# An affecting history of an inn-keeper in Normandy/A Tragical Story on the Unhappy Consequences of an Immoderate Attachment to Riches

A TRAGICAL STORY.
On the unhappy Conſequences of an immoderate Attachment to Riches.
The northern blaſt that chilling blows Adown the mountain's ſnowy ſide, The tendril bites, and blights the roſe, And withers all the valties pride.
More fatal bites not through the grove, The winter's ſharp and canker'd tooth, Than doth the blight of hopeleſs love, The tender bud of hopleſs youth.
RICHES, when poſſeſſed by the benevolent man, are, perhaps, one of the greateſt of human bleſſings. To ſupply the wants of the forlorn widow and fatherleſs, and thoſe, who from affluence, by ſome unforeſeen misfortune, are reduced to miſery and want, are actions that even angels would delight to perform; and of ſuch infinite importance are they to the perſons who practiſe them, that we are aſſured, from the very beſt authority, they will, in a particular manner, be taken notice of in that tremenduous day of accounts, by Him "who is then to wind up the grand œconomy of nature, and open the ſolemn ſcene."
That money, however, is the efficient cauſe of an innumerable train of human miſeries, ​is a truth that need only be named. What but the introduction of luxury, the inſeparable concomitant of riches, by the great Cyrus himſelf, rendered his hardy followers effeminate, and in the ſequel proved the ſubverſion of his extenſive empire? Greece, the mother of heroes, while directed by the inſtitutes of the immortal Solon and Lycurgus, was always invincible; but no ſooner were they laid aſide, and an inſatiable thirſt for the Perſian gold engroſſed the minds of her leaders, than her aſpiring ſtruggles for liberty became languid, and ſhe fell an eaſy prey to the conqueror. Rome, the once miſtreſs of the world, likewiſe, in her turn, after extending her conqueſts to the "gorgeous eaſt," introduced into her commonwealth the baneful effects of riches, which, in like manner, proved fatal to her. Happy were theſe republics when an Ariſtides and a Fabricius were among their public directors!
Since powerful empires and states have thus fallen victims to the direful effects of riches, it naturally follows that private individuals must alſo have had their ſhare of misſortunes from the like cauſe. I ſhall not, however, trouble your readers with any more common-place hints from the historic page, but ſhall preſent you with a story which happened in private life, in which, in a striking manner, is exhibited the fatal effects of an immoderate attachment to this root of all evil.
​Rosara was the only daughter of a gentleman in the north country, poſſeſſed of ſeveral hundreds per annum. She had, in an eminent degree, a moſt beautiful "ſet of features," attended with thoſe nameleſs graces of perſon which inſenſibly attract the attention of the moſt ſuperficial obſerver; to which was added the greateſt good-nature; an uncommon affability; an humane and feeling heart, and an accompliſhed underſtanding. In fine, to ſum up her character in a few words, ſhe was, in fact, what the daughter of Cato was in deſcription, poſſeſt
Of inward greatneſs, unaffected wiſdom, And ſanctity of manners.Addison.
It is, however, neceſſary to obſerve, that ſhe was unlucky in a father. He was a man in whoſe breaſt avarice had gained conſiderable ground, and whoſe heart was, in a great meaſure, callous to the tender feelings of paternal affection: as it is reported of him, that he would often, when ſpeaking on the ſubject of marriage, ridicule that famous ſaying of Themiſtocles, namely, "that he would much rather marry his daughter to a man of merit, though poor, than to one who was rich without it," by obſerving, that if he had his daughter married to a man of fortune, he did not care whether he had merit or not.
​Among the many who paid their addreſſes to this very accompliſhed young lady, was Philander, a gentleman who, to an agreeable appearance, added the more engaging qualifications of the mind. He, though perhaps inferior in point of fortune to almoſt every one of her admirers, gained her intire affection, and they agreed by mutual promiſes, to be one another's for life.
A father frequently is not the firſt perſon who is acquainted with ſuch attachments in his family. This was alſo the caſe with Roſara's; her other relations were the perſons who firſt gave him this piece of information, endeavouring, at the ſame time, as much as poſſible, to exaggerate every circumſtance to the prejudice of Philander, and inſiſting, in the moſt carneſt manner, upon his doing every thing in his power to put a ſtop to their further connections. This piece of intelligence ſtartled him greatly; and when we conſider his own diſpoſition, as noticed above, it is no hard matter to conceive how much he was irritated in conſequence of it.
Roſara was informed of what had happened between her father and friends, before her next interview with Philander. She accordingly, with an aching heart, told him the circumſtance, adding, that ſhe underſtood her father was in a terrible rage, and was determined to ſtop any further ​connection between them, but that he had not as yet mentioned it to her though ſhe every day expected it. "It ſhall not however (continued ſhe), be in the power of any of my friends to cauſe me marry any perſon but ſuch as I chuſe myſelf; neither ſhall all their united efforts conſtrain me to love you leſs than I do at preſent." Philander conjured her to abide by theſe reſolutions, and departed.
