man beings, at least such as resemble you. You have already conferred more favours than I could merit at your hands." Miss Maynard seemed disconcerted--she looked grave. "It is a sign you think so," said she, in a tone of voice that shewed she was piqued, "as you have taken such pains to explain away an involuntary compliment.--But I have already exceeded the bounds I prescribed to myself
in this visit--it is time to leave you."
I felt abashed, and found myself incapable of saying any thing to clear myself from the imputation of insensibility or ingratitude, without betraying the tenderness which I really possessed for her, yet which I thought, circumstanced as I was, would be ungenerous to the last degree to discover, as it would be tacitly laying claim to her's. The common rules of politeness, however, called on me to say something.--I respectfully took her hand, which trembled as much as mine. "Dear Miss Maynard," said I, "how shall I thank you for the pleasure your company has conveyed to my bosom?" Even then thinking I had said too much, especially as I by an involuntary impulse found my fingers compress her's, I added, "I plainly see the impropriety of asking you to renew your goodness--I must
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not be selfish, or urge you to take any step for which you may hereafter condemn yourself."
"I find, Sir," she replied, "your prudence is greater than mine. I need never apprehend danger from such a monitor."
"Don't mistake me," said I, with a sigh I could not repress. "I doubt I have," returned she, "but I will endeavour to develop your character. Perhaps, if I do not find myself quite perfect, I may run the risk of taking another lesson, unless you should tell me it is imprudent." So saying, she left me. There was rather an affectation of gaiety in her last speech, which would have offended me, had I not seen it was only put on to conceal her real feelings from a man, who seemed coldly insensible of her invaluable perfections both of mind and body.--Yet how was I to act? I loved her with the utmost purity, and yet fervour. My heart chid me for throwing cold water on the tenderness of this amiable girl;--but my reason told me, I should be a villain to strive to gain her affections in such a situation as I was. Had I been lord of the universe, I would have shared it with my Maria. You will ask, how I could so easily forget the lowness of my fortune in my connexion with her cousin? I answer, the case was widely different--I then made a figure in
life equal to my birth, though my circumstances were contracted.--Now, I was poor and in prison:--then, I listened only to my passions--now, reason and prudence had some sway with me. My love for my late wife was the love of a boy;--my attachment to Maria the sentiments of a man, and a man visited by, and a prey to, misfortune. On reflection, I found I loved her to the greatest height. After passing a sleepless night of anguish, I came to the resolution of exculpating myself from the charge of insensibility, though at the expence of losing sight of her I loved for ever. I wrote her a letter, wherein, I freely confessed the danger I apprehended from
the renewal of her visit.--I opened my whole soul before her, but at the same time told her, "I laid no claim to any more from her than compassion; shewed her the rack of constraint I put on myself, to conceal the emotions of my heart, lest the generosity of her's might involve her in a too strong partiality for so abject a wretch. I hoped she would do me the justice to believe, that as no man ever loved more, so no one on earth could have her interest more at heart than myself, since to those sentiments I sacrificed
every thing dear to me." Good God! what tears did this letter cost me! I sometimes condemned myself, and thought it false generosity.--Why should I, said I to myself, why should I thus cast happiness away from two, who seem formed to constitute all the world
to each other?--How rigorous are thy mandates, O Virtue! how severe thy decree! and oh! how much do I feel in obeying thee! No sooner was the letter gone, than I repented the step I had pursued.--I called myself ungrateful to the bounty of heaven; who thus, as it were, had inspired the most lovely of women with an inclination to relieve my distress; and had likewise put the means in her hands.--These cogitations contributed neither to establish my health, or compose my spirits. I had no return to my letter; indeed
I had not urged one. Several days I passed in a state of mind which can be only known to those who have experienced the same. At last a pacquet was brought me. It contained an ensign's commission in a regiment going to Germany; and a paper sealed up, on which was written, "It is the request of M.M. that Mr. Grenville does not open this till he has crossed the seas."
There was another paper folded in the form of a letter, but not sealed; that I hastily opened, and found it contained only a few words, and a bank bill of an hundred pounds. The contents were as follow:
"True love knows not the nice distinctions you have made,--at least, if I may be allowed to judge from my own feelings, I think it does not. I may, however, be mistaken, but the error is too pleasing to be relinquished; and I would much rather indulge it, than listen at present to the cold prudential arguments which a too refined and ill-placed generosity points out. When you arrive at the place of your destination, you may gain a farther knowledge of a heart, capable at the same time of the tenderest partiality, and a firm resolution of conquering it."
Every word of this billet was a dagger to my soul. I then ceased not to accuse myself of ingratitude to the loveliest of women, as guilty of false pride instead of generosity. If she placed her happiness in my society, why should I deprive her of it? As she said my sentiments were too refined, I asked myself, if it would not have been my supreme delight to have raised her from the dregs of the people to share the most exalted situation with me? Why should I then think less highly of her attachment, of which I had received such proofs, than I was convinced mine was capable of ? For the future, I was determined to sacrifice these nice punctilios, which were ever opposing my felicity, and that of an amiable woman, who clearly and repeatedly told me, by her looks, actions, and a thousand little nameless attentions I could not mistake, that her whole happiness depended on me. I thought nothing could convince her more thoroughly of my wish of being obliged to her, than the acceptance of her bounty: I made no longer any hesitation about it. That very day I was released from my long confinement by the grace-act, to the utter mortification of my old prosecutor. I drove
immediately to some lodgings I had provided in the Strand; from whence I instantly dispatched a billet-doux to Maria, in which I said these words:
"The first moment of liberty I devote to the lovely Maria, who has my heart a slave. I am a convert to your assertion, that love makes not distinctions. Otherwise, could I support the reflection, that all I am worth in the world I owe to you? But to you the world owes all the charms it has in my eyes. We will not, however, talk of debtor and creditor, but permit me to make up in adoration what I
want in wealth. Fortune attends the brave.--I will therefore flatter myself with returning loaden with the spoils of the enemy, and in such a situation, that you may openly indulge the partiality which makes the happiness of my life, without being put to the blush by sordid relations.
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I shall obey your mandates the more chearfully, as I think I am perfectly acquainted with every perfection of your heart; judge then how I must value it. Before I quit England, I shall petition for the honour of kissing your hand;--but how shall I bid you adieu!"
The time now drew nigh when I was to take leave of my native land--and what was dearer to me, my Maria.--I was too affected