PREFACE. In the present enlightened age, when every one reads and writes, no apology is necessary for offering this little Volume to the public eye. It will suffice to apprise the indulgent Reader, that neither emolument nor fame was the object of the Authoress in the composition of the following Tale, but simple amusement; for, leading a sedentary life, caused by an affliction of some years' standing, part of those hours usually passed by young persons in what are designated the pleasures of the world, have been dedicated by her to this employment. That many and glaring faults may be discerned, the Authoress is perfectly aware; and whether the design for which it was written (the entertainment of the young) will be an swered, she feels doubtful; yet it may be safely said, that should "Conrad Blessington" not contain any thing to edify, at least the perusal will not be found to inculcate injurious sentiments. CONRAD BLESSINGTON. CHAPTER I. We have no parents; and no friends beside: BLOOMFIELD. It was a beautiful spring morning; the resplendent beams of the sun imparted an air of cheerfulness, to which the delicate yet dazzling green of the young leaves failed not to contribute. The birds chirped merrily among the branches, as they trimmed their plumes in the genial rays; and the loud hum of the wild bee was frequently borne upon the air, as it flew past in quest of the early flowers. In fact, it was one of those balmy mornings, of which our variable climate affords but so few so very few examples. The situation, to which we desire the kind B |