MARIA DENBIGH lost an indulgent father in her state of early childhood. He fell, while gallantly defending the interests of the house of York, and left a widow, almost portionless, with one daughter; whose bud of blossom promised to expand into the fairest flower of spring. So far from priding herself in the superior and increasing charms of her daughter, Mrs. Denbigh beheld them / with a solicitude, bordering on sorrow. She almost wished that some accident, while it spared the form and life of Maria, might destroy those charms of face, which were so uncommonly lovely. The prince, arrived at manhood, had already, though in his early youth, evinced that proneness to gallantry, which made every virtuous mother tremble for a fair and unportioned daughter. His parasites saw and encouraged his inclinations, by every temptation they could throw in his way; knowing that to flatter the darling vice of one high in power, would ensure them that favor, which the man of real integrity can never enjoy. His counsels are too bold to applaud guilt or cringe to splendor; but the minions employed about the person of the misguided Edward, gasping for places and pensions, infused their baneful poison / into his breast, and taught him to believe that the daughters of Britain were but too much honoured by his licentious addresses.

When Maria had reached the age of fifteen, all a mother's feelings experienced the most agonizing trial. The small pox, and seemingly of a very fatal kind, attacked Maria. It threatened not only beauty, but life itself; while Mrs. Denbigh's circumstances were in so declining a state that, from the expence of this severe illness, her finances became, at length, almost totally exhausted. Scarce could she procure the necessaries of life, much less those comforts so requisite now, to the existence of her languishing daughter.