly insulted you: well, I am come to beg your pardon; and if this does not satisfy your barbarous honour, lead me wherever you please, tell me any spot in London where you would wish me to appear, to entreat your pardon, as I now do, embracing your knees, bathing them with my tears, sweeping the ground with these white locks, for which you feel no compassion." Saying these words, the old man fell at our hero's feet, who had hitherto listened to him in silence. He hastened to raise him, to fold him in his arms; and when his emotion would permit him to speak, "My dear friend," said he, "be assured, be very certain, that I do all that is in my power, when I give you my word of honour, that I will not attack the life of your son: confide in this promise. But I in my turn require a favour of you. Do not interfere in this affair; your cares, your reasonings, your measures, can only prove detrimental. Do not mention the subject to Henry, do not seek to meet him, or to follow him; reinain quietly at home until tomorrow morning at seven, then return here; you will, I trust, find me, and you may assist to reconcile us. If, on the contrary, you should not see me, you will take this letter, which you will find on my desk, to Mrs. Harley, it will inform you of all that I have done. De not exact any thing more of me. At all events, I pledge my word that your son will be in no danger; but if you take any other measures, my promise is no longer valid. Farewell, my dear old friend's son. I have now given you an exMr. Harley: I believe, I dare venture to affirm,planation of my conduct; decide upon it, and that you will be satisfied with my conduct. It is tell me what you mean to do.” past twelve o'clock, allow my servant to accom. pany you home, and leave me to enjoy a few hours rest, which I am greatly in need of." The old gentleman, struck with the calm and dignified air with which Sir Edward spoke, affectionately pressing his hand, promised to do all he desired; and left our hero at full liberty to conclude his letter. Seymour related all the events of the evening; and after having taken an af fectionate leave of Mrs. Harley, he swore that even in death she would be dear to him, and that his last breath should articulate her name. After having sealed his letter, somewhat more composed, he laid himself on his bed to await the hour of appointment. "To entreat your forgiveness, Sir," answered young Harley, "to supplicate you, before these gentlemen, to make my inexperience plead my excuse: love and youth had bewildered my ima. gination. Your noble conduct makes me blush for my errors. Accept my most sincere apologies, Sir Edward; and if my repentance, and the advantage you possess over me, is not sufficient to make you forget my offence, pronounce yourself the reparation you require, and I will cheerfully submit to it." Our hero now turned to the seconds, who had already put the pistols into their pockets. "Gentlemen," said he, are you satisfied?" Perfectly so, was the reply. "Well, then, I make you the guarantees of the promise I have just received from Mr. Harley; he has entreated me to name the reparation I require. This is it. The newspapers have doubtless informed you of the particulars of Mr. Clements' will, and of my, perplexity with respect to Miss Jones. The young lady's aunt has refused the offer I made, of divid At four o'clock he arose, and taking his pistols repaired to the house of the friend who had promised to be his second, and before five arrived in Hyde-Park. Henry Harley was already there. || The seconds measured the ground; and young Harley, who understood nothing of the rules of duelling, consented, at the desire of our hero, to fire the first shot. It passed through Sir Edward'sing the fortune left me with her niece, alledging hat, and threw it off his head at some distance. Our hero coolly took it up, and replacing it took aim at a young tree which stood at some distance from his antagonist, and pulling the trigger of his pistol, split asunder its feeble stem. ❝ You may now repeat your fire," said he to the astonished Henry. that Miss Jones could not receive a gift from any one but a husband. I ask Mr. Henry Harley to become that husband; and the reparation I require for the insult I have received is, that he will receive from me five thousand a year, which I vainly offered to his Frances." Young Harley, overcome by our hero's generosity, could only answer him by affectionately pressing his offered hand. The seconds warmly applauded Sir Edward's conduct, and they all hastened to his house, where they found Mr. Harley, senior, who anxiously expected them. Henry told him all that had passed; and the worthy old man shed tears of joy. His mind was so softened by what he had endured, that for the first time in his life he contradicted no one; and willingly consented to Sir Edward's offer. "I do not understand you, Sir," answered the youth," explain yourself. Why do you refuse returning my fire? Be assured that I deem your generosity an affront; treat me in the manner I have acted by you, or explain your strange behaviour."