A very few days after, as Roſara was one evening ſitting alone in her roon, her father entered it, and having taken two or three turns, broke ſilence to the following purport:—"I had a conſiderable while ſince begun to ſuſpect, that there was more betwixt you and Philander than what I was well aware of, but of this I am now credibly informed by ſome of your friends, who have your intereſt much at heart; and who tell me, that to ſuch a length are matters now carried, that you and he are determined, as ſoon as poſſible, to be united in wedlock. This, however, I forbid, on pain of incurring my higheſt reſentment. How much do you think ſuch an union would degrade you? He is a perſon entirely beneath your ſtation, and conſequently unworthy of your ſmalleſt notice, when a matrimonial affair comes under conſideration! Besides, I hope you will remember that Superbo is at your ſervice; and, as he is a gentleman of ſtation, ​I expect you are to comply with his deſires."—"My dear father (replied ſhe trembling), I never did intend to marry Philander without giving you previous information; and ſince you have now mentioned ſuch an affair, I ingenuouſly confeſs that I love him above every other perſon; and my affection, by its long continuance, is too deeply rooted to be eradicated; beſides, as I live in a land of liberty, you will ſurely not deny me the privilege of the irrationals, namely, the freedom of choice, as I am now arrived at a time of life capable of judging for myſelf: But, above all, I beg you will conſider that I have engaged myſelf, by the ſtrongeſt promiſes, to be his for life; and I have heard it ſaid, "that a young man and woman who have come under free, voluntary, mutual promiſes, whether verbal or written, are actually married, even though they ſhould never come together, and the defaulter, if ever married, lives in adultery. Surely you would not then be guilty of making me the perpetrator of ſuch a deteſtable crime?"—Talk not (anſwered he with ſome warmth) of promiſes, or any ſuch fantaſtic abſurdities; I tell you nothing is in the ſmalleſt degree binding, till once the parties have joined hands before the parſon: Promiſes! a pretty ftory truly! a parcel of chimerical notions you have got into your brain. Such fellows as Philander, who are poſſeſſed of a large ​⟨share⟩ of rhetorical abilities, can very eaſily ⟨perſuade⟩ a raw unexperienced girl, intirely ⟨unacquainted⟩ with the world, ſuch as you ⟨are⟩, to believe any thing."—"But, my dear ⟨father⟩ (replied ſhe, ready to ſink on the chair), it is really abſolutely impoſſible that ⟨I⟩ can enjoy the ſmalleſt happineſs in being united to any other perſon, even allowing ⟨there⟩ ſhould be, as you ſay, no weight in promiſes; as no ſuch thing, you are very ⟨ſenſible⟩, can actually exiſt, except the ⟨affection⟩ be reciprocal; and although Philander's fortune be but ſmall, yet, when added to mine, they will, together, make one ſo very conſiderable, as will very well enable us to live comfortably, as neither of us, I believe, has any ambition to live ſplendidly. I cannot, indeed, ſpeak from experience: but ſurely "the great ſecret of being happy in the married ſtate conſiſts not ſo much in being affluent as in loving each other well; in that caſe all things muſt conform themfelves to our deſires. This muſt produce a ſweetneſs which will abſorb all the vexations of life. In ſuch a ſituation the heart of the one is in that of the other; they think and act even in concert, and are often on the point of ſaying the ſame thing. No exiſtence is truly ſo precious as that of two married perſons who love each other; and I ſhould rather chuſe to loſe my life this day than—" "Where, in the name of wonder (ſays he, ​interrupting her, and quite in a rage), have you gleaned up all this romantic ſtuff? Not one word, I ſay, more of that imaginary happineſs you talk of: it is wealth alone that conſtitutes what truly deſerves the name of happineſs; and, when that is a wanting, I would not give a pin for what you call reciprocal affection: Superbo's fortune, together with your own, will place you in an independent ſtation, and therein conſiſts what in reality is happineſs! I am therefore determined to have you united to him with all poſſible diſpatch; ſo not one word more in oppoſition to the mandates of your father!" So ſaying, he went out of the room in a paſſion, leaving the amiable Roſara in a ſtate of the utmoſt perplexity.
She would have at that time given the world to have ſeen Philander; but as he happened, in conſequence of ſome material buſineſs, to be from home, that was impoſſible; beſides, it was intirely out of her power to ſend any perſon in the family to inform him of what had paſſed, provided he had been at home; ſo ſtrictly were her actions then obſerved.
