you are not a woman to be decided by personal accomplishments."

"And you will not allow me to be decided by solid good qualities,” said Belinda. "So by what must I be determined?” "By your heart, my dear; by your heart: trust your heart only."

"Alas!" said Belinda, "how many, many women have deplored their having trusted to their hearts only."

"Their hearts! but I said your heart: mind your pronouns, iny dear; that makes all the difference. But, to be serious, tell me, do you really and bona fide, as my old uncle the lawyer used to say, love Mr. Vincent?"

"No," said Belinda, " I do not love him yet."

"But for that emphatic yet, how I should have worshipped you! I wish I could once clearly understand the state of your mind about Mr. Vincent, and then I should be able to judge how far I might indulge myself in raillery without being absolutely impertinent. So without intruding upon your confidence, tell me whatever you please."

"I will tell you all I know of my own mind," replied Belinda, looking up with an ingenuous countenance. "I esteem Mr. Vincent; I am grateful to him for the proofs he has given me of steady attachment, and of confidence in my integrity. I like his manners and the frankness of his temper; but I do not yet love him, and till I do, no earthly consideration could prevail upon me to marry him."

"Perfectly satisfactory, my dear Belinda; and yet I cannot be quite at ease whilst Mr. Vincent is present, and my poor Clarence absent: proximity is such a dangerous advantage even with the wisest of us. The absent lose favour so quickly in Cupid's court, as in all other courts; and they are such victims to false reports and vile slanderers!"

Belinda sighed.

"Thank you for that sigh, my dear," said Lady Delacour. "May I ask, would you, if you discovered that Mr. Vincent had a Virginia, discard him for ever from your thoughts?"

"If I discovered that he had deceived and behaved dishonourably to any woman, I certainly should banish him for ever from my regard."

With as much ease as you banished Clarence Hervey ?" "With more, perhaps."

"Then you acknowledge—that's all I want-that you liked Clarence better than you do Vincent ?"

"I acknowledge it," said Belinda, colouring up to her temples; "but that time is entirely past, and I never look back to it."

"But if you were forced to look back to it, my dear,—if Clarence Hervey proposed for you,—would not you cast a lingering look behind?"

"Let me beg of you, my dear Lady Delacour, as my friend," cried Belinda, speaking and looking with great earnestness; "let me beg of you to forbear. Do not use your powerful influence over my heart to make me think of what I ought not to think, or do what I ought not to do. I have permitted Mr. Vincent to address me. You cannot imagine that I am so base as to treat him with duplicity, or that I consider him only as a pis-aller; no-I have treated, I will treat him honourably. He knows exactly the state of my mind. He shall have a fair trial whether he can win my love; the moment I am convinced that he cannot succeed, I will tell him so decidedly but if ever I should feel for him that affection which is necessary for my happiness and his, I hope I shall without fear, even of Lady Delacour's ridicule or displeasure, avow my sentiments, and abide by my choice."

"My dear, I admire you," said Lady Delacour; "but I am incorrigible; I am not fit to hear myself convinced. After all, I am impelled by the genius of imprudence to tell you, that, in spite of Mr. Percival's cure for first loves, I consider love as a distemper that can be had but once."

"As you acknowledge that you are not fit to hear yourself convinced," said Belinda, "I will not argue this point with you."

"But you will allow," said Lady Delacour, "as it is said or sung in Cupid's calendar, that

'Un peu d'amour, un peu de soin,

Menent souvent un cœur bien loin ;'"

and she broke off the conversation by singing that beautiful French air.

CHAPTER XXV.

LOVE ME, LOVE MY DOG.

THE only interest that honest people can take in the fate of rogues is in their detection and punishment; the reader, then, will be so far interested in the fate of Mr. Champfort, as to feel some satisfaction at his being safely lodged in Newgate. The circumstance which led to this desirable catastrophe was the anonymous letter to Mr. Vincent. From the first moment that Marriott saw or heard of the letter, she was convinced, she said, that "Mr. Champfort was at the bottom of it." Lady Delacour was equally convinced that Harriot Freke was the author of the epistle; and she supported her opinion by observing, that Champfort could neither write nor spell English. Marriott and her lady were both right. It was a joint, or rather a triplicate performance. Champfort, in conjunction with the stupid maid, furnished the intelligence, which Mrs. Freke manufactured; and when she had put the whole into proper style and form, Mr. Champfort got her rough draught fairly copied at his leisure, and transmitted his copy to Mr. Vincent. Now all this was discovered by a very slight circumstance. The letter was copied by Mr. Champfort upon a sheet of mourning paper, off which he thought that he had carefully cut the edges; but one bit of the black edge remained, which did not escape Marriott's scrutinizing eye. "Lord bless my stars! my lady," she exclaimed, "this must be the paper-I mean may be the paper-that Mr. Champfort was cutting a quire of, the very day before Miss Portman left town. It's a great while ago, but I remember it as well as if it was yesterday. I saw a parcel of black jags of paper littering the place, and asked what had been going on? and was told, that it was only Mr. Champfort who had been cutting some paper; which, to be sure, I concluded my lord had given to him, having no further occasion for,- -as my lord and you, my lady, were just going out of mourning at that time, as you may remember."

