"I am obliged to Sir James," replied Philip; but, he is acquainted with my sentiments; and, give me leave to say, I should do little justice to the pains you, my revered friend, have thought proper to bestow on me, could I (like a weathercock) shift from a resolve founded upon reason and principle. I am not the first who has ventured on the world, unusher'd; but, whatever may be my destiny, I will not so far. forget my debt to you, as to commit an action that may call the blush of shame into my cheek."

"I never doubted it. But, this is no part of your answer to what I have said to you. Do you reject Sir James's offer? If so, I know a pair of blue eyes that will shed tears in abundance. Nay, don't affect ignorance of my meaning; you cannot but be aware, that Caroline Stanhope regrets your proposed departure.'

"She is all goodness, and Heaven will reward her. But, ere we part, sir, allow me to give you a commission. You know the confined circumstances of those who rear'd me; and it is my wish, as far as my means

will admit, to render their latter days comfortable. I have three hundred pounds in my possession, one of which they rejected, when I tender'd it. Now, sir, I venture to entreat, that you will take charge of that sum, and give it to them, in such a manner as may seem best to your own good sense."

"Generous, good, young man!" exclaim'd the tutor. "Providence will take especial care of you, I doubt not. Farewell! Philip, farewell!-persevere in virtue, and be as happy as I wish you!"

Philip threw himself on the bed; but sleep was banish'd from his lids, and the sun usher'd in the morning, ere he had closed them. He arose, and proceeded towards the stable, where his horse was ready saddled; having left orders that his apparel, &c. should be forwarded by the first conveyance to London.

In the hall, he was accosted by Miss Stanhope's woman, who deliver'd him a letter, wish'd him a pleasant journey, and disappear'd.

Philip broke the seal, and perused the following lines:

If you are as liberal in sentiment as I have every reason, as well as inclination, to believe, you will not, surely, condemn the step now taken by me; nor will you permit an erroneous sense of delicacy to deprive me of the satisfaction of showing myself your friend. You are, evidently, possess'd of every thing a good man ought to have, save money; while I have more than should, or would, have been my portion, had not Fortune been as blind, as she is said to be.

"If from wealth we derive happiness, the. feeling mind can experience none, equal to that of conferring happiness on those we esteem; and under that selfish consideration, I now venture to beg you will accept the inclosed trifle.

"By condescending to accede to this request, you will confer a favor; whilst a refusal will inflict a wound, in addition to the one you have, so recently, caused, in my heart. Perhaps, I ought to blush for having indited the last sentence-I know not-I speak the language of resistless nature-and cannot smother her dictates. The world, I know, would condemn me-let it-I can

smile at the reproaches of the malicious, while my own conscience forbears to upbraid me. But, enough of what must (to you) be uninteresting. Adieu! and that every happiness may attend you, shall be the prayer of,

"Your well-wisher,

"CAROLINE STANHOPE."

The letter contain'd a bank-note for two hundred pounds; and, though he felt every lively emotion, save love, towards the fair donor, Philip could not reconcile the thought of pecuniary aid from the hand of a female. He wrote a few lines, expressive of his feelings, in which he return'd the money; then mounted his horse, and commenced his journey.

CHAPTER VIII.

Adieu to the village delights.

Silence is only commendable

LYTTLETON.

In a neat's tongue dry'd, and a maid not vendible.

SHAKSPEARE,

WITH a heart torn by a contrariety of emotions, Philip departed from Oakendale; the spot which, from early infancy, had been the place of his abode. He paused on the summit of the hill, whence he was to take a last view of the scenes of his youth; and a sigh burst from him, as he gazed on the smoke which issued from Thomas Hardyman's cottage, embosom'd in a copse of elms.

"There," said he, "there is the abode of honesty and innocence of my beloved Rachel! perhaps, she will, sometimes, be