In the mean time, ſo firmly did her father adhere to what he told her, that he diſpatched a meſſenger, who brought Superbo and a notary, who drew up in form the marriage-contract, without ever ſo much as conſulting the diſconſolate Roſara. The news ​of this had juſt reached Philander's dwelling by the time of his return. He was ſhocked at the relation, and was on the point of contriving ſome method of ſeeing Roſara (her father having previouſly found means to forbid him his houſe), in order to enquire if ſuch a thing was done with her concurrence. This determination was, however, ſuppreſſed, by reflecting that her father was a man of conſummate prudence, and who performed all his actions with the utmoſt deliberation, ſo that he naturally inferred this affair would be the reſult of her own coincidence. It was, indeed, a matter of the utmoſt difficulty to bring himſelf to think, that Roſara would ſo ſuddenly alter her reſolution; but when he reflected upon the effect of advice, paternal affection, the ſickleneſs of the ſex, the diſparity of his fortune when compared with Superbo's, he really imagined every thing was done with the conſent of all parties. Such reflections as theſe confirmed his opinion, and he finally reſolved not to ſee her again, as he naturally ſuppoſed ſuch an interview could not fail to add to his preſent load of grief, and, at the ſame time, give him an opportunity of upbraiding her with her breach of fidelity, a circumſtance he then did not chuſe to do.
The laſt rupture between Great Britain and France was then newly commenced; and Philander having had a previous ​inclination to the army, an opportunity at ⟨that⟩ very time offered itſelf, as ſome troops were juſt about to embark for America. He therefore, in order partly to wear off the remembrance of his deareſt Roſara, who he then concluded, was given up to another and partly to gratify his own inclination entered himſelf a volunteer in one of theſe corps. About two days after he embarked, leaving the ſettling and management of his affairs in the hands of a friend, who was to ſucceed to his eſtate, provided he ſhould never return.
His departure being ſo very ſudden, Roſara had not the ſmalleſt notice of it until he was gone, ſoon after which, by his orders, ſhe received a letter ſpecifying his reaſons for ſo ſudden a departure. The ſituation ſhe was then in is much eaſier to conceive than deſcribe: But what made it ſtill more deplorable was, the extreme cruelty of her father and friends, who ſtill inhumanly inſiſted on her marrying Superbo, who was alſo ſo brutal as obtrude his ſolicitations with theirs. She was, however, inflexible, and told them in plain terms, that ſince Philander was prevented from enjoying her, none elſe ever ſhould. She moreover comforted hertelf, that ſo ſoon as an opportunity offered of writing to him, ſhe would then clear up the whole affair, by letting him ​know that every thing was carried on ⟨contrary⟩ to her inclination, and that lie ſtill, ⟨above⟩ every other perſon, was dear to her.
Soon after his arrival, the troops with vhich he came along, joined the expedition of Gen. Braddock againſt Fort du Queſne, ⟨an⟩ affair well known to many of your ⟨readers⟩. Its melancholy event is alſo, I dare ⟨ſay⟩, recent in ſome of their memories. In ⟨this⟩ unfortunate action Philander took the ⟨direction⟩ of the battalion in which he ſerved, ⟨after⟩ its commanding officer was killed, and ⟨after⟩ having, with it, performed deeds worthy of a ſecond Leonidas, he ſhared the ſame ⟨fate⟩ with the general, ſuch as did many ⟨other⟩ brave officers who alſo fell that day.—The effects of his valour, ſo exaſperated ⟨ſome⟩ of the Indians who ſerved along with ⟨the⟩ French in that engagement, that after ⟨having⟩ inſulted his dead body, they added ⟨that⟩ piece of cruelty peculiar to themſelves, hamely ſcalping. His corpſe was, however, ⟨afterwards⟩ diſcovered by an intimate companion of his at the general burying of the ⟨slain⟩, by means of a miniature picture of Roſara ſet in gold, which he had always worn ſuſpended by a ribband round his neck, and which had accidentally eſcaped the vigilance of the ſavages. This, with ſome ⟨trifles⟩, was returned to his friend.
The fate of the amiable Roſara, in ⟨consequence⟩ of theſe melancholy news, is a ​ſcene too big with horror to dwell upon. After the firſt tranſports of her grief, which was exceſſive, were abated, her words became incoherent, her actions extravagant, and the whole of her deportment gave evident ſigns of inſanity. It was therefore thought neceſſary to watch her, in order to prevent her from committing any act of violence upon herſelf. Theſe precautions unluckily proved fruitleſs, as ſhe was one morning found ſtrangled in her bed.—-Thus fell two innocent and worthy perſons, victims to the inſatiable deſires of avarice, ſincerely lamented by all who had the happineſs of knowing them.—-From their unhappy fate take this advice:
———"Ye Parents who from nature ſtray And the great ties of ſocial life betray; Ne'er with your children act a tyrant's part; 'Tis yours to Guide, not Violate the heart." Thomson
F I N I S.
Printed by G Miller, Dunbar.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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