Lord Delacour, when the paper was shown to him, recognized it immediately by a private mark which he had put on the out

side sheet of a division of letter paper, which, indeed, he had never given to Champfort, but which he had missed about the time Marriott mentioned. Between the leaves of this paper his lordship had put, as it was often his practice, some bank notes: they were notes but of small value, and when he missed them he was easily persuaded by Champfort that, as he had been much intoxicated the preceding night, he had thrown them away with some useless papers. He rummaged through his writing-desk in vain, and then gave up the search. It was true that on this very occasion he gave Champfort the remainder of some mourning paper, which he made no scruple, therefore, of producing openly. Certain that he could swear to his own private mark, and that he could identify his notes by their numbers, &c., of which he had luckily a memorandum, Lord Delacour, enraged to find himself both robbed and duped by a favourite servant, in whom he had placed implicit confidence, was effectually roused from his natural indolence: he took such active and successful measures, that Mr. Champfort was committed to gaol, to take his trial for the robbery. To make peace for himself, he confessed that he had been instigated by Mrs. Freke to get the anonymous letter written. This lady was now suffering just punishment for her frolics, and Lady Delacour thought her fallen so much below indignation, that she advised Belinda to take no manner of notice of her conduct, except by simply returning the letter to her, with "Miss Portman's, Mr. Vincent's, and Lord and Lady Delacour's, compliments and thanks to a sincere friend, who had been the means of bringing villany to justice."

So much for Mrs. Freke and Mr. Champfort, who, both together, scarcely deserve an episode of ten lines.

Now to return to Mr. Vincent. Animated by fresh hope, he pressed his suit with Belinda with all the ardour of his sanguine temper. Though little disposed to fear any future evil, especially in the midst of present felicity, yet he was aware of the danger that might ensue to him from Clarence Hervey's arrival; he was therefore impatient for the intermediate day to pass, and it was with heartfelt joy that he saw the carriages at last at the door, which were actually to convey them to Oakly-park. Mr. Vincent, who had all the West Indian love for magnificence,

had upon this occasion an extremely handsome equipage. Lady Delacour, though she was disappointed by Clarence Hervey's not appearing, did not attempt to delay their departure. She contented herself with leaving a note, to be delivered to him on his arrival, which, she still flattered herself, would induce him immediately to go to Harrowgate. The trunks were fastened upon the carriages, the imperial was carrying out, Marriott was full of a world of business, Lord Delacour was looking at his horses as usual, Helena was patting Mr. Vincent's great dog, and Belinda was rallying her lover upon his taste for "the pomp, pride, and circumstance of glorious travelling—when an express arrived from Oakly-park. It was to delay their journey for a few weeks. Mr. Percival and Lady Anne wrote word, that they were unexpectedly called from home by Lady Delacour did not stay to read by what, or by whom, she was so much delighted by this reprieve. Mr. Vincent bore the disappointment as well as could be expected; particularly when Belinda observed, to comfort him, that "the mind is its own place;" and that hers, she believed, would be the same at Twickenham as at Oakly-park. Nor did she give him any reason to regret that she was not immediately under the influence of his own friends. The dread of being unduly biassed by Lady Delacour, and the strong desire Belinda felt to act honourably by Mr. Vincent, to show him that she was not trifling with his happiness, and that she was incapable of the meanness of retaining a lover as a pis-aller, were motives which acted more powerfully in his favour than all that even Lady Anne Percival could have looked or said. The contrast between the openness and decision of his conduct towards her, and Clarence Hervey's vacillation and mystery; the belief that Mr. Hervey was or ought to be attached to another woman; the conviction that Mr. Vincent was strongly attached to her, and that he possessed many of the good qualities essential to her happiness, operated every day more and more strongly upon Belinda's mind.

Where was Clarence Hervey all this time? Lady Delacour, alas! could not divine. She every morning was certain that he would appear that day, and every night she was forced to acknowledge her mistake. No inquiries-and she had made all