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The Fortunate Accident.

IN the course of a tour in the south of Europe I remained for a short time in Florence, before proceeding to Naples. It was in autumn-the most delightful season of the year in the Tuscan capital. The beauty of its situation, its splendid edifices, and brilliant streets, are then seen to the best advantage; while the peculiarly lively, animated appearance of the inhabitants awakens emotions of the most pleasant description. The country, not less than the city, is fitted in a high degree to excite interest. The whole vale presents the aspect of a continued grove and garden, enhanced in beauty by the graceful windings of the river Arno, which intersects it from east to west. Numerous white villas, situated along its banks, strike the eye through the extensive orchards; and romantic residences, equally beautiful, stud the surrounding hills, rising in every variety of form, till the prospect is bounded by the lofty Apennines.

With such inducements to perambulate, I was daily abroad. One of my favourite routes was the line of road leading to the Abbey of Vallambrosa, a place the name of which must be familiar to every reader of Milton's Paradise Lost. In this direction I frequently met an elderly gentleman

and a lady, apparently his daughter, generally riding in an open vehicle. There was something in her appearance that affected me deeply. She seemed about twenty years of age. Her features were of nature's finest mould, and her whole form was elegance and grace. I could easily perceive, however, that a settled melancholy rested on her countenance-the sure indication that grief, deep and poignant, preyed upon her heart. The rose's bloom, indeed, had not left her cheek; but consumption seemed prematurely to have begun its work, and I could not help exclaiming to myself as she passed," My dear young lady, the destroyer has already marked you as his victim, and you are destined ere long to enter the gates of the city of the dead."

Having met her father shortly afterwards at the house of a friend, I availed myself of the opportunity of inquiring after her health. This was evidently touching a tender chord. After answering my inquiry, and informing me he expected her that day to join the party at dinner, he thus proceeded:

"I perceive, sir, that you are, like myself, comparatively a stranger in Florence. It is little more than three months since I left Scotland with my daughter, to try what a change of air and a variety of scenery might effect in the restoration of her health. Hitherto our tour has been productive of no benefit to her, and I am beginning to fear that the results may be fatal. The anticipation of such an event is to me the more dreadful, for I have myself to blame as the sole cause of her present affliction. Amelia is my only child. She had the advantage of being trained under one of the best of mothers till she was twelve years of age, when she was sent to a boarding school in the neigh

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bourhood of London. She remained there for nearly four years, when the illness of her mother rendered it necessary to recall her home. was a trying season to Amelia. She neglected all attention to her own personal comfort, watching night and day by her mother's bedside, and administering to her wants with the most endearing tenderness. Never did a daughter display greater intensity of filial affection, and never was there a parent who better deserved it. But every effort that affection or medical aid could devise was ineffectual. Disease continued to extend its ravages, till Amelia was rendered motherless, and I was deprived of one of the most valuable of womankind. Among those who visited her during her illness, none was more unwearied in his attentions than Mr R, the respected tutor at Rosehall. With her, even when in health, as well as with myself, he had always been in high esteem; and it gave us great pleasure when he occasionally spent an afternoon or evening with us at Bentley House. He was a young gentleman of unaffected piety and engaging manners. He had distinguished himself at the University by the extent and variety of his classical and literary acquirements. Unsuspicious of danger, I encouraged his visits after the death of my wife, and his interesting conversation tended much to relieve our minds of the grief consequent on such a bereavement. Amelia herself did everything she could to comfort me; and I was thankful to Heaven that I had been blessed with such a daughter. Every month she became more endeared to me by her affectionate attentions. With rapture I viewed her rising to womanhood, acquiring those accomplishments which were fitted to adorn the situation in society which she appeared des»

tined to occupy. At home or abroad, there was no one in my estimation superior, or even equal, to Amelia; and the flattering attention everywhere shown her was but too much calculated to confirm a father's partiality. By the time she had reached her eighteenth year her admirers were numerous, many of them exceedingly wealthy and of high respectability. Her own fortune, left her by her mother, was handsome; while the addition likely to be given by me rendered her not an unfit match for any gentleman of distinction in our neighbourhood. I early perceived, however, that external equipage and splendour presented few attractions to Amelia, unless accompanied by personal worth. With just discrimination, she admitted into her confidence only those whose correctness of principle and consistency of conduct were a sufficient guarantee for the stability of their friendship. Of those who aspired to the favour of her hand there was one Mr Tayson, for whom I felt some partiality. He was the son of my former partner in business; he had lately returned from the West Indies, and was sole heir to his father's fortune, which was immense. But she had discovered, on a very short acquaintance, that his morals had been corrupted during his residence abroad. Any civility she subsequently showed him was very distant, and seemed rather in deference to my feelings than from her own choice. Mr Tayson was much piqued at her indifference; and, in conversation with me, attributed it to an unworthy attachment she had been cherishing for the tutor at Rosehall, and with whom, it was suspected, she intended to make an early elopement. I had, indeed, observed that Amelia always treated that gentleman with the most marked respect; but this

I attributed not to any attachment she could have formed for one so much her inferior in rank, but to regard for his worth, and gratitude for his attention to her mother. When I spoke with her on the subject that evening, she solemnly assured me that if Mr R really entertained an affection for her he had never avowed it, and that any communications she had ever received from him were merely translations of select passages, chiefly from German and Italian authors, whose works he had been reading-all of which papers she laid before me. On examining them, I found many pieces of exquisite beauty; while every one of them seemed designed either to refine the taste or purify the heart. From the ambiguous manner in which she expressed her own feelings on the occasion, as well as from what I witnessed shortly afterwards, not a doubt remained on my mind that this intercourse, begun in friendship, had on her part gradually ripened into love. Strong as was my affection for Amelia, and much as I respected Mr R- the knowledge of this attachment gave me great pain; and I resolved at once to break up a correspondence which threatened to bring disgrace on my family and friends. Without communicating my design to Amelia, I wrote to him that very evening, forbidding further visits at Bentley House; but in consideration of his kind services during the illness of my wife, enclosed him a small present, which I begged him to accept as a proof of my gratitude, and as a memorial of her name. Little did I then know, that by that act I was inflicting additional pain on a heart already overcome with sorrow; and as little did I anticipate the serious consequences which should ensue from it to the only one whom I held dear on earth.

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