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Orgilio heard my name, he fell into a fresh transport of rage, which ended in a delirium. The effect which this incident produced upon Eugenio, who waited at the end of the street for my return, cannot be describe ed: I prevailed upon him to go back to my house, where he sometimes hastily traversed the room, and sometimes sat fixed in a kind of stupid insensibility upon the floor. While he was in one of these fits, news was brought that his father was dead and had the morning after he was taken ill disinherited him, declaring that by the infamy of his conduct he had broke his heart.
Eugenio heard this account without any apparent surprise or emotion, but could not be persuaded to change his posture or receive any food; till his spirits being quite exhausted, sleep relieved him a few hours from the agony of his mind.
The night on which his father was buried, he wrapped himself up in a horseman's coat that belonged to my servant, and followed the procession at a distance on foot. When the ceremony was over, and the company departed, he threw himself on the grave; and hiding his face in the dust, wept over it in silence that was interrupted only by groans. I, who had fol. lowed him unperceived, did not think it prudent to intrude upon the solemnity of his sorrow, till the morning dawned; he was surprised, and I thought somewhat confounded to see me; he suffered me, however to lead him away, but neither of us uttered a word.
He told me the next day, that he would trouble me a few nights longer for a lodging, and in the mean time think of some means by which he might obtain a subsistence: he was, indeed, loially destitute, without money and without a profession; but he made no complaint, and obstinately refused all pecuniary assistance.
In less than a week afterwards, having converted his watch, bis sword, a snuff-box, and ring, into money, he engaged as a common sailor in a private undertaking to discover
the north-west passage to India.
When he communicated this desperate enterprize, he appeared perfectly composed. My dear friend,' said he, it has • been always my point of honour to obey the com• mands of GOD, the prime author of my being and
the ultimate object of my hope, at whatever risque; 6 and I do not repent that I have steadily adhered to • this principle at the expence of all that is valuable
upon earth: I have suffered the loss of fortune, of • love, and of fame; but I have preserved my integ
rity, and I know that I shall not lose my reward. • To these I would, indeed, add the esteem, though not the love of Amelia. She will hear of me as degraded and disinherited, a coward, a vagabond, and . a fugitive; and her esteem, I think, I have sufficient reason to give up: grief will wound her deeper than contempt; it is, therefore, best that she should despise me.
Some of those, by whom she is addressed, deserve her; and I ought not to withhold a fel. • icity which I cannot enjoy. I shall embark to mor
your friendly embrace is all the good that • I expect to receive from this country, when I depart in search of others which are unknown.'
To this address I was not in a condition to reply: and perceiving that I was overwhelmed with grief, he left me, perhaps, lest his purpose should be shaken, and my weakness should prove contagious.
On the morrow I attended him to the ship. He talked to me of indifferent things; and when we parted wrung my hand, and turned from me abruptly without speaking. I hasted into the boat which waita ed to bring me on shore, and would not again feel the pangs of yesterday for all the kingdoms of the world.
Such is the friend I have lost! such is the man, whom the world has disgraced for refusing a challenge! but none who are touched with pily at his misfortunes, wish that he had avoided them by another conduct; and not to pity Eugenio, is surely to
be a monster rather than a man. It may, perhaps, be questioned, whether I ought thus to have exhibited his story under feigned names; or have a right to attempt that which he forebore. My love to him, is, indeed, my motive: but I think my conduct is just, when I consider, that though it is possible that Amelia may, by the perusal of this paper, suffer the most tender, and, therefore, the most exquisite distress, by the re-establishment of her esteem for him who most deserves it; yet the world may derive new virtue, from the dignity which the character of Eugenio reflects upon his conduct: his example is truly il lustrious; and as it can scarce fail to excite emula. tion, it ought not to be concealed. Benevolus.
THE SEQUEL, BY AGRESTIS. There are some particulars in my character, which, perhaps, Benevolus has mistaken: but I love plain dealing; and as he did not intend to flatter me, I for. give him: perhaps my heart is as warm as another's, and I am no stranger to any principles that would lead a man to a handsome thing. But to the point. I approve of the story of Eugenio being published; and I am determined the world shall not lose the sequel of it.
You must know, that I had observed my girl to go moping about of late more than come mon; though in truth she has been somewhat grave ever since she dismissed Ventosus. I was determined to keep an eye upon her; and so watching her pretty closely, I catched her last Saturday was se’nnight al. most drowned in tears with papers * in her hand, I laid hold of them in an instant, and putting on my spectacles began to read with a shrewd suspicion that I should find out a secret. Her passion of crying still increased; and when I looked here and there in the papers, I was convinced that she was by some means
* The foregoing part of this story contained in No. 64, 65, and 66, of the “Adventurer."
deeply interested in the story, which, indeed appear. ed to me to be full of misfortune. In short, I pressed her so home upon the subject that she told me who were meant by the names, so I began to read with great eagerness; though to confess a truth, I could scarce see the three last pages. Odds my-life, thinks I, what an honest fellow this Eugenio is! and leering up at my girl, I thought I never saw her look so like her mother before. I took her about the neck and kissed her; but I did not tell her what I had in my head; however, to encourage her, I bid her be a good child; and instantly ordering my coach, I went directly to Benevolus, of whom I enquired the ship's name on board of which Eugenio was embarked, and when she sailed. The doctor, whether he guessed at my intention or not, looked as if he would have leaped out of his skin; and told me with a kind of wild eagerness, that the vessel having met with an accident in going out was put back, and then lay in the river near Gravesend.
With this intelligence I returned to my daughter, and told her my mind. 'Em• my,' says, 1, 'the captain was always in my opinion a worthy man; and when I had reason to believe you liked him, I did not resolve to part you because • he was without a title or an estate, but because I
could not be reconciled to his profession, I was de"termined you should never marry a cockade, and carry a knapsack; and if he had been a general offi. cer, I would have preferred an honest citizen, who encourages trade and navigation, before him. Be. • sides, I was angry that you should hold a private • correspondence, and think to carry your point with . out me: but you were greatly misrepresented; so . was the captain. He has gallantly removed all my • objections at once; he is not now in the army, nor • has he ever attempted to subvert my authority; he is 6 a true heart, and I feel that I love him as my son, • He is still within reach, and you shall this moment
write to him with your own hand, and tell him, that • I say he shall be your husband. I have money e
nough for ye both; and if I please, I can make him "a lord.' The poor child sat with her handkerchief up to her eyes while I was speaking, and I did not immediately perceive, that, upon hearing the captain was not gone, she had fainted. We could scarce keep
life in her for above two hours; but at last she a little El recovered her spirits, and brought me the following billet.
To Eugenio. • My dear papa commands me to intreat, that you would immediately come on shore, and from this hour consider his house as your own. He is greatly affected with the story of your generosity • and distress, which he has just learnt by an accident • which I cannot now communicate; and he is deter• mined to make you his heir, without prejudice to,
sir, your humble servant,
• Amelia.' When I had perused this epistle, “Pshaw!' says I, put affectionate at the end of it, or else he won't come now.' This made her smile. I was glad to see her look cheerful; and having with some difficul. ty procured the proper addition, I dispatched the letter instantly by my own servant on horseback, and ordered a light chariot and four to follow him, and take up Eugenio's friend, the doctor, by the
I will not say how Eugenio, as he is called, behaved upon the receipt of this letter; it is enough, that in about eight hours he arrived with his friend at my house: neither will I tell you how the lovers behave ed when they met; it is enough that they are to be married next Thursday.
From the “ Adventurer."