-" I prefer the latter to the former," replied Sir Edward, approaching him. "You are the son of my friend, Mr. Harley, for whom I have long entertained the liveliest esteem; far from wishing to attempt your life, I would willingly expose my own to defend it. You came to provoke me, to insult me, to prevent my marrying a young lady, whom I had previously, be. fore her aunt, formally refused. Honour compelled me not to refuse your challenge; honour required that I should expose my life; but it does not command me to attack yours. I am not angry with you; I have no cause to dislike you. But the prejudices of my country forced me to sacrifice my cool judgment to your folly,oratorial powers to persuade Mrs. Jones to conto your passion. If your breast still harbours resentment, we will begin again; then, if you miss me a second time, I will again repeat to you, that I have no greater desire of wedding Miss Jones than I have of terminating the days of my Our hero left them to fly to Grosvenor-street. He found Mrs. Harley at home, who had heard nothing of the duel, but was greatly affected at the relation of it. As nothing now remained to prevent the union of our lovers, their weddingday was fixed; and in a week Sir Edward be. came the happy husband of his Eliza. Old Mr. Harley departed for Oxford, to employ his sent to the marriage of his son with Frances; and for once his eloquence was crowned with success. On his informing her that Sir Edward's hand was no longer free, she willingly consented, and soon Henry and Frances were united. A close intimacy his ever subsisted be- || Edward, who, however, now acknowledges, that tween the two families, notwithstanding the fre- in some circumstances, it is rather difficult to E. R. quent arguments of Mr. Harley, senior, and Sir please every body. THE LADIES' TOILETTE; OR, ENCYCLOPEDIA OF BEAUTY. CHAP. XIII. On the beauty of the Skin. THE beauty of the skin contributes in so astonishing a manner to beauty in general, that many women who are deemed very handsome, possess no other advantage than that of a beautiful skin. Accordingly it is upon this essential part that women bestow in preference the most assiduous care. The greatest part of cosmetics have no other object than to preserve all the perfections, or to repair the defects of the skin. A white skin, slightly tinged with carnation, soft and smooth to the touch, is what we com monly call a fine skin. Such was the skin Anne of Austria, the mother of Louis XIV.; it was so delica'e that no cambric could be found fine enough to make her chemises. Cardinal Mazarine used to tell her, that if she went to hell, she should be condemned to suffer no other punishment than to lie in Holland sheets. The skin seldom possesses all the qualities requisite for its perfection, and when it does, various causes, external and internal, daily contribute to deprive it of them. In fact, the skin by its numerous relations with most of the internal organs, undergoes various kinds of alterations according to the different dispositions of those organs. It is seen alternately to lose its lustre, to become pale, yellow, brown, sun-burnt, greenish, purple, according to the different states of certain parts of the system. The apparent state of the skin depends, therefore, in a great measure on the state of the internal organs; accordingly, in our climate, carnation may be regarded as the true thermometer of the state of health. I say in our climate, where the whiteness of the skin renders the most delicate shades infinitely more perceptible.Thus a fresh and blooming tint, rosy lips, a lively and sparking eye, are indications of good health. But if the complexion pale, livid or lead coloured; if the eye is languid; if the lips are deprived of that charming coral hue, it may then be affirmed that the functions are deranged, that health is impaired. External causes are not less injurious to the beauty of the skin; and their influence is so much the more powerful as it is continually acting, and gradually destroys it, as water falling || drop by drop will at length wear a hole in a rock. The external causes which are incessantly concurring to destroy the beauty of the skin, are principally the air, the heat of the climate, and light. These three causes combined contribute to deprive it of that whiteness, that lustre, that polish, that delicacy, that softness, which enchant and delight us in more than one way. Every body knows what a difference there is between the parts of this orgin which are continually covered, and those that are constantly exposed to the contact of the air and light. It was in conformity with this incontestable truth that the first cosmetics were composed. They consisted, as we shall see in another place, of different kinds of pastes, applied at night to the face and removed the next morning. By this expedient, the ancients found means to skreen during that interval the parts, the delicacy of which they were desirous of preserving, from the influence of external causes. The ancients certainly acted agreably to an incontestible theory; but their practice was attended with some inconveniencie, so that it was found necessary to have recourse to other means, Nevertheless, the Venetian ladies, so celebrated for the admirable beauty of their complexion, still make use of a paste composed of flour and white of eggs; this they mould into a kind of mask, which they put on the face at night; thus renewing the custom which the ancients have recorded as practised by the courtezan Poppæ, and which the French historians inform us was used by the effeminate Henry III. of France. An eminent physician, De Senac, was of opinion that women would always retain a youthful |