



Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger





CHARLOTTE TEMPLE

By Susanna Haswell Rowson



Contents:

CHAPTER I. A Boarding School.

CHAPTER II. Domestic Concerns.

CHAPTER III. Unexpected Misfortunes.

CHAPTER IV. Change of Fortune.

CHAPTER V. Such Things Are.

CHAPTER VI. An Intriguing Teacher.

CHAPTER VII. Natural Sense of Propriety Inherent in the Female Bosom.

CHAPTER VIII. Domestic Pleasures Planned.

CHAPTER IX. We Know Not What a Day May Bring Forth.

CHAPTER X. When We Have Excited Curiosity, It Is But an Act of
Good Nature to Gratify it.

CHAPTER XI. Conflict of Love and Duty.

CHAPTER XII. Nature's last, best gift: Creature in whom excell'd,
whatever could To sight or thought be nam'd! Holy, divine! good,
amiable, and sweet! How thou art falln'!--

CHAPTER XIII. Cruel Disappointment.

CHAPTER XIV. Maternal Sorrow.

CHAPTER XV. Embarkation.

CHAPTER XVI. Necessary Digression.

CHAPTER XVII. A Wedding.


VOLUME II.

CHAPTER XVIII. Reflections.

CHAPTER XIX. A Mistake Discovered.

CHAPTER XX. Virtue never appears so amiable as when reaching forth her
hand to raise a fallen sister. Chapter of Accidents.

CHAPTER XXI. Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see,
That mercy I to others show That mercy show to me. POPE.

CHAPTER XXII. Sorrows of the Heart.

CHAPTER XXIII. A Man May Smile, and Smile, and Be a Villain.

CHAPTER XXIV. Mystery Developed.

CHAPTER XXV. Reception of a Letter.

CHAPTER XXVI. What Might Be Expected.

CHAPTER XXVII. Pensive she mourn'd, and hung her languid head, Like a
fair lily overcharg'd with dew.

CHAPTER XXVIII. A Trifling Retrospect.

CHAPTER XXIX. We Go Forward Again.

CHAPTER XXX. And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to
sleep, A shade that follows wealth and fame, But leaves the wretch to
weep.

CHAPTER XXXI. Subject Continued.

CHAPTER XXXII. Reasons Why and Wherefore.

CHAPTER XXXIII. Which People Void of Feeling Need Not Read.

CHAPTER XXXIV. Retribution.

CHAPTER XXXV. Conclusion.





PREFACE.

FOR the perusal of the young and thoughtless of the fair sex, this Tale
of Truth is designed; and I could wish my fair readers to consider it as
not merely the effusion of Fancy, but as a reality. The circumstances
on which I have founded this novel were related to me some little time
since by an old lady who had personally known Charlotte, though she
concealed the real names of the characters, and likewise the place where
the unfortunate scenes were acted: yet as it was impossible to offer a
relation to the public in such an imperfect state, I have thrown over
the whole a slight veil of fiction, and substituted names and places
according to my own fancy. The principal characters in this little tale
are now consigned to the silent tomb: it can therefore hurt the feelings
of no one; and may, I flatter myself, be of service to some who are so
unfortunate as to have neither friends to advise, or understanding to
direct them, through the various and unexpected evils that attend a
young and unprotected woman in her first entrance into life.

While the tear of compassion still trembled in my eye for the fate of
the unhappy Charlotte, I may have children of my own, said I, to
whom this recital may be of use, and if to your own children, said
Benevolence, why not to the many daughters of Misfortune who, deprived
of natural friends, or spoilt by a mistaken education, are thrown on an
unfeeling world without the least power to defend themselves from the
snares not only of the other sex, but from the more dangerous arts of
the profligate of their own.

Sensible as I am that a novel writer, at a time when such a variety
of works are ushered into the world under that name, stands but a poor
chance for fame in the annals of literature, but conscious that I wrote
with a mind anxious for the happiness of that sex whose morals and
conduct have so powerful an influence on mankind in general; and
convinced that I have not wrote a line that conveys a wrong idea to
the head or a corrupt wish to the heart, I shall rest satisfied in the
purity of my own intentions, and if I merit not applause, I feel that I
dread not censure.

If the following tale should save one hapless fair one from the errors
which ruined poor Charlotte, or rescue from impending misery the heart
of one anxious parent, I shall feel a much higher gratification in
reflecting on this trifling performance, than could possibly result
from the applause which might attend the most elegant finished piece
of literature whose tendency might deprave the heart or mislead the
understanding.




CHARLOTTE TEMPLE,




VOLUME I



CHAPTER I.

A BOARDING SCHOOL.

"ARE you for a walk," said Montraville to his companion, as they arose
from table; "are you for a walk? or shall we order the chaise and
proceed to Portsmouth?" Belcour preferred the former; and they sauntered
out to view the town, and to make remarks on the inhabitants, as they
returned from church.

Montraville was a Lieutenant in the army: Belcour was his brother
officer: they had been to take leave of their friends previous to their
departure for America, and were now returning to Portsmouth, where the
troops waited orders for embarkation. They had stopped at Chichester
to dine; and knowing they had sufficient time to reach the place of
destination before dark, and yet allow them a walk, had resolved, it
being Sunday afternoon, to take a survey of the Chichester ladies as
they returned from their devotions.

They had gratified their curiosity, and were preparing to return to the
inn without honouring any of the belles with particular notice, when
Madame Du Pont, at the head of her school, descended from the church.
Such an assemblage of youth and innocence naturally attracted the young
soldiers: they stopped; and, as the little cavalcade passed, almost
involuntarily pulled off their hats. A tall, elegant girl looked at
Montraville and blushed: he instantly recollected the features of
Charlotte Temple, whom he had once seen and danced with at a ball at
Portsmouth. At that time he thought on her only as a very lovely child,
she being then only thirteen; but the improvement two years had made in
her person, and the blush of recollection which suffused her cheeks as
she passed, awakened in his bosom new and pleasing ideas. Vanity led him
to think that pleasure at again beholding him might have occasioned the
emotion he had witnessed, and the same vanity led him to wish to see her
again.

"She is the sweetest girl in the world," said he, as he entered the inn.
Belcour stared. "Did you not notice her?" continued Montraville: "she
had on a blue bonnet, and with a pair of lovely eyes of the same colour,
has contrived to make me feel devilish odd about the heart."

"Pho," said Belcour, "a musket ball from our friends, the Americans, may
in less than two months make you feel worse."

"I never think of the future," replied Montraville; "but am determined
to make the most of the present, and would willingly compound with any
kind Familiar who would inform me who the girl is, and how I might be
likely to obtain an interview."

But no kind Familiar at that time appearing, and the chaise which they
had ordered, driving up to the door, Montraville and his companion were
obliged to take leave of Chichester and its fair inhabitant, and proceed
on their journey.

But Charlotte had made too great an impression on his mind to be easily
eradicated: having therefore spent three whole days in thinking on her
and in endeavouring to form some plan for seeing her, he determined
to set off for Chichester, and trust to chance either to favour or
frustrate his designs. Arriving at the verge of the town, he dismounted,
and sending the servant forward with the horses, proceeded toward the
place, where, in the midst of an extensive pleasure ground, stood the
mansion which contained the lovely Charlotte Temple. Montraville leaned
on a broken gate, and looked earnestly at